Archive of Our Own ^beta

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It flows around him like water without leaving a drop. It dances to match his pace yet never has feet. It shines bright while being deep down in the heart of man. Chaos. Organized chaos is what he is, his being is magic.

Beautiful and complicated. It's everywhere. It's in each part of the continent in some shape or form. It is what makes him and the world. He can’t love it though. The very magic that rides on his life force is what binds him. He can travel the world and never let his adventure end. He has little to fear if someone pulls a dagger on him though if they are mute then that is another story entirely. He knows he’s safe from the common folk of the continent. Really, it's only those that have tasted power and greed that he has to worry about encountering. Though they are often entertaining...

Jaskier. Just Jaskier goes from tavern to tavern playing his precious lute. The carving of lovely little flowers upon it wasn’t made specifically for him but rather it was a piece that wasn’t allowed to leave his sight and where the true nature of it came from was unknown to him, not that he cared to ever wonder.

A djinn can never leave their bottle without a master commanding them but there were always exceptions to rules and Jaskier was clever enough to work out a little loophole for himself to be free from his bottle, which was his delicate lute. He had seen it before and liked the look of it so it was the design of his bottle.

Jaskier figured that by exiting his “bottle” and walking around the world he did his job of answering wishes just not to one master and especially not to someone who believed he was Jaskier’s master. Just little wishes that he sprinkled in every day. A child at the side of the road asked and begged for food that Jaskier did not have so he got the child to make a simple phrase to wish for a wonderful meal and when the innkeeper’s wife of the town was walking past she threw herself to the child and said that children shouldn’t be in the cold mud starving. The child was fed and possibly had a family now.

Jaskier smiled at the memory. He didn’t always know how his magic would answer a wish but it was a delight to see outcomes so simple yet so beautiful.

He strummed his lute while walking to the next town which was a few miles away but his voice kept him company enough. Through the long walk, he looked back to all he had experienced. He’d done a lot of good, a lot of bad too, but that’s beside the point. Sometimes humans need a gentle shove to lead them to do better. Often times a hard one works wonders.

He messed up a chord as he laughed at the recent event of bandits, at least four, circling him at an evening fire he made between villages. The sun's light was fading, leaving Jaskier vulnerable in the dark forest with his fire to warm him. They demanded what he had and when he told them that he had no gold or silver they then demanded his expensive garb and his lute, everything he had. The men would humiliate Jaskier by leaving him in nothing but his smallclothes if Jaskier was lucky enough to leave with his life. They gathered closer as one described the lute to look very fancy and very expensive. Jaskier had rolled his eyes and asked, “Oh so what is it you wish? Gold? You wish for gold?”

The bandit snarled at him, “Aye, we wish for gold. Enough to break a man’s back!” He laughed, “But you don’t have that.”

Jaskier smirked, “Lovely phrasing you have. Enough gold to break a man’s back. Well,” he clapped his hands and the fire went out, “I have some good news for you strapping chaps.”

The first loud crack rang through the woods and they screamed and screamed until their voices gave. Spectacular is the only word that came to Jaskier’s mind as he then left his camp for the next town.

A jovial tune rang through the new town he set foot in, no one could be upset with this one. He designed it to make people feel better. He hoped no mages were in the town though. As much as he loved to play random tunes that could give magical effects, he always had to be wary of those annoying, greedy mages. Jaskier hated mages. He was yet to encounter or even hear word of a gracious mage. They simply didn't exist. The only good mage was a dead one. If Jaskier never encountered another than he'd be content. Mages could sense magic and always craved more of it. They could never have enough. Jaskier always avoided them. Jaskier also avoided witchers. He never truly met one before but Jaskier didn't need to meet a monster to know it was a monster. Witchers... Hunters of beasts. Perhaps they did good by getting rid of monsters... but what was considered a monster? Anything that wasn't human? Jaskier... wasn't human. He could play the part. Play it well... but he knew they could sense magic in any room they walk in. As to how they did it was beyond him. The point was, they could. And for a being as Jaskier to stroll in pretending to be any common folk wasn’t going to slide by any witcher. At least, Jaskier assumed. If a witcher encountered him then there was no telling if a witcher wouldn't kill Jaskier for his plain deception. So he took all the necessary precautions. Jaskier had thought on it. Witchers didn’t seem to be a threat to Jaskier, not unless someone put a hit on him and that just seemed unlikely. Well, unlikely for someone to go to a witcher to take Jaskier's life. A regular assassin was always a possibility. Witchers only kill monsters that caused trouble and took lives and Jaskier didn’t kill anyone… that didn’t deserve it.

He stopped his happy tune and promised to grant no wishes until he knew for certain that no mages were in town. Those were his main concerns as they always were. He made his way to the tavern as all fine folk do after a long walk and asked for a drink.

“You don’t got the coin for it.” The man at the bar crossed his arms.

“Oh good sir, well-esteemed fellow, whatever would give you that thought? That a young lad- such as myself, traveling about the world would have naught a coin?”

The man looked him up and down, “Bard.”

Jaskier sighed. “Oh good fellow, what amount of coin do you wish for a refreshing ale?” Jaskier leaned over the counter.

“Entertain,” that couldn’t have been gruffer, “That’s what your whole jig is. Get some more folks to drink and be merry, you get it, bard?” The man served another fellow, “You’ll work for an ale.”

“And a meal?” Jaskier grinned.

The man gave him a stern look, “Don’t push it, you’ll be served what you serve me.”

Jaskier leaned in further to whisper, “You sure that there’s nothing you could wish for instead?”

“Brothel’s down the road and to the right if you want to sell yourself but none of that here, bard. Don’t take my coin-paying customers away.” The way the man said that made Jaskier almost flush with embarrassment or anger. The man hadn’t exactly gotten the point but he wasn’t far off, sometimes people did wish for Jaskier and his time. Jaskier may even be willing if he was. He stepped back and his knuckles went white with how he gripped his lute.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said through gritted teeth before putting his smile on again, “When should I begin playing?”

The man shrugged at a corner that had a window, “Over there, right now. You want an ale right?”

Jaskier nodded and began walking to his little dusty corners. He looked around the room, no mages or anyone with magical properties. Just people talking. One conversation had a man despairing over some devil stealing grain, and with a stroke of luck, he said the phrase, “I just want something to be done about it, some justice! Our people will starve!” Well, one wish only is what Jaskier said in his head and kicked himself mentally.

But back to his music, he wouldn’t risk using some magic for it, he didn’t check the whole town and someone could walk in at any time. He didn’t trust this town. He swore to himself. He wanted to at least use some magic to get him a decent ale and maybe a piece of bread. Though the man looked like a cheapskate. Jaskier could always get bread another way. He’d sing well enough for an ale but sing a few songs that angered the crowd enough to throw their precious meals at him. Oh he was a genius sometimes.

He strummed and began a song all while the mantra of get me a decent ale get me a decent ale was hovering over Jaskier's mind. He strapped in for a couple of hours and sang to his own heart’s content. At least someone could be happy.

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He spent a little over two hours going through different songs with each new customer that came on in and to those who rolled on out. It’s barely noon people! Have some self respect. Quite interesting people these... Posadians... Not like he had an actual say considering that he was doing this whole job purely for ale. Still, he wasn’t human, some of these people drank as if they had abilities of some kind of… of-of some kind of witcher. Could witchers hold their liquor? He doesn’t know, but he does know about their endurance or something about how they are just stronger than any normal man.

The thought left him as soon as it came. He plays something softer until someone shouts for something louder and risqué.

Now don’t get him wrong. He loves the indecent and naughty things of the world but he absolutely hates it when someone tells- no demands him to do something. Makes his skin burn from the inside out and if he could- without anyone noticing, he would have already taken the boots off the man to shove them down his throat and possibly shoved the man's dinner up his ass. Alas, he was in a tavern that had yet to offer him some ale and simply complied as was his nature as a djinn. But by the gods would he make it a fucking ordeal for the people in the tavern.

He played and he didn’t necessarily pitch his voice wrong but it could have been a lot better too. The song could have had better lyrics and could have been funnier but frankly, fuck it. He could have laughed at all the expressions he got from the patrons and finally did he get stoned with bread back to his corner all while he muttered to the folks. It was impressive how it was all decided by the room to hate him. And he didn’t even use magic for that. Was that impressive or just embarrassing? Eh, it doesn't matter. Free food. Hard as stone but food.

“Unbelievable,” he rolled his eyes and set his lute to the window and stared at the floor that held all the treasure he needed, blessed bread.

He put about two pieces into his trousers before seeing him.

Him. Who’s him? Him him! The bloody Witcher sitting across the damn room. He forgot about his own performance for a moment with his mind fully occupied with the man sitting less than thirty feet away. Was that leather? That is a lot of leather.

The Witcher was silent as he stared gravely at his table. If Jaskier didn’t know any better he would have assumed none of his performance was heard by the man but witchers and all their deadly senses. There’s no way he didn’t hear and oh was it hilarious to think that the man heard the most embarrassing performance of his life. A real-life witcher was there. Jaskier almost felt the need to run, maybe he was sent to take his head, but that made no sense. No one put a claim on him, he was certain because he never stayed anywhere long enough for anyone to want him dead… well, dead on account of being a djinn? Then no. Dead on account of sleeping with literally anyone who had a pretty face? Dead on account of being annoying? Dead on account of being a general nuisance? Sure, but he was safe from any witcher. And he was already standing up to get a closer look at the man.

He can't be blamed for the thrill of seeing a witcher. They weren't rare not by any account but they were a dying guild and Jaskier had yet to run into one. They seemed interesting in an almost eerie or mysterious way.

He took a cup of something from a barmaid but he figured he had earned it and didn’t spare her a glance or her offended face as he continued trudging to the Witcher. Coming closer he saw that the Witcher seemed to be staring angrily at an empty bag of coin and before Jaskier could question his decision he was leaning against a post and talking to the Witcher.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.” Oh gods was that a moronic way of flirting? Well... it was out of his mouth now. Not even the gods would help him.

The Witcher gave what Jaskier believed to be the most intense fucking eye roll he had ever seen in his life, “I’m here to drink alone.”

“Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except…” He pushed himself off the post yet still kept his distance away from the table and more importantly the Witcher, “for you. Come on,” he urged and Jaskier could practically feel the poor man blink for strength. He hadn’t even moved a muscle. “You don’t wanna leave a man with…” he was gonna say it, “bread in his pants waiting.” He must have had the most awkward expression but none of it mattered because he was never going to see this strange white-haired witcher again and he wanted to see what the man, a witcher, would say.

Not half a second went by before he was already talking again, “You must have some review for me,” he said to block the thoughts of the Witcher swinging his head off and sat down despite his better judgment, “Three words or less.” The man was of few words, that, Jaskier could tell so he’d make it easier to go along with whatever Jaskier would say and Jaskier would show his utmost interest. It usually worked.

Sure enough, five seconds later the Witcher uttered, “They don’t exist,” without so much as moving anything other than his lips. Seriously, how did he do that?

What don’t exist? “What don’t exist?”

The Witcher barely tilted his head, “The creatures in your song.”

Ah. Those. Well, they didn’t, but these ones make for better songs with all the excitement and weird beauty in them. He couldn’t say that. “And how would you know?” Yes, Jaskier, because that was clearly the smarter thing to say to a witcher.

The Witcher had the decency to let him revel in his stupid words but he needed to claim whatever respect he had left by pretending he could do the bare minimum of gathering clues. He took his hands from his cup and leaned in, “Oh, fun. White hair… big, old loner, two very…” He was thrust back into the reality of the situation by the not-so-hidden blades besides the Witcher who was now moving abort! “Very scary-looking swords.”

The Witcher stood and turned his coin bag upside down to let a single coin fall on the table and went to leave but Jaskier obviously wasn’t letting the one and possibly only time meeting a witcher pass that easily.

“I know who you are.” While Jaskier may have said it while looking at the Witcher he certainly wasn’t talking to him anymore when he was struck with the revelation. This wasn’t any witcher. This was Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken. This was the man they said went absolutely loose on several villagers or something. Now if Jaskier were common folk or had common sense he would have left it at that and then been on to the town the opposite direction this man was taking, but this is Jaskier, the djinn free from the bottle with nothing but freedom to lose, so he followed Geralt of Rivia in spite of the flutters of hesitation in his chest. He would follow this stranger, “You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia,” he swung lightly on a post and the Witcher never slowed his pace.

He grinned as the Witcher headed from the door and said rather louder than necessary, “Called it!”

The Witcher was walking away and he’ll be through the tavern’s exit and gone and the conversation would be but a blimp in his memory. Jaskier wished he could make his own big wishes come true. He wished he could have any reason to follow and not seem too strange or suspicious.

The Witcher was leaving though. Jaskier was ready to go back to the corner, pick up his lute, forget the meal owed and leave- he didn't need a meal anyways, not really. But a young man at a table stood warily and he anxiously trailed Geralt of Rivia, “A job I’ve got for ya. I beg of you.”

Holy fucking shit on a stick- This was the man who made the wish! And Jaskier fucking granted it. Oh if he could kiss and praise his past self he would. He really did answer his own wish in some weird roundabout kind of way.

The Witcher came to a stop and Jaskier waited behind to hear the conversation, though he knew Geralt of Rivia would take the job, as per the wish, or the lack of coins in his pocket...

“A devil… He’s been stealing all our grain.” The fear could be heard in his voice even Jaskier could tell, “In advance, I’ll pay you. A hundred ducat.”

Silence.

Jaskier almost feared the Witcher would say no.

“One-fifty.”

Some shuffling until- “I’ve no doubt you’ll come through.” Jaskier took a step out to see the deal as well as hear, “You take no prisoners, so I hear,” The man offered the coins and the Witcher just had a blank expression.

Jaskier could almost read it as being ashamed of the last statement but this was a witcher and he took the coins regardless and stormed out with Jaskier on his tail.

The Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, Butcher of Blaviken was about to have his own personal bard. They were given a mission, well obviously more Geralt but that's beside the point, Jaskier now had a good reason to follow, destiny gave him this chance and he was thanking her in every way he could in his mind. He would surely make a song out of this adventure and boy did he promise to be the best fucking bard to this godsdamn witcher.

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The Witcher was a much faster walker than Jaskier anticipated. He practically lost the large man for a few minutes before seeing him at his horse.

The Witcher was mumbling to his brown horse. Apparently its name is Roach and honestly what the fuck? After spending two minutes contemplating why someone would name their horse after something pretty disgusting- Jaskier almost lost him again. Why did no one tell him witchers were elusive?...

He couldn’t follow close, too stalkerish for Jaskier’s taste. But now that he knew destiny was leading him to follow the Witcher for some inconceivable reason, he couldn’t stop. His brilliant plan or rather excuse to follow the terrifying man was looking flimsy right about now.

Wow. So brilliant. Truly. So fucking ingenious to follow the literal monster-killer that wields not one, but two colossal swords. There really is no ends to the wits… Why was he following again? Was it really destiny? His own fixation? Destiny making him infatuated?! He didn't care, he'll unravel that mess later.

If he was going to follow the Butcher of Blaviken then would he have to cease using magic? He couldn’t exactly do that… Not fully. If Jaskier was discovered would he be killed on account of lying to the Witcher? Well, he wasn’t lying. It’s not Jaskier’s fault no one ever asks about him. Though he doubts the Witcher would care if it was lying or just omission of the truth on account of him being a literal djinn. They had begun walking up the mountain, leaving Posada. My poor shoes are going to be all dusty, musty, crusty, wanderlusty. Ah that could be a song.

Back to the point- There were several ways this go south real quick, but Jaskier would stick to the script he was handed and prayed to destiny this witcher would follow his, albeit unknowingly.

Well, he wasn’t going to get another wave of confidence. He ran to catch up with the Witcher uphill. He was right behind slightly panting, “Need a hand? I’ve got two. One for each of the uh, devil’s horns…”

“Go away.”

Not a chance with destiny on my side, dear witcher, “I won’t be but a silent backup…” Now that was laughable.

The Witcher was silent for too long and Jaskier was just plain nervous about him taking his head now that there were no witnesses. Well here goes the plan.

“Look, I heard your note, and, yes, you’re right, maybe real adventures would make better stories,” For the gods’ sake, he sounds as nervous as he is. If he could just take a breath, nope he is back on his bullshit, “And you, sir, smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion? It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak.”

A little bit of praise always got him places.

“It’s onion.”

Ah. Well then, this one will be tough… All of a sudden destiny became so much more sadistic.

Jaskier tried to take a moment to be offended but that’s not in the script, dumb destiny, “Right, yeah, yeah…” Fine, another tactic, “Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the-the Butcher of Blaviken!” He spread his arms and gave a smile, surely that would work, humans always love leaving a legacy.

The Witcher stopped, feet planted, he even looked at his horse. Jaskier grinned wider, finally, he got to him. Legacies and stories always are beloved by humans, always. The Witcher turned around and ushered for Jaskier, “Come here.”

“Yeah.”

Now he can’t say he saw it coming but it certainly was sort of uncalled for. A direct and a damn well swift blow to the gut had him groaning and even falling to the floor. Shit hurt. Just because he’s a djinn doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel anything. Feels just the same to anyone getting punched in the gut. An overall unpleasant feeling. He would not recommend it.

To say he had a grievance with destiny was an understatement. A witcher’s punch to the gut. He survived that. So destiny practically said for him to pick himself up with the proof of a bruise to go along with the Witcher anywhere, he could handle it.

He wheezed and made it into a laugh. Right… not human… Alright sure, duly noted. The Butcher of Blaviken does not wish to be called The Butcher of Blaviken and does not care about legacies.

“Come on, Roach.” Rude.

He limped to a stand, first putting his precious lute over his shoulder again, no need for it to get dusty and take a hit to the floor as well. He would prove to Geralt of Rivia that the simple bard Jaskier would not be easily deterred.

The only way to get rid of him now was to kill him. And quite frankly he’d like to avoid that outcome. He didn’t see himself dying for Geralt of Rivia anytime soon. Destiny be damned if she wants him to do that.

Why couldn’t destiny have granted him an easier fate?! Destiny gave him the curiosity to approach the Witcher and magnetism or whatever to want to be a shadow to him. So, I guess I have to follow through.

There wasn’t much to say with the wind taken out of his lungs and the kindly Witcher wasn’t going to be starting a conversation anytime soon so Jaskier prepared for some silence. Uncomfortable. Dreaded. Silence. Even the first few steps when he got his balance back were awful. More silence meant more time for the Witcher to figure out something was super fishy about the whole thing. Maybe he could play something? Music seemed to be a good distraction for most people. And while witchers were by no means human, that didn’t mean they didn’t have their own downtime, right? This Geralt of Rivia could use some loosening up, the punch to the gut only released a little bit of the irritation.

If Jaskier could just use magic then this would all be so much easier, but nooooo, Geralt of Rivia had to be a witcher who could detect magic wherever he went and Jaskier was starting to realize why humans always say life is unfair.

So he played a gentle tune just for a background as they walked but even then the Witcher seemed irritated. For the gods’ sake! What didn’t upset this man? Jaskier put his lute away much sooner than he thought he would. He blamed it on his stiff fingers, sore wrists and shoulders. Though the walk wasn’t doing him any favors on his feet. They got passed the whole mountain portion though and were finally on some flat ground-valley area.

It was dry. And he was parched. If he had any other traveling companion, he could have simply convinced them to say that they wished for some water and Bam! A stream of water would just be around the corner but this was Geralt of Rivia… And maybe being silent and all stoic was a witcher thing but this just felt excessive. No one could completely ignore every sentence the bard tried saying! “Hey, Witcher? How many monsters have you killed?” “Witcher, Witcher, are you the only one with white hair? I’ve never heard of other witchers having white hair. But then again I haven’t met other witchers so I guess I wouldn’t know.” “Wait up, Witcher!” “Have you met any bards before, Witcher?” “The sun is blazing, I feel like roast chicken. How are you doing it in that outfit?” “And that’s the short of how I got over my fear of chickens, have you any silly fears, Witcher?” By the gods, he was never gonna answer… And his tongue tingled for some kind of liquid. Yes, tingled.

His feet were sore! He hadn’t even walked much compared to other days he went from kingdom to kingdom but he realized that he always had a bit of a boost unlike now, where scary old witcher would kill him and leave his carcass to rot on the side of the mountains if so much as strummed a chord and let a shred of happiness into his life, oh no, gods forbid. He had a horse to ride. What could the Witcher possibly be upset about?!

By the looks of it, the Witcher wouldn’t let him stay. He needed something stronger, a bit closer to heart that the mean Witcher cared about. Problem. What did the Witcher care about? Gold and coins were obvious but he wouldn’t use his words for any wishes so Jaskier was on his own in this. An idea crossed his mind.

“Reading between the lines and the gut punches, chum, I’d say you have got a bit of a… an image problem.” Jaskier prayed this would work, “Were I to join you on this… feat to defeat the devil of Posada, I could relieve you of that title.” The Witcher wasn’t even looking at him, “All the North would be too busy singing the tales of… Geralt of Rivia, the-” the fucking what, “the white wolf or-or something.”

“Butcher is right.”

So that’s gonna be the first thing he says after a gut punch and like more than half an hour? And it was something he got punched for?! Whatever. Ignoring that. Distraction time.

“Do you mind if I hop up there with you? It’s just that I’m not wearing the right footwear.”

“Don’t touch Roach.” Touchy. Destiny really wasn’t going to be making this fun. Fine.

“Yeah, right, yeah.”

Jaskier took a step back as the Witcher was coming down from his horse- Roach. He still didn’t understand the name.

Feeling the need to fill the silence again he said a random story he had heard about this place a few days prior about the place of Posada, “The elves called this Dol Blathanna before bequeathing it to the humans,” Jaskier wasn’t an idiot, if he were human then maybe he’d believe the story but elves giving up their homelands never made sense to him, but he was never fully invested in human affairs and certainly not elvish political affairs, it just wasn’t his alley, “and retreating into their golden palaces in the mountains,” Now Jaskier didn’t know if this one was true. He’d never seen a golden palace but if things like him were hanging around then something like a golden palace wasn’t too far fetched.

The whole situation just wasn’t his to touch. He wasn’t human and he wasn’t an elf, even if there were similarities between them, he would never be like them.

“There I go again, just… delivering exposition.”

Wait a minute, what were they doing here? Where the fuck are they? Ah right, the fields are being raided by a devil and whatnot. He got preoccupied with his own ramblings.

“Geralt?”

There the Witcher goes, just walking into whatever it is that he’s walking in…

“Geralt? Wh-Where are you going?” Oh gods if Geralt dies here then what even is the point of destiny? “Geralt, don’t leave me.” Don’t leave me to have to save your ass is more like it. Jaskier shouldn’t be too cocky, sure he had magic and power but boy was he weak when it came to doing things for himself with no aid from someone else wanting something. The power of a person’s voice and greed really is what made him. He’ll get over that internal wound eventually, “Helloooo?”

Jaskier didn’t quite get Geralt’s whole sneaking in a field when Jaskier was behind him destroying any peace skulking would have given them.
“What are we looking for again?”

“Blessed silence.”

Would he grant that wish? Nah. He filled his quota. And besides, no magicy stuff in front of the big, bad Witcher, “Yeah I really don’t go in for that. Have you ever hunted a devil before, Geralt?”

“Devils don’t exist.”

“Right,” he whispered, confused. If Djinns exist and Stigas, werewolves, sirens, and other weird fucking creatures then how could a devil not be real? He wouldn’t dwell on it, Witcher knows what he’s doing, “Obviously. Then, uh… then what are we doing?”

Geralt kept his eyes on the terrain, “Sometimes there’s monsters, sometimes there’s money. Rarely both. That’s the life.”
Pretty shit life in Jaskier’s eyes, the kind that people would wish out of, but that was not his to meddle with. Jaskier pushed all thoughts of pity and looked for whatever they were looking for.

“Shit!” Geralt took a knee, facing the ground. He’d been hit but with what? By who? But most importantly-

“Act Two Begins!” He was waving his arms out thanking the world for allowing karma to exist when he couldn’t get his own revenge for that punch.

Geralt was back up and picking the little thing that hit him square in the forehead off the ground.

“What was that? Looks like a tiny cannonball from a…” He saw something. He couldn’t see any features behind all the tall grass and bushes but it very distinguishably had horns and obviously was not human, “Oh, my gosh.”

Geralt tapped at the fresh wound, clearly pissed.

“Geralt, it is a devil.” Shit. He needed his magic but the glare Geralt gave him already told him that he could not rely on the Witcher saying anything remotely close to what he needed to make them survive, fine, the Witcher way it is. He’s just the silly bard along for the ride anyway, “Ooh. I have to see this magical, this mythi-” A sharp pain hit him at the top of his right eyebrow and he felt his body collide with the rough ground.

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That hurt like a bitch. But he already knows it won’t leave a scar. It may be bleeding but he’d manage.

It was unfair how such small things could basically take down a human body. Truly biased against bards.

Jaskier was rubbing his head and rose up to hear some shouting. Clearly not Geralt’s voice… Jaskier stood and looked around the bushes, they were still in the field and oh Geralt was fighting the devil.

Geralt swung the devil to the ground and pinned him, “Of course I talk!”

Now Jaskier could barely hear anything but he swears he heard Geralt say, “What happened with you? Your mother fuck a goat?”

“I am Torque the Sylvan, a rare and intelligent creature!” Is how the beast responded.

“You’re a dick. With balls.”

And they say witchers don’t have a sense of humor. Actually, that was just Jaskier, Jaskier says witchers don’t have a sense of humor.

“Balls I got from humans, who left out food filled with iron meant to poison me!” He ripped out some of Geralt’s hair from the looks of it, “Did your mother fuck a snowman!?”

Jaskier flinched at the hit the devil-Sylvan received for that.

“You are intelligent, I’ll give you that… So I won’t kill you, but you can’t stay here.”

But the Sylvan wasn't done, “Neither can you.” Jaskier didn’t even see the Elf come out from the bushes and was now behind Geralt but he barely had the chance to react before he promptly got a boot to the face.

“Geralt!”

The Elf turned around to see Jaskier freaking out behind a bush, “I’ll grab him,” she said to Torque the Sylvan, “Put this one on his horse,” she gestured to Geralt’s unconscious self.

She approached Jaskier fast, he didn’t get the chance to take a step back in shock before she had him by the arm, “Normally I wouldn’t mind being handled by a redhead but these are different circumstances.”

She tied him there… just like that. But really what was he gonna do? Run? Leave Geralt to die?

Jaskier wished he could say he was knocked out again for this process but he was just captured and tied and brought along while the Witcher stayed completely out cold. They put him on his horse and to the horse’s credit, seemed to understand that it was in no position to fight back.

Jaskier followed, hands tied and they walked. At least the general fear of the situation kept his feet from hurting. He could talk them out of this. He’s done stuff like this plenty of times, okay there was that mute bandit once, but that wasn’t his fault.

“Anything you want from us in particular?”

The rope tying and pulling him was yanked forward, almost losing his balance, “Shut up!” The Elf used the Elder tongue. Good thing Jaskier was fluent, he couldn’t grant wishes across the land very well if he didn’t know what the wisher was saying now could he? He doesn’t understand all the stipulations behind being a djinn either but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He answered in Elder, that typically made people less on guard, made him more trustworthy, “Ah yes, yeah, but um, you could get that silence if you let us go. Geralt here is very understanding and I’m sure we’d all come to an agreement if-”

This time the rope was pulled so hard that he face-planted against the hard dirt path, “No more talking! I’ll cut your tongue out, human.”

Well, that wouldn’t be very fun. He could probably grow it back but… that could take a month, he really didn’t want to do that.

She tugged at the rope for him to stand and he knew an order when he saw one.

He ignored much of the journey. He kept hoping Geralt would wake up randomly and get them out of this but they arrived at the mountain hideout. It was at the side of a mountain and there were holes that must have been windows for the elves. Maybe, just maybe, just a passing thought, but what if the gold was on the inside.

The Witcher was taken off his horse and dragged by the Sylvan Jaskier was dragged by the Elf.

They went down tunnels that were not nearly as impressive as Jaskier had heard. It was rock and dirt. Maybe, just maybe gold was hidden deeper in their home.

They were brought to a room and the rope that had been dragging Jaskier was tied around both him and Geralt’s wrists, but not before his lute was taken from him, “Hey, wait!”

The Elf gripped his face and in the common tongue said, “Deal with you later.”

They were tied but Jaskier could only smugly think, If this was all the rope they were using then they are fucked. Geralt can break out of this easily. Pfft. Not even a challenge-

The red-headed Elf brought more rope and glared at him while wrapping it tighter and tighter on their wrists so they were bound together. Ha… bound together. Fuck destiny.

Thoughts run faster than action, and oh do I hate that, Jaskier thought to himself. His lute, his lute, his lute. It was across the room but that didn’t make Jaskier feel all cozy about the situation. He looked about the room again and they were alone. An unconscious witcher and useless djinn tied up in an elven castle. Sounds like the makings of a good joke except Jaskier doesn’t seem to have a punchline for them yet. He will, as soon as Geralt wakes up he’ll either break through the ropes or Jaskier can persuade Geralt to make a wish. Though the chances of that happening are as likely as Geralt answering Jaskier’s stupid questions from before.

This was hopeless. The only way out is the Witcher’s way but he’s tied with his swords elsewhere. The elves haven’t killed them yet, which means they want something and people wanting something has always been Jaskier’s specialty.

The Witcher’s way may not be the only way out. If the elves hadn’t cared about them then why not kill them in that field? Okay, so maybe to bring their bodies elsewhere and not have townsfolk after them but that doesn’t explain now. Tied up with no way to escape. Geralt and Jaskier don’t have much to offer. Revenge perhaps? It has to be that. People always wish for the same old things. They’ll wish for wealth, fame, glory, love, or lust but same difference, but the most common has got to be revenge. People just always have a sense of justice in them, twisted or not.

Fine. He could deal with that. Maybe warp their words a tiny bit. If he was lucky then he could do it without Geralt waking up. Oh yes, the plan was coming together now he just needs those elves to come back so he can-

Geralt shakes awake behind him. Mother of- A few more tugs at their binds and some grunts and Jaskier can see where that was leading them, “This is the part where we escape.” He meant for it to come out a bit more teasingly than that but his own frustration kept that from coming across fully.

“This is the part where they kill us.”

Please, kill them? Destiny brought them this far. There’s got to be a reason. Jaskier just hasn’t figured it out yet. Maybe he’s got it all wrong. Maybe he’s not supposed to do anything. He hates that. Being lazy can’t be the answer. But using magic can’t be the answer anymore either. Fine. So be it, “Who’s they?

He turned and received a swift kick in the mouth for that. Seriously, fuck destiny.

“Beast,” the redheaded Elf said in Elder.

“Elves,” that was all Geralt could get out before he was kicked too, or Jaskier assumed by the sound at least.

Jaskier ignored the sting in his mouth in favor of seeing another Elf becoming quite too friendly with his lute. His delicate little lute in the hands of someone else. He hated it. That nobody Elf has the most power in the room just by holding his lute and playing a few strings.

Jaskier felt shackled, not by the ropes on his wrists. A wave of nausea passed over him. He wouldn’t go back. He wouldn’t. Not after all the stupid travels, all the weird meals, strange places he’s slept, all the people, and not after destiny handed him responsibility for the first time.

“Oi, that’s my lute. Give it back. Quick, Geralt, do your-your witchering-”

Geralt’s voice boomed behind him, “Shut up!”

“No-” Jaskier almost went into a spiel about how that lute was not just an instrument but the Elf kicked Geralt again. It sounded more painful than the last.

“You shut up!”

“Oh, my Elder speech is rough. I only got part of that.” He was really just being a prick but hey, gotta take gratification wherever you can get it.

“Humans, shut up,” in the common tongue now?

“Ah, got it, thanks so much,” Maybe Jaskier could make them make a wish in Elder and Geralt wouldn’t know. Does Geralt know the Elvish tongue? Witcher’s are old… He would need coin anywhere and sometimes folks have never heard the common tongue. Not as common as it may seem. Who was he kidding, of course, Geralt would know Elder or some at least.

“Do you want to die right now?”

“As opposed to later?” Geralt rasped.

Jaskier wasn’t paying attention anymore, he just saw the other Elf playing roughly with his lute, “No, please, not the lute-” He could feel it getting strum as well as the kick to the chest.

“Leave off! He’s just a bard,” Geralt’s voice rang in the background and Jaskier was flattered for half of a second. The strings were calling to Jaskier, that’s all he could feel. The wood was screaming and it was burning a hole in him.

A punch in the face for Geralt, “You don’t deserve the air you breathe,” another punch in the face for Geralt, “Everything you touch you destroy,” by the gods, he was feeling bad for the Witcher hearing another two hits, the second sounding like a knee to the nose based on the squelch and groan.

The Elf messing with his lute is about to try breaking it over his knee. Jaskier eyes flared for only a moment and he turned away. Leave off. Leave off, yes, that’s what Geralt said. It wasn’t a wish per se but it was said pointedly. And that’s all Jaskier needed to spare them a few more minutes. Weak wish. Weak outcome. But it’d work. And Geralt needn’t know it was him. After all, Elves have magic. It wouldn’t be weird for the tunnels of elves to have some magic flowing through them.

The Elf dropped the lute to the side, more like threw it, but it was safe, for now, and the Elf stopped beating Geralt.

He was self-satisfied for that clever move, apparently enough to sass them, “You hide in your golden palaces,” And maybe callout the abuse Geralt undertook, “You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!” Because, really, beating the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia when he’s restrained? Cowardice and he would know, that’s his forte.

“Do you like my palace? Hmm?” She knelt in front of Geralt, “Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?”

Geralt landed a hit onto her nose with his forehead and she tumbled back landing on her rear.

Jaskier laughed. The irony of it all. They weren’t even human, that deserves a chuckle, “Yeah, take that, pointy.”

She turned, coughing out a lung. She kept wheezing.

“Wait, what’s-what’s wrong with her?” He turned to Geralt as if he’d get an explanation there.

“She’s sick,” Another Elf enters the scene, blond, messy hair but it suits him.

“Oh, and who is this?”

Torque the Sylvan was behind the Elf, “He’s Filavandrel, King of the Elves.”

Jaskier would be lying if he said he wasn’t salty about the cannonball to the forehead but he’d let it slide, for now, knowing they still had to escape.

“Not a king. Not by choice.” Ah, so Filavandrel is a self-sacrificer, makes sense.

Geralt’s voice shook him out of his thoughts, “You were stealing for them.”

“I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna.”

Jaskier knew something was off about the stories the humans told, people, of any race, don’t willingly leave their home when everything is tied to it. He wanted the whole story, “Forced out? No, they chose-?”

“Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve?” Uh yeah. Me. Though, I can’t exactly say starving. “To have a Sylvan steal for them?”

The Elves' attention went to the coughing, sadistic, Elf, “Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt.”

Toruviel sighed, “What’s two humans in the ground when countless elves have died?”

Cause we’re not human. And had nothing to do with any of that steaming pile. Honestly, a fourth of Jaskier’s problems stemmed from people blaming him for their past mistakes. Sleep with a man’s wife? Oh yes, kill the man who dares defile your beauty while ignoring that it was completely consensual and not like she wants nothing to do with your ass anymore. They’ll ignore that bit. Ugh. It’s always the same. New shit and new pile, but it’s always the same damn animal.

“One human… and you can let him go.”

Flattered. Offended at being called a human in this situation but flattered that Geralt wouldn’t let Jaskier die with him. Funny how Geralt could be more considerate than destiny.

“Then Posada will learn that we’ve been stealing… The humans will attack. Many will die… on both sides.”

Eh, yeah, yeah, the king has definitely got a point.

“The lesser evil,” yeah the whole witchers don’t have emotions is a load of bullshit. There’s no way he’s saying that without some weight to it, “No matter what you choose, you’ll come bloody and hating yourself. Trust me.”

“Well, that’s the problem. I can’t. This is necessary.”

“I understand. As long as you understand… that it won’t be long before you follow me in death.”

“Yes, because they pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted, synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic.”

There was no way Filavandrel could tell the magic in the room was off because of him… Well, yeah, it was possible but unlikely. And ignoring the whole synthetically enhanced magic existential crisis going on, Geralt was doing something, and it wasn’t the Witcher way.

“Chaos is the same as it’s always been. Humans just adapted better.”

“You say adapt, and I say destroy.”

“You are choosing to starve. You’re cutting off your ear to spite your face.”

“You think this is about pride? My elders worked with humans and got and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. The “Great Cleansing” humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved.”

Jaskier has heard enough. He already had a difficult time with humans but this just makes him hate them more. How was he supposed to drink a good ale or lay with anyone knowing all the luxuries that humans had came from the deaths of Elves, and that was a certainty. He could go on knowing that the people he encountered recently most likely had nothing to do with it. This happened so long ago… ish. He can’t blame the sins of the parents on the children. And for now, that’s how he would justify it.

Jaskier ignored the rest of what he said. It was all the same anyway. Genocide is usually like that for humans. He was grateful no one had ever commanded a wish like that before. He’s sure other djinns have and have done what was demanded. Jaskier didn’t like thinking about other djinns. What it meant for them to exist. What it meant for all of them to serve a master without being anything else but a supplier for the desires of others. He hopes he never runs into one.

“Then go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more than what they fear you to be.”

“Like you, Witcher?”

“I have learned to live with them. So that I may live.”

Is that why destiny brought them here? So Jaskier could see Geralt. This is why he’s following Geralt. Obviously there’s more, but if his interest was piqued before then the whole dam was falling apart and he had to learn this enigma.

Toruviel was going on about starting a war and Filavandrel must have been preparing to kill them because Torque tried to stop him, “The Witcher could have killed me. But he didn’t. He’s different. Like us.”

“If you must kill me… I am ready. But the Sylvan’s right. Don’t call me human.”

Jaskier wished he had a better view of this. There the Witcher said that he was ready to die and Jaskier could only hear it. What kind of faces were the Elves making, Geralt? Or even Jaskier, he’d like a mirror to be able to tell right now.

He felt the binds on his wrists give out. He wasn’t paying attention again. He practically missed how they escaped. It was like he only heard Geralt’s lines near the end.

He rubbed at the bruises forming.

“You’re letting them leave?!”

“Toruviel, we can’t stay here and we can’t fight. We need a new home. It’s time to say goodbye to Dol Blathanna… Torque, take Toruviel to rest.”

Toruviel wiped at the leftover blood dripping from her nose but went without another word but her glare spoke to move mountains.

Once Geralt was standing, he pulled out a pouch. Jaskier recognized it to be the bag the young man from the tavern gave him. A hundred and fifty ducats. Geralt handed it to Filavandrel, no hesitation.

“What’s this?”

“Something to start new with. It’s not much, but it should do for a start.”

Filavandrel felt the weight in his hands and smiled, “Thank you. May we meet again.”

“For your own interest, I hope we don’t.”

The smile didn’t leave Filavandrel. He nodded. He turned and walked a few steps and saw the discarded lute. He picked it up and observed it, “I assume this is yours.”

Jaskier knew he was addressing him, “Yeah.” Lame answer.

“I apologize on behalf of my men for the damages then. Would you like mine as a replacement. I’m afraid it hasn’t gotten much use here. I doubt it will for a long while.”

“I… I’m grateful.” Honored, really, “but that has been with me since the beginning, sentimental value, and it’s not damaged much. It’s taken quite the beating over the years so my confidence in it won’t waver for a while longer,” Jaskier walked over and Filavandrel handed it to him, “But I do thank you for the offer.” There was also the whole, can't be apart from it without a master but semantics. The king was a good man.

“It is quite lovely, the carvings are exquisite.”

“Thank you…” Jaskier didn’t know if he wanted to do this, “I think yours will have used strings again. It should. It’s not too late to wear them down. Music has a way of inspiring hope in people.”

“It does. I want hope to be enough.”

“Do you wish for your people to be well off and well-fed and safe?”

“Of course I do. I can only wish for the safety and betterment of my people,” Filavandrel shook his head.

“Then that you will get,” Jaskier smiled, “They’re lucky to have such a kind and honest leader, even if it isn’t by choice to have taken that role. I think you'll do better than ever, in fact, I know it.”

He nodded, “By the good graces may you be right... You may be on your way. Good luck with your travels.” He led Geralt and Jaskier out of the tunnels and to Roach who seemed excited to see Geralt again and the same with Geralt to it.

“One can only wish,” Jaskier grinned.

Chapter Text

Geralt climbed onto his horse and Jaskier followed as Geralt led the way. He’d let Geralt have the first thirty minutes of silence okay maybe just twenty. The Witcher did get them out of that mess. He also did it in a way Jaskier was not expecting which was to be unpacked later.

Speaking of things to be unpacked later though. Jaskier pulled a stone bread from his trousers. He’d forgotten about them this whole time. He took half a bite before tossing it behind him.

Roach huffed and they were all off. Jaskier tried to let it be, he really did. It was like a reward to Geralt or something to shut the fuck up but he had to ask.

“Now I know the rules, no touching Roach, no question there, obviously, but uh, I was wondering about the name. I have been since the stables and it’s… it’s unique. I just can’t imagine how someone would name their horse that. There must be a story there,” Jaskier kicked at a rock. It would have been easier to stay quiet if the bread wasn’t harder than his teeth.

“No.”

“Come on, you’re a walking story and we gotta spend the time somehow… Three words.”

The Witcher grunted, “Not a story.”

By the gods, destiny knows Jaskier needs company, why was it killing him slowly? If it wanted him dead then he could have had his throat slit by the Elves, he could go back and ask for it and they would say more than a grunt when they did it. It was tempting based on this conversation, “Fine, what about your other horses? Surely you had others. I can’t imagine a witcher walking from place to place. So what were their names?”

“Roach.”

“You… you named all your horses… Roach? Why?”

Geralt didn’t respond.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. You will eventually and fortunately for you I have quite a lot of patience.” Jaskier swears he hears the Witcher scoff but it doesn’t deter him. He has a lot of time on his hands and so does this witcher, “We’ll have all the time in the world. We’ll prattle and babble and all the things you seem to be absolutely averse to or maybe it'll just be me chatting away, well, I can handle that for two, wouldn’t you say? I think so.”

Geralt didn’t say anything but that wasn’t a surprise.

“I would say our esteemed lady thinks so, or at least I assume Roach is… Well, you would have corrected me if I was wrong as you did with the whole Not a Story thing. Ah, an explanation then, I know there’s a reason, but I also know it’s not for today.”

“Hmm.”

I hope I get used to that because I don’t know what the hell it means.

“No more about Roach then, she seems too distressed over the whole ordeal for telling tales anyways… would you care to give one, Geralt?” Jaskier knew the answer without having to ask. He just wanted to see how accurate it was to his already played out “memory.”

“Not really.”

“What a shame. I know, the whole event left me frazzled too, take your time,” Jaskier teased.

The Witcher glared at him from atop his horse.

Jaskier pointedly ignored it, “They were kind. Well, obviously not at the beginning but Filavandrel… I think he’s a good person and a good king… And that Torque… The Sylvan, he persuaded Filavandrel to spare us. Though I know that’s because you spared him first despite the hair-ripping thing, I think that was very generous of you.” And noble. And the whole snowman joke was hilarious. But Jaskier didn’t say that. He was punched in the gut by a witcher once and beaten by Elves all in one day, he did not need a witcher’s punch to the face as well.

“You were awake.”

Jaskier couldn’t tell if that was a question or not but he answered it like one regardless, “Yeah, I don’t know how much time passed but you threw the Sylvan and then pinned it which was pretty badass…” Jaskier realized that Geralt wasn’t asking about that, “I didn’t even see the Elf, uh what was her name? Toruviel, yeah, I didn’t see her coming.” I didn’t warn you, because I couldn’t warn you.

“Hmm.”

Was that a satisfied hmm or a dissatisfied hmm? Jaskier supposes this will be one of the joys of knowing Geralt of Rivia… Knowing each meaning for every Hmm. Great. How grand. The one language he can’t speak. This is what non-polyglots must feel like. How annoying. He’d like to return his destiny, please.

“Well, we aren’t dead and isn’t that fun? I’m having fun. I can’t even feel the blisters on my feet or the sun melting me and I call that an absolute win,” Being optimistic is proving to be a little difficult but hey, people like happy people. But Jaskier is starting to think that by trying to categorize the Witcher into being like other people is a giant mistake.

Jaskier didn’t want to be cynical, too much of that going around. Can’t exactly be optimistic either though… Jaskier is a positive person, not a stupid one.

“Credit where credit is due. That whole reverse-psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way.” Because Jaskier was a denier as well as a poet. It comes with the job description. He doesn’t want destiny to be the only thing keeping Geralt alive because that would not mean well for whatever adventures come next, not for Jaskier at least.

Destiny is rarely on a side where you’re not being torn to shreds. Destiny is trying to give more for Geralt to work with. A companion to travel with is not the only thing destiny is giving Geralt because then it could have been anyone but it was Jaskier that destiny chose to be by his side. Jaskier is made of magic. A type of magic that can do the impossible if merely asked. This was on purpose. He was meant to help Geralt. He didn’t know how but that was his task now. And besides, as far as horrible companions go, at least Geralt was a noble son of a bitch. It makes it easier to grant wishes, not physically, just mentally.

Geralt is pretty dramatic at times, but Jaskier won’t judge there. He’s always been a fan of flare and theatrics. Life's a stage and I’m about to break some legs. He didn’t miss Geralt’s little show back there, “Kill me, I’m ready,” he imitated the Witcher and got Geralt to even turn from his horse to look at him for that. Jaskier struggled to hold back a smile. He’d get used to the glares.

The wound on Geralt's forehead and cheek weren’t bleeding, so that was good. He wondered if his stopped, probably not.

“So that’s the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly’s coin to the Elves,” Jaskier knew what happened. He was there. But he wanted to hear it from Geralt. The Witcher who had no coins when he took on this mission and still gave it all away for nothing in return.

“Your lute not being torn to shreds not gift enough to you?”

Jaskier instinctively grabbed at his lute hanging on his back. Still there, “Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn’t she?” He was smug about that but he wasn’t going to let Geralt think he didn’t care about what just happened. “I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again. Be reborn.” Jaskier knows the wish will work. It has to and it’s a weird feeling having so much more at stake than gold and fame for a wish.

“Will the Elf king heed what the Witcher entreats?” He sang, “Or is history a wheel doomed to repeat?” Jaskier really hopes the Elves on the mountainside will do well, “No, that’s… that’s shit.”

He was in the middle of a line in his head when Geralt interrupted, “This is where we part ways, bard, for good.” Ha! Repeat that one again, cause that was the Witcher’s funniest joke yet!

“Look, I promised to change the public’s tune about you. At least allow me to try.” And Jaskier, honestly, wanted to do that. He could sing, he could play, he could write. He had to keep the audience in mind but he’d make life just a little bit easier for the Witcher and by default himself.

Jaskier pulled lute to be in his arms and strummed a few chords that he found that he liked. He began a song. He felt that it was simple but well, the people listening would be simple. The people listening would also hang Jaskier from a tree by his feet and leave him there if he sang about how kind and gracious the Elven King was. He knows his crowd. He knows he wants to have a decent meal and wants Geralt to get a decent meal after that whole mess. So what if he has to write a slightly racist song for it? “He can’t be bleat.” He was proud of that little pun.

“That’s not how it happened,” Geralt’s horse came to a stop.

Geralt seemed upset and he was when Jaskier looked up at him. He admired Geralt a little bit more for saying it. Jaskier knows the song is a lie. But it has to be. The people didn’t see what Jaskier saw and there was no way to put that in a song that people would care about. People don’t care if the Witcher is noble, kind, honest and above all else fair. They want to know how many Elves he can take down with his swords. Jaskier doesn’t need to see Geralt wield them to know he can use them so he sang it anyway. “Where’s your newfound respect?” Geralt genuinely sounded as distressed as Geralt could get about a song.

How does Jaskier explain that? He doesn’t. He briefly smiled at Geralt’s reaction. He would store it for later, “Respect doesn’t make history.”

Jaskier continued playing and created the chorus from it. Something that would get them paid is what Jaskier had in mind. He was walking away from the Witcher, but he and his horse can catch up while Jaskier tries not to think about the disappointment Geralt’s face is giving. He had to try very hard not to look back at Geralt for a few lines. The “Our Champion prevailed” was his favorite line but he could admit it was a bit overkill. At least they wouldn’t starve. Yeah, that was the excuse for that line.

He walked down the path and smiled as he felt Geralt and Roach begin walking again from behind. They would make it back to Posada and collect the coin, get a meal and Jaskier would follow the Witcher from there. Writing captivating songs for a guy whose whole life was to slaughter monsters and he was super knightly, well, it wasn’t going to be hard. It couldn’t get more interesting than that.

Jaskier was excited now. He could imagine the songs writing themselves. Well, not literally, he didn’t have that power.

Jaskier spent the majority of the time getting back to Posada practicing the new song he’d made, perfecting it. Adding a lyric or two to make Geralt’s “fight” sound less one-sided because he did get kicked in the chest but still took it in stride.

The Witcher looked very tired of it by that point. Jaskier almost apologized for it. Almost. He was still upset about the gut-punch so he’d take this as his final act of vengeance for it.

The Tavern was exactly the same as they left it. The dusty corner he’d been singing in still had bread on the floor. Which reminded him of the second bread he left in his trousers. He’d take care of it later.

The young man wasn’t in the tavern anymore from the glance Jaskier gave. He had to be in town, obviously. Geralt went to the bar to ask the man where the young boy, Nettly, had gone.

“I served you once, Witcher. You’re scaring the guests, I want you out.”

Jaskier stepped in, “Good Fellow, we’re just looking for a young chap, Nettly was his name, I believe.”

“You, bard,” The man’s face took an even more stern turn than it had for Geralt, “I hired you to be singing and you couldn’t even do that. You didn’t give what was promised. Though I’m sure you sang just fine at that brothel. ”

Jaskier was going to grind his teeth with the smile he forced on his face, “I did exactly what was promised to you, good sir. Two hours, in fact. There’s only one of us who didn’t respect the deal. You still owe me an ale, I made folks drink and be merry.” Jaskier was reminded that the shadow next to him was Geralt and felt some shame, “But seeing as that was in the past, all can be forgiven if you could give us directions to where Nettly is.”

The man looked from him to Geralt, “He’s been coming back every hour looking for a witcher. He’ll be back.”

Geralt grunted and walked away to an available table near the door while Jaskier thanked the cheapskate, the absolute fucking bastard. Embarrassed him in front of the Witcher… He could do that by himself just fine thank you very much.

“He’s as unpleasant as the first time, just plain awful. Hopefully Nettly will be through the door any second now and we’ll be on our way.” Jaskier licked his lips. He was thirsty. Well, he was always thirsty but that wasn’t what he needed right now, “You're probably parched, do you want an ale?”

“No coin,” Geralt leaned back in his chair.

“Ah, yes, that is a problem, but do you want an ale?” Please say something.

Geralt rolled his eyes, “You didn’t get anything for singing, getting rid of a pest won’t get me anything either.”

“Perhaps, but do you want one?” Jaskier stared at the table. He was pushing this.

“Ale and some peace.”

Combined wishes should be illegal but fine. Jaskier looked up and grinned.

A barmaid was passing by and set down two ales before rushing to the next table. Geralt looked blankly at the ale in front of him and Jaskier.

Jaskier didn’t waste time. He sipped away and ignored the way Geralt held the pendant around his neck. Jaskier nodded his head at the ale for Geralt to have some. The Witcher glared at the drink but resigned due to his own dehydration.

“We don’t have the coin.” Geralt said as he finished downing his.

Jaskier shrugged, taking another gulp.

They sat, both silent and waited.

Jaskier tried talking on multiple instances but the wish apparently thought Geralt needed some more silence which, fine, whatever. Not like he had much to say…

Two more seconds passed. This was annoying. Combination wishes normally couldn’t be answered but if they were both simple and said right then they both could and had to be answered as one. Who made these rules? Jaskier is not appreciating them.

Jaskier sighed into the empty cup. If Nettly didn’t show up soon-

Geralt’s shoulders shot up and Jaskier knew he was here.

The Witcher wasted no time making his way to him and Jaskier trailed behind.

“You’re here. Did you do it? Is the devil gone?” He still sounded as anxious as Jaskier remembered.

Geralt nodded once, “Gone.”

The tension that was a defining characteristic of the man’s shoulders disappeared, “Thank you, Witcher.” He messed with something at his side and then handed a pouch to Geralt. The rest of the pay, Jaskier assumed.

Geralt didn’t say anything else as he left the tavern. Apparently a meal was never a part of the plan but Jaskier would manage as he always did.

The Witcher climbed Roach and they were on the road again.

“Whoa, already at it are we? I appreciate that we’re out getting new material but I haven’t even gotten my song out here. I guess the next town is as good as any, but still.” Oh, finally! Jaskier was fearing the wish would make him never speak in front of Geralt again. He felt so restricted. So bottled up and he hated that. Ha, bottled. He’d have to use that out loud at some point.

“You don’t have to follow me.”

Wrong. “And let go of walking inspiration? I don’t think so. Besides, the song I have is meant to get you better pay and that can’t exactly happen without you.”

Geralt sighed, “Found your voice, have you?”

“Yes actually. The ale was a good break but it’s time for adventures. No longer so bottled up like before.” He loves a good pun, “The continent is so vast and I haven’t seen all of it. Even the bad bits have to have some good.”

“They don’t.”

“That’s because you weren’t looking.” But now I’m here, “But I’m a bard, I’m supposed to see what others can’t. Which is why everyone will know what Geralt of Rivia has done for the great continent.” And thank you for it. Because that’s my destiny.

Chapter Text

Now, Jaskier wasn’t clueless about the world. He didn’t like to think so. He understood the world of humans and even some about the world of monsters on account of him being… Well, the point was that he knew a great deal but Jaskier could still be shocked about the world. There’s a lot to learn, as always. He resigned himself to not being able to know monsters as well as a witcher but that should have been expected. Living as a human for decades means that you’ll begin thinking like them. Can’t help it.

All the fun spinnings that he knew were false about certain creatures were almost lost to him. It’s not that he forgot all he knew, just that it had been waved to the side. He got plenty of reminders, none of which were friendly.

Geralt had even hit him behind the head for trying to remember what he knew about sirens. He had referred to them as mermaids. In retrospect, Jaskier didn’t think the hit was nearly as hard as it could have been and felt strangely proud about being hit upside the head.

It had only been a few weeks but Jaskier felt that he learned so much.

They encountered many things. Mainly Geralt encountered those things, of course, but Jaskier did always feel inclined to follow. Vampires were much more disturbing and Mulas apparently were different subspecies. And don’t get Jaskier started on Nosferats. Paler than regular and somewhat prettier but that’s beside the point. Fleders were what Jaskier would say were the absolute worst. Now those looked like actual demons with the whole skin lacking life, horns coming out the sides of its head, and glowing red eyes going. Geralt said they were weaker than other types of vampires but that didn’t make Jaskier feel better after being chased around a graveyard by one.

“Were you using me as bait?”

Geralt ripped the final thread like tendons holding its head to its body, “I told you to stay at the tavern.”

“And I told you I’d do that when you gave actual descriptions of what happened for stories and no Geralt, saying I killed it does not count,” Jaskier leaned back on a gravestone, panting, “Now I know, firsthand, how terrifying it was. I mean it just jumped out like its legs were made of oak…”

Geralt rolled his eyes, “It was a lesser Vampire. Hardly a tale to tell.”

Jaskier strummed, “Then I won’t mention that,” he pushed himself to stand up properly, “You fought a different vampire awhile ago, I’ll just combine the two.”

Geralt scowled at that.

“Oh, oh, well, I’m so sorry you didn’t give proper details to make each one get their own song, Witcher. I’ll keep that in mind next time. I’ll just know everything that happens when I sit, waiting for you to come back.”

Geralt elected to remain silent. He climbed on Roach, the two Fleders heads tied to her and began riding.

“Regardless though, I feel accomplished. I helped a witcher defeat the monsters.”

“You got in the way.”

“I distracted them,” Jaskier corrected. How was he supposed to know Geralt had it under control, it looked like they were eating him. So what if Jaskier happened to pick up a rock and throw it at the Fleders… And so what if the Fleders decided to start chasing him. And so what if he really was a hair thread away from death before Geralt chopped one's head with his massive sword that could easily make him into a tossed salad… ha, nice. All part of the plan…

“You almost got yourself killed.”

Jaskier sighed, “And you valiantly saved me. This must be the third time this week, so thank you, my dear respectable witcher.”

“Don’t.”

Right. No thanking the Witcher for some reason. “Why not? I don’t understand that. You did good. Now people can visit their loved ones in peace again, I’m not dead, and those people won’t meet an early demise as well. Seems like the world owes you some gratitude.”

“It owes me coin.”

“And a touch of thanks is always splendid. I always appreciate it.” The path back to the town was rocky, Jaskier tripped a few times.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier sighed again, very audibly, he never was one for being subtle, “I think this song could end up being a crowd favorite, I can feel it.” Jaskier buzzed with some excitement. When he started getting excited about writing Geralt’s songs he didn't know, but it was a thing that was happening now, “Just think, one of the lyrics to this one will be the Vampiress bled as white as a sheet, and yet her dead heart did beat. See? Already started. I’m not so sure how to write about these… Fleders, but I’m sure it’ll come to me.”

Geralt winced at something and Jaskier doubted it had to do with the song.

“Geralt? Did it get you? Oh, gods, it got you didn’t it? Do any of your witcher potions have something for that?”

“It didn’t get me.”

Jaskier looked closer. It was dark out, vampires… hunting at night, so Jaskier squinted up at Geralt’s back, “But Geralt, you’re bleeding!” Jaskier didn’t think the fight was that bad.

Sure, Geralt was on the ground at one point and then thrown onto a tree and Jaskier interrupted, “Got a problem?” But Geralt said “The bastard won’t get off” to which Jaskier twisted into a wish that gave him a minute to get back on his feet.

“Tree. It threw me at a tree…”

Ah, that must not have been fun, claws and tree bark, “I might have something for it… back at the inn if you want?”

“What would you have?” Geralt’s tone suggested Jaskier was lying, which he was but not if Geralt said he wanted it.

He wouldn’t take the bait, “Well, damn, Geralt, I don’t know, just thought I might have something you might want for that. Might make it hurt less and heal better,” Jaskier vaguely gestured at Geralt.

“Fine.”

Thank you! See, was that so hard, Geralt? “Well, good, then. I’m sure it’ll soothe you if nothing else.”

Geralt grunted something but it was too quiet for Jaskier to catch, though he’s sure he interpreted it correctly, “Soothing teas don’t do anything.”

“Well then, maybe it’ll be unlike any you’ve ever tried. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be a cure-all and be the antidote to your sense of humor…” Jaskier looked up at Geralt who only moved because of Roach, “Or maybe it’ll turn you into a lizard. That’d be interesting. A lizard witcher. A witcher lizard. Though I doubt it’d do wonders for your business. How would you even hold the coin you receive? How would you hold your sword?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt didn’t look away from the path.

“Yeah.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine. But only because you saved me again and only for five minutes,” Jaskier pulled the lute from his back again, “And you never said anything against some music for the road. Merely something to pass the time.”

Jaskier watched Geralt carefully while he strummed something new. He really hoped that the wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been and if it was… well, Jaskier made Geralt wish for something to help.

Surprisingly, Jaskier held his tongue all the way back to town and even let the music be the only noise in the empty night town. Not because he didn’t have a way to fill that silence with ways to pester the Witcher but he was overthinking and besides… the crickets had a song to be heard.

The moon was nice, It wasn’t a full moon to guide their way but it would be one soon. The moon will visit you soon and when it does I’ll bring you a tune that’ll make you swoon. Jaskier smiled at the childish rhyme.

Jaskier was too lost in thought to notice that they were at the stables the inn had to offer.

He missed a chord, “Wait. Weren’t we supposed to deliver…” Jaskier motioned at the disgusting, bleeding, absolutely revolting, seriously they won’t stop looking at him, heads tied to the side of Roach.

“Tomorrow.”

Jaskier gasped, “And leave this poor dear with the reeking things? You can’t. You wouldn’t. I know for a fact that you’re not that cruel.”

“She’s dealt with worse,” Geralt said while he undid her saddle and patted her down.

“That’s not reassuring.” He would have pet Roach, for comfort. Comforting a horse. What has he come to? Anyways, petting Roach, not happening. He would. But she’s as stubborn and resolute as her master. He probably needed to warm up to her rider if he wanted to warm up to her. Which Jaskier did not have a solution to… yet, “I’ll get her oats in the morning to make up for this tribulation. Maybe some kind of bright fruit if they have anything fresh.” Jaskier most certainly meant it.

Jaskier swears he heard something that resembled a snort come from Geralt. He cataloged it as another noise to translate from the Witcher. Jaskier speaks many languages, but this isn’t one of them. He would assume it was a good noise.

Jaskier clapped, “I’m so glad we decided to stay under a roof this time. As gorgeous as that half-moon is, I don’t think I could handle sleeping outside, at least for tonight.”

Geralt finished up with Roach, Jaskier waved goodbye, and they walked towards the inn.

“It’ll be warm and the beds may have hay poking but it’ll be very welcome because it’ll be warm.” Did he mention it’d be warm?

“Hmm.”

Yes, Jaskier, it’ll be a nice comfort after the past weeks we’ve had nothing but dirt and rock as our pillows. Well, someone had to translate the Witcher language. Were all witchers like this? Or was this just a charm of Geralt? He’d have to ask later.

Nevermind, entering the inn was glorious. For one, it didn’t smell of Fleder blood, other than Geralt, but that could be forgiven, it was so much cozier inside, and thirdly, it was away from the graveyard and had actual light. Jaskier reveled in it if only for three seconds until the innkeeper gave them a look of disgust from his desk, mainly at Geralt for bleeding all over the floor.

“Hello! We’re back,” Jaskier beamed at the old man, “Well, Goodnight, good sir. See you in the morning.” That felt awkward.

Geralt shuffled passed to their room with Jaskier taking a while longer to inspect the wound before they made it inside. It didn’t look as bad as before or maybe Jaskier was just exaggerating it in his head. Witchers did bleed slower. That was something Geralt explained to him. More like said, “Witchers don’t bleed as fast as humans,” after he had been stabbed in the arm by the Vampiress. Jaskier almost thought he had meant witchers didn’t have blood.

Needless to say, Jaskier was totally calm and collected as he screamed for Geralt to get to a healer as fast as possible and trying to get Geralt to make wishes in those… well, it’s all a blur now… Frankly, it was time to move on… Witchers bleed slower, lesson learned. They didn’t talk about that little freak-out moment.

Geralt wasted no time throwing the armor to the side and his tunic was bled through on the back. Jaskier winced at the sight. It was more than what he last assumed in the hallway. Maybe he was right at the graveyard to be more concerned.

“You said you had an ointment?” Jaskier barely heard Geralt mutter under his breath while he threw the soiled shirt with the armor.

Jaskier perked up, “Right! Yes, yes, I do have… a thing.” Jaskier ran over, searching his bag. Whatever was wished had to be in his bag. His eyes looked over the few things he had until they landed on a strange round but flat container. This certainly was not in his bag this morning… or ever for that matter so he assumed this was it.

He opened and took a deep breath.

“Is that honey?”

Geralt was right, it smelled like honey… Honey and grass, “I’m not entirely sure but yes. It has a few other things too,” Geralt gave him a skeptical look, “Hey, hey, I was told it would help fix up any scratch or cuts that… someone would encounter? Just let me apply it, Witcher”

Another grunt but Geralt sat at the edge of his bed, hunched over.

Jaskier closed the container so that he could bring out some of his water to clean out what he could of the wound then did he return to the surprise case. He played with the honey-like cold substance before deciding to trust his magic and let the gunk do its work and actually started applying it.

Geralt didn’t so much as flinch.

“I’m sorry if it’s cold… or if it stings,” Jaskier tried being gentle.

“It’s fine.”

“Still…” Jaskier spread it over the gash that made him grimace at it and the memory of Geralt being flung like a ragdoll, “If it feels wrong then tell me and I’ll get it off. I’ll just wash it right off like it was never there.”

Geralt made a sound that resembled an acknowledgment and that was good enough for Jaskier to continue.

“I’m not sure how long it needs to stay on, no instructions, you see, I think we should just leave it on for the night, let it soak or whatever,” Jaskier was done but decided on another layer, “It’d help to wear a shirt so it won’t rub off when you sleep, I’ll try cleaning out your shirt. The blood’s fresh, it shouldn’t be that hard to clean… I’ll get some soap from the innkeeper.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Jaskier lightly slapped his shoulder, “It is! Because what would be the point of this… what even is this stuff,” Jaskier messed with it between his fingers, letting it be squished, “Well, it shouldn’t be wasted due to sheets getting it the way.”

“I’ll sleep on my stomach.”

“And I’ll still clean your shirt, but fine, I am pretty tired. We can do all that tomorrow.” Jaskier smeared the rest that was on his hands-on whatever else looked like it could use it. Nothing else was as bad as the slash going along his back but there were still nicks and scapes.

The Witcher pushed himself up while Jaskier put the container away, it had some left, whatever it was. He picked up Geralt’s shirt and headed towards the door. The blood was fresh, which could be mostly washed out if he took care of it, he’ll do the rest later.

He didn’t even have his hand on the door. “What are you doing?”

“Minding my own business,” Jaskier grinned, “I’ll take care of the lights, I’ll be back real soon so don’t mind me.”

He was out before Geralt could say anything, not that he would.

The innkeeper was so much more amenable without Geralt covered in blood there. He even got a wish out of the innkeeper, the business would flourish for the next few years. Lovely.

Jaskier borrowed their pail and went to scrubbing. Doing things was easier without Geralt to question how it was done. Sure, Jaskier was still scrubbing but the tunic was so much cleaner than if he didn’t use any of his other abilities.

He sighed. These weeks have been harder. Not that he always relied on magic but it sure made things easier for the little things. He signed up for having a harder time listening to destiny but really, what else was he supposed to do? Besides, the Witcher wasn’t all bad. Sure he was kinda grumpy every day, all the time, but that’s the Geralt charm. He was also good. He really was.

Just last week there was a flyer to get rid of a creature that had been causing trouble and when Geralt asked about the creature the alderman said nothing but promising coin for Geralt if he killed it. The creature was a doppler. It wasn’t hurting anyone, just making life inconvenient for townsfolk. Geralt let the doppler go, telling it that it couldn’t return.

The people wanted to kill the creature for mischief and Geralt wouldn’t do it. He told Jaskier that dopplers weren’t evil. They were like people. Some good, some bad. Jaskier knew that. He knew about dopplers, he knew they were generally peaceful unless messed with, that was pretty human if you asked Jaskier. He let Geralt tell him, it was nice to hear what Geralt thought of it all. Jaskier promised to write a secret song for that one.

Back to Geralt though. He was kind, merciful, and just. It made Jaskier question why witchers were so hated when they saved people all the time. If Geralt represents other witchers then they should be praised and beloved. Sure, they were different, Geralt wasn’t like the average human by any means relating to social relations or in looks but he was awkward at times, wanting to do the right thing, and caring for the things he loves. Roach shows that plainly. Witchers having no emotions is a myth meant to dehumanize them.

Jaskier had thoroughly irritated himself which was good for cleaning the shirt roughly but bad for when he had to go back acting like everything was fine. It wasn’t. Geralt’s life was unfair and Jaskier was angry about it for the Witcher.

What wish would he have to answer to make it all better? Could he? Too bad that even if there was a perfect wish, Geralt wouldn’t make it. Even if he knew about Jaskier, even if it would solve all his problems, even if he would be happier. He wouldn’t do it because Geralt of Rivia believes that a witcher is the only thing he can be, and ever will be.

Great. Now Jaskier was pissed.

At least the shirt was clean, it was also dark so if there was a bloodstain it wouldn’t be too noticeable. Jaskier took several breaths and convinced himself he was being ridiculous for getting angry for Geralt of Rivia. He rung out the shirt and decided he would let it hang inside to dry. Yeah, good plan. Great plan, he was such a good friend.

Geralt’s shirt was clean, his back should be healing with the honey stuff, and they would both get some well-needed rest after killing those Fleders. It was a good day. Well, not really, but good things happened so it wasn’t terrible and that’s really all Jaskier could ask for.

Now, he had a shirt to dry, a witcher to check on, and a bed to sleep in and he would enjoy the poking hay pillows.

Chapter Text

Jaskier wasn’t with Geralt of Rivia.

There was a reason, of course, but after just a few weeks of constantly being around him, it felt weird to be away.

He didn’t want to go against Destiny but maybe that is actually what she wanted because why had she put a very powerful mage into the tavern they were entering. Jaskier could feel the magic coming off of this person and it felt wrong. It felt like the floors were swaying and that there were pins pricking him all over his body. He could barely stay for a drink before saying he would go out for some fresh air and just left town. He had to be as far away from the stinging feeling as he could possibly be.

He hadn’t meant to abandon Geralt like that. He would find him again and it would be fine but still. He should work on his excuses. He should work on what he’d tell Geralt when they saw each other again. Ah, fuck.

Jaskier hates mages. They’re greedy and abuse any power they can get their hands on and that has been true to every single mage Jaskier has ever seen. This one made him abandon his Witcher. Not fair. Maybe he was being unfair, but he doesn’t care.

Geralt would be fine obviously, but Jaskier could still make things better by just being by his side. Geralt wasn’t in danger but that didn’t mean Jaskier wasn’t worrying about him.

Jaskier was missing out on whatever Geralt was doing. He was missing out on how the wound that he was taking care of was doing, which by the way healed unbelievably fast. The small scratches were gone and the rather large one was scarred over. Jaskier had said that he was impressed by the Witcher’s ability to heal but he knew that he played a role in that.

Moving passed Geralt’s injuries Jaskier was disappointed in himself.

The one time Destiny hands me responsibility. He felt like a child who had been given an easy task and yet still fucked it all up. He loathes himself.

What was he even doing right now? No, really, where was he? Gone for an hour and that turned into days. He was lost on the road for… he doesn’t even know how long it’s been. That’s embarrassing. He would tell Geralt he ran into a friend then was taken to the next town and that he performed there for a while. Yeah, that would be good enough. It’s not like Geralt would care anyways. Maybe he doesn’t have to say anything. Jaskier already feels awful about not telling Geralt anything about himself. Well, the important stuff that is…

He hadn’t lied to the Witcher. Sure he left out introductory stuff but no one ever introduces themselves as a human so why should he introduce himself as… as a… he hates being a djinn. The magic was great. Helpful. Saved his life and freedom on multiple occasions but he wouldn’t have to protect his freedom if he wasn’t a djinn.

Maybe if he was human life would have been better? He’d be a regular bard on the road and who knows? Maybe he would have met Geralt of Rivia as a human too. He would have liked that. Ugh. He was getting attached. This would only hold negative effects later. Like if Geralt ever found out what he was… Would Geralt run his sword through him? Would he use Jaskier? Become the master of the djinn?

He didn’t need to. Jaskier would grant any wish for Geralt if he just said the word. Still, it was a frightening reality he had to account for. If only he could have the magic of a djinn but not be restricted to having a master to use it.

Life’s stupid. Now that Jaskier has settled that, he has a witcher to find. If destiny wanted Jaskier to find Geralt then he would be easy to find. Jaskier would follow a road and eventually find the Witcher. Foolproof plan if he did say so himself.

He walked down a path with nothing but his bag and “lute.” He started carrying the bag because of Geralt. It held random things Geralt unintentionally wished for. That weird honey shit as an example. Jaskier also had three daggers because apparently when Geralt said “Don’t get yourself killed,” meant carrying a knife for Jaskier. Which was absolutely hilarious to Jaskier, by the way.

The sun was setting again but Jaskier wouldn’t stop. He’d walk all night. Okay, maybe he would take a tiny break and have a snack in the middle but other than that nothing was getting in the way of him finding the Witcher.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Without Geralt there Jaskier had no one to talk to. Geralt didn’t say much but his existence was Jaskier’s excuse to say whatever came to mind.

“I’m bored.”

The pink sky didn’t say anything back.

“I’m bored and there’s no one giving me attention.”

The trees on the side of the path rustled.

“Wind… it’s wind.” Jaskier muttered, “When I said I wanted attention I wasn’t aware the world was acting like the djinn here to grant my wishes in the most inconvenient way possible.” Jaskier sighed, “In all honesty, I am not in the mood for bandits or rapists or any of the sort. Maybe Geralt spoiled me by taking care of it for me but still.”

The “wind” grew louder… and closer.

Jaskier didn’t like where this was going.

A loud snap rang through the forest to Jaskier’s left. He felt a weight rush over his body, then stinging.

“That’s not a good sound, but I’m gonna ignore it,” he kept walking though he definitely increased his pace. He held onto the strap of his lute like it was his life source... which yeah... It was a bunny. It was just a little cute fluffy bunny. That’s what Jaskier told himself. Jaskier could dream. Dreaming is free. Bunnies are nice.

“You made it difficult to track you. You ran so fast and so far.” A low voice spoke much closer than the broken branch.

Fuck. Not Fast Enough it seems. Jaskier turned around and paled, “Oh Hello, friend! Didn’t see you there,” the mage from the tavern. He followed him. This mage must have felt Jaskier’s magic just like Jaskier felt his.

“I was curious about you. You sat with your drink as tense as a bowstring and still as a mountain. That’s how I knew you knew.”

Jaskier gave a tight smile but turned and kept walking, “I’m afraid we’ve never met before. Though you are right about the tavern, a good friend of mine can be quite scary you see,” Geralt never truly scares Jaskier but it’s a good excuse as any. “Well, fancy meeting you but I have a friend who’s expecting me.”

“Who are you?”

“A humble bard traveling across the world, searching for his muse. Now, if you please, I must make sure my muse has not perished.”

The mage appeared in front of him, blocking his way.

“That’s not very polite, I’m on a schedule. I really mustn’t keep my friend waiting,” Jaskier pouted. He tried playing the idiot. It works far more than it should. People absolutely love being the smartest in the room. Jaskier just uses that to his advantage.

“What are you bard? A mage? The Brotherhood surely trained you.” Oh, Jaskier could tell not knowing was bugging the mage. They always search for answers and stop at nothing to get them. No scruples.

“Caught me,” Jaskier held his hands up in mock defeat, “I just couldn’t stand those courts anymore. I left. You have a good eye. No one else has ever noticed.” Compliment people while you lie through your teeth. They’ll be more likely to believe you because they accept whatever you say to relish in the floriated words.

The mage quirked an eyebrow but smirked, “I haven’t seen something of your likeness before. Not in person at least. They never mention how clever you can be.”

Jaskier felt his heart drop but kept the act, “Well, bards have to be clever. How else would they write songs and extended poetry or-” Jaskier was choked by the man’s hand gripping his throat.

“I don’t care for your small talk, creature.” The mage’s hand tightened, “and I care less for your lies.”

Jaskier tried to pry the man’s hand open but it wouldn’t budge.

“I’m going to let you go and the first thing out of your mouth is going to be what you are. Can you do that?”

Jaskier attempted a nod but the mage’s clutch barely allowed it.

“Good.” He let go and Jaskier went to his knees, gasping and eyes burning. Curse this human body.

“Banshee.”

Jaskier was kicked straight to the ribs and the mage bellowed, “I said no more lies.”

Jaskier coughed and clutched at his stomach, “I’m not lying. I’m part human and banshee.”

The mage crouched over him, “Not possible.”

Jaskier shook his head, “Well obviously it quite is,” he wiped away the spit from the side of his mouth, “It explains my singing, wouldn’t you say? Well, with that awful meeting. May we go our separate ways? I am in need of a wonderfully warmed meal.”

The mage squinted at him.

“Okay, fine. Let’s try something else. What do you want?” Jaskier pushed himself to his feet, “And before you try and kill me, remember that killing me is a bad omen.” More like running into a banshee is bad luck but he’s playing the part of half-banshee.

“You don’t have the appearance of a banshee.”

“And lucky me, I take after my father, gods rest his soul.” Jaskier held at his heart, “I mean, imagine me floating and screaming all the time. Wouldn’t that be so weird? Anyways, you got your answers and unless you want a stanza about how I’m going to be late,” he was already late, “then I best be on my way.”

“A traveling banshee-bard. Does it have a name?”

Jaskier gritted his teeth forcing a smile, “Why yes… He does come with one.”

He obviously knew the mage asked for his name but he wasn’t actually ready to hand it over, even if it meant nothing.

“One would like to know how a banshee would name a child.”

Jaskier nodded, “I agree. Many would like to know.”

“Don’t test me, boy.”

Boy? Boy!? Excuse you- “Jaskier. The name’s Jaskier. I would ask yours but I don’t really care.”

Jaskier turned heeled a skipped. He tried to make this as light-hearted as possible. Being stupid has gotten him out of situations before. Though it accidentally came out as snark… This was not going like the time Geralt asked about his name.

Okay so the Witcher didn’t actually ask per se but Jaskier and he had gone through an adventure they almost died by the hands of Elves. So Jaskier felt a little inclined to give Geralt something to call him other than Bard. Geralt actually said something during the no longer one-way conversation. It was special.

“A plant?”

“Why yes, it’s a very soft name wouldn’t you say? Very disarming. Everyone loves flowers.”

“Everything about you is histrionic.” Jaskier laughed at that comment.

“Which is why the name has to match, Geralt.”

Jaskier wasn’t going to explain that he didn’t come with a name. That he had to give himself one because things like him don’t need names when all they do is obey. He certainly wasn’t going to describe why he chose his name either. He wouldn’t describe the way freedom felt with the warm summer air around his body or the smell of flowers and salt in blowing about. He couldn’t say that the first thing he saw was a field of bright little flowers. They were yellow and seemed to be smiling at him in a greeting. A welcome party into the world… No, just saying it was his name was simple enough, Geralt would never ask so Jaskier would never give an answer.

The road he was walking on grew quiet and Jaskier almost praised the gods on the spot. Maybe the mage was tired of him and decided not to murder Jaskier and leave his body on the side of the road. That’d be nice.

“I wasn’t done with you.”

Destiny, you absolute bitch.

“I guess I could tell you the story how I got my name,” Jaskier said sweetly, “It’s not as interesting as one may think because it wasn’t my mother who named me, nope, it was a town village who found me on the side of a road and they thought I was the cutest little thing they had ever seen so they kept me and I was given to a family and it was quite lovely. Apparently flowers were on the side of the road they found me on and there came my name. I’ve been told it’s ridiculous but I’m fond of it in all honesty.” Jaskier trailed off on anything he could. Lying through his teeth to a mage… This could lead to his death which would quite plainly ruin his day.

He had a plan. Granted, it wasn’t a very good plan but it was all he had and if destiny still wanted him then it would work.

“They put me in charge of a lot of gardening things. I wasn’t the best at it but I did my part in the town so now I know so much about herbs. Do you know what else reminds me of herbs? That one time poor Dela ate a daffodil. She was so sick, her sister Zeby was so worried and we were lucky enough that a healer was stopping by in town. Speaking of healers, my father had every healer in town or visiting town see him, though they could never fix what happened to him. Quite sad. I don’t think he liked me either. Me being the product of what happened and all. I think that’s what killed him. He never told me much more but I could connect the dots, read between the lines and all that. Kinda like when I had to get over my fear of chickens which is quite the tale, let me tell you.”

The mage could have been steaming or been ablaze based on the look of his face, “Do you ever stop talking? You are the biggest headache. I’d rather be anywhere else.”

Jaskier paused his ramblings… this was it… the moment he needed, “Really? Well, I have some good news if you really want that.” He grinned and the mage disappeared from sight. Practically poofed.

Jaskier spun around several times, searching his surroundings to make sure it worked.

“Well, I don’t feel too bad. He attacked me and I merely gave him what he wanted. Some distance between us. He did say he didn’t want to be here.” Jaskier spoke to the sunset again.

The glow was nearly gone, in fact, it was gone. Only a sliver was left.

Fantastic. Now it was dark. Whatever. It wouldn’t stop Jaskier from moving, he just preferred the daytime but finding the Witcher took priority.

He tried to distract himself from the mage he encountered. He couldn’t. The thought that the man was still roaming the world with the knowledge of what Jaskier did scare him. Mages were smart. Very. It wouldn’t be long for him to connect the dots of what Jaskier did, how he did it, and therefore… what he truly was.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He didn’t want a master. Not after all this time. Not after finally finding a purpose that he chose. Maybe from an outsider’s perspective, Geralt was his master, but that wasn’t the case. Geralt was his friend, albeit begrudgingly. Jaskier chose to follow. It just happened to fall into what destiny wanted as well. Jaskier chose to grant wishes for Geralt. Jaskier chose to lo- care. To care for his destiny.

He didn’t know what his future would hold. He only sorta knew what he wanted from it. He’s working it out. Okay so he’s super confused but it’s whatever.

Destiny was pulling him to where he needed- wanted to be. He’d get there soon and hopefully Geralt didn’t get into too much trouble while Jaskier was gone. Jaskier wanted everything to be fine and basically the way he left it.

Jaskier wished his wishes could be granted.

Also, he wished that the vampire or tree wound healed well… He’d find out soon anyway.

Chapter Text

Jaskier had been walking for about two days straight since the mage incident. He was starving. He hadn’t had anything and he barely slept. He didn’t sleep much to begin with but still… The gravelly path had been ripping through his shoes and again he thanked magic for existing to do simple repairs. He even changed the colors of his outfit. It looks totally new. He quite likes bright colors. Something is just so happy about them.

The sun had risen a couple of hours ago and he finally managed to make his feet drag to another town. He planned on walking right through it. Nothing was there for him if Geralt wasn’t there.

Something caught Jaskier’s eye and he had to do a double-take.

There was Roach, the lovely chestnut brown horse and hidden to her side was most definitely-

“Geralt! Is that you?” He ran to the Witcher, mud squishing under his shoes. “Funny coincidence running into you here, ain’t it? Oh, you have no idea how wonderful it is to see you again. Seriously, who was going to grumble at me while I go on about whether cornflower blue is better than plum purple or who was going to give me my constructive criticism on my music?”

“Bard.” Geralt regarded gruffly.

Jaskier smiled. “Yeah, that’s me. Your absolute favorite bard in all the continent.” He almost reached to pet Roach but thought better of it, “So how’s the lovely lady- the marvelous dear? Has she been treated well? Only the finest oats for the finest steed.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, “Well off enough.” He pulled her reins to a nearby stable. Jaskier did what he does best and trailed the Witcher.

Rough and tough nature aside, it was great to see Geralt again, “And how are you? You haven’t fought anything heinous without me, have you? I would have hated to miss a good song.”

“Monsters don’t wait for bards.” He patted Roach and was leaving to wherever he was going. Probably a tavern or an inn. Jaskier wouldn’t mind either way.

“Ooh, oh, so you did fight something. Come on, come on, spill! What was it this time? I swear if it was another vampire. No, wait! Actually please be a vampire, I would hate to have missed anything new and exciting. Oh tell me, tell me,” Jaskier pressed.

“A striga…” Geralt was silent but Jaskier kept his eyes wide to urge for more. “In Temeria. She was a cursed princess. I managed to break the curse.”

Jaskier was taken back. If brains could get whiplash he would be dead. A cursed princess? He missed out on the most interesting one yet. He missed out on whatever else was part of this story. “A striga! Like an actual striga? You fought a striga without me?” Did he get hurt?

Geralt cast an unamused look, “You wouldn’t have been there.”

“But-But it was like a full-blown fight! And she was a princess! How enchanting, well, no really, it sounds absolutely horrendous- strigas are horrifying, but what a tale… You saved her.” Jaskier walked backwards to face Geralt. “That’s… That’s…” Incredible? Kind? Compassionate? Human? “That’s really great.” Wow. Decades of being a poet and that’s what comes out.

But yet again, Jaskier was reminded why he followed this witcher.

Geralt didn’t give a response other than a grunt that is. They continued walking into the nearest tavern. Jaskier was in the mood for a decent meal. He let himself starve when searching for the Witcher and it wasn’t fun. A warm filling meal would be most welcome.

You know what wasn’t welcomed. The foul scent in the air. The town smelled, that could be the sheep and chicken pen they walked by but the whole town seemed run down. The homes looked as if they would crumble and fences were rotting. He saw maggots growing in a dead pig and further even a dead horse. Needless to say, Jaskier was a bit grossed out. He repressed a gag as fast as he could. He just hoped the food didn’t mirror the town or rather the village. It was very small. They already faced the splintered door.

Something pulled him from his thoughts. “Wait, Geralt. Were you hurt?” If this witcher nearly got killed without Jaskier…

The Witcher ignored the question while entering. Jaskier took it as a yes and searched Geralt for anything that might look fresh. His eyes caught something ghastly on his neck. A new scar.

“Do you need some of the the-the honey stuff? I might still have some. Which reminds me, how’s the back doing? I know it seemed fine before but how’s it now?”

“Scarred.” Geralt sat at the closest empty table.

“But healed.” Jaskier clapped. He also let out an internal sigh of relief. “That’s great. I wasn’t sure how it would work but I’m glad I was able to get it.”

“Hmm… How did you get your hands on a sorcerer’s restorative grease.”

Jaskier will take it as thanks. “Why yes, Geralt, you are very welcome and I don’t know? I found it. Came at a good price.” Well, uh, he did find it and free is a good price. “Was supposed to cure anything which I thought was utter bollocks, but hey, it worked like a charm.”

The place was quiet. They were in serious need of a bard and Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t say no to coin… Well, maybe… There were only so many times he could handle the songs Jaskier had on him on repeat. Jaskier could just about see the lifeforce drain when he sang the most common ones.

Fine. So Jaskier could save it for later perhaps.

A table was easy to come by but Jaskier feared the chairs would give way any moment.

Jaskier examined the tavern. He found no familiar signs of a mage. He didn’t feel anything off. He released the tension that had been growing in his shoulders because of it.

“So why’re we here?”

Geralt shifted at the use of we. “Flyer for a creature that’s been stealing livestock.”

“Ah, not great I presume. Could it just be bandits though? This place is pretty small and has no means of defending themselves.”

“Bandits don’t rip at livestock, toying with them if they mean to sell it.”

Jaskier nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I see your point there.” Jaskier glanced around the tavern. No mages in sight. “So… I presume you know what it is? Or have a clue? Wait, why are we in the tavern?”

“To eat.”

“Never would have guessed,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “What I mean is that- have you got your contract? You know the whole proof that you’ll get paid after all the shit you’ll go through.”

Geralt grunted. Sounded like the confirmation kind but Jaskier wasn’t sure.

A barmaid walked up to their table, a smile beaming on her round face but it slipped once seeing Geralt, “Anything I can get you, gents? Ale? It’s never too early to let go of some stress. Or perhaps a meal? We have some fresh potatoes that can be buttered. They’re small due to the early harvest but our cook in the back is quite gifted.” Her hair was in knots but her demeanor made up for the whole town being in shambles.

Jaskier's mouth watered at the prospect of eating something buttered. The question was if he had the money for it. He couldn’t make Geralt pay when he just arrived, “And what price would you want for them, gracious madame?”

“Two crowns plus the ale.” She nodded to Geralt, “And what would you like?”

Jaskier felt a weight in his pockets and he knew immediately that the coin had appeared, he suppressed a grin.

“An ale.”

Jaskier perked up, “You’re not having anything else? You have to, I’ll pay.” He turned back to the young woman, “How many crowns for a chicken leg? Something, anything more than an ale, Geralt.”

“Four crowns then, if you please.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt squinted.

“I’m so flattered you remembered, but I must insist,” Jaskier dug out the coins from his pockets and dropped everything into her stretched out hand. “I played wonderfully in the last town, I can afford to give a friend a small snack before slaying a beast.” He hated lying to Geralt but it was close enough to the truth that could it really be seen as a lie?

The woman smiled and left Jaskier to argue with the Witcher.

“I brought you here.”

“Yeah, cause scary witchers need something before fighting the big bad- wait did you say what you’re fighting?”

“Most likely a griffin.” An exasperated Geralt wasn’t a fun one, but no biggie. Jaskier knows food will fix it.

Jaskier held his head in his hands, elbows on the table. “How frightful. I heard they’re massive and that their talons pierce clean through a man’s chest or that their beaks can crack a man’s skull like a brittle nut.” Jaskier tapped the table. “Well, when do we leave? After this delightful breakfast? It’s early in the day and griffins are daytime creatures aren’t they?”

Geralt's face was pinched but rested after a second. “Hmm.”

The barmaid came back with their drinks then hurried off again after telling them their breakfast would be out shortly.

“You didn’t have to pay. I have the coin.”

“Nonsense,” Jaskier waved his hand as if he could shoo away the entire notion. “I see a friend after a while and want to give a proper hello.”

Geralt’s eyes glared at something over Jaskier’s shoulder, “We’re not friends.”

Jaskier almost laughed, though he did allow his mouth to twitch into a smirk, “So you say, but here you were trying to buy me breakfast. Very thoughtful. I am swooning.”

“A meal in front of you would allow me to take care of the beast.”

Jaskier sat up. “Ah, you sly witcher, that possibly could have worked too. A distraction. I feel duped. Tricking me with food, and to think I was trying to do the same with you.”

Geralt’s face pinched. Jaskier recognizes it as confusion but knows Geralt wouldn’t actually ask. Nope. That was up to Jaskier to supply the answer.

Jaskier wouldn’t. Not this time at least.

The barmaid came with two plates, both steaming, “Hope the wait wasn’t too long, fellows. If there’s anything else you need, let me know.” She strutted away to another table.

Jaskier reached for the tarnished cutlery. Just because he was starving doesn’t mean he has to be an animal. The potatoes were hot and burned his tongue but he savored each bite.

Geralt hadn’t tried his plate yet.

“You should have some. Griffin hunting isn’t easy work, I’d assume.” He picked at another potato.

Geralt shook his head, barely acknowledging Jaskier’s statement at all.

“What? Are you going to eat boiled dirt? No, I didn’t think so. Eat your damn chicken. You won’t let a poor bard’s coin go to waste.” He loves guilt-tripping Geralt.

The Witcher huffed but wouldn’t bother to have a row with Jaskier in the middle of a tavern. Jaskier counted that as a blessing.

They ate in relative peace. Meaning, Jaskier would call it peaceful while Geralt would call it a loquacious half of an hour.

Either way, Jaskier was done stabbing at his humble meal and so was his witcher.

Geralt tried to shake Jaskier off at the inn but the bard didn't let up. Jaskier said that he followed Geralt to the edge of the world and he’ll be damned if he wasn’t going to follow now.

Jaskier even purchased an apple for Roach on their way out. The autumn air made it perfect and ripe. Winter was sure to be coming soon so anything fresh and sweet was wanted.

They walked to the stables, well, more like a stopover for horses but Jaskier doesn’t know what those are called. Mini stable seems like a good description. “Where exactly is this griffin? You already have your little witcher contract so did they give you any idea… or are we just gonna wander?”

“It’s in a ruin.” Geralt paused while untying Roach, seemingly like he was waiting for Jaskier to interrupt him. “The alderman claimed their lord ruled here until a creature took it over a decade ago.”

“So that’s why this little town went to shit? What a shame. I wonder what it must have been like. Probably less dead, rotting pigs.” Jaskier gagged again at the memory of the squirming maggots.

Roach huffed and Geralt pulled her reins out of town before mounting. The path looked unused. It probably hadn’t been used for the ten years Geralt mentioned.

“Have you killed a griffin before?”

“Yes.”

“What was it like?”

“Brutal.”

“All of the fights or just the first one?”

“All.”

“Right, yeah, makes sense…” Jaskier nodded to himself but something else was eating at him, “You didn’t want to do it did you? Kill them?” Griffins aren’t evil. They may be territorial but they don’t attack without reason. This was what Jaskier knew.

Geralt glared ahead and Jaskier was just wise enough not to ask a second time… today.

The path became narrow. Trees grew and fell along the walkway. Further away a distant screech could be heard. It was far but it still hit at something in Jaskier.

Destiny was trying to tell him something.

Geralt dismounted before Jaskier could cling to the strap of his lute. He patted her nose, like a silent command to stay still. Right… Griffin's favorite meal in horse meat.

Next, he turned to Jaskier, “Go back.”

Jaskier pressed his lips to a thin line. Facing a territorial griffin was not the plan for the day. Not much was on the agenda but certainly not this. “No can do.” Jaskier grinned, “I have a witcher’s story to share, don’t you know that, Geralt?”

He didn’t get the satisfaction to see Geralt’s reaction. The Witcher collected what he needed from Roach and began walking up the trail. When he heard Jaskier’s own feet following, did he finally growl out,

“Stay out of the way.”

Despite Geralt facing away, Jaskier held his hands up in mock defense, “I’m here to merely observe and perhaps if you need a hand, well, I can’t offer much but I can be a distraction like that one vampire time. Remember? That worked out. I nearly pissed myself but it still worked.”

Another screech. Much closer.

“That could scare a man shitless.” Good thing he wasn’t.

“You can leave.”

“And leave you to bring stingy details back? Besides if I have to sit in that town, smelling that maggot-infested pig longer than necessary then I’ll become more monstrous than anything any witcher has fought.”

Jaskier could swear he heard a huff of what could resemble a laugh. Another thing to catalog.

Something-the griffin shrieked above them. They were lucky the trees gave them shelter from what was above.

“Not very welcoming,” Jaskier whispered even though the griffin flew past.

“Not usually.”

Jaskier peaked out from their spot. There it was. A griffin. It was magnificent yet terrifying, to say the least. To say the most would be to describe its leg to that of the size of a horse and its beak to be able to snap the spine of a bear. He’d seen one before but not this close. Something told him he would get a closer view still, he didn’t much like that thought.

The feathers were dark and its claws darker. The stories of man didn’t feel like an exaggeration. It glided through the air swiftly. It did not know they were there but it guarded its home as if it knew something was coming.

“I need to get inside, trapping it.” Geralt’s eyes never left the griffin. “Jaskier-”

He saw where that was going. “Oh no no no, I’m still following. Hiding in the shambles of a manor seems safer, wouldn’t you say?”

“No.”

Jaskier clicked his tongue, “Ah, well, doesn’t change that I’m going in.”

Geralt shook his head and muttered under his breath.

“But as promised, I won’t get involved.”

Geralt ignored him and made a dash for the entrance of the building when the griffin soared to the other side, leaving Jaskier to stumble behind him before the griffin returned.

They hid at the corners of the entrance. The door was gone. It looked as if it had been ripped from its spot, hinges rusted over and looking as if the wind would blow them to dust.

While Jaskier was focused on door hinges, Geralt was already navigating the hallways.

There were deep green rugs covered in grime. Some parts were torn apart. A vase or something that was once something like a vase was shattered all over the floor, cracking under Jaskier’s feet.

Geralt shot a glare at him for that.

Jaskier responded with a mouthed sorry but also another step on the broken vase.

The hallway led to a wide room- well, what was once a room. The ceiling was split and the clear blue sky could be seen from it. At the center of the room was a makeshift nest, clearly the griffin’s home.

Something-probably bone- stuck out dripping blood. Jaskier scrunched up his nose at the stench.

Geralt grabbed a bottle from a pocket, gripping it tight. “Wait here, bard.”

“Yep, definitely not going near that. I mean seriously, even an animal must have standards.” He only stared blankly at the Witcher down the entirety of the contents in the bottle.

He groaned and Jaskier winced at the apparent pain or disgust of whatever he just drank.

“I’ll just back up… if you don’t mind.”

The Witcher glanced at Jaskier one last time. Black veins from his eyes that almost looked hollow if it weren’t for their shine.

The first time Jaskier saw them it was mildly disturbing, yes, but overall not as bad as the tales he’d heard about witchers. They made it seem like they were feral beasts, but Geralt was still himself, if not just a little more… wolfish for lack of a better word.

And now, Jaskier just smiled, “Well, off to it, see you in a bit… Geralt.”

The Witcher unsheathed his sword, Jaskier couldn’t tell whether it was the silver or steel.

A screech came from above and it was diving for the intruder.

The Witcher moved just as Jaskier remembered. He dodged the griffin’s talons by a hair thread and swung, missing the creature as it took off again.

Things happen so rapidly in the heat of battle. It’s terrifying for Jaskier whose abilities stem from the words of others and from the look of this battle, not even two words could leave a person’s mouth.

The griffin landed, its beak opened wide in a scream that Jaskier covered his ears to avoid. It came at Geralt and almost managed to bite the head right off the Witcher.

Seems griffins are much smarter than people know because it knew Geralt would dodge and it used its wing to fling him to the nearest wall.

Jaskier flinched at a crack he heard. He desperately hoped it was the Witcher breaking the wall and not the other way around.

The beast crawled over the Witcher, shrieking.

Even with the distance between the two of them, Jaskier heard the Witcher say something very distinct.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Fucking Geralt! The Witcher probably had everything under control but here Jaskier was again… freaking out.

Geralt thrashed while the beast screamed. It seemed to favor intimidating its victims, which, well, makes sense. Griffins are known to toy with their meals, human-like or not.

Jaskier watched helplessly. He desperately tried to make a wish out of “Fuck” but Geralt apparently wanted nothing when saying it. How the fuck does someone not want anything when a griffin is about to maul them? That doesn’t make any sense.

Jaskier looked around the room for a solution before landing on a cracked jar. ‘Boutta Fleder this bitch.

His feet were already ahead despite no clear plan being set.

“Fuck.” Geralt yelled, no doubt receiving some kind of new scar.

Jaskier realized he was running towards the flesh-eating griffin and that he was already holding the heavy jar above his head, winding up.

He was actually doing this. He was actually gonna be a dumbass for Geralt again. He had meant to play a foolish bard role when being with Geralt but he didn’t account for that he was already quite the dumbass without the need for acting.

He launched the jar much less dignified than he wanted but he was under stress. Try baiting a griffin with nothing but a mason jar. He really should stop throwing things at monsters that the Witcher handles better than a bard.

The glass exploded against the creature and it shook its head violently. The smashed pieces flying across the room. A piece nicking Jaskier at his cheek and the clothing of his shoulder. The beast was not taking too kindly to being interrupted by its fun. It swiftly turned on Jaskier. He was like a deer caught in the flames. Stuck in place and clueless on what his next move should be.

It crawled one step at a time, discarding Geralt like an old plaything of a child.

Jaskier slowly brought his hands up and took a step back. “Look, I’m sorry but the old Witcher is not your doll.” It's destiny's.

It made a cry, not similar to the shrieks of before, much quieter but by no means less horrifying and it grew into a low growl.

“Understandable,“ Jaskier stuttered. “I’m guessing there’s no chance of you not chasing me?”

It screamed out again and rushed at him.

Jaskier scrambled to turn around, sprinting through the halls. “I am an idiot!”

The griffin was behind. Its talons ripped at the fancy walls and the rugs. The halls were narrow for the beast, which was fortunate for Jaskier.

He dashed to any opening he found, praying that none would lead to a dead end. Paintings were ripped on the walls, there was old blood sprayed, and for one second Jaskier deduced that the beast had been through this before. This was its sick game of tag which was unnerving.

Trying to turn the corner he crashed into a wall, he yelped. That would bruise tomorrow… He has bigger priorities. Like if he would last to feel the bruise tomorrow. Also, the winged creature trying to play his organs like an amateur with bagpipes.

Jaskier entered a room more massive than the last. Probably is the party room or something, too bad this party is very fun.

He ran, tripped on a rug but hid behind an enormous portion that had fallen from the ceiling. It was decaying but Jaskier wasn’t going to it for protection. This was a game of tag to the griffin? Well… Jaskier’s gonna make it his own game of hide and seek, one that put the fear of the gods in Jaskier but a little game still.

“Oh shit. Ah, shit. Ah shit. Ah fuck. Hiding. I am fucked. I am fucked.” Jaskier chant grew quieter and became a low mumble under his breath. The growls were entering the room and it was basically booming in Jaskier’s ears. He kept crouched and hidden but that didn’t stop what was growing in his throat.

The beast sounded so much larger than what he remembered seeing. That was probably because it was closer than before. This wasn’t pleasant, this kind of stuff never was.

The growling was fading, that didn’t stop the mantra of oh shit but it was a start. The silence meant better things like the furry-feathery thing was going away. Jaskier could breathe again. The tension that had his shoulders become pure stone was deflating. His heart was still beating outside his chest but he’d manage. His head was spinning but he let himself rest to get rid of it.

He gasped as the hiding spot that he’d been using as back support and had been leaning on gave out and became a sound of a crumbling building. The footsteps of the beast charged over and Jaskier saw it for what it was with its wings stretched out and beak wide open.

“I’m… Fucked! I am fucked! I have been fucked!” Jaskier slipped multiple times but got to his feet to attempt running because the corpses around him didn’t manage to tell him that it was a bad idea.

The once “easy” to navigate halls were a bloody maze to Jaskier. He took whichever way was available yet again. So much for catching his breath.

Coming back the way he came, he passed several doors that he didn’t bother trying in fear of them being locked.

He dove into a room where the door was no longer held by hinges. He pushed the remains of it in the way of the opening. It better hide him this time because he was in a dead-end. At a glance, the room had no other exits.

A good enough time to pause the going to be eaten alive process.

On a second glance of the room, he noticed a large table at the far wall is where he thought to take sanctuary. He hurried and crouched at the foot of it before seeing it.

Jaskier slowed.

At the center of the table were eggs. Aged, broken eggs. Those at the front looked like someone had taken a battle axe to them. The blood and slime that would have helped them grow and incubate was dried onto the eggs and table. He tried to rip his eyes away but found that he couldn’t, the inch he did move brought his attention to a young dead griffin, from the position, died from defending its brothers and sisters… and failed.

They were missing something from the story when coming here. Griffins don’t attack for no reason. Jaskier may have stumbled upon that reason.

His hands clenched and a tear slipped without his knowledge. He reached for the small head, limp and lifeless for a long time. The feathers were hard and rough. He gathered closer to it regardless. It was no bigger than a dog. It was a hatchling. Humans attacked and it only tried to protect what mattered most.

Jaskier pet its head in a constant motion, bringing comfort to neither him nor the dead cub. “For what it’s worth,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to be involved. Human or not, a small babe shouldn’t have to be a part of the squabbles of the parents and yet that’s the way of the world. A child will always pay the price of the parents. I’ve seen it over and over.” Jaskier let out a weak laugh, “I’m sorry.”

A loud rumble was heard outside the weakened door. That, and the sound of a sword clashing with stone.

His head shot up. Geralt was out there fighting the mother or possibly the father of these creatures.

Jaskier hopes he will kill it. Not out of cruelty. No, he hopes Geralt will kill it so that it no longer has to live with the pain of losing its family, its children. So that maybe the creature would finally be at peace. Griffins are vengeful beasts that Jaskier believes can feel more pain than humans. He prays that Geralt can free it from misery.

An ear bleeding scream wakes Jaskier and he backs away from the cold griffin. “I can’t help you.”

He backed up to the door, saying a silent farewell to the lifeless cub.

The door gave away much easier than Jaskier felt comfortable about seeing as he was hiding in that room for a good five minutes.

At least Jaskier had a witcher distracting the griffin.

The noise that the door made from crashing onto the floor mattered little seeing as Geralt had it preoccupied.

Jaskier followed the noise as fast as he could. Rounding the corner, he managed to hit the same bruised shoulder a second time.

He gripped at his arm but it dropped when he saw the Witcher swinging and dodging the griffin as if he hadn’t been flung to a wall ten minutes ago.

Geralt rolled away from another swipe from the griffin. It rose to flap strong gusts of winds at the Witcher which was its mistake.

He landed a hit, slicing feathers, fur, and blood through the air, which led to the beast releasing a particularly pained squawk.

The griffin attempted to fly up to avoid another hit but in its agony, it failed to notice the ceiling still above it. Crashing the once elegant ceiling and then falling back down onto the hilt of Geralt’s sword.

It screamed and writhed. Geralt pulled his sword back and Jaskier did not have the common sense to look away when what was obviously blood began spurting on Geralt.

The griffin ceased flapping its wings and it landed violently onto the floor. Its breathing was weak and it did nothing but lay there. It paid no mind to anything around it. It knew it had lost but had nothing left to fight back with.

Jaskier walked out to the griffin and Geralt who was panting and still black in the eyes.

It was painful to watch for Jaskier. He learned what this creature had been through and how it could never get that peaceful life back.

Maybe that’s what destiny was trying to warn him about when coming here, not the fact that Geralt almost died but that they were fighting for the wrong side.

And there wasn’t anything Jaskier could do about it.

So Jaskier did what he could… He went to the griffin, kneeled down, some blood seeping into his pants, and he comforted the dying beast. Jaskier let it rest under his soothing hand just as he did its young. Its breathing becoming weaker and its eyes closing. It was too familiar to the scene Jaskier saw earlier of its children. Now it would be joining them.

He hadn’t even noticed if Geralt had tried to stop him or if he said anything before.

“You’re the most sympathetic human I’ve met.”

Jaskier only tilted his head to Geralt’s direction. The compliment would have meant something if Jaskier were human but instead, it struck a harsh chord. He wasn’t meant to be sympathetic to anything so to be more human than a human that was… that was…

The soft flutters of the griffin’s chest rising and falling stopped, ripping Jaskier back to reality for the fiftieth time that day, away from being in his head for selfish reasons.

“It’s dead.”

Without looking at him, Jaskier knew Geralt nodded.

Jaskier stood abruptly, dusting his pants much rougher than necessary, “I think I have a good line for this story. Like an eagle did it soar and as a lion did it roar at the Witcher in the door, nah I might cut that last part out, but I tell you, I’ll have half of it done by the end of this day.” He felt that the waver in his voice was concealed well. He didn’t bother looking at the Witcher as he traveled to the door. “You do the whole head cutting business you need for the contract. I’ll be… I’ll be outside.”

Geralt gave an understanding nod but offered no reply.

A cool breeze greeted him. Jaskier leaned on the frame of the broken entrance and inhaled sharply. He began to go through all the simple yet nice things that had happened that day. Like finding Geralt and seeing Roach. The friendly barmaid and her recommendation for the buttered potatoes that were hot. Or even that he was able to have the coin for it all.

He sped through those good things but it wasn’t enough to block out the sound of a sword or knife cutting through flesh and bone not far from Jaskier in the manor.

“I wish I could bring them back,” Jaskier mumbled. “I wish this wasn’t their fate.” He stepped down the three stairs that somehow held and wondered how Roach was doing or if he could go to her.

Impulsively, he did.

Down the rocky path and back to the spirited horse. Geralt would be fine by himself. He could bring the head to Roach without Jaskier’s help.

He waved both his arms out wide once seeing her, wincing from the swelling in his arm. “Beauty! How our thoughts have been troubled without you being by our side, dear girl.”

Horses didn’t have expressions. They couldn’t. Yet somehow this one was looking at him as Geralt does when he goes off on why musical theory is an artform unappreciated by the masses.

“Oh, girl, don’t look at me like that,” Jaskier pouted. He seemed to exaggerate himself even more with the horse than he did with Geralt. “I have longed to be in your presence again. Do you even have any idea how long it took to find our witcher? I don’t know, but it’s probably a lot of days.”

Jaskier stood in front of her finally, grinning ear to ear and his hands on his hips. She wasn’t upset but she was acting like it, Jaskier could tell. He felt better already.

“I spent at least a week, probably two, wandering the roads hoping my feet would lead me here. Right here to be amongst your gorgeous mane and rambunctious personality.” She stomped her hoof close to his feet, making him bounce a step back. “Rude! But fine. You have caught me.” He put his hand to his forehead as if to lament. “While you are quite the sprightly lass, my heart is already taken or near it if I don’t stop it.”

Her head shook slightly and Jaskier’s grin was breaking him as he tried to keep in character. He hoped she was playing along. That or she was giving him a warning before she was going to headbutt him.

“I know, I know! I was shocked as well, truly. A tragedy indeed that my heart does not beat for you, but my dear love does have many of your qualities if that makes you weep any less.”

Geralt's voice startled Jaskier coming from behind. “Not a fine compliment to your lady, bard.” His eyes were a glowing amber again, not a trace of what they were mere minutes ago.

“Ah, Witcher, you have missed a true and heartfelt- worthy of balladry, of a lovely mare rejecting and being rejected of a lowly bard.”

“I’m sure it was quite the show.”

“Indeed it was. Perhaps I should compose something of it.”

Geralt tied the head onto the side saddle of Roach and Jaskier’s eyes wouldn’t move much from there, just like earlier.

The Witcher noticed. “I doubt any town would care for the adventures of a man desiring a horse.”

That made Jaskier snort. His attention was taken to tavern patrons throwing their food at him for his ridiculous songs. This would no doubt be one of them.

“Imagine it, Geralt. I can practically see the crowds going wild and the excitement of the horses to finally be a bigger role in the songs sung across the continent.”

They were traveling down the rocky path without Jaskier realizing.

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t bother pulling Roach’s reins as she knew her rider quite well.

Jaskier had a skip in his step. “Oh just you wait, Geralt, this has the makings of a fine ballad or if I’m clever enough- a sonnet.”

“I’m sure.”

The real question was if Jaskier was clever enough to write a song about a cruel and wicked griffin and a noble and heroic witcher taking it down because… he would have to. Geralt was heroic… but the griffin was by no means wicked.

Jaskier would worry about that, but right now he had witcher wounds to ask about and tend to as well as his own.

He offhandedly remembered he barely had anything to help Geralt heal once they returned. “If you’re hurt, or even just sore after all that I might have something for it if you want of course.”

“Fine.”

Jaskier smirked, no doubt random ointments and salves were now in his bag. “Perfect, once we get some food, they’re all yours.”

"Hmm."

Chapter Text

It was freezing. Jaskier was not used to this kind of autumn. The brisk air was not being friendly this morning and it had woken Jaskier with near blue lips. He was grateful that Geralt had already set up a fire.

While staring intensely at their campfire, Jaskier let the same thought that had been bouncing around in his head rise up. He got attached. He knew he would but not like this. He said he would do his role destiny wanted but it may have gotten too far. And no, he was not going to describe what he means by that.

The on and off adventures with Geralt were fun. He almost died in all of them, but that was part of the thrilling fun. All those vampires, a doppler, the griffin, a few ghouls, and this one hag-looking thing but Geralt said that it was technically still a vampire and that it was called a Grave Hag but whatever.

It was so fucking cold to be autumn. He strummed harshly on each chord, no doubt going to bring him rougher calluses, definitely not being helped by the dry, cold air. He hummed along with it. He hadn’t decided on the lyrics yet but he was never gonna practice this one out loud in front of Geralt. This one was a bit too much… too much what? Flattery? It was more than that, it would be awkward to perform with Geralt in the room is what he was saying. Why was the air going through his clothes, fuck, he can feel it on his ass.

It was awkward enough having to perform the first song he wrote for the Witcher nowadays. He was proud of it, sure, he wrote it in like a day and it was practically across the continent now which is extraordinary for a bard… But come on, he had other songs that people seemed to cast aside compared to his first. How embarrassing.

Back to this new one though. It was too much of a service to himself. It wasn’t a specific story, rather it was like a culmination of the most notable things about Geralt. Not just the view either… more like… like how he was determined to do what he was created to do or how dauntless he was. Jaskier also put in how the adventures he had made him the man he is today. He may or may not have added how nightmares haunted Geralt. It seemed right… to make him sound real. Jaskier still debated on putting a line on how grumpy he was when he hadn’t slept well, but he liked the serious tone he gave this one.

“Bard.”

Jaskier missed a chord. “Ah, yes! Yes, Geralt?”

The Witcher offered nothing but a vague gesture at the fire.

Jaskier shot him a confused raised brow.

“The rabbit, bard.”

“The rabbit?” Jaskier looked back at the flames and saw that there was indeed a skinned rabbit that he hadn’t even noticed. “Oh? I hadn’t even- haven’t I eaten? I’ve eaten. This one’s all yours, Geralt.”

The Witcher raised a brow but didn’t argue. Grabbing the stick from where it had been roasting and picked at it.

That was kind but now that Jaskier was thinking about it, did he eat? He didn’t remember and while he could feel hungry it wasn’t like he needed food every day. Though it was enjoyable, now a necessity in front of Geralt, which wasn’t a problem really but still something to have to keep track of.

At least Geralt didn’t question any of Jaskier’s weird habits. What weird habits? You may be asking yourself, well, Jaskier wasn’t human. Easy to forget. He was less human than Geralt and people would never suspect that while looking at the two but it was true nonetheless. He wasn’t human which meant when “becoming human” he had to integrate. He had to learn their ways and apparently he still did a few things wrong.

For example, he often struggles with time. It’s not that he doesn’t understand it, no, it’s that he doesn’t usually care. He never had mortal friends long enough to know that ten years is a long time. His past masters typically used their wishes quite fast or died before completing them so he never saw them grow old. He was a wanderer, one who would last much longer than any kingdom could ever hope to last.

Example number two, Jaskier had trouble with cultures. Now, he understood people well but it was tricky to learn that depending on where he goes and who he speaks to, everyone does things differently. Some people wish to hug you as an introduction while others will only nod their heads and to do the wrong greeting in the wrong place could be the most insulting or humiliating thing. He didn’t exactly come from any culture either so he couldn’t relate to anyone. Explains some of why he’s always traveling. His own experience is all he had to go off of…

Thirdly, Jaskier was always playing his lute. Apparently even bards have a break from it but not this one. Though… He has a good reason. Can’t exactly get away from an object that you’re bound to not unless he wanted to be sucked right back into it. No thank you. There was also that if anyone was holding it they could make wishes and he had to answer them. Also a big no no. Geralt only noticed that the bard never ceased playing it and that was probably because he was around him every day but still.

There are other things, like his sense of style is all over the place and how Geralt always said it was impractical for traveling, like right now in this fucking ice bear’s asshole of a forest, but you can try to rip the bright colors and fun fabrics from Jaskier’s cold, dead hands. Geralt never commented on the new outfits, even if it could have been near impossible to get a new outfit, Jaskier had no idea what Geralt thought of that. Probably didn’t notice… or didn’t care. Probably that one.

Oh, Oh, Jaskier’s incessant want to eat and stay at inns and baths. One could say it’s just a human’s desire to enjoy the finer things in life… Jaskier did love these things. Eating, sleeping, bathing, and whoring, ah those things made life worth living. But he didn’t need them. Not exactly.

While Jaskier pondered if Geralt was suspicious of these things, the Witcher had begun packing camp. It was early, the sun was up but barely. Mornings are always so beautiful, too bad Jaskier missed this sunrise.

“When do you think we’ll reach the next town, my friend.” Jaskier didn’t really care for whatever the answer would be, he doubted he’d get one but he likes what his breath looks like when he speaks in the horrid weather. At least it's got that going for it.

The Witcher grunted and glared at him as he mounted Roach. Jaskier offered a sarcastic smile in return. “Two days. Four with you on foot.”

He sighed loudly, “And what a shame that Roach can’t hold the weight of two.”

Jaskier squinted and grinned cheekily at Geralt. He desperately wanted the Witcher to correct him, tell him that obviously Roach has carried more than a witcher and a scrawny bard but he didn’t fall for the trap Jaskier set up. Yet again only answered with a gruff hum.

“Well, then we shall enjoy our little nature walk. Nothing wrong with breathing in the fresh air and sleeping under the stars. Truly it’s this that makes the exquisite things in life as splendid as they are.” It’s not like Jaskier didn’t wish for a horse to carry him at this moment but… Genies asking their own wishes, what a hilarious concept.

It was a funny scene really. Here Geralt was, half complaining about the bard dragging him back, but really he could ride on ahead. Leave Jaskier behind and they’d meet again later, no big deal. The Witcher didn’t. Sure, he did once or twice when Jaskier was asleep but he caught up to Geralt in the next town or so and by that point the Witcher knew he couldn’t escape.

“You slept during the night, right, Geralt? Cause when I woke up you already were up and breakfast was cooking. It takes me forever to actually wake, I don’t know how you do it.” How though? Jaskier isn't even real and he’s always tired.

“You talk in your sleep.”

“Oh, yes, that explains- wait, I do?” He tripped on the rock in the path. “Have I been keeping you up? If need be, you can sleep before me so my extravagant sleep chats don’t distract you.” Jaskier was feeling anxious. What was he saying while asleep? Nothing good.

Geralt glanced back at him but said nothing. It spiked more worry in him. Perhaps Geralt saying nothing was better. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was distraction time.

“I didn’t know I had dreams. Do you dream, Geralt?”

By Destiny herself! It was like ripping out teeth trying to have a conversation with the Witcher.

Geralt tense up and glanced over his shoulder but not to look at him.

Jaskier pointedly tried to not follow what the Witcher was sensing. “Remember that griffin from- lots of days or something- ago and how it clawed at your shoulder? How’s that scarring?”

“Healed as the others, bard,” Geralt said but clearly not actually involved in listening, something was putting Geralt off and it was starting to startle Jaskier.

“How many are there?” He tried to say as flatly as he could. Something- Someone was following them but he wouldn’t let them know that they knew. Jaskier barely let his mind wonder if it was the mage, not daring to think of it as if it would make it impossible to come true.

Geralt understood. “Five, possibly seven.”

Jaskier stretched his arms to the sky, he didn’t feel any magic nearby so it was just raiders. Perhaps avoiding problems really was the way to avoid them. “Well, that’s not... particularly what we wanted for today. I know I always ask for excitement but I really should stop seeing as every time I do something like this comes up.”

Geralt grunted, harsher than usual.

“It’s nothing you can't handle.” He waved his hand off in the air.

“I’m not a butcher.” The Witcher said it with much more weight than Jaskier was ready for.

Jaskier nodded. “Of course not. I know that. Out of anyone else, I truly know that, Geralt. Though, it is important to note that I am the only one here that would know the true story.” They’d all be dead, no one’s spreading rumors when they’re dead. “This isn’t something that we can escape… Well,” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck, unwilling to out the other option Geralt had in this. “You’re not going to leave me, right?”

The Witcher turned to look at Jaskier up from Roach. He gave Jaskier the most incredulous expression he’d ever seen on Geralt before it disappeared completely. Jaskier could have believed that his own mind was playing with him.

“Roach wouldn’t be in any danger with you here.” She also wouldn’t be in any danger if Geralt rode off. Jaskier smiled weakly. He was planning what he’d do if Geralt really did leave him here. He could probably take care of six or seven bandits or whatever they were… Jaskier had done it before and well, he would have to do it again. He just had to give them what they wanted and that was Jaskier's best talent.

Roach kept trotting on though her pace had picked up. Looks like everyone in their little party was aware of the situation and was trying very hard to act like they didn’t.

Geralt kept his gaze straight ahead. Jaskier would be willing to pay coin to know what was going on in that witcher head of his. Probably was considering leaving for Roach’s sake is what Jaskier thought. The Witcher pulled reins to a stop and turned to Jaskier, “Stay out of it.”

He stood there, filled with consternation with what Geralt chose. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Geralt wasn’t going to leave him to face what Geralt believed to be certain death, even for his nuisance of a bard he wouldn’t get rid of Jaskier that way. At least Jaskier knew he wouldn’t let him die if he could help it.

Good to know.

He turned Roach around. Dismounted her and grabbed the steel sword from his back. “Out. No more games.”

There were rustles that Jaskier could hear clearly now that he wasn’t talking over them. Mutterings could be heard as a few men came out, only three. Not the seven that Geralt described.

Jaskier squinted at them, counting again to see if he was wrong and cast a confused look at Geralt who seemed to be having the same thought.

“The rest of your group?” Geralt lowered his sword.

A tall man stood in the middle, he held an axe in one hand and a dagger in the other. “Too afraid of a witcher. We ain’t.”

“Leave and be spared.” A terse statement from Geralt, as usual.

“Your coin and be spared.” The man responded, head held high. He flipped the dagger in his left hand.

Geralt’s intimidation didn’t seem to be working. Jaskier didn’t understand why. These men were trying to rob a witcher and seriously? How much more foolish can you get? Well, obviously Geralt wanted no part in this and while the Witcher very clearly stated he wanted Jaskier to stay out of it he already knew he wouldn’t.

“You want coin? That’s all you fine gentlemen want?”

“The whole fucking lot,” a second man growled out.

Jaskier felt a pouch added to his pocket. “Well, good news, good fellows. I have some spare earnings from a well-done performance. Should be enough to drown yourselves in ale.” He bit his lip. “Does that sound good to you?” He pulled the pouch out and it wasn’t heavy but it was what the wish had given him.

Jaskier glanced back to Geralt who kept his focus on the men ahead.

The man with the axe finally looked at Jaskier and sneered. “We don’t care for the petty marks or pounds of a bard.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Gentlemen, this either ends with you accepting this coin and leaving or with a sword down your throats. I would strongly suggest taking the first option.” They didn’t look swayed. “This witcher doesn’t even have coin on him. I would know. We’ve been stuck in the wilderness for the past months.” He slapped his hand to his forehead just for the theatrics of it.

“It’s been two weeks.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to remember. “What? Really? Are you certain? It feels so much more…”

“Hand over all the coin!” The man at the center raised his axe. “You’re outnumbered, Witcher.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes at that. There’s nothing that can outnumber a witcher. An army would have trouble outnumbering a witcher, especially this one.

The Witcher had the same thought because he swung the first blow at the closest man who raised his rusted dagger at him.

A spray of blood is all Jaskier saw of it until the Witcher moved to see one of the men with his arm barely hanging onto his torso. Bone was visible and the man fell to his knees, clearly in shock and clinging to life before falling over and staining the grass with red.

Geralt paused after that. It was obvious that he was giving these bandits a chance to leave and let live but the Witcher’s hesitation caused the men to come at him, two more coming from bushes and trees from where they were hiding. So there were more. Only two but enough to change Geralt’s battle strategy.

His next swing cut right through another man with a scraggly beard and nicked another. The man stumbled back onto the floor and it gave Geralt the perfect opportunity to drive his sword straight down into the man’s chest. The man screamed out and garbled the blood rising in his throat.

“Oh, that is disgusting, if Melitele is real she would find this wretched. I mean-” a man screamed in the background as Jaskier spun around to get a good view of the landscape instead. “I find it so nauseating, like look-” he glanced over his shoulder right as Geralt cut clean through a man’s neck right after he kicked him down. “That is a lot of bone and flesh. The blood is fine, I always deal with yours but this is like the inner stuff and it’s appalling.” He ended it with a gagging sound.

“Jaskier!”

At the sound of his own name, he swiveled his body back at full force. “Yeah?” Once facing the scene he saw that each of the men were dead.

The one who had been poked through the chest seemed to have also been cut up from his chest to his throat. Another one was staring up at the sky with dead eyes, which also gave away the whole dead part was like half of his insides all over the dirt. Taking a glance next to the others he saw the one who held the axe with his skin barely attaching his head to his body. Overall, the sight was gross. Gruesome and gross.

Geralt himself though wasn’t moving and when Jaskier looked up from the bodies he looked right at the Witcher. Whatever the Witcher had been expecting from Jaskier was unknown but Jaskier had gestured back at the road. “So, we gonna head to the next town before we freeze our balls off?”

His witcher’s shoulder’s lowered, sword still in hand. He looked ready to say something but Jaskier deemed that as unlikely.

Jaskier was about to ask when a brown patched horse came trotting out as if an entire gore filled fight hadn’t happened right in front of it. He stared dumbly at it. “Huh. Truly, never a wish unfulfilled.” Oh, Destiny, you beautiful blessing bitch. “I’ll be borrowing that, thank you very much.”

Geralt finally sheathed his sword onto his back and soothed Roach while Jaskier tried to figure out how horses work.

It took a few minutes but he was on it and grinning ear to ear and they were now two days away from the nearest town.

Chapter Text

“It’s been an entire day and I haven’t named my darling!”

Geralt hardly glanced back at Jaskier. “Two days.”

Jaskier ignored him in favor of hugging his horse. His lovely mare whose coat was white and brown. “I tried thinking of something but nothing fits. Like tell me, does Gwenevere sound good? I always thought that was a good name, but I’m not opposed to Butelka.”

“That’s a stallion.”

Oh. “Gustabo then.” He patted his horse, his delightful stallion. “I like the way I’ll have to say that each time.”

Geralt grumbled something but Jaskier was surprisingly not listening. To his side of the road was an array of yellow flowers, specifically buttercups. They gleamed in the sun and they were eerily perfect. Flawless. He didn’t have a warm wave of nostalgia wash over him, instead, something else made the hairs rise on his arms and not due to the cold.

Buttercups grow in spring, not in near winter.

This wasn’t nature acting up, someone was sending him a message and anyone sending him a message was never a good sign.

He cursed whatever was giving him a sense of foreboding from seeing his symbol of freedom.

Next, he glared at the sky as if it would will destiny into telling him what was going on but alas, Lady Destiny likes a good show, one with a good thrill even if she already knows the punchline.

Jaskier would avoid that problem for as long as he could without getting Geralt involved. “Is that the town ahead?”

“Hmm.”

“Looks great.” Jaskier wasn’t paying attention to his own words, only looking off at the buttercups, too bright to be real. “Any town without rotting pigs is a good town.”

If this was what Jaskier thought it was then he needed to get away from Geralt for a little bit. As much as he’d love the Witcher to fix all his problems, he couldn’t risk it with this situation, too much room for error though he’d feel so much more secure with Geralt with him.

“You ride on ahead, Witcher. I’ll catch up and you’ll tell me what flyers and contracts they have.”

Geralt didn’t need to say anything, the look on his face gave the question away. Why?

“Oh, oh, here’s a hint. I’m not telling you.” Jaskier winked.

His witcher rolled his eyes. Jaskier tried to ignore the look that went over his shoulder to the clusters of flowers. The Witcher’s face pinched but he went on ahead to ride into town without Jaskier.

“See you soon, Witcher! I promise Gustabo will take very good care of me!” Despite the Witcher’s back facing him, Jaskier waved.

Geralt was already twenty paces ahead Jaskier let his arm limply fall to his side as he glared at the flowers. Whatever the mage wanted would have to be taken care of and hopefully without Geralt’s involvement. Doable. It was doable and if he kept telling himself that then it would become true. Humans did that so why couldn’t he?

Gustabo huffed and shuffled and then Jaskier felt the stinging, first at his legs, then his arms, and then rising up his back. He hated the feeling. He patted Gustabo, hoping that in soothing his horse that it would soothe himself.

It wasn’t working and bile was building at the back of his throat but whether that was magic working on him or his own nervousness was up for debate. He hummed a tune to ignore it.

Nothing was happening. Jaskier waited and waited, seriously waited, not a half-assed waiting like five minutes. It could have almost been an hour of doing jackshit. Geralt was nowhere in sight at this point, probably finding the alderman of the town. And yet the mage didn’t appear in spite of the clear indication that his magic was present. It was scaring Jaskier more than just seeing the sorcerer. Jaskier wondered if the mage was playing a game with him just so he could watch fear take over and hope slip away.

Jaskier wanted Geralt back now. He hated being alone, sure he had Gustabo but the stallion wasn’t going to be taking on any creepy wizards for Jaskier anytime soon. He prayed to destiny that his witcher would come back, maybe he could follow him into town.

His fingers ran down the strap of his lute before going but to the reins that he clutched so tightly that his knuckles went white. “Let’s go, Gustabo. Maybe we can catch up with our dear friend.”

Attempting to turn the reins and thus turning the horse a gust of cold made the hairs on his neck stand.

A haughty voice shattered the air surrounding Jaskier. “I would say I appreciated the transportation but I handle those just fine.”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut. The mage was behind him.

“Where did we leave off? We must have left off on the wrong foot for you to send me in the middle of fuck-all," he tsked.

Jaskier had to turn Gustabo again. “Details, things like that are always tricky, I’m sure you know.”

“Oh, I do. One issue though, Banshee-Bard.” Despite the mage not having a horse of his own he held a stance that could tower Jaskier. “Magic is chaotic but with the right persuasion can be put into place.”

“Does it? I didn’t know that.”

The mage spoke on as if he didn’t hear Jaskier. “I believe you lied to me.” He took a step closer to him. “The last time we had the fortune of meeting.”

“Misfortune,” Jaskier corrected.

The mage seemed to ignore anything Jaskier had to say. He waved his arm to introduce himself. “I am Efreeti.”

Introductions aren’t supposed to be this intimidating. The world stilled and Jaskier could swear he felt a bead of sweat roll down his back despite the brisk winter air. He would ignore the obvious jab to get a reaction.

“Stupid name,” Jaskier responded flatly.

Yet again the mage, Efreeti, was not deterred. “I would think you of anyone else would find it fascinating.”

Jaskier groaned into his hand, “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Alright, sure, why would I find it so interesting, oh wise one?”

“It’s named after something similar to your kind.”

He gulped and yet held the irritated tone he learned from Geralt, “What the fuck is similar to a Banshee?”

A long minute passed and the mage just smirked at him. One of those knowing smirks that leave you ashen in fear of what they could understand that you don’t. “That’s not it, I believe I was referring to a genie.”

Jaskier nodded. He knew mages weren’t stupid, of course, this one figured it out the second Jaskier sent him away the first time but he had hope that he could have escaped this longer.

The mage grinned something sinister and held up a pristine buttercup flower.

A feeling of hot fiery danced across Jaskier’s body. “Oh no, no, no. Don’t ruin buttercups for me. That’s downright unfair. I swear I’ll gut you faster than a witcher could.”

The mage laughed, a real and hearty laugh that was too wrong for someone wanting to make a slave of him. “Is that your master? A witcher? I never would have pegged a witcher to keep something of your kind around.”

An idea flashed through his head, as much as Jaskier loathed the idea of having a master he would- by far much rather have Geralt be his master than this bastard. “It is strange, but a master is a master no matter the race or being.”

Jaskier watched as disappointment plagued the mage’s face. “I’ll offer your master a deal then.”

Jaskier interrupted, “He won’t take it.”

“Witchers will accept any deal with the right amount of coin.”

At that, Jaskier froze. He didn’t much like the notion that Geralt would sell him when given the chance but the Witcher didn’t know what Jaskier had to offer so maybe to him selling a loud bard was a good deal.

Jaskier internally slapped himself. Geralt would never sell him because he did not own Jaskier. You cannot give what isn’t yours and by that alone, he was certain of his place by the Witcher and that it was one of equal standing. “You best find yourself another servant, Efreeti, because I cannot be bought.” He paused and then added, "That isn't how I work."

The mage narrowed his eyes into a glare at Jaskier. He felt the stinging in his skin now feeling as if many needles were along his body and being pressed at. It was excruciating, to say the least, and Jaskier was begging for anything to make it stop.

“What business do you have with the bard?” Those words cut through the icy air and never before had Jaskier been so happy to hear those words be spoken so gruffly.

The mage along with Jaskier turned to find the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.

Efreeti snarled at the Witcher who towered over him especially by being on top of Roach. “I’ll pay whatever price you ask for him, Witcher. Name it.”

“He’s not for sale.” Jaskier should not have preened at that.

“Think on it, Witcher,” the mage urged. “I can pay handsomely.”

Geralt scrunched his nose. “The answer will remain the same.” Geralt faced Jaskier and tilted his head to get him to follow. “Bard.”

“Right away,” he stammered.

They trotted off and it took Jaskier all he had to not turn around. The seething mage was behind until Jaskier no longer felt the pins and needles wrapping around his person. Finally was he able to think clearly and breathe without fear of it being taken.

The town was a bit away, Jaskier wondered offhandedly how neither the mage nor Jaskier saw Geralt coming, probably too involved in the delightful conversation.

“Friend of yours?”

Jaskier’s eyes darted to the clusters of buttercups which were now withering away, they weren’t in season after all. “Oh, sure, the bestest,” he mockingly sneered. “Did you find a contract that requires all your witchering means?”

“Hmm.”

It was probably a dick move to avoid Geralt’s question but Jaskier didn’t really have another option, he could outright lie to Geralt but if Jaskier could avoid that then he very much would. “So what will it be this time? A Graveir? A Kikimora? A Banshee? A goose? Geese can be quite frightening, possibly more than chickens.”

“They speak of a beast that steals livestock.”

Jaskier clapped. “Ah, so it could be a goose.”

Geralt glared.

“Or a- a griffin, yeah? Griffins eat all of the sorts.”

Geralt shook his head and even Roach huffed. It seemed like no one was in the mood for Jaskier’s humor.

“The cheap wit is all I have if we aren’t staying in a bed tonight.” Jaskier crossed his arms, reins still in grip. “I keep waking up sore and not in the fun way.”

“They speak of the monster hiding away in a cave.”

He didn’t have time to ponder it as a gust of wind shoved him forward.

“They say it’s a mile south.”

Jaskier inclined his head in the direction he believed to be south. But before he could get a word out Geralt pointed in the opposite direction. “Ah, precisely.”

As much as Jaskier wanted to, he couldn’t let Geralt have five minutes of silence. And if he ever felt his train of thought leaving him he would try talking about new lyrics he was composing or even about the weirdest pies he’s tried. If he could, Jaskier would distract Geralt from thinking about the mage any longer than necessary. The Witcher didn’t stop him though, just let Jaskier babble like a baby who just learned how to string noises together.

The road path ended. They entered large woods with trees whose branches stretched to the sky and birds who sang like celestial beings were taking their form, at least that’s what Jaskier was describing out loud. Geralt hummed a response every now and then. Jaskier was feeling marvelous.

As they entered a clearing Jaskier hushed his voice so Geralt wouldn’t quiet him himself but also because whatever was in the cave ahead could be something that hears as well as Geralt does.

The cave that Geralt mentioned earlier had jagged edges on the rims of the entrance and was mysterious but overall didn’t look like anything special.

The Witcher climbed down Roach and Jaskier assumed he was tilting his head to hear better. Jaskier heard nothing.

It was unsettling on how cautious Geralt was being. He was usually cautious of course but by this point of an adventure, he would have quickly prepared what he needed, swallowed a potion, and then throw himself at whatever monster it was this time. He was indeed grabbing some vials from Roach but was tentative about it. Not too long because while Jaskier was busy crawling off his horse Geralt had slipped into the cave.

Jaskier took the liberty of lightly tying the reins of his horse to the thin tree, grabbed a random healing salve and then scampered behind Geralt.

If Jaskier thought the entrance was dark then it was so much worse inside. He was beginning to understand bats. Maybe if he was lucky he could start using echolocation, though he doubts his witcher would appreciate any of that.

The Witcher paused and held his hand out to stop Jaskier from traveling further. He tensed up but it was something Jaskier couldn’t hear.

Geralt’s jaw tightened at whatever his senses were telling him or at Jaskier pulling at his arm to tell what the hell was going on. “Wait here,” came a low rumble of words.

“I’m blind here,” Jaskier murmured back. “What am I supposed to do?” Can’t even find the exit at this point.

Leather wrapped around Jaskier’s hand as he took too long to process Geralt was lifting his hand up. “Hear anything and you’ll run.” Geralt letting Jaskier feel where his hand was pointing, the exit, obviously, but Jaskier was busy memorizing the feel of the gloves. Oh, and his stomach was getting all funny. He really shouldn't feel this way. For Destiny's sake, he wasn't some sort of blushing virgin. “Jaskier?”

That voice was not helping. “Yes, right, that way, got it.” And because he couldn’t think better of it. “Do be careful, Geralt, please... You don't want to get your ass saved by a bard. What would that do to your reputation?”

Geralt huffed, it sounded light and a noise Jaskier would very much like to hear several times over. The Witcher's hand was out of Jaskier’s. His footsteps faded and Jaskier followed as quietly as he could because he was an idiot.

He heard a sharp scream come deep within the cave and knew it was human. He ran to it occasionally scraping his hands along the rocky walls to be sure of his direction. Ahead of him, he saw Geralt’s outline, black like a shadow because of the dim glow of the fire that was in front of him.

“Tell me, wench, can you scream without a tongue?” A voice that was most certainly not Geralt’s snarled.

Jaskier listened to a muffled cry and Geralt’s outline vanished. With the Witcher nowhere in sight, Jaskier sped to the spot his witcher was last standing to see what he was watching.

Jaskier saw the cave much clearer with the fire in the center. There were makeshift beds and wine bottles all over the place. Not far ahead a woman was bound, her hair askew and covered in mud, and had a bleeding nose. She was gagged by a random rag while two men poked at her with their swords. “Stupid bitch.” The man raised his sword to beat her with the flat of it and came down to meet Geralt’s blade.

The man’s eyes widened in horror and he let out a startled gasp and quite possibly pissed himself while Geralt grabbed him by the front of his shirt and threw the man to the floor. The Witcher turned to the other who pointed his sword at Geralt.

Geralt seemed to try making a point that he was not fighting unless required but the man raised the sword all the less. Jaskier watched Geralt hold back his own abilities, he guessed that the Witcher was doing this to avoid death but it would come to that regardless. His witcher just had to learn that each time on his own, unfortunately.

Geralt blocked several blows that came for his neck and heart. But the other man was getting up from the dusty floor and finding his sword fast. It appeared the Witcher was losing his patience with one so swiftly sliced his blade through the man’s leg. The man choked on his scream. The Witcher angled his sword to break the man’s leg, making the bone visible. The man collapsed to the ground, crying out helplessly. Blood sprayed the dirt and pieces of bone shards flew and yep Jaskier was gagging again.

The Witcher paid no mind when he swiveled to face the second whom he had no mercy for. The man wasn’t given the fighting chance as the other as Geralt shoved the blade into the other’s gut and cut it to his heart. The man went limp after that, dropping his sword next to the flames.

Geralt took a breath, sheathed his sword and stepped towards the woman but she shook her head and screamed as well as the rag would let her.

“I’m trying to release you.” Jaskier heard Geralt say.

The woman did not let up and finally, Jaskier saw what she was seeing. A third man from behind ran at Geralt with a dagger.

The Witcher had been too focused on freeing the woman and his kindness was costing him. The third man was quick and didn’t give Geralt the chance to get his sword. He dodged the swipe the Witcher tried and stabbed at Geralt’s calf shocking the Witcher to a kneel but allowed Geralt to grab the man’s throat and crush it in his grip. The man’s face went purple and he was clawing at Geralt’s hand but he too went limp as his friends did and Geralt held the man like that a few more seconds before dropping him. His eyes bulging out of his head and blood coming from his nose.

That was easily ignored when Jaskier looked back to Gealt who was still on one knee. Jaskier was checking his pockets for the healing salve he knew he brought, he couldn’t clean the wound but Geralt wasn’t exactly human and wouldn’t get too sick, at least that’s how he justified it.

Geralt groaned while standing and walked to the woman and ungagged her.

“Obliged,” the woman rasped and wiped her nose with her thumb. She patted down her dusty dress.

Jaskier finally stepped out, bit by bit as he tried to figure out what he could do.

“You are the apothecary. The town spoke of your absence,” Geralt spoke.

“I am.” She stood up, glancing at the bard coming from behind. “He with you?”

Geralt turned, anticipating an attack but only found his bard fumbling. He only looked mildly pissed. “Jaskier, for fuck’s sake.”

Jaskier smiled.

“I thought I told you to run.”

“Yeah, well it was dark.”

Geralt growled, “I showed you the way out.”

Jaskier strolled along closer to the Witcher and the woman. He saw the woman kept wiping at her nose and her hands were covered in nicks and scratches. “You did, that was very kind, one problem though is that I forgot so I decided you might need a bard’s helping hand, and look at that, you do.” Jaskier kneeled to the woman and without saying anything else began rubbing the salve on her hands and on the bridge of her nose. He reached to smear some on Geralt's leg but mostly just got it on the pants.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The woman pushed him away. Looking at her much closer there were greys in her hair, bags under her eyes, and she even had a busted lip.

Jaskier tried to apply some there but she pushed his hand away, quite roughly too. “This stuff can heal witcher wounds, I’m sure it will help you too if you let it.”

The woman pushed him again for good measure. “I’m a healer! I know what I’m doing. I don't need some quack means. I know my work.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned.

“Of course you do,” Jaskier interrupted and stood straighter. “I don’t doubt your miraculous abilities, perhaps you can help my friend then. Clean his wounds, please.” He persuaded.

The woman glanced at Geralt and then down to his bleeding leg. She sighed, “Bring me to town. My shop has everything I need. I’ll do you this as my way to repay your help, Witcher.”

Geralt grabbed a log off the fire and used that to guide their way out. Only a mild limp in his step.

Jaskier thanked the healer multiple times on the way out and she waved him off just as many times.

Once out Roach huffed a greeting. Good to know all was well in the world of horses.

“Whiskey? You got my horse?” The woman nearly shouted.

Whiskey? “What?”

The woman leaped toward the white and brown patched horse. It greeted her well, puffing her messy hair with its breath. “I thought those fucking bandits took you away,” she laughed.

“You mean Gustabo?”

She swiveled so fast Jaskier thought he’d feel air slap him. “What the hell kind of name is that.”

Jaskier crossed his arms. “Cause Whiskey is better?” It was. It was so much better.

Geralt settled on Roach and was already heading back to what was probably the direction of the town.

The woman followed suit. She climbed on Gustabo with ease and was beside the Witcher.

“Oi! Does that mean-” Oh, no. Jaskier was seeing this long walk ahead. “Oh, this is… this is bullshit,” he muttered.

He didn’t say much other than to complain on the way back to town. As for Geralt, his only response was telling Jaskier that he’d get the luxury to look at two horse asses on the way back to town.

Jaskier didn't much like that joke.

Chapter Text

Jaskier had wanted to respond by saying looking at two horse asses? Huh? Nothing much changing then. But he came up with it too late. Fifteen minutes into the walk and they were almost there.

He was still mildly pissed at the whole losing Gustabo which was actually Whiskey. Here he thought that maybe destiny was giving him a gift for being the greatest bard to the Witcher in all the land but he forgot that destiny barely does favors, and not for the likes of him.

“Are we there yet?” He moaned.

It was still freezing out and he was sure he had cold mud in his shoes. He’d clean them out and mend them later and it would be fine with magic but at the moment everything was shit.

The weather. His shoes. Losing Gustabo. Geralt ignoring him on the way to town. This woman being upset about her wounds and yet not letting him help. Humans are always so cynical.

Entering town at least meant that the buildings could block some of the cold air that was hitting him outside the forest.

“Not used to cold weather, Jaskier?” The woman spoke smugly, she barely glanced back from atop Whiskey who was now trotting a lot more happily but Jaskier was ignoring that betrayal.

Jaskier’s head shot up. His arms were hugging himself. He hasn’t been able to thicken his clothing with Geralt always there. He wanted to slap himself for not thinking about it earlier but then again when he wasn’t with Geralt earlier he was with Efreeti. That’s beside the point, the use of his name on an unfamiliar tongue threw him off. She obviously heard Geralt say it but still.

He hadn’t noticed that he went quiet for a while, he just didn’t want Geralt to hear his teeth chattering and get the whole I told you so about his clothing.

But he’s a chatterbox and he’ll indulge the woman.

“Not very. Where I’m from it’s not like this.” He cheered himself internally for minimizing the clacking of teeth.

The woman hummed, “What’s the weather where you’re from? Fair? It must be if you haven’t experienced this.”

“Oh, I’ve experienced all weather just not where I’m from… It’s not much of anything really.” Because where is Jaskier from? His bottle? Where everything is just a void of nothing. Like sleeping with your eyes open until someone summons you. There is no weather. Maybe from now on he should just say he’s from Redania, he really should just use the story he gave where he went to Oxenfurt. The story was fleshed out, even if he wanted to distance himself from it.

Geralt turned to him for a moment, a hard stare that Jaskier couldn’t understand but he was facing forward before he could decipher it.

“Delikat!” Young voices shouted. A couple of boys, probably twelve if Jaskier could guess, ran out into the street. The horses slowed and Jaskier finally was able to catch up enough to walk next to Roach and the Witcher.

“Durny and Glupi, my favorite idiots. Break anything while I was kidnapped?”

The boys looked nervously at each other, one wipe at some tears that were running down to his chin. They hugged at her legs while she sat atop Whiskey. She smiled. It was so much nicer than any of the expressions Jaskier had seen on her and now her forehead didn’t have so many creases.

“What’s this? Actually miss me?”

One of the boys hiccuped, “No! Never!” He still clung to her leg.

She laughed, “Good to hear everything was in order while I was away, you two need to cause trouble later though, I have someone to help. If you’re gonna come over, bring me some water.” She petted one of the boys' curly hair.

They turned to Jaskier first and then their eyes rose to see the Witcher. Jaskier watched an array of emotions go over the two, it was entertaining to see their eyes become saucers, and Jaskier would have to agree with that reaction.

“Is that-” One boy started.

“A witcher?” The other finished.

“Skedaddle now. And remember to get me buckets of water.”

The boys ran off but not far and they were still watching Geralt from afar. Jaskier waved and offered a friendly smile, one boy responded with a weak wave before the other pulled at his arm to stop him. What curious humans.

Whiskey trotted again and Roach followed but not for far as Delikat stopped and threw herself off and tied the reins to a thin tree that sat next to what must be her shop.

“Tie your horse here for the time. No one will touch her. No one ever messes with anything of mine… unless they’re not from here.” She muttered the last part.

Geralt nodded but listened and followed wherever she led. Jaskier didn’t like that. “Oh, so you’ll listen to her but when I offer to heal you it’s I don’t need help, Jaskier and you don’t know what you’re doing, Jaskier.” He pitched his voice and mimicked Geralt.

“Are you an apothecary?”

Jaskier opened his mouth but couldn’t really say he was. That didn’t mean that he still couldn’t help or-

“Get inside before I have to tie you like Roach.” He waited for Jaskier to get inside first and while Jaskier would be flattered he felt that this was some backhanded way to say Jaskier couldn’t be trusted unless in his eyesight. He frowned at that.

Jaskier climbed all two creaky stair steps and entered. Geralt lumbered behind him.

“You going to come in further or do I have to make baby-steps with you?” Her voice rang from behind a wall, Jaskier would just follow Geralt and his hearing.

He tried to take a closer look at the leg, kind of only ending up looking at Geralt’s ass but Jaskier wasn’t complaining.

“Just sit and put the bleeding bit up, let me see what the fucker got on you.” She directed him to a low table and Geralt awkwardly sat. “I said to put the bleeding bits up, Witcher. Can’t fix you otherwise.”

Something was off with his witcher. Jaskier examined his face that was scrunched up in clear annoyance. Geralt shook his head and then stood up. “I’ll heal fine without. I’ll be leaving.” He was walking out of the first room.

Jaskier followed because of course. “What? Where are we-”

“Leaving.”

If the Witcher wouldn’t think of health then he would think of coin. “What about your contract? You went through the work of getting it and you saved the day, Geralt, you should at least get your coin,” Jaskier reasoned.

“There was no monster, bard.”

Jaskier couldn’t think of anything to say and Geralt was already taking another step.

“There were monsters, Witcher…” Delikat came in for the save for Jaskier. “So many I couldn’t count them and they stole me away from my home. They took my horse. They told me I would become a ransom to this town and then after they wouldn’t give me back, they said they would have their fun in any way they saw fit.” She sucked in a breath for the next part and she clenched her fists. “They beat me and they told me how it would happen and then threatened to cut my tongue out so I couldn’t scream for help but then that same day I got to see my home and my beloved horse and my torturers dead before me. You killed the monsters and gave me justice and probably many others, Witcher.”

Geralt stood very still. He didn’t look shocked but he was struggling for words that could possibly go against her. Jaskier knew there wasn’t much he could say unless he wanted to diminish what she went through.

The room was silent, Jaskier was afraid of saying anything. He didn’t want to break whatever was compelling Geralt to listen to her.

She patted the table and then gathered some vials and herbs that laid across a shelf. “Let me fix your leg up. You may heal faster than a normal man but that doesn’t mean we can’t speed that up more.” Jaskier was so thankful for this wonderful destiny-sent woman. Maybe she had experience with heroic sacrificing dumbasses.

He pulled Geralt gently back into the room and surprisingly the Witcher let him. It was quite the sight to see his witcher seeming worried about being seen by an apothecary.

“Come now,” the healer chided, “these grey hairs are for wisdom and they ain’t there for nothing. I know what I’m doing.”

Jaskier let go of the Witcher and gave a sly grin to Delikat. “I, for one, find your grey hairs to be very refined.”

She rolled her eyes. “Boy, I am old enough to be your mother.”

Geralt snorted. He actually… Jaskier would save that for later. He would have had a great comeback but it was Geralt’s fault and his weird, charming, not a laugh-laugh.

Geralt lifted his leg onto the table without prompting this time, he probably just didn’t want to be scolded by the woman and Jaskier couldn’t blame him. He pulled off his lute, setting it right next to the door.

Glancing back Jaskier saw she cut the already ripped part of his pant leg and inspected the wound. Jaskier took a glimpse as well, there was a lot of dried blood, it took a second for Jaskier to even find where the actual damage was. His eyes found the freshest of the blood. The bleeding had mostly stopped but it was covered in filth and it was a thick wound. Jaskier couldn’t believe how the Witcher acted as if this was nothing but a little scratch. He walked out of the cave with a slight limp but he should have been dragging it by Jaskier’s standards. Geralt seemed fine cept for the literal stab wound, he even joked with Jaskier.

“Geralt? Is this… is this like a little scratch to you or does this hurt as much as it looks?” Ah shit. He sounded too worried. He really should shut up. “Because, uh, that looks like I could fit like half my hand in.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but looked at the gash. “You exaggerate, bard.”

“He may be but I need to clean this out,” Delikat paused and walked out of the room and before Jaskier could ask what the hell she was doing he heard her shout outside and a mere few seconds later the two boys from earlier dropped off two buckets of water. The two sloshed and set them down with a clink.

They stared at Geralt, a little shaken but they certainly looked like they had questions. Jaskier smiled and awkwardly waved again. The same boy from earlier waved again and then was promptly dragged off by the other, both keeping their eyes on Geralt.

“Thank you, boys, that’s more than enough.” Jaskier heard her say.

One of the boys was shuffling from what Jaskier could hear and then mumbled, “You’re helping a witcher?”

The other boy spoke, “Why?”

Delikat sighed, “He’s the reason I got to come home.” Jaskier could hear the watery voice in the next part, “He’s the reason you get to see me again.”

More shuffling and then a door closing.

Delikat came into the room holding some bandages. “Apologies, those boys like helping me yet hate when I have anyone over.”

“They seem delightful. Just… just curious about seeing a real-life witcher. I know I was.” Jaskier remembered the first day and the first weeks with a grin on his face.

Geralt grunted at something which reminded Jaskier of why they were there in the first place.

Delikat set to work, she brought the bucket and poured some of it on Geralt’s leg. Then she moved around the room. She really did look like she knew what she was doing, poured alcohol as well, Geralt barely winced. Honestly, it was Jaskier reacting more than Geralt was about the whole thing.

She cleaned out the dirt and dried blood. It looked so much more manageable and Jaskier let out a physical breath of relief and pulled out the salve from his pocket and opened it. He traveled to where Delikat stood and put some of the goop on his fingers and while he was at it some of his own scratches he got while trying to navigate the pitch-black cave.

The healer stopped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping?” Jaskier tilted his head. “I swear this stuff works, it has on Geralt for months and months.”

“Putting random shit on an injury will cause more problems.” She shook her head.

“But it works! I promise.” Jaskier tried to think of an example then he saw her hands. “Your hands! See?”

She lifted them up to her face and all the scratches that were once there were either gone or scabbed over and on her face, her nose looked to be in great condition to Jaskier as well.

Delikat pulled the container from Jaskier’s hand to figure out what this substance was but if Jaskier didn’t know then he doubted she would. While she busied herself with trying to figure it out Jaskier applied the stuff to Geralt’s calf.

At the edge of another table were some bandages that Jaskier grabbed. They were a little coarse but they were clean and would do the job of covering it up just fine.

“Where did you find something like this?” The healer looked genuinely intrigued by the weird shit just like Jaskier was the first morning after using it on Geralt’s back.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a good answer for her. “Would you like to have some?” Is what he decided to say instead.

She looked back and forth to the container and Jaskier. “Yes, but I’m supposed to be helping you here.”

The wish worked nonetheless and he was sure there was another in his bag that he should retrieve from Whiskey. “It’s yours, I’m sure I’ll find more on the road. Besides,” he smiled. “I already have a spare. Traveling with Geralt here,” he tilted his head to look at his witcher. “Well, it’s essential.”

The Witcher’s eyes narrowed at him but Jaskier pointedly ignored it even though he was tempted to stick his tongue out at him. Geralt could be suspicious all he wanted but Jaskier already knew he wouldn’t ask. Geralt barely asked anything about Jaskier. The only time he could remember Geralt even remotely wanting to know something was when he asked about the honey goop one time before Jaskier changed the conversation.

Delikat clutched the container and thanked Jaskier and then promptly snagged the bandages from him and began wrapping. It was kinda aesthetically pleasing how fast she was able to do that. “Maybe some thread to put this all together,” she mumbled and left.

Jaskier looked at the work and he figured it was a good sign that Geralt wasn’t bleeding through it already. “Ain’t this great? She fixed you up, what a compassionate soul.” Jaskier smiled and put the ripped fabric of Geralt’s pant leg together. He didn’t have a needle or thread but he could keep talking and get Geralt to focus on that instead…

“She’s paying back what she believes is a debt.” Geralt leaned back and closed his eyes, being hunched over all that time must have gotten uncomfortable.

Jaskier began mending the torn clothing. He loves simple magic. “Perhaps, but I think she genuinely wants to help you because of your dashing rescue.” Slowly the threads came together and it was beginning to look like it was never sliced up in the first place.

Geralt’s eyes shot open and Jaskier played the role of the casual, absent-minded friend which to be fair… he often was. But actively pretending to be daydreaming was a new one.

He glanced at Geralt as if it were an accident to see the Witcher coldly staring down at his shirt. It took Jaskier to see he was looking at his medallion, practically burning holes into it. “What’s wrong? You weren’t stabbed anywhere else were you?” It came out light but his witcher was off and Jaskier wondered if Geralt actually was stabbed twice and was hiding it. Ugh. The bastard would hide it. Just to make a point too!

Geralt looked at him, confused but leaned back and closed his eyes once again. “No.”

“You sure?” Jaskier grinned. “I can tell when you’re lying.”

Geralt’s lip twitched. “No you can’t.”

Jaskier scoffed dramatically. Geralt wasn’t gonna even let him have that! “Okay, no, yeah, you’re right. But you wouldn’t lie to your bard now would you?”

He would never get an answer. Geralt sat up again, slightly stretching and the healer came in holding a small box and set it quickly to the table and pulled a needle and thread out and went to the fabric Jaskier had just mended. “Now, I’m not a tailor but I’ll close that up to at least stave you off till getting-” She trailed off and stopped her handy work finally noticing the tear was…

Jaskier realized his mistake but he could fix that. “Wow! Look at that! And you say you’re not a tailor!” He bounced, mainly because he was nervous but it could play off as amazement, right? “Looks like it only needs a little bit of stitching left…” He chuckled and begged her with his smile to not say anything.

She finished where Jaskier left off with the most perplexed look on her face but didn’t say anything. Thank destiny for small favors. “I think you’re all set.”

“Now we can get your coin, stay for a night, and next morning head to bigger and better places. Maybe to where it’s not as cold.”

Geralt stood. “You’re not coming with.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Pfft. Real funny. I thought we established you’re not that lucky.”

“Jaskier. You can’t follow me this time.”

Jaskier crossed his arms. “May I remind you that it was you who was stabbed during this contract and not I.”

“Outsiders can’t come to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt sighed.

Home of the Witchers.

Something in Jaskier shivered. He wouldn’t be welcomed. Not as a bard and even less so as a monster who would dare stand in their presence. Okay, maybe it wasn’t as dramatic but he shouldn’t be pushing his luck with several witchers like he was with this one.

“Oh.” He wouldn’t say he paled at the notion of being in Kaer Morhen, he would surely go if Geralt would let him… but too many witchers in one place. He trusted Geralt but could he trust Geralt to pick him over his own guild, essentially his own kin? The answer was no. It hurt but he understood and wouldn’t wish for more.

Delikat cleared her throat. “If you need any else during your stay, come by.” She packed her kit of thread. “Hopefully you won’t.”

Geralt thanked her and was already walking out the door, leaving Jaskier to rest on the low table he was just sitting at.

He should probably get up and follow for one last day, Delikat was looking at him awkwardly. He shouldn’t be so upset. He’d most likely see Geralt in spring or summer. He could do plenty in the time he now had without having to trail a witcher. He could go traveling wherever he wanted again. Hell, maybe he’d go to court and make a real name for himself. Then he’d keep his promise to Geralt by changing how the continent saw him. Maybe he could try for the Cintran court?

“First time apart?”

Jaskier lifted his eyes to her but shook his head. “Just gonna be the longest.”

She hummed, “Well then,” She wiped down some of the leftover blood next to Jaskier. “Better make these moments count.”

At that, Jaskier stood and made his way to the door. He grabbed his lute and swore he would do as she said and make the rest of the day count. He would get Roach some good oats for the next morning. He would talk Geralt’s ear off for the time being and claim it was so Geralt would have enough for all of winter. Jaskier was going to miss his friend and he was going to make sure Geralt would miss him too…

Because dammit he would.

Chapter Text

Jaskier was walking past the closed gates of Cintra. The sun was setting and hidden behind the clouds so it was dark but the sight was glorious and Jaskier inhaled a breath of cold air, ignoring the smell that came with every enormous city but relishing in it all the same.

The sky looked straight out of a water painting. Clouds both wispy and feathery, they seemed to glow in the soon to be night sky. Glancing back to the city, the buildings were tall in the big center of Cintra and as for the castle, while far, is absolutely stupendous, magnificent. The snow lightly flurried and danced around him in his amazement. The snow piled up on roofs and each heap looked like fluffy pillows he’d very much like to throw himself at. He felt goosebumps ripple on his arms, not that he minded, the view could distract one of any woe. That woe being away from…

What’s probably curious is how Jaskier got to the gates of the kingdom of Cintra itself. Well, that has to do with the last conversation he was having with the healer.

It was cold then too in that small town, but not the lovely, gentle breeze of snowflakes tickling him in the gorgeous kingdom. Oh, no, it was the kind that bit and tore into the most unwelcome areas. It was loose icicles and clumpy frozen mud. It was terrible in that town and how Jaskier could have ignored all it's awfully awfulness was beyond him. Once Geralt had left it was like a slap to face… with rings… of a noblewoman. Which is also horrendous but besides the point.

What had happened, Jaskier had watched Geralt ride away on Roach. She was fed well that morning and Jaskier gave his heartfelt farewell to her and his promise to Geralt to run into him again as he still had a promise to keep. While Geralt may have quirked a brow at that he didn’t disagree or put it down. And that was good enough for Jaskier.

Jaskier waved him off, it was quite silly looking back on it.

Without his best friend in the whole wide world away and Jaskier, having nothing much to do, knocked at the healer’s door, she begrudgingly let him enter, probably out of pity, and the two boys from earlier had finally come around to also enter her home. They all shared a meal that wasn’t as awkward as Jaskier had been expecting. The boys, what were their names? Well, whatever their names were, they asked many questions about Geralt and Jaskier answered them as extravagantly as he could. He told them many of the adventures he’d gone on with Geralt. Such as vampires, griffins, and ghouls. He kept in mind to never call Geralt the Witcher during the stories and while the boys had continuously called him that by the end they too called his witcher his true name. For Jaskier, even if it was only three people, he was changing their minds about witchers.

The boys asked more about monsters and it seemed they were expecting horror stories on the Witcher which Jaskier would never provide. It was true that Geralt could be terrifying but he knew Geralt and well, the big old Witcher isn’t so scary when you’ve seen him talking to Roach. So he told them that instead. He told them how Geralt had saved so many people and Jaskier made sure to elaborate the sword fights and also how he wrote plenty on Geralt and his heroism. He was a storyteller after all.

The boys were enthralled and while the meal was long over Jaskier still went on about his favorite hero. Even Delikat seemed to be interested. And as for Jaskier? He wouldn’t pass an opportunity to talk Geralt up.

Jaskier thought while he had their admiration for Geralt he should mention something else. He talked about how upon entering one village the people threw stones at Geralt and by default him as well. The two boys looked completely furious at the news. Their heroic knight being unjustly treated, Jaskier could relate very well. They shouted things like “But he’s a hero!” “He kills monsters and saves people! Why would they do that?” Delikat hadn’t said anything but the way she looked at Jaskier told him that she knew what he was doing. That he was proving all their myths and tales of witchers wrong and that the world still believed in false knowledge.

And Jaskier had just sighed and said that was the way of the world which made the two boys more distraught saying it wasn’t fair. You’re right. Jaskier said. It isn’t fair. After cleaning up the two went home and Jaskier stayed a bit longer to clean off the stains on the old wooden plates they had just eaten from.

He reminisced on the rest of that story. He left out plenty of other details like what the people of that small village shouted at Geralt or how Roach was also hit with a fair share of rocks and mud. He left out how once they left he tried to cheer his witcher up, an impossible task one would say. But Jaskier is all too familiar with the impossible.

Jaskier was angry, he was fuming, there was little he could do in that town and he was ready to open his mouth to complain to Geralt at the horribleness of the cowardly people but seeing Geralt’s face stopped him. He was just blank yet his eyes were forlorn. There was something there that Jaskier didn’t quite know yet like a memory Jaskier wasn’t there for and one of the most unpleasantness Jaskier would assume.

So Jaskier tried something else as they trailed into some random woods, something like, “Wow, what a tough crowd. They must certainly hate good ballads and songs to kick us out like that, so sorry you got caught in the crosshairs, Geralt…” Jaskier strummed off-key for good measure but his witcher didn’t respond. Not even a low huff to show he was listening.

And when night came, they sat around their small fire, and Geralt had a down look about him. Jaskier kept speaking. He made their humble meal as flavorful as he could and said the forest ground would be far lovelier than any of their brittle hay made mats they’d call beds and how the ale would have been watered down anyways. Really, this was a fantastic dodge, Geralt. Nothing seemed to get the Witcher to react and Jaskier vowed to seriously change the world’s view of witchers once and for all just to never see his witcher like this ever again.

He must be so easy to read because Delikat was taking the poor worn-out plate out of his hands before he would ruin it with scratches and after all the effort he went through to fix the others…

“You miss him,” she huffed and Jaskier couldn’t dispute her, only could fidget with his hands now that there was no plate to distract him. “Where do you plan to go while you wait?”

Jaskier took heavy steps to the table and sat. “I don’t know. I was thinking of Cintra.”

She nodded. Faintly humming while putting the wares away. “Hmm. Cintra. Dreaming big, I see.”

“Just a little,” Jaskier stared off, finally willing himself to think about the trouble it’d be to get there. “I’m hoping I can get there fast and work my way up in court.” Then maybe Geralt would come back just a bit more popular in the good way. Jaskier did promise.

“Well then, may you have the fastest travel when you leave, the road is long to Cintra and the best of luck impressing pretentious nobles.” She gave a gentle half-smile.

Oh, how he loves cleverly worded phrases. “I’m sure I will with your great blessings.”

He thanked her on the way out. No more of the unspoken animosity, because of the help she gave to Geralt, the gift of the healing grease Jaskier gave to her, and the joy she saw on the faces of the two boys when Jaskier spoke. He left after that, lute and bag in tow, and as per the wish, he seemed to vanish once his foot touched her porch. There was a creak on the old wood on his right foot and his left foot met the ground with a click.

His lips curled into a smile at the sound of his shoes clicking on cobblestone. Melitele, he loves magic. He was in Cintra before Geralt was in Kaer Morhen and that was a funny enough thought to have himself play enthusiastically at the nearest tavern which he’d have to search for. Luckily he was already in the city and the gates were shut, he was in Cintra with no fee and he could even hear guards playing cards as he walked.

Upon hearing loud shouting deeper in the city he figured he’d find a tavern somewhere.

Wandering through the streets, more snow came down. The brisk air finding its way down his doublet and through his still thin tunic. He shook some of the snow off of his hair. Snowflakes landed on his eyelashes, he appreciated the simplicity but unfortunately, some snow had landed in his eye.

“Ah, shit!” Blinking several times to ease away the stinging-

“Aye! You a bard?” A man’s voice bellowed in the streets out of sight.

Instinctively Jaskier clung to the strap of his lute that was on his back. He really should get a case for it. An extra form of protection wouldn’t hurt. He searched for the source of the voice. “Yeah?”

“The fuck are you doing out there?”

Rubbing at his eye, Jaskier sighed, “Inspiration, dear sir.” He finally spots the man a few feet away and shuffles to the tall man whose facial features became much more clear because of the light coming from inside. The windows glowed from the light inside, shedding some light on the grizzly-looking guy.

“I stare out my window and find a man roaming the empty streets and assume trouble,” The man then furrowed his brow, confused. “Then I see him staring at the sky and a fucking mandolin on his back for no damn reason and think the bastard is drunk off his ass and yet has not been in my fine establishment.” Despite the harsh words, his tone was light and almost teasing.

“No, good sir, I’m afraid I have not been in this fine establishment,” Jaskier blurted. Slightly offended that his lute, his lute, was being mistaken for a mandolin.

The man waved Jaskier closer and well... Jaskier had nothing better to do. “Then have a drink.”

“And if I lack the coin.” Jaskier quirked a brow. It wasn’t true. He had coin, but he would be saving that for a bath and a bed when he grew tired. He shouldn’t waste his coin just yet.

Jaskier was in arms reach and the man suddenly slapped him on the shoulder. “Then you’ll prove you know what you’re doing with that thing.” He gestured at Jaskier’s lute. “I can’t manage these people without a bard. Fuckers are always picking fights unless something’s amusing them,” the man scoffed and pulled Jaskier inside.

It was warmer, much warmer. The place was huge and ornate. The posts that held the ceiling were engraved with delicate designs. Speaking of ceilings, it was high and there were candles everywhere and even some hanging from above to light the massive tavern. Jaskier would dare say it was one of the most well taken care of bars he’d ever seen. It was surprising given that it looked to be overflowing with people. They seemed to be celebrating by Jaskier’s guess at the smell of alcohol in the closed building and all the rowdy dancing. Somewhere he saw someone push at another. That wouldn’t end well in Jaskier’s experience of these kinds of places.

The man interrupted his thoughts. “You take care of them and you can have anything on the menu.”

Jaskier smirked. “Sir, if that’s what you want, then you’ll have the best crowd you’ve ever seen, for- and this might shock you, for I am the greatest bard in all the land.”

The man laughed a real hearty laugh and gave Jaskier another slap on the shoulder. He ignored that it stung a little. “Prove it then, bard.”

Jaskier liked a challenge, he may not have the power of wishes on his side at the moment but he knew his instrument and he was very familiar with his voice.

He carved his way through the crowd and found his way on top of a table. He almost kicked a passed out man in the process but details, details.

“Good people of Cintra!”

There were many stares but he was overall ignored. Jaskier hummed. This would be trickier, but he was the greatest bard in all the land and wouldn’t shy away from a troublesome audience.

“Those wishing for adventures of creatures and monsters only seen in nightmares!” His heart seemed to vibrate at how loud he projected himself. “Then settle your ears for the tale of a fearsome witcher!”

At the keywords of monsters, nightwares, and witchers, Jaskier seemed to have captured a quarter of the crowd.

“One witcher above all else!” The smile on his face couldn’t be helped. “The White Wolf roams the world and any beast that crosses his path will meet its rightfully gruesome fate.”

The faces in the crowd seemed skeptical of the Witcher but Jaskier knew his audience. Cintra is known for what its kingdom is built upon. Their queen is also known for her particularly disdain for elves. Good thing Jaskier already has a song for that from Geralt and his first meeting, he didn’t have any other pejorative elf songs but he’d probably have to make more while here. Jaskier didn’t like that but he enjoys a warm meal more than he hates being malicious. A flaw to be certain but it shouldn’t be a foible to know people and use their characteristics against them. At least that’s how Jaskier justified it to himself. Didn't help with much of the guilt.

Bringing the lute from his back he sang gently to force the audience to quiet and listen to him, he loved that feeling of attention and how the eyes on him, some boring their eyes into him as if suspicious of his tales but others expected with no problem and Jaskier would like to credit that to his own excellence he also blamed the intoxication that wrapped among the crowd.

He sang most of his songs about his witcher, making sure to repeat his first song multiple times to remind them Geralt was on their side.

At least here in Cintra all my music will be spread across the continent.

He grew louder and some danced while others tried to sing along to songs he repeated. He found it endearing that even those half-way asleep were tapping with their hands or feet to the beat of his tune. If only Geralt could see him now, maybe he’d be proud of the coin that was being settled at Jaskier's feet. He had enough that he really could order anything off the menu without that gentleman’s offer.

Drunks can be so easy to maneuver if done properly. It couldn’t be considered too rude to laugh at them. Afterall Jaskier did have a great love for getting lost in his own gratification.

Jaskier had stopped for a mild break and still were there folks fumbling over lyrics about Geralt. Whether they were acknowledging Geralt of Rivia’s obvious witcherness was beyond Jaskier’s concern as long as he could keep them singing his songs for days and weeks to come and the world would be speaking of his great and wondrous witcher.

He stood tall while still on a table, he was positive he looked utterly ridiculous but he’s a bard and all bards have been granted the right to look as foolish as they please. Tis is law.

Jaskier had begun strumming again though with no song in mind. It was typical of him to play with no destination in mind especially when walking beside Geralt and Roach but apparently it got the crowd to hush. Not completely mind you. It truly is impossible to get everyone’s attention but he had managed to get his audience back without any words. It was almost startling at how only a few chords brought everyone back to having their eyes where they rightfully belonged, Jaskier.

He composed himself once seeing that he was expected to do more. He felt bad for any other bard that would come after him. He was spoiling these people with how his voice wasn’t already hoarse for going at it for an entire hour or longer, Jaskier hadn’t been keeping track.

He sang well throughout the night and finally the tavern slowly was emptying out and folks were retreating back to their homes in a drunken daze. The candles glowed pleasantly just as they had when Jaskier entered though now a barmaid had set a ladder to put many of them out.

Jaskier gingerly strummed, sitting on the table and coins given to him. He was exhausted when thinking about how long the day had really been. Now that he had room to think with only a few patrons at the bar he could see how worn out his voice was, and how much he needed a drink of any kind at this point.

The gentleman who invited him beckoned to sit at a further table and Jaskier didn’t think much but to comply. Gradually getting himself off the table and sweeping at his earned coin. His lute firmly on his back he trudged to the kind fellow and sat.

Jaskier hadn’t known what to expect, his head clouded after all the excitement but he was thanked by the man.

“I entreat you to play again tomorrow, bard, it was a skilled performance.” The man’s smile was contagious and Jaskier couldn’t help much that he was preening at the praise. “You must have been taught at Oxenfurt with your talents.”

“I was, my good sir, you have quite the ear.” Jaskier's mind whirled with memories. Some more pleasing than others but he felt the compliment nonetheless.

The man yawned, Jaskier shared the sentiment. “Well, as promised, what would you like? It’s the end of the day but I like to keep my word. Anything we still have is your pick.”

This man was already far kinder than the barkeep who was at the tavern where he met Geralt. “You are too kind.” A free meal is a good meal. “Please, whatever is leftover and good, I’ll have, it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” He thought for a moment. “And something for my throat.”

The man nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, anything.” He disappeared behind the room that was behind the bar. Jaskier decided it was as good a time as any to count some of his winnings that people placed at his feet.

It was more than he’d expected on his first night. He thought about how well the tavern must have made with Jaskier’s presence, no wonder the man was willing to hand him a free meal to get him to come the next night. Jaskier decided he would come again. He would work his way up to taverns deeper in the city, where the wealthy and noble-born tended to stay. He’d get to court that way. He was sure of it. He promised he would this winter. For the next few days though, Jaskier would be content with this bar and speaking for his witcher whom his mind can’t seem to stop thinking about.

Jaskier was sure that his thoughts on the Witcher would fade as he stayed, too distracted by Cintra’s delights, but for today his mind and heart were still with Geralt which was most unfortunate because the lovely and fair barmaid kept giving him glances as she put out more candles. She had gorgeous brown hair that curls and bounces wherever she went and her eyes were a beautiful deep brown, but Jaskier had grown fond of light hair, hair so bright that the sun shone against it and eyes that could glow and had a mysterious element to them... he was describing...

Well, fuck. This would be a long winter, Jaskier could already feel it in his bones. Damn his witcher for being away. It’s only been one day but damn him and his pretty amber eyes. Spring couldn’t come soon enough. At least Jaskier had a goal, and everyone knows that a goal is the perfect distraction.

Chapter Text

The tavern Jaskier had arrived at that first night in Cintra was just as lively and its people as rambunctious as ever despite the months he’d been there. No wonder the barkeep claimed he needed a bard to control this crowd. These people barely allowed Jaskier a break for a meal or drink. It was too warm at times with the entire tavern being near filled to the brim, but he wouldn’t be spared a break for fresh air, truly he was spoiling these people and he pitied the next bard who would have to face this crowd.

He expanded on the songs he sang each night, he took requests but no matter what, it always led back to the White Wolf, whether of his own volition or from a request. People seemed very fond of his griffin tale, The Witcher’s Blade through the Heart of a Feathered Fiend. He was always proud of his work though it was a shame he couldn’t tell the full story.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier saw someone watching him intently. Many people were but this guy wouldn’t let up and was dressed finely. The man was tall and had several rings that flashed and colorful clothing that people kept taking glances at. What was most striking was the red hair and stubble across his face. Jaskier couldn’t tell if this was a situation to try to impress this nobleman or if he should avoid eyes that looked like they wanted to devour him. He hates situations like this. On one hand, this could be an excellent way to get out of this tavern and find his way to more gatherings and receive better pay or this could just be the wandering eye of a noble-born who had never been told no.

Jaskier didn’t see much of a choice in any regard and he wasn’t one to avoid risks, just take him approaching a witcher and following said witcher to wit's end. Yes, Jaskier wouldn’t say no to whatever would come next but proudly welcome it. What was the worst that could happen?

The nobleman would disappear for hours and return and this routine kept the entire day. There was no doubt his eye was on Jaskier and finally when the stars laid in the sky and the moon was luminous and Jaskier was settling to leave to a nearby inn did the man approach him outside the pub.

“Greetings, bard.” His smile seemed unassuming so Jaskier responded the same. “I am Aakif Harski Darvan.” He dipped his head. Seeing him close, Jaskier would say he was actually very plain but it was his clothing and hair that made him stand out. Jaskier always appreciated colorful fashion.

“Fascinating.” Jaskier flashed a grin. “And I am Jaskier,” he bowed more for show than any sign of respect. “The wandering bard.”

“That would explain why I have never seen the likes of you before.” He fidgeted with his rings. Though Jaskier took note of how his stance remained confident. Perhaps this man was a new lord. Oh good, those were easier to grab their ear. “Though I do hope you’ll keep yourself in Cintra a bit longer, wandering bard. I, amongst others, have heard you have stories woven into your songs.”

This young noble was either curious artistically or was trying to ease Jaskier into accepting a job. Either way, Jaskier was enjoying the simplicity of speaking to one man and knowing his name would be traveling to others in no time. “I am planning on staying the rest of the season, Cintra has quite the winter view that is too good to pass.”

“It does, though its spring is far lovelier, Perhaps you’ll stay for it.”

“Perhaps,” Jaskier hummed, having to push Geralt out of his mind again. “As for my spinning of tales, I do hold many of those. I’ve been told I can captivate any audience.” It was himself. Jaskier told himself that but it wasn’t a lie. “You see, I was following a witcher, an extraordinary one, and it’s his tales I spread.” So much for pushing Geralt out of his head for five minutes.

“They are most exquisite.” The nobleman began swaying on nerves. “Though shocking for a bard to follow a witcher.”

If this poor man wasn’t going to say it- “I would be most willing to play for you and your friends if you so wished. I am always eager to play, it is my craft.” Jaskier had played very few times for nobles, like barons or even a knight or two, over the winter but none were dressed as Aakif. If Jaskier wanted to spread his influence then it would be through this man.

Aakif’s eyes lit up not unlike those of a child. “That would be wonderful, yes, I was meaning to ask if you would.” He practically bounced and gestured to Jaskier to follow. “Please, would you be inclined to come. I must have you meet my friends.”

Jaskier grinned and waved his arms out. “In your company. Aakif? I would never dream of saying no.”

“If I’m in your company, then why would I ever dream of saying no to you.”

Floods of memories came back to his delight and disdain. He let himself follow the young lord while letting his mind race. Visions of the beauty that is Redania flowed. Redania was lovely. Jaskier stayed there for a long time when he found it. The weather was pleasant and nature flourished, the sight of green fields and flowers was one he would never forget. He even picked up a lot of customs there. There were also many interesting places in Redania. Like Oxenfurt amongst other cities. He went to Oxenfurt. He felt that was important to note. He did and he was amazing by the way. That is where he learned so much about the world. Both good and bad. He learned people can be so unbelievably creative in the best and worst ways.

He could already play the lute and sing but he became so much better with the aid of the Oxenfurt University. The teachers were so knowledgeable and many students were kind. It was just that hiccup to get into the school and be allowed to stay and study.

For a being with seemingly infinite power he couldn’t do anything regarding his history.

He wasn’t a nobleman. He wasn’t related to anyone that was of noble birth. He wasn’t related to anyone in general… He only had his talent and already built skill. It wasn’t enough exactly. He required having a lot of money, having a title or both. He tried giving himself a different name. Though no one believes in false names… Till something came up.

Jaskier doesn’t know how to feel about taking the name of a friend that passed. It started by writing a letter as his friend to his mother to not stress the poor woman that her beloved son had passed. It felt weird, though it did make life so much easier to claim the role of being noble-born. He fit the position perfectly, he continued to send letters to his friend’s mother during his time at Oxenfurt though he still can’t tell if that was the right thing to do but Jaskier couldn’t afford to lose his position because the man whose name he took was dead, besides she was kind and if enough time went by maybe Jaskier would figure out a way to break the bad news to her and his friend’s family.

He didn’t like being Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove. It felt wrong in every way. He wasn’t even from anywhere yet alone Lettenhove. Lovely city though, if he could be from anywhere he would very much like to be from there.

Titles and some wealth in tow seemed to not be enough though either. There wasn’t a place open for him… He was ashamed of what he did to get a spot in Oxenfurt. He used every moment he was there though to make it worth sucking an old fucker’s cock for a wish.

“You do put on a great performance, though I’m afraid to say there isn’t a position open. I do wish you could come. I would ravage you whenever I got the chance.”

“Well, you know what they say… Never a wish unfulfilled.”

Jaskier got in and succeeded with flying colors that apparently no one was expecting. He didn’t particularly enjoy the favors he had to do. It wasn’t even to cover up failing classes. Jaskier was perfect in everything he put his mind to, it was that if he didn’t… He wasn’t sure how long his position would last. And why risk it…

The place was beautiful, he made many friends and learned so much about them and the world. He truly felt human when with these people. The room the school provided was gorgeous, the bed was soft and always the perfect temperature. His meals were expertly done and he made friends with all the servants and chefs. Apparently knowing the names of the staff was weird but he was a weird and eccentric person and he blamed his weirdness on all musicians having to be a little weird. Being there… it was almost perfect.

The teachers, students, servants, and even the average people in the large city were delightful. He would get himself into trouble and there were always friends there to help him. He met some of the best people when being mischievous. He may or may not have gotten involved with the Redanian secret services but that’s another story for a day and a half.

Jaskier- or rather Julian did all the classes he wanted and some he didn’t just for the sake of it and got honors when he graduated. It was such a happy accomplishment, he had cried tears of joy from everything. Too bad it was ruined that night when the man who “let him in” came to see him.

Jaskier was wary and distrustful at first but then the man said that the university was so astonished by Jaskier that they were willing to hire him. He could be a professor there and stay for as long as he liked with all the comforts he had. He would stay with the people he’d grown close to and get to stay in the classroom that he so dearly loved. It was perfect… too perfect.
He was a fool to think it wouldn’t come at a price. A price he was already so accustomed to.

“Your great devotion to your studies brought you here, you should be very proud.”

Jaskier did feel proud but having the man say if himself was putting him on edge. He thanked him but the man continued.

“You are being rewarded for that dedication, but I still did you a favor to get you here. Where would you be without me? Like a delicate flower, you need someone to make sure no one can destroy what you grew so diligently.”

Jaskier hates threats like those. So obvious to who you’re saying them to and yet subtle to make the other seem insane if they dare go against it. He was used to threats that meant nothing but his man was threatening to take away everything Jaskier built for himself. More could unravel with him intruding, like Jaskier’s false name… Jaskier couldn’t risk it.

He regretted that night... and the others that followed. He thought that when teaching, when being with his friends- it would make him forget… it didn’t. He lasted barely a month before leaving one humid night.

He didn’t pack other than his lute. He didn’t need reminders. He didn’t need something to trick him into coming back anytime soon. Of course he left notes to many friends, his “mother” and even one to the university to thank them for the opportunity but that he wanted to see and experience the world and that perhaps he would return… though at the time he prayed he wouldn’t.

The world was so big and had so much to offer that it shouldn’t be ruined by some halfwitted dunce who couldn’t do anything other than having his cock in his hand.

“Julian” left and began being Jaskier, the traveling bard once more. He would travel outside of Redania and wherever his feet took him.

Destiny led him to friends and foes alike and then to the strange in-between that is the Witcher.

Though right now his feet were following some guy by the name of Aakif Harski Darvan. This impressionable young man who appears to love the arts.

Jaskier was more than pleased to play for the man and his other equally influential friends.

So pleased that he barely noticed the days and weeks passing among nobles and finally some decent housing.

The weather had grown warmer though it kept its cool breezes and chilly late nights.

Nothing shocked Jaskier more than when Aakif handed him a bouquet of bluebells after an afternoon of a, particularly good performance. No, it wasn’t the shock that the lord would give him a gift nor was it the wonderful fragrance that the deep blue flowers gave. It was that these lovely dearies bloomed in mid-spring.

Bloomed in mid-spring.

Shit.

“You speak so highly of the warmth of the sun and the life it gives so that all may grow under it. It melts the bitter ice and snow of winter. It promises a new time…” Jaskier suppressed a snort as Aakif attempted poetry. “Just as you did with your wits and fantasies.” He watched Aakif fumble with his words yet found them endearing. “You are like a new coming season.” Jaskier soaked in the adorable words.

It appears Jaskier was right in thinking the lord was curious about the arts. “And you, so sweetly compare me to the likeness of spring.” Jaskier gripped the bouquet tighter. “Truly no one has said such marvelous words to me.” He has to find Geralt, it’s already been so long. Possibly mid or late spring, how had he grown so distracted? How would he find his witcher? The same way he found him before? Just plain, following his feet? Could he trust destiny with that as he did before? He didn’t want to, she was so fickle and he actually wanted to find Geralt as soon as possible, not in two or three or more weeks that it took that first time.

Aakif pursed his lips as he concentrated, brow furrowing. “And yet, something upsets you?”

Jaskier shook his head as if he could get his pesky thoughts out of his head. “Oh, no! Quite the opposite. These are so lovely, the finest bluebells I’ve ever seen.” He paused to breathe in the fresh smell again. “It is that it is the end of winter and my time to go and see the world again.”

“So soon?”

Jaskier laughed. “I have had plenty of fun here but how will I write new songs and bring new stories if I do not search for them?” Jaskier waved the flowers in the lord’s face, teasingly. “One must find their inspiration and mine is in the great wide continent.”

“Will you return?” Aakif asked.

Jaskier shifted his weight on one leg and sighed, “I don’t doubt it. The Witcher I follow is determined to find some time away from me.” But he has had it too well for too long. Where was the bastard?

“You are always welcomed here.”

The kind words shook Jaskier. “Your hospitality is most gracious.”

Both were silent for a time. The sun could be felt on the back of Jaskier’s neck and going through his clothing made him question how he never realized winter was at its end.

“Will you stay tonight?”

“I’m afraid I’m already late.” Jaskier peered at the flowers. “Perhaps you’ll wish to give these to a lively lady of court.”

“No, please.” Aakif shook his head. “They’re yours. To remind you of Cintra." Aakif paused and looked at his hand then pulled a ring off. "And this, to remind you of me."

Jaskier stared and took the ring gingerly. It was a pretty thing. The stone matched the colors of autumn and the metal wrapped well on his middle finger.

"I hope you’ll find what you're after.” Phrasing is everything. Now Aakif is, of course, speaking of Jaskier’s inspiration but Jaskier’s inspiration is in fact none other than Geralt of Rivia himself.

Jaskier nodded. He could tell the young lord was smitten with him and while Jaskier was flattered he could not reciprocate the same way. He would have a sting in the heart for a day or two when this would happen. “Farewell.”

The lord offered a curt nod and then Jaskier was off. He navigated his way through the masses and passed the tavern from the first night, managing to wave to the barkeep, a silent goodbye unspoken between the two and then Jaskier could see the gates of Cintra.

Gradually finding his way, he saw bright colors of clothing on people and bulbs of budding and fully bloomed flora. He seriously wanted to slap himself for not leaving sooner and attempted to grant Aakif’s accidental wish though not much happened. Jaskier was in a new town, sure. One moment he blinked and the next he was where the weather was less than pleasant. He had no idea where he was but nowhere in sight was Geralt nor Roach for that matter as per what the wish. Perhaps it was a weak wish, one that was also poorly worded, yeah, but still, if it brought him here then surely somewhere would be his witcher.

Jaskier wasn’t over berating himself over losing track of time. Normally, it would be of little consequence but after months of Geralt being nothing but the front of his thoughts and then… He slapped his forehead.

He walked through the town, few people were out, with the sun being hidden by an abundance of clouds and soon to be going to rest there was nothing keeping them out anymore. Jaskier was weary though if it was because of the weather or the tiring day he didn’t really know.

A loud huff and sound of hooves hitting dirt made him glance at nearby stables where someone was dropping off their horse. It wasn’t Geralt but Jaskier figured checking the stables for Roach was a good way of telling if his Witcher was there or not. Then it would only be a matter of waiting.

Dirt dusted his shoes and straws crunched under his feet while he entered, looking for the familiar mare.

“Roach?” He whisper-shouted. “Oh fair mare? Darling dearest?”

At the corner of his eye he saw her. Behind a low door there she stood, swishing her head side to side. Excited or cranky at his presence, he didn't know, much like Geralt.

Jaskier approached. “Did someone miss me?” He reached out to her mane but she responded by trying to nip at his fingers. “Rude. But I’ll let it slide, dear girl because it was me who was so terribly late.” He placed his hands on his hips, the bluebells still in his grip. "And after I promised you and everything, yes, I understand, you must hate me. No amount of flowers could buy back your love."

He didn’t try to pet her again but waved the bluebells at her so that she could also enjoy them then he leaned on the door that was in front of her. More straw crunched under him as he tried to find the most comfortable position.

“How’s Geralt?”

She puffed air and some snot into his hair.

“Ew, yeah, yeah, so absolutely miserable without me. I see. I suspected as much.” He fixed his hair. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he is now, would you?” She didn’t answer… obviously. “Understandable. That man doesn’t explain himself ever. I’m sure it drives you mad as much as it does me.” Again, nothing despite Jaskier using excessive hand gestures. “Well, he will always return to you. That I know as fact. But I guess the question is, do I wait all night here? Or- or do I risk taking a room to rest and find him in the morning?”

The wind howled outside, shaking the structure and having some dust flutter down. Wherever he was, spring seemed to forget its time was now and was letting winter rip at it. Maybe Geralt would bring them somewhere warmer. Jaskier hoped so.

“My bones are telling me to sleep but my…” My heart so desperately wants to wait until I see you and know you are real and here. “My lack of common sense is saying to wait and surprise him here by your side, Roach.”

And that’s what Jaskier did. He strapped himself for a night of waiting. Settling onto the poking straw he pulled his lute on his lap and strummed though it was difficult to hear over the roaring wind.

“And I quite like that plan.”

Chapter Text

Drifting. Sweetly drifting off is what Jaskier was enjoying while sitting in hay surrounded by horses. He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep if he even managed to fall asleep while sitting in hay and surrounded by literal horses. Still, rest was going just dandy and it certainly did not need to be interrupted by his back being hit by the stable door and leading to him scrambling in hay and landing face-first in said hay and dirt while trying to hold a lute. He, unfortunately, smushed his flowers in the process but they were wilting without water anyway. Not much loss there.

“As much as a horse’s ass you are, shouldn’t you be staying in a room, Bard?”

The familiar gravely voice almost made Jaskier want to cry. He couldn’t even register Geralt’s words and he wobbled to a stand before promptly landing on his ass again. “Geralt!”

The Witcher was standing over Jaskier, pulling the door open fully now that Jaskier was out of the way. Hair was tied, he probably just got up, and was readying to leave. This solidified Jaskier’s decision to have stayed in the stables that night.

Geralt’s little lip twitch was the only indicator that the Witcher was even remotely amused by the way he found Jaskier. Ass in the air and a face full of ground.

Jaskier picked away any straws of hay that were in his hair as he finally stood upright. Finding any dignity he had a few minutes ago to lift his ego he dusted off his pants harder. “You are a difficult man to get a hold on, you know that? Roach didn’t even know where you were!” He exclaimed while projecting some of his own thoughts and making them be Roach’s, “She was stricken with worry! The poor darling.” Jaskier almost reached a hand out to pet Roach before thinking better of it. “And there I saw her and kept her company in her grievous state.”

“Did you?”

The bastard was near grinning, his brows slightly raised and he was teasing Jaskier. He was more giving a half-half smile but Jaskier could tell he was being laughed at by a witcher. He was about to open his mouth to refute something. He wasn’t quite sure what but the Witcher interrupted that when he roughly brushed a piece of hay that remained in Jaskier’s hair.

And Jaskier’s mouth went dry, he hastily looked away to the floor and saw the bluebells. The crushed, wilting bluebells that weren’t agreeing with the drastic change in weather. “Well, yes. Of course, I was going to keep watch over such a wonderful mare.” Jaskier bent down and swiped at the flowers. “And it so happened that you came along which always makes everything better, that now she isn’t shaking like a leaf.” Jaskier thumbed the petals.

The Witcher hummed and mumbled something, though Jaskier didn’t catch it as it seemed to be directed to the horse.

Geralt was directing Roach and Jaskier followed. “Well? Where are we heading towards, Witcher?” A cold breeze easily blew through the fabrics he wore. Jaskier forgot while in that stable but it was still cold. They must be far North for it to still be cold when he had just been in mid-spring. He stared up at the grey cloudy sky. “I thought it was spring and yet here the cold is, making the sun look like the pale eye of a corpse.”

“The path leads south.”

“Oh, thank Melitele for small blessings.” Jaskier pressed his hand that held the bluebells to his chest. “I don’t think I’d survive much longer without some more color. Some kind of weather that doesn’t freeze the spit in your mouth.”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder, eyes darting to the flowers that Jaskier instinctively gripped tighter. He didn’t say a word but the question was clear to Jaskier. But Jaskier wouldn’t say a word about them, not until he knew where they were. He was fully aware that he was last in Cintra but Cintra was far South and seeing as they were in the cold North it wasn’t exactly probable to say where he got them. Jaskier was a talker but probably couldn’t talk his way to explain that.

“Are we leaving town?”

Geralt grunted an affirmation and pulled Roach along.

Jaskier nodded. “Where are we off to next? Going to a different country? Off to better and greener lands?”

“No.”

Jaskier groaned. He wouldn’t get any information from Geralt. He could probably outright ask hey, Geralt, where the fuck are we? And the Witcher would hum like that was an answer. Jaskier was sure he would learn over time but that didn’t make it any less annoying. “How was your winter, Geralt?”

“Uneventful.”

“I don’t believe that for a second!” Jaskier grinned. “You’re a witcher. That in itself is anything but dull.”

Geralt sighed but gave no other indicators that he would respond.

“Fine then. I’ll tell you mine. You missed so much, honestly, I should catch you up.” Shoving the bluebells to the side of his pants, Jaskier pulled his lute to his front to play gently. “I think you’ll become quite the legend. In any place I performed- there a captive audience was, begging for more- especially on the White Wolf.” Jaskier chuckled, “People love a good adventure tale.”

Yet again Jaskier received nothing that would signify a reply. But that was fine. Jaskier could well talk for two or even three.

And so that’s how the hours were spent. After they left town completely and were treading open land and for hours that’s how it was. Seems the hours of performing non-stop in Cintra were helping Jaskier now.

Though unlike the Cintran crowds, Jaskier was allowed a break and during those times Jaskier simply played to fill the silence. He wondered if Geralt missed his music. It was a given the Witcher was somewhat happy to see him and Jaskier prided himself on that and replayed the greeting in the stables no matter how embarrassing it was to be found asleep in a dusty horses’ stable.

The day became night and a familiar routine was found again. As if they hadn’t spent months apart, everything fell back into the place it was.

It was nice.

Jaskier didn’t trust things that were too nice when involving Destiny.

And yet everything remained fine. Passing from town to town. Some holding contracts and some not. Most where they were glared at until they left but Jaskier made it a point that wherever they stayed he played for his witcher. He spread the news in the South and now he would spread the word in the North. He was such a genius. Truly extraordinary.

They sat in a random dimly lit pub, in the back corner as usual with Geralt. Jaskier had sung but only a little before joining his witcher in ale and some food. He claimed it was exhaustion though if he were honest with everyone then he would have said that the long winter made him want his witcher’s company.

Jaskier spent more coin than he was proud of, considering that they both tend to use their money jointly on travels but a good drink couldn’t be passed on.

“There’s always the little phrase nobles say to their people that no matter what riches you have you’ll never be happy? Do you know it?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You just said it.”

“Yes, well, I hate it.” Jaskier took a sip of his drink. He picked at the hole on the old wooden table. Upon lifting his mug again he found that it had little left of a layer in it. He echoed his voice in the mug, “It makes no sense.”

The Witcher sighed and reluctantly allowed the conversation to continue while ignoring Jaskier’s childish nature. “And you’re the expert?”

“That’d be the dream, my friend,” Jaskier spoke, face still in the mug to change his voice. “But I was thinking how can someone be upset with wealth surrounding them? If they’re unhappy then they need to find creative ways to be content and the only way to do that is with the mythical power of coin… people always want more though. They’d do anything in the name of greed. I don’t understand it.” He finally set the mug down, glaring at it for himself, having drunk all its contents.

Humans are extremely greedy. If Jaskier has learned anything by being among humans, it’s that. Not that he can place himself on some high pedestal either though. He understands desire and ambition to get whatever the heart wants. What can he say? He’s learned well from humans and if you can’t beat them, join them.

Geralt squinted. “Hypocritical, bard.”

Jaskier remembered Oxenfurt and how he had all the luxury at his disposal and yet wasn’t happy. Though he didn’t blame greed for his unhappiness, more the circumstance to have said luxuries.

So Jaskier didn’t so much as flinch. “Just because I enjoy the finer things of life does not mean I would kill for it or harm someone for the sake of a tiny piece of it.”

Geralt hummed but didn’t contribute anything else.

“So, Witcher,” Jaskier bounced his foot from under the table. “You’ve brought me to a tavern and also bought me a drink or two, and I admit to being a bit tipsy,” he simpered, he didn’t feel anywhere close to drunk but he’s sure his head would feel it slightly if he stood up too fast. “But you’ve yet to speak of any contract. Forgive me but isn’t your plan supposed to be to get me drunk and then leave me to go off on your little hunt or is this just preparing me so you can have your wicked way with me?”

Geralt grimaced. “A flyer was sent out by the king himself of this land.” He paused, giving a once over on the tavern. Probably hearing things Jaskier couldn’t. “You weren’t paying attention.”

“I probably wasn’t.” Jaskier shrugged.

“Flyer had instructions.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Jaskier interrupted. “I didn’t know this place had a king.” Jaskier recognized this land, the more they traveled the more he learned of their whereabouts and he was shocked to think that he was on the other side of the continent. Back to the North they were roaming though. He didn’t much like the lord that had abused his power so good to hear but Geralt was speaking of a king so maybe it would be better under different management. “What monster does this king want you to slay? Better be something that makes a good story. Forgive me Geralt, but the people are only going to enjoy so many songs about drowners and ghouls before they throw vegetables at me.”

Geralt ignored the last bit. “It doesn’t say.” The Witcher’s hand clenched tightly around his mug. Ah, right. His witcher hated it when folks left out important details like that.

He especially hated when people tried to downplay a problem and tried to pay Geralt less than what was properly due. And although Geralt was bothered and borderline ashamed by Jaskier’s commotion he caused with an alderman in a previous town, his witcher was damn well paid for his services because Jaskier be damned if Geralt almost died for only half of the promised price.

“How troublesome,” Jaskier sighed. “The least the man could do is tell you what the beast is, king or not he should be honest to anyone who could possibly take the job.”

Music began playing in the background. Looks like the place found another bard. Jaskier glanced at the new figure who was prancing around with a flute. He wasn’t half bad.

“When will we be off? Morning? I know it’s not late but it’s still been a long day. I really doubt my feet could handle another mile or my heart knowing that we’d be leaving a perfectly capable bed and roof.”

“I thought you liked stargazing,” Geralt joked, or at least Jaskier assumed it was one. Geralt was always one for dry humor. Not that it was a problem. It had grown on Jaskier. How embarrassing. A master of words and of song he was fancying someone who couldn’t hold a proper conversation… not unless you count one-word answers as a proper reply.

Resting his elbows on the table and then putting his chin into his hands he said, “Yes, yes, a view one can never tire of, a view of all generations and such.” He closed his eyes and whined out, “But an actual pillow is much more enticing.”

“Fine.”

Jaskier sat up, nearly slipping from his seat. “Fine? Fine? Did I win what would have been a ten-minute ordeal?”

Geralt emptied his mug and put two coins on the table. “Roach needs rest and we have the coin.”

“You truly are the greatest Witcher.”

Geralt stood and while several looks came their way as they traveled to the exit, neither stopped and Jaskier made it a point to continue their conversation as if they had not a care in the world.

Jaskier hated that kind of attention still. One it wasn’t directed at him and two his poor witcher was taking the worse kind of it. He would make good on his promise to Geralt. This witcher would be praised one day and all this nonsense would be a thing of the past. But for now, it was best not to get angry about it because apparently Geralt can read him like he’s an open book when Jaskier’s in such a state. Though he’s not exactly sure how the Witcher does it, probably magic witcher senses.

Across the tavern was the closing market and passed that was the inn and Jaskier could already imagine the blankets and the warmth and all the everything.

Almost crashing into the door that the Witcher pulled him by the collar from, Jaskier strutted in and then greeted the innkeeper who was nowhere in sight.

“Well, that was a waste of an entrance.”

Geralt tilted his head and closed his eyes.

“Well, it was, Geralt. Sincerely, truly, wholly, wasting my vocals on someone not here though I do suppose you’re here but still.”

“Shut up.”

Jaskier crossed his arms and scoffed, “I think we’ve established that you aren’t that lucky.”

“Jaskier.” The hard glare that the Witcher gave did the trick well enough though and Jaskier waited.

A second, then two passed. Jaskier didn’t hear much. But then again, Jaskier didn’t have his witcher’s ears. He heard distant shouting but they did pass a market. Jaskier hasn’t seen any marketplace that wasn’t full of rowdy people.

“We have to go.”

Jaskier didn’t get the chance to ask why as Geralt was already out the door and Jaskier was struggling to keep up. “Geralt!”

The Witcher paid him no mind no matter what Jaskier said to try and get his attention. Though if Jaskier had been more observant then he would have seen the cold stares of those they passed.

“Geralt! What are we doing? Where are we going? Geralt?”

Roach wasn’t far and Jaskier almost assumed that this whole sidetrack was to get her a snack or something else that would have made Jaskier feel stupid for getting worried and even scared but Geralt was unfastening her quickly. That means Jaskier’s uneasiness isn’t unwarranted.

“Geralt-”

There was a loud crash but hearing Roach and Geralt moving prevented Jaskier from seeing what it came from.

Geralt grumbled low, “Can’t spare a minute of peace, can you?”

Okay, ouch, but fair.

Sounds of yelling took Jaskier’s attention away from Geralt and he saw a mob, all angry and many with weapons, but most importantly they were coming closer. Now Jaskier was getting it. He and his witcher were being run out and Geralt just wanted to leave sooner to prevent more trouble.

The Witcher looked calm and resigned. Without much tugging, Roach was led by her rider and Jaskier was left with his own anger pooling at the pit of his stomach.

Of course, word can travel fast but it would take longer for Jaskier’s stories to fill the continent. That was expected from the start and yet he was still livid on his witcher’s behalf.

Trudging forward, both left the town. Jaskier felt much like a dog with a tail between its legs. He knew Geralt could slaughter anyone who held a weapon to him and never did a thing if he could stop it. Very disciplined of the Witcher, oh so honorable but Jaskier hated it at times. He wanted to prove to these people that the Witcher isn’t afraid, that he isn’t cowardly. But… to enter a battle knowing that you could walk away and no one would get hurt, well Geralt would choose peace. Always peace. It was annoying at times but it was better that way and made Jaskier admire him all the more despite the trouble it could cause.

Jaskier doesn’t know for how long they’ve been walking but Geralt has stayed on his feet between Roach and his bard.

They set up camp, the Witcher tied Roach and Jaskier set a little fire.

At the side of the path and in the woods, they sat.

There wasn’t a cohesive thought running through Jaskier’s head. There couldn’t be. His witcher just looked so sad and out of it. Just like that time they were stoned out of a town and Jaskier found that his words, while he’d argue they could move mountains, would not incite any kind of reaction from Geralt.

They sat across from each other, the small fire lit between them. Now that they were a few miles away everything settled again but Jaskier still felt like he could poke and pop the tension like soapsuds.

Words didn’t work last time yet Jaskier desperately wanted to get his message across.

I’m not afraid of you. You aren’t a monster. I can prove not everyone sees you as one.

Seeing as Jaskier lacks common sense and timing he shuffled over to Geralt who stared at the simple flames burning before him. Jaskier was reckless and daring, now that could be because he had nothing to lose and old habits die hard. He knelt down, though Geralt’s gaze stayed unfocused. There he cupped the Witcher’s face in his hands gently.

His palms felt the rough scruff of prickly hair. He resisted the urge to move his hands, move to feel more, he couldn’t do that, at least not now.

His witcher's eyes bore into him even as Jaskier avoided their perceptive stare. It would have been intimidating and maybe even scary but Jaskier loves the shade of Geralt's eyes. The ring on his hand, while a gift from another man, its color only reminded Jaskier of Geralt and the Witcher's eyes. The perfect reminder.

It was still and while Jaskier had never paid attention to the passing of time he counted the seconds.

Geralt tilted his head into one of Jaskier’s hands. A simple moment to enjoy but that was short-lived. “What are you doing?” Jaskier finally pulled his eyes up and stared back.

Ah, yes, the explanation. Jaskier’s stomach knotted. “Well, you see, I was hoping to spook you with how cold my hands were.” That was weak… and stupid.

“Hmm,” Geralt nodded though he didn't move out of Jaskier’s soft hold. “Trying to scare a witcher?”

“Yes, you’re utterly correct.” Jaskier huffed but he, as well, made no effort to move his hands. “Well, I can see that my mission failed, though I was so sure I would succeed. Alas, you’re a walking furnace and it is unjust for the rest of us to remain freezing. Quite cruel I say.” He finally pulled his hands away, smiled at Geralt, and then shuffled back to his spot opposite of his witcher.

The Witcher returned his eyes to the fire though he was noticeably less grieved from what happened earlier. That was good. Good enough for now. Jaskier was content to let the silence stretch between the two of them. He was also mildly shocked that he got away with such a bold move. He’d try little things like that from now on. Probably shouldn’t be poking a bear with a stick, or more fitting a wolf. Ah, well, Jaskier was always a man of words, he could talk his way out of any situation if allowed.

He sighed. At least not all their time in that town was a waste because unlike what Jaskier had the Witcher believe, he was listening, he only made the Witcher go over it again mainly to hear more of Geralt's voice but that's beside the point and they had a contract with a king to get.

Jaskier interrupted his own racing thoughts, “Please tell me that you bathed at least once while I was away.”

And when Geralt’s lip twitched, Jaskier returned an incredulous gasp. Seems like things really were how they should be back on the road.

Chapter Text

The road was harsher after. At least a goal was set and both headed to the next contract. Unknown beast or not, it was still a monster that someone wanted taken care of. For Geralt that was enough and Jaskier accepted whatever his witcher did.

It wasn’t much trouble and while Geralt was uncomfortable in cities it was small as far as kingdoms go, though it was new.

They walked by chickens and markets and children ran past and there were many people. It mildly reminded Jaskier of a small Cintra. It was fun.

One look at Geralt said it was most certainly not fun.

The Witcher left his hood on, covering the most distinguishing feature of himself and pulled Roach along to their destination.

A familiar manor came into view for Jaskier, and Geralt released an external sigh of relief.

It was humorous how much his witcher abhorred being around people. Jaskier had to pinch himself to keep from laughing at the absurdity of Geralt’s efforts to get away.

The manor ahead was so much bigger than Jaskier remembered and more ornate, though he supposes that comes with new tastes with different people.

Before they were even thirty feet of the place they were stopped by two guards who demanded they state their purpose. It seems that even with Geralt’s “clever disguise” that is a black hood it did not prevent them from seeing him as a threat.

“Hello there good gentlemen!” Jaskier greeted with more enthusiasm than what was necessary. “We have traveled far and wide just so that we may bring aid to his majesty, your king. You see,” Jaskier gestured at Geralt. “My companion and I came across one of his delightful flyers that calls for his specific service. And valiant Geralt here is willing to accept if he gets the information he needs for such an endeavor.”

The guards glanced at Jaskier, Geralt, then each other, both looking very skeptical and distrusting of his witcher.

Jaskier tapped at his chin. “Now I don’t think it possible to accomplish this without your help in this.” Taking a step forward and keeping a bright smile on his face, Jaskier leaned in to whisper to one of the guards. “Would you be so kind as to let us in. I promise we don’t bite.” Well Geralt didn’t so far. “Think of it this way, your king won’t be very happy to find that you sent away the help he requested.”

Finally Jaskier got the response he needed. Granted, it was with some fear but he was not in the mood to stand outside for hours arguing if they were supposed to be there or not.

“Also a place for this fine girl.” Jaskier almost patted Roach.

Everything worked out smoothly after. Roach was secured and they were headed towards a guaranteed contract. When they would begin their trek the weather would be looking much fairer. They just had to get through this one contract. Honestly, how hard could that be?

They were led by the two guards into the manor. Still, neither having friendly expressions, not that Jaskier cared, he sent a saucy wink at one just to see what would happen. Not much more than a disgusted sneer was the answer apparently. Jaskier still kept the cheeky smile on his face but it morphed as he examined any changed details of the castle. It was more of a mansion but he should probably call it a castle if this guy was a king.

Nothing was new. Perhaps the red and blue rugs were dusted for once, but Jaskier recognized each vase and painting they passed. Typically, when under new management, things get moved, altered, to fit the next person’s tastes and whatnot. At least Jaskier believed that.

Dread itched at his core but he shrugged it off as him jumping to conclusions and there was no need for this kind of reaction.

His face must have shown his sudden discomfort or something because Geralt kept peering at him as they followed behind the guards.

The Witcher didn’t say a word, not that he would have time. The two guards opened two grand doors to the throne room and wow isn’t that ironic. It’s just what Jaskier wanted to fucking avoid.

An audible groan of displeasure left his lips. How could he be that stupid to know that fucking obviously this guy would strut around calling himself a king?

Geralt obviously noticed and sent a quizzical stare his way.

Jaskier wasn’t going to outright say that this “king” they were meeting was an asshole in front of the guards so he not so subtly whispered to the Witcher his sentiments, “He’s a glorified lord and that’s it,” Jaskier puffed and it was true.

“He’s called a king.” Seemed the Witcher was trying to play devil’s advocate but that wasn't going to soothe Jaskier into not being absolutely pissed at the circumstances.

“He’s not our king.” At that Geralt nodded. “He shouldn’t be a king,” Jaskier scowled. At least the two guards were going into their positions farther away. At least Jaskier didn’t have to worry about them hearing him. “He wasn’t any good younger and unlike wine, he did not age well.”

Geralt side-eyed him but kept his stance facing the throne that held the loathsome man. “What? Slept with his wife and he didn’t agree?”

“Haha, very funny.” Jaskier crosses his arms. “But no. Nothing of the sort. He’s just a plain ass. No good to his people and worse to his servants.” Jaskier refused to go any further.

Geralt lifted a brow for that. “You worked for him then?”

Oh.

Oh no.

He really must learn to be more cautious of what he says to Geralt. A slip up like this could be… well, he doesn’t know but he doesn’t want to find out.

Jaskier shrugged. “Eh, kinda? It’s… it’s a weird story.” And one I’d like to forget.

The Witcher grunted but even Jaskier could tell he was curious about the situation. “Is it something to be wary about showing your face here?”

At that Jaskier scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, probably not. It was forever ago. The man’s busy, he can’t be bothered to remember every face.” He flashed an awkward smile towards Geralt who didn’t look amused in the least. “Look, it’ll be fine. I’m not even doing the talking, surprisingly.”

The Witcher ended their little talk with a glare and then they were before the king. Steady steps forward, he stood before them, and there Jaskier was, standing behind Geralt.

The king gave such a warm smile as if he were greeting an old friend. He didn’t even notice Jaskier hiding behind the Witcher.

“Witcher! What a fortune to have you join us.” The king stood, it appeared that age weakened him to a great degree. “I am King Hugh Valois.”

Geralt glanced back over his shoulder as if the king could have been talking to Jaskier instead despite how the king greeted him.

My witcher is a silly one. Not so scary like this when he’s surprised at any decency. Though that is a sad thought.

The Witcher turned back to face the king without a word to either his client or Jaskier.

The king didn’t seem dissuaded in the least, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkled a bit more. It felt overly friendly to Jaskier. “I’ll get straight to the problem. Something has been in my land. It slaughtered some of my people and it killed two of my close council.” The king looked off despondently.

“Has anyone seen the beast?” Geralt stood taller.

The king shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Nothing of use. We merely find the bodies ripped and bloody. We believed it was a human whose deeds were so vile but I cannot fathom that a human could be this brutal.”

Jaskier snorted.

Geralt pointedly ignored him. “Where are these bodies found?”

The king appeared thoughtful for a moment. “Where the forest begins in our nearest city, one could say in the cemetery of the local village,” he paused, taking on a creased brow. “And a few that have appeared right outside these walls… at my door.”

Geralt hummed, “These victims, who are they?”

“Well, as I said, some members of my court. Another I was told was one of the blacksmiths and one of my guards…” Valois pulled at his sleeve. “A farmer or two and others too disfigured to know who they were. Really, it’s horrendous and my people are terrified beyond belief.”

“Any other details?”

“None that come to mind, Witcher. Though… it seems to do its nasty business at night. Lurks and hunts and then strikes brutally.”

Geralt nodded and then grunted what Jaskier found to be the most important question here, “And my pay?”

The king appeared thoughtful for a moment. “I would believe eight-hundred crowns would suffice but if the beast proves any more trouble I will trust you to be honest and tell me if it will cost more.”

The Witcher tilted his head as a half-ass bow and went to leave, which left Jaskier scrambling after Geralt so the king’s attention wouldn’t fall on him.

“Witcher.” At that, Geralt paused and glanced over his shoulder to Valois. “I trust you’ll take care of this great problem, which is why you may stay in my home. Do witchers work fast?”

“Only when it most counts,” Jaskier mumbled seductively, not really intending it for anyone but himself.

Geralt actually shot him with a dangerous glare and Jaskier remembered witchers have excellent hearing. Whoops.

He hates that for a being such as himself, he seems to lack any capability of holding a cohesive thought.

“Well, either way. This is of great importance.” Valois snapped his fingers and a scrawny woman came from around the throne, bowing to the king. “An available room for our guest.”

The woman nodded frantically, hair covering most of her face, and she never looked up from the floor.

“I trust you will find what has been tormenting my city. When it’s done, I’ll have your pay ready.” The king waved off the woman who nearly ran to Geralt and Jaskier and began walking ahead of them to guide them to their apparently now free inn. At least the pillows wouldn’t be poking with hay. That was the only good deal out of having to stay here.

They both awkwardly followed until she stood to the side of a door that Jaskier assumed to be theirs now. For the time being at least.

Without another word, she left in a rush.

The Witcher opened the door without much show, set his stuff down as Jaskier followed to stop and fully appreciate the room. Finally a night with gentle pillows though he doubted he could get any satisfactory sleep being here. Too many horrid memories and evil that he did nothing about, instead he ran like a coward. By the gods, he hated this place, but maybe the silky sheets could help him ignore it.

He didn’t get much of a chance to take in the room as Geralt was already leaving.

“Wha- Geralt! We just got here, can’t we spare a minute to-”

The Witcher paused at the door. “Stay here.”

Jaskier stumbled on his words, “But you need your bard, your barker, and whatever. You can’t just waltz around town, maybe you’ll need me to haggle.”

Geralt scoffed, “Unlikely. What I need is some peace while I find what I’m hunting.”

Pouting, Jaskier backed to the bed and sat. “I guess that would be boring for any song.” He laid back. “But if you encounter it without me then you're stuck telling me all the details, you tight-lipped fool. I won’t let you off the hook this time. I haven’t forgiven you for the Katakan.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Geralt rolled his eyes.

Jaskier pointed at him. “I mean it!”

Geralt was closing the door.

“Too bad the monster you’re hunting is already in the castle.”

Then it was quiet in the lonely room. There was a small fireplace. How quaint. Jaskier rolled off the bed and squatted on the floor before the fireplace. He concentrated and a weak flame appeared at the tip of his finger. Slowly the fire rose and when Jaskier was content with it, he stood and rolled back onto the bed.

Closing his eyes to peacefully drift, there never was much to do without Geralt. No, that was a lie. There was plenty but none of it was fun without having Geralt there. Jaskier stretched. He doesn’t know how long it stayed like that. Quiet, lonely, and oh so tired.

Naps were great, unsurprisingly Jaskier loved them. While there were similarities to it being like the “bottle,” the main distinction was that he was blissfully unaware the entire time. That and every time he opened his eyes he could at least know that he hadn’t been trapped or put away for years.

The room was cozy, elegant in a simple kind of way, it was probably the fire illuminating the room.

His hands roamed over the sheets. The bed and covers were soft and it was pretty big, that or maybe Jaskier just forgot how royalty’s beds usually are since he’d only been staying at inns. Not that he was complaining, small beds mean other methods of keeping warm.

But he was alone right now. Jaskier was bored. Not that he wanted anything to happen, maybe he just wants a good conversation. How long had Geralt been away? Hours? Five minutes? Jaskier laid back at the edge of the bed with his head dangling off. He strummed and each chord of the lute was completely off.

The door opened swiftly, Geralt had entered the room and it startled Jaskier so much that he stumbled off the bed. A dissonant twang rang throughout the room from the lute. Geralt didn’t seem to care. “You going to tell me the story behind this?”

Jaskier rolled onto his back and sighed, “Well, you just walked in, frankly, you scared me.” He was still splayed on the floor. “Just opening the door like that, like you own the place, could have knocked, Geralt. What if I was doing something? What if I was indecent?”

“You’re never decent.” The Witcher closed the door and his steps echoed to Jaskier.

“Hence the knocking, Geralt.” Jaskier wasn’t stupid. Geralt had to have noticed Jaskier’s suspiciousness about this place, hell, even Jaskier admitted to his connection to this place. He knew what Geralt was asking. Though there is a chance he was wrong but if he wasn’t then Jaskier refused to give in without some chance to escape.

The Witcher crossed his arms. “Jaskier.”

“Seriously, who knows what I could’ve been doing,” Jaskier huffed.

Geralt smirked, a small one but Jaskier didn’t have time to savor it because it turned to a cold stone expression that he was used to. “What do you know about this place, Bard.”

“Maybe I was with three brothel borrows and there you came in, bursting through the door.”

The Witcher glared holes down at him. His response to it was a bright smile, though he couldn’t deny the tension there was behind it. Geralt must have noticed as well because he didn’t say anything. No, instead he wandered to the other side of the room to the fire Jaskier lit. He offhandedly wondered if the Witcher could sense the magic he used there to light it.

Jaskier sat up finally. He pushed his lute to the side of the bed, it tipped over but he didn’t mind too much. He slowly stood and watched as Geralt crouched by the fire.

The Witcher removed his gloves and a portion of his armor. When he reached a particularly stubborn piece of apparel Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Here, you can’t see it as I can.” His fingers brushed gently against his witcher’s tunic that clung to his skin from all the dirt and sweat accumulated. He loves being able to blame his helpful nature in order to sneak in soft touches. His witcher was never the wiser. Or at least, he probably attributed it to Jaskier just being affectionate as a person, and really, he couldn’t argue that either. “You really need a bath. I’m sure I can find a maid wandering the halls happy to help a guest or two.”

“The King, bard. Why is he hiding what the creature is if I’m to kill it?”

This really is the most Geralt had asked Jaskier. What was Jaskier doing by not letting the Witcher know? Jaskier didn’t have to tell him everything. “Some lavender soaps maybe? They’re good for relaxing which you clearly need. Perhaps chamomile.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt pulled his arm away.

The Witcher’s gaze stared down at him and Jaskier made it a point to keep his head up even with his eyes looking at the ceiling or the walls or the fire. “Geralt.”

The room was silent except for the crackling wood in the fireplace. It was all Jaskier could focus on as he lowered his hands from Geralt.

It was too much for him and he turned away from the Witcher. “He’s a discreet man. That’s really all it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

“No… it isn’t.” Jaskier hugged his own arms and took a few steps towards the bed. “But what I know doesn’t have anything to do with whatever this beast is. I’m sorry, Geralt.” What he knew held no importance. No matter what happened here wasn’t the concern of his witcher.

“It may.” Geralt urged.

Jaskier laughed, a weak, wet laugh. He hadn’t noticed that his eyes were growing glossy with moisture. He wiped at them quickly and held more back. No need for Geralt to see him like this.

It was just too disgusting and there really was no point in telling Geralt. The King was a cruel and sick man who just grew more creative as time passed. His inclination towards children wasn’t something Geralt could do anything about. Geralt can’t bring back the dead either so Jaskier wouldn’t burden Geralt with this. He couldn’t. They came so his witcher would get his contract, kill the monster, and then leave. He needn’t know more, so Jaskier shook his head and brought a smile back to face the Witcher.

“I promise you, Witcher. I know nothing about whatever monster you’ll have to kill. Anything else is quite trivial to us.” And because Jaskier couldn’t help himself he mumbled under his breath, “It’s a different monster…”

Geralt nodded. He didn’t look convinced and he most definitely heard that last statement but he wouldn’t push it. Jaskier knew Geralt would never push things. Never. Which was great for Jaskier who hated lying to his witcher but was fine with omitting anything that mustn't be said.

“If that changes though, you have my word that you’ll be the first to know about it.”

Geralt nodded again.

“Now, I’m going to figure out what it takes to get a bath around this place so don’t have too much fun without me.” He left the room in a rush. Not wanting to get sucked into whatever Geralt was going to ask him next. When shutting the door did he realize that the strap typically on his chest wasn’t there- Neither was his lute on his back- dread pooled in his stomach. He almost opened the door again to grab it but he didn’t. It would be weird for him to go back for it. He shook the anxiety off him and decided to trust Geralt.

It felt so intimate. Something Geralt wasn’t even aware of, all the power in one room. He supposed this was the next step in giving his all as he was supposed to do for Geralt but Jaskier decided to make it something more. His heart was beating fast, he felt like it was growing with all the excitement. Which was ridiculous, the Witcher wasn’t feeling this way about it, he probably didn’t notice.

Jaskier let out a final shudder and began to walk the halls to search for a servant of the castle. Nothing happened to him with each step he took. It was thrilling.

His little moment must have taken complete control of his mind because he turned another corner and slammed right into someone.

He stumbled back and looked down to see he had accidentally pushed someone to the floor. She rubbed at her elbow that must have collided with the stone.

Jaskier felt way too much guilt for this situation. He tried laughing it off while attempting to get the poor girl to her feet. “That’s hilarious, I’m so clumsy.”

The girl didn’t look amused.

He chuckled nervously, “I’m sorry, must have been lost in my thoughts.”

“Yes, probably.” She answered with a voice that couldn’t be more indifferent from the situation. She continued to rub at her elbow.

“Ah, is that hurting you? Do you want it to stop?”

“Of course I do, not going away anytime soon thanks to you. Now, why aren’t you entertaining? Our lord has guests over.”

She was a rude young woman but that was only fair since he did crash her into the floor. He didn’t hesitate to grant her wish though. She did ask a question though, what was it? “Pardon?”

“Bards,” she muttered. Was it really that obvious? He didn’t have his lute on him. “You need to be in the hall, not wandering here, I have a job to do.” She knelt down to the pile of sheets she had dropped and tried folding them as fast as she could.

“And what’s that?”

“Seeing to our guest. No one wanted anything to do with them so I guess it’s always up to me.”

Jaskier nodded, thinking about Geralt again. “He’s pleasant, he just likes to be left alone. He won’t mind the wrinkled sheets either so no need to bother yourself.”

She glared at him but at least she wasn’t grasping at her elbow anymore. “I’m in no mood for trickster bards or a flogging if this guest isn’t happy, now shoo.”

“But I’m serious. What he really needs is a bath.” He rested his hands on his hips.

She slapped him on the shoulder, “Not so loud,” she whispered.

“Please,” Jaskier scoffed at the idea of Geralt being upset about ruined sheets or Jaskier teasing him behind his back. “Geralt won’t mind.”

The woman gathered all she dropped and began walking down the hall, ignoring whatever Jaskier said.

“Unless your lord-king-whatever has more new guests then I know exactly who you’re looking for, I’ll show you myself.” Without another word walked ahead back to their room. He had no way of knowing if she knew he was trying to lead the way or if she already knew but maybe it’d be proof that he wasn’t lying.

A few paces away was their door and Jaskier grinned, he reached to open it but the cranky maid held an iron grip on his wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh, entering my room? Don’t worry, Geralt never knocks either.”

Her grip loosened just a bit at the mention of his room and he beamed at her then the door.

And before she could hold him back he burst the door open with all his might. “Geralt! Bastard!” His eyes landed to his witcher who sat, meditating in the center of the room. “Ah, there you are. I found a lovely maid.”

Geralt didn’t move. “Hmm.”

He shook his head. “Don’t give me that, the lovely lady came to see if we needed anything. She won’t take my word so you’ll have to order, kinda like at any inn. No one ever believes a bard could have even a single coin.” He tsked and crossed his arms and just for the hell of it, he tapped his foot.

“Bath,” Geralt grunted and the girl nodded despite the Witcher’s eyes being shut.

“If you please,” Jaskier finished as she stepped back to the door.

The young woman looked back on in mild horror, looking like she realized Jaskier was included as one of the guests. He’d already forgiven her because that look was too funny to be angry at. “And if you have any kind of lavender or chamomile soaps or salts we’d appreciate it.”

The door closed and Jaskier chuckled at the footsteps almost racing off in the hallways. Jaskier was sure she was nice when she wasn’t dealing with royal cuckolds and muttonheads.

He glanced back at Geralt whose brow had been creased with the maid in the room but finally relaxed back into his meditative self. His witcher always looked better like that, not that he didn’t have some sexiness when angry but that’s beside the point.

Focus Jaskier.

He’d almost forgotten his lute but there it was sitting next to the bed. Jaskier smiled. Geralt did touch his lute but only to set it in a more careful position, he was… Jaskier couldn’t think of a word that was balanced between charmed and horny for his witcher to fit what he was feeling.

He decided to sit in front of the fire, barely two feet away from Geralt. “Feeling better?”

Geralt hummed lowly.

Jaskier smiled whilst putting his hands in front of the fire. “That’s good, I’m glad. You’ll feel better when clean as well. I’m sure my nose will appreciate it too.”

Geralt swatted Jaskier’s leg without opening his eyes.

“Shit, ow, okay, fair,” Jaskier laughed. “Well, one thing is for certain, I’ll be glad when we get to leave this fucking hole but not before I take advantage of those soft pillows.” Jaskier laid himself down on the stone floor beside Geralt despite the pillows he mentioned being a mere ten feet away. “Being in any proximity to that man is dreadful.” For many reasons. Not that Geralt should know…

Jaskier felt that if Geralt didn’t find out here, well, he’d never know. It’s for the best. There’s nothing he can do. Why make the poor man feel as helpless as Jaskier in this situation.

“Even I could tell his breath was as foul and rank as midden in a bog, I can only imagine what kind of torment that did to you with you being closer to the acrid, nay, pungent pig. At least Roach was spared,” Jaskier hummed wistfully before going back to his tirade. “Not to mention how his brows may as well have been a field of cobwebbed thistles, does that man know a thing about proper grooming, or-or that he does not handle a beard well. You, oh, you would though. I imagine yours would look like an ice-covered forest in midwinter. Probably look pretty charming.”

Jaskier peered back at his witcher to see his eyes open, the small upturn of his lips and there- Geralt’s eyes did the thing. The thing where they gleam with something like he wants to laugh and that’s Jaskier’s favorite part. He knows he’s the perfect companion that Destiny chose for Geralt. If he could make Geralt laugh a witcher’s laugh… then he’ll do it again and again because it’s those moments that Jaskier can’t get enough of. Maybe coming here didn’t have to be so terrible if he got to see Geralt’s smile.

Chapter Text

“Yes, yes, I get it Geralt. Monsters to hunt, money to earn.” Jaskier bounced on the heels of his feet. “But wherein all the vast continent is your sense of adventure- the-the measly portion of your imagination?”

“With your sense of self-preservation,” The Witcher growled.

They had been walking along the road to the outer city to where the King had mentioned a graveyard. Geralt was insistent they go there. Well, more insistent that he should go there but Jaskier wasn’t going to let Geralt have all the fun alone. The Witcher was also insistent that they should go along this journey without a decent meal first, Jaskier didn’t mind but walking next to several shops with their late morning bread and milk on full display was indeed a tremendous distraction.

Jaskier pouted, “Now, now, I can choose when to apply that.”

“Now isn’t one of those situations.”

“Now just is not one of those situations.” Jaskier nodded and grinned. “You’re learning. I knew there was hope for you.” He glanced off to the side seeing an opened door and the best fragrance coming from them. The aroma of freshly made loaves of heaven. He could practically hear the cracking and crunching of it. Hunger. What a funny little thing. Not always a necessity but quite the joy to surrender to. “Though maybe now is one of those times, Geralt, can we please take a stop? A breather, something. I fear I may perish where I stand if I don’t have a bite of whatever is calling me from over there.” He put one hand to his heart and the other to his forehead while trying to lean on the Witcher.

Geralt was keen to ignore his pleas and continued walking, making Jaskier stumble behind him.

“Think of it this way then, we could ask questions while inside.” Jaskier persuaded. “Perhaps someone will know what this mysterious creature is. Maybe they’ll have seen the beast in all its glory. Just think of the possibilities, Geralt.” He stretched both arms forward as if he could reach those spoken possibilities. “We both know you didn’t get much out on your own asking for this thing.”

Geralt turned to glare at him but Jaskier could tell that he had already won.

“And if we happen to have a bite or two well who are we to stand in the way of that?”

Thoroughly persuaded, Jaskier managed to get the Witcher to follow him to the opened door. They even held a lovely sign above calling the place The Drunken Dragon’s Den. Interesting title. Jaskier liked the ring it had.

Upon entering, the place was bright with its windows, it being mostly noon probably helped that, and lanterns illuminating it from it’s high ceilings to its swept floor. Jaskier could barely spot an empty table.

It took Jaskier a second but he noticed the heavy received stares and even someone who spit at his witcher’s boots when he was leaving.

What a charming bastard.

Jaskier led the Witcher to a nearby table before Geralt took the lead and brought them to a much more distant corner table. Jaskier even saw a dusty cobweb where Geralt decided to plant himself.

While dusting off the spot he would sit, Jaskier sat, placing his lute next to him.

Jaskier was becoming more casual with his lute… It was just that Jaskier knew it would be safe with Geralt around. No one was going to steal from Geralt in front of his face. Yes, it would be the safest it's ever been by being with his witcher though with that massive cobweb next to Geralt Jaskier may have to fear what spiders could do, sneaking about.

“Now how are we supposed to get anything from here?” Away from all the people to be asking around. Sometimes Geralt wouldn’t make sense, always choosing the hidden corners, they probably wouldn’t even get a meal if no one saw them here.

“Too much,” the Witcher mumbled.

Jaskier’s eyes had landed on a tray that was steaming at the other side of the pub. Oh Melitele, he wanted food. “Huh? What was that, Geralt?”

“Too much.” Geralt barely gestured his hand at the bustling people at the center of the pub.

Jaskier furrowed his brows before it dawned on him. Sure enough, there were plenty of people coming in and out and so many plates of different orders. There were loud conversations and spilled drinks. A bit overwhelming and Oh. “Ah, I get it,” He said while snapping his fingers. “Witcher senses and all that, is it? Well, then you should have said so. These hidden corners make more sense, alas I maybe could learn to enjoy its coziness.”

Geralt didn’t respond or even look at Jaskier which was all the confirmation he needed. Honestly, it was embarrassing that he was still learning this man but he supposes that’s all he’ll be doing from now on. And he certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Sorry to say, I won’t be hearing much from here but you let me know if you get anything worthwhile.”

At that, Geralt grunted.

“How about this? You stay here and brood a bit, I’ll get us something, sound good? Good.” Jaskier hoisted himself up from his seat that hadn’t even been warmed yet. His witcher was content to stay put anyways. Though it was sad to leave him behind, sitting all alone in the back like an abandoned puppy.

Jaskier trotted off, passing table by table, patron by patron to the nearest barmaid, and flashed his winning smile.

When she swiveled towards him, dark curly hair brushed against his face, and she almost knocked over a brew that sat on the tray she held. The shock in her dark wide eyes was the first thing he saw.

“Sorry sir, hadn’t seen ya there.” Her grin matched Jaskier’s own.

She was a beauty.

“Rightfully so, I would be taken aback at my astonishing beauty if I were you,” he slipped out.

She rolled her eyes yet her smile never wavered. Yes, she was beautiful, but her eyes weren’t amber.

“I was wondering what meals you may have to serve someone off to try and kill a beast?”

She began walking to a nearby table while Jaskier followed. “An adventurer, I take?”

“Something of that,” Jaskier said while she set a drink down to a grizzly fellow. “My friend and I decided to make a stop here to this fine establishment and what good fortune indeed to run into such an exquisite woman such as yourself.” Exquisite, but she didn’t have any scars, none that were familiar.

She chuckled as they wandered back to the bar, she leaned herself onto it and rested the tray at her hip. “I’m sure there’s plenty, how about I surprise you and your friend with whatever’s fresh?” She was charming but she didn’t have his favorite kind of dry humor.

“Sounds delightful, as delightful as the woman who proposes it.” Yes, her hair was magnificent, but it didn’t match the glow of midwinter.

Without another word, she headed to the back and Jaskier leaned on the bar as well, taking a glance at Geralt who was staring off ahead.

His head wandered to some particularly naughty thoughts before getting back on track to thinking if the Witcher was hearing anything important.

Maybe Jaskier should be listening in on people as well to see if he could hear anything important. But come on. It wasn’t his fault the barmaid was the vision of a goddess. Two breathtaking people in the same bar and anyone expects Jaskier to stay sane?

Unrealistic.

Nonetheless, he closed his eyes and tried to hear nearby conversations while he waited.

“I told you! Every bushel is getting more expensive by the season. A few more seasons and we won’t have much to give for ‘em.” A farmer lamented from a few seats over to a friend.

“He’s gone, just like out of thin air but I know he ain’t!” Another conversation caught Jaskier’s ear. A woman’s shrill voice said, “He’s gone and all the harm he’s done is done with him cause he’s dead. I gotta say, life’s been getting easier without those scum lurking about.”

Jaskier sighed. He doubted he would hear anything of importance. Just a farmer’s business and women’s gossip.

“You’re in luck, bard,” a cheery voice returned from the barmaid. “Fresh lamb came in and for a great deal.”

“Oh really? How much for such a fantastic dish?”

She shrugged. “Four crowns if you want a decent drink with it.”

Jaskier held back a laugh from feeling the weight that grew in his pocket. “How’s about five for such a kind damsel.” He took out five crowns and placed them into her hand. “I’ll be with my friend, he prefers those isolated corners but you can’t miss us.”

“Not in those colors, I doubt it.” She peered over his shoulder to try and find his friend. “You mean that fella?” She pointed to Geralt who not so subtly looked away when Jaskier turned to see. “That a witcher?”

Jaskier laughed, “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Adventurers indeed.” She pressed her plump lips into a hard line. Beautiful indeed, but fearful of the unknown.

“Only the best,” Jaskier exclaimed. “Perhaps you may have heard the stories of the great White Wolf? Geralt of Rivia, greatest witcher who ever lived?”

“Sounds familiar, now that you mention it.” She tapped her chin. “But we don’t need a witcher around here,” she stated quite flatly.

“Why ever not? We’ve heard from a reliable source that you are in great need of a solution to a pest problem.” The king’s words of people showing up in shreds at his door came to Jaskier’s mind.

She nodded vigorously. “Oh most certainly,” she waved her tray at Jaskier. “But not the kind your witcher would handle. It’s been solving itself recently.”

What?

The confusion must have been written on his face because she answered his unspoken question. “There’s always been vile people who mean to do harm to those who are weak and can’t defend themselves.” She choked up on the last word but composed herself just as fast. “Well, there’s been something that’s putting an end to it. I’m no longer afraid of getting home after working.”

“Shouldn’t you fear whatever is out there butchering folks.”

She held her chin high. “It ain’t butchering anyone who doesn’t harm the defenseless. I’ve never felt safer.”

Jaskier nodded but couldn’t wrap his head around it. Was this the same monster? Maybe this was just some human? But that doesn’t fit the whole brutally killing guards or the king’s council and the other random killings. What kind of monster was it? Was this even connected?

“So, bard, ‘fraid to say we don’t need a witcher round these parts,” she shrugged. “Best of luck to you though, I suppose I’ll be hearing stories soon. You wait while I go see about your plates.”

“Of course.” Jaskier couldn’t muster out anything else and wandered back through a few customers to his Witcher who sat still as a statue, much like the first time he approached Geralt.

“Hold your applause,” Jaskier mock bowed to Geralt whilst he dusted his seat a second time. “I have gotten us the most extraordinary meal, I think she likes me. So, you’re welcome.” Too bad it’s not as easy to make a witcher like you.

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“You’re just jealous.” He crossed his arms and took a seat. Lute was still in place, he noted while his fingertips brushed against the wood. "So? You find out anything?”

“Maybe.”

When Geralt didn’t give more, Jaskier prompted him again.

The Witcher groaned but still answered. “There’s talk that these murders have been targets.”

“Oh! Yes,” Jaskier perked up, happy to share what he learned. “The kind barmaid informed me that something’s been taking out those that have been as she put it, it’s putting an end to those who harm the weak. I just can’t figure if this is what you’re hunting or not.”

“It is.” Geralt’s fist clenched.

“… I suppose I’m just to take your word on it.”

“Everyone is speaking of the same beast.” Geralt’s eyes narrowed over Jaskier’s shoulder, possibly to whoever he was listening in on. “Some say it’s preying on those in the wrong place at the wrong time and others,” the Witcher vaguely gestured towards the barmaid, “others praise it.”

Jaskier paused, not fully sure what to do with the information. If it’s the same beast then… “What do you think it’s after?”

“I think it’s weeding out vermin.”

Jaskier paused.

The King came to mind… King Valois said that everyone was afraid of this thing and that no one knew what was or who it was after. Seemingly taking random prey and yet he just heard that young woman claim to have no fear when walking in the streets, that it was after those who in Jaskier’s mind, quite well deserve it. Was Valois lying? It wasn’t beyond the man is all Jaskier could think… But this could change how they viewed the monster. Valois was afraid of it, that was certain. Was this a creature after vengeance? Jaskier wouldn’t mind if it was.

Weeding out vermin indeed.

He was pulled from his thoughts at the clank of a plate hitting the table. A steaming platter was set before the two of them and the barmaid was giving a shaky smile.

Jaskier would be drooling at the warm plate if it weren’t for her nervous demeanor. He should unruffle those feathers. “You’re so thoughtful, my dear. My friend and I can’t thank you enough.” He smiled, hoping she would feel more at ease.

It seemed to work a tiny bit. “Well… if you need anything, I’ll um, I’m going to be around.”

“Of course, don’t let them work you too hard, dear.”

And she was off, tension leaving her shoulders the further she walked away. But now Jaskier had to deal with a grumpy witcher, at least Geralt wouldn’t have to be angry and hungry.

So Jaskier talked, nevermind that the Witcher rarely included himself. Seems Geralt wouldn’t be dissuaded from his own temporary vow of silence.

Jaskier did manage to get his witcher to growl at him. Which was an experience. But message received… seemed the Witcher wasn’t done eavesdropping on poor unsuspecting folk. Jaskier could help with that too.

When he was done picking pieces of lamb he wandered the tavern, again leaving his lute with Geralt. While having it would be a great conversation starter, it would lead to people asking for a show that Jaskier couldn't refuse and with Geralt about to head towards a creature that Jaskier was still muddled about. No. Knowing his witcher well enough, he knew Geralt would leave while he was distracted, he did that often and it was annoying how well it worked.

So no, he decided it was best to ask around without an instrument dangling on him, it was already fairly obvious he was a bard as it was regardless.

Going from person to person, Jaskier struck a conversation, from the gentlest of folks to the gruffest. And it was just as Geralt had told him. There were some that were truly afraid of the monster and yet others that were happy for its existence. It baffled Jaskier to no end. He tried seeing the connection between those who weren’t afraid and a connection to those who weren’t.

There wasn’t much.

Well…

There was sorta but Jaskier couldn’t tell if it was him grasping at straws for this particular puzzle because he so desperately wanted to impress Geralt. He was helpful too damnit. Besides, picking some slack as to why he was following Geralt of Rivia… Of course, he had the reason that he wanted to boost Geralt’s reputation- which was true, yes, but perhaps it wasn’t enough.

Back to task.

His mind went back to the king. Jaskier didn’t know how but Valois most definitely had something to do with this monster and he wanted the Witcher to do his dirty work. If Jaskier didn’t know any better he’d assume it was Valois who got a beast so hellbent on killing him.

Huh. That actually could be a theory. Thin threads holding it together but Jaskier wouldn’t be too surprised if he were being honest.

At this point, he felt that he had spoken to every single patron that walked into this pub. He was undoubtedly lucky he wasn’t being kicked out for disturbing so many guests. That had to do with his bardic charm if he had any say in the matter.

How long had it been? He wasn’t sure but hopefully, Geralt was getting something from this because it felt like a day had gone by.

Rounding the tables nimbly, and minding not to trip, Jaskier sat in front of the Witcher again.

He folded his hands together. “Have a clue what it is?”

“Something like that.”

“Cryptic as always, my friend.”

It wasn’t long after they were leaving and back on their path to a cemetery. Jaskier complained each step of the way saying that “what use is going to an unkempt and dirty graveyard, are we trying to frostbite our scrotum?”

Apparently his “bitching” as Geralt so kindly put it was not appreciated and he could go back whenever he wanted.

Unlikely.

Buildings became fewer as they traveled further in the outer city. Fewer people as well. Jaskier couldn’t recall seeing anyone as they walked and it must have been a couple of hours walk. Having Roach was more appealing now, though Jaskier recalled he wouldn’t have the luxury to enjoy that ride.

The forest was visible and slowly coming to view was the graveyard. What he could see was plenty of stones and most didn’t look carved, more like someone just moved large rocks and left them there. There even seemed to be wooden planks used as tombstones, Jaskier offhandedly wondered how long those had until they rotted away.

It didn’t look special. Not by any means Jaskier could pick up on. Then again, the sun was still in the sky. Didn’t the king say something about this thing striking at night? It was evening and still would take some time for the sun to completely be out of view. Unless Geralt was here for some kind of other plan. Would looking at random graves do them any good? Jaskier doubted it.

They passed the short, crumbling walls that were an excuse for an entrance to a consecrated place. It was kinda sad to see so many stones left dungy. It was worse to think that others only had planks of wood left to remember them by.

There was one that caught Jaskier’s eye. It was a wooden one, and the only one that had somewhat fresh flowers, pansies, left for whoever was buried there.

Curious, Jaskier walked over while Geralt did his witchering.

The grave was heavily splintered and a small portion of it was rotten over, but carved into it crudely Jaskier could decipher a few letters and words.

“ esting in t e st rs swee sm ll Fl ra may sh f`nd ustice”

As for the rest, Jaskier couldn’t make out but this was clearly a young child’s grave, a child who didn’t have a peaceful death.

He spared a moment to mourn the unknown girl. Someone was still mourning her if the flowers gave any indication. Probably family. Jaskier’s eyes drifted to another wooden tombstone close to the girl’s. It looked fresher than hers but not by much. Jaskier could read less on this grave than he could on the child’s but from what he gathered it seemed like this was the parent to the girl and he also didn’t have a peaceful death.

Jaskier knelt down and squinted at the two graves. There was a story there and one that Jaskier wanted to know. His thoughts danced aimlessly in his mind. Perhaps it was bandits that broke into their home and killed both. Maybe the man was a farmer and a deal soured between traders and that led to their deaths or an accident with livestock. Or the most unpleasant thought, that this little girl was encroached upon and her father tried to defend her.

Before that line of thinking could be expanded on he felt a tugging at his neck and before he knew it, Geralt began pulling Jaskier by the collar outside the cemetery, even his heels left a trail as he was dragged. The purple wilted pansies fading from sight.

“Wha- Hey! Geralt!” Jaskier grabbed at the Witcher’s arm futilely and ended up looking like a flailing newborn in an attempt to salvage his doublet. “Parts of this were woven, be gentle, barbarian.”

The Witcher continued moving Jaskier far from the graveyard. After pulling him for two minutes, Geralt all but threw him. “Stay back.”

Gathering his dignity, Jaskier staggered to a stand, offered a mock salute, and stared as Geralt went ahead. The two swords were strapped on his back along with a small bag that Jaskier knew held his little magical witcher potions and that weird honey shit that Jaskier was proud of slipping in the satchel. Though he wondered if the Witcher let him put in on purpose.

At least he had it.

Jaskier tapped his foot as he waited a minute before he would follow along. He shouldn’t go. The Witcher hated it when Jaskier went along to the actual fights, something about that it was distracting. Jaskier didn’t really understand it. Poor witcher must have stage fright. Jaskier knew he was going to be there. He justified it by telling himself that there was no way to know if the monster was going to actually be there.

He promised the next monster he would stay back- as long as it didn’t seem too bad.

Yes, that sounds good. Probably would make it easier to tag along for future escapades if he gave the Witcher some space. The Witcher was always so keen on keeping Jaskier at a distance.

Under each step he took, gravel crunched and the wind blew through his clothing. He shivered. “Should have stayed in Cintra,” he mumbled. “Warm and sunny, lovely crowds, and an enthusiastic bed warmer.” Jaskier sighed, “Oh yes, should have stayed.”

The sky was turning darker while he trudged forward. There was a rock in his shoe, it had been a while since he made any repairs… He fixed his shoes without even glancing at them, now was a good time as any with Geralt a distance away. They mended seamlessly. Geralt would be none the wiser.

Speaking of the Witcher, he seemed focused on something while lowering his stance amongst the graves. Though his weapon was still not drawn.

Seeing that was confirmation enough that it was perfectly safe to tag along, and really it was Geralt’s fault for believing that by dragging Jaskier’s ass away would actually keep him from coming right back. He passed the crumbling walls again and tiptoed behind the Witcher though he still knew Geralt was aware he was there.

Geralt’s eyes pierced ahead of him while they crouched behind two large gravestones and then did Jaskier see what was catching the Witcher’s eye. There was a vivid light in the graveyard, one he had not noticed a second ago, that took the form of a corpse that was scrutinizing each of the rocks and planks that were gravemarkers. It was a frightening image. Its flesh, if one could call it that, lacked any red blood beneath its skin, only grey and a foggy gloom that surrounded it. Its eyes appeared like a sun would on a cloudy day yet Jaskier felt he was able to tell exactly what he was looking at.

“Oh my- Geralt.” Jaskier whisper-shouted, “What the ever-loving shit is that thing, it’s like a- like rotten over- moldy, uh, uh that thing’s teeth are falling out.” Jaskier stared at the spectral being that floated amongst the graves. Its glow was the brightest thing that evening. The towering trees covered much of the sun. It was a mere gleam in the sky behind the evergreen forest not like that gleam was doing anything for Jaskier to see the rest of the graveyard except for that thing roaming the grounds.

The Witcher rolled his eyes or at least Jaskier assumed he did. “What part of stay back did you not understand?”

“Well, I understood you just fine, you see the problem was interpretation.”

“Not now,” He muttered.

“Why not? Perhaps it’s the fact that we’re in the middle of a graveyard that prevents you from wanting this conversation? Or no, let me guess-”

Geralt cut him off before he could continue being an idiot. “Leave before you get yourself killed.”

“That’s not likely.” He placed his hands on his hips, almost tipping himself over while still in a crouch. “I have a witcher next to me, so you can imagine how skeptical I am about the whole monster’s gonna murder me. Nah, I’ll believe that as soon as all my chords sing flat.”

“Then begin praying for a quick death.”

Jaskier sputtered, “Well, I- you don’t- Hurtful. Truly hurtful. I’ll be taking that one to heart, mind you.” He shook his head. “We’ll talk about that later, you’re not getting out of it,” Jaskier pointed at the Witcher’s chest. “But this ghostly fellow doesn’t look all that friendly. Kinda looks like a…”

“A revenant.”

“A reverend?”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jaskier ignored that. “So this thing, this wraith-looking thing-”

“Revenant.”

“Fuck all this bullshit,” Jaskier snapped. “What is your plan to deal with this thing?”

Geralt glared and refrained from saying anything else, electing to follow the wraith’s movements through the cemetery.

The sound of bawling brought Jaskier’s attention back to the thing. Its wails got louder and louder and the phantom swung its decaying arms around the tombstones.

The Witcher froze, eyes widened then squinted.

“Geralt?”

A broken sob came from the wraith, “My little…” Its words died off but it caught Jaskier’s ear.

“Did it just-”

Geralt held up a hand to hush him.

The wraith meandered among the rocks and wooden graves. “Where was her peace? Flora? Flora, come back!” The wraith let out a guttural cry to the graveyard though Jaskier noticed its glow falling over the only grave in the cemetery to have flowers.

A shiver ran up Jaskier’s spine.

The Witcher pulled his pouch out and pulled from it a vial that Jaskier was familiar with despite Geralt’s attempts to keep him away. He bit the top off and downed the contents without a moment's hesitation.

The same look of disgust went over his face and he shut his eyes.

Jaskier waited with bated breath.

Geralt gripped at a sword on his back, the silver one, Jaskier noted. The veins around the Witcher’s eyes were already visible and gave him a haunting look once he finally opened them.

The Witcher sucked in a breath and rounded the rock that had been hiding them. While the wraith was absorbed in its lamenting, Geralt took the first swing across the being’s back. It went smoothly through and it howled out and disappeared in the fog it left.

Jaskier’s nose scrunched. Well that was anticlimactic. How the hell would he make an epic tale about that?

Geralt didn’t let up though. He twisted around as if to search for the creature. His eyes sought out each grave while Jaskier saw a subtle flicker of light behind him. The Witcher gripped the sword with two hands and swung around to what was stalking right behind him.

The wraith was not dead, well it was, and it wasn’t. Monster stuff is hard to understand and Jaskier didn’t care about the schematics of it right now.

Claws lurched at Geralt and he ducked into a roll to dodge the ambush, soil flung into the air because of the impact.

Once on his feet again, Geralt heaved his whole body forward with his next swing.

Jaskier couldn’t tell if any of his witcher’s attacks were doing anything to the creature, the look in its eyes displayed no fear nor pain from anything the Witcher was dealing. It was terrifying to Jaskier that Geralt was possibly taking on an opponent that couldn’t be killed. Yet he knew that Geralt was much more well versed in the whole art of killing monsters and he wouldn’t have jumped into the fight knowing it was unbeatable.

Jaskier just had to trust that Geralt had his own plan.

He hated that.

He hated that a lot.

The Witcher’s hand flicked and a symbol appeared on the ground that seemed to have some effect on the wraith. It screamed and came towards Geralt but he swung at the creature with the silver blade. It swiped through the being and Jaskier swore under his breath.

The wraith recoiled, injured though not ceasing any of its attacks. It rushed at the Witcher again though having learned how to avoid the blade. Geralt jumped back, narrowly avoiding being pierced in the chest by the wraith, almost losing his balance.

“He took her!” The thing shrieked, its mouth a hollow cavern but something struck Jaskier like one would their elbow. “Stole her from me!”

The thing raved while Geralt attempted his sign again to slow it down. Its cries were becoming so loud that Jaskier covered his ears.

“Used his crown to lie!”

As strange as it may sound, something clicked, like a broken puzzle falling into place and Jaskier’s head whirled like it would after a terrible hangover, an inhuman hangover.

Jaskier stood up from his spot behind the graves. He didn’t know what was overcoming him but he wasn’t going to let this continue. “Geralt wait!” His arm stretched out as if he could have any effect on the Witcher’s fight.

But the Witcher didn’t hesitate in his swings even though Jaskier knew for certain Geralt heard him clearly.

The wraith didn’t seem to care either, clawing at his witcher and disappearing before appearing again behind the Witcher and striking at the armor at Geralt’s back, pushing him into another ducking roll to then spring onto his feet once more.

“Geralt stop! Get out of there!”

The wraith’s gaze fell onto Jaskier. They locked eyes and Jaskier gulped. When it disappeared he already knew where it would appear next.

Everything halted when Jaskier felt a brisk wind blow on the back of his neck. Goosebumps traveled up his arms. He knew this wasn’t anything weather-related. He also knew it wasn’t a coincidence that the next breath he took in reeked of death and gore. He blinked at the reality of what was happening, peering up to see his witcher.

Far ahead was Geralt whose eyes were as wide as Jaskier had ever seen them but then his brows drew together and his jaw tightened as did his grip on his sword.

Jaskier waited for a flash of pain, maybe even death but felt no strike on his back. No stabbing pain… so with a shaky smile to Geralt he turned around to face the ghostly figure.

He had to tilt his head up to see the towering wraith, keeping his awkward grin.

The wraith only stared at him while waving its grey body side to side as if to examine him.

Jaskier did what he felt like doing and decided to open his mouth. “Flora? Was she your daughter?”

“My little girl…” It whimpered out and Jaskier’s heart dropped.

Jaskier’s mouth was dry as he forced himself to croak out, “Valois?”

The wraith’s eyes glowed and it screamed at Jaskier, putting its arms in its most intimidating position, its hair floating around it, but its voice faded into a sob and its arms sagged to its sides.

Jaskier scrambled for words. “I’m…” but found only two to say, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll kill him,” the wraith whispered.

Jaskier wished he was wrong about his theory but here he was and he knew with his whole being that King Valois was responsible for this little girl’s and her father’s death. “I hope you do,” is what he muttered back and he meant it. He meant it with all his broken heart. Shame ate at his core for never doing anything when he was here long before but now…

The wraith nodded its head weakly, giving Jaskier one final look and it faded from sight, this time not reappearing to Geralt or to Jaskier.

Sky would soon be nearing night, the wind whistled and that was only sound in the cemetery for a long time along with the occasional cricket. Jaskier’s eyes were glossed over but he blamed the wind for that and when they stung a little it was just the wind blowing harder.

Jaskier wiped his eye and gripped the strap of his lute before turning around to face Geralt.

This was going to be an unpleasant story…

But when Jaskier turned around he was face to face with the Witcher whose eyes were still pitch black. The only thing separating them was the stone grave.

“What the fuck?”

Jaskier couldn’t agree more with those sentiments. “It’s… you’re not going to like this…” Jaskier began while fidgeting with his hands. “Though I did make a promise to you that I would tell you everything I know if it pertained to the monster…” His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what he was exactly apologizing for, maybe for not telling Geralt what he knew about Valois sooner or maybe about the whole situation in general.

The Witcher didn’t interrupt Jaskier though. He somehow kept his patience while Jaskier found his words. He sheathed his sword and stood still, waiting for Jaskier to continue.

“I hope you’ll forgive that this story can’t be told as floriated as my others, it doesn’t exactly have a charming ending, you see. Nor a charming middle.”

Geralt didn’t respond, in fact, he didn't give any indication he was even listening. Only his eyes were focused on Jaskier. Black glistening eyes never moving.

So Jaskier talked.

Words flew out of his mouth, like a dam breaking that was building up since he discovered that Valois was on the throne of this land. He spoke on how King Valois was once Lord Valois and what he did to the maids. He went over how he had played for Valois and entertained him whilst occasionally seeing some new poor servant try to create any distance between themselves and Valois. He tried to skim over other details he saw, Geralt didn’t have to know every misdeed of this bastard. But it was important to mention that Valois turned to dangerously sick territory. Not to say it wasn't already sick but... Valois began preying on children. Jaskier hadn’t noticed at first but his own growing suspicions should have made it obvious.

He couldn’t deny to his witcher that he left when he found that out. Packed his bags, more like lute, and never came back for years and Jaskier didn’t know more of what Valois did, he didn’t want to.

“You feared he would come for you next? That’s why you left?”

Jaskier jumped when Geralt finally spoke up, like if a statue just started moving. But he didn’t understand what Geralt was getting at. “What?”

“You said this was years ago. You couldn’t have been of age yet.”

Fuck. Uh, shit, fucking time and its relevancy to stories and squishy babyface…

Jaskier scratched the back of his neck. “Yes? Well… It’s more complicated than that.” He couldn’t decide what to do with his hands.

“Did he..?” Geralt stared intently at him but didn’t finish, letting it hang in the air. The question went unspoken.

“What?” Jaskier processed what Geralt was trying to say then gagged. “What?! Gross! No! He didn’t- with me? Ugh, never!” He shuddered and crinkled his nose, “That is not a thought I wanted to have, I think I might lose my breakfast or lunch. Disgusting!”

“The Revenant,” Geralt prompted, bringing them back on track.

“Right! That, uh, well, look.” Jaskier pointed at the wooden grave that had the pansies though Jaskier couldn’t see it all that well. “There’s a little girl’s grave here and she’s buried next to her father.” Jaskier paused, waiting for Geralt to follow along.

“The Revenant…” the Witcher muttered.

“Is the father.” Jaskier nodded. “I think you know what that means and how this relates.”

The Witcher stared blankly at nothing. Jaskier had no expression to go on, though at least his eyes weren’t black anymore, though trying to see what Geralt was feeling through them was difficult as well with the sun fading in the trees.

“It explains so much now that I think of it,” Jaskier remembered the beginning of their day. “The barmaid’s lack of fear, the wraith’s victims, how some were loving whatever the hell was cleaning up their city.”

Geralt grimaced.

Most sunlight dwindled behind the overarching branches. It was becoming night fast, Geralt hadn’t killed the wraith and if his expression was anything to go by, he really didn’t want to. Seeing that alone made Jaskier bite his own tongue and made him remember why he didn’t want to tell his witcher anything.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to tell you.”

Geralt frowned. “The contract.”

Jaskier sighed and looked to the ground but something…

His head snapped up and the genie grinned. Wordplay was something he was exceedingly well versed in. The Witcher was not a man of words but he was a man of thought. How lucky his witcher was to have someone by his side to know words so well, to be so in his element.

“Is it your contract to rid the wraith? Or was it to find the monster terrorizing the land? Was that not what the king said? I don’t believe he was very specific,” Jaskier tapped at his chin. “Funny thing really.”

Geralt eyed the horizon like he was really putting thought to Jaskier’s nonsensical ramblings. It would do the Witcher some good to listen to them because they were not nonsensical. Not as they may have seemed.

Jaskier took a deep breath. He would choose his next words carefully.

“Your blade will never leave its sheath to defeat the monster. You know what, Witcher, I would wager my very lute upon that.”

His witcher continued to brood at the sky, a common occurrence, Jaskier just hopes his words push Geralt in the right direction. But now, this was Geralt’s decision. Through and through, it was his witcher who would make this tough little choice.

The Witcher craned his neck and walked off, leaving Jaskier to follow and wonder where they were going. He didn’t need to wonder much.

“I’ll tell the king I found the monster.”

Jaskier nodded. “Splendid plan.”

They walked in silence for a time. Jaskier figured he should give the poor Witcher some time to think about what his actual plan was though they had quite the long walk ahead of them.

Each step Jaskier anticipated the two hours flew by.

It was Geralt’s decision to wander back to “castle” at a casual pace, which was a cause Jaskier could get behind. Away from the high trees, they could see the sun again and it was lowering giving them the view of an orange and pink city.

“Ah, sunsets. An artist’s delight.”

Predictably, Geralt stared ahead with his lips drawn into a straight line.

“They typically represent a close which I suppose is fitting for this scenario but I’ll be much happier when the sunrises after all this. Is there anything that does not love the sun?”

“You never enjoy rising with the sun.”

Jaskier laughed, “On the contrary, dear Witcher, while I am fond of lovely sunsets, you’ll find that my preference lies in sunrises no matter the peace they may disturb. They truly don’t get the credit they deserve.”

Geralt hummed.

A sliver was all that was left of the light when they reached the king’s manor. A mere minute was all they had left of daylight. It was eerily quiet or perhaps that was just Jaskier nervously excited for what was about to unfold.

The guards let them by with no problems and they navigated through the hallways to the throne room and this time Jaskier had no fear of being in the king’s presence and Geralt only held animosity.

The guards guiding them went to their king’s sides. It was dim in the tall room. While candles were lit along with lanterns and torches, it couldn’t be denied that it was the night that had ruled over.

“Witcher!” Valois yelled. He appeared to be shaken.

Now Geralt and Jaskier knew why.

“Is it done?”

“I found the creature.”

When the Witcher spoke it rang in Jaskier’s ears so clearly he bit his lip to not grin so hard.

Valois craned his neck forward, “And it’s dead?”

Geralt squared his shoulders. “The contract was to find it.”

A moment passed, then two. The king scowled, “Bastard! You whore’s son. You know- it was abundantly clear what I meant! I want the monster that has been causing my people grief to be killed!”

“And tonight two will be dead.”

Some of the king’s anger dimmed, replaced with confusion. The sweat on his brow never ceasing. “Two?”

Jaskier laughed, it was a sharp quick one that he couldn’t hold back and how could he? His witcher was hilarious.

The king’s attention rested on him. “And what is it you find so amusing, vagabond?” Jaskier wanted to laugh harder. The dumb bastard didn’t recognize him either though that was fair, years passed and the fool was now an ancient relic… and Jaskier still had the same spring in his step.

“Sweet justice in the face of years of torment, your majesty.”

“How dare-” He was cut off by wind breaking the stained windows behind his throne.

Several torches lost their flame and flickered away, the already dim room becoming darker. The king seemed at a loss for words as realization crept up his spine.

The two guards at the king's sides raised their weapons to an unknown threat. It was dark and Jaskier could vaguely hear whispers that no doubt the king and his guards heard.

Splorch!

Jaskier didn’t even see it happen. His eyes searched for the sound and there the familiar wraith was with its arm straight through the back and claw out the guard’s chest.

The guard choked out his last breath, reaching for his wound and his body went limp as the wraith pulled its arm back through the massive hole in the man’s chest.

As for the second who desperately tried to defend himself from the fate that had occurred to the other. He didn’t stand a chance. He managed to block two blows from the thing before he, too, joined his friend. Though his fate was arguably worse with the wraith’s claw that went down his throat and ripped at him from the inside.

The guards fought valiantly… or it would have been if it wasn’t for the piece of shit king they were defending. Jaskier was just surprised neither lasted half the time Geralt did when he fought this thing.

A feral glare from the wraith landed on his prize. After all this time this creature that was once a human man would avenge his sweet little girl and would stop that misfortune from happening to anyone else. Jaskier shared the same grin on his own face.

Claws stretched forward and faster than a blink was the wraith able to have the king in his hands. Valois was hoisted from the ground, hovering over his throne. His screams made Jaskier want to cover his ears but he was here from the cruel beginning and he would see this man’s gruesome end. He and Geralt would be the only witnesses to the king’s justice being served.

The king flailed and tried grasping at the spirit whose grip seemed to tighten around his throat. The screams withering away into chokes. He was going red and slowly purple in the face when the wraith’s deteriorated face pulled into what Jaskier recognized as a wider broken grin and then reached its arm back only to launch its hand straight to where the king’s heart was.

A broken gasp, sounds of crunches, and then the wraith began pulling out of Valois’s chest what appeared to be wispy light. Sounds of two pairs of screaming could be heard and Jaskier’s eyes widened.

The wraith was tearing out what must have been Valois’s soul slowly and excruciatingly. The wraith tore at the body that was going limp and blood spilled across the stone floor and bodies of the guards. The wispy light now having a distinct face of Valois who still shrieked out in unimaginable pain. The wraith tore its claws into the ghostly figure of Valois until he was nothing more than what looked like ripped pieces of parchment. Even when the screams stopped, and the only sounds were of the wraith’s howling, it continued and it ripped at anything that was once Valois.

The body that was torn to ribbons was tossed onto the throne unceremoniously. Eyes near popped out of his skull, face purple and red, drool pooling to his shoulder, his throat could no longer be distinguished as one though a clear print of the claws that had gripped at his neck could be seen rising to his face, and his nose ran gushing with blood.

Gross.

So gross, in case that wasn’t clear.

The king’s chest had a hole where Jaskier assumed his “soul” or something was taken from and his ribs were spread in directions that didn’t take a human to know that those were certainly not how they were supposed to be placed. Over the cracked, spiked bones were an overflowing abundance of mushy red that Jaskier pulled his eyes away from to not have to distinguish what each shape was.

Needed, but very, very gross. How Geralt looks at stuff like this on a daily basis is beyond Jaskier.

The wraith looked over at his completed task as if searching for any life Valois may have left behind, but the king was dead. His blood was still warm but even Jaskier could tell from across the throne room that the wretched man was indeed immensely dead.

Content with its work the wraith pulled its head away and looked towards Geralt and Jaskier, its twisted expression with hollowed eyes turning more human yet fading all the same. A small smile played on the ghost’s face and Jaskier could have sworn that he saw a muted thank you before it faded into nothing but dust. Leaving the throne room as cold and quiet as the corpse that rested upon it.

And everything was settling into place once again.

“Fucking finally.” Jaskier’s face morphed into a lopsided grin in spite of the smell of death in the air. “Nothing is better than seeing a son of a bitch get what he deserves and after so long as well. It’s-” Jaskier interrupted himself to take in the sight that was a victorious witcher.

Geralt’s brows were drawn together but they were releasing and that glint went over his eyes. He looked quite pleased with himself and rightfully so.

“You never cease to amaze me, dear Witcher.” And Jaskier meant every word as well. “A true paragon of heroism.”

The Witcher lifted a brow at that.

“No one could do anything before.” Jaskier sighed, “Even me.” His witcher may not have understood the truth behind that statement but Jaskier wanted to say it all the same.

“The Revenant handled the monster, not I.”

Jaskier stretched in place. “Humble as always, but imagine if you had killed the wraith instead. You made a strategic decision that led to the desired outcome, don’t deny it, my friend. That’s why I’m thanking you.” And for the fact that I was a part of it.

“Don’t thank me,” he argued.

“Unlikely. You befriended a bard.”

“We aren’t friends.”

Jaskier snapped his fingers in mock frustration. “Damn, almost had him, ah well, next time.”

The Witcher let out a huff of air and something shuffled behind a wooden pillar.

Jaskier squeaked when Geralt already had his sword at the ready when out of the dark and into the lowly lit room came two disheveled servants who looked scared out of their wits.

No one had room to say anything as both appeared before Geralt and went to their knees sobbing.

“What’s-”

“Thank you, Sir Witcher,” one choked out.

The other looked up into Geralt’s eyes. “You saved us.”

Geralt cast a glance towards Jaskier who simply rested his hands at his hips. “That’s Geralt of Rivia for you.”

“I didn’t save you.” The Witcher sheathed his sword upon his back. “If there’s anyone to thank, it's him.” He pointed at the dust pile littering the steps of the throne. “He was one of your own. He stopped your tyrant, I merely stood by while it worked.”

Fucking Geralt of Rivia. Because I needed another fucking reason to love the bastard. Jaskier gawked at Geralt while somehow avoiding to acknowledge all the warmth he felt.

The two servants stared at the dust pile and nodded. “Without your help, it wouldn’t have happened or maybe it wouldn’t have happened sooner, for that, we thank you.”

“I wasn’t here.”

Jaskier as well as the two servants raised their heads in confusion and alarm at the Witcher.

“No one will take kindly to a witcher killing their leader,” Geralt muttered.

A weight hit Jaskier in the chest and his shoulders sagged.

Geralt was right.

No matter what happened here, it wouldn’t look good for the last person to have seen the king and his guards alive was the Witcher. Try as Jaskier might, words could only hold stories together so well and they wouldn’t hold much if royalty was killed in the process of this story. At the very least Jaskier would have to wait an extensive amount of time until he could sing anything about what happened here.

“Oh Melitele’s tits!”

Everyone’s eyes went to Jaskier. One servant looking at him with complete horror.

“What? Don’t look at me like that! A perfect song is in this! And I can’t use it! This is- this is such shit. Such horseshit.”

“A man’s dead, Bard.”

Jaskier scoffed and crossed his arms, “Last time I checked, humans tend to do that, Geralt.”

The Witcher stared at him a second longer than necessary before Jaskier realized what he said. That wasn’t suspicious. That wasn’t suspicious as long as Jaskier said it wasn’t suspicious.

“As is the circle of all life… Point being, a great story is right here and perhaps I can write it, but what is the point! Art being made for no audience! That’s not art!” Jaskier groaned into his hands, “This is the true loss in all of this nonsense.”

One servant ignored him. “We won’t speak of you being here to anyone who may spread ill-will, Sir Witcher.”

Geralt also ignored Jaskier and offered a brief nod in return. He looked at both servants and began walking towards their exit.

Jaskier lingered a second longer. “Uh, good luck finding, well, um, someone else to be in charge?”

The servants smiled. One replied, “We don’t know what exactly will come next, or who will take his place, but we are surely much better off without him.”

One last look at the king’s bloody, broken body told Jaskier enough.

These people may have lacked a ruler right now but while there would be some chaos without him for a bit, the world would still move forward and find a way and a better path. At least, that was all Jaskier could hope for… unless…

“Do you wish to find a better, more satisfactory leader?” It was a long shot but Jaskier should try.

“One or many, we just want to be safer and happier and whoever can help us with that is all we can ask for.”

“I’m sure some wishes can be fulfilled.” Granted. “And while you’re at it, some new decor would be best suited.” Jaskier began to turn around to trail the Witcher.

On second thoughts.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks and jogged back to where the disfigured king's body laid and dug in the man’s pockets, finding the bag of coin that Valois had promised to Geralt originally and then exiting the throne room to find Geralt. They didn’t do all that hard shit for nothing. Jaskier bowed, waved, and with a slight skip in his step found his way to walk beside his witcher. His beautifully and sometimes sickeningly righteous witcher.

The halls didn’t hold a sense of dread anymore. It wasn’t a maze of shame. Leaving the manor for the final time, he was glad to be leaving it with a smile on his face. And if Jaskier happened to tip over a hideous vase on the way out, well, no one had anything to say about it.

Chapter Text

After that whole cluster fuck that was a week or two, possibly three weeks ago, Jaskier was very done with dealing with any past issues. Now was all about the future and anything else be damned.

What does the future have in store one may ask, well easy answer Jaskier would say. The future held getting this witcher’s trust because the son of a bitch wasn’t letting him out of a ten-foot radius because of something stupid.

So what if Jaskier almost lost a hand because he was nabbing- no, merely observing a fine fruit, they call just about anyone here a thief, Geralt! That’s not my fault.

Geralt was having none of it, at least he wasn’t for the time they were in this town which was annoying considering that Jaskier almost got a spot at playing for the local tavern for a bit.

Why was he nabbing- no, observing some fresh fruit to begin with? Well, they had been running low on coin yet again but that was fine because poor Geralt was in dire need of repairs and replacements anyways for his armor and supplies. So how else was Roach gonna get anything sweet until the next contract? Okay, and yes, Jaskier won’t deny his own sweet tooth but that’s beside the point.

This won’t be a problem later. One day Jaskier and Geralt will be known around the continent and they won’t have to deal with stingy bastards, oh no, these cheaps will be begging to give their services to Geralt and Jaskier.

But until then, Jaskier will have to suck it up, and by that he means to complain to Geralt that word needs to travel fucking faster.

“What would that change?”

Jaskier sputtered, “What would that change he says!” Jaskier waved his arms in the air, good thing he wasn’t stitching any part of the Witcher at the moment. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” He remembered Cintra. That was the most prosperous kingdom in the South and getting to be the splendorest in all the continent there’s no doubt his most popular songs were getting around and here he was in the Northeast, well now heading Southwest, so his songs and stories should be traveling.

Geralt’s nose scrunched, brows furrowed, and hands clenched against his knees as Jaskier rubbed the wet cloth too roughly, he went softer on the open and still slowly bleeding wound.

“I made a promise,” Jaskier said while he gently picked splinters out of the open wound. “A promise to you, dear Witcher. I will make you famous, heroics and adventure are what people will think of the mighty name Geralt of Rivia.”

“You’d have more luck becoming a royal fool of court making up lies of knightful witchers.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, uncorked a witcher potion with his teeth, one that Geralt had pointed to, and then poured it on Geralt’s shoulder. “I take delight in that.” He managed to say while the cork rested between his teeth then pulled back to spit it on his witcher’s bloodied shirt thrown on the floor. “You find me funny enough to hold a position in court based upon that.”

Geralt scoffed, “You’re not a court jester.”

Jaskier lifted a brow, peering up at Geralt while he picked out a final splinter and continued pouring.

“You’re the whole troupe.”

The bandaging laid forgotten for a moment while Jaskier desperately tried not to spill any more special witcher potion as his shoulders shook while he laughed. “I’ll hand it to you, Geralt, no one on this continent makes a more interesting muse.”

Geralt hummed a response.

Jaskier dug in his bag, finding the strange honey he still was unfamiliar with. “I didn’t think we’d find a contract until much further down the path, but there it was one bonafide werewolf. Much more slobbery than I thought. Pretty sure this shirt is ruined but that’s fine I was getting tired of this color anyways.” Jaskier began wrapping some of the healer’s bandage around Geralt’s shoulder after smearing the grease on the cleaned wound. He felt proud as he was only occasionally being directed while doing it. “It felt like a close call.”

“It was.” His witcher glared at the floor. Jaskier wouldn’t have been too surprised if that spot magically went up in flames.

“Its jaws were right in front of me and by Melitele, its breath, Geralt.” Jaskier leaned his head on Geralt’s thigh when he was done. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so close vomiting without actually vomiting. I can still taste the bile, disgusting.” He pouted.

He could imagine the warm breath of the creature on his face and then his throat. If Geralt had been a second later then Jaskier was sure he’d be pierced with plenty of large werewolf teeth. In fact, Jaskier is not sure he would have survived.

Closing his eyes, Jaskier pictured it all over again. Running through a maze of trees after being told to stay in town. Was told to stay and have Roach take care of him. Hearing howling far away but not far enough to Jaskier’s liking. No place feeling like a secure hiding spot. Every bush looked like something to run from, the full moon was blocked by much of the evergreens leaving Jaskier near blind in the middle of a forest with a bloodthirsty monster on the loose. Geralt even distinctly told Jaskier that werewolves could call for wolves as well if threatened. Perhaps Jaskier was lucky he didn’t look like much of a threat.

The howling got closer and bushes rustled before getting quiet. Or not so lucky it seems…

A distinct smell of blood in the air, never reassuring that he was a safe distance away.

Growls coming closer and closer but feeling nowhere near the type of growling Jaskier was used to. Jaskier would swear that his heart was beating outside of his chest, he could practically feel it against his rib cage. Could bones get bruises? The woods echoed with barking and howling but the ear-bleeding noise was getting farther.

Jaskier couldn’t keep up with his own breath. He closed his eyes. “I can’t believe I cheated death.” He wiped at his forehead and collected himself as his legs collapsed beneath him. He liked to think himself invincible purely because of what he was and how long he believed he lasted, and yet with this time spent with a witcher, Jaskier only learned how fragile he was in comparison.

Like a delicate human but worse because of all the self-confidence… But he handled the continent just fine, some credit where it’s due.

He laughed, quickly hiding it behind his palm but the whole situation overwhelmed him too much to be able to hold it back.

Besides, there was a witcher out there, that surely would be more noticeable than one short laugh.

A branch snapped right behind him.

So much for wishful thinking.

He swore as he forced himself to a stand to run yet again but hadn’t made it two steps before he collided with the trunk of a tree.

Spinning. The world was spinning. Dazed and feeling a new forming bruise on his forehead Jaskier turned around to face a dark hairy mass. His hands pressed against the tree, ripping into his palms and the beast stepped closer and its mouth dripping blood as it bared its sharp teeth.

He opens his mouth to say something but there is no reasoning with an animal. There is something poetic of a master of words dying by a beastly wolf who cannot understand him.

With a gulp and bated breath, Jaskier assumed he was going to die, he would die covered in the spittle of a wolf.

That obviously didn’t happen.

The werewolf’s eyes were ferocious. Familiar to Geralt’s yet were too wild. Its lips pulled into a snarl. One moment it appeared to take a lunge and the next its eyes widened horror.

Jaskier felt the werewolf cough blood and spit onto his face and it whined. The beast howled as Geralt’s silver sword was ripped from its side only to be plunged again and flew to the ground in flames whining as the Witcher used igni.

It’s cries stopped. Its scorched body unmoving. Jaskier took in a breath he had been forcing himself to hold. It looked dead.

That was one angry wolf to deal with. Now for the second one.

Geralt leaned on his planted sword to take what Jaskier was guessing to be a breather.

And simple as that, the monster was dead and its reign of brutal planned attacks in town was over. The people would no longer be making guesses and accusations that led to other innocents dying.

But Jaskier couldn’t care less about those people. Oh no, he proceeded to complain about the drool and bloodstains that were all over him, his hands still pressed against the tree.

A sharp tug pulled him from his spot and dragged him to his feet. “I told you to stay back,” the Witcher gritted out while holding Jaskier up by the collar face to face. The black eyes looked as if they were bleeding but Jaskier long knew that it was the veins around Geralt’s eyes.

He actually slumped in Geralt’s hold, ashamed. The Witcher did have the situation completely under control and Jaskier just intervened unnecessarily again, forcing his witcher to save him.

Embarrassing.

Utterly embarrassing.

Of course he trusts Geralt. It’s just that Jaskier doesn’t want to miss the opportunity when Geralt actually needs him. On the rare occasion that his witcher will use his words and it would save his life. Why ever else would Destiny have sent her message for Jaskier to be a part of his witcher’s brutal life?

But this witcher doesn’t appear to need saving.

“But I’ve never seen a werewolf before! I knew they weren’t myth but here it was in the flesh, and it went up in flames, oh Geralt, a ballad is writing itself here! I wouldn’t have experienced it.”

Geralt’s eyes widened and then searched Jaskier.

For a moment the Witcher looked frantic. His hand tilted Jaskier’s head up and he looked Jaskier up and down. “What are you-?”

The Witcher lifted one of Jaskier’s hands to his face and inspected the scrapes. Jaskier hadn’t noticed until then but his hands were bleeding. Geralt grunted, appeased at something, and let his hand go.

Jaskier looked at his hands. “Well, that’s not fun, it’ll be a bitch to take care back at the inn.” He groaned. At least it looked like they were small, they’d heal fast and he’d even use some of his own remedies. “You got any?” Jaskier searched Geralt in kind and sure enough, he found a bleeding spot. “No doubt plenty of bruises under all that.”

The Witcher ignored him and trudged to the dead werewolf. He retrieved a thick knife from his side and then began cutting away at the creature, taking its head to get his prize later.

Jaskier faced the other direction. It wasn’t that he couldn’t exactly handle it. Gore didn’t get to him as much as it probably would other humans but it was a combination of factors.

To begin, Jaskier knows that while Geralt does what he has to do for a living that doesn't change that he’s killing monsters. And yes, Geralt saves lives and whatnot but Jaskier hated that he could technically fall into the category of monster. He doubted Geralt would kill him on account of that alone… so it wasn’t that. It was that he’d been lying to Geralt this whole time just by not telling the Witcher what he was. From what he knows about his witcher, he doesn’t like being lied to especially when lies can turn dangerous and that Jaskier could be.

Secondly, Jaskier knew Geralt would piss on destiny if that were an option. Explaining that Destiny sent him was not going to do Jaskier any favors.

And thirdly, Geralt seemed very uncomfortable when Jaskier watched the first few times. Maybe he didn’t think Jaskier could stomach it? Or he was embarrassed in front of an audience?

Jaskier turned around and waited while staring at the trees then down at his bloody hands, luckily the fingers were mostly fine, so strumming wouldn’t be a problem.

“At this rate,” he chuckled while looking at his hands. “I’ll be a witcher myself in what? A few years time? I’ve nearly seen it all, wouldn’t you say? From vampires, ghouls, griffins, and now werewolves. I’ll be an expert in this.” He turned around when he heard Geralt swung the head over his shoulder.

Geralt rolled his eyes but Jaskier saw the twitch of a smile. The black eyes would have made it unsettling but any form of his witcher’s contentment made Jaskier elated. “You don’t know the first thing about being a witcher.” The Witcher set their steady pace back to the small village.

“I mean, you have swords and stab monsters with them,” he bit his tongue to avoid smiling. “Oh, and potions and-and magic to do the whoosh whoosh stuff.” Jaskier nodded, looking very proud of himself. “I’d say I have a very good foundation.”

The Witcher sighed but kept wherever his thoughts were taking him to himself. As he was always committed to doing.

“I suppose we’ll drop that,” Jaskier vaguely gestured to the oozing head at Geralt's shoulder, “little delight off before looking at what mark it left.”

Jaskier received an affirmative grunt.

“I know, I know, Geralt. You needn’t be so loud.” Jaskier smirked. “I didn’t much care for that crowd either but bare with mankind’s occasional ignorance.”

“Not unlike your own?”

Jaskier’s smile grew. “Not unlike my own, Geralt. So you see? You should be well-practiced.” For Jaskier it wasn’t too difficult to be human around humans, the key was to act as those did around him with his own twist, but with Geralt, he relied on his experiences…

It gives Jaskier consultation when Geralt says things that assume Jaskier’s humanity. Good reassurance.

“You wanna know what my favorite part of getting information from that town circle?” Jaskier didn’t wait for a reply. “It was how mysterious they were making it- like a game- and then you tried to explain to them the traits of werewolves and they wouldn’t listen.” Jaskier laughed. “Your face when they told you they knew what they were doing and that they already killed the werewolf. And when- and when you said Right. What do I know, I’m just a witcher.” Jaskier dropped his tone in an attempt to mimic Geralt. “Priceless. I would pay a hefty amount of coin to see that again.”

Geralt wiped at his nose. Jaskier was pretty sure he used that action to hide how amused he was but that could be wishful thinking.

“Heading back, getting paid, stopping the bleeding, all in all, a good plan.” Jaskier stumbled several times, mainly because he was blindly walking and the Witcher was so keen on walking so fucking fast almost felt as if he would leave Jaskier behind.

No doubt the moon was high in the sky and the stars were twinkling but the evergreens blocked any light the night had to supply thus leaving Jaskier to finally trip forward into Geralt’s back.

Jaskier swore as he landed funny on his foot and hand catching himself on Geralt’s back and going eye to eye with a dead werewolf head. Shit!

A shiver ran up his spine violently and he pushed himself back which only led him to tip over backward. But before Jaskier had the chance to yelp he was yanked back to a stand by his wrist.

Chest to chest to the Witcher, face inches from his. Jaskier’s eyes widened as he took in the sight. Geralt’s eyes shone black and his brows were knitted together as if he were trying to figure something out. Something that requires the highest scrutiny. Too bad it was impossible to know where exactly Geralt was looking when his eyes were a void.

Geralt’s breath was warm. The only movement from him was his breathing and from the looks of it, he was trying to smell something out. At least, that’s what it appeared to be from what Jaskier had gathered over their travels.

“Yes, I would say black is your color. No one could pull it off better,” Jaskier whispered, trying to keep his gaze away from his lips though he was sure an accidental eye dart might have given him away.

The Witcher grunted and turned back to begin walking through the towering trees yet his hand remained wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist to pull him.

At least Jaskier had an easier way of following the Witcher out of the bloody maze of a forest, easier than tripping at every fallen branch and oddly placed rock.

Geralt kept his grip even when they reached the border of the woods. His grip remained as they walked into the locked-down sleeping village. And it stayed under the bright moonlight when they reached the alderman’s door.

Keeping his heart in his throat was what kept Jaskier from speaking, he spared several glances but his mouth was dry.

The Witcher only let go to pound into the dry wood, waking anyone and everyone in the house and possibly the neighboring homes.

Jaskier would have held some sympathy for the poor man who would no doubt be running to the door but they needed the coin to pay for a room.

It went smoother than Jaskier had expected. The fee was paid in the agreed amount with no tricks or attempts to persuade the Witcher to take less. The contempt was seen in the rotund man’s face but he didn’t argue nor spit at them.

They were in their room in no time and finally, Geralt could bleed in peace and leave Jaskier to fix it.

Jaskier opened his eyes. Through the clothing, Jaskier could feel the warmth of the Witcher while he rested on his leg. Every hunt held the risk that the Witcher might not return. The warmth was reassurance. “Tell me, do you know how many werewolves you’ve killed?”

“No.”

“I suspected as much. Are there any of those hunts you would have changed?”

“All.”

Jaskier’s mouth curved into a smile. “Really? What could you have possibly changed about this hunt?” He turned his head to look up at Geralt. “You were efficient. Too efficient. I may have to add some details. You hunted it to its territory and once in sight… That might have been your fastest hunt yet. What could you have possibly changed?”

The Witcher’s jaw tightened. “Binding you next to Roach.”

“Ah.” Jaskier paused. He did get in the way, obviously, it stands that Geralt would be pissed about that. “Well, you’re not thinking of this in the theatrical sense. I was your live bait. It sure worked like a charm. Dare I say, I was the reason the hunt came to such a swift end?”

Geralt glared at him.

Now didn’t appear to be the time to be pushing his witcher. Jaskier lifted his head off of Geralt, smile wavering. What a shame, things felt to be going alright.

He patted the Witcher’s leg and backed away, still kneeling on the floor. “But now is not the time to assign blame to all necessary parties, now is time for rest. It’s been an impossibly long day..." But something did cross his mind. "Oh! Geralt, do you suppose that the werewolf didn't mean to cause harm? After all, its beastly form is what took over the poor bastard.”

Geralt didn't look at Jaskier to answer. "The bastard's human form was to blame, he set up his second form to cause harm."

"So yet again the true monster proves to be man." He tapped at his chin. "You'd think I'd see the pattern sooner."

Without a response, Geralt pushed himself to his feet. The floorboards creaked under the Witcher. Each potion was tucked away, swords rested beside the bed all while Jaskier stayed knelt on the floor. His shoulders slumped. He reflects on the fact that he could find a way to make it up to Geralt. But nothing could be fixed tonight, perhaps tomorrow or the days that followed that.

“You’ll stay back next time.”

A weight lifted from Jaskier’s chest. A smile could be heard in his voice. “Of course, Geralt. Next time.”

After all, they do have plenty of time to work with.

Chapter Text

Near winter’s end, Geralt and Jaskier had ventured far South. Geralt hadn’t even gone to Kaer Morhen that year or the last, which wasn’t all that surprising since they were so far away from the cold North while winter was ending in the South- that didn’t mean all its ice had melted or that the snow just stopped falling from the sky.

Life was going great. Over many years, Geralt and Jaskier found the best routine for both of them. While Jaskier would follow Geralt almost everywhere, he also would part during winters or whenever to give his witcher space and also for himself and his music. After all, distance makes the heart grow fonder, or some ridiculous shit like that. Jaskier also enjoyed going to places that the Witcher was never too fond of, the large cities just called to Jaskier while equally pushing away Geralt.

Using Cintra as Jaskier’s center for spreading music worked like a charm.

He’s brilliant, a masterful genius one could say.

Jaskier.

It’s Jaskier who says that.

The continent sang Jaskier’s songs, old and new alike. Just as he craved from the beginning. And everything changed, though not overnight like he wanted.

But he was true to his word from the start- Geralt was always the intriguing muse. Over the years, the Witcher did not bore Jaskier, which was quite the feat knowing how Jaskier would leave any place that no longer held his interest. It was annoying that his little attachment to the Witcher didn’t cease as he expected. But the annoyance of that also faded. It became a background thought. Something he knew was always there but he didn’t need to be aware of at all times. The annoyance probably stemmed from this whole adventure being Destiny’s doing…

So, while Southwest, Geralt received a contract for a gruesome selkiemore.

They had strolled into town and a mob of people surrounded them. Poor Witcher was looking almost frightened at all the attention. They had dragged them to a far tavern and told their tale of a beast that ate their village up. It could have brought tears to the eyes, they seemed to have excellent poets in town.

Jaskier had little to no information for whatever the hell a selkiemore was until Geralt described it in his Geralt way. But when the humble folk in town who had seen it and survived described it... Geralt was typically honest, especially when talking about monsters. But much to Jaskiers chagrin he also downplayed absolutely everything. Jaskier knew he couldn’t let the Witcher go alone, but that was just it. The Witcher made it clear with no room for Jaskier to argue and even unintentionally forced Jaskier to use magic to keep himself away.

“You’re not coming. I don’t want you near, bard.”

“But-” The wish was granted regardless. Jaskier knew he had control over the wishes he granted but giving Geralt whatever he typically asked for was second nature at this point. “Damnit, Geralt. Just tell me this in no uncertain terms and I promise I won’t set a foot outside of this tavern until you kill it. You understand, Witcher? Just tell me that you want to come back alive and unhurt from this hunt.”

Jaskier held back a smile in those moments, silently begging that Geralt would humor him and repeat back his words.

“Why wouldn’t I-”

“Ah ah, Geralt! No uncertain terms! Say it.”

The Witcher paused as if contemplating if speaking now was worth keeping Jaskier out of his way. Speaking now for the sake of convenience seemed to win. “I want to return alive,” Geralt huffed.

“And unharmed,” Jaskier pushed.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “No promises, bard.”

“Say it anyway.”

“And unharmed.”

Jaskier nodded and smiled brightly at his witcher. The wish granted and he sighed in relief. How lucky his witcher humored him when he could have left and Jaskier would be unable to do anything.

He placed his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and stared him straight in the eyes. “Well then, come back soon, Witcher. I’ll make sure that they have an ale waiting for you and also a very welcoming crowd. So don’t make me wait too long.”

The Witcher grunted but made no retorts to that.

“I know you’ll be fine, just bored without my company. Which is arguably a worse fate.” Jaskier winked and turned back to the large main room in the tavern where he would wait for Geralt, as per his promise, but mainly because of the Witcher’s wish.

There was a lot of waiting in store. Good thing he was trained in the art of entertainment. The people truly seemed to appreciate the artwork coming straight from the artist’s mouth. Though as hours slipped by, the faces grew tenser and dejected. They clearly didn’t know how a witcher works.

Even on Jaskier’s breaks people asked about Geralt which Jaskier obliged. Told them yes, Geralt of Rivia knows what he’s doing, he’s done this his whole life and of course, the White Wolf is brave when going headfirst into danger. Apparently telling tales of their other adventures lifted their mood but the uneasiness that festered in the room never left.

Jaskier couldn’t blame them. He’d be acting the same if it weren’t for both his firsthand experience with knowing the Witcher’s skill and predominantly Geralt’s wish.

However, when a large, bearded man covered in grime came through the doors shaking, well that left everyone, except for one bard, quaking in their boots.

The man was shivering from both the cold he escaped from and the worrying fear that was easy to see in his eyes. A woman guided the poor man to sit down and they gave him a drink to calm him and, while it was on the tip of everyone’s tongues, it was Jaskier who asked first what the man had seen when he accompanied the Witcher on his mission to complete what was asked of him.

The man started from the beginning. A good refresher for everyone, to be honest. Jaskier was set on writing this man’s every word. What a shame this man never went to Oxenfurt- he would have been astonishing. With his quill, Jaskier scrawled what he could and poked his tongue out, as was his custom when he was concentrating.

“I tell you no lie,” the man stressed, “it swallowed the whole village, it did. Not a bone to be found!”

Gasps rang out along with quiet murmurs.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, shitling.”

Mm. Shitling. That's a new one. Has a nice ring to it.

“That’s why we had to call him…” The man stood up. “The White Wolf!”

More people mumbled while Jaskier continued scribbling, all of a sudden very grateful that he sat by a window with a wonderful light source.

“And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake,” The man used his hands to emphasize every point. “Like he knew it was coming for him.”

Jaskier nodded along while writing. Geralt probably did know that thing was coming up.

“The ice cracked open and the selkiemore shot out!” The man recounted, shooting up his arm to mimic the beast, “Oh, you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil’s teeth!”

More people gasped, a woman clutched at her chest and an old man stared intently just like the rest of the audience.

“And it…” the man paused, his voice wobbly, “swallowed… that witcher whole!” He trailed off and the crowd stayed silent in horror at the man’s retelling.

“Oh, this is brilliant,” Jaskier said while accentuating each word. He jotted down another word but the pub remained still. He lifted his head while licking his lips. Even if he wasn’t worried, these people obviously still were. “Oh, uh, sorry. It’s just that Geralt is usually so stingy with the details.”

He still got weird looks from some.

“Uh… and then what happened?” Jaskier tilted his head up earnestly.

The man visibly trembled as he said the next words. “He died.”

Gasps traveled around the whole tavern. Quiet mourning could be heard in those breaths.

Jaskier didn’t share that same mentality and his face scrunched up, “Eh… he’s fine.” This is Geralt of Rivia. That man won’t die easily and especially not under the reassurance Jaskier made him give. He scrawled out another clever word that came to mind. A beast to abhor: the selkiemore. He’d definitely use that.

“Look, I was there.”

I’m sure you were.

“I saw it with my own-”

The man was cut off by a crash. Jaskier didn’t lift his head, he kept up his writing. He wouldn’t give up a sublime phrase just because of a little disturbance. Geralt was somehow always fantastic when it came to timing. Jaskier didn’t hesitate in his chicken scratch of writing, as Geralt once called it.

And lo and behold, though the doors stood Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. Jaskier didn’t look up until he completed his sentence. “See?”

More gasping came from the crowd which only affirmed who came through the doors.

When Jaskier finished, he looked up and he didn’t even try to hold back his laughter.

The Witcher was covered head to toe in muck and gore of the selkiemore. No part of him was spared, sword and all, and while that was usually cause for some exasperation on Jaskier’s part, seeing as Geralt wouldn't be able to handle that by himself, it was a hilarious sight. His eyes were the only stainless sight on him, Jaskier noted, yet still went back to his journal.

“Oh… What’s that stench?” The man took a step back. When he said it, Jaskier also noticed the clear pungent smell that was no other than Geralt. Despite the smell, Jaskier was still holding back a laugh.

“Selkiemore guts,” the Witcher breathed out. “Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.”

Jaskier immediately stood up and began singing. As was habit now. Best to get on the people’s nice side again where they were mourning his loss so that they could pay the poor man for almost-but-not-quite dying.

He was nervously smiling, hoping these people wouldn’t be too difficult to persuade them that they still very much needed to pay him.

The man threw a bag at Geralt, hearing the jingle of coin shaking about, and the crowd began singing along with Jaskier and he felt the tension leave his body. Jaskier couldn’t believe an old song of his was the one that became most known around the continent. Jaskier was praising his past self for making the words in the song so easy to switch out yet also cursing himself because he wrote it while tired and traveling after almost getting his throat slit. He could do better. This was his legacy now though… well, more like Geralt’s legacy.

Whoops.

He grinned at the crowd, holding his arms out as if to invite more to join in. It worked, probably to Geralt's great irritation.

He almost placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder but when one finger touched he thought against it, being reminded of the stench he had brought up earlier.

Geralt swiftly walked away after that.

“Thank you!” Jaskier beamed at the audience who were joyous that their monster was slain.

Leaving his lute under the table he was sitting at, he followed after Geralt as quickly as he could though not quite sure what to say. He had a favor to ask Geralt but would now be a good time to bring it up? Right after a messy hunt? Well, he did put it off long enough… all eight days long when he got the news that he was requested, or rather demanded that he show face to the Cintran court for a betrothal banquet that was that very next day and night. They would certainly have a time crunch to reach the event in time but that’s nothing neither of them couldn’t handle.

He needed Geralt… He just had to go. Jaskier desperately wanted to go. This was the spot he had been so earnestly fighting for. He couldn’t not go after all the work and effort- and prestige he would gain! He was going. But, as always, he caused some trouble for himself.

Some distractions had gotten Jaskier in some deep pits while with the noble of Cintra. Using Lord Aakif’s gift ring, he was able to enter places he hadn’t known he could ever enter. He rose through lords and ladies. And throughout each winter away from Geralt he expanded his reach… and his experience.

Lord Aakif Harski Darvan was most assuredly a good lay… as was his aunt… perhaps his younger sister’s two maids… and the wife of Aakif’s cousin’s friend as well as the cousin… and cousin’s friend. But surprisingly that wasn’t Jaskier’s problem, well not the biggest one. Oh no. It was much more stupid than it needed to be.

Through a friend of Lord Aakif, Jaskier met the wife of a nobleman whose marriage was falling apart. She lamented that her husband never gave her attention, that he didn’t find her attractive anymore, and that if he wasn’t cheating then he most certainly would since he was already acting suspiciously and occasionally coming home late.

Jaskier and the fine woman hatched the most ridiculous plan to get the husband’s attention back to her. In retrospect, the plan was awful but… but what did you expect?

Jaskier and the noblewoman would stage a scene. They would appear to be lying in bed with one another and once her husband entered the room Jaskier would run off, leaving the woman and her husband to face their marital problems head-on and to show him she was still desirable to a “younger lad” like himself.

Yes, ridiculous plan.

Jaskier was indeed chased out without trousers and had to escape from a window but the true point in the story was that the couple seemed to actually somehow grow closer in spite of the whole issue.

Problem? The lord was still out for the head of whoever “slept” with his wife. If Jaskier was seen… and by himself no less… Well, he wasn’t guaranteed to be walking out of Cintra without a few limbs missing.

Jaskier walked behind Geralt and decided how he would approach the topic.

“You’re welcome.” He said while taking a mug of ale off the bar.

Geralt raised his own mug of ale to his lips.

“And now, Witcher, it’s time to repay your debt.”

His witcher spit out all the ale he had just tasted onto the floor. Jaskier forgot to mention the ale there was shit, though it could also be that he got some of the guts in his mouth. There really wasn’t a difference in flavor. At least, Jaskier would guess.

“What debt? You’re probably asking yourself in your head right now.” Jaskier watched the happy crowd, their grins to their ears. At least no more villages would be swept away. “Well, I’ll tell you.” He tried to lean on the bar to invoke a non-threatening posture. “I’ve made you famous, Witcher.”

Geralt sighed. A full-body sigh.

“By rights, I should be claiming ten percent of all your coin.” By Melitele, he hopes he isn’t pushing his luck. “But instead, what I’m asking for is a teeny-teeny-weeny little favor.” He took a sip of his own ale and yes it was shit though probably not as shit as the one Geralt had with the sekiemore guts.

“Fuck off, bard.”

Shit. Losing him. “For one measly night of service, you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights. The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods.” Okay, perhaps his own love for food was playing a role in this but it couldn’t be denied that Geralt also enjoyed a decent meal. Though there’s something else that might catch Geralt’s ear. “Maidens that would make the sun itself blush with a single comely smile. And rivers of the sweetest of drinks from the rarest- Fuck!”

He hadn’t noticed Geralt walking away. And in the middle of his- ugh, whatever. He pushed himself off the bar and leaned to a wooden pillar, luckily Geralt hadn’t walked that far.

Simple terms it was then. No poetry or fun here. His last resort, “Food, women, and wine, Geralt!”

The Witcher paused mid-step and ever so slowly turned around to look at Jaskier all while he still wasn’t sure if he had convinced Geralt of anything. Or what he had said that caught Geralt’s attention. That and his witcher was in the utmost need of a bath... or three. Though calming Geralt of his worries when it came to events was first on the list.

“It won’t be so horrid, stop thinking those thoughts you’re thinking. We do need to hurry though.” He crept towards his witcher. “I do doubt you enjoy being wrapped in… all of this.” Jaskier waved his hand at all of Geralt. “To the nearest bath!” He pointed in probably the wrong direction but Geralt would get his point.

Geralt led the way. How lucky they were that Jaskier rented the room before it got so crowded. And how lucky that Jaskier had the coin for two baths.

Jaskier hummed a tune while Geralt disappeared upstairs. He would order the bath right away, grab his lute, and Geralt would be grateful to not have to be standing in fresh guts even if that entailed having to follow Jaskier for a night. Jaskier was pretty confident that Geralt would agree. After all, Jaskier was his best friend on this vast continent and Geralt was his.

Jaskier sighed in relief when he remembered that Geralt would have no wounds. Perhaps aches but as per the wish. Geralt would not have come back harmed, Jaskier supposed he would soon discover what that meant once he helped scrub out organs from the Witcher’s hair…

The maid filled a bath surprisingly fast and the Witcher was in it faster. As he was already in and getting the bulk of grime off himself.

Jaskier wouldn’t stand to have Geralt put the same gross wear on right after he cleaned, so he hurried those off so someone could wash them while he washed his witcher. The rest went as routine- a more intense routine with how fucking disgusting the Witcher was. Jaskier lost count of how many scoops of the water he took to dump over Geralt’s head until some of the white could be seen again. At least more than Geralt’s eyes were now visible.

Luckily Geralt didn’t notice Jaskier side-eyeing both him and the clothing he got for Geralt on the wall. Hung up as he didn’t want to wrinkle it after only getting a day ago- without Geralt’s knowledge of course. Jaskier refused to have Geralt wear his everyday wear to a formal party. Geralt wouldn’t care for the outfit but Jaskier picked the mildest of fashionable colors and was certain that they would fit him perfectly. He didn’t spend years staring at Geralt learning nothing.

“When I said you smell of death and heroics you did not need to take it seriously,” Jaskier chuckled while picking out a clump of… he threw it across the room before he was quite sure. “And while I understand your desire to deter absolutely anyone from going near you, this is certainly not the way.”

The Witcher grunted and sank further into the tub.

How anyone could see Geralt as terrifying was beyond Jaskier at this point. This was clearly a blockhead in disguise.

“I don’t seem to see a scratch on you, Witcher,” Jaskier grinned. “Thank you for keeping your word.”

“It was a selkiemore,” he said flatly.

“I heard the tales from townsfolk.” Jaskier hit Geralt’s arm with a rag. “Enormous beast that could swallow villages…” Jaskier shuddered at the thought of Geralt going to kill the thing without Jaskier’s magic.

“Exaggerations,” he muttered. “They’re harmless. Plankton feeders…”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “No! Really? That can’t be, then why would they call a witcher? For something harmless, they would waste their coin? It doesn’t make sense!”

“They feared it.”

“Seems they wasted their coin for the sake of a little fear.” Jaskier snorted. “Though I can’t complain, that is my business to get people to loosen their grasp of their coin.”

Jaskier scooped a majority of the disgusting remains of the selkiemore from the water and dumped them to the side pot a maid had been clever enough to bring earlier.

“I suppose I could tell you about this betrothal feast for the princess of Cintra? Wouldn’t leave you to be too blind walking into-”

“Princess’s betrothal feast?” The Witcher rose from the water. There lingered the sound of a growl in that but Jaskier tried to ignore it.

“Ah, well, yeah. Big event, but you know what I say? Big parties are always more intimate.” Jaskier dried the water off his hands onto his pant leg. “After all, there’s too much going on to keep focused on just one person in the room, except of course the actual princess. Though I will say her mother takes more of the attention then she would. Intimidating woman, though, makes sense. Being queen and all that.” He shrugged while moving over to the Witcher to pick out some of the knots in the borderlining bird’s nest of hair.

Geralt didn’t even give Jaskier a noise of acknowledgment as he picked off more of the remaining grime on him.

Jaskier scooped water into the bucket. “I’m sure the food alone will make it worth it.”

In response, the Witcher groaned and Jaskier dumped the entire bucket over his head for it.

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest.”

The Witcher scrubbed at his face. Keen to ignore the slight Jaskier pulled by dumping the water with no warning even if it was for the hundredth time in this process.

“It is one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world.” He dropped the bucket to the side. “How hard can it be?” He dried his hands off on a rag while he was looking for the bath salts that he knew he placed out.

“I’m not your friend.”

Jaskier almost rolled his eyes. “Oh, oh really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?” He loved hanging that over Geralt. Instant argument winner.

Geralt stared back at Jaskier with an expression Jaskier couldn’t describe as a glare and it would have been funny if this not-friend comment wasn’t being made after what Jaskier assumes is a decade of time they’ve known each other. But Jaskier didn’t mind. He knows Geralt too well to ever think it was a true offense.

“Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought.” Geralt kept glaring. Jaskier wandered to the other side of the room in search of the bath salts he knew he left ready. “Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal.”

Jaskier picked at a glass bottle. That’s not it. Before finding it right where he left it and grabbed a pinch.

“The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!” He turned around a threw that pinch of rose bath salt with much more theatrics than what was necessary. It splashed the water and Geralt only blinked.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

Jaskier felt caught red-handed. “Hard to say,” he said, staring blankly at nothing. At least it wasn’t like he had to admit to all his misdeeds. “One stops keeping count after a while.” Geralt's hard gaze never left him as he meandered to the side of the tub to unwrinkle the undershirt Geralt will be wearing. “Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.”

How Geralt didn’t know everything about Jaskier was beyond him. If the Witcher asked him anything it would probably all come tumbling out. For fuck’s sake it was coming out now.

Desperate for a change of conversation. He turned back to face Geralt. “Ooh, yeah, that face!” He sat at the stool next to the tub. “Scary face,” he teasingly said. “No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.”

Geralt tried grabbing the ale that a sweet maid had dropped by earlier. It was at his lips when-

“Ooh, on second thoughts…” Jaskier snatched that as soon as he could. “Might want to lay off the Cintran ale.” Geralt had half of it anyways so Jaskier didn’t feel that guilty when he walked away with it, patting Geralt on the shoulder. “A clear head would be best.”

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry.”

Jaskier glanced over his shoulder to see the back of Geralt’s head, suppressing a fond smile. He was just impressed Geralt created a good allegory for his situation however ridiculous it may be.

“I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.”

Jaskier wondered if Geralt thought he was going to ask him to kill someone for him. They did have a certain conversation a long while ago that Jaskier had indeed asked if Geralt would kill someone for him but he was drunk, how and why would Geralt remember that was ridiculous, besides Jaskier was thinking of a certain mage that could quite possibly still be lurking about the continent when he asked that.

Jaskier decided not to bring it up. “Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time.”

He walked over, rounding the tub to see Geralt continue his death glare.

“Ugh. Is this what happens when you get old?” He suspected Geralt was quite older than him… not by creation means but in living life means. Can’t exactly live life when in a contained vessel. It didn’t matter much anyways he supposes but it was great to poke fun at. “You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous?”

Something crossed his mind.

“Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah. When they slow and get killed.”

That’s- that’s not retiring.

Rolling his eyes, he tried leveling with Geralt. “Come on, there must be something you want for yourself once all this… monster-hunting nonsense is over with.”

But Geralt shook his head. “I want nothing.”

Jaskier pressed his lips. Geralt was not one to ever make things easy for him. Maybe telling Geralt what he- what Jaskier wants was what he had to do. “Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.” He crouched at the tub, pouting.

Geralt had looked away from Jaskier's forward gaze. “I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.” The Witcher finally returned his stare.

“And yet, here we are.” Because even if Geralt of Rivia didn’t want or need him, Jaskier would always want and need him and the Witcher needed to know that, even if he didn’t need and eventually didn’t want Jaskier. He tried to communicate that with his eyes alone and Geralt was quite the observant man, he surely must have noticed.

Geralt grunted something affirming while Jaskier continued to look straight into him. Maybe the Witcher was understanding what Jaskier was really saying. He must. There was no way he wasn’t getting-

“Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

Jaskier’s eyes widened at both the use of his name and how fast the moment passed. “Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in selkimore guts, so I sent them away to be washed.” He took a quick breath before the Witcher could get a word in. “Anyway, you’re not going tonight as a witcher.” He smiled, though it was growing more nervous at the look Geralt was giving him.

The Witcher tore his eyes away and went back to scrubbing, and to Jaskier’s horror- scrubbing at his hair as if Jaskier didn’t just let his fingers comb through it ten minutes ago.

He wasn’t sure who was going to have a rougher night. The Witcher or himself.

He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

Chapter Text

Still sunny, they made it to Cintra and by sunset, they were in the grand castle. Music was already playing, a couple of minstrels Jaskier had met over the years along with others Jaskier had only seen on occasion were gathered in their circle. Jaskier prayed he was respectably and only fashionably late.

Having been in this courtroom once before, Jaskier kept an eye for familiar faces, both good and bad.

Yes, yes, details. Fires were brilliantly lit to keep the room bright throughout the night, the food’s aroma was beckoning from every direction, promising everything was freshly prepared, and each person he saw was expertly clothed in marvelous fabrics, a shimmer to most outfits as it was the fashion- with himself wearing yellow and gold colors for the event, buttoned and tied formally which he normally would have undone but royalty are very stuffy about modesty when in the public eye.

Geralt refused to button his outer shirt no matter what Jaskier bargained. The Witcher enjoyed practical comfort above puffy design and Jaskier envied being able to be a bit more comfortable.

While keeping his eyes open for where he should be going he kept his mind focused on giving Geralt a plan to work with for the night so he wouldn’t be left on edge and alone.

“Right, so stick close to me, look mean, and pretend you're a mute.” All things Geralt could do without really trying. Besides, Jaskier long noticed that Geralt would stand closer to him when in crowds. He once assumed that was to keep Geralt from losing him but upon reflection, Jaskier found that the Witcher was far more reassured being close to what he knew.

That was adorable when Jaskier figured it out. Of course this would go over smoother for Geralt if no one recognized him. That might prove difficult though not if Geralt remained to the side. The Witcher would hate all the unwanted attention. The least Jaskier could do was prevent any unnecessary discomfort.

“Can’t have anyone finding out who you are.”

“Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!” A man bellowed and Jaskier visibly winced. “Oh, shit.” So much for praying for convenience.

Jaskier forgets how high built the reputation for The White Wolf was.

The bearded man who brought most of the attention to them strolled with a mug in hand. Jaskier felt magic around this man, though it was a much softer feeling then what was normally felt with mages. Either this man was gentle, subdued, or hiding something more powerful. Jaskier never trusted mages.

“I haven’t seen you since the plague.” The man smiled and Jaskier could discern that it was a smile of someone seeing a long time friend. He pretends there isn’t that hint of jealousy of someone knowing Geralt before him and that the someone was magically inclined as well.

“Good times, Mousesack.”

The man- Mousesack laughed, “I’ve missed your sour complexion.”

Who was this man to speak to Geralt like he’s known him for years and decades? Jaskier was the one to stand by Geralt through anything. There would never be any of this “I haven’t seen you since the plague” nonsense. Jaskier pulled his eyes away to search the room again though keeping his ears on their conversation.

“I feared this would be a dull affair, but now the White Wolf is here, perhaps all is not lost.”

Jaskier waved at lord Aakif’s cousin with a smile though tight.

“Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?”

Jaskier pretended not to hear that though that proved hard with both glancing back at him. “What?”

He thought Geralt looked rather dashing in that outfit. It wasn’t quite his look but the Witcher fared very well. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended on Geralt’s behalf or on his own.

Mousesack eyed Jaskier wearily. “Walk with me.” He pulled Geralt along to follow and the anxiety began. Not that Jaskier wasn’t happy Geralt would have a decent distraction for this event but with the look Mousesack gave him. He couldn’t help but wonder if Mousesack felt anything being next to Jaskier as well.

Magic could be potent. Whether a lingering touch or the source.

Jaskier would try to pay no mind, watching them walk off. He would find either a snack to nibble on or fellow bards to find out what the plan was. This was work after all, mixed with play but work all the same.

He gripped at the strap of his lute, he’d find a place to set down the case and instrument.

Shouts came from where Geralt and Mousesack were, cheering for the mage. Then Jaskier remembered, Mousesack was the mage to the Skelligen crown. He heard so from court and from how close Cintra seemed to be to that country. Now he had the name to the face. Jaskier still couldn’t tell if this Mousesack was good or bad news for him.

Though he would have no choice but to trust him with Geralt.

Jaskier sighed.

He looked to the royal table and there sat Princess Pavetta. Though he was at a distance, she was truly a beauty, elegant, poise. The jewels around her neck shined as did her blonde hair. Like the sun hiding behind the clouds of a rainy day. Looking any closer at her showed her unease and dread.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind what was playing through in her head. He pitied royalty in that regard. No freedom whatsoever. No decision was her’s on what was arguably the most important night of her life.

A part of him wished he could have offered her words of consultation but even if he were allowed to speak to her, he was sure no words could take away the growing pit of despair in her. For all the discomforts she may be feeling, it was difficult to tell from a distance. She did well in keeping herself composed.

He took a drink off a table just for a sip of courage and dawdled to drop off his lute by the other musicians who seemed to either be taking a break or setting up. But musicians of Cintra…

It wasn’t so much that Jaskier didn’t like them but that he typically despised them. The lot of them that have never seen any of the world have their heads so far up their own asses thinking that because they are of Cintra and nowhere else that makes them the best. As if limited experience of the world and other people were an affront to bring into Cintra. Jaskier was making Cintra more interesting though. With his stories and his music, those were changing entertainment as they knew it. At least other bards from elsewhere just as he was at this event because even if Cintra denied it, there is always something good other countries and cultures can bring to the table.

All across the continent, Jaskier’s music was known even if his own name wasn’t. There was some resentment with that but in the bigger cities he would be recognized.

While Jaskier unlatched his case, out of the corner of his eye- it made him look up to see Eist Tuirseach.

He’d seen the man a couple of times before, he was the nobleman after the Queen of Cintra and if Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, she wasn’t disinclined to those affections.

Well Eist Tuirseach went about the event and Jaskier turned around to face…

Fucking- Destiny can go fuck itself right about now.

A grey-bearded older man about a head shorter than Jaskier approached him and it was most certainly not with a smile on his face.

Jaskier knew this man.

He was chased down hallways and out a window by this man’s guards. All because he “slept” with his wife.

All in perspective now, it was a dreadfully awful plan. Wife was lovely but both of them lacked a decent amount of common sense.

“Hello, gentleman.” Jaskier gave an awkward smile putting both hands out in both a show of welcoming and that he does not mean harm. What little help that’d do.

The short nobleman didn’t let Jaskier get another word out before spouting out how he knew him from somewhere.

“Well I should hope so, I’m a bard, good sir.” Jaskier’s words went unheard and the man continued and grabbed his arm to push and corner Jaskier to the nearest wall.

Jaskier couldn’t lay a hand on the man, whether the man was in the right or wrong and Jaskier wouldn’t anyway, this man was angry that he supposedly slept with his wife… Jaskier can’t exactly explain the situation either…

“Something about you reminds me of a scoundrel I once saw in my wife’s chambers!”

Jaskier’s back hit against the wall. “Um, well.” Perhaps letting the man rant was the best way to handle this, then maybe he could convince the nobleman that it wasn’t he who was found in this virtuous woman’s chambers.

“Drop your trousers.”

Jaskier looked back at the man bewildered. “What?”

“I didn’t get a proper look at the little shit’s face.” It was a surprise the nobleman wasn’t turning red. “But that pimply arse I’d remember anywhere.”

Now Jaskier was just offended at that notion. Not that the nobleman could recognize his ass because that was no lie but that he was what? Pimply? As if he was some savage that didn’t know how to take care of his skin after dealing with chafing.

But now was not the time for that, he needed a better explanation that did not exist. “Well… uh, uh… Ah, Geralt.” His favorite person in the whole wide world came into view, he almost didn’t notice the Witcher not dressed up as a… well, witcher. He chuckled, not sure if Geralt could make this better or worse.

Geralt put his hand on the nobleman’s shoulder and Jaskier tensed for a second but it went away after seeing Geralt smile. “Forgive me, my lord. This… happens all the time.”

The Witcher vaguely nodded which forced Jaskier to follow along too.

“It’s true, he has the face of a cad and coward.”

While Geralt’s voice was soft and rippled with this tone of sympathy Jaskier stood there not knowing what to feel. Maybe a little upset that Geralt was thinking him to be some… tart… even if that were mostly true.

“But, truth be known, he was kicked in the balls by an ox as a child.”

Jaskier was peeved at that story. Geralt was having way too much fun with this. “Well, that’s-” One look at the lord’s face and Jaskier realized he could not go against his witcher’s story not without a better explanation, and besides lying dictates that if you want someone to believe you then adding an embarrassing detail will make them fall for it. “True,” he stuttered out.

“Apologises.” The lord pulled out an expensive coin nervously. “Here, drown your… sorrows on me, eunuch.” He tossed the coin with Jaskier barely catching it. It was a decent coin, not the kind you’d ever see someone leave as a tip.

The man made a hasty retreat but Jaskier didn’t miss the look the nobleman gave towards his groin. Jaskier forced back a scowl.

“Oh, wow. Thank you. Thank you so much.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as the Witcher was clearly holding back a laughing fit. The smile was a bit overwhelming to see so Jaskier talked himself into distraction. “First of all, you hog all the fanfare, then you go and ruin my courtly reputation.” He placed his hands on his hips, hoping to halfway guilt-trip him.

“I saved your life. You’re on your own from here on.” Somehow Jaskier doubted Geralt wouldn’t save him again if he needed it but pouted along with what his witcher was saying.

It wasn’t fair for the Witcher to have such a disarming smile and amicable eyes. Those features had become familiar with Jaskier and it would be a lie to say that it didn’t make his heart beat faster each time. Besides, it was fun for Jaskier to play with the idea that any of it meant something more. Well, it was a fun game before, now it was a little painful when going back to reality.

“Try not to get any daggers in your back before dawn.”

Trumpets blasted in the background and for once Jaskier cursed extravagance for interrupting a moment he would be playing over tonight. And the night after that. And the night after that night.

“All rise for Her Majesty, the Lioness, Queen Calanthe of Cintra!”

As much as he regretted it, Jaskier stepped away from Geralt and patted his friend. “I can indeed promise you a foolhardy attempt.”

Time for the job.

He loved his job.

And he kept telling himself that even though in the front of his mind was Geralt of Rivia. He couldn’t believe that looking at a queen didn’t cause obstruction with his ever-increasing thoughts on his witcher.

Seeing Queen Calanthe was interesting. In full armor, hair in a braided, matted mess, and drying blood from the top of her head to sabaton. It was reminiscent of… well someone else who was always head to toe in…

Other young bards appeared around him, just as flustered before a show and confused as to what to perform. The highest of royalty never gave good instructions, sometimes they’d hire someone else to figure it out but not this time, guesswork will have to be good enough, which was fine, understanding a crowd is what Jaskier could do.

The queen shouted something and everyone surrounding her cheered. “Apologises, noble sirs. A few upstart townships in the south needed reminding who was Queen.”

The crowd cheered more and roared with laughter.

A genuine grin was drawn upon her face. “I find it’s good for one’s blood and humors.” She took a sip of her beer. “Ready your suitor’s tales of glory, good lords. My daughter is eager to have this over with. As am I,” she ended grimly. “Bard! Music!”

Right, this was the part. This was the whole point of being here. What did she want again? Not that she ever said but music is a very broad term. Maybe to start with something that started slow then built up? See how the crowd reacts to each part of it? Always good to start with well-rounded songs. And the other four bards will pick up as he begins so nothing to fear.

He bowed his head and began.

And was promptly interrupted after one fucking word…

In front of his witcher as well, damn. Well, not like Geralt hasn’t seen him at his basically worst and he the Witcher’s but still.

“No, no, no! A jig! You can save your bloody maudlin nonsense for my funeral.”

He resisted the urge to externally sigh. As you do whenever talking to nobility.

Turning to the other bards he began a new tune while getting a glimpse of Geralt again. Seeing him almost made him forget the looks the four gave him. Though it possibly made it worse because it wasn’t those four he wanted to look good in front of.

He ignored any shame and decided to revel in the ambiance, because, in the end, being at an event like this is what he wanted. He couldn’t describe it but he felt pulled as if there was nothing else he wanted more. He would have considered it strange if it weren’t for the fact that he throws himself at events such as these whenever he gets the chance so perhaps it wasn’t as strange as he believed.

The Queen walked to her daughter but Jaskier was too far to hear what the conversation was but he could guess. The young princess’s fate was not in his hands but his lute sure was.

After two songs the music stopped.

Mere minutes had passed and two noblemen were already in a heavy disagreement with several others surrounding them.

Insults were thrown that Jaskier didn’t have to hear to know this wouldn’t go anywhere good.

It didn’t take long to listen that the argument surrounded that they both claimed to have killed a manticore, one asking the other how many stringers does it have which even Jaskier knew the answer to, though not because he had ever seen one.

While Geralt wasn’t a good storyteller he did tell Jaskier about monsters he’s slain when pushed. Jaskier had an objective and factual report of a manticore and based on what Geralt said, someone trained or even a witcher who was raised to kill monsters could perish easily in a fight against it. A great dragon could lose to a manticore… Any one of these noblemen didn’t stand a chance with that perspective. Both were speaking out of their ass without Jaskier having to listen anymore, though good drama at an event- he wouldn’t miss it.

One look at Geralt and they both had the same impression.

A near fight broke out until the queen’s voice rang clear through the hall. “Enough! We have a renowned guest here tonight.”

It seemed everyone's eyes went to Geralt… Jaskier winced for him. The poor Witcher stood still, holding his ale in hopes that no movement would allow the activities to move onwards without him. No such thing when the queen has a plaything.

“Perhaps he can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth,” the Queen of Cintra said.

And the Witcher did the worst thing. He answered honestly. “Neither.”

“Are you calling me a liar, old man?”

Rude. That was Jaskier’s words for Geralt.

“Aah. The Butcher of Blaviken bleats utter nonsense.”

Words that Geralt had spoken before came to mind. “Right. What do I know? I’m just a witcher.” Luckily he did not say that though Jaskier couldn’t deny that he would find it entertaining for all the five seconds until a bloody fight would come over the grand hall.

But as it was unfolding Jaskier tried giving Geralt his most sympathetic look because he really was sorry that his witcher was now the center of attention of the biggest event of the decade. And while Jaskier’s work allowed the title of butcher to no longer cloud the Witcher that did not mean it would not follow him as a shadow.

Geralt’s eyes finally went to him, almost as if he were asking Jaskier what he should do and Jaskier held his gaze, lightly shaking his head, a million words speaking without his tongue ever moving. All to signal any message he could to Geralt that he had to keep the situation from escalating without the aid of his bard. An unspoken apology in the mix. He could only pray to Destiny that it was received.

Geralt’s eyes lowered, sucking in a breath to collect some strength. “Perhaps the lords encountered…” Jaskier could tell his witcher was scrambling for words. “Rare subspecies of manticore.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

But there was no such thing as a subspecies of manticore. At least none that the Witcher had told him of before. He was so proud of the Witcher’s bullshitting skills that he no doubt was picking up from his bard. Most tensions seemed to have dispersed. Jaskier blew out a breath in relief. Now Geralt shouldn’t be the focal point anymore as he single-handed escaped what could have become a disastrous situation.

The queen laughed which quickly brought Jaskier’s attention back up in fear she saw what unfolded between him and the Witcher but found that such fears were completely unwarranted.

“Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?”

Fucking- And Geralt had managed so well… Jaskier already knew what the bastard was going to say and could do nothing to prevent it if that sneer was anything to go by.

“There was no slaying. I had my ass kicked by a ragged band of elves.”

And could slay a real manticore! Geralt, don't sell yourself short. And most definitely don’t discredit the tale!

“I was about to have my throat cut when Filavandrel let me go.”

A nobleman chipped in after the jeers. “But the song!”

“Yeah, the song.” Jaskier didn’t move his mouth to say, knowing Geralt heard it full and well.

“At least when Filavandrel’s blade kissed my throat, I didn’t shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you, good lords. At your final breath, a shitless death.” He even raised his ale.

Jaskier couldn’t believe Geralt was using this time to supply his dry humor. Jaskier would have laughed if he wasn’t fearing getting both of their asses kicked out.

“But I doubt it.” He sipped his ale.

Not the time! Hilarious, but not the time. Now more tension was growing in the room once more.

Another voice spoke up from the crowd to speak to the queen. Eist Tuirseach. “It would have been your blade at Filavandrel’s throat, had you been there, Your Majesty.”

Cheers rang through the room. Seems Eist Tuirseach knew how to handle a mob and a queen.

“Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field.”

The queen grinned. Maybe Geralt would escape consequences yet. “Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make for far more interesting conversation this night.” Well, she wasn’t wrong.

The Witcher grimaced. Clearly, that was not his goal.

“Come, Witcher. Take a seat by my side while I change.”

Jaskier wanted to laugh at the irony of it all if he weren’t feeling so sorry for his friend and also a touch of impressed. Even if unintentional, the Witcher would be seated at the queen’s right-hand side. Geralt sat beside the empty seat for a long while as the queen was away, tidying herself of the gore upon her. Jaskier could feel those eyes on him all the while, whether the music was a distraction or Jaskier himself was one.

When presented the chance he smiled remorsefully and received a glare for his trouble. Jaskier shrugged while strumming as if to say “it’s not my fault you’re an idiot.”

The night continued and seeing as there were no yelling matches or either of them being kicked out, Jaskier would say the night was going swimmingly. Him and the band of bards were moved around several times but no fuss. Things were going well. Splendid. Now if it would stay this way.

Amber eyes bore into Jaskier and he tried to ignore it all the same. After all, he couldn’t keep staring at the queen’s table, it would be improper and he certainly did not want to give the impression he was yearning for the Princess Pavetta. He was after another fair-haired being. But he needn’t look at the queen’s table to know Geralt was watching him. Jaskier relished in the fact that he knew he was giving a fantastic performance for all but specifically his Geralt of Rivia.

“Lord Peregrine of Nilfgaard.” A suitor presented himself to the queen and what could be his wife, Princess Pavetta.

One look at the man and Jaskier knew he wouldn’t be picked. There was nothing Jaskier had against him, the fellow looked kind and determined but from Jaskier’s stay in Cintra, he knew quite well that Queen Calanthe wouldn’t pick someone who looked dainty or was interrupted twice by others in the room. If this man lacked respect now then he would lack respect as king or as prince consort. Jaskier was never fully clear with the royalty system as it was different in every country.

Queen Calanthe seemed kind enough to put an end to the interrupting but Jaskier had a hunch that the gesture was out of trying to get this event to go by faster and not out of the compassion of her heart.

Lord Peregrine of Nilfgaard did himself no favors, while his proposition started strong, his wording at the end needing some polish. Had the man done some more digging and research on the queen, he would find that she was not inclined to the idea that males of the world were superior though Jaskier saw what he had in mind and pitied the poor fool.

The lad was humiliated into leaving and when Jaskier looked up to see his witcher, he was ashamed that he laughed at the queen’s words while Geralt did the honorable thing and didn’t, sat there stoically as Jaskier should have as well.

He turned around to the other bards who also chuckled. He decided to refresh them on what their next song was to be instead of focusing on the laughter encasing the room.

Another lord was introduced and the line of suitors continued as if Nilfgaard had never appeared that night at all.

Music was called forth again and this time without being shut down before starting.

Jaskier was engrossed in his art. He flashed his teeth and winked at a Cintran friend who was in the crowd. He was sure his face would hurt after tonight with all the smiling he was doing. The song he was singing was one of his favorites purely for how ridiculous it was. Hopefully, Geralt was doing better now.

The song finished and the room gave their applause.

Looking to his witcher he found that Geralt was in deep conversation with the queen. Nervousness rooted itself and grew like unwanted weeds but there seemed to be no need as the Witcher didn’t show any of his signs for wanting to escape.

Jaskier sighed. He was worrying about nothing. His witcher could hold his own at a party even if unwillingly so Jaskier allowed himself to wander to a Cintran friend to see how she was fairing after the loss of her two brothers.

She had gotten herself to never leave the bottle or Cintran ale after that loss a couple of years ago but she was much better now and bringing her healthy, happy self back. It was a joy to see. Jaskier would be happy to finally say hello. He would be sure to compliment the blue shimmer she chose to wear, it complimented her dark hair very nicely.

But before he could do so something caught the corner of his eye. Another suitor went to his feet. Seems he must be in ties with Skellige because Eist Tuirseach stood to fetch him but Jaskier lost focus when the door to the great hall crashed and weapons clashed. A man in armor took down two guards swiftly which gathered all the attention in the grand hall.

“Forgive my late intrusion, Your Majesty!” The man called out. As far as first impressions came, the man had a gentle voice yet not the strength to match it. “And for the misunderstanding with your guards.”

Jaskier realized this man probably had to sneak and fight his way to be in this very room, and not just those two guards. But who would be insane enough to pull a move like that?

“Please! I come in peace,” the man shouted. Yet all the guards were drawing their weapons and circling the mysterious armored man. “I need but one moment of your time.” He knelt. “I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald, and I have come to claim your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Jaskier didn’t know what to think. An interrupted betrothal feast to take the maiden’s hand wasn’t common though it wasn’t rare either but for it to happen at a royal event… This would only end with the poor bastard getting himself thrown to the gallows.

“A knight…” Queen Calanthe’s voice came low, so low Jaskier could barely make it out. “Of no renown from a backwater hamlet… who dares to enter my court without revealing his face?”

“I apologize, Your Majesty. A knight’s oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell.”

Eist Tuirseach stomped forward and removed the knight’s helmet.

Many stood from their chairs and gasps echoed through the large room but Jaskier didn’t move.

This knight wasn’t human, that much could be assumed. He took on more animalistic features than a man’s. From the needles on his head to his oddly shaped nose and then the growling. He had never seen a creature such as this knight but any creature would know to either stay away from Cintra or be damn well good at hiding your monstrous qualities.

Jaskier turned to steal a glance at the Witcher who leaned forward. Geralt wouldn’t kill this knight, not if he could help it. From the first day that they met, Geralt had shown he killed monsters not creatures living their lives. It was this quality in his witcher that made Jaskier more sympathetic to nonhumans as Jaskier had been living amongst humans for far too long.

But sympathy or no, Jaskier knew this knight would die here.

The queen muttered something and Geralt’s response was just as low for Jaskier not to hear except for, “This knight has been cursed.”

Queen Calanthe muttered, “You’re as useless as the rest of them,” before raising her voice to fill the entire hall with one phrase. “Slay this beast!”

The cursed knight swiveled in his spot, heavily armored guards encircled him and Jaskier flinched away not wanting to see just one sword’s blow strike him down.

But that didn’t come.

The knight defended himself against two guards that came his way without his sword.

“Lioness of Cintra!” The knight unsheathed his sword. “I come to claim what is rightfully mine!” His shouts came out more like a plea.

The desperate knight spun, waiting for another surprise attack.

“Pavetta… By the Law of Surprise,” he urged.

Silence encaptured the room as if no one believed it. The queen made no move to take back her orders and so the guards that surrounded the knight drew their swords and came at him with full force. Each swing and clash Jaskier found himself wincing and hugged at his lute.

The knight deflected blows to throw guards away from him, a smart move as he was limiting how many could attack him at once but for how would that work.

The knight sliced through a guard’s leg, bringing the man down with a pained scream.

Everything was moving so fast. Jaskier knew fights were fast. He always saw Geralt’s but this felt more personal for whatever reason. Maybe because he had never actually seen a creature die in the heart of Cintra. Because no creature makes it that far, his mind grimly reminded.

Jaskier had to bite a knuckle to keep himself from begging Geralt to do something. Because the Witcher had to stay out of the affairs of mankind but this knight was going to die because of his nature. More guards came running into the scene, drawing out their swords, and if the knight wasn’t outnumbered before he surely was now.

Jaskier felt a squeeze on his arm to find his Cintran friend. Her eyes were widened with fear and even through his clothes, he could feel her nails as she gripped at him.

The knight aimed to defend himself once more but was pushed back by a guard’s hit on his blade only to have to spin and face another guard whom he promptly cut the forearm.

A guard heaved a long axe down that the knight deflected but when it came down again it caught the knight’s sword, throwing it to the ground. The knight didn’t have a second to react when he was hit with the wooden end of the axe twice, bringing him to the ground, his mouth bloody.

The fallen knight scrambled, being closed in on by guards and other nobles. Jaskier closed his eyes briefly and swung his arm around his friend as a distraction for her but mostly for himself. Because there was no need for him to see the slaying to know it was happening.

A young woman’s voice cried out and when Jaskier opened his eyes again, expecting to see the corpse of the cursed knight, he saw his witcher.

Geralt of Rivia, whom he was not expecting to have to lift a sword tonight, was swinging a blade through the rod of the axe, breaking it into two and its battle end landed safely into the cursed knight’s hands. The guard that had wielded the axe had his throat slit and Geralt stared at the crowd in silence, daring anyone to take a step.

The fight wasn’t over.

Geralt glanced at the knight who shot up to his feet and Jaskier’s heart dropped when he heard the words, “Kill them both!” Come from the queen’s mouth.

And then… and then there was too much happening to keep track of.

Jaskier’s eyes stayed on Geralt but the cursed knight kept his attention as well as it was him that got Geralt involved to begin with and he couldn’t die now, not after his witcher threw himself into a fight that was directly putting himself into the affairs of mankind. Just as he told Jaskier that he wanted no part of.

An I told you so was being played in mind but he saved it for later.

Metal clanged and shouts roared in the great hall. Against all odds the cursed knight and Geralt of Rivia fought tooth and nail as Jaskier winced at each blow, knowing there was nothing he could do.

In the midst of the chaos, others who were notably not guards gathered closer and joined violently.

Many saw this as an opportunity to attack and kill whoever they saw fit, Jaskier would wager that half the fights occurring had nothing to do with the cursed knight’s presence.

More shouts and screams, across the room Jaskier distinctly saw a blonde woman bashing in the face of a man who was splayed on the floor.

Eist Tuireseach took a man down using a chair and seemed to say something that then urged forward a wave of dagger-wielding guests to come at him.

Geralt’s movements held no hesitation. Whether he pushed down an attacker to immobilize them or cut them bloodied, no one who came near his witcher was spared.

The Witcher was clever in technique, aiming his swings at the legs of those who attacked unprepared, leaving them crawling away. He kicked and used his momentum into his blows, readying for the next attack he didn’t know he would face.

It was almost humorous to see his witcher in the heat of battle as he normally was but while dressed in the clothing Jaskier got for him. At least it would have been humorous if death during or after this ordeal weren’t so imminent.

With the assumption they were to survive, he and Geralt would have to leave immediately, if they were lucky they wouldn’t be remembered to have attended but seeing as Geralt was the White Wolf, Jaskier counted that as highly doubtful. Those problems would come later.

The Witcher elbowed a nobleman who attempted to sneak from behind him, grave mistake as the nobleman was instantly on the ground, his nose gushing out a river of red after he hit the floor.

The focus on the Witcher was taken away when Jaskier saw a guard rolled from the steps that led to the queen’s table and then the queen herself, golden, intricate gown and blade in hand walked fearlessly in the middle of the violence. She approached Eist Tuirseach and sliced through a man that could have killed Lord Tuirseach while his back was turned.

With a kick then swing, Jaskier watched his Witcher spin to almost cut clean through the Lioness of Cintra yet his blade never even touched hers.

“Stop. Stop!”

The queen’s words were heard by all. Geralt lowered his weapon but Jaskier knew the look in his witcher’s eyes that screamed paranoia. One glance around the room would show that most had the same view.

“Duny!” A young woman’s voice called, Jaskier searched and saw it was the princess. She ran straight to the cursed knight and took him into her arms.

The cursed knight- Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald- or Duny hugged her in return, slightly lifting her from the ground in his relief.

“I told you to stay away,” Princess Pavetta said while holding his face in her hands.

Ah. So that’s what the situation was…

A look at Geralt told Jaskier that he understood as well.

Princess Pavetta and Duny parted as the queen stepped closer.

He knelt before Queen Calanthe and set down his weapon in peace. “Your Majesty… the witcher speaks the truth.” He slowly stood. “I was cursed as a young boy. My whole life a living misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from a certain death. By tradition,” he shook his head, “I chose the Law of Surprise as payment. Whatever windfall he came home to find… would be mine.”

“Oh, that stupid bastard,” the queen hissed, “Better you had let him die!”

Geralt spoke next, “You knew he’d come, and you pushed me to kill him.”

The Princess’s face filled with silent shock, same with Jaskier because he realized that his witcher wasn’t singled out by the queen for no reason or because of his bluntness but because of his skillset and its use for this very night. His witcher was going to be used to kill an innocent man.

“And you…” Queen Calanthe began to her daughter, ignoring the Witcher entirely. Her voice grew louder with each word, “Carousing with the beast that swindled your stupid father!”

“‘Tis no swindle.” Lord Tuirseach shook his head. “Asking for payment with the Law of Surprise is as old as mankind itself.”

That was believable, Jaskier assumed at least. Not that he would know as he was going in and out of the world’s existence from his bottle. Being a temporary servant wouldn’t tell him a lot of the continent but he knew, once, he was a gift per the Law of Surprise once, though that master died before enacting his third wish not that Jaskier cared.

Jaskier could barely hear the queen’s next words. “Don’t lecture me, Eist.”

“It’s an honest gamble… As likely to be rewarded with a bumper crop as a newborn pup. Or… a child of surprise. He could not know.”

Lord Eist Tuirseach’s words were soft yet Jaskier hung to each one, wondering where this tale would unravel. There was no telling what Destiny truly wanted from this.

“Destiny has determined the surprise be Pavetta.”

And if Jaskier didn’t know that all too well, if Destiny had a plan, well it was best to give her what she wanted.

Jaskier was jostled out of his selfish thoughts when the cursed knight spoke, “When I heard that King Roegner had returned to find a child on the way… I abandoned all thought of claiming the Law of Surprise.” Jaskier believed his words. “I knew… I knew no woman would ever accept me like this.”

Pavetta put her hand to Duny’s heart.

“And so I waited,” he continued, “I waited until the twelfth bell when the curse breaks. I never intended to meet her… Just to watch from afar.”

Jaskier felt his heart tug. He doesn’t know if he could manage that. To be forced to watch your love go on without you, not knowing that they longed to be with you at every step. How lucky he was that Destiny deemed it so he would be by Geralt’s side.

“Until destiny intervened,” Princess Pavetta said and the two came closer. “And our hearts collided.” Her smile was so fond and Jaskier couldn’t keep himself from smiling just like her.

“And at dawn, I awoke with her in my arms and me… like this.”

Such passion. Such misery. A tale that shall have a happy ending?

“Who are we to challenge destiny?” Eist Tuirseach whispered to the queen, Jaskier only heard as he was a mere three feet away. “Life was saved, debt must be paid, or the whole order of the world falls apart.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows. Some humans would be seen as superstitious to think this exact way Lord Tuirseach described but he was right.

“Honor destiny’s wish,” said the mage that seemed to be Geralt’s old friend, Mousesack, if Jaskier remembered correctly. “Or unleash its wrath upon us.”

Destiny makes a game out of the lives of many but you never toy with her fun.

“There is no us,” the queen hissed, “I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child! Is there not a man amongst you who does not cower before destiny?”

Only fools or those who crave the torments of life.

Queen Calanthe’s watery gaze fell to the Witcher. “You, Witcher, who has known monsters of every fang and claw… are you afraid too?” Her resolve came back to her as she and Jaskier expected the same response.

“No,” the Witcher said, “I have seen mothers lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of fifty other children in the plague cart outside. Destiny… helps people believe there’s an order to this horseshit.” His witcher smiled, a soft one that bordered the line of amusement and despondency. “There isn’t.”

Jaskier knew Destiny was real. She had to be. There wouldn’t be any other explanation for the life Jaskier led as well as Geralt. How could someone suffer so much without a purpose? Without there being an overall goal in the end? For all his complaints about Destiny, Jaskier didn’t want to live in a world where there was no meaning.

He blinked himself back to reality because now was not the time for existentialism.

“But a promise made must be honored… As true for a commoner… as it is for a queen.” Geralt looked to Princess Pavetta and Duny.

The princess pressed her hand to the knight's face. “I love Duny, Mother. I will marry him.” Her voice held no room for protest. “I will finally be free.”

Jaskier smiled but once seeing Queen Calanthe’s face… he looked to the floor. Something… Something wouldn’t go right… and it itched in him not knowing what that was and how he felt like the only person who knew.

The queen handed her sword to Lord Tuirseach slowly then put her hand out for Duny who took in willingly and gently.

Guards around the room lowered their weapons in kind but something was wrong.

She pulled him close and whispered something into his ear that no one but the two would ever know.

And once she pulled back she smiled.

Her face then contorted violently and she pulled from her gown a hidden dagger to strike into the cursed knight’s neck that all occurred in a blink of an eye. Something pulled at Jaskier from deep within and Jaskier recognized it promptly.

Magic.

A deep and powerful kind.

The princess let out a gut-wrenching scream and the world slowed and rapidly moved all at once.

A gust of power pushed everyone in the room to the ground or to a wall. Objects like goblets or swords flew. Voices groaned and shouted throughout the room. Jaskier hissed out in pain as his back hit the stone of a pillar but his Cintran friend trembled and suddenly there was no room for cowering when a friend needed him. Using his arms to shield his friend proved to be a great distraction for the feeling of fire that was magic pushing itself in every corner of the room.

The windows shattered and fell into the grand hall and wind blew around so loudly that Jaskier could hear little else other than glass breaking and the roars of the wind. His begged Destiny to take care of Geralt as he wouldn’t be able to.

He looked up in hopes of seeing Geralt but he couldn’t rip his eyes away when he saw Princess Pavetta and Duny.

The two were surrounded by a wind that whirled around them and they were several feet off the ground, staring at each other as if the chaos happening around them was nothing but a simple breeze on a warm summer’s day.

This kind of power wasn’t something common. Jaskier hadn’t seen or felt anything like it and he didn’t know what his part was in this to stop it… unless… but what was the likeliness that Geralt brought one of his potions to a party? He did have witcher signs if that could be of any aid.

Jaskier looked down, the dust and debris flew to close for comfort so he shielded his friend with his arms. The magic he was feeling was scorching him from within. All of his senses begged him to drawback, that danger was in his midst as if he didn’t know that already.

A yelp was heard moments later and the wind died instantly. The force he had been feeling burning into him was gone, a lingering touch of ash was all that was left and still overbearing. Objects that had been flying fell to the ground and the two who had been floating at the center of it were also on the ground and little light was left. The only light in the grand hall was the moon’s light as every torch and lantern had been blown away.

Jaskier heard no noise other than the sounds of his friend’s breathing and perhaps his own racing heart but the world seemed to still.

What the absolute fucking shit.

Magic was still present in the room, always an unpleasant feeling for Jaskier because of what usually trailed behind magic.

But this came from the princess.

Gentle, soft-spoken Princess Pavetta. She didn’t appear to have a single bad bone in her body. So how could someone like her possess magic to a degree like that?

When Jaskier stood he helped his friend to her feet. He saw the queen speaking to her daughter in a hushed voice before speaking to the rest of the room, to those who were standing up but Jaskier couldn’t hear her words… Not exactly, he knew it was good if the princess’s smile was enough to go by.

The magic was still uncomfortable. Jaskier had been so focused on it that he hadn’t even seen that Geralt was standing two feet away from him.

Queen Calanthe, Eist Tuirseach, Princess Pavetta, and Lord Urcheon stood together hand in hand. Jaskier got the gist of it. The princess would marry the cursed knight and for some reason, the queen would be marrying Lord Tuirseach but Jaskier supposes he hadn’t been paying attention to understand when that happened.

More seemed to happen without Jaskier knowing it. More talking, more moving, but Jaskier was just led along by his Cintran friend. She was in no hurry to let Jaskier go, and neither was he as the force that filled every corner of the room still lingered and left him needing to be grounded back to reality.

Lords and ladies gathered with candles and surrounded the makeshift ceremony. Blue paint was put in a small stripe along the foreheads of the princess and her to-be-husband. They went to their knees and Queen Calanthe stood before them speaking words that Jaskier couldn’t hear because the room swayed under his feet. A beautiful blue fabric, binding them together. Jaskier grinned at the sight.

The couple stared at each other with such tenderness that Jaskier wishes he could have listened to the specifics, after all, this would be a story for the ages. A creature that fell in love with a princess and a princess who fell in love right back, a pair that destiny deemed needed to be together, that they needed a lifetime to share.

The princess held no hesitation when she leaned into her knight, monstrous or not, her eyes showed only happiness.

Jaskier would wish nothing but the best for the two of them. Perhaps he would find a way to make them wish it so nothing would prevent it.

But then Jaskier’s friend grabbed at his arm harshly and his gaze focused back to see Duny shaking on the floor. No one moved forward, too scared at the display but when Jaskier blinked, Duny… Duny’s form was no longer of a beast. His head was full of hair and no pines littered his skin.

How did- but he was cursed? You can’t undo a curse unless you have a wish.

The former curse knight pulled himself to the princess and she held his face, pulling each other in without a care of where they were or how many they confused.

“The twelfth bell has not yet rung?” Princess Pavetta said.

The queen interrupted, “What just happened?” Jaskier was wondering the same. A wish was not granted, nor was one ever asked so how?

“I think your blessing of this marriage…” Mousesack started. “Has fulfilled a destiny. The curse has been lifted.”

Ah. Of course. If Destiny desires something then she will do it herself. Whether it be doing blessings or curses or undoings.

“Whew,” Jaskier spoke, a tremble almost distinguishable in his voice, “I think this has the makings of my greatest ballad yet.” Making music and history was typically the ultimate goal from the beginning and this would be a terrific song.

Geralt’s voice came from behind, “If you’re alive in the morning, don’t…” the Witcher paused when Jaskier looked back. If Jaskier was as good a Geralt-interpreter as he thought then he’d assume his witcher glared at him as Jaskier held onto his nervous Cintran friend. “Grope for trout in any peculiar rivers until dawn.”

Jaskier quirked an eyebrow. What does th- oh. Oh no. He looked to his Cintran friend and began explaining he was not after her in that way, which she already knew but found hilarious either way.

“No wait! Wait!” Duny stood, stumbling. “You saved my life. I must repay you.” Duny smiled at the Witcher.

Geralt shook his head. “You’ve proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same. I want nothing.” Geralt turned around to leave yet was stopped again.

“No, please."

Jaskier glanced back and forth, wondering how this would go. Jaskier, a being who can give whatever the heart so aches for through words, had trouble getting the Witcher to speak of normal things let alone ask for something needed or desired. He had a decade of time to prove it.

“Please, Geralt of Rivia, do not feel like you’re doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt.

“Fine.”

The part where he asks for a hundred gold coins, then we could get Roach a new shoe, and clean Geralt’s armor, have a decent room and meal before we leave.

“I… claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise. Give me that which you already have but do not yet know.”

Queen Calanthe spoke of her shock before Jaskier could even process what his witcher had said. “No! What have you done, Witcher?”

Geralt shrugged it off. “Fear not, Your Majesty.”

Jaskier was still reeling. Geralt had told him distinctly before that witchers were told to never ask for the Law of Surprise. It wasn’t necessarily forbidden but witchers were not to receive a payment in that fashion.

“If I am seen in your kingdom again, it’ll be to kill a real monster, not lay claim to a crop or a new pup. Destiny can go fu-”

Just then the Witcher’s speech was interrupted. The graceful princess lurched forward, gagged, then vomited. She coughed out some more, saliva dripped from her lip as the queen bent to daughter.

“Pavetta… Are you…”

As if the Witcher calling on the Law of Surprise wasn’t a surprise enough in of itself… Jaskier almost joined the princess in vomiting from shock alone. This whole time Jaskier was of the assumption that the story Destiny was playing was just Geralt and his and the two would face the world with only each other. He remembered a conversation with Geralt, saying just that.

“At this point, it’s just you, me, and the uncaring eyes of Destiny.” Why won’t Geralt accept that and make the most of it? Geralt has Jaskier and that guarantees that Geralt will get anything and everything he’s ever wanted. All he needs to do is say the word and it’s his.

But now… Well, now there seems to be a future child in the mix. Jaskier panicked, feeling twenty emotions in the span of four seconds. This isn’t happening! Jaskier can’t do that- he’s never raised a kid! Then a wave of rage at Geralt for being an idiot but then he directed it at Destiny for doing this to them when things had been going smooth for a few years. What if they could not claim the child? Was that an option? The fear set in that he wouldn’t know how to raise a child, to tend and care for one, children require so much, could either Geralt and Jaskier provide what it would need? Would they be enough? Especially when this child would be a prince or princess…

They would be fine. Jaskier straightened himself. Geralt was a strong and capable witcher. Any dangers wouldn’t be one with Geralt there and Jaskier could give this little child anything they wanted. Magic would be a constant presence if this child was anything like their mother but Jaskier would grow used to it. He would have to, maybe he could try a hand at teaching it, though he doesn’t know how he would do it. He would also need to tell Geralt of his magic… Something he dreaded but if this was the path Destiny wanted for them then this fear was unfounded. But none of it mattered. Those were the problems of later. Jaskier still has to deal with the problems of now and how Geralt will respond to the news.

Jaskier turned to his witcher but Geralt only stood, floundering as no words came to mind.

“Fuck.”

Yeah, that can… that can encompass this situation pretty well.

The Witcher, having nothing left to say, stomped off, Mousesack followed quickly behind but Jaskier couldn’t find it in him to go after Geralt.

Not yet.

This had to settle first, any plans Jaskier had would wait. He couldn’t have Geralt undoing what Destiny demands with his words. Jaskier would need to stay away for some little time.

Another thought went across his mind. If Geralt wouldn’t reach his hand out for this child then Jaskier would have to… He made up his mind. He would be the bridge that brings together the Child of Surprise and the Witcher, he would ready both of them for when they inevitably meet. For whatever reason Destiny had, this would happen.

A tough battle was ahead to be sure, but Jaskier is nothing if not always up for a challenge.

Chapter Text

Geralt of Rivia was apparently not an easy man to find, even with his bright locks.

After the mishap or as Jaskier has more commonly been calling it- the catastrophe of the betrothal banquet, the Witcher wasn’t conveniently located for Jaskier to stumble into. This was fine in the first weeks and even months as the Witcher needed time to come to the realization that this wasn’t something he could get rid of.

Well… the Witcher could wish for Jaskier to undo his calling of the Law of Surprise or he could wish to break the bond that was already forming in Princess Pavetta’s womb.

Jaskier couldn’t do that.

Well, he could but it was Destiny’s decision to make this Child Surprise occur, and going against Destiny only meant chaos, and Jaskier wasn’t that much of an idiot.

Besides, this Child Surprise could mean something good that Geralt was only pushing away.

Jaskier had always noticed that his witcher had a soft spot for children, it was a shame that the reputation of witchers was making them out to be scary, bloodthirsty monsters. That and Geralt, and other witchers Jaskier would assume, were intimidating.

While Jaskier may know how endearing and delightful Geralt is, that doesn’t mean that his tall and bulky frame did him any favors when he also dresses in funeral attire with sharpened swords always planted on his back. And while Jaskier loves Geralt’s eyes, he could understand that for someone unused to seeing them, they could be perceived as creepy. Geralt’s scars told Jaskier countless stories but people see scars and see someone who brings danger.

Realistically, a majority of the Witcher could be defined as being unsettling at the very least, Jaskier understood that having been living amongst humans for so long. Jaskier had found parts of Geralt to be frightening, it’s through his curiosity and friendship that he discovered that Geralt did not have a propensity to violence in any situation.

Geralt was far tamer than Jaskier in that regard.

In fact, the Witcher was so much more multifaceted than Jaskier anticipated. That’s what Jaskier believes to be the reason why he was so intrigued and allured by his witcher.

Jaskier fell in love easily. That was no secret he kept in particular. He enjoyed secrets but he wasn’t fond of keeping his heart hidden when there was no point in hiding it. He always had so much to gain by being honest about the heart.

Because calling a bard a hopeless romantic was a redundant statement.

Point being, Jaskier fell in love easily. He fell in love with the way some people moved or the way they laughed. He would fall in love with how someone said a single word or because of the way they spoke and most definitely if they had a sense of humor. Humans have so many qualities and so many of them are attractive that it’s difficult to not fall in love with anyone he encountered.

Something in common with all people though was that it never lasted. Whatever grew in his heart would fade as soon as a new beauty came into view. An embarrassing flaw to be sure but Jaskier didn’t care about it in the slightest, he’s been exploring the world for too long to give a damn.

Which is exactly when he followed the Witcher he didn’t expect much other than a day or even a week’s love that would last until he saw a pretty barmaid or a dashing stablehand. It was fine when his mind would add other details about the Witcher. He did have gorgeous golden glowing eyes and arms that could allow him to throw Jaskier several feet. Those were nice traits. Hair was also a lovely addition. His witcher’s hair could be course but when Jaskier cleaned it and added his own soaps, Geralt’s hair would be soft and Jaskier wished he could play with it more.

Those were all fine and dandy but the problem came when he started noting other qualities as well as the others that would never leave his mind. Like how Geralt was strong, yes, but he was brave and not just with hunting and killing monsters. Geralt was disciplined and that alone could be seen with his patience with humans when they most clearly had been disrespectful. His witcher was so noble, had such high morals, to a fault sometimes, to Jaskier’s annoyance. Geralt rarely told Jaskier stories but he would and he made Jaskier promise to never repeat the tale but Jaskier knows about Geralt’s first monster and that secured Jaskier’s belief of his witcher’s integrity.

Geralt was observant and was a quick problem solver. He had seen the Witcher distinctly choose a direction in a town to get a woman out of a difficult situation and he didn’t need to do anything. His presence alone scared off assailants. Jaskier thought it to be very clever of him.

There were just so many things about Geralt that stuck out, nevermind Destiny guiding Jaskier to the Witcher, he wanted to follow this witcher all on his own.

Weeks had gone by and the growing feelings weren't exactly going away. Jaskier assumed it had to do with the fact that he had been around Geralt for so long and was never away to actually get over the bastard. Problem was… he didn’t want to leave Geralt. Not ever if he could help it.

And then an opportunity came up. He was separated from his witcher because of a blasted mage but rather than the Witcher fading from his mind it only enhanced whatever was going on and made him go into a panic of the lost Witcher. Not only was the responsibility that Destiny handed him somewhere but Jaskier’s heart felt like it would blow into pieces across the continent if he didn’t find Geralt. Finding Geralt was… it was like a flood of relief and he could let his heartbeat again.

At this point, Jaskier saw that this was a long ordeal but even then it could be blamed that the stress he was feeling was that Destiny needed him by Geralt’s side and not anything else.

And then his witcher told him he would be going to a place Jaskier was not allowed to follow. The idea alone of Kaer Morhen felt much more intimidating to Jaskier than anything he encountered. He wasn’t sure if he’d agree to go if Geralt were to ever invite him which he never had. So Jaskier counted himself lucky to never say no.

Jaskier spent months without seeing hide or tail of the White Wolf. That should have been enough. He saw plenty of beautiful barmaids, stablehands, and- and Jaskier even got the attention of a handsome nobleman- plenty of noble borns.

Nothing seemed to compare well to Geralt. The barmaid was indeed a great beauty but she had no patience and was unforgiving. The other bards he met in Cintra were great fun with fantastic wit but they were also great annoying liars with no regard for others, they could never amount to Geralt’s honor. The handsome nobleman was kind and gentle but he didn’t have Geralt’s sarcastic dry humor.

Anyone he laid with just couldn’t match what he was longing for…

He knew it was wrong of him to try and compare all manners of people but that didn’t change that he was unable to stop. The first winter without the Witcher proved he loved the Witcher, and that he loved Geralt for the long haul.

This was not good.

This was what Jaskier called being in deep shit.

But now with Geralt off sulking because of the banquet, Jaskier had to trust Destiny to bring them back together or maybe coincidence. Either way, Jaskier would find Geralt again but time apart would be for the best if the Witcher did get ideas of shouting out how much he wishes he didn’t have a Child Surprise.

So when Jaskier became close to Countess de Stael, he didn’t say no to any distractions.

He wrote her all sorts of poetry, songs, confessions. Everything that came from the heart. He found these works to be beautiful and her, she found it entertaining.

Her lack of true warmth or love for Jaskier would have been painful if any of the works he had produced were even about her.

“You,” Jaskier whispered, “the culmination of what I love yet dread, how can I expect myself to tread the path you walk. I never will.” He knelt at the foot of her bed. “Yet the sentiment given is one speaks of such as the stories of long ago that will never see the light of daybreak again,” he paused to look into her eyes. “At every waking moment we pass by, I ask myself why, why we have let ourselves go on this without a single word yet we know each other's thoughts and motivations.” He shook his head. “We don't.”

Jaskier refused to have his voice waver. He wasn’t speaking his heart out to Geralt after all, just to someone fascinated by his devotion though she didn’t know to who.

“We don’t because we lack the true judgment of the other. For that, no amount of words possesses fortitude.” He paused again, his fingers played with the hem of her dress. “I love your flowers. They bloom the love you have but could never speak and spread upon the other blooming, blossoming flowers for others to reap the affection you have, one day, I tell you, they shall sing praises for the poet of no words.”

She raised a brow and for a moment Jaskier feared she would ask him what it meant, how any of that related to her, and their growing relationship.

She beckoned him closer with a finger and once he rose to a stand and leaned into her, she pulled him in, and thoughts of being caught for being in love with his best friend vanished.

The countess did not care about any of that anyways. She was always one to take notice of actions, specifically those actions that resulted in her pleasure. Jaskier could understand that. He would have wanted more than just the action portion of their relationship, but it would do.

Their relationship would go on and off. Sometimes Countess de Stael was just bored of him and for a time would find any reason to send him off and if he ever returned too late for her liking she would be upset.

Even if that visit had been to Cintra to see the young Princess Pavetta had given birth. It was a glorious ceremony that Jaskier sneaked himself into, he would later find ways to come under the guise of entertainment. But it was good to see the Princess was doing splendidly as well as her husband.

They had a little girl, a new, little princess. Jaskier hadn’t been able to fully see her but he knew she was perfect. He couldn’t wait to meet her. Maybe he could find a way to entertain at festivities regarding the girl’s birth date. He didn’t know if Cintra held other sorts of celebrations but he knew of ceremonies congratulating birth so he would be sure to be in Cintran for her on those dates as well as the winters that Geralt would be away in. He made certain that the Countess's fits would align with those dates to go see the little darling.

Unfortunately, there would be no explaining any of this to the Countess. Not that she would much care.

“Were you having fun with your whores!” The words were spat out harshly and Jaskier for the life of him couldn’t tell if it was said to be teasing or not. He never could tell much when it came to the lovely Countess.

“Most joyous fun. I did send for your invitation but you see it must haven’t gotten to you for I have only just arrived today to see the most beautiful, radiant face in all the continent.” Playing it safe with flattery seemed wise, especially with the countess.

She huffed, “Well…” She crossed her arms. “Perhaps I shall forgive you tonight, but only if you share your findings with your whores.”

He chuckled, “Of course. Your wish is my command.”

Jaskier didn’t mind.

It was annoying but he didn’t love her either. They both would get what they wanted then drop the other when done.

They were good distractions for the other so when Jaskier found out that the countess was yearning for the wife of a wealthy lord that was many miles away, he was not surprised. More amused to find they were both pining over the impossible.

At the beginning of their relationship, Jaskier relished in the attention and intimacy but it had been a long time, at least Jaskier thinks it’s been a long time, and he needs to see his witcher again. Child Surprise or not, sulking or not, with whatever problems Geralt would have or be facing, Jaskier wanted to be there. He wanted the good and bad that his witcher had to offer. He should be there with his witcher now, Destiny be damned.

Jaskier needed to hear Geralt’s voice again. He needed to hear every sprinkled in hmm that indicated the Witcher was listening.

So when the opportunity came for Jaskier to leave when the countess would send him away, Jaskier took it, saying he wouldn’t return for quite some time as the world and adventure called him.

She scoffed saying that there wouldn’t be a more illustrious adventure than she. He smiled at her and gave her one last kiss on the cheek which she wiped at as he stepped back.

There wasn’t anyone else quite like the Countess de Stael but Jaskier wasn’t looking for anyone of that sort.

No. He was after something even more untouchable but at least the Witcher would be at arms reach after all this time.

Jaskier wandered, letting his feet take him to wherever just like he normally did to find Geralt but when that didn’t work Jaskier began to think that Destiny did not want Jaskier with the Witcher yet. He realized that if he wanted to find Geralt he may have to do the work himself. Hopefully, Destiny wouldn’t mind.

He asked in each town he stopped in about the Witcher and played for coin. Eventually, he only accepted wine, ale, or whiskey as payment. He was even gifted a flask at the end of one night before he went on his way again. Which was very kind. He just liked the blanked out spaces the buzz gave him.

That didn’t lead to much fun as you would expect. A headache awaited him whenever he woke but he wouldn’t sleep much anyway. There were bigger things to keep a man awake. Mostly man. Was he a man? He wasn't exactly human after all? Does being a genie take away that little title? He wouldn't care if it did but it would change an awful lot in his inner monologues.

He pushed the thought away just as he did with other strange thoughts. Like of that old crone who kept a jar of living and dead maggots. It wasn't worth thinking about.

Jaskier would scratch at his head when wondering if Destiny was behind him being unable to find Geralt. She does know what she is doing when she plays her games and even knows what to do when a piece falls out of line.

At least he wrote plenty while traveling. He wasn’t so sure how long it had been, especially with the lack of sleep but he did have new songs to show Geralt and Roach. Maybe that could distract and soothe Geralt. His witcher was always one to overthink and despite the time that may have passed, Jaskier knew Geralt would still be distraught- even if in his own witchery way.

Missing Geralt and even the daughter he didn’t know yet. Jaskier strapped himself in his boots to walked on some more. The next town for sure, he would tell himself. The next town Geralt would be there and things could go back to how they were. Mostly.

Maybe it would be the time where he told Geralt about his plans.

Or maybe not, Jaskier cringed at the thought.

Perhaps he would tell Geralt what he really was. It may not be the right time but Jaskier would find out when he got there.

All he knew is that he needed Geralt and he was begging Destiny that Geralt still needed him.

Chapter Text

Humid and hot was the weather this fine day. Jaskier had stumbled into town that night or two nights ago, he wasn’t fully sure but he did play and sing, managed to refill his gifted flask aplenty though he promised to save some for Geralt. If the poor bastard was still sulking as Jaskier could feel in his bones no matter how far his witcher was from then Geralt would need a decent swig or two.

He heard his witcher may be in town so he wanted most of his senses for when he saw him again. No need to walk up a rambling mess… well a rambling honest mess that is.

Too bad he already felt like one and he wasn’t going to waste a day recovering when it could be used finding Geralt. After all this time.

He spent a whole night figuring out what he would say. Should he tell Geralt he’s been looking for him? Or would that sound strange seeing how Jaskier always played off their meetups to be a coincidence? Maybe he could start off like everything is normal? That probably would be what Geralt wanted.

At least Jaskier knew he could make Geralt happy even if it was only temporary. He could hope his company was enough. That’s what Jaskier decided. As he does with most things, the plan was to figure it out as the problem arose.

Jaskier was good at that.

Worrying about it wouldn’t give him the answers he wanted.

Jaskier had left his lute in his room. He rented that room at the inn for a week so it should be fine. In spite of the amount of time spent away from Geralt, Jaskier had grown relaxed to leaving his lute in places by itself. Of course, he’d much rather have it always on him but it was nice to walk around without something he felt he needed to keep clutched to his chest. A new sense of freedom by being without it… though also a lingering feeling of anxiety.

That was what the rum was for.

What a shame that it didn’t get him feeling buzzed as it used to before.

Where the fuck was he anyway? He’d been walking in town a while ago but now he’s only seeing trees and hearing exceptionally loud birds. Not that a good nature walk wouldn’t do him any good but he wasn’t sure if wandering among the dirt and grass was going to help him find his Geralt.

He let himself walk regardless. Never knew what he could find anyway. Or he really was a lot more buzzed than he thought he was. He had to unbutton his doublet. Even hiding under the trees didn’t keep the sun fully at bay. Indecent or not. Jaskier didn’t give two shits on the matter, he often did undo the buttons, he felt they gave a certain style.

Singing passed the time well. With or without the strumming of his instrument he always did find singing to be fun. He wouldn’t let anything stop him.

This time he sang another bard’s song yet he changed the rhythm and flow of it because really that man was mediocre at best but the tune Jaskier gave it made it better even if the lyrics were ridiculous- they were indeed catchy.

“Cause you all know that this bard loves ladies from Nilfgaard. Cause Nilfgaard can kiss my…” Slurred lyrics aside, Jaskier saw something from the corner of his eye and it was his confusion that his eyes were playing tricks on him that he wasn’t jumping for joy.

A chestnut horse and a figure of a man dressed in black and white hair a dirty mess. Yes, Jaskier had found exactly what he was after.

“Geralt!” After a second of realizing it was in fact Geralt. “Hello.”

The Witcher didn’t stop his task though his eyes did look Jaskier up and down as if he was somewhat baffled to see him still alive. Jaskier stepped closer and closer almost patting Roach but Geralt was still watching and if his unkempt hair said anything it’s that this witcher was in a grumpy mood. The poor man. At least Jaskier was here to help. Petting Roach and treating her would have to be saved for later.

“What’s it been? Months? Years? What is time, anyway?” At least that’s something he and the Witcher had in common- time passing without either truly noticing.

Jaskier let out any words he could. He hadn’t imagined that time would make them awkward around each other and he refused to let that be so.

“I heard you were in town.” True statement. “Are you following me, you scamp?” Not so true statement but teasing typically managed words out of his White Wolf. “I mean, I’m flattered and everything, but you should really think about getting a hobby one of these days.”

Jaskier took a chug out of his flask, there really was only about one gulp left in the thing. It being almost empty put a damper on his mood as well as Geralt no longer looking at him.

He groaned. Drinking too much too fast- it burnt his throat. He offered Geralt a sip though not with an actual attempt to truly offer any.

But if his witcher wouldn’t speak then Jaskier would speak for him like usual. “How are you doing? I hear you ask.”

“I didn’t”

Jaskier ignored him while he relished in the sound. “Well, the Countess de Stael, my muse and beauty of this world,” he was exaggerating. It felt so obvious to Jaskier that Geralt had to know he was joking. As if anyone, no matter their expertise or beauty, could triumph over his witcher. “Has left me.” He spread his arms out and smiled. It really was lucky timing that she dropped him once he couldn’t do anything but think of Geralt…

Geralt continued to play with his net. Jaskier wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but if it allowed Jaskier to speak uninterrupted then he wouldn’t pay it any mind.

“Again. Rather coldly and unexpectedly, I might add.” He swallowed back a burp, he wondered if Geralt could smell the alcohol off of him. Probably. “I fear I shall die a brokenhearted man… Or a hungry one, at the very least, unless somebody fancies sharing a fish with an old friend?”

The Witcher picked up his net, wrapping it in itself to move to another part of the lake. If Jaskier didn’t know any better he’d believe that Geralt didn’t even hear him. His smile dropped a bit. Getting his witcher to talk was much harder than anticipated.

“Oh, are we not using “friend”?” Jaskier trailed behind the Witcher. “Yeah, sure. Let’s just give it another decade.”

Geralt kept moving further and Jaskier finally noticed the empty net and nothing next to Roach that would suggest he’s been catching anything. Unless he had them for breakfast but again, no container where they would have was laid out.

“Geralt, you’re fantastic at a great many things, but clearly, fishing is not one of them. Have you caught anything today?”

His witcher finally stopped and began to untangle his net.

“What are you finishing for exactly?” He stepped closer and fiddled with his flask. “Is it cod? Carp? Pike?”

Geralt tossed the net out into the water.

“Bream? I’m just- I’m just listing fish that know. Zander? Is that a fish?”

“I’m not fishing.” The Witcher finally spoke and his voice sounded as if he was a man dead on his feet. “I can’t sleep.”

“Right.” Jaskier nodded. “Good.” He stared off at the lake for a moment. “Well, that- that makes sense. Insomuch that it sort of… doesn’t. What’s going on, Geralt? Talk to me,” He urged.

Geralt sighed and took a moment to find his words. “A djinn.”

“A what?” Jaskier’s heart stopped. He struggled to keep a resemblance of peace and his voice came out much more frantic than he desired.

But Geralt didn’t seem to notice. “I'm looking for a djinn.”

“For a dj- for a djinn? A dj- like a genie?” He laughed. The irony of it was too funny to let pass. “The floaty fellas with the… the bad tempers and the banned magics, that kind of genie?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier laughed again.

“It’ll grant me wishes. It’s in this lake somewhere. And I can’t fucking sleep!” Geralt stared madly at him and Jaskier ceased his giggles for another day to enjoy the dramatic irony.

He turned from Jaskier and stomped off to another part of the lake again.

Now, the thing is… Jaskier tried to get Geralt to sleep when he said that. Geralt was speaking as if he just wanted rest but Geralt didn’t slump over, in fact, Jaskier didn’t feel any magic running through him to suggest a wish was granted.

So the Witcher wasn’t truly after sleep. The Witcher wasn’t after finding a djinn to help him sleep, after all, if he was then Jaskier would have been able to grant something that simple. His witcher was after something that the outcome would be better rest… Oh, no, Geralt was still after undoing the child of surprise. That had to be it. There was no other explanation for him seeking a djinn.

Jaskier walked closely behind Geralt. “I don’t mean to play priest’s ear or anything, but has it occurred to you that maybe we’re merely rubbing salve on a tumor? Not exactly addressing the root of the problem? Hm?”

He doesn’t know what to do with this. How was he going to convince Geralt that Destiny’s plans would work out well ish sorta maybe… Getting Geralt to talk was the equivalent of trying to dump a stray cat into a bucket of water. You might get what you wanted but with more harm done than good. Same with trying to undo Destiny's work.

“I mean, maybe, just- just maybe, this whole sleeplessness-ness has got something to do with what the druid Mousesack said to you in Cintra?” Jaskier dropped his empty flask to the forest floor, no longer needing it. “You know, the Law of Surprise? Destiny? Being unable to escape the child that belongs to you, et cetera, et cetera?”

“No! It’s not that.” Geralt released the net once more.

Jaskier put his hands to his hips, giving his most unimpressed look. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He nodded. “But what if you’re not?”

Geralt glared.

“You know the Countess de Stael once said to me that destiny-” he sat down on a stump- “is just the embodiment of the soul’s desire to grow.

“Did you sing to her before she left?”

“I did, actually, and she…” Jaskier thought on that a moment. “Why, what are you implying?”

The Witcher was crouched down and didn’t even say a word as he just looked at Jaskier with a pointed expression.

“Oh ho.” Jaskier mock laughed and stood. “We are so having this conversation. Come on, Geralt. Tell me. Be honest. How’s my singing?” Because really. He and his witcher knew of his abilities. Even Geralt couldn’t deny them.

Geralt threw the net out and the water splashed loudly. The Witcher took a second to come up with his answer. “It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”

“Wha-” Jaskier gaped. He had not expected that answer. It had actually left him speechless. He pointed a finger to his witcher. “You need a nap!” Jaskier was still baffled. “I mean, are trying to hurt my feelings, Geralt? It’s… It’s down- downright indecorous of you if I’m completely honest, and-”

Jaskier’s rant came to a halt and he stammered instead. He began feeling what felt like air pushing all around him. Magic. He had watched Geralt kneel down and bring the net in but he hadn’t thought that Geralt had actually caught anything.

“Wh- wh- wow. Wow. What is- what is that?”

Geralt walked closer to Jaskier, letting him get a better view of the clay pot- no bottle he was holding and Jaskier saw the symbol upon it. “It’s a wizard’s seal.”

That didn’t have to mean anything- it could be an empty bottle in a random lake and it means nothing. But the slight magic that was floating around wasn’t nothing. Would Jaskier want to take that risk?

The wizard’s seal is what got to Jaskier. Genies can be moved from place to place and be used again and again if whoever the previous owners were greedy enough to try having another three wishes with the same genie. That’s how Jaskier was still technically stuck on this plane of existence. Not that he hated being here, in fact, he rather it because this is what he considers home. Not some unknown plane he can’t even remember if he was part of. But the point being, this djinn might have also been used again and again because of that strong wizard’s seal keeping it stuck.

Geralt’s voice broke him from his thoughts. The Witcher sounded so absorbed in the possibility of what this being could bring. “The djinn…”

But Jaskier couldn’t let Geralt go further. This is why Destiny brought Jaskier to Geralt now. To prevent Geralt’s undoing of destiny. “Do you mind if I-” He grabbed the bottle and attempted to yank it out of his witcher’s tight grasp.

“Jaskier.”

“Take back that bit about my fillingless pie.” Geralt’s glare couldn’t dissuade him. But a second pull didn’t do much to move his witcher. “Take it back, and then you can have your djinny-djinn-djinn.”

“Let go.” Geralt didn’t even humor Jaskier’s lie. Maybe he knew Jaskier wouldn’t let it go even if he took his words back. He would have been right- but still.

“No! No, let go, you horse’s arse!”

With more effort on tugging the bottle on Jaskier’s part, Geralt and he uncorked it. Only to find that nothing occurred. Jaskier wouldn’t be fooled. The pressure of the air was much more noticeable but if he could get Geralt to believe nothing was there then he would play that part as well.

He frowned deeply. “That’s a bit of an anticlimax.” Jaskier turned the empty bottle while Geralt held the seal.

Geralt’s disappointment washed over any victory Jaskier might have felt. Guilt sat in its place instead but not for long as a breeze stirred over the lake and if Jaskier recognized its presence then surely Geralt did.

“Or is it?”

The wind rose and it appeared that an overarching cloud covered the lake. Jaskier’s heart was racing. Genies, no matter what kind, could not own other genies- well, perhaps they could but they could not grant wishes to each other. It wasn’t a rule that genies followed but something in their nature that prevented them from aided each other. A cruel twist a fate- though typically Jaskier would say it’s for the better.

At this exact moment? Not so much.

Jaskier saw the outline of the djinn. It was faded and misty but Jaskier could see it clearly though if Geralt could see it as well because of his witcher senses, Jaskier did not know.

Jaskier couldn’t let Geralt do anything that Destiny would punish them for. Jaskier had but one plan and he always was showman above all else. “Djinn, I have freed thee, and as of this day, I am thy Lord.” He spoke over the mumbles of the djinn awakening.

But its voice spoke out to Jaskier. “Tethered kin? Like mind.” It muttered out. “Free me.”

“Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck down by apoplexy and die.” Who was Valdo Marx? An asshole who Jaskier wouldn’t mind dying- not that any of his wishes would ever occur but the point of doing this whole dramatic spiel was to “steal” Geralt’s wishes. He would find some way to make this up to his witcher.

“I’m not tied to you,” it breathed. “What desires have a master to take two of us? Aid me. And we shall both escape this realm.”

“Secondly, the Countess de Stael must welcome me with glee, open arms, and very little clothing.” Jaskier struggled on coming up with fake wishes. Saying what he wanted was sort of off the table and besides, not that any of his wishes would be granted to him anyway. It was Geralt with the wishes after all.

The djinn voice grew stronger towards Jaskier. “I cannot serve you. I would never serve you. What are you doing? Hear me!”

“Thirdly-”

"Listen to me!"

Jaskier was interrupted by the Witcher pulling him from his back. “Jaskier!”

“Are you a willing traitor to your kind?” The misted djinn shouted.

“Wha-”

“Stop!”

The two voices and his own fear left Jaskier muddled for what to say for the quick third fake wish.

“There are only three wishes,” his witcher said with much more resolve than Jaskier should have expected.

“Oh, come on, you always say you want nothing from life. So how was I supposed to know you wanted three wishes all to yourself?”

The djinn’s shouts almost caused Jaskier to not hear Geralt. “He shall punish you for your games. A favorite hound is still a hound with a leash. I will be free but you, you will never have a moment’s peace!”

“I just want some damn peace!”

Jaskier didn’t listen to Geralt as he finally addressed the djinn and smashed the bottle to the forest’s floor. “Well, here’s your peace!”

The bottle broke into several pieces. Geralt growled but bent down to pick up the pieces that could no longer house a genie. With that action, Jaskier wasn’t quite sure what he accomplished. Maybe he harmed the djinn and could make Geralt believe that without an object to tie the djinn to this plane then it would disappear. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t so much care as much as he was too offended.

A hushed voice spoke right in Jaskier’s ear. “Even a master’s favorite dog will be struck down for disobedience.” The pressure that had surrounded them now pushed Jaskier’s back against a tree and strangled him with hands that Jaskier could not grab. He uselessly tried to pry the hands away but it only tightened. The djinn’s thin and airy smile was all Jaskier saw as it placed its hand through his neck. Jaskier choked and gasped for breath.

He coughed out, “Geralt… Geralt!”

The Witcher noticed. “It’s the djinn!” The Witcher rushed to a stand and forced the djinn away with his magic. It screeched and growled while it was sent away.

The dark clouds that had been over the lake dispersed and while he expected the pain to stop then, it didn’t. Jaskier went to his knees, wheezing and coughing. His hand could do nothing to feel what it was that the djinn had left behind. He didn’t understand how it could have attacked him under a master.

“Jaskier?” Geralt held his arm to steady Jaskier but he could only choke out blood that was building in his throat. His eyes wide and on Geralt. He didn’t understand. He did not understand. How could a genie under a master do anything if it’s master didn’t command it?

Jaskier didn’t get another second to ponder it because Geralt began dragging him to Roach all while he continued to try to cough out the blood that was clogging his throat. Anything to alleviate the torture happening at his neck.

He hadn’t even noticed that he was on top of Roach and that Geralt was in front of him. They were riding somewhere but he could only focus on the pain of his throat swelling up. The excitement from getting to ride Roach was overshadowed by the throbbing growing in his throat.

Everything was moving fast and painfully. Nothing was making sense. He prevented Geralt from taking apart Destiny’s plan, so why was he being punished?

They were still in a forest when they were slowing down and Jaskier could hear Geralt yelling something about a healer and the response of a man named “Chireadan” and he was then pulled down from Roach and hauled to a tent by Geralt all while he limped and wheezed.

An elf greeted them but once he saw Jaskier he urged them inside. “What is this? What’s happened?”

“A djinn attacked him. He’s been choking on his own blood since,” The Witcher grunted.

“A djinn in a bottle? It’s like a fairytale,” the elven healer, Chireadan said while helping Jaskier sit down.

“Without the happy ending. Can you help him?”

The healer inspected Jaskier’s neck and every second he had to move, it strained worse. He grasped at Chireadan’s arms to convey his thoughts.

“Oh, dear.”

“What?”

“I assure you that I have received the best medical education right here in Rinde, but… these injuries are of a magical nature.”

No shit!

“I can help with the pain,” Chireadan said and Jaskier tried to nod as ardently as his pain would allow. “But it’s a bit like…”

“Putting salve on a tumor?”

“No!” Jaskier croaked out. He was not going to deal with Geralt’s bullshit while he was dying.

“His throat was attacked,” the healer stated while going to his table filled with potions and herbs.

Jaskier almost fell from his seat had Geralt not caught him and continued to keep him in place.

“If the spell’s action isn’t halted as soon as possible, that damage might be irreversible.”

“Wha-” Jaskier barely groaned out. He liked to think himself a lot more mighty than he was but the truth was, he could die. He could be damaged as any human. Just because he was slightly more durable didn’t mean he was as strong as a witcher could be. He feared that he would live. That he would live but would never have a voice again. It would feel like being under the mercy of a master again. Without a voice, all he could do was serve the beck and call of whoever was near. He would not be capable of song or speech and that terrified him more than a form of death could.

He vomited out his own blood and clumps of what he assumed to be portions of his throat. It dribbled down his chin disgustingly.

“And the longer he goes untreated, the more likely it is to spread. He could die.”

But Jaskier still had work to do. He had a witcher to soothe and a child of surprise to prepare. He had songs to sing and write. He had a continent to fully convince that witchers were people like any man but with greater heroic traits. He still had a whole world to see. He still had Geralt to love. There was still too much to do. He wheezed, “Fuck! Geralt.” He reached out to his witcher.

“Uh… Yeah, we won’t let that happen.” The Witcher patted his back to encourage him or console him… Jaskier couldn’t tell.

The elven healer knelt down and helped Jaskier bring a cup to his lips and force the liquid down his constricted throat. Jaskier made himself have every drop no matter the pain all for the promise that it would lessen that pain.

“The medicine should buy him a few hours, but he needs a magical remedy. You’ll have to take him to another town.”

“There isn’t a mage here?”

“Uh… the Mayor says they are dangerous.”

Jaskier would have to agree. Taking him to a mage is a death sentence in itself. Jaskier could either choose an agonizing death or tormented servitude but even his vision was going occasionally groggy so Geralt would choose for him.

“What aren’t you saying?”

Jaskier’s eyes went up to the elf. He may be too sick to comprehend a situation properly but he could understand Geralt’s I know you are lying to me voice.

“Tell me.”

Chireadan opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “Well, there… there is one mage. I… was tasked with bringing this mage to justice, but I was unable to penetrate certain defenses.”

Jaskier listened as intently as he could. If Geralt was going to take him… to a mage… then he needed all the information he could get because after any cure would come a price and the price would be Jaskier. He just knew it.

“The Mayor himself has made the catch and has imprisoned the mage in his house.”

A cunning mage. One that wouldn’t be caught by just anyone but someone who was higher ranking. Jaskier hates cunning mages, which they all are.

“That wasn’t so fucking hard, was it?” Geralt grabbed Jaskier roughly by his arm, in a hurry. Jaskier groaned in pain.

“Be careful. The mage is powerful and malicious and quite cunning.”

Not good things to hear when on the way to see them.

“I’ll go find him.” Geralt nudged the healer away and dragged Jaskier back to Roach.

Once outside the tent, Gealt yelled to a man standing outside the healer's tent. He pointed them to which the direction the Mayor’s home was. With that Geralt grunted an acknowledgment and went to Roach. It took more effort to get Jaskier on Roach but Geralt managed to get him in place and began riding as fast as he could through the narrow pathway amongst the trees.

Jaskier would grip at Geralt’s arms or waist when the pain became unbearable once more but true to the elven healer’s words, the medicine made it easier and occasionally numbed him until it came back.

They rode well into the night. Fog covered any stars that might have been in the dark sky. But Jaskier wouldn’t have been able to see them regardless.

The pain dulled but would come back again. Back and forth the process went and Jaskier wondered if the Mayor’s house even existed. Maybe that would be for the best. No Mayor’s house meant no mage. And no mage meant no trap that they were running straight to.

But it also meant Jaskier would die.

So maybe he had to risk this.

Roach slowed her paced and they passed a gate. A balding man spoke, “Whoa! A fee for entrance.”

Jaskier wheezed, some blood dripping to his chin.

“A fee to see the Mayor?” His witcher voiced his annoyance to the guard. “This is urgent.”

“I don’t make the rules, but money opens all doors.”

The Witcher hummed gruffly and turned to his pouch on Roach. He pulled it out and Jaskier stared incredulously. The Witcher couldn’t pay that much. They were already seeking something to cure a djinn’s magical curse- it was near the impossible! They needed all the coin they could spare… and also Jaskier was going to need to pay Geralt back. He doesn’t know how much that could be.

Then his witcher presented the entire bag but when he lowered it to the fellow, Geralt struck the man with the full force of all his coin.

The man hit the ground with a harsh thud.

“So it does.” The Geralt scowled while Jaskier stared down at the unconscious man who laid on the dirt. He had forgotten how Geralt doesn’t play any games when he’s serious. They rode on and Geralt quickly found a pole to tie Roach next to a back entrance to the manor. Once Geralt came down he pulled Jaskier along but Jaskier didn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore. Instead, he fell limp and almost hit the ground from Roach had Geralt not caught him at the last second.

“Jaskier! Fucking-” The Witcher sat Jaskier to the cobblestone entrance. “Fuck. Can you- Can you stand?”

Jaskier coughed a clump of blood on the stone in response.

“Fuck. Fuck.” The Witcher ran his hand through his hair then knelt down to Jaskier’s eye level. “Your arms. Up, Jaskier. Lift them.”

He was woozy. If he could, he would have while vomited everything clogging his airway. He would have stuck his hand down his own throat to pull it all out if he had to, just to make it stop. His eyes watered but lifted his head to his witcher.

“Fuck. Jaskier, can you hear me?” The Witcher’s hand went to his face and held his cheek gently. "Lift your arms."

Jaskier nodded weakly while leaning into Geralt’s hand. He lifted his arms, following his witcher’s instructions, and Geralt then hauled Jaskier over his shoulder like any sack of potatoes.

“Don’t squirm too much.”

While Jaskier couldn’t see where they were going he gathered that they had entered the basement entrance and were going into the manor from the backway. He could remember that much. Geralt walked a long, sandy hallway full of shelves of wine and torches. Jaskier wheezed and spit out blood along the way, effectively making an interesting trail of blood behind them.

They reached stairs and Jaskier knew their destination was near. The Witcher set him down on a table to work out where exactly the fuck they needed to go now that they were here.

“Whoa…” His witcher stared off to the side and Jaskier eyes followed to see a man standing bare by a furnace.

The naked man dropped a jug that instantly shattered on impact. He didn’t say anything for a second. Only standing there in… in all his… glory…

“Welcome… to my home.”

“You’re the Mayor of Rinde?” His witcher said, sounding unconvinced. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”

Jaskier desperately tried to tell Geralt to tell the Mayor about their issue. And also to prevent Geralt from accidentally insulting the man they needed help from. The sooner they find this mage then the less time Jaskier has to back out of it last minute. “May- May-” he whimpered out pathetically.

“Sorry. He’s in a bad way.”

Jaskier tried nodding. He found comfort in Geralt’s hand holding him upright.

“Is there a mage that lives here?”

But the man didn’t answer the Witcher. “Ah. The apple juice. She wants some. And she always gets… what she wants…” Jaskier guessed the man was completely drunk. The lack of any clothes and being in what Jaskier assumed to be the storage room for the kitchen was a giveaway to that much earlier but his dazed behavior happened to also make it clear.

“I don’t understand.” Geralt said. “Does he want me to get him the apple juice?” His witcher looked to Jaskier for an answer. Normally when this happened with the two of them Jaskier would explain and help Geralt through a situation… But Jaskier couldn’t speak. His witcher was on his own this time which made Geralt’s habitable looks to ask Jaskier a question useless and saddening.

Jaskier breathlessly attempted to get any answer to Geralt but he couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak. “I don’t know,” came out hollowly.

Geralt’s brows furrowed at the reply. Jaskier wondered if Geralt was thinking the same thing he was. The Witcher frowned and he grabbed the metal pitcher behind Jaskier that was supposedly filled with apple juice. Once he grabbed it, he turned to Mayor and they both found that the man had fallen asleep while sitting on a crate.

“Oh… Good.”

Geralt grabbed at the back collar of Jaskier’s doublet and to Jaskier’s surprise, he managed to limp beside Geralt. Jaskier knew that his witcher had no clue where they were going but he trusted him anyway. The Witcher led them to a door where fog gathered suspiciously, in Jaskier’s opinion. Jaskier knew this was the right way because of the suffocating feeling that wasn’t just coming from the djinn’s attack. This was the mage’s magic.

“The fuck?” Geralt opened the door and they continued to follow the strange fog. They turned right and down that way led to an archway at their left but more noticeable than the elegant archway was the gigantic room that held dozens of people all engaged in the second-largest orgy Jaskier had ever seen.

It wasn’t necessarily the weirdest thing that Jaskier had seen but it was in the context they were in. The feeling of water rushing around came full force when they entered the room. It pushed and pulled and felt like he was both grounded and floating.

Jaskier saw the mage at the other end of the room. She wasn’t in clear view but enough for Jaskier to notice immediately. Her black gown, hair, and intricate mask gave away that she was different from anyone in the room. She was also the only one not engaging in any of the activities before them. She held a goblet that she fiddled with.

Geralt pulled a limping Jaskier down the pathway to the mage. Moans and gasps heard along the way and a few hands tried to entice Jaskier or Geralt to join them. Magic was outlining this room, Jaskier could feel it not just from the mage but how she affected the whole room.

She opened her eyes to them and through her hidden expression, Jaskier felt in his bones that he should have found any other way to undo the djinn’s damage.

“Stay.” Geralt pushed Jaskier to the side, onto the nearest cushion, and subsequently, into the nearest woman’s breasts. Now was certainly not the time. He was uncomfortable that his witcher had left him alone with people that kept caressing his face and shoulders.

A woman placed her head in his lap while she was being eaten up by some other gent. Her cries of pleasure just unsettled Jaskier more.

He strained to hear any of Geralt’s words exchanged with the mage. He saw Geralt lift the pitcher of apple juice but Jaskier could not hear them.

A woman pulled his head to her bare chest and he had to turn his head away. More moans truly made it impossible to hear a thing Geralt could be saying. Jaskier was the one good at haggling, good at making bargains, deals, trades, contracts- anything. But his witcher was by himself in this and with a mage nonetheless. The absolute greediest and selfish beings Jaskier had ever known. Worse than humans, though he supposes that is because of their base in humans- they were once human after all.

Geralt wouldn’t stand a chance. He would probably offer all his coin and more because that’s who he is and this mage would take everything- including Jaskier if he wasn’t careful. Though he didn’t know how he was going to stay vigilant for all this. This was a mistake. He hadn’t thought of the price and how Geralt sees to pay.

The Witcher glanced at Jaskier. The stern expression turned soft. Jaskier tried to wave to him but it ended up looking like he was throwing his limb around and his head was pulled back by the woman behind him.

“The famous White Wolf!” Jaskier heard the mage say. He heard nothing else but that phrase that made him fear for Geralt more. The mage walked to his witcher and circled him, eyeing him. Was she trying to intimidate him? Well, it was working on Jaskier. Or perhaps she was inspecting the goods that Geralt had sold to her! Geralt would offer his services, he would do so if anyone just so happened to ask him nicely of anything.

The woman who had her head in his lap finally sat up but was then thrust into by another man who came by. Jaskier wasn’t typically one for modest behavior but he really didn’t know what to do with his eyes.

While being scared and horny was indeed a thing Jaskier could feel- he didn’t much like it when in actual life-threatening, excruciating pain while his witcher was probably doing and saying something he shouldn’t be saying or doing. He would have shaken his head if he could have, he couldn't grieve a situation that hadn't occurred.

Then the mage’s voice rang out throughout the room, “Ragamuffin!”

The fog was fading and the orgy was falling apart. Everyone looked shocked and tried to cover themselves as fast as they could. Some ran from the room. The magic that had been closed in this room faded but this mage’s magic still felt like an overbearing presence in the massive room.

Jaskier fell to the floor, having no one to hold him upright anymore. He stayed like that for a minute before Geralt came back to sit him up properly again. The Witcher heaved him up on the cushion then pulled his arms over his shoulder to carry him like a sack all over again.

“That’s it. Now follow me. My chambers are this way. No one interrupts my work when I’m there.” The mage’s voice was like honey. She was alluring from what Jaskier could see, and that made him all the more suspicious.

The Witcher hummed and trailed behind. They went up stairs and stairs and stairs and Jaskier was feeling dizzy all over again like when on Roach. The medicine from earlier seemed to have worn off and he yet again faced at full force the wrath of an angry djinn’s curse.

He wheezed and some spit and blood dribbled to his chin when Geralt sat him on the large bed in the room.

“Oh, no no no, dear.” The elegant mage said, stepping closer. “Here.” She placed a clean, white cloth in front of his mouth. “I’ll have none of that mess on my floor.” He coughed into it, leaving a large blot of red and she wiped at the side of his mouth. “There, there.”

Her soothing tone was not in the least bit soothing with her magic dripping over him.

“I can feel the djinn’s magic on you- in you.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. Was this it? Did she already know? Could she tell what he was from feeling his magic alone?

“It makes sense,” she hummed. “You were attacked by its magic, but I’ll take it all out of you. Though I’ve never encountered a djinn’s curse before.”

“Can you heal him?” Geralt stood behind the mage, uncharacteristically nervous.

“Of course,” the mage smiled as if she were holding back a laugh. “He’s in capable hands. But I’ll need an empty workplace. I dearly hate working with someone over my shoulder.”

Geralt nodded and hummed an acknowledgment but Jaskier reached and grabbed for his hand before Geralt could leave him all alone with a sinister, lying mage.

“Jaskier.” Geralt murmured, “I…”

But the mage interrupted whatever he’d been planning to say. “He’ll be down the stairs to the right. Don’t worry a hair on your head.” Her fingers played with his hair.

But Jaskier wasn’t reassured. He didn’t like being talked down to like a child. He didn’t like the thought of Geralt leaving.

His witcher pulled his hand away from him, nodded to the witch once more, and left down the steps and out of sight. Out of reach. Jaskier’s hands felt cold.

He struggled with all his might to school his expression to one of neutral standing. He focused on his breathlessness. He did not want to show fear to her… not exaggerated fear, at least.

The witch walked to her vanity that Jaskier saw had multiple bottles, unlit candles, and other sorceress things. Things that were colorful and captivating to the eye.

“Jaskier, was it?”

He wheezed.

“Don’t bother answering. You’ll do more harm than good.” She collected several items and began putting them together as if she knew every step of what she was supposed to do by heart, despite her words earlier implying she had no prior experiences with genies. “What you can do is make yourself more comfortable. You will be here a while. Quite a while.”

She looked back to her work but Jaskier did not want to budge. Get more comfortable? Get more comfortable! Not with a witch in the same acre as him and not while he’s injured. He’s as vulnerable as he could be as is.

“What is it?” She intoned. “Does magic unsettle you? It shouldn't, seeing as I can feel it running through your very veins.”

Magic can be dangerous... especially in the hands of people like you. Jaskier didn't voice his thoughts. He kept her words close. He believed every sentence to somehow have a hidden threat. Whether she knew what he truly was or wasn't, he couldn't tell. Her words played with his mind and hated it. He hated being terrified without knowing if it even mattered.

“Get more comfortable, I insist.”

His boots were off his feet and placed by the bedside. His doublet was off and folded at another corner of the room. Even his sleeves of his undershirt were rolled up.

“A shame the fabric is ruined. But I hear bards don’t tend to stay with one diversion for long. I doubt you’re an outlier of that assumption.”

Her hands expertly moved and Jaskier then smelled lilac and gooseberries in the air. It was pleasant until Jaskier thought that this was the witch’s trick. His eyelids felt heavy but he would not succumb.

“A djinn…” she said, a grin could be heard from her tone. “How convenient.” She turned around to look at Jaskier, her eyebrows slightly rising. “I’m sure you’ll tell me more about it, won’t you Jaskier? Or perhaps your friend will?”

Jaskier coughed wetly.

She smirked and looked back at her desk. “The White Wolf and the Traveling Troubadour. Quite the pair.” He heard clinks of glass. “I’m curious how it came about. Though I am far more curious about witchers themselves. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an encounter. So few left, I’m sure you know.” Jaskier watched her crush something in a bowl. "Created by magic. It's as interesting as creatures that are born of it. Wouldn't you agree?"

It felt like a wave of the ocean hit him and forced him under. He was sinking. He was drowning by the force of her magic. He was beginning to fall back onto the bed. Fighting her magic was a losing battle.

“That’s right.” She said in a hushed voice, it was coming closer to him. “Go to sleep. You took a while to take hold. Normally, those under fall asleep at first smell. Strong will… or strong fear you have. I’ll perform the spell while you sleep. You won’t feel a thing.”

He tried to groan. He tried to shake his legs to awaken himself. He couldn’t move. "Geral-Ger-"

“Shh. Shh. Dream, Jaskier,” she whispered right next to his ear. Her breath warm. Her voice was soft and deceivingly sweet. “Sleep.”

He turned his head to her and he looked right at her. Her features somehow both sharp and soft in all the right places. Her skin had not a single imperfection. Her eyes… Her eyes were big and the brightest purple he’d seen. The witch’s violet eyes stared into his blue ones. They held still for moments that Jaskier fought for, an unknown war seemed to occur but he was losing. He was trying to paddle to a shore that didn't exist.

His head laid fully on the pillow and his eyes drooped to a close.

“Sleep.”

Jaskier sank into deep darkness.

Chapter Text

Jaskier sank and sank. Deeper and darker until consciousness was a distance white light. He was submerged. It was reminiscent of the “sleep” he experienced in his bottle.

Only he knew that he wasn’t in his bottle. The leftover scent of lilac and gooseberries confirmed that.

He didn’t have the capacity to feel anxious though. He wasn’t here nor there. He simply was and he was drifting. Thinking of places and people- thinking of smells and foods… thinking of devious mages and former masters all too greedy for their own good. Jaskier hadn’t cared back then. Why would he? He wasn’t human. The continent wasn’t his world, yet the conjunction of the spheres deemed it to be.

So it was.

And he poured his love into it when he woke up with his first breath of freedom. Thousands of buttercups had greeted him. He was all alone but in that first moment, he didn’t mind. The warm sun and the buttercups kept him company better than anyone could have in those first precious moments. The wind brushed through his hair and the hair on his arms raised. Fresh air filled his lungs in a way it hadn’t before. He felt alive, like a real, breathing creature on the continent.

It was perfect.

Until he grew bored of it and wanted something new. Something more.

That’s what he dreamed of.

He ignored the pain.

He remembered his stomach was empty from the disuse. His feet hurt after wandering for miles in fields. His skin was burning because of the sun’s heat. His throat sore from breath and no water. He was bare when he entered the world so when he was fortunate enough to run into some kind folk who assumed he was robbed he took their offer of clothing and small work to then move on.

Town to town, city to city, and everything in between he traveled. It was all so grand. So much more than he could have expected. The sky was too big to be real and that was the same as the ocean. Flowers were too bright, bread too delicious, silk too soft. Humans were funny. They were caring and sweet as much as they were manipulative and wicked. As for monsters and creatures of all shapes and sizes… Jaskier never knew much of them. Humans were easier to run into and creatures… creatures could be monsters that tear you apart with no hope to reason with them. This is why Jaskier preferred humans. This is why Jaskier grew so close to humans that he could believe himself to be one but the magic running through his veins was a constant reminder of what he was and what he feared intelligent beings could use against him.

But he was finding out how not all monsters were… well, monsters. There were enduring elves, grieving griffins, valiant vampires, woeful wraiths, and simple selkimores.

What he also came to realize is that there were weary witchers.

And that’s how he began to think of Geralt.

His witcher.

The Witcher that Destiny led him to that began her fascinating tale. Jaskier was liking the pretty picture she was painting. It was just him and Geralt traveling the continent. Nothing mattered but Jaskier and Geralt’s own desires. Jaskier just knew he was getting close. Close to whatever it was he wanted even if he didn’t know how to get it. He just knew that something big was close.

When the child of surprise occurred, Jaskier had been skeptical for only four seconds. Destiny liked things to go her way so Jaskier learned to work with it but he grew to love the little princess without seeing her often or without having her truly know him. This little precious girl was special in ways Jaskier couldn’t hope to dream of yet. He just wished that Geralt could see it too and he would if he tried.

Geralt was thoughtful, compassionate, held more empathy in his heart than Jaskier ever expected from a witcher. While Jaskier had met Geralt with a certain bias… that didn’t mean he didn’t grow out of it after a couple of months. Traveling with the Witcher just made it so hard to actually fear him, appearances be damned.

He was gentle with Jaskier. Sometimes overly so. The first week he had tried to shake off Jaskier with no success and the following weeks he then made sure Jaskier ate and he would stop to give Jaskier a break off his feet. Jaskier felt much like a pet at first but he realized it was Geralt trying to be kind to his friend. A human companion that wanted to stay and be friends. Because no matter the Witcher’s words, they were each other’s friends… though perhaps Geralt was onto something to say they weren’t friends because they were something a little more. Even if there didn’t seem to be a word for it.

With all of Jaskier’s knowledge of words and even his ability to know all spoken tongues, he still couldn’t think of a word that portrayed exactly what they had or were feeling.

He was content with just being for now.

So when weeks elapsed without knowing how Geralt was doing, Jaskier always felt like the uncharacteristically clingy lover. It was pathetic really.

Frigid water surrounded him. It was magic, he knew that but it wasn’t his own. This had to be a mage but was this in the past or was this happening? Warmth on top of the waves that were crashing in his mind. A djinn’s magic and yet again it wasn’t his own.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see or hear. How strange to be consciously aware that you are asleep and cannot get out of it. Voices and then nothing. He had no idea if he was in the present or falling in and out of hours of sleep. What was the mage doing? Was Geralt nearby? Did he know what was happening?

What happened?

Jaskier tried to walk himself through the day, finding several holes in the story.

The djinn… that other genie… Jaskier was attacked. But that couldn’t have happened because genies when they have a master, well, there isn’t much they can do. They certainly cannot attack someone just because they feel like it. Jaskier doesn’t remember any wishes being made, just the magic, and then his throat wanting to pop out of his neck. Then the issue of it becoming night so quickly. Jaskier was never one to keep good track of the passage of time, he was aware, but he did feel that despite him focusing on the pain that he would have noticed time and where they were. The mage… The whole sex room that existed. That couldn’t have been real. That was too dreamlike to be real. Or maybe the grumpy witcher helping him to begin with.

Little things just didn’t make sense.

Glowing violet eyes, a twitch of a red-lipped smirk, the face you can only achieve through the impossible. For a moment, Jaskier thought that was the face of Destiny that was greeting him.

Pain ripping in and out of him and he was reminded of the mage.

Jaskier gasped out but his dry throat caused him to wheeze, then most of the pain was gone. He groaned and wiped at his eyes. He was awake again. “Oh! Where am I?” The light from the window blasted through him, he glanced away to find that there was a woman at the foot of the large bed. She wasn’t moving and appeared to be topless and plenty of candles were in front of her. “Whew… Right. Good. Good. Um… Not to be… untoward or anything…” He tried to chuckle his nervousness out. “But… did we… you know… do the uh…”

She turned around. Those violet eyes piercing through him and most of the night, he remembered. The rush of magic in the room wasn’t his own he was feeling, it was hers that he was too jumbled up to feel.

“Ooh, Go- oh, no! No!” He pulled himself away as she slowly crawled to him. “Definitely did not butter that biscuit.” He climbed out of the bed and took several steps backward to keep his eyes on her. “Look, I am so sorry, but I’ve just remembered I left my… cat on the… stove.” That excuse didn’t work as well as it did for some humans unless he said it wrong but there wasn’t a second to spare to question that. “I- I really must be going.”

He found his boots on the floor and struggled to put them on while keeping an eye on the woman with the symbols draw on her stomach for some reason, what were those? His heart dropped once he pieced some of it altogether. A Djinn’s Amphora symbol.

“Express your deepest desires and you can be on your way.” She pulled a small knife from her desk as Jaskier got on his second boot.

“Well, my deepest desires are currently satisfied, thank you so much.” A wave of magic through him to the closest wall with a strangled yell.

She walked closer. “How’s your throat?”

“Uh…” The back of his head along with his spine hurt with the slam that came with hitting the wall.

Another step closer. “Perhaps you should try some scales.”

“Uh…” Jaskier hadn’t been truly listening to her words, just her movements, but perhaps her words were the key to getting out. She asked him to sing and sing indeed the first song that came to mind because it hadn’t gone out of his head for a week. “Toss a coin to your witcher,” he sang, still feeling some soreness in his throat and knowing that his voice wasn’t ready to perform. “O, Valley of- Penis!” Her hand grabbed and squeezed at his poor- “Oh, God!”

The mage put a knife to his throat. “If you want to keep all you have…”

Jaskier whimpered as she squeezed harder. He wasn’t even sure what she could have possibly asked. So, he continued to panic and stare at the ceiling.

“Make a damn wish.” She put the knife closer to the bob at his neck.

Make a wish? Making a wish?? What does she fucking want? She can just ask!

“I don’t understand!” He cried. “Just say the word and it’s-”

“Make your damn wish!”

“I don’t under- Fine! Whatever you want!”

Her magic threw him to the side causing him to grunt then whimper out again in pain.

She knelt where the candles grew stronger and the symbol on the floor pulsed. “Make your wish!” It pulsed with more energy- the Djinn. “Do it now!”

This witch, she believed he had the wishes… Jaskier startled himself with that thought. He was under the assumption that she knew what he… that she was enslaving him… Yet she was asking him to make a wish… Geralt told her he had the wishes- he must have. The Witcher didn’t know he was the only one who could have a genie attached to him. Jaskier couldn’t-

This was a mess.

“I can’t! I don’t- I don’t know! I…” He’d do the same as he did with Geralt and pretend the wishes were his then he could leave the mage to her demise. The Djinn would serve no other master- while tied to Geralt it would fight everything to not be stolen to another master. “I wish very badly to leave this place forever!”

She gasped. She was trying to contain what was already contained elsewhere- it was impossible to do what she was trying but Jaskier would leave. He would leave her to die by her own power lust. He only wished that all mages would die by their own ambitions, the world would be better off.

“Ah Breain’d meh!” She continued to speak and chant in Elder. Jaskier barely paid attention to the words when he felt the air in the room shift. The curtains around the bed danced violently, Other objects flew across the room. She was somehow bringing the Djinn to her- It should be impossible! Something indistinct rumbled the room. Another voice spoke to him.

Jaskier stared, wide-eyed at the mage and then the Djinn that was filling the room. It was hard to see but Jaskier saw it grimacing at him. Its shadow flowed around the room then Jaskier could see it. He wondered if the mage would see it too and take it before it could get to Jaskier but he remembered how his witcher didn’t see the Djinn before, nor could he hear it. If a witcher couldn’t hear something clearly then there wasn’t much hope for any ordinary person to sense it.

The words were both somehow muffled yet booming to Jaskier. “A traitor saved?” A brush of wind caressed his chin and touched his throat. Jaskier even felt the bob of his throat being poked. It laughed then its fading face dropped. “I wish I had killed you.”

It was suddenly pulled back by the witch who chanted louder. Her arms stretched out to summon the Djinn. It pushed out of her grasp only to be tugged back in. It roared at her- or Jaskier, it was difficult to tell.

This was enough to scare Jaskier to start moving. Jaskier scrambled to his feet, the floor swayed under him as he leaped to the archway. His arm stopped him from crashing into the doorframe and he turned around to look at the scene before him. Jaskier had never seen a mage as powerful as this one. What she was doing should be impossible. Either she would die or she would consume the Djinn along with its power which would add to her own but even then, it could kill her and the Djinn. He feared if it were even possible for her to survive with its power. The wind whistled and her shouts were difficult to decipher over the noise.

Jaskier stared up at the Djinn. He gritted his teeth. It had tried to kill him but Jaskier hadn’t offered his help to it either. It was fighting for its life perhaps and Jaskier abandoned it, he had forgotten his own roots through all his journeys.

And he was going to run away again.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier yelled. It wouldn’t hear over the witch’s chanting or pull of chaos but he cried out for it regardless, “I’m sorry!”

The Djinn laughed while grunting, “At least address me!”

“I can’t!”

“Prani.”

“Prani,” Jaskier repeated. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you!” He strained his voice.

The Djinn croaked another laugh. “Don’t apologize for the duty of obeying a master.”

Jaskier was being pushed by the force and pressure growing in the room. It was shaking the walls. Something even shifted under his feet, the building would be tumbling down.

“Just leave!” It- Prani screeched. “I’ll kill this bitch!”

Jaskier stumbled once again. He turned around and ran throughout the- the- he didn’t know where he was. He ran to where an exit seemed the most logical. He crashed into tables, tripped over a rug, and accidentally knocked over several plates and cutlery. Running into another door frame before finding a source of sunlight on the ground floor, Jaskier ran through the final door.

Jaskier tried to take a breath but he looked up to see the Witcher. Beaten, bruised, messy, but very alive. The Witcher blinked upon seeing him. A sliver of shock is what Jaskier would call it. Jaskier smiled.
“Oh, Geralt. Thank the gods. I might live to see another day. We need to go.” He couldn’t spare a breath. He had to get Geralt away from this place. Far, far away from where this witch and Prani would be but a funny memory to recall. If he was speaking fast enough and walking fast enough he might be able to trick Geralt to just go along with it.

“Jaskier, you’re okay.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” Jaskier glanced back to see Geralt was actually smiling. He quickly looked away to find Roach to get them out of there the soonest they possibly could then he could replay the memory in his head.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions… What happened?”

“Well, I was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare.” That wasn’t a lie. Jaskier remembered finding Geralt which made him the happiest he’d been in a couple of years- or whenever the last time he saw Geralt was. “There were naked women in both parts. The first one was loving, tender, very generous.” He vaguely remembered Geralt carrying him around like a sack, then dragging him like an old rug, but then the soft touch to keep him awake or the awkward questions that fit them into their usual roles.

Geralt glared.

“The second, significantly more terrifying.”

“Tell me about the second one.”

“Well, black hair, devilish eyes, was painting an amphora on her abdomen.” Jaskier got so caught up in recounting the events he let slip on her plan to capture the Djinn, would Geralt still go after it to undo the child surprise- that is what started this entire mess wasn’t it…

Geralt paused in his steps.

“You know, the usual.” Jaskier furrowed his brows. He could see Geralt’s mind flooding with ideas that he didn’t want his witcher getting. But the words were out.

“She wants to be the vessel.

Consume it and its power.

“What,” he tried to distract Geralt- “You know this woman? Of course, you know this woman.” -for only one second before seeing how pointless it was with how fast the Witcher spun around to face the manor.

“She wants to become more powerful.”

Jaskier stared blankly. What the hell was the Witcher getting at? He knew for a fact that Geralt was certainly not power-hungry so this wasn’t jealousy of the witch’s magic. Whether he knew that he had the wishes was up for debate or how many he had left. Jaskier couldn’t risk poking around for an answer lest Geralt might notice. Unless Geralt knew he had the wishes and he could help the witch capture the Djinn instead of letting it kill her.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

Jaskier saw Chireadan, the healer, standing a few feet away. He was bloody too. Why was Jaskier asleep when all this action happened? He left his witcher for a few hours to wake up and find him bloodied, a witch capturing a Djinn and the strange elf healer. He’d have to figure it out later.

Jaskier contorted his face to a blank, sarcastic smile. “Well, let's pray for her on our way out of town.” He leaned back as he could reel Geralt back to following him away from the manor that was no doubt going to burst.

He began walking. Jaskier had hoped that his confidence alone would compel the Witcher to come along but Jaskier saw Chireadan looking over his shoulder at Geralt so when he turned around, Geralt was already trudging back into the manor with the crazy sorceress.

“Oh…” He ran after Geralt. “Are you perhaps short of a marble?” He shouted while reaching his arms out wildly.

Chireadan grabbed his witcher’s arm and Jaskier sighed in relief.

“You have to go in there, don’t you?”

Jaskier blinked. No. No no. Fuck.

“I recognize the look. I know how you feel.” The healer’s eyes flickered to Jaskier.

“You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Jaskier couldn’t spare a moment to feel baffled that Geralt had actually said that. He walked backward while talking to Geralt. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Do not tell me that this is finally the moment you’ve decided to actually care about someone other than yourself?”

The words were wrong the second they came out and he knew it. A low blow. But if it could keep Geralt away- could distract him a mere minute longer then the witch could die and they could finally leave that awful place. Jaskier promised to Destiny and to any other gods there may be that he would make it up to Geralt. He would be better than ever. He would certainly owe Geralt at least another forty ales on top of the other forty for “stealing” the Djinn.

The Witcher finally stopped as Jaskier gently tried to wall himself so Geralt wouldn’t go further. He pulled his touch away just as quickly. “Leave the very sexy but insane witch to her inevitable demise!” Honesty didn’t often work but as a last resort-

“She saved your life, Jaskier.” Geralt shook his head. “I can’t let her die.”

The Witcher brushed past Jaskier without much of a graze on the shoulder. Leaving Jaskier numb. This was exactly why he loved Geralt. And why he hated the bloody fucking bastard. This hero complex that Geralt had could get him killed, but Destiny wouldn’t allow that. She couldn’t. Jaskier knew Geralt had to be a favorite. This was just part of the little story- game Destiny was playing. He stared blankly past Chireadan who had a lingering smile. He sighed.

“She is magnificent. He had to go back.”

Jaskier shocked his head and waved an arm to dismiss the entire notion. He couldn’t leave Geralt to do this without his help. Even if it would expose Jaskier. He had to save Geralt from himself right now since Jaskier’s place has always been in following Geralt. He spun on the gravel and his legs began taking to the doorway.

“Don’t.” Chireadan held his shoulder. “It’s not safe. Us trying to involve ourselves will only put them in further danger.”

Jaskier looked up at the manor. Was this Destiny telling him to not get involved? Should he listen? The last time he disobeyed by accidentally staying away from Geralt too long he almost died.

He’ll stay back.

“I want to follow.”

“I know. But you can’t,” the healer said. “I want to follow too.”

“What happened?”

“She put him under her spell.”

“Who is she? Why did she-” Jaskier cut himself off. He already knew. She was a mage and she did this for power. What more was there to know? His witcher was bloodied and bruised when he saw him again, there was nothing else he cared to learn about her. He didn’t want to know more about a woman that hurt his Geralt.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” Chireadan smiled wistfully.

Rubble chipped and fell from the building. A heavy storm was coming in, the clouds looming over to them. A man stumbled out- the mayor! Stones were now tumbling down from the manor.

Jaskier walked to the mayor. “Sir, what’s going on in that house?”

“My house. And… I have no idea!”

Jaskier backed up as the mayor came closer. A window shattered then a crack ran along the side of the manor and two other windows exploded with their shards flying everywhere.

Chireadan pulled Jaskier further back.

The storm that was coming turned the sky to a complete grey. The wind roared.

And then.

And then everything froze abruptly.

Dust settled. Clouds dissipated. Jaskier couldn’t even hear the wind blowing through leaves.

He realized- Jaskier’s eyes widened in horror. A final wish was made. He could feel it.

Geralt must have made a wish and the Djinn… The witch- Yennefer of Vengerberg captured the Djinn… She must have. Why else would everything come to a stop?

Then the entire top floor toppled inwards and took along the second floor as well. The stones crashed and out of the wreck came a string of smoke.

Prani escaped out of the wreck and into the clouds. Lightning cracked throughout the sky causing Jaskier to flinch but the clouds parted and sunlight shone brightly and beautifully over them.

Jaskier looked back to the destroyed building and shuddered.

The witch must have been killed and Prani was able to escape, but what happened to Geralt? Where was Geralt in this if Jaskier could feel the last wish being made? What did Geralt do?

Is Geralt even alive?

He had to be alive. Destiny wouldn’t- well she would for a good story but Geralt’s story isn’t- it isn’t close to over. There’s still so much more to do and say and adventures, and jam, and Roach! Destiny couldn’t leave Roach with just Jaskier to take care of! He could barely manage her with Geralt alongside. Geralt’s child surprise! There’s too much left undone.

But Geralt went back to save that mage… and Prani escaped…

Geralt is dead.

Jaskier stepped forward. He would look through the rubble and find Geralt’s corpse before believing anything. He would have to see Geralt’s broken bones, blood pouring out of him, and dead yellow eyes to even consider that his witcher is gone.

“He was… but that’s where I was. Where they…”

“Are you sure they were up there?” Chireadan’s words lacked any real inquisitive tone to them. He sounded just as defeated as Jaskier felt.

“This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.”

“She couldn’t have survived it.”

“Why did Geralt go in there? It doesn’t make any sense. What, to save a mad fucking witch? Why?”

“Because she was magnificent.” The healer’s voice cracked. He walked forward, closer to the wreck.

Jaskier stayed back. He was working on building up the courage to see Geralt, or what was left of Geralt. Jaskier couldn’t believe the Witcher was dead but if convinced himself now then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much. Maybe making himself numb now would lessen the fall.

Chireadan looked through the windows. Jaskier knew he would soon be doing the same but he couldn’t just yet. He wanted to live in the reality where Geralt would walk out brushing dust off his shoulders, then his witcher would tell him that they’re heading to the next town. They’d drink and forget this entire horrid day. Jaskier would kick Geralt’s shins under the table at whatever tavern they’d sit at and he would tell Geralt what an idiot he was for almost dying without Jaskier there to write it all down.
In a world where nothing changed and Geralt didn’t have a scratch on him.

Jaskier fell to his knees. “What am I supposed to do now, hm?” He whispered to Destiny. “I don’t think it was supposed to go this way. This is very unlike you. I still don’t-” He shook his head. “Geralt, I know you can’t be gone. I still have to write you the best song so that everyone knows what kind of heroes witchers are. I haven’t finished our… our glorious work… Our little princess is waiting for you. I haven’t even met your family yet…” Jaskier’s eyes went misty. “I didn’t get you to say I have the most wonderful singing voice, so I know… you’re not…”
I know you aren’t dead.

Chireadan grasped at his shoulder. “They’re alive.” There was something in his expression that Jaskier couldn’t- wouldn’t understand.

“Bollocks.”

Chireadan was smiling and that was enough for Jaskier to pull himself to his feet to find whatever the healer did when looking through the broken windows. So when Jaskier walked towards what Chireadan had been looking at he didn’t see the wistful yet downcast expression on the elf who was looking and anticipating how Jaskier would react.

“Geralt?”

Another step and Jaskier looked through the next shattered window and he did see Geralt.

His witcher was alive and well. More than well actually.

Jaskier’s face and heart dropped. Just when he believed that his heart couldn't be mangled enough.

The Witcher was indeed alive and in good health but he was also inside the witch that both cured and almost killed Jaskier.

Jaskier laughed without any whimsical quality to it. How was she alive? Prani escaped? Geralt made his final wish? Nothing was making sense. All these questions but Jaskier could only ask why the fucking hell was Geralt sleeping with her after…

But she cursed Geralt… The healer… he said… And the whole dick grabbing that she did to Jaskier and the knife to his throat and the forcing Prani into servitude again and how she would have done it to him if she knew what he was… Why didn’t she just die?

“Oh, they’re alive…” Could the heart be broken once it was magically repaired? Geralt had been dead but he was alive- he was alive and so was the witch, Yennefer of Vengerberg. “They’re really alive. I mean, he-”

The Elf healer pulled Jaskier away. “Come on.”

“Wait, hang on.”

Chireadan had to drag him further every time Jaskier tried to turn heel to check on Geralt. The healer even offered for Jaskier to follow him back to his camp and to stay in his medical tent for the night and possibly the next few. Jaskier refused the first three times but when Jaskier finally started thinking of the alternatives then he considered the elf's offer.

He didn’t want to be anywhere near the mage so he would keep his distance. He couldn’t see Geralt right now. He couldn’t bear it. So he bid farewell to Roach with a pat on the nose and left a healing pot of that strange honey in one of her pouches, the one where Geralt kept the safer potions.

Chireadan wasn’t able to pet Roach like Jaskier, she kept trying to nip at his fingers when he tried but the healer did say how he wanted to offer her a sweet treat which Jaskier was then able to feed her a little sugar cube before leaving with the promise to find her again in a few weeks or month.

She huffed and clomped down her hooves at Jaskier but he had nothing else to say to her, nothing but a gentle pat to her nose that she allowed.

This whole debacle went nowhere that Jaskier had been expecting. Jaskier felt betrayed. And it wasn’t as if Jaskier didn’t think that Geralt wasn’t with others- hell, even Jaskier was with others, they didn't make any vows or promises to each other but the difference was that those people didn’t put spells on him and threaten him or Geralt with magic or knifepoint- Well, not unless he wanted knifeplay but Geralt slept with an enemy. A mage and an even crazier one at that. Geralt also probably didn’t pay for the services and this… this was all different.

Jaskier used to like different. That was before Geralt. Now he just wanted things to be how they were… maybe even before the child surprise. He wanted Geralt back. He wanted what they had back. He felt he was being distanced away as if Destiny was trying to lightly shove him to the side.

But Jaskier wouldn’t have any of that. He refused to be out of Geralt’s life. He would just have to go back to Geralt later and strengthen what they have. It’ll be new but that’s fine since Jaskier likes new. They’d be the little witcher and bard duo once more.

Chireadan and Jaskier walked to his camp. They spoke but their conversations were limited to what they knew of each other and their obvious, pathetic love for the people they had just witnessed sleeping together. Jaskier silently cried during one of their long silences. Chireadan was kind enough to not mention it or the magic that Jaskier had surrounding him. He was grateful to the healer who dragged him away and spoke to him as a means to distract each other despite both of them knowing what they were avoiding.

It took the entire day to get to Chireadan’s camp but they made it back with feet that almost hurt as much as their hearts. Jaskier was offered a side cot to rest in. He was happy with the stained cot and fell asleep instantly. Problems of today could wait until tomorrow.

And so yet again he was pulled into deep darkness and dreams of the Witcher though this time Geralt was alongside the Sorceress and something was coming from the horizon behind them, Jaskier just couldn’t see it yet.

But he knew a warning when he saw it.

Chapter Text

“Beauty oh, so fair, I want you now, though I don’t know how… What rhymes with fair?” Jaskier swayed on his feet, staring at the night sky. He held a bottle of something in one hand and his lute in the other. He wobbled to a crate to perch himself on. “Chair. Or a pear. No, that’s shit.” He began singing again, “It doesn’t matter when or how, I’ve got to have you now?” He stopped, the note going flat. “No, it doesn’t work either…”

The stars shone brightly that chilly night. It was lovely to get outside from the tavern for a break. He wouldn’t be singing anymore. He accepted too many compliments from patrons and even some of the staff when they gave him their drinks.

It was all just so kind. He wanted to feel their kindness. Being a bard meant feeling loved most of the time. He wanted that, though it wasn’t enough tonight, or the previous night, or the night that came before that. Hence the drinks.

“What are you doing?”

A voice tugged at Jaskier, he recognized it which is why he ignored it. “No maid that could persuade…” He tried to sing but it came out all wrong and slurred together.

“It’s cold, bard.”

“Bard… Humble bard… One meant to mold and hold but was sold to the cold as told by a bold toad.” The air was colder tonight, the Witcher was right, it was strange, Jaskier had thought it was summer but then he remembered how he left Geralt by himself again for a month or two, he wasn’t sure. Seasons going back and forth all the time. It happened too fast in Jaskier’s opinion.

Jaskier sighed. This was his fate. To love a man who couldn’t ever show if he loved back as deeply as Jaskier did. A man that loved another just as Jaskier loved him.

Jaskier loves this Witcher too much.

And it was a pain in his ass.

Or rather, it wasn’t a pain in his ass?

He’s too tired to come up with any worthwhile sex jokes.

He fixed his posture though didn’t move further to get off the box or wall, the only thing holding him up.

“You’re drunk.”

“Are you drunk?” Jaskier reached to poke Geralt and narrowed his eyes, “Be honest.”

The Witcher sighed, staring up at the night sky. “No.” He tilted his head down to glare at him then raised a brow. “Are you?”

“I’m a bard. I’m always drunk.”

Geralt sighed again and knelt to see Jaskier better. He looked like he was contemplating the right words but nothing came out.

“What’s with that face, my dear witcher?” Jaskier grinned at Geralt. “Why so despondent?”

The Witcher grunted but Jaskier was busy hiccuping a giggle.

“You seem so angry right now and I haven’t the mental capabilities to figure out why.”

“You’ve done this yourself for the fourth time this week.”

“Wrong! Surely and undoubtedly wrong.”

“I can smell the whiskey on you. Same as with every night.”

“Tis is true, but I have my senses, contrary to common belief, I can handle my drink well.” Though true, there was only so much he could take…

“Is that why you’re outside singing yourself hoarse to a wall?” It sounded like a question but Jaskier was smarter than to think it was one.

Maybe Jaskier should take this wonderful, phenomenal out Geralt was giving him. To be so drunk that he’s serenading the stars and a wall about the love of his life. The thought crossed his mind but it didn't matter which way he chose. On one hand, would look like a drunk friend being an idiot and on the other hand he would be the dumbass friend that did this even when not completely out of his senses for no reason because Jaskier sure as hell wouldn't tell Geralt that he was heartbroken because that would mean explaining why and to explain why would mean… well… Jaskier couldn’t do that.

“Do you ever think about how there are…” He dozed off before almost falling off the crate, snapping him awake. “There are things in life, like- like uh, you know? Snowflakes? Those beautiful little darlings, so much detail… How could it be random? So intricate.” He picked at the air with no specific goal in mind.

The Witcher signed and groaned into his hand but he walked over to Jaskier and stood beside him to keep him from falling over. “What about it?” Geralt crossed his arms.

“Honeycombs, Geralt!” Jaskier shouted, staring up at the sky. “Like threads upon a fabric!” The empty bottle in his hand slipping from his grip. “She’s watching us. Maybe it’s proof that she does care. This kind of precision? She must!” The bottle finally fell from his fingers and to the ground, surprisingly not shattering on impact but several cracks ran along it. Not that Jaskier cared.

“Tailors are a higher power to bards like you though that isn’t what you mean.” Geralt paused. “Didn’t take you to worship a deity not of wine.”

“Are you speaking of Melitele? Oh no, no, no. Her? I don’t even know if she’s real, I don’t much care. No, there’s something bigger. Something always putting her nose in where she doesn't belong because she likes a good story, and isn't that what every creature that walks this continent is? A walking story? I knew that, but, Geralt, she knew it first and oh, I think you're her favorite. You must be, or at least one of them.”

“Stop speaking nonsense, Bard.” Geralt shook his head though remained at his friend’s side.

“It’s not nonsense. Trust me, Geralt, I know nonsense, but- but I…” Jaskier stopped himself. He knew his witcher’s view on destiny. Saying anything else in a drunken stupor was pointless and would only hinder him later. “Well, you’re wrong in that I very much do not worship her. She may want me to do things but I have always been of the firm belief of doing whatever my heart feels.” He placed his hand to his heart and smiled brightly at Geralt. “Life is my own. Not gonna waste it away doing what everyone wants me to do, ya know?”

Geralt looked away for a bit then nodded. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Jaskier couldn't register the response though. His head hurt. His eyes hurt. His everything hurt. “I could forgive all his flaws had he not insulted mine.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt paused, confused. He glanced around.

Jaskier chuckled though it came out too flat. He knew that he must stink of beer, or wine, and vomit- he had forgotten what else. Geralt standing with him was a courtesy. “You have delightful eyes.”

The Witcher hummed though he kept glancing around.

“Have I told you that? That you have the most intriguing eyes, in any form really. Fits your face. Face fits your face- no wait I said that wrong. Let me-”

In one swift movement, Jaskier was on his feet standing, and Geralt was hoisting him to stand upright.

“We’ll find an inn.”

Jaskier knew very well, even while drunk, there wasn’t going to be a room available for them. He saw how crowded it was before and with Jaskier this incapacitated, he wasn’t going to be charming anybody to share a room, not that he wanted to. He was content feeling sorry for himself.

“Of course, my friend. I don’t mind the dirt for tonight. The stars need our company after all.”

Geralt didn’t respond, just continued to drag him until they reached Roach, and then Jaskier’s world was a blotched and blurred black. Instead of town, he saw bushes and towering pine.

He went back and forth like this until he woke up with a blanket covering him and a warm fire cracking nearby.

He groaned as he tried to move so he didn’t. He laid still, any time he even tried to shift his head it stung him like a sore and fresh wound from being hit with a log, or perhaps Roach finally decided to trample over him.

Jaskier flopped himself over to be closer to the fire and upon looking up he saw Geralt’s glowing eyes on him from across the flames. He was holding a dagger. He might have been sharpening it but Jaskier wasn’t focused on that even as he set it down.

“Geralt!”

“Bard,” The Witcher frowned as Jaskier attempted to pat down his messy hair.

“What-”

“It’s midday.”

“Ah, thanks dear,” Jaskier said with a smile. “But uh, hm… Why?” Why here? In midday? Shouldn’t they already be on the road, the next city or town? Slaying some sort of little beastie?

Geralt sat up straighter and furrowed his brows. “You wouldn’t wake.”

At that, Jaskier scoffed. “That certainly hasn’t stopped you from going before.”

“I- What?”

“Oh, you know, in the dead of night or even in broad daylight. Just poof. Vanished. Like magic.”

But that was years and years ago. Geralt never did that anymore. Even when he would be able to lose Jaskier easily with the habits the bard had acquired. Just like last night…

Jaskier’s head was pounding and his tongue was dry to the point that it might as well have a mirage showing if he opened his mouth. He didn’t want this conversation with Geralt. Not this serious and pathetic one so he signaled at Geralt a dismissive hand as if to shoo the whole thing away.

He pushed himself up and stumbled to find his bag amongst Geralt’s. He knew that either he or Geralt, most likely Geralt, had some water on them.

“Aha,” Jaskier mumbled while opening the second bag up. “No rum, but water can be just as blessed, or so I’m told.”

Roach huffed beside Geralt.

The Witcher didn’t question the dropped conversation. He never really did. Geralt never asked about Jaskier. This was a good thing because Jaskier wouldn’t have to ever lie to his witcher and could speak of whatever topic he chose. Even if Geralt’s lack of interest was occasionally worrying, Jaskier knew it was for the best because Geralt of Rivia is no idiot, not by any means. The Witcher may not care about Jaskier as he does him but that does not mean he couldn’t be suspicious of the very strange bard. No, Jaskier knew he had to keep on guard which is why from the beginning, Jaskier spouted all the facts about himself that he made up when conversation demanded it. And if Jaskier ever messed up or if stories didn’t add up, well, his witcher never cared enough to bring it up.

Jaskier didn’t like lying. Well, yes, he did. But not to his Geralt. That could have bitter consequences.

“I once threatened to throw my own flaming shit into a Baron’s home because he said I didn’t know a thing about composing measly notes together.”

Nothing showed that Geralt had reacted to Jaskier’s out of place statement, only a raised brow as he went to his knees to meditate.

“This would be the part where I say I am remorseful and would take back my words and actions if I could,” Jaskier waved as he found more of what he wanted in the bag. “But that is not the case, dear friend, oh no, I would do it all over again and I have. Nothing like surprising a gent with a primitive attack.”

Geralt’s lip twitched and his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I do realize that I first made it sound as if this tale was nothing but words exchanged but… seeing as you’re my best friend, I don’t see too much harm in having you know my untamed nature.”

“There’s such a thing of you without it?”

Jaskier froze in mock shock as he waddled back to his roll and blanket. “And it seems you have caught me.”

“Witcher senses.”

Jaskier chuckled, “So it seems, those are very keen.” As he settled down comfortably again he noticed that his blanket wasn’t a blanket at all.

It was Geralt’s cloak. He sucked in a breath.

“Don’t exactly need them to know that about you though.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together, successfully willing away any signs to what he was feeling. “And here I saw myself to be an actor- the greatest in all the land. The one that could sell you ice in an ice storm.” Jaskier smirked while playing with the rim of his mug that he had accidentally taken with him from a tavern and now had a home in his bag. “Why I think I could convince someone that I was an entirely different creature- that I wasn’t human.”

Geralt raised a brow, “Could you? Try me.”

“Ah, but that’s unfair, dear friend. You’re a witcher! You already know the truth.”

The Witcher hummed.

“Frail human through and through,” Jaskier patted his chest. “But that’s fine since I have my wonderful, gracious friend protecting me from vampires and ghouls. Well, that and my devilish charms.”

“Because that has done you well against vampires and ghouls.”

“It’s worked a few times!”

Geralt snorted.

“You laugh at me, but I know you value my wit and honesty.”

Geralt huffed out in amusement but he did not deny anything which had warmth grow in Jaskier.

“Where are we headed to next?”

“Anywhere that has a fucking contract.”

“Yeah, we have been having trouble with those, but rest assured the next town will have one. Maybe it’ll be another misunderstood werewolf, or it could always be an intelligent graveir like that one time.”

“Vetala.”

“Yeah, that guy.” Jaskier snapped his fingers. “I was downright baffled you didn’t kill it- him. I mean, you had said it yourself! He’s a monster, a threat to humans, and you’re a witcher…” Jaskier trailed off.

Geralt grunted.

“I think… I think it was for the best. Sure, I didn’t think so before, not in the slightest really, but- but I think you made the right call. He was…”

Something snapped in the fire.

“Nice,” Jaskier whispered. “I think he could be good. Better.” Jaskier shook his hurt despite the pain and clapped. “Anyways! He was a smart lad, he’ll be fine.”

“You can walk.”

“Well, I suppose?”

“Good. Get up, we’re leaving.”

Jaskier sighed but didn’t complain as he packed his roll and conspicuously placed Geralt’s cloak on Roach. Everything was put away and the fire snuffed out. There was quite the walk ahead of them.

Nine. Nine more towns they had to slide right through because there were either no contracts or the contracts that were there were trying to get Geralt to murder some rival political figure which was against witcher rules, that and Geralt’s moral rules.

They even had to pass through a town that didn’t know a lick of common tongue. The poor Witcher had to depend on Jaskier for that one and half-day stay. It was not fun to have to explain how and why Jaskier knew that language that seemingly was mostly unfamiliar to even Geralt but Jaskier passed it off as a strange side class he happened to take while at Oxenfurt. He claimed to not even be good at it. Very thick accent, all broken, but good enough to understand and hold a conversation. Geralt would be none the wiser. At least Geralt didn’t understand most of it… And there were no contracts Geralt would take there anyway. At least it gave Jaskier a chance to try out a good witcher propaganda song for this town.

The long journey was getting boring. So boring. The path was long, Jaskier tried every song he could remember, then he sang his own, and finally when he couldn’t remember the rest of the lyrics to the oldest songs it was time for improvising. His hands wouldn’t forgive him the next day or then for that matter but he already had a tune in mind. “The job is inherently crappy, that's why you’ve never met a witcher who’s happy.”

“What?”

Jaskier spun around and continued to walk backward to face Geralt from high above Roach. One look at Geralt and Jaskier couldn’t for the life of him tell if the Witcher was amused or bewildered at the particular tune.

“Don’t think this one’s good for taverns but I did make it damn catchy.”

“Have you met other witchers?”

“Well-” Jaskier cut himself off. He hadn’t. Had he? No, he hasn’t met any other witcher. He only has Geralt for reference and a few of Geralt’s drunk stories on his fellow witchers. “I’ve just been spoiled by meeting the best one first.”

A small blur of light became obvious and Jaskier quickly pointed ahead.

“Look at that! Bliss!” Maybe we can get something warm. I’m craving meat. What about you Geralt? Are you going to try something new yourself or take from my plate when you don’t trust trying something new?”

“Only because you force it on my plate.”

“And then you continue to get that same dish somewhere else.”

The Witcher ignored Jaskier the rest of the way until they reached the town.

It was becoming a cold early winter. The kind that ate you from the soles of your feet and up. The ground was damp from a wet blizzard that had passed. People from the village had a smart way of thinking. Their woolen hats were pulled over their ears and scarves that were over their noses. Jaskier was jealous of their somewhat warmth.

Jaskier had complained a few days ago but each time that was answered by Geralt rolling his eyes and telling him that it had been winter for a long time and he should have gotten the coat to prepare for it.

And he had answered to the Witcher that wouldn’t go with his style.

So he froze.

He froze until Geralt threw his own hooded cloak to Jaskier because he claimed he felt fine. It made playing the lute a little trickier when walking but it did do its job.

But even he could see Geralt’s breath from where he sat on Roach. He wouldn’t refuse a gift so graciously given.

In the village though, Jaskier had tried to return the cloak knowing full well it could offer some privacy for Geralt but it was too late.

People were craning their necks from across the road with their eyes bulging as if they couldn't fathom the White Wolf walking among them. Though Jaskier couldn’t tell if that was out of fear or for shock at the fact that there was a walking legend with them.

Geralt would know.

Apparently, he could do that and it still baffled Jaskier. Mostly embarrassed him because he was going through each of the times he had helped Geralt bathe. He wondered what he had smelled like then... Maybe it didn’t have a distinct smell if the Witcher never mentioned anything.

That would be strange. To smell love on a person. Or any emotion for that matter, Jaskier just hoped that he concealed himself well enough or enough that his witcher would not care.

Because of the humiliation… That was not something he wished to dive into, how dreadful. Jaskier shivered at the thought.

Or the cold. That was still nipping at the places he wouldn’t want to be nipped… well not by the cold at least.

“Stables and Inn,” Geralt said, having noticed Jaskier’s discomfort. “Up ahead.”

Jaskier nodded. “Oh, yes. That’s perfect, Geralt. Then we can see if their tavern has any contracts worth-”

But when he glanced across the road, there stood a child. They were bundled up, to be sure, but they lacked any gloves to protect their fragile fingers. Jaskier saw a flash of little Cirilla in them and he walked over without a second thought.

“What are you doing out in this weather?” Jaskier knelt in front of them, but the child didn’t answer. “Do you want some gloves?”

The small child didn’t say anything. Through their thick hair, they stared up at Jaskier with big eyes that were welling with tears.

“Oh, dear, don’t cry. Don't cry. I mean no harm.” Jaskier put his hands up, showing no mal intentions. “I’m but a humble bard passing by with a friend. Just say the word and I’ll get you something to warm those." Jaskier pointed to the kid's hands. "Something cozy always makes me feel better. You see,” He held up some of the cloak he was wearing. “This is a friend’s, and something from someone is always warmer.”

Eyes wide, they no longer held so much fear.

“Would you like some gloves?”

The child nodded and the smallest voice could be heard, “I do.”

Jaskier beamed and stood up straight. “Well then, you’re in luck! I happen to have gotten these a while back, but silly me forgot to check the size.” He pulled from his pocket a pair of small gloves that had not been there a moment ago, no doubt the perfect fit for the little one. “I hope they are to your liking.” As he handed them over, he saw that there were even some nice ruffles on the hems.

The child grabbed at them cautiously but once they were in those hands, the child made quick work to put them on and shared the tiniest of smiles with Jaskier. That alone melted his heart.

With a mumbled thank you, the child was off and walking beside a fence to, hopefully, their home.

Jaskier smiled then glanced behind him and the Witcher stood, off of Roach but holding her reins. He waited.

“Thank you, dear. So kind to wait.”

“I’m not allowed in.”

Jaskier laughed. “What? Why not? I am aware we are both in desperate need of a bath but they do know we need a place to stay to clean up after all.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt stared seriously and Jaskier understood.

“Alright, alright. Let me see if I can change their minds, They’ll see that it’s better to take us in than not to.”

Jaskier stepped through the clean wooden doors and saw a clerk at a counter. The man was hunched over and sipping something that was steaming.

“Welcome, traveler. What can I do ya for?”

He put on his most charming grin. “Why hello, good sir! I’m a famed bard and I’m looking for lounging for myself and my friend, oh, and of course, his horse. Might we be able to book a room?”

“Another bard with you?”

“No, no, while I always say entertainment is a necessity, you’ll find that my friend can be more useful when a problem arises. That’s why he’s here. He takes care of pests, you see.”

“Your pretty words are covering for that witcher ain’t it?”

Jaskier’s grin didn’t falter. “Do you have drowners?”

“No.”

“Ghouls, perhaps?”

“No.”

“The occasional griffin?”

“Never seen a griffin.”

“Good sir, we only mean to stay one night for a short time, and if what you say is true and there are no pests needed to be taken care of then we can be on our even sooner.”

The man huffed like he would refuse Jaskier outright again but he froze, looking contemplative. “Does your witcher deal with vampires?”

Jaskier almost sighed in relief. “Yes, yes! He does. Is that what’s troubling your city?”

The clerk shrugged unhelpfully.

“You’ve heard of a bounty for a vampire, yes?”

“Yeah, something our Lord- or was it our King, eh, someone put a price on a blood-sucking demon.”

“Brilliant. Thank you. The Witcher can take care of this problem.”

“Can he? They say she’s killed hundreds.”

“This witcher is capable of the impossible. This is what he does.”

The man curtly nodded.

“So how much would you like for a room?”

The man scratched the back of his neck. “Thirty-four ducats.”

“That’s insane.” The ducats appeared in Jaskier’s pocket but that doesn’t mean he has to hand it all over. “We still need to eat. Twenty ducats.”

“Thirty-two.”

“Twenty-four.”

“Thirty, bard.”

“Twenty-six, and I cannot go higher, sir. If we must, we will just leave and this pest can continue its gory rampage. It’s no difference to me.”

The clerk’s brow twitched in annoyance. “Fine.”

Jaskier pulled out the ducats and counted twenty-six ducats. “Now you know that I have it, We’ll be back once we confirm this contract,” Jaskier said while holding a biting remark that was on the tip of his tongue. He left.

Finding his witcher wasn’t too difficult. He stood right where he left him.

“Well, come on. Roach needs to have her rest and you have a good chance at a real contract.”

The Witcher nodded even though it was very likely he overheard the entire conversation. Witcher senses and all that.

The tavern wasn’t far, just trying to get any waitress to come over didn’t seem to work. It was strange. Geralt and Jaskier hadn’t dealt with this kind of problem for a while. It seems that heroic tales of witchers hadn’t run through enough.

“I’ll just go to the bar myself. They can’t deny us then. So what do you wa- Oh! Why, hello there.”

A man with a black bushy beard draped in finery sat beside Jaskier, his gaze on Geralt. In fact, he ignored Jaskier completely.

“How wonderful to see your kind in this city, Witcher.”

“What monster.”

“I’m Gyorgy Thurzo, the royal representative of an investigation. On behalf of King Matthias the Second, I needed to find someone like you to rid us of a-”

“A vampire?” Jaskier interrupted.

“She’s more than that. She’s of hell. A sadistic, flesh-hungry savage, preying on the people of her land and those who come near her.”

Geralt tilted his head up.“Where?”

“She inhabits the land beside this city, just southeast. She rules over it, plaguing it with her tyranny. Castle Cachtice is her lair. So many gone- missing! She’s killed-”

“Hundreds?” Jaskier interrupted again.

“The number could be beyond our reasoning,” Thurzo said gravely. “She doesn’t just kill her prey, she plays with- tortures and devours them in the unholiest ways.”

“So, an avidity to erotic and carnal desires is what I’m getting here.”

Geralt glared at Jaskier for that comment.

“This is no jest, bard,” Thurzo exclaimed. “She used her husband’s name, money, and power and now she owns the land as a Countess to terrorize her people.” Thurzo pulled out a handkerchief and patted his head. “She is widowed now. No doubt that she murdered the poor soul after she grew tired of him. She then tried to marry Duke Erzsi Majorova soon after but luckily there was an end to her plans.”

“Her appearance,” Geralt asked and when he received a confused look from Thurzo Jaskier answered for him.

“He needs to know what type of monster he’s fighting.”

“Ah, yes, yes. Witcher, you’ll find that she looks like any woman. Beautiful even, this is how she tempts and seduces her prey to succumb to her. She’s pale with lips, a bloody red, and hair blacker than the death she brings. But there are rumors that she takes to the night sky with the wings of a devil.”

“A Bruxa.”

Jaskier leaned onto the table towards Geralt. “Seriously? A Bruxa! But- that’s-” he groaned, “That’ll be a pain in the ass.”

The two ignored him. “Pay?”

“The Gracious King is prepared to give you three hundred ducats for this beast to be slain. She has caused too much grief. He does not want any more of his people dead by her hand. Countess Krev must die.”

“Fine.” The Witcher stood in an instant and began walking to the tavern’s exit.

Jaskier was forced to have to push Gyorgy Thurzo out from the booth to follow Geralt.

Thurzo's voice rang loud in the tavern as Geralt walked through the doors. “Thank you, Witcher! I’ll tell the King of this good news at once!”

Jaskier trailed behind, dodging a muddy puddle as they went to Roach. “We’re actually- it’ll take us- well who knows how long…”

Geralt didn’t answer and they walked out of the city and back onto the path that led down to a deranged, murderous Countess. How delightful.

Till night they walked when the Witcher finally decided to camp for a few hours until the sun would rise again.

Jaskier laid out his bedroll and sat before letting himself fall back into it to look at the stars. It was quiet. Cricket could be heard as well as Geralt sitting himself down. It was peaceful.

“Do you think that lovers who are under the stars are the reason why the stars shed their light back so brightly?” Jaskier sighed while staring up at the stars.

It luckily wasn’t too cold of a night, at least not as much as it should have been considering the season. There was a chilly breeze in the air but it was somewhat comfortable for Jaskier as he laid on his roll to stare at the sky before falling into rest.

“Or maybe it’s the stars that steal it from below from those who gaze so fervently in longing. Then that light is shared across the continent in hopes that the other would know its meaning.”

“The fuck?”

“Shut up, Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, barely tilting his head to his meditating witcher. “I’m doing a- a- ah what is it that I do?”

“A bard thing?”

“Yes, Geralt. I am barding.”

The Witcher scoffed and Jaskier could hear the added eye roll.

“Do you think the stars have a bigger meaning, Geralt?”

“No.”

“Well, no,” Jaskier huffed, “of course you don’t but humor me and pretend because I know you like them. You don’t need to tell me for me to know that you find them fascinating. So, what is their greater than life purpose?”

The Witcher hummed and Jaskier turned himself to look at Geralt. Jaskier waited and listened to the soft sounds of crickets and wind gently kissing the leaves of the forest. He waited for an answer.

An answer that Jaskier would never hear because sleep came first.

The city they walked in was gorgeous. Banners for the house were hanging with bright colors and there was plant life growing everywhere. Jaskier imagined what it must look like in spring or summer with everything actually in bloom. Seeing this city made it worth having to wake up after only having three hours of rest.

Past the city, they could finally see it, Castle Cachtice. Going to and from was the occasional person, it wouldn’t be strange to see people going in and out of a castle but the fashion in which they did was quite interesting, to say the least. A woman left with her arm in a sling and a child was being pulled in a cart by their parents. The child’s entire leg was bandaged, and a sock to keep their toes safe. Then there was a man going down the hill from the castle with a crutch at his left arm.

Huh.

It didn’t much matter though at the top where the castle stood and then Jaskier could see what were probably servants going in and out and even one girl without much of a second glance started to guide them to a nearby stable to put Roach which was very kind but why?

“What’s going on here, Geralt? It doesn’t really look like festivities are being planned.”

“It smells of death,” is all Geralt said.

Then outside of the stables was a servant girl washing some clothing in a bucket.

Jaskier approached her. “Excuse me, fine, lovely miss. Could you be so kind as to tell us what is happening at this beautiful estate?”

The girl glanced up at Jaskier from where she was sitting but she did not stop scrubbing. He noticed a large scar going down her nose to her lip and then the bottom of her chin. “Are you blind? No offense, but if you ain’t injured or here to lend a hand then your presence isn’t wanted. I’ve got my hands full at milady’s Melitele house.”

“Melitele house?”

The girl wiped at her brow. “Well, milady calls it the- the hospit? Something like that- for hospitality she says.”

“Hospitality?”

“Yes!” The servant groaned. “Can’t you see, sir? Plenty of people in need of some of that. That’s what this place was made into. She wanted it for her people and now we get people from other places too!”

“A castle made into a medic camp?”

The girl nodded and then shooed them away.

Jaskier looked back to the Witcher who narrowed his eyes at the property as they backed away from the young lady.

“So? What do you think? Do you think she made this- this hospit to lure people in before striking? That would explain the numbers… and also why no one caught on for a while.”

The Witcher grunted.

“Yes, good input. I didn’t think of that, Geralt.”

The door to the castle was opened on one side to allow servants in and out while still trying to keep the warm air in. A servant walked out with a bucket that Jaskier assumed to be either vomit or other unwanted fluids based on the boy’s face.

“What’s the plan? I’m thinking wait till night.”

“We have to go in.”

“Obviously, Geralt. But at night the door probably won’t be wide open.”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “Right now. Something isn’t right.”

“What?” Jaskier laughed. “You think this is another fake contract? It can’t be, the King’s best investigator sent us. All the hundreds of deaths or missing folk?”

The Witcher hummed, his eyes on the entrance. “I can’t enter.”

“Why not?”

Geralt just looked at him in response.

“Right, yes, yeah. Witcherness- I get it. Then what are we going to do?”

The Witcher couldn’t answer.

“How about this?” Jaskier suggested, “I go and you follow me, let’s just see if anything happens, let’s just…” Jaskier tugged on Geralt’s cloak so that it would fully cover his hair and some of his face. “There.” He patted Geralt’s cheek. “Perfect. Can’t even recognize you. The White Wolf? Haven’t seen him. I just hope he's not starting a scandal. Wouldn't that be dreadful for my reputation?”

The Witcher rolled his eyes.

“We go in and see what’s up. You got your potions?”

He nodded and Jaskier grinned.

Jaskier immediately began pulling him by the arm. “Then let’s go.” Through the doorway, they quickly went without servants giving much of a fuss.

The inside was warm. The furnaces were to thank and they were the light source of most of it. The candles and torches looked like they needed to be redone so that it would look brighter.

Past the entrance, the ceilings were high and the rooms were dark. It smelled awful. Like piss that hadn’t been cleaned right away. The large room they entered had beds lining the walls on both sides, most of them filled and some had sheets over them while servants tended to get what were bodies out.

Some beds had curtains shielding them and some beds had people sitting at the sides holding the hand of the person who rested on the cot. His head was covered in wraps. Where his right eye would be was bleeding through the bandages.

A baby cried somewhere and deeper, in a further room, someone was screaming. Everyone was moaning and groaning in anguish.

“What are you doing here!” A woman shrieked in Jaskier’s ear.

“Ah! What? What?” Jaskier swiveled around to look down at this short angry woman. Her hands were full with a bucket of water in each hand.

“What the hell are you doing here? You bleeding?” She inspected him for a second. “No? Diseased go over there!” She pointed to another area but Jaskier was still confused and looking for where Geralt went. “If you’re not hurting then kindly fuck off!”

Jaskier raised up his hands in defense. “What? What? Oh- uh, no, no, I’m a bard.” He held the strap of the case that had his lute. “And while yes, I’m not injured-”

“Fuck off! Wasting my time! And space! Don’t you see people dying here?”

“Anna,” A soft and silvery voice called.

This angry Anna straightened her back. “Yes, milady.”

“Well, let the poor man speak, dear.” The soft voice laughed behind Jaskier.

“Of course, milady. But I’m not letting any fools cause more damage.”

“Thank you, Madam Darvolya. But I can take it from here. That will be all.”

“Of course, milady.”

This Anna Darvolyla bowed and raced off to the bed of a patient and then Jaskier had to look at the woman who saved him. The Lady of the Castle and if Jaskier was right then that meant…

Jaskier found himself looking eye to eye with this woman, unlike her short angry staff. Her lips were curled in a red grin and dimples. Her hair braided up while still going straight down her back like a black ocean, the same as her dress that was simple in shape yet intricate in the patterns of swirls upon it. Her eyes bore into Jaskier, something crafty about her expression.

Countess Krev.

“I apologize on her behalf. The frustrations of this work do get to all of us. I’m sure you know.” She laughed, her hand going to her mouth to hide her smile. Her nails were painted the same red as her lips.

“Uh, oh yes, yes, completely.” He nodded.

“Tell me, what are you here for if not to alleviate yourself?”

“Ah, yes. That, well, I’m a bard.”

She didn’t answer, seemingly bemused at his words. She quirked an eyebrow as a means to get him to continue.

“And because I am a bard, a great traveling bard, in fact. I am here to provide my barding services since I am a bard.”

Wherever Geralt was, Jaskier could tell the Witcher wanted to slap him.

“I see,” she tapped her chin. “But as you see, I am not hosting in the most traditional sense. Besides, I cannot pay you for your entertainment. I simply cannot put my resources into something other than benefitting these poor souls.” She pouted, though Jaskier could not tell if it was in jest.

“Oh, no, my well-esteemed lady, you would not be indebted to me. I offer my services to the people here for no charge. These folk look like they are in desperate need of a distraction- something to lift their spirits. Nothing but some good music that could help.” He was pulling words out himself at this point. He hoped Geralt was doing something productive while Jaskier had to deal with the psychopathic Countess.

The Countess put her hands to her heart. “Why that’s so kind of you. I cannot refuse such an offer. Please,” she gestured to where Jaskier should play. “Right here, sir-”

“Jaskier. I’m Jaskier.”

“Jaskier,” she simpered. “What a lovely name. I have never heard of a name like that.” She dusted off the side of his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m Countess Krev or Kref, whichever is easier on the tongue.”

His heart was racing as fast as that short and angry servant was running. She had fit all the descriptors and was addressed formally by staff but Jaskier still wanted to deny who she was.

But here she was, the Bruxa. And she was smiling so sweetly and candidly that it made his head spin.

“Delightful,” his voice cracked. “Ah, sorry, this normally, uh, happens before I perform- yes, I get nervous.”

“A bard with stage fright?”

He forced a chuckle. “Yes, Ma did say it wasn’t possible but here I am.” What mother? You might be asking, well, there obviously wasn't one.

“Well, break a leg or whatever you performers say now.”

With a nod, she left and Jaskier could breathe again. Except not really, it still smelled awful but all medic camps do.

He pulled out his lute from its case and played with a few strings. He had tried looking for Geralt in the crowd but couldn’t so he settled to do what he had promised the Countess.

He gently played before rising as he could and then added his voice alongside it. Nothing flashy or what he would normally do at bars but just something for himself and the patients who sat near. Some craned their necks to see what he was doing but overall the hospit stayed at its usual paced.

It looked like a large scale, indoor, medic camp- a hospit like that one servant described. Nothing was necessarily off about it except for the Lady of the Castle. She had an eerie air about her, but was that the rumors about her or Jaskier’s own gut feeling? He couldn’t tell. Perhaps this was her illusion. Making herself look innocent and good-hearted to have her castle converted to a hospit but it was a lure and a place to hide suspicion from her real nasty deeds.

Geralt was finding out. Wherever he was in this castle, he was figuring out what is truly lurking beneath it all.

Jaskier continued to strum. He’d play songs, a lot of his newer stuff and then he’d lean more to improvising. Never knew when he’d find the newest tune for the greatest song on the continent and whatnot.

Nights at taverns were typically more draining by the end, well worth it, but completely head-splitting by the close. This was different and absurdly more terrifying. There were bar fights or food to dodge but the looming threat of the Countess was enough…

Then Jaskier got a thought. Playing with fire. Dangling bloody bait in front of a siren. Poking a bear with a stick. However you say it, Jaskier was doing it.

He played an old tune. A song that he vaguely remembers playing when he was still attached to a master. This song hadn’t even been recorded at Oxenfurt, to his knowledge at least and it was a coin toss as to whether the Vampiress would know it, but if she knew it then he’d know. He played it over and over. He hadn’t seen her so it was likely she hadn’t had the chance to hear the lovely music, and his trap would be useless.

“Where did you study, Jaskier?”

He flinched at the sound of her voice, missing a chord before he kept playing. “Oxenfurt, Countess.”

“Oxenfurt,” she hummed. He looked at her, her hair was tousled and she had on a dirty apron but still as lovely as ever. “They do create excellent scholars and intriguing musicians. A most beautiful tune you’re playing.”

“Do you know it?”

“I must say I have heard it, though that must have been ages ago. Though I remember this being a favorite of mine.”

His mouth went dry. “Really? What a delightful coincidence that I play it here today.”

“It is. Though very strange that Oxenfurt would teach something from so far south.”

“Well… Oxenfurt does love gathering from everywhere, every piece of history is important.”

“Most humans wouldn’t agree.”

He gulped at her implications. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” she sighed. “History is full of lies. The tales we hear are only told by those who survived- who won the wars, who slaughtered hundreds and thousands and they’re the ones who get to claim they only wanted peace. They become the heroes and those they stole from, those that saw their homes burned to the ground have no choice but to play the role of wicked savages.”

“I never put too much thought to it.”

“Really now? An artist not looking closer at those classes at Oxenfurt? I find that hard to believe."

“There was… there was much happening at the time,” He mumbled.

She nodded “I see. Then I ask you to think of the elves now.”

Jaskier’s mind went to the helpful, sweet Chireadan that comforted him on a day he would likely, never forget. Then to King Filavandrel who freed them when he could have slit his and Geralt’s throat in that cave. He remembered the Elf King’s words that day and then the stories Chireadan told him to distract him.

The Elves had been clearly wronged and yet the history book wrote over them. Saying they willingly gave up their land and then how they chose to rise against humans to kill them for no reason when really it was humans stealing land and lives. He was beginning to understand what the Countess was saying.

“When they become the victors then there is little to no hope in recovering the truth, it’s shrouded in lies and even if you can present the evidence of what happened, others can still choose to not care. Justice is dead in history then.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

The Countess sighed and pressed her hand to Jaskier’s shoulder. “Political rivals of mine want me in the ground. A woman with this position and a husband that is dead, who refuses to remarry. This castle is mine, this land is mine. My wealth is my own and the King owes me a great debt. I helped fund his war after all. And now that he doesn’t have the means nor pride to pay me back, he wants me dead. Everything would become his. My four sons died in that war and my daughter ran off to see the world. This property would go straight to King Matthias the Second."

Jaskier stared at her in shock. Was she- but she knew the song- a very old song but now she’s saying that the King is out for her head- quite literally too if the Witcher was sent after her. But the King owes her… this is a hospit, and she seems to just be a woman in a tight political problem like remarrying or having heirs or her wealth.

“I- I-” He cut himself off. He couldn’t just tell her “Oh, speaking of which a literal witcher was sent to brutally murder you for supposedly being a bloodthirsty monster.” That… wouldn’t go over well whether she was a Bruxa or not.

“They say such strange things about me and yet no matter what, the people are still in need and will come here in spite of their fear so that they can receive aid. That it is all I can really ask for.”

“But I heard hundreds have died here or have gone missing.”

“This is a hospital, Jaskier.” She raised an amused brow. “It would be quite the miracle if I could save everyone who came through those doors. But yes, many will pass away here, if they must go, then I try to make it peaceful… As for the missing… Well, those have been young, I… I am afraid my cowardice has kept me from telling the families of their fate. Thus, they are claimed to be missing. I am... quite ashamed of that."

Jaskier’s eyes stared at the stoned floor in shock. This really was a hospit- hospital. Countess Krev was a woman being tainted by rumors by those against her… All of this trip was a false chase.

He had to find Geralt.

He ceased his strumming and put away his lute.

“Is everything alright?”

Jaskier shook his head. “It’s nothing, dear- Countess. Just uh, an error- a tremendous error that can be fixed. I need to find my friend.”

“Ah, his true motives revealed.” She smiled as he paled. “If your friend came here injured and you were trying to pay for his stay then there is no payment due, especially not after your kindness.”

Jaskier exhaled in relief, not being caught. “Ha, yes, you got me. My friend, he’s… he’s always getting hurt, sometimes I’m afraid it’ll get so bad it’ll be beyond my capabilities one day.

“A self-taught bard and medic? Quite handy,” she giggled and once again she covered her smile as she did so.

“Not a medic!” He frantically shook his head. “Just a-”

“A worried friend. Well, then I’m sure your friend is grateful to you. He’d be dead without you.”

“It does feel like that sometimes.” When he attempted to unconsciously strum he noticed his lute was put away, remembering why it was. “I must find him. It was an honor to meet a gracious woman such as yourself.” He bowed.

“And I, to have met a charming bard.”

He ran as soon as he didn’t think she could see him.

Finding Geralt was now the priority. He would tell Geralt everything and they could get their asses out of here before they caused any distress. This was- woo it was a massive horseshit in the middle of the road, it was…

He found the exit but quickly passed it, there in his sights were hallways that he raced down through for his witcher. There were still rooms with patients and then it got quieter. He had reached a less occupied part of the castle… Geralt would be here. He was looking for clues anyway, clues that wouldn’t exist because Countess Kref was good. She was a simple woman who had rumors spread about her by enemies. Jaskier could explain this. He could-

He ran straight into a wall.

“Ow, fucking hell.”

“Bard?” No, he ran into the Witcher.

“Geralt?”

“What the fuck are you-” Geralt furrowed his brows. “You need to leave.”

“You found out too?”

Geralt glared quizzically.

“The Countess, Geralt. The whole reason we’re here.”

“I know,” he growled.

“Then you’ll know she’s innocent. She’s been lied about- they tried to get her to remarry- they sent her sons to die in this war so she has no heirs and- and with her dead, they’ll get her castle and her weal-”

Geralt shook his head. “Bard.” He pulled Jaskier through the hallway that led down.

“What’s happening? What’s with that face? We solved it. I know it’s not a contract but it just means we’ll have to be more careful when taking…”

They stopped in front of a tall, wooden door. It was barred closed but it seemed that Geralt had gotten through it just fine… Witcher magic…

It smelled.

It reeked.

It was possibly the worst thing Jaskier ever graced his nose to…

“I won’t open it all the way,” the Witcher said.

Jaskier nodded, though not really wanting Geralt to open it at all.

The Witcher cracked the door just barely and the stench of death wafted through the air.

The door inched open, but true to his word, the Witcher did not let Jaskier see everything the room held but from what Jaskier could see… The room was red, the wall he could see looked like it was painted from the ceiling to the floor with something that was still dripping.

There was something on the floor, he couldn’t see all of it and Geralt even kept Jaskier from trying to peek closer. It was lumpy… a lumpy something, it was also red but it had a thin fabric wrapping it.

“Geralt… What’s that?”

The Witcher didn’t even glance to see what Jaskier had pointed to. “A torture room. You don’t need to see it.”

“What? But that’s not possible! I spoke to Countess Kref herself.”

The Witcher closed and barred the door once more. “You need to leave.”

“This doesn’t make sense. I met the Countess, she told me about this place and how the King owes her a great debt and how she made this place to help people. There has to be an explanation for this, Geralt.”

“The explanation is that she seduced you.”

“As fair as she was, that isn’t so.” Jaskier scowled.

“A Bruxa can seduce her prey. You'd be susceptible.”

“Not true! You don’t even know if she’s a Bruxa!”

“There is no silver in this castle.”

“That’s… coincidence.”

“She fits the description, this room exists.” Geralt pointed to the door they stood beside. “No silver in sight, lack of garlic in the kitchen, and more.”

“There’s got to be something… this isn’t… This hospital? How do you explain it?”

“The perfect place to hide her victims.”

For once, Jaskier didn't want to believe the monster was actually a monster.

Chapter Text

A monster. A blood-sucking vampire seductress. She is a great beauty but Jaskier did not feel completely entranced- no no…

“No. No no no, she’s not- Geralt, she explained it-” Jaskier waved his hands in front of him as if to block Geralt’s words.

“Bewitched you.”

“She used no magic, Geralt.” It’s true, Jaskier felt no magic around the woman. That should have told him there were no ill intentions or less than human features about her but… was he not paying attention? Was there the chance that she chose not to use any? Or hid it well? If she were a Bruxa would she not have the ability to hide from other magic users? Maybe, sure, but to hide in front of a bard? Unlikely. Just plain doubtful she would endeavor to hide it from him, a seemingly plain human. Unless…

“Jaskier-”

“Oh, and you and your no silver bullshit, absolute bullshit,” Jaskier interrupted, “Maybe she just… doesn’t like it. Might look tacky on her. Doesn’t suit.”

“A woman of her status having no silver jewelry or silverware in her kitchen.” Geralt sounded as if he were speaking to a child, one that had to go through the same lesson for the hundredth time just so he could understand. “To a well-studied bard?”

“Ye- why yes, Geralt, maybe she sold it all for her little hospit.” Jaskier crossed his arms petulantly. “And weren’t you the one to tell me that these Brux- Bruxas hunt in packs or something, huh, Geralt? I don’t see a pack here.”

“Not the powerful ones.” Geralt narrowed his eyes.

Jaskier gulped. “We still don’t… we don’t…” his words trailed off. Arguing with the man who hunted monsters for a living if he was sure that this was an actual monster. Jaskier was already feeling the shame bubble up inside him but at this point, he was trying to persuade himself more than he was Geralt.

The Witcher sighed. Jaskier wasn’t going to convince him but Jaskier wasn’t going to have Geralt convince him either. There was more to this. There just had to be. Why would Countess Krev go through the effort to lie to a bard she just met? She didn’t have to speak to him at all let alone lie. There seems to be no point.

Geralt growled while storming past him, “Leave the castle. I won’t be long.”

Now normally, that kind of tone would have Jaskier melt and he would be the good little boy he was and wait diligently from the sideline to watch or would wait by Roach.

But something was wrong. Maybe it was Destiny telling him to interfere or that something really was dangerous here that could harm his witcher. His witcher. He had been avoiding saying that as often but now is when he knew it was true. If he felt something was off and if it was indeed Destiny giving him a warning then Jaskier wouldn’t leave his witcher.

Once Geralt saw that something was amiss then he too would step back to figure out what it was. It was very much like his witcher to want to spare an innocent.

But Jaskier had no argument to convince the Witcher and if he did then Geralt could brush it off with an explanation that made too much sense. Geralt had to be this way, he couldn’t trust stray feelings to guide him and tell him to be merciful to a monster. Not as a witcher. Not as someone whose life was held in the palm of split-second decisions.

And maybe Geralt was right. This was a monster and there was nothing else to it, but it was Geralt who had shown Jaskier that wasn’t often the case.

The Witcher was gone.

And the only sound Jaskier could hear was his own breath.

The door hiding a gory mess was still behind him and he couldn’t help wanting to get as far away from it as he could but he couldn’t leave yet. He also couldn’t remember which direction he came from but that was beside the point.

He finally noticed that what was illuminating these hallways were torches and candles.

The sun must have set by now if these had been up from before Jaskier ran into Geralt. They had been in the castle for hours.

Far away there was a commotion but it wasn’t the Witcher, just the same hospit rumble as before. There was yelling, maybe some poor soul found out he had to get his leg sawn off.

The door that Geralt had shown him… the answer had to be that the room was used for major surgeries or something and maybe the blood on the walls was from… a patient that kept thrashing during it so the blood went everywhere?

Jaskier knew he must have been grasping at straws. He wiped at his eyes then brushed his hair back with his hands. If she was a Bruxa then it wouldn’t matter if she were good or bad. Geralt was a witcher and he was sent to kill the monster.

A shudder ran through Jaskier’s body. He never liked thinking about that detail of Geralt’s work. Whether pure, evil or nothing at all, a witcher was to strike them down for the will of humanity. Just because his witcher had a soft spot for some didn’t change the profession. He was sure Geralt knew that too.

A sharp click ran through the halls followed by another and then another. The clicks against stone kept coming and soon a muffled cry followed that as well… along with the sound of something being dragged.

“Oh, no no, darling. None of that here.” A soft giggle whispered. “Don’t you think it’s too late for that? Or perhaps it’s too early?”

Jaskier recognized it as Countess Krev’s voice. His feet moved back without him thinking. He couldn’t see her or whoever she was carrying but he knew that he shouldn’t risk being seen even at the risk of unsatisfied curiosity. Jaskier slid his feet back until he could hide around a corner. If he was lucky then he could peek around the corner to see what the fuck kind of kink shit was happening.

Because the kink shit had to be the answer and it was the only answer Jaskier wanted to accept.

“You have brought this upon yourself and with their blessing, I must do this.”

Roleplay. This is intense roleplay in action. Jaskier shook his head.

The muffled one tried saying something but Jaskier didn’t understand and neither could the Countess who threatened and from the sound of it, scratched this person’s face.

A door’s creak reminded Jaskier of that gore-filled room and he immediately turned to get a look. Countess Krev’s face was twisted into a feral snarl that switched back and forth with a wild grin.

Jaskier didn’t have the chance to blink as the man who was gagged and bloody was thrown violently into the red room. He cried in pain, still muffled but then it shifted to full screaming while being gagged on cloth. He must have seen the contents of the room.

Now Jaskier didn’t know how big this castle was but for some reason, the Witcher seemed to never be where the Countess was and Jaskier was beginning to beg Destiny that he shows up to end the nightmare.

“Shh… Shh…” Her voice conveyed that of a mother soothing a child but that certainly wasn’t happening. “Now, before I cut out your tongue, do you have any last words?”

A beat of silence then, “Fuck you, stupid whore!”

She laughed, “It’s always the same with your kind.” And just as fast as he smiled appeared, it vanished into a stern and bloodshot glare. “You betrayed my trust-”

“Go to hell!”

The Countess continued as if she hadn’t heard the man. “You betrayed my grounds of safety, protection, and welfare.” She shook her finger in his face. “But most importantly, you betrayed the people here who had faith in you to help them.”

Jaskier gulped. He didn’t know what was happening but through the narrow-angle, he had he watched and his heart pounded against his chest.

“I’ll make you helpful.” She leaned forward to the man and whispered something that Jaskier couldn’t hear before lifting her hand and Jaskier saw claws.

“No! My Lady- I was wrong, please! I see- I see now the error of my ways!”

“If that were true,” she began. “Then, you would not have committed such an offense.”

“A lapse of judgment, My Lady! Please!”

“One that went too far, sir,” She pouted. “I no longer require your services. Well,” she paused. “There is one last favor you can do. Perhaps it will rectify you, in death.”

The man below now whimpered and pleaded out to her. He said strange things that Jaskier couldn’t fully understand as he was being sliced by her blade-like nails. The man cried until the Countess made good on her earlier threat. The man’s mouth was forced open and Jaskier's eyes couldn’t look away as he watched the man realize what she was doing. The man tried biting but from what Jaskier witnessed it was too late and the Countess had his tongue in her grip and then yanked.

It hadn’t worked on the first try though the still look on her face told Jaskier that she wasn’t necessarily aiming for speed. She inspected his mouth as she continued to tear.

The frantic motions that the man was making on the stone and his own cries had hidden the noise of tearing flesh. Then a gargle of blood must have been escaping his mouth. It must have been spilling over, not that Jaskier could see nor did he want to but her step back and twitch of her nose suggested how mangled this mess was becoming.

Countess Krev stared down at him, almost bored with her expression. Slow and precise were her hands when she examined. Poked and prodded.

With a force and suddenness that Jaskier had not expected she pulled out rapidly what was definitely the man’s tongue.

Jaskier heaved as he strained his eyes to the floor.

He had just witnessed a man have his tongue ripped out of his mouth. He had just-

A slurp could be heard and Jaskier looked back on instinct. The Countess was eating the-

Jaskier was going to be sick. He pressed his hand over his mouth. He couldn’t trust himself to not vomit.

Meanwhile, her gaze never became anything else but serene, as if she had finished a divine biscuit with a friend, a particularly chewy biscuit. She licked at one of her fingers then peered at the man. Her hand gripped his chin and she forcibly kissed him.

It wasn’t a kiss Jaskier soon realized.

The man’s arms waved, trying to attack her but it did nothing. He choked and attempted to gasp for breath to no avail. She was sucking the bleeding wound that she had just inflicted. She leaned back and forth, each time with more blood dribbling from her chin. She was consuming the man, whoever he was.

When movement was slowing, when the man’s body was going limp, that’s when Jaskier expected this to all be over but she kept going. Even as she was done feasting she wiped away the blood from her face using her victim’s own sleeve and then tore the man’s shirt. A tune could be heard as this occurred. A lovely voice hummed then began singing.

It was her.

Jaskier knew that logically but couldn’t connect how such a sweet face and voice could have committed that kind of atrocity.

With two of her claws, she shoved them into the center of the man’s neck and then dragged them down his chest. More blood came pouring out but what had bile at the back of Jaskier's throat was when she began pulling back the skin to open the man. The man’s innards were exposed and the Bruxa breathed in the iron smell as if it were fresh bread out of the fire.

Jaskier retched forward, barely catching himself and swallowing whatever his last meal was. His knees were trembling and his spine could have leapt from his body.

The sour taste in his mouth is what he used to ground himself as he couldn’t get his feet to follow his brain’s orders. He needed to leave, find Geralt, not make more noise than he already had. He might have yelped, he didn’t know. He was desperate to leave but trying to move had him hit his elbow on the stone wall. His foot slipped and he was moving. Shallow breaths and a spike-filled mind got him far.

Except he hadn’t.

He felt glued to the stone floor. He couldn’t comprehend even that, he should be running and he wants to be and he could but something kept him. It couldn’t be fear, he had seen acts like this and gore even if Geralt had tried to keep him away. Jaskier was no stranger to this that he would be incapable of moving out of fright.

His overthinking is what probably led to the eerie stillness that surrounded him as something latched onto his shoulder.

The pressure was hard, then gentle. Sharp, then soft. The soft singing was there, drifting in the back and Jaskier felt soothed. He was terrified. His head knew it but his heart steadied. So when her glowing eyes met his, he stared back.

Countess Krev spoke first. “Are you like me?”

He screamed.

Her hand flew to his mouth before much more could come out and the other gripped harder at his shoulder.

“Shh, shh. Nothing to fear. Focus. Are you like me?”

He shook his head frantically, trying to emphasize the no he couldn’t say.

His legs were quivering under his legs and his breathing uncontrolled.

“Don’t scream.” Her hand moved to his chin to keep his gaze on her. "After all, you have a talented tongue on you. It’d be a shame to get rid of it.”

Jaskier noticed that he went numb yet kept all sensation at the same time. He was standing there yet somewhere else completely. He just wanted Geralt to save him. What was this feeling? What is happening?

“Not human, bard,” she sang. “I can feel it. I was distracted earlier and it was certainly distorted but I felt magic. I hadn’t expected it to be you.” Her hand squeezed his arm and he was pulled. The hand holding his chin went to his hand. Her thumb was lightly caressing the top of his hand, he could vaguely feel the sharp tip of her nails.

“I don’t feel yours,” His voice cracked, his feet slid as they moved.

“Perhaps because it is dead magic,” she said so matter-of-factly.

Jaskier nodded absently. He realized they weren’t speaking a common tongue. What they were speaking must have been her native language or a vampiric tongue. Jaskier’s mind felt too fuzzy to tell the difference. He didn’t even know when they had made the switch.

“I knew that something was familiar about you, especially when you played.”

“I’m not like you.”

“You’re not human.” She smiled as if it were some good thing. “We might as well be kin by that similarity alone.”

Jaskier didn’t think so. He hadn’t ripped someone apart before. Yes, he had killed before, and yes he had been brutal but… but…

But he wasn’t a monster.

He was better than those creatures Geralt killed.

Wasn’t he?

Finally, they were standing in the red room. Jaskier’s eyes flitted about. The man with no tongue was there, lying on the floor with a pool of blood soaking him. Jaskier wanted to vomit just remembering what happened moments prior.

That strange lump of bloody cloth Jaskier had seen earlier was there as well.

With the closer view, Jaskier could see that it was a torso wrapped in a thin cloth. Just the torso that was ripped open. Probably the same as the victim who Jaskier just saw being torn apart. The butchered portion of a body was what colored and shaped what Jaskier saw. The walls had tools. Knives, tweezers, a saw, an arrow remover, and plenty of other things with unusual shapes lined two of the walls.

“I’d like to ask to not be next,” His voice cracked.

The Countess laughed, her hand covering her smile once again. Her bloodied mouth and hands made the endearing action dubious. “You won’t receive that fate, not by my hand. As for him,” she paused and her gentle grin turned to scorn. “He’s reaped what he’s sown.”

“How does a man sow uh, that?” Jaskier gestured vaguely at her most recent victim.

She sighed, “He worked for me in my estate, even before my husband’s passing. A hard worker. A man who diligently does his duty without even needing to be told. He performed surgeries that many healers are not yet accustomed to.”

“Then why? Why all the-” he made ripping motions.

Her eyes grew dark. “He experimented on live patients. I have reason to believe he did something similar to one of my now deceased sons.”

“Experimented?”

She nodded once. “We perform on the dead. That is no lie. There is much to be discovered. How many could we save with just a little more knowledge of ourselves? But, he chose his victims, and right under my nose let me believe these patients needed his extreme help.

“They perished and I did nothing because who was I to question if someone had passed from their injuries? Who was I to question a loyal family friend? It is not abnormal for those to fall from their injuries no matter the aid. But he…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed again. “I returned the favor, to say the least. I may have failed those whose light faded from his hand but not those that would have come after.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. This man… He had tortured people that had come here. Jaskier paled. People would come here, hoping to be helped, and instead be faced with a gruesome fate. So the disappearances… The rumors about her… Both were true.

“And now he’s dead and the world is all the happier for it. I’m sure you agree.” She grinned maniacally.

“Ah, hah, well, I’m sure my option means little to such a beauty.” Jaskier nodded once and pressed his lips together. “Well, uh, I’m sure I’m no longer needed here, dear- ah, Countess, so I shall be on my merry way and speak of this to no one.”

Her eyes widened before squinting. The clasp she had on his arm and hand was tight and Jaskier began to feel some of the claws dig into his skin. He smiled, he was sure it wobbled and the shiver he felt go over him, that she could feel it too.

Her smoldering eyes scorched something deep in Jaskier. “Did you lie to me? After I had offered only sincerity since the beginning. I gave refreshing candor and, in kind, you lied?”

His back tensed. “I- wha- what?” Her shifting mood startled him.

“Did you come with a friend? Or were you sent to kill me?”

Both. His mouth went dry. “What?”

“A monster to slay a monster. They think they’re so clever, don’t they?” Her eyes went foggy. “Did they even know what I was? What I’ve done?” Her voice could have split Jaskier with its intensity.

Jaskier tried to twist her arm away from her as she drew blood. “Plea-”

“My family is dead, gone, I am alone, I have nothing but what I built and they want to strip that away as well!” She wailed, “I never lied, did you? Did you, bard?”

Jaskier whimpered. His blood seeping from his sleeve. “What do you want?” He cried out. “Anything! Power? The King dead? Your family back? Please!” Tears were welling in his eyes from the pain.

“Nothing can repair what has been done! Destiny will keep her course, when it strays, it all will return to where it should run.”

Jaskier shook his head. That couldn’t be true. Jaskier was a being that could undo Destiny… Or was he merely something that could delay it? It didn’t matter- the blood soaking the fabric down his arm…

“You came to kill me! You came to kill me!”

“I didn’t want to!” He admitted. “They said-”

“You came to kill me on the lies of another! The King’s dog told you to, didn’t he?” The Countess shook him. “You’re like me and yet you listened to their lies! Humans lie! They always lie! Why are you trying to be like them?” Countess Krev threw him across the room. His hurt shoulder slammed harshly and pain shot through him, knocking the breath out of his lungs, and he fell to his hands and knees. “I should tear you limb from limb. I’ll save you from believing their deception.”

He dripped blood and gasped for air. He consciously heard her steps clicking towards him as he fumbled to get back onto his feet. His lute was still strapped to his back and safe in its case but that fact wouldn’t help him if he was going to be torn to shreds.

“Jaskier!”

And just like that, a flood of relief filled Jaskier. He looked up. “Geralt!”

The Witcher cast his cloak to the floor, his height, build, white hair, and eyes on display for her to know what he was.

Countess Krev whirled to face the Witcher. Her eyes scanned him and the silver blade in his hands. She howled with laughter. “A witcher! They send monsters to kill monsters! They’re brilliant, I’ll give them that.”

Geralt growled.

“You’re the friend, I presume.”

The Witcher narrowed his darkened eyes coldly. “I told you- I told you to get out of the fucking castle.” Geralt’s attention never left her as he spoke to Jaskier.

Jaskier used the wall to keep himself from falling. “And yet all the interesting stuff was happening in said fucking castle, Geralt.” He smiled. His eyes were stinging with tears from pain but he was smiling.

“I wonder what our most gracious,” she rolled her eyes, “King will say when you don’t return to present my head.”

“I wonder what he’ll say to get out of paying me when I present your head.”

She chuckled sweetly, a caricature of who Jaskier first saw when he met her. “Seeing his debt to me,” she tapped her chin. “I’d say that he’d try to pay only half of what was promised. If that at all. But that is assuming you kill me.”

Geralt adjusted the sword in his grip and widened his stance.

Without warning, she screamed at the Witcher.

Geralt signed Quen, a witcher’s sign, and a glowing shield formed around him.

Jaskier used his hands to cover his ears and fled back.

She lunged and slammed against the shield. Geralt, in turn, threw himself forward to cut her down. She dodged.

The shield went away and Geralt leapt towards the Bruxa. He swung fast and hard yet she slipped away and his blade clanged on the stone. She was fluid in her movements, graceful.

At his vulnerable state, she charged. With claws more menacing than before she struck Geralt while escaping his blade. The Witcher didn’t respond to the wound if he was even hit. Instead, he cast Igni and a burst of flames came alive. She tried to block the fire with her arms but her sleeves went ablaze.

She shrieked.

Geralt cast Quen again.

The fire was eating at her arms and she frantically flapped her arms and hit herself to put it out. While she succeeded, her arms and hands were covered in burns.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” The Bruxa stumbled.

Geralt’s shield went down and she rushed for the opening. She ducked when the Witcher went for her neck. When she came back up she clawed at his neck to return the service.

She took a knee to the gut for her attempt and coughed as she tripped back. The Countess narrowly avoided the strike that could have taken her left arm. It still nicked at her and she held onto the wound in response.

Jaskier panicked. He looked back and forth at both of them as they brutally attacked the other. He saw that the Bruxa did indeed get a scratch on the neck that traveled to his jaw. It was difficult to see and the black veins made the cut look a part of it but the Witcher was bleeding, not that he paid it any mind.

“It’s unfair! I did nothing wrong!”

The Witcher glanced at Jaskier for a brief moment before he dove to pierced her as she shouted. She swerved but crashed into a wall. Her back hit the tools, some stabbed her back. She choked. Some tool had punctured all the way through her shoulder.

“I- I lost everything.”

Geralt signed Igni. She pulled herself off the object that stabbed her to fall to the floor to evade the flames. Her wound bled out. Geralt directed his sword to slice her head off but she rolled away. She was drained from the fight, Jaskier could see it in her sluggish movement after she had twisted her on the floor.

“He killed my family in his petty war.” Jaskier noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks. “But that wasn’t enough. I gave everything and he wants my life as well.” Her burnt hands slammed the floor.

Countess Krev laughed hollowly then glared at the Witcher.

She screamed and Geralt was thrown across the room. He lost his balance and took a knee. The Witcher groaned but lifted his head and braced for an attack but the Countess was still on the floor, crying. “The love of my life, my perfect babies, my people, my wealth, my power, my land, my life…” She wiped at her eyes yet made no other moves.

Geralt stood and looked at a loss for what to do. He wasn’t. Jaskier knew that Geralt understood what he had to do but that didn’t mean it came without hesitation.

Countess Krev was no liar, Jaskier realized. She was a Bruxa, a monster, but she was also a mother that lost her children, a wife that lost her husband, a noble that lost her reputation all because King Matthias the Second hated her. He had tried to manipulate her into a marriage to trap her and when he couldn’t do that he tricked his and her own people. She was doomed from the beginning.

She would die here. With that Jaskier had no doubt, but her death would leave him devastated because of her story. She had tried to kill him and Jaskier detested her for that but it was a preemptive strike. The goal when coming to this place was to kill her…

“Just kill me…” Her voice was so hushed that Jaskier could barely hear it. “Make it swift.” She sniffled while lifting her chin straight to the Witcher.

Geralt nodded firmly.

She looked to Jaskier who had retreated deep into the furthest corner. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier felt her words at his core and mumbled, “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” He knew his words had no meaning to his abilities but he meant them. Oh, how he meant them.

If she heard him, she had no reaction. “Tell Anna, my right hand of Cachtice, to take and give everything Castle Cachtice has to offer before he can lay his hands on it.” She smiled. “Tell her to burn it down if she can. He won’t have a place of refuge turned into his house of sin. Not without me having a say.”

Countess Krev fumbled to a stand. She clutched her burnt arms and bleeding shoulder. It was strange to see her in this state when she had been full of dignity mere hours before. “I just want to see them again.”

Her family.

Her hands balled into fists and stretched, back and forth with those little movements to reach a sense of control. Jaskier could tell. He did something similar with his hands when he felt this way. Her left hand played with the ring on her finger, her breathing deepened. She was preparing herself.

Geralt’s eyes remained hard and his stance was ready for any surprise attack yet Countess Krev raised her chin, awaiting the sword to slice through her throat.

Teardrops slowed and she closed her eyes. She mumbled something that Jaskier couldn’t hear but it made Geralt’s shoulders sag.

The Witcher walked to the Countess.

She stiffened. She mumbled faster, Jaskier still couldn’t hear her but he felt the urgency as her unheard words sped up.

Geralt whispered back to answer whatever she had said, “They’ll be waiting for you with open arms.”

She laughed and sighed. “I can’t wait.”

The Witcher hummed and silence filled the room.

Jaskier held his breath.

In one motion, his witcher raised his silver blade and-

Jaskier closed his eyes.

A wet crunched echoed. Then a thud followed by a louder thud.

Geralt exhaled the same time Jaskier did and as Jaskier opened his eyes the Witcher was staring back with blackened eyes. “It’s done.”

“It’s done,” Jaskier repeated weakly.

His eyes trailed done to her crumpled body and head. Luckily her face wasn’t towards him but he could picture what it looked like anyway.

“A most impressive battle,” Jaskier stuttered. He would write about this one, he had to, but he also knew that he would be writing one for the world and another for Geralt and himself.

“Jaskier…” Geralt barely wiped his blade before putting it away. He was kneeling when Jaskier realized that he was also sitting on the floor. “You’re bleeding.”

Jaskier replied deadpanned, “Thank you for the information. I hadn’t noticed.”

“Where?”

Geralt proceeded to try to lift Jaskier from his shoulders. Jaskier yelped at the stinging wet sensation that followed. Geralt took his hand away instantly. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Geralt.”

The Witcher searched Jaskier up and down. Concerned laced his gravelly voice, “Just your arm?”

“Yes. Shit!" It stung more when any pressure went to it. "But she did give me quite the beating as well.”

“Call it a comeuppance, bard.” With a hum, the Witcher hoisted Jaskier up by the armpits.

“Geralt! This is an ‘oh fuck’ moment not an ‘ah fuck’ moment! Have some sympathy!” Jaskier whined. “I’m in pain!”

“Not enough to stop you from bitching.”

"Nothing can affect me so to take that away, ow, fuck, Geralt, please."

Once Jaskier was on his feet Geralt released him.

“You can walk?”

Jaskier groaned then laughed, “Would you if I asked you to carry me?”

“You can walk.”

“But it hurts,” he whined again.

“We’ll fix that later.”

The Witcher left Jaskier by the wall and ripped at a large cloth at another corner of the room. Jaskier didn’t have to ask why as he saw quickly that Geralt was using it to bag the Countess’s head in. He then grabbed his cloak that he had thrown to the floor.

Jaskier trudged to her body as well. He knelt down and looked at her broken self. One of her ankles looked swollen, he hadn’t noticed but she must have broken it during the fight. Her elegant dress was scorched and stained. Her left hand was bloodied and burned, yet the ring on her hand stayed unsullied, filled with tenderness and deep love.

It wouldn’t be right to take it.

But would it be right to leave it and have someone else steal it and not take care of it as carefully as she did… No one else would know the importance of it…

“Bard.”

Jaskier tilted his head to the Witcher. “Coming, Geralt.”

The Witcher stomped out of the room and Jaskier glided the smooth ring gently off her hand. “Don’t worry,” he muttered under his breath in her native tongue. “I’ll look after it.”

Jaskier held the ring in his palm. Staring at it made him feel the weight of the fight, their conversations, her history.

“Maybe I’ll meet the same fate.”

Jaskier stood. He didn’t know how else he was supposed to honor her dead body, especially in the state it was in but he nodded to no one in the room as he left.

Finding Geralt wasn’t too hard but the silence that haunted them was difficult to stand. The makeshift bag Geralt was carrying was already turning red in some areas which made Jaskier uneasy but that made him realize the importance of having that covering at all.

Wandering back through the halls to the hospit felt slow like time wanted them to suffer the consequences of their actions before being released.

Did she deserve to die? Jaskier didn’t know, he wasn’t a god of judgment, but it still felt like it was the wrong thing to do. The bleeding in his arm said otherwise but she said they were like kin. Neither of them are- were human, maybe she was right, maybe that was enough to mean something.

He may wish to be human and play the part, but he wasn’t. He was like all the other creatures and monsters. An act wouldn’t change that. She reminded him what he truly was.

“Shut up! Don’t you see we have some sleepers!” A voice whisper-shouted in the large room where Jaskier had played.

Ah, it was Anna Darvolyla… That short and angry woman. Countess Krev did say to speak to her.

She kept directing everyone in the hall. “I ain’t cleaning the piss there! I told you to bring him a pan and ya didn’t like a fucking fool, you’re cleaning your mess shitstain.”

It was going to be… an experience to tell her what happened to her Lady of the Castle.

The Witcher groaned next to him.

“Do you… do you want me to… you know?”

“Please.”

Jaskier nodded. “Alright, alright, uh, just um, well, just stand behind me. You know, for context.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier sucked in a deep breath and mustered the strength to approach the feisty woman.

“Ahem, uh, madam, miss, may I- may we…”

Once she faced him she raised a brow. “You again? I thought I told you to piss off and die.”

“Ah, but you had not gotten to that point yet.”

“In that case, piss off and die, but not on these grounds.” She nodded to herself.

Jaskier wanted to pull his hair out.

“Madam Anna, please, I have word from Countess Krev.”

“I don’t believe you, now get out. Some of us are busybodies, unlike you lecherous bard types.”

“Melitele’s tits, I- this is something for Destiny to decide for I certainly can’t.”

Just as Jaskier was groaning into his hand, Geralt approached the angry Anna. If his stature didn’t catch her off guard then his bright yellow eyes did “The Lady wants you to, uh,” Geralt stumbled for the right words, “To take and give out whatever this…”

“Estate has to offer,” Jaskier finished for his witcher. “There won’t be a lot of time to do so but you need to take everything you can and then burn it all down. That is what she said, right Geralt?”

“Yes.”

Darvolyla shook her head, confused. “What?” Her eyes trailed done to the red-stained bag Geralt was holding.

She began shaking.

Geralt spoke first. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier tried to put a hand on her shoulder but she slapped it away, her body still trembling.

“No, no you’re not. You- you- is that her?” She pointed to the bag.

The Witcher nodded.

She tried to blink away the tears building in her eyes and breathed slowly.

Jaskier had to hand it to Anna. She was calming herself for the people that were still in her care. He had not expected that. He glanced around, many patients laid there peacefully asleep and others were being tended to by other servants. She didn’t want to cause a panic.

“What did the King say to you?”

Geralt replied, “A Bruxa resided here, payment if I killed her.”

She nodded.

Jaskier started, “We offer our condole-”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “Don’t- you- fuck, why did she have to-” Anna wiped at her eyes. “What were her last words for me?”

“Anything and everything in this castle is yours to take and give before they seize her property,” Jaskier answered.

Anna stared long and hard at the large hall that surrounded them. “Okay… okay…”

“And then to burn the rest of it down.”

She snorted, more of a sad sound than it was one for humor but she grinned at an inside joke that no one alive knew. “So that vermin king can’t have it, she is- was a clever woman.”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. “How fast can you-”

“Less than a week.”

“Good, 'cause that’s all the time you’re probably going to get- ah fuck!” Geralt elbowed him. “The arm, Geralt! Damn.”

Geralt ignored him. “She entrusted it to you. I’m sure that wasn’t done thoughtlessly.”

“It wasn’t, Witcher. I’ll see to it. Just… just leave.”

And without another word, Geralt headed towards the exit with Jaskier tailing behind, at least they’ll be able to patch up his arm when they get to Roach, and won’t she be delighted to have them back.

“So I suppose it’s about the tumultuous, upsetting, stressful journey.”

“Fuck it.”

“What is it now, friend?”

“Not your friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, what is it now?”

The room was warm, they did have that going for them.

After taking two days to get back to the king’s advisor, or whoever the hell he was, Jaskier couldn’t remember, they brought the head of the Countess to the king. The King was repulsed by the sight of the head but Jaskier still noticed when his lip twitched in satisfaction, it made Jaskier want to spit at him. Jaskier was sure Geralt felt the same. The King tried to pretend that this wasn’t the correct Bruxa and so Geralt wouldn’t receive his pay for killing the wrong monster. Geralt didn’t have much to prove it was Countess Krev and so Jaskier was forced to show proof through her ring. The beautiful gold band that had been on her hand that also held as a symbol of her nobility saved Geralt’s contract. It was recognized by many in the court. The King was in no position to not pay the Witcher especially in the eyes of everyone in the court. It would be improper.

The King still managed to weasel his way out of some of it. When Geralt said that the King’s servant claimed the hunt would give him three hundred ducats, the King laughed at him and said that was a lie because the true reward was a hundred and fifty ducats, half the pay instead. Jaskier had stood as appalled as Geralt.

Countess Kref was right. The King would pay only half of the promised payment.

There was no way to prove that the King’s servant actually asserted the payment was three-hundred so they could only walk out of the King’s hall with one hundred and fifty ducats along with an extra ten ducats that Jaskier was able to convince the King was a barely decent tip, it is the least you could do after all.

The Witcher and a fuming bard left and went but to their inn. The innkeeper made Jaskier pay twenty-eight ducats instead of their previously agreed twenty-six ducats but Jaskier wouldn’t try his luck further after the innkeeper had falsely maintained he did not remember making any deal with Jaskier. It was also so late that it was early, Jaskier didn't have it in him to argue.

It was a shit week.

But their room was warm and the blanket that Jaskier pressed his face into was soft enough. His back and feet wouldn’t complain about having a bed for a night or two.

“You’re sighing so profusely, Geralt. What is it?”

His witcher mumbled and Jaskier barely caught something about fucking armor.

“Ah, come on.” Jaskier slurred with sleep. “Let tomorrow’s problems be tomorrow’s problems.”

The Witcher kept muttering and moving about the room. There were always potions to organize and make or armor to repair and also coin to count. There was always something to do but Jaskier can’t stand it when Geralt’s agitated. It was all becoming so hazy though, all the events had finally caught up and Jaskier just hoped that his witcher had the sense to take a break and use the room for the needed rest.

He hears clinking coins though. “For fuck’s sake, Geralt, count it later, it’ll still be there tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow, bard.”

“What the fuck is that suppo-” Upon looking up from his pillow where he had plopped himself down to sleep he saw daylight coming from the window when he last saw was pitch black. “When the hell did that happen?”

“You slept for seven hours. It’s near noon.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Lucky me. Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep, dear, did you use it?”

“Half.”

Jaskier exhaled, “How you’re able to stand on your two feet astounds me.”

He flipped himself over onto his back to stare at the ceiling. There were a lot of cracks in the dry wood and an old, empty cobweb in the corner. He turned to his side to look at Geralt who was still going through their coin.

“Why are you counting so hard? What whore is worth that much?”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier laughed at Geralt’s sour tone. “It’s… it’s fucked up.”

“What is?”

Geralt didn’t answer, no, no, that’s too simple, so instead he gestures randomly towards a pile of black leather on the floor that Jaskier identifies as his gear that was ripped by the Bruxa.

“Can’t any tailor repair that so that it’ll last until we find someone who knows what they’re doing?” He propped himself up on the elbow of his undamaged arm.

“They’ll fix it fine, they just…”

Jaskier frowned. “Dear, no, you went without me, didn’t you?” He rested his chin onto his hand.

The Witcher pulled a face and Jaskier raised a hand in mock surrender.

Then Geralt's expression turned soft and confused. “You were… injured and needed to heal…”

Jaskier sighed but smiled into his own palm. He already knew he would be thinking over that. “I do appreciate that, but wake me next time or wait you impatient bastard or I might the wrong idea that you may care about me.”

Geralt didn’t respond to that.

Jaskier waved a hand. “I’ll see to it today, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

The Witcher didn’t answer again and Jaskier began thinking about how he could technically fix Geralt’s gear all by himself. It would take so much fucking energy but he could do it. It wouldn’t cost a single coin… Geralt had to leave for a few hours though, that shouldn’t be so hard though. Melitele, he fucking loves that he has magic to do simple shit like this.

He couldn’t celebrate that yet, Geralt needed to leave, just for a few hours.

“How about you go and look for, er, contracts or- or some other tailor in this city while I work on the one you went to, you said they could fix it? So I’ll convince them to, for a fair price.”

A thick silence fell over them, to Jaskier it did, Geralt just had to go for a bit and Jaskier would solve their problem. The Witcher grimaced.

“Wear your cloak, no one will recognize you, besides, you’ll get to see the city.”

“It’s a shit city.”

“You don’t know that till you see it,” Jaskier pointed out, it surely was a shit city but that didn’t matter. “Go find a tailor- something,” it sounded like pleads to his own ears, hopefully, his witcher didn’t notice. “I’ll handle this over here. So get out, shoo- you’re losing daylight.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and yet he stood up and dressed. Jaskier had to hold back a grin the entire time, the Witcher listened to him much more than he had years ago but when had it gotten this easy? Jaskier wanted to tease Geralt for it, he would, later. The Witcher was about to put on his cloak when Jaskier quickly stood to give his unneeded help. Jaskier played with the hems of the hood and pretended to be fixing it to have an excuse to be this close to Geralt's face. He risked brushing his palm against his witcher's jaw. Geralt would be shaving soon, he could tell. The stubble was fun to play with.

He gambled another risk and whispered, "Have fun, dear."

Geralt's eyes bore into him and Jaskier forced himself to hold it. It felt intimate. Geralt's chin resting in his palm while they stared into each other's eyes. His witcher looked... looked so vulnerable, looked like he was yearning as Jaskier was. Jaskier thought he even saw Geralt's eyes flicker for a mere moment to his lips... But Jaskier wouldn't fall for tricks that his eyes played to deceive him, to give him a strange sense of hope. Though that didn't mean that he wouldn't still hold the image close even after Geralt left for the city.

But for now, he couldn't hold it together anymore. "Or, uh, as much fun as you can, I suppose."

The Witcher set off to the city.

Perhaps it was Destiny that had his witcher so effortlessly coaxed into listening to him. But Jaskier liked to think it was his own charms and his endearment that convinced the Witcher. After all, that was so much more romantic that he made a home in his witcher's heart.

Once he was gone and any heavy footsteps faded from the hall, Jaskier raced to the pile of leather and began his little magic.

And with a single thread at a time, he went through the tattered mess.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed at his once torn armor. The front collar area had been completely clawed at and frankly was beyond repair to Jaskier’s eyes but the Witcher didn’t have the coin to get anything new or to fix it. Not enough for the prejudiced tailors of this city. He was going to wear it to the next monster hunt and Jaskier knew it. Jaskier would never have that. He took it upon himself to handle it all. It was an extremely long process.

The absolute worst and boring process. Worse than he anticipated.

Jaskier sat and went over it, the unders and overs until it mostly looked as it did before, and even then did Jaskier try to make it stronger. His witcher did get cut because some of the Bruxa’s claws went through it.

By the time he finished the rest of the day had gone by, the window was pitch-black once again, he was sweating, and feeling utterly drained. The only break he took was the one to light two candles for the room. Self magic was not meant to be used this way but it was worth it in the end. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t want to be doing this again anytime soon.

He collapsed on the bed, sleep mere seconds away. He felt worse than he did after first coming to this inn.

The sound of the door opening prevented sleep and he moaned yet didn’t move.

The footsteps were Geralt’s so, whatever, impending death wasn’t a concern but a spike of nerves went up his spine when he remembered he didn’t put away the armor so his excuse that it was away being fixed was off the table.

He was too tired to care. He just let himself sink further into the bed.

Though as predicted, the Witcher seemed to notice the most obvious thing in the room.

“What did you do?”

Jaskier lifted his head up as if to see what Geralt was referring to and whined out, “Oh wow, not a thank you, Jaskier. Oh so kind of you, Jaskier. How will I ever repay you, Jaskier?" At least none of that was fake.

“Whose coin did you use?” Geralt’s hands clenched the leather.

“You and I both know we both lack enough combined to make a purchase this big.” Jaskier put his face back in the bed and muffled, “Let me explain tomorrow, I’m drained, Witcher.”

Jaskier could practically feel eyes burning into the skin on his back. Fuck. The Witcher was too suspicious to let this one go.

“What?” Jaskier rolled onto his back and looked to the ceiling. “We don’t have enough coin so I struck a deal and wallah! Fixed up, new armor.”

“What kind of deal?”

Fast thinking, fast thinking, fast thinking. “The seamstress accepted my pay, what else do you want me to say?”

“You fucked a seamstress?”

Huh. Well, since the Witcher proposed such a good excuse and it fell in line with how drained Jaskier felt at the moment… Jaskier would roll with it. “And the tailor as well as his assistant. And maybe his assistant’s assistant.”

Geralt stared incredulously. Well, as much as his face could express it. There may have been a hint of something else to Geralt's expression but Jaskier couldn't be bothered to look into it. Tomorrow's problems would tomorrow's problems.

“What? I convinced them to do their work for a fair price like I said I would do. I got a good deal and you, sir, got fresh new armor. So don’t give me that look.” Really, Geralt shouldn’t be complaining here.

"You... you accepted the payment being your..." The Witcher paused and Jaskier blinked. "In exchange for... you gave your..."

Jaskier could not understand what Geralt was trying to say, he hoped his face could tell the Witcher that so he wouldn't have to. "I'm good at what I do?"

“They provided their service because of a good lay?”

Jaskier gasped, “You doubt me, Witcher? Yet the proof is right before you! You shouldn’t underestimate a bard. Least of all your bard."

Geralt grunted out something under his breath yet didn’t bring it up again, which made Jaskier happy enough to finally doze off.

Some peace would be nice to have, in any case, peace for a day and a night. They earned it after everything... after... well Jaskier didn't want to have to think about any nefarious sorceresses...

Chapter Text

Jaskier was a mystery wrapped in both colorful fabrics and a giant fuck you to anyone who put in the effort to see past his bullshit.

That was all that Geralt had as an understanding after the first few weeks with the bard.

Geralt hadn’t hated the bard upon his arrival in that random tavern in Posada. He had been wary. Cautious. He felt something magical when the annoying bastard approached him. Something magical approaching a witcher always spelled bad news.

But there had been plenty of humans in that tavern, Geralt wouldn’t cause trouble unless the fucker started it.

Then the bard didn’t.

Instead, he prattled off about his performance that Geralt had been listening to since he sat down, a presence of magic in a human establishment wasn’t to be ignored. He answered the bard because he had believed that would get him to leave. The idiot had responded as if he didn’t notice that he was sitting across a witcher. Watching the realization dawn on the bard’s face had been uncomfortable.

“I know who you are.”

Geralt couldn’t leave fast enough because the fucking ass had shouted his name for the entire bar to hear.

It may have gotten him a contract, but the bard was insistent on coming along as if he had been invited. He would only get in the way, Geralt knew that humans were too fragile and if this bard weren’t human then he would be a bigger hindrance and the whole affair could be a trap to kill him, a witcher.

He would kill the “bard” if needed. He had punched him, straight to the gut. That didn’t deter him.

But then the bard and he got captured and taken to the edge of the world, the hidden home of elves. They had been beaten and they had almost destroyed the poor fool’s livelihood instrument. Geralt had felt magical surges on his back when they were tied together but there didn’t seem to be any help to get them out. Whatever magic the bard had was not going to save them.

Through whatever luck they had, they were let go without matching slits on their throats. Coin was given to the elves and they left. Despite the scene before, the idiot wouldn’t stop talking.

Geralt tried to leave him but he kept going on about some sort of promise that he made to him. When they stood before the tavern keep, Geralt had been shooed, the bard attempted to salvage the interaction, though it appeared that the tavern keep hated him more than a witcher. There had been accusations of abandoning work given to go to a brothel. Geralt had ignored the awkward, embarrassed glances the bard had given him as if he had just remembered a witcher was behind him.

Then the bard incessantly asked him if he wanted an ale when Geralt knew that neither of them had anything to pay for even a drop. Not when Geralt had given all the coin he had to the elves and this man who had apparently been entertaining for a meal.

A barmaid had made a mistake and had given them a drink after the conversation. A strange coincidence that the bard didn’t even acknowledge, paying much more attention to gulp down the entire pint at once. Finally, blessed silence. Geralt didn’t mind.

He got the rest of his pay and an annoying bard that wouldn’t fucking leave him. Apparently, a witcher would be good inspiration. The random, and for some reason, magically induced bard wouldn’t let up. Geralt had figured he would get bored and then trail off but he introduced himself after a while, realizing he had not given Geralt his name.

Jaskier.

What kind of fucking name was that?

Geralt didn’t ask much. He hadn’t cared.

Jaskier would trail him during contracts. If the bard wanted to die a horrible death then he might as well have asked Geralt to strangle him to get it over with faster. Jaskier did this all in the name of artistry. He claimed Geralt could never tell a decent retelling, saying, “The details are everything, you horse’s ass. How am I suppose to spin gallant tales of you when you sit there and then tell me after, 'I killed it.' I swear, you'll make me have to kill you myself!”

“I say more than that.”

“When? When, Geralt?” The bard would throw his hands in the air each time. “It is like trying to pull teeth- I- you never told me the full tale of the princess striga! I was barely gone and you punish me! A poor soul by keeping me from a good tale.”

Geralt groaned into his hand. “The striga was a princess and I undid her curse by keeping her out of her crypt after dawn.”

“That’s not even an outline of a story! A compound sentence at best, good sir!”

“It was more than me killing her.” Geralt said, exasperated, having sunken low with the bard’s argument.

Jaskier pressed his lips together with raised eyebrows as if to say he won.“This is why I have to risk a bludgeoning death each time.”

The same quarrel would come up every time the bard came along. With vampires, ghouls, griffins, it didn’t matter, but they did become less heated and more about taunting and teasing the other.

At least the bard started carrying around a dagger or two after Geralt insisted he should take care of himself out on the path. Not that it would help him much but it was good that he finally listened when Geralt kept telling him to not get himself killed.

Geralt knew the bard wasn’t a threat. Jaskier had been following him for weeks and months with no sign of mal intent. He had been suspicious of Jaskier but after all this time, the bard would have surely done something by now and… nothing. Nothing malicious.

The sense of magic always lingered but Geralt was no longer bothered. He recognized it.

The bard had a sorcerer’s ointment. The witch, Triss Merigold, had something very similar. How Jaskier got ahold of something like that was difficult for Geralt to figure out. The bard could have stolen it, but for a human to steal from a mage… he would have been caught and faced consequences. He couldn’t have bought it. Neither of them ever have the coin for something like that and if they did it wouldn’t have been spent for that. If Jaskier did a wizard a favor then he could have possibly asked for the ointment as payment but why would a bard waste a favor from a wizard for something like this when only Geralt seemed to use it. Jaskier always seemed to have some. Rarely would Jaskier run out if he needed it.

Geralt had asked Jaskier about the sorcerer’s restorative grease and the bard responded that “It had come with a reasonable price.” He hadn’t elaborated, even when Geralt didn’t answer to get him to explain further.

That same day, Geralt had seen a flyer for a griffin. He succeeded in his hunt and Jaskier had sat in the pool of blood while his hands had caressed the feathers on the griffin’s head and shoulder.

Geralt had never seen a human comfort a dying monster, least of all a monster that had tried to kill them, but Jaskier stayed kneeled until its breath ceased, mumbling some song.

He doesn’t know what Jaskier was thinking in those moments nor did he ask. It hadn’t seemed appropriate at the time and he assumed the bard would talk about it later.

He never did.

There were a few habits about the bard that Geralt noticed. The bard would forget to eat breakfast or any meal for that matter. If wine were involved he wouldn’t forget but Jaskier would urge Geralt to eat more or to even have portions of his meal because he “felt done” yet other times he would try to steal from Geralt’s plate. It didn’t feel that there was a clear pattern to Jaskier’s eating habits. Maybe it wasn’t strange. Maybe humans did this normally, not that Geralt would know.

The bard would also lose track of the days. He would believe certain weeks were months and that days were just hours. Geralt had blamed this on his drinking except that Jaskier hadn’t been quite the heavy drinker at the time. Perhaps his ineptitude with time was what led him to play his lute non-stop. Or he was just a normal bard. Geralt couldn’t be certain. He couldn’t be certain with a lot of things involving the bard.

Jaskier would toss and turn in his sleep. The bastard talked in his sleep because talking while awake wasn’t enough... It normally wouldn’t wake Geralt but now and then the bard would have a particularly nasty night terror.

It wasn’t Geralt’s concern but it woke him again.

He listened while Jaskier thrashed at anything near him. It was unpleasant. Geralt sighed. He couldn’t do anything other than possibly waking the bard but he wouldn’t.

“He’s behind… Fate has decided… This has an end.” Jaskier muttered.

Geralt glanced over. He didn’t know much about the bard. The more he thought about it, he doubted “Jaskier” was even his real name. It couldn’t be anything but a stage name if it meant Buttercup but the bard never supplied anything else and so Geralt never asked. The bard was talkative enough that he would have said what he wanted. Their whole exchange of the bard telling Geralt what he was called was asinine. Jaskier practically took what Geralt said about him being histrionic as a compliment. Nothing would sway him. In fact, the bard had taken to calling Geralt some kind of hero.

“I didn’t lie… greener grass... Forgive me.” Jaskier whispered.

It wasn’t Geralt’s problem. Though he couldn’t deny he was slightly curious about his traveling… acolyte? Jaskier wormed his way into the Witcher’s life and he was there to stay. He would leave occasionally but they would always meet again. Jaskier never usually bothered to say goodbye, maybe something else but never a goodbye. He always alluded to seeing him again… Like he knew he would see Geralt soon. Could be a bard thing, or just a Jaskier thing.

He wrote his little songs, praising Geralt. Lived without a care in the world. It was strange.

A sound took Geralt’s attention back to the sleeping form. “Sorry. I’m real. Let go.” Jaskier was whimpering.

What was the damn bard seeing? It wasn’t Geralt’s business but it was keeping him up, maybe he would wake Jaskier.

“Look- my eyes, I speak the truth, promise. I didn’t lure… Just make a wish.” Through the incoherent mutters, Geralt was mildly surprised at how soft and low Jaskier’s voice could be.

Geralt wondered off and on. Who exactly was Jaskier? He could be nothing but a bard but he felt magic around him the first day they met. It made him skeptical of what Jaskier wanted but he didn’t do any harm, rather, he helped Geralt considerably. Whether with cleaning the blood off his clothes and armor or attempting to bandage him after a rough fight with a creature. Jaskier just did these things for him. Geralt didn’t understand it.

Jaskier held himself like that of a noble, so an actual bastard or was disowned? Or Jaskier wasn’t a noble but someone who served royalty. Royal servants had to adopt all the methods to the madness and had to be pleasing to look at, Jaskier was perfect for that role. Maybe he was exiled for sleeping with the wrong people or was chased out. It made sense for that to be the answer… but that didn’t account for the magic. Unless the bard was blessed or more likely cursed. He seemed more human than not.

Geralt couldn’t have gotten it wrong, he knows magic has been involved with Jaskier since day one he just doesn’t know why.

It was curious, but if the bard, who never seemed to shut his piehole, didn’t talk about it… Then maybe it wasn’t something to be brought up and besides, the bard had never purposefully brought harm. Perhaps he really was cursed but didn’t know it. It wasn’t Geralt’s problem, he tried to ignore that feeling of dread for this poor, cursed bastard.

Geralt meditated the rest of the night. There wasn’t much of it left regardless. It also gave him time to find them a meal before riding again.

When Jaskier finally did wake, his hair stuck out in every possible direction and he looked far from rested in spite that he had slept through the whole night. The bard smacked his lips and fumbled with his arm, possibly reaching for his waterskin. He hadn’t even noticed Geralt already wide awake, watching Jaskier gracelessly try to get up.

The bard fumbled for a bit before downing gulps of water and then frowning down at his waterskin. Geralt assumed this downcasted glare was because Jaskier realized he had drunk the wine from it before filling it with plain water. Jaskier closed it and threw it to the side then came to a stand to roll his mat.

Bandits had tried to ambush them that day on the path.

Geralt cut each one down with his steel blade. There were five. It was a swift encounter. And after, he waited with his sword in his hand, it dripped fresh blood on the grass. He waited for Jaskier to say something. Anything. Geralt would use Jaskier’s response to prepare for the human to leave him in the next town. He couldn’t even face Jaskier, instead, he left his back to face the bard so he could look at the sky. He remembers the skies being cloudy that cold day because he decided to burn it in his memory, just another scene that he would be able to picture perfectly, like when he stood surrounded by bodies in Blaviken.

He memorized the freezing air in his lungs. The burn in his eyes for keeping them open even when one of the men’s blood splattered in one. He clenched his jaw and felt a strain in his hand from gripping his sword. The growing ache at the center of his body became his focus.

He hadn’t known why it hurt so much. The idea that the bard would look at him with eyes widened in terror or hate. Like the girl who looked at him after he killed his first monster. Thinking how Jaskier wouldn’t speak for the rest of the journey to the next- wherever they were going… How Geralt wouldn’t be able to hear a final tune being played on that instrument that never ceased to make beautiful noise. Losing what he didn’t want to lose, he had just gotten it and he fucked it up, right as things were becoming their most comfortable.

When had he begun to feel so close to a random stranger that was using him for fame? Because it hadn’t felt that way? Because this human smiled so genuinely at him? Because Jaskier chose to keep his company? Because why? Why did he care so much?

What he can’t remember is if he felt resigned or afraid. Witchers don’t feel fear. It couldn’t have been fear. Geralt didn’t know what it meant at the time but he had felt something painful, like a strange squeeze in his chest that Jaskier could describe better.

Geralt wanted to fight another five fucking bandits, he wanted to kill these ones over again for fucking up a good thing he had.

He wanted Jaskier to fucking speak already.

Jaskier wasn’t speaking.

He wouldn’t fucking just get it out and over with.

Geralt turned around. “Jaskier!”

The bard spun his body, finally seeing the scene that Geralt was standing over. Geralt realized this would be worse. He would have to watch Jaskier react when he had wanted to be a coward and not face Jaskier during those moments. “Yeah?”

Jaskier looked at the corpses, his eyes trailing the wounds, the blood that had gotten everywhere, the entrails, the expressions that were captured on the men’s faces in death. The bard held an almost bored expression on his face. Geralt didn’t want to see when comprehension dawned on him but he wouldn’t be a coward. He knew the bard’s eyes were on him finally so he looked up. He felt the blood on his face move slowly down from over his eye to his cheek and to his chin.

“So,” Jaskier had an expectant expression. “Are we to head to the next town before we freeze our balls off?” He gestured back to the path with his thumb.

Geralt felt less tense. Jaskier looked… he looked fine. Normal, same as ever. It eased Geralt as he wiped his sword clean, then his brow. He wanted to ask Jaskier what he was honestly thinking but he didn’t breach the subject. Not when Jaskier seemed so calm about the whole ordeal.

The bard got a horse by chance and the next two days Geralt had kept track of Jaskier’s mood. He had focused intently on Jaskier’s ramblings and his music. Nothing was out of place. It truly was as if Jaskier did not care what had transpired. The bard was fine, maybe humans weren’t as squeamish as Geralt had remembered or maybe this one wasn’t. Geralt settled back into their routine.

Everything was fine until they were reaching a town. Jaskier’s shoulders went stiff as he sat atop his new horse. He had asked if that was the town ahead and Geralt bit his tongue to not ask if the bard would be splitting off soon. His mind leaping to conclusions, that he would stay for this final stop.

But the bard hadn’t even waited until entering the town. He had told Geralt to go on ahead to search for a contract and Jaskier would catch up. Jaskier gave no reason why he was having Geralt split from him.

Geralt wandered through that village and found a vague contract for a creature stealing livestock to its cave, even stole away their healer. The folk who had given him this hunt kept looking amongst themselves nervously. He took the task and thought of the bard he left on the outskirts of the town.

He was probably gone.

It had all been a long act to make sure the scary Witcher didn’t run him through with a sword… Jaskier was gone and Geralt hadn’t gotten a farewell. Not that he deserved it.

The hope that Jaskier had forgotten or looked past him viciously killing his kind faded.

Geralt decided he would go back to try to collect Jaskier if he was still there. He likely wasn’t, but Geralt wouldn’t leave without confirming. Then he could fulfill this contract and move on.

Roach trudged forward as if she had picked up on his declining spirit. The slower they went, the more time he had to imagine Jaskier waiting for him. It was ridiculous. He felt miserable and foolish.

But instead, the sight he saw was Jaskier speaking to a man in long robes. The man didn’t have a horse nor did he look frightening but the bard’s expression spoke of danger. The closer Geralt got, the more magic was present. Unfamiliar magic. Potent magic.

A mage.

Geralt could hear some of their conversation.

“I’ll offer your master a deal then.”

Jaskier cut the mage off, “He would never accept.”

“Witchers will accept any deal with the right amount of coin.”

“You’re better off finding yourself another servant, Efreeti, because I will not be bought.” Jaskier’s voice was bold and sharp but as Geralt kept getting closer he saw the tremble in Jaskier’s hands. “That isn’t how I work.”

The presence of magic was stronger and both were too focused on the other to notice him.

“What business do you have with the bard?” He snarled startling both Jaskier and the mage.

“Whatever price you name, Witcher, I’ll pay it.”

Geralt was taken aback. What kind of mage believed a witcher owned a human. He bit out each of his next words. “He’s not for sale.”

The mage begged on all the while Geralt refused. This man, this sorcerer, accepted no reality except one where Jaskier could be bought. He couldn’t stand it anymore and called for Jaskier to follow him to get away. Jaskier eagerly went along. It made Geralt relieved that he played along, Jaskier had encouraged him with a smile when he spoke to the mage. He had wanted to state that Jaskier couldn’t be bought because he did not own him but it seemed that the mage could steal Jaskier away if that were the case. At least as property he was respected as someone else’s. It wouldn’t matter once they got away.

With hands still shaking on the reins of his horse, Jaskier sighed.

“Friend of yours?” Geralt tried.

“Huh? What- oh, yeah, sure, the bestest.” Then Jaskier mumbled, “What a fucking cunt."

A mage had tried to purchase his bard and it seemed Geralt wouldn’t be getting an answer to why that happened. Only that he was afraid of the mage. If Jaskier offended or owed that man anything then the sorcerer would have gotten whatever he wanted from the bard before asking a witcher... It confused Geralt to no end. Was Jaskier a slave before? A runaway? Or assumed under a new master when he wasn't supposed to?

The bard prattled on about anything but the mage. Geralt would ask about it later then. He had a contract to fulfill and the bard's past was only inducing headaches.

The cave where the “monster” would be homed only bandits, Geralt had voices deep in the cave that Jaskier couldn’t. He didn’t want another display for reasons why the bard should leave him. He urged Jaskier to stay outside, then to go back, and he tried pointing in the right direction but the bard never fucking listened because after Geralt handled the bandits and rescued the kidnapped apothecary, the bard came out from the dark to patch him up.

Geralt hadn’t cared about the stab in his calf as much as he cared about how much the bard had seen in that cave. Jaskier hadn’t even glanced at the corpses. He fretted over Geralt’s injury and convinced the woman to help him. Because Jaskier always had a way of convincing others.

The poor woman had been bound, beaten, and scared beyond belief. Geralt knew he was a witcher and that he looked like one. He didn’t want to impose but she agreed, believing she was paying a debt for saving her life and her horse.

Something that caught his attention was when Jaskier mentioned what the weather was like where he was from. The topic wasn’t anything interesting but it made Geralt realize he didn’t know what country the bard was from, he hadn’t even been given a general idea of North or South. He knew nothing about Jaskier. What struck Geralt as odder was that Jaskier didn’t answer where he was from, the conversation just shifted.

With plenty of awkward moments, she did what she had to do, Geralt had felt magic yet again coming from Jaskier randomly, it unsettled him with the fresh memory of the mage but Jaskier’s casual and grinning face at him made Geralt lower his guard. The Witcher couldn’t take his mind off of why Jaskier had waited on the outside of the village. How he blankly stared at the first group of bodies and then ignored the next. And then this, getting him aid from a healer. Was the bard only doing this because he feared Geralt? Was his happy demeanor an act because he wanted the Witcher to be on good terms when he left? Geralt didn’t smell fear, perhaps it was there but Geralt was only looking for signs that the bard would stay.

Geralt didn’t want him sucking up to him because of fear. He didn’t want to feel that he was forcing Jaskier to stay by his side. Or if Jaskier hadn’t processed what Geralt has done yet then he didn’t want to be around to watch this bard grow distant and resentful of him.

He made his decision. He was close by, he would go to Kaer Morhen that winter season. He may never see Jaskier again but it was better to leave with the image of a happy bard than one who would be repulsed by him.

Jaskier looked upset by the news but that was fine. He would be fine.

Kaer Morhen felt colder but Geralt had attributed that to a new fucking crack that had formed in the fort while they were away. Vesmir, Lambert, and himself worked on it until it was sealed. It wasn’t pretty but they didn’t care as long as their spit didn’t freeze in their mouth.

Eskel hadn’t come that winter. It wasn’t uncommon for witchers to not attend each year. It was impossible at times considering the distance one would have to travel to get to the far North. It was always a shame when all of them couldn’t gather at once but they unspokenly cherished the season when they did.

Geralt thought of the strange and colorful bard on and off during his stay. Lambert had caught wind of his occasional mental absences. Lambert made his sole goal that whenever he caught Geralt in such a state he would wack him with the nearest item.

Receiving a chair to the back had been the worst, a slap with a wooden spoon had been the easiest, the candle and wax had been worth it to see Lambert get scolded.

Tasks filled the time as well as Geralt searching for the types of curses that were in existence. He searched under blessings as well but cynicism kept him looking for what curses were most commonly given to humans and when. Nothing left him feeling he had the answer to what the bard was afflicted with, not that he had much of a clue. He tried to see what types of magic were most desired in slaves. Needless to say, it wasn't a comfortable topic especially when it came to brothel-type slaves... A conversation Jaskier had with the barkeep where they had first met vaguely came to mind. The man had said Jaskier was there to work then must have left for the brothel in town, Geralt had assumed the man meant Jaskier as a customer but did he see Jaskier as something else?

More questions and outlandish thoughts filled his head. He pushed them away. It was unlikely he would see Jaskier again anyway.

The season had gone by quickly. He set off after Lambert but before Vesmir. Lambert had left with a promise to visit a brothel in each city he went to and told Geralt to do the same and how it might cure his blue balls.

Geralt’s send-off was less eventful. Vesmir wished him well and gave a nod when Geralt had turned to look back one last time.

The path was the same. Though it was winter’s end, the season clung tightly before it would allow spring a chance to breathe. It stayed that way for a month or two.

Skies were grey and cloudy. The sun hidden away for the longest time, Geralt had gotten a room for comfort though mainly because sleeping in a bed reminded him of…

Needless to say, the next morning, there was a brighter sun. When he found his bard sleeping in the stables, at Roach’s door his heart swelled. The bard smelled of fresh Spring. Straws of hay littered his hair. Smushed out of season, blue flowers in his grip, and he tumbled multiple times trying to stand, but his bard’s face lit up seeing him. Winter may have been lingering but Spring arrived.

Geralt smiled back.

Roach huffed in his face as he spoke to the bard. “I’m glad he’s back too,” he whispered to her.

Then, as if they hadn’t spent a season apart, they found their rhythm again. Jaskier talked about his performances and to Geralt’s embarrassment, Jaskier told him how people loved his songs about him in the big cities he went to. He asked Geralt how his winter went and Geralt pointedly did not think about the splinters he pulled out of his hair because he received an old chair to the back.

Life went on, contracts were found and completed. Jaskier sang in any establishment he could. Occasionally getting them half of a free meal.

Life had gotten easier for Geralt, just as the bard promised but they could be and occasionally were run out of towns.

Geralt didn’t know if dealing with the resentment of others was better with or without Jaskier. Jaskier’s presence was comforting but the bard can’t stop an angry mob and he takes it right beside a witcher.

Jaskier had a way of softening blows with his touch. Sometimes Jaskier would cup his face with his hands and just look at Geralt. No words had to be exchanged, Geralt didn’t want Jaskier to stop so he would be silent for as long as he could.

The bard’s cool hands brought him back from wherever his mind had wandered. He had a small, soft smile, one that Geralt knew had a meaning but he had never been a man to read between the lines for something like this. So he asked. He leaned into Jaskier’s hands and asked the bard what he was doing. He wanted to ask what it meant. He wanted to ask if Jaskier was getting the same release of pressure that he was at that moment. He wanted to know if he was the only one finding meaning in what could be a pointless exchange to Jaskier.

Jaskier had pulled his hands away and laughed it off.

Geralt never got his answer but Jaskier hadn’t seemed disturbed after and that was enough to calm Geralt’s nerves.

Then they had entered another city to find the king that sent out a flyer for any hunter or witcher to rid of some kind of monster that had slaughtered several. It was vague at best but no reason to not seek a contract, especially one that may lead to better pay if it was from a king.

Jaskier had recognized the city, he did not mention it to him but Geralt knew from the way Jaskier’s eyes flickered to random buildings or stalls down the path. His nose wrinkled at the sight of the castle and Geralt had made assumptions.

As they followed the guards guiding them to their king, Jaskier tensed and eyed the decor with disdain. When they met the king it was clear Jaskier hated the man with a passion. He had implied that he knew the man from a long while ago. Though how long ago was uncertain but Jaskier couldn’t have been that old when Geralt had met him, so possibly a child. Then the bard implied he had been a servant. This proved Geralt’s theory that Jaskier worked for royalty and that’s how he understood the court life of nobles.

Geralt had to force himself to focus on the contract and the information he could get from this encounter but any snippet of Jaskier’s past was never as clear as this bit had been. Perhaps knowing this place would give him answers. But listening to the king was grating on his ears. He didn’t know the king but seeing Jaskier despise another human so vehemently made him give in to some of his suspicions about the man.

King Valois offered them a room that he left Jaskier to stay put while he could gather information. They had a mild fight on whether Jaskier would tag along but even Geralt could see how tired he was, Geralt already won.

Soon realizing that information gathering was impossible without the bard he had no choice but to revert back to his former ways of eavesdropping on what was being said about the monster around the city. He had forgotten that it was usually Jaskier doing the talking for him that made everything go over smoother. Leaving the bard had been a mistake but he wanted to learn more about this city that could possibly be where Jaskier is from.

Asking Jaskier seemed out of the realm of possibility. He always rambled yet never about any homelife. If he hadn’t brought it up in all this time then it was something Jaskier didn’t want to talk about which was concerning. The bard spoke of embarrassing tales, even some grievances he faced in the past but never this?

The Witcher returned frustrated but decided to take a gamble with the bard. He pretended to know more about the hunt and that the king had been dubious to him. He pushed it each time Jaskier tried to avoid the subject before finally getting through. The bard had gotten emotional but claimed the information he had wouldn’t help Geralt for his hunt and he couldn’t argue with Jaskier further.

He had felt awful for pushing Jaskier on the topic especially when the bard put all his efforts to leave the room as fast as he could. He had even left his lute behind.

When Geralt watched Jaskier race out of the room he noticed that his lute had been discarded on the floor. It fell when Jaskier was startled by Geralt’s surprising entrance.

Picking it up had been a strange feeling. There was a tremor of magic when he held it. He set it gently down by the bed but then squinted at the instrument. Was the magic he occasionally felt from Jaskier because of this object. Was that why Jaskier had been so distressed when it was almost destroyed the day they were captured by elves? Was the object blessed so the human kept it?

But Geralt remembered that he had felt magic come from Jaskier so even with the magic in the instrument, there was an untenable presence of magic with the bard though if he was magical because of the lute or the other way around was to be determined.

Jaskier followed him to the hunt and forced them to eat beforehand. This was where Geralt gathered details for what the creature was after and why. He listened closely and found that most were happy with the monster, some were very disturbed, but there was a pattern forming. The creature, if what the people said was true, targeted a vicious few that purposefully harmed others. He had wanted to assume this was a human issue and that merely some humans took it upon themselves to enact justice but the added fact that they had been torn apart and quickly disposed of in front of the doors of the castle without witnesses said it couldn’t have been humans.

It killed some of the king’s advisors, a threat then? If the creature was sending a message to the king then of course the man would want a witcher to rid him of the impending death.

The king was involved, he just didn’t know how or why.

The creature was a revenant. Once Geralt saw, it made sense. Not that he could focus with Jaskier having snuck back to the graveyard after he tried getting him to stay at a reasonable distance. Trying to scare Jaskier away never worked. Even when Geralt could see how much the bard wanted to piss himself, he stayed. Seeing the monster wouldn’t deter him, nor would Geralt’s words.

Jaskier even claimed he could never be killed when he was near him. The confidence that he had in Geralt scared him.

Because what if a day came where he couldn’t?

What if the last thing Geralt saw was Jaskier’s horrified face before death struck him?

Geralt pushed that down. He just had to worry about today.

The revenant spoke, whispering to the graves. It spoke to someone dead, a little girl. He ignored it as well. It wasn’t a witchers job to interpret the incoherent words of monsters, his job was to kill it.

He did everything right. His silver blade struck where it needed to and he could have killed it with a couple more blows but Jaskier-

Fucking Jaskier.

Like the attention attractor he was, made the revenant take notice. Geralt observed it occur painfully slow. Instead of the revenant being in front of him and attacking him, it appeared behind his bard.

Its decaying, rotten face peered down. Jaskier’s own expression told Geralt he knew what was happening and the bastard… the fucking bastard tried to smile at him when Geralt see him shaking.

It made Geralt grind his teeth. He had pictured what Jaskier’s face would look like as he died but that wobbly grin had never been what he could have expected. The bard turned around and stared up at the revenant that hadn’t killed him yet.

The Revenant swayed and Jaskier spoke to it. The Witcher would be careful in his approach. He stepped inch by inch, hoping to strike it before it could decide his bard was in its way.

It never attacked.

It disappeared from the graveyard entirely.

Soon after, Geralt rushed to Jaskier, a tombstone was the only thing in his way from getting closer. Geralt heard the blood flowing in his own body.

Had the bard been able to convince a fucking revenant not to kill him?

“What the fuck?”

Jaskier looked sorry for the whole ordeal and explained how the king was involved. He told Geralt what he knew about the king. It repulsed Geralt to the core.

But then Jaskier looked so ashamed when he said that he left when he made certain discoveries that unsettled him.

“You feared that you would be next. Is that why you left?”

“What?” Jaskier’s eyes had blown wide at him.

“You said this was years ago.” Geralt wanted to handle this delicately. He spoke slowly, “You couldn’t have been of age.”

The bard scratched his neck. “I- Well, yes? It’s just… more complicated than that.”

It dawned on Geralt. The uneasiness in the castle. The unbridled rage towards the king in Geralt’s presence yet fear when in front of the man. How he was able to be spared by the revenant.

Had Jaskier… When he was just a child… Some of his research he had done in Kaer Morhen came to mind. Was Jaskier sold to this place for more than just being a servant...

“Did he..?” He approached the topic carefully. He wasn’t sure what he would do with the knowledge, it wasn’t like he could kill the king in broad daylight. Or at all. Another Blaviken where no one would understand why he did what he did.

But he had to know. He would be a coward to avoid the subject if Jaskier needed him to… to what? He doesn’t know but fucking dammit he wanted to give back to Jaskier what he gave to him when the world seemed against him. Whatever that fucking meant. He would if the bard needed it.

Jaskier gagged in response. “What? Oh- no no- Gross- Fuck no! He didn’t- with me? Never! That’s not a thought I wanted to have. I think I might lose our breakfast- lunch, or whatever, ew. Absolutely disgusting.”

Geralt shook his head. The bard seemed genuine. Perhaps he jumped to conclusions and Jaskier didn’t have a darker past in this place. Geralt was only grasping at straws to understand his bard. He would keep it in mind but trust Jaskier’s words, if only because now he had to focus on the revenant- or Wraith as Jaskier kept calling it.

The revenant wanted revenge for his daughter. Wanted revenge for all those harmed by the king and those like him. Geralt would be killing what people of this city called The Vice of Vermin. Witchers aren’t often heroes, contrary to what Jaskier spun tales to be. Witchers are the hired butchers of the continent. Whether good, evil or something in between, a witcher’s job isn’t to ask questions or reasons or justifications for killing a beast. It’s just to do the killing.

It was unfortunate that he would forget most of the time.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about how he would have to defend the man that murdered children and possibly abused his bard.

Jaskier kept talking, unaware of the dilemma he faced.

“The contract…”

Finally, the bard understood and his expression turned pained as he turned away to the ground. Jaskier froze only to spin on his feet, grinning at him. Something mischievous danced alongside the bard. “Is it your contract to rid the wraith? Or was it to find the monster terrorizing the land? Was that not what the king said? I don’t believe he was very specific,” Jaskier tapped at his chin. “Funny thing really.”

The Witcher saw what he was doing. Wordplay had always been Jaskier’s strong suit. He saw how Geralt could let this play out…

“Your blade will never leave its sheath to defeat the monster. You know what, Witcher, I would wager my very lute upon that.”

The real monster. But could Geralt let that happen? The revenant… killing the king would release it from this realm, having its vengeance fulfilled. Geralt couldn’t be blamed for the death. It wouldn’t be done by his hands.

“I’ll tell the king I found the monster.”

Jaskier hopped on one foot in a show for joy. “Splendid plan,” he had said as if it wasn’t of his own crafting. The bard patted his cheek and walked past him to the castle. Geralt followed, it appeared the bard did not want to miss what he would call a show.

The fight hadn’t been a fight at all. Those guards who had tried to protect their king were slaughtered, one having his entrails taken out while he watched and the other feeling the claws of a wrathful spirit take him apart from the inside out.

King Valois had the worst fate of the three. He had been strangled and his soul ripped out to be clawed and torn apart. All throughout, screams ran through the grand hall.

Once the revenant had completed his mission, he faded. Maybe the bastard could find his daughter.

Then the bard had to say something stupid. “You never cease to amaze me, dear Witcher. You’re a true paragon of heroism.” He paused. “You see, no one could do anything before, even me…”

“The Revenant handled the monster, not I.”

“Humble as always, but imagine if you had killed the wraith instead. You made a strategic decision that led to the desired outcome, don’t deny it, my friend. That’s why I’m thanking you.”

“Don’t thank me.”

“Unlikely.” Jaskier waved his hand. “You befriended a bard.”

Servants had thanked him as well. They had also ensured that Geralt’s presence would remain unknown for his sake. Jaskier had been upset by that. He kept whining that a good story would be lost and then said a peculiar line.

“A man’s dead, bard.”

“Last time I checked, humans tend to do that, Geralt.”

Then he backtracked.

“... As is the circle of all life… Point being, a great story is right here and perhaps I can write it, but what is the point! Art being made for no audience! That’s not art!” Jaskier groaned into his hands, “This is the true loss in all of this nonsense.”

Well.

That was just another thing for the Witcher to catalog.

Not a month later and the bard almost fucking died again.

If the revenant was a close call then a hair thread’s away and Jaskier would be a werewolf’s feast and a decaying corpse in the middle of the fucking woods.

It didn’t help that he joked about it. Saying how Geralt saved him in the nick of time with his divine witcher senses. As if he didn’t have to smell his bard’s blood believing him injured or dead in the middle of a random ass forest. As if Geralt couldn't picture how easy a werewolf could tear him apart. As if he couldn't imagine coming too late and seeing Jaskier in pieces, eyes widened with fear, frozen in place. Saying he’ll become a witcher as if that wasn’t a one-way path to a life and afterlife of hell. He would never wish this upon any human.

He was pissed. Pissed at the werewolf, the bard, life. That fucking night had been worse than the revenant, the drool of the beast had clung to Jaskier and his scaped hands as a reminder of how fragile he was. How easy it would be for any of these times for Jaskier to make a mistake that would lead to permanent death. But he was alive. He survived and Geralt didn't know what to do with the swelling feelings in his chest that wouldn't leave.

Then Jaskier had fucking tripped into his back and then almost fallen backward, and with a stroke of luck and reflexes that were still at their peak because of the potions running through Geralt’s veins, he caught the idiot and pulled him back.

Jaskier was chest to chest with him. He held a tight grip of the bard’s wrist that may have accidentally gone tighter when he leaned closer to Jaskier’s face. Jaskier's big eyes looked into him and his breath was warm. Geralt’s eyes trailed to his lips and stayed there. Soft and wet since the bard had just licked them, there was his familiar upward twitch of a smile waiting to pop out. Tracing it with his tongue would have been so easy if he leaned in just a little further. Just to feel the bard's warmth, more than what he usually got. He wanted it fully.

“Yes, I would say black is definitely your color. No one could pull it off better,” Jaskier whispered. “Yes, no else indeed.”

Geralt was grateful for the first time his potions gave his eyes the appearance they did. He focused on keeping his composure. He didn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand for the rest of the walk back to deliver a werewolf's head.

Luckily the bard never questioned it.

Chapter Text

Over the years with the bard by his side he had finally learned how to manage him better. Geralt didn’t have an exact strategy but occasionally Jaskier would stay behind just because Geralt had insisted enough. He didn’t know what the ingredients were to keep the bard safer but he didn’t complain when it worked.

He may have complained to himself that he missed the company before and after the hunt itself. The journey before the fight was his normal routine of going through the methods to kill the thing when it could have been filled with endless chatter such as the time he wandered off the path to pick flowers and found an interesting rock.

“Geralt! Geralt! You’re not going to believe this shit! Look! Look at what I found, Geralt!”

He sighed. He knew Jaskier wouldn’t let up until he got what he wanted, same with most of what the bard wanted. Geralt looked over to see Jaskier cradling a rock in his hands. He glared at Jaskier.

“It’s sorta shaped like a dick.” Jaskier’s face was much brighter than it should have been over a rock. “Isn’t it?”

When Geralt had taken a closer look, the bard was right. It hadn’t made him any less of an idiot but he was right.

So each time he went alone and returned, Jaskier would be waiting for him with a smug expression saying that he bet Geralt was bored. He was right. Not that Geralt ever gave in.

An upside was that when Geralt came back after a hunt without the bard, Jaskier would fuss over the wounds and somehow have a way to settle him down. Heart pumping, chest screaming, mind running.

And all of it would slow.

His touch was annoyingly intoxicating, after a monster, it was the perfect thing to come back to. Geralt didn’t acknowledge what it all meant, he didn’t want to. He just wanted to enjoy Jaskier’s fingers brushing through his hair and his eyes smiling at him. Jaskier always looked so happy to see him. That could be how the bard was, it probably was.

But Jaskier acted like being around him was natural. As if a witcher were anyone else. Maybe Geralt really was just anyone to Jaskier but he appreciated that. Geralt appreciated the closeness, real closeness. He doesn’t know when it started.

Jaskier made a mold into his life to fit himself to a point where Geralt forgets how he handled certain circumstances without the bard. The haggling being the most obvious… The casual touches he leaned towards less obvious.

It was strange how natural it all became. Geralt could return with eyes still blackened because he knew Jaskier wouldn’t mind. He could keep quiet for hours and the bard would talk enough for both. Geralt listened. He normally did. There was little else to focus on when out on the road but at rare times he tuned out Jaskier. The bard was always quite talkative. It was a nuisance in the beginning and still borders on one every now and then but it was more welc… but nothing.

“So, Geralt, that’s when life was starting to make sense, but then I met an old woman who collected fucking maggots in a jar- live and dead ones… for some- some reason, and I’ve been lost ever since.”

Phrases like that made Geralt wish he had paid attention. Where did Jaskier get all of his anecdotes? He seemed to have an endless stream of them, Geralt figured Jaskier took stories he heard someone else tell and used them as his own to tell him but when Geralt listened it didn’t account for all the intimate detail Jaskier gave when he spoke. Like he wanted the memory to be so well described that Geralt would imagine he was there alongside him for the fucking weird life the bard had led.

The bard had to be a noble-born that was distant in succession. That would account for the traveling as well as his demanding to stay at inns at night. Though it didn’t explain the low way of living Jaskier had seemingly been adjusted to for quite some time. He could have been a noble-born sent to serve other nobles to learn the etiquette of court. That would account for how he knew the deceased Valois. Then he ran away to be a bard. That had to be it. None of it explained the magic… or the mage or his promiscuous habits.

Jaskier was a mystery despite never shutting the fuck up. How a man could say so much without saying anything important was beyond Geralt. It did fill the time when Geralt thought on for hours about it. There was something else about the bard that had Geralt try researching when he would return to Kaer Morhen. Those occasional winter seasons, the downtime would be spent looking through dusty relics. Anything that could explain Jaskier’s… Jaskier-ish-ness. And a habit he had that Geralt noticed after a while.

The bard would have him and others phrase things in a certain way before he could be satisfied. This aspect confuses Geralt to no end. He tried to assume that it was a bard thing to do for the sake of wordplay but that never made any sense. He seemed to do it randomly as well. Days and weeks could go by without Jaskier ever worrying about it.

Cursed then. Cursed to have to make people word sentences a specific way? It was random but the bard being cursed seemed to make the most sense, it was the most general but Geralt tried other routes. He tried non-human paths. After all, Jaskier did have that strange slip-up and then have a… Well, Geralt couldn’t say closeness but an affinity? Sympathy? For creatures at times. The Griffin came to mind and then the Revenant.

Geralt studied creatures from the old books and he tried to put together many of Jaskier’s features but nothing truly fit. He seemed too human for any of them, yet not human enough to be, well, human. A type of fae came close. The name could be explained, his non-human-ish habits, and his overblown emotions, and even tendencies to want vicious revenge. But the name he had given could just be fake. His habits could be eccentric but still human and he was emotional, most humans were, and humans could be spiteful and revengeful. Him being Fae was a minor possibility at best even if the more he thought about it, it was making sense…

Geralt was hoping he wasn’t Fae. Not that it was likely but Geralt did not want to consider what consequences there could be if it were the case.

He wrote it off as a worst-case scenario.

Besides, if the bard were Fae then why would the now-deceased King he hated so much not be dead at his own hands… but he did get Geralt to not kill the Revenant that killed him brutally. Geralt shook the thought of Jaskier being Fae out of his head.

A mage then?

It would mean he was once human. He would be a little like Geralt then. But if he were a mage then he would have used magic more often and would be aware of using it. Jaskier didn't seem to be aware of his aura of magic nor did he seem to use it. If Jaskier truly were a mage then he wouldn’t be who he is today. Mages don’t act… as Jaskier does. But there was that mage that wanted to buy him… Was he a runaway student? But didn’t Jaskier once offhandedly mention he studied at Oxenfurt?

He did. Jaskier wouldn’t shut up about how he adored the city. He made it sound overcrowded for Geralt’s tastes. Jaskier spoke of food, color, people, and art. He looked his happiest when he spoke of Oxenfurt. Geralt would prompt him and Jaskier would deliver. He had alluded to being a hired spy, something about Redania’s Secret Services. He was known as Dandelion and Jaskier laughed, recalling several stories even when Geralt teased the name.

“Yes, Dandelion, Geralt. I quite adored the nickname. They said it matched how I was able to weed in and infiltrate,” He had said smugly. “They were right! After all, I infiltrated this cantankerous old witcher’s heart, haven’t I?” He winked and took a gulp of his ale.

When Geralt had tried to get Jaskier to go on about his dabble in espionage his jovialness dimmed. He said that they discovered too much about him. Jaskier hadn’t said more on that topic. It had confused Geralt. What blackmail could they have had that would bother Jaskier? And to leave? A city he claimed to love so much? Him not being human perhaps?

The next time he got Jaskier to talk about Oxenfurt was in a tavern in the middle of the night after they had had to leave a different town because the bard got into a brawl over Geralt’s honor. The idiot. They had managed to make it to the next town over. The bard gave his true name.

“That place was a trove of knowledge but at such a ridiculous cost! Geralt! It was- Being there became a prison I doomed myself to dwell.” Jaskier was often an array of emotions, rage not unknown to Geralt, still, it felt akin to eerie. “It felt like I had to, er, occasionally be someone else. Irritating,” he pouted. “I was Julian Alfred Pankratz every day there. It’s like that was all people would see sometimes.”

That had caught Geralt’s attention. “A full name?” He was some sort of noble-born then?

“Huh?” Jaskier looked caught unawares. “Oh, oh! Yeah, yeah. Right, Geralt, not of Rivia, Rivia. There is a full name here I suppose.” He played with the drop of ale slowly dripping down his cup.

Geralt tried out the name. “Julian.” So this was the real name. He had a name other than Jaskier. The thought that Jaskier was anything but Jaskier was strange.

The bard laughed and waved a hand. “Jaskier is much preferred if you please, sir Witcher.”

He nodded. “Jaskier, then.”

“It fits me so much better. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Geralt agreed.

Jaskier puffed his chest proudly. “Good, because that’s the one I’m sticking with. Besides, I couldn’t stay there.”

“Didn’t fit the teaching role?”

The bard shook his head. “It was fun.” He paused, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “There was just, ha, someone that wanted me to… for so long.” A sinister look crossed his face. “Well, let's say they wanted to remind me how flimsy my position was in a very specific way.” Jaskier sighed, “I had to leave… Adventuring is more thrilling in an actual fun way. How else does someone experience true forms of art and beauty without ever searching for it?” The bard stood and Geralt followed after leaving a coin to pay for their drinks before they left the tavern.

There was a heavy silence while Geralt thought about what a person in a higher position could do to Jaskier to make him leave a city he spoke so fondly of. Something to remind him how flimsy his position was… It didn’t sit right with Geralt. There could be a lot of things, a lot of uncomfortable or malicious things. Possibly Jaskier’s true non-human nature came out? But if Jaskier weren’t human then how would he have a true name and nobility class?

Geralt opened the door and Jaskier walked through before him.

“But in the end, I got to meet you, and wasn’t that a delicious treat. Can’t say I regret that.”

Geralt swallowed thickly.

“Makes me believe in destiny.” He patted Geralt’s shoulder.

Damnit. He felt like he was getting to know the bard but he was only knowing the mask.

But that wasn’t true.

Jaskier always felt genuine. Sometimes too honest.

There was a new layer to this. Layers that confused Geralt more. Jaskier was technically a noble born. A Viscount, Geralt found out later. Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove.

Any portion of information he got just destroyed a theory made prior. Yet all of it still existed together in some way. Geralt just had to piece it together. He couldn’t just ask Jaskier. The bard would talk about anything and everything but never these things. If he didn’t wish to speak of it then it wasn’t something for Geralt to ask.

“Still can’t picture you as a spy.”

Jaskier gasped,“Tell me, Geralt!” The bard bounced on his heels with his hands on his hips. Too much energy for the day they had. “What do you think is going on in this big ole’ head of mine?”

Geralt smirked. “Is that what you call it?” Jaskier leaned in. “That buzz going around in your head? I figured it was a bee in a glass jar.”

“Oh, how you wax poetry for me.” Jaskier clutched at his heart dramatically. “I swoon for you. Yes, I am swooning. Won’t you catch me, dear?” The bard leaned or rather fell and left Geralt to make sure he didn’t topple over.

Geralt held Jaskier’s back and waist.

“My knight in leather armor.”

He glared. “I should drop you.”

“Probably,” the bard’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I am having too much fun with this after all. But I just love taking advantage of the fact you can throw me several feet if you wanted.”

Jaskier stood up and chuckled. Geralt already missed the weight. He wanted the bard to explain that. He wanted Jaskier to explain a lot of the things he said but the rest could be answered if Jaskier just would decode some of the simple actions he did with Geralt.

If he understood Jaskier then he could understand what the fuck was wrong with himself when he was with the bard.

Jaskier asked him to go with him to a formal court event in the kingdom of Cintra. A princess’s engagement party or something.

He didn’t want to go.

Obviously.

The bard had convinced him anyway. It was one night. There would be good food and wine. Jaskier had confirmed this. Geralt saw how badly Jaskier wanted him to come along, and it also meant he would see Jaskier performing formally. He wasn’t sure if there would be a difference between Jaskier normally and in a courtroom though.

Jaskier groomed him that entire night. He had clothing ready and his armor was sent away because they were covered in selkimore guts. There was a whole plan that Geralt was completely out of the loop but the bard had it startlingly handled. He cleaned his hair thoroughly. Combing his fingers through before dumping more water on him to repeat it. The process was nice. It would have been better without the looming dread for the banquet.

Then Geralt realized why Jaskier was asking him to go. “How many of these Lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say.” Jaskier didn’t bother denying.

Then the bard kept talking. Geralt could already see him getting involved in stupid shit because of him. Then there was Jaskier’s strange wording again, talking fantasies of Geralt’s wants.

“I want nothing.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together, looked down at the rag he was holding then back up at Geralt. “Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.” He crouched at the end of the bath Geralt sat in and stared intently.

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet, here we are.”

Geralt couldn’t tell what Jaskier meant by those words. Did he know? It was obvious, wasn’t it? How Geralt enjoyed his presence. Despite his lack of responses, his lack of humanity Jaskier never minded. Jaskier wasn’t scared. Jaskier wasn’t averse to becoming close to a monstrous witcher, he would go out of his way for Geralt. Did he know how much Geralt appreciated the company? Did he know more that Geralt himself didn’t know about?

Was Jaskier telling him that he knew that Geralt needed him? Or maybe that he knew Geralt wanted Jaskier to need him?

He changed the subject soon afterward when Jaskier didn’t break the silence. Then back to scrubbing at his head that he knew would freak Jaskier out and get him to brush his hands through his hair again.

He didn’t know any of this would lead to the disaster that was the banquet.

It had begun with Jaskier’s guidance that he didn’t want to admit he was desperate for and then an old face.

Who would have expected to see Mousesack? It was an embarrassing greeting but Mousesack was a welcomed sight.

“I’ve missed your sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair, but now the White Wolf here, perhaps all is not lost. Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?”

He turned around to glare at Jaskier who no doubt was eavesdropping.

“What?”

“Walk with me.” Mousesack took his shoulder and began guiding him away from Jaskier.

Geralt knew he would be fine by himself for a time.

“Your companion?” He asked.

Geralt raised a brow. “The bard?”

“Yes,” Mousesack confirmed. “What is he?”

“You can’t tell?”

“Well, he’s certainly no mage.” At least Geralt knew he wasn’t wrong for feeling magic around Jaskier and he could be certain the bard wasn’t a mage or druid. Mousesack would have said. But the way Mousesack said it... Did he imply Jaskier wasn't human in the slightest? Or..?

A man bellowed, interrupting their conversation. “To Mousesack!”

Mousesack raised his pint and laughed heartily along before beginning their catch-up.

“I’ve been advising the Skelligen crown for years. A tad rough around the edges, but they’re of the earth. Like me.”

“Old and crusty.”

Mousesack chuckled into his pint.

“How long until this horse-trading is done?” Geralt glanced around the grand hall. “I find royalty best taken in… small doses.”

“I wouldn’t count on leaving before dawn. These suitors will vie all night for Princess Pavetta’s hand,” Mousesack said while Geralt looked at the Princess across the room. The poor girl looked borderline frantic, her eyes shifting to everyone. It was clear that she didn’t want to be here even more so than Geralt. “Marrying into this monarchy is a mighty prize. Who wouldn’t want to be king of the most powerful force in the land.”

“Hm.”

They began walking again.

“So, which one of these little shits is your coin on?”

Mousesack looked around then pulled Geralt away from the crowds to a pillar. “Come with me, there’s much for you to see.”

They stood away to view the event from a distance where people couldn’t hear them over the crowd’s excitement.

“It’s not a fair bet.” Mousesack tilted his head in the direction of who would get the Princess’s hand. “That red-headed scanderlout over there, Crach of Craite, will marry Pavetta. The Lioness has already arranged it with the boy’s uncle, Eist Tuirseach.”

Geralt found both Crach and then Eist with Mousesack’s constant glances.

“No one would dare make a move on an alliance that powerful.”

“Handy with a blade,” Geralt said as he watched Eist spin a dagger around gracefully. “Handy with women, too” Then Geralt saw Jaskier behind Eist. He was taking his lute out of its case and preparing it.

“All an act. Queen Calanthe refused his marriage proposal three times after King Roegner died, despite the two of them gliding around each other like courting swans.”

Geralt straightened himself on a pillar he was leaning on once he saw a short, bearded nobleman approach Jaskier. He wouldn’t go unless he saw it wasn't a friendly encounter but he could tell from a distance that Jaskier looked uncomfortable, still, Geralt waited until he believed Jaskier needed his help.

“No, no, no. She is not for living in her husband’s shadow again.”

Then the nobleman grabbed Jaskier’s arm forcefully and Geralt knew it was his turn. He scoffed. He would have to apologize to Mousesack later but he had a feeling that Mousesack was watching him anyway.

Geralt saw the nobleman backing Jaskier to a wall.

Now he couldn’t hear the whole conversation but the closer he got the more he heard what he didn’t want to hear.

“Fleeing my wife’s chamber’s!” Geralt didn’t want to know.

“Uhm, well…”

“Drop your trousers.”

“What?”

“I didn’t get a proper look at the little shit’s face, but that pimply arse I’d recognize anywhere.”

“Well… uh, uh… Ah, Geralt.” The relief on Jaskier’s face made Geralt want to grin but not for good intentions. He was just happy he could use the excuse story for Jaskier that he’d been saving.

He put on his most approachable face. “Forgive me, my lord. This…” Geralt strained to keep a straight face. “Happens all the time. It’s true, he has the face of a cad, and a coward.” Still, he could feel his lip twitch into a smirk as he spoke.

Jaskier’s expression dropped at his words, eyebrows leaping up.

He schooled his own expression back to a sullen and downcast frown. “But, truth be known, he was kicked in the balls by an ox as a child.”

“Well, that’s…” Jaskier’s shocked disagreement was halted when he looked back at the nobleman. His hesitation was enough for Geralt to know he had nothing better to say but to go along with Geralt’s story. He couldn’t wait to hold this over Jaskier’s head at a later date. How the bard’s creativity and skills of deception had abandoned him in the Cintran courts.

The bard was forced to go along with Geralt's tale. “Tr-True…”

With an obvious look to Jaskier's groin, the nobleman apologized and even handed Jaskier an expensive coin.

When the man trailed away Geralt smirked at Jaskier.

“Oh, wow. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Geralt still felt his lip twitching as he held back a laugh.

“First you hog all the fanfare, then you go and ruin my courtly reputation.” Jaskier rested his hands on his hips and gave Geralt a mock of a I’m scolding you face.

“I saved your life. You’re on your own from here on.”

Jaskier scoffed but his playful smile told Geralt that he didn’t believe Geralt wouldn’t save him if he needed it.

“Try not to get any daggers in your back before dawn.” Geralt appeased. A compromise.

Obnoxious trumpets played as the queen arrived. She was announced which led Jaskier to scurry himself away. “I can indeed promise you a foolhardy attempt,” he said with a final pat on Geralt’s arm and a wink. “For my lovely witcher.”

Ah, the bard did have barding to do. Geralt had forgotten that Jaskier was not here as a guest but as an artisan.

Then the poor bastard’s song was immediately turned down the moment he sang. Her loss. It was an original that Jaskier had been working on for a while. He recognized that beginning tune. Geralt didn’t know it was for this event but he clenched his jaw when it had been so quickly tossed aside because he wasn’t allowed to go past two notes.

Jaskier seemed to take it in stride and moved on, leading the other musicians. Part of the job, still, Geralt felt pissed on Jaskier’s behalf.

The music went on and Geralt stayed leaning on the wall. He rested his eyes and tilted his head back and focused on the music, not the enthusiasm of the people in the grand hall.

Fourteen songs passed quickly. Some of the other bards flexed their hands. Or panted to the side when they paused. Jaskier still looked bright and fresh as ever. Not a sweat on his brow despite the work. His bard was grinning ear to ear. Geralt supposed it was practice that had Jaskier play non-stop when on the road or at bars, but these bards looked worn-out already. Perhaps it wasn’t a bard thing to do, just a Jaskier thing.

Many things were a Jaskier thing.

Right as there was a break for the artists, an argument broke out amongst the royalty in the banquet. Immediately, Geralt could hear it was about monsters. It was a fucking pissing contest. Both were fucking idiots though. They spoke of manticores that didn’t fucking exist.

He shared a look with Jaskier and they both were on the same page.

A fight was about to occur over incorrect facts.

“Enough!” The Queen’s voice called out. “We have a renowned guest here tonight.”

Geralt pitied the poor fool who was the renowned guest.

All eyes went to him.

Fuck. He was the renowned guest.

Fucking bard.

He just wanted to enjoy his pint he picked up and fade away from this event.

“Perhaps he can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth.”

Geralt spoke honestly, “Neither.” One stinger. And if Geralt had any say, then he would never again want anything to do with a manticore.

“Are you calling me a liar, old man?”

“Aah, the Butcher of Blaviken bleats utter nonsense.”

The phrase “Right. What do I know? I’m just a witcher,” ran through his head. It had made Jaskier laugh for days after when he’d remember it. He wondered if Jaskier would find it just as funny if he did it again.

But he couldn’t do that. Geralt looked to Jaskier. Whenever Geralt didn't know what to say in situations like this he looked to Jaskier and usually that would get the bard to fix everything Geralt was fucking up. Not much the bard could do at the moment except shake his head in a warning.

Geralt lowered his eyes and sucked in a breath. He had to make something up. Jaskier was telling him not to pick a side and keep the event moving smoothly, to make everyone look past this. So he lied, “Perhaps the lords encountered… rare subspecies of manticore.”

The mob murmured in agreement.

He glanced at Jaskier who sighed in relief. He did well.

Queen Calanthe laughed. “Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?”

He was not doing well. There was cheering but he didn’t contribute to that.

“There was no slaying. I had my ass kicked by a ragged band of elves. I was about to have my throat cut when Filavandrel let me go.”

“But the song!” A man shouted.

“Yeah, the song.” He heard Jaskier mutter. Jaskier knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t lie about that day.

“At least when Filavandrel’s blade kissed my throat, I didn’t shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you, good lords. At your final breath, a shitless death.” He raised his ale then sipped at it. “But I doubt it.”

Jaskier laughed. Geralt noticed that. The bard contained it immediately but he laughed. So Geralt proudly smirked.

Lord Tuirseach fixed the rising tension. “It would have been your blade at Filavandrel’s throat, had you been there, Your Majesty. Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field.”

“Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make for far more interesting conversation this night.”

Geralt grimaced.

Come, Witcher. Take a seat by my side while I change.”

He had to play along. He sat at her right and stared at Jaskier any chance he got because what the fuck was he doing sitting next to the fucking Queen of Cintra.

The bard smiled remorsely and Geralt glared. Then Jaskier shrugged while strumming as if to say “it’s not my fault you’re an idiot.”

The Queen spoke to him when she returned. Geralt kept his eyes forward. Mainly on Jaskier who had stopped giving Geralt his reassuring grins. Queen Calanthe implied wanting to hire Geralt for that very night. The night that was a banquet for her daughter’s engagement and she was asking Geralt to get rid of any unwanted pests that may show themselves on this night.

“I’ll save the good queen’s breath. I’m not for hire as a bodyguard.”

“You were hired just so by the bard.”

Her blatant observation surprised Geralt. She had noted not only his attendance but whose company he was keeping, who he was protecting. Had she noticed him staring? It would have flustered him had she prodded further.

“I’m helping the idiot free of his coin.”

She scoffed, “And he’s the idiot?”

Geralt hadn’t noticed he was smiling until he felt his face morph to a scowl as she continued speaking.

There was someone she wanted dead. Geralt didn’t know who but he made clear of his intentions that he would not help her and her threats would not move him.

The night went on. A Lord of Nilfgaard was humiliated by the Queen. Several suitors came before and came after, though none shot down like that bastard.

Jaskier remained as Geralt’s anchor for the night. He looked like he was having fun. The Queen called for the bard to play and finally, Jaskier had his show. He was requested to play the Fishmonger’s daughter and Geralt rolled his eyes. The bard performed well and was all smiles. Geralt knew this was one of Jaskier’s favorite songs because it was absurd and also because Geralt had not understood a euphemism in the song and Jaskier held that above Geralt every single time he played it.

Asshole.

The Queen complained about the tradition of the banquet and how she despised it. How she wanted to break away from it but too much of her power stemmed from it, respect came from it so she couldn’t break away.

Then she asked, “Tell me, Witcher. Why are there so few of you left?”

He hadn’t answered right away. Was it because they were being killed off slowly by monsters on the path? Was it by humans who banded together with the goal to shun witchers which could lead to their starving and dying out? No. It started somewhere.

“It is no longer possible to create more of us since the sacking of Kaer Morhen…” At least no more young boys would have his fate for being abandoned at the gates of a witcher’s fortress. “Tell me, your Majesty… Why do you risk your life on the battlefield when you can rest on your throne?”

“Because there is a simplicity in killing monsters,” she whispered, “is there not?”

Geralt stared, unwilling to delve deeper into that topic.

“Seems we are quite the pair, Geralt of Rivia.”

“Hmm.”

There was an uncomfortable silence but more suitors would present themselves and Geralt could pretend he never spoke to the Queen. This hellish night would end and Jaskier would convince him that he actually had fun. But the doors of the grand hall burst open. Two guards were taken down by an assailant in full armor.

“Forgive my late intrusion, Your Majesty!” The young man called out. “And for the misunderstanding with your guards.” He was being surrounded by guards but he approached the center of the room. “Please! I come in peace. I need but a moment of your time.” He knelt. “I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald, and I have come to claim your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“A knight… of no renown… From a backwater hamlet…”

Geralt looked over. Was this what the Queen meant when she said there would be bloodshed?

“Who dares to enter my court without revealing his face.”

“I apologize, your Majesty. A Knight's oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell.”

“Bollocks to that.” Eist Tuirseach stormed forward and knocked the helmet off the knight to reveal a cursed man with animalistic features.

“Witcher… kill it.”

“No.”

“Whatever the price.”

“This is no monster.”

“I order you,” she hissed.

A thrum of magic but it was obvious by looking at him- “This knight has been cursed.”

“You’re as useless as the rest of them,” she muttered to him then shouted a command for everyone to hear. “Slay this beast!”

The knight spun and began fighting the hesitant guards. Geralt pitied the man but there wasn’t much he could do for him when the knight came to interrupt a royal banquet to claim the hand of a princess.

“Lioness of Cintra!” He pointed his sword. “I come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise.”

The Queen didn’t deny his claim or take back her command.

Geralt would have to fight for this knight. He apologized to Jaskier in his head but he would have to get involved. Jaskier would understand. He always did. He glanced at Jaskier. He didn’t know what he was expecting but Jaskier had a way of subverting expectations.

Jaskier looked afraid, looked distraught for the cursed knight.

Guards were coming at the knight. A fight began in the grand hall. The noise of laughter and music earlier easily replaced by blades swinging and clanging against each other. Screams.

The knight fought valiantly but was outnumbered. A guard took his sword and flung it across the hall and knocked him to the ground.

Geralt stood. He looked to his bard. He had Jaskier’s support even if it was unconsciously.

With the sword the knight dropped he saved him from a guard's killing blow. The cursed bastard took hold of the broken weapon of another guard. Geralt killed the human and glared at the others, a silent threat. Urcheon and he fought back to back, ignoring the queen’s command to kill both of them.

He couldn’t keep aware of each human he fought but if he could help it, he tried to only incapacitate and not kill them. Hard thing to do in the heat of a battle.

The lords had involved themselves as well at some point. Urcheon and Geralt shared a look when they realized this and continued not getting killed. He finished two guards. Rapid movement kept him alive, the momentum of one strike aided him in the next. He felt someone behind and he spun to slash at whoever it was.

His blade never hit hers. The Queen of Cintra stood in the middle of the now bloodied hall and commanded everyone to stop.

“Duny!”

Geralt saw it was the Princess that spoke the first word he had heard from her that entire night.

She ran to Urcheon and hugged him, which was returned in kind. Relief clear on the knight’s face. “I told you to stay away.”

There was a history there that Geralt was now unfortunately involved in.

Queen Calanthe eyed Urcheon warily but the knight kneeled and set his weapon down before her.

The Knight spoke his peace to the Queen, his curse, saving King Roegner, the Law of Surprise.

“You knew he’d come and you pushed me to kill him anyway.”

She barely acknowledged him and favored yelling at her daughter. Lord Tuirseach clarified the Law of Surprise, a chance of luck. He spoke of destiny choosing Princess Pavetta’s future.

Mousesack agreed with Lord Tuirseach. Insisting to let destiny have its way or suffer grave consequences.

Queen Calanthe chose anger. Insulting those in her banquet hall. Her eyes went to Geralt, seeking solace. “You, Witcher, who has known monsters of every fang and claw… are you afraid too?”

“No,” he answered honestly, “I have seen mothers lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of fifty other children in the plague cart outside. Destiny… helps people believe there’s an order to this horseshit.” If there was then maybe his mother wouldn’t have left him to fend for himself at the hands of witchers. “There isn’t.”

She looked pleased before Geralt spoke again.

“But a promise made must be honored… As true for a commoner… as it is for a queen.” Geralt looked at Princess Pavetta and Lord Urcheon.

The Princess gently pressed her hand against the knight’s cheek in a fashion that was familiar to Geralt.

“I love Duny, Mother. I will marry him. I will finally be free.”

Jaskier was smiling. Geralt could swear he saw the emotional bard have tears in his eyes at the Princess’s words, Geralt almost scoffed but he followed the bard’s expression as it turned to the floor, a twisted frown and furrowed brows. Confused and disquieted.

The Queen handed her sword to Lord Tuirseach and put her hand out for Lord Urcheon. The Knight accepted it quickly and leaned in to listen to Queen Calanthe’s words.

“Here is your destiny.”

She pulled back and took a dagger from where it was hidden on her waist and lunged at the Knight’s throat.

Princess Pavetta shrieked. Everyone was thrown back. Geralt harshly hit a corner. A gust of wind broke every window and wind swirled around the pair at the center, unharmed.

The Princess took Lord Urcheon’s hands while chanting in Elder. Disaster and chaos occurring with tables being pushed, plates, glass, and food flew in the air. Geralt could barely move his feet forward. The couple levitated from her magic while others screamed and panicked.

Urging each step, Geralt pushed against the wind and with Mousesack tried to go against the Princess’s magic to no avail. Aard did not work, instead, it flung him back against the pillar painfully.

Geralt pulled a vial he kept in the pocket of his outer shirt and swallowed its contents quickly. He hoped its effects would be sooner than later and he rose again. Mousesack grunted from the other side and both pushed forth. Princess Pavetta noticed their plans too late and crashed down.

The swirling wind ceased.

Mousesack and Geralt sighed. Unspoken words passing each other. An uneasiness of the raw power that was harnessed without training.

Glass, scraps of food, and dirt filled the hall.

The Queen approached and spoke to her daughter in a hushed tone.

Geralt wandered back to find Jaskier. The bard was resistant; he would be fine but Geralt had to confirm it. Sure enough, Jaskier was unharmed, just dazed while helping a noblewoman. Though it seemed that she was helping him more. Jaskier seemed to be away from himself and only got glimpses of the scene in front of him. He hadn’t even noticed Geralt standing next to him as a makeshift wedding was prepared.

Lords and Ladies gathered while holding candles. Vows were exchanged. Lord Urcheon gave them a scare when the curse was broken.

Geralt had enough excitement for one night. He wondered if Jaskier would follow him in leaving to avoid any strange consequences that might linger if the Queen would be upset with them for the trouble he caused.

But the bard stayed clinging to a noblewoman who patted his shoulder. Perhaps Geralt would be leaving alone then.

Fine.

“No wait! Wait!” The uncursed Knight stood, stumbling. “You saved my life. I must repay you.” He smiled at the Witcher.

Geralt shook his head. “You’ve proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same. I want nothing.” Geralt turned around to leave yet was stopped again.

“No, please. Please, Geralt of Rivia, do not feel like you’re doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt.”

“Fine. I… claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise. Give me that which you already have but do not yet know.”

“No! What have you done, Witcher?”

Geralt shrugged it off. “Fear not, Your Majesty. If I am seen in your kingdom again, it’ll be to kill a real monster, not lay claim to a crop or a new pup. Destiny can go fu-”

Princess Pavetta vomited onto the floor, her new husband quickly going to her aid and her mother kneeling and asking…

No…

“Fuck.”

He left.

He left without any show or any other words.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Mousesack followed.

Geralt pulled a sword out of a chair to take with him. He didn’t know where he was going, what he was doing. Nothing, anything, everything. Something to blow off some fucking steam.

“Clearly the girl has access to immense primal power.”

Geralt didn’t register the conversation, too full of his own thoughts. “Yeah, and with no idea how to control it.”

“I’m gonna stay. Guide her.”

He sighed, “You’re a good man, Mousesack.”

“You should stay too.”

“This has been enough partying for me.” Geralt just wanted to leave. Leave the castle, leave the city, leave the kingdom, leave the country. “I’m getting out of here… Alone.”

“You’re bound to this now, Geralt. Whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not for changing. You know me better than that.”

“Yes, I do, but you can’t outrun destiny just because you’re terrified of it. It’s coming, Geralt. Not believing won’t change that.”

“Bullshit.” He shook his head. “This was just a girl using her magic to stop her mother gutting her lover. Nothing more.”

“So you say. But the bond that will come into being between you and this child...”

Geralt really is a fuck up. This hadn’t been part of the plan tonight. Why did he call upon the law of surprise? Why would he do that? Witchers were warned against it, practically a rule. The risk of getting anything was bad enough but to risk getting a child? This boy would be forced into being a witcher just like he had? He didn’t want that. He hadn’t asked to curse a child’s existence before it was born.

“When it is born, will be extraordinary… If you dismiss it, leave without claiming this… child surprise, you will unleash true calamity upon us all.”

But Geralt didn't believe in destiny. “I’ll take that chance.”

Mousesack sighed.

“Mind yourself,” he told his old friend then repeated something Jaskier had once said to him. “True words are rare birds in courts like this.” And when he had nothing else to say, “Watch for daggers in your back. Or more likely, poison.” He placed his hand on Mousesack’s shoulder. “Be careful, old friend.”

Geralt of Rivia left Cintra without looking back.

Chapter Text

Contracts. The path. Roach. Monsters. Humans. Money. Ale.

He had wanted silence for many reasons for a long time but without Jaskier, there was nothing to distract him from his thoughts on the empty road. There were conversations he tried to replay. Images he envisioned but he kept remembering the end of the betrothal banquet.

A child surprise.

An actual fucking child surprise.

He was an idiot. A complete moron. Each night got worse. No matter the energy he put into the day with monsters and people, he couldn’t sleep. The weight of ruining a young child’s life before it started and how he would inflict his own life upon this young boy, not that he even had the means to make a new witcher, but he wouldn’t want to regardless.

Months passed the same as the last with only Roach by his side. He would hear his bard’s music in taverns though not performed by Jaskier. He wondered what Jaskier would say about him now. The bard seemed to believe him to be some hero of the people. Called him a knight on a few occasions. He wondered where he was. Jaskier always had a way of finding him but it had been just over a year without seeing him.

If only Geralt hadn’t fucked up that night. If he could undo his words, the whole child surprise. He was passing through a town with a library that he decided to look through. Rumors of an ancient bottled genie lived, hidden in a lake in the books he read. It could all be bullshit. It probably was. There was no point in going to look for something that wouldn’t be there. But he hadn’t slept in months, in a year.

If it truly was hidden in a lake near this very town and he could find it… He could fix what happened. The child surprise would be undone. The problem could be immediately taken from his hands.

He got a net and went to the lake that night. He began on one side and worked his way around the lake. He was on the second day. He moved Roach along with him. He was sluggish in most of his movements. The lake was fucking massive, it was a mistake for starting but he wouldn’t stop.

There was vague singing far away. Probably Jaskier.

He kept throwing his net and dragging it back. Always empty. He contemplated going into the lake and searching for it that way. It could be faster.

Jaskier.

After an entire year, Jaskier was back at the worst time. Where had he been anyway? Why was he away? Geralt didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Whether the bard was here or not didn’t fucking matter. The year spent on and off thinking about- it just meant he was lonely. He groaned.

“Geralt!” The bard exclaimed. He smelled… like rum, wine, and poor choices. “Hello. What’s it been? Months? Years? What is time, anyway?”

Geralt glared at the net. Fucking bard. Acting like the time that passed didn’t fucking matter. As if seeing him after an entire fucking year didn’t mean something.

“I heard you were in town. Are you following me, you scamp?” Jaskier must have been drunk. But hearing the implications that Jaskier had been looking for him… anger subsided. “I mean, I’m flattered and everything, but you should really think about getting a hobby one of these days.” He gulped down the rest of his flask. “Do you want some?” He offered without any intention of giving a drop, not that Geralt wanted any. But had Jaskier taken to this habit while he was away? Jaskier had enjoyed a good drink but to stink of it…

“How are you? I hear you ask.”

“I didn’t.” If Jaskier was going to say something that would drag Geralt into some other mess, he wanted no part. Not this time.

“Well, the Countess de Stael, my muse and beauty of this world, has left me.” The bard didn’t look particularly distressed over that breakup but his stench of alcohol said otherwise. So that’s why the bard was away and why he’s back. “Again. Rather coldly and unexpectedly, I might add. I fear I shall die a brokenhearted man… Or a hungry one, at the very least, unless somebody fancies sharing a fish with an old friend?”

Did the bard return just for a distraction?

“Oh, are we not using ‘friend?’” Jaskier trailed behind him. “Yeah, sure. Let’s just give it another decade.” This really wasn’t the best time for the bard to be here. “Geralt, you’re fantastic at a great many things, but clearly, fishing is not one of them. Have you caught anything today?”

Geralt kept throwing his net out and dragging it back.

“What are you finishing for exactly? Is it cod? Carp? Pike? Bream? I’m just- I’m just listing fish that know. Zander? Is that a fish?”

“I’m not fishing,” he said just to appease the bard. “I can’t sleep.”

“Right. Good. Well, that- that makes sense. Insomuch that it sort of… doesn’t. What’s going on, Geralt? Talk to me,” he urged.

Geralt sighed. The bard sounded so… concerned. If he couldn’t tell Jaskier then who could he tell? He turned to tell him but quickly averted his gaze, seeing the bard’s doublet was undone and open. He looked back, it was probably done on purpose. Jaskier always was either keeping up or creating trends. “A djinn.”

“A what?”

“I’m looking for a djinn.”

“For a dj- for a djinn? A dj- like a genie?” Jaskier laughed at him. “The floaty fellas with the… the bad tempers and the banned magics, that kind of genie?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier kept laughing.

“It’ll grant me wishes.” Geralt insisted. “It’s in this lake somewhere. And I can’t fucking sleep!”

He probably looked deranged as he stared at the bard. Jaskier’s face softened but Geralt turned away before he could see more. The bard couldn’t understand the fucking responsibility and guilt Geralt had inflicted on himself.

“I don’t mean to play priest’s ear or anything, but has it occurred to you that maybe we’re merely rubbing salve on a tumor? Not exactly addressing the root of the problem? Hm?”

The fact that Jaskier used we he used to do it all the fucking time. But how could there be a we when there was a fucking child surprise involved?

“I mean, maybe, just- just maybe, this whole sleeplessness-ness has got something to do with what the druid Mousesack said to you in Cintra? You know, the Law of Surprise? Destiny? Being unable to escape the child that belongs to you, et cetera, et cetera?”

Jaskier had a way of getting in his head and while it was convenient at times, it was pissing him off now. “No! It’s not that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” The bard agreed but then let go of that pretense. “But what if you’re not?”

Geralt glared. Jaskier always knew too much. Understood him too well. Geralt doesn’t know when it happened but the bard recognized Geralt’s moods, his thoughts and accepted them in stride.

“You know the Countess de Stael once said to me that destiny-” he sat down on a stump- “is just the embodiment of the soul’s desire to grow.”

“Did you sing to her before she left?” Insulting the bard’s relationship and art should get him to back off.

“I did, actually, and she…” The bard paused. “Why, what are you implying?”

Geralt let his silence speak for itself. If the bard would just leave and come back after he fixed the child surprise mess… Then everything would go back to how it should be. Geralt wasn’t one for change after all. The bard won’t remember this conversation, hell, Geralt could wish this conversation away from both their memories while he was at it.

“Oh ho. We are so having this conversation. Come on, Geralt. Tell me.” He insisted, at least he wasn’t talking about the child surprise. “Be honest. How’s my singing?”

Geralt threw out the net. “It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”

The bard gasped and made a show. “You need a nap!”

He kept talking but something was caught in Geralt’s net. Jaskier can wait. If this was the rumored djinn then he could fix everything.

“Wh- wh- wow. Wow. What is- what is that?”

Geralt stared, amazed that he finally found it. “It’s a wizard’s seal. The djinn…”

Then Jaskier reached out and grabbed at it. “Do you mind if I-” He felt the bard try to yank it away.

“Jaskier.”

“Take back that bit about my fillingless pie.” Jaskier tried to yank the bottle away again. There was an unmistakable feeling of magic present. Geralt held onto the bottle harder. The magic had to be the djinn’s after all. “Take it back, and then you can have your djinny-djinn-djinn.”

“Let go.”

Jaskier kept fighting him. “No! No, let go, you horse’s arse!”

Geralt let it go on. Not knowing how to get the bard to lay off while Geralt would fix everything. He’d give Jaskier two of the wishes just as long as he was ensured that he could get rid of the child surprise. Jaskier could have anything- everything else.

The seal popped off in their stupid struggle.

“That’s a bit of an anticlimax,” Jaskier muttered but his eyes kept shifting, Geralt smelled fear. But before he could dissect that a breeze rushed over the lake. The djinn. “Or is it? Djinn, I have freed thee, and as of this day, I am thy Lord.”

He would let him have two wishes. Whatever ridiculous shit- Geralt would just wait.

“Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck down by apoplexy and die.” It would have been strange hearing someone else wish for something like that so blatantly but this was his bard. Geralt had learned that Jaskier was not above pettiness, revenge, and plain mischief. A type of fae was starting to look more promising if Jaskier didn’t have a very human history.

Jaskier shook his head after making his first wish. What he would do when trying to concentrate in a crowded bar…

“Secondly, the Countess de Stael must welcome me with glee, open arms, and very little clothing.” The bard stuttered. He sounded at a loss for words. What the hell was he doing- wasting wishes? He was shaking his head again.

“Thirdly-”

“Jaskier!”

The bard looked off blankly. “Wha-”

“Stop! There are only three wishes.”

Jaskier shouted back at him though his eyes never met Geralt’s and he was smelling strongly of fear. “Oh, come on, you always say you want nothing from life. So how was I supposed to know you wanted three wishes all to yourself?”

“I just want some damn peace!”

“Well here’s your peace!” The bard shattered the bottle.

Geralt growled and knelt to the ground the pieces everywhere, he cut himself on a large broken part and winced. Trying to put the pieces together was pointless and he knew it but he couldn’t help staring at the shattered parts.

The bard was coughing and wheezing. “Geralt… Geralt…” As if choking on the air itself.

He realized what was happening. “It’s the djinn!” Using Aard he pushed the djinn as far as he could and the wisps of air flew away but the unfamiliar magic stayed. It was gone. The cut on his arm burned.

Jaskier was gasping for air next to him, leaning forward and grasping at his gut and throat.

“Jaskier.” Geralt tried to hold him up when he staggered forward. He expected Jaskier had just had the breath forced out of him and just needed a minute to recuperate but he coughed blood. He looked at Geralt with wide eyes, in pain and just as confused as Geralt. The blood wouldn’t stop. The blood wouldn’t fucking stop.

Geralt didn’t know what he was doing, where he would go but getting to a healer was the first step.

They rode on Roach. He frantically looked for any sign of people to lead him to an experienced healer. He had found a camp and they had an elven healer. He tried to explain what he could to the elf all while Jaskier sat there suffering and coughing out clumps of blood. There wasn’t much Geralt could do to ease the pain. The healer informed them that he could not help other than save Jaskier some time before they could find an actual experienced magical healer and how if they didn’t find someone who could help him… Jaskier would die.

There was no time to dwell on that fact.

He got the information and took off with Jaskier again. He knew each bump when riding Roach probably caused Jaskier pain but speed was the priority in trying to save Jaskier.

Geralt wasn’t going to have Jaskier die this way. He didn’t want Jaskier dying at all but he knew the bard wouldn’t forgive him for letting him die by slow strangulation by a djinn.

Once they arrived at the Major’s house, they dealt with a few complications, the guard that asked for a fee when Jaskier was dying literally behind him? He knocked him out without a second thought.

After the hours of riding and medicine wearing off, Jaskier could barely stand. He almost fell off of Roach had he not caught him. “Fucking hell…” Jaskier didn’t seem lucid. More blood and strained breathing. Jaskier stared blankly and it terrified Geralt. He did what Jaskier always did for him to comfort him and held Jaskier’s face in his hands. “Fuck. Please, Jaskier. Can you hear me? Please. Lift your arms.”

Jaskier finally responded with a weak nod and allowed Geralt to pick him and carry him to whoever could help him. As he walked through the underground entrance, Geralt could hear the occasional splat of blood on the floor when Jaskier coughed violently.

The next obstacle had been the Major who stood naked and drunk.

Jaskier, in the state he was in, prevented Geralt from accidentally insulting the man who could help them.

But the Major wasn’t making any sense. Geralt instinctively looked to Jaskier to explain before remembering that he couldn’t speak at all. He was realizing how dependent he had become to Jaskier’s fancy, eloquent words to get him out of situations. Even after a year…

He got just enough information to keep moving forward. They would find the mage and save Jaskier’s life.

The room that had the mage was… uncomfortable. The sounds, smells, everything more intense with his heightened senses. It didn’t matter. He set Jaskier down to handle the mage. She sat above it all, fiddling with an empty wine cup.

He tried to begin with bringing the apple juice the Major had said she wanted.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“We need your help.”

“We?”

Geralt glanced back to Jaskier who looked as uncomfortable as Geralt felt.

“Just a friend, I hope?”

Geralt didn’t answer.

“Your heartbeat, it’s extraordinarily slow. You’re… a mutant.”

He resisted rolling his eyes at the show. It was obvious to anyone who saw him what he was. “A witcher… Geralt of Rivia.” He added as an afterthought.

She stood up. “The famous White Wolf! I thought you’d have fangs or horns or something.” She approached.

“I had them filed down.”

She was less than a foot away. She chuckled and circled him. “First time I’ve seen a witcher up close… What little spells can you cast with your hands? Call it professional curiosity.”

“Please,” he couldn’t keep up with this charade, not when Jaskier was dying. It didn’t matter what the price was as long as his bard wouldn’t die. “Jaskier here needs immediate attention. And then, if you’d like, I’ll indulge your curiosity all night long.”

“It won’t take all night.” Yennefer leaned closer. “But I’m sure we can find a way to fill the time.”

He couldn’t play these games. “He was attacked by a djinn.”

“A djinn?”

“Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s spreading.” He stared at Jaskier who seemed to be falling back into his blank trance again. Fuck. They’re running out of time. “Fix it, and I’ll pay you. Whatever the price.”

She stared at the seal he brought. “You’ll have to do better than juice.”

But Geralt knew that coming here meant high prices. There was always a ridiculous price to pay for mages. It’s why he never worked with them, well, plenty of reasons to never work with a mage. He had been originally so distrustful of Triss Merigold because she was a sorceress. But he had no choice in this matter.

“Ragamuffin!”

Finally, Jaskier was the priority and he followed her, carrying Jaskier along to her room where she said no one would disturb them. He set the bard down but he must have accidentally been too rough as Jaskier began coughing up more blood. Yennefer wiped at Jaskier’s mouth, claiming it would dirty her floor.

“I can feel the djinn’s magic on you- in you. It makes sense,” she hummed. “You were attacked by its magic, but I’ll take it all out of you. Though I’ve never encountered a djinn’s curse before.”

“Can you heal him?” Geralt couldn’t imagine what he would do if she were to say she couldn’t.

“Of course. He’s in capable hands. But I’ll need an empty workplace. I dreadfully hate working with someone over my shoulder.”

He nodded. He stood to leave as fast as he could to give her more time. All that mattered was Jaskier coming out of this unharmed- with his voice still intact but Jaskier held his hand right before he was out of arm's reach. The bard’s hand was so cold. Blood must have been draining out of him faster than Geralt could really keep track of. “Jaskier… I…” He didn't know what he was going to say.

“He’ll be down the stairs to the right.” She spoke to Jaskier. “Don’t worry a hair on your head.” She played with Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier’s grip grew stronger. The smell of fear very distinct. Jaskier seemed to be unsettled by mages, Geralt assumed it had to do with the one that tried to buy him. He didn’t want to leave him alone but what Jaskier wanted did not outweigh his need to survive. Geralt pulled his hand away and left down the stairs. Jaskier would be fine. He waited.

He paced for an hour. Or two. Possibly nearing three. He waited as if he were preparing for the mage to come down those stairs and tell him there was nothing she could do because he was too late or the bard was doomed from the start for being involved with a fucking witcher. That was what was going to happen knowing Geralt’s shit luck. The one good thing he could get, dead without warning the second it came back into Geralt’s life.

He heard her heels click against the stairs. He stopped pacing. Trying to steel himself for the news that took ages to reach him.

“He’s in a deep healing sleep.”

He couldn’t rest assured just yet. “How long will he sleep for?”

“Long enough for you to bathe.”

That made him pause. He probably made a face. Jaskier always said he made a face when he told Geralt he smelled. She tossed some clothes on the table between them. “How did you… Oh, right. Magic.”

She smiled.

“And I hardly think bathing in this house is going to leave me any cleaner.”

“I insist. I cannot only guess the age and breed of your horse, but also its color… by the smell.” She walked away. A follow me, this way, went unsaid.

She was funny, Geralt gave her that. She was the one who held Jaskier’s life in her hand, he went along with her if only as a distraction from the hellish day that was still ongoing.

“Come, we’ll both be more comfortable.”

Geralt followed her back up the stairs. Jaskier laid there, unmoving. A spike of unease went through him. Blood, still on his face though she had cleaned it.

“Not there.” She scoffed. “Let him rest, come here, you owe me a full night of questions and answers.”

He was led past the bedroom to a hot room. Water was already steaming out from the floor bath.

“Well? Make yourself comfortable and tell me how the White Wolf ended up at my door this fine night.”

She stepped out of the room while removing some of her own garments. He untied his boots first. The water looked inviting anyway.

“I sought out the hidden djinn in a lake for a couple of days.” His shirt that had clung to his skin from the sweat and dirt finally was off. It would be a lie if Geralt said it didn’t relieve him to be free of it. He had half a mind to wash it with him. He thought about it as he took off the rest of his clothing.

“And?”

“He came along.”

Jaskier always came along.

She chuckled. Geralt heard some drawers opening and closing. “Did he? He does seem the type to meddle. So then…”

“He claimed the djinn and was attacked soon after.” Geralt groaned when he entered the water. It burned but more importantly, it burned off the grime. He washed his arms, allowing himself to feel sore. The cut on his arm burned, still a relief to clean it.

“But why were you after this djinn, one that could have possibly never have been there? What impossible problem does a man like you wish to solve? Looking for the answer to life itself?” She questioned while entering the room in a white, thin veil robe. She sat down beside the bath.

Geralt thought of the child surprise. “I couldn’t sleep,” he paused, “I still can’t.”

“Fishing for a djinn seems an extreme measure to remedy sleeplessness.”

His hand pushed the water back and forth in a slow motion. “When extreme measures seem reasonable, yes… I’m desperate,” he admitted.

“Hmm. And yet you didn’t ask me to help with that.”

How would you undo a child surprise?

“Looming death kind of jumped the queue.”

She smiled.

“Now I’m wondering if I can afford you.” Now came the true question. One he had been putting off for hours. “Have I accidentally agreed to indentured servitude?” From the side, he saw her lean on her arm.

She seemed to ignore him and focus more so on his scars. He supposed it was a better topic. The past was already done and any past monsters couldn’t hurt him anymore. It was the future and how she held his that was daunting.

“Go ahead. Ask about them. Everyone does.”

She stood and walked behind him. “Everyone else is boring.”

He continued to play with the water until he heard fabric hit the floor and he looked at her. She had disrobed.

“Turn around.”

He moved to give her space in the bath. A mirror sat on the other side of the wall, her image in it. She quickly tilted it with magic.

“That’s cheating.” He teased.

“Nobody smart plays fair.”

Geralt couldn’t help but think that was something Jaskier would say.

“Tell me,” she said while Geralt could hear her enter the bath. “Are all witchers similarly blessed? Come now, you promised.” Her back leaned against his.

He hummed. “I haven’t conducted a survey, but I’d hardly say we’re blessed.”

“Oh, don’t be so grim.” He could hear the eye roll in her words. “You were created by magic. Our magic.”

“Thank you. It made for a magical childhood.”

She sighed, “Happy childhoods make for dull company.”

It felt like a dig against him. He remembers the empty road he walked down in search of his mother who had been there minutes before. He remembers calling out for her and who came in her stead when his cries were heard.

He continued playing with the hot water. “Judging by your wrists and your wits, your childhood was very happy. But Aretuza fixed you up nicely. What was your ailment before? Clubbed foot?” He turned slightly. She didn’t respond. “Split ends?”

It took her a moment to speak.

“Tell me, are there women who find this coarseness charming? Maybe someplace where they find your coin very charming indeed.” She poked back harder.

“Hm, you seem to find coin pretty charming yourself. Clearly capitalizing on the political situation here.”

“I’m serving the stifled people of this town. Filling a need. Ever heard of it?”

He hummed. “It’s fine to fly in the face of overzealous authority,” he thought of a king whom he let a revenant kill. “But to pretend it’s anything other than making a profit…”

“And to pretend you’re after a djinn to cure insomnia? Hmm?”

He stared blankly at the wall ahead of him. He was tired of this conversation, it was stemming too close to what Jaskier was telling him before disaster struck. It was time he found out what debt he owed her. “Fortunately for you, once I’ve paid for your kind services, it’ll be none of your concern.”

“Fortunately for you, I’ve determined your company and conversation payment enough.”

Geralt turned to her, he caught a glimpse of her grin before she faced the other wall. He was shocked and suspicious. He didn’t believe her. No mage offers their aid without a price. Even if Triss Merigold did heal him after the Striga fight, that was merely paying Geralt back for the lies that were told after. How he tried to fix the reputation of his guild went hidden under the rug while the town believed two witchers lied to them when one was killed and the other who solved their problems gained a new scar and was forced to run off to another town.

Mages were shifty. This one would not be an exception, regardless of how mystifying she was. He was tired of lies. Tired of thinking anyone was willing to give for nothing in return. He reached for the edge and pushed himself out of the bath.

“What’s the matter? Water not suit?”

He didn’t answer her. He didn’t have a clever reply this time. He seemed to be out of those, having used them all up.

Geralt dressed as quickly as he could with the clothing she had provided. While he liked the style, it didn’t fit as he had expected. It bunched at the shoulders so it wouldn’t be comfortable to fully lift his arms. He continuously tried to pull it lower and he couldn’t force it to feel right. The pants also clung a little too closely. While it suited his look, it wouldn’t suit his needs.

He heard Yennefer climb after he had fully dressed, her thin robe wrapped around her once more.

Geralt opened the door to where Jaskier laid still. “This is a little tight,” he complained.

The bard looked peaceful if not for the now dried blood that crusted his shirt.

“I believe I sized you up quite right.”

Geralt trailed slowly to Jaskier. Up closer, the bard didn’t look as peaceful, he looked pained, uncomfortable, and stuck. Why the idiot had interfered with him was pulling at Geralt.

The bard would wake because Jaskier was too stubborn to die in this fashion. The bard would wake because Geralt was swift when bringing him to someone who could fix twisted magic. The bard would wake because Geralt didn’t know what he would do without him. The bard had no choice but to wake up because Geralt couldn’t have Jaskier’s last memories on the continent be him insulting him.

He sighed.

“Do you doubt my capabilities?”

“No… Just your intentions.” Geralt spoke honestly. Jaskier may call that a mistake in a situation like this, but there was little else to say.

“I said some things to him.” Jaskier’s chest rose and sank slowly. Geralt’s eyes followed the steady movement. “He’s a…” He trailed off. There wasn’t quite a word that he was looking for.

“A friend?” The witch finished.

He turned to look at her and away from the bloody shirt he kept his eyes trained on. “I’d like it not to be the last thing he remembers.” But he faced Jaskier again as if in the moments he looks away, the bard could have ceased breathing.

“He won’t remember much if he’s dead.”

If Jaskier died tonight, Geralt would blame himself for any number of factors that led Jaskier here. That Geralt didn’t ride fast enough, that he carried him incorrectly, that he sought out the djinn for an impossible task. That he had allowed the bard to follow him from the beginning.

Yennefer chuckled. “It’s a joke. He will survive. And recover his vocal talents. Does that satisfy you?”

Yes. No. Mostly.

Geralt didn’t trust free fixes.

“Not in the slightest. But don’t reproach yourself for it, Yennefer.” He walked towards her. “I’m not easily satisfied.”

She stepped closer to him. A thin smile playing on her lips. He looked over her shoulder onto her desk. Plenty of candles lit the dim area. On it there sat the seal for the amphora. Magic was distinct in the air. Unsettlingly so. This was not the gentle touch that surrounded Jaskier, this was something fast approaching with no means of even seeing the attack.

He glanced to his right, painted on the floor was the symbol of the seal, with more candles in preparation for something else. Whatever this was… this was what the mage was getting from Geralt as payment, only it could cost Jaskier and not just Geralt.

He glared at her. “It’s the sign from the seal. I’ll be taking Jaskier now.”

“If you wake him before he’s healed, the spell won’t take.”

Geralt paused. She could be lying. Could be keeping them trapped here. But if she wasn’t lying, Geralt’s cynicism could cost Jaskier his life.

“That’s no way to treat a friend, Geralt.”

“You want the djinn, but the amphora’s broken. The djinn’s already all gone.”

She poured one vial to another at her desk and then the small candles at the end of the bed burst to twice their size and magic flowed throughout the room. She rubbed a strange perfume on her wrists.

“Do go on,” she mocked. “Tell me how stuff works. The djinn is tied to this plane and its master. How many wishes did the bard express before he lost his voice?”

Geralt pieced together what she was after. “You need Jaskier to make his last wish so you can capture it.” It was insane. A being’s magic like that couldn’t be forced to another wielder.

“So that’s… two then.”

“The djinn will fight you,” he warned. “If you try and bend it-”

His feet sank into the floor, his head barely capable of keeping up. His eyes drooped down.

“Ah… That scent… Lilac and…”

“Gooseberries.”

He focused everything on his breathing and on his eyes staying open.

“Tough to get in your head. You have a strong will, but you can’t contend with me.” She stepped closer. Her scent getting stronger. It overpowered everything. “Sorry I couldn’t be direct, I knew you’d fight it.”

She leaned closer and kissed him softly. The push was enough to let her scent fully in.

“And I do love a good old-fashioned trap.”

He blinked slowly, his forces coming down. “A good old-fashioned… nap.” The last thing he saw was the deep color purple staring at him.

There was yelling and screams. There was the night sky and early morning. There was fighting and chickens clucking. None of it familiar yet distinctly it was him in the dreams.

“Wake up.” A voice said. “Wake up!”

He grunted. His vision unclouded itself and he saw the healer elf kneeling next to him.

“Chireadan.”

“At long last.” Chireadan stood and chains jingled around his wrists.

Geralt groaned and pulled himself forward. They were in a cell, chained. He had been laying on the floor. Light shone through the windows, an undetermined amount of time had passed. “Where are we?”

“At the spa.” Chireadan smiled remorsely. “Where do you think we are?”

He groaned again, pushing himself to stand. His body ached and he was covered in a layer of dirt.

“I hope your rampage was well worth it.”

“Rampage?” He questioned. “What did I do?”

“Where to begin… You… attacked a pawnbroker in his shop.”

Geralt pulled back and forth on the barred window of the cell. They barely moved.

“Kicking him in the delicate places.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and wandered to the next barred window.

“You also dragged the apothecary into the street, pulled down his pants, and thrashed his arse with a belt. Both are on the town council, who are voting to usurp the major and kick Yennefer out. Any of this ring a bell?”

“Like a faded dream.”

He pulled on the bars of the cell to no avail. He was groggy, though, at his best, this was still made to keep someone in.

“She had you enact revenge on her behalf,” Chireadan confirmed what Geralt assumed. “I tried to stop you, but the guards assumed I was there to abet.”

Geralt sighed.

“The sentence will be passed by the very council members you attacked. It is sure to be death.”

He stared off, imagining how he would be beheaded. “I suppose that’s one way of getting some rest.”

“Why on earth would you enlist the mage’s help after my warning? It is as though you thought the scorpion prettier than the spider because of its lovely tail.”

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

Chireadan knelt down to where he sat. “I admit I could have better prepared you for Yennefer.”

“You’re under her spell, aren’t you?”

Chireadan’s eyes shifted. “I wish I was, but no. It’s a simple issue of body chemistry.”

“You’re in love with her?”

The elf blinked. “And I think perhaps you may understand me. You displayed such emotion so rawly yesterday. You must to some capacity.”

Geralt didn’t know what Chireadan was referring to. “Who-”

A door opened roughly, the metal creaking. Someone had entered the dungeons.

“I thought it would take longer to build the scaffold.”

They both stood, waiting for the news.

Geralt saw the man he slammed his coin bag into so the man wouldn’t interfere with Jaskier’s needed saving. “Ah, fuck.”

“Here you are.” The bald man grinned. “Remember me? Did not know you were a witcher. I’ve always wanted to play with one.”

The cell was opened and the man threw the first blow to the side of Geralt’s already ringing head. A kick hit his shin and before he could respond he was punched and pushed to the ground.

He was hoisted up regardless. “What’s the difference between a witcher and a tub of dung?”

Geralt received a knee to the face, still, he chuckled. The memory of Jaskier hearing a group of men in a tavern begin that very same joke, strutting over with his unassuming smile and pouring his ale on the man then slamming the man’s face on the table, breaking the fool’s nose made him laugh. He hadn’t seen Jaskier so brutal until that day. It was exciting, even when they had to run out of that town.

“Ah, I know that one.”

Geralt was pulled by the man and received a punch to the gut then another punch that slammed him against the bars of the cell.

“What is repulsive,” began the man while pulling Geralt’s chains to him. “Deviant, and cannot smell?” He brought Geralt in and struck his nose. “A witcher without a nose.”

Geralt groaned on the floor.

“Last words, Witcher. Make them good.”

He panted and stood on his knees. He didn’t know how but he would kill this man.

“I want you to burst, you son of a whore.”

His arm stung. Magic blew in the air. The man did not answer. Geralt heard sounds chokes and then a burst of flesh flew around the cell. The body thudded against the ground. Geralt turned around, confused. Chireadan stood, one side covered in blood and gore, shocked.

“You are the one with the wishes.”

Geralt lifted his sleeve to see a second line appear on his arm. He had assumed the bottle cut him when collecting the broken pieces but now…

Jaskier.

The bard wasn’t randomly attacked. It was directly Geralt’s fault. Jaskier could have been- Jaskier could still be asleep and spelled with Yennefer. She still believes the bard holds the wishes which means she is trying to force a djinn’s magic into her when it cannot be ripped from the one who wields the power. She’ll end up killing herself and Jaskier.

Chireadan gathered the keys from the jailer’s belt and freed Geralt first.

Geralt raced to the major’s home without another word to the elf. He ran into a cart along the way. Once he saw the building in place, he could see the shifting of stone that held it together.

The bard swung out from a door before Geralt entered the building.

“Oh, Geralt. Thank the gods. I might live to see another day.” Jaskier slowed down and began walking beside Geralt, pulling him along. “We need to go.”

“Jaskier. You’re okay.” He smiled. Jaskier had his voice and no injury was spotted. Only the dried blood remained as a reminder of what happened. At least Jaskier wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of Geralt’s first wish. Worry washed away.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear you give a monkey’s about it.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he joked but remembered the witch and her goals, if she truly believed that the bard held the wishes then how was he walking free? Jaskier may be capable of a great deal, such as smashing a man’s into a table so hard that the pop and crack of bone was heard throughout a building but he wouldn’t stand a chance against a sorceress. “What happened?”

“Well, I was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. There were naked women in both parts. The first one was loving, tender, very generous- The second significantly more terrifying.”

“Tell me about the second one.” Geralt distinctly remembered seeing the bard fearful of Yennefer from the start.

“Well, black hair, devilish eyes, was painting an amphora on her abdomen. You know, the usual.”

“She wants to be the vessel.” Geralt realized. She wasn’t merely borrowing or even stealing the djinn’s magic, she planned to harbor it in her very being.

He stared back at the manor. She healed and let Jaskier go and this would be her fate for her troubles.

“She wants to become more powerful. But she’ll die.” But for what? What goal was beyond her abilities as they were? She has proven she is capable of undoing a djinn’s magic- she saved Jaskier’s life to do so. What was so unachievable to Yennefer of Vengerberg that she would risk her life to acquire it?

“Well, let's pray for her on our way out of town.”

Geralt walked back to the manor.

Jaskier approached him and yelled at him, panicking. “Are you perhaps short of a marble?”

Geralt felt someone grasp at his arm, he glared furiously knowing it wasn’t Jaskier.

It was, fortunately, only Chireadan. “You have to go in there, don’t you? I recognize the look. I know how you feel.”

“You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Do not tell me that this is finally the moment you’ve decided to actually care about someone other than yourself?” The bard used his body to wall off Geralt from entering the building.

It made him pause. The bard had been absent from his life for the better part of a year. Had he done so to give him space or to get away from him? This statement made him unsure.

“Leave the very sexy but insane witch to her inevitable demise!”

Geralt chose to feel nothing towards Jaskier’s words. Now wasn’t the time. The bard may be safe but he owed this woman a debt- a life debt. One he could repay right now.

“She saved your life, Jaskier.” Geralt shook his head. “I can’t let her die.”

Geralt entered the building and found his way to her chambers fast. The building creaked and shook. There Yennefer laid on the floor, chest bared the symbol clearly seen on her stomach. The flames on the candles burned bright. There was sweat on her brow, she groaned as she reached to control the djinn.

“Don’t! I’m here to help you,” he clarified.

“I don’t need your help. You’re free. No longer under my spell.”

He approached her. “And yet…” here we are, “here I am.”

Gusts of wind whirled around the room. “You seem to want to meet your end.”

“As do you.”

She gasped. The sounds of bones cracking, distinct.

“The djinn isn’t weakening!” She rasped. “The bard expressed his last wish, but it’s-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, instead she screamed out in agony. Her back contorted as well as her stomach. “It’s getting stronger! Go!”

Geralt felt guilt. “That’s because I’m the one with the wishes.”

“You? You’re the djinn’s master?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She screamed. “Make your wishes!”

The wind picked up. Had he not had his enhanced senses he would not have heard her.

“Becoming the vessel for the djinn will have you lose control, not gain it! Can’t you see what this is doing to you?”

“True transformation is painful.”

He ignored her words and memories of being strapped to tables with it. “Release the djinn! I’ll give you my last wish!” The words hurt as he spoke them but he meant them nonetheless. Undoing the Law of Surprise was foolish- there was no destiny to fulfill, he did not need to take a child. He could return to claim it and then return it right back if the show of it was so important. The child would never be his. This entire quest of searching for the djinn had been a mere distraction. It wasn’t real.

“You heroic protector… noble dog, permitting my success as long as you command it yourself. Fuck off!” She shrieked in pain and anger. “I’ll do this myself!”

“Damn it, Yennefer! Tell me what you want!”

“I want everything!”

She slammed him into a wall with her magic. Her bones crunching could still be heard. She screamed. The walls trembled and windows shattered.

Her voice spoke, distorted. “Make your wish. You can have anything you want. You could choose not to be a witcher. What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power?” The symbol on her stomach dripped as if it were melting off of her. She gasped for breath. The djinn was overpowering her, she would suffocate or burn from the inside out if she continued on her own mad quest. Making a wish would kill her- not making a wish would kill her-

There was nothing Geralt could do to save her. Wishing to save her wouldn’t do the trick either, it would only prolong the death sentence she so happily walked into.

The bard had once called Geralt’s life a story. He mentioned it a few times. It was time for the bard’s fancy words to pay off. This isn’t how a story would end after all.

A djinn cannot kill its master. This is fact and Geralt would have to use it against the djinn.

He whispered his next words carefully. “I wish…”

Glass shattered at her torn apart desk.

“For my fate to be bound to Yennefer’s.”

There.

The djinn would not be able to kill Geralt and in turn, be unable to harm Yennefer. The magic in the room dispersed, leaving it feeling empty.

Yennefer slammed onto her hands, gasping for breath.

The house creaked, eerily silent. Geralt felt the scratch on his arm, he peeled back his sleeve to see the third and final cut.

“The djinn… Wh- Where did it go?” The symbol disappeared from her stomach.

The house creaks grew and dust came from the ceiling. They looked to one another, realizing the same thing.

The manor was coming down.

Yennefer screamed and threw herself at Geralt all while the wooden ceiling collapsed on them.

Then they were falling and Geralt’s back hit the stone floor roughly, Yennefer falling on top of him.

She had transported them to the room they had first met in. They were safe from the collapse but she looked drained from the strain of using her magic in that manner for so long.

“Yennefer?”

She didn’t answer.

Geralt almost believed his wish didn’t work and she was killed by that teleportation spell after everything that had happened.

He brushed the hair out of her face. She was lightly breathing.

“Yennefer. It’s me, Geralt.”

She moved her head towards him, gently opening her eyes. The calm, soft scene disappeared once she violently pushed him off. “I know who you are. What did you do?” Her voice shook. “You stopped me, didn’t you? I nearly had it.”

“You had shit all. I saved your life!”

“And I saved yours!” She countered. “You let the djinn escape. Who knows what havoc it’ll wreak now that it has no vessel at all!”

“No more havoc than you.” He rolled his eyes. “And djinns are only dark creatures when held captive.”

“How can you be so sure?” She pressed.

“When did you last feel happy when you felt trapped?”

He took notice of the mist growing in her eyes. They both lost a lot of power that day. Geralt may have wanted to wish for something ridiculous like the undoing of a child surprise but he didn’t know what exactly she wanted. It could have been as ridiculous as Geralt’s, it could have been out of greed for power, or it could have meant the world to her. Not that he would know.

He did know that she had taken control of his mind and could have possibly gotten him executed. He needed to leave this town as soon as possible.

“And if you were going to portal us to safety, you could have taken us out of this shit town!”

“A fine critique if you could make a portal yourself and it wasn’t a shit town, it was fine till you came along.”

He chuckled.

“I had a plan!”

“And that was going swimmingly.” He thought of all the people she had him humiliate in her name the night before when he was under her spell.

“It was.” She insisted. “Like a drowning fish.” Her eyes bore into him. The mystifying witch and witcher survived the djinn.

Both shakily leaned in and pulled away before landing on both of them pushing towards the other hungrily. Her lips captured his immediately and she pulled him on top of her to the floor. Her hand played with the hair on the back of his neck. She was warm, a hot fire he pressed against.

His arms and legs were on each side of her. He rolled his hips against hers. Yennefer flipped them over so that she leaned over him instead. She backed away but Geralt had no time to question it as her hands already undid his buckle.

He tried to help her, she pushed his hands off so she could do it herself so he rested his hands on her thighs. She ripped at some of the seams before finally freeing him. Yennefer leaned back into him and rolled against him back and forth as he hardened. He moaned into their kiss

She wore the same robe as yesterday after their bath, she was bare under the thin veil and once she had deemed him ready she pushed him into her with more force than he was expecting. She gasped and it broke their open kiss. Yennefer slowed their movements but quickly picked them up again. He kissed her chin to her cheek to her lips. Geralt moved his hands along her body, trying to balance her zeal with a more leisurely pace.

Yennefer carried herself into little bounces and found a rhythm that suited her.

It suited Geralt as well.

She grunted and her nails dug into his shirt to his skin. He tried to control her pace once more, grasping at her sides but she used her arms, which she was using to keep her balance, to push them away. He played with her hair instead. She grinned while staring down at him. He groaned out her name.

She went back and forth between slowing down to lean into him so he could kiss at her throat and stretching back to search for a better position.

Geralt lightly thrusted with her, helping her find the right angle.

Yennefer found what she was looking for and went faster, her hands balled into fists on his chest. Her movements turned more frantic, she finally allowed his hands to guide her hips to find a release that they must have both been near. Her brow furrowed, her eyes closed. He felt a build-up in him as well. It coiled and he went along with it.

He grunted when he felt it spill over his whole body. When he opened his eyes, he saw her arched and in silent bliss, her mouth shaping an ‘O’.

She fell forward, breathing just as heavily as he was. She rolled over to his side, her hair a mess over her face.

“I was right about you. You do know something of pleasure.” She panted alongside him. “Fleeting, but highly effective, I’ll admit.”

He wanted to laugh but he was too tired. The months were catching up to him. This whole week had been an ordeal but he had solved almost everything. There was no danger at the moment. He felt safe. He felt weak.

“I was right about you too.”

“Which part?” She asked.

Devious. Cunning. Witty. Enchanting.

“There was a number of things, which part?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “My plan worked.” His wish saved both of them. He felt clever for figuring out how to stop the djinn and Yennefer from disaster.

“There was no plan. You were making it up as you went along.” She stated. She was mostly right but Geralt couldn’t put much thought into her words anymore. He felt himself drifting peacefully. “Any fool could see.” She said a few more things but Geralt’s eyes were closed and it was as if he had been lulled to sleep.

When Geralt awoke, the sun was high in the sky. Higher than he last saw it. His head was noticeably not hurting as it had for a few months. He was laid out on stone floor, resting on a pillow, and his pants undone. Next to him lay the mage, Yennefer of Vengerberg.

The events came back to him while he stared at her sleeping face. The djinn’s chaos. Yennefer wanted to become a vessel for the being that could not be contained. The manor collapsing. Almost killing them both. His wish. Sleeping with Yennefer and then passing out.

His heart dropped.

His wish.

Geralt of Rivia did not believe in destiny, a child surprise being tied to him did not have to mean anything.

But Geralt of Rivia unintentionally while also intentionally tied Yennefer of Vengerberg to him using a djinn’s magic.

Which had more merit than mere words did at a banquet.

He sat up, back sore. He took care to not wake her when he struggled up to stand. He fixed his pants and snuck his way out of the manor.

Once outside he berated himself for the wish. There had been no other option at the time and still, he could not think of another way that could have saved them both from the djinn’s magic.

Nonetheless, he sank with another weight he had given himself.

His feet lead him to where he left Roach. When all else failed. There was Roach.

She huffed and stomped her hoof as he approached.

“Roach.”

She wildly moved her head.

“I know. We’re leaving.”

Roach continued to shake her head around, hitting his shoulder twice.

“Watch it.”

Her attitude reminded him of how she acted when Jaskier was being annoying. She nipped at Jaskier a few times in the past. It led to the bard trying to bribe her with fruits, nuts, or occasionally sugar.

Geralt patted Roach while looking over his shoulder. He hadn’t seen the bard when leaving the building. He hadn’t seen him while getting to Roach. It had been hours but Jaskier couldn’t have gone far?

The bard had practically vanished. Geralt couldn’t find hide or tail of him. Once he awoke from the deep slumber he was grateful for, he left as soon as he could. He saddled onto Roach and left the town as quickly as he could. No point in staying in a place where he was scheduled for execution.

Wherever Jaskier was, it agitated him. Gealt had yet to see if Jaskier truly was healed. He could have walked off a path and choked on his own blood in the woods. Perhaps the spell enchanted on him was only temporary. Yennefer may have said otherwise, but if she was wrong…

It took Geralt a couple of days to track down Jaskier.

He found the elf healer’s camp first.

They were packing up to travel once more but Jaskier was nowhere in sight. When Geralt found Chireadan, he assumed Jaskier was standing nearby. The smell of Jaskier was strong on Chireadan. Jaskier was recently at the camp, though why the smell was so potently sticking to the elf… Geralt asked where the bard had gone.

Chireadan mumbled and coughed out an explanation that Geralt didn’t understand before he finally got a direction to where Jaskier was. The elf healer also informed him that Jaskier was healthy. Very healthy.

Geralt ignored that.

Riding in the direction Jaskier was said to have gone proved fruitful. Jaskier was found a day later in a river, bathing.

Geralt climbed off of Roach, barely tying her reins to a loose branch of a tree. She wouldn’t wander, more done out of needing something to do and look at before going to the bard.

He listened as the bard splashed then silence. He must have noticed Geralt standing right there.

Geralt heard a distinct groan before a deep breath was taken.

“Funny seeing you around these parts.” Jaskier’s voice called out. Geralt turned around. Jaskier had a plastered imitation of a smile on his face as he gathered his garments and put them on slowly. “Thought you’d just,” the bard waved a hand, “fuck off on your own, like usual, you know?”

“After what had happened?” Geralt ignored Jaskier’s attempt to get a rise out of him.

“What had happened?”

Geralt blinked. Did Jaskier completely forget the events of just a few days ago?

“The Djinn, Jaskier.”

“Ah, that.” Jaskier clicked his tongue while putting his boots in place. “Fun times. Joyous times.” Water dripped in front of his face from his hair before he swiped it all back. “Just marvelous.”

Geralt remembered the cuts on his arms. What each line represented. A wish made. How one appeared just seconds before Jaskier was attacked. If anything had happened to Jaskier it would have solely been on Geralt’s hands.

“I made the first wish.” He confessed.

“Well, you did own the genie so I would assume so, wouldn't you?”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “I made the first wish that set the djinn onto you.”

Jaskier was brushing off some of the dust then suddenly halted. The bard’s face contorted into many different expressions before landing on closing his eyes, pressing his lips together, and breathing in and shaking his head.

“No.”

“When the Djinn was freed, I spoke and it listened.”

“Stop right there.”

Geralt stopped.

“I don't want to think about this. Just… just say you wish I never heard that.”

“Bard.”

He was interrupted.

“Geralt. Just say it.”

Geralt relented. Sometimes letting Jaskier have his little wordplay games out of the way made him happy and right now, Geralt needed some positive emotions from the bard. “I wish you never heard that.”

Jaskier sighed like a weight came off his shoulders. He shook his head and looked up at Geralt again. “Now, what were we talking about again?”

Geralt sighed. If Jaskier didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t care to hear Geralt’s fumbled apology then it was for the better. Geralt wouldn’t do it right anyway.

“Where you were.” Geralt said, “Gone right before I had confirmed you were fully recovered.” He took a step forward, typically used for intimidation but Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t think you cared,” Jaskier snapped, crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. “I had to go… somewhere…”

“After th- where?” Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure what his expression told Jaskier but it softened the bard, though he quickly turned. Pushing Geralt’s hand off him and glared at him.

“You seemed uh, hah, a bit occupied. Well, I was too. So there. That’s it. That’s the little end to that disaster- that complete- ugh!” Jaskier rambled.

“You were busy?” Geralt raised a brow and tilted his head, mocking the bard.

“Yes,” Jaskier said curtly. “With the friendly healer elf, Chireadan, he gave me a few details.”

“And a little more,” Geralt jabbed while standing straighter. The smell of Chireadan was weak but it lingered on Jaskier’s clothing.

Jaskier’s eyes could have flared with fire. “And a little more! Yes!” He fumed. “Not that it concerns you in the slightest.”

Geralt scoffed. “Doesn’t concern me…” he mumbled, backing away. He didn’t know what he was doing. Prompting a fight with the bard was ridiculous. What he was asking was ridiculous, whatever Jaskier did- does in his downtime has no impact on Geralt unless it directly involves him.

Jaskier heard his mumbles as a challenge and as a means to pursue the squabble.

“Just as anything you do doesn’t concern me! Nope. No, Sir Witcher, not in the slightest.” Jaskier crossed his arms again. His brows furrowed and jaw clenched. “Not… not concerned. And- and even if I were!” The bard paused. His hands now at his sides, balled into fists. “Well, it wouldn’t matter, huh? It just wouldn’t make a difference what I think about it.” Jaskier’s voice lowered, his anger diffusing by itself but it was replaced with despondency. “Why would it?”

This was getting out of hand. Moving to territory where Geralt couldn’t tell what they were actually discussing. “Jaskier?”

“What?” The bard yelled. His energy restored.

So Geralt did the only thing he could to get out of the situation. “Next town?”

Jaskier looked Geralt up and down then wiped at his nose. “Yes, next town. They’ll have barrels of ale to drown in.”

“Do you have the coin?”

Jaskier scoffed, “I always have the coin.”

He walked ahead. He left his lute in its casing behind, and seeing as he wouldn’t want to turn back to get it at this moment, Geralt picked it up and attached it to the side of Roach for the time being. Jaskier would know where to find it. He climbed Roach and trotted on.

This would sort itself out.

What was strange though, was how the bard had already known Geralt held the wishes and never Jaskier all along.

Chapter Text

It seemed that Jaskier was trying to get away from Geralt. It made sense. Perhaps Jaskier finally realized after a decade that following a witcher wasn’t a stable or fun position to be in. Yet it still stung.

Geralt always pushed aside those thoughts, there was little point in worrying when the bard would leave. Tomorrow or in another decade, Geralt didn’t want to dwell on the reality that the bard was seeing the burden of being by a witcher’s side.

If Jaskier even truly saw him as a friend.

The bard did begin the partnership based on what stories the witcher’s life provided. The bard received inspiration and protection while Geralt received companionship and a fixed reputation.

Perhaps that was all there was to it.

But Jaskier loved so openly, in whatever he did. In his music mostly but also in the ways he interacted with others.

Geralt had once assumed that the bard loved him. It was vain and supercilious of him to believe that Jaskier would genuinely fall for him. Maybe the bard at one point did, but Jaskier rarely stayed with the same plaything. Even if Geralt allowed himself the fantasy of Jaskier’s affections then they didn’t go far.

After the incident with the djinn, Geralt saw himself having to drag Jaskier from town to town. It was a strange reverse of roles for the time being.

The bard would throw himself on any close stage and play even when Geralt found no job. It was as if he were trying to slow them down. Not that they were in any rush but they would run low on coin if Jaskier kept up his spending. He kept drinking. Geralt hadn’t known a human could drink that much and hold it, not that Jaskier did always hold it, but his new habit bothered Geralt.

Maybe Jaskier was trying to make him mad. It didn’t look like that all the time. Jaskier just wasn’t himself. The bard even managed to get away for a few weeks. He found Geralt again but those few weeks left Geralt thinking he hadn’t been able to say a proper goodbye.

Jaskier was the same drunk when he found Geralta again. Time away hadn’t fixed him either.

Geralt would allow the drinking if the bard wouldn’t wander off in his bouts of despondency. Especially when winter was approaching.

He had to keep a closer eye. Jaskier had almost been taken to another patron’s room once when Geralt let him be. Most likely, the bard wouldn’t care, or even wanted the advances of adoring audiences, but while Geralt was around it would have to wait until the bard was sober.

So Geralt got up and followed when he saw Jaskier stumble off a table he used as a stage and trudge to the back. The tavern kept its joyous mood and singing while the bard slipped away. Geralt wouldn’t have noticed had his eyes been elsewhere.

He pushed his way through the crowd and found Jaskier singing alone to a wall. The bard sang… off… He wasn’t particularly trying. The rhymes were wrong and he couldn’t keep a single sting of a sentence. He was drinking from an already emptied bottle.

Maybe tonight was the night that Geralt could get to the bottom of this. It could work with the bard’s drunkenness. It could lead to honesty, or it could lead to a barrel of emotions he wasn’t prepared for. Geralt would tread carefully.

“What are you doing?”

The bard kept singing. His eyes barely passing over Geralt in an acknowledgment.

“It’s cold, bard.”

Jaskier sang brokenly. He then breathed into the cold air and raised his brows when he found that he could see his breath as if he hadn’t noticed the changing seasons. He pushed himself to a more dignified posture while sitting on a rotting crate.

“Why are you-” he stopped himself. Talking about matters that were too serious wouldn’t get Jaskier to speak about them, the opposite in fact. “You’re drunk.”

“Are you drunk?” The bard leaned to poke at him. “Be honest,” he slurred.

Geralt humored him. “No. Are you?”

“I’m a bard!” He laughed. “I’m always drunk.”

He knelt down to look closer. The smell of whiskey was strong.

“What’s with that face, my dear witcher? Why so despondent? A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be so down.”

Geralt grunted while Jaskier giggled more endearments.

“You seem so angry right now, love, and I haven’t the capabilities to figure out why.”

“You’ve done this to yourself for the fourth time this week.” Geralt leaned closer despite his better judgment.

“Oh? Wrong, surely, and undoubtedly wrong! I didn’t take you for a liar, dear. You’ll break my heart with that kind of deception.”

“I can smell the whiskey on you.”

Jaskier tried to defend himself but Geralt rebutted with how Jaskier was singing to a wall.

The bard ignored it in favor of rambling about snowflakes and honeycombs. He spoke of a higher power.

Geralt tried to get him to stop when the bard went on about how Geralt was the favorite of some deity. He almost scoffed. His life was marked in tragedy, if there were gods or goddesses then they spat and dug their heels into his life.

Jaskier let it go. His words made less sense than ever. The bard leaned close with a smirk.

“Jaskier?”

“You have delightful eyes.”

Geralt hummed. It would be amusing had Jaskier not drunk himself into a deep hole that would lead to the continent’s greatest migraine.

“Have I told you that?” Jaskier’s breath warmed him, their noses barely touched, like Jaskier was playing with the idea of going further. “That you have the most intriguing eyes in- in any form really.” They were close. Too close. If Geralt just lifted his chin up... “Fits your face. Face fits your face- no wait.” But now was not the time. Nor would ever be a time. “I said that wrong. Let me-”

Geralt lifted Jaskier to his feet. “We’ll find an inn.”

“Of course, my lovely friend. I don’t mind the dirt for tonight. The stars need our company after all.”

He dragged Jaskier to Roach and as the bard had predicted, there were no rooms available for them. Though if that was because they did not wish to shelter a witcher without the help of his bard or because they simply were out of rooms was up for debate.

He carried Jaskier to a spot in a forest. He set up their camp and covered Jaskier with his cloak. The bard clutched at it in his sleep so roughly as if it would be immediately stripped away. Roach huffed and stomped one of her hoofs when he continued to stare at the sleeping bard.

It was so he would feed her but Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling of judgment. “Don’t look at me like that.” He fed her some grains from his hand before resting.

When he woke, the bard still slept soundly. So Geralt waited. He rekindled the fire and gave himself tasks to do.

Fed Roach.

Collected water nearby.

Sharpened a few knives.

The bard woke hours later with a pained groan. He shifted closer to the warmth that the fire provided clumsily. His eyes reached Geralt’s and he startled.

“Geralt!”

“Bard.”

Jaskier looked to the sky then at Geralt then back to the sky. “What-”

“It’s midday.”

The bard smiled, “Thanks, dear. But, um, why here?”

“You wouldn’t wake.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “That certainly hasn’t stopped you from going before.”

Geralt faltered. “I- what?”

“Oh, you know…” Jaskier waved a hand. “In the dead of night or, ha, even in broad daylight. Just-” Jaskier giggled, “Poof! Like magic.”

Geralt didn’t respond. Didn’t much know how to.

The bard searched their packs till he found the water. His face scrunched upon tasting the water.

Geralt shook his head. He wouldn’t say anything, so he decided to wait and meditate instead.

“I once threatened to throw my own flaming shit into a Baron’s home because he said I didn’t know a thing about composing measly notes together.”

“This would be the part where I say I am remorseful and would take back my words and actions if I could… but that is not the case, dear one, oh no, I would do it all over again and I have. Nothing like surprising a gent with a primitive attack. I do realize that I first made it sound as if this tale was nothing but words exchanged but… seeing as you’re my best friend, I don’t see too much harm in having you know my untamed nature.”

“There’s such a thing of you without it?” He teased.

Jaskier gasped. Geralt could just picture the bard clutching at his chest in mock offense. “And it seems you have caught me.”

“Witcher senses.”

Jaskier laughed. It was a comforting sound. “So it seems, those are very keen.”

“Don’t exactly need them to know that about you though.”

“And here I saw myself to be an actor- the greatest in all the land. The one that could sell you ice in a snowstorm. Why I think I could convince someone that I was an entirely different creature- that I wasn’t human.”

It took effort for Geralt not to react. He raised a brow and asked, “Could you? Try me.” It was the first time Jaskier had truly opened the conversation to territory he never touched. Jaskier’s humanity was a topic that Geralt could never grasp. This implied he was indeed human but could act as something else, but Jaskier could be lying. He could be testing the waters, checking how Geralt would react.

“Ah, but that’s unfair, dear friend. You’re a witcher! You already know the truth.”

But Geralt didn’t. Did Jaskier believe he knew the bard in and out? He didn’t. Geralt hummed. Jaskier’s true name is what kept Geralt from finally taking the leap of the bard being inhuman. The bard had a name, a title even. He attended Oxenfurt, taught at the school.

“Frail human through and through, but that’s fine since I have my wonderful, gracious friend protecting me from vampires and ghouls. Well, that and my devilish charms.”

“Because that has done you well against vampires and ghouls.”

“It has a few times!” Jaskier whined.

He snorted.

“You laugh at me, but I know you value my wit and honesty.”

Geralt smiled. He allowed the moment to linger before finally packing up camp and getting them to the next town. With Jaskier in better spirits, the trip would be more than tolerable.

They passed by several towns with nothing to offer. The first had nothing, some scornful looks. The second tried to hire Geralt against a political rival. The third offered shelter if Geralt could take care of their ghoul problem only to find out with an ambush that they wanted to kill him. The fourth hadn’t spoken any common tongue.

Geralt was lucky that Jaskier was near fluent. The bard may have claimed that he spoke with a thick accent but he hadn’t stumbled on any words and the folk seemed to understand him clearly. Apparently, a class or two at Oxenfurt was to thank.

Fortunately and unfortunately they did have a contract for Geralt. They didn’t much like Geralt but with Jaskier’s “broken” fluency he strung up a song about Geralt on the spot.

The Witcher was beginning to suspect he did not credit Jaskier’s musical skills enough.

The bard sang a song he did not understand with such flair he considered that he didn’t want to know what fantasies Jaskier was creating.

He got a couple of folks to cry in the crowd. That unsettled Geralt. Whatever picture Jaskier painted of him got him on their good side, even if he couldn’t understand them.

A woman walked up to him and cried while patting his hand.

He looked at Jaskier.

The bard shrugged and continued singing.

Fuck him.

It got them a meal and a contract. Drowners. Simple enough. Geralt asked Jaskier to stay behind for this one and Jaskier obliged, happy to practice his speech.

Geralt returned late in the night and Jaskier was still in the tavern, though he hadn’t had a drop of ale or anything of the sort. He just performed and spoke with the people crowding him. A new song danced through the air. One that got them to clap along to the tune.

Perhaps Jaskier wanted himself to have peak efficiency and hadn’t gotten drunk to not fuck up his improvised songs, in another tongue.

For whatever reason, Jaskier was more himself than he had been in the last few months. They stayed a bit longer than necessary in that town, even when they crowded him and spoke to him. Jaskier handled everything.

It was partly relieving, at least in that town Geralt didn’t need to make conversation because he couldn’t.

Another five towns until they got a hint of a contract.

Jaskier wandered off, leaving Geralt to get a room for them himself. Not that it worked. It was one of those towns. Geralt waited outside of the inn, watching Jaskier hand delicately laced gloves to a child. He hadn’t remembered Jaskier buying anything like that in previous towns, but it wasn’t as if Geralt kept track if he did.

“Thank you, dear, so kind to wait.”

“I’m not allowed in.” He passed the point of shame with Jaskier a long while ago.

The bard lightened the mood and entered himself to see if he could change the results.

He listened in while Jaskier spoke. His bard had a way with charming people that Geralt never knew how to. He would blame the fact that he was a witcher and his appearance but Jaskier could stand right next to him and yield better results. It was impressive.

“Your pretty words are covering for that witcher ain’t it?” Geralt overheard.

It was unfortunate that sometimes, even with all of the bard’s talents, it was Geralt that held him back.

Jaskier listed monsters that the inn clerk denied ever seeing. Finally, he named a vampire that piqued Geralt’s interest. A possible contract that he needed. The bard talked up Geralt’s skill and got to the discussion of pricing for a room. A clever way of not allowing the man to deny a room altogether. Jaskier haggled the price. The bard’s haggling mostly worked.

They went to a tavern to eat and hopefully find more rumors of a contract. Geralt often found that if there was a problem that people would find him.

Sure enough. “How wonderful to see your kind in this city, Witcher.”

The man was a royal representative on behalf of his king. The man spoke of a vampire he was investigating. He exaggerated her abilities but what he spoke of was a Bruxa.

The bard whined at the mention of a Bruxa as if he would have to fight it.

“The pay?”

“The Gracious King is prepared to give you three hundred ducats for this beast to be slain. She has caused too much grief. He does not want any more of his people dead by her hand. Countess Krev must die.”

With a location, a monster, and payment for a complete job Geralt had them both set off at once.

Jaskier spoke of nonsense poetry the night they camped. A lot of the romantic kind. It made Geralt wonder who it was for or it was just practice for who he would encounter later.

The bard barely slept but the sooner Geralt finished this contract the better off they would be. Three hundred ducats could pay for new armor, improvements to his steel sword, special food for Roach, anything Jaskier found slightly appealing.

Castle Cachtice was in sight and the closer they got the more blood and gore Geralt smelled.

Jaskier discovered for both of them that the Castle was being used as a place of healing.

The bard covered Geralt. His hand lingered on his face longer than necessary, or maybe it was, the bard was saying something, not that Geralt had much the mind to be listening when the calloused pads of his face danced along his skin. Jaskier then squeezed his hand before they entered. He played as the distraction while Geralt snuck inside for the Bruxa. This Countess Krev was the Lady of the Castle. She wouldn’t be hard to spot once he found her. The problem would be keeping the hurt and innocent out of the way.

He saw her in the main room. It had to be her. An elegant woman, refined, a smile playing on her lips. It was possible that she wasn’t a Bruxa, unlikely, but Geralt would find proof in the castle and find a way to corner her alone.

Geralt crept further into the castle, if she found him first then he could lure her away from those in the main room and away from Jaskier.

Jaskier played his part of the distraction perfectly. He was already being yelled and scolded at by one of the servants. Geralt would ask about that later to mock him.

Further and further he searched the castle. His hand gripped at his silver sword. He followed the smell of blood. The stench had a way of lingering everywhere in the damn castle.

He found the kitchen. On the eyes, it looked normal enough, but there was no silver to be found. A strange thing for a Countess to own no silverware. Perhaps she sold it for her acting medic camp, doubtful, but possible.

Next, he found her chambers, or he assumed it to be. No silver he noticed. A table of ingredients, one similar to what he saw with Yennefer.

Yennefer.

Geralt shook his head and left, he would follow the smell of blood.

The castle had many winding hallways. One could get lost in it but Geralt had a trail to lead to the monster.

A titled Bruxa posing her killing spree as a house of Melitele, Geralt commended her genius. It was a clever plan, though one gone overboard. She hadn’t kept track of her kills if the royal investigator caught wind of what she was doing. Too many dead and not enough bodies to account for.

Foolish mistake made out of greed.

His nose led him to a simple door. With effort, he managed to open it and pungent air weighed down.

The room was drenched in old and new blood. Portions of bodies were left on the floor, a man’s torso was wrapped in a cloth that had bled through. A bucket in the corner seemed to hold teeth, fingers, and one eye that he spotted. Along the walls were tools both for healers and torturers. A disgusting display. The instruments told him that while the room could have been used for intense medical care, it was more likely to be used to play with her food. He stepped out of the putrid-smelling room.

Geralt had originally planned to find the Bruxa and kill her once he saw her but upon witnessing the red torture room, he had to have the bard be outside first. Whatever the Countess looked for in her victims, Jaskier wouldn’t be one of them if he waited outside.

The Witcher’s feet were already moving. With a new sense of caution, he searched each hallway he went down earlier.

It was doubtful that the Bruxa would pick him out of all the prey she had in her castle, but Jaskier could be annoying. It was an open disaster waiting to happen if the bard met her and she didn’t much fancy him.

If anyone would flirt willingly with a blood-thirsting beast it would be Jaskier.

Of course, it would be Jaskier.

So when the bard slammed full force into him, Geralt could easily smell the scent of a Bruxa.

“Ow, fucking hell.”

“Bard?”

“Geralt?”

The Bruxa found Jaskier. Her scent was lightly on him. “What the fuck are you-” He shook his head. The bard wasn’t dead. Even if the Bruxa had been near him. “You need to leave.”

“You found out too?”

Found out what? The fuck was the bard getting into? Had he been enchanted? Geralt didn’t feel any foreign magic on the bard.

“The Countess, Geralt. The whole reason we’re here.”

“I know,” he growled.

“Then you’ll know she’s innocent. She’s been lied about- they tried to get her to remarry- they sent her sons to die in this war so she has no heirs and- and with her dead, they’ll get her castle and her weal-”

The bard’s words told Geralt that he had been enchanted. To so quickly be lured and believe whatever she spoke as truth. Or maybe it was Jaskier’s soft spot for creatures. He had mellowed over the years in regards to the creatures Geralt fought, he was, more often than not, compelled to find how the beasts were innocent all along. This could be one of those instances and if Jaskier wasn’t shown proof then he would only get in the way as he’s done many times before. The revenant came to mind.

He grabbed the bard’s hand without much thought and pulled him through the hallways. Geralt wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. He needed Jaskier to see that the Bruxa was just a monster. Sometimes that belief was enough to get him through a hunt, so it had to be enough for Jaskier. Despite the sob story that was given. It could be fully true but that didn’t change the hunt nor the room that was hidden in her castle.

“What’s happening? What’s with that face? We solved it. I know it’s not a contract but it just means we’ll have to be more careful when taking…”

Geralt pulled Jaskier to the tall, wooden door. Just behind it, he knew what lay.

Jaskier seemed to notice the stench. His nose wrinkled. His hand covered his nose and mouth to escape the rotting air.

“I won’t open it all the way.”

The bard barely gave a nod. His eyes focused on the door. It creaked and Jaskier’s eyes widened and traveled around what he could see.

“Geralt…” Jaskier murmured, “What’s that?” Geralt didn’t need to look to know what Jaskier was pointing at.

“A torture room.” While he knew what Jaskier was actually referring to, he didn’t answer that. “You don’t need to see it.”

“What? But that’s not possible! I spoke to Countess Kref herself.”

“You need to leave.”

“This doesn’t make sense. I met the Countess, she told me about this place and how the King owes her a great debt, and how she made this place to help people. There has to be an explanation for this, Geralt.”

“The explanation is that she seduced you.” Jaskier did not seem to be enchanted. He wasn’t under her spell so he was simply convinced by the woman herself. What they spoke about and how much Jaskier gave away to why he was there was unknown. She could know that Geralt was hunting her now. The bard could have spoiled the whole plan.

He was livid yet he couldn’t truly be angry with the bard for wishing the best in those that surrounded him. Not when the bard did that for him when he first approached him.

“As fair as she was, that isn’t so.” Jaskier scowled, taking a step back.

“A Bruxa can seduce her prey. You'd be susceptible.” True but there was no other magic other than the normal aura that lingered through the bard. Perhaps Geralt didn’t want Jaskier to believe his open-mindedness was an adverse thing. Better to blame it on magic.

“Not true! You don’t even know if she’s a Bruxa!”

“There is no silver in this castle.”

“That’s… coincidence.” The bard was grasping at straws.

“She fits the description, this room exists.” Geralt gestured to the door they stood beside. “No silver in sight, lack of garlic in the kitchen.”

“There’s got to be something…” Jaskier shook his head. “This isn’t… This hospital? How do you explain it?” The almost frantic and sorrowful bearing in Jaskier’s eyes was an uncomfortable sight for Geralt. This was the look that Geralt expected many times in their past. This is the expression Jaskier will give him the day he decides to leave for good. One day this look will be reserved for the Witcher.

He turned away. “The perfect place to hide her victims.”

It seemed the conversation was not over though. The bard continued to argue in spite of the evidence against the Bruxa. Jaskier went on about how he spoke to her himself as if that aspect didn’t squeeze something in Geralt’s core.

Eventually, it seemed that Jaskier had accepted the fate of the Bruxa. He stood still, blankly staring at the floor. It wasn’t ideal, but if the bard would keep still or get himself out of the castle then that was all Geralt wanted.

Geralt couldn’t waste time dragging the bard outside himself. That would likely cause a scene and draw more attention when Jaskier could understand the situation and leave.

He reluctantly left. There was still a hunt to complete.

He found the bloody room but now he needed to find its bloody mistress. Navigating through the hallways again he made his way back to the large room that held most of its occupants. The air reeked. His eyes shifted, looking for sight of her.

Close by, was a young boy playing with the wrappings on his arm and legs. He was stopped by an even younger girl who scolded him for messing with the bandages that the pretty black hair woman put on. He overheard the conversation, he gathered that the boy was there on account of rescuing her from falling from the roof of their home but how it led to him falling instead.

Another conversation that Geralt overheard given his hearing was a daughter holding her dying father’s hand. They spoke of trivial things, like what berries they planned to eat tomorrow or how she would tend to their goats while he made tea once they got home. It didn’t seem probable that the old man would be alive the next morning but it likely wasn’t a conversation out of practicality but one of goodbyes. They spoke of the kind Lady of the Castle and her generosity in letting them stay sheltered and fed with no charge.

A young girl with messy, tangled hair approached him, tugging his cloak. “Have you seen the Lady?”

He stared down at the little girl, belatedly realizing he should be hiding his eyes. “What?”

“The tall lady.” The girl raised her hand up high as if to show how tall the Countess was though the girl’s height did not give an accurate depiction of the woman’s actual height. “Why are your eyes yellow? Does it hurt?”

He blinked. “No… they don’t.”

“Oh… I thought they would if you’re here.”

Geralt could only nod dumbly.

“Why yellow?” She tilted her head. “Did your mom pick yellow for you?”

The question unintentionally stung.

Yes. She did pick my eyes. She picked them the day she decided to abandon me at a witcher’s feet.

But instead, he said, “Did your mother pick brown?”

She squeezed her own cheeks to show off her eyes. “Yeah. She said she liked papa’s so much that she decided I should match.”

“Good decision.”

“Yeah. But not as fun as yellow.”

It really isn’t. Geralt held back a grimace. “Brown is…” What would Jaskier say? “Prettier.”

“Yeah.” She smiled but looked into his cloak. “You have a sword.”

“I… do…”

“Why?”

He answered honestly. “To kill monsters.”

“Why?”

“People don’t like monsters.”

She nodded. “Because they’re bad.”

“Mostly.”

Geralt had to find the Bruxa. She wasn’t in the main room. He would have seen her at some point. Instead, she had to be elsewhere in the castle. Unfortunately, that meant the bard could have run into her.

“I have to go.” He informed the girl.

“Uh-huh. Good luck with your eyes.”

“I- uh, thank you.”

It hadn’t entirely been a waste of time. It allowed Geralt to inspect the whole room for a time without being too out of place. If he was lucky it would seem he was the girl’s father, if not… well no one’s mind would go to him being a witcher trying to behead the Countess of Castle Cachtice.

The Witcher rushed through the castle once he was out of sight. He heard yelling. From a pouch, he snatched a bottle, uncorked it, and downed its contents without a thought.

The shouts became louder yet were indecipherable. He recognized one voice to be his bard’s and the other had to be her. They spoke a tongue Geralt didn’t care to recognize. The tone used was tell enough.

He rounded a corner and followed it with a final sharp turn into the red room.

His eyes found the bard immediately. “Jaskier!” He was being held roughly by the Bruxa, his arm a bloodied mess. It soaked his shoulder, dripping down his fingers to the floor. He gasped for air and appeared dizzy yet he looked up and screamed the Witcher’s name.

The Bruxa turned around. Her face and claws were covered with blood. She laughed while greeting him. Her words meant little to him, not when Jaskier’s blood stained her hands.

“I told you-” Geralt seethed. “I told you to get out of the fucking castle.”

The bard answered with a smile. A small comfort, one that meant little with blood covering him. It was a scarier sight than the Djinn. The Djinn may have been more dangerous but Jaskier had stayed looking like himself while now he was crumpled against a wall, smiling and covered in his own blood.

Geralt was getting frantic. He would end this fight.

“I wonder what our most gracious King will say when you don’t return to present my head.” She mocked.

“I wonder what he’ll say to get out of paying me when I present your head.” He snarled.

“Seeing his debt to me,” she hummed. “I’d say that he’d try to pay only half of what was promised. If that at all. But that is assuming you kill me.”

She shrieked without warning.

Geralt shielded himself with Quen. She came forward and threw herself against the shield giving him an opportunity to strike her. She narrowly escaped his attacks. One after the other. He swung down a blow that would have killed her with one hit had she not dodged. She used his broken momentum to slash at his throat, she got his armor and pierced through some of it. He was wounded. But that didn’t matter.

Geralt cast Igni. The Bruxa hadn’t the time to clear out of the flames' way. She screamed when her arms caught ablaze from blocking the fire. She hit herself until the fire was gone but her arms and her hands were engulfed with burns.

She yelled and her once graceful techniques became frenzied.

The fight was decided. Geralt may have been wounded, to what extent, he didn’t know or care, but her uncontrolled actions told Geralt he won.

She slammed her against the tools that hung on the walls. One of the instruments pierced through her shoulder. She wailed. She fell to the floor, barely dodging a hit to take her head.

The Bruxa swayed. She couldn’t move. She cried about her family. How the king sent them to a petty war where they lost their lives. She beat the floor with her injured hands.

Geralt pitied her. She shrieked and his hesitation caused him to fly across the room. He caught himself and readied for a blow since he was momentarily distracted but it never came. The Bruxa sat on the floor in tears. The Countess asked him to kill her. After hearing her story, one who knows they were about to die told no lies, he believed her. It didn’t change that he would kill her.

She apologized to the bard. Jaskier seemed to forgive her easily. She then gave them a set of instructions for after her death.

Countess Krev forced herself to her feet. “I just want to see them again.”

Geralt waited for her to catch him off guard. She closed her eyes while raising her chin.

“I hope they’re there. I hope they’re happy to see me,” she mumbled.

The Witcher approached.

She balled her fists against her sides. “They’ll be there.”

“They’ll be waiting for you with open arms.”

“I can’t wait.”

He took her head. She fell to the floor.

The Witcher turned around. The bard sat on the floor. Jaskier’s eyes slowly opened.

“It’s done.”

“It’s done…” The bard repeated. “A… A m-most impr… impressive battle.” Jaskier stuttered.

Geralt kneeled to Jaskier. Inspecting the entire bard. He was speaking, though weary and hurt, Jaskier was fine. He tried to bring Jaskier to his feet but he cried out. The shoulder wound still bleeding. But Jaskier kept talking and complaining, a sure sign that he was okay.

He collected the head and Jaskier followed behind. Geralt did as she instructed. Anna, the woman who other than the Countess seemed to run the castle was given the final words of Countess Krev and they left.

The King wasn’t so inclined to paying Geralt. He would have left but Jaskier argued with the King and his subordinates. The bard even pulled out a ring saying that it was proof that Geralt killed the correct Bruxa. It worked well enough though Geralt was surprised Jaskier thought that far ahead. Why else would he have taken the ring? Jaskier secured them a hundred and sixty ducats, just over half of the original payment. It would have been zero had Jaskier not been as clever as he was.

Jaskier was much angrier about the ordeal than Geralt. The Witcher was happy to be paid at all considering the display the King went through to try to get out of paying. But the bard complained the whole way back and when they made it back to the inn that he originally haggled at the innkeeper had them pay just over the original deal. Geralt was still pleased that the price wasn’t thirty-six ducats that he wanted to charge them. The bard was dead on his feet. They were lucky the innkeeper didn’t charge them more seeing Jaskier in such a state. It seemed that Jaskier knew it too and paid the twenty-eight ducats for a room.

He didn’t give Geralt the chance to rebandage his shoulder.

The Witcher finally took off the armor and glared harshly at it. It would cost more than what he earned in the Bruxa hunt to either repair or replace it.

Armor and coin would have to wait. Geralt dozed though woke hours before the bard. Even in his restful state, Jaskier looked exhausted. His arm was heavily bandaged, it wasn’t soaked in red which Geralt was grateful for. He would leave his bard to sleep while he searched for an armorer and blacksmith.

He left the room and searched the city, not far he found an armorer and tailor. It was a rundown place, but Geralt wouldn’t complain if they could fix his armor.

The man examined his gear and then Geralt himself. He saw the moment the man recognized he was a witcher.

Before the man said a word though, a stout woman came from behind and looked closely at his gear as well. She huffed. “That’ll cost you.” She placed her hands on her hips.

“How much?”

She looked at the armor then back up at Geralt. “Well… seeing as you want to fix this battered mess… and it’ll take us, oh a good two to four days, you’re looking at about a hundred and eighty ducats.”

A massive repair was expected to be expensive but this would require taking Jaskier’s coin to pay as well. He couldn’t remember how much they had exactly but this would leave them with near nothing. They wouldn’t have a room this night or any of the nights they would have to stay for this repair.

“How much to replace entirely?”

She cackled like he’d told a joke to split one’s sides. “To replace something like this? You have three hundred ducats?”

He bit his tongue. He would have had three hundred had the King been genuine in his original offer. Jaskier's anger was fully justified.

“No.”

“Thought as much. So one-eighty and we’ll work on it straight away.”

“I’ll… get the coin.”

“Pleasure doing business with ya.”

He wandered back to the room. Fuck. He needed repairs. Jaskier wouldn’t refuse Geralt his coin. Though it was the principle of having to take everything. Even when Jaskier would take some of his coin, it didn’t feel the same as what Geralt would be doing now.

He sat at the wobbly chair and table the room provided. He counted all the coin they had. In total, they had one hundred and eighty-three ducats. Meaning the purchase would leave them with three left. Three ducats.

Jaskier’s voice startled him from his concentration. “For fuck’s sake, Geralt, count it later, it’ll still be there tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow, bard.” He squinted at Jaskier whose face was pressed into a pillow.

With an overly dramatic head arch, the bard finally took notice of the light in the room. He winced at his shoulder, having forgotten the injury. He flopped down once more to avoid the light, rubbing his eyes.

Geralt went back to the coins, believing he could have forgotten some, there could be more hidden in their bags or he miscounted.

“Why are you counting so hard? What whore is worth that much?”

“Fuck off.”

Jaskier chuckled.

“It’s… it’s fucked up.”

“What is?”

The Witcher didn’t want to go into how he went to the armorer himself which proved to be a mistake. He didn’t want to speak about how his own panic-stricken self caused the damage in his gear in the first place. Didn’t want to talk about how he would take from the bard who already gave so much.

“Can’t any tailor repair that so that it’ll last until we find someone who knows what they’re doing?” He propped himself up on the elbow of his undamaged arm.

Geralt sighed, “They’ll fix it fine, they just…”

“Dear, no, you went without me, didn’t you?” He rested his chin on his hand, his gaze soft on the Witcher.

Geralt scowled and Jaskier raised a hand in mock surrender.

“You were… injured and needed to heal…”

Jaskier sighed but smiled. “I do appreciate that, but wake me next time or wait, you impatient bastard or I might get the wrong idea that you may care about me.” The bard waved a hand. “I’ll see to it today, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. So, how about you go and look for…” he paused, “Contracts or some other tailor in this city while I work on the one you went to, you said they could fix it? So I’ll convince them to, for a fair price.”

This plan… there was no way that Jaskier could reasonably get them to do the service for a lower price. Geralt had already ruined it by showing up himself. They would recognize the armor, they would know the bard was sent in his place, it wouldn’t change the price. Yet Jaskier’s expression was one set on determination.

It was likely that Jaskier would make the decision to pay the hundred and eighty ducats instead of him. Or maybe if they were lucky, Jaskier could save them an extra ten or twenty and haggle for another night in the room.

“Wear your cloak, no one will recognize you.” Jaskier reasoned, “Besides, you’ll get to see the city.”

“It’s a shit city.” Geralt deadpanned.

“You don’t know that till you see it,” Jaskier pointed out, “Go find a tailor. Do something, just don’t mope about, we’ll fix this.” It was comforting. Embarrassing, but comforting to have the bard’s words tell him everything will be okay. “I’ll handle this over here. So get out, shoo- you’re losing daylight.”

For lack of a better plan, Geralt stood and dressed. As he grabbed for his cloak, Jaskier seized it instead to drape it over Geralt’s shoulders. The bard lifted the hood and covered him, playing with the hems and staring into Geralt who could hardly keep his eyes off of the soft features. Jaskier’s thumb brushed his cheek and chin. The bard cupped his face as he’d done before. Geralt didn’t dare move this time lest he ends whatever was happening sooner.

“Have fun, dear.” He whispered.

And leaned in a fraction. The bard’s breath was warm. His eyes twinkled with mischief, a signature look for him. Did he know what he was doing? Geralt didn’t.

Jaskier’s hand dropped down and the moment dissipated. "Or, uh, as much fun as you can, I suppose."

Geralt left. He would trust Jaskier with whatever his plan was, even if it meant giving up all their coin or telling Geralt that they should go to the next town over to try their luck.

As he walked down the street, he heard Jaskier’s voice above. “Bye Geralt!”

Jaskier waved from their window. Geralt nodded in acknowledgment.

He hated the outing. Too many people. Even if they didn’t know what he was, that just meant they were willing to bump into him. He almost had a drunk spill ale on him twice as he passed a bar. He supposed he was lucky they didn’t know what he was otherwise he might have had it spat at him.

He didn’t find another armorer until the edge of the city, but the older, bearded fellow was more of a blacksmith and claimed that he only dabbled in leathers or other hobbies. He apparently enjoyed making candles which was a strange thing to state in their conversation but he was friendly enough.

Geralt brought six ducats with him, leaving the rest for Jaskier to decide what to do with. That may have been an unwise decision but Jaskier hadn’t been drinking as much as he used to.

The kind blacksmith offered to look at his dagger free of charge to let him know if he could improve upon it. Geralt obliged, not much else to do. He walked out to the edge of the city for two hours and he would have to walk two hours back, he may as well have his dagger inspected.

While it happened, the man was very chatty. If anyone could compete with Jaskier it could quite possibly be this man. He spoke without enough rest to let Geralt get a word in, not that he had anything to say. It was a familiar and peaceful position to spend two hours. Even when the man was done with the blade, Geralt was still stuck in the mostly one-sided conversation.

“With years of what I saw as cherished, raw intimacy. I had so much adoration for her. But I had to go, an opportunity called elsewhere and she could not follow. Her mother and sister were sick, you see. Years went by and once I came back that’s when I found that she hadn’t waited for me. We didn’t make promises to each other, it’s true, but I still expected her to. Was that unfair of me?” The man didn’t wait for an answer. “Probably. I should have given her my word and her sweet doting and tenderness would have been mine.” He sighed. “Don’t make a mistake like I made. If you have someone you’re fond of, don’t let them slip away. Their warmth goes with them.”

The Witcher hadn’t expected the life story from the old man. It was interesting in its mundaneness. The only thing that irritated Geralt was that this man handed his story to him so easily in the span of a couple of hours while Jaskier had been by his side for over a decade and left out his full life story. Geralt concluded that Jaskier likely wasn’t human but that was on Geralt’s own deductions. His bard was strange in many aspects, not many explained.

His bard. Geralt hadn’t noticed how he referred to Jaskier. Jaskier wasn’t his.

Did that bother Geralt?

That the bard was an arm’s length away but not his to claim…

Not his to claim- What was he thinking? He was being senseless.

Geralt focused on the man’s words tenfold to distract from his wandering thoughts.

Tomato paste was being sold as a medical remedy, or so the man said. Strange, but humans have done stranger things like the man’s sister who kept a pig as a pet and found that it liked belly rubs.

The man patted Geralt on the back as he walked him out of the shop. “Be on your way, Witcher. I’m sure you have important things to attend. Got someone waiting on you?”

Geralt stared at the man blankly. How long had he known what Geralt was? He let him in the shop and gave Geralt a drink… “A bard.”

A sincere toothy grin was the man’s response. “That’s good. You lot get a bad rep, maybe it's deserved, maybe it’s not. But you’re a good lad. Anyways, take care of your bard.”

The Witcher handed over the six ducats for the man’s service and… kind words. He tried to decline them but Geralt wouldn’t take them back. He didn’t know how else to repay the time spent.

He trudged through the city. Words repeating in his head.

Don’t let them slip away, their warmth goes with them.

Jaskier wasn't leaving.

Take care of your bard.

He already was.

We didn’t make promises to each other.

They didn’t need to.

I found that she hadn’t waited for me.

Was Jaskier waiting? Was that what his soft smiles, soothing words, and gentle touches meant? There was an undeniable attachment that the bard had with Geralt but to be in love with a witcher would be arrogant of him to assume.

But Jaskier held his face mere hours ago. Told him to “Have fun, dear.” Did Jaskier do this with others? Did it mean more with Geralt than with others?

Was Jaskier in love with him? Became the most pressing question in the Witcher’s mind.

Could he ask? He would ask. Surely if Geralt were mistaken then Jaskier wouldn’t find it odd. The bard was more eccentric than most. He would ask once he returned. What he would do with the answer was undecided.

The walk back was shorter than expected. Or it felt as such. There was dim candlelight coming from their window.

Once he entered the building the innkeeper nagged him about payment for the night. Geralt said he would get the coin from the room. Whatever Jaskier figured out would make it obvious if they had to pack up and sleep in the forest or stay one more night before heading out early in the morning.

Tired from the day and days before that he sighed and opened the door. There Jaskier laid face-planted to the bed, he groaned yet didn’t move.

Geralt’s eyes lingered on him. The bard smelled of sweat. He was nearly passed out on his bed until he arrived. Geralt would have greeted him had he not seen his armor clean and fixed on the table.

It should have taken days to repair yet it laid there near new condition.

Jaskier had a way of surpassing expectations. Whether good or bad.

“What did you do?”

The bard didn’t answer, merely tilted his head to look at the gear and whined out, “Oh wow, not a thank you, Jaskier. Oh so kind of you, Jaskier. How will I ever repay you, Jaskier?"

Geralt was grateful but the repairs would have cost triple to be completed in the same day. “Whose coin did you use?”

“You and I both know we both lack enough combined to make a purchase this big.” Jaskier put his face back in the bed and muffled, “Let me explain tomorrow, I’m drained, Witcher.”

That’s when Geralt saw the coin pouches on the table, just as he left it. He stared at the bard.

“What?” Jaskier rolled onto his back and looked to the ceiling. “We don’t have enough coin so I struck a deal and voila! Fixed up, new armor.”

“What kind of deal?” He pressed.

Jaskier moaned, “The seamstress accepted my pay, what else do you want me to say?”

“You fucked a seamstress?” Geralt teased.

“And the tailor as well as his assistant. And maybe his assistant’s assistant.” Jaskier answered flatly.

There was no jest behind his words. Geralt didn’t believe it but Jaskier wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t quipping. Geralt waited for Jaskier to tell him what actually happened.

“What? I convinced them to do their work for a fair price like I said I would do. I got a good deal and you, sir, got fresh new armor. So don’t give me that look.”

But Geralt couldn’t look away. "You…” He stumbled for the right words to say. “You accepted the payment being your..." He waited for the second that Jaskier would crack a stupid grin and laugh in his face for believing it yet Jaskier didn’t. "In exchange for... you gave your..."

The bard gave a nonsensical shrug with a confused gaze. "I'm good at what I do?"

“They provided their service because of a good lay?” Geralt desperately waited for the punchline.

Jaskier gasped, “You doubt me, Witcher? Yet the proof is right before you! You shouldn’t underestimate a bard. Least of all your bard."

Your bard.

Out of necessity or enjoyment? Both? For Geralt or for himself? Which was worse? To save coin for something as inane as fixing armor. It was a difficult scenario yet not one that needed this kind of response. Geralt would have never let it come to that point. He would never ask that of Jaskier. He trusted the bard would find a solution to their problem but he hadn’t considered this as an option. He hadn’t expected the bard to go to these lengths.

Jaskier laid down and sleep seemed to take him.

“The fuck am I supposed to do to take care of my bard?”

Chapter Text

Geralt kept a sharp eye on Jaskier after the whole cleaned and fixed armor debacle.

As if the pain of having magic drained out of every inch of the body wasn’t enough of a hassle now Jaskier had to put up with a nagging witcher.

Years ago Jaskier would have thrived and loved the attention. He gave it to the Witcher any time he could until he recognized the Witcher didn’t often need a… well a genie around. Jaskier became much more of a passive watcher once he realized Geralt never much needed a miracle to save him. It made Jaskier question his place by Geralt’s side. Why would Destiny put him with Geralt if he wasn’t needed? Was he not meant to stay past a certain point? Has he overstayed his welcome in Destiny’s eyes?

Nah.

If that were so then Jaskier would have been shoved out of the way by Destiny a long time ago and he was still with his witcher. Perhaps his purpose was more than to serve and save the Witcher physically. After all, it is through Jaskier that Geralt has become more receptive to others. He’s gotten to become quite clever with human interactions and no longer does Jaskier have to look for Geralt’s desperate, pleading face when a conversation is about to sour.

When the only times the Witcher would ever truly look him in the eye was when he needed something from his bard, Jaskier was beginning to miss that if this new overbearing Geralt was the replacement. This one kept jumping at every opportunity to make sure Jaskier wouldn’t be alone when they traveled together.

He wouldn’t let Jaskier go off and haggle for him. No matter how many times Jaskier told Geralt he didn’t need a big scary witcher to intimidate blacksmiths and bakers. It was infuriating. Jaskier knew how to handle himself and did fine every single time before so what was different now? Did Geralt think the last few times Jaskier fucked it up too badly to go by himself? He didn’t even spend a single damn coin the last time Geralt needed to fix his gear.

He doesn’t know what tipped his witcher off to think that for each transaction he had to be there but he would get to the bottom of it and let Geralt know he was capable.

Couldn’t do that any time soon though.

Jaskier rolled off of his mat on the forest floor. Day eight of them sleeping out in the wilderness but Jaskier was used to it over the years. He pushed himself to a stand to wander by Roach.

She nudged her head in his direction and her nose collided with his chin.

“Shit- Yes, yes, hello to you too, darling.”

She swiped her head at him again.

“I don’t know why you get so moody, sweet thing, I’m just looking for a snack and everything just so happens to be by you.”

She huffed.

“I know, but it’s really not up to me where everything on you gets packed. You’ll need to take that up with the master.”

Roach settled back down and Jaskier was able to gently stroke her nose. He stared into her eye as if they had just shared an embarrassing inside joke, but alas, she was a horse. All was still and quiet.

Jaskier sighed, “Yeah… Maybe- maybe he could do us a couple of favors, you think? Maybe he will be a lovely dear and finally tell us what he wants and while he’s at it he could ask for all the apples you could possibly want, darling.”

“Aren’t those out of season?” Geralt’s voice was heard right over Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Holy- For fuck’s sake, Witcher! I was scrounging,” Jaskier let out an exasperated huff, “You don’t interrupt me when I’m scrounging.” He shook his head. “I mean, who knows, I could’ve shit myself and that would have been embarrassing for the both of us.”

“Not pleasant either.”

“Exactly, dear.” Jaskier crossed his arms. “So do us a favor and walk louder.”

Geralt looked at his feet curiously.

Jaskier took a second to admire the wholesome action. But he remembered something important. “So…” He glanced around then back to his witcher. “We’re, well, not the North, but close to it.”

“We are.” Geralt agreed. He pet Roach’s nose and with the other hand, he attempted to brush her mane with his hand.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “And it’s Winter.”

“So it is.”

“What I mean to say is, isn’t that time where you go to your witcher hibernation?”

Geralt mumbled.

“What was that, dear?” Jaskier stepped closer, joining along with petting Roach.

He shook his head. “I thought you didn’t want me to leave.”

Jaskier had been playing with Roach’s hair and halted, feeling mushy. “You…” He coughed. “While I could do with your presence always, I do never tire of you, dear. I assumed that you would wish for, hmm, some time to yourself.”

“There’s always witchers at Kaer Morhen.”

“Yes, yes, of course, but…” Jaskier crossed his arms. “You seem to find it peaceful is what I was referring to. Wouldn’t want a piece of that? We won’t be up here for likely two years.”

Geralt finally considered Jaskier’s words. “What would you be doing?”

“I suppose I,” Jaskier sighed dramatically, “Will wait for you in the long, cold, and icy months.”

The Witcher hummed.

Jaskier laughed it off. “But don’t let me stop you.” He waved his hand. “I’m fine on my own. You know me, Geralt. We’ll find each other again somehow. I just know it.” Jaskier winked. “We could also… plan a meeting place if you’re so inclined. Wish for me to be there and I will.”

“I won’t be going to Kaer Morhen this year.” The Witcher shook his head.

“You won’t?”

“No.”

Jaskier waited but Geralt didn’t elaborate. “Forgive me for the, uh, well, perhaps rash statement-”

Geralt interrupted. “As most are.”

“Only with you and other horse asses.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Forgive the rash statement but don’t you need the rest?”

Geralt stared.

“You’re being difficult now.” Jaskier groaned. “I’m just saying, let’s not have our skeletons lay in omen to future heroes to discover because my witcher didn’t have a proper nap.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” The Witcher grimaced.

He chuckled while mindlessly looking through the pouches packed on Roach “Of course not. An exaggeration, my love,” Jaskier slipped out then coughed to cover it up. “Well,” He clapped. “Where are we off to then?”

“Temeria.”

“Absolutely wonderful.”

Roach huffed.

He believed that was the end of it but his witcher spoke up again.

“We…” He hesitated. “Redania. Lettenhove. We could visit Lettenhove.”

Jaskier was startled but chuckled. “Why would we do that?”

“Your home.”

A silence fell over them.

Jaskier looked up when Geralt didn’t say anything else. The Witcher looked at him intently. Something soft that warmed Jaskier but there was something else as well, something Jaskier couldn’t read, had Jaskier paid it any mind then it would have made him wary.

“Ah… Redania.” He hadn’t thought of visiting “home” with Geralt before. All these years and while Jaskier had sort of visited “home” he didn’t share it with Geralt. “We could. Let’s head to Temeria first, dear. Monsters are much more important to take care of. Lives at stake and all that. We’ll think about it.” Jaskier didn’t want to shut down Geralt’s awfully sweet idea, but he also didn’t want himself in deep shit by showing up to a land and pretending to be Julian Alfred Pankratz yet again with a witcher in tow. There really was only so much he could explain away. Hopefully going to Temeria and fighting monsters will distract Geralt from such thoughts.

Geralt nodded and went straight to packing their camp. It seemed they would be off much sooner than Jaskier anticipated. And in the opposite direction, he had been expecting. How he’d get the chance to see the little princess this year was near out of the question. He could manage to get away from Geralt for a time and the Witcher would likely thank him for the couple-week break.

Yet the Witcher seemed intent on spending time with him.

It warmed Jaskier to believe that was the case. Even if Geralt was being… more awkward than usual. He had been doing so well socially… Jaskier didn’t dwell on it. His witcher was still his, quirks and all. He sighed, eyes on Geralt who was barely pulling on Roach’s reins to get her to follow. “I want you to remember that when you get so sick of me you could put your sword clean through me, you did this to yourself. For you, I shall play the fool.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Geralt said wryly.

Jaskier may or may not have melted a little at that.

Jaskier screamed. It echoed around him in the sewers he was running in.

Cockatrice.

He shouldn’t have come along. He knew that. Geralt knew that. The person who gave Geralt a contract knew that as did that man’s daughter who even went so far as to look him up and down as if to ask and what the hell can you do? His lunch he had that afternoon knew that. But Jaskier asked and Geralt didn’t even put up a fight. So he went along merrily.

Then he threw up his lunch in the rancid-smelling sewers.

Geralt had patted his back as he outed his meal before they had to walk further in search of the beast that was to be slain.

But now he was dashing through the dark, gross, damp sewers with something shrieking at him to leave its territory. At least his screams could alert Geralt that he found it. Unfortunately, it would also alert any other cockatrices- cockatrice? Jaskier wouldn’t concern himself with grammar as he ran for his life yet again. Any more of those fuckers could possibly be lingering around.

It was nostalgic… in a bloodcurdling way.

So was the fact that cockatrice couldn’t turn people to stone by looking at them. Small comfort when staring down the hideous chicken-lizard thing. Two of them must have been younger ones but that did not take away their frightening nature or their long talons that clicked against the walls. He saw there was blood on its beak, it was bloated and furious, all roused up by the colorful bard that intruded in its space.

There were a few of those little… beauties… in the sewer system. Geralt handled a couple and there was just the last angriest one to worry about.

Jaskier ran to the edge of the sewers. It seems that the beast was content with him mostly off its territory but Geralt was still deep in.

A shriek that bounced off the walls rattled Jaskier to the bone. He didn’t hear Geralt but the monster’s squawks surprisingly eased Jaskier that Geralt was doing just fine.

The Witcher was probably swinging that grand sword of his, giving the beast a few nicks here and there while it still manage to dodge him a few times. Next, he would change his strategy with the creature so that he could catch it off guard. The cockatrice was still a monster, after all, it lacked proper intelligence to plan a fight ahead, only living from each move to the next. It would try to intimidate its prey but Geralt wasn’t prey. And when the creature may realize it is outmatched it will already be too late and be struck in just the right spots for the final takedown.

Quite the familiar pattern now.

The cockatrice’s pained wail rang through the sewers and a final cry let out. Jaskier could already imagine Geralt staring down at it, taking out his knife and flipping it in his hand before cutting off the thing’s head. It was funny how routine that was.

Well, maybe not funny. Maybe a little bit. But not really.

Jaskier was certain he couldn’t hear the cockatrice and wandered back to where he heard the sounds of bone crunching and flesh tearing to find Geralt.

The Witcher was indeed cutting off the head of the cockatrice but immediately Jaskier could see some kind of injury.

“Fuck!” Geralt retched, clutching his arm to himself. He grimaced yet still leaned forward on the dead cockatrice to take its head. His arm was red with what Jaskier assumed was a bloody gash. It dripped slowly into the murky water at their feet.

Jaskier ran to his side. “Shit. That is nasty.” He wasn’t sure if he meant the cockatrice or the wound. “Okay okay okay. Uh, um, what should I do? What do you want?”

“For the pain to stop.” The Witcher finished cutting off the beast’s head. He sighed but there was little relief in it.

Jaskier gave a hollow laugh. “And for it to heal well?”

“That too, fuck,” Geralt groaned, not paying much thought to his words. With his knife, the Witcher continued cutting more of the cockatrice. Taking the dagger to its chest and sinking it deep and carving down. His unhurt hand dived into the gore. Jaskier even stuck out his tongue in disgust as Geralt felt around the entrails of the creature. Jaskier had seen this before but it still made him gag.

“Stomach’s always worth something.”

Jaskier nodded. He looked at the wound a moment and could swear he saw bone. A ghastly sight that the Witcher couldn’t exactly see but could very well fucking feel. Jaskier pulled out a bottle of water with leaves thrown it earlier. It was supposed to be tea but Jaskier put in leaves that made an awful, absolutely dreadful blend. Not poisonous, just downright disgusting. He was trying something new, but fuck that right now. “Withered as a tree, you are. Drink this, it’ll help.” A lie, yes, but one that Jaskier needed to fulfill the “wish” Geralt gave without much suspicion.

The Witcher took the drink without protest, trusting him completely, and downing all of it. Jaskier thanked Destiny for the good fortune because if the Witcher wanted to drink that “potion” again for the same effects… well Jaskier wouldn’t have a good explanation for why it wouldn’t work.

Magic course through his veins, almost unfamiliar with how long he went without granting a wish for the Witcher. It went easy enough though and Geralt was already looking like he was recovering.

“How’s that?”

“Was shit.” The Witcher rasped.

“I know.” Jaskier grinned. “Feeling better?”

A couple of minutes passed of Geralt just breathing in deeply.

“What the fuck did you give me?” Geralt was improving greatly if he was getting his wits about him to ask Jaskier that.

“Hah, well, uh, a- a numbing elixir.”

“A what?”

“I was hoping it would work.”

“I don’t feel it…”

“What do you feel?”

He seemed to really consider Jaskier’s question. “Only a discomfort.”

“That’s good. That’s great, Geralt. Think we can get the fuck out of this shithole anytime soon?”

The Witcher grunted but nodded, with little help he stood and they navigated their way back to the surface with three cockatrice heads in tow.

He kept looking at his arm with great confusion. No doubt he was remembering the pain and how it must have been a worse injury and yet he was already feeling better.

If that would make him suspicious of Jaskier, so be it. He couldn’t leave the Witcher in a state like that. A thought of telling Geralt right then and there crossed his mind.

Jaskier glanced at Geralt. At multiple intervals he opened his mouth yet couldn’t find a tactful way to say it. Unless he could outright say it. "My friend, it’s been quite over a decade but I believe it’s’s high time I tell you I’m one of those floaty fellas that doesn’t actually float." It wasn’t going well in his head. It would likely come out worse out loud. It’s not like Jaskier has any fear that the Witcher would kill him over it. He knows that he’s Geralt’s best friend and even if he weren’t, this witcher was too compassionate to kill a good monster.

Jaskier stopped.

A good monster?

A monster.

“Bard?”

But Jaskier wasn’t like those other creatures. He was much more human. Therefore even more unlikely for Geralt to feel any incentive to kill him. He wasn’t worried about that. It wasn’t his fear of Geralt. It was fear that he would be the biggest liar and fiend to the person he care about the most. That he wasn’t what claimed and also not what he wanted to be. It was that he was better than other creatures but at the end of the day he couldn’t necessarily prove it. Because he wasn’t born human. That was just the fact of the matter.

How… how uncomfortable.

He supposed there was also the fear of Geralt possibly handing him to the witch, Yennefer, to make her happy. But Jaskier would ignore that thought.

“Jaskier?”

He looked ahead and found Geralt staring at him. His eyes were back to their yellow glow.

Jaskier could feel the tight tension that was in his shoulder dissipate. “We’ve got a head or few to deliver.”

Geralt hummed and they were on their way.

“A good thing, they mauled how many? We came upon them when they were biting at bone-lappings and gorging on lumps of something.”

“They were hiding from winter, preparing to leave with the changing weather,” Geralt said. “Just simple animals."

Jaskier nodded. Geralt had a hero complex. This was no secret to Jaskier so when he saw his witcher so blue for killing a monster it was always because the monster was not as devious as made to believe. A shame there was no way to live in peace with creatures and humans. Creatures would have to adapt as Jaskier did. He lives as a human and gets along well. Why couldn’t other creatures learn? Then again Jaskier was much more human than them anyway.

And to the damp, smelly sewers they said farewell.

Payment came easy. They seemed to respect Geralt a bit. The Witcher even found someone to purchase the parts of the cockatrice. It went smoothly.

Jaskier popped his neck when they entered their room. The innkeeper and his wife had been so kind. He had expressed his gratitude to Geralt for getting rid of the troubles the cockatrices caused. It was nice.

He threw off his coat off dexterously. Boots were next. Jaskier hopped on one foot to pull off one, falling on the bed and then yanking off the other to throw it away from him. The smell of the sewers stuck on his boots… or it was just his nose smelling things, nose trauma, and all that.

“That went splendidly.”

Geralt hummed.

Jaskier had gotten up to help the Witcher clean and patch his wound but Geralt shook him off. Tending to it by himself. At least Jaskier could see it looked a lot better. It still was shit but no bone was visible, maybe Jaskier had just been seeing things earlier but either way, he would take it.

The Witcher worked in silence. Jaskier worked, not in silence, alongside. The steady strums of his instrument filled the room peacefully as Jaskier played while sitting cross-legged on the bed.

When the sun rose the following morning, Jaskier lay dozing as the daylight dappled the walls. Geralt had woke him even when he tried clinging to the covers. Before he knew it, they were on the path again to another town.

Awash of magic filled the air. He was sinking in it. The sensation of a flood coming to drown him filled him to the core with dread. And the source? The pristine sorceress, Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Jaskier hadn’t seen her at first, in the city, he felt her, but Geralt’s wide-eyed and hopeful expression led him to see what exactly got his witcher like that. He saw her. Jaskier loathed to look afraid of her presence and so he feigned a fearless state. A careless, almost angry one.

She was as beautiful as ever. As captivating as ever. As perfect as ever. As powerful as Jaskier remembered. She had her head held high, her hair in large rings of dark curls. Her violet eyes narrowed on them in familiarity. Her smile gleamed like pearls and her voice was melodious like a breath of fresh autumn air.

There was a brief discussion. Some shock over meeting the other there, some playful yet not-so-playful insults. Then the two were staring at each other. It was that kind of looking that made him feel he was intruding and Jaskier…

Jaskier fled the sour encounter. Something “caught his eye” and he had to take a peek. It didn’t take a genius to know where the two had gone after he made his getaway, and what they were doing.

So he left. He tried not to feel so bitter. It didn’t work. He focused on a princess he had the chance to visit and what better time than when his- when the Witcher was occupied.

No. No better opportunity would come up. Jaskier found the silver lining and took it greedily while cursing that conniving witch under his breath.

Jaskier had to pull a few strings to attend the event, but it was all worth it when he saw the fair princess. She was like a small version of her mother, rest her soul. Even with the time that had passed, she was recognizable in an instant. The Lion Cub of Cintra.

The halls lit up the event and the colors purple and green were quite popular. He made sure to match for the occasion and even magically changed his boots to go with the outfit, a deep brown with gold, intricate designs stitched on, looked new. He like the tap it gave against the stone floors when the heels clicked. Resplendently dressed he settled into the event with the enthusiasm that swept through the hall. He sang and played for some of the evening. He played in the background to others as well. The hubbub of their fun and humor was heavenly to hear. Nothing like a party to let loose.

Flavorsome delicacies of meat and the freshest of foods filled the tables, there was so much that there was scarcely space to present the stews or set the soups in the silver bowls on the expensive cloths. Each guest seemed to be able to receive his share of a dozen plates of mead, meat, or broth. Beer and wine were endless. A shame he couldn’t partake otherwise he would lose focus of the purpose of attending.

He snuck off for a snack and a chance to say hello to the reason he showed. She attempted to be hidden by the commotion of the party. She scratched at the side of her head, delicately trying to reach an itch but her done-up hair wouldn’t allow it.

He approached her casually, soft, fresh bread roll in his hand. “Ah, lovely Princess, most wondrous to see you.”

She examined him a moment. A wave of recognition passing over her. “To you as well…” The Princess hesitated, stumbling on what she wanted to say next.

He knew what she forgot. “Jaskier,” He said. “Don’t feel bad for not remembering. It’s been a couple of years now. You’ve gotten so tall. You have so many princess things to worry about, I’m surprised how you manage it all.”

“Thank you… but still. You’re a friend, Jaskier.”

Jaskier dramatically put his hand over his heart, “That means the world coming from the gracious Princess Cirilla, the Lion Cub of Cintra. You know I have a friend who’s my very best friend in the whole wide world and he has the gall to ignore that.”

Cirilla laughed at his excessive tone, “I’m sure it’s not meant to hurt you.”

Jaskier sighed, “Probably so, he has a knack for teasing me, acting so flippantly, pfft.”

The Princess only responded with a grin.

“So, Princess, how’s this gathering? It’s smaller than what I’m used to from Cintra. And I was invited to this, so color me suspicious.” He wasn’t invited. He just happened to meet someone who said that they wanted an experienced bard there and whoosh. Well, he had inserted himself into a setting where he would hear those words using a gifted ring but that was quite beside the point. He got to see precious Princess Cirilla. He considered her a halfway daughter.

He knew he wasn’t a father figure to her or even close to it but he enjoyed seeing her when he was passing by Cintra. It was like his way of preparing her for meeting Geralt. Having a mutual friend… Even if he wouldn’t tell her, no, no. If he did, she would no doubt ask her queen grandmother and her grandmother was a sharp woman. No question there that she would have his head on a spike for telling her after she figured out it was him, the Witcher’s Bard, who told her sweet granddaughter.

He was lucky she didn’t remember him or something. Maybe that stung for a few minutes or each time he was in Cintra but it was great now.

“I don’t know… No one tells me anything. Though I’m sure it has to do with entertaining dukes and duchesses who expect this from the Queen.”

Jaskier nodded. “Ah, yes. Lack of relevancy is a killer, I should know, I’m a bard.”

She smiled, it was a small courtesy smile.

He smiled back.

“Okay, but what if you would get to be a part of the Cintran court, more than as a bard?”

Jaskier laughed then sang out, “It’d be great to be in the Cintran court but I’ll never be in the Cintran court, there is truly no chance of that happening.”

Despite his attempt to lighten the harshness of his words with his friendly tone her face still fell.

He tried again. “I am here now. Even if temporarily, I am here and I always come back, don’t I, Ciri?”

She smiled at the use of her shortened name without its title. Her smile showed that she was remembering more and more of Jaskier’s antics while in Cintra. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

“So if you ever need anything, Ciri.” He paused to see if anyone was nearby listening and only continued when he saw no one. “I will help you in any way I can and I have a delightful friend who will do the same.”

She laughed at his serious nature, taking it as a jest.

He smiled alongside her but assured to be true nonetheless.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they watched the crowd dance. A flurry of colors of what was in winter fashion passed by elegantly.

Ciri was lucky enough to hide near the closest pillar once a song had ended and Jaskier was also lucky enough to be on an official break to enjoy the festivities. Now both could stand back and enjoy from afar.

“I still am very pleased that you enjoy my company enough to try to dupe me to subject myself to this courtly lifestyle.”

She pouted. “It wasn't a deception. I thought you liked this.”

“So you say.” He grinned while staring at the half-empty glass in his hand. “But I am a traveling bard and have encountered my fair share of utter bullshit. And this is a hefty steaming pile, might need a cart for it and two horses.”

She bit her lip to refrain from grinning too widely at his crass words. She frantically looked around in case anyone could have heard him speak to a princess in such a manner. She wasn’t offended in the slightest but listening ears were always a problem in castles.

“It’s fine, they’re quite distracted with the festivities.”

“If only they were distracted enough to let me slip away.”

Jaskier chuckled. “Yes, if only.”

“I just wish I could get away from here for only a short while and not have grandmother scold me for it. I hate this dress and these shoes.” She balled her fists in her gown.

Jaskier raised a brow. “You really want that?”

“Yes!” She said exasperated as if Jaskier was ridiculous for doubting her.

Magic coursed through his veins. He looked around the large hall and no one was looking at them, in fact, there seemed to be a drinking contest among the Lords. Jaskier spared a second to wonder if he could beat the lumpy, bearded man that was guzzling his glass down. No matter, it was the perfect distraction.

“Well, how about right now?”

The Princess twisted her whole body to face him, her hair almost at risk of falling out. Her eyes bulged. “What?”

“Let’s go- like right now.” He tugged at her delicate sleeve for a second before quickly letting go. “Uh, your highness.”

She frowned at the title but then actually considered his words and looked at the crowd, thoroughly distracted. She had a glint of mischief twinkle in her eyes. “Okay, yes. Let’s go.”

“Quickly then!” Jaskier had them go behind a pillar then run behind another until they fled through the conveniently cracked open door.

They raced down the hallways that also were conveniently empty of guards that were all on a break or getting a drink or something for them to make their dashing escape.

They snickered as they ran. Rebelling against her controlling grandmother thrilled the Princess. They completely forgot that they should have been stealthy. But the wish never required them to be quiet. He whooped while she jumped with her hands in the air, laughing. She removed her shoes along the way and ran with them.

She cheered and while it was silly, it was brief freedom that she seemed to really cherish.

“What a rush!” He grinned once they stopped at the edge of the castle. Lanterns lit their way.

She giggled. “My stomach hurts from laughing.”

“That’s when fun is at its finest.”

“Wait a second- don’t you need to be there?” She pointed out, getting a little nervous as if the five or was it ten minutes of running over didn’t click that aspect as to what they were doing.

He thought about it earlier but giving her this piece of rebelliousness outweighed any consequence he could possibly get.

“Pfft, there were other bards.” He waved it off. “They’ll be fine. I mean, the party will obviously be missing its flair but who cares?”

“I don’t.” She let the tension leave her shoulders.

“Besides, that room was stuffy, like trying to breathe inside a sweaty pig!”

She laughed, “What?”

“They were squeezing us like oranges, we had to get out of there.”

“What are you talking about?” Ciri’s smile grew.

“Slapped like a fresh fish at a morning rush market.”

“Stop it,” she groaned into her hand, her wide grin never leaving her face. “What does that even mean?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re the bard!” She sighed exaggeratedly.

“You think bards know what words mean? Or what comes out of their mouths? That’s bold.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. She was amused, it was easy to tell.

The Princess messed with her hair, trying to take out the pins, jewels, and strings tying it up so perfectly. Jaskier winced at the sight of her shoving her hands in the masterpiece but held back and instead approached to delicately take it all apart.

“Might as well do it the right way. But you do know you’ll have to carry all these…” He paused, forgetting his words. “Stuffs.”

“Yeah, I’ll carry the stuffs. It’s worth it, this is hurting my head.”

He huffed a laugh and took out the trinkets one by one. He brushed her hair out along the way so that knots wouldn’t form. Jaskier knew this. He did it for Geralt, though not the jewels and ribbons bit. She sighed, content with the pressure off her head.

He raked his hands through her hair, lightly scratching at her scalp. It always pleased Geralt. And besides, Jaskier knew that there was nothing quite like the feeling of having your hair brushed. Her hair was softer than Geralt’s, it glided through his fingers. For a moment he pictured that this is what it means to have a child.

“All good, Princess?”

“Ciri,” she corrected.

“All good, Ciri?” He amended.

“Yeah, much better.”

They stood at the edge of the castle in peaceful silence. There was some wind, a cold breeze. Jaskier shivered though he wasn’t uncomfortable. The stars shone so brightly. He wondered if Geralt was looking at them too. Geralt liked the stars.

“Are you sure that you won’t join the court?”

Jaskier sighed. A sad smile on his lips. He almost wanted to laugh. Not at her, just… how easy it would be to say yes and be able to watch over her. It was obvious she was lonely. She felt adrift. It was clear with how close she was able to get to Jaskier without knowing him so well. She craved the sense of freedom he provided for her. “Quite certain. The continent is my home.”

She nodded.

“You’d get tired of me anyway,” he joked. “The appeal is that I’m the occasional winter offer. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Does it?”

“I think so,” Jaskier leaned against a nearby wall. “I miss my friend oh so dearly but I know I’ll be complaining that he hasn’t bathed while I was away the second I see him again. The smelly bastard.”

Her lip twitched. It was strange how it was exactly what the Witcher would do with him. This girl truly was Geralt’s. Destiny designed it so.

“Perhaps you could get the chance to explore the continent.” He wasn’t sure if that was the plan that Destiny had for her, but he considered it anyway.

“I’d like that, but Cintra is my home.”

He nodded.

“Your friend,” Ciri glanced over, hair frizzy and in her face. “What’s he like?”

Jaskier smiled. “Dry humor. Kind and gentle with his horse. A mountain. A most massive man, mightiest of mortals, but handsome too, like any horseman worth his horse. But despite the bulk and brawn of his body his stomach and waist are slender and sleek. In fact, in all features, he is finely formed it seems.”

Ciri groaned into her hands, “Why do you always tell me this when I ask?”

“You remember?” He chuckled.

“Impossible to forget when you remind me.”

“He is indeed unforgettable. Speaking of seeing old friends,” he said while patting his knees. “You should go to bed.”

She titled her up at him. A look of pure bewilderment on her face. “What does that have to do with seeing old friends?”

He acted as if he didn’t notice her confusion. “Can’t have you running about. I got an event to perform at and you cannot be wandering about all alone. It’s bad enough that you’re out here with me.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

Jaskier did not have the heart to explain that people might get the wrong idea if they were seen alone, away from the big party… without her shoes on… and her hair undone. And while the wish may have spared them those precious moments of fun, it was time to put it to an end. He began walking back through the halls of the castle and she followed without prompting.

“Who knows? They might think I was here to steal the Lion Cub of Cintra.”

“You would never!”

“Alas, I have tricked you. I played the long con for many winters, waiting for you to follow me because I am secretly a witch in disguise!” He said all of this while still walking down the halls, carrying her pins and even her gold-lined shoes that she had dropped.

She gasped, playing along. “Nay! Say it isn’t true.”

“Tis no lie, I have come to eat you. I heard of a new recipe for stew and pie and have to try it on naughty children that leave parties under their grandmother’s noses.”

“What a pity… to be made into stew.” She hung her head.

He rolled his eyes, a grin that he could feel was going from ear to ear. “Now, dear, once we get back, you must find a guard to escort you because you’re tired. Nay, exhausted and have a headache. That should work.”

“Why can’t you escort me?”

“I don’t know where your room is, Ciri.”

“I can show you.”

Jaskier didn’t trip on his own feet, but he almost did. “Never make an offer like that to anyone ever… You have to wait thirty years first. Possibly forty. I’m sure for how long actually.”

She didn’t seem to understand.

“Now here. These 'stuffs' are yours.” He handed over the shoes and all the pins he was still carrying.

Ciri took them and balanced them in her arms. She realized something. “Is this the last time I see you?”

“What?” Jaskier shook his head and waved his arms. “Destiny no! It isn’t, I always come back. You can’t get rid of me.”

“I meant…” She bit her lip. “I meant, are you leaving? I won’t see you until next time?”

His heart crumbled. Her big eyes shone brightly as she pouted.

Jaskier thought of Geralt. He had left Geralt, with that witch no less. Was Geralt worried? Should Jaskier be rushing back or should he stay the couple extra days?

Ciri was safe here. She had a whole kingdom that adored their sweet princess. Geralt on the other hand was alone and while powerful, he didn’t have backup without Jaskier.

“I… well the party will be over, Ciri. A bard isn’t needed for the aftermath. There wouldn’t be a reasonable thing keeping me by your side tomorrow.”

“Oh… Right… yeah.” She hung her head in disappointment, hair covering her whole face.

He brushed some of her hair aside. He willed some magic to flow through his fingertips and felt a flickering flame, like a candle. It was small, but she was small now. And fire could always grow. Like her mother’s. He didn’t let himself flinch at her magic. He pushed his magic to lean into hers, a warmth spreading. “But don’t fret. I’ll hope to see you again when the snow is always white and glittering. With a memory of laughter and a tear-filled eye, I will find myself here again.”

“Until winter? Maybe try sooner.”

He huffed, amused, and gently pulled his hand away. “I shall see what I can do. A good season to you, Ciri.” He bowed playfully and roamed back to the party where he was indeed being paid to be at.

The Princess yawned and found a guard that escorted her off to her chambers. The night was noticeably duller without her. Less of a reason to focus on the chattering of the masses. He played rambunctiously regardless until the night ceased.

Maybe, for her, he’d try to stay an extra day. Couldn’t hurt to have a picture-perfect image of her lovely smile while he would be away with their witcher.

Chapter Text

“A wish to help you find whatever you’re looking for. Oh yeah sure, thank you, good sir, a kind wish made for a bard,” Jaskier grumbled. “Then why in Melitele’s tits did I end up in the middle of the fucking forest of fucking- where the fuck am I? Is this even Temeria? There can only be thick bush wherever I look.”

Jaskier complained for hours while wandering, it also could have been thirty minutes but it felt like forever. Night was beginning to blanket the sky.

“Oh yeah, peachy. Goodbye sun and protection from monsters. Love that.”

He walked on wherever his feet took him. The wish may have been weak but it had to take him somewhere meaningful otherwise it wouldn’t have worked to begin with. Geralt had to be where it had taken him. There wasn’t much else.

“Bard?”

Jaskier spun around at the sound of the low voice in the darkness.

He couldn’t see where it came from. “Ah, there you are, Geralt!” Jaskier cheered into the air. “I must have wandered too far. Think I lost you.”

Geralt stepped out from the shadows, Roach following. “Bard.” The Witcher looked, well as close to happy as he could get.

“I got this new outfit.” Jaskier flaunted. “What do you think? It’s the style right now. I like the green, not sure how I feel about the purple, though it is elegant. I took off the ruffles, not so practical out in the woods, I dare say. It was a tragedy to let them go.”

The Witcher nodded. He pressed his lips together and asked, “Where’d you go?” Geralt tried too hard to be casual.

“To perform!” Jaskier clapped. “Art is called upon and I answer.”

Geralt hummed and approached slow and steadily. It was dark but the closer he got the more details Jaskier could see. He was already very familiar but no harm done with a refresher. Geralt didn’t stop until they were a mere breath apart. Jaskier gulped and his eyes widened when the Witcher leaned in. He squeezed his eyes shut unwilling to keep them open to mess up whatever was happening out of misplaced nerves. His own breathing halted, if he could, he would have stopped the thumping of his heart because it was so loud and distracting. His head filled with clustering and bumbling thoughts and blood was buzzing and- and-

The Witcher was smelling him.

Jaskier opened his eyes. Breathing resumed. Heart still beating, now with permission. “Geralt?”

“You’re not injured?”

“Why would I be injured?”

He sniffed again, ignoring Jaskier. “Nothing…” Geralt mumbled, leaning away.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Nothing?”

“Just you.”

“Well of course I smell like me.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Who else?”

The Witcher grunted yet didn’t answer. He walked off with Roach in tow. Jaskier followed.

A pleasant enough spot to set up camp was made. Jaskier got his bedroll from Roach while Geralt finished lighting a fire. Which Jaskier used to heat a bowl of broth he stole from Cintra, but it wasn’t exactly stealing when it was going to be wasted had he not taken it.

Geralt enjoyed it with Jaskier.

“Figured I’d find you in Redania,” the Witcher said.

Jaskier looked up from his meal. “Redania?” Then he remembered their old conversation. It felt so long ago. Much longer than it had actually been. Jaskier resisted the urge to look around as if the forest would be more clearly a Redania forest. The weather maybe but come on, Temeria, Redania, when you’re in the middle of a forest it all looks the same, though humans may take offense to a statement like that. Geralt must have traveled to Redania and hoped to find him on the way per what they semi agreed on before. “Ah, oh, yes, of course. Didn’t think I’d find you so soon. Thought you’d still be in Temeria.”

Geralt shook his head.

Peaceful silence. Or it would have been peaceful if Jaskier weren’t so nervous about them visiting Lettenhove. No doubt it would be expected for Jaskier to see family while they stayed. It was a kind gesture but that was the only consultation when they continued traveling.

Open fields. Gentle hills. Quiet forests. These kinds of lands are what make Redania so comfortable to make a home in. People live peaceful lives of farming and trade. Jaskier loved this land and its comfortable weather and yet each step might have been more comfortable had it been on a bed of needles.

They barely stopped in any towns or villages they were passing through as though reaching Lettenhove was their life or death quest. Even Oxenfurt passed quickly, though Jaskier was also a bit to blame for that. The vibrant colors caught Jaskier’s eye and so did the feelings of soft nostalgia and they stayed a night. Jaskier told a few stories when they stayed that night. He was wary when touching memories like why he had to leave the university or his whole accidental but intentional spy business.

Leaving Oxenfurt was a blessing and a curse.

Lettenhove was in sight in no time. Or it felt like it.

Each footfall grew heavier with no clear reason. Jaskier had nothing to fear. He’d been to Lettenhove before and all went well then. He was only there for three hours the last time about a decade ago though so he wasn’t exactly a good judge on the matter. His “mother” was blind and it had been about a decade since anyone saw him, people change looks- he may not be the real Julian but no one would have that keen of an eye. They had been similar enough.

Entering the town was nostalgic. About twenty-five years ago he had walked down these streets and markets. The real Julian must have been with the first time. Jaskier was pretty sure he remembered Julian liking the fish market area the best because he had said a fisherman tossed him a fish to play with as a child. There was no rationality behind that story with any character in it which is why Jaskier liked it so much.

Geralt’s hand patted Jaskier’s back. Something he learned from Jaskier he assumed. “Alright?”

Jaskier waved him off. “Oh hush, I’m fine. Look at me, I’m smiling!”

Geralt tilted his head. His expression clearly telling Jaskier that he knew his friend was lying.

“I’m fine. Just nerves.”

Geralt was being difficult to read but he didn’t push him further, Jaskier was grateful for it.

And just like that, they were past the threshold of Lettenhove. It was beautiful as ever. The sky was a vivid blue with the clouds looking like pieces of cotton. They passed a bakery, its fresh loaves of bread filled the air with its aroma and when Jaskier looked he saw the familiar faces of the baker and his grandson apprentice who were now both much older. Jaskier remembered the grandfather having a few grey hairs but now his head was full of nothing but grey and white, a reminder that it had been a couple of decades.

The dread of the passing of time and how obvious it may be to others was coming back. It was as easy to forget with the Witcher as a traveling companion because the dear never aged either.

They found an inn and left everything to wait for them there, Roach was even given a comfortable and clean stable to rest in while they wandered about.

Geralt wanted Jaskier to see his “home” and be happy about it so Jaskier took in the sights with an open heart. The flowers peeking out on the sides of the path were charming as were the smiles of children playing next to their parents’ stalls.

“Buttercup?”

Jaskier whirled around to the elderly voice and found an old woman sewing at a small sock from behind a stall. “Jadwiga?”

The old woman smiled, a tooth or two missing on the side. “The little flower, I knew I could still make you out.”

Jaskier grinned, immediately walking towards her. “Can’t believe you spotted me. You must have eyes like a hawk.”

“In that get up? Like a peacock, you always were,” she teased.

“Because you have room to talk.” He knew the woman from decades ago. It truly did shock him that she recognized him, especially since he very much should not look this young still, but the crucial detail in all this was that Jadwiga had a failing mind the last he had heard of her, a sad reason why she had to quit the stage. She must not have connected that Jaskier should not look the way he does.

“Bah!” Jadwiga waved her arm. “You brought a friend along again?”

Jaskier remembered Geralt next to him. “Yes, yes, Geralt, this is Jadwiga, Jadwiga, this is Geralt.”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier then to Jadwiga. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Jadwiga threw her head back laughing until her laugh went silent. “Haven’t seen a man with manners for fifteen years, was beginning to think they were a dying breed.”

“This, Geralt, is Modjeska of the stage. The most talented actress in all the continent.”

“Those times are far behind me, boy,” she scolded yet her eyes shone with wistful memories that she latched onto. “Fun, but look,” she held two little socks up and declared, “I have infernal little spawns of my spawns to love now. So no more stories of directors trying to throw boiled water at me for forgetting a line.”

“From the stories I heard, you had a writer change his entire play to fit your role when you were with child,” Jaskier boasted for her.

She rolled her eyes. “He did- Forgot his name, but the bastard claimed it was all planned from the start, did you know he tried to say the child was his?”

“Not shocking, anyone would give an arm and a leg to be your lover even if for a night.”

“Charming as ever, lad. Now shoo, I gave my greeting as a decent person should, don’t punish me, you weed.”

“Of course not, acclaimed lass. Till next time.”

“Next time will be at my grave,” she said joyfully. “If you’re lucky!”

Jaskier waved and they walked off. He nudged Geralt’s arm. “Lovely lady.”

“Charming,” Geralt muttered in his usual witcher-confused way.

“Just like you.” Jaskier sighed. “How strange. Even though I’m back it’s as if I’m not expecting these familiar faces.” He leaned into Geralt’s arm. “I was expecting the worst- honestly I was expecting-”

A voice in the crowd interrupted him. “Julian? Julian is that you?”

“I appear to have spoken too soon.” Jaskier looked over and saw Ferrant coming closer, Julian’s cousin. He never formally met Ferrant, he’s seen him and could recognize him, sure, but… He had sent letters to his cousin as well, and how could Jaskier forget that he sent a picture of himself once in his paranoia to ensure his cousin would think he was the correct Julian. Looking like Julian, a random letter and the fact that over two decades had passed would be Jaskier’s lifeline. “Fuck.”

“Is that you, Julian?” Ferrant approached closer.

Jaskier stepped to the side, away from Geralt. Staying quiet and trying to avoid the man wouldn’t do him any favors. “Cousin!” He opened his arms wide. “It’s been a while.”

Ferrant snorted yet hugged Jaskier, “It’s been over a while, Cox-Comb!”

Jaskier scoffed at the insult but hugged back tighter. “Had to get away from pigheaded fools like you.” Jaskier grinned easily, the man sounded just like the letters he occasionally got from him. Jaskier could play and pretend this man was his cousin and it would be an easy feat.

“Shut up, always on about that, even now.” Ferrant pulled away, a smile on his face going ear to ear. “Say, I don’t remember you being so chubby in the face.” As if to prove it he squeezed Jaskier’s face in his hands.

Jaskier didn’t freeze. He was a professional. “Yes, well I don’t remember you lacking hair either so it looks like we’re both at a loss.”

Ferrant let go. “Son of a bitch.” His eyes were still bright with joy.

“That’s a lovely woman you’re insulting,” Jaskier joked.

Ferrant shook his head and placed his hands on his hips as if to scold Jaskier. “You should go see her, your letters aren’t enough- who’s this fellow?” Ferrant finally noticed the Witcher standing behind Jaskier.

“Ah, yes, Ferrant, please meet my marvelous friend, Geralt.”

Geralt looked apprehensive, more so than with Jadwiga. He nodded his head forward.

“Geralt, a fine name, haven’t I heard that-” Ferrant’s eyes went up and down the Witcher. “You don’t happen to be Geralt of Rivia, do you?”

Geralt stood silent.

Jaskier clapped and answered, “You guessed it! The one and only. Geralt, this is my cousin, Ferrant de Lettenhove. Probably the one running everything while I’ve been gallivanting with you.”

Ferrant looked a little more hesitant. “He’s your friend?”

“Yes,” Jaskier assured. “Has been for a good, uh, twenty-odd years.”

Ferrant let out a sigh, a strange mix between disappointment and apprehension that he willed away to give a welcoming smile. “Well, if you’re a friend of, Julian,” Ferrant placed his hand out. “Then you’re a friend of mine.”

Geralt shook his hand. “Likewise.”

Ferrant chuckled as he let the handshake go, looking towards Jaskier. “You always did have the strangest friends, although if stories prove true, then they were the most interesting.”

Jaskier snapped his fingers. “This one shall be no exception then, cousin.”

“Come.” Ferrant put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and began to guide him to the house of Lettenhove. “Your mother will want to see you. Geralt of Rivia,” he turned to speak to the Witcher, “You are more than welcomed to come along.”

Geralt nodded and followed.

But it was all happening too fast. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he could fool the woman again. Jaskier had been lucky to leave before she put the pieces together as to why her son sounded different to her. Her eyes may have gone but her ears weren’t. “Shouldn’t… mother get a warning before I arrive?”

“Right,” Ferrant tapped his foot on the ground. “Wouldn’t want you to give my poor aunt a heart attack. How about you come along but I’ll go first.” Ferrant jogged ahead and disappeared into the crowd.

Jaskier sighed a breath of relief. “That went well.” He grabbed Geralt’s arm. “If you want to escape, now’s our chance.”

Geralt raised a brow. “He was… kind.”

Jaskier sputtered, “What- oh, uh, well, yes, yes, Ferrant is.”

“Is all your family like you?”

“What?”

Geralt’s face contorted. The way it would when he couldn’t find the words he was looking for. “So…” he tilted his head. “Open?”

It was too good of an opportunity to pass. “Did you call us puterelles?”

“No.” Geralt lightly shook his head. “Not your family at least.”

“Ha, ha, very funny, court jester.”

The Witcher returned the teasing twitch of the lip. “More that…” Geralt paused, “When we first met, when you noticed I was a witcher, you cared for the marketability.”

“Now that makes me sound avaricious,” Jaskier said flatly and pointed to Geralt.

“No… well yes.” Geralt groaned when the words were out. “Little fear. Not much fear was coming from you. And now…” He looked away.

“And now?” Jaskier urged patiently.

“None.”

Jaskier smiled. He brought his hand to the side of Geralt’s face to bring his witcher back to looking at him. “Well, what’s there to be afraid of, friend?”

“Plenty.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “So dramatic. I think you’d be an excellent performer had you not been a witcher.” His voice still came out soft, his joking words did not cover the fondness of his tone. “You’ve given me little reason to fear. I think… that I trust you with everything.”

“Everything…” The Witcher whispered out, sounding astonished.

Jaskier chuckled, letting his thumb gently run back and forth along his cheek. He pulled his hand away. “Is that so hard to believe? You’d think with the number of, and I shant repeat this Geralt so listen close, the number of times you’ve saved my ass I wouldn’t trust you.” Jaskier shook his head. “The number of years we’ve shared. It’s quite embarrassing how well you know me.”

“But I don’t.” Geralt interrupted.

“What’s my favorite jam?”

“Blackberry.” Geralt answered instantly.

Jaskier continued, “My favorite season?”

“End of Spring.”

“Preference of gold or silver?”

“Gold.”

“What was the last book I’ve read?”

“Master Aldous on the Affairs of Skellige Trading.”

“Surprisingly, it was not as horrid as a read as I was expecting. Master Aldous, as pretentious as he makes himself sound, is good with the quill. Now, dear, I’d say you know me fairly well.”

Geralt still grumbled.

“Fine,” Jaskier sighed, “I suppose those are only the superficial queries. Then, Geralt, what are my views of the court? Any court.”

The Witcher paused, rolling over the question in his mind. “Temporary pleasure.”

Jaskier raised a brow approvingly. “Curt, but a true enough answer nonetheless. I love traveling the continent because..?”

“Freedom,” he began, “you enjoy adhering to no one’s rules.”

“Fair.” Jaskier shrugged. “My thoughts on monsters then?”

There were a number of reasons to ask this, one of which was that Jaskier wondered what Geralt saw.

“An understanding.”

Jaskier tilted his head.

Geralt licked his lips while he tried to find the words. “Sympathy.”

Ah. Sympathy, a close brother to empathy.

“Right on the head.” Jaskier gave a devilish grin. “Now tell me, what else is there to know, Geralt?”

Geralt stared hard at him, not harshly, just intense. “Everything.”

Jaskier stared back, eyes widening not of his own accord. His eyes shifted back and forth between Geralt’s eyes that didn’t back down. Like he was finally acknowledging something that he knew that he didn’t know.

But Jaskier…

Jaskier wasn’t ready. Not yet at least. Not in the middle of the busy streets of Lettenhove.

“Ha… Isn’t it strange how often I forget my dearest friend is a witcher?”

Geralt didn’t answer, he kept his gaze on Jaskier even when Jaskier looked away.

“Mother must be waiting… Let’s not test the good woman’s patience.” Jaskier went to step away but a hand held his to keep him from going any farther. He looked back.

His witcher’s expression… it was of the pleading variety. Or something of that sort. It didn’t suit him. So Jaskier sucked in a breath and…

“Soon. I… I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

The expression on his witcher’s face relaxed.

“Just not today.”

The Witcher nodded.

Jaskier twisted the angle of the grip Geralt had on his hand so he could pull him along. “Let’s meet a kind woman instead today. I must warn you though, she’s blind as a bat. I suppose that’ll work in your favor, you do have such a lovely voice, just the right amount of gravelly.”

He pulled Geralt past the crowds, past the stalls, and past the thoughts that were clustering around them.

And Jaskier no longer feared seeing his “mother,” his only worries rested on Geralt’s doubts in him. It was a painful and awful burden he had to bear.

Chapter Text

Jaskier wouldn't describe himself as a coward.

Then again no man or being such as himself would…

Jaskier was occasionally and reluctantly a coward but that couldn't be on any fault of his. Just life itself will put a person into situations where fear is the only logical result and one must listen to that fear for survival.

But this wasn't fear. No, no, Jaskier shook his head as he walked forward. This was just a bit of worry. Just a little tense, being a little tense is perfect right before a performance. It's necessary as you get on the stage and you feel your feet buckling under you, your hair stand on edge, bile starting to rise from the belly, except that wasn't all normal, the whole scene wasn't normal.

Jaskier's throat tightened. He kept forcing himself to breathe properly like a normal person.

Which he was.

A normal person.

The normaliest of people.

And he was seeing his mother after so many years and he was showing her his best friend. He's been traveling, making music, creating memories that he can share to his lovely mother like the charming, adoring son he is.

Getting in character would be easy.

Because none of that would really be a lie.

He is Julian Alfred Pankratz. He is Julian. He is Julian Alfred Pankratz. He may also be Jaskier but that is a coincidence, merely a stage name as bards do because he is Julian. That’s what Geralt seemed to believe as well, and if he seemed to believe that then the lie was just as good on anyone else.

Jaskier looked up at the tall, lovely home and let out a breath. He looked at Geralt who was keeping his eye on him. Jaskier internally smacked himself. He was being too obvious in front of Geralt. He was probably making it seem like the old woman was a malicious and cruel mother to get such a reaction from her son visiting her.

"Ah, nerves," he chuckled. "I haven't seen the woman in so long. Think she'll give me a little scolding, but hopefully I can use the joy of bringing a most wonderful friend over to cover that. Who knows? Maybe she'll adore that I'm brighter than the company I keep." Jaskier winked.

"Sure," Geralt responded smoothly, "maybe she'll be delighted by her son's stories of up close monsters."

"Now now, we don't have to bring those up, you could have just told me those and that's how I know what I know because even if my friend lacks severely in the creativity, storytelling, and entertaining department, then it only makes me the more brilliant."

Geralt rolled his eyes. Amusement playing behind his expression. "Brilliant? I suppose I do remember you catching fire trying your hand to burn a Leshy."

"Low blow." Jaskier shuddered. There were no repairs for that outfit. Jaskier had not bothered with the burns and disaster that befell him. Geralt only laughed while Jaskier was forced to buy average clothes before he could either buy colorful ones or sneak away to change the outfit and add the color himself.

But Jaskier wasn't able to say more as his delightful cousin returned. "Don't wait outside, come, come."

Jaskier was pulled by the arm by Ferrant and Geralt followed as Ferrant navigated the halls to a higher floor and to a large room with a large empty table. Jaskier pretended he wasn't scared shitless, pretended like his reputation and safe travels out of Lettenhove weren't resting on this meeting or how she would respond.

The room they entered was bright as the light of the sun was giving its beams to bounce off the colors of the room. The curtains that were tied back were a vibrant green with golden threads glittering in the light, the table while empty had a deep blue cloth draped over with embroidered golden threads as well.

The chairs were lined up to perfection. A couple of servants passed through, finishing dusting the room or adjusting chairs.

And at the end of the table, sitting peacefully and holding a cross-stitching that she couldn't see, was Julian's mother. A soft smile graced her lips as her fingers were slowly guiding the needle to where she wanted it to go.

"Aunt," Ferrant spoke first, "I've brought Julian and his friend, Geralt." he elbowed Jaskier harshly when he didn't say a word.

And somehow the words tumbled out without a thought. "Hello mother."

She lifted her head at the sound of "mother" and set her cross-stitching on the table. "I heard you come in, please, please, come closer."

Jaskier stayed planted. A lot rested on his ability to be Julian, to be the son of this woman. He recalled everything he could about her.

She was much older than before. Maybe stress. Maybe that's just what humans do.

Her head was mostly white now. There had been a lot more brown before, it was still lined with aging, but still. She had a few more wrinkles to count but her smile was just as bright. It was a crooked smile, Jaskier had forgotten but her two front teeth were a bit unique. Unique in that one tooth slightly overlapped the other and she had a large freckle or flat mole on her right cheek. She was plumper than before too but she still held an air of elegance around her.

She held her hands out, palms up, waiting for him to walk over and take them in his own. She was so welcoming. Humans or creatures of many forms could have such wonderful guardians to take care of them because Jaskier could feel the love radiating off of her. He felt it so strongly wash over him.

Jaskier had the sudden urge to cry.

Ferrant pushed him forward and he needed no other encouragement so he ran to her. Forgetting all manner and grace he raced and went to his knees next to the seat she was at.

He grasped her hands so tightly and her thumbs lightly rubbed the back of his hands as he was feeling himself tremble at her gentle touch, he let himself latch at the love of a parent, a sensation he could never have truly, only through a false facade, but he clung to her regardless.

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead and Jaskier did not have to act as just a couple tears fell just as a son's would upon seeing his beloved mother after many years.

He could easily believe this was his own mother as she whispered words of welcoming and love and when she pulled a hand away to pet his head and then even wipe his ridiculous tears away.

Jaskier felt no jealousy of humans because, at that very moment, he was human when under her gentle and caring touch.

Once Jaskier had calmed down did the nagging begin.