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With how hard he strummed his lute, he was constantly breaking the strings. It didn’t take too much to get them repaired, but with how often the strings needed to be replaced? Jaskier was beginning to think he could just replace them with his broken heart strings. It might’ve made the tunes he played sound strange, but in truth nothing he played sounded quite right anymore.
Oftentimes, Jaskier would tell himself and others he went on ventures with Geralt to improve his songs. After all, one would have to go on gory quests to truly be able to write about them, right? Well, Jaskier did believe that to be true. His performance always seemed to be around the Witcher. Everything was better around. Sure, the bard would endure eyerolls, and sarcastic quips from Geralt, but that didn’t mean he never had a good time around the grumpy silver haired brute. In fact, he missed those good times more than ever these days. How long has it been since he’s seen Geralt?
As much as he tried to ignore it, he tried not to think of that day on the mountain. He was unfairly blamed for some adversity in Geralt’s life. Jaskier was a victim of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Hell, it wasn’t his fault for everything bad in Geralt’s life!
After repairing his lute for what seemed to be the upteenth time, Jaskier strapped it around his back. He could for another night of sadly strumming his lute and singing slightly off key, or he could go with a different option. One he’s been considering for awhile. What if he went on an adventure of his own? He could dream up and sing up the worst scenarios possible. Besides, the road he traveled never seemed too dangerous during the day. He might be alone now… Gosh, he was alone now. Every tavern he sang in was full of strangers. He could never find the person he was looking for... He had met the Witcher in a tavern. Jaskier remembered the day clearly. The way Geralt was brooding? It just sent the bard’s heart fluttering. Perhaps he was hoping he would meet him like that once again. Then again, why was he spending so much time thinking about Geralt when he knew Geralt couldn’t be thinking of him?
Little did the bard know, Geralt was doing exactly that. He knew he was just irritated with Jaskier when he snapped at him. Normally, he wouldn’t dwell on situations like this. All of these sleepless nights gave him time to reflect on things. Why was the bard running through his mind so much lately? Was it the fact his journeys were so silent now? Sometimes he preferred silence, but lately the silence was so much worse than Jaskier annoying him. Sure, the bard rambled a bit too much for the Witcher’s liking; however having a travel companion was better than nothing at all. Well, he did have Roach. He would talk to Roach, but Roach couldn’t play the lute, now could she?
Perhaps that was why he was on a trail in the woods in the dead of the night. Some of the trees were so leafy that not even the moonlight could light his way. There was just something telling him that there was no need to even attempt resting. Still, this felt like so much more than insomnia. More than just his mind was stirring. So what was it?
There was something off about everything. The breeze blowing through the leaves in the forest even seemed slightly askew. Geralt’s gut instincts telling him something bad was about to happen, but very vague about whatever that something may be. Only time would tell, and time wasn’t always Geralt’s friend. That statement would be true. Later that night, Geralt would not be content with what he found. Granted, one could argue the Witcher was always a grumpy man, but the future promised something that was more than just angering and irritable. For now, Geralt was left with the vague feeling of a discomforting future.
Wondering deeper into the woods, the white haired man was beginning to wonder how long this night was. It appeared as if he had been wandering aimlessly in the dark for hours on end now. How long would this night be? It was only when he heard the noise of a dangerous creature did he lightly tug on Roach’s reign to tell her to stop moving for a moment. The rustling was still ways away from him, and it didn’t appear to be getting any closer. It was only when he heard a familiar cry of his name that the Witcher had actually become alarmed.
Having previously been attacked by savage creatures, Jaskier was in gruesome pain. Usually, when he was in danger he’d cry out for the man he was a travel companion for. The bard had ended up crying out for the man after suffering through several injuries. It was the only word his brain seemed to remember when he was in danger. Even though he hadn’t seen him in years, the bard called out for his protector anyhow: “Geralt!”
The familiar cry sent alarms through the Witcher’s mind. Quickly, the man got off of Roach and went to find where the bard’s distress cry had come from. Even after all this time, Jaskier still cried out for him, but why? Geralt was sure he broke the man he once traveled with that day on the mountain. As much as he could dwell on the guilt he felt from that day, he had to focus on finding Jaskier. He sounded pained, and Geralt wouldn’t allow him to die. He couldn’t allow him to die.
However, there was a slight problem. The forest was relatively dark, and large. It took a few minutes for Geralt to even hear another person breathing. He was hoping that noise would be what led him to Jaskier.
On the other side of this, Jaskier was feeling the light of life fade from within him. His heart was speeding up, but the bard knew his heart would fail. After all, it was nothing good for anything but breaking. Perhaps it was time to let go of it all. Even if he cried out for the Witcher again, Jaskier was positive he was in this forest alone. Bleeding out on the forest floor. The tree branches above wouldn’t even allow him to look at the night sky. It was a shame. The stars would’ve painted Jaskier such a beautiful scene to look at.
Geralt’s path was somewhat moonlit, but only in certain spots. Why did this forest have to have so much coverage? The Witcher was almost certain that he wouldn’t be able to find the eccentric bard at this point… or so he thought. Geralt heard something crunch beneath his foot. Slowly looking down and pulling at one he stepped on, he recognized the wood. This could not be something from a regular stick, nor could it be tree bark. He identified the wood from Jaskier’s lute. That meant the bard had to be near. Looking at the path in front of him, he saw more pieces of the lute, and Jaskier on the forest floor bleeding out. “Fuck.”
Did his ears deceive him? Jaskier swore he was delusional. His vision was fading in and out. Was Geralt really there? He softly coughed, and some blood fell onto his luscious bard lips. Well, those usually pink lips did not look so perfect. They seemed to be fading in color. How long had he been laying in the open like this? His clothes were stained a dark crimson that matched the blood coming from his abandonment. There were gashes in his torso, and a claw mark just under his right eye. It seemed the wound under his eye was already drying out. The once beautiful bard that was full of life was now growing cold as he struggled to breathe his last few breaths.
The sound of Jaskier’s breathing ceasing made Geralt fall to his knees. His knee caps were bathing in the blood that had come from Jaskier’s wounds. The crimson sap leaking from his bard isn’t what bothered him. Geralt just never thought he’d see someone he cared about die. Sure, he knew he would outlive Jaskier, but he didn’t think it would happen like this. Jaskier deserved a much more glorious death - something flamboyant to match his overly obnoxious personality.
Some would argue the Witcher never cared about the bard, but Geralt himself would disagree. He knew there were times he was with Jaskier when the end of his lips would curve up. It was rare, but it was there. On top of that, he didn’t mean what he said about Jaskier’s singing, but he’d never get to tell him that… He was just sleep deprived. Jaskier’s singing was so much more than pie without any filling in it. No, his singing was beautiful.
No. Geralt would never get to tell him that, nor would he be able to make up for what he told Jaskier on the mountain. It was not the bard’s fault. He was just there when it all went down… Now he would never get a chance to reunite with Jaskier. He would never be able to save him again. In truth, that was what he was hoping to do when he heard Jaskier cry out for him. He was hoping to protect him once again, and perhaps mend their broken relationship.
That sort of future faded into gray, and seemed much darker than any other fate one could imagine. The Witcher spent another night restless, and it was likely due to the fact he was supposed to be here to save Dandelion. It seemed he had failed the one person who really cared about him… and the first person he had learned to care for. Dare he even say it: his friend. His best travel companion. Geralt would think of the way Jaskier would smile if he had heard these things he was thinking.
Slowly, perhaps somewhat reluctantly, Geralt took the limp bard’s body into his arms. He could still feel the warmth from Jaskier’s body. As he searched for his pulse, Geralt was somehow hoping he was just unconscious. Could he save him one last time? Unfortunately, the answer to that question was no. Jaskier’s pulse was no one to be found, and it appeared that his heart was not beating. His chest was no longer rising or falling. Julian Alfred Pankratz had passed. If only Geralt could’ve reached him in time…
The Witcher decided to take Jaskier’s body back to Roach. He’d make sure he got a burial of some sort. He then wandered back into the forest. Geralt of Rivia knew how to kill monsters, and he would not rest until he slayed until he found out what creature had ended the bard’s life. After all, that’s what Witchers were supposed to do.