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Chapter Text

Her wails were heartwrenching. Sobs shaking her shoulders, snot and tears staining her face and dress. Vesemir watched with unease, gaze sliding from her grief-twisted features to the swollen belly that she rested one hand on.

“You killed him,” she shrieked, free hand tangled in the hair of the teenage boy on the ground. His body lifeless, blood seeping from the neck that Vesemir had nearly separated from the rest of the boy’s body. “You killed my boy!”

Vesemir almost shuddered at the pain in her voice and found himself taking a step forward. “I had no choice. He was a danger-”

“An accident. A child’s mistake,” The woman argued, her tears landing on the face of the boy. Her voice was hoarse from sobs, the sound making The Witcher’s heart constrict.

“A broken window is a child’s mistake,” Vesemir took another step closer. He crouched next to the woman, craning his head in an attempt to look past her chestnut locks into her eyes. “He killed a family.”

“It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t control it.”

“It had to be done,” Vesemir said with the utmost confidence. Sadness over the life of a boy was one thing, but the Witcher would not take back what he did. With his own eyes he had seen what the boy had done to that family, torn about by chaos that rolled off the boy like sweat off a horse’s back. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“You will know of loss, Vesemir,” The shaking in her voice had stopped and the Witcher soon found himself looking into unnatural red eyes. Not the eyes of a human. “You will know the pain of losing a child. You have taken one of mine and by my will I will make sure I have taken all of yours.”

Vesemir stood quickly, one step back as his hand reached for the silver sword on his back. For once his Witcher reflexes were too slow and he felt a force push him to the dirt. Upon opening his eyes, the Old Wolf found the woman - the Witch - standing above him. One hand cradled her pregnant belly while the other was held skyward, a red light surrounding her hand.

“Upon my life I swear that the child growing in my womb will be the downfall of your’s, Wolf of Kaer Morhen. By his hand the blood of your children will be spilt and quench the grave of my own son. You will cry, you will beg, and he will show no mercy as you had shown none for his brother! And when he is finished and the bodies of your children litter your halls, then you will know what I feel!” The venom in her voice was stinging, hand pulsing with chaos as she made her magical oath above the shocked Witcher. “I would have you walk the continent, hollow, empty and alone til the end of your days.”

With that there was another forceful push, the light in her hand exploding into a blinding sun. When Vesemir’s vision cleared and he regained his standing the Witch was gone, as was the body of the boy and the Old Wolf was left in shock.

Chapter Text

"It’s hard, letting go

"I’m finally at peace, but it feels wrong

Slow, I’m getting up

My hands and feet are weaker than before”

Jaskier stumbled once again, finding it rather difficult to see when tears clouded his vision. The lute on his shoulder was heavy as the bard stumbled down the mountain, sniffling and wiping viciously at his cheeks. His heart was aching , torn apart by a Witcher that he had loved.

Over a hundred years Jaskier had been alive and he had never loved like that.

A thousand flings and midnight dalliances, but the way his heart twisted for Geralt alone was unlike anything he knew before. A chance for romance was impossible, but the connection of friendship alone had been enough to sustain him. Until now. Until he found the friendship to be a foolish lie, a story he told himself as if he could truly be important to someone like Geralt. 

The Witcher didn’t need him, didn’t want him. He had Yennefer and she was worth more than a thousand of Jaskier. Beautiful and powerful, a woman made to be the partner of a Witcher.

Jaskier didn’t even know what he was. But he knew what he wasn’t and that was anything that Geralt could want.

Upon reaching Roach, Jaskier stroked the neck of the beast and said his goodbyes. The bard took his belongings without a backward glance and continued walking. His feet ached and his eyes overflowed with tears the entire way down. He did not stop, he did not falter and he could not bring himself to look back.

It was nightfall and Jaskier had reached the bottom of the mountain when it began. It started with a faint hum, familiar in sound like a voice from his dreams. The bard stopped on the trail, twisting this way and that to track the sound, but found himself alone. Alone, as Geralt had left him.

“Perfect,” Jaskier muttered to himself. “First heartbreak and now insanity. What a wonderful day.”

The bard continued on his way, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his lute. The humming returned and Jaskier stopped once more, a chill running up his spine as his eyes desperately searched the darkness.

“Hello?” He called, receiving silence as an answer. “Geralt, is that you? It’s not funny.”

Silence, eerie and bone-chilling. Jaskier had never heard the forest so quiet. Crickets refused to chirp and owls remained stoic. It was the way the forest fell quiet when a predator was around. Jaskier had felt it before, following Geralt on hunts and hearing the way sound died off as they approached the lair of a vampire or the lake of the drowners.

The bard took one last cursory glance at the trees and felt his heart stutter when he saw movement, a shape distinctly human stepping behind a tree. Jaskier clutched his lute strap and desperately wished that Geralt was there to protect him.

“Jaskier,” it was a voice familiar and foreign, rasping and gentle. A contradiction that Jaskier did not wish to untangle as he turned tail and ran from the forest. The path was beaten underneath his feet as he sprinted towards the village at the foot of the mountain.

Chest clenching and lungs screaming, Jaskier found the border of the village and nearly collapsed against the side of a barn. His backside hit the ground and his head fell into his hands. The whole situation was a nightmare. Barely a day had gone by without Geralt and Jaskier was already praying for the Witcher to show up with a pinched expression and scare off whatever might follow the bard.

There was no time to mourn, though. At least not against the side of some farmer’s barn a mere two hundred feet away from an actual town with an inn. So, the young man picked himself up, dusted his trousers off, and took the last few steps into the border of the village.

The inn was nothing spectacular, nearly a cookie cut version of every other inn that Jaskier had stopped in. The folk inside were devilish, drunkards swilling ale like their lives depended on it. Chairs continuously scraped the floor and one had to scream to be heard above the noise of it all. “A room for a night, if you can spare it.”

The innkeeper, a tired looking woman, hair flying around her face and a dirty apron over her dress, looked jaskier up and down. “Are you a bard?”

“I am, dear lady,” Jaskier tried to muster up a smile.

“I can spare more than a room if you’d give a song or two for the night,” She offered, wiping her hands on her apron. “A bath and dinner, free of charge if you will.”

Jaskier sighed and began shaking his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t the heart to sing songs of cheer tonight. Just the room.”

“A somber tune would be better,” The woman perked up. “Perhaps it will settle this crowd and I won't have to replace any more broken furniture. Please, master bard? One song to temper the mood?”

Jaskier tapped his fingers on the counter, worrying his lip. Finally, he breathed out a sigh and nodded in agreement. “A song, my good lady, for a bath and a meal.”

“Oh, thank you, dearie,” Her shoulders sagged in relief as she watched Jaskier sling his lute from his shoulder and approach a corner, pulling up a chair to stand on.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jaskier started, momentarily distracted when the door opened and hooded figure entered the inn. “I have been granted the privilege of performing for you lovely people and I would be blessed to have your attention for this next moment, if only briefly.”

The drunks and the half-drunks quieted their chatter and looked to the bard with curious eyes as Jaskier fixed his lute and cleared his throat. His voice rang clear as a bell despite the hours of crying that he endured throughout the day.

“ Well I have brittle bones it seems

I bite my tongue and I torch my dreams

Have a little voice to speak with

And a mind of thoughts and secrecy

Things cannot be reversed, we learn from the times we are cursed

Things cannot be reversed, learn from the ones we fear the worst

And learn from the ones we hate the most how to”

Jaskier sang a song barely finished composing, a week earlier had been the last he had worked on it. His attention shifted from the complete work to his newest song, ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ though that was not yet finished and could not be performed even if it was, for he did not have the heart. Though this ballad, too, had been meant for Geralt, it somehow hurt less.

“ Blow out all the candles, blow out all the candles

‘You're too old to be so shy,’ he says to me so I stay the night

Just a young heart confusing my mind, but we're both in silence

Wide-eyed, both in silence

Wide-eyed ”

The hooded figure moved about the crowd and Jaskier felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. For the first time, he struggled to remain focused on his performance, eyes trailing back to the figure with every movement.

“ Cause we both know I'll never be your lover

I only bring the heat

Company under cover

Filling space in your sheets

Well I'll never be a lover

I only bring the heat

Company under cover

Filling space in your sheets, in your sheets ,”

Jaskier finishes the last chord and receives a relieved smile from the innkeeper, the atmosphere having calmed down though people still kept drinking. The bard stepped from the chair and approached the innkeeper only to find the hooded figure stepping in front of him.

“I see you, Dandelion,” She speaks in that same voice from the forest, haunting in it’s familiarity. “I see your heart, fractured and torn apart. Work of the Witcher. Work of Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf.”

“I’m sorry?” Jaskier wants to step away, but he is immediately entranced when the stranger removes the hood, revealing a youthful face. Chestnut curls frame a round face and a pair of startling red eyes look up at the bard.

“No one knows better than I the pain the Wolves of Kaer Morhen bring,” She gives the bard a sad smile. “And now the day comes when you know it too. Harden your heart, little one. I can help you return that pain tenfold. The way you were born to do it.”

“My lady, I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The woman nodded. “Too young to remember, but old enough to learn. Look at me, Dandelion. Look and remember.”

Her hand came up to cup Jaskier’s cheek, forcing his eyes to lock with her’s. A moment of connection and Jaskier remembers. Her voice so familiar as it was the one to sing him to sleep. His own brown curls sprouted the same on her head and his mocking mouth matched her own.

Blue eyes widened and a hand came to cover her’s on his cheek. “Mother?”

“ There's nothing that I'd take back

But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret

Cause when I sing, you shout

I breathe out loud

You bleed, we crawl like animals But when it's over, I'm still awake ,”

Chapter Text

“ You’ve been drinkin’ like the world was was gonna end

(It didn’t)

Took a shiner from the fist of your best friend

(Go Figure)

It’s clear that someone’s gotta go”

“I have a mother,” Jaskier sat at the foot of the bed, one hand clenching the threadbare blanket while the other swiped over his features. “Of course, I knew I had a mother. I just thought you were dead. The Lord and Lady Pankratz always made it clear that I wasn’t their child by birth. I assumed you had perished and I’d been left to them.”

The woman, Jaskier’s mother, apparently, gingerly sat by him on the bed. Her hand reached to pull his from his face. “A great regret of mine is that I left you with those wretched people. I had seen a Lord and his sterile wife and assumed you would be safe, wanting for nothing. It was only when I returned and found you gone that I’d learned their behavior.”

“Why did you leave in the first place?” Jaskier narrowed his watery eyes, standing from the bed and moving to the window. A view of the stable was visible, a popular room in a village this small. At least he had a window.

“Dandelion,” She folded her hands in her lap and looked down, shame marked on her remarkably youthful features. “I was young at the time. Grieving and already walking down my own path. I had tasks to complete and my life could not cater to the needs of a babe. But, know that for the last eighty years, I have watched you, my Dandelion. I have never left completely.”

“Eighty out of a hundred and one,” Jaskier felt a bitter laugh leave his throat, a sound he had been making a lot as of late. “Well, I suppose that means it’s all okay.”

“I deserve your anger,” His mother joined him at the window. “But I am not the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Witcher, Geralt,” She took Jaskier’s hand and squeezed his fingers, eyes dropping to the ground. “You hurt because of him.”

Jaskier let a sad smile slip onto his youthful features. “Hurt is one of the many feelings I have concerning him. I feel angry, heartbroken. I thought we were friends. And what he said, it was-”

“Cruel,” His mother interrupted with the tone of a snake hissing it’s warning. “They are a cruel breed, Witchers. Needlessly cruel. I know it, now you know it. Your brother died knowing it.”

Jaskier jerked his head up, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Oh, my love,” His mother led him to the bed and sat near him, watery eyed and somber. “You wouldn’t know. You hadn’t even left my womb when it happened. He was only a boy when the Old Wolf killed him.”

“Old Wolf?” Jaskier furrowed his brow. “You mean Vesemir? Why would he do that?”

“Because that’s what Witchers do, Dandelion,” There was anger and hurt in his mother’s tone line Jaskier had never known. It made his heart hurt worse than it already did. “They hurt the innocent. Spend their days pretending to hunt monsters when there are none so monstrous as themselves.”

“But, Geralt was kind,” Jaskier bit his lip.

“Was he? Or were you blinded by your own love for him?” His mother turned to face Jaskier, eyes connecting harshly with his. “Your brother was but a child. The Witcher heard rumors of a boy blessed with chaos. He was slaughtered. No reason other than being born what he was.”

“Oh, mother,” Jaskier frowned. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Her hand came up to cup his chin, warm and gentle. There was a flash of something in her eyes and Jaskier felt strange. “Be angry.”

There was something wrong, Jaskier felt it in the back of his mind. But the longer he looked into her eyes, the less that seemed to matter. He felt warm, free of thought. It was like an energy passed through her touch, her gaze. All of it wrapping around him, curling like a blanket over his mind.

“Won’t you be angry, Dandelion? Won’t you be vengeful? Be what I need you to be?” The flow of her words was more soothing than any song Jaskier could compose. “Come with me, Dandelion, and leave the love for your Witcher behind. Leave the hurt behind. The pain. Come with me and I will help you be what you need to be. What you were born to be.”

Eyes blinking tears, though he felt neither sadness nor pain enough to cause them. There seemed to be no other choice and Jaskier felt there had never been any other thought than what she offered. A whisper left his lips through no effort of his own. “Of course, mother.”

“ No-one 'round here's good at keepin' their eyes closed

The sun's startin' to light up when we're walking home

Tired little laughs, gold-lie promises

We'll always win at this, I don't ever think about death

It's alright if you do, it's fine ”

Chapter Text

“ The time I thought that we would have

Was taken from red to black

I said things I can't take back

And I don't know how to live with that ”

It was Ciri who really brought it to Geralt’s attention. It wasn’t as if the Witcher hadn’t felt the loss of Jaskier intimately , but he hadn’t put too much thought into the circumstances thus far. The facts were that even when he ached for the bard each night, it took his child surprise to actually make Geralt give thought to the situation.

“This is an old song,” Ciri muttered as she took a bite of her porridge. It was true, the bard in the corner was butchering Her Sweet Kiss , which by now was well over three years old. Geralt knew as he had faced the shame of the lyrics ever since it came out. “Why hasn’t Jaskier composed anything new?”

Geralt furrowed his eyebrow and stopped lifting his mug of ale before it even got to his lips. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Ciri swallowed, setting her spoon down and giving all of her attention to speaking. “Haven’t you noticed that there haven’t been any new songs by Jaskier? It’s been years and I haven’t heard anything. I ask every bard we see, but no one says anything. I wonder why he stopped composing.”

Geralt glared at his cup, trying to piece together what Ciri was saying and his own memories from the past few years. Upon recollection, the Witcher realized that the girl was right. He hadn’t heard anything new from Jaskier since a few months after the mountain incident.

The Witcher frowned and sat his mug on the table, standing up from where he was seated. Ciri called after the man, but Geralt simply strode across the room until he came to stand in front of the bard. It was a young man, clearly shaken at the appearance of a large Witcher in the middle of his set.

“The one who composed that song,” Geralt’s rough voice cut through any outside noise. “When was the last time you heard anything of him?”

The bard swallowed thickly, eyes drifting from Geralt to Ciri as the girl joined his side. “Jaskier? I haven’t heard anything from him in over three years. No one has. But that’s no surprise.”

“What do you mean?” Geralt growled. What had happened that made it unsurprising for Jaskier not to be composing? Geralt had never known the bard to not be working on something. Even if it was just a little tune that he played only for the pair of them at a campsite. Had Jaskier been injured, or worse, found dead?

“It’s just that,” The bard placed his instrument aside, nervously rubbing his palms over his knees. “Jaskier disappeared years ago. It’s no secret.”

“Disappeared?” Ciri cried out, grabbing onto Geralt’s arm while her face paled with fright.

“Explain,” The Witcher growled.

“There’s nothing to explain,” The bard began to panic at the sight of a distressed girl and an angry Witcher. “No one knows what happened. Rumor was he played his last show and then disappeared with a lady.”

“A lady?” Geralt brought a hand up to rub at his eyes. Melitele, it would be just Jaskier’s luck to run off with some woman only to be murdered by her jealous husband.

“The red eyed lady,” The bard nodded vigorously.

“Red eyed lady?” The Witcher was sure he had heard something similar to that, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember it. Geralt thanked the bard and took Ciri back to their table to finish her dinner.

“What are we going to do?” Ciri asked after finishing half of her porridge. “What if something happened to Jaskier?”

It was obvious that the princess was concerned, though Geralt wasn’t feeling much more hopeful. Twenty years spent with the bard meant that Geralt knew all too well how much trouble Jaskier could get into.

“Don’t worry,” Geralt reached out and put a large hand on the girl’s head. “We’ll find him.”

“But I thought we had to make it to Kaer Morhen,” Ciri tilted her head, large eyes brimming with concern.

“There’s nothing that says we can’t look for him along the way,” Geralt tried to ease her fears, but it was harder to calm his own heart. Hanging over the Witcher’s head was the horrible thought that the last words he would ever say to Jaskier were spoken out of misguided rage.

If life could give me one blessing…

It took five weeks and even then they hadn’t found Jaskier. It was the bard who found them.

Geralt and Ciri sat outside of an inn, the princess munching happily on a blueberry tart that Geralt had bought for her while the Witcher watched her with a rumbling stomach. The way the patrons had looked at them kept Geralt from staying too long. Thus, the reason the pair sat outside.

Ciri was busy licking the remains of her dessert off of her fingers when Geralt spotted them. There were eight of them, proudly wearing their Nilfgaardian armor. It was a solid number, one that Geralt did not want to take on alone. At least not with the added task of watching Ciri.

With a swift movement, the Witcher tugged Ciri’s hood over her flaxen hair. “Keep your head down. Stand slowly, take my hand and follow me.”

Ciri needn’t be told twice. Her frightened eyes tracked the soldiers as she did as asked. Geralt stood slowly and Ciri clasped his hand, being tugged along into a crowd as Geralt led them back to the inns stable. 

They were lucky to make it to Roach without being spotted and Geralt loaded his horse as quickly as they could. He stuck Ciri in between him and Roach to keep her hidden. It was a slow process as Geralt knew the second they sped up, they would be spotted.

Through the crowd they walked, heads down, hoods up and footsteps purposeful. They were nearing the border of the village, it was so close but still too far enough for them to do anything that might attract attention.

“Hey!” a voice shouted behind them and Geralt kept going. “Hey, you! Stop!”

“Geralt,” Ciri whimpered, her hand squeezing Geralt’s as they continued walking. “They see us.”

“Keep calm,” Geralt instructed, taking his hand from the girl’s and bunching up the back of her tunic in his hand.

“Stop or I’ll make you stop!” 

Without a second thought or a moment’s hesitation, Geralt gripped the back of Ciri’s tunic tightly and hefted her up onto Roach’s back. He handed the reins to the princess and looked at her with determined amber eyes. “Go.”

“But-”

“Go, now!” Geralt barked and slapped Roach on her hindquarters. The horse took off towards the edge of the village, galloping past the final house and disappearing into the woods. The Witcher reached up and pulled his sword from his sheath and turned to the Nilfgaardians.

Geralt lunged at the first soldier he saw, making a man into a pincushion with one movement. He slashed to the side, narrowly missing another. Teeth barred and eyes wild, the sight of him was enough to shake the simple soldiers, but not the one who led them.

“After the girl,” He ordered his comrades. “I’ll take care of him.”

The other soldiers didn’t hesitate to break from their commander, rushing past Geralt towards the woods. The Witcher managed to slash the legs of one who passed by, but even with his battle prowess, he could not stop them all at once.

“Surrender now, Witcher,” The commander offered with a sly smile. “And you might be spared-”

A swift slash and the commander’s words were cut off just as his head was. The villagers screamed and backed away from the severed head, though Geralt paid no mind. Instead, he turned on his heels and sprinted after Ciri and the soldiers.

The branches whipped at his body, scratching and marking him from where Geralt barreled through, shouting for Ciri to find him. But there was no one around and the forest was eerily silent. Until the screaming started.

Geralt stood, sword in hand and head whipping around as the screams seemed to come from every direction. He had come to a stop in the middle of a clearing, thrown by the sounds. It seemed prudent to wait and analyze the situation. Before he would have charged into trouble, but with Ciri in the mix he had learned to be more strategic.

A flash of light and Geralt whipped around. The screams soon stopped and the world fell quiet again. Geralt looked at every angle, looking for a sign of where Ciri had went.

A rustle from the north and a body sprinted from the trees to crash into Geralt’s stomach. Looking down, the Witcher found Ciri burying her head in his stomach and wrapping her arms around him. Geralt dropped his sword unceremoniously and hugged the girl back.

“You’re alright,” Geralt breathed a sigh of relief.

“He saved me,” he was able to make out what Ciri said though it was spoken into his armor.

The Witcher frowned and looked around the clearing. “Who saved you?”

“That would be me,” a familiar voice came from the trees and soon a figure emerged.

He looked different, almost unrecognizable. Stylish brown locks of hair now fell past his chin. A five o’clock shadow had taken residence on his handsome features. In his hand was a rapier, dripping with the blood of Nilfgaard soldiers. Bright tunics and flamboyant patterns were replaced by a white chemise and a black coat with gold detailing. Even with all of those changes, Geralt knew him. He knew him by his smell alone, by the tone of his voice and the way he strutted rather than walked.

“Jaskier,” The Witcher croaked.

“It’s Dandelion, now,” He gave a roguish grin and bowed mockingly. Lifting his head, Geralt found, not the familiar and comforting blue eyes of his best friend, but a pair of red iris looking back.

“'Cause I know I don't let you see

But you mean the world to me

And I know that I can be pretty mean

But you mean the world to me”

Chapter Text

“So you think that I'm harder than easy,

And you find me as strange as the truth

I'm as guilty of judging as you are,

But the difference is I don't judge you”

Red, not blue. That’s what Geralt was looking into. The dull, red eyes of the bard who sat across the fire from him. Jaskier was silent, using a cloth to wipe the blood clean from his rapier. He wasn’t humming or singing and his lute was latched carelessly to the saddle of his horse.

Ciri had fallen asleep hours ago, curled under Geralt’s extra furs. Winter was approaching and there was a harsh chill in the night air. Frankly, the Witcher was surprised that Jaskier wasn’t complaining about it.

“Thank you, for saving her,” Geralt finally broke the silence, causing the bard to look up with a raised eyebrow. “I appreciate it.”

“Pure luck on your part,” Jaskier slid the rapier back in it’s sheath. “I didn’t intend to save her. The girl simply stumbled in my path, Nilfgaardian soldiers trailing along.”

Geralt frowned at Jaskier’s apathy. He expected the bard to lament about his heroic actions, perhaps insist on turning it into a song. But he did nothing of the sort. In fact, Jaskier didn’t seem to have much interest in anything. Not even shouting at Geralt, which he had been expecting for the incident on the mountain.

“And why exactly is your path only two villages from the path to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt sat up straighter, curious as to why the bard was all the way over here.

“I was meeting a friend,” Jaskier flipped his hand dismissively. “A little debt to be settled, is all. I assume you and the princess are heading up there for the winter.”

“As usual.”

Jaskier pursed his lips for a moment and then leaned back on the log. “I will accompany you then. You obviously need the extra help and I’m sure Kaer Morhen is a sight to behold.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt wanted to object for a million reasons, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t talk the bard out of coming with him and perhaps that made him a bad person.

“Dandelion,” The bard corrected him.

“Dandelion, you know that you would be stuck there for the entire winter. Once the snow settles there’s no way back down,” Geralt warned.

Jaskier smirked and tucked some loose hair behind his ears. “I’ve spent my winter in worse ways. I will stay.”

Geralt did not fight him anymore on the subject. In truth, he could use the extra help until he got back to the fortress with his brothers. Besides, he needed to unwrap the mystery of this new Jaskier. Something about him was wrong. Even his stench was different, acrid and coppery like blood and magic. “Then we best get to sleep.”

“Won’t you sing for us, Dandelion?” Ciri asked from her perch on top of Roach. A week into traveling and they had passed the last village, now well onto the path to Kaer Morhen. In all that time, Jaskier hadn’t even so much as whistled a tune.

“Afraid not, princess,” Jaskier - er, Dandelion, dismissed as easily as breathing. This caused Geralt to stumble in his path, snidely kicking aside a rock as if to blame his tripping on that.

“But why not?” Ciri blinked at the bard.

Dandelion hummed and tilted his head from side to side, as if considering his answer. There was a sort of amusement on his face, but it wasn’t the usual humor that Geralt had gotten to know over the decades. “I don’t sing anymore. Or compose. Or play the lute.”

“What?” Ciri cried out in horror. Even Geralt felt the casual admittance shock him to his core. Music was everything to Jaskier. To find out that he had given that up was like finding out that a king had given up his kingdom, that a farmer had given up his crops.

Even more shockingly, Jaskier simply shrugged as if this was no big issue. “I haven’t in almost four years.”

Before Geralt could even muster up a reply to that, Ciri beat him to it. “Then why do you still have the lute?”

Jaskier stopped on the road, a look of confusion passing over his face while he brought up a hand to rub his eyes for a moment. It was like his brain was scrambling for something missing, but the man seemed to recover and simply shrugged again. “I’m not sure.”

“Then you’ll be able to play for us at Kaer Morhen,” Ciri said with such confidence it was easy to see that she was born royal.

“Again, I will not,” Jaskier tutted and continued walking.

“Oh, but you might change your mind,” Ciri looked at the now ex-bard. “We have time until we get to the fortress.”

“Not much time,” Geralt declared as they crested a small part of the path. In view was a rather impressive fortress, part of it decaying and crumbled though. Before, it must have been beautiful and daunting. “We should be at Kaer Morhen by this time tomorrow.”

Ciri whooped in joy, but Jaskier barely batted an eye. The trio continued to walk on until it was time to hunker down for the evening. Geralt found them a comfortable cave to lie in, away from the harsh beating of the winter wind and the snow.

Dandelion easily started a fire and sat on his bedroll. Every night since Geralt and Ciri had run into him, Jaskier had taken out his rapier and inspected it with a critical eye rivaling that of the Witcher. Tonight was no different.

The whole thing unsettled Geralt and he could barely take his eyes off of the man as he got to work setting up Ciri’s bedroll and getting her something to eat. The princess was far too tired to keep up much conversation and she was soon snoozing, wrapped up in Geralt's furs and cloak.

“Are you…” Geralt trailed off, trying to find some way to make conversation. It was unnerving, watching the man’s red eyes focus so intensely on the weapon in his grasp. “Kaer Morhen.”

“What about it?” Dandelion did not look up from his task.

“You’ve always wanted to see it,” Geralt could remember the way the bard had lamented over not being invited to winter there. “I’m sure you’ll be excited.”

“I’ll be excited to have a bit of space to myself,” Dandelion huffed, as if he hadn’t spent years plastering himself to Geralt’s side and preening under any attention thrown his way from an audience or potential lover. “I’m sure you and your brothers will be able to take care of Ciri easily and I’ll be able to get back to my original work.”

“Composing?” There was a tinge of excitement in Geralt’s voice as the prospect of hearing Jaskier sing again.

“No,” Jaskier shot that idea down without a twitch in his concentration. “Don’t think on it too hard, Witcher. Might strain something.”

“Hey-”

“I’m going to bed,” The ex bard announced, cutting Geralt off and putting away his sword. He turned over in his bedroll and fell even quieter than he had been. All of it left a heavy pit in the Witcher’s stomach.

“There it is!” Ciri announced with glee, though Kaer Morhen was clear to see to her two companions. The princess was so enthused that she pushed Roach into a trot, eager to get back to her pseudo-family.

“Ciri, wait!” Geralt called, but it was no use. Jaskier sat atop his horse, looking thoroughly unimpressed by the whole situation, which was extremely surprising. Geralt expected the bard to revel in being able to see Kaer Morhen. He thought that he would hear nonsensical questions and exclamations of beauty over the architecture. Instead he received disinterest.

“Lambert, Eskel, Vesemir!” Ciri called as she rode Roach through the already open gates. Vesemir stood in front of them with a fond smile on his face as the girl greeted him. The other two witchers who were sparring in the courtyard stopped their activities when they saw the princess approaching.

It was a heartwarming sight and Geralt picked up his pace just a little bit to make it to his family faster. Hugs were exchanged as Geralt helped Ciri down and then greeted his brothers. He was only reminded of the ex-bard’s presence when he heard boots hit the dirt.

Jaskier strutted up, a hand on the hilt of his sword while he looked the Witchers over. His red eyes trailed over them all with a critical gaze and something strange underneath. If Geralt didn’t know any better, he would have compared it to the hate he saw in the eyes of villagers who looked at him on the Path.

“And who might this be?” Vesemir asked, stepping around Ciri and Geralt. When he took Jaskier in fully, his lips seemed to settle in an uncomfortable frown. “Have we met?”

“You must be Vesemir,” Jaskier kept his hand on his sword, gripping the hilt tightly while his smile was even tighter. “No. We’ve never met, but I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All bad, I assume,” The oldest Witcher was clearly suspicious, but his tone was light as he made his joke. No one besides one of his children would have noticed the tension underneath.

Jaskier’s smile, though, was akin to that of a wolf closing in on his prey. “Darling, you have no idea.”

“In our story of riddles and poems

Every word that you speak tastes like stone

Like a melody sung by a jester

Some are stolen, some are your own”

Chapter Text

“Crushed and filled with all I found

Underneath and inside just to come around

More, give me more, give me more,”

It was no less eerie, Jaskier’s silence, as the other Witchers and Ciri tucked into a much needed dinner. The bard picked at the stew in front of him, swallowing a spoonful and then eyeing the others thoughtfully. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but so far he had only said a cursory greeting to the others.

“Do you plan to sing us a song after dinner, bard?” Lambert finally forced Dandelion to join in on the conversation. Ciri frowned at his question, though her eyebrows raised with some distant hope that Jaskier would have a different answer than before.

“I’m afraid not, darling,” Jaskier waved the idea away. “I don’t really sing anymore. Out of the bard business, so to speak.”

“What?” Eskel jumped in, a frown on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” Lambert spoke through a mouth full of bread. “I figured after having to hear about Geralt’s bard for decades, we’d at least get to hear something when we met you.”

“Sorry, gentlemen,” Jaskier simply shrugged, taking in another spoonful of stew.

“It’s a shame,” Vesimir cut in, not looking up at the bard, but rather staring at his food. “I have been looking forward to hearing the work of the great Jaskier.”

A sort of humorous grin came to Jaskier’s face, as if this whole thing were a rather amusing situation. It put Geralt off, he had never seen such a sour grin on the man’s face and it made his stomach turn.

“It’s Dandelion now,” Jaskier spoke and then turned to look fully at Vesimir. He appraised the oldest Witcher before nodding. “For you, sir Witcher, I can spare a song. Just the one, though.”

Geralt felt his lips open in shock, surprised at how easily Jaskier was swayed after having been so adamant for the past few weeks about not singing. The whole exchange didn’t sit right with Geralt, but he would not complain if it got Jaskier singing again.

The Witchers, Ciri, and Jaskier finished their meal. Geralt remained fairly silent through the whole thing, contemplating what was going on with his old friend.

The group retired by the fire, all yawning and waiting for Jaskier to get ready. The ex-bard tuned his lute, but Geralt noticed it was without the usual care and reverence that he usually had. It was odd and cold, a strange detachment in his eyes as if Dandelion were simply cleaning mud of his boots.

"Anytime now, bard," Lambert grumbled through a yawn, earning disapproving looks from Geralt, Vesemir, and Ciri.

It was a moment later that it happened, Jaskier's voice echoing through the air, clear and concise.

"I've always been a hunter

Nothing on my tail

But there was something in you

I knew could make that change

To capture a predator

You can't remain the prey

You have to become

An equal

In every way”

Geralt felt his spine tingle at the lyrics of Jaskier’s song. He hadn’t heard the man sing something like this, ever. The way his voice rasped rather than the sweet melody it usually was seemed upsetting.

“ So look in the mirror

And tell me, who do you see?

Is it still you?

Or is it me?”

Jaskier’s eyes snapped to Geralt’s, a sinister smile passing over his lips for barely a moment before it disappeared.

“ Become the beast

We don't have to hide

Do I terrify you

Or do you feel alive?

Do you feel the hunger

Does it howl inside?

Does it terrify you?

Or do you feel alive?”

There was something sinister in the air when he sang this song. A malice in the way Jaskier performed and Geralt got the sudden feeling that there was something terribly wrong with his friend.

“ Splinters of my soul

Cut through your skin

And burrow within

And burrow within

Do you feel the hunger

Does it howl inside?

Does it terrify you?

Or do you feel alive?”

Jaskier finished his song and sat his lute aside with a hollow smile. Chills ran down Geralt’s spine. The Witcher could hear the anger in his old friend's voice. The song was new and clearly written with a purpose. There was a ferocity in Jaskier's voice, as well as an intention.

"That was…" Ciri trailed off, looking at Geralt as if the Witcher could come up with something to say. "Different."

Jaskier gave a wry smile. “Yes, well, things don’t always remain the same. My music must change, just as I have. Do remember, i did want you I didn’t sing anymore.”

“Indeed you did, Master bard,” Eskel broke the silence from the group of Witchers. “Perhaps it’s best if we get to sleep.”

“I think that’s wise,” Dandelion agreed, grabbing his lute and turning swiftly to look at the Witchers with a wolfish grin on his face. “Best get all the rest we can get. We’ve a long winter ahead of ourselves.”

“ If I had a heart I could love you

If I had a voice I would sing

After the night when I wake up

I’ll see what tomorrow brings,”

Chapter Text

“And is it worth the wait
All this killing time?
Are you strong enough to stand,
Protecting both your heart and mine?”

Geralt woke feeling more unsettled than usual. It was a strange thing, considering Kaer Morhan was usually the one place he could sleep semi-peacefully.
Though, it wasn’t as if he was unaware of what caused his restless night. In fact, the object of his frustration was likely sleeping soundly in the room next door.
On the subject of doors, his was being opened as quietly as a mouse. Bare feet padded cautiously into the room and any instinct in him to reach for his blade died when he recognized the steps.

“Geralt?” A tiny voice asked, peering to where the Witcher lay on his side, facing the window. “Are you awake?”

“I’m awake, Ciri,” he reassured the young girl. “I think it’s you who should be asleep, little lion.”

It was barely sunrise, the sky a pale blue that came before the sun made it’s appearance over the peaks of the mountains. On a typical day, Ciri didn’t rise until someone roused her for breakfast.

“I couldn’t sleep,” She huffed, shuffling over to Geralt’s bed to steal a thick fur before settling in front of his fire. “I’ve been awake for hours.”

“That will certainly make your chores enjoyable today,” Geralt teased, sitting up and looking at the young princess. She rolled her eyes at the Witcher and turned back to stoking the fire.

He knew that if he left her to her own devices for a moment or so, she would eventually gather up the nerve to tell him what was wrong with her.

“I am worried,” Ciri declared, clenching the fur tighter around her small form.

“Do you have a particular worry or are you open to anything?”

“You know,” Ciri turned to glare at her father figure. “You’re not as funny as you think that you are.”

The silver-haired man raised his hands in surrender. “A thousand pardons.”

“I’m worried about Jaskier- er, Dandelion,” The Princess admitted. “He seems so different from how you described him. You said he was a cheerful, annoying bard. I didn’t imagine that you were lying, but I find that description wholly inaccurate.”

Geralt sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet hit the cold floor and nearly sent a shiver up his spine. He padded over to where Ciri sat in front of the fire and nudged her leg with his foot.

“Move over,” The Witcher waited until the girl had budged over enough that he could sit down.

“I just…” Ciri sighed, unsure of how to explain herself. “I know that I don’t know him well, but all the stories you told me made him seem different. I just don’t feel right about it.”

Geralt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The princess brought up a fair point, one that had been weighing heavily on the Witcher’s mind as well.

“I don’t either, Cirilla,” Geralt admitted. He wanted to deny it, but anyone with eyes could see that Jaskier - Dandelion wasn’t right. Hell, the Witcher was surprised that his brothers and father hadn’t brought it up by now. If Cirilla could see it, then surely everyone else could.

“What do we do?” Ciri asked with wide hopeful eyes, as if Geralt would have some magical solution. Still, the white-haired man couldn’t fault her hopefulness. She was still just a child and to her it seemed as if Geralt could solve every problem.

The Witcher sighed and stood up. “I’m not sure there is anything we can do, Ciri.”

“But Geralt-”

Geralt held up a hand to stop her mid-sentence. “I will talk to jaskier and the others. But for now, since you’re awake, why don’t you go see if you can help with breakfast?”

Ciri huffed, but did as she was told.

The white-haired Witcher took a moment to himself for the first time in ages. He and Ciri had been near inseparable since he found the princess and though he loved her dearly, he came to treasure little moments where he could revel in silence. It also gave him a moment to ponder what had Ciri so worried at such an early hour; Jaskier.

Geralt could not fathom for the life of him what had happened to change the bard. Yes, he had been horrible on the mountain, callous and cruel like he had never been before. Surely that wouldn’t have hardened Jaskier so much. If it had, an apology would be a good start, though the prospect of apologizing was near foreign to Geralt and he feared that doing it now would sound insincere. Any sort of humility usually sounded insincere from him, though it did not come from pride. Geralt was anything but prideful. It came from an unwillingness to be vulnerable, to bare his emotions and sorrow in front of another. The thought of it sent shivers up his spine.

Geralt put those thoughts aside for now and made himself busy getting dressed, pulling on a tunic and his fur boots. The fortress could get drafty in the winter and he made sure to grab a long house-coat on his way out of the room.

He was making his way towards the kitchen to make sure that Ciri was actually helping when the Witcher found himself distracted. There was a hum in the air, far too faint for a human to hear, but clear to his heightened senses. Geralt found himself diverting his path towards the kitchen and instead following the tune. He recognized the soft vibrato as that of the bards, surprising him as Geralt remembered the bard insisting he no longer sang, despite the chilling ballad he had recited for Vesemir.

“ The ground walked here is a wonder
It ceases never to hunger”

Geralt followed the tune, coming clearer and clearer the higher he climbed in the fortress. He was coming to the part of Kaer Morhen that had near crumbled, walls no longer keeping back the harsh wind and snow. Pieces of the stone were destroyed while some still managed to persevere. The Witcher clan hardly ever approached this part of the fortress, save when Vessemir was trying to salvage something or when someone wanted to brood.

“And all things natures given
She takes all things back from the living”

Finally, Geralt found him. Jaskier’s silhouette was like a ghost, grey and difficult to discern through the falling snow and the howling wind. His wild hair whipped around his head and he looked freezing in the blue chemise he wore which surely did nothing to stave off the biting chill in the air. Geralt felt a pain in his chest and wanted nothing more than to bundle the bard up in furs and blankets and shield him from the cold and ice.

“I’ve walked the earth and there are so few here that know
How dark the night and just how cold the wind can blow
I’ve no more hunger now to see where the the road will go”

Jaskier’s voice stood clear against the howling wind and Geralt felt his heart race. This was different than yesterday. There was no malice or danger in his tone. Only true emotion, sorrow. He sang with his whole chest and for a moment Geralt forgot anything was wrong with his friend.

“I’ve no more kept my warmth
Than blood upon the snow”

Jaskier’s fingers stopped strumming and he took a deep breath, Geralt watching his shoulders rise with the action. The Witcher felt it suitable to break the silence now. “That was beautiful, Jask.”

Jaskier slowly spun around, his movements no longer rigid and apprehensive. He blinked slowly at Geralt, and the Witcher attuned into the noticeable absence of red in his iris’, the familiar periwinkle returning to him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s tone seemed questionable, like he wasn’t quite sure of what was before him. The silver-haired man frowned before taking his coat off and approaching the bard, noticing he did not retreat from his touch like he had before. Draping the coat around the bard’s shoulders to fight off the cold, Geralt placed one hand on Jaskier’s bicep and the other cupped his cheek.

“Jaskier?” The Witcher searched his face, confused at the change in his demeanor and features. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I need to clear my head,” Jaskier mumbled, he could have been mistaken for drunk had Geralt not been sure of the lack of alcohol on his breath. The bard shifted again and Geralt caught sight of a pendant in the open ‘v’ of Jaskier’s chemise, something he hadn’t seen before and did not remember the bard ever wearing. Jaskier had always been very particular about the jewelry he wore and the gold chain with a rather large ruby on it seemed foreign on the bard.

“What’s this?” Geralt reached for the ruby, though as soon as his fingers brushed the jewel he felt as if his skin had been burned, jerking his hand back.

“Ah, fuck!” Jaskier cursed, eyes flashing red in front of Geralt before the bard cradled his head in his hands.

“Jask, are you alright?” Geralt reached forward to touch the bard’s face once again only to have his hand sharply slapped away before he could make contact.

“Don’t touch me!” The younger man snapped, brushing the coat Geralt had placed on him off of his shoulders and shoving past the Witcher.

“Jaskier, wait!” Geralt gripped the bard’s bicep, stopping him from making his escape.

“I said, don’t touch me!” Jaskier’s voice was near booming and when he reached forward to wrench the Witcher’s arm off of him, his touch burned and sliced at the mutant’s skin. Geralt hissed retracted his hand, shocked at the sensation. In a flash, Jaskier had gone from his sight, practically sprinting down the stairs, leaving behind his lute, the coat, and a very bewildered Witcher.

Geralt took a moment to examine his hand, taking note of the lightly burned flesh and the still stinging sensation crawling under his skin where Jaskier had touched him. He knew what it was, but he didn’t want to believe it. Raw Chaos. He had to be mistaken. Jaskier had never shown signs of being a sorcerer or warlock. What the fuck was happening to his bard?

“Who is the betrayer?
Who's the killer in the crowd?
The one who creeps in corridors
And doesn't make a sound”