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Okay, alright. Jaskier is absolutely fine and not close to crying at all. He’s fine. His heart is whole and not broken at all and he doesn’t feel like he wasted 22 years of his life on a man who apparently fucking hates him.
Great.
Strangely, anger is more prominent than sadness but Jaskier knows that it’s a matter of time before he starts crying himself to sleep.
For now, he walks and composes utterly rude songs that are just catchy enough to have everyone singing them, about moronic Witchers and brick-for-brains men who can appreciate nothing. His greatest achievement is a song about a man who somehow lives with a rare condition of having rock for brains.
All in all, Jaskier is angry and a mere mention of Geralt is enough to have him fuming and cursing and, on one occasion, hacking a tree with his new sword. Great.
Then, because Destiny is a bitch, he walks into a tavern only to see a fucking Witcher there. Not Geralt, not even from the School of the Wolf, but Jaskier spent 22 years with Geralt and he knows how to recognize a Witcher.
Jaskier takes one good look at the man and promptly turns around and walks well into the night, looking for the next village.
After that, it’s like Fate or Destiny or whatever decided to take a piss on Jaskier’s life.
22 years of travelling with Geralt and he saw not a one other Witcher but now it seems like they’re popping around like daisies.
Taking a bath in the lake? A Witcher. Singing in a tavern? Talks about a Witcher. Buying a dagger? A Witcher looking at swords next to him.
Finally, he has enough.
“Are you fucking stalking me?!” he demands of a poor Witcher with facial scars and a nasty smirk that’s standing just behind him.
The man, apparently surprised, rears back and frowns. “That’s a bit self-absorbed.”
It just makes Jaskier angrier and his fangs drop until he’s almost hissing. “I saw one fucking Witcher in 22 damn years but now all I see are fucking Witchers! Are you like, spawning somewhere now or what?!”
The Witcher shakes his head. “Nope, sorry to disappoint. Maybe we just smelled Geralt’s onion stench and decided to go the other way,” he snorts and Jaskier lights up.
“Fucjking onion,” he mutters. “Fucking Geralt of fucking Rivia.”
“A right bastard, that one,” the man agrees. “Lambert.”
Jaskier eyes him, suspicious. “Aren’t you his brother, good sir?” he asks, noticing the wolf medallion.
Lambert laughs sharply. “Aye, we are, and who better to offend than your sibling?”
“Fair enough,” he agrees. “Want to get drunk and complain about Geralt?”
“Oh bardling, we’ll be the best of friends,” Lambert almost purrs.
They part a week later with Jaskier still partly drunk and in a good mood so when he stumbles unto the next Witcher, Coen, he laughs and offers to compose the man a song in exchange of some good stories.
Somehow along the way, 7 months pass and Jaskier doesn’t hear about the White Wolf at all. Yet, in those 7 months, he gains his fair amount of Witcher friends, more than he ever thought he’d have.
Jaskier still greets them with, “Another fucking one,” but it’s more joking than serious.
He stays with Vesemir for the longest. The old Witcher is a decent conversationist and he has stories even Geralt could only dream about. Besides, there’s something almost fatherly in the man, and some part of Jaskier enjoys being reminded that he’s not the oldest one around.
“Winter is coming,” Vesemir states one day, as they’re riding North.
Jaskier snorts. The cold doesn’t bother him at all, actually the colder it is the warmer he feels, but winter is hard in other ways. Food and money are scarce, and people less welcoming, it always is that way.
“That’s why we’re headed for Kaer Morhen,” the old man continues giving Jaskier a pause.
“You want me there?” he asks in disbelief. 22 years with Geralt and the man never offered.
“The boys like you. And a dragon inside a keep in the mountain is something that’s integral to you, hm?”
Jaskier snorts but doesn’t deny it and they’re in the keep soon enough. There’s a lot of work to be done but Jaskier enjoys it. The more animal part of him really really likes old keeps and castles.
The other Witchers start arriving soon and they’re all strangely happy to see him.
“Eyyyy, look it’s the bardling!” Lambert announces with a laugh and they cheer. Jaskier snorts but launches into a raunchy tune about fucking in a tavern and the keep is loud and happy and bright for once.
2 weeks later, Jaskier is in an argument with Lambert about who stabbed more men as a warning, when the keep opens again and he sees familiar silver hair. Jaskier’s breathing catches, his heart starts racing and suddenly, he’s just as hurt and angry as he was almost 2 years ago.
“Another fucking one,” Eskel announces suddenly, and the others start laughing.
And well, now Jaskier feels better because he isn’t alone on a mountain. He has his Witcher friends and a Witcher almost-lover who has some grovelling and begging to do.