Chapter Text
Snow covered the ground and the light of the evening sunset fractured through individual ice crystals. Barren grey trees pushed their way through the thick blanket of snow and in a small clearing, a hooded man prodded a crackling fire. Two rabbits were roasting steadily over the fire, their fat dripping down into the flames.The tips of the man’s hair peeked out from underneath his hood, an aged mahogany, rich and deep, gently reflecting in the light before him. Brilliant cerulean eyes crinkled in mirth as the man stared ahead.
“I can hear you back there. Might as well come on out.” He said towards the silent forest. His voice was melodic, calm in an almost ethereal sense. Breath billowed out from his lips, quickly dissipating in the cool evening air. Not a sound had been heard since he set up camp, but the man smiled nonetheless. He didn’t need to hear someone to know they were there. A few more moments passed before the soft crunch of snow approached him.
A young boy stood behind the man, voice shaking slightly as he spoke. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He said. Even without turning around, he could hear the sharp draw of a blade. The man closed his eyes briefly. So young.
“I’m just passing through.” He responded.
“Barmin didn’t mention anyone passing through.” The boy said. The man paused in his ministrations with the fire.
The knife that rushed towards him didn’t even make it halfway. Suddenly, the boy was on the other side of the fire, brown eyes wide in confusion. The man hadn’t even moved. An unnatural wind pushed the boy backwards and he landed with a muted thud on the soft ground, staring up at the unknown man; his blade now in the stranger’s hand.
The boy couldn’t have been older than eight, his small body lean and gangly limbs were pulled taut with muscles from what was without doubt, rigorous and unrelenting training. Dark hair curled around his ears, dusty from his tumble with the ground and slightly damp from the snowfall. The child scrambled to his feet, taking a defensive stance with his hands raised in tight fists.
The man seemed to be trying to hold back laughter from where he sat. “Sit. Have a rabbit.”
The boy scowled at him. “I’m not hungry.” His stomach rumbled traitorously in response. His face flushed with embarrassment and he looked away.
The man chuckled, unable to hold back amusement, holding out one on a stick as a peace offering. “It’s too much to eat myself.” The boy stared suspiciously at the man and neither made a move. That is, until the man finally tossed the blade down on the earth beside the boy. Then finally, finally, the boy took the rabbit.
They ate in uncomfortable silence and the boy’s wary eyes had never left his face. The man offered a smile, it had been a long time since he talked to a child. Hell, it had been a long time since he’d even seen children. “What’s your name?” He tried asking.
The boy growled at him.
A clump of snow fell from above straight on the boy’s head, too accurate to be a coincidence. The man waggled a finger at him, “You know that’s very rude.” He sounded almost affronted, if not for the humor still glimmering in his eyes. The boy shook the snow free from his hair, glancing up at the branches above them accusingly before turning his glare at the man. “C’mon, a name now.”
The boy gulped down a chunk of rabbit before answering. “Don’t have one.”
The man stared pointedly at him. “Don’t have one or don’t like the one they gave you?” The boy paused and glared at him before resuming his meal.
“...’s not like there’s a point.” The child mumbled.
The man waited patiently for him to continue.
“They think I’m a kid,” You are. The man mused but he remained silent. “So, they don’t tell us. But we know. All of us.” The boy lowered what was left of his meal down. “...I heard only three out of ten make it.” He said quietly. The boy’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears but his voice remained steady. “Doubt I’ll be one of them.”
The man hummed in response. “You’ll make it.” The man hadn’t even touched his rabbit and it was beginning to go cold.
“I wanted to be a teacher y’know.” The boy said wistfully.
The man nodded. “You’ll live to be one.”
The boy merely scoffed. “I can’t even beat Varin. I’d be a shit teacher.” The boy’s face scrunched up at a memory. “Even though I'm pretty sure he cheats.” The man laughed loudly. The boy didn’t smile but his lips twitched slightly. “You don’t look like a witcher.” The boy observed.
The man waited for his laughter to die down before turning his gaze from the boy towards the fire, prodding it with a stick. “That’s because I’m not one.” He said with a snort.
“You a mage?” The tension thickened considerably and the child spat the word ‘mage’ with such vitriol, surprising for his young age.
The man paused. “Not..exactly?” The small hand reaching towards the dagger made him back track. “Wait now, it’s a bit hard to explain.” The boy raised an eyebrow as if to say, Try me. The man sighed before continuing. “What do you know about mages? People who use magic.”
The boy’s voice was bitter and cold as he spoke. “They are the ones that hold the trials.”
Ah. That explains the hatred.
The man coughed awkwardly. “Well, they have to use words to use magic right? It is impossible otherwise. It sounds like gibberish but it’s actually called Hen Llinge. Or Elder Speech as most people call it.” The boy nodded slowly. The man spread his arms out and grinned, “I don’t use words, hence, not a mage.” The boy’s eyes furrowed in confusion, trying to find the words to explain how that was definitely not right.
The boy’s mouth opened to speak before the man interrupted him quickly, “I’m not a mage. I never went to any school for magic and I have nothing to do with the ones in your castle.”
The child eyed him with scrutiny before speaking, “...I guess you’re right. You aren’t pretty enough to be a mage.”
The man choked in indignation. “I beg your pardon! That is so rude, what do you mean not pretty enough! I’ll have you know I happen to be very pretty!” The man said defensively.
For the first time in a long time, the boy laughed. Pure and sweet, with an innocence that only a child could have and it rang through forest like cascading wind-chimes. The birds that had been otherwise silent, chirped happily at the musical sound of his laugh as if it was infectious. Despite the incredibly scathing blow he was dealt, the man smiled.
The otherwise cold forest felt warmer than before. For the first time in a long time, the man wondered what it would be like to travel with people. A comfortable silence had settled between the two of them before the man broke it.
“You know, you never answered my question.” He said. The man took in the subtle features of the boy who frowned at the topic, but the lines in his face weren’t as harsh as there were before, so he pressed further. “Your name can’t be that bad.”
The boy’s face twisted into another scowl before the man could continue. “I hate it. It’s stupid. I’d rather have any other one.”
It was strange how a young voice sounded so vicious. The words left the man before he even realized he was speaking. “I can give you a new one.” The boy stared at him as if he’d grown another head right there in the clearing.
“That’s not how it works.” He said, frowning in confusion.
The man smiled warmly. “Humor me.” The boy looked down instead.
“Okay.” His voice was barely a whisper, soft and trusting.
When the man spoke again, there was no difference in the tone nor the breath between his words. But the energy that swirled around him twisted and snaked through the deep roots of the mountain, seeping into the very foundation of the castle at its peak. “You will pass the Trial of the Grasses and live to be a teacher so I hereby decree. There will be pain in your life, ones so great that you think will break you but you will live. From this day onward, you will live as Vesemir.”
The boy’s eyes widened in awe. “Wha-” The tolling of a bell interrupted the two of them. The boy paled in horror, “Oh no, I’m late!” He shot to his feet, immediately taking off towards the castle, before he caught himself suddenly and turned around.
“I...I never caught you name.” The boy-no-Vesemir said softly.
From where the fire had melted the snow, a patch of dandelions peaked through the cold. They swayed slightly in the breeze. The weed stood out unnaturally, too persistent, too bright, and in the wrong place. The man turned towards his rabbit but the meat had gone cold a long time ago.
“...Jaskier,” The blue-eyed man said, “My name is Jaskier.”