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Geralt had kept his promise and gotten Dandelion across the Yargua, then he'd promptly fucked off to do whatever it was Witchers did when they weren't helping their dearest friend (well, in Geralt's defense, Dandelion had sent him off and it had seemed perfectly safe to do so at the time). He had anticipated a straight shot to Oxenfurt, where he could hunker down at the college in safety. Geralt had been so upset by the death of his Child Surprise that Dandelion had thought it best to send him to Kaer Morhen, where the other Witchers might know what to do with him (although he was meant to be the master of emotion, Geralt's affection for the child he'd met only once baffled him. What exactly had the Witcher planned to do with a child, anyway?)
Send the Witcher to Kaer Morhen and the Bard to Oxenfurt. Wait out the skirmish and reunite in a few months. It had been an excellent plan, as far as Dandelion was concerned.
But no. The world had gone to shit, Dandelion gotten lost, stuck in a refugee camp then nearly had his lute stolen, and Geralt's Child Surprise wasn't as dead as they'd thought.
In fact, she was so not dead that she was sobbing, which Dandelion thought was completely unfair of her. After all, he was the one laying face to face with a dead body, covered in a mixture of his own blood and the dead man's. The princess was, perhaps a bit muddy, but otherwise blood-free, so sobbing seemed completely pointless. If anyone deserved to be crying it was Dandelion.
The bard pushed himself to hands and knees, gasping in pain. "You know Cirilla, I have never demanded a debt from Geralt before, but this I shall hold over him for the rest of my life."