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Chapter Text

 Destiny could suck Jaskier’s dick. At least he’d finally something good from it. His life was fucked before he was even born.

 Julian Alfred Pankratz was born into the world where he was expected to be perfect. He was the future viscount de Lettenhove. And when he didn’t fulfill those expectations, well his parents didn’t have any problems making sure he learnt the lesson by any means necessary.

 He was a restless child. He didn’t want to sit in dusty old rooms listening to the flat baritone of his tutors, he wanted to explore the alluring yellow fields and silvery forests. Learning was far better suited with hands-on experience.

 His father didn’t agree and the marks on Julian sure as shit showed it.

 He was seven when his brother was born.

 He was nine when the witcher came.

 There was a leshen that moved into the woods near their estate. It disrupted the beehives and killed the lumbermen sent into the woods.

 Julian’s father was a stringent man. He didn’t like to part with his money unless he needed to and apparently the leshen wasn’t good enough.

 To get around paying the witcher, which Julian later learnt was named was Lexandre, Julian’s father asked him what he wanted in lieu of payment. Julian was the payment. And his father, or his mother, didn’t bat an eye.

 Julian cried, twisting in the arms of the witcher, trying to get to his mother. Her pale face, usually rosy in the cheeks was void of any emotions. She watched as Julian disappears into the landscape with his little brother in her arms.

 She just stared.

 She ignored his cries, his tears, her son.

***

 Jaskier ran. As fast as his feet could take. He was numb. His breath was in panic gasps. He couldn’t breathe. He stumbled over rocks and twigs, branches wiping around him. The sharp slapping of the mountain wind numbing him.

 Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shovelling it? If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.

 Geralt’s words rang in his ears. Surely he didn’t mean it? They were friends, right?

 Jaskier cursed as his boot hit a rock and sent him flying.

 Pain flared up from his shoulder, the one he landed upon, and spiralled out.

 Jaskier choked back a scream and clutched his shoulder. He bit his lip and curled into a fetal position.

 He held back curses as the contents of the forest floor stabbed into his back through the soft silk of his doublet. Jaskier rolled onto his back and slapped his hands onto his face and groaned.

 What was he doing?

 Jaskier sighed, his hands dropping from his face and stared up at the brilliantly blue sky above him.

 What was he doing?

 Getting his heart crushed by a man who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Jaskier. No. Giving a rat’s ass meant that Geralt actually thought about him. Ever since that day with Djin, Jasper sense that Geralt was moving on. Jaskier didn’t need any witcher senses to tell that.

 The night they left the ruined estate Jaskier could see the wistful glances, like a young milk-maid in love, into the distance that Geralt tried to hide from Jaskier. But Jaskier saw it and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

 It’s not like Jaskier liked Geralt.

 It’s just Jaskier was lonely.

 The Path was hard and it was lonely.

 Jaskier just thought that he could lessen the ache deep in his chest. The soul-crushing loneliness. Geralt knew this pain and deep down Jaskier thought that maybe the two of them together travelling would alleviate it.

 It did. For a bit.

 Then Yennefer came.

 Her lilac eyes and gooseberry perfume almost bewitched Jaskier. Then she went all crazy-magic lady on him completely tits out. Jaskier could appreciate it if it wasn’t him that she went crazy on.

 Jaskier wanted to hate her. It would make his life so much easier. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

 He blamed destiny.

 It was almost poetic. The sorceress and the witcher. Two destined to be alone, finding each other and finding solace in each other's trauma. The songs were almost writing themselves and knowing Jaskier’s shit luck he’d be the one writing them.

 Jaskier stood, unsure that his legs would support him.

 He let out a sigh of relief and looked around, attempting to assess his situation.

 It looked grim really.

 He’s let himself go, travelling with Geralt. The witcher’s assumption that Jaskier was nothing more than just a bumbling bard. Geralt was a lot of things, socially aware was not one of them. Jaskier just let Geralt think what he wanted to think.

 When travelling with Geralt, Jaskier just let Geralt do all of the hard work including all of the navigation; enjoying the chores such as filling the waterskins and picking berries. If Jaskier’s old mentor Dusan saw him now, Jaskier would be flogged.

 Jaskier ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He had a vague idea of where he was.

 His blood ran cold when he heard the distant howls of a wolf.

 Great.

 Here was Jaskier, alone in the middle of the woods about to be mauled by a wolf. The symbol of the man who hated him. How ironic.

 Jaskier patted his torso, looking for the dagger that he stashed inside his doublet.

 It was small, nothing like his witcher swords but it was usually enough to help him get out of a sticky situation. Though, the situations that Jaskier had to use the dagger was against husbands and fathers that he couldn’t get away in time.

 Not against wolves.

 As Jaskier pulled out the dagger, he heard a distant howl.

 Jaskier stumbled backwards, heading towards some cover, hoping that the wolves won’t notice him and pass on, but a cacophony of howls echo through the trees in response to the first one.

 The howls seemed to be behind him, deafening his eardrums.

 They were close. 

 Jaskier froze in position, his skin prickled with fear and his breath started coming out in short, sharp huffs. His heart is beating so loud that he fears that the wolves can hear it.

 Leaves crunch behind him and he turns around slowly, fearing what he will see. A pair of glowing eyes meet his own as a wolf steps out from behind the bushes.

 Fuck.

 He hears the sounds of more wolves approaching them, their maws slacked open, they are coming out in slow ragged pants.

 Jaskier’s blood ran cold. He was surrounded.

 Blood red glowing eyes encircled him, approaching slowly, as if cautiously. The soft forest floor crunched over their paws.

 A searing pain shot down his back and Jaskier screams. A wolf has lunged at him from behind, its claws digging into his back. At the scent of blood, the rest of the wolves pounce on him, deadly claws raking into him and sharp teeth tearing at his flesh.

 Jaskier grabbed onto the scruff of the wolf on his back and lurched forward, throwing the wolf forward, his dagger slashing across the underbelly of his attacker.

 The wolf yipped in pain and staggered to its feet.

 Jaskier stumbled back, trying to distance himself from the ever-growing angry pack of wolves.

 He knew that he is not going to be able to take on the whole pack. Sure if he was wearing a full set of armour and had his swords but right now he is currently sporting a silk doublet and matching pants and was armed only with a dagger.

 He readied his dagger, watching the faint shadowy figures encircling him. His eyes flicker around the circle, looking for the wolf that he injured. That wolf is his way out.

***

 Jaskier stumbled into the town at the bottom of the mountain. He could feel the hot blood running down his back, slowly trickling down and in almost tickled him.

 He all but collapsed against a trunk of an old cypress tree. The dagger slipped from his slicked hands and clattered to the forest floor.

 By the gods, it hurt. He hasn’t felt this bad in ages. Laboured breathing wracked his chest as Jaskier struggled to calm his heart.

 His breathing was wet and congested. Jaskier bent over, blood dripping from his stained red lips.

 There was a distant howl.

 This time it was not the predatory howl of a hunt but more of pitiful whine.

 He hadn’t gotten all of them, he’d gotten sloppy, but he’d gotten enough to cripple the pack.

 Jaskier couldn’t stop the smirk from curling out when he heard the howl. God, he’d forgotten how good the adrenaline flooding his veins tasted.

 He felt powerful.

 Why did Jaskier give this power up?

 He could be on top of the world right now, injuries be damned.

 Melitele’s tits, he could get drunk off of this. He had been so stupid to leave the Path behind. Jaskier giggled to himself, pushing himself off of the trunk and stumbled over to the slow gurgling river.

 Jaskier just seemed to sink into the rocky shore, his hands slammed into the small wet rocks. The water trickled over Jaskier’s blood-stained hands.

 His reflection warped in the glassy surface of the river but he could see the stains sprawling across his face.

 The water was finger freezing numb as he scooped up the water. Jaskier scrubbed the icy waters against his face. The water ran red, slipping through his fingers as it tumbled back into the riverbed.

 The ice of the water stung the open flesh on Jaskier’s face. He held back a wince, witchers didn’t feel minor pain like this.

  Jaskier scrubbed his face until it felt raw. The water was now stained pink.

 He rocked on his toes, his knees slamming into the muddy riverbank. Sniffling slightly, Jaskier wiped away the excess water clinging onto his face.

 Now that Jaskier was away and safe, he could feel the ache deep in his bones. Exhaustion crept into his body, slowly consuming his entire being.

 Running a hand through his hair, Jaskier stood up. His knees were cold from the mud.

 The sky above Jaskier was a worrying grey. Silver droplets pattered against his soft brown hair and freezing against his pale skin.

***

 The day had started nice. Clear and bright with not a cloud in the sky, a dazzling pale blue, the perfect setting for a dragon hunt adventure. Now, it seemed like the weather was in tune with Jaskier’s emotions. Grey and rainy.

 The weathered cypresses around Jaskier shielded him from most of the rain, the cold hitting Jaskier where it seemed to hurt the most. The water rolling down his back shredded the remnants of Jaskier’s sanity. He could feel the well of the tears pushing around the edges of his eyes, his breath started coming out in short panicked breaths in a desperate attempt to stop himself from crying.

 Jaskier could feel the anger tugging at him, trying to urge him to fall into the void of anger, just letting the anger consume him.

 He tried to hold on so long. To hold back his emotions. It took so much energy to stop himself from lashing out. Keeping his signature mellow, cheerful attitude on.

 He was Jaskier. The bard was known for his smile.

 No wanted to see him angry or upset. They didn’t want to be reminded about how shitty their lives were. They wanted to be entertained, they wanted to forget about how their harvest was smaller this year or their spouse was sleeping around, or how their business was failing.

 Jaskier’s purpose was to make them forget about all of that for that little time he had them for.

 Hot painful tears mingled with the iciness of rain. Strangled gasps wracked Jaskier’s body.

 Fuck Geralt.

 Fucking shit.

 Jaskier scrubbed at the corners of his eyes, the material scratching at him.

 He breathed a sigh of relief when he came across the clearing where they left their horses. The horses were happily munching away at the wisps of grass growing in the sparse rocky landscape. It was almost serene.

 Jaskier hurried over to his and Geralt’s horses. Roach lazily flickered her eyes up at Jaskier as scurried over to them. He could see the faint disinterest in her eyes.

 With his heart hanging in heavily in his chest, Jaskier approached her. He loved Roach. Unlike her owner, she showed him, love. She always gently nipped at him when she approached, jutting her head towards his chin when she wanted attention.

 “Hey, girl.” Jaskier patted her side and stumbled over to Geralt’s saddlebags. With shaky hands, he tore through the saddlebags looking for a vial of swallow.

 Once Jaskier started travelling with Geralt, he’d become lax with his general witcher training, especially concerning potions. He had little need for them as a disguised human, and when he needed them, he’d nick them from Geralt.

 The man was fairly oblivious whenever concerning Jaskier.

 Whenever he used one of Geralt’s potions, which was far and few in-between, he’d always replace them with better quality potions. Jaskier didn’t know what they taught in the school of the wolf, but it wasn’t quality potion-making.

 Jaskier hated drinking Geralt’s potions. Potions were already hard to down but Geralt’s was just rough.

 Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

 He uncorked the potion and before he had a chance to smell the potion, he downed it. Jaskier grimaced as the potion sluggishly trickled down his throat. It burned like a shot of vodka but more bitter.

 Suppressing the urge to hurl, Jaskier corked the vial and shoved it back to the saddlebag. The taste lingered in his mouth. Jaskier’s mouth twisted into a grimace, trying to wash out the taste.

 He felt the liquid slowly burn down his throat.

 If Jaskier was ever going to run into Geralt again, Jaskier was going to give him a proper fucking lesson on potion-making.

 He winced when he felt the flesh on his back

 Roach snorted and shoved her nose towards his pockets, looking for treats. He sighed, continuing to pat her nose and shook his head. “Sorry princess, no treats today. Or ever again.” That made his heartache even more.

 He’s travelled with Geralt for twenty years and Jaskier has never seen him treat Roach. Geralt preferred her company to most, but Geralt was a scrimp. He hated spending money unless he had to; wearing armour until it was thin and worn to the point where it wasn’t even armour even more.

 Jaskier spent lavishly on them and Roach because Jaskier saw Geralt smile slightly when Jaskier sneaked Roach treats. Jaskier didn’t care, he wanted Geralt to feel better. No amount would have ever stopped him.

 Roach’s little huff prompted Jaskier to start shoving random trinkets of his that he had stored in Geralt’s bags after he ran out of space in his into his own bags.

 When Jaskier quickly ran out of space, which was rather quick hence the storing of his junk in Geralt’s bags, he looked at the crumpled doublet in his hands.

 Fuck it.

 Jaskier tossed his doublet onto the ground, tossing some of the other unnecessary cloths along with it. He’d keep the jewels; they’d be helpful in a pinch.

 The panicked rush instilled in him came to a screeching halt when Jaskier looked at the glowing vial in his hands.

 Was he going to take them?

 It’d tip off Geralt that something was off with Jaskier.

 But did Jaskier care?

 After Jaskier was only supposed to be temporary.

 Julian was who he truly was.

 The glow of the potion captivated him, the tug to become who he was once again. It was like a drug. Jaskier in a way had to ween himself off the adrenaline of jumping head into the heat of a battle.

 It’ll come in handy at some point.

 Jaskier grabbed a handful of vials and shoved them into his bags. If only Geralt had an extra sword handing around. Jaskier eyes the saddlebags wistfully.

 Maybe he’d sell a ring or two the next town over. The world was getting rough. Jaskier was going to need protection, he no longer had Geralt to protect him.   

 Jaskier scratched behind Roach’s ears, his heart still hanging low in his chest. He was never going to see her again. “See ya Roachy. Keep him safe. I know he’s an idiot, but…just look out for him.” Jaskier’s voice was scratchy.

Roach huffed as she understood him; Jaskier at least hoped she did.

 He took Pegasus’s reins in hand and headed off. The crunching of the stones under his boots echoed in his ears.   

 ***

 Dirt caked onto his face and his hair was a mess. In his prime as Jaskier, Jaskier would never let anyone see him like this. As a human, Jaskier did everything that he wanted that he couldn’t do as a witcher.

 Witchers don’t care about frivolous things like silks and skincare or music.

 But fuck destiny.

 Jaskier chose his destiny. He did what he wanted.

 The tavern was, thankfully, nearly deserted when Jaskier stumbled him. He winced when his shoulder was forcefully thrust out. He hadn’t escaped the wolves fully. He was no longer going to have that smooth skin that he so cherished. He didn’t bother stopping and trying to patch up the marks. Even though his healing was slower than his healing as a witcher it’d still heal quicker than most. Jaskier didn’t bother to worry about infection. It’d be fine within a day or two. 

 Jaskier wasn’t as vain as everyone thought. Sure, he slapped on as much lotion as possible, pampering himself as much as he could, but he never got the chance as a witcher. One of his first hunts, Jaskier took a contract against a rogue mage.

 Well, Jaskier was a cocky dumbass and didn’t take it seriously. It ended up blowing up in his face. Literally. He had a vein of scars running across his face. As a young man, Jaskier wasn’t concerned with his looks. He was a witcher. He didn’t think of himself as vain but that, that changed him.

 He was a witcher. He knew wasn’t attractive to the wider audience but he still held out hope. He had a youthful face despite everything that happened to him. If one looked at him from a distance, he could pass as human and a decently attractive one.

 He had a few lovers, the few times that they were allowed to go outside of the keep when it still existed, but after that contract, those lovers dwindled. No one really looked past the scars.

 Jaskier stumbled up the barkeep. “A shot of vodka and a pint of Kaedwenian ale.”

 Thankfully, the barkeep didn’t question Jaskier and just handed Jaskier what he wanted and went back to ignoring the people in his tavern.

 Jaskier downed his shot, loving the disgusting aftertaste and the sharp numbness coating him. He collapsed onto a booth and stared into the murky brown ale in front of him.

 He burned. Geralt’s words burn him to the core. They clung to his insides like the vodka he’d just downed. It shredded and tore at all that Jaskier was, all that he’d made himself into. All the effort he’d put into leaving his broken and bloody past behind gone. Undone. It made Jaskier wonder if he’d made the right choice.

 He was a witcher. Trained and mutated to walk the Path.

 He had abandoned everything to make his life anew.

 The first few years tore Jaskier up. His core was divided up. His witcher side yearned to get back on the Path. The guilt bubbled deep within him for abandoning the Path, his brothers, the innocents. The human part of Jaskier, the stubborn remains screamed at him that he was right to leave the Path.

 He never chose to be a witcher. It was forced upon him.

 He was given up by his parents. He was beaten if he refused to train.

 It was funny, ironic really, that it was another witcher who set him on this path. On instinct, Jaskier’s hand traced where the jagged scar would be. The two had met ages ago, he was a witcher from another school. A viper. Like Jaskier, he still felt the ache of losing his humanity. He was young. Much younger than Jaskier and still knew what it was like to feel human emotions. The two of them sat around a campfire sharing a bottle of White Gull, speaking about their former lives.

 The viper was resigned to his fate, seeping into the trademark loneliness and bitterness of the witcher guild. The mutagens were supposed to erase emotions. Or at least dampen them. The witchers of the other schools portray this all too well. Blank, monotone faces. The young viper still felt the traces of his human life, including the emotions.

 The life of a cat was different. Their ancestors had a sick sense of humour. Instead of the mutagens dampening their emotions, it really heightened them. Why? Jaskier had no fucking clue. How the fuck was it suppose to help them on the Path?

 All it did was give cat school witchers the reputation of being mad.

 Well, the reputation was well earned to a degree. Jaskier had seen something snap inside some of his brothers after the trials. Well mannered boys created into something twisted. Laughing with some sort of twisted glee when they ended the life of the beasts they were contracted to kill. Jaskier never understood why they laughed with glee. The beasts never did anything to Jaskier to deserve this treatment. He knew that it was a kill or be killed world but these beasts only acted on instinct. He never really wanted to kill them. He just hoped that he could give them a swift, merciful death instead of the slow butchering process that he knew that the villagers would give them. 

 The conversation between the viper and Jaskier had broken something inside of him. Years of being on the Path and he just… just couldn’t do it anymore. Hearing the crack in the kid’s voice broke something inside of Jaskier.

 So why did Jaskier follow fucking Geralt of Riva for twenty years?

 Jaskier scowled into his ale.

 He created a life outside of being a witcher to explore the parts of him outside of the Path. And yet he wound back upon it.

 Destiny must be laughing at him.

 Jaskier followed Geralt because he saw the same loneliness in his eyes that day Posada. Jaskier could feel the desire for company radiating out of the man. In all honesty, Jaskier pitied the man. Jaskier couldn’t help Julian but he could help Geralt.

 Look what that did to him.

 Over the years, Jaskier brushed off Geralt’s huffs and outbursts as him just being emotionally inept. Jaskier knew more than anyone how witchers’ processed emotions. He had let it go, hoping that it’d soften Geralt up, being solace to him when Jaskier wasn’t around.

 That certainly didn’t go the way that Jaskier planned.

 Geralt snarling at him at the top of the mountain. Blaming him for everything that went wrong in his life. Fat load of shit.

 Jaskier sighed heavily, the type of sigh where his whole body shivered at the force of it.

 Maybe Dusan was right.

 Maybe Jaskier was weak.

 Maybe he didn’t deserve to pass the Trial of Grasses. One of the three out of ten.

 He could still see the bright golden hair that always reminded him of wheat fields under the summer sun. A smile that didn’t belong in such a place as Stygga castle. She didn’t make it. The older witchers seemed to blame Jaskier. He had made her weak.

 Jaskier shouldn’t be here. He needed to move. Away from Geralt. Away from this fucking mountain. Where’d he go?

 Back to Oxenfurt? What was Jaskier without his muse? Besides, Jaskier was never meant to be permanent. Just a distraction, to alleviate himself from the heartbreak of the Path. Jaskier really only became permanent accidentally. He couldn’t be Julian of Kerack when travelling with Geralt. Their relationship started with a lie and Jaskier was scared of how Geralt would react if he found out Jaskier was a witcher. One that abandoned the Path.

 Maybe it was time that Julian returned.

 He’s seen how the world has become.

 The door of the tavern creaked open, making Jaskier snap out of his meditative state and stare in the direction of the door. Waltzing in like she owned the place was Yennefer of Vengerberg. She had shed her elaborate grey fur cloak and wore a simple black dress with velvet designs, tight long sleeves and a high neckline. She looked so simple yet so intimidating.

 Shit.

 Jaskier dropped his eyes and brought his pint up to his lips so hopefully, it’d obscure his face and Yennefer wouldn’t notice him.

 He wasn’t in the mood to trade insults with her back and forth. The reality was that Geralt chose Yennefer. He would always choose Yennefer. She was a competent, badass sorceress while all Geralt would see Jaskier as is a stumbling bard that he felt responsible for.

 Yennefer wouldn’t know about getting rejected. Sure the witches at Aratuza did some magical transformation but that was just a vanity thing. Their whole shtick was the more beautiful the woman, the more that the court would trust her.

 Jaskier grimaced at the bitterness of the ale as he chugged it down.

 “Jaskier.”

 Fuck.

 Nope.

 “I know it’s you. No-one else in this backwater town wears something that obnoxious. Face me.”

 “Excuse me! This is the perfect outfit for a dragon chase.” Jaskier dropped the tankard onto the table, not caring if he spilt anything. It wasn’t like he was going to get drunk. It was the perfect outfit for the hunt. The crimson scaled design fit perfectly for the aesthetic of the adventure. “Just because you have no palette doesn’t mean the rest of us must.”

 Jaskier tried to put venom into his words but he was just tired. So, so fucking tired.

 He didn’t have it in him. Geralt chose her even if she didn’t choose him.

 “Cut the shit Jaskier.” She looked unimpressed with him as she arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

 Jaskier bit back a retort. So he just settled on taking a swig of his ale. “What do you want Yennefer?”

 A heavy silence settled over them as Yennefer studied him with her dark eyes. Jaskier felt like he was glued to the spot by her eyes. Even with his dulled senses, he could hear the world around him. The horses tied to the hitches outside of the tavern, huffing and snorting, happily slurping away at the water provided for them. The barkeep wheezing as he shuffled around behind them. The old wooden boards above him creaking as they settled.

 In the distance, Jaskier could hear the sounds of the town, townsmen yelling at each other, merchants advertising their wares; the clang of the local blacksmith. He liked Oxenfurt because of that. Even though he was away from the people of the city, he was still close to them. He was never too far away.

 “You heard what happened?” Yennefer asked, her voice soft.

 “That Geralt’s a moron?”

 Jaskier heard everything. How Geralt’s last wish was to bind them together forever. When the wish directed to Jaskier was to shut him up.

 That seemed to amuse Yennefer as the corners of her lips quirked up in amusement. “Yes. That. Messy business djinns.” She examined her flawless nails.

 “Didn’t stop you,” Jaskier mumbled into his mug.

 The look that she sent him was scathing. He would have once been a little terrified at the look but he no longer cared.

 He had nothing left as Jaskier. Sure he could go back to Oxenfurt but Jaskier or Julian wasn’t meant to stay in one place. He was meant to wander the world. It felt like Jaskier had fewer people than Julian. The only person that Jaskier had long-term was Geralt. All Jaskier cared about was flings. He couldn’t afford to settle down permanently.

 Jaskier was a distraction.

 Yennefer sighed and tossed back her curls. “I heard what he said to you.”

 “So?” Jaskier snapped. Why did she care?

 “As you said ‘Geralt’s a moron’.” Yennefer sent a ghost of a smile to him. It dropped a second later. She sighed and looked around the empty tavern. “You know, all I ever wanted to be was to matter to someone. Geralt was lucky. He had you. Some would say that you’re like an over eager-puppy, following him around.”

 “You’ve said that,” Jaskier muttered.

 She shot him a glare. He felt a great sense of satisfaction when she let out a huff. “I’m trying to compliment you.”

 “Why? It’s not like it mattered before Yennefer. It doesn’t matter now, even after Geralt fucked both of us over. We don’t like each other and likely won’t ever.”

 “We don’t have to be friends bard.” Jaskier didn’t like how Yennefer emphasized the word bard. He flicked his eyes over to her and the door.

 He didn’t like his chances. He’d have to expose his back to her to get out. She’d be able to cast before he reached the doors.

 “Allies don’t have to be friends. Just mutually beneficial.”

 “And what could a simple bard do for a great sorceress such as yourself?” Jaskier had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

 “Drop the faux-humbleness Jaskier. It doesn’t look good on you.” Yennefer rolled her eyes. “We both know you’re more than a bard.”

 H-how?

 The mage that made the glamour for Jaskier assured him that no one would be able to see through it. It didn’t just mask his physical features but his biological features. The glamour was strong enough to fool even another witcher, tied to his own chaos so that it would not break until he wished it so, at least in theory according to the mage.

 So far it’s held up so Jaskier had no sense to doubt it.

 The glamour constantly drained his energy, dulling his senses to the point that they were almost the same as humans.

 The glamour used so much of his chaos which made him constantly sleepy. Especially when first adjusting his body. The glamour kept some of his old strength and agility so that he did not tire so easily. 

 “Who do you think healed you? At this point, I’m the one who’s the most intimate with you.”

 Great.

 Under the table, Jaskier’s hand curled into a fist. What did Yennefer want from him? If that information got out, then Jaskier was ruined. He’d be forced to go back as Julian. Even then, the rumours might affect how Julian got contracts. Or how other witchers would interact with him. They’d learn that he abandoned the Path.

 “What do you want? I can give you gold. I-I don’t have much else. Or much gold.” Most of his earnings went to maintaining a small apartment in Oxenfurt or it went to his and Geralt’s trips. Jaskier had been determined to teach Geralt that he didn’t have to live like a feral woodsman.

 Yennefer shook her head. “Your secret is safe with me Jaskier. I have no need to leak your secret. Though, I am interested as to why a witcher is hiding out as bard.” There was a gleam in her eyes as she rested her chin on her perched hands.

 Jaskier slumped in his seat and crossed his arms. He didn’t look at Yennefer, he couldn’t. He shrugged and further slumped in his seat.

 “You know that the cat school was one of the few schools that accepted girls? ‘Course it was the cats. Only ones crazy enough to try.” The words almost flew out of his mouth. He’s never told anyone this story. He’s kept inside of himself for decades. He needed to tell someone if the pressure on his chest was any indication.

 Yennefer’s eyebrow arched in interest.

 Jaskier scoffed. “Bet that you might say that is a movement for equality.” He attempted to joke, trying to alleviate the dull aching pain that had lingered on him for years.

 “There’s no equality in abuse.” Yennefer’s voice was soft.

 Jaskier bit the side of his cheek, holding back the tears. He blinked them back and wrinkled his nose, sniffling a little. “Yeah. Well. Her name was Illona Tasse of Soddon. She had hair that reminded me of gold. She was the only one who had any sort of kindness in that hell. Always made sure that I was okay.” The words rushed out of him like they were trying to escape him.

 “She didn’t make it.”

 “Yeah.”

 There was a heavy silence between the two of them. Jaskier felt disappointed. He’d hoped that if he told her then the pressure would lessen. It didn’t.

 He now instantly regretted telling Yennefer. It was no longer a secret. Why had he told his nemesis? Was she really his nemesis? He only hated her because of the attention Geralt gave her. The attention that Jaskier wanted.

 He had been desperate for any sort of attention from the man. The sort of attention that Geralt seemed to the only reserve for Yennefer.

 Jaskier idly wondered if Aiden remembered Illona. They were in the same class. It was hard to forget her. She tried to bind all of the students together, trying to create some sort of bond between them.

“I’m sorry.”

 He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. They came out in heavy rasps, he could almost feel the breath rattling up around against his ribs. Jaskier ran a hand through his hair and tossed his hair out of his face.

 “She told me once that she wanted to live with no regrets. Do whatever she wanted. After a contract went bad and I didn’t nearly didn’t make it.”

“Obviously you did.”

 “Thanks to a baby viper. We got to talking and something just snapped. I never wanted this life. I wanted to live how I wanted to. So I left. Haven’t regretted it.”

 There was a sparkle of what seemed to be admiration in Yennefer’s eyes. “Never thought you, of all people, had the balls.” 

“Thanks, Yennefer.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. He took in a deep breath and the pain in his ribs felt similar to the time he had his ribs crushed by a griffin, slowly ebb away.

 Yennefer’s lips pressed into a smile. It slowly siphoned away as she looked out over the tavern again. “So. What now?”

 “No idea. You?”

 “Things here and there.” Yennefer sighed. “You feel it, don’t you?” There was something in her eyes that made Jaskier’s stomach plummet. Fear? Anxiety? Either way, he didn’t like it.

 “Yeah.” Jaskier’s throat was scratchy and dry. He had felt it. He didn’t know if Geralt had noticed it as well as the man didn’t have more than one facial expression but he had felt it.

 War was coming.

 It was almost like he could taste it like it was in the air. The tension was tight, especially along the border regions. Jaskier tried to stick north and Geralt didn’t seem to mind.

 “I’ll have to start preparing.” Yennefer sighed and shook her head, her dark curls tossed around in front of her. “I don’t know. It’s too uncertain.”

 Jaskier hummed in agreement.

 “War’s too harsh for a bard. Hmm?” Yennefer looked at him expectantly. Jaskier knew that it was. He just didn’t want to give up Jaskier. He liked him too much.

 He didn’t want to go back to being Julian.

 “Whatever you chose to do if you ever need to reach me…” Yennefer placed down a round looking box on the table in front of him.

 “What’s this?” Jaskier hesitantly picked it up and examined it. It didn’t look like anything special but he could sense the chaos radiating off if it even without his medallion.

 “A Xenovox. It’s a communication device. It will alert me if you need aid. Do not abuse it.” Icy fear ran down Jaskier’s spine at the rear site of Yennefer’s glare.

 “Yes ma’am,” Jaskier muttered.

 He finished off his ale and stood up. Yennefer seemed to enjoy pissing off Jaskier by trailing after him as he went up to pay. She elegantly trailed after him, resting on the periphery of Jaskier’s vision. Jaskier bit back his annoyance and pushed open the door to the tavern.  The sun was starting to set, the evening was upon them. Rays of sun flickered against his pale skin.

 Jaskier looked over to Yennefer and realized with a start that her glamour started to fade. Yennefer was a good actress, years of being a court mage probably, but it started to crumble. Exhaustion started to keep in her eyes.

 “I’ll see you later then eh?” Jaskier asked.

 “If I can’t help it,” Yennefer answered dryly. Jaskier could see a hint of mirth in her eyes. The knot in Jaskier’s stomach lessened slightly.

 “Take care, Yen.”

 Yennefer sniffled in annoyance. “I should be the one saying that to you.”

 Jaskier rolled his eyes and grabbed Pegasus’s reins. He followed Yennefer to the split of the road. He waved goodbye, Yennefer gave him a curt nod. Jaskier watched as a glowing blue portal woosh into existence.

 Yennefer paused for a second, looking like she wanted to say something but at the last second decided against it. She turned away from Jaskier and vanished into the portal.

 The portal closed with a small pop and disappeared from view.

 Jaskier tiredly shook his head and pulled himself up onto Pegasus’s saddle, gently digging his heels into Pegasus’s side to get her going.

 Ah, where to go?

 He let Pegasus take control, gently prodding alone the slowly dwindling street.

 This was a new chapter in the life of Julian.

 The end of the story of Jaskier.

Chapter Text

Julian wasn’t far from the mountains. He had set off too late to get far enough away from the mountains; to avoid accidentally running into Geralt, Julian had set up camp deep in the woods, settling down into a small meadow.

Pegasus didn’t seem to mind their makeshift campsite. She was happily munching away on the long grass around her.

Watching the sunset, the glow of warm colours washed over Julian, melted away the tension rooted deep in his bones.

He leaned against the log that Julian dragged over to his small, flickering fire and stared at the ring perched on his left hand. He sighed and twisted the ring. It wasn’t as flashy as some of his other rings. It had a large rounded turquoise stone set in a thick band of silver. Intricate carvings ran up and down the band of the ring. A swirling rune that Julian was once told that a part of a spell. It wasn’t a rune that he recognized. On the ridge of the band were small slashes creating a ridge.

It was a work of art that not many admired.

Jaskier was known for his fabulous and over the top fashion, gold rings with huge gems and elaborate designers. This wasn’t the sort of ring that Jaskier would wear.

Should he take it off?

Jaskier wasn’t needed anymore. His popularity was slipping through his fingers; the only reason why he’s still known was his song ‘Toss a Coin to your Witcher’.

It made sense that the only song that he was really known for was the song that he poured his anger and desperations into. Sure the subject of the song was supposed to be Geralt but the pain in those words, the begging the people to not murder Julian or his brothers when he walked into town, to treat them with respect, the basics.

Yennefer was right.

This wasn’t the time for Jaskier. The time for a soft-faced poet was gone.

There was the question of, should he wait until he had his gear once again?

It would raise some eyebrows seeing a witcher riding around in silks; or without a sword.

“What do you think Pegasus? Hm? I should I break the barriers and be a witcher dressed in silk?” Julian chortled softly. It sounded more ridiculous when he said it out loud.

Pegasus snorted, tossing her head back and shuffled her feet.

Julian narrowed his eyes. There was something off. Pegasus whined nervously and shuffled in her spot.

He froze in a mid-crouch, listening to the whispers of the forest.

Had Geralt found him?

No.

Pegasus was familiar with his sent. She wouldn’t freeze in fear.

They were the prey. Prey for whom?

The woods were silent, well silent to Julian’s human ears.

If any time was the right time to take off the ring, it was now. He was being stalked. Julian was not going to let himself become the prey.

The ring, being on his ring finger for so long, refused to budge. Julian let out a mild curse under his breath; twisting at the ring, ignoring the flare of pain from his hand. The ring came off with a painful yank.

It felt like Julian had just burst through the surface of a murky lake. The world exploded into sound and light. He could feel the silk brush against his skin, the rustling of deers deep within the woods.

The world didn’t seem quite as dark anymore.

Julian could feel the blood pumping into his veins; his hands itching to wrap around the soft leather handle of his blade as he slipped his ring into one of his pockets.

He then heard them.

The stumbling, breaking of the undergrowth of the forest. The forced hushes and uneven footsteps.

Bandits.

Trying to pry on the innocent bard wandering into the woods.

Julian’s mouth curled into a smirk. They had another thing coming.

Silently, he pulled out his dagger and slipped into the shadows.

The men, six of them, were clumsily wandering their way over to where Julian had lit his campfire.

The weight of his dagger had started to feel like home once again.

Julian filtered between the slim trees, avoiding stepping on the rough terrain, bushes roughly rustling against his thighs as he slipped between shadows. The lights of the pale torches glow brighter. Jaskier crouched behind a thick oak tree, waiting for them to inch closer.

He flipped his dagger over, testing the weight in his hand. It wasn’t meant to be a throwing knife, just a simple dagger, but it seemed balanced enough for a short throw. He had one throw and still had the element of surprise, so Jaskier had to make it count.

So he waited.

Crouched in his spot, his heart quietly thumping away in his ears, Jaskier waited.

Just until they had passed him. He heard them chuckle and chortling, scheming about what Jaskier might have on him and what they might be able to get with their loot.

In the dim light of their sole torch, Jaskier could finally asses his targets.

Few had armour, even those who did only had light armour, leather jerkins and stuff. A well-aimed slash or thrust would end them.

Their swords didn’t look superior amazing in quality but they’d be an upgrade from Jaskier’s sole dagger.

Jaskier raised his dagger and aimed at the fellow straggling at the back. He seemed hesitant. Perhaps a little green behind the ears. Perfect. Always take out the weak links first.

The blade sliced through the air, whistling as it moved.

Julian thought that he’d feel something when he heard the man go down, gurgling slightly as blood poured out of him.

But he felt nothing.

It didn’t phase him one bit.

His target crumpled to the ground, his fate still unknown to his companions.

Jaskier slipped out of the woods, darting towards the body, yanked the blade out of his victim and tumbled back into the woods, with only a mere rustle of reentry.

The wolves may have been taught to use raw power but the cats taught stealth. To stalk their prey until they betray their weakness.

Jaskier crept alongside the bandits, still unaware of their fallen companion.

His next target, a slightly bulky man, who seemed to be of Skellige origin judging by his tattoos, lingered on the edges of the torchlight.

The first one had gone down quick and painless but he had been small and malnourished. This one would be a challenge.

A fun one.

Julian felt his mouth curl up in excitement.

He had to find a way to separate him from his friends. Julian slipped through the undergrowth, creeping his way towards his next victim.

Once Julian felt like he was close enough, he crouched, hiding behind a thick stone and whistled softly. A sharp thrill through the seemingly silent night.

It had its intended purpose, startling the man, causing him to twist around, looking for the source.

Good.

Julian had his attention and the others didn’t seem to notice. Heads filled with their promised fortune. Julian melted further into the shadows, softly whistling, watching as his next victim fell into his clutches.

He delighted in the fear radiating from the man as the brushes around him as Julian moved into position.

“W-who’s there?” The man seemed to attempt to sound brave but Julian was salivating at the fear rolling off of him.

Julian rushed out of his hiding spot, driving his knee into the back of one of the man’s knee, causing the man to stagger to his knees; Julian pressed his hand against his victim’s mouth, suppressing the man’s scream and jammed his dagger into the soft part of the man’s neck.

He crumpled in Julian’s hands, warm blood coated Julian’s arms. Julian scoffed in annoyance, pulling out his dagger and the body dropping with a wet thump at Julian’s feet.

Whelp, there goes the second doublet in a day.

Whatever.

Julian slipped back into the shadows, tracking down the remaining prey.

One of the man’s companions noticed him gone. He fell behind from the other three and was scanning the tree line for his friend.

They just keeping Julian’s job easier and easier. Julian utilized the shadows, bending them to his will; slipping between them. Jaskier didn’t hunt men like his brothers. He never accepted contracts from men to hunt men. That behind said, if the need arises, Julian didn’t shed a tear for dead men. And he certainly knew how to hunt them.

Julian whistled, catching his prey’s attention. He visually tensed up and started peering further into the woods, but he didn’t take the bait. 

So Julian whistled again. The man got cross. “What the fuck?” The man muttered, trudging into the woods.

Heh.

Julian slipped further back into the darkness. The man marched past Julian’s hiding spot and didn’t even bat an eye at the shadow next to him.    

Sucker.

Julian lunged at his victim, dagger in hand and plunged it into the man’s back. The blade sunk into his back, just stopping a couple of inches from the hilt. Julian could hear the crunch of bone being cracked and broken. The squelched of flesh being ripped open. The man stagger forwarded, a scream forming on the man’s lips.

To stop the man from alerting his brothers, Julian slammed his fist into the man’s rib cage; cutting off the man’s scream. As he staggered away Julian grabbed onto the back of the man’s face, kicked out his knees, and as he fell Julian felt the crunch of the spinal bones being broken. 

He yanked the dagger out of the man and turned back to the path and the remaining trio.

Patience was never one of Julian’s strong suits. He always needed to be doing something. Sitting and waiting for the trio to split up, wasn’t high up on Julian’s list.

So fight him, if someone thought that taking on three bandits in zero armour was a little bit stupid. But Julian wanted this to be over.

It was fun at first but now Jaskier’s clothes were stained and Pegasus was at risk.

Julian crept out from behind the rock he was hiding behind and flung himself onto the back of the fellow at the back. Julian slashed at his neck, feeling the warm liquid pouring out of his neck.

The man bellowed and clawed at Julian. Julian pulled himself up onto the man’s shoulders and catapulted himself forward, past the other two men. Before they could react, Julian slashed at the closest man’s calf. When the man staggered away, Julian pounced at him, the dagger aimed for the soft part of his thigh; where the femoral artery. Why people didn’t bother protecting it, Julian had no idea.

It was where most of the body’s blood was contained. One swift nick and they were done for.

Just like his victim.

He screamed and collapsed against the tree.

Julian cackled and pivoted to face the other two bandits.

Except that Julian was too slow.

Razor-sharp pain ran up his spine, almost gave him a tingling sensation. Julian cursed and parried the upcoming blade with his dagger; but due to the size and force difference, Julian’s dagger went flying out of his hand.

Fuck.

He jumped back to avoid the large arcing slash coming towards his chest.

He slammed his foot into the knee of his incoming attacker.

The man yelled out in pain and Julian lunged towards the hand holding the sword, grabbing the wrist of the man and wrestled it out of his hand, slamming the knife into the guy’s chest.

Julian whirled around and faced the last man, who looked a little worse for wear. Blood coated the man’s face and trailed down his once-white shirt.

He staggered towards Julian, but with a flick of Julian’s wrist, his newly retrieved dagger went flying into the man’s upper chest. He undramatically collapsed into a heap on the ground.

He flickered his eyes over to the last remaining man.

“Pl-please,” the man choked out. He clutched his leg in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding and slowly scurried back, away from Julian’s slow approach.

“Why? You certainly weren’t planning to give me any.” Julian crouched in front of the man, disdain coating his feelings.

“W-witcher!” The man’s eyes blew wide in fear.

“Hm. You’re an astute one. A real scholar.” Julian arched an eyebrow.

He was tried. He’s been denounced by what he thought was his best friend,  chased by wolves, and now by bandits. Why should he be merciful? The world certainly hasn’t been merciful for him the past day or so.

This man had plans of slitting his throat while Julian was asleep. So why should Julian give him any mercy? They certainly weren’t considering that.

“I-I’ll do anything. Please!” The man gargled out.

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Julian was done being kind.

“Perhaps I should just let you bleed out. It’ll give you time to think about how sad and miserable your life has been to lead you to prey on travellers alone on the road. Disgraceful.”

The man had no snappy response, shame really.

Julian sighed and stood up.

“But alas, I just don’t have the patience to make sure you get your just desserts.”

The man started pleading again. Then he stopped. His death was quick. Which was less than what he deserved.

Julian stepped back and observed his handiwork. With a start, Julian realized that the man was around the same size as him and he had armour.

That felt a little morbid.

But that was the mode of life currently.

Julian needed something to protect him. He no longer had protection.

Fuck it.

The man was going to rob him so Julian was going to return the favour.

The armour wasn’t the greatest quality. Judging by the rough edges and clumsy stitches, it was made by an amateur. Still good enough to protect Julian. He’d probably have to take a few contracts to get enough coin to get himself back up on his feet.

Or at least until he made it Novigrad and fished his old belongings from Vivaldi bank. Vimme owed Julian an old favour after Julian broke a particularly vicious curse levied against him after some upset client. Before Julian dawned the mask of Jaskier, he stashed his old gear in the vault with great threats to Vimme that if his things were disturbed then there was going to be hell to pay.

Vimme laughed and swore on his reputation that his belongings would be safe. That sated Julian’s nerves. Like a witcher, a banker’s reputation was everything to them.

A witcher without his gear was going to be a target. Better be a man in armour than a witcher without his swords.

Time to put the ring back on.

Julian patted the pockets of his doublet before he put his temporary armour on, and frowned when he couldn’t feel the lump of the ring. Probably got shoved into a corner.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Shit.

He couldn’t feel it.

It was gone.

Julian cast his eyes to the ground, desperately looking for his precious ring.

No. No. No. No. No. No!

Shit.

That ring cost him a fortune.

He was not going to lose it because of some stupid fucking bandits.

Julian snarled, eyes tearing across the dark ground, desperately trying to find the ring. He couldn’t see the cold glint of the ring whatsoever. He needed that ring. He couldn’t lose it.

Julian dropped to his knees, tearing at the grass, blood seeping into the knees of his trousers.

He wasn’t seeing it anywhere. Even with his enhanced witcher senses. 

No!

Burning tears sliced grooves into his skin. All that hard work was gone. Those happy years were gone in an instant. Jaskier was gone. He couldn’t ever be Jaskier again. Jaskier was dead.

Julian wasn’t sure if he was crying over the loss of the ring, and the fortune attached to it, or the death of Jaskier.

Well, let's be honest, it was the same thing.

***

Julian’s body ached came morning. He spent all night looking for the ring. He couldn’t find it anywhere. It was lost.

When dawn broke, Julian had accepted his fate. He was no longer able to be Jaskier. He was back on the Path.

Back to being a witcher.

With his new armour and borrowed sword donned, Julian sat next to his fire, staring at his lute. He had no use for his lute anymore. Julian knew that he should sell the lute. The money would be able to help him get back on his feet, but deep down Julian couldn’t bring it upon himself to do so.

Jaskier would never sell his lute. It was his greatest possession. He’d rather die of starvation than be parted with the lute that Filavandrel aén Fidháil gifted to him. It would feel like a kick in the teeth to sell it.

Julian traced the edges of his lute, plucking at the strings. His heart ached at the familiar sound. It was familiar yet so different. His hearing changed so much. It didn’t feel right. Julian stopped plucking.

He shouldn’t play.

It would just continue to stab at his heart. A reminder that Julian wouldn’t be able to go back to his old life.

He stared at the lute, dark feelings started crawling up his throat. Was the point of holding onto the lute if he was never going to use it again. It was just a painful reminder of what he’d never have again.

He gripped the throat of the lute so tightly that the strings cut into his hand.

Why had he let himself be distracted by the frivolous life of a bard? He had let himself be distracted from the Path. His teachers would rip his innards out of they saw how weak Julian had become.

Gods, he was so stupid.

So fucking stupid.

Julian gasped, heaving in painful breaths as tears sliced down his cheeks. He clutched the lute, shaking heavily.

He became weak. Jaskier ruined his life. Julian had been blinded by all of the praise and gold that his songs brought him. He’d grown contempt and weak. Allowing Geralt to do everything for him.

Fucking shit!

His sobs filled his ears. He ducked his head, closing his eyes and tried to calm himself. He should have stayed on the Path. Away from this heartbreak. Kept his head down and done his job.

Julian could feel his hands shake his hands. He tightened his fist to try to stop the shaking.

He heard a sharp twang and heavy snap.

When he opened his eyes he saw red lining his eyes. In front of him, he was the snapped throat of his lute. The broken strings curled around his tightened fist and the rest of the lute dangled precariously with one unbroken cord.

Julian dropped the lute in shock, his whole body shaking at this point. He broke his lute. His one precious possession. His tears blurring the sight of his broken lute. First his ring now his lute. He kept destroying all the facets of his life as Jaskier.

He couldn’t stop the shaking. The red of his vision consumed him.

Fuck this! Fucking shit!

Destiny was a shrivelling fucking piece of shit.

Julian snarled, snatching his broken lute and slamming against it against a stone. It made a glorious cracking sound.

So he did it again. And again.

Each time making a painful twang that matched how he felt. He yelled, letting the frustration bubbling inside of him out. Tears streamed down his face.

He laughed, unsure where the laughter was coming from but decided to let it out. The laughter could be described as maniacal. Loud, volatile, and insane. He tossed his head back and stared at the pre-dawn sky. Motherfuckers!

If the world, Destiny or whatever it's fucking called, wanted Julian fully back on the Path, then there were simpler ways to do it.

The laughter died on Julian’s lips and now all he felt was emptiness. The lulling emptiness which felt like being on a boat all alone at night in the middle of the ocean. Just him and the vast emptiness.

He dropped to his knees, the tears threatening to consume him again; his chest heaving and sobs filling his ears.

 ***

As a final ode to Jaskier, the poet who brought peace to Julian’s exhausted world, Julian dug a small grave for the lute and a few trinkets that Julian associated with Jaskier. He gently placed the lute in the grave, his heart low in his chest, and started piling the dirt back into the hole.

Goodbye Jaskier. You burned bright and hard. Loved with all of your heart.

Julian wanted to say that he hoped that Jaskier would have a better life in the next life, but Jaskier was just a lie. An extension of Julian. A way that he could attempt to express what Julian attempted to hide.

Julian stood up and brushed off his dirty palms on his trousers, a pair of thick dark green cotton trousers that typically Jaskier would not be caught dead wearing.

They were stashed at the bottom of his saddlebags in case of something like this. A time where he needed to go incognito.

Julian returned to his saddlebags and went to business.

He sorted through his belongings, separating them into three sections.

What he would sell, what he would keep and what to burn.

His rings and pretty trinkets would be useful at a market. Fetch him some coin. He’d keep some of his less flamboyant articles of clothing he’d keep. Dark trousers, plain shirts, etc. The silk doublets would either be burned or stripped for bandages.

He could sell them. He’d have to find an appropriate market for it and Julian didn’t want to wait until he got to Novigrad for that. That’d make him more of a target. Julian didn’t want to bring more of a target towards himself.

The jewelry would have to be enough.

Julian ripped up his clothing and stuffed them into his first aid kit.

The remainder of the clothing was burned.

Julian watched as the fire grew big and burned hot. The ache of his bones was creeping upon him. He needed sleep. He’d half debated on crashing here for the rest of the day, but he needed to move on. The bodies were going to draw attraction to his campsite.

And Julian really didn’t want to run into Geralt.

That’d be a fun conversation to have.

“Ready girl?” Julian started to saddle up Pegasus. Pegasus sneezed and went back to grazing. Julian was going to take that as a yes.

Saddling up Pegasus was a comforting ritual. At least this didn’t change. Pegasus was a lazy lug in the morning. Whenever Geralt wasn’t in a rush, Julian would take his time saddling Pegasus and Roach up, brushing them down first, sneaking them snacks; just generally that getting them ready for a long day of riding.

It still brought comfort to Julian, but it felt strained.

He was just ready to get the hell out of there.

Julian swept one last look around the campsite, hoping that he’d be able to spot the ring.

With his heart slowly chipping into pieces, Julian led Pegasus onto a different path from which they came upon, and started back onto the main road.

Time for Julian of Redania to truly come back.

Chapter Text

 Things were absolutely going to shit for Geralt. He’s lost Yen and Jaskier in one fell swoop. Two of the people that he’s valued highly outside of his brothers and Vesemir, gone. The walk down from the top of the mountain was frosty quiet. It wasn’t until Geralt had lost Jaskier that Geralt realized how much he liked Jaskier’s constant chattering.

  Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shovelling it? If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.

Fuck.

Geralt dropped his head onto the thick wooden table in the small tavern.

 He didn’t mean the words. Well the small angry part of him did. Geralt usually ignored the anger, brushing it off when it reared its ugly head.

It came out accidentally, in the heat of the moment and when Geralt said it, he instantly regretted it.

He didn’t know how to apologize to Jaskier. With his brothers and Vesemir, when one of them blew up in anger, they’d sulk off for a period and then silently come back. A nod was their form of an apology. Words were always were hard for them. They went unspoken but not unheard.

 But Jaskier was different.

 He was delicate. Humans in general were delicate, Jaskier even more so. He was a poet, words were everything to them. A simple nod and gentle punch to the arm didn’t work.

 Geralt was terrible with words.

 And there was the blood.

 He smelt it when he came down. Human blood.

 Fuck.

 Gelt had followed the smell, coming across a small clearing. Then he recognized the scent.

 Jaskier.

The clearing hadn’t portrayed a good scene. Dead wolves and a trail of blood. No body. Good thing. Unless the wolves dragged off the body. There hadn’t been any marks to indicate it.

The trail of blood had ended at a nearby river.

The scent didn’t come back until Geralt got back to Roach. Jaskier got out safely. Who knew that Jaskier had it in him.

 Hm.

 Geralt frowned into his ale. How had he not noticed that?

 To him, Jaskier always seemed to be the soft poet. Geralt always admired that of him. He had a unique way of keeping his sunshine in a world that liked to throw shit at those like Jaskier. Not that Geralt would ever tell Jaskier, because Geralt knew that Jaskier would lord over that, but he was like sunshine and daffodils. Geralt didn’t mind taking the hard tasks when setting up camp because the smile that accompanied him made Geralt hate the world a little less.

 Jaskier never seemed to like to fight. Always hung back and watched as Geralt fight.

 Hmm.

 He’ll have to rectify this problem.

 Geralt tried to stand up, and his whole world tilted sideways. Maybe tomorrow.

 Jaskier wasn’t hard to track. He always stuck to the main roads when travelling along, surrounded by people, and whenever he felt heartbroken, he’d go to two places. Too Oxenfurt or to the Countess de Stael. The two of them had a relationship similar to Geralt and Yen’s.

 Ignoring the murmurs of the townsfolk around him, Geralt stumbled up to his room.

 Locking the door behind him, Geralt collapsed onto the bed. The creaking wood-beams shifted in out of focus. The grains of the woods twisted and twirled themselves into vague shapes. If Jaskier was here then he’d make up a story about the images he saw in the shapes; chattering on until he dropped from exhaustion.

 It was annoying but endearing.

 Reminded him of Lambert when he was little. At least when he wasn’t sulking around Kear Morhen.

 Jaskier reminded him of the time before Kear Morhen churned him up and spat him out. They were kids, running around and pulling shit around training. Him and Eskel sneaking into the kitchens and stealing honey cakes. 

 Yen, she was a testament to power. She survived through the pain and became better. She made Geralt hope. Hope was a dangerous thing.

 No witcher dared to ever hope.

 Fuck.

 He was getting too much in his mind.

Geralt grunted and sat up; unclipping the harness of his swords and tossed them on the side of the bed. They landed with a painful clack. He then peeled off his armour, the thick heavy armour landed into a pile onto of the swords. He let out a relieved sigh when he pulled off his boots.

He may live in his armour but it was still nice to take them off at the end of the day.

The quiet ache in his chest knocked louder when the still room became even stiller. The muffled sounds of the tavern below him still reached him. That just made him feel even more lonely.

 Geralt sighed and closed his eyes.

 He’ll track down Jaskier tomorrow. If needed he’ll get on his knees and beg. Damn what his brothers would tease him for if they ever heard. Jaskier was more important.

 If they ever met they’d understand.

The Path be damned. Jaskier, his friendship, his warmth, that was all that mattered right now.

 Geralt didn’t care how long it took, he’d track him down and apologize.

 Even if it’s the last thing he’d do.

***

 The morning sun rose with a vengeance, beating down strongly on Geralt as he spurred his horse onward. It was already a hot day, and he was sweating his balls off under his thick leather armour. His head ached from the shitty ale that he drowned himself in last night. He wiped his eyes with a gloved hand and scanned the horizon, looking for anything to indicate Jaskier’s presence.

 His shoulders ached, arms scooping low in his frame. He was hunched over on Roach, trying not to sway as he tilted from side to side. He felt awful. He wasn’t sure how much of that was from the ale.

 Roach didn’t seem particularly happy either. Yesterday, when he finally made it back to her, she nipped at him. He didn’t remember the last time she nipped at him.

 He wasn’t sure if he was seeing things but he swore some sort of reproach in her eyes.

 Geralt was probably protecting his feelings onto her.

 He plodded along, Roach snuffling as she went.

 Trying to ignore the burn of the sun on his head, sweeping his eyes back and forth and nose twitching. He doubted that he’d run into Jaskier right away. He had to be patient, track him down. Geralt knew that if he’d rush trying to find Jaskier then he’d miss clues or prints that would lead him towards Jaskier.

 Geralt gritted his teeth as the leather squeaked against his skin. He hated summer. He’d never admit it but he missed winters. He was with his family. Getting drunk with his brothers, laughing at the dumb jokes that they, usually Lambert, told.

 The Path was hard and the Path was lonely.

 Hm.

 He didn’t like this train of thought.

 That was one good thing that Jaskier brought. His constant chatter and music filled up his mind. The music was fucking catchy. When Geralt was off travelling alone, he’d catch himself humming to one of Jaskier’s songs, thinking of the sunshine that was sorely lacking in his life.

 And during his winters, he listened to so many drunken renditions of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher, that Geralt just associated with his brothers, and Vesemir sitting off to the side with a pint of ale judging his two sons.

 Roach’s ears flickered back and she snuffled in nervousness. Geralt straightened up, all senses of fatigue gone. He listened to the quiet road, the birds chirping, wind rustling through the trees, the small animals burrowing under the forest floor.

 It was peaceful. That was what made Geralt nervous.

 Roach certainly felt like something was off, she looked like she was about to bolt. Long ago Geralt learnt to trust Roach before his instincts. She acted purely on instinct, she didn’t have any reason to lie.

 Geralt closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He opened his other senses, no longer relying on his eyesight alone.

 Then he smelt it.

 He always hated that the smell of human blood. Innocent human blood. It churned his stomach, knowing that he wasn’t able to come to the aid of the people which he was tasked with saving.

 Please don’t let it be Jaskier.

 Please.

 Geralt nudged Roach towards the edge of the path. She didn’t want to go at first but soon realized that Geralt wasn’t about to let this go. He needed to know if it was Jaskier.

 He needed to know if he’d failed his friend. His brave human friend who trusted Geralt with his life.

 It was his fault.

 Geralt dropped Roach’s reigns booked it into the forest, following his nose. The scent of blood getting stronger. Mingled with a mirage of different scents. The growing pit inside his stomach twisted and reared its ugly head.

 He could smell the ridiculous cologne that Jaskier insisted on wearing. It was faint, a couple of days old. Hopefully, he didn’t get caught up in whatever happened here. The scent of blood was overwhelming. It made bile rise up in his throat.

 Geralt slowed his run when he saw the blood. It pooled on the ground around his boots. He came to a full stop upon coming to a sprawling mass of limbs. He crouched and rolled the body onto its back.

 The first body didn’t seem very impressive. That was a bad way to speak about a dead body, but it was the truth. He died by a clean cut to the throat. Judging by the size of the wound, it was a dagger; perhaps thrown looking at the force of impact.

 So it was man vs man. Not something Geralt needed to get into. He left human affairs to humans. Witchers were neutral. Though not all schools followed this creed. The Cats were particularly known for this trait and their general lack of control over their emotions. Geralt tried to stay away from Cat school witchers for that reason. They had a loose grip on reality. They were also extremely unorthodox in their fighting, using weapons that witchers were not supposed to use. Lambert found it hilarious, always trying to copy the cats and the cranes. Though the nature of their school made them adapt their fighting style. Cats were usually just insane. 

 Geralt examined the body, trying to see if there was anything else to give away the identity of the killer. There was nothing.

 Hm.

 He stood up, brushing off of his hands on his trousers and continued investigating. The next body was off the main path.

 Geralt has never liked seeing dead bodies, his stomach twisted and revolted against him at the sight of the dead body. This one was no different.

 Geralt counted a deep slash on the back of the dead man’s body, breaking through bones and ripping through flesh like it was nothing. His neck was broken. Whoever did this was strong as well as a predator. With the bodies being spread out in this sense, whoever did this was capable of thinning out the herd in a way that made Geralt sick.

 He was a wolf, yes. But he faced his prey head-on. This person stalked and toyed with them like it was a game. It sickened him.

 He hunted monsters. What was the line between monsters and humans? Creatures acting on instinct and survival instinct and men deliberately hunting others.

 Geralt put the man down and noticed the third body. It was similar to the last victim. Out of the way, secluded from the rest of his peers with his throat cut. He drowned in a pool of his blood.

 Fuck.

 Geralt didn’t touch this body but returned to following Jaskier’s scent. It was faded and that worried Geralt.

 Whoever did this had no mercy. If they did this to the bandits, what would they do with his bard?

 The remaining bodies were a blood bath. They were grouped together, every inch of their bodies were covered in blood. Geralt counted slashes and gouges littering the body. The ground was going to be sainted with blood.

 They were slumped against trees and rocks. The last one was what made Geralt truly sick to his stomach. He was separated from the rest of his friends, marks showing that he tried to get away from his attacker.  Geralt saw the gash on the man’s upper thigh; but also the twisted neck.

 No mercy.

 What was worse was how the body was splayed. It looked like something was pulled off of him. His white shirt was bloodstained in certain spots but sections of the shirt was pristine. Like he had something blocking the blood.

 Something like armour.

 Did his killer really need to take a trophy?

 Made him sick.

 Geralt swallowed the bile rising into his throat. He forced himself to go further in, closer to where Jaskier’s scent was getting stronger.

 Geralt wasn’t religious but right now he sent a quick prayer to whatever god was out there that Jaskier was alive and okay.

 The campsite wasn’t gruesome. Which didn’t exactly settle Geralt’s nerves. At first glance, it didn’t look like anything. A small ring of stones was set up for a campfire. Ash was spread out around the ring of stones. Which was strange; a usual fire didn’t produce this much ash.

 Geralt’s eyes were trained on the ground, he crouched and stared at them, trying to make sense of what happened. He saw old tracks, heading towards the campsite, one man and horse. The man didn’t seem like much. Standard body shape, not a soldier, lithe, seeming a little scatterbrained as he shuffled around.

 Hm.

 Could be Jaskier.

 Fuck.

 While Geralt never paid attention to his tracks, it seemed like him. He would often stop and wander off and then snap back to the path. He was often a little absent-minded. It often amused Geralt in the past.

 His scent had faded around the entrance of the campsite. That worried Geralt. It just stopped. It didn’t leave, didn’t linger in one area. It just stopped.

 It was like someone opened a portal and pulled Jaskier through.

 Geralt continued on, seeing where the rider tied his horse. The grass had been grazed and a little puddle of water where it must have spilt over.

 Geralt moved over to the campfire, trying to find out an explanation for the strange ash.

 He crouched in front of the ring of stones and examined them. The stones were charred to the point where Geralt must conclude that there must have been a raging fire. A proper cooking fire was low in flame and more coals than flame. Whoever made this fire was trying to burn something.

 He poked around, brushing through the ash.

 His heart sank when he pulled out a strip of turquoise silk. The only person that Geralt knows who would unabashedly wear this flamboyant colour. Jaskier would never let his clothing be treated this way. He once whined at Geralt for an hour straight when he got monster ichor on one of his shirts.

 It wasn’t even one of his silk shirts. Just a plain cotton shirt save for some well-done embroidery.

 Geralt turned over the strip of silk in his hands, trying to stop himself from throwing up. What had happened with Jaskier? Was his friend’s blood on his hands?

 He turned back to the firepit and dug through the pile of ash. More strips of different colours and fabrics. All colours that Geralt’s defiantly seen on Jaskier. When he came back to Roach, Geralt had noted a few of Jaskier’s clothes were scattered around Roach. That had troubled Geralt, as Jaskier was extremely possessive of his material goods but he had brushed it off as Jaskier being in pain and in a rush. Geralt had collected the artifacts and planned on giving them back to Jaskier when they made up.

 Now, this troubled Geralt.

 Was someone forcing Jaskier? Was he fleeing from someone? Was it Geralt? Why was he burning his things? Why was he trying to burn his identity away?

 Geralt now more questions than answers.

 What the fuck was going on?

 When he stood up Geralt noticed a disturbance in the earth.

 No. No.

 The buried hole was too small for Jaskier to be buried. And if whoever did this hadn’t buried the other men, so why bury Jaskier?

 Geralt collapsed to his knees in front of disturbance in the earth. The earth was soft and had barely settled. Geralt ripped through the dirt, scraps flying as Geralt dug.

 Please, please, don’t let it be Jaskier.

 What Geralt found was worse.

 It was his lute. Smashed to pieces.

 Fuck.

 If there was one thing that Jaskier valued above his life was his lute. It was his baby. It was the first thing Jaskier looked for when he woke up after being knocked out. Geralt had started to look out for the fucking lute out of habit. It appeased Jaskier and made Geralt’s life easier when Jaskier was happy.

 Shit.

 What happened?

 This was all Geralt’s fault. He collapsed onto the ground in front of the lute. Streaks of burning water ran down his face and fell onto the lute he cradled in his arms.

 Geralt didn’t remember the last time he cried.

 Witcher’s didn’t cry.

 Jaskier was gone.

 Geralt cradled the lute to his chest. Perhaps there was some way that he could salvage it. For when he found Jaskier again. He’d like that. Geralt wasn’t good with words but he was good with actions. Doing these things meant he didn’t have to talk and cringe his way through emotions. 

 Lambert always fell behind on making potions; he was always focused on his bombs then potions. Whenever they ended up together, travelling or wintering, Gerald would always make extra for Lambert; tucking them away into his brother’s healing kit.

 Eskel, unlike his brother, was good at keeping his supplies in order. So whenever Geralt needed to go into markets and towns, he’d always pick up scented soaps that Eskel for some reason adored. His favourites were lavender, honey, and lemon.

 Geralt thought that if he fixed Jaskier’s lute, it might convey how he felt.

 Sure he could pick up some pretty trinket that Jaskier might like, but that wouldn’t be enough.

 Gingerly, Geralt picked himself up, lute stilled in his arms.

 His stomach flipped when he saw the splayed bodies of the bandits. He should burn them. It’ll stop the Necropaghes from nesting around here.

 Later.

 Geralt watched where he stepped on his way back, trying to avoid the bodies as well as roots and stones as he had precious cargo in his arms.

 He froze when he heard the crunch of something under his boot. It sounded metallic, not organic. Geralt took a step back and crouched to see what he had stepped on.

 He brushed away some pine needles and dead leaves and spotted something shiny,

 It was a ring. A silver band with a turquoise gem set in place.

 Jaskier’s ring.

 Jaskier’s ring which had a giant crack down the middle.

 Fuck.

 Jaskier was going to kill Geralt when he saw what Geralt did to his ring.

 He’s worn this ring for as long as Geralt on him. On his left ring finger. He never spoke of it but Geralt was always interested in it. In his younger years, Jaskier hardly wore any jewellery just the ring. As years went on. Jaskier’s taste in anything material became more bright and gaudy, but he kept wearing that ring.  A simple silver ring. Even Geralt knew that the ring clashes with all of his other jewellery.

 Part of Geralt wanted to know why.

 Was it a family ring?

 A gift from a long-lost lover?

 He was brought out of his musings when his medallion started humming. He looked down at the medallion and then back to the ring.

 Interesting.

 Now, why would Jaskier need a magic ring?

 Geralt wasn’t talented enough to know what sort of spell was placed on the ring, just knowledgeable to know that there was magic here.

 He sighed, wishing that Yennefer was here. She could figure it out in an instant.

 Perhaps it was some sort of glamour spell. Jaskier hasn’t aged a day since Geralt melt him. He still looked like a youthful man, fresh out of teenagehood. Geralt never understood why humans were so obsessed with looking young. Ageing was a sign of respect; that someone had lived despite the hardships that life threw at them. Old age means all too witchers. Only the best made it to where their temples turned silver.

 Jaskier seemed not to think of that. He seemed vain enough, obsessing with his skincare and lotions, that he’d go out and acquire a glamour for his ageing visage.

 Stupid really in Geralt’s mind.

 It didn’t really matter why Jaskier had gotten a glamour, at least not now. Geralt had to find Jaskier. The bard seemed to disappear without a trace.

***

 It was midday and the sun was high in the sky. The sun was burning on Geralt’s back. His long hair was sticking to the back of his neck.

 The cicadas in the distant fields buzzed all around Geralt, thriving under the burning sun.

 Geralt stood in front of a burning pyre, watching the bodies of the bandits slowly turned into ash. He felt the heat of the fire lick his skin. His heart heavy with the dread of knowing that whoever killed these men was still out at large and Jaskier was in trouble.

 However, Jaskier was involved, he was involved.

 Geralt’s had to deal with lots of Jaskier’s so-called ‘enemies’, usually cuckold husbands, sometimes wives but they were usually harmless. Well, harmless compared to some of the people which Geralt has met. Men and women who’d probably let the grudge go in a year or two.

 Whoever did this, Jaskier was in danger.

 If he was a target or an accomplice, he was still in danger. If someone did this to the bandits then Jaskier would be next. The killer would turn on him eventually and carve him up.

 Geralt had to find him before that happened. Protect him.

 Jaskier’s ring was clutched tightly in his hand, a reminder.

Geralt refused to believe that Jaskier wasn’t already one of his victims. He refused to believe that Jaskier was dead. Until Geralt saw a body, Jaskier was alive and he was going to find him.

Chapter Text

 Julian was not having a good time. The journey to Novigrad was an exhausting and painful trek. He didn’t have the supplies, his rings and other supplies didn’t bring as much coin as he wanted to. All of the coin he made was put towards food and ingredients for potions. He’s had little comfort for the whole trip.

 He was no stranger to camping out in the woods. He’s basically spent his whole life camping out in the wilderness. But at least he had a few nights in a tavern. This journey had him hiding in the woods, hunting rabbits and smaller prey and tearing into them with a frenzied hunger.

 The cloak of fear strangled him. He had little protection.

 He didn’t have his gear, his medallion, or Geralt.

 It was a painful couple of weeks.

 Pegasus even looked a little weathered. Poor thing. As soon as Julian got money, he’d splurge on treats and a roof over her head. She deserved it.

 The site of Novigrad’s city line on the horizon was a welcoming sight. Julian bowed his head, swaying in time with Pegasus’s steps. His shoulders ached with tiredness, limbs stiffened from nights where he tucked away in the forest, only getting snippets of rest.

 Just a bit longer.

 Julian rubbed his eyes, squinting at the approaching buildings, ignoring the people gawking at him. He knew he was a strange sight. A skeletal figure with dark circles and unkempt hair.

 Oh, how he longed for a bed and maybe a warm body beside him. He didn’t really want any action, he was too tired for that. He just wanted comfort. The kind of comfort only brought by human contact.

 The sounds of human clattering, those bustling around the city, people yelling their wares, sailors, filled Jaskier’s ears. He sighed smiled tiredly. That’s what he loved about being Jaskier, being around the people. Witchers were excluded from society; Jaskier was welcomed, accepted.

 Stop it! Julian scolded his wandering brain. Reminiscing about the past wasn’t going to help him. It was only going to hurt.

 Becoming Jaskier was a mistake. The brief moment of being happy wasn’t worth it. All it brought was a world of pain.

 And now Jaskier’s legacy was handing over him. Every tavern that he was going to go to, he risked the chance to hearing his songs. His work, his emotions, his pain.

 He needed to get somewhere where Jaskier’s legacy didn’t touch. Perhaps Toussaint, or the Nilfgaard Empire. Julian didn’t really like the Nilfgaards, he thought of them as pompous and self-righteous. Also, they were attempting to conquer the whole continent. But Witchers were neutral and despite their self-righteousness, they didn’t care much about Witchers.

 They didn’t hunt Witchers. The general animosity still lingered but most citizens of the empire just accepted them. Bonus points, Geralt wasn’t a fan of the Nilfgaards either. So Julian had little chance of running into him.

 But first, Julian needed to make it to Novigrad.

 Not far now. The sounds were getting larger and Julian was practically salivating at the smell of bread.

 Julian slowed Pegasus and got off of her. He didn’t want to stay in the city, as much as he adored the city and what holds inside of it, he always had trouble falling asleep with all of the noise around him. He decided to stay outside of the city.

 The innkeeper gave Julian a shrewd look at the idea of Julian leaving Pegasus in his stable but eventually relented.

 So Julian made the rest of the trek on foot. The day was bright and cheerful. Despite the weariness of his bones, Julian felt his world lifted a little. It was hard to be sour when Julian could hear children laughing, people chatting. It was so lively.

 Even though the city varied in its clientele, the lower rungs being prostitutes and poor folk, the harbour being filled with more prostitutes and sailors from all over the continent. Julian as Julian avoided the upper rings, the rich locals tended to turn up their noses to him; but as Jaskier, well let's just say there were a lot of spouses who wanted to castrate Jaskier.

 Julian liked the lower rings, he got on with the prostitutes and sailors better. They hid their disdain for Julian terribly and it was easy to avoid them. Polite society hid their venom in honied words.   

 Julian hummed a sea shanty that he learnt years ago while on a Skellige boat.

I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry. If the hard times don't kill me, I'll lay down and die

Rye whiskey, rye whiskey, rye whiskey I cry If you don't give me rye whiskey I surely will die.

 Spending that time on the boat, hearing the Skelligers sing in harmony while working, awakened something in Julian. Those days, seeing how in tune they were together made Julian wish that he could have something that.

 Jaskier’s best performances were the songs that the whole tavern joined it. It made his heart soar seeing how in unison they were. It’s why he always made it a priority to learn local songs and tales.

 It always lightened the mood when people perked up, especially now in times where war was looming on the horizon, how it was on the back of everyone’s minds.

 Julian stepped into Hierarch Square and spotted Vimme outside of his bank, chatting with a customer.

 Julian hung back, slipping into an alleyway, and waited. He knew that it would hurt Vimme’s business if he was spotted doing business with a Witcher so openly. Things were hard for non-humans and Julian didn’t want to make it harder for the poor man.

 Julian leaned against the cold brick wall and watched the square in front of him. He idly watched people rush from place to place, merchants trying to entice people to come to their booths.

 If being honest, Julian wasn’t surprised that something was going on in the square. It was one of the main squares of the city, and the temple guards were fond of giving extreme examples of what is acceptable to the people in the square.

 But it looked like a normal day.

 The man lingered at the front of the store for a tad longer than Julian wanted.

 When he finally left, Julian hoisted himself off of the wall and slipped over to Vimme.

 Vimme looked up when he heard the door open to his bank. Julian gave him a tired smile. “Hey, Vimme. Long time no see.” His voice was hoarse from the extreme travel conditions he’s endured.

 “Julian!”  Vimme’s face cracked into a bright smile. “What can I do for you, my friend?”

 “I need my things.”

 “Ah. Back on the road then?” Vimme was one of the few people who knew Julian’s secret and he’s kept it a well-buried one. He took off the ring now and then, just so other Cat school Witchers knew that Julian was still alive.

 Julian didn’t really consider Vimme a friend, but more of an ally, a close one. Vimme’s done a lot for Julian over the years; more than he’s really needed to in repayment.

 They had a mutual understanding that if one needed help then the other would help. Julian’s done a few small things over the years and vice versa.

 “Yeah. It’s time to get back onto the Path permanently. Thank you for all you’ve done over the years Vimme, it means a lot.” Julian gave him a little nod of respect.

 “Well us folk gotta help each other, we not getting any other sort of help.” Vimme turned and unlocked his vault.

 He wasn’t wrong about that. Most non-humans treated Witchers better. Julian liked taking contracts from them; they tended to give a little extra. Usually in the form of food or alcohol. They were cheerful in their interactions; unlike humans who didn’t like looking in his eyes.

 Especially for Julian. It was unnerving enough to look into two amber eyes but seeing one amber eye and one steel grey gave them an uncomfortable reminder. That they, humans, were the reason for Witchers. Humans gave their young up because they were too cheap to give Witchers coin for their services.

 Humans willingly gave up their children, damn well knowing that their children went through terrible, torturous mutations. They hated to be reminded of that fact.

 “Here you go, lad.” Vimme returned with Julian’s things. Most of his things were stored in an old leather saddlebag that he stole from Aiden the last time Julian saw him. Julian’s eyes softened when he saw his swords.

 Oh, how he’s missed them. Julian couldn’t wait to get his hands back on them.

 “Do you want the rest of what’s in your deposit box?” Vimme asked.

 “The rest?” Julian questioned. He couldn’t remember what he put in there.

 “Coin that you’ve stashed over the years. Some from your patrons.” Julian felt the back of his neck go red from the look that Vimme gave him. He was a bit more of a reserved man, unlike Jaskier and turned his nose up to Jaskier’s slandering ways.

 “Yeah, I’m going to need it, get back on my feet and shit.” Julian slung the saddlebag over his shoulder and grabbed onto his sheathed swords. The smell of leather and sword-oil filled Julian’s senses. He gripped onto the pommel of his steel sword and it fit perfectly.

“If you need a private room just ask.” Vimme reappeared, sporting an unamused look.

 “Sorry. It’s just been a while.” Julian felt his face flush. How did this man get under his skin like this?

 “Mhm. Here’s your coin.”

 “Thanks, Vimme.” Julian shoved his coin purse into his inner pocket. “I’ll see you later.” He waved goodbye to his long-time ally.

 He reached for the doorknob when he heard Vimme cleared his throat. Julian looked over his shoulder to him with an eyebrow arched.

 “If you’re looking for work, a friend of mine has hired a crew to bring his merchandise back to Mount Carbon. It is a long treacherous journey…”

 “Vimme,” Julian didn’t want to sound annoyed, after all the man seemed to want to help Julian. “You know that Witchers aren’t hired swords. We have a creed.”

 Julian stuck that creed more than any witcher. Cats had the reputation of accepting contracts on anyone. Anyone and everything. Julian stuck to the creed to try to combat the reputation.

 “I know that.” Vimme waved a hand dismissively. “I am saying that if you are planning to head that way, the commander of the group would object to the company. And if you encounter anything on the way, you will be heavily compensated. All food will be taken care of.”

 That…that sounded tempting.

 Guaranteed food, compensation, and dwarven company which meant good dwarven alcohol. The money would go to his potion funds.

 “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Vimme.” 

 Vimme nodded. “They meet at the Oxenfurt Gate two days from now at dawn, if you so choose.”

 “Right. Thanks again.” Julian gave Vimme an actual smile before opening the door and stepping out onto Hierarch Square.

***

 Julian sat on the edge of his bed in the inn he was staying at; staring at the sheathed blade. His medallion hung heavy around his neck, a reminder of the heavy burden pressed on his shoulders. Julian couldn’t remember how long he lived on the Path, his body ached from the memories of past foes.

 He unsheathed his blade, the silver gleaming in the dim torchlight.

 Moonblade.

 He had gained the sword after dispatching a patch of wyverns in a duchy in Kaedwen. Nowadays Julian didn't like going to Kaedwen, the wolves held the territory fiercely and he wasn’t about to deal with that.

 Moonblade was a sword made for a witcher. Olach of Ban Gleán to be exact. The sword had been made for him by the people of Eilander and anointed the priestess of Lilvani, a moon goddess.

 It was a powerful blade and Julian sorely missed it.

 His steel sword was crafted from his school’s own design. A round medallion pommel with a small cat design reminiscent of his own medallion, a long slender hilt and crossguard. The blade was ribbed near the tip of the sword and elvish runes were inscribed on the centre ridge.

 They were beautiful and well kept despite their situation.

 Julian stood up and took his silver sword in one hand. He twirled the sword around in one hand, feeling the familiar weight in one hand, as he picked up speed, he twisted his wrist in and twirled the swords in more elaborate swirls.

 He grinned as he slowed his pace.

 Still got it.

 He gripped the sword with both hands and went through some of his basic forms, getting a feel for the weight once again.

 Julian tried to ignore how quickly he started panting.

 He sheathed his blade and placed it next to the steel sword. He ran a hand through his hair. At this point, he’s stopped taking care of his hair and it started growing out. It was at an awkward length that Julian couldn’t pull back yet.

 He started pacing his room, frowning to himself.

 He had a day or so, maybe he should look for a contract. Something small that he could do to get more coin.

 Julian sighed and collapsed onto his bed. No. He’s fine. He’ll take the ‘job’, the only reason why was that Mount Carbon was on the way to Toussaint. Julian just really hated quiet time. Quiet time felt wrong like something bad was going to happen.

 He sat up and went to the wall across from the bed and sat down. Crossed-legged and hands gently placed his hands in his lap. He took in a deep breath, feeling his breath rattle deep in his chest and closed his eyes.

 He needed to shake Jaskier’s bad habits. Patience was a virtue and Julian needed to remember that. 

 It was time to meditate.

***

 One thing that Julian never mastered was the art of getting up at dawn. When he was travelling with Geralt, the man literally had to haul up Julian up to get him to wake up. Yet somehow, here Julian was, slowly making his way towards Oxenfurt Gate, Pegasus in tow.

 She wasn’t too pleased with having to move out of her warm shelter at the sight of dawn. She gave him a nip in annoyance as he saddled her up, but she eventually let him continue.

 “Oi, look what the cat dragged in!” Came a cheerful dwarven voice.

 Julian looked up and found a small group of dwarves armed to the teeth with weapons, surrounding a few wagons filled to the brim with boxes and barrels.

 It was amusing, their choice of words. They had no idea how true it was. Julian was a cat. His slightly sharper than average teeth were a sign of that. The dwarves flinched slightly at Julian’s bared teeth in amusement.

 “That’s me. The cat.” Julian rolled to a stop, rolling his shoulders back as he was still getting used to the weight on his shoulders. It’s been a while since he’s had swords strapped to his back.

 The leader of the dwarves didn’t look too amused with Julian. He stood on the back of a wagon with his arms crossed. “Yer late.”

 Julian looked up to where the sun was slowly rising and then back to the leader. “Dawn’s not fully here. I wasn’t given a specific time. I’d say I’m on time.”

 The leader rolled his eyes and jumped off of the wagon. Julian defiantly heard him mutter an insult but he was just too tired and slightly amused to bite back. “I’m Zhadhar and these are my men. Zoltan, Karlerd, Derclar, Innind, Resca, Kromna, and Mienras.”

 “Greetings. I’m Julian.” Julian tiredly waved to the crew.

 “Ye don’t look like much of a threat. Skinny little thing.” The one, Karlerd, looked Julian up and down.

 “Well fuck you too.” Julian rose an eyebrow. He was too god damned tired to deal with this.

 One of the men, Zoltan let out a belch of laughter while Karlerd looked mildly offended at Julian’s insult. The rest of the crew seemed to relax a little more around Julian. “I like this one. Come you, can ride with me lad.” Zoltan waved Julian over to his wagon.

 Julian liked this one. He happily led Pegasus over to Zoltan.

 “Ah, don’t mind them. First time seeing the likes of you. Give them a day or two.” Zoltan gave Julian a little shrug.

 “And you’re not?” Julian asked. He was genuinely curious. There were not a lot of humans or non-humans who weren’t nervous when they first met a witcher.

 Zoltan paused in rearranging his wagon and shrugged again as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Nah. See I know you lot just do your job. No merciless killings for the sake of it. You get yer coin and walk off. Yer just weird from all the time spent alone.”

 Julian barked in laughter, throwing his head back. “You’re not wrong. Though I do think some of my weirdness comes from being a cat.”

 Still chortling, Julian clicked his heels into Pegasus’s side to start her going. She tiredly started plodding alongside Zoltan’s cart. Resca, who joined Zoltan on his cart, twisted around to look at Julian with a mild form of fear in his eyes.

 Julian felt a little bad for the man, Julian wasn’t making much of an example of himself to prove that witches weren’t insane and out for blood.

 Resca looked young. At least younger in comparison to Zoltan. He spouted a dark brown beard and a mohawk like Zoltan but Julian didn’t see any worry lines or crows feet lining his face like his partner.

 Zoltan was an older-looking dwarf. His nicely trimmed beard and mohawk were a rusty red and had a dusting of freckles across his face. Laughter lines lined his face.

 He looked like a friendly sort of man. The type of person that both Julian and Jaskier wanted to spend time with.

 Zoltan didn’t get to question Julian’s response for a bit as they had started their journey. There was a burst of noise, carts creaking to life and horses snorting and stomping. Julian didn’t mean to flinch at the burst of noise but he was still adapting to his heightened senses.

 His journey to Novigrad was very secluded. Julian avoided people and the main roads, opting to take the seldom-used paths to avoid more bandits. He wasn’t used to the noise. The noises of the forest, animals rustling in the underbrush and birds chirping became background noises. It was constant noise that he just got used to it.

 Zoltan was silent until the city of the Novigrad was just a blip in the distance. He twisted over to Julian and examined Julian’s face. “Whatdda mean ‘a cat’?” Resca perked up at the question as well.

 Julian plucked his medallion out from under his stiff slightly buttoned gambeson. It was buttoned at the top with leather straps and silver buckles. The gambeson was a dark blue with white sticking and horizontal stripes of chainmail lining the whole gambeson.

 “Each Witcher belongs to a school. Depending on what school, the mutations we receive and combat styles differ. The mages who made us cats liked to play fast and loose with our mutations. It’s caused some of us to lose our minds. Others just become strange.”

 Such as Aiden’s desire to always try to find the high ground no matter what the situation it was. Julian watched Aiden climb to the rafters of the hall that they were staying in and promptly fall asleep. Julian also remembers Aiden rolling over in his sleep and falling off, just barely catching the beam.

 Julian laughed his ass off at his brother, watching as Aiden struggled to get back up all while cursing Julian like there was no tomorrow.

 “Is that’s why yer eyes are fucked?” Resca asked.

 Well, at least he had a better reaction than most humans.

 “Resca!” Zoltan scolded. Resca went red and muttered an apology. “Sorry ‘bout that Witcher. He’s a young’un; still learning his manners.”

 “It’s fine.” Julian waved them off. “Yes. It’s why my eyes are fucked. The mutations went wrong. To this day still got no idea why. Neither do the elders. Happens from time to time.”

 That seemed to satisfy Resca.

 He nodded to himself and stared out to the wilderness in front of them.

 Julian smiled tiredly to himself at the intrigue of young people. They didn’t have the same filter as adults.

***

 They had settled down for the night, the wagons tucked away into the forest, away from the road. Everyone was silent as they waited for dinner. Despite being on the road for the past couple of weeks, Julian was sore from the constant riding over the past couple of days; he doubted that the dwarves didn’t feel any different. They were all stooped low, waiting for dinner to be cooked.

 Even Resca, the most energetic out of all of them looked defeated.

 The dwarves and Julian leaned against the wagons, situated in a semi-circle around the crackling fire. The warmth of the fire made Julian feel sleepy.

 Julian slouched down in his spot and pulled out his journal.

 Thank fuck that no one looked through his journals. Over the past twenty years, they were filled with poems, songs, gossip, and the usual monster and contract information.

 Julian decided that he should document his decision to leave the Path, what he did, and his reasoning to come back to the Path. When he died and someone ever found his journals, he wanted to be remembered. Maybe some poet in the future will stumble upon his sad tragic tale and make a song bout him. He won’t be forgotten.

 That’s what scared him. To be forgotten; be one of those faceless victims of the past.

 “What are you doing?” Resca asked.

 “Writing in my journal. All witchers do it.” Julian didn’t bother looking up.

 “Why?”

 Zoltan snorted in amusement at Resca’s questions. Resca has been asking Julian questions about witchers incessantly over the past couple of days.

 “Well in the past, witchers did it to help new witchers learn about the beasts they faced. It’s a way for us to learn from the past. Now? It’s just a habit for us at this point.”

 That wasn’t the complete truth. While most people, and witchers alike believed that no more new witchers were being produced, the cats believed otherwise. Because of their nomadic nature, the fate of the cats was unknown.

 Julian knew that some of his old masters camped together, at an abandoned castled in Etolia, near Stygga castle. Old habits die hard. The recipe for their mutations wasn’t lost. The mages who administer the mutations were still alive.

 There was a chance the cats could back.

 But Julian didn’t know. He stayed far away from the rest of the cats. Aiden followed a similar philosophy.

 There was a chance that a future witcher found his journals once Julian was long gone and decide that he didn’t have to follow the path that was set out for them.

 “Oh cool! Is there a central library or something?”

 Julian paused, not sure what to tell him. It was common knowledge that witchers had their own keeps. Julian was worried that he’d tell Resca more information that might hurt his brothers. He closed his books and sat up.

 “Each school does something different. It depends.”

 “Like Kaer Morhen?” Zhadhar asked. Julian realized he had the apt attention of the whole group.

 “Yeah. That’s the wolf's home. Got sacked awhile ago.” Julian mumbled the last part.

 “So what did the cats do?” Innind asked.

 “Grew up in a caravan. My faction was nomadic. We trained wherever we could. Was supposed to prepare us for the life on the Path.” Then the caravan was gone. Julian wasn’t apart of it. It mostly older witchers and trainees. He had been on the Path at the time.

 The dwarves seemed to sense that Julian didn’t want to discuss this further.

***

 It took longer than Julian expected for the question to arise. They were a week and a half into the journey and Julian was in the midst of having a discussion with Innind about the bullwhip he was making. Julian always enjoyed learning new crafts, seeing the delight in people’s eyes when they spoke about their work.

 They had gotten onto the topic of weapons, then onto the topic of witcher weapons. Why witchers only used swords. The reason? Tradition. Julian spat on tradition. He liked fighting with a dagger and sword; it gave him the edge he needed against enemies. They expected one blade but got two.

 Resca had chimed in once he heard the topic of witchers arise.

 “Why’s the white wolf…well, the white wolf?”

 Julian was wondering when the topic of Geralt would come up.

 “Because he’s a stubborn idiot who never walks away from anything.” The words left before Julian realized he said them.

 A little ways back Zoltan howled in laughter. Julian shared a wry smile with Innind. Resca didn’t look satisfied with that answer.

 Julian sighed, once again scrambling to find an answer that didn’t betray too much.

 “Well probably because of his hair. That doesn’t happen to all of us. Plus he had the fortune of having a persistent shadow off singing his praises.”

 “What do you mean his hair?” Resca asked.

 “It’s a mutation. Side effect of the trails. He was born with red hair, turned white after everything.” Julian waved his hand in front of his face.

 “Hun.” Resca had a faraway look in his eyes.

 "You ever meet that bard?” Zoltan asked. “Saw him in action once. Swore he was using some sort of magic to captivate the crowd. No way that he could do it with just his voice. I swear he's in love with the wolf from the way that he sings.”

 Julian tilted his head so no-one saw the small smile play on his lips. “Nah. Shame. Bet I could have convinced him to follow me instead of the wolf.” He bared his teeth in a false display of bravado. Instead, deep down, he wanted to cry.

 These objectively unknowns knew how Jaskier felt about Geralt but the man himself couldn’t see it. Destiny loved to fuck with Julian.

 ***

 Julian examined the little figurine in his hands. Zoltan had taken it upon him to teach Julian the art of woodcarving after seeing Julian’s interest in the group's different crafting abilities. He showed Julian the little figurine of a pig that he planned to give to his baby nephew once they reached Mount Carbon. Julian absolutely loved it.

 He’d left music behind, it being too strange for a witcher to take an interest in playing the music. But wood carving? Wouldn’t be too out of question.

 His first carving was a very poor-looking cat.

 He absolutely loved it.

 Julian tucked the cat into his saddlebag and accepted the bottle of dwarven spirit from Zoltan; settling down into an evening of listening to the dwarves tell ludicrous tales from their past.

***

 It’s been two weeks and there hasn’t been a monster sighting yet. Somehow Julian didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps he wasn’t truly cut out for the Path as he thought. The guilt he cared those long years on the road with Geralt lessened slightly.

 That thought didn’t distress him like he thought it would.

***

 Julian stooped low and rooting through the bush next to the road.

 “What ya doing?” Zoltan asked. Julian looked over and saw all of the dwarves looking at him.

 Julian sniffled and yanked at a few blowball flowers. “Picking flowers.” He trapped a few steps in and poked through the bush, hoping the find more.

 “Why?” Resca asked.

 “Potion ingredients. I am criminally low on potions; to the point where my elders would be even more disappointed in me and there are plenty of free ingredients here. So why buy them from an herbalist where I can hunt them down here.” Julian waved a hand dramatically as he went hunting for more.

 He didn’t even have the basics. Like, Swallow or white honey. Even Cat! The potion was named after his school.

 Aiden would be so disappointed.

 Zoltan hummed, in a way eerily similar to Geralt’s.

 Julian’s stomach revolted against him. He closed his eyes and shook off the pain. No more Geralt. He was in the past. Julian was looking to the future.

***

 It was late at night, Julian was preparing himself to let him fall asleep when he heard Zhadhar get up and move to where Zoltan was keeping watch. Julian held himself tightly with his back turned to the pair but his ears open.

 “I think we may have a problem.” Zhadhar’s voice was low, an attempt to hide it from the rest of the party.

 Now Julian was intrigued.

 What could be so bad that Zhadhar didn’t want to divulge to the rest of the group?

 “What is it?” Zoltan’s voice matched the pitch of Zhadhar’s.

 "The witcher. I recognize him now. Took me a while, since nor a soul has seen him in twenty-odd years.”

 “Who’s he?”

 “Mad Julian of Redania. Bad enough he’s a cat, but that cat.”

 Julian’s heart sank. He’s had a lot of names in the past, depending on what region he travelled to. Unlike Geralt, he never had one sordid nickname follow him but several smaller ones that faded from time. He hid deliberately whenever one of those names arose.

 “Mad Julian? What a fucking load of rubbish.” Zoltan snorted. Julian heard the little nick of metal against wood. “Ya really believe that? You’ve seen how humans treat witchers. Inflating shit that they caused.”

 The palms of his hands stung as he tried to uncurl his tightly wound fist.

 He was sick of crying and feeling bad for himself. This was all Jaskier’s fault. For twenty years Jaskier wore his emotions brilliantly on his sleeves. Jaskier wasn’t scared of feeling anything other than neutral blank. Jaskier screamed and cried, occasionally breaking things if he was really in the mood.

 Julian couldn’t afford to do that.

 “I ain’t fucking with you Zoltan.”

 “Yeah? What’d you think he did?”

 It was a vampire nest. A higher vampire had hypnotized a town, at least the majority of the town, and when Julian went in to investigate, a massacre happened. The higher vampire didn’t want to be caught and tried to leverage the people.

 Julian failed them and the whole town was ripped to shreds by their friends and neighbours.

 That was one of the few times that Julian went blind with rage. He hacked the vampire group to pieces, ripping the higher vampire to shreds.

 Julian had been identified because someone near the town remembered his two eyes.

 “Heard he massacred a town. Some of the bodies weren’t even together.” Zhadhar’s voice was hushed.

 “I say bullshit. Where’s the proof. Did folks walk in on him killing those folks?” Julian’s heart hurt from Zoltan’s defiant protection of him.

 Zhadhar was silent. His breath coming out in soft puffs as he thought. “Actually no. No one in the town survived. Only known to be him since some farmer saw him walking by.”

 “Sounds like fucking humans. Blaming the non-human because they can’t fucking cope with one of their precious beings slaughtered an entire town.” 

 Julian wheezed out his relief. He wasn’t in any immediate danger but he needed to keep his eyes open. He’d been deluded to believe that they were his friends. He needed to leave as soon as possible.

***

 They were washing up alongside the banks of a river when they came upon their first monster. A nest of drowners. Julian was out of the water, lunging towards Moonblade before the dwarves even realized that there was a problem.

 He cut down two drowners before the drowners registered the threat.

 Julian yanked out his silver dagger, flipping it backwards and advanced slowly towards the thicket of drowners.

 Drowners weren’t much of a threat. They were dumb animalistic monsters; lashing out at the first breathing creature that they saw. There was no cohesive standard of attack. The major threat of drowners was that they travelled in packs. Quantity over quality in this case.

 Julian slashed at the drowner closest to him, ichor spouting out of the drowner as it stumbled backward hissing. He ran his sword through the drowner, pivoting to face the next one.

 The drowner hissed, trying to slash at Julian but he easily ducked the claw and he stabbed the drowner. He brought up his dagger vertically and pointed his sword at the nest, creating a sort of pommel with the dagger.

 He snarled and lunged at the drowners, dragging down the dagger across the drowner’s neck, rolling through the next two and slashing them with his sword.

 He lunged towards his next victim, getting so close that the drowner couldn’t use their claws on him. He cut it down.

 Julian jabbed his dagger behind him, wincing at the shriek of the drowner in his ears.

 Fuck, that was loud.

 He dropped the dagger and lunged at the drowner in front of him with both hands on his sword. Ichor sprayed everywhere as Julian yanked out Moonblade and slashed at the remaining few drowners.

 Suddenly the world was weightless and a second later he felt the slam of the sandy ground grate against his bare shoulder.

 The smell of putrid, rotting flesh filled his senses as the drowner on top of him slashed at him. Julian gritted his teeth and tried to push it off of him.

 Melitele’s tits this thing was strong.

 Its clawed, webbed hand tried to slash at Julian’s face.

 Then Julian did the stupidest thing he ever thought to do, which was saying something as he’s done a lot of stupid things, and bit the drowner’s hand. The rotten bitter taste of monster ichor filled his mouth.

 The thing screeched in pain, lessening its attempt to slash at Julian and he was able to knee the drowner in the stomach and push it off of him.

 He didn’t waste a second and went diving for his sword.

 When he rolled around, sword in hand, he saw a great axe sticking out of the drowner’s stomach.

 “What?” Zoltan demanded. “You think we’re gunna sit ‘round and let you have all the fun?”

 Julian grinned and Zoltan flinched back.

 Whoops. Julian forgot for a second that his teeth must be stained back with ichor. He looked around and saw that his small party had finished off the rest of the drowners.

 He yanked his danger out of the dead drowner, tossing them next to his things, and uncorked a bottle of dwarven spirit. The strong bitter alcohol washed away the taste of the monster ichor as Julian tipped back the bottle and chugged it.

 He shuttered when he finished the bottle and grimaced.

 That was not pleasant.

 “You alright lad?” Zoltan asked.

 “Peachy,” Julian croaked. He reached for his water skin and started chugging that too.

 “The ichor didn’t do anything bad, did it?” Innind asked. He looked a little queasy at the thought of consuming monster ichor.

 “Had worse inside of me.” Julian finished off his water skin and grabbed his dagger once again. “This is going to be messy. You guys might not want to look.”

 He hated collecting drowner brains and tongues. But unfortunately, they were essential ingredients.

 “Potions?” Resca asked, eyes gleaming with interest.

 “Yeah. Potions.” Julian rolled back his bruised shoulder as he pulled out his silver dagger, about going to work.

Chapter Text

 There are sometimes days where Julian just knows where it's going to turn out to be absolute shit. Waking up to rain, bandits, or the odd, disconcerting looking spider in his boots; or the time he woke up to a baby wyvern going through his food supplies. 

 One look at the baby wyvern made Julian run for the hills. The mama would be right on his heels. 

 Then, there are the mornings where nothing seems amiss. Pretty golden sun filtering through the trees, the soft wind rustling through the trees, making a symphony of leaves sing. Sometimes Julian expected a songbird to come down to sing alongside Julian. 

 Then everything goes to shit. 

 That’s how Julian’s morning started. He woke up to the smell of coffee and then managed to nail the target with the bullwhip that Innind was letting him borrow. 

 Julian studied the bullwhip in his hands; this could be handy in the future. Innind demonstrated to Julian a more advanced move, one where he wrapped the whip around a weapon and yanked it. 

 That’d make contracts with harpies and other winged creatures so much easier. He could pull them to him, even the fight. 

 Julian was on the way back to where Pegasus was, mind filled with plans to oil his swords and armour. His hard leather breastplate was looking a little worse for wear and needing a bit of love. It didn’t seem like his party was in any rush to get moving any time soon. 

 If he had some extra time he should do with his greaves. They weren’t made of leather-like his breastplate but steel. 

Unlike most styles, Julian’s greaves reached his knees, they were made of thick steel that protected his shins as well. They ended up in his boots for extra protection. He’s had plenty of fights where his knees and shins were the casualties. 

 Aiden, the little bastard, liked going for them during their sparing. As revenge, Julian usually hit the soft spot under his ribs where Aiden hated getting hit. 

 He was halfway to Pegasus when he heard the scream. 

 Young. Female. 

 Then the roar of a beast. 

 Shit. 

 Julian didn’t stop to scrounge up a strategy with the dwarves; he took off towards the scream. He could hear the dwarves groggily get up and reach their weapons. 

 There was no time for him to wait. 

 If that beast was what Julian thought it was, then there was a small chance that the poor girl would make it out alive. 

 He crashed through the trees, branches whipping against his body, face, hands, thighs. The sound of crackling, snapping branches under his heavy boots. The screaming was getting quieter and the roaring louder. 

 Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

 He was going to be too late. 

 Julian wheezed, his throat feeling like it was being ripped to pieces. He coughed painfully but kept pushing himself. He needed to save her. 

 His knees ached and his thighs burned. 

 He burst into a clearing and the sight in front of him was worse than he thought. Armoured men littered the clearing, the remnants of a camping site lay in tatters. To his left he saw a middle-aged woman, her dark hair fanning out against the green of the grass, her mauve dress ripped to shreds. She looked too pale. 

 In front of him, screeching to high heaven was a fucking archgriffin. At its claws a small figure in pale blue lay. Her strawberry blond hair shone in the early morning sunshine. 

 She looked terrible. 

 The griffin’s claws were too close to her for Julian’s comfort. 

 Fuck. 

 Julian took off through the clearing and tackled her to the ground; the griffin’s claws raking through his back. His armour took the brunt of it but a shock of pain ran up the back of his neck and a second later he felt something warm run down his back. 

 He needed to get the griffin away from the girl, so she had a chance to make it from the trees. Hopefully, the dwarves would find her; keep her safe. 

 Julian twisted around and drew the sign for aard. He felt a rush of power surge through him, like the winds of a storm hitting him atop a cliff. 

 The griffin squawked as the force of the sign and flew back. 

 “Go. Run!” Julian got off of the girl and pushed her towards the woods. She didn’t need another warning. She took off, skirts flying in the wind. 

 Julian grunted and stood up on shaky legs. 

 In one hand, he still gripped the whip and the other pulled out his silver sword. He stood facing the griffin and fear licked at the back of his neck. He hasn’t fought anything scarier than the nest of drowners and now he was facing a fucking archgriffin. 

 Peachy. 

 The griffin screeched, staring at Julian with hate filling his eyes. 

 This wasn’t going to end well. 

 He lunged just in time as the griffin swooped down with its claws out. Julian rolled to his side and lashed out with the whip, the tip just barely hitting the griffin’s claw. Unfortunately, he wasn’t proficient enough with the whip so when he tried to yank the griffin back, the whip came uncurled and it snapped back. The tip nicking his cheekbone. 

 A shock of stinging pain snapped against him. 

 Fuck. 

 Julian snarling, tossed the whip to the side, as it was more of a liability to him, and yanked out his dagger. The griffin clattered to the group, spinning to face Julian.

 They were at a stalemate. Neither of them seemed to want to lunge first, knowing that this fight was going to end in a world of pain.

 He slowly inched towards the griffin, slowly placing one foot over another. The griffin watched Julian approach, shuffling over to the side. 

 Both of their heads snapped to the side when they heard crashing to the side of them. The party of dwarves came stumbling into the clearing. 

 Shit. 

 Out of the corner of his eye, Julian saw the griffin rile up, its feathers poofing out in anger. It wasn’t staring at Julian anymore. It seemed like it decided that the party of dwarves was more of a threat than Julian. 

 Julian saw the griffin tense, ready to attack. 

 As soon as Julian saw the griffin move, he took off. He jumped and pivoted, slamming his dagger into the side of the griffin. It wailed in pain and swatted him off of it, sending Julian flying towards a tree. He barely had the chance to cast quen before slamming into the thick bark. 

 Ow. 

 “Move!” Julian gestured for the dwarves to get the hell out of there. 

 He would not be able to fight the griffin if he had to keep an eye out for the dwarves. 

 Damn. 

 Was this how Geralt felt towards Julian? No wonder he was always so grumpy. 

 “Find the girl. I’ll deal with this.” Julian wildly gestured to the griffin, yelling over the griffin’s squawk. He forced out the sign for axii. The griffin stumbled back and then took off, back into the sky. The griffin circled the meadow, squaring in anger. 

 It better come back down, it had Julian’s favourite dagger. A dainty-looking thing with gold etchings. He nicked it from a former lover who was clearly not giving it the love it needed.  

 He was going to have to rely on his signs to confuse the griffin and take it by surprise. 

 Thankfully Zoltan and Karlerd registered what Julian was pleading for them to do and pulled the party out of sight and into the woods. He could hear the dwarves spreading out in the forest looking for the girl. 

 He let out a sigh of relief. He knew that he didn’t have to worry about her wellbeing, the dwarves would find her. Two issues that Julian didn’t have to worry about. 

 The griffin dived towards Julian; he stayed steadfast until the last second, his sword slicing towards the wing. He needed to cripple the griffin, prevent it from taking off again. 

 His sword made a slick grinding noise when it sliced through tendon and bone. 

 The griffin roared in pain, making Julian’s knees wobble. Julian yanked out the sword and dived out of the way before the griffin made an attempt to get at him. 

Julian skittered to the side, trying to jab at the other wing. 

 The griffin swatted at him like Julian was an annoying gnat buzzing in his ears. Each time the griffin missed Julian, the more enraged it became. Stopping over the ground, making the earth shake. 

 Julian weaved through the mass of feathers, striking where he could. Unfortunately, he didn’t get many hits in. 

 He stumbled back, his chest feeling like something was standing on it, constricting his breathing. It came out in strained breaths which sounded more like wheezes. 

 Julian coughed as he tried to breathe out. 

 He didn’t make it out in time when the griffin charged at him. He tried to make quen but the sign was rushed and weak. 

 He gasped in pain as the clawed foot slammed into his chest. 

 Fucking shit. 

 The griffin squawked in pleasure when it realized that it captured its prey. Julian squirmed, trying to get himself loose. He couldn’t cast anything, his hands were trapped by his side. 

 Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

 This was going to be the end of Julian the witcher. Dead from an archgriffin. At least it wasn’t as embarrassing as being killed by a pack of wolves. 

 When the griffin raised its foot, Julian seized his chance and sent out a quick axii sign. The griffin screamed in confusion. 

 Julian scrambled to his feet, grabbing Moonblade and slamming it into the chest of the griffin. 

 It let out a final guttural scream, seemingly a little pitiful towards the end, and collapsed on top of him. He cried out in pain as his chest was crushed under the weight of the dead body paralyzed him. And just as he thought things couldn’t get worse, he heard bones snap. 

 Fuck. 

 Julian sighed, dropping his head against the ground. This was an absolute shit hovel of a day. He allowed himself a moment to lie there, trying to ignore the crushing weight on top of him, panting. 

 He gulped in the air like he was a man dying from thirst finding water again. 

 Alright, time to go. 

 Julian wriggled out a little and when he had his arms free, he rolled the griffin off of him. 

 He pulled himself to a sitting position, leaning on Moonblade. He leaned his forehead against the cold pommel of his sword and closed his eyes. He still couldn’t breathe properly. Anytime he tried to inhale or exhale, it felt like something was stabbing him. 

 Probably because something was. His ribs. 

 He groaned and slowly pulled himself to his feet and stumbled over to the head of the dying griffin. He collapsed to his knees in front of the beady eye, staring up at him. 

 Julian sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair and then promptly collapsed to his knees. 

 “I’m sorry.” His voice croaked out. He took the head of the griffin and placed it on his lap. “You don’t know any better. They must have encroached on your home. This shouldn’t have happened.” 

 The griffin croaked out in pain. Its eyes were slowly opening and closing. Julian could feel its life force slipping away. It didn’t try to fight Julian. 

 Julian wheezed and smoothed back its feathers. 

 “Go on. I hope you live better in your next life.” The griffin silently croaked. Julian felt the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

 Such a magnificent creature shouldn’t have to die like this. 

 Julian took in a deep breath, ignoring the pain and started to sing. It was an old elvish song, so old the meaning was lost. The Aen Seidhe sang it during the passing of a great warrior. Praise to the warrior’s life and hopes for its great future. 

 The Aen Seidhe that Julian travelled with in his younger years taught him the song. It was not a happy memory that Julian liked to look back upon. It was a bloody massacre. Aen Seidhe lay dead and in the distance, Julian could hear the humans cowing in their victory. 

 Julian’s song came to an end as the griffin’s eye closed. Julian pressed his mouth into a thin line and bowed his forehead against the griffin’s. “Be at peace brother.” 

 It seemed to shudder as its last breath left it. 

 With great pain, Julian forced himself up, cleaning his blood-covered sword on the leg of his pants then sheathed it. He then reached for his dagger, copying the same actions. 

 “You alright?” Zoltan asked, appearing at his elbow. 

 Julian gazed sadly at the griffin. Anger bubbling in his stomach. He hated senseless killing. “Fuck humans. All they do is ruin the world around them. The griffin didn’t know any better. It was just protecting its home.” 

 “Ah.” Zoltan put a hand on Julian’s lower back. “I’m sorry.” 

 Julian shook his head, swallowing his guilt and looked to the party emerging from the woods. “Did you find the girl?” 

 “No.” Karlerd shook his head sadly. 

 Julian looked to the sky, not enjoying the dark-looking clouds slowly rolling in. They did not look pleasant and the noble girl wasn’t going to fare well in the oncoming storm. 

 He wheezed slightly, putting a hand to his chest and scrunched up his nose. 

 The things he does for the Path. 

 “Well,” Julian sighed, rolling back his shoulder. “I’m going to go find her then.” 

 “You think that’s a good idea lad? You look like the walking dead.” Zhadhar arched an eyebrow at Julian. “We can continue looking for her.” 

 Julian shook his head. “Storms coming in. I have a better chance at finding her sooner. She’s not fit to survive in a storm. The people here need your help.” He gestured to the figures around the meadow. He could hear some faint heartbeats but it didn’t sound promising. 

 Zoltan stared at Julian for a second, probably wondering if Julian was crazy or not. “Alright lad. Stay safe.” He clapped his hand against Julian’s arm and nodded. 

 Julian shuffled over to where he thought the girl ran too. Well, at least she wasn’t trying to hide her tracks. It would make it easier for him to track her down. 

 He followed the snapped branches through the dense vegetation, eyes sweeping the ground to see if Julian could spot one of her tracks. 

 When they came out of the dense vegetation he lost the tracks for a second. 

 His nose twitched when he picked up the faint scent of lilac. 

 A scent that was not native to this forest. 

 Julian started following her trail. 

 The scent dissipated when he came across a small babbling brook. He frowned and paced alongside the bank of the brook. 

 Julian bit the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking around. 

 Picked his way across the brook slowly, Julian felt the water tug at his ankles, wanting to carry him away. 

 He crouched in front of a patch of damp ferns, picking up a crushed one. It was snapped towards the top of the stock, an indication of a tall animal coming through here. Must be her.

 Julian followed the trail of broken ferns deeper into the woods. 

 Sharp pain in his chest made him stop and collapsed against a tree. He clutched his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, willing for the pain to go away. He needed to help her. 

 She was a little girl, lost in the forest, terrified beyond her wits. 

 “How the fuck does one kid move so fucking fast?” Julian muttered, wheezing and forced himself up off of the tree. He continued to grumble as he shuffled forward. 

 His ears twitched, trying to siphon out the other natural sounds of the forest. Ignore the crashing sound of bears lumbering along, the light rustle of deer, the pitter-patting of small animals against the hard ground. 

 He tried to listen for the unorganized and uneven running of the girl. 

 Dimly, he heard her heartbeat. 

 Julian was on the right path. 

 He limped through the forest, not caring if he crashed through the forest, stepping on twigs, rustling the greenery. The plan was not to scare the hell out of the girl just by sneaking up on her...and he just didn’t have the energy to be sneaky. 

 Julian perked up, he stopped hearing her run. She must have stopped. 

 Crashed from exhaustion or some other reason, Julian didn’t know. 

 He froze when he felt the icy pelts of rain. The storm came sooner than Julian guessed. Shit. He picked up the pace, eyes barely following the pressed footprints in the muddy ground. 

 Of course being on the edges of fucking Velen, that this poor girl would run into a swamp. 

 Julian picked up his pace, clutching his side and limping through the mud. The ground sucked his boots further into the mud, squelching as he lifted them. 

 Julian fucking hated swamps. 

 He hated Velen. 

 It was sad and depressing; filled with broken peasants and disgusting swamps. It was sad and lifeless, dead trees cracked and bowed in the wind. 

 How did people live here? 

 Julian’s nose twitched when he picked up the scent of lilacs again and heard a heart-pounding. 

 He paused, not sure how to approach the girl. She must be terrified and seeing the cat-like eyes of a witcher was not going to help, along with his slightly sharpened teeth. He wasn’t a sight that a scared kid wanted to see. 

 Hell, the dwarves still flinched around Julian sometimes. 

 Julian needed to talk to her, make sure that she was okay. 

 He deliberately created as much noise as possible and lingered just on the outside of the small bundle of trees that she was hiding in. He crouched so that he was at eye level at her. The ice of the rain made him shiver. It dripped down his face slowly, freezing his skin. 

 Julian so badly wanted to just fuck out of there and huddle around a fire.  

 “Hey, I know you’re there. My name’s Julian. I don’t want to hurt you, just want to make sure you’re okay. That griffin even managed to take a bite out of me.” 

 He saw a flash of pale blue, almost grey, eyes staring at him. He saw the blown-out pupils, filled with fear. 

 “W-Witcher?” Her quiet voice stammered out. 

 “Yeah. I’m a witcher. Don’t worry, I just want to help.” 

 Julian was half expecting the girl to flinch away in fear. He wasn’t certainly expecting for her to lunge out of the bunch of trees and tackle him into a tight hug. 

 Oh, that fucking hurt. Julian froze then hesitantly hugged her back. She was trembling like a loose leaf in the wind. He could feel the dampness radiating from her dress. She must have fallen into the swamp. 

 Julian slowly pulled away from the hug, brushing back a clump of muddy hair. Her face trembling. “It’s too dark to head back now, not even factoring in the rain. But I passed by a small cave on the way, why don’t we pass the storm out there? Hun? Sounds good?” 

 She nodded fervently, clutching his hand tightly. 

 Julian slowly guided her to where he saw the mouth of the cave. The girl collapsed onto the cold stone ground and tucked herself into a small ball. 

 Julian across to the damp scenery around them. The undergrowth had enough layers that Julian could probably find some wood that was dry enough for a fire. 

 “Hey.” Julian crouched and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly but looked at him. “I’m going to go collect some wood for a fire. I won’t be too far away. I’ll be able to come if you yell for me. Okay?” 

 She nodded. Julian pulled out his ornate silver dagger, the one with the gold etchings and gave it to her. She took it, running a finger down the handle and then looked backed up at him. 

 “For protection. Just in case.” Julian ruffled up her hair and gave her a smile. She reflected the smile back at him but weaker. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. 

 Julian picked his way out of the cave, hoping that he’d find enough dry wood as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to leave her for long. 

 It was comforting to hear her steady heartbeat as he dug through the damp shrubs to collect the wood. 

 Julian shivered slightly as the icy rain didn’t just hit him, it surrounded him, engulfed him like he was plunged into an icy lake. 

 He staggered back to the cave, arms full of wood. He placed it gently down on the floor, pausing to ruffle up her hair. She gave him a squinty smile and Julian slipped back out for a second round. 

 He did not want to go back out in the middle of the night for more wood.

 Julian froze when he heard a low growl in the distance. He couldn’t place what was but it certainly wasn’t something that Julian wanted to meet face to face. 

 He hurried back to the cave and was met with a small smile from the girl. She then flinched at the crack of lightning that lit up the grey, dusky evening. 

 Julian groaned and collapsed next to her, setting up the stones in a circle. “Do you want to help me start the fire?” 

 She quirked her head at him. 

 Hm, must not be a talker. That’s fine. Julian’s had plenty of practice dealing with non-talkers. He rummaged through the pile of slightly damp wood and pulled out one of the bigger pieces of kindling. “See how the bark of the wood is damp?” He passed the branch over to her. 

 She examined the branch with a slightly wrinkled nose and then slowly nodded. 

 “Well, damp wood like this, makes the fire really smokey with little flame. Now that’s the opposite of what we want. Since the rain just started, the wood under the bark is still relatively dry. So if we pull off the bark then we’ll have plenty of good wood.” 

 She brightened up, nodding, and scooted over to the pile of wood. 

 Her small finger deftly plucked at the wood that reminded Julian of ladies sitting around their parlour as Jaskier wandered between them, crooning softly to them. 

 Ah, those were the days. 

 Soft afternoons, where the sun lazily filtered through the windows, highlighting the bright colours of the lady’s expensive and highly embroidered dresses. 

 There were days where Julian just liked looking at the embroidery, the incredible details. He didn’t even want to see their bodies sometimes, just the art. 

 “Do you want a song?” Julian asked. 

 She nodded fervently. 

 He smiled softly. “Any requests?” 

 She shook her head. 

 “Hmm. Okay.” Julian decided to go with one that was popular within the courts. She was bound to know it; a slice of normalcy in her chaotic day. It was a ballad about two star-crossed lovers desperately trying to find each other after being separated by Destiny. 

 A load of horseshit if one asked Julian. 

 But she seemed to like it, bobbing her head to the tune as she deftly peeled back the bark. 

 Towards the end of the song, Julian decided that they had enough to start the fire. The poor girl looked like she was about to ice over. As she continued to peel off the bark, Julian stacked the branches into a little box, with some of the dry birch bark in the middle of the box. 

 She looked up interest as Julian started to draw the sign for iigni. Her eyes widened with delight when the little pile of twigs burst into bright light. “Pretty cool hun?” She ecstatically nodded and went back to her task.  

***

 It was late, darkness coated the land and Julian ached badly. He so badly wanted to go to bed, his bones ached with exhaustion, he could feel his ribs trying to force their ways back together, his bruises throbbed with each heartbeat. 

 He didn’t feel comfortable going to bed. He knew that the forests of Temeria were full of creatures of nightmare, those who’d be attracted to the bare flame flickering at the mouth of the cave. It had been a tough decision to keep it going. Keeping it going would give her warmth but dousing it would ensure safety. 

 He didn’t trust himself to meditate. Night was the time where magical predators loved to hunt. So Julian sat, crossed-legged with his naked silver blade as his little companion slept uneasily slightly behind him. If Julian looked towards her out of the corner of his eye, he could barely see her small form.

 Julian would sleep when they return with the party. He was sure that the dwarves wouldn’t mind stalling the trip for a day. Really, they’d probably have to stay until they could make sure the survivors were safe. 

 The girl whimpered softly in her sleep and, alarmed, Julian looked over to her. In the dim light, Julian could see her shivering. Guess the fire wasn’t strong enough to keep her warm. 

 Hm. Julian fumbled with the clasps of his gamebon. It wasn’t the warmest thing, a little faded from use but it’ll give her some more warmth. 

 Julian watched as her sleeping form clutched onto the loose gamebon like an infant grasping its blanket. it was cute but it worried Julian slightly.

 She didn’t seem like an early teenager, which he thought she was. Julian was bad with ages. They all blended together. She acted like a scared five-year-old, reverting to selective muteness. 

 What happened to this poor girl in her short time on earth? 

 Without thinking, Julian reached out and brushed some of her hair back, out of her face. She sighed, her sleeping face visibly relaxing. 

 Why did she accept the help of a witcher so openly? 

 Poor thing. Julian shook his head and turned back to his watch. Nothing was going to hurt her while he was around. 

 ***

 There were a lot of things that Yennefer was planning to do while visiting Triss. They’ve always had a bit of a rocky relationship, having some hot and cold periods in their friendship, but Yennefer has always appreciated being able to turn to her friend. Currently, it was supposed to be getting drunk and ripping Geralt to pieces. 

 She was still fucking angry that he pulled that shit. No matter the excuses he gave her. She felt violated and angry. 

 But as soon as she and Triss settled down to down an amazing vintage elven wine, one of the royal guards came bursting into Triss’s chambers, blabbering on about how the princess and her royal guard were missing. 

 Poor Adda. Yennefer never met her but her heart ached for the poor girl. Triss had told her about what happened, Adda being cursed to be a striga for most of her young life. Now she was missing. 

 Immediately, Triss jumped up and started trying to brainstorm ways to find Princess Adda. So that is how Yennefer ended up standing in a field in the middle of Temeria, soaking wet instead of a warm comfortable room with a large glass of wine. 

 Triss and Yennefer stepped out of the portal to a scene of carnage. Bloodstained grass bled red under the downpour. Yennefer could see the bodies of the knights meant to accompany princess Adda on stretchers, looking pale and lifeless. 

 What Yennefer wasn’t expecting was the small party of dwarves flittering around the bodies, trying to make them as comfortable as possible as the knights clung onto life. Yennefer spotted one of the younger dwarves up in the trees, trying to set up a rough canvas tent, to keep the injured dry as some of the older  dwarves tended to them.

 The source of the seemingly massacre was the large, prone body of a griffin, pushed to the side of the clearing. 

 The party must have angered the griffin by wandering into his territory. 

 Yennefer didn’t see Adda 

 Triss saw the party and immediately her hands sparked into flames, startling the dwarves closest to her. Yennefer could see the anger in her eyes. 

 Triss wasn’t a fighter, not like Yennefer was. She was a healer, she wanted to help people; make their lives easier. That didn’t mean she couldn’t whip someone’s ass if she needed to. 

 “Where is she?” Triss growled. 

 “Uh who?” One of the dwarves drawled out, looking confused and terrified. 

 “Pr—-”

 “Adda. Young, blonde hair, ring any bells?” Yennefer cut off Tiss. Yennefer thought it was best that they kept Adda’s real identity under wraps for the time being. 

 The dwarf that they were talking to shook his head. His rusty red mohawk shook slightly. “Sorry lass. No one’s here matching that description. But, uh, the witcher said there was a girl, she ran off when he told her.” 

 “Witcher?” Yennefer demanded. 

 Please don’t let it be Geralt. Yennefer didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with him right now. 

 “Yeh!” The young dwarf in the tree jumped down. He jutted his chin towards the prone figure of the griffin at the edge of the clearing. “Killed the griffin and went chasing after her. Not back yet.” He sounded worried. 

 “Eugh. Don’t be worried lad. He’s a witcher. Knows more about surviving the wilderness than you know about dwarven spirit.” He gwauffed in laughter. 

 Triss looked towards the dark woods with concern. Adda was a young princess. She didn’t know how to survive in the woods in this weather, with who knows what lurking in there. She looked like she wanted to book it into the forest and look for Adda. 

 But there was a witcher in there with Adda. 

 “Triss, there are people here who need your help. Adda is smart and there’s a witcher looking for her. She’s as safe as the situation allows.” Yennefer gestured to the prone figures. 

 Triss’s fire flickered out of existence and she worriedly looked back and forth from the forest to the cluster of men. She sighed. “You’re right.” She sighed. “We’ll go looking for her once the storm stops.” 

 Oh, thank goodness. Yennefer didn’t want to go tramping through that swamp of the forest. 

 Yennefer tossed back her curls and sniffled. “I’ll start casting some spells to see if I can locate her. I’m not promising anything but I’ll try.” 

 Triss visibly relaxed and nodded. “Thanks, Yen.” She headed to the tent. 

Yennefer cast a small spell to stop the rain from hitting her and walked to the edges of the forest. The dwarf that they were talking to trotted after Yennefer. 

 “So who’s this lass who warrants two sorceress portaling in and looking for her?” He asked. 

 Yennefer gave him a shrewd look and turned back to her mid-casting spell. She waited to answer him until the locating spell was fully cast. She wasn’t the greatest with locating spells, they were always a little weak. 

 “I don’t think that I should be divulging secrets to someone that I don’t even know his name.” 

 “Zoltan Chivay. Enchanted to meet you.” He held out a hand. 

 Yennefer sniffled and daintily took his hand. Well, at least he knew how to treat a lady. That gave him the edge over most human men that she’s met. “Yennefer of Vengerberg. Tell me about the witcher that ran after her.” 

 Please don’t let it be Geralt. 

 “Name’s Julian.” Zoltan scratched his cheek. “He’s a cat school witcher if you care ‘bout that. Good lad, exceedingly patient with Resca and his questions ‘bout witchers. Got crushed by the griffin, still went after her. Don’t know what’s going in there but I know he’s looking out for her.” 

 Wonderful. It wasn’t Geralt. 

 Yennefer wasn’t sure if she knew this ‘Julian’ but it was a step up from dealing with Geralt. The name Julian did sound familiar to her but she wasn’t sure why. 

 “Well, it’s better no-one, I suppose.” Yennefer sighed and started summoning her chaos again to try the locating spell. It needed to be larger thus more chaos was needed. 

***

 Yennefer had given up on trying to locate princess Adda, there was too much interference coming from the woods. This was on the edges of Velen, there was always a base level of interference from other magic in the area. If this wasn’t a swamp, Yennefer would be interested in tracking it down, trying to figure out what it was. 

 So, when Yennefer gave up, she went to go help Triss with healing. Most of the dwarves headed back to their campsite, all looking exhausted from helping out. Yennefer wouldn’t dare to admit it, but she liked their spirit and they were willingness to help complete strangers, using their own supplies. 

 Triss certainly admired them. Yennefer would bet a bottle of wine that after everything calmed down, she’d try to get them positions with Foltest or repay them in any way possible. Triss had always been a caring one. 

 She had a bit of bleeding heart. 

 How she managed to keep her soft heart in such a horrible position like a court mage, being exposed to the rancid parts of the kingdom, Yennefer didn’t know. 

 She was a strong sorceress. 

 When Yennefer abandoned her previous task, she shooed Triss off to a small sleeping cot. Yennefer smiled at Triss’s sleeping form and pulled her blanket over her shoulder and went back to supervising Triss’s patients. 

 There wasn’t anything Yennefer could do. All that was left was to monitor them. 

 Yennefer noticed that one of the dwarves, Zoltan, hadn’t left with the rest of his party. He stood there, eyes trained on the forest, waiting for the witcher to return. 

 “Anything?” Yennefer approached Zoltan. She wasn’t sure how good dwarven eyesight was. 

 “Nah.” Zoltan shook his head. He sighed and tapped his finger against his axe which he clutched tightly. “Shouldn’t be surprised. They probably holed up for the night. Just worried for him. Took nothing with him.” 

 It was early in the morning, still rather dusky but the storm had passed. 

 “If it helps, I have found that witchers are awfully resilient. Annoyingly so.” Yennefer crossed her arms and frowned into the distance. 

 Zoltan gwaffed in amusement. “Suppose you’re referring to the white wolf?

 Fucking Geralt; follows her everywhere. “Any why do you suppose that?” 

 He sniffled, scratched his nose. “Uh, well. I’ve heard the songs. Something about the white wolf and sorceress with violet eyes. Given the context, well, ain’t hard to assume.”

 “Jaskier,” Yennefer growled. She was going to castrate him the next time she saw him. 

 Zoltan chuckled softly. His spine straightened when he saw something in the darkness of the forest. “Aye, I think I see ‘em.” 

 “Hm? Not an animal?” 

 “Nah. Too tall. Two heads.” 

 Yennefer sighed and straightened up. “I’ll go get Triss.” She picked her away across the damp clearing to the medical tent. “Triss.” She gently shook Triss awake. 

 “Hm?” 

 “We think Adda and the witcher are back.” 

 Triss was up in an instant, charging out of the tent. With Adda’s mother dead, Triss had taken on more of a motherly role with her. 

 Yennefer followed Triss, a little more slowly than her. 

 Emerging from the forest were the witcher and Adda. He was stooped low, favouring one side over the other, limping slightly, with Adda on his back. 

 She looked terrible. Exhausted, frightened, and completely muddy from running through the swamp. She sported an oversized gambeson which was probably the witcher’s. 

 “Adda!” Triss cried, running towards her and the witcher. 

 “Triss!” Adda stuttered, a side effect of being a striga for most of her life was her inability to speak. She’s been improving marvellously according to Triss. She tried to wiggle out of the witcher’s grasp, he got the cue and gently put her down. She ran to Triss and tackled her into the hug. 

 The witcher let out a sigh and collapsed onto the ground, arms strewn across the ground. “Alright lad?” Zoltan asked. 

 “Peachy!” The witcher wheezed, jutting out his thumbs up. Zoltan chuckled and shook his head at the witcher.

 Yennefer tilted her head in confusion. Those jangly gestures seemed familiar somehow. 

 “Triss look!” Adda pulled out a delicate-looking silver dagger. She held the dagger properly, not waving it all around as if the witcher had shown her. 

 “Pretty.” Triss crouched down and examined the knife. “Where’d you get it?” 

 Adda pointed to the witcher, still sprawled out on the ground. He raised a finger in protest. “In my defence, I gave her the dagger to protect herself, just in case while I was out getting firewood. Don’t give me a motherly disapproving look.” 

 Triss blinked, the look of contempt that was sprawling out vanished. She shrugged in defeat. “I guess that I can give you a pass for once.” Yennefer could see the twinkle of amusement in Triss’s eyes. 

 “Whoo.” The witcher wheezed. “Good night.” 

 Triss rolled her eyes and gently pushed past Adda. “Zoltan told me about your ribs. Here let me help.” Her hands softly glowed a pale blue. The witcher, Julian, tensed up and a second later he relaxed. 

 “Oh, that felt amazing. Like a Skellige sauna. Thank you.” He gave her a smile. 

 Triss smiled brightly back, Yennefer could see a faint dusting of blush. “I should be thanking you. For saving Adda and looking out for her.” 

 “The pleasure is all mine. She was delightful company.” Julian groaned and sat up. 

 Yennefer saw his face really for the first time. It felt like a sucker punch, how her breath left her. She’d gotten used to seeing Geralt’s amber eyes with the cat pupils, but Julian’s eyes were really a marking of the witcher’s mutations. One brilliantly amber, the other a cold steel. A lightning bolt of a scar spread across his face. Geralt had escaped the curse of facial injuries, keeping himself rather human-like despite the eyes. Julian really showed the reality of what it was like to be a witcher. 

 Adda giggled and gave him a shy smile. He smiled back as he stood up, uncurling himself that was truly reminiscent of how a cat did it. Triss turned back to Adda and started fussing over to her. “Come, let’s get you back to your father. He’s worried sick.” 

 Adda nodded and turned to Julian. She gave him a little hug. He tightly hugged her back, then messed up her hair. “Stay safe squirt.” Adda nodded brightly at him. She pulled off his worn gamebon and passed it back. Julian took it back and slung it over his shoulder. Adda tried to give him back the silver knife which really reminded Yennefer of something that Jaskier would like. 

 Briefly, Yennefer wondered what the bard was doing now. He seemed hesitant about going back to the Path but also moody about continuing on with his chosen career of barding. 

 Julian shook his head and pushed the dagger back to Adda. “A dagger like that needs an owner that’s just as pretty as it. Keep it and may it protect you in the future.” 

 Adda brightened up like a mini sun and tackled him into another hug before taking Triss’s hand as a portal whooshed open. 

 There was a look of melancholy in his eyes as he watched Adda go through the portal. Zoltan clapped Julian on the shoulder. “I’ll go tell the lads you’re safe. Resca will be overjoyed.” 

 “Thanks, you've been taking care of my baby?” Julian batted his eyelashes at Zoltan. 

 “Yes. Your horse is fine. Resca has been feeding her treats as he didn’t couldn’t do anything else to help.” Julian gave Zoltan a dopey smile. 

 Zoltan rolled his eyes at Julian and headed out. 

 Yennefer didn’t know if she liked Julian. He was far too cheerful for her liking. Weren’t witchers supposed to be serious?

 “Oh! Yen! I didn’t notice you were here!”

 What? 

 Yennefer squinted at Julian. She certainly would have remembered his face. “Excuse me?” She didn’t like how he spoke so informally with her. Her fingers twitched, ready to teach him a lesson if needed. 

 Julian’s eyes widened, looking like he just ran into a tree. His face froze like that while he seemed to be thinking something. He, then, let out a painful sounding wheeze, doubling over as he cackled in laughter, slapping his knee as he forced in breaths. “Sweet Melitele! Oh, ha. You don’t recognize me. Oh, that’s hilarious. Ha!” He devolved into more laughter. 

 “I suggest you explain yourself before I turn you into an eel.” Yennefer snarled, she could feel the chaos wrapping itself up her arm. 

 “Okay. Okay. Okay.” Julian was still laughing as he held his hands up in surrender. He picked himself up and his dual eyes unnerved Yennefer. “Maybe this’ll jog your memory.” 

 What? 

 Julian cleared his throat and flashed her a smile. “ When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia along came this song from when the White Wolf fought a silver-tongued devil his army of elves at his hooves did they revel—- ”

 Fuck. Not this fucking song. 

 “Jask—”

 “Julian.” He cut her off, eyes flickering to where the dwarves had gone. He gave her a lopsided smile and did a dramatic little bow. “Pleasure to introduce you to Julian of Redania, also known as the Mad Cat of Kerack, Breaker of Wights, etc etc etc.”  

 “Hrmph.” Yennefer crossed her arms and raised a pointed eyebrow at him. “So I see you went back onto the Path.” 

 Jaskier’s scared face flushed and he scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, wasn’t really a voluntary choice.” 

 “Meaning?”

 “Meaning, I took off the glamour to fight some bandits. And I might have lost it,” he mumbled the last part.  

 Yennefer scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Typical.” 

 Jaskier laughed, his eyes twinkled softly in amusement. “Good to see you, Yen.” 

 “You too. Though, I wasn’t expecting the beard.” She truly wasn’t. Jaskier the poet was clean-shaven and baby-faced. The burly witcher in front of her had long dark hair, darker than Jaskier’s and a roughly kept beard. 

 Jaskier arched an eyebrow at her like he didn’t quite believe that. “You can talk about my eyes. I’m not traumatized by them.” 

 Yennefer pressed her lips into a tight line. “I wasn’t bothered by them. I’m no stranger to strange eyes.” 

 “Yes but don’t sorceresses at Aretuza get to chose their appearances at the end of their training?” 

 Fair. Jaskier didn’t get to choose his eyes, and Yennefer knew that witchers were treated differently due to their eyes. Jaskier probably didn’t get any better treatment with his two eyes. 

 “How do you know this?” Yennefer haughtily asked. 

 Jaskier’s face flushed once again. “Had a wonderful night with a sorceress over a bottle of Kovirian wine, spending endless hours talking about our professions. And then had a delightful couple of hours of carnal activities.” He sighed dreamily. 

 That sounded like Julian. 

 “I thought you told our mutual friend to not get tangled up with sorceresses.” 

 “And I stand by that! Tissaia and I have an agreement. Sex and no emotions. I will not change my stance on that! No drama because of the sorceress's politics. Geralt certainly had the desire to be with you and deal with everything head-on, politics and all. There is a difference dear Yennefer.” 

 “Tissaia?” Yennefer demanded. She wasn’t even going to touch on the other parts. He certainly wasn’t wrong and she was not going to give him that. He’d lord over it and bring it up in any conversation. 

 “What about Tissaia?” Triss reappeared next to Yennefer, Yennefer didn’t even hear the portal open again. 

 “Oh, dear Yennefer is having palpitations because I have an on and off again arrangement with dear Tissaia. Yen, how do you think I got my glamour?”

 “You paid for it?” 

 “I mean yes but she really sweetened the deal after I showed off my services.” Julian wiggled his eyebrows at Yennefer. Gross. She still wanted to turn him into an eel. 

 Triss wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Not something I needed to know. Here, this is from Foltest.” She pressed a sack of coins into his hand. 

 “Foltest?” His brow furled. 

 “Adda’s father. He was ecstatic to see his baby again. I had to talk him down from offering you a position as Adda’s bodyguard and full knighthood. He has not learnt from the last meeting with a witcher.”

 Jaskier stared at the sack of coins, his mind racing to figure out the equation. His face brightened up with recognition. “Oh. Well, that does explain some things. Poor thing, cursed from birth, having to deal with Geralt, then this.” Yennefer didn’t bother hiding a snort of amusement. Triss rolled her eyes at Jaskier. 

 “Julian!” The younger dwarf that Yennefer had noted ran into the clearing. “You’re okay!”

 “Right as rain buddy.” Jaskier gave him a thumbs up. 

 “Great! Do you need anything?” 

 “Nah. Just finishing things up here. Be with you guys in a second.” 

 The dwarf nodded and trotted back to the campsite. 

 “Can we get back to the fact that you fucked Tissaia?” Yennefer demanded. 

 “Yen, I don’t understand why you’re so caught up on that? Tissaia is a grown adult.” 

 Yennefer pinched the bridge of her nose. She separated her life in two. Her younger years which included Aratuza and by extension Tissaia, and her life now, her search for her purpose in life. Jaskier firmly sat in the former part. 

 “Yeah, I don’t understand either.” Triss battered her eyelashes at Yennefer. 

 “See, Yennefer heavily associates me as my former life. A human, very mortal, and very young, bard which she absolutely loathed. It seems she has a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact that I’m actually very old.”  

 “You were a bard?” Triss asked. 

 “I got bored with the Path and wanted to seek out a different path for a time being. Tissaia, lovely Tissaia, was most gracious and procured me a glamour to do such a thing.” 

 “Aw, that feels like a potential ballad.” Triss always had a soft heart, looking for beauty in chaos. Yennefer believed that’s how Triss managed to become so powerful. She pulled the greatness from the darkness. 

 Though, Yennefer didn’t care for some of the company that Triss kept. Some of the other sorceresses had some more extreme ideologies. Yennefer didn’t know if Triss harboured those feelings or she was just too polite to distance herself from them. 

 “I like singing but singing about myself seems a little too egotistical even for my taste.” 

 “Like that’s ever stopped you,” Yennefer muttered. Jaskier grinned, unfazed by her comments. Yennefer rolled her eyes at his dopey smile.

 “Well, it’s too late now. I’m back on the Path, my days of singing behind me.” He seemed a little melancholic about the fact. Yennefer didn’t care about his feelings but she hated the fact individuals could follow their desires. One must be able to choose their own path. 

 She crossed her arms, glaring at the ground. “I’m sure that I could procure another glamour for you if you wanted.” 

 “Aw Yen,” Jaskier cooed. 

 “I rescind my offer.” 

 Triss laughed, a cute little tinkling laugh. 

 “Thank you Yen, it does mean a lot but it’s not needed. My time on the road as a bard was a nice breather, but I realized today that my role is here as a witcher. Helping Adda reminds me that I like helping people. I’ll suffer through whatever humans throw at me.” 

 That sounded too much like Geralt for Yennefer’s taste. “Are all witchers that noble?” She scoffed in annoyance.  

 Jaskier bared his teeth in amusement. “Yennefer, I doubt that the wolves would like to be compared to the cats. We’re called mad for a reason. Not to mention the longstanding loathing the wolves had for actions of a few of my previous kin.” 

 Triss sniffled in annoyance. “Yes, I am well aware of the mage's desire to experiment with witcher’s mutations.” 

 “Hm.” Jaskier agreed. “Pretty sure that I’ve got some Leshen in me. We never found out why my eyes didn’t fully change and I was one of the lucky ones.” There was a haunting look in his eyes. Yennefer heard whispers about the mage’s experiments on the cats. How they’d have to be put down from how insane they became. He sniffled and waved his hand as if dismissing the thought. “Whatever, the past is in the past. I can not change it. All I can do is change my future. Now, with those depressing thoughts out and gone, would you lovely ladies would like to join us for some dwarven spirit?  Mienras makes a lovely bottle.” 

 “Jaskier, it’s barely midday.” 

 Triss’s eyes lit up in recognition. 

 Shit.

 Jaskier wasn’t happy with her judging by the look he was giving her. It vanished after a second and his sunny disposition returned. “Julian, and Yen, when has that ever stopped me? Besides, the dwarves will heartily join us if so desired.” Jaskier corrected her with a pointed look and then a soft shrug. 

 Yennefer rolled her eyes. He certainly has not changed despite his outward appearance changing.  

 “Well, I shouldn’t drink, as I need to be sober just in case something happens, but I never turn down good company. What do you think Yen?” Both Triss and Jaskier looked over to Yennefer. 

 “When have I ever said no to free alcohol? It better be good Jas--Julian.” 

 “Oh don’t worry. Best dwarven spirit I have ever had and I’ve had plenty throughout the years.” 

 “How old are you? Yennefer asked as they started heading towards the campsite. 

 Jaskier blinked and was silent for a second. His eyes darkened, the years of being on the Path weighing on him. “I’m not sure if I'm being honest. Time blends together after a while. I think close to a hundred years? Certainly old enough to create a reputation.” He rolled his eyes in faint annoyance. 

 “Hmh.” She’s certainly heard plenty of different witcher reputations over the years. She wondered how many of them were Jaskier’s. 

 “Whatever. Fun fact, I am technically a viscount. Or was. Or still? I’m not sure what my legitimacy is. I was the older sibling. Technically it is my birthright. That’d be a thing to see. A witcher viscount. Ha! Though, I’m not sure Lettenhove is still a thing. One of my cousins did get involved with a conspiracy to kill one of the kings of Kerack.” 

 Triss looked very entertained. 

 “Ah, what is the witcher prattling on about now,” Zoltan teased as the trio rounded out into the campsite. 

Yennefer was a little fond of dwarfs. They were hearty folk and those who she travelled on the mountains were entertaining and had a good head on their shoulders. This group seemed to have a good heart. 

 “Oh, you know, just wondering if I’m still a part of my family’s line of succession for the title of viscount.” Julian collapsed next to his mare who gently nipped at his shaggy head. He fondly patted her snout. 

 “Really?” Resca asked. “Yup.”

 Yennefer hid a smile as she sat down on a log that one of the elder dwarves, Innind, vacated for her. Such a gentleman. Triss joined Jaskier on the ground, sandwiched between Yennefer and Jaskier. 

 “If yer a son of a viscount, then why’d you become a witcher.” One of them asked. 

 “Derclar!” Zoltan scolded. 

 Jaskier chuckled and accepted a bottle from one of them. “Thanks, Kromma.” The dwarf nodded and passed out some to Triss, who politely declined it, and Yennefer. The dwarves were certainly down to drink at any time. “It’s fine Zoltan. The past is the past.” 

 Jaskier didn’t seem to really believe that statement despite echoing it several times. 

 “Anywho, it was because my father was a cheap bastard and didn’t want to pay the witcher and the stories about witchers taking young children are very true.” Jaskier down a worrisome amount of his drink. 

 Yennefer scoffed in agreement. She certainly felt that in her bones. Selling her for a couple of coins to Tissaia. Jaskier rose his bottle in solidarity. 

At least she had Jaskier. The fucker was harder to get rid of than a barnacle on a boat. 

Chapter Text

Geralt led Roach along the brick-lined bridge, listening to the people bustle around him. He hated cities. It was always too loud and crowded. Too many stares directed at him. He always felt uncomfortable around people, sticking out like a sore thumb in his armour. 

 The only good thing about cities were the brothels. The girls there were less likely to judge Geralt. 

 The pseudo-intellectual city of Oxenfurt made Geralt feel like he was a specimen under a glass that the intellectuals prodded and examined like he was a fascinating dead bug. 

 But this was something that he was willing to deal with if it helped Geralt mend things with Jaskier. 

 He left Roach at the edge of town at a small inn that he'd stayed in before. The innkeeper was a kind man; Geralt caught the man once, feeding Roach extra hay after Geralt dealt with a godling messing with his horses. It wasn’t hard. Geralt bargained with the godling, giving it a large block of cheese. The godling cackle with glee and booked it into the nearby forests. Godlings were strange but an easy contract. 

 Geralt just wanted a room for the night, but the innkeeper had insisted on all the bells and whistles. So, he didn’t complain about the upgrades and made his way into the city. 

 Oxenfurt, like always, was noisy. He grimaced and hiked the pack, containing Jaskier’s lute, further up on his shoulder and headed deeper into the city. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, having never needed to visit an instrument repair shop.  

 Whatever tune-ups Jaskier needed for his lute, he must have done during the winter or whenever he wasn’t travelling with Geralt. 

 Just add that to the growing list of things he didn’t know about Jaskier.  

 Deep into the city, Geralt came across a glass storefront with a display filled with a multitude of different kinds of lute-like instruments. This was a start. Whoever was working was bound to know something; even if they didn’t have the tools to help him. 

 A small bell chimed in Geralt’s ear as he pushed open the door to the shop. 

 The shop was small and cluttered. From floor to ceiling Geralt could see lovingly handcrafted instruments hung with pride, and the space between was filled with little knick-knacks that looked vaguely familiar to Geralt. 

 “Hello, welcome to Ludwig’s Lutewinds. How may I help you?” A small figure came shuffling out of the back of the shop. He was a small, greying man, looking like he had experienced all that the world could throw at him. 

 Geralt saw silver scars spanning across his thin skin. It didn’t shock him, just saddened him. Life was rough. Peasants and merchants alike were conscripted into wars fought on the whims of a small set of men. It grinded Geralt’s gears to see nobles play with the lives of their subjects like it was a game of chess. If war didn’t kill young men, then the beasts that roamed their lands would get them. 

 “Ah. A witcher. Haven’t seen one of you for years!” The old man chuckled, his eyes sliding out of focus the way that many elders did. Most of the time, it was annoying trying to get information needed for contracts. 

 “That so?” Geralt grunted, not really wanting to continue the conversation but didn’t know how to transition into an actual business. 

 “Aye. Was a young’un last I saw one of your kind. Was a wraith if I remember correctly. Poor girl was killed by her betrothed as she tried to run off with her lover. Shame, she was a sweet one. Remarkable witcher. Was never able to forget his eyes.” 

 “Hm?” That perked Geralt up. 

 “Aye. Had a grey one. Freaked me out as a little’un. Took it with pride, jolly fellow. We all loved ‘im. Probably because he seemed to accept my father’s payment of a lute instead of coin.” 

 Witchers were always willing to take unorthodox forms of payments. Most contracts provided coin. The most common alternate form was a night or two in a local inn, a form of luxury that often went unavailable. 

 Geralt wasn’t sure if he’s ever heard of witcher with one grey eye. If he had, he’d probably remember, but the continent was vast. 

 Hmm.

 “Excuse me, seems I have wandered off once again. Old habits.” The man, probably Ludwig, chuckled and leaned on his cane, peering at Geralt.

 “It’s fine.” Geralt quickly brushed it off and unslung his bag, and pulled out the lute. He gently placed it on the counter. “My friend’s lute...is there any way that you can fix it? I’ll pay anything.” 

 Ludwig shuffled forward and peered at the lute. The frown on his face didn’t help settle Geralt’s already troubled feelings.   

 “What happened?” Ludwig picked up the lute and turned it over. 

 “I don’t know,” Geralt admitted. 

 “Hm.” Ludwig continued to pick at the lute in a way that rose Geralt’s hackles. “I’ll admit, don’t get your hopes up. I can try but don’t expect much. It would be easier to just buy a new one.” 

 “No!” Geralt said a little too quickly. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s my friend’s. He loved this thing more than life himself. I...” 

 Ludwig chuckled and shook his head. “I get it. Musicians. Very particular.” 

 “Yeah.” 

 “I will try to do the best I can do.”  

 “Thank you. How long will it take?” 

“Not sure. Check-in ‘bout month?” Geralt was fine with that. He’d have to be. He couldn’t rush things like he usually did. 

He heard the doorbell twinkle, and he tried to pivot out of the way for the newcomer. The space of the shop was cramp and certainly not suited for Geralt’s frame. 

“Priscilla! Perfect timing. I will be back with your lute in a second.” Ludwig shuffled into the back, moving at a typical old man’s pace. Geralt could hear him shuffling around the back. 

 Hm. 

 Geralt turned to look at this Priscilla. It was hard to pinpoint her age; Geralt has always felt this way towards humans. He’d place her around Jaskier’s age, perhaps a bit younger. She had soft golden hair and brown eyes that reminded Geralt of rich soil. 

 Her eyes lit upon recognition. “You’re Geralt!” 

 Fucking Jaskier and his songs. She seemed like the type to hang out with him. 

 “Yes.” 

 “Priscilla. Jaskier speaks highly of you.” She held out her hand. Geralt took her hand with his heart in his stomach. Geralt has treated Jaskier like shit, looking back on it, and yet, Jaskier continued to keep spreading kind words about Geralt. 

 He felt like shit. 

 “Pleasure to meet a friend of Jaskier.” Priscilla smiled brightly at Geralt. He was reminded too much of Jaskier right now. “H-have you seen Jaskier recently?” 

 “No? Why?” 

 Geralt swallowed his pride. It wasn’t going to help him to bristle at her innocent question. He needed to be more honest, kinder. “We had a disagreement. Not sure where he went.” 

 “Hm. Sounds like him. Sorry, I haven’t heard from him for a bit. I’m sure he’s bound to turn up. He can’t keep away for very long from Oxenfurt.” 

 “It’s what I thought,” Geralt muttered. 

 Priscilla snorted, covering her mouth with her hand as she did so. “Look, I’m putting on a show tonight at the Rushing River. There are plenty of people there who might know where Jaskier is. Come, I’m sure you’ll find someone.” 

 Geralt wasn’t really thrilled with the idea, having to be around people, but the temptation of finding potential information on Jaskier and the temptation of hearing live music was overwhelming. 

 He would never admit it, but one of the things he missed the most was Jaskier’s voice.

His voice, loud and cheerful while they were walking in the woods. Quiet and soothing when they were sitting by a campfire. Powerful while performing, like a babbling brook. All that Geralt heard now was static silence. 

 Geralt was scared that he was never going to hear the bard’s voice again, that he’d go on with his life and eventually forgot what it sounded like. 

 The sound of his friend, one of the kindest souls that he’d ever met. 

 “Sounds good. Thank you.” Geralt gave her a curt nod. Priscilla’s smile was reminiscent of Jaskier’s. The melancholic yet blissful smile.

***

 Julian missed Yennefer. After a couple of days, the dwarves decided that they needed to move on, continue their journey. A shame really, he and Yennefer were finally starting to bond. He was so blinded by his jealousy that he missed her delightful form of sarcasm. 

 Hm, shame. 

 At least they both were kind of immortal. They had plenty of time to meet up again and bond over a good pint of ale. Or wine in Yennefer’s case. 

 Before they left, Julian had given her his first attempt at wood carving, his shitty little cat. He swore he saw tiny pinpricks of tears in the corners of her violet eyes. She had insulted it, but he could hear the waiver of her voice and the sincerity behind her small thank you. 

 She didn’t speak much about her past, her life before Aratuza, but Julian didn’t need to hear the words. Kindred spirits always found each other. He wasn’t going to let petty rivalry between them ruin their friendship anymore. 

 Yennefer promised to check in on him in the future and Julian promised to buy her a pitcher of whatever wine she wanted. She readily took him up on that. 

 Julian didn’t know if the dwarves picked up on his dampened spirit. He tried to not let it get in his way. Their relationship wasn’t dead; they just separated for a small time. It was in a sense similar to his relationship with Geralt. 

 They’d travel separately for the time being but come together and have some fun. 

 Julian and the dwarves made their way through Temeria, through Sodden, preferring to go south around the mountain of Mahakam instead of going north. Less of a chance of him running into any of the wolves. 

 When they approached the city of Reidburne, they decided that they’d stay at the Shouting Spoon for a couple of nights, recoup their strength and made the final march to Mount Carbon. It meant crossing the Yaruga River, but the thought of a hot meal and roof over their heads charmed everyone over instantly.  

They’d spent the past month or so sticking to the woods. A party filled with dwarves and a witcher trailing along was not going to get the best reception, especially in smaller villages.

 Spending a couple of nights in a semi-decent bed sounded like heaven-sent. 

 The Shouting Spoon had notably been tolerant of Witcher’s in Julian’s experience. He’d only been there twice, both times with Geralt, and both times they were met with well….not welcomed with open arms, but they weren’t chased out. 

 The party decided beforehand that they’d come in separately. It was weird to see a witcher walk in with a bunch of dwarves. In a place like this, word would spread quickly, and no one wanted to jeopardize the cargo. 

 Julian slowly scrubbed down Pegasus. Kroma pulled the short stick and was stuck watching the cargo for the first shift. He grumbled and slid down in his perch. Julian didn’t pay him much mind as he babied Pegasus. 

 She gave him an exasperated look as she slowly chewed her hay. Julian snorted and gave her a little kiss to the snout. “Don’t give me that look. Not my fault your previous owner gave you up. I’m trying to spoil you.” 

 In the stall next to Julian, Kroma chuckled tiredly. 

 “Oh fuck off,” Julian goodheartedly tossed back as he slung his saddlebag over his shoulder. 

 “Yeah fuck you too.” Kroma rolled his eyes, turning back to the shirt that he had begun to stitch up. He did some lovely embroidery. Julian managed to get a few of his shirts done by the guy. He had a series of pretty cornflower blue flowers along the collar of one of his shirts. It was a small piece of remembrance to Jaskier, the bard with the cornflower blue eyes. 

 “I’ll make sure someone sends out dinner for you.” 

 “Mhm.” 

 “Odds are I might spend the night out here anyways.” Kroma paused in his work and looked up; his eyebrow rose in confusion. All Julian could do was shrug. The last time Geralt stayed in the inn, but that was because Jaskier was a force of nature if denied. “Witchers don’t always get the best reception. I might get a room, I might get the stall, or I might get kicked out. Doubt that the last one though, historically the Shouting Spoon has been rather accommodating.” 

 “Humans suck,” Kroma muttered. 

 “Not all.” Julian shook his head. “But like the collective consciousness, yeah. Bigotry is a learned phenomenon. Unfortunately, not everyone can resist it. Kids are cute though.”

 “Kids are really the only expedition,” Kroma muttered. Julian hummed in agreement, tipping his head in goodbye and headed into the inn. 

 He approached the man behind the bar who was, tall broad-shouldered with silver curling out of his temples. He was currently talking to a figure draped in shadow, tossing his head back in laughter. 

 Dimly, Julian could hear the plucking of a bard who was setting up for the night. Oh, dinner and a show. 

 “Excuse me.” Julian leaned against the bar. 

 The man looked over to him, and boy, Julian really wished that he had his glamour right now. Seducing the innkeeper would be so much easier as Jaskier, and he really wanted to get his dick wet tonight. This man’s dark brown eyes were littered with shimmering highlights of amber. 

 He was broad-shouldered in the way that Geralt was. Big, strong shoulders and the arms like he spent hours hoisting barrels ale over his shoulder. His waist cut deeply in, and those thighs looked like he could smoother Julian. 

 The innkeeper arched eyebrow at Julian. Julian gave him his best smile, trying very hard not to think about how his lightning bolt scar rippled and distorted by his smile. “Hi, Julian of Redania.” He held out a hand. 

 Julian couldn’t help but dip into his Jaskier persona. This gorgeous dark-haired, sun-kissed innkeeper brought it out in him. 

 Julian saw the figure in the background almost jolt in surprise, but he didn’t feel any sort of danger. He was a witcher. Their names travelled further than the man themselves. Though, it was mildly surprising that someone reacted like that to Julian’s name.

 “Ynsild Vazder.” Ynsild took his hand. A thrill went up Julian’s spine at his deep, almost gravelly voice. “What do you need?”

 “A room for the night and perhaps some dinner.” Julian plunked down some coin on the bar. 

 Julian watched as Ynsild nodded curtly, taking his coin, and crossed the enclosed bar to a back room. 

 Julian hates to see Ynsild go, but he loves watching him walk away. Julian leaned against the counter with a hip. The small, shadowy figure slipping out of Julian’s vision. 

 Ynsild came back with a key and pressed it into Julian’s hand. His fingers were warm spots burning into the palms of Julian’s hand. “Room’s at the end of the hall. Come down for dinner when you’re ready.” 

 “Lovely.” Julian flashed a brilliant smile. “Will I be able to request company with dinner or is company spoken for?” 

 Ynsild’s eyes flickered to a young girl with soft brown curls who had left the back of the inn, carrying platters of dinner. She still had that youthful roundness to her cheeks. “I-uh…”

 “Ah, A family man. Say no more.” Julian held up his hands in surrender. 

 “That’s...I...Nevermind.”  

 Julian grinned and took his key, humming slightly as he headed upstairs. His room was the typical inn room. It was a small room with a single bed shoved in the middle with sparse sheets. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping on a pile of roots. 

 He tossed his saddlebags onto the bed and unclipped his swords. He knew that Geralt didn’t like to walk around without his swords but wasn’t like Julian didn’t go unarmed. The night before they parted ways, Yennefer pressed a silver dagger in his hands. She said it was enchanted. Stronger than the last one. It would protect him. 

 Julian missed Yennefer. Hmm. He needed to remedy this melancholy. Luckily he was in the right place.

 “You’ve returned,” Ynsild remarked dryly as Julian sauntered up to the bar. He pulled out the rag that he was using to clean a mug and dropped it on the counter. “Can I get you something?” 

 “Whatever dinner you’re serving and a flagon of whatever ale is strongest. Oh, also a lovely dwarf requested that a meal be sent out to the stables where he is currently standing guard.” Julian slumped against the counter, turning to wave at Zoltan. Zoltan lazily returned the wave. Behind him, Julian could hear Ynsild mutter something to himself. He only picked up the word witchers. 

 He flashed Ynsild a pretty smile as a flagon was shoved into his hands. “Dinner will be brought out to you when it’s ready. Dinner’s already being prepared for the dwarf.” 

 “Thank you dear,” Julian softly sang as he slid away, plopping into a seat next to Zoltan. 

 Zoltan looked up from his drink, grunted, and turned back to watching the bard prancing around onstage. She wasn’t bad, sort of, at least in this setting. He didn’t want to sound like a music snob, but after years of being immersed in the scene, he could help but pick up several beginner’s mistakes. 

 Julian could discard these small flaws, the main point of being a bard was to engage the audience, and it seemed that she did just that.  

 He settled into his seat, watching the dark-haired troubadour sway in time. Something about her seemed vaguely hypnotizing. The world blurred around her, leaving her only in focus. With some difficulty, Julian pulled his eyes away from the bard. He swept his eyes around the bar. Almost every pair of eyes were on her. 

 Julian knew that men were often guided by their dicks, but the way that these men were acting didn’t seem normal; it was almost like they were enchanted. Sure sometimes music had that effect on people, but he doubted that this bard was this good. 

 Whatever. He was tired of keeping his eyes out. He wanted to have one night where he could listen to a bard play in a rinky-dink tavern. He was overthinking it, falling into a Geralt-esk mindset. 

 “You think she any good?” Zoltan asked. 

 Julian shrugged, the ale bitter slid down his throat. “The crowd certainly seems to like her.” 

 “Humans are easily entertained.” 

 It never failed to make Julian a little uncomfortable when dwarfs spoke in this manner. He understood why dwarfs were this angry and spoke out, and certainly, he didn’t blame them, but Julian is human. Or at least was. He wasn’t sure how much of himself was human and how much was the mutations anymore. Mutations were supposed to enhance the human parts of the witchers. 

A small figure approached Julian from his periphery. He recognized the mane of soft curls. What Julian assumed was Ysnsild’s daughter. She shyly approached him, her eyes flickering up to his face and steadily back at her hands. “Thank you, my dear.”  

 She blushed, giggling nervously, handing him his dinner, and then scurried back to the safety of her father. 

 “I mean you’re not wrong.” Julian turned back to Zoltan, his bowl of delicious smelling stew firmly cradled in his arms. “They certainly like her.” 

 “You seem to have that sort of effect on people. ‘specially the ladies.” Zoltan nudged Julian and nodded to the bard. Her dark eyes seemed to linger on Julian as she danced around the stage. 

 “It’s the eyes. Everyone’s curious ‘bout the eyes.” Julian slouched in his seat, shovelling stew into his mouth. He couldn’t really taste the flavour of the stew over the burning heat, his tongue screaming in pain, but it was better than being drawn into a conversation. 

 “You need to get laid.” 

 Julian nearly choked on the hunk of meat he was attempting to destroy. “What?” They weren’t wrong but as a witcher, he didn’t like talking about his sex life, another reason why he liked being human.

 “Don’t give me that look.” The exhaustion in Zoltan’s face reminded Julian of Geralt when he was particularly fed up with Jaskier’s shit. “I saw how you were trying to get into the barman’s pants.” 

 “He has a nice ass. And shoulders,” Julian mumbled. Innind, who was apparently eavesdropping on the conversation, coughed violently and had to put his tankard down. 

 “Mhm. My point. You’re wound up and grumpy. Not to mention desperate for attention.” 

 “I get plenty of attention.” 

 “Resca following you around like a puppy does not count,” Innind butted in. Luckily, Resca didn’t hear it. He was busy staring at the bard who was finishing up her set. 

 “I don’t need to get laid.” Julian could not believe that he was arguing about if he needed to get laid or not, with his travelling companions. 

 “You one of those folks who’s not a fan of sex?” Innind asked. 

 Julian liked sex, and despite what Geralt liked to think, his dick didn’t drive him. If a partner offered the opportunity then Julian wouldn’t kick the gift horse in the mouth. 

 “No. I like sex. I just don’t see why I need to get laid at this very moment.” 

 “Because you’ve been moping since we left the sorceresses. You sleeping with that dark-haired one, Yennefer?” Innind asked. 

 Now, Yennefer was a lovely woman, but the thought about doing it with her made Julian’s stomach revolt. She was like the mean older sister he never had. “Ha! No. If I ever thought about it, Yennefer would turn me into an eel. I have a better chance with a rock troll.” He drained his ale, probably going to regret that action later, and stood up. “I’m going to go get a refill.” 

 Dimly, he could feel the alcohol starting to affect him. The spinning vertigo slowly started to settle in the back of his mind. Fun. 

 Ynsild looked up when Julian approached him. “Back already?” 

 “My dinner companions are being assholes,” Julian muttered. His eyes slid from Ynsild to the figure beside him. The mysterious cloaked figure. Jaskier was assaulted with the greenest eyes he’s ever seen. So green that they were almost yellow. “Anyways, can I get a refill?” 

 Ynsild grunted and took the tankard from Julian. 

 Julian yawned, sprawling out and leaned his back against the bar. The bard had left the stage and was struggling to make it through the throng of admirers. 

Ah, those were the days. Where fans flocked to him, eyes filled with admiration. 

The bard wiggled out of the crowd and hurried to the bar. Ynsild flickered his eyes over to her and then back to Julian’s drink. 

 Upclose, she wasn’t that striking. A shock of black hair and pale skin and a soft nose. Her crowd of admirers edged closer to the bar but were repulsed by a lazy glance from Julian. Sometimes his appearance had its perks. 

 “Handy.” Her voice was whimsical. 

 “Sure.” Julian turned to pick up his drink with a small nod of thanks to Ynsild. Ynsild nodded back. Julian spotted Zoltan in the crowd staring at him and nodded towards the bard. Julian made a face back. 

 “Want anything?” Ynsild grunted at the bard. 

 “Do you have any wine?” 

 “What kind?” 

 “Toussainty.” 

 Ynsild nodded and went to pour a drink for her. She turned to Julian and batted her eyelashes at him. “Nenni.” She held out her hand. 

 “Julian of Redania.” Julian took her hand. He felt his alcohol-addled brain vibrate. Like when he stood up too fast, and his brain sloshed around. How strong was this alcohol? 

 “Hm. What’s a witcher like you doing in these parts?” Nenni asked, continued to bat her eyelashes at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that her admirers were giving Julian the occasional dirty look. 

 “I walk the Path and it takes me where it deems necessary.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He’s spent years trying to prove that destiny was wrong, yet here he was parroting them. 

 “See anything interesting lately? After all, it seems to have become a trend for bards to write ballads of witcher’s exploits.” Her eyes bored into his skull like she wanted to rip out his brain and poke through it.

 “Nothing ballad worthy. Unless you want a song about drowners. Not a fan of Jaskier?” He didn’t recognize her, but the vile look in her eyes said she knew him. 

 “Not a fan of the new genre he’s pioneered. Everyone wants to hear about gruesome stories nowadays. Lost gigs because of it.” Her heart betrayed her. It felt like she was lying. But more of a half-lie. That certainly didn’t sit well with him. 

 Eh, probably fucked her and then forgot her name. Wouldn’t be the first. Julian shrugged to himself and went back to his ale. 

 “Your wine.” Ynsild placed her glass on the counter before her. 

 “Thank you.” Nenni reached out and placed a pale hand on top of his. Ynsild paused, words dying on his lips as he stuttered. His face flushed, and the figure with the impossibly green eyes narrowed their eyes. Nenni smiled and turned to face Julian again. Her canines glinted in the dim firelight. 

Could she? No. Well maybe. Julian narrowed his eyes at her. 

 Julian continued sipping his drink like he didn't suspect anything. “I get what you are saying. Jaskier certainly has created a market for adventure ballads. In reality, a witcher’s work is not pleasant.” He didn’t write those songs for the adventure. He didn't just write those songs about Geralt. He sang his emotions. Julian wasn’t surprised that she didn’t see the deeper meanings. Clearly was a beginner.  

 “Hm. Agreed. You seem cultured for a witcher.” Her dark eyes scrutinized him. 

 Julian decided to bite back the snappy retort and continued to drain his ale. He winced as he felt a dull pain start. “You pick up some things after being on the road for so long.” He dropped his nearly empty tankard down. “I’m going to go check up on my horse. Thanks for the conversation.” He twisted his mouth into a smile and then nodded goodbye to Ynsild. 

 He left before she could protest and pushed his way through the sweaty bodies. He slammed the door open and stalked into the night. The cool air soaked through his clothing. 

 Kroma looked like he was asleep or about to nod off, so Julian didn’t bother him. Pegasus sleepily looked up at him. “Hey, beautiful.” Julian scratched her nose. Pegasus snorted tiredly and snuffled around his pockets where Julian usually kept his treats. He patted her snout and yawned as he leaned on the stable door. His fingers tucked under his arms for warmth. 

 It was quiet out here, just him and the horses. 

 He forgot how exhausting it was to be around this many people when he had the hearing of a witcher. No wonder Geralt was so grumpy all the time. Before he became Jaskier, Julian avoided people like the plague. He was more like Geralt than Jaskier back then.  

 Now, Julian didn’t know who he was. He wanted to be Jaskier; he liked being Jaskier, but he was terrified to act like Jaskier. After the trials, he always felt a little off; something was unbalanced in his mind. He remembered when Kiyan and Gaetan passed their trials. They were younger than Julian. They were good kids, a little feral in the way that little kids were. Probably, a side effect of growing up in the caravan. After the trials, Julian could see how they slowly lost their minds. 

 They had such great potential. They were great people, great witchers. The mutagens robbed them. Kiyan disappeared a couple of years back, and Julian assumed that he either died in a hunt or decided to fuck off into the wilderness. Julian tried to avoid Gaetan because he had the habit of snapping mid-conversation and attacking Julian. 

 It just hurt too much to think about them. Aiden always got a distant, faraway look when the subject was brought up. Julian just avoided talking about it. 

 Julian yawned again, his alcohol-induced buzz was fading, and now he was just starting to feel sorry for himself. “Night Pegasus.” He patted Pegasus’ nose and then slid out of the stables. He whistled some nonsensical tone as he jaunted across the quiet courtyard. 

 “Witcher! There you are.” Nenni’s slender figure stepped out of the shadow. 

 Julian immediately stopped whistling; bile rose up in his throat. What did she want? Humans made him nervous. When he was Jaskier, he didn’t have to worry. Well, he did have to worry, but mostly about spouses angry that he fucked their spouses. But when he was Julian, humans became even more dangerous. They would fake kindness until they got what they wanted. He had to walk with a wall around his heart. 

 Had Geralt thought this of Jaskier? Was this why he never opened to him? After twenty years, would Geralt not trust him? 

 Had he ever trusted him? Were they ever friends? Was it all just a delusion on Julian’s part? 

 “Can I help you?” 

 Nenni stopped in front of him. Her almost too small fingers traced a line down the column of his throat. Julian’s tensed, not liking the sharpness of her nails against his skin. 

 “It’s just… I’ve felt every man’s eyes on me tonight. Except yours. Colour me curious.” Her voice was low and raspy. 

 “Hmm? Well, it takes more than just a pretty face to impress me.” Julian’s eyebrow arched. He didn’t know what she wanted. He had an inkling, but people, humans and non-humans alike, were known to hide their true desires. 

 “Why don’t I show you?” She purred against his lips. 

 She felt cold. Must be night’s air. 

 “Why don’t you?” Julian smirked. If anything, he’d get laid. 

 In the dim moonlight, Julian could see her smirk. A second later, he felt her hands grip his gambeson and with more force than he thought that her willowy body could produce, she slammed him against the wall of the inn. 

 Julian didn’t mean to laugh, but when his head bounced against the wall, a heavy chuckle escaped his throat. She was rough. He certainly didn’t mind that. 

 Her nails dug into his arms, pinning him to the wall. Her grin turned feral, a deep glint of triumph flickered in her almost black eyes. 

 Julian ducked his head and stole a kiss, her teeth biting onto his lower lip. He froze all over. She was cold as a corpse. His medallion humming painfully against his chest. 

 Nenni must’ve not noticed his body freeze as she continued to kiss him, biting hard enough to draw blood. Her hands left his arms, one of them tangling in his dark hair; pinning his head against the wall and exposing his throat.  

 Two can play that game. Julian tilted her head up with one hand. The other dropped to her waist, pulling her close. She wore a loose shift with an apron dress tied over it, tightened at the waist with a thin leather belt. Not surprised. Corsets were expensive. 

 Nenni moved from his mouth to travelling down, her lips pressing against one of his throbbing veins. Julian could feel his pulse against her lips as she sucked against the scarred skin. 

 He gasped in shock at the surprising pleasure. Julian’s hand on her chin dropped to his side, and the other pulled her closer. 

 His gasp turned into a hiss of pain when her hand curled in his hair, clenched tightly, pinning his head so he couldn’t move. The hiss of pain grew in volume as her slightly too sharp canines ripped the flesh of his throat. 

 Searing pain flared out, and Julian could feel the warmth of his blood trickling down his torso. Fucking shit. Julian sucked on his teeth, trying not to yell out in pain. Every breath felt like getting stabbed over and over again. 

 Nenni laughed, her voice low and gravelly. Her once sharp canines turned into deadly sharp fangs, and her nails turned into curled claws. “Thought that witchers were supposed to be smart. Played you like it was nothing.” 

 “You played me just as well as you played that shitty excuse of a set,” Julian growled and jabbed the silver knife that he had unholstered from his chest plate into her stomach. He had just needed to get her within striking distance. 

 Nenni let out a shrieking wail as the knife sliced upwards. Her flimsy dress doing nothing to protect him. 

 Fuck. 

 As quick as a snake, Julian flipped her around, slamming a hand against her mouth stifling her cries. 

 He could see the hate deep in her eyes. “I was going to let you live. No point in making a scene over a bruxa trying to make an honest living. Seems all for naught,” he snarled. “Shame.” 

 In a flash of light, she was gone. 

 The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he lunged out of the way. Nenni slashed at him, her once sharp nails turning into claws. 

Julian cast quen, watching as her pale skin, now stained with blood, wither away, showing her true form. Her dark hair fanning out in the invisible wind. Her eyes glimmered red with hate. 

 This calls for backup. 

 Julian pulled out his silver rondel dagger and twirled his karambit knife around on his finger, so the blade was facing backwards. 

 Nenni snarled and lunged at him. Julian parried her claws with his dagger, eliciting a hiss from Nenni, and slashed at her with his knife. He earned another hiss from Nenni. 

 Julian slashed at her again. As she tried to block his knife attack, he jabbed her side once again, slicing up her torso even more. 

 As he went for another strike she vanished. 

 Shit. 

 Julian panted; his neck was on fire and sparked new flames each time he breathed. He backed up, putting his back to the wall, eyes peeled for any sign of her. She wasn’t going to leave the fight without killing him. 

 With a shriek, Nenni appeared again, jaws unhinged and claws unfurled. 

 Julian ducked and rammed his dagger into her chest. She wheezed and collapsed onto her knees. Julian raised his knife and sliced through her jugular with ease. She flailed, trying to take Julian down with her. Julian sidestepped out of the way clutching his neck, feeling the blood seep through his finger. 

 With a silent wail, Nenni crumpled into a heap in front of him. 

 Fuck. Julian collapsed against the wall. Would it be worth it to cast igni on his bite, searing the flesh so it wouldn’t fucking bleed all over his shirt?  

 A dusty clatter of footsteps had Julian on his feet; his dagger tucked away but his knife still out and ready. Standing there in the pale blue moonlight was the cloaked figure with the impossibly green eyes from the bar. There stood there silent, staring at Julian and the body at his feet. 

 Oh, boy. This was not a good look. 

 Julian was sure that he could get to Pegasus but didn’t know if he could saddle her in time to get out of there before the pitchforks came. 

 “You stole my contract.” Julian couldn’t place their voice. The figure pulled off their hood, and Julian could dimly see high cheekbones and soft jawline, still maintaining that androgynous look.  

 “Hun?” Julian wasn’t expecting that.  

 The figure gestured to Nenni’s sprawled-out corpse. “My contract.” 

 Oh. “Tell you what, buy me a bottle of peppermint vodka and you can keep the rest.” At this point, he didn’t care about the reward; he wanted to fucking sleep. 

 The figure seemed to consider the offer, but their thought process was interrupted when the door to the tavern opened. “Shit. Last call.” 

 Was it that late? Julian and the dwarves came in after dusk, but he didn’t believe that it was that late. Fuck. 

 “Can you carry her?” 

 He’d rather carry her corpse than be chased out of town. Julian, tucking his knife away and scooped up Nenni’s body. “Where too?” 

 “There’s a mass grave on the edge of town. There’s been a plague break out and they’re burying the dead tomorrow. We dump her, toss enough dirt on the body, mum’s the word.” 

 Julian struggled under the weight of Nenni’s dead body. The figure guided him to the edge of town, far from the furthest building, were true to their word, there was a mass grave prepared. Nenni’s body slid off of Julian’s shoulders and tumbled into the grave. Her body looked broken and pale against the black of the dirt. For once, looking at a dead body didn’t elicit a pang of sympathy from him. He watched as the figure covered up her body. Each toss of dirt erased her existence bit by bit. He didn’t usually like killing what humans labelled as monsters. They were just trying to live. If Nenni had just tried to make an honest living, he would have left her alone. He honestly couldn’t give a shit if she was using a little bit of magic to aid herself get through this shit experience of life. Sometimes, he related more to monsters than humans. 

 “Let's get out here. We really don’t want to be seen here.” The figure tugged at his sleeve. Julian numbly followed them. They were tall for a woman if they were one. On the other hand, their legs were slender, smaller than a typical man’s. Their torso was obscured by the short cloak they wore, fastened in the front. Curious. 

 “Don’t itch the neck wound.” Their warm voice ordered. Their voice reminded him of a warm rock sitting in the sunshine. Their voice was raspy, the kind of raspy Julian got after he finished a concert. He was never good at explaining things straightforward, only being able to describe things in metaphors. He always annoyed the hell out of his classmates. 

 “How?” Julian’s hand dropped from his neck. He saw a glimpse of amused green eyes. 

 He rolled his eyes and trudged after them. They certainly played the mysterious role well. Much better than Geralt ever did. They understood the dramatics that went into playing the role. Made him all the more curious about them.

He stumbled up the stairs, the figure gently pushing Julian so he didn’t fall over. The key scraped against the lock, the door creaking open into the dark room. 

 Julian has never been so happy to see his bed. 

 He collapsed, wheezing as he went. “Oh, fuck me,” he groaned. 

 “You have any potions? Swallow?” They asked, lighting the lamps of the room, producing a dim glow. 

 Julian paused, the pressure that he put on his neck lessoned. 

 How the fuck did they know about that? Witchers kept that shit secret, and for good reason. 

 Julian pushed himself up off of the bed, reaching for a knife as he went, and grabbing the lapel of their cloak and slamming them against the wall. “How the fuck do you know that?” He snarled. 

 The impact knocked the hood of their cloak off, revealing those fucking green eyes and almost impossible black hair. Their round, oval jawline gave them an innocent look, but Julian knew better. Looks hid a lot. 

 “I said, how do you know about our fucking potions?” The cold tip of the knife dug into the soft flesh of their neck. 

 They stared at him; their green eyes were really starting to piss him off. Fuck. Everything about them seems impossible. No one could have eyes that green that bordered on yellow or hair that dark unless magic was involved. 

 “Who are you?” He slammed them against the wall. 

 “Right. Of course, you wouldn’t remember me.” 

  Hun?

 They sighed, sounding almost passive-aggressive, and ran a hand through their hair. “Look closely. Through the glamour. Thought you cats were supposed to be good at detecting this sort of shit.” 

 What? 

 Julian squinted, staring at their eyes. They weren’t wrong. He could feel the magic radiating off of them, and the green wasn’t really green. The layers pulled away, and what was left was an unsettling colour of yellow with slitted eyes. 

 Julian scoffed and dropped the knife. “Witcher. ‘Course.” He groaned and collapsed onto the bed. “This night gets better and better. Not only do I get chomped on by a bruxa when just minding my own business, but I also get to meet a Witcher on the run!” 

 “Fuck you. I ain’t running from fucking no-one.” 

 “Where’s your swords then, eh? You were on a contract, shouldn’t ya have them?” Julian rooted around his pack, looking for something to at least stop the flow. 

 “What’s it fucking to you?” 

 “Nothing to be honest. Couldn’t give a shit.” 

 “Whatever. Drink this.” Julian caught the small bottle, uncorking it and gave it a sniff. Definitely swallow. 

 He tipped back the bottle, the potion acidic-burn his throat, and watched as this fucker pulled off their cloak. It was pretty fucking visible that under the scaled armour that they weren’t the usual fucking witcher. “Shit. You’re a girl. Letteme-guess Viper? Only fucking school crazy enough to experiment on girls other than fucking cats.” 

 “Yeah. Viper. Except not that. Name’s Serese Aep Lasra. You know you knew me before, probably don’t recognize me though. It’s been, what? Twenty years?” 

 Hun? 

 Julian put down the bottle. Shit. Those eyes and the fucking scar slashing through her left eyebrow were fucking familiar. “Fuck. Kyr?” 

 “Serese. Miss me?”

Chapter Text

 “Holy fuck!” Julian stumbled off of the bed and over to Serese. She gave him a nervous smile, eyes bright with tears. Julian smiled and cupped her jaw with his hands. 

 He’s missed her so much. Sometimes, he felt like Serese was the only one who understood him. She got him; she knew his pain. 

 Geralt never liked to talk about this pain. Julian honestly didn’t know he felt this pain; Geralt grew up accepting this role. He was pretty much trained from birth. He didn’t know what it was like to have a family, a normal life. 

 “Good to see you too Julian. Thought you were fucking dead. You bitch, I was so worried.” She punched his chest and then pulled him into a crushing hug.  

 Julian laughed, accepting the hug. There were days when Geralt was in a particularly foul mood, where Julian missed Kyr…Julian guessed it was Sesere now. Sesere was cheerful, chattering alongside Julian. They talked nonsense half of the time, theoretical what-ifs. 

 Geralt had his charms, his guff nature was endearing, and how he awkwardly did little tasks and bought little trinkets to show his affection. It was just a shame that he was a fucking asshole most of the time. 

Sesere broke the hug, they stared at each other in amazement. He couldn’t believe that she was here safe. The two of them were separated for so long. Like Aiden, he had been constantly worried for her. 

 The bright side about the witcher's bard was that when he started asking questions about witchers, no one seemed to question his motives. Julian kept an ear out for news about Kyr but heard nothing. He was terrified that he lost her. No wonder he didn’t hear anything. She’s changed so much. 

Julian grinned, his lips crashing against hers. Sesere responded with similar enthusiasm, tangling her slender fingers into his hair, pulling at just the right angle. She tasted like he remembered, the lingering taste of blood and vodka. Sesere’s wet laugh was muffled against his mouth. She bit at his bottom lip, trying to keep him from leaving her. The kiss was sloppy but heavenly. Julian stifled a groan; his tongue traced the edges of her lips. 

 “I’ve missed you.” Julian’s fingers dipped down, hand brushing against her scaled armour. Just how he remembered her. He fumbled with the straps of her armour. 

 He’s missed her, her familiarity, her body. They seemed to pick up where they parted twenty years ago and completing a broken picture. Julian felt like he could get drunk on her kisses. Things were just so easy with her, she knew where and how to touch him.

 His mouth dropped from her lips and dug his mouth into the exposed flesh of her neck. Sesere moaned, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Julian’s cock twitched at the touch. He grabbed at anything that he could. 

 Sesere manhandled him and practically threw him onto the bed. 

 “Careful,” he whined, trying to give her puppy-dog eyes. “I’m injured.” 

 Sesere scoffed and climbed onto him, straddling his hips and forcefully pinning him to the bed by his shoulders. “Just like old times then. Hun?” Julian laughed, pulling at the buckles of her armour. She pulled off her armour, tossing it to the side, with relish. She only wore a white cotton shirt underneath. 

 Julian could feel the warmth of her body through the thin material. This all felt so familiar. He slipped his hands under her top, his calloused fingers brushing against a sensitive spot, just by her hip. Sesere faltered at the touch. The smirk that Sesere gave Julian sent all the blood to his nether regions. She tugged at his ruined top, trying to get him out of it. 

 Fuck. Julian twisted in the bed, trying to wiggle out of it with Sesere’s help. He yanked at her top, tossing it into the void of the room. 

 Julian couldn’t fault Geralt for expressing himself through his actions. Actions were easier to communicate, sex was easier to convey his emotions and desires. Julian felt like words didn’t always represent what he wanted. Sex made two people close to each other, opening a barrier that few could. Even if their time was limited, that bond was still there. Sex was easy. Sex was simple. 

 Sesere’s scars were still there. Julian traced a faded scar that she had told him it came from an old dual wound. Their first night together, they were tangled up in their sleeping rolls, tracing each other’s scars in the dim firelight. He was transported back to a simpler time. The night, just the two of them lazily exploring their bodies. 

 “So...uh,” Julian managed to hiss out as he felt Sesere’s fingers trace his new scars. Her fingers were cool to the touch. Julian’s eyes fluttered. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like this. “What’s with, uh…” He didn’t know what to call her drastic change of appearance. 

 Sesere stopped her wandering. Her golden eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?” Her voice was low. Her fingers lingered dangerously close to his neck.

 “Nothing. ‘cept you got some fucking nice tits.” Julian reached up and flickered a thumb over her hardening nipple. 

 Sesere batted his hand away from her chest. “Pervert.” She laughed, grinding against his hips. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from moaning. 

 Julian hooked his arm around her waist, and flipped her onto the bed, slotted one of his thighs between her warm legs. He matched her wicked grin. “Yeah but you fucking like it.” 

 Sesere laughed, pulling him down. Julian smiled and kissed her again. She felt so familiar but so different at the same time. It was all the same, the smell, the taste, the feeling of safety. Julian weaselled his arms around her toned waist and pulled her closer to him. The kiss was a little sloppy, teeth clacked against each other, and their noses bumped; they were just trying to get as much as the other as possible, making up for lost time. Julian missed her so fucking much. He nipped at the corners of her mouth, relishing her in giggles. He could feel her hands wrap around locks of his hair, tugging at it slightly.

 Julian sighed softly, as he pulled away for a breath. Sesere looked gorgeous, her midnight black hair sprawled out against the pillow. He grinned and nipped at the soft part of her neck, happy to hear her laugh morph into a moan. 

 “You never told me what inspired the change,” Julian said between kisses, occasionally marking his territory. He heard a sharp intake of breath when he hit a sensitive spot just above her collarbone. It was all so new, only slightly marked with freckles that he remembered from before her transition. 

 “You.” 

 Hun? Julian stopped his exploration and looked up, eyebrows arched in confusion. 

 Sesere dropped her head back, staring at the ceiling, and sighed. “I dunno. Fuck, it’s so fucking hard to explain.” She sat up, pushing Julian off of her. He rolled onto his back and watched her dejected form. “You had dreams, desires, you knew who you wanted to be. I always knew that something was wrong with me; wrong’s not right, different, I guess, than the other boys. After the trials, just assumed it was the mutations; but that conversation made me think about what I wanted. You know?” 

 “Yeah.” Julian let out a humourless laugh. He traced the outline of her spine. Sesere looked over her shoulder and tiredly smiled at him. Julian smiled back. 

 “So,” Sesere rolled onto her side, eyes boring into Julian’s. “Where’d you disappear to? I spent like a decade looking for you. No-one has seen you.” 

 Julian couldn’t help but tense at that comment. “You talked to my brother, Aiden?”  

 “Slender, dark skin, short kinky hair?” Julian nodded. “Yeah. I talked to him.” 

 Fucking shit. Julian held back a groan and stood up, pulling on his discarded shirt. He knew that Aiden was going to be mad at Julian, disappearing for years and not telling Aiden what happened. Now Julian was going to have to deal with Aiden thinking he was dead or injured, or some other shit. 

 “When?” Julian croaked out. 

 Sesere frowned, giving a nonchalant shrug. “A year or two ago? Fuck I dunno man.” Fuck. “Why?” 

 “You’re not the only one who’s likely thought I died. Fuck me. Aiden’s so not going to be happy with me.”

 “What the fuck were you doing?” 

 “If I’m talking, I’m drinking. You still owe me that bottle of vodka.” 

 Jaskier had been an amazing experience. Julian got to live how he wanted, but in the end, it made him feel hollow. His old desires were superficial looking back. It really cemented that Julian needed to return back to the Path. He really shouldn’t have let the dream of Jaskier get that out of hand. He shouldn’t have gotten so emotionally attached to Geralt, to the dream. 

 Julian needed to return. The world needed more witchers; the world needed more protection. Julian didn’t know if Geralt or any of the other witchers felt it, but there had been a shift. Like how cold autumn winds herald the end of summer. 

 “Fine. Fucking drama queen.” Sesere stood up and pulled on her shirt. Julian flipped her off. 

 Ynsild was still downstairs, behind the bar when they came tramping through. “You look like shit.” Ynsild barely passed Julian a glance. 

 “Well, having a bruxa try to munch on you has that effect.” Julian sat on a stool with a yawn. 

 Sesere dropped into a seat at the bar without a care in the world. Ynsild didn’t spare a glance at her like it was a usual occurrence. “You still have that bottle of shitty peppermint vodka?”

 “What, I’m only good for the shitty vodka? I’m not putting out tonight.” Julian dropped into the seat next to Sesere. 

 “You were just about to put out, you slut,” Sesere teased. Julian deliberately did not react to Ynsild tensing up and scowling as he searched for the peppermint vodka. Was Sesere the missus? No, she couldn’t. Even though the timeline might line up, Sesere couldn’t have kids. Witchers were sterile. 

 “Only for you, my dear. I’m very picky with my dalliances.”

 “Sure, your standard is ‘walking on two legs’ and the ability to consent.” Sesere rolled her eyes and took the bottle from Ynsild with a smile that Julian felt like he shouldn’t be looking at. 

 He looked down at his hands, trying to quell his pounding heart. It had been nearly twenty years; Sesere wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him. She had her own life. Just because his life, Julian's love for Geralt, was shit; didn’t mean that Sesere couldn’t have love in her life. 

“Whatever.” Julian took the bottle from her and swallowed a mouthful. He hid a grimace. It certainly was the shitty vodka. He could taste the alcohol destroying his taste buds as it went down, and there was just a hint of peppermint that made Julian’s stomach revolt. He suppressed a gag and took another mouthful. “What’s with the glamour.” Julian waved a hand in front of his eyes. 

 Sesere sniffled in faint annoyance. “It’s for me to be able to walk as a woman without people butting in. Seeing a witcher is rare enough, but a woman witcher? Almost unknown. I walked the Path as Kyr, the witcher, now I walk these streets as Sesere, the mercenary. It’s for my protection.” 

 Hmm. Smart. Witchers needed to do anything to protect themselves. It must hurt Sesere to do so, but a witcher must do what a witcher must do. 

 “So are you going to be melancholy all night or are you going fucking man up and tell me why you look like you’re about cry like a bitch.” Sesere stole the bottle from Julian. As she tipped the bottle back, Julian could see her throat move as she swallowed. 

 “Eloquent as always,” Ynsild said, holding back a laugh. Sesere flipped him off. Once again, Julian felt like he was intruding. He’s been so far removed from the Path. 

 Sesere kicked Julian in the shin. “So?” 

 “What I’m about to say, it cannot leave this moment. Anyone finds out, it’ll mean shit for my reputation.” Julian took the bottle back from Sesere, grimacing again at the taste. 

 “Chill drama queen. What’s so bad that no-one can know?” Sesere scoffed, leaning on the table. At this moment, she looked more like a cat than Julian. Lazily stretched out and enjoying how Ynsild absentmindedly began playing with her hair. 

 “I was a bard.” 

 The room was so silent that Julian could hear a pin drop, then Sesere burst into laughter. Howling so hard that she doubled over, slapping her hand against the worn wood. Julian sighed and tipped back the bottle, trying to brave the storm of Sesere laughing. Ynsild gave Julian an apologetic look. 

 “Fuck.” Sesere managed to gasp out. “A bard?”

 Julian nodded. 

 “How the fuck did you do that? Thought I would’ve heard something ‘bout a witcher-bard.” 

 Julian coughed and put down the bottle. “Had a glamour Sesere. Like you do. Spent, like, fucking twenty years or shit as a human. Left the Path.” That sobered Sesere up. She sat up in her set and stared at him wide-eyed. Julian stared down at the table. “It was a mistake, I know. Thought I wanted it, now, I don’t know.” He tipped back the bottle. He wanted to drink enough that he could get rid of the memories of Jaskier. Get rid of the memories of being wanted, loved. 

 “Shit, man.” 

 Julian agreed. “Yeah. It was originally going to be a few years, a break. Went to Oxenfurt, learned to play. And then fuck, met my so-called muse in Posada.” 

 “So-called?” Ynsild asked.

 “Followed the asshole for like two decades, thought we were friends, turns out he was merely tolerating my ass and wished for destiny to take me off of his hands. Well guess what Geralt? Don’t need destiny. Do it myself.” Julian was going to be so sick in the morning, but he didn’t fucking care. He turned up the bottle and started drinking again. 

 He didn’t care for the silence from Sesere and Ynsild. 

 “Geralt?”  

 Shit. 

 “Yeah. My former fucking muse. Spent years trying to dismantle his pissy repuation, trying to get people to understand that not all witchers were like that, that we, sorry, they were just there to help. Trying to help his fucking ass. Does he appreciate it? No. All he believes is that I’m a shit-shovelling asshole.” 

 “You’re fucking  Jaskier ?” Sesere demanded. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. 

 Julian laughed and spread his hands. “The one and only, my dear. Or at least, the former one and only.” He let out a hiccup. The taste of peppermint and vodka faintly filled his mouth. “Lost my glamour, destroyed my lute. So, back to the Path for me. Would’ve liked for Jaskier to have a better sending off, but I, uh, guess not.” 

 “I’m sorry man.” Ynsild actually looked sympathetic. Julian shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want pity. He just wanted to move on with his life. 

 “Why’d you follow the fucking white wolf?” Sesere looked befuddled, taking the bottle from him and took a healthy drink. 

 “Sesere.” Ynsild scolded her like she was a naughty kid. 

 Why did Julian follow Geralt? He asked himself that question often. Cats and wolves hated each other because of some fucking bullshit that happened centuries ago. The downside of being a witcher, they remember everything. 

 “I saw loneliness, sadness, I guess. Figured I could help ease the burden. Know a thing or two having an epithet that causes the normal-folk to stay clear. I wanted to help; guess he didn’t want it that much.” 

 “Imma kill him,” Sesere slurred slightly, abruptly standing up. She pulled out a dagger from somewhere on her body and made a bold attempt to go to the door. Julian snorted into his hands. 

 “Sesere sit down.” Ynsild reached over the bar and grabbed the back of her shirt. She stumbled but sat down. How strong was this alcohol?

 “Did you love him? Is that why you followed him for so long?” Sesere asked. 

 Julian looked down at the bottle in his hands. He could feel the heat crawling up his cheeks. Love was such a loaded word. It had so many meanings to it. Julian’s written so many songs on different kinds of love. When it came to Geralt, he had no idea. “I think so. He just seemed so  lonely,  like he wanted a friend. I wanted to be that friend. I gave him my heart.” He worked so hard to be a friend, not a lover. Being a lover was easy, a friend wasn’t. “Whatever. I want to just move past this. Get my life back on the Path.” It angered him that Geralt was so stiff and callous. He understood that witchers had to suppress their emotions, but what Geralt had was horrible. 

 “How has that been?” Ynsild asked, his deep brown eyes were filled with concern. He offered his emotions so freely, they rolled off of him in waves. Julian didn’t have to pry to get any emotions. 

 “Well, I’m travelling with a bunch of dwarves because I need money for potions. Not too well.” 

 “Shit man. Not even swallow?” Sesere asked. 

 “Pretty sure we had this conversation Ses. No. Not even swallow. It’s been hard to find the ingredients and I certainly do not have the time. Have you met dwarves? They’re worse than me. Worse than Jaskier.” 

 Ynsild laughed, a deep warm laugh. It was even more intoxicating than the vodka. “Now that’s a feat. I’ve heard plenty of tales about Jaskier’s misdeeds.” 

 “I can show you if you like.”

 There was obviously something going on between Ynsild and Sesere, but Julian was never one to turn away from a blessing. Both Sesere and Ynsild were beautiful people. Ynsild blushed and stumbled over to his words. Adorable.

 “Anyways, other than that I’m looking for my brother Aiden. It’s been years since I’ve seen him and well, I think I’m overdue for an asswhoping. Or at least an attempted asswhoping. But first I have fucking find the fucker.” 

 Aiden was probably somewhere around Toussaint. He didn’t like to go far south as that was where the rest of their school liked to patrol, leaving the north to the northern schools, and Julian knew that it was unlikely that Aiden was far north. Julian would’ve seen or heard about him if Aiden was in the north and the man disliked being around the northern schools as much as Julian. 

 “Haven’t seen many witchers recently. Sorry.” Ynsild shook his head. 

 “That’s not true!” A new voice piped up. 

 The three of them spun around and saw a small figure cowering at the door to the kitchen. “Abi, what are you talking about?” Ynsild asked. “And why aren’t you in bed?”  

 Ynsild’s daughter, Abi, scrunched up her nose and stomped her foot like a grumpy toddler. “I’m sixteen! I can stay up if I want too!” 

 Sesere snorted into her hand and took the vodka from Julian. Ynsild elbowed her to shut up. “Abigail.” His voice was low and frustrated. 

 Abigail sniffled hauntingly and crossed her arm. “Do you want to hear what information I have or not?” 

 Ynsild sighed and waved for Abigail to join them.

 She grinned and skipped over to the bar and slid into one of the stools. Julian could hear her heartbeat pick up, and her face flushed. Adorable. “Well,” She swung her legs in what seemed to be child-like glee. “Grandma and I were out in the market, selling herbs and stuff, and she let me go out and deliver some things for uncle Ilsel at the blacksmith about two weeks ago. When I was there I saw a witcher. I knew he was a witcher because he had two swords!” 

 “What’d the witcher look like?” If Julian could identify who the witcher was, and what school they belonged to, then maybe he was a step closer to finding his brother. 

 Abigail paused and frowned a little. “He was tall, pale skin, kinda reddish-brown hair, a scar going down the left side of his face.” Ah, Julian had no idea who that was. “Oh! He had a friend too!” 

 A friend? Interesting, witchers, for the most part, travelled alone. Julian looked over to Sesere, who looked just as curious. “What did the friend look like?” Julian asked. 

 “Smaller than the witcher. I couldn’t tell if he was a witcher or not, but he was wearing armour. He had darker skin than the witcher, and had curly hair.” 

 Fits the general description of Aiden. Julian chewed on the inside of his cheek. It could be him, but why would he travel with another witcher? Another witcher, who was almost certainly not a cat. 

 “You think one of them is your brother?” Ynsild asked. 

 Julian slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure. He’s not a big fan of the north, and I don’t know why he’d follow another witcher. And I certainly don’t know the taller witcher.” It was worth searching out this witcher, Aiden, like Julian, was prone to being excentric, travelling with a witcher from a different guild was certainly up his alley. 

 “They could be wolves,” Sesere offered. 

 “Sure, but why would they be travelling together?” 

 “Maybe they ran into each other travelling up to Kaer Morhen.” Sesere shrugged. 

 “Kaer Morhen?” Abigail asked, her eyes gleamed with interest. 

 “The wolves’ school. It’s in the very northern part of Kaedwen. It’s where they winter,” Julian explained. He turned to Sesere and shook his head. “It’s too early in the season for that. Geralt wouldn’t leave for another month or so.”

  Sesere shrugged and went back to the bottle. 

 Julian turned back to Abigail, who went bright red. “This might be a stretch, but do you know where they might have gone?” 

 She pondered on his question. “They were talking to soldiers with a coat of arms that had red diamonds on them.” 

 “Rivan soldiers,” Ynsild supplied. 

 “Must be going north, then.” Julian frowned. Maybe they were the other members of the wolf pack. He’d never met them. He flashed Abigail a Jaskier-branded smile, she squeaked, and her face flushed. “Thank you for telling me.” 

 Abigail stuttered out a ‘your welcome’. Ynsild rolled his eyes fondly. “Alright, off to bed kid. Your grandmother will not be happy if I deliver you half asleep in the morning.” 

 “Yes dad,” Abigail grumbled. She stood up and hugged her father over the bar. “Night dad.” 

 “Night kid.” 

 “Night aunt Sesere.” Abigail hugged Sesere. 

 “Night kiddo.” Sesere leaned back and patted the side of Abigail’s head. 

 “Night master witcher Julian.” 

 “Goodnight Abigail.” Abigail waved goodbye and slipped into the back of the bar. To have the innocence of a child. 

 Julian turned back to the half-empty bottle of vodka. 

***

 “You look like shit.” Zoltan gave Julian a disappointed look as Julian tiredly lumbered into the stables. He had accidentally slept through breakfast after the late-night with Sesere. 

 Julian gave him a withering glare and shuffled over to Pegasus. 

 “The bard keep you up late?” Innind chortled. Not in the way that the dwarves expected. 

  “Sure, let us put it that way,” Julian mumbled, rubbing his eyes and started saddling Pegasus. Pegasus snorted and shook her mane as Julian started brushing her down. 

 “Goodmorning!” Resca trooped by; his arms filled the various weapons of the party. He looked like he was about to topple over from the sheer weight of them. 

 “Morning Resca.” Julian yawned, giving him a half-wave as he brushed out the saddle pad. He idly watched as Resca passed the twins, Karlerd and Derclar, their battleaxes. They were quiet, similar to how Geralt was, and Julian liked spending the evenings with them. They often were the ones who took the last watch, and the three of them, when Julian was startled awake from his nightmares, would watch the sunrise together. Julian knew very little about them, but he considered them friends. They were a relaxing presence. 

 Julian tossed the saddle over Pegasus’s back and began to tighten the straps. He hissed when he absentmindedly started scratching the bite marks. Fucking bruxa. Why couldn’t Nenni decide to live in peace? He wouldn’t have hurt her. 

 He was more like her than most humans, and it hurt, having to kill someone that he considered an equal. 

 As Julian attached his saddlebags, he double-checked that he hadn’t forgotten anything back in the inn. 

 Around Julian, he heard the dwarves start to leave the stables, getting ready to depart and start the last push to Mount Carbon. Julian was going to have to discuss with Zhadhar about leaving early. He didn’t know where the two witchers were in Rivia, but Julian believed that they wouldn’t be far north. He was only two weeks behind them. Even though a witcher’s constitution was much stronger than a human’s, they probably didn’t travel that far. They would need food and coin, likely having to stop for contracts along the way.  

 Julian wondered who those witchers were. 

 “So, are you going to be all mysterious about your dalliance with the bard? She was pretty interested in you last night,” Mienras teased Julian. Zoltan joined in by wiggling his eyebrows at Julian. Gone were the days where they were mystified by Julian’s presence. 

 “I think you need to get laid, Mienras. You’ve been obsessing with my need to get laid a little too much.” Julian finished putting on Pegasus’s saddle. He smirked as Mienras’s ears went pink, and Zoltan let out one of his bellowing laughs. 

 Julian gently led Pegasus out of her stall. He swore she looked back mournfully at the pile of hay, like she knew that she wouldn’t get another night like this for a while. Roach acted like this too, and Julian swore it was because of his enhanced sense that he was able to pick up his horse’s emotions. 

 “Master witcher Julian!” 

 “Abigail, you know you can just call me Julian. You don’t need the honorifics.” 

 “Yes mas-Julian, sir.” Abigail panted, skidding to a halt from the sprint she was just in. She clutched a leather satchel to her chest. 

 “Do you need something?” Julian had a little soft spot for Abigail and Ynsild and worried that she needed help. 

 “No, it’s alright!” Abigail flashed him a bright grin. “Aunt Sesere asked me to give this to you and to apologize that she couldn’t see you off.” She handed him the leather satchel. 

 Hm? 

 Sesere told him that she needed to leave before dawn, why she stayed up drinking with him? Julian had no idea. The bruxa wasn’t the only contract that she had taken at this time. 

Julian took the satchel from Abigail and opened it up. He grinned when he saw the small assortment of potions. Swallow, White Honey, Golden Oriole, White Raffard's Decoction, etc. The basics. Bless Sesere. “Thanks for giving this to me. Here.” Julian dug out a couple of ducats for Abigail. “For getting this too me and the information last night.” 

 Her face lit up as she received the money. “Thank you! Meliete bless your travels, witcher sir. I’ll see you later!” She waved and ran back to the inn. 

 Julian had promised Sesere that he'd come back and spend some time with her, likely during the winter months when contracts dried up and monsters slept. He liked the idea of wintering here, or at least partially wintering with Sesere, going off and doing local contracts in the south. 

 He grinned to himself as he tucked the potions into one of his saddlebags and swung himself up onto his saddle. 

 “Who’s Sesere?” Zoltan asked. 

 “Is that the bard?” Innind asked. 

 Two of them appeared on his periphery. Julian winced slightly but relaxed after a second. 

 “The fuck happen’ to yer neck?” Zoltan finally noticed Julian’s partially healed wound. From a distance, it probably looked like a fucked up love bite. “Don’t tell me the bard fucking did that.” 

 “Why have you all come to the conclusion that I slept with the bard from last night?” Julian gently clicked his heels into Pegasus’s side, keeping pace with the sturdy horses pulling the carts. He knew that Jaskier had a reputation, but did Julian? 

 “Because she was looking like she wanted to eat you.” 

 “I mean, you’re not wrong,” Julian mumbled. He blew a few stray strands of hair out of his face and sighed heavily. 

 “So is this Sesere the bard? I’m confused.” The rest of the dwarves, who seemed to enjoy embarrassing Julian, agreed with Resca. 

 “No. The bard’s name was Nenni and she was a bruxa who wanted a midnight snack and for some reason, decided that a witcher was the ideal meal.” Julian gestured to his neck.

 “Bruxa?” 

 Julian flapped an annoyed hand. “Vampire. So all-and-all, I didn’t get fucking laid last night.” He had the chance to get laid, but the topic of Geralt made his dick limp. The longer Julian thought about him, the angrier he got. Geralt had no right to be as angry as he was. Julian understood the loneliness, the anger of being dealt this hand in life, but he never took it out on bystanders. The only thing that Julian had asked of Geralt was to attend Pavetta’s betrothal ball; Julian certainly did not ask Geralt to invoke the Law of Surprise. The asshole did it himself. 

 “Oh.” 

 “So who’s Sesere?” 

 “An old friend who yelled at me for stealing her contract.” Julian rolled his shoulder back, wincing as he did. “Any other questions?” 

 The silence was deafening. Ah, blessed silence. 

 “Here I thought witcher’s lives were simple,” Zoltan muttered. 

 “Oh they are far from simple. One day I’ll divulge the epic tale of why the cat school split into two factions. We’re drenched with politics; it’s why I left and fucked off to the north where the witcher’s hate me because of more political reasons,” Julian hummed. 

 “That’s a load of shite.” 

 Julian agreed. He was tired of everything, and he understood why Yennefer wanted to leave Aerdin’s court. 

***

 Julian stalked through the forest, checking the traps he had set up, hoping to catch a rabbit or two for the stew. They had stocked up on fresh vegetables while in Reidburne, and he did not want them to go to waste. This was one thing that Julian really missed as Jaskier was the food that his former station gave him. Thoughts of a nice, warm stew on this early fall evening made Julian practically salivate. 

 He crouched in front of a snare, grinning as he saw the nice fat rabbit waiting for him. 

 As he stood up, he caught a scent. Julian’s nose wrinkled as he tried to place it. Leather, blood, steel and oil. A witcher! 

 Maybe it was the witchers that he was looking for. 

 Julian let the scent guide him deeper into the woods. He believed that he was walking slightly parallel to the road, seeing the small hunting paths winding around the rocks and the trees. 

 He came upon a small campsite, the stones for the little fire pit were scattered, and the ash looked a couple of weeks old. Julian tied the rabbit to his belt and crouched, looking at trampled earth. The dried mud preserved the footsteps. He could see the hoof prints of two horses trampling over the grass and mud. 

 There were two sets of prints, a pair of boots similar in size to Geralt’s, and a pair of smaller boots. The smaller boots’ prints were faint, the emphasis placed on the balls of the feet instead of the heels, like young cats were taught. This posture allowed cats to pivot easier and quieted their footfalls, allowing for better stealth. The second pair of boots had an emphasis on the heels, where the owner put the most pressure on. These likely belonged to the tall witcher that Abigail mentioned if the witcher stayed here. 

 Julian scratched his nose and stood up, scanning the rest of the campsite. He spotted a black stain on the ground. The smell hit him before he crouched in front of it. Drowner guts; considering they were this far inland, they had to be brought in for potions and witchers were the only ones who used them. 

 He was on the right track. He’d find the witcher and partner, hopefully before they reach the Hagge. 

 Julian brushed off the dry dirt from his knees and headed back to camp with a small spry in his step. He was one step closer to finding Aiden. 

 He just hoped it wasn’t too late. 

***

 The thing about humans, especially those who live in small towns, is that they love to gossip. Julian and his party encroached further on Mount Carbon, the more Julian heard whispers about two witchers travelling together. 

 Julian heard from an herbalist how the witchers dealt with a noonwraith who was haunting the meadow she and her daughter scoured for herbs. After the fight, the two witchers spent a couple of hours looking for the daughter’s lost doll. 

***

 Further north, Julian heard how they dealt with a cursed crone who had been kidnapping local children while the other shepherded the taken children to safety. 

 They were certainly a force to be reckoned with. 

***

 Julian could feel the palpable tension, fear, and weirdly sadness, radiating off of the rest of the party. They were resting for the night in a small village on the shores of lake Eskalott. They could see the peaks of Mount Carbon already. 

 The mood was sullen. Julian would have thought that they would be excited to get back Mahakam and their families. Julian always wanted to go to the Ale Festival there he heard it was legendary. 

 Julian reclined in his seat, ale in hand, watching as the party glumly chew through their meal. Thankfully, this inn had no bard playing; he was sick of them. Julian got the tension and sight fear. There was intense hatred, spawning into racism towards the dwarves, between the Rivians and the dwarves of Mount Carbon. 

 “What are ye going to do once we reach home?” Innind asked Julian. 

 “If you need a place to stay, I’m sure that we can find some place for you,” Resca pipped up. 

 “Yer welcome to stay with me and my folks.” Zoltan raised his mug. 

 “Thank you all for the kind offers, but’s fine. I gotta find my brother and promised Sesere that I’d haul ass back to Riverdell at some point, probably will winter there.” Julian sipped his ale, stretching out his limbs. “Now what’s with the sullen faces? Come on!” 

***

 “You’re a witcher right?” Julian yawned and wearily looked to the alderman who had approached him and Pegasus. Zoltan and Declar, who were waiting outside of the stables for the rest of the party. It was early in the morning, and they were hoping to push to the base of Mount Carbon, where Julian would say goodbye to the party. 

 “Yes?” 

 The alderman’s face relaxed. “Oh thank Meliete. I need your help.” Sounded like a contract. Seems like he might have to leave the party sooner than planned. 

 “What’s wrong?” Julian asked. 

 The alderman wrung his hands, eyes flickering around. “See, there were two other witchers that came through and we asked ‘em for help. There’s a mine in the north that’ couple of boys to checkout, to see if there was anything worth mining. Boys never came back. Now the witcher’s hadn’t come back. Now the hunters ain’t going to the woods, ta check their traps. Please, we need help.” 

He wasn’t about to pass up the chance to find those fucking witchers. He just knew, deep down, Aiden was connected to them somehow. He was going to find his brother. He was also not going to ignore witchers in need either. One of the tenants of his moral code was to always help a witcher in need. They were a dying breed and needed to band together. 

“Of course. Did they take their horses, or any supplies?”

 There were several possibilities of what was going on in the mines, and all of them ended with the witchers needing their potions. 

 “They left their mounts, stabled with the garrison’s horses. Not sure what they took.” 

 “Right, right. What path did they take? Anything I should know about the mine? Anyone die tragically, anyone curse it? Anything like it?” 

 The alderman shook his head. “No. Mine went out of business when the owner passed and his son didna wanna finance it.” 

 “Right right. I’ll need to check their horses and stable Pegasus. I just need to finish up here first.” 

 “Of course, master witcher. Thank you so much for helping us. I will let the garrison know you are coming. May the gods guide your path.” The alderman bowed and headed off. 

 Julian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

 “Sounds desperate,” Zoltan noted. Derclar nodded alongside Zoltan. 

 “Yeah, it really doesn’t sound good, but that’s the job. I’m not going to leave a witcher in need.” 

 “Ye don’t have to explain, Julian. They’re yer kin.” Derclar shook his head. “Resca is going to be disappointed he canna introduce you to his friends.” Zoltan snorted in laughter. 

 “Thanks man, I’m going to go talk Zhadhar. Watch Pegasus?” 

 “Course.” Zoltan took the reins from Julian. 

 Julian nodded thanks and headed into the inn where Zhadhar was finishing paying the innkeeper. “Hey.” Zhadhar nodded hello to Julian. 

 “Mornin’. I got a contract. They need help, something with missing miners. Looks like our paths are going to have to end here.” 

 “Aye, heard ‘bout those miners. Wondering if you were going to get it.” Zhadhar motioned for Julian to follow him. 

 “Yeah, the witchers who took the contract haven’t appeared yet and the alderman is getting desperate.” Julian shrugged and watched as Zhadhar dig through one of the trunks. 

 “Wouldn’t blame ‘im. Here; payment.” 

 Along with the coin that Vimme promised him, Zhadhar handed Julian a pair of well-crafted, with small interlocking bands of metal, twisting into elegant designs, arm guards, greeves and their famous armoured pants. “Zhadhar...” Julian didn’t know what to say. Their armour was well known for their craftsmanship, making them well sought after and expensive. 

 “Look, you made the trip bearable. The lads and I didnna have to worry ‘bout much, monsters and bandits alike. Pays to travel with a witcher. Plus, look I love Resca dearly, my sister would kill me if I said anything otherwise ‘bout her son, you put up with the boy and entertained him, even trained him a little. You deserve it. Keep safe lad.” 

 “You guys too.” 

 “You ever in Mahakam, you’re always welcome in my home.” Julian couldn’t lie, he teared up a little at the offer. 

 “You're leaving?” Resca asked. Kromna, Innind, Karlerd, and Mienras looked up from tying down the cargo to the wagons and hitching the wagons to the horses. 

 “Unfortunately so; the alderman asked for my help. I couldn’t refuse.” Julian shrugged. Despite being a wordsmith, he didn’t know what to say to them. “Thank you for having me.” 

 Innind waved his hand, dismissing Julian. “You were a delight to have. A grand time for an old dwarf; a cultured man unlike these heathens.” He shot a look to Karlerd, who in turn flipped Innind off. At least his time from Oxenfurt was still useful. 

 “It was nice to be able to finally talk poetry with someone.” Geralt, despite adamantly refusing, was a lover of art. Alas, it was the visual kind. He hated poetry with a passion. Julian liked visual art but his true calling with poetry. Geralt just muttered something about bullshit flowery language. 

 “Nerds,” Karlerd coughed. Innind cuffed him on the back of the head. 

 “I’ll miss you.” Resca looked like a sullen child. 

 “I’ll miss you too.” Julian was being honest. He liked the young dwarf. He was energetic and full of questions. A nice change from his previous company. 

 “Like uncle Zhadhar said, you’re always welcome if you’re in town.” 

 “Thanks kid.” Resca beamed at him, making Julian feel old. He didn’t know how old Resca actually was, but his energetic youthfulness made him seem even younger than he was; seemingly hasn’t faced the trials of the world, losing his naivete. Julian wished that he still had that. The bright-eyed witcher looking to change the world. 

 “Don’t die.” 

 “Thanks, Karlerd. True words of wisdom.” Julian rolled his eyes. 

 “Nice riding with you. If you ever want a drink, I’m down.” 

 Leave it to the dwarves to not draw out goodbyes. Short and to the point. 

“Take these, the gods know you need them.” Mienras shoved a satchel to Julian. The tell-tale clinks of bottles told Julian that it was dwarven spirit. Nice. “Nice to have you ‘round. See you ‘gain sometime.” 

 Julian clutched to the satchel as the party shuffled past him. He could taste the hurt emanating from them. He felt kind of bad, but that was the nature of his life. He couldn’t linger. There were always going to be monsters for him to deal with. He could never linger. ‘Tis the nature of the Path. 

 Innind shook his head, watching the younger party members shuffle past them. “Don’t mind them. They don’t get the life of a witcher.” 

 “You do?” 

 “I know enough to not be surprised by your departure. Take care lad, it was a pleasure travelling with you.” Innind clapped Julian on the side of the arm, suddenly looking very old. 

 “Thank you Innind. I hope to see you again some day.” 

 “You too.” 

 Julian numbly followed Innind out, where the rest of the party were congregated. Julian would relish the memories of travelling with them, but he steeled himself from wanting to travel with them again. He knew that wouldn’t happen again. Their paths were diverging. 

 He wasn’t Jaskier anymore. He couldn’t come back. He had to keep moving forward. The more he thought about it, the more he understood why Geralt pushed the seemingly human, Jaskier, away. Loving a human was a dangerous idea. All it would do was end in heartbreak. 

 “Hey laddie, ever in Novigrad, drop in for a drink.” Zoltan appeared by Julian’s side. 

 “‘course, you’re my whittling master.” Julian went for a lopsided smile. It worked, Zoltan’s stony face started to soften. “Now if y’all excuse me, I have some witchers who need saving.” 

 Having everyone staring at him made his skin crawl. Once upon a time, Julian would have revelled in it, gotten drunk off of the attention. Now, he just wanted to hide. 

 “Can’t wait to hear it next time I see yer sorry arse.” 

 “Oh, you’ll hear it and much, much, much, more. Be careful what you wish for, Zoltan.” Julian cheerfully waved goodbye to the party as he led Pegasus towards the garrison. As soon as he was out of sight, Julian sighed, his shoulders sagging. His heart arched. 

 The alderman had thankfully warned the garrison about Julian’s approach, so they just waved him through. Julian disposed of Pegasus into a stall and gave her a brush down. He might be tramping through the cold woods but at least Pegasus would be nice and warm. He didn’t care much about what he went through, he was used to shitty living conditions by now, but Pegasus deserved some nicer conditions. She didn’t deserve this. She ought to have some niceness in her life. 

 In the stalls next to them, Julian saw two horses, a large imposing black stallion with a strong face, and good width between the eyes. It looked foreboding. The other horse was slimmer, looking built for speed than strength. It was a slim and sinewy beige horse. 

 Julian knew that these were the witcher’s horses. It helped that in their stalls, were their saddles and saddlebags, stuffed to the brim with various bits. Like someone’s whole life was in the whole saddlebags. 

 Julian ducked into the stalls and riffled through the saddlebags, looking for their potions. He felt bad that he was going through another witcher’s possessions, but he needed to know what they took. He grabbed extra doses of White Honey, Swallow, Golden Oriole, and White Raffard's Decoction from their kits. From his own kit, he grabbed Enhanced Cat, Thunderbolt and Tawny Owl.

 He grabbed an extra set of daggers and noticed that Innind must have snuck in the bullwhip that he made into his saddlebags. His heart panged painfully for a second. He was going to miss the dwarves. 

 He nodded farewell to the men at the garrison and headed to the edge of the woods. He should have gone to Malik to help him find the path of the witchers, though Julian was just going to start at the mine and work his way through the woods. 

***

Well, this isn’t foreboding. Julian stared at the entrance to the dark mine. In the distance, he could hear dripping water and something scuttering around deep in the mind. He sighed, pulling out his silver sword and down a bottle of Cat. 

 He suddenly felt the temperature drop as the sun disappeared. Julian shivered slightly, casting igni and the cool yellow danced across the walls of the night. 

 Julian chose a path at random, following the sound of the monsters skittering below him. His boots echoed through the empty mine. 

 As he slowly descended into the mine, he heard panicked breathing, the scraping of metal against stone. The scattering of whatever was in the mine was getting louder. 

 Please don’t let it be giant spiders. Please don’t let it be giant spiders. 

 Julian rounded a corner and upon instinct, dove to the ground after hearing the screech and the unmistakable wet thump of a giant spider spitting silk at him. 

 Fuck me.

 Julian extinguished his fire and lunged at the spider, ducked the pincers, and cast aard. Which caused the spider to squeal, flipping onto its back, and Julian jammed his silver sword into the weak part of the neck. It violently twitched for a couple of seconds before going still. 

 Gross. 

 Julian stumbled away from the spider and headed further down the shaft, where the sound of fighting was getting louder. 

 There was a loud screech, and a blurry shape came flying up into the air and then disappeared back through the hole it appeared in. 

 Found the witcher. 

 Julian sighed, shelving his sword and peered over the edge. The drop wasn’t too deep. He could make the jump. The sounds of the witcher fighting grew louder and more pained. 

 He needed help. 

 Without a second thought, Julian hopped over the edge, damp wind pierced his skin as he hurled down. He tucked and rolled as he hit the ground; Julian came up with his sword drawn. 

 In the dim light, he could see one of the witcher’s fighting off the nest of Arachnomorphs swarming him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and pale skin. Not Aiden, but still needed help. Julian lunged towards him, dagger already pulled out and plunged it into the soft spot between the neck and body. The spider screamed and collapsed. 

 The witcher spun around, his face streaked with black lines, emanating from his blackened eyes. Julian could feel the heat from his eyes. “This is my fucking contract!” 

 “Yeah no shit. Why do you think I’m fucking here? The alderman thinks you're dead or some shit. Where’s your partner? Thought that there were two of you!” Julian didn’t wait for an invitation and jumped right into the fight. He jammed his sword into the face of an upcoming arachnomorph. Black ichor sprayed across his face. He grimaced at the sensation. 

 “We got separated.” The witcher grunted, pulling down one of the arachnomorphs. 

 Julian grunted in mild annoyance, positioning himself with his back to the other witcher. Julian gritted his teeth, gripping his sword and dagger. He hated fucking arachnomorphs. They seemed to be endless. 

 He slashed at the face of the next arachnomorph. It squealed and scuttled away. Julian kicked the next one. His fellow witcher grunted, and Julian heard the telltale sound of sword against flesh. 

 Julian flipped his dagger around and made the symbol for axii, forcing one of the arachnomorphs to attack the other. It squealed and lunged at its partner. As a smaller witcher, Julian needed to use all the tricks up his sleeve. Puppeteering someone else felt morally wrong, but Julian had little choice. 

 He slashed the next critter, dancing out of its way, jabbing at the side of the arachnomorph, and slashing in a wide arch at the arachnomorphs around him. 

 Around them, there is a sea of black and gleaming eyes and the sound of limbs tapping the cold ground. 

 Gross. 

 Julian got lost in the rhythm of slashing and hacking. His partner seemingly fell into a similar rhythm, corpses piling up around them. The wave of spiders kept overwhelming them. 

 “For love of Meliete’s tits, how many of them fucking are there?” Julian grumbled, he tried to cast aard to counteract the glob of silk.

 He didn’t cast it in time. 

 Julian’s sword-arm was entangled in the silk, rendering his sword useless. He tried to slash at silk with his dagger, but it was too thick. Fuck. 

 Pain erupted along his shoulder as he felt pincers rip apart his skin. 

 He yelled in pain as warm blood gushed down his side. He cast igni, a flash of fire burst from his palms. The pincers dislodged from his arm, and the spider squealed, and Julian managed to stab it with his now free hand. He freed his trapped arm, stumbling back, getting back-to-back with his companion. 

 “Fuck! Stinks like shit. Why’d you have to do that, asshole?” 

 “Oh I’m sorry, I thought that the big bad witcher would be able to withstand a fucking bad smell.” Julian whipped his dagger towards an arachnomorph. It shrieked and collapsed. He jabbed another one that got too close for comfort, with his sword. 

 “Watch out!” Julian dropped to the ground at the command of the other witcher, and a second later felt the telltale whoosh of aard explode from the witcher; Julian rolled to his feet, a second dagger already in hand. “See? That’s how you do it. No stink.” 

 “Showoff,” Julian slashed at an overturned arachnomorph, continuing to take advantage of the confused state of the enemies. 

 The carcasses piled up to the point where Julian couldn’t see the ground, but the seemingly endless waves of arachnomorphs died down.  

 Julian stood there sword, and dagger in hand, panting heavily, his shoulder ached. What was with his upper body and getting ripped to shreds? Fuck. 

 “What the fuck happened here to cause these things to nest?” Julian kicked an arachnomorph in the face and then promptly stabbed it. It shrieked and collapsed. 

 “Abandoned for centuries,” His companion retorted.  

 Julian twirled his sword around and pinned an arachnomorph to the ground with the sword through the top of its head. The screech defended his ears. 

 Julian staggered away, looking around, and saw the witcher yanking his silver sword out of an arachnomorph, a scowl etched onto face. 

 “Fucking spiders. I don’t mind the little ones; they’re cute. Little critters that eat mosquitoes. We’re pals. These motherfuckers? Nope. Never. We’re the mosquitoes. Eugh. Not to mention the ichor. It’s never going to come out of this shirt,” Julian whined, wiping the blade clean on his black pants. 

 Julian waded through the bodies to find his dagger, grimacing as he did so. The worst part of a hunt. He was glad that he wasn’t the one who had to clean up the bodies. 

“Aha!” He spotted a flash of metal and pulled it out. “Woah! Man!” He stumbled back when he saw the tip of the witcher’s sword pointed at his face. Yikes. 

 “Why are you here?” The witcher snarled. His face was deathly pale and his eyes melted into the darkness of the mine. 

 “The alderman sent me.” 

 “Bullshit.” 

 Julian held back an eye-roll. “Yes-shit. The alderman was worried and asked for my help as I was passing through. No sinister motives; I just want to help a fellow witcher.” 

 Julian stood there, waiting for the witcher's response, painfully aware of the point pressing against his neck. His eyes travelled down to the witcher’s neck where the round medallion with a wolf’s head was imprinted upon it. He held back a frustrated sigh; he left one wolf’s den and entered another. He should have continued south. 

 The witcher didn’t look convinced. For once, words were failing him. How could Jaskier convince this witcher? They were trained from conception to only work for coin. Familial and school ties were secondary. 

 In the dim green-tinted light, Julian saw the impression of a wolf’s head on the medallion proudly dangling from his neck. A wolf; great, another reason why he wasn’t going to trust Julian. 

 “I’ll leave, if that’s what you want. The alderman ‘hired’ me to make sure you and your partner were alive and if not, finish the contract. Seeing that you’re alive, my job is done. I bid you adieu.” Julian took a step back, towards the ladder that he hoped would take him to the surface. 

 The witcher’s face contorted at the mention of his partner. He hesitated slightly but lowered his blade. “Wait...I could use some help.” It looked like it physically pained him to admit it. 

 “Ok. Where’d your partner disappear too? We’re likely to find the rest of the nest, if this fight was any indication.” 

 “I know,” he growled out. 

 This was like Geralt all over again. Julian has always wondered what it would like to hunt with him. Apparently, it would be just the same as travelling with him; a surly asshole. Just like his brother. Where was Geralt; what was he doing? Probably holed up somewhere with a whore and getting pissed drunk in an attempt to nurse his broken heart. 

 And Geralt had the fucking gall to call Julian a drunken whore. Asshole. Surly fucking asshole.

Julian let out a pained sigh. The wolf was not going to make this easy. “Where’d you get separated?” 

 “Don’t know.” 

 He has talked to this man for less than ten minutes, and Julian wanted to strangle him. How’d he ever put up with Geralt for so long? 

 “Is there anything that you know that could help us? Or are you just useless?” 

 “Watch it,” the witcher snapped. “I still have half a mind to gut you here and now.” 

 “Terrified.” Julian rolled his eyes. 

 The witcher growled, rubbing his eyes, grimacing as he battled the side effects of the potions. 

 “Here.” Julian tossed him a bottle of Golden Oriole. The witcher caught it with ease, peering at it bewilderedly. He uncorked it and sniffed it. Were all wolves so paranoid? Jullian rolled his eyes in the darkness, watching the witcher shrug and then down the bottle. 

 The inky blackness that danced across the witcher’s face slowly faded away. The colour came back to the witcher’s face making him look slightly more youthful. Julian’s eyes trailed down the scar running by the witcher’s left eye. 

 It saddened Julian that his people were hurt so often in their profession, trying to keep humans safe, yet they were still demonized. Julian had a hard time remembering the names of the witchers who never came home. He wanted to help his people, make things better for them. As Jaskier, he succeeded; as Julian, he was lost. He didn’t know how to help. He was just another nameless witcher wandering the world. 

 “So, I’ve finally got to meet the famous Julian of Redania, the Mad Cat of Kerack.” 

 Julian arched an eyebrow at the man. His hooded eyes crinkled in the corners, and the slight tug of his mouth seemed to give off the impression of the witcher being amused that Julian was worthy of his epithet. 

 Witchers were weird. 

 “Seems you hold the cards in your favour, wolf. You know who I am, and, yet, I have not the fainest idea whom the fuck you are.” 

 The witcher arched an eyebrow at him. “Whom? What the fuck? Were you some posh richey baby in your past life?” 

 “In fact, yes. I was the son of a viscount; but that’s not the fucking point asshole!” He was worse than Geralt, but like in a completely different way. Geralt never fucking talked. This asshole never shut up. 

 The witcher wheezed in amusement, and Julian was struck with the urge to smack him. “Lambert.” 

 “Aw, what a cutie pie name. Doesn’t suit the big bad witcher at all,” Julian cooed. It tickled his heart to see Lambert turn beat red. 

 “Fuck off.” 

 “Did you pick the name all by yourself?” Julian nearly howled in laughter as he easily ducked the punch that Lambert swung. 

 “God, fucking shit. Why does Aiden like you so much? You’re such a fucking annoying asshole; nothing like him! At all!” 

 Aiden? 

 Did Lambert know Aiden? 

 Julian moved before he realized what he was doing. He lashed out, his hand gripping Lambert’s gambeson and slammed him against the stone wall. “Where is he? Where’s my brother?” His throat felt gravelly as he snarled at Lambert. 

 He needed to find his brother. 

 He needed to know that he was safe. 

 With growing dread, Julian realized where his brother might be and what danger he was in. 

 Lambert matched his anger and shoved Julian off of him. His silver sword was already in his hands. Julian stumbled back, hands dropping to where he hid one of his daggers. 

 “Why do you give a fucking shit? After all, you left him.”   

 Pain exploded from Julian’s fist as his knuckles made contact with Lambert’s nose. He did not abandon his brother. Everything he did as Jaskier was to help his brother. 

 Sure, he could have risen his sword to protect his brother, but the seemingly senseless killing chipped away who Julian was. The music, the poetry, the campaigning, it was all in an effort to make the world a better place for Aiden. Geralt too, and Sesere. All of them. His brothers and sisters. 

 The fucking gall that Lambert had to insinuate that. Julian already didn’t like the wolves; this just solidified his reasoning. 

 Julian stepped back, clenching his hand, trying to hide how they were trembling. 

 Lambert snarled, blood dripping down his nose. His golden eyes were blazing with anger. 

 With the smoothness of a cat, Lambert launched himself upon Julian. He slammed into Julian like he was a charging forktail. 

 Ow. 

 Julian grit his teeth in an effort of hiding his pain as he bounced off the hard stone walls. 

 Lambert had him pinned to the floor; his hands wrapped around his wrist, thighs around Julian’s midsection. Effectively immobilizing Julian. His face mere inches from Julian’s. 

 He smirked in seeming triumph. It looked that way, but Julian wasn’t above fighting dirty. 

 Julian lurched forward, his head slamming into Lambert’s already bruised nose. 

 Lambert howled in pain and let go of Julian. With Lambert’s distracted state, Julian raised his foot and slammed it into his chest, sending Lambert tumbling backwards, crashing into an abandoned piece of mining equipment. 

 “Don’t you ever fucking dare say that I abandoned my brother. You know nothing, Lambert of the Wolf School. You are a child playing at an adult’s game. Now where is my fucking brother?” Julian snarled. 

 While Julian might have not gotten a lot out of Geralt about the other wolves, he did know that other than Vesemir, the other wolves were fairly young. Julian was old. He was nearly two hundred years old. This child in front of him understood nothing. 

 This cretin still had a chip on his shoulder. Like he needed to prove something to the world. Almost all of the younger witcher’s had this attitude. One of the few that didn’t have this attitude was Geralt. This anger fizzled out over the years, replaced with weariness. 

 “I don’t fucking know!” Lambert snapped. 

 “Not good enough,” Julian snarled, pulling out his sword and pointing it to Lambert. “Where’s my fucking brother?” 

 “We got seperated!” 

 What? 

 It felt like the world was crashing around Julian. Aiden was here. They were only separated by a few thick walls of stone. 

 Julian’s ears pricked when he heard a muffled scream, and then his blood went cold. He turned to Lambert, trying to hide his rage. “If my brother dies because of your fucking incompetence, your brothers will find the sad excuse of your face perched on the walls of Kear Morhen.”

 With that, he turned and ran deeper into the mine. 

Chapter Text

  The Lettenhove estate slowly came into view as Roach clopped on the rough dirt road. Geralt exhausted all other options. He continuously tried to figure out where Jaskier was hiding. Usually, he didn’t care much about where Jaskier ended up when they went their separate ways. They often travelled different paths, but their departure hadn’t ended well. 

 It’s now why he was here. 

 Geralt knew that going to the Lettenhove estate was probably a long shot. Jaskier hardly ever talked about his family. The topic always piqued Geralt’s interest. Mostly it was because it was one subject that Jaskier never rambled on about.

 It was unlikely that Jaskier was here, but other than going to the Countess de Stael, Geralt didn’t know where else Jaskier would be hiding. 

 Geralt worried his bottom lip as he felt the cold wind whipping through him. Winter was on its way. He should start making his way to Kaer Morhen, but leaving his ending with Jaskier the way it happened didn’t sit right. He couldn’t take his winter leave like this. 

 Already, whispers were starting to appear about Jaskier. He was not one to disappear like this. He’d saunter into town, dazzling everyone and then leave. It just seemed like Jaskier was plucked out of thin air. 

 Perhaps he should consult a sorceress. It would not be the first time that Jaskier meddled with something beyond his understanding. 

 Geralt was not relishing the idea of having to rescue Jaskier. Again. 

He shivered, thinking about how helpless Jaskier was. Images of a crumpled and bloodied Jaskier flashed through Geralt’s mind. He could only imagine the pain he was going on right now, pleading with some mage or sorceress to let him go. 

 Jaskier probably put something in one of his songs that pissed off someone powerful. 

 He was also not looking forward to dealing with a sorceress. His first thought was to ask Yennefer, but she’d likely rather turn him into an eel than help him or Jaskier. 

 Or he was just licking his wounds and hiding from Geralt. 

 That sounded like Jaskier. 

 Luckily, Geralt had an excuse to come to Lettenhove. There was a contract out. A creature was rampaging in the forests around the estate, destroying the honey farms and killing hunters. Sounds like a standard Leshen contract. 

 The servants of the estates warily eyed Geralt as he entered the courtyard. None of them seemed to want to be associated with him. Was this really the place that Jaskier grew up in? Someone so liberal came from this conservative place? 

 Perhaps they were acting this way because Geralt broke their poor viscount’s heart. Was Jaskier viscount, or was it his father? Geralt couldn’t remember. 

 He passed the reins to a stablehand, who trembled at the mere sight of Geralt and made his inside. “I am here to speak to the Viscount of Lettenhove about the contract he issued,” he said to the butler who appeared out of nowhere. 

 He didn’t seem like much, but he was likely the one who would know where Jaskier was hiding. Even if Jaskier didn’t want Geralt in his life, Geralt just needed to know that Jaskier was safe. 

 The butler nodded and indicated for Geralt to follow him. They travelled the eastern wing of the estate in silence. Not that Geralt particularly minded; idle chat was a frustration for him. 

 As they rounded a corner, Geralt was assaulted with sunshine. The eastern wall was less a wall, rather more a single, continuous pane of glass. It glittered in the morning sunshine and highlighted the corridor of portraits. Likely the previous Viscounts. 

 Geralt eyed them with interest as he walked past. Perhaps if he had the chance, he would have become a painter; or, possibly a sculptor. These people created such wondrous things instead of being built to destroy. He understood his purpose; witchers were necessary. They were needed to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. 

 One of the portraits caught his eye. All of the owners of the previous portraits were impressive men, ranging from their late twenties to their eighties. But this boy here could not have been older than nine. He had those wide expressive eyes that only a child could have. 

 Who was this boy? 

 “Ah, I see you’ve met my ancestor.” Geralt turned and came face to face with a man who still seemed to be at the cusp of his youth. Unlike many of his other counterparts and his family, Jaskier, the viscount of Lettenhove, wore a simple jerkin with a stiff collar and breeches. 

 “You must be the viscount.” Geralt eyed the man. He had the same eyes as Jaskier and cheekbones. That’s where the similarities ended. Whereas Jaskier had dark hair, this man’s hair was as fine as straw. How were they exactly related? 

 “Indeed I am. You must be the Witcher Geralt of Riva. Your fame precedes you.” 

 “All thanks to your relative, Jaskier.” 

 The viscount looked puzzled at Geralt’s response. 

 “The poet? He claims to be related to the viscount of Lettenhove. Though, I forgot how. Jaskier is just a stage name. His name is Julian.” 

 The viscount shook his head. “I may be mistaken, but no-one in my family has used that name since...him.” He gestured to the boy in the portrait. 

 Geralt frowned. “What do you mean?” If Jaskier wasn’t really from Lettenhove, then what more of his life was a lie? Was everything? Did he even study at Oxenfurt?

 “This was Julian Alfred Pankratz. The elder brother of my great-grandfather.” 

 “What happened?” Geralt did not like to think about what could have happened to this young boy. 

 The viscount sighed, clasping his hands behind his back and wandered to look out to the forest through the glittering windows. “When my great-grandfather was nothing more than a mere babe, our estate was falling into disrepair. We owed debts to many people. On top of all that, we had a leshen tormenting the woods. My great-great-grandfather was a cheap man due to the nature of the estate. So cheap that he decided to pay the witcher who came to deal with leshen with his son.” 

 Geralt internally groaned. Like every profession, there were dark blemishes that most wanted to ignore. This was one of them. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no other way to gather boys to become witchers. The Law of Surprise was a softer way to gain children. It eased the burden from the parents, giving up their children like that. Paying for the services of a witcher with a son outright felt so much more scandalous. 

 “I see. How old was Julian?” 

 “He was nine.” 

 Almost too old to be taken. The boy was bound to die. Unlike others in his class, he would have less time to prepare for the trials. 

 “My great-grandfather, after hearing of what his father did to his brother, had his brother’s portrait taken from the basement and placed among our ancestors. Since the sacrifice of Julian, our bloodline has decided that it would be in poor taste to name our descendants Julian.” 

 “Hmm.” Geralt crossed his arms, looking out to the woods as well. “He didn’t even finish the contract.” 

 “What?” The viscount demanded, spinning to face Geralt.

 “You said it was a Leshen that made a witcher come last time. As I made my way to the estate, I overheard people talking about what’s happening. Sounds like a leshen. It is likely that the leshen had a tether back then, making sure that even if the witcher killed it’s physical body, it would still live and regenerate.” 

 “So his sacrifice was in vain.” 

 “Depends on what your definition of in vain is.” Geralt took a step forward, joining the viscount at the windows. “Your family was able to pay off your debts and your land flourished. The leshen, if that is for sure a leshen, and the same leshen, has yet to kill any of your hunters. The most damage at the moment are your bee farms. Regrettable but salvageable.”

 The viscount sighed, his whole body seemingly deflating. “You’re right. Still, I feel like Julian’s memory is being insulted by the leshen returning.” 

 Hm. 

 “Do you know if Julian survived? I have heard that only a handful of boys survive their trials, even fewer survive out there.” 

 Geralt chewed on the inside of his lip, unsure of what to say.

 His immediate thought was Jaskier, but the thought of Jaskier being bloody and torn apart made Geralt nauseous. Jaskier shouldn’t have to deal with the hardship of this trade. 

 Geralt’s heart ached at the thought of Jaskier. He missed Jaskier, his cheerful smile, and his music. He misspoke to Jaskier on the mountain, his anger lashing out at the first target. An unfair target. Even if he couldn’t salvage his relationship, he wished that he could apologize. Jaskier may or may not accept it, but that was not the priority. He just wished to end things not on a sour note. 

 He really hoped that Jaskier was not a witcher. Especially one with a father so cruel. 

 There was a witcher, a Cat, by the name Julian. Vesemir had told Geralt’s class about him once. He was most often called the Mad Cat of Kereck. The witcher who massacred an entire town for no apparent reason. Geralt had learnt about him as the Kraken Killer. A witcher so insane that during one contract in Skellige, he decided that the best way to kill a Kraken was from the inside. So he downed a bottle of Killer Whale and Swallow, jumped into the ocean. As the Kraken swallowed Julian, he lit a bomb and detonated it inside the Kraken. It was said that Julian blew out of the water, into the sky, crashing into the ship so hard it cracked the wood. 

 Vesemir had used Julian’s exploits as a basis on not what to do. As well as an example for why they should avoid the cats. In Vesemir’s words, ‘all cats are fucking insane.'

 Geralt didn’t think that he should tell the viscount this. He was already deeply affected by Julian’s kidnapping. Telling him that his ancestor might be the Mad Cat of Kereck would probably affect him poorly. 

 “I’m not sure. He is not a member of the wolf school, and I am not familiar with the other schools.”

 The viscount nodded, his young face gaunt. It was strange this man was so concerned for an ancestor he’s never met. Geralt didn’t understand humans. “I hope he rests well.” He sniffled and straightened himself. “So, what are you to do now?” 

 “I want to make sure that what I am hunting is leshen. After, I will need to make sure that no-one is marked as the leshen’s tether. Once complete, I will kill the leshen.” 

 “What happens if there is a tether?” 

 “The tether must either be banished from the land or killed. It will be up to you, the issuer of the contract.” 

 The viscount nodded. “Thank you, Geralt of Riva. Will you be needing quarters for your stay here?” 

 “It is alright, I can find an inn around here. I do not mean to bother you more than I have.” 

 “You are not a nuisance. You’re doing you’re doing a job. I ought to supply you with the proper tools.” 

 “If you could give my horse food and shelter in the stables for the time being, that would be enough. I will likely be out enough that I won’t need a room.” 

 “Alright, if you insist. If you are in need of anything, contact Eistar and he will help you.” The viscount gestured to the butler, who politely retreated down the hall. 

 “Thank you. I shall begin my investigation promptly.” 

 “I am indebted to you. I shall look through my family’s records to see if Jaskier is indeed related to us. If so, I will gladly welcome him into the family. I do enjoy his music. It is rather catchy, especially the one aimed at warning children about what lurks in the river.” 

 Geralt knew the one that the viscount was talking about. Jaskier wrote after a partially brutal contract. A nest of drowners had killed several of the town’s children. It was one of the few times that Geralt had seen Jaskier fully breakdown. 

 Geralt had to pull Jaskier away from the bodies. Afterwards, Jaskier had barricaded himself in their room and didn’t leave until he produced the song. 

 It was a hit. 

 But it was one of few songs that Jaskier didn’t brag about. He played if requested, but he never talked about it unless prompted. 

 Geralt hated hearing it. It made him think of the contract. 

 “Don’t tell him that. It’ll go to his head.” 

 The viscount smiled faintly. He gave Geralt a little bow. “I’ll leave you to your work, master witcher.” Geralt nodded, unsure of what to do back. Nobles didn’t do this to him. They each went their separate ways. 

 Had Jaskier lied to him? Why? 

The more that Geralt looked into Jaskier, the less it made sense. 

Why did he have the glamour? Why did he so freely give up his life in Oxenfurt, where his life could have been comfortable, to be with Geralt? Why did he lie about his family? Geralt knew that Jaskier knew that Geralt couldn’t give two shits about someone’s life. 

 What was Jaskier hiding? 

***

 When Lambert first heard about Julian of Redania, the Mad Cat of Kereck, the Kraken Killer, he thought that it was a load of crock-shit. A story that the wolves made up to discourage the trainees to avoid other witchers. 

 It worked? His brothers didn’t associate with the other schools. 

 He didn’t actually think that Julian of Redania was fucking real. And no one warned Lambert that Julian’s two different eye colours were fucking terrifying. The way he stood over Lambert, daggers strapped to his body, and silver sword dangling from his fingers. Both of his abnormally bright eyes were cold with fury at the thought of the loss of his brother. 

 When Aiden told Lambert about his brother, Lambert didn’t believe him at first. There was no way that Julian of Redania was actually a real man. Aiden knocked him out for that. When Lambert asked if Julian’s exploits were real, Aiden just said that his brother was reckless. That didn’t explain anything whatsoever. 

 Seeing Julian in action, his silver weapons gleaming in the darkness as he lashed out. He threw a silver dagger with unbridled anger so hard that it pinned the spider to the wall. He lunged past the spider, pulling out a dagger as he went past.

 Lambert had difficulty keeping up with him. 

 They came upon the lower level, where Lambert could hear the faint sound of Aiden’s heartbeat. 

 Shit. 

 Lambert should have known better. Aiden’s style of fighting wasn’t suited for this contract. A fight with multiple enemies in a confined space. 

 Idiot! 

 Lambert was going to get him killed. 

 “Get him out of here,” Julian snarled. “They’re mine.” That sent shivers down Lambert’s spine, but he wasn’t about to let that deter him. Aiden needed help, and that was one thing that they seemed to agree on.

 Julian whipped a dagger to the closest spider, ignoring its squealing, and finishing it off with a slice to the neck. 

 He plundered his way through the centre of the pack. 

 He was trying to make himself the target instead of Aiden.  

 Lambert shouldered his way through the spiders to the center, where Aiden looked like he was about to collapse. His daggers trembled as he peered around the circle. 

 Aiden’s eyes lit up when Lambert stumbled his way towards him. 

 “I thought you were dead.” Lambert’s heart clenched at the ache in Aiden’s voice. 

 “Nah, you know that it takes more than this to kill me. Come on; we need to get out of here.” 

 “The arachnomorphs!” Aiden protested, but the energy already seemed to disappear. His knees buckled and Lambert could see him fumbled with a dagger. The source was a bloody wound seeping out of a torn section of his breastplate. 

 Fuck. Aiden was shivering and pale. 

 “Yeah, already fucking dealing with that.” Lambert gestured over his shoulder with a jerk of his head as he slashed the face of a fucking spider. 

 Aiden frowned but looked just in time as there was a resounding boom, and a mass of spiders came raining down. 

 Lambert took that as a chance to get out of there. He grabbed Aiden’s hand and cast aard himself. Lambert slammed his way through the pack. He looked over his shoulder and saw Julian grasp a spider’s head and rip it open. Julian snarled in anger and lunged for the next one. From his position, Lambert could see the anger bleeding through his eyes. 

 “J-Julian?” Lambert felt the pits of jealousy flowering when he heard the awe in Aiden’s voice. 

 He tightened his hand around Aiden’s slender wrist and pulled him away from the main chamber. Aiden struggled against Lambert’s embrace, trying to get to his brother. 

 Lambert firmly held Aiden back; under Lambert’s hands, Aiden was cold. His normal vibrant golden-brown skin was ashen. “Where are you hurt?” 

 Aiden fell back to reality; his eyes flickered to his side, where there was a mass of black. 

 Shit. 

 Lambert carefully pried open his breastplate, dread spilling into Lambert’s stomach. His breastplate was torn to shreds, and Lambert could black blood spilling out of his wound. Blood mixed with black ichor stained his blue shirt and seeped between his hands, trying to keep the blood in. 

 “Lambs-” Aiden shuddered, his forehead collapsing against Lambert’s. 

 “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe. We’re gonna get you help.” Lambert silently cursed himself for not taking potions to help Aiden from Julian. 

 Aiden wheezed in pain, clutching his side. Lambert didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t cauterize the wound yet. Lambert was worried that the poison would get trapped inside of him if he did so. 

 “Just stay with me.” Lambert not-so-gently slapped Aiden on the face. He needed him to stay awake. Aiden peered at Lambert blearily.

 The sounds of combat dimmed as Aiden’s eyes fluttered closed. 

 No. No. No. No. 

 “Stay with me, asshole! I can’t fucking loose you. Please.” Lambert wasn’t the type to beg, but seeing Aiden slumped over with blood trickling from his stomach broke his fucking heart. Other than his brothers, he didn’t have anyone to turn to. Aiden had been a light in his life. 

 Lambert didn’t know the exact nature of his feelings for Aiden was; he wasn’t someone who loved and shit. He just likes having the fucker around. 

 Aiden coughed, and blood came dribbling out as Aiden gave him a wicked smile. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Cats got nine lives.” 

 That didn’t settle Lambert’s nerves. 

 Come on Julian. Lambert grit his teeth, blood soaking through his clenched hands. 

 Please. Aiden needed his brother. 

  “Fucking hate arachnomorphs. Whoever thought that it was a good idea to fucking make them?” Julian came stumbling over. His face was smeared with blood ichor, with his hair stuck to his face. Blackness crept into the corners of his eyes. “Aiden.” He collapsed to his knees. 

 Aiden’s head hung limply. 

 “I couldn’t cauterize it. There’s too much poison. It needs to be cleaned.” 

 Julian stumbled for his pouch, hands groping for the strings of the leather satchel. With trembling hands, he uncorked a glowing gold potion and shoved it into his brother’s mouth. “Should stop the poison and blood flow. You’re right though. It needs to be dressed. Fuck. Should’ve brought shit with me. Can you get him to the surface?” 

 “Course.” Lambert gently scooped up Aiden’s limp body into his arms. He felt Aiden's faint heartbeat against his chest. 

 Julian pulled out his slider sword and dagger. “Pretty sure I killed them all. Can never be to fucking certain. Not with this shit going on,” Julian grumbled, more to himself than to Lambert. 

 The process of getting Aiden out of the mine was a difficult task. With every twist and every distant scuttle, Julian and Lambert froze, forcing them to slip into the cover of darkness once more.

 The damp cold of the mine put Lambert on edge. It seeped into his skin and froze his muscles. 

 Aiden never liked the cold either. 

 He used to hiss whenever Lambert asked him about coming to Kear Morhen and muttering how the cold was worse than being in the depths of hell. 

 Even Julian looked haggard, the cold sapping away at his body. His lithe movements faltered, stumbling slightly over rocks protruding from the ground. His near-silent footfalls became louder. 

 It was almost like the mine was cursed. 

 Aiden’s limp body dragged Lambert down. Every jostle made Aiden move in Lambert’s arms. 

 Lambert grit his teeth, and his arms ached as he did, but he pushed through. He could see the sunlight. Sweet fucking sunlight. 

 “Best not to take him to town. Three witchers will attract unwanted attention,” Julian muttered. 

 “Right.” 

 “Passed hut on the way here. Looks like a hunter’s. Might not be the best but Aiden needs as much comfort right now.” 

 “Lead the way.” 

 Lambert inwardly screamed at the tension his arms were under. He kept trudging through. The sunlight on his back helped. It reenergized Lambert. He shifted Aiden’s prone body in his arms and followed Julian. 

 The hut was small and dingy-looking. It was an open space. Nothing was sectioned off. The shitter was across the room from the bed. Gross. 

 Whatever. 

 Lambert gently placed Aiden down on the bed. He seemingly blended into the greyed sheets around him. 

 Julian sniffled, sheathing his sword and dagger while still looking around the hut. “I’ll go collect our horses and supplies. There’s fresh water out in the back. Start cleaning out his wound and try to stop the blood flow.” 

 Lambert hated being told what to do. He was a grown fucking man! Though, in this instance, Lambert would let it slide. “Right.” 

 The door slammed shut behind Julian. 

 “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Idiot. Fucking idiot.” Lambert sighed, bending down and started undoing the straps to Aiden’s armour. 

***

 Light was almost gone when Julian returned. Lambert didn’t fucking hear him at first. Unnerving shithead. How the man managed to conceal the sound of three horses, Lambert didn’t fucking know. 

 “How is he?” Julian slid into the darkened room. 

 “Poison ‘s mostly gone. Shitload of blood loss but he ain’t bleeding much anymore.” 

 “Good. Potion’s working. That’ll help.” Julian dropped the saddlebags onto the floor and slumped against a table. His body suddenly became exhausted. “Fucking idiot.” 

 Lambert ignored the man and dug around Aiden’s saddlebags. He went to go dress Aiden’s wounds. 

 “Get some sleep, wolf. You look like shit.” 

 “Fuck off.” Lambert vaguely flipped him off. He pressed a clean piece of linen against the clean wound and wrapped a long strip of linen around his waist. Should keep the infection at bay. 

 “I’m serious. Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.” 

 He didn’t want to fucking sleep because there was a crazy fucking lunatic standing in front of Lambert, who just recently told him that he was going to decapitate Lambert and wave his head in front of his fucking brothers. 

 Lambert could feel Julian roll his eyes. “Relax. I won’t slice you up in your sleep wolf. You travel with my brother. His seal of approval is better than any piece shit of a god these people pray too.” 

 Well, that was something. 

 Lambert sighed and collapsed against a wall, sliding down without any grace. 

 Julian smirked, flickering his fingers towards the candles littered by the kitchen and it burst into flame. “Like I said, you look like shit.” Julian sighed and sat on a rickety old stool, pulling out a dagger and whetstone. The soft  shenk  of the blade was a soothing sound to Lambert. 

 Lambert tiredly flipped him off. As he did so, his eyes lingered on the scar on Julian’s face. It reminded him of Eskel. It looked like lightning dancing across this face. “How’d you get it?” He nodded to his scar. 

 Julian made a face at the memory. There was a flash of anger deep in his eyes. A sort of anger that made Lambert want to shy away from out of fear. 

 Fuck. 

That was fucking stupid. Lambert knew better than to ask that. 

 He sounded too much like Geralt’s bard. Every winter, Lambert had to deal with Geralt moping that his bard wasn’t there. It was annoying as shit. Why would Geralt willing to subject himself to some rando prying into his fucking life. 

 Geralt was weird as shit. 

“I was young and angry.”

 Hun? Lambert looked up from the buckle he was half interested in. Julian stared intensely at the dagger in hand. The hand around the knuckle was tense and white. 

 “It wasn’t long after I graduated, when outside mages first started understanding what happened with the trials. Came ‘cross a small town in Etolia. Children going missing. Alderman asked me to help. Found a mage propped up in an old tower, experimenting on children, he wanted them to be witchers. Trying to get his own private army.” 

 Lambert felt the violent surge of anger seeping into Julian’s words. It could not be described how much Lambert hated the Trials, the anger, the pain. He wished that no one else would go through them. Stealing children from their homes and forcing them into a profession where they had no survival. The whole system was corrupted. 

 Taking children like that. Goes against everything that was right. Fucking monsters. 

 “I was cocky and stupid and when I saw what he was doing, I was blinded with anger. Attacked him with no plan, no potions, nothing. If it wasn’t for one of the girls, snuck up behind and smacked the man with one of his beakers ‘cross the head, I wouldn’t be here.” 

 “Shit.” 

 Julian hummed in agreement, slowly dragging the knife across the stone. “We, townsfolk and I, happily pulled the tower down brick-by-brick. Gutted and strung the mage up by the neck. Watched over the kids after that. Wanted to be there in case something witchery happened. Felt somewhat responsible for their fates. They all lived happily and died of old age. So they got their happy ending and I’m still here.” 

 This wasn’t the Julian of Rediana that Lambert was expecting. 

 He’s heard the tales since he was a kid. The quiet warnings of what not to do as a wolf. Lambert had fallen in love with the stories. The fantastical exploits and the wooing of anyone around him, it sounded like a novel. Something more than reality. Also, his trainers hated Julian of Redania, every story told with a sneer.  

 This figure in front of him was a shell of the stories told. His shoulders sagged, and there were heavy lines around his face. 

 “So tell me, why in the ever loving fuck did my brother decide to travel with you?” Julian asked. 

 “Fuck if I know. We met when I was doing a contract deal with a fucking troll and the asshole decided keep following me. No idea why.” Lambert reached for a saddlebag and pulled out a bottle of white gull. He was going to fucking drink. 

 Julian snorted and looked over fondly to his brother. “Sounds like him. Once he’s decided he’s going to be friends with you, there’s no getting rid of him.” 

 Lambert closed his eyes, finally letting his body relax. His muscles, which previously screamed in pain, seemed to relax. Maybe he’d actually sleep. Aiden was safe, and Lambert wasn’t likely to lose his head to the slightly mad man in front of him. 

***

 Julian avoided the cabin in the day that came. He didn’t know what to do when Aiden woke. He’s been so focused on finding his brother. He had neglected to think about what to say to him. Aiden was bound to be pissed off with his brother. 

 So he took the coward’s way out and went into town. He did need things from town. Aiden’s armour was trashed and needed to be fixed. He probably needed some new clothes, same with Lambert, and they were getting low on food. And Julian should probably speak with the alderman. 

 Julian took his sweet time going through town. Thankfully, Lambert was fine with him going into town. Julian was pretty sure that the man was still nervous with Julian around. 

 He had no idea that the wolves told his stories to the new recruits. How embarrassing. Coupled with the fact that Julian had just threatened to chop off his head, no wonder Lambert wanted him away from him. 

 Though Julian was happy to spend the entire day wandering, he should eventually return. Part of him wanted to dip out and leave the lovebirds alone; he didn’t really deserve to come back to the loving arms of his brother. Aiden probably thought of him as dead. Perhaps it was best to leave. 

 Except that Julian left half of his gear at the cabin, and he had Aiden’s armour. 

 Perhaps Lambert would silently let Julian leave. Lambert was not a fan of Julian and probably wanted Julian to disappear from their lives. 

 What was their relationship? 

 Julian got off of Pegasus as he pulled up to the hut. 

 He heard muffled conversation coming from inside. Aiden must be awake. Julian paused at the front door. He heard a faint groan. “Feel like shit.” That was clearly Aiden’s voice. 

 “No fucking shit, Aiden. You’re lucky that we showed up when we did. Why didn’t you hide or shit?” 

 “I’m not delicate Lambs, I can handle some fucking spiders.” Hehe, Lambs. Lambert must hate that nickname.

 “Obviously not.” Lambert sighed. “I don’t mean nag, it's just.. fuck Aiden… I thought that you were going to die. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. You’re too important to me.” 

 “Lambs.” It sounded like Aiden was about to cry. 

 “Tell anyone I said that and I’ll cut your dick off.” Aiden snorted in laughter. 

 “Thank you for coming back for me Lambs.” The air between them grew quiet. Julian could only imagine what was going on between the two of them. 

 Fuck. Julian wanted to leave right now, but he wasn’t a coward. He needed to see his brother. Right his wrongs. 

 The door to the hut creaked open, and Julian leaned against the doorframe. Presentation was everything. He needed to dazzle his brother to soften the blow. “Lambs? Really Aiden? Do you have a death wish?” 

 The room became deathly silent. Fuck. If looks could kill, then Lambert would have killed Julian by now. 

 Aiden didn’t look much happier. Shit. He staggered off of the bed and stumbled towards Julian. He wasn’t sure if Aiden was going to hug him or hit him. Both options were very plausible. Punching each other was a witcher thing to do. Probably not a healthy coping mechanism. Oh well. Whatever. 

 Julian stepped out of the line of Aiden’s punch easily. The anger in his eyes was palpable; this was not the time for cracking witty remarks and jokes. Aiden looked like he wanted Julian dead. 

 Lambert hovered nervously behind Aiden, hands out like he was going to catch Aiden if he fell. Which was more than likely given Aiden’s state. 

 “I thought you were dead! Everyone did; I had some fucking chick come up asking where the hell you were! Seven years Julian! Seven! Not fucking word! I mourned you! We all did!” 

 Julian knew. 

 He knew his brother would mourn him, but he chose to go anyways. Not a day went by when Julian’s heart ached at the thought of his brother. 

 Aiden stood there, chest heaving dangerously so, eyes blazing in anger. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Aiden demanded. 

 “No.” 

 There was no excuse for the pain he put Aiden through. 

 He tried so hard to keep in contact, spending summers away from Oxenfurt with Aiden or winters in the south away from the wolves with Aiden. But it slowly tapered off over the years. Jaskier became so all-consuming that it was hard to separate himself. 

 Aiden screamed and threw a punch at Julian’s face. 

 His stance was a little too wide, making his footing a little unstable, and his punch very easily dodgeable.

 “I hate you!” 

 Julian understood. He would hate him too. 

 “Fucking asshole! Stop just standing there! Say something!” Aiden gestured violently at Julian. 

 Over Aiden’s shoulder, Lambert gave Julian a very uncomfortable look. Poor guy, as well as being related to a jackass like Geralt; he now had to deal with this shit. 

 Julian gave him a sympathetic look. 

 “And you!” Aiden whirled around, wobbling slightly. There’s a flash of panic in Lambert’s eyes. “You’re just okay with this? It took me fucking months for you stop fucking abandoning me in the middle of the fucking woods. And now he just comes waltzing in and you’re okay?” 

 “Hey!” The rage in Lambert’s eyes flared up. “I’m not a fucking fan of this either. You know what your insane piece of shit brother told me when we were in the mines? ‘My brother come out fucking alive or I’m going to hack your head off and brandish to my family like some fucking trophy’. I’m not fine with it but it was fucking neccesary to get you out alive! Alright asshole?” 

 “That was a little unnecessary,” Julian muttered. He was just worried about his brother at the time. 

 “Shut up!” Both of them snapped. 

 Julian rolled his eyes. Whatever. “Look, if you’re that pissed with me then I’ll leave. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and that I’m alive. I’ll take my leave then.” 

 “Shut up and sit down. That’s not what I fucking said, at all. Were you always this insufferable?” 

 “No, I'm usually worse. I’m just having an off couple of months. Would you like for me to tone it up?” 

 Aiden looked pained; he pinched the bridge of his nose and collapsed onto the side of the bed. Lambert looked queasy and gently took the space beside Aiden. 

 “Where were you Julian?” 

 Julian took in a heavy sigh. “Not to sound like an asshole, but everywhere and nowhere.” There was an irritated growl from one of them. “Julian of Redania didn’t really exist for the past twenty years, I was someone else.” 

 “Hun? You cursed or some shit?” Lambert asked, dropping back onto the bed and groaning. 

 “No. Entirely voluntary.” Julian sat down on the rickety stool. 

 “Why the fuck would you ever do that?” 

 “Who, where?” Aiden looked flabbergasted. He leaned against his arm, closing his eyes during a dizzy spell. 

 Julian did not want to say that he was Jaskier, the bard famous for annoyingly following Geralt around the continent when Geralt’s brother was right there. He quietly traced the hilt of a dagger at his side. “I came close to dying a while back. When I stared up at the basilisk who I thought was going to kill me, all I could think about was Illona and that she would be disappointed in me because I lived with regrets.” 

 “Pulling out the Illona card, low blow,” Aiden groaned, shooting Julian a dirty look. 

 Julian flipped him off, Aiden looked faintly amused at the action. “Anyways, after that I decided that I wanted to at least know what it was like to live a normal life. So I went to Oxenfurt and got a degree in the seven liberal arts and lived as a bard for a while; I got a little too involved and got my heart broken.”

 “Think I would’ve heard of a witcher bard,” Lambert mumbled. 

 “Because I wasn’t a witcher bard. I’m not fucking stupid, you idiot. I bought a glamour. That’s why the sightings of Julian of Redania seemingly disappeared.” 

 “So who were you?” Lambert propped himself up on his elbows, raising a quizzical eyebrow. 

 “No way that I’m fucking telling you.” Julian sneered at Lambert. Aiden quirked an eyebrow at Julian. Julian gave him a small nod. Of course, he would tell Aiden who he was. Later. When Lambert was asleep. 

 Aiden may be angry with him but they would always share secrets with each other. Julian just wished that he had shared his secret sooner. 

 “Dickbag.” Lambert sneered back. 

 “Assface.” 

 Aiden sighed. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up when food is ready. Move you humongous fuckward.” He attempted to push Lambert off of the bed. His push was weak, but Lambert diligently got up and relished the bed to Aiden. “Don’t fucking kill eachother.” His words came out mumbled as his face hit the pillow. 

 Lambert looked to the prone position of Aiden and then up to Julian. Julian grinned, just to fuck with Lambert, and dragged his thumb across his throat. 

 It was truly glorious to see Lambert’s terrified expression and his squeak of fear. 

 “Julian, stop harassing Lambert.” Aiden waved a hand in the air. Julian stuck out his tongue out at Aiden, without even looking up, Aiden flipped Julian off. 

 Even all these years apart, they still knew each other's actions. 

 “Welph, if this is the case, I’m going to go hunting. You need more protein. You still look like you’re twelve.” 

 “Thank you! Finally!” Lambert exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “I’ve been saying that for years. Just because your skill set is based on being sneaky and shit, doesn’t mean you don’t need a stronger body.” 

 “Fuck you both!” Aiden grumbled into his pillow. “I’m injured! Leave me alone.” 

 “Another reason for you to eat better,” Lambert scolded Aiden, pulling up a blanket, tucking Aiden in tightly. He paced around the bed, looking like a mother hen. 

 “This seems to be some sort of foreplay, so I’m out. Bye!” Julian laughed to himself and left as there was an indignant sputter from Lambert. The door snapped shut behind him before Lambert could yell at Julian. 

***

 It was a cool evening; Julian stood outside of the hut staring up at the stars. He wondered if Geralt was looking at the stars. His mind often wandered back to Geralt; he wanted to know if the man missed Jaskier or simply just travelled on without a change in attitude. 

 “So.” Julian turned to face Aiden. He stood at the entrance of the door. He looked healthier. His skin had a healthy glow to it, and there was a deep glint in his eyes. 

 “So.” 

 Aiden sighed, running his hand through his wild curls and shot Julian a tired glare. “Where were you? Or should I say who were you?” 

 Julian’s eyes instinctively flickered into the window. Lambert was sprawled out across the bed. Julian heard his chest rise and fall at a rhythm synonymous with someone asleep. 

 “He’s out cold. He’s been running on meditation and two hours of sleep.” Aiden waved vaguely in Lambert’s direction. 

 Julian sighed in relief. “Alright.” 

 “Are you going to tell me who you were or am I going to have to guess. Hm. Valdo Max?” 

 “If you fucking think that I was that two-bit hack of a trubador, I’m going to chuck you back into the mine,” Julian snarled. Fucking Valdo Max stole several of his songs and had the nerve to call Jaskier overrated. 

   Aiden barked in laughter which slowly turned into faint wheezes. “You were always passionate. Oh, Illona would be proud. Remember when she went on that long winded rant about Lexandre after she found out he accepted you as payment?” 

 “Not really. I do remember having to clean all of the weapons and armours of the witchers arriving for winters. Still can’t stand the smell of drowner guts.” Julian made a face at the memory. 

 “You were as green as a toad.” Julian didn’t like how gleeful Aiden was at the memory. 

 “Anyways,” Julian scoffed, slicking back his hair and gazing into the darkness. “I wasn’t Valdo Max. I was Jaskier.” He waved his hand tiredly as Aiden nearly shrieked in shock. 

 “Jaskier?” Aiden’s voice was a harsh whisper. 

 “Yes, Jaskier.” Julian felt the day settling into his bones. He was getting flashbacks from his conversation with Sesere. “Yes I know I followed the white wolf for like twenty years. Yes, I know I’m crazy. No, I don’t know why I did it. Any other questions?” 

 “Were you happy?” 

 The question hit Julian like a sack of bricks. He crossed his arms in front of him, refusing to look at Aiden. “I was deluded by the thought of being normal so much that I thought I was happy.” It was true, wasn’t it? He was chasing the high of being normal that felt like he was truly happy. 

 “Sure.” Aiden didn’t sound like he believed Julian. Ugh. Bothers. “I’m glad you’re here. Just… give me sometime. We all thought you were dead.” 

 Sometimes Julian wished he was dead. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in the glamour of being Jaskier. I so badly wanted to be him that I ignored the rest of me. There’s no excuse.” 

 “You should have been a Griffin with how annoyingly noble you are.” 

 “Fuck off.” Julian grabbed Aiden’s head and pushed him away. Aiden stumbled back laughing. Julian couldn’t help but ease into faint laughter. “So why the wolf?” 

 “You of all people shouldn’t be asking me that.” 

 Julian shrugged. “Wasn’t attracted to him because he was a wolf. He was just a good subject for a muse and a clever disguise for my ulterior motives.” 

 “Saving the reputation of witchers? Heard your songs. Never knew you were such a songbird.”  

 “Fuck off. Just because I left the path didn’t mean I wanted to stop protecting you. Thought that it was a good way to do so.” 

 Aiden groaned. “So fucking noble. What happened to my asshole brother?” 

 “Oh you want the asshole brother? Alright.” Julian trapped his brother into a headlock; his extra inches on Aiden definitely helped and mused up his hair. Aiden grumbled, trying to twist out of Julian’s arms, but was definitely trapped. 

 “Nevermind. I regret saying that.” Aiden still continued to struggle. 

 Julian laughed and released his brother. 

 “By the way, I liked the song about the witch with violet eyes. Was she a muse?” Aiden wiggled his eyebrows at Julian with the last word. 

 Even the implication of him and Yennefer made Julian a little nauseous. She was like a scary big sister. “Haha. Are you fucking crazy? First time I met Yennefer she literally threatened to cut my dick off and tried to harness the power of a djinn. She’s fucking crazy man.” 

 “Sounds like your kind of gal.” 

 “Fuck off. Besides, I much rather Tissaia. She’s the one who made my glamour. Perfect partner. She appears, we do it, and we don’t talk, then she leaves. When I was with Geralt, he kept getting dragged into Yennefer’s shit. No thank you. I do not like sorceress's politics, and I value my head too much.” 

 Aiden snorted, his eyes squinting in faint amusement. “Which one?” Julian gently pushed his brother away; rolling his eyes as Aiden snorted in laughter. Though, Julian couldn’t bring himself to be truly mad at his brother. He missed him too much. 

 It was good to be back. 

***

 Geralt glared at the ale in front of him. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the events that had played out in front of him. 

 The viscount had confirmed that Jaskier wasn’t related to his family whatsoever. The last person named Julian was born nearly two hundred years ago. There was no way that Jaskier could be that Julian. He was way too old for that to happen. Geralt sensed no magic, other than the glamour, coming off of Jaskier. 

 The ring didn’t look like much in this light. Geralt held out the ring in front of him. The gem embedded in the ring looked dull. It looked common. The magic seemed to have faded. Geralt's medallion no longer hummed at the sight of it. 

 It had held a seeming power glamour at one point. Why had Jaskier needed such a strong glamour? Was that his true face? 

 Did Geralt even know Jaskier? Was everything from him a lie? 

 Geralt thought he knew Jaskier better, apparently not. It wasn’t like Geralt was owed the truth, it wasn’t like Geralt had been really open about his life with Jaskier. 

 Geralt sighed and tucked the ring away. It was pointless to dwell on this any longer. Perhaps it was best to leave Jaskier alone, stop pursuing him, and let him live his life without Geralt. Jaskier would be better without Geralt. 

 Hm. 

 It will be hard to adjust to life without Jaskier, but it was durable. 

 Geralt sighed and lifted his tankard to his lips. As he drank, his eyes scanned the desolate inn he was hiding in. It was a sleepy small village inn where the main customers were the locals. 

 The door to the inn slammed open, a cloaked figure came stumbling in, swearing in Nilfgaardian as they batted off the rain from their cloak. Geralt perked up, Nilfgaardian was not a language often used in this region. 

 The figure was slender under the cloak, which attempted to hide their frame. The cloaked figure slid to the barkeep, speaking in hushed tones. 

 The longer the figure sat there, the more Geralt dismissed them. They were of little interest to him, probably a merchant or sell-sword. 

 He turned back to his ale and swirling thoughts. 

 As Geralt continued to drink, he felt a pair of his eyes on him. He flickered his eyes to the figure watching him. He was struck with a pair of brilliant green eyes. The owner of those eyes' mouths curled up in a smirk. 

 It was like they needed something and Geralt was the answer to her questions. It was no question that she was a woman. Dark brown hair fell in faint curls around her shoulders, making her eyes stand out even more. 

 She accepted the drink from the barkeep and waltzed over to Geralt. She dropped into the seat across from him like she didn’t have a care in the world. Geralt could see the flash of metal across her body. Weapons. She must be a mercenary. 

 “So I finally met the famous white wolf.” Geralt didn’t like how amused she was. “Sesere.” She held out a hand. 

 “What do you want?” 

 Geralt’s curt response seemed to make her even more amused. 

 “Well, it seems I have no need to make pleasant talk.” She huffed in amusement. She flicked back her hood and ran a hand through her dark hair. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re looking for Jaskier.” 

 “You know where he is?” Geralt steeled his face to not betray any emotion to her. 

 “Hmm no, not exactly. But I do know someone who has information on Jaskier’s whereabouts.” Sesere continued to have that annoying smirk. 

 “I expect that you want something in return.” No one gave out information for free. 

 Sesere shrugged, toying with a curl. “Not really. No offence, but you have little to offer me.” 

 “Then why are you telling me?” 

 Geralt seemed frozen under Sesere’s gaze. There was something wrong with this woman. Her heartbeat was slower than most humans, and her body temperature was cool. She smelt of leather and steel, and the sharpness of alchemy was faint. 

 If her eyes weren’t a captivating green, Geralt would have thought that she was a witcher. Female witchers were rare but not impossible. 

 Who was this woman? 

 Sesere’s smirk grew wider. She spread her hands and leaned back. “Let’s just say, I’m attempting to stop an old friend from doing something he’ll regret for the rest of his life.” 

 That made absolutely no sense. 

 Geralt frowned at the woman in front of him. She ignored him in favour of sipping on her glass of Nilfgaardian lemon. 

 “Seek out Julian of Redania. He should have the answers you seek.” Sesere paused mid-sip and looked over to him. “You know who he is, correct?” 

 “Hard not too.” 

 Why would Jaskier be entangled with that man? Was he not aware of what that witcher brought? Cat school witchers were notoriously emotionally corrupt. One snap and Jaskier could be dead. 

 Geralt should have warned him. He should have done a lot of things. 

 "Take care, Geralt of Rivia." She stood up and left him with his thoughts swirling around his mind. 

Chapter Text

The memories of Jaskier were starting to fade, and it worried Julian. He woke up gasping, trying to remember details of his past life. The view from his Oxenfurt apartment, his memories of first meeting Pricilla and Essi. The bakery where he found his love for pastries. They were all starting to fade. Julian didn’t want them to disappear. 

 Adjusting to the life of a witcher again was lonely. He had forgotten how lonely it was. He was jealous of Aiden and Lambert, travelling together, sharing each other's company. He missed his brother. 

 Their paths would cross during the past winter. Aiden came south when Lambert had gone to Kaer Morhen, and they travelled for a few months and then parted during spring. During the precious few moments they had together, Julian would tell Aiden stories about his time as Jaskier. 

 The further he went away from Jaskier, the less they felt like memories and the more they felt like stories. 

 Julian didn’t want to forget. Those memories sustained him. 

 His relationship with Aiden still felt strained. The gap between them had mended over the winter, but Julian could still feel the resentment emanating from Aiden. There were times that Julian caught Aiden glaring at Julian’s back, stiffening when Julian came into view. 

 Julian wondered perhaps it was best if he and Aiden went their separate ways, no longer trying to force something between them. 

 Go their separate ways like Julian had done with Geralt. Yennefer had seemingly done so as well. He hasn’t seen her since the incident with Adda. 

 Julian was left with Pegasus. 

 Like it should be. The witcher and his horse. 

 He wondered what Geralt was doing. His child of surprise ought to be twelve at this point. What was her name? Cirilla? There was no way that Calanthe would allow for Geralt to ever be in her granddaughter’s, her heir, life. When Julian had accidentally stumbled upon the Cintran royal hunting party, Calanthe had chased him out without a second thought. Her mistrust of witchers has grown exponentially. 

 Julian sighed and stared at the small fire in front of him. 

 Dusk was giving him an overwhelming feeling of melancholy. 

 The thing he’s forgotten the most about being a witcher was how silent the days were. He could go entire weeks without seeing other people, and honestly, he preferred that. He didn’t get stares from the animals. Most people had never seen a witcher, let alone a cursed witcher. 

 Pegasus snorted and gently smacked Julian on the top of the head with her snout. “I’m fine, baby.” Julian’s voice sounded hoarse to his ears. He gently patted her snout and turned back to his journal. He was trying to document as much of Jaskier's life as he could. All the small memories that would fade over time. 

 The page in front of him was annoyingly blank. Julian was having a hard time finding the words to use. 

 With a sharp sigh, Julian snapped his journal shut and pulled out some jerky. He was getting low on resources. Julian probably needed to go into human settlement soon. He also needed money, thus meaning he needed to pick up a contract. 

 He’ll start out in the morning. 

 Julian slouched in his seat and watched the fire dance. The quiet forest lulled him into a sleepy state of mind. He stifled a yawn, listening to the cicadas in the hot summer evening. Why had he spent so much time in the north when the south was so much better. 

 No more nasty winters. 

 Julian hummed to himself. His throat got caught on a note, and he doubled over, coughing as his throat stung, like knives scraping against the soft tissue of his throat. 

 Right. No more singing. The man with the scarred hands that he was looking at was Julian, not Jaskier. 

 Feeling his mood sour, he bit off a scrap of the jerky and went back to staring at the flames. 

 His ears perked up when he heard rustling in the forest. He tensed as he tried to place what was going on. It was a small animal; the footsteps were light. A doe? No, Julian only heard two feet. A person? Why would there be a human this far out at night? A small human, to be exact. Likely a child or a young woman. 

 He faintly saw the outline on the edges of his vision. It was small. Likely a child. 

 Not creepy at all. Why was there a child out here in the middle of the woods? 

 Julian deliberately stayed lounging in his seat, hand poised above the hilt of his dagger, waiting for the figure in the woods to emerge. 

  It didn’t take long. The small shape of a young girl came hurtling into the small campsite. 

 Julian froze when she made eye contact with him, unsure of what to do. The girl, on the other hand, when she first saw him, burst into tears. 

 What the fuck? 

 Julian just stared at the girl, even more, unsure of what to do. 

 The girl looked young, maybe around ten, her small frame making her look more youthful than she probably was. Her ashen hair stuck to her ghostly pale face. 

 No. It couldn’t be. 

 Still sobbing, the girl looked up to Julian, her big green eyes pinned Julian down. There was no way. Was Julian that far north? He could have sworn that he was in Nazair, not Cintra. 

 “Hi?” 

 This caused her to burst into even more tears.

 “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

 “M-my dad-- we were attacked….we r-riding, the caravan, we were with them, and, and, there were these things. They came, m-my dad tried to fight them off. There were too many. Help him!” 

 Dad? Wasn’t Princess Cirilla’s parents dead? There was no way that this wasn’t Princess Cirilla, she was the spitting image of Princess Pavata. 

 Julian learnt in front of the girl. “Where are they? What attacked you?” 

 She shook her head, her face buried deep in her hands. “I don’t know! They came from the sky. They were big!” 

 Shit. There were a lot of things that could have come from the sky. None of them good. Julian gripped the trembling girl by the shoulders, she peered up at him with fear in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if that was because of them or she was scared for her father. “Look, I need to know, where did you come from? What direction? Were there any sort of landmarks that you could tell me?” 

 The girl pointed vaguely to the east, her small hand trembling as she did. “We were in a valley. Dad didn’t want to go, but the man in charge didn’t want to detour around it.” 

 Ah fuck, fuck, fuck. Harpy Alley. A valley devoid of human traffic due to the amount of harpies nesting in the mountains. Most locals avoided the place, but some unlucky merchants had the idiotic idea of cutting downtime by going through the valley. 

 Fuck. Julian let go of the girl and made a beeline for Pegasus. He threw on her gear as fast as he could. She snorted in annoyance but accepted his rush. 

 “Come on.” Julian pulled on his swords and buckled them on. He held out a hand to the girl. She hesitantly took it. He all but threw her onto the horse and climbed on after. 

 He didn’t know how far into the valley the caravan was in. He didn’t want to take the Princess into the valley with the harpies, but he needed her guidance to find them, and he didn’t want to leave her at the camp. 

 The girl trembled in his arms, clutching Pegasus’s neck as Pegasus jumped over a small ravine. 

 Julian clutched onto her to make sure she didn’t fall off. 

 They ducked and weaved through the sombre forest; the sound of Pegasus’s hooves filled Julian’s ears as he stared at the sliver of light beaming at them in the distance. 

 Pegasus pounded through the silent forest; her pants grew louder as the seconds slowly stretched on. The darkness of the forest started to melt into the cold white blue of the moon. 

 Pegasus skittered to a halt at the edge of a low cliff. Julian peered out over the valley, looking for the caravan. 

 “There!” The girl pointed a small light in the distance. 

 Julian saw the shapes of the harpies circling around the light. He could hear their screeches from here. 

 “Alright.” Julian slid off of Pegasus, grabbing his whip, and handed the girl the reins. “Wait with Pegasus in the trees. Don’t come out for anyone but me. Take this.” Julian pulled out one of his silver knives and handed it to her. 

 For a moment she hesitated, but she steeled her emotions and reached for the knife. She took it and handled it like she had been taught to before. 

 If this was Calanthe’s granddaughter, she definitely would have been taught.  

 She gave him a serious nod and turned Pegasus around, heading into the woods. Julian waited for her to disappear before turning towards the scene of chaos. 

 Carefully, Julian made his way down the rocky cliff face, trying to get down as fast as possible. He could hear the people screaming and the harpies screeching. He was going to end this nightmare just for the fucking noise to stop. 

 Julian slid down the cliff a little more, his foot caught on a small ledge and he launched himself into the air. He grabbed his whip and whipped it towards the leg of a harpy that was flying nearby. 

 The harpy screeched and wobbled. 

 Julian cursed and yanked the harpy down, trying to get to the ground faster. 

 His plan worked. A little too well. 

 They hurled towards the ground, Julian grunted, swinging himself up, landing up on the back of the harpy. He loosened his grip on the whip and drove his sword into the back of the harpy. 

 The harpy shrieked, and they spiralled to the ground. 

 Julian snarled and yanked the blade out of the harpy’s back and launched himself to the ground. 

 His shoulder came into contact with the ground first. He was temporarily blinded by the violent flash of pain radiating from his shoulder. 

 But he remembered his training and tucked into a roll and came upon his toes. 

 The harpy behind him slashed her talons at his back. Though, she was still sluggish from her crash landing. So Julian was able to dodge her, unsheathed his sword, and rammed it into her back. 

 Julian saw a small group of people huddling under the caravan, staring up at him in fear. His heart still aches when he gets that look from people. Julian stifled a sigh and turned back to the mess around him. 

 He cracked the whip, trying to scare off the harpies. 

 He had the desired effect. The harpies around them screeched and scattered. 

 Julian turned to the small group. “You need to get to the trees, the harpies won’t be able to snatch you there. Stay low and don’t go into open spaces. Understood?” 

 The group nodded and scuttled towards the looming trees. 

 Julian's eyes flickered around the scene, trying to find Calanthe or Eist, someone who would be associated with Princess Cirilla. This scene didn’t look anything like the Royal Cintran hunting party. These people looked like merchants and everyday people. Also, Calanthe would be out of her mind to take this route; she was arrogant but not that arrogant. 

 At the edge of the obscene scene, Julian saw a flash of silver and the sudden boom of fire. 

 A witcher. 

 These people hired a fucking witcher and still went into this fucking valley. How arrogant must these people be? 

 Julian snarled and lashed his whip to an upcoming harpy. As the whip wrapped around the leg of the harpy, he yanked the harpy downwards. The harpy screeched as it tumbled downwards. 

 Julian plunged his sword into the chest of the harpy. 

 Black ichor splattered out and covered Julian. 

 He grumbled and whipped off the ichor from his mouth. 

 The problem with the winged creatures was that they flew, making it hard for Julian to fight them. Giving them the advantage in the fight. Even more so, harpies liked to travel in packs. So he wouldn’t face just one harpy but a nest of them. 

 With Julian’s whip, he evened the advantage, being able to pull them to his level. 

 Julian grinned and cracked the whip again, lunging towards an upcoming target. 

 He lashed the whip out and lunged towards the falling harpy. Within a matter of seconds, the harpy lay at his feet. 

 Julian continued to yell orders to the cowering citizens to get to safety as he weaved through the cluttered battlefield, slicing at swooping harpies. 

 He couldn’t be worried about the civilians as he fought the swarm of parasites screeching around them. He needed a clear and focused mind. 

 A harpy lunged at Julian before he was able to raise one of his weapons; without thinking, Julian slammed his forehead into the beak of the harpy. 

 Through the thick blood trickling down and over his eyes, Julin could see the harpy stumble back. He slashed at the harpy, causing it to stumble back further. He slammed his sword into the harpy’s chest. 

 Julian’s whole world was washed with red. 

 He was pretty sure that cut might scar. Whatever. His face was already scared enough. He was no longer Jaskier, so it didn’t matter. 

 Julian grunted, thrusting out his whip and pulling a harpy to him, blasting igni right in its face. He finished it off with a flick of his blade. 

 The other witcher had disappeared amidst the chaos. On the bright side, it seemed most of the caravan riders were out of sight. 

 Julian dropped his sword, pulled out a throwing knife and hurled it towards a harpy going after a small girl. The harpy let out a blood-curdling scream and dropped to the ground. He saw the small child get up and disappear off into the darkness. 

 Unfortunately, Julian didn’t have time to relish his victories. A grunt of pain from his right told him that the other witcher was not faring as well as Julian. 

 Blindly, Julian snapped the whip. Hearing the annoying screech of pain told Julian that he hit his target. Hehe. He pulled the harpy towards him, causing it to stumble off course. 

Julian did a mad dash towards where he last saw the witcher. 

 He dropped to the ground, sliding under the harpy, and popping up on the other side, slashing behind him.

 He missed the harpy that came up behind him, her claws racking down the side of his neck. Julian’s vision was blinded with pain. White-hot racks of pain flooded his system. 

 Julian stumbled back, dropping his sword. Blinded, Julian groped for his throwing knives. His clammy fingers grasped at the ice-cold metal. He flung it towards the sound of the harpy fluttering away. 

 He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the pain to die down.  

 As Julian’s pain died down and he properly regained his sight, he saw a flash of white hair. 

 For fuck’s sake. 

 Out of all the witcher’s on the continent, it had to be fucking him. 

 Well, it explained why Princess Cirilla was out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. But that raised so many more questions. Why the fuck would Calanthe let Geralt take Princess Cirilla?

 Geralt looked like shit. 

 Julian wasn’t saying that because he was pissed with Geralt. He looked like shit. Fighting off a nest of harpies by himself and trying to protect the passengers was taxing. 

 Julian watched as Geralt battled off a harpy poorly and failed to notice the one sneaking upon him. 

 Useless sack of shit. 
 
 Julian quickly cast aard and turned to fight the swarming creatures around him. He grunted in annoyance as he yanked out his sword from the drying harpy. 

 He whirled around and came face to face with Geralt. Who was staring at him wide-eyed. Fuck. Out of all the fucking people in the world, Julian would have thought that Geralt, the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, wouldn’t give him that fucking look. 

 “The fuck you looking at blondie?” Julian snapped at Geralt. 

 Julian could see Geralt’s jaw clench in irritation. Good. Serves the jackass. 

“Are you just going to stand there and gawp at me or are you going to fucking help?” Julian demanded, slamming his shoulder into a harpy, dancing back as the harpy tried to lash out of him. He slashed his sword in a wide arc, catching the edge of the wing. 

 Julian cursed, annoyed that his intended attack didn’t hit its mark. 

 He could already feel his muscles ache, and his breaths came out in laborious pants. Facing so many opponents at the same time was tricky. 

 From Julian’s left, he could hear Geralt grunt in pain. Julian spared him a glance. Geralt keeled over in pain, his sword limp in his hands. 

 Julian may hate Geralt, but he wasn’t going to let that bastard die. Geralt, annoyingly, was one of the best witchers out there. If the fucker died, it would be a devastating blow to the rest of the world.  

 “Fuck off you feathered bipedal.” Julian’s whip cracked as it slammed through the air, and wrapped itself around the claw of the harpy. 

 It squawked in annoyance as it tried to shake off Julian’s whip. While it did so, Geralt stumbled to his feet and slammed his sword into the harpy’s chest. 

 “Thanks,” Geralt grunted, eyes skittering away from Julian. It looked like it physically pained Geralt to say it. He limped off to fight off the remaining harpies. 

 Julian rolled his eyes and pivoted away from Geralt. Though, his eye wandered back to the man. The scent of blood seemed to ooze from him. His black armour in the night obscured his injuries that Julian had no idea how bad they were. But from the scent, he assumed it was bad. 

 The swarming harpies seemed to collectively start to dissipate, a feat that Julian didn’t know was possible. There were still a few who saw Geralt’s silver hair and decided that he was an appropriate target. 

 Julian blasted a harpy away from Geralt with a simple twist of his wrist. 

 As a witcher whose strength came not from his physical prowess but his craftiness, Julian used to rely on his signs, oils, and potions, or any other advantage he had to aid him in battle. He got to the point in his prime where he could cast signs almost out without having to cast them. 

 Julian had been lucky; he had become friends with Erland of Larvik, the former Grandmaster of the Griffin School. The school of the Cat was known for their less than honourable tactics; poison, assassination, etc. However, the Griffin School, one of the oldest schools, had developed numerous different signs for witchers. 

 Erland had taught Julian personally as they travelled, hell Julian and Aiden spent a winter at Kear Seren learning the ways of a Griffin. He was more of a mentor than Lexander ever was to Julian. 

 He wondered whatever happened to Erland. He just seemed to disappear from the world. 

 Geralt, the sad sod, didn’t look like he could last much longer and Julian wasn’t about to subject Princess Cirilla to seeing her guardian collapse in front of her. But Geralt wasn’t one to stop when he was hurting. He’d go until he collapsed, and he seemed close to doing so. 

 Perhaps Julian could cast Somme to get Geralt to go to bed. 

 Hmm. Tempting. 

 Julian eyed the swarm of harpies above them. Well, a swarm was a generous term. There were like six of them left. The rest had fled or been killed. 

 His body ached and he wanted to go to bed. 

 This fight was dragging out too long. 

 Julian squared his shoulders and eyed the harpies with a new zeal. He hasn’t used this sign in years, but it was a quick sure way to kill them. 

 He always felt reluctant to kill monsters. Many of them not having the brain length to understand what they were doing was wrong. They just wanted the interlopers out of their territory. In this instance, Julian didn’t have much of a choice. 

 There were several innocent women and children who had been injured in this fight, and the harpies had been a nuisance in this region for decades. 

 Julian took in a deep breath and traced the sign for Volun. It was a rare sign, its alternative form, chain lightning was even more so. Only some of the best magic-based witchers could successfully perform this sign. 

 With the harpies in the air, Julian didn’t have to worry that he was going to hit a bystander. 

 Bright white bolts of lightning shot from Julian’s hands, arcing through the sky. His sign was successful. 

 Geralt spun and stared at Julian with wide eyes. If that bastard was going to stare at Julian, he was going to give a good fucking reason to do so. 

 The lightning danced between the harpies, causing them to light up in the dark evening air. Fleeing harpies were struck with the lighting, tumbling to the ground. 

 Julian took in a pained breath. Casting that sign took a lot out of him. He was proud that he could use the sign properly. And he hit all of his targets. Ha! He was so going to rub it in Aiden’s face the next time he saw his brother. 

 “Is there a reason you’re staring?” Julian snapped at Geralt as he sheathed his sword. He bent to pick up his discarded whip, winding it slightly to hook it upon his belt. 

 Geralt narrowed his eyes. His face was unreadable. During their travels, they had never come across another witcher. If there were rumours of a witcher in a region, Geralt would turn around and go the other way. 

 Did he hate other witchers that much?  Fuck him too. 

 He wasn’t the paragon of witcher virtue. He was a hypocrite asshole who seemed to think he had an excuse to act the way he wanted to because he was fucking ‘lone wolf’. 

 Annoying. 

 “How were you able to cast Volun?” Geralt demanded. 

 “What, like it’s hard?” Julian scoffed. 

 Geralt growled in annoyance, his hand clutching his side. His already pale face was even paler with the blood loss. Where were his potions? God, Julian had forgotten how dumb Geralt can be. 

 Well, he was no longer Julian’s concern. So fuck him or whatever. 

Julian turned away from Geralt, eyes flickering over the dead bodies of the harpies, and the ruins of the caravan. There were so many. Poor things, humans invading their homes, and yet they were slaughtered. 

 Humans were a pest. 

 “Get down!” A blast of aard sent Julian tumbling to the ground. 

 Julian rolled to his feet, his mind still tumbling, and pulled out a pair of double knives tucked in at his waist, ready to fight. 

 The idiot Geralt had deflected Julian away from the claws of the swooping harpy and taken on its ire. The already injured Geralt lay crumpled on the ground. It seemed he finally collapsed. 

 Fucking idiot. 

 Julian lunged towards the harpy, silver knives glinting in the night. He felt the briefest touch of feathers against his bare hands as his daggers plunged into its neck. 

 He landed on his feet and slammed his foot into its back, so it went tumbling away from Geralt. 

 Julian sheathed his daggers and crouched in front of Geralt, checking for damage. Why was it whenever he met another witcher, Julian always ended up taking care of the other fucking witcher? 

 Geralt’s armour was threadbare before the fight, and the harpy’s continued attacks had decimated his chest armour. Deep lacerations littered his body, the red of his blood staining his body. 

 His breathing was strained, and he stared up at Julian with glassy eyes. “Sleep.” Julian traced the sign for Somme. Geralt’s breath softened and his eyes fluttered closed. That’ll help jump-start his healing process.  

 Where was Roach? Julian needed Geralt’s potions. The idiot hardly carried any with him. Julian looked around, but he couldn’t see the grumpy chestnut mare anywhere. 

 Ah fuck. 

 “Are they gone?” Several pairs of eyes appeared out of the woodwork. 

 “For the time being, yes. Where’s the man in charge?” 

 There was a double of silence as the small crowd of people looked around each other, unsure as to what to say. Great, it was going to be one of these cases. 

 “Can I help you?” A portly man dressed in an extravagant doublet came out of the forest. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. He tried to give Julian a sheepish look. 

 He wasn’t buying it. 

 Geralt would have told this man that it was too dangerous to go into Harpy Alley, and yet this idiot went anyway. Combined with the fact he looked like he was imitating a peacock, it was easy to conclude as to what kind of man he was. 

 Julian pointed to Geralt. “Where’s his pay?” 

 “Master witcher, surily you couldn’t expect me to give up his pay. The contract isn’t over, we haven’t reached our destination yet.” This asshole wasn’t trying to weasel out of paying Geralt when the man was bleeding out next to him. 

 “Tell me, did Geralt advise you to not take this route?” Julian asked. He just wanted to go to fucking bed. 

 There were murmurs amongst the group, and a few angry looks were shot towards their leader. The portly man looked unsettled at the attention. “Well, the White Wolf did mention that this route had its challenges,” he said, trying to smooth everything over. 

 “Challenges? It’s been known to be the harpy’s hunting grounds for over a hundred years. Locals completely avoid it. Geralt told you not to take this route and yet you took it anyways. Then thanks to your incompetence, he got seriously injured. I’m taking him with me. So pay up, and don’t try to fucking scam me.” 

 This was one of the few times that Julian liked having his two eyes. It got people to fess up coin faster and he didn’t have to axii anyone. 

 The murmurs of growing people started to get louder. 

 “If he leaves then there is no-one to protect the caravan.” 

 “If he stays, there’s nothing he can do. Does he look capable of doing anything to you? You brought this upon yourself. Now fucking pay up.” 

 “Well you’re here. Could you not assist us until the end of the contract?” 

 This fucking shit. 

 “You made a contract with Geralt of Riva to protect you during your travels. You did not make a contract with Julian of Redania. I am here purely out of luck. And now that the danger is gone, so will I and Geralt, so he can heal properly. As he was injured because of your incompetence, I insist you pay him. Now, I’m not asking again.”  

 It seemed that this fucker got the hint. His hands were shaking like the devil as he handed the money over to Julian. He tucked it away for safekeeping. 

 Julian turned to the rest of the group, giving the rich man a side-eye. He wishes that he won’t come across the remains of this travelling party somewhere down the road because of this man’s incompetence. “I hope that the rest of your travels are peaceful. I inquire you to pay head to the locals. They know the regions you’re travelling in much better than you do. Also, has anyone seen a chestnut mare that goes by the name Roach? She kind of hates people. Ring a bell?” 

 “The witcher’s horse?” Julian gave the speaker a curt nod. “Not sure where the horse is currently, but probably ain’t far. Didn’t get spooked like the other horses.” 

 That was because Roach has most definitely seen scarier things than a bunch of harpies. 

 Julian whistled the familiar little jingle that Geralt used to summon Roach. He wasn’t sure if she would come if summoned by him. Witcher horses were trained not to go off with anyone else. He hoped that since he’s spent so much time with her in the past, that she’d come. 

 He heard a distant snort and the soft clopping of her hooves. Julian let out a soft puff of relief. Roach was coming. 

 He turned and pulled Geralt over his shoulders. 

 Roach approached the situation wearily. Her ears flicked back as she stared Julian down. He was different, but he was still the same Julian that she knew. 

 “Come on Roach. I’ll feed you sugar cubes if you just help me out for once.” Julian couldn’t believe he was trying to bargain with a horse. 

 Roach snorted and sniffed Julian again. Then she started eating Geralt’s hair. Julian took that as a sign of trust. He placed Geralt on Roach’s back as gently as possible. Once Julian deemed that Geralt was not going to fall off, he went rooting through Geralt’s things. 

 He found the small orange glowing bottle of Swallow. Even though his alchemy was likely still as terrible as it was in the past, it was better than nothing. 

 Julian tentatively climbed onto Roach’s saddle; despite travelling many years together, he’s never ridden Roach. He forced the bottle of Swallow down Geralt’s throat. 

 “Master witcher, sir?” An elderly woman came up to him. He could see the worry in her eyes. 

 “Yes?” Julian gave her a soft smile. She didn’t seem afraid of him. 

 “The witcher was travelling with a little’un. She’s small with pale hair, a real sweet thing and she’s missen from the group. Could you look for her?” 

 Oh! She must be talking about Princess Cirilla. 

 Julian’s smile grew. “Don’t worry about her. She’s safe.” 

 “Are you sure, sir?” 

 “Of course. After all, who do you think alerted me to your plight?” 

Chapter Text

Geralt woke to pain. His entire body ached; every time he took a breath, it felt like he was getting stabbed. 

 Littered above him were silver leaves fluttering against the cloudy sky. A peaceful scene. A scene that he didn’t remember. How’d he get here? Where was Ciri? 

 Geralt grunted, trying to sit up, but his limbs felt like lead weights attached to them. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. 

 What happened? 

 He searched his mind for answers. His mind was a blur. Snippets of fire and silver flashing against the dark starless sky. The harpies! 

 He had sent Ciri into the woods, towards the town for help, reinforcements. He wanted her to get away. 

 Ciri! Where was she? 

 Geralt pushed past the fog, the pain, the weight, and pushed himself up. His head spun as he moved, the world became a blur, and his stomach revolted as he moved. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing for the pain to go away. 

 The world calmed down, but his head still pounded. He took in a deep breath and willed for his mind to calm down. 

 Slowly he opened his eyes. 

 He didn’t recognize the campsite. A tired smouldering fire lay there, coals gasping for life. He saw his saddlebags littered around the fire, strewn against rocks and logs like he had placed them there. Roach wandered the outskirts of the camp, nibbling on grass as she went. 

 It was an idyllic scene. An idyllic scene that filled Geralt with worry.

 He didn’t remember coming here. He didn’t remember making the fire. 

 And more importantly, where was Ciri? 

 The cold wind whipped against his bare skin. Hun? Geralt looked down and saw his bare chest. Half-closed wounds covered his body. His memories were scattered as he tried recounting what happened. It must have been the harpies. 

 But he couldn’t remember coming here. 

 Geralt looked across the campsite once again, his eyes landing on a small bundle of blankets next to Roach’s saddle. As he looked further, he saw a shock of pale blonde hair. 

 His heart settled, and he couldn’t help a small smile. Ciri was definitely safe. She must have gotten help. 

 The blanket covering her face slipped. She looked so young when she slept. She shivered and pulled the gambeson draped over her shoulders closer to herself. Geralt didn’t recognize it. 

 The gambeson sported chainmail on the outer layer, and a plate of interlocking metal lay across the shoulders. Whoever’s gambeson this was, they must have paid a lot of money for it. They were an accomplished warrior. 

 Geralt wasn’t a religious man, but he thanked whoever was watching over Ciri for keeping her safe. He hasn’t had this little one in his life for very long, and yet he felt like she slotted herself perfectly into his life. 

 He reached out and brushed a stray lock of dirty tangled hair out of her face. 

 That movement triggered something. In an instant, Ciri's eyes flew open, and as she scrambled back, she pulled out a silver knife. 

 Where had she gotten the knife? 

 Her angry, determined look faded as she saw Geralt. 

 She sniffled and dropped her knife, tackled him into a hug. “You’re okay! I was so worried! Julian said that you’d be okay, but you slept for so long!” 

 Geralt held the quivering girl into his arms, unsure what to do. He wasn’t sure how to comfort her. While she was important to Geralt, sometimes he didn’t know what to say to her. She wasn’t a witcher trainee; he couldn’t speak to her like he would one of them. She needed comfort. “I’m okay. Witcher healing is faster than most humans. I won’t leave you.” 

 Who was Julian? 

 He felt Ciri give a nod against his chest. She sniffled and let go, her eyes rimmed with red. “That’s what Julian said. He also said that the White Wolf wouldn’t die because of the incompetence of an arrogant caravan owner.” 

 Julian. Who was this man? Geralt remembered flashes from the night before, the sound of whip cracking, a man seemingly able to fly as he danced around the talons of the harpies. 

 The flash of determined steel grey eyes. 

 “Was he the one to give you that dagger?” It was a well-made silver dagger. It was long and slender, with the crossguard having curling bronze edges. The long black grip looked well maintained, and the pummel was sharp like it could be used as a dagger as well. 

 Ciri looked down to the dagger in her hands and nodded. “He had to go to town. He said that he’d be back around noon. I was trying to stay up, to make sure you’re okay, but I fell asleep. I’m sorry.” 

 Geralt looked to the sky, it was hard to tell with the overcast weather. 

 He ruffled up Ciri’s hair and gave her a tired smile. She was so young, but already so mature. “It’s okay, last night must have been a shock to you.” To be awoken in the dead of the night and then sent into the dark woods to find help.

 Ciri pouted. “I’m not little, I can handle it.” 

 “I know.” 

 What Geralt was about to say died on his lips when he heard a distant whistle. His arm wrapped around Ciri’s waist tightened, and he reached for his sword. Who was there? 

 The whistle turned into a tune, and Geralt’s annoyance grew as he placed it. Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. 

 The whistling started growing louder, and Geralt heard the faint crunching of the underbrush and the snorting of a horse. Soon, Geralt could see the faint outline of a man and a horse. He must have started whistling so he wouldn't scare Ciri as he approached. If Geralt didn’t have his witcher hearing, he might have not heard the man walk up. Unnerving. 

 Geralt didn’t know how he was expecting his saviour to look. He wasn’t expecting the man in front of him. 

 The man in front of him was tall and slender. Under the layers of armour that he wore, Geralt could tell his body was taut and well-muscled. His messy dark brown hair hung over his eyes, and he walked with a swagger. 

 “Oh good! You’re awake. I was worried that I would have to feed you another bottle of your shitty Swallow,” The man, Julian, said cheerfully as he tied his horse to a tree. 

 “Excuse me?” Geralt snapped. 

 “You heard correctly.” The man started unloading his horse, unbothered by Geralt’s annoyance. “Your alchemy is terrible. Had to snag one of yours after dealing with those fucking harpies last night. What are they teaching the wolves up at Kaer Morhen?” 

 What? Who was this man? 

 Geralt glared at Julian. As he moved after loosening his horse’s saddle, Geralt caught a glimpse of amber under the dark fringe. One grey, one amber. A witcher. Geralt had never heard of a witcher with a failed mutation. 

 He was struck with a memory of lightning flashing through the dark sky. He was the one who cast Volun. 

 Still, who was he to criticize Geralt’s alchemy? 

 He didn’t seem like much at first glance. But knowing what was going on under those mismatched eyes scared Geralt. Was he Julian of Redania? The Mad Cat of Kereck? He didn’t want Ciri around this man if so. 

 “Hey little canary, catch.” Ciri turned and caught a small package. She eagerly opened it and revealed it to be a honeycomb. Her big eyes looked up to Geralt for permission. He didn’t smell any poison on it, and his medallion didn’t react to it. He gave her a nod of permission. She went about devouring it. 

 Julian gave her a melancholic smile as he sat across from them. He brushed back his messy fringe to fully show the lighting bolt scar spanning across his face. It seemed so much like Eskel’s; unlike Eskel’s scar, this one was starting to fade. 

 If this was Julian of Redania, the tales of Julian of Redania existed long before Geralt was alive. Exactly how old was he? Geralt was facing a man who barely looked like he was in his thirties. 

 Julian noticed Geralt staring at him, and scowled at him. “What?” He snapped. 

 Geralt scowled in return and turned back to Ciri. His panic completely settled now that he had her in his arms. 

 “Here.” A small pouch smacked Geralt in the head.

 Hm? 

 Geralt picked up the pouch and felt the tell-tale  clink  of coins hitting each other. Had he been paid? He would have assumed that the penny-pinching merchant would have skipped out on paying him. “Made sure that they honoured their contract, considering their idiotic idea of going down Harpy Alley.”

 “Thanks.” Geralt wasn’t sure what else to say. Thanks for saving his life, thanks for being kind to Ciri, thanks for getting his money. There was so much to thank him for in such a small amount of time. 

 “Are you Julian, the Kraken Killer?” 

 That seemed to stun Julian for a second. His eyes grew so large that Geralt was struck with the image of an owl; then he doubled over, wheezing so hard it sounded like he was having a hard time breathing. Ciri pouted at the treatment. 

 Was this guy really crazy?

“Sorry kiddo, I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just it’s been decades since someone called me that! Thought it had long died out. Ha! Oh, I miss Skellige; they’re fun.” Julian struggled to straighten himself out, tears streaming from his mismatched eyes. 

 He was  crazy.  

But that was Julian of Redania. The witcher that Geralt had been looking for before he had to divert his attention to Ciri. He knew where Jaskier was. The longer Geralt went without hearing about the bard, the more he got nervous. 

 It wasn’t like Jaskier to hide from the world. He was always obnoxiously inserting himself into the spotlight. There hadn’t even been a peep from him. No vicious songs about Geralt surfaced, no songs about his broken heart. Nothing. It wasn’t like him. 

 All of his friends from Oxenfurt, even Valdo Marx, his so-called enemy, had expressed concern about Jaskier’s abrupt disappearance. 

 It was like Jaskier just never existed. 

 There were no trails, no tracks for Geralt to follow. 

 Now Geralt could get some answers. The man that Sesere, the strange woman he had met in that bar so long ago, was sitting in front of him. 

 Except, it seemed like the man did not like Geralt whatsoever. The feelings were mutual; Julian of Redania was a Cat School Witcher. Nothing good came from Cat School Witchers. 

 “My grandpa told me stories about you. Grandma was never happy about it.” Ciri’s eyes turned glassy as she thought back to her life in Cintra. 

 Geralt wasn’t even sure of what to do when she got that look. 

 “Well, that’s because Calanthe has a one woman war against witchers. I, for one, got beat with a very large stick when I accidentally stumbled across the Cintran Royal Hunting Party. She is rather terrifying.” 

 How? 

 How did he know Ciri’s identity? 

 Was he sent by the Nilfgaardians? To abduct Ciri and take her to the emperor? He was Cat. There was no contract that they wouldn’t take. 

 Ciri had also stiffened at the mention of her grandmother. There was no way he should know that Ciri was the lost Lion Cub of Cintra. 

The arm around her shoulders tightened, and his free hand went towards a knife he always kept at his hip. 

 Julian yawned and flicked a small flame to the dying fire, unbothered by the atmosphere he had created. He flickered his eyes to Geralt and then Ciri. He gave a little uninterested shrug and dug through one of his satchels. 

 In his state, Geralt was surprised to see a witcher use signs without using a sign. It was nearly impossible. 

 “No need to worry. Your mother was a unique beauty, little Lion Cub, and you look like a miniature version of her.” 

 “You knew my mom?” Ciri’s voice was tiny. 

 Julian nodded, pulling out some mutton chops. “Well, I didn’t really ‘know’ know her. Like I said, I accidentally stumbled across the Royal Hunting Party, it was hard to ignore her, even though your grandmother really wanted me gone.” There was a little twinkle in his eye at Ciri’s rapid attention. 

 Geralt didn’t like him. He didn’t trust smooth talkers. His hand still gripped the hilt of his knife. 

 “So mind explaining to me why Calanthe let you take her granddaughter to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere Nazair?” Julian asked as he went about grilling the mutton chops. 

 “You haven’t heard?” Geralt didn’t know if Julian was feigning ignorance or he really didn’t know. 

 “I wouldn’t be asking if I had heard,” Julian snapped. His eyes flashed in anger. 

 “Cintra fell to Nilfgaard. Everyone’s dead.” Ciri looked to the forest floor, her eyes filled with tears. 

 Julian was silent; the anger seeped out of him. He looked like a hollow shell of a man. “I’m sorry for your loss Cirilla. You should have never had to experience this.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, staring down at the weak flames. “That does explain why the local town is crawling with Nilfgaardian soldiers who are looking for the White Wolf. There’s a reward out for your head. I could retire with that money.” 

 Geralt knew it; Julian was out here for the reward. 

 If he could distract Julian, then Ciri could get on Roach and get out of here safely. 

 Geralt felt a short rush of air and a cold sting against his cheek. He froze where he was crouched, hand dropping from his knife in shock. Embedded in the trunk behind him stood a still quivering throwing knife. 

 Julian didn’t even look like he had moved. His anger had fully blossomed, swirling around, making his old scars stand out even more. His eyes blazed with anger. “Do you think so low of me, White Wolf, that I would sell out my own brethren and an innocent little girl?” 

 Of course. Geralt didn’t trust anyone other than his brothers and Vesemir. 

 His anger didn’t fade. He scowled, making his scars twist and morph. “Fuck you! Just because I’m not a uptight morally superior wolf doesn't mean I don’t have fucking standards!” 

 “Standards? Since when do Cat school witchers have standards? You’re nothing better than assassins.” 

 Geralt barely had time to utter his statement before he was slammed against a tree and a knife pointed to his throat. Julian snarled in frustration. His eyes were bright with anger and, surprisingly, sadness. “And wolves are nothing but hypocritical assholes.” 

Geralt felt anger pulsing through his veins. He wanted to hurt this man in front of him; Jaskier be damned. There was just something about Julian that got under his skin. He was a disgrace to the witchers, acting in such a nonchalant manner. A witcher needed to be reserved, hide their emotions; if not the chance of rilling up humans was higher. 

 Julian of Redania wasn’t just a danger to himself but to other witchers. 

 He just couldn’t deal with Julian here. Not with Ciri watching. He could feel her fear radiating out of her. Her eyes were huge with worry. 

 To her, Julian was a hero. He swooped in and saved not only her but Geralt and the rest of the caravan. He couldn’t shatter the small hope she had left in humanity. 

 Both of them froze when they heard something moving through the forest crashing towards them. 

 Geralt and Julian shared a look and silently agreed. This was going to be finished at a later date. 

 Whether it was the Nilfgaardains, or the merchant Julian likely threatened to get Geralt’s pay or pissed off locals who didn’t want a witcher near them, Ciri was in danger.  

 Julian withdrew his knife and pulled out the embedded knife from the trunk. “Start packing. I’m going to go find out who is so brazen to march on a witcher.” The anger was gone from his voice, replaced with furiously cold resolve. 

 Geralt looked at Ciri; she was already shoving things into packs. Someone so young was already so used to danger that she could be ready to flee in a moment. 

 He hurried to get ready. He pulled on his bloodstained shirt and looked for his armour. It was missing. 

 “Here.” Julian tossed Geralt a bundle of hardened leather. It was his chest armour. “Had to get it fixed. Harpies tore it to shreds.” 

 He got it fixed for him? 

 “Are you going to continue to stare there like a village idiot or are you going to move?” Julian snapped. Never mind, any respect Geralt had just gained for Julian vanished. 

 He grumbled as he pulled on his chest armour. 

 The sooner that they got out of this situation and this witcher, the better. 

 Julian tightened the strap for his swords and squinted to where the noise was coming from. “I’ll be back in a second. Ciri, can you get Pegasus ready for me?” 

 “Yep!” Ciri chirped and hurried over to a strangely familiar, white mare hitched to a tree. Julian gave her a little smile and then slipped into the woods. 

 He disappeared so quickly like he was never there. Geralt’s never heard of a witcher move so silently and blend into their surroundings. They were warriors, not rogues. Not that would ever stop a Cat. 

 Geralt smothered the fire and tossed Roach’s saddle onto her back. She snorted in annoyance at the hurried gait but didn’t protest. 

 He could hear the people moving closer, making no attempt to hide their footsteps. 

 Shit. 

 Geralt tightened the last strap to Roach’s saddle and turned to face Ciri. 

 She held Pegasus’s reins, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for Julian to return. Geralt did a scan of the campsite; they had emptied it in a matter of seconds. 

 Witchers travelled light, even with a child in tow. 

 Geralt wanted to leave, toss Ciri on Roach and leave Julian to his own devices but he couldn’t as Ciri would be heartbroken. 

 “It’s Nifgaard.” 

 Geralt went for his sword as Ciri squeaked in shock. Julian appeared out of the woodwork. He didn’t look pleased at the thought. 

“Nilfgaard?” Ciri asked. 

 Julian nodded. “Seems the caravan I rescued you two from made their way into town, and the big boss man wasn’t happy that he got yelled at by a witcher. So he fucking snitched to the Nilfgaards that you two were there and that you left with me. They’re trying to find me.” 

 “What do we do?” Ciri asked. 

 Leave. They needed to leave and make their way to the free north. 

   “Take Pegasus, I’ll deal with them. Keep Ciri safe.” There was a look of absolute written over Julian’s face. There was no arguing with him; his mind was made up and there was no changing it. 

 “Don’t go!” Ciri grabbed onto Julian’s face. Tears leaked out of her scrunched-up eyes as she gripped Julian’s gambeson. She sniffled, Geralt could hear her holding back a wail for the sake of being quiet. 

 “Little canary, don’t worry. I’m going to be okay, those Nilfgaards got nothing on me. To be able to do what I can do, I need you to be safe. Geralt’s the best at doing that. Alright?” Julian ruffled up her already mussed-up hair. “Can you take care of Pegasus for me?” 

 Ciri nodded, her eyes gleaming with determination. 

 “Great!” Julian led her over to Pegasus and helped her up. 

 Geralt grabbed Roach’s reins and noticed Julian unwinding his whip from Pegasus’s saddle and wrapped it around his waist. Geralt’s never met a witcher who used a whip before. 

 Julian caught Geralt’s eye and marched over. “Wolf.” There was such a demanding tone in his voice that Geralt couldn’t ignore it. “Don’t stop for me. Keep riding, and make for Reidburne, and seek out the inn, the Shouting Spoon. I just passed through Toussaint, and there’s not much of a Nilfgaardian presence there, so you should be fine. Talk to the innkeeper Ynsild and ask for a woman named Sesere. She can help you get Ciri to Kaer Morhen safely.” 

 Ciri wasn’t going to like it, but Geralt felt like it was their best chance of survival. Even if he had to meet with Sesere again; something about that woman made his skin crawl; her too still heartbeat and the sharp tang of alchemy. 

 “If I make it through, I’ll head for the Shouting Spoon, whether you wait for me or not. I’ll follow behind and clear out any Nilfgaardians on your tracks.” 

 “Why are you doing this?”  

 Julian stared Geralt down. His eyes were an emotionless void. “I don’t like you wolf; but I like men who hunt children even less.” 

Chapter Text

 Julian waited until he could no longer hear Geralt and Ciri before moving himself into position. He crouched behind the large boulder which he had planned to sleep with his back against.

 Whoever was trying to ambush them was doing a terrible job of it. They were doing very little to hide the fact that they were coming. Julian would be his medallion that even if he didn’t have his super hearing, he’d still be able to hear them. 

 He closed his eyes and listened to the footsteps, trying to assess his situation. He slowly counted ten different heartbeats. From the rattling he heard, he assumed that they were heavily armoured. They were likely equipped with lances, swords, and shields. 

 He had seen them briefly when he went out scouting. He didn’t dare approach them any closer to evaluate his opponents properly. 

 It was not going to be a quick and easy fight. He wasn’t going to be able to silently kill them all. Once he killed one of them, he was going to have to fight the rest of them. 

 Maybe if he could tease them apart, he could pick a couple of them off before they realized they were under attack. 

 He was at a severe disadvantage as it was high noon; Julian wouldn’t be able to use the shadows to his advantage, and he was severely outnumbered. 

 As the party inched closer, Julian heard them grow louder. Chattering like they weren’t on their way to attempt to slaughter a witcher. 

 Morons! 

 They were hunting the White Wolf, and yet they were doing nothing to hide their presence from him. As much as Julian wanted to hate Geralt, Julian had to admit Geralt was a talented witcher. Not that he’d ever, ever tell the man. 

 Julian was getting offended on Geralt’s behalf. 

 He shifted in his spot, gripping the hilts of his dagger, waiting for the right opening. 

 He should wait, let them pass him, trying to follow the tracks of the horses and kill them with their backs turned. 

 If Geralt was here, he’d probably take a moral offence to killing his opponents with their backs turned to Julian. But he surmised that ten to one was a morally wrong thing to do. So the odds were evened out in Julian’s mind. 

 He heard them stumble their way through the campsite, unaware of the predator lurking near them. They were wrapped up in their own world. 

 The mindset of the winner was truly baffling. They let their guard down to the point that they were acting like trainees. Julian almost felt bad for taking advantage of them. Further in Julian’s favour was that Nilfgaardian terrain was much different from the northern climate. 

 The terrain down south was much arider and open plained. Their forests weren’t as dense as northern woods. 

 Julian stood on his toes, back pressed up against the cold rock, listening to them chatter excitedly when they saw the hoofprints. They were falling right into Julian’s plan. They lumbered past Julian, the sound of the armour clanking starting to grow distant. 

 Just as the last was in earshot, Julian whistled, loud and clear. 

 The chatter abruptly stopped, and he heard one of the men order someone to go check it out. 

 The clanking of armour returned, slowly and cautiously. 

 Once the man stumbled back into the campsite, Julian sprang into action. He vaulted himself over the boulder, dagger aimed at the face. 

 The man shouted in surprise as Julian descended upon him. Dagger digging into the soft flesh of the man’s neck under the gorget. He collapsed to the ground, and Julian darted back into the woods, finding shelter behind an ancient tree. Julian pressed himself to the dirt watching for his prey. 

 Now that the man who was sent to check out the noise was down, more would come. The longer he stayed hidden, he sowed the seeds of fear into the surviving men. 

 Fear drives a usually rational man to do the irrational. 

 Julian was going to capitalize on their fear. 

 He hated direct confrontations. That’s not how the Cats worked. They stayed hidden in the shadows, stalking their prey, striking at the most opportune time.  

More soldiers came, whispering to themselves. 

 Julian traced axii’s symbol, directing the soldier closest to him to attack his companion. The shouts of fear made Julian recoil a little, but he steeled his mind. He needed to be strong. Ciri needed protection. 

 Once he believed that one of the soldiers was down, Julian came charging out, dagger slamming into the same spot as his last victim. 

 Unfortunately, Julian wasn’t able to hide before his next target came into view. The man yelled in surprise and gripped his lance in determination. There was fear in his eyes. 

 Fuck.

 He sighed, hand dropping from his next dagger, and reached for his steel sword. His anonymity was blown, and he only got three. He was so out of practice. 

 He twirled his longsword, and before he could do anything, his opponent lunged, lance aimed for Julian’s chest. 

 Julian stepped aside as the force of his opponent’s run made it hard for him to be able to stop. The guy slowly stopped and pivoted to face Julian.

 Julian squared his stance, grabbed the middle of his sword, switching to the half-sword technique, and waited for the man to attack again. 

 He blocked the lance with the middle of his sword and then slammed the pommel into the man’s head. Because his opponent was fully armoured, any damage from direct stabs from Julian’s sword would be mitigated. Blunt force trauma, on the other hand, was always effective. 

 The man toppled to the ground and then slammed the point into the man’s now exposed neck. 

 Julian stepped aside, trying to avoid the spurt of blood. 

 He grabbed another dagger and ran into the forest. He weaved in and out of the trees, looking for the remaining Nilfgaardians. 

 Once he spotted one of the men with his back turned to Julian, he flung his dagger to the back of one of the man’s knees. He buckled over, his helmet came toppling off, and Julian slammed his sword through the back of his head. 

 He continued on, dodging the crossbow bolt flung at him, slashing at the man’s hands, and a burst of flame slammed into the man’s face. Ignoring his screaming, Julian slashed at the exposed skin. 

 Once he was down, Julian methodically continued on, continuing to hunt his prey. 

***

Julian looked to the scattered bodies littering the ground around him with a lack of sympathy. Jaskier would have been horrified looking at the scene. The witcher was surrounded by dead bodies, with blood splattered across him. Right now, Julian just didn’t care. 

 He’s lived so long, seen so much death that it didn’t affect him anymore. It was just another factor of life. 

 He sighed and wiped off his blade on his pant leg, then sheathing it. Julian squinted at the sun, getting his bearings and set off east. 

 It was going to be a long trek to the Shouting Spoon. 

 Now that he thought about it wasn’t there a Nilfgaard camp nearby? Maybe Julian can mooch off of them for supplies. Make up some sob story about the northerners being mean to him. They were so predictable. 

 There was a small spring in his step as he headed east and a faint whistle in his throat. 

***

Ciri wasn’t talking to Geralt. She was angry with him for leaving Julian behind. To be honest, Geralt didn’t feel bad about what he did. Julian was a witcher. He knew what his chances were. Geralt’s first priority was Ciri, not anyone who decided to tag along. 

Why Julian decided to sacrifice himself, Geralt didn’t know. 

 The journey had been rough for Ciri. Geralt had wanted to slow down, allow for her to rest, but they were in territory where they were being hunted. 

 He didn’t trust the woman, Sesere; she breezed in, told Geralt some cryptic message for free, and then disappeared from his life. Nothing in life came for free, so what did she want from him? 

 And what was her last message? ‘Attempting to stop an old friend from doing something he’ll regret for the rest of his life.' That made no sense. He doubted that she was talking about Jaskier, he’d never mentioned her before. 

 Though, Geralt had foolishly believed that Jaskier was related to the viscount of Lettenhove. That Countess de Steal and he had been lovers, while it seemed their relationship had been fabricated. 

 What was going to be next? Jaskier’s degree from Oxenfurt was a forgery? Geralt wouldn’t be surprised at this point. 

 It seemed everything he knew about that man was a lie. They travelled twenty years together, and Geralt knew nothing about the real Jaskier. And it didn’t seem like Jaskier wanted to be found. Perhaps it was best to let him go. 

 He had Ciri to look after now. 

 The young girl shivered in his arms. It was late, typically they would have stopped by now for the night, but they were so close to the Shouting Spoon that Geralt wanted to push on. 

 There they would have a bed, and he could get help from Sesere to get him and Ciri north safely. He didn’t trust the woman. But right now, he needed all the help he could get. 

***

 The sun was hanging heavy as Julian spotted the sharpened spikes indicating the Nilfgaardian camp. From where Julian was perched, he could see supply carts and vendors rolling in men in black and gold uniforms circled around the wagons. 

 It had taken longer than Julian thought to get to camp. Not that he minded the walk; for the most part, his time as Jaskier, he spent on foot. He liked walking; it was fun. For the most part. It wasn’t fun when he didn’t have a waterskin. 

 He had some crowns on him. Hopefully, it’ll get the basics for him. 

 Julian stretched out, his back cracked as he did, and headed off to the entrance. He tried to put on his signature cheerful facade. He was terrible with the whole ‘gloom and doom’ glower most witchers had on. Surprisingly, most people were receptive to the friendly attitude. Nothing too cheerful, then people worried. There was the right amount of friendly and stoic that Julian needed to achieve. 

 One of the guards spotted Julian as he came sauntering up. “Hello!” 

 “Witcher?” The man asked in an accented Northern. 

 No. He was a leatherworker. Of course, he was a witcher. Julian hid his sigh and gave the guy a short nod. 

 “Ah. Good.” The soldier on duty signalled for another soldier to come over. “We have contract. Drise will take you to the commander.” 

 Sweet. Hopefully, it’ll be a quick and easy contract. Julian could make some easy money and maybe score some supplies off of them. 

 “Okay.” Julian shrugged and followed Drise. 

 The walk up to the fort was silent, and Julian was more than okay with that. Making small talk as a witcher was exhausting. People were always on guard around him, and Julian just didn’t have the mental strength to try. 

 The Nilfgaard camp was expansive; Julian and Drise trudged through rows upon rows of barracks and other camp essentials Julian could see dilapidated sections in the distance. Those must be from the people who didn’t come back. No one seemed to care to take down the tents. 

 The growing sense of melancholy buzzed in the back of Julian’s mind. 

 There was no honour in bloodshed, and it saddened to see people who were still blinded to that fact. Yennefer had been right, war was coming, and it was staining the earth red, scarring the lives of countless people.

 It was sickening.   

 Julian tried to shake those thoughts out of his head and pushed forward.

 Julian spotted Drise looked at him from the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t tell if Drise was judging him or was just curious about witchers. It was usually one or the other. Julian rose an eyebrow at the man, and he sputtered in rapid Niflgaardian and hurried on. 

 The drawbridge clattered under Julian’s feet as he passed through. The outer courtyard was filled with even more tents. These ones were more based on the trades. As they hurried through the courtyard, Julian’s ears were filled with the sounds of hammers swinging. 

 It almost felt comfortable, hearing the sounds of a forge. It was like Julian was almost back in Castle Stygga during the winter months, hanging around the forge with Jaittas, the cranky old witcher, who had been in charge of the armoury. 

 Julian didn’t know if Jaittas was still alive or not. It’s been decades since he last saw him. He always liked Jaittas; despite the man being cranky, he had a bit of a soft spot for Julian. He would let Julian lurk out in the shadows when he was trying to hide from the other trainees. 

 He was also the witcher to find Julian after he ran away. He treated Julian with kindness, unlike his other teachers. 

 Why was Julian thinking about the past? The past was the past, and Julian couldn’t let it consume him. He couldn’t turn out like his brothers. He couldn’t let the mages win. 

 He took in a deep breath and continued to follow Drise further into the fort. It was times like this where Julian liked being a witcher. He could walk between the lines of territory without any recourse. He didn’t have to worry about politics. He did have to deal with ignorant lower rural folks, who still hated witchers. 

 They slowly wandered to the Great Chamber. The usual prestige of this hall was stripped down to nothing in favour of a plain military aesthetic. 

 In the middle of a hall was a long table littered with papers and weapons. A group of men stood around, murmuring to each other.

 “Commander.” Drise stopped and saluted to the man in the middle. He boasted an impressive suit of black and gold armour and a luxurious fur coat. He looked so ridiculous that Julian wanted to roll his eyes. 

 The men at the table looked up, surprise eminent in their faces. 

 “We found a witcher near the entrance. I was told to bring him here.” Drise still had his hand to his temple. He looked like a good little soldier boy. 

 Julian fought the urge even more to roll his eyes.

 “Very well, you’ve done well. You are dismissed.” The commander waved him off. 

 “Yes sir!” Drise turned sharply on his heel and marched off. 

 Julian flickered his eyes up to the man and then back to his nails. A far cry from the perfectly manicured nails of Jaskier. His fingerless gloves were starting to get a little worn too. Perhaps he ought to replace them. 

 One of the men cleared his throat. Julian spared him a glance and then went back to his gloves. They wanted some form of proper etiquette. They wanted deference. When it came to negotiations with nobles, Julian had to knock them off guard. 

 “Can I help you?” Julian finally asked. 

 They looked like they wanted to burst into anger. The commander cleared his throat and attempted to give Julian a placating smile. 

 “I’m Stoff Aep Lwellirn, the commander of the troops here.” 

 Julian nodded along, waiting for the man to get to the point. 

 “We’ve asked you here today because we’re in need of your help. See, recently something strange has happened to the second division and we’re unable to contact our mages for help.” 

 “Strange how? 

 “At first, soldiers have been complaining about stiffness after battles, then slowly over time, they’re having trouble moving. Then at the end, they’re immoble, like they’ve turned to stone.” 

 It must be some form of curse. 

 “It’s the mage!” One of the men burst out. 

 Stoff shot him a dirty look. Guess Julian wasn’t supposed to know about this mage. “Mage?” Julian asked sweetly. 

 Stoff sighed, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “We’ve captured a mage after our last battle. It’s impossible for it to be her. She’s been in dimeritium chains long before she’s even been in the fort. 

 So, she was powerful. She must be one of Tissaia’s girls. She would never forgive Julian if he let one of her girls rot in a Nilfgaardian prison. Hmm. The contract could be a good excuse to poke around, see if there’s some way to sneak her out. 

 “Will you accept the contract?” Stoff asked. He looked eager under his calm demeanour. It must be really bad for him to be asking Julian like this. 

 “First, my payment.” 

 “Of course. You witcher boys are professionals. What is a good asking price? 100 Florens? 200?” He must be really desperate. Good. 

 “A horse, and maybe some provisions. My last one got snatched up by bandits while I was out doing a job.” 

 There were some murmurs amongst the group, his lie worked. Stoff nodded to Julian. “Yes, the north is plagued by bandits. Of course. That shall be the deal.” 

The presence of war and the Nilfgaardian invasion was the root of most bandits in this region. The war and destruction of crops and livelihood drove poor people into doing more reckless and illegal behaviour. Also, there were issues with bandits in the south too. This wasn’t a purely Northern thing. 

 “Great! I’ll need to see the affected people. It’s likely a curse. There’s a few things that will help the investigation. I’ll need to know all of the affected people, to see if the victims are just from the second division, their movements, and it might help to see the mage.” 

 There was an air of hesitation, and quiet murmurs started to spread. They didn’t want him to see the mage. 

 Julian held up a hand, the room silenced in the beat of a heart. “Look, I don’t care who the mage is, what she’s done, or whatever politics is going on. I’m a witcher, my job is to complete my contract to the satisfaction of my employer.” 

 Well, that was a bit of a lie. If the witch was an Aratueza sorceress, then Julian would likely do something. It would be best to lay the groundwork of his alibi from the very beginning. 

 Stoff looked impressed with Julian’s response. “Very well, I will escort you to the mage. Do you really think that it might be her?” 

 “To be honest, I’m not sure. If I were in her position, then I would use my magic, if I had access to it, to escape, not curse soldiers holding me captive. My safety would be my first priority. Though, I’d like to know her identity to see what kind of magic she practices. It may help me with lifting the curse.” 

 Julian trotted after Stoff, waving goodbye to the growing group of resentful men at the table. 

 Stoff walked with a purpose, unlike Drise, who had uncertainty seeping out of him. 

 Julian took the time to scout the area, it was a large fort. From Julian’s experience, there were bound to be secret passages hidden about. Though, he shouldn’t rely too much on his experience with Castle Stygga. There were more secret passages than actual corridors. 

 He could feel the chill starting to seep into his bones as they descended into darkness. Dim orange light licked the walls of the dungeon. 

 The guards on duty were slumped against the wall, looking bored out of their minds. It seems that nothing happened down here. Likely only the one prisoner. They’ll be easy to axii. Julian would have to figure out their shifts, and if there were any guards further inside.  

 There were so dumb. Julian chuckled to himself. 

 The guards jumped to attention, saluting Stoff. “Commander.” 

 Stoff waved off the guards. “We’re here to see the prisoner.” 

 “Yes, sir!” The guard scrambled to unlock the dungeon door. Julian watched as the guard tucked the key away. 

 They walked into the damp, mouldy dungeon, further away from the light. Julian could see a figure struggling to sit up in the furthest cell. Julian just barely could see the violet eyes in the distant light. 

 Yennefer. 

 Julian felt his blood boiling, resisting the urge to unsheathe his sword and run Stoff through with it and just break her out here and now. Why the fuck was Yennefer of Vengerberg in a cell in a Nilfgaardian Fort? 

 Yennefer made eye contact with Julian, and her eyes widened with shock. Julian hung behind Stoff and put a finger to his lips. She gave him a near-invisible nod. Thank god she had common sense. 

 “So?” 

 “It’s not her. Not Yennefer’s style. She’d rather turn everyone into amphibians than slowly curse her captors.” Julian gave Yennefer a wink when Stoff wasn’t looking at him. She levelled him with a glare, but there was no heat behind it. 

 Julian tried to examine the lock and her cuffs with a look of nonchalant. The cell lock looked to be a standard lock that he could easily pick if needed. Her cuffs were another question. He’d need the key. 

 “How do her cuffs work?” Stoff rose an eyebrow at Julian’s question. Julian shrugged, trying to pass it off as a mere curiosity. “Some of my work has to deal with mages and sorceresses, maybe if I gain access to a pair of dimeritium cuffs, it would make my life easier.” The lie came out smoothly. 

 Stoff looked like he bought it hook line and sinker. “The cuffs stop all magic and can only be opened with this key.” He pulled out a key from his key ring. It was a shiny bronze that made his medallion hum slightly. 

 Julian saw him tuck it back on his belt. Were the Nilfgaardians this arrogant to leave valuable keys out in the open? 

 “So tell me, what do you think the source of the curse is?” 

 “No idea. I’ll have to examine the afflicted and their belongings.”

 “I will have someone bring you them in the morning. For now, you can rest in the fort.” 

 Room and board, and a horse? Nice. Julian felt bad planning on breaking Yennefer out.   

***

“Yen?” Julian whispered into the darkness. 

 “Jaskier?” Yennefer’s voice was hoarse. 

 “Thought, I told you not to call me that,” Julian mumbled. 

 “How’d you get in?” 

“Axii’d the guards. It won’t last long. I’m going to get you out. It’ll take some time, so please hang on.” 

“How long?” He could hear the desperation in her voice. 

 “I’m not sure. I need to gain their trust first. They have me working on a contract. Once I’m done, I’ll figure something out to make it out like it wasn’t me, break you out, and swindle the shit out of them.” 

 “Make sure you get all of their gold.” There was a grim satisfaction in her voice. 

 “I’ll give you the prettiest of the prettiest gems.”  

 “Good.”

 “And this is for you.” Julian pushed a small bundle of food through the gaps of the bar. He didn’t know how much they were feeding her. Even though he couldn’t break her out now, he was going to take care of her. 

***

 The lights of the city of Reidburne twinkled below Geralt and Ciri.  

 Geralt slowed Roach down as there wasn’t much of a rush now. They were close.

 He had been to the Shouting Spoon before, a couple of times. He hadn’t stayed long, but the service had been nice. The owners hadn’t cursed at him, nor had they charged an exorbitant amount for him to stay there. 

 Julian had also recommended the inn, so it must be a haven for witchers. 

 Ciri shifted tiredly in his arms. She hasn’t said much to him, but it was not hard to tell that she was exhausted. Geralt was. He felt terrible for pushing her this hard.  

 The streets of Reidburne were silent, the night had settled in, and most people had ventured indoors by now. 

 The horses clopped through the near-empty streets. It wasn’t hard to find the Shouting Spoon as it lay along the banks of the river in the north of the city. Most buildings along the banks were modest in size residential houses. The inn stood out compared to the homes. 

 Ciri dutifully got off of Roach and followed Geralt inside. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or tired. 

 The barkeep looked up as Geralt entered with Ciri. She pulled her hood up to cover her pale blonde hair. Geralt hoped that news of the bounty on Geralt’s head and the return of Ciri to the Nilfgaards hasn’t reached here yet. 

 “White Wolf!” The barkeeper lit up in a smile. He looked familiar, but Geralt couldn’t remember what his name was. Jaskier had been good with these sorts of things. “You need a room?”

 “Yes. And a bath for the little one, and room for the horses. We’ll be here for a couple of days.” 

 The barkeep nodded. He turned to look into the kitchen. 

 Geralt felt a gaze on him but shrugged it off. He was used to this. He was a witcher after all. And a witcher who had white hair. He stood out amongst his brethren. He looked to the source of the gaze. He laid his eyes on a woman who had entered through the back. She had dark hair and a pair of familiar venom green eyes. 

 Sesere gave Geralt a nod hello. 

 “Abigail will show you two to your room.” The barkeep nodded to a teenage girl who had appeared. She had mousey brown hair and deep brown eyes. Most notably was that she didn’t shy away from Geralt. 

 Ever since Jaskier had started spreading his message about witchers, there had been an increase of people who weren’t as nervous around him as before. But this girl looked him dead in the eye and offered him a kind smile. 

 Times certainly have changed. 

 “Thanks.” Geralt gave Abigail a little nod. 

 She brightened and beckoned them to follow her. Ciri took Geralt’s hand as they followed Abigail through the crowded bar. She still got nervous around large crowds. He squeezed her hand back in support. She might be angry with him, but at least she knows that he’d be here for her. 

 The upstairs was quiet. 

 Abigail led them to a room towards the end of the hall. She unlocked the door and gestured to them to enter. “I’ll be back up in a couple of minutes with the bath water. Is there anything else you need?” 

 “Diner if you could.” 

 Abigail nodded. “I’ll bring it up. I hope your stay is well. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything!” She waved goodbye and headed back down the hall. 

 Ciri sighed and pulled off of her cloak. She dropped onto the bed, sighing and closing her eyes.   

 “I’ll be back. Have to settle the horses. Don’t open the door unless it's me or Abigail.” 

 “I know. We’ve been through this before.” She didn’t bother looking at him. He didn’t hear her snippy attitude often. It was still heartwarming that she had the spirit to act like a kid. On the other hand, it was annoying. 

 Geralt shook his head and headed out. 

 He wished Vesemir was here. He could deal with her better than Geralt could. 

 The restaurant floor was busy, and yet no one paid him attention. Were witchers that frequent here? 

 Geralt slipped into the dim stables. Roach nipped at Geralt’s hair as her way of saying hello. He patted her head in return. 

 She huffed as Geralt started undoing her equipment. She wanted to go back to grazing uninterrupted. Geralt quickly pulled off her saddle and reins and brushed her down. She shook her head in happiness as he did so. 

 He rested the equipment on the stall and slung his saddlebags over his shoulder. 

 He closed the stall and went to take care of Pegasus. 

 Pegasus looked up at him with seemingly empty black eyes and went back to grazing. She was a rather docile horse, unlike Roach, who liked to nip at Geralt when he wasn’t paying enough attention to her. 

 Now that Geralt looked at Pegasus better, she looked familiar. She had a white coat and two black socks, one on her right foreleg and one left back leg. She was the type of horse that Geralt would want Ciri to have. Roach was a little too wild. 

 Geralt has wondered what was inside of Julian’s saddlebags. He was, as Jaskier put it, a little nosy. He didn’t meet witchers outside of the wolf school. He wondered what Julian carried. 

 Something about Julian unsettled him. No matter how far he went, he could still feel those mismatched on him. Evaluating him like he was nothing more than prey and Julian was the hunter. 

 He didn’t fight like a witcher. He moved with the grace of an acrobat, dodging and weaving so gracefully one would think that he was a cat in a human’s body. Geralt has never seen another witcher use any other weapons than a sword. 

 Julian just kept pushing the boundaries, and Geralt was afraid that if he stayed too close, then he’d be seen as a monster again. 

 Jaskier had put so much effort into making Geralt better than who he really was. He was afraid that if he stepped out of line, then Jaskier’s legacy, all that Geralt had left of him, would be ruined. The last thing he had of his friend would be gone. 

 He couldn’t let that happen. 

 He had to stay away from Julian. 

 Geralt steeled his nerves and went back to his previous task. He pulled off the saddle and reins and did his brush down routine. Pegasus happily butted her head against his arm and then went back to ignoring him. 

 Geralt took Julian’s saddlebags alongside his and headed back inside. He nodded hello to the barkeep and Sesere and headed upstairs. 

 “Fiona.” Geralt knocked on the door. He heard a noise of conformation from inside and walked in. Ciri was sitting on the bed, and Abigail was also in the room, filling up the bathtub in the corner. Abigail gave Geralt a nod hello and skipped out. 

 Geralt mused up Ciri’s hair as he passed. 

 He dumped the saddlebags onto the floor and started pulling at the straps of his armour. He sighed and pulled off his swords. 

 “Is Julian going to be okay?” This was the first time in a while Ciri had spoken. 

 “You saw how he dealt with the harpies?” Geralt asked. Ciri nodded. “Monsters are typically more dangerous than humans, and Julian is pretty good with monsters right?” Ciri nodded again. “He’s probably a couple days behind since he’s on foot and we’re on horses.” 

 “Why did he give us Pegasus?” 

 “What he’s doing is dangerous and he treasures Pegasus. He’d probably worry more if he had Pegasus with him. Pegasus is safest with us, especially now that she’s in a stable, resting comfortably.” 

 Ciri sniffled and nodded. “You’re right.” 

 “He’ll probably be here in a couple of days. We just need to be patient.” That was something that Geralt had found out that Ciri was not proficient in. 

 She pouted and crossed her arms in defiance. 

 “Hello!” Abigail came in with a bucket of water. “Please excuse me.” She quickly dumped the water and headed out.

 Filling bathtubs full of hot water seemed so pointless to Geralt. He’d rather wash up in a creek and have it over with. 

 Geralt sat in a chair and pulled out his steel sword. He’s been neglecting them recently. He sat there, sharpening his swords as Abigail came in and out. She paid them no mind as she came and went.

***

 Julian felt eyes on him. He carefully made his way around the infirmary, looking at the men laying still on the cots in front of him. 

 They were cold to the touch, and their skin felt like marble. 

 To be honest, he was a little baffled. He’s never seen a curse like this before. To make things worse, they wanted an answer now. “You don’t know what’s wrong with them, do you?” Stoff asked. 

 “I know that they’re cursed. What I don’t know is what the cure is, and why these men.” 

 “They’re from the second division, is that not the why?” 

 “There are hundreds of men from the second division. Why these specific men? What did they do. What is the common denominator? Did they do a mission, scout somewhere, defile an ancient grave, piss off some elves? There must be records right?” 

 “Of course. Nilfgaard prides itself for its record keeping.” Doesn’t he get tired of sucking the emperor’s dick?

 “Right. I’ll also want to speak to their immediate superiors. They’ll have better knowledge of these men.” Was Stoff going to hover Julian’s shoulder the whole time? So fucking frustrating. 

 “I’ll take you to them.”  

***

Geralt finished taking care of his swords. He sheathed his swords and sighed. What to do now?

 He noticed Julian’s saddlebags stuffed in the corner. 

 He shouldn’t. 

 No one was here to dissuade him. There was still so much that Geralt didn’t know about the man, and he didn’t want a man around Ciri that he didn’t know. 

 Geralt sighed and sat down and pulled the saddlebags towards him. He felt a pang of consciousness but pushed it away. Ciri was his number one priority. 

 He shuffled through them, so far it seemed much like Geralt’s. Extra clothes, medicine, food, potions and bombs, etc. There were a plethora of knives which made Geralt a little nervous. What witcher carried so many knives? 

 He continued to poke around, and his hand brushed against something wooden. Out of curiosity, Geralt pulled it out. It was a small carved owl. It was a decent little carving. 

 It seems that Julian picked up carving as a hobby. It was a good way to pass time for a witcher. 

 Geralt put back the owl and continued looking. He came across a worn leather book, with green trimmings. He knew this book. He had bought it for Jaskier, shortly before they went on the dragon hunt. 

 He flipped open the book and saw Jaskier’s messy scrawl on the first page.  The property of the bard Jaskier, all who read this be damned. 

  How did Julian have Jaskier’s journal? 

 Geralt flipped through the pages. His brow furled in annoyance when he realized he couldn’t read whatever was written. It wasn’t in a language that he didn’t know. He knew the basics of most of the languages on the continent and Skelligian, but this was written in a code. 

 The dates at the top of the page indicated the months, the years after the dragon hunt. Was this Jaskier’s life or Julian’s? Geralt paused at the sketch of a landscape. It was a simple sketch, the charcoal slightly smudged but clearly showing a small hut amidst a forest. Three large horses were hitched off to the right of the hut. 

 He was hit with a pang of something. He didn’t know what it was or how to even begin explaining it. His heart ached looking at it. He could feel the serenity and love that the drawing showed like whatever happened in that hut was remembered fondly.  

 Geralt flipped to another drawing. It was of wolfsbane. Then of a drowner. Then honeysuckle. Another landscape, this time of a canyon. More monsters with the coded language scribbled underneath. This looked like a journal of a witcher. 

 How did Julian come across Jaskier’s journal? 

 Geralt snapped the journal shut, questions swirling around his mind. He didn’t know what to do; his mind was a jumbled mess. He needed Julian back. His hands shook as he gripped the journal against his chest. 

 How could a witcher expose so much, so carelessly? Just the thought of that stupid smug grin made Geralt stop. 

 He didn’t want Julian around, he posed too much of a risk to Ciri, but the thought of him being gone just didn’t sit right with Geralt. It reminded him of Jaskier. He was always so worried and angry that he had to look out for this little lost bardling, but whenever he travelled alone, he just felt hollow. The constant ache in him felt more pronounced. 

 Why did Julian get to waltz into Geralt’s life, and fuck it all up? Just like Jaskier. At least Jaskier was pleasant to be around most of the time. Something about Julian just rubbed him the wrong way. A certain gleam in his eye that felt like Julian knew something Geralt needed but refused to tell him, just to watch Geralt struggle to try to figure it out. 

 Sesere was right. Julian of Redania and Jaskier’s life were intertwined somehow. He needed answers, more than ever.  

 He shouldn’t have left Julian to die back in Nazair.  

  ***

 “Caridim Aep Llwalchlyhm, sir! How may I assist you, sir?” The superior snapped to attention, his hand glued to his forehead. Well, there was one benefit to having the fort commander on Julian’s ass. 

 “You know the men who’ve been cursed?” Julian asked. 

 “Yes sir?” 

 “Is there any relation between the men? Did they do something together, a mission or something?” Julian asked. 

 Caridim paused, unsure what to say. There was a gleam in his eyes that told Julian that he knew something. He flickered his eyes towards Stoff, and back to Julian. “Uh, well, I’m not entirely sure, I was just transferred, but I’ve heard rumors about them.” 

 “Which is?” 

 Caridim looked uncomfortable. “Some of my subordinates have told me that some of the men who came up from Lake Muredach had things with them.” 

 “Things?” 

 “I’m not sure. There’s been wild rumours about them. I think, like jewels and such. Treasures, things can be pawned for money.” 

 If they looted, then they could have accidentally taken a cursed object. Perhaps returning it would break the curse. Though, that wasn’t a conclusive way to break the case. 

 “Is there anyone who knows about their whereabouts?” 

 “Jurr probably. He’s in the stables, he was a part of their unit.” 

 “Thanks.” 

***

 “Jurr?” The young man looked up, his hands whitening as he gripped his shovel. His eyes darted to Stoff in fear.

 “Yes?”

 “I was told that you had knowledge about the men who’ve become cursed. I was hoping that you could help me with my investigation.” Julian attempted to put the man at ease. A not too friendly smile, no glower, just a calm slate. 

 “I knew ‘em. We were in a unit together.” Jurr nodded, eyes flickering everywhere. A good start, he wasn’t denying it. 

 Julian nodded along. “Right, I know that they came up from Lake Muredach, but plenty of people came up from the Lake. To do my job properly, I need to know all the facts. Can you tell me anything about them?” 

 Jurr was silent. The look on his face told Julian he knew something. 

 “Anything, man. I understand if you don’t want to tell on your mates, but you might be in danger, Jurr. Your coworkers are in danger.” 

 “We...we might have looted some rich man’s mansion,” Jurr mumbled. 

 Stoff snorted in anger, but Julian shushed him. Looting wasn’t allowed in the Niflgaardian army. Looting could also mean they definitely took a cursed object. Though, why would a rich man have a cursed object? 

“Anything else?” Jurr shook his head; his heartbeat said otherwise. “Jurr.” Julian’s tone tightened. 

 “Maldan killed the guy. He lead us. I--I didn’t do it! I swear, I was just guarding the family. The others, they were ransaking the place.” 

 It was possible that the family cursed the men after the father was killed. There was something else. 

 Stoff looked like he was about to explode. Julian stopped him from going off. Jurr didn’t seem to be a particularly good criminal. He was probably strung along with the others. If Julian let him go on, he would probably spill the whole story. “That’s it?”   

 Jurr gripped the shovel and looked at his boots. “The man welcomed us into his home, he-he surrendered. I tried to stop Maldan, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Please forgive me, my lord commander.” Jurr dropped to his knees, tears streaming out. They killed an unarmed man who surrendered. No wonder they were cursed. 

 Julian turned to Stoff. “Look, I know I don’t have a say in your martial matters, but think about giving the man a lighter sentence. He wasn’t the ringleader.”

 “I will consider it.” Jurr looked like he was about to cry in relief. “Now what?” 

 “The family likely put the curse on these men. We need to find everything that they took, and return it. I believe that you ought to go, ask the widow for forgiveness. Tell her that you’ll do everything in your power to punish them.” 

 “I will get men on the job.” 

 ***

 “I’m going to be gone for a couple of days.” Julian spoke into the darkness. 

 “Why?” Julian didn’t want to leave Yen, but Stoff insisted he come. 

 “Fucking idiot soldiers killed a guy who surrendered. Now the fucking commander wants me to go with him to plead to the widow.” 

 “Should've let them rot.” 

 “I would. But I need their trust. And one of their horses.” Yennefer huffed in annoyance. “I got you this to keep you through.” Julian passed her the bog of food. “When I get back, I’ll get you out. I promise.” 

 “I trust you, Jaskier. Stay safe.” 

 “I will, don’t worry.” 

***

 Julian’s idea of a good time was not sitting amongst the elite Nilfgaardian soldiers in the middle of the night, on their way to plead for forgiveness to some widow. Especially now that he was technically against them, after all, he helped a wanted criminal escape. 

 He wasn’t even sure if this was the way to lift the curse, he told Stoff this, but the man didn’t seem to care. If the men died because of the curse or if they were court-martialed, it didn’t matter to Stoff. Once this was over, Julian’s contract would be finished.  

So Julian sat, perched on a stump, slowly whittling away. The face of a raven slowly came into view. 

 “So, witcher.” 

 “I have a name,” Julian snapped, not bothering to hide his irritation. He didn’t bother looking up. There was harsh silence over the fire. Geralt might have been fine with being bullied around, but Julian was not going to stand for it. He’s spent years trying to appease people, slip through the cracks. Now, he realized that no matter what he did, it didn’t change people’s attitudes. If they wanted a monster, then Julian would give them a monster. 

 “Tell me, you know the White Wolf?” They continued on like it was nothing. 

 “I know him.” Julian was going to make them work for the information. He knew what they wanted. 

 “You see him recently?” 

 They most likely know that Julian helped out the caravan. He’d have to step carefully around them. 

 Julian arched an eyebrow at the man speaking. The man faltered, a spark of fear flickered over his face. “So what if I have?” 

 They fell silent, unsure how to move forward. 

 Julian sniffled in annoyance, waving them off. “Look, I don’t know what you guys want, but I don’t know anything. Nor do I care.” 

 “So you had nothing to do with the slaughter of the patrol around Harpy Ally?” 

 Julian knew that they were going to find out about the patrol sooner or later, and connect it to Julian and Geralt. 

 He pushed the annoyance out of his mind and focused on the man with a levelled stare. “Cats and dogs don’t get along, Nilfgaardian. He was none too pleased that a Cat saved his sorry ass, and wanted me nowhere near his Child Surprise. Thought I might corrupt her or some shit. So I don’t know shit. Leave me the fuck alone, I don’t want to deal with the Wolf’s shit.” 

 Most of that was true, unfortunately.

 Julian knew that Geralt wouldn’t react too kindly to a Cat, but seeing the hatred in his eyes made something deep inside Julian crack. He never knew that someone so close to him could give him such a hateful look. 

 Julian glared at the raven as he went back to work. 

***

 It had been two days since Ciri and Geralt had arrived at the Shouting Spoon. There had been no news about Julian and Geralt was starting to get worried. 

 Ciri was off with Abigail, helping Abigail’s grandmother in the kitchen. The two of them had bonded over their interest in sword fighting. It was good for Ciri to spend as much time with a girl before they headed to Kaer Morhen. 

 Geralt was off in the stables, watching over Roach and Pegasus. 

 He wasn’t sure what else to do. He wasn’t used to such restlessness. That moment of limbo. 

 “So, what is the White Wolf doing with Julian’s horse? Last I checked, that pissy baby wasn’t a fan of wolves.” 

 Geralt spun around, hunting knife out and lashing towards the speaker. He didn’t like people sneaking upon him. 

 Sesere easily blocked his attack with a parry of her own. She closed the gap between them and pressed her knife to his throat. 

 She moved at such incredible speed. A speed that worried Geralt. 

 “I didn’t know the White Wolf liked to attack civilians.” He hated being called the White Wolf, he only put up with it because Jaskier had coined the term to try to combat the name ‘the Butcher of Blavikien’. Hearing her call him that grated him. 

 “You’re the farthest thing from a civilian.” Geralt sheathed his knife, and Sesere did the same. 

 She shrugged and grinned. “You’ve got a point. Anyways, why the fuck do you have Julian’s horse? She's like his favourite thing in the world, other than his brother.” 

 “Nilfgaard was tracking Fiona and I. He stayed behind, saying that he’d hold them off, and that he would meet us here and not to look back. Also that incase something happened to him, that you’d help Fiona and I get to Kaer Morhen.” 

 Not that Geralt expected Sesere to do much, they really needed a place to lay law and for Ciri to rest.

 Sesere chewed on one of her piercings, a set of studs at the edges of her mouth, and placed her hands on her hips. She mulled over what Geralt said. She shook her head and sighed. “Sounds like him. Self-sacrificing motherfucker. Alright, I’ll help in any way possible.” 

 “Why?” Julian’s intentions Geralt could somewhat understand, but Sesere? Why was she helping him so easily?

 Sesere shrugged again. “To be honest, I couldn’t give a shit about you, wolf; but she’s a fucking kid man, and I know that you’re not doing any witchery mutations on her since wolves don’t do it on chicks. So, I figure that she’s probably safest with you. And if Julian stayed behind to cover up your tracks, that must mean that there’s someone powerful trying to hunt her. Easy conclusion.” 

 “Is Julian that self-sacrificing?” 

 That didn’t seem to be the right thing to say, Sesere’s expression closed up. She levelled a harsh glare at him. “Watch it wolf. Just because I said that I’d help you doesn’t mean I’m going to fucking sit around passively. Watch your words.” 

 She turned on her heel and marched out, leaving Geralt alone once again in the stables. 

***

 “Are you Izindra Denir?” Stoff asked the woman in black who stood on the steps of the mansion. It was an impressive sight. The mansion was old, not the decrepit kind, but the elegant historical kind of old. Tall, well-maintained limestone walls with simple pane glass windows dominated Julian’s vision as he looked up to the figure in front of him. Manicured gardens and lawns sprawled out from the corner of his eyes. 

 “I am. Who are you to arrive without notice?” She gazed at Stoff with contempt. 

 “I am Stoff Aep Lwellirn, commander of the Second Division of the Nilfgaardian army.” Stoff dropped to his knee, the rest of the knights behind dropped to their knee as well. Julian didn’t bother, it wasn’t his reputation on the line. 

 “Why have you come to my home? Have you come to rub salt into my wounds? My husband surrendered peacefully to your men, and was rewarded with a sword through his heart.” Julian could feel her heart start pounding. 

 “I know, my lady. For this fact, I’m truly sorry. Those men did not act upon any order issued upon them. They acted recklessly, and horrendously. I know that my words nor my actions cannot bring your husband back, but the men involved in your husband’s murder will be court marshelled and punished to the full extent. Upon learning of these actions, I had my men find anything taken from your house, and added too anything missing with my own riches.” 

 “Money cannot return the love of my life.” 

 “I understand, my lady.” 

 “And how I am to trust your word when your subordinates did not.” Her dark eyes burned with anger. 

 “There is nothing that I can do to persuade you?” 

 “You. Witcher.” Izindra turned to Julian. Her glare softened when she looked at him, but he could still see her anger.  

 “Yes?” He didn’t want to be rude to a woman who just lost her husband, but he didn’t really care to be here. He wasn’t needed here just to return a bunch of stolen items. 

 “You are the closest thing to a third party to this conflict, will you vouch for this Commander Stoff?” 

 Everyone looked to Julian. He inwardly groaned in frustration. He didn’t know Stoff well enough to vouch for him. “While I was conducting my investigation alongside Commander Stoff, he showed ample disgust and anger towards the actions of the men who took your husband’s life. I do believe that he will punish them to the fullest abilities.” 

Izindra considered what he said. Eventually, she relented. “I will accept your apology, not because I forgive you, but because I am tired. My children are mourning their father. I wish to end this.” 

 “I am truly sorry, madam.” 

 “Leave Commander. Leave and let this end for good.” 

***

 Julian worried about creating an atmosphere that would provide him with a good coverup to break Yen out of prison, but the men presented one by themselves. As soon as they returned back to the fort, most of the men both the ones on the escort detail and the ones in the fort, went out drinking. 

 Stoff and the rest of the leadership locked themselves in the Great Hall for intense discussion. Due to his emotional state, Stoff didn’t notice when Julian replaced his key with a charm knockoff. 

 Julian made a show of accepting all the drinks offered to him, drinking, and acting drunker than he actually was. Bless Jaskier and his need to learn how to act. Towards the early hours of the morning, Julian went tittering towards his room, cheerfully waving goodbye to his drinking friends. 

 He sat on the ledge of an open window, the white of the moon casting a pale light across Julian’s dark room. He listened to his newfound friends disappear down the hall. 

 Once they were a good distance away, Julian slipped out of the window, quietly dropping to the walkway of the wall of the fort. There was no one on the walkway, as was expected at this time of night. The guards on shift were lulled into a lax sense of security due to the night’s boredom. 

 Julian slipped down the exposed stone staircase into the main courtyard. 

 His footsteps echoed slightly as he ran across the courtyard, slid up against the wall of the courtyard. Once he made sure that the coast was clear, Julian made his way to the entrance to the dungeon. 

 The light from the guard’s torches flickered weakly. 

 “Hun?” One of them blinked in surprise as Julian appeared in front of them. 

 “Forget I was here.” Julian made the sign for axii. Their eyes glossed over and their heads slumped down. He nabbed the key from the guard’s waist and unlocked the door. 

 It was the perfect time to get Yen out. They came once a day, usually in the evening, to try to interrogate her. By the time that they’d come down tomorrow, she’d be long gone. 

 “Long time no see.” Julian swung Yen’s cell door open. 

 “You’re late.” Yen held out her hands. 

 “You love me.” Julian winked as he unlocked her shackles. She gave him an unimpressed look as they clattered to the ground. Julian bent down and picked up the shackles, locking them once again. He wanted to give the impression that Yennefer disappeared into thin air, making the uneducated folks scared to go after Yennefer. “Now come, come.” He gently ushered her towards the exit. 

 In the time that Julian was within the fort, he couldn’t find any secret passages, so he was going to have to risk taking Yennefer past the guardhouse and barbican. There was a bridge that went over the moat just past the main walls of the fort that Julian could use. 

 He was worried about being spotted. Axii was good in a pinch, but if Julian wasn’t careful enough, the men that he axii’d would remember him. He needed to stay as anonymous as possible. 

 The Nilfgaardians were so flushed with victory that their standards of vigilance had dropped. Constant vigilance is a must. 

 Julian guided Yennefer out into the courtyard, hiding within the shadows when needed. Most guards lazily ambled past, their armour clanking as they did so. 

 Part of Julian was so surprised that the Nilfgaards managed to conquer half of the continent with how lazy they’ve become. 

 Guiding Yennefer out of the fort was easy enough, the long shadows of the night protected them from any suspicious eyes. 

She followed him silently into the woods, something which was worrisome. Yennefer was not one to shy away from voicing her opinion on whatever she wanted. 

Julian guided her to a small cave that he found on his way to the fort. It was quite well hidden, a perfect place for Yennefer to hide until they both could get out safely. He wanted to have a proper conversation before the two went their separate ways again. 

 “Are you leaving me here?”

 “Just until morning. I need to create an alibi to make it seem like it wasn’t me who freed you. I know it’s not your usual standard of living, but please do understand, it’s only temporary.” 

 Yennefer sniffled and looked at the small and slightly dingey cave with contempt in her eyes. “Fine. It’ll do it for now.” 

 “How’s the magic?” 

 She flexed her fingers, a small ball of light appeared. It shone brightly for a couple of seconds and flickered rapidly as it disappeared. “Not good. It’ll take a while before I’m able to do anything of significance.” 

 Hm. That might be an issue. 

***

 Geralt lay awake on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling. Beside him, he could hear Ciri snoring slightly. There’s been no new news on Julian. He clutches the small carving of a wolf in his hand. 

 Worry gnawed at his stomach. Julian was supposed to have information. If he died, then Geralt had no way of finding Jaskier. Sesere didn’t seem like she was privy to such knowledge, and if she was, she didn’t seem keen on divulging it. 

 He just wanted to apologize. 

 Jaskier could go on hating him if he liked, at the rate Geralt didn’t care. He just wanted Jaskier to be safe. 

He was a moron. He’d let go of one of the only things that made him feel happy. There weren’t many. His brothers, Vesemir, Yen at one point, Ciri. 

 Geralt looked over to Ciri, her small form pressed against his side. For a second his worry siphoned away. For so long he tried to break away from Destiny's grip, he tried running away from Ciri. He didn’t want his Child Surprise. For that, he was ignorant. She was a bright child, she didn’t need much instruction. 

 Despite what Jaskier might say, Geralt has always enjoyed being around kids. Unlike adults, they didn’t carry the same prejudices. During his winters at Kaer Morhen, he’d often volunteer to help instruct the trainees. 

 He missed Leo. The kid would have been a witcher by now if he passed the Trials. 

 Geralt sighed and looked back to the carving. 

 Where the hell was Julian? 

***

 “Witcher!” The door to Julian’s room slammed open. 

 Julian jolted awake. He didn’t mean to fall asleep last night. He let out what he hoped was a pitiful groan as he sat up, clutching his head. 

 Thank god he’s had a lot of practice acting drunk as Jaskier. How could he play the role of a drunk womanizing bard if he wasn’t ever drunk? 

 “What?” He whined. 

 “The witch is gone.” 

 What? 

 Julian snapped his head up too quickly. He covered it up with a groan, dropping his head down. 

 How had they discovered her disappearance so quickly? He studied their schedules thoroughly to make sure. Shit. Fuck. Shit. “How?” He warbled out. 

 “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here asking,” Stoff snapped. “Sweet Meliete, you look terrible.” 

 “Your boys are a terrible influence, Commander.” Julian swayed as he got up. 

 Stoff grunted. He still didn't look convinced of Julian’s innocence. “You knew her.” 

 “You’d have to be living under a fucking rock not to know Yennefer of Vengerberg! Obsidian hair, and violet eyes. Famed love of the White Wolf.” Julian continued to wobble around, trying to seem as hungover as possible. 

 “Look, I’ve got no interest in why you have Yennefer locked up. All sorceresses do is invite politics into your life. Not exactly a subject witchers are too keen to get into.” 

 At this, Stoff seemed to relax. “Right. I’m sorry for accusing you.” 

 “‘Ts fine.” Julian waved him off. “Look, I ought to get going, my brother’s waiting for me in Beauclair so we can get away from the fucking freezing cold north for the winter.” 

 “Right, I shall have someone see you off.” 

***

 “Yen!” Julian jumped from his borrowed horse and ran into the cave. He had managed to stave off the investigation for a bit. 

 “Jaskier!” 

 No matter how many times he told her not to call him by that name, she still insisted upon doing so. He didn’t really mind as long as they were alone. It was the last reminder of his carefree life as Jaskier. 

 She pulled him into a bone squeezing hug. 

 “I’m okay. Didn’t suspect me at all.” A bit of a lie, but whatever. “How’s your magic?” 

 “Not good. They did a number on my magic.” Yennefer shook her head in dismay. 

 “Alright, you’ll take the horse then. I don’t mind walking.” 

 “Taking the horse where?” Yennefer’s eyes narrowed. 

 “North. Possible to Kovis. Look, I know that you don’t like the aldermen there, but it’s the furthest from the Empire as possible. Just until you return to full power.” 

 “Fine. But if one of them ends up as a toad, it’s not my fault.” 

 “Yen, seriously, what is your thing with turning people into amphibious creatures?” 

 “Gives them time to reflect upon their actions and repent.” Yennefer sniffled in distaste. Why was he not surprised? That was such a Yennefer response.

 “Right.” Julian rubbed his brow in mild frustration. “I should get going. I need to get to Reidburne.” Hopefully, Ciri wouldn’t be too upset if he arrived a little later than planned. 

 “You’re not coming with me?” 

 Julian shook his head. “No, I’d love to, but I need to go to Reidburne to collect Pegasus, and make sure everything is settled.” And perhaps kick Geralt’s ass. That would be therapeutic. Fucking asshole. He could forgive his words to Jaskier, but how he tied Yen to him was creepy. He’d forgive Geralt only if Yen forgave him. 

He didn’t want to mention Geralt’s name to Yen, she’s already been through enough. 

 “What are you hiding from me, Jaskier?” Yen demanded. Nevermind. He’d forgotten how perceptive Yen was. 

 “Well, you see, the reason why I was even in this fort was to the Nilfgaards throw off of Geralt’s trail,” Julian mumbled that last part. 

 “Geralt?” Yennefer demanded. 

 Julian could help but shrug. “Wasn’t planning on it. It just fucking happened. I want to see him even less than you, but he had his Child Surprise, and as much as I hate him, I don’t want the kid getting hurt.” 

 Yennefer sighed, flicking her hand out in what seemed to be a bored manner. It felt more like a calculated move. “I’m not mad. Just surprised. We both have our grievances with Geralt, though I suspect you’re taking yours more seriously.” 

 “Can’t help it. I’m very stubborn.” 

 “I know.” She gave him a dry look. “I don’t know about you Julian, but I miss him. Perhaps one of these days, we’ll have a proper chat and clear up the bad blood.” 

 “Do what you will, Yen. I’ll stand by you no matter what.” 

 “You’re annoyingly sweet.” She gave him a mock-glare. 

 “Before I go, I wanted to give this to you.” Julian took a small raven necklace he had carved earlier. “I know it’s not your usual style, but it’s imbued with magic. It’s so we can prevent things like this again.” 

 Yennefer took the raven in her hands, cradling it like it’ll break at any second. Julian wondered if she'd ever received a proper gift. It was the Jaskier inside of him who decided that he was going to get her something every time he saw her. 

“If you hold it and say  cerbin geath,  it’ll notify me and open a portal so I can come help, if the magic’s done right. If not, you might get my brother or my friend, Sesere; but I’m sure that they’d help if asked.” 

 Yennefer inspected the small wooden trinket. “So how’d you get the spell? Fuck another sorceress?” 

 “Fuck you, Yenn. In fact it was thank you, from a band of scoia'tael that I saved. Their mage was very grateful.” Julian stuck out his tongue. 

 Yennefer rolled her eyes in amusement. 

 “We can’t stay for long, they’ll start sending out search parties. Stick to back roads and avoid major towns. There should be enough provisions in there to last a week or so. There’s also a change of clothes, it’ll make you less inconspicuous. I’ve also added a few daggers as well.” Julian listed off everything that could be useful. He wanted to go with her, but his obligations to Ciri held him fast in his place. 

 “I’ll be fine Julian. Tissaia made sure that all of her students could survive without magic incase of emergencies. Go to the child, she’ll need as much help as possible in the coming days.” 

 Julian wasn’t even going to question how she knew that. 

 “Stay safe Yen, and don’t forget to call me if you need help.” 

 “You too, Julian.” 

 Julian turned to leave, unable to hide the tears threatening to surface. He didn’t want to leave Yen. 

 “Julian?” 

 He turned to face Yen. Her violet eyes softened. “Try not to be mad at Geralt for my sake. I can win my own fights. Focus on yours.” 

 Julian nodded, his throat thick with tears. “Course Yen.” Of course, they both knew that it would be hard for Julian to do that. Just as it would be hard for her to not be mad at Geralt for his sake. They were bound together by the events of the Dragon Hunt. 

***

 It had nearly been a week since Geralt and Ciri arrived at the Shouting Spoon, and Julian was nowhere to be found. Ciri was getting angrier with Geralt, and he couldn’t blame her. He spent hours looking at the little notebook, flicking through the pages, looking at the landscapes, and so desperately tried to crack whatever code the journal was written in. 

 He had gotten nowhere. Nothing. 

 Sesere wouldn’t tell him anything either. She would level him a glare anytime he stepped near her. Ynsild, the owner, was much kinder to him in their interactions but was still frosty towards him. 

 Geralt was in the complete dark. 

 He hated it. 

 If Jaskier were here, he would have figured everything out in an instance. He’d charm over Ynsild and Sesere in a second, with his easy smile and cheerful blue eyes. 

 He fucking missed Jaskier. He missed everything about him, but most of all, he missed the music. His life had been so much quieter without the music. He had taken it for granted. He’d taken everything for granted. 

 Jaskier had been so full of life, and Geralt had been too miserable to appreciate it. 

 Geralt sat in a booth towards the back of the bar of the Shouting Spoon, his back to the wall, and his face towards Ciri and the door. Ciri glumly ate her stew. Geralt didn’t even have an appetite. 

 He found it strange, despite the Shouting Spoon being in a busy commercial place, no bards were playing here. It was something that he had picked up travelling with Jaskier, noticing music and bards everywhere. Why was that? 

He watched Sesere and Ynsild at the bar. Sesere played with the mug in front of her, her eyes shooting for the door. 

 “Hey, you remember that bard that was following Julian around?” Ynsild asked. 

 Bard? Was it Jaskier? It sounded like him. Did he really drop Geralt in favour of another witcher? Geralt strained to hear the conversation, trying to drown out all the other conversations. 

 “Mh? What ‘bout him?” Sesere murmured. 

 “Heard he made an announcement, off in Oxenfurt. Ever been?” There was a sense of wonder in Ynsild’s tone. Geralt could see him flick a look to Sesere. He had a look of yearning. To visit Oxenfurt or if that was his typical look towards Sesere. 

 “Once. Full of pompous assholes.” 

 That didn’t seem to be the answer that Ynsild was looking for. Ynsild just sighed and shook his head. “Anyways, the lovesick looking fool pronounced to everyone that Jask--” Jaskier what? 

 Ynsild’s sentence was cut short when the door to the bar slammed open and a figure came shambling in. The figure was covered head to toe in muck. The only distinguishing feature of the man was the twin swords on his back. 

 “No. Nope. Not now. Out.” Ynsild shook his head. 

 “Aw come on Yns,” the guy whined in a very familiar voice. Julian? Julian! Geralt half rose from his seat when he realized. 

 “You’re not coming into my fucking bar with that fucking mess. Go clean up in the river.” Ynsild shooed Julian to the door. 

 “I’m filing a complaint to the board! I’m a paying customer, and this is how you treat me?” Julian dramatically complained as he was pushed out the door. Ynsild sighed and slammed the door shut, muttering to himself as he headed back to the bar. 

 The hushed conversations going on around the bar picked up once again. “Well at least we know that Julian’s okay,” Sesere mumbled. 

 That outburst was reminiscent of Jaskier, the feigned swooning, the outrageous complaints, and the exaggerated emotions. Geralt felt the pang of nostalgia grip his throat. 

 “Is that Julian?” Ciri peaked up. 

 There was something about how excited she looked at the mere idea of it being Julian that irked him. She was his Child Surprise, was she not? Why was she so excited about another witcher? One that she barely knew. 

 “I think so. He’s gone to the river. Head back to the room, I’ll verify.” 

 “He’s covered in mud! He’s going to need clean clothes! Hold on.” Before Geralt could say anything, Ciri darted upstairs, leaving him alone in the bar. 

 Sesere glanced over to him with her eyebrows raised, asking him an unintelligible question. When he failed to give her a response, the corners of her lips turned up in amusement, and she returned to her conversation with Ynsild. 

 “Here.” Ciri returned with a small bundle of clothes and shoved it into his hands. “Go take it too him. He’ll like it.” The hidden meaning being, ‘apologize for how you acted last time.' The fiery look in her eyes told him that he would not be able to back out of this. 

 “Fine. But stay in the room.” 

 He wasn’t worried about her roaming the inn, on her own, her training could hold off an amateur swordsman. Her grandmother had seen that Ciri received basic training. As well, Sesere would be there if Ciri needed her. What Geralt was worried about was Ciri sneaking out and trying to go see Julian, and then getting caught up in something unsavoury. 

 Ciri pouted and stomped her foot. “Fine!” She whirled around and loudly made her way back upstairs. 

 Geralt shook his head and headed out, the clothing tucked under his arm. 

 The hot night air lay heavily on his skin. It had rained the night before, making the air heavy with water. He could feel it sliding down his skin as he made his way to the river. The river wasn’t far from the Shouting Spoon, Geralt could hear Julian splashing around easily. 

 “Who’s there?” Geralt could see the faint glimmer of a dagger in Julian’s hands as he approached. 

 “Geralt.” 

 There was almost an air of annoyance as Julian heavily sighed, tossing his dagger to the bank. “What do you want?” He snapped. 

 The scene in front of Geralt could be summed up as breathtaking if he were to take a page out of Jaskier’s book. 

 Julian stood there, his body half-submerged in the black water of the river. Geralt could see the sharp lines of his hip bones jutting out of the water.  

His long wet hair was coated to his face, making his eyes stand out in the darkness even more. Water beaded against his bare skin, rolling down his well-defined muscles. 

The white-blue of the full moon washed Julian’s naked torso in a halo of light. Illuminating him, softening yet sharpening his features as well. He seemed like a paradox. Half a witcher, with an amber eye and sharpened features, and half-human, with a grey eye and delicate features that resembled a man on the cusp of boyhood. 

 “To thank you.” 

 Julian’s face was impassive. He sighed, dropping his head back exposing his slender throat. The moonlight glinted against the wet skin. He rolled his head to the side and opened his eyes. They were still captivating no matter how many times Geralt looked at them. 

 “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you.” 

Chapter Text

 Geralt wanted to smack the man in front of him. Anger boiled beneath his skin; the callousness of Julian’s response just grated on his nerves.  

 What a fucking dick. 

 He took in a deep breath and cooled his nerves. He knew that Julian didn’t like him, but could he not just take one fucking ‘thank you?' He tried to plaster a neutral look so Julian wouldn’t get pissed at him again. He was sure that Julian had some other dagger hidden away on his body somewhere. 

 Is this what Lambert felt most of the time? Constant irritation? 

 Meliete save him. 

 Between Ciri and Julian, Geralt didn’t think that he’d be able to survive. 

 The man in front of him held the answers he needed. Geralt could finally put to rest some of his anxieties if he could just get Julian to talk. He could find Jaskier. Geralt could apologize. He just had to deal with this asshole in front of him. 

 “Why are you still loitering around?” Julian snapped. 

 “Can’t I do something nice?” Geralt retorted. 

 “Please.” Julian rolled his eyes and made his way to the shore. Geralt averted his eyes; out of respect to Julian’s privacy. 

Heat licked the back of his neck. Geralt sputtered at the feeling. Why? Naked bodies were not out of the norm for him. Julian wasn't any different. 

 “I know that the little canary told you to do this. You don’t like me, wolf. Don’t fucking try to convince me otherwise.” 

 Julian languidly pulled on his clothes, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes as he stared at Geralt. His semi-translucent white shirt sticking to his chest. 

 He loosely strapped on his swords, making them dangle carelessly off his shoulder. 

 This asshole. Geralt was trying to do a good thing, and here he was throwing it back in his face. Just acknowledge it, even if he didn’t want to accept it, and move on. Don’t be a fucking dick. It was just easier to continue to move and not obstruct the flow of time. 

 Why must Julian purposely make things difficult? 

 “Have fun brooding.” Julian waved him off, the countless knives clinking against his thighs as he walked, marching towards the Shouting Spoon. Motherfucker. 

 Geralt growled in annoyance and trudged after Julian. 

 Julian lazily rolled his head back and quirked an eyebrow at Geralt. “Oh so you’re not brooding then?” 

 It was cute when Jaskier playfully snipped at Geralt; it wasn’t when Julian did it.

 Jaskier would look up at Geralt, his cornflower blue eyes batting at Geralt and his mouth curled into a cute smile. It made him look angelic. 

 When Julian snipped at Geralt, he looked predatory. His darkened eyes glittered with a challenge, and his lips curling into a cruel smirk, showing off his too sharp teeth. It was unsettling to look at. 

 “Shame. I know some bards who’d really go for the whole silver hair gleaming in the moonlight while brooding shtick. Yawn, though. What an overused idea. Those bards really need to find some new muses and shit. It gets old real fast.” 

 Jaskier? Geralt perked up. 

Julian didn’t bother expanding upon that thought. He trudged on, slamming the door to the inn open. “Happy?” Julian yelled out. 

 The bar had started to thin out a little as the night waned on. The figures who lurked in the dim bar were the local barflies. They barely gave Julian the time of day and went back to their drinks. 

 “Fuck off.” Ynsild waved him off. Julian flipped him off as he sauntered in. 

 “I’m going to drop these off and then there ought to be a bottle of peppermint vodka with my name on it waiting for me.” 

 “Who says that there’s a room for you?” Ynsild yelled back. The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. 

 “Edeth, my dear, my muse, is what your son saying is true?” Julian batted his eyelashes at the elderly lady who appeared behind the bar, flickering through a thick tome. 

 She looked up, cuffed Ynsild on the back of the head and returned to her tome. “Ignore him, Julian dear, there will always be a bed for you. Especially with all the help you’ve given us.” 

 Sesere chortled at Ynsild’s expression. A mix between bafflement and amusement. 

 Julian stuck out his tongue at Ynsild and then marched upstairs. 

 Geralt stood at the bar, puzzled at what he just saw. He looked so relaxed around these people and vice versa. They looked like friends. Since he became a witcher, he’s never experienced such reactions with humans. How were they so relaxed? Why didn’t he have people act this calm around him? 

 What was wrong with him? 

 Was he that bad? 

 What did Julian have that Geralt didn’t? 

 He lingered at the bar, unsure of what to do now. He didn’t need to follow Julian, that was just strange, but he didn’t particularly want to stay here. Should he just go check on Ciri, and speak with Julian later? That sounded like a good plan. 

 “Is Julian back?” Ciri appeared by Geralt’s elbow. 

 Even Ciri was getting all excited about Julian being back. 

 Why was Geralt the only one who wasn’t excited to see Julian back? Didn’t anyone find him annoying? No, annoying wasn’t the right word. Julian had gotten under his skin right away, and Geralt just felt like he was thrown off-center when he was around Julian. 

 “He’s just upstairs dear. Why are you still up? It’s long past bedtime for someone your age.” Edeth peered at Ciri with a disappointed grandmother look. 

 Ciri made a face, blushing furiously, and hid behind Geralt, peering out from behind him. “Abigail is still up! And I wanted to see Julian!” 

 “Abi is finishing up her duties for the night, and heading to bed.”

 “Still!” 

 “Come on Edeth. Let the kid stay up for a bit. Look how excited she is!” Julian appeared once again. “Hey kiddo.” He ruffled Ciri’s hair. “Where’s Abi?”

 “Getting ready for bed. Stop being a bad influence on my daughter,” Ynsild scolded Julian. 

 “Yeah!” Sesere cheered Ynsild on from the sidelines. 

 “Sesere, shut the fu-- be quiet! You’re worse than I am!” 

 “Don’t worry! You guys can say fuck!” Ciri cheerfully perked up. 

 All eyes went to Geralt. Julian arched a very judgmental eyebrow.
 
Geralt hung his head in shame. He wasn’t the one who taught her that, and yet he was the one being blamed.

 Julian laughed and dropped onto a seat next to Sesere. She made a face and pushed him away. “You still stink.” 

 “What took you so long?” Ciri asked, hopping onto the seat next to Julian. Geralt took a reluctant seat next to Ciri. She swung her legs, her eyes bright with excitement. There was no way that he was going to get her to go to bed now. 

 “I’m going to finish up in the back, my stomach is too old to hear these stories. Good night everything.” 

 “Night Edeth.” Julian waved her off. He was echoed by Sesere, Ynsild, and Ciri. 

 “So!” Ciri waited for Edeth to leave. She rounded on Julian, and her eyes twinkled with curiosity. 

 Julian laughed and mussed up her hair. “First, Ynsild! My man!” Ynsild rolled his eyes and pulled out a bottle of peppermint vodka. Julian took the bottle and downed a shot without flinching. 

 Sesere stole the bottle from him and downed her own shot, looking unbothered by the alcohol. 

 It was the small things that made Geralt question Sesere’s humanity. 

 There was just something inhuman about her. 

 “Can I have some wine?” Ciri asked. 

 “No vodka?” 

 Ciri made a face. Julian laughed at her disgusted expression. 

 Ynsild looked to Geralt for permission. Calanthe probably let Ciri have some at banquets. “Some watered down Est Est and some bread and honey.” Ynsild nodded and dutifully served them. 

 It wasn’t uncommon for nobility to give their children watered-down alcohol during special occasions. Ciri might be a little on the young end. But as a princess, she likely had some wine every now and then. 

 Geralt felt like it would be good for Ciri to have a taste of her old life every now and then. 

 “Julian!” Ciri whined. She gripped her cup in anticipation, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 

 “Alright, alright. See, after I dealt with the band of Nilfgaardians, I wandered into Nilfgaardian fort accidentally and got sucked into a job, trying to distract them from your trail. Now that was fun. I’ve been away from the south for so long, I’ve forgotten how annoying they are. Last time I saw them, they weren’t much of an empire.” 

 Geralt frowned at this remark. Generally, witchers don’t keep track of each other, especially across the different schools. Though, tales of what certain witchers did tend to float from place to place. That way, Geralt was able to loosely keep up with the comings and goings of the witchers in the area. 

 He hasn’t heard a single peep about Julian of Redania, the Mad Cat of Kerack, the Kraken Killer, in ages. Some of the older witchers had even thought that Julian was dead due to the lack of fantastical tales rising up. Geralt had thought that Julian had been in the south. That’s why there wasn’t anything about him. 

 If there had been tales in the North, Jaskier would have been all over it. He liked Geralt’s strange and gruesome tales more than the factual aspect of the job. 

 But if Julian hasn’t been south for so long, that Nilfgaard wasn’t an empire then, and hasn’t been heard about in the north, then where the fuck was he? 

 And why did he have Jaskier’s journal? When did their paths cross? 

 It had to be after Geralt and Jaskier split. After all, Jaskier would have told him. He was terrible at hiding secrets. Julian had to be one of the last people to see Jaskier before he disappeared. 

 What prompted Julian to start roaming again? What happened between the two of them? What did he do to Jaskier? 

 Julian and Sesere continued to share their bottle of peppermint vodka. What was with those two and peppermint vodka? 

 It was good, but only for a shot or two. Not casually drinking like they were. 

 “You should have let the Nilfgaards die.” 

 Sesere gagged on her shot and laughed. “Fucking hardcore kid.”

 Julian elbowed her with a fair amount of force. Sesere wheezed and clutched her side. She had to be something non-human. A human wouldn’t recoil from an injury from a witcher so easily. 

 “Ow!” Julian levelled her with an annoyed look. “What? She said we could say fuck!” 

 “Do you know nothing about child care? Just because a kid says we can, doesn’t mean we can. Ynsild, why do you continue to let her around Abi?” 

 “Honestly? I have no idea. I let her stay one time, free of price and she keeps wandering back.” Geralt could see the fondness in Ynsild’s face as Sesere flipped him off. 

 Ciri laughed. The sound was bright and clear. Julian’s eyes softened when he looked at her. “What?” Ciri prompted, narrowing her eyes at him. 

 “Nothing. Nothing. It’s just that what you said, it was very close to something else that someone told me. Thinking about it, you remind me a lot about her.” 

 “Why’s that?” 

 “You’re both headstrong, and magically talented people. And not afraid to scold someone needing scolding. At least you aren’t threatening to turn people into amphibians anytime you get annoyed.” 

 “Is that possible?” Ciri asked, looking from Geralt to Julian. 

 “Possibly.” Julian shrugged. 

 “You got caught up with another sorceress? What fuck Julian? I thought you said that you were done dealing with them.” Sesere was flabbergasted at the idea. She sat back in disbelief as if the idea of being with a sorceress was terrible.  

 “I am! But Tissaia would tie me up by my toes in some rat infested dungeon and leave me rot if I left one of her girls in trouble. This was self preservation!” Julian defended himself. 

 “How would the Nilfgaards get a sorceress? Aren’t they insanely talented?” Ynsild asked. 

 “Moussesack held off a regiment of Nilfgaardian soldiers so I could escape. He’s a druid though.” Ciri pondered on the differences between the two. 

 “Sorceress are very talented Ynsild, but they have their limits. They can exhaust themselves if they use too much magic. There was a battle by Sodden Hill that the sorceresses of Aretuza participated in. Seems that the Nilfgaards captured one of them.” 

 Yen was a sorceress of Aretuza. Well, she had left, but it was indisputable that she still had a sense of loyalty to them. Was she one of them who participated in the battle? Geralt hadn’t heard from her in ages. Was she okay? 

 He could lose her like he had lost Jaskier. Even if she hated him, the right thing to do was to help her. 

 What if it was Triss? She wasn't a warrior, no matter how hard she tried to portray herself. She was an advisor, healer; she couldn’t be there. But that sorceress threatened to turn someone into an amphibian. That wasn’t Triss’s style. It sounded more like Yennefer. 

 “What happened? To the sorceress?” Geralt’s throat was scratchy. His heart was pounding in his ears. 

 “If she listened to my advice, she’s halfway to Kovir. Now I’m not sure what commander Stoff Aep Lwellirn’s orders are, but I think he wants to recapture the sorceress who escaped from his clutches, than capture you, little canary.” Julian booped Ciri on the nose. 

 Geralt suddenly felt useless. Julian set out to distract Nilfgaards, and just decided to free a captured sorceress because he was at the right time. 

 Ciri smiled brightly at him, taking a sip of her watered-down Est Est. 

 “Then after I escaped the Nilfgaards, I had to make the trek up here. I had to do a few jobs on my way here to get enough money to sustain the trek since I accidentally left my money with you guys. Then, my latest job, I ran into a water hag that really lives up to her name. Holy fu--” Julian stopped short of swearing again. 

 “Is that why you came in covered in mud?” Ciri asked. 

 “Yep! The hag decided to drag me through a bog. Eugh.” Julian did an animated shiver which delighted Ciri. 

 She perked up at the attention, sipping on her Est Est. The five of them remained at the bar, just quietly basking in the fact that they were all safe. 

 Julian and Sesere chatted quietly between themselves, sometimes Ciri chipped in, on seemingly irrelevant topics. Contracts that they had picked up in the time they last saw each other. Speaking about people that Geralt didn’t know. 

 Ynsild told dramatic tales about rude customers, which Ciri listened to with rapt attention. Her eyes wide in astonishment. 

 She fought to keep her eyes open, but as time moved on, Geralt saw her struggle to stay awake. 

 Eventually, her eyes grew heavy, and she slumped onto Geralt. 

 She was out like a light. 

 “Poor thing is tuckered out.” Julian’s hand reached out, seemingly to brush the hair out of Ciri’s face, but he stopped mid-reach and dropped it. 

 “I ought to put her to bed.” Geralt gathered Ciri’s small body in his arms, trying not to freak out about how small she was due to being her mother’s daughter and not having adequate meals in a long time. He didn’t know how big she was supposed to be. 

 He didn’t really know how to deal with children, let alone a girl. 

 “I ought to go to bed.” Julian stretched himself out and yawned. “Try not to have too much fun without me.” He waved goodbye to Sesere and Ynsild. 

 He uncurled himself from his seat, his footfalls becoming listless and sloppy, and followed Geralt upstairs. Geralt could smell the exhaustion radiating off of him as Julian quietly trudged after him. 

 When was the last time Julian slept properly? 

 A small seed of guilt wormed its way into Geralt’s stomach. Then he forced it down. Julian was a fully grown witcher and decided his actions with a sound mind. Geralt shouldn't have to feel guilt. 

 Julian waited at the door, watching as Geralt gently put Ciri down in the bed and tucked her in. She mumbled incoherently and rolled onto her side. Her small face was clear of any trace of fear and exhaustion.

 Geralt caught a glimpse of a sorrow-filled look from Julian as he watched Ciri sleep. 

 He gently padded into the room and picked up his saddlebags, quickly escaping back to the hallway. 

 Geralt followed after him, questions about Jaskier starting swirling around in his mind again now that Julian was back. He had to find a way to get his questions out before Julian left. 

 Their tentative truce ended as soon as they both got to neutral territory, away from the Niflgaardians, and knew that Ciri was safe. 

 Now that time was here, and Geralt had more questions than answers. 

 “Thank you.” This time Geralt really meant it. It didn’t matter that Julian didn’t accept it or not. 

 “It was my honour, Geralt.” Geralt was pretty sure that this was the first time that Julian used his name. He scanned Julian’s face for any doubt, but all he saw was sincerity. 

 Geralt wanted to tell him to stay. Don’t leave them, and ask him if Jaskier was okay. But he struggled to find the right words to say, and every time that he tried to start a sentence, the words died on his lips. 

 Julian watched him, his eyes sad. 

 He always looked sad. 

 His sadness smelt like the faint metallic taste of blood and shitty vodka. Though, that last part was likely due to Jaskier’s drinking habits. 

 It was surprising that Jaskier hadn’t drunk himself to death yet. 

 Julian of Redania, the Mad Cat of Kerack, always seemed to be larger than life figure to Geralt. So seeing that ancient ache in his eyes made Geralt want to ask what made him so sad. 

 Which was stupid. Geralt knew why he was sad. He was a witcher. They all carried that sadness. Life on the Path was hard. But Geralt wanted to know what made the anger that witchers started out with; turn into an eternal ache of sadness. 

 Sometimes when Jaskier didn’t know Geralt was looking at him, Geralt could see a similar sadness in his eyes. Jaskier tried to hide it with his smiles and boisterous, nonstop chattering, but Geralt still saw it. 

 He saw it when Jaskier sat at the edges of the campfire, plucking away at the strings of his beloved lute and gazing off into the dark woods. 

 He saw it when they strode into towns, seeing groups of young children screaming in laughter.  

 Part of Jaskier ached for something he no longer had. 

 Geralt never truly had something that he no longer had. He had practically grown up in Kaer Morhen; memories of his mother had faded to next-to-nothing. Kaer Morhen was home. Vesemir was his father. 

 He didn’t have that ache. Not like the others.  

 “Stay.” Geralt managed to croak out. 

 “Hm?” 

 “I-I can’t protect Ciri on my own. Stay with us. Please.”

 Geralt was desperate. He needed to protect Ciri. 

 If it meant accepting help from a man that Geralt knew he ought to hate to his core, then so be it. 

 Geralt ran from Destiny for so long; he was a fool. Travelling with Ciri showed him how wrong he was. He understood why Yen was so desperate to have a child. 

 Fuck. Another reminder of one of Geralt's many catastrophic fuckups. 

 He watched as Julian considered Geralt’s plea. His face lacked any emotion that would help Geralt judge his reaction. His eyes flickered to the closed room behind Geralt and back to Geralt. It seemed that he decided to take his time going over the pros and cons. 

 It took so long that Geralt was starting to regret asking. He tried to hide his irritation at the witcher in front of him. 

 What could he be thinking that it required this fucking long? 

 “Sure. It’s not like I have no other plans.” Julian shrugged. Was that so fucking hard?

 Good. Geralt could keep an eye on Julian. He had something to do with Jaskier and his disappearance. Geralt was so close, he could almost taste it. He just wanted to know his friend was safe. He couldn’t let twenty years of friendship fizzle out like that. 

 Fuck Borsh for speaking out like that. He had just wanted to protect Yennefer against the Djinn. He didn’t want that spark to die like that. What did the dragon know? 

 “We should leave sooner rather than later. You and the kid have been here too long. We’ll also have to dye the kid’s hair. It stands out too much. Maybe we should chop it, make her look like a boy. We might want to consider having her stick with me when we go through towns. Though, you might want to avoid towns. You stand out too much.” 

 Julian started rapid firing possible ideas to avoid attention to them. The rate that he spouted them made Geralt think that this wasn’t the first time he’s done something like this. 

 Of course, he’s probably done something like this. He was a Cat. They took any contracts available to them. 

 Smuggling someone away from a crown wouldn’t be too much of a stretch. 

Though, his suggestions, annoyingly, were smart. Ciri stood out too much. Geralt stood out too much. A witcher travelling with a young boy wouldn’t stand out too much, even though witchers didn’t do the Trials anymore. 

 Most of the schools had been sacked, their secrets disappearing into the charred rubble of their homes. The only possibility was the Cats. Who took girls and experimented on them. 

 Geralt suddenly regretted his decision to ask Julian for help. 

 “I’ll speak with Sesere. See if she can wrangle up some andrognous clothes and some hair dye for the kid. Maybe some daggers that would fit the kid. Course she would have them. I swear, the only fucking….to have more than us.” 

 In the last sentence, he half spoke, half mumbled, making it hard for Geralt to fully understand what the fuck he was saying. 

 Julian was half in this world, half in his own coming up with ideas and half-baked plans to smuggle Ciri up to Kaer Morhen, as he stumbled towards the stairs. Each one becoming more absurd than the last. 

 His trance was reminiscent of Jaskier when he was composing. How his eyes slid out of focus, and half said words, and his hands waving as he tried to find the words. 

 Julian looked half-mad as he did. 

 Jaskier just looked like a poet. Geralt remembered how girls, and some men, would fan over Jaskier would go off into one of his trances. They would coo at how adorable Jaskier was. Geralt could see where they were coming from, Jaskier was like a cat. He chose the sunny spots while composing, making his blue eyes even brighter, and his dark brown hair spun into a golden brown.  

 It was the ideal for a peaceful afternoon. 

 How a fool Geralt was

Chapter Text

“Why is it that whenever I see you again, you always leave the next day?” Sesere leaned against the stable walls. Her ashen skin tone making her green eyes even more toxic looking in the early morning sun as the sandy undertones were washed away.  

“We all know that you can’t handle me for more than a couple of hours.” Julian tossed a smirk over his shoulder as he finished saddling up his horse. Ciri, with newly chopped hair and boy’s clothing, giggled at Sesere’s waist; Julian gave her a small genuine smile. 

 Geralt felt like the odd one out. He had no place here. 

 It’s been like that ever since Julian showed up. He and Sesere concocting various plans, finding ways to get Ciri, and by extension Geralt, up north safely. Ciri hung off of them with wide eyes.  

 He glowered at Roach’s saddle before schooling his expression. 

 This feeling of being excluded wasn’t something new. Geralt was always different from the other boys even before he took the Trials; the Trials made it worse. And then, as a witcher, it was just even worse. The feeling lessened when Jaskier started dragging Geralt places, ignoring the stigma of being associated with a witcher, ignoring glares and stares, content to do his own thing. 

 Now Geralt was back to being alone. 

 “What are you doing for the winter?” 

 Julian shrugged, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “Not sure. I’ll likely find my brother. Head south. You?”

 “Probably head south too. See if I can find one of my brothers, get a status update. I haven’t been around much.” Sesere shrugged, scratching her face. 

 The south? Nilfgaard? Geralt trusted her with Ciri’s safety. He trusted Julian with her safety. Had he played into Niflgaard’s trap? Were they going to be ambushed as soon as they left the safety of the city? 

 No, that wasn't it. Geralt and Ciri had been staying at the Shouting Spoon for ages. Nilfgaard had ample opportunity to try to steal Ciri. Was she a part of a mercenary guild then? The style in which she spoke about her brothers didn’t give Geralt a familial sense. 

 “Well, if I can’t find my scoundrel of a brother, I will come annoy you Happy?.” Julian smiled brilliantly at Sesere. She flipped him off in response. Julian giggled as he ducked back into the stall. 

 “You’re leaving already?” Abigail appeared at the entrance. 

 “Sorry kiddo. Duty calls.” Julian went to ruffle up her intricate braids, she swatted his hand away. “When I come back, I’ll teach you how to get your uncle’s apprentice to fall for you. We all know that Sesere’s terrible at love. ” 

 Abigail’s face flushed as Sesere exploded. “Little shit.” She stalked towards Julian. Julian cackled and weaselled past her clawed hands and dove into his stall. 

 He stuck his tongue out like a child. He was a waste of a witcher. Geralt watched as Sesere fished out a knife to threaten him with it. The girls watched with apt attention. It was disheartening that the children were being more resolute than the witcher. 

 “Ready?” Geralt wanted to put an end to this mockery. 
 
 “Hun? Oh yeah.” Julian straightened, his smile falling, and his sombre mood returned. Geralt ignored the ache of guilt hammering in his chest. He was responsible for Julian’s rabid change in attitude. 

 No. It wasn’t Geralt’s fault. Julian ought to know how to compose himself in public, in front of an audience. 

 Sesere’s eyes sharpened as she levelled Geralt an unreadable yet undeniably angry stare. Fuck off. She didn’t know what it was like to be a witcher. 

 “These are for the journey, master witchers, sir. I hope you get to your destination safely.” Abigail handed Julian a small package wrapped in cloth. Geralt watched as she pressed one into Ciri’s hands. He was surprised when she held out her arms towards Geralt. 

 He delicately took the small package from her. She hid her blushing face, hurriedly waved goodbye, and straight-up ran out of the stables. Embarrassment and desire rolled off of her in waves. 

 Geralt blinked in surprise, both at the unexpected gift and a teenage girl having a crush on him. Sure, there were women, and men, who lusted after him, but he’s never had a childlike infatuation directed towards him. 

 He kind of wished that he could tell Yennefer about this.

 “Why doesn’t she call me by my title?” Sesere whined. 

 “Because we all know you’re far from a master.” Julian rasped at the force of the punch that Sesere levelled at him. The two descended into a wrestling match that seemed friendly at first but had a bite to it. 

 Geralt carefully tucked the gift into Roach’s saddle, head still buzzing at Abigail’s thoughtfulness. 

 “Who’s Abi’s uncle?” Ciri asked. She followed Julian and Geralt out of the stables, keeping a healthy distance from their hooves and behind Sesere. 

 “He is a blacksmith, and his apprentice is just as muscular as him.” Julian tossed a rueful grin at Ciri. She giggled, her eyes squinting in amusement. 

 “He’s a fucking menace. That's what he is,” Sesere grumbled. 

 “He’s a good kid, got a job, and the family already likes him. What isn’t there to like?” Julian countered. 

 “I don’t fucking like him.” Sesere stopped, sniffed, and scratched her nose. “I’ll, uh, see you later. Don’t fucking die old man. Or disappear again. I got fucking heart palpitations.” She mumbled the last part, staring at the ground as she did. 

 “I won’t. Take care, Sesere.”  Julian smiled towards his friend. Geralt hated that Julian could smile so easily. Looking at his attitude, Geralt would have thought that he was a new witcher, not one who was older than him. 

 Geralt helped Ciri onto Roach and climbed up, waiting for Julian to finish his sentimental goodbyes. 

 Between two people who knew danger personally and frequently came and went, one would have assumed that their goodbyes would be less sentimental. 

 He didn’t like being this out in the open, so exposed. Geralt’s eyes flickered from darkened alleyway to darkened alleyway, expecting to find an enemy lurking, waiting for the perfect moment. 
 
 No. Ciri was safe. She wasn't in any danger. 

 Geralt needed to stop being so paranoid. 

 And Julian needed to hurry the fuck up. 
       

 ***

 They were slowly on their way to Mahakam, the largest dwarven fortitude on the continent. Julian and Sesere believed that it was the best path to find respite and supplies for Ciri without alerting the Nilfgaardians. Plus, Julian said that he had contacts there that could help them. 

 If it had just been Julian and Geralt, they would have made their way straight to Kaer Morhen without any stops. But Ciri was a squishy human who needed rest. She could make the trip, but she would be miserable the entire time.  

 Julian and Sesere weren’t wrong; there was no love lost between dwarves and mankind. 

 Even though Nilfgaard was more welcoming to non-humans than other kingdoms, Geralt understood that dwarves were hesitant to trust them. 

Hm, it seemed too perfect. 

 Like they were walking into a trap. Geralt couldn’t help but feel uneasy. 

 He hated politics. He hated being drawn into them. There was always a feeling of uncertainty lingering on Geralt’s skin after he had to do anything involving politics. He never knew what he was doing was the right decision. 

 Would it eventually be the decision that ended his life? Would it lead to the death of his brothers? He’s already made their life so much harder. He couldn’t afford to do it again. 

 How could Julian be so at ease with stepping into the world of politics? 

 Geralt watched the man in front of him. They had stopped earlier than Geralt would have liked, but Ciri needed sleep. Her fragile body couldn’t take travelling much longer. 

 Julian didn’t seem fazed with having to stop early. He leaned against a boulder and casually wrote in his journal. Unbothered by being out in the open. 

 Geralt desperately wanted to know what was in the journal, what was so precious that was so important to write in code. He bet that it had the secrets of what happened to Julian. 

 It wasn’t like Geralt could ask Julian outright. While their relationship hadn’t grown, it hadn’t outright dissolved. Julian was more in favour of ignoring Geralt than anything else. It irritated Geralt for some reason. 

 Riding next to him was like riding next to a glacier. Geralt would prefer Julian snap and blow up then simmer in his anger. 

 “Are you going to ask me what’s on your mind or are you going to continue to stare at me?” Julian didn’t bother to look up. His voice was dry and uninterested. Like Geralt was nothing more than the mud on his boots. 

 Geralt felt the back of his neck heat up, grinding his teeth in an attempt to not snap at Julian. 

 He cleared his throat, trying to push his anger down. “I was informed that you had information on the bard Jaskier’s whereabouts.” The words sounded awkward as they left his mouth. 

 The journal snapped shut. Julian's clashing eyes drilled a hole into Geralt’s skull. “Where did you hear this?” His voice was cold, and his eyes flashed in anger. It wasn’t something that Geralt had ever seen from him before. 

Hm. Fuck. Geralt needed to be careful. 

 “Sesere.” 

 “That woman,” Julian grumbled. Geralt wasn’t sure if he was angry at Sesere or at Geralt. 

 “Do you?” Geralt resisted the urge to grab his armour and shake the man. He couldn’t afford to have his only lead get pissed off at him. 

 “What’s it to you?” The harder that Julian stared Geralt down, the icier the world became. His icy golden eye seemed to glow in cold anger. 

 Geralt pursed his lips, unsure of how to tell him. Julian seemed to want to protect Jaskier. No, that wasn't the right word. Julian wasn’t a protector. He lurked in the shadows, striking his victims when they least expected it. 

 Cat School Witchers were not like normal witchers. They were the nightmare of all the other witchers. They were twisted and mutated beyond belief, the monsters of a monstrous sect. 

 “He was my friend.” Julian quirked an eyebrow at Geralt. His stomach twisted at the word. 
 
 He should have told Jaskier that sooner. Maybe he could have prevented this. Jaskier could have come to Geralt if he was in trouble. He could have helped him. 

 “We, no, I fucked up. I want to apologize. He’s missing now, and though he hates me, it’s my duty to investigate.” 

 “Maybe there’s a reason he’s hiding from you, hun? Ever think about that?” Julian snapped. 

  He did. 

 He thought about it constantly. 

 What must have Jaskier thought on the mountain top? 

 He couldn’t turn to who he thought was his best friend because he believed Geralt would judge him. He shunned his friend and led him to his doom. 

 It was all Geralt’s fault. 

 Julian huffed, tossing his journal aside, it landing in the middle of his saddlebag without him even looking. He crossed his arms and splayed his legs out, a total look of nonchalance. Geralt could see the anger in the lines of Julian’s body. How his thighs tightened like he was going to jump up at any moment. And that his hands never strayed far from where one of his daggers was hidden. 

 “I haven’t seen Jaskier since Kovir.” 

 Kovir? 

 Geralt’s head snapped up. Julian saw Jaskier after the Dragon Mountains? That means…

 “You’re the one who killed those bandits.”  

 The image of that brutal bloodbath was still vivid in his mind. The men lay face first in a pool of congealed blood. They weren't given a proper fight, being preyed on by a much larger and stronger predator. They were ripped apart, hunted down one by one like a sport. 

 “Hm? Oh, yes. I did that.” Julian sounded a bit distracted as he stared vacantly at the ground as he bit the edge of his nail. 

 Offhandedly, Geralt remembered that it was a habit that many bards did when they tried to compose. 

 Geralt’s stomach rolled. Witchers were stronger and more agile than mankind. It was why it was pressed upon them at a young age that witchers should never go against a human unless absolutely necessary. 

 If not….well, Geralt saw the carnage that a lone Cat could havoc. 

 “How does the big righteous wolf feel about that? The barbaric cat killing the men trying to ambush his precious bard? Do I still disgust you? After all, I did it in service of the innocent,” Julian purred, his unnaturally sharp teeth flashing in the dying sun. 

 The retort died on Geralt’s lips. He was right. 

 From what Geralt saw, Julian had protected Jaskier. Jaskier’s body wasn’t at the scene. Julian didn’t seem like the type to hide what he had done. He wouldn’t have just taken Jaskier’s body. 

 “See? No matter how much self-righteous hypocritical bullshit you spout, deep down, you’re just a selfish being. Just like me. Just like everyone else. How does that make you feel?” 
 
 Julian’s grin was downright feral. Harsh anger burned deep in his eyes as he watched Geralt flounder. Savouring every moment he got. 

 He was right. 

 If Geralt had been there, he would have done the same thing. He would have protected Jaskier. The man couldn’t even use the dagger that Geralt had given him. 

 He really couldn’t find a fault in Julian's actions.

 But…Geralt couldn’t shake the image of the blood staining the ground beneath him. 

 Julian had done this. He was a monster who enjoyed seeing those beneath him squirm in pain. His hands were stained in blood. 

 Then again, how was Geralt any better? The blood of Blaviken was still stained in his hand. He had chosen, and it ended up in ruin. He was told that the stories of the Butcher were still imprinted on the streets where they fought. 

 Was Geralt any better? 

 Julian killed those men to protect an innocent. Had Geralt not done the same? Would he have not done the same thing if Geralt had been there? 

 His stomach twisted as he considered the possibility. He was a monster. He tried; tried so hard to be better than he actually was. But deep down, he knew that he was a monster. A vicious and hideous creature. 

 Who was he to call out others? 

 Julian scoffed and stood up. “This was interesting in the beginning, but now I’m bored. I’m going to patrol. Go deal with having emotions for the first time.” Julian gave Geralt a little shoo gesture with his hand. 
     

 ***

 Geralt didn’t bother to acknowledge Julian when he came back, and Julian didn’t bother to acknowledge Geralt either. They made quick eye contact before Julian turned away. 

 Julian didn’t have anything to say, and Geralt couldn’t bring himself to converse with him. 

 He watched as Julian sat down in a clattered heap in front of the fire. Part of Geralt wanted to take over dinner. A thought wormed into his mind that Julian was going to poison them. No, that was stupid. 

Poison didn’t work on Geralt. And the Nilfgaardians wanted Ciri alive. 

 Ciri still napped. After having taking it easy at the Shouting Spoon, going back to living on the road was harsh on her body. 

 “Did he give you that journal?” Geralt couldn’t help but ask. He needed to know what was wrong with Jaskier. What happened to him? 

 Julian’s eyes flickered briefly to Geralt, eyes darkened with annoyance. “If you’re going to be an annoyance, at least be useful.” He tossed Geralt a dead rabbit. “Skin it and dice it.” 

 Geralt’s hand curled around the hilt of his hunting knife. He didn’t have to put up with this. 

 “Did he give it to you?” 

 “Yes! Happy?” Julian snapped. 

 Geralt pursed his lips. There was no use in him trying to push for more answers. Jaskier liked to call him emotionally stunted, but Geralt wasn’t that stupid. 

 He would have to be patient. He’d have to bide his time.
*** 
 “Why have you been staring at Julian?” Ciri asked, keeping her eyes trained on the horizon. Geralt flinched at the question. He thought that he had been subtle about it. If she had noticed, Julian had most definitely noticed. Fuck. 

 They had split from Julian as they approached an upcoming town. Supplies were starting to run a little low, and they had both came to the conclusion that Julian was the one who ought to go.

 Nilfgaard wasn't looking for Julian. If Ciri or Geralt were to be spotted, it make their lives so much worse.  

 Geralt and Ciri were going around the town, continuing north and were hunting to find a good campsite. 

“I hope that it’s not because you distrust him.” 

 “It’s not.” 

 Ciri twisted around in her seat, squinting at him. She didn’t look convinced. She arched a judgmental eyebrow at Geralt, her eyes flickering with disbelief. “Julian doesn't have to do this, don’t forget about that, Geralt! He’s doing this out of pocket! Out of the good of his heart! Isn’t this the time to squeeze in one or two last contacts out, before the winter settles in!” 

 Geralt squinted at the child in front of him. “How do you know that?” 

 He knew that Ciri was smart, but how was she so informed about witcher hunting practices? 

 Ciri played with Roach’s hair. “Ms. Sesere is very smart. I wanted to know more about witchers, but since grandma and uncle Eist don’t like talking about it, and you don’t seem to like it either, I asked Ms. Sesere since she’s friends with Julian. Was I not supposed to?” 

 She looked so small. Despite her maturity and intelligence, she was still a child. A scared, traumatized child who lost everything and only had Geralt left. 

 Hm, she was going to be really fucked up if he wasn’t careful. 

 Geralt cleared his throat. Looking for the right words. “You did nothing wrong, I was just taken back.” 

 Ciri nodded, and they lapsed into silence. The only sound was Roach’s hooves clopping against the hard dirt pack road. 

 “I like Julian, you know?” Geralt knew. It pained him to see her dazzled look every time she looked at Julian. “He’s nice and makes me feel safe. Not that you don’t! It’s just like he reminds me of home, he reminds me of uncle Eist! It’s just…why can’t you be nice to Julian?” 

 Geralt rubbed the crease between his eyebrows and sighed. 

 It was because Julian acted like the doting uncle Eist that made Geralt wary of him. Julian was able to cloak his intentions and make him seem more harmless. It made Geralt’s hackles stand up. He hid his true self; it made Geralt question how much he ought to distrust the man. 

 He didn’t want to say that to Ciri. All it would achieve would be her becoming wary of someone who, for all intents and purposes, was helping them. He didn’t want her to become distrustful of those around him. 

Hmm, he needs to phrase this delicately. 

 “Certain witcher schools don’t get along. The Wolf and Feline schools don’t. Cats are also known to be reckless, and to switch their allegiances often, which makes the other schools wary of them.” 

 “Do you have evidence of Julian being like that?” 

 “Julian is well known for his seemingly reckless attitude.” 

 “So? Some could argue that being reckless is good. It stops the opponent from guessing your strategy.” 

 She certainly was Calanthe’s granddaughter. 

 Geralt rubbed his forehead in frustration. “It’s not that I don’t trust him because of that. It just makes me wary of him. That’s not even the point.” Geralt sighed in frustration. 

 “Hm?” Ciri’s bright eyes burned holes into his face.

 “I’ve told you about Jaskier.” Geralt looked ahead, unable to look at his pseudo-daughter. He barely wanted to broach the subject with himself, let alone a judgmental eleven-year-old who thought that the world was black and white in consideration of relationships. “Jaskier’s missing. Julian knows something.” 

 “Hun. Why don’t you ask him?” 

 “He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like Wolves. He’s older than I am, and has had some terrible experiences with my school, so he automatically distrusts me on principle.” 

 Ciri huffed. “From one form of politics to another,” she muttered. Geralt absentmindedly ruffled her hair as he pulled them off of the road. He had found a good spot for the night. 
         ***
 Julian was silent when he thought that no one was looking at him. Geralt had learnt that unnervingly one day. After returning from teaching Ciri how to hunt, Geralt found Julian just sitting there. Doing nothing, staring out into nothing. 
 
 His eyes were dulled, and his body was slumped, listless. It was unnatural. It was like he was an animated object. Geralt noticed as he continued to watch Julian. He powered down when he was alone, and only became Julian when he was talked to. 

 Geralt still didn’t understand him. Whenever he believed that he was beginning to understand Julian, the man switched his personality up. He seemed ever to be ever-changing. 
 
 He didn’t have much experience with Cats. But from what Vesemir and Vorin told Geralt, their training was harsher than the Wolves. It wouldn’t be surprising if this was a side effect of that training. Julian’s mutations might be a side effect. Despite the mages’ instances, they didn’t know what mutations did to the human mind. 

 So Geralt accepted the necessity of having Julian around and watching his actions. Internally documenting the man’s actions. 

 Why he wanted to, Geralt wasn’t entirely sure. Julian’s long since been a threat in Geralt’s mind. He was more of an annoyance. No. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t entirely annoying. It was like having Jaskier around when Julian was animated. 

 He kind of liked it. It felt almost nostalgic. 

 Julian was humming to himself as he sliced away bits of wood. His large, scared forearms resting against his knees. The way that he hummed was like Jaskier’s. It was nothing particular, but Geralt could tell when he was about to change the tune. The tune would stumble over the notes and drop down an octave and then the beat would suddenly switch to a higher and fast pace tune.

 Jaskier did the same thing when he was composing. It ached. Geralt couldn’t lie; it really hurt. 
      ***
 Geralt kept staring, and it was starting to piss Julian off. It was like Julian couldn’t take a piss without Geralt watching him! What did that motherfucker want? Hadn’t he done enough to prove his trust? Paranoid fucking bastard. 

 Julian was an idiot. Why did he come with them? 

 Was he so weak that one look of Geralt’s puppy dog eyes that he crumbled? No! He was Julian of Rednia! The Mad Cat of Kerack! The Kraken Killer! He cannot believe that he succumbed to Geralt so fast. 

 Just having him around made Julian’s heart ache. They fell back into their together travelling habits so effortlessly that it was unnerving. It made him nervous, and Julian didn’t get anxious.

 He really hated this feeling. 

 Would Geralt pick up on that? Would he sense the aching familiarity between them? 

 No. 

 That was moronic. Geralt couldn’t understand his emotions on the pain of death. Picking up his dead friend’s mannerisms on a witcher was a fucking stretch. 

 Then why were Julian’s hands shaking so much? 

 “Julian?” Ciri asked. Bless her soul. Without her, Julian wouldn’t have held onto his sanity this long. That being said, if it weren’t for her, Julian would happily be making his way south with Sesere. “You okay?” 

 Julian clenched his fists, hiding the tremors. “I’m fine.” He couldn’t look at her any longer. She would know his lies. He was being too obvious. His cover was going to be blown. 

 “You sure? You look pale.” 

 “I’m fine.” Julian snapped, momentarily relishing in the shock on Ciri’s face. He felt vindictive. Then the guilt washed over him. 

 Ciri was just trying to look out for him. She was being kind, and Julian was just being a dick. 

 Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Geralt’s hand twitch. Either to go for a sign or a sword. Either way, Julian didn't want to be at the receiving end of one of his attacks. 

 Julian took in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry kid. I didn’t mean to snap. Just got some bad blood with the region, that’s all.” That was a lie. A massive fucking lie. Julian doesn’t even think that he’s been to this region. Either as Jaskier or as Julian. 

 “Oh? What happened?” Her eyes were bright with excitement. 

 Aw fuck. “Long story short, I met a very angry rock troll who did not know the word no and liked snacking on fingers and toes.” Julian fibbed. The lie rolled off his tongue with ease. 

That was a good enough lie, right? Just enough gruesome facts to entice her but not enough information for them to find fault. 

 The trouble was convincing Geralt. 

 He knew these regions well. The Wolves hunted these woods.

  If his story was going to be accepted, it needed to pass through Geralt. Ciri brightened up at the lie. Her eyes were wide with interest. 

 That was likely going to be a problem later in life.

 Julian’s heart pounded in his ears as Geralt seemed to mull it over. He finally shrugged and moved on. 

 …He passed. How the fuck did that happen? Geralt must have heard Julian’s heart pounding. Right? It made no sense. 

 No. It made sense. When did Geralt ever care about Jaskier? He wouldn’t have noticed enough to see the similarities between Jaskier and Julian. All Jaskier ever was, was a footnote in Geralt’s life. Nothing more, nothing less. 

***

 The days slowly dwindled into blank canvases, the wind turning sharper as Julian carved a pathway through for Geralt and Ciri. They were starting to run out of money, so Julian took a contract in a small hamlet just passed Shaerrawedd. 

The hands wrapped around his blade’s handles tightened and transformed into bone-white claws. 

 Julian ought to be angry. He knew in his core that he ought to be. Wasn’t Geralt just using him? He could feel the emotions licking at him from the back of his mind, taunting him. Daring him to let them consume him. 

 But really, he just felt exhausted.  
 
 Even in the face of battle, the cockatrice screaming at him, Julian just couldn’t bring himself to care. The gnawing emptiness threatens to consume him. 

 Julian traced the sign for igni, methodically ducking and rolling as the beast came hurtling past him, crashing into the underbrush. It was just the same old hunt. 

 Cockatrices were, on average, a harsher contract than other monsters. But after nearly two hundred years, Julian’s already fought a handful of them. He knew how to finish them. 

 Avoid the beak, incinerate the wings so it can’t dive-bomb him, and watch out for the tail. 

 Basically, the same fight plan for most winged beasts. 

 The cockatrice, unfortunately, still had its wings. As it shook its head, it prepared to take flight. 

 Julian lashed out with his whip, its tongue wrapping around the cockatrice's claw, effectively grounding it. He dug his heels into the soft earth below him and pulled. 

 He could really do without the screaming. Sweet Melitele. Julian rolled his eyes as he continued to pull. 

 Wrapping his arm around the whip, Julian traced the sign for axii. Apparently, igni wasn’t enough to ground the stupid fucking thing. 

 Axii worked. Maybe a little too well. 

 Julian swore as he tried to dive out of the way. The cockatrice thudded to the ground. Its tail slammed into Julian’s back. 

 Aching pain raced up Julian’s side, forcing him to his knees. Julian blinked away his tears. No matter how many times he got hit, it still fucking hurt. 

 All he wanted to do was lie here and let the earth swallow him up whole. Why was he doing these things? For Geralt, out of all people. Who cares that he had a small child with him. Geralt could protect her. Why couldn’t Julian just let him go?

 Julian of the past wouldn’t have cared. At least not to the extent he was now.   
 
 The cockatrice lashed out, stumbling and slamming to rocks and trees as it was still under the influence of the sign. 

 He should not have done that. He should not have done that! 

 Screaming reverberated in his ears as he lunged towards the beast. It was weakened enough that Julian could strike a killing blow. 

 He expertly weaved through the thrashing claws and slammed his silver sword into the cockatrice’s heart. 

 With one final shriek, the cockatrice collapsed. It panted painfully, eyes widely looking around. Julian collapsed in front of it. 

 As much as he found it irritating, Julian couldn't fault the cockatrice. It was nothing but a beast, ruled by its primitive urges. It slept when it felt sleepy, hunted when it became hungry, and fought when threatened. Why should Julian fault it? 

 Even though the cockatrice had developed a taste for human flesh, Julian couldn’t bring himself to be angry. 

 Julian hummed the old Aed Sidhe song he sang to beasts after he felled them. He wanted them to feel some comfort as they passed. 

 The cockatrice huffed, and its eyes finally closed. 

 “I’m sorry.” Julian’s voice was hoarse. “Please forgive me for what I am to do. I am in need of your parts.” Julian pulled out his hunting knife. 

            ***

 By the time that Julian made it back to town, got his payment, and got the fuck out of there, it was starting to get dark. Julian gazed out into the distance, the blue mountains loomed over him. Unwelcoming. 

 They were close enough that Julian could leave, correct? Toss half the payment to Geralt and fuck off? 

 There was a high chance that they’d run into another witcher on their way to Kaer Morhen. Geralt wouldn’t have to worry. 

 Julian didn’t want to be around when Geralt ran into Lambert. Lambert knew too much about Julian’s past for comfort. One wrong word, Geralt would figure out Julian’s secret. The temptation of possibly seeing his brother wasn’t enough. Julian needed to get out of there. 

 Julian winced, clutching his side as he hobbled towards the campsite. 

 Rage seethed under Julian’s skin. 

 Some part of Julian knew that he was illogical. But the pain throbbing in his side made Julian angrier with every step. 

 Like the absolute moron he was, Julian forgot to bring some Swallow. He was left wallowing in pain as he made the journey back to camp. He didn’t even bring Pegasus. 

 Stupid Geralt was using him, just like he used Jaskier. They were north enough that Geralt could fucking take on some contracts. But no, it had to be Julian who took on the contracts while Geralt peacefully took on the role of dutiful father. 

 Motherfucker. 

 Wasn’t Julian allowed rest on this arduous journey? Was he not good enough in Geralt’s eyes to be allowed to rest? Protecting Ciri was a given. Julian couldn’t blame Geralt for that. But he was so tired. He’d been mercilessly carving a path for Geralt to ride forward, slaying beasts and killing those who would harm Ciri.  

 Had the Mad Cat of Kerack been relegated to being the White Wolf’s dog? 

 Julian’s lip curled in disgust as he lumbered on. He was no one’s dog. 

 If he was the White Wolf’s dog, was he going to be put down when he was no longer useful? 

 Of course, if any of the old Wolf School witchers had any say, Julian would be put down. Pieces of shit. No matter how noble or esteemed the Wolf School witchers tried to make themselves out to be, they were the same mutated freaks as Julian. 

 Geralt was the worst of them. He continuously spouted that bullshit that was fed to him as a child. It was nothing but honeyed lies to make them feel better. 

 Julian hated being in the North and the witchers in it. Wolves and Griffins alike.

 At least Griffins had the deficiency to not proselytize at Julian.   

 He only came to the North to hide from his brothers when he was disguised as Jaskier.

 The way back to the campsite started becoming visible. Julian could hear Geralt’s almost too slow heartbeat and Ciri’s rapid heartbeat, and the smell of rabbit cooking. 

 Oh, thank the goddess. Julian was absolutely famished. 

 It was just within reach. 

 The bustling foliage slowly parted as Julian finally made it back to camp. His shoulders sagged in relief as he stepped into the small clearing. 

 “What the fuck?” 

Chapter Text

Julian was generally a pretty relaxed guy. He could roll with the punches; that’s how he survived so long. It was risky to be stubborn to the point of no change. Adapting to the times and circumstances was an ability that he was proud of. 

 But! There were certain things that Julian just could not roll with. He had to have something that he stood for. Hatred for ruffed collars, paperwork, oysters, and many other things. 

 What he hated the most was the lack of privacy. 

 Which is what he found when he hauled his tired ass back to the campsite; Geralt, the debatable once love of his life going through his journal. 

 Ciri, bless her soul, was fast asleep, curled up into a little ball. 

 Geralt was hunched over by the fire, the brittle pages of Julian’s worn journal looking delicate in Geralt’s large hands. 

 Hands that Julian once wanted to hold him. The annoyance lacing through Julian’s veins turned to anger. Seething anger trembling under the surface. Faintly, Julian could feel a sharp pain in his palms. 

 Had he hurt them in the fight with the cockatrice? 

 That piece of shit. That fucking piece of shit. Those thoughts rang through Julian’s mind, the fire blurring as the rage boiled. 

 Julian should calm down; Geralt was naturally a nosy fuck. Hell, Julian was a nosy fuck; it was in the nature of the job needing to know the whole picture was a tenant of being a witcher. But at least Julian had the respect to not snoop through his colleagues’ shit. 

  Having already left his things with Geralt has probably resulted in his sticking his nose into Julian’s business, but still. It ground his bones. 

 His shoulder throbbed from landing on it funny, and he was exhausted from the fight. All he wanted to do is sleep, but seeing this affront to his privacy clicked new life in Julian’s aching bones. 

 “What the fuck?” 

 Geralt’s hand went for a sword resting against a nearby stone as he was startled out of his repertoire. 

 Julian snarled, his hand flinging a dagger before he fully perceived what he was doing. The small knife clacked against the stone and then spun off into the night. 

 Geralt paused, his hand still hovering over the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing at Julian. 

 “Don’t give me that look.” Julian snapped. White-hot anger ran down his spine at the scathing look Geralt was giving him. Julian wanted to punch it off his stupid face. 

 He needed to calm down. He couldn’t succumb to the mutations. Julian took in a deep breath; his inhales came in jagged and annoyed. 

 He heard his heart pounding in his ears. 

 “What are you doing?” Julian tried to keep his voice calm.

 “Where is he?” Geralt’s voice was low and gravelly. 

 Deflecting? Tsk. Tsk. Geralt should be better, he had a daughter now, and he had to be a role model now.  

 “You ever think that  he  doesn’t want you to know where  he  is.” Julian snapped; he didn’t care to hold his tongue anymore. He picked at the dirt under his nails, eyes rolling between his nails to Geralt and back to his nails. 

 Geralt looked gobsmacked at Julian’s comment. 

 He had the  audacity  to give Julian that look? After everything he’s done to Jaskier? 

 Julian ground his teeth together; red hot anger crept into his vision, blood pounding in his ears. 

 “I mean, have you ever really thought about why he left you, Geralt of Rivia? You’re annoying, self-centred, you care for nothing but your own self-gratification, and you think nothing of others unless they can do something for you.” Julian’s mouth formed into a snarl. 

 “Shut up.” Geralt tossed the journal to the side and stood up. His brow furled in anger, and Julian could see his hand just itching to swing his sword at Jaskier. 

 “Or what? You going to blame me for the shit that you shovelled yourself into?” 

 Geralt looked like Julian had slapped him. He actually stumbled back in shock. 

 Julian couldn’t help but grin, probably making himself look like a maniac; he could get drunk off of this feeling. Now Geralt was going to feel what Jaskier went through. The pain that he was dragged through. 

 “What’s wrong,  White Wolf ?” Julian purred. His grin turned downright malicious. “Did I strike a cord?” 

 “How do you know about that? What did you do to him?” Julian rolled his eyes at the desperate plea in Geralt’s voice. 

 How would he react if he knew that his precious Jaskier was the big bad Mad Cat of Kerack? 

 “Why would you care? You told him to get lost. Say bye-bye.” Julian smiled smugly at Geralt. 

 Geralt’s face contorted in anger. “What did you do?” He snarled. 

 “Nothing. Seriously.” Julian shrugged. Geralt didn’t look convinced, making Julian growled in annoyance. “Oh fuck off you abnormal albino man. I didn’t fucking kill him, have a little fucking trust in me. How many times have I saved your fucking ass on this trip?” His tone was getting louder and at this point, he didn’t care if they woke Ciri up. 

 She needs to learn that her father was a total fucking piece of shit. 

 Geralt glowered at him. 

 “What? Nothing to say? Mad that I’m correct?” Julian snapped. He rolled his eyes and turned to the horses. “Oh course, Geralt of Rivia could never be wrong! Oh no! He’s infallible!” He shouted to the sky. 

 “Shut up!” 

  Julian flipped him off. “Why should I? Maybe if you had learnt this lesson before, ‘ittle Jaskier wouldn’t have run off.” 

 Suddenly, Julian could see the grey sky and darkened trees, and he could feel a throbbing pain spread through the crown of his head. 

 Snow white hair and golden eyes danced through his vision. 

 Julian laughed, running his tongue along his sharpened teeth. He’d been wondering when Geralt would lash out physically. 

 “I know you have something to do with Jaskier. You have his things, his horse. What did you do?” Anger seeped into Geralt’s eyes. 

 “I. Said. I. Didn’t. Do. Anything.” Julian hissed, punctuating each word, shoving Geralt off of him. Geralt grabbed onto his elbow, grappling them both down. 

 Julian grunted, trying to wriggle out Geralt’s hold. He let out a hiss when he felt a sharp rock dig into his bruised shoulder. 

 Geralt was trying to twist Julian into a rear-naked chokehold; not wanting to be defeated that easily, Julian latched his too-sharp teeth onto Geralt’s exposed arm. 

 Geralt howled in pain and anger as Julian’s canines dug into his veins, ripping apart the muscles. The hold on Julian’s neck loosed, Julian slammed his elbow into Geralt’s abdomen and scrambled away from Geralt. 

 “H’mm, Geralt?” Ciri sat up, her eyes still closed with sleep. “-hat’s going on?” 

 “Tell her, Geralt.” Julian goaded. “Tell her all about the shit you said on the mountain. About how it was  his  fault you ended saddled with fate’s–” Geralt tackled him before he could finish the sentence.

 Julian howled with laughter. Of course, Geralt wanted to bury that part. 

 He slammed his elbows into Geralt’s back, forcing the man to let go. 

 Julian stumbled back, wiping the bibbling blood from his mouth. “Truth’s going to come out some time  papa bear.  Might as well get the ugly truth out there.” 

 “This isn’t about me, this is about what you did to Jaskier.” Geralt growled, jabbing a finger at Julian.

 “I did nothing.” Julian spread his arms out, exposing his body to denote innocence. It didn’t work. Geralt gave him a downright, positively, delightful glower. “I swear on my soul that I never harmed a hair on Jaskier’s pretty little head. Maybe he just prefers a different witcher. Meliete knows I would.” And then Julian laughed at his joke. 

 It fell flat with his audience. Oh well. 

 He felt pity for Ciri, seeing the fear scrawled out on her face, but he didn’t care. He was tired of this masquerade. Tired of being on edge every time Geralt looked at him. He was tired. 

 And what better way to get back at a scorned ex? It was so deliciously evil that his brothers would commend him. 

 Julian was still laughing when Geralt took a swing at him. He moved too slowly. 

 The edge of first clipped his cheekbone close to his eye. 

 It felt like fire erupted against his skin. Julian staggered back, clutching the non-scared part of his face. 

 Fuck. 

 Julian dropped the hand cradling his face and stared Geralt down. “If you’re going to maim the face, at least do it on the side that can be afforded to be fucked up.” He gestured widely to his scars. 

 Geralt ignored him. 

 Like he always did. 

 This time Julian was able to dodge the punch. It thudded into the tree behind him, leaving a Geralt-sized fist in the old oak behind him. 

 Fuck. 

 Julian grabbed Geralt’s outstretched arms, pivoted one foot, and with all of his might, threw Geralt over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground. 

 Geralt rolled out of the throw and came up swinging. 

 Geralt was good at offence, not defence. Something that Julian had learnt throughout his trek with Geralt. 

 Which was an irritable style of fighting for Julian. As he to was also an offensive fighter, opting to overwhelm his opponents before they could take a swing at him. Geralt on the other hand could take several hits before going down. Julian methodically dodged a jab aimed at his ribs and slammed his foot into Geralt’s knee. 

 There was a crunch as his heel made contact with one of Geralt’s knees. 

 Geralt staggered backwards, favouring his left leg. Julian heard him grit his teeth, his face turning red from trying not to yell in pain. 

 He shakily steadied himself, snarling and lunged at Julian. Julian rolled to the side as Geralt’s fist clipped his rib, hands scraping from the small stones on the forest floor. 

 For a second, he saw stars. 

 Julian drew in a shaky breath, ribs thudding in pain. 

 Fucking behemoth. 

 His knee slowed him down. The cockatrice managed to get a good hit in, swiping Julian in the knee with its tail. It wasn’t a bad injury, it’d be better in the morning, but it was really getting to Julian right now. He was slower.

 Only by a fraction, but a fraction was a lot. 

  CRUNCH. 

 He first heard his bones crack, then he felt the burning. 

 Julian whimpered, gasping, and immediately regretted it. Tears sprung to his eyes as he tried to quell the pain.

 He ran a hand along his ribs and felt something move. 

 Fuck Geralt. 

 He fucking broke Julian’s rib! 

 Geralt’s figure started swimming in Julian’s vision, and his chest heaved, lungs burning as Julian gasped for air, trying to draw in enough air. He couldn’t let this fight drag on any longer than he could.  

 Julian pulled his throwing knives and hurled them with all of his strength at Geralt. Julian hissed when his ribs protested at the movement. 

 The blade sunk into the muscle between the shoulder and the chest. Geralt stumbled back but didn’t stop.

 Julian threw another. 

 Stupid fucking muscle man. 

 Geralt had to swerve, which caused him to stumble on slick rock, causing him to crash to the earth. Julian would have laughed if Geralt’s hand snaked out and pulled him down with him. 

 Motherfucker! 

 Julian rolled to his side and slammed his fist into Geralt’s face. 

 Geralt retaliated. 

 Julian could barely see out of his left eye at his point. 

 He snarled, rolling on top of Geralt, slamming his fist into Geralt’s face, repeatedly. It was so satisfying. 

 Geralt got a couple of punches in; Julian had a hard time seeing now. Vision in his left eye was waning. Geralt’s pale ass was still fucking easy to see. 

 Julian couldn’t feel his fists anymore. The only thing that registered was a dull ache in his hands and the red in front of him.

 He couldn’t stop. 

 His heart pulsed with anger, red hot and all-consuming.  

 A shrill, too loud to be possibly human, scream rocked Julian off of Geralt’s prone body. The sheer force of the power slammed into him, wind slapping his calloused skin, trying to push him away from the source. 

 Julian dug his heels into the autumn earth, trying to not lose anymore more ground. 

 Julian whimpered, the power of the scream echoing inside of his head, clutching his head. Against his chest, he could feel his medallion hum in anger with the amount of magic pouring into it. 

 He could feel a trickle of blood run down the side of his neck. 

 Blindly, Julian groped for a knife, he needed the scream to stop. 

 The sound racketed through his body, pain ripping through his muscles. Gasping, Julian dropped to his knees, squeezing his hands even harder against his ears. 

 Stop!  Stop!  STOP! 

  The screaming stopped as suddenly as it started. 

 Julian got onto his hands and knees and gasped in air, his ears still ringing. 

 He’d only felt that scream once. Twelve years ago, when his senses were dulled by his glamour. A force that had sent an entire ballroom full of Skelligers to their knees. 

 Warily, Julian looked up. Ciri’s choppy haircut made her look younger than she actually was. Julian was struck with the memory of his first training session with the Cats when he was nine. The unfiltered harsh blows that elder witchers traded with each other. 

 It was the first time that Julian had ever seen blood. 

 He could see the naked terror in Ciri’s eyes. What the fuck was he doing? 

 Julian stumbled away from Geralt, wiping the trickle of blood from his neck. 

 “Ciri.” Geralt grunted, trying to get up. 

 As Geralt was attempting to get up, Julian saw a flash of turquoise amongst the black of Geralt’s armour. 

 No. 

 It couldn’t be. 

 Julian lunged towards Geralt, pinning the still stunned man, frantically batting away Geralt’s attempts to block him, trying, desperately, to get at what he thought he’d lost ages ago. 

 He could go back. 

 He could be normal again. 

 He could—

       ***

 Geralt batted away Julian’s desperate pawing at his chest. His ears were still ringing from the impact of Ciri’s scream. 

 Julian’s attacks had changed. Before, his attacks were lackadaisical, more trying to get away from Geralt. Now they were, desperate, his pupils blown wide with what looked to be anger. 

 Geralt was finally able to push him off and stagger to his feet. 

 “Where did you get this?” Julian demanded, his eyes wild. The force of his question made Geralt take a step back, arm out on instinct to protect Ciri. 

 Geralt frowned. What? 

 “WHERE GERALT?” Julian screamed. 

 In his hand, Julian held aloft a dull turquoise ring. 

 What? 

 Geralt’s hand went to his neck, where Julian’s ring was supposed to hand. The broken ring was meant to be a reminder of Geralt’s failings.

 Geralt’s eyes narrowed, and he growled in annoyance. 

 He wanted to snatch the ring back, but trying to engage Julian right now seemed like a death wish. 

 “Give it back,” he growled. 

 “Tell me. Where did you get it?” Julian snarled, completely ignoring Geralt’s order. His eyes were wild with something unreadable. His tether to the real world slowly withering. 

 Julian didn’t look very human anymore. He looked almost vampiric, a man on the verge of becoming a monster. His bloody teeth and wild eyes made him look like a vampire who hadn’t fed in ages, ready to consume the next man who came his way. 

 Geralt was unsure of what was unfolding. 

 He challenged Julian after finally deciphering the code in the journal. The first half of the book was filled with Jaskier’s thoughts, a comprehensive log of their trips, Julian’s works, and the politics of the regions they visited. Everything a bard needed to know. 

 Then suddenly it switched. No warning, nothing. No clue of what happened to Jaskier. Julian had just appeared one day and taken over the journal. Not a whisper of what he did to Jaskier. 

 Now, Julian was acting like a rabid animal in the presence of Jaskier’s ring. 

 Julian's wild eyes scrunched up as he put on the ring, then they donned a blank look when he stared at his scarred hands. He took the ring off and then back on. 

 He growled in frustration and yanked it off. 

 “What the fuck did you do?” Julian screamed, his face splitting into a snarl, a bone-white hand still clutching the ring. 

 Julian sobbed, a hacking, dry heaving sob. He yanked at the roots of his dark hair and spun off, screaming in frustration. 

 “Do you know how much this cost me?” Julian spun around, his voice cracking at the amount of volume he pushed into the sentence. “Fuck!” He screamed into the night’s air. “Tissaia is going to fucking kill me. String me up in her creepy ass dungeon and leave me there for a century.” 

 Geralt grunted in lieu of an answer. 

 What was Julian spouting? 

 “Fuck you!” 

 Geralt grunted in mild pain as the ring bounced between his eyebrows. Fucking Cats and their penchant for throwing things. 

 He’d met one recently, a slender, dark fellow who for some reason, really didn’t like Geralt. He’d barely gotten a word in before he was running for safety through the hail of knives thrown his way. 

 Julian stopped his erratic pacing, his contradicting eyes wild with emotion. It seemed like a thought clicked in his mind as a light in his eyes. “Oh, sweet Meliete. You have no fucking clue, don’t you?” He screamed in laughter, bursting into a fit of giggles. 

 “What are you going on about?” Geralt growled. 

 “Think Geralt! For once in your life use your pea-sized brain! Why do you think out of everyone in this continent, that nosy-ass woman tol you to look for me?” 

 Geralt stared at him blankly, his mind reeling to try to figure out what Julian was spouting off about. 

 Julian yelled in annoyance and spun around, stomping off. 

 Wait…

 It was like the world became a little clearer. Something just clicked into place. The horse, the vanishing, Julian’s squirrelly attitude towards Jaskier, towards Geralt. 

 “Jaskier?” 

Chapter Text

 “About fucking time, for Meliete’s sake,” Julian muttered. 

 Geralt couldn’t think; his mind whirled, trying to make sense of what was happening. There was no way that it could be true, could it? 

 No. 

 There was no way. 

 When he said Jaskier’s name, he didn’t really believe it; he didn't want to come to terms with Jaskier's disappearance. 

 Saying his name was something Geralt did out of a desperate desire, pleading with himself that Jaskier wasn't dead. 

 There was no way that this man was really Jaskier. 

 No way. 

 Jaskier was pretty; to an average man, Jaskier wasn't pretty, not in the way that human men wanted their male lovers to be. 

 He was built, with broad shoulders and thick thighs, but he was still pretty, with windswept hair, bright cornflower blue eyes, and plush red lips. 

 Jaskier had a sort of ever-lasting optimism about the nature of man that Geralt once mistook for naivety. 

 Julian wasn’t pretty, not like Jaskier. 

 Julian was taught and lean, his whole body poised like a weapon, ready to strike; he was dangerously handsome.

 His wicked grin caused Geralt’s heart to stutter a little at times, and his heavily contrasting eyes made Geralt breathless, but he wasn’t pretty. 

 But when Geralt looked at Julian, really looked at him, past the scars and savage grin, he could see the similarities; it was almost as if they were distantly related. 

 Both men had the same porcelain skin and dark hair, which caused their skin to be ghostly pale; the two men had the same lips, cheekbones, and body structure. 

 “Hm.” Geralt was unsettled. 

 For twenty years, he didn’t notice. 

 He didn’t notice a witcher sleeping next to him. 

 He didn’t hear the telltale slowed-down heartbeat of a witcher or the sharp iron-like smell that a witcher’s scent carried. 

 He didn’t even notice Jaskier age. 

 “Oh, fuck you!” Julian yelled, causing Ciri to tense up beside Geralt. 

 Geralt pushed her behind him; even if this was Jaskier, Cat School witchers were unstable, and he didn't want Ciri getting hurt in the crossfire. 

“Don’t give me that ‘hmm’ bullshit; for the love of the gods, I hate that! You can’t just clam up and not fucking deal with this shit with a fucking–”

“I’m sorry.” 

 Julian stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Geralt wide-eyed; the sensation felt like ants were crawling up Geralt’s back. 

 “What?” Julian looked gobsmacked. 

 “I’m sorry for what I said on the mountain.” Geralt forced out. 

 He hated how shocked Julian looked; he hated the staring; he just hated this whole situation. 

 Geralt’s knee-jerk reaction was to get angry or feel insulted, or perhaps hurt. He wasn’t sure; All he knew was that there was a horribly unpleasant feeling in his gut.

 He needed to apologize for what he did on the mountain; those actions caused his life to start falling apart.  

 “Geralt?” Ciri asked quietly, her voice trembling; Geralt squeezed her shoulder in comfort, telling her he was fine. 

 He wasn’t okay. Not at all 

 His knee was killing him, blood dripped down his skin from where Julian stabbed him, and his face fucking hurt. 

 Julian didn’t look much better. 

 Geralt wanted to resolve this once and for all; he wanted to be a better protector to Ciri. Already she has had so much happen that Geralt couldn’t bear to add to her trauma. 

 To protect her, he did the opposite of what his gut told him; he wanted to apologize. 

 “Well fuck.” Julian scrubbed his face as he sagged forward, his adrenaline seeping out. “Shit; whatever, I'm done with this bullshit, I'm hungry.” 

 Geralt wasn’t sure if Julian accepted his apology or not. Geralt didn't feel any animosity coming from Julian. 

 Julian shuffled until he was face to face with Geralt. 

 They stood there for a second, just staring at each other. 

 Geralt wasn’t expecting the punch. 

 He felt the bone of his nose move; he could hear the crunching as it broke and the pain engulfing his face. 

 Geralt doubled over, clutching his nose, feeling warm blood drip through his fingers. 

 “That was for the mountain.” Julian’s voice was cold. 

 He pushed past Geralt and sat down at the fire, picking up the roasted rabbit. “And just because I accept your apology, it doesn’t mean that we’re friends again; once we get to Kaer Morhen, I’m leaving, got it?” 

 Geralt grunted yes and sat back down, still clutching his nose. 

 His heart felt heavy; he'd always wanted to show Jaskier Kear Morhen. Geralt was sure that Jaskier would love the keep; he could hunt through the abandoned halls, looking for the secrets that the ancient building held. 

 Ciri hesitantly followed Geralt as she eyed Julian, savagely tearing into his roasted rabbit with slight fear.  

 Then she sat back down next to Geralt. 

 Julian’s eyes flickered to Ciri and back to his rabbit. Geralt could see the sadness licking Julian’s bruised face. 

 He further hunched over and moodily chewed his dinner. 

 It made sense now why Julian was so keen on helping them; he must feel like he had a sense of responsibility towards Ciri after witnessing the mess at the banquet. 

 “Uh, guess, thanks for looking for me, yeah know? After I, well Jaskier, went missing. No one else looked; except Valdo, but he wasn’t looking for me, not really.” Julian didn’t look Geralt in the eye; instead, he stared miserably into the fire. 

 Jaskier always loved people more than he should; this must be the worst-case scenario for Jaskier. 

 Geralt always knew that if he were to vanish, his brothers would mourn him, believing that he was likely dead, but no one would look for him. Lambert and Eskel would accept what happened and move on, as a proper witcher would. 

 Jaskier wasn’t like this; he always wanted to be around people and believed that humans could be better. 

 The thought of being left alone, with no one looking for Jaskier, would be his worst nightmare, which evidently came true. 

 “Does Yen know?” Geralt grunted as he pulled out the knife lodged in his chest, congealed blood trickled down his body, and he hissed at the pain rocketing through his body. 

 That stung. 

 Julian paused in rummaging through his saddlebag and shrugged. 

 He tossed Geralt a bottle of Swallow and uncorked his own. 

 He grimaced when the potion hit his lips. Geralt couldn’t pull his eyes away from Julian’s lips. 

 “Yeah.” His voice was coarse. “A normal human wouldn’t have fucking survived what djinn did to me; She knew something was up, and well, you know how she is, not one to let things go, so she poked and prodded until she got what she wanted to know.” 

 Geralt looked at the flames; embarrassment clouded his mind; he was the one who caused that. 

 Yet, another reason why Jask-no-Julian hated him. 

 Again, not that Geralt could blame him; he was a terrible person. 

 Geralt had so many questions he wanted to ask; as he looked back on his life with Jaskier, he realized that so many things didn’t make sense.

 “I’m going to bed.” 

 Julian tossed his empty potion bottle into his bag. 

 He rolled out his bedroll, deliberately facing away from Geralt, very clearly telling Geralt that he wasn’t open to any more discussions. 

 The line was drawn, and Geralt knew better than to cross it. 

***

 The animosity between Julian and Geralt didn’t clear up in the morning. Julian was unnaturally quiet and focused on the road, and Geralt couldn’t bring himself to try to break the ice. 

 They rode in icy silence as Ciri rode quietly with Geralt, her tired eyes lazily taking in the morning scenery. 

 Geralt and Julian still bore the marks of last night’s fight; neither of them wanted to consume more potions, and both decided they'd let time heal them. As neither of them didn't know when they would have the time to brew more potions. The potions that they had left were precious. 

Geralt walked with a pronounced limp, his face swollen. Julian’s non-scared eye was swollen shut, and he favoured one of his ribs; in short, they were both miserable. 

 Neither of them spoke during breakfast, keeping to themselves. Geralt fussed over Ciri. He couldn’t help it as he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a twelve-year-old girl as the children he’s ever been around were trainees who required very different things than a former princess. 

Julian was curled up with a pencil and scribbling away in his journal, his nose smudged with graphite. Geralt’s heart ached as Jaskier did the same things in the mornings when they travelled together, except this time, Julian was dripping with steel and leather. 

 He still had the same bad habit of drinking straight from the percolator. 

Gross. 

 Julian’s silent treatment continued throughout the morning. Thankfully, his silent treatment didn’t extend to Ciri as he happily answered her questions as her wariness towards him dispersed. 

 Who knew that princesses lived such sheltered lives? 

 One would have thought that Calanthe’s granddaughter would be a little less naive, but Geralt was proven wrong.

 He sighed inwardly; it was going to be an even lengthier trip. 

***

 “Are you really from Lettenhove?” Geralt asked. 

 It was the first personal question that Geralt had asked Julian since that night. 

 At the moment, they had stopped for a quick lunch somewhere near Venegerberg. Geralt's curiosity held out for less than a week. 

 Julian frowned in confusion, a strip of jerky half out of his mouth. “Hun?” 

 “Lettenhove? I was there for a contract, and I asked the viscount ‘bout you; never heard of Jaskier being a part of the family. Makes sense now.”  

 “Contract?” Julian asked.

 Geralt could see his mind processing his words; first, it was confusion, then anger as the meaning behind Geralt's words started dawning on Julian. 

 There was something dark brewing behind those eyes.

 Geralt shrugged, his skin crawling at the tension radiating from Julian. "Leshen,” he finally admitted. 

 There was a pregnant pause as Julian stared at Geralt with eyes wide, much like how Jaskier would stare at Geralt sometimes. 

 “That MOTHERFUCK-”

***

 In hindsight, it was probably stupid to ask Julian that.

 Geralt thought back to the portrait hanging in the hall of viscounts, the name, Julian’s ease within Redania, the fucking accent, his weird hatred of Temeria.

 It was evident that the young boy taken from Lettenhove was both Jaskier and Julian of Redania. 

 Geralt knew; he had just wanted to make conversation with Julian. 

 “Is he okay?” Ciri whispered to Geralt. 

 Ever since lunch, a storm brewed around Julian; he'd spent most of the day muttering angrily, widely gesturing to himself, shaking his fists to the skies.

 There were even bouts where Julian would just scream and curse. 

 Geralt watched a flock of birds burst from the trees, desperately flying away from the trio as Julian let out a particularly impressive string of profanities. 

 He idly wondered if he should cover Ciri’s ears but eventually decided against it. 

 She’s probably heard worse when she was on the run. 

 “It’s a,” Geralt sighed and scrubbed his face, trying to come up with a non-terrifying answer for her; he couldn't. “Long story, kiddo.” 

 Ciri humped and stuck up her nose, an action eerily like her grandmother. 

 In all things considered, Geralt would be pretty pissed with the world if the contract that voided his freedom wasn’t handled correctly. It would be an insult to him if Varin or Vesemir did a half-ass job and earned Geralt as a reward. 

 Julian of Redania might be the witcher with a few screws loose but he completed his contracts to the best degree possible. This slight must be an even bigger insult than Geralt initially believed. 

 No wonder he was so angry with the witcher who took him. 

 Julian would have a field day with Lambert; Geralt did not want to be there when those two met.

***

 “Why is my ring broken?”

 Geralt’s head snapped up; this was the first time Julian had voluntarily spoken to Geralt. 

 “The ring, Geralt. It certainly wasn’t broken when I lost it. What did you do?” The annoyance dripped from Julian’s lips. 

 “I, uh, stepped on it.” 

 “You  what ?!” 

***

 It was about noon, two and a half weeks after Julian’s dynamic reveal, and Geralt was proverbially dying. 

 At this point, nothing had changed in their relationship; Julian ignored Geralt as much as possible. Julian often just went into the woods if possible, in order to avoid Geralt. 

 That stung. 

 But Geralt was unsure what to do to make things better. 

 Julian made it quite clear that he would not be entertaining any folly, and Geralt did not want to get stabbed  again. 

After it got dark and Julian didn't feel like traipsing around in the woods, he would curl up with his journal and ignore Geralt. 

While they travelled, Julian would ride ahead, scoping out the path or only answering Ciri's incessant questions. 

"Why are they cutting off the sheep's hair?" 

"So the sheep don't overheat. They also do it so they can make wool clothes to keep warm for the winter."

 "What kind of plant is that?"

 "Poison Oak. Don't touch it. It'll make you really itchy and it's the worst feeling ever." 

"What are they doing with that giant wooden dummy?" 

"They're going to set it on fire as an autumn tradition, supposedly, it's to help them survive the winter." 

---And so forth and so forth--- 

 Geralt wanted to break the silence between the two of them once and for all; he wanted his friend back. 

 Jaskier always understood what Geralt was thinking without him having to put his thoughts into words. 

 He always knew; now Geralt realized it was because Jaskier was Julian, and Julian was a witcher, an old witcher. 

 He was someone who walked the Path much longer than Geralt. 

 He knew what Geralt was going through. 

 Geralt sighed and nudged for Roach to pick up the pace; once again, despite Geralt’s attempts to kindle conversations, they had lapsed into a long stretch of uncomfortable silence. 

 Julian nudged his horse to a stop, holding a hand up for Geralt to stop. “What’s wrong?” Ciri whispered. 

 “I hear a group coming.” 

 Shit, Geralt could hear them too. 

 Whoever this group was, they were a loud bunch, laughing and chatting as they walked, not worried that they could be attacked. Geralt could hear five men, all with deep, booming voices, one cart, and two horses, maybe, donkeys. 

 They were going at a slow pace, no rush apparent. 

 There wasn’t time to hide. 

 They had two choices, fight, or talk, their way out of this. 

 Geralt doubted they could talk their way out of this. Highly unlikely given everyone and their mother trying to get a piece of the bounty on Geralt’s head. 

 Geralt’s hand itched to draw his sword, and Julian’s hand rested on the leg where his whip was hooked. Geralt wondered when Julian learned how to use a whip; it certainly wasn’t a standard witcher weapon. 

 They slowly rounded the bend in the road, Geralt’s body tight with nerves, his heart pounding in his ears. 

 Maybe he should have taken that extra bottle of Swallow to fully heal himself. 

 Julian nudged his horse so that he was ahead of them. There was one benefit of travelling with Julian; he automatically put himself on the offense so that Geralt could keep Ciri back on the defense. 

 “Zoltan?” Julian was positively ecstatic. He smelt like joy, sunflowers, and freshly laundered clothes. 

 It made Geralt's stomach churn. 

 Who was this  Zoltan  to make Julian smell this happy? 

 He didn’t sound like Jaskier, but Geralt could hear some of Jaskier’s voice in his. Both were warm and not too low-pitched, but Julian’s voice was hoarse and corroded, while Julian’s voice was lighter, melodic. 

 Not to say that Julian's voice wasn’t bad. It would have been a pretty singing voice, sure, it wasn’t the typical troubadour voice, but it still would have been a good voice. 

 Why had Julian changed it so much? 

 “Lad? Ehhh! How ya’ doing?” Came a booming voice. 

 Geralt nudged Roach a few forwards and peeked at the group. 

 They were a collection of motley-looking dwarves. The youngest of the dwarves guided the tired-looking donkeys. All of them clad in leather and steel. 

 This  Zoltan positively beamed when he saw Julian. He had an impressive rust-colored mohawk and kind eyes. 

 “Not bad.” 

 Zoltan eyed Julian’s bruised and battered face, and then his eyes slid to Geralt’s equally damaged face. 

 He arched an eyebrow, curious at the answer to his unanswered question. 

 “Surprised to see you this far north. Thought you said you ain’t a fan of the north’s temperamental weather.” 

 “I ain’t.” Julian rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Anything too far east of the fucking sea is colder than my dead fucking father’s heart. Don’t even get me started on Skeillege’s awful winters.” There was a faux-cheeriness in Julian’s voice. 

 It was easily noticeable as it was something that Geralt had only picked up after travelling with Julian for a long time. Julian was still good at acting. 

 “Ya know for a witcher, you’re awfully testy about these such things.” 

 Julian sniffled in an overly dramatic one. “Just because I’m a witcher, Zoltan, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy basic human amenities and whatnot. Like being warm and having enough food to feed myself.”

 “Hi, Julian!” The youngest of the dwarves waved excitedly. 

 “Hey, Resca. How ya doing kid?” There was mirth in Julian’s voice. “Hey Kromma, Karlerd. Derclar. Where’s the rest of the gang?” 

 The two twins nodded hello to Julian from their perch on the wagon. One waved. 

  “I’m doing great! Uncle Zoltan is training me on taking care of the donkeys. Hey! Where’s that scary lady in black? You two seem pretty close last time, you know she threatened to turn me into a slug.” 

 Zoltan looked a little amused with Resca’s enthusiasm. 

 “Yeah, Yen’s like that. That’s her favourite threat. On her way north last I heard.” Geralt’s head snapped up in shock. Julian pointedly ignored Geralt’s burning stare. 

 Geralt didn’t know how to feel. He was angry at the deception. Julian hid who he was, his mirror identity, for over twenty years, and he didn’t speak up about Yen. 

 On the other hand, Geralt didn’t deserve kindness; he lied and hurt two important people to him; his best friend and Yen, whatever they were. 

 He could feel a frosty attitude from Julian from this distance. 

 He was angry that Julian was friendlier to this pack of dwarves that he’s never even met, instead of him, someone who’s known Julian for decades. 

 But when he really thought about it, did Geralt really know Jaskier? Did he just know Julian’s cover story? 

 “Who’s the squirt?” Zoltan asked, nodding over to Ciri. Geralt looked over his shoulder and saw Ciri peeking out from behind his shoulder. 

 Geralt saw the look of recognition in the eyes of the other dwarves. They knew who he was and that means that they knew who Ciri was. 

 “You’re not acting as a knight for another lost princess are you?” One of the dwarves, Kromma, Geralt believed, asked. 

 It was told in a joking manner, earning chuckles from the other dwarves, but to Geralt, it felt like ice was injected into his veins. 

 How did he know?  

 Wait, another? 

 What the hell did Julian do with these dwarves? 

 “It was one time! I didn’t know she was a fucking princess! Not until I had two very unhappy sorceresses bearing down on me after I got the two of us unlost from the gross  Velen  woods of all places. And no, not a princess.” 

 Zoltan didn’t look like he believed Julian, but thankfully he didn’t press the subject. However, The other dwarves seemed to accept Julian’s answer. 

 “You guys want to join us for lunch?” Resca asked. He was unable to hide his interest in Julian. “Always cool to meet other witchers.” 

 “Stop trying to sound cool, kid, you’ve only met one witcher.” Derclar rolled his eyes at Resca’s pout. The others snickered at the pout. 

 Julian looked over to Geralt, his eyebrow arched in a silent question. 

 Ciri tugged on Geralt’s sleeve, and she looked at him imploringly. He sighed, resigning himself. She’s been stuck with two arguing witchers for the past several days. 

 She could probably use some other company for the afternoon. 

 “Fine.” He ground out. 

 It was worth it, seeing both Ciri and Julian light up. 

***

“Do you want your lute back?” Geralt asked. 

 “I destroyed my lute.” Julian distractedly waved him off, returning to his whittling. Since he had separated from the dwarves, his mood had plummeted. 

 It grated on Geralt’s nerves. 

 What did the dwarves have that Geralt didn’t? 

 “I had it fixed.” 

 That got Julian to look up. His eyes were wide in disbelief, his knife dangling limply from his fingers. Julian’s newest whittling project lay half-finished as he continued to stare at Geralt. 

 Across from both Geralt and Julian, Ciri looked at them in interest at the development between the two adults. 

Geralt grunted and stared at the coals of the fire, not enjoying the attention heaped onto him by his travelling companion. “You loved that lute.” 

 Julian turned back to his half-finished project. “You’d be better off donating it. Witcher-bards aren’t exactly common or welcome.” 

 He viciously dug into the wood and swore when the knife slipped and it jammed into his thumb. 

 Ciri looked queasy as Julian pulled out the knife and just went back to whittling. 

 Julian’s face was harder to read than Jaskier’s, but Geralt could tell that he was hurting. He loved music, and leaving the profession was a serious blow to his psyche. Julian’s face was trained to be impassive, a carefully curated blank look; however, the furl in his eyebrow and a pinch of his lips indicated his displeasure. 

 Geralt let the conversation drop, letting the heavy blanket of silence that usually enveloped their campsite return. 

***

Geralt had difficulty registering that Julian was Jaskier, and Jaskier was Julian. Sometimes when Geralt’s mind was fuzzy and he saw the mop of wild dark hair out of the corner of his eyes, Geralt would register that it was Jaskier; realize that it was Julian, and then remember that he was both. 

 It was frustrating. 

 Just reconciling the idea that both Julian and Jaskier was the same person was a lot of effort. 

 It was almost like there was a man wearing Jaskier’s skin but taking none of the care that Jaskier did in his appearance. 

 Geralt missed his friend, he’d never admit it out loud, but he did. At first, he just thought that Jaskier was hiding from Geralt after their spat on the mountain, that he could stomach. Coming to terms with the fact that he’d never see his friend again, that everything he knew was a mask was harder. 

 But was Jaskier all a lie? 

 Geralt carefully watched Julian’s back; the gleam of his pommels in the mid-day sun blinded Geralt. Jaskier had once told him that the best lies were born from kernels of the truth. 

 Did Julian like lavender soap like Jaskier did? 

 Did he prefer spiced mead over Redanian ale? 

 Did he work on verses, repeating the same lines with a hair’s difference over and over again while riding? 

 Geralt didn’t know. Julian and Jaskier seemed like two completely different people. Sometimes from Geralt’s perspective, he believed he'd never see his friend again. 

 That thought did not rest easy in Geralt’s stomach. He had prepared to one day say goodbye to the barnacle-like bard for the last time and return to the Path alone. He didn’t realize that it was happening so soon. 

 What irked Geralt the most was that the body Jaskier inhabited was within touching distance, but Jaskier was gone. 

 One would think that Geralt would get the two personas mixed up, but the reality was Jaskier was so different than Julian that Geralt couldn’t look at him and see Jaskier. He was simply Julian. 

***

 Julian was sunning himself on a large slab of rock, appreciating one of the last warm days of the season. 

 He looked so carefree and unburdened. 

 “I’m going to miss you.” Ciri perched on the rock next to Julian. 

 Julian peeked an eye open and gave her a lackadaisical smile. “I’ll miss you too, little canary.” He ruffled her hair and went back to sunning himself. “Life of a witcher is a solidarity one. Best you learn this now.” 

 Geralt frowned at the implication. Yes, it was true that Ciri was a Child Surprise, and most of the time children from the Law of Surprise became witcher trainees. However, Ciri was a girl, the Wolf School didn’t take girls, and she had magic and was too old for typical trainees. She would surely die if she attempted to undergo the mutations. 

Judging from the last girl they acquired from the Law of Surprise, Geralt had no idea what was going to happen with Ciri. 

 It was clear from Ciri’s magic and ancestry that she had a grander future than just being a mere witcher. 

 Geralt stopped. 

 Why was he considering making her a witcher? They didn’t have the formulas to make witchers anymore anyways. 

 Ciri scrunched up her nose. “I’m not going to be a witcher, am I?” She looked over to Geralt. 

 Geralt grunted. “No.”  

 Julian made a hapless little shrug. “Potentially. Not all schools take girls. Cats do. Vipers might."

 Something in that sentence gave Geralt pause. 

 Julian was speaking about potential future witchers, meaning that Cat witchers still had their mages and notes. 

 They weren’t dying out. The original schools no longer could make new witchers, meaning their dynasty would come to an end, but witchers wouldn’t be completely gone. All dynasties come to an end, but their legacy will continue. 

Geralt was conflicted. 

 His people are dying out, and fewer witchers are returning from the Path. But, they had the means to revive their culture. The swell of potential made Geralt envision Kear Morhen in its splendor again. The Wolves wouldn’t have to hide. 

 The thought of subjecting children around Ciri’s age to the trials sickened Geralt. 

 Unless… Julian’s information was out of date. 

But wouldn’t the Wolves hear about an attack on the Caravan? He knew that there was an attack on the original castle, but no one said anything about losing the mages. Right? 

 Fear washed over him like ice water; would Ciri become a witcher in the end? Would she go through the Trials? 

 “Do you want to be a witcher?” Julian asked. 

 Ciri pondered his question and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I want to retake my home.” There was steel in her eyes that Geralt appreciated. 

 “Then don’t. Flip off those crusty old men and retake your home. Stick it to the man.” 

 “Yeah! Stick it to the man!” Geralt was sure that Ciri didn’t know what the ‘man’ Julian was referring to. Geralt had a vague idea of who he was referring to the elder Cat Witchers or the Nilfgaardians. 

 “Can’t wait wait to see the world burn at your fingertips, little canary.” 

***

 The mountains of Hertch loomed in the distance. The gnawing pit in Geralt’s stomach grew stronger; soon, Julian would depart and head south as he told the dwarves and then disappear from Geralt’s life forever. Julian made it clear that he never wanted Geralt to be in his life again. 

 Geralt felt the pressure to reconcile with Julian mounting. It was a sort of a painful hum rising in the back of his mind, getting stronger and harder to ignore. It was starting to overwhelm him. 

 “Why’s your heart beating like crazy?” Julian frowned at Geralt. 

 Geralt was thankful that it was dark out, the nightfall obscuring the faintest of blushes donning his cheeks. 

 “Thinking,” Geralt grunted. 

 “A marvelous feat.” Geralt could practically hear Julian rolling his eyes. 

 Julian and Jaskier may be two different entities, but they had one thing in common; annoying the fuck out of Geralt. It was amazing how quickly they managed to get under his skin. 

 “Do you  ever  get sick of spitting out those maddening quips?” 

 “Nope!” 

 Geralt was thankful that Ciri was not awake to witness his failure of a rebuttal, which amounted to him muttering to Julian to vaguely fuck off. 

 He grunted, causing Julian’s face to split into a delighted smirk. Geralt crossed his arms over his chest and slid down to a more comfortable position. 

 “Whatcha thinking about?” Julian teased, his voice dripping with a fake childish falsetto. He did the same thing when he was Jaskier. Expect this time, with his gravelly voice, it was particularly haunting. 

 “I’m going to miss you.” 

 Julian blinked owlishly at the comment; his mismatched eyes widened at the sudden admission. 

 He ducked his head and scratched at the back of his neck. “Miss you too,” he muttered. He took a deep breath in and looked up, pinning Geralt with his stare. “It’s weird traveling alone without having someone to irritate.” 

 Geralt gave him an unimpressed look, and Julian gave him a loopy smile. 

 The smile dropped, and Julian looked to the dull flames. “Don’t be stupid, okay?” 

 There wasn’t much else to say. Julian made it clear that he wasn’t really up to any more conversation. However, there wasn’t that  masima  hanging between them anymore. There was certainly still resentment there but, perhaps it was just Geralt’s imagination, it seemed like Julian was more open to mending their relationship. 

 Geralt was fine with that. He could work with that.