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The trees that surround her are staggering and gnarled, branches reaching for her like crooked fingers. Her breaths come in fast little pants, her small chest heaving as cold terror pounds through her veins and freezes her fingers. Her teeth chatter and she wraps her thin arms around herself. Her pale hair gleams like moonfire in the waning light of the day that casts impossibly long shadows across the forest floor.
“Mummy!” She calls out again. Her tiny voice wavers and barely echoes. “Mummy!”
Tears gather in her green eyes, making her vision swim and her nose run. She sniffles, trying her very best to hold her panic at bay, as she continues to stumble deeper into the forest in a bid to escape. A root, hidden in shadow, catches on the toe of her boot and she falls to the ground. Her hands sink into the thick, rotting detritus that covers the forest floor.
A sob chokes her. She curls up with her head pressed tightly to her knees, her back flush with the sprawling base of one of the less frightening trees. She’s never going to be able to get home, never going to find her mother or father. What is she to do?
“Are you okay?”
A rich, mellifluous voice disrupts her despair. The leaves crunch in front of her as a pair of knees sinks to the ground, brightly colored fabric filling the gap between her knees. She looks up with a loud hiccuping sob, tears staining her red cheeks.
Before her kneels a man with floppy brown hair and bright blue eyes, a kindness to his concerned expression. He has one long-fingered hand extended, but not touching, as a worried frown curves his lips down.
“Wh-who are you?” she sniffles, unbothered by the snot that runs down her face in the way that children always are.
His expression relaxes slightly and an easy smile lights up his handsome face, “My name is Jaskier. I want to help you. Can you tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I’m not supposed t-to talk to strangers.”
Jaskier looks thoughtful at this, rubbing his chin and humming, “If you give me your name, too, I don’t suppose we would be strangers anymore. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She thinks about this, her terrible cries abating with the puzzle presented to her. What makes someone a stranger versus a friend? Jaskier is implying it’s the exchange of names. Warnings from her parents of the dangers of talking to unfamiliar people war with the aching desire for help and companionship, and it’s her need for humanity that wins.
“Ciri,” she whispers. “And I’m lost.”
“Many people are.” Jaskier replies cryptically. He then winks as he gets to his feet, brushing the dirt from his knees, “However, I believe your specific case can be resolved by finding the path home again. Do you want me to show you the way?”
She looks up at him and nods silently, swallowing thickly around the lump that still resides in her throat. She wants her mummy and daddy. Jaskier extends his hand again and, this time, Ciri takes it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. His fingers are cold, stiff. Perhaps he’s been outside for too long.
Jaskier leads her through the trees– the curved branches not looking nearly so terrifying with the comfort of an adult at her side. The same long crooked twigs that appeared to be reaching for her are now just bowed down by the weight of their deadened leaves, the air chilled by the coming winter. Jaskier chatters and hums as they walk, seeming unbothered by her less than verbose presence.
“What are you dressed up as?” Ciri breaks her personal silence to ask. He’s dressed very strangely, in bright blue trousers that fasten high around his waist and a matching jacket with puffy shoulders and red detailing.
“Dressed up as?” Jaskier echoes curiously.
She nods, “It’s All Hallows’ Eve. I was trick-or-treating when I got lost.”
“You got lost in the woods trick-or-treating in a neighborhood?”
Ciri harrumps, disgruntled by the gross understatement, “I was cutting through the woods to get to the next neighborhood. I lost my way.”
Jaskier doesn’t laugh but he does grin in a way that makes her feel warm and happy, “That’s very clever of you, Ciri. Although, next time, you ought to bring a torch. Or perhaps someone with a little more navigation skills than yourself.”
“During the day I can find my path just fine!”
“I’m certain you can,” Jaskier nods sagely. The trees are starting to thin and Ciri can see the bobbing of bright torches, their light cast against the edges of the trees. Raised voices can be heard.
“Ciri!”
“Cirilla!”
“Ciri! Ciri!”
“That’s my mummy and daddy!” Ciri cries out, running forward and pulling Jaskier along with her. He laughs and easily keeps pace with her shorter legs, loping along beside her. “Mummy! Daddy!”
Her hand slips free of Jaskier’s as she reaches the edge of the forest, sprinting straight into her father’s waiting arms. He grabs her and tucks her close, burying his face in her hair as she wraps her limbs around him. “Ciri,” he sighs in relief, “where did you go?”
“Ciri!” Her mother runs over, her raven hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders. “Gods above, you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” She nods and wipes her nose on her sleeve, “Jaskier helped me.”
“Jaskier?” Her parents exchange a glance that Ciri doesn’t know the meaning of.
Ciri hums and nods, twisting in her father’s arms to introduce her new friend, “Yeah, he’s right… here.” She frowns.
Jaskier is gone.
Her shoes slap against the pavement as she trudges towards the bus stop, head down and music loud in her ears. Her fingers are wrapped around the straps of her backpack and she hums along to the tune, her face hidden behind curtains of blonde hair. So distracted is she that she doesn’t notice the appearance of tan boots falling into step with her.
A cold hand touches her shoulder and Ciri shrieks a little, jumping away. Jaskier looks at her in amusement, a grin curling his lips up towards his crinkled eyes. Ciri rips her earbuds out to glare at him, crossing her arms in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
“Nearly a foot, that time,” he gleefully announces.
“I hate you,” she grumbles, “And I did not jump a foot into the air. You just surprised me.”
“No wonder, you were so beyond that I called your name no less than four times and you still didn’t acknowledge me.”
His pout has no effect on her as she levels him with a look of contempt so well crafted her mother would be proud. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, Jaskier.”
‘Hm, yes, and yet every time I show up you speak to me anyway,” he teases, clasping his hands behind his back as he walks beside her. Ciri hums her annoyance and he shakes his head. “So much like your father, you are.”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” she snaps, her cheeks coloring angrily. “Or my mother for that matter.”
Jaskier’s grin vanishes as a worried frown appears, “Is everything alright, darling?”
Ciri huffs and doesn’t answer for a few moments as she gathers her thoughts. How does one exactly tell their best friend that their parents don’t think said friend is real? How could Jaskier not be, is the better question. He’s just as solid as anybody else.
“My parents don’t think you exist.” Ciri says finally. “I’ve known you for nearly a decade now and they don’t believe you’re real.”
“That’s absurd, of course I’m real.”
“That’s what I said!”
“What do they think I am, then?”
Ciri’s cheeks darken further, a tinge of embarrassment on her face, “An imaginary friend.”
“An imaginary friend?”
“That’s what I said.”
Jaskier hums thoughtfully, “I suppose I could be perceived as imaginary. Too good to be true, I am!”
Ciri rolls her eyes, “Your head is too big for your shoulders. How it stays straight without bobbling is a mystery.”
“You take that back!” Jaskier gasps dramatically, “I’ll have you know my head is perfectly proportional, thank you kindly.”
Ciri laughs, starting to feel better about the whole thing. “Jaskier, it’s my birthday next weekend, could you please come to prove to my parents that you exist?”
“Well…”
“Pretty please? With a cherry on top and chocolate sprinkles?”
Jaskier’s hesitation is evident but he nods, “Yes, alright. I suppose I can attend your party.”
Ciri grabs his hand in both of hers, eyes bright with happiness, “Oh, thank you, Jaskier! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Settle down!” He laughs, squeezing her hand gently, “I can see the bus coming, you’re going to be late.”
Ciri looks over her shoulder, the bright yellow vehicle trundling down the road to the stop and opening its doors to the other teenagers standing listlessly around. “Oh shit.”
“Indeed. Go on now, I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Bye, Jaskier!” Ciri waves and sprints down the street to climb aboard just before the doors close. She looks out the window as the bus passes Jaskier, waving to him with a grin. He waves back.
“Where is he?” Ciri mumbles, checking her phone for the time again. Her party has been in full swing for two hours and there’s still been no sign of her best friend. “He promised he’d be here.”
“Who did, Ciri?” Her mother asks as she bustles around the kitchen. Her father stands quietly by the fridge holding a large bowl of chips. Ciri had come in to get a small reprieve from the shouting and laughter of her friends parked in front of their game system.
“Jaskier. He swore to me he’d be here.” She’d made him pinky swear but, upon further reflection, she probably should have done something more legally binding.
Her parents exchange a glance that she’s learned means “she’s being crazy again”. “Ciri, we’ve talked about this.”
She scowls at them, her fingers curling into fists, “He’s real, Mum. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“I didn’t say you would,” her mother soothes, setting down the bag of broccoli she was about to open to meet Ciri’s gaze. “I’m sure he is real to you.”
“We spoke with Triss about this–” Her father starts to say but she cuts him off, mortification turning her face red.
“You told aunt Triss that you think I’m crazy?” Ciri gasps.
“No,” her mother gives her father a sharp glare, “No, Ciri, of course not.”
“We don’t think you’re crazy.”
“We simply spoke to Triss about Jaskier and she thinks it might be fruitful for you to talk to somebody.”
“A shrink?” Ciri sneers, “You want me to see a fucking shrink?”
“Language,” her father warns and Ciri glares at him.
“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want since you guys obviously think I’ve gone ‘round the bend!”
“Lower your voice,” her mother hisses. The sounds in the other room have abated. Her friends are listening in.
“No! No, I’m not going to go ‘talk to someone’ just because you think my best friend doesn’t exist.”
“Then how come we haven’t met him, Cirilla?” Her mother snaps, “He’s never come around, never even spoken with us on the phone. What are we supposed to think?”
“He’s busy! And I think you’re supposed to trust me!”
“He isn’t real, Cirilla!”
Ciri’s eyes water as she scowls at them silently for a few moments. She grabs her house keys and runs out the door.
“Ciri!” Her father calls.
She ignores him, sprinting for the treeline. That’s where she’ll find Jaskier so she can rip him a new one. He promised. He promised.
The tips of branches, longer with age just like her, whip against her cheeks as she races through the woods, leaving thin red welts upon her pale skin. Her throat is tight with frustration, her heart pounding with anger. How could they not believe her? How could they think she’d make someone up for years?
In her flight of blind rage she doesn’t see the brightly colored man until she runs straight into him, bouncing off of his chest and stumbling back. Jaskier grabs her wrist to stop her from falling, a worried frown on his face. “Ciri? What are you doing out here?”
“Let go of me!” She rips her hand away from him, her tears brimming and making her vision blur. “How could you, Jaskier? How could you do this to me?”
“What did I do?” He asks in bewilderment. It does nothing but feed Ciri’s fury.
“Do you know what fucking day it is?” She shouts. She doesn’t let Jaskier answer. “It’s my godsdamned birthday. Do you remember what you promised you’d do for my birthday?”
“I–”
“You promised you’d come and show my parents that I’m not fucking insane! But you didn’t! You didn’t show up and now my parents are convinced I need to see a damned shrink!”
Jaskier at least has the wherewithal to look guilty, digging his hands deep into his pockets and casting his eyes down. “Ciri… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make trouble for you.”
“I just want to know why, Jaskier? I thought you were my friend.” Her voice breaks at the end and Jaskier looks up sharply.
“Oh, Ciri, of course I’m your friend,” Jaskier steps forward, reaching to hug her but stopping himself. “I’m so sorry, I would have come if I could, you must understand.”
“Well, I don’t. What could have been so important that you’d bail on me?”
He sucks a sharp breath, eyes skittering to the side. Ciri narrows her eyes, “What are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing, I promise.” Jaskier meets her gaze earnestly. “Can I just… Will you let me show you something?”
“What is it?”
“Something important.”
She glares at him for a few moments longer before heaving a great sigh, “I suppose. It’s getting dark though, so unless you’ve got a torch we can use to get back we ought to go quickly.”
Jaskier reaches a hand out to her and she looks at it. It doesn’t shake, his pale fingers still and waiting. There’s a scar across his palm, thin and nearly invisible. He said it came from the breaking of a string on his instrument many years ago.
Ciri slides her hand into his, allowing her to guide her through the trees. He’s oddly silent, the only reassurance that he’s actually at her side being the cool hand held in her own. His feet don’t crunch across the carpeted ground, his breath doesn’t rattle in his chest, his clothing doesn’t swish with friction. Ciri never understood how he could be so silent, but when she asked once he said it was from years of practice so she dropped the subject.
Maybe she shouldn’t have.
“Where are you taking me?” Ciri asks quietly. She doesn’t want to be afraid– and, truthfully, she could never be afraid of Jaskier– but she’s apprehensive. They’re going deeper into the woods than they’ve ever gone before, the last dredges of light from the setting sun vanishing and leaving them in the pale shadows of night.
“Not much farther, I promise,” Jaskier murmurs, “You’ll love it.”
A few minutes later they break into a round clearing, barely twenty feet across, filled with soft grasses and dancing buttercups that almost glow in the light of the moon. Jaskier pulls her to the center of it, sitting down cross legged and pulling her down beside him.
“Lay back,” Jaskier whispers. She does what he says and gasps softly.
Spread out above them is a tapestry of night, starlight illuminating the tops of the trees as the expanse of space sprawls across the sky. She can see the Milky Way, Venus, maybe even Jupiter hidden in the canvas that unfurls atop a navy backdrop. So entranced is she that she forgets Jaskier is beside her.
Until he squeezes her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t show,” he says softly, “It’s… difficult for me, sometimes, to go far from home.”
Ciri sighs quietly, resting her free hand on her stomach, “I… Jaskier, you could have told me that you didn’t want to come.”
“I did, though, Ciri,” he turns his head to look at her, “I did. I wanted to come to the party so badly, you don’t know.”
“Then explain it to me.” She looks at him, holding his pale gaze.
“I can’t,” he whispers. “There’s nothing to explain.”
“I don’t know if we can be friends then, Jaskier,” she tells him softly, ignoring the way the words make her own heart splinter.
He gives her a sad smile, turning his face back to the stars, “Probably for the best.” She hums but doesn’t pull her hand away, not yet.
“Can I stay?” Ciri asks, “Just a bit longer?”
“Of course. Just not forever.”
“Not forever,” she agrees, and closes her eyes.
Yennefer is brimming with nervous energy, stumbling through the woods that her daughter so likes to frequent. Geralt is searching through town, driving his rusty pickup truck through neighborhood after neighborhood, but Yennefer is certain Ciri will be here. Her torchlight bounces with each stumbling step as her feet catch on hidden obstacles and she curses the dark blanket of night.
Truly it’s a stroke of luck that she finds the clearing at all. The woods go on for miles and the open section of trees is smaller than her living room, barely big enough across to fit a car– not that one could get through the dense thickets anyway. Ciri lays amidst the wild buttercups, her eyes closed and her breathing deep and slow with sleep. She isn’t alone.
A man sits with her head pillowed in his lap, long fingers stroking slowly through her moonlit hair. His clothing is antiquated, like something Yenefer would see in one of Geralt’s period dramas, and his shoulders are hunched. He looks up when Yennefer steps out of the trees and holds a finger to his lips.
“Don’t wake her,” the man says softly. His voice is smooth, melodious in a way voices shouldn’t be.
“Who are you?” Yennefer demands. She keeps her voice low, though. “What did you do to my daughter?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he shakes his head, “She’s just sleeping. My name is Jaskier.”
Jaskier. So this is the mysterious Jaskier. Guilt twists Yennefer’s stomach, he does exist. “Why have I never met you before? Ciri’s been talking about you for years.”
Jaskier sighs silently. “She was alone and scared.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“She was alone and scared,” he repeats firmly, looking up at Yennefer with a steely glint in his pale eyes, “Just like I was. I couldn’t let her be that way, she was so little.” He looks down at Ciri again, gently tracing his fingers across Ciri’s hairline, “But she isn’t anymore, is she?”
For reasons she doesn’t understand, Yennefer kneels down, “No. She’s not.” By all rights she should be raging at this man, yelling at him for hiding from them, chewing him out for the way he’s treated Ciri all this time. But she doesn’t. All she feels is an overwhelming sadness.
Jaskier smiles slightly. Crickets chirp in the night, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance. The wind whistles softly in the trees, the leaves rustling quietly. There’s a sort of peace settled into the clearing.
“She’s not alone anymore,” Jaskier speaks again finally. “She’s not scared. She doesn’t need me anymore.”
“Are you leaving her?”
He shakes his head, “She’s leaving me. And that’s okay.”
Yennefer frowns softly, “Where will you go?”
“Nowhere. I’ve always been here.”
Yennefer doesn’t say a word, but she gets to her feet and settles down beside Jaskier, taking his hand in her own. He squeezes her fingers delicately in thanks. Together they sit in silence.
As the dawn breaks on the horizon, illuminating the sky with the soft light that comes with a new day. Yennefer sighs and turns to Jaskier only for her breath to catch in her throat.
A skull, bleached from years of sunlight, is turned to the sky. Tattered blue fabric hangs from broken ribs, the tip of a dagger buried in the tree the skeleton leans against. The blade would have been sunk into the meat of someone’s chest, the handle sticking out beneath the skeleton’s collarbone.
Yennefer mourns the life she never knew as she bundles Ciri into her arms, carrying her daughter from the clearing to leave Jaskier to his eternity amidst the flowers.