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Jaskier leaned against the exposed brick of Kaer Morhen, snow probably curling the ends of his hair and shivering slightly from where his clothes were torn by the chaos caused by the Deathless Mother.
What he was watching tempted him straight to a strong bottle and a seemingly endless binge. He was trying too hard these days, though. Sure, he had his vices, and he very much doubted he would ever be without. But he also had a much more thorough understanding of himself, his purpose in life, and what he was willing to die for.
For example, Jaskier understood watching Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri together turned his stomach because it looked like they were forming a nice, little neat family—one wherein he desperately wished he was in Yennefer's place.
Another example, his purpose in life was to be an artist. To take the world's, people's, and his own pain and turn it into beauty. His purpose, whoever he might have been, was to give the world art, and to use music to soothe the soul and heal deep wounds.
Lastly, as far as what he was willing to die for?
His art. Innocent people. Those hated and discriminated against just because of who they were.
And, Geralt, obviously. Jaskier realised that the first time he followed Geralt, barely surviving it, and decided to follow him again. And now…
Now there was another white-haired individual that Jaskier was willing to risk life and limb for. Sweet, little… grumpy, dangerous, dark and brooding Ciri. Like father, like daughter.
He realised that when he desperately crawled underneath the broken and breaking tables, Witchers wildly fighting the summoned basilisks, trying his damnest to get the "righting wrong" stone to Geralt. He had originally stormed in there, having searched for Geralt everywhere he could in the giant-arse castle of Kaer Morhen, to find all the Witchers squared off, prepared for battle against little Ciri. Or, rather, possessed-by-Volethe-Meir little Ciri. Jaskier had learned when it was best just to step aside and protect himself until the danger passed, so he did.
But… the only way to stop the chaos—the only acceptable way—was to save Ciri. To do that, Geralt apparently needed the stone. So, desperately crawling was the best Jaskier could do.
In the end, Geralt, and Yennefer, didn't need the stone or the potion Yennefer made. Geralt just needed to see the stone to know what it was, what it meant, and announce to everyone to stop feeling hatred. And apparently, Yennefer just needed the shards of the potion vial she had to slit her wrists and sacrifice herself.
To save Ciri, yes, and Jaskier would always be grateful to her for that. But also to gain back her powers, if how she healed the other Witchers were anything to go by.
By the gods, he hated her.
Geralt must have felt Jaskier's presence, after a fashion per usual—or just got annoyed enough that Jaskier hadn't gone away—and looked over.
Kaer Morhen was quiet now. There were no more basilisks, no more fighting, no more screaming and Witchers falling dead around them. Jaskier knew Geralt could hear him now.
"Don't mind me. I'm alive, by the way, by yet another strange miracle. Turns out yet again you didn't need me, but yes, I survived it, and yes, don't mind me, my darling Witcher. I just want to make sure you and Ciri are okay. You can go ahead and kick that witch over the edge there, though. Just a little shove, if you please."
They were too far away in the snowy darkness for Jaskier to know for sure, but he liked to think Geralt's shoulders moved in amusement. Just once, maybe a snort. The three of them continued to speak for another minute, but then Yennefer and Ciri were standing, Geralt following with his massive size and a protective hand hovering Ciri's back.
Yennefer left the other direction across the bridge.
Geralt and Ciri began making their way to him, carefully stepping over the debris there from the battle against the Deathless Mother.
Jaskier immediately moved to meet them halfway, doing the same with the added grace of not slipping on the ice, thank you.
"Darling Ciri, please, my brilliant young—and brilliantly scary, if you don't mind me saying—muse. Are you alright?" he called when they were close enough.
Ciri said something he couldn't hear, and Geralt's shoulders moved again. Jaskier figured he was being made fun of.
But then Geralt was saying loudly enough for him to hear, "I think a proper introduction is in order."
They finally met, right outside the hall where the battle took place.
"We met," Ciri said, sounding a little impatient and a lot exhausted.
By "met", Ciri meant the brush off she did when Jaskier extended his hand to her after he helped Geralt save her from Yennefer, then beginning to immediately watch her like a hawk as they travelled back to Kaer Morhen with Geralt's dwarf friends, sans Geralt. Of course, Jaskier failed in that duty, though he barely took his eyes off her. He failed to notice when she was apparently possessed. He just assumed her quiet nature was… well, her own quiet nature. Not some Deathless Mother trying to breach Kaer Morhen.
"Not officially," Geralt said. He stood between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Ciri, this is Jaskier. He is a very dear friend of mine.
"Jaskier, this is Ciri. My… my daughter."
Jaskier went to form the words 'Child Surprise' as Geralt said that, and it stopped him short.
So, Jaskier cleared his throat and offered his hand again. "It truly is an honour, darling Ciri."
She shook his hand wearily.
"An apology, I believe, is in order. I am deeply sorry and regretful that I did not notice when… when that thing possessed you. Had I seen or known—"
"You would have given your life," Geralt said with such aplomb and authority, Jaskier's knees felt weak.
"Yes," Jaskier agreed, staring right into Geralt's golden-yellow eyes.
"There is no need to apologise," Ciri spoke up, breaking the moment. Jaskier noticed she leaned a little into Geralt who still had a hand on both their shoulders. "I don't think anyone would have noticed. I don't blame you. Also, Geralt trusted you over his own… whoever she is, to get me back home, here. You did that.
"Geralt trusts you. I trust you."
Ciri stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Jaskier's waist. Jaskier sighed heavily and returned the embrace.
He whispered in her hair, knowing Geralt would hear along with her, "Geralt loves you. I love you."
She squeezed him hard before stepping back, grinning.
"Bed, I think," Geralt said, voice low in obvious discomfort.
Ciri nodded agreeably. "I know the way." She began to walk off but paused. "Jaskier?"
"Yes, love?"
"Please don't write any songs about me."
Jaskier beamed. "Oh, darling… I already have."
Ciri rolled her eyes expressively, cursing under her breath before she continued across the bridge and presumably toward her chambers.
Her exit left Jaskier and Geralt alone, in the dead silence on top of one of the highest parts of the Kaer Morhen as the snow kept falling.
Jaskier couldn't look at him.
Geralt had apologised , he reminded himself.
Jaskier knew Geralt breaking him out of the jailhouse was a type of apology, but Geralt also needed something. It wasn't selfless—it wasn't just for Jaskier. He needed information more than help, though, and that was where the apology was. Geralt apparently just wanted Jaskier with him, and Jaskier would always be there if Geralt wanted him.
Still, they fell right back into old habits, easy as anything. Because it was always strangely easy with Geralt.
"You forgive her, then?" he found himself asking.
Jaskier wanted Yennefer's head. When Geralt said for Jaskier to take Ciri because he was going to kill a monster—ie, Yennefer—Jaskier was still foolish enough to trust that. When they both showed up at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier attempted to try to go on a binge. Of course, Yennefer woke him to help her "right wrongs".
Story of his life, literally now. Yennefer does Geralt almost deadly wrong, and Jaskier is left to watch Geralt stumble over himself to forgive her—
"No," Geralt said definitively.
Jaskier blinked at him.
Geralt sighed. "I don't forgive Yennefer. She tried to sacrifice my… daughter, just to get her powers back. Just like you said."
"Then why is she alive!?" Jaskier burst.
"Ciri needs her. She was the only one to help Ciri control her powers."
Jaskier waved his arms in exasperation. "Others can!"
"Not like her."
Jaskier's voice died in his throat.
He looked away. It cut deep. After everything, Yennefer had an in with Geralt… always.
"Fine."
Jaskier turned to walk away, to go to his own chambers that were well away from everyone else—but Geralt grabbed his arm. "Jaskier."
Jaskier shoved him off. "I said fine. You and Yen go off and have your happy family. I'll just be here, yipping at your heels like a—"
" You are my family. So is Ciri."
Jaskier snorted. "Right."
"You're annoying, bard, but I can trust you. I do trust you. With my life, and with Ciri's. I'm using Yennefer."
"Right."
Geralt frowned. "You don't believe me."
"No," Jaskier agreed. "I don't know if it's what she did you to when the three of us met, or what you did to her after you both saved me, or… I don't know. But…"
Jaskier took a huge breath.
He loved Geralt, desperately, with everything he was, had, and could be. Geralt wouldn't feel the same, though, and Jaskier couldn't keep going as he had been. Not before the mountain.
"If I'm family, treat me like it."
Geralt stared. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay."