Archive of Our Own

     A dark veil of the night shrouded the quaint village of Kagen. Buildings’ windows gaped at the streets as silent, dark question marks. Raindrops dribbled against the roofs, playing a rhythmic, melancholic song. The only vibrant things in the quiet evening were the puddles of mud dancing in the pouring rain. But, alas, a drunker laugh from the nearby tavern disturbed the flawless performance of the rain’s music. A few surprised shrieks followed when the door burst open, a warm light spreading onto the street. A puddle glistened in the candlelight, the dancing droplets enjoying the spotlight. But soon, a dark shadow filled the doorframe, and then the pool of water spilt over the building’s frame as the body of a man hit the ground.

“And stay out of my inn, you crooked-nosed knave,” an innkeeper shouted, his looming figure preventing the light from seeping through.

A heavy object fell next to the man on the ground, its strings adding to the rain’s melody with their own tunes.

“Hey, watch the lute!” a bard shouted, scrambling from the mud to retrieve his treasured possession.

“I don’t want to see your face around my daughter, ever again, you cumberworld! Even better, I don’t want to see your face in my tavern altogether!”

“Well, can you at least give me my clothes back?!” the bard shouted, sitting in the puddle of mud, hugging his lute to his chest. His shirt was untucked from his trousers, and he had only one boot. Getting dressed wasn’t a priority just moments ago, after all. But now, with mud seeping through his trousers and rain damping his shirt, he’d give anything for a chance to shield himself. The innkeeper groaned in a hostile manner but threw the clothes, anyway. Soon after, a leather travelling bag flew out of the tavern, hitting the damp and muddy bard right in his head. One last item that flew out of the building was a leather case for Jaskier’s lute. Thankfully, it didn’t smack him too. Then the door closed shut, wrapping a wretched bard in the darkness. Jaskier heaved a sigh, reaching around to retrieve his possessions. Still on the ground, he heard a pair of footsteps approaching, accompanied by a sound of hooves. Jaskier grabbed his jacket and put it on, trying to gain a bit of decency in his unfortunate situation. He moved to his knees, trying to stand up when he heard a horse neighing above him.

“What?!” he snapped, intending to release his frustration on the traveller unfortunate enough to cross his path. “Can’t you see this puddle is taken?” he grumbled, trying to get up as graciously as possible in his current state. “Are you—” Jaskier’s words died in his throat when his eyes met with the tall figure clad in the black leather. Though his face was hidden under the hood, glowing yellow eyes still pierced through the shadow, staring at the bard without blinking.

“Jaskier,” a deep, raspy voice said his name.

Jaskier gulped, caught by surprise. He wanted to react with a witty retort, but no matter what he thought of, he knew the blow would be much lesser, given his current state. Plus, he couldn’t lie to his body, as the cold sweat broke out on his forehead and pretty much everywhere else.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” he settled for any kind of response, fighting with the pain in his chest and throat. “The inn is all yours.”

He swallowed, picked up his lute, and cursed when he noticed two strings didn’t survive the fall. Suddenly, he felt a sense of dizziness and had to steady himself before hastily retrieving his other belongings. All this time, Geralt was watching him in silence, his expression hidden under the hood. Standing by his side, Roach was sniffing curiously, her head bopping. Well, at least one of them is happy to see me, Jaskier thought. And maybe not. Maybe it’s her way of taunting me. That seemed like a more realistic option. Grabbing all his gear and setting for the travel, Jaskier stood up, facing Geralt. His heart squeezed, and he felt like he had lost all strength in his legs. Yet he knew he had to go on.

“Well,” he said, swallowing again, “I’m going. I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I’d be lying.” Then he turned and started walking, part of him waiting and hoping Geralt would say something. But the Witcher was silent, standing in the pouring rain like a marble statue. Jaskier hugged his lute tight, drawing strength from his only valued possession. Don’t look back, he thought to himself. He doesn’t need you, so why should you need him? You’re much better off without him. He repeated the affirmations in his head, something he used to do a lot after the incident with the dragons. And eventually, he believed it. That was, until now. With every step, Jaskier’s feet felt weaker, his stomach clenching, making him nauseous. The shower of raindrops still accompanying him, their music sending him out for his lonely journey. And as he made his way out of the village, he wasn’t sure anymore if it was rain or tears covering his face.

******

     A few hours later, as Jaskier was stumbling through thick swampy woods, he began to realise a mistake he had made.

“Why haven’t I tried my luck at Red Port? Or tried and sneaked in someone’s barn?” he sighed, pulling his cloak tighter to his chest. When he left Kagen, his feet carried him away from Geralt through muddy ground and drizzling rain. He walked without a destination, with the only thought in mind. Getting as far from Kagen as possible. And far from Geralt. It wasn’t until he was halfway from the town that he realised where he was going. Unfortunately, there weren’t many options to lay his head around here. The Red Port was a guarded fort, and they probably wouldn’t let him in only because he sang them nicely. And Breza, well, that village had a terrible reputation. Jaskier hadn’t had many possessions left, yet he’d like to still have them in the morning. Besides, he was already at the foot of the forest, so the only reasonable option was to walk through it to the nearest town.

“At least I’m shielded from the rain,” he lamented, continuing his journey. Riedbrune was about a two-day walk through the swampy forest. Not the ideal trip, but it was better than taking the long road around and getting soaked to the bone. But walking in the bog during the night wasn’t the brightest idea. Even Jaskier knew that.

“Guess I’m camping here,” he sighed, looking around to find a dry spot to settle. At that moment, a cackle of a bird sounded throughout the woods, too close for Jaskier’s liking.

“What the fuck was that?” he startled, scanning the surrounding hastily, trying to find the sound source. “Fucking great,” he shook his head, making a few more steps forward, now with more caution. “I’m going to be eaten by a monster, or I’m gonna catch pneumonia.” He sneezed to underline his thoughts, causing another bird to startle and flee. “Sorry, little fellow,” he smirked, looking around again. A quick idea of going back to Kagen crossed his mind, but he dismissed it right away. He had walked long enough to put a significant distance between himself and the tavern. And the wine he drank earlier tonight has started to leave his system, leaving him tired and his head aching. Plus, there was a big, white-haired situation there, he’d rather not involve himself in.

Finally, finding a relatively dry, semi-comfortable spot by a large tree, Jaskier put down his lute and travel bag. Then he turned around and began to pick up wooden sticks for the fire.

“You can do this, Jask,” he tried to keep his spirits up while working. “You’ve camped in the woods a few times. Even by yourself.” Memories of that time flood his mind, reminding him of the real picture. “Well, okay. You camped in the woods exactly once by yourself. And even then, that didn’t turn out well.” He continued to talk, the sound of his own voice making him feel less alone. “You packed your things in the middle of the night and ran towards the nearest town cause you’ve got startled by an owl.” Jaskier sighed, bending to pick another stick from the ground. “But it was a big fucking owl. Anyone who’d seen it would run too.” By this point, he had an armful of wood and decided it was time to make a fire. Kneeling down next to the tree trunk, he spread the sticks to make a small fireplace and took two bigger stones.

“Point is,” he continued, as he struck the stones together, “I’m a strong, independent bard. And I don’t need no monster hunter to judge me and my decisions.”

Jaskier tried to believe his words. But he also saw his hands trembling and heard his voice shaking. Void of imminent distractions, he realised just how cold he was. He could hardly feel his fingers anymore, his whole body shivering under the soaked cloak. “Come on. Just a little fire. Please,” he begged. When a spark formed at Jaskier’s plea, his heart jumped. “Ha! See, I don’t need you, Geralt of fucking Rivia!” he shouted into the night, satisfied with his survival skills. In response, an owl hooted, disturbed by the bard. Jaskier thrust his chest out, raising his chin higher, proud of his skills. But then the wooden stick hissed, and a thin line of smoke came out. The fire was no longer seen. “Oh, come on!” he whined, throwing the stones away. His shoulders slumped, and his head lowered, feeling his heart shrinking. He could hear Geralt’s voice in his head, knowing what he would say to him right now. ‘This is what you get for putting your sausage in the wrong pantry again.’ And then he would bitch about Jaskier being useless and an annoyance to him.

“Oh, I show him,” Jaskier pouted, crossing his arms at his chest. “I’m not going back. Not gonna show me in that village ever again. Not gonna show him, he is right,” the last words he barely whispered.

The affirmations he tried to persuade himself with worked only halfway. Because the numbness of his fingertips and the shivering of his body brought him back to reality. Jaskier sniffed and wrapped the cloak tighter around himself, looking at the silhouettes of his stuff.

“Well, I guess I have no other choice, have I?” he shrugged and sat down against the tree, pulling his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. But soon, he found himself jumping at the tiniest wilderness sounds; leaves rustling, birds chirping, wolves howling. Soon Jaskier wasn’t sure whether he was shivering from the cold or the fear. Still, eventually, his eyelids shut, and Jaskier drifted into a restless sleep.

******

     The morning sun tickled Jaskier’s eyelids, waking him up to a cloudless, sunlit day. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, stretching his limbs to get rid of the overnight stiffness.

“Ah, yes. A new day, a new start,” he sighed, sunbathing in the light, peeking through the tree’s branches. He looked around, the woods giving a less sinister impression in the light of day. In fact, they looked almost inviting, minus the swampy terrain and the need to watch every step. Thus, as the sun was rising, so was Jaskier’s confidence. What are two days of walking towards the nearest town, right? That’ll pass in a blink of an eye.

Jaskier took a deep breath, deciding to become the confident, adventurous bard he fancied himself to be. “You’re right, Jask,” he encouraged himself. “You don’t need no Witcher to be your bodyguard. Your life was just fine without him. You can do it again, on your own. Now,” he stopped, his eyes travelling to the bag on the ground, “some breakfast would be nice.”

Jaskier frowned, trying to recall if he had anything worth eating in the bag. He took it and started to unpack; a spare shirt, covered in mud, a small pouch with some extra coin. “That could be useful,” he said, weighing the pouch in his hands. As he rummaged through the bag, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that food would really come in handy right now.

“I know, I know,” he said, turning the bag upside down and shaking it. Few loose items fell out. A small pocket knife that was probably as sharp as a stone lying on the bottom of the lake for a decade. A few more clothes, which could do with a wash. And a box with a spare set of strings.

“Well, at least there is a bright side to this,” Jaskier smiled. Getting his lute restrung in town would cost too much. This way, he could do it himself.

Yet still, Jaskier has found no food. He looked at the pitiful handful of his belongings, everything wet and dirty. In one last desperate attempt, he grabbed the bag again and reached into it, hoping to find something, anything, digestible. His stomach growled again, this time louder. As he was about to take his hand out, his fingers rubbed against something solid. He frowned and closed his hand around the mysterious object hiding in his bag. It was damp and soft, and as he squeezed it, though solid, he felt the residual rainwater seep into his hand. It was stuck to the bottom of the bag. That’s why it didn’t fall out before. Jaskier took it out, and his eyes lit up when he saw a piece of bread. A small, damp, and slightly mouldy bread. That was on the bottom of his bag for who knows how long. But it was food, and at this moment, Jaskier was sure he would eat worms if he saw any. He jammed the bread in his mouth and chewed, trying not to think about how it tasted like a mildewy sponge. He gagged as he swallowed but willed himself to keep the food down. After all, he wasn’t sure when the next meal would arrive. His stomach growled once again, demanding more sustenance. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his belly, “that’s all you get for now.”

All of a sudden, the prospect of a two-day walk to the nearest town wasn’t so charming. But Jaskier convinced himself that it was still better than anything he left behind. So he packed up his things, picked up his useless lute, and started walking towards the nearest town.

******

“Better stay out of sight

I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting

If this is the path I must trudge

I’ll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance

Garroter, jury, and judge.”

Jaskier sang his heart out as he strode through the forest, the words stinging profoundly in his heart. He was working on a new piece amid his trip, as the journey was long and quite dull. But his mind kept coming back to this one song he never truly finished.

The tune was great. It was catchy, and Jaskier knew it would be an instant hit if he performed it. But unfortunately, that was his stumbling block. Jaskier never gathered the courage to sing it for anyone but an empty room. So instead, he sang it under his breath during long and lonely restless nights. And even then, he didn’t do it often. The song brought up too many memories. And if he couldn’t handle singing it to himself, he knew it would leave a foul taste in his mouth if he sang it publicly. Plus, Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure he could perform it without breaking down. Even now, though trying to look cold-eyed, the emotions of seeing Geralt again swirled in him widely. He never thought he’d see the Witcher again. After all, the Continent was big enough for both of them. Or so Jaskier thought. He definitely hadn’t expected to meet him yesterday. All mounting above him, as silent and emotionless as ever.

“What were you thinking, Jask?” he laughed at his past self, shaking his head. “You know Witchers don’t feel shit. And there you were expecting… no, not expecting. Hoping…” he sighed, stopping in his tracks. There was a fork in the path in front of him, making him hesitate. Jaskier adjusted the bag and lute over his shoulders, looking at both tracks.

“Hmm,” he hummed, furrowing his eyebrows. He put aside the thoughts about the Witcher briefly, as there was a decision to make. Jaskier looked around, hoping to find a fellow traveller to ask about the path, but none were in sight.

“Oh, fuck it,” he said after a moment and started the path on the left. I’m bound to arrive somewhere, aren’t I?

******

     Half a day has passed, and the path Jaskier chose led him to a thinner, drier forest area. The sun was seeping through the trees, and Jaskier’s mood was lifting. He was sure this must be the path to Riedbrune. Sun was on his back, warmly accompanying his every step. A soft breeze was playing with his hair, blowing it to his face from time to time. Jaskier’s hair was longer than the last time he and Geralt journeyed together. Although he had to admit, he had paid little attention to his looks after they parted. At first, he simply didn’t care. And later on, well, he discovered ladies tend to flock to the gruff-looking guy more. He probably should have picked up on that sooner, considering how long he has travelled with Geralt.

Jaskier shook his head, trying to get rid of the intruding thoughts of the Witcher. No matter how hard he tried, they kept coming back like a nasty itching in the trousers. To occupy his mind, he started singing again. But even then, all the songs reemerging from his mind were those he wrote about Geralt. He sighed, rounding his shoulders as he walked. It was true the songs about Geralt were more popular. They even earned him much more than the usual ones ever did. Definitely more than just bread in his pants. But singing them after that day on the mountain was always quite painful. The songs reminded him of what once was and will never be again. No, Jaskier decided after that day. He will not get vulnerable like that ever again. Not only Witchers can get rid of all the emotions. He can do it too. Or at least bottle them up and put them on the highest shelf, never to deal with them again.

“Bollocks! You’re doing it again, Jask,” he sighed, rubbing his elbows as he walked. “Stop thinking about him. He’s surely not thinking about you, either.”

He kept walking, kicking a small stone in front of him to pass the time. “Big white wolf,” he said mockingly. “I’m sure he’s somewhere right now, killing another vicious monster. He doesn’t have time to burden his mind with your unimportance, does he? There are far, far better things for him in the world than you and your lute. You were just an annoyance to him. Honestly, I’m surprised he endured me for so long. Could have ditched me anytime. Probably should have. He would have spared himself the nuisance.” He wrapped his arms around himself, his head down.

“And I would spare myself the heartbreak.” The last words were a ghost on Jaskier’s lips as he kicked the stone with more force, sending it flying away. When he heard the soft plop, he stopped in his tracks, looking up. In front of him was a middle-sized, half overgrown lake, its water glistening in the afternoon’s sun. It seemed almost surreal. Simply because it wasn’t filled with gross swampy water. It wasn’t crystal clear either, but it seemed good enough. Good enough for a bit of a swim. A thought sparked in Jaskier’s mind. The more he watched the water, the more his mind started spinning with ideas. Everything was covered in dried up mud; his clothes, face, even in the crooks of his body. Jaskier pictured himself floating on the water’s surface, the sun caressing his face, the fresh breeze prickling his skin.

“And why the fuck not?” he exclaimed, straightening himself up. “I deserve nice things from time to time.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he stripped down and ran into the water, diving headfirst into the exhilarating surprise. The water was colder than he expected, making him take a sharp breath in, his lungs contracting. But soon, his body got used to the temperature, allowing him to relax. He swam to the middle of the lake, noticing a few beams floating around. A lot of vegetation grew on the lake, mostly alongside its edges. It could have been worse, though, he thought to himself, considering the rest of the forest. And so Jaskier closed his eyes and turned on his back to float on the surface. A thought of his muddy clothes laying on the bank crossed his mind, but he decided it was the problem for later. Right now, he wanted to let the water stir him away and enjoy the quiet and warmth of a sunny early autumn day. And so he did, letting the water wash out both the stiffness of his bones and his gloomy thoughts.

Jaskier didn’t know how long he was floating in the water, focusing only on the warmth of the sun on his eyelids. He was in a sweet, relaxed limbo, his only wish to only have something to keep him afloat, so he could take a nap. So when he heard a twig break, he didn’t react right away. Still between the sweet oblivion and reality, his mind has thought nothing of it. Only when the sound repeated itself, Jaskier’s ears perked up, and he opened his eyes. He rolled so his body was fully submerged, only his head peaking out. And as he was treading water, he heard a sniff and a continuous stomp. It took him a moment to orient himself, turning a few times to follow the sounds. Then, when his eyes laid on the small doe by the bank, Jaskier relaxed immediately. Oh, I can deal with a doe, he thought. The relaxed state of his mind hadn’t lasted long, though, as he realised the doe was very much interested in the contents of his bag. She was sniffing at it and pushing it with her hooves, trying to pry it open.

“Oi! Leave it alone”, Jaskier called out, trying to get the doe’s attention. She looked up, but apparently, a floating head wasn’t much of a threat to her. She shook her head, snorting, and returned to examine the bag.

“I have nothing of interest in there,” Jaskier huffed out as he was swimming towards the bank as fast as he could. “The only mouldy bread I’ve already eaten,” he shouted in between the breaths, trying to reason with the animal. He was almost at the bank, confident that soon he’ll spook the animal away, when a huge stag jumped out of the bushes, startling a small doe.

“Oh shit,” Jaskier gasped, halting in place. The stag, also interested in a bag, started to sniff it. Its majestic antlers loomed over it as if saying: ‘Danger! Do not approach!’ And Jaskier wasn’t so confident anymore.

“Oh, well,” he laughed nervously. “I mean, it’s mostly just spare clothes, anyway. I suppose you can have it.” He kept in his place, treading water and trying to make himself not visible. The deer looked towards him, following the sound of his voice, but, same as the doe, he found him nonthreatening. So he returned his attention to the bag, taking it in his mouth. Then, as quickly as he swept in, he jumped back into the bushes and strode off.

“Fuck!” Jaskier sighed, clenching his jaw, his teeth gritting. “Well, at least they kept the lute,” he grumbled, making his way towards the bank. He was already recounting how much restringing would cost him when he realised something else was missing.

“Where the fuck are my clothes?!” he squeaked, mortified, reaching the bank and getting out of the water. His face flushed red as he combed the bank clumsily, silently praying to find any piece of clothing.

“It must be somewhere here,” he murmured as he scanned the surroundings, buck naked in the afternoon sun.

“Come on, be here.” he paced around, his chest tingling from shaky and shallow breaths. His gaze darted from side to side as the thoughts of walking the rest of the journey naked whirled in his mind.

“Come on, come on, come on.” He pleaded, feeling his chest tightening. When his eyes fell onto the water again, he noticed a white cloth swelling upon the surface, where the tufts of greenery muddied the water. Jaskier hurried closer, and when he recognized his shirt, tangled in the foliage, it felt like an enormous boulder fell off his chest. He searched through the flora thoroughly, and, to his relief, he found all the original clothing pieces. Everything was a bit less muddy since it was sunk in the water. But now, the clothes were soggy and weirdly slimy. Jaskier opened his mouth to say something but closed them again, as there was nothing he could have done about it, anyway. So he simply gathered his clothes and brought them back to his lute. It was only now, when his mind was not racing with the thoughts of walking bare-ass through the woods, that Jaskier noticed a stingy feeling on his shoulder. He frowned and looked down, capturing a dark streak from the corner of his eyes. All the hair on his arms lifted, and he froze for a moment, not wanting to look down and confirm his suspicions. Then, with a gulp, he reached towards the blot, and just as his fingers touched the slimy creature, he saw another on his forearm. The realisation dawned on him.

“No,” Jaskier whimpered, recognizing the leeches sucking onto his arms. He swatted them away, sighing in relief. A dreadful thought crossed his mind right after, and he looked down at his body, freezing in terror. His worst nightmare came true when he realised those two weren’t the only leeches stuck to him. He had more on his chest, his belly, even on his thighs and calves. And by the feeling of slight tingling, he could tell some were on his ass too, maybe even on his lower back. But the worst of all, the fattest leach was stuck right to the only thing Jaskier valued more than his lute. He squirmed and whined as he took off the moochers, one by one. His stomach heaved during the procedure, and Jaskier was sure that he would throw up if it was fuller. A sour tang left in his mouth even when almost all of them were gone. He shuddered, still feeling the prickling sensation on his skin, even when he was sure the slimy creatures hadn’t covered him anymore. In the end, only one remained. Jaskier squealed as he grabbed the fattest leech off of his treasure and pulled it away, crying in over-exaggerated pain. Then, still, with quite a whimpering a murmuring, he put on his wet clothes and picked up his lute.

“Fucking lake,” he muttered as he hobbled away, adjusting his damp trousers. He belittled himself for being tricked by the wilderness’s beauty as he walked, his mood dampening again. “You honestly should have known better,” he said to himself, making a squishy sound with every step he made. It wasn’t long and the current events overshadowed the memories of the refreshing swim.

Jaskier walked with his head low, slumped by the weight of his lute and wet clothes. Soon his stomach rumbled again, reminding him of his inefficient nutrients. He sighed, clutching at his stomach as if that would help ease it. Oh, how he wished he would have known how to fish. Or even hunt. Maybe he was counting on Geralt way too much in this department. Not that he was ever going to admit it aloud.

“It’s okay,” he said to himself, trying to encourage his steps. “Tomorrow evening, I’ll be in the town, cosied up by the fire, with wine in hand.” He closed his eyes and pictured it, feeling the warm flames washing over his face. But the reality hit him hard as he stumbled on the uneven ground, falling face down into the dirt. The neck of his lute hit him in the head as he landed. His stinging palms informed him he scraped them as he tried to prevent himself from worse injuries.

“Fuck!” Jaskier mumbled, choking on the dirt and leaves. “Can you give me a fucking break?!” he shouted at the forest, sitting on the ground and rubbing the back of his head. He looked over at his palms, feeling them pricking and pulsing with the fresh sensation of pain.

“Fucking shit,” Jaskier cursed, feeling the tears pushing into his eyes. How did he get here, anyway? Was he really that proud that he would instead drag himself through the horror of wilderness than face his emotions? He shuddered when he thought about Geralt, his heart clenching. “No,” Jaskier shook his head, wiping away the forming tears. “Not gonna go through that again.” Having his heart ripped out and stomped upon once was enough for a lifetime. So he stood up, straightening his damp clothes, taking a deep, steadying breath, and started his journey again.

Jaskier walked, trying to ignore the grumbling stomach and a small stone in his left boot. It was sticking to his heel every time he put his weight on it, making him grind his teeth in annoyance. But every time he stopped and tried to shake it off, it helped only for a moment. Then the stone appeared again, in a different place. But it was always there, always accompanying his steps. A thought about enchanted stones crossed his mind, but he dismissed it, deciding it was just his dumb luck. So he kept going, trying to steer his thoughts away from the unfortunate events that got him there. Not that hard, given that his stomach kept making more aggressive sounds, demanding attention. To Jaskier’s surprise, he felt nauseous, even though he had hardly eaten anything today. He tried to silence the thoughts of food but soon realised it was one or the other; the food or the Witcher. He simply didn’t have enough willpower to quiet his brain completely. And so he pressed on, focusing his mind on his growling stomach and the persistent stone in his boot.

******

     Jaskier’s strength was waning, a problem caused by an empty stomach and a bleak mood. More often now, he debated whether he should lie down on the ground and take a nap. After all, everything seems always better in the morning. It could help me clear my mind. He thought. Maybe I would even gain some energy. Another, less persistent thought crept into the back of his mind, telling him it was a bad idea. But the ground seemed so inviting. And the rustling leaves and occasional tweeting birds created such calming sounds.

“Only for a few minutes,” Jaskier said, already cutting through tall grass to find a suitable place for a nap. “And maybe,” he yawned, “when I wake up, I won’t feel hungry anymore.”

The fleeting thoughts of earning money for food and clothes when he’d reach the town came and went through his mind. With broken strings, he won’t be able to sing his way to accommodation… or at least a few pieces of bread.

“That’s a problem for tomorrow,” he decided, his eyes scanning for a suitable resting place. Soon he stumbled upon a small clearing with beat-up flower bedding near the tree.

“Oh well. I probably won’t find a better place, anyway.” Jaskier said to himself, yawning once again.

He was too tired to go on, barely dragging his feet. So he sat down against the tree and took off his left boot, shaking off the persistent stone. He threw the boot next to him and closed his eyelids, resting his head against the tree. Right after, his stomach rumbled with the ferocity he had never heard before. Jaskier startled, opening his eyes and scanning the surrounding. It took him way too long for his liking to realise the sound was coming from his own body. Then, a moment later, his stomach growled again, announcing his presence to all inhabitants of the forest.

“You’re not gonna let me fall asleep, are you?” he sighed, rubbing his belly.

A high-pitched howl sounded somewhere in the distance, sending shivers down Jaskier’s spine. He froze, looking around with caution. His stomach growled, as if responding to the howling.

“Shut up,” Jaskier whined, hugging his stomach as if that could help to silence it. “Okay, it’s okay,” he tried to calm himself down, feeling his heartbeat fastening. “It was way too far away. You’re safe, Jask.” He tried to convince himself, but the tightening in his chest strengthened.

“I gotta keep going,” he decided, willing himself to stand up. But his body refused to listen without an intake of energy. He tried to will his feet to move, but they refused, making him feel numb and heavy. He looked around, desperate for anything to help him gain the energy. Finally, his eyes fell on the bright yellow flowers next to him, and he exhaled deeply.

“If it’s good for the rabbits,” he gave a half-hearted shrug and snatched a handful of them. He stuffed them in his mouth, a sour taste spreading through right after. Coughing and heaving, Jaskier spit the flowers out, trying to clear his tongue from the horrid taste.

“Argh, what the…” he retched, spitting on the ground. His throat convulsed, trying to get rid of the few persistent pieces stuck in his digestive system.

“That’s so gross,” he cried out, his vision blurring with another set of tears. “For fuck’s sake. Just give me a fucking break!” he shouted to the wilderness, pulling his knees to his chest. He bowed his head and shut his eyes, willing to be somewhere else but here.

“You can do this, Jask,” he started to encourage himself after a moment. “You don’t have any other choice. This is a forest, for fuck’s sake. You’re bound to find some food somewhere.”

It took him a little while longer, but eventually, he gathered enough energy to stand up and walk back towards the path.

He crisscrossed the forest paths, no longer considering keeping in the town’s direction. His need for food was growing stronger, the sounds of his gurgling stomach reminding him of that. The cramps replaced the nauseating feeling, and Jaskier started to fear his stomach was going to digest itself. “Fuck,” he sighed, stumbling through the uneven ground between the trees. “And to think this day started so wonderfully.”

He recollected a pleasant stroll through the sunny trees and a refreshing swim in the lake. It seemed like a decade ago now. But, of course, his memories soon turned sour as the later events crept back into his mind. Jaskier’s hand subconsciously travelled to his groin, and he whimpered at the thought of those nasty hungry leeches. He shuddered, murmuring under his breath: “At least someone had a massive feast today.”

The moment he said it, his foot got stuck into a protruding root, and the second time today, Jaskier fell down, face to the dirt.

“I fucking give up,” he said, sitting on the ground, his limbs loose by his side, his head hanging. But he knew he couldn’t. If he didn’t want to perish in these woods, he had to go on. And so he pulled himself to his knees, trying to pick himself and his dignity up. But the moment he tried to straighten himself, a sharp pain struck in his right knee. “Ow, what the…” he cried, grabbing his knee in instinct. “Fucking great,” Jaskier whimpered, realising something must have moved in his leg as he fell down. He stood up and started rubbing and flexing his knee with the utmost caution. The action helped, and he felt his muscles relaxing, the joints of his leg easing back into their places. He heaved a sigh of relief, picturing what could have happened if he broke a leg in the forest’s solitude. The thought sent shivers down his spine, and he trembled as he remembered the howl from earlier.

“Don’t worry, Jaskier,” he reassured himself, still rubbing his knee. “You’re not going to die alone in the forest.” His stomach growled in response. “Oh well, on the other note….”

He wondered how long a man could go without food. Another thought immediately followed; that Geralt would probably know such trivia. As he tried to step on his leg, Jaskier huffed and whimpered, belittling himself.

“Can you stop thinking about him for three seconds? I’m sure he is not thinking about you, either. Quite frankly, he’s probably long gone, slaying some ugly monster for coin. Cause that’s all he cares about, anyway. His precious coin.”

As he stepped on his leg experimentally, he felt his knee hurting a bit, but not as much that he couldn’t walk. He sighed with relief and looked up, deciding where to go now. As he scanned the location, his eyes landed on the green bush. He froze in his steps, not believing his eyes. The bush was seeded with small bright red berries, their shapes glistening in the sun like manna brought down from heaven. Jaskier’s first thought was to run to it right away, but he stopped at the last second, remembering his knee. So instead, he chose slow, careful steps, never leaving his eyes from the unexpected shrubbery, in case it was all a figment of his imagination.

“Please, be real, please, be real, please, be real,” Jaskier repeated the words as a prayer as he approached the plant. The berries looked tastier and bigger, an ethereal glow surrounding them with every step. To be fair, the glow was probably a figment of Jaskier’s desperate and food craved imagination. But when he touched the leaves, and the plant hadn’t disappeared, Jaskier felt his breath catching in his throat as he squeaked joyfully. He quickly harvested a handful of berries, admiring them with a yearning expression. Moving his palm to his mouth, he stopped right before throwing them all in. What if they’re poisonous? A thought crossed his mind. He pulled his hand away and looked around the forest, waiting for a moment. He listened closely to any sound, but when nothing unfamiliar came, he returned to gaze at the food in his hand.

“Well, I guess if no one showed up to stop me, how bad of a decision this could be?” Jaskier said, watching the berries in his hand again. His mouth watered in expectation, saliva over-producing in it.

“I’d rather die by poison than hunger anyway,” he shrugged and threw a handful of berries in his mouth. They were sweet and juicy, and they tasted better than any roasted meat Jaskier has ever had. He swallowed them with a pleased moan, already picking up another handful. A few minutes later, the bush was all but stripped of the small red balls that once adorned it. Jaskier sighed happily, content for the time being. “That should secure me for a few hours.”

And then, in a much better mood, he decided to get back on track.

******

     The sun was setting down, the afternoon coming to a close. Jaskier knew he had lost a lot of time, and he had barely made progress on his journey. And he knew that if he didn’t want to spend the night without fire again, he needed to pick up some wood. Today was a dry and sunny day, so the wood should be able to catch fire. At least he hoped so.

He stepped down from the path to look for suitable sticks when something stopped him in his tracks. His stomach roared. Jaskier frowned, rubbing his belly automatically. He knew the berries weren’t the richest food, but he was sure it would tie him over, at least until the evening. He definitely shouldn’t be getting this hungry so soon. The growling sounded again, and he felt his guts bubbling. Jaskier froze, realising the difference in the sounds and feelings. “Oh no,” he gulped, clutching his stomach. Suddenly, a flash of heat and dizziness washed over him as his stomach twisted and turned in the most unpleasant ways.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he repeated, desperately trying to think of what to do. His stomach rumbled, sharp cramps making Jaskier bend down in pain. “Come on, really?” he whined as his insides twisted. He barely had time to find a semi-private bush in case another wandered crossed his path. And with his luck, he was sure someone would show up. Jaskier’s insides turned one more time, making an unpleasant roaring sound that would spook even the scariest monster. And then he pulled down his trousers just in time for the contents of his insides to spill down on the ground in a watery mess.

******

     After the embarrassing accident, bearable only by the thought that no one witnessed it, Jaskier picked up the wood for the fire. He made sure to stray as far from the soiled bush as possible before even starting to look for suitable wood. After all, he didn’t need reminders of his most recent misfortune.

Jaskier already had a respectable pile of wood at his makeshift campsite, but decided to grab some more. If he wanted it to burn through the night, he had to have enough. So he set out to look for more, and as he walked, he tried to ignore the itching on his bottom. “What kind of bush was that?” Jaskier mumbled as he scratched his ass, adjusting his trousers. Not paying attention to the type of leaves he used to clean himself, he now started to suspect he had chosen something poisonous.

Jaskier continued to make his way through the forest grumpily, and soon he stumbled upon a slope leading towards a hollow full of dried leaves. Thinking the leaves would be good fire starters, he decided to pick up some. So he started the decline, making his way towards the pile. As he was ascending a tilted ground, he heard a whimpering sound. Knowing it didn’t come from his own throat, he stopped in his tracks, perking his ears. It was quiet for a long moment, and Jaskier started to think he imagined the sound. But then he heard it again, a small whimpering voice, almost like a soft howl. Jaskier looked around, his eyes settling on the pile of leaves by the huge crooked tree. Its roots stuck from the ground, making it hard to walk around without stumbling. The movement was almost unperceivable, but he could see the pile of leaves moving if he looked close enough. Not just moving, it looked like it was breathing.

“Uh, hello?” Jaskier called out, unsure if the berries were giving him hallucinations on top of diarrhoea. A small whimpering bark came in as a response, coming from the pile of leaves.

“Okay. The last time I checked, the leaves didn’t bark.” Jaskier frowned, “Or moved.”

He took in a deep breath to gain courage, and with a beating heart, he approached the pile of leaves. When he was close enough, the leaves fluttered and fell off, a fuzzy grey head of a wolf cub appeared from underneath it. The cub cried out, noticing Jaskier. Its pupils dilated with fear, and it started to waggle. But as soon as it did, it howled in pain, stopping his movements and whimpering.

“Hey, don’t worry, little one,” Jaskier said in a cooing voice, trying to assess the situation. It seemed like the cub was trapped somehow. But the leaves covered too much of its body for Jaskier to see where the problem was. He had to come closer if he wanted to help the animal.

“Where’s your momma?” he asked, keeping his voice low and levelled, his movements slow and nonthreatening. The cub whimpered, watching him with a mix of cautiousness and fear.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you, little one. You know, I have some experience with wolves. Usually, they are pretty grumpy and ungrateful. But you’re too young to be sour about this world, aren’t you?”

He reached the animal and knelt down, moving his hands towards it. The cub whimpered and snapped at him, making Jaskier recoil. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? I’m here to help you. One of us deserves to have a better ending to this day.”

Jaskier didn’t know if it was the sound of his voice or something else, but the cub seemed calmer. Still whimpering, but less restless.

“Okay, easy there, easy,” he said as he reached over again, swatting away the leaves and moss. The action revealed what he was suspecting. The cub’s hind leg was caught between two roots, twisted at an unnatural and uncomfortable angle.

“Alright, don’t worry, wolfie. I’m gonna get you out.” He said in a soothing tone. “But you gotta promise me something. You won’t bite me, alright?” Jaskier slowly reached towards the cub’s leg. The animal snapped again but directed it at the air, not towards Jaskier’s hands.

“It’s okay, little one. If I know anything about wolves, it’s that they are full of spite, but they don’t bite. Unless you are a monster, I suppose. Which you aren’t, are you? You are just a helpless little wolf trapped in the wilderness. But, hey, it looks like we have something in common, don’t we?” he continued to talk as he reached towards the roots and tried to move them. They were too stiff to move, though, so Jaskier decided to try it from the other side. The dirt under the leaves was soft, and it was possible to dig into it and make space for the cub to free itself. He started digging with his fingers, continuing to speak to the little wolf to calm him down.

“Actually, there’s one more thing about wolves,” he said while digging. “They never ask for help, do they? Cause they are too proud to ask. No, of course not. They are big moody loners, and they don’t need anyone to keep them company.”

As the dirt disappeared from underneath the cub, Jaskier noticed its leg was clenched between two roots, one of them hidden until now. Fortunately, the bottom root was thinner and softer than the upper one, and Jaskier was sure he’d be able to crack it with a bit of effort.

“Okay, here comes the hard part. I need you to be very still now, little one,” he said. But the wolf, sensing the potential danger, started to wiggle, trying to get out of the wooden grasp.

“Now, now,” Jaskier shushed him, trying to calm him down as best as he could. He didn’t want to touch the cub much, in case he’d find his mother, but she wouldn’t take him back because of Jaskier’s smell lingering on him. In a desperate attempt to think about other ways to calm the cub, Jaskier started to sing. If the sound of his voice was soothing him, then singing should work as well, he thought. And as he sang, he reached towards the bottom root and tried to free the cub from its captivity. The small wolf was still whimpering, but he stopped wiggling, watching Jaskier’s hands patiently. When the roots budged enough for him to free himself, he crawled out of the pile of leaves and lept to its feet, stumbling back to the ground. He stood up again, carefully stepping on its previously trapped leg.

“Yeah. Been there, done that,” Jaskier said, watching the cub try to step on its leg. The limb didn’t seem broken, though maybe a bit sore.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Jaskier said, looking around the woods. “But it would be probably best to find your mother.”

A deep, low growl sounded just above his head as soon as he said that.

Jaskier froze, gulping dryly. He hasn’t met many wolves in his life, but he met a lot of angry parents. And this sounded exactly like an angry parent. He turned around as slowly as he could, hardly breathing to not provoke the mother wolf. As his eyes set on her, a small squeak escaped his lips, his breath hitching in his throat. The colour left his face as he watched a massive grey wolf towering over him, just a few feet away. Without warning, she leapt towards him, and at that moment, Jaskier’s whole life flashed in front of his eyes. He shut his eyes and waited for death, praying it would be as painless as possible. When he heard a soft thud of paws on the ground and hadn’t felt the bone-crushing weight on him, he frowned. Peaking with one eye, he looked in front of him, but no wolf was in sight. Jaskier turned slowly, still kneeling on the ground. The wolf mother was now at the side of her cub, licking him passionately. The cub was squeaking in delight, happy to reconnect with his mother.

“Oh, well. I guess we’re all happy now, are we not?” Jaskier said, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. The wolf looked towards him, a snarly expression returning to her face.

“Oi,” Jaskier gaped. “I helped your kid. Why would you want to eat me?” he whimpered, trying to back up, but running into the roots of the tree.

“Oh, shit,” Jaskier sighed, feeling his heart beating out of his chest. The wolf grinned at him, the low growling sounding again. She stepped closer to him with agonizingly slow movements. Jaskier’s mind raced, thinking over his possibilities. If he runs, the wolf will get him. If he stays, she’ll eat him, anyway. Not knowing what to do, Jaskier shut his eyes again, pushing out the tears that formed in them. He started praying again, wishing the wolves would just leave him alone. The slow, torturous ruffling of the leaves rang in his ears, reminding him the wolf was very much there and getting closer. So this is how I’m going to die. A thought flashed through his mind. Bested by the wilderness, after all. Just because I was too proud to stay in the same town as Geralt. Well, and because I slept with someone’s daughter. Another less dark thought appeared, filling him with a weird sense of relief. At least I didn’t die from the poisonous berries… Or with my pants down my ankles. Jaskier wondered whether people would learn about his demise. Or whether someone will sing songs about him. He doubted that. After all, he wasn’t the famous monster killer who saved the villagers from perilous threats. No, he was just a simple bard who couldn’t survive in the wilderness for a day.

Jaskier felt the wolf’s breath on his face, and he shut his eyes even tighter, sucking in his own breath. Maybe if he plays dead, he’ll fool the wolf. Pretty sure that only works for bears, his brain corrected him, taking away the last straw of hope he could cling to. And so he waited for the wolf’s teeth to sink into his throat, ripping it out. He pictured his warm blood spilling out, leaving him gasping for air in the leaves and dirt. The wolf’s breath burned against his skin like fire, and Jaskier’s heart beat so fast he thought it would give out.

“Hey!” a voice called out from the side, taking Jaskier by surprise. “Why don’t you take on someone your size?”

Jaskier half thought he imaged it, the other half thinking he had already died, and this was an afterlife. But then he heard the growling of the wolf directed elsewhere; then, a massive thud and two bodies hitting the ground. The wolf whimpered. A cub barked at the intruder and growled in a less threatening manner than his mother. A ringing sound of a sword being pulled out of its sheath. Then a much louder bleat. Another growl, sounding more defeated than angry, and the sounds of paws running away in a hurry. Jaskier allowed his chest to breathe out, a shaky and raspy sigh.

“Am I dead?” he whimpered, not sure what would be the answer he wished to hear.

“No, Jaskier,” a familiar voice sounded, and he froze again.

He opened his eyes slowly, not sure if he wanted to see what he expected. But instead of the wolf, his gaze met with the yellow eyes of the Witcher. He noticed his sword, stained with blood, and a pinch of guilt stabbed his heart.

“You killed her?” he asked, feeling a strange responsibility for the cub he saved.

“No,” Geralt replied. “Just a flesh wound. She’ll lick herself out of it.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed, something that was usually reserved for the Witcher in front of him. “Well, isn’t that my luck?” he levelled Geralt with a challenging stare, narrowing his eyes. “Three wolves in one day and one worse than the other.”

This time, Geralt hummed in response, leaving the sentence hanging in the air. “You should get back to your campsite.” He said, then. “It’s gonna be dark soon.”

“I know that, thank you very much,” Jaskier replied, offended that Geralt implied he doesn’t know what to do in the wilderness. “For your information, I was trying to find more wood for the fire. That’s why I was here.”

A realisation dawned on him, Geralt’s unexpected arrival creating suspicion. “Wait a minute. How do you know about my campsite?”

Once again, Geralt hummed in response, turning around and walking toward Jaskier’s camp. Jaskier stood up, hovering in place for a moment. He didn’t feel like joining Geralt on his path to Riedburne. But he wasn’t willing to give up his campsite, either. And he knew that was only one path that led to town. So, after a moment, he grumpily started in the same direction Geralt went, scratching his bottom and adjusting his trousers along the way.

When Jaskier came to the campsite, the fire was already burning, and Geralt was roasting a rabbit over it. Jaskier’s mouth watered at sight, but he tried to look disinterested. Roach was happily munching on the grass near to them, paying no attention to him.

“You know, I could have taken care of it on my own,” Jaskier said and reluctantly sat down opposite Geralt on the wooden beam. The bark’s roughness intensified his itching, making him bite down on his tongue to prevent himself from cursing. He fidgeted until he found the position that was the least uncomfortable, his eyes never leaving Geralt. Geralt was paying attention only to the rabbit, roasting over the fire.

“So,” Jaskier started, clearing his throat to hide the grunt because the position stopped being the least uncomfortable again. “I suppose I should probably thank you for saving my life.”

Geralt hummed his reply and steadied the hare over the fire. Then he stood up and walked towards Roach, petting her behind her ears. She whined in response, leaning into his touch. Geralt set down her saddle and the bag, something he probably hadn’t had time to do before, as he was hurrying to save Jaskier from the wolves. Jaskier wondered how long did Geralt follow him. And how much has he seen?

“Hands up,” Geralt said and threw a small bottle.

Jaskier, being lost in his thoughts and trying to resist the urge to scratch his ass, didn’t react fast enough. The bottle hit him in the forehead before falling down onto his lap.

“Ow,” Jaskier complained, rubbing his forehead with one hand and putting the bottle to his face with the other. He scrutinized the yellowish liquid in the transparent glass. Then, before he could put two and two together, Geralt grumbled: “For your lovely bottom.”

Jaskier’s entire face turned red, and he felt like he had just swallowed a lit-up torch. It finally dawned on him what Geralt threw him; a chamomile oil. He gaped at Geralt for a few moments, his face still burning bright. Meanwhile, Geralt returned to the fire and picked up the stick with the hare, paying his full attention to it. Jaskier was at a loss for words, feeling lightheaded. He didn’t even realise when he stood up, but suddenly he was standing, gaping at Geralt. His throat was dry when he opened his mouth, but no words came out, not even a sound. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I’m gonna,” he said, his voice rough, “I’m gonna gather some more wood. Just in case.”

Geralt didn’t look up from the fire, as Jaskier made himself scarce, finding the nearest private place to apply the oil on his itching behind.

A few moments later, Jaskier reappeared. Suspiciously, with no wood. The bottle was safely tucked in his trouser pocket because he wasn’t prepared to return it yet. Mainly because he knew he’d need it again in a few hours. But also because he couldn’t face the embarrassment again. So he set back on the beam and wordlessly watched Geralt roasting the hare. A few drown out silent moments later, Geralt took the roasted meat of the fire and ripped it in half. He handed one half to Jaskier, who eyed the food with utmost longing. But before he could reach out to it and accept the peace offering, his unreliable mouth betrayed him: “No, thank you,” he said, “I’ve had some, uhm, meal today. I’m not hungry.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, putting half of the hare back on the stick and lodging it to the ground in between them. Then he sank his teeth into his own half, the tender meat ripping off of the bones easily, a sign that the food was well done. Jaskier swallowed and averted his gaze, focusing on the ground at his feet. He wanted nothing more but to grab the hare waiting on the stick and swallow it whole, finally satisfying his hunger. But his pride didn’t let him. Besides, it would be awkward after he said he wasn’t hungry.

“You know, I was doing fairly well before you showed up,” Jaskier said, feeling the need to fill the silence between them. “I mean, aside from that wolf attack.”

“Clearly,” Geralt said in between the bites, chewing on the juicy meat.

Not knowing what else to say, Jaskier stayed silent, his eyes focusing on his feet. His mind kept playing out the scenarios he’s been through, wondering what Geralt had witnessed. His stomach sank lower and lower with every next memory. Finally, when Geralt finished his half, he stood up, disrupting the tense atmosphere.

“I’m gonna get some spare wood,” he said. Jaskier’s ears burned again as he remembered he forgot to bring some. “I’m sure the strong, independent bard like you can handle yourself alone for a moment.”

If only Jaskier’s ears were burning up to this moment, now his whole face and neck flushed, and he contemplated jumping into the fire face first. In the meantime, Geralt walked off into the woods, not sparing another word. And so he left Jaskier to wallow in his embarrassment, assessing everything Geralt had seen him go through.

“Shit,” Jaskier said under his breath, hiding his face in his hands. “You were following me this whole time?” he asked, aiming his question at Roach. She looked up and snorted, shaking her head in response.

“That’s… oh God,” Jaskier sank into the beam, running his hands through his hair. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He whimpered, his mind running wild with the images of Geralt watching him. Watching him as he whimpered, taking the leeches off of himself, as he was shitting himself in the bushes, and falling face down to the dirt more times than he was comfortable to admit.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed again, wincing at the reflections. He felt nauseous, wishing he would rather not know the truth. “The ignorance really is a bliss, isn’t it?” he sighed, looking at Roach. He tucked his arms at his sides, huddling into himself. “Well, at least he’s not much of a talker. Fat chance he’s gonna spill the beans to someone.” Jaskier consoled himself. He stared into the fire, replaying the events of the past day. When a few minutes passed, and Geralt still hadn’t returned, Jaskier’s attention started to dwindle, focusing more on his present problem. Slowly, but with utmost certainty, he felt his stomach acting up again. It growled to remind him that the last food he had didn’t stay in him very long. And the more Jaskier tried to focus on the fire, the more his eyes shifted towards the hare. He knew it would be cold by now, but he was sure it would still be as delicious as if it was taken straight from the fire. And it was there, waiting only for him. All he needed to do was grab it. This time his hands acted sooner than his brain, and before he could stop himself, he was munching on the hare, moaning and gasping with every bite. The simple meal was gone in a matter of seconds, and when Geralt came back with a pile of fresh wood, Jaskier was panting with satisfaction. Geralt didn’t comment on the missing hare, something Jaskier was both thankful for and embarrassed about. The thought of Geralt following him from the beginning crept back to his mind, bugging him. In the end, he decided to confront Geralt about it.

“You know,” he started, “you could have intervened much sooner since you’ve been so kind and doing me a secret bodyguard this whole time.”

Geralt’s response was his typical grunt. But this time, his eyes met with Jaskier’s. “You haven’t been in any grave danger until that wolf encounter.”

Jaskier gasped, maybe a bit more dramatically than it was needed. “You… Haven’t I been in grave danger? What about those leeches?” He squeaked. “They could have sucked me dry. The deer. The deer could have easily killed me if he wanted to.”

“And if they were planning to, I’d intervene.” Geralt said calmly, something that infuriated Jaskier even more. How could he be so stoic about everything when Jaskier’s insides were bursting with emotions?

“So, if I never met the wolves, you would just watch me from afar like some creep until I reached the town?”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, his gaze returning to the fire flames. “No. At some point, you would have realised you’d taken the wrong turn, and you’re not getting to town by this road.”

“Bollocks,” Jaskier said with an annoyed whimper. “You’re telling me I have to go all the way back to that forked path?”

“We have to go all the way back, yes.”

“Oh, so now it’s we again?” Jaskier scoffed, crossing his arms at his chest. “What if I don’t want your company, Witcher?”

“You can go a few feet behind me or in front of me. I don’t care, Jaskier. But this path won’t lead any of us anywhere. And this forest hides many creatures you are lucky you haven’t encountered. I do not need your demise weighing my consciousness.”

“Oh, so suddenly you care about my demise,” Jaskier retorted, giving Geralt his best stink eye.

Geralt glanced at him, his eyes reflecting in the fire’s light. “My job is to protect people from monsters,” he said. “I don’t care which path you will choose. You can go back to Kegan if you don’t want to go to Riedburne with me. But I’m going to look after you until we reach the edge of this forest.”

Jaskier thought about the annoying innkeeper who, in his opinion, unfairly kicked him out of his tavern. He instinctively pulled his lute closer, his heart aching at the thought of broken strings hiding under the leather case. No. He will be fine if he never sets foot in that town again until the rest of his life.

“Whatever,” Jaskier shrugged, ending the conversation and joining Geralt in staring into the fire.

After a while of a silent staring into the flames, Geralt stood up again. He made his way to the saddlebags and pulled out a long black cloak. Handing it to Jaskier, he said: “You should rest. There’s a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

Jaskier eyed him for a moment, fighting a battle in his mind. He wanted to take the cloak and wrap himself around it, falling into a deep, warm and beautiful dream, full of lakes without leaches and sweet berries without unpleasant aftermaths. But he also didn’t want to give Geralt the satisfaction that part of him was glad he found him. And not just because he saved him from imminent death. Jaskier took the cloak from Geralt in the end, but not without a sour grimace and an annoyed grunt. He found a semi-soft spot on the ground close to a fire and wrapped himself in the cloak, using the lute cover as a pillow. He buried himself in the curves of the black cloth, and with every breath, he hated the fact that it smelled like leather and smoke and Geralt himself. But mostly, he hated that those smells were calming him down, evoking the feeling of safety and familiarity. And soon, after only a few moments, torn between the deep-seated grudge and the relief of having Geralt around, Jaskier fell into the undisturbed sleep.

******

     The next day Jaskier and Geralt fell into a reestablished routine, almost as if they never parted. Jaskier woke up to a cloudy day, but he was well-rested and fresh this time. The breakfast awaited him on the nearby leaf: bread, berries, and jerky. He was eyeing the dark-blue berries suspiciously when the deep voice sounded behind him.

“Don’t worry. You’re not gonna shit yourself from them,” Geralt said, and Jaskier jumped at the unexpected sound. His face turned red immediately, reminded of everything Geralt had witnessed a day before. But he took the meal anyway, thankful that he was no longer expected to fend for himself. Geralt’s massive form came into the view moments later as he made his way towards Roach, saddling her.

“The forest wasn’t so generous this morning,” Geralt said, looking out towards the wilderness. “Not much to be found around here.”

Jaskier mumbled a weak ‘nevermind’ and ‘thanks’ between the bites, embarrassed to be eager to depend on the Witcher again. They set out right after breakfast, aiming back towards the forked path. Jaskier indeed kept himself a few feet behind Geralt, not because he was trying to make a point, but because he was fighting his own battle. He was still holding a grudge against the Witcher. After all, he felt Geralt’s outrage on the mountain was quite unfair. Jaskier might have been the one to create the situations Geralt put himself into. But the Witcher was eventually the one to claim the law of surprise and use the djin’s wishes. He mulled over those events a lot in the past couple of months. Wandering from town to town alone, looking for comfort in the warm arms of willing ladies. Despite that, he felt the gaping emptiness inside, something that no lady or no amount of wine could have filled. When he saw Geralt again back at the tavern, his heart tucked and fell, the mixed feelings inside of him swirling. There was an undeniable joy at the sight of the Witcher. Still, then a stinging reminder of their last encounter jabbed at his mind, leaving Jaskier confused and looking for answers. He didn’t know what he wanted or even needed from Geralt. And so he kept his distance, wrapping his heart in the protective layer, just to not get hurt again.

******

     It was nighttime when Jaskier and Geralt set foot in the Riedburne’s tavern. The room was filled with loud drunken regulars, and most of the heads turned when a massive white-haired man walked in. Not many paid attention to the skinny, dishevelled guy walking behind him. And Jaskier was grateful for that. He was in no mood to talk to people, the least to the innkeeper. So he let Geralt lead the way and ignored the whispers of the patrons as they made their way across the tavern. At any other moment, Jaskier would be proud that he was the one who spread the word about the White Wolf. He would boast in the spotlight, even burst out into a song. But now, he was tired and achy. It felt like his journey through the forest lasted a month, and he was looking forward to sleeping in an actual bed. That was the only thought on his mind right now.

“Aye, one room only, Witcher,” Jaskier heard an innkeeper saying, pulling him back from his inner musings.

“What?” he gaped at the innkeeper, his eyes wide.

“A fair is due in two days. Lots of folks looking for food and a bed. One room only.”

“We take it,” Geralt grunted before Jaskier could react, putting the coins on the bar. “And prepare a bath, too. And food and ale.”

Innkeeper nodded in response and made his way towards the back to shout orders at his wife. Jaskier’s heart fell as the thought of a good night’s sleep suddenly seemed like an impossible wish.

“You should keep the room,” he said to Geralt, feeling bad enough to be a burden for the Witcher again. “I’m going to sneak into a barn or something. I hope Roach won’t shit on me during the night.”

Right after he finished the sentence, he sneezed, surprising even himself. The first night in the forest was rather cold and rainy, but could he really catch a cold from it? In fact, he was pretty exhausted and achy, probably more than he should have been after a three-day trip through the forest.

“Nonsense,” Geralt said, gulping down a beer that was set in front of him just moments ago. Jaskier looked at the beer, and his stomach gagged. Then, the innkeeper’s wife came with a key, handing it to Geralt.

“Your room is ready. Food will be warmed up in a moment.”

Geralt hummed in response, finishing his beer.

“Really, Geralt,” Jaskier said, feeling his stomach twisting and turning. “I’ll be fine on a pile of hay. There’ll be only one bed, anyway.”

Whatever other protests Jaskier had on his tongue died out when Geralt grabbed him by the arm and started their ascend.

“Ouch,” Jaskier protested, but let himself get dragged upstairs to their rented room.

They walked into a room, and Geralt got off his armour, staying only in his trousers and a shirt. Jaskier watched him with hesitation, not sure what it was he should be doing. The fire in the fireplace was burning, and the tub of steaming water looked inviting and cosy. Even the medium-sized bed in the centre of the room looked like the most comfortable bed Jaskier had ever seen. But he dared not to make a move. Instead, Geralt turned towards him and eyed him up and down, a slight frown appearing on his hardened face.

“Get yourself a bath and then come down to eat something,” he said, keeping his eyes on Jaskier. “You need it.”

Jaskier stood there, feeling his ears burning again, as Geralt turned and left the room without another word. He really needed that bath. There was no doubt about it. And he wished for nothing but to immerse himself into the warm water and relax by the sounds of the crackling fire. But he couldn’t wrap his head around Geralt’s sudden interest in his well-being. And that made him even more confused. Part of him wanted to sneak into the barn and let the water in the tub go cold and the bed untouched. Just to spite Geralt and his weird newfound mother hen instincts. But the stronger part of him won, and before he realised what he was doing, he was already stripping down. Soon he was immersed in the warm embrace of a clear liquid, sighing with satisfaction.

Jaskier jolted awake when he heard a bang and splashed the water all around the floor. He frantically turned around, scanning the surrounding. It took him a moment to realise where he was, the warm bath with a crackling fire seeming like a dream for a moment. Then, when he saw Geralt standing in the doorway of the small room, he recollected the events of the past few hours.

“You haven’t come downstairs,” Geralt said as he walked towards a basin and washed his face.

“Yeah, I, uh… must have dozed off,” Jaskier mumbled, realising the water had gone cold. He stood up and grabbed his clothes, momentarily stopping in his tracks. He really didn’t want to put those stinky, filthy clothes back on but got no other choice. So he dressed quickly to spare himself another embarrassing moment with Geralt.

“Shall I have them bring some food upstairs?” Geralt asked, turning his attention to Jaskier, who felt unsure again. The bath seemed to help, but now the new question stood: What about the sleeping arrangements?

“No, I’m… not hungry,” Jaskier admitted, feeling his stomach turning just at the thought of food. He wanted nothing more but to fall into the mattress and sleep the night away. But he had the advantage of a bath today, so it was only fair for Geralt to sleep on the bed.

“I’m gonna sleep on the floor,” he said, making his way towards the bag to retrieve Geralt’s cloak. “You should take the bed.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, but didn’t protest. Instead, he watched with a frown as Jaskier took place on the floor next to the bed. Jaskier felt the yellow eyes on him even when he turned his back to Geralt, the gaze burning into his skin. He tried to ignore it as much as he could, pulling the cloak over him. Shutting his eyes tight, he waited for the sound of the bed to indicate that Geralt had taken up his position. When he was confident enough that Geralt was on the bed, he let himself relax a bit, squirming to find a more comfortable place. Expectedly, the wooden floor was hard and uneven, and Jaskier soon lost hope of finding a comfortable spot. Finally, he settled for a position where the floor stuck into his shoulder blade, and a protruding nail jabbed his pelvis. But he didn’t move, taking the pain as a reminder of not getting his hopes up around Geralt. Minutes felt like hours, and Jaskier found himself perking his ears to check whether Geralt was already sleeping. Very soon, he gave up on the idea of sleeping tonight. Even if he found a somewhat comfortable position, he couldn’t quieten his mind. It was racing with the thoughts of Geralt’s intentions and his own expectations. He wondered what he should do in the morning. After all, Geralt escorted him safely out of the forest, which was their deal. They were in the middle of civilization again, and there was no reason for them to continue travelling together. Unless they wanted to. Jaskier felt his chest tightening at the thought, burying his own desires deep inside of him. He was sure Geralt wouldn’t want that.

“Are you asleep, Jaskier?” a disembodied voice sounded from above him, pulling him back to the reality of the room.

“Why?” he asked, caution in his voice. “You want to tell me how much I screwed with your life since we’ve met again?” he retorted, letting his pain turn into anger. And once started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Or how, even though separated, you still couldn’t forget about all the terrible situations I dragged you into? How my songs haunted you across the Continent and reminded you of all those terrible years, you wasted with me?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice sounded sharper this time.

Jaskier shut his mouth, a sense of cautiousness spreading across the room.

“Come up here,” Geralt said, his voice softer now. “It’s like talking to a ghost.”

Jaskier scoffed, already ready with a comeback: “I clearly remember the times you wished I was a ghost. Besides, you constantly talk to your horse. How is this any weirder?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, and Jaskier could hear the bed creak as Geralt sat on it. He gulped dryly, a sudden flash of fear spreading through him. Maybe he has taken things too far. Geralt’s voice sounded again, much more irritated, as he growled through gritted teeth. “Can you climb up here so I can look you in the eyes and fucking apologise?”

There was a moment of silence, the question lingering in the room above the two of them. Then Jaskier pulled off the cloak and stood up, trying not to let out any sounds of pain as his aching bones twisted and turned.

“This better be worth it,” he mumbled under his breath as he climbed into the bed with Geralt. When he settled down, he ended up touching shoulders with him. They both were sitting, their backs pressed against the wall. Jaskier didn’t want to sit so close to Geralt. The position was way too intimate, especially for this kind of conversation. But Geralt’s massive form left little space for him, and so he turned his head towards Geralt and waited for the promised apology. Geralt stared at him and sighed heavily, looking like he was mustering up the courage to speak. Jaskier knew Geralt was a man of a few words, but this seemed different. He appeared almost uncertain of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said in the end, looking like he was taking up all his strength to say those words.

Jaskier’s eyebrows cocked up, expecting him to continue. “Well, go on,” he encouraged him, awaiting a wordier apology. Jaskier was, of course, replaying this moment in his head lots of times in the past. Funnily, it never happened while they were in one bed, though. Geralt seemed uncomfortable. His brows furrowed so deep it almost connected. “I’m sorry,” he said as if he was trying to come up with the best words. “That I left you on that mountain.”

Jaskier nodded, enjoying the sound he longed for all this time. His lips quirked up, his chest filling with a warm feeling of satisfaction. Then, eager to hear what else Geralt had to say, he looked at him pointedly, waiting. But Geralt only gave him an unreadable look and said: “The bed’s big enough. You should sleep on it too. Or you’ll be bitching about your back all morning.”

With that, he turned his back to Jaskier and let out one last grunt before settling himself to sleep. Jaskier could not move for a moment, gaping at Geralt’s back, at a loss for words.

“That…. that’s it?” he got out of himself after a while, watching Geralt’s back. As of response, Geralt let out a short, loud snort, then fell silent again. Jaskier stayed looking at Geralt’s back for a long time, trying to comprehend the audacity of the Witcher.

When it was clear the Witcher was truly asleep and not just pretending, Jaskier pulled his knees to his chest and sulked, mulling over the brief conversation. First all of, it was very anticlimactic. Of course, he didn’t expect a huge gesture from Geralt. But this half-ass apology just made him feel like the Witcher truly didn’t care at all. And yet, his brain reminded him of all the moments in the past three days when Geralt showed he cared. Even now, offering the spot on the bed, which clearly wasn’t big enough for both of them. Especially when one of them was as big as two guys. Jaskier thought about returning to the ground and suffering on the hard wooden floor through the night. But something was telling him he would send a very wrong signal to Geralt by doing so. And if staying in bed meant he accepted Geralt’s apology, then Jaskier thought he should probably stay. After all, that was perhaps the best apology he could ever get from the guy. And maybe even more than anyone else ever got. So, spending one last glance at Geralt’s sleeping form, Jaskier sighed and turned on his side, his back towards Geralt. He stared into the darkness and listened to Geralt’s breathing, trying not to think about the weirdness of their situation.

******

     The rooster crowing right in front of the window woke Jaskier up in the morning.

“Oh, bollocks!” he swore, still half asleep, trying to find something to throw at the rooster. He scrabbled around to no avail, the annoying sound not stopping. In the end, Jaskier opted for burying his head under the pillow, trying to muffle the sound from the yard. He flopped on his belly and threw a pillow over his head, turning his head so he could breathe. The rooster’s cry lessened, and Jaskier closed his eyes contently again. But soon, the jolt of realisation jabbed at his mind, his eyes suddenly wide and alert. Jaskier threw away the pillow and sat upon the bed, his eyes immediately travelling to the place beside him. It was empty. He reached out to it instinctively, but the place was already cold. Has he imagined last night? No, he couldn’t. Sure, he was feeling quite under the weather, but he wasn’t having hallucinations yet. So Geralt had to be here last night. And he apologized. But now, the spot on the bed was cold, and by a quick glance over the room, Jaskier realised Geralt’s stuff was also gone. He felt his heart sinking, the emptiness in it spreading.

“Oh,” he said, feeling a lump in his throat. “So… that was a goodbye.”

He felt his heart shrinking, his whole body weakening. His stomach clenched, the onset of nausea setting in again. This felt even worse than that day on the mountain. Part of Jaskier felt like they were going somewhere, mending the old wounds. But he must have been wrong. Because he was still here, but Geralt was gone. He wondered what he did wrong and what he should have done differently for Geralt to stay. Because he realised that he still wanted Geralt around. Being around Geralt felt safe. But it was more than that. It felt comfortable, almost like a home. But, apparently, the feelings were one-sided. So Jaskier had no other choice but to muster up the courage and start again, alone.

“You did it once. You can do it again.” He tried to encourage himself, but it was hard to believe those words. The first time was unexpected, and it felt final for the longest time. Jaskier got used to travelling alone, being a lone wolf. He snickered at that thought, realising the irony. But when his path crossed with Geralt again, it was scary how quickly they fell back into their routine. And even scarier, how much Jaskier longed for the company of the Witcher. Now, when it was gone again, Jaskier felt the emptiness inside him spread. He felt broken and hopeless, alone and abandoned. Even his lute was useless right now, something that he could use to cope with the sadness. He sighed and looked towards the door of the room. When he steps out of that room, he’s going to be alone again. And he has to set out towards his own future, his own adventures. Taking in a deep breath, Jaskier decided. He has got no other choice.

Jaskier got up off the bed and packed the few possessions he still had left. Then walked towards the door, and with a hand on the doorknob, he stopped and closed his eyes. Repeating a few encouraging affirmations under his breath, he took a deep breath. Then he opened the door and stepped out to the tavern’s hallway. As he descended the stairs, he could hear cheerful voices coming from downstairs. He thought these must be the guests that travelled into town because of the fair. Jaskier took another deep breath, steadying his beating heart. He didn’t feel like being in the crowd of people, so his plan was to leave as quickly as possible. Ducking his head between his shoulders and tightening the grip on his lute case, he made his way between the tables towards the exit. He was trying to step out of the way of everyone, sticking close to the wall. The walk towards freedom seemed endless, and the closer he got, the heavier his legs felt. Then, suddenly, Jaskier heard his name being called. He froze in his steps, thinking he had just imagined it. Then, slowly, with his heart in his throat, Jaskier turned around and saw Geralt sitting in the far corner of the tavern.

“The food’s getting cold,” Geralt said, keeping his eyes on Jaskier.

“Geralt?!” Jaskier got out of himself, not quite believing his eyes. “You’re… here. Eating breakfast. You… haven’t left?”

“It’s not good to hunt monsters on an empty stomach,” Geralt replied, motioning towards the plates and mugs on the table.

Jaskier still stood in the middle of the tavern, unsure of what to do.

“We’re uh… I mean you… you are going for a monster hunt?”

“Hmm,” Geralt responded, reaching for sausage and biting a chunk of it. “There’re a few fishermen claiming a red-haired succubus lives in the forest near Loch Monduirn.”

“A succubus?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “As in, a gorgeous, very dangerous sex demon?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, washing the sausage down with ale. “They say she often makes trips to the town during the night, leaving dried up corpses behind. Also, she’s been seen fleeing to the forest a few times. So they suppose there are old ruins she hides in.”

Jaskier felt his knees weakening at the prospect of a beautiful woman killing people in the village during the night. But he willed himself to step towards the table, sitting down opposite of Geralt.

He reached towards the plate, but then hesitated. Looking up at Geralt, his eyes met with the yellow ones. “So, you’re going to kill this… succubus?”

“It must be an Alp,” Geralt said with calmness in his voice. “Folks sometimes mix those two up.”

“I see,” Jaskier nodded, thinking. “And what exactly is an Alp?”

“A vampiric monster, similar to Bruxa, but not as powerful.” Geralt replied. “Still could be a pain in the ass with the upcoming fair.”

“Well… that… sounds… not any less threatening than a succubus,” Jaskier shuddered at the thought of the blood-sucking monster. “So… you’re gonna kill this, ehm, Alp… And then what?” he asked, careful not to sound too desperate for the answer.

“Travel along,” Geralt replied with a slight, almost unnoticeable shrug. “What else is there to do for me, other than travel and kill monsters?”

“Right,” Jaskier nodded, pulling the plate towards him. He munched down the sausage, potatoes, and bread. The food was lukewarm at best, but still better than nothing. Geralt watched him silently, occasionally sipping from his beer. Neither of them spoke. Jaskier was trying to buy time before asking what was burning inside him. Mainly because he feared the answer. So he paid attention to his food, and when he finished, he continued to stare at the empty plate, unsure of what to do now.

“So,” he started, clearing his throat. He took the mug of ale, gulping it down to muster the courage. “Which way is the Alp thingy?”

“North,” Geralt answered, his eyes never leaving Jaskier.

“I see,” Jaskier nodded, drinking from his beer again. “Uhm… I don’t suppose you need assistance, do you?” He asked, feeling the tips of his ears burning. The silence lasted only a second, but for Jaskier, even that was unbearable. So he continued, trying to give Geralt a reason to say yes. “It’s just… I could really use a new inspiration, you know. To be completely honest, songs about you were always the most popular. Not that I can play anything until I get my lute restrung…” his voice died off, recounting the cost of it again.

“No,” Geralt’s words cut through Jaskier’s mind like a sharp knife. His heart clenched, and his throat dried. He wished there was more ale in his mug or more food on his plate, just so he could occupy himself somehow.

“No?” Jaskier repeated, the word sounding weak from his mouth. He was not strong enough to look Geralt in his eyes, so he continued to scrutinize the smeared grease on his plate.

“Alps are still quite dangerous. It will be safer if you stay here.”

“Oh, right,” Jaskier said, looking up from his plate. “So I can die like a coward during the night? Come on, Geralt. The inn is dangerously close to the town’s borders. If she comes here tonight, I might be the next victim. You want to find me white as a ghost in the morning?”

“It’s too dangerous, Jaskier,” Geralt said through gritted teeth, clearly irked by Jaskier’s attempts.

“Oh wow, so you think I’m not capable of taking care of myself? Still?” he crossed his arms at his chest, his nostrils flaring.

“I know you are not,” Geralt said, giving him a thoughtful look that could only mean ‘just think of the previous three days.’

“Fine, maybe I’m not.” Jaskier pouted like a little kid. “But you, sir, are very short on details. And I desperately need a new song. So I’m going, whether you like it or not. If not beside you, I’ll walk a few feet behind you,” he said, rephrasing the words spoken by the Witcher a day ago. Even though trying to convince Geralt about his new song’s importance, Jaskier himself hasn’t believed this excuse. Deep down, he knew that was only one reason he persisted on going. He was simply afraid that Geralt would leave him again. Geralt responded with a grunt and a small, defeated sigh. Then he stood up and left the tavern, not looking behind.

******

     Jaskier walked in tow of Geralt and Roach as they approached the forest a few miles Northwest of town. It was early afternoon, and Jaskier hoped the Alp, the vampire, would sleep during the day. But Geralt, to his dismay, assured him the Alps are not affected by sunlight. His heart beat fast, and he was starting to regret his stubborn decision to accompany Geralt. After everything Geralt told him about the creature and its stealthy attacks, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere near these woods. Having a new song truly might have helped. But maybe he could just imagine the events passed. After all, not all parts of his songs were always strictly truthful. And the most popular were, to say it bluntly, very loosely inspired by true events.

“Stay here with Roach, and don’t go any further,” Geralt said when they reached the edge of the woods.

“Gladly,” Jaskier said, stepping closer to Roach as if she could protect him somehow. So he stood there and watched Geralt march into the forest with purpose, disappearing into its shadows. A few moments passed, and Jaskier was thinking how exactly he accomplished anything here. Even if he was going to write a song about this, he would not see the fight. So, in the end, he had to rely on Geralt’s lack of details, anyway.

The sudden rustling of the leaves startled Jaskier, and he jumped towards Roach, grabbing her by her leash. She shook her head in disagreement, but Jaskier didn’t let go, needing the fleeting sense of safety. He tried to convince himself that the leaves rustling were some birds, nothing more. After a moment, defeated by his curiosity, he mustered up some courage and stepped away from Roach, walking into the forest. Staying at the edge, he looked around for the sound’s source. Geralt told him that the Alps, just like Bruxae, though unaffected by sunlight, preferred to hide in the ruins or caves. And so, even though vigilant, Jaskier felt confident enough that the Alp wouldn’t come all the way here in the middle of the day. He made a few more steps into the forest, looking up to see the birds or animals rustling the leaves. But no matter how much he strained his eyes, he saw nothing moving in the tree crowns. Roach snorted behind him, getting restless. Jaskier turned around to look at her, sudden suspicion rising in him.

“What is it, Roach?” he asked, darting his eyes from side to side. “What are you sensing?”

Roach neighed, straining at her leash as if trying to free herself. Jaskier froze in his steps, the realisation dawning on him. The forest was utterly quiet. No birds, no animals, nothing. If he knew one thing about the wilderness, there were always some sounds around. Unless there was a predator nearby. Jaskier wanted to run towards Roach, but fear struck him so much he was unable to move. He heard Roach making startled sounds, and he knew the best option was to run towards her and flee this place. But his feet were so heavy it felt like they were rooted in the ground. Cold sweat broke on his whole body, his heart beating so hard it was painful. Then, suddenly, a flash of red appeared in the corner of his eyes, waking him from his trancelike state.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” he cursed, suddenly able to move and making the most of it. He turned and ran towards Roach. With every step, he gained confidence that he could reach her in time. But then a deafening shriek shook the trees all around him. It was so loud and forceful that Jaskier lost his footing. The sound wave sent him flying into the nearby tree, hitting his left shoulder with utmost force.

“Fuck!” Jaskier cried in pain, feeling his shoulder pulsating. Then, before he could recollect himself, the flash of red appeared right in front of him, and a hideous creature sank her sharp nails into his chest.

“Fuck! Geralt!” Jaskier only had time to yell for help in a desperate attempt before he felt the fangs sinking into his neck. And just before he lost consciousness completely, he caught a glimpse of another red-haired creature approaching from the side.

******

     Jaskier’s consciousness slowly came back as he fidgeted on the bed.

“Hmm, five more minutes,” he mumbled and turned to the side, but the sharp pain in his shoulder was like an undesired alarm clock. He jolted awake, sitting on the bed. His head got immediately dizzy, the entire room spinning in front of his eyes. “Oh, shit!” he swore and grabbed his head, the pain in the shoulder striking again. “Ouch!” Jaskier cried out, holding his shoulder instead of his head, trying to slow down the spinning and breathe through the pain.

“Take deep breaths,” a woman’s voice sounded beside him, and he felt a calming hand on his unwounded shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked, rubbing one of his temples, trying to focus.

“Calm down and breathe deeply,” the voice repeated.

Jaskier took the advice and breathed deeper. And to his surprise, it helped him calm down. As he sat there, trying to focus on his breathing, the horrifying images of forgotten nightmares flashed through his eyes, making his head pulsate. They quickly vanished again as a fade-out memory, leaving only numbness in his mind.

“What… where am I?” he mumbled, trying to recall the last thing he remembered. Then, the sweet aroma of healing herbs and oils spread through the room, making him dizzy. His eyelids closed, his head bouncing.

“Lay back onto the bed. You need to rest.” The voice resonated in his ears. Jaskier felt too weak to fight it, nor could he resist the hand that was gently pushing him back onto the mattress.

“You don’t need to worry. The healing dreams will replace the nightmares now.”

“Okay,” Jaskier mumbled, something about the woman’s voice calming him down. “I’m just gonna take five more minutes, is that okay?” he said, already drifting back to the realm of dreams.

When Jaskier came to himself again, the room was empty and dark. It seemed like it was the middle of the night, and the only light in the room was the dwindling fire in the fireplace. His eyelids were heavy, as if he hadn’t opened them in weeks. He tried to focus his eyes to get used to the dark, but the dark shapes were still strange and meaningless.

“You’re awake,” a voice sounded from somewhere in the room, and a massive shape moved from the far corner. Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat, startled by the unfamiliar movement. His first thought was the monsters came to finish the job. He saw the red glimpse in the corner of his eyes and he froze in place. A sudden gush of cold air prickled his skin, and he shuddered, more from the memories than an actual cold. But slowly, his mind connected the voice to a face. And when the figure came into the fading light of a fire, Jaskier already expected to see a white-haired Witcher.

“Geralt,” he breathed out when the man came close enough for Jaskier’s eyes to recognize the rugged features of his face. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“You need to rest,” Geralt’s voice was stern, but there was a pinch of worry underneath it, something that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. Was it that bad?

“I… I was in the forest. The leaves, they….” Jaskier tried to say but couldn’t quite connect the pieces.

Geralt sat on the stool next to him, his eyes watching Jaskier. It was hard to see his features in the room’s darkness, but to Jaskier, he seemed worn out.

“What happened?” he asked, looking at Geralt.

“The Alps,” Geralt replied. “They hunted in the pack. Sometimes they do that if they’re not strong enough.”

“Oh,” Jaskier frowned, trying to push himself higher on the bed to see Geralt better. But the pain in his shoulder and on his chest returned him to reality, not letting him move an inch.

Geralt watched him with a deep frown on his face.

“They seemed strong enough to me,” Jaskier mumbled, his head bopping back on the pillow.

Geralt’s eyes shifted, his gaze aiming at Jaskier’s chest. “You were lucky they weren’t more powerful,” he said. “They could have ripped you in pieces.”

“I feel like they did,” Jaskier sighed, his hand automatically reaching towards his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Geralt opined, reaching out to grab Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier froze momentarily. The feeling of his hand in Geralt’s was an unsuspected novelty.

“You’ve been in and out for about a week,” he said, his voice softer now. “Screaming and talking from the sleep.”

Jaskier chuckled but immediately regretted it as the sharp pain travelled through his whole body. He squeezed Geralt’s hand in instinct, needing something to hold on to. When the pain ceased, he felt the heat coming to his face after realising what he had done. He expected Geralt to retrieve his hand now, but the Witcher hadn’t moved.

“Well,” Jaskier said, clearing his throat to get rid of the awkwardness. “It’s more suspicious that I don’t talk in sleep normally. Or do I? Do I talk in sleep, Geralt? And you’re just not telling me?”

“You don’t talk in sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt said, a weird edge to his voice. “Not normally.”

“So?” Jaskier took a deep breath. “I had nightmares.”

“Hmm,” Geralt nodded, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Alp’s saliva does that to a person. You don’t remember anything?”

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “Was it bad?”

Geralt’s yellow eyes flashed in the fleeting light of the fire. And Jaskier could see the mix of guilt and regret in them.

“I should have listened to you and stayed back at the tavern, shouldn’t I?” he tried to joke away the situation.

Geralt’s features hardened again, and he let go of Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier’s heart fell at the loss of contact, the pit in his stomach hollowing.

“You should rest,” Geralt said. “We’ll set out for the road in the morning.”

“We?” was everything Jaskier could say, confusion and hope both mixing in the simple word.

“Someone needs to redress your wound until it heals properly.” Geralt explained. His voice was as emotionless as ever, the same as his face. “And you need to gather your strength.”

Jaskier let his eyes close, heeding Geralt’s advice. He was already half asleep when he mumbled: “I’m glad you consider me a worthy travelling companion again. Even though only because I’m wounded.”

******

     The following month was spent travelling and easing back into the old routine of killing monsters on Geralt’s part and talking about it on Jaskier’s part. Jaskier’s wound was healing, though slowly. And even though Geralt never spoke about the incident with the Alps again, Jaskier could see something was bothering him. The key sign was, of course, his constant brooding, which now only amplified. But there was also a deep-seated rage that resulted in Geralt’s monster-killing ratio doubling. Something that was definitely in favour of terrorised citizens. But Jaskier couldn’t be fooled that easily. That all was about to change when they came into the city of Dorian one night.

The innkeeper offered them two rooms, making Jaskier’s heart sink for his own confusion. The night when they shared a bed was long gone, but Jaskier caught himself returning to it often in his memories. There was something different in having Geralt so close to him in such a vulnerable position. And it was confusing Jaskier because though he couldn’t specify how he felt about that, he longed for it to return. So when they stopped in the hallway, both of them in front of their own rooms, Jaskier couldn’t help but feel heartache. It was Geralt’s voice that made him cut the line of his thoughts again.

“I’ve arranged a bath for you,” he said. “Clean yourself, and I’ll come to redress your wound.”

Jaskier groaned in annoyance. “You really have to do it so often? I think you’re overdoing it, to be honest, Geralt.”

“Do you want it to get inflamed again?” Geralt asked, a roughness in his voice.

“Fine,” Jaskier mumbled, feeling like a small child lectured by his parent.

He opened the door to his room and walked in, settling his lute on the bed. For a while, he just stared at the door, his mind floating. He tried to think about what he wished would happen. But his mind and heart had different ideas, so he didn’t settle for anything in the end. Then, when a knock on the door sounded, Jaskier’s heart jumped.

“Yeah, come in,” he said immediately, hoping to see Geralt in the door. But when the innkeeper’s daughter came with a bucket of water, his face lengthened.

“Am I coming at the wrong time?” she asked, her voice small and unsure.

“No,” Jaskier lied, “go on.” He motioned towards the tub and sat on the bed, settling to watch the girl fill the bath. He drummed his fingers against the lute’s leather cover as he watched the girl working, going in and out of his room. The tub stood close to the fireplace, which was not yet lit. When he looked around the room, he noticed it looked similar to the one he bathed in the last time. The one he shared with Geralt. Another ping at his heart sent his thoughts into another whirlwind. Rethinking and replaying the events of the past two months, yet again.

Jaskier was so deep in his thoughts he barely noticed when the innkeeper’s daughter finished filling the tub and started the fire in the fireplace. He knew he would constantly be in her hair at any other time, flirting with her and trying to gain a reaction from her. But now he just sat on the bed and ruminated, something he caught himself doing a lot lately. In the end, he always ended up thinking the same. His lack of interest in young women was caused by his injury. He had to get his strength back, that’s all. At least that was what he told himself.

Jaskier let out a defeated sigh and stripped himself, putting his garments next to the lute. Even the clothes reminded him of Geralt now. The Witcher bought him new ones while Jaskier was indisposed as if it was something he’s been doing all the time. The clothes were darker than Jaskier would have picked himself, more leathery too. All in all, it reminded him more of Geralt’s style of dressing than his own. But they fit nicely, and they were much better than the worn-out, filthy, and stinky clothes he’s been dragging himself in until then.

Shaking his head to get rid of the unwanted thoughts, Jaskier walked towards the tub, his skin prickling at a room’s temperature. Getting into the bath took him some effort, since his shoulder was still achy and stiff.

He mangled it quite hard during the Alp’s shriek attack when he hit the tree. And the fact that his wound got inflamed about a week ago didn’t help either. The fever returned when they were in the middle of the forest, which made Jaskier more jumpy than usual. He thought he heard the Alps all around their camp, his wound burning as if it knew they were close. He remembered the nightmares the creatures inflicted, the images flashing in front of his waking eyes. Geralt had to give him some herb concoction to calm him down. Otherwise, Jaskier would jump up and run into the woods. He remembered only pieces of that night, but he was pretty sure Geralt sat next to him that whole time, a worried expression on his face. He even remembered Geralt’s hand on his forehead a few times and a low humming tune Jaskier hadn’t recognised. But after replaying it in his head so many times, Jaskier was not sure anymore whether he only dreamt it.

Berating himself for thinking about Geralt again, he got into the tub and submerged into the water. The water helped him to let go of his wandering thoughts, and for a moment, it washed away the pain, too. His chest wound was stinging, but it was nothing he couldn’t get used to after a while. Nevertheless, it was healing well, and Jaskier thought it could heal completely in a month or so.

And then, he thought. Well, Geralt said he’s taking me with him only because he needs to take care of my wound. He probably feels guilty about me getting hurt. That’s all. Even though Jaskier had to admit, it was more of his own fault than Geralt’s. He should have just stayed in that tavern. And yet still, Jaskier’s heart sank low when he thought of Geralt leaving him again. This time, he hadn’t seen them reuniting in the future ever again. After all, they weren’t ones linked by destiny and whatever else. The only reason he suffered me for so long is that I’m super hard to get rid of. Jaskier thought with sadness spreading through his heart.

“Maybe it’ll be better that way,” he tried to convince himself. But the emptiness in his heart deepened, like another festering wound that wouldn’t heal.

When the water got cold and it wasn’t comfortable to sit in, Jaskier got out of the bath. He winced and grumbled as he did so, trying not to put too much weight on his bad shoulder. Afterwards, he dried himself off and walked towards the bed to dress. But he only put on his trousers when his eyes travelled to the lute, and a realisation struck him. Was he ever going to play again? The wound seemed to get better, but his shoulder still ached every time he moved it even slightly. Jaskier’s stomach sank as he pictured not being able to play anymore. Yet, it was the only thing that could ease the pain after Geralt will leave him again. His fingers ran against the leather cover, trembling. He wanted to try it, even though he knew it would be useless. The strings were still broken. And even if not, he won’t be able to play much. But he needed to hold it in his arms again to see if it still fit.

Jaskier opened the cover with trembling fingers, bating his breath. Words hitched in his throat when he saw his lute, laying in the case, perfectly recovered.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed out, the only reasonable explanation. Then, as if the Witcher heard him, the door behind him opened, and Geralt walked into the room.

“What are you doing?” his voice sounded from behind Jaskier, and he jumped slightly, being caught off guard.

“I,” he turned, Geralt, suddenly not knowing what to say. “I was just… what did you do to my lute?” he asked in the end, the question pressing on his mind.

Geralt’s eyes travelled to the lute on the bed, then back to meet Jaskier’s gaze. “I’ve had it restrung.” He said, as if it was the most obvious thing. Which it was, but Jaskier’s mind still didn’t comprehend it.

“Why?” he asked, frowning, trying to find the meaning in Geralt’s actions.

Geralt hummed his response and made a step closer to Jaskier. Something in him stirred, and he caught himself bating his breath again in anticipation.

“Sit down,” Geralt said, motioning toward the bed. “I need to take care of your wounds now.”

Jaskier did as he was told, but his eyes never left Geralt’s face in doing so. There was something in Geralt’s expression that Jaskier couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something that has been there ever since he woke up from the Alps attack.

Geralt knelt in front of Jaskier and took out a bottle of light green-brown water, a restoring oil the healer gave him. He put it on his fingers and massaged it into Jaskier’s wound, never leaving his eyes from it. His face was focused, brows furrowed, and his lips were joined in a thin linear line.

“Wow, could you look any more annoyed?” Jaskier asked, trying to get the reaction from Geralt. “I swear it’s always just angry, brooding, and annoyed with you. All the fucking time. Is it like a default mode for Witchers? To be constantly angsty? Or is it just you?” Jaskier threw his head backwards with an exaggerated sigh. “And people say you don’t feel any human emotions. So, is it just the pleasant emotions you don’t feel? Are you incapable of feeling happy, Geralt?”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Jaskier,” Geralt responded, but his expression never changed.

“Well, in that case, I have yet to see you happy. Cause we’ve known each other for how long?” Jaskier frowned, trying to add up the numbers in his head quickly. “Oh well, too fucking long. Let’s just call it what it is. And I hardly ever saw you smile. Or did I? No… actually, when I think about it, I have never seen you smile, Geralt. So, pardon me when I come to this logical solution. Because—”

“Could you, just once in your life, shut up, Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice interrupted him, and his eyes were now set on him, sharp and cold. There was anger in them that made Jaskier back away for a moment. Because seeing Geralt angry from up close would make everyone back away. But then he took a deep breath and decided to push through. This might have been his only chance to figure out what was happening, so he would not let it go.

“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t. But you could, for once in your life, actually talk, Geralt. So tell me, what got your pants all riled up? Is it me? Am I a burden to you, now, when you not only have to suffer me, but you also have to take care of me and my stupid wound?” The anger rose in Jaskier, too, the anger he didn’t even know he mustered. But seeing Geralt like this hurt him, even more so, because he had an inkling that the cause of Geralt’s distress was truly him.

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed, leaning away from Jaskier to make more space between them. He took a deep breath, presumably to calm himself down, then his gaze returned to Jaskier’s. The anger was still there, but it seemed different now, more levelled. But there was something else, too; something hidden behind that anger.

“Fine,” Geralt sighed. “I am angry with you, Jaskier.” Geralt confessed, his voice low in the quietness of the room. “I am angry because of the things you said….”

“Well, I say lots of things, Geralt. You gotta be more specific.”

Geralt grunted, probably annoyed to be interrupted, and Jaskier bit his lip to stop himself from talking.

“It’s about the things you said after the Alps attack.”

“I don’t….” Jaskier shook his head, recalling what he said that could anger the Witcher.

“It’s what you said in your nightmares-ridden sleep,” Geralt added helpfully.

“Ah yes, the ol’ talking in sleep thing,” Jaskier nodded, frowning. “What was I saying? Was it something bad? Did I say something about Roach? Cause let’s be frank, you are inciting her to not like me and—”

“Will you just let me speak?” Geralt said through gritted teeth, his chest rising and falling heavily.

“Right, sorry,” Jaskier ducked his head between his shoulders, feeling the tips of his ears burning.

Geralt sighed and shook his head, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his gaze on Jaskier. “You said… you said I don’t care about you.”

Jaskier was taken aback, though only for a moment. But, of course, as was his nature, he had to have a counterpoint to this.

“Well, are you surprised?” He started. “You always look annoyed when I’m around. And after that mountain incident. I have done nothing but help you, and you completely pushed me away. And yelled at me… which was so unfair.” Jaskier pouted slightly, crossing his arms at his chest. The sharp pain in his shoulder made him regret his decision right away, sending his arms back to their original position on his lap.

Geralt moved ever so slightly, closer into Jaskier’s proximity. But he stopped himself halfway, his gaze falling towards Jaskier’s wound.

“I’ve already apologised for that,” he said.

“That was a half-ass apology, and you know it,” Jaskier retorted, averting his gaze. “But,” he sighed, “I guess that was the most of the apology I could have ever gotten from you.” He really tried to push away his anger and hurt and be more forthcoming. After all, maybe if he really knew how to shut up sometimes, he could have avoided a lot of other grievances, too.

Geralt hummed, looking up to meet Jaskier’s eyes again.

“I’m also angry with me, Jaskier,” he said, his voice softer than before. “Angry because I get it. I’m not good with words. And I’m not…” he sighed, fighting his own battle. “I don’t know how to say it. So I try to show you; the clothes, the lute, letting you have my cloak… saving you all the time.” Geralt’s eyes fell back to Jaskier’s chest, and his jaw tightened. “I don’t want to lose you, Jaskier. Definitely not without you knowing that I care about you.”

The words washed over Jaskier like a song he knew he heard somewhere but couldn’t recall the name of. It all somehow made sense, but he couldn’t put it all together despite that.

“Wait, I’m not sure I understand it right,” Jaskier said, still trying to put two and two together. “I’m getting a few mixed signals here, you know. I just don’t want to come to the wrong conclusion. So… you’re saying that—”

“Shut up, Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted him and then closed the small distance between them. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s lips on his, kissing him. And his head was still full of mixed thoughts, and it commanded him to pull away and ask what exactly was happening. But his heart jumped with joy and started beating faster, the emptiness in it filling up with every beat, with every second of the kiss. And it said to him to lean into it, to close his eyes and enjoy the moment. Because this was what he wanted for the longest of time, even though he didn’t know it. And Jaskier decided to listen to his heart this time, and he did exactly what it said to him.

Geralt’s hand came up to cup Jaskier’s jaw, and Jaskier turned his head ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. His heart was so full it felt like it was going to burst, and he heard its beating in his ears, pounding loudly as if to grab his attention. But all of Jaskier’s attention was on Geralt, breathing in the leather, fire, metal, and all that Geralt was. When Geralt broke the kiss, Jaskier felt his heart whimpering. It wanted to come back to Geralt’s embrace and never leave again. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting with the yellow eyes of The Witcher. The eyes were now soft, something he rarely saw with Geralt. But his mind reminded him of those few fleeting moments when he saw this expression, and everything suddenly fell into line.

“Bollocks!” Jaskier got out of himself, his brain still not quite catching on to what his heart knew all this time. A slight grin appeared on his face, mirroring how he felt inside. “I… don’t know what to say.” He admitted, truly at a loss for words.

“Just say you’ll come with me to the coast,” Geralt said, rubbing his thumb soothingly against Jaskier’s cheek. “We’ll take some time off. And try to figure out what we want.”

Jaskier’s grin softened into a soft smile, a bittersweet sentiment reminding him of the worst day of his life. But maybe, if that didn’t happen, they would never end up here.

“Gladly,” he replied, cupping the back of Geralt’s hand and leaning into his touch.

That night, despite having rented two rooms, Geralt and Jaskier slept together in one bed again. This time, they were facing each other, Geralt’s hand laying protectively on Jaskier’s hip. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut, his physical and emotional exhaustion catching upon him. The last thing he saw was the yellow eyes gently looking at him. And he knew everything would be okay now. Because wherever they will go, Jaskier will always be home.