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The halls echoed with every step that Jaskier took and the light faded into darkness the further he went. His search for a quiet place to think led him down multiple corridors, each more treacherous than the rest. The air became colder, the floors slippery, and the torches struggled to penetrate the darkness that seeped into his core. But, none of that mattered. Its silence was what Jaskier needed.
Only a few days had passed since the Deathless mother incident with Ciri, leaving Kaer Morhen in shambles. Geralt, Vesemir, and the rest of the remaining Witchers worked tirelessly to get their home back in one piece. Jaskier helped where he could, but most of the time he felt more like a hindrance. It didn’t help that Witchers could be gruff on a good day, something he had learned to live with during his travels with Geralt. But after a few days of constant barking orders as the stressed Witchers buried their dead and tried to put their life back together, Jaskier needed a moment alone to breathe.
Jaskier’s feet slipped on the slimy floor and he was jarred from his thoughts, forced to catch himself on the nearest object. As luck would have it, the object that had saved him a silver doorknob that jutted out from his right.
He took it as a sign from above and pushed open the door, uncovering a room that had much to be desired.
Long deserted, it was strewn with cobwebs and dust that flew around the room as he took a few cautious steps inside. At first, it made his throat feel thick and a series of coughs escaped, but then the dust settled, and Jaskier focused on the sparse furniture littered in the room.
A derelict bed sat in the corner, sunken and damp, and a small wooden chair sat positioned at the room's only window. A faded spot on the wall marked where a shelf once stood, but only a pile of splintered wood remained.
With not many options, Jaskier chose the chair. He sat gently to ensure he didn’t crash to the floor in an ungraceful heap.
Outside, it was bright and cheerful, the first good day since their arrival. A bitter chill still cut through the walls, but the sun sent warmth into Jaskier’s cold bones. The gentle rays warmed his hands and allowed him to relax and he grabbed his lute from where it hung at his side.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips. Jaskier had always found solace in music. His lute had never let him down in his moments of need. There was no wrong way to express yourself with melody. Each note and key was a decision of your own, the song of your soul.
Jaskier began to strum the lute, testing the sound. Each note brought clarity and calmed his nerves, dissolving everything that had happened the last few days from his mind.
He plucked the strings and closed his eyes to allow the music to engulf every inch of him.
The notes came slowly at first, sombre and sharp, but the more he played, the deeper the rhythm grew.
A path began to grow in his mind as his fingers soared over the strings. He pictured his journey after he and Geralt had fought, how he had barely made his way down the mountain only for him to have nowhere to go. He had felt so lost, so abandoned, so hurt. He and Geralt had travelled together for so long. For it to be thrown away like parchment in the wind burned a hole deep inside him. Jaskier stayed this way for a while, and let his anger fester until one day he had enough. He wrote “Burn Butcher Burn” and moved on with his life. A life without Geralt.
But, Jaskier had managed to get himself locked up, for his help toward the witch of all people, when he reappeared and rescued Jaskier like no time had passed at all.
The anger resurfaced, burned bright like the day itself, but a new feeling had accompanied the rage, one that was not there before. Its presence more powerful than Jaskier could have imagined: Longing.
With Geralt’s face also came their adventures. They flashed through his mind in a rush and left him dizzy. Everything they had gone through, the times he had gotten the Witcher to open up, the way they used to be friends, shattered the anger and made it scatter like broken glass along the floor.
Of course, he still had to tread carefully. His last wish was to impale himself on the anger that still remained, but he also yearned for the days with his old friend.
So, they hugged and moved on like nothing had happened. Then, the unexpected happened. Geralt had apologized. Always one troubled when it came to all things emotions, the words from Geralt’s mouth had shocked the bard and Jaskier knew he had to let the anger go. He gathered as much in the hug alone. Never one to express himself in such ways, Geralt’s own longing shone through as they embraced.
Things had become lighter after that and it had started to feel like old times again. He and Geralt travelling the world, side by side. Like most things involved with them, the peace didn’t last long.
They thought they had rescued Ciri from Yennefer, but then the Deathless Mother had intervened and thrown them into chaos. Full of death and destruction, she wiped out more of the Witchers and plummeted their numbers further. Jaskier had barely managed to escape harm himself as he hid underneath one of the great tables in the hall.
When the winds died down and a deafening silence had fallen, Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri came back from wherever they had disappeared and Jaskier knew that things had only begun. Geralt hadn’t said much regarding where they had gone, but the worry burned bright in his eyes. A storm started to brew that day and Jaskier hoped they were ready when it hit.
His fingers started to hurt, so Jaskier opened his eyes and rounded out the wandering tune he had created. He gave it a hopeful end, curious and innocent. Maybe things would work out for them, but only time would tell.
He finished the piece and set the lute down gently before he leant back in the chair. Arms over his head, he used his toes to push himself back and stretch the stiff muscles in his back.
A slight shuffle, barrier audible over the ambient noise of the draft-filled corridor, caused Jaskier to push too far and the chair crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust.
Momentarily stunned, Jaskier groaned and rubbed his sore backside before he climbed to his feet. He stood the chair back up and glanced toward the source of the sound. A dark figure in the corner made him flinch and slap his hand to his chest where his heart hammered between his ribs.
“Melitele’s good grace Geralt, you nearly caused me to keel over from heart failure, not to mention my now very bruised tailbone! How long have you been lurking in that corner?”
Geralt gave a soft smirk, his stance relaxed as he leant against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. He was anything but a threat, made only by the fact that Jaskier hadn’t heard him walk in, too focused on the sound of his lute.
“Apologies, Jaskier, that was not my intention.”
Jaskier’s heart slowed and he lowered his hand as the rush of adrenalin began to taper out.
“Right, well, that doesn’t answer my question. Any reason in particular you decided to stand there silently, scaring me half to death?”
Geralt’s expression remained calm. “I came looking for you. I needed your help and you weren’t hard to find. I only had to walk down a few halls before I heard your lute.”
Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest, a mirror to Geralt’s pose in an attempt to look more intimidating than he felt. “And you didn’t say anything because…?”
Jaskier knew it didn’t matter why Geralt hadn’t said anything. Usually a man of little words, it was nothing out of the ordinary, but Jaskier’s pride had taken a hit along with his ass as it crashed to the floor. His embarrassment demanded an answer that turned the focus from what had happened to why Geralt was there in the first place.
Geralt pushed off the wall and let his arms drop, his head tilted toward the ground so that part of his hair shielded his face.
“I like listening to you play.”
Jaskier let his arms drop, too, in surprise, his facade of intimidation dissolved. “That… was the last thing I expected you to say.”
Geralt’s eyes darted toward him, a faint blush on his pale cheeks. “Just because you can annoy me doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy your music, Jaskier. Plus, this piece was different. It had more…depth than your others. Are you composing again?”
It was Jaskier’s turn to blush. Geralt never complimented his music.
“No. Well, not really. I was thinking about everything that happened and I guess my fingers followed my mind.”
Geralt stood, silent and still, before he straightened to his full height and faced Jaskier head on.
“I am sorry, Jaskier. What I said that day, I didn’t mean any of it. I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it, but…” he paused, his jaw clenched.
“But what?”
“I thought you would be better off without me. I wasn’t a very good friend and it was easier to push you away then face my problems head on. And for that, I’m sorry. I hope that you can forgive me.”
The raw sincerity on Geralt’s face was more than enough proof that he felt terrible for what he had said, along with the fact that he had apologised to Jaskier a few days before. One apology was a miracle, but two was unheard of when it came to Geralt. But, ever since they had reunited, the difference had been palpable. His Child Surprise seemed to have given Geralt help in more places than the Witcher would admit.
Jaskier grinned. Geralt had become fatherly and it suited him very well. Hope rang for his Witcher yet.
Then, his grin faltered. “Wait a minute, you didn’t compliment my music just because you were trying to soften me up did you? Because I recall a certain moment where you said my music was, and I quote, ‘like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling’.”
Geralt grimaced and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Of course not. That was a moment I’m not proud of. I hadn't slept in days and then I almost got you killed with the Djinn. Another moment I owe you an apology for.”
Jaksier hadn’t intended to make Geralt feel worse and, in reality, Jaskier had practically asked for the attack to happen as he held the Djinn hostage.
“These things do happen,” Jaskier tried to ease Geralt’s mind, “I think we both made some questionable decisions that day. But we’re adults, we’ve moved on, and you’re entirely forgiven.”
The tension on Geralt’s face faded. “I truly don’t deserve your friendship, Jask. But, I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better role model for Ciri and a better friend to you. I know I’ve taken advantage of our friendship in the past.”
Jaskier felt tears well up in his eyes and his vision blurred. “Geralt of Rivia, you big softie. I always knew you had a heart deep inside of you.”
Geralt gave a quiet hmm but his face held a slight smile.
“It’s my turn to ask the questions,” Geralt began as he changed the subject, “what are you doing in an abandoned room at the end of a hall?”
Jaskier sighed, nervously picking at his lute he rescued from the floor after he fell. “In all honesty, I just needed to get away. I feel like I get in everyone’s way, so I removed myself from the situation. I figured I’d be more helpful that way.”
Geralt’s head flicked toward him sharply, his golden eyes a flash of confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re not in anyone’s way. You help in more ways than you know.”
Jaskier gave a bitter laugh. “Right, because I helped so much during the fight. Or during the clean-up. I may be strong, but I don’t have a Witcher’s strength like the rest of you.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice firm, “you don’t honestly believe that do you? There was nothing you could do in that fight. Even I barely withstood the Deathless Mother’s powers. And you have been plenty helpful. Helpfulness is not only measured in physical strength. I’ve seen how you’ve been keeping Ciri busy, tending to the horses and showing her how to play your lute. I haven’t had much time with her these last few days, so I appreciate your stepping in.”
Warmth spread through Jaskier’s chest. He was wanted, needed, and that felt greater than he would admit. Somehow, he managed to keep his cool as he replied.
“Oh, please, it’s nothing. I’m afraid I bore her half the time, with my talk of poetry and the workings of my lute.”
Geralt chuckled. “I know for a fact you’re wrong. Ciri likes you. She told me as much the other day. Somehow the girl has gotten it into her head that you're funny and she is enthralled by your music. I haven't seen her so elated in a while. You bring the best out of her Jaskier, just like you do with everyone else.”
Heat rose in Jaskier’s cheeks and the tips of his ears burned. “Honestly Geralt, I don’t even recognize you! I surely thought you would melt from so much emotion.”
Geralt glared, but after their emotion-filled conversation it only brought him so far. “Shut up, Jaskier.”
Jaksier smiled, despite the words, and picked up his lute. He pulled it over his shoulder so it laid by his side once more.
He appreciated what Geralt had said. The fact that Ciri enjoyed their lessons made his heart swell with pride. He always wanted to teach children how to play music, so the fact that she found herself interested when he talked of his craft, instead of bored like many adults he talked to, brought Jaskier a new found happiness.
They left the room together and stepped back into the dark hall. This time, however, it seemed brighter, less of a dungeon and more like the normal hall it was.
“So,” Jaksier started after a moment of silence, “what you’re saying is that I’m the best uncle ever?”
“Uncle?” Geralt questioned, a surprisingly soft smile on his lips.
“Of course! We’re practically brothers at this point, Geralt. And now that I’ve been established as a teacher of the finer arts, you’ll have a hard time removing me from the child’s life.”
Geralt didn’t say anything, choosing to look pointedly ahead, but his chest rose with emotion. He wouldn’t admit it, but having people around, having a family, wasn’t as unwelcome as the Witcher liked to make it seem. And that is what they were. They may be from all walks of life, but Jaskier knew destiny had brought them together. A Family Born by Fate. Maybe he had composed a ballad after all.