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While Geralt was hunting some sort of winter creature in the mountains that Jaskier assured was a Yeti and not a group of elves that were hiding away from humans like the witcher suspected, Jaskier was in a friendly place in Redania. It was a medium-sized town, not too small that a tourist was afraid of falling into a cult and not too large like a city. Jaskier found the town quite charming and endearing. It felt nice to relax, play some songs at night, and spend some savings on new lute strings and oil.
He was walking down the street while humming a new tune about his dearest witcher. Jaskier should know by now that he always got in trouble. He saw the woman’s hair first. It was golden and glimmered in the sun. She was tall, had thick muscles, and looked just as deadly as a Geralt if not more so. She turned to him, perhaps noticing his stare. Her blue eyes looked nice, in Jaskier’s opinion, though her pupils were slightly like a cat’s. Actually, they reminded Jaskier of Aiden’s, though not quite the same.
The woman called out, “Are you okay, bard?”
“How do you know I’m a bard?” he asked. She pointed to the lute case Jaskier was carrying. “Oh. Well. I’m fine.”
She raised one of her eyebrows, clearly in disbelief. “Sure you are.” She turned back to the table she was at. Jaskier stepped forward to see she was looking at new daggers. “What are you doing?” she muttered at the bard.
“Just looking,” he lied. He noticed that all of the blades she seemed geared towards were special. “Silver, huh. Are you a bounty hunter?”
She snorted. “Of sorts.”
Jaskier grinned, practically beaming. “You must have vivid tales to tell, then. Perhaps of bandits and escaped convicts as well as Fleders and Voydanoy”
“I’m not sure my tales are your usual, bard.”
“I like unusual things, darling.”
The golden-haired woman tapped the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier beamed at her, seeing that as a sign of friendship. The woman, however, shook her head before asking the merchant for, “Longer, silver blades.”
The merchant frowned at the request. “We don’t sell silver swords. No one wants them around here. It’s not practical to make ‘em and call ‘em.”
She seemed disappointed, Jaskier noted. She pointed at the longest silver blade on the table. “How much?”
“40 crowns.”
“For a dagger? It’s worth 25 at the most,” she argued.
“Silver is pricey, girl. I can’t let people run around with such a fine metal for the same price as steel. 40 crowns or no deal.”
“30.”
“The lowest I could go is 35.”
“Fine.” She took out a pouch and counted out the coin. The merchant happily took the crowns then handed her the long silver dagger.
Jaskier followed after the woman as she then went to the next booth which consisted of herbs. Jaskier felt a bit, well, stalkerish but his curiosity was officially intrigued. Plus, what she did buy from the herb merchant, he couldn’t leave her alone. He knew she seemed familiar.
The woman frowned when she turned around. Jaskier felt a tinge of excitement as being purposely led into an alley.
She plainly said, “I could kill you. In fact, I would if you didn’t smell like someone else’s. You’re only following me if you suspect.”
With glee, he said, “You’re a witcher!”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Now, tell me why your witcher isn’t around?”
“We split up. He’s on a particularly dangerous contract or something. It sounded boring, to be truthful. And, well, I’m not good in the cold.”
“Humans usually aren’t,” she agreed.
“I’m Jaskier,” announced the bard.
The witcher tilted her head, then introduced, “Dragonfly.”
“That’s really rad.”
“If you say so.” Dragonfly began to walk away. She stopped when she noticed that Jaskier kept following her. “Bard, I’m not adventurous like other witchers. I’m old. I want money. And I want to retire soon. I don’t go on contracts that often, leaving you with no tales to sing about.”
“What if I make it so you can retire immediately? Why wait, you know? I don’t think retirement’s for me, but for ancient witchers that follow the Path I bet it sounds nice. Geralt doesn’t plan to retire, but he’s an odd little bird.”
“How would I retire, bard?”
“There’s a contract.”
Dragonfly groaned. “I just told you–”
“It’s for 5,000 crowns.”
Her eyes widened. “I would have heard about a contract that large.”
“Not if it was just posted last night.” Jaskier smirked as he pulled out a flyer for the newest, grandest contract around. “There’s a bounty on a Trickster– some odd spirit that keeps showing up and messing with nobles.”
“A Trickster? Bard, you must know they’re hard to track down. Spirits are hard enough– but a Trickster? Do you want me to wake up with different colored hair every day?”
“See, I don’t think it’s a Trickster,” said Jaskier.
Dragonfly snatched the contract. She read the description but didn’t find anything odd. “Then what is it?”
“I think it’s a normal person who is really good at getting away with fucking with nobles who don’t know how to do anything themselves. Like, maybe the nobles are just really stupid and full of shit– that they don’t want to admit that a normal human outsmarted them.”
Dragonfly inspected how satisfied the bard looked as he talked. She sucked in through her nose, exhaled out her mouth, then asked, “Are you that fucking insane?”
“Hey, I was just messing with them. I didn’t think they’d gossip to one another about odd events happening. Painting being switched around, jewels going missing only to turn up on statues the next day. That doesn’t sound like a Trickster to me.”
“How many people did you piss off?”
“Oh, like, every noble around. A few of them were nice so I left them flower crowns and the like as thanks, but most nobles hate witchers, so, like… I get my revenge. Geralt doesn’t want me to be physical and start fights because I’ll lose, so I found a way to get my revenge,” he said nonchalantly.
“Melitele’s tits! You’re a whole fucking trip, aren’t you?” Dragonfly was grinning loud and proud. She patted Jaskier’s shoulder. “I like you, kid.”
Jaskier beamed. “So you’ll take the bounty, then?”
Dragonfly narrowed her eyes, partly in confusion and partly in astonishment. “You want me to take you to a king to be slaughtered for messing with nobles in Rednaia?”
“Ah, well… I figured we’d pretend to fix the problem for good.”
“How?”
The following week, a visiting Viscount de Lettenhove and his hired bodyguard showed up to the Lord's estate as guests to discuss the future of Kerack. The Lord was slightly troubled, as the day before signs of the Trickster appeared. Fruits would be perfectly set on counters, but the next time the Lord walked through, they would be smeared across the wall like an artistic rendition of spray paint.
The Viscount soothed the Lord’s nerves by assuring that his bodyguard, a woman who looked quite charming aside from her body armor, would try to fix any problems as a thank you for letting the Viscount stay free of charge. The bed was luxurious – made of goose feathers – and the food was to die for, though not in literal terms. The Lord eagerly let the bodyguard investigate into the Trickster, though the old man did warn that the Trickster was slippy and hadn’t been caught for the past 3 years since it popped up.
The Lord couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw a blue, humanoid creature float in the air. He almost had a heart attack as the Viscount’s bodyguard then attacked the creature. The creatures screeched and begged for mercy, but the bodyguard did not stop. The Lord watched as the creature died, fizzling into the grass like it had never happened. The Lord praised the bodyguard for such fine work.
At the feast banquet that happened after where the bodyguard and the Viscount they worked for received the bounty’s money for the Trickster, many nobles appeared or sent word for thanks. The Trickster hit many, many estates across Redania – with whispers of hitting others outside of the country – so they were incredibly pleased to know the Trickster was dead.
It was a week after that when Dragonfly and Jaskier entered a small cottage by a river. The witcher looked out into the lush greenness with a dazed yet content smile. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel elated at making a life for the witcher. She wanted off the Path, if only for a little while.
“Do you think you’ll die here?” asked the bard. The bird chittered around them and insects croaked.
“No.”
Jaskier was surprised at the immediate answer. “Why not?”
“I’ll be back on the Path in no time. People like us – witchers – it’s practically ingrained to want to keep fighting until we’re killed. I’m the same as your Wolf. I just… sometimes I need a break. I’m getting older and slower. I can’t take the same contracts that I used to do.”
“How old are you?”
Dragonfly shook her head as she poured herself a glass of whiskey. “Don’t you know not to ask a lady her age?”
“Pshaw. You’re no lady, Dragonfly. I saw you eat a fly yesterday.”
“You dared me!”
Jaskier smiled into his own cup of whiskey. He sat back into his chair with a relaxed expression. “You know, I like this place. Maybe I’ll visit from time to time.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Why not?” asked the bard. The place looked nice enough and the cottage had enough room for him to put down a bedroll.
“There are quite a few monsters around. Some animals too– a pack of wolves specifically. I can hear them ratting around. You wouldn’t make it here safely.”
“Oh.”
Dragonfly knocked him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much. I’ll be back on the Path within a few years. We’ll surely run into one another before you die. Even if I have to track you down in Lettenhove, I’ll see you again, Jaskier.”
“Awe, you’re so emotional!” He smiled before gunning down his whiskey.
“Shut up, bard.”
He whispered, “You’re ruining the moment. What happened to saying my name, hmm? Dragonfly, you dazzling warrior, what happened to your manners? I remember you being nice to me.”
“Must’ve hit your head, bard. I heard that if humans get knocked around enough their brains sort of turn to porridge.”
“You’re such an asshole,” muttered Jaskier.
She chuckled before pouring another glass of alcohol. “You know, I’m thinking about getting chickens. Maybe a cow, too. I’ll have to put a really good fence up to keep out things or call up that sorceress of yours.”
“Yennefer would probably give you a deal. She likes most people besides Geralt.”
“Be sure to thank her for the illusion orb we borrowed for the Trickster. The illusion was really believable,” said Dragonfly.
“I’ll be sure to do that. Just, like, please remember that she can look into my mind so she totally knew what we were doing with it. She probably cackled about it with Triss.”
“Humans are so susceptible to magic,” she murmured, poking Jaskier’s arm as if it was fragile glass. “How do you not die every day?”
Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You witchers are difficult to deal with. Did you know that Geralt once tried to hide an injury from me? He thought his arm would heal with no problem. Cut to the next day when something smells rotten in our shared room and his arm was drawing flies to it.” Dragonfly chuckled. “Don’t laugh! It was disgusting. It would have been fine if he let me bandage it up, but no, he had to look all cool and shit.”
“Witchers aren’t treated nicely, Jaskier. I’m still getting used to a human not being afraid of me. Your happy smell is almost sickening. I’ve gotten used to the smell of rotten milk.”
“Well, I hope I smell pleasing. I use orange mostly now, but grapefruit in the winter. Geralt likes honey the best but bees also think it smells nice so I try not to wear it during the summer.”
“So domestic,” she sighed.
“Oh, shush up, Dragonfly. I saw you chatting up that pretty barmaid in town. You liked her– I could tell.”
“I did not. Slander.”
“Mm-hmm. Nothing to see, is that it?”
“Exactly.”