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It was hot, here on the hill, at the end of summer. It was almost twilight, the last few rays of sun bathing Sodden Hill in gold. Geralt stood in front of an obelisk, dedicated to the fourteen mages who gave their lives protecting the North from Nilfgaard. It had been over a year ago, now.
A year since then and more ago...
The grass had regrown long and green here at the end of summer. There were flowers placed around the base of the monument. He read each name off, slowly and deliberately, to put off the inevitable.
A sound from behind him caused the witcher to turn away from the cold reminder of death, anything to delay reading off that last name carved. To believe, for just a little longer, than she still lived.
There was a girl standing behind him, fair-haired and fair-skinned, though all the other country girls would have deep tans this late in the summer. She had daisies woven into her long hair, complimenting her simple dress and bare feet.
"Greetings." Geralt called to her, but she just smiled and lowered her eyes. "Did you bring flowers?" He asked, unsure of himself as a chill ran up his spine. She passed by him silently to kneel in front of the monument, itching out a pail hand to gently touch the smooth stone.
"I did not bring flowers, but these lying here are for me."
Geralt looked at her, kneeling in front of him to obscure the last name from him. She was bright, luminous even in the warm fading tones of the sun.
"Who are you?" He asked slowly, even as he knew what her answer would be.
"Don't you know?" She returned as cold seeped from her.
"I've always wondered what you looked like, my lady." His voice did not shake nor his knees quiver in terror. He felt... serene and tranquil. He could not feel anything else anymore.
"You don't have to address me so formally," her voice was smooth and soft as she answered him. "We've known each other for years, after all."
"They say..." He broke off to lick his chapped lips. "They say you dog my footsteps..."
"I do." The words sounded final, for all her voice was filled with care. "And yet, you have never looked back. Until today. You looked back for the first time today."
He stood behind her, silent. There was nothing more to say. He was... weary.
"How...? How will it happen?" He finally asked when he could stand the silence no more. His voice was cold, emotionless as the people proclaimed witchers to be.
"I'll take you by the hand." She said, looking up at him, fixing him still with her gaze. "And lead you through the meadow into the fog."
"And then?" He could not bear to ask the rest, 'What is beyond the fog?'
"Nothing." She smiled. It was neither soft nor sinister, her smile.
"Was I always meant to end up alone?" Geralt found himself asking, no demanding. "What was the point? To strike down all those around me and leave me standing? To make me fear you?" His voice didn't grow hysterical like he thought it should. "I never looked back out of fear. I was terrified to see you following me. I have lived my life filled with fear..." He paused, leaning into a little of the theatrics Dandelion was known for. "...Until today."
"Until today?" She parroted, like she did not understand the words.
"Yes. We're standing face to face and yet I feel no fear. You've taken everything from me. Even my fear."
"Then why are you trembling, Geralt of Rivia? Your eyes are filled with terror, you are washed out and pale. Why? Do you fear the last- the fourteenth- name engraved here so? I can speak that name aloud, if you wish."
"There's no need. I know what name that is. The Ouroboros has swallowed it's tail; it is done. That is how it is; how it must be. You, that name; the flowers, for her and for me. I am not scared to speak her name now, not when I've said it countless times before; day or night, in the sun and the snows, in drought or monsoon."
"Then speak it out loud." It was not a taunt from her. Not even a demand.
"Yennefer... Yennefer of Vengerberg."
"And the flowers are mine."
"This... This needs to end." Geralt spoke with effort, willing the words past unwilling lips. "Take me by the hand."
She stood then, ethereally smooth and came closer to him, radiating a sharp, penetrating cold.
"Not today." She said simply. "One day, yes. But not today."
"You have taken everything–"
"No." She interrupted him, sharply. "I do not take anything. I merely lead people by the hand so that no one is alone at that moment... All alone in that fog... We will meet again, Geralt of Rivia. One day." She turned away slowly from him and walked away. She disappeared into a deep fog, which had surrounded the hill and the forest and the obelisk as suddenly as a lighting strike. That all-encompassing fog surrounded everything, leaving nothing but the cold and the damp ground underneath his feet sparkling even as an intoxicatingly sweet scent assaulted his senses... His head ached suddenly, leaving him woozy and weary, falling toward the grass even as the world around him darkened...
"...Geralt, sir!" Yurga's voice called, snapping Geralt awake from the soft grasses surrounding the monument to the fallen mages. "Are you okay? Did you fall asleep?" He asked once he was near enough, even as Geralt climbed stiffly to his feet. His leg hurt even now.
"I'm fine, Yurga. I just... fell asleep..." Geralt tried to shrug off the man's attempts at help. "It's the heat." He made his excuses even as he and Yurga made their way back down the hill to his cart, the man needling at why Geralt would strain himself to walk up the hill when Yurga knew the names by heart.
"What's the matter?" Yurga prodded as they got back to the cart.
"What is the last name, Yurga? The fourteenth?" Geralt asked, desperately trying to keep his voice even and calm.
"Ah, I told you before, didn't I? That even the smallest tykes in the villages know all those names. The last, you said? Why, it's Yoel Grethen of Carreras. Did you know of him?" Yurga asked, pausing in his tasks of getting the horses ready to go. Geralt rubbed his wrist over his eyes and cast a baleful look back up the hill towards the obelisk.
"No." He said quietly. "I didn't."
Geralt and Yurga continued on their way home; Yurga's questioning why a child has to be a surprise for a Witcher to take, and mumbles of Destiny that Geralt didn't half believe in were his only answers.
"Yurga!" A woman's voice called out as they neared the house, a woman running from the gate. Her hair was tumbling from under its scarf, water and suds still clinging to her dress, but her face was lit up with pure joy as she ran, stumbling and crying for her husband.
"Darling!" Yurga cried as he dismounted, not caring a bit about decorum as he scooped up the woman and twirled her about. Geralt just dismounted, turning his back on the couple for privacy, and set to fiddling with his saddlebags and the girth of the saddle. He stayed there, politely ignoring them even as the woman asked about him.
It wasn't until Yurga exclaimed out loudly "O, Gods! Something unexpected at home!" did Geralt pay attention. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to make himself seem smaller as his woman begged Yurga to not be angry about bringing home a young girl.
"Dad!" A young boy's voice called out from the house.
"There's my boys! Nadbor! Sulik! How you've grown!" He cut himself off suddenly, and Geralt couldn't help but look up.
There, in the doorway, was a small girl. Even from this distance, he could see her bright white-blonde hair shining in the sunlight, spring green eyes wide with shock.
"Geralt!" She cried, piercingly, and she was off, running straight to him. He... He couldn't believe it! She'd escaped the destruction of Cintra somehow!
"Ciri!" He was off running, his long legs eating up the distance as quickly as he could. He ignored the pain in his leg, sinking to his knees in the middle of the farm yard as they met. The girl threw her arms around his throat, collapsing into him with utter trust.
"Geralt!" She cried, and Geralt wrapped his arms around her back, shielding her from everything else. She was so small, just a little delicate thing in his arms, like a bird. "You found me! I knew you would!" She cried into his shoulder.
"...Ciri..." His gloved hands clenched her dress, pulling her tighter into his embrace.
"I've waited on you for so long! But I always knew you'd find me!" She said with utter faith, struggling to pull back just a bit. Geralt let her, finally able to look into her eyes, diamond bright like her mother's. "We'll always be together now, right?" She questioned impetuously. "Say it, Geralt. Forever!" She commanded, and he smiled.
"Forever, Ciri."
"It's like they said! I'm your Destiny!" Geralt smiled again and pulled her back close, running a soothing hand over the back of her head even as she sniffled again.
"That and more, Ciri. So much more."
Traveling with a small child was an interesting experience, to say the least, but Ciri was a good child, if a bit demanding. Living for a year on a small farm had taught the former royal humility and a good work ethic, and Geralt had no qualms with her. He trained her even as they made their way up from Riverdell into Kaedewen. It was an easy climb up the Blue Mountains and to the imposing and impossibly broken Kaer Morhen.
The next few months were interesting to say the least. A girl-child was very different from the usual trainees, and her magical ability was... disconcerting at best. Eskel was the one to suggest it.
"I know a mage we can trust. We need to get her up here."
"We can't let her know why. The whole of the Continent is looking for her." Coen insisted.
"Triss is very discrete."
"Triss is dead." Geralt added, and Eskel shook his head.
"Are you talking about at Sodden? Naw. She lived. No one recognized her; she'd been burnt so badly. But she lives."
Eventually, all the witchers agreed to the plan, and Eskel sent the letter off. She sent a magic raven back with her response, and would arrive, hopefully, before midwinter. Ciri was the one to find her and bring her in, and Geralt greeted her at the door.
"Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Triss."
"Greetings, Geralt." She studied him a little too closely for his liking. He had hoped that she wouldn't have any hard feelings with the way he broke off their previous relationship.
"Welcome," he repeated, unsure. "We're glad you've come."
"Come in from the cold, Triss." Eskel cut in, smoothly. At least one of them was good with people, and it certainly wasn't Geralt. They turned inside the keep, Eskel making small talk with the mage, apparently they knew each other fairly well. They all turned a corner in the keep, almost back to the great hall...
...And Geralt stumbled as a blow glanced off his pauldron. The man who had landed the hit looked just as surprised as Geralt felt. His bald head was sweaty, with a mouth full of exceptionally rotten teeth. He held an axe in his hand. Geralt, recovering first, punched the man straight in the face with his off-hand. His sword was unsheathed in his right.
A girl whimpered off to the side, and a few other disgusting men were holding down an older man. He recognized this. This... was his first monster. This was the rapist he had slaughtered.
The man collapsed to the ground, unconscious. The others fled, leaving the father of the girl kneeling on the ground.
He... he was in the past. Somehow. Should he... do everything over again? Or would this be a fresh start? A way to make better choices?
"Oh! Thank you, sir!" The father had scrambled to his feet, eyes still wide and shocky, but honest.
"Geralt." His voice was... smoother now. He really was younger.
He could make better choices. Renfri didn't... didn't have to die. He smiled as he tied up the rapist, throwing him across his saddlebags of his very first Roachie. There was a bounty on his head a few towns away. He would turn him over to justice. Maybe he couldn't be the knight errant of his childhood fantasies, but he could make his friend's and family's lives better.
He saved Renfri and Stregobor died to his blade. He found Dandelion and claimed Ciri in Cintra. He came back sooner, finding her quicker. They traveled to Kaer Morhen and they invited Triss up to help with the girl's magic. They were walking inside the cold stone halls again, almost to the warmth of the hearth in the great hall when he turned to the side...
...And was hit with an axe to his pauldron.
"Fuck!"
He stood in the doorway to Kaer Morhen, watching Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri. It was fitting, Jaskier supposed. His fingers twitched as a melody popped into his head, half-formed. He hissed involuntarily as the blisters pulled. Maybe Yen could heal him now that her Chaos is back. He wouldn't intrude on their family bonding time, however. He hummed the little tune that he might could spin into an epic of longing and heartbreak and found family before spinning on his heels to go back inside the drafty old castle...
...Only to strike a sour chord on a lute in his hands. The tavern goers around him erupted into taunts and jeers even as Jaskier looked down at his hands, healed, and zeroed in on where exactly he was.
It was Posada, twenty years ago.
"Abort yourself!" The heckler called and yeah, Jaskier had been singing a truly awful song about that, hadn't he? He dodged stale bits of bread, picking up a few of the pieces as he went. He was starving! And yes, there was Geralt in the corner. Was this some sort of realistic dream? A hallucination brought on by stress and cold?
Or had someone cursed him into the past? Could you even time travel with magic? Who on Melitele's sweet Continent could be that powerful?
Oh. He should probably try to do things like last time, right? Was Geralt aware they'd been transported twenty years into the past? Or were sharing a delusion?
"I love the way you sit in a corner and brood..." He said, though it certainly lacked the easy bravado and cocky confidence from when he was a young fresh-faced graduate of Oxenfurt.
"I'm here to drink alone." Oh cock, he was already messing this up because he couldn't remember what came next. If Geralt remembered anything, his stony glare and grunts gave nothing away.
He managed to stumble through his first encounter with Geralt right up until they were on their way out of town to hunt for a devil that did not exist. Right up until...
"Ooh! I could be your barker!" He smiled, swinging his hands wide. "Spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia the..." He stopped quite suddenly, face growing somber. Geralt stopped and actually turned to glare at him. It was a rather impressive glare, even with Jaskier being so used to them already. "Well, that's not a very pleasant name, now is it?" He asked, voice soft, expression open. "I have a better name; how about the White Wolf?"
"Hrm..." Geralt grunted and stared at Jaskier like he'd suddenly grown a second head. If Geralt knew anything, this would be the thing to make him understand. They stood there for several moments, tense and questioning Geralt and soft and open Jaskier.
"Fuck off, bard." He turned away from Jaskier, clicking at Roach to follow him. Jaskier felt all the air leave him as if he'd been punched in the gut. He was alone with his memories.
Living the exact same life again was... boring. Oh, there were highlights, of course. He managed to avoid getting off-his-ass drunk when the Countess kicked him out again. It still led to his throat getting magicked by the djinn, and getting rescued by Yennefer.
He didn't get yelled at on The Mountain, which was much better, but he still left Geralt when they got back to Caingorn. He needed to help the people under Bleobheris. Then it was off to Oxenfurt to take up the mantle of the Sandpiper. He was able to help more elves this time around, sneaking them out earlier than last time. He still got caught by Rience, but he was prepared. A small vial of potent healing potion hidden in a pocket prepared by Yennefer years earlier when they spent a lovely winter together in Oxenfurt without Geralt fixed all the damage, though he still had to experience the pain.
At the end of the day, if he protected Yennefer and Geralt and Ciri, it would still be worth it. No matter how many times he experienced it.
He managed to not get arrested this go around, and Geralt still came for him. They ended up in Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier subtly pushed Yennefer to the correct conclusion much sooner.
They rescued Ciri.
He watched them on the bridge, a small smile on his face. He spun on his heels, intending to write that epic ballad this time...
...And he was back in Posada, twenty years ago again.
"Fuck!"
It was a beautiful night. Yennefer stood at the top of a mountain, overlooking Morhen Valley, tucked safely under Geralt's arms as they watched the Lights dance in the sky. They had traveled back to the keep for the event, before they would gather the rest of the remaining witchers to spend the winter in Corvo Bianco. It was lovely and romantic. It was so nice to know, without a doubt, that her feelings were truly her own. Not some djinn magic influencing her.
She turned her face up to him and kissed the bottom of the long scar across his cheek before he caught her lips with his. It was soft and unhurried. She loved kissing Geralt like this, knowing everything was as okay as it could be. Ciri was all grown into a lovely, fierce young woman, witcher and mage both.
She turned away from him, for just a moment. And when she turned back...
...She was in the middle of an orgy.
This was... the night before she met Geralt. How?
Was this Ciri? No, she would be able to taste Ciri's unusual magic in the air. This was... impossible! Time travel was impossible otherwise!
She looked around the little manor she had overtaken decades ago, the memories resurfacing easily.
What should she do? Geralt would be coming into town tomorrow morning with Dandelion, having been cursed by the djinn...
She could... She could change that outcome. She knew now that Geralt was the one with the wishes. She closed her eyes to the madness surrounding her, blocking out the noises of sex and ecstasy to feel for her Chaos. It was still strong as ever, and much stronger than it had been when this had originally happened. Or rather, her connection was deeper.
She could change things for the better thing time around. She would make sure that Geralt did not waste those wishes on binding them together like that... But first she would have to get rid of the council members in town...
She spent the night plotting up in the mayor's room, falling asleep in the early hours of the morning. Geralt arrived with the bard just as expected, and she healed him. She plotted and planned, helping stop Nilfguaard much easier than last time. She found Geralt before Triss could get her grubby little claws in her witcher, and they managed to be there to help stop the White Hunt. They came out of the battle much better, because they went in more prepared. Geralt invited her to Corvo Bianco after he saved the duchy of Toussaint and they ended up in the mountains again to watch the aurora again, snuggled into his strong arms, utterly content. She fixed things! This life had been so much better this time around. She kissed Geralt passionately and turned away...
...And was back at the orgy.
"FUCK!"
He was on a boat. It was bound for Skellige and called the 'Curve of Time'. How Geralt knew that, he didn't understand. It just seemed to happen whenever he jumped back in time. That wasn't quite right. There had been a few times now that he had woken up somewhere new, and those lives scared him the most. He had lived his life over a dozen different times now. He had seen the outcomes of his choices, and had learned how to steer those to a better outcome. He was actually quite satisfied with his life right now.
"Geralt?" A man's voice asked, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. The man was of a similar build to himself, dark hair with bright blue eyes, an air of mischief and chaos surrounding him. A lute was slung across his back and he was wearing a ridiculous bright blue outfit.
"Dandelion?" Geralt questioned back, utterly confused. The man scoffed at him.
"I haven't gone by that name since Oxenfurt, Geralt, you should know..." He stopped his little tirade mid-sentence, gaping something like a fish. "I never told you that. You shouldn't know that." And now he was attempting to glare at Geralt.
"You're not Dandelion. Your face is all wrong, and where is your goatee?" A woman who could almost be Yennefer demanded, marching right up to the young man with all the ferocity of a mighty lioness on the hunt. The man squawked in outrage at her.
Geralt felt himself smiling. She might not be Yenn, but she was doing a good job at pretending. Piercing violet eyes, long waves of black hair, and a practical riding outfit in black and white; Yenn is a bit taller, a bit leaner of a woman, perhaps, but this doppelganger is a close imitation. The pendant hanging from her throat is similar, but not the same.
"He's also not blonde." Geralt added, wondering briefly how his friend's blonde curls would look on this man.
"It's Jaskier!" The man yelled, stamping his foot down in anger. "And who are you? You certainly are not Yennefer, even if you share her eyes."
"Oh?" The woman asked, folding her arms across her chest and leaning onto one leg, thrusting her other hip out to the side. "And who else would I be?" She asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Geralt couldn't help the small grin that formed.
"Ah! I can help with that!" A young woman's voice spoke from near the bow. She was tall for a woman, with her pale blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun on the back of her head. She wore a steel sword on her left shoulder, but it was her eyes... Bright green, sparkling bright with an inner fire that could not be quenched by even the complete devastation of her home, forced into exile.
"Ciri!" All three of them exclaimed at the same time.
"You've grown so much!" The man exclaimed, stepping forward tentatively, with a hand raised as if to caress her terribly scarred cheek. That was a nasty wound, though Geralt thought it looked like it might have been healed with magic. It certainly wasn't as bad as it could have been.
"You're so big." Geralt found himself saying, smiling at the girl fondly. She carried herself with the easy grace of a witcher, though he knew that she hadn't been subjected to the Trials.
"Hello everyone." Her accent was strong, voice crisp and serious even as she smiled. "I can explain what is going on."
"Good! Because as fascinating as it is to see how many times I can get run out of a town for sleeping with the wrong different people, I am quite tired of living the same twenty Gods-be-damned years!" The man was eloquent in his anger, and Geralt just turned to look at him thoughtfully. "I have lived a dozen lifetimes; it's quite tiring."
"You, too?" He and the maybe-Yennefer asked together.
"Yes! And no one else ever notices!"
"I'm sorry." Ciri said softly, drawing the attention back to her. "There's... Well... Something has happened. You three all came from different universes, different but similar. And it's my connection to each of you that drew you into the time loop. I have some help, and we're trying to fix it. But until then..."
"We're stuck, living our lives over and over again." Yennefer concluded. Ciri nodded.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay, dear heart." Dande-Jaskier said sweetly.
"You can do it." Geralt said, softly with confidence. "Until then, we can hold on."
"Thank you. There might be others who start remembering the time looping with you as we fix things more."
"That's something we can look forward too?" Jaskier asked, excited. "It gets terribly boring in winter, knowing everything my friends have been up to year after year. It would be nice if Priscilla or Shani could remember..."
"Wait... Does that mean at the end, we'll go back to everything that happened in our original time lines?" Geralt asked, unsure as he thought about it. He'd done so much to fix things each time; he didn't want to go back to that sad and lonely world.
"Oh shit. Essi!" Jaskier exclaimed. Oh, had something happened to the pretty young bard? He'd have to find out.
"It better not!" Yennefer exclaimed.
"If everything works out the way we're hoping, all the better choices you live through will carry on. Just, don't get too out of hand or you might make it worse."
They all three nodded, taking her warning seriously. She bit at her lip a moment before she stepped forward, a small smile on her face.
"I love you, all."
...And he dodged the blow from the rapist's axe as the cycle began anew. Geralt smiled, taking out the man with ease. He could- no, he would- fix things. This time would be better. Just like the last time was better than the one before that, and the one before that...
...And maybe he'd get to see his daughter grow up into that remarkable young woman he met on that strange boat one day soon.