Chapter Text
This fucking sucked. Really what the fuck had Geralt been thinking. Twenty years of friendship and that’s how it ended. Jaskier had expected a lot of ways for this to end but he had not seen this coming. And it hurt, it really fucking hurt. He loved Geralt, more than anything. Sometimes he wondered if it was true, if the emotions of cats really got enhanced during the trials.
He knew it wasn’t true that other Witchers lost their emotions so it was easy to assume the rumour about cat Witchers was wrong as well and maybe it was and Jaskier’s emotions were just naturally really strong. It had helped him in hanging up witchering and becoming a bard. But it also hurt a lot at times.
He loved Geralt and he had known it wasn’t something he should tell Geralt because then the Witcher would run and it had been fine, he was able to just be close. On his way down he had stolen a sword from one of the horses. If the owner had left it down with the horses it couldn’t be that important and now that he was alone, he needed something to defend himself with. He didn’t meet anyone on his way back down the mountain and at the bottom he had grabbed Pegasus and taken off as fast as he could, he just wanted to get away from everything that had happened. But of course, he couldn’t escape his feelings or his memories. He didn’t stop in the first village he passed, it was the one where they had stayed just before the hunt and he didn’t want to risk meeting anyone there so he rode on and spent the night in the woods. Pegasus wasn’t happy with this arrangement at all and shifted nervously for the whole night. He wasn’t like that when they slept outside with Geralt, seemed to feel safer, maybe because there was another horse.
He reached another village just before noon and decided to stay there, at least for a while. Made a deal with the innkeep to get a free room for playing in the evening. But when he got up on the stage it hit him and he nearly toppled over, nearly all of his songs were about Geralt. Of course, some of them were obvious to everyone but the love songs were about Geralt as well, not that anyone knew. But it hurt him to play them. Every song he played made him think of Geralt. It seemed like his hurt resonated with people because they tossed quite some coin into his lute case as he played.
After he had finished, he stumbled back into his room, coin pouch full, heart heavy, just barely holding back tears. It looked like being emotional, especially during the sad songs helped a lot to gain some more money. But Jaskier knew, he couldn’t go on like that, it would break him rather sooner than later. He flung himself onto the bed and it all broke out of him. All the pent up hurt just flooded out through tears and heavy sobs.
Why had Geralt done this to him? After all they had gone through together. He never expected Geralt to love him back but he had given so much for him, it would have been nice to be appreciated, to be seen as a friend. He threw away his boots and the doublet and pulled the dirty blanket over himself. He would probably get flees or something like that but he didn’t really care about this. He went over his options.
He could go on as he had, just wander around, playing his songs. It would break his heart every time he would be on stage and he knew in the end it would break him. Or he could write new songs, songs that weren’t about Geralt but changing his whole set from something the people loved seemed like a bad idea, he had to make a living somehow.
There was a third option, an option Jaskier didn’t want to think about. He had never expected he would ever consider it. He could be a Witcher again. He had never wanted to be a Witcher, he hated it, he had hated the training. Yes, he had done great in training and the two years he had been on the path before he went to Oxenfurt but he didn’t want to, he always wanted to be a bard, he wanted to be liked by people. As a Witcher, especially a cat Witcher, this wasn’t an option. Jaskier stuck out his hand and pulled his pack closer. He sat up and emptied it on his bed. From the bottom a cat medallion fell on his bed. He grabbed it and looked at it intently, he knew, if he put it on, there was no going back. But maybe he should. Just be someone else, be himself again. It was what he was supposed to be, his destiny. At least that’s what they told him. He was a child of surprise, destined to be a Witcher, apparently. His parents were minor nobles in Lettenhove. His father was the Viscount, he should have been the heir, but instead when a Witcher had rescued his father on a hunt, he had promised him what he had but not knew he had and at home he had found Jaskier’s mother pregnant. After his training at Stygga castle, Jaskier had travelled back up north to see his parents. It had been… weird. They had welcomed him in but he could feel that they were scared of him. Scared of the reputation of the deadly Witchers, scared of the reputation of the emotional unstable cat Witchers. It had hurt and Jaskier had left.
After that he wanted to be a Witcher even less, he had forced himself to do so until he couldn’t do it anymore. He had gotten a lute and toughed it to himself. Had gotten a charm to hide his eyes and managed to get into the Oxenfurt academy. It has been twenty years since then, twenty years during which he had never considered going back. But still he had kept the medallion, still he had always worn a knife in his boot. He got up and stepped in front of the mirror, holding the medallion in front of him. And then he just pulled it over his head. As soon as it settled against his chest his blue eyes changed color, became golden. Not as golden as Geralt’s. For some reason cats always had a little of their original eye color in there. His pupil became slitted again. He hadn’t seen himself like that in a long time, it was so weird but somehow familiar. He always wanted to be a bard. But maybe it was true and he really was supposed to be a Witcher.
He formed his fingers to a sign and a small flame sprung up. He still could do it. It felt weird after all these years. Since he had not worn the medallion, he hadn’t been able to do signs. He felt the magic flooding his body. Of course, it was much less than what a sorcerer would feel but after twenty years without, it felt powerful. He would get swords and a light armour as soon as he could. He would still keep his lute, he loved singing, he loved music, there was no way he would give it up.