Chapter Text
He is fine, he really is.
So what if it feels like his chest has been torn open and his heart ripped from its place? So what if all the beautiful memories he has of the last fifteen-something years are now stained with doubt and fear?
A poet's path is full of heartbreak and sadness. They are, after all, some of the greatest sources of inspiration there are.
It is fine, it really is.
Actually, It is more than fine, it is lucrative .
Now, if only he could tell that to the empty spot where his heart was.
"Stupid Geralt, stupid mountain, stupid dragon.” Jaskier mutters as he descends the mountain. He amazes at his body's capacity of moving and functioning with a giant, bleeding hole in his chest.
He also thinks something should happen. Some grand tragedy or change now that the person he loved and followed for the last fifteen years threw him away like he was nothing, like their history was nothing…
He expects something, anything, to happen. Maybe Geralt coming back and telling him it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe another witch saying she stole the Witcher's reason. Hells, he would even take Valdo Marx popping out from behind a fucking bush and telling him it was all an elaborate prank, though he would certainly murder Geralt for going along with it.
(Gods, he cannot believe that Valdo Marx it's the better scenario)
Instead, he walks down the mountain.
Alone.
Well, every great song starts somewhere…
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
And it does. While stumbling down a mountain, after almost dying four times (almost, Geralt!), a song is born. Burn Butcher Burn is an instant success, but far too painful and raw for Jaskier and all the unlucky patrons that have to witness his bleeding chest-hole and messy tears.
(A bad look overall. A few tears can certainly enhance a performance, except it was not poetic crying, it was messy, real crying. Not professional at all.)
A revision is made, then scratched, and a whole new song is born.
The Golden One is the right song, a perfectly objective (or almost) retelling of adventures full of bravery and heartbreak that are not his, well, not completely his.
(He is not trying to erase himself from the narrative, or maybe he is. He is not sure anymore. Nowadays there are a lot of things he is not sure of.)
Even more popular than its predecessor, it is the perfect song to win the bardic competition, to Valdo Marex's utter disdain. Oh, It's a glorious thing, but the main person he wants to share such victory with is no longer in his life.
It feels empty and meaningless. Feelings he never thought he would associate with his art.
He hates Geralt for making him feel like this, almost as much as he misses him.
Almost.
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
A few weeks later, he finds himself helping a small family of elves get safe passage away from Nilfgard.
... It sort of escalates from there.
Hey, at least he doesn't do things by half.
Not a good thing, the hole in his chest whispers to him.
Well, maybe it is, he thinks as he and Shani help another family escape.
They are soooo going to hang him for this.
If they find out.
When they find out.
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
Cintra falls, and even though the hole in his chest (yes, he is sticking with the metaphor, Shani!) tells him not to, he searches for Geralt.
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
Sometimes, in the dark, he wonders if there is something he could have done differently. Maybe be a little more quiet, a bit more helpful or less annoying.
A lot less feeling.
Sometimes he dreads that it wouldn't have mattered at all.
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
He ends up finding the princess, growed up and alone and afraid, and even though his brain tells him not to, he takes her.
"How do you know Geralt?” She asks, her green eyes full of curiosity and a bit of weariness.
“We used to travel together. Not anymore.”
"What happened?”
"Well, I realized I was unwanted and a fool for not seeing it before." It's bitter and raw, but it is his truth. Somehow the idea of lying to her sets a heavy weight in his gut. "But worry not princess, I shall deliver you to the White Wolf safe and sound.” He says with a flourish, only to make her smile, and when he is rewarded with her laugh, something heavy and painful eases, just a little.
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
Jaskier tries to cut her hair, but after a lot of arguing, some death threats and a fallen tree, they settle for a hat.
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
Jaskier never saw himself as a father, by his own choice at least. The gods know that the dalliances of the past always catch up. But when he saw those warm red boots and Cirilla’s smile, he thought that having a child to care for may not be so bad after all.
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
She is something like he has never seen before. He does not think anyone has seen anything like her before. Her powers appear as unlimited(? as her nightmares? / and her dreams hunt her.
Jaskier sings to her. He sings to ease her sleep, to make her laugh, and to teach her about the world.
He braids blessing into her hair, protects her from those who wish her harm and hopes that when the storm passes, she'll look back with a bit of fondness at the time they shared.
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
He also tries to make her laugh. It’s not fair that she doesn't get to enjoy the joys of childhood because she can scream really loud.
He doesn’t exactly know what a normal and happy childhood is supposed to be like. But for her? He can try.
A pony, perhaps?
~~~~~~ • ~~~~~~
"What is Kaer Morhen like?" Ciri asks one evening.
They are sitting on a dark corner at a random inn. She just won four rounds of Gwent against some very wounded men and is enjoying her spoils when Jaskier approaches her after his first set.
"I don't know, I've never been." He says, trying to sound casual about it. He thinks it’s a pretty valiant attempt.
"What? You've traveled with him for so many years, and you never went?" She asks, a little incredulous.
"I've never been invited." He says and congratulates himself on the way his voice barely breaks.
Ciri seems to shrink into herself.
"... What if he doesn't like me?" She says in the tiniest of voices.
"Oh, darling" He draws her into a hug. "Oh, love. You're the most stubborn, delightful and strong lion I have ever met. How could anyone not love you?"
Ciri settles into his shoulder "You promise?"
"I promise." Jaskier says as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
He hugs her again, tightly. The wind of change is in the air, and he has a feeling that their time is up.
Just as she begins to smile, the door to the tavern slams open, and Jaskier's heart beats wildly for the first time since that day.
He locks eyes with pale eyes and even paler hair.
Gods, that stupid hair.