A Dragon’s Chaotic Mind

Geralt snaps his head around again to look at the melodious voice, and finds a man with beautiful long blonde curls, and scruffy facial hair. He wore a frankly ridiculous outfit, and held a lute. It was a bard. "Geralt.. You look.." The bard had bright cornflower blue eyes. It's his bard. He knows those eyes anywhere. But the rest of the man... Tall, lithe, mustachioed, blonde... Who...? "You look a bit too fortunate, my friend. Where have your undereye bags gone?" "Jaskier?" "You are much too wide to be my Geralt. Very tall, too. Very big. Big man, you." "Julian?" "Not in these parts. I am Buttercup." The not-jaskier-but-still-jaskier said, taking his feathered cap off and bowing with a flourish. "And I am to presume you are a Geralt?" "I'm Geralt." "But not mine. My Geralt looks nothing like you. You're bigger built, you've got paler hair, your eyes look funny, and you have a healthy complexion." "...Well my bard has brown hair." Geralt spends a few days with Buttercup, and learns about "himself". He's still a witcher, he still travels with his bard, he still has his brothers Lambert and Eskel, he still has Roach. He asks the bard if they're still lovers and he hums noncommittally. "We've kissed... Perhaps lain together. But we've not marked any labels. Not yet." It's in the middle of a nice humorous talk with Buttercup that he hears ringing that drowns out all other noise, including Buttercup's voice. Buttercup crouches down - When did Geralt fall to his knees? - And desperately tries to tell him something. But Geralt can't focus, and the nausea is back, and it all ends so suddenly with another sharp snap.

He's in a brothel. He can see it as soon as he remembers he's alive. When he stands up and takes a gander around, his other senses slowly come back, and sure enough, he can smell it's a brothel, too. "Can you for once come in here not dripping blood?" Geralt spins around and sees a man in another ridiculous outfit, clearly a bard, with those same cornflower eyes. Another Jaskier! This one had brown hair as well, a tad darker than his own's, and he kept the scruffy facial hair. "I'm Geralt." "I know that, I've not lost my wits." "Why are we in a brothel?" "It's a tavern cabaret, Geralt, we've been over this. Though I doubt you remember, seeing as you are clearly some sexy abomination." "What?" "You aren't my friend. You're... You're bigger." "You both say I'm bigger than 'Your Geralts'. Am I really that big?" Geralt can't help but ask, gesturing to the whole of himself. "You're like seven feet tall!" The not-jaskier replies incredulously. "All witchers are?" "Not the ones I've met!" He's met many? "Buttercup?" "Dandelion." "Right. Still a flower." Once again he stays with the bard a few days, and learns things. Like that Dandelion is a crack at dice, he's used to seeing a geralt with a trim beard, and they are not lovers. "I could never be held down, and besides, you have that sorceress of yours." Geralt doesn't know which sorceress he's speaking of - Yenn, Triss, someone else? - But before he can ask, the ringing in his ears is back, and he's collapsing again.