WherePlotBunniesGoToDie

'If life could give me one blessing…' 

Jaskier let out a shaking breath as he picked his way down the slope. So Geralt wanted him gone?  Well fine... Jaskier would just go ahead and take himself off Geralt's hands then. 

His lute jostled on his back with each step and he did his best to steady it, it wouldn't be good to have the instrument damaged.

Blue eyes glanced back up the slope, searching for movement, for a sign of Geralt on his way down. When Jaskier saw nothing and his heart sank further to his stomach, he looked away. Of course he wouldn't come. The witcher had made it perfectly clear how little he thought of the bard, how little Jaskier meant. Jaskier wanted to be angry, to storm back up the mountain and yell at the Witcher, but instead he felt nearly numb. 

Jaskier was trying to be careful as the path narrowed even more than he remembered from the way up and he briefly wondered if he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, he should have hit their campsite by now.  He was heading towards the sunset though and he was sure they had headed away from it on the way up.  Too distracted by his thoughts, and the ever growing hole that seemed to be taking over his entire chest, the bard didn't hear the step behind him until a growl alerted him to how close whatever it was, well, was. 

He turned just in time to catch a sharp claw across his cheek, pulling a pained yelp from his throat. He hit the ground with a crash, his lute splintering beneath him. He reached up a shaking hand and ran it over his cheek, frowning when it came away slick with blood. He looked up as the creature lowered itself towards the ground in a crouch. He realized too late what it was doing, though he tried to back away. His hand shot to his hip, where a dagger lay hidden; gifted to him by Geralt 

The breath was knocked from his lungs when the creature lunged and set all its weight on him, laying him flat on his back, his hand yanking the dagger from its sheath in his pained flailing. It took a moment but he gasped desperately to get the air back into his lungs before he pushed at the creature as hard as he could and swung his other hand, the knife slicing a sizable gash in its chest. It growled in pain as it fell away, it's legs kicking wildly as it attempted to right itself, and Jaskier immediately scrambled to his feet. 

He didn't hesitate a moment longer, turning on his heel and bolting. He could hear whatever it was getting back to its feet and, before he knew it was chasing him, gaining on him. He cried out when it leapt onto his back and both of them collapsed into a heap. He registered the knife slipping from his grip and sliding down the path and he could feel the white hot pain as claws dug into his shoulders and his lower back. He tried to struggle, to shove it off again but the pain as it sunk its teeth into his flesh pulled a scream from his throat. He felt them moving, sliding, but he didn't know where exactly they ended up. 

  He didn't mean to do it. Didn't mean to call out for him but his mind latched onto the vain hope that the Witcher would hear him.

"G...Geralt! Geralt Hel-" The creature putting its weight on the back of his neck cut off any sound he could make and he gasped desperately. Black spots began to swirl in his vision as the pain began to fade, though he could still hear the growling. Oh… he just couldn't feel it anymore. That probably wasn't good. 

He couldn't move his arms and his eyelids were too heavy to keep open. He tried though, and managed one last look at the pink of the setting sun over the horizon. 

He couldn't breathe but the pain of claws dug into his back seemed to have vanished. He wondered briefly if Geralt had come and gotten rid of the monster but he cursed himself for hoping. 

"Geralt…" he said, though he had no way of knowing if he even made a sound. His vision swam and faded to black. 

~~

Geralt stood, fists clenched and shoulders tensed as he took in the empty camp. Jaskier was nowhere to be found, though his bedroll and small pack still lay in the remains of the camp. The sun was setting and darkness was creeping over the pink horizon.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose as he realized that any scent or trace of Jaskier was old. The bard hadn't been in camp since that morning. That wasn't normal and Geralt tried to ignore the concern he could feel rising in his chest. The bard, no matter how upset he had been, surely knew not to run off down the mountain alone. 

Geralt swallowed the concern and converted it into anger. 

"Jaskier!" He yelled. "Jaskier get up here!" He knew he was loud enough for the bard to hear no matter where he had stopped for the night.  "Jaskier!"

He heard no movement, no mumbled curses; not even a distant call of 'fuck off!' Any of which he expected. 

He glanced around before he shook his head. It was far too late to go out tonight and when the bard had left he'd been angry. He was probably just ignoring Geralt and the Witcher would come across him in the morning, cold and complaining. He sat down by the corpse of the fire from the night before to meditate. Closing his eyes he almost swore he heard a sound in the distance but when it didn't come again he ignored the urge to check it out, brushing it off as an animal.

The sun rose and Geralt arose with it. He couldn't help the frown that took to his lips when he saw the bard hadn't come back. The lingering scent from the day before had faded and now it was as if the bard hadn't been to the camp at all.  He quickly packed up the few things that had been left at the camp, including Jaskier's bedroll, which he hefted over his shoulder with his own and started down the path. 

It was at least a few hours of walking before he saw splinters of wood staggered around the path and thought little of them. Whatever it was looked to be destroyed and it was no concern of his that some traveler had been unlucky enough to break some possession of theirs. 

He glanced around as he walked, eyes searching for any sign of the bard, ears straining for the sounds he constantly made. Neither sight or sound alerted him to anything abnormal. In fact it was the sticky, iron scent of blood that pulled his attention down a nearby slope. He peered down and caught sight of a creature laying dead at the bottom of the small but steep incline. 

He almost walked away, almost turned his back to the corpse before he caught a glimpse of something just up the path, the silver blade glinting in the sunlight. That was the knife he had given Jaskier, the knife that was no longer in his possession and was tinted copper at the tip. He looked back down the incline with a start and finally noticed something red just beneath the creature. It was too bright and solid to be blood and too textured to be a trick of the light. 

No. No! 

He started down, trying to keep his expression from morphing into distress. He slid most of the way and stopped just a foot from the body… no. Bodies, it was bodies. He could see now, the lithe form of the bard curled beneath the monster. He didn't hesitate to throw the monster body off of Jaskier's limp form, not caring as it slid away down a steeper incline to the left. 

"Jaskier!?" Geralt felt his legs give out and he hit the ground with a thud. He reached out, hands hovering over Jaskier's cheeks, his shoulders. Finally Geralt steadied himself enough to grasp the bard by his shoulders, pointedly ignoring the ripped and shredded fabric that he felt beneath his palms, and hauled him up to lean against Geralt's chest.  The bard, limp in his grasp, with eyes closed, could too easily be confused with a doll or a corpse.

 One arm slid to wrap around Jaskier's back to hold him and Geralt's other hand cupped Jaskier's cheek to tilt his head towards him. The witcher almost yanked his hand away as his heart fell to his stomach. The bard was so cold, his skin sickly pale. A deep cut marred his cheek, dried blood crusted across his skin. A gash, no, a bite, where his shoulder and neck met stood out in angry blistered red. Geralt laid a hand over it shakily. The wound should have been bleeding! Why wasn't it bleeding? Not that Geralt wanted Jaskier to be bleeding, but bleeding meant his blood still flowed, his heart still beat… He still lived.

"Jaskier!" Geralt hissed as he gave the bard a small jostle. The bard didn't react, didn't respond and Geralt growled. He had to stay under control; had to calm down. The blood rushing in his ears and the growl low in his throat kept him from hearing Jaskier's heartbeat. The shaking of his hands, that had to be why he couldn't find a pulse. 

"Jaskier, wake up!" He couldn't let the bard die, not when he was the cause of it. He had sent him away, sent him waltzing down the mountain on his own… and he had been the one not to go looking after dark. 

"Jaskier!" Geralt tried again, his hand cupping nearly Jaskier's entire neck. He tried to calm down, to relax enough to be useful again. Finally, he managed to quell the blood roaring in his ears and the shaking of his hands. Then, blooming just beneath his fingertips was a pulse. It was nearly as sluggish as his own and did little to give Jaskier the appearance of life, but it was still there. Jaskier's heart still beat in his chest and Geralt still had a chance to make this all right.

He frowned as he eyed the bite on Jaskier's neck. He didn't have anything for it, not at the moment; but he could make something if he got to roach. He looked up the incline, he couldn't climb it with Jaskier in tow, not completely comatose anyway.

"Jaskier, come on. You've got to wake up just a little." He tried, voice quiet and far too soft. He tapped gently at the bard's cheek in an attempt to rouse him. "Jaskier, please." He said, voice nearly a whisper. He couldn't help but lower his head, pulling Jaskier closer until his nose was buried in brunette hair. Beneath the smell of blood and old fear was the overly familiar scent of cinnamon, blueberries and summer flowers, with the softest of vanilla undertones lingering beneath them all. Geralt found the scent terrifyingly comforting.

The scent gave the distinct feeling of…Home… One that so very few places and people gave him. It was warm and familiar, and caused Geralt to realize he might never get that again. Geralt had sent Jaskier away, told him that his absence would be a blessing. Now… Now, Jaskier was barely clinging to life and Geralt could do little to help him. 

His grip on the bard tightened slightly and he felt, for the first time since he was in training, truly overwhelmed. He couldn't carry the bard up the steep incline, couldn't leave him and come back, couldn't wake him. He closed his eyes and let out a deep, stuttering breath. Geralt felt useless and the feeling was so overwhelming he didn't notice the Bard's pulse get slightly stronger as he kept the other close. He didn't feel the heat slowly returning and the color bleeding into pale cheeks.  

He did hear the sharp, sudden and deep intake of breath from his arms and his eyes snapped open. Lowering his gaze, he found himself looking into open but glassy blue eyes. 

"Jaskier!"

"...Ger't?" 

The Witcher couldn't find the words he wanted, not surprising really, but he didn't really try too hard to find them either. He instead pulled Jaskier close, resting the bard's head against his shoulder as one hand curled tighter around Jaskier's back and the other cupped the back of his head, tangled gently in his hair, nose buried in Jaskier's neck. 

"You're alive..." He breathed, so quietly it took him a moment to realize he had said it out loud. 

The bard didn't respond and for a moment Geralt feared he had passed back out, but when he leaned back enough to see Jaskier's face, he saw the still glazed blue eyes wide in shock. 

"Jaskier." He said again, his tone sharper than he meant for it to be, but he couldn't let Jaskier fall back into shock. Especially now he could see the bite had started bleeding sluggishly.

"Geralt…" Jaskier said slowly, reaching up and running his fingers down Geralt's cheek, the touch feather light. "You're… Really here." He cringed as the move caused the bite to pull, bleeding more steadily and a hiss escaped his clenched teeth. 

"Don't move your arm. You'll hurt yourself worse." Geralt murmured, watching Jaskier's expression curl in confusion. 

"So I am dead?" The bard questioned quietly. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're worried about me…Telling me how not to get hurt worse…But Geralt said he didn't care so I must be dead and you must be a figment of my imagination." His voice was strained, as if stringing so many words together was hard.

Geralt didn't answer him, didn't immediately assure the bard that he didn't hate him, because Geralt couldn't put into words what he was slowly realizing  the other meant to him. 

"I need you to stay awake so we can get back to Roach, alright?" 

Jaskier frowned but gave a small curt nod, eyes closing. Geralt maneuvered him to his feet and, though he had to do most of the work in pulling him along, Jaskier was able to follow his lead when the pair headed to the incline. The bard opened his eyes a few times but seemed unable to keep them that way for long.

"Stay awake." Geralt snapped when he felt the bard start to sag against him. "You have to stay awake, Jaskier."

Jaskier mumbled an apology as he tried to straighten up. Geralt looked up the incline and then at the nearly unconscious Jaskier and thought. He had an idea but knew he would have to be quick about it.

"Jaskier." He said, pushing the bard to face him and hold him at arm's length. "Listen. You need to stay awake enough to hold onto me. Can you do that?"

Jaskier swayed in his feet but nodded, eyes still closed. "Think so…" he muttered.  Geralt eyed the bite again, it had started bleeding in earnest now, worryingly so.

Geralt let go and quickly turned his back to the other and just as he'd thought, Jaskier sagged weakly against him. Geralt knelt and used the momentum to get Jaskier onto his back. As if by instinct, Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck and held on.

The witcher brought Jaskier's legs to wrap around his waist before he released him. Trusting the bard to hang on, and keeping in mind the shallow but steady breaths against his neck, he started to climb. 

It was slow going, Geralt mumbling to Jaskier to keep holding onto him and Jaskier trying to do just that. At least once, Geralt was sure the bard had passed back out fully, but his grip didn't slacken. It took three sharp calls of the bard's name to get a mumbled response. 

They reached the top of the incline and, with a small amount of aid from Jaskier, Geralt pushed the bard to lay on solid ground and then followed up himself. As soon as he was no longer clinging to Geralt, Jaskier let his body fall limp. Geralt sat for just a second, just long enough to calculate how far from roach they were before he shuffled to Jaskier's side. 

"One more time Jask, wake up and stay awake." Geralt said sharply, the only tone that seemed to really snap Jaskier to attention.

Jaskier made a small noise, possibly an objection, in the back of his throat but his eyes did blink open blearily. Geralt glanced up towards the path and then back at Jaskier. Decision made, he stood and then leaned down to scoop up the bard quickly. Holding him in a bridal carry, he jostled the bard only enough to secure his grip on him. Jaskier, despite the manhandling, stayed worryingly silent. He glanced down and saw that, while Jaskier did indeed still have his eyes open, he was far too busy staring intently, or as intently as he could seeing as his eyes were still glassy and far away, at Geralt's face. 

Geralt decided he would question that later, they didn't have time now, and started down the mountain at a pace that couldn't be called a run, but only because of how careful the Witcher had to be.

He reached Roach even quicker than he anticipated, and quickly laid Jaskier into the grass beside her before immediately digging through the nearest saddle bag. 

Roach, for her part, seemed to sense Geralt's unease, as she nickered softly at him. As he searched she leaned her head down towards Jaskier and nosed at, and then gently lipped his cheek, pulling a soft, worryingly wet laugh from the bard that had Geralt freezing in place for a second. 

"Roach?" Jaskier murmured. "Hello darling girl. When did you get here?"

Geralt couldn't help but feel his chest lighten slightly. Jaskier was talking, he was laughing, he was staying far more awake than he had for Geralt, and even if it was because of Roach, Geralt found he couldn't be upset. Roach huffed a breath at the bard before looking back at Geralt, almost as if to say 'Hurry up you absolute buffoon! He's hurt!"

Geralt decided the other thing he would question later would be how the hell his horse had given him such a look, shelving that particular question in the back of his mind. 

Once he had gotten what he needed from his bag, he knelt beside Jaskier, on his other side seeing as Roach nipped and refused adamantly to move when he'd tried to ease her aside. With Jaskier still talking to the horse, even if it had at some point careened into less talking and more absently mumbling about Roach's lovely coat, Geralt got to work. 

The first application of salve,enchanted thanks to a very smug Yennefer last time they'd met, had Jaskier hissing through his teeth, eyes clenched shut and all playful mirth about his ode to Roach immediately vanishing from him. 

"I know…" Geralt found himself murmuring. "I know. But it'll help Jaskier. It's going to help." 

Hurts…" he hissed, bleary eyes opening for only a moment before he clenched them shut again. They didn't open the rest of the time that Geralt worked. 

Once the bite and gashes on his cheek and lower back, he had to turn him to his side for that, much to Roach's apparent disapproval, were covered in salve and then bandages, Geralt laid Jaskier gently on his back again. The bard, having passed out again, looked too worryingly close to how Geralt had found him earlier and Geralt couldn't help but reach out and run his fingers through the bard's hair, down his unmarred cheek, coming to a stop over his pulse point. Roach, for her part in this strange happening, slowly knelt and then huffed as she laid down beside the bard and her Witcher, laying her head gently across Jaskier's stomach.

Sitting there, the sun now high in the sky, Geralt couldn't help but fall into a light meditation, his hand never leaving Jaskier's neck, never leaving the steadying heartbeat beneath his fingertips. 

That's how Jaskier awoke, with a gentle press of fingers at his throat, a tightness from the skin where bandages were wrapped tightly, and the feeling of something warm and heavy across his stomach. Opening his eyes, he couldn't help the look of shock that crossed his face as he saw both Roach, and then Geralt, sitting so close to him. 

The uptick in his heartbeat had Geralt snapping his eyes open only seconds after the bard and when honey met cornflower, he all but shoved Roach's head aside and pulled the bard to him in a hug, blatantly ignoring the horse as she let out an angry nicker and climbed slowly to her feet. He buried his nose against Jaskier's throat, taking the place of his fingers, and his hands wrapped around the bard's shoulders and tangled in his hair. 

Jaskier was so taken aback that he didn't even have the state of mind to question what Geralt was doing, instead, raising his arms to wrap them back around the Witcher. 

"Jaskier… You're alright.." he heard Geralt murmur against his neck, the movement of his lips and the warmness of his breath pulling a gasping shiver from Jaskier, despite the uncalled-forness of the timing. 

"Geralt?" 

Geralt tightened his grip slightly, cutting Jaskier off before he could speak again. "I'm sorry. Gods Jaskier I'm so fucking sorry." His tone was tight, angry, and Jaskier tensed at it. Geralt was quick to smell the change in his bard's emotions, the strangely citrus scent of confusion giving way to the sickly sweet scent of fear. 

He leaned back, golden eyes wide as he looked Jaskier over, and then met his eyes. "I'm sorry." He repeated, using as much willpower as he could to keep the self hatred and anger from his voice, leaving it instead soft and broken. "I never should have let you leave like that…What I said was just…" 

Jaskier watched him struggle to find the words, to speak more than three at a time and felt his lips curling into a soft, tentative smile. 

"You've so rarely apologized that I have half a mind to test you with silver." He said, attempting to joke with Geralt, but frowned when the statement pulled a look of hurt across Geralt's face. "Geralt… No, I know it's you…" he amended quickly, reaching out to cup Geralt's cheek. 

Geralt absently leaned into the touch, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as he did. Gods, the surprise on the others face at the movement, the soft smile that slowly returned, made Geralt's heart skip a beat. " I'm sorry." He repeated instead of doing what he wanted to do and pressing a kiss to Jaskier's lips. 

Roach, apparently having had enough of whatever it was her two men were doing and the dancing around each other, huffed and stomped her foot before slowly circling around to stand behind Geralt and pressing at the back of his head with her nose, leaning him closer to the bard. 

"Geralt?" Jaskier asked, tone soft, as if he didn't want to disturb the other. 

"Jaskier… Can you say you forgive me… please?" He found himself whispering. 

Jaskier's eyes widened and he fumbled over his words. "What? Of course I… I mean you apologized and… I knew you didn't mean what you said, but I mean I'm still a little upset at you and…" the bard was stumbling over his words and Geralt had the urge to quiet him. Realizing that Jaskier was continuing to try and fumble out an acceptance, Geralt took a deep breath and leaned forward, capturing the bard's lips with his own and silencing the other man. 

Pulling back a moment later Geralt couldn't help but smile at the soft 'oh' the other let out. He had half a mind to say something else, something more, but didn't have a chance as Jaskier surged back to him and pulled him into another kiss. 

Geralt had the feeling it would still take some time for him to fully apologize to Jaskier, even if Jaskier himself denied the need, and he was already attempting to plan out more apologies for the future. For now though, he simply pulled Jaskier close, deepened the kiss, and for once, didn't ignore the spicy scent of arousal that surged from the bard. He did, subconsciously take note of the sweet, honey scent that lingered below the arousal. 

He knew better. Of course he knew better! Numerous decades will beat understanding into you whether you want it to or not, really. Of course knowing better doesn't mean following through with that knowledge. Knowing better doesn't mean you'll sit back and let your best friend die just because he has an overwhelming death wish and you haven't seen him in over a year.

Surprisingly, as far as Jaskier was concerned, it hadn't hurt like he'd expected it too. Granted, it did feel like a hot knife was being perpetually stabbed into his stomach and then twisted, but that wasn't the all consuming agony he, quite frankly, expected of a monster's poisoned claw slicing across his abdomen. 

Geralt was looking at him with eyes wide in shock,or at least he assumed that's the look the Witcher wore, his pitch black eyes hampering his ability to read the expression. The creature lay slain at his feet, blood joining Geralt's in a somber pool. His hand sat limp at his side, his sword dragging in the dirt. His other hand clutched at a bleeding gash taking up his entire side, a vain attempt to slow it. 

Huh, wasn't that funny? Geralt never, ever looked shocked. Maybe that had changed in the year since they'd seen each other, since that horrible day on the mountain. Maybe Geralt was willing to admit he had emotions? 

Jaskier frowned when Geralt's form began to swim as his gaze went hazy. He tried to step towards the other, to clear his vision, but felt his legs give out beneath him and he gasped as suddenly he found himself on the ground. 

"Jaskier!" 

Funny, that didn't sound like Geralt, too distraught to be the Witcher. 

He tried to lift his head, to see what had suddenly taken Geralt's form but found even that was too much. Wouldn't that just be poetic? Jaskier, the White wolf's bard, died protecting a shapeshifter. He'd have laughed if he felt he could.

Strangely, he realized it no longer felt like he was being repeatedly stabbed, in fact, it didn't feel like anything. He almost swore he was floating,flying even, but that was silly, he couldn't fly!

"Jaskier! Look at me you damn idiot!"  oh… Geralt but not Geralt again. This time the tone bordered somewhere between fear and hysteria and the idea that Geralt would feel either of those about Jaskier himself was just ridiculous. 

Jaskier found himself gently rolled onto his back, or at least that's what he had to assume. The hazy brown that had filled his vision was now a hazy blue. There was a shadow blocking out some of the blue and he wanted to reach up and touch it. Maybe that would show him what had taken on the form of his old friend, he did have a ring on for just such a reveal. Bought after they parted as Geralt's warnings about creatures still echoed in his head.

"Jaskier, you have to focus on me." 

Hands cupped his cheeks, pulling his attention to the shadowed figure. Well, not so shadowed anymore, just blurry; like looking through water.

"Where'd Geralt go? What are you?"

"Where did…? Jaskier it's me. I'm right here?"

Jaskier frowned, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to focus them. Geralt not Geralt sounded so confused, more proof he wasn't Geralt. 

"No. No, see, I saw you… I saw you and thought Geralt was going to be hit by the monster again. You… Geralt… you wouldn't have been alright after another hit!"

"And you stupidly got in the way!"

"But Geralt wouldn't be upset by that! And you… you sound like you're upset. Geralt… Well, see, Geralt said his best blessing would be… would be…" that was odd, he knew what he wanted to say but the words just wouldn't slip past his tongue. In fact it felt like his mouth was filling with something… Water? He had to force himself to speak through the full feeling in his mouth.  "Would be if I was off his hands…"

Finally! That's What he wanted to say!  "I couldn't let him die! Of course… I thought you were him."

"I am hi- Jaskier it is me." 

"You can't be because… Geralt hates me!" Jaskier said. Goddess, why didn't not Geralt understand? 

"I don't… hate.." Geralt not Geralt stumbled over his words in a bizzare show of emotion. "I don't hate you Jaskier."

Jaskier let out a laugh, wet, strained and humorless. He didn't think he could laugh anymore so that was good. He could feel the… Whatever it was in his mouth, running down his chin, and he wanted so badly to reach and wipe it away, but didn't have the strength. 

"Of course you don't. But he does." 

Not Geralt didn't respond, too busy turning his attention to Jaskier's abdomen. Not Geralt moved and suddenly Jaskiers entire upper body was a lot cooler than it had been before… Oh, not Geralt had ripped his doublet and chemise off. Well damn, he'd really like this lavender one, it complimented his skin tone.

"Hey…" he said, a weak attempt at berating Not Geralt.

"Shut up Jaskier!"

Oh… well that sounded like Geralt. Maybe it was…? Jaskier tried to shake the thought from his head. He knew this wasn't his old friend but as long as they kept the form maybe he could pretend? 

The pressure on his stomach disappeared for a moment and Jaskier frowned. No.. No! He didn't want to be alone when he died! Where did not Geralt go?

Something cool was pressed to his lips and a thick, vaguely flowery tasting liquid invaded his mouth, overpowering the wet, full feeling. He swallowed instinctively and couldn't help but make a face at the flavor of perfume and iron. The cool vial was quickly pulled away and Jaskier tried to squint and see what not Geralt was doing. 

A sudden burning pain enveloped him, stemming from the slash across his abdomen, and he couldn't help but scream. It was as if the creature had slashed through him again, with claws recently dipped in flames. He could feel his back arch as if to get away from the pain but not Geralt pressed his hands to the slash and pushed Jaskier back to lay flat. 

Jaskier managed to reach up and scratch at not Geralt's arm. He wanted it to stop! What was happening? The pain was increasing and not Geralt was holding him down and… And he was hot, far too hot.

"It's a potion! It's safe for you but you have to stop thrashing!" Not Geralt snarled at him. 

"Hurts!" Jaskier managed as the pain intensified. "Stop!" He had to get away, to get the pain to stop!

"Jaskier, enough!" Not Geralt snapped and used more pressure to press Jaskier once again to the ground. There was pain in his voice, or maybe Jaskier imagined the strained tremor he heard. 

 It was getting dark again and Jaskier felt the pain begin to fade into the background, his ears filling with a rushing buzz that drowned out everything around him. Once again he couldn't focus. He let himself fall limp and closed his eyes, he couldn't see anyway.

When he opened his eyes, which was surprising in it's own right, it was to the dim light of a fire a few feet away. Right after his eyes opened, he heard rustling to his right and suddenly he could make out  a shadowed shape above him. 

"Jaskier…"

Oh… Not Geralt was still here, still sounding just this side of wrong, just a little too emotional. Jaskier closed his eyes tightly, hands clenching at his side. 

"Don't you dare pass out on me again." 

That… sounded much more like Geralt usually did. That sounded angry and exasperated and… oh so familiar. "Worked too damn hard to keep you alive."

Jaskier sighed and kept his eyes closed. This time the voice was a bit calmer, closer to worried than angry.

"Jaskier? Come on, don't pass out again…" 

There was a hand running through his hair, brushing the sweat slicked strands back and out of his face. 

“Jaskier?” 

Jaskier opened his eyes again, looking straight into worried amber. 

"There you are." Not Geralt said as he sat back and just out of Jaskier's line of sight. Before he could question it, not Geralt gently helped him sit up, and leaned the bard against his chest to anchor him. 

"Come on, sit up for me."

Jaskier frowned and struggled weakly. "Alright. You had your fun pretending to be Geralt bu-" he started, turning his upper body as best he could to look at the other.

"Pretending?" Not Geralt cut him off. "Jaskier. I'm not…" he lowered his eyes and must have caught the glint of Jaskier's ring because without another word he took the bard's wrist in his hand and lifted it to his cheek. The ring pressed into his skin and there was no burning, no anything. "See?" 

"Geralt…" Jaskier breathed quietly.

The witcher himself nodded, despite the fact it wasn't a question in Jaskier's tone. He curled himself around the other and Jaskier had the distinct sense that the witcher was unaware of doing so.

"Geralt… I hate to be the one to say this especially right now, but… why are you here?"

Geralt tensed and leaned away so quickly, a rush of breeze from the movement sent a shiver down Jaskier's back. 

"What do you mean?" Geralt asked. "You were going to die an-"

Jaskier cut him off. "I was, yes. If you do remember about the last time we parted… Well, honestly Geralt it seemed like… I mean," he looked away, "Isn't that what you asked for?" He couldn't help the hitch in his voice or breath when he spoke. "Back then, you said…"

"I know what I said!" Geralt hissed, pained and quiet. "I know what I said and how horrible it was!" Geralt looked away, expression surprisingly open.

Jaskier glanced back, brows pinched in question. 

 "I met up with Yenn about three months after we parted. She heard what I had said to you and hit me so hard I was sure she intended to kill me." Geralt explained quietly. "She might have been trying to actually…" he added as an afterthought. "Said I was the stupidest man she'd ever seen, and that was saying something. Said I'd realize what I lost when it was gone and she'd not feel any sympathy for me."

Jaskier was quiet, lowering his gaze to stare unseeing at the fire in front of them. "I was sure you didn't want to see me again." He finally whispered. "And even so I was prepared to die for you…"

Geralt was quiet as well for a few moments, long enough that Jaskier had the unusual thought that the witcher had gone mute, but the other eventually spoke

"You were prep-…Why? I was terrible to you."

"I've always been reckless. You know that." 

Geralt frowned and Jaskier glanced away again. 

"I've never known you to have a death wish." 

"You haven't known me for a while." 

"Jaskier…"

The bard flinched slightly at the tone, quietly resigned and sad. "I know…" he replied. 

"I missed you…" Geralt let his sudden declaration hang in the air, Jaskier could feel him tense when the words left his mouth. 

"What…?"

"After Yenn tried to beat sense into me, I realized she was right. I pushed you away, lost you, and I regretted it. I wanted to find you but I didn't think you'd want to see me again."

Jaskier was quiet, listening to the other with a kind of detached melancholy. How long had he waited for the other to say these things? How long had he longed for Geralt to see him, want him, miss him? He'd willingly risked his life for the other not twenty four hours before and yet… Why wasn't he ecstatic? Why wasn't he happier?

When he didn't reply Geralt let out a long breath. "Is it too late to try again?"

Jaskier lowered his eyes, the blue unfocused and glassy as he stared unseeing at the ground. 

Geralt knew the moment he screwed up irreversibly and he knew the moment he ruined his friendship with the bard. He knew right after the words left his mouth that he couldn’t take them back and found himself frozen in place as the bard left with a quiet goodbye. He heard him pause for only a moment before continuing on, the sour stench of betrayal left in his wake. 

Geralt lingered on the edge of the mountain for longer than he wanted to but the weight of what he said to Jaskier, and to a slightly lesser degree, what Yennefer had said to him, rooted him to the spot. He clenched his fists and finally turned as the day wore on, nearly to a close. Making his way down the path and back to their original camp was easy, and he didn’t want to linger too much on the fact Jaskier wasn’t camping there, waiting for him. The bard’s things were gone and he moved on quickly. He could do nothing but make his way down the mountain anyway, there wasn’t anything left on it for him. 

The first night he camped, at the old campsite, he could smell Jaskier’s trail lingering in the air, but with the headstart the other had, Geralt couldn’t catch up and he found himself camping alone, like he had done so many times before. The second night he fared no better, finding himself apparently just a few steps behind the bard. There were traces of him everywhere, his scent and lingering presence practically taunted Geralt, but the bard himself was nowhere to be found. He was forced to camp once more, despite how much he didn’t want to. Even a Witcher had to show some caution in barely known territory. 

Geralt reached Roach on the fourth day, some time late in the afternoon. He approached her and was a bit surprised when she stomped her hoof and shied away from him, as if she was mad at him. 

“Roach?” he muttered as she stomped again, pressing against his chest with more force than usual. Geralt frowned and moved around her, stopping short when he saw that his bags alone sat behind the mare, save for the extra bedroll he had given Jaskier long before. He looked back at the mare as she eyed him, as if making sure he’d seen what he’d done. 

“He was here already then?” he asked, and got no answer, as he expected. He saddled Roach and packed his things, and the extra bedroll, onto her back before climbing up and riding back towards town. When he reached it and after leaving roach in a nearby alleyway, he headed right away to the inn, asking after his bard. The innkeep shook her head and said that the bard hadn’t been back to the inn since the group had left days ago. Geralt thanked her quietly before he made his way out of the inn. 

No sooner had he set foot outside did a voice call out to him. A woman rushed to his side, her clothing filthy and torn, hair knotted. 

“Witcher! You’re the witcher! They said you would come back through soon!” she said and Geralt waited, silent, for her to continue.

“Please. The path to the west, to my home town is haunted by something. It kills travelers and tradesmen. Please, I managed to make it through by traveling nonstop. I brought our pay! Please, you have to help us.” she pleaded, holding up a bag that rattled with coins. 

"I need whatever details you can give me. " he said. 

"It starts at night. People camp in what they must think is safe. The only man to come home alive said they woke to a thick mist covering the area and voices calling to them. He said he heard his wife, dead ten years, calling to him. He saw her, in the mist, beckoning him. His mates were walking away by the time he got his wits about him. They vanished, he said, and he was so afraid he covered his head and lay there trembling to the sound of his wife, till morning came. As soon as the sun hit his face he scrambled up and home, leaving everything behind." She said, motioning to the westward path.

Geralt glanced the way she indicated, and sighed. “It sounds like Foglets…Stay here. I’ll return for the payment when the job is done. If I don’t come back you don’t pay.” he said and he saw the woman visibly relax. 

"Yes. Yes. Thank you." She said. 

Geralt grunted affirmatively as the woman turned and rushed into the inn he had just exited. He whistled and Roach came quickly around the corner to his side. He pulled himself up into the saddle and clicked his tongue quietly. Roach let out a huff before she started out of town, led west by Geralt's insistence.  He wondered idly if Jaskier had headed west, and if he'd stayed safe.

He traveled for just a few hours, night encroaching on him quickly, before he pulled Roach to a stop, planning to camp for the night. He hopped down from the mare and patted her gently, allowing her to roam the area as she wished after he removed his things from her back. 

He set out his bedroll, though he didn't intend to sleep, and caught himself as he absently grabbed Jaskier's bedroll to lay out. The bard's scent was so strong that Geralt felt he could reach out and the bard would be close enough to touch. Had he come through here? 

He heard Roach whinny softly, as if nervous, and he turned to find her in the dark. The horse stood almost seventy yards away, huffing and nosing something on the ground. Geralt's eyebrows knit together in a barely there expression of worry. 

"Roach. What are you doing? Get back here!" He said as he stood. Roach neighed at him loudly and Geralt started towards her, curious. She rarely called his attention and never without reason. He stopped, frozen in his tracks as Jaskier's familiar floral scent hit him full force and he saw what Roach was nosing at. 

Jaskier's lute lay in its case, open to the elements and with no sign of Jaskier himself. A wrinkled bedroll and old fire pit hinted that someone, Jaskier, had been there but not recently. As Geralt stood, stock still, a thick fog began to roll in. It settled and Geralt reached for his silver sword. The foglets were nearby and he still had a contract to complete, and he planned to find the bard along the way. 

He turned towards the bog, watching, waiting. He expected anything from the creatures that waited just out of sight. He'd seen them take the form before of many things, a young boy, scared and alone, a shapeless mass that moved through the fog with little trouble. He almost dropped his sword as an all too familiar voice startled him from the darkness. 

"Geralt, is that you?" 

Jaskier sounded so close, as if he were just beside the Witcher. 

"Jaskier!?" He called. He saw movement in the fog and took a step towards it before he felt more than saw the rush of air as Jaskier rushed past him, chasing whatever it was he saw. Geralt reached out but was too late to catch the bard. 

He heard his own voice then, a ways into the bog.

"Jaskier? Where the hell did you go? You'll get yourself killed out here alone!" 

He saw Jaskier chase after the sound, seemingly unable to hear him as he called out. 

"Wait! Jaskier that's not…" he stopped. No, that couldn't be Jaskier, it was a foglet trick. Jaskier wouldn't have followed him without question like that. He had been so upset with the Witcher that Geralt was sure he would have simply told the him to fuck off. The bard had probably fled when the apparitions became too much for him and would return in the morning.

He unsheathed his sword and stalked after the apparition. If nothing else he would kill the foglets and most likely find Jaskier in some hidden spot, too nervous to come out. He tried to ignore every instinct that pulled him forward when he heard the bard's voice let out a pained yelp. He heard Jaskier speak again, much further into the bog.

"Geralt! We meet again. I'll have you know I managed to set up camp all for myself! I'm not exactly unused to camping alone, Witcher. You should be proud of me! Especially after you so heatlessly sent me away."

Geralt clenched his teeth and waited, he waited for the vision to continue so he could pinpoint how many foglets and where exactly they were. A few moments passed before he heard,

"Geralt? Did you take a potion I don't know abo-" and a splash. A second later he heard a sharp intake of breath and his self control fled. He rushed into the heart of the bog and saw Jaskier sink beneath the churning water, eyes locked a figure in front of him. Standing across the water, on other stable ground, stood a close approximation of Geralt himself, watching with a patiently blank expression. 

"It's not real." He growled under his breath. He ignored the hand that shot just slightly out of the water, ignored the urge to grab the doublet sleeve and yank the bard to safety. This wasn't real, Jaskier wasn't there. The bard was hidden, safe; he had to be. 

Geralt growled as he flung himself across the space between him and his double. The facade melted away and he was quickly met with the ugly creature he expected. A second quickly raised itself from the water where he had seen Jaskier go under and lunged for him. 

He turned in a graceful move and plunged his sword through the chest of the creature that had looked like Jaskier. He was almost instantly facing the other and had plunged his sword through it as well before it had much time to do anything. 

When he pulled the sword out he let the body crumple to his feet and raised his eyes to make sure he wasn't wrong about how few there were. He saw something behind the fallen foglet and he started towards it with his sword at the ready. 

He bit back the sound of distress that threatened to escape from his throat as his gaze took in the limp form of the bard. Jaskier was laying on the ground, unmoving, eyes staring unseeing into the night sky. There were marks littering the skin of his arms and throat that hinted at foglet bites. It had to be yet another foglet, another trick, it had to be. 

 As he approached he expected the creature to change, to lunge, to get up and fight, but it didn’t. The Jaskier look-alike laid there, unchanged. Geralt reached the illusion’s side before his fingers went slack and his sword fell to the ground with a sickening splash. It wasn’t an illusion, it wasn't a foglet trick. Jaskier himself lay there, pale and empty. 

A thick, choking sensation filled Geralt’s chest as his legs gave from beneath him. He fell into the mud on his knees, the scent of death overpowering his senses. He reached out but pulled his hand back as if burned when he felt the icy coldness of Jaskier’s cheek. 

“Jaskier…” he murmured. 

That hadn’t been a vision just to torture him then, he realized. That had been a replay of the last moments of his bard’s life. Jaskier had died with what he must have thought was Geralt simply watching him. He had followed what he thought was Geralt willingly and if the illusion was truthful, with few questions.

Why? Why!?

He lost track of time as he sat there, staring into Jaskier’s unseeing eyes. The sun rose and bathed him in light but he didn’t move; couldn’t move. 

If Jaskier tried hard enough, he could pinpoint the exact second Geralt tore the beating heart right from his chest and let it fall carelessly over the cliff edge. He could also tell you the exact second his brain and body fell out of sync. 

He'd tried to speak again, tried to step closer but his body wouldn't listen to him and he found himself quietly bidding his friend goodbye. He'd turned, waiting for a second but when Geralt didn't try to stop him, Jaskier left. 

Getting down the mountain wasn't all that hard really, not when any urge to sing or strum had been taken from him, rendering him surprisingly silent in his descent. He followed the path listlessly, expression somewhere between despair and vaguely empty. A small, hopeful part of him kept listening for Geralt, for the stubborn witcher to catch up and, not apologize but at least give Jaskier a goodbye himself. He didn't even catch a glimpse white hair and that small stupid piece of his heart crumbled away. He camped the first night by himself, with no tent or protection to speak of and found himself doing the same the second night as well.

He made it to Roach on his third day of travel, sometime in the early afternoon and managed a small smile. The mare huffed at him when he approached and nibbled at his hair and doublet, content with his return. 

"Hey girl." He cooed quietly, stroking at her nose when she bent her head to huff at his chest, or, more likely, nose at his pockets for sugar cubes. When she found no such treats she huffed and shook her head. Jaskier gave a small chuckle as he backed away.

"Sorry. Sorry. Nothing today." He said apologetically. Nor ever again his brain scathingly provided for him a moment later. You won't see Roach again because Geralt doesn't want to see you again. He sighed and lowered his eyes. His and Geralt's bags sat not far away and Jaskier approached them slowly, hesitantly, as he knew taking his things would finally, finally cement the fact that he was to be alone again. 

Picking up his things wasn't hard, not that he had much anyway. He debated taking his bed roll, knowing Geralt didn't need two but, seeing as Geralt had purchased the second not long after Jaskier had started traveling with him, he felt it wasn't his to take. He left it lying gently with Geralt's things. 

His bags and lute strapped to his back he shuffled his feet anxiously, and soon he found himself back at Roach's side.

"So, guess I should say goodbye to you girl. It's the least I can do." He said as he stroked her side. As if she understood him, she stomped her hoof and flipped her head. "I'll miss you… Keep him from doing anything too stupid, yeah?" He said gently before turning away. He couldn't help the small whimper he let out when Roach let out a quiet whinny and nipped his doublet as if to hold him with her. At least she wants me to stay. His mind unhelpfully provided for him as he gently got her to release her hold before he made his way back towards town.  

Without Geralt he found no reason to linger and, after a stop at a local shop to gather a new bedroll, he was already heading out again. It was mid afternoon now and the bard couldn't bring himself to really think about where he was headed. Geralt had led when in unfamiliar territory and they had always split for the winter near the same place, where Jaskier could easily make it back to Oxenfurt in about a fortnight.. Now though, he had no idea where he was or where he even could go. He'd asked the shopkeep in passing as he purchased his bedroll and she had pointed him west for the nearest town. 

With little else to do and no one to stay for, he headed west like he had been advised, only just able to ignore the piece of him that had somehow glued itself back together to listen for the Witcher.  He knew that if Geralt caught up with him then he would immediately fall back into step with said Witcher. Sure, he'd let him have a piece of his mind, but he'd still follow him to the ends of the planet.

It took until the sun was low over the horizon and the sky was painting itself pink for the bard to finally stop. He didn't dare go any further with the trail becoming muddy and slick as he approached what he could only assume was a bog, and the light dimming enough to render any further trek dangerous. 

He turned back and walked just far enough that the ground began to dry before he truly tried to make camp. He set down his things and laid out his bedroll before venturing around his campsite for suitable wood to burn. Within an hour he had a small fire going and was nibbling on what little rations he had stashed in his bag; nearly stale bread and an embarrassingly smashed apple. The meager dinner lowered his spirits, which had managed to slightly rise on his trek and he found himself deflating sadly 

He eyed his lute with a kind of detached sadness as the feeling of loneliness began to really set in. Having been able to hold it at bay as he walked, it now had full reign over him. He wanted to play, he always wanted to play but what was the point? There was no one to hear him and no one to sing of either. The song he had attempted to write on the mountain sat heavy in the back of his mind and the words lingered in his throat but he didn't have the energy to release them. 

He did reach out and pull the lute case over, opening it and running his fingers gently over the carved wood, but didn't play a single note. He leaned back on his hands and let his gaze wander to the sky where the first few stars were starting to shine. Maybe he would write the rest of the lyrics down, then when he had the energy he could debut his new song for the crowds. 

Deciding that was a better use of his time than emulating Geralt by sulking and brooding all night, the bard dug out his songbook and by the light of his meager fire, wrote, changed and rewrote the lyrics to his new song. It was only when the pages began to blur and his words became nothing but smudges, did Jaskier finally set his things aside. Hours had passed and the sky was alight with twinkling stars and the full moon cast a faint glow on everything around him. 

He put out his fire, for safety' he reminded himself, and packed away his songbook once more. He didn't bother to change, too tired to worry about his clothes, and instead curled fully dressed, into his bedroll. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, his back turned the way he had come. 

"Jaskier!?" 

He awoke with a start, sitting up and looking around with bleary eyes.

"Geralt, is that you?"

"Jaskier!"

There it was again, that oh so familiar voice calling out to him; for him. A thick fog must have rolled in as he slept because as his sight came back to him, he saw the area lay covered in a blanket of mist. In the distance, in the direction he was heading, he saw a faint light and distant shape moving away from him.

"Jaskier? Where the hell did you go? You'll get yourself killed out here alone!"

Jaskier watched as what he had to assume was Geralt, lighting his way with a torch,moved further into the fog and the trees before he scrambled to his feet. 

"Geralt!" He started rushing for the Witcher but found Geralt to be moving quickly away from him, still calling for him. "Geralt!" He dimly wondered why Geralt was using a torch when he could see decently in the dark but his other thoughts were loud enough to silence the question. He came looking for you! He wants you to travel again! You can tell him off like he deserves!" 

The bard stumbled and nearly fell, letting out a pained yelp that pulled the Witcher's gaze to him in the dark. He couldn't help the smile that bloomed across his face. 

"Geralt! We meet again." He said as he started towards the other, who made no move towards him. "I'll have you know I managed to set up camp all for myself! I'm not exactly unused to camping alone, Witcher. You should be proud of me! Especially after you so heatlessly sent me away."

Geralt didn't say anything back, just stood unmoving and waiting for Jaskier to reach his side. Just a few feet away Jaskier hesitated as he finally noticed that Geralt wasn't holding a torch in his hand, in fact Jaskier didn't see anything that could or should be casting the light that illuminated Geralt's form. He took a slow step forward and his smile faded. 

"Geralt? Did you take a potion I don't know abo-" he found himself cut off as his foot suddenly met no resistance and he plunged into icy water.

He surfaced and gasped as he looked around. Geralt was where he had just seen him, watching, silent. He looked off though, hazy and wrong. 

The bard had no time to dwell on what was going on with Geralt as his fall had stirred up the muddy swamp bed and the water was becoming thick with the sticky substance. It stuck to the bard's clothes and shoes and began to weigh him down. Topped with how exhausted he still was he found himself slipping under again quickly. 

He struggled and his head breached the water just long enough to get a lung full of air before he was weighed down again. His feet were quickly stuck in the muddy bed and he thrashed wildly, hoping to break free again but quickly found himself unable to, only managing to sink further and his struggle weakened. What was Geralt doing and why wasn't he helping him? He had just been looking for him right? That had to mean he wouldn't sit back and watch the bard die. He was just right there! Just above him!

Of course he would. You're only good for shoveling shit, remember? 

Jaskier's lungs strained for air and forced his body to attempt a breath. He let out a muffled sound as water flooded his mouth; his empty lungs. His body forcibly tried yet again to breathe, resulting only in more water filling his lungs. Black spots danced in his vision and he could just barely make out the sky from beneath the surface of the water. He reached up, desperate and searching for Geralt, for his help. None came, the last thing he saw was the moon as blackness swallowed him completely. His last thought was a single word.

The red liquid is viscous in its assault on his clothes. It spares no thought for how expensive this outfit was or how the crimson color clashes horribly with his bright blue doublet.  It's too hot, and he claws at the stained fabric to try and get some relief, to cool himself down. 

"Jaskier! Stop!"

No, that doesn't make any sense. He can't be hearing that voice! That voice left him and told him to stay away. And Jaskier did! He stayed away, he left. Something… No, someone, grabs his wrists and yanks then away from his ruined clothes. He's laying flat on his back and he can't remember how he got like that. Wasn't he just standing up?

He looks up, searching and sees gold and snow white. Beautiful , he thinks. 

"Jaskier! Snap out of it! Stay with me!" A pressure is put on his stomach and he tries to wriggle away. "Stay with me!" The voice says again 

No, no he can't do that. He wants to tell the voice, tell the lovely golden eyes above him that he can't because he listened and he will again! He'll leave, just like those golden eyes wanted. He stops moving away from the pressure, not because he wants to but because he finds he can't 

He finds his voice and speaks. "Can't."

"What do you mean can't!? Jaskier just hold on, I'll fix this."

Jaskier's eyes narrow. No. You wanted me gone and so I left. Don't make me think you changed your mind! You were never cruel to me like that. He tries to say, but only manages "No."

He hears a grunt and then no more words just an increase in the pressure in his stomach. 

The golden eyes above him shine in a way he can't place and it pulls a frown to his lips. He doesn't understand. He reaches up, running a curious hand down the cheek of the figure and can't figure out why his hand comes away wet. A hand reaches up and cradles his own, holding it once again against the cheek of the figure. 

"Jaskier please…" that's not normal either, he never pleaded, never sounded so close to breaking. Oh! 

He knows now, this isn't real. This isn't reality and the golden eyes and snowy hair before him don't exist, not in his life anymore. 

"Oh…" he says aloud and lets his eyes drift closed. This isn't real, no one is here for him. But, he finds that he doesn't care. His mind conjured up the one person he wanted to see and he will forever be grateful that he is the last thing he saw. 

"Wake up Jaskier! Wake up!"

There's no more pressure on his stomach and he feels like he's no longer laying flat on the ground. He's being cradled and can feel a hand running across his cheek, his forehead. 

"Jaskier... Please… I'm sorry."

He doesn't want to, doesn't mean to. It would only cement the fact that he isn't there but Jaskier can't stop himself. 

"Geralt…" 

"Don't leave me… I need you."