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Chapter Text

The way up the mountain was a tick to arduous for Jaskier’s not so trained feet anymore. Not that he expected to owe them for much longer time. Surely, they would soon be frozen off and simply fall off. In his bad luck this could actually really happen.
He was tired and didn't want to do anything more than just throw himself into the next available bed. Even if it would only be some hard, uncomfortable bedroll, he thought grimly.
The witcher on his side sitting on a horse and telling him to speed up wasn’t helping at all.

It's only been a week since Geralt freed him out of prison and opened up to him that he needed his help concerning his child of surprise – the child Jaskier had told him so many times to finally accept it, but never did. And as soon as Jaskier was gone, the child was brought into Geralt’s life to replace him. The sting in his heart didn’t pass.

What’s been the name of Pavetta’s daughter? Carille? No, that sounded wrong in his head. Cirilla? Yes, that it was. Geralt didn’t tell him which kind of support he wanted from him. What could a bardling like him do with the fallen princess, the last Rose of Cintra? He didn’t ask.

Then finally the shadowy silhouette of Kaer Morhen came in sight. Intimating and dark loomed the legendary fortress over the mountain slopes. This place smells like a never extinguishing source of heroic stories and ballads to sing. Whenever his fingers are recovered, he’d creating them on his lute. Not a lute, he recognized. It was gone. Burned by the Firefucker.

If Geralt smelled his sudden sadness, he didn’t mention it. He never did. In fact, Jaskier wasn’t even sure that Geralt, if he’d noticed it, would have even cared.

Did you ever even care? With your swords and your stupid hair.

The piercing feeling in his chest grew even deeper. Who knows? Maybe the witcher really left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d never give it in, especially in front of Yennefer of Vengerberg. Certainly, he wouldn’t begrudge her this victory.

“Jaskier.” He gazed up to Geralt. The men merely pointed with his chin in the direction of the gigantic gate they were standing in front of. Uh, once again he had been so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t even recognize how they had been approaching the castle.

With loud squealing the heavy entrance was opened. Geralt got off Roach and led she on the reins the last metres into the front yard. Jaskier followed him slowly.

Since it had been winter the fortress seemed even colder from the inside than from the outside. This should be the place where Geralt had been brought up? He remembered Lettenhoven. Comfortable, soft and safe – if you ignored his father’s beatings whenever he’d been too much to handle. The difference between their two lives couldn’t be clearer.

“Geralt!” A deep voice shouted. “It took you some time.”

And then something happened that Jaskier wouldn’t even dared to dream of. Geralt let out a slight laugh. This was wrong. And it was even more wrong when the witcher embraced the man, who had greeted him. “Coën.”

“Ah, and this man back there would then be your bard.”

Jaskier steeped forward. “Not his bard.” Anymore. Or was he? They didn’t spoke about their arrangements, about what they meant to each other. Geralt only told him to come here with him and like the fool, he was, he did so. Without even an apologize for the words that had been spoken time ago on that mountain.

He offered the other witcher his hand. “Jaskier.” The other one shook it. “Coën. Welcome in the coldest fortress in the fucking world!” He opened his arms in a welcoming way.

Jaskier smiled at him. “Nice. Could we finally go in now?” He didn’t wait for the answer, but marched straight forwards the entrance. “I hope, you’ve got a fire in there. I’m freezing to death!” Dramatically he waved around with his arms. Behind him Geralt sniffed amused. It almost felt like before the mountain. Without hist permission a smile crept onto his lips.

Fortunately, it was much warmer in the castle. Some men were sitting on the tables in the great hall. All eyes were upon him. One of them even reached out for his sword. “Huh! Calm down!” He raised his arms in surrender.

When Geralt entered behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder most of them relaxed but nit the witcher with the drawn sword. Jaskier flinched at the light touch and Geralt immediate pulled back. If Jaskier hadn’t known better, he would have thought that Geralt looked hurt. But this was bullshit.

“It’s alright Lambert.” The man slowly took it down. Jaskier felt kind of relieved. Even though he had got used to being attacked and threatened and so with all the river runner things, he still wanted to just run straight out of the danger zone.
An old witcher came forth. “You brought your bard with you, pup, as I see.” Geralt nodded. “Yeah, Jaskier will spend the winter here.” The two of them hugged. “It’s good to see you, Vesemir.”

In the blink of an eye, a whirlwind of blonde curls dashed into the hall and ran into Geralts arms as well. “Geralt! Why did it take you soo long?”

“Because I needed to pick somebody up on my way here.” He let go of her and pointed to Jaskier.

Jaskier stepped forward and bowed artistically in front of her. “It’s an honour, princess.”

"I'm not that anymore, so don't call me that. Who are you anyway?" So that was Geralt's child surprise. What pleasure, Jaskier thought sourly to himself. There you were trying to make a good impression and Cirilla was just as gruff and impolite as Geralt.

Still, he forced himself to keep up the smile. He was an experienced actor, so it wasn't too hard. "I am Jaskier, the bard, the barker of the White Wolf. Surely, you've heard of me?"

She shook her head. "Have you? Geralt never mentioned you." Ouch. The witcher really had never thought of him again. Until the time he needed your help. Jaskier suppressed the angry laugh that made its way up his throat. He had known that he meant nothing to him. That he was only here now because of the brat in front of him. So, why did it still hurt so much?

Cirilla now turned back to the witchers. "Why is he here?"

Behind her, the same red-haired witcher with the sword laughed up, Lambert he thought he knew. "If you believe Pretty Boy's stories, it's because that one," he pointed at Jaskier. "got himself into some shit again." A few of the other sorcerers chuckled.

"Leave him alone," Geralt said good-naturedly and Jaskier turned to him. The amber eyes glittered with amusement. Great.

"That means Lambert is right?" the girl asked innocently. The white curls reminded Jaskier so much of her mother. And yet they were goddamn different.

Just as he was about to give a crushing answer, he heard a heavy door open, also leading into the hall.

"Bard." A voice so well known to him sounded.

A genuine grin crept reluctantly onto his lips. "Witch." He let the word fade softly into the air. Slowly, he turned around.

Yennefer of Vengerberg. She looked better than she had back in Oxenfurt. That was good, he supposed. Leaving aside the whole sacrifice thing. Although hadn't he always warned Geralt what an unscrupulous and obsessive bitch she was?

The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool. Better stay out of sight.

"What are you doing here? Training Ciri to become the same power-hungry, evil, devious, back-stabbing witch?"

"If I ever find myself in need of access to my mess again, there must be someone else who can make your life hell." She twitched and the smile on her lips was wicked.

He moved a little closer to her. "Oh, believe me, darling. You don't need magic to make my life hell. For that, the sheer knowledge of your presence on this continent is enough for me."

Now she really burst out laughing. Yennefer walked the rest of the way over to him and without warning wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Whatever he was going to say got stuck in his throat when she rested her head on his shoulder. "Say something and your genitals will suffer." His mouth snapped shut and then open again.

"Is this another of your kinks? Hug the people you loathe and then threaten to chop their balls off?"

"No. Normally only castration is the joke." He laughed out. She detached herself from him a little. However, her hands remained on his silken shirt. Only vaguely was Jaskier aware of Geralt's gaze and that of the others.

"Who knows, maybe I'm also glad I don't have to put up with those bastards back there alone all the time." Violet eyes turned hostilely on the persons.

"That's enough, Yennefer!" yelled Geralt. A tension began to mount quickly. Unobtrusively, she rolled her eyes. There was something unspoken in them. Yet Jaskier understood. This was going to be as bad for her as it was for him. As long as Geralt didn't get off his ass and talk.

The old witcher, Vesemir, spoke again, " Coën, it would be best if you showed the bard around the fortress and took him to a room. Wolf and I must catch up."

Coën went ahead and waited for Jaskier outside a door. The latter sighed and shared a long look with the demoness.

Jaskier reached down and untied Yen's hands from his shirt, similar to that time in the tavern in Oxenfurt. With this simple movement, he noticed how her gaze remained on his hands. The burns were not healed.

But before she could say anything else, he hurried after the witcher.

Chapter Text

Jaskier had noticed Yennefer's gaze on his hands. The way her eyebrows furrowed together and she almost started to say something. He was grateful that she hadn't. The last thing he wanted was for the other witchers to become aware of his injuries.

Coën and he had been wandering around the keep in silence for a while now. Every now and then Coën interjected and explained this and that to him. But that was it.

"So, you have been travelling with Geralt for how long? Ten, fifteen years?"

"Twenty," the bard replied. At the time they parted, more than half his life. It was a lot, seemed even more. How foolish he had been to devote so much time to this man, only to be hurt again and again. So damn stupid. As if Geralt of Rivia would ever change.

"That's a long time," Coën now agreed. Jaskier nodded. "He's sorry, you know. Even though he might not really express it. I'm sure you know he's terrible with emotions.

But he has them. Before he brought Ciri here, every winter he was still.... grumpier than the ones before. Like right after Blaviken. Eskel said you had a good influence on him."

Jaskier snorted. If you believe it, you'll be blessed. "I think you all misunderstood something. Geralt feels a little guilty at most. He always does. He only brought me back because he needed help. Not because he regrets anything he said." The words sound bitter.

Coën just shook his head. "It's this. Even if you don't believe it." He looked up at the ceiling and then at Jaskier. "Sooner or later he will come."

Jaskier didn't answer. He would not entertain any more hopes that would turn out to be false. That was what he had sworn to himself then, after Geralt did not come back.

And yet you went along, an inner voice betrayed him. He pushed it aside.

"You mentioned an Eskel earlier? Also a sorcerer of your school?"

Coën seemed to realise that this was a desperate attempt to change the topic of conversation. He rose to the occasion. "Right, he's probably late again. Otherwise, everyone's already here."

"So few?" slipped out Jaskier without his permission. Melitele, and he openly complained about Geralt's tactlessness.

"It's always dying." He shrugged and tried to dismiss it. "That's just the way it is with monsters. There's nothing you can do. No sorcerer has ever died of old age."

"But would it be possible?" His curiosity was piqued. Geralt had always been so quiet, had shared no details. This specimen of a witcher was much more talkative.

"It's never happened before. So maybe, more likely not. I don't know." They turned the next corner and finally reached the entrance hall again.

Dinner, it seemed. At least everyone was sitting there with their bowls. No one noticed them. Or him. The red-haired one from before waved Coën over to them and also held a bowl in his hand, which Coën handed him when he arrived. Something very exuberant, Jaskier thought. If you paid attention to how much of the disgusting looking stew ended up on the floor. No one seemed to mind.

Jaksier took a moment to look at the picture in front of him. Witchers and Ciri laughing, bumping into each other, yelling, chatting. Geralt in the middle, less involved in the conversation than looking amused.

They looked like a family. Not one he would ever fit into. And despite years of travelling, so often away from people, Jaskier had never felt so alone.

Yennefer found him like this. Alone and abandoned. Looking at the mountains through one of the broken windows. It had started to snow.

She stepped next to him. Jaskier did not look up at her, but slid a little to the side to give her space as well.

For a while they just stood there. Pressed close together, upper arms touching throughout. With anyone else, she would have loathed the closeness. Every single time, such contact made her feel weak and vulnerable.

She had seen many men who simply imposed their will on other people. In her old village, this had been common practice. Not that anyone had ever approached her like that. No. After all, she was too ugly for that.

Yennefer also knew that she didn't need to be afraid of such things. Her magic was back. And with it her power. And yet it always felt vulnerable.

The masses of snow that fell mounted. Jaskier's fingers kept spreading and he entwined them with those of his other hand. For a while she watched their playfulness.

Then she reached for them, stopping the movement. He raised his eyes. "What...?"

She did not let him finish. "Come with me. There's something for the burns at Vesemir's lab. I'm sure we can find something for the rest of your wounds."

"Um... thank you. I appreciate that. I really do. Wouldn't it be nice to have your tyrannising, foul-mouthed wife looking after you? But it's not so bad as to waste resources on me."

Waste? Again, Yennefer felt the anger rising inside her. So Geralt had actually managed to explain to him that he was worthless? When it came to useless, she completely agreed with him. After all, he didn't do much but talk stupidly and sing lying songs in a wonderful, um, terrible voice. And saving a few elves now and then. Something that had not impressed her, of course.

But worthless? No. She knew how to feel that way. And she didn't even wish that on her worst, most annoying archenemy. Him, in other words.

"Let me decide what is wasteful. I hardly think you're capable of making a good assessment with your tiny only vulgar-thinking human brain of a bean." Yennefer grabbed his wrist and pulled him along.

He squealed impotently and his face contorted far too dramatically. She stifled a smile. "I want you to know, you stupid woman, that my brain is at least a potato." He had put the hand she wasn't holding on his chest.

She snorted in amusement.

Then they finally reached the laboratory. Immediately she pushed a chair over. "Sit down and take off your shirt."

She was one hundred percent sure that the hands were not the only thing the firefucker had hurt. He had bled too much for that. For sure the idiot hadn't taken care of those either.

"Shirt off?" the bard asked, eyebrows moving vulgarly, "Yennefer, you wicked witch. I always knew you actually wanted to get me out of my shirt. Ever since the first day you fondled my balls."

She rolled her eyes "I didn't fondle them. I threatened to chop them off." As she searched for the sahcne she needed, she heard him slowly peeling out of his coat and finally his shirt, all falling to the floor.

"Right, while you sat on top of me half naked. Very convincing."

Without much ado, she took his hands again. "May I?" Cornflower's blue eyes met hers. Jaskier nodded.

Slowly she let chaos rise within her, spoke the right words. Slowly, the magic flowed into his hands. Healed most of the burns. He sighed softly. "Scars will remain." The musician's fingers would never look the same again. Something bothered her about it.

"Thank you." he whispered. His eyes spoke nothing but the truth.

"Don't thank me." I was happy to do so. I don’t like it when you’re hurt. "I only did it so that you wouldn't get on my nerves with your eternal whining then."

Yennefer was very aware that he would probably never have done that. If there was one thing she had learned about the colourful troubadour, it was that he was silent about the really important things. She went on, looking at the bruises on his chest.

"Now you're starting to sound like Geralt!" He snarled slightly.

The words triggered something in both of them. While Yennefer salve the rest of the bruises, they were both silent for an unnaturally long time.

It was only when he flinched violently as she treated the deep gash that ran along his side that it subsided. "Does he know about this?" She pointed vaguely at him.

Jaskier shook his head. "No. I didn't tell him and he didn't ask."

"Ass." The witcher really did treat him like dirt. She didn't like it.

"But like hell." He laughed out. "Whatever happened to: We're better off without him?"

She asked herself the same question. "As it appears, we're just fools." She chose the words consciously. Mischief shone in his eyes. "When you're done with this, I'm sure you could persuade me to sing the song for you."

"Heavens, no! I don't need ear cancer too." But she laughed out loud. He joined in.

And for a brief moment they both felt light at heart.

Chapter Text

Jaskier gasped under her touch. "Fuck, fuck... that's not... Yennefer!" He shouted out.

She rolled her eyes. Even though she couldn't suppress an affectionate smirk. "Wimp. If you'd stop fidgeting like that all the time, we'd be done by now."

The wound on his side was deeper than it had first looked. She wasn't an excellent trainee in the art of healing either, and this was beyond her abilities. Not that she would tell the bard that.

So her hands trembled slightly as she pulled the needle and thread through his reddened flesh. She was not squeamish about watching. Doing it herself was something else again.

Especially when she couldn't help but keep imagining where the wound came from. Certainly from back in Oxenfurt. How long had he been sitting in that chair? How many hours? If she had found him faster... She suppressed the thought.

"Also... You'd think you really wanted to hurt me!" he whined. His voice sounded querulous.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. "Don't be like that, you weeping something." Simultaneously glad for the distraction from her thoughts, which it did and didn't at the same time.

Again she pulled the needle through his skin under his whining.  Then again and finally the wound was stitched. She moved from her crouching position and stroked her hand over his side once more. She had made the movement so unconsciously that it was a surprise to herself.

He trembled under her movement. Ignoring her own quickening heartbeat, she raised an eyebrow. Jaskier just shrugged. "How can I help it if your cold fingers, gripped by death, are so cold?"

"My fingers are cold?" She jabbed them into his uninjured side and he drew back, curled up. "Have you ever touched your own skin?"

"Hng, It's not my fault that sorcerers are so gripped by the urge to self-destruct that they even have to make their own home so cold? Definitely not made for a poor, frail human like me without freezing to death."

She scoffed. "Exactly, you are a poor and delicate flower, easily crushed for me under a tip of my boot." And it was true. Once again, she realised, Jaskier was no more than human. No magic, no supernatural powers. A bard with no sounds. So easily broken.

The sting in her chest that came with it caught her off guard. Jaskier would die. Maybe not now, but in a few years. She didn't want that. The urge to hug him again now was strong. Just as when he had arrived, when she had simply been glad that he was well.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him put a hand on his chest indignantly and gasp. "This is so outrageous, you insufferable, cold-fingered bitch. I want you to know that I am doing very well on my own and surviving!"

I've also survived - no thanks to you.

"I know" She sighs. She knows it too well. He has yet to survive any shit he has gotten himself into. With Geralt's help or hers. Or all by himself.

"It's getting late," she says, trying to get away from him.

Now it's Jaskier's turn to roll his eyes. "I know, I know, creepy witches need their beauty sleep".

She smiles slightly. "You're just jealous because a beauty sleep like that won't help your appearance anymore."

He gasps, deeply hurt and offended. But before he could start one of his typical tirades, she walked past him out of the lab, stroking his bare back once more with one hand, taking in the feel of his now safe skin. "Sleep well, my terrible husband."

Jaskier woke up early the next morning. Not that he had slept much. The memory of a cruel snap and glowing flames at his fingertips kept him awake most of the time lately. Sometimes the nightmares didn't come, but those were special cases. Rare special cases.

The first light of the sun fell through the narrow window in his small room. Coen had shown him his bedroom the previous day. It wasn't much, but it was more than he had expected.

If he was honest with himself, he didn't even know what he had expected. Probably that Geralt would just drag him here quickly, take what he wanted and eventually abandon or ignore him again. And in a way it had been like this. He hadn't looked at me once since we got here.

The thought hurt more than it should.

He sighed and slipped out of the covers. Fuck. How cold could it get in this fucking mountain? Surely his toes would actually freeze and fall off by the end of this winter.

With drooping eyelids, Jaskier forced himself to get up. On his way out, he quickly threw on his wonderful coat, which let him make many a dramatic entrance.

He met no one on his way into the great hall. The castle seemed to be deserted, but the closer he got to his destination, the more he could hear the witchers.

And there he saw them. Lambert and Coen, some other witchers he didn't know, Geralt's Child of Surprise and Geralt. They were all sitting together at a table, chatting and laughing. Even Geralt seemed to be enjoying himself. It was just like the night before. A family.

He had never felt so lonely in his whole life. Never. Not even back then in Lettenhoven.

He went to the kitchen and got his share of the food. Cold bread and leftovers from yesterday's soup. He sighed. Nothing earth-shattering, then.

"Hey bard!" Coen poked his head through the door just as Jaskier finished his meal. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"We're all going over to the Pendulum to watch Ciri train. I thought you might want to come along...?" His voice became hesitant towards the end Perhaps he was already regretting asking, for who would want to spend time with an outsider like him? Jaskier's expression didn't waver a bit. Was he so pitiful that even a witcher noticed?

Nevertheless, Jaskier nodded in agreement. He had nothing better to do anyway. He might as well watch the hideous brat land in the dirt.

Besides, the witcher had aroused his curiosity. Geralt had been so secretive.

None to share details, he had told Rience. He had never heard of the pendulum. It was a chance to learn something new about the Witcher people.  Write a song or two about the training. They wouldn't be popular, but certainly amusing. At least for him.

The princess again falls onto her ass. Maybe she's really only a nasty lass.

How easy such lines came to him. The idea cheered him up a little.

With this feeling he followed Coen a little way up the mountainside.

The others had already gathered in front of a huge, dangerous-looking obstacle course. Surprisingly, Yennefer was standing a little apart.

"So, did she finally make it?", Coen immediately wanted to know.

Lambert laughed boomingly. "Hardly." Only now did he notice Ciri lying on the ground holding her arm. Furious, she jumped up.

"I almost fuckin' made it!"

"Don't get in over your head, Cub," Geralt spoke calmly and slightly ... concerned? Being a father seemed to do him good. At least now he was taking care of one person for once.

Jaskier suppressed the twinge of jealousy.

Ciri marched to the starting podium again. "Go on, Lambert," she commanded in the voice of a princess. Lambert immediately acquiesced. "If you wish it, Your Majesty!"

He worked a lever on the edge of a peg. Groaning and shoveling, the pendulums began to move. Evenly they swung back and forth and Jaskier could not for the life of him understand the difficulty behind it.

Just at that moment, one of the pendulums caught Ciri and threw her to the ground again. Furious, she hit the floor with her arm. It was a close thing for Jaskier not to laugh.

He stepped closer to Yennefer. "How many times has she tried now? She should be able to do it by now!" he scoffed lightly after she fell down again.

Ciri had heard his comment and stomped towards him. The green eyes sparkled. "If it's oh so easy... why don't you show us you can do better?" she cried.

"Ohhhhh," he heard a witch exclaim. He saw the challenge written on Ciri's face and the looks on the others' faces.

This triggered something in him. A rage that he didn't know where it came from, that he had inside him.

He didn't know what bothered him more. Geralt's and Yennefer's looks that told him not to do it or the fact that no one here seemed to trust him to do it.

Damn it! He was not useless.

"Fine. I'll show you how it's done if you need someone to explain it to you slowly for once adapted to your intellect."

Chapter Text

The bitter smell of coal and pepper filled the air and stung Geralt's nose unpleasantly. The looks Ciri and Jaskier shared seemed like twins.

Finally, the bard puffed and straightened his shoulders. Resolutely, he walked towards the pendulum. That fool. He would only get himself killed. Geralt hadn't taken him out of the prison cell for that.

As Jaskier walked past him, Geralt quickly grabbed his upper arm. Immediately his gaze flew upwards. Amber met cornflower blue. "Jaskier" His voice sounded too rough.

When the bard didn't address him immediately, Geralt secretly reassured. The last time with him had been... hard. Geralt knew he had messed up, that day on the mountain. But he had become angry. Things had gotten away from him. It didn't happen often, but when something like that happened... Geralt had no control over it.

Jaskier knew this, didn't he? Didn't he?

He had been faithful to his side for so long. So many years. He must know he didn't mean it.

And, Geralt thought defiantly, I have apologised. So what was Jaskier's problem?

"I told you before, don't Jaskier me!" The bard replied irritably and with a ferocity that would send a chill down even a witcher’s spine.

"I know." For the bard had explained it to him in the cell. Clearly and distinctly. Jaskier had been furious, not that Geralt hadn't expected that. Still, he didn't think it could have been that bad, after all, Jaskier had hugged him immediately.

"What do you want?" came the words from Jaskier's mouth. Jerkily, he pulled his arm out of Geralt's grip and backed away a few steps. His features strained.

This question struck a nerve. What did he want?

He wanted Ciri to be safe. He wanted his brothers all right after a hard year on the path. He wanted Yennefer to be able to look him in the eye again without imagining the monster he thoroughly was. He wanted..., yes, and he wanted things between him Jaskier to be like they used to be.

But he was a witcher. He wouldn't want anything. But right now?

"This is a witch's trial, yes..." He interrupted himself, trying not to make his tone sound so lecturing. "What I'm saying... you should stay away from the Pendelum. You'll only get hurt."

"Since when do you care?" Jaskier spat the words with such force that Geralt winced. "Since when does the great, honourable and oh-so-great Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf, care what It hurt. More than it should. "I always cared." It was the truth. Geralt had never wanted Jaskier to get hurt. Never. How ironic. Now it seemed he had hurt the bard more than any scratch from a random monster.

Jaskier gave a snorting laugh. Bitter. The smell turned into a thick cloud in his nose. "Well, I don't. Now move aside."

Geralt blocked his path to the pendulum as Jaskier continued to move towards it. He shook his head. "Damn it Geralt! What's your fucking problem?!"

The Witcher didn't answer him and now Jaskier shook his head, desperate this time. "If you have nothing to say, then let me pass."

"No." Stubborn. "You will not go near the obstacles."

"You know what, Geralt? I don't need your permission. And come to think of it, you have no right at all to tell me what to do. So now if you'll excuse me..." Jaskier feigned passing Geralt on the right, only to scurry past on the left. Too nimble for Geralt to catch him.

Geralt tried to hurry after him, but Lambert grabbed his arm. "If the bard wants to die, then let him. The first fall at the latest will make him stop and give up."

But Geralt knew that was not true. If there was one thing Jaskier was, it was stubborn and not accepting defeat. Even back at their first meeting in Posada he had noticed it. People could throw as much food at him as they wanted, he would not stop. Jaskier seemed just as determined again now.

He walked along the edge of the course. He looked closely at the obstacles of the pendulum. His fingers played with the many rings on his hands. At some point he simply stopped.

He had his back turned to them, Geralt couldn't see what he was doing.

"And have you got your pants full yet?" Ciri called out from beside him. "You don't have to, you know. No one blames you if you admit your mouth was too big!"

Jaskier turned to Ciri. The blue eyes were unusually cold and hard. They shone like ice. "Oh, my dearest Cirilla. You should know that my mouth is just the right size to put you in your place."

Then he turned to Yennefer. "A hundred oren I'll make it on the first try."

Yennefer snorted. "For my sake, just don't hurt yourself, will you? I don't want to have to mend you again." He laughed out loud.

When had the two of them become so ... good with each other? They had hated each other, after all. More had probably happened at Oxenfort than Yen or Jask had told him. He would ask them later.

Meanwhile, Jaskier had taken off his ridiculous red cloak. Geralt liked him anyway. He pasted to his bard. No longer his, he reminded himself. The thought sent a stab of pain through his chest.

He tossed it to Yennefer. "Take care of it, I don't want to break it." Then he trudged directly to the start of the pendulum. Meanwhile, he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and exposed his forearms. Surprisingly strong forearms.

Geralt watched as Jaskier tightened his shoulders and put his fingers on his knee. Then he exhaled once, slowly.

"We're not getting any younger!" shouted Lambert at him. Jaskier ignored him.

Then he started walking. His steps were sure on the wobbling beam and he pranced skilfully past the swinging pendulums and kings. Hardly more than a moment had passed before he was leaping up the planks along the rock face. Again he jumped and Geralt saw all the bard's muscles tense as he grasped the two balls and swung himself onto the platform at the end of the course.

He stumbled as he landed and rolled off. Within two seconds he was standing again.

With his usual sharp performer grin, he bowed briskly, waving an imaginary hat to the side.

Geralt exhaled. He hadn't even realised he'd been holding his breath. He was just nu glad Jaskier had made it through without hurting himself.

Hold on. Stop.

Jaskier had mastered the Pendulum. Without injury. On the first try. Something began to stir in Geralt. How had Jaskier done it? Jaskier, unable to defend himself, got into trouble. It seemed so surreal.

The shock ran deep.

Beside him, Ciri gasped. "That can't... How?... I mean, how the fuck?!"Jaskier grinned wryly and it sent another shiver through Geralt. "What can I say, dearest princess? Not all of us are as incompetent as some."

Ciri tensed noticeably. "You cheated!" she accused him. Geralt knew she didn't want to admit the envy. That Jaskier had aimed his words well, causing Ciri's insecurity to rise again.

Slowly he sauntered down the ladder back to the ground. His movements elegant as ever. "Then tell me, how am I supposed to have done this. This is a purely physical task, not Gwent, be idem admittedly quite easy to cheat, not that I ever have... Hmm, that reminds me of a friend from Oxenfurt..."

Geralt smiled slightly, involuntarily. Somehow the chatter was back to the way it used to be. But Ciri interrupted his eternal chatter. "You must have cheated, I've been training the pendeleum for ages and it hasn't worked yet!"

Jaskier scoffed. "Have you seen this body?" To emphasise his point, he gestured along with his arms. "I'm extremely toned." Well not really. But the Witcher had noticed the muscles the bard had built up.

"I'm in a lot better shape!" exclaimed Ciri.

"Let it be, your majesty. The bard just made it before you." Lambert laughed. "Incredibly so." He winked at Jaskier and Geralt saw the bard grin at the gesture.

"Never underestimate the power of a bard."

It seemed Geralt had been doing this for 22 years.

The smug smile on Jaskier's face just wouldn't go away. Not that Yennefer resented him. The colourful troubadour had earned it.

Secretly, she had to admit that his success had completely surprised her on the one hand and had been just as expected on the other. It seemed complicated somehow. But when had it ever been simple when it came to Jaskier?

She had seen Geralt's expression and she had to say, the shocked and confused expression pleased her. Hopefully he felt foolish underestimating the bard like that. At least it had been worth the 100 ores Jaskier had actually claimed. Always rely on the greed of a lark.

By now it was getting later and Yennefer was sitting with Jaskier opposite her in the large library in a comfortable wing chair. She was curious.

"How did you do it?"

He smiled. "A mage never reveals his tricks."

She snorted. "You're not a mage. Merely a second-class bard."

"How dare you!" His indignant expression made her grin. Always the performer. She loved it about him, hated it. "I want you to know, oh great, terrible Yennefer of Vengerberg, that my art is greatly appreciated. I am the most famous bard to travel the continent!"

"Exactly, in towns like Oxenfurt, where people have no taste." Again he puffed out his breath. This time, though, he got up from his place on the couch and came to her.

Very slowly, he placed his hands on the back of the chair to her left and right. "Careful, witch." He leaned forward. His eyes glowed and it took her breath away. The tips of their noses almost touched. Yennefer could feel her breath mingle with his as he spoke.

"If you say that out loud, you'll have an entire fishing village chasing you soon."

"So what? Not that I can't handle it." Why the hell did her voice sound so shaky?

Jaskier laughed softly again. And the sound burned into her memory like fire. "Why, never at a loss for an answer, Yennefer."

Chapter Text

His breath mingled with hers as he spoke. It was hard not to get lost in those beautiful, terrifying violet eyes. Just to sink into them.

Yennefer did not respond to his chatter. Her gaze seemed glazed, while it nevertheless shone and bored into his soul. For a moment he saw her eyes fall to his lips. But the moment was so brief that Jaskier was sure he had only imagined it.

Finally, the witch opened her mouth. "Jaskier, I..."

He raised an eyebrow gently, urging her to continue His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he was sure she could hear it. Even without special witcher-senses.

A strange spark of... hope? built up inside him. And because he had never possessed any instinct for self-preservation, he slowly lifted a hand from the chair and touched her cheek with it. "Yes?" he breathed.

Yennefer swallowed, again. She did not, however, pull away.  Jaskier counted this as a victory.

Then her face moved slowly closer to his. He felt the phantom touch of her lips on his....

Thundering, the door into the library was opened. The sound of solid wood slapping against the wall echoed off the stone. Not even the books muffled the clutter.

Jerkily, Jaskier jumped back and immediately stumbled a few feet backwards. Yennefer also seemed startled, for she had also jumped up from her chair and stood tensely.

At that moment Geralt came around the corner. Immediately Jaskier felt that knot of anger rising in his stomach again. The memory of the witcher's condescending attitude when he tried to mount the Pendulum was still very real in his mind.

Geralt looked surprised to see Jaskier here. He could tell that much from the look on the other man's face. Only with difficulty could he hold back the bitter laugh from his throat. Of course, he had only come for Yennfer.

This man had only used him for years, otherwise he had no value for him. Not intentionally. Jaskier didn't believe that. But the feeling was here nonetheless.

How often people had called him the Witcher's Bard. It was a name he had worn with pride in the beginning, but then eventually he had hated it. At some point it just seemed to take on another more painful meaning: That he was nothing without Geralt.

It had taken him a long time to convince himself otherwise.

And then he had still jumped after him again when he came. Like a lost puppy. Geralt ignored him as usual, looked down at him and then.... Jaskier had actually thought that maybe he had come to the library to see him.

No, of course he hadn't. It was all about Yennefer. Always.

But he could no longer indulge her. Now that he knew her, he knew she was just as broken as he was.

Weren't they all? Broken and healed again. Crooked and wrong and painful... but still working. Again he held back a sick chuckle.

Geralt and Yennfer both looked at him with concern. Apparently he hadn't done too well with the holding back.

"Is everything all right?" Geralt had the nerve to actually ask.

Is everything all right? Jaskier mimicked in his head. "Yes, of course." he spoke anyway, putting on his most convincing smile. Actually he meant: No, it isn't. How could it be when my life is in shambles in front of me.

Looking at Yen's face, he knew she wasn't buying his charade. Geralt did. Apparently. For he didn't ride it any further but straightened his shoulders.

"I was actually going to borrow Yennfer? For a talk?" He spoke to Yennfer, but his eyes were on Jaskier.

Since when do you want to talk? He didn't say, just nodded. "Don't worry the curse of your life is already fucking up." The words were not meant to sound as grim and crude as they did. Without further fuss, he left the room, ignoring Yennefer's hand resting on his arm.

With a soft click, he closed the door behind him and breathed in the cold winter air of the corridor. Now he would just have to figure out what to do now that the library was no longer an option.

Geralt visibly winced as the wooden gate closed. This was not how he had imagined it.

He sighed as he saw Yennfer's inscrutable, if partly annoyed, gaze. Damn, this was going to be worse than he had thought.

Ever since the training had ended, Geralt had made a point of talking to Yennefer. Incredibly, she seemed to be the person most taken into Jaskier's confidence at the time. Or at least she seemed to know more about his - no, never his - bard.

He had imagined himself going to her. Simply asking what was wrong with Jaskier and she would simply answer him. But the mage would probably not make it as easy for him as he had hoped. At least that was the case, if he interpreted her expression correctly.

So he realised again that he hadn't just fucked up with the troubadour. He had hurt her just as badly that day on the mountain, no, earlier with the djinni. Only she had also done many things wrong - unlike Jaskier... Who had merely spent most of his life trying to improve people's worldview towards witchers and taking care of him.

Once again, as had happened frequently since he had rescued Jaskier, he felt the wretched feeling of loathing and self-loathing of guilt spreading through the pit of his stomach. He swallowed it down.

"I wanted... " He began, but she interrupted him.

"Oh, you wanted something?" Her voice was cutting. It hurt.

"Yen, please." Geralt had not wanted to sink so low and beg. But Vesemir was quick to help him along. According to him, his pup would have to grovel until they forgave him. Not that Jaskier would even let me get that close so I would come to that, he thought bitterly.

"Fine!" She threw her hands in the air and dropped back into the chair. "Then go ahead and make it quick."

He nodded to her gratefully. "Jaskier, he..." He searched for the right words. Fuck, he was so bad at this. "He hasn't been himself lately."

She raised an eyebrow. "He's distancing himself, laughing less. He's avoiding me..."

"Can you blame him?" Ouch, the hit had stung.

"No. But I don't know how to fix what's broken between us."

And that was the point. Geralt sensed the rift that had built up between them. Even during their travels ach Kaer Morhen he had noticed it. A ravine that was too wise to simply leap across. But that was not all. It seemed as if Jaskier had erected a huge wall at the mouth of his side. A protective shield.

In front of him.

It hurt more than it should have. After all he was still a witcher.

"Then what do you want from me now?" asked Yennfer. "Help? Advice? Persuade the bard to speak to you again?"

"I don't want you to persuade him to do anything he doesn't want to do... I want... I want to know what happened in Oxenfurt." The words tasted bitter on his tongue. I want, I want.

Yennfer crossed his legs. "Well, he was in trouble, I got him out."

He knew she was deliberately giving him a hard time. "You said that back at the temple. But what kind of trouble?"

"None that would concern you," she shot back immediately. The voice cold, violated eyes sparkling.

"I suppose that means you won't help me fix things, then?" It sounded bitter.

"It means that if you want information, you have to ask him, not me."

"He doesn't even talk to me!" shouted Geralt in a burst of frustration and despair.

Yennefer remained unimpressed. "You won't get him to talk that way...I'll see you tomorrow, Geralt." Then she got up and left the library, too.

Geralt was left alone inside. He clenched his fists and slowly sank to the floor. An unknown pressure built up behind his eyes and he buried his face in his hands.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

Images of Jaskier laughing, walking beside Roach and telling wild stories surfaced in his mind. Cornflower blue eyes that flashed with joy. Brown curls caught in the sun.

The memory of things long gone.

He wanted. It hurt

Chapter Text

From that conversation on, Yennefer noticed a clear change in Geralt's behaviour. Apparently, she had actually made a difference. She couldn't help but be a little proud of it.

But as hard as Geralt tried, he also thoroughly fucked up in the process. He tried to be nicer and more outgoing towards the bard, so the other day, for example, he did the chores that Vesemir had asked him to do for Jaskier.

When he found out, Yennefer happened to be at the yard with Ciri, trying to practise her magic. The emphasis was on trying, as they had been rudely interrupted by an animated voice.

"Glad to see you even think me so incapable of looking after animals!", Jaskier had shouted, coming out of the stables just seething.

Geralt was behind him, looking like a kicked puppy. His hands had been raised placatingly. "Jaskier... this isn't..."

The bard had immediately wheeled around. "This isn't... what?" The cornflower blue eyes had been cold and lacklustre. "Don't worry, Geralt. You don't have to worry about me, do you? I know I'm useless and I'm only here because of that tiny little brat. Speaking of which, what exactly am I supposed to do with her? She seems to dislike me as much as you do... so?"

And Geralt, like the idiot he was, had simply stormed back into the keep instead of trying to make the bard understand things. Yennefer could only roll her eyes at the stupidity of the two.

Right now, she was sitting alone in the corner of the great hall or dining hall. The witchers had not warmed up to her, so she preferred to stay by herself.

After all, she was not in this place in spirit. As in the last three days, her thoughts kept moving in the same extremely dangerous direction.

That moment in the library had felt so... calm. But not in the boring way, it had been more grounding. Damn what it had just sounded like. If someone had told her even a few years ago that she would someday find the troubadour's presence so pleasant, she would have immediately turned them into a snail, or a frog. Whichever would have been more attractive at that moment.

She sighed. Jaskier had crept into her life just like that. When had it happened? Maybe since they were both standing here alone on one side. The outcasts in a well-functioning family. The spare parts that no one else needed.

But she knew it had been much earlier. In Oxenfurt, when she had been searching for the Sandpiper and had heard him perform. It had awakened in her a feeling of hope and security. A feeling of... Home?
He had simply been there for her, had hardly asked any questions, but had simply agreed to help her.

She's always bad news. It's always lose lose.

Yes. He had been right from the beginning. With her had come his ruin too. They had both seen each other at their lowest. She would have hated it if that thought hadn't sent a shiver down her spine. He had seen her.

And he hadn't turned away.

A smile crept to her lips.

"There, there, witch. Better not smile so long at once, or you'll use up your stock of it."

Immediately her gaze went up and she felt the blush rise to her face. Jaskier stood in front of her with two bowls of divine smelling stew and looked at her waiting. His hair was criss-crossed over his head and his own lips were curled in amusement.

She swallowed and tried to think of something witty to say on the spur of the moment. "For that, your supply of it seems to have no end." Fuck. That didn't sound insulting. She was usually better at that.

Jaskier, however, laughed out. "Where do your thoughts go, dear wife? You're distracted." At that, the last words sounded a good deal more serious than the rest, almost worried.

He sat down opposite her and pushed one of the bowls towards her. "Mhm... I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

She rolled her eyes. Her first reaction was to start at him that it was none of his business, but well... she didn't want to. All right? She didn't want to snap at him over something as trivial as a question... After all, that would just be a waste of good air. It had nothing to do with her not wanting him to stop coming to her.

"All sorts of things. For example, training with Ciri. She has a lot to learn." That was true. Even if she hadn't thought about it closely.

"Sure..." He didn't seem to believe her. "She's exhausting, isn't she?  Something very impulsive and immediately pissed off if what she wants doesn't happen right away." Jaskier lowered his voice. "Quite the spoilt princess"

"You as Viscount need to talk about it," Yennefer defended her charge. She knew Jaskier didn't like Ciri, the feeling was mutual, but still. The girl had been through a lot. "She's had a hard time."

The look he gave her wasn't very thrilled, though. "Who hasn't? If you were to be considerate of that all the time, that's all that would happen. It in no way justifies her behaviour towards the others. Cintra has fallen. She no longer has a kingdom; she has nothing to say."

His voice had become a louder hiss by the end. Too loud, Yennefer noted dryly. For of course he had attracted the attention of the princess, who was now staring at him angrily. "How dare you..."

"How dare I what?" he asked innocently. His face betrayed no remorse. Yennefer would be angry at the way he handled a damn kid, but she was far too impressed with his spine for that.  And his willingness to take on anyone. "You said yourself you're not a princess anymore."

That took the wind out of her sails, and she ignored them again. Great.

"Was that really necessary, bard?"

Jaskier looked at her for a moment. "Absolutely." Then he took a spoonful of his soup. "Where did we stop, O great witch?"

The cold embraced him and Jaskier let it. Little snowflakes fell to the ground. The view of the snowy mountains in front of him was beautiful. Poetic, inspiring. Too bad he hadn't been able to get a new lute.

The loss still hurt. It had only been an object, so it shouldn't. But deep down, he knew the instrument had been more.

It had been his life. His story. His whole legacy.

A final reminder of his travels with the White Wolf.

It was gone now and maybe that meant something more. Maybe it meant that he should draw a line under it. Leave now, not look back. Really leave behind the time as the Witcher's Bare.

He couldn't.

Probably his dramatic mind was interpreting a little too much into what was happening. As so often.

Jaskier found a roughly comfortable spot at the top of the terrace of one of the great towers. Far away from the main area of the castle. The sky was already turning dark. He could get some peace from everyone.

Outwardly, he was just showing his anger at Geralt. But actually, he was just hurt and disappointed by the person he had called his best friend for so long.

What was the point of showing more of his feelings? In the end, they would all just trample on his heart.

If this is the path I must trudge.

He pushed the snow aside with his boots and settled down. He shivered at the cold and looked into the distance again.

Somewhere a melody began to play in his head. The hint of a motif. The first words of a song lyric formed as if by themselves.

At that moment he heard a sweet soft voice calling his name. Yennefer.

He remained silent, hoping she would pass him by. Of course, she did not.

"That's what you're sticking." She slipped out of the tower and stood before him. Forlornly, he looked into the violet eyes before him. "I was looking for you."

"You found me."

She nodded. Then she pointed to a spot beside him. "Is it..."

With his hand he wiped the snow from the stony ground once more and made a welcoming gesture. She sat down with him.

Time seemed to stand still as they just sat there enjoying each other's company. It grew quiet around them. And some of Jaskier’s unquiet energy seemed to dissipate into thin air.

He began to hum. The same tune as before. Yennefer did not complain. Just as she enjoyed the snowy view that presented itself to them. It was beautiful, peaceful.

"It's beautiful." Yennefer's voice sounded soft, as if she was afraid of disturbing the atmosphere if she spoke louder.

"It is." A smile broke out on her face as she stared at him from the side.

Almost hesitantly, Yennefer rested her head on his shoulder. He stiffened briefly, then relaxed. The smell of gooseberries and lilacs rose to his nose.

For once, he did not feel the urge to break the silence.

Chapter Text

Nothing worked. Absolutely nothing.

Geralt tried everything he could to put his arguments with Jaskier behind him. Anything to overcome the deep rift between them. Anything to just get back to... back to what?

If Geralt was honest with himself, he missed the hell out of Jaskier. He thought the time without him, the time directly after the mountain, had been terrible. But now.

Maybe he really was a little naive. Maybe he had always relied too much on Jaskier and his mutual understanding. Had believed that he knew he never meant it, that he never really wanted to... Geralt suppressed a sardonic laugh.

He was a witcher. He shouldn't want anything. Yet he did.

He had thought it would be enough to have Jaskier around again. Here in the fortress. The pain would just fade away... But if anything, everything had only gotten worse.

Before, he hadn't been aware of all the little things the bard did for him. When Jaskier once again sang all night to provide food and shelter for them both. Or when he took care of Geralt's potions; getting ingredients and sometimes even brewing them for him so that the witcher could take care of more important things.

Or how Jaskier always stayed by his side - no matter how many villages they were kicked out of because witchers weren't wanted, no matter how cold the night got and how often Geralt wouldn't even let him light a fire.

Like a thief in the night, he had crept into Geralt's life. Jaskier had robbed Geralt of his loneliness and given him something much more valuable in return.

And he had taken all his deeds for granted. Had taken Jaskier for granted.

His conversation with Yen had proven this to him.

He had to change that if he wanted to have any chance of saving any of his relationship with Jaskier. So, he had worked. Done every chore for the bard to show him: You are appreciated! Your presence is enough, you're a guest, you don't have to work here!

But this attempt had backfired. When Jaskier scolded him, saying that he wasn't useless, that he could do everything. It was only here that he realized how badly he had fucked up.

All the abuse and insults. Whether true or false. Jaskier had taken them all seriously. And deep down, he wondered if he hadn't already lost Jaskier somewhere before the mountain.

He buried his face in his hands and a sick laugh escaped from his throat. Here he stood, the noble white wolf, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to fix it.

And whether he could. There was only one way for him to find out.

Geralt made a decision. Enough was enough. No more running away like a cowardly dog. He would talk to his bard and save what could still be saved.

He would ask him to forgive him. Beg for forgiveness. On his knees if he had to.

He found Jaskier sitting in the library of the keep. One foot was propped up on the couch, the other hanging down loosely. When Geralt entered, he raised his eyes and looked at him. Cornflower blue met amber.

Then he lowered his eyes to the book in his hands again. Ignored him.

Geralt! Here you are, I was wondering what you prowlers were up to again. You have to see this, it...

This is probably how their encounter would have started in a bygone era. It was always the bard who opened the conversation.

But not today. Just like all the days before.

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallowed. His voice sounded rougher than it probably should. The usually cheerful troubadour looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“I'm sorry. Jaskier. Really, you have no idea how much... How much I regret everything that happened between us.

I don't know how to fix… us. Everything I try goes wrong... I thought if I made things easier for you, you'd realize that. But you haven't.

And I don't know what to do. All I know is that I want you back in my life. Traveling together, eating together in the taverns. I miss that. Your wild ramblings, your singing, all the little things I took for granted.

You once asked me what I really wanted in my life. I hate change and I want everything to go back to the way it was. For us to be like we used to be.

But it can't go back to that. Not as long as you're still holding that grudge against me and the gap...” He gestured between them. “isn’t closing. I would give anything for that. But... I...

Jaskier, please tell me what I can do.”

His mouth felt dry after so many words. So unusual for him. He felt drained, all energy seemed to have left him.

And so he stood before his, no, the bard, waiting for the verdict. His expression was more unreadable than ever. Someone like Jaskier, who always had an open face, without a mask, was not supposed to be able to act like this.

The bard swallowed a time or two.  “So... to summarize: You don't like change; you miss the things I've done for you and you apologize to me so that everything will be as it was before?”

Geralt thought about his answer. The words sounded wrong to his ears, and he didn't like the bard's tone. He seemed to hesitate too long.

“You want everything to go back to the way it was? Then I have news for you: It won't! Never again!

I can do without being trampled underfoot and treated like dirt. After everything I've done for you, how can you think an apology is enough?”

No! No! No! That's not how this conversation should go. “That's not true! It's not enough, I know.

I don't want to treat you like I used to. It would be different!” Geralt's voice became more pleading. “I could, I would never take you for granted again. I would cherish you, show you the same kindness, the same respect.” The words just bubbled out of him. Words whose truths were only now being released in his mind.

Tears ran down Jaskier's cheeks. He shook his head. “Geralt, no. You're only saying that now. You don't mean it. In a few days at the latest, their worth will be vanished.”

“They will be. I promise.” Jaskier looked at him destroyed. His hair fell wildly in front of his forehead and he rubbed his face with trembling hands.

And Geralt knew he didn't look any better. He felt broken. The urge to scream grew stronger and stronger. Please Jaskier, please...

“Please tell me what I can do to prove that I can do better, that I am worthy of you.”

Jaskier seemed to think about it for some time. His eyes were glazed over, not paying attention to him, and had lost the sparkle they had possessed. Geralt wanted to go over to him and take him in his arms. Cling to him so that he could never walk away again.

Only then did Jaskier look up at him again. There was a determined gleam in his eyes.

“All right.” His voice sounded broken, so false. “I'll give you a chance to prove you are serious... on one condition.”

Geralt's heart skipped a beat. Relief flooded through his body, making the fear disappear.

“What do I have to do for this?” He would do anything the bard asked him to do. Without grumbling, always kind. If that would keep him with him.

“Say my name.”

Geralt frowned in confusion. That was the condition? “Your name is Jaskier.”

He laughed out, cold and mirthless. “My real name.”

“But that's your real name,” Panic spread through him. Thoughts whirred wildly in his head and his eyes flickered in all directions but Jaskier's.

“That's my stage name, Geralt. Tell me my real one.” He no longer sounded angry. The fire was gone. He just sounded tired, dead.

And that was exactly how Geralt felt when he finally uttered the all-destroying words.

“I don't know.”

Yennefer looked up in surprise when her door was flung open. She had just retreated from the main room for a little peace and quiet. Training with Ciri was still exhausting her.

She was about to snap at whoever dared to disturb her when she recognized Jaskier. Her snappy comment about knocking and privacy stuck in her throat as she saw the look on his face.

Tear stained cheeks. Devastated.

She got up before he fell, caught him with her arms. What had happened?

A sob escaped his mouth and he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. “He doesn't know it, Yen. He doesn't even know my name.”