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Jaskier almost snorts when Geralt doesn't mention blue dragons on his list, and can't help but laugh when Borch mentions only gold dragons. He knows blue dragons are rare, tending to keep to the deep oceans but people do know about them! Witchers should, definitely. Either Geralt's mistaken him for another type of dragon, which he is rather offended by, or he's lying for some reason. And he can sense that Borch is … something. Until now he'd assumed he was also in the draconic family, but he's not so sure after that. Then again, Jaskier had half assumed the land dragons had been hunted to extinction.
He's not enjoying Yennefer's presence, on edge after their last meeting, deep instincts telling him to get away as soon as possible, that there's something she wants from him. The mountain is dry and dusty, the opposite of his own territory, and Geralt is looking at her like he can't look away, and it makes his skin itch.
There's a growl stuck in his throat and he has half a mind to just transform, grab Geralt and leave before anyone can catch them. But that would definitely not be appreciated. So he follows, as he always does.
--
When disaster strikes, Jaskier doesn't think about it, just throws his lute at Geralt and dives off the unsteady planks after the falling figures, ignoring the witcher's shocked shout of his name. While all his instincts scream at Jaskier that Borch is something that could fly, he reacts before rational thoughts kicked in, and anyway its better to be safe than sorry.
Adjusting his fall to streamline himself, he absently thinks of finally asking Geralt to come to the coast with him, he's missed the feeling of wind on his face and the sea spray along his wings. He breaks the cloud line in time to see Borch twist and transform into a golden dragon. He twists to snatch one of his warriors from the air with a hind leg and catches sight of Jaskier, surprise making him miss a wingbeat.
Jaskier triggers his own transformation, it's been a long time since he's done a full shift, they haven't been anywhere with the space for him to fly or swim so he hadn't bothered. He flares his wings, joints twinging from disuse as he stops his descent. Keeping track of Borch as he catches the second warrior, he looks around the surrounding landscape. They're maybe a hundred or so feet above the forest and he catches sight of water in the distance and banks towards it, aware of Borch following him.
As soon as he's above the middle of the lake he twists, tucking wings and legs in before diving. Maybe if he stays in the lake for long enough he can avoid all the questions he knows are coming, from Yennefer in her usual scathing way, but also very probably, and more immediately, from Borch.
He hunkers down at the bottom of the lake, digging his claws into the silt and mud; a couple of kelpies appear through the seaweed, nuzzling at his face and snorting. He suddenly misses the sirens that he grew up with, their songs the soundtrack to his youth and the inspiration for his human guise. Taking a deep breath he concentrates on the water as its filtered through his gills, then expands his awareness slowly outwards. A few smaller creatures appear to greet him and he blows gentle blessings over them, good hunting and strong children.
The water around him settles him in a way he doesn't realise he's missed, the closest he's got to this over the last few months is a handful of short partial transformations in rivers they've passed close to. Eventually he can feel the streams that feed the lake, and the waterfall on the far side that carries the water on, even the distant tang of the sea far beyond. Drawing his awareness back into his lake, then finally himself, he gently head-butts the kelpies and pushes himself upwards, towards where he can sense Borch along shore, the water lapping at his forelegs.
It surprises him to see that he's significantly larger than Borch, several times his length from nose to tail, although logically he knows sea creatures tend to be. But he's never met a land dragon before, and the differences are obvious. Jaskier has antlers and his thick mane framing his head, a longer body with fin-like webbing between the spines on his back and a tail shaped to aid swimming. He's also not a solid colour, unlike the gold dragon, his own scales are patterned with light and shadow to imitate sunlight through water. He's fond of his medium blue; not as pale as the near surface dragons with their seaweed-esque appearance, nor as dark as the deep dwellers he's only met once who's markings have a slight luminescence.
Borch is alone on the shore, the humans (he assumes humans but at this point not much would surprise him) having disappeared into the surrounding forest. He hopes they bring back food.
"Greetings cousin." The golden dragon steps back out of the water, out of Jaskier's temporary territory, and dips his head. Jaskier rumbles in response, never having a need to lean to project his voice the same way Borch evidently has. He settles again, body half out of the lake and wings spread to catch the sun, tail flicking leisurely from side to side, making the water dance, and shoots a look at Borch which Jaskier hopes conveys that he had better start explaining. He does.
--
They head up to the mountain peak when the sun sets, not wanting to be spotted before they reach it. Borch immediately heads into the cave, but Jaskier waits outside, carefully transforming a couple of metres above the ground and dropping on booted feet so as not to leave huge clawmarks in the dusty ground. There's a deep keening from the cave, Téa and Véa appearing from the entrance with bowed heads a moment later, and he closes his eyes.
He starts humming, more a vibration than a sound, a mourning song of his kind, wishing a gentle journey on and a peaceful rebirth. He's vaguely aware of the others moving around him, but he carries on his song, they are a long lived species with solemn remembrances, hoping that she won't mind a tradition of the sea rather than land.
He finished with a bow to all the cardinal directions, not really surprised to find Borch by his side doing the same, now back in his human shape.
"Do you have children?"
The question catches him off guard, and he thinks of tiny claws and laughter as dragonlets hide under his wings, of judging races and stopping falls, of squeaky voices just starting to sing. And then, unexpectedly, of ashen hair and a deep, quiet sadness. "No, a few niblings but that's all, why-?" He cuts his own question off, turning back to the cave mouth.
"Her egg remains, too cold to risk moving, I will have to stay close tonight."
Jaskier’s talents are no help here, he is of the waves not of fire like Borch. "I'll keep a watch."
--
They hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel not too long past sunrise, and Borch jumps up to wait at the top entrance of the cave. Jaskier can't even get his shoulders through there, let alone the rest of him so he's human for the moment, with the plan to shift if things get out of control. Between the various mercenary bands, as well as Geralt and Yennefer, its likely something will.
The two of them arrive up the path before any other teams, of course, and are stopped by Téa and Véa. He can't hear their conversation, only that Geralt seems angry, but he still sets Jaskier lute aside carefully, along with his silver sword.
They're followed fairly closely by the Reavers and it doesn't take long for the shouting to truly start below him. Then the clang of swords, and he pre-emptively shifts, freezing as the mountain below him groans under his weight. He slowly stretches out, curling around the rock so both his head and tail are by the main cave entrance. Just in time, as he sees a couple of the mercenaries back out, reaching for crossbows. Jaskier doesn't think, just flicks his tail out, batting them both back into the cave and there's a satisfying crunch as at least one of them hits something solid. He doesn't enjoy violence but he will do anything to protect what is His.
More Reavers appear from round trailhead, and he roars at them, never regretting his lack of a breath weapon and the dry air more, had they had more time he could have called rain, but alas. It makes them pause however, and must catch Geralt’s attention as he runs out, casting aard to throw them to the ground, blood already dripping from his sword.
The fight does not last long after that.
Silence reigns for long enough that Jaskier sticks his head into the cave mouth, finding Borch still standing over the egg, and all three ladies panting heavily but seeming having gotten away with only minor injuries. Yennefer is watching the gold dragon with wistful eyes, but he must make a sound as she whirls on him and he rapidly withdraws, almost catching Geralt with an antler.
The witcher instead wraps an arm round his muzzle, and Jaskier is shocked to realise that his head is about the same size as Geralt’s entire body. He keeps his head still, as Geralt presses his forehead to his, but slowly uncoils the rest of him from the outcrop onto the flat ground. After a couple of moments he's released with a quiet murmur of his name, and he gathers himself to shift, smiling ruefully at Geralt as soon as he has a face that allows it. He's pulled into another tight hug, happy enough to not even grimace at the blood on Geralt’s armour, but then Yennefer is beside them, fluffing herself up to start shouting and all he can do is sigh.
--
Later he watches Geralt stalk away with an ache in his chest and a growl he forces to stay behind his teeth. There's an angry set to the witcher's shoulders, and he's going the wrong way to collect Roach, evidently more focused on distance from Jaskier than practicality. Jaskier twists, and he can feel the energy in the air around him, water starting to form tiny beads in a halo. Taking a deep breath he turns towards Borch who's watching him with cautious eyes, the water gathers around his hands at his direction instead.
Téa and Véa jolt towards him, hands flashing to their weapons, as he crouches by the egg, but step back at Borch's wave. He sends his water to cover it's surface, humming a blessing with more than his human body. The water swirls over the egg in the same patterns he currently wears on his skin, the spiralling marks of his kin, and imbues the child's future with health and longevity, as much as he is able.
"It may not do much, but I offer you this."
"You have our thanks." Borch's bow seems incredibly sincere, and Jaskier can't quite decipher the look in his eyes. "They are lucky indeed that you were here."
He dips his chin in response, not sure what else there is to say and turns away, letting the breeze run through his hair. He'll give Geralt some time, they've both got enough of it after all, and maybe head towards Cintra to visit Ciri, before aiming for the coast and home at last. He sees her on her birthday every year, and most winters if he can manage it, but he's never been turned away whenever he swings by. Royal courts are never short on feasts after all, and they always want entertainment.