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When a fourth person in the last two hours bumped into him, Geralt wanted to snap and growl. He didn’t know why he agreed to go to this music festival or competition or whatever the hell it was. All he knew was Jaskier batted his eyes at him, said something about putting Valdo Marx in his place, and wanting Geralt to be there for it. Why Jaskier wanted him there remained as much a mystery to Geralt as the man’s relationship to Marx was.
(Were they old rivals or hated enemies? Geralt couldn’t tell, but he doubted wishing for someone to die was normal behavior for Jaskier.)
Better yet, Geralt ought to ask himself why he was indulging Jaskier. Well, no, he couldn’t ask himself that. Geralt knew the answer but feared facing it. Instead, he grumbled and grunted and resigned himself to standing in a busy square watching Jaskier perform before leaving to go on a hunt.
Geralt told Jaskier the only reason he agreed to come was there being a contract in town. Jaskier had extracted Geralt’s promise to at least stay long enough for Jaskier’s performance before going off. Geralt liked to think he would have stayed either way. The loud noises, the groups of people, it all grated on his nerves, but he wanted to be better. He didn’t want another mountain to happen. He didn’t know if the next time he pushed Jaskier would be the end of their… thing.
Turning his attention to the stage, Geralt looked this Valdo Marx man up and down as the bard played on stage. He had the similar foppish, good looks that Geralt associated with most bards. There was something cunning in the man’s eyes as the sun glinted off his blond hair. Geralt did notice that Valdo showed his age far more than Jaskier.
(He’d be sure to bring that up to Jaskier if his bard didn’t best his rival.)
A round of loud, ear-splitting applause let Geralt know Valdo’s song had finished. The barker leading the show announced Jaskier as the next bard, and Geralt heaved out a sigh. Just a listen to Jaskier’s usual music, and Geralt could go out into the woods.
The familiar tunes allowed Geralt to tune out the crowd as much as possible. He was still aware and twitchy of every touch around him but listening to the song he’d heard fifty times on the trip to this town almost relaxed him.
The song ended and Geralt could have sworn Jaskier winked at him as the crowd clapped and roared. Geralt turned his back on the stage and made his way to the edge of town. He’d meet with Jaskier at the inn after he’d finished looking around. There’d been a string of kidnappings without any evidence of violence which could be any number of things, but the number of people who had apparently wandered off into the woods was concerning enough. Geralt would poke around and see what he could find. With the sounds of the busy town fading behind him, Geralt set off into the woods.
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Stomping into the inn room, Geralt tried to suppress a growl. His walking around the woods and the town had turned up nothing and, according to alderman, the disappearances only occurred during a specific time period. There was no point in wandering around aimlessly. He’d meditate and the next morning try to get a better smell of something other than the various humans milling about the festival. Geralt wished they had come to town a day or two before the festival. He would have settled the monster business before the complication of crowds of people muddling his senses.
The soft melody of Jaskier’s aimless strumming surprised Geralt. He thought the bard would have been prancing about getting drunk and finding some man or woman (or both) to spend the night with. A small part of Geralt was pleased that Jaskier was staying in the room with him that night. Another part of him hoped his sour mood wouldn’t worsen with Jaskier’s presence.
The bard set aside his lute with care before hopping to his feet. “Geralt! How was the hunting? No, don’t tell me. It’s written all over your face. No luck? Well, I suppose there’s a lot going on about the town. I can still call up a bath if you’d like. My treat after the thorough trashing I gave to Marx! You should have seen his face after my song. I’ll remember it forever! Or at least, until the next time I remind him of why I’m the best bard of the continent.”
“Hm.” It amazed Geralt at times how easily Jaskier read his emotions without being directly told. He wondered if that was part of being a bard, or if it was a Jaskier thing. Jaskier was a lot of things. Geralt praised, “Your song wasn’t bad.”
“Oh ho ho high praise from you! I thought you’d be all grumpy about not finding your monster, but here you are being sweet to me. Just for that, I’ll go down and get us some food and ale. No need to stress your senses more than they’ve already been today. I really do appreciate you watching my song. I know festivals are hard for you,” Jaskier rambled walking up to Geralt.
Geralt let Jaskier help him remove his armor and swords. No point in keeping them on if he didn’t plan on leaving the room again. He set the swords aside against the wall and his leather armor beside the weapons.
Jaskier scampered off to get them both food and ale brought back up to the room, and Geralt sat on the bed. It was fairly late, later than they normally stayed awake. Still, it wasn’t often he could rest or relax. Looking to the side, Geralt studied Jaskier’s lute sitting off to the side. He could hardly remember the last time Jaskier left a room without ensuring the instrument was locked away and safe. Maybe it meant Jaskier trusted Geralt to keep the instrument safe. Either way, Geralt busied himself by gingerly putting the instrument back into its case and setting it beside his weapons.
It wasn’t that long ago Geralt didn’t understand and was even annoyed by the near obsession Jaskier had with the lute. Geralt couldn’t comprehend how Jaskier seemed to value the lute over his own life. Now, well, Geralt still didn’t fully get it, but he thought about how he took care of Roach or his swords. The sense of pride knowing those rare personal possessions were safe and well cared for. Not to mention his swords being in pristine condition saving his life.
A lute seemed frivolous and unnecessary, but Jaskier would hardly be himself without the instrument at his side.
Jaskier reappeared some time later that Geralt used to make sure all of his pack was in order. He could get an early start the next morning. Even if the disappearances happened in the evening, this creature had to have some place it stayed the rest of the day.
Carefully balancing two mugs and two bowls, Jaskier walked over to Geralt and smiled gratefully when the witcher took a mug and bowl off Jaskier’s hands. Jaskier plopped down to sit beside Geralt and dig into his own food.
Looking at the bard, Geralt commented, “I put your lute back into its case.” It was strange Jaskier merely hummed and gave a quick ‘thanks.’ Geralt could remember a time Jaskier would have leapt up to check that the instrument had been stowed properly. Perhaps this was just a sign of their relationship strengthening. Geralt pretended this trust didn’t make him prideful. Instead, he continued, “You normally get upset about eating meals in the room. I thought you’d be downstairs with your adoring fans.”
The bright smile Geralt got made his lips twitch, trying to suppress a fond smile. One corner of his lips curled into a smile as Jaskier replied, “Honestly, after all the hustle of today, fighting with Marx, talking to people, having idealistic wannabe bard after bard try to pitch their songs to me… I’d much rather be up here with my best friend.”
Geralt would never get used to Jaskier referring to him as his friend, but he also wouldn’t complain about it. Not now anyway.
The meal continued with Jaskier recounting his entire day in detail in between bites. Eventually, with their stomachs full, Jaskier turned back to Geralt’s hunt, his eyes sparkling with interest. “So, what are you looking for in the woods anyway? You said something about people disappearing, but I need more details than that if I’m to write my next hit.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Alderman said three people have just walked off without warning or telling anyone. Two kids and a young man. I thought maybe a siren or something that lures people.” Geralt took a long pull of his drink. “I’ll talk to the alderman again for more information.”
“And you’ll kill whatever you find?”
“If it’s kidnapping people and killing them, yes.”
“What if it’s got a good reason for it?”
Geralt looked at Jaskier, a question in his eyes.
Jaskier, the only non-witcher fluent in Geralt’s non-verbal communication, elaborated, “I know, I know. Normally not something I’m terribly concerned about, but well, after dealing with so many elves and the likes, I’ve started to wonder about killing monsters. I mean, they’re just trying to survive and its not exactly their fault humans keep spreading out and taking over their homes. Of course, killing a bunch of humans in retaliation is bad, but if you can reason with the being, killing them seems extreme.”
This still confused Geralt. Jaskier should have known by then that Geralt wouldn’t kill anything that was both intelligent and willing to not kill anyone. There was reason to think this wasn’t the case though. “Three people are missing, likely dead. The last one has been gone two days. If this monster is killing them, then it needs to be taken care of.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course, as always.” Jaskier sounded almost bitter. “Humans get away again with taking over land that’s not theirs.”
“Since when do you care?”
Jaskier huffed and leaned against Geralt’s side. “Like I said, seeing the genocide of the elves has given me a broader perspective, and it is the job of a bard, of an artist to put oneself in the shoes of another.”
Shifting, Geralt wasn’t sure he liked being leaned against, but allowed it. “Hm.”
A small smile appeared on Jaskier’s lips as he moved yet again, pressed against Geralt. Geralt’s eyes flickered down to look at Jaskier’s lips before looking the man in the eye once more. He was used to Jaskier being touchy, but normally the bard kept a little bit of distance. Maybe Jaskier had had a couple drinks while waiting for their food. Geralt smelled the air, but nothing seemed amiss.
“I know you won’t kill anything that’s not hurting anyone. My brave, strong, noble White Wolf. I ought to write a song exalting your merciful touch, but that might keep you from getting jobs. Of course, I couldn’t write such a song if you ended up being the killer of a creature merely trying to reclaim their family. We know the pain of losing family,” Jaskier rambled a long, leaning even closer yet so their faces were mere inches apart.
“Jaskier?” Geralt didn’t move forwards but didn’t move backwards either. He would have thought some magic was at work, but his medallion stayed still.
Geralt snapped out of his inaction as Jaskier leaned forward and brushed their lips together. Pulling away, Geralt put his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. He only moved back so there was more space between their faces and didn’t push Jaskier away. “Jaskier.”
A teasing smile appeared on Jaskier’s face. “Is that really all you can say?”
“I-” Whatever Geralt was about to say got cut off when Jaskier jerked forward. A loud cry left the bard, and he coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Panic seized Geralt. Looking up, Geralt finally noticed someone standing behind Jaskier, knife in hand. How he didn’t sense the person entering the room, Geralt didn’t know. No, he was blinded with rage, fear, panic, horror at the way Jaskier slumped into him. Raising his hand, Geralt blasted the figure with an Aard, not even thinking the motion through.
The assailant flew back, hitting the wall with a familiar cry. The cry and the sound of the assailant’s head cracking against the wall cleared Geralt’s mind if only for a second. He stared in confusion and horror, seeing Jaskier dazed and up against the wall, bloody knife fallen to the ground. This Jaskier was dirty, had red and raw skin around his wrists, his clothes torn and shoes missing like he’d been sprinting through the woods.
Geralt froze before the Jaskier at his feet sprung at him, knocking him to the floor.
“The bard escaped before we could finish, a shame. We wanted to use his form to get you to leave us alone! Let us take back what is ours using the one he loves,” The doppler, Geralt had to assume that was what this creature was, crooned. It still looked like Jaskier, blue eyes slightly manic and face stretched into a toothy grin. “We just want our family back! The humans, they took everything. This one understands. Understands the fear of humans. Losing family. Oh how sad this one is thinking about family. We want him in our family, part of our family pretty bird.
“You want to kill us just like the humans did. We thought to make you leave us in peace. Thought it would be hard with this one’s memories to hurt you. We don’t want to hurt people. We take their faces and memories and feelings, and we can’t hurt the ones they love, but this one is hurt. This one can hurt you. Jaskier, so full of pain and hurt. Forgave you, but still hurt being tossed away like he didn’t matter. We understand his pain. We will heal him.”
The doppler went to bite Geralt but was held back by the witcher’s arm. Geralt freed his other arm and raised his fist. It would be easy to punch the doppler, flip their positions, and grab his silver sword. However, when he went to throw the punch, the doppler frown. The wounded, fearful look of Jaskier’s face made Geralt hesitate. He needed to fight. He couldn’t fight. The voice of every instructor he’d had roared in his ears, ridiculing him for having an attachment, but the scent of Jaskier’s fear (burning fields, soured milk) made Geralt freeze.
The doppler’s mouth stretched once more into that unnatural grin and it lunged forward to rip out Geralt’s throat.
Geralt saw it all flash before his eyes. Lambert and Eskel finding out some years later when Geralt didn’t come home for the winter. Vesemir’s cold fury that Geralt died because of his feelings towards a bard. Yennefer finally free from Geralt. Jaskier. Jaskier and their adventures over the years. Jaskier playing music. Jaskier mourning his death.
Jaskier above Geralt, face twisted in horror, the smell of fear thick and suffocating in a way Geralt knew wasn’t some vision. The doppler, Jaskier screaming in pain with a sword jutting out of his chest. A silver sword. Geralt’s sword in Jaskier’s chest killing the bard, killing his bard. But it wasn’t Jaskier, it was the doppler, whose flesh twisted and rotted as it shrieked in Jaskier’s voice.
The doppler fell forward onto Geralt, and he shoved the thing aside. He couldn’t get the image of Jaskier’s face as the bard died out of his head, frozen.
“Well, fuck me.”
Looking up, Geralt saw Jaskier, the real Jaskier, holding Geralt’s silver sword. Blood matted the bard’s hair. Jaskier looked exhausted, haunted. Like a man who was standing on sheer will power alone, which made sense after getting a blast of Aard.
(Wasn’t that a thought for later? The fact that Geralt could have and would have killed the real Jaskier without a thought because of that doppler.)
Geralt sprung to his feet and gently took the blade from Jaskier before guiding the bard to sit. “Jaskier.”
“Is that really all you can say?” Jaskier snapped.
The words sounded the exact same as what the doppler said. Geralt asked, “What happened?”
“I just killed myself is what happened.”
“No, I mean-”
“I know exactly what you mean, Geralt, but right now I’m processing the fact that I drove a sword through myself who was trying to kill you,” Jaskier snapped again.
Geralt didn’t know what to do or say to that. He stood there watching before a thought occurred to him about dopplers. “Your lute is safe. It’s in the case.”
A laugh barked out of Jaskier, but it sounded genuine enough, Geralt relaxed a little. “Yeah, it stole it from me when it grabbed me. At least it was a good enough mimic to get it back here in one piece. What was that thing?”
“A doppler. They can take the form of humanoids and get their memories and feelings. They’re normally no more than a nuisance.”
Jaskier nodded. “It kept talking about how humans killed its family, and that it wanted to rebuild its family. The three people, they’re fine. There’s a cabin or something in the woods that they were trapped in. It… it took the form of some woman and asked me for help. By the time I realized what was happening, it tied me up and shoved me in the cabin with the other three. They weren’t bound but feared it would hurt them if they left. I slipped my rope and told them I’d be back with a witcher. Then, well, you know the rest.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his head. “Fuck me, that hurts.”
Guilt gnawed at Geralt for multiple reasons. He could have killed Jaskier with that Aard. He was lucky Jaskier wasn’t more hurt. He was lucky Jaskier had picked the right sword to kill the doppler with. He wasn’t lucky knowing that Jaskier was still hurt, hurt enough that the doppler wouldn’t have trouble killing him. “What it said…”
Jaskier laughed bitterly. “Yes, well, I do- I did forgive you for the mountain and everything there after, and I meant it. I suppose any lingering hurt by it may have resonated with a creature whose family is gone, but I don’t want you dead, Geralt.”
A part of Geralt wanted to just hum and let Jaskier interpret it however the bard wanted. Instead, Geralt said, “Let me look at your head, and then you can show me where to find this cabin, and then…”
“And then?”
“Whatever you want.”
Jaskier laughed, but this time it was the usual amused, fond tone. “Well, I’ll have to make sure you regret saying that.”
Geralt didn’t repress his smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything different.”