Chapter Text
It all starts with Lambert saying, “I have an idea.”
Geralt is immediately wary. Lambert saying those words is never a good sign - in fact, it usually ends in chaos whenever Lambert comes up with some insanely idiotic scheme or some convoluted plan, and having being entangled in Lambert’s schemes enough times over the past decades, Geralt knows better than to trust these four dreaded words coming out of Lambert’s mouth.
Eskel passes one hand over his eyes, looking as wary as Geralt feels. “What is your idea?”
“Well,” Lambert begins, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes. “I know I’m not the only one who has started finding all this,” he waves his hand around them, gesturing at the opulent walls of the palace, gesturing out the window towards the eternal sprawl of winter covering the land, “rather… dull.”
Geralt is even more on edge than he was before. If Lambert is finding their court dull, if Lambert has started getting bored… “What are you saying?”
“We’ve been cooped up here for decades, and don’t get me wrong, our realm is a wonderful place to be,” Lambert says. “But I feel like we’ve pretty much exhausted everything interesting in our court and in our realm, and now, don’t you feel like there’s just - nothing to do?”
Lambert is right - their realm is large and full of interesting things, filled with wonders around every corner, but Geralt has found that he’s gotten rather restless in the recent years, as if the realm isn’t quite enough, as if he isn’t content with what he has, as if he’s itching for something more. But Geralt isn’t going to admit that, not when he still doesn’t know what Lambert is planning, so he stays silent, letting Lambert continue.
“So I was thinking that we should go to the human world.”
Eskel sputters, and Geralt can’t stop his mouth from falling open. What.
“The human world?” Eskel asks incredulously, gaping at Lambert. “Why would you want to go there?”
“It’s different, and I’ve heard that it’s interesting.” Lambert starts pacing around the room, a restlessness in his steps that Geralt recognises in himself. “I know Vesemir warns us away from it, telling us that the human world is not a place we would ever want to go to, but I think - I think it’ll be something different. A change from what we’re used to here.”
“So you want us to just - venture into the human world and let the humans come after us,” Geralt says dryly. He’s heard the stories. He knows that humans tend to be suspicious and even hateful of those outside of their own kind, and that humans have massacred and driven away those that they deem other - Geralt doesn’t see why Lambert thinks it would be safe for them to go to the human realm, when they are so clearly inhuman and other.
“And what makes you think it’ll be any more interesting than here?” Eskel doesn’t look convinced, staring at Lambert’s pacing form. “Why risk ourselves and go there?”
“Okay, now hear me out,” Lambert says, stopping his pacing to look them in the eyes, and Geralt resigns himself to yet another of Lambert’s crazy ideas. “We won’t be going as ourselves, of course. That would be too risky. But if we glamour ourselves as humans to go there, we wouldn’t be having fun. So here’s what I suggest. You know of witchers?”
“Witchers,” Geralt echoes flatly, and Lambert nods.
“They slay monsters. And I suggest - don’t give me that look, Eskel, hear me out - that we go to the human world, glamour ourselves as witchers, then go around hunting monsters and travel and see the human realm. I know that it’s risky and dangerous and we could die, but we’ve been trained to fight - we’re more powerful than a measly monster.”
Eskel frowns. “Lambert -”
“Come on.” Lambert urges, leaning forward. “It’ll be fun. It’ll be exciting. When was the last time we did something fun?”
“Fun - this will be dangerous, Lambert,” Eskel objects, but Geralt knows him well enough to tell that he’s at least half-convinced. And so is Geralt, damn it. Life has been rather dull for the last couple of years, and Geralt and his brothers have never done well with such monotony - they’re always itching for adventure, itching for more.
Lambert waves a dismissive hand. “We’re powerful enough that it won’t matter, and Vesemir has trained us well with swords and weapons. We’ll be fine.”
“We have a duty to our realm,” Geralt objects weakly, but he knows as well as his brothers that it’s a weak argument. They are princes of the Winter Court, sure, but their realm runs itself - Vesemir is a kind, fair king, and their people respect them, going about their business with barely a complaint. Besides, their realm is filled with immortals who have no quarrel with their court, and they’re at peace with the other courts - Geralt and his brothers are princes in name only, barely playing any role in running their realm, not because they are incapable, but because the realm itself needs no running.
“Please,” Lambert drawls, rolling his eyes. “What duty? When was the last time we dealt with court politics? When was the last time our realm needed us? We can always return if something happens. Don’t give me that excuse, Geralt.”
Geralt grits his teeth. He shouldn’t give in. He knows he shouldn’t, but gods does he want something more, something that will fill his life with new and wonderful experiences, something that will bring him contentment, and one look at Eskel tells him that his brother is thinking the same. Lambert’s words are tempting, and Geralt can tell that Eskel is similarly convinced - so he gives in.
“Fine,” Geralt grunts out, and Lambert flashes him a triumphant, victorious grin, clearly pleased with himself at having convinced Geralt and Eskel. “You get to tell Vesemir, though. It’s your idea, after all.”
A look of apprehension that crosses Lambert’s face at the prospect of having to tell Vesemir about this insane, risky plan, and Geralt takes slight relish in it - it’s Lambert’s plan, and it’s only right that he’s the one to convince Vesemir and weather his wrath.
Vesemir is, predictably, not happy with Lambert’s plan, snapping at them for being foolish, reckless idiots
It takes hours of needling on Lambert’s part before Vesemir reluctantly gives in, more because he wants Lambert to stop annoying him rather than because he approves of the plan, all while Geralt and Eskel watch Lambert get increasingly desperate until he finally succeeds in winning Vesemir over.
With Vesemir’s approval, they start preparing for their journey to the human world. They do their research, reading up on witchers and how they operate, reading up on how they fight monsters - with their swords, with the special brand of witcher magic, with potions. When they find out that witchers are divided into schools, Lambert suggests that they pretend to be from one of the existing schools, but Geralt points out that this would become a problem if they were to encounter a witcher from that school, so they decide to come up with their own - the School of the Wolf.
If a witcher from another school were to approach them, it would prove tricky for them to pass as witchers, but a witcher from a new school, whose mode of operation is different from other witchers? Other witchers might find it strange, but Geralt supposes that he can make up a believable excuse that doesn’t reveal who they actually are. The existence of their realm is a secret - the fae are nothing more than a myth in the human world - and they need to keep it that way.
And with that they set out for the human world, their pointed ears hidden under a glamour, their eyes glamoured to golden with slit pupils, armour covering their bodies, medallions gleaming on their chests, swords strapped to their backs - one silver, one steel.
But they quickly find out that life as a witcher isn’t easy. When they approach a human settlement, they’re greeted with wariness, parents pulling their children closer, humans scuttling out of their way with disgust in their eyes. Even after they slay the monster plaguing the town, they’re still treated warily, like they hadn’t just saved the town, like they’re outsiders, like they’re only slightly better than the monsters they’d just slayed.
It’s almost enough to make Geralt consider giving up and returning to the Winter Court - what point is there to roaming the human world if humans hate him? But there’s something about humans, something about the spark and energy of their short lives; something about the human world, with its ever-changing lands and its creatures and beasts and the unpredictability of nature, draws Geralt in, makes him want to know more, makes him want to stay.
So the three of them stay, splitting off from one another to wander the Continent, and Geralt goes from town to village, taking contracts and killing monsters. It’s nothing like anything Geralt has done before - every hunt, every fight is new and different, challenging him in a way that the creatures in his realm never had. Drowners, griffins, bruxae - they all crumple beneath his silver sword, and it’s so satisfying to swing his sword through the air and watch it arc downwards to cleave a monstrous body apart.
There’s something so free about the Path, even with how much humans fear and ostracise him. The beauty of the human world lies in how ephemeral everything is, how flowers wilt and trees crumble, how rivers dry up and mountains are eroded into the ground - how everything is touched by time, how life is lost and death is inevitable.
It’s so different from the still, unchanging permanence of his realm - and it’s oddly freeing, bringing Roach through colourful meadows of flowers that he knows will one day disappear, watching stars twinkle in the sky and wondering when their fire will burn out. It makes him appreciate every flower he comes across, every animal that crosses his Path, knowing that they will one day be gone.
Observing humans - going into towns, mingling amongst them - is just as fascinating. Humans hate him - they hate what they do not know and understand, and witchers are a mystery to them. Humans live such short lives, and they burn so brightly in the short decades that they live for - they burn bright with hate, with love, with joy and anger and sadness, their emotions intense in a way that only finite beings can have.
Everything in the human realm is so temporary. Nothing is eternal; everything changes, nothing stays the same, and it’s this mercurial nature of the human realm that keeps drawing Geralt in, that keeps him from returning home, that leaves him wanting more of this changing, impermanent world.
He never thought he would want to linger in the human world - he thought he would get tired of it, or the hate from humans would manage to drive him away. But Lambert had been right - staying in the human word as a witcher is far more interesting than the endless days back in his realm.
And so Geralt stays on the Path.
It all goes well. Geralt manages to avoid running into witchers from other schools, and he returns home in the winter to meet with his brothers and spend time with Vesemir, before they set out on the Path in spring once again. His life is no longer dull, filled with the unpredictable danger of the Path with his home as his refuge in winter, and Geralt finds himself enjoying his life, like he’s getting closer and closer to the contentment he’s been grasping for his entire life.
Until -
There’s a young woman in Blaviken, and a sorcerer. Geralt isn’t an actual witcher, he doesn’t know what the witcher code is when dealing with humans, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, whether he’s supposed to get involved or stay neutral or -
Renfri bleeds out in his arms, the light leaving her eyes. The folk of Blaviken scream at him, hurling objects at his back as he leaves, and gods, he’s really fucked up this time, hasn’t he?
Geralt returns to the Path, desperate to put the incident out of his mind, but word spreads, and towns and villages start whispering of the Butcher of Blaviken, the witcher with white hair and golden eyes. The hate from humans, while bearable before, intensifies, and he’s thrown out of inns and taverns with jeers and insults, left to spend nights on the side of the road with only a feeble fire for warmth.
Though the rush he gets from slaying monsters remains the same, the enjoyment seeps from the Path, his journeys becoming harder and more wearisome, and Geralt starts wondering whether he should give up this whole ordeal of being a witcher and return to court, fulfilling his duties alongside Vesemir. The Path doesn’t give him the same joy it used to, not with how harshly he’s treated wherever he goes - the residents of Posada glare at him, sneers on their faces as they edge away from him, and Geralt grits his teeth.
Perhaps he truly should return. It would be better for his brothers’ journeys too, if the Butcher of Blaviken were to miraculously disappear.
He turns the idea over in his head, contemplating the idea of returning home, until a voice cuts through his thoughts.
“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”
Geralt glares up at the bard who’d dared to interrupt his thoughts, silently willing him to go away, to leave. There’s something strange about the bard, something almost magical that tickles at Geralt’s senses, but it disappears quickly, and Geralt dismisses it as nothing.
The bard babbles on and on and on and before Geralt can fully process what’s happening, they somehow manage to get captured by elves, with the bard still by Geralt’s side even when they escape the elves’ grasp, Filavandrel’s lute held in the bard’s hand.
Geralt tries to shake him off. He should return to his realm, and the last thing he needs is a loud, irritating bard following him around, singing his praises. But no matter what Geralt does, Jaskier somehow always returns to his side, and Geralt finds himself getting less and less irritated with Jaskier’s presence by his side.
Jaskier - he reminds Geralt of why he’d chosen to stay in the human world as a witcher rather than return home. Not only has human hatred towards him lessened with the popularity of Toss a Coin, but Jaskier brings back all the beauty of the human world that Blaviken had dulled for him.
Jaskier sings of the beauty of the world around them, gasping delightedly at sparkling waterfalls and smiling softly at small animals darting through dense bushes, taking joy in every little thing, and for the first time since Blaviken, Geralt regains appreciation of the world surrounding the Path, starting to see it all the way Jaskier sees it - through the eyes of a human whose life is just as temporary as the surrounding world.
And Jaskier himself - he’s fickle, changeable, wearing his emotions plain and clear, and Geralt is drawn in by the complexity of him. Geralt witnesses the way Jaskier can be petty, turning his nose up at Valdo Marx, the way he radiates fury when villagers spit Butcher at Geralt, the way he brightens with joy when Geralt talks to him, the way he smiles gently at a young child clinging to his legs. He’s everything that Geralt had originally found fascinating in the human world - he’s complex, he’s human, and Geralt can’t help but be drawn into the irresistible pull of his orbit.
Jaskier makes the Path so much more vibrant, bringing meaning back into it, and Geralt wakes up one day to realise that he has no desire to return home permanently. He wants to stay on the Path, with Jaskier by his side reminding him of the beauty of the human realm, with Jaskier’s songs and smiles and laughter.
He’s unlike any other human Geralt has ever met. He seems so much brighter. All humans know that they might die someday, of course, but Jaskier seems to live every day like it’s his last, making the most of every moment and crafting each day into something he can take joy in, not wasting a single second.
He never displays any fear or hostility towards Geralt - which is strange, considering all the humans he’s met have feared or hated him in some manner, and Jaskier shouldn’t be an exception. But no matter what Geralt does, Jaskier never turns away from him, not when he watches Geralt slay monsters with savage ruthlessness, not when he catches a glimpse of Geralt’s face after he’s taken his potions, not when Geralt snaps at him in a moment of lost temper.
And it’s - nice. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t fear or hate him in the human world. It’s nice to have someone who - who cares for him, who cares for him enough to look out for him on his hunts, to patch up his wounds after a contract. Geralt doesn’t actually need Jaskier to patch him up - he can heal himself with his own magic - but there’s something so damn nice about having Jaskier’s gentle hands tending to his wounds as he hums soothingly under his breath, to have Jaskier fuss over him like a mother hen and reprimand him for being careless.
Before Jaskier, no one in the human world had cared for Geralt in such a way. But with Jaskier here, Geralt basks in Jaskier’s tender care and gentle affection, so different from the way his brothers and Vesemir care for him, so different from anything he’s experienced, and he finds himself craving the gentleness of Jaskier’s touch, the affection in his eyes and smile.
No other human has ever treated him the way Jaskier treats him. It’s almost odd, and Jaskier certainly is a rather eccentric human being - he talks, and talks, and talks, flitting from one topic to the next. He isn’t afraid to ask Geralt questions, asking about his life, about his witchering, as Jaskier puts it.
Geralt never quite knows what to answer. He isn’t a true witcher, after all. He can’t tell Jaskier about his realm, about who he truly is, so he evades the questions, vaguely answering Jaskier’s pointed probing at the School of the Wolf.
Jaskier is the only one who’s dared to bring up the fact that the Wolf School isn’t one of the major witcher schools. He’s also the only person who somehow seems to realise that Geralt’s potions aren’t those of a typical witcher, and Geralt can never give a straight answer whenever Jaskier questions him. There have been some brave humans who’ve dared to ask him about being a witcher, but none as daring as Jaskier, who’s the only one unafraid of probing deeper, asking more, undeterred by Geralt’s menacing glare.
The way Jaskier pushes should deter Geralt from staying with him, but it doesn’t - Jaskier’s complete lack of fear and the way he pushes Geralt actually endears him to Geralt, as much as he struggles to evade Jaskier’s questions sometimes, because Jaskier always notices if Geralt gets uncomfortable at his pushing and backs off when he does, and it cements the fact that Jaskier isn’t afraid to interact with him, to treat him as just another person, to treat him as a friend.
And that’s what Jaskier is. A friend. Geralt has denied this before, but he knows that Jaskier is more than a mere travel companion - he’s Geralt’s friend, someone who cares for him, who gets enraged at those who spit insults at him and is willing to fight townsfolk on his behalf, who talks to him and smiles at him, who knows when he needs space and when he needs comfort.
Geralt grows fond of having Jaskier around. Not just for how much easier Jaskier makes it for him to enter towns and villages without humans displaying outright hostility towards him, but for how much happier Geralt is around him. Before Jaskier, Geralt had been alone on the Path, and even back in his realm, he’d never truly found joy the way Jaskier brings joy into his life.
They don’t always travel together, of course - Geralt returns home in the winter, and during the rest of the year, Jaskier flits off occasionally to perform at some noble household or return to Oxenfurt - but each time Geralt is left alone, he feels so inexplicably empty, like Jaskier had barged into his life, bright and loud, carved out a place in Geralt’s heart and never quite left.
Geralt has gotten used to Jaskier by his side, chattering away about whatever catches his fancy, humming to himself and strumming his lute, a constant, soothing presence. He’s gotten used to how bright the Path becomes when Jaskier is with him, and when Jaskier is gone, Geralt always, always misses him.
The first time they part for longer than a few months, Geralt comes to realise how much Jaskier means to him when they reunite, a smile splitting Jaskier’s face as he yanks Geralt into a tight hug, murmuring I missed you.
They separate, but they always come back to each other, and Geralt finds himself yearning to reunite with Jaskier after each separation. He hadn’t meant to get himself attached to a human, to someone whose life is but a blink of his own, someone who he will outlive, and Geralt knows that this attachment will eventually hurt him, but he can’t bring himself to create distance between them.
He should. It would be better if he did - attachment is dangerous. But Geralt can’t bear to part from the warmth of Jaskier’s smiles, the lilt of his songs. He can’t bear to put an end to the affectionate way Jaskier touches him, to the excited glint in Jaskier’s eyes when he catches sight of something new and beautiful.
Geralt can hear Vesemir’s voice in his mind, warning him not to get attached to a human, who will inevitably wither and die and leave Geralt shattered and hurt. For some time, Geralt tries to push Jaskier away, tries to distance himself by hurtling barbed words at Jaskier, shying away from his touches, but it doesn’t last long, because he can’t stand seeing the hurt in Jaskier’s eyes when Geralt’s harsh words hit hard and hit home, the confusion in his expression when Geralt flinches away from his touch.
So Geralt lets himself sway closer and closer. He lets himself get attached. He grows protective of Jaskier, pulling him away from getting into fights in taverns, ensuring that he’s safe when Geralt goes on hunts, paying extra attention to Jaskier’s needs on the Path.
He’s never felt like this around anyone before. This warmth, this joy that Jaskier brings him, that feeling in his chest like a flower unfurling, a feeling that manifests whenever Jaskier gives him that smile reserved only for him, whenever Jaskier throws his head back and laugh, bright and wild and free, whenever Jaskier curls up against him at night, intimate and trusting in a way that causes Geralt’s heart to stutter, because there’s never been anyone else like Jaskier, who cares for him and trusts him so honestly, so openly.
He’s attached. Too attached - this feeling in his chest is as heady as it is dangerous, and Geralt is acutely reminded of its danger whenever Jaskier gets in the way of a hunt, because humans are fragile, prone to injury and death in a way Geralt isn’t. Jaskier is human, and Geralt could lose him so easily - he doesn’t even want to comprehend the possibility, doesn’t want to accept it, but the fact remains: Jaskier is human. Geralt is not.
And this feeling - this warmth, this sweetness and fondness and affection and something edging dangerously close to love - this feeling is dangerous, because it means that Geralt might break if he were to lose Jaskier, and he could lose Jaskier so damn easily.
But Geralt is weak, and he craves this warmth, craves Jaskier’s smiles, craves his touch and affection and utter tenderness. He is weak, and he lets this feeling grow, lets it bloom brighter and burn fiercer in his chest, falling deeper and deeper into Jaskier’s orbit even as the voice of Vesemir in his mind screams at him not to.
It’s dangerous. So, so dangerous. But it’s everything that Geralt loves about the human world, with its brightness and unpredictability and joy, and something about it makes him feel so utterly content - Geralt will be damned if he lets himself withdraw from what might be the best thing that has ever happened to him.
And so he stays with Jaskier, for months and years and decades, stays with him until their lives are tangled together, until Geralt has been drawn completely into the bright, vibrant presence that is Jaskier, until that feeling has bloomed to encompass his very being, glowing with warmth whenever he’s with Jaskier - glowing with the warmth of love, of home.
Geralt is with Jaskier somewhere in Redania when Vesemir finds him in a dream.
“You need to come home, Geralt,” Vesemir says urgently, looking like he’s aged several years despite being immortal, the edges of his form blurry in the haze of Geralt’s dream. “You and Eskel and Lambert - we need you.”
“What -”
“Come home,” Vesemir repeats before his form disappears, and Geralt is yanked back into the realm of consciousness, head spinning as Jaskier slumbers on next to him, still and unaware of what had transpired in Geralt’s sleeping mind.
What had that been?
Vesemir has never asked Geralt to return to their realm when he’s on the Path - Geralt always returns in the winter, after all, and the time he spends away from home is nothing in the life of an immortal. But there had been an urgency and desperation in Vesemir’s voice that sets Geralt on high alert, the memory of Vesemir’s harried expression causing dread to drip in his gut.
Something must be wrong back home. He needs to go back.
Geralt glances at Jaskier, whose face is relaxed and open in sleep, curled up in his bedroll and cuddling his lute to his chest, and his heart pangs at the thought of having to tell Jaskier that he’s leaving, that they will need to separate, that he has no idea when they’ll meet again. Gods, he’d been looking forward to this - travelling with Jaskier, sharing smiles around a campfire, the soft murmur of Jaskier’s voice as he stitches up Geralt’s wounds - but he has a duty to his family, a duty to his realm, that he cannot ignore, and as much as he wants to stay, he knows that he can’t.
He doesn’t sleep that night, packing his supplies as he fabricates and discards various excuses to tell Jaskier when he wakes up. Jaskier had wanted to bring Geralt to some music festival in the heart of Redania, and he’d been so excited, his face alight with anticipation as he’s babbled about the people and the music and it’s going to be so fun, Geralt, I can’t wait to show you -
Jaskier is going to be so disappointed when he wakes up, and Geralt dreads telling him, dreads the inevitable crestfallen look on his face when Geralt tells him that he needs to leave. Jaskier’s smiles bring so much light to Geralt’s life, so much brightness to the human world, and Geralt never wants to be the one to take that away - except he will be, this time, and he hates himself for it.
It’s necessary - Vesemir needs him, his people need him - but Geralt doesn’t have to like it, not when it means leaving Jaskier behind.
That dreadful feeling intensifies when Jaskier wakes up, face brightening when he catches sight of Geralt, and gods, how is Geralt going to do this?
He agonises over this for several minutes as Jaskier slowly gets ready, dread curling tighter and tighter in his gut, until he finally cuts off Jaskier’s soft humming, blurting out, “I need to leave.”
Jaskier stops humming, blinking slowly at him in confusion. “What?”
“I need to leave,” Geralt repeats, and Jaskier stares blankly at him before continuing to shove his things into his pack.
“Alright, let’s leave then.”
“No,” Geralt grunts out, hating what he’s about to say. “I have to go, uh, alone.”
The smile falls from Jaskier’s face.
“Oh,” Jaskier mumbles, looking down at his boots, and Geralt aches to do something, anything to bring that smile back onto his face. “Uh. Right.”
Geralt swallows. “I have some - witcher business to attend to.” The lie burns coming out of his mouth, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. He wants so desperately to tell Jaskier the truth, but their realm is kept secret for a reason, and as much as Geralt trusts Jaskier, his loyalty lies with his kingdom first. “It’s urgent, and I need to leave as soon as possible.”
“Witcher business,” Jaskier echoes slowly, his expression suddenly unreadable as he stares back up at Geralt with scrutinising eyes, and Geralt realises how flimsy his excuse is, how it must sound to Jaskier - like Geralt is fishing for an excuse to leave him behind, like Geralt wants for them to part ways, and he wants to take it back, wants to retract it, but his mind is fuzzy, it’s blank, he can’t think of any other excuse and he hates the way Jaskier’s lips are downturned, the way his expression is stony, but he can’t -
“Yes.” Fuck, he hates lying to Jaskier, hates leaving Jaskier alone like this. “I’m sorry. It’s something that I - it isn’t safe for humans. So. I need to go alone.”
“I see. Well. I guess I’ll see you - whenever you’re done with your… witcher business, then.”
Geralt can’t make out what Jaskier is feeling about this, unable to tell what he’s thinking, and it’s all he wants to do to reach out and bring the smile back to Jaskier’s face.
“I…” Geralt trails off, not knowing what to say to make it better. He wants to make it better, he really does, but words have never been his strong point, and they fail him once again as he watches Jaskier finish packing up. “Yeah, I’ll - I’ll see you. Have fun at the festival.”
“I will,” Jaskier says, sending him a smile that seems far too shallow and brittle, a dim echo of his usual vibrant smiles. “I wish you luck with this mysterious witcher business you have to attend to.”
“Thank you,” Geralt mumbles, but he doesn’t move from his spot, staring at Jaskier. Jaskier stares back at him, and when Geralt realises that Jaskier isn’t going to give him a response, he slowly turns away, fists clenched tight around his pack, and heaves himself onto Roach, heart heavy.
He takes one last look at Jaskier, and Geralt tells himself to say something to make it better, to lighten up Jaskier’s face once more. But Jaskier doesn’t say a word, only watching Geralt silently, and all words die on Geralt’s tongue as he forces himself to turn away and urge Roach into a gallop.
Soon, he tells himself as he gets further and further away from Jaskier, his heart getting heavier the more distance he puts between them. He’ll deal with whatever Vesemir is distressed about as quickly as possible, then he’ll find Jaskier on the Path once more and make it up to him - soon.
Jaskier will be fine. They spend their winters apart, after all, and they don’t always travel together - though Geralt has never told Jaskier quite so bluntly that he’s leaving, not since they’ve grown closer - so Jaskier is bound to have something to do.
Geralt doesn’t know what Jaskier usually does when they’re apart, assuming that he either travels alone or spends time in a noble household or something, but he tells himself that Jaskier will be just fine without him - in fact, he might have even more fun at the festival without Geralt’s brooding presence dragging his mood down, and he’ll get to spend time in towns and villages without worrying about Geralt getting hurt on a contract, falling into whatever beds he pleases.
It’s better this way, and everything will be fine in the end - Geralt will handle whatever trouble is happening in his realm, Jaskier will get some quality time to himself, and Geralt will return to him once everything is done.
Once he’s far away enough from Jaskier that he won’t be able to catch up, Geralt pulls on his power and thinks of home. When he opens his eyes, he’s back in his room at the palace, the voices of his brothers echoing down the hallway, and Geralt heads towards the door with a sigh as he sheds his glamour, already missing Jaskier like an ache.
Time to see what Vesemir wants.
Vesemir tells them that there’s a mysterious creature terrorising their realm - a creature that lurks in the depths of the forest at the edge of the realm, one that has killed anyone who dares venture into the forest alone, one that has somehow caused the life to drain from the farmland near the forest.
“Do we know how to stop it?” Lambert asks, frowning in worry. With a pang of guilt, Geralt thinks about how long Vesemir must have been trying to deal with this on his own, how he mustn’t have wanted to bother them on the Path. He should’ve known - he should’ve paid attention, and now his people are paying the price for his neglect.
“I have no idea,” Vesemir grunts out, raking one hand through his hair as he paces the room. “We’ve sent out groups to go after this - this creature, but it evades us every time. When we send out individual scouts, the creature kills them and leaves their corpses for us to find. We have no records of what it looks like or how it acts, because it only shows itself to small numbers of people, and no one ever lives to tell the tale.”
“What do the corpses look like?” Eskel questions, eyes sharp and focused.
Vesemir shakes his head, mouth a thin line. “Completely mauled beyond recognition. By claws of some sort, it seems, or teeth. They’re always half-decomposed when we find them, which may suggest that the creature is able to use some sort of toxin or poison, or it could be another of the creature’s powers. We’ve tried to investigate what it might be, but our efforts are coming up with nothing. It truly is nothing like anything I have ever seen before. I had our best scholars scour our libraries, but we have found nothing that matches what we know of this creature.”
“It might not be a creature from our realm,” Eskel says slowly, deep in thought. “Maybe we don’t have anything in our records because it could be from another realm - I have encountered beasts and monsters whose existence I didn’t know of before I entered the human world. This creature may somehow have come from the human world into our realm.”
“We can go investigate,” Geralt suggests, and Eskel and Lambert nod. “It might show up for the three of us, and if not, one of us can try to go after it.”
“It’s dangerous,” Vesemir warns, brows pinched in worry. “I’ve sent some of our best soldiers, and they didn’t come back.”
Lambert grins, quick and sharp. “Well, they haven’t been to the human world, have they?”
Vesemir sighs. “Very well. But - be careful.”
The creature doesn’t show up. Geralt and his brothers scour every inch of the forest, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary, only the usual animals that scurry through the trees and the mystical plants that grow from the ground. There’s nothing to indicate that a ferocious creature dwells here, and after hours of searching, they give up, tired and frustrated.
“I don’t think it will show up if more than one person enters the forest,” Eskel says, rubbing a hand over his eyes in exhaustion as he drops onto a chair. Those last few hours had been draining - the forest stretches far and wide, and all of them had exerted their abilities in trying to find the creature. “One of us needs to go.”
“I’ll -”
“I’ll go,” Geralt interrupts, cutting Lambert off, and Lambert twists to give him a glare, opening his mouth in protest, but Geralt ignores him, continuing, “You both know that I’m stronger and that I heal faster. I stand the best chance against it.”
“You can’t just -”
“We need to get rid of this creature,” Geralt says firmly, thinking about the sombre atmosphere that has settled over their realm as more and more of their kind are lost to this mysterious creature. He will not allow there to be any more death, not if he can do anything about it. “It’s the only way it will show up - you heard Vesemir, it won’t appear if more than one person tries to approach it. I’m our best chance at defeating it, and even if I don’t kill it, I might be able to get enough information about it that we can try and come up with more ways to take it down.”
“I don’t like this.” Eskel’s mouth is flattened into a tight line, worry apparent in his eyes as he looks at Geralt, fists clenched. “You shouldn’t have to -”
“I’m our best chance,” Geralt repeats, and Eskel drops his gaze. “And you know it. I’ll regain my strength today, stock up on what I need. Tomorrow, I’ll head into the forest. Alone.”
Lambert growls, but Geralt is already turning away, walking back to his room. His brothers hate it when he gets like this, he knows - Geralt knows full well that he would feel the exact same way if either Eskel or Lambert were to volunteer for what could very well be a deadly mission. But he refuses to allow this creature to keep terrorising his people, and he’s the best chance they have - he’s enhanced by what he’d inherited from his unknown parents, he’s skilled, and he has experience from his time as a witcher.
This creature is dangerous and unknown. But Geralt has faced off against many deadly monsters in the human world, monsters that he’s never faced before, and surely this creature will be no different. It will just be another monster for him to handle, he’s certain, as difficult as it might be.
So he heads into the forest the next day. He heads there alone, his strength replenished, armed to the teeth with potions and bombs and weapons. His magic hums around him, his swords a reassuring weight on his back, and Geralt slowly prowls through the forest, keeping his senses open for anything out of the ordinary.
He’s far into the depths of the forest when the light is snatched from the sky, shadows creeping around him as everything goes silent and still, and Geralt swiftly unsheathes his sword, his magic swirling around his free hand as he readies himself to face the threat.
A growl rips through the air, and Geralt ducks to the side just in time to avoid a whirling mass of shadows and teeth. He blasts the mass of shadows with a wave of deadly cold, but it retreats into the darkness of the forest, out of his reach, and before Geralt can react, something sharp rakes viciously over his back and he growls in pain, slashing his sword blindly at whatever had just attacked him.
His opponent appears to be a shadowy mass of everything and nothing, vicious flashes of teeth and claws emerging from the darkness, and it’s all Geralt can do to avoid these sudden strikes. This creature is unlike anything he’s faced before, nothing like the monsters he’d fought as a witcher or the beasts that roam his realm - this creature is something else, something different and deadly, and it’s with sinking dread that Geralt realises he has no idea what to do.
He’s bleeding from multiple cuts over his body, wounded from the sharp strikes that seem to manifest out of the formless shadows, and he’s barely landed a blow on this shadowy monster that seems to evade his sword and his magic. Something about the shadows must be draining him, because his wounds aren’t healing the way they should be, and he’s far too exhausted for how short this fight has been. He’s slowing down, his reflexes turning sluggish, his magic draining, and Geralt knows that he can’t defeat this creature.
He has to escape.
He can’t simply run away from this creature - it’s engulfed the forest in darkness, and it will likely follow Geralt wherever he goes - so Geralt summons the last of his strength, pulling at the remaining dregs of his magic, and pictures the lavish walls of his home, the soft sheets of his bed -
He tugs with his magic, and suddenly, the world is bright once again. He glimpses the familiar walls of his home before he falls to his knees, the distant voices of his brother ringing in his ears as they run towards him.
“Geralt, what happened?” Eskel breathes out once he reaches Geralt, hands fluttering around the various wounds on Geralt’s body.
“The creature,” Geralt grits out, head spinning and vision blurry, letting Eskel help him to his feet and move him onto the nearest chair, where he collapses, body going lax. “It’s - it’s nothing like anything I’ve encountered before.”
With exhaustion colouring every word, he tells his brothers about the creature, about the shadows and teeth and claws, watching their faces grow sombre as he describes the futility of the fight. Vesemir hurries in halfway through Geralt’s recount of the fight, face pinched in worry, and once Geralt finishes, Lambert lets out a long, exhausted exhale.
“Well, what the fuck do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Geralt returns wearily. He’s too tired for this - all he wants to do is heal and rest with how much the creature has drained him. “It’s not something that I’ve encountered in the human world, nor is it something that exists in our realm. I don’t know if we have enough knowledge of it to be able to defeat it.”
“Maybe if I try -” Eskel starts, but Vesemir cuts him off.
“You three might not have encountered it,” he says thoughtfully. “But I daresay that you have a rather limited experience of the human world. It’s not a creature that exists in our realm, but perhaps - perhaps it does exist in the human world, and the three of you simply haven’t encountered it yet.”
“That doesn’t help us -” Lambert snaps, but Vesemir brings a hand up, silencing him.
“Perhaps,” Vesemir murmurs. “We could find someone who has encountered it. A witcher.”
“A… witcher,” Geralt echoes flatly.
“The three of you are not proper witchers - don’t give me that look, Lambert, you know full well that you don’t have the training and experience of a true witcher - and it is perhaps worth seeking out an actual witcher, considering none of us know what this creature is and how to defeat it. If it is from the human realm and the three of you haven’t encountered it, a true witcher might know of it.”
“We’ve spent centuries ensuring that our realm won’t be found by outsiders,” Geralt points out, still wary about what Vesemir is trying to say. “Are we just going to simply give that up now?”
Vesemir drags a tired hand over his face. “I don’t see any other option. This creature is killing our people and draining our lands, and we don’t have the information required to be able to defeat it. Finding a witcher is our best option right now. We just have to hope that the witcher will not betray any information about our realm that could be exploited.”
“I could try again -” Geralt pipes up, and Vesemir cuts him off with a pointed look to the still-healing injuries on his body.
“I don’t want to risk it,” he says sharply, authority seeping into his tone. “I know you see the reason behind my words. It will be risky, but I want to put an end to this as soon as possible, and I’m confident that we can find a witcher with enough integrity to not betray information about our realm.”
Vesemir is right, Geralt knows. This creature has terrorised their lands for far too long, and they know far too little about it to be able to successfully take it down, especially when the creature only shows itself with one person present. Out of his brothers, Geralt is the one most likely to be able to take down a monster alone, but that creature would have killed him had he not used the last of his magic to transport himself back home - and as much as Geralt hates to admit it, Vesemir has a point. Finding a witcher, a true witcher, will be risky, but it appears to be the only option left.
Looking at his brothers, it’s clear that they’ve come to the same conclusion, and Geralt sighs.
“Are you sure?” he questions Vesemir one last time, and Vesemir gives him a sharp nod.
“It is for our people. We will deal with the consequences when they come.”
“Alright,” Geralt says, knowing that once Vesemir’s mind is made up, there’s no swaying him - and Geralt knows better than to try and sway him. After all, he has no desire for his people to continue dying at the hands of this mysterious creature, and as risky as this plan is, Geralt doesn’t see any other option. “We’ll find a contract and wait for a witcher to show up, and when they do, we’ll bring them here.”
“You need to regain your strength,” Eskel counters, ignoring Geralt’s scowl. “I’ll do it. I can go and scout for contracts now.”
Geralt grumbles a little, but doesn’t protest, fully aware that he’s in no state to go and find a witcher right now. “Fine. Just - I’ve heard enough about the School of the Cat and the Viper to know that they might not be the best option, so make sure to avoid seeking out a witcher from these two schools. Just to be safe.”
“Got it.” Eskel gets to his feet, heading towards the door with determination in his eyes. “The sooner I go, the better - it may take me some time to find a witcher, since their numbers are so small now. I’ll go now; there’s no reason to wait.”
“Be careful,” Geralt grits out, and Eskel gives one last nod before disappearing out of the door.
“This better work,” Lambert mutters, wringing his hands as he paces the room, worry evident in the pinched lines of his face. “Fuck, if that creature isn’t stopped -”
“I know,” Vesemir murmurs, mouth downturned. Geralt can’t imagine the stress Vesemir must be feeling right now - the pressure that lies on him as a king, the pressure of caring for his people, for his kingdom, ensuring that they’re happy and safe and alive, the pressure of trying to defeat this mysterious, unknown monster that none of them know how to face.
For Vesemir’s sake, for the sake of their people, Geralt prays to all the gods out there that this works, that they will find a witcher who knows about the creature, that they will be able to stop this creature from taking more lives.
It needs to work. They’re out of options, and if this doesn’t work - well, Geralt isn’t sure what they’ll do next.