Chapter Text
I
Zireael is a charming little cafe hidden in one of the narrow, cobbled streets of Cintra’s Old Town. The interior is vintage-style, with dainty furniture and lots of bric-a-bracs all around. The decor is neither stuffy nor kitsch, the coffee and tea are really good, and the baristas chat with you like they actually care about what you have to say.
(One of them especially catches his eye – Renfri, a stunning woman who has the charisma of an empress. Jaskier often wonders what she’s even doing in a place like this. He’d say she belongs to far grander spaces, but then again, so does he. Yet, here they are).
The best thing about Zireael, however, is not the pleasant atmosphere, menu or staff. What makes it special is hidden in a corner of one of the rooms, tucked inside the bibelots on the windowsill right next to a comfy couch. There, hundreds of notes left behind by the cafe’s guests can be found.
They are written on the back of receipts or small pieces of paper torn out of notebooks. The majority of the notes are dates and names of those who have been here, sometimes with some little additions like love this cafe, or something more personal, for example I totally failed an exam today but my tea is delicious. Many couples or friends have commemorated their meetings here, others have drawn cute doodles or have shared silly thoughts such as Books are tattooed dead trees, Don’t eat yellow snow or Mom’s spaghetti, never forgetti.
Going through the notes is always an experience. The first time Jaskier did that, when he’d just moved in Cintra and Essi showed him this place, it took them more than two hours to read them all. They even left one of their own. It said, Jaskier + Essi = friends until the end of time and beyond. Below, Essi added an arrow pointing to his name and wrote This guy’s signature is worth millions!
It was so sweet of her to do that. Back then, he didn’t have faith anymore, his spirit nearly broken after he’d been left by his band, agent, fiancee, and publisher (in that order). Alone and on the verge of descending into alcoholism to forget his woes, Jaskier agreed to live with Essi the moment she suggested it. He cut his hair, shaved his beard, dealt with all unfinished business, packed everything, and that was that. Dandelion, one of Redania’s most famous artists, ceased to exist at the Oxenfurt Airport on a March Tuesday.
Now, a month and a half later, he digs out the note that marked his new beginning. His fingertips trace the cursive of Essi’s elegant handwriting and his heart lurches in longing. She left the city only a week ago – the unexpected offer to teach the history of music at the prestigious University of Novigrad for a year was too good to pass up – but Jaskier already can’t bear her absence. The flat is far too empty without her, and the sad screeching of Essi’s cockatiel Pearl only deepens the void.
It’s never good to have too much free time. Jaskier tries to stay busy even if the basics – like taking care of Pearl, the flat, and himself on occasion – are still too draining at times. Today, his agenda is to stay at Zireael and read every single note again.
Renfri asks if he needs a refill of his drink, with that wicked grin of hers that makes his heart beat a touch faster, and he accepts. Some more caffeine will be needed to power through; there’ve been many notes added in the past weeks.
It’s like travelling through all things human. Jaskier sees friendship and love, mischief and silliness, insults and anger (My boss is such a bitch, Fuck capitalism), pain and loneliness (I just lost my mum, My life sucks, I need friends with phone numbers added), hope and well-wishes (Maybe next year will be better, Have a beautiful day!). He sees it all, re-living the tiny fractions of the lives of others until he feels human again himself.
When the journey ends, Jaskier puts all the notes back in their places, apart from one. It’s a phone number with a request: Ask me about my coffee, which is perfect. A direct invitation to discuss a wonderfully neutral topic; no baring your problems, no expectations, just... coffee.
Before he changes his mind, Jaskier enters the number and sends a message.
How was your coffee?
He doesn’t anticipate a quick reply. He half-expects them not to text back at all, so he goes about his day. Two pubs in the Old Town are interested in giving him a gig, so he buys himself a bottle of wine and heads back to the house to celebrate the little success. Unfortunately, when he returns, he isn’t able to enjoy a glass in peace. Pearl is extremely unsettled for some reason, screaming incessantly and loudly. Jaskier has to do the one thing that he’s discovered is certain to soothe the little devil.
He wanted to play the violin anyway; he practises for a few hours a day now. It’s because people are like trees in that they can’t survive long rootless. Jaskier’s cut all ties with his previous life and without Essi, nothing grounds him in Cintra. Hence, the violin, which he started playing the moment he could stand on his own feet. The instrument connects him to his childhood, to the times of his parent’s approval, of first concerts, first high of fame. Full auditoriums clapping only for him, his mom and dad smiling proudly, them travelling the world.
(Burnout came around the time he turned twelve. Reclaiming his love for the violin, for music in general, had to happen on his own terms. Justyn and Zofia Pankratz weren’t thrilled when their genius only child began changing, no longer fitting into their idea of him).
An hour of playing has passed when his phone pings – the stranger replied.
It was very good! 😌
How about yours?
Jaskier smiles and answers:
It was great, nice of you to ask ☺️
They respond instantly.
Nice of you to text,
I didn’t think anyone would
It was too tempting 😜
Haha, I hoped it’d be 😛
Have a nice day! 💕
Thank you, you too! 🥰
His smile doesn’t fade away for the rest of the day.
*
Life goes on – it’s as cruel and relieving as that.
The rhythm of his days is determined by Pearl’s mealtimes (the feathered demon always screams until he gets what he wants), video calls with Essi, then either evening composing, performances or one night stands (and if the people he takes to bed bear resemblance to his ex in some way, that’s only his business, thank you).
Jaskier gets booked for a few gigs around the city, but that’s not a surprise. His ability to work a crowd is the only part of his work that hasn’t gone to hell, really. He decided to discard the rest to avoid association with Dandelion as much as possible. (Luckily, he doesn’t look much like his past self, but it’s still only a matter of time before someone makes a connection).
Reinventing his style is a thrilling process, actually. It gives him the complete freedom to express his inner world. This is why the new music resounds with anger and the new poems don’t speak of acceptance. His art isn’t even close to approaching the concept of forgiveness, though he knows the moment will come. All things come and pass, mercilessly, mercifully.
*
His mind sometimes wanders back to the coffee stranger. The memory of their exchange never fails to warm his heart. He thinks of this person whenever someone is not kind – or when he simply remembers the reason for his current circumstances and what came before – as a reminder that in general, people are all right. People are all right and there always will be something kind to do for each other, even if it’s just to inquire about coffee.
*
Performing comes to him so naturally that he often forgets to stop, and it is also so gratifying that he doesn’t really want to. When a crowd sings his words and gives him genuine applause, or a lover looks at him like he’s the best one they’ve ever had, Jaskier is on top of the world. The give and take of joy is a drug he can’t resist, though these days, it’s just for the duration of a performance or one night. His romances don’t last longer than that because he doesn’t have more love to give. Not yet, not after Stella shouted “You monster!” with tears in her gorgeous dark eyes.
(“I didn’t do it!” he roared back, weeping, begging for his own fucking fiancee not to believe in lies. “C’mon, love, you know me!”
“Do I?” she asked, and he cried so hard he couldn’t breathe).
Jaskier is surrounded by people – with whom he talks, jokes, flirts, sleeps – but when he comes back home, only Pearl’s cries greet him. With Essi away, the flat is dark even on sunny days, and Jaskier wonders how much it would take for someone to witness his damage, see him when he doesn’t perform at all, and stay anyway.
*
When Jaskier was little, he watched an amazing TV show with his nanny that he can’t for the life of him recall the name of. He doesn’t remember most of the plot either, in truth, but there’s something from that show that will stay with him forever: the image that all people in the world are connected through a net of invisible red strings. The idea that we all touch each other in one way or another – through our actions, words, decisions – even if we don’t ever know it.
He thinks of the red strings more and more often. Whenever he’s in a crowd, or he drinks coffee at Zireael, he likes to imagine that he can see all the red threads. He then chooses a few strangers and thinks of how they are connected, making up their stories. Other times, he pictures multiple red threads coming out of his chest, joining him with everyone around. With the touch of thousands of lives holding him, he’s not a lonely man.
*
After getting seeds for Pearl (a special mix that Essi told him to buy at one specific pet store), Jaskier takes a different route back to the bus stop and walks past a flower shop Merigold. Right next to it, there’s a tattoo studio called Kaer Morhen.
Nothing in particular about that place beckons him in; he enters on a whim that he may or may not regret later.
At the reception desk, he sees a very handsome man. Half of his face is disfigured by scars but Jaskier hardly notices because his eyes are such a light shade of brown that they seem golden. He wears a wedding ring, which doesn’t stop Jaskier from putting on his best flirty smile. Eskel, as he introduces himself, ignores it like a good husband he surely is.
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
It’s been two months since the Coffee Stranger Exchange. Jaskier plays the violin daily. Essi has been back to Cintra a few times for a weekend since going to Novigrad. They’ve started working on an album and the violin is not only because he needs it anymore, but all of that’s not enough. Red threads are everywhere but he doesn’t feel like any of them actually touch him.
“I’d like a tattoo of a red string.”
“Is red necessary? The pigment may cause an allergic reaction,” Eskel warns. “Don’t you want to choose a different colour?”
There’s something about it being red that makes the idea so profound. Red is how you bleed, red is how you rage, red is how you lust. Red is powerful – the colour of things that cannot be ignored, bound to carry a strong message.
“No, I’m sure,” Jaskier decides.
“Okay,” Eskel replies. His small, kind smile has Jaskier thinking, damn, what a shame he’s not interested. “Do you have any place on the body in mind?”
Jaskier doesn’t have an answer for that; an answer in itself. The Kaer Moren tattoo artist is very patient, though, and gives him time to think. (There seems to be no one waiting at the studio anyway). The exact idea pops up in his head after he takes a look around and sees a photo on the wall that shows someone’s hand which is tattooed in stunning floral patterns up to the very tips of the fingers.
“I want it on my finger,” he says.
Eskel has some more objections to that – apparently, tattoos on fingers need to be redone often and they’re very painful too. Jaskier doesn’t take that to heart; nothing can be as painful as what he’s been through in the past year. That, and having the red thread on the finger means he will be able to see it all the time and touch it whenever he needs.
While Eskel prepares everything, Jaskier asks about the beautiful marigolds tattooed on his (sexy, muscular) forearms. It turns out that Merigold is the maiden name of his wife, the florist next door, and Jaskier cannot stop cooing internally.
After they agree on the size, shape and exact placement of the tattoo (just a thin band on the front of his left middle finger), Eskel gives one more warning.
“This really will hurt.”
It hurts like a bitch.
*
“Was it because I was a dick to him in high school?” he asks Pearl, who sits on the windowsill, while he washes the dishes.
The albino cockatiel blinks at him and makes a quiet, inquisitive sound (which is a vast improvement from the ungodly shrieks he would give at the very sight of Jaskier when he moved in), then starts cleaning his perfectly white feathers with his beak.
“You’re right, it’s a rhetorical question.”
It’s about much more than that, Jaskier knows, though he was a disgusting, spoiled rich kid in his school days. Valdo was easy to pick on, lanky and clumsy. Until the moment he went up on stage, that is. There, when he sang his compositions – surprisingly profound for a person his age – Valdo Marx turned into someone transcendent.
Valdo made Jaskier’s heart flutter (in the time when his father talked about how faggots shouldn’t parade around with their disorders). Valdo made him green with envy (because his ability to produce works of great complexity is something Jaskier had to learn through years of hard work). Valdo never accepted any of Jaskier’s numerous victories (and some of them indeed should’ve been his).
Winning Stella’s heart must’ve been the last straw.
“Sometimes I sort of understand the lengths he went to,” Jaskier tells his bird roommate, “But then I remember just what he did. God, what a sick bastard.”
Pearl agrees with a soft croon.
*
There are some benefits to having been a child prodigy whose parents are accomplished classical musicians. That is, his name still opens some doors. Or, rather, stops them from being slammed in his face.
There's a vacant post at the Cintra Philharmonic's orchestra. It’s temporary, only until one of the first violins recovers after a car accident, apparently. Jaskier decides to go for it because the gigs at bars don't earn him enough to sustain himself, his savings are starting to run out, and the idea of starting new social media accounts - which would allow him to make some money off his music - still fills him with dread.
The man who oversees his audition, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy himself, is surprisingly kind; he actually looks at him and listens as Jaskier gives it his all.
“Well,” he says after Jaskier finishes playing, “The only issue I see here, mister Pakrtaz, is that of your... renown. It may raise some concerns, I’m afraid. This Philharmonic is a very respectable institution.”
Many don’t mind supporting an artist who’s rumoured to be a drunk. Even if more gossip appears, painting the said star as a homewrecker who treats others like dirt, it could be overlooked. People say many things, don’t they? However, when a claim is put forth, accusing the well-known singer of having sex with fans half his age, the issue of the celebrity’s character must not be ignored any longer, especially that the artist already has a reputation.
Dandelion was known to be a man who liked to party. His tax records weren’t exactly straight at times and he owed some money here and there, despite his fortune. He flirted shamelessly and took lovers regardless of their relationship status. In that kind of soil, the heavy allegation took root beautifully and from there, all the previous talk that exaggerated his faults only worked to nourish it.
“I haven't been a respectable man for a day in my life,” Jaskier retorts, “But the allegations you are concerned about simply aren't true."
Police found smoke and mirrors. Some posts about people seeing Jaskier alone with teenage fans in inappropriate settings. Photos with his fans framed in a disgusting way. Comments, hashtags, drama channels, alleged text messages. No evidence indicating any abuse, nothing solid to support the claims, too many people involved to accuse anyone in particular of defamation of his character.
(Then Valdo called him, saying, “Congratulations, you’re trending on Twitter again” with that smugness in his tone, and Jaskier knew).
"Besides," he adds bluntly since he has nothing to lose, "I’m the best you’re going to find at such short notice, aren’t I?”
Another surprise: Regis takes no offence to that, only smiles and inclines his head.
“You’re the best we could ever find,” he replies, and he seems so genuine in this that it takes Jaskier all his self-restraint not to break down right there and then.
When he comes back home, he sheds happy tears. As he rubs the thread around his middle finger with his thumb, he feels the touch of Regis’s kindness down to his very core. The warmth of his words rekindles the embers of Jaskier’s soul until they burn red, as red as the string on his skin.
*
It’s September. Jaskier continues drafting an album with Essi, plays at the Phil, has daily arguments with Pearl about rhymes, bickers with Renfri about Zireael’s tea blends, sometimes has to run for his life after he flirts with the wrong person at the bar and a jealous partner wants to teach him a lesson. In short, six months after moving to Cintra, he feels like a person he usually is, more or less.
Which is the moment for something to go to shit.
“I heard Valdo Marx was invited,” Toruviel, another first violin, whispers to him with excitement.
Toruviel doesn’t particularly care about the fact that he and Valdo were well-known artistic rivals, gushing about Valdo and his talent (like his “top-tier” lyricism even though some of those lines are Jaskier’s) at every opportunity. She does this partly because she is a fan of Valdo’s and also to be mean, or so Jaskier suspects. No one in the orchestra likes him much but that’s not a shock. If you Google Julian Pankratz, the Internet will tell you about his other name and what controversies surround Dandelion.
“Who told you?” he asks as they head out of the building after a rehearsal.
“Fil,” she replies.
Filevander, the concertmaster of their orchestra, is likely to know this kind of thing.
The annual cocktail after-party organised by the Cintra Philharmony is proceeded by a concert, after which the orchestra and the audience have the chance to talk, share a drink, and generally spend an enjoyable time together. The event is very unique and prestigious, which makes the invitations highly sought-after. Who wouldn’t want to come and be able to chat with personas such as Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, one of the best conductors of the Continent?
Valdo did go before. Why shouldn't he come now?
Jaskier has thoughts about that. They range from petrified to homicidal, but who isn’t either from time to time? All shall be well, surely. Jaskier will handle it just fine with Essi by his side.
And then –
“Darling, I’m so sorry,” Essi says during their video call, “It’s just that...”
She’s also a musician who has been doing gigs on the side. She, too, has risen in popularity in the city where she lives. Now, on the day of the party in Cintra, she has been booked for a performance at a large venue in Novigrad.
“I understand, dear,” Jaskier replies. “I’m sorry that I won’t be there for you.”
“I am sorry I won’t be there for you. Will you be all right?”
Jaskier nods, which must be the most silent lie in the history of the world.
It’s two months until the event. Since Pearl can’t accompany him and Renfri is taken (yes, he asked), he doesn’t have anyone else he’d want to invite to go with him.
Valdo’s goal was to make him so disgusting in the eyes of the world that no one would ever want him again, in any way. What is Valdo going to see at the party? Victory – Jaskier alone.
There’s a fire burning in his soul at the thought of seeing Valdo triumph. The slightest chance that he may witness the bastard gloating after what he’s done makes Jaskier see red. That’s why he won’t go to the party without a date.
The problem is that making friends is much harder than finding lovers, and he’s still unwilling to love for longer than one night too. The last time he loved deeply, it almost broke him. (He has a thick skin, truly, but when the person he wanted to spend his life with called him the same things that the people on the Internet had... that was too much even for him).
Obviously, Jaskier could hire someone for one evening. Yet, a reliable escort costs a lot and his savings are basically gone at this point. What’s really left is paying for company in other ways or simply asking for help, but who should he turn to? Who wouldn’t laugh in his face if he said, hey, I really need you to pretend to like me for a few hours –
Then, Jaskier remembers. Before he can change his mind, he texts the Coffee Stranger.
I know this is weird
But I really, really need a fake date for a party
Are you free for the last Sunday of November? 😅
Realising that they don’t have the slightest idea who he is, he adds a few details about himself.
I’m a guy, 33, a musician
Name’s Jaskier
Waiting for a response is torture. As he prays and hopes that they will let him down gently, Jaskier decides that he won’t tell a thing about this pathetic idea to anyone, even Essi. Pearl doesn’t count because he’s a parrot which can’t talk.
So, Jaskier rants to Pearl about all his options if the Stranger doesn’t agree and also if they do. The cockatiel cheers him on with squawks, then starts whistling an upbeat melody and dancing to it happily because apparently, Jaskier’s misery puts him in good mood.
“You useless flying tenth of a tiny pillow,” Jaskier grumbles, “I’m not playing Vivaldi for you ever– ”
His phone pings.
I can’t help you, I’m sorry ☹️
My husband would mind
Jaskier sighs heavily, his hope plummeting in a dramatic fashion. Of course they’re married, he thinks, some people are actually capable of forming lasting relationships –
But I know someone who could help
Maybe
If you’re into guys
His hope returns in record time as he hastens to reply:
Guys, gals, bit of both or neither
All are beautiful 💕
That’s so cute 🥺
Ok, I’ll give you his number
You’re an angel! ❤️
Only now does it occur to him that he hasn’t asked for the angel’s name, but she introduces herself in the following message after sending him the number.
His name is Geralt
Tell him you got his number
from Triss
Triss seems like a woman’s name, at least, so that’s how Jaskier is going to think of her until proven otherwise. He saves the contact as “Triss 💖😇”, thanks her once again, and starts thinking about what exactly to say to Geralt. In the end, he decides to put the matter in a way that would keep at least a shred of his dignity intact.
Hi! 👋
This is Jaskier, I know you don’t know me
but I got your number from Triss
I really need a date for a party 😁
Triss said you could help me?
Not interested in a date.
Jaskier breathes a sigh of double relief - the guy replied and he isn't down to accidentally creating any mess that is romantic feelings? Simply ideal.
Which is perfect, by the way!
I'm not interested either
It'll be just a pretend 😅
For a while, there's no reply.
Please, this is really important to me
One person must see me with a date
They must think that I’m living
my best life, pls don't ask why
You don’t need a partner for that.
This gives him a pause. Who is this guy and how dare he be clever? Now Jaskier has to be honest.
What I need is for them to think
that somebody wants me
There must be someone
who already does.
This strike of Geralt's unexpected insightfulness shouldn't be as brutal as it is.
There are people who look at him with desire, but it's not actually him they want. They wat the idea of him. The persona he assumes on stage (and forgets to stop playing) is an attractive one. Yet, as much as he loves performing that character, there always comes a moment when he needs to drop the mask. He won't be able to keep it up at the cocktail afterparty; the whole thing is too personal.
(As soon as things get personal, Jaskier isn't so appealing anymore).
Not really, no
To conceal the bitterness rising in his throat, he amuses himself with self-aggrandizing humour and adds a little joke.
My excellent company is tragically
underappreciated, I’m afraid 😥
Is it excellent if you
can’t find a date?
Jaskier lets out an indignant squawk, resembling Pearl far too much.
Are you trying to hurt my feelings?
That’s downright indecorous of you,
if I’m completely honest
Deepest apologies.
Jaskier snorts, a wide smile stretching his lips. It would be really entertaining to go out with Geralt, if he’s a bastard like this in person as well.
You can redeem yourself
by being my date for the party
No response.
Please, I really need help 🙏
Let me think about it.
Thinking takes Geralt a whole another day but eventually, he sends a text that says We should meet. They fix the time and place of their meeting, and Jaskier is utterly astounded that this stupid plan seems to be working. Buzzing with excitement, he goes to free Essi's flying child from his cage, letting him hop on his hand.
"Pearl," he whispers to the white cockatiel like it's a secret, "I'm a total genius."
Pearl whistles, intrigued, and Jaskier laughs. He reaches out, intending to stroke Pearl's feathers with the back of his left hand, and the parrot nips at the tattoo on his middle finger gently. Jaskier likes to imagine that at this moment, a knot of red string has been tied.