Chapter 1: One Princess
Chapter Text
Part I. One Princess
It starts simple enough: A bard decides that even if his witcher friend feels comfortable enough just ignoring his child surprise even exists, he isn’t so inclined. So starting the winter after the destiny-changing banquet, Jaskier switches from spending his winters in Oxenfurt, to doing so in Cintra. He still accompanies Geralt all the way to Kaedwen, and lets the witcher believe he’s heading to Redania, but instead the bard will join a convenient caravan and head to Cintra.
He and Queen Calanthe make a deal on that first winter: he’ll be allowed to stay at the palace, perform and spend time with Princess Cirilla, he can even perform his White Wolf songs; however, he must never say a word about the Law of Surprise. It’s an easy enough promise to keep. Little Ciri truly loves listening to his songs, especially the lullabies he composes just for her. Jaskier also forms a tight friendship with Pavetta, whom he comes to hold as dear as a sister.
And then disaster strikes. There’s a mountain, and a dragon, and a sorceress (because when does that woman not cause chaos and mayhem?) and Jaskier doesn’t fully understand yet what exactly happened (they left him still asleep at camp while going on their glorious mission!) when Geralt suddenly turns on him, snapping at the bard and blaming him for everything that’s ever gone wrong in his life.
“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”
So the bard does just that, he takes himself out of his… (no, not his, never his) the witcher’s hands. On the way down from the mountain he has the time to consider his options: he could go back on the road, except he knows his survival skills aren’t the best, against inclement weather, the occasional human bandit and the (far more frequent) angry cuckold… sure! But against creatures and monsters and rogue mages? He wouldn’t last long, no. He could return to Oxenfurt, he’s sure the students and even the Dean would love to have him, but there’s a reason why Jaskier chose to become a traveling bard after just a year as a professor and only ever returned as a guest lecturer during the winter season. He finds the whole ‘teaching thing’ dreadfully boring in the long term. Also, and while he might not like to admit it, there’s the fact that certain individuals (coughValdoMarxcough) would have something to say about him going back to the Academy; questioning whether Geralt has tired of him, what he might have done to cause it, etcetera… He could also try visiting a Court, see about getting a more permanent position, rather than remaining a traveling bard…
That thought morphs into an idea, and the next day he’s purchased a fairly decent horse and on his way to Cintra. There Pavetta receives him with a bright yet confused expression, after all, it’s not winter yet. He doesn’t tell her the whole story, only stating that he’s split from Geralt, and his interest in a position at court, if one could be found for him.
Originally he’s thinking about maybe being a court bard. Or if they already have one, perhaps he could perform in taverns and the like and visit the palace whenever possible? Pavetta has a better idea. Why doesn’t he become Ciri’s tutor?
Pavetta knows Jaskier’s true name, as well as his past and credentials. It’s not just the fact that he’s in truth Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove (a small estate not too far from Tretogor, cradled by the river), but there’s also the fact that he studied the Seven Liberal Arts at Oxenfurt, graduating suma cum laude. He’s had several papers published, and even a couple of books, on everything from poetry, short stories, music, rhetoric (and one of them was before he even became a traveling bard, not even six months after graduating).
In other words, he’s more than just a bard, always has been. But more than his education it’s… Ciri knows him, she likes him, trusts him. It’s like Jaskier understands her in a way no one else bar Pavetta does, not even her dad and grandmother, and Pavetta wants her daughter to have that, to have people who understand her around.
So Jaskier, now once again being known as Julian (or Lord Pankratz, when necessary), becomes Princess Cirilla’s tutor.
It takes no time at all for Julian to become the princess’s favorite tutor. And it’s that he treats her more like a girl than a princess; he teaches her what she needs to know but never forgets that she deserves to have fun; that to one day possibly rule her people she needs to first know them. So sometimes he dresses in his old traveling clothes, the princess in some of her mother’s old, plainer dresses, and with the names of Jaskier and Fiona they go visit the market, or the docks, or the place where some traveling caravan has settled camp; they go see the people, learn new things about them, from them…
Of course Pavetta and Calanthe know, and even Mousesack and Duny, but they allow it (Duny is the one who seems the most hesitant about the whole endeavor, but in the end Pavetta convinces him that it’s a good idea). They even allow the girl the illusion of her ‘adventures’ being a secret. And it works, Ciri’s more settled during her lessons, having the time to be a child, and not only a princess. She no longer resents her position, and during official functions she behaves in such a way as to make her family very proud.
Every so often the bard-come-tutor wonders about his once-friend, the witcher, wonders if he’ll ever stop trying to outrun destiny, if he’ll ever go looking for Ciri. If not to claim her, at least to meet her. He never allows himself to think too much about it. Not just because memories of the witcher are, at least in his head, deeply entangled with the awful memory of that day, in that mountain, of those terrible words, the last thing Geralt ever said to him… but also because, if it were to ever happen, if Geralt were to show up, to claim Ciri (if Calanthe even allowed it, even if Pavetta might be willing to give her up, Julian doubts Calanthe would, or Duny), what would Julian do? What would he ever do without his dear young friend?
Two years later, tragedy strikes: what was originally planned to be a day of sailing for the little family, and then turned into a plan for some romantic sailing for Pavetta and Duny turns to calamity quite unexpectedly. The storm comes out of nowhere, and because the trip was meant to be intimate there’s no one on board that can help them through it. The ship wrecks and there are no survivors to be found. Calanthe shrieks in a mix of fury and grief for days on end. Perhaps the only saving grace is that Ciri wasn’t on board…
Ciri holds onto Julian with all the strength a seven-year-old is capable of. Calanthe is not a bad woman, but the loss of her daughter just… it seems to shatter something in her. Julian can see it, and so can Eist and Mousesack. Calanthe turns her entire focus into raising Ciri to one day be Queen of Cintra, and it’s like sometimes she forgets she’s still a little girl… At least she doesn’t try to send Julian away (he does fear for a while there that she might exile him, or worse. The woman fears so much that she’ll lose Ciri like she did Pavetta and with Geralt’s pending claim on the Lion Cub…)
But thankfully that never happens, and eventually a new balance is found. Things aren’t perfect, not by a long shot. Ciri resents having so many duties, so many expectations put upon her, but Julian still tries his best to make lessons easier to bear, to give her the chance to be a girl sometimes, to be happy…
And then the last thing that anyone could have ever expected happens. The news reaches the Cintran Court in bits and pieces; several different versions, each seemingly worse than the one before. Julian reaches out to all his contacts: several traveling bards, merchants, members of various other courts, even some members of Redanian Intelligence (he did a few ‘missions’ for Dijkstra years ago). It all comes together eventually:
There’s a new king in the north, a Witcher-King. The Warlord of the North, some have taken to calling him. He rules over Kaedwen and rumor has it he has no plans of stopping there. And who is this witcher exactly? Well, none other than Geralt, the White Wolf!
Calanthe almost has an apoplexy when she learns the name of the Warlord. For a little while she’s convinced that Geralt will try to claim Ciri; or worse, will try to use the Law of Surprise to take over Cintra through her. For a moment she’s even convinced that Julian must be Geralt’s accomplice. It takes some pretty fast talking, not just on the former bard’s part, but also Eist and Mousesack, to remind the Queen not just of how long Julian has been at her court (and thus away from the Witcher) but of the oaths he swore, to her, to Ciri (even to Pavetta, before her passing!).
“I give you my word, my most solemn vow, Your Majesty,” Julian reiterates that day. “I will protect Ciri, in word, and deed, to my very last breath. My loyalty is to her above all others.”
“Swear to me,” Calanthe demands. “Swear that you won’t deliver her to that… that witcher.”
(At least she doesn’t insult Geralt, or call him a monster, mutant, or something else equally dreadful. Even with her being the queen, and with everything that had happened in recent years, Julian would have had a really hard time holding back his usual response to such things).
Julian cannot help but think that Calanthe is being somewhat… short-sighted. What does it matter if Julian swears such a thing or not? That won’t change the fact that Ciri is Geralt’s child by the Law of Surprise. She’s his by Destiny, and Destiny will have her way, sooner or later. She doesn’t need Julian to do anything at all. What’s meant to happen, will, eventually.
“I so swear,” he agrees with a bow of his head.
It doesn’t cost him anything, in the end, to swear. And in any case, he’s swearing not to take Ciri to Geralt, that doesn’t mean she won’t find her way to him, or he to her, regardless.
Over the next three years the Northern Empire grows, as the Warlord takes over the entire Hengfors League, Kovir and even Upper Aedirn. It’s enough to make the kings and queens of other northern nations: especially Redania and Temeria, more than a little nervous.
Julian has been hearing other things though: like the fact that the king of Kaedwen (whose death arguably kick-started the whole empire) was the worst kind of monster. The kind that spreads pain, misery and grief and believes himself untouchable due to riches and power. Except he wasn’t (untouchable) and the witchers proved it. They killed this man, this monster, like they did so many of the beast-like kind.
The rest of the kingdoms are said to have become part of the empire either because their kings were equally monstrous, or they were stupid enough to attack the growing witcher empire (probably believing the witchers would never be able to hold it… they were wrong).
Essi, a fellow bard and childhood friend of Julian's, tells him that she’s seen witchers, while traveling through their empire. And not all of them were wearing wolf medallions. She saw cats, bears, vipers, griffins, and others she couldn’t readily identify. Which tells Julian that the witchers have banded together. He didn’t even know that was possible! Going by some things Geralt had said in the past, he’d have believed it the whole opposite, in fact.
At least he’s not alone, the former-(always)-bard tells himself. Because no matter how much the events of (the words said on) that mountain might still pain him sometimes, he doesn’t wish Geralt ill. Never has, never will. There might have been a time when he wished he could hate the witcher, but that never happened. Truth is, he forgave Geralt a long time ago; and what’s more, Jaskier loves him still, probably always will…
The last of the whispers to reach Julian (and the one he never shares with Calanthe) is regarding the elves. And Dol Blathanna. The valley, having been part of upper Aedirn, now belongs to the Northern Empire. But what’s more, it now belongs to the elves. Ruled by Filavandrel aén Fidháil and his wife: Francesca Findabair. They’re said to be their own kingdom, though still under the protection of the witchers and their empire.
Things seem to be going well enough there that elves pretty much in every other kingdom seem to be slowly, but surely, making their way there. It doesn’t really surprise Julian. He’s seen how elves are treated in most places. He himself is lucky enough that his own elven blood is so diluted as to be practically unnoticeable. He’s been told that only when someone stares into his eyes long enough to realize they’re a particularly… intense, shade of blue, it becomes obvious that he’s not entirely human. Well, that and the fact that he has barely aged, physically, in the past twenty years… but with him moving around so much (at least until recent years) it hasn’t been too evident yet. He’s also made sure to grow out his hair some, grow a beard every so often, so he appears to change, just enough for people not to pay too much attention to the general lack of wrinkles on him. Julian has a feeling that his non-human ancestry might prove one thing too much, were Calanthe to ever find out about it (so he puts special effort in ensuring she won’t).
Regardless, as if the growing northern empire, and the slowly-but-surely migrating elven population weren’t enough to make a few people nervous. Then there’s the other empire: Nilfgaard, advancing from the south. And unlike the one led by witchers, Julian hasn’t heard anything positive about the so-called ‘Eternal Empire’.
Nilfgaard has been conquering countries and annexing them for… well, pretty much as long as Julian can remember. When Toussaint, Mag Turga and even Nazair are taken over by Nilfgaard, Julian has no doubt that they’ll be coming for Cintra as well, soon.
Calanthe refuses to believe it. Or rather, while she does fully believe that Emhyr var Emreis will seek to conquer Cintra, she’s equally convinced that there’s no way he can win. Julian knows that pride and overconfidence is, more often than not, the doom of men (and women). Still, he knows better than to try and argue with his queen, so he keeps his own counsel and starts making his own plans. If Cintra falls, if Calanthe fails… he has to save Ciri.
And then it happens. Nilfgaard attacks. There’s been rumors for a while that an attack is coming, more than a year even. But to most Cintran Nobles (the only people in the country who actually knew what was going on, as the whole thing was kept from the common folk) it always seemed so distant, almost impossible, that such a thing would happen. More over, that Cintra would lose… and then the Queen and King march off to war and only the Queen comes back, with a terrible wound (a mortal wound, Julian knows as soon as he sees it, sees her, he learned enough in his time on the Path, no matter how long it might have been since then).
It is well-known that Nilfgaard doesn’t take prisoners, that anyone they capture can look forward to nothing but a long, painful death. So it’s not really surprising when the vials of potion come out, of poison, the only way out Cintran nobles have. They’d rather die than surrender. Which, all things considered, Julian understands; there are things worse than death, he knows. That doesn’t mean he’s ready to give up. So when Mousesack offers him one of the vials, he expresses his gratitude but turns it down nonetheless.
“I’d rather request one last audience with Her Majesty, if at all possible,” he states.
He’s been preparing for a while, and if he’s gonna do something. If there’s any hope that he might save himself, and Ciri (she will always be the most important), then he has to act now.
“Follow me,” Mousesack nods.
Julian does. He can only hope there’s still time. That they’ll make it out…
xXx
They do make it out. Julian’s not entirely certain how, but they do.
There’s a whole plan, most of which Julian himself has been working on ever since he learned of the coming invasion; especially ever since realizing that Queen Calanthe was so stubborn there was no way she’d ever allow Julian to just take Ciri and leave, because doing so would be the same as admitting that her granddaughter wasn’t safe, that Cintra wasn’t safe, that they just weren’t strong enough to withstand an invasion from the Nilfgaardian Empire (to be fair, Jaskier isn’t sure any one nation in the entire Continent is!).
But in any case, Julian knew Calanthe would never admit to any sort of weakness, so Julian had to tailor his plans for an emergency escape, instead of an early, secret departure.
Even in the face of imminent defeat, having already lost her husband and being on death’s door herself, it takes longer than Julian would like for her to give in. At least by then he’s already made all the preparations he could possibly think of.
Using chamomile, Julian lightens his hair a shade or two, then uses some coffee (it pays for Calanthe to have developed a taste for the drink, years ago, to the point of importing it from Zerrikania) to darken Ciri’s own. They dress in the sturdiest clothes they each have from their excursions, as well as their best hiking boots (commissioned by Calanthe herself every year) before packing the best of their remaining such clothes into knapsacks, along with blankets and what food Julian knows is better for traveling. Julian allows himself only one impractical item: his lute, while Ciri chooses to wear her mother’s favorite cloak (a teal one) instead of a more practical, darker one.
The decoy is Calanthe’s idea. Missy is the daughter of one of the queen’s ladies in waiting. A nice girl, several years older than Ciri, but petite enough that, with one of Ciri’s dresses on and the right hairdo, she can pass for the princess as long as no one looks at her too closely. Lazlo is one of the queen’s most loyal knights, he's also the fastest on a horse. Everyone involved (the knight, Missy, and even her parents) is well aware of the risks and that the chances of the two making it out of the capital aren’t in their favor; and yet, it isn’t like their prospects are any better if they stay so…
So the decoys set off from the palace, while Mousesack leads Julian and the real Ciri, disguised and once again using the names of Jaskier and Fiona, to secret tunnels that lead all the way from the Keep, to the edges of the capital and beyond. They’re half ruins, part of the original Xin’trea, from back when it was a country of elves, rather than humans. The Cintran Royal Family had chosen to basically just build on top of the ruins of the nation they’d taken over.
Mousesack only follows the other two as far as the limits of Cintra, though Ciri tries to convince him to go with them.
“Don’t leave me…” she whimpers. “Not you too!”
It’s terrible, hearing her. And it’s that she’s lost so much already: her parents, her grandfather, grandmother, and her entire country as well!
“I’m afraid I must, princess,” Mousesack tells her, not unkindly. “I still have a duty to my queen, and more importantly, to Cintra and its people.”
“You’re going to get as many people out as you can,” Jaskier deduces.
“I will try,” Mousesack nods. “It’s the best I can do.”
Jaskier nods. He understands. Might even offer to help if circumstances weren’t as they are. But Ci… Fiona needs to be safe, he needs to protect her, to keep her as far away from Nilfgaard (and especially from Emhyr var Emreis as possible). She needs him, and he won’t leave her. Not when Jaskier is about to become pretty much all she has left… He will protect her. He swore. To Calanthe, to Ciri, and to Pavetta even!
He’ll never forget it. Pavetta went to see him the day of that fateful sailing trip. Jaskier was surprised. He wasn’t even fully dressed yet! Having expected a day with nothing to do except compose, maybe take a walk, make some more lesson plans… and then the crown princess was in his rooms!
“Princess…?” he rushed to his feet, grateful he wasn’t still in his underclothes, at least. “I would have thought you’d be at the docks already! Prince Duny and your daughter must be waiting for you…”
“Ciri’s not coming,” Pavetta blurted out.
That threw him off even more.
“I… I don’t have time to explain,” she sounded so nervous, afraid even, and Jaskier didn’t understand why! “I need you to promise me something, Julian… Jaskier.”
“Anything princess,” Jaskier agreed instantly.
“Promise me you will be loyal to Ciri above all others,” Pavetta requested. “That she will be your first priority. That you will protect her from… from everyone who might wish her harm or… or to use her.”
“Of course princess,” did she think Jaskier would do anything else?
“Anyone, even… even if that person is her own blood.” Pavetta added quietly.
At first Jaskier thought she meant Queen Calanthe. That Pavetta didn’t want her mother to use little Ciri, her prospective future marriage the way she tried to do with Pavetta herself. But well, the girl was just seven, so there was no reason for the princess to be in such a hurry, so worried about things just yet. They had time, right?
“There’s no time…” Pavetta murmured yet again. “Duny confessed to me the truth last night. About… about who he truly is. His name is Emhyr var Emreis, he’s the true heir of Nilfgaard. And he plans on claiming that throne. He wants me… wants Ciri and I with him.”
Jaskier freezes, his eyes going wider the more the princess speaks. It’s… not at all what he was expecting to hear. He has no idea what to say to any of it. And then it turns out that’s not everything. Because of course, if it were just about Duny claiming a throne in the south there would be nothing especially worrying about that. And no reason for it to have been a secret, especially after he married a princess, Calanthe probably would have even helped him take his throne! Maybe…
“The man I saw last night… he wasn’t the man I married, Jaskier,” Pavetta confessed, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “He wasn’t the man I love. He doesn’t only want the throne of Nilfgaard. He’s… he’s power hungry. If he can he will take Nilfgaard, and then he’ll come for Cintra, and everything else in between. And who will tell him no when he’s married to the crown princess?”
“Why not just… reveal himself?” Jaskier didn’t understand that part. “I mean, I know the Queen isn’t his greatest fan, but she’d support his claim, wouldn’t she? It’d be a good political move, the King of Nilfgaard and the future Queen of Cintra, married…”
“Because he doesn’t want to be King Consort of Cintra,” Pavetta revealed, so very softly, pained. “He wants to be at the head of an Empire that rules over the entire Continent!”
That was… something. Jaskier was left not knowing what to say to that, for a change. And then Pavetta was talking again:
“Promise me Jaskier, promise me you won’t let anyone, not even Duny, use Ciri like that, as a tool to gain more power,” Pavetta practically pleaded with him.
“I swear to you princess,” Jaskier hurried to assure her. “I will be loyal to Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. Everything I can do for her, I will do. And no matter what happens, as long as it’s in my hands I won’t let any harm come to her, from anyone, friend or foe. On my life, I so swear.”
Pavetta managed a tremulous smile at that, not missing the significance of Jaskier’s choice of wording. He wasn’t making an oath to protect a princess, but to protect Ciri. His loyalty would always be for Ciri, no matter what.
“Thank you, Jaskier…” Pavetta murmured, moving to place a kiss on his brow. “Thank you…”
Saying nothing more, she turned around and left his rooms.
That was the last time he ever saw her. For less than an hour later she and Duny were sailing off, and they never came back.
Jaskier knows the truth. He knows Duny only faked his death. He is Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of Nilfgaard and he’s coming for Cintra. For Ciri. And come what may, Jaskier won’t let him have the girl. There might be nothing he can do to protect Cintra, but he will protect this little girl, to his last breath. Jaskier swore!
And so he and Ciri flee into the night…
Chapter 2: Two Empires
Chapter Text
The witchers never plan to create an empire in the north. It just… kinda happens.
It starts simple enough: with one of them coming across a town where people are grieving, yet they’re still kind to him. They never ask for his help, even though they have a drowner problem in a nearby lake, and when he goes and takes care of the monsters nonetheless, the alderman (a man old enough the witcher cannot help but think someone younger should be doing the job) apologizes profusely for not being able to pay him properly.
It’s not the first time a witcher hasn’t received proper payment after a monster hunt. Far from it, in fact. Though things have gotten considerably better since that bard started singing songs portraying witchers as valiant and noble and all-around heroes. Still, usually when witchers don’t get paid it’s because the humans see them as less, as undeserving, as little more than the creatures they slay. It’s because the humans don’t want to pay him, rather than because they can’t. This time the lack of payment is due to the fact that the town simply doesn’t have much to pay him with. They barely even have enough to survive themselves (and even then, some of them probably won’t make it through winter).
So the witcher sticks around for a few more days. Helping the townspeople as much as he can. Making sure they know he’s doing it because he can, because he wants to, and that they don’t owe him anything at all. He learns what happened throughout those few days. How the king and his retinue stopped in the little village not a week before the witcher arrived. Made demands of the villagers, including food (forcing them to kill several animals for meat that they could barely afford to lose), taking from their limited winter stores. And then, when that proved not to be enough, he took more.
Ecileth was the daughter of the then-alderman, said to be the most beautiful girl in the whole village. She was also young, not yet old enough to marry even, though she was sweet on the hunter’s son, and he on her, and their fathers would have had no trouble with the two of them marrying as soon as she was old enough for it. The king doesn’t care about any of that, from the moment he sees Ecileth he decides he wants her, and no one will stop him from having her. And when both her father and would-be-betrothed attempt to stop it, he has them both beaten up. Things are bad.
The girl doesn’t die that night but, according to the old healer, she wished she had. That’s how badly injured she was. The hunter’s boy was driven mad, after seeing her in the aftermath, enough that he tried to attack the king and was killed for it. Even with all of the healer’s efforts, they just didn’t have the means to properly treat the alderman, and he eventually died from his wounds from the beating, the day after the king finally left. As for Ecileth? It surprised no one at all when she slit her own throat on a piece of glass the same day of her father’s funeral.
Finding out the whole story affects the witcher. It’s not that he didn’t know how bad human men could be. He’s always known that. He just had never seen it quite so near…
That winter several of the witchers have stories to share. About the terrible things humans can and will do. And suddenly it’s just too much:
“We exist to slay monsters, do we not? What about those shaped like men?”
It’s Geralt who voices the question that most, if not all of them, must have thought of at least once. A question that starts off a chain reaction that ends up with all seven witcher schools coming together and then marching down to Ard Carraigh and slaying the monstrous King of Kaedwen.
That is just the beginning.
Initially the witchers believe that, once the monstrous king is dead, that’s it, they’ve done their duty. Well, it’s not just the king, of course. They make sure that all who aided him, and especially those who participated in his depravities, die as well. And they also find someone with a claim to the throne who is capable of swearing not only to have had no part in those terrible crimes, but also swearing to never do anything like that.
The last thing any of them expect is for the new king of Kaedwen to send a cart carrying everything from produce, furs, salted meats, several rolls of cloth and even a couple of sacks full of coin and jewels, several months after the whole ordeal has been forgotten (or well, not really, but the witchers have been busy enough learning to live all together in Kaer Mohren and have managed to shove the matter to the back of their minds). Tribute to his liege-lord: the Warlord of the North…
That’s when Geralt, and the rest of the witchers, realize things aren’t quite as simple as they expected. Nor will they be done as quickly as they once thought.
They take up the duty. Geralt, as the Warlord of the North, with the rest of the witchers of all seven schools following him, because what else can they do? They made the choice didn’t they? To see humans, monstrous humans, as fair prey? Now they must follow through and ensure that things won’t go back to how they were.
And so the Empire of the North is formed.
By the time the news reaches Kaer Morhen about Nilfgaard moving north it’s too late. Cintra has already been attacked.
Geralt wants to go anyway, but his council works together to explain why it’s a bad idea for witchers to show up en-mass:
“If you show up with an army it will look like an invasion,” Vesemir points out. “The other kingdoms won’t stand for it.”
“I can’t just do nothing!” Geralt snaps.
“Why are you so hung up on this?” Eskel wants to know. “You owe the Lioness nothing. And it’s not like anyone has asked for our help…”
“Calanthe’s grandchild, the one they call the Lion Cub of Cintra… is my child by the Law of Surprise,” Geralt confesses.
In the whole decade (a little more than that, actually) that has passed since Pavetta’s betrothal-turned-wedding-feast, Geralt has never told any of his brothers, or the man who’s the closest thing to a father, what happened. They know he was there (it came up at some point), but no details were ever shared, especially not the fact that he went and called on the Law of Surprise when Duny insisted on paying him back for his assistance when Calanthe intended him harm.
Truth is Geralt never intended to do anything about it. Regardless of how Mousesack insisted that it could end up being dangerous, that one couldn’t turn their back on Destiny, the last thing Geralt ever wanted was to condemn an innocent child to the cursed existence he was forced into when his own mother abandoned him at the foot of the Blue Mountains so many years ago…
He only called on the Law of Surprise for lack of any better ideas! The way he looked at it, what was the worst that could happen? He couldn’t imagine there could be a lot of options for things Duny could possess and not yet know about! Perhaps a wedding gift of some sort, an old crown or some other heirloom, the last thing he ever expected was for Pavetta to be pregnant already! (She was so young, wasn’t she?)
In the end a team is formed: Geralt, Lambert, Aiden and Coën ride their fastest horses south; Eskel and Vesemir staying in charge of their budding empire in the meantime, as second-in-command and head of the council.
By the time they make it to Sodden the battle is over. The Nilfgaardian army has been pushed back, though not without great cost. The witchers (cloaked and hooded in an attempt to not call attention to themselves; it wouldn’t be good, with so many soldiers from various northern countries around) eventually come across one of Geralt’s old acquaintances.
Triss Merigold is a talented sorceress and once court sorceress of Temeria. She was involved in what is already being called the Battle of Sodden Hill. Where the mages managed to hold on long enough for the northern armies to arrive and finish pushing the Nilfgaardians back. And yet, Cintra is still lost, it was even before the battle in Sodden began.
It’s Triss who tells them what’s happened, how the entire Cintran Royal Family is dead. King Eist was killed during what’s being called the Battle of Marnadal; where some say Queen Calanthe was grievously injured as well. Some servants saw her jump off her rooms’ balcony and to her death two days later, right as Nilfgaard managed to break into the Keep. Most of the nobles committed suicide, either through poison or blade. Queen Calanthe’s advisor: Mousesack, was killed while doing his best to help the common folk get out of the capital. As for the young princess… several villagers saw her on a black stallion, along with a man, most likely a trusted knight, trying to flee. A rain of Nilfgaardian arrows killed them both, along with their steed.
As if that weren’t bad enough, then he hears about the loss of Yennefer. It’s not exactly surprising to hear how incredibly outnumbered the mages were when they set up to hold Sodden. Learning that Nilfgaard has a way of controlling people, of turning allies into enemies (without their cooperation or even knowledge) is certainly terrifying. And yet, nothing could compare (at least not for Geralt) to hearing about Yennefer’s final stand…
She wielded fire as if she were a dragon, burning down the enemies by the dozens, taking enough of them down to allow them to hold the hill until the arrival of the northern armies. However, that great feat came at a cost. No one’s seen the sorceress since then. Even though everyone who survived has scoured the entirety of the hill, as well as the remains of the fields set on fire by Yennefer’s final attack, there’s no sign of her. Most seem to be pretty convinced that the same fire she used to turn her enemies into ash must have consumed her, leaving nothing of her behind. It’s a grim thought, and yet not improbable. There’s a reason why the Brotherhood has forbidden fire magic…
The White Wolf has lived a long life, he has a great many regrets, but he knows for sure that there are three he will never be able to forget, or forgive himself for: tying Yennefer to him through a wish (it doesn’t matter that he was just trying to save her life, he should have known better than to ever voice that wish, should have known better than to ever go fishing for a djinn! And he certainly shouldn’t have kept the whole thing hidden from her; he’d been warned that the truth would come out, and it did, it certainly did!). Though as bad as that might be, it doesn’t compare to his other two regrets: the words said in a moment of anger to a man who only ever tried to be there for him (who was always there, his one and only friend… who even warned him about keeping that secret from Yennefer, and yet Geralt refused to listen!); and for not making it there in time to protect an innocent child he was bound to by Destiny… and it’s beyond the destiny itself, because Child Surprise or not, Cirilla deserved so much better (and so did Jaskier…).
“What I don’t understand,” Triss says to him in the end. “Is what took you so long? I mean, you say you were coming for Princess Cirilla. You must have known that she, that all of Cintra was in danger due to Nilfgaard. It wasn’t exactly a secret, what they were planning. The Brotherhood have been discussing whether to intervene or not for weeks!”
Yes, that’s the worst part: he should have known. Yet it’s not so simple, the days on the Path… they tend to be pretty monotonous, they bleed one into the next until it’s impossible to tell how many days or weeks pass. Only the changing seasons let them know when it's time to head to Kaer Morhen once again. For many years Jaskier, being on the Path with him allowed the witcher to be more… connected to the world, to the passing of time, than he’d ever been before. Since losing him… Geralt lost a lot more on that mountain than he’ll ever admit.
In the end he doesn’t give an answer to Triss, not like she’s actually expecting him to. It doesn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things. They have other, far more important things to do: the sorcerers (and the allied northern kingdoms) have a war to win, while the witchers must return to their own Keep before they’re discovered by others who might not be so understanding of their presence there.
xXx
It’s a year (a very long, extremely tense year) before the northern kingdoms come to an agreement. An alliance forms between the Witcher Empire (which now includes Poviss too!) and the remaining free northern kingdoms: Redania, Temeria, Cidaris, Kerack, Verden, Lyria and Rivia, and Aedirn (what is not part of the Empire). Treaties are signed, with promises of respect, trade, free travel and sovereignty (especially important to the countries who really do not want to become part of the Witcher Empire). Though of course the most important part, at least for the time being, is the military alliance formed against Nilfgaard.
At one point during that year, Yennefer shows up in Wolvenburg (the human settlement that has formed at the foot of the Blue Mountains, right where the once-hidden road to the Witcher Keep begins. She managed to survive the Battle of Sodden Hill, however there were consequences: the temporary loss of her Chaos (she used to believe it was permanent, but started recovering it after several weeks wandering, trying to find her way to safety); also, the fire apparently burnt the bond the djinn created between her and Geralt (hence why he did not ‘feel’ that she’d survived after Sodden). As if that weren’t enough, she’s lost the protection/backing of the Brotherhood. Apparently the fact that she didn’t seek refuge with any of them after Sodden (once they learned of her survival) led to the belief that she’d turned traitor (a belief that was aided by a certain Nilfgaardian Court Sorceress suggesting something to that effect… and further more by the revelation that Vilgefortz had turned traitor).
So Yennefer seeks sanctuary at Kaer Morhen, and ends up becoming essentially their court sorceress (for all that Geralt keeps insisting he’s not a king, and no one would ever make the mistake of thinking that the witchers are a court, the point remains). Other mages (like Triss, Istredd, Sabrina, Keira, and several others) join the empire eventually, either after becoming disenchanted with the Brotherhood and the way they choose to handle matters (or not to, instead claiming neutrality despite the ongoing war), or simply scarred after the betrayals (and two attempted coups!).
With the loss of the djinn-bond, Geralt and Yennefer give their romance one last try. It doesn’t last. It’s Yennefer who calls quits in the end:
“Are you kicking me out of bed?” Geralt asks her bluntly.
“Hardly!” she replies with a husky laugh. “But let's be honest Geralt, when you dream of a future, truly, it’s not with me.”
She’s right, is the thing. Even if he might not be ready to admit it, even to himself.
Yennefer herself doesn’t mind. She gave it a try, it didn’t work out. As simple as that. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with either of them, they’re just not meant to be together, and that’s fine. Like she told Geralt, she has no plans on kicking him out of bed, the sex is pretty fantastic, if she does say so herself; but there’s nothing more between them. And one day… one day Geralt will make a life with the one he truly wants (once he’s ready and goes to get him!). As for her… who knows? She has time to figure things out.
So in the end, an army of witchers marches south, to battle Nilfgaard. It’s led by the Warlord Geralt, the White Wolf, and his second in command: Eskel. Yennefer leads the mages who have sworn themselves to the Northern Empire and the witchers. The alliance with the rest of the northern armies is shaky at best, but it manages to last long enough for Nilfgaard to be decidedly defeated.
The final battle is something that many will probably talk about and sing of for generations to come. The kind of event that grows in the telling, until no one knows for sure how much of what’s being told actually happened. Then again, even those who were there that day, so much was happening at the same time that no one truly knows all that happened in the end. And yet what is known, both the truths and the lies, is enough to ensure that the Second Battle of Sodden Hill, or as some will come to call it eventually ‘the Battle for the Continent’, will never be forgotten.
Many mages fall. Including Artorius Vigo, and Tissaia de Vries; the latter of which is stabbed from behind by none other than the traitor Vilgefortz while trying to protect the youngest sorceresses, most of them novices still studying at Aretuza, and who volunteered to help keep the shields protecting the healers and other civilians assisting the northern armies.
In many ways, those two deaths change everything. First there is Madam de Vries, the Rectoress of Aretuza is well-known, and while her once-students might not exactly love her (many might not have trusted her much in recent years, since her association with Vilgefortz made at least some believe her to be allied with Nilfgaard herself; not knowing that the traitor was manipulating her, emotionally and magically) yet that does not change the fact that she was an important person to them. Yennefer’s cry when she sees her old mentor (the woman who was the whole reason she ever became someone at all, became more than the unwanted bastard daughter of a pig-farmer) is such that those who might have been present (and survived) the First Battle of Sodden Hill can’t help but flinch at the memory. And while no fire follows it, the destruction that does is enough to add one more chapter to the legend of Yennefer of Kaer Morhen (formerly of Vengerberg).
Artorius Vigo’s death on the other hand… It wasn’t an especially remarkable death. He was fighting the enemies when one of them, a Black Knight, managed to get the better of him. Artorius was dead before he even realized it.
“No!!!” Fringilla shrieks upon seeing her uncle fall.
She and her uncle might not have seen eye to eye in recent years, especially not since Nilfgaard’s attack on Cintra, but they were still family.
“Why did you do that?!” she demands of the knight.
“Emperor’s orders,” The black knight states evenly. “He feared the mage might end up… swaying you. You must remember Fringilla, your loyalty must be to the Emperor, Emhyr var Emreis, always.”
Until not an hour before Fringilla would have said that the Emperor had her absolute loyalty. For him she’d done so many things already, including submerging herself in dark magics that had long been forbidden by the Brotherhood. She was loyal to the man for everything he’d done, for Nilfgaard and for Fringilla herself, saving her from the torture of being forced to serve the monster that was the Usurper. And yet… And yet.
Fringilla lets out a cry, creating a sphere of fire and shooting it at the black knight, who has barely a second to stare at her in shock before he’s burned alive.
And just like that, Fringilla Vigo switches sides. It’s unlikely the nordlings will ever trust her. And she knows there’s a big chance she’ll have to flee for her life once the battle is over, if she manages to survive the battle itself (she does), but still, one of the two most powerful mages in service of the Empire switching sides certainly helps tip the scales.
No one knows who it is that manages to fell the Nilfgaardian Emperor. It’d seem that while in the thick of the battle either someone got lucky, or they were so busy fighting they didn’t realize one of those they’d taken down was Emhyr var Emreis.
It’s Geralt though, who finds the man as he lies dying on the field. He’s still alive, but barely, and while Geralt is no medic, he knows by the sound the man’s heart and lungs are making that he’s not long from the world. He can only hope that his death will bring an end to the war…
“Witcher…” The emperor gasps, spit and blood flying out his mouth. “Tell me, where is my child?”
“I know not who you speak of.” Geralt replies evenly.
No one knows of any Nilfgaardian princes or princesses (at least, beyond those who rule the ‘provinces’ the lands in the south that chose to surrender to the Empire rather than fight and be taken over eventually anyway; and none of them are known to be blood of Emhyr var Emreis, or acknowledged as his heirs in any way). And really, the last thing they need is someone else to worry about… especially when the end of the war seems so close…
With great effort the emperor manages to pull off his helmet. Geralt keeps the surprise off his face, only a slightly sharper-than-usual inhale revealing his shock. He recognizes the man. Years might have passed, his features aged, but he can still recognize that face: Duny…
“You know who I am, you recognize me.” The Emperor, Duny (Pavetta’s husband is the Emperor of Nilfgaard?! Wasn’t he dead?!) presses. “Tell me witcher, where is my daughter? Where is Cirilla?”
“Dead,” Geralt answers rather bluntly. “Died the same night Cintra fell.”
Triss told him. About the valiant knight who tried to get the princess to safety, the very night of the attack, yet it was impossible. Both were taken down by a rain of arrows.
The hoarse, broken cry that comes out of the emperor’s throat at that is almost inhuman. He’d heard the rumors, of course. He has more than enough spies in the northern kingdoms and they all sent their reports on what was known of the fate of the Cintran Princess. But he refused to believe it. His daughter couldn’t have died! Not when he was so close… She just couldn’t!!!
“Tell me, Emhyr var Emreis, White Flame, Lord Urcheon of Eldenwald, Duny…” Geralt enlists his different names with absolutely no emotion. “Was it worth it?”
“No,” No, it wasn’t worth it, it’d never be…
Geralt stays where he is, watching until the light vanishes from the man’s eyes, then he cuts off his head and burns it using igni, not wanting to take any chances that someone might try to bring him back through dark magic. Then he goes looking for his people. Eskel is standing with the captains of the other schools who followed them into battle, checking to see how many dead and injured they have. Thankfully, while there are quite a few of the latter, they’ve only truly lost half a dozen witchers in total, and while they’ll mourn their brothers, it’s certainly not as terrible as it could have been (the other armies have certainly lost many, many more).
Yennefer is standing with a group of other sorceresses, both those who work with the witchers and those from Aretuza, as they mourn their own losses. Especially those of Tissaia and Artorius. Istredd and Sabrina are injured (he worse than she) and they’ve lost Keira (she was the last one to fall to Vilgefortz before pretty much every other mage working together managed to take him down once and for all), but aside from that the worst off is Triss, who blacked out after using too much Chaos to heal some of the more seriously injured of the mages (she’s probably the only reason the blow Istredd took to the head did not kill him or left him permanently disabled), but she’ll recover in due time (a couple of witchers are already standing guard by her side to ensure no one will be able to take advantage of her vulnerable state).
There are some small pockets where individuals are still fighting, but for the most part the battle is over. Hopefully, once the death of the Emperor has been confirmed it’ll be the same with the war. Both sides have already lost too much to carry on. One can only hope that whoever takes the throne next will have the good sense to sue for peace and be done with it. As for the Emperor’s identity… Geralt’s quite sure he’s one of maybe two men still alive in the Continent who would have been able to recognize Duny in Emhyr var Emreis, and thankfully the bard was nowhere near the battlefront. No one else will ever have to know…
Three days later, after the survivors have had a chance to collect their injured and dead, a cease fire is announced, as the highest ranked Nilfgaardians seek to appoint someone new to the throne. They don’t seem to be having a particularly easy time of it. Unsurprisingly none of the ‘princes’ are particularly willing to just let another take the throne, they all want it for themselves. (Also, there might or might not be a few mages going around, sowing discord).
Three months later the war is finally considered to be at an end (hard for it to continue when the Nilfgaardian Empire effectively exists no more…).
Geralt thinks the whole thing is ridiculous but decides to not complain. At least it’s all finally over. They get to go home…
Chapter 3: Three Loves
Notes:
As always, huge thanks to inexplicifics, for creating this sandbox AND letting us play in it! This chapter will have a few of her OCs in it, only one fully showing, and the rest will be name-dropping mostly. I imagine them pretty much as they are in her AWAU.
There's a song in this chapter. (Because of course, with Jaskier as a main character, he just had to sing at one point!). I know that the context and canonical origins of "Extraordinary Things" are entirely different from what's shown in this fic, just, bare with me please? While I don't hate Netflix!Radovid, I am aware of his potential, of how he is in... I don't quite remember if it's book-canon or game one, still, the point remains. I went with a mix of both for this particular fic. Which is also why I decided to change the origins of the song... but you'll see more of that in the fic itself!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
While things are not perfect by any means, following the end of the war, they’re at least much better than they’ve been in years.
Redania, Temeria, Aedirn and the rest of the (independent) northern kingdoms still aren’t at all happy about the witchers and their empire; but it’d be hard to move against them when it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that without the witchers on that battlefield things would have been much harder against Nilfgaard. In fact, the north might not have won at all…
So in the end it’s decided to try and keep the peace. The Warlord has promised he won’t be conquering any more nations (as long as the kings don’t do something stupid). So that’s that.
The witchers do make a point of staying out of the politics of the other countries. Really, as long as they aren’t being attacked, and there is no news of any new monstrous kings or acts, Geralt would rather they not get involved with any of it. Which explains how none of them know what’s going on with Redania until it’s all over and done with!
The first they hear of it, is in a message from the team posted on the mouth of the Pontar Valley, across the river from Hagge, and closest to the border between Kaedwen and Redania.
“A caravan?” Geralt asks, clearly confused.
“Refugees?” Vesemir guesses.
“Sort of,” Yennefer shrugs. “They’re technically exiles, they’re requesting sanctuary in the Wolflands.”
“Exiles?” The Head of the Viper School asks. “Why would we receive exiles from another country?”
“What I wanna know is what they did to end up exiled,” the Head of the Cat School states.
Which is a fair question, everyone agrees. No one in the council would say they’re exactly fans of Redania or its royal family; especially not with the things they’ve heard from some of the elves who fled their homes in that country, eventually managing to make it to Dol Blathanna. But still.
“Apparently they’re all ‘little birds’…” Yennefer informs the Council.
No one misses the special emphasis she puts on those two words. Everyone knows instantly what that means: they’re members of the Sandpiper’s network…
Everyone pretty much everywhere in the northern half of the Continent has heard of the Sandpiper and their network at least once. A person, presumably someone of elven heritage (though no one knows for sure. Next to nothing at all is known about the Sandpiper, not their age, or even their gender!) created a network meant to help non-humans leave the countries where they might find themselves victims of discrimination, at times even violence, and make their way to the Witcher Empire. Many of the elves of Dol Blathanna, and dwarves from the (slowly growing) settlement in the Kestrel Mountains managed to escape the growing violence of their old homes and make it to them thanks to the Sandpiper’s network. They came from a variety of other nations, though mostly Redania, Temeria and Cidaris.
The reason why Yennefer (and in truth, many others as well) refer to the members of the network as ‘little birds’ is because they all use bird names as code-names. Starting with the Sandpiper themself. And not just that, but in order to identify themselves during missions; so everyone, including those they’re aiding, know they can be trusted, they use small tokens of the bird of their choice made out of wood from Bleobheris and with a touch of a very specific Chaos that makes it easy to pick the real tokens from the fake ones (one of Temeria’s attempts at capturing the Sandpiper included such fake tokens, apparently).
“What happened?” Eskel asks, because he just knows something must have.
“King Radovid is dead,” Yennefer announces, bluntly. “I haven’t been able to learn all the details yet, but apparently there was a confrontation at the palace during or after a rescue mission of some sort. Like I said, details are scarce, yet. It somehow ended with his death, and that of several soldiers; and possibly the head of Redanian Intelligence as well. According to Lambert’s message, the spokeswoman from the caravan, a young woman answering to the code-name of Swan, told him that the new King agreed to let them all go, but they had to abandon Redania before a fortnight had passed. Obviously they will not be received in Temeria or Cidaris.”
Obviously not, and considering what the little birds did, it was obvious that Aedirn and the like wouldn’t be too kind to them either. So of course the only logical place to seek sanctuary in was the Empire.
“Tell Lambert to let them through,” Geralt orders.
“Are you sure Geralt?” Eskel wants to check in with his leader, his friend. “I mean, we don’t know any of these people.”
“No, we don’t,” Geralt agrees. “But they’ve done a great service to many the last few years. They deserve to have some help in turn.”
In the end, everyone on the Council agrees. They even decide that they should meet with at least some representatives of the group, both to express their thanks for their work, and perhaps to learn more about what the exiles might be expecting from their sanctuary in the wolflands.
xXx
It takes several weeks for the caravan to reach Wolvenburg. There’s in total half a dozen wagons, each of them holding only a few people, most of the space being used for baggage instead. The majority of the people had chosen to ride horses, not only because those were valuable in and of themselves, but also to free space in the wagons to carry as much as possible, so as to help in their new lives.
It’s a sobering thought and picture they paint. Nearly fifty people in all, with no homes and no possessions but what’s in the wagons. And while they all look clearly exhausted, none of them look afraid, or indeed like they regret being where they are at that moment. In fact, according to reports of the witchers who acted as their escorts through Kaedwen, while the exiles have mentioned in vague terms what got them exiled, and expressed both gratitude to be allowed to leave (to be alive, still), and at the same time anger for losing everything. Even with all of that, none of them appear to be regretful of the choices that brought them to where they are now.
Yennefer and Eskel are down from Kaer Morhen to take a look at the exiles, and also to see who of them might be willing to go up to the Keep to see the Warlord. Lambert leads them to the woman holding the reins of the horses on the first wagon of the caravan: she’s young, petite, late teens to early twenties probably, with pale skin (though showing a tan on her face and hands, which have clearly been exposed to the sun a lot in recent weeks), dark eyes and long dark hair in a tight bun that seems to be slowly coming undone at the nape of her neck. She’s dressed in what looks like an old dress that was once befitting a noble woman but is now old, the colors a bit washed out; also, it has clearly been altered, with a slit down the front of the skirts, showing the trousers and boots she’s wearing (probably for practicality).
“Miss Swan, this is Eskel of the Wolf School, second in command of the Witchers,” Lambert informs her. “And Yennefer, Chief Sorceress of Kaer Morhen.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Master Witcher, my lady,” The young woman greets them both with respectful bows of her head.
“Miss Swan…?” Yennefer questions.
“I suppose there’s little point to our continued use of code-names considering everything that’s already happened,” she concedes. “You may call me Milena.”
Yennefer arches a brow, clearly expecting more than that. It was clear to her the woman was a noble!
“Only Milena,” the woman insists. “I’m afraid that my father decided to disown me, once he learned of my involvement with the Sandpiper.”
She shrugs, like she doesn’t care. Yennefer wonders if the trip has truly been long enough for her to have made her peace with all she has lost, with the family that has turned their backs on her. Or if perhaps… perhaps they were a family such that she truly does not regret the loss of them (not like Yennefer wouldn’t understand such a thing!).
“Tell me, girl, is there anyone in your caravan in need of healing?” Yennefer asks her seriously.
“Actually, yes,” Milena nods. “In the last wagon… wait, my caravan?”
Her dark eyes go very wide as she realizes the implications of that particular choice of words.
“It’s not my caravan!” she cries out. “I mean, yes, this is my wagon, and I volunteered to head the caravan because… well, someone had to do it and I studied all of the Redanian maps so I could be trusted to pick the best route to make it out of the country in the allotted time.”
“Who then is the master of this caravan?” Eskel asks, intrigued.
“That’d be Swallow, she’s in the last wagon,” Milena informs them. “She’s one of our best fighters and volunteered to be in the back, just in case.”
In case someone in Redania decided that ‘traitors’ such as them shouldn’t just be allowed to leave…
“Also,” Milena adds after a moment’s hesitation. “You asked if anyone was in need of healing. And there is someone: Lark, he’s in the last wagon too.”
Yennefer and Eskel nod, heading towards the end of the line of wagons without another word.
The people of Wolvenburg are very kind. They always have been.
The town at the foot of the Blue Mountains, right where the trail that leads high up, to the Witcher’s Keep, hasn’t always existed. In fact, for the longest time the closest settlement to the Keep was a tiny, nameless village several days away, on the other side of the Gwenllech River. All that changed after the monstrous King of Kaedwen was slayed by the Witchers and the new monarch chose to consider himself a vassal king to the White Wolf.
As tribute and envoys were sent to meet with the witchers for various reasons there were those who realized how convenient a settlement in that location would be. A place for people to rest either after having come down from the Keep, or before starting the trek up. The trip used to take an entire day, so having a place to rest either before or afterwards was quite convenient. And of course if there was an inn, it’s only logical for there to be food as well. And merchants who might be able to sell their wares, everything from furs, clothes, food and more. As more people started traveling there it only seemed natural for some to choose to live there, instead of having to travel so often. And thus, almost before they knew it, there was a town at the foot of the Blue Mountains.
It’s still not quite as big as the cities that can be found in other countries, closer to the capital, but the people living there like it exactly the way it is. Monsters never bother them (it’d be insane, with so many witchers being so close!), they have everything they need; they’re a happy, thriving, community.
In that moment, the people of Wolvenburg receive the exiles with open arms and kind smiles. Soon arrangements are being made to make sure everyone will have baths, warm food and a place to sleep. None of them might know who the newcomers are, but it’s clear they’re exhausted and in need, and haven’t they all been in such positions before? Also, many of them have heard the whispers, about the Sandpiper and their network, about all those they’ve saved… Most of those living at Wolvenburg might only be human, but they’re humans living in the Wolflands, and their attitude regarding non-humans is very different from that of people in Redania and Temeria.
It’s impossible to know how many of the exiles might choose to stay in Wolvenburg in the end. But at least for the time being they will have food, baths and roofs over their heads. That’s enough.
xXx
When the doors to the great hall of Kaer Morhen open Geralt is standing in front of the high table, while various members of his council have chosen to sit behind it. There are also at least a couple dozen witchers of the other schools standing around, half concealed in the shadows; not because they think their leader is in any danger with the newcomers, but rather they’re just… curious.
The group Eskel and Yennefer lead in, everyone soon realizes, is comprised almost entirely of women, which is the first thing they find curious. In fact, the only male of the group is at the back, seemingly unconscious, on a pallet which was obviously carried inside by a pair of witchers. Of the three women, two are fairly short and with tanned skin, one with short red hair, the other dirty blonde. The redhead is wearing a long tunic, trousers, knee-high boots and a well-made jacket that doesn’t seem to fully fit her (like it was meant for someone with much wider shoulders than her, perhaps a man). The blonde is wearing an open tunic, with a simple chemise underneath, along with long skirts and calf-high boots.
The third woman, clearly the leader by the way she stands ahead of the other two looks clearly younger (still in her teens), she looks to be almost a whole foot taller than the other two women, with bright green eyes and ashen blonde hair in a tight braid that seems to be slowly coming undone. She’s dressed in thick soled boots, tight trousers, a long sleeved tunic as well as a leather vest and arm-guards. Of the three women she’s the only one evidently armed, with a pair of daggers strapped to her hips (and the witchers are able to tell she has a knife in each boot, stilettos sheathed on the inside of her armbands and she’s also wearing straps that must usually hold a quiver, and possibly even a sword, on her back).
“Ladies, I present to you, the Warlord of the North and head of the Northern Empire, Geralt, the White Wolf,” Eskel introduces him formally.
Geralt is so very grateful that the mutagens make it so he cannot blush.
“I am Priscilla,” the short blonde introduces herself first. “Known as Callonetta on stage, I’m a bard. I’m also one of the network, called Mockingbird.”
And there’s a very good reason for it, as she has a remarkable ability to imitate other people’s voices and did it, more than once, in service of the network.
“I am Shani,” the redhead introduced herself next. “I am a medic, and not part of the network.”
No, she isn’t. She might have been willing to treat those being aided by the network, but then again, she took an oath to treat everyone equally, so that wasn’t a big deal for her. And she knew there would be those wondering why then she’d choose to join the exiles, to leave everything behind… but what else was she supposed to do when all of her friends, her loved ones, were leaving?
“And yet here you are,” Vesemir states, thoughtfully.
“And yet here I am,” Shani agrees, evenly. “I don’t regret it.”
The witchers can all tell she’s not lying.
And then all eyes turn to the taller blonde.
“My name is Fiona Zireal Pankratz, my friends call me Ciri,” she announces. “Some also call me Swallow, I was, of course, one of the little birds, and the head of the caravan.”
That certainly shocks everyone standing in that hall. As much as it did Eskel and Yennefer when they first saw her.
“Why you?” Coën, one of the witchers of the Griffin School blurts out. “You’re so young…”
“Youth matters very little when lives are on the line,” the girl almost scoffs at him. “Also, my father, Julian Alfred Pankratz, was the founder of the Sandpiper network.”
“He’s the Sandpiper?” Eskel asks, interested, she hadn’t told them that before.
“No,” Ciri shakes her head. “There’s no Sandpiper. It’s… when my dad started the network he used that word as an identifier, not for himself, but for everyone. However, as the network grew it became necessary for each member to have a different code-name. It was also pointed out how the authorities were going after the Sandpiper, specifically, so it was just easier for no one to answer to that code-name. So my dad started going by the code-name Lark, instead.”
It helped, in the long run. When Redanian Intelligence managed to get a spy into their ranks, he never got high enough to learn the truth about the Sandpiper, but still enough to be able to tell Dijkstra, without lying, that none of the people he’d met were this individual. That did not stop things going to hell in the end, but Ciri knows it’d have been much, much worse if her dad had been the Sandpiper aside from… everything else.
“What’s wrong with your father, child?” Perhaps the oldest witcher present (Old Keldar, of the School of the Griffin) asks her.
They’ve all seen the unconscious man in the pallet, and while none of them would say he looks particularly like the girl, the way she constantly turns to look over her shoulder, as if to reassure herself he’s still there, makes it obvious there’s a connection there.
“He’s been cursed, Master Griffin,” Ciri answers politely. “By the Court Sorceress of Redania: Lady Philippa Eilhart.”
Geralt hnns quietly as he steps away from the head table and down the hall, curious.
Ciri seems surprised by his interest in her father but doesn’t complain about it as she leads the man down, kneeling beside the pallet and busying herself with tucking in the old teal-blue cloak (her cloak) which is covering him.
“This is my dad, Julian Alfred Pankratz,” Ciri announces gently as she pushes the hood aside and tucks a lock of brunette hair behind the unconscious man’s ear. “Also known as Lark, founder of the Sandpiper network and the famous bard…”
“Jaskier?!” Geralt blurts out in shock.
xXx
It all began with the attack at the Circle of Bleobheris. A militant group that called themselves The Purists; and who turned out to be formed by minor nobles as well as third and fourth sons of greater nobles of Redania, Temeria, Cidaris, Aedirn, and several other countries, attacked a peaceful gathering at the Seat of Friendship, seeking to slay any and all who might not be 100% human (of course, the chaos caused when the attack began and the clear blood-lust that they had meant that in the end there was little care to limit their attacks (regardless of what they might have claimed afterwards).
Jaskier and Ciri were there. They were among the very few survivors. Mostly thanks to the fact that one of the others, an elf, had recognized the power (and the lack of training) in Ciri, and after asking for her permission, channeled her power to shield and occlude their little group from the attackers.
When the authorities of Temeria not only made no mention of the attack, but some even made a point of denying it ever happening if anyone tried to bring it up, Jaskier seemed to understand that the attack was only the beginning. Things were going to get worse, much worse.
Jaskier did two things then: he composed a song called ‘The Song of the Seven’ (a song everyone in the Continent knows and has been sung pretty much in every town at least once). He made the choice not to sing it himself, so as not to call attention upon himself; and instead made the song public property, allowing all bards in the continent to sing it. At the same time, Jaskier began what would eventually become the Sandpiper network.
Having spent more than a decade traveling the Continent, with and without Geralt by his side, Jaskier had a lot of contacts in a great many places. Contacts he’d made use of before, both when he was working for the Redanian Intelligence, and later on as he kept abreast of everything going on in the north while he himself remained in Cintra as Ciri’s tutor. He made use of those same contacts again as he created the network that would, in the following years, be responsible for saving the lives of dozens, possibly even hundreds of non-humans.
Most of the members of that same network were exiled alongside him; most, but not all. There are some who managed to not be discovered even when everything went to hell, some who even made the choice to remain where they were, while still connected to the network; like the Countess de Stael in Redania, the bard from Bremervoord, Essi Daven; and the Court Bard of Cidaris, Valdo Marx (he and Jaskier having long since put their old enmity to rest). If all went well, they’d be keeping in touch with Ciri (and hopefully eventually Jaskier), to keep them informed if anything happened (if any of those countries decided to go after the exiles for whatever the reason, or worse, after the Empire).
“It’s all my fault,” Ciri confesses.
They’re in Triss Merigold’s rooms in the keep, in the room that serves as an infirmary, for when she tends to one of the human servants (who don’t heal as fast as witchers and mages may). She’s the healer of Kaer Morhen. Shani has already explained to the best of their knowledge what the curse does. The fact that, while Jaskier looks as if he were asleep, and though his vitals are similar to those in a very deep sleep, he has none of the responses that would be expected of someone in such a state. He never moves, doesn’t react to stimuli. They tried to make him drink some water, worried that he might become dehydrated, but all their attempts failed. And yet his body hasn’t shown any of the signs of a person in such a state (his breathing and heartbeat haven’t changed, his lips aren’t dry, nor is his tongue, and no sunken eyes either). He also seems to not be experiencing hunger, and has no bowel movement of any sort. There’s also the fact that while he does still breathe and his heart beats, it does so very, very slowly (even more so than witchers when meditating).
“He’s in stasis,” Triss announces after her check up what most already suspected at that point. “Or at least, in a state very close to it.”
“How bad is this?” Eskel asks the obvious question.
“Very,” Triss admits, grimly. “Humans aren’t meant to exist in this state. While the stasis might allow him to avoid things like thirst, and hunger, in the long run those will be the least of his problems. The body still needs more oxygen, more blood circulation, than his lungs can provide in their current state. Not to mention his brain. If he continues in this state for too long his body will begin to decay, even with the stasis. Starting with his mind…”
Yennefer, Geralt, and the few other witchers in the room are horrified. Ciri, Shani and Priscilla less so, if only because they’d already been able to deduce most of it. Even if they had not the knowledge Triss did, some things were only to be expected.
“It’s all my fault,” Ciri repeats.
All eyes turn to hear. Those from Kaer Morhen clearly not understanding how this could be a teen-aged girl’s fault.
“Dijkstra never liked me,” Ciri explains. “He blamed me for dad refusing to work for him after his return to Redania, when I was ten.”
By then she’s already told the group her story. Or at least, the one she and her dad made up after fleeing Cintra. While they know Emhyr var Emreis is dead and the Nilfgaardian Empire is no more, Ciri decided a long time ago that she doesn’t want to be Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon anymore, she doesn’t want to be the princess (the queen!) of Cintra. She’s happy enough being the daughter (even if she’s said to be illegitimate) of a viscount, of a bard. Jaskier loves her and that’s enough for her.
So their story is that Jaskier learned of her existence when she was five and moved to Cintra to be close. He worked at court and slowly got to know her. Her mom died when she was seven. Then, when she was ten, Cintra fell. Her grandmother died in the attack and she and her dad barely managed to make it out. Fleeing to Verden, and eventually crossing Kerack, Cidaris and making their way to Redania, specifically to Oxenfurt.
There’s enough truth in the story (as long as she doesn’t try to go into too much detail, and thus doesn’t start trying to make things up); and also, it’s a story she’s told so many times by then that it doesn’t register as a lie, not even to witchers, whose senses are heightened enough to allow them to tell when people lie to them.
“Jaskier was Redanian Intelligence?” Yennefer’s honestly surprised by that particular revelation.
“Since he was at university,” Priscilla intervenes. “Dijkstra always liked recruiting bards. He tried to recruit me too, but I purposefully failed his tests so in the end he gave up on me. Jaskier was too good to pretend otherwise.” She shakes her head. “Dijkstra always said that since traveling, spending time in all sorts of places, was part of a bard’s profession, we were the best kind of spies.”
They were also the best for the network…
“So Jaskier used to be a spy, but refused to be one again after he returned to Oxenfurt with you,” Eskel summarizes.
“Makes sense,” Triss states with the shrug. “If the lass was only ten…”
“Sense or not, I bet Dijkstra refused to just accept that response,” Yennefer comments. “He was never good at taking no for an answer.”
“He really, really didn’t like it.” Ciri agrees. “But then… well, things happened that I don’t think any of them planned for.”
Because truly, she doubts anyone, not her dad, not the royals, and especially not Dijkstra, ever planned on her dad and King Radovid ever meeting. Much less for the then prince to fall madly in love with Ciri’s dad!
“I’m pretty sure Dijkstra would have found a way of forcing my dad into spying for him again.” Probably by threatening her, Ciri knows. “However, before he could, Radovid met him. He fell madly in love with my dad and basically made him Court Bard, as well as his lover.”
The latter wasn’t exactly announced publicly; and yet, it was the kind of thing no one ever really spoke about, though pretty much everyone knew. The prince even made Ciri his cupbearer for a while, which she knew was done mainly so she’d have an excuse to stay at the palace with her dad; also, it both showed his trust in the both of them, and in turn protected her (Dijkstra couldn’t move against her when she was around the prince most of the time).
“After the Purists started attacking elves, dwarves and other non-humans, and especially with so many in Redania, if not outright supporting them, at the very least turning a blind eye to their actions… things changed radically.” Ciri explains.
“The Sandpiper network was created,” That part has been mentioned already.
“Yes,” Ciri nods, thoughtful for a moment before adding. “You know, I’m pretty sure Radovid knew what my dad, what we all were doing, from the start. It’s just that he loved dad so much, and was so convinced that dad returned the feeling, and thus he never said a thing about it. Not even when his own brother, King Vizimir, gave orders for the Sandpiper to be captured and ‘brought to justice’.”
The witchers and mages can only imagine what that must have been like. Yennefer has known court life, was a Court Sorceress for years. Yet she cannot imagine the kind of life Jaskier must have been living, being the head of the Sandpiper network and bedding the brother of the man persecuting the elves at the same time. Yet it’s the thought that Radovid, the man whom so many thought a fool when he was younger, yet earned the epithet, Radovid the Cruel, once he became king… for him to have not gone after Jaskier if what the girl says is true and he knew about Jaskier being part of the network…
“If he loved your dad, how did… well…” Triss hesitates.
“How did he end up trying to kill dad?” Ciri asks with a bitter smile. “Dijkstra.”
“I don’t understand,” Triss admits.
“Dad composed a ballad… years ago.” Ciri does her best to explain.
“That’s nothing new,” Yennefer shakes her head. “The songbird’s always composing.”
“Not anymore, or at least, not in quite a few years,” Ciri shakes her head. “One of the last songs he composed was The Song of the Seven, though most people still don’t know it’s his…”
“That’s why Jaskier the bard is believed to be dead, isn’t it?” Eskel inquires, unexpectedly.
The question actually seems to take Ciri by surprise. Enough that she doesn’t notice the looks several people direct to Geralt, or the way the White Wolf very carefully does not look at any of them, never taking his eyes off Jaskier’s unconscious form.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Ciri shrugs.
“I told him when that particular rumor started going around,” Priscilla points out. “He told me to let it, in fact, to confirm it. Said it was safer for everyone for Jaskier the bard to be dead.”
“Which would explain why we could never find him,” Yennefer murmurs quietly.
“You tried to find dad?” Ciri’s surprised by that.
“We looked for him for a while, before and after the end of the war,” the sorceress confirms. “Though I’ll admit we didn’t try especially hard before it ended. But afterwards… we did. I had a few contacts in Oxenfurt, but no one could tell me for sure where he might be. And then eventually we heard that he’d died. Geralt refused to believe it, of course. Especially because no one seemed to be able to agree how it had happened, exactly, or even when… Though when no new songs of his came out…”
“Dad used to say he lost his muse,” Ciri murmurs, very quietly.
“But that doesn’t explain why that bastard king was trying to kill him,” Eskel points out. “You said it was about a song…”
“One of the last songs dad composed, yes.” Ciri agrees. “It’s a love ballad. I think… The King used to believe the song was about him. That it was proof that dad truly loved him.”
“It wasn’t.” That part isn’t hard to deduce.
“No, it wasn’t.” Ciri shakes her head. “It…”
“What happened, girl?” Vesemir asks, strongly yet not unkindly.
“It was my fault!” Ciri cries out. “Dad was called to court unexpectedly, so I went to lead the group of refugees to the right ship. We’d been forced to change the original plan since the captain from the original vessel refused to work with us anymore, claiming it was too dangerous.” Which it probably was. “We were found at the docks and… it was bad.”
It really was. While her dad called in a few favors and got her rudimentary training from a number of druids, hedge-witches and even one sorceress, whenever her emotions start getting the best of her she loses control. She lasted just long enough for the ship to get away, but then she was captured instead. She was drugged, shackled and dragged to the palace.
“More than anything, Dijkstra wanted to get rid of dad,” Ciri explains. “He believed he had too much influence on the king.” And of course, he couldn’t have that, since the bastard was the one supposed to be the power behind the throne… “The soldiers dragged me into a small antechamber, close to the throne room, where Dijkstra escorted dad shortly afterwards. He of course immediately told dad that he was about to announce to the king the capture of the Sandpiper.”
There’s a sharp inhale. Everyone knows what would have happened to Ciri, had she been identified like that in the Redanian Court. Though clearly it didn’t happen so…
“Though of course Dijkstra never really believed I was the Sandpiper…” Ciri mutters, angrily.
“He expected Jaskier to take the blame,” Yennefer murmurs in understanding.
Which, of course he would. He would have done it even if he hadn’t been involved with the network at all, because he loves his daughter!
“But you said the king already knew…” Eskel cannot help to point out.
“He did,” Ciri confirms. “In the end, it turns out that it wasn’t about the Sandpiper network at all. What Dijkstra truly wanted was to split dad and Radovid.”
“So he would once again be the only one the king listened to,” Yennefer understands immediately.
“Yeah,” Ciri nods. “Dad went to talk to the king, tried to break things off with him, but he was just so insistent… He kept saying that they could make things work…”
Which is absolutely insane, because by the time all of it happened Radovid had been in negotiations with Temeria for a while to marry the king’s daughter: Princess Agata! While it wouldn’t have been exactly unheard of, for the king to have a lover (not even for said lover to be male) Radovid’s insistence in talking about love, about he and Ciri’s dad loving each other was both bizarre and upsetting. It’s not that Ciri would have tried to stop it, had her dad truly loved the king. She’d have been sad, to see him allow himself to be nothing more than a lover, than a dirty little secret, but if that had made him happy… And yet it wasn’t like that at all! It never had been!
“It was Radovid who brought up dad’s song, calling it the everlasting proof of their love…” Ciri says very, very quietly.
“And then your dad told him it wasn’t about him…” That part is easy enough to guess.
“The king looked… devastated,” the girl admits.
Truth is, Ciri might have even felt bad about him in that moment, if the bastard of a king hadn’t gone and tried to murder her dad immediately afterwards!
“I’m… not very clear on everything that happened after that, actually,” Ciri admits, sheepishly.
She blacked out, after seeing Radovid pull out a dagger and go after her dad. She’s pretty sure that the absolute destruction in the throne room was caused by her. Which probably means that the deaths of Radovid, Djikstra and the soldiers from that night, are all on her. And yet Ciri cannot say she regrets it. There’s a chance her dad might have seen everything that happened. But well, they cannot exactly ask him at this moment.
“There were plans for a coup,” Shani announces unexpectedly. “There had been people working towards it in the background for years. Practically since Radovid took the throne. At first it was because most high-ranking nobles did not believe someone so… flighty and immature like Radovid could be a proper king of Redania. And then when he started going after everyone non-human with even more… more intensity and viciousness than Vizimir ever did…” She shakes her head. “I know there were those who blamed the elves for the murder of the old king, but there was just no way. How could they have even gotten close enough to murder him? It was impossible!”
“Shani dear…” Priscilla murmurs.
“Right,” Shani nods. “So, there were plans for a coup, like I said. People just… they were waiting for the right time. Tensions were mounting up because everyone knew if Radovid married Agata it would be next to impossible. So… I suppose when the bodies were discovered it was… convenient. Officially Dijkstra was named the traitor. Everyone knew he never liked Julian, so it wasn’t hard for anyone to believe he might have tried to kill him and the king ended up being killed accidentally. And of course the soldiers tried to intervene and died because of it.”
“What truly happened?” Yennefer wants to know.
Priscilla, Shani and Ciri just turn to look at each other, hesitant.
“Please, it might be important,” Triss murmurs. “We don’t even know how Jaskier was cursed.”
“We don’t know exactly what happened,” Priscilla tries to explain. “We weren’t there.”
“You know about the coup,” Eskel points out.
“That’s because my half-brother is a Count, and he was one of the high-ranking nobles involved in that,” Shani states bluntly. “He called Priscilla and me to get Jaskier and Ciri after everything happened. Jaskier was hurt, though it wasn’t anything particularly worrying, and Ciri was unconscious. It was my brother who told us that once Duke Dawid of Montecalvo had been sworn in as king, a decree would be announced, granting mercy and exiling all members of the Sandpiper network.”
For their own safety, in many ways. Even with a king who wasn’t as interested in persecuting non-humans, or the network, there would always have been those who wouldn’t think twice about killing them if they got the chance. It had become simply too dangerous to remain in Redania.
“And the curse?” Yennefer presses.
“That was Phillipa Eilhart,” Priscilla finally reveals. “She found us on our way out. Screamed at us, though especially at Jaskier. Said that because of him all their plans had failed. I think she was really furious about Dijkstra’s death. She tried to attack Ciri and Jaskier got in the way, warned her off. That was when she turned on him. Told him she’d make him pay. That he’d be damned to sleep but never rest, to wander without a place to call home, and no one love would ever wake him up…”
While most of those listening in are busy trying to parse the meaning of those words, Yennefer’s eyes go wide.
“That’s it!” she exclaims.
“What is it?” All eyes turn to her instantly.
“Have you ever noticed how in all the stories the easiest way to break a curse is by true love’s kiss?” Yennefer asks, though she’s not actually expecting a response to that. “It’s more than just children’s tales. There is in fact a certain… power, in that sort of thing. It’s about more than love. It’s a matter of… I guess you could call it the connection. Of a person calling to the one cursed, pulling them back.”
“So what, he needs the kiss of his one true love?” Letho of the Vipers scoffs. That sounds ridiculous!
“Not one,” Triss points out. “Remember that she said that no ‘one love’ would be able to wake him up.”
“How many then?” Ciri asks, immediately.
“I cannot know for certain…” Triss begins, hesitant.
“Three,” Yennefer says, almost at the same time. “There is power in three.”
“So, we need to find three women in love with the bard,” Eskel summarizes.
“No, you need to find three people who love Jaskier,” Yennefer corrects. “It need not be women, or romantic love, specifically. But it definitely must be more than an infatuation.” She exhales. “There are all sorts of love. The love of family, of lovers, of friends… What’s for certain is that it cannot be people who just like him, or who don’t actually know him. It needs to be love. Of any kind like I said, but a love that is true.”
“Also,” Triss adds. “It’s less about the kiss and more about the connection. About calling Jaskier back.”
Ciri’s sitting on the bed beside her dad, folding herself on top of him and whispering into his ear almost before Triss has even finished speaking.
“Wake up daddy,” she murmurs, voice thick with the tears she can barely hold back. “Please wake up. I love you so, so much…”
Most of the occupants of the room walk out in silence. Giving the humans their privacy. Geralt is among the last to step out, and he’s quite surprised when noticing that while the blonde bard, Priscilla, has stayed inside the room with Ciri and Jaskier, the redhead: Shani, has walked out.
“Don’t take me wrong,” she states, noticing the way Geralt looks at her. “Jaskier is my friend. But I wouldn’t say I love him. Not really. If I stayed in there Pris and Ciri would get their hopes up and when it doesn’t work… that would just crush them.”
“If you’d like to follow me, miss,” Eskel offers. “I can take you to one of our guestrooms so you can rest. We’ll let your companions know where you are.”
“Thank you, I’d be grateful for that,” Shani nods. “Though I doubt Pris or Ciri will leave his side until Julian wakes up.”
If he wakes up, she doesn’t say.
xXx
It’s well past midnight, closer to sunrise than sunset in fact, by the time Geralt slips back into the infirmary on silent feet. Jaskier is still lying on one of the two beds in the room, with the blonde bard, Priscilla, asleep on the other one. The girl, Ciri, is half-sitting, half lying on Jaskier’s legs, curled up with her hand resting on his. It’s clear she didn’t intend to fall asleep, it just happened.
Geralt is not blind, or stupid. He knows exactly who Ciri is. It doesn’t matter that she used the name of Fiona Zireal Pankratz to introduce herself, or that neither he nor anyone else picked up on any lies. Geralt’s memory is perfect, he remembers exactly what a young princess Pavetta looked like on the night of her betrothal (turned wedding) banquet, and Ciri is the spitting image of her, only considerably taller (not surprising, considering how tall Duny was). There’s only one possible reason for it.
The witcher cannot say whether he’s surprised or not by the fact that she’s with Jaskier, and has clearly been with him for a long time, long enough to truly see herself as his daughter. In fact, far as he knows the two of them might have been together since the fall of Cintra (or even before)! He supposes the story Ciri told about their trip north and eventual arrival to Redania years prior would fit if they were coming from Cintra. She was just keeping out certain details, like her being the presumed dead princess (or, he supposes, she’d be Queen now) of Cintra.
The whole thing makes him sad and happy at the same time. Sad that he couldn’t be right there with them all these years; couldn’t be a part of their family. Though at the same time he’s happy that they had each other, that they weren’t alone. He’s just happy they’re alive, really! The loss of the two of them, and the fact that he wasn’t there to protect them (especially when he should have been!) have ever been his greatest regrets.
Now if only Jaskier would wake up…
“Little lark…” the words come tumbling out of his mouth almost without Geralt realizing it. “Come back… wake up… I miss you…”
“I’m sorry…”
Geralt freezes, how did he miss Ciri waking up?!
“Hmm…” he hmms quietly, not knowing what else to say.
“I am sorry,” Ciri repeats. “It’s… it’s my fault. That he wasn’t here, that he didn’t come to you, after the fall of Cintra, I mean.”
That does take Geralt by surprise, enough to make the witcher turn to look at her directly.
“I…” Ciri exhales, nervous. “Grandmother made him swear he wouldn’t bring me to you.”
“So you know?” Geralt realizes.
“That I’m your Child of Surprise?” Ciri clarifies. “I know. Dad told me after… after. He apologized for not being able to just bring me to you, but explained that he’d sworn to grandmother he wouldn’t, and it just didn’t feel right to break his word. He was also convinced that, since we were bound by Destiny, we’d be pulled together sooner or later.”
“Hn…” Geralt replies noncommittally.
A part of him wonders. If the Northern Empire had never come into being, or had fallen apart in the first couple of years, like he used to believe it would; if he’d never become the warlord… If he’d remained just a witcher, walking the Path, slaying monsters… perhaps then he’d have come across Jaskier and Ciri much earlier. Perhaps then they’d have been able to be a family that much sooner. But would he have wanted it then? Would they? Because what kind of life would he have ever been able to offer to either of them, as just another witcher? The Path is dangerous, even for mutated warriors like him and his brothers. It was bad enough when it was just Jaskier stubbornly following him, bringing a girl-child along? No! That would have been unconscionable of him. And much as some might still call him a monster, he would never do something like that.
Also, if none of that had happened, Emhyr var Emreis might still be out there, he’d still be a threat, to the whole of the Continent, but especially to Ciri (and to Jaskier). He’d never wish for that.
So perhaps there’s no point then in wondering. Also, it’s not like it changes anything. The Northern Empire exists, and he’s its Warlord. He can only hope Jaskier and Ciri will choose to stay when he wakes up (and he will wake up!).
“We had plans,” Ciri tells him softly. “After the war ended. Once I was old enough he was going to go back to being a traveling bard, and I’d go with him. I mean, it wouldn’t be breaking an oath if we just happened to end up in Kaedwen eventually, right? Bards travel, and they go pretty much everywhere, it would have happened eventually, right?” She shakes her head. “But then the Seat of Friendship was attacked, and even when we made it back to Redania, the things we saw… elves being treated like… like dirt, or worse! Being kicked out of places, denied entry in others, being beaten on the streets; and then we heard of some being sold as slaves! We… we couldn’t just do nothing…”
“And so the Sandpiper came into being,” Geralt finishes for her.
It makes sense. Geralt has always known that Jaskier wasn’t the kind to allow people, humans, to abuse others they saw as less. He saw it whenever Jaskier got it into his head to argue, and a few times even outright fight with those who’d try to short Geralt on his pay (or outright refused to pay him), who’d deny him room in their inns, tried to overcharge him, and so many other things. The times such things happened lessened through the years, as Jaskier’s songs became more popular and humans started seeing witchers as heroes rather than inhuman monsters, barely any better than the creatures they fought. But still, it makes sense that Jaskier would want to help the elves.
“I think…” Geralt pauses, not sure how to say what he’s thinking. “I would have liked Jaskier to be here. Would have liked you both to be here.” He would have liked to know they weren’t dead, at least. “But I cannot say that what you chose to do is wrong. You saved a great many elves and dwarves and others. It… You did good.”
Perhaps it was worth it, is what he’s trying to say. He will never be happy that he had to be without them for so long. But maybe, just maybe, it was worth it, for all the good they’ve done.
“G...ralt…?” A croaky voice calls. “Ah… I must be d-dreaming. If you… ‘re talking so much.”
Geralt cannot help himself, he hnns.
At the same time Ciri throws herself into her dad’s chest and bursts into tears.
xXx
It’s several days before Triss declares Jaskier fit enough to leave the infirmary. Though she warns him that he will need some time to fully recuperate and he needs to keep things like meals and sleep on a schedule as he might forget, since his body has probably forgotten how to feel and react to normal stimuli and things like hunger and thirst and even sleep cycles. Ciri, Pris and Shani all promise to keep a close eye on him.
The big surprise, at least for Jaskier, comes when, after being told that Priscilla and Shani have been given a set of rooms on the guest-wing, he and Ciri are offered rooms in the same tower where Geralt sleeps! What’s more, the room Jaskier is led to is on the same floor as Geralt’s (right beside his, in fact) and is fully decorated already.
“Whose room is this?” Jaskier cannot help but ask upon seeing the room.
There’s a huge fireplace against one wall, rugs (thick, extremely soft ones) pretty much everywhere. A big bed with lots of extremely soft pillows and a pile of thick, warm furs at the end. A desk with rolls of parchment, inkwells, quills and even a box full of pieces of chalk and charcoal; it’s his dream-desk! The big window with a view of the mountains has a chaise underneath, covered in cushions in shades of blue, and more comfortable than some furniture he’s seen in actual castles! There’s even a stand for his lute in a corner!
“Yours,” Geralt answers quietly, very carefully not looking at Jaskier.
And Jaskier cannot for the life of him! Because what is he supposed to think of that, of the existence of that room, but that his witcher has been waiting for him? That, despite ‘knowledge’ of his death, he’s been waiting and hoping that Jaskier would one day just… be there?
“Thank you,” the bard whispers, very heartfelt.
It seems awfully inappropriate, nowhere near enough to express everything he’s feeling. To let Geralt know how truly grateful, how happy Jaskier is to be there. But at the same time, what else can he say that won’t end up with him offering his heart up on a platter and having it be rejected… again?!
And yet he still ends up offering his heart, in a most unexpected manner, just a few weeks later.
It’s not like he plans it! He’s finally strong enough (and has enough stamina) to be able to go from his rooms in the tower to the great hall for meal times without ending up a panting mess. He can climb all the way to the top of the tower if he wants (the view from up there is fantastic… though mostly he did it to prove to himself he could); and the battlements (because that’s the best place from which to watch some really attractive witchers training).
Pris and Shani are gone, having finally moved into a cottage down in Wolvenburg earlier that week. A few more of the exiles, including Milena, Olivia and Alexander have settled there as well; though many others have chosen to travel to other places (still part of the Empire) and start over there.
Jaskier got in touch with Virginia (the Countess de Stael) who, while not particularly effusive, did say she was glad he had recovered. She also let him know that things seemed to be going well for the new king, and the few that had made the smallest of suggestions about something ‘needing to be done’ about the Sandpiper’s treason were quickly and harshly shot down. So everything seemed to indicate that he and the others had no reason to fear going forth.
Essi was absolutely delighted to hear from him, while Valdo cursed him in a mix of Common and Elder before eventually admitting to being glad Jaskier hadn’t died. Both confirmed that things seemed to be alright. Most people in fact seemed to not want to even talk about the Sandpiper anymore.
“I swear that if I hadn’t been part of it all I’d think the whole thing was a legend rather than reality,” Valdo admitted eventually.
“Well, let's hope this legend never needs to manifest again, then,” Jaskier decided.
Because really, if the non-humans were safe, there was no need for the network. So as long as there was no need for them, Jaskier had no problem being relegated to legend-status (really, his bard persona, with all his songs and everything he’d achieved, especially since his believed death, was already a legend on its own so…).
It’s that last thought, the reminder that Jaskier is still believed to be dead by so many, and just how long it has been since he last even composed a song, that makes Jaskier want to do so again.
It isn’t easy. He has ideas, so many ideas. He wants to write new songs about witchers. Has every intention of writing a whole new Cycle, this time focusing on who Geralt has become, as Warlord of the North, and the Empire. On why exactly he and the other witchers are doing what they’re doing. The Continent needs to understand that it isn’t about power, or riches, or greed. It’s about who and what they are, about their purpose. They’re meant to hunt down monsters. And humans can be just as monstrous as creatures, at times even more so. That’s something the witchers understand and have decided to act upon. And the Continent needs to know!
However, Jaskier cannot help but feel that there’s… there’s something stopping him from composing. Something is holding him back. He realizes what it is eventually: the song. The one he wrote years ago, he wrote it and then, he was so hesitant about it. Because it showed more of his heart than even ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ did! He wasn’t sure he was ready to… to expose himself like that. So he only played it when he was alone, played it for himself and no one else, not even Ciri.
At least until Radovid happened to find him one day while he was playing it. He seemed so enthralled by the song. And utterly convinced that it was about him! Jaskier didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. It’s… Radovid wasn’t a bad man (not back then at least), and it was clear that he loved Jaskier as well as he could. The problem back then wasn’t Radovid, it was Jaskier. It was the fact that he gave away his heart to a grumpy, stubborn, valiant, gorgeous witcher and no matter how much said witcher manhandled it and bruised it and… Jaskier never got it back. He never wanted to, not really.
Even after the mountain. When he eventually got over the anger at Geralt blaming every single thing that ever went wrong on him, Jaskier realized that the witcher couldn’t have meant what he said then. He just couldn’t. Because truly, if he hated Jaskier that much… if he hadn’t wanted Jaskier to follow him, the bard would have never been able to keep up! His non-human blood might be enough to give him a longer life-span and he was aging really well; but it’s not like he could have ever kept up with a witcher, especially when Geralt had Roach and Jaskier was always on foot, if said witcher had truly wanted to get rid of him!
Still, by then he was already mostly established in Cintra, so Jaskier decided to stay at least for a while. Spend time with Ciri. Seemed like a good idea, all things considered. And then so much started happening and Jaskier just kept finding reasons to stay. Until Nilfgaard attacked and then he had to truly leave, but not alone, and with a whole new set of priorities. And he had no doubt Geralt would be busy with his budding Empire too, so the bard told himself they would have the chance, later.
The song, which he called ‘Extraordinary Things’… He wrote it once he and his ‘daughter’ were fully settled in Redania. However, it was one song he’d been composing, little by little, in the back of his mind, for much, much longer than that. Probably since he forgave Geralt for that mess in the mountain. Or maybe… maybe his heart started composing it long before even that, since he started slowly but surely falling in love with one moody, gorgeous witcher with eyes as golden as his heart…
Still, that is one song he’s held close to his heart for so long, and yet has never allowed it to… to truly be. To exist as it was meant to, for the one it was written for. For years he had to play it, letting another take credit for the feelings poured into it, no matter how wrong it felt. At first it might have been because he felt sorry for Radovid, and didn't want to bruise his heart like so many (Geralt included) had bruised his. And later on… as Radovid changed from a happy, somewhat scatterbrained, well-meaning, overenthusiastic prince into a cold, cruel king… it would just have been too dangerous to confess to the truth. At least until his daughter’s life was on the line…
Everything changed then. The only thing Jaskier truly regrets of that horrible night is his own powerlessness. The fact that he was utterly incapable of saving his daughter in the end. She was the one who saved him: from Radovid, and Dijkstra, and all those soldiers. He knows she doesn’t regret those deaths, not really, but they still haunt her. And Jaskier deeply regrets that their blood ended up in her hands, that he couldn’t take that burden upon himself instead.
And then of course Phillipa went and cursed him and Jaskier knew nothing until he woke up, weeks later, some time before dawn, to Geralt and his daughter… their daughter, talking.
A lot has happened since then, his head has hardly stopped turning. And truth is, Jaskier is happy, happier than he’s been in… well, longer than he’d ever truly admit.
So that day he sits down on the chaise, under his big window, lute in hand and he starts playing, starts to sing, wanting to sing this song, his song, once, allowing himself to fully feel it and everything it means. To fully embrace who it was always meant for…
“Keep your words on ice
Your gaze lights the fire
They say, ‘Keep on playing nice’
But I have no desire”
“Why waste our words
When lips were made for extraordinary things
It's not a want, it's a need
It is paying no heed to what others say to sing”
“The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love
Of them I have had enough
With you, I have enough
With you, I am enough
I am enough”
Geralt doesn’t know why he went looking for Jaskier.
Oh, he knows he must have had a reason. Not an especially urgent one, of course. Probably just about to suggest they go riding, or maybe ask if Jaskier wanted Geralt to show him the library or… something, that would allow the two of them to be together. Geralt forgets what the excuse was supposed to be when he steps into the room and sees Jaskier sitting in the sunlight, his long, chestnut brown hair almost shining with honey colored highlights (Jaskier always smells like honey and Geralt has never been able to explain how or why; he knows it’s not his creams or bath oils, he favors floral scents for those; subtle ones, that won’t bother Geralt’s nose, and yet, the honey is always there, as far back as Geralt can remember truly paying attention to such things). So Jaskier is there, sitting in the sunlight, playing the lute, and singing… Geralt knows without needing to be told that that is the song that King Radovid claimed as his. He claimed it as his, yet it isn’t, it never was. It was Geralt’s, like all of his bard’s songs are, and always have been.
And how the hell did Geralt miss that for so long?! How did he manage to miss what it all meant?! Or well, he supposes he didn’t, not exactly. It’s just… he wanted Jaskier, wanted the bard by his side so badly, while at the same time being convinced that he didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t possibly deserve Jaskier because he was a monster (and it was more than just Blaviken). His heart kept fighting between a deep sense of self-loathing, a belief that he didn’t deserve Jaskier and never would; a belief that no one could ever love him enough to want to stay, permanently, that sooner or later Jaskier too would leave him, like everyone did (and so why even allow himself to grow attached?); and his deep, heartfelt desire to take Jaskier and just… never let go.
Yennefer was easy. She was beautiful and powerful and passionate; Destiny bound them, which meant that no matter what happened, they would keep coming together and… well, and while they cared for each other, and the sex was fantastic, and they certainly wanted each other, neither of them loved the other, so what did they have to lose?
Yeah, he might have briefly half-deluded himself into believing that what he and Yen had could be true love one day. Back when he had also almost fully convinced himself that any possible future with Jaskier was utterly hopeless. Then the mountain happened and… yeah.
It’s taken him a long time to realize a few things: like the fact that, even though Destiny doesn’t bind them, it doesn’t need to. He and Jaskier never needed Destiny to keep meeting up, to keep traveling together. They made the choice. Jaskier chose to leave Oxenfurt and head to Kaedwen every spring, and Geralt himself chose to head in the direction he knew the two of them might meet after every separation. He also chose to travel at a pace the bard could keep up with.
They were choices each of them made, not Destiny. It was never about being worthy, or deserving or anything like that. They chose each other. They still choose each other.
There’s a note off, then silence, and Geralt opens his eyes (when did he close them?) to see that Jaskier is looking straight at him, fingers suspended over the strings of his lute, hesitant. Like he’s not sure whether he should continue or not. Geralt doesn’t want him to stop.
“Sing, please…” he whispers, so very, very quietly.
And Jaskier does:
“Drop the sweet disguise
Your heart's beating too loud
The fairy tales and little lies can't drown out all the sound”
“So take this heart and break this heart
For extraordinary things
It's not a want, it's a need
It is paying no heed to what others say to sing”
“The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love
Of them I have had enough
With you, I have enough
With you, I am enough
I am, I am enough”
There seems to be no more need for words after that. And really, after that song? Jaskier’s said more than enough, and Geralt? He’s always been a man of actions, rather than words. Which he proves when he crosses the room in a handful of long strides and then bends down to claim his bard’s mouth in what’s probably the most passionate first kiss either of them has ever experienced.
There was a time, however brief, after Jaskier woke, when Geralt thought that he might be in love with Priscilla. Yennefer said it was about love, after all. And Ciri was obviously his daughter, and knowing himself in love with the bard didn’t mean Geralt had yet processed the fact that Jaskier might love him too. But then as the days passed he couldn’t help but notice that Priscilla spent more time with Shani than with Jaskier, and then the two women chose to settle in Wolvenburg, even though they were offered the chance to stay permanently at Kaer Mohren. That was probably when Geralt finally saw what to so many had been obvious for so very long…
The witcher takes a moment to, very carefully, pluck the lute out of the bard’s arms and place it on its stand (he knows that if something happens to that lute Jaskier will cry and it’s the last thing he wants!), then he simply, picks the younger man off the chaise and carries him to the bed, when he puts him down slowly. Jaskier’s hands on his arm and back pulling him down with him.
“Geralt…” Jaskier half sighs, half moans as the witcher moves from his mouth to his neck.
“Mine…” Geralt’s whisper almost sounds like a growl, voice coming from deep in his chest, right before he sucks a very vivid mark into Jaskier’s neck.
He wants everyone to know the bard is his!
“Yours,” Jaskier agrees without a second’s hesitation.
And then, because of course this is Jaskier, the bard shifts just enough to move his head and latch onto Geralt’s own neck, where he bites down, just hard enough to break the skin (Geralt wonders if it’ll last long enough for others to notice it… he wants it to).
“Mine,” Jaskier whispers into the witcher’s neck.
“Yours,” Geralt agrees immediately.
And really, what else do they need to say after that?
Notes:
So, what do you all think?
Thank you for reading (and hopefully commenting, and whatever else), I hope you enjoyed.
Background story details I never had the chance to include in the fic itself: Shani and Priscilla are supposed to be together. At least, that's how I pictured them while I was writing this. Also, while I never found a way or a place to write it in. I imagine Shani being the illegitimate daughter of a noble. The half-brother she mentions when talking about the coup is the legitimate son who inherited the title and the lands. And while she was a bastard either her father or her half-brother still cared enough about her to pay for her studies at Oxenfurt, where she decided to study medicine in order to be able to make a living herself if she ever had to. Also, she was never one of the little birds but knew both Jaskier and Priscilla were, so she agreed to heal any of them, or the non-humans they were helping. When the members of the network were exiled she followed, because she loved Pris enough to.
Also, I imagine Milena and all the nobles I borrowed from inexplicifics were little birds as well. This being their way to rebel in this particular verse. Most of them ended up exiled (and disowned for their involvement) like Milena mentions; with the exceptions of those like Dawid (who ended up King instead).
I, of course, also imagine Lambert visiting Wolvenburg quite often and 'coming across' Milena. The two eventually coming together (I leave the how up to you all).
One more thing: that point in the fic where Geralt ponders how things might have been like, had he never become the Warlord. Whether he might have come across Jaskier and Ciri, and how things would have been in the path? That question is sort-of answered in the other fic that inspired this one: "Avalanche" it's my first fic, and while the beginning is somewhat similar to this one, there's no Warlord Geralt, and no Redanian Coup. So things on that end turn quite differently. In case anyone's interested and hasn't read it yet.
If you've gotten this far. Once again, thank you all for reading (and commenting). Huge thanks to inexplicifics for creating the beautiful AU that has inspired this, and so many other stories; and to my marvelous beta: KittyKitsune.
Hope to see you all around!
nashapixie on Chapter 1 Tue 09 Dec 2025 02:52AM UTC
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Lalaith_Quetzalli on Chapter 1 Thu 11 Dec 2025 09:42PM UTC
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LittleMrsCookie on Chapter 1 Fri 12 Dec 2025 05:15PM UTC
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Lalaith_Quetzalli on Chapter 2 Thu 11 Dec 2025 09:42PM UTC
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Dreiks on Chapter 2 Fri 12 Dec 2025 01:25AM UTC
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Lalaith_Quetzalli on Chapter 2 Fri 12 Dec 2025 01:38AM UTC
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sighing_selkie on Chapter 2 Fri 12 Dec 2025 02:47AM UTC
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LittleMrsCookie on Chapter 2 Fri 12 Dec 2025 06:14PM UTC
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sighing_selkie on Chapter 3 Mon 15 Dec 2025 10:00PM UTC
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Dreiks on Chapter 3 Wed 17 Dec 2025 05:32AM UTC
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