Even though he was pretty sure he could get stabbed through the chest at any moment, Jaskier tried to breathe like a normal human being. But those damn yellow eyes, inquisitive, perplexed, staring right through him, were making him itch a way he hadn't since he last got caught in some wife's bedchambers. Jaskier replied to his question with an ever-so-convincing, "N-nothing."

Holy fuck, he was going to die by the hands of a handsome Witcher.

This wasn't exactly how he pictured it; he was more hoping for something like a sensual bath-drowning with candles, roses, and a ravishing assassin.

Maybe if he asked nicely, Geralt would at least give him a kiss or something before he got run through? Would make going a little easier.

Across from him, though, the Witcher's brow didn't move a millimeter. "Hmmm." And then he just looked down at the fire, like it was no big deal. Jaskier was hyperventilating, but sure, no big deal. "Could hear your voice. Not the words. Doubt I missed much. Were you talking to my horse?"

When Jaskier exhaled, it was like his entire soul was leaving his body. So did that mean Geralt heard nothing? Trying to play the idiot, to do anything to distract from the admission of his nightmares, Jaskier focused on their mutual confidant: Roach. "Psh. You saying you don't?"

"Of course I talk to her." Geralt glared at him, and Jaskier wasn't sure if he'd start bubbling with panicked laughter or kiss the damn man. He really didn't seem to know anything. The assumption was only confirmed when he added, "She's not interested in your dirty jokes."

Jaskier hadn't thought too much about kissing Geralt (though he thought about kissing a lot of people quite often) but he'd also never been so attracted to someone for being an oblivious moron, either. Even if he didn't hear anything, he should know something was up from Jaskier's trash attempts at levity.

But instead, here they were.

As if on cue, that panic laughter finally boiled up through his larynx and fell out his mouth. "Why would I tell your horse dirty jokes?" Getting a hold of himself, Jaskier bound his eyebrows, put on his best smirk, anything to be the playful bard again. "If anything, I'd sing her an absolutely lewd lullaby."

"Fucking bards."

While Jaskier felt a weight lifting a bit off his chest, it didn't make him feel any less nauseous. Despite his better judgment, he asked, plainly, "So you really heard nothing?"

Geralt only rolled his eyes, busy with undoing his bedroll. "No. Sorry to miss your performance."

"Really a shame. There was a whole skit involved and I'm pretty sure Roach fell in love with me a little."

Flopping into his makeshift sleeping arrangement, Geralt turned away from him like he was being annoying and intrusive, not a panicked disaster. He just grumbled and said, "Go to bed."

Normally, Jaskier would have more clever quips to annoy the Witcher to sleep. However, for once, he took the silence as a blessing. It was the only way he was going to pull his sanity back together.

Decades, centuries of keeping this secret, and all it took was a friendly looking horse and a white-haired Witcher making him feel some things and he almost watched it all crumble in front of his eyes.

All those blank spaces in his mind felt like they were drilling deeper into his skull and all he had in between them was the cranky Witcher and the face of a man he couldn't remember.

It was like something kept scratching at his ribcage, begging to be let out, but there was a stronger prison there than he knew existed. And the prison was tightening, at the threat of letting it out.

He couldn't help but wonder, under the near-infinite stars, if it wasn't just a slip of his memory that left all these holes in him.

And Jaskier knew some part of him was desperate to set it free, now knowing there were faces behind those bars that could be his again.

There was such a deep-seeded fear in him, about the man he used to be. It felt like he couldn't breath and he'd be better off the side of some cliff, when he thought too long about it. So, no wonder for so long he chose to abandon them.

No wonder he chose to be someone very different.

Jaskier didn't know what to do, about the bard clashing with these lost memories and the possible danger it put him in. But he had to wonder, was the danger real, or something someone put inside him to ward him away?

Listening to Geralt's snoring, he couldn't get his head straight at all. The way his chest constricted earlier must have turned his brain into a colossal mess, and he had no right getting himself all worked up and theoretical about nothing.

The answer was simple. His past contained something dark and wrong and for some reason, psychological or magical, it had been locked away long ago.

That needed to be enough.

He closed his eyes and picked dandelion petals in his head. A proper night's rest, and he would be good as new.

That's what he hoped, at least.

In the morning, Geralt was up and about far too early (per usual) and left the mug of tea next to Jaskier's head (also per usual), as if nothing weird had happened last night at all. Even though Jaskier couldn't rub the discomfort out of his bones at the mere thought of being discovered, it truly seemed like the Witcher knew nothing.

In his infinite moronic thought-process, the bard wasn't sure if he was disappointed that he wasn 't finally forced to tell the truth.

Which was dumb, because it wouldn't make any sense to anyone else and would probably get him killed. Jaskier had to keep his mind occupied, distract away from the murky waters of his past and his new compulsion to reveal it.

No handsome man, lost memory or Witcher, was worthy of that.

Instead, Jaskier busied himself with the only thing that made him forget his own faults: music. He strummed his lute, thinking of the lost girl and her vampire's kiss. He hummed, visions of her bedroom and own lute, the journal at her bedside, the objects left behind by a woman who once thought her future was to turn from a miller's daughter to a miller's wife.

It was tragic and poetic that in the end she lost both.

Despite all his singing and noise, Geralt didn't react much to Jaskier's music. Much like the first day they met, the Witcher barely even acknowledged him. The bard truly hoped he wasn't one of those tragically dull people who didn't enjoy music.

If that was the case, he'd definitely have to break that terrible opinion of his.

But for now, he had his newest song, "The Miller's Daughter", to work on.

Remember the girl with the willow bark hair,

Her father sits lone, burning memories with fire,

Her lute sings solemn, sweet through the autumn air,

Forgive the daughter drowned by siren's mire,

She dreamed of love

Weather the storm, love, it's all you can do

All she wanted was love

Now whether she's loved, is all that's left true

So goes the tale of the Miller's Daughter

Two days later, walking upon the town of Vergen, Jaskier was absolutely worn through, his voice hoarse, his brain practically melted through and volcanic. Geralt, on the other hand, seemed unphased.

Even though his voice was still ready to strangle him at a moment's notice, Jaskier couldn't stand the thought of letting Geralt take the verbal lead. Especially since that meant there would be no conversations or planning at all. Ergo, he coughed, apologized to his vocal chords, promised them warm honey, and asked, "Now that we're here, what should we be looking for?"

Almost offensively, Geralt ignored him.

While Jaskier was normally a patient man-

Cut that thought. He wasn't. Patience was barely even in his vocabulary. So, very on par with his normal behavior, then, he glared at the Witcher.

Before he could speak, though, a little girl caught his eye, one playing with a frog in the dirt. She had this cherub little smile on her face, and the daintiest little fingers. Even though her plump cheeks were covered in dirt and her dark black eyes were the kind that could easily go from sparkling to tantrum in under a second, she was adorable.

But just as he was ready to coo, he saw fire flicker in between her fingertips and she looked up at him, that cute smile turned into something that made his bones chill.

"Geralt-"

Getting the Witcher's attention was futile, though, because a cart passed between them and, when it was gone, so was she.

A little mage lost to the bustle of town life.

Despite the disappearance, though, Geralt was still looking at him, unamused by his sudden silence. Jaskier coughed, figuring his own magical paranoia probably wasn't a proper distraction. She probably was just experiencing the flickers of her presenting powers.

After all, not every sorcerer was a monster.

So, Jaskier chose to focus on the task at hand. Easier, that way. Using his hands to gesture, he said, "I know you love to do your furrowed brow, above it all look and just stew yourself in some petulant silence, but if you want me to be useful instead of a babbling idiot-"

Hopping off Roach, Geralt tied the girl up to a stable hitch and started walking towards the center of town. "We're going to find a guard."

"Thank you for the information/" Jaskier scanned the crowds to find a hazel-eyed woman sans helmet, but with the guard insignia on her armor. She was watching the crowds with an intense stare, but it was the kind that was cautious, uncertain. The insecurity practically oozed off her, but not because of herself. Her shoulders were stiff, her nose high, expressions of a proud woman. The insecurity came from those around her. This guard didn't trust any of them, did she?

If Jaskier had to guess, she was likely a lower tier nobleman's daughter who thought herself better than her family by helping common folk, but still thought the phrase common folk was good to use when talking about the villagers she helped. Nodding towards her, Jaskier offered, "What about her? She's pretty."

"We're looking for information, not new ways to be a lech."

He scoffed. If he wanted to be a lech, he would openly be honest about that. "No, you absolute dolt. She's a pretty woman with a sword. People probably approach her more often for her looks than her abilities. She doesn't hold herself like she feels very comfortable around the villagers. Of all the miserable looking sods around here, she's going to be the most receptive to being asked by strangers about her job. Take her seriously, and she'll pop open like a well-worked artisanal puzzle box."

With an ever-prolonged silence, Geralt looked him up and down like he just got switched with a Doppler. "Hmm."

To assuage the poor Witcher's hunting ego, Jaskier said, "I'm a bard, I know people."

Geralt didn't respond. Instead, he walked them over to the guard at a brisk pace. Her eyes widened uncomfortably as they advanced, looking like she hoped they weren't coming towards her.

The bard almost openly laughed. If she couldn't handle them, how did she deal with anyone less composed walking her way?

Though, he had to give her, a tall, broad Witcher advancing on them gave most humans pause.

He did not miss the days of being such a frightened mouse about powerful people.

Being extra grumbley and low with his words, Geralt asked, "What can you tell me about the murder a few days ago?"

"I'm not supposed to talk too much to civilians-" The look of mild disgust at Geralt's dirty clothes would have been hilarious if it wasn't so pretentious. Jaskier did not miss women like her from any of his forays into royal courts.

Cutting off her bullshit before it got too awkward or offensive, Jaskier threw her a line that would actually interest her: "He's not a civilian. He's a Witcher."

The guard breathed a comically large sigh of relief. All it took was a title and she was all friendly. Maybe he should toss in some random titles of his own, see how she reacted to that. "Oh, thank god. The talk of vampires has really been creeping me out." Now that she exhaled, it was like she was trying to cram every word in a single breath. Jaskier seemed to find everything about this woman dramatic and overdone. It made him wince more, knowing he was probably much more like her once upon a time than he'd like to admit. "We pulled the man out, but he already was cold. Drank too much smoke from the fire. But he had two bite marks in his neck, fairly fresh. Means a daywalker's afoot. Makes your blood run cold, doesn't it, knowing they could be anywhere among us?"

Ignoring most of her conversational frill, Geralt asked, "Any leads?"

"None. No one even knew there was a vampire here until this happened." Her hazel eyes sparkled and she leaned in closer, like she had some great clever secret. "Don't tell anyone, but we have guessed that his hunting grounds are the local tavern. Been keeping an eye on it. The victim was the town drunk. Easy target for prowling bloodsuckers and all."

Knowing a little too much about taverns himself, he was unsettled by the amount of people still walking in and out of the one a few shops down. "And you all haven't warned the tavern-goers because...?"

"Well, then the vampire would know, wouldn't he?"

With a well-deserved recoil, Jaskier knew he shouldn't expect better. But he was hoping she was more "wayward self-righteous tomboy" than "feeding the system asshole". He got a little more heated than he should have, saying, "And this is why I don't trust authority figures." Then, he tried to insult her best he could, but his cracking voice and fried brain gave him little to work with. "To think, I thought you'd be a very interesting person to talk to over dinner!"

Startled, she stepped back from them, her hand reaching for her sword. "I-"

Reaching for her sword just because a civilian was a bit much. The nerve.

Ever the meddler, Geralt got in between them and said, "Ignore him. Thank you."

Still heated, Jaskier ruffled his own hair and gave her the finger. If he was going to a tavern like these villagers, he might want to know that he was being used as bloodsucker bait.

But since he couldn't rightly punch a local guard in the face, not if they wanted to get anything done, he grumbled, gravelly, "Guess we now become the tavern lurkers."

Geralt's vocal choices were rubbing off on him.

"No. We split up."

Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks, looking back at Geralt, assuming that was a fucking joke. But those yellow eyes looked very serious. What the ever-loving fuck- "Witcher says what now?"

"I'll save you if you're in danger."

"Still not good enough. Explain?"

Sighing, Geralt uncrossed his arms and flicked a lock of Jaskier's messy hair. "Weak, handsome bard wandering alone? Good target. A Witcher with a silver sword? Any vampire knows better than that."

"So you're going to use me as bait?" While he was annoyed, there were other questions also on his mind. As any sane man would, Jaskier got caught up on a certain word that the Witcher willingly used when describing him. "And can we backtrack on that part where you called me handsome, because I find that very interesting-"

"Focus." And with that, Geralt started walking off like he didn't just tell him he might let someone make a juicy beverage out of him. "Start looking. I'll be around."

But before Jaksier could complain, Geralt disappeared into the crowd. He grimaced. "How in the hell is a man like that sneaky? He's built like a fucking brick castle, and I've lost sight of him. Maybe I need bifocals."

While he didn't have a perfect grumble-groan like Geralt, Jaskier did sigh and bemoan all around town for the rest of the day. He talked to a local baker who said he had a wild bread-sniffer that the guards wouldn't get rid of. And there was a barmaid who twinkled her eyes and tried to flirt, but Jaskier could tell from the winks she gave everyone else and the pristine state of her knees that those winks had no truth behind them.

He spent several god damned hours making himself talkative and available, hovering around the tavern and the surrounding area. But no. Absolutely nothing.

In all honesty, he was a little offended. A cute bard chatting everyone up with wonton abandon had to be irresistible to somebody, right?

That's it. Vergen sucked, just like Gulet.

By the time dusk started sticking its dick into the day, Jaskier was staring down the bottom of his mug, absolutely destitute about the sad state of his evening. "I spend my entire day bored and alone because of some Witcher's dumb master plan. Perhaps the vampire isn't looking to suck off young handsome men." Twirling the empty glass, he started to imagine all the scenarios that sounded so much more fun than this that he might be excluded from right this second. It was better than the dull emptiness, at least.

He didn't realize how much he'd gotten used to Geralt's grumpy presence.

Jaskier grumbled, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying as the Witcher's. "Maybe the vampire has more distinguished tastes to take back to his bed. Maybe Geralt is the exact kind of person he's looking for. For all I know, they're back in the vampire's bed-chambers, fucking up a storm, and I'm sitting here, wasting my coin on sub-bar beer like a rightfully laughable idiot."

After a few taps on the table, Jaskier was rightfully over it.

Shoving away from the tragic wood cut far before its time, he left the necessary coin and got up. "Fuck it, I'm tracking down Geralt."

When Jaskier got outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon line, reminding him of Geralt's own yellow eyes.

Oh how he would like to find that asshole so easily.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone duck into the alley behind the tavern. Finally. If this was some fucked up game Geralt was playing with him, it wasn't funny. Not unless there was one hell of a prize at the end, the kind of prize he doubted Geralt was the type to give.

But, considering the circumstances, Jaskier would settle for finding him and smacking him upside the head for once. What a genius fucking master plan-

Just as Jaskier walked down the alley, though, the figure was gone. And his "I made a dumb fucking mistake" radar was on high alert.

Groaning, Jaskier said, "Fu-"

Before he could finish his sentence, he could feel the man that appeared behind him, just as tall as Geralt, but not nearly as warm. And even better, before he could turn, the man shoved him into the alley wall. Albeit, much lighter than the last time looking for Geralt ended in being assaulted in an alley.

The fact this wasn't the first time, though, left a sour taste in his mouth. The vampire's smooth fingers pressed into Jaskier's skull. "Don't move, human, and you won't get hurt."

"For fuck's sake, I finally stop looking for the damned creature and I get picked off like the village idiot in a horror serial. Great."

The nails once pressed against his skull grew limp. "You sound..." With a swift flick of his wrist, the vampire turned Jaskier around and boy, did the bard not like what he saw.

Golden hair tied back with twine, lithe build and tall stature covered in paled, chalky skin, black eyes with a surprising softness to them, long arms always extended to others, lashes for fucking days... Fuck.

Where Jaskier wished to leave his own vampire's kiss an anecdote of a man long forgotten, apparently fate had other ideas.

Breathless, he asked, "Darien?"

"Mlecz?"

Jaskier didn't know what to say. Well, except the obvious. "Fuck."

Real quick, Darien went from slightly predatory to the smile people gave when they met an old friend from school in the streets. Except, unlike Jaskier's slight grimace, Darien seemed genuinely enthused. Even his fangs retreated behind his teeth. "Of all people, I never thought... And you haven't looked like you aged a day!"

There was the kicker, too; Darien, the lovable idiot, wouldn't put together why, in the twelve years since they saw each other, Jaskier would look like the same drifter he once shacked up with for a week.

His eyes flicked from one side of the alley to the other, desperate for Geralt not to show his damned face at the worst time. When the coast was clear, he glared at the vampire.

This bloodsucking ex-flame wasn't going to fuck this up for him. "Shh! It's Jaskier now, don't you dare utter that cursed name ever again." The bard ran a hand through his hair, as if his now-greasied locks could grab a hold of this absolutely batshit and out of control situation. "Fuck. Pretend you don't know me. We've never met. I'm some stranger that you actually did just assault in the alley way." Leaning his head to the side, Jaskier pulled at his tunic and exposed his throat. "Here, take my neck, make it look real."

Darien looked terrified, albeit rightfully so. That didn't excuse the fact that now that Jaskier was willing, the vampire was being a little bitch about it. Back in the day, he'd certainly been more than eager to suck him off a little while the bard was, well...

Let's just say there was a lot of quid pro quo involved.

But Darien just said, "What the-"

While the man's reaction was comforting from a "man trapped in an alley with a vampire" standpoint, Jaskier didn't have time for Darien to be a decent person. He turned towards the brick wall of the tavern again, whisper-shouting over his shoulder, "You blow my cover and I tell the Witcher with me that you like to commit arson after every feast. Now press me up against this fucking wall like you mean it!"

The only good part of this blood-curdling encounter was that Darien was tragically submissive. With the saddest, gentlest hands, he pushed the back of Jaskier's doublet forward and into the wall.

Well, if there was one thing Jaskier knew, even if Darien was this Ariel character, this mess of a man didn't kill anyone. He couldn't even take control of a possibly thrilling situation without having a soft, shy, and awkward reaction.

As a proper actor and bard, Jaskier took the reins. He shouted, using the raspiness of his voice to his advantage, "Geralt! Help!"

He could almost feel Darien's palpable panic. "Mlecz- Jaskier, I don't understand-"

Before he could finish his sentence, though, tall, dark, and yellow-eyed appeared at the end of the alley, sword in hand. Jaskier was not going to tell him how hot he looked later, because that was something he really didn't need to admit to himself.

With an effortless growl, much better than anything Jaskier had been doing earlier, Geralt demanded, "Hands off the fucking bard."

If Geralt wasn't such an asshole of a grump, and he was a much younger man, Jaskier was pretty sure he would've fallen in love right there.

/

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