If there was one thing Jaskier hated, it was acknowledging that, somewhere deep inside him, he was just what he hated, mocked, called the wrong name on purpose to make some obstinate point that no one else knew he was making.

He was a pretty little conduit of chaos, someone who gave their soul for a longer life.

No matter what he did or which one of him he was, Jaskier, Mlecz, Wyzlin, he always stayed a stupid witch. The kind of stupid witch who did something very wrong but he couldn't. Fucking. Remember.

Bristling, Jaskier said, "You know, if this damned spell wanted to make me forget who I was, truly was, wouldn't it have been a little pertinent to smudge away that "I'm a no good, asshole magic-user full of chaos energy and doom" part? Hmm?"

Whoever, or whatever, this sick and twisted fire Doppler was, he just kept smirking like a kid at a fucking holiday party. "You know better than to think it was left there on purpose." It sickened Jaskier to see him place his hands on his hips, fingers tucked back but unfurled, the same damn way he did it. Every time Jaskier scrunched up his nose or frowned, that void smile only got bigger. "Some things are harder to erase than others. Especially when you want the bad things that make you feel bad gone, but can't stop yourself from keeping the bad things that make you feel good."

"Don't."

When the flame figure spoke, there was a new bite to his words. "Don't be bitter about me speaking your truth. It's what I'm here for, reminding you." Jaskier seared his eyes over the figure's skin, desperate to find a weakness, a way out. No matter how many answers he was desperate for, everything about this Doppler of him felt wrong, wicked, malignant. Even knowing he could use magic, if he needed to, didn't make him feel safe.

If anything, it just made him feel like a liability. After all, this thing looked like him, sounded like him. Was it such a clever copy that it cast like him, too?

Jaskier threw his arms out to his sides, unable to keep bottling up the confusion, rage, fear, a tidal wave of emotions ready to burst. "Well I don't need any bloody reminding, not about the fact that something in this big stupid brain of mine is broken and bad! What I need to remember are these people. Why can't I remember any of them? Why can I remember that I've had 8 different lives, but I can't recall half the names I took or what they did? What did I do to make me want to erase it all?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" The Doppler snorted and shrugged, like this was a fucking game.

Jaskier was willing to play games out there, to survive, to try to see goodness in the world. But not here. Here he would fight tooth and nail for what should be his.

Pacing back and forth, he tried to think of any loopholes, any way he might have made for himself to get out of this. This had to be a trap in his spell he set off, right? So there had to be a way to break it. But to fill the space, he'd at least give the annoying asshole a tongue lashing. "Real clever, making me argue with myself. A version of me who's being a real asshole, might I add. What a lark of a fucking dream."

"Really, poppet? You're smarter than that. I am not you, Jaskier. " The fire illusion bowed, and Jaskier didn't like how it was even deeper, prouder, than the one he used to make crowds happy. "I'm the one who made you forget."

The bard rolled his eyes. "So, in other words, me?" He swallowed, having to face the truth of this spell, these lost memories, and the culprit he feared was behind it all. "I'm the one who did this to me, aren't I?"

"So, in other words, because you weren't listening when I said I'm not you: my Pier is a much different man than your Jaskier, trust me."

Every step he took down this road, talking to this thing that enjoyed tormenting him, he only ended up more confused. These weren't answers. They were more and more traps. He only had so many limbs to chew off, only so much strength to break the web. He couldn't go too deep.

But he also couldn't help but ask, "Pier? Who is that? What happened to him? Why can't I remember him?" Jaskier felt like he was spiraling. "What the fuck even are you? Some bizarre, cryptic defensive measure triggered by whatever damned spell I put myself under?"

"Pier was a plain, simple, milquetoast, dull little man who definitely had the forethought and imagination for an entire, elaborate nightmare trap." The Doppler poked his chest, and when Jaskier looked down, he flicked his nose. Like they were fucking children. "Wouldn't that be easy for you, blame it on others?" Well, if it wasn't the spellcaster, then... As if he was reading Jaskier's mind, the void smile soured and said, "No, you fool. I'm a conjuration made by your own subconscious. Because underneath all this sickening, noble curiosity, you're fucking terrified of me and whoever else you used to be." The man laughed. "As you should be."

"I need to know who I was so I can stop feeling this emptiness. To move on, be of some fucking use."

"I need you to realize that maybe that's the exact intention for making you forget."

"Don't speak in riddles, it's trite, even for me." Well, if this thing was professing to be the manifestation of his deepest fears, the core creation of this spell, then he'd have to use that to his advantage. Treat the unwanted Doppler as a conduit, a djinn, to reach the true source of the problem. Crossing his arms, he gestured to the figure. "Let's get it over with: end this spell."

"Don't act stupid. I'm an illusion. Only you can do that."

Jaskier furrowed his brows. That was it. He was done with the cryptic conversation, the threats, the promises of other men in one body who he never knew. His voice hoarse, distressed, courasing against a tight throat, Jaskier demanded, "I said end it!"

The Doppler across from him just shook his head, like he was some idle, simple fool at a carnival. Living his entire life to entertain.

What this bitch didn't know was that Jaskier only entertained for coin, nowadays.

No one would play him a fool.

Finally, the Doppler, illusion, whatever the fuck he was, sighed and replied with, "I said all of this was done for a reason, but fine. I'll give you a little taste." Walking up to the bard, he planted a kiss on his cheek, and his lips didn't burn; they felt like tundra ice. "Be careful what you wished for, little bird."

That nickname, that endearment, twisted everything around. That was what the bearded man called him. Unfortunately, that was the moment he realized that this Doppler was the one who knew everything, and the bard was a child petulantly stomping his foot at an old man's game.

He had no fucking clue what he was doing, or what he was asking for.

Jaskier's determination sunk through his stomach, through the floor, as the fiery figure raised its hand. Unsteady, his heart stumbling through his chest, he asked, "Be careful about wha-"

And then the fire snapped and collapsed to the ground.

That would have been fine enough of a dumb little parlor trick, if the flames didn't start spreading around him. And in a dark wave, the fog dissipated and showed him a meager little bedroom with wood panel walls, a bed with red sheets. In the corner there was a pile of instruments: a guitar, a flute, a tamborine, all stacked haphazardly. And the window showed a sky with very few stars and a blood red moon.

All of it was one fire.

At his feet was the woman with auburn ringlets from before, her eyes closed, her breathing low. He collapsed to his knees. This couldn't be happening. A new vision of a different horrible thing?

Suddenly, the woman was gasping for air, her golden eyes wide open. He reached for her, desperate to help her, but when his fingers touched her cheek-

Jaskier realized he was on fire, too.

When his hands touched her face, it started to melt under his fingertips, like a wax candle. But it wasn't a candle, it was her skin and her bones and she couldn't even scream before it was melting down her damned throat.

Yeah, he couldn't fucking breath either. If anything, it just made him sick.

This wasn't the bearded man, the kind of pain that branded into his bones, but he could still feel his heart twist, his fondness for her stab a new knife in his back. It's just that the person betraying him always seemed to be... Well, him.

He loved her, once. Whoever she was.

That knife only twisted harder when a shrill scream came from across the room. A little girl, strawberry blonde with freckles on her nose, was crying and shrieking into a little stuffed owl. Jaskier's mouth fell open, but he had nothing to say.

At least, he thought he did. But eventually the ringing in his ears made him realize the screaming was a duet.

Someone grabbed his shoulder. When ihe turned, it was the bearded man with the beautiful hazel eyes. "Jaskier?" He stroked his cheek, held onto his shoulders, tight, like they were holding him together. "Jaskier, wake up!"

"I can't-"

His handsome stranger who he wanted to remember shook his head. "You can." And no matter how much warmth he felt from him, no matter how much he wanted to remember, Jaskier was far too aware that maybe it was better if he never remembered, if that's who he was.

A bringer of death.

"For fuck's sake..." The bearded man's face started to change, and his eyes got more desperate, aggressive. He slammed his shoulders against the ground. Jaskier's eyes opened, he saw yellow instead of hazel, and his tired throat stopped screaming. "Wake up!" Sucking in a deep breath, the Witcher let go of his clavicle. "What the fuck was that?"

Jaskier shriveled, sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest. What the fuck was he to tell Geralt? He had a fight with his past doppelganger while he was casually on fire, then had haunting nightmares of several people he possibly murdered? People he loved and couldn't remember?

He'd fucking commit someone if he heard that.

Giving a shallow laugh, he said "My imagination getting the best of me."

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

With a helpless sigh, Jaskier tried his best to give the Witcher something to sink his teeth into; enough to disinterest him. He waved his hand and gave the easy answer. "Nightmare. Mage fire."

Much to his surprise, Geralt patted Jaskier's arm with his hand, a gesture far more gentle than he expected from the hulking loner. However, right on cue, he recoiled from it. No matter how shit Jaskier felt, it was endearing after all the horrific-

He didn't even want to keep noticing it.

Grunting, Geralt tried to soothe him. "It can't touch you here." While he appreciated the Witcher's odd grimace of a reassuring smile, Jaskier winced away from him. He could see his hands on his knees, and he doubted the sentiment.

After the bard winced, Geralt's face fell in a way that didn't quite make sense. He said, "You think I was cruel to them."

Jaskier blinked. "Who?"

"The baker and her daughter."

He didn't mean to, but he laughed.

Where the sassy, vulnerable part of him wanted to tell the damn man that this wasn't about him, the part of him that was growing sickeningly soft for this Witcher wanted to grab his own hand back. That is, if he didn't feel so uncomfortable with his hands.

So Jaskier just took the opportunity to talk about anyone but him and his problems.

"What? Nononono, you did what you had to. That was a serial killer shrieking about Mommy Dearest waiting to happen."

Geralt refused to look at Jaskier. "You think me heartless."

Rolling his eyes, he flexed his hand, to mitigate the shaking, and then pinched the man's cheeks to make him look at him. Jaskier wasn't planning on repeating it for the rest of forever. "Hold up, brooding Witcher of mine. I did not say that one bit. So listen to me again." When he was sure he had his attention, he released Geralt's face. Staring into his yellow eyes, that sometimes looked so severe, he now just saw a lonely man that he woke up to every day. Who now was by his side to chase the monsters away, even though he wasn't some noble knight. Jaskier said, "Heartless men don't give a rat's ass about taking children away from unfit parents. Or, about bards who get stuck in mage fires, real or nightmarish."

Where Jaskier was pretty proud of himself, Geralt looked unmoved. "Hmm."

"Magic is dangerous. It's best never to forget that, and to remind people not to poke around at it when they don't know what they're doing. But most people aren't strong enough to say no. You are." Jaskier paused, scanning Geralt's body language for some sign that he was getting anything out of this. But the man was like a fucking statue. Sighing, he added, "If you think I'd find you heartless, or leave you, or be scared of you, why do you bring me along?"

"Because."

"Oh, what a useless answer! Because what?"

"Because I wanted to know if you would work."

Jaskier snorted. "Ah yes, I, a portable, handheld bard, do work in the wild and the city! Just as the sales pitch promised."

"Not what I meant."

Sometimes he wished Geralt was less stubborn about speaking in sentences under seven words. "Then speak plainly, Geralt. Not like crypticism is your only option. Because I know better by now and I don't have the patience at this moment to decipher you."

Geralt growled, but turned to face him more directly. No matter how annoyed he looked about it, he opened up. "I wanted to prove that even the people who want to go with me can't take it. It's always something. My eyes. My powers. The danger. On and off I'll find a person who begs to come along, they aid me on one mission, maybe two. But then I'm a circus freak to them, who comes around town every once and awhile for their amusement. After a while I stopped letting people accompany me. You're the first in over a decade."

"Aren't I special?" He said it like a sarcastic joke, but it bundled up this little ball of warmth in him that he couldn't quite explain. Also, he wondered how the poor idiot managed to pick out a raging fire bomb of doom disguised in flower crowns and soft songs for his experiment.

What a luck Witcher he was.

Geralt scratched his neck, his scowl deeper than normal. Jaskier didn't even know someone could make it look like their mouth was ready to slide off their face. "But after you, I wonder if I should have just brought Tybalt with me. Let him try."

Snorting, Jaskier asked, "Take the sex maniac along? That's just asking for trouble." While the bard thought he was pretty funny, Geralt's raised eyebrow looked far less amused.

At first he thought it was for the slightly uncouth jokes about a dead man, but when Geralt started peering jaskier up and down like a rotting hun of flesh, he realized it more had to do with the bard's own bed. He pulled his blanket to his chest, quite indignant. "Hey! I'm a sex connessiuer, not an uncultured young spaz with a kink for danger." But as the cloth fell from his fingers, Jaskier stared at his hands and admitted perhaps more than he should, to a handsome Witcher. "And I'm too much of idiot to ever leave, so don't think me some great proof just yet."

Trying to change the topic from the weird bubble of warmth latching itself to his lungs, making him want to hiccup every third breath, Jaskier asked, "Do you regret him, now?"

"Not sure."

"Fair enough. Well if it matters at all to you, I'm thankful to be with you, no matter the trouble it's put me in or these silly nightmares in my head. Inspiration guides me, but I was withering in Posada. Travelling with you changes-"

Geralt shook his head, like this was a story he'd already heard before. "I heard you."

"But I didn't finish-"

"No. I mean with Roach."

All those warm fuzzies earlier meant nothing compared to Jaskier's heart turning to a diamond lodestone at those words. If someone ever wanted to execute him, all they'd have to do was throw it in the nearest ocean. He'd be helplessly sunk.

After all, what was he to do when the Witcher knew he was a monster? And what did it mean, that Geralt knew and wasn't looking at him like he should end up on his blade? Because from what Jaskier knew, he probably deserved it. "Oh."

"I don't know why you're afraid of a bard, but travelling with you isn't the worst thing to happen to me, so you stay, idiot or not."

"Oh!" The crystallization of his heart cracked. Geralt had only heard the part that wounded his pride, not changed everything about him.

That was an accidental confession he could live with. Especially since now, looking into Geralt's eyes, the bard was thinking he didn't really want to be anywhere else.

Maybe it would be okay, forgetting everything he used to be, and just staying by the Witcher's side.

Quietly, he said, "Well, thank you. I'd like that."

"Just don't be too fucking annoying."

"I will absolutely never promise that." Geralt got off his bedside, doing that grumble-groan that was starting to sound like music to his ears, and Jaskier dramatically flopped upside down off his bed. "Too many songs to sing, hearts to be won, and hilarious quips to be said."

"Ugh." Geralt seemed to be finishing packing, preparing them for their next travels, now that Vergen was done setting itself on fire. "Your Miller's Daughter song isn't half-bad, though."

While the Witcher was all grumpy again, Jaskier was making sure to paint his vulnerability in the back of his mind like a portrait. It wasn't something he wanted to forget.

Perhaps he couldn't get the others back, but he would keep this Witcher for as long as he could.

Chuckling, Jaskier got off his bed to stretch. "High praise."

"Don't be weird about it."

"Too late. Already thinking up a new song titled, "The Witcher Loves Jaskier's Music". Not quite as catchy as I'd want it to be yet, but I'm sure I'll work out the kinks."

Geralt groaned, but he had the wisps of a smile on his lips. "Breakfast. Now." He cocked his head towards their door.

Attentive as ever, Jaskier shoved everything he own haphazardly into the pack (he wasn't known for organization) and pulled out the key from his pocket with flourish. Geralt wasn't as entertained by his little show as he hoped, just nodding at him.

The bard lamented, "Back to single word sentences, my favorite." Then he walked in front of him to open their door.

However, the hallway was a little more interesting this morning than it was last night.

Practically bouncing on her heels, her green eyes locking with his like they just entered a duel, this young woman smirked up at him. Jaskier didn't expect a beautiful elf when he opened. Honestly, he was just dreaming of sweet rolls and a decent omelet. But those golden flecks in her eyes really caught his attention, as did the fact her face could barely reach his shoulder. Though, from the look of her, if he mentioned it she'd run him through with the intricate bow strung on her back.

The bard wasn't sure if he found her small and adorable or distractingly beautiful. It was a combination he rarely ran into, and he was dazzled by it.

Before he could say anything dumb in his "desperate for a distraction" morning glow, she opened her mouth. And it was not the sweet tune of a songbird, but the undelicate swing of a short sword. "Hello, gentlemen. My name is Shashka and you're going to help me break into a castle."

/

Jaskier's mind is... a lot. It stresses me out. But getting Geralt to talk about his feelings, even a little bit, is a big 10/10 Now, who the hell is this little Shashka? She's really bringing out Jaskier's inner Bicon. Thanks so much for reading and double thanks to my patrons: Danyell Jones Amy Connolly See you Wednesday! PS: Sorry if there's more typos than normal, I've been more lax on myself this week because I needed it so my editing is less than its best. Hope you still enjoy!