The wind whipped bitterly around him as he stood on the very edge of a steep cliff, tears burning marks down his cheeks and leaving angry red lines. A bitter taste had begun to fill his mouth as his stomach churned violently.

How had this happened? How did it become this?

Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you shovelling it?

Jaskier's hands pressed against his eyes painfully, a pitiful way to stop the burning tears the curse makes him produce. He should have worked harder to persuade Geralt not to go on this quest, he should have just stayed at the bottom of the fucking mountain with Roach or better yet… he should have left the moment Yennefer stepped into the tavern.

The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!

A keen escaped his lips as he fell to his knees and tipped over, hands going from his eyes to his ears to block the voice that was only heard in his head. Agony rippled over him in waves, heart breaking asunder in his breast.

He had done what Geralt had asked, had removed himself from his Path, just for a moment, just to let him cool down but he knew… Jaskier knew deep down that at the moment, Geralt meant every word. So, he wandered the mountain where they stopped, leaving him here alone and shattered.

"All will work out, in the end, Little Cub." Borch consoled from a spot near him, out of arms reach though Jaskier thought that was a little beside the point of doing considering he was a dragon. It also didn't surprise him that Borch knew what he was, who he was.

A hysterical laugh escaped Jaskier's lips as he scrubbed at his aching eyes. "No, not it will not. I loved him beyond words and yet…"

"Perhaps this was supposed to happen Cub, Destiny still has her plans for you," Borch replied calm and just as annoyingly mysterious as he was with Geralt.

"Destiny has shown her hand to me long ago when I killed my sister," Jaskier replied bitterly. "Cursed the way I am till I am loved the way that Levana loved Violet. My destiny is to watch those I care for age and die, to be long-lived and weak."

"Are you though?" Borch asked with an inquisitive look. "I have watched you from the moment I came to hire Geralt of Rivia, and you are far from what you describe. Yes, a curse holds onto you barely, but weak? No, you are not that."

Anger and disbelief lit up within Jaskier at that. "What use is a Witcher who cannot be a Witcher?"

"Tell me, Julien, what would it be then? I have heard your songs sung far and wide, and have seen them change the minds of many a being. You may be cursed to be a human, but you still walk the Path, you face the stonings and the prejudices of man, yet you continue on." The old man explained. "I know the type of man you are, a good one, a brave one. You took what happened to you with a grace that would break any other man on the spot."

"Yet here I am broken now, tell me Borch, what other wisdom will you share with me? Perhaps I'll finally be turned into a toad by Yennefer? Death by smothering by a beautiful woman? What else is there left for me?" Jaskier asked bitterly, hands clenched tight enough his fingernails dug into his palms.

Borch eyed the man with pity, "you were given a choice years ago and that time is coming, your destiny is interwoven with others now deemed by your heart and choices. War is coming Julien of Kerack, will you answer destiny's call?"

The silence after that seemed to stretch on forever as numbness began to settle in Jaskier, one that he had not felt since the curse took place and he had hung his Medallion on the wall permanently. He felt empty. The chasm of it opening and swallowing everything that made him Jaskier just like it had done to Julien, now he no longer felt like either.

Seems Destiny was always going to be against him, not that it was not what he deserved after all he has done.

Geralt may not want him in his life, but Borch was indeed correct, war was coming.

Straightening, Julien turned away from the edge of the cliff, dipped his head towards Borch and made his way towards the trail that led down the mountain.

He had chosen.

X

It took Jaskier several days to make his way down the mountain, the path he took was not a well-known one but it diverted him from Geralt's path to Caingorn and brought him out on the outer skirts of Barefield's farmlands that were backed by the Kestrel Mountains.

He didn't know where he was going but went wherever his feet took him, though the roads were treacherous, and the sweltering air of the day turned freezing the later it got. It took him to delve into his mind for long forgotten hunting techniques and herblore on what were poisonous or not. Long life and better endurance, speed and accuracy were one thing, consuming poison was another.

Where his mutated physique could purge it, his human one could not. Learnt that the hard way.

Every day was a hardship, each step felt like walking through the boggiest of marshes and mud together. Singing no longer brought him joy, every town he came across asked for songs he wrote for Geralt and it burned through him like Ignii.

Though several songs managed to find their way into his notebook, one of them not ever meant to be sung but with each town, the whispers of Nilfgaards approach, how they were making their way north made him think.

He didn't have much time.

Soon enough he began to recognise his surroundings, bringing another bitter taste to his mouth as he looked up at the familiar peaks of the Blue Mountains. It had been a very long time since he had been this far north in Kaedwen, in fact, he hadn't been back here since the Tournament.

The closest town he refused to even step foot in, goddess be he tried to keep away from Geralt and yet his feet led him to the path that went up towards Kaer Morhen. Perhaps that was a good plan as it was still the middle of summer in the north and so far he has heard no rumours of the White Wolf.

"I'm weak my love, and I am wanting…" he sang brokenly as he made camp in what he could remember was a safe part of the woods that they used as a stopping point when the weather permits.

"Oh, how low I have sunk." He muttered as he struck the Firestarter to get the small campfire going.

His hand strayed to the Lark Pendant multiple times to contact one of the others, yet something stilled his hand each time. He had claimed them as friends, as brothers in some way or another and none knew who he was exactly, perhaps he was a burden to them as he is now like he was to Geralt?

Did Eskel and Lambert agree with their brother?

Did he in giving Aiden his sisters' Fangs be inviting more heartbreak?

Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you shovelling it?

"I know, I know, I know…. I KNOW!" he screamed into the air scattering what little wildlife that was around him. He could feel the familiar rage of his mutations under the curse, screaming to let it out and be free once more but he can't.

War was coming and he had a choice to make, one he made long ago actually. He needed to get to Cintra, to Cirilla…

A snap of a twig had Jaskier spinning, his body crouched, and his hand curled in the air like it would if he had his claws while the other rested on his dagger. "Who's there!?" he demanded. "Show yourself!"

Slowly, the first thing Jaskier saw was the silver hair that had his fear spiking that it may be Geralt but that vanished fast as the Witcher stepped into the clearing. Relief hit him hard and he collapsed onto the little bit of log that he pulled over when he was lighting the fire. Not Geralt but another Wolf.

"When I saw you skirt past the town, I found it strange, for why would a bard give a wide berth to a town that would willingly give him coins… I followed because there is a pack of rabid wolves near… then the longer I watched you it was understandable." The Witcher stated slowly, almost in the same tone as Geralt. "Hello, cub."

"Vesemir. What brings you to my camp beyond the obvious?" Jaskier asked as he pressed his hands to his eyes once more, willing the tears to stop once more.

Of course, he would run into the Grandmaster of the Wolf School, of course, he would remember Julien. They had met once before on the path just after the sackings and before the tournament before he was cursed. Destiny was cruel to drag him here.

Vesemir took in the haggard appearance of the Witcher before him, taking note of the changes since he had last seen him. Gone was the bulky armour Bears preferred, the claws he always wore no longer strapped to his forearms, swords missing and replaced by a red leather coat, silks and a lute. Though that was concerning, what was even more so was the fact that Julien seemed smaller, his frame thin and hunched in, smooth skin in place of scars and storm blue eyes of a human.

"What happened Julien?" He asked calmly, hand curled around the dagger at his back. His medallion hadn't given any indication that the man before him was a doppler or some other creature.

Hysterical laughter escaped him. "You'll have to be more specific Vesemir. Are you asking about my current appearance or are you inquiring about the fact I am no longer a Witcher?"

"Both."

"Well, I was cursed by a witch. Whatever the curse does it consumes my mutations till I am human, I am still long-lived, of course, slightly more durable but everything that made me a Witcher is consumed by the chaos twisting in me. If I wore my medallion then I can be a Witcher again, but the pain is unimaginable, if I am to be told if I wore it for a while it would kill me." Jaskier explained with a bitter grin.

Vesemir jolted at that, his hands falling to his side. "What? Julien that is a powerful spell, what did you do?"

Jaskier waved his hand away at the question. "It doesn't matter, this is my life now."

"Why are you here then Julien?" Vesemir asked as he stepped close to the fire, taking a seat.

"I wandered and my feet lead me here, perhaps it is because of you," Jaskier explained with a sense of dawning realization. "War is coming, Nilfgaard marches North and in time your pups will need you."

A frown pulled at Vesemir's brows. "But we do not involve ourselves with the affairs of men."

Snorting Jaskier gave the elder Witcher a sardonic grin. "Ah, but you do, all the time. Destiny has her pieces and the board is already set. None of us will be able to escape her plans, so be prepared Vesemir."

"What is your part in all of this then?" Vesemir asked gravely.

"I'm not sure yet," the Bard replied far away, his heart steady but mind in a whirl. His hand moved to his lute case, pulling out one of the Lark Charms that rested in the hidden compartment and tossed it to Vesemir idly. "You'll need this in time, hold it and think of me and I'll hear you… if I hear of any news I'll do the same."

Catching the charm something clicked into place within Vesemir, he had seen the small thing on Eskel, Lambert and Coën that one year he came. Everything began to make sense, why Julien was here, why he seemed to be determined and bitter. This was Jaskier, the bard who followed Geralt and helped his boys on the path.

His boys who didn't know that the man who took care of them was one of their own.

He placed the charm in one of the pouches at his waist and stood. "I'll keep it in mind. Kaer Morhen will be open for you if you need it, Julien."

Closing his eyes Jaskier nodded, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. "Maybe. May the Path be easy for you Vesemir."

"And for you Cub."

When Jaskier opened his eyes again he was alone. Tonight, he will rest, tomorrow he will head to Lettenhove to collect a few things, plans already forming.