You can not rush greatness.

That was Jaskier's philosophy. That was what he believed in when his songs didn't immediately come up, or when one of Geralt's hunting track turned out to lead nowhere.

You can not rush greatness, nor fame, nor kindness, nor destiny. This was why Jaskier firmly believed that it was not Destiny that had cursed him. It would imply a change in her plans because even though Jaskier was now mute, he hadn't gone back crawling to the witcher's side like the curse said he should.

At first, he was repulsed by the fact that he had no choice but to beg for money. Sometimes, when he was lucky, he could get a one-day job and he would spend all his hard earnings at a sorceress or any kind of mage he could find to try to have the curse lifted. He never got lucky.

They all had the same kind of excuse. "This curse is too strong for me"... "You must have angered someone very powerful"... "I can't help you." He was getting tired of their speech but he had no other choice than to keep on visiting mages after mages until his situation became so well-known that the word started circulating between them and they knew about him as soon as he entered their shop. This only brought more problems since most of them wouldn't try anymore, using random excuses like "I don't have enough herbs" or "I am too busy this week". But he knew. He could see that resignation was set in their mind.

It took him an eternity to accept the fact that no one could help him. Maybe Yennefer would be powerful enough, but he didn't want to have to explain himself to her out of all people.

It happened that one day, he met a sorceress that seemed powerful enough to lift the curse. She accepted to help him and spent the evening preparing. He saw her grind herbs together and draw incantations on the ground. She told him that the result was not certain, but he was ready to accept anything that might have even a slight possibility to work.

The pain had been horrible, but comforting. Pain meant that it had to work, right? Pain was good. Because it meant changes and rewards. But no. The solution didn't work, and Jaskier was left hurting above being left disillusioned once again.

After this, Jaskier had little hope that anything would work. Still, he did everything he could to prevent him from having to go back there, but in the end, he never had a choice. After a particularly harsh week, he found himself without a crown in his pocket and no matter what he did, he could not get any money at all. Now, Jaskier wasn't the kind to steal, but this week had been so hard that he had considered the option multiple times.

This is when his story went from bad to worse, and when he decided that he couldn't live on the streets anymore. He looked more and more like a seventy years old ragged homeless and he was sure that if he kept on living in the streets, he would die of hunger or from the cold. Winter was settling in and he could not keep up.

One evening, in order to get some food, he actually had to -just thinking about it made his heart clench- he had to sell his lute. His baby, gone in the oily hands of a stranger. The elven lute that he had cared for all his life… Gone. Of course, Jaskier got a very interesting price for it, but still. With his lute gone, it felt like a piece of his soul had finally cracked, and that his destiny had been decided for him. It was at this moment that he understood that clinging to the hopes of staying a bard while he was mute was stupid and dangerous. It was the milestone that got him to use his last resort plan.

His choice was either to become someone's servant and die in the next three year due to mistreat and abuse… or to go back home, to the Pankratz family, and hope that they still wanted him.

It wasn't time to fool around anymore, it was time to go home.

This is how he found himself at the gates of the Pankratz mansion, with tattered clothes due to the long travel and a hungry ache in his stomach. Looking like a swamp hobo, he wasn't expecting the royal welcome. Especially since it had been more than 20 years since he had last given his family news about his whereabouts. They probably thought of him dead.

When he approached the gate a little closer, the guards stepped in front of him.

"Who are you?" Said the one on the left. "State your business now."

Jaskier went to retrieve his notebook in his pocket, which made the guards tense. Thankfully, they were not stupid enough to arrest him in the spot.

He wrote "I need to see Viscount Pankratz. My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz."

Both guards tried reading on his notebook but after a moment, they were just looking at him with suspicion.

"You…?" The first guard started saying, but he didn't have time to finish before the second guard grabbed Jaskier by the collar.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Are you trying to trick us into thinking you can write? You think you're funny, heh?"

Jaskier wasn't afraid. There was nothing this man could do to hurt him. Well… there was a lot that he could do, but nothing that Jaskier cared enough to be afraid of losing. He turned the pages to the first one where a prewritten "I'm mute" was waiting for the guard.

The man released him and turned to his companion.

"This is out of our league," said the other man without missing a beat. He had watched Jaskier being manhandled without feeling the need to stop them but now he seemed less at ease. "Can you read what he says? We should bring him to the Viscount."

Ah, fatal error. Jaskier had hoped that his father's guards knew how to read, but it appears that they were too stupid to help him. Although the situation seemed to be going his way anyway.

"Bring a beggar directly to the Viscount? Are you short of a marble? Our job is to stop solicitors, not invite them in."

Would Jaskier be in full possessions of his abilities, he would have talked his way in like any other time. He would also not be here in the first place. Right now he could only wait and hope that the second man's opinion weighted more heavily in the balance than what his submissive look suggested. This was not boding well for him after all.

"But what if it's important? I think I recognize some curves, he truly knows how to write."

"And what if he's faking it? He probably saw some random writing somewhere and tried to reproduce it."

He looked Jaskier over for a second and the ex-bard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This explanation was a bit far-fetched.

"I will not take the responsibility to bring some homeless wanderer to see Viscount Pankratz. And mute too."

Jaskier knew the argument was lost when the guard protecting his cause nodded slowly, contemplating the other man's point of view. He huffed. He had to make a detour then.

"You heard that, beggar? Get lost. You are not needed here."

Pitiful guards. They didn't even check with someone who can read.

He didn't want to be shown the way out so he left on his own. He waited for the night to come before getting closer again. The door was still heavily guarded, but not the secret passage he had used as a kid to escape. Of course, the vegetation had grown back by now. Thorny bushes tore his clothes. Jaskier couldn't care less. They couldn't be in a more pitiful state than they already were anyway.

He went to the castle, escaping lights and guards. It felt wrong, escaping at reverse. He had run away a long time ago, with just a lute in his hands and a head full of dream. At that time, he couldn't care less about money or social status. And now, he was coming back crawling –quite literally– wounded and frightened like a wild animal. His head was full but his voice was gone, and his hands were empty, carving for the money and the wealth he had escaped a long time ago. The only thing he had managed to do on the roads was breaking his heart and his dreams.

How horrible the world was.

He managed to sneak in his chamber without making a sound. Nothing had changed. His bedroom hadn't changed, which was… awkward. It was bothering him more than he would admit.

What to do now? Should I go wake my parents or wait for the morning?

He had not thought this part through. However, the choice was taken from him when he walked on a plank that creaked louder than the rest.

Fuck!

And fuck indeed, because someone had heard that. And that someone was coming right to him. He hid behind the wardrobe. He was too big to hide inside now. The footsteps came closer. They stopped in front of his door. The light illuminated the inside of the room through the slight opening of the door.

Please don't come in. Whoever you are. Don't come in.

"Is there someone there?" An uncertain voice rose from the entrance.

Ah, Christina! Sweet sweet Christina. She is still working here. Go away!

This woman was the sweetest nanny a little boy could dream of. He would hate to scare her by appearing in the room of the lost child that she took care of years ago.

But the stars weren't with him that day, because she entered the room, intrigued by something.

"What happened here?"

Shit, I left the window open!

She came in and the wavering light revealing more and more of the room with each of her steps. Jaskier knew that he would have to run. She would discover him whatever happens.

He bolted from his corner. Christina started screaming right away. He avoided her and went for the door. He was running as fast as he could through corridors, remembering with disturbing clarity the way to his parent's bedroom. He bumped into a guard at some point and pushed him away. The guard was not ready and tumbled down.

When he arrived at his goal, the whole castle was awake. There were sounds of metal clanging and guards running everywhere. Jaskier didn't have a lot of time. They would come to protect the viscount first.

He entered the room, which woke up his mother. The poor woman started screaming right away, backing out of the bed and on the floor. There was no light in the room, he could understand her fright. Having a beggar jumping like a devil in your bedroom would make anyone scream.

He went for his father, shook his shoulder furiously. The man woke up with difficulty. He took his notepad at the last page, the one that he had shown the guards earlier and that said "I need to see Viscount Pankratz. My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz." He shoved it in his father's hands, hoping that he would read it, or at least wake up enough to see his face and…

"Hey!"

Hands grabbed him. He was taken away easily. They kicked in his teeth and they punched him in the ribs. He was down in an instant.

"What is the meaning of this?" His father asked. "Who is this man?"

"A burglar, Sir. He came in through your son's window."

"My…?"

That seemed to wake him up, but the guards were already taking him away.

Read, dad! Please!

But he was powerless as the guards closed in front of him, hiding his parents from his view. He was taken to the dungeon.