Time passed, and Jaskier had found his path again, walking it with his usual jaunt and swagger. He played for princes as often as paupers, but every now and then, when he found himself without a room for the night and with more time on his hands than company at his side, he would sit with his back against a tree, a small fire by which to warm his feet, and he would play for an old man he'd not seen in half a year.
With the days shortening and the biting, morning chill lasting longer, Jaskier felt less inclined to travel for his coin. He would find a tavern or an inn and use the few crowns he could earn with his lute to pay for his room and board. Though on nights when the patrons felt less generous, he would have to find other accommodations. This evening, he found himself several crowns shy of enough, and it seemed tonight would be spent under the stars.
The last guest left to their room and Jaskier's finger paused over the strings of his lute, the last chord he'd played lingering on the air as he waited for the inevitable.
"Time to clear out," said the inkeep, a robust woman with a pock-marked face and an unshakable constitution.
"I don't suppose you'd accept payment in charm and musical talent?" Jaskier asked with a cheeky smile, plucky a few joyful chords as if to pique her interest.
"Unless your singin' can put food in my nan's mouth, no," said the innkeep in an alarmingly motherly way. Might she have a rolling pin tucked away somewhere, waiting to beat errant bards around the ears for lingering when they oughtn't? Best not to try his luck...then again, since when had Jaskier learned common sense of all things?
"Far be it for me to deprive your fair nan of sweetmeats and treats," Jaskier rhymed, adjusting one of the pegs of his lute, though it was already perfectly in tune. He studied the tavern owner for a moment, wondering how he might earn her favor in order to stay the night. It was awfully chilly out there…
He didn't have long to ponder though, as the door to the tavern opened again and a rather plain-looking woman with average brown hair, average brown eyes and an overall fairly bland choice in dress and shawl stepped into the light of the hearth. Oh no he knew her, didn't he-?
"Gwenevere!" he exclaimed, smiling broadly as he stood up, strapping his lute hurriedly over his back and nudging it quickly into place. His smile withered around the edges when her expression remained stoney, plain eyes sweeping him from head to toe with disdain in their murky depths. Oh dear, she didn't look very happy to see him at all, what had he-
"My name is Grevelda!" the woman snapped. "It wasn't even me you'd stuck your prick in and you can't remember."
Jaskier's stomach sank into the ground and he reached up a hand to scratch at the back of his head anxiously, laughing again to try to dispel some of the nervous energy that suddenly lit his limbs like torches. He cast a panicked glance at the tavern owner, but she only smirked and shook her head as she continued to wipe the counter with a rag.
"Ah, I'm so sorry," Jaskier said, looking back to the woman, "had I spent that evening with your...sister?"
"My brother," she said dully, placing a hand on her hip as she leaned closer to him. "Have you got ale where your brain should be? Some nerve you've got showin' yourself 'round these parts again."
Brother...brother, her brother? Jaskier couldn't for the life of him recall a face or even a name-not that he'd gotten hers right either. But that seemed beside the point, perhaps he'd be better off not trying his luck with her either. Bruised pride was nothing compared to a flayed ego, and that's all he suspected he'd gain from her.
"As witty as you are beautiful, I'd expect nothing less," he said pleasantly enough. He snapped his fingers, brows raising in realization as he said, "You've just reminded me, I'm late for a meeting with a hag in a bog, and I haven't a moment longer to spare-forgive me!"
He beat a hasty retreat with the sound of indignant swearing ringing in his ears, reaching back over his shoulder to keep his lute from smacking him in the ass with every quick step. Thankfully, the woman didn't give chase, and he slowed down a moment later, breath clouding in front of him in the cold night air. He found himself in the town square, drawn to the notice board outside of the horse trader's house.
In the light of the lantern hung above the board, Jaskier read the notices, fingers brushing over some parchments which were so old the ink had mostly faded away and the paper had begun to crumble. Mostly the usual, notices about Nilfgaardian changes in regime, new rules and old being adjusted. Someone was particularly upset about suspicions of their pigs being violated during the night, and offered a hefty reward. Nothing of interest...yet still he looked. Whenever he passed a notice board, he hazarded at least a glance, looking for contracts that might attract certain do-gooders. He didn't know what he'd do if he found one, if he was honest.
Jaskier turned away from the notice board as a figure approached from behind. The cloak that shrouded the figure in shadow obscured all features except one-a strand of silvery hair. His pulse quickened as he stood to attention, anxiety bringing sweat to his palms, his skin tingling in short waves like an angry swarm of bees crawling under the sleeves of his doublet. Feverish chills coursed through him as the figure stood there motionless, as if unsure which of them should speak first. Jaskier's vision blurred around the edges blurred with tears-or was that hope? Possibly both.
"Excuse me lad." The man spoke slowly and in an even tone, not in the dark, gruff voice Jaskier had expected and yearned to hear. "I had noticed the lute on your person, and hoped you'd entertain my family for tonight. We can offer you a bed in return should you have the need. Can't promise it will be particularly comfortable, but we've warm blankets and a fire."
Jaskier's hackles dropped and took his shoulders with them. It wasn't uncommon for old folks to be kind and generous, was it? Not that he had very many interactions with them...mostly just one. Where was the danger in going with a frail older gentleman? He could just imagine his more skeptical friends looking at this man from every angle, questioning his motives, any strange shapes that might linger under his cloak suggesting weapons. But Jaskier was tired...he wanted to rest, and this man offered him the opportunity to do just that.
"That is a most generous offer sir," he said, tone light and grateful despite his disappointment. "Please, lead on."
They walked along together through the small town, keeping mainly to well-trodden roads. The moon was bright enough to light their path without the aid of either torch or lantern thankfully, though Jaskier did hope they wouldn't have far to walk-after a few weeks of sitting and lounging and lying down, his feet felt more tender than they had in recent seasons.
"Who shall I be entertaining?" he asked as they turned a corner, looking around for flickering candle lights in one of the windows that might suggest someone was waiting for them. "Is your family celebrating something?"
"Not necessarily, but we have been travelling for a good long while, and I believe your talents could lift everyone's spirits a little," said the old man, walking with the same patient gait. He didn't seem to be in much of a hurry. "We have good food and wine. You're welcome to join us, I'm sure a bard has more than a few stories to share."
"Hmm," he chuckled thoughtfully, "you're quite right, though far be it for me to take all the attention when you and your family enjoy an evening of mirth and merry. But I will I'll gladly play a few jigs for you."
Before too long, a small house came into view. Perhaps more of a cabin than a house, really. It looked solidly made, but part of the roof seemed to be sunken in, as if it were on the verge of collapsing. If there were candles lit, Jaskier could scarcely see their flickering lights past the caked on layers of dry, dead ivy and bryonia that caked the house. As they neared it, his eyes lingered on an intricate symbol carved into the wood beside the front door. It seemed fresh, as if it had been cut just that night. Jaskier was no expert, but he recognized the symbol for what it was-magic.
"Is your family waiting inside?" he asked, loitering a few paces away from the house with his hand on the strap across his chest that kept his lute in place. For the first time, he had serious doubts about the wisdom in following a strange old man across the village to a seemingly abandoned hut.
The old man turned back toward him, staring at him for a moment presumably, but his face was still shrouded in shadow by the cloak's hood. "You're wise to be wary, young bard. But please, if I wished you harm, would it not have been easier for me to strike you earlier? When your guard was down?"
"Comforting, thank you," Jaskier said, smiling emotionlessly. "Very reassuring."
Chuckling, the old man stepped up to the door and knocked thrice. When he opened it, light and voices and laughter spilled out, as if the door itself had sealed it all inside. The light from inside lit the stranger's face finally as he stepped past the threshold. His skin was wrinkled and leathery, as if he worked in the sun often, though there were more smile lines than anything. He had kind grey eyes, and as Jaskier looked closer, he realized the hair that was tied back into a tail was not silver, but dull grey. That was almost a comfort.
"I've found us a bard," he announced, to a collective cheer from everyone else in the building.
Jaskier took a breath, shelved his concerns, and stepped forward into the house. Immediately, he looked around in confusion and awe. There was so much more space than the outside of the building suggested. A long table with two seats on each side and one at each end, absolutely covered with every sweet and treat Jaskier could have imagined. He was particularly interested in a platter of sweet rolls whose glaze glistened in the light from the fire crackling in the hearth to one side of the room.
"What is your name, bard?" asked a new voice.
Jaskier blinked and looked up from the feast to the occupants of the table. There were four of them, two sitting in each of the chairs on the sides. They all wore travelling cloaks, but two of the cloaks were of much finer quality than the others. The clothes Jaskier could see under the cloaks seemed well-made, if not luxurious, and he could see no specific crests to suggest where these people hailed from. They all appeared human, but from his travels, Jaskier had learned not to entirely trust appearances.
"Dandelion," he said, looking around at the faces of the others. "That's what my audiences call me."
"What an interesting name," said an older woman with fair skin, grey hair and pretty blue eyes. Her cloak was brown and dull, and she wore it tucked well around her thin frame as if to keep her warm, though she sat closest to the fire. "Did your mother choose it?"
"I chose it myself," Jaskier said as he watched the old man who had led him here walk to sit at the head of the table. "I've found in my time that a certain degree of anonymity grants more freedoms than problems."
"Ever think you'd live to see the day a bard doesn't choose to tout his name to the masses for fame and fortune, mother?" sneered another of the cloaked figures. This one sat across from the first, a skeletally thin boy with sunken brown eyes and a hooked, beak-like nose. He couldn't have been older than twelve, yet his hair looked brittle and thin, as if it had begun to fall out, and his cloak looked the worst of them all-stained on the hem and burnt along the left edge.
"Tyler, be kind to our guest," said the old man. "So long as he can play, I'll call him Mother if he asks it."
"Have a seat," said the matronly-looking woman, pushing the platter of sweet buns Jaskier had not-so-subtly eyeballed toward him. "You look hungry. Have something to eat, then you can play for us."
Jaskier glanced at the old man, who nodded encouragingly to him. Only then did he remove his lute from his back and sit down, leaning the instrument against the side of the chair. He took the plate Hannah handed to him and served himself a sweet bun and a small piece of toffee. He'd already eaten supper, but who could say no to a sweet when it was offered?
"You're all very generous," Jaskier said. "Please, tell me your names at the least, so I know who to thank."
The old man reached out for a glazed ham hock, carving it with a serving knife as he said, "I am Ulrik, Hannah is my lovely wife. Tyler is our son, forgive his manners, I know for a fact his mother treated him better than that."
Tyler snorted and crossed his arms over his slender chest. The fingers of his right hand were blackened at the tips, the nails split and red underneath, like overcooked sausages whose casings had burst in the heat of the fire. Jaskier didn't realize he'd been staring until Tyler lowered his hands back to his lap, a scowl on his face as he glared across the table at the person beside his mother.
"I'm Josh," said a younger man from beside Tyler. He looked nearly identical to Ulrik, but without the effects of time on his youthful skin and light brown hair. "Tyler is my older brother. We're both sorcerers!"
"In training," said the last of the group. They had umber skin, a dark, yellowish brown that was bathed nearly golden in the light of the fire behind their seat. They had startlingly blue eyes, pale and watchful, in a face that was somehow beautiful and handsome at the same time. Their hair was shorn short on the left side of their head, braided on the right with tiny metal beads and ringlets woven throughout. It was all tied back behind their head, kept out of the way.
"We wouldn't still be in training if you hadn't made us leave home," Tyler said, his glare shifting to his father. "Jessie can't teach us properly if we're constantly travelling."
"I can and I have been," Jessie said, leaning back in their chair and crossing their arms defensively over their chest. "Perhaps you struggle to pay attention when you're more concerned with flirting with the local girls."
"Shut up!" Tyler snapped, his voice cracking in youthful defiance. "It's your fault I got hurt, stop blaming me for it!"
The resulting silence fell heavily on the room, the only sound the crackling of the fire and Ulrik's knife slicing through the ham hock. Jaskier had taken a bite of his toffee, but now was afraid to chew it. He bit the arrowhead and swallowed the bite whole, silently cursing himself as it scraped the inside of his throat all the way down.
"Let's not burden our guest with family matters," said Hannah sensibly. "Dandelion, please. Sing us something. A story, perhaps, I'm sure you've plenty."
That was the best idea he'd heard all night, and Jaskier was quick to pick up his lute and scoot his chair back a bit from the table. He cleared his throat lightly and plucked a chord to ensure it was still in tune.
"Something appropriate for the children," Jessie said, eyeing him like he was a rotfiend about to burst.
"Of course, my lady," Jaskier said with a nod, playing the beginning chords of a plucky song about a maiden in an apple orchard.
"Not my lady. Neither a sir," the mage corrected him. "You may call me my friend when you've earned the right. Until then, just Jessie."
Jaskier nodded, extending the introduction to the song a bit to allow him to say, "As you wish," before delving into the song.
Given what Jaskier knew about the family thus far, everyone reacted to his song about as he could have predicted. Tyler glared at the table the whole time, Josh laughed and sung along to the chorus once he knew it, Hannah and Ulrik watched their son and enjoyed his reactions as much as the song itself, and Jessie seemed indifferent to it all. Even as he performed, Jaskier had to wonder about these people...they seemed very out of place in this little village. Where had they come from?
He ended the song with a flourish and smiled, giving a little partial bow from his seat as everyone except Tyler clapped-probably best considering the condition of the poor boy's hand. Jaskier felt on top of the world with their praise, better than he had in a good long while. So he asked, "Any requests? If I don't know a song, I'm sure I know something very similar."
"Oh, oh! There's a song I heard in a tavern many seasons ago, it had a very catchy tune. It was about a witcher," Hannah said, studying Jaskier closely. Suddenly, he wasn't terribly excited to be in that hut anymore. He could lie...say he didn't know it. He didn't like lying, mainly because he couldn't do it convincingly. All his friends told him he had been a dreadful liar all his life, so why bother? This time, it was his uncertainty that made the decision for him, as he had been quiet too long.
"Oh aye, I think we've found the right bard," said Ulrik. "The one that wrote that song, my love. The one who used to follow the witcher around like a lost pup."
Jaskier's mouth ran dry and he moved his lute from across his lap, setting it between his knees now. He felt cornered at the end of the table, and he would have liked to beat a hasty retreat-what did these people want from him?
"Anonymity does precious little when you've spent years of your life hocking yourself as the greatest bard to ever live," said Jessie, watching him closely. "Spreading the good word of the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf who would sooner cut a child's head from his shoulders than let a creature he had deemed to be a monster run free."
It took everything in him not to bolt then and there. Not because they were talking about Geralt, but because they didn't seem very fond of him. And people who weren't very fond of a witcher likely wouldn't take very kindly to someone who had been friends with one for years. But he remained there, his legs as limp as the custard filling in the pie on the table, yet at the same time buzzing with energy that left him feeling light-headed.
"If I've done something to offend, I sincerely apologize," Jaskier said, his voice lower and quieter now thanks to the tightness in his throat. "It has been a very long time since I've seen Geralt… if you've a quarrel to settle with him, I promise I cannot help you resolve it."
"Look at him, he's scared," Josh said, not unkindly. "Can't we just-"
"Silence," hissed Jessie, their blue eyes snapping to the child and making him cower with only that look.
"We don't mean to frighten you, but we need your help," Hannah said, leaning forward until her cloak slipped off her shoulder. A pendant hung from a golden chain around her neck, a golden moon against a black background, shining over a stretch of water in the foreground. Jaskier didn't recognize it, nor did he know to which house it belonged-noble, but not renowned.
"More specifically, the children in our care need your help," Ulrik added, looking to Tyler.
Jaskier looked to the injured young man, and this time when Tyler looked at him, his dark eyes sent a shuddering chill down the bard's spine. It was like meeting the eyes of a predator in the face of a child.
Tyler's eyes were far from what disturbed Jaskier most, as the older boy lifted his injured hand. "Your son-of-a-whore witcher did this to me when I got in his way," he said. "He tried to burn my little sister, and I stopped him."
"It was really scary," Josh said quietly, looking at Jaskier from around his brother's arm. "I never saw a man with eyes like that before...not even Lady Deirdre's."
"I am the captain of the Blackwater family guard," Ulrik said. "You're not likely to have heard of them. They've been forced to leave countless lands and territories for hundreds of years, each generation suffering more injustice than the last."
"We've taken Aldor from his family home in the hopes of keeping him safe," Hannah added. Her words were directed at Jaskier, but her eyes focused on the arm of the boy who'd been called Tyler. So this was Aldor...and he was clearly not related to these people. He looked nothing like them. But Josh had called him brother-
"Oh, I see," Jaskier said quietly, taking a shaky breath. "You're in hiding, so you've given a false name-sensible." And familiar. He cleared his throat gently and shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't see where I come into this…" Nor whether he should want to involve himself-if these people were on the run from Geralt, surely there must be a good reason.
"We've come to this dark, depressing land in search of you," Jessie said. "The witcher is strong, cunning, and unwavering in his hunt. Much like the predator whose noble name he spits on. He's unhinged. Won't listen to reason, and is not beyond killing children."
Jaskier blinked, alarmed but unsure if he could safely express that. This had quickly turned from a fun gathering into an uncomfortable situation, and now it felt more like an interrogation. He adjusted his grip on the neck of his lute and said, "I'm sure that...whatever Geralt has done, he f-felt he had a reason-"
Aldor's uninjured hand slammed down on the table as he stood, chair hitting the backs of his knees and skittering backward to crash to the ground. "You think reason makes it acceptable to murder children?"
As quickly as it had come, Aldor's rage dissolved. Josh stood quickly to right the chair before Yearden fell back into it, clutching at his arm, expression twisted in pain. The boy's dark eyes bore into Jaskier, as if daring him to say anything contradictory.
"We need someone to talk sense into the witcher," Ulrik said. "We would kill him outright, but a man doesn't earn the title Butcher if he's easy to kill."
"And you think somehow I'm going to be able to do that for you?" Jaskier asked incredulously.
"We know you have history with him," Hannah said. "The ballads you've written about him and the raven-haired sorceress, a mere fairweather friend doesn't admire a man enough to write and perform songs about him."
Jaskier leaned forward slightly in his seat, voice a little lower and more urgent, "Geralt is-was one of my dearest friends. But I promise I cannot help you. The last time I spoke to him, he told me under no uncertain terms that he never wanted to see me again. Seeing me would probably only make him more angry , and an angry witcher is not what you want…" His voice broke and cut off as Jessie leaned in closer to him. They smelled of spices and herbs...cloves and something much less pleasant-potion ingredients.
"For a bard, you do more talking than singing, and it's getting on my nerves," the mage said. "You'll help us. If he kills you, that's no great loss. There are other bards, and I can make them look however I want. I wanted to save myself the trouble if we could find the real deal first." They moved their left hand in an intricate motion and there was a flash of light that left Jaskier's eyes aching. He blinked slowly, mind adrift in haze and fog as he relaxed back into his seat. What had he been so upset about?
"What did you do to him?" Ulrik asked, though he sounded curious rather than worried.
"Witchers aren't the only ones who can control minds, they're just rude about it," Jessie replied. They sat back down in their seat and snapped their fingers. Jaskier turned his head to look at the mage as they said, "You are going to follow us home. You will distract the witcher Geralt of Rivia. If you should fail, you will protect Yearden Blackwater and his siblings, Maritula and Valka with your life. Understood?"
"This isn't how I wanted to do this," Hannah murmured, rubbing the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger.
"Then it's a good thing you are not," Aldor sneered. "The mage serves me, and so do you. You'll do as you're told and you'll shut up about it."
"Jaskier, tell me you'll do this," Jessie prompted. "I need to hear the words."
With the bickering going on around him, Jaskier had thought it better to stay quiet for the time. He'd even been momentarily distracted by the pastry in front of him, only to have his attention returned to the mage sitting across from him. "Hmm? Oh yes, of course. Anything I can do to help," he said. There was a loud clatter beneath the table, and Jaskier looked down to see his lute lying on the floor where it had fallen, neck broken in two, strings splayed out grotesquely. He felt it should have upset him greatly, but all he could do was chuckle, shake his head, and say, "Clumsy me."
"We leave in the morning," Ulrik said. "Eat quickly and then sleep. We've a long journey back to Novigrad."