I read somewhere that you haven't written Witcher fanfiction until you've written one with an Amazing Devil song. Well, here's my offering to that! (Though it's technically my second Witcher fic...).

Originally I was planning on using a beautiful song from Karliene called "Wing's Howling", yet around the time I started writing this I got really obssesed with Inkpot Gods, I could imagine not just Jaskier singing parts of that song, and whom he'd be referencing, but Ciri as well.

Time-travel fix-it is my favorite trope and I really wanted to do one of those for the Witcher. Big thanks to Xianvar and her own time-travel fic as it helped me decide where exactly things would change from. This fic starts after the end of 2x05, and aside from some specific events of 2x06 (which happen in completely different ways) the rest of the season doesn't happen at all. Apologies because I'm gonna follow Netflix's example in summarily ignoring logic where it comes to distances and travel times. If you need an explanation, magic is involved!

There are some minor references/spoilers to events shown in the latter Witcher novels and in the games, though they're minimum and you don't need to be familiar with either to understand this story.

The song here (in the title, and with lyrics used liberally throughout the story) is of course Inkpot Gods by the Amazing Devil.

Hope you enjoy!


(If I don't make it back from where I've gone)

Just Know I Loved You All Along

By: Lalaith Quetzalli

Yennefer presumed dead, Jaskier missing, Eskel half-dead from a mutated leshy, Nilfgaard hunting him and his child surprise down; Gerard did not need any more reasons to be upset. And then Ciri wouldn't wake up. Now, now there's a woman kneeling behind the keep, who looks and not like his daughter, who smells of flowers and forest and fire, who wears a witcher's medallion… just what the hell is going on?!

"And what you hear is not silence

It's just the trees waiting to hear what next you'll hum"

It's the voice that first draws them to her.

Or actually, no, it's the constant buzzing of their witcher medallions, a buzzing that changes speed and strength, that becomes lower and sharper by turns yet without actually ending. Once they're outside the keep they first pick up on the voice, almost like a whistling in the wind, it takes them even longer than that to make out words, to realize that someone's actually singing somewhere nearby.

"And what you see is not the dark

It's just the gods upturning ink pots 'cause they know what you'll become"

They do eventually manage to follow the voice, and that's when they find her: sitting on a big rock near the edge of the lake: petite, with lightly tanned skin, long chestnut brown hair somewhat windblown that falls over her shoulders, she's wearing what looks like a two piece copper colored dress, the top piece short enough to leave her midriff bare. There's what looks like an old, slightly threadbare, violet cloak on the snow behind her, looks like it's been mended and patched in a few parts; though she's not wearing it, it's like the cold cannot touch her…

"And to those gods, I will speak bluntly:

We've an accord, if you ever touch or harm him

Please, rest assured that you might not fear a man

But to a woman, by the end, you'll kneel and plea

'Cause I'm more than what my mum told me to be"

Geralt steps forth, opening his mouth to say something. He's just noticed something that he can't quite believe just yet. It's so strange, should be impossible and yet…

He doesn't get the chance as they're interrupted by a creature bursting out of the bubbling lake right then. And how did none of them notice that the lake wasn't yet frozen, or that it wasn't as placid as it should have been?! Were they truly that distracted by the unknown woman's singing? That's a dangerous mistake to make, could have gotten them all killed, might still get her killed!

"Drowners!" Lambert yells loudly.

Most of them don't even have their weapons on them! Thankfully they do still have signs, and Igni's quite effective when dealing with the creatures. Geralt, Lambert, Gwain and Coën working together manage to kill most of the drowners. Not all, not really, yet when they turn to face the next monster, they're surprised to see the woman landing gracefully on the snow, fire vanishing from her extended left hand, while in her right she's holding what looks like an elegant dagger in a back-handed grip.

She shakes the blade purposefully a bit, and Geralt's sure he's not the only one who senses the bit of magic she uses to clean it from drowner guts before returning the dagger to a sheathe strapped to the inside of her forearm… which none of them noticed before. Was it hidden by magic, or are they that distracted?

"What are you?" Coën blurts out unexpectedly.

Surprisingly enough, the woman doesn't seem offended at all by either the question, or the tone. She spins around, bending in a move that looks both dramatic yet still purposeful, picking up her cloak and settling it over her shoulders before she's even finished the motion. Which leaves her standing in front of the three witchers, in her copper colored dress, purple cloak and tanned leather boots. Her features are delicate, almost elfin, skin unblemished but for a single scar that crosses her left cheek, from just under her eye all the way to her ear; it seems like a miracle that her eye is intact with how close the edge of the scar is, and while it looks like the injury must have been bad, it doesn't seem to pain her or affect her at all.

Something else Geralt cannot help but notice is that her elaborate spin caused the pendants to fall out of the neckline of her top, and while there are at least three things hanging from that thick chain, one of them is clearly a witcher medallion! School of the wolf even!

"Are you a witcher?" He demands.

His voice comes out a bit sharper, harsher, than he intended, though he has a good reason. Really! There's just too much going on. Yennefer dead after the battle at Sodden, Jaskier apparently missing (Geralt asked after him, even tried looking for him in a few towns while he and Ciri were on their way north to Kaer Morhen, intending to go get him once his child surprise was safe, yet no one seems to know where he is, no one's seen him in some time); Eskel half-dead due to that freaky mutated-leshy (and he knows they're all so, so lucky they could get him back alive!); Nilfgaard hunting him and Ciri, his child surprise, down; Vesemir's attempt to create new witchers left him not knowing if he can even trust his old mentor anymore (the closest thing he has to a father!)… and now Ciri's not waking up! They were supposed to leave early in the morning, make their way to Ellander, except she didn't wake up. No matter how hard he tries, nothing Geralt does has been enough to wake her. Even Triss doesn't seem to know what to do. And if it weren't for the buzzing in the medallions and the thought that whatever was causing it might be connected to it all, Geralt would still be by his child surprise's side.

"Witcher, witch, courtier, traveling minstrel, depends on the day of the week, really!" She replies in a very sassy tone.

"C…Ciri…?!" Geralt blurts out.

It's not possible. Or it shouldn't be. Her hair is the wrong color, chestnut brown instead of ashen blonde, and that scar on her face… but her eyes, they're the exact right shade of green, and her voice… even though they've not known each other for that long, Geralt can recognize that voice (there's probably just one voice he can recognize with more ease…).

It shouldn't be possible… yet it is.

"Hello… dad."

xXx

They try to get her to the keep, but while she follows them as far as the courtyard, she refuses to so much as go inside the actual building.

"That might not be the best idea." She tries her best to explain. "I might be the Lady of Time and Space, but time-travel is a new one even for me. I cannot know for sure what will happen if I get any closer to my past-self, though I'm guessing it might not be good." She exhales. "That's probably why she's unconscious even now. There cannot be two of us existing in the same place at the same time. Which also means she'll most likely wake up once I'm gone."

"And when will that be?" Lambert wants to know.

She doesn't answer.

"Ciri…?" Geralt calls, as softly as he knows how. "Do you… can you get back?"

"I… don't know?" She shrugs, somewhat helplessly. "I didn't exactly plan on coming back, you know? I just… I got a bit lost, I think. In my anger and… and my grief and… my magic got away from me." She exhales loudly, pressing her palms against her eyes. "I hadn't lost control so badly in many years…"

"How… how long…?" Geralt didn't quite know how to ask, or even what to ask, exactly.

"I've been off-age for a while now." She answers. "Though even I don't know how old I am, not really. It's… I've been aging very slowly since… well since I started using magic, I suppose. But beyond that. I've been to different spheres throughout the years. Time never passes quite the same in those worlds, and even the way time passes as I go from one sphere to the next can be more than a bit iffy. I once spent over a year in a world, only to come back to just a few weeks after I left. I also ended in a world of monsters and despite getting back as soon as I had enough power to open a portal, I ended losing several months somewhere along the way!"

Which had made things like time, like age, more than a little superfluous in the long run. She looks like a woman in her twenties, though it's hard to tell how much the scar might make her look older, or her power make her seem younger than she might truly be. There's also her hair color that keeps bothering him, though Geralt's not quite sure why exactly. It's not… it doesn't look wrong exactly, in fact, the color reminds him powerfully of someone…

"Where's m… Yennefer?" She corrects her slip just in time, and no one seems to have noticed it.

"Yennefer… she's dead." Geralt says grimly. "Sodden."

"Ah… No she's not." Future Ciri is just as blunt as her adoptive dad ever was.

"What…?" Geralt wasn't expecting that, at all.

"She's not dead." Ciri rephrases. "I'd know."

Before she has a chance to say anything more, or anyone can ask any questions something happens: the witcher medallions start vibrating, sharp, harsh vibrations, all of them, including the two (two!) that hang from the chain around Ciri's neck.

"What the…?" Lambert begins, turning to her.

"That's not me!" Ciri snaps, then something occurs to her. "Wait, you said w… you and younger-me were supposed to leave for Ellander today?"

"Yes." Geralt nods. "What…?"

He doesn't get the chance to finish the question, as in a second Ciri's bolting. A portal opens two steps ahead of her and she's diving straight through it, all while calling Vesemir's name. Geralt doesn't even stop to think about it, following right after her. The other witchers hesitating just long enough for the portal to close before they can make up their minds.

The portal leads straight to the library, where they arrive just in time to see Vesemir crashing against one of the tables, sliding across it and as far as the stone wall on the other side. Triss is on a side, surrounded by magical fire.

"Vesemir!" Geralt calls out, hurrying to his mentor.

In that moment anger, annoyance, distrust, none of it matters. Vesemir's still the closest Geralt's ever had to a father. Ciri for her part, her eyes go straight to the man in dark clothes, with awful burn scars on one side of his face. He's bending down, about to pick up something, a vial! But the young woman is faster than him, her magic following her intent without need for a single spell, as the vial slips right through the mage's closing fingers, flying straight to Ciri's open hand. She doesn't even think about it, as she calls on some fire of her own, not just breaking but totally destroying the vial and all its contents. The mage practically howls in his fury, the other three only able to watch and wonder at the significance of what's going on.

"No!" Rience rages. "You're going to pay for that witch!"

Ciri's reaction is instinctive. She doesn't stop to think about the situation, about possible consequences, the moment she senses the beginning of a portal taking shape she's one the move. A flick of her wrist and the dagger slips into her right hand. A gesture of her left one and a single word in elder is enough to delay the formation of the portal, just enough to allow her to reach the mage (firefucker!) before he can flee, then she's brandishing her blade with a quick, precise motion. Rience's throat is slashed open before he even realizes what's going on, the cut deep enough that there's nothing he can do. He bleeds out in seconds at her feet.

It's until the light disappears from the mage's eyes, the dark, clogging echo of his magic going along with his life-force, that Ciri seems to realize what she's just done.

"Well fuck."

xXx

She's already gone straight into the keep, so it seems a bit ridiculous to insist on going back out. Still, Ciri refuses to go anywhere near the towers (where the bedrooms are located), going as far as opening yet another portal to get from the library to the main hall to ensure she keeps as much distance between her and her unconscious younger self as she possibly can.

So she ends up sitting on a bench, before one of the long tables, the rest of the witchers siting around her on different benches or even the tables. Triss is in one of the towers, keeping an eye on Ciri's younger-self and the still recovering Eskel.

"Who the hell was that?" Gwain wants to know.

Ciri's not sure what angers him most, missing the fight, or that Vesemir tasked him and Merek with disposing of the body.

"Firefucker." Ciri deadpans. "At least that's what p… what some people called him. I think his name was Rience? He was in prison, until someone got him out and sent him to hunt me… the younger me, down. He… he interrogated, tortured and killed several people while tracking me down, trying to find me. He…" She turns to Geralt. "He found Jaskier, in Oxenfurt."

"Is he…?" Geralt's shaken, cannot even finish the question.

"He's alive." Ciri reassures him as much as she can. "But he's not alright. Firefucker had him for several hours before m… Yennefer rescued him."

"Yen…" Geralt murmurs, still a bit caught on the knowledge that she's alive.

As if her name alone were a signal of some kind, the doors to the main hall open right then, and none other than Yennefer of Vengerberg strides into the keep.

"Yen…" Geralt says yet again.

The tone is different, less reverence and more… relief, acceptance.

Ciri cocks her head to a side for a moment, as if contemplating something. It doesn't take her long to make up her mind though, and soon she's slipping out of the bench she's been sitting on and walking straight to the sorceress at the door.

"Hello," She greets the sorceress in an exaggeratedly cheerful tone. "I am Zireal Anica Pankratz, daughter of Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg!"

Several of the witchers blink, wondering what exactly is going on, why the girl is laying it on so thick. They find out a second later. Yennefer, completely thrown by the girl's long and dramatic introduction doesn't think to stop her when Ciri gets right into her personal space. Doesn't think anything of it until the brunette girl's hand is right over her face and she's reciting something in Elder at great speed.

Yennefer opens her mouth to scream, though instead of that she ends up gasping as Ciri finishes her spell, pulling her hand back and closing it into a fist as the mage stumbles away from her, panting like she's completely out of breath.

"What… what did you just do?" Yennefer asks, still gasping.

"Broke your connection to the demonic parasite feeding from your pain and despair and blocking your access to chaos." Ciri states flat out.

"You…" Yennefer breaks out as the full implications of that revelation hit her.

"Pain and despair…" Vesemir breathes out as he stands from his own spot, slowly approaching the women. "You cannot mean…"

"Voleth Meir, the Deathless Mother, whatever you wish to call the fucking bitch." Ciri states crassly, ignoring the cry of a witcher in the back yelling at Lambert that she curses more than him (they've never heard her papa!). "With how much pain and grief and despair Nilfgaard has been causing as it moves north, killing people, destroying homes, razing entire towns to the ground, are you surprise that there's enough to make that demon strong enough to attempt an escape?"

"The first witchers sealed her." Vesemir growls. "Dozens of lives were lost, were sacrificed trapping her in that hut! Their deaths cannot be in vain."

"They won't." Ciri tells him straight on. "Right now she's made her move. She took advantage of the elven Queen: Francesca Findabair, of her desperate need to protect her people, her desire to see her child born, safe. If I remember the stories I was told correctly, right now she's using her, just like she was using Yennefer, and another sorceress called Fringilla Vigo. There's nothing I can do for Vigo, but I just might be able to get to the elven queen fast enough to break the connection to her…"

"Who are you?" Yennefer demanded. "You cannot be Jaskier's daughter!"

"Jaskier…?" Geralt blurts out, clearly thrown.

"Yes." Yeneffer drawls, realizing something right then. "You don't know his name?! His real name I mean." At Geralt's blank look she continued. "Come on! You cannot tell me you really thought his name was Jaskier!"

"That's the name he gave me, the name he chose." Geralt states evenly. "Why would I care for some other name he might have had?"

It… he wasn't wrong, Yennefer supposed. Geralt had never been one to care for things related to court, and nobility; and she knew that despite Jaskier's own status, neither did he. The only reason she knew those things about him was because she'd come across him in Oxenfurt one winter, heard a girl call him Professor Pankratz, and she was intrigued enough to question several people until she learned the truth from them. Then she cast a spell to protect his identity, to ensure no enemies of his (or Geralt) would ever be able to connect Jaskier, the White Wolf's Bard with Professor Julian Pankratz of Oxenfurt. It was all for Geralt, of course; Yennefer would never admit she didn't hate the bard as much as she pretended to… though she supposes that with recent events…

"I need to go." Ciri announces, moving to walk past Yennefer.

"Where are you going?" Geralt calls, reaching for her automatically.

"Hopefully to save a baby and stop Voleth Meir from getting enough power to break out of her hut." Ciri answers honestly.

"What…?" Triss yells as she steps into the room. "You cannot do that. Cirilla. You do not belong in this time. You cannot go changing things just because you want to. There is a balance to things. You cannot change what has already come to pass!"

"But that's just the thing, it hasn't happened yet." And if it's up to her, it won't.

She doesn't give Triss, or Geralt, or anyone else a chance to ask any more questions, make demands, try to stop her, or even insist that someone go with her, summoning a portal with a wave of her hand and stepping through it.

xXx

It's not easy, getting into the Xin'trean palace undetected, not impossible either. While it has been quite a while, she still spent years in that place, learning every crevice and nook. She knows passages that the elves, still newcomers to the place (while Cintra might have been an elven kingdom before it ever was a human one, their palace is long gone, her grandmother being how she was, she'd have never endured living in the same palace elves had once lived, Ciri knows that much). She's just made it to the main hallway of the royal wing when she sees the figure slipping into one of those bedrooms. She realizes then that the time for subterfuge is over. If she takes any longer she won't make it in time to save the baby!

Even with her rush, her training is enough for her not to make a sound as she crosses the door and slips into the bedroom, her hand reaching for the would-be-assassin even as they're pulling out a knife and raising it above the crib. There's no room for mistakes, Ciri only just manages to get to the assassin and pull them back towards herself.

Whatever Ciri might say sometimes, she's not a witcher, she cannot cast witcher signs (her magic isn't compatible) still, she's technically not a mage either; while spells might help guide her power, she's a Source, and her magic in the end is more about intent than anything else, and witcher signs are capable of carrying her intent as clearly as elder spells sometimes.

"Somne." She calls.

She pushes her magic, holding back just enough to ensure she won't actually kill the assassin. She could, and there's a part of her that definitely wants to. The part of her that sees the innocent baby in that crib, the sleeping (awakening now) parents on the bed not far, that hears the elves still celebrating in other parts of the palace, and the courtyard. Celebrating the birth of the first pure-blooded elven baby in centuries. A celebration that would have turned into horror, and pain and so many other terrible things if she hadn't made it just in the nick of time…

"Who are you?" A voice calls loudly to her.

It's Filavandrel. Holding a blade and pointing it at her. Francesca for her part rushes right past all of them and straight to the baby fussing in her crib. The perfectly safe, baby girl…

"What, what's going on?" Francesca asks as soon as she's sure her baby is, in fact, alright.

At Filavandrel's insistence she goes to stand behind him, letting him shield the both of them from Ciri, who's still on the ground, with the unconscious assassin in her arms.

"Your Majesties," She inclines her head respectfully. "My name is Zireal," it's not her birth-name, but she's used it often enough, has enough of a connection to it, for it not to be a lie, which the elves would be able to detect, especially the Queen, with her own magic. "Pardon my lack of manners but speed was of the essence and I decided that the safety of your baby was of far greater importance than requesting permission."

"How did you know an assassin was coming?" Francesca demands.

It's clear she's trying very hard to collect her wits, to present the image of a strong, powerful queen, though she's still beyond rattled, holding her baby tight against her chest and not moving from behind her husband.

Ciri makes several choices in seconds. She cannot tell the elves about her time-traveling; or, she supposes she could but even if they were to actually believe her, that'd just complicate matters. She's not staying, and she doesn't want them to expect her to become some sort of savior to them. It's only thanks to her papa's stories that she even knows about what happened to the newborn baby, the consequences the assassination had.

"Have you heard the name Sandpiper?" She asks softly.

"The Sandpiper," Filavandrel repeats. "The man who's been smuggling elves out of the northern countries, especially Redania, and sending them to us?"

"A human has been doing what?" Francesca's clearly surprised by that.

"Most of them actually believe him to be part-elf or something." Filavandrel explains. "I've been told he owns a tavern in Oxenfurt and sometimes sings, has an elven lute."

For a moment Ciri considers telling him that it's his lute, that the Sandpiper is a bard, the very same he gifted his lute to all those years ago… but in the end she doesn't. Because she knows that people not knowing that Jaskier the Bard and the Sandpiper are the same person is a layer of protection, to him and to his whole operation. Even those who might hear him sing sometimes in his tavern, she knows he doesn't sing his witcher songs, nothing that may connect him to Geralt. Even the elves he helps do not know anything about him other than the name Sandpiper. And the Song of the Seven.

"Did he send you?" Francesca asks her.

"No he… he was in a bit of a tight spot recently." Ciri shrugs a bit. "I learned about the assassin being sent your way. Got here as fast as I could."

"Who would do this?" Filavandrel asks, looking at the unconscious assassin.

Ciri cannot help herself, she snorts. Which makes both elves focus on her once again. Making sure not to move too quickly, not wanting to provoke them, Ciri slips out from under the assassin and rises to her feet.

"The first pure-blooded elf born in over a century?" She asks rhetorically. "You must know Your Majesties, that as much as this birth might bring joy and hope to you, to your people, others will see it, will see her, as a threat to the status quo."

Old bastards who believe mages shouldn't reproduce, megalomaniacs who won't want to risk the elves not being fully dedicated to the war, human supremacists who will be against more elves being born. So many idiots in the Continent…

"We're not safe here, are we?" Francesca asks quietly.

She's smart, Ciri has no doubt she must have reached the same conclusions as her. The younger woman also has no doubt that the two elves (all the elves) will do what's needed to ensure the safety of their baby. And if Ciri can help them a little…

"If I may…?" She asks softly as she approaches the Queen.

It's clear they don't quite trust her, but the fact that she just saved their baby does make them give her the benefit of the doubt. So they let her get close. Carefully making sure not to touch the baby, Ciri places a hand on Francesca's face, having done the spell once already, she knows better what she must do. Also, the fact that the she-elf is so full of joy and hope, has been since the birth of her daughter, helps a great deal. Voleth Meir's hook on her is much easier to break that the one the demoness had on Yennefer.

"What…?" Francesca blinks, feeling a difference in her, yet not quite able to tell what it is.

"What you saw wasn't the Prophetess, Your Majesty." Ciri explains to her quietly. "It was a demoness: Voleth Meir. She was using you, seeking to feed on your darkest emotions in order to gather enough power to free herself from the prison the first Witchers sealed her in."

The mention of 'darkest emotions' makes Francesca react instinctively, as she tightens her hold on her baby, briefly. None of them missing just what might have caused those very emotions to happen. Filavandrel goes to her, holding his wife and daughter close, wanting more than anything to protect them, even if he might not know quite how to do it…

"Your Majesties, have you ever heard Toss a Coin?" She asks in what probably seems like a complete non-sequitur.

Francesca's low hiss shows what she thinks exactly about that song. Filavandrel just lets out a sigh, he looks tired more than anything. Also, he looks like someone who's argued about this matter before, probably even with his wife.

"That awful song," Francesca mutters angrily. "It's nothing but lies!"

"Yes, it is." Ciri nods calmly. "Tell me Your Majesty, do you why the bard chose to write the song like that?"

It's clear none of them were expecting that, as they both turn to look her.

"It's just lies, like so many lies humans tell about elves." Francesca says with a huff, then turns to her husband. "I know you want to believe the best of people, but truth is that you gave that bard a gift and he spat on it, on all of us."

"I know that song says some awful things about elves." Ciri states evenly. "I also know that, according to that song, the witcher killed you all."

"Lies." Francesca hisses again.

"Indeed," Ciri agrees. "Tell me, Your Majesty, who hunts those who're already dead?"

That throws Francesca for a loop.

Ciri knows this for a fact. She should, she asked about it, after all. She couldn't understand why a man who so loved (and mourned) an elven lute, who risked his own life as the Sandpiper, and with the Song of the Seven, who did anything and everything he could to help those other than human, would choose to write a song maligning the elves the way he does in Toss a Coin. It was Jaskier who explained it to her:

"You don't hunt enemies you believe to already be dead. I know it wasn't right, or well done. But in that moment it was the greatest kindness I thought I could give them. Lead the humans in Posada, and elsewhere, to believe there were no more elves in Dol Blathana, so they wouldn't be hunted anymore, so they might have a better chance of survival." He exhaled. "I've no doubt Filavandrel must hate me, he must regret ever gifting me his lute. It's unlikely he'll realize why I did what I did, or that I'll ever get the chance to explain. But it's okay if he hates me. If that means he's managed to survive, that his people have managed to survive. Then it will have been worth it."

Ciri felt for him. To feel so strongly about something, to regret. And while Jaskier might never be able to explain things to Filavandrel himself, she can, and why shouldn't she?

"Who hunts those who're already dead?" Filavandrel repeats.

Ciri doesn't miss the way they're both looking at each other, and then at their baby. Ciri has no doubt they'll do what they must, for themselves, for their daughter, and for their people. And she… there's one more thing she might be able to do, to protect her loved ones.

xXx

Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame, the Emperor of Nilfgaard, the greatest threat the North has seen or will see in an age… he was a man with enough experience and paranoia to protect himself in every way he knew how. From the strongest and most devoted guards, to wards created by the very best mages, through elaborate, half-forbidden and at times even forgotten magics, many of them anchored in his very blood. Of course, all those protections meant very little when the one going after him shared that very blood…

The door opens without anyone knocking, much less waiting to be allowed in. The Emperor turns to it, intending to curse whoever dares interrupt him. The words vanish from both his mouth and mind though the moment he sees who's standing at the door.

"Cirilla… my daughter…" He calls as he stands, walking around his desk to go to her. "You've returned to m…"

Once again his voice is lost, though this time the reason is very different, as his words turn into a single breathless grunt. He tries to breathe in once, twice, only to end up coughing, blood and spittle flying from his mouth, a few drops staining her skin.

It took next to no effort for Ciri to let go of her glamour. The differences weren't even that great, mostly her hair color, going from chestnut brown to ashen blonde. The real difficulty there wasn't in the magic itself, but how much a part of her just didn't want to let go of the glamour, holding onto it like a connection to her past, her family, to her very last parent… still, it was something that needed to be done. She knew that Emhyr wanted her, with insane fanaticism. She was sure that approaching him with her real appearance would give her an advantage, and she was willing to take any and all of those. Still, she didn't expect it to be so… easy. Is this really Emhyr var Emreis? The White Flame? The Emperor of Nilfgaard? The insane megalomaniac who cost her so much? Who was behind so many losses, of homes, of livelihoods, of lives? She lost her mum, her grandmother, Eist, innocents whose greatest sin was to be compassionate enough to help her, her witcher uncles and grandpa, Aunt Triss, dad… mama… papa…

"W...why…?" Emhyr manages to gasp with some effort. "D-daughter…"

"I'm not your daughter." Ciri hisses sharply, eyes cold, as she twists the dagger inside his chest, making sure that nothing and no one will be able to heal him. "I am Ciri of Kaer Morhen, and you're nothing to me."

She waits. For the blood to stop flowing, for the light to vanish from Emhyr's eyes. The moment he dies an alarm rings across the place. She supposes she should have expected it. She's actually surprised a bit that it rang until he died, and not when he was in danger. She hears the rush of boots people are approaching. Soldiers, possibly mages. She pulls the dagger out of the body, uncaring as it falls at her feet, spinning around to face the door right as its slammed open. If she could have, she'd have chosen to kill Emhyr and just go, but she knew from the start that wasn't going to work. While Emhyr might have been the biggest threat, that didn't mean that Nilfgaard would just give up, even without him. Not unless she gave them a reason. Made going forward too costly for them push on…

At the front of the group is a man she recognizes: Stefan Skellen, coroner and member of the Imperial Secret Service. For a moment she cannot help but feel a rush of phantom pain across her cheek, remembering the man and when he cut her with an orion while she was escaping. She cannot help the rush of satisfaction, the feeling of vengeance, of making justice for herself as she opens her mouth and just… screams.

xXx

It's Vesemir who finds her, sitting on the half-crumbled outer-wall of the keep, not too far from the lake where Geralt and his brothers found her when she first showed up. The Witcher catalogs the changes in her silently: the change in her hair color, the absence of her violet cloak, the drops of dried blood on her skirt and the inside of one arm. He cannot smell any pain coming from her, so he's pretty sure it's not hers. He also sees she's playing with a dagger, the same she apparently used against drowners when his boys first found her. He picks up on several things regarding the dagger: it's delicate, on the smaller side for a dagger, no longer than her forearm (hilt and blade), the blade is simple, slightly curved with a double edge. And that's where the first interesting detail comes up, because Vesemir's quite sure that one of the edges is steel, and the other silver. That means the blade had to have been crafted by a master of the art, someone with magic, as that's the only way to work steel and silver into a single blade (there's a reason most witchers carry two swords, one of each material, it's easier). There's no guard, but the hilt is made from dragon tooth and carved… with flowers.

"I know you're there." She says eventually, sheathing the dagger once again.

The sheathe itself doesn't look like much, dark tanned leather… at least it wouldn't to most, but his witcher eyes can pick up on designs carved on it: of wolves…

"Hello, little lady." Vesemir greets as he goes to sit on the wall, a few feet from her. "Seems you've been pretty busy."

Ciri snorts, because isn't that a hell of an understatement!

Vesemir could snort himself. Because while they might be in the mountains, and with the pass snowed over there's no coming or going following the paths, they have two sorceresses quite able and willing to open portals. Especially when their first visit elsewhere gives them some very unexpected news. And after that they just kept coming: It started with the birth of the first pure-blooded elf in… well even Vesemir isn't sure how long it's been. That actually seems to have happened before their young time-traveler left. Though that piece of news was quickly followed by another announcing that the elven Queen: Francesca Findabair had apparently gone missing, along with her baby. No one knew where they'd gone, and her consort: Filavandrel wasn't talking. There were some rumors about what that might mean for the alliance with Nilfgaard. Though that apparently became a secondary concern, when everyone heard about the fire that destroyed the imperial property in Nazair. There were rumors that the Emperor was planning to visit Cintra in the following days, and then the fire happened. No one knew for sure how many lives were lost, though even without official notifications all spies from every kingdom seem to agree that the Emperor was among them.

Ciri just shrugs, saying nothing.

"How bad was it?" Vesemir finally asks.

"Bad." Ciri admits quietly. "I… Emhyr var Emreis, the man some called the White Flame, the Nilfgaardian Emperor? He was my birth-father."

She tells him the whole story, or at least what she knows. About the law of surprise, her mother's betrothal party, which turned into their wedding, after some complications (she knows exactly how it all went, thanks to her papa). About how her dad claimed the law of surprise, her parents supposedly dying while out at sea… only her birth-father didn't die. He survived, and made his way to Nilfgaard, where he deposed the Emperor (the Usurper) and took the throne, and then started waging war, taking over kingdoms, one after the other. How he was the reason for Cintra's fall, and he wanted her.

"He'd have never stopped looking for me, hunting me." Ciri explains. "He… he was a fanatic, believed that I was some sort of chosen one or something. I don't know! He told me one that he did love my mother, very much, but his duty to the future of the Continent was more important." She snarls wordlessly. "In my future… he caused so much horror, grief. So many deaths. I lost… everything and everyone I ever loved directly or indirectly because of him." She swallows past the knot in her throat, fighting to keep her tears back. "I… Papa and I were the last ones. He… I tried to convince him that we should run, when Nilfgaard started getting too close, again. But he said… he said we had nowhere to go. Every single place we'd once called home was gone, The place we were staying at, a nice little cottage in the outskirts of Montecalvo wasn't actually ours, it belonged to King Radovid. I… I know Papa cared for him, but he wouldn't trust him, not since he started persecuting magic users." She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to keep going, she needs so much to get it all off her chest. "I know… I know papa did what he did because of me. He wanted to protect me but… but didn't he understand? He was all I had left!"

She breaks into tears, finally. It's the first time she's cried in… longer than she can remember really. She remembers crying a lot at first, the first few times she lost people. Until… until things got so bad, there was no time to cry, not time to mourn. They always needed to keep moving, to keep fighting. Slowing down meant risking death. She's not gonna lie, there were some times when she wondered what the point of it all was. And yet… just like her papa was all she had, she knew she was all he had too. She couldn't leave him. And still he left her…

"You cannot go back, can you?"

Vesemir's question takes her completely by surprise. Her head snaps up as emerald eyes turn to her, wondering how he managed to draw that conclusion.

"I did some reading, while you were away." Vesemir explains. "While no book talks of time travel beyond the theoretical, most seem to agree that it isn't possible that change things. History cannot be changed, especially when that very history is in some way connected to the time traveling happening in the first place. Not unless…"

"Unless that history no longer exists." Ciri finishes for him.

She's read those books too. A long time ago now. Not that she ever imagined time travel actually being possible.

"When did you realize it?" Vesemir asks her.

"I think I suspected it from the start." Ciri admits. "I… I told you, I never intended to travel back. I was just… I was so angry and so… so desperate when papa died. I just screamed, and screamed and…" and her magic responded, in a completely unexpected way.

"Have you ever heard the prophecy of Ithlinne?" Ciri asks a completely unexpected question.

Vesemir cocks his head, not understanding what that has to do with anything.

"Verily I say unto you, the era of the sword and axe is nigh, the era of the wolf's blizzard. The Time of the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Tedd Deireádh, the Time of End. The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun. It will be reborn of Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of the seed that has been sown. A seed which will not sprout but burst into flame." Ciri recites in an almost monotone.

Vesemir blinks, that sounds… he doesn't quite have words to describe it.

"The Emperor believed in that prophecy." Ciri explains. "What's more, he believed me to be the seed that was sown. That I'd be the one to lead the world after the White Frost, the White Light… the elves believed that because of my elder blood I was their hope for a future, especially after Francesca's baby was assassinated in the other timeline… then there was the Wild Hunt. Voleth Meir is one of their number. She wants nothing more than to return home. The thing is, in the other time we managed to send her back, but once that happened, the Wild Hunt decided they wanted me. They wouldn't stop hunting me."

Vesemir cannot imagine it. For a child to have so many individuals and groups wanting her, willing to kill for her.

"I think… I think the prophecy was wrong, or it was mistranslated, or misinterpreted." Ciri murmurs quietly. "See, when I came back it was snowing, it had been snowing for a while by then, nonstop."

"The White Chill?" Vesemir guesses.

"Maybe." Ciri shrugs. "But the thing is, by then there was very little left anyway. Between the war between the Empire and the North, the Wild Hunt, the Brotherhood's plans, and then King Radovid's and his own allies' persecution of magic users so many had died already, most countries were left in ruin. There was a reason Redania was considered the only real opposition to the Empire anymore!"

"So there was very little for the Frost to take anyway." Vesemir thinks it's a horrifying thought.

"My magic has always reacted when my need is greatest." Ciri murmurs. "And now. I had nothing left. But more than that, there was next to nothing left of the world anyway. I think… I think I was thrown back in time to do what I was supposed to do all along. To make things right, at a point where it would still mean something. The elven baby's alive, and I have no doubt her parents will do anything in their power to ensure she stays that way. Emhyr var Emreis is dead, as are most of his closest. I couldn't get every single one of them, of course, but it is my hope that the manner of their deaths will make the Empire as a whole decide that a further expansion north is an endeavor too costly to pursue."

"Do you want to get Cintra back?" Vesemir questions.

"I… not really?" Ciri shrugs. "In the end that's a decision others must make, not I. But if it were up to me. I think Xin'trea should be for the elves. They… they deserve the opportunity to rebuild, the chance to thrive."

"And what about you?"

"Don't you realize it, gramps?" Ciri asks cheekily. "I'm ceasing to exist."

It's the truth. He'd known there was something off with her, but didn't know what it was, until she points it out. And then he notices it, the fact that she's been slowly but surely becoming translucent, more and more ever since he first saw her. She's slowly but surely disappearing.

"Oh child…" Vesemir doesn't seem to know what else to say.

"My future, my timeline, no longer exists, and soon I won't either." She smiles sadly at him, then she thinks of something else. "Oh! I brought a present. Please give it to dad, he'll know what to do with it."

She points to the object set against the wall beside her: a lute-case. After going after the Emperor she decided, why not? And took a detour to Oxenfurt, where she managed to find the lute, half broken but still salvageable. She used magic to fix it and found a case. She hopes it'll make her papa smile, even if she won't get to see it.

"A… Triss is right, you know?" Ciri comments unexpectedly.

Vesemir arcs a brow, a silent request for clarification.

"About the balance." Ciri explains. "Fate is engraved in stone, it cannot be changed. That wasn't the case now, because the moment my time ceased to exist, that stone shattered, freeing me to act. But that doesn't mean there isn't a balance. Every magic has a cost. Even magic such as this. I… there cannot be two of us at the same time, which is why I'm ceasing to exist. I've been using my power to give myself more time, enough to make sure I had the chance to do all I could to make things right, better, but I couldn't possibly fix everything. The Brotherhood's still there, Stregobor and Eilhart, and Dijkstra and Vilgefortz. They're all a problem in one way or another. King Vizimir's still alive, same as his queen, and with the Emperor dead there's no reason for their deaths to happen as they did in my time. However, the people who orchestrated those are still very much in position to do so, and if they do… Papa once told me that from the start Radovid had the potential for both good and terrible things. It's impossible to tell how that will go. The Deathless Mother's still in her hut, but she might not stay there forever. She sensed me… the younger me, when the monolith in Cintra was toppled; she knows what kind of potential exists there. She will hunt the younger Ciri down given the chance, and after her will be the Wild Hunt. There's nothing I can do for any of those things. Also, because so much won't happen, just like there are people who won't suffer, won't die, there are also friendships that won't form, people that won't get the closure they deserve, won't get the chance to move on from the tragedies of their past…" Milva, Tissaia, the novices, even Cahir and Fringilla, the Rats… "And on a more personal note. My parents… the only reason they ever got together was because of me. Because their choice to stay with me, to teach me and protect me made them stay close together. If the threat isn't there… who knows if they'll ever give each other the chance!"

That's perhaps the part that terrifies her most, and yet… isn't it better for her parents, all three of them, to have a chance at a life, at a future, even if it might not be together, or even with her at all? She wants to believe it is. She has to.

Vesemir notices her absently playing with the pendants hanging around her neck: two witcher medallions, one which he has no doubt must have once belonged to her dad, Geralt; there's also what looks like a star made of black semi-precious stone, obsidian perhaps and the last… he doesn't actually know what it is, looks like a two-pronged fork. He can only guess that the star must be connected to one of the sorceresses and the other object, to her papa, whoever that might be. A musician perhaps? Vesemir's quite sure the lute must be connected to it, to him, somehow. Wasn't there a bard who used to follow Geralt around…?

The eldest Wolf Witcher is distracted from his spiraling thoughts when he sees the young woman (younger than him at least!) jump off the wall and start gliding, almost swaying, as she makes her way through the snow, in the direction of the lake. There's snow falling, but it doesn't seem to bother her at all, like she doesn't even notice it… (maybe she doesn't). His medallion starts buzzing, at the same time Vesemir notices she's singing once again, in a low, quiet, yet no less powerful tone:

Ciri doesn't even notice when she starts singing. It's… Music is important to her, has been from the moment her papa became a part of her life, and while she does love all of his songs, there are some that, throughout the years, have become most dear to her and some… some that she just cannot help but feel resonating inside her, like in that moment:

"…And I wish that I could take his hand

But where I'm going is for me and me alone"

"And I can her sing:

If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along"

"If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along…"

One moment she's there and the next… she's gone. No trace left of her but the footprints on the snow, that even then are already starting to vanish with the new snow falling over them.

"Good luck child, and safe travels…" Vesemir whispers to the empty air.

xXx

Vesemir's having a cup of tea when the shift on the noises in the keep announces the return of Geralt and one of his sorceress friends. She enters the main hall first, the black dress she's wearing looks much better than the one he saw her in when first arriving to the witcher keep, with golden embroidery on the neckline and the front. What he notices most are the black star on a ribbon choker, and the violet cloak she's wearing, both which he saw future Ciri wearing. That confirms who the girl's mama was (is meant to be?) then.

"Geralt!"

Ciri's voice makes his son react automatically, as he turns to the girl (barely a teenager!) as she jumps off the bench and rushes to him.

"You're awake…" He breathes out, arms winding around her automatically when she crashes against him in an embrace.

"Oh!" A new voice calls in a most dramatic fashion. "What a beautiful family moment!"

Surprisingly, despite how loud the voice, there isn't an ounce of sarcasm in it, merely a warm, light teasing, and clear happiness, and the witchers can all tell the difference.

"Shut it Jaskier." Geralt snaps, though there's no real annoyance, it mostly sounds like he says it out of rote.

So this is the bard, he doesn't look quite how Vesemir expected. Almost as tall as Geralt, with wide shoulders, he looks thin but there are still clear muscles under his ridiculous off-white chemise, purple doublet and pants. His hair is chestnut brown, shaggy. He doesn't look like any courtly bard Vesemir has ever seen, and the witcher has to wonder just what's been going on with the bard. He can tell something's happened.

"But really, look at this, the white wolf and his child surprise!" The bard, Jaskier, calls dramatically. "Little dove? No, doves are pretty but not special enough… hummingbird? Too small. Raven? Works better for the witch… Oh, I know! A swallow!"

"What…?" It's clear more than one person's wondering what the hell he's talking about.

"Yeah, they're small birds with long tails, very fast and agile. You're officially the White Wolf and the swallow!"

"Really bard, you've barely arrived and already you're trying to compose?" Yennefer teases.

"I'm a bard, witch!" Jaskier cries dramatically. "This is what I do! And I need something to call our little princess since I obviously cannot call her Lion Cub, that'd give her away! So I need something else to call her. Swallow is perfect! Not that I can do much composing really, not without my darling lute…"

That reminds Vesemir…

"Geralt," The wolf calls.

His white-haired son turns to him immediately. Whispering something to his child surprise, his… daughter, before leaving her with his friends and heading to Vesemir.

"She's gone, then." Geralt guesses.

Vesemir just shrugs light. Really, the answer is obvious enough, little Ciri wouldn't be awake otherwise. They both know that.

"She dropped by before going," He doesn't specify just how she 'went', doesn't want to put that kind of burden on Geralt, not when he has his daughter with him right then; and who knows, things might still end up well in the end, he can hope (it feels strange, hoping…). "She left something. Said to give it you, that you'd know what to do with it."

He signals to the case on the bench beside him.

"Oh…" Geralt opens it immediately, pulling out the lute.

Vesemir saw it earlier. He doesn't know much about instruments or the craft of them, but even he can tell that there's just something… special about the lute. Maybe it's the fact that it's an elven-made instrument. Or maybe… maybe it's something in the bard. He can tell that he's not entirely human. He wonders if Geralt has realized it. His son is a great man, but he's also so used to the Path, and to spending the most time surrounded my people who don't age the way most humans do, he supposes there's a chance he wouldn't realize the importance of the bard not aging the way a full human would (and it's clear he hasn't, the bard doesn't look like a man in his forties! He might not be a boy anymore, but he certainly isn't a middle-aged man either).

"Jaskier…" Geralt calls.

He doesn't even say it loudly, he doesn't have to. Jaskier stops whatever he's been saying to Ciri and Yennefer, his whole attention turning to Geralt, but especially, to the instrument in his hand. There's no doubt that he recognizes it instantly.

"Oh…" He gasps in clear delight as he jumps in place before rushing to Geralt. "My darling! How… how is this possible? Geralt…?"

Geralt says nothing, just smiles.

In seconds Jaskier's dropping on the bench, not far from Vesemir, he places the lute carefully on his lap before pulling at something hanging from a thin chain around his neck. It's… a two pronged fork?! It's when he actually starts using it that Vesemir realizes what the object is: a tuning fork. Suddenly some things become much clearer…

The instrument requires very little work and soon the bard's trying out some scales and basic tunes, the smile so big it's contagious.

"Play for us…?" Geralt requests.

"Oh dear heart,"

His smile changes, and Vesemir cannot help but wonder if his son is truly blind to it, to the love in the bard's eyes… He's always believed there had to be something special about the bard, to have followed Geralt on the Path for decades… The old wolf's eyes stray briefly to the blonde child, and he knows then he's seeing her dad and papa. And he has no doubt in that moment that whatever else might happen they are, have been, and will always be exactly that.

"It will always be my greatest pleasure to play for you." Jaskier states, eyes never straying.

He starts playing then, and Vesemir knows the tune is familiar, though he cannot tell why exactly. Even when the bard starts singing he cannot lay his finger on it. The song isn't one he's heard in any tavern, inn, or market, yet at the same time, he knows that tune, knows he's heard it before… he's sure it'll come back to him eventually.

"Oh, what? These, these aren't tears

It's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall

And what they hear isn't laughter, after all

It's just your voice learning for once to stand up tall

And when the rain came down

I made a vow out to the dark

Please, let her live just one more day

Cause she is so much more than all her scars

And if she doesn't have the will

But it seems the whole world does, I'll stay, because

I will be the man my father never was"

xXx

"If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along

If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along"

"Hn… P… Papa?" She calls blindly, eyes not yet open.

"I'm here little bird, I'm here… You're home, you're safe, rest." Her papa whispers gently, pressing a kiss to her hair.

And she does.

Is she dreaming? She doesn't know. It doesn't feel quite like a dream. She's not entirely awake, yet not exactly asleep either. She can hear when someone enters the room (wherever she is), her papa (it is her papa, isn't it? He's alive?!) talks to them, and then there's a new weight on the surface she's laying on (a bed, she's on a bed… her bed maybe? Probably).

"Ciri…?" It's her dad's voice calling her this time.

Her dad! Her dad's alive! Somehow this gives her the strength to push herself completely awake as she sits up abruptly, throwing herself into her dad's arms. It's been so long! Except it hasn't, has it? Oh… her mind feels like it's splitting open!

There was… a snowstorm (the White Chill?), anger and grief and she screamed. Her magic got away from her and… and then everything was different. She was still in that cottage but there were no Redanian guards approaching and the place looked derelict, abandoned. She portaled to the one place she still considered home, despite… everything. And it… it was still standing, or well, as standing as she's ever known Kaer Mohren to be. Not the smoking crumbled ruin that was left after the battle with the Wild Hunt! And… she saw dad again, and her uncles, and grandpa Vesemir! Oh… all of that did happen, didn't it?

She's called the Lady of Time and Space, but time travel is… a bit out there, even for her. She can remember being there though, talking to the witchers (to her dad!) fighting the drowners, seeing Yennefer, breaking her connection to Voleth Meir and then… then Rience, and the elven baby, and the Emperor, her papa's lute… Her head's still hurting, but as she forces herself to work through the pain she notices something, and it is that while the old memories are still there, there are also other new ones… And what's more, the 'new' memories are slowly but surely taking over her old ones, leaving those feeling like little more than dreams (nightmares). Some memories stand out more to her than others:

Like that first day, she woke up to learn she'd been sleeping for days, and everything that had happened, all the ways things, the Continent as a whole, had changed since then.

With the Emperor and his closest dead, and in a fire of all things, it took a while for those that remained from the high ranks to gather and make a plan. Rumor had it that the fact that it was a fire that killed Emhyr var Emreis made it so the new people in charge had serious doubts about continuing his plan. Something which eventually lead to the war just… ending. Xin'trea became a kingdom of elves, lead by Filavandrel during its first years, while his Queen and daughter remained 'missing', only showing up after all those who might have represented a threat, were gone. For years now Xin'trea had stood with a full royal family, with King Filavandrel, Queen Francesca, and their heiress: Princess Liserne Zireal…

Ciri never showed any interest in claiming her old throne. What's more, she made true the other Ciri's claim to Emhyr, by calling herself Ciri of Kaer Mohren.

Her dad and her papa were still her dad and her papa, they were together. Shockingly, in this new timeline they got together earlier, from that very first winter in the keep. Her mama was still exactly that to her, but she had nothing to do with her dad. Apparently at some point she found a djinn and managed to break the bond that connected the two of them. After that she refused to believe that the love had ever been real. Ciri knew that had hurt her dad, dearly, but papa was there for him and that helped a lot.

Things still went to hell in Aretuza, but thankfully with the early warning mama and her friends were better prepared to handle things (also, the fact that there were only two groups involved in that mess and not three, helped).

Voleth Meir and the Wild Hunt had still been huge messes, but thanks to the fact that they did not have to be continuously moving around, hiding from pursuers, they were all better prepared to deal with them when the time came.

Redania… was not their problem. While her papa was still the Sandpiper, and she insisted on them helping him where they could, it soon became clear that Dijkstra had already burned him (how else could Rience have found him, considering all the measures Jaskier took to separate his two identities, and the indirect help Yennefer spells were?). Mama definitely made sure that both him and Eilhart were among the 'casualties' during the battle at Aretuza.

A hand to her face reveals that there's no scar on her cheek. Which she ought to have expected. She has other scars, some from moments where she came pretty close to dying. Somehow she's not quite as self-conscious of her newer scars as she always was of that one.

"Ciri…?" Her dad whispers as he looks straight at her. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah it is, dad." She answers automatically.

"Told you, dear heart." Jaskier says with a gentle smile. "She probably just overdid it with the magic and the wards."

As she focuses on her last memories before just now, she remembers arriving to Kaer Mohren for the winter as is tradition and working on renewing the wards. The first snowstorm was just starting, and some say this winter will be a particularly bad one. But that's okay, they're ready. The Keep might not be in perfect condition, but it's a lot better than it was during her first such season there, and the wards do help a lot. They have enough provisions, and if needed she can always open a portal to some town, or one of her uncles can go hunting.

In the background she can hear her dad and papa talking quietly as they lead her to the main hall, where grandpa Vesemir has brought out the cider. A project of his and Aunt Triss. Ciri loves it. And well, life might not be perfect, exactly, but as far as she's concerned, it's close enough.


So... what do you think?

Regarding the song. I had this idea in my head that through it all Ciri keeps singing a song that her papa only just started composing. Most probably wouldn't notice, but that's why Vesemir feels like he knows the tune, when Jaskier starts signing.

I had this image in my head of Ciri vanishing as she sang those two lines over and over again, and then waking up in the future with the very same lines being sung to her by her papa, and while I loved the imagery, I did still need to show what happens after future Ciri leaves, and I wanted to end the story with the new timeline so...

Yes, Eskel is alive, even if he doesn't even show up, I just couldn't help myself.

On Jaskier and the Sandpiper, and that whole 'Jaskier went missing' I have this headcanon that when Jaskier decided to become the Sandpiper, he created a whole new identity for himself. Separate from both Jaskier and Professor Pankratz. Why? On the one hand, I like the idea. But also because I think that it's the only way to explain him ever writing, much less singing a song like "Burn, Butcher, Burn". Not gonna lie, there's something in the song I like, but after working so hard to turn Geralt into the White Wolf, there's no way Jaskier would undo all his work with a song like that. Unless he did it as someone completely separate from Jaskier (which in turn would mean that people wouldn't immediately connect the 'Butcher' with Geralt). Now, chances are that Netflix just didn't care... I do. So I'll hold onto my headcanon.

One scene I planned but didn't manage to include was in regards to the dagger. I love the headcanon that, to witchers, gifting weapons is important. So the idea was that, in the original timeline, when Geralt finally admitted that he loved Jaskier as much as he did Yennefer, he'd have had the blade commissioned and presented it to him when confessing his feelings. In the new timeline, with Geralt and Jaskier already being together, the dagger would have been a proposal gift.

As always, carte blanche if anyone wants to make remixes, translations, podfic, fanart, etc. As long as no AIs are involved! And you let me know so I can go look at your work.

Please don't forget to review, perhaps like and/or favorite!