Chapter Text
“If like could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”
Geralt turned away from him, seething with misplaced anger. He knew this wasn’t Jaskier’s fault, deep in his bones, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t even bare to look at Jaskier right now, he was furious. Furious that the bard could even keep a smile on his face while Geralt felt a hollowness in his chest from Yennifer’s abandonment.
The wind whipped around Geralt, casting his hair around him, cutting into his face. A fluffy of dandelion seeds fluttered past, scatting to the four winds. He felt a sharp pain on his wrist, ignoring it, waiting for Jaskier’s clever retort.
It never came.
The smell of rosewood, ink and springtime had disappeared.
Jaskier had left. Probably gone to stew at the campsite, waiting for Geralt to finish his brooding.
The only issue was – Geralt hasn’t heard him walk away. He hasn’t heard the heavy footsteps or the thrumping of the lute bashing across his back as he ambled over uneven terrain.
Only silence met him.
Geralt turned, slowing, anticipating Jaskier pouting face.
There was nothing.
Jaskier wasn’t there. Had he somehow managed to stealth his way down the mountainside without alerting his senses? That shouldn’t be possible. Even when Jaskier was trying to be quiet he still tended to be the loudest in the room.
Geralt scanned the area, taking deep breath through his nose- trying to catch the scent.
It was gone. Not even a trace of it. Like it had simply vanished. Like it had never been there in the first place.
“If like could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”
There’s no way. It wasn’t possible.
“Jaskier!?” He growled, not putting it past Jaskier to be pulling a prank and purposely hiding.
Having no reply, Geralt stalked back towards their camp.
The Dwarfs were breaking down camp laughing to themselves as they passed the dragon’s teeth between them. Yennifer’s tent was gone – broken down in a fluttering of magic, he was sure. She’d left nothing behind, just the lingering scent of lilacs and gooseberries.
He scanned the area. Jaskier wasn’t stood with the dwarfs, wasn’t bullying their story from them. His pack wasn’t lying beside Geralt where it had been yesterday. The fire that Jaskier had slept beside last night had no showing of being used. The floor was strewn with rocks and pebbles that he had a vivid memory of Jaskier complaining about the night before. It was like they’d been replaced – or that they’d never been moved.
Maybe Jaskier has left with Yen. He wouldn’t try to traverse down the mountain on his own – would he?
“The bard, did you see which way he went?” Geralt called over to the Dwarfs.
“The fuck are you talkin’ about? What bard?” Yarpen answered, stuffing his bag and closing the flap.
“The man I was travelling with, carrier a lute, foppish brown hair, annoying.”
Yarpen lifted an eyebrow. “I saw your sorceress storm down ‘ere like a bat outta hell but I’ve ain’t seen a bard. Thin air gettin’ to you Witcher, you seein’ things?” He laughed elbowing his team, who chortled.
Geralt felt his stomach plummet. He couldn’t smell any deceit in the air. Yarpen truly believed that what he was saying. Geralt spun, running back the way he’d come towards the mountain point.
Borch stood outside the cave entrance, keeping watch of the Dwarfs in the distance. His expression didn’t change as the Witcher ran towards him, fury in his eyes. Most would move or at least flinch, but Borch was older and wiser than most.
“The bard- Jaskier. Where is he?” Geralt demanded.
Borch smiled serenely as if holding on secret, or speaking to a small child. “ I believe the answer you’re looking for lies beneath your gloves.” Borch said, eyebrow raised. “When asking life for blessings – remember that life isn’t always the only one watching.”
Geralt ripped off his glove, remembering the familiar pain he’d felt.
4 marks lined his wrist, where originally only 3 showed.
“This isn’t possible – Djinn don’t- I’ve already used my three wishes, that’s what got me into this mess in the first place!”
“And yet, here we are.”
The mirrored word tore a gaping wound in Geralt’s chest. He breath deeply, trying to catch any whiff of Jaskier’s perfume on the air. Geralt gripped his arm, nails digging into the spent wishes. Had he wished Jaskier out of existence? Had to killed his…his best friend?
“Where is he!?” Geralt snarled.
Borch’s eyes softened. “He’s out of your life, as you asked. Where? I’m not sure. The world has accommodated your wish.”
The sound that came out of Geralt mouth sounded so unlike him, like a wounded animal. Borch took pity on him before turning his back.
“He’s alive, I can tell you that. Though your child surprise may not have that same privilege for much longer. The black sun will soon eclipse Cintra.”
Geralt chocked back a sob, running a thumb over the fourth strike. He’d find a way to reverse the wishes. He’s find a way to bring Jaskier back to him.
Right now. He needed to head to Cintra. If his child surprise perished because of this - he didn’t think Jaskier would ever forgive him.