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He was born with the Stars and the Moon. He was all but a tiny speck of light, floating in your eyes in the brightest of noons and the darkest of nights. Sometimes, he was a curious squirrel watching you from the tree. Some other times, he was a tiny dandelion on the side of the road. Sometimes, he was human.
Humans fascinated him to no end. They had their own mind, yet they did things without thinking. They had words yet when it mattered the most it was blood that they chose to spill. They had love yet they clouded it with hatred. And so when Geralt of Rivia came, he was enchanted.
A human who was hurt by life itself, who had endured the cruelty of man since birth. Yet he continued to protect them. He slayed monsters and protected humans. Some days the monster went free and the humans paid the price for their deeds. He even protected humans from himself.
He first laid eyes on Geralt when he was a crow on a roof in Blaviken. He had seen many witchers, yet none had eyes like such. Like, suns - golden, bright, and so, so alive. Curious, indeed. He had never seen a witcher with eyes so full of life. He watched as the witcher talked with the girl - Marilka, like milk, she said. Geralt, he said. Of Rivia. Like a garroter, she said. And he could see the tiniest flash of hurt in those eyes, the light dimmed a bit. Oh.
He followed Geralt into the woods, watched as he talked with the princess. He knew who she was, she gave him crumbs sometimes. His eyes filled with cold amusement as they fucked. He watched as the princess packed and left Geralt a prophecy. The girl in the woods will always be with you. Interesting, he thought, as he flapped his wings and flew away for food.
He was on the same roof as always when Geralt came back to town. Witchers could not cry, they said. But he could see it. Pain was pouring out of his golden eyes. The suns were bleeding gold, he thought. He knew that if Geralt had been able to cry like a normal human, his face would be smeared with salty drops.
Butcher, they called.
If Geralt could not shed tears, then he shall cry in Geralt’s stead. He followed as Geralt fled. He perched on a tree as Geralt mourned, and he weaved his voice into the wind.
If you must mourn, my love, mourn with the moon and the stars up above. If you must mourn, don't do it alone.
He could see Geralt clutched the brooch a bit tighter before looking up. The moon was bright and the stars were dancing. They sang him songs of mourning, of love and of a princess born under the Black Sun.
It was years later that he became Jaskier. Before that he was Julian Alfred Pankratz, son of a noble in Redania. At eighteen, Julian became Jaskier and his journey to find a certain witcher began.
Their eyes met for the first time in Posada, and it felt right. It felt like he had waited, ever since the moment he came into being with the stars and the moon, for this very moment. And of course, as stubborn as he was, he followed the witcher with his songs and cheerful steps despite the grunted protests.
Geralt wished for silence, so silence he received. In all fairness, Jaskier could just turn back into a speck of light and the djinn would never be able to do anything to him. Yet he didn’t. He suffered the twisted blessing. In his state of panic, he could feel Geralt’s worry. Maybe it was guilt. But Geralt was kind. He was kind enough to worry for a man he considered a nuisance.
Jaskier was taken to a witch. He could hear them talk. He could hear Geralt not being able to call him a friend. He could hear the regret and hurt in Geralt’s voice. As natural as the lights of day, Jaskier forgave him.
The witch told him to make a wish. But it wasn’t his wish to begin with. He knew what she wanted and he tried to stop it. But by the gods above, he could not. So he ran. He had to, before something bad happened. It was just that Geralt - kind, foolish, bull-headed Geralt, had to rush in to save the crazy witch. And before he could process what was going on, the building collapsed.
He could feel Geralt’s life. It was a strange thing, but he could. His relief when he could feel Geralt was alive was short lived, when he saw what they - Geralt and the witch, were doing under the ruins. He felt the link that connected him to Geralt snapped and his heart shattered, for what he knew not why.
Days turned into weeks. They went back to the road, and he was still wondering. He had watched the witcher and the princess fucked before. He had felt nothing but amusement. So why was it different with the witch?
When the witcher came back to their camp with a soft smile and a few rabbits in hands, Jaskier knew. Cold fascination had long turned into love. Not that it mattered that he figured it out, because Geralt had already tied himself to Yennefer. They-
He could not say the word despite knowing it for so long. No matter. He would stay by Geralt’s side, until his witcher found his true family. And then- And then Jaskier would cease to exist, and he would have to pick another thing to be. Geralt did not need to know of this, for to love was to let go. He would not burden Geralt with his affection. If it meant Jaskier could take care of the witcher as long as he was allowed to, then it was fine.
If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.
Jaskier had always known that his time with Geralt was finite. He had to leave at some point. He just never expected it to be so short - only a mere twenty six human years. But it seemed their journey had come to an end. And so Jaskier left. He lingered for a moment, just some stupid hope that Geralt would turn around and take him back. He did not. Jaskier never looked back.
He could have returned to the sky, but he still had things to do. He knew Nilfgaard was looking for Geralt and his Child Surprise. He could help them, by luring the soldiers away. The stars always told him where Geralt and his Child were, making being bait easier for him. This was one of the few things he could do to protect Geralt.
Be safe.
He sent his voice with the Winds.
Please keep them safe.
He pleaded to the World.
He was captured. They had him shackled, dimeritium. For the first time since he had come to be, he was cut off from the World. He could not feel the sky, the moon, nor the stars. He could see the sun but he could not feel them. He frantically called for them, but none answered. And so he was caught and tortured and locked up.
It hurt. Fire hurt, he found out. Water hurt, too. Even the air he breathed. Everything hurt. He wished, sometimes, that they would just kill him. Set him free so he could wrap himself in the soothing chill of the night sky, the gentle shine of the moon and the soft singing of the winds. He missed them, dearly. But they could not hear his call nor could he theirs. Everyday passed in agony.
Until one day Yennefer came by. The witch was the last person he'd expect to save him, but here they were. She didn't even question the dimeritium, which Jaskier was very thankful for. He didn't have time to relish the joy when he was once again connected with the world, with the soldiers right behind their back. Together they ran. If he noticed a limp and slow in the witch's steps, he said nothing. He just silently shortened his steps, hands ready to catch hers if she was to fall.
They made it to safety. A hunter’s hut up in the mountain. He made a fire and they huddled together for some extra warmth. It was in the peak of night when the witch finally talked. She needed help. She had lost her magic. He could still feel her chaos, scattered and weak but there. There was also something sinister lurking, ready to snatch once she got her magic back. So he told her. He ignored her eyes widened in surprise and doubt. He didn’t have to explain himself to her. Well, it wasn’t like he knew what he was. He’d just come to be one summer night hundreds of years ago. There wasn’t much to say about that.
“Your chaos is there. I’m not familiar with how fast you witches recover, so you might need to see another sorcerer about it. But it’s not lost, your magic. There’s also something else. Something dark and vicious. It’s waiting to grab at your chaos. So uh, maybe look out for that?”
His face softened when she sighed in relief. Jaskier didn’t really hate the witch. He was… jealous. A feeling he had realized at one point on the Path with Geralt yet had never been brave enough to acknowledge it. The witch scoffed at his gentleness and he laughed.
“I can, well, no, the Sky can guide you to Geralt, if you want. He’s with his Child Surprise. They’re headed for Kaer Morhen.” he offered.
“What about you, bard? Though, you’re not just a bard, are you?” she hit him lightly on his arm. The familiarity felt nice, for once.
“I can’t come to him, not anymore. I will return to the Sky.”
He could hear them cheer and sing the songs of longing. He had not been with the Stars and the Moon for such a long time. Well, a few decades were nothing to them, but he had always come back between every life, which usually lasted about a decade. There was also the whole year he got cut off from them. So their yearning was justified. He couldn’t wait to get back.
He could feel Yennefer’s eyes on him, but she kept silent. Jaskier knew she would figure him out, sooner or later. The witch, to his regret, was brilliant. Maybe too brilliant sometimes.
“If you want to join Geralt, just follow where the Winds lead you. I could let you borrow some chaos from the World to make a portal but that wouldn’t be wise. Go to town, find a horse and ride. You’ll catch up in a day.”
They sat in silence for a long while until both of them were tired enough to pass out. Morning came too quickly, he thought. He took Yennefer to the nearest town and watched as she rode away on a chestnut mare they got with what little money they had left. He watched as she glanced back, worry in her eyes. He smiled, as if to say, I'll be fine. He stood still, watching her shape get smaller and smaller by distance, until he could see nothing of her anymore.
Be kind to her.
He prayed. The Winds brushed his cheeks.
Thank you.
He said.
Welcome back, dearest.
They said. As the bard named Jaskier dissolved into little flecks of light, scattered with the Winds and into the World. Jaskier the bard was no more.