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There was a thin, metal blade being pressed to Jaskier’s throat. Awareness came to him in waves, as his brain tried sleepily to determine if there was danger or not.

What was the last thing he remembered?

Kaer Morhen, with Geralt and the other Wolves. A game of Gwent that went late in the night, and by the time that Geralt and Jaskier had staggered to bed, it was late. Jaskier fell asleep sprawled out on Geralt, snoring the moment that his head hit the Witcher’s chest.

Geralt was still here. He wasn’t underneath Jaskier, like he was last night, but to the side of him, his familiar weight a comfort. Jaskier let out a sigh of relief, keeping his eyes closed.

“Is the knife a new kink? Dear heart, I would love to try it out, but I thought you said you were going to help Lambert with the east wing tower this morning.” Sinking back into the pillows, Jaskier dragged more blankets on top of him and turned onto his side. “Plus, I have to finish that song about that murkhag you killed before we got here…” Jaskier let his face smash into the pillow, muffling his words.

“Who. Are. You.” Geralt’s voice was grumbly, but not in the morning grumbly way that Jaskier adored so much. It was cold, and hard, and typically one reserved for enemies.

That got Jaskier to open one eye, squinting at his lover.

“Ger?”

Geralt’s golden eyes were blown wide open, and his face was devoid of emotion. He was holding a small dagger in his hand, worryingly, towards Jaskier.

“I will not ask you again.” Geralt growled. “Who. Are. You.”

Jaskier pushed himself up in bed, the sleep that was clouding his brain rapidly dissipating.

“Geralt, what are you talking about? Are you feeling okay? What’s wrong?” He reached out a hand to touch Geralt’s face, but the Witcher jerked back. The sudden flinch startled Jaskier that he flinched as well, until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

There was no warmth in Geralt’s face, no love or any recognition at all for the bard who sat before him. A chill went down Jaskier’s spine. “Why don’t we just put the sharp object down for now…” But that only made Geralt seem to grip the dagger’s handle harder.

Geralt wouldn’t hurt him, never, but Jaskier felt anxiety creeping in. “Ger, it’s me, Jaskier. We are in Kaer Morhen, we just arrived a few days ago, remember?”

“I don’t know you. How did you get up the Path?”

Jaskier gulped. He tried again to reach out for Geralt, but Geralt swung out, nicking the palm of Jaskier’s hand with the knife. It only stung a bit, but Jaskier yelped regardless, immediately taking his hand back to his chest. His heart was pounding. Geralt would gripe, and threaten, but he would never hurt Jaskier like that on purpose. Not after all they had been through.

This wasn’t Geralt. At least, there was something seriously wrong.

Jaskier had to act quickly. There was no way that he could out run Geralt, and if Jaskier gave any indication that he was about to make a move, Geralt would see it. That meant all he could do was…

Jaskier lunged out of bed, rushing for the door. Geralt was immediately right behind him, but Jaskier wasn’t going far.

Eskel resided only a few doors down, but Jaskier didn’t take any chances, hollering as soon as he got into the hallway. “ESKELESKELESKEL! LAMBERT! HELP!”

Eskel opened the door right as Jaskier reached it, and Jaskier darted behind him, leaving Eskel to face off with his own brother.

“Jask- Geralt?” Eskel asked. “What’s going on?” Eskel saw the knife in Geralt’s hand and frowned. “Why are you trying to kill your bard?”

“He just woke up like that!” Jaskier cried at the same time that Geralt growled out “who is that.”

Jaskier was grateful that it was Eskel who he was hiding behind, and not Lambert, since the other wolf was known to go along with anything he thought was a joke. Either Eskel was more serious, or he heard the way that Jaskier’s heart was pounding. The fact that he was only wearing small-cloths and one of Geralt’s over sized shirts was not lost on him, but Jaskier figured they had more pressing issues at the moment.

“Woah, slow down. Why do you have a dagger?” Eskel looked over his shoulder at Jaskier. “Is this some kind of roleplay thing? Because I told you I don’t want to hear about it.”

“I wish it was,” Jaskier said mournfully. He was clinging to the back of Eskel’s shirt, bouncing from foot to foot, adrenaline still rushing through him. “He wasn’t recognizing me.”

“Geralt,” Eskel snapped. “You know who this is, right?”

“Clearly not,” Geralt growled. “How do you know him?”

“Because you’ve been bringing Jaskier up here for the winter for the past five years, but I met him a few years before that. You introduced him to me.” Eskel was speaking slowly, as if he was talking to a child. Geralt furrowed his brow and shook his head.

“No.”

“Yes,” Eskel insisted. “Now give me that knife.”

“Hey, can’t we at least have breakfast before trying to kill each other?” Lambert’s voice came cheerily from the hallway. He stood next to Geralt, clapping him on the shoulder, nodding a hello to Eskel. His eyebrows rose when he saw Jaskier peeking out from behind Eskel. “Lover’s spat?”

“Lambert.” Geralt ground out. His breath was labored, and his forehead was pinched. “Tell Eskel to stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying!” Eskel responded. “Put down the knife, and we can talk about this.”

“No.”

Lambert knocked the knife out of Geralt’s hands before anyone could say anything else, and the two were on the floor, fighting scrappily. Eskel jumped in as well, and the two had Geralt pinned down in moments.

“Not that I’m not having fun,” Lambert continued. “What the fuck is going on?” His tone was cheery, but Jaskier could see how he was sending darting glances between Jaskier and Geralt.

“I woke up, and there was someone I don’t know in my bed. Someone I don’t know in Kaer Morhen.” Geralt said, still struggling against the force of his two brothers.

“What do you mean, someone you don’t know?” Lambert asked, barking a laugh. “Was the sex so good that it knocked your brain lose? I mean, we knew the little bard was talented, but-”

“Lambert,” Eskel warned. Jaskier stayed where he was standing, still clutching his hand to his chest.

“No, he genuinely doesn’t recognize me. He doesn’t know who I am.” Jaskier could see it, in Geralt’s eyes.

“What?” Lambert looked at the dagger that had been dropped a few feet away. “Did he hurt you?”

Jaskier just bit his lip, not trusting his voice. Lambert stared at him for a few moments more, searching for an answer that Jaskier didn’t think he had.

“Alright. Vesemir can fix this.” Lambert said.

“Fix what? Why are you not listening to me?” Geralt said, voice strained as he still tried to fight back. “I have no idea who this is.”

“Yes you do.” Eskel said sharply. “He is a part of our family, and one of the most important people in your life. Stop acting like an idiot before you do something you regret.” He hauled Geralt to his feet. Geralt stopped fighting, and let Eskel guide him through the hallway, but not without sending a few more suspicious glances back at Jaskier.

Lambert came and met Jaskier in the doorway, holding out his hand. Jaskier let him see the wound, but did not say anything.

The cut was shallow, but Jaskier couldn’t help the tears that filled his eyes as he looked down at it.

“What happened?” All joking in Lambert’s voice was gone. He grabbed a shirt that Eskel had left hanging off of a chair and ripped it in half before tearing a strip off of that.

“I don’t know. I just woke up and he…” Jaskier’s voice cracked as Lambert tied the cloth over the cut. “He had no idea who I was. He would never hurt me, not on purpose-“

“I know.”

“I tried talking to him, but he wasn’t listening, I-“

“If he truly does not know who you are, if he’s lost his memory, he’s probably just as scared as you are. Kaer Morhen is-“

“His sanctuary, I know. He’s a man who likes his privacy, and he woke up with a stranger cuddling up to him. I don’t know what started this. We arrived only a few days ago, he hasn’t hit his head, no injuries, he didn’t even drink as much as I did last night.” Jaskier dropped his hand once Lambert was done with it.

“Vesemir will know what to do.” Lambert assured him. “Let’s go get some food, and we will meet them in the lab.”

Jaskier sighed, but followed. Lambert kindly pretended not to notice when Jaskier picked up and pocketed the knife as they made their way to the mess hall.

Arguing voices greeted Lambert and Jaskier when they reached Vesemir’s lab with porridge and bread in their arms. Geralt was leaning against one of the tables, his arms crossed. Vesemir was trying to check his head, but Geralt kept waving him off, insisting nothing was wrong. It was Eskel who was looking furiously through an ancient looking book, shooting back answers at every snarky statement Geralt made. None of the men inside paid any mind to the two as they walked in, but once Jaskier set a bowl down next to Geralt, the white haired Witcher stared at him, with fury in his eyes. Jaskier let out a little squeak, so unused to see that type of anger directed at him, from the man he loves, and took a step back. Lambert quickly stood in front of him.

“What’s the verdict?” Lambert asked, tossing a piece of bread at Eskel. His brother caught it without looking up from his book.

“There isn’t one.”

“Everyone here has gone insane.” Geralt declared. “Why did you have to drag Vesemir into this?”

“No one dragged me into anything,” Vesemir said. “Can’t I just be concerned over your lack of memory regarding Jaskier?” At the mention of his name Geralt’s eyes flicked back over to Jaskier (who was still cowering behind Lambert), but he looked back to Vesemir quickly.

Vesemir grabbed some trinkets off of the table behind him and forced them into Geralt’s hands. When Geralt had no visible reaction, his frown got deeper. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Geralt was silent for a few moments, his face growing tighter by the second.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Vesemir asked again, this time evading Geralt’s swatting hands and firmly placing them on both temples. “Are you in any sort of pain?”

“No.” Geralt was quick to react, but Jaskier couldn’t help but chime in,

“His head hurts. His right eye always twitches when he gets a headache.”

Vesemir murmured a quiet thank you as Geralt glared at Jaskier, his right eye twitching just then.

“No signs of head trauma. Have you eaten anything strange lately?” Geralt shrugged, so Vesemir looked back at Jaskier.

“Nothing that I can think of. This seems… A bit specific, doesn’t it?”

“Aye.” Vesemir said. “What’s the name of your horse?”

“Roach,” Geralt responded easily.

“A mage friend of yours, from Cintra-“

“Mousesack.”

Lambert pitched a piece of bread at Geralt, who’s hand shot up and caught it before it could hit his head.

“His reflexes are still good.” Lambert added.

“What’s the name of the leader of the dwarven company you met on the dragon hunt?” Vesemir asked.

“Yarpen…” Geralt blinked, and squinted his eyes at the ceiling. “Yarpen Zigrin.”

“And he knows us…” Eskel said, staring at Geralt like the answer was written plainly on his face.

“Of course I know you.” Geralt grumbled, but took a bite of the bread that Lambert had thrown at him. “Who else is here? Coën?”

Eskel shook his head. “Not this winter. He sends his best wishes, though. To you and the bard.”

“And the bard is…” Geralt asked, mouth full of bread.

“This is just too weird,” Lambert said. “Seriously. Nothing rings a bell? Jask-“

But Jaskier was already approaching Geralt, his hand sticking out in front of him. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, poet, bard, troubadour, and excellent friend at your service. There’s something I could say here about bread, but I won’t.”

Geralt stared at him, with hard eyes, but Jaskier didn’t back down. He had, after all, done this once before.

Just when Jaskier was about to give up, and drop his hand, Geralt spoke.

“I thought your name was Jaskier.” Jaskier couldn’t help but beam.

“It is! I left home and shed both my old name and my noble status. I’m known to some as Dandelion, but most call me Jaskier.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier just took the hand that was not currently holding bread and shook it, awkwardly.

“Why.”

“Why what?” Jaskier responded, once he had dropped Geralt’s limp hand.

“Why were you in my bed-“

“The witch should be arriving soon, with the lion cub.” Vesemir interrupted, though he had joined Eskel’s side at looking through the book and didn’t seem to notice. “We will see what she has to say, and if it’s not only the bard that Geralt-“ Vesemir looked up, glancing between Jaskier and Geralt, “forgot.”

Jaskier cleared his throat and stepped back. Lambert pushed Geralt’s forgotten bowl of porridge closer to Geralt, who grumpily picked it up and started eating.

Before anyone could do anything else, a low creaking noise came through the keep, making everyone stand at attention. It was the main hall door- it was Jaskier’s job to oil the hinges, but he hadn’t gotten to it yet.

“That will be them,” Eskel said, leaving the book in Vesemir’s hands and going over to Geralt. “Let’s maybe not try to murder them, if you don’t recognize them right away, hmm?” Geralt grunted, but followed Eskel out of the room without a second glance at Jaskier.

Jaskier didn’t know if he felt relieved or even worse once Geralt had left the room.

“What do you think?” Lambert asked the older man. “He came at Jaskier with a knife- this isn’t him. A doppler, perhaps?”

Vesemir scoffed at the suggestion. “How would a doppler have gotten up here, and with what purpose? He had no reaction to the silver, nor iron.”

“I really cannot think of anything that could have happened in the past twelve hours…” Jaskier said, feeling a bit hopeless. Vesemir closed the book with a hearty slam, and shook his head.

“No worry. We will get this figured out. Something isn’t right here. Yennefer will be able to help.” Vesemir pressed his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “We will fix this, son.”

Vesemir’s words were kind, but not enough to lift Jaskier’s spirits. He wasn’t sure if anything would, other than Geralt looking at him with the same love in his eyes that he had looked at Jaskier with the night before.

“But, maybe you should put some pants on.” Lambert added hastily.

As the seconds wore on, Geralt felt himself retreating farther and farther into his mind. He had woken up with a sense of calm, so deep and serene, that the fact that he was so calm jerked him back to reality. His head ached terribly, and when his vision had cleared enough to recognize his room in Kaer Morhen, he had felt someone laying beside him. Well, not beside him, but on top of him. The mousy brown head of hair was buried in the crook of his neck, snoring soundly.

There was a moment, where Geralt knew him. And then, he did not.

The man was enough of a sound sleeper that he didn’t stir when Geralt shifted him off of his chest, nor when Geralt reached under his mattress to grab the small knife that he kept there in case of emergencies.

He knew nothing but there was a stranger in his bed, clinging to Geralt, and there was a stranger in Kaer Morhen. The only path of action was to interrogate him, and find out his motives.

Clearly that had gone well.

By the time that Eskel led him out of the lab, and into another quiet hallway, Geralt considered the possibility that this was all some very strange dream.

The man who was in his bed was clearly under the protection of his brothers, and supposedly him. Even Vesemir liked him- did Eskel say he had been coming here for the past five winters?

Geralt tried to think back to the last winter he spent at Kaer Morhen and failed to come up with anything. His head hurt so damn bad, it felt like someone was taking an axe to it.

Geralt wasn’t an idiot, but it didn’t feel right when he tried to piece together why the bard was in his bed, why the bard called him dear heart, why the bard wasn’t wearing any pants-

Stepping into the mess hall, Geralt felt a sense of deep relief. There were two women stood in elegant fur coats, chatting as they shook off the snow. As Eskel and Geralt approached, the younger one lit up with delight once she saw them.

Ciri.

Geralt caught her easily as she took a running jump at him, swinging her in his arms. Big displays of affection like this felt foreign to Geralt, but as the girl giggled into his ear, he couldn’t help but smile. This was right.

“So much for a welcoming party,” the other woman said, striding up, and giving Eskel a kiss on the cheek. “After all of the snow we trekked through…”

“You were the one who wanted to delay coming up here. I thought you wouldn’t make it up before the winter solstice.” Eskel replied, taking her coat. “Good to see you, Ciri.” He nodded at Ciri, who still had her arms around Geralt.

“Hi Eskel!” Ciri said, her voice muffled in Geralt’s chest.

There was an pause of awkward silence, where Eskel looked at Ciri then at Geralt, clearly unsure. Geralt just nodded and smoothed Ciri’s hair with his hand.

“Yennefer,” Geralt greeted, the name coming to him like it had never left. He could picture clearly- Yennefer standing on a mountain, the view spreading far behind her. Yennefer, in Kaer Morhen, teaching Ciri. Yennefer, who had kept Ciri throughout the fall to continue their training before coming here for the winter.

Eskel’s shoulders dropped in relief.

“I thought we would never get here! I couldn’t wait to see everyone again.” Ciri pulled away from the embrace, looking behind Geralt. “Where’s Jaskier?”

Both Eskel and Geralt froze. Yennefer caught Eskel’s obvious wince, raising an eyebrow, but Ciri didn’t seem to notice.

It was only a moment later that there was noise behind them, the others joining the group. The hall erupted into noise, with greeting, hugging, and questions about the Path up to the keep. When he turned to look, Ciri had Jaskier in a similar embrace that he was just in, except they were both talking in rapid-fire.

Geralt also noticed that Jaskier was wearing pants.

Yennefer sidled up beside Geralt. He wasn’t surprised- not much could get past her.

“What’s wrong?” Yennefer asked in a low tone once she was next to Geralt. “You stink of… Something. Something strange.”

“We’re hoping you can help us with that,” Eskel added, in an equally low tone. “But maybe let’s not discuss that here.”

“Discuss what?” Ciri piped in, making Eskel wince again.

“Ah.” Jaskier pulled away slightly from the embrace to look at Ciri’s face. “There is a bit of a memory issue.”

“With you?” Ciri asked. “But you remember me!”

“Yes, of course I do,” Jaskier assured. “It’s… Geralt. He doesn’t remember me.”

“What?” Ciri cried, looking at Geralt. “But!”

“But you remember us?” Yennefer asked. “Everyone else?”

Geralt shrugged. “Yes.”

“Hmm.” Yennefer hummed, looking closely at Geralt. “Vesemir, I assume the lab is still in proper order?”

Vesemir rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can use it.” Yennefer smiled quickly at him, but turned back to Jaskier.

“It’s just you?”

Geralt felt acutely uncomfortable at the look of pain that crossed the other man’s face. When he had woken up this morning, he was so peaceful, even with a knife pressed to his throat. So… Content. Seeing this look of despair, no matter how well the bard tried to hide it, didn’t feel right.

He pushed away the thought, looking anywhere in the room but at the man.

“I suppose so.” Jaskier said, and clearly forced cheer into his next words. “But that just means that he won’t be cross with me for stealing all of his mead last night!”

Ciri giggled, then gasped. “Jask, your hand!”

There was a bandage on Jaskier’s hand, cloth that had a smear of red on it. Geralt remembered the knife, and wondered where it was.

Jaskier grimaced, looking at Geralt, before waving his other, unwounded, hand in the air. “No matter! It was just a simple accident. Now that we have our resident witch here,” a playful wink towards Yen, “I will be alright in no time. Now, tell me about all of the things you learned in our time apart. I might need your input on a new song.” Geralt watched as Jaskier swept Ciri away on his arm, chatting about something called a murkhag. He had the urge to follow them, but let himself be dragged along by Yennefer instead, back to the lab.

He was sat down on the same table as before, and picked up the abandoned bowl of porridge. Yennefer took it from him and put it back down.

“Tell me.”

Geralt sighed, but obliged. The sooner they realized he wasn’t crazy, that he had no idea who that man was, the better.

“I woke up. There was a stranger in my bed. I asked who he was, and how he got there. He ran for Eskel. I got taken to the lab, where everyone asked me idiotic questions. You and Ciri arrived.”

The look of Yen’s face suggested she was less than pleased by his recount of events.

“Let me guess. You woke up, freaked out that there was a man in your bed, which in turn freaked Jaskier out, he ran to get help, and you were as stubborn as a mule the entire way.” Geralt scowled but didn’t turn away when Yennefer leaned in to inspect his eyes.

“I can’t quite tell what it is- it’s something I’ve never seen or felt before. Not chaos, I do not think…” She trailed off, picking up the silver and iron pieces that Vesemir had made him hold earlier.

Instead of handing him the pieces though, she bopped him with the small slab of silver.

“Ow.” Geralt said dryly, though it hadn’t hurt much.

“I was hoping that would work. Or at least teach you to stop being an ass.” Yen replied. “Now, I have a few questions. What do you remember of the last few days?”

Just as it had every time someone asked him a question similar to this, Geralt’s head hurt.

“Not much. It’s hazy. I remember getting to Kaer Morhen, but that’s all.”

“Do you remember tying Roach up? Walking through the door? Who was the first person you saw when you came in?”

“I… Tied Roach up.” Geralt answered slowly. “And the door was already open, because…” A searing pain shot through his skull, so unexpected that he couldn’t repress a groan. “Fuck.”

Yen waited for him to catch his breath before continuing. “Why were you at the banquet in Cintra, the night you claimed the Law of Surprise?”

This was not the direction that he had thought these questions would go.

“I don’t remember, it was a long time ago.”

“Think,” Yen stressed. “You wouldn’t be caught dead at an event like that, so why did you go?”

Geralt could only shake his head, dumbfounded.

“Mousesack? He was there. He invited me?”

“Is that a question or an answer, Geralt?” Yen responded sharply.

“I don’t know.”

 “Alright. Do you remember how we met?”

Geralt frowned. “Of course. The Djinn.”

“Yes, but how, specifically?”

“I… Was looking for a djinn. To grant me a wish. You were trying to trap the djinn, to have a child, but it was killing you.” He wasn’t sure where this was going.

“No. How did you get to Rinde? Why? Why didn’t you just make your wish and leave?” Yen pressed on. “You were miles away, at the least.”

His head throbbed, and he felt like he had gone through ten rounds with a downer.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Last one. In the past twenty years, who have you travelled with?”

Geralt paused, surprised by such an easy question. “Alone.” He got the sense that it was not the correct answer, judging by the severe look on Yen’s face. “Unless I was with you, or Ciri, in the recent years. But I’ve always traveled alone.”

Yennefer sighed heavily, and sat down on a stool. She massaged her temples, as if she was the one who’s head felt like it was splitting open.

“Did I pass your test?” Geralt tried to smile, but Yen only glared at him.

“Someone, somehow, has gone into your brain and taken all of your memories of Jaskier. Only your memories of Jaskier. Events that happened directly because of Jaskier still happened, because no one can change the past, but it appears to be like he just wasn’t there.”

“I don’t know him,” Geralt said for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You do, though. You did.” Yen said. “You two travelled together for over twenty years, he was your best friend. He’s helped the both of us with caring for and training Ciri. He’s your…” Yen trailed off, looking past Geralt. “How did this happen? I wasn’t aware such a thing could be done, dealings with the mind and memory are not simple, and could result in disaster.”

“Can you fix it?”

Yen sat up, adjusting her dress skirt. “I will do my best.”

“Are you friends with him?” Geralt asked. Yen looked up at him, surprised, but nodded.

“He is one of the few friends I have. He’s very dear to us all.”

“Hmm.”

“You owe him a lot of things.” Yen murmured. “We all do, I suppose.”

“No human has stepped foot in Kaer Morhen before. And he was just let in?” Yen’s face got soft, an expression that Geralt wasn’t particularly familiar with on the sorceress’s face.

“You insisted, believe it or not. But you hardly had to ask, both Coën and Eskel vouched for him. Then there was Ciri, and it just made sense to keep everyone up here during the winter.”

Geralt tried to think about this man, who he had apparently insisted be let in. This man, who was in his bed. This man, who had reached to Geralt’s face, even though he was holding a knife, like it was his second nature. Ciri trusted him, Lambert joked with him, even Yennefer held affection for him.

Geralt’s head hurt.

“Are we done now?”

Yennefer waved him off, picking up the book that Vesemir and Eskel had left. “Fine. But I’ll be back for more questions. I have to go talk to Jaskier.”

Geralt nodded at her before leaving.

Vesemir was where Geralt had expected him to be- the library. Deep within the aisles of books, Geralt found him.

“Who is he.” He knew he wouldn’t have to elaborate.

Vesemir sighed, and closed the book he was holding. “He’s your bard.”

There was a pause, and Geralt wondered if he was going to say anything else until- “I don’t know when you told him you loved him. But you have loved him for a very long time, even if you didn’t realize it.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he had loved someone. He couldn’t remember what it felt like to feel the way Vesemir said he did, not since Yen, and even that wasn’t true, they both knew that. He had Ciri, of course, but that was a different type of love.

Geralt had to clear his throat before he could continue. “And he?” It still came out strangled.

“He has told me himself that he has loved you from the very first moment that he saw you. He continues to show that to us all that every day, much to your brothers’ chagrin.”

It took Geralt a moment to catch onto what the older man meant, and felt his skin go hot.

“But what now?”

Vesemir thought for a few moments. “Give yourself time. He’s waited for you before. I have the inkling that he will always wait for you.”

“I can’t just.” Geralt cleared his throat. “Trust him. I don’t know him.”

“Then trust us. We would never let any harm come to you.” Vesemir said firmly. “He will give you space if you ask for it. He might require some as well.”

There was a lurching sensation in his stomach at the thought of making distance from this stranger, but there was no memory, no thought process to back up why he felt that way.

“Alright.”

“Geralt.” Vesemir said as Geralt started turning to leave. “I’ve raised you, as I’ve raised many men. I’ve had to bury many men as well. I am an old man, and slowly, my ways have changed. This place,” Vesemir gestured to the old, dusty library around them. “Is no longer what it was. It no longer exists to create soldiers. Now, it exists as a safe haven.”

“A sanctuary,” Geralt agreed, not sure where this was going.

“I look forward to you and your brothers coming home every winter. And every winter, I get to see your lives grow beyond the Path. Ciri, Yennefer, Jaskier… They are your family.”

“So are you.”

“I know that,” Vesemir shook his head. “What I’m trying to say, is that Jaskier is a good man, and he truly does love you. You love him too, even if it takes a few more knocks to the brain for you to remember that. The Path is no longer your entire life. And I am proud of you for that. I hope you go on to do better than I ever did.”

Geralt could only nod mutely, stunned by Vesemir’s words. He has never heard Vesemir talk like that before. Vesemir caught the look on Geralt’s face and cracked a smile. “What can I say, your little family really knows how to soften a man who’s long forgotten that he could be soft.”

Geralt made a small noise, and nodded again.

Vesemir nodded back at him solemnly, and opened his book up once again.

“And Geralt killed it?” Ciri asked, her eagerness turning her from a teenager to a little girl in a moment.

“He did.” Jaskier confirmed. “Strange creature though, it simply… Faded away. Into ash. There were no trophies to return back to town, so it was a pain to get Geralt his due pay, but that’s why I was there.”

He strummed his lute, humming along. “I’ll have to make a song of it, of course. The Great Murkhag Battle, written and performed by yours truly.”

“I cannot wait,” Ciri said. But she then bit her lip and looked to the side, a sign that she was about to ask something she didn’t want to. “So Geralt… Doesn’t remember you?”

Jaskier nodded, trying to keep a sage face in front of the young woman. No sense in stressing her out anymore than was needed. “But he remembers everything else?”

“Apparently so.” Yennefer answered for him, appearing in the doorway. She looked around Ciri’s room, which had her various cloaks and other clothing scattered everywhere. “Settling in?”

“Jaskier was just telling me about the last monster Geralt had slain,” Ciri said.

“Did you talk to him?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes. I do not know what is going on so far, but we’re getting somewhere. He remembers his past as it is, but simply without you.”

Jaskier’s mouth gaped open, but he tried to pass it off more as outrage then genuine pain. “How is that possible?”

“The djinn, he could only tell me that he was there, trying to find a djinn, and so was I. He couldn’t explain why he had gone to Pavetta’s banquet in the first place, not without experiencing severe pain.”

“How is this possible?” Ciri asked.

Yennefer looked out the window behind them, and Jaskier knew her well enough that she believed that saying nothing was better than saying she didn’t know, at times.

“You said he’s in pain?” Jaskier couldn’t help himself. Yen grimaced, and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

“Yes. It’s his head. I presume it’s his mind trying to deal with the absence of you, since you are central to many key moments of his life. Or it could be the magic, trying to prevent him from remembering anything.”

“Will he remember Jaskier?” Ciri sounded dangerously close to tears, so Jaskier placed his hand on her knee, patting it reassuringly.

“He will. I just have to look into it more. Bard, I have some questions, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course.” Jaskier stood and pressed a kiss to Ciri’s forehead. “Run and get some food, I’m sure Lambert is in the kitchen scavenging.”

“Do you really not remember him?” A sweet voice came behind Geralt. He was standing at one of the old destroyed walls behind the keep. It was secluded, and the cold air could help him think.

Geralt turned around. Ciri had already shed the dress she had arrived in, and was wearing pants and a tunic now, with her winter boots. “Jaskier?” she prompted when Geralt took too long to respond.

“Yes.” He felt a ping of regret at the crestfallen look on Ciri’s face.

“He’s the reason you and I are bound.” At Geralt’s surprised look, she continues on. “You’ve both told me the story, but he tells it better. You went to Cintra because he was performing there, for my grandmother and mother. He needed protection, and he convinced you to go with him. He’s the reason you were there, why you were there to save my father.”

Geralt leaned back, feeling the cold stone behind him.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t just say ‘hmm’!” Ciri shouted. “Go and remember him! Because it’s making him sad that you don’t remember him, and it’s making everyone else sad that you aren’t with him!”

She looked like she wanted to finish her speech by stomping her foot, but she huffed and folded her arms instead.

“Ciri.” Geralt started, but realized he had no idea what to say. “Everyone is telling me I know him. I believe you all. But I don’t know him. And for whatever reason, someone chose to erase my memory of him, not you, not Yen, not anyone else. We need to figure that out first.”

“Yenna’s doing that already! So is Vesemir! So you should go talk to Jask.”

Geralt squinted at his ward. “Did he put you up to this?”

“Not at all. In fact, I was told to not talk to you about Jaskier. They don’t want you freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“I heard Lambert say to Eskel that you were freaking out.” Ciri said back, and she was smart enough to flash a smile at Geralt after she did. “That’s okay if you are freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” Geralt repeated.

“Okay…” Ciri drew out. “So you won’t freak out at dinner if Jaskier is there? Because I’m a little worried he’s going to freak out too.”

“Can we please,” Geralt forced himself to take a deep breath. “Stop discussing freaking out. No one is freaking out.” Ciri looked at him as if she didn’t believe him, but continued anyway.

“Fine. Vesemir said that he would make my favorite stew for dinner, since Yenna and I have finally arrived.”

“The old man really has gone soft,” Geralt mused to himself. To Ciri, he said “Fine. Tomorrow we start your training again. Are you prepared?”

Ciri bounced up and down on her feet, nodding. “Yes! Lambert said I could try the obstacle course, can I?”

Geralt winced, thinking of the death trap that was just around the ridge. “We will discuss that later.”

 Ciri trills, skipping back down the hallway. When she reached the top of the stairs and realized Geralt wasn’t following her, she turned around and put her hand on her hip.

“Come on!”

“What.” All Geralt wanted to do was be alone, but he doubted he could ever say no to his Child Surprise.

“I’ve been gone allll year,” Ciri said, like it was obvious. “Also, I haven’t seen you since summer’s end.”

“That’s not quite all year,”

“Yeah, but I haven’t been here at Kaer Morhen in a year. You have to give me a tour to refresh my memory and tell me all about your adventures.”

Dinner was… An awkward affair. Jaskier had spent as much of the day finding little nooks and crannies to hide in. According to Ciri, Geralt was doing the same, if not a similar thing, but Jaskier managed to go without seeing him. It was strange to creep around Kaer Morhen, like he was an intruder, instead a part of the Witcher family, but Jaskier knew that Geralt came first. If Geralt deemed it necessary to kick Jaskier out, he would.

Just the thought of having to travel down the mountain alone made Jaskier’s stomach roll. It had been years since the dragon hunt, when Geralt had left him on the top of a mountain, but wounds like that still stung when touched.

Eskel had fetched him from dinner, finding Jaskier exploring rooms so far back in the keep, they were unusable.

“Spending your time wisely?” Eskel asked as him and Jaskier walked down to the mess hall. “You got the day off of chores, but I doubt Vesemir will let that go for much longer.”

“Good point. Do you think we could switch rotations?” Jaskier tried to give Eskel his best puppy-dog-eyes, fluttering his eyelashes.

Eskel just chuckled, amused. “No can do. Besides, maybe mucking the stables will help Geralt remember you.”

Jaskier groaned. “Have you talked to him at all?” Eskel continued.

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Yen and Ciri got here. Vesemir find any leads?”

“Not that I know of, but you know the old man. He’ll keep whatever theories he has to himself until he’s ready to share.”

A hand came out of nowhere and slapped the back of Eskel’s neck. Eskel didn’t miss a beat, turning and smiling at his father figure.

“Watch your mouth, boy.” Vesemir growled, but fell in step with them.

Jaskier had spent a few winters at Kaer Morhen, but he still felt like he had to take in every inch of the keep that he could. The cobbled floors, the stone walls that still held strong while some parts were cracked. The windows showed only white snow, and a few glimpses of one of the courtyards below.  

The others were already in the mess hall, eating at the table when they walked in, only Lambert jerking his head in greeting, and Ciri jumping up and waving them over.

Jaskier ended up across the table from Geralt, next to Lambert. Ciri was sitting in between Geralt and Yennefer, and was shooting glances from Geralt and Jaskier.

Idle chatter complimented dinner, but it was a far cry from their usual exuberant storytelling that happened at dinners. Ciri was bouncing up and down in her seat after they had finished eating.

“Weren’t you riding horseback for the past few days? How are you not exhausted?” Jaskier asked her. Ciri just shrugged, and went back to bouncing.

“I suppose it’s tradition that we do not see Jaskier for the first day after him and Geralt arrive,” Lambert mused. “Because he’s always sleeping. Or hungover. Or both.” Jaskier elbowed him, but it didn’t deter the man’s smile.

“Jaskier! Can you play a song?” Ciri interrupted, leaning forward over the table. Jaskier hesitated, his eyes unintentionally going to Geralt, who was staring back at him, hard.

Jaskier looked away, before summoning what he hoped was an apologetic smile.

“Sorry my princess, but I left my lute up in your room. Tomorrow-“

“Don’t worry, I brought it with me!” From under the table, Ciri picked up and handed him his lute. Jaskier let his eyes slant at Yen, who was poorly hiding a smile behind her hand.

Jaskier took his lute, when Ciri wordlessly threatened to drop it in a bowl of leftover stew. He absentmindedly strummed a chord, head racing of songs he could play.

Of course, most of his songs were about Geralt, the man who had no memory of them.

“Come on,” Ciri pleaded. “At least Toss A Coin, Yen and I heard it last by a bard in a tavern who did not do it as good as you.”

Taking the bait, Jaskier scoffed. “Of course they didn’t. It’s my masterpiece, no one could even compare.” He stood up, Lambert scooting away in his chair to give him space.

He could do this. Toss A Coin was the song he could sing backwards, reversed, or underwater, he’s done it so much. Still, with Geralt’s eyes on him, it took Jaskier a moment to catch his breath before he could start.

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…”

The chair screeched against the ground as Geralt pushed back his chair. Without a look at anyone, Geralt strode out of the mess hall, leaving everyone else in silence behind him.

The tension from the mess hall swept throughout the entire keep. Geralt made sure to track back and say goodnight to Ciri, and make sure she wasn’t too upset by his sudden departure, but she was fast asleep in her room when he found her. It was dark, and he couldn’t hear his brothers in the mess hall, so they must have gone to sleep as well.

Geralt started walking back to his room, but stopped, realizing he didn’t know where the bard was. Was he expecting to sleep in Geralt’s room? Where would Geralt sleep? Geralt frowned at the thought of being kicked out of his own room.

He had paused in one of the hallways to consider this, and that was when he heard Jaskier’s voice, inside Yennefer’s room.

“I just… I’m not used to him looking at me with such coldness. I understand that he has no idea who I am, has no memory of our past together but… It just brings back not great memories.”

“The dragon hunt?” That was Yennefer. Geralt frowned and stepped closer to the door. They were talking about him, that much was obvious, but what about the dragon hunt?

“Yes, that.” A pause. There were footsteps, as if someone was pacing. “And it makes me wonder about his infatuation with you.”

“Oh, bard.” Yennefer sounded sad. “You know you have nothing to worry about.”

“Not about you,” Jaskier rushed to say. “But you know how he was. I can only ever tell what he’s thinking because he stopped shutting me out, but now it’s like looking at a stone wall.”

Geralt had no idea what they were talking about.

“If he tries anything, I’ll lock him outside without any clothes. Might be good for him.” Yennefer said. “I just can’t figure out why they chose you to erase. And how.”

“I wish I could tell you more.” Jaskier said. “But I need to figure out when to get into our room to grab my things.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Yennefer asked sharply, and Geralt stood up straighter, listening intently.

“Kaer Morhen?” Jaskier laughed. “No, I fear Ciri would try to kill me, or send Lambert or Eskel after me. Just out of the room Geralt and I stay in. I guess it’s his room, technically. But I’m not in the mood to wake up at knife point again. It would just… Make things easier.”

“Geralt doesn’t have the power to kick you out. He might pretend he does with all of that grunting and posturing, but he doesn’t.”

Jaskier laughed again, but it was shorter. “I know that. I just… Don’t want to make this harder on him.” His voice dropped lower, and Geralt had to strain to hear him. “If he doesn’t regain his memory-“

“He will.”

“If he doesn’t, he won’t take me with him. He remembers you, Ciri, but I’m a total stranger who everyone says he knows and cares for. We both know him, well enough to know that he will not want me to join him come spring.”

Was this true? Geralt thought about it. About the bard following along with him, as he walked on the Path. Being there while Geralt took contracts and fought monsters, and what, sang songs?

There was silence on the other side of the door. Geralt was about to move on, thinking they were done, when Yennefer spoke up again.

“Stay in my room for the night. We’ll… Figure it out.”

“You can’t magic him into loving me,” Jaskier said. “Melitele knows that man doesn’t need any more bonds through destiny, or whatnot.”

“You can wear one of my sleeping gowns if you want the couch.”

That threw Geralt through a loop, but it made Jaskier laugh.

“Fine.” Footsteps receded as Yennefer and Jaskier walked further into her bedroom.

Geralt hovered in front of the door for a few more moments, waiting to see if anything else was going to be said. When there was nothing, he went back to his room. At least he got his answer about where the bard was sleeping tonight.

In the morning, Yen slammed an old dusty book in front of Geralt, nearly knocking the spoon out of his hand. “Tell me about the monster you fought at the bottom of the mountain.”

Geralt squinted at the sorceress. “What?”

“Before you began the ascent to Kaer Morhen, you fought a monster. You took a contract at one of the last villages on the trip, and set out to fight a monster. What was it?”

Geralt thought, but came up with nothing but a spike in pain from his head. The headache had been so relentless that he had come to get used to the pain, overnight.

That didn’t mean he slept well, though. At first, he couldn’t get comfortable, switching sides, and even losing focus when he was meditating. Then, he smelled the bard in his sheets, from the morning before.

It was only when he had laid his head on the bard’s pillow, inhaling his scent that he was able to get a semblance of rest.

The bard was even in his dreams, laughing, but not unkindly, taking Geralt’s hand and leading him into a cozy room with a fireplace. But every time Geralt reached for him, the bard’s visage would shimmer, as if he was only an illusion.

So, Geralt had not had a good sleep.

“I didn’t take a contract,” Geralt finally responded. It was the truest answer he could give. “I came straight here.”

“Uh-um.” Someone else started, and it took all of Geralt’s willpower to not look up at Jaskier. “Actually, he did. I was there with him.” Jaskier had his head buried deep in a journal of his when Geralt had come in for breakfast, and this was his first time speaking up.

“Were you with him when he slayed the beast?” Yen asked.

“Yup. Was going to write a song about it and everything. Do you think this is connected to- this whole thing?”

Yennefer nodded. “It makes the most to look there.”

“I don’t remember slaying any beast.” Geralt interjected.

“Do you remember the dragon hunt? Or the Sylvan who was working with the elves?” Jaskier asked. Geralt scowled. He didn’t like being contradicted, and once again, had no clue where this line of questioning was going.

“Yes.”

“But I was with you nearly every step of the way. The selkiemore, before Pavetta’s betrothal banquet? I was there, too.”

Geralt thought, but the more he tried to picture the bard standing alongside him at any of these hunts, the blurrier the memories got. He shook his head, but Yennefer had already moved on, walking over to Jaskier and sitting across from him.

“Tell me everything you remember.”

“It was something neither of us had ever seen before,” Jaskier started. “The town was terrified, there were rumors and claims of something in the forest killing the men’s wives. They called it the murkag, asked if Geralt could do something about it. We thought the snow would hold for a few more days, so Geralt took the contract.”

Geralt could see him in his element, his words bringing to life a world that Geralt still wasn’t quite sure had happened or not.

“That night,” Jaskier continued. “We went out to the forest, planning to stay the night out there and see what Geralt could find. The testimonies regarding the creature had been vague to say the least, so I stayed behind with Roach and kept the fire going while Geralt went out looking for any information.” He shot a glance at Geralt when he said that, but Geralt couldn’t read the expression on his face. “So I stayed behind. Until I heard a shout. I knew it was Geralt, so I took off.”

“That was stupid.” Geralt said. Jaskier smiled wryly.

“Perhaps. But when I got to you, you were pinned to the ground with some kind of… Force.”

“What does that mean?” Yen asked.

“I mean, Geralt was on the ground, and he couldn’t get back up. It was like some invisible being was shoving him down, or someone was casting a spell. Like, a really intense aard.”

“Who was casting it?” Yennefer prompted.

“This…” Jaskier faltered, lost in thought, but spoke again before Yen had to prompt him again. “This man, I suppose. He looked vaguely humanlike, more humanlike than beastly. He was tall, at least seven foot, and it seemed like he was made out of moss. You know, just covered in it, really. I couldn’t see his face in the dark, and I was more concerned with helping Geralt than painting a picture.”

“You ran in?” Geralt couldn’t help but ask. This scrawny bard, who has so far shown less battle knowledge than a mouse, tried to help him?

“I’ve spent over twenty years with you, believe it or not. Your loss memory can’t erase these muscles-“ Jaskier’s posturing was cut off by Yen leaning over and flicking him in the temple. “Ow.”

“Keep going.”

“So I shouted something intelligent at him, something probably heroic and that will feature a line in my upcoming song-“

“Jaskier.” Yen flicked him again, but Jaskier just continued.

“Got his attention, and that released whatever magic he had on Geralt. That guy was saying something, but I couldn’t hear much of it, because Geralt was doing his whole growly-and-swingy routine and I was screaming for my life.”

Yennefer stole the journal that Jaskier was writing in, and scratched out a few words. Jaskier didn’t object, lost in the thrall of storytelling. “He had claws, have I mentioned that yet? Black nails coming from what looked like to be his hands, ooh.” Jaskier shuddered. “Those claws. Ugh. Well, Geralt went all slashy, right? But the murkhag, or whatever it was called was in his zone, doing some chanting stuff, so he went down pretty easily when Geralt stabbed him in the stomach. Except, he stayed standing, all hunched over, and just saying a bunch of intelligible words-“

“Was it Elder?”

“No, I would have understood at least a portion of it if it was,” Jaskier responded. The bard understood Elder? “And then he turned to ash and disappeared.”

“That was it?”

“That was it,” Jaskier confirmed. “The ash didn’t even stay there long enough for me to bottle it, or something, it just floated away.”

That sounded like nothing Geralt had ever heard of before. A humanoid creature, that was covered in moss, with black claws, that turned to ash when struck?

“Are you sure?” He found himself asking. Jaskier turned to look at him, hurt evident in his eyes before smiling. His eyes were tight, and the smile seemed forced.

“Of course! My entire career rests on remembering your battles. Also you not being dead.”

“Hmm.” Geralt went back to scraping the remains of his breakfast from his bowl. Something about this was wrong, but he couldn’t tell what. He had the feeling if he brought it up, Jaskier’s retelling would trump Geralt’s lack of memory, so he kept his mouth shut.

Yennefer sighed and stood up, taking the journal with her.

“I’ll talk to Vesemir and look into it. If you remember anything else,”

“I’ll come talk to you, I know, I know.” Jaskier finished.

“And if you,” Yen pointed at Geralt. “Remember a single thing about Jaskier, come find me immediately.” Geralt grunted in agreement.

Yennefer swept out of the mess hall, leaving Jaskier and Geralt alone.

Geralt got up and left before Jaskier could say anything else. The only thing he heard was a soft, mournful sigh coming from the bard as Geralt walked through the doorway and out of the mess hall.

Jaskier had an idea. It wasn’t his best idea, but it was the best idea compared to his only other plan, which was to tie Geralt up and kiss him until Geralt was forced to remember him. But that idea led to more daydreaming, and Jaskier wasn’t necessarily sure that he had the time for daydreaming now.

While Yen was having him recount the fight with the murkhag, Jaskier remembered. He remembered the very specific things that the beast-man-thing was saying.

“Though they may try, our love will never die. In the nest, our magic rests. Forget they will, until the heart grows still. It is my strife that will bring my love back to life.”

It was simple, really. All Jaskier had to do was go back, find the nest, figure out how to kill the thing for good, and Geralt would get his memory back! Until the heart grows still must be in reference to how to kill the thing. The last line… Well, Jaskier was willing to figure it out as he went along.

It was a stupid rhyme, but it was the only lead that he had.

Luckily the snow hadn’t started coming down hard enough to make it impossible to go down the mountain- yet. This meant he had to go now.

“I’m going to the stables!” Jaskier called behind him, one foot out of the door. Ciri was sparring with Lambert, Yen was with Vesemir in the library, so this was his best chance. Was it a stupid idea to go down the mountain path by himself? Yes. Would Yen thump him on the head and spell him to his bed if she knew what he was doing? Yes.

But was he willing to do literally anything to get Geralt’s memory back?

Maybe it was selfish of him. Geralt clearly was fine. Maybe having Ciri and Yen in his life was all that he really needed. Maybe Jaskier just happened to be there at the right time, maybe…

Jaskier shook his head to clear the thoughts from his head. He has seen Destiny be cruel, but she wouldn’t be that cruel, would she? To give Jaskier everything he had ever wanted, a true love, a family, someone who loves him, Geralt, only to rip him away just like that?

No. He wouldn’t stand for that.

“Roach, we are going on an adventure,” Jaskier chattered as he stepped out of the keep, pulling on the darkest cloak he had. This wouldn’t be the first time that Jaskier would face a monster alone, but it would be the first time that something this important was riding on it.

That was why he had packed a satchel with not only food and a small dagger, but a sugar cube to tempt Roach into the snow with.

Jaskier could hear Roach nicker as he approached the stable, but he ran into something hard, face first.

“Oof- Geralt!” Jaskier squeaked. “I thought you were with Lambert and Ciri!”

Geralt looked at him impassively. “I was just, you know, coming out here to chat with Roach! Always want to keep our eyes on our favorite horse, don’t we? Make sure she’s not too lonely out here-“

“What are you doing.”

Jaskier tried to swallow another squeak, which ended up sounding more like he was choking. Geralt watched him for a few moments as Jaskier tried to recover.

“But I see that you are keeping her company, so I will just go on my way-“

“Bard.”

Jaskier, who was already halfway out of the stable doors, froze. “What are you doing.” Geralt repeated, stressing each word like it physically pained him.

“Just… going for a walk?” Jaskier tried. Geralt squinted at him, and for one brilliantly heartbreaking moment, he looked like the Geralt that Jaskier knew. It was the same man, Jaskier had been trying to remind himself. Geralt hadn’t really been changed, other than his memory. He was still Geralt of Rivia. Whatever Geralt was looking for in Jaskier’s face he found, for he shook his head tersely, breaking the moment. “Alright-y then.”

Jaskier only makes it a half step before Geralt is grabbing the hood of his cloak and yanking it, with him, back. He yelped in an undignified manner, and it was only for the Witcher’s iron grasp on his hood that he didn’t fall face first into the muck.

“What do you want, you… Brute!” Jaskier got out, trying to become steady on his own feet before turning to glare at Geralt. “Just because you can’t remember me doesn’t mean you can just manhandle me however you want-“

Geralt glared at Jaskier.

“I’m just going for a walk! Is that not allowed!”

Jaskier was fully aware the longer that Geralt looked at him like that, the more that he was going to ramble. And here he goes again… “If you must know, I was only going to say hello to Roach, and be on my way. You can watch me leave, if it would please you. I would like to journey out before the snow gets too bad- not that it isn’t bad now, but I am really not going far, I’ll be back before dinner I’m sure, so no real need to worry, not like I’m going to try to go back down the mountain again-“

Roach nickered, as if to say ‘you’ve gone too far, bard’. Jaskier wished he could put his own shoe in his mouth, if only to make him shut up.

Geralt exhaled slowly. “Bard. Are you doing something stupid?”

Jaskier swallowed hard. “No?” The answer came out more like a question, and his voice was meek. His Geralt knew when he was lying without having to even look at Jaskier, but did this one care enough to notice?

Another beat of silence passed before Geralt dropped his hands by his side.

The inquisition seemed to be over, yet Jaskier couldn’t resist lingering for a moment longer, staring at Geralt.

“Ger, the old man wants to know when you will come back and help him with the bookshelf that fell over in one of the storage rooms-“ Lambert halted in his tracks when he came across the two. “Oh good, you two are finally talking?”

“I would hardly call it that,” Jaskier said at the same time that Geralt grunted out a “no.”. Lambert hardly blinked, only shrugging.

“Alright. Well then, I’ll be on my way…” Lambert started, but before he can finish, Geralt is pushing past Jaskier.

“The bard and I are done.” Geralt said, voice as cold as ice. The shove hardly moved Jaskier from where he stood, but he still felt like he had just stood through an avalanche. Cold, unforgiving. There is no love to be found in an avalanche.

Lambert starts to say something else, but Geralt dragged his brother along.

Jaskier gave himself another moment to let the hurt wash over him, and tried to not linger in it.

“Well, Roach. I suppose he would notice if I took you, hmm?” Roach huffed at Jaskier has he approached, sniffing around him, in search of the sugar cubes she knew he had. “I guess Vesemir wouldn’t mind if I took one of his older mares. I’ll be back before nightfall, I’m sure.”

As Jaskier saddled up one of the horses and got on, he tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that said, famous last words.

Now, the night hadn’t gone how Jaskier had thought it would. Except he realized the further down the mountain he got that he had no idea what he was doing, and no sort of plan, so maybe that was his own fault.

He had managed to traipse back through the forest, to find the clearing where Geralt had originally fought the murkhag. That was when things more or less went to shit.

The murkhag had materialized out of nowhere, grabbed Jaskier by the front of his cloak, and raced through the forest. Jaskier made a few unsuccessful swipes to get out of the monster’s grasp, and to scream for help, but his arms weren’t long enough, and his voice only echoed back to him in the empty forest.

The murkhag only slowed once they reached a cave, and practically tossed Jaskier inside. It was shallow enough that he could still see the light of the moon from the mouth.

The murkhag was jabbering on about something in it’s own horrid tongue, clearly excited about something. He gesticulated outwards, looking at something beside Jaskier.

Knowing it he would regret it, Jaskier looked to his left, hardly able to swallow a scream.

It was a creature, almost humanoid, that looked like it had been burned to a crisp. Jaskier could look at it for only a few more seconds before he had to turn away and vomit, but that didn’t distract his captor.

But the look he had taken was enough to understand the similarities of the two creatures, enough to realize at some point, they had more or less had been the same. This must be the nest, and this horrible looking thing was the murkhag’s other? Lover? Partner?

 Whatever it was, it shifted slightly as the murkhag was raving about something. It was- breathing? Jaskier gagged again.

He then pushed himself to his feet, determined to go down fighting if this was how it was going to be. He was Julian Alfred Pankratz, for Meliteles’ sake. He swooped down and pulled out the dagger he kept in his boot, and tried to strike at the monster’s side. The short blade went into it’s side cleanly.

It halted in his ravings. Jaskier tried frantically to pull it out, but he couldn’t, and before he could think to release his hand, claws were grabbing at his shoulders and lifting him up.

Jaskier screamed and flailed wildly, but none of his kicks connected. He was brought back out to the clearing, and all Jaskier could think about was that he hadn’t said goodbye to Ciri, or Yen, or any of the other wolves.

The sound of running footsteps tore Jaskier from his terror. Even the murkhag paused, clearly not expecting any company.

Jaskier was able to twist his head just enough to see gleaming white hair, and dark armor fitting a broad body.

Geralt was here, swords in hand.

His first thought was: He’ll save me!

His second thought was remembering the scowl on Geralt’s face as he pushed past him in the stables earlier that day.

Geralt looked as surprised as the stone mask of his granted him. Jaskier didn’t want to know what he was thinking, with the murkhag towering over Jaskier, and the murkhag’s partner rasping in a shallow breath beside them, Jaskier weaponless, and for the most part utterly defenseless.

The murkhag made a noise that went up in tone at the end. If it wasn’t a homicidal creature, hellbent on killing Jaskier or at the very least, making him suffer, Jaskier would have called the sound one of delight.

As Geralt entered the clearing leading to the cave, Jaskier felt his heart beat wildly, and saw the other murkhag begin to shift. In the nest, our magic rests. Forget they will, until the heart grows still, that was what they said. If this was the nest, then this is where their magic was located, or centralized. It is my strife that will bring my love back to life- they fed off of the pain that they caused!

Jaskier squirmed in the creature’s grasp again, but that only made the hold he was in tighter. He had to warn Geralt.

“Geralt! It’s other! You must kill it’s other-“ Jaskier was lifted off of the ground. It wasn’t until he looked down that he realized why.

The murkhag had stretched out it’s hand, clawing through Jaskier’s chest, and held him up like that a few feet off of the ground. It didn’t have a human looking face, but Jaskier swore he saw it smile at him.

As the claw pierced his heart, instead of pain, Jaskier felt a shocking moment of clarity, like a blanket had just been lifted from his eyes. He saw Geralt across the clearing, with a dazed expression that quickly contorted into rage.

The last thing that Jaskier heard before he took his last breath was a roar, and Geralt screaming “Jaskier!”

A small smile graced the bard’s face as he felt himself hit the ground. Geralt remembered.

Right before everything went dark, the murkhag’s words verberated through his mind: forget they will, until the heart grows still- oh. So that’s what that meant.

Jaskier’s heartbeat grew slow, until it ceased to beat at all.

Geralt wasn’t sure what was more painful- the moment his memories came back to him, or the way that Jaskier’s body hit the forest floor, sliding off of the creature’s claw as if he was only an afterthought.

Maybe the rage that was swelling up inside of him, more potent than any potion he could guzzle was even worse.

With a roar, Geralt sprinted towards the monster, swords in hand. He slashed, and pierced, memories flooding back to him.

The young boy in Posada. Cold winter nights where they had to share a bedroll for warmth. Constant noise, whether it was humming, a lute being strummed, or mindless chatter. The feeling and knowledge that he was loved, wholly and truly, and that this man chose him because he loved him, not for any wish from destiny. He remembered Jaskier.

The murkhag snarled and hissed right back, but it wasn’t fast enough to dodge the Witcher on a warpath.

Geralt forced himself to keep his eyes off of the ground as he stepped over Jaskier’s prone body. He was backing the murkhag into a corner of the cave, against the wall, and that was when he noticed another form crumpled in the corner- not human, but not something he recognized.

Jaskier’s words came back to him- the other. Was this the other?

Praying to the gods above that his bard was right, Geralt struck the murkhag through the heart, and threw his other sword at the crumpled form. Upon impact, the shriveled creature gasped, jerking awake and upright. And then it shrieked. Geralt winced, nearly losing his grip on the murkhag that was pinned, but thankfully travelling and training Ciri had helped him build up a sort of resistance to louder screams.

The murkhag gave a withering gasp, it’s moss and muddied skin being to fade away as if it was made of ash. Geralt dared another glance away, and sure enough the other creature was doing the same thing.

“My… Love…” The murkhag gasped, it’s arm raising up not to claw at the one striking a sword through his heart, but instead the disappearing creature beside them. The creature made a similar gesture, but before they could reach out, they crumpled into a pile of ash. By the time Geralt looked back to the murkhag, he noticed that his sword was piercing nothing but the cavern wall.

That was that, he supposed, but Geralt didn’t linger to consider the meaning or possible lineage of the creatures as he dropped the sword and rushed back over to Jaskier.

His bard’s skin was pale, and his chest unmoving.

Geralt’s own heart stopped beating, just for a moment, enough to not be able to catch his breath. He tore the damned hood off of Jaskier’s cloak, unraveling the fabric enough so he could bind Jaskier’s chest tightly.

With only a moment’s thought to pick up his swords, Jaskier was in his arms, and he was sprinting back through the forest.

Heaven smelled an awful like Vesesmir. Jaskier crinkled his nose on instinct, and tried to turn to his side to escape the old-man-who-lives-in-a-lab smell. Was it just because the afterlife was filled with old people?

A searing pain prevented Jaskier from doing anything more than lifting one side of his hip up. Jaskier dropped his hip back down, eyes wrenched open as he struggled to breathe through the fire in his lungs.

He wasn’t in heaven. He was in the keep, in one of the medical beds tucked away in the lab.

There were hands pressing down on Jaskier’s shoulders, but the figures in front of him were too blurry to make anything out other than vague colors and shapes.

“Why- what-“ Jaskier tried to croak out through the pain, but even his voice came out strangled.

“Stop struggling!” The words floated in and out of his ears, the voice unrecognizable through the roaring in his ears. “Yen!”

Something pressed hard into his forehead- a finger, his dazed mind eventually supplemented him- and the edges of his vision were going dark.

The last thing he felt was scarred, and hardened hand grabbing his own hand tightly.

“The witch will kick you out again, if you keep pacing like that. She says you disrupt her concentration.”

A grunt.

“You can apologize for the things that weren’t your fault when he wakes up. Go get some sleep.”

“If.”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh, someone smacking the upside someone else’s neck. “Don’t be an idiot. Yennefer said it herself- he will wake up. The poison took it’s toll on him, but now that it’s run it’s course, he just needs rest.”

A growl this time, instead of a grunt.

“So now off to bed. It is not just your bard to think of, hmm? Ciri has been worried to death, and you brooding over his bed at all hours of the day isn’t going to help.”

Your bard. Awareness was slowly coming back to Jaskier, enough to put a few pieces together. This was Eskel, talking to Geralt. Talking about… Him?

He didn’t feel like opening up his eyes was a possibility at the moment, so he contented with a small huff. Whatever Eskel was talking about, he was right. Jaskier felt like he could sleep for a million more years.

“Hear that?”

A beat of silence.

“His heartbeat.” That was Geralt’s voice. “It evened out.” There was another slap, but this time it was more gentle, as if someone was hitting their shoulder.

“What did I tell you? Now get some sleep. I’ll be here, and then Yen, and by the time you wake up, Ciri and you can resume your vigil.”

There were footsteps coming near Jaskier, and a hand was placed on his forehead. The hand rested there for only a moment, before pushing Jaskier’s hair back, off of his forehead, and then the hand was gone. The footsteps receded, and a door opened and closed.

Jaskier huffed again, letting himself fall back asleep.  

“Time to wake up, little bard,” A sickly-sweet voice sing-songed. A cool hand was pushed through his hair. “A certain white wolf is getting anxious to see you, and you know what wolves do when they are anxious.”

“They try to repress their emotions?” Jaskier drawled out. His throat was dry, but his chest felt light, a large improvement from the last time he remembered being conscious. Though there was something heavy draped across his hips and torso…

The voice laughed, but didn’t pause in their petting of his hair.

“I was going to say they snap at others, but yes, that works too. Come on now, open up your eyes.”

Jaskier opened up his eyes. It was light, and Yennefer was leaning over him, her dark hair hanging down by his face. He tried to blow it out of his eyes, which only made it sway slightly. Yennefer smiled at him, and made no move to change her position.

“Welcome back.”

“Are you… Sitting on me?” Jaskier asked, his brain having not caught up to his current situation. That made Yen laugh, and lean back. She came to a full stand beside his bedside. Her hair ticked Jaskier’s nose as it slipped past his face, making his nose twitch.

“No. The lion cub has taken that place.” Jaskier looked down, and sure enough, Ciri’s blond head of hair was resting against his stomach. He could tell just by the rising of her chest that she was fast asleep.

“Ah. Care to enlighten me on the current situation, then?” Jaskier asked. Yen took a seat on the stool next to his bed, and handed him a bowl of water.

“Drink slowly. It’s been a struggle to get food or drink in you.” Yen waited until Jaskier had taken a small sip before speaking again. “You went to fight the murkhag, or confront it, or something equally stupid. Geralt found you in the forest, but you were stabbed in the heart. Your heart stopping broke the curse, but you had provided Geralt with the information he needed to kill the murkhag for good. Whatever you said about others, or something, Geralt hasn’t been quite as forthcoming with the details.”

“You’re certain?” It was the first thing he could think of to ask. Yen leveled a glare at him, but Jaskier supposed that his current state was pitiful enough for her to cut him a break.

“Yes. Vesemir and I went back to the nest that you had found, and made sure it was gone for good. Geralt brought you back to the keep as quickly as possible, where I was able to start your heart once again, and keep you stable.”

“Was I poisoned?” Jaskier asked, remembering the bits of the conversation between Lambert and Geralt that he heard. Yen raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“Whatever was on those claws had sunk deep into your blood. Not only had you been struck through the heart, which was fatal, there were cuts along your shoulders that we had to try to draw the poison out of. It was successful, clearly.”

“Ah.” Jaskier took another sip of water, then cleared his throat. “So I suppose I am once again indebted to you?”

Yen rolled her eyes so far back, Jaskier wondered if they would get stuck like that.

“Staying alive is how you repay me, bard. Stop nearly dying and being a waste of my magic all of the time.”

“Well, this time I did die,” Jaskier pointed out, but meekly took another sip of water when Yen glared at him again. “How many days have I been out?”

“Five. Geralt brought you back the morning after you snuck out, and you’ve been here since, sleeping.”

“And- uh- is Geralt?”

Yennefer gave Jaskier a soft look, one that he had thought was reserved only for Ciri.

“He remembers. He was locked out of here last night, to get some food and sleep. But he remembers everything. He remembers you.”

Suddenly, the breath was gone from Jaskier’s lungs, and he struggled to catch it again for a moment. “Hmm. Lovely,” was all that he could manage out, before rubbing at his eyes, cursing his traitorous tears.

“I’ll go get him.” Yennefer offered, but Jaskier raised a hand to stop her.

“No, let him sleep. I’m afraid I am falling asleep again myself.” It was true. The warm of Ciri on him, the itch in his throat satiated, his eyelids were drooping again.

Yen took his hand and squeezed it once. “Sleep, then. He will be here when you wake up.”

Jaskier woke once again to people speaking over his body. “Eskel, take Ciri.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“Do it.” He could feel the weight and warmth of Ciri lifted off of him, and his face screwed up at the loss of contact.

That only lasted for a moment before Jaskier was suddenly lifted up into the air, and into familiar strong arms. Jaskier yelped, eyes ripping open as his hands unconsciously went around Geralt’s neck.

He was a mere inches away from Geralt’s face, for the first time since that fateful morning he woke up with a blade to his throat.

“Warn a man, would you?” Jaskier asked, breathlessly.

He didn’t have time to consider anything before Geralt… Smiled at him. Softly, earnestly. With love.

Jaskier felt his heart crack open, but in the best way possible. “Hello, dear heart.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was hardly more than a huff of breath on Jaskier’s face, and it took all of the restraint in his body to not lurch forward in his arms and kiss his Witcher silly.

“Not that this isn’t heart warming,” Eskel interrupted them. “Where do you want the little princess?”

Jaskier twisted back around to see the man with a still-sleeping Ciri in his arms. “To my room,” Geralt instructed.

Jaskier was carried bridal style by his Witcher, trying hard (and failing) to keep a dopey smile off of his face. Eskel followed them, waiting until Jaskier had been deposited back in their bed before placing Ciri on the other side of him, so her back was against the wall. By some miracle, she still hadn’t stirred, and instead curled up next to Jaskier.

“If the witch asks, I had no part in this.” Eskel reminded Geralt. Geralt nodded distractedly, his eyes solely on Jaskier. “Glad you are back with us, bard.”

Jaskier flaps a hand at Eskel as he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

“Geralt, my sweet, please,” Jaskier asked, the hand that was waving now extended to Geralt, who was standing over the bed, just staring. Like he couldn’t believe that Jaskier was really there. “I need your Witcher-heat to warm me up. Are there really no blankets in the lab?”

The mention of the lab is what finally gets Geralt to move. With grace that he only began to exhibit once Ciri had come into his life, he lifted up oen of the various blankets on the bed, and slid in. Jaskier immediately wiggled closer to Geralt, getting his hands on him as quickly as possible. A hand on his chest, feeling that slow Witcher heart beat, and a hand cupping Geralt’s cheek, so he could look up at him tenderly.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grounds out, and it sounds so blessedly different from when Geralt of only a week ago said it. It sounded so full of emotion, so full of love.

Jaskier can’t help but reach up to kiss his Witcher, and Geralt thankfully comes down to meet him.

As their lips meet, Jaskier visualizes facing off with the murkhag again, only to flip his middle fingers up and shout, “FUCK YOU!”

The image is very satisfying, and he can’t help but giggle into the kiss. Geralt pulls away only slightly, continuing to stare at Jaskier’s face like he is something made of magic, or dreams.

“I’m here,” Jaskier said, searching for Geralt’s hand in the covers and squeezing it as hard as he can. “You saved me. You remembered.”

“Always.” Geralt’s voice is a bit choked, but Jaskier doesn’t bring it up. Instead, he reaches up again and peppers Geralt’s face with small kisses. “Jas…” I’m sorry, Jaskier hears, even when Geralt doesn’t say it. He’s already shaking his head.

“Not your fault. You came back for me. You always come back for me.”

Geralt exhaled, dropping his forehead to Jaskier’s, letting the pair simply breathe for a moment.

“Yen is going to kill you once she’s discovered that you moved me.” Jaskier teased. Geralt huffs another breath, but doesn’t open his eyes. “But she will have to wait until we’ve finished napping.”

“A nap?” Geralt asked, but Jaskier was already guiding the Witcher’s shoulder’s back to the pillow, as he laid down beside him.

“Yes, my darling. As long as you don’t wake me with another knife to my throat, if you would please,” Jaskier winced as he felt all of the tension in Geralt’s body come back, making him rigid. “Too soon? Alright, I apologize. But let me sleep, so Yen won’t yell at you for keeping me up, mmm?”

Geralt grumbled to himself, but Jaskier was already off to sleep once again, with Ciri at his side and Geralt’s arm slung protectively over his waist.

When Jaskier awoke, he took a moment to appreciate waking up next to Geralt without imminent danger. He smiled, twisting around enough to press a kiss to Geralt’s cheek, and then turning the other way to check on Ciri.

To his surprise, Ciri was staring back at him, with wide eyes. To his even greater surprise, those wide eyes immediately filled with tears, and his arms were suddenly full of the teenager.

“Oh, Ciri,” Jaskier murmured, petting her hair. “I’m quite alright, you see? Geralt went all wolf and had us both carted to his room. You know how he gets.”

“I was so worried you were going to die! And you didn’t even say goodbye!” Ciri sobbed. He could feel Geralt stirring behind them, but he just continued to rub Ciri’s back and head.

“I know. And I’m sorry, lion cub. As bullheaded as Geralt is, I fear that I am quite similar.”

“Don’t do something like that again. Even if Geralt won’t go with you, I’ll go with you.” Ciri said, pulling back to tell him this sternly. Even with red-rimmed eyes, Jaskier felt his heart break once again for how much she looked like her mother.

“Of course, Ciri. I promise.” Jaskier said solemnly. That seemed to be enough for her, as she crashed back into Jaskier’s chest, her octopus hold on him not faltering.

He felt Geralt’s hand on his back, silently alerting him that he was awake. “Mmm, come on, lion cub. It’s bard-Witcher sandwich time.”

Ciri giggled wetly, but let Jaskier rearrange their position in bed so she was between Geralt and Jaskier. Jaskier leaned over her to press another kiss to Geralt, this time on his lips, and it spoke volumes on how relieved Ciri must have been for she didn’t make any retching noises, as she usually did.

“I guess the Great Battle of the Murkhag needs another verse, eh?” Jaskier joked, which earned him matching glares from the White Wolf and Lion Cub. He still snickered, though.