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The day had started normal, it stayed normal until the early evening. Jaskier babbled away about whatever crossed his mind, effortlessly dancing from one topic to the next as the duo walked through the woods. They had settled for camp, talking over light dinner. Around the fourth time Jaskier asked if he could meet his brothers, a question that rattled around in his head relentlessly after learning his witcher had a family, Geralt snorted good naturedly.
“Stubborn as a weed today are we,” The witcher had said it to tease the bard, something he had become increasingly comfortable doing as they traveled together.
“My sister used to say that about me all time you know,” There was an uncharacteristic sadness to Jaskiers voice that made Geralt turn his head towards the young man.
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” As he said that, Geralt realized he didn’t know much about Jaskier’s life before they met. For all the talking the bard did, it was rarely about personal details.
Jaskier looked away towards the fire, “We were twins,” There was a brokenness to his voice that seemed wrong to hear from him as he continued, “If you could believe it, I look just like her,”
“What happened to her?” It felt like overstepping, and yet Geralt couldn’t help the question that left his lips.
“She was taken, a mage had these crazy ideas about how she was cursed, that she was evil incarnate. My sister was the kindest person I knew before he came in, with his experiments and spells, he convinced our parents he was helping her, couldn’t care less about me, I wasn’t part of his ‘cursed princess’ fairytale,” Jaskier had wrapped his arms around himself as he spoke, voice cracking with the weight of his memories.
Geralt was shocked, he was familiar with Jaskier’s noble status but a mage fixated on cursed princesses was a story he was familiar with, and something he never thought to connect Jaskier to, “You were born under the black sun?”
Jaskier’s head snapped up to stare at Geralt, eyes red with silent tears, “How do you know about it?”
“I met Stregobhor, he tried to hire me to kill one of his runaway princesses, I’m sorry you had to deal with him,” Geralt felt guilt at the memory, couldn’t help but see Renfri in Jaskier’s face as it hardened into a scowl at the sorcerer’s name, “what was your sisters name?” It was a weak distraction and they both knew it, but they would also rather talk about anything other than that monster.
“Renfri, her name was Renfri,”
Geralt’s blood ran cold. No amount of training could keep his expression neutral as the name left the bard's mouth.
Narrowing his eyes at the shocked look on the witcher’s face Jaskier spoke up once more, “Did you know her?”
“Yes, in Blaviken,”
Jaskier had picked up bits and pieces of the story over the years, an entire town killed by one witcher, whispers of the involvement of a mage but nothing more than the occasional rumor.
Geralt’s quiet confession painted such a clear picture, the look on his face said more than words ever could. It didn’t take a genius.
Stregobhor’s ‘runaway princess’.
Renfri, who was with Stregobhor.
In Blaviken.
With Geralt.
Renfri, who he felt die.
“You killed her,” It was barely a whisper, as Jaskier looked down at the grass, praying he was wrong.
The silence that came after was deafening.
He pulled a dagger out of the bottom of his bag, the only weapon he ever carried. Renfri wanted him to stay safe. The cold handle pressed into his palm as he stood up facing Geralt. And lunged .
Geralt barely defends himself against the attack as Jaskier yells, a raw guttural cry, “YOU KILLED HER, WHY WOULD YOU KILL HER!!?”
In the moment, he almost missed the barely there hum of his medallion. Looking into Jaskiers eyes he saw they were practically glowing in the dying light of day.
He knew Geralt was holding back, knew that he himself was too. The witcher hadn’t even drawn a sword against him, instead dodging attacks and forgoing offense altogether.
“Jaskier please, I-” Geralt cut off as he tripped over the root of a tree that he swears wasn’t there a moment ago and falls. Suddenly Jastier has his blade to his throat, there are vines holding him down.
Looking down at the witcher with a tear-streaked face, Jaskier spoke, in a small, defeated voice.
“Why? She was innocent in all of this. She was so good, what horrible sin could she have committed to deserve death? I thought you killed monsters but Ren was one of the few good people in this world,”
Speaking up carefully Geralt responds, “She asked me to, she had been fighting, been hurting for so long that she asked me to kill her, I’m sorry,”
It wasn’t the answer either of them wanted, and he knew it, but neither man could change the truth. Jaskier got up and the vines loosened their hold on Geralt's limbs and the bard reached out a hand with his witcher tentatively grasped to pull himself off the ground.
Sheathing his dagger once more and sitting on the fallen tree he had been on before, Jaskier motioned for Geralt to sit next to him. The witcher hesitated before sitting close to his bard.
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispered, leaning against the older man's shoulder.
“Don’t be, I deserve it, deserve worse,” Geralt didn’t understand the sudden closeness. The weight of the body leaning against him for comfort was foreign.
“No you don’t, I needed to feel angry, needed to take that anger out on someone, but you didn’t deserve it. I grieved Ren and accepted her death years ago, I remember feeling her life end. It felt like a part of my soul had been hacked off. It hurt, sometimes it still hurts. Losing her is a wound that won’t ever fully heal, but the peace I felt through our bond? It was a contentment I hadn’t felt from her in years, just before she died. She was telling me it was ok, I know that. And I know that the death you gave her was a mercy. It’s just hard to accept that,” He looked at Geralt, and Geralt knew that this was Jaskier, these were the truest parts of him. Messy and broken but so, so strong.
They still needed to talk, Jaskier had shown Geralt his magic and there were discussions that needed to be had. About his chaos, about his past, but those could wait. Here in the growing light of the moon, no words were needed, theirs was a bond that would be forged in fire but tonight? They would sit together in the embers.