Dat_Aster



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    “How did you manage,” asked Geralt, with infinite patience and only a desire to know the facts, and not at all a little meanhearted glee, “to insult a sorcerer while his tongue was down your throat?”

    Don’t make me recount the entire sordid affair, Geralt,” said Jaskier, with a surprising note of desperation breaking through his gruff monotone. “I’m already having a rather shit day and all I’ve done so far is wake up.”

    “In my body,” said Geralt.

    “Yes,” said Jaskier, with the insolent cadence that was unmistakably Jaskier’s, but in Geralt’s voice, emerging from Geralt’s face and frame.

    “And I’ve got yours,” said Geralt, from Jaskier’s.

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    17 Jun 2026

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    Jaskier was dying. 

    The confirmation came with each cramping, shallow breath and spots of grey drowning out the mottled stone walls that would become his tomb. After all the years he’d spent terrified of this moment, it was almost anticlimactic to realize he was too tired now to fight back any longer. He was dying. The world would continue without him. 

     

    Blood dripped from his fingertips and formed erratic patterns against his own skin. Over the sound of his racing heart he could hear footsteps and murmured voices that made him want to vomit or rage in fury. 

     

    They were watching him. He didn’t need to look up into the window to see the strange faces twisted into cruel smiles, pleased at his suffering. He hated them.

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    16 Jun 2026

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    Before Geralt's threats can go any farther, Jaskier clears his throat, intentionally loud, the way he does when he wants attention from someone, usually Geralt. He tips up his head, flicking a stray leaf from his hair. The tremors are gone. There’s something hard in his expression that wasn’t there before. Gracefully, he rises to his feet.

    “Well,” he says. “Guess that’s that, then.” Even in his bedclothes, with blood on his neck, he commands the bandits’ attention like they are his audience. With a flourish, he bows. “Jaskier the Bard, at your service.”

     

    When Geralt and Jaskier are caught off guard one night by a group of bandits, Jaskier has to use some unorthodox tactics to save them both. Geralt catches on - eventually.

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    15 Jun 2026

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    The world is changing: more monsters and fewer witchers. Vesemir has found texts about making new witchers but he doesn’t know if he has it in him to put children through it. His theoretical ideas about turning an adult into a witcher become more urgent once he meets Jaskier, now Julian, who has lost his music and is facing death by illness.

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    15 Jun 2026

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    “Huh.” Jaskier propped his hands on his hips. “Where’s the happy family, then?” He did a sort of exaggerated twist to look around the large hall. “God, don’t tell me they’re having another heart to heart out in the cold.” He walked closer to the table, smelling strong stew and fresh bread the closer he got, “The sheer amount of dramatics contained within those three, I swear.” He stopped, and they continued staring. “No one’s saying anything. What?”

    “Yennefer portalled them to the grand library of Novigrad a couple hours ago.” Vesemir said, “With, I had assumed, you.”

    So Geralt's abandoned him on top of a mountain. Again. At least the company has improved this time around.

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    12 Jun 2026