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He almost walked right past the small child. After all, he wasn’t really on the look at for anything in particular. He knew the path he was on well from having walked it nearly every day for the past ten years. When he did notice the boy, it was only because he had tripped and heard the child crying in response to his own muttered curse. It’s a small thing, really, even compared to other children the Professor had seen. It’s without much consideration that the young man scoops the child up. Bright blue eyes stare up at him beneath a bed of wavy brown hair. Tucked behind one ear is a little yellow flower. It is at that moment that Alfred Pankratz makes his decision really. Though he’ll argue with his coworkers that he waited until he knew that the child was alone in the forest before taking him home. Even as he has already named the child Jaskier and tells the healer such when they’re huddled in her home just hours later. His sister, Elizabeth, bless her, forces him to give the child a real name.
That is how a Professor at Oxenfurt ended up with a son named Julian Alfred Pankratz. Of course, no one calls the boy Julian. They all call him Jaskier and it seems most of the faculty are just as enamored with the child from the woods as Alfred was. Thankfully. After all, Alfred was nowhere near ready to have a child. He wasn’t married and had no intention of getting married, fully devoted to his craft, and his teaching. He wasn’t prepared to suddenly have a newborn in his house. It takes a few weeks, but the entire faculty comes together to help. The history professor gives him clothes that fit Jaskier. Every one of the teachers pitch in to bring them food for the first several months until Professor Pankratz tells them off because he can do this damn it. It doesn’t stop the whole school from doting on Jaskier.
Jaskier, for his part, loves growing up in a home so filled with poetry and music. By the time he’s four, he’s going with his father, for that’s what Alfred was, to his classes. He starts learning his first instrument the next year. He’s a sponge for information, fliting around Oxenfurt like a hummingbird looking for nectar. He’s always smiling, even when he gets himself into trouble, which he is likely to do. (Several teachers say he gets it from his father. Alfred prays that the boy will have more sense than he did. Or does. After all, he’s still quite young himself.) For where he’s growing up, he seems to be a normal joyful child.
That is, until one night when Jaskier is six. Alfred has long since stopped trying to prevent Jaskier from doing anything he wants to and on that particular night, Jaskier wanted to help cook. Thinking it would be simplest to let it happen, Alfred asked the boy to fetch the pot for him so he can start heating the water for the stew. The fire is not even lit yet when Jaskier lets out a gods-awful scream. Alfred is by his in instant, but he does quite understand what he’s seeing. Jaskier is standing beside the pot, gripping his hand tightly to his chest sobbing. When he finally convinced the child to let him see where it hurt, he could see that there was a nasty burn on the small delicate hands. There was no way the boy could have been burned by a cold iron pot. Of course, there really is no time to think about it as he cleans the wound and comforts the child, but later that night, once Jaskier is asleep, it’s all he can think about.
Iron had burned Jaskier. Jaskier who was found in the woods all alone. Jaskier who was as mischievous as he was kind. Jaskier who seemed to stop flowers from wilting just by touching them. Jaskier who was left on his own. Whose teeth were still just a little too sharp when he smiled. Whose skin was just a bit too pale. Whose ears had the smallest of points.
Fuck.
Jaskier is fae.
Fuck. Fuck.
So, perhaps it was not the best decision to take a strange child home from the woods. But it was too late for that. He was barely handling the normal kid stuff. How was he meant to handle fae kid stuff too? This realization is what led to him standing in the road, screaming into the forest as the sun rose, furious.
Who abandons a child to a world not their own? Why the fuck would you leave him? You know what? Fuck you! You don’t deserve him! He’s mine now and he’s the better for it you sick bastards!
The students are, understandably concerned when they see him, but the only answer the faculty has for them is, he’s a poet. That’s just what he does. After all, they had their suspicions all along. (There was a bet between the Astronomy and Geometry departments on when Alfred would notice.)
That day, Alfred sits Jaskier down. Jaskier fidgets and won’t meet his eyes as Alfred explains how he found him alone in the forest. Finally, when it becomes clear that the child doesn’t truly understand what he’s trying to say, he breaks it down to the simplest points. “You aren’t human, Jaskier,” Alfred says, gripping small hands tightly. “You aren’t human and that okay. It will always be okay, no matter what happens. It doesn’t matter how you became my son. You are now and you will always be my son, Jaskier. And I love you more than anything in the world. Always remember that. I love you and I’m so very proud of you. No matter what.” Bright blue eyes shine with tears as Jaskier sinks into his embrace.
Somehow, time slips away from the tired teacher as his fairy son grows into a beautiful, talented, educated bard. He’s the best bard that Oxenfurt has ever produced and gets several offers to apprentice in courts from Redania to Nilfgard. But Jaskier is not one to stay still. He never has been. It’s both the worst and best day of Alfred’s life when the boy he raised straps a lute to his back and waves goodbye, humming songs of adventure and heroics. Alfred sobs into his beer, leaning on his fellow professor, who are all sad to see the eighteen-year-old leave.
Jaskier’s letters help. He writes once a week, always making sure to include a story for Alfred to share with the rest of Oxenfurt. They raised him too, after all. When a letter arrives in the middle of summer talking about meeting a Witcher and being captured by Elves, Alfred can literally feel his hair greying. Of course, several letters later, it’s clear that Jaskier has befriended this Witcher, and it’s not just any Witcher. No, because this is Jaskier, the Witcher he befriends is none other than Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken himself. Because who else would his son befriend?
Over the years, Alfred grows used to hearing the most recent stories of how this Witcher, who Jaskier has rebranded the White Wolf, almost died in every letter. Every year, when Jaskier visits for Winter, the only thing he talks about is Geralt of Rivia. Five years after the first worrying letter about him, Alfred knows that his son has fallen for his Wolf. Jaskier comes home early one year and tells him an incredible story about a banquet in Cintra, getting banned from the city (something Alfred himself can also attest to), and Geralt’s disastrous calling of the Law of Surprise. And really, of the way to accidentally acquire a child? Probably right up there next to finding one in a forest on the list of bad ways to do it. Of course, so is actively trying yourself to the man who called it, so at least he knows that Jaskier really did learn something from him.
In all the time spent traveling with the Witcher, Jaskier only misses sending a letter once. It’s the most horrible week Alfred has had since Jaskier grew out of the accidental magic phase. (And really, that phase was the worst part of raising a fae because trying to teach when your child has accidentally charmed your hair to be made of vines is a challenge.) When the letter finally comes, it does nothing to calm the old professor down. Jaskier’s story of the Djinn, of almost losing his voice, of meeting and being harassed by a sorceress, of getting his heart broken by his Witcher breaks his father’s heart. Jaskier comes home early that year too. But when spring comes, he still travels with his Witcher. As he tells his father, any part of Geralt is worth a little heartbreak.
For a few years, that seems to be fine, though Alfred hates how Jaskier’s hurting, even if Jaskier keeps insisting he’s fine. Then Jaskier shows up in the middle of the summer, visibly hurting. He’s thin and pale and his eyes are still red and puffy. When he sees his father, the fairy collapses in his arms like he’s six years old again, sobbing his heart out. It takes hours, but Jaskier finally manages to tell him what happened. About the dragon hunt. About Yennefer. About Geralt of fucking Rivia yelling at his son. If Jaskier hadn’t caused vines to seal the door, Alfred likely would have been halfway down the road, seeking the Witcher to give him a piece of his mind and a solid punch to the face. There was a very long conversation after that where Jaskier had to convince his father that punching a Witcher was not the right way to handle a heartbroken son. (Alfred still disagrees, but he concedes because his son is hurting, and he doesn’t even know where to find the Witcher anyway)
Jaskier leaves in the spring again, but this time there are no letters. He’d promise to stay in the north, away from Cintra and away from the growing threat of Nilfgard, but he couldn’t just stay still. He never could. Alfred worries. Of course, he does. But Jaskier comes back every winter to keep his aging father company and teach a course of two at Oxenfurt. They spend nights together, working on lesson plans and composing poems. On one such night, while Jaskier is in the middle of a wonderful story about drunk mages and their truly impressive lack of composure, a portal opens in the room. Alfred just sighs when an imposingly beautiful woman with purple eyes emerges.
“Jaskier,” she says, nodding to the bard. “And you must be the father he told me about.”
“What are you doing here Yen?” Jaskier sighs, folding his arms. Ah, this was the Mage Jaskier had told him about. Apparently, they had become friends after the Witcher’s horrible actions on the mountain. Alfred really didn’t try to keep up with it much as it seemed to change daily if Yennefer was a friend or rival.
“A lot’s been happening bard.” Yennefer took a seat, taking Jaskier's goblet of wine as her own. Jaskier doesn’t protest, though he does roll his eyes. “Cintra fell.”
“I heard. Did she…” Jaskier trails off.
“She made it out. She found him. They’re both safe in Kaer Morhen.”
Jaskier nods, relaxing in his chair. “Good. I’m glad he can own up to at least one of his responsibilities.” Jaskier huffs. “I heard about Sodden. I wanted to look for you, but it was too close to him. I’m glad you made it out.”
“I’m glad you weren’t there. A war of mages is no place for a human bard.” Yennefer frowns. Alfred and Jaskier both let out a surprised laugh. Her frown deepens.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Jaskier says, shaking his head. “But were you under the impression that I’m human?” Jaskier smiles sweetly at the Mage as she tilts her head.
Alfred rolls his eyes. “My son is not human. He’s fae. I found him abandoned in the forest as a baby.” The professor smiles wistfully.
“You’re not human,” Yennefer breathes. She shakes her head. “No wonder you were so hard to track.”
“I’m sorry, Yen. I truly thought you knew. After all, I don’t particularly hide it well. I was worse as a child, mind, but honestly, it’s still hard to stop myself from playing a trick or two when someone deserved it. I even played a few on you. Surely you noticed the week after the mountain when your hair turned grey?” Jaskier is smiling broadly while the mage is staring at him with wide eyes.
“That was you?” she hisses.
“Well, it was a rather rough week, and I blamed you for a lot of it,” Jaskier huffs. “But I believe we’ve gotten off-topic. What are you doing here Yen?” The fairy tilts his head, blue eyes almost glowing.
“There will be payback, bard, but you’re right.” She’s growling but takes a moment to even her voice out. “I’m here because Nilfgard is looking for you. Both of you, actually. They’re paying for anyone who is associated with Geralt.”
“And I’m the White Wolf’s bard,” Jaskier finishes, a sour tone to his voice. “We appreciate the warning.”
“I would not come all this way to warn you. You both are to come with me. I’m taking you to Kaer Morhen.”
“You’ll be doing no such thing.”
“Jaskier, it’s the only place you’ll be safe. More importantly, it’s the only place your father will be safe. Nilfgard doesn’t care how vague the connection is. When they find him here, they will take him.” Yennefer’s violet eyes are blazing.
Alfred sighs. “At least let me get a letter to the university about our classes. Jaskier, would you pack our bags?”
“Dad?” Jaskier turns his bright blue eyes to Alfred.
“I want you safe, not running around the continent with an army on your trail. As much as I hate to admit it, going with Yennefer to Kaer Morhen is the safest option, even if it means you have to face your idiot Witcher and his child surprise.” Alfred sighs again because that sentence is apparently normal for him now. This is what he gets for raising a fairy with such a big heart and a taste for trouble. It takes a little more convincing, from both Yennefer and Alfred to Jaskier to go along, but eventually, he has to agree. At least until spring.
They arrive in the courtyard and the first person Alfred sees is none other than the White Wolf. No one really has time to react before the aging professor is landing a particularly strong right hook to the Witcher’s chin. Geralt stumbles back, mostly from the shock that this small human would be brave enough to attack a Witcher in his own home, not from the punch itself. Jaskier is the first to react, pulling Alfred back and sputtering warnings into his father’s ear. Yennefer is laughing. Loudly. The noise is enough to attract another Witcher. He’s clearly older than Geralt, his white hair from age, not mutations. He ignores the stunned wolf, all his attention on the furious human being restrained by an equally frustrated bard.
“I sincerely hope there was a good reason for that,” the old witcher mutters as Alfred frees himself from his son’s grip.
“Of course,” Alfred snaps. “He broke my son’s heart.” He straightens his clothing. “Twice.”
“Fair enough,” the old witcher chuckles. “I’m Vesemer. Sorry for my pup’s behavior. It won’t happen again.” He shoots Geralt, who looks as though he’s just been punched again, a glare.
“Professor Alfred Pankratz. Thank you for having us.” Alfred offers his hand to Vesemir, and they share a firm handshake. Jaskier has drifted towards the White Wolf, cheeks flushed as he tries to explain the ‘heartbreak’ comment. Vesemir shakes his head. “Two humans in Kaer Morhen will certainly be an adventure.”
“Did he really tell no one?” Alfred looks at the sky. Vesemir raises an eyebrow. “Jaskier is not human. He’s a fae. I, well, I found him in a forest as a babe and took him in.” Geralt is staring at them again. Jaskier has backed up and hidden behind a cackling Yennefer. Vesemir sighs.
“Sometimes that boy is an idiot,” the old Witcher huffs. “They’ve traveled together for twenty years and he can’t tell the bard is a fairy?” Vesemir shakes his head. “Let me show you to a room.” The old witcher sighs again as the courtyard is now full of shouting. Alfred just nods and follows Vesemir inside. He knows that look well. Best leave the children to figure it out themselves. The shouting resolves itself rather quickly. Only to be replaced by...other noises that no father wants to hear their child making. At least there was an old wolf to share the exhaustion with. As they say, like father like son.