Chapter Text
Jaskier died on a sunny day.
And it was all Geralt’s fault.
It was Eskel who had convinced Geralt to return to Novigrad for the inauguration of the new city government. The affair promised to be the same sort of drivel Geralt had always hated under Vesemir’s orders. All long speeches and ceremonial gestures that covered up the dirtier inner workings of government.
Somehow, Eskel had found away to rearrange the city into something that functioned. The effects of Vesemir and Stregobor had left a corrupted system that could not function without them. He had spent months hunting down the last of the plants and informants of Novigrad and methodically replacing them with more trustworthy individuals. Which meant Geralt was supposed to show up and take enough pictures that the civilians would believe their White Wolf was supportive. It made him glad this sort of thing was no longer a part of his life.
Still, it was rare for his brother to request his attendance in something other than a public safety complaint or hunt. The White Wolf was better suited to the strange new retirement he’d found in a town that didn’t know who he really was. It felt odd to put on his old uniform and stand in front of the wall of cameras and reporters, trying to smooth his face into something neutral and pleasant.
The ceremony was meant to take place in the city’s largest park in an outdoor amphitheater. It meant there was a massive crowd gathered even before Geralt and the rest of the Witchers arrived. They stood like a small collection of ravens against the gaudy silks and suits of the diplomats arranged around them. Each of them hoping to stand out enough to attract the crowd’s approval.
Above them, the clear sky ensured the day was unnaturally warm. It left Geralt fighting against the urge to roll up his sleeves for a bit of relief when sweat began to drift down his spine. He wondered how he ever managed to pretend to enjoy these sorts of events when he’d still been Vesemir’s pet soldier. Now, all he wanted to do was return to his quiet home and nosy neighbors.
“..our great city has a chance to rebuild,” the man at the podium continued to drone on. He was dressed in a garish amount of golden fabrics that seemed to only draw more attention to his soft stomach and receding hairline. Geralt tried to remember his name from the party he’d been forced to attend last night. Dennis? Discus? “We will reclaim the glory that was promised to Novigrad in this bright, new future.”
Lambert leaned closer to Eskel and attempted to whisper, “Is this guy fucking serious?”
Geralt fought to keep his expression blank while the oldest Witcher stepped pointedly on his brother’s foot.
Out in the crowd, Geralt spotted Jaskier lounging against a guardrail protecting an elaborate fountain from pedestrians, smirking up at him in a way that made a blush crawl up Geralt’s neck. It felt like being claimed, possessed even after all this time.
He thought of the filthy promises Jaskier had whispered in his ear when they’d gotten into the taxi to head to the event and tried not to shiver. Clearly the former villain was enjoying the return to their old routines even if it meant they weren’t able to be seen with one another. The man had teased Geralt with lingering touches and dark eyes when they’d gotten dressed, driving Geralt nearly to the end of his patience only for Jaskier to step out of reach. He’d watched Jaskier pull on the scarlet colored leather jacket Geralt had bought him a few months ago and ignored the weight of Geralt’s stare.
Having Jaskier here helped ease the worst of Geralt’s nerves at returning to the spotlight. He hadn’t dared to ask Jaskier to come with him at first, but Jaskier had seen through the carefully neutral explanations of Geralt’s trip. Instead, Jaskier had simply loaded his bags into the car beside Geralt’s and began making plans for his return to Novigrad and all its dangers. They both know it was a carefully calculated risk to even have Jaskier in the vicinity during the event.
Also in the crowd was Yennefer and Essi–though they had walked away from Jaskier early in the event to peruse the food trucks located near the street. Yennefer stood out like a beacon against the simpler clothes of the crowd and Geralt had caught more than a few of the politicians in attendance watching her with a mixture of lust and jealousy. Beside her, Essi was gesticulating wildly, ranting about whatever new drama the city was absorbed in. They looked happy–more relaxed than he ever saw in the years before the world had collapsed around them.
It was good to see the proof that the chaos of Vesemir and Emhyr’s madness had not broken the strange new family they’d created. If anything, the following year had brought them closer to one another. Essi and Eskel were working together to redesign the government of the city without leaving any cracks for deception to slip in. Despite their desire to remain out of the spotlight, Aiden and Lambert continued to act alongside them, hunting monsters in human form instead of the beasts of old.
Now the end was in sight and the future yawned ahead of them, open to whatever new possibility they might want.
And in his pocket, a small jeweler’s box anchored him in the present.
Tonight, he intended to take Jaskier to the place where he’d realized he’d fallen in love with him. He would surprise him with the dinner, he’d arranged months in advance along with the speech he’d been practicing in the mirror each morning. Geralt had no intention of letting this bright future slip away from him again. Just the weight of the box was enough to make him nearly giddy.
Eskel nudged his shoulder and Geralt looked over to see the politician had finally stopped talking which meant it was now his turn to step up to the microphone. Resisting the urge to sigh, Geralt walked away from his brother to the sound of applause.
An aid had left a copy of prepared remarks on the podium–clearly anticipating how short the speech Geralt would have made without it. He glanced back at Eskel to remind himself why the hell he was here in the first place before clearing his throat and leaning into the microphone.
“Good afternoon,” he muttered, feeling foolish, “We’re here today to welcome a new generation of–”
It was instinct to find Jaskier out in the crowd when his nerves rose. He spotted him quickly, but tried not to frown when he found the other man’s attention elsewhere. Jaskier’s brow was furrowed like he’d seen something unexpected. Slowly, Jaskier shifted until he was standing upright and his hands dropped to his pocket where Geralt knew he would have a weapon hidden away.
His voice trailed off at the mic while he tried to scan the crowd for some sign of what had made Jaskier so unnerved. Behind him, he could hear the politicians begin to whisper at the Witcher’s odd behavior.
“Geralt,” Eskel whispered, sounding a little tense, “what are you–”
He never got to finish the question.
The world erupted into bright light and heat.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to a ringing in his ears and a head that felt stuffed with cotton. His thoughts were disjointed and hazy, sliding dully through the thud of his heart. A heart that was pounding with an urgency that he couldn’t understand.
Something was wrong.
Where was…?
He shifted and hissed out a breath at the wave of nausea that followed. A concussion, he thought dully. It would take time before his enhanced healing sorted it out.
There was dust and debris in the air and he had to fight against the urge to cough. He was willing to bet his ribs were broken, judging by the tightness in his chest. The rest of his limbs were bruised, but whole enough for him to push away part of a mangled piece of wood that had once belonged to an ornate podium.
“--ralt? Geralt!”
Familiar hands braced his shoulders and Geralt wheezed out a relieved breath when the worst of the weight against his stomach and hips lifted away. Opening his eyes sent a stab of pain through his skull, but it was worth it to see Eskel and Lambert’s familiar features hovering over him.
“What…?” the question was muffled by his shattered eardrums and felt like it took all of his energy to get out.
“A bomb,” Eskel said. “We’re still looking for the source.”
The training that had been hammered into him for decades settled over him like a familiar weight. “How bad?”
“We aren’t sure yet–definitely civilian casualties. The center of the blast wasn’t the stage.”
“Where’s Jaskier?” he interrupted, fighting through the urge to leap to his feet and begin his own search.
Lambert gave Eskel a look that Geralt didn’t want to understand, didn’t want to think about. He reached out to brace Geralt so he could lean up and allow Eskel to help him to his feet. The movement made his head spin and his ears ring, but he ignored the discomfort to stare out at the chaos of the once peaceful gathering.
Smoke muddied the air and added to the confusion of those on the ground. In the distance, he listened to the sound of approaching sirens and a battalion of police cars hurrying to assist the security already present at the venue. The green lawn of the park was scarred and pockmarked by the burning debris and people wandered in and out of sight, bleeding and disoriented or searching for family members who were missing.
“Jaskier?” Geralt repeated, words slurring in his pain and fear. “I don’t see him.”
Lambert reached out to steady him, but halted as a soot-streaked figure leapt onto the ruined stage. It was only the familiar grace and the flash of green eyes that marked him as Aiden and Geralt felt the way Lambert sagged in relief. “Lambert!” the Cat called out, hurrying over. “I thought you–”
Whatever terrible thought was erased by the press of skin and Lambert gathering up his partner close to him. The Wolf was trembling as he pressed his forehead against Aiden and breathed deep. “You’re okay,” he croaked.
“We need to find the others,” Eskel said. “There will be casualties and they’ll need as many hands as possible.”
He knew his brother was suggesting the sort of reaction of trained professionals, but Geralt couldn’t seem to make himself move. All he wanted was to see for himself that Jaskier was okay. That he had walked away from this like he always did, trailing chaos behind him like a cloak.
“Did you see him?” Geralt asked Aiden. “He was by the fountain.”
Aiden shook his head, eyes dark with worry. “I was on the other side of the crowd.”
Geralt stumbled forward, ignoring Eskel’s attempt to brace him. His head was throbbing like a bruise, but he ignored the ache of his body with the single-minded focus that had once served him in monster hunts. He pressed one arm against his broken ribs and forced himself down the stairs.
On the ground, it was even more disorienting. Smoke stung his eyes and the sounds of dozens of crying voices drowned out everything else. Eskel broke away from his side to crouch beside a bleeding woman and her crying toddler, already beginning to put pressure on a bleeding wound at her temple. He continued forward doggedly, ignoring the tears streaming from his irritated eyes, and tried to move toward the last place he’d seen Jaskier.
Twice, Geralt stumbled over something unseen only to find a body at his feet. Nausea warred with the growing dread with every second that passed without Jaskier appearing. He thought of how often he had wondered if Jaskier possessed some sort of inhuman ability to survive battles that would kill a normal human. Jaskier would not be halted by something as pedestrian as an anonymous bomb.
“Jaskier!” he called out through the smoke. “JASKIER!”
Each second of silence felt like a betrayal. There was no question that Jaskier would find him. They always found each other. Destiny had tied them together with threads built from blood and ruin.
“Jaskier!” he rasped again, coughing as the smoke thickened around him.
Then, at the edge of his hearing, a thin voice responded, “Over here!”
Thoughts of his own pain were erased by a violent surge of adrenaline. He staggered forward with Aiden and Lambert alongside him. The ground beneath them was uneven and littered with hunks of stone, indicating they were getting closer to the epicenter of the bomb. Geralt spotted a distant figure hunched over on the ground next to a mangled web of metal.
“Jaskier?” he called.
The figure turned toward him, revealing a tear-stained face that held none of its usual cheer. Aiden closed the distance with a burst of speed. “Essi,” the Cat said as he reached out to check her over for injuries. “Where is…?”
Essi made a wretched sound, curling over something scarlet in the rubble. Geralt took another step forward, ears ringing even as his heart began to race.
He didn’t want to recognize the color against the metal and stone.
He didn’t want to listen to the voice in his mind that recognized the stillness of death.
He didn’t want to know who Essi had lost. Who they all had lost.
His eyes dropped to the body laying broken and no longer bleeding on the grassy lawn. The world around him fell away into oblivion. At his sides, his hands trembled violently and his stomach twisted in silent protest.
Aiden wrapped an arm around Essi and rocked her slowly as though it could soothe away the nightmare they were trapped in. Geralt took another step forward.
“Where is he?” Geralt demanded in a raw voice. It trembled with something close to a plea. “Essi, where is Jaskier?”
She sobbed, reaching toward the bright patch of red in a sea of gray. Her body shook like she was rejecting the world around her and another tear dripped down her cheek.
“He’s dead.”
Jaskier died on a sunny day.
And it was all Geralt’s fault.