Chapter Text
Any thoughts of home were squashed when he met Seanchaí. There were more songs yet to be sung. More people to save and battles to be fought.
So, he acted as he once did as the Sandpiper, preaching the stories of the Elves and all non-mortal beings on the contient. He had no clue where Geralt was, and for once, he wasn't looking.
He didn't need to cause mischief in the Witcher's life anymore. This fight he had joined, that his music had given a voice to, was all the mischief Jaskier needed to quell his Fae nature.
But he wasn't stupid. He knew his time was running out.
And when the Kings and Queens of the contient ordered the arrest of all Witchers, well, he could not just stand by.
Knowing his time was short, Jaskier had to find as many Witchers as possible and send them somewhere safe. And perhaps, in exchange, they would protect something of his.
It wouldn't matter if he was captured if he had nothing to give. The noose was coming anyway. Might as well make some more mischief along the way.
What he hadn't counted on was the first Witcher that he met being an utter fucking cad.
"I beg your pardon? My mother is nothing of the sort and you will take that back or-
He's cut off quickly when the bald Viper turns on him. He was called "Kingslayer," perhaps Jaskier should have been more wary in his delivery.
"I know you bard. You're the White Wolf's whore. And if I wanted Vesimir's litter pouncing down my throat, I'd break your pretty little face."
It's a good threat, but Jaskier's used to threats from men nearly twice his size. So all he says in reply is, "You think I'm pretty?"
Letho scoffs and turns back around, picking up his skulking in the other direction. Jaskier smiles and follows along.
After that first Witcher, finding them becomes easier. Almost as if his magic wielded a compass, pointing him in the right direction to anyone nearby.
And with every one he meets, he tells them all the same thing. To find refuge among one school. To join together and fight extinction.
He doesn't actually have any set place for them to go, as their schools are separated across the continent and between multiple mountains.
At least... not until he finds Vesemir.
The old wolf takes one look at Jaskier in the reflection of the apothecary's window and sighs. He was going to go inside, barter for ingredients, but the bard's presence doesn't bode well. Especially when Vesemir gets the feeling that Geralt's bard was looking for him.
"What do you want bard?"
Jaskier sidles up to the man, a somber expression on his face, and Vesemir feels his stomach drop. Geralt's dead.
That's why he's here.
"If I could borrow a moment of your time?" Jaskier asks, and before that look on the Witcher's face can get any worse adds, "Geralt is fine."
The old wolf immediately looks relieved, and Jaskier can understand why. As strained as their relationship is, he would never wish harm upon Geralt. And, with harming Geralt comes harming his travelling companions. Comes harming Ciri.
So, he doesn't make light of Vesemir's response, or relief. It is well deserved in this time. But now, so is this.
"You want me to let a bunch of schools into my keep. Schools that we've lost good Witchers to, schools with no morals, because of the White Flame?"
Jaskier nods.
"I've sent word with many passing Witchers, all of whom I would entrust my life in."
Vesemir stands, leaving Jaskier alone at a table of the only inn in town. He'll have to come back eventually. There are no other places to find shelter tonight, not for fifteen miles in any direction.
But, it seems that Jaskier has forgotten how stubborn these Witchers really are. Now Jaskier sees where Geralt gets it from.
The sky is open, raining down in sheets. Only a fool would dare camp outside right now. Or a Witcher with a grudge.
That's where Jaskier finds himself, well into the night when he realizes Vesemir isn't coming back. Trudging through the streets, and into the nearby wood to find Geralt's arse of a father.
But the woods are no place for mortals. This is Jaskier's element. He is more powerful here than in any cavalry or infantry regiment. The trees are his most trusted confidants.
Vesemir would hear him coming from a mile away, so, perhaps it's time to be rid of the farce. The old wolf was going to find out eventually when Jaskier asks him take one of his memories. And Jaskier needs him to take the biggest memory of all.
Geralt.
And who better to trust than the man's own father?
So, he reveals the cards plainly. There is no use in long, drawn out schemes, just to get the Witcher to agree.
No, he knows the Witcher will readily accept when he hears what's at stake.
So, Jaskier drops the strong hold of his human persona and walks through the nearest tree. Feeling through the roots and the grass exactly where the old wolf has made camp. He emerges through to the other side.
Directly into the Witcher's camp.
"You're a stubborn one, I'll give you that. But there is no where on the contient that you could go where I would not find. I am of the trees and I come from the mists at sea. You will listen to me or I'll make your life positively miserable."
The Witcher is crouched low, pulled harshly from his meditation by the surge of magic from Jaskier's appearance. He had a feeling the bard was more than human, but he had guessed a half-blood bastard. Not a full-blooded Fae. He's going to give Geralt one good talking to this winter.
"And just what would you do to me, bard?"
The Fae smiles with teeth sharper than before, eyes wide and blue.
"I'd start with dyeing your hair vermillion."
Where he was tense before, braced for threats, Vesemir relaxes. As he stands, he crosses his arms over his chest. This is still the bard that squawked his way beneath the tables of Voleth Meir's attack. Speaking of-
"You could have done something that day. You could have saved my boys."
The smile on the bard's face turns gentle, understanding. And Vesemir hates it.
"No, I couldn't have." He holds up his hand, revealing pink scars, very near to healing. The Witcher doesn't need to know the story behind them to know what caused them.
"While I admire your faith in my capabilites, I can assure you, my acting would have done no one good that day. Even if I had not been injured, challenging something as strong as Voleth Meir would have been a mistake. I would have been too weak had she decided to take my powers for herself."
Vesemir is quiet, contemplating.
Slowly, he agrees. Giving that witch more power would have been worse. The loss of so many pups in his own home is still fresh and tender.
"Is this why you want all the Witchers together? Is there a magical threat coming?"
Jaskier shakes his head.
"No. I'm afraid it's much worse. It's man."
Vesemir rubs a tired hand down his face. He heard the decree, he's been careful of what contracts he takes, ever mindful of traps. Now, Witcher contracts include Witchers. As reluctant as he is to admit it, the bard's right.
Their best chance is together.
Having survived the sacking of the keep, Vesemir knows the dangers of man. He will not underestimate their hatred of anything inhuman.
And if bunking with a bunch of Cats and Vipers is the cost of their survival, well... he may just have to get over it.
"Alright then, you have what you wish bard. Tell any others that you meet to make for Kaer Morhen. I'll handle the rest."
Jaskier nods, but by the look on his face, there's more. And the bard proves him right by opening his mouth instead of turning back to the tree he came from.
"There's one thing I need you to do for me."
Vesemir encourages him with a grunt and a wave.
"I need you to hold something for me, and protect it as best you can."
Vesemir's furrowed brow, if possible, grows more furrowed. The bard did not come to his camp carrying anything. Not even his instrument. What could he have that's so important, yet intangible?
And then he starts singing.