Imagine a Ghost!Jaskier that was killed by Torque in the first episode, who lost consciousness tied to Geralt and never woke up. Filavandrel, feeling bad for the young man, offers his lute up to the funeral pyre the witcher makes, setting it next to the too pale, too still body.
It’s as pointless a sacrifice as it was a death, but Geralt still nods his head to the elf as he lights the wood.
And then, well, Geralt wakes the next day to see a familiar bard with a familiar lute and promptly tries to stab the supposed doppler. Which might have worked better if Jaskier actually was a doppler, or was, you know, corporeal.
Geralt’s read about ghosts, of course, and when he hears that the young bard’s unfulfilled business is his dream to perform in all 26 countries, he reluctantly allows the undead bard to travel with him on his journeys. It’s not like he can really stop the man, anyways, seeing as he can make himself invisible and travel without rest.
(And maybe he feels a little guilty, that he got this man—really more of a boy—killed because he let Jaskier follow him, and there’s nothing else he can do to fix this, he can’t bring him back—)
Jaskier seems to get power from performing, they discover, which allows the bard to keep a solid body, eat, drink, and even sleep if he so desires. Which leads to Geralt being forcefully serenaded constantly, unwilling audience or not, so that the bard can “have the energy to make himself a new doublet, really darling, this style is so last season!”
Though neither mention it, both keep track of the countries that they pass through as Jaskier performs. Years pass, until the only country left on Jaskier’s list is Nilfgaard proper. But Geralt doesn’t say anything when Jaskier mentions craving some Toussaint wine, beyond grunting and saying the province did usually have a problem with drowners this time of year.
(And Geralt knows it is selfish, to keep the bard here for his own sake, and Jaskier knows it is selfish, to stay when Geralt only lets him do so out of guilt, so both men stew in their self-recrimination, let it fester, until—)
On the mountain, Geralt watches Jaskier disappear for the first time in years, and resolutely does not think about never being able to see him again. He locks all thoughts of the bard into a chest in the back of his mind, and goes to find his Child Surprise.
Wounded from a hunt with a bruxae, he can’t fight back properly when the soldiers come. He listens to the screams Ciri makes as they slap dimeritium cuffs on them both, and knows they will haunt his nightmares until the day he dies.
(And when he sleeps, it is her voice but the body of a too pale man that never got the chance to grow old, and Geralt wakes wishing the extra Trials had eliminated his need to sleep completely.)
They’re in the dungeon in Nilfgaard, when Geralt is woken by the sound of keys clanging, Jaskier fading into and out of view in front of him. It seems he used up all his energy to let them free, looking to be in worse shape than Geralt’s seen him since the day he appeared all those years ago.
And then they’re running down the halls, and the guards have caught on, and they’re not going to make it out, there’s nothing that Geralt can do—
(“Say hello to Roach for me, Geralt,” Jaskier says, his voice possessing an echoey, wind-like quality as he pulls his lute to his front, a faint smile on his face.
And Geralt lunges for him, tries to grab the blasted instrument, but his hand goes through Jaskier as the bard backs away, the beginning notes of the song about his death already playing.
The witcher curses as he pulls Ciri in the opposite direction, because if he falls to his knees and weeps they will be caught, and it will be wasted. Jaskier’s sacrifice, his second death, will be for nothing—)
Ciri and Geralt are silent for the next several days, Geralt mourning his friend and Ciri mourning the playful bard who would visit her on her birthday week each winter.
And then, on the eighth day of travel, the pair wake to familiar singing, staring in shock at the bard petting Roach. Jaskier laughs as they tackle him, saying he’s happy to see them too, and they eat and walk and pretend for a day like they aren’t on the run from Nilfgaardian soldiers.
Ciri goes to sleep easily that night, and the witcher and bard watch over her, and it’s good. Not perfect, certainly, but good.
(“You can ask, you know,” Jaskier whispers, feeling the weight of golden eyes settle heavy on him.
“How…?”
“Guess there was a second part to that dream that even I didn’t know about.” The bard shrugged, giving the witcher a small smile.
“Or maybe…” the bard trailed off, seeming pensive.
“Hmm?”
Jaskier tilted his head, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Maybe I just didn’t realize that I had a new dream. A better one.” He said softly, letting his head fall to Geralt’s shoulder.
And the witcher froze, before carefully letting his own fall on top of Jaskier’s, processing the bard’s words.
“I’m…glad. That your new dream…” the witcher trailed off, pursing his lips, but relaxed when Jaskier let out a soft laugh.
“Me too, Geralt. Me too.”)
