And so I tried to write something else. I`m not as productive as I want to be but I`ll try to do better. I`ll add new tags and change the rating in the process if needed.
it`s on ao3 and I`ll post new chapters there
Uh, enjoy?
Jaskier looked once more at witcher`s broad shoulders and muttered quietly, “See you around, Geralt.” He started to walk away quickly, desperately trying to see the path beneath his feet through tears swelling up in his eyes. ‘Well,’ he thought to himself,’ you should`ve seen it coming. It was bound to happen someday.’
He thought Geralt a friend. Sure, the whitehead would never say it out loud and even object every time Jaskier as much as murmured the very word. But he`s not a man of words; he`s a man of actions. And Geralt showed he cared with his actions. He bought him more suitable for traveling boots, gifted him a silver dagger to defend himself, he always protected him from vengeful cuckolds. He laughed at his jokes, quirked an eyebrow, and crooked his lips in a small smile when Jaskier amused him with his behavior. The witcher dragged him from tavern drunks, who dared to spit at Geralt`s feet and call him all the hateful names. And Jaskier patched his wounds, washed his hair, bought dinners and rooms for both of them with money earned from his performances when the other was low on coin. They shared one bed quite often in twenty years of friendship and had a lot of quiet midnight conversations.
Of course, they had fights, and Geralt lashed out on him in his anger sometimes, but they made peace with each other pretty quickly and asked for forgiveness in their own way.
But this time is different. This time he won`t just forgive and forget easily. This time his friend blamed him for all the shit in his life that Geralt bestowed on himself with his own hands.
‘The djinn? Was I the one to fish for a dangerous magical creature in a pond or a river, or whatever it was, because of sleep deprivation?’ Suddenly, Jaskier feels sorrow and grief turns into a hot fury that starts to reach a peak of boiling inside him; he quickens his steps, and goes in the direction of the camp.’ Was I the one to make a stupid wish and bind a scary insane sorceress to you?’ He finds his bedroll in the same state he left it, grabs it, and folds it, his hands shaking from the fire of feelings burning in his chest.
’Oh, the Child Surprise? Did I put those stupid fucking words in your mouth? Wasn`t the whole betrothal a decent fucking example what a clusterfuck calling a Law of Surprise can turn into? And doing it as a joke?’ The brunet grits his teeth, his hand tightens around the leather strap of his lute case,’ You called it upon yourself, you fucker! Don`t blame for your foolish actions!’
He doesn’t want to see Geralt now. He doesn’t want to see anybody, to be honest. But that’s quite a hard feat to accomplish, considering there`s only one path up and down the mountain. He wants to be as far away as possible from this damned place. Jaskier tries to calm himself with few deep breaths and decide what to do next.
Surprisingly, the solution comes to him pretty quickly. The poet lifts his right hand closer to his face and stares at it attentively. In a couple of seconds, he sees little waves of colorful magic surrounding the base of his middle finger. They form a silver ring in the shape of wildflowers’ stems weaving around his third digit and meeting on the center with three buttercups` blossoms.
He braces himself and slides off the ring.
It feels like the enormous weight on his back that crouched him down to the ground for twenty years lifts, and he can finally straighten his spine. Jaskier has never felt this free in his life. Rage and anger shift to the background of his mind as the bliss of freedom kicks all the thoughts out from his head.
His magic whispers to him softly and greets him like an old friend. It surrounds him like a little storm, and he can`t stop smiling. The bard carefully lowers precious elven lute to the ground, shrugs off his expensive red doublet and bluish chemise. He neatly folds his clothes and puts them in the bag. Jaskier picks up his possessions and mutters in relief, “Finally.”
Then, he runs and jumps off the cliff, the white smoke of clouds devouring him.
