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Rhapsody (noun): a portion of an epic poem adapted for recitation.
The Dandelion (epic poem): an elven tale which was passed down orally for generations and recorded in Elder by an anonymous author just prior to the Great Cleansing. One manuscript of the original writing exists; it is half-destroyed. The Dandelion chronicles the adventures of its titular character, an elven sorcerer of Elder blood. It is commonly split into four parts: “The Elegy of Weeds,” “The Dandelion’s Rhapsody,” “The Sandpiper’s Song,” and “The Ballad of the Buttercups.” “The Elegy of Weeds” documents Dandelion’s journeys after an unknown catastrophic event and is believed to have been a predictor of the Great Cleansing. “The Dandelion’s Rhapsody” is the most popular section, a long speech given by Dandelion to his daughter about reclamation amongst ruination. “The Sandpiper’s Song” details Dandelion’s adventures as he tries to live a normal life. The contents of “The Ballad of the Buttercups” remains unclear due to the partial destruction of the original manuscript and the debate amongst scholars as to which interpretation is correct. Most elves who still tell the tale orally have come to the agreement that the Ballad ends with the death of Dandelion and the rise of his daughter, who becomes the narrator of his story.
i: this is not a coming of age story. this is a tragedy.
Jaskier is in Cintra. Jaskier is at the edge of the world. Jaskier is shovelling a pile of shit that doesn’t belong to him, and he doesn’t know where his hands end and the shovel begins. Jaskier has been Jaskier for so long that he’s forgotten who he used to be.
He decides to take things one step at a time.
He’s in Cintra. That much is clear; the familiar castle towers above him. It’s different from the last time he was here in the fact that it is on fire. He doesn’t know where Calanthe is and he heard rumors that Eist is dead and he does not have time to mourn. He has a job to do. If Geralt will not help the Child Surprise, then Jaskier will.
He doesn’t know how he gets through the city without being slaughtered. He doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he follows the sorcerer and then he follows the knight and then he follows the girl, staying in the shadows, waiting for his chance. She knows him; he’s been to each one of her birthday celebrations. First at Pavetta’s request, then at her own. He’s the only one that calls her Fiona or Elen or Riannon, because it makes her laugh when she corrects him.
What he wouldn’t give to hear that laugh. Instead, he listens to her scream.
The monolith topples.
Jaskier runs.
He’s at the edge of the world. Geralt has just punched him in the gut and Jaskier can feel his heart swell. The first time in a long time anyone has paid him any attention, even negative attention. He doesn’t care. He goes with the witcher anyways. He needs material, after all.
The edge of the world, the end of the world. His end of the world comes on a mountain during a dragon hunt that he didn’t particularly want to go on in the first place. He marches down the mountain alone and swears off caring about people.
He’s not sure how well it works.
He’s shovelling a pile of shit that doesn’t belong to him, because this is Geralt’s shit, not his. But if the Child Surprise is his fault, and Geralt will not take responsibility, then Jaskier will.
He’s at the edge of the forest and the princess runs right into him. He steps out from behind a tree and she crashes into his body, about to scream again, and he clamps a hand over her mouth and looks at her with wide eyes. Her eyebrows raise to mimic his own, and slowly, he lowers his hand.
“Fiona,” he says calmly, as calmly as he can, because the entire city is on fire and not all the water in the world could put it out now that it’s begun. “We need to run.”
Cirilla nods. She takes his hand. And they run.
They run for days, until they come upon a camp full of refugees from the city. They wander in from the edge of the wood, but not before they discard Cirilla’s royal cloak and cover her in Jaskier’s jacket instead. It’s much too big on her, and Jaskier is cold, but it’s a sacrifice they need to make.
“We should cut your hair,” Jaskier murmurs before they approach the camp. Cirilla looks at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Maybe later.”
They’re greeted warmly when they approach, clearly exhausted, clearly on the run. When someone addresses them, asks them where exactly in Cintra they’re coming from, Jaskier puts a hand on Cirilla’s shoulder.
“Inner parts of the city,” he says tiredly. It isn’t an act. “Lost the rest of our family on the way. This is my daughter, Fiona.”
Cirilla nods, allowing her eyes to well up with tears. Jaskier knows she isn’t acting, either.
They aren’t questioned- everyone around them is too caught up in their own grief. Jaskier and Cirilla are given a tent to share and a few blankets, and Jaskier wraps the girl in all of them.
“We’re going to keep going north,” Jaskier tells her in hushed tones. “Nilfgaard won’t be far behind any refugees. Staying in a camp like this isn’t safe.”
“Where will we go?” she asks.
“Oxenfurt,” Jaskier answers without hesitation.
“Will it be safe?”
“As safe as any place can be.”
“And what should I call you? When we’re on the road? I can’t- I can’t call you your real name, can I?”
She’s too smart for her own good, Jaskier thinks. Ever since he heard the news of Nilfgaard marching north, he’s started going by something else. Jaskier is the witcher’s bard, and he doesn’t want to be known as such, not when there’s so much on the line.
“Dandelion,” he says. “Call me Dandelion.”
Jaskier has been Jaskier for so long that he’s forgotten who he used to be.
Nilfgaard attacks in the dead of night. Jaskier and Ciri run as fast and as far as they can, carrying barely anything with them, just one blanket that Ciri snatched and Jaskier’s coat half draped around his shoulders. He shoves her up a tree and climbs after her, and the soldiers run right past them.
And then he spots someone else in the tree next to them.
Before the boy can run, Ciri has caught up to him, tackled him to the ground.
“You’re running,” she huffs.
“Fiona!” Jaskier yelps as he jumps out of the tree as quickly and safely as possible. “Get away, leave him alone-”
“We’re running, too,” she says, and Jaskier curses every part of himself. The boy is nothing but skin and bones held together with clothes, and he’s looking at them with wide eyes. “Come with us.”
Jaskier curses every kind bone in the princess’s body and every kind bone in his, too. The boy looks at him, as if he’s waiting for permission.
“Well I can’t very well stop you, can I?” Jaskier says, spreading his arms to show that he’s unarmed. It seems to put the boy at ease, a little bit. “What are you called?”
“Dara,” the boy says after a moment, and Jaskier nods.
“I’m Fiona,” Ciri says pointedly. “This is Dandelion.”
And Jaskier sees the way that Dara freezes, he notes it, because it’s a full-body flinch. It’s the kind of flinch that Jaskier used to give when he heard Geralt’s name, before he got over himself and now he barely winces. He brushes past it, though, because of the shouting of soldiers in the distance, and soon, as they run, he all-but forgets about it.
He doesn’t put two and two together until a few days later. Dara continues to be skittish whenever Ciri refers to him as Dandelion, and it’s only when they find a river large enough for them to bathe in and Dara takes off his hat carefully that Jaskier realizes.
“You’re an elf,” Ciri comments, slightly surprised, looking at the point of Dara’s ears. Jaskier doesn’t say anything- he’s met plenty of elves, he’s been friends with some, hell, his favorite lute (currently stashed in Oxenfurt) belongs to the damn king of the elves. He speaks Elder, he sings elven songs, he knows elven tales.
“Oh,” he says after a moment. Dara gives him an odd look, and Jaskier pulls his hair, ties it off, shows his very human ears. Dara looks… disappointed, though he tries to hide it. “Sorry.” The kid shrugs.
Of course Jaskier knows The Dandelion - it’s one of the most famous elven epics of all time. He studied it at Oxenfurt, he knows “The Dandelion’s Rhapsody” by heart, recited it for a competition once. He wasn’t thinking of it when he picked the name Dandelion- in fact, he hasn’t thought of it in a long, long time.
“Why did you apologize to him?” Ciri mutters that night as he pokes at the fire they’ve made. Dara is fast asleep; he hasn’t slept at all the past few nights, but Jaskier is glad he trusts them enough now to get some proper rest.
“Because I’m not who he thought I was,” Jaskier tells her, and even as he says it the words feel wrong in his mouth.
ii: this is not a myth. this is the real thing.
They hear rumors at another refugee camp that Nilfgaard is marching on Sodden, hoping to cross through Sodden Hill, and they decide to steer clear of it. They’ll find a boat to take them across the river closer to the coast. They continue due north, always a few days ahead of the soldiers that are supposedly spreading out across the kingdom.
Somehow, they make it to Brokilon forest in one piece- or, three pieces, since there are three of them. Dara keeps his hat pulled down tight over his ears while they’re on the move. Jaskier manages to sneak into a village, leaving Ciri with the silver dagger Geralt gave him how many years ago and the promise that she’ll scream if anyone comes near them. He buys three cloaks and a set of clothes for each of them, and the woman selling them to him looks at him with sympathy.
“Running from Cintra, dear?” she asks, and Jaskier nods, lets the emotion pour into his voice.
“My daughter and son are outside,” he says, choked up. “Lost their mother in the attack.”
The woman takes pity on him and gives him the clothing for free. Jaskier doesn’t let the smile sneak onto his face until he’s back into the woods.
Brokilon is dangerous territory, he knows. He knows the rumors of dryads and fae and other creatures, but at this point, it’s their best bet. He just hopes that Nilfgaard knows the rumors too, and decides to steer clear because of it.
They’d be so lucky.
Eithne and her warriors find them quickly. The queen of the dryads strikes an imposing figure as she looks over each of them. Dara she nods to, Ciri she pauses at, and Jaskier she full-on stops. Then she shakes her head.
“What brings you here, children of destiny?” she asks.
They stay with the dryads for a bit- even though Jaskier trusts them, he doesn’t let Ciri or Dara out of his sight for long. His suspicions are only confirmed when the sorcerer from Cintra- Mousesack, he tells himself, bloody stupid name, but then again Jaskier is called Jaskier so he’s one to talk- when Mousesack arrives. He’s either a doppler or being traced or both, and Jaskier immediately pulls Ciri back when she tries to run to him.
“What-” she starts, looking up with wide eyes. Dara is eyeing him suspiciously.
“I saw Mousesack captured by Nilfgaardian soldiers,” Jaskier says coldly, addressing what he’s beginning to guess is a doppler. Instantly, the dryads have their weapons pointed, and Ciri grips Jaskier’s arm tightly. Dara takes a step forward, barely a step. “So who are you?”
The doppler doesn’t drop the act, but he smiles in a way that just looks wrong on Mousesack’s face. Ciri obviously thinks so, based on the way she cringes back.
“They’re looking for you, sweetheart,” he croons at the princess.
The dryads drag him off, and the three leave not shortly after. Eithne tells Dara that he’s welcome to stay with them, and he looks like he almost wants to take the offer, but he goes with Jaskier and Ciri when they begin the trek north.
“You would be well protected here,” Eithne says to Jaskier as Ciri and Dara receive gifts from the others, things to bring with them on the road.
“I won’t risk your forest being hurt,” Jaskier says, shaking his head. “You’ve given us enough kindness already.”
A year or two ago, he would have taken the offer immediately. But that was a year or two ago, and now he’s been on his own for a while, and he’s got two kids to look after, one of whom is being hunted by an empire. Because damn it, these kids are his responsibility now- he’s going to look after the shit he supposedly shovelled. He’s going to take care of them.
“Be safe, Dandelion,” Eithne says, and she looks at him like he’s something more than he is.
They continue through the wilds of Cidaris, then Temeria, and when they cross the Redanian border it’s like a weight has been lifted off of Jaskier’s shoulders. They’re so close to Oxenfurt he can practically smell it. Oxenfurt, the one place he’s ever called home, where he knows there will be a soft bed waiting and adjoining rooms for Ciri and Dara.
Not that he’s going to let them be in a different room- he’s gotten too skittish for that in the weeks they’ve been travelling. He’ll just sleep on the floor. Still, it will be nice to take a shower.
It’s when they’re on the outskirts of Oxenfurt that they come up with a story- Dara and Fiona are Jaskier’s children, born out of wedlock on his travels that he didn’t know about until recently. He can’t go by a different name here, he’s too well-known, so he just has to hope that word doesn’t get out about the two children that are staying at the Academy with him.
Ciri finally agrees to cut her hair, almost takes Jaskier’s dagger to it until he lunges forward to stop her. He pulls her hood up over her head- it’s the middle of spring but it’s a chilly day, they have an excuse- and buys dye for her hair instead. They run the dye through her hair in the bathroom of an inn where they stay for the night, all three of them laughing as they cover themselves and the floor and a little bit of the walls in dark brown splatters, and Jaskier feels alive. He knows that Ciri and Dara needed this, too, this moment of levity.
They go to Oxenfurt early the next morning. The Academy is private, gated and closed off, but Jaskier has the keys to a side door and he sneaks them in quickly. The other professors all raise eyebrows at him, and he just waves. He’s nearly to the room reserved for him because he’s a seasonal professor, he’s here every year, when there’s a familiar voice behind him.
“Thought you were a winter-term professor,” Valdo Marx says, and Jaskier internally curses. Of course it’s Valdo and not Priscilla or Essi, if it were either of his two friends they wouldn’t question the children with him (okay, they would, but less so than Valdo). Ciri and Dara can both obviously tell that Jaskier is uncomfortable by the way he tenses up, and Ciri reaches out to take one of his hands as he turns, keeping them both behind him.
“Valdo,” he greets as politely as he can manage through gritted teeth. “Lovely to see you. Decided to teach this spring instead, I was just going to let the headmaster know-”
“You have children with you,” Valdo points out. Dara subconsciously pulls his hat down further over his ears. Valdo’s gaze lingers on Ciri.
“Astute as ever,” Jaskier drawls. “They’re mine.”
Valdo laughs, then stops after a moment. “Well, I suppose it makes sense,” he says after a moment. “I just didn’t expect someone like you to take responsibility for children.”
“My father is an incredible parent,” Ciri snaps, still clutching his hand. “So fuck off, whoever you are.”
Dara laughs, a full-body laugh, and Jaskier looks down at Ciri proudly. Valdo looks taken aback.
“Alright,” he says slowly. Then, “Don’t get too comfortable, Jaskier. I’m sure someone will come looking for you.” His eyes linger on Ciri again, and Jaskier turns and pulls both her and Dara after him.
“I thought you said Oxenfurt would be safe,” Ciri hisses as soon as they’re in Jaskier’s room. It’s exactly how he left it, though everything is covered in a fine layer of dust. He spots Filavandrel’s lute settled neatly in its case and lets out a huff of relief.
“Well, I didn’t know Valdo would be here,” he says. “Don’t listen to him, he’s all bark and no bite.”
And he is, for the most part. They hear about the Battle of Sodden Hill a week into their stay, and it puts everyone on edge. There are rumors of a violet-eyed sorceress channeling fire and wiping out half of Nilfgaard’s army, and Jaskier knows that both Ciri and Dara can see how he reacts when he first hears of that. It’s not like he cares about Yennefer- alright, he cares a little bit, in the end Geralt was as shitty to her as he was to Jaskier. He’s concerned, certainly, but he knows that Yennefer can take care of herself.
There are also rumors that Princess Cirilla is missing, and Nilfgaard has put a heavy price on her head. There’s no reason why- everyone around them assumes Nilfgaard wants to wipe out Cintra’s royal bloodline- but Jaskier knows it’s because of the power she holds, that Pavetta held, that’s been passed down through their family from mother to daughter ever since humans took over.
“Did you hear?” Dara asks excitedly one night. He and Ciri roam around the Academy together, occasionally sitting in on Jaskier’s lessons. “Nilfgaard has given Cintra to the elves. They- they’re calling it Xin’trea again!”
“Don’t look so excited,” Jaskier mutters, not unkindly. Dara snaps his mouth shut. No one knows he’s an elf other than their little group, his trusty hat always on his head. They figured it was safer that way. When he sees how Dara’s face has fallen, he nudges the boy and lets his lips quirk up a little bit. “Don’t tell Fiona, but I’m pleased too. The elves deserve a proper place to call their own.”
It’s only a day later that the proper persecution of elves begins across the northern kingdoms. Even in Oxenfurt, they’re dragged through the streets, brought into jail cells. The ones that manage to hide don’t emerge, trying to sneak out just to buy food. A few of the professors gather together a few nights later- Jaskier left Ciri and Dara awake in the room, promising to be back soon and not to sleep until he was- and come up with a game plan. They take on monikers and spread out, covering the entirety of the city, sneaking as many elves to the coast as possible. One of the professors has a contact in the ship harbor, who manages to have a boat ready every night to take groups of elves to Xin’trea with the rest of the cargo.
Just because, Jaskier calls himself the Sandpiper. He called himself the Dandelion, so the Sandpiper seems fitting, “The Sandpiper’s Song” being the third section of The Dandelion.
He doesn’t get caught. He should get caught, and he knows that, but he doesn’t. There are several times where he just closes his eyes, a dozen elves behind him, and thinks we are not here, do not see us, we are not here, and the guards pass by them without giving them a second glance.
Sometimes, upon seeing that he’s human, they ask him why he’s doing this. Most of the time he makes up different stories- being at the Druid’s Seat, which he heard was burned down and was rightfully furious about, held Dara as he cried when they found out; having an elven nanny as a child that did everything for him; being a half-elf himself; just wanting to help. They seem to buy it every time, and he knows the conflicting stories don’t matter because hopefully they’ll never see him again.
Every night when he goes out, Dara and Ciri stay awake until he returns. Sometimes they fall asleep and he comes back to the two of them huddled together, knives that he bought them discarded on the bed. He tried to teach them as much self-defense as he knows, because that’s the extent of his fighting knowledge. He did learn a lot travelling with Geralt and in the months that came after, even if Geralt refused to acknowledge it. And he’ll return and shake them awake to let them know he’s back, and they’ll hug him and not let go, as if he’s been away for weeks instead of hours.
They both call him Dad in public, and it’s a month into their stay at Oxenfurt that they start calling him Dad in private, too. Things are- not good. But they’re okay. They’re alright.
And then Yennefer ends up in his tavern.
With the Black Knight, of all people. Cahir looks at Jaskier like he’s nothing, like he’s scum, but Yennefer lunges forward and hugs him, actually hugs him. Jaskier stares beyond her with wide eyes before he hugs her back, and he thinks, oh, shit, I have Princess Cirilla in my room and if Yennefer finds out who knows what she’s going to do, and oh, shit, I have Princess Cirilla in my room and if Cahir finds out he will kill me and take her and that is not going to happen.
So Jaskier gets them on ship. Yennefer’s magic is gone, so she’s no help, but whatever luck Jaskier has remains in place and they go unseen. He does not rise to the harbor guard’s bait, he doesn’t, and the elves and Cahir and Yennefer are able to get on the ship safely.
“Be careful, alright?” he tells Yennefer, catching her hand in his. She squeezes, once, smiling at him.
“You, too,” she says.
He’s walking away from the ship when something comes flying at the back of his head. Jaskier yelps, turning and swinging, and then all he sees is darkness.
He wakes up tied to a chair, and then he’s tortured, of all things. It’s bloody miserable, too- the fire mage beats him around a bit and then starts burning various parts of his body and it hurts but Jaskier will not break, he will not tell this man where Ciri is, where Geralt is, where Yennefer is, he will not betray their trust, he will not break. He has felt worse pain.
There are two children in his room at the Academy, and they are his children, and they are counting on him. He will not break.
Yennefer saves his ass, as she is wont to do. Even without her magic, she’s a force to be reckoned with, and she gets Jaskier out and they run.
“Come on, we need to get out of the city-” she hisses.
“No!” Jaskier yells, coming to a stop.
“No?” she asks, turning back and glaring at him. “Jaskier, you can barely walk, and he’s going to come after you, and-”
“Academy,” Jaskier says. “Get me to the Academy, I have things I need to grab and then we can go-”
Because he cannot protect Ciri if there are mages after her, he needs to get her to Geralt as soon as possible. And since he has no idea where Geralt is, he has to get her to Kaer Morhen.
“I’ll buy you a new lute-” Yennefer snaps, and Jaskier pulls out of her grip and starts stumbling in the direction of the Academy. The witch huffs and starts after him, slipping his arm over her shoulder again and carting him the way he was going. He directs her to the side gate.
“Wait here,” he says firmly.
“You can’t walk -” Yennefer starts as his knees buckle, reaching forward to catch him, and the side gate goes flying open.
“Thought I heard your dulcet tones- what,” Valdo says flatly. Jaskier flips him off.
“Jask,” Yennefer says slowly. “You know him?”
“I need you to go to my room,” Jaskier says, looking Valdo dead in the eyes. “And get my stuff. Tell them we’re leaving.”
“Okay,” Valdo says, nodding. Maybe it’s because of the state Jaskier is in, or maybe it’s because he’s heard the rumors of the violet-eyed witch, too, but he turns and runs back into the Academy’s property.
“What the fuck is going on?” Yennefer demands.
“Tell you in a bit, Yen,” Jaskier says. He’s so fucking tired, and he lets his eyes slip closed, and then he’s on the ground and Yennefer is panicking.
“You never call me Yen,” she says, and she looks like she’s near tears.
“You never call me Jask,” he counters, allowing her to pull him back to his feet.
“I can’t heal you-” she starts.
“Fine,” he says. “It’s fine.” And the side gate goes flying open and two small figures slam into Jaskier’s sides. Yennefer yelps and startles back. Valdo shoves a lute case and a bag into her arms.
“We were so worried! ” Ciri cries, hugging him tightly. Dara doesn’t say anything, just buries his head in Jaskier’s chest. “Dad, what happened-”
She cuts herself off when she realizes he’s hurt and immediately starts fussing over him, and then cuts herself off again when she realizes he isn’t alone.
“This is Yennefer,” Jaskier says, coughing. Ciri tenses. “An old friend of mine. Thank you, Valdo.” He tries to be as sincere as possible, and Valdo huffs.
“Don’t come back,” he says, but there’s no malice behind it. The gate closes.
“Okay,” Jaskier says to Yennefer. “We can leave now.”
“These are children,” Yennefer says flatly. She’s glancing between them, giving them equal amounts of attention- she doesn’t recognize Ciri. They’ll have to tell her eventually, but for now, she doesn’t recognize Ciri. “You have children with you.”
“They’re mine,” Jaskier says easily, keeping up the lie. Because they are. They’re his. “Found them after Geralt and I split up.”
“Oh,” Yennefer says, and Jaskier leans on them as they sneak their way out of the city.
They make camp when dusk falls, Ciri and Dara settling in on either side of Jaskier. He remains awake, sitting up, trying to bandage the worst of his injuries with scraps of a spare shirt. Yennefer stays away, too, watching him carefully.
“What are their names?” she asks eventually. Jaskier knows- he knows how badly she wants children, knows that she cannot have them. Maybe- maybe he could share them with her. He thinks she would make a good mother.
“Dara,” he says, pointing to the boy. His hat is still on. “And Fiona.”
“Dara and Fiona,” Yennefer says quietly. “How old are they?”
“Fiona’s thirteen,” he says. “Dara’s fifteen.”
“Thirteen and fifteen,” Yennefer echoes. Jaskier carefully brushes some of Ciri’s hair behind her ear. They re-dyed it a week ago, but her ashen-blonde roots are already starting to come in. He knows Yennefer notices by the sharp intake of breath.
“The Child Surprise,” she says. “The Lion Cub of Cintra.”
“She’s the Lioness, now,” Jaskier hums, not looking up. “Calanthe is dead. She’s the only one left.”
“I know,” Yennefer says. Then- “How long have you been with her?”
“Since the fall,” Jaskier says. “I was in the city. We found Dara a few days later. And before you ask- I did not lie. They’re mine. ” He says it with such a fierce possessiveness, and when he looks up Yennefer nods at him. “She is not Geralt’s. He did not take responsibility for her.”
“No, I-” Yennefer starts. “I agree with you.”
“Good,” he says. “Because we’re going to find him anyway. He can protect her better than I could, and you don’t have your magic.”
“Way to rub salt in the wound,” Yennefer mutters, and Jaskier winces.
“Sorry,” he says. She shrugs.
“Is Cirilla- like Pavetta?” she asks after a moment.
“Ciri,” Jaskier says. “In private, it’s just Ciri. In public, she’s Fiona. Dara stays Dara. I’m Dandelion.”
Yennefer does not react to the name- she’s a quarter elf, he remembers, and she was raised by humans. She likely doesn’t know the elven tales like Dara does.
“Can I have a fun name?” she asks with a teasing smile. Jaskier laughs, then quiets down when Dara stirs.
“Anything you want, witch,” he says.
“Zuirseime,” Yennefer decides after a moment.
“Too obvious,” Jaskier says, shaking his head. “I’ll call you Zuzu.”
Yennefer laughs, hard. When she quiets down, she asks him, “You speak Elder?”
“Zuirseime,” he repeats. “Chaos. I learned it-”
Well. He doesn’t really remember learning it, is the thing. He studied it at the Academy, certainly, but he knew it before that.
“Um,” he says, trailing off. “I guess I learned it at the Academy in Oxenfurt,” he says eventually. “I don’t know where else I would know it from.”
Yennefer looks at him questioningly. “In your childhood, maybe?”
“I suppose,” he says, clearing his throat. “I don’t- remember much of my childhood. I try not to think about it. I’m the Viscount of Lettenhove, but I don’t- I don’t think I got that title from birth.” He laughs off her look of concern. “I haven’t been to Lettenhove since I found Geralt. To be honest, I don’t remember much before I found Geralt. I studied at the Academy for four years, I graduated when I was eighteen, and anything before that…” He shrugs.
“I could try unlocking your memories when I get my magic back,” Yennefer offers softly. “But if you’ve repressed them that much, I doubt it would be anything you would want to remember.”
“Yeah,” Jaskier agrees, swallowing harshly. “I suppose so.”
“But since you don’t remember-” Yennefer starts, then stops. “Well. I always assumed it had something to do with your childhood, and I understand being pushed to the side because of what you look like, so I never brought it up-”
“Brought what up?” he asks, sensing that she’s stalling.
“Your glamour,” she says. “I noticed it the first time we met, but I was too busy saving your life, and then I never wanted to bring it up because it seemed like Geralt didn’t know.”
“My what?” Jaskier asks, laughing.
“Your glamour,” Yennefer repeats. “The insanely heavy glamour that you’ve been covered in ever since we first met?”
“I’m not…” Jaskier says, trailing off. “I don’t have any glamour, Yennefer.”
She looks at him for a moment. “You’re not lying,” she says eventually.
“No,” he agrees.
“You don’t know about the glamour.”
“I don’t-”
Before they can get any further, Ciri sits up, gasping wildly. She pants for a few moments, clutching Jaskier’s arm and getting ahold of their surroundings, and then she turns to him.
“Dad, something’s wrong,” she says, eyes wide. “Something’s wrong, we need to go-”
“Okay,” Jaskier says, because he trusts her gut. Yennefer immediately starts packing up their stuff, and Jaskier shakes Dara awake. “Time to go, kiddo-”
“What?” Dara asks blearily, and Ciri lets out a cry of alarm.
Rushing at them are at least a dozen soldiers. Yennefer holds out her hands, then drops them. Shit, she doesn’t have magic, and Dara is scrambling to stand behind her anyways, hat discarded on the ground. Jaskier grabs Ciri and shoves her behind him, draws his dagger because he is going to go down fighting-
“We hear you have the sorceress,” one of the soldiers says, holding up a hand. His men come to a stop a good few yards away.
The sorceress. They’re here for Yennefer, not Ciri- and Jaskier will not let them take Yen, either.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No mages here. We’re just on our way to the city-”
“This far from the road?” the soldier asks. Yennefer is looking at the ground, but it’s obvious he recognizes her. “We’ll take her by force if we have to.”
“She’s the most powerful mage alive,” Jaskier laughs. They shift nervously- they don’t know that she doesn’t have her magic. “You really think a dozen soldiers are going to be able to take her?”
It doesn’t stop them. They charge forward, and Jaskier yells “RUN!” Dara grabs Ciri’s hand and takes off, only one soldier going after them, yelling that there’s an elf. Yennefer calls for Jaskier’s dagger and he tosses it to her, knowing she’s better with it then he is. Only a moment later he’s slammed to the ground. He manages to fight one soldier off, snaps his neck with a strength he didn’t know he had, and then there are three more on top of him. He can hear more crying out as Yennefer attacks, and then he’s on his stomach, chin digging into the ground, arms pinned behind his back.
He can see Ciri and Dara running, his children glancing back as they stumble over tree roots, and the soldier chasing after them raising his sword.
Everything goes still. There’s nothing but a roaring in Jaskier’s ears, something chanting, chanting, louder and louder.
Dandelion. Dandelion. Dandelion.
Dandelion. Dandelion. Dandelion.
Dandelion.
Dandelion.
DANDELION.
“ NO! ” Jaskier screams, and the three soldiers on top of him go flying back. The soldiers attacking Yennefer go flying back. The soldier about to strike his children goes shooting up into the air and doesn’t come back down.
Jaskier sees Ciri and Dara freezing, Yennefer staring at him with disbelief, and then everything goes black.
iii: this is not a love story. this is falling apart and coming together.
Jaskier has been Jaskier for so long that he’s forgotten who he used to be.
“-askier. Jaskier. Jaskier!”
His eyes snap open. He’s on his back, staring up at green leaves, the sunlight blinding. The air smells like blood. His entire body aches.
“Dad!” a different voice cries, and then there’s a heavy weight on his chest. He tries to sit up and another weight pushes him back down. It takes him a moment- it takes him a few moments to recognize them, brown hair the shade of his with white roots, elven ears that are so often hidden, violet eyes looking at him with concern.
“What happened?” he asks, and his voice is hoarse.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Yennefer says sternly. He sits up and this time Ciri and Dara let him.
“How long was I out?” he asks, looking around. They haven’t moved from their campsite- the bodies of a dozen soldiers are scattered around them, dried blood coming from every orifice.
“Six hours, maybe,” Ciri says, still clinging to him. She’s beaming. “I didn’t know you had magic!”
“I didn’t, either,” Jaskier says, squinting as he looks around. He makes eye contact with Yennefer, who looks furious. “I swear, Yen-”
“Dad,” Dara says after a moment. “Dad, your ears. Your eyes.”
“What about them?” he asks, confused as to why this is important in the face of the fact that he apparently has magic, which is weird, it’s a weird thought- and then he reaches up and touches his ears. They’re pointed.
Like an elf.
Yennefer must see the panic in his eyes, the fact that he has no idea what’s going on, and takes pity on him. Her shoulders relax, and she shakes her head.
“Your eyes are yellow,” she offers. “Like a-”
“Dandelion,” Dara finishes firmly. “You’re supposed to be a story.”
“What?” Yennefer asks. Ciri looks just as confused, and Jaskier swallows harshly.
“ The Dandelion is an elven tale,” he says. “Dates back long before the Great Cleansing, about an elven sorcerer of Elder blood. It’s an epic, it’s a myth -”
“It’s you, ” Dara insists. “The blood- Dandelion casts that spell in “The Elegy of Weeds” and then again in “The Ballad of the Buttercups,” it’s meant to kill humans with ill intent against those of elven blood-”
“No,” Jaskier says, shaking his head, but his heart is sinking. “No, it’s not- I’m not-”
Dandelion. Dandelion. Dandelion.
It hits him like a load of bricks, and if he were standing he’s sure he would double over. As is, he gasps suddenly, sending Ciri and Dara scuttling backwards. Yennefer flinches, and Jaskier can feel the sheer power radiating off of himself. It’s- terrifying.
And he remembers. The hiding, the putting the glamour on himself, the taking of his own memories with the knowledge that when he needed them, they would be there. The ages upon ages of being nothing more than a story when he knew the truth.
He’s not the Dandelion from the stories. But those stories- they came from him. “The Dandelion’s Rhapsody,” the one he memorized for a competition at the Academy- he said that. He said those words, he was the one that first spoke them, and he doesn’t remember who he said them to because he didn’t have a daughter back then, but he knows he was the one who said them, the one who sparked the tales-
“Holy fuck,” he says after a moment as centuries upon centuries of memories come back to him. The elves have been telling the tale of the Dandelion since a time before the Conjunction of the Spheres, and Jaskier has been there for all of it. They got that part wrong in the Ballad, at least- Dandelion did not die. He takes a moment, then two, just to process everything, all of it coming back to him at once, and then he shakes his head. “We need to go,” he says. “Before more of them come for you.”
“Where will we go?” Ciri asks. “Oxenfurt isn’t safe anymore-”
“I think anywhere we go will be safe,” Yennefer says slowly, looking at Jaskier carefully. “I remember the poem now. We learned it at Aretuza. An example of realistic magic in folklore. You’re supposed to be dead.”
“I’m supposed to be a lot of things,” Jaskier huffs. “And I’d hardly call the elven tales realistic. They were embellished.”
“I guess you have that in common, then, considering the music you produce,” Yennefer says easily, and Jaskier rolls his eyes as the two kids laugh at him. They finish packing up their camp and it’s like nothing has changed. As they’re getting ready to leave, Jaskier gets an idea.
He reaches out and sets a hand on Yennefer’s shoulder and without moving, he pushes. She gasps, startled, and then settles.
“Oh, sweet Melitele,” she says, and then she sends a blast of power into a nearby tree. Ciri and Dara both cry out with joy, and Jaskier grins. “How did you do that?” Jaskier grins.
“I’ve been alive for more than two and a half millennium,” he reminds her. “I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”
“Holy shit,” Ciri breathes out. Jaskier grins and ruffles her hair, and they start the trek northeast.
They spend a fortnight moving when Geralt decides that instead of them finding him, he’s going to find them. Jaskier wishes he could say he’s surprised that it was only when Yennefer was involved that Geralt finally decided to do something, but he’s really not. It’s a warm night, spring slowly marching to an end, and they’ve decided to spend the night in an inn in southern Kaedwen, all four of them sharing a room with two beds. It’s easy for them to pretend to be a family of four, and no one asks questions. They’ve both taught Ciri enough magic that she can easily defend both herself and Dara if need be, anyway. Jaskier’s put his glamour back on, just for safety purposes, and Yennefer keeps her head down.
Not down far enough, apparently. Because on their second night at the inn- Ciri and Dara managed to convince them to spend another night, wanting a chance to sleep in a real bed at least a couple of times- there’s a knock on their door. Yennefer went to the market during the day with Dara, searching for more clothes and enough food for a few weeks.
“Who saw you?” Jaskier hisses at her.
“No one saw me,” she hisses back. They shove Ciri and Dara in the bathroom, ignoring their protests. Jaskier can feel (and see) her preparing her Chaos, and once she nods to him, he throws the door open, moving to stand behind it.
He doesn’t see who’s on the other side of the door, but he sees the way Yennefer’s face falls, the way her hands drop. Another mage, then, probably.
“Close the door,” she says, no emotion in her voice, not taking her eyes off the person on the other side. Jaskier closes the door, cutting off the protests of the person on the other side.
“Who is it?” he asks. His heart is sinking. He knows who it is. He also knows that Geralt will be able to hear them through the door, so wordlessly he and Yennefer agree that he’s going to hide in the bathroom with the kids. He goes quickly, mimes to them to be silent, and then presses his ear against the door. Ciri and Dara both press up against it underneath him.
“Who were you with?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier tries not to startle at his voice.
“A lover,” Yennefer says haughtily. Dara wrinkles his nose in disgust at the implication. Jaskier knows for a fact that Geralt can smell a lie, but he also knows for a fact that Yennefer can hide one. “I sent him out the window. Didn’t want you to scare him. What do you want?”
“I saw you in the market,” Geralt says. His voice is… gruffer than normal. Jaskier hates that he notices that. “Followed you here.”
“That’s stalking,” Yennefer points out. “Hadn’t I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with you?”
“Everyone in the northern kingdoms knows your name, Yennefer,” he says. “They say you helped Cahir escape from Aretuza. You’re wanted in every kingdom- and I mean every kingdom, including the southern ones, Nilfgaard wants you just as bad.”
“So you’re here to, what?” Yennefer snaps. “Protect me? I can protect myself, Geralt.”
Ciri shifts underneath Jaskier. He looks down- she’s about to sneeze. Shit. Shit. Shit-
She sneezes. Jaskier and Dara both look at her with wide eyes, and she stares back, just as terrified. On the other side of the door, Jaskier can practically hear Geralt freeze.
“Yennefer,” Geralt says slowly. “Who’s in the bathroom?”
“My son,” Yennefer says immediately. “He was with me at the market, surely you saw him-”
“You adopted a child? You’ve been on the run and you adopted a child -”
“He’s on the run, too!”
And Jaskier is already getting sick of their bickering, and he hears Geralt moving closer to the bathroom and he throws his whole body weight against it-
“I wasn’t with a lover, I was with him and I didn’t want you to terrify him, he’s skittish-”
“I’m not skittish ,” Dara says scathingly, and then clamps a hand over his mouth. Jaskier has no idea how they’ve survived this long with two children, he really doesn’t. He can hear Yennefer’s disguised laughter as Geralt’s footsteps pause, then resume. Ciri and Dara join him in shoving up against the door, as if that’ll do anything against a witcher.
“Geralt, don’t- you don’t want to go in there, trust me-”
And Jaskier recognizes that tone of voice, it’s her do something voice, so he steps back and pulls Ciri and Dara behind him, and the second the door goes flying open he’s slamming Geralt with a spell powerful enough to send him reeling back.
“I meant to completely knock him out!” Yennefer yells. Geralt is blinking, dazed, and Yennefer shoves him out the open door and slams it shut.
“Sorry!” Jaskier hisses back, and there’s a pounding on the door.
“Yennefer!” Geralt yells. “Do you have another mage in there? Is your son a fucking mage?”
“Out the window!” Yennefer says pointedly, loudly enough that Geralt will hear her. “Let’s go, out the window-”
They pretend to move toward the window, and after a moment, Yennefer looks out the door again.
“He’s gone,” she says triumphantly. “Okay, we can’t portal, so we need to run, get your stuff-”
And by the time they have all their stuff, Geralt has climbed up the side of the building and smashed the window.
“ Fuck !” Jaskier yells. Automatically he reaches for Ciri and Dara, pulling them back again, behind himself and Yennefer. “Go, just go for the woods, we’ll catch up I promise, remember what we taught you-”
And, like the amazing, wonderful children they are, they both run. If Geralt pauses when he sees two tiny bodies rushing out of the building, he completely freezes when he sees Jaskier.
“What the fuck,” he says, eyeing how closely Jaskier and Yennefer are standing. Eyeing the fact that Jaskier has a hand protectively in front of Yennefer. And all the rage Jaskier felt at being accused of every terrible thing in Geralt’s life comes rushing back, all the anger he thought he was over fills his body, and he puts on the fakest smile he can.
“I believe she said she wanted nothing to do with you,” he says haughtily. “So we’ll be leaving, and you won’t be following us.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes out, like he still can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“That is the name I go by, yes, how clever of you-”
And then for the second reunion in a row, Jaskier finds himself dragged into someone else’s arms. Geralt holds him tightly and doesn’t let go, and just like with Yennefer, Jaskier tentatively reaches his own arms up.
“Um,” he says, and he thinks Yennefer is laughing. “What-”
“Figured you were dead,” Geralt says after a moment. “Rience said-”
“Rience?” Yennefer says. Jaskier extracts himself carefully from Geralt’s arms. “The fire mage?”
“He said he killed you,” Geralt says.
“And you believed him?” Jaskier snorts. “Please. I’m unkillable, you should know that by now.”
“You were about to die,” Yennefer reminds him. “You’ve still got scars all over-”
“ Okay, ” Jaskier says through gritted teeth. Geralt looks bemused. “Okay, we don’t need to go into detail about my frankly gorgeous body-”
“I had to save you and I didn’t even have my magic,” Yennefer continues happily, and all anger at Geralt is forgotten from both of them.
“Yes, well, I didn’t either, or I would certainly have been able to do something-”
“I doubt it, you’re too self-sacrificing, you wouldn’t have tried to save yourself-”
“Excuse you! I may be a self-sacrificing idiot but I’m a smart self-sacrificing idiot-”
“You’re really not, you’re far too noble, you’d die before giving away Geralt’s location-”
“Stop,” Geralt says, quietly, and it’s enough that they both fall silent and turn on him. “You bicker like an old married couple.”
“What did you just say?” Yennefer hisses, and Jaskier puts a hand on her arm like it’ll calm her down, and then she strides forward and punches Geralt hard in the face. Jaskier knows the witcher could have stopped her, but he doesn’t. Before he can retaliate, someone at the door clears their throat. All three turn- and there’s Ciri and Dara.
“Sorry,” Ciri says, cringing. “You were taking too long. We thought he might’ve hurt you.”
“Yes, well, cat’s out of the bag now, we were hunting him down anyway,” Jaskier huffs, gesturing for them to come in and close the door. “This, my dears, is Geralt of Rivia. Geralt, these are my two beautiful children.”
“Your children,” Geralt repeats flatly.
“Geralt of Rivia,” Ciri echoes in awe, and then her eyes narrow. “You’re a right piece of shit, you know that?”
Jaskier and Yennefer both burst into laughter. Geralt looks confused.
“Dara and Fiona,” Jaskier says, pointing to each of them respectively. “Also known as Ciri.”
“Cirilla,” Geralt says, eyes widening, and Jaskier and Yennefer laugh again.
“Just Ciri,” she grumbles, stepping forward and holding out a hand. “Fiona if we’re in public.”
“They’re not actually your children,” Geralt says after a moment, looking almost… relieved.
“That’s offensive,” Dara quips easily. “He’s the best dad we’ve ever had.” Ciri nods vigorously. Jaskier wants to cry out of pure joy.
“He is a good parent,” Yennefer admits. “And he’s right, we were looking for you.” She turns to Jaskier. “I don’t remember why, it’s not like we need him, we have three immensely powerful magic users-”
“Because he’s her destiny, or something,” Jaskier says, gesturing to Ciri and waving a hand. “I’ve seen too many men try to avoid destiny only for it to come back and bite them in the ass.” He gives Geralt a pointed look. “You weren’t taking responsibility for her, so I did. Cry about it.”
And he sticks out his tongue.
“How becoming,” Yennefer comments. “Acting like a child, at your age-”
“I look very good for my age, thank you-”
“You said three magic users,” Geralt interrupts before they can get going again, looking at Dara. “You have magic, too?”
“No,” Dara says. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Then-”
And he looks at Jaskier.
“Surprise?” Jaskier says.
“What.”
“I just found out, like, two weeks ago, I would’ve told you, trust me-”
“What do you mean you just found out -”
“His name is Dandelion,” Ciri says cryptically, and Geralt full-body stops.
“You’re a myth,” the witcher says. “And if you’re not a myth, you’re dead.”
“The old tales make up quite a lot of information,” Jaskier drawls. “Artists are known to lie quite a lot in their work.”
“I need several drinks to process this,” Geralt says flatly.
“That might be the longest sentence I’ve ever heard you say.”
And Geralt smiles at him, actually smiles, and Jaskier can’t help but smile back.
iv: this is not a fairy’s tale. this is a true one.
There is one thing that is agreed upon of The Dandelion, and that is that the titular character dies at the end. Jaskier knows this, and he knows the others know this- Ciri doesn’t, maybe, or Yennefer, since they’ve never read the full story. Dara knows, and it’s clear in the way he protests when Jaskier goes off on his own. Geralt knows, and it’s clear in the way he walks on glass around Jaskier.
Or maybe he’s walking on glass because Jaskier hasn’t forgiven him yet, not properly. They’ve come to the unanimous agreement that they’ll allow Geralt to travel with them, though they’re still going for Kaer Morhen despite the summer months now upon them in the hopes of being able to train both Ciri and Dara, and keep them safe. Nilfgaard is attempting to make it north again, and with the threat of Rience, the northern kingdoms, or at least some of them, surely know of Ciri’s power by now.
Either way, Geralt is an asset- he’s the best hunter among them, so they have a steady supply of food, and rather than exhausting themselves fighting monsters with magic, the three of them each take some of the load.
Roach is also an asset, because it means Ciri and Dara are able to ride her. Jaskier can’t deny that he’s missed the mare, and she seems to have missed him as well, somehow. Maybe it’s the fact that he was constantly slipping her apples and sugar cubes, but she nuzzles into his hand when he goes to pet her for the first time.
Yennefer and Geralt aren’t cold toward each other, but they aren’t friendly, either. Both Ciri and Dara seem to have taken to the witcher, and to everyone’s complete surprise, Geralt has taken to them right back. He teaches them how to survive in the wild, starts teaching them how to fight with sticks they find, and tells them stories when they ask for them.
“We’ve exhausted Jaskier’s supply of stories,” Ciri says, looking up at Geralt with puppy-dog eyes, even though they all know that’s far from the truth. “Will you tell us some?”
And he does. Not just three sentences, either. Full stories. Jaskier and Yennefer exchange confused and amused looks every time it happens.
Slowly, Jaskier and Geralt begin talking again. Eventually, Yennefer joins in on the conversations.
They arrive at Kaer Morhen just as the summer heat reaches its peak, Vesemir greeting them coolly.
“You’ve brought many guests and half a year early,” he says to Geralt.
“This is-” Geralt starts, stops, continues. “My family.” He glances back at them- Ciri and Dara are beaming. Yennefer nods. Slowly, Jaskier slips his hand into Geralt’s own. Vesemir watches them all carefully.
“Your family,” he says eventually, and then he grins. “I thought you didn’t get attached?”
“He’s attached,” Yennefer smirks.
They each get their own room. Jaskier doesn’t sleep for a long time- he can’t, not with all of them separate. He sneaks into Ciri’s room first and finds her and Dara tangled together. Yennefer is slumped over in an armchair next to their bed, fast asleep. He smiles and turns back- Geralt is standing in the doorway.
“I’ve gotten used to it,” Geralt admits in a hushed tone, and Jaskier lets out a silent laugh. He gestures for Geralt to follow him, and they go to the mess hall, where Vesemir served them dinner. Geralt is treading carefully again. Jaskier takes his hand and drags him to a sitting position in front of the hearth.
“I’ve forgiven you, you know,” he says, and Geralt has the audacity to look surprised. “I forgave you a long time ago.”
“Why?” he asks, and Jaskier rolls his eyes.
“Because I love you, you oaf,” he says.
“I thought you and Yennefer-”
“You thought Yennefer what?” Yennefer’s voice says. She sits down next to them, adjusting so they’re in a little triangle. “You woke me up when you closed the door. You thought what?”
“I thought the two of you were together,” Geralt says, and it almost looks like he’s blushing.
“Yennefer is gorgeous, but no,” Jaskier says.
“We’re not?” Yennefer asks, and it takes him a moment to realize she isn’t joking.
“You are both so stupid and I am so in love with both of you,” Jaskier declares, throwing himself over both of their laps. They both still look confused. “My goodness. What a mess we are.”
The Dandelion, it is commonly agreed upon, ends one way: with the Dandelion’s death. With his daughter picking up the story and spreading it across the lands.
Luckily, The Dandelion is merely a story. Here is the way the Dandelion’s tale really ends:
He falls in love. He falls in love every day with the same two people, who love him right back. He watches as his two children grow into their own power, as they train and practice and get taller and stronger. He holds onto his magic, teaches them little tricks, protects them when he has to.
Here is the way the Dandelion’s tale really ends: Nilfgaard marches and the northern kingdoms search, and they will have to leave their fortress and fight, and when they do fight, it is with the last remaining witchers and the two most powerful magic users on the Continent. And then they will go home, covered in blood that is and isn’t theirs, and they will rest, and they will be at peace.
Here is the way the Dandelion’s tale really ends:
It doesn’t.