A concept with fic energy:
Jaskier dies an old man, and the Witchers are saddened at his leave, but they bury him in Oxenfurt with his lute, and move on with their lives.
Unexpectedly, Jaskier finds himself back in the world of the living, with a burning desire to right the wrongs upon Witchers across the continent. For a while all he can be is aggressive, inconveniencing anyone who he had heard say something bad about the Witchers he devoted his life to. He figured out pretty quickly that he’s a ghost.
What’s strange to him is that he doesn’t seem to be attached to his lute. Realistically that should be it, right? A love of music that’s brought him back to watch how his legacy drags on. But no, he finds himself in shitty taverns and inns mixing lye into horrible people’s ale.
It takes him a while, but he finally gets the pattern: he wakes up in a dark room, usually alone, and finds people in the main room raging about Witchers. When he finally takes a moment to look around instead of immediately going for a target, he recognizes a familiar presence.
There are Witchers wherever he goes.
Jaskier has, somehow, become attached to Witchers. When he realizes this his vengeful spirit begins to settle, and he starts being useful. Whenever he wakes up, he finds the Witcher he’s attached to and helps them. At first it’s with vengeance, then it’s with a tidier room, checking the beds for lice, and if it isn’t safe he breaks the doorknobs. His help goes unrecognized, but at this point, hems used to being ignored.
The first time a Witcher thanks him it’s a man from Griffin school, and he hears the man’s name echo through his shapeless form. Coën. He says it quietly, “someone must be watching out for me,” he chuckled to the air. “Well they have my gratitude.”
Jaskier finds himself on the road next, sitting in a camp beside a Witcher with a very familiar medallion. It’s not Geralt, this one has scars over the side of his face. He looks sad, and Jaskier wants to comfort him. He thinks the Witcher must feel it, when Jaskier wraps his arms around his shoulders, tells him his work is important, that humans may be ungrateful but he knows of his sacrifice, and is so proud he’s alive. The Witcher sighs, tension disappearing. Then he gets his name— Eskel. “Someone has to do the job, eh Scorpion?” The Witcher says, looking at his horse. Much better than Roach, thinks Jaskier. Jaskier stays with Eskel as long as he can, with nowhere else to go, sings to him while he falls asleep. He doesn’t need a thank you, that the Witcher eases is thanks enough.
Jaskier finds himself in similar places for a while, a tavern where Witchers are being cursed, on the road when a Witcher is feeling down. The names start blurring. Aiden, Letho, Ivo. Jaskier helps all of them find a moment of peace.
He runs into another wolf some time later, and he seems to be a little off. Jaskier heard his name, Lambert. Lambert is standing before a cliff, looking down at the ravine, holding a bottle of wine. Jaskier has a terrifying thought that the Witcher wants to die, and jumps in front of him. He shoves uselessly at his chest, runs his hands through his hair and begs “please, stay alive,” and pulls at his armor until Lambert sighs and retreats back to his camp. Jaskier, ghostly tears on his face, follows him, clinging the entire time. Jaskier sits on a log and it clears, just a little, under his weight. Lambert stares at the log and Jaskier sees his pupils narrow into slits.
“What are you, seeing ghosts?” Lambert speaks to himself, and shakes his head. “Could’ve been me. Maybe it was you who got me away from that cliff.” He huffs a breath. “Must not be great for a Witcher in the afterlife.” Jaskier can’t bear the one sided conversation.
“It’s not so bad,” he says. “But the world is better with you here to protect it.” Jaskier kicks a rock, and Lambert watches it scurry away.
“My very own ghost,” Lambert says. “Nah, It’s the wind.” He eyes the bottle in his hand. “Well, Maybe...” Jaskier Can see the indescision. Lambert looks up. “Eskel and Geralt are going to think I’m crazy,” he huffs, and sets the bottle right where the rock had been. “If there is someone there, well...” Lambert sniffs. “Thanks for watching out for me.” Jaskier cries again, and when Lambert goes to bed, is pleased to find he can still drink the wine.
Jaskier doesn’t expect to get to Kaer Morhen, but he finds himself there in the winter, peering over familiar white hair. Geralt. Jaskier hadn’t really gotten to say goodbye, though he knew Geralt had visited his grave. He could sense the sadness in his mind, but then he listened to the conversation. He recognizes Lambert and Eskel. Eskel is listening to Lambert, whose talking about a suspiciously empty wine bottle, and Eskel talks about being sung to sleep. Oh. Geralt must have been thinking about him. Jaskier has gained some strength in the world, likely as the Witchers he assists have acknowledged a presence that helped them. He starts humming Toss a Coin in Geralt’s ear, running his hand through his hair, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m still around,” he says, knowing Geralt still can’t hear him. But the sadness exits his eyes as he sings, and instead he smiles lightly.
“What are you grinning about?” Eskel Asks. Geralt shakes his head.
“Jaskier,” he says. “He would’ve sung for you.” Eskel looks pained.
“I’m sorry, I know you miss him—“ Geralt rises abruptly.
“Bet it was his ghost or something,” he says. “Seems like him, right?” And Geralt sounds so fond. “Reminding Witchers of their worth when they feel like shit.” He looks around and Jaskier finds himself in tears again, clinging to Geralt, saying his name,
“You are worthy, every one of you.”
“It’s like I can almost smell him.” Jaskier kicks him. He May have been stinky in his life, but he is a perfectly clean ghost! Geralt shifts his foot and looks down at it.
“Do you think...” it’s Lambert who speaks. Everyone looks at him, surprised by the meekness in his voice. “Maybe it was him?” Jaskier feels a surge of something in his chest. He hugs Lambert from behind, and his shoulders ease. “Maybe he’s come back as a ghost to help out Witchers. Aiden told me he saw someone who was shouting about mutants pass out at a counter last summer, and Coen said that thing about having a nice room...” Geralt and Eskel both look surprised. “It’s stupid but...” Jaskier remembers the sadness in Lambert’s eyes when he stood on that cliff.
“It could be,” Eskel said. “Some kind of spectre. They exist.” Geralt looks down at the ankle Jaskier had kicked.
“Guess he’s still mad at me then,” he sighs. Eskel puts a hand on his shoulder.
Jaskier calls out to Geralt as a warning, hoping he can be heard, when he sees a monster leap at him. His senses must have alerted him, as Geralt whips around and slices with his silver sword— Jaskier feels a surge of energy in his body as he watches Geralt heave for air and stumble back, whipping his head around.
“Jaskier?” He calls. Geralt looks down at the sword and pulls it from the monster. “Thank you,” he says. Jaskier smiled, but is tugged away by another Witcher in need.
Jaskier gains more abilities, he discovers. With every encounter he seems capable of doing more to help, finding that he can scream warnings, or move very small things, and make sound when he walks— his feet crunch over gravel sometimes when he’s concentrating on it, and he sees Witchers look down from their horses in shock. He can also sing, though he doesn’t have his lute, and he doesn’t know what he sounds like, but it seems to ease Witchers into sleep. Jaskier also learns—
It’s their swords. Since he watched Geralt sink his sword into a warg he’s paid more attention, always found himself directly behind a walking Witcher, or standing by their gear when they left it in a room in an inn. Jaskier is connected to the silver in a Witcher’s sword. He knows they can’t kill him— has been run through more than once with it, and when they’re used with his added existence he feels the power surge through him. It’s incredible.
Jaskier continues helping, and he finds more Witchers regularly, until he’s met all the ones he think exist, and run back between them a few times. He’s been called names: the wolves call him Jaskier, but he gets “buttercup” a lot, sometimes “friendly ghost,” sometimes “friend,” and it’s always in gratitude. Jaskier also gets gifts sometimes. Lambert always leaves him something, a drink, a coin, a carved instrument. But he gets other gifts, like the buttercups he apparently leaves when he’s lingered. And he hears Witchers talk to each other about him. He catches a conversation between Lambert and Aiden and Aiden learns his name. Letho and Geralt chat and Letho starts calling him Jaskier. Jaskier gains a reputation as a helpful spirit, and sometimes Witchers will cal on him directly, seeking a little emotional support. Jaskier is happy to provide.
Jaskier talks to them a lot, even though they can’t hear him. He finds Geralt walking down a road in Redannia and starts telling him about the Witchers he’s helped that day. He tells him about the gifts he’s been given. The excellent wine that Lambert left him the other day. He rubs Geralt’s back and tells him how much he values him.
Nearly all the Witchers know him by name, and he’s become quite a presence in their stories to each other. They even make some up, and wonder what he gets up to when he’s not helping Witchers. The answer? Well, Jaskier isn’t sure what he does either.
He first encounters his mage issue when he’s with Geralt, appearing where he’s rested his swords by the door of Yennefer’s cottage. They’re talking, and Jaskier strides over.
“Yennefer again, Geralt? I should have known you’d still be in touch. She’s not good for you, you know.” Yennefer looks right at him. Geralt is still looking at her.
“Geralt?” Yennefer asks, turning back to him.
“How long has Jaskier been a ghost?” Geralt looks around.
“Can you see me?” Jaskier asks, looking at his body. It’s a little more solid now, after years of existing. Yennefer nods a little. Jaskier claps a hand over his mouth.
“Since his death, likely,” Geralt mumbled. He sounds sad again.
“Look at that, you’ve gone and made him sad again.” Yennefer scoffs.
“Not my fault Witchers can’t see spectres.”
“He’s here? It’s him?” Geralt’s questions for ignored, and Jaskier starts bickering with Yennefer.
“You’re looking young, Jaskier... I know. Yes, I’m hilarious aren’t I?” Jaskier tuts at the insensitive joke about his death.
“Well I’m going to go, since you two are clearly occupied. Since you can talk to Geralt, do tell him I miss him, won’t you? And that I don’t hate him?” Yennefer’s eyes soften.
“Alright,” she agrees. Geralt looks confused. “Bye, Jaskier.” Jaskier tilts his head, listening for any summons. None come, so he decides to travel with Eskel so he can rant. Eskel’s always been good at interpreting him.
Jaskier continues to gain power, and manages to figure out his connection to Witchers swords. It’s easy now, to lock onto large bulky silver and manifest. He manages to find their daggers too— viper school is more fond of the smaller ones. Then he can get around by sending their medallions— though it was riskier, as he discovered it made them vibrate when he concentrated on them. Jaskier has been met more than once by a Witcher whirling around for a fight, and had to calm them down by moving dirt and stomping his feet for them to discover it’s just him.
After that he can teleport to anything silver, not just on Witchers. He finds himself freeing an elf prisoner from silver handcuffs. Rescuing a woman wearing a silver necklace from bandits by shouting in their ears. Comforts a recently widowed man wearing a silver ring. He was proud of that one, seeing him cry out his feelings and telling him his wife was in a good place. He had gone to sleep satisfied.
Jaskier was also given more gifts— he liked the wine a lot, but a Kadewen town where he’d helped several people near Kaer Morhen started bringing silver coins and buttercups to a fountain in the square. Jaskier was pleased, liked to sit and sing to passerby. They’d pause sometimes, almost as if they could hear him. And Jaskier gained more power.
The fountain turned from stone to silver where he sat, when the offerings of silver coins grew, and Jaskier seemed to just bring it lut. It was a miracle, people said, but the Witchers who came in for supplies just before winter knew, had figured out where Jaskier came from.
Jaskier starts to turn more things into silver. Plated earrings into solid metal, cheap gifts from husbands turned into expensive indulgences for their wives, and it wasn’t long before that little trick was discovered and people started putting things in the fountain to purify. Jaskier discovered by accident the water had been purified, and upon following the source found a whole stream of pure freshwater. He didn’t know what it was, but Jaskier was happy to be helping. He couldn’t do it on command at first, but his ability grew until he could.
More often than not of course, Jaskier traveled with other Witchers. He only took reprieves to inspect his fountain. (Because undoubtedly it was his fountain. The Witchers called it his, the townsfolk called it an offering to “the silver being” and Yennefer called it a sham.
“You realize,” Yennefer said one day, sitting beside him on the fountain. “You’re a god?” Jaskier’s jaw dropped.
“I’m just a ghost!” He said. “And a lot of people know I exist!”
“Jaskier,” Yennefer shook her head. “You’re sitting on your shrine.” Jaskier blinked and looked at the fountain.
“This is just a fountain,” he said sheepishly. But people put things in it as gifts to him. People called on him for aid. There were stories about him. “Oh,” he said. “I’m a god.”
“Congratulations,” Yennefer said jokingly. “But what are you the god of?”
“Witchers?” He suggested. “Turning things into silver?” No, he had turned water fresh, not into silver.
“Maybe...” Yennefer said softly. “Maybe you’re the god of purity.” Jaskier snorted. “Think about it,” she said again. “You remind Witchers of their worth. You turn stone into silver. You turn a dirty stream into freshwater.”
“I’m no pure god,” Jaskier repeated. “I just see the good in everything. The value. And the water was an accident.” Yennefer smiles brightly.
“That’s it then,” she says.“The god of the pure within the impure.”
That made sense, actually. There was silver in stone. There was humanity in mutants. There was freshness in water.
“Can I also be the god of Witchers?” He asked. Yennefer laughed, but Jaskier was serious.
“Jaskier, you’re a friend to Witchers. You’re the god of their weapons. Just as you’re an enemy of their critics, but a god of their critics’ jewelery.” Jaskier smiled, content with the explanation.
Well, there was some purity in his spirit after all.
