Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (Completed)

The Girl In The Woods

Geralt let his feet take him, they seemed to know more than he did what was going on. He wasn't sure how long he walked, the pain in his leg was almost gone and his thoughts seemed to have fogged over until his only thought was 'the girl in the woods'. 
A fair head broke over the crest, standing out starkly against the green and brown shades of the forest. Blonde only a shade darker than Geralt's, eyes vivid green, beautiful delicate features. She was dirty and bloodied, her cloak billowed on the wind as she ran like blue wings. In a matter of seconds she was in the Witcher's arms, her body so small and fragile, arms clinging desperately around him. With hesitance, Geralt wrapped her up in his arms and stroked her hair back from her face. 
"Those bound by destiny will always find each other." He murmered, remembering the words of so many over the years, even Jaskier had- Jaskier!
Geralt only now realised he'd left his Bard without a second thought, without any thought actually. If he knew Jaskier, he wouldn't hear the end of it.
"Who's Jaskier?" Cirilla asked, her head tipping up to Geralt.
"How do you-" Geralt stepped back, eyeing her up, suddenly suspicious.
"I just know the name, it's in my dreams, along with yours." She said, gazing up at Geralt in awe.
"Um..." Geralt had always struggled with words, but now it hit harder than ever. There was a fear bubbling up from his chest that the girl wouldn't understand, or wouldn't accept their relationship. And somehow he couldn't face that. "We should go back. It's getting dark." He said instead.
Cirilla looked up at the sky as if just now realising how far she must have walked to get here for nightfall. The sun was still in the sky, but dipping low on the horizon, turning the sky red. She nodded but watched him with suspiscious eyes. It was another hour before Cirilla spoke again.
"So, Jaskier; a friend? A lover? A mage? Another Witcher? An enemy?" It seemed from her tone that Cirilla had genuinly no idea what face could match the name, or even that Jaskier was a man.
"How long have you been having these dreams?" Geralt asked, skirting around the question, though he found the idea of Jaskier being his enemy quite hilarious.
"I don't know, a few years. They've been getting clearer though, since... since the fall of Cintra." She hugged her arms around herself and Geralt wished he'd brought a blanket or coat for the girl, Jaskier always had extra layers seeing as he very much felt the cold, unlike the Witcher. He was sure the Bard wouldn't have minded if he'd asked. Geralt was silent for a long time, stepping around hazards as he expertly navigated the forest floor and thought about his blue eyed companion. They had been travelling for so long now, it might be nice to rest in a real bed, hold him as he slept.
"Actually, I had two night's ago..." Cirilla continued, casting a worried glance Geralt's way. She hesitated to tell him. "You were dying, there were monsters and bodies, and then someone was singing in Elven. I don't know what it means."
"Your sure you dreamt this two nights ago?" Geralt recognised the story of course, as his own, but that had been last night. She nodded. "It was prophecy. Last night I was almost killed by Ghouls. You must have dreamt what I'd seen and heard."
"Was that you singing?" She set her upturned face on him looking even more surprised, her green eyes wide.
"God no." He laughed. "It was..." Geralt broke of as he saw the dark grey smoke, billows of it shooting up through the trees and its adjoining flames lit up the night. His mind went blank, his words, his thoughts, even Cirilla. He ran towards it faster than he'd run in his life.
The treeline ended and the cabin came into sight, blue flames reaching ten times his height, and burning stronger and hotter than any fire he'd seen. Magic. He raced towards it without a thought, but Cirilla's voice broke out of the roar of flames and made him think.
"GERALT YOU'LL DIE!" He only hesitated for a moment, but in that time the roof caved in, smashing into charred debris and smoking all around him.
He saw the lute and collapsed to his knees; it sat among the rubble, strings all snapped, body blackened. And the worst of it all, now he owed Cirilla his protection he couldn't do the one thing he wanted to: drive the sword into his heart and go and find his Jaskier.