Dandelions Don't Die

Wilted and Withered

As much as Jaskier wished it could last, he knew it couldn't. It would have to end eventually, with Geralt and Jaskier going their separate ways. He only wished it had ended on better terms. Instead they split at the mountainside, with harsh words thrown in his face. It hurt more than he ever thought it could. He had traveled back down the trail at a slow pace, matching his somber mind. He felt many things, more than he had in a long time. Anger, hurt, jealousy, guilt and sadness all swirled like a whirlpool in his head, turning his brain into a sloshing liquid that splashed against his skull with each step he took.

He needed to take his anger out on something, anything. He knew he could not feed on humans. Not only would he feel immensely bad about it, but it wouldn't be long until word spread of a vampire lurking about. And where a monster was, a certain witcher was bound to show up eventually. So he journeyed into the woods in search of an unfortunate creature.

Hunting always helped to clear his head. It had been hard to do on his travels with Geralt. He always had to find a way to slink off while the other man was busy and clean himself up before he noticed his companion was missing. At least he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. His chest ached at the thought.

Well Geralt would finally have what he wanted. To be alone. Truly alone, with only his horse to keep him company. As he thought about it, he began to miss Roach. He hadn't only grown fond of the brooding man, but his horse as well. Fuck, these next few years were going to suck. If he was lucky, he would be over this by the end of the decade. He hadn't been this down since he had first been turned. For 50 years he hasn't felt a steady beat in his chest, only the odd slow thump every five seconds or so. A stagnant muscle sitting in his chest just trying to resemble some semblance of normalcy.

He waited in the bushes, consumed by his misery. A twig snapped and he jerked his head up. He hoped beyond hope that Geralt had come to apologize, to take him up on his offer of escape, to invite him on his journeys. Instead he saw a buck enter the clearing before him. He licked his lips. He could smell the enticing scent of the deer's blood. It had been forever since he had had a real meal. He continued to eat human food to keep up appearances, but it did nothing to satisfy his hunger. It still tasted wonderful and he enjoyed the comfort, but his stomach and veins remained empty, longing for something more.

He pounced, and the poor animal didn't stand a chance. He let out a hum of relief as his teeth pierced through the pelt and flesh, sinking into the jugular. He sucked, not wanting to waste a drop. He felt himself grow stronger with each gulp. The blood was warm and thick, like syrup fresh from a tree. The satisfying tang of iron coated his mouth as he finished his feast. He wiped the remaining blood from his lips and continued on his way. To where, he did not know.

He wandered aimlessly from kingdom to kingdom, town to town. He was in every sense a lost soul. His songs were no longer jaunty tunes to sing along with, but emotional ballads that made the heart weep. People started to forget the bright eyed bard who sang the tales of the white wolf. He would hear others play them in taverns across the land, and it would always bring about a sad smile on his face. Those songs were popular, and good if he did say so himself. But they made him yearn for what once was. He couldn't have that anymore.

He heard whispers asking whatever happened to Jaskier, the bard who nobly followed Geralt of Rivia wherever he went. He sat alone in a booth, overhearing such a conversation. He himself wondered the same thing.

Everyone must die eventually, he thought to himself. He needed a fresh start, one not tied down to the ghosts of his past. It was commonplace for vampires to assume a new identity and create a fake death for their old persona. Now would be the perfect opportunity to plant the seed for his new life. He spoke up without turning to look at them.