Gems in his Hoard

Emerald

It was a well known fact that dragons had hoards. However, most people incorrectly assumed that all hoards were comprised of immense piles of treasure. Gold, silver, gemstones.

And while there were some dragon hoards that were made up of wealth, not every dragon hoarded the same things. Some hoards were comprised of books, others of weaponry, some of magical artifacts, and still others of plants.

There were as just about as many things to hoard as one could think of. Dragons did not get to choose what their hoard was. It was purely instinctive. A part of their being.

A dragon's hoard was very precious to them. Losing their hoard could have many ill effects on them. They could become seriously sick, and even die if their hoard was taken from them.

Jaskier loved deeply. So it really was no surprise that he had the misfortune of his hoard being people. Loved ones all became a part of his hoard.

But people don't stay forever. They get bored, they move on. Or he would eventually become too much for them, causing them to leave. It hurt him deeply every time. Like a searing pain in his heart every time a piece of his hoard walked out of his life for good. A connection ripping in his soul. Everyone knew it was hard for a dragon to give up even a piece of their hoard.

He was just thankful the most prized piece of his hoard hadn't left. That wasn't something a dragon could recover from. Every dragon had a piece of their hoard that was special. Even if they lost every other piece of their hoard, they could keep going as long as they had it. Jaskier had gone years without one. Until Geralt. When Jaskier first met Geralt in Posida, he never dreamed the gruff witcher would become his prized treasure, the most important part of his hoard. But here they were.

Jaskier flitted in and out of Geralt's life. But he was never gone for long. It was hard to spend too much time away from his treasure. The one his instincts called his mate. He was careful never to let on that he was a dragon.

At first, it was because he was afraid the witcher would kill him, after all witchers were killers of monsters. And most peasants would agree that a dragon most certainly is a monster.

But now, now he was terrified that his Witcher would be angry or disgusted. Would leave him, abandon him like so many others. He knew he couldn't bear it. No dragon handled losing their prized treasure well. It broke them inside. Some even died, though that was rare. So when Geralt finally abandoned him too, on top of that mountain, he was completely destroyed.

He hid in the underbrush and curled into himself, desperately trying to lessen the pain in his chest. He curled tighter and tighter. Making himself smaller and smaller. He didn't move for days.

When he finally emerged, he found himself in his dragon form, only smaller. He was about the size of a small house cat. He tried to shift back. Nothing happened. He tried again. Same result. He tried over and over to shift back to his human form, but with no luck. He was stuck. As a cat sized dragon. With his mate, no his prized treasure, gone. He was bereft.

He forced himself to move. He located a small stream trickling down the mountainside and drank deeply. Then, after catching and eating a few rats, he finally decided what he should do. He set off to locate the most vulnerable part of his hoard. Ciri.

He had known Ciri her entire life. Every winter, when Geralt abandoned him in favor of his family, he would go to Cintra and play for the Royal court.

Queen Calanthe allowed it only because Princess Pavetta had begged for him to be allowed there. And only under the condition that he never mentioned Geralt's name.

Pavetta liked Jaskier. Before her death, she had often invited him to play for just her and Ciri in their private rooms.

He grew to love both of them dearly, naturally folding them into his hoard. Pavetta, with her quiet kindness. Little chubby cheeked Cirilla, with her ash blonde hair and bright green eyes, so much like her mother's. She laughed and clapped along to his songs, the way little ones did. They both weaseled their way into Jaskier's heart and hoard and refused to leave.