Jaskier looked at the small marble with a yellow spot of color trapped inside of it as his hand rolled it around the sticky table his head was laying at. The place was practically empty as the night slowly turned into morning, only a few of the most disgusting and frequent visitors half sitting half laying at the few uncleaned tables. Jaskier was unfortunately one of them.
He looked at the marble, looked at the yellow that reminded him of a pair of certain eyes and he suddenly got up, marble in a clenched fist, ready to throw it over the room, when he stopped, whole body trembling, hid the marble back into his pocket, and left the place with the lute strapped safely over his shoulder. The lute was the last piece of himself that felt right. The last piece that felt whole, as if unaffected by that day on the mountain and everything that followed.
He shivered at the cold air as he watched the sun slowly rise over the city, but he didn't do anything to warm himself up. He couldn't find it in himself to care. Lately, he didn't care about anything.
He knew this was the end. He knew it the moment Geralt said those words. He knew it when the witcher didn't return for him afterward. He knew it when the tears filled his eyes for the first time in his life and he lifted his hand to his face in surprise and he knew his heart was broken. That was it.
He lived for a while. He made use of the rage that was bubbling inside of him, wished for the world to burn, turned to drinking and gamble, traveled some more. But the rage couldn't last him forever. It couldn't keep him alive, when the terrible aching sadness was knocking at the door of his heart every day, reminding him of his slowly fulfilling fate.
Now he walked the streets of Oxenfurt in this early morning, looking around and thinking his goodbyes to the streets that were something of a home to him in his time as a human. He stopped at a few places, he looked at the University, thought of his friends from his time there, most of which already were either famous, had families, or succumbed to an early death, sad smile forming on his lips for a moment, before he turned around and walked away.
He walked away from Oxenfurt, feeling the dark emptiness wrap around his heart, cold and terrible inside of his chest, and he felt the silver tears leave his eyes once again. He never thought he would die from a broken heart.
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If life could give me one blessing...
FanfictionJaskier is done. He knows this is the end, this is his last journey. His heart could never recover from a wound so deep. If he was human? Maybe. He watched a lot of broken-hearted humans on his travels. Some died, but most lived. He admired the tena...
