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Summary
Jaskier doesn’t actually know how much time has passed since the black-cloaked Nilfgaardians grab him after a performance in a shitty tavern in the backcountry of northern Kaedwen. He’d assumed--foolishly, apparently--that he was far enough north that any Nilfgaardian soldiers would be few and far between, likely just scouts or even deserters. It would have been hard to actually get any further north--the little backwater town where he’d been singing was just a day from the mountains. Anymore travel, and he’d find himself skirting the Trail up to Kaer Morhen, the Warlord’s Keep, and, well. He’s brazen, but not that brazen.
(or: a wandering bard bites off more than he can chew with the political ballads, accidentally makes friends with a princess in exile, and finds the Warlord of the North in his debt.)
Series
- Part 1 of the roads we walk