Chapter Text
“I don't get it,” Geralt said, and it was the first words in two hours he uttered. He'd been busy ruminating on the bard's odd behaviour.
Not that Jaskier had noticed or broached Geralt's brooding, he had padded alongside the Witcher and done nothing other than prattle since they had broken camp. He had even started to compose new songs, which was proceeding astonishingly well without his lute. No word had been exchanged between the two about the subject they had discussed the night before.
Geralt, who had refrained from riding and was leading Roach beside him, stopped in his tracks, turning to Jaskier. “I don't understand it. Why did you make such a secret about the fact that some brutes destroyed the lute? Why didn't you just say it?”
Jaskier had also stopped, facing Gerat with prying eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted before he could utter a word.
“When I asked you about it, you smelled of fear. I thought we'd be past that.” He'd said it gruffly as always, but the words stung, and he didn't even know why. “What did you fear from me?”
“I don't fear you, Geralt. We are friends,” Jaskier replied, and there was only plain honesty in his voice.
“My senses never betray me, Jaskier, and unless you are not a sorceress trying to deceive me, I know what I smelled.”
“I th--,” Jeskier started, but was cut off again.
“And there's still he fact that you put a hell of a lot of effort into not telling me about your lute, when usually you do nothing other than pluck the strings day and night and--, yea.” It had been on the tip of his tongue, and he had almost let it slip out. And grating on my nerves. But he had pulled himself together.
Jaskier's shoulders sagged a little, and the mirth drained from his face. “Oh, okay. Well then, I think there's no use in beating around the bush any more. You might hear of it some day anyway. If you insist to hear the full story, then you shall hear it. Even though I'd really rather not--”
“Less words, Jaskier!” Geralt said impatiently. “Come to the point.”
Jaskier threw his hands up dramatically. “All right, all right. I'll cut a long story short so you won't waste precious Witcher time. Mpmhf,” he coughed. “It's a bit tricky.”
Geralt waited and glowered. Roach started to nibble on greensward along the road, flicking flies with her tail. Geralt shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cocking his head.
The silence stretched, and in any other situation Geralt would have been happy to have his peace, but the bard had already started to smell of fear again, lightly, only a whiff of it, but it was there and Geralt loathed it.
“Last winter, when you were in Kaer Morhen, I was passing through Nafdeen, a small village at the base of the mountains, and did what I always do to earn some money. It was a merry evening and the inn was full and the people roared and wanted more and more of the Witcher tales. It was past midnight when I finally stopped and got some ale and stew. I had just started eating when I was approached by some shady fellows with sullen looks. They planted a pouch full of crown and coppers in front of me. 'That's for your Witcher, we have a job for him. There's a drowner to get rid of, east of here, at the crossroads where's the pond'. Before I could reply at all, I had a mouth full of stew, mind you, they started to retreat. I called after them 'the Witcher is not with me' but they just waved it off, saying something like 'You're the bard with the Witcher, just see the job done'. And then they were gone.”
“And you didn't run after them to clear up the misunderstanding,” Geralt said, when Jaskier didn't make a move to continue with his report.
“Well, no, not exactly,” Jaskier said, uneasily shifting from one foot to the other. “Firstly, I still had my mouth full of stew, and I'll have you know I was famished and not willing to part with my dish before it was empty. Secondly, I told them that you were not travelling with me, so technically speaking it was their own fault to make wrong assumptions. And last not least,” Jaskier mumbled, shuffling his feet now, a sure sign of edginess. “I could use the money. A bard doesn't get paid much, and it's even less when you're not sitting in a corner of the inn, all brooding and cryptic while I do my performance. They all love to hear the tales of the White Wolf, and they like it even more when the Witcher himself is within one's reach, but even then it's never much they pay for my singing.”
The moment stretched, and neither said a word.
“Yes, all right, I took their money and dashed off with it, it granted me a few nights in a warm bed with my belly full and content. What of it! I thought I'd never see them again in my life, we rarely travel that far north, if at all. Besides, that little dosh was an affront to the Witcher's work, not nearly enough to even consider slaying a beast!”
“And then they happened to come across you, still singing tales of the Witcher,” Geralt said, and he could hardly suppress his amusement.
“Well, yes. They shouted liar, and imposter, and whatnot, and then the patrons in the tavern got angry and told them to bugger off, for they had seen the Witcher themselves and thank you very much he's just off to slay our monster without taking money in advance.”
“And then?”
“I already told you. They fumed with rage, broke my lute and buggered off. And then you returned and I thought if I told you what exactly had happened you'd be mad at me for ruining your reputation,” Jaskier added ruefully. “Back in Nafdeen they certainly had spread the word that they paid Geralt of Rivia and he never showed up.”
Geralt glowered at Jaskier, but he couldn't keep it up for long. He felt something bubbling up inside him, pushing outwards, and finally a laugh erupted he couldn't keep back any longer.
Jaskier stared at him with wide eyes, not sure if the Witcher had gone mad, or abysmally angry, or if it was just, in fact, laughter that had broken through.
“What's so funny about it?” Jaskier asked after a while, when Geralt's laughter started to die down. “They scared the shit out of me, I thought my heart would stop when I spotted them amongst the crowd. And then it scared even more shit out of me thinking about what you might do with me once you'd heard how I had defiled your reputation by taking their money and vanishing.”
Jaskier's rant made Geralt become serious again, just the hint of a smirk remaining around his eyes. “In fact, there's nothing funny about it. To think that you really thought I might harm you because of this.” Geralt shook his head in disappointment. “I really thought you would know me better. I thought you call me a friend.”
“I do,” Jaskier said hurriedly. “You are. But that doesn't change the fact that I did wrong by you. Or at least, I put up with damaging your reputation.”
“I wouldn't have any reputation if it wasn't for you. With all the heroic tales you tell the people, you've changed how they look at me. In the early days they called me butcher, monster and refused to serve me at the taverns. Now they greet me when I pass by, and there's at least a warm meal and a place to sleep for me in the villages we pass. You ensured that people look at me differently, so I guess you're more than entitled to take away a little of my reputation if it so pleases you,” Geralt added with a smirk.
“Oh.”
“I really thought by now you'd know you could turn to me for help, no matter how much you painted yourself into a corner. I'm there if you need me.”
“Oh, well. Hrmph,” Jaskier coughed. “I wasn't sure.”
Geralt looked at the bard inquiringly. “Do I radiate too much awe?”
“No, erm. That's what you said. That the last thing you want is someone needing you. I tried to abide by that.”
Oh. Oh!
“Right. That. Well, it seems it didn't work. I've long since accepted that you'd be doomed if I didn’t frequently save your sorry behind. Now that this issue is resolved, we can go on. Come!” he added, already tugging Roach at the reins and walking in big strides.
“Great,” Jaskier muttered and hurried to keep up with the Witcher. “And what's with my lute now? Shouldn't we at least demand compensation? I mean, you could do it. They wouldn't dare to refuse. Not if you do your witchery glowering thing. Not with these awe-inspiring silver swords strapped to your back. Oh, what now? That's it? Done with talking for the day? Fine,” Jaskier grumbled, resigning himself to his fate, and trailed behind Geralt.
Four days later they parted ways. Geralt had some witcher's work to do, and he wanted the bard to be as far away from it as possible, lest he got hurt. Or worse. He didn't tell Jaskier so, just stated the fact that they had to part for a while. Jaskier approved of it for they were near Oxenfurt and he wanted to visit some old friends. If all went well, they would meet again in two weeks' time. If not, they would find each other again somewhere, somewhen.
**********
“Here,” Geralt said, thrusting an artfully carved lute into the bard's hand. “I hope this will do.”
Jaskier stared at the lute. It must have cost a fortune, or at least a packet of crowns. “Where did you get this from?” he asked, gently stroking the carved wood.
“Doesn't matter. It was the payment for a job, I have no use for it. Thought maybe you would like to have it.”
“Deny it as you like, you have a heart, Witcher,” Jaskier replied, grinning cheerfully. “You're lucky, I've just finished a new song. The people will love it, and, oh! You will definitely love it, too!” Beaming, Jaskier started to pluck the strings, and soon he was singing his newest hymn of the Great White Wolf.
Geralt watched the bard walk away, selecting a road, which was as good as any. Smiling to himself, he clicked his tongue and urged Roach to get under way. He would never admit it, but he had really missed seeing and hearing his bard play the lute.
FIN.