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“Well?” Jaskier tossed out his hands as he strode closer to Geralt, an excited grin on his face. “How does the latest creation of the one and only Jaskier suit you?”
Geralt was still musing over his answer, trying to decide what he could say to sound as uninterested as possible, when the man beside him replied, “It’s passable.”
Jaskier’s reaction was immediate. His jaw dropped, his eyes widening in horror, and he spluttered, “How dare- Geralt!”
The Witcher only shrugged.
The stranger tilted his head, keen silver eyes gleaming from under his hood. “You were flat,” he said after a moment. “On the last notes. You need to practice more and have more confidence in the ending. Sell the ending, don’t merely imagine people are already invested. And you could do better than rhyming ‘witcher’ with ‘did itch her.’”
“Well,” Jasiker said haughtily. “I’d like to see you bring people to tears with only your voice!”
“I have,” said the stranger, and he took a sip from his beer, falling silent. He smelled strongly of the sea, of salt and the marsh grass. But under it, was something else. Something Geralt couldn’t place.
“Who are you then, Mister-Better-Than-You? Hmmm?”
“Kana.”
Jaskier looked to Geralt once more, as though asking if the Witcher had ever heard of a bard named Kana. He gave a slight shake of his head and Jaskier cried, “Well I’ve never heard of you!”
“You wouldn’t have.” And with that, Kana was gone, vanishing into the crowd. Before his cloak vanished into the crowd, Jaskier claimed his seat. “And where were you in that conversation, friend?”
“Sitting right here,” Geralt said simply.
“And why didn’t you defend me! You could have told Kana he was wrong, told him-”
“He’s right. There are better rhymes than itch her.”
“Fuck.” Jaskier complained, slamming his hand on the table. “You’re the worst best friend.”
“I’m not your friend.” Geralt’s eyes weren’t on Jaskier, instead, he was looking past him, out the window where Kana was standing near the stables.
“I know,” Jaskier said, grinning. “You don’t have friends other than the stick up your-”
Geralt stood abruptly. “He’s talking to Roach,” he said, grabbing his swords.
“How do you know that?” Jaskier asked, around wildly. “Can you hear him all the way outside with your Witcher's ears?”
“I can see him through the window.”
“Oh.” Jaskier said, only to find himself alone as Geralt stormed outside.
“Don’t touch Roach," the Witcher snarled as he stepped through the door. The mare gave an offended snort and made a show of nuzzling Kana.
“We were merely talking,” Kana said calmly. “She’s a smart mare.”
Geralt narrowed his eyes. Outside, away from the distractions of the bar, he could better study Kana. “The hell are you?”
“I’ve told you, I am Kana-”
“What are you?” He amended. Jaskier had caught up by then, and Geralt held out his arm, stopping the bard from getting any closer to the stranger.
Kana smiled, pushing back his hood. “I’m an elf, master Witcher,” he said calmly.
“I’ve never smelled an elf like you.”
“You wouldn’t have,” he said. “I’m no kin of, oh, what’s his name-”
“Filavandrel?” supplied Jaskier. “Geralt fought him once-”
“Shut up bard,” Geralt snapped.
“Ah, right. I’m no kin of Filavandrel, though I’ve met him and feel for his sorrow. He lives at the Edge of the World. I come from beyond it.”
“Only monsters live beyond the Edge of the World,” Geralt retorted.
Kana gave him a sorrowful smile. “Whoever said I’m not a monster? They may call you the Butcher of Blaviken, but they call me Kinslayer, and it’s a kinder title than I deserve.”
“Sounds fascinating,” said Jaskier, stepping around Geralt’s arm. “Have you considered sharing your tale? It would make an excellent-”
Geralt grabbed his shirt, tossing the bard behind him. “What did you do?”
“I sold my soul and lost my family all over a beautiful jewel. Now I stay to myself, the sea as my only companion.”
“That would be an excellent ballad!” Jaskier shouted. “I could write it-”
Geralt glared at him.
“I’ve already written it,” replied Kanafinwe. “I was once the greatest musician of my people. Now-” he shrugged. “I am a sad, forgotten myth.”
“I have heard of you!” Jaskier hurried forward, spinning to stand in front of Geralt, grinning at his friend. “It’s the Wailing Woman- er, well, you’re not a woman, but everyone thought-”
“Understandable,” Kana said.
“Care to explain what that is?”
“It’s an old legend of a woman who haunts the seashore, singing a lament for her lost family. No one speaks the language, and she’s been seen off and on for as long as anyone can recall.”
“Sounds fascinating,” Geralt said, watching as Kana gave him a nod and slipped away, vanishing into the woods. Jaskier was still oblivious to what was happening behind him.
“I must speak with him!” Jaskier said excitedly. “Oh, to tell the true story of the Wanderer- I- I-”
“Too late,” Geralt said, nodding in the direction Kana had gone. “Your muse has escaped you.”
“Damn it Geralt!” Jaskier threw up his arms. “Why didn’t you stop him?”