Chapter Text
“One, two, three, and GUARD!”
Jaskier yelped as the wooden branch whacked his ribs with enough force to make him stumble back and his eyes water.
“That hurt, Geralt!” The bard groaned, rubbing his side and swiping up his own branch from where it had fallen. The Witcher only raised an eyebrow.
“That would’ve hurt more if it was a real sword Jaskier.”
Jaskier huffed and straightened upright, fingers still running deftly over the quickly forming bruise.
“Again. One, two, three, and GUARD!”
Jaskier swing his makeshift sword with all the force he could muster into his sore muscles, but even so, Geralt was faster and Jaskier only gained yet another bruise for his efforts. Frustrated, Jaskier threw down his branch.
“Geralt, this isn’t working! We've been doing this for a week now and it’s clear I’m no fighter. Can we just go to bed?”
Geralt sighed but his flat expression remained.
“Jaskier, you know the rules. If you insist on following me around like a lost puppy then you need to learn to defend yourself.”
The pair had been travelling between cities for about two weeks now and Jaskier had started to harbour the suspicion that they were lost, but even so, Geralt stonily dragged them further and further into the wilderness each day. And then the sword lessons had started. It was clear from the start that Jaskier was inept, but Geralt still insisted in duelling the bard every night until Jaskier was so sore he could barely walk back to their camp. Sighing, Jaskier picked up the branch, swallowing a yelp of pain as his ribs barked in protest at the sudden movement.
“One, two, three, and guard!”
This time Jaskier’s branch was flung up with barely a second to spare as Geralt’s own branch was blocked only an inch from Jaskier’s stomach. Jaskier’s ‘ha!’ of triumph was abruptly cut off as Geralt swept his makeshift sword under Jaskier’s feet and the bard fell hard to the snow-swept ground.
“Fuck!” Jaskier gasped as the air was driven out of him and he closed his eyes, desperately trying to recover without looking like he was trying to recover. Eventually he sucked in enough air to exclaim, “The fuck was that for??”
“You’ve got to be ready for anything.”
“W - I - Oh go to hell!”
Jaskier picked himself off the ground with as much anger as he could muster and stormed off into the forest, glaring at the trees as if each and every one was personally responsible for his predicament. Stupid Geralt, stupid swordfightling, stupid… Jaskier swiftly ran out of curses and amused himself by kicking a pile of leaves high into the air. A gust of snow-kissed wind tousled Jaskier’s hair and carried the leaves far beyond Jaskier’s view. He shivered and leaned back against a tree. Geralt was being an utter prick, but… he was being a prick for all the right reasons, Jaskier supposed, though the thought didn’t make the bard any happier. This anger began ebbing away and he frowned deeper at the realization that he was going to have to go back to the camp and face Geralt, or at least grab his lute. By now the sunlight was painting its golden rays through the forest and almost without thinking, Jaskier was thinking up lyrics. He sighed. Time to go back to Geralt.
Night had fallen, hard and brutal, by the time Jaskier had meandered his way back to camp, almost offended that the white-haired Witcher hadn’t come looking for him, if it hadn’t been cold and dark and… spooky. The light of the campfire had grown blinding in the darkness when Jaskier suddenly halted at the sound of raised voices coming from the camp. His first thought was that Geralt had brought back some company for the night, but was quickly dismissed as Jaskier came to the conclusion that there wasn’t exactly an overflowing abundance of women in the middle of the frozen forest. The voices grew louder.
“I say we kill him. Mutant freak.”
“The boss did say get the Witcher alive…”
“He didn’t say unharmed.”
There was a pause.
“Fine.”
“And find that bard - I don’t want him escaping.”
Jaskier felt his blood grow cold. Bandits. Ah fuck. He peered closer and the bard’s breath caught in his throat and his heart twisted as he noticed the hulking figure of Geralt slumped over on the floor, blood matting a wound on his forehead. He was unconscious or at the very least dazed. Shit,shit,shit. Jaskier hurriedly withdrew into the woods, disappearing behind the trunks before he snuck around the camp towards the Witcher.
“Geralt!” he hissed, straying as close to the ring of light cast by the fire as he dared. “Geralt!” Again, there was no response and Jaskier bit his tongue to cut off the curses there.
“Jaskier…” rasped Geralt, eyes flickering open for a second before closing again. “Run you fool.”
A flare of anger and terror snapped through Jaskier’s body, so intense that it frightened even him.
Anger won.
Jaskier scanned the campsite, eyes narrowing as he noticed Geralt’s impressive arsenal of weapons stacked and left by a tree. Before he could talk himself out of this stupid, stupid plan Jaskier was already creeping back through the trees; wincing as twigs and leaves cracked under his careful steps. Sucking in a breath, his hand slid round the hit of the sword sand gently, silently, he slid it up out of the pile, almost falling backwards at the surprising weight.
CRASH.
The cluster of silver and iron blades fell to the floor with a resounding clash as the sword Jaskier was so desperately clutching caught on the blade of another and sent the whole pile tumbling to the ground. The two bandits spun round, hands already drawing their swords before Jaskier could draw another breath. Looked like the element of surprise is out, he thought and with a shaky exhale, the bard held the sword out, trying to ignore the slight shaking that had seized his muscles. The bandits smirked, lowering their swords slightly.
“Adorable. The bard protecting his Witcher. Put that down and come with us and we might not hurt you too badly.”
Jaskier swallowed, positioning himself between the two men and the unconscious Geralt. The first bandit frowned, before striking forward with his own blade. Jaskier yelped, jumping back and swinging his sword. The loud clash of metal echoed through the clearing. The bard blinked with shock. He’d blocked it. He’d actually done it. All those horrific sword fighting lessons might have actually paid off. Encouraged now, Jaskier pressed forward, meeting every swing with a counter of his own. One, two, three, and guard! Jaskier could almost hear Geralt bellowing instructions in his ears.
“Jaskier!” Geralt’s voice was urgent and, thrown off him rhythm, Jaskier stumbled backwards - only to miss the blade of the second man by inches and was smacked on the head by the flat of the blade. Disoriented, he stumbled backwards, before tripping, ears ringing and blade slipping from his slack fingers. The sound of clashing metal reverberating through the trees dimly reached Jaskier’s brain from a million miles away. Slowly, the bard clawed back into awareness, until he was conscious enough to watch Geralt standing over him, gleaming sword in one hand, and mouth set grimly. His movements were stilted, but even so, the bandits were no match for the Witcher and he wove his sword through the air so fast Jaskier could barely follow it with his eyes. The two men were steadily forced back into the forest where they melted into the inky darkness and Jaskier could hear hurried footsteps and muffled curses fading into the night. Geralt was still for a moment as if listening and Jaskier struggled to his feet, almost falling again as a sense of vertigo struck him, but he regained his footing as Geralt turned towards him. Jaskier swallowed his pride.
“Listen, I, um, I’m sorry. You,” he sighed slightly, “Were right.”
Geralt paused. “Was that - did you just admit I’m right?” He asked incredulously. Jaskier opened his mouth, but Geralt cut in first, “What you did was stupid, you could have died. But... thank you Dandelion.”
“Did you just-”
“Mention it again and I break your lute.”