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Roach could remember the first time she had seen her Witcher. It had been a small stable and she had been reprimanded sharply. Unwanted , they had said. Unwanted she had felt until a young thing that smelled peculiar handed gold for her reins. The new one to hold her reins the stablemaster had spat Witcher, so Roach had called him Witcher.
He thought he was her master. Roach did not take kindly to masters. That was why she was unwanted. The mare was ready to be abandoned or sold off. What a foolish thought. If only she had known what she knew now.
Witcher was a witcher. That meant he was paid to hunt. Roach was pulled into woods, ruins, and rivers at all hours of the day to be lead to a safe distance. The mare thought it peculiar, how gentle Witcher was with her. He whispered soothingly when the dark things spooked her. When his boots had become worn but so had Roach’s bridle, the bridle came first.
It was understanding that passed between her and her witcher. He spoke to her, not her master, but her companion. They were equals in this monster-hunting business. Roach had not asked for it, but from what she could hear, Geralt of Rivia had not asked for it either.
She would die for her witcher. Roach considered herself a loyal mare. One of Geralt’s most loyal companions. There had been humans to accompany her witcher, but none of them were as loyal, loved Geralt as much as she loved him.
Except the bard. Except the princess.
When the bard first came into their lives, Roach did not trust him. He had tried touching her and she was grateful that Geralt knew her so well. But then Geralt seemed to banter with this human, speak with this human in a way that the bard reciprocated. Roach had not seen Geralt so attached to a human as he was his bard.
Except maybe Renfri. But that was so long ago.
Her witcher’s bard had first called him Butcher , and she had hated that, but now he called him White Wolf. Now he called him Geralt, Witcher, and although Roach’s witcher did not know it, his bard called him love in the quiet. In the songs. His bard called him things like Roach called him. Fed her sweets and talked to her like her Witcher did. It was beautiful to have this small human.
Geralt spake that she was to protect him when he would leave them for a hunt. His bard would retort, but Roach would dutifully watch him. She liked his singing. His bard hummed and plucked at his lute in companionable silence if his bard’s presence could allow silence.
Roach liked the sorceress well enough, liked that the sorceress made her witcher smile, but she did not like what the sorceress did to her bard. The bard was hers. When her witcher had rushed her, carrying a dying bard into Rinde, Roach knew that this was her bard. Her bard did not sing about her as he sang about their witcher, but this bard was hers.
The sorceress came and went, but the bard stayed. Her bard always stayed with her witcher. They were a pair, and Roach was certain that her bard was courting her witcher. Roach was happy.
And then the mountain happened.
Unsettled by the presence of so many people, Roach gently thudded her head to Geralt’s forehead. Her witcher smiled softly, reassuring her that they would be back. She did not like how sharp the sorceress and her bard were.
Watch over him, she had asked.
Which is why when Roach had seen her bard trailing down the mountain but not her witcher, fear had overcome her. The handlers charged to her and the other horses tried to calm her, but she needed to see her bard. Needed to hear what had happened to her witcher while protecting him.
“Shush,” Her bard had whispered. “Geralt is alright. Everything is alright.” He had promised, but everything could not be alright if he was crying. The smell of salt was strong in her nose, and she tried to coax her bard into crying on her.
But her bard did not cry on her. He did not sing like he used to or brush her hair. Instead, he had steadied himself. “I’ll see you around, sweet girl.” Her bard’s words had been so choked sounding, reminding her of a Djinn so long ago. But her bard moved away, walking away, and did not take her with him. Her witcher was atop a mountain and their bard was leaving and Roach did not understand.
Then her witcher had come, in the night, to retrieve her. He had grunted as he took her bridle and reins, placing them on her securely. Her witcher did not use words. Words were for their bard, or in the presence of their bard. Roach had never hated the silence before. Never felt so drowned in it. She had huffed, ears flickering.
Why did he leave us? She had demanded to know.
Her witcher had pulled her to a stop, silently dismounting only when they were out of the shadow of the mountain. A sharp inhale on her witcher’s part had caused her to do the same. She had smelled that salt, that pain she had never known to paint her witcher. He had said nothing, but Roach had understood. They had lost him. They had lost their bard and her witcher did not know how to get him back.
Later, much later, Geralt had finally told her everything. Roach had been so angry that she had refused to speak with him. But her witcher was alone now, and she was his only companion again, and she could not stand to see him ache.
Then a year had passed. Then came the Cintran princess.
Roach had been left in the dark with dangerous things and bodies everywhere. Until that farmer had saved her and her witcher. Until that farmer had unintentionally brought them to their Destiny. The little princess promised to her witcher by the Law of Surprise had been Roach’s as much as she had been Geralt’s. Her princess.
The mare took kindly to her princess. She would make sure that they did not lose this human. Not like their last one. Her witcher was softer to this one, and this one, in turn, was much softer. No bantering or musical accompaniment. In Roach’s opinion, her princess made the ache of missing her bard hurt more. It was a large, gaping hole in her heart. The place their bard had made for himself and then left. Left it hurting.
Except he hadn’t left. He had been told to leave, and it still hurt.
Then they found their bard.
Roach had nearly barreled him over. His laugh had made the mare cry as her bard kissed her. Her bard had whispered to her. “Such a sweet girl.”
Such a sweet bard, she had returned.
Looking to her witcher, those golden eyes that some had called Monster understood. Understood this human feeling called Love.
And then there were four of them. It was Roach, her witcher, her princess, and her bard. It was their two humans resting quietly in the night, her bard gently snoring. He never knew how to be quiet.
“Can’t sleep?” Her witcher asked her to which she responded with a chortle. “Me neither.” Geralt brushed at her mane, a comforting gesture to both of them.
Roach shook her head. You were never a good sleeper. She said.
Her witcher raised an eyebrow, questioning her silently before he found his words. “It used to be just you and I,” his gaze fell back to their sleeping companions. “Now we have two humans.”
Our humans, Roach snorted. Their bard and their princess. We fought hard to keep them.
Her witcher smiled, shaking his head. “Witchers, we’re not supposed to feel.” He looked to her, always such a heavy weight in his gaze.
But you do, she reassured. You love our humans.
Her witcher turned from her, cursing under his breath. “I do.” He confirmed what she knew. “Ciri, she…” her witcher was not one for words. Words were for their bard. Roach bumped her forehead to his. The action seemed to draw her witcher’s words from him. “Hmm,” he grunted, but Roach heard she is mine and I am hers.
She’s your Child Surprise, Roach nodded. You are her Father Surprise. She is yours and you are hers and you both are mine. Possessive, the mare of a witcher had always been. Possessive over her companions. Her humans and her witcher.
“And Jaskier,” her witcher clicked his tongue. She could see the year of hurt on him, felt it on her too. Could see it in their bard. Such an aching and empty year until they had found their princess. “Hmm,” he grunted, but Roach heard my heart is his.
And his heart is yours, silly witcher, Roach reprimanded. You broke his heart and kept the pieces and you have put it together again. The mare tickled at her witcher’s shoulder. You hold our lark’s heart, White Wolf.
Her witcher blinked curiously at her, pulling away as his hand settled on her neck. “You really think so?” He grunted. Words were their bards, but there were always words between them. “I… fear what I will do.” Her witcher looked to them again. “What if I…”
Again, Roach beat her hooves gently on the dirt. Humans will get hurt again and again. Our bard knew that in Posada. Our bard knows that. Our princess is learning that. The mare bowed her head, expressing as much to her witcher as she could as she spoke. Words were theirs. Silent words. Half sentences. Try.
Nodding, her witcher smiled. In the dark of the night, it looked like a freshly born moon. It made her lighter. Made her chest ache less. She thrust her witcher back to the camp, to sleep, to their humans.
“Alright,” her witcher waved her off as he walked to his bedroll. Roach trotted her foot as she watched him pause in his steps. He shot her a glaring look before moving gently to their princess’s bedroll. He tucked her blonde mane behind her ear in a way that Roach had only seen him do whilst she slept.
From their princess’s bedroll, her witcher stepped over to their bard. Their bard ceased his snoring the moment her witcher was closer. He crouched, hand stopping just short of their bard’s body as he watched him. Roach liked watching her witcher watch their humans. It made him softer. Any good mare, witcher’s horse or no, liked seeing her rider happy.
“Geralt?” Their bard’s voice croaked like a frog by a river from the depths of his sleep. “What’s the matter? Ciri-”
“Nothing,” her rider, their witcher, hushed the lark. “Go back to sleep.” Her witcher ushered their bard back to his bedroll.
Their bard hummed, another song on his lips as he tried to dance with sleep. But Roach could see her bard, knew her bard and the way his eyes kept to Geralt.
“Are you certain everything is alright?” Their bard asked softly, sweetly.
Her witcher smiled, genuinely and large, before he spoke. “Everything is alright.”
Because it was. Everything was alright.
So when, nights later, Roach was in a stable, of course, she was talking about it.
A witcher’s horse, a golden steed by the name of Spartacus shuffled. Quite the intimidating presence.
“You better not scare my girls.” The stablemaster warned Roach before parting for the night.
Roach gave Spartacus a peculiar look. The steed rolled his eyes. He thinks this is 1210.
Snorting a laugh, Roach settled herself in for the night. The village was not entirely unwelcoming to witchers, so her witcher was safe. Her ears twitched, trying to listen to her bard as he entertained the tavern close-by.
Is the bard yours too? A gorgeous paint by the name of Betty peeked around curiously. I used to have a bard once. He said his favorite bard was his teacher named Dandelion.
That one is mine, Roach spoke proudly, raising her head. Dandelion is my Jaskier, my bard. He plays now in the tavern songs of my witcher.
Another horse, one whose name Roach did not know, whinnied. What an adventurous life, the pony bemoaned. I’ve always wanted to meet someone famous.
Well, here is a celebrity now, the witcher’s mare drawled out. My rider, the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia.
The horses in the stables stirred, excited and frightened all at once to see her witcher. Her witcher came stalking out, a storm in those golden eyes. Roach felt herself become unsettled as she tried to puzzle what ailed him.
Then her bard came racing behind him.
“Geralt!” Her bard called out. “Geralt, wait!” He pleaded, voice ringing through the night like a bell.
What’s happening? Betty whispered before Spartacus silenced her. Intently, the horses listened. Roach knew that horses were notorious for their gossip, but she herself could not draw away from what was transpiring between her witcher and her bard.
“What.” Her witcher grunted, shoulders squared as he swiveled to face their bard.
Their bard huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was distinctly without his lute, and Roach wondered if their princess was watching it. Her bard treasured that elven lute above all material possessions. “ What?” He hissed. “You storming out, that’s what!”
“I’m checking on Roach,” her witcher supplied a flimsy excuse that had Roach shouting her denial of it.
“Sounds like she doesn’t need it,” her bard clicked his tongue. “Geralt,” he looked softly, as soft as her witcher had begged him to sleep on that night, as he examined their witcher. Her bard knew their witcher almost as much as she did. Almost. “What’s wrong?”
Her witcher clenched his jaw, a terrifying sight that made Spartacus back further in his kennel. “Nothing,” he lied between his teeth. “Nothing is wrong.”
Their bard threw his hands in the hair, shouting as he rebutted the lie. “ Nothing! You always say it’s nothing but it’s always something!” His hands cinched into the front of her witcher’s armor, despite there being no cloth to grasp to. “How can I help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, you stupid witcher?!”
“There’s nothing wrong,” her witcher spat, grasping their bard by the wrist and throwing away his caring touch. Caring and desperate. Roach tried to move closer, to settle her witcher down. Neither her witcher nor her bard had ever told her what was said on the mountain, but every spat fed the fear in her heart. The same fear her witcher had, that this was not made to last.
And fear made her witcher do strange things.
Strange things indeed with how he swallowed a breath and spat out his words that his inhale had found. “And why can’t you just leave things be, you stupid bard?!” Her witcher growled a fierce and beastly thing that had any horse who had braved the encounter thus far shivering in their kennel.
“Stupid bard?!” Their bard gasped, seemingly not backing down from their witcher’s increased irateness. “I’ll have you know that I graduated top of my class at Oxenfurt! I have seen creatures of which no mere mortal should be able to fathom!” His voice increased, shrill save for the power that it held as he increased his momentum. “I have traveled the word trailing behind a stupid witcher all because I’m in love with him!” Her bard thrust his fist at her witcher’s armored chest. Roach knew her bard was smart enough that he would not be able to hurt her witcher.
But he would hurt his hand more. Hurt their hearts more.
But that didn’t happen.
“So maybe I am stupid ,” her bard hissed under his breath, cradling his hand. “But only because I’m following a stupid witcher. ”
Roach pushed herself toward her gate, but it was difficult to see her bard and her witcher from the distance they were off. You love him. She tried to whisper to her witcher. You love him and he loves you. You are one.
Are they? The nameless pony spoke like a child learning why the sky is painted blue.
Painted blue for her bard’s eyes. Roach nodded, words stolen. Words were for her bard, except that they weren’t. Her witcher was using them now.
“Jaskier,” her witcher took their bard’s hand in his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered the long since overdue apology. Her witcher had apologized to their bard, once they had seen him again, but this apology was different. No more sincere, but more .
“Geralt,” her bard whispered, moving close to their witcher. “You’re already forgiven.” Chewing at his lip, Roach cursed in a manner like her rider when their bard pulled back. Uncertainty like a newborn fawn raised through his limbs. “You don’t have to-”
“I have to, Jaskier,” her witcher pronounced, but Roach heard I have to say what you should know, even if you already know it. “I told you once that I wanted no one needing me,” almost subconsciously, her witcher trailed his fingers along their bard’s palm. Touching like this was familiar courting, something that Roach knew was safe. Safe for her witcher and bard. Safe to know that they would be okay. That everything would be okay.
Her bard nodded, hand tightening over their witcher’s larger ones. “I know, Geralt.”
“I want it,” her witcher spoke before their bard could use his words for combat. Use his words to dance around their strange courting. “I want to be needed. I…” her witcher swallowed, finding his words and Roach was so proud of her Geralt of Rivia. “I want you, Jaskier.”
Eyes widen and crystal blue, her bard’s knees buckled for a moment. “Geralt,” he whispered, the name almost a command for their witcher to come closer even as her bard moved closer first. “Oh, Geralt, I want you.” He reciprocated the sentiment, accepted their new, wonderful stage of courting. Then her witcher and bard finally committed the act in courting that Roach had only seen amongst humans.
They kissed.
Her witcher held her bard, hands tight around his waist. Her bard held her witcher, hands entangled in his white mane. Her riders, her companions, as one in this moment before they drew apart. Her bard smiled brightly.
“Oh, I’ve been wanting to do that for - say - near twenty years? ” Her bard hummed as he pet against their witcher’s mane.
“Hmm,” her witcher grunted, nuzzling along her bard’s neck and inhaling deeply. “If we do it for twenty more, would that start to make up for it?”
Something akin to a whimper escaped her bard, but she knew it was not a broken sound. This was the sound of a mended heart growing in size. Her bard drawing her witcher back toward the tavern. “Check on Roach in the morning. Come with me tonight.” Her bard beckoned his mate, their witcher. Dutifully, her witcher trailed behind his mate.
I guess we won’t be seeing Geralt of Rivia tonight? Spartacus snickered in amusement at the pair.
In the morning, they said. Betty pranced forward, a romantic spirit if Roach had ever seen one.
Roach shook her head, heart light with laughter as she chortled. We won’t be seeing them for another two days.
Small talk filled the little stable afterward, but Roach’s mind wandered to her bard and her witcher. She liked sharing her witcher and her humans. It was a small, broken family but it was hers and she loved them. Loved her belongings.
Loved them until that mated pair refused to let her sleep on their outings where their princess stayed in the tavern and they went out hunting cockatrices.