Chapter Text
one.
“Another! Sing us another, bard!” the voice was met with a chorus of cheers and the sounds of mugs clinking together. Leaning against a table, surrounded by the rest of the patrons of the tavern, a smile curled the corners of Jaskier’s mouth. Snuggling his lute up under his arm, he pushed off of the table and snagged a mug of ale from the top of a table. Grinning roguishly at the man he’d taken the mug from - a white-haired and stern-faced fellow - he took a gulp before returning the mug and winking.
The man sat at the table stared back impassively for a moment, before grunting and reaching for the mug again.
Jaskier, meanwhile, strummed his lute as he weaved his way through the tavern tables and patrons. Recognizing the tune a few of the patrons had already begun roaring jovially and pounding their fists on the table.
“You’ve heard this one before! Let’s show a little appreciation for my-- the Witcher!” Jaskier called out, managing to smoothly move away from his little word slipup. Slowly, the bright blue wings on his back expanded. His feathers were immaculately groomed and shone with a silvery sheen in the candlelight of the tavern. As he neared the start of the lyrics his pace around the tavern picked up, legs skipping a sort of jig as he beat his wings to the beat of the song.
“When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia along came this song…” Jaskier’s voice was matched by the tavern patrons, but somehow above the cacophony of song and lute and beating wings, his voice rang loud and clear.
His brilliant blue wings ruffled as he sang, the tips of his feathers gliding over the heads of the other patrons. Many had joined him, releasing their own wings to beat together in time with the song. The resulting draft snuffed out a few candles and may have knocked a few mugs of ale from the tabletops, but that only resulted in more rounds of raucous laughter.
“From when the White Wolf fought a silver-tongued devil his army of elves at his hooves did they revel…” There was one tavern patron who stubbornly refused to join the fun.
With wings firmly secured and hidden against his back, Geralt drank from his mug as his eyes stared off unfocused into the distance. Jaskier pouted at the lack of attention, feathers ruffling up more in displeasure and annoyance. Really, the fucking song was about him. The least he could do was pay attention.
“They came after me with masterful deceit broke down my lute and they kicked in my teeth…” Jaskier’s blue wings flared at the mention and memory of that day. Unconsciously he hitched his lute closer to his body, fingers not missing a string as he continued with the song.
Reaching the end of the longest tavern table, he jumped and used his wings to spin mid-air which was met with a chorus of cheers. Grinning, his gaze flicked to Geralt only to notice that the man was still staring impassively off into the distance. The grin slid off Jaskier’s face, replaced with a sharp glint in his eyes and a look of determination on his face.
“While the devil’s horns minced our tender meat and so cried the Witcher he can’t be bleat…” With each word he strode closer to the white-haired grump, fingers and wings never missing a beat.
The whole tavern, save for one, was singing along. The only one that actually mattered.
“Toss a coin to your Witcher o’ Valley of Plenty o’ Valley of Plenty o’!” Reaching Geralt, Jaskier flicked out his left wing sharply and tried to clip the back of his white-haired head.
Even with his gaze away from Jaskier, the Witcher easily dodged the swipe of his feathers. His yellow-eyed gaze lifted from where it had been fixed on the wall and instead turned to Jaskier. A smirk tilted up one half of Geralt’s face as he lifted an eyebrow at the bard.
Flustered, but without missing a beat, Jaskier grinned back at the man. At least he had his attention now.
“Toss a coin to your Witcher o’ Valley of Plenty o’!” An entire tavern of voices echoed the chorus, but Jaskier kept his eyes on Geralt. The Witcher rolled his eyes, but a contented smile graced his features.
That was a win, but Jaskier was always one to press his luck.
“At the edge of the world fight the mighty horde that bashes and breaks you and brings you the morn’...” Lifting a leg, he planted his foot firmly on the highest rung of the stool Geralt was sitting at.
He could see the man’s back twitch, wings just below the surface reacting to Jaskier crowding his space. Still, the Witcher didn’t push him away. Geralt ‘humphed’ softly, but otherwise allowed the bard to use his stool at a makeshift perch.
Blue wings expanded to their full width, feathers twitching as he flicked his wings in time with the music.
“He thrust every elf far back on the shelf high up on the mountain from whence it came…” The very tips of his wings, just the longest feathers, brushed across Geralt’s shoulders. This time the Witcher didn’t bother dodging, instead allowing it to happen as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the bard with a still raised eyebrow.
“He wiped out your pest got kicked in his chest he’s a friend of humanity so give him the rest!” His wings beat against his back, blue feathers seeming to blur with the speed of his movements.
“That’s my epic tale a champion prevailed defeated the villain now pour him some ale!” Jaskier paused, looking to Geralt expectantly.
The Witcher stared back.
“Don’t be a bastard!” Jaskier hissed, eyes narrowing as his gaze shifted rapidly from Geralt to the suddenly quiet and expectant crowd.
With a long-suffering sigh, Geralt reached for his mug of ale. Raising it towards Jaskier in a mocking salute first, he then tilted it back and drank it all down in a few deep gulps.
The entire tavern erupted into cheers.
Momentarily distracted by the movement of Geralt’s throat, Jaskier found himself staring for a few beats too long. Feathers ruffling, he tore his gaze away as pink colored his cheeks. He heard the sound of the mug landing back down on the table as his fingers picked the beat back up, moving double-time to make up for his extended rest.
“Toss a coin to your Witcher o’Valley of Plenty o’ Valley of Plenty o’!”
Rapidly strumming he added a little lute solo on to the end, cutting the end of the song short. Not that the tavern minded, most of them already drunk out of their minds.
Roaring their approval they’d already begun to literally toss their coins to the Witcher. Jaskier grinned at the silver and gold coins as he bowed low.
There was a snort behind him, followed by the whooshing sound of large wings being released from someone’s back. Tilting back up, Jaskier glanced behind himself to be met with a sea of inky blackness.
Geralt’s raven wings were fully extended, dwarfing Jaskier’s entire body. The tavern had grown quiet, hushed whispers the only noise. Most had heard about Witcher’s black wings, but few had ever seen them.
He tilted his wings forward, the black feathers brushing against the tip of Jaskier’s bright blue. At the contact Jaskier immediately ruffled, glaring at the Witcher despite the pink blush on his cheeks.
“Time to go, Jaskier,” Geralt stated softly, curling his wings back in against his back and beginning to walk away. For a moment Jaskier was flabbergasted, but he quickly picked his jaw up off the floor and grabbed two fists full of coins.
“Coming, coming! Wait up you big bastard! The whole point of the song was the coins! Or were you not listening again! For fuck's sake!” He shouted, stuffing what he could grab of the coins into his pockets and hurrying after his Witcher.