Archive of Our Own

Keeping up with Geralt wasn't as much of a difficultly as Jaskier had first thought it would have been. Witchers were notorious for being cold and rugged, and well-

He glanced over at Geralt, the Witcher relaxing lazily in the basin of hot water, the occasional bubble spilling a bit of blast-boiled water over the edge. He could still smell the guts of whatever poor monster had gotten face-fucked with the steel of Geralt's sword on the man. 

Geralt wasn't as heartless as Witchers were painted to be. Jaskier couldn't write himself off either- that'd be the pot calling the kettle black. He wasn't an aloof bard and he was relatively sure Geralt knew this. The issue being that sometimes deciphering genuine obliviousness and intentional ignorance was difficult when your subject's only facial expressions were quirks of his lip and the occasional scowl. 

His lute held a snappy melody, calloused fingers working the strings as he hummed along. An ironic little melody, something he'd been working on ever since Geralt had stumbled across a very sober Jaskier standing above a few overly roughed-up bodies. Bloodied knuckles and a nose, the men beneath Jaskier's boots had it ten times worse and the bard's only excuse was, "Growing up with my dad- I learnt a thing or two." 

Geralt had taken that wrong and had pressed Jaskier if home life had been less-than-pleasant. 

Answering honestly would've caused more of a ruckus than saying growing up with strict parents made for a well-rounded child, so Jaskier omit a few very minor details about his past. 

It wasn't exactly a secret as to what the Lettenhoven name was tied to- but Geralt either didn't know Jaskier's full title, or he didn't care to ask. 

Again, ignorance or obliviousness, Jaskier didn't intend to ask upfront. 

The Witcher finished his bath, and Jaskier grinned, watching Geralt as he stalked over to drag the bard by the collar back into their room. The only real issues Jaskier faced when trying to keep up with Geralt was if the bedframe would survive the night, and how he'd manage the hike the morning after. 

~~

"Which town is this contract in again, Geralt? I have to keep a tab on which men still want me dead for pleasuring their wives for once in their miserable lives." 

"Whore." 

"That implies I do it without reason, which is false. I'm a freelance gentleman." 

Geralt snorted and shook his head, glancing to the bard beside him. Roach was trotting along the pebbled path quite happily, having rested more than enough at their last stop in a farm town. 

"Lettenhoven. They've got issues with supposed bruxa but I'm fairly certain it's just a fluke or falsified. The story of multiple dead men but without a pattern doesn't add up." 

Jaskier's voice broke as he hummed, eyebrows shooting up his forehead as he avert his glance back down to his lute. Well, he was due for a visit to dear old Mother and Father. Perhaps he should actually talk to Geralt for once-

No. That was a bad idea- but he could definitely insinuate his role in a few things. If he got word to a few friends before Geralt even got to the alderman- no contract, they could be bed and fed, and leave before dusk. Lettenhoven, as lovely as it was, housed a few too many nobles for Jaskier to deal with on his own. 

And bringing along Geralt, who would undoubtedly be blamed, was a bad idea to begin with. 

"Oh lovely, I have friends there, you know." 

"The brothel workers don't consider clients friends." 

"Oi!" 

~~

Lettenhoven was just as well-run as Jaskier remembered. Just as clean, too. Given, his family ran nearly ever shop front and had quite a say in how the villagers worked- it was to be expected. He grinned to himself watching the flags above the noble rising billow with the family crest on it. 

Geralt's eyes followed his, and the Witcher then rolled them.

Of course, the unassuming crooning cock upon the flag was bound to be seen as simply an innuendo, perhaps a gag from the fliers- but the crowing rooster won't crow if it's fed. Anyone flying that flag knew the Pankratz family- and that means Jaskier was free to visit and ask of a few very small favours. 

"I'll be in the tavern if you need me, just going in to see if I can land a spot to get a room for the night." 

He was met with a gruff sound from Geralt who turned Roach towards the town hall- two flags flying upon its spires. 

Oh, how Jaskier missed this. 

~~

"Julian?" 

"Keep it down, Alphonse- It's Jaskier now." 

The barkeep- an older man with a crooked nose and half his teeth offered a sly grin. "Low profile?" 

"Yes- for now. I need a few favours from our friends. The contract pulled here was for a bruxa correct? I need anyone suspected in those sorts of crimes to be pulled off the streets. My partner and I can't stay here for long. I'm afraid I'd rather not castrate the men who couldn't please their wives as good as I could." 

Alphonse barked with laughter before pushing a full mug of warm ale to him. "On the house, and will do. I'll send word to Elyse. She's got control ever since your mother took her hands off the reins of the whole situation." 

Jaskier nodded as he nursed the drink. "As she should- both, really. They deserve a break- a vacation. I follow up on only a few things they ask, especially while I leave town. Do you remember that old croon, Westly Brookes? Out in Oxenfurt- I told you about how he round up all those poor girls. Well, it seems as though his wine seemed to have suddenly become laced- bastard dropped dead before I was out in the street." 

Normally, talking about his own contracts was risky- anyone could hear and if he wasn't in his own family-run city, he'd be beaten bloody within minutes. But here in Lettenhoven, as long as you held the title, you were untouchable. 

Everyone alive knew so because anyone who died was usually a rat. Of course, most deserved it. No contracts were random- then they'd be murderers. And following a very loose moral code meant you still had to abide by some rules. So they went with 'anyone who dies has to deserve it'. 

It worked well enough. 

"Say-" Jaskier turned back to Alphonse. "Would I be able to play here tonight? Just a quick few songs- the last one being a bit of a teaser. I travel with a Witcher you know- the White Wolf. He's not exactly aware as to what I do outside of being a bard." 

"Stage's yours."

Jaskier set his empty mug down and leaned over the counter to plant a friendly kiss to the man's cheek. "Oh, you wonderful bastard. I'll be here tonight. For now, I'll go take a look-sy outside. See if I recognise anyone." 

Alphonse rolled his eyes just as Geralt had before shooing Jaskier out of the building with a whistle. The bard was more than happy to oblige, shutting the heavy oak door with a giddy smile. 

~~

Jaskier caught up to Geralt with little difficulty and was pleasantly surprised to already hear Geralt grumbling. 

"They said it was handled, Jaskier. I got the damn flyer a week ago- if it was a bruxa, they'd be dead." 

Jaskier offered a faux sympathetic hum, flicking the dirt out from under his nails. "Oh, a damn shame. Well, what was it- a hundred ducat? That's chump change, dear Witcher. I'll say-" 

He smiled at the other and puffed his chest out. "I landed the stage at the tavern- the keep is a-"

Fellow member. "Family friend of mine."

"I see." 

Jaskier turned on his heel, the midday sun already setting gently in the sky. "I don't want to disappoint this wonderful little town! He said he'd call everyone in- enjoy the show tonight." 

Geralt sighed and walked behind the bard, passing the stump he'd tied Roach to. He offered a small whisper to the mare as they walked past, her tail flicking Jaskier in the calf. 

"She loves me." 

"No, she doesn't, Jaskier." 

~~

Entering the tavern, the atmosphere was already warm and buzzing- the lamps inside offering a warm orange glow, and the red stained wood of the floor shook as men and women bustled around the packed area. Jaskier kept his head down as he weaved through the crowd, Geralt breaking off to find a free table. 

The bard looked around once he made it to the corner door, slipping into the back room behind the bar. Just like old times, a small crowd around the cards table froze and looked up. 

"Julian!"

Jaskier broke into a smile as a woman burst from her seat and threw herself into his arms, her thin black hair catching on the lace of his doublet. 

"Elyse!" 

The rest of the crowd- Alphonse, included, all chuckled. He didn't recognise one of the boys at the table, a lad no older than sixteen sheepishly sitting behind his mother. 

"And the new one is..?" 

"Jack. A contract was his father- he took care of it before we could. He's happy to help out tonight." 

Jaskier laughed with his chest and offered a hand to the mousy-haired boy. "Good to know everyone is on board then? How many are there in the house?"

"Sixteen total- most are accused of being bandits and harassers. They're armed but stupid. Ale is twice as strong tonight, so don't have too many," his mother said, her worn features curling up as she grinned. "I know you can't say no to a drink, Julian, but be a dear and try to at least act sober on the job." 

He chuckled out a 'yes Mother' and continued to speak avidly with the small group, the noise from outside muffled wonderfully to the point where he was almost certain the room they were in was soundproof since nobody came banging when Alphonse made his father screech with a laugh. 

~~

Geralt felt uneasy, ever since Jaskier seemingly disappeared into the crowd. And the tavern-goers put him on edge. More than one stank of old blood, or the acrid smell of rotten herbs. He didn't touch his ale, the mug placed at the edge of the table he'd found. The young woman working the tabs smelled like blood, and her smile put him on edge. 

It reminded him of the weirdly satisfied smiles Jaskier would have after fending off a husband and getting a few blows in before he could be dragged away by Geralt. 

His attention was drawn to the stage when he spotted the iconic baby blue of his bard's doublet appear through the crowd. 

"Fine ladies and gentlemen," Jaskier said loudly, the tavern growing quiet. "I have a few songs for you tonight so if you want to dance-" The pause was pregnant and Jaskier strummed his lute with that same strangely smug smile. "Feel free!" 

The chords were newer, and soon enough, the tavern was swaying in sync to the music. Jaskier's voice was oddly playful- given the lyrics Geralt could catch. 

Johnny don't leave me, you said you'd love me forever

Honey, believe me, I'll have your heart on a platter

Might you recall-

We've got a small family business

and the Family won't like this


Geralt could hear shuffling outside of the playful swaying of the crowd. It was hurried, and tactful. 

He could only see glimpses of a few men from the outskirts of the crowd drop suddenly, and then notice the people around them cluster for a moment before spreading back out again. 

The hair on his neck stood up as the smell of blood hit his nose. 

Jaskier, blissfully unaware, stood on the stage- still waltzing around the place like he owned it. 

Johnny, you told me

You were no fool, you were no chump

Then you got cold feet

Now all you'll be is a speedbump

It's something we call

Oh just a small family business

And the Family won't like this~

Geralt stayed at the table, but his eyes fixated on the movement of the crowd and eventually, his eyes strayed to a man. Grey hair, and sharp features- similar to Jaskier's own, come up behind a rugged ginger with a scar down his cheek. The ginger man dropped like a sack of potatoes after a moment when he glanced back at the grey-haired man, and after a moment of shuffling- the grey-haired bastard appeared back above the heads of the crowd and not the ginger. 

The smell of blood only grew sharper. 

A few men in the crowd seemed uncomfortable, their faces easily distinguishable from the rest. Pale, sweaty, paranoid. Geralt knew if he was standing up in the crowd, he'd have roughly the same look. 

Johnny there's still time

Together I know, we'd go so far

I'll tell uncle Rocco

To call off the guys- with the crowbars

Geralt frowned and watched as another man went down from the crowd. They were being picked off like flies, and nobody seemed to notice. He looked at his ale, which he had yet to touch. It was untampered with, but he knocked the mug over and let the lukewarm liquid pool on the ground just to be safe. 

"Oi- watch it-" 

He looked up and was met with a nasty-looking man's face. A patchy blond beard, rotten teeth, and what probably would have been a handsome face if he wasn't so damn dirty. The man jabbed a finger towards Geralt, his other hand falling to his waist. 

"You trying to make me slip, Butcher?" 

Geralt bristled. 

"Answer me!" 

Geralt watched as the man pulled a knife, and now suddenly, the crowd was no longer ignorant. A girl beside the man yelled and all of a sudden, the whole tavern was up in arms. 

Geralt's hands caught onto the man's arms as he lunged and they both rolled to the floor, nearly knocking over a few people in the process. 

The man's knife had embedded itself into Geralt's bicep- the flare of pain nothing compared to the quality hook he took to the chin. Shaking his head off, he returned the favour and kicked the man in the groin,  rolling out of the way as the bastard tried lunging again. 

The rest of the tavern was scrambling towards the walls and now open door, and the music had stopped. 

That was the least of Geralt's worries- because now that the crowd had thinned, there was more space for the man to weave around to try and get the upper hand. 

Geralt felt something hard hit the back of his skull and stumbled forward, barely dodging the blond. 

Apparently the bastard also had friends. 

Punches were returned, kicks were dodged. Geralt was hit with more than just one mug and he was getting rather tired of trying to dispose of the instigators. 

But he found himself being helped by the same grey-haired man from before, who tackled another blond man to the ground before very quickly spinning the man's head and allowing the body to crumple to the floor. Another woman did the same in disposing of a black-haired, rather gaunt-looking man- though this time he slumped forward with a knife stuck clean through the back of his ribs. 

Geralt spun around and caught the falling body of the first blond, eyes wide but dull as they slid shut when Geralt dropped him to the floor. Jaskier stood behind that one, a blade clutched in his hands and eyes trained to the man on the ground. 

"Well." 

Geralt stared, now acutely aware of the people surrounding him and the bard. 

"Jaskier-" 

The bard held up a finger, pointed behind Geralt before very quickly tossing the knife he'd been holding over Geralt's shoulder. The Witcher stayed facing the bard even after he heard a pained gurgle and the hollow sound of a skull hitting the ground behind him. 

"We have a room. I suppose it'll be much easier to explain there." 

Geralt scanned the room, seeing that now- as only the few people who remained were in cahoots with whatever Jaskier was participating in, the bodies on the floor were all scattered throughout the tavern but not messily. No blood trails, no sign of struggle. Twelve dead men on the floor- seven people, excluding Jaskier and himself, with barely a speck of blood on their clothes. 

He turned to follow the bard up the stairs to the apartment room above. 

~~

"I can explain!" 

"You just killed two people without hesitation, and the others- who I assume you know, killed ten more." 

Jaskier waited until Geralt finished to sheepishly add, "Well, there's actually four more out back who we dealt with before the whole encounter you had going on started." 

"I'm waiting for your explanation, bard." 

Jaskier sighed, rolling up his sleeves. "Right, well. You know my name, don't you? Tell me it." 

Unamused, Geralt stared at the bard. "Julian Alfred Pankratz." 

"Not quite. It's Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhoven. I'm- a noble, of the town." 

Jaskier watched as Geralt's face tightened. "Don't say anything yet, I'm not done."

He rolled his shoulders and set his hands to his hips. "So my family may or may not run this entire town- front to back, honest sale to faux front. This tavern- well, it's a front. Tonight we had contracts to fill, basically the one you were supposed to take. There was never a bruxa- just a few rotten bastards who have all been reported to have harassed the people living here. And well, we can't have that."

Jaskier's smile gained that slight sadistic edge to it. "So we have to occasionally clean up the bunch. Usually it much quieter than this-" 

"So you're-" 

"Associated by blood, but it's not technically my job. I'm sort of here whenever I feel like coming." 

"You killed someone." 

"Yes, that I did." 

The bard paused, his face falling slightly. "You're not- mad, are you?" 

"You killed someone." 

Jaskier frowned, his brows bunching up above his nose. "I already said I did, what are you getting at Geralt?" 

The Witcher stalked forward and grabbed Jaskier by the collar, hoisting him up with a scowl on his face. "I've been worrying that you're an airheaded flamboyant bard with the sole life purpose of making a cuckold out of stupid men." 

Jaskier's face bled into a small smile as he watched Geralt's scowl turn into a relieved grin. "And instead?" 

"And instead," Geralt continued, walking forward until Jaskier's back hit the wall, his feet still dangling a few inches off the floor as Geralt kept him up by the chest. "You're just a feral bastard working with your family to do the town cleanup." 

"Guilty as charged," Jaskier cooed, his eyes locking with Geralt's. "What're you gonna do? Yell at me?" 

"Worse." 

Jaskier let his eyes roll as Geralt's lips pressed to his, chuckling as the Witcher pulled back from the quick kiss. "You're a bastard, Jaskier." 

"I've been called much worse, Geralt. Don't you worry."