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Jaskier woke up with blond curls strewn over his face and neck in an unfamiliar room. He had played the night before at a lesser nobleman’s house, earning praise after praise, mostly from the women present of course. Their husbands had disliked his frivolous behavior and he was given almost double the agreed amount with the condition he left the noblewomen alone. That he did, but no one ever said anything about the maids.
So here Jaskier was, waking up with blond curls strewn over his face, in an unfamiliar room. The soft snores from the young maid quickly brought back memories of the false promises of love he had whispered in her ear as she giggled. Not one to stay long, Jaskier gently removed himself from the naked woman whose name he didn’t care to remember and gathering his lute, exited the room.
He had found himself with some coin, but in a typical fashion chose to invest in new clothing instead of a horse, especially since his fame had guaranteed him numerous performances in nearby towns for the next few weeks. Whenever he wasn’t at the local tailor’s picking out new fabrics and commissioning new doublets, Jaskier ventured in the thick shadow of the forest at the northern edge of town. It offered a reprieve from the heat of summer and the noise of the city. He would sit under a tree and mindlessly strum his lute until inspiration came for a new ballad, then he’d hastily write it down and continue fine tuning it until he was satisfied with the result.
The bard found a particularly large tree and found a cozy spot in its roots, leaning his back on the smooth bark. Inspiration quickly came and he wrote verse after verse, softly strumming and adjusting words to fit the melody when he heard a noise from the thicket nearby. His fingers froze on the lute strings, his eyes frantically scanning for a potential threat, when he saw the brown torso of a horse. Jaskier saw no saddle, but knew well some people brought their horses to the verdant forest. The horse also reminded him of Roach, the faithful companion of Geralt of Rivia the bard had befriended all those years ago.
Just as he was about to go back to composing, the horse’s head came into view and Jaskier stared, already calculating his escape. The creature’s head was disproportionately big, severely misshapen and by no means a horse one, and Jaskier definitely saw at least a dozen differently-sized eyes, all looking directly at him. Throughout his travels with the witcher he had heard stories of all kinds of creatures he didn’t know existed and he himself had allocated some of his time at Oxenfurt to familiarize himself with some of the creatures the Conjunction brought, but he had never heard of anything remotely similar to what was standing before him. Suddenly a very human-looking hand shot up and waved at Jaskier.
“Hello, I am Greg. I enjoyed your performance. It did well for my digestion,” the creature said calmly. Jaskier questioned his senses, quickly looking back on everything he had consumed the previous night and concluding that unless something had been poisoned, this was in fact happening. “I did not mean to startle you, master bard, it’s just that I do not often get to hear music in the forests.”
“Jaskier. My name is Jaskier,” the bard said before he realized it. “You shall have to forgive my brute question, but what are you?”
“Oh, I’m a demon-horse.” A second human-like arm emerged and for a moment Jaskier thought the creature before him was shrugging, like being a demon-horse was the most normal thing in the world. “I ended up here after the Conjunction of Spheres, when I was a foal. It seems I am the only one of my kind, so I have learned to keep away from most other creatures. I only come close to towns In hopes of hearing people talk, so I do not forget how to speak your tongue, shall I ever require to use it, like right now. So with that being said, please forgive any mistakes I might make, master bard.”
Jaskier stared at the creature, unbelieving. He didn’t feel nauseous or out of breath, nothing to tell he was poisoned. This was happening. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, was indeed experiencing this.
Two other arms opened the branches hiding Greg’s body and Jaskier quickly counted six human-looking arms on the demon-horse. Greg hesitantly took a step over the small bush and closer to Jaskier. The bard swallowed hard and looked at the biggest eye on Greg’s misshapen head, still battling between running away and that curiosity Geralt had many times called unhealthy. In the end, curiosity won.
Over the next weeks Jaskier would sneak an apple here and there and bring it to the forest with him to give to his new demon-horse friend Greg. Whenever the bard wasn’t playing, they conversed and Jaskier was surprised at the intelligence and knowledge the creature possessed. Greg told Jaskier of all the adventures he had been on, all the creatures he had met along the way, how he learned to fight if the need arose and Jaskier could hear a longing in Greg’s voice he couldn’t quite place. Jaskier told Greg his presence would only be for a few weeks, then he’d move on and Greg eagerly asked if he could join Jaskier, he’d even let the bard ride him occasionally. Jaskier argued they could not possibly travel on the roads for everyone to see and Greg quickly told him that over the countless years he had roamed the Continent, he had found paths no one else knew. So they travelled together, the bard and the demon-horse with six human-looking arms and 13 eyes.
Once or twice Jaskier thought of how Geralt would react to his new companion until one day he didn’t have to think about it anymore. Greg was leading Jaskier through an unknown forest when they came close to a clearing right next to a stream and even through the branches and leaves, the bard immediately recognized the white haired man with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows kneeling by the water. The witcher gave no indication he’d heard the approaching horse and his rider and if he didn’t know any better, Jaskier would’ve believed it so.
“Geralt, old friend, how lovely to see you still whole!” Jaskier emerged from the thicket with arms wide open. The two men greeted each other.
“Why isn’t your companion joining us, Jaskier? Is he already tired of your singing and looking to make you someone else’s problem,” the witcher joked and suddenly Jaskier’s features tightened.
“My companion is… special. Very special, Geralt,” the bard carefully said, looking for a reaction from Geralt. The witcher just stared back, waiting for him to continue. Instead Jaskier turned to the thicket behind him and called for Greg by name.
One horse leg emerged first and Geralt expected to see this Greg atop a beautifully colored horse, very similar to his own Roach. Instead Geralt saw six arms and 13 eyes and no rider. Before Jaskier could say anything, the witcher had unsheathed his sword and was lunging at the creature. He swung at Greg’s legs, not looking to kill, but simply neutralize the creature, but Greg was a worthy match and his horse legs added to his speed. He quickly evaded Geralt’s blade while the bard watched with mouth agape, unmoving.
The witcher and the demon-horse continued their dance for what seemed hours to Jaskier. It was mere seconds more until Greg spoke, startling the witcher. “Please, master witcher, I mean no harm to you, or Jaskier. I do not wish to fight you.”
Geralt, sword still in hand, snarled at Jaskier. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”
“It’s – he – I – we’re friends, Geralt. He’s harmless,” the bard stuttered. “I met him some months ago in a forest and was just as confused as you.” Before the witcher could reply, Greg interjected.
“Master witcher, if I may introduce myself, I am Greg, the demon-horse. I came here when the Conjunction of Spheres happened and I am the only one of my kind. Jaskier told me many stories about you, Geralt of Rivia, the witcher-knight. I met your father.”
“Vesemir would have told me if he had ever met your kind,” Geralt spat.
“I do not know of a Vesemir, but master Korin was once kind to me. He and his sorceress, Visenna.”
Geralt’s sword lowered slowly at the mention of his mother’s name. Jaskier had never heard either of the names, but he was aware Geralt knew of his mother and assumed Korin was his father.
“I never knew my father,” the witcher said bitterly.
“He never knew of you,” Greg said with a gentleness in his voice. “We met when I was in dire need of healing and your mother was traveling with your father. She healed me and he kept watch until I was good to go on my way. You remind me of him with your sword, master Geralt.”
Jaskier’s gaze danced between Geralt’s unblinking viper eyes and Greg’s all 13 different eyes, unsure of what to say. “Sooo… how about we make camp here then, since everyone knows everyone,” he suggested hesitantly.
“What do you want? Who sent you?” Geralt said through gritted teeth.
“I want nothing but companionship,” Greg said, “and no one sent me. I am here of my own volition.”
The witcher stared in Greg’s biggest eye for a moment longer, as if weighing his words, then spun around and after a few steps, looked over his shoulder and in a much softer voice addressed them both.
“You can camp with me. I expect to hear more about you and your travels, Greg. You can have some of the apples I have for Roach if they are to your taste. Jaskier, help me prepare the meat.”
And just like that, the witcher who needed no one, the bard who could have anyone’s company but never stayed long, and the last demon-horse became friends.