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Geralt sat sipping his ale in the darkest corner of the tavern, watching as the man in the soft lilac hat danced around the tavern with his lute in his hands. His soft cornflower blue eyes glittered in the candlelight and his smile was bright enough to light up the entire village.
Geralt watched as Dandelion’s long fingers glided over his lute strings, making the instrument sing in a way that only he could. The troubadour winked and smiled at his audience with every turn. Geralt had never understood how he could do that. Geralt barely had the energy to smile at those he loved, let alone two dozen strangers in every tavern, more if they were asked to a banquet. Geralt admired Dandelion for that. He could bring light into the darkest of places.
He had brought light into Geralt’s life after all.
Once the song was over, Dandelion gave a low bow to his audience with arms spread wide.
“My deepest gratitude to you all!” Dandelion cooed with a dazzling smile. His hand flung to his head as his hat almost toppled to the ground. “It has been an absolute pleasure, I assure you, but I really must be going.”
The audience yelled encouragement for more songs but Dandelion ducked away into the shadows. That was another thing that Geralt couldn’t understand. The poet wore such brightly coloured clothes and was able to control the entire room with just a flick of the wrist, but he could disappear into the darkness like could cloak himself with shadows. The audience barely seemed to even notice Dandelion’s disappearance, drunk and giddy as they were. Geralt, however, tracked the troubadour’s movements along the walls of the tavern until the poet flopped down onto the bench next to him with a heavy sigh.
“Gods, weren’t they a demanding bunch of drunken fools?” He pouted and pulled Geralt’s drink from his hands. “Thank you, my dear.”
Geralt raised an eyebrow as Dandelion down the last of his drink. “That was mine.” He muttered.
“My throat, Geralt!” Dandelion whined. “I have been singing for hours. The least you could do is buy me a drink.”
“I paid for the room, and the dinner.”
Dandelion scoffed with a wave of his hand. “Unnecessary, pointless details. This is why you, my dear, would be a terrible poet, and I” He gave another wave of his hand and flashed a toothy grin at Geralt “am a master of all the liberal arts!”
Geralt snorted. “You’re a master pain in my arse.”
“Nonsense! You would be lost without me.” Dandelion’s blue eyes twinkled as he laughed melodically.
Geralt hummed. “Don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what, my dear witcher?” Dandelion asked, resting his chin on his hands.
“Pretend to like all those people.” Geralt nodded to the crowd on the other side of the room.
“To be a troubadour, Geralt, you must love everyone you meet. It is simply a must, and if you can’t love them then it must appear as if you do. You must live your life pretending to love even the foulest of people. A poet without love is like, like a witcher without his swords.”
“But if that love is fake.” Geralt mused. “It would be like a witcher trying to slay a ghoul with a wooden sword.”
Dandelion sighed as twirled a lock of his golden hair in his fingers. “Well then, to be a master troubadour you must live your life until love is found, Geralt.”
Geralt hummed as he considered the thought. “And have you?”
Dandelion’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips. “Have I what?”
“Found love.”
Dandelion’s expression softened and he laid his hand on Geralt’s arm. “I found love a long time ago, my dear. I believe I was hiding from four rather strapping young men who were trying to kill me at the time, and you’ll never guess who walked in.”
Geralt chuckled. “Enlighten me.”
“A witcher, Geralt. One with a heart of gold and the wit of a bastard. Really there was no hope for me.” Dandelion sighed dramatically and Geralt nudged their shoulders together.
“You sentimental fool.” Geralt muttered with a fond smile on his lips.
“For you, my love, always.”