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Jaskier, eighteen, had grand dreams.
They were little more than dreams, unfortunately, because seeing as how he and Renfri had grown up fending for themselves, stuck in a tiny village on the border of Creyden, he didn’t have much opportunity to go to school or learn to play the lute or anything, really, besides tending to the farm while Renfri got… freelance work elsewhere. That was all he cared to know about it—she would leave, and return home every couple of weeks with a decent bag of coin and blood-spattered clothes, which Jaskier would bitch about cleaning. She made enough for them to live, though not comfortably—Renfri had kept him fairly sheltered, but he knew that they were one of the poorer households in town.
Which was why Jaskier only dreamed of traveling the Continent, singing songs and weaving grand tales for the commonfolk. Instead, he was stuck here chasing down their old hen again, after the coop had blown down in the storm for the fourth time. Henrietta was a sneaky fucker, already gone by the time he woke up in the morning. He cursed but pulled on his boots and stumbled out into the cold morning air to look for her.
He cursed all the way to the edge of the forest, where she’d apparently disappeared into, judging by the tracks and the few scattered feathers he found. “Damned hen. Ought to just eat you and be done with it,” he muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around him before heading into the forest.
He followed her trail as the sun slowly rose, stopping when he heard barking in the distance. Fuck, he hoped that was the hunters’ dogs—he hadn’t thought to bring a knife to defend himself with. Whatever it was, he trudged onwards, because they couldn’t afford to lose a hen. Renfri would kill him if—when—she found out.
And then he heard it—familiar squawking, accompanied by those same barks, louder. He crept closer and saw exactly what he’d feared—a pack of wild dogs circled Henrietta, one of them darting in every so often to snap at her slashing claws. She was fending them off pretty handily, actually—Jaskier knew how vicious she could be firsthand.
But the dogs would no doubt attack in force soon, and then she’d have no chance. Without thinking, Jaskier picked up a rock and threw it at the nearest one, hitting it square in the nose. It recoiled and turned its attention away from Henrietta, which was exactly what he wanted.
Unfortunately, it turned its attention towards him, which was exactly what he didn’t want. “Oh, fuck,” he spat, and turned tail as the pack gave chase.
He dashed over tree roots and fallen logs, blind stupid terror coursing through his veins. He had no plan beyond don’t get caught—and he could only run for so long before tiring. He threw a glance backward and saw that they were gaining on him—and fast.
Not looking where was going, he was taken completely by surprise when he slammed into something hard, bouncing off it and landing with an oof on the mossy ground.
Dazed and still half-blind with fear, he didn’t even notice that he’d slammed into a person until they moved, stepping over him and taking on the dogs with an easy confidence, sword swinging with preternatural force.
Two swords, armor, incredible speed and fighting skills? As the man finished dispatching the last of the pack and turned around to reveal mutated cat eyes set in a heavily scarred face, Jaskier realized who the man was. He sucked in a sharp breath.
The witcher sheathed his sword, holding out a hand as if to calm Jaskier. “It’s alright,” he rumbled, voice full of gravel. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Jaskier picked his jaw up from where it had dropped. “I know that,” he answered, getting to his feet and half-heartedly brushing the dirt off himself. “You’re a witcher.”
“I am. Usually fight more dangerous things than wild dogs, though. Also don’t usually see unaccompanied kids running around being chased by them.”
“I had to get their attention somehow. Henrietta was—wait, Henrietta!” Jaskier, remembered, abruptly spinning on his heel and dashing back to where the pack had cornered her.
“Wait!” the witcher called from behind him, but Jaskier paid him no heed.
He was gratified to see that while he’d been running for his life, Henrietta had seen fit to begin making herself a nest right in the same spot. “Oh, aren’t we cozy?” he grumbled, creeping closer in an attempt to grab her. He was almost upon her when the witcher ruined it, crashing through the underbrush behind him and sending her clucking away just as Jaskier pounced.
Jaskier sighed and turned to face the witcher, who at least had the good grace to look a little guilty. The guilt soon disappeared, though, when Jaskier rounded on him and began to lecture. “Now look what you’ve done. It’ll take me ages to catch her,” he complained, watching as the witcher’s eyes grew incredulous.
“You risked your life for that scrawny thing?” the witcher asked, amused disbelief coloring his tone.
“That scrawny thing is probably the most valuable thing we own, so yes,” Jaskier snapped. He couldn’t stand it when out-of-towners looked at him like that, like he was a stupid farm boy who knew little more than dirt and chickens. Which, to be fair, he didn’t, but it wasn’t as if he wanted it that way.
The witcher’s face cleared to something more akin to understanding—thank the gods it wasn’t pity. “Then I suppose I owe it to you to help catch her,” he said, and in the blink of an eye he’d snatched Henrietta up. Jaskier accepted her into his arms somewhat stunned.
“Thank you,” he eventually managed to stammer. The witcher said nothing in return, and they stood there for a long, awkward moment, before Jaskier realized he was probably waiting for something. “Oh! I don’t—I don’t have anything to pay you with…” he trailed off, recalling all the old adages, that witchers never worked for free. Fuck. Renfri wouldn’t be home for days if not weeks still, and the only coin he had he needed to save for the market day after tomorrow.
The witcher began to speak—what it was he was going to say, Jaskier didn’t know, but he interrupted as an idea struck him. “But I can offer you the Law of Surprise!” he suggested, recalling the ballads of children promised to witchmen. “We’ve a bitch due for pups soon—perhaps we’ll return home and you’ll find yourself with a companion to warm the long nights on the road!”
“Hmm,” the witcher replied, but it wasn’t a no, so he figured that it probably meant he wasn’t about to be forced into the witcher’s debt. Humming, he led the way back to the farmstead, the witcher a silent, hulking protector at his back.
Once they arrived, Jaskier was quick to secure Henrietta in the barn, where normally there would be pigs, but now, after sickness had taken their only sow, there was only dust and hay and the occasional mouse. He left Henrietta to her mouse hunting and led the witcher to the cottage, throwing open the door, excited to see what surprise he might find.
“Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought a witcher home?” asked Renfri, perched on the table and cleaning underneath her fingernails with one of her many knives.
Jaskier paled. “Renfri! You’re—you’re not meant to be home yet,” he choked out.
“What, you’re not happy to see me?” she drawled, eyebrows knitting together. Jaskier, helpless, threw a glance back at the witcher, who was wearing a thunderous expression. Shit.
“I—not in this case, no,” Jaskier said tersely. “Fuck.”
“Some welcome,” she said faux-calmly, hopping down off the table. Jaskier recognized the tenseness in her form that spoke of a predator preparing to pounce. Sure enough, she lunged a moment later, her knife held a half-inch away from the witcher’s throat. Jaskier yelped. “Did he hurt you, Julek?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the witcher’s face.
“No, nothing of the sort, now put that down,” Jaskier hissed, tugging ineffectually at her arm. “He saved me, in fact, and…”
“And?” Renfri asked lowly.
“…and I may have promised him the Law of Surprise in return,” Jaskier finished all in a rush, wincing. “I swear, Ren, if I’d known…”
“That’s the thing about surprises,” the witcher interjected. “But you needn’t worry. I have no plans to claim your—sister?” Jaskier nodded. “As I said before, I need no payment.”
Renfri lowered her knife, and Jaskier breathed a bit easier for it. Renfri was a formidable fighter, but Jaskier doubted even her strength against a witcher. If a fight had broken out, he’d have had to—well, not help, because he was rather useless in a fight, but it was the principle of the matter.
“I suppose I could do worse for myself,” Renfri mused, looking Geralt over critically.
“Wait you’re—Renfri, he said he wouldn’t claim you, you don’t have to.”
“And what if I want to?” Renfri answered. “He seems a decent sort. And not too hard on the eyes, either.”
The witcher, looking uncomfortable, stood there and said nothing.
Jaskier threw his hands up. “You’re insane. And you!” he said, turning to the witcher. “Are you agreeing to this?”
“The life of a witcher isn’t well suited to… companionship,” the witcher replied, face twisted. “Walking the Path is difficult.”
“And if I promise that I can handle myself?” Renfri asked, twirling her knife in one of the many tricks she was proud of. “I’m no stranger to the road. It’s Jaskier you’d have to watch out for.”
“I resent that,” Jaskier said mildly, mostly out of principle. But the prospect was too exciting to dwell on it for long—was Renfri truly proposing that they set out with a witcher? “Ren, do you mean it?”
“If your witcher is fine with it, then I don’t see why not,” she replied. “What do you say, witcher?”
“Geralt,” the witcher corrected her. “If we’re to travel together, you ought to at least know my name.”
“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. It rolled off the tongue wonderfully. “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m going to write so many songs, just wait,” he gushed. “The Witcher and the Shrike—I can hear it now.”
Renfri pulled him out of his thoughts with a cuff to the shoulder. “Ow,” he said mildly. “Wait—you are planning on sharing, right?” he interjected. “Because, I mean, look at him.”
“Am I a toy to be shared among siblings?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Is that a no, you don’t want to sleep with both of us? Because I’ll respect that, I will, but also, not to objectify you or whatever, but dear gods please, I think my poor heart might break if I didn’t get to fuck you at least once.”
“Jaskier! Leave my Husband Surprise alone,” Renfri said, shoving him away. “Go get packed. Essentials only!”
“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jaskier placated, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t get up to anything while I’m gone, you lovebirds.”
As he left, Geralt turned to Renfri. “Is he always like this?”
“Yeah, he’s chronically stupid. Gets it from our father.”
“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”
“Don’t know, but it’s too late now. You’re stuck with us, witcher,” Renfri replied, looping an arm around Geralt’s.
Geralt made a show of sighing, but in truth, he wasn’t annoyed as all that. At least it would make life more interesting.