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The letter arrived when they were resting in an inn after a successful job. A group of drowners sighted by some local fishermen and who frightened some children passing by. The work itself was faster than expected and the small town was very pleasant, the fishermen handed him a little more coins than the agreed upon and the inn secured a small room for free to spend the night.
They were sitting that night, enjoying a good mug of cheap beer when a messenger of expensive-looking clothes approached. He delivered a letter bearing the royal seal of Temeria and, without directing a word to either of them, went away, leaving them confused with the cups still halfway to their mouths.
In a quick motion Jaskier reaches the letter, breaking the seal and reading anxious for himself. When the letter came to an end his eyes widened, Geralt could hear how his heart accelerated and the smell of wildflowers and sunbeams flowed out in waves of happiness and excitement that only he could feel, with his witchy senses.
The bard read and reread the letter three more times, as if to make sure it was real and not just an intricate illusion. After a few minutes, Geralt’s patience ran out.
"What is it, bard?" Snitched, bothered by the silence but also with a hint of curiosity to know what took that reaction of man.
With an animated and flabby voice, stumbling on a few words, Jaskier explained. The letter was from none other but one of the most influential and powerful kings of all Temeria, informing and formally hiring him as entertainment for one of the greatest balls of the last century. A feast that would welcome kings, queens, lords, warlords and many well-known and influential names (there were some whispers that the Lioness of Cintra herself would be there).
It is possible to understand the importance of that invitation and why Jaskier spent the entire journey to Temeria reeking of nervousness and anxiety, scribbling with his pen against the paper, writing and erasing new songs and training notes that should be impossible for a human to achieve.
A few days after the beginning of the journey a brief cold wave passed through them. It was quick and it was not necessary to take the blankets out of his saddlebags, but it was enough to scare the shit out of Jaskier, who feared that a cold could ruin his voice. From that day on he put himself into vocal Rest, refusing to speak more than strictly necessary in order to preserve the health of his vocal cords.
Geralt hated it.
As much as he lived complaining and muttering about "wanting the blessed silence" he created a routine where he relies entirely on Jaskier and his voice as clear and flowing as the crystal clear waters of a river.
Only when the silence sat he noticed how much he missed the grumbling, the laughing, the inappropriate jokes, the songs that would never make it to the repertoire, that no one else would hear, the stories and gossip, the little curiosities about unimportant facts, and even complaints about sore feet.
The silence, oh fearsome silence, was almost driving him mad when the dirt road turned to stone and the houses began to become more frequent until they became a populous city.
The invitation gave them access to a private room with two separate beds in the servants' section of the castle, so that’s where they went. Geralt with his classic dead fish face and Jaskier parading around like a proud peacock, getting everyone’s attention around him.
The room was simple and small, but they did not expect much, after all they would be there for only two nights, where Jaskier would perform in both as the main attraction.
The sun was setting, painting the sky red, and the hour of the spectacle came ever nearer. Geralt was not sure what to do, his friend was walking back and forth, moving and tuning his lute, even though it was unnecessary, that lute almost never dared. Maybe it was some elfin magic? Anyway, he didn’t need to be a Witcher to hear the other’s fast-paced heart.
"You’ll have a fit if you keep this up" mumbles.
"Oh my dear witcher how can I calm down when in a few hours I will make one of the most important presentations of my entire life!"
Geralt rolls his eyes at the other’s exaggeration. The bard walks up to him, dropping the lute carefully on top of one of the beds and holding his hands, squeezing lightly, a wide smile spreads across his face.
"Today is a very important day for me Geralt, and I’m glad you’re here with me to share it."
The Witcher’s heart accelerates and, if possible, his cheeks would glow in a scarlet red. The other’s smile increased even more and at that moment he realized that Jaskier was not exaggerating. That was an important moment for the singer and Geralt would do his best to ensure that everything was perfect.
"Now, can you be a sweetie for me and go get some more water? I’ll need to do some vocal warmups." The damned troubadour took advantage of his good will in the hard face!
A knock on the door alerted them both. At the door was a young maid holding a white box decorated with small gold details.
"Your Majesty wishes Lord Jaskier to wear these specially made clothes for him at the performance tonight." She says politely delivering the box to an even more excited, Jaskier.
"That’s so Thoughtful of him!"
The maid didn’t even bother to answer, gently closing the door.
"Go Geralt! Go get my water while I change!" He threw it away, pushing the man twice his size towards the door.
"I wonder what kind of outfit he chose for me, will it be a doublet or something more formal?" He heard him mumble.
With a tired moan the Witcher left the room embarking on his quest to fetch water for his bard.
The hallways were strangely empty, but perhaps everyone was too busy preparing for the party.
At the end of the corridor Geralt saw a door half open, being clearly occupied by several people and the sound of cutlery and the noise of pots bubbling along with the unmistakable smell of various different delicacies being finalized made it obvious that that was the kitchen. Just what he needed.
Now, Geralt may be many things, but one thing he’s not is someone who likes to listen to other people’s conversations, but for some reason something in his mind said he needed to hear it.
He silently peered, his steps inaudible to human ears, camouflaged in the shadows, leaning against the side of the door half open, being able to see a small group of cooks talking to what appeared to be a guard. They spoke loudly and laughed at something, Geralt tightened his golden eyes in concentration trying to understand some part of the conversation.
"This is gonna be hilarious!"
"I can’t believe you actually brought him"
"I think it’s a little sad"
"What? It’s not sad, the man is a clown really, they’re just showing it to the rest of Temeria!"
They laughed more and more.
"I don’t understand, why would the king do such a thing?"
"The king is only showing what happens to those who exalt monsters and sing lies. He is just putting him in its proper place."
Geralt heard nothing after that, his body was flooded with the same feeling he felt before a big fight, being bombarded by adrenaline and a strong feeling of protection.
His whole body screamed for him to run back to his Bard. The strange conversation he heard still echoing in his head, senseless but for some reason worrisome.
By the time he finally realized the lack of the damn water he went out to get he was already in front of the bedroom door. With a frustrated moan he entered the room only to see a scene he will spend the rest of his life trying to forget.
Jaskier was sitting on one of the beds, his eyes red and swollen, the air was heavy with the smell of salty tears, shame and sadness. The bard was dressed in a full-body outfit of colors and gaudy shapes, not in the coercive and well-thought-out manner of his usual clothes, where each color has a function in the final role to leave it breathtakingly dazzling, vividly and beautifully. No, the outfit he wore was meant to be comical, meaningless of beauty, it was a clown’s outfit.
He was just sitting there, staring sadly at his hands where he held a bizarre hat equally colored with bells tied at the tips.
He raised his head quickly with the noise of the door opening, trying to get himself back on his feet quickly, wiping the traces of tears and putting a fake smile on his face.
"Oh Geralt, I didn’t see you coming, uhm, where’s my water?"
Ignoring him he took two wide steps approaching, gently holding the younger’s face with calloused hands, gently caressing his cheeks and forcing his eyes to meet.
"What happened? Talk to me Jask"
And as a floodgate opened the tears rolled uncontrollable.
"These are the clothes they gave me, Geralt!" He cried. "A JESTER! THEY WANT ME TO PRESENT AS A COURT JESTER!"
Geralt let him scream, pulling him into a hug, feeling his shirt get wet with each other’s fluids.
His jaw closed tightly and suddenly the conversation he heard earlier made perfect sense.
"The king is only showing what happens to those who exalt monsters and sing lies"
Before he can do or say anything Jaskier walks away, wiping his face and heading towards the small mirror hanging on the wall, trying to fix his face so that he is a little more presentable.
"Jask-" he tries to talk but is interrupted.
"It’s okay my wolf, I know what you’re going to say, I was just being dramatic, it’s not that bad. I should be happy to be able to introduce myself to so many influential people, right? I’ve bothered you for so long because of this stupid party and now I’m acting like this."
Jaskier laughs forcibly, finishing his make-up so that if Geralt had not just seen him cry, it would seem as if nothing had happened.
The man approached again the hat now lying on the ground and with tense movements and opaque eyes bent down to reach it. Geralt couldn’t just stand there and watch it happen to his friend, unleashing an angry growl on his furrowed eyebrows.
"No" his deep and hateful voice echoed in the small room, making the bard’s body catch tense with the chalk hat in hands, the strong colors mocking the situation.
"Jaskier stop, I would never say that to you." The wtcher said approaching.
"Yes yes yes yes, you would never say that but-" begins to murmur, disarranging the brown curls in panic but the taller stopped him before he continued to ramble, putting his hands gently without his shoulders, pulling him closer.
"The King has planned this from the beginning to humiliate you, I will not let you do this, I will not let you perform in this court, not today or ever."
"But Geralt, they will pay so well"
"We don’t need those coins"
"Yes, we do"
"Okay, we do, but not from this disgusting pig and not this way"
They both stared at each other. Cat eyes as yellow as the purest gold and blue eyes as the deepest ocean battle in a silent fight to see who would win this argument.
"Look Jask, I’m not good at words, this is your job, but I need you to listen to me now. You’re not a clown or a court jester, you’re a bard. The most talented, creative and courageous bard I’ve ever met in all my years of life and I won’t let some monarch who can’t even wipe his ass without the help of his servants make you believe otherwise."
Geralt snorted, wide blue eyes stared at him in amusement.
"Now, what’s going to happen is this, you’re going to change your clothes for the most beautiful doublet that you have and we’re going to march out of this castle with all the dignity and respect that you deserve." He ended. That was the largest number of words he had ever said in years traveling together but it was worth it. Each one of them.
"Go away? And let them win?" The bard asked quietly, his voice revealed an insecurity and atypical fragility.
"It’s not a matter of winning or losing, it’s a matter of knowing when the people around you are wishing you bad and walking away from it. It’s not a sign of weakness to want to protect yourself."
For long minutes there was only silence. Gradually the stench of sadness and shame was diminishing, the two still stuck in a warm and comfortable hug. Geralt allowed his shoulders to drop slightly, all the adrenaline, anger and tension slowly dispersing, causing him to melt further around his partner’s surprisingly muscular arms.
A low murmur of agreement draws the witchers attention. With his face still pressed against his chest Geralt feels Jaskier’s mouth move into a weak 'all right' but enough to calm him down, making the air lighter. Enough for him to try one last joke.
"Say a word and I’ll cut off his head"
Jaskier’s laugh was raw, with the voice bruised from crying, but to Geralt it was like a rainbow after a long and distressing storm.
Things weren’t quite right yet, Jaskier was still in that stupid outfit and the king would surely suffer the wrath of witchers and sorcerers, but that was all in the future. Now, there, in that tiny room, the two of them would hug until the pain became bearable, and if the two later shared a bed, well... That’s not our problem.