Work Text:
Geralt knew he felt something, knew that letting Jaskier venture to the nearby town— even if he had Eskel and Lambert with him— was a bad idea.
It was a weird sense they had, Geralt and Jaskier, just knowing when each other had been injured without any indication from the other. Without seeing each other. Being miles apart; they just knew.
So when Geralt’s head suddenly shot up while going over documents with Yennefer, it was an all too familiar feeling.
“Please Geralt? I’ve heard there’s a merchant that only passes through once a year and always has exotic trinkets.”
“I can get you anything you want. You just need to ask.”
“It’s not about getting the things; it’s the experience of being in the bustling market and having to fight off an old lady that may or not have the powers to curse you if you don’t give her the pair of earrings you both had your eyes on.”
Geralt raised a brow. “Awfully specific example.”
Jaskier continued, ignoring him completely. “It’s also the fact that I haven’t been outside the keep in forever. I mean I love it here but frivolity spending coin on things is my favorite past time and I’m feeling a bit deprived of it."
“What do you need that I can’t provide for you?”
“It’s not about what you can provide for me. Geralt, you’ve made it perfectly clear on multiple occasions that you can and will kill for me but… just please?”
Geralt looked at Jaskier and sighed. “Okay. You should be safe with a group of—”
“No! No groups!” Jaskier flat out refused. “Look, you are the War Lord of the North, and if people see me with a group of witchers protecting me, then they’ll know that I’m very important to said War Lord of the North.”
“You are very important to me Jaskier, which is why—”
“Which is why if they know then they’ll just as much give me anything I ask instead of doing business like normal. I might know you’re a fair and just man, but most of your region still fears you and would give up anything if it meant not angering you or the people you hold close.” Jaskier held up his hand. “Two people. No more.”
A frown plastered itself to Geralt’s face. “That’s not enough.”
“Would be a shame if Eskel and Lambert heard you say that.”
“Lark, I know their skills, but I also know their limits. If you were suddenly ambushed, they’d stop at nothing to keep you safe, but on the off that they weren’t and something happened to you…”
Jaskier cupped Geralt’s face. “That is a very small off chance. Things have settled down. What are the chances of something happening this close to the keep without us having heard anything about it?”
Geralt couldn’t argue with that.
He wished he did.
Jaskier, Eskel, and Lambert had set out just past dawn, the three of them dressed down as to not attract attention as much they could. Set out being a loose phrase; Geralt had reluctantly agreed to only having Eskel and Lambert accompany but only if Jaskier agreed to be portaled to and from the town, to which Yennefer made him promise to bring her back something. They’d been portaled to a road just outside the town limits so it would look like they’d been walking the entire time.
Giddy was an apt way of describing Jaskier when they finally entered the town; fresh food and herbs filling the air, the sounds of people bustling around and selling their wares. It was something Jaskier had missed.
“Okay, you said they’re a special trader with things. Best to find them first and take look at their wares before everything’s gone.” Eskel said while taking stock of their surroundings.
“Haven’t the foggiest who or where they are.” Jaskier commented as he went for a fabric stall.
“You came here for exotic trinkets and you don’t know where or by who they’re from?” Lambert huffed.
“Nope.” Jaskier held a piece of fabric to himself to examine. “No one really knows who they are or what they have, but when you do actually see them, you’ll know.”
“So you mean to say is you might not even get the exotic things you set out for?"
“Exactly.” Jaskier paid the lady at the stall and took the fabric, handing it off to Eskel. “That’s the thrill of it.
“What I’m hearing is you just brought us along for a shopping trip.” Eskel held up the fabric. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Hold it please.”
“Ho ho, I see.” Lambert snorted. “We’re nothing more than pack mules right now.”
Jaskier ignored the remark and went towards another stall.
***
“Jaskier, don’t you think this is a bit— excessive?”
“What ever do you mean?” Eskel and Lambert made vague gestures towards each other’s arms, full of the things the bard had bought. “Nonsense. We’ve barely scratched the surface of everything here.”
“You haven’t even found your exotic merchant yet.”
“Exactly my point. We’ve still a few hours of daylight, so we better be getting a move on if we’re to find them.”
The two witchers sighed as Jaskier walked away from them. They’d been in the market for hours and Jaskier seemed to have just as much energy as when they first started. He enjoyed bartering with all the merchants; a playful argument of prices being too steep for him when he saw costume jewelry or of them not being steep enough for being the real thing.
It was like running after a child.
“When I agreed to this, I specifically remember there being a time of a few hours, not the full day.” Lambert huffed.
“Are you arguing that you’d rather be back at the keep?” Eskel snorted. “I’m quite glad to be out and about, even if it means being a pack mule.”
“I don’t know why I thought it would be a quick trip. A fool’s intuition; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get burned out when doing something he enjoys.”
“Grin and bear it. We’ll contact Yenn come nightfall.”
It wasn’t unpleasant. Yennefer had given them a concealment spell so their eyes wouldn’t give them away. Most people didn’t give them a second glance and if they did, it was because of their burly nature. It was nearly peaceful, casually walking through the crowd and people not cowering away, having accidentally bump into someone and a quick apology going across both sets of lips instead of the none witchers running.
Jaskier had been practically ignoring the two of them, really only turning to them for an opinion or a quick please and thank you for holding what he bought. He kept on his way, weaving through the crowds from stall to stall, a slight smile on his face when Eskel and Lambert were no longer in view. He wasn’t actively trying to get away from them, but if they happened to get separated from them, he wouldn’t panic. Besides, he knew that they were tracking him by his scent anyways.
While venturing to another stall, he accidentally bumped shoulders with another and hastily spoke out an apology.
“Oh, pardon me.”
“Watch where you’re going.”
Jaskier stopped. He knew that voice. He hated that voice, but he couldn’t help the smug grin that appeared on his face.
“Well, well. What do we have here? Is that the annoying sound of the worst bard in existence? It must be none other. I’d recognize that horribly nasally noise anywhere.”
Said man turned. “Julian, still alive? Why has the world been cursed with such an annoyance?”
“Nice to see you too Valdo. Oxenfurt still hasn’t asked you back I see. Good on them, it’d bring the reputation down.”
“I see your fashion sense has only gotten worse over the years. Dreadful colors.”
“Tut tut, no need to be jealous. All that frowning will make those crow’s feet more noticeable. The years have not been kind I see.”
Valdo sputtered at that. Jaskier knew he himself had aged a bit, but thanks to Geralt, it had virtually stopped.
“I’ve a question for you, Julian, something I’ve been wondering about for quite some time; how the family?”
Jaskier settled to frown at him.
“I’d heard a rumor that your father had sold you to the White Wolf, but then it was said that you were given away, tossed, nothing was asked in exchange. Seems to me that you’re even more worthless than I thought. I mean, you’re here. He get tired and toss you away as well?”
Jaskier barked out a laugh and turned away from him, his eyes catching Eskel and Lambert a few stalls away. “My dear Valdo Marx, how I’ve waited for this day.” He turned back around, a smile on his, and pulled his fist before letting it fly out in front of him, straight into the other bard’s nose.
“Oh that felt nice. I mean I thought I had some pent up emotions about everything but you just had to be here and say something stupid—” Jaskier was cut off as something hit his middle, sending him into and over the stall he was in front of.
Valdo was currently sitting on his chest, blood dripping down his chin. He punched Jaskier once, and then again before Jaskier threw him to the side.
The people were in a frenzy around them; some yelling, some running, some merely watching the two bards punch each other, and then the stall owner yelling at the both of them.
“No one ever teach you how to throw a punch before? You’re like a child.”
“Careful now, we wouldn’t want those pretty little fingers accidentally broken. Would be such a shame if you never played again.”
A few more punches were thrown by both of them before they were dragged apart, or more so Jaskier being held back.
“You dare put a hand on him?” Lambert nearly growled.
Valdo scoffed. “So you did have guard dogs nearby. Typical of someone with your— status.”
“The White Wolf will see it that this is the last time you have hands.”
“Your White Wolf does not scare me, for what is the Great Warlord of the North if nothing but an empty threat?”
Eskel and Lambert both took a step forward but we’re stopped by Jaskier’s hands on their sleeves. “It’s not him you need to be scared of. Mark my words, Valdo Marx, your pedestal has already begun to wobble, and it’s only a matter of time before it tumbles over completely.”
With that, Jaskier pulled the two witchers away and they left the market. They made it back to the road where they had started from before Jaskier spoke. “Well, that’s certainly not how I imagined today going.”
“I sure fucking hope not.” Eskel stopped in front of him. “Least your nose isn’t broken.”
“Who was that?”
“A peer, to put it mildly.” Jaskier held a handkerchief to his still bleeding nose. “Horrid man, no creativity; always tried to steal my work and pass it off as his own. Also a horrific fashion sense. Did you even see what he was wearing?”
“Jaskier, I’m positive Geralt will have his hands once he sees what’s been done to you.”
“Pish posh. Valdo is a right ass, but he doesn’t need to be killed for it. There just needs to be the right words reaching the right ears and he’ll become a laughing stock.”
“And I take it you’ve already thought of those words?” Lambert raised a brow. “You’ve got your composing face on.”
“Oh dear no, I’ve been stringing together something about him ever since I had the dishonor of meeting him. Now it’s just time for me to put it all together and release it to the world.”
“Remind me to never cross you.”
***
Geralt picked up the scent of blood nearly immediately, knowing too well it was Jaskier’s. After the incident with him being stabbed, the distinction of Jaskier’s blood never left his mind.
The sight of blood on his shirt and a strained handkerchief, though clearly better than what he was thinking, still made his blood run cold. “What—”
Jaskier walked past Geralt like he wasn’t even there. A quickened step through the hall. He ignored the call after him, and any indication that he even heard others around him.
“He’s okay, Geralt.” Lambert said, a hand on his shoulder.
“What happened?”
“He ran into a peer.” Eskel answered. “A one, Valdo Marx? I swear I’ve heard him mention that name before.”
“His rival.” Yennefer chimed in. “While he was still at Oxenfurt. Valdo Marx seemed to be the only one that could truly rival our Jaskier’s genius, but was never able to fully step above him.” The three witchers sent her confused looks. “He likes to tell Ciri of his day at the college while he teaches her.”
Geralt still had an uneasy look. “What actually happened in the market?”
“A scuffle, nothing more.” Eskel shrugged off the bag he had still been holding. “Slipped through the crowd and ran into him at a stall.”
“Our bard’s got a mean right hook.” Lambert added. “Completely took him by surprise.”
Geralt snorted at that. No doubt Jaskier would tell him about the whole thing later.
“What’s got him running to his room then?” Yennefer asked.
Eskel and Lambert looked at each other before smiling slightly.
“Revenge.”
***
“Is Jas not feeling well Papa?” Ciri asked, poking at her food. “Why isn’t he here with us?”
In truth, Geralt didn’t have a reason for Jaskier’s absence. He had hold up in his room, asking not to be disturbed since he, Eskel, and Lambert returned from the market.
“He had an exciting day.” Yennefer took the liberty of answering. “He ran into an acquaintance from when he was at Oxenfurt, and they had a long chat about their time there.”
“But what if he gets hungry?”
“I’ll make sure he gets something to eat, but for now, we’re going to just let him rest from all the excitement.”
Geralt smothered a snort.
Jaskier wasn’t resting, nor had be been. He had denied everyone entrance to his room, no matter how much they asked to be let in. The only real way Geralt knew what was happening was because Yennefer had portaled her way in his room, nearly giving him a heart attack.
Yennefer! You nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing in here? How did you even get in here?
I’m checking in because apparently you’re too focused on whatever you’re doing to change out of your blood ridden shirt and it’s driving everyone insane.
Yennefer had told everyone Jaskier was fine, just very, very deep into whatever he was working on, which seemed to be a new song, but she didn’t get a good glance at it. He had dived headfirst into his composing cave and wouldn’t come out until he was finished.
And surprisingly, it was at the end of dinner, a few minutes after Ciri had been put off to bed. The doors to the hall opened, and Jaskier had gone striding in, gently strumming his lute.
A small frown flashed on Geralt’s face; the colors of bruising around Jaskier’s eyes and nose had just barely started to become visible. “Ladies and gentlewolves, human and Witchers alike, I have come to you with a new song, fresh from the shelves my mind, and I ask that you only listen.”
The hall was filled with gracious cheers. Geralt let a playful smirk sit on his face when Jaskier caught his eye and winked. Jaskier started to play, a somewhat fast and upbeat tune.
“I re-gret to inform you that this will really, really hurt
Valdo Marx, from Oxenfurt
You really had me going, You put on quite a show
The curtains are finally closing, And now it’s time to go
I’ve seen it in the sky, I’ve seen in on the road
I really hope that you’d get cursed or turned into a toad”
A rawr of laughter filled the hall as Jaskier walked around, settling near Yennefer for the line before walking again.
“Now here’s a little back story, of the man of the hour
He always runs from a fight, to hide away and cower
A talentless wastrel— who panders to the taste of the masses
Especially if your noble, so he can kiss your asses
His words don’t quite translate to the common tongue
So it’s best if he just stays quiet and says none
The songs he sings are horrible and always off key
I hope you’ll never hear them, lest you will agree
A fool and a liar and a cheater and a coward
He thinks himself strong but easily overpowered
I could go on and on about all his shortcomings
Because his life is really sad, but mainly really funny
His heads too big, nose too wide
Take fashion advice from those who died
I’ve heard him called Two Faced, and I think it’s really shitty
Not because the fact is wrong, but neither of them is pretty
Alas, it’s getting quite late, And I really don’t think it’s up for debate
How long I can sing about a man who just really, isn’t great
But when I sing this song, if you couldn’t already tell
I really wish that Valdo Marx would simply go to hell
Go to hell, go to hell
I really wish that Valdo Marx would simply go to hell”
The hall was filled with laughs and cheers. Everyone clapping along to the upbeat strums; Eskel and Lambert were especially loud with their cheering and yelling, singing along as Jaskier repeated the last two lines of the song over and over until he finally drew it out for one last time.
“You’ve all been a wonderful audience, all I ask is that you sing this song wherever you go, and if you ever run into Valdo Marx himself, tell him Jaskier says hello.”
Jaskier gave a bow before heading to Geralt’s side, halfway sitting on him and the chair and picking at his food.
“I didn’t know you had such a side to you.” Geralt laughed slightly. “A song for a man you hate?”
“A catchy song. No doubt people will be singing it come a week’s time.” He took a small bite of food. “Nope. Still can’t taste it.”
“It won’t be sung if it stays hidden away in the keep.”
“Don’t you worry your big head. I’ve already thought a way to get word out.”
“Oh?”
“Let’s just say I owe Yenn a favor in the future.”
***
There was a sound, like the crackle of a fire, and then a puff of purple smoke. A letter had fallen on the desk in front of her.
She didn’t recognize the seal on the envelope, but the moment she saw her name scratched on the front, she knew exactly who it was from.
“My dear Priscilla, how have the days been treating you? If I’m right, you should have received this letter just after dinner. I’ve many things to share with you, but first I need your help. Attached with the letter is a copy of a newly written song—”