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Geralt wasn’t sure why he was so willing to go to Oxenfurt when for all of his previous life he tried to stay away from the artistic city. He had spent the winter tucked safely at Kaer Morhen, the Witchers Keep, but found himself longing to return to the Path. It wouldn’t have bothered him if it was about wanting to protect everyday humans from harm, but it wasn’t. Geralt wanted to return to the Path because Jaskier had promised to travel with him in the spring.
So, Geralt made one pit stop to take a Noonwraith contract which he dealt with, then he continued on. Oxenfurt smelled horrible, the sewers making it almost impossible to subject his nose on anything else. His ears picked up sound after sound of odd creatures in water and moans coming from behind closed doors. The music, however, was also there. He just didn’t like any of it because it wasn’t Jaskier’s lute or voice.
Geralt had his hood on and hair pulled back in hopes of not drawing attention to himself. He didn’t want to be attacked in the city, so he figured that he could quickly find his bard and be on his way. That notion was put aside when he caught a glimpse of the streets of Oxenfurt. It would take hours to find Jaskier. It would not be a simple pitstop. So, he paid a small fee to stable Roach and went further into the seedy grasps of the city.
Geralt wondered if he looked menacing. He was a fairly tall and thick man, especially compared to humans. He bet the large black cloak and matching dark attire didn't help. He probably looked like some sort of thief. He shook his head as he sniffed the air. He needed to focus.
An hour later, Geralt had heard whispers about a tavern where Oxenfurt alumni played at. Geralt chose to go there. As soon as he stepped into the bar, he was greeted with bashed scents all mixed together, but one stuck out. He had found Jaskier. Geralt prepared to march up to the bard but stopped when a laugh filled his ears.
Geralt managed to order an ale quietly as he watched Jaskier with a small group of people. One of the men was Jaskier, and the other was a man taller and much more flamboyant. The women looked nice enough as well, song lyrics pouring out of their mouths with their notebooks and ink scattered around the table they were seated at.
Jaskier said, “Priscilla, honestly, you should take the job. You won over Valdo's horrid performance–”
“Hey!”
“Shush up,” hissed Jaskier, though there was no true bite. He turned back to his blonde friend. “You should take it. The Haywire Court is wonderful and great for a first-time gig. I could only hope to be offered a position like that one day.”
“Offered?” questioned Priscilla. “You were guaranteed a spot in Cintra’s court for the love of Melitele, but no, you had to go and find your muse before you reached your destination. The Haywire Court is nothing compared to Cintra’s.”
“I much rather have a wondrous muse than be stuck in court.”
The man, Valdo, interrupted with, “Most people like the damn courts, Jaskier. It’s good money, usually with free food and a room included.”
Essi chimed in, “I think Jaskier should do what his heart desires. If I met a muse that could make me write the kind of lyrics he did, then I’d turn down a good court job too. Muses can be so fickle…”
“You are both clearly insane.”
“Just because you can only write garbage–” Jaskier cut himself off when he caught sight of Geralt. His wide, cornflower blue eyes landed on Geralt’s figure with hope bursting within him. He instantly stood up and waved, calling, “Geralt! Geralt! Get over here, you lout!”
Priscilla hissed, “Don’t talk to random strangers. That dude could fuck you up.”
Geralt stood up. He took his ale with him and slowly made his way across the floor. He heard the table of Jaskier’s friends muttering more things about odd characters as he arrived at a stop.
“Geralt!” greeted Jaskier. “You made it.” His grin was impeccably wide.
“Hmm.”
Jaskier rounded around the table and patted Geralt on the shoulder. He announced, “Friends, this is Geralt of Rivia, my fine muse. Geralt, these are my friends–”
“Wait,” gasped Priscilla, “this is the real one? It’s not just some muscular dude that you thought was the witcher– it’s the real deal this time?”
“Of course, he’s the real deal. Geralt, this is Priscilla, Essi, and Valdo. We are all graduates of Oxenfurt, though Valdo barely scraped by.” Jaskier pretended that Valdo didn’t make a face at the revelation.
“Jaskier,” said Geralt, “are your bags packed?”
“What? What bags?” demanded Valdo. Geralt noticed the man looked just like Jaskier did, with the whole peacock thing going for them. “Jaskier, you can’t be going on the road again.” Geralt could smell the fear that the man had, but it was filtered out with anxiety and nervousness.
“I thought I told you all that I’d be gone after winter,” said Jaskier. He turned to Geralt to announce, “I have everything packed, even my beautiful lute. She’s waiting in my room.”
“Then we should leave,” huffed out the witcher.
Priscilla spoke, “You’re not going to wait until tomorrow? At least let Jaskier play his rounds. We’ve all been waiting to see the great White Wolf in person.” Geralt smelled fear off of her but it wasn’t very pungent.
Jaskier beamed at the idea. He instructed Geralt to sit down. “I’ll do a quick run down of my best witcher-themed songs. We can leave in the morning.” Geralt didn’t dispute it. He couldn’t, when the bard happily ran to get his lute.
“So,” said Essi, an oddly calm voice coming out of her mouth in spite of the fear he could sense. “You saved my pal’s life last year.”
Geralt hummed. The atmosphere turned tense around the table, nothing like it was before. Geralt didn’t understand why Jaskier stuck with him when he had courts to perform at. “I did.”
“What is it like being a muse?” asked Priscilla. “And a witcher? What’s that like?” She seemed very curious, but Geralt didn’t answer, even as the questions kept pouring out.
He was saved when Jaskier returned. He held his lute in the sky like a prize. Upon the sight, those in the tavern cheered and turned quiet. Jaskier, basking in the attention, started his performance. Geralt was surprised to hear new tunes about a few of their adventures together. He thought nothing that happened last year was particularly ballad-worthy.
Then, Jaskier announced his last song. It was Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. Geralt expected people to think nothing of the lyrics, but that didn’t happen. Valdo summoned enough courage in himself to pull down Geralt’s hood to reveal his hair and therefore his identity. Then, while singing “a friend of humanity,” Jaskier walked by and brought all of the attention to him.
Geralt through that would be the worst of it. It was not. For the rest of the song, people in the bar started to throw their coins at him. Priscilla ducked down while Valdo used his hat to catch a few and lay them on the table in front of Geralt. Essi hid behind Geralt’s large form as the coins rained down. At the end of Jaskier’s performance, the tavern was in a cheery mood.
Jaskier sat back down at the table, his face lit in amusement as his friends had gathered up Geralt’s coins. There was a small heap of them on the table. Jaskier grinned and Geralt knew that he had lost some sort of bet. Geralt thought no one would like the songs, yet here he was.
“Now, dearest, we may think about leaving,” he said. Geralt got up, pushing the coins into a sack with the rest of his money. Jaskier waved goodbye to his friends, “I’ll see you all soon.” They didn’t believe him.
That night, they slept in Jaskier’s bed. It wasn’t a tight fit at all, but it was different from the inns and bed rolls Geralt remembered. He breathed in the scent of the room deeply, wondering how a space could smell so good– so Jaskier. Then, once Jaskier was asleep, he hid his nose in the bard’s neck and fell asleep.
The next day, they set off in the early morning. Jaskier was so very chipper and giddy that Geralt considered speeding up Roach so the bard would tire out, but didn’t. They reached a town mid-day and called it good. There was a contract, after all.
Jaskier secured an inn – an accommodating inn that welcomed them both – while Geralt interviewed the people around town. He had talked with widows and those that discovered the bodies to come to the conclusion that the monster was definitely a necrophage, but the details were too broad to get any further.
The sun set for the twilight to begin. Jaskier stood next to Roach, safe on the road away from harm, as Geralt descended into the darkness. Geralt heard the thumps around him. The beast sounded large and hungry. He came upon an abandoned campsite. There were only the remnants of old blood. Every drop of those who were previously there were gone– eaten. Geralt breathed in, then out. All that filled his nose was death.
Fighting the Graveir was a quick experience. The Graveir wasn’t very smart. They craved human flesh and bone, but they were brutes and often dumb. The Graveir’s attacks were simple and easy to predict. Geralt slayed the beast and sawed off the head. He took out a cloth and wrapped it around the head before returning to Roach and Jaskier.
Then, he heard it.
There was a gasp and a yell. Roach’s neigh of alarm didn’t bid Geralt over. Geralt dropped the clothed head and ran. He entered upon Jaskier kicking off a smaller Graveri, though it still looked to be the size of Roach. The bard was small and minuscule compared to it.
Geralt focused and cut off the Graveir’s head. Before the body collapsed on Jaskier, he pulled the human away quickly. Jaskier’s quick but steady breaths made Geralt relax. The Graveir plopped limply in front of Roach. The mare simply snorted and shifted her head away from it.
Jaskier breathed out in relief, “You came back. Thank Melitele’s tits, Geralt! I was too caught up in your safety that I wasn’t paying any attention–”
Geralt raised Jaskier’s arm. He saw the faint lines of claw marks on Jaskier’s underarm. That wasn’t good. They’d get infected easily, even if it was just a scrape.
“Come,” ordered Geralt. He led Roach forward.
Jaskier trailed, the shock overtaking him. “My dear Witcher, what was that? It was huge. I suppose it’s small in comparison to others, but it was larger than anything I remember seeing so up close. Is it a normal occurrence?”
Geralt huffed out, “Graveir.”
“Graveir? Truly? I’ve not heard of it.”
Geralt knew. Ghouls were much more populated and well-known. In simple words, he explained, “Energized ghouls.”
“Ooo, very scary. I don’t think I like Graveir’s, darling. I didn’t like the ghoul’s from last year either. Is it a necoro– necrophage thing, you think?”
“It’s common sense,” he barked out.
“Ah,” Jaskier pointed at him with a knowing look, “you’re trying to get me to think. Okay, so, ghouls are obviously bad. All monsters, let’s say, are bad. Therefore, it’s not just those considered in the necrophage class. You’re very smart, dear Witcher.”
Geralt put Roach back into the stable and yanked Jaskier inside. Jaskier yelped at the sudden pull. Geralt took his water skin and yanked at Jaskier once again. Jaskier muttered about Geralt’s bruteness as the witcher then poured water over Jaskier’s arms.
“What are you doing?” asked the bard.
Geralt hmmed. He sorted through his saddlebag, happy when he brought out a metal container. He twisted the cap off to reveal a salve. Geralt researched salves during his time at Kaer Morhen in the library. Making it was simple enough, most of the ingredients easy to come by. He spread it across Jaskier’s arms where the Graveir managed to claw the human at.
Jaskier realized, “Oh, you’re healing me.” Tears threatened to fall from Geralt’s kindness, but he got himself in order. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Geralt huffed. “You need rest. Go to the inn. I’ll slip in later.”
“But Geralt–”
“I need to go back and collect the contract’s heads in order to be paid. You need to rest so we can leave tomorrow for the next contract.”
Jaskier held Geralt’s gaze. It turned into a staring match– one that Jaskier couldn’t win. The bard heaved out a large sigh and drawled, “Fine, but I won’t be happy about it. I expect you to join me in bed soon, got it?”
“As if you won’t be asleep like a brick when I get in there.”
Jaskier began to huff, puff, and stutter at the false claim.