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Jaskier was in some backwater town that surely needed some happy tunes. He already paid for a bed for the night and prepared to do a quick run at the tavern for some extra coin. None of his plans ever seemed to work out. He was halfway through a song about the White Wolf being swallowed by a Kikimore when he was asked to stop by a man who looked out of breath.
“You’re the Witcher’s Bard, yes?” asked the stranger. He seemed to be under quite a bit of stress, red-faced and struggling to get his breathing under control.
“I am, kind sir,” confirmed Jaskier.
“There’s a witcher at the inn. He won’t– bard, he won’t leave. We’ve done everything but kick down the door. He’s already been here for 3 days– 2 days overdue. We’re a busy place and I can’t afford to keep an unpaid room open.”
Jaskier took out his pouch. “It was 9 coins a night, correct?” Jaskier deposited 30 coins into the man’s hand. “I’ll investigate.” He packed his lute away and waved at the barkeep to not serve him anymore ale.
Jaskier left his lute with his bag in his room, then he ventured into the inn. He knocked on the door that the innkeeper led him to. When there was no noise, the innkeeper sighed and wished Jaskier luck at getting the witcher out. Jaskier knocked on the door again. He twisted the doorknob but it was locked. He took in a deep breath then took out a small set of long metal instruments from his boot.
The door creaked open a minute later. He knocked on the door again but the witcher still didn’t answer. He was met with the sight of an unconscious, bleeding witcher that was laid out in an awkward position. The man’s hand was stretched towards a bag but it appeared it had passed out before he could reach it.
Jaskier checked the witcher’s pulse. It was slow for a human, and even more so for a witcher. Jaskier was used to how fast Geralt’s heartbeat went. This witcher’s heartbeat was even slower, which he took as a bad sign. Jaskier sucked in another deep breath as he lit a candle to give more light than the cruddy window was letting in from the sun.
He worked on the witcher’s armor first. He undid every clasp before slipping it off. From there, Jaskier pushed the man’s shirt up. The wound was large but luckily it seemed to be dried blood so it was healing somewhat on its own. Jaskier took out a water skin and washed the grime away so he could get a better look at it. By doing so, he revealed multiple deep gashes.
Jaskier was sure he’d have to stitch the witcher up. Geralt liked to say they could heal just fine on their own, but that was a load of bull. It took a lot out of a witcher to heal and Jaskier was going to help it along. As Jaskier cut away the shirt the witcher was wearing to search for more injuries, he saw the medallion. It looked like a bird, so he guessed he was dealing with a Griffin.
As Jaskier went down to his room to get supplies to sew up the witcher, he recalled how Geralt had explained the Witcher schools. There were different categories of witcher, with every school focusing on a certain style. Most witchers were killed off but a couple of each school probably still roamed the continent. For example, Cats were more agile and acrobatic compared to the Wolves.
He returned to find the witcher the same as he left him. Jaskier put his needle over the candle’s flame as he got the thread ready. The stitching would take a while. He breathed in and out slowly as he did each stitch, eventually settling into a pace. Jaskier warmed the needle in between different places of stitching. When he was done, he set the needle down and looked through the witcher’s bag.
There were no potions except for something that was definitely not one he’d seen Geralt carry, or if he did carry it Jaskier had never seen Geralt use it. However, Jaskier did see a familiar metal round. He opened it to reveal a healing salve that even he knew how to make. Jaskier lathered the wounds in the salve. It was a handy thing– it worked on humans, witchers, mages, and animals. Geralt always packed extra for when Jaskier would get hurt.
Happy with his work, Jaskier packed up the witcher’s belongings. He even added a couple of extra coins into the witcher’s bag because it seemed quite low. It also didn’t look like the witcher had a horse so that was nice. He didn’t want to hunt down and figure out which horse was the witcher’s horse. He blew out the candle in hopes that the witcher would rest well.
Just as he stood up using the bed to help him fight gravity, a hand grabbed ahold of his arm. He yelped in surprise at the strong grip. It looked like the witcher woke up.
The witcher slurred out, “Wha’ did ya do?”
Jaskier stared at the hand gripped around his arm like a vice. The witcher was still not in a good way, then. Jaskier patted the witcher on his cheek with his other hand. The witcher groaned but his eyes focused on Jaskier. The grip on Jaskier’s arm lessened, much to the bard’s happiness.
“Hello, dear Witcher. I stitched you up so be careful. Don’t move too much.”
The witcher ignored Jaskier. He slowly sat up, thankfully, but regretted it as he assessed what happened. The witcher looked down to his bare chest and tattered shirt.
“I can explain that,” said Jaskier.
The witcher didn’t look amused. “Who are you?” he asked in a calm tone, as if he wasn’t just slurring his speech a moment ago.
“Jaskier, bard extraordinaire at your service.” Jaskier poked at the witcher’s injured side. The witcher’s eyes squinted in pain. “What got ya, love? It looks terrible.”
“A– a Striga, I think.” The witcher sighed as he laid back down. “It was a tough one. I had just fought off a group of Drowners before I came across the cursed girl.”
“Was the contract for the Drowners or the Striga?”
“The Drowners. They had no idea that a Striga was out in the night.”
“She put up a fight, it looks like.” Jaskier ran his fingers along the stitches. “You need to be careful. It doesn’t look like you have the right potions–”
“I don’t. I’m headed to… How do you know about our potions?”
Jaskier leveled his eyes with the man as the grip on his arm became tight again. “It’s, like, common knowledge to me at this point.”
“I… you are strange for a human,” said the witcher.
“And you are too handsome for a witcher,” the bard responded. He tilted his head to peer at the witcher’s figure. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Oh, uhm, I’m Coën. Your name was– your name was Jaklen or–”
“Jaskier, like buttercups or dandelions. It depends on where you’re at, truly. I respond to many names, but Jaskier is what I prefer.”
“Jaskier,” echoed Coën. “You’re a good human.”
Jaskier grinned happily. “You’re a good witcher, too, Coën. I’ll talk with the alderman to make sure you get fair pay.” he stood up, and thankfully the vice on his arm slipped away. “How hungry are you on a scale of ‘I could eat a horse’ to ‘I will eat a herd of cows?’ Also, ale or water?”
“Water,” said Coën. “And lots of food.”
“You got it, my dear.” Jaskier slipped out of the room and back to the tavern. He was met with the innkeeper. “My kind sir, the witcher has awoken!”
“He’ll leave?” asked the man in a giddy tone.
“I did pay for tonight, but I’m sure he’ll leave in the morning. He had quite the tussle, I’m afraid. The contract was for the Drowners, yes?”
The barkeep nodded their head towards the innkeeper and Jaskier as they served up two ales to them. “Bard, the Drowners were horrible. Took my ma’s dog by accident instead of her. I’ve never been so grateful for the mutt.”
“I have it on record that the Drowners were cleared out completely,” announced Jaskier. He received small smiles from those that could hear. “And, he said he ran into a Striga.”
“A Striga?” repeated the innkeeper. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Jaskier prepared to sell the horrid story behind such a creature. “A Striga is a sad thing, I fear. Did a young woman die within the past few months or years?”
“Jolene did. Kietra as well,” said the barkeep. The innkeeper agreed with a nod. “That’s all, though. We’re a fairly small community.”
“Did one of them have a lover, and did either of those girls get buried into a sarcophagus?”
“Boy, did you already know about Kietra?”
“No, sir, I’m laying about how a Striga is created.”
“Kietra was the Striga? She was a kind girl, bard.”
Jaskier hummed softly. “From what I know of Striga, while they are human, they are cursed in some way so when they die along with their unborn child, the child is left in a place – such as a sarcophagus – they have time to think and stew about how much they hate. Then, when the moon is at its brightest, they come out and attack.”
“The witcher went to fight the Drowners on the full moon,” whispered the innkeeper.
The barkeep sighed. “That’s a shame. Kietra was a good person, too. She got the flu– that was her downfall.”
“I wonder if Jolene will be fine because she was buried in the ground. I also don’t think she liked anyone around here. Always talked about going to a city.”
Jaskier let them get their ducks in a row before he said, “The witcher is very hungry now that he’s awake. I’ll pay for the–”
“On the house,” announced the barkeep. “The alderman might not want to give fair pay so it’ll be on the house.” He disappeared into the back, presumably to make Coën’s dinner.
Jaskier finished his ale just in time for the food. He bid goodnight to the innkeeper and bar keep before he brought the dinner to Coën. His only put stop was filling up two water skins, one for himself and one for Coën. He knocked on the door before entering.
Coën was now sat up, propped against the wall. He took in a deep breath at the sight of nutrition. Jaskier plopped it in his lap. Coën began to eat right away. Jaskier then laid the water skin next to the witcher’s thigh.
“If you need anything, I’m just below.” Jaskier stomped his foot for emphasis. “You’re cute, so I’ll rush to your side. Just be sure not to do anything irrational. I’m not sure I can stitch you up while you’re awake.”
Coën took a pause from eating to ask, “You’re not trained as a healer?”
Jaskier snorted. “I should be, with as many injuries I’ve patched up. I’m not, though. I just seem to have bad luck. Or perhaps good luck, considering I met a beauty such as you. You’re a fine catch, dear Witcher.”
“How often do you get injured?”
“Too much, if you asked my best friend. Honestly, I think I do pretty well for myself, but I’m not about to argue with him about how he gets injured more often than I. He’s stubborn– more so than any other being on the continent, I imagine.”
Coën hummed. “You’re still strange for a human, bard.”
Jaskier shrugged as he took a swig of his own waterskin. “Be safe out there, sir Witcher. I paid for the night, so you’ll have no problems with the innkeeper. You should get as much rest as you can. Those injuries would be fatal to a normal man.”
Coën choked out, “Sure. I’ll just not move for a week.”
“Don’t act coy with me. You’ll be ready in the morning to go off to your destination. Your wounds already look better.” Jaskier stepped closer. The stitches helped guide the healing and they were already halfway closed. “Sleep well, dear. Again, wake me if you need anything else.”
Jaskier hummed a tune about a griffin and girl who met under the moonlight as he prepared for bed after learning that the tavern had rallied a group to make sure the alderman paid Coën a good price for his work. Jaskier watched the moon rise into the sky as he strummed a melody before packing his lute away. He then wondered if he would make it to Oxenfurt before the snow got any worse.