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Never let Jaskier trick you. The bard's greatest talent wasn't his singing, it was, and Geralt can agree upon, it's the bard's ability to beg.
Somehow, no matter how hard Geralt tries to be stoic, one looks at Jaskier with those pleading eyes, and suddenly, it is like Geralt is putty.
That is a case in point right now. "Tell me again, why am I here again," Geralt asked.
"Because, dear heart, you're doing a favour for your best friend in the wide world," Jaskier replied with a rather large smile across the bard's face. When Geralt let out a sigh, Jaskier countered. "Besides, I need a buffer for my family, and you can use a break from all your witchering."
See, Jaskier had recently been summoned back to Lettenhove for some family business. For whatever reason, Geralt let himself be talked into coming along with the bard. It didn't take long for Geralt to start to regret his decision.
For starters, the Pankratz family was a rather large family—a seriously large family. If Geralt was being honest, he had seen a family of rabbits smaller than the Pankratz family. The next point was that the Pankratz family was also nobility, making each of their relationships a tangled web of absurdity and complexity.
The road to Lettenhove was long, winding, and much to Geralt's dismay-filed with words.
"I just think," Jaskier said for perhaps the thirtieth time that hour, "you should have at least some idea of who you'll be charming over dinner."
Geralt grunted in response; Jaskier took it as encouragement.
"Right, so starting from the top. My father, Count Roderick Pankratz of Lettenhove, is very serious. Wears a cravat even in the bath, I swear to Melitele. He disapproves of nearly everything I do, including you, so try not to scowl at him more than necessary."
Geralt said nothing and scowled slightly.
"Then there's my mother, Lady Isadora. Now, she adores me but firmly believes I should have married a duchess and started breeding heirs like a prize-winning stud. Don't bring up poetry or emotions; gods forbid me being a bard."
"And yet," Geralt said dryly, "you're bringing me."
"Well, yes, because I need someone to absorb at least some disapproval."
Geralt shot him a sidelong glare.
"Next is my eldest sister, Clarimond. Married to Viscount Edric of gods, somewhere unreasonably foggy. She hates cousin Theobald because he once called her embroidery 'rustic. She also hates me, but that's more of a sibling rivalry." Jaskier had to pause to catch his breath before talking more. "Don't ask about her children unless you want to hear a thirty-minute soliloquy about teething."
Jaskeir took another deep breath and gestured expansively to the countryside as if the rolling hills were relevant. "Then we have Uncle Aldert, no title, just old money and a penchant for gambling. If he asks you to invest in a vineyard in Nazair, say no. He's been starting a vineyard since I was ten."
"I'm not giving anyone money," Geralt muttered.
'Good! That's the spirit. Now, cousin Ottile doesn't ask me how we're related, something to do with a baroness and scandal involving a nun- but she's delightful. Just don't mention dogs; she breeds them. She can talk for hours about the merits of brachycephalic skulls."
A pause. Jaskier blinked, then looked sideways at Geralt. "Are you keeping up?"
"Vaguely."
"Perfect. We're halfway done."
Geralt. Stopped his horse. "Halfway?"
Jaskier turned to face Geralt with a grin that was just a bit too wide.
"Oh yes. We haven't even gotten to the twins or Aunt Ermentrude; she insists we call her Lady Peony now- or Cousin Ambrose, who may or may not be plotting to poison his brother over a disputed inheritance. Honestly, I don't even know who's in the will anymore. There was an incident with a goose and a notary…"
Geralt sighed loudly and nudged Roach forward.
"If I survived this weekend," Geralt said, "You owe me a barrel of mead and a month of silence."
Jaskier gave him a mock salute. "Deal. But you'll thank me. My family gatherings are never dull. The last one ended with a duel, a disowned second cousin and someone getting accidentally engaged." His optimism about the upcoming events was palpable.
Geralt didn't respond. He was too busy mentally preparing for the real monster: Nobility.