Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Established fic
Small!Brown!Female!Reader
Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.
TW - canon-typical violence, description of fighting, blood, gore, swearing, sexist language, description of injury

Jaskier had grown used to Geralt's constant pining for silence, his rumbles of discontent and years of “shut up” and "fuck off" while he plucked away on his lute and let melodies fall from his lips. Though he knew that under all the furrowed brows and bitter growls, the witcher appreciated him.

Truth be told, coin had often been halved, quartered or suddenly 'stolen' away from lords, knights and nobles alike rendering them incapable of paying the witcher even after monsters had been slain...that is until the ballad had started to follow him like flies after shit. Since then, some noblemen would actively seek him out for any twig crack in the woods to then invite the trio to a throwaway dinner party so they could show off the white-haired champion if they caught word of him within three towns.

Naturally, he resented the very idea of lingering about these people any more than he already had to, being talked about, sung about, danced about, treated like some sort of trophy workhand for these tittering idiots. And of course, Jaskier leapt at the opportunity to perform for the more rosy-cheeked, satin clad crowd, and you often just went along with whoever won the squabble, enjoying either a night of Jaskier singing atop a table in a tavern or atop a table in a banquet hall. (Though the latter often left you with a heftier rattle in your pouches and warm beds, baths and linens for a few more nights.)

How you would have wanted that a few months ago.

About six months earlier

It was bound to happen sooner or later, travelling with two men and often having to settle for a bed on the ground. Not that you often minded, but that night, after a longer than necessary altercation with a couple of alghouls, you had crashed into your bedroll, not bothering to clean the blood off your face let alone off your arrows and out of your clothes.
You woke that morning to aching bones and a musty stench you wanted to be rid of as soon as possible.
The grass was dewy and sweet-smelling as you turned to the other side, letting the sun stroke your cheek good morning. You saw roach tied to a nearby tree and had concluded that your companions had wandered to the next town for supplies. You had been running low on a good few essentials for a while now and were grateful that your companions had let you slumber away, knowing you didn't fuss too much over anything they would get from the market.

You opened your pack and grabbed two lumps of soap before heading to the river that had lulled you to sleep that night. The first, a dry lye soap made simply and quickly, good for getting "blood, shit and grit out" as Geralt so elegantly put it. And the second, still wrapped in wax paper, the last few crumbles of a soft, fragrant lavender soap you had made yourself. You had saved so many dried flowers from where you could, hung and dried them on the side of your satchel, scraped the bottom of vials clean for drops of various oils into your little bottle, olive, sunflower, even a little of Jaskier's special coconut oil. Cooking a soap over the campfire was a waste of wood in Geralt’s eyes, but you could tell the soft scent calmed him as it wafted through the air that night.

You smiled to yourself as you finally stepped into the river, the edges warmed by the kiss of the sun.
You peeled off your trousers and walked further in, letting the water lap at your thighs growing used to the cold quickly. Rubbing the soap into your trousers, you watched as the blood slowly swirled out in front of you and saw as your fingers started to go from angry splotches of red and black back to that natural, warm brown. Your shirt stuck to your skin and hair, caked crimson. After all this time, you still could not believe how much things bled. Your mind flashed back to the alghouls from last night as your fingers worked through cleaning your formerly beige overshirt.

It should have been easy. Just two. You were only there to watch how Geralt wielded his sword for a few, usually weak opponents. His silver sword heaved thick strokes through the air, his feet danced around his opponents and you let your arrows loose from afar, aiding your friend as another got too close for your liking. The specially made silver tips slicing through skin and bone, causing a shriek. It turned and caught another arrow in its shoulder, bounding toward you. Frantic, you simply held out your next arrow in your hand, ready to impale it as it drew near enough. But you froze. Was this one of the ones you had to get in a specific place? Drive it through the heart? The head? Why was it still running? Surely two silver arrows should have been enou-

shhhlllck

Geralt unseamed the creature through it's abdomen from behind and drew his sword up and through it’s head as its blood gushed over you and the last few gurgles escaped what was left of its throat as it crumpled before you in a horrid mess.

"You're too slow up close. It would have had you."

He was right.

As talented as you were with a bow and arrow, able to get a man in the eye from half a field away, your experience with close combat was laughable. Usually, you had time to think, plan out your shots, you didn't even have to deal with blood until you retrieved your arrows. You probably would have had your face ripped off. Or your throat torn out. Or something.

You place the sopping shirt next to your trousers on the bank and scurry back with the lavender soap in your hand. Once you've thrust yourself back into the gentle river almost chest level, you start to hum a soft tune, trying to ignore the murky red all over, instead focus on the light scent of lavender and the gliding of the soap through your hair. You close your eyes and let your mouth fall open, a melody plucked from a memory now dull and faded, the sound clear and bright.

Losing yourself in the rises and falls in the melody, voice opening and notes falling out as your muscles remember what it is to have sound flow and gush from your belly out into the world. No body, no mind, no cold, no blood-

All of a sudden, a loud brightly coloured heap burst through the foliage and breathlessly plunged into the river, flailing erratically. You attempt to preserve your unmentionables with your hands, your lilting voice turning to shrill yelps. You submerge yourself lower, shoulders barely peeking out over the disturbed waves. In contrast, the intruder, exploding out of the water as frantically as he fell in, spluttering and coughing “Y/N! You can - cough - sing! You can sing!! - cough -”
Oh, thank the Gods.
“JASKIER! GO AWAY!”
“But Y/N! -cough - You sounded lovely! I-”
“I’M NAKED JASKIER FUCK OFF!”
Jaskier slapped his hand to his eyes immediately and scrambled back up the bank, stumbling as he managed to regain his footing and ran off, his back to you whilst still covering his eyes.

You had not expected them to be back so soon. Truth be told you had not known how long they had been gone when you woke but then why hadn’t you heard them coming back?
Not focusing again. Fuck! You know you can’t afford to get lost in your own head again, stupid girl. What would have happened if it had been someone else hearing a-
He heard. Geralt too probably with his enhanced senses.
Fucks sake.
It had just been so long since you had let your voice be free. You hadn’t let your companions hear you so much as hum on your travels as you were sure that it would make you come across as a silly little girl. With Jaskier it was different. He is a poet, a bard. He had been studying it for many years whereas you had pipe dreams growing up like every other lass in the village. You sang in school with a wide smile and a voice that rang like a bell, you sang on holy Fridays with fingers interlaced and the plume of your mothers rouge on your cheeks. Nothing compared to the grand halls and festivals that Jaskier would perform at. Gods you hoped he wouldn’t speak of it again. You were sure that they would take you even less seriously now.
You’ll show them
Just go back to camp and pretend it didn’t happen. Say there was a girl wandering nearby and Jaskier should go and chase her before she is lost to the woods forever.

You know that if your distractions continue, you're going to get yourself killed or someone else hurt. You know that Geralt can’t let that happen. He’ll probably drop you off in the town and wish you luck because you’ve become more stress than your skills are worth. You get it, you do.

It will just be so hard getting used to being alone again.

Your head is spiralling again. You need this to stop. You think of the meditation that Geralt showed you. You can't meditate, you're still naked in a river! Tears escape your eyes as you just can’t organise your thoughts into any kind of action. You can't run naked through the woods, you can't turn up in your sopping wet clothes, you’re no help on hunts, you’ve let your biggest comfort turn into your biggest embarrassment because you just. Can’t. Think. Straight.

“Y/N! I - I’m not looking! I have your clothes you ah- left them back at camp”

You look up to see Jaskier was inching closer, eyes covered by one hand, your dry pair of clothes draped over his other forearm. He was inching closer, his toes probing to see if he had gone too far. Once his foot had felt the sploshy bank he stopped and held his arm out. You were sure that he had not heard you cry but you didn’t want the lump in your throat to give it away. You rose out, plucked the clothes from him and he promptly scampered off, one hand still across his eyes for some reason. You let out your breath, finding it had slowed due to holding it in for so long.You wrung out your hair as much as you could before flinging your trousers and shirt on with shaking hands. You were sure you could sleep right on into the next day.

At camp-----

Jaskier had fumbled back to camp, drenched and squelching till he could hear the soft wooshing of roach’s breath. Geralt was sat, sorting the things they had brought from market.
----------
Jakier was stumbling giddy from when he had first encountered the river, his mind rushing as he made his way through the trees. That voice! Hesitant, yet rich and full and resonant. Thick with the weight of being tied inside her chest, it would take some practice to let her voice flourish and fly like he knew it could, but that was no matter! With his brief but busy year being a professor at Oxenfurt under his belt, he scoured through the plethora of exercises and scales that he had stored away. Her warm tone, he thought, would contrast beautifully with his chipper and airy voice.
In his head flashed scenes of the two writing together, performing together, studying together. Jaskier, Poet of the continent accompanied by-

“What did you do Jaskier”
The voice came firm and gruff, as opposed to the often exasperated or gentle (rarely was there anything in between) tone his witcher friend usually employed when he was addressing the bard.
Jaskier’s ear wide grin faltered as Geralt towered over him.
Knowing the flirty way of Jaskier and seeing him dripping before him, hearing the shout of “IM NAKED” and honing in his ear, he was presently hearing the soft gasps of Y/N, he could not help but draw himself to conclusions, knowing that human men, even those whom one trusted could turn to be worse than the monsters in his quests. When the fathers and trusted lovers of innocent women could turn as quickly as the page of a book, what was a loose and often unashamed bard that he happened to know for a few years?
He grabbed the young man by his soaking collars
“What the fuck did you do”
Somewhere between a growl and a roar, the words seethed from Geralt as he heard Y/N’s sharp breaths mix with sobs she was trying to silence.
After that night, he knew his small friend would need some time. They had both been exhausted, his head pounding from the potions he had used, he didn’t speak much to her apart from some abrupt criticism after the last alghoul was taken care of. He didn’t know much about teaching or guiding, or comforting for that matter, but he figured letting her sleep in would do no harm and he had bought some apples for her to feed roach. That helped him. The thought that she should be thrust from one horrid altercation to another at the hands of his first companion filled him with rage. These thoughts raced through his head while he attempted to decipher Jaskier’s words through this sudden wave of protectiveness.

Jaskier was chuckling, almost about to pat his massive friend on the head like an overreactive hound,
“I fail to see why you’re so wound up, dear witcher. I simply sought to find the source of the singing, and it turned out to be Y/N! Marvellous isn’t she?”
“Why are you wet.” Geralt demanded.
truth be told, he was so used to hearing Jaskier’s voice or lute, he simply dumped the noise into that category. Thinking back, it was different. Still musical, but different. Jaskier’s sound seemed to sit on the wind and flit and glide like a bird while this new sound was earthy, full, round, blending with the flow of the river and almost raw, coarse and slightly unsteady like a horse that had run for the first time out of market.
“I was simply mesmerised, Geralt. " he sighed, sagging slightly in the bigger man's grip " I was convinced it might be a water nymph, that I might catch it, steal some ideas for melody and- and then let the poor thing go of course, but”
“Why is she crying Jaskier”
The girl’s sobs had subsided slightly, but her breath was shuddering and shallow. He knew when she got like this, it was hard to get back down. He had expected it sometime today but usually, he could smell the fear rising, notice the scrunching up of her small frame, and make sure the trio were alone, quiet, ready.
“Crying? Whatever do you mea-”
The focused and worried look on Geralt’s face clicked in Jaskiers’ head and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him
“Oh gods, shit. Shes alone. What do I do Geralt? Can you hear her?”
The stream came pouring out his mouth as he paced around the camp, his eyes landing on a pile of neatly folded clothes.
“ Jaskier go back and give them to her. Slowly. She’ll come back in her own time”

Geralt listened intently while Jaskier went to return the garments. It surprised him that the sound of his younger companion trying to catch her breath like it was a feather in the wind was the same person who had made such a pleasing sound not very many minutes ago.
It stopped.
He couldn’t hear her breathe, but Jaskier was calm. He heard the rustling of clothes and the damp footfall of the bard returning. He turned his attention back to her again. He was afraid that after the episode, holding her breath would cause her to topple back into the river. Stupid. He should’ve thought of that beforehand. She didn’t. Strong lass. He heard her breaths less shallow as her hair dripped and her clothes were back on.

He was reassured now and started to take out the apples from the small fruit sack.
“Well if she was crying, she isn’t any more” stated Jaskier, almost reassuring himself that his clumsiness couldn’t have hurt his friend.
He proceeded to look for his woollen blanket, laying it out carefully, waiting for his friend to return.

Chapter Text

TW (for this chapter) - descriptions of intoxication (mild?)

In the days that followed, Geralt had not mentioned the river incident during training. they never talked about the episodes. He had caught glimpses of you practising your sword strokes in the mornings, caught onto the way you counted your steps, moving with a rhythm that was rehearsed and almost musical. But combat was not like music. Far from it. you could afford to take your time and be meticulous when conducting your bow and arrow, however, swords were rarely so forgiving. You miss a beat, you die. Even so, he supposed, you were coming along well. 

To say Jaskier was having trouble containing himself would be an understatement. He was practically bursting at the seams, wanting to hear the warm tones of your voice again. He had been told by Geralt that the alghoul hunt had shaken you, and understood how letting your voice free after Meletile knows how long would have felt. The yearning and relief in your voice had touched him in his bones and memories of performing for the first time after sickness, or a bout of dejection rang in his head. Though he supposed the longest he had ever gone without uttering a full bar would have been less than a week. He wondered how hard it must be for you to keep your passion locked away, suppressing it if you felt in any way like he did when singing. He had met milkmaids with voices sweet as honey who could care less that they could carry a tune, tavern keepers with brassy voices thick and golden as the ale they served that only sung to watch the clock tick to close. But he knew you felt the sound you created cradle you, the way your eyes were closed, the glimpse of your wistful sways, basking in the safety of the melody you were singing, his only regret now being that he cut your comfort short.

You had been undoubtedly back to your usual, chipper self for quite some time now, and he reckoned that after almost two days of silence on the issue (prescribed by Geralt) you would be shifted by a little persuasion.

The bard began to strum a well-known tune, one he knew everyone on the continent had heard. One he often used to gauge where his pupils were starting in his single year at Oxenfurt. The unperturbed original version was chock full of melisma, dynamics, and sung in off-beats before being simplified for children to be taught in schools. This inevitably led to those children singing it in their playgrounds, and when these children grew, sung (in the loosest possible sense of the term) in pubs late into the night; losing all semblance of its former beauty. the memory of the thudding, syllabic, droning chorus sung over and over made Jaskier cringe. 

“Geralt, do you know this one?”

your ears perked up at the familiar words, but the melody was something more developed and bouncy, much more pleasant than the veritable chanting you had often been subject to when tucked away at the back of a tavern.

Jaskier’s voice flit about the words like a spring bird, you payed close attention to the way he controlled his breathing and projected so effortlessly, beauty added to the song you knew so well made you smile.. That is until you felt the bard jostle up to your shoulder, “surely you’ve heard this one, Y/N, come on, I could use a harmony!”

He continued, drawing out his vowels, giving you space to come in, but you shrank away. You knew that he would not have forgotten the unwelcome experience by the river, but you dared hope over the last few days. 

“I dont know how to do that, Jask.” you muttered. He could sense that you had started to close up, but he felt some gentle coaxing and encouragement would bring you out of your sudden shell. Unfortunately, Jaskier’s definition of gentle when it comes to things like encouragement is about as akin to the word as a frog to a bird.

“Well, as you may know, I was a professor at Oxenfurt’s school of music, and i can assure you that within this very hour, we will be singing harmonies to make Meletile herself weep!  Here’s your note, young protege” He sang this last phrase, letting it ring so you could catch on. 

You attempted to shoo the bard away, pushing out a chuckle and putting on a polite smile so as not to offend your eager frieND. It’s not that you didn’t want to sing with him, it’s just that… well, you couldn’t. You were no stranger to harmonies at all, being able to work them out for your small group of friends who would run off to sing behind the schoolhouse at every spare moment, the parts clicking neatly into your head like the nock of an arrow to the taut string of your bow.  You could almost see a harmony like a road winding along a melody and remembered the warm resonant feeling when your voice blended with another perfectly, listening as if you were one entity, blindly trusting your voice to take the right path. Over the last few years, one of your frustrations had been that while traipsing over the continent on your own, singing had kept you somewhat sane, it just irritated you that you could hear a lovely harmony along in your head, yet you could not sing two parts at once. You supposed you really did miss it. Maybe-

These thoughts must have passed in a flash as right then, Jaskier was hooking his arm through yours quite alarmingly, his step falling into a lively jig;

Somehow he kept his breaths even and the sound still flowed out, unobstructed, while you were pulled harshly out of your thoughts. 

"Jaskie- hey, hey! Stop! I don't know what you're talking about, okay?" You shook the bard off, not meaning to come across as harsh, but you couldn't help it. He shrugged off your rejection and marched off, no doubt to prod at Geralt now.

You didn’t want this to be a thing. You had been without singing for quite some now and were sure that you could live without it. You had people who cared about you again. Jaskier would give you the food he left over, let you borrow his blanket when you were cold, he would always try to be making you laugh and would pick you flowers from the paths you walked. Geralt would always look back to check how you were, he let you ride roach when you were on your bleed and your legs felt they were going to fall off, he was a veritable wall when it came to standing between you and danger.  Why would you need to sing to yourself like you were still a child? It was time to move on. That couldn’t happen if you started going along with Jaskiers sudden obsession with being a duo. It was soon to blow over you were sure. Just have to wait it out. 

You lagged slightly behind and listened from a distance. You let yourself focus on the thought of having some proper food and a warm bed soon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Geralt’s shoulders dipped slightly as the three horseshoes tavern came into view, the amber glow spilling out of the windows to the dirt street softening the nip of the brisk night. He pat roach on her shoulder as they neared the front of the tavern, leading her to the right while Y/N and Jaskier made their way into the warmth of the tavern, the stables waiting for the chestnut mare. He led her into the small pen, dismissing the stableboy with a wave. He proceeded to check the bedding was dry as roach set to touch the nose of the horse in the next stall. He slowly undid the buckles of her saddle and undid her reins as she took a long drink from the trough within the stall. He had become fond of this tavern during his travels, watching it grow from a horse stop to a pub and then an inn over the many years. The swell of the chorus to "Toss a coin” gushed through the walls and Geralt knew he was to be greeted with an uproar when he entered. He let his mind drift as he pulled out Roach’s brush.

He wasn't to keep Y/N waiting very long, but he thought she may appreciate a moment to herself. He let his mind wander a little as he brushed roach before leaving her for the night. He had noticed how Y/N would clam up at the mention of her accompanying Jaskiers musical endeavours. He wondered why as, as far as he could remember, her sound was not unpleasant at all. He remembered the way she had snatched herself away from the conversation earlier, holding onto her arm like she was cradling herself. Geralt picked up little signs of discomfort in his… well… friends, he supposed. Jask would become less verbal and more softly musical, he would hold his lute, often slung on his back when not using it, to cradling it around his front, as if constantly mid-song. Y/N would let her thick hair down as if she could hide away behind it, hold her arm, and often trail a ways behind the two if they were on the path. She had taken to slipping behind him, actually, and ushering Jaskier to her side, using the broad witcher and her tall friend as a sort of wall between her and the world if they were places where there were people or if she felt one of her episodes coming along. Not many words were needed, to Geralt’s convenience when it came to things like this. He was glad that the girl had taken to trusting him, though he still only knew snippets of her past. (Though he knew that a lot of her information on him had come through the bard’s songs.) Still, there was a mutual understanding between the three that was pleasant and unperturbed. That was until Geralt had realised that she had effectively been shutting herself up when it came to singing. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal if he was honest. Jaskier certainly wasn’t afraid of it. He had observed over a great any years people who would hum to themselves while working, walking, and the like. Ladies in brothels and pubs warbling over the bustle, even if they sounded more akin to banshees than sirens (that some would claim to share blood with, for extra coin) mothers singing to their children out before their houses… in fact… if he tries quite hard, he thinks he recalls a soft melody… something with long, sad words in front of a wooden arm chair, fingers running through his then... brown curls, he thinks.

Roach has had enough of a brushing.

He makes his way into the tavern, the smell of ale, sweat and stew making the air thick and heavy. A swell of patrons surrounding the table Jaskier was is currently perched upon raise their tankards in his direction “WOOIIIIII(WAHEEYYY)”. He urged the corners of his lips to a slight curl and gave a nod in their direction. The Trio’s arrangements for the night had not yet been set as geralt harboured all the coin for the moment. He would have to keep Y/N waiting a moment longer. 

After the alghoul hunt, geralt had a hefty jangle in his coin pouch, initially from the coin of slaying the beasts, then some more due to the fact he had been able to sell some marrow at the same market he had got the apples from Roach. 

He paid for two rooms that night - a room with two beds and a room with one. He felt that it would be nice to treat Y/N with a proper dose of privacy through the rocky last few days.

The trio usually bought a room that had two beds and took turns sleeping on the floor. Geralt rarely slept, opting to meditate instead and when he did, he insisted that he had never been used to the softness of a bed, and it was enough that he was out of the cold and rain. This had led to many occasions where he might not have paid for a double bedded room in the first place, the youngest of the three ignoring him and placing her bedroll over the floor that he would be forced to take the bed, the witcher stubbornly placing his bedroll on the other side of the room that she would wake up during the night and take the bed, and sometimes Jaskier joining them on the floor simply because he enjoyed “camping indoors”.  

Making his way to the back of the tavern where Y/N was, he heard the opening notes to “toss a coin” once again, he supposed that they would toss more if the bard subject was within the room. He caught Y/N eyes, reaching to finally unbutton his dark cloak, she had reserved a relatively secluded booth at the back of the tavern, her bag strewn over the table as to show she did not want company, her arm draped over her drink and her eyes… glassed over?

“Geralt! Come sit… there’s space”

She tugged lightly at his sleeve as he came to sit down resting her head on her arms atop the wooden table. 

“We came here to eat and sleep Y/N” 

“But you and Jask drink!” she whined “Besides’ve only had one… pint… before this one...yeah”

In the few months they had been together, Geralt had never seen Y/N drunk, she would often help Jask nurse his drink if she hadn't any water left from her pack. Even after a successful hunt, she would turn down Geralt's offers of buying her a pint. He always thought it was because she had never actually been drunk, it would have made her extremely vulnerable travelling alone all this time, and he figured that she had not done so around him because she was afraid of what they may think of her, what she may be like, the net removed to catch her thoughts. Needless to say, he did not expect this tonight.

“ Y/N you’re barely five foot and you’ve eaten what today?”

“Hey! I’m almost five foot two, andI’vee eaten just about enough of Jask’s horseshit about singing to last me a lifetime”

So that’s what this was about. 

“Hmm...he thinks you sound good. Do you want meat or potatoes?” he tread lightly.

“M’not hungry. I dont sound anything. I haven’t sounded anything for ages.” 

“Hmm”

~~

The girl nibbled on a few potatoes from Geralt's plate, electing to ignore her bowl of meat, now leaning back, clutching her tankard close to her chest. Odd. 

Jask had taken to playing toss a coin in an insatiable loop, the patrons of the Three Horseshoes not seeming able to get enough, the clink of coins coming in a wave every chorus -

“He wipe out your chest… something.. Pest.. friend of humaaanity.. Hmm hmm hmm rest…”

Y/N’s eyes were closed, a soft smirk on her lips as she leant back in the booth, her voice trailing along the words of the song haphazardly still sounding...nice. Geralt decided not to comment, the song having a somewhat fresh flavour coming in clumsy slices from his smaller companion.

“Pour him some aleeee... ” geralt was fast to react, catching the girls wrist, the drink sloshing over the side of her mug. 

“Let’s go up.” he’d had enough of the bloody song for about three lifetimes.

He ushered Y/N through the tavern, her pack slung over his shoulder. 

Jask caught his eye as they were walking slowly through and he was...glaring? Geralt was just about done with indecipherable emotions and was glad he’d get a moment to himself before the bard came up to their room if he had not chosen to go and chase some poor lass.

Geralt was practically pulling Y/N up the stairs as a mother cat does a kitten, her feet all but failing her on the creaky wooden steps 

“Harmnising.. Mmmfghsnn cocky...teach me...I can bloody harmonise.. din’t evennn go to ..to Oxenshite…dn’t need to be bloody taught..mmff”

“You sound nice.” geralt had certainly let his tongue loose tonight; it seemed fair as he wasn’t sure how much Y/N would even remember and that she had also let her voice loose before him, if not completely of her own volition.

“m’not nice geralt.. ’ve killed people.. Let people die-”

“You have your own room tonight.” he hastily added, he did not need her mind wandering down that path in this state. Gods, he knew it would be a hole to climb up out of especially if she were to spend the night alone. Maybe he would take the room, perhaps it was a mistake to- 

Y/N’s weight had shifted into his side “ you’re nice.. Jask can pay for my druddy blinks..his fault ‘nyway..druddy blinks”

They had finally reached the room, Jaksiers voice floating up towards them

“Lovely ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have had enough excitement for the night - a final round of applause for our dear protector!  A soft ballad now, ladies and gentlemen, to ease us into this splendid night” 

Geralt pushed the flimsy door open (he was glad to be just next door) and Y/N practically threw herself onto the bed, letting out a sigh.

“I know this one” she mumbled, legs still dangling onto the floor, eyes closed.

The witcher set her pack down at the foot of the bed and went to shift her so she could get under the covers as she started to sing along, loose ribbons of sound falling in a pleasant heap. Again, he decided not to comment, drinking in the sound to make up for having to be the only one dragging through this night completely sober. Her voice lingered on the notes a moment more than they fit, words being replaced by simple mm’s until a soft burst of a familiar phrase came through. She sighed as the covers of the bed rest just below her chin, he could still see her foot wagging along to the ballad as he clicked the door shut.

Finally sitting in front of the fire in the room he would be sharing with the troubadour, he started to meditate, focusing on the wood beneath his knees, the warmth on his face, and the thrum of the voices below and beside. There had been a shift - Y/N was no longer walking along the same note as Jaskier, her voice was gliding somewhere lower, the sound slightly more deliberate than a moment before. The unsteadiness he heard in her voice reminded him of his first swordstrokes after wintering in Kaer Morhen. Hesitant, yet sure. Afraid he had forgotten everything yet trusting his muscles to carry him. He could not decipher the words from her mouth, but every note, however wavering and reluctant fit with the clear bright sound of Jaskier beneath. The witcher felt he could hear the lumber of the tavern resonate with the emulsion of the two, he let out a deep breath, almost feeling the wood curve to him. 

~~~~~

In the lower half of the Three Horseshoes, Jaskier had watched till the pulsing crowd before him grew sparse as he announced his wind-down. It was a good night for coin on his part, and he could've made even more, singing out till the sun broke through the wee hours or the innkeep shooshed him away. However, he wished to retire with the rest of his troop. Especially since he was to give geralt a hearty piece of his mind when he arrived. This town had clearly seen much of the witcher over the years, pleasant mumblings with Geralts name instead of witcher and butcher had littered through the tavern when they entered. Rare, but welcome. They even cheered him as he came through the doors!

The muscle memory of his calloused fingers started to fade as he neared the end of the song, added a few musings of his own since he could not entirely remember the lute score, he landed gracefully on a perfect cadence, his voice waning away. 

There were 4 people left before him now, a young couple, nuzzling at each other in a close booth, the innkeep and a young maiden sat cross legged well nigh his feet. He figured he would have chased after her was this some other night, her pretty blonde curls cascading past her shoulders. However, the bard needed questions answered and his bones ached from sleeping out in the cold for the better part of a week. 

“Ladies and gentlemen” he started, hushed, much less declarative than earlier on “it has been my absolute pleasure” he held his hand out to the girl on the floor and raised her up, planting a feathery kiss on her fingers “to sing for you tonight”. He straightened himself up and strode out the room, not turning to see the remaining patrons’ reactions to his somewhat hasty departure, however much he had tried to wrap it in a neat bow.

He passed the stairs in a flurry, and spotted a room with the door ever so slightly ajar, Geralt’s way of showing him what room they were in, had he not the chance to disclose. Jaskier figured Y/N would be asleep by now, and so his anger would have to be quite silent. Since seeing geralt lead Y/N up, he had felt the red hot emotions bubble up inside of him, however much he hid behind soft songs, words and kisses. 

“Geralt! What the fuck!” his whisper harsh and piercing “she sang?! She was singing?! Next to you! What did you say? What did I do wrong? Answer me geralt or I swe-” 

“Listen” the witcher's amber eyes met him with a cool gaze as Jaskier then realised that Y/N was not to be seen in the room. His mind slowly registered the single word and the bard perked slightly when he heard a soft, round sound seeping through the wall.

“She said she knew the song. The last one.”

Jaksier hastily pressed the side of his head against the wall, soaking up the sound. She was winding somewhere around the chorus, not all the words present.

“she was singing with you “ the witcher still knelt with his eyes closed “lower than you but.. Together”

Jask's eyes widened slightly as he began quiet ministrations to relieve himself of his lute for the night, still keeping his ear tuned to the soft hums next door.

“Harmonies?” he asked, praying Geralt may spill a bit more.

“I know nothing of music bard… but it fit. Well.”

“I still don’t understand where this came from, Geralt.” Jaskier thought she didn't even know the words to Toss a coin, but as he glanced over to the farthest corner of the tavern that night whilst atop a table, he was sure that Y/N lips were moving in unison to his, Geralt sat beside her, almost ignoring her it seemed. It just made no sense to him. Perhaps he had pressured her with mentions of his academic endeavours? Geralt exhaled audibly through his nose as his mouth twitched upwards. His version of a chuckle Jaskier supposed. 

“She’s drunk”

“D-drunk? Very drunk?? Gods - I know I upset her a few days ago, but today I tried - that is-”

"It's not you, Jask" a breathy laugh followed "she tried to throw her mead at me thanks to your ditty"

"Yes well, I suppose that is one way to take it" Jask smiled as he slipped under the covers, noticing that the sound next door had slowly crept away. "She's sleeping?" 

"Hmm." 

The men continued in hushed whispers, Jaskier coaxing the haps of the night from his friend like he would the events of a hunt he was not present for. Geralt entertained him, somewhat grateful that the story he was entrusting was not to do with monsters, blood or death this time. 

~~~~ 

The morning was crisp and light as you woke to a quiet, empty room. Your brows furrowed as your head felt heavy against the pillows. You rose, a bitter taste lingering upon your dry tongue, seating itself at the back of your throat. You didn't mean to get drunk last night and it wasn't what you expected. You tried to push your thoughts to the back of your mind and made your way hastily to the stables, grabbing your pack trying to ignore the churns in your stomach.

The morning sun flared in the clear sky, the cold air still and electric. You squinted until the canopy of the stables sheltered you. You greeted Roach, kissing your hand and giving a rub above her nose, the mare huffing in response.

"Good morning Y/N" you heard Jaskiers voice, hushed and deliberate and turned to see him holding a small wooden cup of tea 

"Chamomile. It will help." 

You sipped on the tea, sweetened with a little honey leaning against the wall of the wooden structure. 

"Where's Geralt?" You felt how raspy that would have come out had it not been for the few sips of tea. 

"On the look for some contracts, I suppose. A nice town, this. Good coin. Oh! Here," 

He handed you a heel of bread, soft and fresh smelling. 

"Thank you, Jask." 

He shuffled over to you, shoulders now touching 

"sweet tea and sweet bread, young miss. Cure of all cures. Trusty after unruly nights at Oxenshite" 

Hazy glimpses of a low rumbling voice, swathes of people chanting a song, warm covers and your own voice swimming amongst all these scenes. 

Oh good grief.

Your eyes widened at the unorganised reflections, you thought people drank because it actually helped things. Gods, never again. 

"I- uhh.. need to see geralt about… swords." You stumbled away hearing Jaskier chuckle warmly to himself.

Chapter Text

Hey yall things have been very crazy the past few weeks, my laptop is broken, and alot of things have been turned upside down for me very suddenly so the wait for chapter 3 will be a while more I'm afraid. I'm also terrified that chapter 3 is a bit too good and I dont want the final chapter to be anti climatic. Maybe I'm overthinking it a bit but thank you so much for sticking around I really appreciate all the kudos and comments yall are leaving you have no idea what an impact they make on me xxxxx
stay blessed gang xx

Chapter Text

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing.
“Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such.
“Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too.
After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago.
“Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly.
You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement
“I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes-
“She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled
"I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.."
You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4

a few weeks later?

A vampire, Geralt had briefed. You were to stay in his sight the whole time. The cave was a massive advantage, the monster would be backed up into the corner, you could turn and run easily, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel, so to speak. Geralt was sure that you could put your lessons to good use today. a swift kill for an opponent not likely to put up too much of a fight. Vampires were usually scrawny and undeliberate with their movements which is why they usually lived, hunted and fed in small packs, their attacks coming in a wild and scrambling wave.

the town due two days east had been plagued with one such creature, separated from its horde, slowly picking away at animals in the dead of night. The farmer who Geralt had accepted this contract from had mentioned that a boy had been stolen away some days ago, a gentle man, with tears in his eyes had explained that the family would be grateful to have a body or even clothes to bury after the ordeal, and that he would pay for the extra service in bed and board, with a warm stable for Master Witcher’s fine steed.

Geralt had not disclosed the second part of the deal to the group, the bloodsucker would have finished its fill of the child on the first night. They would indeed be lucky to find torn shreds of the child's clothes, let alone any semblance of a body. The two of you would be in and out, the vampire's head should bring evidence enough for payment and the teeth would come in handy for some extra coin down the road.

_____

The soft patter of rain was washed over all other sounds as the mouth of the cave loomed over you, the stoney face of the outside shined as much as it could under the sky’s grey blanket as you drew in a breath, your grip tightening around the hilt of the short, hefty sword in your hands. You almost trembled with the rush of upcoming combat, going over Geralt's instructions in a blur as you tried to recall the way your feet were to stay planted, the sword must be an extension of the self, your movements must carry you through your opponent. You had insisted on having your bow and quiver slung over your shoulder, however pressing geralt was with his words of streamlining, efficiency, and drag. There was no doubt he would have your back in a pinch, but you needed the physical reassurance of your own skillset on your back.

“- well, I want to be able to write of the first triumph of the little archer! not so much of an archer right now i suppose, but-”
“No, Jaskier. I have one more back to watch as it is. Even then, she can handle herself. It’s dark. It’s cramped. Just wait.”
“-But”

“I hear something!” you hissed. Geralt rushed to swig a yellow glowing potion, shaking his head to down the sharp liquid, when he looked back up, his pupils were mere slits, the glowing amber of his eyes blown wide and searching. He squinted in the subdued daylight, however shrouded in grey clouds it was, and huffed in the direction of the entrance of the cave, spurring you on.

You had silently hoped that you would be able to have a small diluted sip of the cat potion, human as you were, but had faith that geralt would keep sharp eyes out, and hoped you could rely on your hearing, acute from years of drawing a bow. You tried to will all our senses up a notch, the dirt beneath your feet now cakey and dry as you stepped into the cave. Just a few metres in, darkness surrounded you completely as the walls were close, Geralt hunched over in the tight space as you turned what seemed to be a corner in the cavern, the dull day's light now no help. You slowed your steps that Geralt would be somewhat closer, with the only pair of useful eyes. The stench of old blood and rot crept through as the sound of shuffling protruded through the darkness. Holding your breath for fear of retching aloud, you tread as soft as you could and leaned into the way you were walking, ready to cut down the foe when it should be found. A stifled, high pitched chittering reached your ears as you started to brush what felt like bones against your feet, the sound of the outside’s rain replaced with the buzz of flies who had made it to the remains of the livestock taken from the nearby village, the press of the floor dampened with something very distinctly not rain began to seep through your shoes. You clutched at your sword, knuckles sure to be paler if you could only see them, and the sound of a slow,wet heavy trudge made its way to your ears. You turned your head back to try and look for a nod of ‘go ahead’ you might find if it weren't for this dark, but the only thing to indicate geralt was even there was the faintest trace of breathing, his footsteps not even a whisper. Guess it was a cat potion after all. you stopped inching closer as the older man’s breath hitched the very slightest, your feet planted now firmly to the damp dirt, you ached for the snap of a cautionary arrow to indicate where the damned creature was, to shock it, throw it off so it may reveal itself to you. Geralt had moved to your side, the leather of his gloves creaking around the handle of the sword.

A sharp clang jolts you out of your hypervigilance, geralt wants to draw the creature close, making known your position to the creature by taping the side of the cave wall, letting the ring sound like some sort of bell. You wont be without the cover of the entrance this way, flailing ever so slightly less blindingly in the dark. Maybe he was waiting for you to do that. A low and aggressive gnarl makes its way to you, with deliberate footsteps- your breath hitches and your muscles tense, you step out of your side track, knowing it will be your downfall as before, thoughts rushing past you like flecks of rain, electric as your raise your sword further out and take stance-

The child. The sword must have scared him, the ring of the sword replaced with exhausted whimpers, everything falls away as you charge into the hollow, not entirely sure of the monster, but that thought shoved away as you only have the thought of the boy in your mind- you barge past the creature, the top of the creatures shoulder seeming to be at least a head above you, your sword flung into its direction as an after thought if anything, you scramble to your knees when close to the boy, hands scrabbling away at bones and gods know what else before your fingers grasp the damp remnants of the shirt he had clinging to his gaunt frame, your hands made their way to his face, the skin cold and clammy, you felt his breath on your wrists and his jaw move with a struggle to say something, anything ‘its okay’ you managed out in a breath while turning, sword in hand- you could hear geralt and the creature grappling, shit, he woudl surely have you later, you javelined the sword ever so left, it would not get the brute through and through, but nick it enough so geralt could have it. It shreiked and the sound travelled down and to the right, shock it you did with the slice through the arm. As soon as you let go of your sword, your muscles remembered their lifeline as your bow and and an arrow were shot, the same time a clean run of geralts heavier sword heard. He thought you wouldnt follow through. None of that now, the bow already slung back onto your shoulder, you turned and scooped the babe up, well, not a babe, he must have been five or six, but you felt his ribs and spine through his back, he weighed not much more than a bakers sack of flour, his poor little arms trying to reach around your neck as you lifted him up ‘ i know, its okay’ you managed between breaths. You manouvered him so that both arms were at your front and supported his head, held him close as geralt voice drifted about the cave in angry spurs, no time to take in what he was saying, you had to get the boy out.

You felt with your feet as you tried quickly as your could to leave, shouting for jaskier, praying to hear his voice, anything to lead you back to the mouth of the cave. You heard geralt ddragging the creature out, he was behind you, breathing heavaily, they way he did when he was really spent, or really very angry. not a word said, you could feel it radiating off him in his steps and the breaths he took. No matter for now. You followed his steps surely while bobbing your arms up and down slightly, hopefully of some soothe to the boy.

The grey daylight seeped in through and you were already squinting, but pickingup the pace and finally letting the stark daylight wash over you, you lay the boy on a nearby rock. Jaskier was almost speechless. Almost.

“Oh! Geralt! Why would you bring the foul thing out? Its dealt with! Surely we mustn need the coin this desper-”

If you want too eat and sleep without fear of dying for the nest 3-4 days, i suggest i sell this to someone who can do something with the wretched shit.”

“Yes… right”

You were on the ground, panting, your forehead resting on theat of the boy and whispering, “its okay, its okay,”

Geralt knew this was bad. They hadnt known for how long he had gone without, eating or drinking, and melitele knows how much blood he has had tolen from him, only making him weaker.

You hoist the boy up onto your hip,the way you used to your siblings when they were little.

Not now.
He rested against you as you slowly scooped him upland walked past geralt andjaskier, the boy is ars. You didnt want him to hear their bickering any longer.

As you walked down the path you came, all your worries melted. You had done it. Saved someone. You were bound to mess up in the process, you guessed. But he was afe, and you were to get him some help, no matter what the cost, but he wll be healthy and happy again. You hear he boys starting to trot off behind you, and it shushes their talking somewhat. The boy is coming to slow reaistation in your arms and starts to get restless. You continue to rock him, bumping and swaying slolsy as you walk, calming him slightly. Roach it starting to get agitates and tries to pull along. You start to hum a soothing tune, nestled in the back of your throat since you were young. A prayer, you remember, recited by your smother before you went to sleep, to protect you from nightmares, and whatever else there may have been out there. You fel safe in the way her voice flows up and down, devout and pure. The boy is more relaxed, almost falling asleep as you are humming and aahing.

From just far away enough, geralt and jaskier has stopped arguing, as the soft sound of your humming struck them. Each straining for a better listen, they tugged each ohe forward inch by inch. It was hauntingly beautiful, you were swaing wth the boy in your arms and allowing yourvoice to travel through the woods. Everyone settled a little after that.

If you were to stop, you would have to spend the night in the woods with the boy. If you were to trudge on, you would get hm home soon after it turns dark. Eralt wishes to go on as he could use the coin to sleep in a bed for the night.

As you get tired of carrying the child, jaskier offers to help, and you reluctantly pass him over. As you do, jaskier employs the swaying and humming method to soothe him. You realise he is borrowing motifs frm the tune you were humming not so long ago. Show off.

You finally make it to the village when the last streaks of red were leaving the sky, and you supposed maybe everyone had lost hope. Not one fire lit, not one person waiting outside for a child to return. You had to knock on the farmers door, and when he stepped out, hewas shaking.

“M-master witcher!”

“Tomasz!”

He started to shout, you werent sure he knew the words he wanted to say but he made his shock known, people starting coming our to see what all the commotion was. You felt it when the parents of the child emerged.
“Tomasz! Cried his father,

“Tomasz!” wailed his mother, and when she embraced him, she fell to the floor, inconsolable. The cotor of the tow pressed out and suggested they get him some water and light food.

The farmer thanked you profusely and insisted hat you saty, ut you had other places to go and carried on to the next town. It would be nice to settle down somewhere nice for a few days instead of trekking al over the place staying at shitty places.

When you finally arrived, you decided you were going to have a drink with the boys. After geralt had put roach away and you finished all the lovely peppers you were given by the farmer for the mighty steed, you head in and sit where you found jaskier.

“There is no way im singing for these people. They are absolute hooligans. I guess the last crowd has skewed my standards.”

You chuckled and slowly, geralt emerged, a little more colour in his cheeks from the warmth. He huffed as he sat, and bowed his head a moment, exhausted, before perkingup and asking, “ how do you rest again?”

“ with three pints of mead, the real flowery stuff, not that wheaty farmboy honey, two loaves of warm bread and good cheese.” Jaskier instructed.

“One loaf, farmboy honey. Were not all Viscounts, show horse.” geralt smirked as he left, coin in hand.

“Grumpy man.” jaskier sighed, as he leant into your shoulder for effect. He gotcomfy and you realizedhow much your body ached. You looked forward to havinga bellyfull ofbreda and mead to warm you up.

Wasntlong before geralt had returned, carrying the drinks ona tray, assisting the bar maid who brought the loaf with a grin.

“ weve gota room, a big bed and one of us can roll.”

“Geralt! Must you always be so egregiously tight-fisted?” as geralt sat down, looking exhausted, “Madam, i shal be paying for a room with three beds, if you must, bring a bed from another room and i shall compensate beautifully.”
And with his silver tongue, you were all settled and warm after the bread and drink, with a fire in the room soothing your bones.

When the moon was full and casting a cool light onyour face, your features twisted and turned, a nightmare plaguing your sleep. Geralt shotup at the sound of struggled breathing. It stirred jaskier and they whispered, panicked in the dark.

“You go to her!” geralt hissed
“ what am i gonna do, sing her a song?!”
“ ill scare her, you can be soft.”

Jaskier rose and crept towards, a hand on your sweated brow,
“ come now, young sparrow,stop all this fretting, there there, he said as her scooped up your head to come into his lap. With his right hand in your hair, and his left hand rubbing your arm, he began to hum the melody he had hear you sing before.

You all slept wonderfully that night.

THE END!!!!

OMG im sosorry for thewait, life has been hectic and thishas just been on the back burner. hope you are all well and i am indeed still writing! more fics to come so stay tuned lovelies!