Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dried meat you bought in the village you rode through yesterday might have been a little too chewy for your liking, but when it came to the taste—oh, dear. It was worth every coin Gerald didn't know you spent. 

You slapped Jaskier's hand, trying to sneak its way into your pouch. 

"Oh, come on," the crack in his voice could break a heart. Thankfully, you were not equipped with one. 

You put another strip in your mouth with deliberate slowness. Jaskier pouted from his horse. 

"That's rude. Imagine if I did something like that!" 

"I'd kick you off that horse," you said. 

"Exactly! So why won't you act a little more friendly?" 

"I'm giving you a chance to prove your bravery and kick me off mine." 

Jaskier's mouth opened, but, strangely, no sound escaped. It was such a rare sight. You sighed. It was probably the first and only time you'd witness it in your lifetime. 

Your horse whined softly, growing impatient. You couldn't blame it. Geralt decided to get killed a good ten minutes ago, and it was slowly getting boring to wait for him.

Jaskier's mind seemed to drift in a similar direction. He eyed the muddy hole Geralt deemed a proper burial site for his stinky ass. The rope coming out of it still didn't move. 

The bard licked his lips nervously. "Do you think... Maybe he just kinda… Needs help?" 

You wheezed, startling your horse. "Please, you heard what he said. 'I'd be better off on my own!' So let's just… let him enjoy his 'me time'. Mud's supposed to be good on your skin." 

"To be fair, he said that after he noticed what we bought at that market." 

"I told you to leave that bloody hat alone." 

Jaskier gasped, fixing the ridiculously red thing slapped on his head. "It's fashion!" 

"It looks like a dog vomited it onto some red dye." 

"That's absurd! And disgusting and—Oh my God, it's moving!" 

You glanced at the hat, but to your utter disappointment, it wasn't the object of Jaskier's outburst. He jumped off his horse and dived into the slick mud to grab the rope that was, indeed, moving. 

"Damn. I'd get good coin for Roach," you muttered, watching Jaskier slide in the mud, his hat off and forgotten on the ground. 

"You could help me, you know!" he yelled, struggling to keep the rope still, let alone pull out the witcher tied to the other end. 

You looked down at your hands, so nice and clean thanks to the bath you paid for at the village. 

"Don't be such an ass!" Jaskier's voice rose a few octaves. 

You groaned, but leaned down from the horse to grasp the rope behind Jaskier. You tied it to the saddle. 

With a loud clap to the horse's backside, the rope, Jaskier, and what looked like a very muddy and very dead corpse at the end of it, were dragged for twenty feet away from the hole in the ground, to everyone's dismay. 

Jaskier was still spitting the rotten earth when Geralt moved and somehow turned onto what you hoped was his knees. The other limbs, to your limited knowledge, shouldn't bend in that way. 

"What would you do without me?" you asked, shining a bright smile upon them all. 

The string of curses that came as an answer was so creative that, if Jaskier could think of anything other than brushing his tongue off to get rid of the taste of the murky substance, he'd probably be taking notes. 

Thankfully, Geralt was too tired and chewed on to go any further with his threats. 

"And here I am, saving the day once again," you sighed, content like only the worthiest of heroes were.

Chapter Text

Chewing on the chicken bone to get to the tender marrow was what made Jaskier turn his eyes away from you, and precisely what made him look at Geralt.

Oh, it’s not like the witcher's never done the same, but at that very moment, he was involved in a more interesting task. One that offered some consolation to those brave (or desperate) enough to hope for a better future.

Jaskier elbowed you, and the bone clattered to the floor. Your fist raised, ready to rattle him, Jaskier excitedly gestured to the witcher, occupied by a bunch of very interesting people sitting by the tavern's bar.

"I smell money," Jaskier whispered with a grin splitting his face in half.

You scoffed. "You should have taken that bath, because all I can smell is your unwashed—"

"No, no, no— look at those poor fellas! They are driven mad by something that makes them quiver even by merely speaking of it, and desperate enough to seek the witcher's help, even though they clearly wish to flee from him!"

"Maybe he should have bathed too…"

"Oh, for goodness sake, have you seen the water we've been offered? Those indescribable shades of rotten yellows and petrifying greens gave me nightmares!"

You shrugged, snatching some leftovers from Jaskier's plate. "Not my problem."

The bard pushed his plate and beer away from you, torn between keeping an eye on you and the conversation going on by the bar. To his great sadness, it was too far away to make out the words.

"Of course it's not your problem," he muttered through clenched teeth, straining his neck to see Geralt better. With special attention to his hands, was he to take any money. "Because resorting to violence seems to be your answer to everything."

"It did earn me a bucket of fresh water, though," you noted, eyeing the witcher too.

"Don't flatter yourself. The time will come when you will have to change your ways and you'll find yourself with no skills to fill in the void of—"

He was cut off when Geralt shook hands with one of the men by the bar and stood up to leave. With a leap, you pulled Jaskier up and made for the exit, having one last gulp from his beer on the way out.

"Come on, boy, we've got a job to do!"

"My potatoes…"

His whines died in the crowd's buzzing voices. You had no idea why the tavern had been so full. Sure, it was the only one along the main road in this area, but anything it had to offer in the rooms was dreadful. Even the air stank of something rotten.

You caught up to Geralt by the stables. If you didn't know him any better, you'd think he’d tried to sneak out and leave you behind, and that would be very rude, considering how much your valuable companionship brought into his poor, miserable life.

A deep, tormented sigh escaped the witcher.

You patted his arm. "I know, I know. The outside air feels so delightful after that stink!"

Jaskier saddled his horse with a surprising amount of vigor and a pathetic amount of experience. The horse was not happy.

"So, what's bothering the lands this time?" You led your own horse out of the stables and checked your sacks.

"A harpy," Geralt muttered, strapping a large bag to Roach's saddle.

"Yes! I'll take my bow and—"

Geralt's hand slammed into the front of your jacket and raised you off the ground with little effort.

Your legs dangled in the air, desperate for support. The suddenly tightened collar of your jacket cut your air off. Geralt's face appeared very close to yours, with his gritted teeth so close that you felt his breath tickle your skin.

"NO. BOW." He growled out and after a moment of consideration, put you back on the ground.

You gasped, but couldn't help a smile. "Come on, Geralt. I promise I won't shoot you in the ass this time."

Jaskier squealed with joy, jumping straight to you. "You have to tell me about that!"

Geralt didn't let you start. Catching Jaskier by the neck, he pushed him towards his horse. "Pack your stuff or stay."

Jaskier's face dropped instantly. You waited for the moment Geralt turned and whispered to the bard: "Later."

You smuggled your bow along with Jaskier's lute.

Chapter Text

"Wait, what?" 

Disbelief was clear as day on your face as you took in Geralt's words. 

The forest was loud and humid, the air sticking to every inch of your uncovered skin in a wet layer. The day was slowly coming to an end, but you still had a few more hours before the sun would set. As far as you were concerned, Geralt's choice completely lacked any logic. 

Jaskier pretended to be busy with his horse, tying and untying it to one of the trees surrounding a small clearing in the bushes. He, as well as the horse, kept a keen eye on you, and even more keen on Geralt, currently very busy with preparing a camp. The bloodlusted insects were buzzing in huge hordes over your heads. 

"Geralt, you never mentioned a word about a camp. We were supposed to kill a harpy, remember? Why make a camp when you can go literally 10 minutes south to those huge rock hills and kill it when it's still sleeping?" 

Your gesture was wide, but all of you knew what you had in mind. Having taken a path used only by wildlife, you'd come very close to seeing the sandstone billowing high where the forest ended. You were on the very edge of it, and stopping now was ridiculous. 

Geralt pushed a heavy bag into your arms and patted your arm. "I am going hunting. And you're making a camp." 

"But the harpy—" 

"Over my dead body you're getting anywhere close to it. If I see you wandering off, this is the last time I'm taking you with me." 

With such dramatic words, Geralt grabbed his sword and just as dramatically disappeared into the thick bushes. You let the bag fall. 

"Hasn't he said something like that a few times already?" Jaskier wondered, leaving his horse and shamelessly diving into the bag's contents. 

"Yeah, well, he might be a little on edge after that time you got lost in the castle…" 

"You lost me in the castle." 

"I told you to stay close." 

"And then you ran!" 

You shrugged. "Survival of the fittest, bard." 

Jaskier replied with something you decided to ignore and went to one of the higher trees around the clearing. With a little jump, you got onto the lowest branch and began climbing up. Jaskier took his head out of the bag. 

"If you fall and die, Geralt's gonna kill us." 

"Then don't distract me." 

You shook off the bugs leaping into your hair and looked over the forest. The sandstone formation reached high in the south, but from your position it would be hard to see the caves so often used by harpies to sleep through the day. You couldn't see Geralt either, but he could have been masking his presence, disappearing into the shadowed forest. 

A few hours away from civilisation, the forest was alive and buzzing with creatures of various origins. Jaskier noticed that too. He wondered what might have noticed him. If he focused, he could sense hungry eyes watching from the shadows. 

He backed slowly to your tree, eyes darting to every branch bobbing from the wind. 

"Do you think there's some room left up there for me?" 

"Jaskier, you're gonna break your neck if you try to—" 

"Then don't leave me here!" 

You sighed. The day wasn't supposed to be like that, with Geralt having fun killing monsters, and you babysitting his personal headache. 

You looked down, assessing how long it'd take Jaskier to ignore your warning and start climbing. You deemed the consequences not worthy of the potential view. 

You hopped down. When your feet hit the ground, his left as he jumped at your sudden appearance. Then he was clinging to your arm like his life depended on it. 

"I think something's watching us," he whispered straight into your ear, his breath hot and uncomfortable on your skin. With a grimace, you dragged him back to the clearing and unwrapped your bow from his lute's bag. 

"You could always play it a nice song, and hopefully it'll leave us be," you suggested, unsuccessfully trying to pry his fingers off your arm. 

You sat on an old log, methodically stringing the bow. Jaskier crouched behind you, listening to every leaf move. 

"Has it always been so noisy?" 

"You'd notice more sounds if you kept your mouth shut more often, Jaskier. It's a forest. There are supposed to be animals." 

"Yeah, but you know, there's already a harpy, so who knows what else might be living out there… " 

"And that's precisely why I've got a bow," you said, reaching  for the arrows to look for any damage inflicted during the ride. 

Jaskier's lips formed a very thin, very tense line, but as always, failed to stay closed for long. "Maybe we should start a fire. It could scare some monsters off, right?" 

"Sure, and attract some others." 

"You're not helping!" 

"I'm here for the harpy, Jaskier," you patted his arm. "And since you're my lucky charm in all monster-related matters, I'm sure it'll pay us a visit soon. You attract monsters like nothing else, so you might as well prepare for it." 

Jaskier's skin turned an unhealthy shade of pale, not warmed even by the realization that hit him. "You're using me!"

"It's not like I forced you to come," you reminded him. 

"I thought I'd be safe around you!" 

A deep, pained sigh escaped you. "Jaskier… There's no force on this earth that could save you from your own damned luck." 

Chapter Text

The forest was buzzing with energy and life, but despite your greatest efforts, none of it wanted to have anything to do with you.

It may have been caused by the loud chattering of the bard’s teeth as the weather grew colder towards the evening. The horses were well-fed, and there were 3 of them, which should have been even more tempting, but perhaps whatever lurked in the shadows didn’t fancy horsemeat. You couldn’t really blame anyone for that. It was too chewy for your liking too.

Sadly, although the bard clinging to your arm was fed just as well, and had a much wider range of consumed goods, which must’ve done wonders to his taste, nothing seemed to be interested in such a rare offering.

Jaskier pulled himself even closer to you. “Why is Geralt not back yet? It’s going to be dark in a few minutes.”

“He sees in the dark.”

“But we don’t!”

“Right, sorry, I forgot he cares such a big deal about our well-being.”

Jaskier huffed in great offense. “He’s my friend!”

“It’s not that easy to hunt a harpy down, even with the power of friendship. You need to be careful when you stalk it to its lair… And hope it won’t throw you out 50 feet in the air.”

Something lit up in his narrowed eyes. “Geralt knows how not to get killed, so we should be in a rather safe position, right?”

“Of course.”

Despite your confirmation, Jaskier did not feel calmer at all.

The old trunk of what must’ve once been a huge tree made a nice improvised bench, but Jaskier was starting to feel the moss soaking up his brightest blue trousers. He loved those trousers, and loved wearing them, but at that very moment, stranded in the middle of a very hungry forest, the tiniest bit of doubt started gnawing on his consciousness. He should’ve gone for the green ones, even though the brightness of color was precisely as blinding.

Jaskier scanned the trees surrounding the clearing and the blackthorn peeking from the bushes. If it came to running through the darkness, he hoped to avoid getting tangled in the thorns.

“Keep your feet off the line.” Your voice startled him.

He looked at the arrows in a neat row around you, and at the line tied over one of the trunks’ stubs.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am. Once the arrow pierces flesh and the tree’s weight gives me a good few seconds, I’ll spike that bitch like a hedgehog. Look at the size of this trunk. We couldn’t even move it.”

“What if the line snaps?”

“It won’t. I paid good money for it, and have already used it a few times. It’s never disappointed me.”

Jaskier fell silent again although staying in that state was not in his nature. “I need to pee.”

“Jaskier, I know I’m very good at lying, so you probably think I’m your friend, but I will under no circumstances lend you a hand.”

“That’s not what I meant! I just… It’s dark… What if the harpy is already up in the air and Geralt’s missed it?”

“That’s what I’ve got the bow for.”

“Geralt said you can’t be trusted with a bow.”

“Then don’t trust me.”

Jaskier huffed, far from satisfied with the conversation’s results. He looked around once again, and gave a long glance at the stars starting to shine their way through the veil of the clouds. Bracing himself, he made his decision.

As it turned out only a few minutes later, you actually could be trusted with a bow.

The arrow pierced the chill air with a beautiful, precise arch. The deafening, and deeply inhuman scream shattered the silence as a great shadow over your heads desperately beat its wings, hurt and angry.

The harpy screamed again, and the line groaned, but held.

The trunk didn’t.

The branch snapped loudly and flew past your nose in the harpy’s trail. Your next arrows missed, barely scraping the nimble target.

Jaskier saw an opportunity, and with a lot of bravery and very little common sense, he caught the branch twisting through the air.

His joints groaned, and his scream joined the wallowing of the harpy as his added weight did very little to stop her from moving. Jaskier’s feet left the ground with an unexpected lightness that only grew to his utter despair.

“Drop it! Just drop it, you dumb excuse of a bard!” you cried until your throat went sore, but Jaskier surprised you with how long he was able to hold the branch, even tossing and turning in the air. The harpy writhed violently, trying to get rid of your arrow, stuck deep in her flesh. You made use of the rest, firing one after another when she was distracted, and some made hits even despite the poor lightning and ear-shattering screams of Jaskier and the harpy’s duet.

And then she decided to leave the clearing and took to the skies. With Jaskier.

You watched his figure grow smaller and smaller, and cursed. You had the horses, but riding in complete darkness would get both of you killed or injured. The forest was full of roots, low-hanging branches and hollows, and neither you, nor any of the horses, could avoid it.

Something big rustled in the bushes.

Geralt never knew how close he was to getting an arrow through his chest at that moment. You never told him, especially given his bloodied, dusted frame that hovered above you as he ran into the clearing, took one look around, and cursed even louder than you did.

“For the record, Geralt, you left us under no supervision and never told me that Jaskier had a very nasty habit of peeing every 15 minutes while under stress.”

Chapter Text

The night was dark and full of terrors, but as all things do, it came to an end. 

Jaskier sniffed. He had a miserably runny nose, and red scratches adorned his face as if he had a fight with a very aggressive cat. The tangles in his hair tugged on his scalp painfully, and at least a few things were stuck in the curly mass that hadn't been there the day before. 

On top of that, he had lost his shoe. 

Jaskier wriggled his bare foot at you. Just this once he was allowed on Roach in the lead, sitting back to back with Geralt. For some reason unknown to you, Jaskier declined even looking at his own horse that was now following behind yours. 

You rolled your eyes when he showed you his foot again. "Stop it or I'll spit on it." 

"It's your fault. I loved those shoes," Jaskier said, curled under a blanket. His clothes had been torn because of the events of the night. 

"Then you should've been more careful with them."

"I was, for many years! We have crossed so many kingdoms and courts together, seen such wonders and beauty that cannot be described without a tear coming to my eye, and then we crossed paths with you and it ruined everything. Congratulations." 

You leaned down in your saddle in a mock bow that, sadly, wasn't properly appreciated in the middle of a forest. You had to venture quite far to finally find Jaskier. His ungodly screeches were helpful though. 

Geralt chuckled, only betrayed by the sway of his arms. Roach, as always, ignored all of you and kept on maneuvering through the barely visible path used only by wild game. It was too narrow for the horses to ride side by side, so you were stuck with looking directly at a very unhappy, and dare you say, pitiful bard. 

He was doing his best to glare at you but all you could see were the red gashes on his face so similar to cat's whiskers. Once seen, you couldn't unsee it. 

Jaskier nudged the witcher. "I'm being laughed at even after surviving such unspeakable horrors, and you're doing nothing about it!" 

"I'm getting us out of the forest." 

"Roach's getting us out, and dare I say she'd be doing just fine on her own, as always!" 

"What do you want me to do then, Jaskier? I had warned you. As I remember, I specifically said 'there is absolutely no way I'll allow a bow to be taken with us', and what did the two of you do? Take the bow anyway. I hope you learned your lesson." 

Jaskier puffed out his cheeks. Your smile was blinding, and so he leant on Geralt's back and watched the various trees and bushes as they passed by. That deep into the forest, the plants seemed bigger and more dense than in the parts closer to human sheltering, which made sense, but was fascinating anyway. Even the narrow path seemed to be used very rarely, and parts of it had been overgrown with tall grass licking the path. 

You should be back in town by midday, and although the days were growing warmer with the upcoming summer, the branches over your heads reached high and tangled together in a wild mass of green leaves and needles. They sheltered you from the heat that, as often happened around that time of the year, was beginning to become unbearable. 

Jaskier watched the sun peek through the few gaps in the thicket. The horse's even step was slowly lulling him to sleep, which shouldn't be surprising given his night being spent on top of a tree in the middle of nowhere, a vicious harpy circling above his head until Geralt finally put an end to its existence. 

In moments like this, surrounded by beauty so ethereal that it only existed in wilderness still untouched by human hands, Jaskier was happy with the way his life turned out to be. No matter what dangers he had to face, these moments were as rewarding as they were peaceful. 

But as all peaceful moments in Jaskier's life, this one had to come to an abrupt end, and of his own doing too. 

"Guys, I'm hungry." 

Chapter Text

In the valley, there was a river. And in the river, there was food. 

Or at least Jaskier hoped so. 

Finding the right stick for a fishing rod was not easy, despite the thicket of colorful bushes blooming along the riverside. The bees buzzed in the flowers, as busy as the bard sitting on the ground, trying his very best in tying a proper knot at the end of a stick. He'd found the stick at long last, and sacrificed a button for. 

You still had no idea how a button could've been lost in a search for a stick, but assessing the set of skills Jaskier possessed when it came to sticks gave you somewhat of an idea. 

You leaned on the tree to which you tied your horse. Geralt sighed, busy with the sacks. 

"He's gonna lose an eye," you noted with a crack of a smile ghosting over your lips. 

"He'll make a ballad out of it," Geralt said. "We'll never hear the end of it." 

"Lucky bastard. If we lose an eye, we have to pay double for a beer." 

"We don't have the charm." 

A laugh erupted out of you. You'd never seen Geralt smile, but he was not grimacing for a moment and that was as good as it could get. The harpy's head was still safe in one of the sacks, kept under a blanket to protect it from the sun, already high over your heads. Roach didn't seem to mind, but Roach didn't mind most things. 

"I'm going to find a hare," Geralt said. "You can start preparing a fire."

"What about the fish?" 

Geralt glared. 

"The only thing he's gonna catch is the cold." 

And then he was gone. 

"Hey, Jaskier! Geralt said we have to make a fire!" 

The bard growled, hugging his stick in what he wanted to be a threatening manner. He looked more like a ruffled, angered kitten. Chewed on, and spat out by something bigger. "I ain't helping you do shit! And don't you dare come near me - I'm done with you, and your stupid ideas, and all the trouble it gets me in." 

"For the record, you're the expert at getting yourself in the most reckless, idiotic situations." 

"Don't you come near me!" he waved his stick in your direction. It looked like it would break in half from just that.

"Okay," you shrugged. "Then good luck, mister Fisherman. Hope you're a better fisherman than a kite." 

A rock was thrown in your direction but, to Jaskier's utter disappointment, it missed.

To make a fire, one needed a lot of dry wood, which was not easy to come by right by the river, so you decided to venture a little away. 

Jaskier assessed his fishing rod, very proud of the outcome. Insects roamed the bushes, so finding a bug large enough for bait didn't take much time. Jaskier also soon found a big rock, already warmed from the sun, at the bank of the river. The bees buzzed in the flowers behind him, and butterflies danced with their reflections in the water, and Jaskier smiled, as life was good and pure and pleasant once more. 

Things were precisely as they should have been, and so was his inspiration. Jaskier cast the rod and sat on the rock, warming his foot on its surface. He missed his shoe, but didn't do so for too long. The air was heavy with pollen and the breeze whispered in the branches and bushes, and the sun tickled his skin in such a pleasant manner that a new wave of rhymes and melodies arose from his heart. Humming to himself what he knew would be his newest composition, Jaskier closed his eyes with a delighted smile. 

And then something caught the bait. 

Jaskier started, unprepared for being ripped from his daydreaming, and with surprise surpassing his annoyance, he found a tiny, astonishingly golden fish flipping in panic from side to side as he reeled it in from the water. 

He closed his hand around it, in awe about its unusual color. His stomach growled, in less of an awe. Jaskier agreed with it. It was definitely not dinner material. 

"Well," he muttered. "Maybe something bigger will catch on it." 

"Wait!" screamed the fish. 

Jaskier fell from the rock. He did not let go of the fish though, and regretted his decision even more when it continued to speak in a tiny, squeaky voice, accented by panicked flapping of its golden tail. 

"Please don't kill me!" it screamed again, and for once, Jaskier didn't say a word. "I will do whatever you want, just don't kill me!" 

"I—... Uhhh…" 

"There is a treasure in this river, and it'll make you rich beyond all comprehension! I can lead you to it, just promise you won't kill me!" 

Jaskier's brain refused to work, and therefore he was reduced to just nodding, and promising himself to never breathe in so much pollen again. 

"It's right there, under those roots! All you need is to reach out!" 

Jaskier was reluctant to walk through the mud in the direction he was pointed towards, but he was commanded by a talking, golden fish and that left him with very little choice. 

The mud was cold under his bare foot, and even more disgusting in the one still clad in a shoe. The bush he neared was tall and thick, but not many bees wandered through its flowers. What Jaskier was interested in were the thick roots piercing the water and disappearing under its surface. 

"So, like, there?" he awkwardly pointed the slippery, cold fish to let it see them. 

"Yes, yes! Now use your hand! It's in there!" 

Jaskier leaned closer, but he couldn't see anything even mildly interesting in the wild tangle of moss-covered roots. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I've been there countless times, it's in there, I promise you!" 

The fish made sense. It must've known those waters best, spending its whole life there, Jaskier thought. 

And leaned farther to feel the mud. 

The water was cold, and it was difficult to find anything this way. Jaskier wished he could see under the surface. 

Wishes, as the wise people say, are very dangerous things to be used recklessly. They have a problematic tendency to come true. 

Something caught Jaskier's hand. And then he was hauled into the water. 

He broke the cold surface head-first, letting go of the fish, which was his first mistake, and opening his eyes out of reflex, which was his second. 

There, hidden deep into the bushes' roots and shadows, was a pile of golden scales, shining richly even in the dark. The pile stared at Jaskier and opened its very wide mouth to reveal a set of teeth. 

People can do the most extraordinary things when adrenaline hits their veins. Adrenaline hit Jaskier like a punch to the gut. 

He jumped out of the water and straight into the bank, screaming with all the might of his trained throat, and though he had no knowledge of where you ventured in your search for the wood, he found you nonetheless, jumping on you in a tumble of arms and legs, and refused to form a coherent sentence for a good few minutes. 

"Why are you so wet? Jaskier, look at me!" you forced him to face you, even though his head kept turning to the river. 

He didn't even notice he'd lost his other shoe. 

Chapter Text

The fire crackled over the wood. You had tried to find the most dry sticks and branches possible, but it was not easy so close to the riverside. Despite the bard's pleas and begging, Geralt decided that the place was perfect for the camp. 

Jaskier was far from his usual happy self. Sitting on a rock, he quietly strummed his lute, but kept glancing at the calm waters of the river. He stopped mentioning his adventure a while ago, which was not a common thing, and never turned his back to the river, which was another oddity you cared only the tiniest bit about. 

So what if the river was supposed to contain only fish. If one was unlucky enough, they might meet other creatures too—that was common knowledge and something the bard himself often made fun of in his ballads about unlucky adventurers. 

The horses were taken care of for the night. Jaskier refused to come anywhere near the water, so you were the one who braved them. The only support you received were the angry notes of the lute and neutral hums of the witcher taking the skin off dinner before cooking it over the fire. 

"We really are the only ones doing all the work here, you know?" you stroked Roach softly over the nose after tying her to the tree. 

Roach didn't answer. There was no need to state the obvious. 

A tremendous yawn almost sprained your jaw and suggested that your share of work for the day had finally come to an end. 

The end could've been nicer, you concluded, if only the meat wasn't so chewy, and the ground under your back so hard. But at least it was dry, and the fire shared a little of its warmth. The Witcher did not question it either when you decided that his makeshift bed of spruce branches and a coat looked far more comfortable than yours. He did not question it when you squeezed in under his arm, stealing more of the warmth the night had snatched from the air. 

The questions did not come either when Jaskier slid under his other arm, but Jaskier did what he always did and answered them anyway. 

"I hate bugs." 

The buzzing things rustling in the grass did not care, as they never really cared about anyone's opinion. The small, greenish lizards that rushed after them might offer some insight on the matter, but they were not asked, so they kept to themselves too. 

"I can't wait for summer," Jaskier said, his chattering teeth adding sincerity to his words. 

"It's almost here," Geralt said, voice rumbling in his chest. You enjoyed the sensation. 

"Maybe, but I'd prefer it to come before the frostbite claims my fingers. It's as close to death a bard can get without actually killing themselves." 

"It's not that bad," you muttered. 

"Says the person laying closest to the fire." 

"And enjoying the company of both my shoes, Jaskier. Don't forget about the shoes." 

Jaskier sighed once, very sadly. 

"Now you're being just nasty." 

"And you still choose to ride with us," Geralt reminded him quietly, with his arms under his head and eyes counting the stars. "Even though it's always been like this." 

"Of course I do. Where else could I catch a cold, have a heart attack, and lose my hands all in the span of a day? There's no place like here and no place I'd rather be." 

"There are some taverns with a similar amount of bugs roaming the rooms," you noted. 

"Some even have the mice, even more feral than the grass ones," Geralt added. 

"The fish might not appear so often, but dear, can they distress your stomach sometimes… "

Jaskier sighed and tucked his cold fingers under his arms. He wished there were more warmth-producing witchers around. 

"You are both horrible people," he said. "And I shall immortalize it forever in my ballads." 

"Sing about nights like this," you suggested. "It's moments like now that make the rest of it all worthy of pushing through." 

"That's true," said the poet. 

The witcher did not add anything. His breath was regular and deep. The stars lulled you gently to sleep too, wishing they could share in the warmth. 

Chapter Text

One might think that killing a harpy was as bad as it could get, but the unspoken truth was actually that selling its head was way more difficult. 

Jaskier strummed his lute from the height of his horse to both yours and the horse's dismay. You had to wait for Geralt while he dealt with the business of getting his promised money, and as time passed in front of the withering house at the end of the muddy road, the boredom, along with the sun, rose. 

You were sitting on the fence, fanning Jaskier's hat in hopes of chilling the air at least a little bit. Roach feasted on the grass on the other side of the fence. You hadn’t noticed when she got there. She refused to share any answers. 

"Do you think we'll get enough money at least for a beer?" you asked the artist and his suffering horse. The horse only snorted, pulling its ears back and considering throwing its rider to the ground. The artist shrugged. 

"They've been at it for at least half an hour by now. Either they're still arguing, which gives hope for at least a few coins, or Geralt's in the middle of skinning them alive, which results in more coins." 

"Maybe we could get another job," you mused, looking around. 

The sun had already parched wide spots of grass, painting it unhealthy shades of dried yellow. The few trees sticking out in between the houses didn't look much better. A few of them used to bear fruit, but the drought and hunger among the people took them all already. If the rains didn't come soon, the crops wouldn't suffice to feed the villagers. 

The fields on the other side of the fence were a sad thing to look at. Roach was skimming on the bordering patch of thin grass, but the rest didn't look any more promising. Whatever problems the village might have, they were all focused on the prospect of famine. Not many would care to spare any coin to a witcher. 

"Maybe you could play at a wedding? Or a funeral, if need be." 

"Do you see anyone interested in that?" Jaskier gestured to the empty village. "Because I can't see a living soul here. Everyone's roaming the forest and hoping to stack enough food to survive another day. They won't have anything to pay with, even food." 

You winced. That was true. "Looks like we'll have to hit the road again. There's another village, two days down the road…" 

The melody coming from under Jaskier's fingers ended abruptly. You frowned, not expecting him to have any objections, but in the next moment you noticed the reason behind his growing smile. 

Further down the road, coming from the direction you followed earlier, came the merry chatter of voices accompanied by instruments of varied sort. 

You groaned when the colorful crew strodded through the village, their voices booming over the empty houses.

"I know them!" Jaskier squealed and turned his horse towards the newcomers. 

Geralt walked out of the building the moment the bard was enveloped in a hug and drowned in questions.

"More bards?" Geralt groaned and walked to the fence next to you.

"Looks like it. Unless they kill monsters with those flutes."

"Last thing we need is more bards."

"And the first thing we need is some coins. How do we stand on that?"

Geralt pulled an uneasy face. You noticed his knuckles were suspiciously red.

"I'm afraid we have more bards than coins. The bastards here were not completely honest about the funds in their possession." 

Your growling stomach deemed it unfortunate. 

"Maybe we'll have more luck in the city. When do we move on?" 

Geralt eyed the bards booming with laughter, Jaskier's face flushed and more alive than it'd been in weeks. 

As if Jaskier could sense the witcher's eyes on him, he rode back, fidgeting in his saddle. "Geralt, please, can we ride with Crokus for a while? I haven't seen him in ages and we're going in the same direction anyway, so…" 

"Wait, you've got friends? Like, actual friends?" you stopped him. 

"Of course I do!" 

"He does," said the blonde man coming closer. "Although it surprises me too sometimes. My name is Crokus, nice to meet you both. I've heard tales of your adventures, I wish I had such a company with me." 

Geralt eyed the outstretched hand as if it was a viper. He didn't move, but the muscles under the tight leather seemed to tense. 

You slipped in closer on the fence, flashing your brightest smile. "And I've heard a lot about the food and drinks that never leaves a troupe of bards."

"Oh, we have something special reserved for the evening, once we make camp. You should join us!" 

"We'd be delighted." 

The road welcomed you, dust rising beneath the horse's hooves. Following the musicians at a distance sufficient to retain one's sanity, Geralt couldn't stop from glaring at you from the height of the Roach. 

"What?" you snapped at last, as the sky darkened and mosquitos began their hunt. "I was hungry. Still am." 

"We still have some cheese left." 

"You mean the one I couldn't crunch even with my shoe? Thanks, Geralt, but I think I'll try whatever they have." 

"You know there won't be much sleep tonight, though? They are only getting started." 

The bards didn't break off their singing even in the saddles, their merry crew's voices sang clear, and their melodies changed every few notes—showing off to one another. You shrugged. 

"Probably, but it's not like we're joining them for good. Unless you want to change your sword for a lute, which, by the way, I'd pay to see. But other than that, we'll part ways tomorrow anyway, so let Jaskier have his fun for now. He had a difficult past few days," you said. then laughed, remembering the circumstances that led to losing both of Jaskier's shoes. 

"He is having fun," Geralt nodded. "What if he chooses to stay with them?" 

"Well," you said, toying with the reins. "Last time I checked, he was a big boy, usually capable of making his own decisions. Besides, we often part ways and then stumble into each other again. Such is life." 

"Hmm," Geralt said. Roach agreed with a soft neigh. 

Their moods didn't change when the camp settled and the sky was overrun by the stars. Geralt stayed gloomy even when the fire rose high and cast flickering shadows over the figures dancing around it to the fast music sinking into your weary bones. You couldn't stop your foot from twitching slightly to the music and songs as you laid wrapped into a blanket, your cheek pressed into Geralt's arm. 

You watched through heavy lids as Jaskier danced on the grass, his feet bare, and his smile unfaltering as he let the celebrations consume him whole. Crokus was always a step next to him, and his companions swirled around them, never losing their footing. Despite the hour growing late, no signs of stopping could be seen.

You felt Geralt yawn soundlessly. His hand stroked your back and arm and occasionally swiped at the bloodthirsty mosquitoes. 

"He's happy," you whispered into the dark leather. 

"He is." 

There was something in that voice that left room for more words, but they didn't make it to you in time. Somehow, before you noticed, the other voices lulled you to sleep, leading you through colorful swirls of half-made concepts. 

The morning rose a few hours later. Jaskier didn't, engulfed in whatever dreams he had on Geralt's lap, clutching the black leathers. There was a serene expression on his face, undisturbed by the rays of sunshine. 

Crokus and his merry band were in better shape. They had already gathered around the remnants of the fire and prepared breakfast. 

You turned your head to see Geralt already awake. He watched the troupe with a neutral expression, but his hand was on Jaskier's back. 

The road through the forest took you most of the next day and ended way quicker than you thought. It opened onto a city circled with a stone wall, very effective for whatever usually crawled out of the forest at night. Geralt grew even more silent as you cleared the city gates, the bards exchanging warm welcomes with the guards. 

The gates were followed by a rather large area, usually used by the vendors to showcase their goods of various sorts and dubious origins, but they were already packed for the night, leaving enough space to stop the horses. The inevitable came. 

"The journey was most pleasant thanks to your company, friends," Crokus smiled. 

"The pleasure is ours," you said. Geralt was a mute figure somewhere to your right. 

"Take care of yourself," you addressed Jaskier, currently exchanging some notes with one of the other bards. 

He frowned. "Why? Aren't you going to do this anymore?" 

"I thought you'd stay with..." 

The bards laughed, their beautiful voices falling into a melodious chorus. "That wouldn't be wise." 

"Some friendships are best honed from a distance," Crokus explained, turning his horse to the left. 

Jaskier nodded as if it was an obvious truth to every bard. He watched the band disappear into the street, the hooves of their horses echoing off the buildings. 

"So… You aren't really friends," you said. 

"Of course we are!" Jaskier exclaimed with dramatic outrage, but its effect was lost as he clutched the notes to his chest like a mother and her newborn child. "Some bonds are just too great to—" 

"I think that your ego just wouldn't survive that company for long," you laughed. The expression on his face was answer enough.

"Let's go, the night is near," was the first thing Geralt said in a while. He turned Roach in the right direction. You might not have been able to see his face, but the invisible weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. 

"I know a perfectly good tavern, right around that corner." Jaskier rode up, continuing to babble about the notes he received from his friend. 

The sun bathed everything in warm reds and yellows, making the picture of the bard and witcher in front of you resemble a painting. You smiled and gently kicked your horse to follow them.