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English
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Published:
2025-06-10
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1/1
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Left Unsupervised

Summary:

Geralt and Jaskier are in town for a bardic competition. Surely leaving his bard at the inn while he goes shopping won't have any consequences.

Lambert and Aiden are just passing through. Surely leaving his Cat at the inn while he goes looking for a contract won't have any consequences...

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

A low whistle cuts through the din of the market. Geralt hums softly, too quiet for the merchant whose wares he’s perusing to notice, and reaches up to tap as if idly against the awning’s nearest support. A few moments later, a shoulder nudges against his, and a familiar gruff voice says, “Hey, pretty boy. Didn’t think I’d run into you this far south.”

Geralt hums and leans briefly against the newcomer in greeting. “Jaskier has a competition.”

“No shit? We’ll actually get to hear the bard warble?”

Geralt glances sideways at Lambert. “If you want to hear a couple dozen other bards first. Might want earplugs.”

“I might, at that; why the fuck the Grasses had to give us perfect pitch I do not know but it is fucking annoying.” Lambert grins. “Still! That’ll be fun. Guess we’ll stick around for a few days.”

“We?” Geralt asks. “Your Cat?”

“Mm-hm. Left him at the inn. Where is your bard, anyhow?”

“At the -” Geralt pauses, frowning with a sudden thought. “Which inn?”

“The Crooked Goose,” Lambert says, eyes starting to widen. “Wait. Did you -”

Geralt nods.

“So your troublemaking bard and my crazy Cat are -”

“Oh shit,” Geralt says, and abandons his effort to find a decent pair of secondhand trousers. He’s heard enough stories about the mischief Lambert’s Cat gets up to that the idea of him anywhere near Jaskier unsupervised is enough to send a thrill of what would be stark terror if not for the Grasses down Geralt’s spine. Lambert falls in behind him as he forges through the market-day crowds, both of them moving just short of a flat-out run. Geralt’s not sure what Lambert is thinking, but he’s hoping the Crooked Goose will still be standing when they reach it.

It is, in fact, still standing. There is music emerging from within - Jaskier’s lute, Geralt recognizes at once, and Jaskier’s voice, but also another voice, a fine rich tenor, joining Jaskier’s in a duet of an incredibly bawdy ballad from Toussaint.

Lambert skids to a halt next to Geralt. “Oh thank fuck,” he mutters. Geralt nods.

They venture inside as warily as if they were hunting a leshen, though without drawing their swords.

Jaskier is standing on a table near the hearth, looking wholly delighted by everything as he warbles his lines; on the hearthstones proper, a handsome man in a sleeveless leather gambeson is gleefully overacting as he sings. As Geralt sidles into a corner, the man - Lambert’s Cat, he assumes - drops to one knee and yearns towards Jaskier, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically; several people in the audience burst into laughter, and a small shower of copper coins rains down into the hat Jaskier has left out.

“Godsdammit, Cat,” Lambert sighs.

“No property damage or blood,” Geralt points out softly.

“Good point,” Lambert allows.

Jaskier picks that moment to swoon off the table into the Cat’s outstretched arms, of course, but the Cat does catch him, and he and Jaskier finish the song while staring into each other’s eyes adoringly. The audience applauds uproariously, and another shower of coins lands in Jaskier’s hat. The Cat swings Jaskier onto his feet and they both bow to the crowd with nearly equal flamboyance, and then Jaskier spots Geralt.

Jaskier being Jaskier, he immediately strikes up Toss a Coin, and the Cat, godsdammit, starts singing along and encouraging the audience to join in. Geralt does his best to meld with the wall behind him. Lambert cackles at him until people start throwing coins at him, too, and then tries to hide behind Geralt in bewildered consternation.

“Wonderful people! Finest audience a bard could want!” Jaskier cries once the song is finally over. “Come and see me again at the Fifteenth Annual Bardic Extravanganza tomorrow and overmorrow - for I mean to win first prize!”

There’s a wave of general laughter and good cheer, and most of the taverngoers return to their ale and meals; Jaskier comes skipping between the tables, beaming, as the Cat gathers up the hat full of coins and follows grinning in his wake.

“Geralt! Look! I made a friend!” Jaskier carols as he reaches them. “Oh! And so did you! Hello, handsome stranger! What big arms you have!”

Geralt has the delightful experience of seeing Lambert at a loss for words. Behind Jaskier, the Cat is snickering wildly.

“My brother,” Geralt tells Jaskier, keeping his voice as expressionless as possible. “Lambert.”

“Oh, so the good looks are a family trait!” Jaskier says brightly; Lambert makes a sputtering sound like a tea kettle coming to the boil.

“I look nothing like him!” he hisses.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the Cat lilts. “Something in the nose, maybe?”

“Definitely, or perhaps the eyebrows,” Jaskier agrees. The Cat slings an arm over Jaskier’s shoulders and grins brightly at Geralt.

“So, White Wolf, should I start running?” he asks, a tension to his shoulders that belies his easy stance.

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him. “You Lambert’s Cat?”

“Ah - well, yes,” the Cat says, looking slightly taken aback, and offers a hand. “Aiden.”

Geralt takes it, gives Lambert a sidelong look, and smirks. “Lambert says you’re the best man he’s ever known. Pleasure to meet you.”

Aiden’s jaw drops. Lambert makes a glorious garbled noise of horror. Jaskier bursts into delighted laughter.

“Geralt, my dear, have I mentioned how much I like it when you demonstrate that you are actually in possession of a sense of humor?” he teases. “Come, come, I’ve a private room, we can have dinner together and I can see if all my practice dragging stories out of you will help me with these two.”

“Uh,” Lambert says, giving Geralt a bewildered look. “What the fuck?”

Geralt hums. “Bard,” he says, because as far as he can tell that really is all the explanation there is.

“I want a bard, Lam,” Aiden says, giving Lambert very good pleading eyes. “There’s a whole passel of them in town - can we steal one?”

“No,” Lambert says firmly. Jaskier begins towing Aiden through the tavern, hopefully towards the promised private room. Geralt nudges Lambert to follow.

“Just a little one?” Aiden asks plaintively over his shoulder. “Pocket-sized?”

“No,” Lambert repeats, rubbing his forehead. Geralt suppresses a snicker.

“I can recommend a few who might enjoy being stolen!” Jaskier puts in brightly, pushing open the door to the private room and gesturing the rest of them in grandly.

Geralt grins to himself and takes a seat, pouring himself an ale from the waiting pitcher. As chance encounters with other witchers go, this one seems to be turning out just fine.

If nothing else, it will be good to watch Jaskier bewilder someone else for a while.

Notes:

Beta'd by my darling Rose, finest beta in the fandom.