Just a Bard with a Broken Heart

February 2020, I lost my 2nd oldest brother, Luis, unexpectedly. We don't know what caused him to stop breathing but he wasn't found until an hour later, and while the paramedics were able to get him breathing again, he was in a coma for a few weeks before it was determined there was no more brain activity, and we had to let him go.

His death has irrevocably changed me, broken me. I don't think I could ever be the person I was before. And this was just under a year and a half of losing our Grandmother, two years after mom getting suddenly heart surgery, and threeish years after my dad collapsed in Disneyland and nearly died cause of kidney failure.

Then the pandemic happened and it was easy to isolate, to stay home and grieve and grieve for my brother. But it's also taken a toll, to know I didn't have a single IRL friend who could have come to my side during those weeks (this was right before quarantine mind). I had plenty of online friends to rely on, thankfully.

I've tried my best to keep on, finished about 8 certificates ranging from broadcasting to tv production to social justice. I've written for TTRPG companies and consulted for video game companies (I have a credit in Far Cry 6).

During my absence here, I had a boyfriend for a few years, and a wonderful girlfriend for too few months. Because of the panny d, and my grief, who knows if I'll ever be lucky to find someone who could tolerate me again. Let's hope 2022 will be kinder on all of us.

But Twitter and Discord (mostly game dev) haven't had the same sense of belonging as Tumblr once did. So here I am, trying again.

For whatever reason, during the early days of my grief I fixated on The Witcher. Jaskier especially. And randomly I came across a Twitter thread that was Geralt/Jaskier and I was hooked. I spent all my free time in the summer of 2020 either reading Geraskier fic or RPing on Discord and Twtich. And then I wrote fic for the first time in years, not since H50 days, back when livejournal was on its last legs.

Jaskier and Geraskier (and now holy fuck after s2 Yennskier) means so much to me, is a part of me that it's wild. So wild I'm thinking my 2nd tattoo will be of them. (My first, I'm still figuring out, as I want it to be remembrance of my brother).

It's one of the few grunts that Jaskier has actually learned how to interpret, as this particular one comes some rarely. He slows down the turning and looks towards Geralt, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that? Do you have an opinion on my lyric choices? Or do you think I should go into a trifecta of melodies?" He doesn't have to see Geralt through the firelight to know the Witcher simply rolls his eyes.

"I wonder sometimes, bard, how much of what you boast is actually truth," Geralt says instead.

"Why, everything I say has a modicum of truth! Sometimes even fully! Is there something, beyond of course the ballads I write of you where I am allowed some artistic creativity mind you, that you think I claim falsely?" He asks, not accusingly of course, but genuinely curious to Geralt's opinions. Oh, he certainly stretches the truth a lot, and he knows he has quite a big ego, but short of trying to save his own life from a pissed off husband, he's not much into actually lying.

"You're very quick to mention, and often, being a master of all arts at Oxenfurt. You're what, seventeen?"

"Nineteen and a half, actually! Plus, you should never ask a bard his age," Jaskier says, turning fully towards Geralt and forgetting about the food.

Geralt gives a huff of a laugh. "Humans," he mutters, standing to put away his gear. "Seems unlikely one as young as yourself would have mastered all the Arts."

Jaskier blushes at that implication. Did Witchers even know about the secret Art? It might make sense, since they have much longer lifespans, and Jaskier wasn't sure how long Geralt's been around. He's also more scholarly than one would think, though Jaskier learned quickly that he didn't have a musical ear.

"I'll take that as a no. So how many did you actually master?"

"No, I did! I mastered all of them like you said, I mean like I've been saying." Jaskier jumps up, still flushed but ready to defend himself. He gets halfway through listing the different Arts and disciplines and what he specialized in each when Geralt comments that the meat's burning.

"Shit!" Jaskier manages to save the food, only one side of the hares having a crispy edge to them. He hears Geralt chuckle again, and is glad the man seems to be in such good spirits for whatever reason. At least he doesn't get yelled at for ruining the food.

"Shall I go on?" Jaskier asks as he divides the food into the plates, adding some roughage they had from the previous city. It's not much, but it'll be decently tasty and filling.

Geralt shakes his head. "No, I believe you. Impressive."

Jaskier feels warm at the rare compliment. He hands Geralt his plate and sits across the fire from him. 'Well, the cat's out of the bag. Geralt knows,' he thinks, studying the Witcher as they eat. 'He doesn't seem bothered by my extra services... I wonder...'

"You know, Geralt, if you ever need anything of me, I'm very happy to provide," he says, glad that the firelight covers his intense blush at the idea. It certainly wouldn't be a hardship. "I wouldn't even charge a dime!"

Geralt snorts, tossing a few of the bones into the fire. "What if I paid you to not sing for a few days? Would you do that?"

Jaskier has no idea if Geralt is teasing or complaining, but either way he gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his heart. "You'd dare ask a bard to not do the one thing they live for?"

"Worth a shot," Geralt says into his water skin.

Jaskier, being the young little shit he was, quickly finishes his food so he can "serenade" Geralt all through the night. Or at least until he's threatened to stop.

It never occurs to Jaskier that perhaps, Geralt didn't know of the Eighth hidden Art, having never stayed around nobles longer than he needed to or they tolerated him, and never interested in such gossip.

* * *

That first year, Jaskier didn't take on very many official contracts while he was on the path with Geralt. Most would have had him stay behind and he rather be mucking it up in the wilderness than confined to a boudoir. He did take as many unofficial ones as possible, only charging enough to not offend or accepting whatever they had to barter. They weren't all "first times" ones, some just wanted teachings to improve their skills, or talking through their feelings, or experiment. Still, a lot were secretive and that usually meant having to leave first thing, so Jaskier never dissuaded Geralt of the notion that he was rather promiscuous and bedded many of a half of a married couple.

While he was positive that Geralt knew of his side profession and didn't care, Jaskier didn't really want to push it, flaunting all these "behind closed bedroom" deals when Geralt still preferred his chances at brothels. Plus, technically, Redania didn't approve of unofficial contracts, as it would sully the exclusivity and finery that was an official Companion Consort.

Jaskier was also lucky that he only had to serve one mission for Dijikstra, and it was quite easy and minor. Spreading rumors through a string of small towns was easy for a bard of his talents.

When winter came, Jaskier felt a little uneasy leaving Geralt. They still had a rough companionship, and Jaskier knew that Geralt was only barely maintaining his patience for him. While Geralt didn't promise they'd meet up in the new year, he did wish Jaskier safe travels, so that was something.

Jaskier made the mistake of not returning to Oxenfurt, thinking he'd be stuck doing petty spy shit. So he traveled quickly South to warmer climates and more welcoming courts. He felt like his "Toss a Coin" song could have been a fluke in its popularity, and wanted to keep chasing that high. It wouldn't make sense to retreat for the Winter like Geralt, and see no one. Besides, Jaskier could always compose and write on the road, and felt he was better with that extra challenge than lazying about in one place.

The mistake was this. With no official Courtly Contract that would tie him for the season, Jaskier was one of the few Court Companions who was technically a free agent. Apparently most like him would have secured something half a year in advance. Jaskier didn't want to be tied down, but it meant that Dijikstra would have greater need for him during a time when most of the Upper continent battened down for the season.

He hadn't expected to go down as far as Ebbing, but that's where the Spymaster sent him, to somewhere in Tonnere. There was a Margrave there that had specific proclivities, and was very paranoid. Even to the region's politics the man never divulged his military plans or intentions in court. But he always succeeded in what he did and for the betterment of Nilfgaard, so he was given the freedom to do what he wanted. Jaskier wasn't surprised that Dijikstra was interested or Redania itself, as they've always been wary of Nilfgaard.

He had to at least give it to the spy master, the man was very good at sending the most information in the least amount of words as possible. It wasn't hard to interpret that Jaskier would earn his lumps in this one. Even with all the details, it was plain to see when Jaskier arrived how outdated the intel was.

Jaskier again was grateful that despite being in a wholly different empire, there were some alliances and promises that were never broken or double-crossed. While there was a Nilfgaardian equivalent to what Jaskier was, apparently they were even more rare and only served the upper echelon of nobility. So any Redanian Court Companion willing to take a contract this far South was well regarded.

He'd stay until the week after the new year, and no longer. Another benefit to the magical brand that Jaskier wore, was that it protected him from most grievous injuries while he was under contract. Of course there could also be added stipulations to protect the person wanting the contract, and this Margrave ensured that he was protected from assassinations.

Jaskier stared as his brand glowed and the contract was sealed, still marveling at the innerworkings of such magic. Margrave Kelas Blamore grunted and gave a pointed look at his manservant. "I expect him in under an hour."

"Understood."

The manservant had introduced himself earlier as Alda Fryee, and had a severe kind of look, that reminded Jaskier much like the old tutors he had who more often then not watched over him than educated him. But his voice was much kinder than his appearance.

Alda waited until they were the only two in the room before speaking up.

"Dandelion, correct?"

Jaskier nodded, smiling.

"If you follow my instructions, then you should survive the season mostly unscathed," he began, looking at Jaskier's attire. "At least you were smart enough not to wear Redanian colors, but the Margrave did not request a bard for any sort of entertainment outside of his bedroom."

"Well, that was understood with the contract my good man, and while my musicality is one of my strongest skills, it is of course not my only one," Jaskier said, surprising himself at keeping his nervousness out of his voice. "I assure you I am one of the best suited Companions for the task."

The older man raised an eyebrow at that before giving Jaskier an almost pitying look. "We'll see about that." He turned and started walking to a side door, expecting Jaskier to follow, which he did. "None of your flourishment here, bard. It will be wasted and used against you. You are here because you're trained, and you're pretty."

It was the first time Jaskier was ever called pretty in such a negative light. He frowned but decided to hold his tongue, needing to learn what was expected of him after all. The intel made it seem he'd be stuck to the personal chambers acting like a proper bed mate in secrecy. Jaskier did take note of the route and casually glanced out the few windows, noting where the guards were patrolling.

"You do have the advantage of singing talent, and while I doubt you know any our empire's songs—"

"I do, actually! Maybe nothing recent or what's considered popular down here but I would never come to a country without doing a bit of my—"

Jaskier stopped when Alda turned around and got into his personal space. He held his breath.

"He will not like you speaking out of turn. It will do you no good to talk more than necessary, especially of yourself," Alda responded, voice low as if a warning to him. Jaskier nodded, gulping a bit.

"The Margrave enjoys hearing the more militaristic ballads and soldier songs, especially when the person is indisposed."

They reach a door and to Jaskier's surprise, it opens to a rather lavish looking bathing room. Much more fanciful than the rest of the decor on the estate.

"Clean yourself thoroughly, your new attire will be on the warming bench there. Your original clothes will be handed back to you at the end of your contract. Behind the partition over there are where you'll find any needed healing items."

Jaskier nodded, stepping in and wasting no time to undress. He did jump when he heard a soft groan coming from behind the partition.

"She's resting," Alda explained. "It's rare that you'll be here alone, as there's always a few servants taking their rest or bathing. Don't let them distract you, nor them. Margrave is very strict on punctuality."

Jaskier bit the inside of his lip, his curiosity and concern over the mysterious woman nearly superseding his want to keep on obeying. 'Maybe there'll be time later,' he thought.

"Is there anything else I should know? I appreciate your guidance so far, Alda," Jaskier said, giving a friendly smile to the other man, hoping that he could somehow befriend him. He figured no one would be as difficult as Geralt into getting on someone's good side. Even if it was still debatable whether or not he was on Geralt's good side.

"Margrave Blamore cares not for incompetency. And he does not like repeating himself. I also rather not have to send out more messengers for a replacement Companion."

He turned away from the manservant and frowned, feeling a weight in the pit of his stomach. He got into the baths, hissing in pleasure at the warmth of the water, wishing he could luxuriate here for the entirety of winter. Only taking a moment to relax, Jaskier did get on to cleaning himself head to toe, having been on the road the past week to get here.

He could feel Alda's eyes on him, but again it was more of an assessing kind of look. The man waited a few minutes before continuing.

"Margrave Blamore prefers women, and interested in their... responses. What he enjoys from men is how well they can endure. He will make you watch and sing, and he'll touch you as he pleases. However, he will mostly be testing your mettle, how well you can handle pain physically, mentally and spiritually. He will embarrass you publicly. But as per your King's regulations, you will be masked whenever you are outside of the Margrave's personal wing, to keep your identity secure."

'What in hell have I gotten myself into?' Jaskier can feel the rising panic. How plainly Alda speaks of what's to come does not make Jaskier feel better. He scrubs at his face, wondering how he's to get any sort of intel this way. 'Is this another twisted test?'

"Do your best not to react and only obey. If you can avoid saying your limit word, you will please him more, and he will compensate you in the end, provided you don't wrack up enough punishments before then."

"Is there, ah, any leeway, probationary period? I must confess, as well-trained and experienced I am, I still am but a few decades old."

"Considering that you are a foreigner, yes. You have a few days. You may still get punished but they won't be counted against you in the end." Alda's stoic expression breaks for a moment, looking towards the partition. "Just a boy, really," he whispers.

Jaskier gets out of the bath and quickly dries himself. He hesitates at seeing the shelves of oils and rather be overprepared than under, considering what he's learning of Blamore. Alda continues to not look as Jaskier readies himself.

"When you're dismissed, the chambers to the right of here are for your use. Your lute and other belongings will be locked in a chest there. You are not to wander beyond this wing without instruction or other permission."

Jaskier grunted. There were a few more minutes of silence as he tried to keep simply running as far the fuck away from here as possible, despite being fully naked. He took a few calming breaths and dressed in what seemed to be a sheer peasant dress. It's plain white with grey stays and a short laced hem. The shoes are at least men's shoes and in Jaskier's size.

'Embarrassment indeed,' he thinks. It's not that he hadn't dressed up in feminine clothes before, for theater and drunken fun, and he knows he's young enough to pull it off well. But it's different when the effect is supposed to humiliate. At least it's not garishly done to look like a porcelain doll outfit, but Jaskier's gotten the feeling that Blamore is of simple and wretched tastes.

Alda turns and walks out, again expecting Jaskier to follow. Jaskier only hesitates, as he looks over at the partition again.

"I wish you a full recovery and rest, my dear," he says, softly enough so Alda doesn't hear but hoping it carries over.

Just before he gets to the door, he swears he hears a whisper of thanks and good luck.

* * *

The first night was tolerable. Jaskier was subjected to critiques on his looks and general disdain of being Redanian and a male Companion. The only critiques that irritated him was when he was asked to sing his knowledge of Nilgaardian songs and how he kept missing the mark. Jaskier highly doubted it, but at the same time, he'd never sung these to anyone outside of classes before.

He was pinched and prodded and found wanting, only making a surprised yelp when Blamore grabbed his balls and yanked, wondering aloud if Jaskier's voice would ever sound like a 'man's man.' He was fingered and was commanded to masturbate to completion so that Blamore could assess his virility.

Lastly, he had to be present, not watching, as the Margrave roughly fucked one of his servant women. It wasn't until Blamore passed out that Jaskier relaxed, slumping to a crouch as he continued to keep his panic attack away.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and he bit his tongue from startling loudly. It was the servant woman, he'd later would know her name as Mellisette, and she gave him a tired smile. "We're dismissed," she whispered, slipping on the wrap around dress and tying it loosely.

He nodded and followed her out, soon finding them both back into the bathing room. Only then he managed to find his words again.

"A-are you okay? Is there anything I can do? I've tended to bruises and cuts before, or maybe—"

She put a finger onto his lips, the tired smile still there. "I appreciate the sentiment, but being spoiled when it wasn't so bad tonight, would be too much of a luxury. And you are only here for a short time."

Jaskier frowned, wanting to protest, his thoughts going back to whenever Geralt balked at any service or good that wasn't necessary.

"Come, let us wash and then I'll show you which bed is yours and sleep. I fear the Margrave has taking a liking to you."

"How could you tell?" Jaskier snorted, again following her, disrobing and entering the baths.

"He didn't whip you."

'Melitele, help me,' Jaskier prayed, hoping for strength in the coming months.

* * *

Jaskier never thought he'd thank his childhood upbringing for helping him now. It truly was against Jaskier's nature to not talk, not speak out when terrible things were going on, to not snark or stand up against authority, even supposedly good ones. He'd gone to temple school and had been punished a plenty, and backhanded by the Lettenhove staff that was more loyal to his father than anyone else. He had learned even before Oxenfurt, to get through terrible lessons by going into his head a bit and coming up with music and lyrics and wild scenarios. He knew now how tame it was all compared to being under Margrave Kelas Blamore's rule.

But he managed it, barely, so he could be continued to be the favored plaything of the Margrave, so that he could bring back useful intel to Dijikstra and curry some favor and buffer for his sisters. The worst of it, was watching the servant women receive much worse treatment than him, having to pretend it wasn't going on, to sing over their pain.

He could live with the lascivious touches cruel remarks, would prefer if Blamore paid more attention to his body than theirs. Oh, Jaskier did get marked up, from being caned on the ass and back of his thighs, again thanks to temple he had a high tolerance, or whips across his back. They were never horrible enough to warrant a proper healer to visit, but the pain lingered of course.

It took a few weeks before this whole, wild gambit finally paid off, made it moderately worth it. Jaskier was invited more and more to the Margrave's private meetings and political agendas. Again it was to be humiliated, how someone from the North was reduced to being a plaything, a piece of decoration. No one but the Margrave touched him, but they looked and sneered and made their own comments.

He sang on command, barked on command, and crawled to the Margrave's lap on command. Jaskier could easily school his expression into floating away, to not be present, which amused Blamore. It also meant that no one suspected Jaskier to be paying attention to everything that was being said.

Jaskier was no strategist, didn't care for military politics, but he grew up with a father who did. He was sure it was another reason why he was chosen for this contract. Because even if he couldn't fully comprehend what they were talking about, he could remember, and contextualize and understand enough. Most importantly, he could work it into code.

Part of his contract was a check-in halfway through his stay. A letter would be checked over and then portaled through to his contact. Jaskier wrote about being treated well, and of course laying on praise to his host and country. He also included inspired musical ballads, complete with reference notations about servant love, and Southern delicacies, and general folk lore. All but the first page was in code, made up by Jaskier and a few of his fellow Spy Companions before they left Oxenfurt. Only masters in all eight Arts could decipher it.

He couldn't of course give everything in that update, but whatever he thought was more timely and important, and hoped, despite not having a head for any of the discussions, he chose correctly. It was only when he was writing up the songs that would never be sung, did he have enough presence of mind and energy to wonder about Geralt. He didn't know anything about where the Witcher would spend his Winter, only that Jaskier wasn't allowed to follow, which, fair. He hoped Geralt was getting much needed rest and relaxation. He also hoped that maybe Geralt would've spared a stray thought about him. Jaskier doubted it, but it was nice to day dream.

* * *

Despite how everyone was used to the treatment and lifestyle of Margrave Blamore, Jaskier did manage by the end of his contract to make friends and allies. And not just among the ones he entertained with, either. But some of the cook staff, the cleaning staff, and even a few guards. The guards were difficult, having to go through a bit of hazing ritual, them thinking him too soft. He was, truly, but he also could never step down from a challenge.

It was through them that Jaskier managed to keep from losing himself. A smile here, a laugh there, a comforting embrace or teasing peck on the cheek. He created silly limericks to raise their spirits, and regaled others with stories of monsters and curses. Since he was known as Dandelion here, he was sure to keep any songs or stories known by Jaskier from coming out.

While Jaskier had been doing a brilliant job of spying, of almost never leaving Margrave's side, he couldn't quite keep up the façade constantly. Or be on alert all the time. One of the guards took a liking to him, and was soft with him, and Jaskier leached onto that softness almost immediately. He'd forgotten like in his childhood home, a servant's loyalty or friendship was never guaranteed.

The Margrave found out a week before Jaskier was to leave. The guard, Tomne, was ordered to whip Jaskier's back until Jaskier admitted that he was taken advantage of. Of course, Jaskier couldn't do that, couldn't condemn Tomne to exile or worse.

When Jaskier woke up after passing out, he was surprised that it was Alda tending to his back. He made a small pained noise.

"Shh, it'll be okay, my boy, the pain will pass," Alda murmured, using his free hand to gently stroke Jaskier's hair as he finished securing the bandages with the other. "I'm afraid a mark or two may be left, but the healer's already seen to you. I wanted to be the one to finish, in case you did wake up."

Jaskier whined, still a fog of pain and tiredness and confusion. He didn't mind having a scar, minor or not, since he had a few very faint ones from temple. But the whole punishment was more intense than he'd ever had before.

"T-Tomne?" Jaskier asked, voice hoarse.

"He had his own whipping, but he's been seen to, also, and he will only be demoted until he can earn the Margrave's trust again."

There was a hardness in Alda's voice at that, but Jaskier simply focused on the gentle hands. "You did well, Dandelion."

"I was stupid," Jaskier muttered, shifting to sit up once Alda finished. But the older man tutted at him and gently pressed his shoulder down. Jaskier didn't have it in him to protest, so he stayed on his stomach on the bed.

"Yes, you were. But no one could fault you for it. You actually lasted through your contract, dear boy, and only received one punishment. And kept your wits."

"I know certain people would say I have no wits to have stayed," Jaskier mumbled.

Alda made a noise that seemed to be in agreement. "Nonetheless, you are stronger than you look, and while you are as foolish as your age, I believe you will be paid greatly in your life."

Jaskier looked up at Alda, and again the man was surprising him, giving him such a tender look. He didn't know what it meant, not even when Alda kissed him kindly on the forehead before getting up.

"Rest now, food and water will be brought to you in a few hours time. Tomorrow, you'll be portaled back to Oxenfurt."

"But I still have—"

Alda shook his head. "I convinced the Margrave to end your contract early. Do not worry, you will be highly praised for your service."

That didn't leave Jaskier with a pleasant feeling.

* * *

The moment Jaskier entered back into his temporary rooms in Oxenfurt after giving a thorough report to Dijikstra, he crumpled to the floor. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, crying and cursing to all the living and unliving gods he knew.

All he could think about was leaving the rest of the servants there, his friends, to the cruelty of the Margrave. Dijkstra didn't care, of course, since it wasn't "Redanian citizens", never mind that Jaskier was and still suffered through the abuse.

He truly felt in over his head. He didn't want to do this anymore, didn't want to do it in the first place! Mastering the last Art was a lark! It was supposed to be some fun little merit. Maybe this is why they had that thorough test before graduating. Maybe he shouldn't have cheated it. He should have listened to Essi.

It was much later when he picked himself up from the floor and got himself cleaned, disposing of the clothes he traveled to and from Tonnere with. He wanted no more reminder, even as he felt guilt in that want.

Jaskier stayed only a week in Oxenfurt, not in any mind to mingle with old comrades and friends, or former lovers. He did see Essi, once, before he left, to assuage her that he was fine. She knew he wasn't but she didn't push. He knew the next time he'd see her he'd tell her. Some variation of it, as he feared for her safety if she knew any more beyond the contract. But not now, not when it was still too fresh, too raw.

The few songs and poems he had the energy to write while in Tonnere stayed tucked away in his notebooks. It was the only reminders he had left, but his musical nature ensured he wouldn't toss them away. While he didn't use those experiences or notes to create a new song, he did write one based on the feeling of despair at not getting out from under.

It doesn't become a hit, but it is a song that is sometimes requested on dreary days or remembrances of battles lost. That's more than enough for him.

Jaskier knows his love for alcohol comes from his father. It was a worry that his mother had, the servants too. Jaskier wasn't like his father though in the aspects he never became horrible as a drunk. No, he gained the impeccable tolerance for it, and a strong desire for it.

It's mainly why he prefers quality wines when he partakes, since they're rarer and more expensive to obtain. It helps settle him.

But from the edge quarters of Oxenfurt and out into the world again, all there is is piss poor drinks that pack more punch than flavor.

Jaskier doesn't realize how many weeks have gone by, or how dependent he's on drinks to get him to sleep or through a performance, when Geralt finally encounters him.

He'd just finished a short set at the tavern, to a total of five audience members. It was decent enough he wasn't booed off the stage or pelted with food. But the bartender still gave him a displeased look when he plunked down at the bar immediately and spent all of his earned coin on some of the stronger stuff.

Despite his alcohol fueled stupor, and not quite drunk exactly, but a near thing, Jaskier senses the big bulking bulk that sits next to him, smelling again of onion and destiny. He hears a grunt that somehow the bartender interpreted as "your worst ale please" as that's what's presented to the Witcher moments later.

"Did they refuse to let you play, bard?" Geralt asked, and if Jaskier was a little more sober, he would've been able to tell it was a playful jest.

"Worse," the bartender replies instead.

Jaskier scowls at the man. "Oi, they all stayed, innit?"

He feels Geralt's heavy and strong hand on his shoulder, practically interpreting the next "hmm" as "calm down, Jaskier." It nearly has the opposite effect, but with Jaskier's mercurial mood, he sighs instead and slumps down.

"I hope you had a good winter, Witcher?" Jaskier asks, hoping to deflect the topic from himself.

"Hmm, noisier than normal," Geralt responds. When Jaskier turns to look at him, he can see the faint curl of his lips.

"Whassat mean?"

Geralt takes a sip of his ale instead, temporarily making a face at the terribleness of it. "Someday, maybe, I'll tell you."

Jaskier's too into his head again to take the bait, instead resting his forehead on his crossed arms on the bar. Even though Geralt's presence and company should have had him soaring to the skies, it doesn't quite have that effect. Though Jaskier is grateful the other man didn't decide to leave straight away once he saw Jaskier.

There were a few minutes of silence, Jaskier assuming Geralt was still attempting to drink down the swill as he was attempting to keep from panicking anew again.

His thoughts were swirling around the fact that Geralt would've done something. Wouldn't have let the cruel games the Margrave did to go on. Would've saved the girls, risked his life. For all of the short time Jaskier had known Geralt, lesser than he'd even known Essi, Jaskier knew a few things that were ironclad. Witchers had feelings, Geralt cannot not help an innocent when its in his power to, and that Geralt indeed could hurt.

"Do you know if they still have available rooms?" Geralt's voice rumbles as Jaskier hears him stand up.

"I uh, got the last one. They're having the spring festival in a day or two," Jaskier responds, slowly pushing away from the bar. "Lucky you, it's a double."

He stands and turns to head towards the stairs, but he's drunk enough to not be stable, and it takes a quick reflex from Geralt to not fall on his face when he stumbles against a pulled up floorboard.

Jaskier curses while Geralt leads him to the rooms, surprisingly being patient enough with Jaskier to wait until he mumbles "that one".

Immediately, Jaskier goes to the bed by the window and flops down on it, groaning loudly. He can hear Geralt settle on the other side of the room, unpacking his gear and unloading his armor.

Halfway through, Geralt finally asks what's wrong.

Jaskier rolls onto his back to stare at the dilapidated ceiling. It's been near a month now and thousands of miles from Tonnere. It's still eating away at him, but maybe if he can talk to Geralt, and if it means the end of their whatever this is, then at least it would be for a good reason.

"I took a contract... In um, Nilfgaard."

"Hmm...."

"Indeed."

Jaskier both wants to tell him everything in detail, just to get it off his chest, but that was unfair to the Witcher. It wasn't like they were actually friends, and Jaskier knows he's still young and very stupid and naïve to the ways of the world. Maybe it's more common than he thinks, though gods, he very much hopes not.

"I uh... I witnessed some things in the court of this minor noble. His form of entertainment was very gauche. My duty was to just play, a musical background to his activities..."

There was a slowness now in Geralt putting his armor away. He made a slight noise, which Jaskier decided to interpret as "go on".

He gulped and took a few steadying breaths. "They were in pain, Geralt. Constantly in pain, by his hand or others. And I.. I did nothing. I couldn't do anything, otherwise..." He had to be good, it was the only way to get the intel. The fresh marks on his lower back burned a little as he thought about the only thing he did that was to protect another. "It would've been bad, I mean, I was a foreigner after all. But gods, I should've done something, shouldn'tve I? I was a coward, instead."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Jaskier shot up, looking horrified and feeling much more sober. "H-how could you even think—"

"Just answer honestly," Geralt replied, looking at Jaskier. His face was stoic, uninterpretable, and his voice even.

"No. I didn't enjoy a single minute of it."

"Would you have possibly lost your life?"

"N-no, but my livelihood was in danger," Jaskier said, rubbing his wrists, the bruises long gone.

Geralt grunted.

"And you didn't partake at all in their suffering... Nor do you know how to defend yourself or others?"

"You know I didn't, wouldn't, and you know I don't," Jaskier said. It was definitely a point of contention their first year, Jaskier's refusal to learn how to use a weapon for when Geralt wasn't around. He still wasn't sure what this line of questioning was about, and in fact it was making him angry for Geralt to—

"Then you are not at fault, you never were, Jaskier, but there is no reason to blame yourself."

Jaskier stared at Geralt, at a loss for words. Instead he twitched his eyes, silently asking for Geralt to explain himself.

Geralt sighed, setting down the last bit of his armor, clasping his hands together. "You are a bard. A human. A young one at that, don't protest. You are not a trained warrior or even an untrained criminal. You were in a foreign land under a noble's rule. You could have left, broken your contract, but it was winter and you would've been stuck in foreign lands. You did what you could."

While Jaskier did take in everything Geralt said, he was also amazed at how much Geralt actually said to him. That he did so to try and comfort him and relieve him of his guilt. Jaskier wanted to add that he did help a little, by singing to the women and servants after, helping tend to their ailments in the bathing rooms. He has no idea whether what he spied on would do any actual good for Redania, so he didn't count that in the good column.

"So you don't hate me? For being a coward and letting it happen?"

Jaskier couldn't interpret the face Geralt made there, but the Witcher shook his head.

"Hate you for that? No. For causing my brothers to sing 'Toss a Coin' every fucking day during winter? Yes."

Jaskier stared at Geralt, and then started guffawing, bending over. Tears were spilling, both from the relief of Geralt's earlier words, and the ridiculous idea of Geralt being tormented by his song.

"See? I'm a hit! Even your brothers love my singing!"

He feels much lighter now, almost like he felt before being given that damn mission. He silently thanks Geralt for the distraction, and the absolution. It may not be earned, but it's enough.

"Hmm, just proves they're more tone-deaf than your fans."

Jaskier sputters at that and throws the threadbare pillow at Geralt, who catches it without even looking.

"If you're done being dramatic, I have a friend at The Swift Sail so we can get a decent meal."

Geralt stands and walks to the door, pausing for a moment. "You're a good kid, Jaskier. Annoying. But good."

Jaskier stands, only feeling the barest of the alcohol now, feeling indignant again. "Oi, Witcher, and you're the picture perfect example of a good friend?"

"Never said we're friends," Geralt says, opening the door and not waiting this time as he heads on out.

Jaskier mocks the line to himself, before realizing he was left behind. And thinking about the name of the pub.

"Wait, why is it called the The Swift Sail? Geralt? We're nowhere near the ocean! Geralt!" Jaskier calls out, closing the door behind him as he tries to catch up to the surprisingly swift, hulking Witcher.

If it wasn't for the fact that Jaskier took over haggling payment for Geralt, he was sure the Witcher would've dropped him like old news weeks ago. Even that took a monumentous effort, as Geralt was very prideful and didn't want interference in his Witchery dealings.

Jaskier understood that. He'd be just as offended if Geralt tried to negotiate his singing offerings for him. But really, Geralt was terrible at it, and the aldermen were always lowballing. So, between taking over that particular duty, and managing even extra tips when he got around to his actual first hit of a song, he felt secure in earning his place by the white wolf's side. At least for now.

It still wasn't enough to convince Geralt to let him watch majority of the contracts he took up, but Jaskier was patient. Mostly. And well, it gave Jaskier the chance to keep his other skills and talents sharpened. He was a young man after all, and the thrill of new places and new people was too alluring.

Plus, he soon learned that there were coded words even among the common people. Done more for necessity and safety than for political intrigue like in the cities and courts. Having just eked out of a bad scrap in the last town, thanks to Geralt's inhuman timing and hearing, Jaskier was quick to understand why such things were so.

Jaskier didn't expect to find any Consort Contracts among the very barely populated enough places to be even considered a proper village or town. However, the few times he was in his cups a little, and boasted about being a Master of all Arts from Oxenfurt, he would get a few interested, and sometimes guarded looks.

Again, he had let his own biases cloud him from the fact that rumors can spread far and wide, and so could knowledge when one's desperate for such. After one night of boasting to a semi-filled tavern, where even Geralt stayed for a few songs before heading off to finish his contract, Jaskier was approached by a slightly older man. He was the town's baker if he remembered right.

"Master bard, if I could have a moment of your time?"

Jaskier smiled up at the gentleman, putting his prized lute away and collecting a few of the tossed coins from the bench. He was flushed with the free drinks given to him during his performance, but still had all his faculties.

"Why of course! Would you like an autograph? Or perhaps you wanted to learn why in my last song, the Siren followed the pirate?"

The other man smiled softly but shook his head. He then looked around, making sure no one was paying attention, and Jaskier couldn't help but mirror the action. Most of the crowd were filing out or towards the bar, which was always a good sign.

"You said, um, in your intermission, that you were an Oxenfurt Graduate, yes?"

Jaskier beamed. "Yes! Are you too?"

"Oh, um, no... I had a friend once go..." The man looked down and took a tentative step towards Jaskier. "And they told me about how there's people who... are master of *all* the arts."

"Uh, yes, I did mention that," Jaskier replied, not quite understanding what this person was getting at. "All seven," he added, almost automatically.

The man looked up and frowned, before speaking up again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not all eight?"

Jaskier blinked at him before it clicked into place. "O-oh! Oh, I misspoke, yes, you're right good sir. All eight," he says, matching the quiet whisper. He then flicked his right wrist out and concentrated so that the brand could be seen through the glamour.

It was visible how much the other man relaxed and looked relieved upon seeing the mark. He smiled sheepishly at Jaskier. "I don't have much... But... Well, I know there's probably others like me here but we're a small town, you see, Master Bard—"

"Jaskier, if you please. I didn't get the honor of your name? Or, rather, what you would like me to call you?" He gently squeezes the man's arm.

"Elos, you can call me Elos." He licks his lips before continuing. "I know you can be discrete, and well, it would be nice to know what it feels like. There's only a few professional women here, you see, and I'd not like to take my chances on asking the wrong person..."

Jaskier feels overcome with an emotion he can't quite place. Elos is a lovely looking man, with a full beard, not even showing any hint of age, but clearly having never had a chance to explore themselves. Jaskier's reminded again on how lucky he was growing up, having people who cared for him and never tattled on his own experimental proclivities.

He almost says he'll do it for free, but remembers a lesson on how that could hurt someone's pride. Fearing he was stuck in his head too long, Jaskier acts quickly, clapping Elos on the shoulder as he gathered the last of his things.

"Why of course, I'm always happy to offer private musical lessons! It's always an easy way to pass the time in those long mornings when it's just you and your bread," he says, not loud enough to actually get heads turning, but so that if anyone happens to overhear, it would seem innocent enough.

Elos is now the one confused, but only for a moment, and somehow manages to not blush. He clears his throat and nods, silently leading Jaskier out of the tavern and towards his home.

It's a heady experience being someone's first, especially someone older. It's also different when one asks for the services of a Companion than when someone just wants a flirty anonymous fling with a talented bard. Either way, it's not quite Jaskier they want, and that's okay. He's a people pleaser. Always has been.

The evening goes more than well, and it's a rare comfort waking up in a bed where he doesn't have to immediately flee. He's not surprised to wake up alone, as a baker of course must wake early to get the freshest of breads out for the morning workers. He luxuriates a bit, stretching and feeling rather good. He did a fantastic thing after all, helping out another soul in something that should be openly offered or given. But the world isn't so kind.

Jaskier freshens up and heads on down, making sure it's just the baker in his shop, and is pleasantly surprised to see an array of breakfast goods for him as Elos is humming one of Jaskier's songs. He blushes at being caught and Jaskier thinks it's very endearing.

So endearing that Jaskier can't help himself, only just waiting for the older man to set the tray of fresh biscuits down before going up to him and kissing him one last time. Elos makes a surprised noise but instinctively wraps an arm around his waist and kisses back.

"Mmm, a very good morning to you, master baker," Jaskier says as he pulls away. He's happy to see a little more confidence in Elos' expression, not as shy as the night before. But of course he's in his domain, and they're alone, after all.

"All thanks to you, master bard," Elos says, looking up and down at Jaskier. He then looks a little more serious, taking Jaskier's hands and clasping them together. "Last night was... well, I understand now why some of the village wives fight over particular stories when a bookseller visits."

Jaskier laughs in delight, squeezing their hands. "Oh, that is high praise indeed! You flatter me so, Elos, dear. I just hope, you'll have a chance to have many more imaginative nights in the future."

Elos looks away but Jaskier keeps looking at him. He was grateful they were trained in certain scenarios. Not what he did last night of course, technically, but knowing that more of the continent aren't as free-thinking as he and the others in most of Oxenfurt.

"For me, love, you must think positively and hopefully. Let last night be the start of many things. Yes, this town may be small, but you can still be happy. Just be on the look out, and keep your heart open, even as guarded as we must all be out here."

"Now it is you who flatter me, good sir," Elos remarks, bringing Jaskier's hands up to his lips and kissing them softly. "Though I wonder if it is simply your nature, talented bard you are."

There's a soft bell that rings at the front of the shoppe, where neither can see yet both move away quickly. Jaskier feels bad at his instincts kicking in, but he has a feeling that Elos was not offended.

"Is it alright if I take this wonderful meal with me? I'm afraid my travelling companion will think to leave without me as he's just as much an early riser as yourself." Jaskier is already packing as much as he can into his bag, wrapping everything with care.

"You mean the Witcher? Uh, yes, of course," Elos says, his expression turning more worried. It was a common one that Jaskier found when people realized that he willingly travels with a Witcher. He's just glad he doesn't see the usual addition of disgust on Elos' face. The baker hands over some egg tarts. "These are a day old but still good, for your uh-companion."

Jaskier nods, taking them gratefully. They were lucky in this town to not be met with too much resistance, but he knows it probably won't be as fruitful whenever they do hit the next village. Elos calls out to the patrons in front that he'll be there in a moment.

He then surprises Jaskier with another quick kiss and a tender touch to his cheek, causing the bard to blush this time. "Safe journeys to you, Jaskier."

Jaskier watches him head out to the front, lost in a multitude of thoughts, feelings, and song snippets. He fully intends to make a lovely ballad of a baker creating magical desserts for the one he loves, in hopes that one day they'd come into the bakery.

He shakes himself out of the idea for now, and finishes packing up the food offered before exiting the back. As he makes his way towards the inn, he wonders if the phrasing was a fluke, or if this was a new secret code. He'd have to test it out, but not at every town or village, especially if it means people will come up to him for services. He knows it'll be a delicate balance of working the crowd, helping out Geralt (or trying to help out at least), and this. But it is something he wants to do now, to see if he can help others less fortunate, those who'd never be able to afford a proper Companion Contract, and places where even the local professional workers can help.

When he gets back to the shared room, luckily one with two beds, Jaskier doesn't expect Geralt to still be asleep. But he is, sprawled out on top of the blankets, chest moving just ever so. With how his armor's still dirty and strewn across the floor, Jaskier figures Geralt had a rough go at it last night with the monster. He goes to Geralt, looking for signs of bleeding out or open gashes, but other than some shallow almost healed cuts and fading bruising, Geralt seems to be okay.

Jaskier frowns, feeling suddenly badly for not being around when Geralt came back. He doesn't regret helping out Elos at all, but he hates that Geralt came back to an empty and cold room. How's Jaskier supposed to prove his worth and usefulness if he's not even around?

'Stop it, it's fine. Do what you can now,' he thinks to himself, knuckling his forehead. He gets to work, setting some of the baked goods, including the egg tarts, on the table while packing the more travel hardy ones away. He goes down to ask for fresh drinks and water, checking quickly on Roach and leaving tribute of some apples. He was still wary of being bit, but he'd wear her down eventually.

Back in the room, Jaskier gathered the armor and set to cleaning them as best as he could, and trying to mimic how he'd watch Geralt do it, muttering to himself on how gross monster guts were.

"It's like you purposely shower in it, Geralt, honestly," he mumbles a little louder than intended, finally scrubbing a difficult spot clean. He doesn't mind cleaning the armor, but when it's gotten a chance to dry, well, Jaskier figures he's allowed to complain a little bit.

"Be lucky none of it's insides is poisonous to humans, bard," Geralt grumbles from behind him.

Jaskier jumps and nearly drops the piece he's finished with to the floor, but manages to not so softly set it down instead. "Well a good morning to you too, Witcher," Jaskier sing songs, clutching the rag to his chest.

He can't help but watch as Geralt stands and stretches slowly, working out the kinks in his muscles and joints, the sunlight peering through the window behind him making him seem even more like an impossible picture of a man. Jaskier finds his mouth dry at the sight and speechless for once.

Geralt doesn't seem to notice as he walks over to the table of food, scowling at it for some reason, before picking up a powdered croissant and sniffing at it. "It seems like you were quite profitable last night."

Jaskier blushes and sputters at that before realizing that Geralt meant his musical set. He coughs and clears his throat, nodding. "Um yes, and I heard the baker knows his way around... tarts."

Geralt raises an eyebrow at that but sits anyway. "You should save your coin and not waste it on me."

"I didn't—" Jaskier stops, frowning. Even though he didn't pay for this, he wouldn't have thought twice to spend as much for him and Geralt. "It's not a waste, Geralt. We deserve, you especially, a treat every once in a while."

Geralt grunts in response and pours them both a drink from the pitcher Jaskier brought up earlier. Jaskier sits and makes a plate of food, suddenly feeling very hungry from the activities of last night. "But, I will be mindful of our coin purse from now on, if it makes you feel better. Doesn't mean I won't have us treat ourselves every so often, but I may not be as lucky to have such an attentive crowd."

He gives Geralt one of his most charming grins, one that would affect nearly anyone else, and well, at least he doesn't receive a scowl in return. So he takes that as a win. Geralt glances over at where Jaskier was cleaning his armor and makes a humming noise. Or a purr, Jaskier hasn't quite decided yet how to label it.

"Since you've managed to clean things and not get yourself in trouble, we'll leave once we've finished and can get on the road again."

"'Thank you, Jaskier. How kind of you, Jaskier, to take care of my armor for me,'" Jaskier replies, not attempting Geralt's growly voice, and instead going more light mocking. "Actually, if you really want to thank me, Geralt, how about you tell me how you slain the foul beast last night?"

Geralt stares, chewing the last of the egg tarts, saving none for Jaskier. "I stalked it. Took my potions. And then struck from behind."

It was nearly a month later when Jaskier had another opportunity to know more about this particular wolf, than what he learned in their alcohol fueled tumble.

Over the years, Jaskier had gotten better in keeping out of bar brawls or into incidents that would threaten his livelihood, especially the times when he was roaming the Continent on his own. He'd also gotten a little complacent when it came to just how nasty his fellow artists could get, especially after such a thorough musical tromping at this particular Bardic competition.

After all, only someone with an ego like Jaskier would enter a battle of the bands as a solo artist. And win.

He was very much grateful for his stupid luck coming through for him in the form of a big hulking Witcher finding where he was getting his arse beaten by one of the losing bands. Everything was a little blurry after that.

* * *

"Ow! That stings!" Jaskier hisses, resisting the urge to pull his hand away from the warm and gentle grip of the other man.

He was sitting in the bed of the Witcher's rented room this time, as Eskel tended to his wounds. It had been a surprise to the both of them when they recognized each other after Eskel had to half-drag Jaskier to safety.

Eskel raises an eyebrow, though his face is mostly turned away from Jaskier, as he finishes dabbing the ointment on Jaskier's knuckles. "What, do you want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"Why, yes, actually," Jaskier responds, mirroring Eskel's raised eyebrow when the Witcher looks at him in surprise. He knows he can be the worst patient, the best of times. "Only fair, if we're being honest."

Eskel chuckles, shaking his head. "I save you from an angry band of musicians—"

"Barely musicians, honestly anyone can just get a few people together and call themselves a band—"

"—and tend to your wounds, and I still owe you a kiss?"

"Many kisses, actually. For each scrape I've obtained." Jaskier knows he's overdoing it with the hair flip, but it's more entertaining to get a rise out of Eskel than to think of the embarrassment of needing to be rescued by bards.

Eskel turns Jaskier's hand around in his, inspecting to make sure he hadn't missed a cut or scrape. "I still don't see your logic. Or perhaps I should check your head for some bruising?"

Jaskier sees slight amusement on Eskel's face and grins. "Well, because, my dear beautiful Witcher. You so thoroughly ravished me last time, and then left me, that I was so bereft that I wandered the countryside for many a week! And in my bereavement, entered a silly contest since I didn't have a smart Wolf such as yourself to tell me no."

"No wonder you won the contest, you clearly believe the lies you tell, that it makes it easy for anyone else to want to believe," Eskel murmurs after a moment's consideration. But before Jaskier could protest at any lies, he watches the brunet raise Jaskier's hand up to his lips and kisses each knuckle softly.

Despite the fact that Eskel had been rather gentle in his tending of Jaskier, this tenderness sends a shiver throughout Jaskier's body.

"Anywhere else?"

Jaskier blinks back to the present and quickly shows the bruise on his other arm. It's minor, and Jaskier knows that in a few days it'll be gone. Still, he looks at Eskel expectantly.

Eskel again looks at him, and seems surprised when Jaskier holds his gaze. He goes to kiss the bruise, but doesn't look away from Jaskier. The bard flushes with want.

He then whines with need when Eskel doesn't move away and presses his lips harder, sucking a different sort of bruise on top of the one there. It sends Jaskier back to their drunken night over a moon ago, how even within their desperation to get off, Eskel still made sure to leave no marks.

"One more place, Witcher, before I consider your debt repaid," Jaskier says, voice husky and barely above a whisper, knowing the other man could still hear him.

Eskel pulls away from his arm to see Jaskier pointing with his other hand to his lips. There's a very minor cut there, really, Jaskier wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't licked his lips at Eskel's actions.

This kiss was none too gentle, more passionate and Jaskier gave as good as he got, carding his fingers through Eskel's short hair, moaning loudly. He even took to biting Eskel's lower lip, just a touch harder then necessary, giving him an impish grin when the other man pulled back briefly.

"And what was that for, bard?"

Even with the heady arousal coursing through the both of them in this moment, Jaskier tenderly strokes Eskel's scarred cheek, noticing the slight flinch. "I don't lie. I sometimes may omit truths, and stretch them out. But you are beautiful. And handsome, and rugged, and strong, with a voice that—mmph!"

Eskel kisses him again with such force that Jaskier falls back onto the bed, and pulls the Witcher along with him. They both chuckle against each other's lips.

"So, bardling. Am I still in your debt?"

"I think you'll need to do a thorough inspection of my body to ensure you've done your due diligence, Witcher."

Eskel growls lowly, a hand going to Jaskier's half opened chemise, tugging the rest of the lacing off. Jaskier waits until his chest is bared and before Eskel moves from the distracted kisses to pull Eskel's hand up towards him.

"I've forgotten though, my repayment of your kindness," he says in a way to ensure that this is all part of the game they're now playing. He pauses long enough to see that understanding in Eskel's eyes, glancing down now at reddened sword callused fingers. Smiling, he kisses each fingertip, lingering at the scar that runs along the man's thumb.

Eskel makes a noise that sounds like pleasure, and so Jaskier continues what he started the last time, kissing and tasting along Eskel's strong hand and arm, taking care for each scar or mark he comes across. It takes a few moments before Eskel returns the favor, allowing Jaskier to continue his ministrations as he lowers his face to kiss the flowering bruise on Jaskier's stomach.

Since it was always ever present on his mind, and he developed a little paranoia for any sort of weird messengers looking for him, Jaskier did consider the Court Contracts whenever he came across them. It was decidedly easy money most of the time since there was usually fewer outright asking for his gender, therefore higher reward.

He thought that if he did pick one of them up every so often, it would seem to make him busy, and maybe good ole Sigi would leave him alone. And really, it would be a nice backup to when he went through weeks of having stale bread or empty tankards thrown at him.

He was a good bard, a great composer, even. It was just, well, he grew up in a bubble, and couldn't quite connect to what the regular folk wanted to hear. It was a lot easier to discern what kind of companionship they wanted instead. He knew he just needed a sort of focus to his outlet.

And that focus was Geralt of Rivia, former Butcher of Blavikan and future subject to all of Jaskier's greatest hits.

Jaskier was always useless when it came to really gorgeous looking people, and for him, nearly everyone had an aspect of beauty or art in them (if they weren't being right bigoted arses of course). And when he saw the Witcher brooding in that corner, he was struck by the beauty. Here was a specimen of a man, of hard lines and edges, but molten golden eyes and a sad, nearly soft look if one was to actually gaze upon his face. And Jaskier knew most didn't.

He fell in a light love and heavy lust immediately. It didn't worry him, used to going in and out of these feelings with many a people. And the ones that stayed, the ones that saw past his bardic persona, well they became true friends. And he was ever so lucky to have them.

So he used all his energy into convincing the Witcher that he was needed in his life, on truly and purely professional level. It didn't matter that he may have fallen a little more in love with the man after being "saved" by the Elves.

Just before Filavandrel handed over what would become Jaskier's most prized possession, the Elf gripped his wrist, turning it upwards. Jaskier was surprised he could see the hidden brand. It was a very attuned glamour that wouldn't raise the eyebrow of most mages. But again, Jaskier really didn't know what Elves were capable of.

Filavandrel frowned. "You're not... on a mission right now, are you? I don't take kindly to anyone trying to trick the Wolf School..."

Jaskier looked confused for a second, wracking his brain for what the King could mean of a Wolf school, but then quickly shook his head. "Oh, no, good sir, your majesty. I'm just a simple bard like Geralt said." Jaskier quickly clarified when Filavandrel narrowed his eyes and squeezed his wrist a little harder. "I am as you think I am... Master of all Eight Arts... But! It's not my passion, hah, pardon the pun there. Just a fallback, kind of thing... I'm on no mission or contract."

Filavandrel seemed satisfied with that answer and let go, though it seemed like he was considering saying something else. The elf was very good looking, now not under duress, and Jaskier looked hurriedly towards where Geralt was finishing up with the sickly one and getting his weapons. He licks his lips slowly and turns back to the other man.

"If you would like a taste of my services, I am very happy to oblige, no strings attached, for either you or one of your... ah, subjects? I assure you, I'm—"

"No," Filavandrel said rather quickly, making a face that looked rather horrified. And possibly disgusted? Jaskier tried not to take offense to that. "No, thank you. Humans are..." He shook his head, apparently deciding to be more tactful. "Although I think you would be the first of your profession to ever willingly offer to our kind," and he stares at Jaskier, scrutinizing him for a moment that does make the bard a little nervous, "with no actual ulterior motives, but we don't have the luxury of indulging when our people are suffering.

Jaskier bowed, his nobility training kicking in. "I meant no offense, of course. I just know that you are allowed to give yourself and your people a little kindness now and then."

Filavandrel chuckled softly. "You are an odd human, that is quite obvious. Here, now go before the Witcher leaves you behind." He proffered the lute, and Jaskier smiled wide, stopping himself from bowing again.

"Thank you. I promise, one day I will write a great ballad of your people."

Filavandrel looked disbelieving and simply waved him away. Jaskier nodded his head and rushed out to catch up with Geralt, who was certainly planning to part ways.

Jaskier scrabbled out the hideaway, lute in hand. 'Not on my watch!' * * *

Between Posada and the next town, Geralt and Jaskier barely speak to each other. Rather, it's mostly Jaskier talking, and figuring out the rest of the melody for 'Toss a Coin', and Geralt grunting or asking him to shut up. It's a long few days.

Jaskier does try to be a little helpful when they set up camp, but this was one thing he didn't learn at Oxenfurt. How to survive out in the wilderness. What motivates him is that the Witcher doesn't up and leave him in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn.

Oh, Jaskier's not delusional in the slightest. He's sure that Geralt will try to leave him at the next down, since it'll be loads better than the sorry state that was Posada. But he won't give up. At least until he's witnessed an actual beasty encounter since the 'horned devil' didn't actually count. Despite what he wrote in the song.

"Ah... Civilization! Finally!"

Geralt snorts beside him, only then dismounting from Roach, whom Jaskier is still not allowed to touch, to seem less intimidating to the townsfolk.

"Not all of us can speak horse, you know," Jaskier responds instead, looking over Roach towards Geralt. He smirks to himself as he sees a slight roll of Geralt's eyes. Progress.

He claps his hands and rubs them eagerly, looking around. It's early enough that only a few people are out and about, and more concerned about getting their chores done than gawking at the two newcomers. That bodes well enough.

"So, what's the plan?"

"Hmm."

"Excellent plan. You tend to our dear girl here," Jaskier starts, patting the air above Roach's shoulders. "And I'll see about getting us a few rooms for the evening and some food, yeah. Then once you get some proper food in you so you can speak more than a few words, see if there's contracts around."

"I don't need a room if there's no contracts. Just food and water for Roach and then I'll be on my way," Geralt responds with an air of annoyance.

Jaskier of course notes the whole 'I' statements and not 'we'. Still, he could work with this.

"Technically, there was no official contract in Posada either, but because I was talking with you and making you a much more approachable person, you did get one!"

"That's not how it went."

As they approached the nearby stable, Jaskier waited while Geralt negotiated with the young boy to take care of Roach. The boy did seem scared of the Witcher, but coin was coin of course.

"Trust me, my version's better. I'll still go rustle us a meal and see what the local rumors are. Maybe we'll get lucky and there's sicky-morel around!"

Geralt narrows his eyes. "Kikimora."

"Right!" Jaskier pats Geralt on his big biceps, leaving the man a little confused, he supposes, and heads towards the center of town.

"'The Open Flask'... Seems a little on the nose, but alright," Jaskier mumbled as he entered the small but quaint tavern. It was cleaner than he expected for a small town as this, but already full of patrons.

It didn't take long, and a bit of flirtation with the bartender, to get the latest gossip around here. Not only was there a few contracts for Geralt, but quite a few patrons eager to give more information about the infestations in the fields nearby. If Jaskier was lucky, they'd be able to stay a few days and Jaskier could practice his song. Also, he really liked the idea of not sleeping on the cold ground for more than a day straight.

Despite how easily the townsfolk were willing to actually let a Witcher do what they're supposed to do without any added challenges, they were still weary of Geralt and definitely kept a wide berth when the man finally came in.

He was surprised to see Jaskier flagging him down at a nearby table with hot food and even a pitcher of ale. Jaskier already could tell he would enjoy surprising the Witcher every chance he could get.

"You managed this with that song?" Geralt asked, eyebrow raised. He sniffed the food, and when it seemed like it wasn't poisonous, Jaskier assumes, did he take a fork to it.

"Oh no, I don't think I should be asking for coin before they have any faith in you, my dear white wolf! That's just bad business sense!"

Geralt gave him a look that definitely questioned Jaskier having any sense at all. He's used to seeing that one on many a teacher.

"So you used the tried and true method. Coin."

"Well, of course, we have to start somewhere. But! I did get us a discount." Jaskier turned and waggled his eyebrows at the bartender, who in turn flushed in embarrassment and focused on counting the bottles behind him.

"Isn't that dangerous?"

Jaskier turned, confused for a moment, though Geralt's expression brokered no clue as he drank his tankard. But then Jaskier's brain caught up with him and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh, well... One learns how to be obvious without being obvious," Jaskier said. While Jaskier had a natural affinity to discern which man would be amenable, not without trial and terrible error as a younger teenager, that was definitely an important class he took.

"And of course, timing. But don't you worry, it's safer when it's just harmless flirting. People seem to be okay with the illusion and the dance."

The Witcher considers him, comes to some sort of conclusion and tucks back into his plate.

"You're an odd bird, Jaskier."

Jaskier grins, pleased to have gotten this many words out of the Witcher, even if it was about a sensitive and dangerous topic. It was good to know that at least Geralt didn't mind that he was traveling with someone who had different proclivities. While there was a lot Jaskier could discern from observing the Witcher, it was obvious that their kind had to learn to shut everything off, which made it harder Jaskier to read. But he was determined to.

He saw how quickly Geralt ate, and while he was pretty hungry himself, he knew he could get more food easily when he performed later, so he pushed his half eaten plate over.

When Geralt raised an eyebrow, Jaskier leaned back, patting his stomach. "I'm good, you can have it. Besides, can't perform if I'm too stuffed!"

Still, Jaskier, or Julian at the time, was always a godsdamn completionist. And hedonist. And some would probably say masochist. Basically all the -ists that were mostly positive. (He was still too young and naïve to learn yet that what he knew of Elves and some other non-humans were patently false and derogatory. It would still take him some years [and running into a Witcher] to unpack and unlearn all of that.)

The eighth Liberal Art he only learned about when one, he was of age to learn of it, and two, in his second to final year at Oxenfurt. The Univeristy's policy was always as such: As long as you were of the age of majority for your species/culture, and had already mastered at least one other liberal art (or in the final semester of it), then anyone was allowed to attempt mastering this final one. It was also the only path one could pursue with no fear of ending up in massive debt or other complications if one were to fail out or give up on mastering it.

The completion rate to this elusive Art was only one in six students. And majority were of the non-masculine persuasion. Julian had honestly thought it was going to be the easiest of the programs to master. He was very wrong. Oh, he had some natural affinity to it, and used the fact that he grew up very privileged and healthy and pretty to his advantage. But there were always constant lessons that youth and beauty were very temporary. It was one of the reasons why one had to have at least one other Art to fall back on.

This program was the only one that Julian slightly cheated on, desperate to not fail out. Before the final semester in this program, there was a special evaluation. Ones who were susceptible to their emotions (if it hadn't already been trained out), and couldn't separate performance from reality (which wasn't terrible at all), they couldn't become a master. They'd get another grade and still could do a few of the jobs this particular Art availed to them, but it wasn't quite the same.

Despite his ever growing hubris, Julian, only just settling on the name Jaskier, knew himself well enough. Had to, to get this far in the program. He relied on his closest friend, Essi, to help him train and steel his mind, to play the part right. She didn't quite approve of this particular persona, but she was curious to see if it would work.

It did. Jaskier passed the evaluation and in the end, mastered the elusive, secretive, eighth Liberal Art. He was officially deemed a Court Companion, automatically eligible to be any Royal's consort, if they so desired, and would get priority positions in the most elusive of pleasure and entertainment houses. All he would need to do is show off the magicked brand as proof.

Jaskier, of course, was never intending to use it beyond proving to Valdo fucking Marx that he did it, something even that cad couldn't finish. No, Jaskier was content to travel the world as a regular bard and make his mark that way.

And then he was given a summons to the "Faculty of Most Contemporary History". And there, he found himself amongst an even smaller group of esteemed graduates from the eighth Liberal Art. Sigismund Dijkstra was surprisingly a very convincing man. And conniving. Jaskier was ready to turn him down, not wanting to be beholden to anyone. He was young and had his whole life ahead of him! There was a reason he escaped Lettenhove after all.

Unfortunately, as Jaskier was leaving Sigi's office, the man gave him an offer he literally could not refuse.

He was promised that the missions would be few and far between, that it was up to him to take up any other Companion Contract if he so desired. And in exchange, Sigismund wouldn't dig into the Pankratz Family and their political affairs. Convincing, indeed. To protect his sisters, Jaskier swore himself into service.