Just Another Blog About A Life.

It's late. Geralt is drunk off his ass, slumped against Jaskier's bedroom door, singing Toss A Coin but when he gets to the "your witcher" part of the song his voice cracks

"Toss a coin to your... your witcher...your witcher, Jaskier. Always yours. Your witcher." Then Geralt starts clawing at the locked door. "Please. Your witcher. Toss a coin to your witcher, please."

It's a sight to watch. Geralt practically crying (he can't really cry because mutagens took that from him but it's a damn close thing) and begging for attention.

Coën and his brothers (yes Eskel is alive and game canon so is Lambert) feel horrible. They've never seen the wolf like this before. Yennefer doesn't feel sorry in the slightest. She just feels bad for the bard who's being harassed at such a late hour. Triss tells her to be nice but Yennefer waves her off reminding the redhead of how Geralt got himself into this mess. Thankfully Ciri is asleep so she has no idea what's going on.

Geralt: lots of growling and glaring at the beginning. It takes years before they go from real protests to token ones. He tries to subtly do things for Jaskier in return, but every time the bard realizes what he's doing he doubles down on his pampering. It stresses Geralt out.

Eskel: he's surprised every time Jaskier gets him a book or new armor, even after years of knowing him. Always feels guilty for accepting it and tries to pay him back, which results in many lectures from the bard. It eventually devolves into the pair trying to sneak coins into the others packs.

Lambert: everything is a threat and must be treated with utmost suspicion. It takes a while before he realizes that the bard is actually genuine and has no ulterior motive, in which case he just gets extremely confused by it all. He has no idea what to do when Jaskier gives him something, so he ends up panicking and just giving the bard something in turn. Jaskier always accepts the young wolf's thank you gifts because he thinks it's sweet. Geralt, however, is very upset because Lambert keeps giving the bard bombs.

Vesemir: he does not want to be a sugar baby. He does not need to be a sugar baby. The bard, however, is an unreasonable little bird prone to flights of fancy and he won't stop hauling things up the bloody mountain for him. No amount of lecturing, growling, or reasoning can stop him. Nobody mentions it when the keep slowly becomes more bard friendly over the coming years. Vesemir is much to old for this.

Honorary mention:

But then another wolf Witcher catches up to him on the road. Out of breath, relieved as hell to have found him, dead set on feeding him and keeping him safe, having scoured the Continent for him.

Turns out they found out what happened on the mountain, and Vesemir sent them all on a hell-bent mission to find, scoop up and protect Jaskier while Geralt's AWOL because other Witcher schools are quite keen on having a dedicated bard, and like hell the school of the Wolf was letting the first human in years who sang their praises and made their lives better get poached by a Cat, Bear, Viper or otherwise.

Or, Jaskier gets head-hunted in the non-lethal way by Witchers of all kinds when Geralt fumbles him and Vesemir tasks the other Wolves with fixing it. If they have to physically chase off other Witchers, so be it. Jaskier is baffled, having had no idea the other Witchers even knew he existed.

“Give him back,” Geralt sighed, eyeing the cluster of Cat witchers.

“No,” one of them said flatly.

That only made Geralt scowl. “What do you mean, no?” He folded his arms. “He’s my bard.”

“You’ve lost bard privileges,” another Cat witcher replied without missing a beat.

From the back of the room came a hesitant voice. “Geralt?”

Jaskier stepped forward, very much awake now.

“Jask,” Geralt said, scrambling for the right words. “Look, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t get the chance to say anything else.

Cold water splashed full in his face.

If he’s honest, Geralt sort of expects that too. No one loves a Witcher.

Naturally, Jaskier proves them both incredibly wrong as he admits, under magical duress to tell the truth, that Geralt is his favourite person in the entire world and while singing the White Wolf’s songs might be lucrative, above all, it’s his honour and privilege to try and make Geralt’s life on the Path a bit easier.

He does love Geralt, thank you very much. And he means every word.

“Tell me, bard,” the mage sneered, eyes flicking to Jaskier, “what do you truly think of Geralt of Rivia?”

Geralt sat rigid in a chair, dimeritium cuffs biting cold into his wrists, pinning him in place. Across from him, Jaskier was similarly bound, slumped slightly as the truth serum seeped in, his head lolling to one side.

“Geralt?” Jaskier said dreamily. “Oh, love him.”

And that was the problem. Once Jaskier started talking, stopping him was nearly impossible.

Truth serum only made it worse.

“Geralt’s the best,” Jaskier continued cheerfully. “Really. A great guy. Stands out in a crowd. Very handsome too—those eyes, you know? Like golden stars. Or cats. Actually, more like cats.”

He frowned, thinking hard. “When I was a kid in Lettenhove, there was this starry old cat that lived in my mother’s garden. Hissed at me, scratched me, terrible creature. But I’ve always had charm to spare, so eventually it liked me. Its name was Daisy. Geralt’s a lot like Daisy—tries to be scary, but really he’s just a big softy.”

Jaskier paused, eyes drifting upward. “Maybe I should try feeding Geralt fish.”

The mage’s jaw tightened. “Tell me, bard,” he snapped, “how much of a monster the witcher truly is.”

Jaskier went quiet.

Geralt held his breath. The mage leaned in.

“Well,” Jaskier said slowly, “there is one thing.”

Both of them tensed.

Not that he could ever tell Jaskier, he’d be intolerably smug - but the bard is loyal, friendly, clever, funny. He dresses wounds, makes potions and cooks. He fights for fair dealings with other humans. He’s solo missioning changing the Continent’s mind about Witchers with catchy songs and storytelling. Despite his magnetism for trouble and pathological lack of survival instinct, he’s a once in a lifetime travel companion.

Problem is, word travels. And now every time they run into another Witcher, Geralt has to secretly fend off a rival attempting to charm away and poach the bard. Sometimes it’s friendly, sometimes it’s bold, sometimes it ends in a Witcher fistfight behind the stables.

And the worst part? Jaskier can never, ever find out. Because if he realises there’s a Continent’s worth of Witchers from all kinds of schools who’d be more than happy to whisk him away on adventures of their own… he’d leave Geralt. Right? And Geralt would miss him.

So all the growling, posturing, rivalry and fierce competition is done when Jaskier isn’t looking. It’s Geralt vs the continent’s Witchers for bard rights and the bard has zero clue.

Morning unfolded gently across the countryside, the golden sun spilling warm light over the rolling green fields. The air carried a fresh, earthy scent, crisp enough to fill the lungs with quiet contentment. Geralt rode at an easy pace, Roach snorting softly now and then as if amused by Jaskier, who happily sang along with the cheerful birds perched in the hedgerows.

That peace fractured with the distant rhythm of approaching hooves. Geralt’s first thought was a passing merchant—someone to let through without trouble. But the cadence quickened, the beat sharp and urgent. Someone was riding hard.

Bandits, perhaps. Geralt nudged his horse a little closer to Jaskier.

A blur of movement broke across the path as a rider thundered past. Only then did Geralt recognize the horse—and the smirking witcher atop it.

“My turn,” Lambert called, leaning down and, with infuriating ease, lifting Jaskier off his feet.

The bard yelped as he was swept up and slung over Lambert’s saddle like a swooning noble maiden—an image he unfortunately fit far too well.

It has to be perfect, the bard deserves the world. So he spends weeks looking up poetry to get inspired. He spends even longer writing up the speech, and editing it. (And setting it on fire when he gets frustrated and has to start over)

He then needs to practice saying the speech. At first it's in an abandoned tower where no one can hear him.

Then he stands in front of a mirror so he can practise his body language and when to kneel (without dropping the ring his heart nearly stopped when he couldn't find it that one time he did).

But then he realizes he needs to practice with an audience so he can really be sure he won't freeze or mix up his words. This is the final challenge, then he will be ready to talk to jaskier, and hopefully by some miracle, the bard Will say yes.

Geralt: I'm not giving you a piggy back

*** one week later***

Geralt: wait a second...was that an innuendo??