Geralt of Rivia

She smiled with satisfaction as he pulled her mouth to his, unable to protest, not that she had any intention of doing so. She met his hunger with equal zealous, wasting no time in opening her mouth to his, allowing her tongue to trace his bottom lip before sliding it into his mouth to meet his. She ignore the way the edge of the tub bit into her ribs, not even noticing as she pushed herself even closer to him. A soft moan escaped the back of her throat, her hand stroking him harder and faster as she kissed him. The sound of the water sloshing in the tub matched the pace of her hand, filling the room a sound other than just their heavy breathing and kissing. Her inner thighs were slick with arousal as she clenched them together, forcing herself to remain at the side of the tub and not climb into his lap, water and any form of dignity be damned. 

Adelise had to remember where they were and who she was. They weren’t on the beach anymore, they were in the castle where anyone could find them, and report her misdeeds back to her brother. She could try to compel whoever caught them if it came to that, but she still wasn’t very good and there was no guarantee her compulsion would hold. She truly didn’t think her brother would harm her, but that didn’t mean the same for Geralt. Audric would have no problem cropping him at the neck for just laying a finger on her. She pushed those thoughts from her mind. 

Her other hand found its way to his bicep, gripping it tightly as her nails dug into his skin, making crescent shape indentations. She pulled away from his mouth momentarily to take a breath, her eyes meeting his once more, before eagerly finding his lips again. Her strokes became even faster, making sure to circle the head of his cock with her palm on every other pass, applying just right amount of pressure.

When she leaned into him, he took the liberty of reaching his other hand up to grip the side of her face, his torso twisting towards her direction. The speed of her strokes quickened with perfect timing, as if she somehow knew exactly what his body needed. The progressively intensifying sensation caused him to curl his toes, a muffled groan vibrating from his mouth to hers as they kissed so fervently that neither one of them had much time to breathe. 

He would have also taken the opportunity to catch his breath when she separated from him, were it not for the fact that he was holding his breath in anticipation of a rapidly approaching climax. His eyes fell from hers to her wet lips; he wanted more than anything to be kissing her as he came, so he roughly pulled her towards him by the back of her head to reunite their open mouths. He squinted his eyes so tightly that little white stars burst forth from the darkness, no longer able to focus enough to even properly kiss her back. Pausing the kiss, he tilted his head forward so that their foreheads touched; his mouth widened slightly and a soft moan escaped through the back of his throat under the cover of a shallow breath.

Within the imaginings of his mind's eye, he reverted back to the scene at the beach; the sight of her breasts through her wet dress, the way it felt to slide the tip of his cock between her folds, and the rapturous satisfaction of being fully enveloped by her heat. Though the present scenario was hot enough on its own, her hand was nothing in comparison to being buried deep inside of her– which was all he wanted to do in this moment. But time was not on his side as he was now on the cusp of completion.

Post-climax would have been sobering– filled with the sudden realization of their carelessness– but he was never granted the opportunity to reflect, nor to finish. An indisputable, sing-song voice echoed through the corridor outside of the bath room which caused Geralt to jerk away from her so abruptly that water sloshed and spilled around the edges of the tub. He whipped his head in the direction of the door, immediately meeting Jaskier’s ghastly gaze. The bard had stumbled in, luckily not outright witnessing the debauchery, but there were enough context clues to bring him to the conclusion of what they had been doing; Geralt’s cheeks were flushed, her gown was visibly wet from bath water, and the bath water was still swinging from edge to edge.

Geralt could see the human’s gears turning, undoubtedly drumming up the punchline of a joke at the Witcher’s expense. His iris’s burned yellow with such an intense anger that Jaskier might as well have been impaled at the edge of his silver sword. “Fuck off, Jaskier,” he warned, attempting to stop the man before he caused any further embarrassment, but unfortunately, Geralt was not very intimidating while naked in soap-filled tub. Jaskier responded with an amused grin, defiantly remaining at the door frame, even leaning into it and crossing his arms arrogantly. 

“I nearly had a stroke at the news of your arrest, but it would appear that you are the only one receiving a stroke today–” 

The sight of Geralt angrily and rapidly rising from the water sent Jaskier stumbling backwards, laughter reverberating throught the halls as he practically sprinted away. There were no plans to actually attack him– yet,– as he knew that Jaskier didn't have the balls to keep pushing him if he was no longer in a compromising position. However, this did not slow his retreat, aware that the entire castle could have been alerted to the situation by the Bard's obnoxiously loud laugh. 

She couldn’t help the smallest inhale as she felt the velvety smooth skin of his erection, not expecting him to be that hard already. Perhaps she had just as much of an affect on him as he did on her. A rush of heat pooled between her own legs, causing her shift slightly in hopes of some semblance of friction. Without warning, she gripped him fully, wrapping her hand around him and giving him few slow strokes, the water sloshing with her movements. Her eyes fell to where her hand disappeared, disappointed at the cloudiness of the water. She turn her hungry gaze back to him, giving another stroke and the slightest squeeze, letting her thumb brush over the tip of his cock. “I think you desire more than just a bath,” she breathed, her voice lower than before. 

She leaned forward once again, kissing softly along his stubble before letting her blunt teeth bite his jawline gently. “I know I do,” she wanted to kiss him again but she knew that second she did, she would most likely end up in the tub herself. Her movements were much more relaxed this time around. No sense of urgency or the adrenaline of coming back to life flowing through her veins. She wanted to take her time, to savor the moment. She pulled back from him to watch his reaction as her hand began to move up and down, finding her own rhythm but keeping it slow and steady, almost agonizingly so.

Not an ounce of concern could be found within him at her threat– it was empty and he knew it. It could not be forgotten that she had been the one to initiate things on the beach; it was a strong reminder that she wanted this just as desperately as he did. Not only did he feel confident in this, but her actions betrayed her words, which made him even more secure in the fact that she was not going anywhere. It was not one-sided, however, as she held the proof of his attraction in her hand, her touch causing his spine to stiffen, yellow eyes disappearing behind his closing lids. 

He flexed his hips, pushing into her hand’s gentle grip as she swirled her thumb, an involuntary reaction from the sensitivity of that spot. His mouth fell into an open grin, exhaling a brief and breathy chuckle both from the sensation and from her words. As she began stroking him, he pressed the balls of his feet against the far end of the tub, causing his torso to rise slightly. The bath water rocked gently from end to end in response. He let his face rest slightly against hers as she placed gentle kisses along his cheek, fingernails scratching against the wood at the aggressive nature of her gentle bite. 

He lifted his left arm around her, a few water droplets trickling onto her hair and down her back as he let it drape around her waist. His fingers played with the bottom frays of her curls, noticing how soft they were– he briefly wished that he could have been present for her bath. Snaking beneath her locks, he slid his hand up her back until his fingers curled around the back of her neck, applying a firm but careful pressure that he used to direct her face toward his. 

“Though I must admit, the risk of being beheaded for only three minutes of pleasure doesn’t seem entire worth it, if you ask me,” her tone changed as did the subject, wanting to move away from her small moment of vulnerability. She wanted to touch him again. To feel his muscles tense beneath her touch. To have his hands on her again. She craved it almost as much as his blood. She rose up on her knees, which in turn brought chest and face closer to his, the edge of the tub being the only barrier between them. Her smile turned into a wicked smirk as her hand crept below the surface of the water, finding its way between his torso and his leg he was currently resting his arm on. She let her fingers splay across his lower abdomen once more, before trailing along his upper thigh. Adelise leaned forward over the edge of the tub, a few stray curls falling forward, their ends dipping into the water. Her mouth was hot against his ear, “I think it only fair I give you something worthy of a beheading, don’t you agree?”

His chest heaved as he scoffed, raising his eyebrows as if to say: ‘you’re not wrong’. Of course, he would not outright agree with her, lest he somehow insult her by saying that the short time they had spent together wasn’t good– because that couldn’t be further from the truth. But she was not wrong, it was not even slightly worth it; the desire to find the nearest brothel to relieve his pent up frustrations had been on his mind all day. He may have even wondered–no, vividly pictured– what she looked like relieving her own frustrations in the privacy of her bedchamber. Even in this moment, he found himself drifting from immediate consciousness thinking about it– until he heard the ruffling of her gown as she shifted her weight towards him.

The concern was visible on his forehead, tightly-knitted brows creating wrinkles between them upon hearing her suggestion, his eyes darting to the left to peer at her through the corner of his eyes. Lungs came to an abrupt halt, cutting off his inhale at her touch. His expression communicated two contradicting things very clearly: that her proposition was terrifying– but tempting. 

Her touch would have been enough, but her warm breath against his ear, and the words she muttered into it, brought him to full solidity. Like the true man he was, common sense immediately fled– faster than Thomas from battle. Rather than with words, Geralt responded with action, straightening his posture and falling back against the wall of the tub again. His knee dropped until it was almost fully submerged, stretching his legs as far as the tub would allow, falling out of reach of her fingertips. Concealed by the foggy water, his erection flipped upwards and came to rest on top of his lower abdomen, swollen head just below the naval. He let his elbows rest against the edge again, ensuring that he raised his left arm around hers that was extended into the water. Despite this new, relaxed position, he did not turn his head away from her, nor did he avoid intense eye contact– wanting to differentiate his earlier reaction to the redhead’s wandering touch from his reaction to Adelise’s offer. Before, it was casual, a simple acceptance of the redhead’s proposition. Now, it was a need, almost a demanding look in his yellow eyes– he didn’t want the shy touch of a coy servant girl. He wanted hers. 

“He claimed that you had somehow planned or provoked the attack. Either wanting me dead or trying to get me alone to use as a ransom,” she rolled her eyes at the nonsense of it all. “Truthfully, I don’t think he expected to run into other guards, nor did he think us still alive to contradict his lies.” She had yet to hear of Audric arresting him. As far as she knew, the traitor still slept soundly in his bed. It disgusted her. If he learned of Geralt’s release, she knew he would likely flee and they would never see him again. He would escape without being punished for his actions. Without the world knowing what a coward he was. “My brother knows the truth now. Well.. What he needs to know of the truth at least. I trust he will do right thing when it comes to that treasonous snake.”

Her eyes fell to her hand in the water, watching the ripples she made next to his thigh. “I never did get a chance to thank you properly… For saving my life. It was.. idiotic and suicidal to jump in the water after me but I am forever grateful to you, Geralt.” Adelise looked up at him now, wanting him to know that she truly meant what she was saying. 

-

Her gratitude, though appreciated, was unnecessary in his opinion. In the moment, he did not consider himself to be brave nor stupid; it was not a carefully calculated decision to jump off of the cliff after her, there was no hesitation at all. The nature of a witcher was to protect the innocent from the monsters that plagued the continent, he was built for it– even if a majority of humankind had decided his services were no longer wanted or needed. In most instances, he could only reflect later on the decisions made in the heat of the moment, and decide then whether he was brave or stupid. In this case, though, the decision to save her life was not stupid– considering if he had not, there would have been no one to vouch for him against Thomas’s deception. 

Water sloshed gently as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His heavily-hooded eyes were still aimed straight ahead, in thought. Beyond his natural protective instinct, there was something else below the surface that made him jump without hesitation. It was the same reason, or lack thereof, that she had kissed him on the beach– an unexplained magnetism that was pulling them together, and growing stronger with each interaction. He was aware of the attraction, painfully, but accepting or admitting its presence would not be wise. Any relationship beyond business between a beastly Witcher and a royal Princess was forbidden. Eventually, they would be unable to ignore both conflicts– which is why he had decided to leave after the feast. It was easier than allowing fate to carry out whatever plans it seemed to have for their future, which he felt would end with his detached head rolling in the dirt for all of Kovir to witness. The kind thing to do would have been to warn her, to say goodbye, and to let her know his reasoning behind his abandonment of their quest; but he knew that if she gave even the slightest effort into convincing him to stay, that he would. So he kept his thoughts to himself, and responded to her genuine gratitude with two words: “You’re welcome.”

She did not know why she had kissed him on the beach. She knew next to nothing about him, other than the stories. Which were just that… Stories. From what she could tell so far, the truth was very different than the legend. “I imagine you could manage an escape from my brother’s wrath,” she teased. She found it exhilarating in a way, the possibility of being caught. Truly, she had no idea what her brother’s actions would be. Now that he was king, he was forced to be held to a higher standard, his tolerance not so laxed anymore. Still, she was his sister. Surely he would not condemn his own sister to death?

“I needed to speak with you. I trust seeing as you aren’t in a torture chamber, my brother does not know about our… Dalliance and I would like to keep it that way, as I’m sure you would as well,” she spoke curtly, as if they were back in the room negotiating his price once more. She betrayed her tone however, when her gaze fell to his mouth, imagining all the things he could do with it. She swallowed, licking her own lips and meeting his eyes once more. 

“I don’t know what he told you when he released you, but that bastard Thomas seems to be quite the storyteller,“  she hissed, clenching her jaw in displeasure at the mere thought of him. 

Her laugh, albeit brief, was vibrant– it was the first time he’d seen her in such a way, without reservation or worry. It was a lovely sight, and her comfort aided in dismantling his from his tight shoulders. He settled back down into his original position, releasing the tight grasp on the edge of the tub and letting his knuckles dance on the surface of the water. Lacking control over his own thoughts, he fondly replayed their earlier experience in water; the sound of her moans he would not soon forget. 

He didn’t respond to her light-hearted jest, aside from a breathy scoff that made his chest jump. She seemed to be careful with her word choice: dalliance. Was it because she wanted to avoid the use of vulgarity, or because she wanted to emphasize the fact that their interaction was brief– as in not to happen again. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had intruded on his bath and sent the maid away, just to deny him another chance at gratification. However, he was slow to realize that she had not been satisfied either– perhaps she wouldn’t be so cruel after all. 

“He told me nothing in detail, because I did not ask– I was still coming to terms with the fact that I was not being beheaded for those three minutes of pleasure,” he admitted, still amused at the entire situation. “Though I can speculate that he named me at fault for the attack on your life today, despite the fact that he was the only one who refused to fight for it– your life,” he clarified, shaking his head slightly before continuing his train of thought. “I’m sure his lies were easy to believe. My kind is not as trusted by society as we once were.”

She herself had been bathed and scrubbed clean of the blood, dirt, and grim. Her hair was washed and dried, her natural curls falling down her back. She often pulled the front of her hair back from her face, giving a sense of decorum until she was ready for bed but tonight she let her dark locks flow freely over her shoulders, simply tucking some strands behind her ears. It was a relief to be back into fresh clothes, the lace of her nightgown soft against her skin. Moving to her vanity, she dabbed a few drops of rose oil to her wrists, rubbing them together. “That will be all, Mary. Thank you,” she dismissed her handmaiden, ignoring the slight look of confusion from her. Normally, Mary would help her get ready for bed, but tonight wasn’t the case. She needed to speak with Geralt. To inform him of what her brother knew, and to make sure he hadn’t said anything he shouldn’t have. Given the fact that he was currently being pampered and not strung up to some type of torture device, reassured her of his silence and self perseverance. Still, she wanted to be sure their stories lined up.

Once Mary had left, Adelise quietly made her way to her bedroom door, slipping through the small opening and shutting it behind her. The hallway was dark, only a few candles still lit. She had no issue seeing in the dark, her vision enhanced as a literal creature of the night. It took no time at all to find her way to Geralt’s chambers, leaning against the stone wall next to the door and listening in as Isobel bathed him. She could hear the girl’s rapid pulse, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her giggles. Isobel may act innocent but she was far from it. She was a favorite among the men here, and knew exactly what she was she was doing. As soon as Isobel began to walk towards the door, Adelise stepped back into the shadows. The ginger didn’t even notice her as she walked by, too preoccupied with thoughts of the Witcher no doubt. Upon her return, Adelise stepped between the closed door and the handmaiden, startling the girl.

“Your highness,” she bowed, blushing with embarrassment for not seeing the princess sooner. Adelise saw the brush in her hand, and quickly took it from her. “Leave us,” she commanded, keeping her voice low but her tone harsh. “But- his majesty said-“ Isobel began to argue, but Adelise didn’t let her finish her thought. “And I said, leave us,” she met the girl’s gaze, Adelise’s blue eyes cold and calculating. Isobel knew she had no choice but to obey, and with a half-heart curtsy, she turned and left with a slight huff. Adelise ignore the small act of insubordination, a triumphant smirk falling onto her lips.

Opening the door, she entered Geralt’s room, the air humid with the steam from the bath. Her bare feet were quiet on the floor, as she walked towards him, his back to her in the tub. Her eyes roamed the parts of him she could see, her mouth going dry as she saw the wound on his shoulder, no longer actively bleeding, but still tempting all the same. It took her a moment to gather herself as she recalled the sweet taste of his blood. Standing over him, she realized his eyes were closed and he didn’t know it was her that re-entered the room. She fell to her knees behind him, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she gently pulled the tie from his hair that held it out of his face. Starting from the ends of his hair and slowly working her way up, she rang the comb through his white locks, admiring the way it slid through her fingers once it was completely brushed through.

With his eyes still closed, she moved to the side of the tub, finally able to look at him fully without his intimidating golden gaze. She took note of all the scars that littered his torso, admiring the way his muscles moved with each breath. His face was relaxed for once, his heavy brow not so brooding. He almost looked peaceful, something she doubted he had much of in his life. The water was cloudy with soap, leaving her slightly disappointed. Keeping up the ruse, she grabbed the sponge that was floating near his knee, and began dragging it up and down the arm closest to her, doing so until she saw no traces of dirt left on him. Isobel clearly hadn’t been actually interested in cleaning him, she as she had missed quite a few spots on his chest. Adelise moved on to his torso, cleaning him thoroughly before she began to let her mind and hand wander. She had been replaying their tryst on beach in her mind, hating how quickly it had begun and ended. She shifted, rubbing her thighs together as she sat back on her knees, remembering the feeling of him inside her.

Her hand dropped lower with the sponge, following the trail of hair that led down his naval. Gently, she let her nails scratch against the taut muscles of his lower abdomen. Her hand dipped below the water, the lace of her sleeve floating on the surface, brushing against him as she dragged the sponge from hip to hip, purposefully not touching anywhere else. Unable to keep up the act any longer, she spoke, “Enjoying your bath?”

Geralt was no stranger to insomnia; whether it was caused by his Witcher instinct which always kept him on his toes, by the pain of aching muscles or wounds from a battle, or most rarely: nightmares of his mother. It was why he drank often and in excess, forcing his supernatural body to be rendered unconscious in an effort to receive a fleeting moment of rest. Even then, the effects of his drunkenness never lasted long, another cost of being a mutant. For all of these reasons, it baffled him that he had nearly nodded off while waiting for the girl to return– jolting slightly as he felt tugging on his scalp. Even when he did bathe, he never really brushed his hair, aside from running his fingers through the worst of tangles– but he did not protest. 

His eyes slowly closed once more, the room silent aside from the occasional trickling of water from the sponge. Too relaxed to notice– or enjoying himself too much to care– he said nothing about the fact that she was washing him in the same spots as before; and he especially did not protest when her hand dipped below the water again. He felt a nail drag across his skin and it caused him to tense abruptly, his once relaxed, soft belly now tight from the contraction of his abdominal muscles. Her forwardness was shocking, though he knew that some women had the tendency of playing innocent while having ulterior motives– so, he decided to give into her provocative conduct, flexing his hips forwards just slightly as if to give her permission to continue lower. 

The atmosphere changed at her response, because the voice did not belong to the sweet redhead. Water sloshed against the circumference of the tub in reaction to Geralt’s sudden jolt upward, straightening his posture and craning his neck uncomfortably to meet the eyes of the Princess. He should have sensed her presence– smelled her at the very least but the aromatic soap must have provided a sort of scent camoflauge. Almost as soon as he met her gaze, he turned his head forward again, his discomfort clear. It wasn’t her presence alone that made him uncomfortable; it was that her presence was a reminder of his decision to leave Kovir once the mandatory feast was over. He had no intentions of warning her of his departure, which, for whatever reason, was causing him to carry a bit of guilt at the sight of her face now.

The largest gift of gratitude, which Geralt assumed had been done cleverly by Audric, was discovered upon the sight of the maid who had been tasked to bathe him. She was a comely young woman, slender and busty; her long ginger hair hung in a braid that she pulled to one side, guiding his eyes straight to her cleavage which was very hard to ignore, what with how tightly her corset was tied. “Shall I help you undress?” her voice trembled, clearly nervous– not from the act of bathing someone, but from the act of bathing a mutant. Her thoughts were written on her face; she was afraid of him– found him enticingly dangerous.

He raised a single brow, hesitating– because the offer was tempting– but soon shook his head. “I think I can handle that,” he brushed past her and began unbuttoning his ruined shirt, wincing slightly as the fabric had become stuck to the wound on his back and required more effort to remove it. Scars littered his torso– front and back– and he could feel her staring at them, but he was pleased to know that she did not bother with asking about them. Little did he know that she had become enamored with the sight of his body, not the scars that plagued it. He had turned more towards the tub once the shirt was removed, now tugging at the ties at his waistband. A brief glance towards her and she was caught staring; she flushed bright red and cleared her throat, trying to distract from it.

“The doctor will see you after,” she informed him, her eyes turning towards the ground as he pulled one pants leg from his foot, followed by the other. He didn’t respond, aside from a simple nod, wasting no time in getting in the large tub, as he felt a bit awkward wearing only his wolf medallion in front of a stranger. The warm water sloshed around him as he settled into it, ripples taking their sweet time in dying out. His muscular, hairy chest rose towards the ceiling as he drew in a slow breath, followed by an exhale of relaxation. He propped his elbows up on either side of the tub and closed his eyes; his aching muscles found relief within the heat of the bath.

His eyes snapped open at the feeling of a soft sponge on his chest; he glanced briefly over his shoulder and met eyes with the redhead, who seemed to be permanently flushed. A heightened sense of hearing allowed him to pick up on her nervous gulp, just near his ear as she bent over to gently glide the sponge lower. With every inch that she let the sponge fall, she stooped further over him, until her hand was fully submerged to the wrist. He tensed slightly as she circled the sponge beneath the water, just below his naval, unintentionally pressing his upper back into her breasts. 

Thinking she overstepped, the maid pulled back slightly, sliding the sponge back to his upper abdomen. “Did I do something to displease you?” She sounded genuinely concerned. Geralt responded with a soft, breathy chuckle, glancing up at her again with hooded eyes. “Quite the opposite.”

She giggled softly and continued on, gliding the sponge in slow circles all across his ribs, his stomach, then up to his chest again. She became more liberal with her touch– using her bare fingers to sweep his hair behind his shoulder before dragging the sponge across his clavicle. A firm squeeze of the sponge sent water flowing down his chest, a sensation that brought goosebumps to his skin. Her other hand remained in his hair, trying to untangle it with her fingers but realizing she was making matters worse. 

“I didn’t bring a brush– didn’t know you’d have long hair... I’ll be right back,” she assured him, dropping the sponge into the water where it began bobbing slowly away from him. 

“Food, women and wine, Geralt!” His whining was like that of a toddler, and Geralt would not give him the satisfaction of a response. “All we do is wander aimlessly from place to place, while you collect all the coin and earn free publicity from my music– Can we not pause to enjoy one single moment? You owe me!” Angry now, Geralt stopped dead in his tracks, like a sudden unmovable force that Jaskier had now collided with. A stumble step backwards and he had fully recovered from the misstep, face permanently contorted as if he were ready to beg on his knees for Geralt’s compliance. 

“We do not wander aimlessly, anywhere. You follow me, and monopolize on my life so that you can write your shitty fucking songs.” He snapped, lip curling up in anger with each word. “I owe you nothing.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open, dumbfounded that Geralt could ever feel such a way about him. He stumbled over his words, clearly unable to recover from the betrayal– a mixture of hurt and anger. “I– You– ... Have you forgotten all I did to help clear your name after what you did in Blaviken?”

Geralt sighed heavily, rolling his eyes away from the bard. Blaviken– a debt to Jaskier that Geralt had repaid many times over, yet somehow it kept getting brought up. “How could I possibly forget when you remind me every time you want something?” he spat, jaw flexing as he ground his teeth together.

“What I’m hearing is: ‘Yes, my dearest–and only– friend, Jaskier, I will gladly attend this feast if it would only mean bringing you the brief moment of happiness that you so deserve.’”

He stepped closer to the witcher so that he could look him in the eyes. He was taller than Audric, his muscle mass obviously dwarfing the royal. Still, Audric held an air of stoic authority about him, even without the title of king. “It is my understanding that the story Thomas told, was in fact very far from the truth. My sister has informed me of your bravery and heroics. She spoke rather highly of you and all that you did to keep her safe. Therefore, I hope you can forgive me for my quick actions,” he stepped back, gesturing for the guard to open the cell door. Once he did, the king continued on. 

“I would like to host a feast in your honor tomorrow night. As a way to show you my appreciation for bringing my sister back safe and sound,” though it was posed as if it were optional, his tone said otherwise. “I know these… Sirens weren’t what you were hired for, and if you choose to leave after tomorrow night given everything that has happened, I would understand.” Audric would be surprised if the witcher chose to stay in a kingdom that had imprisoned him. Audric wouldn’t force him to either. However, though he had slain some beasts, it was not the one that truly plagued their people. “Though if you do chose to stay and help us with our original problem, I would be forever in your debt.”

-

Geralt tilted his chin down slightly at the king’s words, showing careful restraint in how he reacted to what Audric had to say. The story Thomas told? Confusion wreaked havoc on his stream of consciousness, but did not emote on his face. He slowly began to understand the situation at hand– that his arrest had nothing to do with his real crime– and thankfully, he had not done something stupid like apologizing profusely for defiling his little sister. 

A slow nod, followed by a quick swipe of the tongue across his chapped lips. “Forgiven and forgotten,” Geralt responded simply with a swift nod and a forced polite smile. He was a man of few words, yes, but he was also still a bit taken aback by the whole situation. The key clanked against the metal lock as it was forced inside, followed by the creaking of the barred door as it was pulled open. He didn’t hesitate when the door was open, stepping through it and coming face-to-face with the king at a respectful distance. 

A feast? It took every ounce of restraint within him to not audibly sigh– especially when he saw Jaskier light up with excitement behind the king. He twisted his neck uncomfortably as if the thought of a celebration in his name physically ailed him. The invitation could not be accepted or refused by the one it was extended to because the giddy bard beat him to it. “He would be most pleased to accept this very gratuitous offer, my lord,” Jaskier scurried around the king to appear at Geralt’s side, slinging a lanky arm around his shoulder. He released a low growl in response, shooting his comrade a warning glare that would frighten any normal person. Jaskier did not address this look, though he did take heed of his warning and quickly remove his arm from the witcher. “And I will gladly provide the entertainment–if your majesty has not yet tired of my lute after today. A celebration of a the infamous Geralt would not be complete without his storyteller, after all."

“What of my horse?” Geralt cut in quickly, changing the subject as if Jaskier did not deserve the decency of a response. It was with purpose that he avoided answering the King’s question about staying to complete the contract which he was first hired for. “My sword and armor?”

There was nothing he could do about it anymore except deal with the hand they had all been dealt. He knew it was foolish to argue with his sister this morning about her insistence to go after Ramsey so he let her do as she pleased. He knew she would go with or without his permission regardless. He wasn’t stupid. he knew she held an affection for the man, he just didn’t care to know how deep it went. He wasn’t exactly a saint himself, but being a woman they were not granted as much liberties as men. As long as his sister was discreet, he couldn’t be bothered to care. Adelise respected him as king no doubt, and she knew when to back down and follow his orders. However she also knew when to push him just enough to get her way. Audric had a soft spot for his baby sister and he would do anything he could to make her happy. Now though, he also had to balance her happiness with the wellbeing of their kingdom. Something that was becoming exceedingly difficult. 

A sigh left his chest as he was pulled from his thoughts. He had spent the day being entertained by the bard, Jaskier. Truthfully, he understood how this man could grate the nerves of most, but to Audric, he was a breath of fresh air. Someone who didn’t filter themselves just because he was king. Someone who treated him like an actual person instead of a figure head. He had shared stories of his time with Geralt and their many adventures. Some, if not most, overly exaggerated surely by the bard but he enjoyed the story telling none the less. 

Once news of the attack on his sister and her travel party reached him thanks to Thomas, the bard made himself scarce. Thomas’ words filled him with rage against the witcher, causing Audric to demand his immediate capture if he was still alive. How dare that freak think he could pull one over on him? How dare he try anything against his beloved sister? When Adelise had returned very much still alive and well and fuming, he realized he may have acted too quickly. But what else could he do but believe the words of his men when that was all he had to go on? 

His bootsteps echoed on the stone floor, the stench of the dungeon burning his nose but he didn’t show it. The bard had asked to join him as he made his way down to speak to and inevitably free the witcher, to which Audric had no qualms with. Truthfully, he found humor in the way the bard mercilessly teased his companion. He stopped in front of the witcher’s cell, his face unreadable as Jaskier leaned against the bars next to him. He was silent, waiting to see what the witcher would do or say. Though he of course believe Adelise, he wondered if the man in front of him would reveal anything else his sister may have left out. 

The silence between the three men was deafening, but Geralt made no effort to break it; it didn’t seem wise to speak out of turn when Audric was likely about to lay down his sentence for Geralt’s crimes. He did, however, raise a single brow, curious as to why Jaskier was accompanying him; he would have assumed that the bard would have fled by now, or been thrown in the adjacent cell. The witcher narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the expressions that both men wore on their faces. 

Finally, someone spoke up– but it was the one person who probably shouldn’t have– in Geralt’s opinion, at least. “I’ve come to say goodbye,” Jaskier spoke, dropping his head in defeat, as if he were hiding his face to shed a tear. Geralt swallowed and tensed, shooting a quick glance to the King before his attention returned to the bard. The scheming human lifted his head slowly, peering up from beneath his eyelashes. No tears had been shed– in fact, the opposite; his mouth was stretched wide into a shit-eating grin. Fitting, considering the pungent aroma of shit in the air. He quickly dropped his head again, to avoid the king seeing the look he’d just shared with the witcher.