#smolalienbeewrites
the first scene of the 1st chapter of If There’s Any Sleep At Night;full chapter available on AO3!
The first feeling Geralt gets upon his arrival in the village is that he’s not welcome here.
This, in itself, is not particularly surprising - it wouldn’t be the first nor, most likely, the last place where he’s not welcome. The thing is, though, that the contract had clearly stated someone needs to deal with this mare.
(Then again, perhaps the local folk have assumed that someone would be anyone but a witcher.)
So he’s not welcome here. That’s fine. He can deal with that, has dealt with that many times before. Except that it does make it stupidly difficult to get any information out of anyone when people cower at his sight, side-eye him and, most importantly, refuse to actually tell him anything.
Normally, this wouldn’t be such an issue in of itself - plenty of monsters he can track down with his senses alone, no need to talk to anyone about it. All he then needs to do is kill and show up with a clear proof of having done so to collect his reward.
A mare, though, is a little trickier than that. Strange creatures, they are - a human being by day, a demon by night, one that haunts people in their sleep. Worst of all, most mares aren’t born as such, with only few exceptions - typically they’re the result of a human being having been wronged somehow, and humans who are mares can go through their entire life with no idea of what they do in the night. She could be anyone in the village, this mare, and Geralt knows from experience the type of magic involved is faint enough in the daylight that even his medallion won’t pick up on it. He has dealt with a few of them before and each time the whole ordeal is unnecessarily complicated - this time, made even more difficult by the village folk.
Earlier that day, Geralt had managed to get himself a room at the only inn in the village and he’s been hoping that at least the innkeeper, Theodore, would be a little more talkative - seeing as the man clearly doesn’t have much issue with letting a witcher stay under his roof.
He was wrong.
“Nothing for you to find around here, witcher,” Theodore grumbles at him.
He’s wiping off the counter near where Geralt sits, only half-heartedly paying attention to the conversation - and that only serves to irritate Geralt further.
“From what I’ve heard, there is a mare. I’ve also heard that she’s killing people,” Geralt mutters. He tries not to let his frustration show, but he knows he’s most likely failed already.
“Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t,” Theodore shrugs, finally gracing Geralt with a look. “But I’m not the one who went around asking for a witcher to take care of it. Let me guess, it was a priest who put up the contract, wasn’t it? Vojtech, then, that old prick. Go talk to him and quit wasting your time here.”
(What is it with these people assuming Geralt doesn’t know how to do his job?)
“I did already,” Geralt grumbles. He takes a long sip of the watered down ale he’s been offered. “He wasn’t helpful.”
“Then he hasn’t changed at all.”
Geralt doesn’t bother hiding his eye roll. He’s here for a job - not to deal with whatever disputes the people of this village might have going on. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t be talking to any of them in the first place.
“I don’t know and don’t care for whatever -”
Geralt doesn’t have the time to even properly get started on his tirade because a strangely excited voice cuts him off mid-sentence.
“Oh, I know who you are…”
Slowly, Geralt turns around until his eyes land on the source of the noise. A man with a rather youthful face, a mop of brown hair and unusually bright blue eyes, though lined with deep dark circles underneath. A lute hangs off his shoulder and he seems unable to stand still, bouncing on the heels of his feet and hands fluttering in front of him like butterflies flapping their wings.
A man who, upon closer inspection, appears to be… delighted at the sight of Geralt. Weird.
“You’re the witcher… Geralt of Rivia,” he continues and the way he says it, it sounds dreamy. It’s a change of pace, that’s for certain, and Geralt isn’t yet sure whether it’s a welcome one.
Without asking for permission, the stranger slides into the seat next to Geralt’s, pulling the lute off his shoulder in one swift motion as he settles. “I’m Jaskier.”
Geralt hums in acknowledgement - he has half a mind to tell him to get lost, but he doesn’t. Jaskier, besides the priest, might be the only person in this village willing to talk to him, even while Theodore is giving them both a rather obvious side-eye.
“So,” Jaskier shifts in his chair, like there’s a bundle of energy inside of him that he can’t quite contain. “What is a witcher doing in these parts anyway? There isn’t much happening around here, as far as I am aware…”
“Not even the mare?”
“Ah.” Jaskier nods. “Yes. There is the mare.”
“Jaskier,” Theodore suddenly barks, a clear warning in the tone of his voice. He doesn’t say anything else, though. Geralt keeps quiet and watches the scene unfold - how Jaskier pouts at Theodore, not intimidated by him in the slightest.
“Oh, come off it, Theo!” he groans. “He’s just trying to help.”
“You should quit sticking your nose into everything, Jaskier. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Theodore only says and then stalks over to the other side of the bar, leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone.
“Rude,” Jaskier mutters to himself before he turns to Geralt. The moment his eyes land on the witcher, a bright smile spreads across his face. “Don’t mind him, he’s always like this. So - you’re here for the mare, then?”
“Mhm. Know anything about it?”
Jaskier ponders the question for a moment. He leans back in his chair and reaches for his lute - at which Geralt just raises an eyebrow. What, is he about to sing him a ballad about the mare haunting this village? That, though, doesn’t happen - instead Jaskier simply strums idly as he speaks.
“A little bit. What do you need to know, dear witcher?”
“Anything. Everything.”
“From what I know,” Jaskier leans in closer and speaks in a whisper, though his voice is still loud enough that Theodore huffs at him, making it clear that he can hear everything even from across the bar. This time, though, he doesn’t interrupt. “It’s been around here for months. Maybe even half a year, around that. At first she did what most mares do - people would wake up in the night, unable to move or breathe, this charming ghost of a woman staring them in the face. In the morning, they would be exhausted and terrified, but - alive. That… changed, a few weeks ago.”
“She started killing.”
“Yeah. Emil was the first victim - left behind a lovely wife and an equally love kid, Joana and Lea. Joana of Herring, that is, there are two of them around - but regardless. Emil was… well, he shall not be missed, let’s put it that way.”
Jaskier pauses, then, and stops strumming. He meets Geralt’s gaze.
“I could bring you to the two of them,” he continues. “You’re not going to learn anything on your own - the people around here don’t take well to strangers. And - in exchange for my magnificent help - all I’m asking for is some stories. Inspiration. You could tell me all about those magical, mythical things that you have seen! I think it could be a splendid cooperation, truly.”
(Inspiration. Right. As if there’s anything inspiring about what Geralt does.)
“No.” Geralt stands up. “You’ve helped enough, bard. I can handle the rest.”
“But Geralt!” Jaskier whines and hurries to follow him. “Your - witcher-y… charms aren’t going to work on them. Just let me go with you, I’ll be -”
Geralt never hears the end of that sentence. He walks out of the inn, letting the door close in Jaskier’s face.
He doesn’t need a bard at his side. Doesn’t need to be dragging another person into the danger of what he does.
(Nor does he need the disappointment of Jaskier seeing him as the monster that he truly is.)
inspired by this prompt // post s2, geraskier; in which Jaskier decides to push his luck with some compliments
Later on, he’ll blame it on the alcohol. On the pleasant warmth currently spreading through his body, relaxing, making him feel as though no matter what he says, things will turn out just fine.
It’s not like Jaskier doesn’t ever run his mouth when he’s sober (in fact, he does so far too often), but there arestill certain topics that he avoids, things that he doesn’t want to let slip. Especially these days, when that bitter taste of heartbreak is still relatively fresh on his tongue.
Right now, though, he’s content. Here, in Kaer Morhen - there’s a fire burning, laughter and chatter all around him. Good ale in his cup. And Geralt is sitting right across from him and gods, it’s impossible to look away when there’s this soft look on his witcher’s face, when strands of white hair frame his face just so, when his eyes glow from the light of the flames. He seems just as comfortable as Jaskier feels.
And he’s beautiful, Jaskier thinks to himself and then he’s opening his mouth with not a clue as to what he’s about to say.
“You know, Geralt, I’d compliment you, but I feel like you’re going to take it the wrong way,” is what comes out of it. Could’ve been worse.
Geralt doesn’t move an inch. He only acknowledges Jaskier’s words with a subtle glance and a questioning grunt.
“The wrong way?”
“Yes,” Jaskier nods quickly, shifting his entire body until he has an elbow on the table, chin rested in his hand. He never takes his eyes off Geralt and there’s an amused smile playing across his lips as he elaborates. “Platonically.”
