Chapter Text
Geralt had known from the very first day that something about a Jaskier was a little...off.
Now it was nothing major, or he wouldn’t trust the Bard so much. Just something in the air whenever he was near. A certain disturbance around him. At first Geralt just thought he was going a bit mad - after all, the bard was no mage. He wasn’t a sorcerer or a peller or a Druid. That was obvious. There was no controlled magic, surely. There’s no way Jaskier, his bard, could possibly be a sorcerer. The bumbling, unlucky, at times charming, at other times painfully awkward, young man who was practically a kid - there was no way he could hold any real power.
But that ever so slight aura never did fade.
Geralt ignored it though. Within two years of travel he trusted Jaskier, as in really trusted him. He would let the bard stand in his blind spot and be fine with it - Jaskier was harmless after all. He was sure. He hoped he was sure.
Maybe he’s just on the cusp of having enough magic to be a sorcerer. Doesn’t mean he is one, he can’t have the training - won’t have been to Ban Ard. He’s far too young. He was 18 when we met- he told me as such.
When five years passed without the bard bringing up the odd amount of chaos magic that surrounded him, Geralt settled and decided for certain that whatever it was - Jaskier himself didn’t know. And that was fine. That was how it would stay.
The thing is, Geralt really did try to ignore it - sometimes he even succeeded. But then there were other times - moments like right now.
He had agreed to accompany Jaskier to a ball in Toussaint, overly fancy, full of vengeful cuckholds, poncy nobles and flowing wine. Geralt didn’t mind the wine part. Everything else was awful. He stayed in the darkest corner of the elegant ballroom that he could find, trying to slip into the shadows and praying to literally any deity willing to listen to him that people left him the fuck alone. He should never have agreed but the damned bard always got what he wanted. He would just bat his long dark eyelashes over pale blue eyes and smile as he reminded Geralt once again that ‘you owe me, Geralt. I made you famous - I changed your image. You’re welcome!’. Geralt couldn’t not agree to his every whim as he singsonged his argument.
He glanced over to Jaskier, all dressed in an emerald green silk doubled, beaded and embroidered in silver. He had finished playing for the moment, his lute left propped on a stand in the corner of the room. He was talking to a woman who Jaskier had previously assured Geralt was the Duchess Anna Henrietta, a veritable muse of unparalleled beauty - who happened to have a husband with an unparalleled temper. Clearly they were flirting, Jaskier flashing perfect winning smiles and saying what must have been just the right things to make the Duchess laugh.
Geralt huffed, realising he was going to need to stop this before his bard got himself in hot water - more than he likely already was.
But because fate hated him - as soon as he stepped out of his dark hidey hole, some noble Geralt didn’t give a shit about felt the need to strike up a conversation. And then another noble joined. And another.
“So tell me, Witchman, would you be willing to work as security? It’s just my estate has so many problems with bandits and-“ Geralt zoned out, trying to see Jaskier through the crowd.
And was hit was the horrid realisation that he couldn’t.
“Shit.” He grumbled, suddenly panicked that the Bard was about to get himself killed. The noble ladies around him gasped at his language, a few scandalised whispers leaving their lips. Not that Geralt gave a shit. He was more preoccupied at the realisation that not only was Jaskier missing, but as was the Duke, who would be none too pleased by Jaskier’s flirting with his duchess.
Abandoning any shred of manners he faked he barged past the gaggle of nobles in search of his stupid, accident prone, unlucky, can’t keep his cock in his pants, bard.
He frowned as he followed the scent of Jaskier, the spice of clove and orange that followed him wherever he went, despite Geralt never actually seeing him own any expensive colognes. The trail led him out from the main ballroom and away to a sheltered garden. He growled as his hearing caught the murmur of Jaskier’s voice.
“Come now, I’m sure we could come to an agreement on this!”
“You slept with my wife!”
“And I just made you a very good deal. Consider it?”
Geralt stalked closer, ready to make sure Jaskier didn’t get himself executed for treason or some other human shite.
And then something odd happened. The world seemed to...shift. Geralt could swear he heard a tone of a lute, the sweet sound of the strings echoing through the air, and then a hit of Chaos that made his medallion shudder violently against his chest, warning him of magic, and then...nothing.
Geralt hurried his steps and Jaskier and the Duke came into view, suddenly not fighting. Not even a scent of annoyance, which should have been there. The duke was angry not 10 seconds ago, it wasn’t long enough for a humans scent to change entirely, there should have still been adrenaline and sweat. Instead it was just Jaskier, the spice and sweet of his scent. Jaskier was holding his lute in his hand, smiling sweetly at the man, who himself looked rather pale.
The fuck is going on?
“I’m glad we could come to a deal.”
“I- yes. I too. Sorry. It’s, it’ll be done. Yes.”
Jaskier broke into a too cheery grin that could rival the sun, “I’m glad to do business with you.” The Duke nodded shakily and scuttled away, looking small. Jaskier followed him with his eyes, and quickly settled on watching Geralt, “Geralt! So good to see you! I was thinking, I think we’ve been here long enough? Don’t you agree?” Geralt just blinked, still a little startled, “Court parties are fantastic for money but really now, how could it compare to life on the road with you? I mean, really. Not even a vampire to liven the place up! We should set out in search of a monster tomorrow! Something dramatic!”
“I doubt a vampire would liven anything up...” Geralt squinted slightly, something seems very wrong about the scene in front of him, even without the Duke being there. Jaskier laughed.
“Ah, yes, right you are on that, dear Witcher. Come on now, off we go. Have to sleep to hunt monsters, yes?”
“Right...” Jaskier fell into step beside Geralt and led him out of the ball and back to their room. “What did you say to him, Jaskier?”
“Hm?”
“He sounded ready to kill you, and then...wasn’t.”
“Ah, yes. That.” Jaskier tugged on his fringe and smiled in a way that could only be described as sheepish, but that didn’t seem right for Jaskier’s whole personality, “Well, you see. I’m just that good with people.” The smile switched to a bright grin, “ I made him a deal he couldn’t refuse! I need to be good with people, really. I don’t always have my dear White Wolf to save me, do I?” Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes playfully, jokingly, and Geralt just huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes.
“If you can do that then why do you need me around at these things?”
“Oh but that just wouldn’t be any where near as much fun!” Jaskier pirouetted with a laugh and Geralt just smiled fondly at the specific brand of chaos that followed Jaskier around.
It wasn’t until he was lying in bed and Jaskier was snoring softly beside him and he could see the lute set carefully on the side table that he realised what had been so wrong. Jaskier had left his lute inside.
-
Geralt noticed more after that, remembered Jaskier’s words. Because he had a point, one that Geralt felt bad he had never thought more about. They parted ways fairly often, spending a month or two together and then parting for a few weeks to deal with their own business before finding eachother again somewhere along the road.
The thing was. Every time Geralt was with Jaskier, he ended up saving the bard’s ass. The helpless bard that ended up in endless trouble, and every single time Geralt saved him. But what did happen when Geralt wasn’t there? Surely he didn’t just not have any problems. With the amount of issues Geralt had solved for Jaskier that just couldn’t be the case. The man had a list of scorned lovers and vengeful cuckholds holding grudges that surely far outstretched the years he had been on the planet.
Every time Geralt how he got himself out of some new impossible situation Jaskier had just smiled and offered another well crafted but purposefully vague answer.
‘ We came to an agreement.’
‘I called in a favour.’
‘Magic, duh! Hah! Oh your face Geralt! I’m kidding of course! No need to look all grumpy witcher!’
‘We had tea. Really gave us time to talk.’
‘Oh who? I don’t know anyone by that name. Ask around. I’m sure no one here has heard of them.’
That one in particular had been accompanied by a scheming and mischievous smile, cornflower blue eyes glinting. Geralt had heard a few days previous that Jaskier was a few towns over and in hot water. Again. This time threatened by a März Hase. When he asked around it turned out this März was a piece of work, he gained the title of ‘Host of the Mad Tea Party, for a reason, the man being half mad and known for brutal banquets held to ‘murder the time’ (whatever that meant) and always lead to gory deaths, usually by decapitation. Geralt had mounted Roach and rushed to help as soon as he could.
But when he got there, true to Jaskier’s word, no one had heard of any März Hase. And they weren’t lying. They didn’t have that scent that came from lying, or the increased heartbeat. If anything their eyes seemed to glaze for a moment, their face falling lax for just a split second, before they shook their heads and went back to normal, adamant that they’d never heard the name.
These people had genuinely never heard of the supposedly infamous, murderous baron.
Geralt was confused, more confused than he could ever remember being in his near century of life. He opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on but was beat to the post by Jaskier, suddenly breaking out into conversation.
“So anyway, I was thinking we ought to find something to eat! I’ve we’re together again, may as well start with a meal. Is it tea time? I do think we ought to head to the inn, don’t you? We’d hate to be late!”
Jaskier was grinning to himself, as if he were laughing to a private joke. Geralt didn’t dare to question.
Though it did seem like far too much of a coincidence that the ‘Host of the Mad Tea Parry’ suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth and memories of everyone, and the first thing that Jaskier suggested was tea.
Geralt chewed at his lip.
This required more information.