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The faire is like something out of one of Jaskier’s odder dreams. The past and present merge strangely and unexpectedly; a man over to his right is dressed in an outfit that would not have been out of place in Calanthe’s court, and holding a phone to his ear. To his left is a woman in jeans and a t-shirt, with a sword strapped to her hip. There are stalls selling wares that are entirely familiar to him, with hidden eftpos machines under the tables, and stalls selling wares that, while at first glance appeared to be familiar, were, like the entire faire, a mish-mash of the old and the new. Even the sounds and smells are odd. Jaskier can hear the hubbub of voices, and animals; horses, goats, some chickens. But he can also hear cars on the motorway they arrived on, blocked from sight by a strand of trees. There’s the stink of animal manure, but also frying chips, and probably going unnoticed by those who are used to it, the smell of deodorant. Or, mostly, the lack of the smell of too many people, who’s last bath was too many days past.
Jaskier had opted to simply wear the blue silk outfit he had been wearing the day Reynard’s spell had so unceremoniously yanked him out of his time, but he hadn’t even bothered trying to get Geralt to wear a costume. He was rather surprised that Geralt had agreed to come at all, and didn’t push his luck attempting to get him into a costume, instead not commenting when he dressed in his usual black jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled back in a bun low on his head.
Jaskier had his hand wrapped around Geralt’s, and was tugging him in the direction Sophie had said their reenactment group’s encampment was. He wanted to check in with them, before exploring the faire, and getting a feel for the crowd, until his performance around lunch time. Eventually, he spots Sophie in her dark green dress he had checked for historical accuracy, and Wil beside her, in his own costume, his a paler green doublet and trousers, similar to Jaskier’s own. Sophie had her dark head bent towards Wil’s pale one, talking earnestly. The contrast between Sophie’s dyed dark hair and Wil’s naturally almost white hair was striking. Possibly Jaskier could find a song in it. Sophie would like that.
They were sitting on a log beside a fire, backs to where Jaskier and Geralt were approaching from. Jaskier called out to them, and Sophie looked up with a smile and beckoned them over. After a quick hug, Jaskier asked, “What do you recommend we see? I have a few hours until my performance.”
Sophie thought for a moment, “Well, there are a few reenactment encampments like this one, but I can’t imagine they would be terribly interesting to you. There are lots of stalls selling all sorts of things, that I was going to look at once I’ve got everything settled here.”
Wil added, “Off to the East they’re starting a tournament in an hour or so. They are also going to showcase different fighting styles in the same arena.”
Geralt made an interested sounding grunt at the information Wil gave them, and Jaskier laughed and kissed him on the cheek. He was still thrilled to be able to do that at all, let alone in such a public area. “How about you go watch people beat each other up and see all the things you could do better while Sophie and I go shopping?”
Geralt’s lips twitched upwards slightly and he leaned in for a firmer kiss before saying, “I’ll see you for your performance.”
Jaskier had his arm looped through Sophie’s as they wandered from stall to stall. Every now and then she steered them towards one stall or another to examine the wares, and at one in particular dithered over a particularly nice leather bound notebook for long enough that Jaskier waited until she reluctantly put it down and went to look at the next stall over, and purchased it, hiding it away to sneak into her bags later in the day. Jaskier himself didn’t see much of interest at first. Most of the wares were either of no use to him, given that he was working hard to integrate into modern life, or of much poorer quality than he was accustomed to purchasing. It wasn’t until they reached a stall selling items produced by a blacksmith that he saw anything at all that he was interested in. And even then, it wasn’t for himself.
Jaskier had been traveling with Geralt for long enough to be able to spot a well made weapon, and there was one in particular that had caught his eye. In amongst the daggers, there was one priced far higher than the others, and although it had a small amount of ornamentation on the hilt, there was not nearly as much as some of the other, much cheaper daggers on offer. No, what made this one so expensive, was that it was made of silver. There had been others, at other stalls that had been made of the precious metal, but this one had not been crafted as an ornament, but as a weapon intended for practical use.
One of the things Jaskier was enjoying about having an income again was that, when he felt like it, he was able to bring Geralt various small trinkets, things that he saw, and thought Geralt would like. Geralt so rarely made a purchase simply because he wanted something, and often bought things that Jaskier had expressed an interest in, and Jaskier was determined that Geralt should feel the same flutter of warmth, of feeling cared for. If that purchase might also keep Geralt safe on one of his hunts, so much the better.
After briefly haggling with the vendor, Jaskier’s wallet was much lighter, and he walked away with a beautiful new silver dagger, vines engraved into the blade, and extending to the handle, doubling as texture for added grip.
Sophie tugged him over to a nearby stall selling leatherwork, and he purchased a sheath for it, so that Geralt would be able to tuck it away, out of sight. Eventually, hungry, they both gravitated towards the stalls selling food. For all that, in theory, the stalls were supposed to sell ‘authentic’ food, most of what was available was only familiar to Jaskier from the last six months. It didn’t stop him from buying a wide range of food and trying at least a bite of everything Sophie told him was good.
Just as they were heading towards the tent that Jaskier would be performing in, his attention was caught by a stall selling pastries and sweets. There, near the back of the table, was a selection of kołaczki. They had rarely had the coin or the opportunity for sweets, but Jaskier vividly remembered, fairly early in their acquaintance, Geralt had dealt with a small village’s nekker problem for half his usual asking price, as long as one of the village bakers gave him some kołaczki. He had bitten into the buttery, flaky pastry with a small moan of delight, and, even back then, Jaskier had been too distracted by the sound to even think to ask to have any of them. Not that Geralt likely would have shared.
When he paused at the stall, Sophie asked with a small chuckle, “Aren’t you full yet?”
Jaskier made his purchase, selecting some with almonds, and some with apricot filling. He tucked them away with the dagger, and said, “Who said they were for me?” They wouldn’t keep for long, but then, they didn’t need to.
***
When Jaskier and Sophie wandered off to do their shopping, Geralt turned to Wil and asked, “Where did you say the tournament was?”
Wil gestured off in the opposite direction than the one Sophie and Jaskier had walked towards, and said, “I was planning on watching too. Would you like to join me?”
Geralt inclined his head and they walked in companionable silence towards the field the tournament would be held in. Once they arrived, they found that there was not much of a crowd, the tournament not having started yet, and they were able to take their seats in the front row.
As the stands began to slowly fill up, Wil turned to Geralt and told him, “Usually I would be competing as well, but I am not yet fully recovered from an injury to my leg, and had to withdraw.”
Geralt grunted. For all that he was often injured, at least his recovery was usually quite swift. He most likely had to wait more than just a few hours or a few days for an injury to heal when he was quite small, but he could no longer remember it. He did not envy humans their slow recovery time.
Before the tournament got started, two men in full plate armour came out onto the field to do an exhibition fight and get the crowd stirred up. After only a minute or so, Geralt leaned back with a sound of disgust and told Wil, “I hope you’re better than these idiots. They wouldn’t have lasted a day.” He gestured towards the closer man and continued, “See how he’s holding his shield? He may as well not have bothered.”
Wil added, “His grip on his sword is somewhat sub par, as well. It is a good thing this fight is not for the tournament, or he would be out of the running already.”
The exhibition fight wound down, and both men turned to engage the crowd, talking to people and making grand claims of their prowess.
“I have competed in dozens of tournaments!” The one closest to Geralt and Wil was saying, “And shall triumph at this one as well!”
Geralt snorted and said, not quietly, to Wil, “He may have competed in dozens of tournaments, but I would be willing to bet that he lost every one of them.”
The man, face obscured by the visor on his helmet, more suited to jousting than to melee fighting, turned towards where he must have heard Geralt speaking. “Strong words for a knave who has not even had the guts to enter the tournament! You, who do not even wield a sword!”
Geralt leaned forward and told the man, “I don’t need a sword to best you in a fight.”
“Oh ho!” The man turned to the crowd, arms spread dramatically, “This man thinks he can best me! Come, enter the arena! I will even lend you a sword, if you are not too much of a coward to fight me!”
Geralt thought for a moment, then shrugged, and jumped the barrier. He didn’t have any of his armour, or even his own sword, but for fighting a human, and a poorly trained one at that, he really didn’t need them.
The crowd roared, and he got a small grin on his face. Either Jaskier’s dogged attempts at improving his image had already started to work, or most of the audience did not realise he was a witcher.
A teenage boy ran out onto the field and handed him a blunted sword, which Geralt swung in a loose circle, getting a feel for the reach and weight of it. It was not particularly well made, but he also hadn’t been bragging when he said that he didn’t need a sword at all for this, simply stating a fact.
Wil had leaned forward, and called to him, “Don’t hurt him too badly.”
Geralt lifted his sword in acknowledgement, and turned towards his opponent, and waited for him to begin. He didn’t have to wait long before the other man became impatient, and came towards him with a horribly well telegraphed overhead swing towards Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt simply moved out of the way of it with a slight shift of his weight and waited for his opponent’s next move. The man turned slightly to face Geralt again and, with more force, swung again, this time towards Geralt’s legs. Geralt turned the strike away with a quick flick of his wrist, and the man paused for a moment, most likely reconsidering the skill of his opponent.
The next few strikes came quickly one after the other, and Geralt alternately blocked the blows or moved out of the way of them. Each time the sword came close to hitting him, Geralt could hear the crowd yell, and each time a strike failed they cheered in excitement. It was quite pleasant to have an appreciative audience. If this is what Jaskier felt when he sang his songs to a crowd, no wonder he had so desperately wanted to do live performances again.
The man’s blows started to become even sloppier with frustration, and Wil leaned over the railing and shouted, “Oh, stop playing with him.”
Geralt turned his back to his opponent and replied, “I was just demonstrating for him some of the finer points of defence, since his is so sloppy.” Geralt could hear his opponent moving behind him, and to his credit, he was not moving to attack while his back was turned, but he was moving to a better position to attack from. Which at least indicated that he knew he had been standing ever so slightly too close to gain proper leverage in his strikes. Geralt hadn’t been sure he had.
Geralt turned back around, and this time, after knocking the man’s sword away and creating an opening in his guard, Geralt pressed his advantage and stepped forward as he slammed his hand onto the other man’s wrist, knocking the sword out of his hand. He didn’t need to strike at him with his sword, and so he didn’t. He simply swept his leg around behind the other’s ankle and hooked it forwards, unbalancing him. After that, he pushed firmly on his chest, and he fell over with a crash.
To Geralt’s surprise, the man laughed and said, “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t need a sword to best me, were you?”
Geralt offered his hand to help the man up, who accepted it, and pulled his helmet off, revealing curly dark hair and a short beard, and laugh lines around his dark eyes, that immediately widened when he got his first good look at Geralt.
“Well! I never had even the whisper of a chance of winning that, did I?” He asked. “Thank you for being a good sport though.”
Geralt shook his hand and told him, “You’re a good performer. You’ve gotten the audience interested, that’s for sure.”
“At least some of that is you. Even if they can’t see who you are from a distance, they saw how skilled you are. Did you want to compete in the tournament? You’ve more than proven your skill.”
Geralt shook his head, and said with a grin, “All things considered, it wouldn’t be a fair fight.”
The man laughed again, “It certainly wouldn’t! Your skill alone, without any of your other advantages, would have you winning without even trying.”
Geralt shrugged off the compliment. “I’ve had a long time to practice.”
“Even so.” The man gestured towards a marquee at the end of the field, “At least let me give you a pass to the next faire. It only seems fair.”
Geralt tipped his head slightly to the side and nodded, “I’ll come see you after the tournament, then?” He asked.
The man grinned at him again, and nodded, “Ask for Andre. I’ll have a pass for you by then. Enjoy the rest of the show.”
Geralt hopped the fence again and sat back down next to Wil to watch the tournament.
***
When Jaskier and Sophie arrived at the marquee he would be performing in, Geralt and Wil had not yet arrived, and there was a somewhat amateur play being performed on the stage. It was apparently the climax of the play, and an actor was saying, quite woodenly, “At last the Butcher of Blaviken is dead, and we are free of his tyranny!"
Jaskier felt his shoulders tense, and was glad Geralt had not yet arrived.
Sophie turned to him, looking concerned. "Do you know who the Butcher was? It's a bit of a historical mystery. There are plenty of records referring to the Butcher of Blaviken, but no indication of who he was, or what he did."
"No," Jaskier said, with a small smile, "No, just rumours, nothing substantial."
Sophie looked suspicious, but didn't have time to say anything before Jaskier slipped backstage to get ready for his performance, and hopefully she would have let it go by the time he was finished.
Jaskier started bouncing on his toes as he waited for to be announced before going onto the stage. It had been far too long since he last performed. The moment he heard the host call out his name, he flew out onto the stage, ready to perform, excitement and nervousness bubbling up in a way it hadn’t since before he had even left Oxenfurt Academy, decades ago. He needn’t have worried, the marquee was filled to bursting, with more people crowding around the entrances, peering in as best they could, and he immediately started playing a fast paced jig that always went down well with happy crowds. While the performance wasn’t quite like those he had become accustomed to, since no one sang along with any of the songs, sung as they were in a language only precious few people could even understand these days, his audience was still enthralled, swaying and clapping along, and thrilled beyond measure when he jumped off the stage and began roaming among them.
Near the end of his set, he finally spotted Geralt and Wil in a back corner, and he swung into a rendition of ‘Toss a Coin’ to finish off, even though only he and Geralt would understand the words. Finally, he took his bow with a flourish from the stage and disappeared backstage again. He got caught up, talking to some of the other performers, and when he had finally extracted himself, all three of his companions had already departed for the encampment that Wil and Sophie were staying in.
He was still riding high on his first successful performance since he arrived when he bounded into the camp, and, seeing a pale head bent over, talking to Sophie, bent over and placed a firm, loud kiss on the top. The person froze, and leaned more closely into Sophie, and from behind him he heard Geralt call out, “Have you abandoned me already, then?”
Jaskier spun around, nearly falling over, while he heard Sophie start giggling, face buried in Wil’s neck, because of course it was Wil, now that Jaskier was paying attention he was nowhere near large enough to be Geralt. “Geralt!” Damn his voice for breaking like that, anyway. “I was just greeting our good friend!”
Geralt just shook his head and wrapped an arm around his waist, then kissed him, dipping him slightly, as though, despite knowing it had been mistaken identity, he still felt the need to stake his claim. Jaskier had absolutely no objections to this course of action. Geralt then walked past him to sit on a log near where Sophie and Wil were. Jaskier followed, and flopped down on the ground, near his feet, draping himself over Geralt’s knees.
“Do I need to watch to be sure you don’t leave me for the both of them? Because I don’t think you’d be getting one without the other.” Geralt mused.
This sent Sophie off in another gale of giggles, Wil joining in more quietly.
Jaskier sniffed, and said, in wounded tones, “If you’re going to be like that, I’ll just keep all the kołaczki for myself.”
Geralt ran a gentle hand through his hair, “You wouldn’t do that.”
“No,” Jaskier admitted, “But only because I love you so much.”
With a characteristically small smile, Geralt leaned down and kissed the top of his head.
***
They left as the sun was dipping below the horizon, shoulders brushing, and Geralt said, almost as though thinking out loud, “I’ll have to bring Roach next time, for the horse skills competition.”
Glancing over at him, Jaskier asked, “Next time?”
“Hm.”
“I knew you would like it.” Jaskier crowed, although he had known nothing of the sort. “Wait, you still have a horse? Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? And you’re still calling the poor things Roach?”
Geralt didn’t answer, just kept walking towards where they had left the motorbike.
“Geralt, why didn’t you tell me you still have a horse? Geralt!”