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Geralt was having a pleasant evening. The camp was set up, his traps had been successful, and he’d managed to gather dry firewood despite the early spring rains. His armor was clean and he’d just laid out his bedroll to relax when all of a sudden he was tackled by a flash of brown fur.
Geralt jolted upright, staring at the- the cat?- that was bristled in front of him.
More sounds came from the woods where the cat had appeared from and the little creature scarpered behind roach’s saddlebags.
Geralt saw two sets of wolfish eyes appraise him from the shadows. He squared his shoulders and let his mouth form a territorial snarl. The beasts clearly didn’t think the confrontation was worth it as they ducked back the way they’d come.
He turned his gaze back on his guest. “They’ve gone. You’re safe, regardless if you stay or go.”
The cat poked its head out from behind the packs. It was a large long-haired house cat. It definitely didn’t look wild, which begged the question of why it was so far from any town. It was probably someone’s lost pet.
Blue eyes met his with an intelligent wary glower.
Geralt sighed “I won’t harm you, little one.”
Geralt didn’t expect the cat to stay. Cats don’t like witchers. The standing theory is that the mutations unsettled them. Like seeing human teeth in a dog’s mouth. Cat’s eyes didn’t belong on the face of a man.
He certainly didn’t anticipate that the little animal would limp over to rest in his lap.
“Oh? Did they catch you?” He felt gently along its back legs and found evidence of a bloody bite. “Lucky you. Still attached”
The cat lightly nipped his hand. “Right, sorry.”
Geralt pulled a clean bandage from his pack and began to wrap the wound.
The cat put up with the ministrations and leaned into Geralt as he finished.
“This is probably the first time I’ve touched a cat since the trials. Usually I can’t even get this close.”
He reached and gave the cat a tentative scratch on the neck. The cat purred and melted into him. “Hmm”
This was not what he had foreseen when he’d chosen this campsite, but his guest made the evening even more pleasant than before.
The light faded around them and only the campfire remained. Geralt moved to lay down and the cat chirped his disgruntlement before stretching over Geralt’s chest.
---
Geralt woke abruptly. His pupils dilated to accommodate the pre-dawn light. He had dreamed of waking only seconds earlier, but in his vision, a man had been sitting next to him. The fantasy disappeared as soon as Geralt processed the shock of not being alone.
“What the fuck?”
Roach nickered from where she was tethered.
He looked towards the mare and was surprised to find her nose to nose with the cat from the night before. If he didn’t know better he would’ve assumed they were conversing.
He broke camp and started tacking Roach while she was still engaged in her “conversation”.
He mounted and started towards the road. The cat followed.
When Roach’s hooves met the packed earth, he tried to spurr her on, but to his dismay she would not go any faster. “What’s wrong with you, Roach?”
He signaled her again, squeezing his legs tighter around her.
But she kept her nose low and continued at the same pace.
“Did you do this?” Geralt looked to his left where the brown tabby was trotting to keep up with the horse’s stride.
“You aren’t coming with me.”
Blue eyes met his with defiance. He was beginning to wish that cats still avoided him.
Leaning almost sideways from his mount, Geralt snatched the cat by its scruff and deposited in front of him on the saddle.
Roach immediately picked up the pace to what Geralt had earlier requested.
“This isn’t a caravan. I’m leaving you in the next town.”
The cat just purred and leaned his whole weight against his stomach.
----
The mood Geralt found himself in that evening was a stark contrast to the night before.
‘Oh Witcher, there’s a nest of nekkers picking off our sheep!’
‘That’ll be 50 Orens’
‘Of cooooourse Witcher, thank you.’
And now here he was. A whole day and a completed contract later and only 20 Oren richer.
‘Well Butcher. That didn’t seem to take you very long. I won’t be taken advantage of.
You’ll get 25 and no more. Leave.’
Geralt hadn’t noticed he’d been double short-changed until he was already fuming outside. He’d had half a mind to turn back and demand the rest, but he knew that wouldn’t go well. Witchers were already disliked across the continent, and on top of that, he was the Butcher of Blaviken. Murderer of men. Certainly not worth any basic courtesy.
He trudged his way through the muddy streets back towards the notice board. Maybe there was something else he could do that would keep him fed between this hamlet and the next.
He was squinting at just such a notice when someone spoke to him.
“Does this happen to you often? You do the work, get fucked over, and brood?”
Geralt looked around until his eyes rested on a man sitting on the fence beside the board. Geralt hadn’t heard him approach which set him on edge.
“You, my dear, need some help with your image. Your current branding isn’t working for you.”
Geralt felt appraised, like the gentleman was weighing how much he could be sold for.
The man was full grown, young, but in an indefinable way, and lean. His tawny brown hair lifted in the breeze. But what Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from, was his smile.
This man was looking a witcher full in the face and smiling at him. That didn’t happen every day.
He grunted his response and refocused on the notice in his hand.
‘Mysterious Creature threatening farmer’
When he looked back, the man was gone.
*Well that was unsettling. I need to eat something.*
Unfortunately, the tavern didn’t serve ‘mutants like him’ so it was back to camping.
No time to set traps, so his last piece of jerky was going to have to be enough. At least there was plenty of new spring growth for Roach to graze on.
The cat was still hanging around somewhere, despite trying to ditch the creature at every opportunity that day, he hadn’t been able to ditch it.
He thought he could hear it prowling nearby.
Night fell and the feline returned, but dragging a wild fowl double its own size behind itself.
It dropped the bloody mass of feathers at Geralt’s feet.
“What a good hunter you are. Do you mean to share?” The cat gave him a few long blinks before it set to grooming the blood from its fur.
Geralt cleaned and roasted the bird. It was nice not to go hungry after such a shit day.
Thank Melitele the animal was useful, it was unbecoming of a witcher to have a pet without a purpose, not that Geralt was making a claim or anything. Even Eskel put lil Bleater to work as bait when there was a large quarry.
Well, if he couldn’t get rid of it, he might as well keep it.
“What should I call you then? If you’re so eager to take the Path, I’ll have to call you something.”
Geralt held out a palm full of meat which the cat ate from eagerly.
“Let’s see. I can’t call you Cat. You seem to like Roach, how about Pike?” That earned him a nip. “Right. What would you prefer?”
The cat tilted his head and scampered into the trees. Was the discussion over? Geralt really only had experience conversing with his horse. He didn’t think he spoke ‘cat’ very well.
But after a few minutes the animal returned holding a pretty yellow flower in its mouth. It presented its new prize to Geralt.
“A buttercup? I thought you were a male?” Another nip, harder this time.
“Fuck, all right! Buttercup it is.” Were all cats this strange?
Buttercup resumed his position on Geralt’s chest as they spread out on the bedroll.
Tomorrow, Geralt would hunt the mystery beast the notice had mentioned, and hopefully this time he’d be paid.
---
Geralt woke abruptly again, but it was still night. The man from earlier was sitting across the fire from him, he seemed to be thinking deeply, but why-
“What are you doing?”
The man looked up and flashed that blinding smile again,
“I was thinking. You definitely need an image adjustment, but how? And then it came to me, a barker! I could be your barker! As ironic as the title is, I think I’d be marvelous at it.”
Geralt stared in disbelief, what was he talking about? He was wearing a plain suit of brown wool, embroidered with gold thread at the cuffs and collar. He didn’t look much like a bard, even if his voice was lovely enough.
“I’ll need a little help from you to do this, my friend. I’ll need an instrument, of course, any kind will do. Oh, and some proper boots.” He gestured to his bare feet, one of which was wrapped in a bandage that spiraled up under the cuff of his trousers. “There’s no way I can perform barefoot with an injury, not to mention it’s also impolite for a bard to be underdressed.”
The man looked into Geralt’s eyes expectantly, “Well? Do we have a bargain?”
Geralt still felt dazed from sleep, this had to be a dream, it was too strange otherwise.
“What am I agreeing to?”
The strange man rolled his eyes fondly, “The terms are: If you provide me with boots and an instrument; You will never lose out on a contract by being the ‘Butcher’ ever again... So?”
Geralt gave a shallow nod and let his eyes grow heavy again. “That’s fine, bard.”
It was just a dream after all, and the terms seemed fair. What was the harm?
He could hear the man’s smile in his voice, “It’s a deal then.”
Geralt felt a gust of wind pass over his face, and he was asleep again.
---
Geralt gave his best witcher glare to the middle aged farmer in front of him.
“You mean to say, you posted the notice for a barghest, because you fucked the wrong hedge witch, and now you’re trying to cheat a witcher out of his coin… Do you see the cycle or are you stupid?”
The farmer spit at Geralt’s feet, “Fuck off, Mutant. When the bitch left she took all my coin with her, there ain’t nothing to pay you with.”
Geralt looked around the sparse farm cottage, he didn’t seem to have much.
He had almost given up hope of compensation, but his eyes were caught but polished leather; covered in cobwebs under the single bed, was an instrument case.
“What’s that?” Geralt pointed out the item.
“An old lute. Won it in a Gwent game.”
“I’ll take that instead of payment.”
The farmer’s face lit up greedily, “Suit yourself! We’re settled then.” He obviously thought he was getting the better end of the deal.
Geralt grabbed the case and strapped it to Roach’s saddle outside.
“Now, why’d I do that, Roach? I have to sell it now, we can’t eat spruce wood.”
Buttercup was lazing in Roach’s saddle and perked up at seeing the case tied among the saddle bags. He stretched and put his front paws on the case. He meowed happily to Geralt before laying back down.
“At least you’re happy.” Geralt grumbled before scratching his ears and taking Roach’s reins.
---
He was lucky that today was market day in the town nearest the farm, otherwise who knows how long it might take him to sell the instrument.
Regrettably, no one seemed interested in purchasing it, perhaps he’d have to visit a larger town, one with a luthier. Just his luck.
Geralt wasn’t completely blind to his reception here. He heard the exclamations of mutant, and butcher as he passed each stall.
The herbalist, thankfully, was pleasant enough. She was able to provide dried potion ingredients that Geralt needed that hadn't bloomed yet since the thaw.
He spent 5 Orens with her and was counting out his remaining 15 when he walked by the leather worker.
Hanging from his stall table, was a pair of soft leather boots.
“Tanner, how much for those?” he pointed
The old man looked up, “15 Orens.”
Geralt handed the rest of his coin over before turning and heading back out of town, boots in hand.
He settled in a clearing outside of town, it was already clear of rocks and debris, which left Geralt with one less thing to do in the dwindling daylight.
Carefully he laid out the lute case and the boots on the smooth ground.
“Hey, uh, bard? I got what you wanted.”
… Geralt felt ridiculous. He’d really just spent the last of his coin on a promise made in a dream. His brothers would never let him live this down if they knew.
He leaned against Roach. “I’ve lost it girl. Hopefully, I don’t take you down with me in my senility.”
Buttercup jumped down from Roach’s back to examine the offering.
“Great. I suppose you’re the mystery man, huh Buttercup?” Geralt scoffed and dragged his hands down his face.
… “I prefer Jaskier, actually.”
There he was. The mystery man. Sitting where Buttercup had been, pulling on the boots.
“What the fuck.”
Butte--Jaskier didn’t pay him any mind. He tapped the toes on the ground to check their fit. “Mmm, yes these are perfect; no pain or pinching whatsoever.” Then with a childlike giddiness he unlatched the lute case. “Oh. Oh! Oh, Master, she’s beautiful.” He lightly plucked two of the courses. “She’ll need tuned of course, but she’s in excellent shape!” He turned his glittering gaze on a stunned Geralt and pounced on him, embracing the petrified witcher.
“This is so exciting! Thank you for consenting! Oh, I promise you won’t regret it. The whole continent will be singing your praises by the time I’m through. Master, look at me. You sir, are looking at a Happy Cat.” He pecked a kiss on Geralt’s cheek.
This seemed to shake the witcher from his shock.
“What did you call me?”
“...Master?”
“DON’T”
“Why, that’s your name is it not?”
“NO. My name is Geralt.”
“Well, that’s not what Roach calls you.”
“What does she call me then!?”
“Oh...well...a lot of things, but ‘Master’ was the kindest so I assumed it to be your given name. Can I not call you that?”
“No! Do I look like a Nilfgaardian slave dealer to you? AND Roach is my horse! Of course I’m her master!”
Jaskier looked struck, “Am I not your cat?!”
“Fuck…just... Call me Geralt.”
“This doesn’t seem fair.”
“Roach has seniority. YOU call me Geralt.” Geralt growled with finality.
Jaskier pouted, “If you insist, GeRaLt.”
Geralt could feel his blood pressure steadily rising, his heart beat at an almost human tempo. He thought he might pass out at this rate. What a blessing.
Jaskier seemed to be a mercurial man.
He’d flitted away from Geralt’s embrace and towards his lute the moment the conversation had ended, cheer returned.
Geralt attempted to finish making camp but could hardly keep his eyes off the bard- his... His bard - as he tuned the lute and sang scales.
At some point Jaskier stood and jogged off into the woods, he soon returned with a bird, like he had the night before, but he was a great deal bigger than his prey this time.
Geralt anticipated he would probably clean the meat again tonight, so he held out his hand to receive it.
“Not just yet, my dear. I’ve discovered a hiccup in my plans and this meal is what I’m willing to exchange to see it solved.”
Geralt could feel his simple life becoming more and more complicated by the moment. Starting with being called ‘dear’ instead of his name.
He was thankful that he wasn’t required to actually answer the bard, who seemed perfectly happy to hold the conversation on his own.
“I don’t know anything about you. Nothing except your incredible kindness, patience and that you hunt monsters which you seemed to be rarely paid or appreciated for. So in exchange for this,” he shook the bird for emphasis “I demand at least one story I can write a song about. Is this acceptable?”
Geralt was hungry. He grunted an agreement.
They ate while Jaskier painstakingly tore a story out of Geralt. It would have been easier to remove one of the witcher’s sharp teeth.
“And then what happened?”
“I killed it.”
Jaskier blinked like he’d been slapped. “...I see. Darling, I don’t mean to seem ungrateful...but that’s not so much a saga as it is a report. What else happened? Were you wounded? Did the monster kidnap a child or a maiden that you had to rescue? Were you successful? What was the color of the sky? Give me something ballad worthy!”
Geralt looked harried.“It was raining and I lost one of my scabbards in the mud. It was in Velen, what else is there to say?”
Jaskier took a deep breath and looked skyward, “Nothing I suppose. I should be able to weave a yarn from this. Worry not, Geralt, I am a professional.”
The bard continued to pluck melodies on the courses, tapping his legs to a rhythm that Geralt couldn’t hear.
He contented himself to listening to Jaskier’s creative process and laid back, closing his eyes.
Eventually the music trailed off into scales again and then went silent.
A few beats of silence before he felt his bedroll shift, he opened one eye as the bard draped himself over his chest.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping, Geralt. Composing is hard work.”
“Why are you sleeping here?”
Jaskier turned his face to Geralt, “Because this is my spot.”
“When you were a cat, sure, but I don’t make a habit of bed-sharing with anyone but whores.”
Jaskier scrunched his nose and Geralt was sure he would have swished a tail if he’d had one. “First off, I am what I am, I haven’t changed. Secondly, rude! This is my spot. Now go to sleep, I’ve a legend to create in the morning.”
He turned his face away and curled more firmly into Geralt’s side.
Geralt weighed the option of tossing him onto the ground but decided he’d better not. History didn’t favor those whose crossed bards.
--
The Path had never been so noisy in the history of witchers. Geralt could feel his sanity slowly slipping away as his companion danced around Roach, chattering nonstop.
If Jaskier wasn’t singing, he was talking to Roach. If he wasn’t talking to Roach, he was giving lectures to the scenery. Geralt’s head was spinning with words.
He was almost relieved to see a town growing on the horizon. A town meant a contract. A contract meant blessed silence.
“Geralt. Geralt! Are you listening?”
He nodded assent, even if it was a lie.
“I was saying, do you think there’s a tavern there? I need to try out my repertoire.”
Geralt had been through this town a few springs prior, he believed there was, but he didn’t remember the town to be very witcher-friendly so he hadn’t stopped for long. He told Jaskier as much.
“This is the perfect place to start then!”
At the town’s entrance, Jaskier waved a hasty goodbye with a request that Geralt pick him up from the tavern that evening.
Geralt didn’t suspect anything until he returned from his hunt at dusk.
He placed a piece of endrega chiton on the alderman’s table.
“I completed the contract.”
“My, yes, I can see that. Here’s your pay, Wolf. As promised.”
Geralt blinked. What? He picked up the bag of coin, it was the full amount… What?
He left the Alderman’s house feeling dazed. That had been...unusual.
Hadn’t this village been hostile last time? Was his memory faulty? Had to be.
Geralt walked to the tavern. He could hear Jaskier’s lilting baritone from outside, so he must still be performing.
‘Odd, I thought he only had the one song.’
A pair of men exited the tavern and noticed Geralt standing there. “Why if it isn’t the White Wolf himself! Hope you’ll stick around for a few days, there’s always work.” The men smiled at each other and continued on.
‘What did they just call me?’
Geralt pushed open the tavern door before he could think better of it. His eyes meeting Jaskier’s almost instantly, he must’ve been watching the door.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” oh no “The man himself, Geralt of Rivia, The White Wolf!”
The room burst into drunken cheering and Geralt had never wanted to be a speck of dust more than in this moment.
Strangers reached out to touch him, patting him on the back, putting ale in his hand. He felt faint.
Suddenly there was a warm hand at his elbow and he was being directed through to the back of the tavern.
“Well my darlings, it’s been a lovely time but I’m afraid my companion and I will have to retire for the evening. Good night, All! - Ah, yes, Bridgette, would you tell Aster to stable Geralt’s horse? There’s a lass, you’re brilliant. - Here we are.” Jaskier swept Geralt into a room and shut the door behind himself, leaning against it.
“Phew. What a night.” His face broke into a smirk, “So. How’d I do?”
Geralt was barely keeping himself upright. He decided not to. Jaskier managed to catch him by the arm and lead him to sit down on a… a bed? Was this also an inn? He didn’t know anymore.
“Geralt?” He registered a hand waving in front of his face. “Geralt, hello? You’re scaring me a little. Were you hurt?” Jaskier’s quick hands began unfastening his armor as he searched for damage.
He swatted at the bard’s hands.
“Jaskier.”
“Yes, Geralt?”
“Jaskier. What did you do?”
“...” Jaskier tilted his head with a perplexed expression. “I don’t catch your meaning, dear. I did exactly what I said I’d do.”
Geralt glared at him, “Which was what exactly?”
Jaskier’s mouth pressed into a stern line. “It isn’t safe to forget your agreements, Geralt. I’m your barker now. I sang your praises and you were paid. We made a bargain. Did we not?”
Geralt nodded.
Jaskier’s gentle smile returned “Good. You seem to have had a long day, why don’t you rest?”
Geralt nodded again as Jaskier pushed him back onto the mattress. It was the first inn he had stayed at in a while, he usually only got to sleep in beds at whorehouses and at the keep. It was nice.
Geralt watched as Jaskier flitted around the room, putting away his lute and tending the fire, before finally coming back to curl by Geralt’s side.
He petted the bard’s hair absentmindedly, it was just as soft as his cat’s fur had been, and Jaskier purred, leaning into the attention.
“Jaskier… what exactly did you sing about?”
“Hmm? Oh! Well first I devised the sequence of your contracts. You answer a notice, you do the work, and then payment is supposed to happen. Once I realized that, all I had to do was imagine a few hunts and sing about your heroics and gallantry. It required some embellishments of course, but that was the idea.”
“So...you lied?” He could the bard grin into his shirt.
“Spectacularly, darling. I doubt I did you justice though, your better qualities continue to astound me.”
Geralt let silence swell between them as he stared at the ceiling and tried to process the new reality. The one where he might be the hero instead of the monster.
“Geralt… Did I do well?”
“Yes, Jaskier. You did well.”
----
Their journey on the Path continued in this way. Jaskier would set up in town while Geralt hunted and by the time he returned, there was a room and a meal waiting for him. He hadn’t been cheated of his pay even once since the bard had begun proselytizing.
It took six months of travel for them to be recognized before they had visited a village. A small village near Lyria had heard some of Jaskier’s songs sung by a different bard.
This meant that Geralt was entirely the White Wolf now. It wasn’t a moniker he had chosen, but he couldn’t claim it didn’t suit him. It was more than he had ever dared to hope for.
Jaskier was talking one night after another hunt, another successful performance, and though Geralt wasn’t listening; he was struck by the sound of the bard’s voice. This talented man didn’t owe him anything. He walked and danced across the continent in order to clear Geralt’s name.
“Why do you do it?”
Jaskier paused in his monologue “Do what, Geralt?”
They were laying side by side on a little cot in an inn, Geralt propped himself up to have a more focused conversation.
He gestured to the air around them “This. Why did you want to change my life like this?”
Jaskier smiled up at him, “Well my dear, that’s two distinct questions, that I shall answer in reverse order. To start, this was the best way I could think of to repay your kindness to me. I would have been a wolf’s dinner if you hadn’t intervened. A life debt must be paid.”
“And now? You’ve completed your part. No one calls me Butcher anymore.”
Jaskier propped himself up so his face was only inches from Geralt’s.
“Why do you think I stay?” Jaskier smirked.
Geralt didn't have the words. So he acted, and kissed his bard.
This was the correct answer, and though it was not his first since that one long ago, Geralt once again found himself having a very pleasant evening. .