Chapter Text
“Mr. Gerd?” Asked the hulking Witcher’s trainee as she helped set up camp, moreso for their guide’s benefit than their own. The soft winds of Skellige’s fall season had nothing on the environments the Witcher and his adept had been raised in, but the man the Jarl had hired didn’t have their constitution. It worked out better this way. Witchers hunted better in the dark, and Gerd didn’t want to put anyone else at risk.
“Aye Lass?” Gerd replied, trying to stifle his smile. He enjoyed answering the kid’s questions. It broke up the monotony of his usual work. He didn’t mind teaching adepts as much as the rest of his surly brothers, and she genuinely wanted to learn.
“You said most people don’t like Witchers.” The Bear School’s new star student continued.
“Yeah, Kid?” he continued on, stopping to observe the Nekker tracks Gideon had adeptly spotted just off a nearby path. A few hours old, the snow just beginning to cover them. Not bad for the girl’s first hunt.
“So, why did Jarl Torgier send us a guide?” The question gave him pause. Gerd couldn’t stop the smile from blooming on his face at the reminder of Torgier’s concern for him.
“Because, unlike the stupid royal shits on the Continent, the Jarl is a good man. One of the best I’ve ever met, and I’ve been around for a long while” the pride of the Bear School sat down for a moment to apply a dose of Ogroid Oil to his sword, long practiced motions a bit slower, so his pupil could see.
“Oh. So, the ones on the continent are like Harrow, but he's like Aiglamene?”
“Well, I’ve only met the old bat, never the stupid gits from where you came from, but I like telling coddled little assholes where they can shove it, and I never felt that way about either your caretaker or my… the Jarl. So I suppose they’re alike, in a way.” The Witcher spoke truthfully. The old woman fit in well with the Bears, becoming their new fencing instructor almost overnight, not a single one of the Bears disputing her appointment. Except Ivo, but he'd argue and insult monsters to death if he could.
Gideon smiled at this. “Would you tell Crux to fuck himself?” She asked, excitedly.
Gerd stopped a moment to think. “Nothing would make me happier. But I think, it’s you that has to do it. We need to finish your training, so that if he ever comes a’calling, you can beat him bloody and tell him to fuck off, by yourself. Not gonna have any of us looking after you.”
“I know. Like Arnaghad says: ‘We pass through life alone. We need to get used to it.’”
Gerd’s heart clenched in pain and more than a little guilt at that, and he didn’t really know what else to say, so he put his rag away and ruffled his Witcher adept’s hair, changing the subject. “C’mon. We need to get on with it. Keep back and watch me ok. Any trouble comes, run back here and get our friend.” He pointed to the guide now warming himself around the fire. Standing up, he gestured for Gideon to follow.
“Mr Gerd?”
“Aye, Lass?”
“Why does Jarl Torgier call you Babygirl?”