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“Dandelion, can you just let it go and finish your stew?”
The blonde shot a grin that showed a bit too much tooth, and bore nothing resembling charity, at the witcher and shook his head as he mopped up the last of his stew with a piece of bread.
“And miss the opportunity to show this imposter up? NEVER my friend!” He winked at the barmaid who set down a fresh pitcher of ale between them and tossed her a copper. With a giggle she moved on to the next table, but smiled over her shoulder and winked back at him.
“He’s a hack!” Dandelion exclaimed, watching the sway of her hips, and the sly look she gave him as she made her way back to the bar.
“Those are my songs, written about our experiences, and he’s butchering them.”
Dandelion refilled both their cups and swallowed his in two gulps before starting to rise.
“I owe it to the world to show him how it should be done!”
Geralt reached across the table and laid his hand on his friend’s arm. “Dandy…let it go...please?”
The use of the nickname he only allowed the witcher to use made the bard hesitate. Geralt rarely used it, and even less frequently looked at him so earnestly.
“It’s been a fortnight of nothing but soggy ground, roasted squirrel, and dried fruit. I’d rather we spend the evening eating well, drinking decent ale, and enjoying the hot bath and room we paid for. Melitele knows we both need the break from sleeping rough and bathing in muddy streams.
“Let him bastardize your songs for the meager coin he’ll earn. Poor kid looks like it’s been awhile since he’s eaten anything but the bread he’s been stuffing in his pants when he thought no one was looking...”
Dandelion looked back at the dark-haired youth winding his way from table to table and reluctantly agreed with the witcher’s assessment. He did look like he was in desperate need of whatever coin the patrons of this backwater tavern tossed him. When an apple was flung at his head, he greedily caught it and shoved it in a pocket, like a squirrel hoarding nuts for winter.
What he lacked in talent and originality, the teen more than made up for in determined perseverance. Dandelion's ire dissipated.
“Fine. I’ll let him have his moment. But I hope you know I’m not tipping,” Dandelion said with a petulant air and imperious sniff.
His face morphed into a grimace as he realized he also smelled entirely too much like their horses.
“Oh dear…this IS intolerable.”
Geralt shook his head with a chuckle. “Come on then. There’s a tub waiting with our name on it, and from the looks the barmaid is giving you, a good reason to think I might have the bed to myself tonight, and I, for one, am ready to enjoy it.”
His bard looked one last time at the pale man attempting to win his audience with a weak rendition of one of his more popular songs before following Geralt up the stairs to their rented room.
“He really needs to find himself a muse.”
Geralt hummed as he unlocked the door to their room. “Maybe he's found one and it’s you…”