A/N: These two are just dancing circles in my head. There will be a little more back story for Lyrra next chapter. I hope you guys enjoy. Please read and review. :)

Disclaimer: I own what is mine.

Dithering Darkness

"You are a very hard person to track down."

Lyrra held in a huff of exasperation as an all too familiar voice greeted her. She had taken less than a step into the Rose and Pine before being accosted. Wearily, she turned around to see Jaskier lounging against the wall with a pint in hand. His expression smug as if he were a cat that had just caught the bird. It was as annoying as it was endearing. She arched a brow at him before continuing for the kitchens, "Apparently not hard enough."

Heavier footsteps followed her.

"Don't you want to know why I was looking for you?" Jaskier queried expectantly.

"Not really." Lyrra responded glibly and came to an abrupt stop, Jaskier barely kept himself from crashing into her as she turned to give him a pointed look. He blinked confused before realizing they were at the threshold for the tavern's kitchen. She smiled as he frowned at her, "I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

She stepped over the threshold and immediately turned left passing through the curtained door of a small pantry. She left her spare clothes on a shelf near the bottom. Unconsciously, she began to undress before remembering her handsome stalker. She eyed the curtain warily before letting her dress drop to the floor. An audible inhale reached her ears and she bit the inside of her cheek but refused to acknowledge the thrill that tore through her veins at the sound, "I swear, Bard, if you're looking..."

"Oh relax. The curtain stops at your lovely calves which are covered by boots sadly. I simply wasn't expecting you to disrobe... Though, do you really have to wear that dreadful frock?"

Lyrra rolled her eyes, "Yes, I have only two dresses, Jaskier, and I do not want them ruined by sloshed ale or food remnants. Not to mention men don't seem to notice me as much in this frock."

Jaskier snorted faintly, "Trust me, you're still noticeable."

"You're impossible."

"Thank you."

Lyrra shook her head ruefully as she finished donning her dress and apron. This would be Jaskier's fourth night performing at the Rose and Pine and he had done wonders in bringing the locals and the few travelers Glynedol had inside for some entertainment. To be fair, the lack of merchants had most in the town starved for news and stories from other regions and the bard had those in spades it seemed. She had been kept busy by the crowds, but somehow, someway when she had a spare minute to breathe, Jaskier always managed to appear at her side. Much to her relief, he had stopped with his more flowery comments. Instead, she was partied to his more jocular observations, usually about the Rose's audience or the town, sometimes about his companion, almost never about himself. At least nothing personal that couldn't be gleaned by a few moments in his presence, but in fairness, he never asked her anything terribly personal either. She was grateful for that...

She snatched her scarf and began wrapping it around her head as she stepped out of the pantry. Jaskier watched her practiced movements with keen eyes, "Let me guess, my headscarf bothers you too."

He grinned impishly, "Everything you wear bothers me, but I doubt you'll alleviate my pain by disrobing again."

Lyrra flushed, knowing that was exactly what he had been hoping for by the way his eyes danced. Incorrigible flirt was what he was – and if he hadn't also shown signs of being astonishingly sweet then Lyrra wouldn't have put up with his attentions, "You know where the brothel is."

"And subject myself to Madam Hatchet." Jaskier replied with a raised brow, "No, thank you."

Lyrra sent him a disapproving look at the harsh description of the Le Fleur's owner, "Madam Tyssa is actually rather kind. Just because she hasn't aged well, doesn't mean she deserves those comments."

Far from being chastised, Jaskier gave her a pointed look as he recalled his one and only trip inside the brothel, "Oh yes, that's why you had to pay her to look after your drunken friend now, was it? Did that from the deep caverns of her heart, I'm sure."

Lyrra's grey orbs widened slightly, not realizing that Jaskier had seen the exchange of money – even if he was wrong about the cause for the payment, "That coin wasn't for Nigel, but for a different service. Is there -"

His finger shot up as he realized she was about to change the subject; an expression of pure curiosity painted his face. Lyrra nearly groaned as she saw the cogs turning in his head as he interrupted her, "Whoa -ho, hang on a minute. You are not honestly going to just glide past that particular comment. What services did you require from a brothel?"

"None of your business." Lyrra retorted lightly as she fought back a smile. His azure gaze outright gleamed with entertainment and it was hard not to be pulled in by his infectious emotions, "I have work to do."

"Oh please, tell me it was something utterly scandalous and naughty with one of those skimpily clad women." Jaskier pressed, not the least bit dissuaded as she walked away from him. "Don't tell me it was Madam Hatchet."

Lyrra shook her head in amusement, "Absolutely impossible. You're ridiculous."

"A man can dream and this one will." He sounded entirely too satisfied as he trailed after her.

It was early afternoon, far earlier than she usually came in and if Lyrra was being honest she had arrived early to see if Jaskier was about. As much as she didn't want to encourage him, her life was a little less dull when he was around. As it stood, there weren't many people to serve yet. Mirel, for once, was doing her job and serving the customers and Hillard was overseeing preparations in the kitchen. The only thing she could do was wipe down tables, "I thought you had something to tell me?"

Jaskier blinked for a moment before remembering his earlier words to her, "And I thought you didn't want to know."

Lyrra raised a disbelieving brow but refrained from comment as she grabbed a rag from behind the bar. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that Jaskier did not care for silences. He filled the void with words and songs, half of it was nonsense – but, she figured if Jaskier ever found himself in a position to be tortured, the torturer wouldn't need to do much, just remain silent and the bard would either spill everything or talk the man in circles. True to form, Jaskier fidgeted and began talking again, "Not so much something to tell you, but ask."

Lyrra paused in her movements. The old rag trapped between her hand and the bar as she turned an awaiting gaze in his direction. He fidgeted again, "I hear tell that sometimes you act as a laundress in this fair town for some extra coin."

There was a beat of silence.

"You want me to wash your clothes." She stated bluntly, but then took the time to actually study him. He was clean, hair swept to the side even as an errant tendril fell over his forehead. His doublet was a little mused, but not terribly dirty – then she noticed the lack of a white-collar that usually peaked out from his doublet. Surprisingly, he kept still under her evaluation– a sheepish smile twitching at the corners of his lips as she stated more than asked, "You're not wearing a shirt, are you?"

"Uh, well no..." Jaskier answered as he rocked back on his heels, "I haven't been able to find the innkeeper since taking my room, otherwise I'd ask him about such services. I'd pay you, of course."

Lyrra frowned briefly at the comment. Owain, the innkeeper, was a regular of the Rose and Pine, it was unlike him to neglect his guests. Actually, now that she thought of it, he hadn't been in for a few days. Concern churned her gut but she masked it with a faint smile, "If you have it all together, I can stop by your room after I'm done here tonight and pick it up and drop it by tomorrow once it's done."

Jaskier sighed in relief, "Thank the gods. You are a star in the dithering blackness. Your name-"

"It's still going to be four crowns, Jaskier." Lyrra cut his flattery tirade off dryly as she resumed wiping the bar.

"Four crowns! Now, hold on – the other barmaid said you charge two!" Jaskier protested, his mouth turning into an incredulous frown.

Lyrra shrugged and reached across the bar to tug at the sleeve of his doublet, "Most of the townsfolk wear light cottons and wools. Quick and easy to wash. You're wearing silks and velvets which require more care. Unless you want your clothes ruined then I can do a basic wash."

He didn't know that she usually charged the locals only a few coppers or an exchange of food for this service. Travelers were charged two crowns as Mirel had told him. She would charge three for the fancier fabrics, but she had seen the amount of coin that Jaskier had pulled and knew he could well afford more than four crowns.

"No..." He drawled sulkily as he eyed her suspiciously, "Highway robbery is what this is. Four crowns for a bloody washing, now who's being ridiculous."

Lyrra snickered quietly and bestowed him with a smug grin, "Still you."

It wasn't until Lyrra was standing outside the inn that she realized the mistake she had made. Jaskier had only performed a few songs that night, much preferring to mingle with a few of the new travelers, swapping stories and news from other regions. He had also spent a good deal of time by himself, scribbling in a little journal he carried. It was the only time she had seen him so... quiet. As a result, he had been by her side within moments after she had finished her rounds for the night. Hillard had promised to take care of the last few patrons hanging around the pub.

Now, she eyed the bard carefully as they made their way inside. He hadn't done more than give her a passing smile since they had left. No quips about coming to his room, or flirtatious comments about staying for a bit. She found it odd. After all, he hadn't really missed an opportunity the past few days to play the role of the charming scoundrel.

"Are you okay?" Lyrra questioned quietly, not sure if she wanted to disturb the unusual passivity she was observing.

Jaskier blinked for a moment, as if remembering she was there, before smiling reassuringly, "I'm fine. Just tired I suppose." He stopped before a door and drew a key from his pocket. He paused, "Wait here, I need to change."

She quirked a brow, once again struck by the lack of innuendo. He stepped inside, but just as the door was about to close, he caught it and flashed her a small grin, "Unless of course, you'd like to join me."

Lyrra nearly sighed in relief at that comment, even as she shook her head at him, "Jaskier."

"Didn't think so." He stated mournfully and let the door shut.

She covered her face as she snorted in amusement. He truly was ridiculous.

And quick.

Lyrra didn't have to wait long at all before, Jaskier was pulling the door open again. He had on a loose white linen shirt that looked a size too big for him and a pair of brown cotton breeches that had seen better days and strangely looked a little tight on him. She tilted her head curiously as she studied him, "Are those even your clothes?"

Jaskier glanced up at her as he sat on the edge of his bed. His hands were already tugging his boots back on as he shrugged, "The shirts not, but my trousers are. Why? Do they not look like something I'd wear? I know they're a little plainer than what you've seen me in -"

"They don't fit." Lyrra cut in as she purposefully kept her gaze on his face and not his too-tight breeches.

Jaskier paused in consideration before making a face that said, 'that's fair'. He finished lacing his boots and grabbed his knapsack filled with his dirty clothes. He had only discovered that morning how vastly disgusting his wardrobe had become. He nearly cursed the last laundress, before remembering it had been several weeks since he had last seen a laundress, "Alright, let's go."

"Go?" Lyrra intoned lowly as she held out a hand for his bag, "I do believe you're at your room – unless you intend to go back to the brothel in which case, by all means. Just pass me your bag first."

"Uh, no." It was a strange battle of wills as Jaskier crossed his arms and met her stare head-on. While she was becoming annoyed, he was amused, "It's late and I told your barkeep I would see you safely home tonight. Apparently, that's something he does quite often. Now, you wouldn't want to make me break my word, would you?"

Lyrra blinked, this was the second time he had alluded to asking after her and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. She frowned, "I won't tell, if you don't."

"I will. Bard, remember." He replied joyfully before snagging her still outstretched hand and pulling her out the door, "Now, where to?"

"Jaskier." Lyrra huffed exasperated and tried to reach up and pull the strap of his bag from his shoulder.

He dodged out of her way with a laugh, "No, that's my name, not a direction. Think of it this way, you now know where I'm staying – it's only fair I get to see where you live."

Lyrra rolled her eyes and turned to stomp away from, "Are you always this annoyingly stubborn?"

"Ha, that's a laugh coming from you. Pot and kettle, darling."

He was unscathed by the glower she sent in his direction. Despite her reluctant mien, if she had been truly aggrieved by his presence, he would have left her in Hillard's capable hands. Though, he had the feeling she wouldn't take too kindly to the implication that she needed protection. Most of their trip was spent bickering, it was only when they left the edges of Glynedol that Lyrra's pace began to slow and Jaskier took notice of their surroundings.

"I didn't realize you lived so far from town." Jaskier murmured as they approached a dirt path.

Lyrra hummed and gave him a pointed glance, "You've seen for yourself that Glynedol isn't exactly a bustling metropolis. Most of us live on the edges or on farms. My home is not too much further. Just to the end of this path."

Tall grassy fields lined either side of their walk and Jaskier could spot patches of yellow mustard flowers, even in the dark. Ahead a large oak tree caught his attention, Lyrra watched as he took in the rope dangling listlessly from the branches, "They haven't removed it from the last hanging."

Jaskier blanched and turned wide eyes on her, "What?"

"It was a real shame." She murmured quietly; her gaze solemn. Jaskier's mouth moved soundlessly as he tried to find what words he wanted to ask first. Lyrra turned to him, "If only he hadn't pestered the local barmaid so much."

Jaskier's gaze narrowed and Lyrra burst into a fit of laughter, unable to keep a straight face any longer, "It's just a swing, Jaskier."

As if to prove her words, she jogged forward and stepped onto the wooden plank that acted as a seat. He hadn't noticed it before, but now he dropped his sack against the tree trunk and gave the ropes a slight pull, casting her forward, "You are absolutely a terror. I bet you were a terror as a child."

She smiled impishly at him, "Could say the same of you, I bet."

"More like terrified, than terror." Jaskier muttered sardonically. He surprised her when the swing came towards him again and instead of giving a slight push to the ropes, he stepped onto the plank with her. His foot sandwiched between hers, his hands gripping the rope just above her fingers as they continued to swing lazily. He smiled roguishly, "Hello."

"Hello." Lyrra had muffled her gasp at having him so close and found her voice to be a little breathier than she had intended. Heat began to fill her cheeks and she tried to find the strength to let go of the rope and step away, but she was caught. Made immobile by curious sparkling blue eyes and a smile so gentle, that she wondered if he knew what she was thinking.

It didn't matter, as Jaskier leaned forward and tentatively brushed his lips against hers. When Lyrra didn't rebuke him, he pressed forward and claimed a true kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut and she hummed softly at the lush feel of his lips. This was good... it felt right and that surprised her enough to draw back slightly.

Jaskier didn't seem to notice her sudden hesitation as he rested his head against hers, "I have been waiting four days to do that."

Lyrra smiled even as she stated, "I'm not sleeping with you."

"Don't ruin the moment."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and stepped back to the ground. His other hand dove into her thick locks as soon as they were settled safely and he stole another kiss. This one deeper, more passionate and Lyrra found her hands smoothing a path across his taut stomach as she became lost in his touch. He tasted of ale and mint, and he felt solid and strong... safe.

She groaned as he pulled away and turned his attentions to her neck, "Jaskier, we should stop."

He pressed a lingering kiss at the corner of her jaw and eyed her carefully, "Hearing you moan my name like that is absolutely delicious. Now you just need to change the ones that follow..."

"Jaskier." She breathed a laugh.

"Yes, just like that." He grinned and claimed her lips again.

She wasn't sure how long they stood like that, simply kissing. It could have been a few minutes or an hour, she knew she didn't want to stop, even as a little voice in the back of her head reminded her of the late hour. Reluctantly, she pulled away from him and he sighed in acceptance.

She grabbed his bag before he had a chance to and turned with crossed arms. It was her barrier, feeble as it was, "It's probably best if I continue on from here and you head back."

"Hmm." He hummed, not inclined to agree as he mimicked her position, "Only if I can have one last taste of your sweet lips."

Lyrra hesitated, suspicious, "And you'll go?"

He nodded benignly.

Taking a breath, she stepped forward and pull his head down to meet hers – this time she was the one claiming the kiss as he pulled her into his body. Silky, her thoughts offered faintly as her fingers entwined his hair. Dimly, she was aware of the strap to his bag falling to her wrist as she clenched at his shirt. It only took a faint nip and a gasp on her part, before she realized that the strap hadn't so much as fallen, as Jaskier had maneuvered it onto his shoulder. She peered at him thru mockingly narrowed eyes, "Sneak."

He grinned smugly, "Well you did say, I had a future as a thief." He grabbed her hand before she had a chance to take the bag back and turned her back towards the path, "Lead on, Lyrra."

They hadn't made twenty steps when Lyrra broke away from him with a gasp, "Oh my..."

He frowned and followed her into the fields, not seeing what had her attention until he looked down. Lying on the ground was the large form of a wounded man. The undeniable shock of white hair was all Jaskier needed to see to know who he was staring at. Geralt lay face down, blood seeped from his neck and back. Lyrra quickly pulled her scarf from her pocket to try and stem the flow. She looked up panicked as Jaskier muttered, "Bollocks."