When Jaskier opened his eyes, he wondered if Geralt of Rivia was really that much of a motherfucking bitch.

The birds were chirping slightly too soprano for his tastes, the sun was shining through the window like an inconsiderate peeping tom, and the bed next to his was flat, tucked, and empty.

And he'd just gotten excited about travelling with the Witcher.

Maybe this was some twisted karma about the wraith thing. He dares actually get involved and be helpful (even if it got a little hairy for a moment) and the Witcher fucking disappears into the sunrise's warm bosom, never to be seen again.

Pulling on his doublet and grabbing his travel bag and lute, Jaskier got up faster than he ever had in his life. Mind you, since he'd been alive centuries, that was a god damn feat. Even his residual athleticism from years long gone were quite dissatisfied. Normally he at least drank something warm and splashed his face with water.

After all, he never had been willing to wake with the sun before the Witcher rudely took control of his life.

Plodding down the stairs like the thick oaf he wasn't, Jaskier hopped a few steps just to descend faster.

"Oh great, abandoned in an inn by a Witcher, like I'm some seedy, regrettable one night stand." His plan was also running through his head at a breakneck pace. Knowing Geralt, he'd be riding that Roach of his as leisurely pace, so if he just ran, he should be able to catch them before they got too far. "Well when I find him, because I fucking will, I will kindly inform him that I am one regret he is NOT allowed to-"

But then he ran mouth first into black leather as he rounded the corner of the stairs. From the growl and the white strands flicking his face, it could only be one person. Looking up, Jaskier blinked and said, "Oh. Geralt."

Rolling his eyes, the Witcher started walking back down the stairs. "Just about to wake you. Thought you might've been dead, honestly." He tossed a large bag of coin onto the nearest table before swinging his leg over a chair and sitting. He said, "Collected the payment. Breakfast's on me."

Still a little stunned by his own panic, he didn't even bother to right himself when his bag and lute started falling off his shoulders. Jaskier was more wondering if some dream demon took him in his sleep and was showing him things that sounded nice, but weren't real.

That, or he still didn't know the Witcher very well. But nothing about him screamed, "I stay for people" so who could blame him?

Dropping his things on the table beside them, Jaskier sat on the chair like it might change its mind and start eating his ass. He still didn't feel too firm on the tangibility of this entire scenario.

Frowning, Jaskier said, "How gallant of you." Flicking his eyes around the room, looking for glowing red candles or too-wide, sinister smiles hiding in windows, the bard was wary of any signs of demonic influence or possession. "No way our spectral woman scorned going to reappear to haunt us?"

"No. Banishment and proper burial should put her to rest." Geralt called over the barkeep and ordered food, like it was simple and easy. Her dazzling green eyes sparkled, and she winked and flirted with the Witcher, not the bard, but that didn't seem very right at all. More unbelievable, he even remembered that Jaskier enjoyed hard-boiled eggs.

Every moment his brown eyes were peering deeper into Geralt's face. Maybe this was a Doppler trying to take the man's place?

Jaskier tried to ward off his own gut feeling, because his gut feelings also told him to touch dead bodies and follow a Witcher around the Continent, but stayed on the inquisitive offensive. "What do you reckon the whole story is with her?" The question wasn't just about grilling this possible not-Geralt. He did want to know the man's take on what they dealt with; it was an unpleasant sort of experience, dealing with a young woman's trauma. Yet Jaskier couldn't resist trying to piece the full picture together, like a puzzle begging to be filled.

The Witcher, ever uninterested, just raised an eyebrow.

Okay, maybe this was Geralt. But it didn't make him less curious. "I just mean, why kill her? Jealousy? Abortion overkill? Food?"

The pretty barkeep brought over a decent spread for a town with a useless, uncultured mayor. There were slices from a fresh-baked loaf, sweet rolls, two large sausages, local fruit, and a handful of hard-boiled eggs. While Jaskier kept his eyes trained on his Witcher, he did pop one delectable egg in his mouth. They always made him feel a sort of comfort he couldn't explain.

Geralt growled into a bite of bread, "It's not our problem."

"But there is now a murderer on the loose, so there's that."

Another fierce bite. "I'm a murderer on the loose."

A quick scan over the man clad in leather and silver, and he couldn't say he was wrong. Especially after what happened with Tybalt. And worse, there was this more melancholy venom to the way he said that, the kind that would only get Jaskier poisoned if he asked. While Jaskier loved being curiouser and curiouser, he also liked free breakfast. Instead, he just grimaced. "Grim way to put that."

Then, he grabbed a sweet roll. The cinnamon sugar goodness melted in his mouth (and maybe melted his mouth itself, but he wasn't going to let first degree burns ruin the divine taste; taverns always made the best sweet things).

Gesturing with the half of his roll left, Jaskier offered, "Why not speculate about her life?"

Unamused, those sharp yellow eyes looked at Jaskier with scrutiny. But the bard was starting to notice Geralt only got real philosophical when he looked at him like that; there was no malice behind it. "My point is, perspective matters. We don't know what happened. Better to leave it be."

"But what if-"

Geralt took a bite of sausage and swallowed. "Leave it."

Smirking, Jaskier wondered how much trouble he'd get in if he started joking about all the sausages that had possibly been in Geralt's mouth.

Before he could pull off a truly wicked verbal jab, the tavern door slammed open and a disheveled man walked in, his hideous burlap hat askew. His face looked like he just walked out of the rain, but it was a hopelessly sunny day. He had the body of a young father who drank nightly beer, but he wore a smart enough shirt and had some very beautiful green eyes.

If Jaskier was ever to grow old, he wouldn't be the worst sort to settle down with. He looked dependable.

But what came out of his mouth was decidedly less... Pleasant. "There's been a murder in Vergen!"

The barkeep, a woman who looked alarmingly like him, now that Jaskier took notice, shot up from behind the bar and said, "Really?"

Walking over to a bar stool, he clearly was only talking to his (assumed) sister. But the pair talked so loud, someone outside probably heard their shouted way of speaking. Maybe it came with the business. "Ya, Katcha. Nobody knows much, but rumors is there's a vampire in town."

Jaskier didn't mean to, because it probably meant he was a sick and twisted person, but his face lit up like the damned sun that woke him up. Hitting Geralt's eyes several times, he smiled at him. "Y'see? Curiosity exists for a reason, Geralt."

Geralt's eyes fell down to his food, shaking his head. "It exists to be ignored, otherwise you attract this sort of shit."

Jaskier pouted. That wasn't the kind of answer he wanted. He wanted adventure, mystery, something to write home about.

Well, write to himself about. One does strange things to entertain themselves in their old age.

Jaskier tried to appeal to Geralt's softer, chivalrous side that he hid under mountains of aged, stubborn forest muck. "But wouldn't you want to find sweet Emily's killer? Her father was devastated. And a vampire serial killer sounds like Witcher work to me."

"Fuck you."

"Are you mad because you'd have to travel to Vergen or because I'm right?" Geralt didn't say anything, just gave him this absolute look of murder that Jaskier chose to take as a compliment. "I'll take that unforgettable glare to mean the latter. Lucky for you, your affection for me is a sacrifice I'm willing to make. I do so adore being correct."

Finishing off the second sausage on his plate, Geralt didn't even bother to look up. "Sometimes I wonder why I agreed to you."

"Agreed to me, what?"

"Just you."

Jaskier scoffed, done eating, so he wrapped their leftover bread for travel. "I know that's supposed to be an insult, but I find it hilariously flattering." Once he tucked the bread into his pack, he leaned his elbows on the table and tried to look as exciting as possible. Sometimes a Witcher just needed a good sales pitch, right? "Hear me out. Me, a simple bard, getting under the skin of an incorrigible Witcher. That's a feat one could sing about." When Geralt's eyes narrowed enough to threaten murder, Jaskier scoffed. "Oh, don't worry. I won't." But then he added, a coy smile on his lips,"...Yet."

Gesturing to the final hard-boiled egg on the table, Geralt said, "Finish up your food. We'll need to head out soon to get there in a day or two."

On command, Jaskier popped the savory snack into his mouth. After he swallowed, like a good boy, he asked, "So, give me your guess. Is the vampire killer Ariel or his probable new thrall, Derry?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh, but it totally does! From what we know, Ariel would be a much better killer, but maybe the Emily fiasco unhinged him a bit. Derry would probably be very sloppy and out of control. It'd be fascinating to see the crime scenes and compare-"

Standing up, Geralt looked down at Jaskier with the eyes of a wolf and the fists of a much more passionate man. "People are dead."

Most days, Jaskier would be proud of Geralt showing more emotion. But for it to be about implying he was heartless? That would absolutely not fly. He stood across from the Witcher, sized him up, and informed the all-knowing "old man" of multiple perspectives. "Yes. People are dead. But me acting all horrified and melancholy about it doesn't change that, does it? Being interested in the case might."

Per usual, Geralt didn't look pleased. "Hmm."

"I've come to understand you don't like when I actually make sense, do you?"

"Let's get going." Geralt grabbed Jaskier's travel bag and tossed it over his shoulder, before Jaskier could. That left the Bard with his lute. When he pulled it into his arms, Geralt added, "The job isn't finished."

"I'll ask that man for some info while you get all your baubles together."

Geralt grumbled, but he didn't argue. Instead, he started taking his loud and heavy footfalls up the stairs. Jaskeir was starting to say small little prayers for each wooden step that had to bear that man's heavy walk.

But he had a goal, and Jaskier liked goals involving people with nice-to-look-at faces. Sidling himself up to the bar, next to the sweaty but pretty man, he asked, "My good sir, may I inquire about the gruesome Vergen affairs?"

Those green eyes flitted towards him, and the man shrugged. "What, the rats? Because they ain't so bad-" Jaskier was going to slap him.

Instead, he just pressed his fingers to his temple. Good looks never inherently brought intelligence. "No. the murder."

"Oh, yeah. What about it?" The man took a deep gulp from his mug, already filled with ale. That's the kind of man he was working with, here. No wonder his sister had those sleepless bags under her eyes, dealing with his brilliance.

Jaskier asked, "Know anything more than "vampires" and "dead"?"

"Not really. I rode past the guards pulling the body out of the house on my way out."

"Anything interesting about the crime scene?"

"Like I said, not really." He went back to his drink, but stopped suddenly halfway to his mouth. "Well, except that the house was on fire. And like I said about vampires, the man had bite marks in his neck."

The next time he heard "like I said" or "not really" from this man's tragic vocabulary, he was going to bite his damned neck himself.

Taking the slowest blink of his life, Jaskier said under his breath, "... I see what Geralt meant about the frustrations of people leaving out important information."

Just then, the Witcher trundled down the stairs again. It was like someone let their pack of dogs loose for the morning feeding. By the time he got to the bottom, Jaskier was already pushed off the bar and waiting by the door. "Bard. Time to-" Those white brows furrowed when he didn't see Jaskier at the bar, but a quick glance over his shoulder and he grunted in acknowledgement. Jaskier wanted to be praised for being prepared, but Geralt didn't seem to be in that sort of mood, walking past him. He just grumbled, "Good."

And then they left Gulet. Jaskier hoped, for forever.

He'd rather dye his clothes in the blood of a virgin than deal with that place again. Who knew what kind of sick ideals that mayor implemented by the time they might ever come back? And worse, how many people would have urban legends about the Witcher with a slave?

Jaskier would rather fucking not deal with that.

During the early morning part of their travels, Jaskier spent it tuning his lute and playing with a few melodies. He had an idea in his head for a somber ballad about first love gone wrong, with obvious inspirations. But those inspirations were cut short by thoughts of fanged teeth and blood drank like wine.

Out of the blue, he asked Geralt, "So, what are vampires like?"

"Didn't you have sex with one?"

Chuckling, there was an easy retort to that small-minded assumption. "My dear Witcher, I'm sure you know you don't need to know much about someone to have sex with them."

Geralt just did his ever effortless grumble-groan.

To entice some real answers, Jaskier offered, "I'm less likely to get myself killed if I know more."

"Stakes don't work. Not holy water, either." Petting down Roach's mane, Geralt added, "Vampires also aren't made, they are born. So your stupid theory about Derry being the killer is impossible."

"You could've just told me that."

Again, that taunting little smirk Geralt sometimes got graced his lips. Jaskier was always torn; he looked so handsome when he smiled, but it also often meant he was being a sarcastic twat. "Didn't want to ruin your conspiring." Then a disgusted frown took its place. "Really didn't want you to start asking questions."

"Can't keep a curious man down."

Sighing, Geralt finally seemed to be accepting that feeding Jaskier's curiosity was easier than fighting it. "They dislike sun, but don't die. There are some spells and powders that can weaken them, but generally, only way to kill a vampire is to cut it up in so many pieces that it can't regenerate."

"Regeneration sounds... bad."

"It is." A look so pointed was tossed his way that Jaskier could've sworn he felt it cut the skin of his earlobe. "So don't get in the way this time."

"Duly noted."

Geralt preferred silence the rest of the day-walk, which suited Jaskier well enough. He wanted to compose about beautiful young maidens and daywalkers themselves. There was this beautiful, wistful melody he pulled together that could go well with a soft, sad song.

He started coming up with lyrics, about her willow bark hair and her haunted spectral stare just when it was getting dark. Jaskier was so wound up in singing random word and melody combinations that it wasn't until he ran straight into Roach's side that he realized they had stopped.

The horse whinnied at him and flared her nostrils. Shrugging, he said, "I'm sorry?"

Geralt hopped off the horse and tied her to a nearby tree, right by a new river they'd taken to following. :We camp here." Jaskier set his lute down and got working on a fire. It was the new normal for them, this travelling routine.

The witcher cocked his head to the nearby water and brushes. "I'm going to make sure there isn't anything nearby that'll try to kill us. Keep Roach safe. If you need to, die for her."

Snorting, Jaskier said, "Funny joke."

"I wasn't kidding."

Before Jaskier could debate his sincere concern about Geralt's priorities, the damned man had already sauntered off at a speed that got him out of earshot way too fast. He was starting to wonder if he walked like a man on fire to shut him up.

In only a few minutes, Jaskier had a good fire set up and some stray brush piled to the side, ready to feed said fire. He also even rolled out his bedroll, a man fully prepared for a night out in the wild.

It had been so long since he was used to this, but he adapted to it like it was seven hundred years ago all over again.

With the creeping boredom, and his fingers a little tired from all the lute-playing, Jaskier walked over to the beautiful beast he was told to die for.

Her warm brown eyes looked at him with her own curiosity, watching him as he walked over to her side. Roach's hair was short, but it was soft. Even her hooves weren't too mucked, implying a lot of general maintenance. Gweralt seemed to take better care of the horse than he did himself.

Honestly, at this point, that sounded about right for the Witcher.

Laughing, Jaskier gently ran his fingers down her neck, the way Geralt did while he was riding sometimes. She seemed to enjoy it. That, or was just tolerating him. Either was good enough. "He really is attached to you, isn't he?" Pretty sure he'd forever have an image of Geralt on Roach burned into his mind, he was starting to accept this horse as a piece of the man himself. "Granted, if my only friend was a horse I think I'd be pretty protective, too."

It was funny, really. Geralt was so stiff and stubborn with people, but more than once he'd caught him smiling and chatting with his horse like she was the best friend a man could ever have. Jaskier never expected a stab to his gut, seeing a man love his horse. But he guessed it was only out of his own loneliness.

So many people knew Jaskier the bard, charismatic and manic and creative. But they knew nothing of all 13 discarded men it took to make him.

Maybe Geralt had something, talking to a horse. After all, a horse could never tell him the ones he'd been too afraid to say in a very long time.

Stepping closer to Roach, he smiled at her. "You want to know a secret, beautiful girl?" Jaskier took a deep breath, prepared himself for bravery, the kind he hadn't allowed himself in...

Well, he didn't know how long it'd been. "I haven't been able to say this out loud in many, many years, but I was once a powerful man. A cruel one. An old one. I regretted much, but somehow I've made myself forget most all of it. Unfair, isn't it? The bad guy gets to forget the awful things he's done." She didn't even blink. That was... comforting, in a weird way. "I've been punishing myself for years. Being a bard is the first time I allowed myself real joy, and being with your Geralt is the first time I've felt more like myself, whoever that is." He rested his head on her shoulder, and it felt so nice to have her just stay there, not wincing away from him. "Maybe it also feels good to help people, knowing how many people I probably hurt."

In the silence, he just let that settle, right next to the errant melodies of his new inspiration whirring constantly in his head. Well, that and the random flashes of a beautiful face of a man he was pretty sure he once loved.

All of it felt so absurd and so far away and so different and he didn't really know how to hold any of it all inside his head.

Jaskier couldn't help it; a stream of laughter bubbled out of him. "I know you don't understand a word I said, but if you did, you'd probably want to get rid of me to protect him. I wouldn't blame you. He's a fearsome man, but no adult expects the monsters you let under your bed. " Unsure what came over him, he felt exhausted all of a sudden. Jaskier sat down next to her, still holding an arm up to stroke her belly. "Don't worry though. If I ever thought of hurting him, or anyone, I'm sure he'd do his job and kill the monster. I think that's why I'm growing to like him so much. He makes me less afraid of myself."

Just as Jaskier was settling into the comfortable bath of those words, finally out in the ether and not trapped in his own head, there was the snap of a twig.

And just as quickly as they fell from his lips, that pool of freedom turned into a dark puddle of dread that was sucking him in deeper with each pregnant second.

Turning his head, he saw Geralt advancing on the camp again, this confused and perturbed look on his face. Jaskier felt his heart stop; what had he done?

All just to talk to a bloody fucking horse.

Worse, those yellow eyes lit up in the night and Geralt asked him, "What did you just say?"

Frozen, Jaskier couldn't breath. He fucked it all up.

Maybe that monster was about to die faster than he thought.

/

Oh boy what the fuck Jaskier just spent all chapter talking a little too much, didn't he?

But vampires are exciting. VERY exciting.

Anyway, thanks for being here and extra thanks to my patrons:

Danyell Jones

Amy Connolly

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