"Her Sweet Kiss"
Prologue: Getting back into writing and had this concept stuck in my head for the last few days. This will be the first literary work I have written in 10 years (be kind) I understand this song is about Yennefer/Geralt; however, Jaskier wrote the ballad. My thought was to write this story from his perspective, and I designed the main character of this story to be his true muse for "Her Sweet Kiss."
Notes, thoughts and suggestions/ideas are always appreciated.
Hope you enjoy.
The fairest sex they always call it
But her love's as unfair as a crook
Survival of the fittest. She reminded herself. Breathing in her resolve as she stood in the darkest corner of the pub peering out into the crowd. She had heard his name before Julian, Viscount Lettenhove. Jaskier the bard, he introduced himself. He came from money and status. The woman took another taste from her mead and with a mouthful of drink whipped away the residual foam from her cheek. What a mess. The alcohol, not the maiden. In fact, she knew what she was doing. Like a Venus fly trap, she wore little more than a prostitute might. Her straight blonde hair was half pinned up on the side of her head bejewel with a ruby pendant, messy enough for a commoner but clean. Her white chemise was loosely fitted beneath a crimson red bodice, leaving little to the imagination. The corset wore her well, woven leather with black embroidered flowers. Her matching braise was tightly fastened at the waist; a knee length fit revealed ill-fitting hose that showed plenty of skin, held up only by garter. Was she a prostitute? No. Although she wore her clothing crooked and bare in anticipation, chemise falling down her left shoulder.
Sumptuary laws ensured the maintenance of class structure, they forbade a certain kind of clothing for the common people as it was not considered appropriate for their class. Jaskier stood out like a sore thumb in his kempt, elaborately patterned, teal fitchet surcoat and matching pant. Tight. She cooed to herself. It almost made her smile the way he moved like a bird across the bar floor, lute in hand. All the worlds a stage. He had a lovely voice, she would give him that much, almost entrancing. That's not why you're here. She reminded herself, taking another long drawl of her drink. The show was almost over, and she needed the right amount of liquid encouragement for what was to come.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of the brooding presence which emanated from the far corner of the pub. A dark figure, striking. Tall and slim with piercing eyes. The Witcher. The maiden was ripe with awe, or maybe it was the alcohol… "Another?" The bartender asked as she passed the lonely table. "Oh god no." Her cheeks flushed. A low belch escaped her chest. I've had too much already.
Toss a coin to your Witcher
Oh, Valley of Plenty
Oh, Valley of Plenty, Oh
Toss a coin to your Witcher
A friend of Humanity…
She had heard this song before. Rumours and tales of the demon slayer and yet, this was the first time she had ever seen one in person. The White Wolf. Suddenly she felt herself having second thoughts… They were friends, were they not? The song seemed to suggest so. However, she had watched him this night. All night. Dare a move, let alone a smile. More forlorn than friendly it would seem.
Jaskier finished his song and bowed to the crowd. "You've been a wonderful audience, remember to toss a coin if you can!" Most of the pub was silent, save for a few cheers and raised tankards. "Thank you, thank you." His face contorted slightly, an expression of disappointment. "You're all too much." He bowed, turning away from her view. Jaskier set his lute at the table where the Witcher had saved him a seat and they began talking. She could not make out what the conversation was about and didn't plan to find out, she didn't care. Another sip: her drink was warm now. As if the beer didn't already taste of piss. She would watch for now, wait. She was on the hunt tonight.
Jaskier moved around the bar with such ease, friendly. Her head tilted to the side with a smirk, charming even. He would bat his blue eyes at the women folk and compliment the burly men, focusing on the drunks, those more willing to tip, she mused. Jaskier pointed a finger toward the Witcher, flattering himself. The crowd had questions, but not for the bard. Geralt was distracted. Jaskier had not yet arrived at the maidens table before she stood. Not like this. With one eye on the Witcher she walked through the crowd. There was no part of her that wanted to get close to Jaskiers friend, Geralt? She questioned. Her intentions were not pure after all. How does a Witcher work? Curiously her eyes bounced between the duos. Questions for another time perhaps. She convinced herself. Quit stalling.
"I beg your pardon..." the maiden chortled. She had intentionally bumped into Jaskier as he backed from the nearest table. She looked up at him with doe eyes as he startled. Jaskier turned dramatically, almost frightened and paused a moment catching her eyes and for a second looked embarrassed, scared? Perhaps he wasn't ready to see a young woman behind him and instead an aggressor of some kind. His expression of bewilderment quickly turned to enthusiasm. A look she was all too familiar with.
Jaskier opened his mouth to speak but it seemed the first word caught in his throat. "Uh - Sorry, miss?"
"Kira." She insisted, stretching out her hand.
Jaskier/Geralt POV (before the pub)
"Geralt I insist!" his delicate hands slipped under the White Wolfs wardrobe which was gathered about the floor. "I'm sending these too -" Taking in the scent Jaskier nearly choked. Geralt smelt like horse and beast regurgitate, "UGH – I'm sending these to be cleaned." Jaskier shook his head dramatically, "You my friend, wreak." Clothing tucked under his arm Jaskier moved to the dresser fingering through some bath herbs before distributing lavender to the tub. Geralt was war-torn and soaking his wounds. "You not only wreak of," He smelt the cloth again for emphasis, "death, but you wreak of boredom! When was the last time we saw one another?"
"Hmmm." Geralt hissed, splashing water over his face. The water was warm, freshly brew and smelt of rose pedals. It was rare he had a moment to bathe. Geralt's bones ached and his submerged skin stung in the heat of the clean water. Jaskier added salt, aggravating the open flesh. He would be healed soon but needed a day or two. He had not expected to see Jaskier here and planned to move on to the next town the following day. Geralt was mid-way through his most recent mission and didn't really want any distractions, let a lone a tag along.
"Listen. What's more fun than going out with your very best friend in the entire world?" Jaskier insisted. "I have a show tonight."
Geralt did not respond.
"Food, women and wine Geralt!" Jaskier could admit that he wanted something more from his friend, "Meet your fans. Embrace your newfound fame. The Witcher and the Bard!" Jaskier lifted his hands as if to frame the concept within them. "I'll make a fortune!"
There it was.
"Oh what?" Jaskier huffed. "Like you've ever turned down a drink?" Geralt groaned, but Jaskier was a flutter and determined to convince Geralt to attend his show.
Moving about the room Jaskier let loose a trinket of some kind. It tumbled from Geralts pocket and skipped about the floor. Geralt stiffened and peered over the edge of the tub. "Jaskier." Jaskier raised his hand to stop him. "It's fine, it's fine! I found it…" Pausing to examine the item Jaskier furrowed his brow, "What is it?"
Geralt relaxed back into the tub with a sigh. "Its magic."
"Its… a medallion." Jaskier said blatantly and unimpressed.
"It unlocks a door." Geralt noted, although he was hesitant to say more.
"Like a vault?" Jaskier questioned further, his eyes narrowing as he examined the piece. It was intricately designed and made of the purest silver. Four points like a cross but lesser, and Celtic in design. The medallion was embellished with blue sapphire and aquamarine stones and had some peculiar symbols etched in each corner. Jaskier had seen these symbols before, but at this moment the memory escaped him.
"I don't know." Geralt admitted.
"Huh." Jaskier added as he spun it in his hands. "So, no secret unearthed vaults filled with gold and riches beyond our wildest imagination then?" How disappointing.
Geralt almost smiled. "Im afraid not."
"Why are you carrying it around?"
Geralt flushed some water over his shoulder. It beaded down his exposed chest, glinting slightly in the candlelight. "There is some sort of magic emanating from it. I can feel it. It's…" Geralt gave a short pause, flushing water over his other shoulder and down his arm. He looked perplexed, "It's important." He couldn't understand why but he wanted to have it examined as soon as possible. Jaskier of course, didn't care. There were other, more pressing matters on his mind.
"Alright!" Jaskier rolled his eyes and shoved it into his coin purse without a second thought. "Will. You. Finish. Up. PLEASE." With that he left Geralt to his bath, taking his clothing to the front to be cleaned for their late-night festivities. Geralt would never admit that he was happy for Jaskiers help. He gently sunk down deeper into the wooden basin, exposing his toes over the end of the tub. As he moved the water flushed over the edges and Geralt closed his eyes, happy for what little piece and quiet he would have before his friend paraded him around the bar. Why? He questioned. It was almost like he enjoyed the little idiot.
At the pub was a different story. Geralt took a long haul from his tankard and slammed it against the table. He did not appreciate the prying eyes and wished he could return to his room, separate the bard. He watched Jaskier perform, oddly entranced by his melodic nature. He has a beautiful voice. He would never admit. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Jaskier finished his set and set his lute at the table. "You could show some enthusiasm?" His hand twirled into the air. "The song was about you. You're welcome." Geralt took another drink through gritted teeth. He did not acknowledge the bard, nor would he. Jaskier rolled his eyes. He was hoping that Geralts presence would offer a wealth of cheer and acknowledgement of his troubadour talents, but the crowd was weak and Jaskier felt he might need to encourage them for coin.
It was something he had gotten quite good at over the years. Cheer, optimism, a boyish glee that could sweep people off their feet. The more tips the better. Jaskier addressed the drunks and exposed his friend hiding in the corner, suddenly the crowd was a little looser with their coin and Jaskier felt pride in his work. I'm very good. "I beg your pardon." Jaskier felt someone press up against him. At first, he was shocked, the muscles in his body tensed at the intrusion and stiffened in fear at the possibilities. The bard turned rapidly, before his gate softened. Wow. Two blue eyes pierced his usual confidence catching him off guard and causing him to gape. "Uh-" She looked wryly back at him. "Sorry miss?"
Her eyes fluttered up at him, glossy in the dim light. Her golden blonde hair was a mess and Jaskier felt his heart drop out of his ass. "Kira." She cooed back. Jaskier could taste his own heartbeat. The maiden's skin was fair, and her bosom was… ample. Jaskier swallowed a lump in his throat. "You're quite good you know." Her eyes looked expecting, and he felt his knees weaken.