To Annoy a Witcher
A/N: Akela's age varies from about 14 to 16 years.
Summary: Five times Geralt hated the bard's song, and the one time he didn't.
1)
"Toss a coin to your witcher!"
Geralt of Rivia instantly shot up in his makeshift bed on the forest floor, grappling for the sword by his side and blinking his wide, tired eyes as they darted around and searched for any sign of danger. His wild hair, freed from its band in the night, stuck up in awkward angles, and he looked positively hilarious, so nobody could really fault Akela for bursting into laughter the moment he jolted awake.
He snapped his head around as her laughter reached his ears.
"What the fuck, Akela?" His voice dripped with exhaustion, still slightly slurred from sleep, and she snorted.
"Whahat?"
"Why do you feel the need to shout in my ear?" Her laughter grew and he reached his hands up to rub at his eyes, his jaw tight. Now he was sure there was no cause for concern—unless that concern was for his rapidly thumping heart—he relinquished his grip on the hilt of his sword.
"I was just singing," Akela informed him with a shrug and an irking smile before turning to walk away. Geralt watched after her for a moment, eyes drooping with sleep, before he rolled them and pushed his blanket off. The sun was beginning to rise, birds chirping in the canopies of autumn leaves and branches above, a warm breeze ambling quietly through the air. It was, for all intents and purposes, a nice day. He wondered how long that would last.
"I pity the ears of those who have to listen to you singing," he said as he stood to his feet.
"It's Jaskier's song," Akela told him, "I don't know why you're so unappreciative. He made it specially for you."
"I didn't ask for it."
"Yeah, well, I didn't ask to travel with you, but here I am." He shot a look to where she was tacking up Roach.
"Would you like me to dump you back in the basket I found you in?"
Akela childishly stuck her tongue out in his direction, and he hummed, the beginning of a smile forming at the corners of his lips.
It was good that the both of them were entirely too much like each other to feel very bothered by the majorly dark teasing insults constantly spurting from their mouths. The prospect of Akela's abandonment didn't honestly hit home with her. She'd been left to the creatures of the woods, her parents most definitely expecting some monster would come across her basket for a tasty meal, and Geralt had found her during one of his hunts. What more was there to say? If she ever met her parents, she was sure she wouldn't give a damn, but either way they would be lucky if Geralt left them as he'd found them. Quite frankly, she wouldn't have wanted them to keep her, anyway. Life with her witcher was an interesting life, but it was a life worth living.
"Idiot," she said, shoving him as he came up beside her.
Geralt flicked the back of her head. "Pain in my ass."
2)
"To the right. Left. Block." The clang of metal hitting metal echoed around the forest as Akela hit her sword against Geralt's. They paused there, Akela breathlessly searching for the approval she needed, and let herself smile once Geralt nodded and lowered his sword. "Good."
Training. There was nothing both better and worse than training. Each weapon was a bastard to learn but she enjoyed it all the same, and though she never desired to undertake the trials the witchers had, every move mastered was a step towards becoming as much like them as her precious humanity allowed.
Geralt, however, did not make her love of training easy. She adored him. She really did. But he was a witcher. And she… wasn't. He fought with one hand behind his back, completely effortlessly, and while Akela knew she fought better than any human, she wasn't stupid enough to disregard the fact she was still only learning. He was certainly something to live up to, and though she doubted she ever would live up to his fighting abilities, considering he wasn't even human, she hoped someday she'd at least be a fair match for him. Perhaps Lambert would be an easier target to beat first.
"And again."
Akela moved back into position and the two of them stepped carefully around the small clearing he'd found for her impromptu training session, Roach watching occasionally from her quiet grazing spot tied to a tree. After a short while, Akela suddenly struck. Geralt blocked her sword with his own and, somehow, hit it from her hands. "Stop doing that," he ordered, pointing his weapon at her.
She frowned, mentally retracing her steps. "Doing what? What did I do?"
"You're humming."
"I wasn't humming."
Geralt narrowed his eyes. "Oh, please accept my apologies. It must have been Roach."
Glaring at him, Akela moved to pick up her sword. "I didn't realise I was."
"It's that damn song."
"What song?"
"Jaskier's."
Her eyes widened in realisation, and she grinned. "Oh! I was humming that. I heard it again at the inn the other day."
"I noticed," Geralt deadpanned. "Curse him, wherever he is," he muttered under his breath, but Akela still heard it. For a reserved man, he definitely was irritant, especially when it came to that song. Which was why she loved to annoy him so much with it. She'd been a child when Jaskier had written it, but it'd become somewhat of a tavern song now, even when the bard wasn't around to start it.
"Stop humming," he told her, gritting his teeth.
"I can't help it. It's just so good. You love it, really, don't you? Toss a coin to your witcher! O' valley of plenty!"
What was the quickest way to die in a forest?
3)
Geralt flinched as something hit the back of his head. He reached a hand around to rub it and glanced up, wondering briefly if an acorn or something had fallen from a tree. That thought was swiftly overlooked when he was hit again, though this time it was closer to the base of his neck.
He narrowed his eyes and slowed his pace, focusing his attention on the smallest of sounds. Less than a second later, he stopped, halting Roach next to him, and spun around, just in time to see Akela quickly come to a standstill, her arm raised in the air, looking utterly sheepish.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Akela grinned and uncurled her raised fist, showing him what she'd been holding. "Tossing a coin to my witcher. What does it look like?"
Damn that fucking bard. "More like tossing several coins at your witcher," he corrected her. "And if you're not careful, I'll be tossing an Akela in the river."
With that, he rose both eyebrows until she lowered her hand. He watched her stuff the coins in her pocket before nodding once and turning back around, walking on with Roach plodding beside him. They were on their way to a place they could spend the night indoors, but they'd been walking since the early morning with the nearest village still an hour or so away. Of course, he was more than used to long treks through the wilderness, and so was Akela, but when he wasn't in the mood for games during the journey, she got bored, and when she got bored, he wanted to dig a hole, stick his head in it and cover it back up once again.
The peaceful silence of the mid-afternoon was exactly what he needed, and yet his… darling little girl seemed to make consistently forgetting that small fact a hobby.
As was proved when he felt something hit the back of his head once again. Like a snake after a mouse, he snapped his hand up and around, grabbing the coin before it could reach the ground. There was a small laugh, and when he turned around, Akela raced off into the trees. He watched her go for a moment before he briskly swung himself up into Roach's saddle and steered her off in the direction Akela had run in.
"So, Roach," he said, "where do you suppose the nearest river is, hm?"
4)
The mattress bounced as Akela fell stomach-first onto the blankets and pillows, absolutely revelling in it. After weeks of sleeping on the hard, cold ground with no warmth at all, unless she curled up beside Geralt as much as she could, she could safely call this heaven. Nothing could beat the luxury of a comfy bed in an inn.
Sitting up, she shuffled back against the headboard and picked up the book she'd placed on the small wooden bedside table earlier. She'd been taught to read from a young age, sitting on the laps of the witchers who were patient enough to allow her to spell out each word on the exact same book, over and over again. Vesemir had bought her a stack of new books for her eighth winter at Kaer Morhen, and by the turn of the season, she could read better than most of the witchers.
She glanced up when Geralt walked through the door, locking it behind him. He'd dressed in a loose tunic and held his boots in his hand, tossing his old clothes at the foot of the bed as he walked in further and collapsed, just as Akela had, on the warm mattress.
A grin made its way onto her lips. "Don't wake me up early tomorrow."
He hummed. "Don't wake me up early tomorrow."
Akela returned her eyes to the book and read a few more lines before he moved, crawling up the bed so his head could sink into the cushions. The girl looked over at him and put the book down, leaning over to blow out the candle. The last hunt he'd done had been only the previous week, and this was bound to be the first comfortable night's sleep in a while, so she wanted to allow him the best chance for that.
Except only… perhaps not, if his tossing and turning was anything to go by. After about ten minutes, Akela turned her head to look at him in the dark. "Can't you sleep?"
He hummed.
"But it's such a warm bed!"
Another hum.
"No cold."
"Hmm."
"No spiders crawling over you."
"Hm."
"No rocks digging into your back."
"Hm."
She smiled. Alright. Perhaps it had been obvious.
Geralt of Rivia had become so used to sleeping on the ground that a bed was simply too comfortable for him. It had happened before. He grew accustomed to the coldness and the spiders and the rocks, and though he loved a nice mattress just as much as her, his body missed his forest bed. Quite endearing, really.
Akela turned onto her side to face him. "Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?"
He snapped his head around to look over at her and glared. It was, of course, an answer in itself, but she couldn't resist. She cleared her throat. "When a humble bard, graced a ride along—"
He groaned, reaching his hands up to drag down his face.
"—with Geralt ooof Rivia, along came this soooong-AHH!" A terse shriek left her lips as she felt his cold foot against her leg, and in her surprise, she tumbled out of the bed, landing on her back on the wooden floor. Despite the sudden soreness, she continued. "From when the White Wolf fought, a silver-tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves did theeey revel!"
Geralt sat up. "How do you even remember all the words to that fucking song?"
"Do you want me to continue?"
"No. Get back in bed or I'll make you sleep on the floor."
"Are you sure you don't want to sleep on the floor?" He looked at her the moment she stood to her feet and sat at the edge of the bed, gazing at him with a knowing glint in her eye. A sigh of defeat left him not a second later and he lay back down, completely silent.
"Anything I can do to help?" Akela asked.
He raised his arms only slightly, and Akela instantaneously made her way over to him, ducking under the covers and fitting herself against his side. She tucked her head under his left arm and slung her own across his chest. Exactly as it had been since she was a baby, though back then she hadn't been big enough to fit securely in his arm and had more or less draped herself across his chest like a sleeping puppy every night. Never once had he complained, of course.
"Night, Geralt."
"Hm."
5)
Geralt always chose to sit in the shadiest corners of taverns. It was all very ominous, but it was an aspect of being a witcher that he had to undertake, to keep himself away from prying eyes and those who might choose to disrupt his peaceful evening because they caught a glimpse of his white hair. Akela couldn't fault that. People were cruel.
"Where to after here, then?" she asked him. She sat in the lit part of the booth, Geralt beside her in the din. He lifted his ale and took a drink.
"West."
"Anything good in the West?"
Even in the dark she could see his amber eyes turn to look at her. "I've heard they take young girls off your hands for free."
"Oh, you're absolutely hilarious, you are." She kicked his leg under the table, but there was still a smile on her lips, and on his, too, as he chuckled. He was quick to sink back into the shadows however, and though she was confused at first, the voice from behind her soon answered her questions.
"Uh, excuse me?"
Akela turned, coming to face a young woman holding a small child's hand. She was nervously smiling. Reciprocating it, Akela looked up at her expectantly. "Yes?"
"Would you mind watching my daughter for just a moment? I promise I won't be long, I-I just need—"
"I don't mind!" Akela was genuinely happy to have a distraction from the loud noise of the tavern around her. The woman's smile softened. For a brief moment, her eyes strayed behind Akela, and she looked nervous again.
"Is that alright, Sir?" she asked. "If you could just watch her… I don't trust anyone here, but you have a child yourself, so I thought…"
Geralt waved a hand dismissively. "Don't be long," he said, and she nodded briskly, pressing a kiss to her little girl's head before running off outside.
The child was a pretty thing with bright green eyes and honey yellow hair falling in curls at her shoulders. Akela pat the seat next to her and the child clambered up
"Hello," Akela said gently, and the girl smiled, showing the few gaps in her teeth. "What's your name?"
"I'm Kallie."
"Hello, Kallie. My name's Akela. And he—" She moved to point behind her but thought better of it. Nobody needed to know his name. "Never mind him. His moodiness may start to rub off on you, and we don't want that," she said in an almost hushed whisper, leaning down. Kallie giggled, and Akela grinned widely.
"Hey," she said after a thought, "would you like to learn a song?"
The girl nodded eagerly. "I love songs! Mama teaches me loads."
"Oh, well, this one is the greatest song of all time! And you must teach it to everyone you know, alright?"
"Promise!"
"Okay. It starts like this… are you ready?" Kallie's eyes were alit like fireflies as she waited with anticipation. "When a humble bard—"
"Don't you dare."
6)
Akela hissed as cold hands touched her aching side.
Geralt hummed in sympathy. "Sorry." He moved her tunic up and carefully turned her, slowing his movements whenever she flinched. The bandage was white, at least. The last couple times he'd checked, they'd been tinged red, so it was an appreciated change. Though he was still desperate to reach the village soon so a proper healer could look her over.
As satisfied as he could be, he pulled her tunic down again and turned her on her back, moving to sit beside her. She was lying on all the blankets he had in the packs, his attempt at making her as comfortable as possible. She hadn't complained, but she wouldn't. That was Akela.
Amber eyes locked onto blue. "Of all the monsters out there, you had to be scratched by a wolf, didn't you? I'm afraid I can't appreciate the irony, though it'll be a story to tell this winter."
Akela sent him a glare, though the slight fever she was suffering through made it difficult to look at all threatening. One corner of his lips rose as he reached out a hand to brush a few stray strands of hair from her warm face. Sighing, Akela grasped it with both of hers and held it by her chest. Geralt didn't try to move it. Instead, he leaned over to grab up the waterskin.
"Drink?" he asked. Akela nodded, gulping down the cool liquid when he held it to her lips. A breeze blew softly past them, and he leaned over to pull the girl's blanket up to her chin. "Will you sing to me?" she asked quietly, eyes closed.
"No."
One eye drearily opened. So stony-faced, and yet his hand was still squeezing hers, his thumb absently stroking the back. "Please? I'm sick."
"You'll live."
"Still doesn't make me feel any less shit." He sighed audibly, considering her for a moment, before shaking his head in defeat. She smiled and shut her eye again, waiting.
The White Wolf didn't sing. He was emotionless, after all, wasn't he? What emotionless person sang? That was what the songs and tales said of him, anyway. But, of course, none of their creators were Akela. Geralt had sung to her as a baby; a last resort to stop her from crying before he gave up and passed her off to the first human he saw who looked more able to raise a child than him. He hadn't quite expected it to work, but the moment his desperate words turned to a lilt, her wails halted, bright baby eyes staring up at him, tears still clinging to her long lashes, as she simply listened.
Nothing really had changed. He had a voice that lulled her to sleep whenever he was in the mood to comply with her wishes to hear him.
He closed his own eyes and tilted his head up.
"Toss a coin to your witcher, o' valley of plenty, o' valley of plenty, o'… Toss a coin to your witcher, a friend of humanity…"
It was dulcet. Nothing like the bard's voice. A melody which flew with the wind and scattered in the velvet sky as stars.
Akela hummed, already half asleep. "Thought you hated that song."
Geralt opened his eyes. "I do," he said, "but if it makes you feel better, I'll sing it until the end of my days."
