Like Him
A/N: Back again with our favourite trio. Akela is about 15.
Summary: Akela and Geralt have an argument, and it takes a certain bard to get the two of them to stop glaring daggers at each other and make up.
Jaskier wasn't accustomed to being caught in the middle of an argument. Being a part of an argument, yes, it was practically his day job, but being stuck in the midst of one that, quite frankly, had nothing to do with him… no. Never.
Though of course, nobody would have expectedhim to have to grow used to it while in the company he was in. Akela and Geralt could throw insults at each other all day if either of them were given the chance, but to find cause for an actual disagreement and end up completely ignoring each other? Thatwas a rarity.
A rarity Jaskier had been all too confused to discover after returning from filling his waterskin up by the river. He'd walked back, expecting to hear at least some kind of discussion, but had been entirely bewildered to find an eerie air of tension and silence as soon as he returned. He'd stood there for at least a full minute, completely still, eyes flicking from the brooding witcher with his horse to the disconcerted teenager sat on a rock at least ten feet away.
It was obvious something had happened, and looking closer he could tell Akela was crying.
Tossing his waterskin on his bedroll, he crossed his arms over his chest and turned right, silently making his way over to Akela and her rock. She didn't move as he sat down next to her, staring ahead at a… seemingly interesting tree. He could see the tears stubbornly clinging to her lashes above the ones already rolling down her red cheeks, and for a moment he simply sat there with her, heart twinging each time a small sob shook her body or she reached up to rub at her eyes.
"You know," he said quietly after a while, leaning that bit closer towards her, "for what it's worth, I think Geralt's a dick, too."
Unfortunately, he didn't receive the reaction he'd intended at that, clearly telling him something was seriously bothering her. She'd always given him at least something for his humorous comments, whether that be a laugh or a roll of the eyes… not giving a single reaction was worrying.
His eyes lingered on her for a moment. "What happened?" he asked gently. She glanced down at her fidgeting hands. "I was only gone for a couple minutes."
Akela swallowed thickly, rubbing at her eyes. "Geralt happened." Her voice was broken by a sob as further tears welled in her eyes and she bit her bottom lip, moving her arms up to hug herself. Pity circled Jaskier's heart, and the moment he felt her lean against his side, one of his arms wrapped around her.
"Like I said," he reiterated, "he's a dick. What did he do?" It wasn't that he was assuming, he was just… well. He supposed he was assuming. But he was usually right to. Geralt often had a way with words that just wasn't the best way. Things came out of his mouth that he regretted and wanted to shove back in as soon as he said them, but his damn pride prevented him from apologising. Still, Akela was much like him in many aspects, most of which he still hadn't discovered yet, even after seventeen years knowing her.
"He just… shouted," she told him. "He shouted at me."
Jaskier glanced over to the man in discussion, sharp eyes catching sight of his stony face as he rubbed Roach's nose. He looked back at Akela. "Why?"
"Because he's too fucking over-protective, that's why." An unwonted fury tainted her voice.
Jaskier had grown to know the witcher over many years, and, from what he'd witnessed, he most definitely wasn't over-protective. He'd seen over-protectiveness. Over-protectiveness was fathers not letting their daughters leave the house because of the possibility they may get raped. Over-protectiveness was husbands not telling their wives that their sons had died in battle because women can't deal with hurt and pain. Over-protectiveness was mothers forbidding their daughters from seeing the men they'd learnt to love through secret meetings because they were too young.
Geralt was protective, yes, but not overly. If there had been any hint of that, he would've left Akela with that woman all those years ago for fear of a child living in his world. He wouldn't have raised her as his own, teaching her to fight and telling her of all the monsters that lurked out there. He wouldn't have kept her away from the stories he told her before she went to sleep… stories of the dragons he'd seen and the kikimoras he'd killed. He wouldn't let her walk to the river by herself, or sleep away from him at nights under the stars if she so wished.
Everything he did for that girl was as any proper parent would do. Protectiveness. Not letting your child come to any danger, but not keeping her away from the trials and errors of life, either. That was how they learned, after all.
So, it was with all this in mind, that he wondered exactly what had transpired. Perhaps Geralt's obvious irritation had been well-deserved and called-for.
Narrowing his eyes, Jaskier twisted his face in contemplation. "What was he being… over-protective about?"
She sniffed. "He won't let me come with him to kill the werewolf."
Ah. And there it was. The spilled dreams of every adventurous child, wishing to be just like their father.
There was something Geralt definitely wasn't over-protective about. If Jaskier ever saw him invite Akela on one of his hunts, he'd likely have a heart attack himself there and then. If a grown man—yes, a lousy one, he could admit that—could hardly handle the thought of accompanying a famed witcher on a hunt to kill a blood-thieving monster, how would a young girl be able to?
Alright, perhaps that wasn't the best analogy. He knew she could beat him in a fight any day. He'd seen her train; she fought like a witcher.
But the point was that, even at her level of experience, some things didn't need to be proved. He knew that no doubt, one day, Akela would be fighting side-by-side with her witcher, but there was still so much she needed to learn and experience before she could understand fully the aspects of a fight that didn't include the actual swinging of the sword. The emotions, the mindset, the priorities. And as long as both Akela and Geralt remained living, they would never fight together without his constant glances over his shoulder to ensure she was okay. Even if she supernaturally surpassed him in skill, it was a parent's job to care more for their child's life than their own.
And, underneath the surface of it all, what Geralt knew about his own reasoning was enshrouded in a darkness only he could understand the full extent of.
So, Jaskier took back all those assumptions.
Not the one about him being a dick. That still stood, tall and proud.
Sitting back, he waited for Akela to turn towards him before he spoke again. "Can you tell me," he said, clasping her hands in his, "honestly. Do you think that's over-protectiveness?"
Her face immediately turned cold, and she pulled away from him. "You don't? I can fight! He taught me! I've—I've killed monsters before!"
Jaskier shook his head, glancing over his shoulder to see Geralt looking at the two of them in discreet curiosity. He took her hands tightly in his once again and rose his eyebrows. "Stop it," he said, and she shut her mouth, though her lips still trembled with unbridled anger. "Listen to yourself, Akela. I get that you want to join this hunt, but Geralt knows—"
"Knows what's best for me," she finished for him with an eye roll, "yeah, yeah."
Jaskier frowned. She was never usually like this. She was typically patient and took what people said to heart. Either way, his eyes weren't ignoring the fact that hers were filling with tears once more. Sighing, he shifted around properly on the rock. "If you died, what do you think Geralt would do?"
Akela looked at him, opening her mouth to speak but closing it a second later.
"He'd go mad. He would… utterly, truly, go insane. That man over there lives for you. I'd hate to see the witcher he'd be if he hadn't kept you that day." Akela remained silent. "If I had a child, I would rather step, armourless, in the path of a werewolf than let her fight one like you want to do." Somewhere inside, she knew he was right. Of course he was. But that didn't mean she needed to like it.
She glanced up as she felt Jaskier's thumb rub across the back of her hand. "We all do whatever's necessary to protect the ones they love, Akela," he told her gently. "Please understand that."
Jaskier watched with hopeful nerves as the gears in her head turned. Finally, she cautiously flicked her eyes to stare behind him at Geralt, now mumbling quietly to Roach, something he always reverted to when he was stressed. She sighed internally. That was partly her fault, she supposed.
"I'll speak to him," she told the bard, and he smiled in both relief and surprise that he'd managed to lead her to this conclusion.
"Good," he said. "Go sort it out. I'm not travelling with two moody people who won't even look at each other for the next few days."
He gently shoved her in Geralt's direction, snorting as she stumbled over a log and shot him a narrowed glare.
Akela wondered if she had been the topic of Geralt and Roach's conversation, because she couldn't help but feel as though the horse was silently judging her as she slowly walked up to them. Geralt, on the other hand, did anything but acknowledge her presence, paying all attention to Roach and keeping his eyes away from her own.
"Geralt?"
He didn't respond.
"Can we talk?" she asked, absently fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. It was at this that he turned his head to face her, harsh amber eyes looking considerably carefully into hers. A moment later, he moved away from Roach and took a step towards her, crossing his arms expectantly.
Intimidatingly.
She'd forgotten how much so he could be.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and attempted to figure out what to say.
"Perhaps you could start with 'I'm sorry'," he suggested gruffly. Before Akela could open her mouth to speak, he continued, knowing her well enough to be certain of what her next words would be. "You shouted at me long before I returned the favour," he said. "What did you call me? It was—"
"I'm sorry," she said.
He hummed, almost in disbelief that she'd apologised. "As am I. For shouting, that is, and letting my temper get the best of me. That's all I'm apologising for."
A spark of frustration swirled inside her, and she subconsciously balled her fists. "Can we not at least talk—"
"No."
"You don't know what I was going to say!"
"Oh, believe me, I do."
"You don't think I'm good enough!"
"I do think you're good enough, and that's what scares me!" He burst forward, a fire in his eyes.
Coming from his mouth, the words felt foreign to Akela. Even in his darkest times, Geralt had never shown any hint towards being scared. She supposed that was a protector's job—to not let them see that you're frightened—but even so, it struck a chord.
"Scares you?"
"Yes, because you're too much like for me for your own fucking good."
At this, she took a step back, whether consciously or not, swallowing thickly as that fire in his eyes raged in an inferno. He noticed immediately and reined it in. He shut his eyes and shook his head, lowering his voice. "Listen," he said, calmer. "Girls your age… they shouldn't want to join hunts for werewolves or strigas or kikimoras… they should be scared of the idea. Terrified. They should want to stay home and sew… or whatever else it is that they do."
"I'm not like other girls."
"I know that, and I accept my part in making it truth. I don't regret it, but that doesn't mean I am going to indulge in it." His eyes opened and held her in a steady gaze—much less fiery and more like the soft amber she loved. "I can't have you turn out like me more than you already have. I want you safe. I want you not to turn into a killer. That isn't the image I had in mind when I decided to keep you." She frowned at his words, watching as he stepped forward. "You are good enough. Of course you are. You've been learning to fight by the best since you could walk. But I'm a witcher, and every hunt for me is far from easy. I've almost died more times than I would've liked, and I won't willingly lay the samerisk on you."
Geralt wasn't often outspoken, but in the times that he was, Akela found it extremely difficult to disagree with his words. For such an impassive man, he had a talent for making whatever he said hold such emotion. She supposed that was why she couldn't help the tears which welled in her eyes as he spoke.
"You can hate me all you like," he said. "Lie awake at night, dreaming of ways to murder me while I sleep. But I'd rather suffer through that a thousandtimes than have you lying in a ditch somewhere, dead, because I let you join me in a hunt. You are far too precious to me for that, Akela. And I'm sorry that you clearly can't see it."
A tear rolled from one of her eyes, leaving a silver trail, and she rushed her hand up to rub it away. "I can see it," she assured him. "You're all I've ever had, Geralt… you know I look up to you… I just—I was upset at—" She sighed in frustration, staring down at her boots. She sighed, shaking her head as the realisation that perhaps her logic was a little shaky reached the sane corner of her mind. "I want to be like you," she all but breathed out.
Geralt let a wry smile appear on his face, riddled with dim emotion. He shook his head. "No, you don't," he said. "You want to be you, because you're more important than me. Yes, you've fought before, but that's only when we're suddenly caught in battle, and I don't have a choice. When I'm given one, I use it, and I will for a long time." Silence ensued for a moment between them, but when another tear leaked from Akela's eye, he silently stepped forward and enveloped her in a hug. "You fight better than any human I've met. But you have nobody to prove that to. Everyone that matters, knows. One day," he said quietly, stroking the back of her head. "One day, I'll have enough faith in the world to let you fight… but until then, I do it alone. I can't fight to the best of my ability while knowing you're risking your life beside me, because my sole thought would be on protecting you." He sighed into her hair. "It always is."
"I'm sorry," Akela said. "I wasn't thinking."
"I was the same as a child, wanting to fight and prove myself. Just ask Vesemir. What I didn't realise was that there are other ways—both safer and better—to do that." He drew back and held her at arm's length. "Better to be late in this life than early in the next, yes?"
She smiled. "Yes."
Geralt wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her against his side, taking a hold of Roach's reins with the other before slowly walking towards where Jaskier was still sat on the rock, strumming his lute. "Are you certain the real reason you wish to fight with me isn't because you don't want to be left with him?" her witcher asked quietly, leaning down so Akela could hear.
She laughed. "He's not that bad," she told him, the happiness already returning to her eyes. "He was the one who made me speak to you, after all."
"Hmm."
"When do you leave?"
"Tonight."
"Alright." She paused. "Oh, it was an ugly, fat donkey ball, by the way."
Geralt's brows shot up and he turned his head down to meet her amused gaze. "What?"
"That's what I called you."
"Innovative. What does it even mean?"
"In three words?"
"Sure."
"Geralt of Rivia."
"Oh, you little—"
