The Bard and the Barber

A/N: Based on Jaskier's hair in the season 2 trailer. That's it. Enjoy.

I obviously haven't a clue what the timeline for season 2 will be like, but let's assume for the sake of this story that there's at least one day where Geralt, Jaskier and Ciri are on the road together (with the addition of Akela, who is about 19).

EDIT: Having now watched season 2, this fic seems a little out of place haha, but interpret it as you like! :)


Summary: Though Akela is all too happy to see Jaskier again, there's one thing that must go: his hair.


"Devil child! You have the devil's child, I swear it!"

Geralt glanced over his shoulder at Jaskier's terrified yell. He paused in pulling the fishing net from the river, forgetting for the moment his hope that it would catch something capable of lasting the foreseeable evenings. There were four of them now, after all, and he was responsible for them, through no one's decision but his own.

Ciri did her best to help where she could, which came extremely in handy once they'd taken Jaskier from his cell and the man-child had reunited with Akela, thus prompting a journey that had only been agonising because the two made irritating each other their life goal. It seemed to be worse now she was older and he… well, he hadn't needed to change at all. He simply moved as she did. Bickered when she did. Pushed her in a puddle when she failed to do the same to him and consequently had her complaining the rest of the journey. He wondered if this was what it had been like before he and Jaskier had parted ways but could remember only a young girl and her older brother, infuriating at times, yet mainly placid. Now, he constantly felt as though he were in a fever dream.

The only positive aspect of it all was that it had distracted Akela from her worries concerning Ciri. The princess seemed to enjoy the girl and the bard's antics, Geralt often catching a flicker of a smile or a new kind of glow in her blue eyes as she watched. That was the one thing stopping him from gagging the two. Or leaving Jaskier tied to a tree. Though perhaps it was something he could explore once they packed up and started moving again. They didn't need his help that much, did they?

Though Akela's insults towards Jaskier changed quite occasionally, the one thing she had not let go of was the hair. The hair which, certainly agreeably, did not do Jaskier any favours. It'd been quite a shock when Geralt had first lay eyes on his, for lack of a better word, mop. It'd grown a fair amount since he'd left him on that mountain, and it was… hm. He'd paused many times to think about it. It wasn't that it made him look like a girl… just… it was too big for his head. That was what Akela had said, anyway. Geralt hadn't agreed out loud, but he had let himself grin.

Akela had obsessed over his hair since, pulling from it, yanking it when he wasn't looking, sticking flowers and leaves in when he slept. Honestly, Geralt was impressed at Jaskier's perseverance and sheer resilience in the face of Akela's attempts.

Either way, he wasn't totally surprised by Jaskier's yell. The only part that did begin to concern him was the terror in the man's voice. Usually, there'd be some playful inclination, or a teasing tone, but Jaskier sounded frightened, and if his words were anything to go by, he was frightened of Akela.

Once upon a time he would have considered that an impossibility: frightened of his innocent girl. It should be laughable. But she was growing older, and he'd only recently come to the realisation that she was moving further and further away from the purity of childhood with each passing day, edging more towards the reality of adulthood and simply humanity, both of which he'd endeavoured to keep her from.

He grounded himself. His hands paused in their reeling, and he dropped the net, craning his neck enough to see Jaskier racing straight for him. He stood still as he became a living shield, the bard's hands fiercely grasping his shoulders. Geralt frowned, deciding whether he should kick him away or let him stay, just to see what it was his supposed devil child had done.

Thankfully, he didn't have long to wait. Akela came into view almost immediately after Jaskier had jumped behind him. She looked intent on something. That wasn't the problem. What was the problem, was the fact she was clutching a hunting knife.

It was more than likely instinct from his years shielding Akela that had him immediately straightening and extending his arms out to protect Jaskier. He dipped his head in both curiosity and warning.

"Akela—" His voice lowered— "What are you doing?"

Akela scrunched her nose up, obviously frustrated Jaskier had managed to feel out some sort of safety, and dropped her hand. For the moment.

"What does it look like?" she asked almost sardonically.

Geralt rose his eyebrows. Did she really want him to answer that question? "It looks like you're about to stab Jaskier," he said, impassive. Two could play at that game.

Akela's eyes lit up. "You can't tell me you like his hair."

"I don't."

"Excuse me—"

"Quiet, Jaskier." He could see Ciri from the corner of his eye, sat with her legs crossed in the shade of a tree, and he wondered briefly how long she had been there. Since he'd been alone and reeling in the fishing net, or since Jaskier and Akela had entered the previously serene picture? He wasn't allowed much time to ponder on this, of course, considering the matter at hand.

Akela caught her tongue between her teeth, the tip of it sticking from her lips. She narrowed her gaze at Geralt, a hint of mischief and slight daring entering her eyes. Geralt recognised it as a challenge, and one of his brows arched higher as she twirled the knife in her hands, testing him.

"I'm cutting it off," she told him then, quite matter-of-factly.

"No, you bloody well are not!" Jaskier. Obviously. "You're not getting within five feet of me with that knife, or any knife. Isn't that right, Geralt? Geralt?"

The witcher stared at Akela, ignoring the growing fear in Jaskier's voice. Before this revelation, he had cared, only slightly, about the outcome. Now, the knife in Akela's hand didn't seem so threatening. If anything, it redirected his earlier thoughts about her diminishing innocence, and he was quite happy to let her have a go at cutting his hair off if it meant she was happy.

So, with an almost amused huff, he turned around and side-stepped the gaping bard. "Just don't stab him," he reminded Akela, picking the netting back up, "no matter how tempting."

"Oh, you—you—you! This is why I said the rats were better friends! This is exactly why!"

Geralt expertly ignored his protests as he ran off, Akela hot on his heels, and bent to work more on dinner.

"Can I help?"

He turned to see Ciri. She'd since moved from her perch by the tree and had come to stand a short distance from him. "Anything," she continued with a half-hearted shrug. "I don't like sitting around."

He forced a light smile, an attempt at consoling her apparent nerves. "Do enough of that as a princess?"

His words held the intention of jest, a teasing remark he would confidently shoot at Akela because he knew she would send one right back. But he forgot that Ciri wasn't like Akela. He forgot that while Akela had experienced her fair share of pain, Ciri's was fresh, and she was younger, and he doubted very much she wished to talk about her life as a princess right now. Sure enough, when he turned once more at Ciri's silence, he caught the underlying hint of dismay on her face.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance at nobody but himself—though Akela and Jaskier's distant yells may have added to it—he hummed under his breath and stretched one arm holding the net out towards her. "You can help me with this," he suggested, his tone firmer than he'd anticipated, but Ciri didn't seem to mind.

She brightened at his proposal. "Catching fish?"

"Yes. There don't seem to be any here, so we'll move further down the bank."

Despite her apprehension, Ciri followed him along the muddy ground, keeping close behind him, stopping when he did to examine a spot of the bank that he thought might give them better luck. She looked up when she noticed two blurs, one after the other, in the trees ahead. A shriek echoed throughout the forest, as well as a laugh that most definitely belonged to Jaskier—a turn of events, then?

"Are they always like this?" she asked before she had a moment to consider her words. Now they were out, she steeled herself and blinked at the back of the witcher.

"No," Geralt told her immediately. He thought for a second, then turned slightly, fingers working on a knot in the net. "Though Akela was younger when they were last together. They weren't so… irritating."

"And Jaskier had shorter hair."

He couldn't bite back the short breath of laughter that produced. "Yes," he agreed. "He had shorter hair. More like a hedgehog." He ignored the irony. Too late, now. Hopefully she wouldn't notice. "Now it's just…"

"Like the back-end of a horse?"

Geralt's brows shot up in amusement. He looked at her and noted the glint of veiled mischief in her eyes. For a moment, the girl in front of him, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, a hidden ferocity masked by a carefully placed calmness and natural innocence, was his Akela. He couldn't pinpoint when—there wasn't even much of an age gap—but Akela hadn't always been so daring, especially with people who weren't him. He'd sheltered her for the majority of her life, mainly because he'd remained sheltered himself, but also because he was aware of the dangers of the world and, accordingly, had kept her away from it.

"I don't think she really cares much about the hair. Should I take that?" She reached for one end of the net as Geralt worked on tossing it back into the river, and he absently nodded, his eyes training on her.

"What do you mean?"

Ciri shrugged, focusing her attention on the netting. "I know she isn't particularly fond of me—"

"Ciri—"

"It's alright. I know we're better, but we'll never be… sisters, I guess. I understand." She offered him a reassuring smile, and though he didn't entirely accept it, he stayed silent and waited for her to speak. Interestingly enough, he did wish to hear her thoughts. Though he was as much an expert on Akela as anyone could possibly be, there were still moments when he wished he wasn't doing it alone. Of course, the other witchers had some involvement in her upbringing, each imparting something valuable upon her which had subsequently moulded her into who she was today, but, for the most part, it'd just been the two of them. And although Ciri in no way had responsibility over Akela, and Akela was growing ever closer to a stage in which Geralt's guardianship over her didn't matter so much, he was still learning new things, consistently altering his perspective. With anything else, it wouldn't matter, but with Akela, there would never be a time it wouldn't.

There was another echoing laugh, Akela's this time, as Geralt flung the fishing net back in the water.

"She misses how things used to be." Ciri's voice was quiet, nostalgic even. "When… I suppose when she was younger. When Jaskier had shorter hair. A trivial thing to most, but times are changing for her, and though it sounds like she's teasing… Well." She shrugged. "It's just a thought. But I think she's still worrying, despite our truce. I think she's just not showing you. She's very good at that. She doesn't want you to worry, either."

Geralt had a moment to let it settle, then, "Clever girl," he muttered to himself. "How—"

"Oh, is it a fish?" Ciri pointed towards the net. "Did we catch one?"

Geralt pulled the net back up on land, only somewhat thrown off balance after Ciri's insight. "Three." He knelt to open the net and pointed down at them. "They're bass."

Ciri bent slightly to peer down at them. "I've never had bass."

He reached for the small knife he kept in his boot. As his hand searched for it, the image of Akela, twirling a weapon in her hands, came to mind, and he hummed around gritted teeth, twisting his mouth in carefully concealed irritation. Before he could yell Akela's name, Ciri held her own knife out for him, the one he'd given her. She looked at him, and he nodded in thanks, accepting the knife to gut the fish.

"How do you know those things, Ciri?"

"What things?"

"What you just told me."

She straightened and crossed her arms over her chest, turning her head to look through the trees. "Because she's not the only one who would give anything for everything to go back to normal."

He had intended on questioning that. He wasn't sure how, but he had, because he wouldn't have left it alone if Akela had said something of the same ilk. Before he could twist to face Ciri, Jaskier sped past him, jumping expertly over the dead fish with an incoherent yell that might have been "for the love of fuck, save me." He had half a second to process those words, another to comprehend the fact Akela was barrelling after the bard, and even less than that to drop the knife in his hand, bolt up and grab her around the waist before she could get past him.

"You stole my knife."

"Bastard! He's getting away!"

"Give me my knife." He held her with one arm looped around her struggling body, the other grappling for the weapon in her hand. She stretched it as far away as she could, aiming several missed kicks at his legs behind her, and Ciri stepped back, mindful of being stabbed. "Where's your knife?"

"Who cares, idiot?"

"Oho, how the tables have turned!" Jaskier seemed to have reinstated his glory, his voice devoid of the previous hint of fear. He pushed his hair back from his face, smoothing it down as though he had somewhere to be. "What do you think about me coming over there and chopping off a lock of your hair now you can't go anywhere?" He came to stand beside Ciri and nudged her with his elbow. "Should I do it? Eh? Give her a little trim?"

"You can damn well try!" Akela shouted.

"No, don't." Geralt tightened his grip on her and tried once more for the knife, finally grabbing hold of her clenched fist and attempting to pry it open. "You are a menace," he ground out.

"I'll bite you," Akela threatened childishly, throwing her head back against his chest so she was staring at him upside down. He narrowed his eyes and she mirrored him.

"Are you drunk or something?"

"Drunk on hatred for his hair."

"My hair is bloody fantastic, and the day you finally realise that, I'll write you a song! I've already got the first lyrics, see: Akela was jealous of Jaskier's glorious haiiiir—"

"It's too big for your tiny heeeaaad!"

"Yeah, well—you know what they say! Tiny head, tiny—" He spluttered for a moment— "Brain." He deflated, just as Akela quit battling Geralt in favour of gawking at him. In fact, even Geralt's brows rose, and Ciri had to hold a fist up to her mouth.

"That did not come out how I intended," Jaskier grumbled, blinking stupidly.

"I'd hate to hear what you had intended," Geralt said.

Akela giggled then, and when she locked eyes with Jaskier, her shoulders shook with laughter. Jaskier rolled his eyes at first, "oh, yes, very funny, very funny," but, soon enough, he was laughing too, his back turned in an attempt to show them it hadn't affected him.

Geralt loosened the arm around Akela's waist but didn't relinquish the one on her extended hand. Above her and Jaskier's laughter, he caught Ciri's eyes, and couldn't help his relief at the obvious amusement in her stance. The way she was standing, the grin on her lips… the plain fact she looked as she should, free from the troubles of the world and the pain she'd already experienced in such a short time.

Just like Akela. His Akela. The girl who Ciri seemed to understand better than him at the moment. He wouldn't allow himself selfish thoughts about that. He knew she was worried, not just about how their lives were changing now Ciri was a part of it, but about how the world was changing. The wars, the shadow of death constantly above them… she knew the simplicity of their life was gone for now. When they reached Kaer Morhen, Ciri wouldn't be the only trainee. Akela would need to toughen herself up for what was to come, even more so than she already had. And it was a worrying thought. So, this, right here, right now, he could no longer find it within himself to keep both girls from anything which may provide them some happiness until happiness was a distant memory. To hell with his irritancy.

Ignoring the fish he knew wouldn't be fresh anymore, and the fact Akela had stolen the only protection he should have had on him at the time without permission, he was reminded yet again that he'd taken her childhood for granted. And he knew this was her way of a distraction. Subconsciously or not, she was inflating the minor dislike she had for Jaskier's hair to rid herself of the impending journey towards reality. She adored the wolves who'd raised her, but this wasn't going to be like their normal meetups. They wouldn't be sitting around a fire, recapping stories of Akela's childhood as they hid from the winter, and they wouldn't be amusing each other with shadow puppets against the crumbling walls of the Keep.

With this, and Ciri's words, in mind, he let her go, watching her slump to the ground, still laughing along with Jaskier like a pair of hyenas.

"Bring that knife back to me once you're done," he said, stepping over her, "and don't cut off too much of his hair. He may not be so intent on coming with us if you do." He looked over at Ciri. "We need more fish. I wouldn't mind the help."

The pleased smile on the princess's face, accompanied with the renewed complaints coming from Jaskier, were enough to warm his heart for now, and he relished in the miniscule comfort. Who knew how long it would last?