Note: BIG shoutout to user FarenenBlitz who's subscribing to this made me realize I had forgotten to post the last chapter!
Geralt knew he had hesitated too long in the embrace when Jaskier piped up, "Geralt, are you alright? I know you're the strong silent type, but you can speak up if you need help." There's a thought, considered Geralt. He wasn't alone. It was such an obvious statement, but he was so used to having to make the hard choices of the Path without guidance or support. Most humans didn't know enough to make informed decisions even if they had opinions. Jaskier though, Jaskier had been with him on more than a few werewolf hunts. He could have a choice in this. Maybe it was selfish, to share the burden, but maybe not. It was the bard's life on the line.
Jaskier had been thrilled to get a hug from his favorite witcher, of course, (granted he did perform a quick silver test while Geralt was uncharacteristically distracted) but it seemed like Geralt was troubled, and that simply wouldn't do.
"Darling?" tried Jaskier again, gently.
"The moon," said Geralt sounding uncharacteristically unsure, "will be up soon."
"I don't doubt it," said Jaskier. "Do you mean you think we should make camp, or…" the bard trailed off, catching a glimpse of Geralt's face. A very particular face he generally only made when he was staring into people's souls, serving as arbitrator of their futures, generally pulling his witchery destiny bullshit.
The coin proverbially dropped, and Jaskier burst out laughing. He collected himself enough long to explain "I am not any more a werewolf now than I was when last we met, dear witcher. I assure you all of this was merely a masterful performance to play on the fears of our unlucky former camp-mates." He then promptly dissolved back into snickering.
"Fuck," said Geralt, his whole being suddenly so giddy with relief that his balance faltered for a moment. It wouldn't have been enough to bring him to his knees, had he not been holding onto (or up) an even more unsteady bard. So, down the two of them went, Roach snuffling curiously at the tops of their heads.
"You really-" said Jaskier breathlessly, "I really got you that time? Honestly? You can always tell, Geralt, this wasn't even a believable one, this of all lies?"
"You've got the smell," said Geralt defensively.
"Oh, of course, I'd forgotten," said Jaskier, laughing. "I liberated some eau de loup-garou from that stupid wizard, he had a little ball of the stuff and I wanted to cut through the forest. I remembered you saying no other beasties would go near the smell of werewolf."
That was perfectly true, and an extremely clever solution to a problem that could only have arisen from being incredibly stupid. Which was Jaskier all over, really. Pesky monsters causing you trouble while wandering through dangerous wilderness? Slap on some rare alchemical components instead of using the fucking road. Trying to get famous by roaming the continent with no survival skills? Pick a traveling companion with an occupational obligation to keep you alive. Tired of traveling with a hated mutant? Just use your songs to change the whole world's opinion and make them a hero.
Jaskier spent the next quarter of an hour going over an extremely bare-bones (but completely honest, he swore!) summary of what on the continent the bard had actually been up to the past week. Geralt was frankly impressed. If half of it was true, the sheer havoc the bard had managed to set up against his enemy was admirable. The energy Jaskier seemed to harness just by existing (more malevolently directed than when it upset Geralt's life), gave a whole new meaning to 'the power of chaos.'
"Were you planning to convince the whole countryside you were a werewolf stalking these woods until I came to find you?" asked Geralt exasperatedly once Jaskier had finished.
"And I would have gotten away with it, too, if not for you, meddling witcher," replied Jaskier blithely. "And your horse. Do go on, though, I'm sure you have oodles of questions for me" he continued, clearly fishing for complements on his self-declared heroics.
"Why didn't you just kill him?" asked Geralt, honestly curious. Half of what Jaskier had alluded to getting up to was potentially fatal anyways, it wasn't like the bard to walk away from a fight just because it was a terrible idea.
"Well aside from him most likely having built-in magical protections, especially in his own domain, stabbing him in his sleep simply wasn't good enough for him. Or bad enough. Depending on how you measure," said Jaskier.
"Exactly what sort of system does one use to measure karmic retribution?" Geralt asked, already expecting a ridiculous answer.
"I'm not exactly sure myself," said Jaskier. "I imagine the various other members of the brotherhood of sorcerers might be inclined to set the scale for us quite adequately, though. They'll soon receive "his" messages about, among other little tid-bits, their comparative dick sizes and habitual lack of academic rigor. After that they'll no doubt be demonstrating a good range for us," he finished with a feral grin.
Yes, siccing mages on each other, thought Geralt. That's not something I, or any other person with the slightest sense of self-preservation, would ever think to do. Geralt thought of asking what exactly was in those messages that Jaskier was so sure would bring down hell, then decided that maybe he didn't want to know.
"Alright then, last question," said Jaskier. "I can tell you're almost out of words for the day, and I don't want to be greedy."
There was a pause. The witcher carefully considered all the holes that had been left in the story Jaskier had woven. What he might wish most to know. The most pressing question to ask. "Jaskier?" said Geralt.
"Yes, Geralt?" said Jaskier.
"Did you actually fuck the wizard?" asked Geralt.
"Oh, honestly Geralt, I am offended, he was a terrible person, a pedantic, pox-personalited…" ranted Jaskier, before being interrupted.
"Jaskier," said Geralt.
"Well, he certainly thinks I did," said Jaskier.
"What does that even mean?" asked Geralt.
"Well, Geralt, it means that a bottle of Oxenfurt's best vodka and my own not-insignificant charms bought Mister Mew-Mew the idea of the best night he'll never remember, and myself access to some cuffs and cages. The latter of which, I can tell, has proved quite useful," said Jaskier. "Not to mention," he continued as he produced two ancient looking bottles of wine "a couple of party favors, as a treat."
"So, this is what you get up to when I'm not around? Seduction and petty thievery?" said Geralt, with perhaps a tiny edge of fondness.
"Excuse me, how dare you?" said Jaskier, "these are rare vintages, this is at least grand theft."
"My mistake," said Geralt, without the slightest variation in tone.
"Well, I forgive you," said Jaskier magnanimously, "and you're welcome for the sabotage, by the way."
"Hm." Said Geralt
"Hm, yourself, and come drink with me," said Jaskier cheerfully. "Tomorrow you can go explain to the world's worst lover why trying to capture witchers is a bad idea."
"And tonight?" said Geralt, his yellow eyes fixed on his bard, here, and happy, and oh-so-very-much alive.
"Who knows?" said Jaskier, grinning, as he popped open the first wine bottle. "Who knows what might happen under the light of the full moon?"
Three extremely enjoyable days later they finally got around to confronting Sorcerer Barentholemew, only to find nothing but a large still-smoking crater where once there had stood a terribly unsubtle tower.
"What," asked Geralt, "did you DO, bard?"
"Only what came naturally, really," replied Jaskier, utterly truthful for once in his life.
Note: I've got a much more explicit follow up written where we see what exactly happens when it fades to black above available on AO3, plus a 'where are they now' to tie up all the lose ends (what DID happen to the missing sheep?) that I'll post shortly.