Chapter Text
When Jaskier had told Geralt about Aubry’s comments, the witcher had hoped he could hold on without having to address his peers for a little while yet. As he enters the main hall of the keep, however, he can feel that that hope was optimistic.
There is a tension hanging in the air, and when he enters, with Jaskier at his side, he can practically hear the necks of his brothers in arms snap towards him. He wasn’t late for supper. In fact, he was perfectly on time. But every single other witcher in the keep was already in the room.
He says nothing as he slinks towards Eskel, Jaskier following him, equally silent.
The tension only mounts as they eat. A room full of nearly 70 witchers, even though they are trained for silence in their hunts, is very rarely quiet; something that is almost even more shocking when he realises that the trainees, who normally eat in the lesser hall, are also here.
So this really is to be a whole school event, he thinks, slightly downtrodden at the realisation that though he knew he was doing the right thing, he was isolating himself from the pack, something he had always aimed not to do. He had never wished to be a lone wolf, he had already come so close to becoming one after his second set of Grasses, that feeling of loneliness he felt in the hours after, before Eskel managed to fight his way towards him, was one he never wished to repeat. After the second Grasses, when he returned to training, his brothers had originally been cautious, but when he showed them his strength and senses were the only things that had changed, and really the only things that differentiated him from them, they welcomed him back into the fold quickly. Now, he was risking his inclusion into this brothership with the actions he was about to undertake, even though he had already managed to convince the elders.
He felt a pressure as something… someone… Jaskier… plastered himself against his side from thigh to shoulder. It brought him out of his fears, to some extent. He could fear exclusion from his school by going down this road, but this reminds him that he need not fear loneliness, as Eskel, on the other side, put his hand on his shoulder, he knows his companions would never allow him to feel alone.
His musings, now fond rather than melancholy, are interrupted by Vesemir standing from the top table. Normally, he would have had to bang on the table to get everyone’s attention, it may even have taken them a few minutes to quiet down, but the tension filling the room begins to crackle with electricity… or at least it seems so to Geralt.
Vesemir, unnecessarily, clears his throat.
“One of our members has brought an issue to our attention. An issue which needs to be remedied.”
He needn’t have been mysterious about it, everyone in the room knows who had brought the issue back when they were meant to be resting. The same person who has brought a stranger to their sanctuary. He only hopes he’ll not be asked to speak about it in front of everyone; that had never really been his strong suit.
“I’ll let him explain it to you.” FUCK
As he stands he understands why Vesemir had needed to clear his throat. Everyone is staring at him and he feels small.
He clears his throat.
“When I was on my way home, I found a contract.”
Before this Jaskier had suggested he take a similar, somewhat theoretical, approach to this speech as he had for his argument in front of the elder., However, looking into the eyes of multiple of his brothers who walked the Path every year, who were still close to the world of humans, unlike most of the elders, he decides to take a different approach. He needs to actually tell the story so that they can see it through their eyes.
“It was a pretty standard contract really, a young woman, a child really, no older than our just grassed trainees… was missing. But when we found her, there was no monster around and no tracks we could follow, and with her sister, we found a shallow grave.”
It’s not quite true, of course. They hadn’t really looked for her, Zofia had found her herself, and they had never seen Anna’s grave. But it’s close enough that the other witchers would never smell the difference, especially as they are stunned to hear him talk so much, and the other witchers understand the implication. Monsters, the creatures at least, don’t dig graves.
“I tried to explain that a human monster is best dealt with by other humans. The sister, Zofia, is a mercenary, she could easily take her revenge… But she couldn’t. Because this isn’t a one off thing. Anna, the girl, is not the first to have fallen prey to this monster, even if she is the only one in the village. This monster travels around and is protected. And Zofia, who in any other circumstance could go up to a man and take her justice herself, asked me if it isn’t the case that we witchers kill monsters normal humans cannot deal with. I agree with her. I would have taken care of the monster right there and then. But I couldn’t do it without getting everyone here involved, so I thought it best to get your approval and maybe even your help before doing anything.”
Most of the other witchers, who aren’t as close to him, still seem struck with a freezing spell and Geralt can feel the power Jaskier enjoys when he performs even if he himself doesn’t enjoy it. His year mates, however, have seen him speak that much, even if he hadn’t done so for a long time, so they were aware he was capable of it. It’s Gweld, therefore, that interrupts him.
“Well, get on with it, who could possibly be so problematic!?” It’s lighthearted in tone, but he can read from Gweld’s face that he expects he won’t like his answer.
Geralt had hoped he could put it off for a bit longer. It’s an odd thing for him, trying to deflect being direct with a long speech.
“The King of Kaedwen.”
Silence once again grips the room, and Aubry, who Geralt knows had been expecting trouble, borrows one of his own most common lines, “fuck.”
After that, it's a cacophony, most of the things he can make out have some iteration of that word however.
“He has a fucking army!” however, stands out as it’s something he can actually respond to, since he’d prepared a response to that with Jaskier.
“Yes, but think about how many troops a basilisk, or a gryphon, or most of the monsters we fight, can take out? If they can take that many out, and we, one our one, can take the monster out, we together should be able to fight an army, right?”
He hadn’t been sure that would convince them, but Jaskier beams at him as he uses this argument. Besides, Geralt is all out of original ideas after he had to formulate that entire story in a convincing way.
The hall is once again calming down, but there is still agitation in the air.
“I don’t know if 70 witchers and 100 trainees would be enough to take on an actual army though.” Geralt is unable to make out who had said that, but before he can bring up another of the pre-prepared arguments, another timid voice piped up first, one he recognises. Its Daffyd, and the young man seems determined.
“I don’t think Geralt is suggesting that we fight, at least not those who haven’t received their medallions,” he’s right, of course, but it warms Geralt to realise how much the trainee trusts him and makes him glad he isn’t a trainer. “But, and I don’t think Geralt has thought of this yet, but… There’s more than just 70 witchers on the continent, or beyond.”
That wasn’t actually something Geralt had thought of yet, actually. But now that the idea is in his head, he realises that it’s a pretty good point, even if it would require him to convince even more people.
Lambert pipes up then, “I can get in contact with the Cats…”
Geralt is grateful for it as it brings most of the attention away from him as the others question how Lambert could be so confident in that ability, and he looks back up at the top table to see Vesemir nodding at him, a smile suggesting his approval on his lips.