Chapter Text
Jaskier understands the necessity of Geralt proving his strength. He does. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it.
“Hello, little bard.”
It also doesn’t mean he needs to forgive the witcher that got him into the situation he is in now: on the battlements overseeing the training field safely at a distance of where his witcher is currently sparring with his 5th challenger of the morning. The whole exercise is almost a show of endurance in addition to strength as Geralt gives himself little time to recover between bouts.
“Letho of Gulet. I am rather wroth with you, at this current moment.”
He hasn’t told Geralt this, but the wolf witcher isn’t actually the first witcher he’d ever met. When he was about 9, he’d endeavoured to run away from his family and become a bard (even so early on, he knew what he wanted to do). Of course, at 9, one doesn’t actually plan those things so well, and he had to be rescued from a pack of drowners about 2 hours into his escapade by Letho who luckily was passing by. He’s heard of the Viper since, over the years, but he still remembers the gentle annoyance of the witcher delivering him back hale to his parents more so than the rumours of his misdeeds.
“Yes, well, perhaps I’m unhappy I didn’t get a ballad. Also it was necessary. Not that I actually need to fight him, I already have and I’m fairly certain he’d best me again.”
“No matter what I claimed back then, I wasn’t yet in the business of writing ballads, it’s been a while since. I can write one, though I’m shocked you remember as it must have been rather commonplace.”
“20 years, give or take, though looking at you, one would think it's only been 10. And it's easy enough to remember a child smelling more bitter about returning to his parents than smelling scared of me.”
“Yes, well, the less said about that the better, since you’re the first to notice. Either way, you should probably still fight him, with the stunt you pulled yesterday.”
“Aye, perhaps you’re right about that, little bard. Though perhaps I ought to test his strength 3 on 1, instead.”
Letho is gone before Jaskier has the time to contradict him.
It is in the nailbiting 8th bout of the day that Letho challenges Geralt with two other Vipers. The fighting is vicious, the three challengers acting just like their school’s namesake and striking out quickly and unpredictably with fang like daggers, even as Geralt manages to counter them almost every time. Jaskier can see the Wolves around him cringe at what is likely the strong smell of his anxiety rolling out of him, but he cannot help but feel it. At the end of the bout, when Geralt somehow comes out of it victorious, Jaskier can see them all relax at the scent of his relief, especially when Vesemir announces that it is time for dinner and that they may continue this the next morning.
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He’s tending to the wounds Geralt received that morning when the other man questions him about the interaction. Due to the situation, they’d decided not to use training weapons, so while there’s no serious damage, his witcher is covered in little nicks from swords and knives all over his arms and torsos.
“So… my brothers told me you had a talk with Letho. As if you know him.”
Jaskier chuckles. For all that it appears Geralt is becoming a leader amongst his own peers, he’s lucky Jaskier is there, or else he’d be unable to respond to anything with tact.
“Yeah. He’s the first witcher I ever met. That's why I wasn’t afraid of you the first time I met you.”
“Letho is the one who taught you not to be scared of witchers!?”
Really, no tact whatsoever. Though to some extent Jaskier understands the incredulity.
“I’ve never told you this, but I didn’t really have the best childhood. My parents are entirely typical as noble parents go, there are expectations, and my father ensured that I would let go of all childhood whim as soon as he could. By the time I was 5, I was already enamoured with music, but that is also the time my father decided I needed to start behaving like a proper noble boy. As the 4th son of a Count, there’s usually only 3 choices: joining the clergy, or the military, or marrying a wealthy woman: anything that can bring glory to the family. Intense academic interest is not encouraged, but can be understood - one eccentric making discoveries in whatever field is acceptable, it’s why whilst I was at university, I was mostly left alone.
“But by the time my father had decided what an acceptable future would be for me… I’d already decided what I wanted to do, and I wanted to be a bard. Since it was not one of the acceptable options, at the age of 9, I ran away. As you can imagine, a young noble child does not actually know how to navigate the wilderness, and especially doesn’t know what bodies of water to avoid. So I was attacked by drowners, one of them even got my back, I know you’ve seen the scar.”
Geralt is looking at him with sorrowful yellow eyes and Jaskier realises he’s stopped actually doing anything. He goes even stiller when he feels Geralt’s hand reach for his lower back and daringly slide under his untucked smock to gently lay exactly on the scar. Jaskier doesn’t feel like actually mentioning it, however, and decides to just relish in the touch and continue his story.
“Luckily Letho was passing by and noticed. He saved me and brought me back to my parents. Truthfully, I think I was too scared of the monsters to consider ever being scared of my saviour, and Letho was gentler with me than my father had ever been. He made sure my wound was bandaged properly, listened to me, and called me ‘little bard’ the whole way. He may have asked for payment from my parents, and I was surely punished for my excursion. But I remember my time with Letho rather fondly, actually. Though I’m still annoyed at him for provoking this whole hubbub today.”
There are multiple things Jaskier leaves out of the story and he is aware that Geralt knows this, but the witcher is looking at him so softly with understanding rather than pity and he knows no more needs to be said.
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Jaskier has to survive four more similarly anxiety-inducing mornings before the newcomers, who had subsequently taken Letho’s lead in challenging Geralt in groups, accept the assertion of the School of the Wolves that Geralt really is the strongest of them all.
It is at supper that they make this decision known, in a way that Jaskier finds suitably dramatic.
Every evening they had taken to discussing how they would edit their definition of monster. Certainly not just someone who kills, but perhaps someone who kills with no provocation. To Geralt’s great displeasure, he was expected to lead these discussions, so the topic he and Jaskier had chosen for the day was whether witchers would continue interfering in politics if it was required to kill a monster.
Jaskier spent the whole afternoon with Geralt and the council they’d made up with the heads of every witcher school, discussing how exactly this could play out.
When Geralt stands to begin the discussion, the hall hushes more entirely than it had prior.
Geralt looks slightly startled but starts with his statement as he had for all previous discussion.
“There is no point in killing only one monstrous king. If there are more, we should also intervene.”
It is absolutely a statement and not an order, but the whole assembled hall reacts as if it were the latter.
Instead of someone standing up to argue, all assembled witchers speak at once, bellowing: “White Wolf.”
There is a look of astonishment on Geralt that echoes Jaskier’s own sentiment. When he looks to his right, beyond Geralt’s empty seat, he sees Eskel smirking back at him. They’d planned this, Jaskier realises.
The cry was as much a cry of fealty, much like ones Jaskier had overheard at court, but different because in its resonance, it also holds an element of trust and agreement.
The nickname Jaskier had given his witcher has become a title (and he can’t help but feel a little smug about it.)