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Annalise Pancratz reached behind her neck to fasten her gilded necklace, twisting the clasp carefully into place and avoiding the few stray hairs that had escaped from her elaborate updo. The aquamarine stones sparkled brilliantly back from her image, reflecting the same hue as her eyes. She stepped away and smiled as she prodded gently beneath her eyes where the dark circles had finally faded. She looked good, she felt good, and she was going to have a good time tonight at the fete.
She had been staying at court in Temeria for the past two months at the invitation of a dear friend. She met Margarette as a child, long before their positions in governance and their roles as wives and mothers. Time spent together was one of the greatest joys in her life, not to mention one of the few times that she could just be herself. Whether attending the multitude of summer parties, or just spending time alone wandering the gardens, the Dutchess’ beautiful house and grounds remained a true respite.
It had been a refreshing few months, and she decided not to think about how quickly the next four weeks would pass before she had to depart back to Lettenhove, where the under-eye circles would no doubt reappear in the presence of her withdrawn and ill-tempored husband. Her smile twisted into a wry expression before dropping from her face as she focused on not worrying about that tonight. This evening was for singing, dancing, and keeping up her connections, as another invite to stay at a friend’s home was sure to be forthcoming.
Annalise knew that there was some court gossip regarding how often she stayed away from her home, bouncing between visits and engagements, but she didn’t care. The talk was tempered by mentions of her gaiety and engaging presence, and that was what mattered. That was how she wanted to be thought of. Not as a dutiful dutchess, whose joy and verve were not welcome in her own home, nor as the wife of a dour man whose only son had left for points unknown rather than stay in their lives. No, that wouldn't do. That wasn’t her true nature at all.
She often thought of her son Julian and always, purposefully and unconsciously both, looked around for him at parties like this. These events had always suited him and she retained hope that one day she would see him out of the corner of her eye laughing in that engaging way of his and they could reconnect as mother and son, outside familial expectations and obligations. Her memories of the vivacious young man were often overshadowed by the bitter, and seemingly endless, fights over his future, not to mention the pressure she also heaped on his shoulders, expecting him to take on the mantle of his inheritance as she had at his age.
She came from a place of understanding sacrifice and had gently, but stridently, encouraged him to follow the path laid out for him. Her husband’s demands had not been up for discussion, and were served with a side of petty words and humiliations. Neither of them had truly tried to understand Julian’s point of view. In retrospect it was ridiculous. Only once he was gone did she realize that pressuring him to grow into his role of Viscount, the future Duke of Lettenhove, was not important at all. He was the important one. What he wanted was important, the most important thing. With his sparkling presence now absent, her days had become longer and her ties to the lands of her youth more brittle.
Annalise often wondered if her husband, Jacob, would have been as stringent and withholding of love for Julian if she had another son to take on the Lettenhove mantle. It was not to be, however. Instead, Julian had younger sisters, Judelissa and Jeanette, two brilliant women. They were both married, well established, and well educated, and ever since Julian left they had leaned into their roles managing the duchy. While Jacob insisted that they were mere placeholders until Julian came to his senses and returned, Annalise knew that they were the better choice to inherit anyway, even if Julian had been predisposed towards the task. He was a dreamer, a man who changed hearts and minds, not one who toiled away keeping the local landholders held to their contracts or negotiating prices for wheat or corn.
Like clockwork, when she returned to Lettenhove, she would try again to help her husband see the truth in front of him, but it was so tiresome that she found it difficult to muster the resolve to dredge up what now felt like a constant battle. Even these stints away were doing less to help her to feel energized to advocate for her family and their happiness. She was ineffectual and burned-out. Her disappointment in herself always did bring a solemnness to her thoughts that she strove to escape. So, instead of dwelling on past wrongs, she reminded herself that tonight was for celebrating. She would toast her son and think of his happiness, as an academic and a scholar, and actively seek her own joy.
And indeed, what a party was planned. The event was ostensibly, though it took very little for Margarette to throw a party, to celebrate a traveling Witcher who had done some harrowing-sounding work, clearing the forest around the estate of some very nasty creatures. She had never met a Witcher before, and wondered what he would look like. The tales often described Witchers as appearing grotesque and monstrous, like the beings that they slayed, but she had heard differently of late and was eager to make up her own mind. They thankfully had never had to call a Witcher to Lettenhove, though her children, Julian in particular, would have been delighted by such a development.
She was not immune to the influence of the songs and tales of the brave White Wolf. As she heard it, he even had his own bard, following him around and recounting his exploits. A rather famous bard who would be performing tonight, Jaskier. Buttercup. She smiled and thought of the rolling fields of flowers in Lettenhove and briefly wondered if the young man would be as talented at music as her son.
Her smile returned, and she rededicated herself to spend tonight living with her new mantra. To live in the moment, to experience whatever life threw at her. Life was too short to not lean into all of the wonderful adventures that could happen. She wouldn't forget about her troubles, of course she couldn’t. She knew that she needed to continue to stand up to her husband, because even when he was being bullheaded, he was a man who had been able to listen and learn once upon a time. She was certain that he could do it again. And in the meantime, she could also enjoy an exciting party, meet a monster hunter, and revel in the performance of a raucous bard. She could do all of these things. She would do all of these things.
***
Annalise had been having a wonderful evening thus far, laughing with friends she had not seen in some time and enjoying the lovely canapes. There were about two-hundred people in attendance. It was a perfect number, not so large as to be overwhelming, not so small as to become stilted. Margarette was really a wonderful hostess, she thought, as she took a moment to herself, standing at the edge of the room. She was sipping on a lovely glass of wine and enjoying how the flavors burst across her tongue, when she heard the doors from the outside open, and a hush overtook the room.
It was, of course, the Witcher. She had been informed of his name by one of Margarette’s cousins. Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. It was a name from an older time, and she wondered if his features would be haggard and lean like his namesake. As she waited with anticipation for him to come into view she realized she was holding her breath. She let it out with a small laugh at herself, and was immediately surprised and rewarded as he walked past her, casting a perfunctory glance in her direction at the small sound she made. She looked at his youthful, but scarred appearance, and a thrill ran up her spine at how wonderfully handsome he was. Well, that would show old Duke Valhard, who had spun tales of the pronounced jaw and rotten teeth he was certain that all Witchers possessed.
Instead, his hair was a beautiful silvery white color and his locks made her wonder just how old he actually was. She had heard once that Witchers had incredibly long lifespans. Well, how old he was didn’t matter, he was certainly old enough to know how to attend a fancy engagement. Didn’t he just look the part, she thought as she let her eyes study him up and down, knowing she was gawking like everyone else. He had a well formed nose and a sharp jawline, and any attention she might have paid to the scar across his cheek was instead directed to rich, deep, otherworldly amber eyes. He was broad and muscular, and walked with confidence, no unearned swagger to be seen here. The Witcher was clad in a grey embroidered doublet, black dress pants, and knee high boots. He had a deadly, but strangely courtly appearing sword at his waist, and incongruously, held a lute case.
She continued to stare, more surreptitiously, as he turned to Margarette, who had hurried over, and now captured his attention as she spoke quietly in his ear, touching his arm and gesturing gracefully around the room. As her host turned the Witcher’s attention, and line of sight, to Annalise’s general location, she attempted to look friendly and curious rather than whatever else her expression might belay.
As he followed Margarette towards the dais at the front of the room, Annalise noticed more details, down to several complicated braids pulling his long, wavy hair back and terminating in a cornflower blue ribbon. People often told her that her own sharp eyes made her appear too perceptive, and well, she noticed that ribbon was just exactly the color of her own irises, so maybe they were right.
Geralt of Rivia walked as silently as a cat and leaned back politely, not entering his host’s personal space as he spoke to her. Margarette erupted in a loud laugh and pointed at the dais as she snapped her fingers for a server to retrieve him a drink. The Witcher took the lute and reverently placed it on a stand at the stage in the front of the room before rejoining their host and gratefully accepting a glass of the same wine that Annalise was drinking.
Fascinated by everything about this man and his companion, Annalise drifted closer to the lute case. It was a fine thing, handpainted with gold leaf, though with some rough wear on the edges from all the traveling. Oh, she hoped to get to speak to Jaskier the Bard just as much as Geralt of Rivia. She wondered how many adventures and scrapes he got into, how many monsters and evil men he had seen at the Witcher’s side. She examined the gold painting depicting a string of buttercups, the bard’s namesake, surrounding the edges with a monogram in the middle. J.P. Jaskier, something. It made her breath hitch a bit, as it was, of course, also her son’s initials. She wondered if her Julian had such a fine lute? She was certain that it would be magnificent, though doubtless, less battered from his teaching duties in Oxenfurt.
She started away from the stage, ready to rejoin the party. Most of the attendees were talking excitedly by now.. She heard a woman beside her, someone who had been introduced as a distant cousin of the King of Redinia, say in a scandalized voice, “Well, she certainly is bold and knows how to make a statement. Inviting such a beast here amongst the gentry. As nice as his clothing is, I recommend we don’t take our eyes off of him. You know the other name for him, don’t you?” She cast her eyes to her male companion, “They used to call him the Butcher of Blavikan.”
Clearing her throat, Annalise joined their conversation. ”So little is known about the Witchers though. I’ve heard some of his bard’s tales. Even if they are the tiniest bit true, I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. He certainly is noble and brave.” She straightened her spine, tipping her chin up in a challenge of sorts, “He also is quite handsome, despite the scars.”
“Oh, but those eyes. Unnatural,” the woman countered.
“Well, people have described the color of my eyes much the same way,” Annalise said flippantly. “So I must say, I don’t put stock in that.” She laughed, figuring a slight joke at her own expense might soften the other woman. Unsurprisingly, it worked.
“Oh no, dearest, your eyes are beautiful. And you are such a kind soul. I can tell you are one who is always thinking the best of people.”
“I do try. But you must excuse me, I am going to find out if the bard will be performing soon. I wonder if he happens to know my son.”
“Your son?”
“Yes, my dearest son Julian is a Master of the Seven Liberal Arts. He teaches at Oxenfurt and has always had a particular passion for music. I don’t know if this Jaskier went there, but who knows, we might have a connection, and wouldn’t that be delightful?”
“Delightful indeed,” the woman replied before the duo nodded and smiled at her as she moved away towards her host. Well, no time like the present to be introduced to a fascinating person.
She slipped into the path Margarette made as she moved among her guests. As the host turned, her face lit up and she reached out for Annalise’s hands. “My dear, I was just hoping to find you. I know how you live to meet new and interesting people. She stepped to the side slightly, and now Annalise faced the Witcher, mere feet between their bodies.
“I would like to introduce you to Geralt of Rivia. As you heard, there was an infestation of cockatrices on our property, and Geralt quickly and safely dispatched them.” Margarette pivoted to the Witcher. “Geralt, this is my dearest friend, the Duchess of Lettenhove.”
Her observations of the Witcher thus far showed her a stoic man: self contained, with quiet words accompanied by barely perceptible changes in his facial expressions. But as his peculiar gaze locked on her, she noticed a perplexed look as he stared deeply into her eyes. As quickly as his expression had started, he smoothed out his brow and allowed his mouth to curl in an exceedingly subtle smile. “It is wonderful to meet you, Dutchess,” he said as he also allowed a small tilt of his head.
Charmed, she replied, “Oh, please, call me by my given name, Annalise.”
He reached out gently to take her hand and brought it softly to his lips, a greeting she had not seen the man make to any others at the party. She smiled wider, if at all possible, endeared beyond measure.
“It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance. Do you mind if I ask you a question?” she asked after he had retreated and was standing a few paces away.
“Not at all. I seem to attract curious types these days,” he said.
“I can’t imagine that someone as fascinating as you would go unnoticed by anyone,” she said. “And I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you. I love a good story, full of heroics and adventure. Ever since I’ve been a child, honestly. And I think I passed that love on to my own children as well,” she laughed, keeping any sadness at bay.
The man in front of her nodded in acknowledgement.
“Curiosity aside, I also wanted to thank you for your service. Your journeys must be very difficult, facing dangers and all the while experiencing a lack of understanding from people like us,” she gestured around, including herself in the sweep of her hands.
“I thank you for your appreciation.” He clasps his hand over his heart. “Not everyone is as, shall we say, open minded as present company. My bard gets riled up about it and gets himself in too much trouble always trying to make sure I am compensated fairly and treated respectfully. Still, he knows as I do, it is not about that. It is about doing the right thing.”
The Witcher had been much more reserved in his other conversations, and Annalise was pleased to have gotten so much information directly from the man’s lips.
“That was actually my question. Can you tell me about your bard? There aren’t many true heroes left in this world for the bards to sing about. He must be a very brave sort.”
“The bravest. And not because he follows me, and gets a bit closer than I would like to the dangers of my world. He is brave because he left a life of expectations and branched out to be his own person. His work has done more for the reputation of Witchers than anyone… ever. He is intelligent, and kind, and sometimes tremendously annoying.”
Annalise thrilled at this description. “I know some people like that. Those who defy expectations and live for themselves in the service of others. I think it is a most wonderful trait. I hope to meet your bard as well, Geralt. And I do not want to monopolize you, but would love to speak to you again later if you have the time,” she shyly said. “I would love to hear both you and the renowned Jaskier’s take on a tale of monsters and heroism.”
“I think we can do that. Things are always better when he is here to take the brunt of conversation. No offence meant my lady, you have been a bright spot in what will surely be a long evening.”
She reached out and firmly shook his hand, and with a nod, Geralt was ushered off to the next guest.
***
The clock chimed eight o’clock and the Witcher’s bard was expected soon. Annalise had slipped outside a few minutes before to walk the gardens at the side of the property. The doors had been blocked so the party guests would stay in the grand ballroom, but she wanted to gather her thoughts. She usually found parties to be invigorating, but something about her conversation with the Witcher left her unsettled. At first she had no idea what could have made her feel this way, but as the cool air moved through her, she realized what it was. She had felt seen. She had felt known. For the first time in a very long time she felt that someone had listened to her, had spoken to her, and had looked right through her facade. Most individuals only saw the person she was supposed to be, the perfect Dutchess, ultimately inconsequential and forgettable, but the Witcher’s clever eyes told a different story.
And the problem with this was immediately apparent. She did not like the person the Witcher had seen. The sacrifices he and his bard made for the safety of an ungrateful continent were momentous. And here she was, unable to even put her foot down with her own husband on the matter of her son. She had been making the rounds, playing the role of the kind, eccentric friend, the one you want to winter with you in the mountains, or summer with at your lake house. The life of the party. But it wasn’t true and it wasn’t real, and the Witcher had seen it. He hadn’t judged her, but she knew that he had somehow understood in an instant. He could track predators and prey alike, and it was obvious that he could see that she had been running. No one else knew it, but he did, and now she could say it too.
She sat down on a bench and started her breathing routine. She might be socially adept, but that didn’t mean that she also could not feel anxious sometimes. She took a breath in for four seconds, held it for four seconds, and released and held for the same interval. The night was humid and warm, and a slight sheen of sweat appeared on her upper lip. She reached into the top of her dress to pull out a small handkerchief when she froze. She felt something that she had never felt before. It was the sensation of being watched, of being considered with malicious intent. She was being hunted. Every hair stood up on her arms, and her eyes widened, pupils dilating to let in more light. She lowered her hands, ever so slowly and leaned forward, readying her feet to run if she needed to. She heard a stick crack right behind her and lurched up, only to be knocked bodily down to the lush grass. She had a mere moment to see the visage above her, a cruel beak crusted with black, emitting a rotting breath, before the creature vanished and she instead stared at the stars. She rolled to her side, and sprung to her feet, successfully this time, only to see a near silent exchange that chilled her even further.
The beast looked eerie in the moonlight, and the Witcher facing it looked, if possible, even more so. Geralt of Rivia stood unmovingly, his sword drawn, placed between the creature and herself, until suddenly, with no preamble he leapt towards the beast with a preternatural grace. He pushed it back across the clearing in a flurry of blows. The creature tried in vain to surge forward, but was overcome time and again until the Witcher darted forward and plunged the shining silver sword directly into its gaping maw. The creature didn’t even have a chance to cry out before it fell in a heap to the ground, and the Witcher pulled his sword back, dripping with pitch black blood. Maybe it was the darkness making it appear so, or maybe the creature’s blood was just as putrid as it appeared.
She put her hands to her face and stifled a sob, breathing rapidly. Before even two breaths had hitched from her breast, the Witcher was at her side, sword lowered, as he looked her over with his astute gaze.
His voice was like gravel, and it made so much more sense to her here, outside, surrounded by blood and death than it had inside in the center of the gilded party. “Are you okay?” he asked simply.
She gulped and accepted an offered hand that guided her to a different bench, several meters away from the creature.
“Um. Oh my. Oh dear,” she managed to say, eyes studiously looking to her lap rather than across the lawn where the creature was laying, collapsed behind the hedgerows..
Geralt grasped both her hands, firmly but kindly. “Annalise. Did it harm you? Does anything hurt?” He raised his hand towards her as if she was a frightened horse. “May I?” he asked.
She nodded mutely, and he touched the back of her neck, her shoulder, and examined her arms before grunting an affirmative sound.
Minutes passed until the silence was broken as Annalise let out a rather unhinged chuckle. “What on earth was that?”
“It was a cockatrice. A juvenile.” Geralt said in a low mutter, and Annalise thought that he might be speaking to himself. “I cleared out the primary nest and planned to patrol tonight after introductions. This is exactly what would draw them, the noise, the light. Still, it should have been fine. I had asked Margarette to keep the outside clear until I had spent another day or so making sure that none of them had done exactly what this one had.”
Geralt leveled a gaze at her, his eyes bored into her own. “Now I’m nattering on like Jaskier. Tell me, how did you get out here?”
“Oh, um. Well, I wanted a bit of fresh air. I didn’t know why the doors were secured. I snuck around. I like to think I’m a sensible woman, but I sometimes have flights of fancy, and an evening walk to clear my head seemed like the thing to do.” She cast her eyes down, embarrassed before she was able to gather herself together. She was a Dutchess after all.
She made eye contact with Geralt, hoping it could help convey what her halting words, still interrupted by frightened hiccups, could not. “Thank you, Geralt of Rivia,” she said. “Thank you for saving me. Though I never wanted to be part of your adventures in this way, I must say.”
“Nor I. But you are physically fine. Our host should have given more instruction than an easily circumvented locked door. And I myself should have double checked.”
Annalise started to look around frantically. The shadows looked foreboding rather than comforting and adrenaline started to race through her veins again. “Are there more out there?”
“Given the number of these I cleared out, and the age of this one, it is highly unlikely there are any others. Would you like me to accompany you back inside, or to your suite?”
“No, no. I will go back to the party. I am not shaken enough to miss the famous Jaskier,” she said.
Geralt leaned closer. “Annalise. I can tell you are made of stern stuff. You remind me of him actually. Maybe you’ll find some similarities yourself when you meet him.”
“Oh, I’m not made of anything special,” she said.
“I find that hard to believe,” the Witcher replied.
She had a sudden urge to speak, but had no idea why she was so compelled. Later she might chalk it up to a near death experience, never having had one before.
“You know, I'm not. I can’t even stand up to my own husband to help my children. They’re the real heroes in my family. I was just out here thinking of them, and well, feeling sorry for myself. My son, Julian… Well I haven’t seen him for some time. Our correspondence has been very perfunctory. My husband pressures him to come back home and take on what he sees as his responsibilities. For the longest time I wanted him to as well. But my thinking has changed. I don’t want him to do that. He is so much more than what we are. He has a true calling. He teaches at Oxenfurt and I am so proud of him. And my girls, Jude and Jean?” she said, using their nicknames, “They are the right people to take over the management of Lettenhove. I was just thinking from our conversation earlier that I must be stronger. To stand up to my husband and tell him how it needs to be, so that my children stay happy and fulfilled.”
She faltered momentarily, a frown crossing her brow. “If they are happy, that is. I hope they are. I know that doesn’t make sense. You don’t know me, you don't know them, but…” She straightened her shoulders. “Has anyone ever told you you’re easy to talk to?”
Geralt laughed. The sound was like thunder. “Just add yourself to the other person in my life who finds me a good sounding board. Or maybe I just can’t keep up with how fast he talks.”
His face took on a more serious countenance, “I am glad to listen. From talking to you, and hearing about your children, I have no doubt they are happy. Or that they could be if you could clear the way for them. But I still do think you are in a bit of shock. Let me go in and tell our hostess what is waiting in her garden. She’ll need to keep people out until I can dispose of this, tonight or tomorrow morning. I wouldn't want to ruin her party by coming in drenched in blood after dragging that thing away. And Jasker would have my head if I got any more blood on this outfit.”
Annalise smiled at that mental picture. “You might be surprised, Margarette may make it the highlight of her party.” She shook her head and added, “He takes care of you, doesn't he? Jaskier?” She reached up with her handkerchief, hoping the Witcher wouldn't move away, and wiped a small drop of the creature's blood from his fine silver hair, the only visible reminder of his altercation. She has already taken so many liberties tonight, what is one more she thought as she straightened one of his braids. “Did he do this for you? Your hair? It’s very handsome."
“He did. The old me, before him, would have shown up in my armor and called it a day. But he has brought me around about changing minds. I now know how important it is to take opportunities like the one Margarette has given me to attend her party and make a good impression. She is very gracious and it was an easy choice to come, as much as I still am not comfortable subjecting myself to this.”
“To what dear?” she asked as she dabbed his doublet, deftly finding and lifting off another nearly microscopic drop of blood before pulling away.
“He would call it the mortifying ordeal of being known. But I’m known. He knows me. A few others as well. Here, in public, I’m simply slightly less antisocial than my instincts would prompt me to be.”
Annalise snorted. “Well he sounds wonderful. He must have been raised by someone who showed him how to care.”
“You know, I think he was. And he’s an easy person to care for,” Geralt said.
Annalise fixed him with a knowing smile. “I’m glad he has you. You deserve that. And my nerves have calmed down now.” She stood much more steadily than she anticipated and held out her arm. “Could I trouble the handsome gentleman to escort me back to the party?”
He did.
***
She had upgraded from the champagne to something stronger. She wasn’t exactly sure what types of spirits were mixed up in the blush colored drink, but she didn’t exactly care either. It soothed her nerves, though not as much as her conversation with her new acquaintance, Geralt of Rivia. How out of character for her to have shared so deeply with a stranger. But there was just something about that particular stranger.
She stood to the side of the space, still not ready to talk and mingle, so she immediately noticed the murmur in the room pick up again. The noise was similar to Geralt’s entrance, but less surreptitious and far more exuberant. She literally heard someone make a whooping noise. Funny how someone famous could make even this staid audience let loose a little. She held her position as the crowd pressed towards the entrance, greeting the bard, and she sighted a small glimpse of his peacock blue outfit in between the crush.
As she looked towards the elevated stage she glimpsed Geralt, standing in much the same position, across the room and grinned at his placement. The bard would have a direct line of sight to him, but he was still concealed from the room at large. He looked comfortable, holding a drink of his own which he tipped in her direction, his unsettling and beautiful eyes glinting sharply.
As she stared into them, she heard it. And she was glad she had adopted her uncharacteristically casual lean against the pillar because otherwise it is entirely likely that she would have lost her balance and fallen to the floor in utter surprise.
“Thank you for that wonderful welcome, most beautiful audience!”
The bard Jaskier had arrived on stage. He was tall and slim, wearing an impeccably tailored outfit, offset with rackish flare thanks to a doublet opened to reveal a cream undershirt, also unbuttoned, showing a tangle of necklaces. He flipped open the lute case that Geralt had deposited. The one marked with his initials, J.P. Jaskier Pankratz. Julian Pankratz.
He flipped his hair out of his eyes and she stared into the mirror image of her own blue-eyed gaze, a gaze that was locked on the Witcher with an incredibly fond look.
Jaskier the Bard was Julian, Viscount of Lettenhove. Brave and true with buttercups on his lute case, and shouldn’t she have realized it sooner? The sound of the songs she had heard? The talk of the man’s good looks and sharp tongue? The adventurous spirit? The devotion to a worthy hero?
Julian hadn’t spotted her yet, so she slunk backwards further to remain unobserved, to not throw him off… to just see him, to observe him. He was the Continent’s bard, the Witcher’s bard, and she would be able to truly experience what he had made of himself.
“I appreciate the invitation to perform for you tonight. As most of you know, I travel with the illustrious Geralt of Rivia,” he said, keeping the attention on himself and not giving away the Witcher’s surreptitious position. The crowd roared. “Yes,” Julian said and clapped, keeping the cheers going as Geralt, still caught in her son’s fiery gaze ducked his head, actually appearing bashful, an expression she could not have imagined on his face.
“As you may have heard, we were brought here to take care of a little, should I say, monster problem,” Julian said jovially, bowing towards their hostess. “So let’s celebrate with the song that started it all for us,” he hushed his voice, capturing the imagination and attention of the audience. It was so familiar, a tendency she had seen him employ all his life holding court with family, servants, and friends alike. “I wrote it when I realized that some people did not appreciate the true, everyday heroes of our Continent. Not only did they not understand,” he hushed his voice conspiratorily, “they wouldn’t even pay their debts after this magnificent man would offer his heroic services. So, I wrote this as a little reminder. But now everyone knows it, and would never ever do such a thing. So with that, you know how it goes! Feel free to sing along, the louder the better”
He dramatically slung his lute up to his shoulder, striking a pose and pausing for a moment. The crowd leaned in, on tenterhooks, and only when every single set of eyes were rapt on his did he begin, “When a humble bard…”
The crowd roared and pushed forwards, and Annalise withdrew a little more. Julian leaned even further over the side of the stage, making eye contact with audience members before spinning around, and slinging his leg up on the stool. He was theatrical, and engaging, and no one could look away. His voice was loud, but then quieted down before rising again. She was ever so pleased to see that Julian’s singing was just as beautiful as ever, and the sweet tones were even more apparent as he segued into a slower song, something about a sweet kiss. She unabashedly stared and she wondered if the melancholy look on his face was a theatrical affliction or something true.
She looked over at Geralt again, noticing the slightest sadness on his features, before his expression turned sharp and knowing as he looked at her again, directly into her eyes. And now, she knew that he knew, probably all along. And wasn’t it honestly endearing, how much he had talked up her son. His words were genuine and so very sweet. She wondered if he was worried about her finding out about what they meant to each other, but no… she could read people and the Witcher didn’t seem to have an ounce of guile, just a straightforward sense she had come to admire in their brief interactions. She nodded, and offered what she hoped was a mysterious look, before she turned back to watch her son perform to the delight of everyone gathered.
***
Annallise hadn't been sure what she wanted to do, slip away, or march right up to the front row of her son’s performance, but the decision was made for her when towards the end of the performance Geralt glided in her direction.
They looked at each other in silence, but like Julian, the contemplative quiet was not something she could hold for any length of time. “Does he ever talk about me?” she asked.
“He doesn’t talk about much that happened before university. He told me that he was expected to go back home, take over his responsibilities after graduating. He made it very clear that life as a noble was not in his plan. But he never told me where he was from, and I didn’t push him." Geralt cleared his throat, “He has mentioned you fondly, but not with much detail. The occasional reminiscence from a happy childhood.”
“It shouldn’t be in his plan honestly. Not when he is…” she gestured at the performance, “so much more than what we wanted him to be. And I think I finally understand. As I’ve said, I didn’t advocate for him like I should have, but while I probably would have been swayed much earlier had he stayed, his father might never change his mind.” She looked down at her empty glass. “It is my fault that he must stay away. I didn't do enough.” She felt tears prickle her eyes, “Do you think he would want to see me? After everything?”
“I think he would be upset if he found out you were here and wasn’t given the opportunity,” Geralt said softly. “Jaskier never has, and never will, do something he doesn’t want to, so I think saying hello would be a good start. I can’t hide a damn thing from him anyway, so he’s bound to find out.” Geralt let out an honest to god chuckle, and she felt delight surge through her core.
“Well, let's do that then. I already met the man he loves, so that’s one awkward introduction out of the way. Let’s not make it too hard for him,” she said, unable to keep the joy from her face.
Geralt grunted and hummed in acceptance, but she noted the slight stiffening of his body that marked his surprise at her ability to have discerned their relationship. So silly… a mother knows these things, even though she is more keen than most.
Her eyes were back on the stage as she heard a resounding chord ring out followed by her son thanking everyone for their attention. She saw him scan the room for Geralt, and her stomach clenched at the look of shock on his features as he spotted them together. Ever graceful, he hopped nimbly down from the dais, lute still strung across his back, and he was immediately swarmed by the audience. Ever the consummate professional, her Julian.
Geralt momentarily disappeared as her eyes followed her son’s slow progression towards them, before he reappeared holding three glasses of sparkling wine in his incredibly large hands. He passed her one and sipped another himself, holding the other in reserve as he fondly watched Julian shake hands and slap backs. Annalise linked her arm with Geralt and gave his massive forearm a squeeze, as much to bolster her resolve as anything.
Then, Julian was in front of them. It felt sudden, although his journey through the audience had to have taken at least twenty minutes, her eyes on him all the while. Julian, demonstrating perfect social graces, as ever, dipped down to kiss her hand which she offered gracefully. “Mother, what a surprise to see you here,” he said, and if she didn’t know him he could have almost convinced her of his affected nonchalance.
“Very much a surprise, my dear,” she said, knowing that she wasn’t hiding her emotion either. Not from him. “Though, when I heard that the most accomplished bard in the land was to attend the party tonight, I should have known it was you.”
“Flattering as always, mother,” Julian said softly.
He looked around at the nearby people, leaning closer to hear their conversation. “I haven’t been here in years, but I am certain that there are more private venues to speak,” he said. “Might we retire to one of the studies? I think perhaps I have had enough of an audience for the evening.”
“Hmm,” Geralt forced out, eyes narrowed at a man inching closer, and she felt a loud chortle rise in her throat that spilled out into peals of laughter as she beamed at Geralt.
“Indeed,” Julian said in a strangled voice as his eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them.
Showing some mercy, she offered a resolution. “There is a small study down a hall towards the guest quarters.” She gestured in that direction, and as the men nodded in agreement, she led the way, the three of them making a strange procession from the ballroom. As she was about to exit, she caught Margarette’s eye, and the woman smirked. Had she known?
She thought of that possibility the whole way down the hall until they reached the warm and cosy room. It was empty and a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. She gently sat down on a wing chair, and Julian all but collapsed on the small loveseat directly crosswise. Geralt settled beside him, and her son moved closer to the Witcher, but not too close, not touching, obviously trying to hold some of his cards close to his chest.
“So mother, what brings you to court?” Julian asked.
“Julian, I thought you might have a more interesting question for me. All these years and I get small talk?” she teased.
“Well of course I do, but it seemed that we were being extraordinarily polite and proper. But needs must… Mother, how on earth did you meet Geralt? You two seem… close.”
Annalise was enchanted. There was no one like her son, and now she had the opportunity to banter and tease with him. She had missed this so much. “Well, I am here on a bit of a sabbatical you see.” She nodded at Geralt. “We’re all friends here, so I’ll speak plainly. I needed a break from your father. He has just gotten worse, if you can even imagine, since you left, so I've taken to spending time with other courts whenever I'm able. I still need to be around to support your sisters, but they are adults as well, and sometimes I just need to breathe. I think the idiom is to rest to fight another day? Or something of that sort.”
“Live to fight another day,” Geralt said.
“Ah yes, that’s it Geralt dear,” she replied
“And the answer to my question?” Julian said, looking a bit wild eyed at their interaction, gaze casting between her face and that of his lover’s.
“Oh yes, I was wandering the gardens, having snuck past some locked doors that were, in retrospect, locked for a reason, and came upon a very unpleasant beast. Geralt rescued me, and when I asked him about his traveling companion, the esteemed Jaskier the bard, he had sparkling praise. Little did I know that the bard in question was none other than my dearest, erstwhile son.”
Julian pasted on an insincere smile, and she just couldn’t have that. She leaned far forward and gestured for his hands which she grasped firmly. “Julian, that was an astounding performance. I simply must tell you how pleased I was to come across you in your own world. You were magnificent, so accomplished and beloved. Talented, and famous, and with such a wonderful partner in addition,” she gestured at Geralt. “You have done well for yourself, my dear.”
Julian’s always expressive face reflected shock as his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
“Geralt keeps us safe, and you have made something of yourself, as a bard and a historian, and an advocate for those that hold back the monsters at our doors. It really is astounding. Not that I’m surprised. You’ve always been brilliant, and you are your own man in the best of ways,” she said looking at Geralt.
She might say that she had taught him better than this gaping, but he was in safe company and she was pleased that her son could still be open and honest with her
Annalise let go of one of her son’s hands and reached forward for one of Geralt’s. “Truly my son, I can’t imagine a better love for you than a hero of legends.”
“Legends he made up,” Geralt gruffed out, breaking the tension before Julian reached out to slap at his chest.
“None of that, you,” Julian said before he lowered his eyes and smiled shyly. “Mother, I really have nothing to say other than that I am glad to see you. I truly thought when I saw you again you would be disappointed. I have made myself scarce because of circumstances, not because I don’t love you sincerely.”
She frantically wiped at a tear that threatened to leak from her eye, but kept her gaze steady on her son. She owed this to him. To hear him out completely.
“You do know, that I have no plans of resuming my duties at Lettenhove,” he said authoritatively, his gaze hardened, and she nodded back just as definitively.
“To put myself in argument after argument with my father when I visited was just untenable. And I have to say,” he swallowed, “you were always clear with how you felt about the whole matter.”
Shame flickered up from her stomach. But now was the time to clear the air, so she pushed through her discomfort. “I understand why you had to stop coming home. I have not been an advocate for you my dear son. I’ll go so far as to say that I failed in my most sacred role as a parent. I have regretted that for some time, though it all came into clear focus tonight. My time away was supposed to be for reflection, but it took longer than it should have, and for that I am equally sorry.”
She looked at Geralt and then back at Julian, who nodded and sent a soft smile to her. Had her son always had such a capacity for love and forgiveness? Yes, indeed he had, and there was no time like the present to catch up on her son’s life. “I missed so much, Julian. But I want our estrangement to end.”
Her son sat as silently as his partner, but she knew him truly and figured that the way through this overwhelming emotion was what it always had been, encouraging her son to speak, to open up. And it was easy to start. “So tell me, did you really go on a dragon hunt? When I was a child, those stories were my favorite ones.”
Geralt leaned back and smiled at Julian who started to speak, dulcent tones warming the library, hands flying through the air. She was enthralled as always by everything her son had to say, for everything he was and always had been.
***
Morning came early, after a late evening of stories and tears and honestly. They finally turned in for a few hours of sleep. Julian and Geralt had to leave early the next morning for another commitment, some scheduled exorcism that sounded terrifying, and in her heart of hearts, exhilarating.
They had all gathered in the stables, near a beautiful chestnut mare, who was introduced to her, in all seriousness, as Roach. Though warned, Annalise had always been good with horses, and she slipped the mare a sugar cube in exchange for a pet, which the beautiful steed accepted, leading her son to squawk in an affronted manner.
“It took me ages to get into her good graces Mother, and you just show up and get to pet Roachie on the nose?”
“Calling her Roachie isn’t going to get you any farther, bard,” Geralt said.
Jaskier leaned in to him for an embrace and she felt her heart warm. The time passed much too quickly, and before long Roach and Julian’s mount Pegasus were both saddled and ready to go.
They stood in an awkward clutch before she leaned in to completely envelope her son in an embrace. As much as she could with his height, at any rate. Julian leaned his head on her shoulder and kissed her temple. She extended an arm, motioning to Geralt who let out a low rumbling sound before leaning in and embracing them both.
Finally breaking the clasp, she squared her shoulders. She felt shy, because this really was too little too late, but she looked at her son with all seriousness. “I will return home in one month’s time. I will begin to set things right. Your sisters need more support in their roles, and I will set the record straight with your father regarding your aspirations. It is not acceptable that he demands that you abandon your successful career to return home to do a job that your sisters perform magnificently, all because of outdated rules and norms. The only thing that should bring you home is to visit your family.” She set her feet and crossed her arms, “He will listen to me, even if he isn’t happy about it. I still control half of Lettenhove’s purse after all. More than half if we factor in your sisters.”
She looked down at her hands. “I don’t know what has happened over the years. He used to remind me a bit of you, headstrong, but with a deep kindness. If it is still there, I will look for it. After all, I found some recent misplaced strength in myself as well. I may need to become a bit mercenary.”
“Must run in the family,” Geralt said under his breath.
She looked to Geralt fondly, before she addressed Julian directly. “He’s right. You got that from me my dear Jaskier, my buttercup.”
Jaskier’s eyes shone and he stepped close once again to drop a kiss to her head.
“Of course my best traits are from you, Mum. I thank you. I have missed home, and you and my sisters especially.” He blew out a breath, dislodging a lock of hair that was dangerously close to covering his left eye before speaking carefully and ruefully. “In difficult situations, I usually talk and talk and advocate for diplomacy… Unless we’re being chased that is,” he nodded at Geralt who just chuckled. “I tried with you and Father, but also could have done better. I know I was always short and then I just ran. Living up to one’s parents’ expectations, well. It seemed easier to avoid things. I’m sorry I never came to you to speak plainly. You are a fine diplomat in your own rights, and I knew deep down you could have spoken with Father, it just was easier not to… for both of us I suspect.”
“It was easier in the moment, but not in the long term. I missed you so much,” Annalise threw herself back into her son’s arms for a long moment before she pulled back, placing both hands on either side of his handsome face. “We will get there, my dear. If you can face monsters at your partner’s side, I can face your father’s sharp words.”
They looked at each other with serious expressions in their glinting blue eyes before her son nodded. She swallowed. It hadn’t been enough time, but it was more than she deserved. “We must write, at least until you can visit with Geralt and introduce him to the family,” Geralt blinked in surprise at the words as she held out a paper and pen. “Tell me how to get in contact with you. I know it won’t be consistent, but it is better than nothing. And I will sort things out for you to be comfortable in your own home again, but in the meantime, well perhaps your sisters and I will come to you two sometime? Mabon is coming up soon and I imagine Jaskier the bard is booked for a performance?” Jaskier nodded and she chuckled, “They will not believe it when I am back home and tell them that I saw you.”
“You actually think they'll be surprised by what I’ve been up to? Mother it’s like you don’t know me at all,” Jaskier chided.
“Ah my son, but that’s the problem. I do know you, your good and bad traits I also share, for better or ill. As I said, you aren’t the only one who avoided a difficult situation to protect yourself. But after all those monsters, these family affairs must feel rather small, do they not?” she said.
He shook his head and Geralt chimed in. “Dealling with people is nothing like monsters. The creatures are straightforward. Relationships are complicated.”
“Truer words, my dear Geralt, have never been spoken,” she said as Jaskier beamed at the two of them standing close together.
With a final round of hugs all around and a tearful goodbye she watched as her son and his Witcher rode off down the dusty drive, Jaskier turning to blow her a kiss. She wandered back to her suite and poured a cup of tea, deep in thought. She felt like she finally had some direction in her life. No more flitting around from court to court. She would make it back to Lettenhove, but she would do so with a plan. Her children weren’t the only intelligent members of the family. She would figure out how to position her daughters as the leaders they already were and would make Lettenhove a home again for her son and his partner.
She hummed quietly to herself, quickly realizing the tune was “Toss a Coin,” and grinned as she picked up her quill to write to her husband with the first of her demands.
***
End