Chapter Text
There is a strange man in his town. A witcher.
Of course, that was not why he was strange. Jaskier was too old in his knowledge to hold that sort of prejudice anymore. He is strange, of course, because he is new.
There are no new people in the town in which he resides. Well, not a town anymore but a city.
Oxenfurt.
Close enough to the capital but far enough that most won't venture there unless they have enough reason to. It also means that there isn't a lot of traffic through there that isn't traders. Traders whom the young bard has spent years getting to know and recognize as he plays in the square for pocket coins.
Jaskier has lived in Oxenfurt for almost four years now as he completes his education. He's graduating summa cum laude this spring, and he has long since moved out of the school dormitories. He has a small residence that he shares with another student, a little way away from the university. He's young and bright and excited for his future. The world turns as it should, and his day to day is consistent as he makes it through his studies. There is practically no one that he doesn't know or know of. Not the baker or his daughter. Not the blacksmith or her son. If not a known name and face than a familiarity that he gets from being in the same town for so long.
This man does not recognize me at all.
Of course, Oxenfurt gets witchers on occasion. But even Jaskier knows he would recognize. This one, this one he does not. He had heard that witchers tend to stick to the same path each year and had seen evidence of that. So this man catches his eye as entirely out of place.
He is tall, but so is Jaskier. His shoulders were broad and hunched as if to make himself smaller. He doesn't ride but limps forward through the town. As Jaskier watches, he notices the looks, the glares. The hissed words. He also notices the wolf that hangs from the man's neck. The same was the wolf that had been described to him. The one he had only heard about when listening to the story of the Butcher of Blaviken. The whispers of the mutant and butcher that slaughtered half a town along the coast and then moved on as if nothing had happened. That same pendant he had heard was worn by the Butcher is wrapped around this man's neck.
Jaskier finds this odd, as from what he has heard, the butcher had stark white hair that showed in the moonlight and reflected off the blood of the innocent. This man's hair is dark, nearly black, as it is pulled into a loose ponytail. He is still limping. All of this spikes the little bard's heart with curiosity as fierce as his own passions.
Jaskier's eyes are drawn down toward the witcher's leg once again.
He watches as those harsh words turn to jeers and taunts as the hurled violence escalates. Something urges the bard forward, and he finds himself carried on his feet in the direction of the witcher. Before he gets there, something is thrown, missing the man's head by a small margin, and Jaskier breaks into a run.
Sliding up to the man's side, he takes on a jovial expression. Loudly proclaiming:
"Hello! My dear friend. Thank you for coming when I called." There is a growling from the man as Jaskier loops his arm around the witchers, subtly providing support so he can get off the injured leg. The witcher is close to snatching his arm back when he notices the way the patrons of the town start to turn away, grumbling about bards and their naivety. What really gets the witcher's attention is the way that some of them mutter that if the bard wanted a death sentence, then to just let him have it.
"Not your friend." The witcher growls, and Jaskier gives a full and hearty laugh as if he's said something funny.
"Of dear one, of course you might say that. Now, if you're done with your business of being leered at by commoners, let us go somewhere to get out of this cold. Hm?" Jaskier prompts, not so subtly guiding his newfound companion back to his small residence on the outskirts of town.
His own shopping is long done for the day, and he was just admiring some of the new jewelry on display. Not that he has the money to buy it, but it's a nice self-indulgence.
"Where are we going." The witcher demands in that low tone that exudes an unfriendliness that seems to bounce off the colorful bard.
"Back to my place of residence. If you travel for much longer on that lame leg of yours, I fear a few angry market goers will be the least of your worries." Jaskier jokes, his laugh ringing out once again. The witcher simply hums, seeming to comply as he senses no malice or lies clinging to the bright tones of the songbird he seems to be in the company of.
Jaskier leads his newly acquired witcher back to his home and gets him set up in the main living space. Once across the threshold, the witcher tenses so hard that Jaskier might actually be worried that he can't move at all. He helps the man to the couch and lets him down gently as the man groans, his nostrils flaring for a moment.
"Where are we." Another gruff demand. Jaskier is starting to see where all those ideas about mean and scary witchers come from. He, of course, is not so stupid as to have let a man into his home that he believes to be a danger. The dagger slipped against his calf, hidden against his cloak, is proof enough of that. He knows the rumors of bloodthirsty monsters flooded with mutagens and chaos. Only to be trusted with the slaying of other monsters, and then run out of town as fast as possible. But he has also heard the tales of how bards are all whores, willing to do anything for hedonistic pleasure. He's also heard the things people say of the elves and the dwarves. He's also heard the things people say about certain men with an attraction to other men. And as yet, this witcher has not harmed him, nor even threatened to, so he casually tosses that silly notion away along with all the other bullshit that obnoxiously uneducated men spew.
Thus, as wary of this man as Jaskier is, it is solely due to the fact that he is a strange man, not the fact that he is a witcher.
"We are in Oxenfurt, dear witcher." Jaskier snarks. The witcher huffs and growls at that, something Jaskier is sure is meant to be intimidating. Though with his lame leg and the fact that this witcher has not yet looked him in the eyes, he finds it more puppy-like than anything.
"What is this place." Jaskier rolls his eyes at the demand for information.
"I told you, this is my place of residence. You are a guest so long as you don't bleed on anything." The bard huffs, and the witcher is suddenly reminded of a bird he once saw flit around its nest. This bard certainly has that same grace to him. Same light movements that seem to defy gravity altogether.
"And why did you bring me here?"
"Are witchers typically so proud as to not accept help when it is offered?" Jaskier smirks, his annoyance at the questions showing as he snarks at the witcher once again. Likely not the best option, but he cannot see the need for paranoia. Of course, to the witcher, this is simply all part of ensuring his own safety. But he is now backed into a corner as his face flushes slightly at the comment.
"…no." He grumbles. Jaskier smiles.
"Good. Now take as much time as you need, darling. That leg needs tending to, and if you don't get started soon, I shall have to assume you are asking me to play nurse as well as a host." That makes the larger man frown and growl as he pulls his leg closer. No possible way he is going to let this stranger near his injury.
As much as he denies Jaskier's offer, he does start to pull out his own supplies to fix his leg. He keeps his back turned to Jaskier for the most part, almost instinctively making sure his wound is covered from the stranger. Though he does make sure the bard is always in his line of sight, he practically does not look at his wound at all. Jaskier finds it to be a slight ego boost that a man as clearly capable as that finds him to be a big enough threat to hide from.
"May I have your name sir witcher?" Jaskier ventured. His face is open and friendly.
"Not, sir. No knights here." Jaskier is taken aback by the slight humor in the witcher's voice. He himself smiles, knowing that his charm is working.
"Hmm no? Do you not save maidens and slay beasts of malice?" Jaskier asks, leaning up against the table of his small dining area in order to continue the conversation.
"Nothing as… noble as you make it seem. It's not like knights get paid as we do." The witcher huffs, as if he felt the sentiment was ridiculous.
"Maybe not, but knights do receive compensation. And you still haven't told me your name." Jaskier continues pushing.
"Aubry. It's Aubry." Jaskier hums, pleased. When the witcher, Aubry, turns to speak, Jaskier gets a glimpse of the wound. It's a large gash that looks like it's almost bone deep. He can see why Aubry was limping. The witcher makes no attempt to ask his name, so Jaskier does not offer it. He is content in knowing that this witcher is just a stranger to him, one that he will help knowingly and freely, but that they are not close, and it is likely he will never see him again.
"That looks bad. I have some lavender, I could make you something for the pain." Jaskier offers.
"What will it cost me?" Jaskier raises an eyebrow at that. Never has he known a man not to take and take until there is nothing left. Never one to give or offer anything in return. Jaskier has known enough of them in his life to know that for certain. Perhaps this witcher is a different sort of man. Jaskier is still wary of making generalizations, lest it cost him later in life.
"Still too prideful to accept help, sir Aubry." Aubry winces at the title but doesn't comment, seeming to understand that there is really nothing he can do to stop the chatty bard.
"People always want something. I don't do debts." Despite Aubry's harsh tone, Jaskier understands. He himself has been on the wrong end of owing someone before. In the line of work as dangerous and as hated as a witcher's must be, he understands the caution.
"Alright, fine. I will brew you some lavender and white willow tea. I might even put some honey in it for you if you're kind with your answer. And in return, you will tell me something about witchers. Something I will not have known before. And, a tale from your adventures so that I might use it as inspiration for a song." Jaskier concludes. That smug expression seemed to baffle his guest.
Aubry blanches at the bard in front of him. Someone so strange as to suggest the image of a bird, and yet almost stand out entirely from the world around him. Aubry comes to the conclusion that this bard does not belong to this world. That he is someone entirely too bright for this dull place, and that such a person is rare. That he might not meet someone like this ever again.
"Don't look so worried, dear witcher, I can promise it won't be hard, as I hardly know anything about witchers. I fear a curious mind is entirely limited to what experiences are written or told, and not much is told about witchers. And do not worry about the song either, I shall not use your name, just the tale itself." Jaskier goes on, completely mistaking Aubry's expression.
"Fine. But that will be all. Then I will be on my way." Still, Jaskier lights up at the prospect, entirely innocent in his wonder. Aubry just stares at him with something of amusement as he disappears into another room and carries back with him an iron kettle and a few bags of herbs. There is already a pot of honey by the fireplace.
He sets it up on the fire and adds what Aubry can smell to be exactly what he said it would be. The room fills with the soft smell of lavender and white willow as the tea brews.
"Now, while that's steeping, tell me something. Anything you like, as was part of the deal." Jaskier grins like a cat that got its milk, and Aubry can't help but feel like he's on the losing half of this deal despite his clear advantage. He could simply lie. Or say something so inconsequential that it could not be remembered even by the best scholars. Still, somehow, he feels that this bard would be content with even those meager responses. In the end, he decides on something useless.
"Witchers have heightened senses." Aubry finally breathes into the space. Jaskier, as predicted, lights up at the new information. His bright cornflower blue eyes sparkling in interest as he watches Aubry finish cleaning and bandaging his wounds.
"Fascinating. How heightened? Does pain hurt more? Can you see further or smell better?" Jaskier rattles off some more questions. If Aubry was feeling more hostile, he might have cut him off, as follow-up questions were not part of the deal. As it turns out, he doesn't see the issue with indulging this bard so he answers.
"I can smell the lavender perfume you have sprayed upstairs. If I went up there, I would get a headache." He hums.
"So stronger scents hurt?" Jaskier questions, and Aubry is quick to correct this. Allowing Jaskier to believe that he's just been given a witcher's weakness does not seem like a good idea.
"No, it would just be extremely unpleasant. Were you to have worn it today, I would be in a much worse mood." Aubry is slightly startled to find that he is feeling slightly playful with the bard. That contagious excitement seems to be rubbing off.
"Hmm, well then. Should you ever stop by again, I will make sure I bathe beforehand." Jaskier giggles, and Aubry winces at the reminder of how unwashed humans can smell.
"Hm." Is all Aubry says, and Jaskier senses the cutting off of the conversation. Soon after the tea is finished and Jaskier fishes for a tin cup to severe it in. As promised, there is a dollop of honey stirred into it before the warm cup is handed to the witcher. Aubry is grateful for the warmth and the slight sweetness, as both herbs are quite bitter. Jaskier lets him drink in silence, content with the little bit of information he has gleaned. The tea is warm and sweet and easy on his senses as it works to quell the pain the witcher is feeling.
"And now, any tale you wish to tell my dear witcher." Jaskier prods, an entirely too smug expression on his face for his clear loss in this deal. Aubry pays it no mind this time, having spent even this little amount of time with the human, he is sure that there is no ill will there. He finds it possible that this human cannot experience ill will at all. Something he puts down to young foolishness as he sizes up the age of his company.
Jaskier is delighted when Aubry starts to tell the tale of a hunt he's most recently been on. How did he get the leg injury? It feels most appropriate for the situation. He is gruff and not very descriptive or animated, but Jaskier clings to every word, especially that part when the witcher mentions he was stiffed out of half the pay. Jaskier sort of frowns at that but doesn't say anything.
Aubry does notice when the bard writes a few things down in his little book as the tale goes on. Jaskier assures him this is just his composing book and that he won't make mention of the witcher's name. Never once does Aubry sense a lie, so he lets it go on.
It's not long after the tale's end that Aubry leaves the bard. A simple grunted goodbye and an even quieter thank you. Jaskier beams at him as he turns his back and walks back into the town of Oxenfurt. A hastily called after 'anytime my dear' follows the strange witcher out of town and down the rest of his season on the path as he tries to make sense of the man he has just met.
It's not the first time that Jaskier has ever seen a witcher, but it is the first time he's ever spoken to one. He finds himself satisfied and intrigued as the rumors he's heard about witchers crumble around him. Jaskier is quickly finding that almost all generalizations are mostly lies based in hatred.
The rest of his time at university is quiet, as he mostly forgets about the witcher named Aubry he helped in that last year before graduation. Every so often, there will be another witcher in his town, but it's usually one of a rotating cast of faces. He'll often look for the familiar face of the man he'd shared tea with once, but it never comes. He assesses that Oxenfurt must not be on the witcher's normal route, but that doesn't matter for long. As soon as he graduates, he sets out on a path of his own.
Life as a traveling bard goes well for him. With his training and natural talent for charm and swindling, he thrives on the road. Skills he didn't learn at Oxenfurt, he is quick to pick up as he travels. He makes the transition between the cushy life of a student and a traveling bard with as much grace as anyone, and he quickly learns the rules of the road.
Sing until your lungs give out for every coin and scrap of food. When the coin runs dry, screech and eat the food they throw. Muscle quickly builds as he grows from a boy to a man. With no horse to speak of, he carries what he can and travels light. His lute was strung over his back along with his bag.
In between towns, he learns to wash his clothing properly and hunt smaller animals. Rabbit runs set with snares that catch what they can. Even a few months spent with a blacksmith playing tutor to his young son. For his time, he is taught to swing a blade. With his upbringing in Lettenhove, he knows how to use a sword. The smith teaches him how to fight dirty, warning him of what people do to bards who can't defend themselves. Jaskier takes the warning to heart; it's one he's heard before.
From then on, he carries a second dagger with him and has much more confidence in how to use it. He learns to pickpocket and steal what he can when he can, but doesn't use it often. After his songs start to pick up, he simply has no need.
Jaskier also finds that the wonders of the world are much grander when experienced rather than read about or described. It only takes a year for Jaskier to decide that running from his estate in Lettenhove was the best possible decision he's ever made and that he's never going back to the world of high society. That the path and freedom are where he belongs, and that, should anyone try to take it from him, he will fight for it with everything he can.
The second witcher that Jaskier ever learns the name of, he finds quite by accident. He's only two years into his journey on this new path of his, carving out a name with his bare hands as his songs start to take off. It was hard in the beginning, but now he is recognized in some of the places he returns to each year. Some even welcome him in and let him stay a while. The song about a witcher running from a werewolf, desperately downing his last bottle of swallow, all in hopes of saving a town he doesn't know, really takes off. It's the one that gets them all out of their seats, even if that is sometimes to throw him out for singing about such things.
He laughs at those people. They with their harsh glares and hateful words. He laughs because he knows that their world is so dull in its shades of gray that they have never known the pleasure of sitting in the presence of someone with bright yellow eyes and listening to them tell you a tale of which you have only heard in storybooks.
So when he does find another witcher, even by accident, he is reminded of his friend for a moment.
One night, the flighty bard finds himself deep in the woods as the sun has begun to set. The road he is on is a fair way away from the closest rest point, so he is well prepared for this and begins to plan to make camp. It's not a common trade route, so there is little chance of bandits or thieves coming through. Still, he makes his way deeper into the woods and away from the path just to be safe.
It's here when he stumbles upon the sound.
It's a screeching, horrible sound that makes him want to both cover his ears and get closer. That curiosity pulls him ever forward.
As he stumbles through the underbrush, the sounds get clearer: the clang of metal and the grunting shouts of a man. Then that screeching again.
When he finally makes it to the small clearing where the fight is happening, he is greeted with a magnificent sight. Some manner of beast with great hulking wings that swing with such great force, Jaskier can feel the wind from where he stands a few yards away. There is a man under it, sword in hand, and another on his back. Black-clad armor and a wide stance as he faces down the beast.
Jaskier, with little care for his own safety being so close to the beast, takes out his book and starts to write. He suddenly regrets not taking that class on monster and creature biology. Jaskier notes that one of the beast's wings beats off time with the other, lagging behind slightly as it struggles. It's covered in feathers, and Jaskier can't see any wound visible, but there are spots of blood that soak through the feathery fur-like layer.
The man reminds him of Aubry slightly, hair long and tied back in a short mess ponytail. Strands have been pulled out, and from what Jaskier can see, the witcher is struggling just as much as the beast. For a moment, Jaskier forgets his book as his eyes focus on the witcher, studying him as he moves.
He is staggering, his legs bowing slightly, and his arms droop under the weight of the sword; his shoulder heaves up and down, and from what Jaskier can see, his mouth is open in a constant pant. It is also at this point that Jaskier notices the witcher's eyes. Great voids of inky black surround them and bleed out into his skin. Jaskier has never seen anything quite so pretty in his life. Like the gods themselves and fed through the witcher's eyes, giving him the strength of thousands just to slay this impossible beast. It, of course, doesn't help that the man himself is quite pretty too, but Jaskier finds he simply cannot look away from those eyes.
The fight goes on, the witcher swings and dodges, throwing his hand out as a force rams into the beast from the underside. The thing rears its head and dives for the man just as he steps out of the way, exhaustion clearly making him slow as he barely clears the area. Jaskier wishes he could help, but he fears he may just be a distraction…
A distraction.
"HEY!… HEY! OVER HERE YOU GREAT UGLY BEAST!" Jaskier shouts, setting his stuff down and getting ready to run. He makes a note of his surroundings. He jumps on the balls of his feet, a grin spreading over his face as the beast's head snaps up to him. He makes to run, but he doesn't get the chance.
Not a second after the thing's attention is grabbed, the witcher is leaping through the air with his sword above his head, bringing down straight through the eye socket and driving the thing's head into the ground.
They both land hard, the beast clearly dead as it jerks and then slumps limply in the grass. In an instant, the witcher is on his feet again, though he stumbles backward. Soon falling back and sprawling out as his chest tries to continue sucking air into his lungs.
He hadn't even thought to look over toward Jaskier, instinct to kill the threat taking over as he finally relaxes into the grass alongside the slain monster.
Jaskier wastes no time, gathering his things and trudging over to the witcher. His eyes linger on the great beast, much bigger up close than from the tree line and much scarier. Maybe if he'd seen how big it was really, he wouldn't have called out to it. He swallows his tongue a bit, looking at it. Sword still sticking out of its eye, giant razor teeth on display as its lax jaw hangs open. Talons and paws mix as do feathers and fur.
When his eyes finally do find the witcher, it's to prepare him for a grim sight. Jaskier has never been a very squeamish person, but anyone would recoil at the large gashes that carve through the witcher's armor and deep into his skin. Jaskier can see the blood that leaks through, but the man is still breathing.
For a moment, the bard decides what to do about this. He refuses to just leave him here, but he doesn't really know what to do about the kill.
In the fading light of the sun, Jaskier decides that he needs to tend to the wounds before anything else can happen, then he shall make camp here for the night and see to it that this witcher is properly taken care of. Then, when the witcher wakes, he can leave him to his … thing? Beast?, and be on his way.
So he sets about. The witcher is unconscious, but he twitches in pain. Jaskier frowns as he works, slipping off pieces of armor until there is a neatly laid pile and he can go about stripping the chemise and pants. The gashes seem to be the worst of it, but thankfully, they haven't killed him outright. Jaskier is sure that, had the man been human, he wouldn't have survived.
Sitting in the cool grass, he fishes out his spare set of needles and thread. It only takes one costume disaster before a set to remind him to always have one on hand. It also only takes one adventure down the wrong alley to teach him how to sew up a wound. Catgut had been recommended, and he'd found it so much better than cotton thread. As he threads the needle and begins to clear away some of the blood, he remembers the fond look in the nurse's eye when he had asked her to teach him.
He uses his water skin and handkerchief, noting that the blood is flowing a lot slower than his own would and that the heartbeat of the man is sluggish, too. It worries him, not a good sign, and he is losing time to ensure there is no more blood loss.
With a shaky hand, he begins. Stitch after stitch is sewn and then tied and cut. The witcher stirs, that black around his eyes not yet receding. The bard is unsure if it is due to a poison or simply something witchers do. The skin is cool to the touch but inflamed around the wounds. The heat feels burning as Jaskier works tirelessly into the late evening.
By the time the worst of it is sewn, the sun has dipped low behind the trees, and Jaskier has to lean over the wound and squint to keep his focus on what he can see. Afterward, he admires his work, checking for any loose space in case his nerves allow for a mistake.
The witcher's skin is grimy and mud-caked in some places, but it looks as if Jaskier's work has done well for the moment. Keeping the skin together as it should. There are fewer twitches of pain, and the bard takes some comfort in that. The man's heartbeat is still slow, and his eyes are still rimmed with black. The bard again worries for both of these conditions, but there is little he can do save waking the man, and he doesn't intend to do that at all.
Standing from his work, he surveys the area. The next step is to create a fire and set up the camp. It's not too late in the season to be too cold, but he will need more light if he wants to see the other wounds this man carries. He sets down his bag, taking off his bedroll and sliding the roll under the man's head before he sets off into the surrounding area to collect enough sticks to light.
The underbrush is dry, and the heavily wooded area makes a good place to find everything he needs. In no time, the flint is struck, and the small cluster of nettles at the base of his small fire catches. Soon, there is a modest-sized fire lighting the area around them as the last of the sun's rays disappears behind the horizon.
In the low light of the fire, the beast's face is lit, and Jaskier can't help but grimace as he looks. It's like nothing he's ever seen before, and he doesn't even know where to begin to identify what exactly it is. A monster is all he has to go on. With a beak and sharp teeth, claws, paws, and a tail and wings…? He's clueless. It just looks horrid.
So with a lost expression, he turns back to his company, still lying where he left him. The witcher's chest seems to have evened out, and the black around his eyes is retreating, slowly. Jaskier takes his time assessing the other wounds now that he has the light to do it.
There are a few other scratches that litter the man's body. Still, his eyes fall back to those deep gashes now stitched up across the man's chest. The redness around the wounds is worrying, and he starts to fear an infection with them exposed like this. He slips out one of his older shirts from his bag. It's just a plain tan chemise. Sort of ratty as he's had it since his days at university, but clean and something he won't miss. He makes quick work of tearing it into a long strip of fabric.
Then starts the effort of wrapping the midsection of an extremely unconscious man who may wake up and feel slightly perturbed about being manhandled into a chest wrapping. Jaskier pays this no mind. He just hums thoughtfully to himself as he ties off the last of the wrappings and sets the man back down carefully.
The witcher doesn't have much on him at the moment, but Jaskier isn't about to start searching around for more. That only leaves a few options for the two of them, although they aren't any different than the options that Jaskier would normally be faced with when traveling.
He can either set up a few snares or dig into the rations. Jaskier would rather not dig into the rations, as cured meat is hard to find, and when he does find it, it is usually of poor quality. He doesn't normally indulge, and of course, the salted scraps of any lame farm animal are much better than starving, but the ones he has now are on the higher end of quality. They were a gift from the butcher's son he'd last been with, and he hasn't had the need to use them yet. So snares it is.
It works out as they are in prime rabbit territory, and he's pretty sure he's seen a few rabbit runs back toward the road. They should have one by the morning. Which is good cause Jaskier is feeling hungry. For now, he'll share a bit of hardtack he has left over with the witcher once he wakes.
He gets to hunting quickly, sneaking off into the woods, never leaving the light of the fire, so he's in earshot if anything were to happen. It, at least, makes him feel better for it.
It's pretty quick to find a run and seemingly fresh too. The long grass bends easily above a little dirt trail. Fresh broken foliage and droppings nearby. Perfect. Jaskier gets to work setting a snare. Leaning a branch against a tree over the run, he ties his wire and lets the loop hang in the direct path of the run. He picks one of the bends to make it harder to see. Then moves on to another.
In total, he sets three snares along the little trails, feeling quite proud of himself with the skill he's picked up. He used to be terrible at this. Recognizing rabbit runs vs holes in the brush was difficult with his inexperience. Now, a few years later, he is mostly successful if there are rabbits to be caught. He always felt bad for the little creatures, tried to end their lives swiftly as he couldn't take their sequels. Still, his hunger won out as he hunted.
So, humming, he returned to the camp he had hastily set up for the wounded witcher.
As his eyes fall upon the camp, he notices one startling difference.
The witcher is gone.
"Fuck." Jaskier curses as he gazes at his bedroll, the dent in it left by the head of the man he had patched up is now noticeable as said man is gone. He next glances over to the witcher's things, minimal as they are, and makes a confused expression as he finds them still in place. He honestly wouldn't stop the man if he had wanted to run; he knows not to trust strangers either, but he'd think that the witcher would want to at least take his-
Jaskier's thoughts are cut off by a rough hand grabbing him from behind. In a dizzying movement, he is thrown up against a tree with just enough time to brace so his head doesn't go slamming into the hard bark behind him.
"mmhf-" Jaskier grunts as the air is forced out of his lungs. Just before another as a pressure is rushed up against his front and something sharp is pressed to his neck. His eyes snap to focus on the now very awake witcher in front of him. Bright, almost glowing yellow eyes reflect the firelight as they bore into him with an intense glare. The cat slit pupils nearly unseen with how thin they are. The blade at the bard's neck digs in hard, drawing a drip of warm blood to flow down his neck and stain the collar of his shirt.
"Who the fuck are you?" The witcher spits in his face as he speaks. Now that Jaskier is this close up, he notes that this man is slightly shorter than him, lithe in his strength. Which, Jaskier can confirm, is in abundance.
"What I think you mean by 'thank you,'" Jaskier snarks back, flourishing his hand as he speaks until the blade bites harder and he winces at the pain.
"Fine, if you must be boring. I am Jaskier the bard at your service. I would bow if you had left me any room." The witcher just sneers at this, a peculiar unkindness glazing his features.
"A bard?-" He looks like he might say more, likely an insult or something similar. Jaskier has much experience with men who think they are better than others simply due to the fact that they can't play an instrument. So Jaskier skips that part of the conversation, cutting him off.
"Quite so, my good sir. If you'd let me, my lute, I might play something for you."
"What were you doing in the woods?" It's an interrogation. That's fine, it's clear that if the witcher wanted him dead, or failed to care at all to figure out why he had helped, he would have already killed him or gotten up and left. Jaskier finds that to be reassuring… slightly. There is still a blade to his throat, and he is well aware of the fact that he's not exactly the most pleasant personality; he is sure that he can charm his way out of most situations. How well those charms will work on a witcher, he doesn't know. But, he supposes it's time to find out.
"Well, I am a traveling bard. Whilst traveling, I stumbled across this wonderfully pretty man slaying quite the beast. I'm sure you know the rest." Jaskier hums, hoping that this man will let up.
"I remember some idiot shouting at a fucking arch griffon trying to get himself killed. Then passing out and waking up to hear you coming back for me. What? Thought you could sell me for parts? Is that what this is? Or thought you could steal my kill in exchange for helping me." The witcher accuses. Jaskier looks on at him, slightly amused but also concerned. He wonders what kind of hardship this man has to have lived through to be this paranoid. Perhaps, if Jaskier were a different man, and if he had use for a creature such as this, he would have left the witcher to bleed out and take what he wanted. Jaskier, however, is no such man.
"What use should I have for that foul thing? I trade in stories, my friend, I hardly even have the space to carry more than my own things, let alone something like that." Jaskier scoffs. The witcher narrows his eyes, judging as he takes a deep breath. Almost a sigh, though he doesn't let it go.
"Then why help me?" Jaskier snorts at this, and the blade presses deeper. He chokes slightly and backs off. Letting his palms face out in a show of non-aggression. It seems to simmer the frustration in the witcher.
"The last witcher I met had the same sort of defensiveness- I simply saw a man in need of some help. Perhaps I wanted some company on this lonely night. Besides, curiosity has always been my worst trait. I heard the call of your foe from a mile away and followed it here. You really do make quite the sight with those swords of yours." Jaskier winks, and something like confusion crosses the man's face.
"You're not fucking me if that what you're thinking bard. And I don't play body guard." The witcher seems to be satisfied with his answer, convinced that he is not a threat at the very least.
"You misunderstand me, good sir." The witcher snorts, and Jaskier is reminded of the way Aubry snorted when he had called him sir. As the man walks away, Jaskier calls after him.
"I only meant that you might share my fire. We are far from any thieving trails, and even so, I would not expect your protection, for I do not have the coin to pay for it." The witcher doesn't look back. Jaskier gets the impression that he is unimpressed. Still, he tries again.
"Or perhaps that you might share one of my catches with me come morning?" It's his last offer, literally the last thing he can think of to keep his new company here. Thankfully, it does get the witcher's attention. He looks to Jaskier now, backlit by the fire as they are right near the clearing.
"That's what you were doing just now? Setting traps. Thought you were just taking a really long piss." His eyebrow raises as if he is surprised. Jaskier laughs at the clear jovial nature of his wording.
"I don't think I could hold that much liquid myself at one time. I knew witcher anatomy was different, but I can't imagine an enlarged bladder to be a particular advantage on the battlefield." It startles a laugh out of the man, a bright and full-bellied thing that makes Jaskier wonder again who this man is. It's rusty, unused, making the bard yearn to make it sound again. Bringing joy to the world little by little.
"Don't gotta go as often. Not gonna stop to piss in the middle of a fight, and I'll be damned if I piss myself." The witcher laughs again, and Jaskier smiles.
"Wait, that's real?" His eyes go wide at the implications.
"No!" The witcher laughs again, now more at Jaskier's confusion than at his own joke. Jaskier rolls his eyes but keeps smiling. This is turning out to be a much more lively night than he had previously thought it would be.
As they come down from the giddy jokes, the witcher sighs. Settling down with his stuff, he finally looks back up at the bard with a neutral expression.
"Ah, what the hell. Sure, I'll stay for a rabbit. Not like I'd get far with this shit anyway," The witcher gestures to his own wounds with a grimace. Jaskier finds himself sitting next to his own bag as they both settle in for the night. Now that there isn't a blade to his neck, the bard's heartbeat slows back to normal as his slight fear slips away now that they've found some common ground.
"Wonderful! Now tell me exactly what you were doing out here fighting this monstrosity, starting with your name." Jaskier pokes, eager for more material for his songs and anxious to take advantage of this situation. The witcher just looks at him oddly, as if he can't quite figure out what he's looking at.
"You got a death wish or something, songbird?" The witcher almost looks amused. Jaskier hums and smiles, not the first time he's heard that.
"Why do you say that?"
"First, you call out to a fucking arch griffin, then you decide to patch up and stick around a witcher. An' if that ain't bad enough, now yer poking that witcher with a stick with dumb questions." Jaskier laughs, and the witcher just looks more confused, taking another deep breath. Almost half a sigh.
"I have told you about my curiosity. You should understand, dear witcher, that I have a fanciful mind. The appeals of your deeds are like sweet honey to my storyteller's heart. You don't have to share, of course, if you prefer to sit in silence like two much weaker men then…" The witcher snorts again as Jaskier trails off expectantly. He is obviously baiting him into conversation, but with little else to do, he supposes that the witcher would rather talk than not.
"You are a strange one, songbird. I'll grant you, those people who said curiosity was your worst trait were right. Though I guess we have that in common." The witcher laughs at a small thing, an inside joke that Jaskier doesn't get.
"My name is Aiden, Aiden of the cats…" The witcher, Aiden, stands and gives a bow, suddenly looking much more amused and amenable than angry. Jaskier smiles at him and the demonstration. He is glad that Aiden has come around to him.
"Aiden of the cats, it is nice to make your acquaintance."
"Sorry about the neck, by the way. I thought you were just some creep or a thief or something. I've uh, got some bandages in my pack if you want. You probably used up the rest of yours on my chest anyway." Jaskier's heart warms at the slightly awkward nature of the witcher as he stumbles through a social interaction that doesn't include a knife.
"That would be nice. I did my best for those marks on you. I assume that's why you thought I was a pervert of some sort. I assure you, I only had your survival in mind." Jaskier reassured, and the witcher ignored it.
"I figured that out. Here." Aiden tosses him a roll of mesh cheesecloth and a bit of raw cotton. The cut in Jaskier's neck isn't that deep, and it isn't in a life-threatening place. He assumes that this is intentional and is grateful for the attempt at a peace offering in the form of the bandages.
"Thank you, though I can't blame you. I have enough experience with men to understand the paranoia of waking up in the presence of one. Aiden winces, taking shallower breaths, though Jaskier doesn't know why.
"Yes, well, still. Usually, a human doesn't put themselves in the kind of danger you did. You also smell… odd." Aiden comments, his nose twitching. Jaskier clutches his pearls in offense.
"I most certainly do not, I know witchers have a more enhanced sense of smell, but I bathed just this morning, thank you very much." Aiden gives a fond smile and rolls his eyes at Jaskier's blustering offense.
"Not like that, I meant your fear. Witchers can smell fear and lies." Jaskier stares at him wide-eyed with wonder, the earlier transgressions completely forgotten in the face of this new information.
"That must be horrible, I mean, I've heard of the tales of men and women alike shitting themselves in the presence of witchers. What does fear smell like?" Jaskier's nose turns up as he recounts some of the tales he's heard maidens giggling about.
"Much the same, actually, like walking into a room full of the sweatiest men you can find." Aiden, again, turns up his nose, imagining it. Jaskier winces, knowing that his own fear must have been harsh on the witcher's senses.
"Well, I apologize for that then."
"No, that wasn't the odd part…" Aiden continues, leaning forward as he studies the bard across from him.
"The weird part was when you stopped smelling like fear." Jaskier is slightly put off by that; he'd assumed that what the witcher was referring to as 'odd' had been the rotten stench he'd emitted when first attacked by the man. He's no wimp, but most people would be at least a little fearful when there is a blade pressed to his throat.
"I would hope that my nicely scented soap wouldn't have been that odd."
"No- It's," Aiden sighs, clearly getting frustrated at Jaskier's lack of understanding. Jaskier knows that he is hard to deal with, especially when he gets excited and stops being so charming. He's been told that his entire life, and it seems even in the company of a witcher, he can't help himself.
"Most humans always smell like fear around us. It's the whole freak mutant thing they can't understand. Yer thinking about it too much bard. I was jus' surprised you were being genuine when you invited me to stay. It's not often we get something like that, 'Specially not for cats." Jaskier leans forward, now even more intrigued.
" Of course, I'm not afraid of you. Once you took that knife off my neck, what reason would I have to be?"
"I'm still a witcher, could snap you in half, don't even need my swords." The witcher grins at him, and Jaskier gets the sense that it's supposed to be intimidating. He doesn't really find it to be.
"Fair enough, I just didn't think you would. Typically, the average man you run into in the woods isn't in a position to kill you for no reason." Jaskier shrugs, making Aiden think that maybe he has run into some of these non-average men before. Enough to know that most people don't just kill for fun if they can avoid it.
"Well, you clearly haven't heard about us cats then." Aiden snorts.
"You've mentioned yourself as a 'cat' thrice now, and I am intrigued. The last witcher I met referred to himself as a wolf. Is there any reason for the distinction?"
"Yeah, sure, loads. Mainly, it's what school you're from. Where the witchers were all trained and things."
"Witcher schools. I was never taught anything about this at university so you must forgive my persistent questioning." Jaskier tries to do some damage control before he really gets going and runs out his welcome.
"It's fine bard, It's been a while since I've had anyone to speak to."
"There are a bunch of schools. The Cats, of course, the wolves which you've met?"
"Only one, lovely man, but very gruff. We had tea together." Aiden almost spits up the water from the swing he had been taking. The image of one of the hardened wolves, all big and brooding, taking tea with this songbird he's found. He tries to picture Lambert in that situation, and the image is just too impossible to manage. It must show on his face as Jaskier then adds:
"I was surprised he took my offer, too. Aubry, his name was, though he didn't tell me much else. I suppose all witchers have the same level of paranoia that you do."
"Comes with the job." Jaskier hums in agreement, he knows what it's like being the prosecuted of man simply for the way you are. His own family hadn't taken well to the fact he had been an elf hybrid bastard. With his mother executed and the whole thing covered up- But he wasn't thinking about that right now. There was a perfectly pretty witcher in-front of him, not only that but one willing to tell him tales too? He mustn't miss out on this opportunity to sate his curiosity.
"Right, your job of saving maidens from scary monsters and ridding the world of evil." Jaskier mocks, finding it utterly ridiculous that anyone could fear a literal knight in shining armor. He, of course, would not fall into the same generalizing trap of assuming that all witchers were the pinnacle of all good in the world; they were just people, of course, but he would never swing the other way into the harsh prejudice that he had learned growing up in Lettenhove.
"Not so noble when those monsters happen to be human-shaped…" Aiden looks off to the side for a moment, his brow furrowed with regret. Anger? Jaskier only takes in his words silently, wishing for him to elaborate.
"Cats are one of the only schools that will take contracts on humans, too. If you're looking for a source for all that hate against witchers, you've found him." Aiden bites the words out, his grimace deepening into an almost animal snarl. Jaskier's eyes widen at his confession. It's clear this man hates that fact about himself, or his school.
"You seem to think that is why I should fear you." Aiden huffs and nods.
"Well, do you have a bounty out for me?" Aiden's eyes snap up at Jaskier. Even if his tone was non-accusing, it's still a very blunt question.
"Fuck no, didn't even know who you were until you said. I only kill monsters." Jaskier gives a raised eyebrow at the outburst. Perhaps this witcher is a little too used to being asked such a question.
"There are humans who would fit the description," Jaskier answers. There is a silence that stretches between them for a moment.
"…I only kill the monster-shaped monsters… If I can help it. And certainly I wouldn't take a life for a coin." Aiden grits his teeth, forcing out his words with effort.
"Then why should I fear you?" Aiden rolls his eyes at this as if it is obvious, and Jaskier is the only one who can't see it. Jaskier just enjoys the breaking of this witcher's resolve that he is undeserving of trust. Never let it be said that Jaskier isn't a spreader of joy. As a bard, one more lifted frown is the only payment he would ever need if it weren't for hunger.
"You really are a strange one, songbird. There are nearly none who would agree with you." Aiden still doesn't look at him, seemingly uncomfortable with the openness he is faced with. Jaskier doesn't mind; he's glad for the company, no matter in what form it comes. Either way, he is going to continue the conversation, bulldozing any awkwardness that might start to settle. He is simply all he needs for a good conversation.
"Well, if you would indulge this strange songbird, tell me about these monster shaped monsters…" Jaskier grins at the snort of laughter his companion gives.
Aiden seems to shake off the awkwardness quickly as the conversation is redirected. He jumps readily at the chance to stop talking about who should and should not be afraid in favor of explaining a hunt or two. A man named Lambert pops up in a few of them, though Jaskier is unsure whether he is also a witcher or a lover by the fondness in Aiden's voice when he says the name. He bets on the ladder based on some of the details, but doesn't ask.
The night passes easily enough after that, neither feeling quite comfortable enough to sleep, but easy conversation is enough to entertain. By morning, Jaskier has caught not one, but two rabbits. One makes a fast meal for the two of them, then he gifts the other to the witcher he's met as an act of goodwill. He has rations; he'll make do, but the witcher is seemingly out of food and coin. Aiden eyes him with suspicion and discomfort as he slowly ties the rabbit to his hip with a bit of cord. Jaskier is delighted to see his hunt put to good use and bids the man his leave with a light fluttering in his heart and a song brewing on his lips.
One about a brave, dark hired man and his fire-spirited lover as they fight and flirt their way across the continent. He has a good feeling about this one. Adventure, romance, a little scandal. All the makings for a perfect song.