Chapter Text
Jaskier had possibly had too much to drink. He would definitely blame the alcohol for the way he marched (not staggered) up to the man sitting in the corner of the inn and confronted him after he had finished his latest set with another impassioned performance of Her Sweet Kiss that had him closer to tears then he would have liked.
The man was sitting in the corner, back against the wall, swords beside him, and cat eyes watching the room warily as he drank. His dark hair seemed to be free of the usual monster guts that a certain witcher Jaskier was pretending he had never met had seemed to roll around in almost daily, but there was still no reason for witchers to be popping up all over the bloody place when all the bard wanted was to pretend he hadn’t spent the last however many years trailing after one like a lovesick puppy.
“Are you people multiplying or something?” Jaskier said, leaning heavily on the table in front of the witcher. “I thought you were meant to be a dying species or some rubbish. Rather detracts from the mystery if one keeps stumbling into you at every bloody inn in the continent.”
The man looked at him in disbelief. “Who the hell have you been running into? I doubt any of my brothers would put up with a drunk like you,” he snarled at the bard. Jaskier grinned at the idea that he would be put off by a little lip from a witcher. They were so predictable with the intimidating faces and the grumpy voices. They reminded him of cute little hedgehogs with their bristly personalities.
“Oho, nice to see the attitude comes with the scary face,” Jaskier snarked back, flopping into a chair next to him. “You’re darling brother Geralt, the one with all the angst and broodiness and annoyingly perfect hair didn’t tell me he had family in the area. So sweetheart, what’s your name? Got any stories for a poor, starving bard?” He fluttered his eyelashes at the witcher in what he was sure was a charming fashion, mentally cursing himself for falling back into old habits.
Witchers were not fun to flirt with, gods damn it, and he needed to remember that before he got his heart broken again. It didn’t matter if they were all adorable with their big muscles and heartbreaking fear of rejection. Jaskier was going to resist the urge to cuddle all of the witchers close and give them the attention they were so obviously starved for, as soon as he sobered up.
“So you’re the fucking bard he was hanging around with the last few years. Name’s Lambert. Have to say, your little song has definitely made that Path a damn sight easier. I’ve only been chased out of three towns this season.” Jaskier preened at the compliment, patting Lambert’s shoulder before he remembered himself and sat up straighter in his chair.
“Well, apparently I live to please the Witchers of this world. No, no, sorry I ... what did he say ... it's always me shoveling the shit that is your lives.”
Lambert thunked his head down onto the table, scaring some of the other patrons in the bar. Jaskier smiled at them reassuringly (he thought anyway) as they moved further away from the scary looking witcher acting like a person with feelings instead of some hulking menace in the corner.
“Really, you are the issue in his life? He does realise that he can shovel shit just fine all on his own, doesn’t he? A pretty little thing like you, there’s no way you are adding to his problems unless he’s having to chase the local girls away.” Lambert looked at Jaskier exasperatedly. How dare this adorable little puppy of a witcher come here and say all these nice things to him. Jaskier had made up his mind, no more witchers, but here he was, ready to get sucked back in again.
“Thank you, for the vote of confidence there but no, I am the cause of all bad things in his life. It would never in a million years be that bloody sorceress with the stupid purple eyes and the freaky magic. Who even has purple eyes? Crazy, dangerous, people, that's who!”
“The fuck! Please, tell me your joking. He’s getting his dick wet with a fucking sorceress! Okay, little lark, there is no way any of this is your fault.” Lambert said reassuringly, laying a rather large hand over Jaskier’s. “That big idiot brother of mine is beyond your help if he’s fucking a witch. He was always easily led by his dick, I guess we expected too much of him to realise that witches are never a good idea. Guess I am going to have to adopt the little bard for the rest of the season.”
“Whoah, hang on,” Jaskier protested. “I don’t need adopting. I am perfectly fine on my own. I don’t need to be shoveling shit for anyone else.” He tried to pull himself together, to be Jaskier the bard, singer of amazing songs and traveller extraordinaire. Instead, he was sure he looked like a sad little kitten begging for a home.
Damn all that ale, it's not like it blocked out those words that kept bouncing around in this head anyway. He knew he was too much for people to deal with. There was no point in letting himself get attached to another witcher just to go down the same route all over again.
“See, that right there is why you’re coming with me. Don’t worry, I’m not an asshole like Geralt. I bet he didn't even let you ride on that monster he calls a horse,” Lambert joked, wincing when he saw Jaskier’s sad face.
“Well, no but..”
“No buts, you can come with me for the rest of the season. Can’t have the bard that gets us all paid drinking himself to death because the White Wolf of Rivia is a huge cock. And while we are on the Path, you can write a song about me instead of that asshole, show the world what a real hero is like.”
Lambert dropped a few coins on the table, grabbed his swords and started hauling Jaskier outside with a surprisingly gentle grip on his arm. The bard flailed pathetically, pulling a face at the townspeople who averted their eyes from the big scary witcher hauling him away. They were all too happy to enjoy his songs five minutes ago, but no one wanted to mess with a witcher.
“Only if you give me actual details about your hunts, none of that ‘it was big and had claws, Jaskier, what more do you want from me,’ shit.” He was still pissed about that. How was he meant to write amazing songs about his heroics feats with that kind of information. “He didn't even mention that fact it had bloody wings, here I am imagining some random beastie, as he holds out details on a gods damned griffin hunt. How dare he!”
“‘Big and had claws,’ for fucks sake my brother is complete fucking bastard.” Lambert chuckled as he lead Jaskier out to his horse. “No, no, little lark, if you are going to make me the most heroic witcher in all the lands, I need equally terrifying monsters to defeat.”
Lambert strapped his swords to his back and swung up into the saddle before offering Jaskier his hand. Jaskier pretending to consider the offer, trying desperately not to let his absolute glee at starting out on a new adventure show on his face. This time would be different, he would make sure he wasn’t a pest this time. And when it was time for them to part ways, he would move on to the next great adventure.
Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days it's you, shoveling it.
No, this time he would be smart, he would keep his heart out of it, and he would appreciate all the excitement of the Path. There would be no getting overly attached. He was a different man from the one who had stood on the top of that mountain and accepted the words thrown at him without complaint. He would not take the blame for another’s choices, not this time.
Jaskier clasped the hand offered to him and was pulled up onto the horse to sit in front of Lambert. The man’s arms caged him in and he relaxed back into the chest behind him, hiding a grin at the instinctive flinch he felt the witcher give at the close contact before he almost melted around the bard’s back. “I could always write a song about the extremely humble witcher who never brags about his exploits at all.”
“Haha, where’s the fun in that. If I have to be a monster, I might as well show the world exactly how monstrous I am. Have to do something to impress the ladies, right?” Lambert said, directing the horse away from the inn and off towards the road.
Maybe all Jaskier needed was a new adventure to get him out of his slump. At least along the way he could continue to spread the word of the heroic witchers and remove some of the stigma that followed them. Witcher’s deserved all the nice things in this world, and by Melitele he would make sure they got them.
He started humming a tune to himself before turning his head and asking “what's the most exciting hunt you’ve been on yet? I need something good if I’m going to be singing of the Dark Wolf of Kaer Morhen?”
Lambert chuckled at the name. “How about the time I had to break a curse on a princess? Idiot parents had pissed off a local witch and then acted surprised when she bit back.”
“Fantastic. And if the witch in the song resembles a certain person we won't name, well then isn't it coincidental if certain people see themselves in evil, nasty, ugly, man stealing crones?”
Lambert’s laughter was almost a bark in the still air, as if it had been surprised out of him. Jaskier smirked to himself and started thinking of rhymes for “dark haired harlot.”