Chapter Text
The echoes of the song fade away from the valley, and Geralt sighs.
‘Look, bard, as fun as this was, and really, it was a fucking riot, are you going to fuck off at all?’
The boy blinks up at him and grins.
‘Nope,’ he says, popping his lips obnoxiously.
Geralt didn’t really think it was going to be that easy, but a sinking feeling descends upon him anyway.
‘What do you mean, no?’
‘This was a very successful first outing. You make a fantastic muse, truly you do. Already I can almost hear the applause we shall receive on our triumphant return!’
First outing, thinks Geralt, and outright panics. Fuck that.
He spurs Roach into a canter, and leaves the boy behind in the dust, hooting and hollering after him.
Evening falls. His camp is set up some ways into the woods, and he has a fat little hare on the spit. Roach is snuffling away in her nosebag happily, and Geralt is just settling down to note down the details of the incident in his bestiary when his ears prick up. A heartbeat, human, about half a mile off, and dreadfully familiar…
‘You have got to be kidding me.’ He groans aloud, and Roach sympathises. ‘He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.’ She waves her tail in his direction meaningfully, and Geralt waits. He is not going to dismantle his entire camp and flee from one little human, he is not…
The boy stumbles through the bracken towards the light of the campfire eventually, making enough racket to alert predators for miles around, and squinting directly into the light, ruining his admittedly already limited night vision completely. Idiot.
‘Ah, hello, Geralt. Come here often?’ He grins, and sets his lute down carefully, before slumping on the nearest log with a sigh.
Geralt just stares at him. That turns out to be a mistake, because the bard takes it as an opportunity to start talking.
‘Not that I didn’t appreciate the view, the mighty Witcher and his steed riding into the sunset, but really, that was downright indecorous of you, heading off without even a farewell.’
Geralt can’t quite believe this little pipsqueak is trying to scold him about his manners. His heartrate is steady, he’s not sweating with fear, he just looks up at Geralt sternly.
Geralt snaps his head around to look at him, letting his pupils dilate fully. He bares his teeth, sharp canines glinting in the firelight, and growls, ‘What are you doing here, bard?’
The boy just looks at him, placid as anything. Not even a tinge of fear.
‘You saved my life.’ He says, solemnly. ‘I certainly didn’t do anything to persuade Filavandrel otherwise, you did.’
Geralt frowns at him, and the bard cracks a little smile.
‘And if the, er, forgive me, if the so-called ‘Meat-Purveyor of Certain Unnamed Market Towns’, if you will, can talk down the quite justly furious Filavandrel, then it makes me start to question certain common beliefs, as it were.’
He just stares, and the boy unpacks his new lute carefully, angling it up to the firelight and admiring the finish.
‘I am what they call me.’ Geralt manages, after several minutes.
‘And what things they call you.’ The boy says, glancing at him briefly. Their eyes only meet for a moment, but still Geralt feels pinned by it.
He goes on the defensive.
‘It makes no difference to me what they call me. I neither need nor want a barker.’
‘Allow me to try.’
‘No.’ He says flatly.
The boy sighs, and sets the lute down gingerly, before swivelling to face him and resting his elbows on his knees.
‘Look, Geralt, at this point what on earth have you possibly got to lose? If you would simply let me at least make the attempt…’
Geralt grits his teeth and glares at him.
‘You could die. You nearly died once today already, you said so yourself. And then I get whoever your people are, swearing vengeance on me, and making things worse. This life is not safe.’
‘I could die tomorrow, of an apoplexy, or at the end of some bandit’s sword. No life is safe.’
‘You would only get in the way.’ Geralt tries.
‘I promise. I only mean to be a help, truly, not a hindrance.’
‘You don’t even have any supplies. No pack, no bedroll, no food. I am not babysitting you.’
The boy winks at him, and shoves his arm down into his trousers quickly, before revealing a handful of rather battered looking bread rolls.
Geralt blinks at him.
‘Told you I had bread in my pants.’ He says, and winks. Geralt almost cracks then, and he can feel a smile trying to form before he schools his expression.
‘Come on, Geralt, let me try. I owe you my life, and I put no little stock in that. It’s the only one I shall have, and I’m rather pleased with it so far. Give me a chance, and I can make things easier for you. For your kind. Change the bastards’ minds, prove them all wrong. Come on.’
Geralt considers this carefully, and pokes at the hare a bit with his stick.
The bard waits, seemingly content to let Geralt respond at his own pace.
‘What’s in it for you?’ He asks, genuinely puzzled.
‘Inspiration. Protection. An education in the wilder side of living, as it were.’
Geralt snorts.
‘Think of it as a business transaction, if you prefer. An equal exchange. In return for graciously allowing me to witness your talents at work, I will provide companionship, assistance, and an improved reputation.’
Gods help him, but the boy is persuasive.
‘I don’t need companionship. I’ve managed this long just fine without assistance…’ He sighs. ‘But I’ll concede on the last point.’
The bard grins like a fox.
‘Give me a year.’
‘A year?’ Geralt splutters. ‘A week would be too long. You escaped the King of the Elves today bard, isn’t that enough inspiration to be getting on with?’
‘I do not intend to let Destiny slip through my fingers.’ He says, smiling faintly. ‘Who knows what foes you will face next? I would not miss a one. A year, if you please.’
‘A week.’
‘My, you are an accomplished haggler aren’t you. Far more practiced than I, of course. However, and you must concede the point here my dear Witcher, I must admit, even I cannot charm an entire Continent into submission in a week, although I do appreciate the flattery. A month, to ply my trade, and prove myself a worthy travel companion, and if you are not satisfied thirty days hence, then we shall part as strangers once more.’
Geralt leans forward himself then and wags his stick in the boy’s direction.
‘You cannot get in the way.’
He plasters a very convincingly serious expression on his face, but his eyes are dancing with barely repressed glee.
‘I swear it.’
‘You have to do as I say.’
‘Within reason. But I will concede to your expertise.’
‘If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. If I say, bard, fetch me three strands of white Holly and two hedgehog quills, what do you do?’
‘Speaking honestly, I’d probably say ‘Geralt, what the fuck, how am I supposed to know what white holly is?’, but I appreciate the sentiment. Complete obedience, within reason, at your disposal.’
‘Hmm.’ Geralt says.
The boy’s leg betrays his eagerness, bouncing nervously even as he watches Geralt’s face with an innocent expression.
‘Fine. You have your month.’ He says, regretting it already.
‘Yes! You won’t regret this Geralt, really you won’t.’ He jumps to his feet and steps closer, smiling.
‘Shake on it.’ He says, commandingly, and Geralt just huffs, but reaches up anyway. ‘Gloves off Geralt, for goodness sake, let’s be civil.’
He peels off his leathers, outright baffled by this bright little human, bossing him about as if Geralt couldn’t snap him in half easily as breathing. The boy takes his bare hand in a surprisingly firm grip, and shakes it sincerely, as if he were any other man, as if his word meant anything to humans, as if he genuinely doesn’t believe the tales.
This whole day has been full of marvels.
The boy grins at him again, radiating only a fresh-apple scent that is surprisingly pleasant. It bodes well in a travel companion. For a half a second, he dares to be vaguely optimistic, until the bard opens his mouth again.
‘Now that the business talk is dealt with, care to share your hare?’
He snickers at his own joke, and Geralt sighs, but divvies it up into two portions anyway. The boy throws him a bread roll in exchange, and they eat in peace and quiet on opposite sides of the little fire until he clears his throat again.
‘About the er, sleeping arrangements. Not to be indelicate Geralt, but I, er, haven’t any.’
Geralt swallows around his suddenly rather dry mouthful of hare, and blinks rather owlishly at the boy, uncertain as to what he’s asking.
‘See, I know we only met this morning, but I’m rather fond of you already. And as business partners, I feel we have already managed to jump the hurdle of strangers getting to know one another, and gone headfirst into the hitherto unexplored territory of acquaintances.’
Geralt just sits, taken aback, and mouths business partners to himself. He ignores the ‘rather fond’ part for fear of his own sanity, never mind the bard’s.
‘Without beating around the bush, as it were, after one’s newfound acquaintance saves one’s life, it becomes very difficult to believe that one’s er, virtue is imperiled by said acquaintance.’
Geralt nearly chokes.
‘What.’ He wheezes.
‘Well I just thought, it’s a rather chilly evening, and perhaps, if it wouldn’t inconvenience you awfully, if you wouldn’t mind possibly adjusting your usual nightly routine to accommodate myself?’
‘What?’
The boy sighs, gesturing grandly.
‘Geralt, to put it plainly, I am cold. I have no bedroll in my possession. I should like, in short, to share your bedroll, under the proviso that no hanky-panky take place without prior permission from both parties.’
‘Hanky-panky?’ He repeats, helplessly. The boy is pretty, and well-formed, but Geralt honestly hadn’t even thought as far ahead as hanky, let alone panky.
‘I will require another handshake.’ The boy says, meeting his gaze firmly.
‘I can sleep on the ground.’ He says quickly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ The boy says primly. ‘The entire concept of my presence at your side is to be a help, not a hindrance. And you need to be in top shape, I’d have thought, with all those beasties to fight, eh?’
‘I can stand guard.’
‘I’m not having you loom over me all night, that hardly sounds conducive to a good night’s sleep.’
Geralt looks about the campsite wildly, searching for the last scraps of reason.
‘I..’
‘Come on Geralt, some of us have walked bloody miles today, shake on it, there’s a good chap, then we can settle in for the evening.’
He stares, bewildered, as the boy takes his hand again in his own warm little grasp and they shake once more.
Half an hour later, the fire is banked for the night, Roach has settled into sleep, and Geralt has a softly snoring musician wrapped around him firmly, legs entangled with his own.
Without a doubt, one of the strangest days of his life, even for a Witcher.