The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Rinde, 1256

"Be careful if you do find it," Robin reminded Geralt as she prepared to leave and he got his fishing gear ready. "A djinn is a violent, unpredictable creature."

"Are you really looking for a djinn?" Jaskier interrupted. "Like a genie? The floaty fellas with the... the bad tempers and the banned magics, that kind of genie?"

"Yes," Geralt confirmed, giving Robin one more kiss. "I swear to mind myself." He kept his hand around her wrist as she began to pull away. "You be careful too."

"I'm just going to the market, Geralt. Hardly a dangerous place, especially when I'm not in your company."

She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled. "I know."

"I'll secure us rooms at the inn. You can meet me there for dinner. I demand you take a break then, even if you're still looking."

He nodded. "I promise."

She turned to Jaskier before she started walking. "Watch him," she mouthed quietly.

Geralt had barely slept at all for the past month, and she was worried about him. In fact, she was hoping to find a remedy in town, though she hadn't told him that yet.

Geralt stared after her until she disappeared over the horizon, then turned to Jaskier. "I don't need a babysitter," he grunted.

Jaskier chuckled and leaned against a tree. "So says you, but I'm not leaving. You've barely slept a wink in a month, Geralt. At the very least, I need to make sure you don't topple into the water and drown in a mere inch of it."

Geralt rolled his eyes, but didn't protest anymore. He knew he would only be wasting his breath. Instead, he threw his makeshift net into the water, hoping to dredge up the clay amphora the djinn was supposedly caged in.

Jaskier stayed where he was, narrowing his eyes critically. "Is that really going to work?" he wondered.

Geralt shrugged. "It might. I've never tried to find a djinn like this before. Most witchers never get to fight one, thankfully. They're fierce opponents."

"We're not, uh, planning to fight it, are we?"

"No, not at all. But it should be retrieved before someone wreaks havoc with it."

"And we're not using the wishes?"

Geralt paused and glanced over his shoulder at the bard, licking his lips and staying silent.

"Ah. I see. And what are you going to wish for, Geralt?"

"Would you believe me if I said I hadn't thought about it?" Geralt responded heavily.

He had, of course. But none of the conclusions he'd arrived at seemed satisfactory.

"Not if I lived for a million years," Jaskier replied nonchalantly, then tilted his head curiously. "What kinds of wishes can a djinn grant, anyway?"

"They can grant any wish, in theory."

"In theory?"

"Your sister is right. A djinn is a volatile creature. They can have their own unique interpretations of what you wish for. And there are those who think that the magic they use to grant their wishes renders them... false, in a way, if that makes sense," Geralt clarified.

"False?"

"Are you going to just repeat words I've already said back at me?" Geralt chided him casually.

"You're fishing, I'm fishing. Methods are different, results are the same," Jaskier drawled.

"That's what you think," Geralt muttered.