The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Sixty-Five

Vengerberg, 1257

"And they say that one must not touch a witcher," the priest proclaimed, "or else they will acquire mange."

Geralt rolled his eyes. Robin leaned back in her seat, resting against his muscled arm and purposefully playing with his hair so that the priest's eyes bugged out of his head.

"And lasses should be hidden from them," he continued, raising his voice, "for they are lustful above all measure."

Jaskier nodded thoughtfully. "Quite correct, spot on. He deflowered her, you know."

Robin giggled as the innkeeper hurried over. "Time to go home, Father," he urged the man, then turned to them. "My apologies. He gets overzealous when he's in his cups."

Geralt waved the apology away dismissively. "Just bring the drinks I requested, please. I could use one after that."

Then he lifted Robin right off of her chair and onto his lap. She curled up, putting one arm around his neck, her other hand resting against his chest.

Jaskier smiled. Ever since Rinde, Geralt had been more or less back to his jovial self, but his sister was skating on the edge of pretending, and he didn't like it. He knew she was working hard to become stronger, but he also knew she was almost at her limit, and he didn't want her to push herself too far. So when she had these little moments of happiness, he was glad to see them.

The innkeeper brought back ale for the bard and the witcher, setting the flagons down in front of them. "And cider for the lady," he announced, setting down the last flagon before leaving.

Jaskier took a long drink, then glanced at Robin. "You know, I can't believe I haven't asked this, considering it's been, what, eighteen years, but why don't you drink, sister?"

"I prefer to keep my faculties about me at all times, especially with you two around," she retorted, winking at him.

"Touché," Jaskier answered, raising his glass. "I'll drink to that."

"It's actually just because I don't like it, Jas," she laughed, shaking her head at him. Then she tilted it curiously. "Although, now that I think about it, I never told you that, Geralt." She glanced up at him. "Yet you never ordered any for me. Not even the first time we were at an inn together."

He grinned as he fondly remembered that first time, then tapped the side of his nose with a finger. "Never smelled any lingering alcohol on you," he explained. "Plus you're so tiny that I figured you were a lightweight."

Jaskier spit out ale as Robin poked Geralt playfully. The witcher laughed and squeezed her, kissing her forehead as she pretended to pout.

"Do you two know how cute you are?" Jaskier drawled. "Buttons should be jealous."

Robin blushed and kissed Geralt's cheek, then buried her face in his neck.

She fell asleep not long after. Geralt kept her in his arms for the rest of the night. He was more and more unwilling to let her go lately.

Jaskier hoped it meant that he was close to realizing his feelings and opening up, but only time would tell.