The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Seventeen

Dol Blathanna, 1240

Jaskier was tweaking the song, leaning against a tree and strumming his lute while Robin gathered provisions for their dinner. There was no game in the area, but Geralt had found some eggs, and they still had some supplies left from their stay in Lyria. She was making a jerky, vegetable, and egg hash to go with the remainder of their bread and cheese.

Geralt had just finished brushing Roach down, so he wandered over to join Robin. He sat next to her, smoothing a few tendrils of loose hair out of her face and studying the mark on her cheek from when she'd been hit earlier.

She smiled. "I'm all right, Geralt," she assured him.

"Hm," he growled deep in his chest. "I still wish I could have stopped it from happening."

"It was our fault," she said, arching an eyebrow at Jaskier. "We shouldn't have been following you."

"But what an adventure we got out of it, eh?" Jaskier replied nonchalantly, strumming loudly and grinning.

Geralt shrugged, much to Robin's surprise. "We weren't that far from the road," he observed. "They would have taken us all anyway."

"See, dear sister? No harm, no foul," Jaskier brushed her off.

"Still. You need to be more careful in the future, Jaskier. You could really get hurt next time. We were lucky," she protested sternly.

Geralt traced the edges of her mark with his finger and glanced at the bard. "Your sister is right, Jaskier. Usually, I face much more dangerous things."

Jaskier sat up and put his lute aside. "Are you telling me that you really never watch?" he asked incredulously. "You're missing all the excitement."

"I prefer being alive to being excited," Robin informed him matter-of-factly.

"Being alive is severely overrated at times," Jaskier quipped, winking at her.

She shook her head at him affectionately as Geralt laughed.

"Maybe I should write a song about the two of you," Jaskier mused, steering the conversation in a different direction.

"It wouldn't be a very interesting song," Robin pointed out.

"Wouldn't it?" Jaskier wondered. "It sounds like a fantastic love story. A taciturn old witcher and a lovely young mage meet while fighting zombies, then he cruelly rejects her plea for help. But in the end, he cannot resist the damsel, so he returns to save her from an angry mob. And, despite brief resistance, they both fall for each other. It has a bit of everything, including a healthy dose of jealousy and protectiveness on the part of your man here."

"We're not in love, Jaskier," Robin corrected him. "We're, well, lovers, I suppose, but I wouldn't even use that word. It's not a relationship the way you mean it."

Geralt was purposely averting his gaze from the bard's. He licked his lower lip as she explained.

Several days ago, her detachment would have pleased him. Now he found that its impersonal nature bothered him.

"Is she right, Geralt?" Jaskier prodded, trying to sound innocent and utterly failing.

"Of course she is," he agreed shortly.

"Hm. Interesting. So all of that jealousy on display at the inn? What was that, then?"

Robin fixed Jaskier with a look in an attempt to get him to stop talking.

The corner of Geralt's mouth twitched. He didn't have a very good explanation for his behavior, truthfully. It had been instinctual, and though he'd always made it a point to protect those who needed protecting, it was different with her.