The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Fifty-Nine

"All right, I'll clarify," Jaskier offered. "If you wished for someone to love you, for instance?"

Geralt straightened, bristling visibly at the suggestion. "Those who doubt would suggest that the love would not be real," he ground out through clenched teeth. "And I think we should stop talking about this now."

"Suit yourself," Jaskier agreed easily.

After a few more unsuccessful casts of the net and moments of silence, Jaskier spoke again. "I don't mean to play priest's ear or anything, but has it occurred to you that maybe we're merely rubbing salve on a tumor?" he suggested. "Not exactly addressing the root cause of the problem? Hm? I mean, maybe, just... just maybe, this whole sleeplessness-ness has got something to do with..."

Geralt rounded on the bard, his eyes wide and angry. Jaskier quickly redirected. "With what the druid Mousesack said to you in Cintra?" he finished.

The Child of Surprise was still a concern, obviously, though not his primary one.

Geralt stalked a few yards down the bank to cast his net elsewhere. Jaskier followed, keeping up his running monologue since the witcher had apparently decided to give him the silent treatment.

"You know, the Law of Surprise?" he reminded the witcher. "Destiny? Being unable to escape the child that belongs to you, et cetera, et cetera?"

"No!" Geralt finally snapped. "It's not that. And stop talking to me about destiny. There's only one destiny I want, and I can't have it."

"Really, now?" Jaskier asked curiously. "And what destiny is that?"

Geralt closed his eyes and shook his head. He said far too much when he was tired, especially around the bard. When he was tired and couldn't sleep, Robin was quiet and soothing and didn't bother him. Jaskier just kept talking, and eventually it made one feel compelled to respond.

"It's nothing," Geralt replied shortly.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Jaskier agreed. "But what if you're not?"

Geralt gave the bard a withering look and cast the net into the murky water again.

"You know," Jaskier continued, "the Countess de Stael, my muse and beauty of this world, once said to me that destiny is just the embodiment of the soul's desire to grow. That was before she finally dismissed me for good, the last time we were in the area. Apparently I'm not around enough. Imagine that. It was just so cold and unexpected," he rambled, getting off on a tangent. "I fear I shall die a brokenhearted man."

Geralt was tired of controlling himself. He was tired, he was annoyed, and Jaskier wouldn't stop prattling. He knew he'd get a talking to from Robin later, but he just wanted the man to shut up.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He got mean.

"Did you sing to her before she left?"

Jaskier paused for a moment. Geralt's voice was low and menacing. He hadn't heard it directed at him in that way for a long while.

"I did, actually," he confirmed, "and she..." The bard suddenly realized what Geralt meant and straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why, what are you implying?"

Geralt huffed and looked in the other direction.

"Oh," Jaskier laughed bitterly. "We are so having this conversation. Come on, Geralt. Tell me. Be honest. How's my singing?"

He knew what Geralt was doing. He knew the witcher was only trying to get under his skin. But he still couldn't help rising to the bait, even after all this time.