Life's One Blessing (The Witcher fanfic)

Chapter 1: Along came this song

Geralt was scowling into his beer when the first strums of a lute played. There was nothing wrong with his ale, the pub, or his welcome there. The songs Jaskier had written of him had been surprisingly effective in changing public opinions about witchers and about Geralt in particular, even if it had taken years. He was the Butcher of Blaviken no more, except to some drunken boor every once in a while. Now he was the White Wolf, as Jaskier had coined him for his hair and the Wolf medal on his chest. 

Hence his scowling. It had become well known that Jaskier was his barker, and braver souls at each tavern he ventured in kept asking Geralt if the bard was with him. They learned quickly not to ask.

At the first sounds of the lute, Geralt's head swung up. His eyes found a blond, plump peacock in a maroon doublet, and he went back to scowling at his beer.

The bard beamed at his unimpressed audience. "Thank you, my good fellows! I have a treat for you today! A new song by the Continent's most famous bard, Jaskier!" The crowd cheered with surprising enthusiasm.

Geralt's chest felt funny suddenly, and he thumped at it warningly.

The bard strummed his instrument again and launched into the song. Geralt listened and grew increasingly puzzled. It didn't sound at all familiar. The song was about a witcher and a siren, and Geralt hadn't encountered one of those during his travels with Jaskier. Was Jaskier reduced to making things up about him, now that they had parted ways?

But then the song's witcher, "lithe and limber," stepped into the light, revealing "skin of glowing copper", "gleaming curls of umber," and a "rakish smile." Geralt was busy rolling his eyes at Jaskier's flowery style when the words sank in. Geralt's skin was snowy white, his hair silver, and his frame big and bulky.

Jaskier had written a song about some other witcher.

The glass in Geralt's hand cracked, and he unclenched with a grunt. He drowned the rest of his ale and stomped upstairs, unable to articulate even to himself why he was so upset.

That damn song followed him wherever he went. Then, two weeks later at another pub, he heard another new song by Jaskier, performed by yet another bard who wasn't him. It was a thrilling tune about the curly-haired witcher, full of admiration and near embarrassing descriptions about the handsome witcher with a silver cat medal.

A Cat witcher. Geralt's angry growl made the inn patrons scatter. Even though he had already paid for a room, Geralt went upstairs, got his things, and demanded a refund for the room. The innkeeper took one look at Geralt's stormy face and paid without complaint.

An hour later, Geralt was sitting in his camp chewing on a strip of dry jerky, refusing to think about why he had left a perfectly fine inn and its promise of a hot meal and comfortable bed. By the time he settled into his bedroll, he had made up his mind. He was going to find Jaskier. He wasn't safe with a Cat, lyrical evidence to the contrary.

Three weeks later, Geralt had to venture into another inn. He had been following a rumor that Jaskier was in Skellige, of all places, and he had been making his way in a westerly direction, straying from his path only by urgent demands for his services. He had been camping as much as possible rather than risk staying at an inn and hearing another upsetting song. He'd only ventured into inns and taverns for a warm meal and to see if there were any new rumors about Jaskier. 

But now he was covered in kikimore blood and in dire need of a bath. The guts would be a nuisance to wash off his hair. He refused to think about soft, clever hands or Jaskier's fond admonishes as he used to wash the gunk away.

An hour later, he was on his way to the stables to check that Roach was comfortable for the night. As he passed through the inn's common room, he heard another strange bard singing the first song Geralt had heard about a strange witcher, and Geralt hurried out. "Fucking Cats."