Life's One Blessing (The Witcher fanfic)

Chapter 4: They kicked in my teeth

"Fucking mutant," the biggest guy in the tavern muttered as Geralt walked by. He heard a loud intake of breath from beside him and braced for impact.

"What did you call him?" Jaskier demanded, turning toward the guy, almost toppling over in his haste.

By the time Geralt had returned from his contract, Jaskier had already been well in his cups. The town was small and mean, set at the end of a narrow offshoot trail from the main road, and Jaskier had clearly given up performing as a lost cause. Looking at the surly clientele, Geralt could see that there was no love for bards here. He was, frankly, lucky that they had paid him for killing the ghoul. It wouldn't be the first time they good townsfolk had refused him payment in towns like this.

When Geralt had come down after his bath, Jaskier had greeted him loudly, throwing his arm around Geralt's shoulders, swearing eternal friendship. It was the first time Jaskier had willingly touched Geralt since their reunion, and Geralt's relief had led to more drinks. And here they were: Jaskier throwing all caution to the wind when he heard someone insult Geralt. Again.

Geralt felt equal amounts of fondness and exasperation. "Jaskier, let's just go."

"Geralt, let me deal with this," Jaskier said, the same slightly hurt look on his face as he had every time he heard someone insult Geralt. He turned back to the loudmouth and one look at the sneering face of the guy made Jaskier puff up like a bullfrog. "You knave! You thrice-cursed poxy son of a cur! Apologize to my friend," Jaskier demanded, gesturing wildly at Geralt and almost punching him in the nose. "He's a fine fellow, much finer than you, you inbred lout." 

Jaskier's vocabulary had unfortunately not suffered from the alcohol. Even though he was starting to slur his words, the lout had no trouble understanding that he was being insulted. With a bellow of rage, the man charged Jaskier, only to run into the immovable force of Geralt. Stepping between Jaskier and danger was a well-honed instinct by now.

Unfortunately, the threat made Jaskier throw himself wildly back, lose his balance, and fall. Grappling with the lout, Geralt couldn't reach him in time. "Jaskier!" 

But Geralt could only watch as Jaskier thunked his head on the edge of a bar table. 

The lout's friends at the table laughed and jeered at the spectacle. "The witcher's little whore can't even fight. No wonder he's tagging after the mutant," one of the friends sneered, confident in their numbers.

Geralt growled and swung a punch before he could think better of it.

He never threw the first punch. The image of witchers, and Geralt in particular, was much improved by Jaskier's years' long work, and beating up humans would just make a mockery of his efforts. Now, though, the fist connected with a satisfying crack and threw the foul-mouthed friend flat on his back.

"That's enough!" a bellow from the innkeeper halted the brawl before it fully began. "Marcus, get out, take your friends with you, and sober up. I don't want to see you in here for a week, you hear me?"

"You would take the side of that mutant and his — " the first lout began. The warning growl from Geralt, made the lout pull up short when he suddenly realized that Geralt was much bigger and much angrier than he had thought.

"I said enough! That's a fine way to talk about the witcher who killed that grave hag today. What's wrong with you?" It had been a ghoul, but Geralt appreciated the support.

The men left muttering curses, two of them carrying the man Geralt had punched between them. "This isn't over, witcher," the first man promised, throwing Geralt a dirty look from a safe distance.

The innkeeper scowled. "Trouble makers, always have been. Now take your... friend upstairs and be gone by morning."

Geralt grunted his thanks and lifted Jaskier into a bridal carry. He took long strides toward the stairs, looking at Jaskier anxiously now that the immediate threat was over.