Silver Tongue - The Witcher | Geralt of Rivia

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"Food, women and wine, Geralt!" Geralt stopped as Jaskier called out after him in a final and successful attempt to catch his attention. Myrcella let out an uninterested huff of air.

"Men."

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Jaskier watched as Geralt sat in a wooden tub, clearly enjoying himself as Myrcella scrubbed him clean of selkimore guts with an old cloth. It had been months since he'd last seen them, but it was obvious that they'd grown closer since then.
Myrcella smiled as Geralt let out a satisfied groan as she washed his hair, massaging his head in the process.

"I'm sorry. But I have to go and get ready soon." She apologised as she moved on and began scrubbing his shoulders and back. "Why? Get ready for what?" Jaskier asked confused noticing Geralt's dismayed expression.

"The whole reason we're in Cintra is because Myrcella has a friend here." The way he said it might have slipped Myrcella as she concentrated on removing the grime that seemed to stick to his skin, but Jaskier was sure about what he'd heard in his voice.

That was jealousy.

"A friend?" Jaskier pried suggestively. Myrcella chuckled noticing how he'd emphasised the word 'friend'. "Some old acquaintances and very important allies. It's a special occasion and I promised I'd be there as a guest of honour of sorts." She explained.

Jaskier looked to be in deep thought before his eyes lit up in realisation and he smiled cheekily. Myrcella had no idea why. "Hm.. You know what, I can wash him, go get ready for your friend. I have some plans for Geralt and I anyway." The bard mused seeming very satisfied with whatever it was he'd planned.

Jaskier smiled as Geralt sat, watching disappointedly as Myrcella got up with a nod and walked out, to get ready for meeting with her friend. Geralt grunted.

He's definitely not happy that she's dressing up for someone else. Jaskier thought to himself smirking. Though the bard did understand where the witcher was coming from, he also knew something his friend didn't which eased his mind considerably.

"Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?" Jaskier tried lightening Geralt's mood.

"I'm not your friend."

Jaskier looked at him offended, not frightened by the deadly glare he was recieving at the moment. "Oh. Oh, really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?" Geralt stayed silent and just kept glaring at him. "–Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That's what I thought. Every lord, knight and two-penny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier's triumphant performance!" Jaskier announced dreamily.

"How many of these lords want to kill you?"

Jaskier shrugged. "Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.." Geralt scowled making Jaskier look at him excitedly. "–Ooh, yeah, that face! Ohh! Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you're standing next to me with a puss like that." Geralt grabbed his beer from beside the tub, but Jaskier quickly took it away earning another deadly glare. "Ohh, on second thought.. might wanna lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best."

Geralt groaned annoyed. "I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I'm not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men." Jaskier waved the witcher off rolling his eyes. "Yes, yes, yes.. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time." Geralt frowned, he simply couldn't bother actually arguing with the bard about this. "Uhg. Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crochety and cantankerous? Actually, I've always wanted to know, do witchers ever retire?"

Geralt huffed amused by his question. "Yeah. When they slow and get killed."

"Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster-hunting nonsense is over with." Jaskier egged him on hoping to get a very specific answer about a very specific ship maybe catching wind in its sails. "I want nothing." Geralt answered honestly.

"Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you." Jaskier tried again. Geralt looked at him annoyed. Why was this so important to him? Geralt wondered. "I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me." He sighed at last hoping that this would satisfy the bard and stop his endless pestering.

Jaskier looked at Geralt somewhat hurt, not on his own behalf, he couldn't care less right now, but he certainly was glad that Myrcella had left when she did. "I think that ship has already sailed my friend."

"What do you mean?" Geralt asked utterly confused. Had the bard finally lost his last marble? He wondered. "You know who I mean." Jaskier said simply.

It was brief, but the pale green-blue eyes that popped up in his mind and the strong lingering memory of a certain scent were enough to plant the seed of doubt Jaskier had hoped for. "Hm." Geralt simply grumbled before glancing around the room. "Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?"

"Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in selkiemore guts, so I sent them away to be washed.." Jaskier said hesitantly before regaining his confidence. "–Anyway, you're not going tonight as a witcher."

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