The sun had reached the top of the sky and was already on its way down by the time you came across the village. You counted approximately eleven times that Jaskier had asked Geralt to get on his horse — Roach — but to no avail. Now, the three of you were on foot with Geralt guiding Roach in front of you and through the village.
To say you were more relaxed was a bit of an overstatement.
Getting out of the city allowed your shoulders to lessen their tension, and you didn't even mind that your hood was a bit further back than usual. But whenever you went into these villages, you were alone. You could walk around with barely a worry, the people around you not sparing you a glance. But now, with a witcher and a flashy bard, all eyes were on you.
By the time you made it to the small, smelly tavern, your ears were somewhat used to the whispers.
Geralt walked right up to the counter, where an older man was wiping down the surface with what looked like an already dirty cloth. The tavern had a few people littered around it, but it was still quite early.
"Got any rooms?" You peeked through the space between Geralt and Jaskier to peer at the man. He was frowning already — not a good sign.
"Barely. And definitely not..." He passed his eyes over all of you. "Three."
"No, we only need one."
That changed the man's face. His eyebrows shot up, then quickly back down, a confused expression soon wafted away with a shrug.
"Fine by me. How much coin you got?"
This time, Jaskier answered. "How much do you need?"
"You bunch look like trouble." He tilted his chin up. "So...double."
"Double—"
"We'll take it." You shoved your way to the front, grabbing a bit of Jaskier's arm in a pinch. He winced, turning to you with a hurt expression, but reached into his coin pouch nonetheless.
After he paid the tavern owner, he went to put his coin purse away, but you tightened your grip. "Actually, we were going to get some food as well."
"We were?"
You ignored him and spoke through a synthetic smile. "Been traveling for quite a while. Food could do us some good."
Despite his bitter tone, the man seemed to lower his guard at your change in tactics. "Could do us all some good, I reckon."
"What've you got?" Geralt asked.
"Again, not much. But if you're paying, we've got enough."
You all turned to Jaskier, who still held his relatively hefty coin pouch. He looked back at you, and at the sight of your quirked eyebrow, he groaned.
"Fine, fine." Again, he slammed the coin on the table, muttering as he put it away. "We'll have that brought to our room, thank you."
You flinched just as the man let out a cold laugh. "To your room." He crossed his arms over his chest, his face back to a scowl. "What am I, your servant? Does this look like those fancy places you pay to shine your bloody shoes as you step into a warm bath?"
You stepped forward again, this time in front of Jaskier. The man's scowl turned to you, barely lessening his glare.
"Sir, excuse my...partner. He isn't right in the head after our trip here. Probably the lack of food—" You leaned forward and placed a hand to the side of your mouth to block Jaskier's view, "Which lead to a lack of manners." When the man let out a dry laugh, you stepped back. "We'll be fine at a table."
"Sure you will." And with that, the man shook his head and walked into the back room.
How these two ever survived on the road was a mystery to you. You assumed they had experience in small villages like this, especially because they traveled together often. How those trips went, you didn't want to know. This was already toeing the line of being a disaster, and it had just begun.
Geralt took a seat at the counter, barely looking at the two of you. "I'll wait here for the food."
Fair enough. You practically dragged Jaskier with you to an empty table, not that they were hard to find. It was a weird time between the usual lunch and dinner rush hours, so not many people were accompanying you at the tavern. Either way, the village was quite small and you doubted it would be crowded in the first place.
You sat down across from Jaskier, keeping an eye on the main door. Even though the coast seemed clear now, you didn't want to take any chances. But of course, Jaskier was there to distract you.
He was staring at you again, but this time with a small smile. It was infuriating.
You couldn't help the sharpness of your voice, "What."
"You know, maybe after all of this assassin stuff, you should be an actress."
You couldn't hold back a snort. But in an instant, your smile faltered. Rauf said something similar to you the night you got this assignment. The night where all you wanted to do was kill the man in front of you. And now...well, you were far from that.
You settled on a shrug.
Surely Jaskier knew something was on your mind; by now, he was used to the way you tensed up whenever you actually felt comfortable, how whenever the slightest amount of genuine emotion peeked out you immediately shut it down. So, naturally, he decided to push you further.
"Why do you kill, anyway?"
Your eyes snapped back to him. You supposed a question like this was coming, as it usually did. But something about him asking it was surprising. Like maybe...he was better than that.
You shook your head at the thought. Better than what? Every other person who didn't understand the life you lead? It wasn't uncommon, and it shouldn't have disappointed you in the slightest.
But it did.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well," he placed his palms flat on the table. "I know you said you kill people who are...monsters. But...why?"
You reached for the knife on your wrist, dragging a finger along its sheath. "I was taught every person has a monster inside of them, waiting to snap. Some people never do. Others...kill their wives and sell their children. Or other variants."
"Yes, I understand that." You looked back up at him, where he was staring at you intently. "But why."
His eyes were focused on you, and only you. It made you straighten your posture, roll back your shoulders. You knew why. Of course you knew why. And your first instinct was to just tell him. What's a sad back story if it doesn't get told? But your second instinct, the one Rauf's voice controlled, was telling you to keep your mouth shut.
This time, you listened. "I don't know."
"Hm," Jaskier sat back in his chair, continuing to look you over with his infuriatingly casual curiosity. "How strange."
"What?"
"From what I understand, when you look at people, you see...sin. Monsters. But I see...stories." His eyes shifted just past your head, focusing on something behind you. He jutted his chin out. "Him. What do you see when you look at him?"
You sighed, but twisted in your seat to look behind you. You assumed he was talking about the man in the back of the tavern, sitting alone. The man's eyes were stuck to his glass, which held barely any liquid. He had what you assumed was the rest of his coin laid out on the table — definitely not enough to pay for more alcohol.
You turned back to Jaskier. "I see a sad old man."
"Right, but—" He looked past you again, this time taking in the old man's features himself. Then, he turned back to you. "Look at his hands. Those are a poet's hands — worn from hours of writing of longing and heartbreak. I would know."
You snorted, but decided to let him continue.
"He was a poet, a good one at that. One who was just gaining popularity from the masses. He was striving— until he lost his muse. A terrible accident, I suppose. Perhaps in a shipwreck—"
You snorted again. "Or a bandit attack."
He practically jumped up in his seat. "Now you're getting it!" You couldn't help the twitch of a smile as he leaned forward. "Maybe in his life he stole some things — a quill for his poetry, a ring for his love — but that was just one small part of his life."
You considered the bard. His eyes were sparkling once again, and he smiled back at you with sincerity.
"Surely you don't think every crime is inexcusable."
"Of course not. But sometimes the...otherwise seen as, monstrous things we do...are just one chapter in our books."
Just then, a plate of food was slammed on the table between you two — Geralt settled in the spot next to Jaskier, barely realizing the conversation he just interrupted.
But seemingly, so did Jaskier. His attention was now on the food in front of him. "That's what 50 coin got us?"
Geralt nodded. "Looks like it."
Jaskier only mumbled his curses, resorting to eating the food even though he was vexed as he did so. It didn't take long for the three of you to finish it all, though you had soon found that your appetite was gone. Perhaps it was what Julian had said to you — though, you would hate to admit it, he often surprised you; where you expected him to be like everyone else, he changed his tune and left you...virtually speechless. You didn't know if you hated it or enjoyed it, but either way, it made you uncomfortable.
You were all ready to retire to the room, but none of you verbalized it. At that point, you were just sitting there and staring at each other, almost daring the others to get up first. In your defense, you just didn't want to have to spend another day holed up in a room, though you knew you had no other choice.
That was before the man came into the tavern.
He was distraught, to say the least. His eyes were sunken in, the bags under them showing he hadn't gotten sleep in...maybe days. He was holding a small stack of parchments with a shaky hand, the desperation seeping off of him like the stench of alcohol.
It was a mistake to look at him long enough that he caught your eye. You turned away, knowing it was probably too late.
"Excuse me." He was standing at the edge of your table, his features more prominent now that he was up close. He was looking at you with his pleading eyes, and you couldn't help but look away.
Jaskier waved him off. "We don't have any spare coin, good sir."
"No, I...that's not what I need." You looked back up in time to see he was looking at Geralt. "You have two swords. Are you...a witcher?"
"Why yes, yes he is!" Jaskier perked up; his bright smile was unsettling for once in this atmosphere — it was the direct opposite of whatever this man was feeling.
"Oh, thank the gods. I need your assistance."
"Sorry, can't help you."
You frowned. Geralt turning down a job didn't seem normal. To be fair, you barely knew him, but still. You guessed he declined because of Jaskier's situation, but then again, this man was clearly in a hardship.
Your own voice surprised yourself. "What's the problem?"
The man turned to you again, relief filling his features. He reached into his pile and pulled out a single parchment, placing it on the table in front of you.
"It's my daughter. She's missing."
Your eyes narrowed at the sketch in front of you. It was the same one you saw at Novigrad on the notice board. The young girl made of charcoal looked back at you with a sad expression.
You had to tear your eyes away. "I saw this poster in Novigrad. Are you from the city?"
The man shook his head. "No. I live in a small cabin just outside of the village, near the river. I'm a fisherman. My brother lives closer to the city — I had him hang up some posters there."
He wasn't from the city, meaning he was practically harmless. Well, you didn't know of his past, but at least you knew he probably wasn't an assassin.
You shifted in your seat. "How long has she been missing?"
"Around three days." He must have noticed the tension around your table; his voice was at the brink of begging for help. "Please, I've tried everything. I...I don't have much, but I can pay you."
You bit your lip. It took everything within you to not jump on this assignment. If it had been three days, the young girl was either being held captive...or she was dead. But her father was desperate, like any good father would be. Even finding out what happened to her would be better than letting him suffer at the end of each day, not knowing why his daughter was gone.
"I think we can help you." Your head shot up at the sound of Jaskier's voice. Jaskier. Of the three of you, he was not the one you expected to want to help someone else. But when you shifted your gaze to him, he was already looking at you. He winked, then turned to Geralt. "Right, Geralt?"
The witcher grunted and grabbed the parchment that was laid in front of you. You and Jaskier shared a glance before turning back to him, waiting to see his response.
He looked up at the father, whose hands were holding the rest of his parchments with a nervous grip. "Where was the last place you saw her?"