betterbards

[betterbards]

The Summer Knight: Chapter 7

Read the full work here

Geralt detested summer. Alone, the heat, the damp, the bugs, were annoying; together were unbearable. Unlike winter there was no escape. There was no equivalent of a warm meal and a cozy fire. It was just hot, sticky, and smelled oh so foul.

Geralt had been under no illusions when he began his quest. If the Queen of Summer couldn’t locate the mantel, then this task was formidable—if not completely impossible. Still, he had no other option. That idiot bard was probably making deals left and right. Probably out there selling every facet of body and soul. Hell, by the time Geralt got to him there would be nothing left.

The lands of summer were brimming with life and with it, danger. Any plant could be carnivorous. Any music was a potential sirens song leading one off the path. Without the mantel, the denizens of summer treated him like an outsider. While the noble fae knew of his impending title and mainly kept their distance, the lesser fae were unconcerned with the politics of the courts and would attack without regard. Hacking through the underbrush took time, defending himself took time, and interviewing unhelpful fae took time. All of it was time Jaskier didn’t have.

The current Summer Knight was a master of the Chaos in his own right. He was an illusionist of the highest level. That functionally translated to ‘a huge pain in the ass’. The man was a ghost. It was usually easy to get the fae to talk, as getting a fae to shut up was a more impressive feat. Still, there were no reports. No one had seen the Knight in ages.

So Geralt walked. He trudged through the border towns between summer and winter. He talked to locals, did odd jobs for food, drink, and a bath. The fae were less wary of him that humans tended to be. He kept to himself. Geralt preferred the solitude to the honeyed half-truths. It was similar to the life he lived in the mortal realms.

His anxiety built over the months. Every new town was much like the last and he was getting no closer to the Summer Knight. He was running in circles.

One sweltering morning, he arrived at a border town in desperate need of a bath and laundry. His armor was a swamp and he had sweat through the last of his shirts. After a week without stopping, Geralt could no longer stand the smell of himself.

The inn was lively and the inn keeper was more than pleased to offer a mortal a room for free. Geralt insisted he pay, not wanting to owe anyone a favor.

It took a few days for his clothes to completely dry in the humidity. He stayed holed up in his room. The Fae might not have a concept of modesty, but Geralt certainly did. He took meals upstairs and convinced himself that he didn’t miss idle conversation. During the nights, he could hear the inn bard through the thin walls. A flutist, by the sound. They were good, not great, and it only made that dull ache sharper.

After a few nights stay, Geralt awoke ready to restart his search. He had planned to leave at dawn, but the heat had kept him up that night and the sun was already high in the sky. He stretched out and massaged old wounds, ready for more weeks on the road. Geralt grabbed his pack and stripped the linens for the innkeeper and headed out to try to find a lead.

He paused when he reached the door.

It was quiet downstairs. The inn had never been anything short of a rumpus. Geralt felt his senses sharpening. How had he not noticed before? At this rate, he would get himself killed before finding the mantel.

He came down the stairs cautiously. There was no sense sneaking, the building was old and the steps creaked under his weight.

The bar was empty, save for the cowering inn keeper and the great horned woman with raven wings sitting at a long table, looking like she owned the place.

“Witcher! Good of you to join us.” Yen called out with no attempt to mask her indulgence in his fear. “Care for breakfast? Esmund over there made us the loveliest spread.” She popped a dark red strawberry in her mouth.

Despite himself, Geralt relaxed. “Scaring the locals again, Lady Fall?” He didn’t take a seat but grabbed some smoked meats and a custard tart for his travels.

She rolled her eyes, “Please, it’s not my fault that Summer Fae are so weak. So how have you been? Any luck? I see that you still don’t have the mantel.”

Geralt stiffened. “No leads, yet.”

Yen didn’t try to hide her smile. “That’s a pity. I know how much you must care for your bard. The Queen has been rather patient with you, especially after you kept her waiting for so long.”

“Good luck with your business here. I’m heading out.”

“You are my business.”

Geralt started to head for the door, turning his back to Yen and giving a sympathetic nod towards the inn keeper.

“I have information for you.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks. “I have been searching for a year, Yennifer.” He growled, the hurt seeping into his voice as his hand went to his iron blade.

“Careful, Witcher,” He could feel the telltale crackle of Lady Fall’s magic. His hand stayed on the grip, but he made no move to unsheathed the weapon. “The Queen bid me to help you. Here I am.”

“Do you know where he is, or not?”

“The Summer Knight is good, But I’m better”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Take a seat, Geralt.”

Geralt took a calming breath. He weighed the options of letting Jaskier rot in Winter or swallowing his pride, and dropped his hand from his blade. He lumbered over attempting to not give Yen the satisfaction of him looking like a petulant child.

“What do you know?”

Yen grabbed another strawberry and chewed slowly, looking much like a cat playing with an ill-fated mouse. She dabbed her lips with a cloth. “I believe he is in Spring.”

“There is no Spring.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you think there is no Fall as well?”

Geralt conceded with a nod.

“Spring and Fall are liminal spaces. They act as borders between the kingdoms of Summer and Winter. They aren’t so much land, as space. The Summer Knight can’t enter or leave the bounds of Summer without the Queens consent, but I think with enough magic he could hide.”

“And you would know if he was hiding in Fall.” Geralt observed, leaning back in his chair.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Yen joked.  

“How do we get there.”

“I can get us to an access point about a day’s hike from here. We’ll want to camp before crossing, who knows what type of defenses that cretin cooked up.”

Geralt fixed her a hard glare, ”Why are you helping me, Yennifer,” He said, emphasizing her name.

She didn’t look up from her breakfast. “The reasons are my own. Leave it Witcher.”

He didn’t budge.

“Maybe I have grown soft in my old age”

He snorted.

“Let me do this for you,” She pressed, “You will regret making me beg.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and pulled a chair to eat breakfast at the table.  

---

 Hiking with Yen was surprisingly pleasant. A cool fall breeze poured off her and Geralt could catch a break from the heat when he marched close enough to the sorcerer. They made excellent time. None of the lesser fae made any attempts to attack with Lady Fall around. He was able to appreciate the sweeping landscapes and lush greenery without readying himself for the next attack.

 Of course, there were significant downsides as well. Yennifer wasn’t the conversationalist that Jaskier was, and neither knew how to talk to each other. It had been 50 years since their last falling out and Geralt didn’t know what to say. Sorry we were terrible together? I was young and dumb and you were an ancient Fae-being? Nothing seemed to fit. The settled on marching in silence.

They wound up a path through the mountains. Even at the higher elevation the air felt thick and stagnant with humidity. The shade from the trees offer little relief. Geralt hid his discomfort, opting for hiking ahead rather than invade Yen’s cool pocket of personal space.

They made camp before the summit. Yen said that there wasn’t much left and they should gather their strength for tomorrow. He had found a wide clearing with a rock formation that provided shelter on three sides. Geralt insisted that Yen take rock and he laid out his bedroll across the clearing.

They ate a quick meal of meats and fruits taken from breakfast. Neither said much. The tension from earlier was still there, thick and hot as the summer air. Gods it was dreadful.

Geralt made his excuses when night fell. It took all his self-control to remove himself from Lady Fall’s bubble of cool air. He had hoped there would be some relief as the sun set, but there was none to be found.

He settled in for the night, but sleep did not come. He pulled off his shirt to find some relief and was greeted by a swarm of tiny insects hell-bent on sucking him dry. It was nightmarish. He thought about Yen and the promise of Fall’s relief from a year of heat. It only made him hotter. Fuck, Geralt hated Summer.

“You know you can get closer to me. I won’t bite.” Yen’s voice cut through the night. She could probably smell him struggling.

Geralt huffed, “I thought fae didn’t lie.”

“I won’t bite you. Well, not unless you ask of course, but I think that ship has sailed.” He could feel her stare in the darkness, “Just come over here you insufferable ass. I won’t offer again.”

After swallowing his remaining pride, Geralt yielded. His skin peeled away from the bed roll as he sat up, wet with sweat and humidity. He packed up his stuff and slunk over to the other end of the clearing. The temperature dropped considerably as he crossed to Yennifer’s camp. A gentle wind caressed his face, making the air feel pleasant.

After a year of summer, that breeze was almost enough to make him cry.

He put down his bed roll at an appropriate distance away from Yen and laid down with his back to her, staring out into the dark forest. A moment later he could hear her shifting and felt a cold arm press up against him.

“You’re so warm. And sweaty,” She added, “but mostly warm.”

Geralt was about to move away but her voice stopped him. It was softer, more vulnerable than he had ever heard it.

He recoiled from touch more out of habit than preference. The Path was long and hard. A simple tap on the skin could turn into the kiss of a blade. It was safer to assume distance. Touching was intimate, intense. It overpowered his other senses and left him vulnerable.

But this was Yen, and after a year alone, he welcomed the contact. Geralt leaned back, allowing her to get closer.

They were both still for a moment. Geralt tried to focus on the otherworldly sounds of Faewild bugs and beasts as they sang in the dark forests surrounding them.

“The Summer Court is stifling, sweltering even” Yen broke their silence. “When I came to find you I thought I would be glad for the break. I didn’t think I would miss warmth, but here we are.” She was almost laughing now, “Gods I’m such an unbearable sap.” He could feel her shaking a bit, she might have even been crying.

He swallowed. “Is this about that Summer Court member? The woman?” He treaded carefully. Lady Fall has killed for less than prying into her personal life.

“Do you remember when we were together? I barley do. When I think back to it, it’s almost like watching a play. All we had was action and lust and rage,” She put her forehead to his arm. “Fate be damned; we were terrible together.”

Geralt stayed quiet.

“It’s amazing that we didn’t kill each other. That’s how it goes in epic mortal tales, right?”

“I knew I didn’t stand a chance.”

She laughed. “Well at least you aren’t as dumb as I thought.”

Geralt snorted and relaxed a bit. He allowed himself a long breath as he melted into Yens body. The excess heat and humidity summer turning to a crisp autumn night.

“When I first started seeing Marigold, I was terrified. You and I had managed to screw up fate’s perfect match, how was I going to find someone else? But she was insistent and I…” She trailed off.

While they had been together, they were never exclusive. Yen flitted about from realm to realm while he moved between mortal towns. She was a terrifying force of nature to most, but she had a soft spot for sweet things.

“You never were one to ignore a pretty face.” Geralt filled in.

Yen put her arm around him and cupped the swell of his breast. “No, I can’t,” She agreed. “But I usually get bored, or break it off before it gets complicated. Marigold is different. It’s quiet with her. There are no expectations, no thrilling adventures, we just love each other,” She squeezed Geralt a little tighter. “Fate cannot compare to peace.”

Geralt held her hand against his chest, “I am happy for you, Yen.”

A long moment passed, but it was a comfortable one. It was the most stillness either had experienced in a long while.

“I’ve missed you.” Yen’s voice was softer.

“Me too.” Geralt conceded. “This is nice, talking.”

“We didn’t do much of that, did we? It got in the way of all fighting.” She kissed him lightly on the back of the neck. His skin raised with goosebumps where her lips touched.

“And fucking.”

He could feel Yen roll her eyes. “And that. You seem better than when we were together. You definitely talk more.”

“I’m still not good at it.”

“Was that your bard’s work?”

Geralt stayed quiet.

“Tell me about him.” She pressed, changing the conversation.  

“There’s nothing to tell.” Geralt grumbled. “I was stupid and let him wander off into the Faewilds. It’s my responsibility to bring him back.” He had been rehearsing this answer. There had been no thought when he jumped in after Jaskier. There was no plan or reason. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for that dolt and it scared him.

Yen poked him hard in the side. “Oh cut it out. You have been trudging through the backwoods of Summer for a year and sold your soul to a Fae queen. I’m not dumb enough to believe there is nothing, but apparently you are.”

“He’s just someone I’ve known for a while.”

“How long have you been together.”

Geralt snorted. “Drop it, Yen.”

“I’m just saying, that love doesn’t have to be a hard complicated thing. Love can be built; it can be quiet. If you have found peace in that bard, then don’t turn away. You deserve happiness Geralt, we both do.”

Geralt remained silent for a long while after that. He could feel the tears stream down his face, unwanted and unbidden. He didn’t fight them. For her part, Yen didn’t say anything. She continued to hold him, resting her forehead against his back.

“He doesn’t shut up.”

“What?”

“He’s not my quiet place.”

“Go to sleep, Geralt.”

-----------------------------------------

They crossed into Spring without fanfare.

When they reached the summit the next morning, Yen wasted little time taking in the scenery. The sun was about to rise from behind a nearby peak, casting a strange glow on the valleys blanketed with a thick fog. Geralt watched as Lady Fall closed her eyes. She raised her hands and he felt the crackle of magic and the smell of tart berries and crisp apples. A rush of cold air strong blew, strong enough to knock him off the mountain top. Geralt steadied himself on a nearby rock and when the air cleared he saw that they had been transported.

No, that wasn’t right. The world looked the same. The mountains and valleys a perfect overlay to the view from before. Instead of greens of full forests and underbrush, the mountains looked sparse. Fresh yellows and pinks dotted the landscape and branches reached up from the earth. There were patches of snow covering the hillsides.

Geralt shivered.

“Where now?”

Yen smoothed her hair and shook out her wings. She looked stern. “Slow down, Witcher. This will be harder than I thought,” she remarked, ignoring him and scrunching up her face.

“What?”

“Last time I came to Spring, it was a power vacuum. It was as easy to channel chaos here as in Summer. Not now--Something is fighting me.”

That probably didn’t bode well for getting the mantel.

Yen paced. Geralt watched as she made complicated motions with her hands, clicked her tongue, and tried again. Any vulnerability she demonstrated last night was locked under a cold shell of annoyance and efficiency. For his part, Geralt stayed quiet while she worked. Spring was frigid compared to Summer and he spent considerable energy keeping his teeth from chattering. Damn he fae realms and their temperature extremes.

“The Summer Queen appoints the Fall regent, while Winter appoints Spring,” She continued after a few minutes. “I was a member of the Winter Court until the Summer Queen and I struck a deal. I suspect that the Summer Knight could have done the same thing with Winter.”  

“Shit.”

“If he is Lord Fall, we don’t stand a chance on his territory. We will be lucky if I can get us back to Summer in one piece”

Geralt looked around. The forests were unmoving below them. The only sounds came from the morning air singing through the valleys and the migratory birds honking above. Nothing appeared to have sensed their arrival.

“Where is he then?”

“Close, but we are leaving.”

“I’m getting that mantel.”

“Did you hit your head?” She blinked, incredulously, “I said that facing The Summer Knight now is a death sentence. If you die there is no hope for your bard.”

He didn’t argue. Geralt turned heel and began heading down the mountain. He could hear Yen fuming behind him. After a few moments he heard the rustling of wings as she kept pace behind him.  

   It wasn’t long until they could see the outline of a cottage against the treeline. It was a small stone structure with a thatched roof surrounded by early gardens rising from the snow.  

Geralt smelled blood on the air. The tang cut through the clearing, sharp and metallic. He drew his weapon and ran forward, taking care to keep his steps light. His senses expanded as he scanned the horizon for movement. Nothing. The small hut looked quiet, smoke still rose from the chimney, but it was terribly still.

A small puff of vapor rose from his lips as he exhaled. He could hear Yen covering his back, her magic weaker than in Summer but its energy still stung his exposed skin.

For a moment, he thought he imagined the scent. Geralt cursed. Surely the Summer Knight would be aware of them now.  His eyes caught on a flower arrangement in front of the house. No that was wrong. It was too sparse, too unnatural.

Too human.

Geralt almost dropped his blade.

The Summer Knight was dead. The mantel of summer moss and fur at his feet.

The poor bastard had been out chopping wood, the axe was still in his hand. The carcass was supported by a young pussy willow that appear to have grown through him. Thousands of tiny shoots had emerged from the snow, piercing through his legs and snaked up his limbs. Intermittently some burst forth from the skin revealing crocuses, daffodils, and lilacs.

“What is this?” Geralt, whispered under his breath. He reached out to the macabre-topiary--There was no denying it beauty. He turned away and locked eyes with Yen, “This is bad.”

“Oh, really?” Yen snapped back. “Grab the mantel and let’s get out of here. Whatever has taken Spring is here and I won’t be able to save both of us if it shows up.”

He reached down to grab the mantel and went still. Geralt could make out a shape against the tree line.

It looked like a man, tall with antlers large enough to blend into the tree branched. Glowing eyes locked to his and widened with recognition.

He lowered himself into a defensive stance, trading the mantel for his iron blade, and readied himself as the beast stumbled out of the woods

[betterbards]

The Summer Knight 5/8

Read here on A03

Geralt had forgotten how truly horrible interplanar travel was. Lucky for him, it was all coming back up along with his lunch.

The world was spinning. No, it was twisting. Colors he couldn’t perceive, sounds and shapes with geometries unknown to the human mind needed to be packed down, wrangled, and reprocessed. It was too much too fast and Geralt dropped to his knees and retched like a dog.  

“Lovely,” Yenn regarded him with a dry voice, “It’s truly amazing how I ever succumbed to your charm.”

Achingly slow, Geralt’s vision began to focus. The contorting, twisting forms of the faeworld settled. His mind filled in the blanks so that again ground was dirt, and the grass was green.

“You approached me.” He huffed and wiped spit off his face. After a moment he pushed himself off the ground and adjusted to the new surroundings. The realm of Summer Court looked much like the old forests of his homeworld, though more inviting. Flowers bloomed on spiraling trees. The forest floor was clear of any brush, making it appear like a painting of a forest than reality. In many ways, this place was closer to a painting. Nothing was real and everything was designed to entice.

Geralt pulled his gaze away from the lush forest to regard the sorceress. Yennifer now stood eye level, the extra height added by her cloven hooves.

As much as he hated to admit it, Yennifer was more beautiful in her full fae form than her human one. Her heart shaped face was framed by a pair of twisting black antlers which spiraled backwards, creating sharp half circles. Vines grew upon them and it was impossible to distinguish where the fae ended and they began.  As a resident of the summer court, deep read Gooseberrys hung off the vines. Geralt knew that there was no fruit on earth that would taste as sweet—or kill him so quickly.

“Are you quite ready?” She said in huff. “Personally, I’m in no rush. Knowing Tissaia he probably already dead and, in that case, take your time. Your little bard isn’t going to get any less dead.”

Geralt didn’t respond.

“Oh come now, it was a joke.”

Geralt ignored her. “Where is your Queen?”

“Gods you are dull.” She searched the sky, shifting her weight from one hoof to the other. “They will be waiting for us, Her Majesty is eager to receive you.”

“Her Majesty? I didn’t think you would be one to bend the knee.”

Yennifer snorted. “Sadly it was a price I paid for freedom from Winter. I gave up her name and she got mine.”

“So you can’t say, ‘Calanthe Fiona Riannon’ anymore?”

Yennifer flinched, and spun to face Geralt. Her eyes were burning and Geralt was hit by a wave of cold. The air smelled of dying plants and sleeping trees, it smelled of fears of the approaching winter. Geralt’s hand went to his blade. “No, and if you know what’s good, you won’t either.” She turned away and continued walking while looking towards the sky.

They walked in silence after that. Any goodwill that had been built had vanished. Geralt knew better than to remind Yen of a weakness.  

Hours passed and he suppressed the urge to tell Yennifer to hurry. She was under no obligation to lead him the entire distance, and without a guide he was better off walking around blindfolded. At least he wouldn’t be tempted by the dripping syrup that clung to black trunks or large fruits that caused branches to droop down with their weight. Geralt was salivating and forced his attentions back to the road.

Do not stray, do not wander.

The trees began to grow taller, reaching towards each other like lovers long separated. Yen stopped in her tracks and peered into the space above them. Through the heavy summer haze, Geralt could just make out the silhouette of a palace, woven together with bark and vine. It sat suspended between four great trees hundreds of feet off the ground.

“How do we get up there?” Geralt grumbled, more to himself than to Yen.

He was answered by a great unfurling of raven’s wings.

“Please, Geralt. Have a little imagination.” Before he could react, Yen grabbed him by the armor straps and took off. Her powerful wings beat the air, launching them into the sky. He watched as the ground grew small below him. “Try not to squirm, I would hate to drop you.” Yen added gleefully.

After a truly humiliating experience, Yen dropped him gracelessly at the front doors. He landed on his feet and shot her a nasty look as she settled next to him, wings disappearing in her back.

“Warn me next time.”

“I’m not a carriage service. Besides, if you have the personality of a sack of potatoes, I’ll carry you like one.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and once again regretted his previous, and potential future, trysts with the harpy.

They were greeted by attendants at the front doors. The creatures looked like large flowers that had plucked themselves from the earth. The left attendant had the head of a dandelion and no discernable face or features, while the one on the right appeared as a poppy. The effect was disconcerting to say the least.

Greetings your Ladyship and guest. We are eager to welcome your arrival. Two voices swirled around Geralt’s head.

“The White Wolf, seeks an audience with the Lioness. He calls upon the court to seek aid in return for a favor.” Yen said, almost lazily.

What a joyous day indeed. Will the wolf surrender his irons before meeting our Lady? The dandelion held out a cloth between its leaves, waiting.

“I certainly will not,” Geralt snorted.

 Ah we see, then we will need your word that you will not harm our lady.

Yen cut in, “He will not give you that promise either. Geralt will abide by all hospitality rules afforded by the court. There is no need for further bargains.” The air grew cold and a sheen of frost danced over the attendants’ petals.

Of course your Ladyship. We have overstepped. You and the guest of the Queen are welcome in the hall. There was a thirst in their voices. The flowers stepped aside as the doors opened to the Summer Court. Geralt moved passed them wearily.

The great hall sprawled out before them. The walls were made of trees growing impossibly close together while their canopy allowed light to spill in, forming a skylight made of green stained glass. The tree trunk walls were intricately carved, each piece commemorated deals and bargains made. Geralt had his own here from his last encounter with the summer court.

Huge braziers hung from the walls off branches. Humid smoke poured out, and Geralt became increasingly aware of how his armor clung to his body. Looking around he was certainly overdressed for the weather. Two long tables were filled with ever manor of fae, from the human, to the beast, to the obscure. The humanoid ones were dressed in light gauzy robes which left little to the imagination. Creatures clad in fur and feathers forewent clothing entirely. Some of the fae had forms which Geralt could hardly picture clothing for. How would one cover and ooze’s modesty?

In the crowd, Geralt could make out a few humans who strayed too far from the path. There was a red headed man who sported a silver eye. A old woman whose long white hair appeared to be continuously dripping and a brunette woman with a hand made from thatch.

A third smaller table sat perpendicular to the other two. The fae here were different, more powerful and incredibly beautiful. Unlike the long tables, a few seats remained open. Yen took the one next to a beautiful curly-haired fae maiden and Geralt took a seat at the end.  The Lady fall greeted the other woman with a deep kiss on the lip, which he did not remember being a customary fae greeting. The center seat, with it’s back towards the queen, remained empty. It was reserved for the Summer Knight. The last knight had been a wicked sorcerer and Geralt wonder how the poor sod met his end.

Above them, sat a great stone throne on a raised dais. The Summer Queen looked radiant. Her hair cascaded around her to form a wild mane with a mind of its own. She wore a leather armor chest piece and a long draping skirt embroidered with shapes that seemed to move in the filtered canopy light.  Her face was cat like and covered in soft gold fur. An attendant stood beside her, a once human man who had come to serve the Court years before Geralt came into being.

Everyone in the hall was dining and laughing. Music from an unknown source mixed with the hot summer air and Geralt could feel himself relaxing against his instincts. He avoided looking too long at the suckling pig roast and sweet ripe figs laid out in front of him.

Other less appetizing foods filled the table. Yen wasted no time serving herself a wet red morsal from a porcelain bowl. She skewered two pieces with her knife and swallowed the first greedily. She turned and offered the other to the fae next to her. The woman closed her lips around the piece seemingly without care for the sharpness of Yens knife.  

Geralt looked away from the scene, fighting the urge to blush at the intimate gesture. Geralt wasn’t a prude, but years on The Path made him uncomfortable with others’ affection. A release was necessary, but intimacy was a distraction. He needed to get out of here and find Jaskier.

“Queen Calanthe, I request an audience.” Geralt called, using the Queen’s true name. The court seemed to shudder collectively and settled into stillness, waiting to follow their Queen.

If she took issue with her name being used, The Summer Queen didn’t show it. Instead the Lioness looked warm, almost friendly.

“Welcome to my Court Witcher. Are you enjoying your stay in the realms?”

“I assume you know why I am here.” He stated, ignoring her question.

“Yes.”

“One of your kind stole my bard”

“Your bard?” She raised an eyebrow, amused. “What claim do you have? Do you have papers, are you his parent, child or lover?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Geralt swallowed, garnering courage. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. No food, no fae shenanigans. “I agree to take up your mantle in exchange—“

“Come now, Wolf.” The Summer Queen interrupted. Her voice was clear and sharp, demanding like a general to an army. “We have had over 50 years to plan your welcome. Allow us to indulge before business.” She looked down at Geralt with a wry smile. The Lioness adjusted her position on her throne. Though subtle, Geralt could tell that the next words would be a decree.

“Please enjoy the hospitality of the summer court, I would hate to be made an ill host.” The Queen’s voice was laced with Chaos and a pang of compulsion ripped through humid room. At her words, a strange air settled around the court. One that Geralt recognized from whorehouses, and a few masquerades that Jaskier had dragged him to (which Geralt had promptly dragged the fool out of). The filtered light from the canopy dimmed as the smoke from the brassiers grew heavy and rich. Geralt could pick out the smell of smoke hitting summer rain, freshly oiled leather, and a familiar floral perfume.

Geralt knew too well what was about to happen. He also knew what accompanied trysts with the Fae—agreements made out of breath, destinies bought and shared with unknown currency.

Bodies began moving towards one another. Slowly at first, as if they were savoring the heaviness around them. The humid air of summer coaxed languid motion from the eager guests.  Geralt watched as the man standing at the right of the Lioness, Queen of the Summer Court, placed a kiss on her right palm. Then another. And another. There was a pause, as if all of the court was waiting for permission.

With a slow blink of her lashes, the lioness shifted in her throne. Her knees parted and her head tilted back waiting for what was to come. In reverence or in desperation, the man dropped to his knees and began to explore what lay beneath her skirts.

Geralt pulled his eyes away from the scene, but everywhere around him was much the same.  The floodgates were open and he was in need of dry land. Creatures of all manners and sorts began to entwine. Sounds echoed through the hall, bouncing off the great trees in a chorus teasing at the coming crescendo.

This was too much. Geralt had gotten involved with one fae sorceress, and that was plenty of a lifetime. Two lifetimes, even. He took a deep breath to slow his quickening heartbeat, though the smoke which hung in the air seemed to have the opposite effect. Sweat was beginning to collect on his brow. He scanned the room searching for something to focus on other than the growing warmth between his legs.

Big mistake. He locked eyes with Yennifer as she unclasped her neighbor’s dress. The beautiful fae woman was sitting on the Lady Fall’s lap with her forearms on the table to support her weight. Yen’s violet eyes stayed fixed on Geralt’s as she drew out the other woman’s breast. Her sharp black nails dimpled the soft skin as it spilled out of her palm.

He watched as Yen lowered her mouth to the breast and attended the nipple with her tongue. Without stopping, she broke eye contact to look up at the woman, who was now nodding enthusiastically. With that permission, Yen sank her fangs into the smooth flesh. The woman closed her eyes and rolled her neck as she began pleasuring herself on Yens other hand, her curls and breasts rocking as she gasped in pleasure sharpened by pain.

Geralt swallowed as he remembered Yen’s touch. Her cat’s rough tongue had explored his own body years back, and the memory of her ferocity and lust was consuming.   Electing to close his eyes than watch anymore of this farce, he found no relief. The witcher could almost feel her weigh straddling his thighs. A damp heat pressed into his groan and a pair of arms slid around his shoulder in an embrace.

He opened them to see an impossibly beautiful person.

“Hello, Witcher” A high voice jingled in his ears. The creature astride him had deep green skin covered in moving gold tattoos. Their amber eyes were like Geralt’s own. Instinctively, his hand went to the small of their back, supporting their weight so that they wouldn’t fall as they rocked over his lap.

They were so soft, though the tattoos were slightly raised as they moved under his hand. Gods above. He wanted to touch, to fuck, to experience the bounty this Court offered.

The Fae nipped at his ear with too sharp teeth. “Do you like this?” They enquired, their voice seeped in hunger. A dexterous hand untied the leather band that kept Geralt’s hair in place. He shuddered as the Fae grabbed a fist full of his hair, pulling his neck to one side, and breathed deeply.

Geralt grunted as non-committally as he could manage. He could feel his resolve slipping and again shut his eyes to block out the magics at work.

“Or would you prefer something more familiar?” The weight on him grew. Muscles under his hand filled, growing hard from years a life on the road. That floral smell was back, stronger than ever and Geralt drank deeply. Through his armor, he could feel the heat of a hard length push into his stomach.

And gods how he wanted it. The sounds of the Court grew louder as others began to find the pleasure they sought. Something in him snapped. His body acted with a will of its own, Geralt’s resolve crumbled to pieces.

Geralt leaned forward and kissed the Fae’s collarbone. Soft chest hair picked at his face as he traced a line of wet kisses to the sternal notch. The floral scent was dizzying as his brain attempted to recall its origin, while receiving minimal bloodflow. He ignored his minds warnings. He had a feast in front of him, and didn’t care where it came from. With his free hand Geralt grasped the creature’s member and began to pump with long lazy strokes. The back of his hand brushed against soft hair trailing upward.

The fae let out breathy gasp in a voice he knew too well.

A second too late, his brain suppled the answer.

Jaskier.

Geralt came to in a jolt and stood up, pushing the creature off of him. The thing looked like Jaskier but the eyes were still that unnatural amber. Jaskier’s usually soft face was almost unrecognizable with the Fae’s lustful expression.  The creature morphed back into its green form.

“We were just getting to the good part.” The Fae pouted.

“Enough!” Geralt roared at the Court, his voice ripping through the hall. He grabbed his iron blade and pushed his hair out of his face.  “I have come to the Summer Court seeking aid in freeing Jaskier the Bard from Lady Winter. I agree to take on your mantel—any more hospitality you show will put me further in your debt.”

Silence fell around him as the bodies seemingly froze in time. Only the Lioness regarded him with any understanding behind her fathomless eyes.

The Summer Queen snapped her hands the Court disappeared around her. The heavy air dissipated with a swift summer breeze and they were left completely alone.

“You agree to take my mantel? To be the summer knight and honor agreements beholden to the title?” The lioness eyes flashed, her mane swirled around her like a gorgon’s snakes.

“I agree to serve as your Knight so long as it guarantees the safety and freedom of my bard.”

The Lioness closed her eyes and smiled, breathing out deeply in a sigh of relief. “I accept.” With her words Geralt felt something snake inside his chest. The bond wrapped itself around his heart and settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

Geralt knelt down on one knee waiting the placement of the mantel. A moment passed, and another. Nothing was happening. He looked up to see the queen still lazing on her throne.

“I am waiting… My queen,” He added hastily.

“Oh I don’t have it. The mantel it is.”

Geralt stood up. “What do you mean you don’t have it.”

The queen looked amused. “The current summer knight has found a way out of our arrangement, he’s held up in a tower in the land between Summer and Winter. Kill him, take the mantel and I will fulfill my bargain.”

Geralt clenched his fists. “You didn’t say anything about retrieving the mantel.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Geralt truly hated dealing with the Fae.

[betterbards]

The Summer Knight 4/8

Read Here on Ao3

-----

The cold seeped into Jaskier’s bones. A hollow chill announcing his re-entry into the waking world. Any warmth that he had stored in his body before coming to this place had long sank into the unforgiving stone floor. At least, he assumed it had long since the heat had abandoned him

Truly, Jaskier had no idea how long he had been lying there. The normal rapid staccato of his thoughts had slowed to a dirge. He wasn’t thinking right, or time wasn’t passing right, or both.

Jaskier laid there with his eyes closed. Nothing good could come from him opening his eyes. At best he would be in the middle of the woods, laying on an uncomfortable rock. Even in that case he would have to hike back to civilization half frozen to death. At worst, well he didn’t want to think of the worst case. Jaskier had spent a fair amount of time pissing off nobility. There was a good chance he had been kidnapped and was in some lord’s murder dungeon.

He was too cold to panic.

How did he get here? The last thing Jaskier remembered was his set; how much the people loved him.  Their energy had been immaculate. With their love and attention, he had felt 20 again, like there was nothing in the world that could stop him. Gods, he needed that energy now.

Jaskier struggled to push past the fog. There was another person, a member of the crowd that became an individual. The woman led him out of the bar, he didn’t want to go. Too sharp teeth, eyes just a little too bright

Oh. That’s right. He wanted to make Geralt jealous.

Slowly, Jaskier could feel his body again. His heart beat with a purpose he didn’t fully understand. It was a war drum, but he did not know the enemy. The slow churn of his thoughts began to pick up speed and, with great effort, he forced his eyes open.

He was decidedly not in the forest—or in a murder dungeon. Above him rose and impossibly vaulted ceiling. The whole structure, every brick and buttress, was made of ice. Hundreds of feet in the air, massive arches framed the structure. They looked like the ribs of a great beast and Jaskier was its unfortunate prey.

He used his hands to push himself upright. His loose shirt and skin stuck to the ground. For a terrifying moment Jaskier believed himself to be frozen in place. Instead, it was his own body that protested the movement—his joints locked by inertia.  After a moment he was able to coax motion back into his frozen limbs.

A massive rose window dominated the western wall. Rather than the multicolored panels of the Church, this window looked like it was made of crystal shards. Each piece appeared as sharp as razors. Squinting, he could make out shapes. A pair wolves fighting over a starving rabbit, a woman lost in the cold, an avalanche in the moments before it destroys a town. The window shifted and changed under his gaze.  It was mesmerizing, each tableau more gruesome than the last. He let his eyes rest on the window completely transfixed. He rested there, waiting for his warmth to come back.  

A terrible groan ripped through the cathedral—jerking him back to himself. It sounded like this structure could collapse at any second. A creaking tic-tic-tic sound followed and Jaskier tore himself away from the window to look down to the floor. He could recognize that sound anywhere.

As a child, he once went onto the ice too early in the season.

Young Jaskier was obsessed with ice skating and every year he would impatiently wait for the lakes to turn to glass.  Patience was something of an abstract concept and every year he would brave the pond a bit earlier than the last.

He was lucky to have been so close to land. First the cracks, then the falling. He had woken up on the banks with his nursemaid sobbing over him. She pulled him into a warm dry hug and told him it would be okay. He doesn’t remember who pulled him from the water, but he is sure that he owes them his life.

Jaskier now expected to see those same cracks spreading below him. He braced for the plunge, but nothing came. The floor was unmarked and the great ice cathedral was still.

With all of his strength, Jaskier peeled himself off the ground, feeling his skin on his palms skin to the ice. His feet were unsteady and he gripped a pew for support.

Was that there before?

He could see them now. Rows and rows of pews, enough to seat a whole city all sat waiting for the sermon. The hard benches were all turned to face a three thrones below the great ice window.

The woman was sitting there, watching him.

There was no way that the thing seated on the throne could be mistaken for the woman at the tavern, but Jaskier knew it was her. Sharp cheekbones had turned deadly, each accentuated with a blade of silver ice. Her pale skin was translucent now, reflecting the light streaming through the window. Jaskier started to shuffle towards her. He ignored the protest in his limbs and shook off the cold from his bones.

“Little bird, why have you stopped singing?” She cocked her head like vulture before the feast. Her crisp voice bounced around the cathedral.

Jaskier swallowed. It was very clear who he was dealing with now, and any misstep would cost more than his life.

“Is it not uncommon for birds to quiet in winter?” Jaskier said, avoiding her question. His voice was scratchy from disuse. He swallowed all the spit he could. Talking was the only way out of this situation. Luckily., it was what he did best.

He did not meet her eyes, choosing instead to focus on the fractals of ices which spun and radiated out from where the beast sat. They converged at the base of the throne and continued to wind, creating a sort of cloak which wrapped around the creature. No, that wasn’t quite right.

As he came closer, he could see that her shimmering skin was only his brain’s attempt to save him from the harsh reality. The woman was entirely comprised of ice shards, wickedly pointed and delicately arranged. She was simultaneous the most beautiful and the most terrible thing he had ever witnessed.

The cathedral groaned like a great ship caught in a frozen sea.

“Now, Julian. There is no need for you to be guarded in your own home.” She stood up from the stone throne and took a step off the raised dais. “Please take a seat, I’m sure you are still wary from your travels.”

Jaskier went to open his mouth and felt something sharp catch in his throat. He swallowed hard trying to push through the dryness. “I am not tired, your majesty. I’m rather comfortable, actually. I’m so sorry I, don’t know your name. ” He put on a big smile trying to ignore his discomfort. His throat was burning.

She smiled, all teeth. “You may call me Winter.”

“Of course,” Jaskier kept his head down in a low bow.

“I’m so happy that you were able to join us after all these years. You are a tough beast to find for one so loud. It was lucky for us that you started getting hungry.”

Above them, the ice cathedral let out another low groan. She seemed to pay it no mind.

“My lady, I assure you if I had known you had been searching for me, I would have come with bells on.” Jaskier batted his eyelashes in a way that he hoped was charming. Instead, he was cut off by his own coughing. He covered his mouth with his arm and found it flecked with blood.

He barely had time to register what had happened before he felt his arm being grasped by a freezing grip. Winter long fingers snatched his arm with deadly speed. She stared at it, then at his face as if waiting for something.

“How are you doing that, Julian?”

He shivered, but not from cold. It was like she was speaking to him inside his own mind, as if the thought was his own.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He stammered out, fear bubbling to the surface for the first time since being transported to this place.

She dropped his arm and took a step back, regarding him with a predatory glaze. “You are lying, Julian. Tell me how you are doing it.”

Jaskier started backing away slowly, hoping that he could put enough space between the two for him to run. “Your lady, I would never lie-“

Ice spikes shot up around him, caging him in place. One of them had sliced though his left cheek. He could feel the blood welling up. Not wanting to move a muscle, he waited for the trail of warmth to slide down his face, instead he could only feel its wetness.

“Fae cannot lie. Instead we weave half-truths and channel the chaos to make fiction fact.” Her face was so close now. Jaskier could see his own contorted reflection in her skin. “How is it, young one, that you can lie?”

“I am a bard, it’s my profession.” Jaskier answered plainly. “But, my lady, you flatter me. I am not one of the Good People, only a human with the gift of song and story.”

There was a beat where Jaskier was sure that Winter was deciding his fate. He dared not move a muscle.

The ice spikes sank into the ground, freeing Jaskier from their grasp. He didn’t feel any safer, but running away was out of the question. He tried to catch a glimpse of a way out. Jaskier pretended to crack his neck—a trick he had learned copying tests during his school days. The pews seemed to stretch out endlessly with not a single door in sight.

Winter watched him with a sort of glee dancing behind her pale eyes. Her anger had transformed into a curiosity, which somehow was more unsettling. She took a seat next to Jaskier and he did his best to not recoil. She stroked his cheek where she had cut only moments before.

“My mistake young one. I’ve spent so much time in the mortal realms lately, that I can hardly tell a raven from a writing desk. Tell me Julian. Where does your gift come from? Were your parents particularly musical? Or did you find that music and story came to you naturally?”

Jaskier was at a loss for words. Neither of his parents were especially gifted. Jaskier himself was a bit of a late bloomer, he didn’t pick up the lute until that winter he fell through the ice. He had caught pneumonia and was stuck inside most of the season. Playing music was the only thing that kept him sane, back then and up until now.

“My parents provided me with the best musical education they could afford. I lived a privileged life before their passing.” Again, Jaskier avoided the question Winter was asking.

She nodded, apparently finding his answer agreeable.

Winter took a step back towards the dais, she cleared her throat as if she was speaking to a larger crowd. “Now Julian, I think that you are something special, a special mortal indeed. Your playing was absolutely divine back in the human realm and it is an art I hope to patron here in my court.” She spread out her hands and the pews surrounding Jaskier were suddenly full of people.

Well, people was less than correct.

The pews were full of figures. Thousands and thousands of figures. Some towered over head, made of fur and rock. Others looked human--well almost human. Each one of them were trained on Jaskier and the Queen. Most unsettling, they made no sound.

“You are welcome to train here and partake in the many wonders of the Winter court. You will be safe here so long as you abide by our customs.”

“Your ladyship,” Jaskier did his best to keep his temper at bay, “you honor me with your gifts, but I think it is time I retire to my home. I have tens of adoring fans waiting for me.” Jaskier made a big show of rubbing his arms, “and would you believe that I haven’t packed any of my winter clothes. I’m sure that Geralt is worried sick about me.” Jaskier coughed again, his throat suddenly dry. “You know Geralt, of Rivia? The Witcher? I am sure he’s worried sick!”

Winter looked disgusted. “The Witcher? Don’t make me laugh. You can do much better than someone from his ilk. They are better fit to be beasts of burden than a companion creature. I will get you ten finer dogs than that one.”

A warm anger began to bubble in his throat, it was an odd feeling. “Don’t talk about him that way. You know what? I am leaving” Jaskier turned his back on Winter, he had no idea where he was to go. At this point anywhere was better than this place. His fear was in control now and it very much wanted to escape.

Thousands of eyes trained on him, their expressions hadn’t changed in the slightest. He took a few steps forward.  

“Dogs are vermin, and I will talk about them however I please.” Winters voice was crystal clear in his head. “As much as I hate to do this you will be staying here with us. Only for a bit, just until this Witcher phase is over. Listen Julian Alfred Pankratz, your Queen commands it.”

Jaskier felt a pang in his chest. It was as if someone had attached a cord to his heart and pulled. He dropped to his knees, any strength he had was sapped in an instant. He was back on the cold ground again.

“Is this how you act as a guest of the court? I offer you education, lodging and advice, and you shun my teachings? Is that any way to treat your queen?” The anger in her voice was colored by something else. Intrigue? Hunger? Glee? None of them made Jaskier feel particularly welcome.

Something was stirring in Jaskier’s mouth. What had started as a rumble in his throat had crawled upwards. His tongue was tingling and he could taste the static of a summer storm.

“You are not my queen.” As the words left his lips he could feel their power. A shockwave ripped towards Winter at a speed almost too fast to see. In a blur, the Fae queen sidestepped a moment before the dais behind her exploded into dust.

The crowd of monsters remained silent.

Jaskier blinked. He had never done anything like that before. He staggered to his feet ready to start bolting with what little energy he had left.

Winters face stopped him in his tracks.

Where he expected to be rage, was pure joy. She was on him in an instant. He didn’t even have time to register that she had moved.

“Oh Julian, that was quite a display.” She tutted like a school teacher. “I understand that a young one’s first trip to the realms is difficult so I will allow you this one transgression,” She grabbed his chin forcing him to meet her gaze, “However, if you attempt to channel the chaos against me again I will carve the flesh from your little Witcher and make you watch.” She dropped his jaw and paused for a moment, “Maybe I’ll even make you feast it. You know a fae’s hunger is a nasty thing.”

“I have changed my mind.” Winter snapped her long fingers and a pair of Elk-men appeared in a swirl of snow. “Originally I had thought you needed more time in mortal realms to mature, but now I see that I have given you too long a lead.”

Jaskier shifted away from the things that approached him. The creatures had the head of an elk atop a human body. Old shed flesh hung off their antlers.

Jaskier started to panic, “Please, your ladyship. There must have been a mistake. I didn’t do that—it must have been someone else. I can’t do magic. It’s not possible for me to have done that. You have the wrong man! I’m mortal, I’m a nobody, I’m human!” He managed to choke out the last word before descending into another coughing fit. Blood splattered the icy ground.

Winter bent down and stroked his hair in a maternal gesture. Her touch almost felt warm to him now.

“Oh come now, Julian. We both know that isn’t true.”

[betterbards]

A summer knight 3/8

read it here on Ao3

----

That stupid bard was going to get the both of them killed. Geralt wasn’t sure how, but he was fairly sure that it was going to be soon.

He watched as Jaskier sasheyed towards the person seated at the corner table.

Calling her a person was generous. The Winter Court members were more closely related to rocks than to humans. Hell, the Winter Court made Geralt look like an average person.

Geralt could clearly see her for what she was. The woman’s eyes were locked on Jaskier, like cat eyeing up a particularly stupid mouse. Her smile was wide and sharp. Looking closer, he could see tendrils of cold pouring off her into the humid air of the packed tavern.

How did Jaskier not notice? Did all of the blood rush from his head? Geralt turned back to the bar, unable to watch the tableau about to unfold.

He hated dealing with the fae, their tricks and their schemes. Every conversation was a mine field where the smallest misstep was likely to result in tragedy. Many with more silver tongues than Geralt had attempted to finesse the Courts. All of them ended the same. Sure, Jaskier was nimble. But in these situations, Geralt found that silence was the only thing that kept him safe.

Geralt wished that all his knowledge was learned second hand from some drunk at the pub, but unfortunately he had many dealings with the fair folk—luckily most of them with the Summer Court.

The Summer court was more concerned with bacchanal than their more conquest minded counterpart. Their leadership passed willingly via mantel. A position must be gifted to a successor. In the winter courts, it was the one with the most power who ruled.

Of course, both Courts had the potential to be deadly.

Many years back Geralt had worked a job to the south. A pair of twins had gone missing on the day of the festival. Normally, there wouldn’t had been any cause to hire a witcher. Children go missing all the time. It was an unfortunate part of living in the country. Sure, you don’t have some lord breathing down your neck, but you also are without his protection. Those greedy nobles have to maintain their workforces.

They found the first twin only a few days later. He was in a clearing, only a short hike into the woods. Original fears of wolves and kidnappers disappeared and left only confusion and heartbreak. According to the hunter who found the boy, the child feet were raw and bloodied while his frame was rendered gaunt. He couldn’t have been dead for more than a few hours, as no animals seemed to scavenge the remains.

The body was taken back to the town. The child was so much thinner than three days without supper would cause. It was eerie, but nothing to cause any further alarm.

From what Geralt had gathered from the posting, the family mourned and the town moved on. They gave up looking for the other child, assuming the worst.

Then, the other twin returned. It was the first new moon following the festival. A traveling merchant found her wandering the road into town, feet bare and dress dirty.

At first everyone had rejoiced, but they soon realized the child was different. Changed. She wouldn’t talk or eat, her tanned skin had paled until the slightest ray of sunlight would cause her to burn. She didn’t speak aside from saying that she was hungry.

The town assumed that she had been turned into some sort of vampire and called a witcher to take care of the problem. No one wants child blood on their hands—even monster children. Though by the time Geralt had arrived, the changeling had had feasted until there was no one left.

He found her cowering from the light in her parent’s basement. It was easy to find the trail of blood left by the small creature. She was a young fae. Much too young to be let out in the mortal realms. Summer changelings were introduced into human households to learn how to be human until they are made aware of their nature and would seek their own kind. In this case, the child’s humanity was ripped from her, leaving only the cold hunger of the Winter Court.

She was so little. Her eyes looked feral, her teeth too wicked for such a small mouth.

It was too weak to put up any fight. The thing had been ripped apart by the Chaos before Geralt had even arrived. Its limbs stretched and twisted, deep gashes marred its skin, its mind flayed by the raw power it had been exposed to.

All in all, it was a terrible job. There were no victors here.

On a normal day, Geralt would kill the monster, collect his payment, and leave. There was, however, no one to collect payment from. There were no half-hearted thanks. There weren’t even any townspeople left to tell him that he outstayed his welcome. Information was his only prize.

Stupidly, he sought out his contact in the Courts. He was young then, and still eager to expand his knowledge of monsters in the night. If he couldn’t get any coin, maybe knowledge about what happened to the town would help him on another job. In general, the fae were thought to be a little more than a myth. He had been warned to not dig to deeply into their existence. To know the fae was to become them. Knowledge of their existence would only lead off The Path.

This contact was probably Geralt closet relation outside Kaer Morhen, though he’d never admit it. Even in his youth, Geralt didn’t have friends. In this way, Lady Fall was a bit of an outlier. Friends were liabilities and Geralt liked to think that he didn’t need them. In truth, he knew that he was too much of an ass to keep anyone around for a long enough time.

Someone had taken a contract out on the Lady in Geralt’s very early days. She took pity on the young witcher and, rather than killing him, decided to aide him on his Path. She would often remark that ‘Their fates were entwined’ and there was little Geralt could do to avoid her for long.

No one would make the mistake of calling them friends, but Geralt always enjoyed his time with the creature. She was beautiful, brilliant, and tight lipped. Apparently learning from her time as a member of the Winter Court, though now she would consider herself a free agent.

That day, Fall agreed to share what she knew. Apparently, this town had agreed to ritual sacrifice during a dark and ancient part of their history. Every 27 years, two children would be taken, one for Winter and one for Summer. This cycle, the Winter Court returned their gift. The child was without talent and there was no hope for her to ever channel the chaos and to become a true fae of the Winter Court. An ungifted sacrifice was, apparently, enough to spur Winter’s ire.

It wasn’t very helpful information. Geralt had been ready to curse her out for letting this happen. Fall was indifferent to human suffering, but she had always found random acts of violence distasteful. But the look on her face stopped him.

Even all these years later, Geralt can still see her intense gaze. Eyes wide with recognition and cold with pity. It was like she had pieced something together, but wasn’t willing to share with the class. She only offered one thing before she left. His involvement in the case, followed by their contact had stirred the attention of the Courts. Attention that would surely lead to his undoing.

Geralt had spent the next 60 years avoiding the Fair Folk’s request for an audience with varying success.

Now, here he is--sitting in a bar where his bard is falling head over heels for one of those beings of untold power and evil.

He stared into his empty mug, willing it to be full.

He certainly wasn’t brooding.

“Sir, are going planning on covering your friends tab?” A loud voice shook him from his memories.

Geralt looked up and squinted at the barkeep, “He’s an adult, he can buy his own drinks.”

The bartended raised his hands in a display of peace. “I’m sure he can, but he just left with his date without paying and they racked up quite the bill.”

Geralt stood up. His stool screeched, protesting the sudden movement. He whipped head around to the corner to find it empty.

“Where did they go?” Geralt turned back to the man, standing at his full height.

“I didn’t see!” He looked around for someone to help him, but all other patrons were suddenly very invested in their drinks. “They didn’t pay for a room, I think they went outside.” The barkeep managed to stammer out.

Stupid. Geralt brought a hand to his medallion. When did the thing stop singing, and why didn’t he notice? This is what happened when he let his guard down. He threw some gold on the bar and grabbed his pack from the ground.

The outside air was cool compared to the stuffy tavern. Night had completely fallen and a wide swath of open forest and empty town lay before him. Even his eyesight couldn’t see the bard in the distance.

"Fuck”, He cursed to himself. He was running out of time. Grabbing Roach from the stables was out of the question. She had been brushed and the tack had been put away, he would lose too much time getting her ready.

Geralt forced himself to take a breath. He needed to calm down. Rash movements wouldn’t help Jaskier. He felt a begrudging calm wash over him as he slowed his thinking and listened. nd then he heard it. It was faint, nothing more than a few notes carried by a gentle breeze. Someone in the woods was playing a lute.

eralt bolted towards the forest. Those feyhounds didn’t spring up out of thin air. They must have been scouting for their master, which meant there was a door somewhere close. What the fae wanted with Jaskier was anyone guess. Geralt pushed away thoughts of the bard striking deals left and right with beautiful charming fae.

Any attempt at stealth was forsaken for speed. The trees rose up around him, blocking out the light from the moon. Roots and vines grasped at his ankles as he attempted to retrace their path from earlier. The lute playing growing louder, the melody clearer.

“My, my. If you weren’t so beautiful, I would think you are out here to murder me.” Geralt could hear Jaskier voice. Though meant as a joke, Geralt could make out a terrible edge to the words. Geralt couldn’t see them but the voices were easy to pick out. Geralt noticed that the forest was deathly silent. There were no birds or wind to masks his footsteps. There was no way the Winter Fae hadn’t noticed him.

“Oh little bird, why must you conflate my beauty with good intentions?” She chided. Her tone clipped like a disapproving mother. “Beauty is a tool, nothing more. Now come along, quickly. I grow tired of this realm.”

Shit. Geralt was so close, only a few hundred meters away. He could make it.

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright. I think I would rather stay here--”

Jaskier was cut off.

Geralt felt a frigid wind rip through the air and his medallion screamed against his chest. He kept running, kept pushing through the cold burst. Geralt raised an arm to protect from ice and sleet now relentlessly cutting into his face.

Then it stopped. The blizzard was replaced by the stagnant summer night air. Geralt didn’t stop running and in a few short moments he burst into the clearing.

The bodies of the feyhounds were gone, but he knew it was the same. He looked around wildly. The summer stillness now mocking. There was no sound of voices, no twigs snapping, no rustlings from the underbrush. There was only silence and Geralt knew he was truly alone.

He stood there for a long while. Jaskier was gone and it was Geralt’s fault. The bard was another human life on his hands. If he hadn’t been so jealous and petty, Jaskier would still be here. They would be sweating in the tavern, Jaskier still on his lap flirting like there was no tomorrow.

Time passed slowly. Gradually the forest came alive. It was like all creatures were holding their breath until it was safe from Winter.

Eventually, the dark of the clearing was cleaved by a pale sliver of moonlight. A circle of mushroom sat innocuously at the center. He knew it was the door. Geralt himself had been through his fair share. A closed fairy ring was useless without a fae to open it and who know where Jaskier had been taken. Time moves differently in the Courts, he could be across the plane by now. But it did give him an idea.

A dumb one to be sure, but it was something.

Geralt dug through his pack and grabbed a small white flower. It had been attached to an invitation from the Summer Court and no matter how he tried, he could never seem to get rid of it.

He grabbed it triumphantly. After all this time, it still looked like it had plucked this morning. The sap stuck to his fingers as he crushed the delicate petals.

“I request an audience with the Summer Court!” He yelled as he squeezed the flower in his palm.

For a second, nothing happened. Geralt was left alone, stupidly grasping a flower like a child. His stomach dropped, realizing that it didn’t work.

“Oh well, didn’t I say ‘Attention would lead to your undoing’?” A sarcastic voice sang out from the darkness.

“Yennifer?”

A beautiful fae stepped into the moonlight. Her raven dark hair somehow blacker than the forest behind her. The violet of her eyes glowed eerily making it clear that Geralt had this predator’s full attention.

“Ouch, real names I see.” She scrunched her face in distaste. “Is that how you greet an old friend after, what, 50 years? I have to say that you look incredible for a man pushing 100. Are you sure you aren’t Fae?”

Geralt ignored her. “I need an audience with Her Majesty the Lioness. It is urgent”

Yennifer rolled her eyes and walked over to a stump to take a seat. She smoothed out her dress making her non-urgency extremely clear. “And you will get an audience. Now, you have kept her waiting for the better part of a century, it seems only fair that you wait the same time.”

“Yen, please. The Winter court took Jaskier.”

“Who?” She examined her nails.

“The,” He paused trying to find the words, “…Bard I travel with.”

She snorted, “That’s rich. The mighty White Wolf is going to give up his freedom for some bard he was traveling with?”

“Please. I can’t lose him.”

Lady Fall waved her had as if to blow away a bad odor. “Ugh I’m such a sucker. Fine, currently I’m in residence at the Summer Court. Her Majesty sent me here in good faith since she knows of our past. I’m sure I can smooth things over with her.” She stood up from her stump and moved over to the fairy circle.

“I thought you didn’t belong to any Court?”

“I don’t.” Yen continued inspecting the toadstools until she found what she was looking for. “But the Winter Queen has been interested in getting me back ‘into the fold’. The last few decades have been difficult and I decided to try my luck making friends with the Lioness.” Her tone was measured as she found words which toed the line of truth and lies. “So far Tissaia has turned her attentions away from me for the time being. Here we go.”

Yen tapped one the mushrooms and the crackle of her magic filled the clearing. It smelled of fallen leaves and the promise of dark nights ahead. The space between the mushrooms filled with a crisscross of knot work that glowed the same color as Yen’s eyes.

She motioned for Geralt to step into the circle, “Age before beauty.”

He started walking, suppressing his instinct screaming at him to turn around and leave well enough alone.

“Oh wait, before we go,” Fall raised a finger at Geralt, “You owe me one.” The words had a different tone. They wrapped around Geralt’s mind.”

“I know.” He relented, “Though, I have a feeling that there will be a queue.”

He stepped into the portal.

[betterbards]

A Summer Knight chapter 2/8

read on A03

Jaskier had come up with 27 rhymes for ‘hound’ by the time they had reached Lindenvale. He had to keep himself occupied. Geralt had never been the world’s most gifted conversationalist.  He walked behind Geralt and Roach, the whole time plucking his lute as he chronicled their victory.

Jaskier delighted in watching the tips of Geralt’s ears flush to a deeper pink with every line.

“Can you stop doing that?” Geralt snapped when they were about halfway back to town. He fixed the bard his most serious witcher face. “I’ll go up ahead, I’m sure you can make your way back.”

Jaskier remained unfazed. “Oh, come now. After all that trouble you went through in keeping me alive, you would just leave me to be picked apart by wolves in the forest?”

Geralt let out a gruff snort and kicked Roach. The pair began moving quicker.

For a moment, it worked. Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Witchers are pretty petty for people who aren’t supposed to have emotions.” He muttered under his breath and kicked a rock into the underbrush. He watched as Roach and the witcher began fading into the night forest ahead, though never disappearing completely from view.

He gave it a moment, but Roach’s figure never passed the horizon. Jaskier smiled and continued his playing, apparently the brute didn’t want him to be a chew toy after all.

They approached the village as night settled on the land. The tavern glowed warmly in the distance. Loud voices laughed and sang, enjoying all the vices and virtues the small town had to offer. Jaskier had been held up in Lindenvale for about a week and had found the place quite charming. The food was fresh, the inn warm and the company was more than he could ask for. The people were downright delightful, hearty and strong from years of field work. Jaskier had always appreciated anyone who could use a firmer hand—and blessedly, a few of these fine folk had been more than happy to demonstrate.

While Geralt finished tying up Roach, Jaskier made his way to the tavern doors and flung them open with panache.

“We have returned victorious!” He bellowed. His court voice projecting over the tavern conversations. He motioned to the door as Geralt stepped through, the bag in hand.

The townsfolk erupted into applause. Jaskier soaked up the praise as Geralt slinked to the bar.

“How did you do it? The best hunters in town couldn’t even get close?” an old man called from his table.

“I promised you a concert, friend.” Jaskier addressed the man with a chuckle. “Tonight I shall play the world premiere of the ‘Wolf and the Hound’.” He held out his hands like a circus ring leader. A hush had fallen over the bar; all eyes were trained on him. Oh, how he loved to keep them wanting.

Jaskier casually walked over to the makeshift stage he had occupied the last few nights and settled in. A server kindly brought him a pitcher of ale and a glass. Forgoing the cup, he downed the pitcher like he was back in Oxenfurt—to rancorous encouragement from the audience. It tasted a little better than mule piss, but after a few more and an empty stomach, he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyways.

He grabbed his lute and tested a few chords to check its tuning. He savored the feeling of the crowd’s attention, 40 people became one beast with 80 eyes—all focused on him.

And then he played.

Jaskier used to worry during a performance. Would his sweaty hands slip from the strings? Would his voice break on the high notes? On the low notes?

Not anymore. When he played everything drifted away. The only thing he could feel was the crowd. Its wants, its fears, its attention. The feeling was intoxicating. It was like taking a drink when you are feeling parched.

A performance used to make him feel drained, but now, it was the only way he could feel alive.

He slipped from one song to the next, feeding the beast. Each movement was a different course: A ballad for story, a bawdy tale for laughter, a war hymn for remembrance. His lines and lyrics fusing to create a single work.

Jaskier finished with a quick trill and gave the crowd a deep bow from the waist. He could feel their energy; the crowd was pleased. But there was something else, something looking at him with different intentions.

When he rose, one pair of eyes stood out. One set that wasn’t part of the beast.

A woman had walked into the bar during the performance. Her warm brown eyes set in a heart shaped face.  She was dressed as a noble, which was near impossible this far out in the farmlands. Even nobles with a death wish knew enough to dress as commoners out here.

But it didn’t matter. Jaskier couldn’t picture her blending in if she was wearing a potato sack. Everything about her screamed poise. Even after years in the courts, this woman was the most regal thing Jaskier had ever seen.

She moved with the fluidity of an ice skater. The corner of her lips were pulled up into a wry smile. She batted her lashes and moved to take a seat a secluded table in the corner of the bar. It was a clear invitation for him to follow.

Remembering himself, Jaskier bowed again and slowly the normal world came back. He could hear the audience cheer and beg for an encore. Usually, Jaskier wasn’t one to deny his fans, but the woman had snapped his spell. He felt a little tired. The weight of the day, and all the alcohol, crashed into him like a cart full of bricks.

He slung his lute behind his back and went to join Geralt at the bar.

“Pretty good song for two hours of work.” Geralt sounded a tad suspicious.

“Oh come now, the melody was written years ago.” He took the open seat next to the witcher. “I just needed the right story to tell with it.” Jaskier tried not to blush. Geralt never complemented him, not even when his playing saved them from the raging chimera.  Chimeras are suckers for an up-tempo waltz.

Geralt nodded, seeming to accept his answer.

“Did you see that woman?” Jaskier asked, changing subjects. He grabbed Geralt’s drink and finished it off.

Geralt huffed and snatched his glass back, “Would it kill you to get you own drink?”

“Yes, I think that is might.”

Geralt grunted and waved the bartended over to order another round.

“Good sir,” Jaskier leaned over the bar to whisper to the man, “Do you know who that divine creature is?” Jaskier used his head to indicate to the woman.

The barkeep looked over to the corner and shrugged, “I haven’t seen her around, she must just be passing through.” He slid over two mugs, apparently uninterested in the Madame.

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to go talk to her sooner, rather than later.” He winked at the older man. Puffing out his chest, he adjusted his collar and ruffled his hair.

Geralt had also turned to look at the woman. Jaskier expected Geralt to give his usual nod of agreeance—women were one of the only things the two could agree on. Instead, he felt the man’s body stiffen next him. Geralt’s eyes flashed, their gold reflecting the candle fire.

The witchers hand flew to his medallion, while the other went to his sword.

“Jaskier, stay away from her,” He growled in a voice too low for other patrons to hear, “We need to leave, now.”

“Oh come off it Geralt,” He slapped the witcher on the back and steadied himself on his stool. Jaskier was really feeling the effects of his free drinks.

“That thing over there isn’t human. I don’t know what it wants, but it can’t have good intentions.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to have good intentions?”

“I don’t know what that thing is, but I don’t think you should stick your dick in it to find out!”

Jaskier snorted, “That’s an interesting stance coming from you mister mutant.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned.

“Oh, shut up!” Jaskier slurred, his voice rising. “You aren’t my dad and you certainly aren’t my boyfriend.” He took another drink from his ale. “Now, I’m going to go have sex with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.” He placed a hand on Geralt thigh and felt the tight leather over muscle, he leaned in—his lips almost touching Geralt’s ear, “unless you want to take her place?”

Geralt stiffened and flushed again, but Jaskier was too drunk to notice.  The witcher said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” He gave Geralt a dismissive pat on the cheek.

Jaskier hopped off his stool and walked to the opposite corner of the tavern. He swished his hips as he walked away. Who needed that taciturn brute? He grabbed two ales off a passing server and made his way to the lady.

“Would you like some company?” Jaskier announced.

She looked up from her meal, and slowly blinked. Was it possible for someone to have such full lashes? He was going to have to ask her how she managed them.

The woman motioned for Jaskier to take the seat on the bench next to her. She pushed her full plate away to make room.    

“I’m glad you finally got away from your friend long enough to keep me company.” Even her voice dripped of nobility. Her words were clipped and crisp as ice on a winter morning. The Lady’s dark brown eyes flitted over towards Geralt, “I was worried I was going to have to fight him for you.”

Jaskier hiccupped and let out a small giggle, “He’s jealous that you would rather spend your time with me.”

She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, making Jaskier question his personal grooming ability. They were so far from civilization, yet this person managed to look like she just came from a gala.

“Is he now?” She began tracing the veins on Jaskier’s hands. Her touch was cool against his skin, warmed by the drink.  “I heard you play earlier. To think such a talented musician would be all the way out here. Tell me, did you train in Oxenfurt?”

Jaskier nodded, “The one and only. I spent a few years there, did my schooling to become a right and proper bard.” He waved his hand dismissively, “Academia was never really for me, and court life was a no-go. I tend to get thrown out after I upset a percentage of noblemen and ladies. It isn’t my fault that they can’t satisfy their spouses.” He whispered conspiratorially and smiled. So many good memories.

The woman let out a laugh that sounded like the tinkling of bells. Jaskier leaned in even closer. Somehow she even managed to smell amazing. He slid over the extra mug of ale in her direction with a little too much strength. She grabbed it, preventing the glass from falling in her lap. Tiny flowers of frost blossomed on under her touch.

How odd. Jaskier blinked his eyes, and the effect was gone. It must had been some trick of the light.

There was a mischievous look in her eye. If Jaskier seemed suspicious, she took no notice. “How did you get into music?” She continued tracing the lines up to his wrists. “Were your parents musicians?”

Jaskier snorted, falling back into the comfort of flirtatious banter. “Absolutely not. Father wouldn’t know the difference between a lute and a lyre. ‘Improper and unbecoming of a young lord’. Well I showed him, there’s no one on earth who would call me proper.” He took a drink and spilled half of it down the front of his doublet. “Shit!” He cussed and grabbed a napkin to clean himself.

“Oh a noble, any family I would know?” The woman was unfazed. There was an undercurrent of intensity to her voice.

Jaskier waved his free hand, “It doesn’t matter now. No titles, no lands. I’m just a traveling bard.” Jaskier went back to dabbing his doublet. First evil-hound blood, now ale. It was just not his day.

Suddenly, a cold hand gripped his chin.

To anyone outside it would look like a flirtatious touch between lovers. Jaskier felt the tips of her finger burn like the winter wind. They bit into his skin, and the creeping cold made its way deep into his bones. The shock of her grasp sliced though his drunkenness.

Jaskier allowed his face to be pulled to look into the woman’s eyes. Their beautiful brown warmth was replaced with an infinite blackness. Staring at them was like looking into a starless night sky—there was no end to their depth.

“What is your name, boy?”

He swallowed, “Jaskier?”

Her eyes flashed with annoyance, her grip grew colder. “Your real name.” All of her features grew sharper, her teeth more wicked, her beauty more ethereal.

Everything inside him screamed, ‘Don’t tell her, don’t tell her, don’t tell her, don’t-’.

“Julian, Julian Alfred Pankratz.” He managed to stutter out through chattering teeth. He gasped as the woman released him.

She took in a long breath and smiled. Her face looked as it had moments before. Beautiful, warm, terribly human.

“Julian,” she said softly to herself. The woman beamed at him.  She raised her hand and began stroking the back of Jaskier’s hair, the other on clasped his arm.

“I have been looking for you for a while now,” she spoke softly, almost wistfully. “I had felt the presence of a new child who could call the chaos. It was so weak at first, but something changed. I heard tales of your concerts. ‘Enchanting’, ‘captivating’ were the words used to describe them. Tonight was beyond my wildest dreams. Even in this retched human form, you can channel the chaos and create something divine.”

She looked positively gleeful, her face lighting up with a childlike joy. “You were so difficult, always traveling, always with that damned witcher. No matter, you will be such a splendid addition to the Court.” She planted a cold kiss on his forehead.

This time, he didn’t feel the chill. Instead, a calm settled over him-- cool but comfortable. He felt like a child, bundled up and laying in a snowbank, listening to the dampened sounds of an ice covered world.

No, this was wrong. He should be afraid. Terrified even. Jaskier made a move to stand up. An iron grip on his arm held him in place.

“Little bird, if you make a peep, I will kill everyone in this tavern including your witcher.” Her eyes flicked to the door. “It is time for us to make our way home.”

[betterbards]

A summer knight

Chapter 1/8:

It was a perfectly beautiful day before everything went to shit.

The sun shined, the birds sang. If there was ever a good time to be out hunting for monsters—this was it.

Of course, there was never a good time to hunt for monsters.

Geralt steadied his sword and locked gazes with the fey-hound, it’s silver eyes challenging the witcher to attack first. Geralt was already dripping with the blue inners of the first beast brave enough to strike. He seized his opening and rushed at the monster. His silvered sword reflected the warm sunlight as it came crashing down, almost separating the hound’s head from its neck.

He heard a yelp from behind him. Quickly, Geralt turned to see the final beast pinning Jaskier against a tree. It was advancing slowly and let out a low growl as it sized up its prey.

“Nice doggy, good doggy! I’m really not very tasty—mostly just bones. Shit,” He paused his babbling, “dogs like bones. Geralt! Help!” Jaskier yelled, shielding his lute behind his body.

Geralt huffed. That stupid bard would rather die than let anything happen to that damnable lute.

The fey-hound was only a few paces away from Jaskier now. Its chest expanded as its lung filled with Jaskier’s scent, like it was sampling a fine whiskey before downing the glass. The beast paused for a terrible moment, giving Geralt a window. He ran towards the hound, hoping he had enough time before it lunged.

Instead, the beast remained in place. Rather than attack, it raised up its head, flesh stretching too tightly over horn and bone, and let out a terrible howl.

Both Geralt and Jaskier dropped to their knees as the sound ripped through the forest. The howl crashed through his skull, his heightened senses all screaming out and adding to the cacophony. All he could do was cover his ears with his hands, his sword now lying uselessly a few feet away.

Why were jobs so much more complicated when the bard was involved?

Geralt should have been realized trouble was coming when he ran into Jaskier earlier that day. They had parted ways a while back. Jaskier had some fancy party, and Geralt had to be anywhere else.

Their parting had resulted in gone months of blissful silence. Just him, Roach, and a bunch of dead monsters. Geralt had been on the road for a week before coming to any semblance of civilization. Out of hunger, and desperate need for a bath, he decided to stop in a town which looked like every small town before it.

There was little point in even learning the name. Trying to keep the ‘bergs’ straight would likely take more time than he spent in most places. Small towns came with small problems and small payments. Life was uncomplicated. The reward money was enough to get a few nights at a warm inn, if he was lucky.

However, sometimes an old ghost story turned out to be more Litch than tall tale. A very pissed off Litch. Those were the jobs that made Geralt weary of taking an ‘old family heirloom’ as payment. Potions costs money, and grandma’s fake pearls won’t do the apothecary any good. So here he was, in need of work, to get some coin, to pay for lodging so he could survive the next job. What a life. The old bar was packed for a mid-afternoon. Geralt had half expected to be chased out or given a hard time. Usually he had better luck blending in with the locals once everyone had already had a few pints.

In broad daylight, thigs were different. His otherness contrasted with small town life and he rarely gave any mind to being asked to leave with less than kind words. Things had gotten better following the Bards ‘public relations’ efforts, but still he was as likely to be on the sharp end of a pick fork as he was a job.

Two dozen people were crowded inside the tiny tavern. All of them transfixed on the musician seated opposite the bar. No one had even turned to look at him looming in the doorway. Geralt hadn’t paid the performer any mind. He saddled up to the bar.

“What can I get you, friend?” The bar keeper asked over his shoulder, without so much a glance.

“Ale,” Geralt grumbled, “And a job.” His voice was horse from weeks of disuse. Roach wasn’t the most vocal companion.

The barkeep poured ale from the cask and turned to face the witcher, he didn’t look surprised by Gerald appearance. In fact, he looked amused.

“I didn’t know the Bard’s White Wolf was traveling with him. I’m sure the ladies will be pleased.” The man cocked a bushy eyebrow as he slid the mug over.

Geralt huffed. “I not traveling with anyone.”

“Well then it’s quite the coincidence. The bards been crooning about the White Wolf for a week or so and the young lads and ladies have been eating it up.” He gestured over to where the music is coming from with his chin. “I can’t complain though, good for business.”

Geralt turned and listened. He still couldn’t see the bard, but he had doubt about who it was. The lute playing was exquisite. Geralt knew fuck all about music, but he doubted many traveling musicians could play like they were trained at Oxenfurt.

“I do have something up your alley, witcher.” The man leaned in. “There’s been wild dogs heard in the woods. Terrible things, it started a few nights back and people are already losing their herds.” “Get a huntsman.” Geralt grumbled. He wasn’t about to start killing wolves for coppers. It wasn’t worth the trouble.

The barkeep shook his head, “You misunderstand. These aren’t dogs. Old man Richardson saw them eat a whole cow. Said they had great horns and devil’s tails-- like they crawled out of hell.” “They only come out at night?”

“No, people have been seeing them at twilight. I think we could get a pool going if you get rid of them. We don’t have much but the wool trade has been pretty good. I figure we could cobble together 50 gold.”

Geralt looked him in the eye and gave him a nod. The barkeep looked relieved.

“thank you, Master witcher.”

He took a swig of ale. Dogs with tails, fine. Dogs with horns? Less fine. Hopefully the old man was half blind and this would be the easiest 50 gold Geralt had ever made.

Geralt sat back on his stool and took a moment to listen, really listen to Jaskier’s playing. Might as well enjoy something about the bard’s evadible company.

He had to admit it was beautiful. More so, it was textured. The bass notes thrummed with life, while the high intricate melodies wove a bird’s song. Did Jaskier always play like this? Geralt felt the tune tug at his chest, like the ocean waves pulling him from shore. Maybe so long in silence wasn’t good for him after all.

It wasn’t long before the solo ended and the gathered crowd erupted in applause.

“Thank you, thank you. Remember to tip your bar keep.” Jaskier laughed over the clapping and hollering. “I’ll be back later tonight for another set! See you all again soon!”

Slowly the crowd dispersed. A moment later, Geralt was acutely aware of a presence standing behind him.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Geralt of Rivia day drinking?” A hand clapped him on the shoulder. “How have you been you big wolf! Kill anything worth writing about?” Jaskier plopped onto a stool next to Geralt. He was glowing from an after performance high. His face was lightly flushed, Geralt could see the faint pink of his cheeks deepening to a dark red lower below his shirt-

Geralt downed his drink.

“Ah yes, excellent Idea. Francis,” He gestured to the bartender, “me and my dashing companion would like another round.”

Geralt waved a hand, stopping the barkeep “No. I need to get to the woods before dusk.”

Jaskier lit up. “A hunt! Geralt, can I come? It been so long since I have seen you in action. I miss the swoosh of your blade, the ways your muscles ripple under your—“

Geralt coughed. The keeper was suddenly very interested in cleaning a glass at the opposite side of the bar.

“You can’t come, it’s dangerous. I don’t even know what these things are.”

“Even more reason to have me along! I can be there to chronical the beast. You’ll be too busy,” Jaskier paused to think, “Stabbing and slashing?” He offered, “I’ll be there observing. When have I ever gotten in your way?”

Geralt could think of at least 50 times the bard had gotten in his way.

Instead he grunted in resignation.

“Oh thank you Geralt! You won’t regret it!”

The terrible howl continued to rip through the forest. Yet, the beast made no move to attack.

Against his instincts, Geralt managed to scramble to his feet. He grabbed for his blade and charged the creature. He used his shoulder and knocked it to its side, stopping the horrible sound.

The hound righted itself and focused its attention on the witcher. It reared up on its hind legs, its teeth pulled back into a hideous snarl, ready to pounce.

In a flash, it lunged. Geralt deflected the beast and used his momentum to cleave the outstretched limb. The hound fell back with an infernal cry. Jaskier side-stepped to avoid being struck by the newly liberated leg.

“Watch it!” Jaskier yelled. He swiped some blue blood off his doublet.

Geralt grunted and steadied his blade. The hound was bleeding, yet it looked as if it would make another attack. He didn’t give it a chance.

With the last of his speed, Geralt drove his sword through the creature’s neck. It dropped to the ground. Blue blood soaked the earth underneath.

The two panted for a moment, catching their breath.

“What, pray tell, are those?” Jaskier asked. He poked at the dead hound’s skull with his boot.

Geralt had the unfortunate displeasure of know exactly what these things were.

“Fey hounds.” He grumbled. Geralt started cutting off one of the beasts heads. It was slow going. His blade didn’t work well on Feycreatures. He was going to need iron, a lot of it. Hopefully one head would be enough to show he killed the pack. �� It’s not good. They don’t usually leave the Feywilds. They definitely don’t leave the Feywilds to eat sheep.”

“So why are they here, Geralt?” Jaskier seemed curious.

Geralt shrugged. Usually Feyhouds meant that the Fey were not close behind. He had his dealing with The Courts before, and decided that the least interaction the better. Of course, he probably wouldn’t get his way. The howl was a signal. Signaling what, Geralt hadn’t the foggiest.

The only thing he knew that he needed to collect his payment and leave this town so that it could be another witcher’s problem.

“I thought fairies were stories?” Jaskier asked, innocently. “My mother used to tell me the most delightful--

Geralt raised a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t call them that. And the Fae are never delightful” He stood up and stuffed the head in a bag.

“People say that about witchers, and I find you quite charming.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, and started making his way back to town.

[betterbards]

Lottie runs into some trouble with her crops!

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and It’s that time of year where I start planting my garden. Meet Lottie, a down-home country-girl close to my heart. 

Do you guys remember the Cow plant from Sims?? these were my favorites. 

Let me know who I should make next!! I am always looking for suggestions. 

-BB

[betterbards]

Our lovely lady, Tana, is relaxing listening to some vibes from another era. Who would you like to see next? all suggestions welcome!!

[betterbards]

Nellie takes a smoke break

Hey everyone! Im working on a series of pin up gals. Im still new to digital art and am looking to improve. let me know if you have any suggestions for who to draw next!!