#oGeraltthegrumpy

[bubbletimestories]

Give a kiss to your sweet bard, o Geralt the grumpy (CursedJaskier)

Summary: While the two companions stop in a village, a bourgeois accuses Jaskier of having slept with his wife. The duo fled quickly but the bard began to see feathers growing on his body. The curse is spreading quickly, impressive but above all painful ...

Warnings: pain, curses, tears

Themes: curse, pain, mermaid, hurt/confort, feathers, singing, worried Geralt,

A/N. I don't know much about the world of The Witcher (except that Geralt says "hmm" and "fuck" a lot) but it is written with the heart (and a computer)

Translated with Google traduction, sorry ^^’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128846?view_full_work=true

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        (part 3)

An untimely ray of sunshine strikes the young man’s face even when he is immersed in a superb dream promising him wealth, abundance and pleasures. With a muffled groan, he straightens up, his brown hair in battle in front of his eyes, and utters a long loud yawn. The place next to him is empty, Geralt has probably gone downstairs to take care of his mare, which gives the bard time to wash. Still sleepy, he gets up slowly while scratching his chest and back to peel off the invasive feathers. While yawning, he hums one of his ballads and plunges his still numb hands into the icy water to wash. The cold bite wakes him up and he dries quickly before finally noticing how long his fingers are, as well as his nails that have hardened overnight. In the place where he scratched, there are already a few drops of blood in the middle of red marks that stand out on his white skin.

- G ... Geralt!

He immediately brings his fist to his mouth after this cry has escaped him. He doesn't want his friend to see him like that, he feels ashamed without really knowing what is happening, he probably made a mistake. But his call has been heard and the witcher half breaks down the door as he enters, his hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to face a bloodthirsty creature or an angry villager. However, he finds nothing except his companion, prostrate in a corner, hands crossed in his lap and fleeing his gaze. The amber pupils inspect the room then the young man, detecting traces of blood on him. No need to ask a single question, it doesn't take long for the bard to spit out the piece himself, red with embarrassment and trying to hide his mutilated fists.

- I ... something weird is happening to me. I don't know what's going on.

The panic in his voice keeps Geralt from getting angry, and he just kneels down and pulls one of his hands out to examine it, at the same time noticing the fine feathers adorning his arm. Long and bronze in color, you couldn’t believe they came from any mattress.

-  Fuck

Without a doubt, his friend is the victim of a curse that turns him into something, even if the witcher cannot determine what. He takes a closer look at the strange phenomenon as Jaskier becomes more and more agitated. His hand trembles between those of the mutant and he tries to breathe deeply. It can't be bad, they did nothing but ride and kill a few creatures, it's not like he released a new djinn. The same questions pass through Geralt's mind which is recovering.

- It looks like a curse, someone is trying to punish you and I think that the pig who insulted you at Dorian is not for nothing.

- That big bacon ?! But why ? I haven't done anything wrong or at least nothing that justifies damaging my beauty. Oh Geralt, what if ...

He doesn't finish his sentence, reaching out to grab his precious lute that he squeezes against his heart before loosening his fingers. Pale and worried in advance, he began to play a few ballad notes, but his clawed nails caught the strings, making the instrument squeal instead of producing music. Despite his efforts, he is unable to pull anything other than crisp notes and one of the strings brokes, emitting a final snap. Silence falls on the room and the bard hides his face in his monstrous hands, livid and defeated.

-             I'm done…

Jaskier barely contains his tears and his companion looks at him without knowing what to say or what to do. Part of him thinks that the bard has only what he deserves by sticking his ... nose everywhere. But that doesn’t mean he’ll let him face it alone, he’s his friend and he has so few. With a groan, the witcher pats the bewitched knee and stands up.

- I know someone ... he can lift the curse. Gather your things quickly, we have to go to Yspaden.

Without waiting, the two companions set off, not knowing how much time they have to save the young man. A month ? A few weeks ?

            Give a kiss to your sweet bard, o Geralt the grumpy

A light rain hits the paving stones of the courtyard, bringing out the odors of mud and excrement without displeasing the sole occupant of the stable. Regardless of the frozen drops that slide through his long snow hair, the witcher draws Roach outside to finish harnessing it. The last notes of a ballad resound through the windows, followed by enthusiastic cheers and a slender figure begins to greet behind the colored tiles. By the time he collects the shiny pieces that are thrown at him, Jaskier thanks the crowd and disappears outside, sending a radiant smile to his companion, his cheeks pink with excitement. His overwhelming enthusiasm was met with the mutant's usual impassiveness, who merely motioned for the bard to climb behind him. Since the young man's stallion perished under the blows of the manticore, they are forced to share the same horse but, to be honest, they don't mind. With a slight, if somewhat awkward, movement, Jaskier slips behind his friend's back, starting a chatter that is not about to stop.

- The people here are very generous, we have plenty of money to pay for a meal in the next inn. Although they would have been even more generous if you hadn't left after ten minutes with your most grumpy expression. You have defeated a manticore, you should be proud, if only a little happy, rather than ruminating like an old man.

His litany is interrupted by loud voices when a plump bourgeois bursts in front of them, followed by a group of onlookers fond of fighting and spectacle. The man looks furious and seeing the woman, red in confusion, who stands behind, Geralt breathes an exasperated sigh in advance. It is obvious that the bard who serves him as a traveling companion has still been stuffed with his manly member in the first lady he has come across, it becomes tiresome to always relive the same scene over and over again. Without giving the cuckold a look, he squeezes the reins a little more while feeling Jaskier stiffen behind his back.

- That dirty dog fucked my wife, he dishonored my Elisa!

- I did nothing at all! Sir, I’ve never seen this woman in my life, I swear.

While showing his most shocked air, the young man tightens his grip around the horse and blows Geralt to set sail far from here but his call remains unanswered while a big stubby finger stretches towards him with all the accusing power of which a deceived husband is capable.

- Come down, motherfucker, let me make you eat your lute by the ass!

- This proposal is attractive but I will have to refuse, we are expected. Geralt!

Still no support, the witcher is motionless like a statue, his gaze turned to the distance with an air of deep boredom. Since the musician is embarrassed, he has to fend for himself. Faced with the panic that gradually appears on Jaskier's features, the bourgeois emboldened, encouraged by the crowd who gathered behind him, as lovers of blood. His ham-like arm stretches out to grab the slender ankle and pull the fugitive out of his saddle. With a furious yelp, the bard lands in the mud, his breeches in no way absorbing his fall on the icy cobblestones. By reflex, he arched his back to prevent his lute from suffering a sad fate and backed off as best he saw the eyes of his attacker sparkle with fury.

- I'm going to bleed you like a pig and decorate my door with your purses, dirty hanged son, goat fucker, companion of the butcher of Bla…

The rest of the insults are hanging in the air, as is their author, whose feet begin to beat without finding any more ground. The cuckold feels his doublet creaking but does not care, more disturbed by the golden irises which stare at him with the cold anger of the predator who scolds before shredding its prey. The rest of the audience is silent, watching with a mixture of dread and delight as this fat bacon was lifted with one hand by the famous witcher who did not even draw his sword. Useless. With a terrifying face of stoicism apart from the incendiary pupils, Geralt speaks in a low, measured voice.

- My friend told you that he did not know your wife and if she cheated on you, it may be because your slug body is flabby and disgusting and that it has been too long since you have not being hard. Now get out of my way before your head goes to that of the manticore.

With a twist of the wrist, he releases the rude who runs away muttering curses, promising to take revenge on the bard, even if he waits to be out of reach to start vociferating. Disappointed not to have witnessed more violence, the crowd dispersed and everyone returned to their mug or their occupations. After wiping his fingers on his pants as if to chase away filth, the hunter turns to Jaskier, still on the ground, and reaches out to help him get up. The disgruntled air of the witcher incites his friend not to open his mouth and it is in a tense silence that the two men leave Dorian, one having buried his face behind the back of the other who looks at the horizon regardless of the rain.

**

One foot on a sticky table, Jaskier finishes tuning his lute, although no one is paying much attention to him yet. He is far too used to filthy rooms and inattentive spectators to get upset and the bard quietly takes care of his dear instrument while glancing at his companion. Geralt, if he seems to be drinking his beer quietly, remains on the lookout. It’s more of a habit than a necessity, but he’s never sure to drink in peace. His musician friend contemplates his scowl for a few seconds before pushing away with the fingertips some unwelcome down feathers stuck on his back and on his arm, to believe that his bed has died without him realizing it. He scratches himself mechanically before standing up, it's time to get on the stage. His long, thin fingers brush against the strings of the instrument, which he sings to perfection, soon accompanying him on a tune that has become familiar over the years.

When a humble bard, Graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…

His sweet voice is slightly lost in the ambient hubbub but the young man does not allow himself to be disturbed and when he meets the amber glance of the hero whose exploits he sings, he continues with more zest. Little by little, the discussions and even the noise of the mugs stop, the men are silent to listen to the exploits of the witcher. When Jaskier starts the chorus, several voices join him and the pieces start to sparkle in the air before falling back to the musician's feet. Over the song, it's a real rain of metal falling, sometimes even made up of a few gold coins! Faced with such success, the bard extended his performance, his face radiating with joy as he mentally counted how many hot meals he was winning. His fingers soon tire and he must stop, greeting the generous spectators who continue to whistle and throw their savings shouting cheers. Geralt has lost nothing of the scene and he raises a surprised eyebrow as his friend picks up his salary, looking as happy as if he had been announced the death of Valdo Marx.

- Thank you all, it was a pleasure!

After many bows, Jaskier joins the witcher with a smile and places a handful of coins near his mug while boasting of his success. It seems to him that they are becoming more and more known and that Geralt's reputation is becoming less and less dark thanks to his faithful companion and his angelic voice. The warrior rolls his eyes when he hears such nonsense, which does not prevent him from glancing at his friend and discreetly chasing a down on his colored breastplate. By the time they make new irons for his horse, they're going to have to stay in Vizima, which isn't much to please the monster killer. But as long as they don't draw attention to them, everything will be fine.

- Try not to take up all the space tonight, Geralt, a young man like me needs sleep.

Jaskier pouted by folding and unfolding his aching fingers while his friend thought about their last night, stiff on the edge of the bed while the bard snored softly, rolled up in the blanket and fidgeting regularly. A witcher also needs sleep! The many shiny coins would more than pay for two rooms, but neither of the two men offers it for the simple reason that Geralt should keep an eye on his traveling companion. Officially. When the time comes to rest, they don't separate and no one would be crazy enough to point that out to them. Who knows if this mutant does not need toys to deceive boredom ... An excessively noisy toy if we asked to Geralt who frowns when seeing his companion rub his knuckles with a strongly odorous oil .

- What is that ? It stinks ...

- An ointment for my hands, they are dry and it is bad for business if I cannot play at ease.

- The world would be grateful to have a little silence.

The bard responds with a wrathful slap and pretends to ignore the insolent who takes the opportunity to lie down and close his eyes. A few minutes later, the candle was blown out and Jaskier slipped under the blanket, not without grumbling against the feathers that prick him through the fine fabric of his clothes. He falls asleep with surprising rapidity and soon cuddles on his friend who does not flinch, accustomed.

***

An untimely ray of sunshine strikes the young man’s face even when he is immersed in a superb dream promising him wealth, abundance and pleasures. With a muffled groan, he straightens up, his brown hair in battle in front of his eyes, and utters a long loud yawn. The place next to him is empty, Geralt has probably gone downstairs to take care of his mare, which gives the bard time to wash. Still sleepy, he gets up slowly while scratching his chest and back to peel off the invasive feathers. While yawning, he hums one of his ballads and plunges his still numb hands into the icy water to wash. The cold bite wakes him up and he dries quickly before finally noticing how long his fingers are, as well as his nails that have hardened overnight. In the place where he scratched, there are already a few drops of blood in the middle of red marks that stand out on his white skin.

- G ... Geralt!

He immediately brings his fist to his mouth after this cry has escaped him. He doesn't want his friend to see him like that, he feels ashamed without really knowing what is happening, he probably made a mistake. But his call has been heard and the witcher half breaks down the door as he enters, his hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to face a bloodthirsty creature or an angry villager. However, he finds nothing except his companion, prostrate in a corner, hands crossed in his lap and fleeing his gaze. The amber pupils inspect the room then the young man, detecting traces of blood on him. No need to ask a single question, it doesn't take long for the bard to spit out the piece himself, red with embarrassment and trying to hide his mutilated fists.

- I ... something weird is happening to me. I don't know what's going on.

The panic in his voice keeps Geralt from getting angry, and he just kneels down and pulls one of his hands out to examine it, at the same time noticing the fine feathers adorning his arm. Long and bronze in color, you couldn’t believe they came from any mattress.

-  Fuck

Without a doubt, his friend is the victim of a curse that turns him into something, even if the witcher cannot determine what. He takes a closer look at the strange phenomenon as Jaskier becomes more and more agitated. His hand trembles between those of the mutant and he tries to breathe deeply. It can't be bad, they did nothing but ride and kill a few creatures, it's not like he released a new djinn. The same questions pass through Geralt's mind which is recovering.

- It looks like a curse, someone is trying to punish you and I think that the pig who insulted you at Dorian is not for nothing.

- That big bacon ?! But why ? I haven't done anything wrong or at least nothing that justifies damaging my beauty. Oh Geralt, what if ...

He doesn't finish his sentence, reaching out to grab his precious lute that he squeezes against his heart before loosening his fingers. Pale and worried in advance, he began to play a few ballad notes, but his clawed nails caught the strings, making the instrument squeal instead of producing music. Despite his efforts, he is unable to pull anything other than crisp notes and one of the strings brokes, emitting a final snap. Silence falls on the room and the bard hides his face in his monstrous hands, livid and defeated.

-             I'm done…

Jaskier barely contains his tears and his companion looks at him without knowing what to say or what to do. Part of him thinks that the bard has only what he deserves by sticking his ... nose everywhere. But that doesn’t mean he’ll let him face it alone, he’s his friend and he has so few. With a groan, the witcher pats the bewitched knee and stands up.

- I know someone ... he can lift the curse. Gather your things quickly, we have to go to Yspaden.

Without waiting, the two companions set off, not knowing how much time they have to save the young man. A month ? A few weeks ?

****

A few days would be more accurate as the metamorphosis of the bard seems to spread quickly. When the sun reaches its zenith and the duo stops to eat, countless little feathers have had time to grow on Jaskier's slender body, which struggles as best he can not to itch. That they share the same mount also becomes a blessing because the numb hands of the patient can not hold reins and without the presence of Geralt to guide the animal and ensure that he does not fall, the bard would have dropped as soon as they left the inn. Regularly, the young man complains which shows that he keeps his whole head, it helps him not to go mad at the thought that his body no longer belongs to him.

The journey to Yspaden is long and Jaskier's good humor is slowly falling apart. In the evening, the coins continue to rain around him, even in the absence of a lute, as if his voice alone could charm the spectators but the young man no longer manages to appreciate his luck. Increasingly dressed to hide his condition, the bard, once so happy and light, closes in on himself and stops singing after two days of travel. This at least has the merit of bringing Geralt the peace and silence he so badly missed but, deep down, the witcher can't even appreciate his luck. He misses the cheerful voice of his friend, replaced by moans that get lost in the wind. Unable to scratch without nicking his flesh with the ends of his claws, Jaskier already thought he was undergoing torture, but soon his members themselves sought to form new angles. His whole body becomes painful and at night Geralt hears his companion making complaints in his sleep. He begins to think that the crime is not up to the punishment but the witcher does not express the bottom of his thought, held back by a kind of misplaced jealousy. Without really being able to admit it, he is angry with his companion for having umpteenth times shared the diaper of a stranger while his back was turned.

It is in this moody mood that the two men stop for the night as they pass through a thick forest. Sitting by the fire, Jaskier stretches his aching limbs to warm up, being careful not to ignite the thick plumage that now covers his body, merging with his dark hair to better highlight the pallor of his drawn features.

- How many days from Yspaden are we? I'm exhausted ...

Geralt thinks about setting up camp, showing his usual scowl.

- At this rate, we will arrive in three days. Four if the conditions are bad.

- Three days ?! It's way too much !

The young man notices that the witcher is running away from his gaze, he is especially aware that time is running out between his fingers and that he is approaching the point of no return. What will happen if he is totally transformed, if we know what he is metamorphosing into? Angrily, the bard, who is no longer really a bard, takes off his deformed boots to expose his twisted, dry and clawed feet like his hands once so beautiful and fine.

- Geralt, look at me! I'm an awful creature, I ... I don't have three days in front of me. I don't want to be a monster!

His companion turns to him, furious at these whining faces which he feels helpless. He takes his own fear for anger and points an accusing finger at his friend.

- It wouldn't have happened if you had restrained yourself from tumbling the first woman to come!

- Because that's what you think? I deserve what is happening to me?

- Obviously, you had to be punished in one way or another, failing a shameful illness ...

- Geralt!

The young man is deeply offended but his companion is not finished, jealousy spurting burning words from his mouth, made venomous by this long wait.

- You should have avoided getting anywhere!

- I DIDN'T SLEEP WITH THIS WOMAN!

Silence falls after this cry from the heart, the two men looking intensely, catching their breath. Jaskier has bright eyes, deeply hurt by his friend whom he did not think capable of judging him as harshly. A violent pain twists the bard’s bones who pushes a complaint and curls up on the ground, no longer holding back the tears which run down his cheeks like a torrent. He moans as he folds in on himself, devoured by spasms.

- I can't take it anymore ... I can't take it anymore. Make it stop ...

The witcher remains frozen, realizing that he has been unjust, jealous and even cruel to his only friend. Why does he have to destroy everything he touches ? He looks at the devastated young man, not knowing what to do to relieve him. Whatever the idea may come to him… Geralt kneels near his companion and puts a hand on his shoulder.

- Hmmm… I'm sorry.

Under his fingers, he feels the shoulder tremble, shaken by uncontrollable sobs. Then, slowly, with infinite precautions, the mutant grabs a blanket to wrap the patient in, then takes him in his arms, taking care not to press on the damaged limbs of the bard. The latter gradually calms down and closes his eyes, deeply inspiring the musky smell of the witcher, mixed his horse’s and the rain of the last days. This perfume, this embrace, comfort him and he feels the pain go away a little. They stay a long time like this, without saying anything, and even when the bard ends up falling asleep, his friend does not let him go, letting him slide on his lap to taste a little rest. Lying against his companion, Jaskier seems to be getting better, the features of his face rediscovering that innocent sweetness that is his own. The witcher watches over him all night while gazing at the stars, strangely serene.

*****

Three days ... When Jaskier said he didn't have so much time, he might not have spoken lightly. Dark storm clouds are piling up in an already gray sky, it will rain heavily on Redania and the bewitched bard may not be able to bear this final torture. Wrapped from head to toe in a blanket, the young man had walled in for almost an entire day, only his pale face stood out under the raspy wool. The pain has become so intense, so violent that the patient is unable to move, even to raise his arm. He has been delirious for several hours in a state of semi-consciousness, leaning against Geralt who ensures that he does not fall, leaving his mare to walk alone so that he can hold the bard properly.

A lightning bolt tears the sky, soon followed by a violent thunderclap as if the earth was going to open to swallow the duo. The witcher tightens his grip a little, his amber eyes turned to the horizon as he sniffs the air with apprehension. The rain will not delay any longer, they must find shelter as soon as possible, no way that Jaskier will be soaked. They can't stop in the next town, but if they don't, where do they go? A second thunderclap rings, charging the already salty atmosphere with electricity. As Geralt hesitates over what to do, his friend curls up when he hears the storm and that simple movement snatches a painful moan. Tears flow freely on his cheeks hollowed out in a wet furrow. In the same way, the path of the witcher appears all marked out.

- Fuck

He takes a breath and follows his mount towards the city, trying to repress in the distance the images of the massacre which he perpetrated there and which earned him the name of butcher. It was a long time ago now, but that doesn't stop him from being relieved by not seeing anyone around, even if he decides not to enter the city proper. Preferring to remain as discreet as possible, Geralt leaves his mare out of sight and lifts his friend in his arms, melting in the shadows to an abandoned stable whose worm-eaten boards will nevertheless constitute a good shelter during the 'downpour. It doesn't take long before the rain starts to fall, smashing on the roof without reaching the two companions. Despite his thick plumage, Jaskier continues to tremble with cold, his frail body seeming to break at the slightest breath of wind. The witcher keeps him against him to give him as much warmth as he can and, in the darkness of their shelter, he examines his companion with apprehension. From his skilful hands, nothing remains but stiffened talons whose sharp claws have left more than one mark on the bard over the days. His limbs are twisted at strange angles, curving in legs and wings in an excruciatingly painful process. Only the young man's face remains intact, which greatly surprises Geralt. The creature he is holding against his chest is unlike any other he could have encountered, which adds to his worry.

The patient is agitated abruptly, caught in a vice by a pain which tears his organs. His moans are sharper and he opens his mouth to scream, as if it could relieve him. Geralt only has time to put a hand on the pale lips to muffle the sound, his heart pounding that someone may have heard them. For long, endless seconds, he remains motionless while his friend calms down under his fingers. Calm falls again but the witcher's senses are too sharp to release his attention, he feels a presence approaching and he reaches out towards his sword, ready to defend their lives with savagery.

A young woman walks very slowly towards the stable, staring at the soggy haystack which will no longer hide strangers. In her hand, she squeezes a dull knife firmly, but the ferocity on her face is altered by the trembling of her limbs. She is afraid and Geralt feels it full nose. Their eyes meet and the witcher releases the guard of his weapon, raising a hand in appeasement while the other still supports the unconscious bard. The dark eyes of the newcomer come and go between Blaviken's butcher and his strange load, not knowing what to think of all this. Many seasons have passed since the mutant came, but there are still bloody stories. Eazel doesn't know what to do, her fist clenched around the handle of her knife, her frizzy hair dripping down her back.

- You are…

- Yes.

Geralt's voice is calm and low, he doesn't try to deny his identity (for what?) or threaten the young woman. He just wants to be able to protect his friend and he feels he can do it without violence. Word art has never been his domain, but he really has no choice. He notices the insistent glances towards Jaskier and instinctively tightens his embrace around the young man.

- My friend is sick, very sick. I have to take him to a healer but he can't travel in this rain.

- Is he…

- He is not contagious but his condition is worsening quickly and he will die if he is not treated quickly.

As if to support his words, the bard shivers in his blanket and lets out a plaintive sigh that moves Eazel. She herself lost a child just a few months ago, and to see that livid face with lips blued by the cold ... The blood will not flow today, not from her hand. By avoiding looking the butcher in the eye, the young woman puts her blade away.

- You can stay here until the storm stops. But don't make any noise and leave as soon as possible.

- Thank you…

Eazel just nods and leaves as quickly as possible, unwilling to meddle in the affairs of a witcher. Better to go home, say nothing, pretend nothing has happened. It's the best she can do for the two men.

Again alone in the darkness of the stable, Geralt allows himself a relieved curse and readjusts his position to wait for the rain to stop.

- Ge… .Geralt…

Jaskier tries to open his eyes but gives up, his mind rising to the surface for a time that his friend knows is short. The latter hugs him a little more to show him that he is there, that he is watching over his companion in misfortune. For several minutes, the bard said nothing more, continuing to moan the witcher's first name as a cry for help.

- She talks to me… she sings… in my ear…

His eyes roll behind his closed eyelids and he contracts under a spasm of pain that affects all of his bones.

- I have to... sing ... Geralt ... Geralt ...

He wiggles slightly, turning his face against the mutant's shirt and inhaling the scent. His body relaxes as he reassures himself and plunges back into the limbo of unconsciousness, his lips whispering the same word between two sighs.

******

Never before has Roach ridden so quickly and when its hooves reach the cobblestones of Yspaden, the mare is all smoking, drenched in sweat but proud to have covered such a distance in a short time. Its master has no time to thank it properly, just flattering it flank before taking the inert young man and transporting him where he can be saved. Geralt has only met the healer once, but has no time to look elsewhere and must rely entirely on him to free his friend from this curse that eats away at him.

- We're closed today ..., says a drawling voice when the witcher enters the dark building smelling garlic and alcohol.

- Fuck, Saraham!

This annoyed curse causes the head of the old man to be raised, who immediately recognizes the witcher and changes his attitude, becoming curious.

- Geralt of Rivia… it's a surprise!

A nice surprise, no, but neither of the two men need say it. The mutant deposits the reason for his arrival on the bench where he himself had been treated many years ago. He spreads the blanket without saying a word, showing the healer the body of the bard who does not even react to being thus examined. Saraham adjusts his glasses and scrutinizes the feathers, the young man's wing shape, whispering to himself how interesting the case is. Every second, the witcher's face tenses up a little more to get no answer and his eyes turn black as night but the doctor doesn't care. He ends up straightening up.

- Your friend is cursed

- That, I would have suspected. Heal him ... if you can.

Geralt's voice breaks slightly at the end and he takes a deep breath, his eyes remaining like amber. The healer nods and takes vials and ointments from the shelves.

- He is possessed by a spirit from countries far south, a kind of mermaid that you surely don't know. They have a captivating voice too, but where you know women with fish bodies, they have the appearance of a bird of prey. Someone, apparently, is mad at him. Or at you.

- Hmm ...

The witcher frowns but says nothing, having enough confidence in Saraham to let him diagnose. Jaskier issues a complaint and the mutant's heart immediately sinks.

- Can you free him?

- Oh, sure. I will remove Thelxiepeia from his body and everything will be fine. You're lucky that I traveled south. However, it will take a while. So get some fresh air, you stink of mud and sweat.

Moreover, the witcher is so tense that he radiates negative waves that Saraham does not need. He therefore pushes the young man towards the door before setting to work, Geralt remains planted in front of the house for a few moments without knowing what to do. Whether his companion lives or dies, it no longer depends on him. So he tries to take care of his best, bandaging Roach to reward it, walking the streets of this city far too small for him. Finally, as the sun sets on the horizon, Saraham points his nose out to tell the young man that he can come back.

- I gathered everything I needed and he drank something to bring out what threatens to kill him. But now, I'm going to need you to help him not to move because getting the spirit out will not be easy.

Geralt obeyed without argument and stood at the level of the bard's head, pressing on his shoulders to keep him motionless. But he thinks that this frail body could only be held with one hand. The healer begins the exorcism and the patient moans louder, agitating himself like a man with a fever, more and more violently. His friend has no problem immobilizing him, however, trying to remain stoic despite the pain he reads on the bard's features. It’s for his good, to save him. The limbs of the patient are seized with spasms and long dark feathers begin to fall on the dusty floor as Jaskier tries to scream without being able to emit the slightest sound. His mouth opens wide and he vomits a silver cloud like mercury which rises in the air as the body of the young man becomes more human. His tremors cease altogether and Saraham, putting an end to his incantations, has only time to enclose the spirit in a jar which he carefully closes.

- Pfiou ... I should be able to sell that for a good price.

Considering his work is done, the healer walks away, examining his capture, leaving Geralt at his friend's bedside. The witcher removes his hands from the now bare shoulders and finds himself stroking the bard's hair while waiting or rather hoping he wakes up. It takes long minutes before the latter makes a movement, grimacing by opening the eyes as after a long sleep.

- Geralt?

With his mind still foggy, the young man tries to straighten up and contemplates his arms, smooth and white again, not paying attention to his half-nudity. The happy smile that appears on his face triggers a feeling of warmth in Geralt who gently explains to his friend what happened. Jaskier's large, clear eyes widen as the story unfolds and he laughs.

- You mean I could charm the whole kingdom with my ballads ?!

The excitement gives a new life to the young man who looks for his lute before remembering that he has broken a string. Seeing a dejected look darkening the face of his companion, the witcher clears his throat and pulls something from behind a piece of furniture.

- A man from the village repaired it ...

Again, Jaskier is beaming with joy and he takes his instrument with tenderness as a father would take his beloved child. Gently he brushes the strings and begins to sing in a soft voice.

-  Give a kiss to your sweet bard, o Geralt the grumpy…

He slides an impatient glance towards the witcher who shrugs his shoulders, unaffected. The effects of the mermaid are gone along with the feathers and everything else. Jaskier pouted, disappointed.

- Fuck. Too bad! Give a kiss to your sweet bard, o Geralt the grumpy, o Geralt the grumpy hummm Give a kiss to your sweet, he’s feeling so horny…