Archive of Our Own ^beta

“And so I told the man: Dear sir, I do believe-“

“Give me all your coin!” 

“No, that’s not what I said, don’t be uncouth!” Jaskier sighed, eying the one, two, three, four bandits that had surrounded them- him, actually- on the lonely stretch of path between one small town and the next village. “I do believe- Unhand my Magnolia, you ruffian!” Jaskier squawked, turning and slapped the hand of the bandit that dared to tug at his precious lute. “Geralt, be a dear?”

“I caught dinner last night.” The Witcher shrugged, patting Roach on the neck when she bobbed her head in agreement.

“Ah! Well, you should have warned me then, Mr. Higher Ground. You’re the one riding the horse- I said, let go!” He slapped another bandit’s hand with an affronted look. “We were not done talking, so don’t be rude!” 

This time, it was a knife, poking him in the side right above where his coin pouch hung. “We said, give us all your coin. Or the mouthy one gets it.”

“Gets what?” Jaskier couldn’t help but retort, dancing away from the sharp point in the quickly reducing circle of bandits. “It must be the plague, because you all are filthy. Didn’t your mothers ever teach you how to use soap?”

The bandits snarled, lunging in a clearly-practiced move, Jaskier just managing to dodge and roll out of the path of a truly horrendously kept sword. He could feel the infection just looking at the poor thing. 

“Jaskier!”

“Yes dear?” He had already ducked out of his lute strap and was holding the neck with one hand.

“Catch.” Geralt tossed his steel sword- always the steel one, never the silver- at Jaskier, who caught it one handed with a spin to bleed out momentum.

“Thank you, dear, can you watch Magnolia for me?” He asked without looking back, tossing the lute and trusting Geralt to catch her, freeing up his other hand so that he could take a two handed grip on the broadsword. It was a bit heavier that he preferred, but with how long he had been traveling with Geralt, he had learned how to deal with the additional length and heft. “Now, who’s first?” He asked, intentionally opening his stance to give the bandits a free shot. 

The one in blue, let’s call him idiot number one, lunged first. He was the one with the knife. Emphasis on ‘was’, since he was also sans hand now. Curled around his bleeding appendage, a strike to the back of the skull with the butt of the sword and he was out for the count, likely never to get up again, judging on how profusely his stump was bleeding. 

Idiot number one hadn’t even hit the road yet, before Jaskier parried Diseased Sword’s wild swing, earning a sharp elbow to the neck, crushing his larynx in the process. Gasping for air, he didn’t see the sword that cleanly ended his life.

Three and four must have been brothers, with troll somewhere in their ancestry, because they were big, bald, carried clubs and Jaskier could swear their skin was grey even without bleeding out first. “Oh, you two are ugly. Geralt, dear, aren’t trolls more your wheelhouse?”

Which earned him a snarl from the troll on the left and Jaskier had to side-step a swing from his club that would have either sent his head flying, or put a major dent into Geralt’s sword, and Jaskier didn’t want to hear the kind of grief that would bring on until they could find a blacksmith to bang out the dents. 

“Don’t insult trolls, Jask.” Geralt drawled, kicking troll two’s face when he turned to attack the Witcher and backed up Roach so that she was no longer within immediate danger. 

“Right, right. My apologies to trolls.” Jaskier stepped within troll one’s circle, too close to effectively hit with the club, and pulled his push dagger from his boot- stabbing it into the troll’s kidney and drawing to the side. The back edge of the triangular-shaped knife caught skin and tore the wound further during its exit. “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t let me see trolls pre-beheading. I get the details wrong.”

Hair on the back of his neck prickled and he felt eyes staring out from the forest. A snapped twig and Jaskier sent the push dagger flying into the bush blindly- he would deal with the consequences from that later- while pirouetting away from a clumsy grab. If it was for him or for the new wound on the troll’s torso, he didn’t care. With one hand occupied clutching the slash, it left the troll vulnerable on his other side and Jaskier sunk his sword through to the other kidney, nicking the spinal column on the way out. 

Troll one’s scream nearly covered troll two’s movements and Jaskier’s shoulder was nearly taken out of commission by two’s club. “Rude!” Jaskier growled, “Don’t you know that you should wait. Your. Turn.” Two slashes and a stab later, troll two was taken care of and Jaskier returned to troll one, absently applauding the man for still being upright… somehow. 

Taking a moment, Jaskier wondered if troll one was going to keel over in his own time, or if he should… help things along. Remembering that leaving animals to suffer before death was rude, Jaskier decided to be merciful and behead this one too. 

Taking a moment to look around and survey his surroundings, Jaskier focused on his breathing, calming his heart. Now to deal with whatever was in the tree line.

“This one’s still breathing.” Geralt called over, pointing at Jaskier’s first attacker/victim.

“Ah, right. Thank you dear.” A quick strike through the spine and heart stopped that problem. “So, what do you think? Dinner, bandit or victim?” He asked, mostly to himself. Focusing, he couldn’t hear anything, so he either got in a lucky shot, or it had fled, whatever had been there. Carefully holding the dripping sword away from his already blood-splattered costume, he used it to part the bushes. “Ooh, this was not your day.” Jaskier winced. He had indeed hit a fifth bandit. Just… in a very unfortunate location. There’s a certain dignity to bleeding out from the carotid or just being stabbed in the heart. Bleeding out from the femoral was outright embarrassing in comparison. But- jaskier checked briefly when he retrieved his knife- he did leave the poor bandit’s family jewels intact. 

Speaking of jewels… Jaskier performed a quick search and found the bandit’s coin purse. It was light- expected- but at least it wasn’t empty. “Waste not, want not.” He murmured to himself, patting the poor bastard’s hip as he stood back up. “Geralt?”

Coming back out from the bushes, he found that Geralt had finally gotten off Roach and had checked the bodies for valuables before pulling them off the road. “Desperate. Just a handful of coin each. Enough for a room at the next inn.” 

“Oh, good. So not a complete waste of time then.” Jaskier chirped before grimacing and wiping the blood on the sword off on the ‘cleanest’ bandit’s shirt. “You think that they would know better by now.” Handing Geralt back his sword, he didn’t miss the small Hmm of amusement.

“This wouldn’t happen if you carried your own sword, Jaskier.” Said sword was approximately half the weight of Geralt’s blade with a decorative blue stone in the pommel that matched his eyes. Smaller, yes, but no less deadly in the correct hands. It was currently tucked in Geralt’s sword bag, alongside his silver blade. 

“But that would mean that I would have to polish my own sword afterwards too, and that’s not nearly as fun as taking care of yours.” Jaskier grinned placing his hand on his hip, then realized that his clothes were now covered with more than the usual road filth. “I just bought these! Geralt! This is silk!”

“You should know better by now not to wear performance clothes while traveling.” Easily climbing back up onto Roach, he started her on an easy trot, Magnolia’s strap looped around his saddle horn, within easy reaching distance and without a scratch.

“But I’m always performing! It’s who I am. Now give me back my Magnolia, Geralt. Geralt!” Realizing his Witcher had already taken off and was a good distance down the road, Magnolia in tow. There was a town only a few hours away, where they could get a room, Jaskier sing for their supper and Geralt would even spring for a bath to share. Then, later on, Jaskier could give their swords a good polish behind locked doors.