Chapter Text
Aiden wouldn't necessarily say that he's feeling bitter, staring down the notice board in whatever coastal Redanian town he's stumbled into.
Half hidden by a posting announcing some upcoming festival he spies a contract for a small group of drowners on the banks of the nearby river. The advertised reward is good, surprisingly. Higher than average but not so high as to be suspicious. A little odd, maybe, but some areas have developed more tolerant views of witchers over the last decade or so and the last town he'd been in with Lambert had been more welcoming than usual. Maybe that's just how this area is? He and Lambert don't usually go this way when they're together on the Path. They're only in this area because it's close to where Lambert planned to meet Geralt. And, come to think of it, Aiden doesn't recall being sneered at by any of the travelers they saw on the road leading into this area. So it's probably not a trap. Probably. He's 62% sure.
He still doubts he'll get all of it either way, but it does raise his hopes of not being run out of town immediately. It's doubtful the town despises witchers if they're not already trying to short him before he even starts. Unless they hate witchers so much that an actually reasonable price for his services seems so ludicrously high they think it's something he would jump at and it is a trap. There's always someone in the market for a dead witcher, or, in some cases, a pet witcher.
It's probably not a trap. He subtly double checks that his lock picks and his back-up lock picks are in place anyways.
Aiden yanks the contract from the board. A good chunk of the top tears off, still stuck to the board on the pin he hadn't bothered removing.
He sighs. He needs to get a hold of himself. No amount of bard-generated goodwill toward witchers will help him if the townspeople get it into their heads that he's aggressive. Lambert might be able to get away with being a rude little shit to everyone he meets without obliterating any hope he might have of being accepted at the local inn, but Lambert isn't a Cat.[1] Even with those songs that have been gaining traction, there's only so much kindness and trust he can expect to receive with a Cat medallion. And that amount tends to rapidly dwindle to zero if he doesn't smile and act politely.
Aiden tips his head back and takes a breath to center himself. He stares up at the sky and prays for patience.
The sky is already starting to grow dark. He could go see the alderman now and take care of the problem tonight. In the dark. With no rest after walking through the forest for all of yesterday and today. Or he could see if there's a room at the inn for him first and do that in the morning.
He's not so short on coin he won't be able to afford a night on a bed and a meal. But he should probably save as much as he can to put toward repairing his and Lamberts gear. But he doesn't want to sleep on the ground or up a tree tonight. But it's expensive to repair or replace gear as two witchers. But Lambert left him to go see someone they've both wanted to meet and didn't invite him along.
He starts walking in what he judges is most likely the direction of the inn, making sure his posture says relaxed and calm and confident and resembles nothing of the sulk he wants to slouch into.
Alright, he won't deny being a little upset. Not when he's here alone . Not when as recently as yesterday morning he was waking up curled around Lambert, clinging to his side even as the late spring warmth made it too hot to be truly necessary or even comfortable with how hot they tend to run.[2] Not when he's got nothing but lonely nights to look forward to for the next week at least .
And it's not that he doesn't understand why they had to separate. He understands perfectly well. Does he necessarily agree with it? No, but convincing Lambert to tell the other Wolves about him is a battle he's been fighting for the better part of two decades now. He's made some very encouraging headway, but the fight isn't over yet. Lambert isn't ready. And in the meantime he unfortunately cares enough about the asshole to respect his feelings. Which right now means making himself scarce for a week or so while he goes and meets with one of his brothers.
So no, he's not bitter. That's too extreme. But he's not happy either.
The sounds and smells he's assaulted with when he opens the front door to the tavern that doubles as this town's inn do nothing to lift his mood. But he grits his teeth and sets his face into something that usually doesn't scare people as much and waits for the woman running the bar to notice him. She's speaking to a brightly colored man in nice enough to be out of place clothing and leaning further over the bar than necessary to do so. He can smell lust coming off of both of them.
Eventually they both notice the witcher in the room and turn their attention to him. Aiden braces for their scents to sour with fear.
They don't. The man grins at him like he's excited. The woman doesn't flinch to meet his eyes or drop her own smile. Their scents stay as content and comfortable as they were before they noticed him. He thinks the scent lust in the man's scent might have actually gotten stronger when he looked at Aiden.
Okay. That's… unexpected. Even in the more favorable towns he's been to, the people have still been a little scared. At least when they first spotted him, if not after. Maybe they don't realize that he's a witcher? It's genuinely never happened before–the whole inhuman eyes and dual swords thing tends to give it away pretty quickly–but that doesn't mean it can't.
"What can I do for you, witcher?" the woman says.
Nevermind. They definitely know. Maybe they don't realize he's a Cat? He didn't bother hiding his medallion–he rarely does when he's alone unless he's trying to pass as human to get close to a mark. He's not ashamed to be part of the School of the Cat, even if their reputation isn't the best, and he loves his schoolmates[3]–but humans don't always bother looking closer than witcher, or care about the distinctions between the schools.
"How much for a meal and a room for the night?" he says instead of asking any of the many other questions he's beginning to have.
She frowns and glances at the man who still hasn't left the bar. "I can get you some food, but I'm afraid we don't have any free rooms right now with the festival coming up."
Well. That's unfortunate, but at least for once he thinks he might not be being lied to about there being a lack of available rooms. He'd been hoping to sleep in a bed tonight, but maybe he'll be able to find a nice rooftop to nap on. It won't be what he wanted, but it shouldn't rain tonight from what he saw and it will satisfy his urge to be high up in a way that sleeping in trees generally doesn't. And he'll still get a hot meal he didn't have to catch and cook himself. He opens his mouth to accept when the man beats him to it.
"You can stay with me in my room, if you'd prefer it to roughing it another night," the man says, still grinning brightly, still smelling strongly of lust. "We'd have to share the bed, but I can't say I would mind getting up close and personal with you and we can get to know each other over dinner anyways if that would make you more comfortable. I can even have sweet Mura here send a bath up for you right now if you'd like to wash off the road!"
What the fuck. Did he really just offer what Aiden thinks he just offered? Is he offering a bath and a bed for the night in exchange for sex? Aiden knows he's attractive but he's still a witcher, still a Cat. He's never been propositioned for sex work before. He's never even thought of what he would do if he was.
"I'm not looking for that type of work," he says in shock before he can stop himself. It's true, but it also sounds a lot like a no and he isn't sure his answer actually is no. Prostitution is a respectable profession and he's done much less respectable things for coin besides. Plus, looking at him, the man is actually very fucking pretty. He has the most gorgeous blue eyes Aiden has ever seen anywhere, let alone on a human, and smooth skin and pink lips that make him want to bite. He would look divine underneath him. Or on top of him, Aiden isn't picky. His and Lambert's relationship isn't an exclusive one–neither of them would say no to a nice roll in the hay with someone attractive and willing when they're apart, and sometimes not even when they're together–and Aiden can see himself trying to get into those brightly colored trousers in a different situation.
The man looks confused for all of half a second before he turns bright red and starts sputtering and waving his hands while the woman, Mura, slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh.
"Wh-I-No! No no no! That's not-that's not what I was suggesting at all. I just meant we might have to cuddle a little to both fit on the bed! Platonically! Not that I wouldn't or don't want to-to do that with you. You're very handsome! Very much the dashing rogue! But-I didn't-you're not obligated to to do anything with me in exchange for a place to sleep. Or for anything else! I just wanted to do something nice for you, that's all!"
Aiden snorts despite himself. The man looks at him in exaggerated despair and collapses face first onto the bar.
"Mura, be a dear and end my misery, won't you?" he groans into the wood. "I just ask that you please make it quick. And that you give my room to this handsome stranger as I will no longer be able to occupy it."
"Hmm," Mura pretends to think, "no, I don't think I'm going to do that."
"But Mura," the man whines, dragging her name out. He raises his head to give her some of the best puppy eyes Aiden has ever seen on a grown man. It's adorable. He wonders if he practices in the mirror.
"No," she somehow manages to say in the face of his puppy eyes. The smile on her face looks like it might hurt. "You did this to yourself, offering him a place in your bed before offering him your name."
The man sighs heavily. "I guess you're right." He turns back to Aiden, bright smile back in place. "My apologies, dear witcher, it seems I've forgotten my manners." He offers Aiden his hand to shake with a flourish. "I am the bard Jaskier, graduate of Oxenfurt and Master of the Seven Liberal Arts."
What.
Aiden forces himself to take his hand in a firm shake despite the shock that's numbing his limbs. He's too busy internally freaking out to process Mura's raised eyebrows at the introduction. "Aiden," he says, flashing his teeth in a smile. Of the Cats, he doesn't say. His medallion is visible around his neck, but on the off chance the man, Jaskier, holy shit, actually hasn't noticed it or hasn't recognized the animal on it as a snarling cat instead of a wolf he doesn't want to possibly throw away whatever chance he has at a good impression. Who knows what the White Wolf has said to him about the School of the Cat.
Maybe he should have tucked his medallion in before he walked in here, ashamed of his school or not.
"You're the Toss a Coin bard, right?" Aiden says, like every damn witcher on the Continent isn't aware of who Jaskier is. Like they don't all have a largely unspoken agreement to protect him at all costs if they're in the position to even as they all agree he must be short a few cards from a full deck. Like Lambert didn't spend his whole winter bullying Geralt into agreeing to a late spring meet-up and then ditched Aiden for it specifically for the chance that the bard standing in front of Aiden right now would be there.
Sweet Melitele, Lambert is going to hate him when they meet back up next week. This is amazing. Possibly the greatest thing to ever happen to him, besides maybe his Wolf agreeing to a relationship with him.
"Oh! So you've heard of me!" Jaskier crows. "Yes, I wrote Toss a Coin and all the others about Geralt. I wouldn't mind writing a song about you , too, if you have any good stories to tell. Provided you include some details, of course. I'm afraid I only speak Geralt's language of grunts and stoic silences and I don't think it translates to other witchers."
"Not to worry," he says, letting a teasing grin slip onto his face, praying he's reading this interaction correctly and isn't about to massively offend the most important human on the Continent as far as witchers are concerned, "we're not all like the White Wolf. Most of us actually are capable of speaking in complete sentences and," he lowers his voice to a stage-whisper and leans in like he's sharing a secret, "some of us even know more than a half dozen adjectives."
Jaskier laughs, bright and joyful. Success , Aiden thinks. "And would you happen to be one of those few, Aiden?"
"It might just be your lucky day because as a matter of fact I would be," he says, "and I might just have one or two song-worthy stories too." He pauses. "You're not worried about the White Wolf getting jealous? I wouldn't want to upset Pretty Boy." In all honesty he doesn't really care if Geralt is upset with him. If Geralt is careless enough to let Jaskier travel on his own when he doesn't have to and that leads to him picking up stray witchers then that's simply not his problem. Geralt should know better. But Geralt already has a thing against Cats and he doubts having him return to Kaer Morhen this winter complaining that a witcher named Aiden poached his bard is going to do him any favors in the way of getting Lambert to introduce him to his family.
The air spikes sharply with sorrow for just a second, there and gone almost too fast for Aiden to catch it. "No, I wouldn't worry about that," Jaskier's smile loses something, fading from the too-bright sunshine grin it was moments ago. He feels colder, somehow, in its absence, even as the bard's lips remain curled upwards. Aiden immediately wants it back. "Geralt doesn't care much for my singing," Jaskier leans in, a teasing edge coming into his grin, "and between you and me, I don't think he'd even notice if I started singing about other witchers. Probably be too busy tending to his horse."
That… doesn't sound right. Witchers everywhere love Jaskier. It simply can't be that Geralt, the White Wolf himself, doesn't appreciate him. Not when he's the one the bard chooses to travel with all year. Not when the improved treatment they all enjoy is mostly a byproduct of the bard inexplicably setting out to fix Geralt's reputation post-Blaviken specifically.
Maybe it's an inside joke they have? Fuck, Aiden hopes it's an inside joke he's not a part of. Because if it isn't, then Geralt is a bigger asshole than all of Aiden's Schoolmates combined and he might just have to track him down and stab him somewhere painful, his plans to foster goodwill for Lambert's sake be damned.
The there-and-gone spike of sorrow in the air makes him think that maybe it isn't a joke. But for Lambert's sake he's willing to give Geralt the benefit of the doubt and consider that he may have misidentified or imagined it.
"Well, that's not very nice of him," Aiden frowns. "If I had the great honor of traveling with the Master Bard Jaskier," he says, tossing Jaskier a wink and a grin, " I wouldn't be caught dead missing one of his performances. Not if I had a choice."
"Geralt is my best friend in the whole wide world," Jaskier says, insists, bright but with an edge of steel in his eyes, "and I wouldn't trade him for anything. It doesn't matter if he likes my singing or not," he says. It sounds a lot like it's something he uses to convince himself. Aiden can't detect any of the usual signs that someone is lying, so it might even work. Jaskier's smile turns self-deprecating. "We'll see if you still think that later this evening after I perform."
Aiden's brow pinches. It's not right that Jaskier of all bards thinks like that. It's like he doesn't know that practically any witcher would give an eye or a finger to see him perform and be able to thank him for what he's done for them in person. He doesn't know what humans think of him, but has Geralt not told him how universally loved he is among witchers? Aiden knows he's aware, Lambert told him about how he and Eskel hassle him for details about his bard the whole winter and practically beg to meet him, for him to bring him to Kaer Morhen for just one winter.
Jaskier claps his hands together once and continues before Aiden can say anything, seemingly completely over his dip into self-deprecation. "Now, did you want that bath now or did you want to wait until after you've eaten? You should have enough time now but I should warn you that you might miss the beginning of tonight's performance if you choose to eat first."[4]
"So, what did you think? Three words or less, witcher," Jaskier says, breathless and grinning uncontrollably, flushed from the performance. He's sweaty and gross from the exertion of dancing around the entire tavern for hours on end. Aiden thinks he's beautiful.
Three words or less, huh? Aiden thinks. There's a lot of things he might say about Jaskier's performance tonight, all of them good. In all honesty, listening to Jaskier perform in person turned out to be astronomically better than any tavern-circuit bard he's heard repeating his songs had led him to believe. He's better than just about any bard Aiden has ever heard, even on his occasional afternoons and evenings spent up in court rafters. It strikes him just how lucky all witchers are that it's Jaskier singing songs about them being heroes worthy of respect. He really does have a voice that could change history. But three words isn't nearly enough to communicate that.
Aiden could make it a tease. He could say better than expected or not entirely awful with a smirk. He could make it flattery, say phenomenal, as expected or court-circuit worthy with a disarming smile. He could say any of those things and they would be true, even, if not the most transparent way of communicating his enjoyment. But he remembers Geralt doesn't care much for my singing and we'll see if you still think that later and thinks that maybe dodging real honesty isn't the best way he can play this.
Aiden softens his expression and chooses to speak sincerely.
"Amazing. Beautiful. Captivating," he says. If Lambert were here he would kick him under the table for how wide he's allowed his pupils to get. Lambert could bite him, Jaskier deserves the blatant affection of it. And he doubts Lambert would be faring much better, anyhow. He doesn't care if he looks like an adoring dumbass. "That's three words. Does that satisfy you? I can give you more."
Jaskier blinks. He stares at his face, seemingly searching for something. After a long moment, he must find whatever he was looking for because he swallows and firms his grip on the neck of his lute and says in a voice that strikes Aiden as far too small, even as it tries not to be, "You really liked it that much?"
"I did," he says, maintaining eye contact. "You're good enough to be making your living at court, if my limited experience with bards is anything to go off of. I don't know if I've ever heard anyone better, even at court. And, if you're interested, I still stand by what I said earlier. Given the opportunity, I wouldn't miss even one performance of yours if I didn't have to. I was expecting you to be good, and you still turned out to be better . Your voice is beautiful and the way you performed was artful and captivating. Captivating enough to thoroughly distract me from eating my dinner." He gestures to his half eaten dinner to emphasize just how enraptured he was watching Jaskier. If Jaskier has paid any attention at all while traveling with Geralt he will know how difficult it can be to distract a hungry witcher from a plate of good food.
Jaskier looks rather like he's been hit over the head with something big and unwieldy. Aiden takes mercy on him. "Speaking of eating dinner, I think it's time that you sat down and ate. Don't worry," he nudges the untouched plate by his elbow, "Mura only dropped it off for you about fifteen minutes before she stepped in to tell everyone you were done for the night and I made sure no one tampered with it since then. It's safe to eat." He doesn't say that the only thing that was able to redirect his attention from watching Jaskier perform with single-minded focus was thoroughly checking that the food Mura dropped off for him was indeed safe and not even a little bit poisoned. There's no such thing as being too careful, but some people think that's paranoid behavior.
He expects Jaskier to slide his plate over to the other side of the table and sit across from him. He seemed weirdly opposed to allowing him to sit in the darkest corner and eat alone like he usually does earlier, practically ordering Aiden to save him a seat at his table, so he doubts he would move to another table, even if that's what most others would do. Instead Jaskier leaves his plate where it is and plops himself down right next to Aiden, close enough that their arms press together. Aiden stiffens at the contact, not because he's opposed to it, but because he doesn't know how the remaining occupants of the tavern are going to react. They may not have batted an eye at his presence among them–which is still fucking weird, but isn't something he's willing to examine too closely right now lest it fall apart under observation and scrutiny–but it's obvious that Jaskier is already greatly loved here and Aiden hasn't been nearly this close with him in public so far.[5]
Aiden glances around the tavern, ready to get up as non-threateningly as possible and make a retreat if it looks like the other patrons start to take offense to him being so close to the bard–he doesn't want to be involved in an unnecessary fight tonight. But after most of them do nothing more than glance over to them–there isn't even a spike of the sour scent of fear that's been mysteriously absent from the room thus far–before returning to what's left of their meals or drinks, he's forced to acknowledge that nothing is going to happen and relax.
He leans maybe a little further into Jaskier's warmth than is strictly necessary for him to continue eating his meal, but he doubts Jaskier minds it with how he sighs contentedly and practically melts into his side as he starts in on his own plate.
"You still owe me a story, Aiden," Jaskier says eventually when he's halfway through his own plate and Aiden has been done with his own for several minutes. "Don't think you're getting out of it! I know how you witcher types can be and I won't be tricked or redirected! I will get that story." Jaskier pushes against him playfully with his shoulder. Aiden lets himself be shifted by it.
It does its job of pulling Aiden out of where he was basking in the easy affection of sitting so closely while enjoying a meal, just conscious enough of their surroundings to be aware of any potential threats. He glances at Jaskier, still plastered against his side as he continues to eat. He looks so peaceful, completely unconcerned with the fact that he's leaning against a killer. Like he doesn't believe that Aiden might ever hurt him. Unprompted, guilt bubbles up deep in his gut.
He's starting to regret not including his School when he introduced himself.
"Of course you will," he says instead of the confession that's building behind his teeth. He puts on a grin just as playful as Jaskier's. "I never intended to deny you. What sort of story did you want to hear?"
"Something daring and heroic, of course. Or, hmm," Jaskier pauses in thought, "something funny, maybe, if you have one. I know hunts typically aren't a laughing matter–very serious and dire and life-threatening and all–but I don't have any comedic witcher songs yet–Geralt is so dreadfully tight-lipped about any of the details of his hunts I can hardly write about the fight at all, let alone anything funny that might have happened. And I can just imagine the not-lecture he would give me if I tried making one of the stories he tells me into something comedic, nevermind that it would make him more approachable. Ugh."
"Something funny…" Well. That's a bit tricky, with his life, but he's sure he has something.
He can't use anything he's done with Lambert or any of his Schoolmates, not without asking them if they would be okay with it ending up in a comedic song. That would be rude.[6] And he refuses to use anything from contracts he's taken on humans–he doesn't want to scare Jaskier with that and he doubts that kind of thing would gain him any favors even in a Jaskier song. In fact, he should probably avoid anything that involved anyone dying point blank. And he doubts Jaskier would find the more unrealistic accusations he's had hurled at his back as he's chased out of a town funny, not like another witcher might if he timed it right.
So that cuts out… actually a rather significant portion of his life. Damn, that really puts into perspective how much violence is in his life, huh? Wow. That's depressing. He sets that realization aside to contemplate approximately never and keeps digging for a nice, funny memory of his time on the Path. He's been alive for too long for there to be nothing . He knows that humorous things must happen to him every once in a while, no matter how rarely. His life can't be that sad.
"Do you know how house cats hate witchers?" Aiden asks after a far longer moment than he's willing to acknowledge.
"Yes," Jaskier says, looking at him appraisingly, "they always hiss at Geralt and run whenever he gets close to them. I've never really understood why , but he said it was a witcher thing when I asked. Why?"
"When I first started out on the Path, I hadn't yet learned that," Aiden starts, "and, being new to the Path, I was still learning to manage my expectations and my coin. Halfway through the year I found myself without a copper to my name and started looking for work in odd places. I accepted what I thought would be an easy contract from a noblewoman with far too much coin to throw around. All I had to do was get her cat out of a tree and bring it back to her. It would take ten minutes, tops, I thought, foolishly," he turns to stare at Jaskier with deliberately haunted eyes. He looks like he's hanging onto his every word. Good. "Little did I know that it would actually take the entire day and involve a jump from the roof of a seven story building, three entirely too deep mud puddles, two separate brothels on opposite sides of the city, a chase through the city by the guard, and several encounters with some unfortunate clotheslines before I finally caught that little demon," he says, hissing out the last word.[7]
Jaskier bursts out laughing. Aiden smirks like the cat that got the canary. "I could tell you that story, if you want."
"Please," Jaskier gasps out, "you have to tell me that story."
Footnotes:
1Lambert still gets himself thrown out of many inns and taverns with his attitude. Aiden can attest to that, he's often getting thrown out with him. Does he deserve it? Aiden wouldn't argue he doesn't, usually. He would leave anyways even if they didn't kick him out with Lambert, but he doesn't think he deserves to be thrown out just by association with him. But the point is that Aiden probably couldn't act like that without getting thrown out of every inn. Lambert only gets tossed out on his ass about a third of the time now.[return to text]
2Something as trivial as temperature has never stopped Aiden from piling into a wagon with five or so of his schoolmates to sleep. Not even in the dead of summer. And it certainly wouldn't be stopping him from cuddling up to his Wolf any time soon. It didn't stop him from kissing him either. Or any of the other activities they got up to that morning before Lambert shooed him away.[return to text]
3They're all assholes with what are perhaps incredibly skewed moral compasses (not that he can claim to be much better), but he loves them. They're his family, his Clowder. He only hides his association with them when he's pulling a grift on some humans. Which, admittedly, he does do fairly often when he's with Lambert. It's just easier to tuck his medallion under his armor, omit his school when introducing himself, and let people assume he's a Wolf like Lambert when they see them together. It cuts down on the friction.[return to text]
4Like hell is Aiden going to miss any part of that performance. Besides the fact that doing so would probably reinforce Jaskier's obvious and obviously undeserved insecurities, he and everyone else he knows has wanted to see Jaskier perform live and in person for the better part of last several years, basically ever since they figured out he was serious about his whole "witchers are heroes" schtick. He thinks if he returned to Lambert or, Melitele forbid,l the Caravan and told them he willingly and consciously made the choice to miss part of Jaskier's performance tonight in favor of a meal and a bath of all things and he wasn't damn near on death's doorstep when he did so, he'd be eaten alive.[return to text]
5There was a moment where they had gotten rather close together when Aiden had gone to take his bath earlier. Jaskier had seen him grab his bar soap from his pack and practically demanded that he use some of the bard's collection of scented hair oils and other bath accoutrements. They had gotten very close when Jaskier had asked to take a closer look at his hair to decide which of his products would work best with his hair texture. Aiden had to stop himself from purring at the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair. All the vials Jaskier ended up thrusting into his hands before marching back out the door in a whirlwind to give him privacy had acceptable scents at what probably shouldn't have been so surprising witcher-safe levels. All in all it was a positive experience for him, but the point was that that had been behind closed doors and not in the middle of a tavern.[return to text]
6Aiden does not actually care if it would be rude. Lambert might get a little mad, but then anger is his first response to just about everything so that hardly means anything. His Schoolmates probably wouldn't care and might actually prefer that he did share a story involving them. And he just might. Some other time. This time is his.[return to text]
7The worst part of this story is that really, it could have been an in and out in ten minutes type of contract if he wasn't such a dumbass about it. What he should have done was cast axii on that little demon at the first available opportunity so he could pick them up and return them to the ground without a fuss. It would have been difficult to get back down while both holding the cat and the sign, but he's confident that he could have managed. But that would have been the smart thing to do, so of course he only thought about it after the cat booked it in the opposite direction.[return to text]