#to show off his dulcet wolf tones when he sings to call her

[luna-lovegreat]

So uhh

Where's Epona?

.

By Jojo @linkeduniverse :D -update 'moving forward'

[witcherdoaks]

The blue eyed boy

Word count: 1,318

Summary: Geralt meets Jaskier, who at this time is still a kid.

Masterlist: here

Those uncanny eyes locked on to his visage. A range of emotions flitted across his cherubic face. Surprise had settled on confusion before a pinched sort of look overtook it, and the boy squinted at him. “Do I know you, mister?”

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to speak with ‘the riff raff’?” Geralt looked down at the child who barely reached his hip. He bet his money that his mother had. The clothes the child wore were of the finest silks and ornately decorated. Very different from the grubby clothes most of the people on this street had.

“You didn’t answer the question,” the blue eyed child pouted, “For some reason you seem familiar.”

Geralt sighed, “Your nurse maids have been telling you too many stories.”

Even years later, his reputation as Butcher of Blavika didn’t elude him nor was it very effective on children.

“No, Mother forbids them from reading to me now.” The child kicked the dirt under his feet, dirtying the tip of his shoes. “She says I have to read in my own. The proper way.”

Geralt rolled his eyes; he really needed to leave to the next town where there were sightings of a werewolf, but he couldn’t just leave the child by himself. He could feel eyes of the more unsavory humans drift their way, well they were more focused on the child than anything. He was about to say something until he heard the quickened steps approaching.

“Jewel!” A thin woman shouted, walking briskly towards them with her skirts lifted modestly for ease of movement. Sweat glistened at her hairline, and strands of hair escaped her neat bun. She paused to catch her breath once she was in front of them. “My lady will have my head if you go missing again.”

The boy made a face. “Agatha, mother will have your head for calling me Jewel.”

“Enough of that cheek, young man.” She reprimanded and walloped him over the head. “We must get back before the ball commences!” She grabbed the boy by his arm and started to pull him away.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Geralt raised an eyebrow at her.

Agatha glared and color rose in her cheeks, looking at him clearly for the first time. It was then that she took in his cat eyes and snowy hair. “And who are you to stop me, Witcher?”

“No one,” he honestly replied then nodded a nearby group of men, “but they were following behind you. Probably waiting for you and the boy to be alone.”

Her face paled, realizing the situation she and her charge were in. She glanced at her charge, holding him closer. Finally she turned back to Geralt. “I have some coin, not on me and it is not much, but maybe enough for an escort?”

Geralt inclined his head. He had no coin at all at the moment, and this was a simple enough job. If Roach was willing to carry the two, then this job would be completed that much faster. He lead the two to where he had tied Roach, and helped the woman on before placing the boy in front of her. Agatha told him which road to follow.

“Have you been traveling long, Witcher?” She asked eventually. The boy in front of her perked up.

“That’s part of the job,” Geralt grunted.

“Oh! What do you do?” The boy eagerly asked.

The Witcher looked up at the boy’s face, which was now above his looking down at him. He decided to humor him, “I hunt monsters.”

“Really?” The boy scrunched his face up, skeptical. Though the man was big, much bigger than himself, the boy couldn’t picture him fighting the monsters he read about in the library when he wasn’t forced to do lessons.

“Hmm.”

“I’ve never seen a monster,” the boy said a matter of factly. “Mother doesn’t let me out of the manor much; she forbids it.”

Geralt didn’t deign that a response. His own mother abandoning him as a child. The kid was lucky to have a mother that cared.

“Yes, my lady can be very... strict with him,” Agatha tried to move the conversation along.

“She’d much rather I be caged inside,” the boy sniffed.

Geralt grunted in response and increased his pace. He gave the boy and woman shallow, clipped answers that convinced them to enjoy a silent ride instead. Once past the manor gates, Agatha showed Geralt to the stables. The boy was still atop Roach and remained there until Geralt set him back down.

“Julian!” A shrill voice rang, coming closer to the stables. “Where have you been, boy! The guests will be arriving soon.”

The woman slowed her pace and composed herself when she saw Geralt. Her feature settled on a mask of beauty and elegance, which was marred when she sharply said, “Agatha, who is this?”

The woman in question made the necessary introductions and was about to excuse Geralt and herself when the boy’s mother interrupted her.

“You will stay, Witcher,” the lady of the manor invited, “you assisted my son. What kind of nobility would we be if we didn’t repay you for that?”

Geralt wanted to laugh in her face at her commanding tone, but managed to keep his face impassive. He glanced down at the boy; his face showed unabashed hope for his stay, so he decided he would humor the boy one last time, and maybe try to make some coin off the rich party guests.

He almost immediately regretted that decision as soon as he stepped into the ballroom later that evening. All eyes turned to stare at him, some less than friendly. After some time there was commotion at the center of the ballroom, and everyone turned to see what was going on. The lady and her son stood at the center, arguing. Her eyes flashed dangerously but she quickly composed herself and nudged her son to notice those staring.

“Sing for us, Julian,” his mother smiled sweetly down at him even as she tightened her grip on his shoulder before pushing him slightly to the center of the room.

The guests gathered around to be polite but were soon enraptured by Julian’s performance. His voice carried sure throughout the room and dulcet tones lulled the people into his stories.

The thing that ruined it was his mother’s boastingly smug look as her eyes raked over the guest’s awed expressions. The others didn’t take notice.

After the performance, the guests were left to mingle amongst themselves. Few noticed Geralt on the outskirts of the ballroom. Some shot him dirty looks and muttered about the Butcher of Blaviken. The lady of the manor smiled smugly behind her hand when one of the others praised her charity for allowing such a person in. Eventually Gerat had enough and decided to leave. He had just reached the stables when his ears picked up the crack of twigs. He turned around.

“Will I see you again, mister?” The boy, Julian, asked.

“Maybe someday,” Geralt replied though he highly doubted it. “Go back inside.”

The white wolf watched the boy nod and run back to the manor. Julian would more than likely remain in this estate, pampered and brought up to one day rule it. Maybe he’d foray outside of these gates again, but surely he’d always fly back here with its lavish gardens and warm food.

What Geralt couldn’t have predicted was that Julian would fly the coup one day with nothing on his back than the few clothes he could carry and a lute in order to follow the song his heart sang. If Geralt couldn’t predict even that, then he’d never realize he would see the young boy grown up at a bar in Posada years later and would travel with the man the boy had become for many years after that.