A mage/villain of the week, who hates Witchers and holds a vendetta against Geralt, forces him to watch as they administer a truth serum/spell on Jaskier. They then interrogate the bard about how he truly feels about the Witcher. The bad guy fully expects Jaskier to confess that he does fear Geralt, sees him as inhuman and lesser, a prop for storytelling. That his overtures of friendship and flirting are fake in order to buy a Witcher bodyguard and muse.
If he’s honest, Geralt sort of expects that too. No one loves a Witcher.
Naturally, Jaskier proves them both incredibly wrong as he admits, under magical duress to tell the truth, that Geralt is his favourite person in the entire world and while singing the White Wolf’s songs might be lucrative, above all, it’s his honour and privilege to try and make Geralt’s life on the Path a bit easier.
He does love Geralt, thank you very much. And he means every word.
“Tell me, bard,” the mage sneered, eyes flicking to Jaskier, “what do you truly think of Geralt of Rivia?”
Geralt sat rigid in a chair, dimeritium cuffs biting cold into his wrists, pinning him in place. Across from him, Jaskier was similarly bound, slumped slightly as the truth serum seeped in, his head lolling to one side.
“Geralt?” Jaskier said dreamily. “Oh, love him.”
And that was the problem. Once Jaskier started talking, stopping him was nearly impossible.
Truth serum only made it worse.
“Geralt’s the best,” Jaskier continued cheerfully. “Really. A great guy. Stands out in a crowd. Very handsome too—those eyes, you know? Like golden stars. Or cats. Actually, more like cats.”
He frowned, thinking hard. “When I was a kid in Lettenhove, there was this starry old cat that lived in my mother’s garden. Hissed at me, scratched me, terrible creature. But I’ve always had charm to spare, so eventually it liked me. Its name was Daisy. Geralt’s a lot like Daisy—tries to be scary, but really he’s just a big softy.”
Jaskier paused, eyes drifting upward. “Maybe I should try feeding Geralt fish.”
The mage’s jaw tightened. “Tell me, bard,” he snapped, “how much of a monster the witcher truly is.”
Geralt held his breath. The mage leaned in.
“Well,” Jaskier said slowly, “there is one thing.”
“I think,” Jaskier concluded solemnly, “he likes his horse a bit too much.”
annaxmalina
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
