“Go.” The word was harsh and unforgiving, and this time Jaskier knew that he meant it. This wasn’t the begrudging protests put on just for show.
“I said go. There’s nothing else to say.”
“But-” A look cut him off. His icy eyes froze the bard in place, and Jaskier could feel his heart beating like a rabbit’s. Something had to be wrong.
“Enough. I have tolerated this for long enough. I have no use for an annoying bard with no musical talent. Now leave. Before I make you leave.”
The Witcher drew his sword, and for the first time in his life, Jaskier felt true fear.
He had never felt this before, the prickly feeling slowly engulfing his body, his body frozen as he stared into Geralt’s eyes. Sure, others had been scared of Geralt. But never in Jaskier’s life had he thought he would be scared of the Witcher. Eyes he had looked into so many times he had them memorized, their unique color and pattern like a second home to him. He didn’t understand- he couldn’t understand. What had he done?
Geralt had left for food, and come back, well, different. His movements off, his body awkward. Obviously Jaskier had assumed he was injured, and when he had moved towards him to look for the injury that was probably worse than Geralt was letting on, the idiot, the Witcher had physically flinched back.
And now, well, he was genuinely scared. Because Geralt wasn’t injured, he wasn’t cursed. He just hated him.
Maybe sleeping with the Mayor’s wife in the last town had been the final straw. Maybe it had been getting them kicked out of a tavern for getting in a bar fight.
“Now.” The growl jolted him back into reality, and he forced himself to move.
Danger. And this time there was no Geralt to protect him.
“If I ever see your face again, I will kill you.” The promise, the treat, shook him to his core.
It seemed he was truly unwanted everywhere.
The Doppler smiled. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
