@hweitswulf - A TORN THREAD OF FATE
❝ The call of the white wolf is loudest at the dawn, ❞ It had been months since he had last seen Geralt, long enough that Jaskier had actually stopped bothering to count the days. At first it was just to give himself something to do, something other than to think about Geralt’s cold words, then it became a sort of punishment he believed. A reminder of how he drove people away with his overbearing personality. It was something he was constantly reminded of as a child, told repeatedly to watch his tongue.
❝ The call of a stone heart is broken and alone, ❞ though he didn’t believe Geralt was fair in his words, in the things he blamed Jaskier entirely for he did believe that there was some truth to it. At the end of the day, everything that happened to Geralt, Jaskier had directly or indirectly pushed him toward. But then, he too, was just as tangled up in it as the Poet was standing beside Jaskier’s side the entire time.
Though the blame could fall on him Jaskier refused to believe it was entirely his fault in the end. ❝ Born of Kaer Morhen, born of no love. ❞ He had gone a long time those first few months refusing to sing of Geralt, because it hurt to, but his regular customers had come to know him as the White Wolf’s Bard. The songs of the White Wolf earned him a bit more, were more demanded, and in the end Jaskier was proud enough of his work to put his petty feelings aside for the general public.
❝ The Song of the white wolf is cold as driven snow, ❞ which was how he ended up in the inn, at night, singing the Song of the White Wolf for those that cared to listen. He’d already done a few others before that, some not about Geralt before a drunken man threw his arm around Jaskier and demanded a song on the White Wolf. He was humoring him, knowing they preferred Toss a Coin to your Witcher. He hadn’t drank yet, preferring to sing sober and it was as he worked his way into the middle of the song he finally took note of the man sitting in the corner.
Suddenly why they wanted to hear on Geralt so badly made sense. He stumbled over the next verse, throat catching on the lyrics. ❝ Bear not your eyes upon him lest steel or silver draw, ❞ Irony, and how he was so very familiar with the verbal way Geralt could cut you down. His tongue was just as sharp as his blades when he wanted it to be. Yet, he could find it in himself to draw his gaze away.
❝ Lay not your breast against him or lips to ease his roar, ❞ he kicked a bar stool over and stepped up onto it, using it as a boost to get onto the table. He moved over someones dinner, their Ale, and continued to pluck at his lute as his gaze never left the Witcher. ❝ Cast not your eyes upon him, lest he kiss you with his sword, ❞ he wondered if Geralt knew he was here, it wouldn’t be hard. Finding Jaskier had to be far easier than the opposite. No one looked for a Witcher unless there was trouble after all.
❝ Lay not your heart against him or your lips to ease his roar. ❞
Jaskier jumped down from the table and made his way toward Geralt, the Lute strumming it’s final cords. ❝ For the song of the White Wolf We'll always sing alone. ❞ He swung the instrument behind his back, pushing a chair out across from Geralt and sliding into it. His heart was in his throat now, hands falling to his lap and picking at one of the buttons on his outfit. Someone brought him some wine and he instantly reached for it, giving his hands anything to distract themselves with before he started tapping at the table.
❝ Geralt. Here for a contact? Heard there was.... wolves on the border. ❞
