Prompt: The first time Jaskier sees Geralt hunting a selkimore, and the ensuing panic because Geralt Did Not advise that the best method was to “get it from the inside”
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“So, what is it we’re hunting again?” Jaskier chirped as he struggled to keep up with the Witcher.
Geralt grunted as he waded through waist high reeds and rushes. The scent of silt off the lake ahead of them hung heavy in the air and the thick heat of the sun was stifling.
“The alderman didn’t seem very sure about it,” Jaskier stumbled slightly, readjusted his lute strap and tried to pick up the pace, “He was very vague. ‘A big monster in the lake is eating people.’ That was all about he said wasn’t it? Did you get anymore from the villagers? You know? The witnesses? I mean, you’ve taken on contracts with less to go on before but – Geralt? Are you even listening to me?” Jaskier stopped, hands on his hips, frown on his face.
Geralt paused, scanning the surface of the lake with keen amber eyes, then continued to push his way towards the shoreline. He didn’t miss Jaskier’s indignant huff and he rolled his eyes.
“A selkimore,” he gruffed.
“A what?” Jaskier hurried to catch up to him again.
“A selk – A big monster in the lake that eats people, though not usually on purpose,” the Witcher growled with a sigh.
“They’re plankton feeders but can suck up a boat if it gets in the way of its feeding path. Usually I try to leave them alone, but this one has settled too close to people,” Geralt grunted, “And we are not hunting anything. I am hunting it. You are going to stay out of the way.”
“Yes, yes,” Jaskier waved him off nonchalantly.
“I mean it Jaskier,” Geralt glared at him over his shoulder and Jaskier wilted.
“Fine,” a slight pout graced his lips.
Jaskier inhaled sharply then fell into step behind the Witcher as they continued their trek through the tall grasses.
“So, how does one kill a selkimore?” the Bard asked.
“In a very specific way,” Geralt rumbled.
Jaskier crashed into Geralt’s back as the Witcher halted abruptly.
“What? Did you see something?” he peeked out from behind Geralt.
The reeds bled into thick mud littered with rocks which met with the murky water of the lake, stretching out for miles beyond. Thick, dense forest lined the far shore and the mid-morning sun glinted off the water like glass.
“It knows we’re here,” Geralt mumbled, pulling his silver sword from its sheath.
“Ominous as statements go,” Jaskier lilted, keeping that light air about him even though Geralt could tell he was on edge, could sense the coil of tension creeping into his posture, could smell the spike of uncertainty mingling with his usual floral scent.
“Stay here,” he ordered then marched, or rather, squelched his way to the water’s edge.
Jaskier crouched down among the rushes, keeping his blue eyes trained on Geralt as the Witcher stalked slowly along the shoreline. Getting to witness his muse carry out great and heroic deeds in person always made for better ballads than second-hand information, and Geralt was terrible at recounting what happened. Watching from a safe distance suited Jaskier fine. He had no intention of putting himself in danger if he could help it, and he would get to watch his friend in action. A win-win situation.
He narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun as Geralt picked up a stone and threw it into the lake. The water shimmered with the ripples and anticipation clawed at Jaskier’s gut.
The lake became still again, and he heard Geralt’s grunt of annoyance. The Witcher scooped up another stone and launched it even further. It broke the waters surface with a ‘plop’ and the ripples chased each other with the impact but still nothing.
Jaskier shuffled slightly in his hiding place. Any other person would assume that either the monster wasn’t there, or try a different spot to bring it forth, but Geralt has sensed it and Jaskier trusted the Witcher to know what he was doing.
Geralt tossed a third stone in the air but before he had the chance to throw it, the lake erupted in front of him and he stumbled back as streams of water and a foul stench washed over him.
Jaskier let out an audible gasp.
The creature that rose from the lake towered a good thirty feet above Geralt. It resembled a large, thick, white skinned worm with rows upon rows of jagged teeth in its gaping maw. It fixed Geralt with small fierce eyes and, sensing malicious intent, it lunged at him, crab-like legs scrabbling at the mud as it hauled itself out of the water. Its piercing screech rang across the lake.
Jaskier’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as he watched Geralt leap out of the way, brandishing his sliver sword and steadying himself. The Bard felt that familiar pang in his gut as he wondered how on earth the Witcher was going to take down something that seemed so impossible and then walk away, or limp away as was often the case.
He’ll be fine, Jaskier assured himself, he always is. He’ll do some cool thing with his sword or his magic signs and – SWEET MOTHER OF MELITELE!
Jaskier’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Bile rose in his throat. Shock blurred his vision.
It-the selkimore-the-the fucking-it had eaten him! Swallowed him whole! And Geralt just…just let it! Didn’t even try to defend himself. What the fuck had just happened?
Panic muddled Jaskier’s brain as he crouched among the reeds trying to process what he had just seen. He was struggling to breathe as the grief crashed into him and tears pricked at his eyes and he didn’t know what to do.
He’d been travelling with Geralt for a few years now and even though the life of a Witcher held many dangers, he had assumed that there would be plenty more years to come. He was building a life for himself, a reputation, he mattered to people. He was building something with Geralt. Trying to be the man’s friend was like pulling teeth, but he was slowly getting there, and he knew that even though the Witcher would never admit it, Geralt enjoyed having him around. But for it all to just suddenly come to and end, and for it to end like…like this?
Jaskier stared at the selkimore as it swayed slightly. A burning hatred towards it scorched through him. The thought to rush out and stab it with the knife tucked into his boot did cross his mind, but he knew that would only accomplish his own death. And then who would remember Geralt? Who would immortalize him in song so that he wouldn’t be forgotten? That was his job now. To sing about the White Wolf until the end of his days. To honour him and his good heart and… Jaskier brushed the tears threatening to spill down his face with the back of his hand.
Oh gods, another thought struck him, how am I going to tell Roach?
The selkimore lifted its blunt-nosed head and seemed to shiver. It blinked up at the sun and made a soft hissing noise. Slowly, it started to slither back into the water but then it stopped. Its whole body seemed to coil and convulse and then, to Jaskier’s horror, it reared up with a bellow of pain as its guts spilled from a gash along its stomach. Organs and blood slopped onto the wet mud and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. Geralt tumbled to the ground as he hacked his way out of the monster. The selkimore writhed and flailed then crashed back into the water, its last cry gurgling in its throat as it died.
The Witcher stood, gulping in air and trying to wipe the worst of the gore from his face. Jaskier burst from his cover and pelted over to him.
“You’re alive!” he whooped, grinning from ear to ear, giddy relief plastered all over his face, “I thought you were gone! I thought I’d lost you!”
“I told you there was a specific way to kill it,” Geralt gruffed, pulling at face at the rancid smelling muck coating his skin and clothing.
Jaskier’s beaming smile faltered and indignant fury clouded over him.
“You dick. You should have told me. I was worried sick. I thought-“
“Jaskier. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Geralt glanced at him, that annoying confusion tainting his expression, like it always did whenever Jaskier expressed concern for him.
“Well-well-fuck! Bloody hell Geralt! How was I supposed to know you planned on getting yourself eaten! I thought you were dead! I thought –“ his voice broke on the last word and he turned away from Geralt, shaking with the effort to control himself.
Geralt frowned at him, trying to puzzle through the torrent of emotion coming off Jaskier in waves.
“I’m sorry,” he said carefully, “You’re right. I should have told you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Just…” Jaskier turned to him again and Geralt was taken aback by how very small and hurt he looked, “Just don’t ever do that to me again.”
“I won’t,” Geralt tried for reassuring and sincere but he wasn’t sure the Bard believed him.
“Right. Good,” Jaskier mumbled.
He cast an eye over Geralt then sighed.
“Come on. Back to the tavern. We’ve a hefty coin purse to pick up and you need a bath.”
“No protesting. If we are sharing a room tonight, I refuse to sleep in the same space as you, stinking like that,” Jaskier sounded a bit more like himself, blue eyes sparking with mirth.
Jaskier spun on the spot and marched off back in the direction of the village. Geralt followed after him and even though the Bard was babbling on about trying to find words that rhymed with selkimore, the Witcher could tell that this had affected Jaskier more deeply than he was letting on and he promised himself to remember to talk Jaskier though each step of the hunt in the future as to not cause him any more hurt if he could help it.
