Geraskier prompt: Jaskier is secretly a spy. Sure Jaskier might not be the strongest man alive, not even close to a witcher. But Geralt had no idea of Jaskier's talent for poison making, spying and assassinating with a small blade. So imagine his surprise when Jaskier asks for Geralt's protection to another ball, but they caught a whiff of Jaskier's true mission so they both got stopped at the entrance and the pile of weapons hid creatively in the bard's clothing is thrice the size of Geralt's
[Omg, I absolutely love this idea! No-one would suspect the cutesie young bard...:]
At this point in his life, Geralt was no stranger to royal galas. Jaskier had been dragging him from one side of the continent to the other, demanding his services as a bodyguard whenever he was asked to play for some lord or prince. In truth, he didn’t really mind; Jaskier paid him well, the work was easy and he usually got his share of food and drink while he was there. The only downside was the task of protecting Jaskier from cuckholded earls and forceful older women.
It wasn’t unusual for Jaskier to disappear once his set was finished, under the guise of putting away his lute and grabbing a refreshment. But even Geralt knew that it didn’t take half an hour to put away an instrument... unless, of course, that instrument had been taken out of Jaskier’s pants. Still, he didn’t intervene. It wasn’t his job to stop Jaskier from making poor decisions; it was his job to protect him from the consequences.
“So, how many lords want to kill you at this one?” Geralt asked, rolling his shoulder against the tight, stiff fabric of his dress shirt. He hated having to dress like this; he didn’t understand how Jaskier could wear this every day. And by choice, no less.
“Hard to say, really. Maybe seven?” Jaskier responded cheerily, “The Baron of Hatropen is particularly angry about me seducing his son, so he’ll probably be the main issue...”
Geralt rolled his eyes, staying close to his occasional travel companion as they approached the stately manor home. He greeted the soldiers on the door with a nod and voluntarily laid his swords on the table; it was almost pointless to bring them along, since he knew they would be confiscated at the door, but he found that security made less of a fuss if he just gave them a weapon - otherwise they were prone to thinking that he was hiding one somewhere.
“Thank you, Witcher. Now you, bard,” the soldier demanded, looking to Jaskier.
Jaskier blinked and looked at him, then gestured broadly to his elegant clothes. “Do I look like I’m carrying a weapon? I’ll grant you, my songs can cut deeply, but only in the metaphorical sense.”
“You’re the Viscount of Lettenhove, correct? One Julian Pankratz?” the soldier continued plainly. Jaskier frowned but answered the address with a nod. “Alright then, sir. You can either deposit your weapons here voluntarily, or myself and my supporting officer will search you.”
Jaskier hesitated for a long moment, but when the soldier moved to stand, he hastily ducked to retrieve a dagger from his boot. “Fine, fine... here. That’s all I have.”
The soldier looked at the dagger, then at Jaskier, and continued to stand. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind us taking a look, will you?”
A soldier secured a hand around Jaskier’s arm and started to guide him towards the cloakroom of the manor. Geralt stayed close, not wanting to intervene with the region’s lawmen if their complaint was real, but wanting to ensure Jaskier came to no harm all the same. As they walked, Jaskier prattled on about how this was ridiculous and how the Lady of the manor would hear about this, how the soldiers would be dishonourably discharged for daring to humiliate the host’s privately invited bard.
But as one soldier held Jaskier’s arms still, the other reached into the bard’s doublet and removed another small blade. Geralt watched, curious. He knew that Jaskier had enemies but he hadn’t expected him to be carrying blades... or lockpicks. Where those vials of poison? He raised a brow at Jaskier, who was giving him a sheepish smile.
By the time the guards were done, there was a pile of approximately eight small blades, four vials of poison, three smoke bombs, twelve lockpicks, three vials of toxic blade oil, a bushel of narcotic flowers and they had removed his thin rope-like belt as a precaution too. Geralt reviewed the pile with a bewildered eye, these weren’t just the weapons of someone who wanted to defend themselves. This was an assassin’s arsenal.
“You can collect these when you leave the manor,” the soldier announced, letting go of Jaskier. “If it weren’t for the Lady’s express request that you play tonight, we’d be arresting you for conspiracy to commit murder.”
Jaskier gave a breathy laugh and gestured to the intimidating pile of weapons. “For those? Now don’t be daft, those are just... personal...protective....... equipment. Very standard stuff for a bard.”
The solider raised a brow and unceremoniously handed Jaskier his lute before ushering them into the manor. Jaskier walked beside Geralt for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet. When he eventually spoken, Geralt expected some kind of embarrassed explanation or mumbled apology. But instead, Jaskier provided him with another surprise.
“Well, at least I still have my lute strings. Garroting isn’t my favourite method but it’ll do,” he muttered, staring to unwind one of the cat-gut strings from his instrument.
Geralt just stared at him in disbelief. “Since when were you an assassin?” he hissed under his breath.
“Hm? Oh, did you not know? Where on earth did you think I was going after each set?” Jaskier asked, seemingly surprised by Geralt’s minimal knowledge on this subject.
“I thought you were sleeping with the nobility,” Geralt growled. “I can’t stand by and let you murder innocent p-”
“The Baron of Hatropen has been ordering his guards to steal teenage girls from the local villages.” Jaskier said matter-of-factly.
Geralt stopped mid-word and considered this for a long moment. It wasn’t his place to dictate whether or not Jaskier assassinated someone, that was social politics... but it put him in a difficult spot if he was actively covering for the so-called bard. He shouldn’t be involved in this... but he also didn’t like the idea of the Baron with those young girls.
“I’m going to take a walk around and secure the perimeter,” Geralt said pointedly. “I’ll meet you back at the wine table in exactly half an hour.”
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