Chapter Text
It was late afternoon when the princess and her guardian walked into Murivel’s only tavern together.
Ciri, for one, was deeply glad of the promise of an actual bed for the night, as they had spent the last several camping along the road. Not that camping was such a bad thing either. Geralt knew what he was about, and more importantly, he was teaching her. There was never any nonsense from him about what activities were and weren’t suitable for a girl, let alone a princess -- a fact for which she was continually grateful.
The tavern was warm and welcoming. The sound of jovial voices lifted in song were accompanied by the lilting chords of a well-played lute.
“Oh, I know this one!” Said Ciri of the song. “I heard it played in grandmother’s court!”
She turned to Geralt and realized that he was no longer by her side. Glancing back she saw him frozen in the doorway, looking quite as if something nasty had trod on his grave.
She walked back over to him in time to hear him cursing softly under his breath.
“What’s the matter Geralt?”
“Nothing…” he said with a shake of his head, “...it’s Jaskier.”
“What’s a Jaskier?” She asked, cocking her head to the side.
“That.” He nodded toward the center of the tavern where a colorfully dressed man was strumming and dancing around theatrically to the general amusement of the crowd.
“That’s a bard.” She said flatly.
“Exactly.”
The witcher appeared to arrive at a decision, and strode forward into the tavern walking right up behind the strutting bard.
The Jaskier’s next flourish ran him directly into Geralt’s broad chest and the bard backpedaled quickly, looking first annoyed and then properly horrified.
“G-- Geralt? What in the name of…?”
“Jaskier,” the witcher interrupted calmly, “perfect timing. I need you to take Ciri for a while.”
“What? You…” the bard sputtered, “What’s a Ciri?”
“That.” The witcher pointed back at her.
“That’s a … ooooooh.” Jaskier’s eyes grew wide with understanding. He covered his gaping mouth with a hand.
“That’s right.” Geralt said in that mean voice that, in Ciri’s limited experience, he usually reserved for people trying to cheat him. “I have a monster to kill at the manor east of here. It’s no place for a child. I know that doesn’t come as a surprise to you.” He emphasized each word with a squeeze to the bard’s arm.
“Ah-- well…” the bard sputtered, looking stricken.
“Good.” Geralt clapped the man on the shoulder so hard he staggered. “I’ll be back tomorrow at the latest.”
He turned and made his way back to the princess, putting a far more gentle hand on her shoulder, “Ciri, stay here with the bard tonight. If he tries anything, you have my permission to kill him.”
He pointed once more toward ‘Jaskier’ giving him a peculiar glare that Ciri couldn’t translate, then stalked back out the door.
The princess and the bard stared across the tavern at one another in profound confusion.