His Little Bird: Jaskier

Chapter 1

"Geralt. What the fuck did you do?"

Y/n was furious. No, she was beyond that. The anger and confusion coursing through her veins as she stood in front of her companion was like a fire that could never be quenched. The mountain of a man in front of her merely looked at her with his blank, yellow eyes glaring down into her own e/c ones, the stoic look upon his face barely even flickering. Geralt of Rivia was many things, but a talkative man was not one of them, which made Y/n especially irritated as she approached him outside the border of Upper Posada, quickly clambering off her horse to join him on the dirt road.

Geralt observed her from beneath her hood, the brown cloth hiding her golden hair as he let out sigh, continuing to lead Roach down the road. Her own horse, Windchaser, walked beside her as he finally spoke, and said, "You've heard the story, I'm sure. Make of that what you will."

Y/n let out a small scoff with a shake of her head, her disbelief hitting her like a horse-drawn carriage on the loose. "I'm not beating around this time, Geralt. In every tavern I go to, the patrons are saying you killed countless people on the streets of Blaviken. They're calling you the 'Butcher of Blaviken'," she said, her voice low and stern. "I want to know what happened when we departed."

Geralt shook his head slightly, looking off into the woods beside the roads before letting out the most silent of sighs. Y/n's eyebrows furrowed at his reaction, for he was more effected than she had ever truly seen him. When the witcher finally opened his mouth, he said, "There were more monsters in Blaviken than we anticipated."

Y/n nearly groaned, but knew this was all she could get out of him for now. She had lived with his stand-off personality for years, and knew that if this was all he was going to give up now, this was all she was going to get. There were some things he wouldn't share with even her, despite their close bond, and it appeared the happenings of Blaviken were not one of them. "Did you at least take care of the kikimora?" she questioned him, her tone lighter and more friendly than before, but still holding that sense of solidity that never wavered.

All Geralt did was give her a sideways look, and a ghost of a smirk echoed onto his lips as he said, "Come on," in his usual low, gruff voice. No matter what the man said, he always had an edge to his words, his naturally rough vocals like a sword on a sharpening stone. Y/n huffed through her nose as the corner of her lip lifted just a tad, before the two of them continued towards their next destination near in the mountains.

As they neared a small tavern near the edge of the mountains, they were beginning to come to the higher populated areas of The Valley of Flowers, nearing Upper Posada. Of course, like always, the common folk glared at their presence. With Geralt being a witcher, they knew him right off the bat, especially now that he had donned the unwilling moniker 'Butcher of Blaviken'. Y/n, however, kept her head under her hood. Should the hood of her cloak fall, they would see the stunning golden hair upon her head, tipping them off to exactly what she was: a siren.

Half siren was the more appropriate term for the young maiden, but in the eyes of the common, it did not matter. Sirens were monsters, flying creatures with the faces of beautiful women that conjured illusions of comfort with the sounds of their lovely singing voices. Their hair was always the golden yellow Y/n unwillingly donned upon her head. There was no other color like it. It shined like gold upon a Cintran crown in the sun, and flowed like rivers of water. If the curse of a siren was not tied to its hue, some might even say it was beautiful.

When they reached a tavern that hung off the edge of a cliff, they stopped their horses just outside, tethering their loyal animals to a post just outside the inn. The both of them needed a rest and a strong drink. Walking inside, they heard the singing of a bard in the far corner of the first floor room, ignoring his voice as they walked past the patrons and sat in the furthest corner from the singing, hoping to get some peace to themselves.