Always a Better Lover than a Fighter (GeraltxJaskier)

Chapter One

In the depopulated wastes of No Man's Land, one often ran across danger in various forms: armed men of all stripes, mercenaries, marauders and the like roamed the lawless lands of Velen on the prowl for unlucky travellers or peasants to pillage. Monsters of a more exotic variety were found in abundance in the wetlands and dense, dark forests of Old Velen, the type that caused even mortal beasts such as the savage human to tuck tail and run. Word had spread of one particularly nasty creature of magical origin that was causing havoc in the feudal state. There had been a number of mysterious disappearances and several grisly remains had been happened upon, so gruesome that even in a war-torn state like Velen, shock and fear had spread across the entire kingdom. Creature or creatures unknown were responsible and nobody, not even mercenaries or self-proclaimed heroes, had heeded the call to save the people of Velen from this monstrous beast.

Baron Ardal was thus forced to take it upon himself to contact the only person he knew who stood a chance against the beast. Someone even more dangerous than the monster that they would have to face in the lawless lands of Velen...

Geralt of Rivia kept his gaze focused on the road ahead. The dirt track was curtained with gnarly trees on either side, so thick that the high afternoon sun was obscured from view. A dense blanket of mist shrouded the hooves of his trusty steed, Roach. As she walked at a slow and steady pace with her chestnut head bowed, it looked as though she were gliding atop a grey cloud. There was an eerie beauty to the place that reminded him of the Isle of Mists, but Geralt was no fool; appearances are often deceptive, and in this part of the Continent, danger lurked around every corner, even in places as peaceful as this one.

Well, it would be peaceful if Jaskier would stop strumming on that bloody lute of his.

Jaskier, the bane of his existence and best friend, strutted by Roach's side as he plucked the strings of his lute, humming a tune under his breath as he tried to perfect his latest ballad.

"If you wish, my love, at my side to repose. My heart would inquire your hands pale and fine, if they'd grasp it gently, to hold like a rose..." The strum of the lute was quiet but sweet, much like Jaskier's singing voice. It was a soothing sound that had a hypnotic quality to it, and for some reason, it always made the heat rise in Geralt's pale cheeks. "Or grasp me elsewhere and leave me satisfied!"

"Jaskier."

"Hmm?" he replied distractedly, still plucking the strings of his wooden instrument with his dexterous fingers.

"Shut up."

Jaskier clicked his tongue and strummed his lute again in defiance. "How am I supposed to perfect my next ballad if I can't practice?"

"These swamps are dangerous; the last thing that we need is for your warbling to draw attention to us."

It was a half-truth—Geralt didn't sense any immediate danger but that could change at any moment—but Jaskier's constant singing was incredibly distracting in ways that he didn't want to examine too deeply. But his protests fell on deaf ears. If anything, Jaskier seemed emboldened by Geralt's complaints and he sang even louder this time.

"If our bodies could a song compose, my heart would inquire of your hands pale and fine," he crooned, grinning broadly at his scowling companion. "If they'd grasp it gently, to hold like a—oi! What are you playing at?"

Taking advantage of his lightning-fast reflexes, Geralt had leaned over and plucked the lute from Jaskier's grasp, bringing his raunchy rendition to an abrupt end. Jaskier desperately tried to snatch the instrument back, jumping on the spot and helplessly flailing his arms as he shouted in protest, but with Geralt astride his horse, he had no chance of reaching it. Geralt smirked at Jaskier and continued to hold the lute aloft just out of reach.