Reincarnation ➵ The Witcher

xliii.

GERALT simply looked like a wet dog. His ashen hair was darkened with the soapy water, and grunts of protest escaped his lips regularly as Jaskier attempted to clean the dirt and grime off of him. Edith sat on a stool to the side of the tub, and she was enjoying the show quite a bit. The once dirtied Witcher was replaced with the ruggedly handsome man she was use to seeing.

"Are you going to bother helping or am I gonna have to do it all myself?" Jaskier aimed at Edith, and she smiled in sweet sarcasm at him.

"Depends.." she paused, watching as another bucket of water was poured over Geralt's hair again, "Are there going to be any maidens there?"

Jaskier tutted at her in return, "Jealousy isn't an attractive trait on you, succubus." Edith rolled her eyes, and Jaskier filled up another bucket, "I'm sure Geralt agrees."

"I'm not jealous--" Edith attempted to retort fruitlessly.

"Admitting it is the first stage of recovery." Jaskier interrupted in a sing song tone of voice. Edith bit her lip in annoyance, and Geralt stayed quiet.

"You're making it sound like I have some sort of disease." Edith frowned visibly at him, crossing her arms over her middle in rebellion. She watched as Geralt brought the water up to his face to scrub the grime from the crevices of his face.

"You do." He replied, pouring another bucket of water of Geralt's dirtied frame. He let out a grunt in protest, "Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night bodyguarding your very bestfriend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?"

Edith watched Jaskier turn away from Geralt's position as she regarded his words, "What about me?"

He turned around to regard her, clicking his tongue in fake pity, "Sorry Edith, I have replaced your spot." He started, and she internally smiled at the falsehood, "Besides, you're more like a bedwarmer if anything."

Her eyes narrowed at him, mind failing to think of a suitable retort, "Shut up, swine." Geralt let out a small smirk at their incessant bickering, hidden from the blind eye.

Jaskier wiped his hands on a towel, and Geralt replied to his words, "I'm not your friend." Jaskier turned to look at his back in disbelief, and Edith stopped herself from smirking in triumphance.

"Oh, oh really?" He sarcastically questioned, "Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?" He approached Geralt from the side, and Geralt looked up at him as if he had two heads, "Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That's what I thought. Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt with be at this betrothal."

Jaskier wandered around the small expanse of the bath room, picking up scented herbs and elixirs, "The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier's triumphant performance!" At the end of his words, he turned and threw crushed herbs into the air to mimic the celebration. Edith rolled her eyes at the exaggerated actions, and Geralt looked bored.

"How many of these lords want to kill you?" Geralt questioned, and Edith took it upon herself to reply for him.

"Probably all of them, if they've met him."

Jaskier pointed the towel at Edith, "You, shush." Once she greeted him with a raised eyebrow, he diverted his attention back to Geralt, "Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes." Jaskier turned towards Geralt, noticing the pissed off face written across his features. Jaskier raised his hands as if a picture frame, leaning on the side of the tub, "Ooh, yeah, that face! Ooh, scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you're standing next to me with a puss like that."

Geralt reached out of the tub, grasping a cub of ale in comfort, attempting to down it until Jaskier rudely took it away, "Ooh, on second thoughts.. might wanna lay off the Cintran ale," he tapped Geralt on the shoulder before standing, "A clear head would be best."

Edith made grabby hands towards the ale, and Jaskier gifted it to her without fault. Even though she hated the taste, she'd rather drink it than suffer through a horrid social gathering. She let out a short grimace as she downed it whole, and Geralt let out a low groan.

"I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry." Geralt raspily informed, and Jaskier glanced back to look at him, "I'm not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men."

Jaskier sighed at his words, "Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time."

Jaskier approached the tub once again, "Ugh. Is this happens when you get old? You get unbearable crochety and cantankerous? Actually, I've always wanted to know, do witchers ever retire?"

Geralt rested his elbows on the edges of the tub, "Yeah. When they slow and get killed."

Edith looked down slightly, and Jaskier gestured to Geralt with his hands, "Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this.. monster hunting nonsense is over with."

Geralt's gaze softened slightly, "I want nothing."

"Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there already wants you." He offered a quick glance at Edith, and she smiled at him slightly for his words.

Geralt's mind wandered over the bard's words, but didn't offer a reply to the truth he already began to learn.