Butcher of Blaviken · GERASKIER One Shot

Butcher of Blaviken

The lute's chords rattled like the tinder that fed their fire, clear and almost loud in the otherwise dead silence of the night.

After a long day of work, very much needed to earn some coin, the bard loved to put his hands and instruments to the test; check if they could come up with a nice melody.

Geralt didn't mind the music, nor the musician's soft voice humming the lyrics that came to his mind. It was amusing, even.

He rested his back against Roach's plump back quarters, eyes closed and arms under his head like a pillow. Resting was a luxury reserved for the early night, when Jaskier was still awake in case that any danger showed up.

He was resting, but he wasn't asleep. And Jaskier knew this, so it wasn't uncommon for him to ask the witcher for advice every now and then.

"Hey, Geralt?"

"Hm."

"Does 'adventure' rhyme well with 'together' here?"

"... Hm..."

"Eh, that's what I thought. Thanks!"

And so they would spend hours and hours every evening. The witcher would gladly listen to all of his friend's tunes, although he didn't seem like it, and the bard would be pleased to share all his doubts and progress with him.

"Geralt?"

"Hm..."

"What rhymes with 'Blaviken'?"

The witcher's eyes slowly opened. He shifted, sitting up against his horse to stare at Jaskier.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? I can't sing about the Butcher of Blaviken without it falling at the end of a verse at least once!"

But Geralt didn't reply this time; not even the slightest of growls.

Jaskier was waiting for an answer and Geralt refused to give it. But it made the air feel tense after a while.

"... Geralt?"

"Isn't a punch to the junk enough for you to learn?" He finally growled in the lowest tone, startling Jaskier.

Geralt could even wonder, even if it broke something inside, whether Jaskier was just doing that to test him, poke fun or, even worse, because he didn't care.

And those thoughts made his fierce, feline eyes glow like embers in the dim light, which sent chills down Jaskier's back.

"Oh God- What do you mean, Geralt?" He asked, scared yet concerned.

At least, he seemed so.

It took so much of Geralt's already scarce patience to calm down his own thoughts and realize that Jaskier was, indeed, confused.

That's why he decided to take a deep breath and spit some angry words to try and make him understand.

"The first time you called me... that," he growled, brows furrowed and jaws clenched. "I thought I had made it clear that I didn't want to hear it again."

"What, Butcher of Bla..."

"Yes. God fucking damn it, yes," Geralt growled, practically glaring at his companion now.

Jaskier seemed to start understanding that the nickname carried important memories for the witcher. Apparently, not very pleasant ones.

The bard was so used to the epithets used to write that he had paid no mind to what they meant. And, judging by Geralt's expression, it had been a grave mistake.