Embers

The Bard

Jaskier POV

She was so silent... something Jaskier wasn't used off Eira. She normally talked to him during their journey together. Not like Geralt, who made a sport out of how much he could ignore the Bard. Not that it bothered Jaskier that Geralt did that. He already felt that the Witcher had warmed up to him since they started travelling together. In his own 'Witcher-like'-way.

However, Eira wasn't like Geralt. Ever since they first met, Eira was always curious about Jaskier's travels and stories. Seemed to love his songs and the sound that he could make on the lute. Her laughter that echoed through the forests while walking, always made him smile awkwardly and Jaskier had to look away more than once when he noticed how beautiful her smile was.

But something shifted since they made a stop in Teimeria. Her face looked flushed more often and Eira closed down on him. She just stopped talking to him or searching for his company. And when she did say something, Eira stuttered and told him she wasn't feeling well.

And Jaskier hated it. He loathed the fact that Eira seemed to be avoiding him. He missed her presence and laughter. Her questions and sincere interest in his life. And he missed the few, gentle touches they shared even though the bard knew they were unintentional.

He just wanted to get shit load drunk and forget about all of it. And that opportunity came when they arrived in a small village. The bard didn't say a thing and left the two others to...whatever they were planning on doing. He told himself he didn't care.

Yet, seven pints of ale later, Jaskier pouted and knew he actually did care. He sat alone at a table thinking. Although the alcohol made it a bit hard to think.

"You look like you could use some company," a female's voice made Jaskier snap out of his reverie.

He looked up from his pint to meet the beautiful gaze of a brunette who stood before him. Clearly, she wasn't a prostitute because she had too much clothes on.

"I could," he said with a faint grin.

But then he noticed the light blue of her eyes and his smile dropped. A small shake of the head was given. "But I want to drink alone."

"Oh, someone broke your heart, eh?"

"No," he replied and looked up again. "No, we are not dating or anything."

The brunette arched a brow and sat herself down, a pint of ale of her own was set on the table.

"Oh dear," she murmured and bent over the table to look at him with compassion. "Tell me. I'm all ears."

Jaskier scoffed.

"Why?"

The woman shrugged.

"I own this bloody bar, dear," she spoke and gestured to look around himself. "There aren't many strangers passing by this little shit hole. And when they do, I see my chance to hear something else then how the cows in the field are fucking."

Jaskier sat up straight. She certainly had the language of a sailor, but he nodded and ordered two pints with the waitress.

He told about Eira, the young woman he met months ago and how they became friends. Until suddenly, they weren't. And he felt relieved that he was able to finally just ramble to someone who was really listening. He couldn't say this to Geralt.

Well he could, but even though the Witcher pretended he didn't care about anything, Jaskier was sure Geralt cared about Eira. He was protective over her and always kept Eira close by. Sometimes, Jaskier had the feeling they hid something from him.

But then, Eira seemed innocent to lie to him.

He had no idea that he was silent after he told the woman, whose name was Isabelle apparently, everything he had to say.

"A friend?"

She spoke up after a heavy silence while Jaskier took another big gulp from his ale. He nodded while drinking, making him spill some on his chin. Isabelle shook her head and laughed ; a loud and sharp sound in his ears that made Jaskier want to cover up his ears.

"She's no friend," she snapped back to reality when Isabelle bent over the table towards him again. Giving Jaskier a full look into her cleavage, that he only noticed now. "You're in love with her, idiot. And she is with you. She's avoiding you because of that."

Now it was his turn to laugh and Jaskier shook his head while doing so.

"No," he said when he came by again, "trust me, she isn't. She's been telling me she's been feeling ill. Last time I checked, that isn't really a love feeling huh."

His words came out slurred because of the amount of ale he had.

"Look, sweety," Isabel spoke and took one of his hands in hers. "You're an idiot. When I fell in love with my last four husbands, I felt sick in my stomach and thought I would die of nerves every time I was near them. Most of us like that feeling, maybe your girl hasn't been in love yet."

"Four?"

That was really all that stuck with him in that moment. That and her warm hand on his. And that gorgeous, pompous cleavage before him where his gaze always flickered too. Jaskier noticed that Isabelle was fully aware of that lope-side grin around her lips.

"Yeah, four," she replied and nodded with her chin to the stairs. "Divorced all of them though. Well, kind of. The last one died. That being said, dear, I can make you forget everything for one night. Whatcha think, huh?"

Jaskier let his gaze follow Isabelle while she got up and walked towards the stairs. He wouldn't mind forgetting everything for a little while. The bard knew he was a bit drunk, but not too much that he couldn't think straight.

Isabelle was beautiful. Older than him, no doubt by the lines by her eyes and on her hands. Maybe he could learn something from her. Besides, Jaskier would be leaving soon to play his songs in other provinces. There was nothing to lose.

Before Jaskier was well aware, he was following her upstairs, his gaze on her behind that swayed with every step that Isabelle took. The layered, red skirt left little to the imagination.

When he arrived at the door Isabelle disappeared in, Jaskier glanced down from the open stairs to the Inn and locked eyes with Eira. She stood in the middle of the tavern, holding onto something that his brain was too slow to register, looking up at him.

Jaskier kept her gaze and then his brain seemed to come to its senses. Eira was holding his lute that he must have forgotten on his horse. Seeing it was dark out, she probably came to find him.

"Shit," he said when the realisation hit him that Eira had seen him with Isabelle.

She swiftly put the lute down at the bar, told the waiter something that Jaskier couldn't hear and disappeared out of the front door.

"Sweety, are you coming?"

Isabelle's voice floated through the door and Jaskier felt conflicted. For the first time in his life, he left the beautiful woman who waited for him, stormed off the stairs (and almost fell because of the light headedness), grabbed his lute by the bar and rushed out of the door into the cold night.

"Eira!"

He looked around him and saw nothing but empty streets before him. The bard swiveled around a few times to see if he would notice a tuft of gossamer hair somewhere, but found nothing.

'Maybe your girl hasn't been in love yet,' the sentence of Isabelle floated in his mind over and over again. He had ignored it then, distracted by the fact she got married four times.

And Jaskier suddenly felt his stomach tighten and his heartbeat speed up when he saw Eira reappear from a small, cobbled street on his right. That was the moment the Bard knew Isabelle had been right.