The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Forty-Nine

Cintra, 1249

Robin tapped her fingers on the table nervously as the villager told his story. While she was confident that Geralt wasn't dead, she wasn't quite as blasé about the entire thing as her brother was. He was currently extorting coin from everyone who was listening, as he was wont to do.

When the door of the inn opened and Geralt walked in, she shot up out of her seat and ran to him. He held up a hand to stop her from coming further, though, gesturing to himself.

He was covered head to toe in selkiemore guts, but Robin just shook her head. "Do you think I care about that?" she murmured, moving forward and pressing her lips lightly against his.

She immediately gagged, prompting him to chuckle at her. As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, she shook her head. "Fine," she croaked. "I changed my mind. I do care. Your job is disgusting. I should have remembered the zeugl."

He nodded and motioned for a beer, taking a long pull and then spitting it all back out on the floor to rinse his mouth. "I had to let it swallow me," he explained.

"So we've been hearing."

Robin nodded her head at the crowd, which Jaskier was working even harder than before.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is my sister, Robin. She's the witcher's lover." He pointed at a man who had flirted with her rather persistently earlier. He now looked very alarmed. "You, sir, get my point. You should definitely be worried. I told you to leave her alone."

Geralt whirled and stared at the man, growling. Robin rolled her eyes affectionately. "I took care of it already, Geralt," she assured him. "But you're sweet."

"Well, now that that's done, you must be ready for a party," Jaskier said hopefully, sliding in between them at the bar.

"Fuck off, Jaskier," Geralt answered concisely, making Robin giggle.

He didn't really mean it, of course. He wanted to, certainly, but he'd never leave the bard in the lurch. As much as he had tried not to, he had actually become fond of him. He wasn't even just tolerating him for Robin anymore.

"Come on," the bard wheedled. "There will be excellent food and wine. And your favorite woman. Robin's attending. You wouldn't let her go alone, would you?"

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Robin and she shrugged helplessly. "What? When I'm with him, he gets in far less trouble. And he still gets in a lot," she reminded him, "so it's best to minimize the collateral damage as much as possible. But you don't have to, Geralt. We'll be fine."

"I'm going," he informed her. "Just get me in a damn bath."

The innkeeper was more than happy to provide them with a room in thanks for their service. The water he brought up was tepid at best, but Robin heated it until it was scalding, just as Geralt liked it.

Jaskier was insisting upon supervising both of their appearances, so she was sitting on the bed while he took the lead with Geralt, dumping a bucket of water over his head in a vain attempt to get all the entrails out of his silver hair.

Geralt grunted and rubbed at his eyes while Jaskier scoffed. "Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest," he admonished the witcher. "It is one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?"

Robin grimaced at Jaskier and he stuck his tongue out at her in response as Geralt grumbled, "You're not my best friend."

"Right, right, your horse is, whatever. And I'm not counting Robin, because her status is far more important than that, no matter what you might say."