To Heal A Lonely Heart

Not A Boring Banquet

I stayed with Geralt, leaning against the bannister of the colonnade, each of us a drink in hand, he had beer, of course, and I had water – good Gods, how I miss a good drink! – and watching the crowd. Geralt still had his arm around me, not caring about what anyone though, gazing down at our son ever so often. More than once, I had kissed his cheek of stubbly jaw, and more than once, he had responded with a kiss to my temple or hairline.

Soon enough a fight broke out among the lords – as it had to come. One of them claimed to have slain a manticore, while another refused to believe him.

"You lie, you little shite!" yelled the first one, a tall redhead. "You've never faced so much as a bad meal in your life, never mind a manticore."

My husband and I exchanged a knowing glance, smirking – we had, and oh, sometimes I could still feel the scratching of the tree bark against my back when I remember what happened after that – and then proceeded to watch the scene in silence, smirks still plastered on our faces.

"I've had manticores thrice as fat and ugly as you perish under my steel!" protested the second lord.

The redhead countered, "Under your bullshit, more like. How many stings has it got then?"

"Two," replied the second man.

"Hah! Go away and shite! It's five. I know," bragged the first lord.

I watched as a woman stepped up to the queen, whispering something to her, eyeing the witcher next to me.

"Your majesty, that's Geralt of Rivia," I heard her whisper, my elven ears picking up the soft sound over the men's yelling.

"I've actually killed one," the first lord still boasted and the other one attacked the man, grabbing him by the doublet.

Before anything could escalate – much to my disappointment as the banquet was rather boring, though... it was best for the sake of little Crevan – the queen yelled out.

"Enough! We have a renowned guest here tonight."

Everybody turned to look at Geralt, ignoring me standing next to him, pressing closer to my husband, hating the sudden attention.

"Perhaps he can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth."

"Neither!" he spoke, earning him an offended call from one of the lords.

"Are you calling me a liar, old man?" the lord who started the fight said.

"The Butcher of Blaviken bleats utter nonsense," the second lord remarked.

Ooh, boy, watch it. If the situation were different, he would be lying on the ground now, because of either Geralt's fists or my magic. Geralt glanced at Jaskier, and I followed his gaze to see the bard shaking his head almost unnoticeably, a worried, pleading look on his face. Better not offend royalty. Looking down in mocked defeat, an arrogant smirk stretching his lips, Geralt started speaking, while lifting his head to look at the lords. "Perhaps the lords encountered... rare subspecies of manticore."

This caused the queen to laugh, while Jaskier let out a sigh of relief.

"Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?" the queen laughed, mocking the witcher.

"There was no slaying. I had my arse kicked by a ragged band of elves. I was about to have my throat cut when Filavandrel let me go. If it weren't for my wife, I'd probably be dead," Geralt admitted, still smirking, his hand on my waist giving me a small squeeze.

The crowd murmured.

"But the song?"

I could hear Jaskier say, "Yeah, the song." A fake smile, a stressed one, plastered on his face.