Watching Jaskier was a strange experience. The set of his shoulders, the clip of his gait-- it was all very unlike Jaskier, as if this place, these people, had made him something different. Diminished him, somehow. Even Geralt, who would never say as much out loud, could acknowledge that there was something irrepressible about Jaskier that drew people to him. His talent helped, of course, and the loud fashion statements that he enjoyed making, but it was more than that. It was how he stood, how he spoke, how he... invited everyone to look and see the world as he did, as if by doing so they might enjoy it just a little more. That was Jaskier.

This man with him now was not that person. He was quiet and small. Geralt disliked it immensely; it was all very wrong.

When Jaskier started down one side of the hall only to stop and about face-- Geralt almost grabbed him. Forced a course of action that might end this entire charade. But the hallway was wide and the troubadour was across it, his pace quicker and his shoulders suddenly thrown back. Geralt mounted the last step and went after him, opening his mouth only to close it as the heard sounds of a shuffle coming from somewhere further on. The tattoo of feet on hardwood, muffled... laughter? But Jaskier was already flinging open the door and speaking and by the time Geralt had made it into the room there were a herd of small bodies practically dragging the man to the ground. Geralt's lips drew into a line-- and then relaxed. Children. The room was filled with children, who were clearly delighted to see Jaskier. Geralt dragged in a deep breath, a knot between his shoulders loosening.

"Julian, you said you'd come and visit--"

"Teach me the harpsichord, momma says its only for priests and beggars--"

"I'm almost as tall as you now!"

Geralt folded his arms across his chest and leaned a shoulder against the the doorframe to watch.