‘Mayhap if thou couldst stopper thy mouth, thou wouldst find sleep less fleeting,’ Geralt grumbled, turning over. He had almost been asleep that time.
‘Geralt!’ Jaskier exclaimed. He sounded delighted. This did not bode well for Geralt’s chances at sleep.
‘What?’ he said testily.
‘Did you just “thee” me?’
‘No,’ said Geralt, choosing denial as his coping mechanism of choice.
It wasn’t, sadly, a technique that tended to be very effective against Jaskier, and this time was no exception.
‘You did!’ said Jaskier. ‘You can deny it all you want, but I know what I heard. A musician needs to have very sensitive hearing.’
‘Hmm,’ said Geralt, screwing his eyes closed and hoping for the best.
‘I think it makes you sound like a poet,’ said Jaskier dreamily. ‘That kind of old-fashioned turn of phrase.’
Geralt rolled his eyes. He turned over to face Jaskier, who was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.
‘Do I still sound poetic if I’m calling you a mewling whoreson or a flap-mouthed flesh-monger?’
‘Depends on the poet,’ returned Jaskier, undaunted. ‘When I write my hundred-stanza epic detailing Valdo Marx’s failings, then yes.’
‘It must be odd,’ Jaskier said quietly. ‘When the rest of the world changes on you and you have to run to catch up.’
‘I liked thou,’ grumbled Geralt into Jaskier’s shoulder. ‘It was easier to insult people.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Jaskier. ‘I studied literature, you know.’
‘Hmm,’ said Geralt.
‘I know what thou means,’ Jaskier continued. ‘I know it’s used for people you’re close to. You can’t pull that “we’re not friends” nonsense on me again.’
‘It’s also for your social inferiors,’ sniped Geralt. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘Yes, but you’ve told me how Vesemir gave you lectures on how to behave on the Path, before you left Kaer Morhen. And I know how the world treats witchers well enough. He told you to use the formal “you” in most circumstances, didn’t he?’
Geralt was silent.
‘Thought so,’ said Jaskier. ‘So I’m going to continue to be chuffed that your half-asleep self thinks of me as thee.’
He turned on his side and let Geralt curl up behind him. Before long, his breathing evened out, and he was asleep. Even though he had a witcher at his back. He was far too trusting.
‘No more brain than a stone,’ murmured Geralt, before he, too, was asleep.