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“Monsters don’t smile.”
He had been testing out a few chords for a new song – about the striga, because he had finally, finally managed to get the full story out of the brooding witcher – when the other had so rudely interrupted him. He had clicked his tongue and launched into a rant because ‘obviously, it’s called an artistic license, Geralt!’ and was – as usual – met with a raised eyebrow and a grumbled ‘lies, that’s what it is.’. And – as usual – he had feigned offense, secretly pleased that the witcher was listening to him under his indifferent airs.
He wondered why it came back to him now.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
He knew that it wasn’t quite true. But Geralt had probably meant that they didn’t smile like people did – not humans, he refused to say humans, because elves smiled, and dwarves smiled and they were people and he liked people, especially when they smiled, he liked them even when they disliked him, liked them so much even when he ended up being hurt again… What the witcher had meant was that, except for people, there were not many things that bared their teeth to show joy. And he knew that the other smiled, so he wondered if he had reflected on it before because hearing that from someone who tried to convince the world and himself that he was a monster was definitely weird.
Such a strange thing it was, he thought, eyes trained to the ceiling and hands itching painfully, that they used a blatant sign of aggression to appear friendly.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
He was thinking about his next song. He always was. Someone wise had once told that to make good music, you had to look forward to see what you could do next, even if you were not done with the now. He tried really hard to abide by it – and if he was the one who had said that meaningful sentence during one of the lessons he gave at Oxenfurt, well, it merely meant that he was as amazing as he had always claimed to be.
He blinked when white teeth glinted in the firelight.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
Of all the things that the witcher had ever told him, he was glad that this was the one that came back now. He could lose himself in much happier memories than if it had been something else – as he couldn’t afford weakness, he tried hard to avoid any thought of ‘filling-less pies’ and ‘shoveling shit’ because it still hurt, even after all this time – and that was a blessing. Having pain also stemming from his mind would have made his situation much more difficult to bear.
As he carefully made all his muscles as loose as he could, he had the fleeting thought that this memory was so mundane that it couldn’t be of use to anyone but himself – then his body arched violently and he stopped thinking.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
Now that he thought about it, it could make a good line. Maybe not in an epic song, it would sound too soft. In a ballad, however… But then, he would be unable to stop himself from waxing poetics about a white-haired witcher. What a joke, as if he had been able to stop since Posada. And it was already too late, he could feel a tune form in his mind.
His hands were hurting, hurting to write, it was truly a pity that he couldn’t.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
That was how he knew that his predicament was nothing but a political game that went beyond his knowledge. Monsters didn’t smile when they killed you, and they had the decency to eat you quickly – even the ones that roasted you – because they were hungry. It was natural, kill to eat, eat to live; it was even easy to simplify the equation to kill to live, because it was exactly that in the end. People, however, rarely killed to live. They killed out of fear, out of hatred, out of greed. As they didn’t need the kill to live, they could drag it out, slowly, painfully.
Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the smiles, and unsurprisingly, they weren’t nice.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
He felt sluggish and it was hard to compose when he was unable to focus properly. Composing his new song was nearly impossible in this state, but it was the only moment that he could dedicate to it. His other waking hours – once he felt like himself again, at least a little – were spent planning a special show, and absentmindedly pondering the meaning of smiles. The song could – and it would – wait. He had more pressing matters to attend.
The whole ‘white-teeth-firelight-rummaging-in-his-brain-burning-and-beating-when-nothing-was-found’ thing was starting to get boring, and he had never been good with boredom.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
If his throat hadn’t been so sore – bruised, burned – he would have laughed, or maybe sung a little tune. But he couldn’t stay for too long, because even amidst the chaos and the smoke, someone was bound to notice that he was gone. That, and the bodies. Even with the fire, it was risky to bet that those would stay hidden. It hadn’t been so difficult in the end. They had burned and broken his finders first, because it would hurt – body and mind, considering who he was – and when it hadn’t led them anywhere, not more than a few beatings, and that he had annoyed them to no end – he was rather good at that – they had taken his voice, with smoke and strange potions poured in his mouth, down his throat.
And they had smiled all the while, proving what they were.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
They were people and so their where smiling while they killed him slowly for information and power. And he still liked – loved – people, really, but after the mountain he had decided that there was someone who deserved more of his affection than he had care to give before. So, from the beginning, he had been ready to save himself. Like a caged bird, they had clipped his wings and stolen his songs, but they hadn’t realized that he was more than a fragile creature.
He had used all his sharp angles – elbows, knees, teeth – without hesitation, and he might have seemed completely feral, but the sudden change had given him the advantage, especially when he had managed to douse the mage – and the furniture – in oil.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
And he hadn’t smiled, not when he broke a nose, not when he sent a kick in the balls – it sounded good, he should keep it for another song – not when he threw the lamp and watched the fire spread, not even a small one in victory when he finally ended up outside. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, and he knew that he probably had blood – his and not his – everywhere on his teeth and lips. But right at that moment, he didn’t care. With the hair, the dirt, the bruises, the blood and without a smile, after killing to live, he probably looked like a monster.
He was better off as a people-loving monster, he thought bitterly when his knees buckled and he fell in the snow, even if he had avoided becoming exactly that for most of his life.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
He woke up with a jolt at the familiar sentence and – he would be ashamed of himself later – he didn’t even notice his surroundings. All that mattered was the voice – achingly familiar – that had uttered these words, and what it meant. And sure enough, there was Geralt, arguing softly with a young girl – it had to be the princess, they were safe, marvelous, he had delayed the research long enough – over a book, probably a bestiary.
He let out a dry chuckle and he barely had the time to see their worried faces turn towards him before falling back asleep.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
He was still high on the joy – Geralt had looked for him! – and the relief – safe, everyone was safe. Many things had been said, and most of all apologies – he deserved it, he wouldn’t have settled for anything less – and it was all almost like before. Except that the witcher – well, all the witchers, the sorceress and the princess together – had finally pieced a few things together – his resistance, his age, his face – so the monstrous cat was out of the proverbial bag. Honestly, it was nothing, a small drop in the ocean of his blood, but it was still a monster’s gene so one of the witchers – the young one, Lambert? – had been a bit twitchy.
He had stopped smiling at them after they found out.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
For once, he was the one saying the words, curled up in the library of Kaer Morhen. It was merely to test out how they felt – he was still trying to compose that ballad – because he couldn’t sing yet, and it would be even longer before he could play. Geralt was mothering him and, as entertaining as it had been at first, he was getting tired of it. It took a while – and a lot of inane chatting, even by his standards – to get the witcher to speak his mind. And when he had, it was to ask why he didn’t smile.
Well, and he had laughed, at least the answer to that was easy.
“Monsters don’t smile.”
They had actually managed to have a serious conversation about their feelings without anyone leaving in a huff for once, and it was unexpectedly satisfying. Now, he spent most of his time humming to make the song perfect. And smiling because the witcher felt guilty and had told him – for real, he wouldn’t have dared to even dream of hearing such heartfelt words from him two months ago – that it wouldn’t do for someone who had spent so much time making everyone smile to stop because of a bestiary entry. It was nice, it made sense and Geralt had said it, so he couldn’t do anything but believe it. All these positive changes made him work faster – not better, because he always put his best in his music, no matter the mood, no matter the place.
When he was finally satisfied with it, he performed it – without any instruments, his hands were still fragile – for Geralt alone, even if his voice was a bit croaky.
“Monster don’t smile-”
“Jaskier…”
He shushed the witcher and began again.
“Monsters don’t smile,
Monsters don’t smile
Like you do,
My love.
Monsters don’t smile,
But I’d cover every mile
To see you do,
My love.
Monsters don’t smile,
Monsters don’t smile
Like you do.”