Rinde isn't exactly full of pleasant memories for Geralt, either-- it's where Yen took his free will and forced him to exact her petty revenge on the townsfolk. But it's a better alternative than going north from Oxenfurt, which would take them to Blaviken. Geralt would go hundreds of miles out of his way to avoid ever setting foot near that fucking pisshole town again and, as a matter of fact, has done exactly that in the past.

Jaskier suggests the northern pass to avoid Rinde, but doesn't realize his mistake until the words are already out of his mouth and Geralt's expression has turned dark. He tries to cover it up by suggesting that they go straight through Ghelibol, babbling some shit about libraries and history. They aren't out on a pleasure tour, they wouldn't have time to stop at any libraries even if Ghelibol weren't a stone's throw away from the town that named him a butcher.

"The Lutonski road will be poor traveling at this time of year," he says, starting off with the least traumatic part of this conversation. "The southern pass will still be clear."

He chases some of the stew with ale. Perhaps if he was a better man, he would risk getting stoned in Ghelibol for Jaskier's sake; he has not attempted to travel through that city since he became the Butcher, but he wouldn't doubt that they had heard about what happened in Blaviken. He would likely not be welcome.

"And I'm not going anywhere near fucking Blaviken." His mouth twists into something sour at the name. Talking about the place is going to put him off his fucking food if he keeps it up. "We're going east and taking the southern pass."

His tone brooks no arguments; either the bard travels the route that Geralt has planned, or he can go back to the dean and beg for his winter lecturing position and the reservation on his room.