Chapter Text
“Why is it whenever i find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shoveling it?!”
“Well, that’s not fair...”
“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”
“Right. Uh… Right, then.
I’ll… I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others. See you around, Geralt.”
***
Growing up, little prince Julian could spend hours on end listening to the songs of wayfaring minstrels entertaining the crowd on the main square of the Capital. The Great Queen Nera, raised in the militaristic tradition, thought her son was spending that time with no earthly use but mother’s heart still ached when she saw that silly ballads about heroes and monsters were the only thing that made her son’s eyes shine like that. At that point she would be happy with anything more that absolutely apathetic, but the boy looked positively joyous when yet another bard would come into the city to sing about witchers and whatever rot they’re fighting for a coin.
Julian never let anyone’s disdainful scoffing discourage him from pursuing music and poetry. He earned that right with his own sweat and tears. Crown prince’s life was an exhausting neverending carousel of combat training and political teachings, so if the only thing that made him feel alive in all of this wasn’t approved by the upper crust, he couldn't give less of a shit.
Right now however, sitting in a dingy tavern somewhere in Novigrad, Jaskier thought that Julian might have fucked himself over on this one. Thinking that life of heroics brings you purpose left him with a broken heart and empty pockets. A tragic combination really.
Jaskier would undoubtedly continue to sit there and pity himself, but that night destiny had other plans for him.
A group of very tired yet very agitated soldiers walked into the tavern. Wouldn’t be an unusual thing to see, except they were wearing Kovir’s crest. When you live your whole life around soldiers, even more so when you’re trained as one, you learn to see things hidden from the civilian's eye. Something was very wrong. These people were on full alert. And if trained professionals, used to living under a constant threat, are that alert, you know shit’s about to go down big time.
Military hierarchy in Kovir is one the things people know better than their own names (because when your kingdom has been at war for half a century and lived under its threat for another half, it kind of becomes an obvious priority). So it took no time for Jaskier to identify the most high-ranking one among the group. The man was wearing General's Insignia on his left arm, meaning he was just an acting general. That didn’t make much sense. Nothing about this group suggested that they’re coming back from combat, so it was probably a diplomatic mission. How the hell does a military general gets himself killed on a diplomatic mission?
The man was just heading outside for a smoke. Good timing. Like a shadow Julian slipped out of the tavern, following him.
Julian’s combat mentor, the one who also trained Shadowwalkers, always said that nightfall could be your best friend as it could be your worst enemy. Julian really hoped for that best friend bit right now.
The man was an inch or two shorter but wider in shoulders. Not that it particularly mattered to someone who was trained to fight men twice his size since he was ten years old. In one swift movement Julian knocked the general off his feet, took the dagger from the sheath on his left forearm where by protocol all high ranking officers had to keep a compact weapon of choice and put the tip of that dagger right to man’s sonar artery to avoid a counterstrike.
“I come with no ill intentions.” Retrospectively, that might’ve not been the best way to introduce himself but it was the fastest one to get what he wanted at that moment.
The General looked a bit startled, but regained his composure pretty quickly all things considered.
“That’s a helluva way to show it, boy.” The tone was threatening, but the man made no attempt to move. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, the crown prince of Kovir. I apologize for ambushing you. I will take the blade away from your throat and show you my patrimonial medallion but I warn you: if you try to attack me, you will not live to see another day.”
He reached under the tunic neckline to pull out a medallion, no bigger than a coin, with an engraving of knight’s glove above the slightly crooked italic lettering, as if a child wrote it. Przeznaczenie the inscription read.
The man studied the medallion for a couple of second before giving an affirmative grunt. He took the offered hand and rose to his feet, placed the right hand on his heart. “My name is Kamil Dabrowski, acting general of the 14th division in the service of her majesty Great Queen Nera of Kovir. I’m at your service, prince Julian.”
“On the service of her majesty... Does this mean…”
Kamil gave a respectful bow.
“I’m sorry, sire.”
Julian took a deep breath to compose himself. Since he was a child, he's been tought that a good leader has to stay imperturbable in the face of adversity. And being a good leader is more important than being a good son or a good brother. Julian hoped that by the time they get to Kovir he can convince himself he ever believed that.
He flipped the dagger and handed it back to Kamil. “Tell your men we’ll leave at dawn. The road is long, they should get some rest.”