Chapter Text
Jaskier runs, has been running for a long time if he's honest, but right now he's in a marathon where the only prize at the end is getting to live another day.
He didn't expect the harsh turn his life would take after the Witcher and him parted ways. He'd spent winters without the man, gone months, even a few years without seeing him and nothing had changed so drastically for him when he was on his own. His recognition went up, but that was always a good thing in the past. More fame meant more coin, more coin meant nicer living, and winters were always spent at Oxenfurt teaching where he always had a home.
But this last time he guessed he hadn't been paying close attention to the goings on in the world. He'd heard the hushed, worried tones of conversation in pubs. Of armies moving from the South, but so far North?! There should be nothing to fear! He'd usually drown out these conversations with song and soon the whole pub would be stomping or singing to the tune with him, any thought of military movement or political tension eked out of their minds with his voice.
He'd also been too busy with his own 'problems'. Or more like one problem, or one person specifically. Yennefer. From the moment she sashayed into their lives Jaskier knew he was no match for all that dark, sexy energy she exuded so carelessly. It seemed no matter how far they traveled in opposite directions the witcher and his witch always found each other again. And every meeting and parting was always the same. Anger, forgiveness, sex (and ugh so much of it) then finally ending with more anger before a much needed break from her presence. Jaskier was always picking up the pieces, till the last time anyway…
After that and he was on his own again, the coin seemed to be coming by harder and harder each tavern he played and he was forced to listen to what was happening around him without the interference his heart usually played. Nilfgaard, invaders from the south had been marching slowly but surely north, and to make matters worse they weren't just marching through. They were killing and looting and destroying everything in their path, with ease, uncontested.
Jaskier still doubted they'd get very far, for now they were only passing through villages, poor farmers land that no King would protect anyway, for all their talk of love for Country they didn't actually give a flying fuck about their people. But they'd have to defeat Cintra, and Temaria and every other kingdom of the North, past the backwaters of Velen, and that would never happen.
So he carried on as best he could, eventually making it to Novigrad where he got the worst news yet. Oxenfurt was closed. His one and only home, the place he was sure he'd always be welcome and safe was barred to him and everyone. The university and subsequently the whole town was hoping if less people were there and appeared empty then the army would have little reason to stop, leaving the city untouched. In the long run it seemed a good idea, preserving the school to stand the test of war and time, but not for Jaskier now with no home to speak of.
So instead he stayed in brothels, made friends with strange and unsavory folk, (Whoreson Sr. a local crime boss, was honestly not such a whoreson after all and they bonded over they're shared love of the arts, but Jr. sure was a piece of work) and he sang and sang for anyone who'd listen. Here in town more people were willing to part with their coin for a bit of cheer, the last place that felt normal on a continent in turmoil.
But as summer came to an end so did everyone's positive outlook. When the first whiff of smoke on the air caught his nose it was also the same day the skies began to darken. The news came not long after Cintra's fall, and something horrible twisted in his gut. Cintra, the once proud wearers of Lions with an even prouder and fierce Queen, had fallen to the southern invaders. Suddenly Novigrad didn't feel safe anymore, despite the many miles separating the two cities. His thoughts also wandered to Geralt and his child of surprise, but how could a child have survived such a tragedy?
He tried to brush away the thoughts that would surely lead him back to ruin and decided he needed to keep moving and that's when his troubles began. For those thoughts never seemed to leave him alone. Did Geralt find the princess? Was she safe? And… What would happen if she wasn't? He heard many tales of destiny and the bad things that happen when it's ignored and Geralt had been doing plenty of that over the years, had it finally caught up to him? So with all these questions swirling in his mind he couldn't help how they made it onto the pages of his composing journal and eventually into song.
The first, and only time he sang the ballad of The White Wolf and the Lion Cub was under a large oak tree, it's roots large enough to stand on easily, raising him above the surprising throng of people in Flotsam. The chill of the autumn air in the mountains didn't seem to deter the people from wanting to hear the famous bard, Master Dandelion's (his popular moniker) new song. He thought he'd be safe here to sing it this far North, a few weeks later, the smoke still rising from the battle of Sodden after Nilfgaard's defeat. And on the surface it appeared he was, everyone in attendance loved his story, questioning him endlessly if it was true and he coyly replied he never revealed the inspiration behind his works, loving the way they chattered excitedly while he slipped away to the nearby brothel.
A cursory knock resounded on the door, as the Madam stepped over the threshold. “Master Dandelion, you have a guest.” she announced clapping her hands and the two girls perched on his lap quickly began adjusting their clothes back into place.
“And who might this guest be that interrupts my time with your lovely ladies? It’s only so fortunately I’d yet to choose.” he asked arrogantly and from behind her a greasy haired man, with a long nose and watery eyes appeared. He smiled apologetically but was anything but.
“Forgive me Master Dandelion, I only wish to take a few minutes of your time, I’ll gladly compensate you for your inconvenience.” He stated and handed a generous sounding pouch of coin to the madam who swept away.
“And what precisely have you come to say that would excuse your rather rude intrusion?” Jaskier continues hotly, putting on airs his title allowed him and the man drops a similarly full pouch of coin on the table before him. Jaskier eyes the pouch, and looks up at the man, a brow arched in curiosity.
“I merely wish to inquire about the inspiration behind your latest ballad. It was a moving piece. Especially the hopeful end you gave it. The Lion Cub was rescued by the White Wolf after her harrowing escape from certain death. Tell me are these characters real? Are these things you sing of real? I must know." He said leaning forward.
Jaskier leaned back, not liking the direction this was going.
“You must? Surely my good man, you must also know then that an artist would never reveal the true meaning of his works. The meaning should be left for interpretation by the listener. As for the authenticity of the characters of which I sing, well those are also musings and creations of my own, not meant to depict any real persons.” He replied airily.
“Come now Master, don’t be so secretive. Everyone knows your songs of the White Wolf have been about the Witcher Geralt of Rivia, years of songs worth have been written and devoted to his likeness. But I’m not interested in the witcher. I’m more interested in the Lion cub. That wouldn’t happen to be the Princess Cirilla would it? The one said to have perished in the battle of Cintra. But your ballad seems to lean toward her escape and rescue. Is it true?”
Jaskier paused for a long moment, realizing belatedly he never got the man’s name. “And pray tell, who wants to know? Who would come asking these grand questions of a traveling bard? What makes you think I know anything of worth." Jaskier asks, hoping to downplay himself to this stranger.
"A moment ago you had little care for who I was." He replied unable to hold back a sneer.
"And a moment ago I was lamenting the loss of two fine ladies company because of you." Jaskier fired back, and the man held up his hands.
"Peace poet, I have no problem telling you my name is Rience. Now that the proper acquaintances have been met, you'll be willing to answer the questions I have yes?"
"No! No I most certainly will not!" Jaskier sputtered and stood, hands on his waist in annoyance. "Besides, I don't have the answers you seek." He jutted his chin out and the man shook his head.
"What a shame… I expected this to be a pleasant chat, but you leave me little choice." He said reaching into his pocket swiftly revealing a stiletto knife.
Before Jaskier heard the snick of the knife unfolding he was already across the room, having been here plenty of times before the brothel house had many secret passages he was aware of. He dove to the far wall, unlatching a hidden door and swung it open with force, the stiletto embedded itself within an inch of his nose, rude. He jumped into the narrow passageway, and ran along the beams, even if the idiot took chase he knew he could escape. For ahead was a trapdoor he merely had to jump over that fell to a pigsty below, his attacker wouldn't know and would fall to his messy ruin.
Of course, whenever he was confident in a plan, it was sure to go awry. A blue flash of light from behind him lit up the small space and hit him, his entire body instantly felt like lead and he fell right when he was supposed to jump. He fell right through the trapdoor and to the pigsty below, it seemed the sty was under maintenance but the mud was still present and he promptly passed out.
Pain. Radiating, terrible pain from his arms is what he woke to. He was still in the dark muddy hole under the brothel, but he couldn't move. His arms were bound behind his back, limbs twisted in a painful position with rope holding him in place. Struggling only made the pain worse, but not as bad as when the rope tightened unexpectedly and he tried to scream out in pain but it was like his voice was gone.
"Don't panic songbird, I haven't even begun to make you sing for me." The slimy voice of Rience crawled over him and he looked around frantic till he found his captor. Two other men had joined him, burly and ugly, that's the names that stuck when he looked at them. "Now, since you like to do things the hard way, I arranged this just for you, because I'm not even close to being done with you." He growled and motioned sharply and Burly tugged on a rope hanging from the rafters and Jaskier lifted into the air with another silent scream.
The agony felt like it lasted an eternity but it was probably only a few seconds before Rience said "Enough!" In his emotionless tone. Jaskier panted, kneeling on the ground, when Rience yanked his head up to look at him, his stare cold. "You miserable sack, I hope you know this was unnecessary, this could have been quick and painless if you'd just told me what I wanted earlier in the nice, warm, clean room. But no, you northerners are all the same. Like to hang tough, well now you get your wish." He sneered and Jaskier was off his feet again, dangling only by his arms as they creaked and cracked resoundingly in the small space. "Enough! Now that you think you know what your dealing with, look down bard." He instructed and Jaskier did easily, his head falling limply. His feet were also ensnared, and tied to a heavy bucket of lye. 'Fuck'
"That's right, if I give the word and my man lifts you high enough, your arms will break. Can't play the lute so well with two broken arms, can you? So, I'm going to lift the spell and you'll answer my questions. If you lie, I'll know. If you hesitate too long, I'll give the word, got it?"
Jaskier nodded weakly and his voice returned. "Ah, cock." He groaned and Rience was right in his face, his terrible breath making it hard to breath.
"As we were saying, the Princess of Cintra, you eluded to her survival, did she?" He asked and Jaskier scrunched his face in pain.
"I don't know…" he moaned and he felt the rope tighten again. "Honestly! I heard of what happened, knowing the witcher's connection I invented the story! That's it!"
"The Witcher's connection you say?" He asked and Jaskier couldn't help the eye roll and the rope tightened as a result.
"Fuck! Yes, everyone knows that from the ballad of Feasts and Fools. The witcher claimed her as his 'child of surprise'. Her parents were sworn by destiny to give her to him. Yet, he never returned for her. Some say the fall of Cintra was a result of destiny being ignored, fuck! It's the truth I tell you!" He cried as the rope tightened once more, straining his shoulders.
"And you think he went back for her now? Why, out of guilt?"
"I don't fucking know! I haven't seen the man in over a year!" He said, fire burning in his eyes and Rience gave him a searching look.
"Fine, say you just dreamed up this story, say it was true, where did he go with her?"
"How should I know! If you knew Geralt at all, you'd find quickly he is not a forthcoming man."
"You see, there's something about the way you said that too quickly, too desperately, makes me believe you're still holding back. You say you don't know where, but do you know what it is?"
' Fuck, I'm going to die…' he thought as he clenched his teeth and Rience smiled sinisterly.
"Well… what's the name Master Poet." He sneered and when Jaskier said nothing, Rience motioned to Burley. He screamed as his feet left the ground, his arms painfully pulled and he felt the rope grow taut at his ankles. "You know I could have easily just delved into your little bird brain and sussed out what I wanted, but this is so much more fun for me. And who cares when in the end you'll tell me anyway." And Jaskier knew he would.
"Sir, someone's coming this way. A woman by the looks of it." Ugly said from the door.
"You know what to do." Rience growled and moved away from him, Burly let the rope go, sending Jaskier crashing to the ground, where he rolled, groaning in pain and relief.
For a moment all was silent but for his heavy breaths, then the door crashed open and a flurry of movement and light flashed. The sun streamed in, the gleam of a dagger, the wisp of smoke, and the crack of lightning.
The woman was an illusion, that was stabbed by Ugly, he was quickly dispatched by a dagger to his own neck, a roar dying in his gurgling throat. Then a real woman ran inside and with a swirl of her hands Burly was taken down by a bolt of lightning.
"Fuck!" Rience screamed, and another flash, this time orange illuminated the back part of the small room and he ran full tilt into the portal. The woman ran but halted before following, instead waving her hands again and a bright warm flash of fire spouted from her hands. Distantly a scream of agony resounded before the portal closed.
"Jaskier, Fuck." The woman said kneeling beside him, raven curls falling out of the hood covering her face, the smell of lilac and gooseberries tickled his nose in a familiar way.
"Yennefer? I- what the fuck…" he stammers with effort as she unties his wrists and he unceremoniously flops to the ground, mud soaking his chemise and trousers.
"The words you're struggling for are thank you." She says but her tone is not the same as it would have been in the past. Instead of cold annoyance, perhaps with a sneer, her voice seems almost...warm? He moves slowly, groaning as he brings his arms around to his chest, he flexes his fingers slowly to work feeling back into them, thanking the gods the sorceress arrived in time when he had no hope at all.
"Yes, thank you. But how did you?..."
"Not here Jaskier. Come on." She says and helps him up, leading him back inside to get cleaned up.
After he takes a bath and sends his clothes to the wash he joins her downstairs and for the first time looks at her in a new way. This is supposed to be his rival, the women who stole Geralt from him, but now, in the light of this dingy brothel house she looks… normal, and nothing like the fierce, terrifying sorceress from before. She looks, dare he say it, sad and he thought that was only a fluke of the expression she wore on the mountainside so many months before.
Sad and tired, her shoulders slumped, her posture hunched as she drinks the ale from her cup as he approaches looking forlorn. She straightens, schooling her expression and he smiles inwardly at the farce of it all. If she were to show anything but the over confident sorceress she pretends for all the world to be, showed some weakness then she'd be just as human as anyone else. He supposes there's a story there, but he's not privy to inquire about it, but he can make a few fair assumptions on his own. Her desires for a child are human, her mood swings just as volatile as any other woman, and while she might be glaring at him for noticing too much he knows that she must care even in some small corner of her heart for him. Or at least for Geralt to have saved him.
He sits quietly, not remarking on anything he's seen and diverts his eyes til an ale is placed in his hands and the barmaid walks away. He turns his attention to her finally and gives a small upturn of his lips before speaking softly. "Thank you for saving my life Yennefer. I honestly don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there."
She relaxes at his words and leans forward. "We wouldn't want our songbird to have sang his last song now would we?" She comments and gives a pointed look.
"Oh, you heard it then?" He asks excited but tempers himself when she gives a withering look.
"Yes, as well as those men. What exactly did they want from you?" She asks and he sucks in a breath through his teeth.
"They wanted to know where Geralt was going. Where the Witchers winter or something. But why would they want to know that I don't know, it's not like Geralt ever actually told me." He trails off before seeing Yenn's expression.
"You really think I can't read your mind bard? You just endured torture for an ungrateful asshole of a man, don't insult me." She rolls her eyes and takes another drink of her ale.
"Fine, you're right, I protected him even after…" he paused and she gave him a sympathetic look he didn't want so he continued on. " But what difference does it make?! And what would a group of scoundrels want with a fortress full of Witchers that could tear the heads from their bodies without batting an eye? Oh my god! Is Cir-'' he finally gets it as he begins to blurt the Princess of Cintra's name but Yennefer saw it coming and had waved her hand in a complicated gesture and his lips sealed shut. "Hrrm!"
"Listen closely bard, and don't make me regret saving you. You can't sing that song anymore, for yours and everyone else's safety. Geralt has a target on his back as you can see." She began, tone not to be questioned and he listened with wide eyes, hands still pawing at his lips. She rolled her eyes and continued. "I don't much care for what happens to the Witcher-" and Jaskier rolled his eyes so far it hurt. "But if a single hair is even out of place on that child's head and I hear even a whisper that you've sang that song again? Well, not having a voice will be the least of your worries." She leaned forward and Jaskier flinched at the dark glint in her eye. "Am I understood?" She asked an eerie smile on her lips and he nodded vigorously. "Good, don't disappoint me." She sneered and waved her hand again and Jaskier gasped.
She stood from her seat, ale only half finished, and was adjusting her hood over her face carefully when Jaskier could finally formulate a response. “Shouldn’t we… or you warn him though? Those men were horrible and could teleport!” he hissed at her and she looked down on him and he felt like an ant under her gaze.
“The man in question could not teleport himself, but he does have a powerful friend watching over him. I left him a parting gift for his troubles… a warning, he’ll need time to recoup. And no, you know as well as I that Geralt accepts no help easily. They're safe for now in their keep.”
“But you’re…” he trailed off as the glint returned to her eye and thought better of continuing that thought. “So I’m just supposed to go about life like nothing happened? Like a bunch of evil men didn’t just truss me up and try to kill me?! I’m not the most inconspicuous person Yennefer, how am I to escape their notice?” he goes on in a hushed tone and she sighs crossing one arm across her chest and resting her chin on a supported hand.
“That does present a problem… You’ll be easy pickings for sure anyway.” She grumbles ignoring the indignant noise he makes and grabs him by the elbow and drags him outside. They don’t stop until she’s found a darkened alley between buildings, Jaskier’s complaints falling on deaf ears till he finally wrenches his arm away from her surprisingly strong grip. She whirls on him, her hands already moving in the air in a complicated pattern. She murmurs foreign words and her volume raises slightly as energy forms in her hands and floats to surround him.
‘This woman is going to kill me.’ Is all Jaskier can think and shuts his eyes tightly, but the moment passes and after a long held breath he peeks at her through one eye, seeing her annoyed expression.
“If you’re quite done speculating my motives... “ She says and he relaxes minutely. “I’ve cast a shrouding spell over you. No sorcerer can track you now. For obvious reasons I couldn’t do that in the bar for everyone to see.” She explains and crowds him against the brick wall of the alley, and he can't help the breath that catches in his throat at her beauty or her terrifying aura, they both seem to morph into the same thing, it’s no wonder Geralt loves her. "And, I've decided to take pity on you. Should you have a strange feeling or urge to do something or go somewhere, don't question it. Call it… your guiding muse."
She smirks and before he can ask just what the hell that's supposed to mean she's stepped away with a kiss on his cheek and opens a portal opposite them and walks through without a backward glance.