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The road to Blaviken was a long one, and Jaskier was, if he was being honest, a little exhausted after that last contract. A kikimore was a tall order for any Witcher, and this one had been particularly foul to deal with. Of course the Alderman had barely paid him too, despite the notice having mentioned a heavy reward. Nothing Jaskier wasn’t used to - after all, such was the lot of a Witcher. Not even worth the effort to be shunned as regular humans were.
Jaskier slid off Pegasus and landed on soft feet, surveying the clearing around him with clever amber eyes. It was unlikely that this particular clearing would contain any threats, but there had been something moving in the forest as he approached the outskirts of the town, so he wasn’t going to take any chances. Satisfied that there was nothing about to leap out and attack him or his horse, Jaskier relaxed and set about making camp. Pegasus was happy for the break as well and, liberated from his tack, set about grazing at the various plants poking up around the riverbed.
Catching a few rabbits was no great challenge, and Jaskier set to gutting them and setting them on a spit to roast just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Dusk made the forest hazy with possibility, and Jaskier kept one ear out for any sounds that weren’t the crackle of his fire and the rustle of his horse. Blaviken wasn’t known to be overtly aggressive towards Witchers, but there was no telling when a vigilante or two would get it into their heads to drive away a potential threat.
He was halfway through his first rabbit when the sound of soft steps drew his attention. This was no angry villager or purposeful warrior. Whoever it was knew how to make themselves difficult to detect, and that was even more interesting to Jaskier. He carefully slid a dagger out of his boot and held it casually at his side, feigning ignorance of his incoming guest. When they finally did step into view, Jaskier raised his head to look but made no other move. His throwing arm was quick enough to handle any human threat.
And the woman in front of him certainly looked human - dressed in a green cloak with a prominent golden broach, the rest of her gear worn and practical. She was holding her hands up in a gesture of peace, calloused palms out and a curious smile quirking up the side of her mouth.
“Not often one sees a Witcher relaxing like this.” she commented cheerfully, “Could I beg a seat at your table, master Witcher?”
Jaskier couldn’t help it, he was intrigued. No hint of fear or trepidation marred her body language, and her tone was seemingly genuine. He nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat opposite him, but kept ahold of the dagger by his side nonetheless. He was alive because he was careful, and he stayed alive by staying careful. The rabbit he could spare though, it wasn’t like game wasn’t plentiful enough in these parts. Jaskier watched as the woman sat down, folding her cape under her as she sat down on the ground, like a lady would her skirts. Some upper-class breeding then, he thought to himself, as if he were observing some wild animal on a hunt and trying to puzzle out its intentions. Really, this situation wasn’t that much different.
Taking a piece of rabbit off the spit, the woman began to eat. She was clearly comfortable with this type of food, not bothered by dirtying her fingers, but she didn’t eat with the speed of someone who was in dire need of a meal. She didn’t look like she was in dire need of a meal either, her skin at a healthy glow and her musculature clearly defined. Jaskier had to admit - he was intrigued.
“What brings you into these woods, Witcher?” She asked between mouthfuls, and Jaskier finally deigned to speak in return.
“I heard tell of a contract in the area. Some mage or another that wants a beast slain.” He explained the truth plainly, because it was all he knew. Word reached his ear in whispers these days - folk were getting more and more wary of Witchers as a whole.
“And you?” Jaskier questioned back, because he found his natural curiosity would simply not rest until he had picked apart the knot of interesting threads that made up the woman sitting across from him.
“I’m here to return a favor.” She said simply, mouth curving up into a smile that made her cheeks dimple, “Destiny and all that. You Witchers are familiar, if I’m not mistaken.”
Jaskier nodded, because he was intimately familiar with the concept of Destiny. He had cursed it every day since he was old enough to curse. It had always been the iron will behind the cruel decisions the world had forced on him.
“Fuck Destiny.” He said sagely, and the woman laughed, the dimples in her cheeks deepening as she threw her head back.
“What a strange Witcher you are.” She said, voice light with laughter still, “And what a strange woman I must seem.”
Jaskier inclined his head to agree, a hint of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. Self-awareness was a charming trait not many humans seemed to have.
“Renfri of Creyden is my name.” The woman finally introduced herself, “But I am known by many others. You may have heard tell of the Shrike and her gang, for which I will gladly take credit.”
Jaskier had indeed heard of Shrike and her band of outlaws, and of the mayhem they left in their wake. Her pride was that of a predator then, pleased to share in the tales of its own bloodshed. He wasn’t one to judge, given the rumors that must dog his own footsteps.
“Jaskier, of the School of the Wolf.” He replied, “Although I’m sure you’ve already gathered from the medallion.” Someone as sharp as Renfri wouldn’t be one to need an explanation of what the medallion on his chest meant, or the weight it bore on his neck. The sharp gaze of her brown eyes against his golden ones told him that she knew perhaps more than he would like.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence, neither feeling the need to pry further into the incredibly vague business of the other in this out-of-the-way settlement that was Blaviken. Only once Renfri had liked her fingers clean did she stand and give a rather formal bow in Jaskier’s direction, that clever smile gracing her lips once again.
“My thanks, Master Witcher, for the meal.” She said, “Perhaps our paths will cross again, if you stay in the area.”
“Let us hope not.” Jaskier said with a chuckle, “For I’ve had quite enough of Destiny’s meddling.”
When Jaskier arrived in Blaviken the next day, he found it to be similar to every other little town he’d ever come across - a shithole filled with suspicious common folk and even more suspicious rich men. Inquiring after the contract had led him to a tower in the center of the town, and entering the tower had led him to perhaps his least favorite kind of person: a sorcerer. And to make matters worse, one he’d met before. Stregobor was no less abhorrent than any of the other magic users Jaskier had ever had the displeasure of working with, with his only distinguishing feature being his inability to rhyme.
Stregobor had spun a tale for Jaskier, of a dark sun and a spate of children born with curse running through their veins. Children - girls - who needed to be contained and chained and tamed so that they didn’t run amok, didn’t cause harm to others.
Oh Julek, you must be shaped, you must be molded, you must learn to be less.
Jaskier had listened as Stregobor whined and babbled on about the threat to his life, and how he was going to be stuck in this tower forever, and oh woe is me, my decisions have come back to cause consequences. Jaskier had privately thanked his old trainers at Kaer Morhen for teaching him patience and a polite smile, because there was no other way he would have been able to keep a straight face otherwise.
With Stregobor all but wringing his hands over the threat to the general populace (and to himself personally) this wild girl grown into a bloodthirsty beast posed, Jaskier reached deep into his reserves of patience and politely declined, reminding the sorcerer just what school he belonged to. The assassination of a human was firmly in the domain of the School of the Cat, no matter how much Stregobor protested that this was no human any more.
Jaskied had left the tower with heavy steps and returned to the woods. He hoped more than ever that he would not cross paths with Shrike again.
And yet, Destiny was as unkind as ever to a Witcher like Jaskier. He was grooming Pegasus, preparing to ride away from Blaviken as fast and as far as possible, when he heard those same soft footsteps as before. He turned his head to see Renfri standing there, watching as he brushed gently but firmly across his horse’s flank. He said nothing, allowing her the space to speak as she had the night before. Like some wild thing he didn’t want to spook away, or prey he wished to lure in close.
“I suppose you’ve learned my true identity then.” Renfri said knowingly, as if she could hear his thoughts, “But, if you would listen, this beast would offer a contract of her own.”
Jaskier sighed, setting his tack brush down and walking around from behind Pegasus. He gestured to where they had sat before, inviting her into the circle yet again. He wanted nothing more to do with any of this, but something about the look in Renfri’s eyes made him stay. Witchers may lose their emotions during the trials, but Jaskier had always had too many emotions to begin with. He had always supposed the trials hadn’t been strong enough to wash them all away.
Renfri sat, and began to tell her tale, watching Jaskier throughout with those clever eyes of hers. Wanting to see, perhaps, just how he would react. His face betrayed nothing, of course, the same polite mask he had shown Stregobor back on display, but he humored her and nodded along. She told him a tale of a girl who had grown up with lightning in her veins and bruises on her skin, who had known nothing but abuse and scorn from the parents who had inevitably cast her out. A girl who had done what was necessary to survive, who had grown up with blood under her nails and fangs bared at the world that had denied her the life she had so desperately wanted.
And Jaskier ached , not for the woman who sat before him, but for the little boy who had grown into the man who sat there with her.
“Will you take my contract?” Renfri asked, her voice softer than he had heard it before, “Will you bring me the head of the man who ruined my life?”
Jaskier shook his head. “I’ll tell you the same as I told him - I don’t kill humans.” He replied, and the way her expression flickered was not lost on him.
“Then I have underestimated you, strange Witcher.” She said, tone cold to hide any other emotion, “I had not taken you for a coward.” The insult was familiar and pointless, blunted like a dull blade against Jaskier’s years of experience in a world that despised his very existence.
“Then let this coward offer you his own advice.” Jaskier said after a beat of silence had stretched between them, “You may take it from the mouth of a Witcher, or the mouth of a boy who once had lute-calloused fingers instead of sword-calloused ones. But you should leave Blaviken, turn away and take your dignity with you.”
Renfri simply shook her head, and there was grief in her eyes now - grief for the both of them.
“I cannot turn back now.”
Jaskier knew that it was the truth. “Then stay with me tonight, and let Destiny part our ways in the morning.” He offered, even though he knew it was folly to further entangle himself in the knotted web of Renfri’s life. She knew it just as well as he did, and yet she still nodded her assent.
“I still have to repay you for your hospitality. Allow me to hunt our dinner then.” She said, and Jaskier knew his decision was made.
Renfri awoke the next morning in a hazy fog, the earth under her shifting unevenly. She groaned and tried to lift her head, only to find that whatever she was leaning against was also moving. Her hands shifted in an attempt to prop herself up, only to chafe against a well-tied knot of rope.
“Oh, you’re awake!” A voice remarked, sounding both pleased and also a bit embarrassed, “You’ll have to pardon any after-effects, I’ve forgotten what effects these draughts have on humans.”
As Renfri desperately blinked her eyes in an attempt to clear them from this artificial sleep, the world slowly came into focus. She was sitting on a horse, leaning against Jaskier, with her hands tied together in front of him, effectively anchoring them together. They were moving, too, the horse slowly plodding through a now unfamiliar section of forest.
“Going to take me alive to Stregobor instead of slaughtering me yourself? I knew you were a coward.” Renfri spat, although something didn’t quite add up.
Jaskier chuckled softly and shook his head, his answer enough to stop her racing mind in its tracks. “Since you would not leave Blaviken alone, I thought the two of us could leave together. It is my sincere hope that the years this choice will add to your lifespan will allow you to forgive me someday for the intrusion on your Destiny.”
Renfri fell silent, her eyes tracking the slow slide of the ground beneath their feet, the path carrying her away from Stregobor, away from her revenge. Could it really be that simple? To turn away from Destiny? Surely not.
“My Destiny is tied to that man. Someday I will have to face him.” She said quietly, her words a warning.
Get out while you can, don’t tie yourself to me.
“Fuck Destiny.” Jaskier said with a laugh, and suddenly Renfri understood. Maybe both of them deserved a second chance. And maybe they could find it together.