Chapter Text
It is with everlasting fondness that Jaskier recalls his first job. Fresh out of Oxenfurt, newly disowned, and feeling more alive than ever before. His only possessions consisted of: an empty coin bag; the clothes on his bag; an apple; and the lute he was gifted by a particularly wealthy lover. Anyone else would have been panicking (he had nothing!) but not Julian.
After travelling for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a fortnight he arrived in Cidaris. The crimson doublet, matching trousers and white, frilly undershirt might have looked out of place once upon a time. However after travelling and sleeping on the ground his clothing was no longer luxurious and clean. He was dusty, with mud on the bottom of his trousers and his shoes had more holes in them than a pin cushion. Regardless of his dishevelled state, there was still a charmingly ecstatic grin on his face, for as dirty and poor as he was, he was still free.
“Well Julian, time to get some money and make everyone fall in love with you!” He ordered himself quietly. With that, he marched himself to the nearest theatre, then the next, and the next. Until he had been rejected by them all. “Shit, taverns it is then,” he muttered to himself, trying to bolster his spirit.
The taverns went about as well as the theatres, but with food catapulted at him from various directions. At least he wouldn’t need to pay for supper, his pants were full of bread rolls. Filled with defeat he wandered over to the end of the cobblestone street and sat under the awning of a closed bakery. Flashes of lights and raucous laughter drew his attention from his pitiful supper to the brothel opposite him. The woman who stepped out looked to be his mother's age, with golden locks pulled into an intricate braid atop her head, rouged lips pulled into a frown, and Sapphire eyes lined with kohl stared straight at him.
“You there, Boy!” she called to him, “what are you doing over there? If Mr Johnson catches you stealing his goods he’ll chop off your hands!” This caused Julian to stand and attempt to explain.
“No! Please I'm no thief, this food was thrown at me by tone-deaf bastards at the Oxtail Inn, look it’s nearly gone off, not fresh at all.” He was frantically waving his arms in the direction of the tavern, causing his lute to become visible.
“Nevermind that! Do you play that lute? Are you a musician?” she inquired pointing at the lute strapped to his back. “ Come over here quickly and play something, if you are any good you can perform for us tonight in exchange for food and a room.” Stunned, all Julian could do was nod as he shuffled over to her as swiftly as he could without tripping.
“Why yes, My Lady. It would be my honour to play in your fine establishment!” He flattered her mercilessly, truly she was his saviour. A golden goddess and he would write ballads to serenade her with. Was this what love felt like? (In hindsight no, this was not love or at least not romantic love.)
“Not so fast little Bardling, I don’t know if you’re any good yet,” she scolded him as though he were an over eager puppy, “play a song for me first, then I shall decide whether you are worth hiring. And stop calling me your lady, I own a brothel not a castle!” She demanded of him.
“Yes, of course Miss,” he nodded frantically, swinging his lute to his front and softly plucking the first few notes. “I can hear the cannons calling
As though across a dream
And I can smell the smoke of Hell
In every stitch and seam…” Once finished he opened his eyes, unaware of ever closing them, and saw tears running down her face.
“A beautiful song. Truly, it was,” she praised him, “but not for a brothel. Sing that and they’ll all run home to their wives. Do you have anything else?”
This time the music he played was much more upbeat with lyrics of revenge and defiance. “And now I’m laughing through my tears
I’m crying through my fear
But, baby if I had to choose
The joke’s on you
The joke’s on you…” It was clearly what she had been waiting for as without another word she grabbed his arm and hauled him inside the building.
After a few quick twists and turns down dimly lit hallways, with muffled laughter and moaning as the music of the night, they arrived in what could have been considered an office. If you squint your eyes. Then turned your head sideways. ‘Yes’ Julian thought to himself, ‘there seems to be a desk under all of the paper and bottles’. Julian had been so busy scrutinising the Madame’s office he failed to notice that she had released his (undoubtedly bruised) arm and walked towards her desk. She was digging through the papers quickly as she could, throwing the ones she didn't want onto the chair behind her with an impatient huff.
“You will play for our patrons every other night. The days you do not play you shall assist the girls in their preparations and serve drinks and food to the customers.” She dictated to the young man, “Sundays will be your day off, just like my girls. Your payment shall be your room and meals. Any tips you make belong to you, I’d save them up for a new wardrobe,” she told him. Her voice was clear and commanding as if doing anything else was completely out of the question. All he could do was stare at her like some kind of imbecile, trying desperately to comprehend what he was being told. He had a job! “Well Bardling, will you be wanting the job or not, I don’t have the time nor patience for you to be playing hard to get.” She snapped.
Damn it! He had gotten lost in his thoughts again, he really must stop doing that or one of these days he was going to get his arse kicked (he did, though it wasn’t for being lost in his thoughts more like for being lost in another man’s wife).
“Of course Miss,” he exclaimed, nearly dropping to his knees in gratitude, “I would be delighted to work here, thank you so much!” He couldn’t keep the pathetic little tears from filling his sapphire orbs with the joy coursing through his entire being. Immediately, he was mentally preparing a set list of seductive ballads and bawdy ditties. The Fishmonger’s Daughter was so popular that it just had to be first on the list.
“Now now Boy cease your blubbering,” she scolded him with an indulgent quirk of her lips. “You said your name was Julian, yes?” A fervent nod from the bardling was her only answer. “That is no name for a musician, choose a new one. All of my girls have the names of flowers, I suggest you do the same- ”
“-Jaskier,” he cut her off in his eagerness, “it means buttercup.” It was an unnecessary explanation but it felt good to say it.
“In that case. Welcome to The Meadow, Jaskier. I am the Madame here, you may call me Miss Fleur.” Her blood red lips pulled into a shark-like grin, showing off her teeth and her cobalt eyes seemed to glow in the dingy room.
One month later Jaskier felt more at home in The Meadow than he ever did in Lettenhove. He finally had a family who were proud of him, who loved him for who he was - a musical man who fell in love everyday and everynight. His closest friends at The Meadow were Daisy and Jasmine, but every working girl now felt like an older sister, all of whom he loved dearly.
Daisy was a tiny young woman, no more than 5 years older than Jaskier’s 16. Her name came from her hair which was an unusual white-blonde colour and her caramel eyes that shone gold in the fire light. Despite their closeness in age Daisy always seemed so much more mature, always there to listen and give advice. It was Daisy that Jaskier cried to after every heartbreak (though he kept his nightmares to himself, no need to bother her with memories of a family that never cared for him).
Nevertheless, he found a partner in mischief with Jasmine who had just turned 30 (for the third time if he were to believe what Violet told him). It seemed as though age meant nothing at the brothel as Jasmine looked no older than him nor did she act it. Mornings after a bad night were the only time those two troublemakers couldn’t be found sat in the back corner whispering about a plan to prank Rose or Miss Fleur. Thankfully those mornings were few and far between. The employees of The Meadow were a family, with Miss Fleur as the matriarch and mother. Melitele forbid anyone harm a member of the family, broken bones and empty coin purses were what awaited those monsters, but only if Miss Fleur was feeling merciful. Which was never.
Everyone at The Meadow became so dear to him, even a few of the regular customers became known to him and almost like friends. Funnily enough one of his biggest fans from the brothel was Mister Johnson, the owner of the bakery Miss Fleur found him outside of.