Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jaskier is torn from his afternoon nap by the sound of the nearby barn door opening and closing again.
The sound means there's visitors.
And that's never a good thing. 

He can hear the unmistakable clinking of a bunch of coins changing hands and then a moment later, the excited chatter of what must be a group of teenage boys. 

He contemplates for a moment. Some pubescent kids are probably not too much of a threat, but then again, if Jaskier has learned one thing during his stay here, it's that you can never be sure about such things. Humans can be utterly cruel at any age. 

With a silent sigh, Jaskier curls back in on himself. Maybe if he pretends to be asleep, they'll just walk past and leave him alone. 

It's quite ironic, really, how he ended up here. For over two decades, he'd been following Geralt around. A Witcher, a professional monster hunter, and not once did the man even suspect that Jaskier could be anything other than an ordinary human.
Over the years, Geralt watched countless of Jaskier’s performances and never once noticed the subtle magic he weaved into his voice to capture his audience's attention. Not once did he comment on Jaskier’s continuously youthful appearance where normal humans would have long since shown obvious signs of aging. Hell, as the years passed, Jaskier had become more and more bold and cocky in the everyday use of his innate magic. Once, he'd even gone so far as to outright compel a greedy alderman into paying Geralt the agreed-upon amount of money after a successful hunt. Geralt had simply pocketed the bag of coins with a shrug and carried on with his day.

And then Jaskier ran into the people from the circus, and it took them all but a closer look at Jaskier to figure out his true nature. 

Now, normally it wouldn't be too much of a problem if some humans discover his secret. What's a handful of card tricks gonna do against the claws and fangs of a fully grown siren, after all. Jaskier is usually more than capable of looking after himself. 

Unfortunately, two of the performers turned out to be mages of the real kind. That, and the fact that they took Jaskier completely by surprise, meant that they easily managed to overpower him. 

And as if that wasn't humiliating enough, they celebrated their victory by stuffing him into a fucking cage as if he were some kind of rabid animal! He, whose ballads and sonnets have become famous and loved all across the Continent, reduced to nothing but a snarling monster behind bars! Where people can ogle and point their fingers at him all day in exchange for a fee. And not even a big one! Oh, the indignation! 

His only comfort is that it wasn't some inexperienced hillbillies that managed to beat him. They knew exactly what they were doing when they managed to capture him, thanks to plenty of practice. The barn they're renting from some local farmer for their monster show is filled to the brim with many more cages, just like the one he's locked in. So many poor souls that are being held against their will and put on display for the entertainment of a bunch of humans. And since no one gives a fuck that all those big things with claws are actually as sentient and intelligent as they are, the circus gets away with it. There's no hope that anyone will come and put an end to this charade. 

Jaskier is pulled from his thoughts by the boys' chatter coming closer.
He seems to be convincing in his pretending to be asleep, though, since he can hear the group stopping in front of him only for a moment before they move on with shouts of "boring" and "ugh, it doesn't even do anything."

Jaskier allows himself to relax.
That could have gone a lot worse. Most visitors of the monster show content themselves with just staring at him, which is annoying enough, but some go so far as to poke him through the bars of the cage with long sticks or to throw rocks at him. Looks like he managed to avoid that treatment for the moment, though. 

A moment later, the sound of cruel laughter and little, distressed bleating noises coming from the cage across from his tell him that little Marcy isn't as lucky. 

Jaskier hates it when people make fun of the little faun girl. Maybe it's just that she's the only friendly face he ever gets to see around here, but he's grown strangely protective of her. He can't just lie here and let those little creatures harass her. 

Jaskier uncurls from his sleeping position and raises his upper body as high up as he can in the far-too-small cage. Then he hits the hardened, pointy tip of his tail against the bars to get the teenagers' attention. 

They immediately stop trying to pull on Marcy's horns through the bars of her cage and turn to him one by one with "Oooh"s and "Aaah"s. Pimply little bastards. 

Jaskier spreads his leathery wings until they press into the iron of the cage sides. The cluster of boys gape at the spot where the powerful appendages grow out of the sides of his hips, right where his torso turns into a several-foot-long tail covered in glistening scales.

Now that he has their attention, Jaskier grins widely, showing off myriads of tiny, barbed shark teeth, and grabs the cage bars with his razor-sharp claws. The boney spikes growing along his spine almost get tangled with the bars as he raises them to their full height, which somewhat minimizes the dramatic effect, but judging by their scared faces, he's still giving the kids a fucking good show for their parents' money. 

No one is paying attention to Marcy anymore. That's what counts. 

The boys start pushing each other forward and dare one another to come just one step closer than the rest of them find the nerve to do. Which isn't particularly close at all, Jaskier notices with grim satisfaction. He still hasn't lost his touch despite all those years he spent in human form. 

Just as the first of them starts getting cocky and runs up to touch the edge of the cage only to immediately dart back to his friends, an adult woman comes strolling around the corner. Probably one of their mothers, judging by how she ushers the group along, into the next "room" marked by stacked up piles of hay that separates him and Marcy from the other people the circus is holding captive. 

"Thanks, Siren," Marcy whispers in his direction with a shy grin. The thick white curls around her horns are in utter disarray, but other than that, she seems to be unharmed.
Jaskier shoots a reassuring smile in her direction and curls back in on himself to continue his nap.
Not much else he can do, after all. 

He wishes he could do more for Marcy, give her an encouraging little speech about how they'll be getting out of here soon or something like that, but he knows it's impossible. The enchanted metal collar his captors put around his neck not only suppresses his magic and forces him to remain in his siren form so he can't trick anyone into releasing him, but it also cuts off his voice and makes it impossible for him to utter a single sound.
Should he ever get out of this nightmare, he has sworn to himself that the people who put him here will suffer until they wish they had never been born. 

Not that that's likely to happen any time soon.

Or ever, if he's honest with himself.

What chance does he have, powerless as they made him? Without his voice and his magic, he really is not much more than a snarling beast. 

Well, at least he still can draw the attention of a crowd and thus distract the townspeople from bothering Marcy most of the time. Make sure they leave the girl alone and focus on him instead. And at the end of the day, a bunch of teenagers ogling him really isn't so bad. Not like it is for Marcy, anyway, who is utterly terrified of crowds and people getting too close to her.
That's about all he can accomplish anymore, though. 

It's funny, isn't it, how quickly one's fate can change? Only a few short months ago, Jaskier had been all but happy, with his greatest fear being that Geralt would find out about Jaskier’s giant crush on him. Or, well, about his being a siren, but since that had become less and less likely as the years progressed, Jaskier hadn't been too worried about that part anymore. 

What a naive little idiot he had been then, thinking that living amongst humans would end in anything other than a tragedy for him. 

Damn, was it really just a couple of months ago that Geralt told him to fuck off? When a broken heart was the biggest of his problems? It really feels now like that was a lot longer ago.

For the first time in his technically immortal life, Jaskier feels like he has aged.
It's not a pleasant feeling.

Huh, maybe that's why humans are prone to such violence. It must be exhausting to live with that kind of dread looming over your head for all your life.
His parents had been right, after all. He should have stayed away from the land dwellers, no matter how fascinated he'd been by they're wondrous stories his mother read to him from that old book she found in a ship wreckage once. 

He should have known that whole 'living happily ever after' thing was exaggerated. But he had desperately hung on to the notion that he, too, would find love in the arms of the brave and heroic warrior that crossed his way.
It wasn't until Geralt blamed all the things that went wrong in his life on him that he realized that's not how the world really works. 

Well, at least he has no reason any more to feel guilty about everything he put Geralt through in his overly enthusiastic ignorance. He supposes they're kind of even in that regard now.
After all, it's only because of Geralt that he wound up in his current predicament. 

When Jaskier’s captors first tricked and overpowered him, they had been all but apologetic and ensured him that they only intended to use him as bait to catch themselves a mighty Witcher to display in their little freak show.
Word had gotten around that he and Geralt were traveling together, thanks to Jaskier’s beloved songs. Word that they had parted ways for good, not so much. They told him that as soon as Geralt would come to his rescue and thus become their prisoner, he would be free to go, completely unharmed, and really, they're sorry for the trouble. 

But then the circus folk found out that Jaskier isn't quite as human as he pretended to be, and their attitude changed immediately. No more kind words or apologetic behavior. 

They decided quickly that simply keeping him was worth a lot more than the trouble of subduing a Witcher.

So, strictly speaking, it's Geralt's fault that he ended up in the thrall of these people.
What a sad, dumb and pointless ending to their time traveling together. But Jaskier supposes the stories written by life itself are rarely as poetic as his songs or his mother's stories. 

Jaskier is roused again a few hours later, after the main show of the circus in the huge tent outside has ended, and a few of the circus people go around the barn to distribute food. 

A bucket full of dead fish is emptied onto the floor of his cage. 

Gods, he's so tired of raw fish. 

It's funny, though, Jaskier thinks, how the choice of food apparently still makes it on the list of his primary concerns with all that's going on. He wonders briefly if that's a sign that he's still keeping it together relatively well or if it's a sign he's in the process of completely losing his marbles. 

"Eat up, you'll need your strength!" the man that brought the food orders when Jaskier only absentmindedly pokes at the disgusting pile with his claw. "We're moving to another town soon." 

Jaskier’s head perks up at that.
That's new. 

Well, technically, he knew that the circus wouldn't stay in town forever, but it's the first time in the three months he's been stuck here that they're moving. The first time the utterly dull and uneventful pattern of ever-the-same kind of days gets interrupted. 

Judging by Marcy's terrified face, it's not the good kind of change, though.

She doesn't hesitate to tell him why, as soon as the man has moved on to the next couple of cages.

"Oh, no I mean, I saw it coming, but I was hoping it would be another week or so before we'd move again. It's horrible. They stack all the cages on this huge cart, you feel like you've already been buried under the earth and like you'll never see the sun again. And since they can't reach the cages at the bottom of the pile anyway, they just don't bother giving anyone food until we reach the next town. Which takes days! Once we were even on the road for a full week, it was dreadful! And then, once we're in the new town, there'll be a lot more people coming all the time because they're still curious and not yet used to the circus being in town. There'll be so many visitors crammed up in front of you that you'll feel like you can't breathe anymore. I hate it when we move on; it's the worst!"

She rambles on like that for a while, only occasionally interrupting herself to bleat nervously. 

Once again, Jaskier wishes he could join in on the conversation and do something, anything at all, to distract Marcy from her distress and ease her fear. As it is, though, she only talks herself into even higher states of panic and barely registers his presence anymore.
Jaskier has rarely ever felt helpless in his life. But in the last couple of months, it has become a far too familiar feeling. 

Their captors come back early the next morning. For once, the barn gates are opened up all the way rather than just a little gap wide to let visitors in. 

The sun has barely risen, so the crowd of curious onlookers outside is small and quiet, with many still rubbing their eyes and yawning. There's lots of gaping and finger-pointing as astounded whispering passes through their audience. Nobody seems to take offense at the imprisonment of sentient creatures, though. Not that Jaskier expected it. These people simply came to see the show without having to pay the entrance fee. 

There's five of the circus people in the barn today, all the acrobats, as far as Jaskier can tell. 

It takes four of them at a time to lift up and carry any of the cages, while the fifth one coordinates and barks orders. 

Jaskier’s cage is one of the first to be picked up, as it is close to the entrance. The acrobats clearly struggle with the weight of the cage and his own fully formed shape, Jaskier notices with malicious satisfaction. 

His contentment at their discomfort quickly vanishes, though, when one of them trips and lets go of the corner of the cage, thus causing everyone else to lose their grip as well. The cage tilts to the side and then tumbles to the ground, upside down. Jaskier is helplessly thrown around, first this way, then that way, until he's no longer certain which direction is where. His wing gets squeezed against the bars painfully, the back of his head hits against something, and for a moment, all he sees are stars blinking in front of his eyes. 

The woman that stumbled curses and rubs her foot which the cage must have fallen onto, but the rest of the group just laughs at Jaskier’s misery and the way he's trying to untangle his tail from his wings. 

Marcy was right. He could really do without this whole moving business. 

The crew soon picks up the cage again as Jaskier looks up and down his body to make sure he didn't get hurt too badly. 

Everything seems to be in order. Each of his, frankly, far too many limbs is still attached and he managed, with some effort, to get them all in the correct order again.

Could have been worse, he supposes. 

And then he sees it. 

The lock!

The heavy padlock that keeps the cage closed must have gotten in between the ground and the cage as it fell, and now it's rather heavily bent and very much not very sturdy looking anymore. 

No one but Jaskier seems to have noticed so far. 

A very strange mix of hope, fear, and anxiety rushes through him and settles around his chest in a tight knot. 

With enough force, such as from, say, a large siren throwing their entire weight against the door, the lock might just break, and he could escape.

His freedom has never been this close since he got here! 

But then, what if it doesn't break? If Jaskier tries to free himself and fails, he will most definitely be punished. 

His voice won't be the only thing they take from him then. He has no doubt that the two mages amongst the circus folk have the power to not only take his magic but to mess with his mind as well and to actually turn him into the mindless, feral beast they are presenting him as to the town. 

Maybe it's smarter not to risk an escape attempt. 

It's bound to go wrong anyway. 

And even if he does manage to get away from this dreadful place, he'll still have that bloody collar around his neck and no way of getting rid of it.

It's a pointless plan and just too much of a risk. 

He glances back at Marcy as he's slowly being carried away, takes in her teary eyes that follow him, wide with fear, and hears the little anxious bleating noises she produces subconsciously. 

Fuck it all, as bad of a plan as it might be, he has to try! Even if Jaskier fails to escape, he won't allow those wretched toad-spotted cretins to turn him into a scared little animal in captivity, too afraid to even try to free himself!

Without warning, Jaskier throws himself determinedly against the cage door. 

In their surprise, the acrobats drop the cage again. But the battered lock does indeed break under Jaskier’s weight, and he manages to push himself out through the opening, just as the cage topples over again. 

Chaos breaks out. 

The two humans closest to Jaskier try to grab him, but with a bat of his wings, they are knocked over and Jaskier soars towards the barn ceiling. 

Fuck, he'd forgotten how good it feels to fully stretch his wings, let alone to fly! Jaskier lets out a cry of pure joy. 

But of course, there's no actual sound coming out of his mouth, the magical collar makes sure of that. 

Well, no matter, Marcy below him is cheering loud enough for both of them. 

Right, time to focus. If he wants to actually get out of here, he'll have to move fast and make use of the general shock and confusion his escape from the cage has caused.

Once he's high enough to gain some momentum, Jaskier pushes back down towards the ground and glides along close to the barn floor. 

He's almost to the door. 

There's only a single one of his captors standing beside it; the others are still yelling in panic somewhere behind him. This is his chance! 

In that moment, the human by the door produces one of those strangely curved swords from seemingly out of nowhere. Jaskier knows the acrobats use them for their juggling performance at the main show of the circus.

It doesn't look like a harmless toy at all, though. It really looks rather sharp and dangerous. He gulps. 

Well, no matter. Jaskier has to get out of here, regardless of what it takes. This may very well be the only chance he'll ever get. He cannot let them catch him again under any circumstances. 

With one last flap of his wings, Jaskier glides through the barn gate. 

He clenches his teeth, curls his hands into tight fists until his claws dig into his wrists, and miraculously manages to stay airborne as horrible, searing agony shoots through the entire left side of his body. The sword managed to land a strike as he flew by. 

With a deep breath, Jaskier pushes the pain far away, to the very back of his mind. That's something to worry about later. Right now, he needs to focus on getting away as far as possible before the adrenaline of the moment stops cursing through his veins and leaves him fully at the mercy of his injury. 

With a strained grunt, Jaskier rises up into the air once more and, in the process, throws over a few gaping townspeople with force generated by the flap of his wings. 

With a few powerful strokes, he rises high above them and turns in the direction of a nearby mountain range he can make out in the distance. 

If he manages to fly over it, that will save him a lot of time from anyone trying to follow him. They'd first have to cross the mountains on foot. 

With that thought, Jaskier leaves the screaming crowd behind him, and then, soon enough, the town’s wall as well. 

He did it. 

He is free! 

He actually made it! 

There's a strange noise and then a dull thud sound somewhere to his right. Jaskier barely manages to catch a glimpse at the giant, man-sized crossbow bolt that's suddenly sticking through his wing before the weight pulls him down. 

What the hell is a small town like that doing with a ballista? 

Through some miracle, Jaskier manages to glide further towards the mountains before he crashes to the ground without control. 

Only then does the pain in his wing register. But it makes up for the late-onset by echoing all the way through his hip and along his uninjured side. Melitele's Tits, someone up there where the gods reside must really have it out against him! 

The involuntary landing left some marks as well, and at this point, Jaskier’s entire body is just one big blob of throbbing anguish. He groans. Or well, he tries to. There's still no sound escaping his lips. 

It takes quite some effort to wedge the projectile out of his wing. Each movement makes the pain flare up again, especially from the wide gash in his side, but he manages once more to push all of that deep down and focus on the task at hand. 

Due to his struggle of staying airborne with the missile stuck in his wing, the delicate membrane is torn open far wider than the diameter of the bolt, leaving behind a huge, gaping hole. He certainly won't be flying anywhere anytime soon. 

Gods be damned, why is it always on some bloody mountain where Jaskier finds himself feeling utterly miserable? Is that some sort of siren curse? Punishment for straying too far from his ancestral home in the ocean? 

As the adrenaline in his system slowly subsides, blood loss starts taking its toll, and the pain more and more refuses to be ignored.

All he wants is to curl up into a tight ball and pass out so that he doesn't have to feel anything anymore. 

But Jaskier knows he can't do that. He crash-landed barely halfway up the mountain. If he stays here, he'll be found by the circus' search party in no time and will be stuffed back into a cage before he can say "fresh air of freedom." 

Well, with the dumb collar, he can't say that anyway. It still sits firmly around his neck and won't budge as Jaskier tries to pull on it.
No such luck as with the cage lock. He'll have to figure out something else once he's managed to get somewhere safe. 

If Jaskier remembers correctly from when he traveled these mountains with Geralt a few years back, there should be a cave close by, where the nearest village stores some perishable goods during the hot summer months. That should provide some protection, at least. 

Without the use of his wings, Jaskier has no choice but to drag himself forward with his arms and by moving his tail like the body of a snake. It's rather undignified. Let alone exhausting and painful. Loose gravel digs into his belly and chafes off some of his scales. Granted, it's barely noticeable compared to the agony of the gaping cut in his side, but he does worry about all the dirt that must be getting into the wound. 

Well, nothing he can do about it. Once again, a problem for later. 

After a seemingly never-ending struggle, Jaskier finally reaches the large plateau in front of the cave and, with the last of his strength, drags himself inside. This late into autumn, the cave is nearly empty, but even now, there are some crates and barrels standing around. He should try and build some sort of barricade against the entrance to protect himself against any pursuers or maybe to hide behind. 

If only he weren't so tired… 

He's going to start right away, in just a second. 

He's just gonna rest his eyes for a moment first, gather his strength. Yeah, that's a good plan. Just close his eyes for a moment… 

Jaskier is woken from his sleep by the sound of someone stepping on loose gravel. 

Fuck, they found him already! 

Panic surges through him as he raises his torso up to meet the threat and comes face to face with… 

Oh. 

Oh fuck. 

Snow-white hair, deadly pale skin, pitch-black eyes with dark veins around them, and a huge sword lifted in the air, ready to strike. 

He supposes he should have known Geralt of Rivia would be the death of him one day. He never expected it to be so literal, though. 

Well, screw that, Jaskier isn't the fragile, defenseless bard he so carefully pretended to be for all those years. He isn't ready to die yet. There's still some fight left in him yet! 

Instinctively, Jaskier spreads his wings wide and manages to hit Geralt across the chest with the sturdy bone that's woven through the top part of the leathery skin. There's a sizzling noise and a burning pain as he hits the sword that Geralt just barely managed to drag in front of him in time to block the blow. Still, his attack has the intended effect. Geralt is thrown off his feet and crashes into the opposite wall. 

That's all the opening Jaskier needs. 

He darts outside the cave as quickly as he can, pushes his body upwards with his arms, flaps his mangled wings, and takes flight. 

He won't manage to gain much altitude with the hole from the ballista projectile and now the silver burn, but he should still manage to glide downwards and safely make it into the forest below. 

After all, everything comes down again one way or another, right? 

Turns out he doesn't. 

Jaskier’s entire body goes taught as he tries to take off. He's jerked back violently and crashes back to the ground. 

His head is just hanging over the edge of the plateau, giving him a perfect view of the majestic trees below that would have promised protection and a place to hide. 

Maybe there's some sort of legal limit for daring escapes, and Jaskier has exceeded his for the day. 

He rolls onto his back and lifts himself up on his elbows to see what's holding him back. And stares at his tail in disbelief. There's some kind of bright purple symbol glowing in the dirt underneath the tip of his tail, and it seems to be pinning him in place. 

He's seen this kind of magic before, though usually used against other…well, monsters that Geralt fought. 

When did Geralt find the time to place this magical trap? He must have done this before he even entered the cave. Damn Witchers and they're stupid planning ahead! 

Said Witcher comes limping out of the cave at that moment, sword still in hand, because of course, with all that training drilled into him, he managed to hold on to the stupid thing. 

What the fuck is Jaskier supposed to do now? He's barely a hundred years old. That's decidedly too young to die. He hasn't even written a biography yet! 

Geralt raises his free hand in a complicated gesture. 

Ah, well, maybe it's all not so bad after all. 

He really shouldn't care so much about what's going to happen now. 

At the end of the day, does it really matter that he didn't manage to escape? 

Jaskier’s eyes go unfocused, turning Geralt into a barely recognizable blob of pretty shapes. 

Is it really such a concern that Geralt raises his sword high above his head as if he was getting ready to strike? Surely there's someone else who can deal with this problem. 

Jaskier’s head lolls back, and he contently watches as puffy white clouds cross the sky above him. 

Should he really care that Geralt calls out "Damnit Jaskier," full of anger and exasperation, just like he did that day when they parted ways for good? 

Jaskier can feel the corners of his mouth forming into a happy if somewhat deranged grin. 

Does it really matter that he will die now? At the hands of his former best friend and the love of his life? That seems quite alright with him. Maybe it's just time for that. 

Woah, woah, wait a second! 

That's all bullshit! It does matter; Jaskier isn't ready to die yet! 

Goddamn Witcher, did he really just try to use mind control magic? Against a siren? The audacity! His people invented that trick! 

Jaskier fights back against the thick fog engulfing his mind and easily shakes off Geralt's spell. 

He snaps his head back and focuses his glassy eyes on Geralt. 

Realization dawns on the Witcher's face. 

"Oh fuck," he huffs as Jaskier spreads his wings once more. 

He hits Geralt in his abdomen and sends him flying across the plateau.

This time, Geralt loses the sword.

Not too bad, considering he used the same trick twice. Looks like he’s still got it!
Whatever "it" is supposed to be. 

Jaskier grabs the sword and determinedly tosses it over the edge, careful not to touch the silver long enough to burn him. It falls towards the forest deep below.

Then he lunges after Geralt.

Before the Witcher can recover from the blow and get up from where he's lying on the ground, Jaskier drops his entire weight on top of him and grabs his hands, pinning them to the floor. Geralt struggles to free himself, but Jaskier keeps his hands pinned down next to his head by digging his claws into the earth underneath them. 

It feels weirdly, hysterically like they're holding hands, but Jaskier can’t figure out another way to keep Geralt from using more of those dreadful Witcher signs.

Now that he has Geralt trapped like that underneath him, it would be an easy thing to lean forward and bury his fangs into Geralt's neck. Rip out the monster hunter's throat. Be safe. Flee. 

No, that’s ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly do that. Geralt used to be his friend, after all. Even if they're fighting on different sides now. No, Jaskier won't be able to make himself seriously hurt Geralt. He just can't do it. 

So instead, he snarls. As threateningly as he can muster. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunts and tries to wriggle out of his grip again. Jaskier digs his claws deeper into the earth.

"Jaskier, it's me!” Geralt calls out. “You're injured; let me help you!" 

Jaskier snorts. Does Geralt really think he's that stupid? 

"Come on, Jaskier, talk to me! We can figure this out," Geralt pleads and once again pushes against Jaskier’s hold. “What’s wrong with you? Say something!”

Jaskier would have laughed if he could. Geralt of Rivia begging him to talk. Now that's definitely a first.

But what exactly is Jaskier supposed to do now? This is really a rather complicated situation. 

He looks over his shoulder.

The purple symbol is still glowing underneath the tip of his tail, making it impossible to escape. At least unless he can find a way to make Geralt drop the spell. Preferably without killing him, curse Jaskier’s far too soft heart! 

"Ah, fuck, I see the problem," Geralt huffs and Jaskier’s head darts back around to face the threat.

"The magic in that collar…you can't speak!" Geralt points out, mostly to himself. "Let me help you take it off so we can talk about this!" 

With that Geralt goes lax in his grip and looks up at Jaskier with those bottomless pits his eyes have turned into for the hunt. Jaskier used to think Geralt looked sexy like that, mysterious and threatening. 

Now that he's the reason Geralt looks like that, now that he has become the target of the hunt, it churns his stomach with fear. 

Geralt came up here to kill him; that much is clear. Jaskier won't be tricked by some shallow words. He's spent the last three months learning the hard way that he can't trust anyone living above sea level. Fucking humans! 

He fletches his teeth wider and lets his eyes wander over Geralt's exposed neck as a warning. 

Fuck, what he really needs right now is a moment to think about what to do, and Geralt's pleading tone is far too distracting for that. He can't let himself be lulled into a false sense of security just because of their shared past. 

"I'm sorry," Geralt huffs, and Jaskier instinctively focuses back on those pitch-black eyes. Drowns in them. 

Before he can figure out what exactly Geralt is apologizing for (and the list of possibilities Jaskier can come up with is long, mind you), Geralt shifts underneath him, and the world explodes in pain. 

It seems after spending all this time in his siren form, Jaskier kind of, sort of forgot for a moment that humans have legs. 

And Geralt just used one of those to bury his knee into Jaskier’s injured side. 

He silently screams towards the sky in agony. 

At the very, very back of his mind, Jaskier registers that Geralt is pushing him off, wrestling him to the ground and thus switching their positions, but there's nothing he can do about it. 

All he can focus on is the giant heap of burning agony that is his side. He tries to curl in on himself, hide the pain somewhere deep inside, both physically and mentally, but he can't seem to be able to move for some reason. 

All he can do is just lie there, press his eyelids together, grit his teeth and try to breathe through the unbearable hurt. 

After what seems like an eternity, the pain subsides enough that he can think a coherent thought again. He opens his eyes and finds Geralt's face hovering above him. At least he thinks so. The world has turned to shades of grey and white, and Jaskier’s vision is more black spots than anything else. He feels light-headed. Floaty, almost. 

Geralt opens his mouth and appears to be talking. All sound seems to be coming from very far away, though, so it's kind of hard to tell. 

Almost as if Jaskier were underwater.

What a comforting thought that is. 

Oh, how Jaskier longs to be back underwater. 

He should never have left there in the first place. The human world is a hostile place. 

Geralt's voice tunes in and out of focus. 

"...get down the mountain…" 

"... in the forest…"

"…retrieve…"

"...be back…" 

Of course. 

Geralt will need his silver sword that Jaskier threw over the edge of the plateau so he can finish the job. 

Silver for monsters. Can't kill one without it. 

Geralt turns his back and heads towards the narrow path leading down into the woods below. It's the last thing Jaskier sees before the black spots in front of his eyes win out, and everything turns dark. 

Maybe , something deep, deep down in his mind provides sluggishly. 

Maybe Jaskier won't wake up again before Geralt returns and puts an end to it all. 

Maybe the last thing he ever sees won't have to be Geralt standing above him, bringing the sword down on his neck. 

And yet, Jaskier does wake up again. And his body is on fire. 

He thought he was in pain before, but this? It burns, and he screams, and there's still only silence, but the flames are everywhere, consuming him from the inside out. 

The gash in his side seems determined to tear all the way through his body until there's nothing left of him. 

Jaskier flings his eyes open and tries to move, to get away from the fire, from whatever is causing this, but he can't. 

Confused, his eyes dart around until he sees it. 

Familiar purple symbols shining underneath both his wrists, and a significantly bigger one poking out to each side of his body, trapping his wings underneath him. 

He still can't move his tail, either, leaving him pinned down across the plateau like a butterfly about to be dissected. 

Geralt is kneeling next to him, both swords sheathed on his back.

He carefully doesn't meet Jaskier’s eyes. Instead, he busies himself with something on Jaskier's injured side. 

Before he can look closer and make out any details, the burning sensation flares up again and his vision turns white from pain. 

Everything inside him screams to do something. Flee, shove Geralt away, scream, whimper, anything. But he can't. All he can do is lie there, unmoving and silent. 

All he can do is wonder why Geralt is doing this to him. Why doesn't he just draw his sword and put an end to it? 

After everything they've been through? Haven't they been friends at some point? Even if Geralt got fed up with him in the end. Doesn't he at least deserve a quick death rather than this terrible torture? 

He would never have imagined that Geralt hates him quite that much! 

And then it reaches the point where Jaskier just can't take the pain anymore. It's too much. He just wants it to stop. 

There's that familiar darkness again, somewhere at the edge of his mind, and this time Jaskier doesn't fight it but instead seeks it out, embraces it. 

The black engulfs him once more, and together with his consciousness, the pain is gone. 

When Jaskier comes back around again, everything feels slightly off. His whole body feels sore and uncomfortable, but strangest of all is his face. It feels weirdly squished like someone is pressing their hands against his cheeks. 

"...skier!" a voice wafts through the pleasant fog in his brain. "Jaskier, wake up!" 

"Just five more minutes, Geralt," he mumbles reflexively. 

Except he can't hear his voice saying those words. 

With that realization, the memories come crashing down on him. The collar. His captivity and wobbly escape. Geralt standing above him with black eyes, his sword raised. 

Oh no! No no no no no! He does not want to wake up! He's done with being conscious and in pain! 

It's that panicked thought that makes him jerk wide awake. 

Fuck. 

As Jaskier opens his eyes, Geralt's face is hovering above him again, his eyes now back to their usual golden color. He briefly wonders just how long he's been unconscious when he registers that Geralt is indeed squishing his cheeks. 

Jaskier tries to make a protesting sound. 

When that fails he tries to move away but doesn't succeed in that either. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he spots the familiar purple glow and knows he's still trapped. The pain in his side has subsided to a dull throbbing for now, but who knows what Geralt is planning to do to him next? 

"Look!" Geralt orders as he lets go of Jaskier’s face to point along the length of Jaskier’s upper body. 

There's something white wrapped around Jaskier’s torso. 

He doesn't really understand what he's seeing. 

He tries to break free of the spells holding him. Surely they'll have to weaken eventually. 

"Calm down. You'll hurt yourself!" Geralt barks, and Jaskier stills, looking up at the Witcher with wide, terrified eyes. 

"Look, I treated your wound," Geralt continues once he notices that he has Jaskier’s attention. "I'm not your enemy!" 

It's only then that Jaskier manages to put two and two together and realizes that the white stuff is bandages. Dark blood is already seeping through the fabric. 

"I'll release you now," Geralt announces. "Appreciate it if you don't throw me over the edge or something." 

Jaskier’s brain is still too busy with the bandages to really register the words, though. 

But then Geralt moves his hand dismissively, and all of a sudden, Jaskier can move again! 

Instinctively, Jaskier wraps his tail around Geralt, pinning the Witcher's arms to his side. Then he slowly and with quite some effort lifts himself onto his elbows.

If he curled his tail a little tighter, he could snap Geralt's body in half like a twig. 

Geralt in his grip is tense, like a compressed coil about to spring. 

But he doesn't move. Doesn't try to break free. 

He's just looking at Jaskier. Weird. 

They stare at each other for a long moment. 

Jaskier tries very hard to make sense of the situation, to make a decision, but his mind is simply blank. Coherent thoughts refuse to form properly. 

And Geralt still isn't moving. 

Finally, Jaskier lowers his tail into a loose heap around Geralt's ankles. 

Geralt sighs and visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping down. 

Then he just…sits down where he's standing, right in the middle of the ring Jaskier’s tail is forming around him as if there's nothing to it. As if Jaskier couldn't just squeeze him to death at a moment's notice like that. 

"Right. Let's talk!" Geralt prompts. 

Jaskier shakes his head and points to the collar around his neck. Like he wouldn’t give anything in the world to talk, right now. 

Still taken aback by Geralt's choice of seating, Jaskier twitches the tip of his tail resting next to Geralt's hand, just to see what happens. 

Geralt's eyes follow the movement, but otherwise, there's no reaction. Huh. 

"I couldn't get the collar off," Geralt replies apologetically and frowns. "It's magic is too powerful, I'll need the key. Something tells me those circus people that offered twice as much money as the alderman to kill the alleged monster in the mountains know exactly where I can find that key."

"Right, you wait here!" Geralt adds, after a moment of consideration, jumps to his feet and draws a sword from his back. It's the steel one, this time. 

It's really quite disorienting how the fear of Geralt suddenly takes a 180-degree turn and turns into utter fear for Geralt's safety. Jaskier’s head spins. 

Still, he lunges forward and wrestles the sword from Geralt's grip. 

Geralt lets him. Jaskier probably wouldn't have succeeded otherwise. 

"Jaskier, I wasn't going to…," Geralt huffs, raising his hands in a soothing gesture. 

Jaskier ignores him and uses the tip of the sword to draw on the ground.

There's only a thin layer of gravel strewn across the solid rock and the letters are only barely readable because he draws them across the entire length of the plateau. 

"T-R-A-P," Geralt reads out loud as Jaskier draws the letters. "Trap. Right. Suppose the kind of people who keep a siren on a leash would love to get their hands on a Witcher as a pet."

Thank the gods, Geralt understands. He just can't fight the circus people. It's too dangerous. 

"But now that I know what I'm dealing with, I can catch them by surprise," Geralt contemplates. "How many are there anyway? Can't be more than a handful, or at least I haven't seen many around when I took on the contract." 

Jaskier sighs, drops the sword and holds up both his hands. 

"Seven? That's hardly a match for me," Geralt scoffs. 

Sure, normally that wouldn't be a problem, seven humans. Wouldn't have been a problem for Jaskier either. If it weren't for the magic they could wield. 

When they got Jaskier, there wasn't even a fight. They approached him at the local tavern after a performance and offered to hire him to accompany their circus show that evening. 

Of course, Jaskier saw the barn with the make-shift "real monsters, enter at own risk, 2 silver only" - sign then, but he had smugly assumed they wouldn't have anything more than a bunch of dogs in silly costumes in there. Only harmless illusions that someone with his experience would be able to see through immediately, he had thought, and so he hadn't bothered to take the tour. How naive he had been. 

The actual circus show had been quite fascinating, though, acrobats seemingly flying through the air, juggling with lit torches and sharp swords or balancing on a rope high up in the tent's rafters. 

And the magic part had him almost forget he was supposed to play during the performance. He had been trying so hard to figure out the trick behind the mysteries the man and woman with near identical faces displayed. After all, everyone knows that there isn't any real magic at a circus… 

When he had returned the next morning to collect his payment, he hadn't thought anything of it that the woman who handed him the heavy purse wore gloves. 

He had only noticed the powerful magic that had been laced into the soft velvet of the coin bag when it had already been coursing through his body. 

Every single one of his muscles had tensed up, and he suddenly hadn't been able to move an inch anymore. 

That's when they had assured him that they wouldn't hurt him, only wanted to use him as bait for the Witcher he so famously traveled with, and then he would be free to go. Jaskier would have scoffed at that and explained how pointless that plan was if he had been able to. 

In the end, it hadn't mattered. When the sorceress's brother touched his arms to tie them behind his back he must have felt the magic that was coursing through Jaskier’s body as an instinctual defense against their holding spell.. The twins' eyes had lit up with greed, and Jaskier had quickly found himself locked in his cage with that fucking collar around his neck. 

So now how is he supposed to convey all that to Geralt when he could barely spell out four letters in the thin dust of the plateau? 

He considers for a moment before he looks up at Geralt, bats his eyelashes, and makes a motion as if throwing an imaginary length of hair over his shoulder. 

Ugh, yeah, no, that's not going to work. 

"They got a mage from Aretuza with them?" Geralt asks. 

Oh. Well, okay then. 

Looks like two decades of traveling together left some sort of mark in terms of understanding each other wordlessly. 

Jaskier holds up his hand again. 

"Two mages? Hmm," Geralt replies before he picks up his discarded sword, sheaths it, and paces up and down the plateau. 

"Maybe I would be in a little bit over my head," he admits finally and kicks a pebble over the edge as if it was personally responsible for the situation. 

Jaskier lets his shoulders slump in relief. 

"Right, change of plan," Geralt declares after a few more rounds of pacing. "Yennefer isn't far from here. We parted ways only a few days ago. We'll find her and then take out those bastards together." 

Jaskier expects to feel some sort of emotion at the revelation that Geralt was with Yennefer recently. A stab of jealousy, maybe, as he used to do. Or anger, that Geralt apparently made up with his witch but not with him. But there isn't really anything. 

Now that Jaskier isn't in immediate danger anymore, and Geralt isn't either, he only feels hollow and tired. 

Besides, in the last year that he and Geralt spent apart, he came to almost miss the barbed exchanges with the sorceress. Keeping up with her sharp tongue had always been pleasantly challenging. 

Geralt looks up and studies him "You can't change into a human with that collar, can you? And I can't fit you on Roach like this, you're too big. But you can fly, right?" 

Jaskier stretches his wings and notices with an odd mix of satisfaction and guilt how Geralt flinches at the movement. 

He holds out his damaged right wing in all its ragged glory and presents the gaping hole from the ballista bolt, as well as the angry red burn mark left by the silver of Geralt's sword. 

"Guess not," Geralt comments. "And with that wound in your side, you won't get very far on foot either. Or on tail, I suppose. Fuck." 

He goes back to pacing. After a long moment, he stops to look back up at Jaskier.  "I guess we have no other choice. You stay here for now, I'll find Yennefer and get her back here. Don't go anywhere!" 

Jaskier nods dutifully and watches as Geralt opens his mouth to say something else. Then he seems to think better of it and turns around to hike down the steep pathway towards the forest below, leaving Jaskier behind by himself. 

If Jaskier’s being honest, he doesn't expect Geralt to come back. The Witcher may not have killed him due to their shared past, but he is still a monster hunter. And even before he knew what Jaskier really is, Geralt had told him in no uncertain terms that he wanted to be rid of him. Geralt will probably reach Yennefer, tumble into bed with her, and they'll forget all about him, as they always have. 

But that's alright. Jaskier can take care of himself, after all. The fact that the circus people will think that Geralt is still going after him will buy him a day or two before they get suspicious and come looking for him themselves. So Jaskier will rest here for a while, gather his strength, and then hide deeper in the mountains until this all blows over. 

Maybe he'll even find a nice mountain lake. 

Not that it would heal him like a body of water usually would, since the collar is still suppressing all his magic, but it would certainly be comforting to be in the water again. 

As Geralt vanishes out of view below him, Jaskier curls up and lets himself drift away into an uneasy sleep. 

A day passes. Then another. 

Jaskier doesn't regain his strength. 

Despite the bandages, blood keeps oozing out of his side.

The wound isn't closing.

Instead, a rotten-smelling, sickly-yellow ooze seeps into the bandages as well. The pain is getting worse and worse, and he feels faint and dizzy again. The wound must have gotten infected. 

Unlike a human that still most likely won't kill him on its own. But it means that the wound will take a lot more time to heal than it usually would. Time which Jaskier doesn't have. Time in which he won't be able to hunt food and regain his strength or find a better place to hide. Time in which the circus people will eventually find him. 

Jaskier is far too weak to try to leave. Too weak even to drag himself back into the cave for a better defensive position. 

His only hope is that they might think him dead and send up only one or two people to go after him. But even then, Jaskier doesn't think he'll be able to put up much of a fight in his current state. 

At least he'll be able to see them coming up the narrow path and won't get surprised again like he did with Geralt. 

On the third day since his escape, Jaskier is torn from a nightmarish fever dream. By a sound right next to him on the plateau. 

Fuck, he let them get too close! 

With all the strength he can muster, Jaskier lifts himself up on his shaky arms and fletches his fangs in the direction of the strange noise. Even if he feels as weak as a baby seal, he is still a sight to behold. Maybe he can scare them off. 

Except there isn't anybody besides him. The sound stems from a weird swirling circle of wind that has appeared beside him. 

What? 

He doesn't understand. Is this another fever hallucination? All the other ones were a lot more scary and threatening, though, so that seems unlikely. 

Only then does someone appear beside him. They seem to be stepping right out of the strange wind phenomenon. Piercing, violet eyes burn into Jaskier, before a flash of surprise flickers over the flawless face they belong to. 

Ah, there's the scary and threatening part to this dream, then. 

"My, my, bard, what a lovely smile you have!" Yennefer croons. 

Well that's just ridiculous. Jaskier has definitely never been further from smiling in his entire life than he is right now. But he supposes Yennefer has never seen him with his real teeth. 

To no one's surprise, Geralt appears next to the sorceress. Isn't that how it always goes? At least his feverish nightmares are predictable. 

And this has to be another dream, right?

Jaskier’s head is spinning. As he closes his eyes in an effort to concentrate, his arms give in underneath him. 

Luckily, the ground seems to be a lot closer than Jaskier thought, and he doesn't fall far.

The ground is also a lot warmer and softer than he expected. 

Jaskier opens his eyes and finds Geralt's face hovering above him. He can't help but flinch. 

"When you said the bard is injured and we need to beat up the people who hurt him, you didn't mention he would be a seven-foot-long siren," Yennefer snaps impatiently. "I might not have enough energy to fight two mages and conjure a large enough portal to get him anywhere.”
Her voice lacks the usual sharp edge, though. Instead, she sounds weary and exhausted.
“I’m still not quite recovered from Sodden,” she adds with a deep sigh. “Let's just get him back to the estate for now."  

Jaskier wonders briefly if any of those words are supposed to mean something to him. His mind just feels so sluggish again...

He can feel Geralt's arms tighten around him. 

Oh, right. 

Geralt is holding him, cradling him against his chest. Now that's actually quite a lovely hallucination for once. 

A moment later, Jaskier understands why this one is different from all his fever dreams. He's having a vision. Like his life passing before his eyes, except what he sees is what he had always been missing out on. 

And then, next thing he knows there's only darkness around him. 

Not the kind of darkness of passing out that he's familiar with by now.

No, this darkness is endless, eternal, and unyielding. It's pressing down on him from all sides. 

There's no time passing. There's no direction, no up and down. 

There's only black and icy cold seeping through every cell of his body. 

Jaskier wants to scream, but there's only silence. 

This is it, he concludes - the end of all things. 

It's only then that he passes out.