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Jaskier first saw her in the tavern.
It was loud, the crowd boisterous with drink, but she sat apart from the rest, hunched over a piece of parchment—he couldn’t make out what was on it, but she was engrossed in it. Her long raven locks fell over her shoulder in a graceful swoop, hiding her face from view, but Jaskier knew her for a pirate at once—a captain, if the size of her hat was anything to go by. He’d heard that captains liked to pride themselves on their large hats.
Next to her was a man, bearded, his dark, curly hair trimmed short—perhaps her first mate, or perhaps a lover? But there was little romance in the air between them. No, they were both thoroughly focused on the parchment in front of them, engaged deep in conversation, though Jaskier couldn’t make out their murmured words.
He didn’t need to know what they were saying, though, because at that moment the woman shifted, and her hair parted to reveal her face—she was Yennefer of Vengerberg, the Dread Raven, terror of the seven seas, wanted internationally on several counts.
She commanded the Cecaelia, a ship as fearsome as she was beautiful, and which Jaskier had in fact seen at port, though he hadn’t made the connection until now.
And she was to be his ticket out of here.
Jaskier didn’t hold any specific grudges about the colony he’d grown up in—well, that was a lie, he held plenty of grudges, but mainly against his father, who had arranged his marriage for the minute he turned eighteen, and his fiancé, who was the most pompous prick Jaskier had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He would sooner die than spend the rest of his life playing housemaid to Valdo Marx, stuck inside until he suffocated from lack of sunlight and good company.
And he’d always wanted to travel the world—how better than on the open ocean, wind in his hair, salt spray on his skin, peering out at the great blue sea stretched before him?
That would come eventually, he reassured himself, as he snuck onboard the Cecaelia and squished himself into an empty barrel that had once held rum, judging by the smell of alcohol that assaulted him when he pried off the top. He hoped the fumes didn’t get him too drunk, however long he found himself cramped inside.
It would all be worth it to get off this damned island.
Cramped though he was, the late night and the rocking swells of the ship got to him, and he found himself nodding off. He slept through the sounds of the crew boarding in the morning, and preparing for departure, and departing. In fact, he slept all the way up until his barrel was rudely upended onto the deck, and he tumbled out of it still half-asleep and just the littlest bit inebriated off the scent of rum.
That was how he explained it to himself when he found himself surrounded by pirates, looking up into the burning violet eyes of Captain Vengerberg, and immediately blurted out, “You’re even more beautiful up close.”
She drew her sword and pointed it at him, just inches away from his throat. “Shut up, stowaway,” she snapped. “How did such a pretty bird find its way onto my ship?”
“Could we possibly have this conversation without the sword pointing at me?”
She glared at him.
“No? Alright then. I needed passage away from Tortuga, and none of the local captains would take me.”
“And why not? Took one look at you and declared you unfit for sailing, is that it?”
“I can sail!” Jaskier protested, which was a complete lie. He’d read about sailing, though, and really, how different could it be? “My father ordered them not to let me aboard on pain of death.”
She snorted, then paused. “What, you’re serious?”
“Deathly so.” He gulped, thinking of the trouble he’d be in if she decided to take him back—he’d almost rather walk the plank. At least becoming shark bait would be a quick death, rather than a slow suffocation of the soul. “Please, I can work—just please don’t make me go back.”
She lowered her sword a fraction of an inch, looking him up and down—he remained still, sprawled ungainly on the sun-warmed wood, clothes rumpled, hair a mess. He hoped he looked appropriately pitiful—perhaps she would show mercy.
Her eyes snapped then to the cord around his neck, and then lower, to where a tear in his neckerchief revealed the key it was tied to. Her eyes widened, and he rushed to tuck it lower in his shirt. It was a family heirloom, the one thing Jaskier had of his mother, who’d died at sea when he’d been but a babe.
Yennefer raised her sword again, and in one quick motion, severed the cord. Jaskier scrambled to catch it, but she beat him to it, snatching it up and holding him at bay with her sword.
“That’s mine,” he said through numb lips, heart pounding. “Please give it back.”
“I don’t think I shall,” she replied, tying the cord around her own neck and tucking it beneath her many layers of clothing. She sheathed her sword and turned away, walking towards the captain’s quarters. “Take him to the brig,” she ordered offhandedly, waving a hand in dismissal.
Jaskier didn’t fight, just watched her retreat as two pirates grabbed him round the arms and dragged him below deck.
Yennefer stroked a lacquered fingernail down her raven’s back as she reclined in her chair, boots propped up on her desk, fingering the little bird’s key with her other hand. It was a curious little thing, barely bigger than her pinky finger, and yet she’d recognized it immediately—its bronze color and tiny blue gems perfectly matched the inlaid cover of Madame Pankratz’ journal.
Yennefer had been chasing the old pirate’s treasure for months, reading her journal cover to cover in search of clues as to its whereabouts. She’d only yesterday pinpointed the location of where it should be—she and Istredd had confirmed it, bent over old records in that tavern, cross-referencing with a map of the Caribbean.
And what a coincidence, for the little stowaway to fall right into her lap with the key. It was almost too much of a coincidence. Yennefer pushed herself to her feet and began pacing her quarters, a common occurrence with the thoughts of the treasure that gripped her so.
She was so close she could taste it—if the journal was to be believed, mounds of gold awaited them, just past Hurricane Corridor. It wasn’t hurricane season, but storms still brewed heavily in the area, mixing the sea into a thunderous froth, winds howling and snapping at the sails of any ship that dared to sail close.
Such a storm was brewing now, in fact—Yennefer looked out the window towards the dark violet clouds that were rapidly filling the sky to the east. Any lesser captain would turn tail now, too frightened by the prospect of a little rain. She knew herself, knew her crew, knew her ship better than that—they could take it. They would take it, if they wanted any hope of finding that treasure.
A knock at her cabin door pulled her attention away. “Yes?”
Istredd entered. “Captain, what’s our heading?” he asked.
She gave him a rare smile. “We know where the treasure is, Iz. And—” she whipped out the key “—we have they key that goes with it.”
He smiled back, but there was an edge of nervousness to it. “Excellent news, captain, it is, but Hurricane Corridor is brewing up a big one.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “We can take it. We’ve seen far worse before, and still come out whole.”
“This seems worse, Yenna,” he said carefully. “Some of the crew—they’re worried.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps they should be worried about their future employment prospects,” she warned. “You know I only hire the best, and they know it too. Perhaps it’s time I gave them a reminder—and this storm will be a perfect one.”
“Yenna, please, think about this,” Istredd said slowly, his hand drifting towards his side. Yennefer shifted, putting her weight on her back foot, readying herself. Was he implying what she thought he was?
“I have thought about it—I advise you to do the same, or it’s treason,” she warned. Something stayed her hand from drawing her sword, though—she didn’t know if it was sentimentality, or disbelief, or even willing blindness. Whatever the reason, she didn’t draw her sword, even as Istredd drew his, opening the door behind him without looking away from her.
“I'm sorry, Yenna.”
“You don’t get to call me that,” she hissed, as her crew—her former crew—rushed into the cabin, confiscating her sword and tying her hands behind her back. She fought, but it was too late—it was an unfair fight, many on one. Cowards.
They bustled her out of the captain’s quarters and onto the deck, where rain had already started coming down hard. Instantly she spotted him—the little stowaway was held fast between two crewmates, soaked to the bone already. That damn ridiculous coat of his, all frills and ruffles, did nothing to ward against the wet and the chill.
But why was he out of the brig in the first place? Just to spite her? But no, if they were planning on letting him go free, he wouldn’t be restrained at all.
Which meant only one thing—if they didn’t want him in the brig, they were planning to throw him overboard. It made sense—he was dead weight, after all.
She was dead weight now too. She swallowed heavily. “You don’t have to do this,” she called out, though she feared it would get her nowhere. “Just think—we only have to brave one storm, and then we’ll be richer than anyone in the Caribbean. I hired you all because I thought you had what it takes.”
“You made your choice,” Istredd said, and nodded his head towards the side of the ship. “I’m sorry you chose greed over the lives of your crew.”
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” the stowaway shouted, eyes darting frantically among the many blades drawn—many of which swung to point at him as soon as he spoke.
“Mutiny,” Yennefer spat. “A coward’s move.”
“But one that will keep us alive,” Istredd replied. “I hope you can say the same for yourself.” With that, they dragged Yennefer and the stowaway to the side of the ship.
“Wait—we can talk about this!” the stowaway pleaded, earning himself a cuff upside the head from the pirate holding him.
“There’s nothing more to say. I’m sorry it had to end this way,” Istredd said, and without anything further, Yennefer felt herself being thrown over the side of the ship.
She fell, weightless for a moment, before crashing into the turbulent ocean with a massive splash. Her boots and coat weighed her down—she shrugged out of them as quickly as she could, struggling for the surface.
She breached with a gasp, sucking in air only to cough on the water that she inhaled. A few meters away, she saw the stowaway do the same, though he was struggling far more than her. Of course—he clearly wasn’t a strong swimmer, not having been raised on the sea like she herself was.
Cursing her soft heart, she swam over to him, looping one of his arms around her neck and treading water to keep them both afloat.
With the annoying little shit coughing and choking in her ear, she knew they had perhaps minutes before she grew too tired and they both drowned. She scanned the horizon, noted that the Cecaelia was already disappearing into the distance.
But wait—there! Lightning flashed and illuminated a spit of land to the west, and she immediately started swimming towards it. It was slow going, but halfway there the stowaway managed to get his legs under him and kicked to help them along.
She tired quickly, but grit her teeth and pushed on. It would be much easier if she would just leave her passenger to drown, but something in her rebelled at the thought. It would be cruel to rescue him, only to abandon him shortly after.
Just as the last of her strength waned, she felt the sea give way to sand beneath her feet, and gratefully stumbled forward until she could collapse on the wet sand, the stowaway panting alongside her.
“Thanks,” he gasped. She couldn’t summon the strength to answer.
He recovered first, pushing himself to sitting, offering her a hand up as well. She ignored it.
“Well, this isn’t how I thought I’d end up when I woke up this morning,” he commented cheerfully, and she looked at him incredulously. “What? I would have gone for ‘fed to sharks’ as the worst-case scenario, and ‘lounging on the deck of a fabulous ship, off to see the world’ as the best,” he said decisively.
He was mad—that was the only explanation for how chipper he appeared, and just how much he talked.
“Yeah, well, be glad I didn’t leave you to drown,” she said shortly, getting to her feet and walking away from the shore. Now that she was on solid ground, she could see that the spit of land was actually part of a larger island—though not a large one.
It was mostly sand, with some dirt and grass further in, and a few trees scattered about. Nothing much at all, really, besides dry land.
“Yes, thank you for that. I really must say, swimming at the beach is much different from swimming for your life.” He brushed the sand off himself—though it was a useless endeavor—and followed her. “But I’m not sure—I might have preferred drowning. I don’t much look forward to wasting away on this pitiful excuse for an island.”
Yennefer rolled her eyes, pointing to a distinctive notch, shaped like a cross, cut into the bark of the largest tree. “You won’t waste away. This is a common trade route—a ship from the Royal Navy will show within days, if not tomorrow.”
He brightened. “Oh! Well that’s quite good, then.” Then he paused and frowned. “Wait.”
“Now he gets it,” she bit.
“Wait, but—but if a Navy ship shows up, then you—”
“Let’s not dwell on it, shall we?” she sighed, and sat down underneath the tree, in hopes that it would provide at least a little shelter from the pouring rain. The sun was setting quickly, and she shivered.
“But you’re a wanted woman! The most infamous pirate of the Caribbean! If they find you here—”
“I know!” she retorted, and he finally shut up. “I’d worry more about yourself. How’s your father going to take the news of your departure?”
He slumped down beside her. “Ugh. Horribly, I'm sure. I’ll be locked in the estate until I die, surely.”
As privileged as it sounded, she still felt the stirrings of sympathy in her heart. She’d feel the same, were she unable to sail the ocean freely.
“You could claim you were kidnapped. Set upon by a fearsome band of pirates, who whisked you away to have their wicked way with you,” she suggested.
He snorted, fiddling with a few sticks he’d picked up off the ground. “I think my father might die of a heart attack upon hearing so.”
“Well, then you’re free either way.”
“Mm. A nice thought,” he said, and then they both fell silent.
The rain fell harder, and Jaskier noticed Yennefer shivering beside him. “You know, I might be able to get a fire started,” he offered, holding up his sticks, which were mostly dry. “I’ve read about it before—I used to long for adventure, and I know all sorts of tricks. In theory.”
She snorted in disbelief, but didn’t do anything to stop him. To both of their surprise, he’d soon gotten a fire going—a weak, guttering thing, but a fire, nonetheless. He huddled in as close as he could, gathering what little warmth it put out, and though he was still cold, he wasn’t chilled to the bone like he’d been.
Yennefer, though, was still shivering. He doubted it would be much help, but, ever the gentlemen, he shrugged off his coat and offered it to her, holding it above her head to keep the worst of the rain off. She didn’t shrug it off, which he took as a success. Or as a sign of her fatigue.
Night fell fully, and the storm only grew worse. Lightning flashed with increasing frequency. After one particularly blinding strike, Yennefer suddenly shifted to alert.
“There,” she breathed, staring at something—he didn’t know what.
“What?” he asked. He didn’t see anything in particular—just more dirt, and sand, and trees, and—
Lightning flashed again, and then he saw it—lit up like that, it was clear to see two palm trees growing together, forming an X.
“She buried it here, of course she did—x marks the spot,” Yennefer said, somewhat giddily. Jaskier trotted after her as she ran towards the trees, falling to her knees and digging frantically. Jaskier, confused but infected by her enthusiasm, joined her, the two of them shoveling out sand and dirt, looking for what, he didn’t know.
The sand scratched at their nails, but they kept digging wildly, until suddenly, a metal corner revealed itself. They redoubled their efforts—Jaskier could hardly believe it when it turned out to be a chest, an honest-to-God treasure chest. It was wood and bronze, the lock inlaid with a blue sapphire, just like—
“My key,” Jaskier said, as Yennefer yanked the cord from her neck and jammed the key into the lock with shaking hands.
It opened with a soft click. Jaskier held his breath—what would they find? Diamonds? Gold?
Yennefer swung the lid open to reveal absolute heaps of coins, in all currencies—sterling silver, gold, even some copper, every precious metal known to man, it seemed. It was a fortune—no, more than, it must have been worth ten fortunes. Enough to buy a fleet of ships. Enough to buy an entire island.
“I found it,” Yennefer breathed, then her face split into a wide grin. “I’ve found it!”
“My God, we’re rich!” Jaskier shouted, jumping up. Then a thought struck him. “Don’t give me any bullshit about it being yours—it was my key that opened it!”
Whatever Yennefer replied, it was drowned out by another deafening roll of thunder. Lightning flashed, and it was then that Jaskier saw it—while they’d been distracted, a ship had approached their small island, and was bearing down fast. It was too dark to make out the flag—would they be friend or foe?
“Shit, look! We’re saved!” Jaskier cried, pointing to the ship. Yennefer turned to look and paled. “Oh, that’s not a good look. What is it?”
“Trouble,” she said seriously. At that moment, lightning flashed again, and this time Jaskier could make out the man standing at the helm. His ghost-white hair glowed in the eerie light. “Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf.”
Jaskier had never heard of the man. “Have you met him?”
“No, but I’ve heard the stories. They call him the Butcher, sometimes. There was a massacre. No survivors.”
“Sounds lovely,” Jaskier stammered. Any hope of rescue had quickly flown. So he was quite dismayed when Yennefer started dragging the chest of gold towards the ship, which had just anchored. “What are you doing?!”
“I’ll take my chances with him,” Yennefer said grimly. “Better that than a certain execution at the hands of the Royal Navy.”
“You’re mad,” he said, but followed anyway. She had the treasure, first of all, and secondly, he didn’t much fancy returning home either. He’d already flirted with death several times today—what was one more time?
The White Wolf was lowering a rowboat into the sea, but Yennefer didn’t wait—she crashed into the ocean, still dragging the chest, slogging towards the ship at any cost. “Yennefer, wait!” Jaskier called, buffeted by the waves. He’d never been a strong swimmer, and his ability was being stretched to the limit.
The next wave took him down. He went under, gasping in seawater involuntarily, floundering about. It was only a moment, though, before he felt a strong hand latch around his flailing wrist, and he clung gratefully. He broke the surface gasping, blinking saltwater from his eyes, and felt himself pulled aboard the rowboat.
“Um. Hello,” he finally coughed out, upon seeing that he was now face-to-face with the White Wolf. He really was striking up close. Yennefer was sitting next to him, similarly sodden, still clutching the treasure chest tightly. “Thank you for the rescue—I’m Jaskier, lovely to meet you.”
“What kind of pirate doesn’t know how to swim?” the White Wolf grunted. Jaskier opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
“He's not a pirate,” Yennefer interjected. “The idiot stowed away on my ship.”
“I don’t see any ship,” the White Wolf replied drily. Jaskier was beginning to think there wasn’t much credence to the ‘ruthless killer’ part of his reputation.
“Mutiny,” Yennefer spat. “I’ll get her back—just wait.”
“In the meantime, would you mind terribly if we came aboard?” Jaskier asked, teeth beginning to chatter. “We can pay for passage.”
“Oh, so him you offer to pay, but me you just steal aboard?” Yennefer sniped.
“So you don’t want to come aboard?” Geralt asked. “How’s your plan to retake your ship coming along?”
Yennefer cracked a smile. “Like a drowning fish.”
Geralt smiled too, and began to row back to the ship. “We’ll get you warm, and then you can tell me how you ended up here.”
“And then we sail west,” Yennefer demanded. “We retake my ship, and as the fool promised, you can have a share of the treasure.”
Jaskier laughed suddenly. “Lord, this will teach me to wish for adventure,” he said, though he was grinning widely. He wouldn’t have it any other way.