Chapter Text
“It’s all about trust, Julian.” Dijkstra’s voice echoes through Jaskier’s head as another boot connects with his stomach. Jaskier’s trust for his handler from the Redanian Secret Service had brought him to this tiny border town, but he’s starting to question that loyalty after he was dragged out of his room at the inn by a group of thugs. Jaskier is pretty sure he knows which group these men belong to, because the leader looks like Lost-Cause Luc. The RSS uses him to tie up loose ends. Apparently that’s what Jaskier has become.
His suspicions are confirmed when Luc grabs him by the chin and forces him to make eye contact. “So this is the famed little Lark. Well, whore, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’ve outgrown your usefulness. You’re officially let go from the Service and we get to be the ones to cut ties. Lucky for us, eh? It’s been a while since Dicky’s let us have some fun with a target, you musta pissed him off real good, birdy.” Jaskier only has a moment to process Luc’s words before an uppercut makes his head snap back.
The thing is, Jaskier can’t think of what he’d done wrong to deserve Luc and his posse coming after him. The thugs were used when Dijkstra and the RSS wanted to send a message to someone since they had a reputation for being unnecessarily cruel. Jaskier had heard Dijkstra complaining more than once that they were sloppy and careless about keeping their cover. Clearly those mistakes were not as bad as whatever Jaskier had done.
“No one wants an old slut.” Luc sneered. His hand was fisted in Jaskier’s hair, holding him upright as one of the other thugs pulled out a knife. “You’re no good to anyone anymore.”
“This assignment relies on trust. We’re trusting you to know your duty. Trust us not to lead you wrong.” He’d been so flattered that he’d earned Dijkstra’s trust. Jaskier is one of the best, his missions are always successful. But he didn’t have the same innocent baby-face he used to. His clothing could only do so much to hide his broadening shoulders and hairy chest. Part of his charm was his harmless, innocent looks, and he knew how to use them to his advantage. Maybe he wasn’t as pretty as he used to be, but surely he could still help the Service instead of being cast aside? All Jaskier had wanted to do was help the people of Redania. Did Djkstra really think his only duty left was to die for his country?
Hot pain bursts into his shoulder, and then all Jaskier knows is pain. Just as it becomes too much and the world starts fading, he thinks he hears Luc curse. A panicked and confused, “What the fuck?”
*****
Very unexpectedly, Jaskier wakes up. Not at all unexpectedly, he’s in a lot of pain. He can’t tell where he is, everything is dark, but it seems like he’s still somewhere in the forest. With a groan, he starts to wiggle his fingers and toes to see if anything is broken. The shooting pains in his hands and left foot tells him something probably is.
Jaskier takes deep breaths to calm the rising panic. The last thing he remembers is getting roughed up by Lost-Cause Luc and his gang. The fact that he is still alive is promising, in that it means he still has a chance to escape, but that is overshadowed by the deep worry about what reasons the gang would have to keep him alive.
His vision darkens, and it takes Jaskier a moment to realise that two shadowy figures have approached on silent feet, one on either side of him, blocking out what little light there was before. The last people who loomed over him were the ones who had done their best to ground him into a pulp. If Luc hadn’t killed him yet and really was planning on taking his time, then he was in a very bad place.
Quietly flexing his toes as subtly as he could, Jaskier laments that he isn’t wearing his boots so he doesn’t have access to the knife he keeps hidden there.
One of the shadows crouches lower and says in a rough voice, “I know you’re awake.” It’s a threat and a promise and Jaskier feels cold fear flood his stomach.
The other figure sighs and murmurs, “Fuck’s sake Geralt, that is not how you reassure someone.” and then more loudly adds, “Sorry about him. My name is Eskel, this idiot is Geralt and you’re in a safe place. We found you getting the piss kicked out of you and pulled you away from your attackers.”
Jaskier takes a moment for the words to sink in, but the two people haven’t moved to hurt him, and they don’t sound like any of the thugs who had surrounded him earlier. Luc’s men also wouldn’t have let him rest wrapped in warm blankets on a comfortable part of the forest floor.
“Thank you for rescuing me. My name is Jaskier.” The fake name was more natural than his real first name so it was a habit to let it slip out.
“How are you feeling, Jaskier?” the shadow named Geralt asks. There is a slight glow coming from behind him that Jaskier assumes is a dying campfire.
After a moment of assessing his injuries he answers, “Like I had the piss kicked out of me, as you said. But overall, not as bad as it could have been if you hadn’t stepped in, and for that you have my gratitude.”
Eskel chuckles, “You must have really pissed them off, they looked like they were ready to kill you. What did you do? Cheat them at cards?”
“If I wasn’t feeling indebted to you for the rescue I would take offence that you assume that I deserve such treatment. Or that I need to cheat to win at cards.” He doesn’t have the energy to come up with a story about why he was being beaten to death in the woods, and he doesn’t want to give away too much information until he learns more about his rescuers.
“My apologies, Jaskier. I was trying to make a joke - in poor taste it seems. You don’t have to talk about it right now. There are still a few hours until dawn but then our group needs to be on our way. You should sleep until then, and if you need I can give you a draft of a painkiller.”
“My thanks, but it doesn’t seem wise to take potions from strangers in the woods, meaning no offence of course.”
“With that kind of philosophy you’ll miss out on all the fun in life.” Eskel jokes, his eyes glowing with mirth. “But I can’t fault your caution. Rest, we’ll figure out what to do with you in the morning.”
The shadows retreat noiselessly. With a jolt, Jaskier realises that he shouldn’t have been able to see Eskel’s eyes, and glowing with mirth is merely a poetic turn of phrase, not something that really happens. But for a moment Eskel’s eyes had shone like a cat’s. He’d seen that before; one of his saviours must be a Witcher.
Jaskier took deep breaths to calm himself. Witchers were dangerous. Redania had driven them out years ago. They were monsters who preyed on the weak and vulnerable, especially children. Before Jaskier had been born, the kings of many countries had tried to wipe them out, burning their strongholds and destroying the magics used to breed more of them. In retaliation the Witchers had turned into assassins. Nowadays they skulk through the shadows and avenge themselves on the people they blame for their destruction. There is a group of them called the Wolf Pack that have been responsible for dozens of murders in Redania over the past few years. Dijkstra had often said they were the biggest threat to the Redanian people.
In spite of that, Eskel isn’t actually the first Witcher that Jaskier had met, which was how he had recognized the eye-shine. The RSS had found one living in Novigrad that wasn’t allied with any of the known assassins. This one - Roland Treugger - had disguised himself as a human and had spent years working as a merchant. Jaskier was suspicious about the nature of his business, and his wares, but the higher ups had decided to make a deal with him, so it wasn’t any of Jaskier’s business. Whatever the deal was, it involved Treugger training a few agents, of which Jaskier was one, to be able to deceive Witchers.
It was a commonly held superstition that Witchers could smell lies, but that wasn’t exactly true. Apparently they possess enhanced senses and can smell the balance of the four humours and hear other bodily functions like breathing and heart rate and were trained to recognize patterns of reactions to guess the underlying emotion. A Witcher could tell when someone was upset, but not whether they were upset because they were telling a lie or revealing an upsetting truth. That was the simple version, the human body is apparently much more complicated, but Jaskier never had a head for the natural sciences and it was enough to understand that the creatures could sense happiness, anger, fear, sadness, fertility, and, for some reason, whether or not a person had eaten a large meal recently.
The training was easy and fun, like a performance. It was easy for him to slip into the role he wanted and tell enough of the truth to make it seem like he was honest. He’d been a liar his whole life, making up stories and excuses like it was second nature. His body didn’t react to little white lies, hidden sarcasm, or dry humour, not enough to give away the falsehoods. It was only when he was asked a direct “yes or no” question that he had to be careful, and he could avoid that by spinning a story.
Jaskier had always excelled at misleading people. He’d learned the skill from a young age from an old woman who lived in the woods near his family home. It was an odd relationship, most people were frightened of her since everyone knew the woods were full of monsters and no sensible person should be comfortable living out there, but she had always been fond of Jaskier. Goodwoman Ysabella taught him how to deceive people without ever once telling a falsehood, and over the years Jaskier had perfected dishonesty to an art form. Even Treugger had been impressed by how easily Jaskier could twist the truth and manipulate his own emotions to make his audience believe whatever he wanted them to.
Jaskier eventually allows himself to drift off, thinking of memories of his childhood friend. Eskel’s Witcheriness will have to be a problem for the morning.
*****
The next time Jaskier wakes in the clearing there is a hand on his shoulder gently shaking him awake. He blinks his eyes open and turns to see that he was woken by a strange man with a thin, harsh face covered with a dark stubbly beard. The man has dark, slicked back hair that is receding at the temples and yellow slitted eyes that were watching him with an unreadable look.
“Eskel?” Jaskier ventures, assuming this is the Witcher who spoke to him last night.
“Nah, I’m Lambert,” the Witcher introduces himself. Jaskier swallows noiselessly. Evidently there were two Witchers in this group, at the least.
Jaskier introduces himself and sits up with a groan. The pain from the day before is bright and impossible to ignore. Getting a better look at himself, Jaskier finally sees the extent of his injuries. One of his hands is bandaged and his fingers splinted. HIs ankle throbs under the blanket so he assumes it is also broken or sprained. The skin not covered in his torn and dirty clothes is purpling with bruises. Luckily his teeth all seem to be in good shape, none loose or tender, and his nose isn’t broken. Why Luc spared his face Jaskier doesn’t know, but he is grateful all the same. It isn’t great, but it could be much worse.
Lambert watches him take stock of himself in silence and when he’s finished he pushes a bowl of oat porridge into Jaskier’s lap. Jaskier thanks him and eats. The Witcher just nods and wanders away without another word. While he eats, Jaskier takes the opportunity to look around himself for the first time. Like he suspected, he is in the middle of the forest. The trees around are all pines with very little underbrush so he’s lying in a soft pile of needles. A short distance away four people are sitting around a fire. One of them is Lambert and there are two more men who are hopefully Eskel and Geralt, unless there are more people elsewhere, and the last person is a woman. A very beautiful woman. So beautiful that she is almost certainly an Aretuza sorceress, Jaskier has seen enough of them to be able to tell. Her hair is dark and she looks small and dainty compared to the men beside her.
He knows that these people, at least two of them being Witchers and one possibly a mage, are dangerous, but he’s also freezing and the idea of getting near the fire is too appealing. Jaskier leavers himself up, bringing the blankets with him and frowning at the sticky sap stuck to the fabric. He only has to take a few limping steps (his ankle is probably only sprained) before one of the men rushes over.
“Shit, kid, don’t hurt yourself,” the man scolds. He also has yellow eyes like Lambert, but his dark hair is slightly longer. He has a ferocious scar down one side of his face that makes him look intimidating, but Jaskier can clearly hear the concern in his voice that he recognizes from the night before.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,” he tells Eskel, “I was just cold and lonely by myself and was hoping to join your party.”
Eskel helps Jaskier settle near the fire. It doesn’t give off as much warmth as Jaskier was hoping, but it was better than nothing. Now that he is closer, he examines the other two people in the group. Up close, Jaskier can see that the woman has the most beautiful violet eyes Jaskier has ever seen. Her beauty is in no way diminished by proximity, but her frown and suspicious expression makes her look cold and untouchable.
The man is also beautiful, but in a rugged-warrior sort of way. His hair is white, but his face shows no sign of age. A well-trimmed beard accents his strong jaw. He is also frowning, but unlike the possible sorceress it comes across as more of a smoulder. His eyes are also slitted, but the shade is closer to gold.
So all three men are Witchers after all, and judging by the wolf medallions hanging around each of their necks, they must be part of the infamous Wolf Pack. This is a very dangerous place to be. Just because they haven’t hurt him yet doesn’t mean they weren’t going to. He would have to stay on their good side. He would also have to rely on them for help. He can’t go back into town. He can’t be seen in Redania at all. The Witchers probably killed Luc and his men, but the RSS have agents everywhere. If they were to spot Jaskier alive he wouldn’t remain that way for long. He needs to flee the country and find some way to set himself up once he gets out. Right now the Witchers are his best shot at staying alive long enough to figure out a plan.
“I must thank you all again for rescuing me yesterday and being so hospitable. I do believe you saved my life,” he says, hoping to show that he is polite and greatful.
“Yeah, you really were in deep shit,” Lambert agreed. “What the fuck did you do to piss those fuckers off?”
Jaskier had a choice here. Tell the truth or hope he could pull off a convincing lie. He decided the truth was better for now, he wasn’t at his best and he didn’t have a story prepared to keep track of. “They were tasked to terminate my employment. By terminating me,” Jaskier answered.
That got him a full set of raised eyebrows. Eskel was the one who asked for clarification; “What exactly was your job?”
Jaskier took a deep breath and pretended to wrestle with his options. He meets Eskel’s eye with a watery smile. “Well, they do say don’t lie to Witchers. I was in the Redanian Secret Service, and they decided my services were no longer needed.”
“A spy,” the woman observes. “Tell me, were you assigned to spy on the Wolf Pack or the Kaedweni Army?”
Jaskier turns to face her and as soon as he makes eye contact he feels a familiar prickling sensation along his scalp. Luckily, the Service had trained him to recognize when a mage was reading his mind, so his first reaction isn’t oh she’s reading my mind now. It had almost been like a game, as soon as he felt that prickle he was supposed to start thinking hard about literally anything else. His training kicks in, and Jaskier’s brain launches itself on a tangent. Unfortunately, Jaskier being who he is, the tangent is exceedingly embarrassing and just as likely to get him killed as if he had announced his plans to slaughter everyone present.
Wow, she really is stunning! My, what a lovely figure - oh good goddess do not think about her figure. Yikes, if she looks like that with those - nope nope don’t think about those - and definitely don’t think about her naked. Oh gods above and below! Why would you think about thinking about her naked, you creep! What is wrong with you? You don’t go around picturing people naked normally, why do you have to do it to the terrifying woman who is also almost certainly a mage? There is a tree over there, wow, what a beautiful tree. The branches sure are evenly spaced and sturdy… Wait, she asked me a question. Fuck, fuck, what did she ask? Spying. Army. Why does she even care about the Kaedweni army? Is the Wolf Pack allied with them? Fucking Dijkstra and his ‘need to know only’ bullshit.
Out loud, Jaskier answers, “No, my Lady. The only information I was given about my next mission was to arrive at a particular place at a particular time where I would be given my brief. Although, with hindsight now I believe I was not to receive a mission brief, but a brief execution.”
Unbidden, the image of Luc’s sneering face flashes through his mind with the words no one wants an old slut. You’re no good to anyone anymore.
If the mage sees the memory, she doesn't react. Instead, she asks another question. “Does Redania’s Secret Service know we’re here?”
Jaskier’s mind quickly scans through what he remembers about any mention of the Wolf Pack. It isn’t much, and most of it is out of date gossip. He was mostly used for internal missions, after all. That doesn’t mean Dijkstra doesn’t know, the slimy bastard, he thinks.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. It is likely, but if they did then they didn’t share that information with me,” he answers honestly.
The prickling fades and he knows his thoughts are his own again.
“Not a very good spy, if you don’t know anything.” the mage remarks in a dismissive tone of voice.
Jaskier blushes and looks down. “I wasn’t a spy, exactly.”
“What were you?”
His blush only gets worse. It isn’t that he is ashamed of his work, in fact he takes a lot of pride in it, but he rarely has to explain it to other people. Other people could be very judgmental, or make assumptions about him that Jaskier doesn’t always like. Still, never lie to Witchers and he can’t hide his reaction now.
“I’m a honey pot. Was a honey pot, I guess,” he admits.
“Like something you shit in? What the fuck does that mean?” asks Lambert.
“No, Lambert, you’re mixing up a honey wagon and a chamber pot,” Eskel replies. “A honey pot is a whore.”
Jaskier winces, “That’s not quite - not that I have anything against members of that ancient and noble profession, but -”
“So did you fuck people for pay or not?” Lambert demands.
“Well, yes, sometimes I did, but that wasn’t always necessary,” Jaskier stammers.
“True, you also spied on them,” the mage observes.
“Sometimes,” Jaskier allows. “Usually I’m used to blackmail people. People who don’t want anyone to know the details of their love lives, especially people who are married or can’t admit they’re interested in other men. Most of the time I just need to get them to write me compromising letters that can be used against them later.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?” the mage asks. She’s not making eye contact this time so she can’t peep into his thoughts.
Jaskier grimaces and looks down, flexing his sore fingers against the splints. Of course he’d killed some of his marks, but he knows he probably shouldn’t admit that. It is too late to hide his reaction now, and he is extremely frustrated with himself for being so visibly emotional even with all his training. He needs something that would sound enough like the truth, but was shameful enough to explain his racing heart and whatever his emotions must smell like. Fortunately his past could be considered a sob story and should give him some sympathy. He just has to keep it true enough not to make them suspicious.
“I have killed someone, but it wasn’t for the Service. It was my father. I didn’t mean to, but he -” Jaskier pauses and allows himself to remember the misery of that night and the events leading up to it, hoping that the Witchers’s senses would pick it up. “Do you remember hearing about the Count of Lettenhove?”
One of the Witchers snarls, Jaskier didn’t look up to see who it was. “Nasty fucker. I heard he treated his serfs like shit.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t any nicer to his family.” Jaskier says.
“We never heard that he was murdered,” the mage observes, “and I thought that holding went to a distant relation instead of a child.”
“Dijkstra, my handler, covered it up for me.” Jaskier shrugs in what he knows looks like forced nonchalance, “It was that or be hung for murder. If anyone knew I killed him they would have thought I did it to inherit the title, they wouldn’t care about the circumstances. Dijkstra understood and offered me a job in return for saving me from the gallows. It’s not like I had much choice”
“So your options were working for him or hanging for patricide?” Eskel asks.
Jaskier bit his lip and let tears form in his eyes, but he nodded.
"But that was years ago, you must have been a child!” Now the scarred Witcher sounds horrified, which is exactly the note Jaskier wants to hit.
Jaskier shrugged, "A lot of my assignments appreciated a - uh - youthful appearance. It was another thing to hold over them."
The Witchers all snarl at that one. In reality he had been 17 and he didn't start doing field assignments until he was 19, but he still has an incredibly youthful appearance so people never realise that he is actually much closer to 30. Or, maybe that wasn't quite true anymore. No one likes an old slut.
"And they didn't fucking do anything to these perverts? They just used you to keep them under their thumb? That's fucked up." Lambert exclaims.
Jaskier doesn't agree. He was doing his duty to his country by making sure bullies like his father couldn't hurt people indescribably. He gave the Redanian government tools to control them. It was better to have people under control than to depose them and make people lose faith in the nobility's right to rule.
Instead of arguing, Jaskier shrugs and asks, "What else was I supposed to do?"
The Witchers and the mage consider this in silence, not offering their conclusions to Jaskier.
“Well, what are you planning on doing now?” Eskel eventually asks.
Jaskier huddles in on himself, trying to seem pathetic. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“No family?” Eskel prompts.
“I already told you about my family, there isn’t anyone else.” Jaskier starts fidgeting with his bandages and pictures his uncertain future and all the things that could go wrong, hoping his distress comes through. “I can’t go back to town, if anyone from the service sees me they’ll send someone else to finish the job. And if I try to stay out of towns to get out of the country then I’m no better than monster food.”
“You’ll come with us, you’ll be safe,” rumbles the white-haired Witcher. The other man had so far stayed out of the conversation, but Jaskier recognizes the rough voice from the night before. It sends shivers down his spine.
“Geralt, you can’t possibly mean to bring him with us! We know he’s a spy!” the mage hisses.
Geralt shrugs. “Can’t be a spy if he has no one to spy to,” he observes placidly. He turns to Jaskier and asks, “Are you still going to be loyal to Redania after they sent people to beat you to death?”
“Redania didn’t do that,” Jaskier points out. “The RSS did that.” He pauses and stumbles over his next words, trying to toe the line between seeming disillusioned with his lot but not coming across as a person with no moral backbone. “I would never betray my people and countrymen, so in that sense I am loyal. How I was treated doesn’t matter, I won’t cause harm to anyone out of spite or revenge, so don’t ask it of me. But if you’re asking if I’ll turn you in to win favour for myself, then rest easy. You have only offered me help and kindness, I won’t repay that by turning on you.”
“Look me in the eye and say that again,” Yennefer demands.
Jaskier meets her gaze and the familiar pricking of mindreading makes his hair stand on end. He answers the sorceress as calmly and honestly as he can.“The RSS cast me off. I owe them no loyalty and no longer wish to do their bidding. If you mean me no harm then you will find no harm from me. However, I will not retaliate against my own people. I will not hurt them or allow them to be hurt if I have any power to stop it.”
The mage holds his gaze for a moment longer, and Jaskier pictures a conversation he’d had with the merchant husband of the woman he had boarded with some years ago. It was a risky business, to transport goods overland - there was always the risk that the caravans would be attacked by griffins and wyverns and the other monsters that filled the wilds between towns - but lately there were rumours of war on the borders with the Nilfgaard empire and Kaedwen. Old Morris had been worried about how he could afford to stay in business if the cost of guards got any higher with the young and able bodied being recruited to fight with their neighbours. Madam Morris had nephews that age and worried over them being called to fight.
Jaskier may no longer be a spy for Redania, but that doesn’t mean he will turn on these people. Their lives were difficult enough, he won’t give any forgien powers tools to invade or conquer.
Finally the mage’s eyes narrow and the prickling feeling fades once more. “Fine, but I don’t like it.”
Jaskier bows from his seated position. “Thank you, my lady.”
“We need to go.” Geralt announces and stands. The Witcher’s all move around the camp, packing away blankets and snuffing the fire.
They hoist packs on their backs and Jaskier stands and braces against a tree. Geralt frowns at him and then turns to the mage and says, “Yen.”
She rolls her eyes and says, “Just the leg because he’ll slow us down, otherwise.” The mage - Yen - crouches at his feet and holds her hands over his injured ankle. A faint glow appears as the pain flares, but then it abruptly stops. Jaskier tests his weight and finds that his foot has stopped hurting.
“My thanks again, you are too kind.” Jaskier says, giving her a proper bow.
Yen just sniffs and flounces into the trees. Jaskier notices that she doesn’t have to carry a bag.
*****
They travel for hours. Jaskier thinks they’re travelling east, but it’s an overcast day so he can’t be sure. The town he’d last been in was close to the Kaedweni border, so it was likely they would cross into the other country soon. No one talks while they walk.
It is slightly after midday, if Jaskier had to guess, when they are attacked for the first time. Jaskier had been expecting it sooner, considering the small size of their group - not nearly large enough to scare away any threats. They’re crossing a stream when it happened. Yen had conjured some kind of invisible bridge that Jaskeir had to cross without looking down at the rushing water below. Lambert was already on the far bank and Eskel was walking on the bridge behind Jaskier, but Geralt and the mage still hadn’t crossed yet, when Lambert suddenly started swearing.
Before Jaskier could turn to look, Eskel grabs him and starts running. They reach solid ground as the bridge flickers out behind them. Eskel doesn’t stop, carrying Jaskier to the treeline and shoving him away.
“Stay there!” he commands, dropping his pack beside Jaskier and drawing a sword from its sheath at his side. He runs back to the river leaving a dazed Jaskier behind.
Jaskier peeks out from behind one of the trees and sees blue, humanoid creatures surrounding Lambert on the close side and Geralt and Yen on the opposite shore. Eskel tears through the group when he reaches them, moving to stand back to back with Lambert. Together they cut down the creatures but more keep swarming out of the water. They move with more speed and grace than Jaskier has ever seen. On the far bank Geralt is fighting just as elegantly, and Yen seems to be using a combination of magic and a short dagger to dispatch any creatures that get too close.
Finally, the last creature falls to the ground. Eskel and Lambert keep their swords raised, alert for more trouble, and Yen conjures another bridge so she and Geralt can hurriedly rejoin the group.
They move far away from the river, accompanied by Lambert bitching about the “filthy fucking drowners.” Jaskier keeps silent. He’d known that Witchers were dangerous fighters, but seeing them in action was terrifying. He hoped his companions assumed that any fear they were smelling was because of the drowners and not because of them. So far they hadn’t hurt him, but he didn’t count on that lasting much longer. He just needed to get out of Redania and find a new town, then hopefully he could escape these monstrous men.
As if she were still reading his mind, Yen stops. “This should be far enough,” she announces. With a wave of her hand a portal appears.
Jaskier gapes, “You can make portals? Why did we have to walk all day?” His injuries are killing him and they hadn’t stopped for lunch, he isn’t in a good enough mood to be tactful.
“Because if I make a portal in Redania it can be traced,” Yen snaps. “Hurry up and go through or stay here and get eaten, but I won’t wait all day.”
Jaskier hurries through after Lambert and Eskel. He’d been through portals before. Some of his assignments involved staying in households that were rich enough to employ a mage. In Redania the wealthy relied on a guild of sorcerers and sorceresses to portal them wherever they needed to go. It was exorbitantly expensive, but far safer than travelling by carriage even with hired guards. If Yen is powerful enough to make portals, she could choose to live in comfort in any Redanian city charging for her service. The fact that she isn’t means that whatever she was doing with the Witchers must be far more lucrative.
He steps out into a courtyard with high stone walls. There are guards wearing the colours of the Kaedweni royal family lining the walls pointing crossbows at the newcomers. No, not at all of them, just at him. Geralt steps through the portal with Yen a step behind him. The white-haired Witcher claps Jaskier on the shoulder and announces “He’s with us.” and the crossbows lower. One guard begins to turn a winch which opens an iron gate in one wall. It is the only opening to the courtyard.
Jaskier follows the group through a stone hallway and into what looks like a bailey. Before him is a massive fortress. The structure they came from made up part of the outer wall. Their group crosses the yard towards the inner walls when a figure comes running towards them with a shout of, “You’re back!”
The small figure crashes into Geralt in a tackling hug. To Jaskier’s surprise the Witcher lifts the child - the young girl - up in the air and spins her around. She shrieks with delight until he pulls her into a close hug.
“Sorry we’re late, Cub,” he grumbles into her hair. “Got held up last night.”
“I forgive you,” the girl says seriously, “but you have to tell me all about it!”
“Soon,” Geralt agrees. “Gotta see Mansfeld first.
The child detaches herself from Geralt and clings to Yen instead. She starts to chatter away, but Jaskier doesn’t get a chance to listen before Geralt is steering him away with a terse, “Come on.”
Jaskier trails after Geralt, thoroughly confused. He didn’t know who that girl was or why she was so happy to see a Witcher. Geralt doesn’t seem interested in explaining, and Jaskier isn’t sure it’s the best idea to ask.
They enter the fortress and walk through twisting hallways to a beautifully furnished room. Servants bow them into the space, but don’t follow them inside. Geralt stands to attention in the middle of the space, and Jaskier hovers awkwardly at his side.
They don’t have to wait long until a tall thin man glides into the room. Neither man bows to the other, and Jaskier shifts on his feet, unsure what is expected of him.
“Geralt,” the man says, “we expected you last night. Was there an issue with the mission?”
“No, the issue happened after,” Geralt answers, gesturing at Jaskier.
The man peers at Jaskier with shrewd eyes. “This wasn’t a retrieval mission. Who is this?”
“Jaskier, at your service, sir.” Jaskier says and bows.
“Jaskier…” the man drawls. “That's a familiar name.”
“I’m a bard, sir. Perhaps my fame has reached you.”
“Indeed. I believe your reputation may have preceded you,” the man says cryptically. “What are you doing here?”
“We came across him getting the shit beat out of him by some thugs,” Geralt answers. “Found out he used to be a Redanian spy they wanted dead.”
“And you’ve come to double-cross Dijkstra?” the man said, delight clear in his voice. “That takes bravery, well done.”
Jaskier starts to form a polite but evasive answer, but Geralt answers before he can. “No. He’s not here for that. If he wants to tell you anything then that is his choice, but you’re not forcing anything out of him.”
“Then what is he here for?” the man demands.
Geralt hesitates for a moment and Jaskier has to wonder if the Witcher has a plan or if he’s scrambling to find an answer. “Protection. He can’t go back to Redania.”
“And you want him to stay here,” the man sighs and rubs his forehead with long, slender fingers. “You trust him?”
“He swore to Yennefer that he wasn’t planning on hurting anyone here. He wasn’t lying.”
“Geralt, this is highly irregular, but if you are willing to take responsibility for him then I suppose he can stay. I want you to keep an eye on him though, understand?”
“Yes, Mansfeld.” Geralt answers.
Mansfeld rings for a servant and instructs Jaskier to follow her out. Geralt stays behind, no doubt to debrief with Mansfeld. Jaskier recognizes the name of the Kaedweni spy master.
Jaskier is led to a small room built into the outer wall surrounding the fortress. The room is plain and impersonal, with just a bed, a dresser and a small table and chair. There's a small window that looks out over the bailey where he can see all the hustle and bustle required to keep a large fortress running smoothly.
He sits on the bed and runs his fingers through his hair, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened to him in the past day. He was cast aside, no home, no way to earn a living. He found protectors who are known assassins to his countrymen and who were known for being violent and cruel - although they hadn’t shown that cruelty to him so far.
It must only be a matter of time before Mansfeld decides not to let the Witchers shelter him and asks about the inner workings of the RSS, but by then Jaskier will have a good story invented.
“If only Dijkstra could see me now…” he muses, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind he realises how stupid he’s being.
If Dijkstra could see him now the oily old man would be cackling in delight. They've never managed to plant a spy in King Henselt’s court before. For some reason - probably the mage Yennefer and the Witchers - all of their spies have been sniffed out before they could get a foothold in the Ard Carraigh stronghold. Dijkstra would be screaming at him not to blow his chance to get close to the Witchers and the King, gaining their trust slowly and ferreting out anything that could benefit Redania. It worked out so well for the RSS Jaskier would have a hard time believing they didn't plan it.
Now that he has time to reflect on it, it’s obvious that Dijkstra wouldn't spend months teaching him how to lie to Witchers just to have him killed off, but he absolutely would do it to get him rescued by Witchers. And Jaskier was able to look them in the eye and swear he meant no harm. And he had similar training to deceive the sorceress. He was a valuable resource in a perfect position.
It was so clear what was expected of him: he was here to bring down the Wolf Pack, in whatever way he could, and any trouble he caused to Kaedwen would be a bonus. And he would do it. He’d told the Witchers and Yennefer that he didn’t owe loyalty to people who had sent him to be killed, but he hadn’t been sent to be killed.
It was up to him to protect Redanian from these killers. Dijkstra had trusted him with this mission and he wasn't going to fail.
It was all about trust, after all.