Chapter Text
Geralt and Ciri had made it to Nivellen’s safely, albeit slowly. The princess was not used to life on the road, despite her weeks on the run. It was clear to Geralt that while the princess hadn’t been spoiled in her palace upbringing, she was still used to comforts that he wasn't able to offer her while on the road.
Once they reached Nivellen’s though, Geralt’s friend treated her like the royalty she was. He adorned her with lavish dresses and furs, clean and comfortable shoes, and a room in which to rest.
After a night of rest, Ciri had begged Geralt to stay another night or two.
“There’s no danger here,” she insisted, “and I'm tired . I need to rest before we leave for Kaer Morhen.”
“Come now, Geralt,” Nivellen said. “Let the girl have her rest for the night and we can sit by the fire with some ale.”
“Get some sleep,” Geralt grunted. “We’ll discuss our travels in the morning.”
“Fine,” she sighed exasperatedly, “but we’re not leaving in the morning.”
“We are guests here, Cirilla,” Geralt said with a tone of exhaustion. “We’re not going to overstay our welcome.”
“Nonsense Geralt, you know you are always welcome here,” Nivellen insisted. “Come, sit with me while the princess sleeps. I heard a bit of news today that I think you’d want to hear.”
“What is it, Nivellen?” Geralt asked once they were settled in. “This news you say you have?”
“That lovely girl who delivered the bread today keeps me in the know of what goes on in the next town over,” he began. “Nilfgaard had run through the town just about a week before you and the princess came to me. And they brought a prisoner who stays in the alderman’s dungeons. Someone you know, I’ve been told.”
“Speak plainly, Nivellen, please,” Geralt requested, leaning forward. A small piece of him hoped it was Yennefer. “I know a lot of people. Tell me who it is.”
“It is a bard who travels the continent singing the praises of the White Wolf,” the enchanted man said. “He goes by the name of Jaskier. I believe he is your bard.”
“He’s not my bard,” Geralt grunted as he sat back. “He’s a bard who followed me for a few decades.”
“Sounds more like a friend if you ask me,” Nivellen eyed Geralt.
“Believe me,” Geralt huffed, “he doesn't want to be my friend. Not now.”
“You know,” Nivellen said after a moment of silence, “The princess wants to stay another day or two. You’d be welcome to leave her in my care while you go and fetch your bard. He’d be welcome here, too. He can rest and recover his strength before you head to the keep.”
Geralt just eyed Nivellen, not knowing how to tell him that he and Jaskier are no longer friends because of his own cruelty and stupidity.
“Even if you choose not to travel together,” Geralt’s friend pressed, “I’m sure the bard would appreciate a savior. Nilfgaard isn't known to give grace these days. It's a wonder he’s still alive, whatever they took him for.”
Geralt felt a pang of guilt and sorrow at the thought of Jaskier being killed, especially when they haven't had a chance to reconcile. Not that geralt pined over his former friend, but he’d believed they would travel together again someday.
“I’ll set out tomorrow,” Geralt decided. “Though I doubt he’ll want to come with me.”
“Only time will tell,” Nivellen took a swig of his ale before continuing. “Luckily for you, it's less than a day’s journey.”
- - -
Jaskier was sitting in his dungeon cell for the fifth morning. He tried not to recount the previous day, or what was to come on this day. Four days of torture, four days of telling, no swearing , he had no idea where Geralt and Cirilla were, or even if they were alive. He’d tried to convince them of the truth: that he and Geralt had parted ways a year before the attack on Cintra when the princes had gone missing. And yet, there he was, waiting for another day of blind torture.
They had taken, beaten, and bound him. When he awoke, he was convinced he’d lost his sight. It was pitch black and he couldn't see a thing. He could feel himself on a cold table, wrists and feet shackled. They’d carved into him over and over again, asking about the witcher and the princess. Time and time again, he swore he did not know. He didn't even know the princess’ name until they had started questioning him.
It wasn't until the torches were lit after that first night of questioning that he realized he did, in fact, have his sight. He gathered the dark was to break him psychologically, while they worked on breaking him physically. To his confusion, they had also brought in a mage to heal him. It wasn't until the next day that he realized that was only to keep him alive for more questioning.
Each day, infliction after infliction, he told himself not to hate Geralt for this. This wasn’t his fault. They had parted ways–not amicably, but this wasn't his fault. Jaskier knew traveling with a witcher wouldn't do wonders for the reputation, but he certainly hadn't expected to be tortured for his troubles.
This morning, they had given him stale bread and a small glass of water.
“Thanks for this,” Jaskier scoffed as the guards were walking away. “I love a hearty breakfast after a long night of torture!” he called after them.
He looked to the mice sitting on his upturned waste bucket, staring at him and his chunk of bread.
“I reckon you're hungry too, eh?” he asked as if they could understand him. “Here you go, little fellas.” He broke off two small pieces for the mice to munch on.
After they had eaten their portions, one of the mice scurried up to Jaskier’s boot. Jaskier picked up the mouse and held it up so he could examine it.
“ You wont torture me, will you?” he questioned.
The mouse squeaked, and Jaskier took that as a reply.
“You know, it's really not fair that we’re stuck in here,” Jaskier complained as he put the mouse back down. “You’re just an innocent little mouse, and I–well I’m not innocent, but I certainly don't have what they want here. I haven't even heard from him in months. Perhaps a year now.” The mouse scurried back to its counterpart on the bucket as Jaskier continued. “I don't even know what they want with him, or the princess. To kill the heir of Cintra I suppose? But why Geralt? He doesn't want her. ‘I need no one,’” Jaskier mocked in a low voice before scoffing. “Needing no one? How fucking pretentious. We all need someone . Even you . You have each other. But me? Well, now I have no one. Just you two,” Jaskier pointed to the mice before sighing and resting his head back on the cell wall.
He took the time to bask in the silence of the morning, trying not to ponder on what fresh dark hell they were brewing up for him in the torture chamber. Whatever it was, he hoped beyond hope that they’d leave the torches on this time. In his decades of life, nothing has been more terrifying than not knowing when, where, or how the next pain would be inflicted. And no matter how many times he swore it, he knew they wouldn't believe he has nothing to do with Geralt or the princess now.
Still utterly exhausted from the previous night, Jaskier decided now was as good a time as any to get more sleep in. Gods knew how long he’d be up tonight.
After a few moments of silence, Jaskier heard a commotion down the hall. He opened his eyes and saw the Nilfgaardian guards rushing towards the sound of swords clashing. He moved to the cell door and tried to get a peak, but he couldn’t see around the corner.
“Send a pigeon to Cahir!” he heard one of them calling. “That’s the White Wol–” the guard’s speech was cut off by a wet slicing sound.
The White Wolf. Geralt. What in the hell is he doing here? Jaskier thought to himself as he moved to sit down once more.
The sounds of swords clashing and guards being torn into continued to sound for about another few or so minutes. When all sound eventually died down, Jaskier knew it was over. He would be leaving this place. With Geralt. But was that something he wanted?
Just then, Geralt rounded the corner, not running but walking very fast. He had a key in his hand and his bloody sword in the other.
“Let’s go, Jaskier,” he all but ordered as he turned the key in the lock.
“No, I don't think I will,” Jaskier crossed his arms, suddenly remembering that Geralt was the reason he was here in the first place.
“Now isn't the time for dramatics bard, we have to go,” the witcher replied exasperatedly.
Geralt took a moment to examine Jaskier from afar. He looked clean, healthy, and best of all unharmed. He heaved a sigh of relief before looking the bard in the eye. He can see that Jaskier is guarded, upset, and looking as if he might actually choose to stay in his cell rather than go with him.
Geralt anticipated this and had come up with an excuse to get Jaskier to come to Kaer Morhen with him. Geralt maybe felt a little guilty using his child surprise as an excuse to get his former friend to the keep, but it wasn’t as if he was doing her any harm.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said. “Nilfgaard took Cintra a few weeks back.”
“I don't see what that has anything to do with anything,” Jaskier’s voice tightened. “Last I knew from you, you had no interest in Cintra or your child surprise. Looks like you got your wish. Nilfgaard is doing an amazing job at giving you what you want; no child. And it seems they’re on their way of giving you your one life’s blessing. So just go and let them get on with it. I don't imagine they’ll keep me much longer.”
“It looks like they've been keeping you just fine,” Geralt said.
Jaskier just scoffed and looked away, not about to divulge the better half of a week’s worth of torture to someone who doesnt even care. “I don't know what you want with me Geralt, and thank you for breaking me out, but I’m not going with you.
“The princess is safe,” Geralt informed him. “She's staying with a trusted friend while I came for you.”
At that, Jaskier looked a bit surprised, his eyes alight with questions he refused to ask.
“We need your help,” Geralt pushed. “ She needs your help.”
“And how could I possibly help a kingdomless princess in a keep full of witchers?” Jaskier asked, still not looking Geralt in the eye.
“She needs to be educated,” Geralt explained. “She’s determined to claim her kingdom when she’s ready. She’ll need to be educated on nobility and… well, whatever it is that noblemen teach their daughters.”
Jaskier scoffed, “I’m hardly qualified to teach her to arrange flowers and host luncheons.”
“You know that’s not what she needs to learn,” Geralt sighed. “Come with us, tutor her. Please. We need your help.”
“I seem to remember you saying you need no one,” Jaskier recalled.
“That was then,” Geralt insisted. “Things have changed. Come with us. If not for me, then for her.”
“ Fine .” Jaskier agreed. “For survival and for Cirilla. If it were just you, I’d gladly part ways here.”
“She likes to be called Ciri,” Geralt informed the bard. “Let’s go, I’ve got a horse for you. I bought it off a friend.”
“Alright, alright. But first,” Jaskier said before turning to the mice who were still on the bucket. “Gentlemen, it's been an honor.”
For a quick moment Geralt feared Jaskier had changed his mind and turned to go further into the cell once more. The pang of sadness he felt at the thought of Jaskier preferring prison to a winter with him was much too much for him to acknowledge. Once he realized Jaskier was simply walking to the mice, he played it off as exasperation. He gave Jaskier a look that said, Really, Jaskier? Can we go now, please?
“What?” Jaskier asked as he turned back to Geralt and took in his expression. “I made new friends, get over it!” He stalked past Geralt and then turned back. “Jealous,” he accused.
Geralt just rolled his eyes and followed him out to the horses.
Once Jaskier had been acquainted with his horse, he decided to name him Pegasus.
“You have an absolutely beautiful mane, Pegasus,” Jaskier cooed. “And Roach,” he called out to the mare, “your coat looks absolutely stunning. That's one thing your pesky owner is good for.”
Geralt ignored the snipe and only said, “I noticed we didn't grab your lute on the way out. Was it lost?”
“They broke it,” Jaskier said flatly and in a tone that very much told Geralt he didn't want to talk about when, why, or how.
“Perhaps Nivellen will have one on hand,” Geralt said. “His manor is enchanted, you know.”
“Well, unlike you, I don't only expect convenience from my friends,” Jaskier shot back. “Don’t ask your friend any favors on my behalf. Filavandrel’s lute was never meant to be kept, anyway. Something precious as that belonged with her true master.”
And with that, they rode on the rest of the way in silence.