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“The song’s about him isn’t it? Your witcher?”
Jaskier knew that Radovid couldn’t see his face from where he was lying with his head on his chest, but he let out a loud sigh.
“I think every song I’ve written in the past 20 years is about him.”
Jaskier couldn’t see much in the darkness of the shed, but he felt as Radovid turned to face him.
“Doesn’t it bother you? I meant it when I asked earlier if he knows how lucky he is to have you. How do you stand it?”
When Jaskier had fallen into bed with Radovid a few hours ago, he hadn’t expected to be forced to confront his relationship with Geralt head on. However, that question had been in the front of his mind for the past few months now. Geralt did end up apologising for what happened on the mountain while they were still at Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier did forgive him. (It would be kind of hard not to, at that point. There wasn’t much Jaskier wouldn't forgive him for.)
But after the winter had passed, Geralt had left with Yennefer and Ciri to hide out in various safehouses all over the Continent. He didn’t blame them; he felt the same fierce surge of protectiveness over Ciri, and he logically knew how important it was to keep her safe. But he couldn’t help the flame of jealousy that sparked in his chest when he saw all three of them together, their own little happy family. Jaskier thought he knew where his place was, all these years travelling by Geralt’s side, but turns out he didn’t belong anywhere. Maybe he never belonged anywhere.
Jaskier finally met Radovid’s eyes, gave a soft smile.
“It used to,” he admitted. “I started travelling with him when I was only 19 years old. I’ve known him for over half my life. That’s not the kind of thing that goes away in a short time.”
“You’ve really been in love with him that whole time, haven’t you? I mean—I’ve heard the songs, I know how you sing about him, but I always wondered if any of it was you exaggerating things to make it a better story.”
“Well, I won’t tell you that none of it was an exaggeration. Telling the truth won’t give me enough coin to get a meal in my stomach. I am a performer, first and foremost. But—” at this point Jaskier broke off eye contact, and let his head hit the pile of hay behind him, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t think he even noticed. I feel as though he never listened to anything I was saying. And alright, I’ll admit it. I was annoying when I was younger, never knew when to shut up. But… I feel as though he never tried.”
“And what about Burn, Butcher, Burn ? Do you think he listened to that one?”
Jaskier just chuckled darkly. “Okay, well, I may have been a tad less subtle with that one.”
Radovid shook his head, and softly sang “ Did you ever even care, with your swords and your stupid hair? ”
Jaskier laughed. Radovid truly did have a gorgeous voice, made a touch rougher by their recent activities, and Jaskier wouldn’t be opposed to teaching him more of his own songs. “So maybe those weren’t my best lyrics. But I was heartbroken, and I honestly think I was drunk when I was writing most of it.”
Jaskier realised a second too late that that may have been a bit too personal to share with the crown prince of Redania, and he saw Radovid’s eyebrows knit in concern. “But it’s fine now,” Jaskier hastily continued, trying to hide the drop in his mask. “We talked it out, and I forgave him for everything. And…” Jaskier took a breath, trying to sort through his tumultuous thoughts. “I’ll probably be in love with him for the rest of my life, and I just have to live with that.”
Radovid’s look of concern didn’t falter as he propped himself on his elbows, then reached up and pressed his hand against Jaskier’s cheek. “You don’t deserve to have that happen to you.”
Jaskier just scoffed. “You hardly even know me.” He made to move his head away, but Radovid gently pulled it back to meet his eyes.
“It’s true that I haven’t known you for very long. But it’s also true that I think we understand each other in a deeper way.”
Jaskier breath caught in his throat. Radovid wasn’t wrong, and that scared him. Vespula hadn’t been wrong in her estimate of him. It wasn’t a secret that he liked to sleep around, and Jaskier wasn’t ashamed of it either. But he had never met someone who had his heart stop in its tracks and made him want something more . (Well, there had been one, but that ship had sailed a long time ago.)
Jaskier brought his hand up to meet Radovid’s, and traced the skin on the back of his hand. Radovid’s hands were soft, just as a prince’s should be. Jaskier was suddenly hit with a wall of self-consciousness about his own hands; covered with various scars he had picked up in the decades living on the road, the callouses that came with being a bard, and—
Radovid let go of his cheek, and grabbed his hand. He ran his fingers over the rough edges where Rience had burned his fingertips. It wasn’t very visible, it had been almost a year now, and all you could tell of it was a slight rise in the skin where the burns had healed badly.
Radovid opened his mouth as if he was about to ask, and Jaskier shook his head almost imperceptibly. There were some things that he wasn’t quite ready to share just yet, and he didn’t want to disturb the quiet serenity they had created here.
Jaskier pulled Radovid's hand away from his own and pressed a soft kiss to the centre of his palm. In the pale moonlight, he saw Radovid attempt to hide a smile of his own.
“I used to be like you, you know. Not a prince or anything like that, obviously. But my family were all nobles. My title was technically the Viscount de Lettenhove.“
Radovid raised an eyebrow. ”I've heard of the Lettenhoves. Their property is right on the coast near Cintra, isn't it? I know of the Earl and the Countess, but I didn't know they ever had a son.“
Jaskier laughed. ”I'm not surprised you aren't aware. My parents did a pretty good job of trying to make sure everyone forgot about me.“
”What in Melitele’s name could you have done to have deserved that?“
”Ran away from home to become a travelling bard?“
”Well, I guess that would have done it.“
”I just... I couldn't live like that. I was expected to take my father's title, sit prettily in court while everyone else fought in battles all across the Continent. I couldn't spend the rest of my life doing nothing.“ At this he paused, remembering for not the first time in the past five minutes that he was talking to a prince, and he should be very careful of his next words.
”I had always taken a liking to the lute, so the day I turned 17 I left home and headed to Oxenfurt, enrolled in the Academy, and haven't looked back.“
”I think you were wrong to call me the brave one.“ Radovid had shifted once again, so his head was lying on Jaskier's chest, and he could feel where their bodies were pressed together.
“How do you mean?”
Radovid shook his head incredulously. “I wish I could do what you did. I don't want to sit around in court, watching while my brother squanders the country's money and never solves anything. I'm tired and I'm bored and I want to make a change in this country, and I have Dijkstra and Philippa breathing down my neck half the time and—“ he cuts himself off quickly, as if suddenly becoming conscious of the rising tone of his voice and his heavy breathing. ”I... I apologise, I'm sure you don't want to listen to—“
Jaskier cuts him off by propping his body up, forcing Radovid to come up as well, and pressed his mouth to his. Jaskier could feel Radovid relax into the kiss, and he pressed a hand to the other's bare chest, feeling a steady thump , thump beneath his palm. He gently guided Radovid's head back down and Jaskier lay back on the hay once again.
”I think you would make a great king,” Jaskier said.
”Oh yeah? Are you suggesting that the current king isn't good enough? I could get you hanged for treason, you know.”
Jaskier let out a surprised, honest laugh. There weren't maybe people that were able to throw him off his balance. He projected a specific type of air to the public; he was aware that people thought of him as soft and docile. But he was clever. Underneath the performance that’s who he’d always been, a pragmatic and rational man, doing whatever it took to survive the world. But being here with Radovid... Jaskier felt a peace he hadn't felt in a very long time.
”You wouldn't dare. Who would sing songs about how dashing you are? Every king needs someone singing their praises—“
”Come back to Redania with me.“
Jaskier cut himself off, completely taken off guard. ”What?“ He laughed in disbelief.
”Come to Redania. You don't even need to bring Ciri, I don't care what my brother wants. I just know that I want you. You can be our royal bard, Melitele knows you're good enough.“
“Radovid, I...”
“Just think about it, please ”
And gods, Jaskier wished he could say yes.
He's just so tired.
He’s tired of running and fighting and hiding and not being able to trust anyone except the three people he had somehow found himself tied to. And while he may not be bound to anyone by magic like Geralt and Yennefer were, they were all he had left. He’d given up on having a normal life years ago, when he saw a brooding, white-haired witcher in a tavern in some little podunk town and felt a pull in his chest. And while he barely believed in destiny (wouldn’t believe in it at all if it weren’t for the people he travelled with), he’d always imagined it would feel something like this.
He wished he could say yes to Radovid, give it all up and retire, but they both knew that it was far too late for him.
Jaskier didn't need to give a verbal response, Radovid could already read the look on his face.
“Maybe in another life, then.” Radovid said softly. “I could have met you while you were still living in Lettenhove, or maybe if you never left. You could have come to the Redanian court, and we could have shared a dance.”
Jaskier gave a rueful smile. “It's a nice thought.”
Radovid knew as well as Jaskier that the moment was over. Jaskier had a mission, he had to get back to Ciri. He wished he could stay in Radovid's arms and let the rest of the war pass them by, but that could never happen. This would likely be the last night they would ever spend together. Radovid had to return to court, and Jaskier had to go to wherever Geralt and Yennefer sent him next, or to wherever Dijkstra and Philippa needed him.
He stood up, shook out some stray hay that had gotten caught in his hair, and started gathering the clothes he and Radovid had strewn across the barn earlier in the night. He took his time getting dressed, knowing that Radovid kept his eyes on him, trying to soak up once last glance.
At last, when he was fully dressed, he grabbed his lute from where Radovid had carefully sent it down hours ago, and made his way to head out the door.
A soft call stopped him. ”Jaskier?“ Radovid called softly. Jaskier turned to meet his striking eyes. ”I... This night meant something to me. I won't forget you.“
Jaskier sent back a winning smile, one that he had used to seduce dozens of others, but there was a tinge of sadness to it. “I won't forget you either. I'll write a song about it.”
He left the barn before he could hear an answer. He was scared that if he stayed any longer he might not be able to leave. He rested his back against the door and let out a small sigh, and felt tears well in his eyes. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head angrily. It was just a fantasy, nothing could ever become of it.
“Maybe in another life,” he whispered.
He adjusted the strap of his lute on his shoulder and headed out into the night. It was time for him to go and protect his family.