Work Text:
Julian was growing used to having a crowd in his tavern, but the army of people standing near his door was something else entirely. It wasn’t new patrons, he noticed, but people that had already been seated. The doors were held open by two patrons and everyone else craned their heads through the space to watch something.
Ahh, it’s the windows, Julian realized. The sea glass he’d chosen for the panes was beautiful but also less than practical; the translucent glass was near impossible to see out of, hence the crowd at the door.
He’d always been of the curious sort, so Julian made sure he’d put out the fire on the stove and went to see what everyone was staring at. Thankful for his height, Julian managed to peer over a few patrons’ heads and saw an even larger crowd outside. They were in the center of the main square, all circling around a few people. At first Julian wondered if they were perhaps a group of traveling merchants or performers. They didn’t come to Vitrove often, so it was always a spectacle when they did. But that couldn’t be right. The crowd was silent, and Julian could see the tense way they held themselves. He needed to get a closer look.
Gently parting the people in front of him, Julian slipped to the back of the larger crowd. This close he could see that the people in the center weren’t merchants or performers. They were Nilfgaardian soldiers.
Fuck.
In Julian’s defense, he didn’t think he’d done anything to piss off Nilfgaard. He tried his best to stay out of politics and only really dealt with nobles when he was performing in a court. That being said, he couldn’t think of any reason for a handful of Nilfgaardian soldiers to be there that didn’t have to do with him.
“We’re looking for Jaskier the Bard!” one of the soldiers said. His armor gleamed brightly in the sun; clearly, it was well-maintained. There were eight other soldiers standing near him all with swords in their hands. The last soldier was holding a little girl by the collar of her dress. She was squirming and the woman next to them was begging them to stop.
The little girl, Julian realized, was Poppy, and the woman was Beatrice. He unconsciously took a step forward.
“Jaskier the Bard!” the soldier repeated. “Bring him to us before we put a sword through her neck.”
Poppy kept thrashing around. Judging by the soldier’s face, she wouldn’t be able to for much longer.
“Please!” Beatrice screamed, tears streaming down her face. “No one here has seen him. We don’t know where he is!”
Julian tried to push through the crowd, but it was so tightly knit that he could barely take a step forward. But he couldn’t let this continue. He had dealt with guards on a mission before. It didn’t matter where they were from, they all acted the same. If they didn’t get what they wanted soon, things were going to get messy. He could see the guards clenching their jaws, hands jerking on their sword grips. Beatrice’s wailing was grating to them, and Poppy was a nuisance. If he didn’t act fast, the guards would take their anger out on them.
He shoved someone out of the way and took a step forward. One of the guards noticed the movement and pointed at him. “Hey!” he said. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
It was absurd. Julian had lived in Vitrove for two years and not a single person had recognized him, but a soldier could look at him for less than a minute and figure it out? Beatrice and Poppy continued their struggle, but all of the guards turned to face him. The crowd, noticing where the man’s attention was, parted around Julian.
“Jaskier the Bard. We’ve been looking for you,” one of the other guards said. By the way everyone else seemed to defer to him, Julian guessed he was their leader. He waved a hand and the soldier holding Poppy dropped her unceremoniously. She winced but managed to run over to Beatrice and the two of them melted into the crowd.
Julian advanced until he was in the little center the crowd left empty. “At your service,” he said with a bow. His identity was now irreparably out in the open, so he may as well act like the man they were looking for.
The leader stalked towards him, and Julian briefly regretted revealing himself. Whatever happens, it was worth it, he told himself. As long as Poppy is safe.
“The White Wolf. Geralt of Rivia. We’re looking for him,” the man said. His hand was already on his sword.
Julian wanted to laugh but the murderous glare in the soldier’s eye stopped him. Of course this had to do with Geralt. Even when he wasn’t trailing behind the witcher, he was still playing second fiddle to him. “I haven’t traveled with Geralt of Rivia in years,” he said instead. With a scoff, he added, “You won’t find him anywhere near me.”
“I thought you were his bitch,” one of the soldier’s piped up. “Unless you couldn’t perform anymore.”
Julian bristled at the remark, but he reminded himself that he needed to stay calm. The soldiers were already riled up, and he didn’t have the information they were looking for. Things wouldn’t end well for him if he hurled any of the insults thrumming in his head.
“I was his bard. Sang songs, nothing else. We parted ways years ago,” Julian gritted out. He could feel the stares of the people surrounding him. It was bad enough to be caught up in something dangerous on Geralt’s behalf, but to be debased in front of his friends?
The leader took a step forward so that he and Julian were only a few inches apart. “Where is Geralt of Rivia?”
“I don’t know,” Julian said, harsher than intended.
Without warning, the soldier grabbed onto Julian’s hair and slammed his face onto the man’s knee. Blood welled up in his nose and mouth and the crowd let out a collective gasp.
“You must know something!” the leader said.
“Fuck you,” Julian replied. That earned him another knee-bash.
The leader saw the glare on Julian’s face and decided to change tactics. He wrapped his hands around Julian’s throat and began to squeeze. “I heard you traveled with him for twenty years. He didn’t tell you anything in all that time?”
Julian really didn’t know that much about Geralt, and the realization hurt. Not as much as the crushing of his windpipe, but it still hurt.
“Where would he go? If he needed to hide, where would he? Where does a mutant like him call home?” the leader demanded.
Julian could think of an answer. Kaer Morhen. Geralt went there every winter, surely that’s where he’d head in the face of danger. But he couldn’t tell the soldier that. He refused to give them any information, and he also didn’t know where Kaer Morhen was. He had a general idea, but he knew the soldiers would only get angrier with his lack of detail and they’d lash out even more.
The guard squeezed harder. Julian couldn’t breathe and even if he’d wanted to give them an answer, he wouldn’t have been able to. He thought he heard people shouting, perhaps begging for the soldiers to stop, but everything was starting to feel distant. His head felt fuzzy, and he was pretty sure his hearing was beginning to fade. Then, he heard a horse galloping through the square.
“Looking for me?” a voice growled. Julian must be delirious because that sounded like Geralt.
The leader’s grip loosened on Julian’s throat slightly at the intrusion, and then a moment later it disappeared entirely as his head was separated from his body. Blood spattered Julian’s face, but he was too busy gasping for breath to pay much attention to it. It sounded like there was fighting in the distance, but it all felt so far away as he lay on the cobblestone.
After what must’ve been only a few minutes, someone leaned over him. As he came back to his body, Julian realized it was Geralt. He was covered in blood and looking a little worse for wear, but there was no mistaking him. He knelt down, gave him an honest to gods smile, and offered his hand.
Julian couldn’t lift his hand. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything. How could Geralt be here? Why was he here? Finally, he managed to groan and said, “Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.”