Work Text:
Radovid hated his throne. Not just for all the things it represented, he despised being king just as much as he had when he’d first been crowned, but the chair itself was the least comfortable thing to ever be built. It only got less comfortable the longer he sat in it and he’d been sat in it for close to four hours taking audience with whichever nobles had decided to grace him with their problems.
One after another they approached him and pleaded their cases. Farming disputes and marriage licences and inheritance squabbles. Most of it was pointless and what little wasn’t pointless he didn’t have any control over. He was the continent’s most powerful puppet and he knew it. So he sat in his uncomfortable chair and did what he was told.
The day was finally drawing to a close however, Philippa and Dijkstra had been called away on some business or other and one of the servants had already started to light the candelabras as the sun set outside. One more audience, and he could reasonably withdraw for the day.
“The Viscount de Lettenhove.” The herald announced at the door.
Radovid knew who the Viscount was and yet it still shocked him to see the man walk into the room.
He still wore the same worn red coat, his lute slung over one shoulder, and his hair tucked behind his ear. He’d changed a little over the years, less than Radovid himself had, he suspected. There were a few more lines around his eyes, one or two more grey hairs, and a sense of weariness that came from living through a war.
Radovid had strangely given up hope of anything like this ever happening. He’d dreamed of it incessantly in the first days of his rule, spun a hundred tales of Jaskier waltzing into court, like some avenging hero, to sweep him off his feet and carry him from this hell.
But as the years had passed, and his grief had grown quieter, and the stories of the bard's adventures had grown sparser, he’d stopped dreaming. He’d hardly had time for it between advisory meetings and war councils and the endless, endless list of people he had to charm. He hadn’t even noticed it happening, just realised one day that Jaskier was no longer his very first thought every morning.
That didn’t mean his feelings had grown less, if anything they’d simply been lying dormant in his chest somewhere, and watching him approach the throne now, they returned with an agonising vengeance. It was as if there had been a gaping hole in his heart for years and he’d simply grown so used to it he’d forgotten how much it hurt.
“Take the Viscount to the blue room,” Radovid asked one of the servants, “I’ll hold my audience with him there.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
There was a glimmer of curiosity in the bard's eyes. He was so breathtakingly beautiful, the way the smallest smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. His gaze was still guarded, but he seemed more than willing to do as he’d been asked.
Radovid wished he hadn’t come.
——————
“You shouldn’t be here.”
It was only the two of them now, stood alone in some barely used reception room in the west wing of the palace.
Here, the dim candle light flickered casting long shadows, carving the form of Jaskier into sculpted fractured pieces. Beautiful pieces, but pieces nonetheless. He hadn’t made it out of the war unscathed, the grief Radovid had often seen reflected in the mirror, now shone in Jaskier’s eyes.
“And yet, here I am.”
And yet there was a fragile hope in him, that flickered in and out of Radovid’s perception like those very same candles. It was barely there, but Radovid had always looked at Jaskier and seen hope, so to him, and perhaps him alone, it was unmistakable.
What he had to do next was going to kill him.
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
“Why?” He asked, “because you don’t want me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Jaskier stepped forwards, reaching out. His fingertips brushed the edge of Radovid’s jaw. It was such a gentle touch he almost thought he imagined it. He’d dreamed of something like this for so many years. He couldn’t breathe and he could hardly see. That gaping hole in his heart screamed at him to do something, to reach out himself and pull the bard into his arms. To get on his knees and beg forgiveness for all he’d done. He couldn’t.
“Oh, my darling.”
Jaskier brushed the tears from his eyes with such care it only made him cry more. He wanted nothing more than to fall into the man’s arms and fall apart.
He contemplated if he even had the right. If his position in the court and the politics of the world were different, would he be worthy of Jaskier’s compassion? There was still so much history that lay between them that Radovid had been unable to atone for. He wouldn’t even know how to begin if he tried.
“The years haven’t been kind to you, have they?”
“The years have not been kind to anyone.” He replied.
He was a king. Despite everything he had food on his table and a roof over his head, which was more than half the continent could claim. He lived in a gilded cage, and as much as he despised it, he couldn’t deny he had been well protected. He had the privilege of an army and thick castle walls to hide behind.
He didn’t have the right to fall apart. He was fairly certain he didn’t.
With a great amount of self control, he stepped away.
“Why did you come?”
“I don’t know…”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
Jaskier stepped towards him once more and he struggled to keep the distance between them.
“I can see your eyes, you’re still afraid. What are you so scared of?”
“Everything.”
Philippa and Dijkstra still loomed over Redania like dark vengeful shadows. Their hatred for Radovid was just barely masked by their ambition and their need of him to achieve their plans. The court was not a safe place. Vizimir’s screams still haunted the hallways, even if Radovid had never heard them whilst awake. Jaskier had been right when he had called it a ‘viper’s den’.
But it wasn’t himself Radovid feared for. They needed him alive as long as he had no heir. More than that, they needed a way to control him. They’d been searching for one ever since he’d been crowned, and now Jaskier had waltzed into the court, practically serving himself up on a silver platter.
He dreamed sometimes of finding Jaskier’s body on the floor of his brother’s study instead, red lute strings staining the carpet. He dreamed of Jaskier’s eyes, vacant and glassy, staring at him out of a box, his head cushioned on plush red velvet. He dreamed of dark prison cells and the hangman’s noose. He was terrified of what his advisors could be capable of.
Even if they were gone. The Redanian court was still the Redanian court. A gold plated prison that stifled and suffocated all those who lived in it. Radovid had been bound to it now, there was no escape for him. But he wouldn’t doom Jaskier to the same captivity. As long as he cared for the bard, he could never cage him like that.
“You have to leave.”
“I can’t do that, not without you. After everything, don’t you think we deserve a chance to find out if this was real?”
It was everything he had both hoped and feared to hear. There was nothing but honesty in Jaskier’s eyes, and whatever mask he’d once worn had been cast aside at the door.
“You’re not safe here.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere we can be.”
“You can’t-“
“I love you.”
His heart stopped dead in his chest.
The world closed down to nothing but that moment. The two of them, alone at last, and the realisation that he was loved. And Radovid allowed himself one small indulgence, because he didn’t know how to stop himself.
He leaned forward and brushed their lips together. Despite the years that had passed his memories hadn’t lied to him. Jaskier’s touch was gentle yet insistent, commanding all of his attention and yet somehow making him feel safe for the first time in years. He wanted nothing more than to surrender himself right there and then.
He had many memories of Thanedd island, most either heartbreaking or horrific, but now the ones pulled to the forefront of his mind were the ones he had treasured. Soft touches and whispered promises in the dark. Strong hands holding him close and safe. The feeling of being completely and utterly seen, perhaps for the first time in his life.
He lost himself in a moment in time where everything was perfect. Where he had never hurt Jaskier, where he had never lost him, and they could finally be together. Where he could take the heart that had been held out to him and not be afraid of it withering and dying in his grasp. He allowed himself to believe it was possible for him to love Jaskier without stealing his freedom and destroying the very thing that made Jaskier so special.
Radovid forced himself to step away.
He knew he and Jaskier had only ever been fated to end in tragedy. This was not a love story. He knew what came next, the very thing that would break his own heart, irrevocably, but Jaskier could survive it. He was strong, he had so much love to give, and someday he would find someone who deserved it.
“Radovid, look at me, please.”
“You should leave. Go now. That’s an order.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I love you.”
Jaskier wasn’t safe here. Wherever his story would take him, he deserved a happy ending, and this could never be it.
“It’ll pass.”
Jaskier stepped away, his face torn between a soft smile and a heartbreak that had yet to fight its way to the surface. He turned and walked to the door, opened it, and then just as he was about to leave, he looked back over his shoulder one last time.
“Jaskier?” He called. “For what it’s worth, I love you too.”