Chapter Text
The sun was bright against the yellowing pages of Jaskier’s sketchbook. It had seen too much he thought, for the pages to be this ragged in such a short time. In the last several years more events had occurred than he could possibly have imagined, and this particular book had seen most of them. From the fall of Aretuza at Thannedd island, to the horrors of Stygga castle, and finally the siege of Cintra, it had been his trusted companion through it all. Of course rescuing one’s favourite niece and then joining her in her crusade to take back her homeland didn’t leave much time for poetry or composition, which was probably the only reason he hadn’t long since completed this book and traded it out for a newer one. There were only a few pages left however, and he wanted to write something worthy of the adventure on them.
Each of his companions had managed to scrape a better ending than he could have possibly invented for them. Geralt had found his daughter of destiny, and his wayward witch, and seemed very content to never leave either of their sides again. Yennefer had helped lead the mages that were left in finally beating back Nilfgaard and avenging themselves of their losses at the conclave so long ago. Cahir, Regis, Milva and Angoulême had all just about escaped their journey south unscathed, and whilst he suspected it wouldn’t be long before Milva returned to Brokilon, for now they, along with Jaskier himself, formed the core of Cintra’s council of advisors. As for Ciri, she had finally done what she had spent so long fighting for and taken back her home. It was still early days, but Jaskier suspected she was going to make an excellent queen if what he’d seen so far was anything to go by. Cintra was still struggling to find its feet again after its time as Emhyr’s plaything, but if anyone could help return it to what it once was, it was Ciri.
Jaskier however, sometimes wondered if he still fit in this new world his family was building. Yennefer thrived at politics, and Geralt was more than happy to stick around if it meant protecting Ciri, but Jaskier had run from his role as Viscount for a reason. He itched to get back on the path again, even if just for a short while. Perhaps when he finally finished this notebook he could head out with plans to fill a new one. Milva wouldn’t stay forever and he could always volunteer to accompany her back to the borders of Brokilon when the winter had passed, although he wasn’t entirely sure if straying so close to Tretogor wouldn’t be tempting fate.
Just as he was attempting to get his thoughts back to the lyrics he’d been working on, a dark shadow fell over his page.
“You’re standing in my light.” He muttered, not looking up. “Honestly, it’s like you people have no respect for the art of songwriting.”
“You’re right,” The intruder agreed, her mirth clear in her voice. “It’s exactly like that.”
“What do you want, you little gremlin?” He asked, closing his book and turning to face Angoulême who was leaning against the courtyard wall with a mischievous grin on his face.
“It’s not what I want, uncle. The queen has requested your presence.” She declared.
“Oh?” He replied, confused for half a second until it dawned on him. “Fuck, there was a council meeting this morning wasn’t there?”
“It started half an hour ago.” Angoulême reminded him with a grin. “I’d have hidden out here too if Cahir hadn’t found me. It’s been boring as all fuck.”
“And yet you still came to drag me back.” He lamented. “Come on then, don’t want to keep their highnesses waiting for us.”
Angoulême laughed again and waited somewhat patiently as he gathered his things, before leading the way back inside the main palace and towards the council chambers. He wondered idly if he should invite the girl with him when he eventually decided to go wandering the continent again. Unlike Milva she didn’t seem to detest the city, but despite the titles Ciri had granted her (and the rest of the Hansa) Jaskier could tell she would rather be an adventurer than a lady of the court.
“What’s even on the agenda today?” He asked as they got closer. “The price of timber? Or is that baron from Attre stirring shit again?”
“They’re discussing the Redanian treaty.” She told him. “It’s why I came to get you. Uncle Regis said you’d want to be there.”
“Ah, shit. I’d forgotten.”
Since Ciri had formed her advisory council, Jaskier had tried his best to be of use to her. He wasn’t the politician that Yennefer was, but he’d played in enough courts across the continent that he could usually give some advice or suggestion when discussing their potential allies and enemies. However he had always tried his best to stay silent when it came to Redania. As much as it confused him, he’d never quite gotten over what had happened between him and Radovid, and the complicated tangle of feelings he had about the man hadn’t exactly disappeared with time, only grown easier to ignore. There was nothing he knew about Redania that Yennefer or Regis couldn’t also provide, and since he knew he was incapable of being unbiased, he tried his best not to interfere.
That self-promise of non-interference had only become more important recently as King Radovid had been the first northern monarch to reach out to Ciri and propose an alliance. If it went well, the treaty between their two kingdoms would not only provide an additional layer of protection for Cintra, but Redania would become the first kingdom to formally recognise Ciri as queen. And where Redania led, the rest of the north followed. This treaty had the power to define the entirety of Ciri’s rule, and for that reason alone, Jaskier had to be there. Just in case.
When he arrived at the council they were already deep in discussion, meaning Ciri and Yennefer were arguing intently whilst Geralt glowered at the table and looked slightly constipated. As he entered Jaskier sight of Regis who had only moments earlier been trying to help mediate the discussion, although by the look he shared with the bard it wasn’t exactly going well.
“This is ridiculous.” Milva sighed, arms crossed over her chest. “It’s stupid shit like this that made me abandon humans for Brokilon in the first place. I don’t see why we can’t just sign the treaty and be done with it!”
“She’s right! I don’t understand why our word isn’t good enough?” Ciri agreed, looking for a brief moment like the recalcitrant child who’d refused to speak to Jaskier when they first met. “What’s the point of the treaty if Redania refuses to trust us?”
“The point of the treaty is that they don’t trust us.” Yennefer explained calmly. “If they did, we wouldn't need it.”
“I understand that.” Ciri replied, clearly already fed up of the bureaucracy of it all. “But why do we need a marriage for the king to take us seriously? There is more to honour than blood ties and if he can’t see that then he’s a fool.”
“It’s not just about the King. This is the way things have been done for centuries.” Regis added. “The treaty needs a marriage to seal it not only as a promise, but to pacify the nobility on both sides.”
“Not to mention both Cintra and Redania could use the authenticity of a traditional treaty given the unorthodox ways in which both you and King Radovid rose to the throne.” Yennefer admitted.
Jaskier, sensing the tension in the room, took his seat quietly between Angoulême and Geralt. He had enough experience with nobility to know that both Yennefer and Regis were right, but that didn’t rid him of the sour feeling in his stomach at the thought of the arrangement. As new a new Queen with an unstable rule, Ciri couldn’t possibly marry without putting her authority and her throne at the mercy of her new spouse. Not that Geralt would let her marry for a political arrangement anyway, unless it was truly what she wanted. That meant that the strongest treaty would be the result of the marriage of a Cintran noble to King Radovid.
There was a reason Jaskier refused to give his opinions about Redanian politics.
“Say we do agree to this?” Ciri eventually asked. “Who gets married?”
“And that is the material problem isn’t it.” Yennefer sighed, glancing down at a very short list of scribbled names in front of her.
“So we’re fresh out of gullible nobles?” Angoulême guessed.
“We are somewhat lacking in potential eligible suitors…” Yennefer admitted. “This was always going to be the cost of keeping our circle so close.”
Jaskier couldn’t help but think it was worth it. There wasn’t a person in the room that he didn’t trust to have his niece’s best interests at heart, which was more than most queens could say of their courts, however it also meant that no one was exactly disposable. Half of Cintra’s original nobility had perished when they fled after Nilfgaard sacked the kingdom, and whilst a few had returned, their ranks were small, and had been filled out by trusted friends and allies.
“So what?” Geralt asked. “Do we need to go out and stick a fancy doublet on some poor fucker and claim them as a noble for the day?”
“It doesn’t work like that.” Yennefer replied. “If we title someone for the sake of the treaty the king will find out and this whole alliance will go down the drain.
“Redania has the best spy network on the continent. Or it certainly used to.” Jaskier reminded them all. “Who are our options?”
“What limited nobility we have are either the wrong age or too insignificant to be worth suggesting.” Yennefer lamented handing him the list. “King Radovid has already declared he refuses to wed anyone below the age of twenty.”
“Only sensible thing about him.” Geralt grumbled.
Jaskier looked over the list briefly. He didn’t even have to try not to picture any of them with Radovid, not a single person suggested would be suitable.There were one or two that could perhaps be introduced in such a way that wouldn’t immediately result in a rejection, but no amount of courtly language would fool a man like Radovid indefinitely.
“Jaskier you know the Cintran nobles better than I do, any suggestions?” Yennefer eventually asked.
“None that come to mind. Anyone we have available would be seen as an insult more than a peace offering. Except maybe…”
Suddenly he had an idea. A horrible, terrible, potentially catastrophic idea, but an idea nonetheless. There was one noble in Cintra, unmarried, who had high favour with the queen, enough to make up for the lack of family history to support some of their newer titles. One noble who, if Jaskier was right, the king just might remember fondly enough to be inclined to accept despite their not being what the king’s court might want for a future consort.
“Maybe who?” Geralt asked.
“Me.”
For several moments the room fell entirely silent, until eventually Geralt spoke up.
“Surely that’s the same problem, You’re only a viscount.” He said bluntly.
“Ciri gave me half a dozen minor titles when she took back Cintra, and I’m a member of the council.” Jaskier reminded him. Geralt frowned and said nothing.
“You’re right you have the rank,” Yennefer acquiesced, “but king Radovid has no heir. Getting adopted heirs legitimised is a nightmare, he’d be much less likely to turn down a female candidate.”
“If he wants a queen so badly, why doesn’t he have one yet?” Jaskier argued. The more he thought about it, the more he suspected he might be right. Perhaps he was living in some strange delusion where the King still had feelings for him after all these years, but just maybe the delusion was real. It couldn’t hurt to try if it would save the treaty. “I’m serious, put my name forward.”
“Jaskier-” Geralt protested. Around him the room filled with a strange sort of tension as one by one they realised he was serious. He could understand their confusion, he had hardly believed the words coming out of his mouth, but once he’d thought of it he couldn’t keep it to himself. They were all bemoaning the nobility's need for tradition now, but he knew as well as the rest of them did, that without this treaty Cintra would be too vulnerable. If Jaskier could be the thing that saved it, he couldn’t refuse to try.
“We need this treaty. This could work.” He eventually said.
“We didn’t do all of this just to be separated from each other again.” Ciri replied firmly. Her voice held all the authority of a Queen, but when he looked at her, Jaskier could only see the girl who was terrified of losing her family again.
“No,” Jaskier smiled ruefully. “We did all of this so the three of you could be a family. You, Geralt and Yennefer. And you will be.”
“That’s bullshit!” Ciri shouted. “You’re part of this family too.”
“I know. And I’m happy to do my part to protect it, if that means moving to Redania, so be it.”
“The kingdom with a recent and prolific history of regicide, why yes we feel so assured of your safety.” Yennefer snapped. “You’re not doing this Jaskier, we’ll find another option.”
“You’d save me, wouldn’t you?” He asked, already knowing the answer.
“You seem strangely certain he’ll agree.” Regis noted aloud.
Jaskier wasn’t sure, not even a little bit. If anything, he was already bracing himself for Radovid to turn him down, either because he held some grudge over what Jaskier said to him that morning in Loxia, or because he’d simply forgotten about the bard. He was even more scared that the King might accept him. Whilst he was technically a noble once more under Ciri’s rule, he had a degree of freedom that he would lose forever as a king’s consort. Radovid would have a council made up of strangers rather than family, and they would be suspicious of Jaskier from the start. Not to mention that he’d never exactly told his family about Radovid, there had been too much happening for Jaskier’s slow and painful heartbreak to seem important, but if he wound up married to the man, there was surely only so long he could go before they’d wring the truth from him.
“We won’t know unless we offer.” Jaskier eventually decided.
“You’re certain?” Ciri asked, watching him with concern.
“We don’t have any other real options.” Jaskier reminded her. “I’m certain.”
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later, Jaskier stood up on the battlements, looking out over the city and towards the horizon. There was a cold wind blowing, and he had a lingering suspicion that a storm was headed their way. He could feel it in the bones of his fingers, which ached intermittently. It didn’t take long for one of the others to find him, and he hadn’t expected it to, but he would have put money on Geralt being the first.
“My toothy friend, what can I do for you?” He asked, as Regis joined him, leaning against the wall. The vampire was dressed in a long purple robe that swirled like a dark cloud around his feet. Jaskier pulled his own coat tighter around his shoulders, the familiar worn fabric comforting to the touch.
“I thought I’d see how you were.” The man replied tactfully.
“Fine and fancy free.” Jaskier replied with a truly rubbish pretence at a smile.
“You’re certainly doing a good job of pretending it.” Regis replied with no small measure of sarcasm.
“So, did you volunteer to come talk me out of this?” Jaskier asked, “Or did Geralt panic and beg you so he wouldn’t have to?”
“We both know the Witcher is about as verbose as a brick wall,” Regis replied bluntly. “We agreed as a group it would be better not to be him. He’s too close to you anyway.”
“And you aren’t?” Jaskier grinned. “I’m wounded darling, I thought we were friends.”
“And as your friend, I will say what Geralt won’t.” Regis insisted. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m the best option.” Jaskier repeated. He felt like he’d been saying the words on repeat to himself ever since he left the council chambers, desperately trying to convince himself that he wasn’t just having some sort of bizarre midlife crisis. “The next most eligible council member is probably Cahir which would be a horrendous idea.”
“Perhaps.” Regis chuckled. “But Redania needs this treaty as badly as we do, it wouldn’t be easy, but if we can’t arrange a marriage for it I am sure we would still find another way.”
He was right of course. If the last few years had taught Jaskier anything, it was that there was almost always another way, no corner from which escape was truly impossible. But he couldn’t help but think how improbable their success had already been in simply finding Ciri again, nevermind taking back Cintra. They could claim they had no options and do this the hard way, but just this once he had the power to make everyone else’s lives easier. After all it had been him who had lost Ciri first on Thannedd, if anything this marriage was the very least he owed them all.
“I know.” He said eventually, “But we’ve all been fighting for so long, and doing this will finally afford us all some peace. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Regis admitted. Jaskier looked at him curiously, and he continued, “In all the time we’ve known each other I’ve never once seen you put yourself first.”
“Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer, they’re everything to me.” He explained simply, “And their problems have always been much bigger than I am.”
“But if you ever were to put your own wants first, this would be the time.” The vampire said firmly. “They would back you on it. You know none of them would make you go through with this.”
“I know they would. But my mind is made up.” He said firmly. Then, because the conversation had taken a rather serious turn, added, “Besides, arranged marriages always make for such epic ballads.”
“And when will you write those ballads once you’re the king’s consort?”
“That I’m not worried about.” Jaskier said. He was worried about leaving the path, about losing his freedom, but one thing he knew for sure was that if Radovid forgave him, he’d never take Jaskier’s music from him. “Haven’t you heard, I’m famous? For all we know, King Radovid is a fan.”
“If you say so.” Regis smiled. Jaskier refrained from mentioning exactly how he knew the King wouldn’t object to his music. “I’ll tell Yennefer to pen and send the proposal then?”
“Do it.” Jaskier agreed. “And make sure she emphasises my wit and stunning good looks, would you? I want to make a good impression.”
“I’m sure I can convince her to refrain from insulting you too badly.” The vampire promised.