Chapter Text
When Geralt was young—still only a witcher-in-training—a small bird flew into one of the stone walls of Kaer Morhen and injured itself. It was a fragile little thing, the kind of creature Geralt could have crushed with a careless twitch of his hand.
But he didn't.
Instead, he hid the bird away and tended to it for days, keeping the secret from everyone else in the keep. He couldn't explain why, not even to himself, but he felt something—some thread tying him to the tiny creature, as though he was the only one who could keep it safe.
Eventually, the bird healed and flew off.
Geralt felt an ache he didn't expect, a hollow sadness at losing his small companion. But over the next few days, he sometimes heard it singing from the treetops outside the keep—bright, happy notes that eased the sadness into something warm.
When Radovid was a child, he too was given a bird—a beautiful songbird in a gilded cage, a birthday gift meant to please a prince. He loved the bird, loved the sound of its voice.
But the bird hated the cage.
And in time, the bird hated Radovid.
There's nothing quite like the dread that settles in when you know an execution is coming. Geralt felt it now as the guards came for him. Jaskier was still tied to the post.
"Wait—where are you taking him?" Jaskier shouted, rattling his chains in vain. Geralt wanted to snap at him to shut up before he gave the guards any reason to—
One guard moved to strike him, but the other stopped him with an outstretched hand.
Then Geralt was hauled into the King's tent and shoved into a chair, chains clamping around his wrists before he could catch his breath.
Radovid dismissed the guards with a flick of his hand.
"Witcher," he said, voice smooth and even—yet unable to hide the venom beneath it.
"Your Majesty," Geralt replied. A strange situation, even for him.
"You seem like a reasonable man," Radovid continued, his gaze gliding over Geralt. "At least, as reasonable as someone like you can be."
Geralt snorted. "Cut the carp. What do you want, Your Majesty?"
"Jaskier," Radovid said. Calm. Calculated. A tone cold enough to crawl down Geralt's spine. "I offered him safety. A place by my side. And you know what he chose."
Geralt's Jaw tightened. "I've long since given up trying to understand how Jaskier's mind works."
Radovid idly touched pieces on a chessboard, flicking a few over. "He chose you—and your quest for that girl." He lifted a pawn between two fingers. "So if he won't listen to reason, I've decided to speak to someone who might."
"You want me to convince Jaskier to stay with you?" Geralt asked. "It's hard enough getting him not to chase after the next monster he sees. What makes you think I can make him stay anywhere?"
Radovid shook his head. "It's simple. I'm not asking you to convince him. I'm bargaining with you."
Geralt's hands curled into fists. "Jaskier isn't some trinket you can buy whenever you're bored."
"It's not like that—I love him," Radovid snapped. And part of Geralt wondered how much was truth and how much was a king trying to believe he could feel something real. "I can protect him. Care for him. What can you do?"
"I can keep my bard safe," Geralt said before he could stop himself.
"Safe?" Radovid circled him, brushing close. "From where I stand, he's stumbling after you through monster dens, mage conspiracies, and half the Continent's political disasters. With me, he'd have protection. Comfort. A future."
Geralt didn't answer. His silence wasn't agreement—but it wasn't denial either. Doubt slipped under his ribs like a blade. The path ahead was steep, dangerous, and utterly unforgiving. And Jaskier had already nearly died more times than Geralt wanted to remember.
Radovid noticed the hesitation instantly—like a hound scenting blood.
"You know he'd follow you to the end of the world," he said softly. "And the end of the world has a habit of circling you."
Geralt swallowed. Even on this journey alone, Jaskier had almost been dragged to hell. And that had been one of the kinder fates he'd narrowly escaped.
Radovid leaned back. "Here's my offer. Hand him over to me. I'll have him taken safely back to Redania. He'll be cared for. Protected."
Geralt frowned. "I'm not one for manipulation. This deal feels very… one-sided."
"I wasn't finished," Radovid said. "In return, I'll grant you coin. And safe passage for your journey to find—Cirilla. I can make your path… significantly easier."
A chill slid down Geralt's spine. Radovid wasn't wrong. The journey ahead was perilous, more so than Geralt could explain. Jaskier was lucky—but luck never lasted forever. And the bard had an unfortunate habit of flirting with death.
"He'll hate me," Geralt murmured. Jaskier could never stand being caged.
Radovid didn't pause. "He'll live. Isn't that better?"
He extended his hand.
"So," the King asked, "do we have a deal?"
Back in the tent where Jaskier was being held, he jolted upright, a surge of panic gripping him as the guards dragged Geralt inside.
"Are you hurt?" he asked quickly, sitting up straighter despite the chains still securing him to the pole. But Geralt didn't answer. His eyes dropped to the dirt floor instead.
"Geralt… what did they do?" Jaskier pressed, worry tightening his voice.
Just then, Radovid strode in. "Wonderful news," he announced brightly. With a gesture, he ordered his guards to unchain Jaskier—though they kept a firm grip on his arms, as if he'd be foolish enough to attempt escape. "Geralt and I have agreed."
"An agreement on what?" Jaskier demanded, darting a glance between them.
Radovid stepped closer, cupping Jaskier's face with a false tenderness that felt more like a threat.
"Oh, you're coming back to Redania with me," he said.
Jaskier tore his head away, fury flashing in his eyes as he struggled against the guards' hold. "I've told you—I will not stay with you."
His gaze shifted to Geralt just in time to see a guard press a heavy bag into the witcher's hand. Jaskier recognized the clinking inside instantly.
"Geralt…" he whispered, horror breaking through his anger.
Geralt still said nothing. He couldn't even look at him.
Radovid snapped his fingers. "Guards. Get Jaskier into the carriage."
"Geralt!" Jaskier's voice cracked with desperation as they dragged him toward the tent's opening. "Please, don't let them take me—don't let them take me!"
For a heartbeat, Geralt nearly told him he was sorry. Nearly told him this was the only way to keep him safe, that Jaskier would be better off far away from the danger Geralt carried like a curse.
"I'll hate you!" Jaskier shouted as he was shoved into an ornate carriage. "You hear me, witcher? I'll never forgive you—I'll hate you for as long as I live!"
The horses lurched forward. Only then did Geralt allow himself to whisper the words he'd never dared say aloud.
"I love you," he murmured, watching the carriage disappear into the distance.
Arriving in Redinia seemed like a daze to Jaskier. Finally, once the carriage arrived at the royal palace, one of the guards tried to grab Jaskier's arms.
"Don't touch me," Jaskier snapped, yanking his arm away. But the guards were undeterred, as another one materialized. Could they appear out of thin air? Jaskier's unease grew as he wondered if these guards would keep coming.
"My orders are to escort you to your quarters," The guard stated firmly, pulling Jaskier out of the carriage. With the two guards flanking him, one holding Jaskier's arm in an unyielding grip, Jaskier was led up to the highest tower.
There was an ornate bedroom, a large canopy bed with richly embroidered sheets, a desk with intricate carvings, a chest for clothing with silver handles, and a bookcase filled with ancient tomes. And still, there was room left over, a testament to the grandeur of the palace.
"I've tried to make the room to your liking," Radovid said, voice overly eager, "And I'll get you a new lute or any instrument you desire. Just tell me what you want, and I'll buy it for you."
Radovid walked over to where Jaskier was standing. "It will be perfect, my love."
For his part, Jaskier took a step back. "It's a nice cage," Jaskier said, looking around. This caused Radovid to frown.
"It's not a cage, it's your home."
Jaskier's laugh was soft, breathless and almost gentle. But it held a razor's edge.
"A home," He repeated, rolling the words on his tongue, like it was a bitter berry. "You say that as though I had any choice in being here."
Radovid's Jaw tightened. "You do have a choice. You can try to make this easy. You can at least try to see what I'm offering."
Jaskier walks over to the bed, picking up one of the many decorative pillows. "What you're offering," Jaskier said, voice dropping to cold whispers. "Is a prettied-up prison with softer pillows."
Radovid reached for him again, more tentative this time, almost cautious. But Jaskier sidestepped, with fluid grace he long ago honed through years of avoiding drunks who either wanted to fight, or thought her owed them a kiss.
"Don't," Jaskier warned. "Don't touch me."
Radovid's nostrils flared. "You'll calm down."
Jaskier's eyes shot back a sharp look. "You sound awfully sure of that."
The King exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. "You're upset now. But in time, you'll see this is better for you."
"Better?" Jaskier let out a laugh. "Better than having my freedom, better than my own life. Better than"
He stopped himself before Geralt's name could tumble out; it was now trapped on his tongue.
"The witcher and I agreed," Radovid said. "This was what's best for you."
Jaskier closed his eyes, a sharp, stabbing pain ripping through him like a brutal punch, leaving him breathless and vulnerable.
"He chose what was best for him," He said. "Not me"
Radovid stepped closer, slow enough not to spook a frightened horse. "He chose your safety." Jaskier's eyes snapped open, burning with fury. "Don't you dare speak for him. Like you guys are best buddies."
The room fell silent for a heartbeat. Then another went by.
Radovid straightened, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his doublet. "You will have everything you need here-comfort, tools, instruments, books, food, clothes-anything you like," he said, voice smooth with false reassurance.
"And freedom?" Jaskier asked.
Silence.
Radovid didn't flinch, but that was all the answer Jaskier needed.
"That's what I thought," Jaskier muttered.
Radoivd took one step towards the door. "Dinner will be brought up shortly. The guards are on the other side of the door. You can ask them for anything."
"Ah, yes," Jaskier slid into an exaggerated bow. "My new entourage."
Without turning around, Radovid said. "They'll keep you safe."
"They'll keep me in line."
Radovid's hands paused on the doorframe, shoulders tight. "Try to see that I'm doing this because I love you."
Jaskier's laugh was soft this time. Sad. "This isn't love, it's possession."
Radovid hesitated just long enough. Then he stepped out and shut the door.
The lock slid into place with a heavy metallic finality.
Jaskier didn't move for a long moment. Didn't breathe. Didn't blink. He just started at the door. Feeling the walls of the room creep closer.
Slowly, she crossed to the window.
Jaskier sank to his knees to look outside. To freedom, he would never have again.
The news came a few months later. Months spent locked in his room. Radovid would visit him once a day, hoping to win the bard's love again, mostly when there were servants to come, dress, and bring food to Jaskier.
It seemed fitting that it was a rainy day when the news came.
Geralt and Yennefer were dead. Ciri was nowhere to be found.
Jaskier's family was dead and gone.
There was a riot in Rivia, and humans attacked non-humans. Geralt, of course, tried to save as many people as he could, but it didn't matter. A pitchfork still finds its way to Geralt's chest. Yennefer died trying to save him. Reports say that Ciri left again, so after Geralt and Yennefer's bodies were put on a boat.
People always said Jaskier was dramatic, but now his tears soaked his pillow as he mourned his lost family, feeling utterly broken.
Radovid entered the room, voice trembling with regret. "Jaskier, I truly am sorry," he said softly, trying to find the right words.
Jaskier shot up in bed. "Sorry, you're sorry," Jaskier said, his eyes red-rimmed from tears. "My whole family is dead, and you're sorry."
"I don't know what else to say," Radovid said, walking over to try and touch Jaskier's arms. The bard recoiled. "But you're alive, I kept you safe."
Jaskier stared blankly before he started screaming. 'GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT. I HATE YOU"
Radovid froze.
For the first time since dragging Jaskier back to Redania, the King looked... shaken. Not angry. Not indignant. Not calculating.
Just shaken.
Jaskier's screams echoed off the stone walls, raw and ragged, tearing through the castle like a desperate cry for help, shattering his once warm voice.
Jaskier didn't care.
He kept screaming.
"GET OUT! GET OUT"
He threw the pillow at Radovid. The other. A candlestick followed, clattering hard against the floor. At this point, Jaskier wasn't even aiming, just kept reaching, grabbing, and hurling whatever he could get his hands on.
"Jaskier" Radovid tried again, voice trembling.
"I HATE YOU!"
Radovid held steady so servants could come in. "He needs rest," Radovid order. It didn't take Jaskier long to see the needle in the servant's hand.
"No, stay the fuck away from" Jaskier said, backing up, but it was too later, one of the guards held him.
The needle went into Jaskier's arms as Jaskier fell asleep.