Chapter Text
”I’m sorry.”
When Julek looked up into those grey eyes, they truly did look sorrowful, almost brimming with tears. His stomach twisted both from the pain of the blows and from the conflicted look on his best friend's face. Julek tried to muster up a comforting smile, but it only came out as a twisted grimace.
”Don’t apologize, Damir. Julek should be begging forgiveness for his weakness.”
Gritting his teeth, the young boy tried to stand, ignoring the hand offered to him by Damir. The instructor was right, Julek had been weak. That was why Damir won the fight. That was why he would get to sleep with a full belly and Julek would suffer through another punishment, another attempt at beating the weakness out of him.
”Julek, stay here. The rest of you go to supper,” The instructor ordered, the boys obediently forming a line and leaving the sparring room. The man made a disapproving sound. “When will you learn? At this rate, you’ll die before making it out of your apprenticeship.”
The words were spoken in distaste and Julek ignored them, eyes facing the wall and carefully not looking at the man who loomed over him. He was so tired of men looming over him. The thought could not be dwelled on for long, as his bicep was gripped too harshly, like the way his mother used to grip it as she scolded him. The familiarity could have been comforting, he supposed.
Tossed to the ground, Julek was made to lay with his feet straight. He knew what was coming, this punishment. It was not the first time, he had the scars to prove it. Yet no matter how many times it happened, he still felt the sting anew when the switch came down on the soles of his feet, cutting and flaying the skin there. It was never deep enough to debilitate, but always deep enough to be painful for a few days, especially when he walked.
That night, he lay under his thin blanket, head pillowed on the lumpy mattress as he sobbed. His shoulders and chest wracked with the heaving wails that he tried to stifle. None of the instructors cared if they heard, the crying was white noise to them at this point.
”Julek,” Damir’s soft voice called and the boy could feel the mattress dip as his friend clambered onto it. “I’m so sorry!”
The young shapechanger lifted his head from under his blanket, taking in the ruddy cheeks and red eyes of his best friend. Damir’s hand was on Julek’s ankle, rubbing soothing circles into the bone there while not daring to touch the mottled skin on the bottoms of his feet. With a sigh, he sat up fully, reaching forward to grab Damir’s hand and still its movements.
”Don’t be sorry. You’re better and that’s good! It means you’ll survive,” Julek tried to assure him, never one to let another be sorrowful on his behalf. “I wish I could be better.”
“Fuck,” Jaskier groaned as the light hit his sensitive eyes, cursing at both the pounding in his head and the memory that decided to invade his nightmares. Gods above he wished he had more to drink before he was knocked out.
“Jask,” There was an affirmative hum from above him and Jaskier had to blink many times until his vision adjusted enough for him to make out a head of white hair and a pair of golden eyes. “Are you alright?”
“No, I think I’m still dreaming,” Jaskier groaned, tilting his head back and rubbing his eyes again. Hopefully when he opened them again, Geralt would be gone. Of course his luck was never that good and the man was still leaning over him when Jaskier reopened them. The sight of the Witcher above him was so startling to Jaskier that he had to fight to keep his eyes from changing color to match Geralt’s, an annoying quirk that happened to him when he was either around someone he admired or feared. At this moment, he wasn’t sure which one Geralt was. “Fuck!”
“Easy,” The moment that Geralt’s hand touched his shoulder, Jaskier was suddenly lucid enough to slap it away.
“Don’t touch me,” Jaskier hissed, sitting up rather rapidly. His head began to spin at the sudden movement, hands coming to cradle it as his stomach lurched. “Where am I?”
It became clear that he was no longer at the Inn. Wooden walls and a sturdy roof had been replaced by green trees and shining stars. He was lying on a bed roll that definitely wasn’t his own and there was a warm fire nearby, managing to chase the chill away from him.
“Camp,” Geralt answered, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s face as he began to explain. “I finished off the bandits, then Ciri and I dragged you out of the village before the guards could arrive.”
“Yes, away from the guards and the very plush bed and half-decent ale that I had just procured,” The ex-bard groused, pushing his hair out of his face as he took in his situation. A few feet away, the young girl from the bar sat on a rock, staring hard at Jaskier as if he were some sort of puzzle to be solved. It was reminiscent of the way that Geralt would stare at him when he was trying to weasel information out of Jaskier when the bard was uncharacteristically quiet. “So they were right then. This would be the princess?”
The young girl stuck out her chin, nose tipped up as she did her best to present an air of authority. “Princess Cirilla of Cintra. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Right,” Jaskier huffed, irritation creeping up on him to be found in this situation. “Jaskier, Julek. Call me whatever you want as long as it’s preceded by ‘goodbye’.”
“Jask-”
“I mean really Geralt,” Jaskier hissed, standing from the bedroll and beginning to search for his things. “I was having a perfectly good evening before you showed up! Job done with minimal issues, my stress taken away by a nice bath and a very well endowed barmaid, and a warm bed waiting for me. All of that thrown out the window because you two were stupid enough to show your faces when half the continent is looking for you! Gods, and you said that I was the one shoveling shit.”
“Jaskier, I’m sorry-”
“Save it for someone who cares, Witcher.” The ex-bard turned his back to the silver-haired man. “Did you at least manage to get my things before you ruined my very lovely evening?”
At that moment, Ciri disappeared into the shadows before reemerging with Jaskier’s things. She handed him his pack as well as his lute, though the brunette barely looked at his instrument before grabbing the pack and making sure his weapons and armor were still inside. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the items unharmed.
“Perfect,” He sighed with relief, pulling out a few knives and securing them to his belt. Ciri once again approached him, this time holding the leather coat he had entrusted to her. She looked slightly unsure as she handed it over, eyebrows quirked and a slight shake in her hands, like she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him.
A pang of sympathy ran through the assassin. Unfortunately, he could relate to what it felt like to lose your home, to be dragged around with a stranger who was in the business of money for blood.
“I kept it safe for you,” She muttered, thrusting it forward. “Skellige leather and all.”
For the first time in months, Jaskier allowed his lips to curl into a genuine smile as he gingerly took the coat from her grasp and shrugged it on. “A thousand thanks, Princess. You’ve no idea the work I did to buy this.”
He received a curt nod before the girl retreated back to her seat, tugging her cloak tighter around herself to stave off the cold. Jaskier dragged his eyes away from her shivering form and managed to turn his gaze to Geralt once more, the smile instantly falling from his lips.
“Right then,” Jaskier grasped his pack and slung it over his shoulder, dropping into a mocking bow. “It has been a true displeasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’d best be off.”
“Jaskier, you can’t leave,” Geralt protested, taking a step closer. Of course, with each step forward that he took, the brunette took one back, keeping just out of reach.
“Uh, can. Will. Am about to, actually,” Jaskier huffed and spun on his heel. Before he could more than a step away a hand grasped his elbow tightly.
“Jaskier, those bandits aren’t dead. They recognized Ciri, they saw you defend her. Word will spread that you helped and you’ll be wanted as well,” Geralt spoke through gritted teeth, his grip tightening with every word. If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d assume the Witcher was worried. But of course, that couldn’t be true. Geralt rarely worried, certainly never about Jaskier.
”If life could give me one blessing”
“You need to come with us, Jaskier. It’s safer-”
“Oh, but of course,” The brunette began to laugh mockingly, tearing his arm from Geralt’s grasp and spinning to face the mutant. “I’ll just pack up my things and follow you around for another twenty fucking years! No, I’m not in the habit of making the same mistake twice. Besides, I have things I need to do.”
“Like what?” Geralt growled.
“I do have a job, Witcher, I need coin,” Jaskier crossed his arms, earning an eyeroll from the other man.
“Singing is exactly the kind of thing that will draw attention-”
“I’m not planning on singing! I’m not a fucking bard anymore,” Jaskier nearly screamed the admission. For the first time, Geralt looked shocked. His yellow eyes widened and his lips parted with an intake of air that might have been considered a gasp. Taking a deep breath, the ex-bard pushed his hair out of his face and tried to remain civilized. “Look, incase it escaped your notice, I have no problem defending myself. I don’t need your protection and I have no interest in traveling with you again. I suggest we just part ways as strangers and pray we never cross paths again.”
“Julek,” Geralt huffed, reaching forward to grasp Jaskier’s wrist, his grip much softer than it had been on his elbow. The touch was unfamiliar and Jaskier was sure the other man could feel his racing pulse through his skin. When yellow eyes met blue, they were filled with sincerity and true fear. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want you to go.”
With a scoff, the brunette jerked his hand from the Witcher’s grasp. “Really? I distinctly remember you calling my absence a blessing.”
“Julek…” Geralt could say no more, the words trapped in his throat as always, hand extended just slightly as if to reach for Jaskier one more time.
“Master Bard,” Ciri interrupted, standing from the rock and approaching the two adults. “You may not need protection, but I do. Geralt and I have been traveling alone, trying to avoid them as best as we can, but it’s difficult by ourselves. I saw you fight those bandits. You’re strong! You could help us.”
“Listen, Ciri-”
“Master Bard, surely destiny has brought you to Geralt just as it brought Geralt to me,” The young girl tried, worrying her lip as she looked up at Jaskier with doe eyes. “Would it not be prudent to continue with us for at least a little longer? Until you are able to go about your job as you say? We could split expenses?”
Sighing, Jaskier looked from the young princesses wide eyes, to the open expression of hope on Geralt’s face. The latter seemed to fill him with more rage than anything, but the former was beginning to break his resolve. How could he say no to someone so clearly in need, especially when he had been in a similar place in his own youth, scared and confused with home far behind him.
“Fine, fucking fine,” Jaskier groaned, tipping his head back to exaggerate his contrite expression before turning to look back at Ciri. “You’d have made a fine negotiator in another life, dear Princess.”
The young woman broke out into a grin, happily skipping back to the fire as if she had just won some sort of prize. She sent a knowing look to Geralt before she picked up a stick and began poking at the fire.
“Thank you, Jaskier,” Geralt spoke, tone low, a relieved expression crossing his usually passive features. “I know you didn’t want to stay. It will be easier with you here.”
“Eat glass, Witcher,” Jaskier flashed a false smile before shouldering past the silver-haired man with far more aggression than Geralt had ever thought him capable of.
Geralt grumbled to himself, going to where Roach was and beginning to pack up their things. He watched as Jaskier kicked a rock and dug through his pack. It became very apparent that the bard hadn’t asked after or looked for his lute, which Ciri had with her things.
“Are we leaving already?” Ciri approached him, a frown on her face.
“We have to. Nilfgaard could be on our tail already. The fight at the tavern wasn’t exactly…quiet,” Geralt muttered, casting a suspicious look at Jaskier.
“On our way then?” Jaskier butted in, having obviously been eavesdropping. “Where are we heading?”
“Kaer Morhen,” Geralt answered, nodding North of them.
“Wonderful,” came Jaskier’s snide reply. “Don’t worry Witcher, I’m sure I can find somewhere to pop off to on the way. Twenty years without an invite, I’d hate to break your streak now.”
“Jask-”
“Let’s be off then,” The other man ignored him, grabbing his pack and his jacket before wandering off, leaving Geralt to lift Ciri onto Roach and lead the horse after him.
Geralt turned to Ciri, the young woman looking down at him from Roach’s back with a raised brow. The Witcher tried to give her a reassuring look. “You heard him. Off we go.”