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Chapter Text

News of the destruction spread fast. The realm was doomed, long expected as was foreseen when the wolves reached the southern border.

The kingdom, their home…

Gone forever. Or soon to be.

“We have few choices left.” 

“Sire, this is the only way.”

“We must do what needs to be done.”

The words were a distant noise as Jaskier remained seated in the corner and listened. His father had called for a meeting with the council as soon as the message had been conveyed about Radovids demise.

His uncle was dead. Redania was in ruins.

His father was the ruling monarch now. And his brother was next in line.

“But sire, he’s your-“

“SILENCE!”

Jaskier flinched hard as the scream pierced the air. Even with his head down and his hands lying closed on his lap, it was difficult for him to resist the urge to run far from the room.

His father, a tall hulking beast of a man was far more capable than anyone of teaching him the consequences of that. He had before.

He always did.

“I have made my decision.” Alfred Pancratz, the new King of Redania declared and jerked a finger towards his son.

“Julian will serve as part of the peace offering to the White Wolf. And in return, we will retain the freedom to deal as we always have. What happens beyond the borders is none of our concern.”

“Sire-“

“Enough.” Alfred said in a cold tone and waved for the guardsmen around the room. “Take Julian and prepare him. He is to be made suitable for the Warlord.”

With a cold smile, he then looked at Jaskier and spoke with pointed words.

“Should he try to escape, burn his fingers. Oh, and make sure to burn the lute. He won’t be needing it under the White Wolf’s command.”

The sensation of ice ran down his back as panic coursed through his veins. His lute-he couldn’t-

“Father please! Please don’t-!”

“Silence!” His father screeched and without warning, backhanded him hard. 

Tears filled his eyes as he raised a shaky hand to the sharp sting making his face throb. With utter betrayal, Jaskier looked up at his father and tried once more.

“Please father, the White Wolf, maybe he won’t mind if I-“

“Another word from you and I will bring the flames myself.” His father said viciously and narrowed his eyes as if he had trodden on dirt. “You will do what is needed. Any of your brothers can govern the throne. You will carry out this duty instead. You must for you don’t have a choice.”

Throughout his life, he had always been treated as the hated one, the black sheep of the family. Despite being the youngest of his brothers, his father had always disliked him the most. He had inflicted countless punishments, throughout his life, claiming that Jaskier was too small, too weak, too soft.

He had always called Jaskier a disgrace. And when his mother had passed away when he was ten summers old, he had known cruelty of which no child could cope with.

Only music brought him joy. The lute that his mother had given him was his aid-his light in the darkness, and while his father continued to inflict horrors upon him for never being good enough, he still managed to find peace and contentment in being alone with his music.

And alone he was. Would continue to be when he was given to the White Wolf.

“Do not fear.” One of his maids soothed as they scrubbed him up and down while bathing him. “Perhaps the White Wolf will be gentle with you. You are very pretty after all.”

“Perhaps you should scream for him when the time comes. He is a Warlord after all. He will want to be firm.”

“Firm!? He will be relentless! The Prince must prepare himself well before-my lord, are you alright?”

“Please leave!” He gasped out as he struggled not to hyperventilate. 

It would hurt. He didn’t want it to hurt.

“P-please, just-“ 

“Oh look at him, poor dear! He’s gone pale as ice!”

The maids finished the bathing quickly after that. But as he was led to the bedroom, his heart racing in his chest, he could hear them whispering as they scuttled away.

“He won’t last the first night. He will probably be nothing more than a corpse come morning.”

“They’re beasts aren’t they? And the Prince is so small.”

“I’ve heard of whores who’ve died from infection. He’ll be torn apart and on his own, who will look after him? The mountains are unforgiving.”

His eyes burned as he watched the droplets of water from his hair fall onto his lap. Deep in his heart, something ached.

Maybe it would be better for it to end like this. In his final moments, he’d think of his mother and his lute and all the songs he wanted to sing.

That would disappear with him.

After a night of restless sleep, Jaskier was woken by the pounding of fists against his door and firm orders to get up and get dressed for the occasion. Every cell of his body wanted to scream in protest, but even he knew there was no choice in this.

Between his father and the White Wolf of the North, he had no choice left. No options. 

If he tried to escape, he’d be caught without delay. His father was now the king and any attempt at escape would mean punishment. More punishment.

And he was tired. When he was younger, he’d tried many times to fight back-to escape this Hell. But at the age of twenty, he was exhausted. He didn’t care anymore. He just felt numb all the time.

It had pleased his father, he knew. To see the light disappear in his eyes, to strip the joy that was once Jaskier and just leave Julian, the perfect puppet for his ruling. Sometimes Jaskier wondered if it had been his fathers sole purpose to ruin every ounce of joy he got.

Will the White Wolf be any better? he wondered, as he let the maids dress him in a dark blue doublet with gold embroidery. Will he want to hurt him too?

“I’m so tired Essi. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Jaskier, no, you cant give in, you can’t!”

“I don’t want to fight anymore. It just means I’ll be hurt more.”

“You can still find a way, you can still-“

“They’re talking of a treaty. He’ll give me to the White Wolf.”

“You can’t let him-“

“I CAN’T DO ANYTHING ESSI! I CAN’T DO A THING!”

“Jaskier…”

“My fingers…I need to put more salve on them…my fingers…”

He would miss Essi. And his lute and his music.

“Prince Julian, it’s time. They are waiting.”

Silent as the grave, he marched towards the main hall with his army of maids and servants in tow. A procession for the fallen. It would perhaps have made a good song, had it not been for the doomed nature of the walk. Not long left.

The large ornate doors were opened to reveal the main hall in all it’s magnificent glory. The high ceiling was glistening with jewels hanging from the chandeliers. In the centre was a walkway, made clear by rows of long tables with tremendous amounts of food-the most lavish cuisine in the land.

Jaskier hated it. It made his stomach curl.

At the very end of the room was the high table where there, on the right side, sat the famous White Wolf.

He was easily distinguishable. The long white hair was carefully tied back half way to reveal a chiselled face with a prominent jawline. It might have even been handsome, had it not been for the sheer terror that Jaskier felt when those piercing yellow eyes met his. They bore into his like an arrow.

“Please allow me to introduce my son, Prince Julian.” His father pronounced, and without another word, raised a hand and beckoned him towards the high table.

The White Wolf’s gaze continued to follow him. Each step was filled with scrutiny from the audience as well as the high table. As Jaskier walked, he noticed another yellow eyed man with a long scar on his left cheek and dark brown hair sitting beside the great Warlord. His eyes were narrowed and he seemed to turn and whisper something to the Warlord, all while staring at Jaskier.

Jaskier swallowed and continued to walk. It was all he could do at this point.

“Ah, Julian, perfect. Come sit here and meet the great White Wolf. You will be joining him tonight.”

Jaskier jolted at that. He hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He thought he’d have more time at least to prepare himself mentally for the new life he’d lead.

There was silence on the table as Jaskier walked around with an unseeing gaze. His servants guided him to the empty seat beside his father and pushed the chair behind him. A hefty plate of meats drizzled in sauce was set in front of him and so he took his cutlery and began to cut the first piece. It tasted like ash in his mouth.

“It does not have to be tonight.” A deep voice said suddenly, and Jaskier froze when he remembered what was being discussed. But he didn’t recognise the voice until he looked up from behind his father and saw-

The White Wolf was staring at him. Not his father, but him.

“Prince Julian.” The man with the scar on his cheek said from behind the White Wolf. “Would you like to stay for longer? It does not have to be tonight.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to answer but then paused when his father turned and frowned at him. 

He closed his mouth and shook his head, looking back at his food. Or rather, the pink blisters still lingering on his fingers. 

“There you have it. You will find my son is very quiet but I can assure you, he is very excited to be going with you. He has always longed of adventure you see.” The king laughed as if he’d said something incredibly humorous.

The White Wolf didn’t think so however. He merely kept staring at Jaskier whenever he looked up.

“I would like to stay here. For two more nights. Before we finalise everything.”

“Ah but of course! We will arrange for-“

“With Prince Julian. I wish to stay with him.”

His father’s expression morphed from shock to suspicion to absolute glee. He clapped his hands together in triumph and beamed at the wolves.

“But of course! Yes, this is a much better proposal. You should know what it is that you are being given.”

Jaskier could barely stomach his food after that. Could barely look up at the man who he would soon belong to.

And Gods, after tonight everyone would know. There would be talk of abuse throughout the night and in the morning he would have to face the words of others.

If he even woke up. He may be too ruined for that.

“The fire is growing cold Serbius. Make sure to keep it stoked.”

“Of course sire.”

As his father sent his men to retrieve some more wood for the fire behind them, Jaskier looked up once more to see the Warlord looking at him again.

“Ah, my son is an interesting one. I see you can’t help but stare. It must be his features, they often make us all wonder-“

“He looks elven.” The Warlord said in a low tone, but there was no hint of offence behind the words.

“Perhaps.” His father scowled and had Jaskier been in higher spirits, he would have laughed. As it was, all he could manage was a slight twitch of his lips. 

It didn’t go unnoticed. His blood ran cold when he took another bite and saw the Warlord looking amused.

“Features such as that are said to be blessed.” The man behind the White Wolf added, with a too innocent smile that Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder if they knew what they were doing. “The Prince must bring a lot of joy to those he surrounds.”

“Of course!” The King smiled again, suddenly perking up. “Of all my sons, he is the most delicate.”

The White Wolf raised a brow at that. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes. Even in mind as well. He takes after his mother you see.”

“Ah.” The wolf with the scar noted and made brief eye contact with the Warlord. “So for you, that should be the greatest gift.”

But the King merely waved the idea away. “Details. My son has some traits of his mother but not all. The most important thing is his duty.”

“That’s not-“

“I think what Eskel is trying to say is that we are very grateful.” The White Wolf cut in swiftly, holding a hand up to stop his…

Eskel?

“-will look after your son.”

“Very good. I have no doubt you will do so. Oh, perfect timing!”

The servants who’d been sent to come back with more firewood had arrived. When they bowed, Jaskier’s blood turned to ice and his knife and fork slipped from his hands and clattered onto the plate. 

“F-father-“

“Hush now Julian, did you think I had forgotten?” His father turned to him with a sickly smile and waved his hand to the servant holding his lute. 

The servant hesitated for a moment, the boy obviously uncertain in the face of Jaskier’s broken expression. Jaskier himself hadn’t realised until he felt tears well in his eyes.

With a heavy heart, Jaskier took a shuddery breath and looked down in his lap. It didn’t matter either way. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Wait.”

All eyes turned to the White Wolf. Including the servants.

“That lute. Bring it to me.”

The sheer boldness of the request stunned everyone. But before the King could even respond, the servant was dashing towards the Great Wolf with the lute outstretched. Unconcerned by the stares, the Warlord took hold of the instrument and inspected it carefully.

“This lute…it is yours?” The Warlord asked, and when no one spoke, Jaskier looked up and realised the question was directed to him. Everyone was staring at him.

“Y-yes my Lord.”

The Warlord lowered his voice and spoke softly. “Geralt. You will call me Geralt.”

“Yes m-my Geralt.”

The Warlord, no, Geralt, hummed in response and continued to inspect the instrument. Then, when he was done, he looked up at the King and gave smile that bordered on being far too restrained to be friendly.

“I would like to keep this. If I may?” 

The King, for his part did not stutter as much as Jaskier thought he would. Rather he grunted and eyed the lute with distain.

“You do not need to take such filth. I can provide you a much better instrument, if only you would just-“

“We will have this one.” Geralt replied, and passed the lute back to Eskel’s waiting hands. “Consider it part of my…offering.”

“Of course.” His father muttered but Jaskier could see he was livid. His father, much like his uncle, hated to be turned down. It was part of what led to Radovid’s demise.

For a moment, he wondered if the Warlord knew that already.

“I would like to retire to my quarters. May I request the company of the Prince?”

“Yes, of course. Julian, escort the Great White Wolf to the guest chambers.”

With a nod, Jaskier stood up and began to leave the hall with the White Wolf walking behind him. 

The eyes of his father followed him as he walked. And the words of his father filled his mind.

Do not disappoint me.

They were silent as they walked. The journey felt long and arduous and Jaskier had never felt more alone. He knew what awaited him when those doors closed behind him. It wasn’t a fate he wished to face.

He was afraid. All the stories he had heard of the Wolves and what was done to lost princes, it…it scared him.

“I’m scared. What if papa gets angry again?”

“Oh my sweet one. Have I told you the story of the knight in white armor?”

“How old are you, Julian?”

He was shaken from his thoughts when the White Wolf, Geralt, spoke up from behind. He tried to take a deep breath to calm his nerves but nothing helped. They were getting closer to the guest chambers.

“Twenty summers, my Lord.”

“You are young.” Geralt acknowledged as he drew his own conclusions. “You have not yet ruled?”

A bitter smile crept onto his face as they reached the door to the guest room. “No, my lord.”

The silence grew heavy again as Jaskier fumbled with the ring of keys to try and open the door. After a minute of trying to find the correct one, Geralt stepped forward and held out his hands.

“Allow me.” Geralt said softly and eased the keys out of Jaskier’s hands to find the right one. When he found the correct one, he pushed the door open and held his hand out for Jaskier to go through first.

“After you, young Prince.”

The room was unlit but had a soft glow from the moonlight that shone through the open window. The large bed which was surrounded by curtains, stood prominently in the centre of the wall, with a few chests beside it to give space for items to be placed. A small desk with parchment and ink could also be found and had it not been for the sordid nature of this meeting, Jaskier wouldn’t have necessarily minded the room.

“Sit.” Geralt said as he locked the door behind them. Jaskier took a deep breath.

He walked towards the bed and sat on the edge. His ears were ringing.

“I have looked forward to meeting you. I am pleased to see you.”

“Me too.” He whispered, watching the Warlord’s shadow move across the floor.

Black robes fell to the ground. Black braces next.

“Your father is…he is a difficult man. Not unlike Radovid.”

“Hm.”

“Tell me what you think.”

Jaskier couldn’t think. He couldn’t see beyond the leather belt that was now on the floor with the pile. He dared not look up; he was terrified of what he would see.

“Prince, you look pale. Do you wish to lie down?”

The words sounded so kind and yet so heart-wrenching. Yet Jaskier had no choice but to obey. Silent as the grave, he turned around and slid onto his side on the bed. 

“Prince.”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm his breathing. He felt sick, like he was going to throw up or cry.

“Julian.” He heard again and felt the bed dip beside him. “Look at me.”

Jaskier swallowed and turned around. Geralt was sat beside him.

“Julian. You’re shaking.”

The ringing grew louder in his ears for a moment. Then it stopped.

It all seemed to stop. The world was silent. It was just him and this stranger alone in the dark.

“Oh…” He breathed when he looked at his hand resting on the pillows beside him. It trembled and shook like a branch in a storm, and all of a sudden, his throat felt like it was about to close.

Tears welled in his eyes. But still, he waited-waited patiently for the stake to be claimed on him, for the Great Wolf of the North to take what was needed-

“You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Silence. The room went silent at that.

Then Jaskier began to laugh. Awful, hysteria induced laughs that morphed into sobs. He was so tired of people lying to him.

“Please don’t lie. Just-just get on with it.”

“With what?”

“The-“ Jaskier waved a hand at him and swallowed. “The claiming. The-the night where you do…what you need to do to me.”

Geralt growled at that. Whatever words and worries had been present on his face had vanished the moment the words left Jaskier’s lips. A vicious, thunderous look had replaced Geralt’s expression and suddenly Jaskier was thrown back to a time where a Wolf had been let loose on the grounds. Geralt looked fierce. 

“Who said that to you?”

“N-no one-“

“Who said I would do anything to you!?” Geralt snarled, leaning over Jaskier, like a Wolf trying to protect his own. Geralt really was the embodiment of his namesake. “Who has scared you!?”

“No one.” Jaskier promised, all fear suddenly forgotten as his mind tried to adjust to the sudden turn of event. 

With each shake of his head, Geralt grew more suspicious.

“Was it your father?”

The words gave him pause. Under the White Wolf, he wondered what the response would be if he agreed to it being his father. Would Geralt take action? Take offence?

“I-“

“Get under the covers.”

“What?”

“Now.”

Jaskier scrambled along the bed and tried to get under, but as soon as he made space, he felt Geralt move behind him and suddenly arms were pulling him back and wrapping him in the duvet.

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunted behind him and when Jaskier rolled back over from within his quilts, he could see Geralt leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“M-my lord?” 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t touch you without permission.”

A shocked bark of laughter left Jaskier’s lips at that. Of all the things he’d expected to hear next, that hadn’t been it.

“That’s not an issue, my Lord. I don’t mind if you…wish to put me in quilts.”

It took a while for the calm to resettle. When it finally did, Geralt took his hands away and looked at Jaskier carefully again.

“I’m a Witcher.” He said quietly. “We have certain mutations. I was hurt a lot.”

Oh. Jaskier thought, feeling a pang of hurt in his chest. Geralt had been hurt too.

“I know what it means to be hurt. I have been called many things. I know of the damage of rumours and misbeliefs.”

“And of titles?” Jaskier added before he could stop himself.

Geralt looked at him and considered it.

“I know of that too. But more in a better sense. My title has helped me to help my people.”

“My title has hurt me.” Jaskier breathed out, realising that perhaps this was the first time he had ever said that out loud. “Having my father be the kings brother, it’s been…”

Suffocating. A nightmare come to life. 

“I will not hurt you.” Geralt said once more with a solemn expression. Like he was making a vow.

“How do I know?” Jaskier asked and it was when Geralt turned to him and leaned closer that he realised what it is he has missed the whole time.

“I overthrew your uncle because he was cruel and vicious to his subjects.” Geralt says with a hint of a smile that could carve stone. “What do you think I would do to your father if he did the same to my…”

A smile crept on Geralt’s face. “My betrothed.”

Jaskier couldn’t stay still for another moment. He pushed the quilt away and sat upright, facing this strange Warlord at eye level.

“Betrothed!?”

This night had become an unforceable turn of events. Jaskier could make heads and tails of it no longer. 

“Am I your betrothed or your conquest!? Tell me clearly, what do you-!?”

“You are mine to protect.”

Jaskier’s mouth clamped shut. Their eyes met.

Yellow. So…yellow.

“I will keep you safe. Come with me. Agree to this and I will take you away from this place.”

“I am already coming with you.”

“No.” Geralt shook his head and shifted closer so that they were sharing breath. “Choose. Come with me. If you do not wish to, I will ensure it does not happen. But I want for you to come. I wish to make you happy.”

“Why?” Jaskier asked faintly, suddenly only able to picture his lute and what it had all meant.

“Because when I look at you, I see the future of Redania. And like you, I could not escape my fate until someone took me out of the shadows. You are the same.”

The words made him silent for a while. For a moment, they just sat there in the dark, looking at each other, seeing each other.

Finally Jaskier broke the silence.

“Why did you stop them from burning my lute?”

“The lute is important to you. What other reason is there?”

There and then, Jaskier made his decision. He would not sit in his fathers shadow any longer.

And this man. The terrifying beast of the north. He had been nothing but kind to him. He had not hurt him, had at least seemed horrified at the idea. And while it was no guarantee, Jaskier still couldn’t help but think maybe Geralt was being truthful. That he would honestly not hurt him.

Choice has its own risks.

“Take me with you.” Jaskier said firmly, reaching out and grabbing Geralt’s hand before he could stop himself. “I don’t want to stay here any more.”

“No, I didn’t think so.” Geralt said with a smile, eyes fixed on their joint hands. He slowly brought them up and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s hand.

“It will be my honour to take you to Kaer Morhen, Prince Julian.”

“Jaskier. Call me Jaskier.” He said but then added with a tentative smile; “Those closest to me call me that.”

“Of course.” Geralt agreed and brought their hands down, though he didn’t let go. “You are to be my betrothed after all.”

“You weren’t lying? Was that part of the treaty?”

“No. But I hope you will agree when I ask you again in Kaer Morhen.”

“Wait, does that mean you-“

“I like you Jaskier. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you for more than a minute.” Geralt said, and then seemed to smile at himself. “Or stop talking around you.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blushed. “I see.”

In his mothers tale about the knight, the hero had swept the damsel away to a place unknown to free her from an eternal prison.

Jaskier eyed Geralt’s hair and smiled. 

“Take me with you, oh Great White Wolf Geralt.”

Perhaps appearances were deceiving. What did he have to lose?

Chapter Text

“So…are you really not going to…?”

“To what?”

“T…take me?”

Geralt gave him a scrutinising look. In the faint moonlight, it was hard to make out the meaning behind the expression. But slowly it morphed into a look of sorrow.

“No. I will not touch you.”

Somewhat satisfied, Jaskier swallowed and looked at the sheets. The warlord, Geralt , was of course a stranger to him. A foreign barbarian from a distant land come to whisk him away. He had no reason to trust him, especially not with the way his life had been.

But still…

You are mine to protect .

“What does this all mean to you? Are you accepting of this?” Jaskier asked softly, feeling the words leave his lips and settle between them. He wanted to know, truly, that what he was choosing was right. That this warlord would be the right ruler of him, would treat him well when others had only hurt him.

There was no answer. When Jaskier looked up, feeling something sink in his heart, he caught Geralt looking deep in thought, his golden eyes distant and lost in another time.

“I never considered that I would be given a tribute as part of the treaty. I had sworn to never bind a person to me like this. I already have an heir who will take over and continue the line. We do what we must.”

It shouldn’t have hurt to hear. Geralt owed him nothing, he was simply an inconvenience to him, an afterthought added to bind Redenia to the wolves. It was nothing-he didn’t matter.

It still hurt. To be reminded of what little he was.

Don’t cry Julian. Crying will not help you .

“Of course.” Jaskier whispered and wrapped the quilts around himself tighter. How unfortunate was it, that certain beings walked the earth without the comfort of another.

He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him and decided it was best not to dwell on the fact. Geralt was already doing him a kindness, offering to take him back to his home for safety, away from his father’s iron fist. That in itself was almost too good to be true.

“May I…” Jaskier swallowed and mustered up all the strength he could. “May I please…”

“May you what?”

“May I please take my lute?” Jaskier whispered into the darkness and hoped beyond measure for this one gift. If Geralt could just grant him this, he would be so happy.

There was a further silence. The kind that felt heavy and threatened to pull him down.

Finally Geralt sighed and nodded. Jaskier nodded back, feeling a weight lift off him.

“Thank you.” He replied, swallowing hard. “Thank you Geralt.”

If Geralt was pleased or displeased, he didn’t say. He simply watched him for another moment before reaching out and bringing up the covers. Jaskier understood and slowly settled back onto the bed, feeling oddly calm as Geralt pulled the covers over him. He didn’t get under the bed himself and simply lay down above the covers.

“Sleep,  Prince.” Geralt rumbled gently and lay on his side to face him on the soft pillows. “We will talk more after you have rested.”

Jaskier’s heart raced. But still, he closed his eyes.

Prayers filled his mind as he submitted to sleep.

The morning was quiet and peaceful. When Jaskier opened his eyes, it was to the gentle brush of the sun’s rays on his skin. The window was open to let a cool breeze wash over the warm room. Dust swam in the air in front of him as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

Where is the Warlord?

The room had been cleaned with no sign or trace of the warrior. Only the open window and a small pouch with a piece of parchment attached was an indication of his presence.

Pushing the covers away gently, Jaskier sat up and reached out for the pouch. The parchment fell into his lap and slowly, he picked it up and uncurled it.

Your father has invited me to see the hunting grounds. You are welcome to join us. Otherwise, I will see you at the next meal.

If you are certain of your decision, place this around your neck.

He felt his brow furrow at the words, trying desperately to remember what had conspired the night before. He’d been so exhausted, he’d simply collapsed into sleep, not at all certain of what they’d-

Choose. Come with me.

Blowing out a long breath, Jaskier set the parchment aside and inspected the small pouch in his hands. The fabric felt smooth and velvety, and was black as pitch, feeling light in his palm.

Carefully, he placed his fingers around the rim and drew it open.

And Jaskier’s heart melted. It was a tiny pendant on a thin chain, made of very light silver. The pendant itself was shaped like an animal, and when Jaskier pulled it out, he couldn’t help but feel his eyes widen. The pendant was a wolf looking to the side, like it was standing tall and proud. Jaskier instantly loved it.

Suddenly eager to get dressed, he threw back the covers completely, reaching for his trunk of clothes. When he found his purple doublet, he began to smile, noting the way the silver jewels on the sleeves matched his new necklace. After changing into the regal ensemble, he slipped the chain around his neck and settled it in place, letting it rest below the hollow of his neck.

He couldn’t contain the happiness he felt. He almost felt like he belonged .

He knew it was odd, even foolish, to be so touched by the small gift, but somehow, he couldn’t contain his smile. He had never been given something like this before. No one had ever given something of theirs to show he was part of them. Not even his father had given him a signet ring.

All of his brothers had been given one. Except for him.

“Papa! May I please have one? Ferant says you won’t give me one because I-“

“Quiet Julian. No one wants to hear you. Can you not see that I am busy?”

“But papa, they are so pretty, is there no way I could have one? I too wish to be seen as your-“

“No. Never.”

“But papa, Ferant says I’m a-a bastard child and that’s why you won’t-“

“SILENCE!”

“Papa, you’re hurting me!”

“Not. Another. Word.”

He had never been accepted. Being the youngest of the seven boys, he had fought hard to make a place for himself. But of course, with so many differences in his physique he had always known, somewhere, that there would never be a place for him.

He was ugly-an ugly, stupid little thing. A blight in their court. Arthur, the second oldest, had once called him a stain in their family. With his thin frame, his frail health and his soft features, he would always be seen as weak. He didn’t blame them. He only brought shame because he was shameful. Better as a display piece. A wretched, ugly thing.

Swallowing down his sorrow, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and shook his head, feeling the earlier joy fade away.

How he hated the blue of his eyes. If only he had been born better.

If only he hadn’t been born as something different. Then perhaps he would be worthy of love.

His mood was met with more compassion and understanding from the maids than he’d thought. Many approached him, repeatedly asking if he was hurt, or if he needed oils or water or a healer to soothe his pain. He didn’t know what to say, but simply turned them down as he walked to the main hall. His head was pounding from just thinking about what images they were conjuring up. If they’d listened as he’d cried, believing something more cruel was occurring. They would treat his rape as courtroom gossip, and for that reason it was hard to decipher who was genuinely concerned and who just wanted to see the truth for themselves. It made him shudder, just thinking about it.

The main hall was loud as he approached. From behind the iron doors, he could hear laughter from inside.

“Did you see him? He was petrified! Pretty little thing couldn’t even look at the beast, he was so terrified!”

“He’s certainly good for bed if nothing else! Finally, father’s decided to put him to good use.”

“Don’t be cruel Arthur. Father had to wait for the right time. Julian’s only fit for a beast after all. His plaything.”

“I bet he cried. Perhaps he even begged for mercy.”

Jaskier heart hurt. Just hearing the words made him feel so small. His brothers as always, did not care, had never cared. It was only made more concrete by their response to his supposed pain.

They cared not for him. He was truly unloved.

Unable to help himself, tears began to fall from his eyes. Silent, his hand slid from the door as he stood and listened as his brothers continued to laugh and jeer at his expense.

He couldn’t bear to listen. Suddenly he found he had no appetite at all. Quietly, he turned and began to walk to the castle grounds, trying his best to ignore the cruel words behind him.

Servants gave him odd looks as he walked by. Maids continued to chatter like birds amongst themselves, whispering and grinning from ear to ear. Governors and advisors would only frown as he walked by, looking away if he so much as tried to smile back.

It was alright. This was something he was used to. Perhaps not to this extreme, but this behaviour was not uncommon to him.

That was why he had decided to leave the main hall to visit the gardens. There were so many flowers in bloom, and while he was sometimes observed like an animal himself, it gave him a chance to appreciate the natural joys around him.

As he followed the stone path to the quieter parts of the garden, he reached the small fenced area on the far side of the grounds where a small stable had been established. Inside were several horses of varying colours, and they were happily drinking from the trough to their hearts content. The sight made Jaskier smile.

As he walked past each of them, he noticed a tall brown horse in the corner. Of all the horses, she looked the most well looked after. Her luscious coat was shiny and clean, and her dark mane was suitably trimmed to give her no difficulty in seeing. Beside her was a saddle and blanket, both black in colour and somewhat worn with use. To him, it looked well loved and well looked after.

To Jaskier’s dismay however, he noticed the horse’s trough was empty. All the other horses had water, but hers had not been filled. That wouldn’t do, he simply had to fix that.

Rolling up his sleeves, he reached for one of the buckets nearby. With a soft huff, he lifted the bucket and carried it to the well a short walk away from the horses, trying not to think too hard about some of the stares he was getting from wandering maids. He did not mind however. The horse needed to be given water and no stable boy was in sight.

Once he reached the well, he set the bucket on the stony edge and attached it to the rope. Then, he carefully lowered the bucket to retrieve the fresh water, knowing full well that the water was for humans and not for animals. The water was kept clean by the court mage, and so taking it for a horse was not acceptable. But still, Jaskier refused to wait for an alternative. The horse also deserved to be treated well.

His doublet was making him sweat in the warmth and without a second thought, he tugged it off and dropped it on the floor, using both arms to heave the heavy bucket back up. Thankfully it was now full, and so he used all his strength to carry the bucket back to the stables, careful not to lose a single drop.

Finally he returned.

“Look. I have brought you a drink, just as promised.” Jaskier said warmly, walking past the other horses to join his new friend. The brown beauty lifted her head up and seemed to watch him carefully, neither showing aggression nor favour.

“Don’t worry. This is the finest water in the whole of Redenia. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.” He continued to say as he poured the water into the trough, feeling pleased when the horse flicked her hair back and then ducked down to take a drink. Slowly he placed the bucket down and reached out to touch her coat. It was so smooth and had such a shine, he could not take his eyes away.

“You really are beautiful.” He said softly, feeling at peace when the horses ears flicked his way. “You must have a truly wonderful rider to keep you so clean.”

The horse of course, did not reply, but she didn’t stop him or show any signs of distress at his touches. He tried to be as gentle as he could so as to not scare her.

“I like you. I would like us to be friends.” Jaskier smiled and ran his fingers over the gentle horse’s mane. What a kind creature, letting him come so close.

“I am not good with people you see. And you seem kind so I would very much like to be a good friend to you. I promise I will bring apples next time.”

The horse snuffled but seemed content enough, her tail swishing back and forth. When Jaskier gave her one last stroke and began to pull away, the horse huffed and began to lip at his hair. He laughed a little at that and tried to smooth his hair.

“Jaskier.”

Instantly, he jumped back in fright, pulling his hands away. He hadn’t even heard footsteps.

Carefully, he turned, unsure of what he’d find. Only it was the Warlord.

Geralt.

Jaskier swallowed and tried to smile. “H-hello.”

Geralt was dressed in simple yet elegant clothes. He was wearing a silk black shirt with faint grey swirls embroidered, with black trousers and a thick black cloak. The pin holding the cloak around his neck was a wolf’s head, jaw open as if mid-roar and his hair was tied back neatly in his seemingly favoured half up look, revealing his chiselled jaw and eyes of gold. Up close like this, all Jaskier could think was;

He’s handsome. A truly handsome man.

“Jaskier. What are you doing here?” Geralt asked and suddenly Jaskier was shaken from his inner thoughts.

“Oh, I was just out for a walk, my lord. I thought I’d come and absorb some of the sun.” He replied softly, turning back to his new horse friend who was now lipping at his shoulder.

“I met a new friend you see. Isn’t she beautiful?” Jaskier smiled and tried to read the funny expression Geralt was giving him.

“I…see.” Geralt said and glanced purposely at the bucket. “And you were feeding her?”

“Yes. She didn’t have water, so I had to give her some.” Jaskier explained, feeling something tug at his heart at the thought.

“She was the only one who didn’t have any water. I had to help her.”

Geralt was silent at that. He simply watched Jaskier as if he had seen a new side to him or discovered a new creature.

He didn’t want to dwell too much on what that meant.

Finally the Warlord looked away. “Well that’s good.”

“Y-yes.”

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, and began to step closer until he was standing in front of him, almost a breath away.

”Did you sleep well?”

”Yes, my lord.”

”Good. Did you receive my note?”

The back of Jaskier’s neck began to feel warm. Instead of thinking about the pouch, all Jaskier could suddenly remember was Geralt’s face above him and bathed in moonlight. His silver strands creating a halo as he spoke soft words of kindness.

A white knight. Or perhaps a true white wolf.

”I-I did. I found your gift. It was truly kind.”

“Are you wearing it?” Geralt grumbled softly, leaning forward and looking him in the eye. They were so close, their noses nearly touched.

“I-the necklace, it-“

Jaskier’s whole sentence vanished in his throat. Geralt’s fingers had reached up and were touching the laces of his shirt.

“I-“

“May I see?” Geralt asked in a low voice and simply held the position, fingers gently resting over the strings on the hollow of his throat. A vulnerable place that few got to touch.

Jaskier closed his eyes once and pictured Geralt above him once more.

Releasing a shuddery breath, he opened his eyes and nodded.

With gentle hands, Geralt reached up and pulled the strings loose, opening it up and carefully pulling back the edges of his shirt. There, resting on his skin for Geralt to see, was the necklace.

Geralt’s gold eyes looked at it. And something burned in them.

“My lord? I mean-“

“Geralt.”

“Geralt, yes, ah…” Jaskier swallowed under the intense gaze on his chest. “Does it satisfy you, my lord?”

Does it please you? To see part of you on me?

“Hmm.” Geralt responded, though Jaskier could not be certain he’d even heard it, and began to lace the shirt back up.

It was so…incredibly…

“Have you explored the hunting grounds? Did my father show you?” Jaskier mumbled and cleared his throat lightly, feeling his cheeks start to burn as he noticed the slight frown between Geralt’s brow that showed the concentration he was putting to hiding the necklace once more.

“I did. I have seen it all.”

“That’s good. Great even.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded and leaned back a little to inspect his work. With one final touch, he smoothed the lace down gently, and let his hand fall to his side.

Jaskier skin burned from the touch. The places where Geralt’s fingers had touched and trailed his skin had continued to feel alight.

Slowly he looked up at Geralt again and met those molten eyes of gold. Eyes that seemed focused only on him. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel mesmerised by them.

What did it all mean?

Chapter Text

If he could have been given another chance at life, he would’ve thought he’d have been an adventurer. Chasing tales and pretty men and women. Singing tales of love and hope.

It had been a long time since he’d felt anything more than loneliness. Than rejection.

Until now.

“My lord.” Jaskier murmured, feeling something warm begin to bloom in his chest.

Geralt’s eyes didn’t leave him.

“Do you…u-um-“

Geralt seemed to keep his gaze fixed on him. He was almost impossible to read however…

“Can you ride? Have you ever ridden before?”

Jaskier had faint memories. Of a young woman with long brown hair and soft blue eyes carrying him over to a beautiful horse with the loveliest mane. He remembered the wind in his face and the winter leaves flying past. He remembered being happy.

“Would you like to ride her?”

“Hmm?”

“This horse.” Geralt said with a raised brow. “Would you like to ride her?”

“O-oh, no she is much too lovely! I would not dare strain her by putting my weight on her shoulders.”

He’d said something wrong, he could tell. Geralt was giving him a distinctly unpleased look. Like he’d been told to swallow a lemon or sour grapes.

“There is nothing wrong with your weight. If anything, you are much too thin. In fact-“

To Jaskier’s shock, Geralt reached out and pulled him close by taking his wrist. Then, without even a second to consider, Geralt lifted his wrist up to his nose and sniffed .

“G-Geralt!?”

“You smell sweet.” Geralt said softly but held a gleam in his eyes. “Sweet but not sweet enough.”

The warlord was a very strange man. Jaskier had never been so shocked in all his life.

“Did you just smell me!?”

Perhaps the sharpness of his voice surprised Geralt. The warlord was giving him an odd look but then a smile began to spread across his face and Geralt’s eyes glowed.

“I did. So what are you going to do about it?”

What was he going to do about it? What was he going to do about it !?

“Good sir!” Jaskier yelled and poked his finger at the centre of Geralt’s chest. “I will have you know that I am one of the cleanest men in this place! You believe these ruffians know anything about bathing!? I will have all your bath salts removed! Do not insult me, you-you brute !”

He could feel his chest rising and falling, and in the heat of the moment, he poked the warlord again, only this time, his wrist was caught in a firm grip.

And suddenly, realisation dawned on him and his eyes went wide.

What have I done?

“I-I’m sorry-“

“Julian-“

“I-oh god, I am sorry, I am s-so sorry!”

“ Julian -“

“I would never lay a hand on you, I-I promise I mean you no harm, my lord, I am s-so-“

“JASKIER!”

He stopped dead and swallowed. His skin felt cold and his eyes watered. He was so foolish sometimes, he always ruined everything.

“Jaskier, look at me.” Geralt said quietly, and when Jaskier finally swallowed and looked up, he saw Geralt watching him.

There was something sad in the warlord’s eyes.

“I only meant that you must eat more.”

“…Oh.” Jaskier replied softly, feeling even more foolish.

“And I know.”

“You…know?”

Geralt’s eyes seemed to be following his every move. And while Jaskier waited for his reply with a heavy heart, he remembered the White wolf’s words from earlier.

“ I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you for more than a minute. ”

“That you would not harm me.” Geralt said quietly, gently lowering Jaskier’s hand. Slowly, Geralt curled his fingers around his hand and squeezed lightly.

“You are not like them. You…” Geralt tilted his head and paused in thought. “You are different. To your father and your brothers.”

“I am?”

“Very.” Geralt said firmly and lowered his voice. “It does not suit you to be with them.”

“Oh! Oh yes, I could not agree more.”

He nodded vehemently in agreement. He would do anything to avoid upsetting the warlord. Geralt had enough power to wipe out the whole of Redenia. A small pathetic shell of a man would be no match for such a warrior.

No harder than crushing a weed , Jaskier thought to himself, as he swallowed and shifted back a little.

At that, Geralt’s head shot up.

“I’m not going to harm you!” Geralt growled and became even angrier when Jaskier shifted back even further.

It was hard not to. Whenever his father had become irate, he would always try to hide. He was not kind to any of his brothers but Jaskier had always remembered his punishments being particularly cruel.

“Father! Julian has been stealing from the kitchens!”

“Father, no, I was just trying to get some grain for the animals! The ones in the stable? They’re hungry and it’s so cold!”

“Boy, you have tried my patience too much! Grayson, get me the cane!”

“Father no, please!”

Strikes on the back. Not uncommon for a child growing up in Lettenhove but it had never ended there. He had scars on his back that had never recovered very well. Likely because his father would not allow any dressings for him afterwards. The blood always used to scare him as a child.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, feeling sick. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

Geralt seemed to settle a little at that. His shoulders relaxed and his expression closed. But still, there was an edge to his shoulders-a tightness , that hadn’t been there before.

If only he could stop being so rude. So useless and pathetic.

“Good.” Geralt grunted suddenly and held out a hand, shaking Jaskier from his thoughts.

“Now will you ride?”

Jaskier’s head shot up. Was the warlord not upset?

“It is alright.” Geralt shook his head and jerked his chin at the horse. “The owner will not mind.”

“No, I mean-“ Jaskier blinked and tried to form the words. Did the warlord not feel angry anymore?

“-I thought I’d upset you.”

”You haven’t. Now come.”

“But I-“

”Sit.”

“I-“

”Jaskier.” Geralt said with a gleam in his eye and stepped closer until they were mere inches apart.

”Sit.”

He hadn’t been able to say no. Once guided and situated on the beautiful horse, Jaskier could only hold on as Geralt began to guide him and his new friend out of the stables. The horse happily neighed as they broke out into the sun, the stares of stablemen and maids failing to stop the horse.

Or Geralt for that matter. 

“My lord.” Jaskier whispered and tried to lean over a little.

“Hmm.”

“They are staring , my lord.” Jaskier emphasised, wondering if maybe Geralt truly hadn’t noticed. “Shall we turn back?”

“Hmm.” Geralt repeated but didn’t even blink. He seemed busy scanning the path.

“Because they will continue to stare. I don’t want to cause you unnecessary discomfort.”

Geralt stopped for a moment. He didn’t turn around but something told Jaskier he’d said the wrong thing again.

“They would stare anyway. And you are not to blame.”

“But they will continue to stare.” Jaskier explained, feeling the urge to make things clear for the warlord. He clearly didn’t know. “I am very horrendous you see.”

The warlord stopped. And suddenly it was as if the world had stilled.

A multitude of emotions passed the warlords face before finally, Geralt turned around and stared at him with eyes that blazed.

“What did you say?”

“I said I am very-“

“I know what you said!” Geralt snapped but took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

“I mean…why do you say that?”

If Jaskier could escape, he would. The warlord looked so enraged, Jaskier didn’t even know how to make him see. It was so obvious, how could he not?

A laugh that sounded so broken and jaded, like sharp glass, escaped his lips. With a shaky smile, he looked down at Geralt and spoke.

“It is obvious my lord. It is only natural that everyone would be repulsed by me.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about!?”

“My appearance. My manner.” He explained and leaned forward as if to share a whispered secret. “I am very disgusting, you see.”

Geralt said nothing at that. His whole expression just twisted into something sickened. Like someone had taken his heart and crushed his very soul.

“Not to everyone perhaps!” He suddenly felt the need to add. Perhaps because of the way Geralt’s eyes were dimming. “Some of the maids who bathe me often try to compliment me. Though I suspect it is more to be kind. But it is very much appreciated!”

Geralt still didn’t speak. In fact, he seemed even angrier.

After a moment of silence, Jaskier swallowed and leaned back a little. He wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong in this instance but of course, he’d made a mistake yet again.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Shall we go back now? There are some very fine horses that would be nice for you to see-“

“Who told you that?” Geralt asked in a low tone, his lips turned down slightly as he looked Jaskier in the eye.

“Who said those words to you? Who made you believe that?” Geralt asked and Jaskier watched as his jaw clenched.

How could he even begin to answer? A lifetime of being told how repulsive he was and how distasteful his actions were was not something that could be summed up in one word. How could he explain to Geralt, this brave and truly inspiring warrior, this Warlord of the North , that he was truly so…

“It is only the truth my lord.” Jaskier said quietly, feeling uncertain from Geralt’s darkening expression. “One does not need to be told the truth to know-“

“One is always told.” Geralt snapped, not looking away. “No one believes something like that. Unless someone says it. Repeatedly.”

Jaskier frowned and tilted his head. That couldn’t be right.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I know.” Geralt growled again and stepped closer, ignoring the horse’s huff. “I know what it means when someone says that. It’s always said. To people like us.”

“People like us?” Jaskier pondered, not realising that Geralt was reaching for his saddle.

“Yes.” Geralt grunted and suddenly yanked himself up and swung his leg around until he was sitting just behind him. “People like us.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but feel his breath catch. The warlord was right behind him, chest pressed against his back. The powerful heat and scent of Geralt’s body encompassed him and it only became even more all-encompassing when Geralt slipped his hands around his waist and reached for the reigns.

Jaskier’s ears burned in response.

“As I was saying…” Geralt said softly into his ear from behind. “People like us. We are different.”

“Mmmm different, yes.” Jaskier murmured, thinking about how big and hot Geralt’s palm was, against his belly. Geralt was holding him gently with one arm and using the other to urge the horse forward by the reigns.

If anyone was not looking before, they were certainly looking now. Openly gaping in fact.

“They say these things.” Geralt continued to breath in his ears. “To hurt us. To blame us for being different.”

“Y-yes.”

“They say this because we are different. But also because they envy us.”

That snapped Jaskier out of his trance.

“They do not envy us.” He scoffed but sucked in a sharp breath when Geralt pulled him a little closer. He could feel the rise and fall of Geralt’s chest against his. “They speak the truth.”

“Then do you believe it?”

“Of course I do-“

“That I am ugly? Monstrous? Hideous?”

Everything Jaskier had been thinking of, vanished. And suddenly all he could think of was how awful the world was.

“ No! ” Jaskier shouted, and suddenly the horse came to a halt and everyone in the garden went silent.

Even Geralt.

“There is nothing monstrous or hideous about you! People are fools if they think that!” Jaskier snarled, feeling a familiar rage build within him. He even glared at the maids and men who were whispering amongst themselves.

“You are not hideous. You are very handsome in fact. And if others are too foolish to see that then, well.” He huffed and crossed his arms over Geralt’s, feeling pleased when the horse neighed loudly.

“It is their loss.”

There. He’d made his point.

Jaskier turned and looked at Geralt. The warlord seemed to be opening and closing his mouth.

“You…hmm.”

“What?”

“That was unexpected.” Geralt finally said, and seemed to lean back a little, expression carefully blank. “I’ve not seen that in you before.”

“What!?”

“Your fire.” Geralt explained, looking as if something had been lit in his golden eyes. “You have spark.”

“I do not!”

“You do.” Geralt insisted, lips twitching as he began to look smug. “A troublesome streak.”

“No, please don’t say that.” Jaskier said softly, suddenly feeling a weight in his chest. He knew what that meant and it never boded well for him. “I’m trying to stop, truly, I just…”

“ Mamma! Look at Julian’s cheeks! They’re so round!”

“Father, look! Julian fell off the horse again! Isn’t it funny!?”

“Father did you hear? Julian’s calling himself Jaskier now! A stupid name, just like him! ”

“Sometimes I feel it is unfair.” Jaskier admitted, feeling ashamed. “That folk make assumptions. You do not deserve to hear such words.”

“It makes you upset.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Sometimes people forget…”

That people like us are different, yes. But we are still people too.

“As I said.” Geralt breathed into his ear and gently nudged Roach back into motion.

With a flick of his wrist, the horse began to pick up speed and suddenly they were past the open gates and into the sun.

“You are not like your father or your brothers. You are more.”

The journey was very pleasant after that. They didn’t speak much as they rode into the woods just past the gardens. They stuck to the dirt trail and didn’t veer off the path. It was warm and pleasant and birds were chirping in the trees while a gentle breeze swept past. He’d miss parts of this when he left Lettenhove.

“What is Kaer Morhen like?” He asked, reaching out to stroke the horse’s neck gently. Such a kind and strong creature to carry them like this.

“Cold.” Geralt said quietly. “Mountainous. You will need furs.”

“Is it peaceful? Do many visit?”

“Yes. And no.”

“What about this…this heir…you spoke of?”

Jaskier had been wondering if he could ask. If it was suitable for him to know more. He remembered overhearing one of his fathers advisers saying once that an heir was nothing more than a stepping stone in the walk to the throne. Necessary but equally unimportant.

It hadn’t made sense to him. Why would an heir not be important to the throne?

“She is my heir.” Geralt grunted behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts. “That is all you need to know.”

“A girl?” Jaskier asked and felt his heart melt at the thought. A little girl? How wonderful!

“Yes.”

“I have always thought it would be wonderful.” He couldn’t help but say. “I had always thought that a little girl would be so wonderful to be around. A boy too but just, well, really all children are so-“

“She’s not your child, Jaskier.” Geralt said firmly and all thoughts halted.

It made sense after all. He was not going to Kaer Morhen to look after the Warlord’s family. He was not actually part of their family.

Do not forget your place.

“Of course.” Jaskier said quietly. “I know. I just want to know more about her. About Kaer Morhen, that’s all.”

“Then ask about Kaer Morhen.” But not the girl , was the unspoken rule. He understood.

“Who was that man who is with you?” He asked instead, hoping Geralt would not mind. “The man by your side.”

“That’s Eskel. My brother.”

“Oh? You have a brother too?”

“Two.” Geralt replied, turning the horse to the left under the trees. “Eskel and Lambert.”

“Who is Lambert?”

“You will meet him. In Kaer Morhen.”

“What is he like?”

“He’s a prick” Geralt said behind him and Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Surely he can’t be that bad. You have met…well, you knew of my uncle and surely this Lambert is much better?”

Geralt hummed in agreement but didn’t say more. He had to admit, speaking to Geralt was a little bit tricky but perhaps the Warlord didn’t want to talk right now. He seemed focused on the path.

A path for a Witcher. Did they not used to be rewarded for their efforts? He seemed to remember one of his tutors telling him that they once roamed the continent in search of monsters.

A song began to emerge in his mind. One he couldn’t help but hum.

Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh Valley of Plenty, oh Valley of Plenty oh-oh-oh-

“What are you singing?”

Jaskier stopped and felt heat spread on his cheeks. He’d completely forgotten, he wasn’t supposed to sing.

“Tell me.” Geralt squeezed him gently again and Jaskier sighed.

“Just a little tune. Nothing important, I assure you.”

“You like singing. And music. So sing.”

“I shouldn’t.” How could he tell Geralt? It was only another flaw he would be admitting to.

“I should not sing. It grates on the ears.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.” And Jaskier could practically hear the frown in Geralt’s voice. “You sound like a bard.”

Oh?

“I have always wanted to be a bard.” He smiled, remembering the sessions he had with Essi every so often. He loved to play his lute with her and sometimes sing too.

She was the only one who liked his voice enough to listen. Perhaps that was why he spoke to her the most.

“We need a bard. In Kaer Morhen.”

“Oh, really?” He could feel his heart begin to flutter. Perhaps Geralt truly didn’t mind his singing after all.

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded and pressed his cheek against Jaskier’s hair. “You should practice.”

If he hadn’t known any better, he would have assumed Geralt was nuzzling him. But surely that was not the case?

“I should practice. You’re right.” He said but couldn’t quite focus, with the way Geralt’s cheek rubbed against him gently. He could also feel Geralt’s breath against his neck.

“Then sing, bard.” Geralt said with a low voice and slowly brought his lips up to his ear.

And as if by magic, Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat.

“Sing and I will take you to Kaer Morhen. My Songbird.”

Chapter Text

They continued down the path, the gentle sways of the horse lulling Jaskier into a soft feeling of floating. He was surprisingly tired, even though nothing of major significance had happened. Perhaps it was the excitement of recent events with the arrival of the Northern ruler. Behind him, Geralt had remained silent, listening to his singing and then finally his faint humming. It was peaceful. Freeing.

“Hmmm.”

“My lord?”

“You are content. I can smell it.”

Squinting, Jaskier tried to turn and look at the great wolf.

“What is this…ability you have? How do you smell my emotions? Can you actually smell feelings?”

He felt Geralt grunt behind him and squeeze him around his middle gently and Jaskier had the distinct impression Geralt was enjoying the closeness.

“Witchers can sense a persons' general feelings through scent but it’s not exact. We can tell when someone’s lying but would not know what about.”

“And you can smell when someone is relaxed? Happy?”

“Yes.” Geralt murmured and Jaskier tried to suppress his shiver at the feeling of Geralt’s warm breath on the back of his neck. “And when they’re scared.”

Fear? What would be the use in being able to smell that? Surely it would have made more sense to be able to suppress your own fear?

“To know if your enemies are easily vanquished?” Jaskier pondered aloud.

“Perhaps. Or maybe to give us the chance to remove that fear.”

And, oh.

It dawned on him what Geralt was likely referring to.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Jaskier whispered, suddenly feeling like he’d roamed into dangerous territory. He had made that mistake before.

Geralt didn’t answer. Instead, he tightened his hold with one hand and let go of the reigns.

“No?” Geralt breathed into his ear, suddenly much closer. With a soft exhale, he used his free hand to rest it on Jaskier’s neck. With that one hand, he tilted Jaskier’s head back and exposed the vulnerable flesh of his throat. With the other, he tightened his grip on Jaskier’s waist and pulled him closer, naturally causing his spine to arch and for his whole body to feel ensnared. He felt fully trapped in the hold and yet so fully on display for all to see.

Jaskier could feel his skin begin to heat. His body felt tight and wired like a coil about to spring. A slight shift of his hips told him what he already knew-that Geralt was all encompassing.

“We’re alone.”

Jaskier swallowed and tried to suppress his shiver. Shivers of burning pleasure lit his core. “Y-yes.”

“We’re alone. And you can’t escape.”

Against his will, his eyes fluttered shut. He could hear his pulse roaring in his ears.

“Yes my lord.” He croaked and sucked in a breath when Geralt’s arms seemed to slide around him even tighter. Coiled around him like a viper.

It was…so much…

He could take me, Jaskier realised, licking his lips as Geralt’s breath traced his neck. He could take me right here and no one would know.

He could claim me right here in this very forest and I would…

“My Prince…”

I would…

"...Jaskier..."  Geralt almost purred in his ear and a full body shudder coursed through his veins. His breathing came out in shuddery gasps.

“Here you are..."Geralt continued to whisper against the base of his throat and distantly Jaskier wondered if he'd imagined the sudden inhale in Geralt's voice. "-in the grasp of a Witcher where no one can save you-“ Geralt suddenly cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath.

Instantly he let go. As if burnt.

Jaskier’s heart continued to race. The hot press of Geralt’s fingers still lingered on his throat. His belly felt hot from the palm of Geralt’s hand. And it ached when Geralt let go.

“You’re not afraid...” Geralt leaned forward and openly took a deep breath. “You’re not even…”

Oh, he was well aware of what he was. And he really didn’t need it spelled out.

“C-can we go back? I’m feeling tired.” Jaskier asked shakily with a voice that sounded jagged and raw. He had to shift and readjust his position several times, trying to trample the feeling of shame.

He didn’t want to think about whether Geralt could smell that-

But it seemed that Geralt was too busy dealing with an irritation of his own. He was now strangling the reigns of the horse with both his hands and had nudged the horse into a swifter trot. He suddenly seemed to be in some hurry of his own.

“I’m sorry, we can stay-“

“You’re not afraid.” Geralt grunted behind him again, and suddenly Jaskier was picturing a bucket being sent down into a well, only for the owner to lose grip and for the bucket to plunge from its free fall.

“No.” He admitted, squirming a little in his seat and cursing under his breath. His breaches were much too tight for this. If he had known Geralt would do that-

“We’re going back.” Geralt growled behind him and oddly it felt as if there was a mountain between them. Geralt had shifted to create a chasm between them that felt more than just physical.

And Geralt was angry. Jaskier could feel it.

“I-I’m sorry-“

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunted but kept his focus on the horse.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. Something soured in Jaskier’s stomach at the thought.

When they returned to the palace, Geralt led the horse back to the courtyard where a tall man with broad shoulders was waiting. As they got closer, it dawned on Jaskier that he knew who this man was.

“White wolf.” The broad man with the scar smiled and upon closer inspection, Jaskier realised that the man had a kind smile. The scar distorted his appearance but the truth of it was underneath that, Eskel was quite handsome. It saddened him to think that Eskel had likely suffered greatly from the extent of such an injury but most of all, he hoped others were kind to him. It was an injury that was clear to see.

Unaware of his inner thoughts, Eskel bowed his head as they came closed and Jaskier was certain then that this was the man who had been sitting beside the warlord at the table. And more importantly…

He has my lute!

“Eskel.” Geralt said behind him and Jaskier couldn’t help but jump a little. Geralt still sounded displeased, like he came bearing grave news. Surprisingly, while he hadn’t been afraid before, he was certain Geralt would be able to smell his anxiety now.

“We need to talk.” Geralt continued, swinging his legs off the horse and jumping down.

Jaskier paled. Even now, Geralt was scowling.

“The Prince-“ Geralt said and suddenly turned and placed both hands on his waist to lift him off the horse, not even flinching when Jaskier gasped. “We have been spending time together.”

“Oh?” Eskel tilted his head and met Jaskier’s eyes when Geralt helped him down. “And you enjoyed your time together?”

“Hmm.” Geralt replied and Jaskier sighed a little.

It was difficult to read the warlord. One moment he seemed pleased and the next, he was sullen with the distinct impression of an unimpressed executioner.

Or perhaps he was just misunderstanding. It was more likely that Geralt was concerned with another matter. It didn’t necessarily mean he was the cause.

With a hopeful smile, Jaskier looked up at Geralt, wondering if maybe they would reach a point where he could perhaps interpret the Warlord's expression better. Maybe one day they would reach a point where Geralt would show his true thoughts-

“We must renegotiate the contract.”

The suddenness of the words jarred his thoughts. Feeling something cold run down his spine, he blinked and tilted his head a little.

Geralt wasn’t looking at him. He continued to look straight ahead at Eskel.

“M-my lord?” Jaskier asked, licking his lips against the suddenly dryness. But still, the Warlord ignored him.

Fear began to pool in his stomach.

“The Prince should not come with us. He is unprepared for Kaer Morhen.”

For a moment, Jaskier couldn’t hear anything. Ringing filled his ears.

The words felt like a slap to the face. When they had been bonding so well Jaskier had never once pictured that Geralt, no, the White Wolf of the North would change his mind so quickly. But perhaps that was his mistake.

“Geralt!” Eskel seemed equally as shocked, making Jaskier feel marginally better. At least he wasn’t the only one thrown by the words.

“What the hell are you saying?” Eskel hissed, the shock suddenly morphing into anger.

“It is for his sake that I say it.” Geralt replied with a expression of stone and whatever lightness Jaskier had felt in his heart died. Along with all his budding hopes.

He knew what the problem was. He was too much. Once again he’d proven himself to be lacking. A burdensome stupid little thing. Poisonous and unworthy. Unlovable.

He’d failed. Failed to impress and failed to hold onto his chance.

He’d gained nothing and lost nothing. And yet it felt like he’d lost everything.

The Warlord and his brother were still fighting. Jaskier could still hear it around the continuous ringing in his ears.

“-cannot just decide that-“

Father will be so disappointed.

“-find out now, they will take back the contract-“

They will probably think I’m tainted. Ruined for another when Geralt has been nothing but kind.

“-fear us!”

“Geralt, you’re not thinking clearly!”

“I’ve made my choice!” Geralt roared and Jaskier’s vision blurred out of focus for a moment.

The feeling of rejection was unlike any other. And shockingly it was coming from a man who’d never said a word against him.

“I understand my lord.” Jaskier said softly and bowed his head low when both northerners looked his way.

“I-I’m sorry I have offended you.” He continued, hoping they couldn’t hear the tremor in his voice. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

“Geralt!” Eskel hissed once more and his shadow seemed to gesture towards Jaskier in a movement that screamed displeasure. But it mattered not for ultimately it was Geralt’s decision.

The Warlord…Geralt...didn’t want him.

There were further words passed between the lords until finally there’s was a scruff of boots.

When Jaskier finally mustered up the courage to look up, only Eskel remained.

Geralt was gone.

The walk back to the castle left him feeling fatigued. After the Warlord’s brother had tried to apologise, he’d taken Jaskier gently by the elbow and guided him back to the inner grounds until finally they’d reached the back entrance to the courtyard where the stables were based. The evening sun was just beginning to set and all of the maids and servants were beginning to disappear to prepare for the evening meal. For once, Jaskier was grateful for the silence. It gave him time to come to terms with what he'd been told.

There was a pause as they slowed their pace to a complete stop. Finally, Eskel let out a sigh and turned, rubbing his face with one hand and blinking tiredly. For a moment, he looked far older than his age.

“My deepest apologies Prince Julian. My brother did not mean to offend.”

“It is no problem.” He heard himself say, feeling his heart ache. The wound was still fresh. An aching, exposed thing. “I know he did not mean any offence.”

For a moment Eskel didn’t seem to know how to respond. He could only open and close his mouth shut again.

“My brother, he…he has not had the luxury of getting to know another outside of the family so personally. He is unused to the behaviours of others who are not pack.”

“I understand.” And he did. He’d always known he didn’t fit in anywhere.

“No.” Eskel shook his head and lowered his voice. “He has never dealt with a battle of the heart. Only the mind.”

“Oh?” Jaskier replied dully, trying to feign interest when he wanted nothing more than to retire to his chambers and forget he’d ever met the Warlord. Was it wrong to want to hide to lick his wounds?

“Up until the mutations we are trained and then even more so after the trial. There is very little room for kindness in our world and even less for love.”

“…I don’t understand.”

“Let me put it simply.” Eskel said and stepped forward and lowered his voice.

“My brother is fond of you. But he does not know how to manage this. Thus he believes this contract must break.”

Jaskier frowned and tilted his head, momentarily distracted. Was this a jest?

“He believes a breaking of the contract is the way forward. Do you see? He is thinking of you.”

It made little sense. Jaskier couldn’t help but look down in shame. He was obviously not able to understand something so simple. Perhaps the problem was more obvious than he thought.

“You are confused.” Eskel realised and something dimmed in his eyes. “I understand. It is confusing.”

“Why won’t you speak clearly?” Jaskier finally asked, trying his best to not let his frustration show. Only it sounded more like disappointment when the words left his lips.

“Fine.” Eskel huffed and looked side to side before leaning forward to whisper into his ear.

“He’s scared Jaskier.”

For a moment, there was silence. Only the beating of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears. It was like being told the earth would stop growing the very trees that surrounded them.

A burst of laughter escaped his lips. How ridiculous!

“My Prince-“

“Do not patronise me!” Jaskier gasped out and laughed so hard tears began to fall from his eyes. “That is ridiculous.”

But Eskel was shaking his head.

“It’s not. He truly doesn’t know how to-“

“There is no need to lie!” Jaskier sobbed, feeling his face crumple in defeat. He felt like a complete fool. His cheeks burned with humiliation.

“I like you Jaskier. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you for more than a minute.” 

“It will be my honour to take you to Kaer Morhen, Prince Julian.”

"You are mine to protect."

“No, he has made his choice.” He nodded and rubbed at his eyes. “He does not want to take me to Kaer Morhen.”

“No, he is-“

“Prince Julian.” A new voice spoke and Jaskier spun around on his heel, immediately thankful for the distraction. It was one of the bathing maids.

“Your father has asked for your presence in his chambers. He asks that you bathe before you see him before the evening meal.”

At last a blessing had come forth and Jaskier seized it with open arms. Careful to avoid Eskel’s frown, he spun on his heel and turned to the maid with a smile.

He prayed it didn’t look as brittle as it felt.

“Tell him I will see him shortly. Please prepare a bath.”

“Of course, my Prince.”

He needed to muster up his courage. His father would need to be told. Of course, the failing of the contract would fall on his shoulders as the likely cause. Really, it was the only true reason even he could think of. 

It would hurt. But the decision had been made.

"I must go to my father." Jaskier said with a heavy heart, turning towards Eskel. "He must be told."

"Don't tell him." Eskel said with a grimace and reached out his hand. "The decision is not final."

How I wish that were true.

"You don't need to comfort me." He shook his head and stepped back, watching as Eskel's hand dropped from where it had been and a tired resignation fell on his shoulders. "The Warlord does not need to explain himself. He has been perfectly clear."

"What will your father say?"

Jaskier laughed bitterly at the thought. He knew what the reaction would be. 

"I imagine he will be upset." He answered, wondering how sensitive Witchers were to lies. "But he will understand in time."

At that, Eskel said nothing. He only shook his head and folded his arms.

"How about this? You give me two nights. I will ensure Geralt informs you of his final decision. And in the meantime, you say nothing of this to your father."

Jaskier's eye twitched. Was the Warlord's brother mocking him?

"The Warlord has made his decision!" Jaskier scowled, mirroring Eskel's stance. "And I cannot hide this from my father! What will he think!?"

"It won't matter. If the outcome is the same, two nights won't matter. And you and I both know that you are in favour of the contract."

The words made Jaskier's stance falter. Was he truly that obvious?

"I want this to be fair to the Warlord and Redania-"

"Then give us time." Eskel rushed on, almost imploring. "My brother is not used to this but he is fond of you. This is a good match for both of us. And should you come with us to Kaer Morhen, you will be well looked after. You will want for nothing in Geralt's home. He himself has already said so."

It hurt to hear. He had been so close to being a part of a greater future than he had ever hoped for. 

"I-" He swallowed and unfolded his arms. Feeling untethered, he let them fall to his sides as he looked past Eskel towards the setting sun.

He had always been too optimistic for his own good. His brothers had always mocked him for it. Until finally he had decided that optimism did not matter when faced with no reasons to be. Even his father had been pleased when he'd noticed the change. He was quiet now. He didn't speak unless spoken to. No one cared to speak to him if they could help it. 

Geralt hadn't been like that though. He had liked hearing his voice.

"Is he truly fond of me?" Jaskier whispered, feeling a burn in his eyes as he said it. It would only end in hurt, he was sure. 

"He is. I know we do not know each other well but please-" Eskel said and took both of his hands in his, leading Jaskier to look into his fierce gaze.

"Trust me."

Chapter Text

“My Prince, shall I take you to him?”

“Yes, thank you.”

After bathing and dressing himself, he followed the young servant to his fathers private chambers. With each step his trepidation only built.

“He is behind these doors, my Prince.”

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps, his father would understand. Witchers were not a well understood species and perhaps that had been why Geralt did not want him anymore. Maybe they were more fickle than fierce.

A glance at his hand told him all he knew.

Pull yourself together. You know what’s coming .

His hand continued to shake as his knuckles rapped against the door, each knock reminding him of the last bell chimes before the hour.

His stomach churned but he lifted his head up and waited.

“Julian. Come in.”

Taking a slow deep breath, he steeled himself and pushed on the handle, feeling much like a man going to war.

Inside the quiet study was a desk with several candles lit. Neat towers of parchment paved a way to where his father sat. The man was leaning back in his chair and giving the parchment a cursory glance.

He’d always hated this room. His father had always called him here to deliver a punishment of sorts. A warning with carefully poised words to strike and pierce the heart. A caning or a slap. A boot to the stomach or a sharp tug of the hair. Anything that would suit.

Anything that would inflict pain , he thought darkly, closing the door behind him. He was only a mouse, trapped in the heart of the maze.

“Father.” Jaskier said quietly and bowed before his sire.

When he straightened back up, within an instant, he knew he’d made a mistake. The lines around his fathers eyes had grown tight.

“Julian. Again.”

“Father-“

“ Again .”

Another bow. Only this time, he saw his father’s shadow rise from the desk and come closer. When he was closer enough that his own shadow was engulfed, Jaskier risked a glance to the left. His father’s boots were close.

“What is my title, Julian?”

“Your Majesty.”

“That’s right.” The king said, voice sharp as ice. In the corner of his eye, Jaskier watched as the man lifted a hand.

Fingers sank into his hair. A slight pressure was felt.

“You know that I only want what’s best for this kingdom. Don’t you, Julian?”

“Yes father.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as the hand in his hair tightened. Sharp stings like pinpricks began to run down his spine at the sensation. The hair at the base of his neck stood tall. He felt completely exposed.

“Oh Julian.” His father sighed. His shadow shook his head in disappointment. Slowly, the hand loosened its grip.

“Have you pleasured him yet?”

This was the moment. The deciding factor. He had to tell the truth. Rip the bandages off as it were. His father had to know.

“N-no, father. He…I didn’t-he couldn’t-“

“And why is that?”

“He…he didn’t…”

He doesn’t want me. No one does.

“But surely he’s touched you? You shared a bed with the beast.”

What could he say? That the Warlord had resisted? That he did not feel anything for the youngest Prince of Redenia?

That Geralt had changed his mind?

His throat felt tight as he spoke.

“We did. Sh-share a bed that is.”

“Then it is done. He has taken you.” His father sounded smug. “You will go with him. And continue to do what is necessary to please him.”

His heart pounded. It was time to say the truth.

“Father, he…”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. And released it.

“He has not touched me.”

There was utter silence. Then-

“Julian, do not lie to me. You know I dislike lies.”

“I…I am not lying, your majesty.”

“Are you so undesirable that even a Witcher does not touch you?”

“Father, he has said-“

“I DO NOT CARE!” His father suddenly roared and without warning, Jaskier was yanked up by fingers digging in to the back of his throat.

Jaskier couldn’t help the gasp that left his lips at the sharp movement.

And he couldn’t stop the whimper that left his throat when he met the searing gaze of his father. Blue eyes that burned with a rage he had never known in his own heart. An anger mirrored back at him that he feared more than death itself. But was well acquainted with after a lifetime of hurt.

He knew what followed. And hated the tears that began to burn in his eyes.

“A pathetic son. That’s what I have. A pathetic. Useless. Son .”

Each word was drilled into his head with a squeeze around his neck and a sharp shake as if to startle him. Feeling dazed, Jaskier instantly began to draw himself into that place that helped shroud him from the pain outside.

The world grew distant to him. He could still feel and see everything-the pain from the suffocating grip around his neck, the way his fathers eyes scorched him with their gaze. The way his father snarled in disgust as if the very sight of him was repulsive.

His body knew what came next. His whole body shut down and grew limp as his fathers anger only grew.

“You useless piece of filth. A worthless burden on the crown!”

The words were followed by a sharp slap to his face. And another. And another.

The pain stung. But it was nothing compared to the way his father spoke.

“You should be torn-absolutely ruined for what you are!”

The pain grew into a burn on his cheek as his father continued to hit him. It didn’t stop but thankfully, Jaskier’s body was already beyond the point of response.

No words left his lips. No pleas for the pain to stop. Only an occasional grunt and a slow blink as he looked at his father without seeing. As his body was kind to do. It knew how to protect him, even if it was weak.

“God, look at you. Giving me that stupid stare again as if your mind is empty. Let your brothers see you, what would they think?”

That I am weak. That I am ugly .

“What would your mother think?”

That I am unlovable. That I am lucky to even be here .

“What would those beasts think?”

That they don’t want me. That Geralt was right .

“I am…unlovable.” Jaskier murmured, blinking slowly. He couldn’t remember why he was here. He just wanted to be left alone. His cheek was throbbing.

“That’s right. At least you know your place.” His father nodded, and while he wasn’t fully satisfied, the fire in his eyes reduced to a simmer. Slowly, the pressure around his neck began to ease.

“You will do what is right, won’t you Julian?”

“I will.” Jaskier parroted, voice light and airy. He would be a good son. He would make up for what he lacked.

“You will let him take you. Will lie back and show no resistance when it hurts.”

“None.”

“In fact, you will even beg for it. Seek out what is needed to make him agree. So as to protect our kingdom.”

Shakily, Jaskier nodded. The words were starting to filter through again. So he blinked and let his mind ease again. It was better that way. Separating himself behind the walls of his mind.

“Good. I am proud of you Julian.” His father nodded, and though it barely registered, something in Jaskier’s heart loosened. A small part of him glimmered with hope that perhaps someone felt something for him. He was of value to someone, even if it was just a little.

“Go now. Go to him and offer yourself.”

The world continued to swim as he walked through the halls. Around him, servants gave worried glances and whispered amongst themselves. He merely gave a smile and nodded. Everything was fine. He was okay now, the pain was much less. His father had let him leave.

“Master Julian, are you alright?”

A young boy of what looked to be ten summers approached him with caution. The boy had dark brown hair and blue eyes and looked up at him with worry. There was a kindness there that made Jaskier’s throat want to close. How rare was it to see such behaviour? And how long would it be before the boy learned what everyone knew?

“What is your name?”

“Emmion, my lord.”

“I am well Emmion. Thank you for asking but you don’t need to worry.”

The boy tilted his head in wonder. Then he shook his head and jerked his head up in Jaskier’s direction.

“You’re hurt! Mama says that we’re supposed to help people who are hurt!”

Oh , Jaskier smiled lightly, feeling a strange weight in his chest. He truly doesn’t know.

“You are very kind but you need not worry. You should focus on helping others and carrying out your duty. It will be appreciated by all.”

“But you are the prince!” The boy exclaimed and tried to reach up on his tiptoes. With a sigh, Jaskier knelt down and faced the boy.

“I am not important Emmion. But I appreciate your words. Take care now.”

“Lord Julian!”

The boy tried to call out to him but Jaskier continued to walk away. The smile on his face felt somewhat brittle as the boys words started to penetrate through the fog of his mind.

He turned the corner and took a deep breath, letting the fog settle once more. Like a blanket between him and the world around him. It was his own personal bid for freedom when something felt wrong. Thankfully, he could barely remember what.

“Prince Julian?”

He turned and met eyes with Eskel. The man was staring at him with a concerned look in his eyes. Around them, the servants in the far distance quickly scuttled away, giving them peace.

“My lord.” Jaskier smiled and bowed his head. “I hope you are well.”

“I am.” Eskel said carefully. His face morphed into a frown. “Are you? You don’t seem well.”

“I don’t know what you mean, my lord-“

“Your face. You’ve gone ice-white. And your cheek…” Eskel’s frown grew and he stepped closer, head tilted.

Then his expression darkened. 

“Has someone struck you?”

Something began to filter through his haze as alarm bells began to ring. With shaky hands, he reached up and felt his cheek gently, trying not to flinch at the way his skin felt hot. When his fingers brushed his lip, there was a small drop of blood on his thumb. The colour stood out starkly against his palm.

“I…I need to go.”

“Prince Julian-“

“I-I’m sorry.” Jaskier breathed and with as much strength as he could muster, he turned and raced towards his room, heart pounding as the walls began to close in.

Why couldn’t he be better? Why did he have to embarrass his family? Why did he have to expose his face to Eskel, the kind man who didn’t deserve to see such a blight in the castle?

It was no wonder no one loved him. He deserved every hit and slap and jeer.

He was not worthy of the love that others received. He was useless.

Utterly and completely useless .

When he reached his room, the haze had left him and his mind felt awake once more. In some ways he was glad but in others…

With hands that shook, Jaskier reached up to unbutton the base of his collar. In the mirror, a tall, slender, pale-faced version of himself stood before him with bloodshot eyes looking wide and tearful. The red mark of a handprint was stark on his pale face, looking wildly out of place.

His cheek hurt. It almost burned. And what was truly terrifying was how little he remembered being struck.

As he turned and inspected the mark, he identified more details. His lip was split and bruised under the mark, with dried blood coating the cut. His skin looked almost translucent and sickly, like he’d been close to throwing up. And his body was soaked with sweat, still glistening on the sides of his cheeks.

He looked hideous and not in any way suitable for a prince. No wonder the servants were talking.

With an aching heart, he turned to look for his supplies by his desk. Over time, he’d learnt to keep salves and pastes nearby, along with powders to conceal such marks. The first time he’d stepped out of his father’s room like this, he’d been ten summers and his brothers had jeered at him and smeared mud over his face to hide the mark, making it clear how unsightly his face was. Despite his crying, they’d left him in the mud in the gardens and had locked the gates to make sure he couldn’t come back inside.

He’d cried so hard that day that he’d lost his voice. A maid had found him later that evening when she’d come to collect milk from the cows. He could still remember the feeling of mud caking his face as she'd picked him up and screamed in horror.

As he settled on the edge of his bed, he took the pot of salve and dipped his fingers in, taking a small amount to coat gently over his cheek. He winced at the feeling a few times but took deep breaths and forced himself to stay still. It was for his own good after all.

With the layer applied, he sighed in relief and reached out for another pot, this time placed next to a thin brush. With careful strokes, he pressed the tip of the brush into the pot and swiped gently over his face, using the cream coloured powder to hide the mark. After some time, he set the kit back down and walked over to the mirror again.

Better. He looked much better, through still unusually pasty and white. But there was little he could do about that. At least the mark was hidden.

Before he could inspect his teeth with his tongue, a sharp knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. He jerked where he stood and frowned at the door.

The knocking resumed, more insistent this time and Jaskier looked around briefly, making sure there was nothing unwanted in the room, before stepping forward and opening the door.

Blood drained from his face. The White Wolf was stood before him.

“Prince.” He said, voice like gravel and shoulders tight. He looked ready to pounce. “I came to see you.”

Swallowing, Jaskier blinked and nodded. He couldn’t really see why but there was little he could say. Geralt was the Warlord of the North. He could do whatever he wished. Jaskier was merely a servant to his wishes.

Still, a part of him longed to say no. And secretly…

A part of him was pleased to see him. Geralt had seemed so kind to him before. He’d let him ride on that horse and had not called him names. He’d said he was more .

That was until he’d said he’d renegotiate the contract. And that he wouldn’t take him with him.

A weight sunk in his heart at the thought. While he’d been sure the Warlord would still demand much from him, he’d been a little excited at the prospect of being with him, and learning more about him. He’d even thought of playing his lute for him, maybe making a song for him-something he’d never done before, except for his mother. A small act of gratitude to show how grateful he was for the chance to be in his life in some way and to be allowed his lute.

None of that would happen now. Maybe his father would find someone else to give him to. Would demand he spread his legs for another king. It was all he was good for, he knew.

“Can I come in?”

Opening the door wide, Jaskier stepped back and let the Warlord walk in. As Geralt began to look around, Jaskier shut the door gently and waited patiently with his hands clasped in front. He wondered what Geralt was thinking. Maybe he was looking for something.

Geralt continued to walk around the room, looking at the wooden cabinets and small items on the desks. The room was small and basic, but Jaskier had added parts of himself to make the room cosy. There were small trinkets on the desk-a pan flute on a small stand, a tiny seashell from the time a servant girl had returned from the coast. A small feather quill in an ink pot for when he wanted to write music. And more. All parts of Jaskier that he cherished, even if no one else did.

After a while, Geralt reached out and picked up a small bottle, the size of his palm. Inside was a dried up flower, pale yellow and dark green. Geralt turned it in his hand and looked at him.

“What is it?”

“A dandelion, my lord.” Jaskier said softly, watching the Warlord roll the bottle in his hand. “My mother gave it to me when I was young.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded and placed it back when he found it. “And this?”

He was pointing at a leather bound book. One that he’d had for many years that was given to him on the day of his eighth summer birth date. He had few memories of his mother, but the gift of that book had been one of them. It had been an incredible moment for him.

“ Julian, my love, you know what day it is?”

“It is my day of birth! I am eight summers now!”

“You are, my sweet. And you know why we celebrate it?”

“No, mama?”

“We celebrate because we love you. Because you are our precious boy. I love you so much, my flower.”

“Another gift. From my eighth birthday.” He said softly, feeling a pang in his chest. He mourned the loss of that little boy who’d believed he was loved. It had been a long time since he’d felt that.

“A gift. From your mother?” Geralt asked, looking at him curiously. His eyes were dark, like obsidian embedded in liquid gold. They glowed in the light of the room, like liquid fire.

“Yes. She often gave me gifts.”

“And your father?”

With a tired sigh, Jaskier tilted his chin up and looked around pointedly.

“He gave me this room. And the gift of life.”

“How old were you when your mother passed?”

“I was ten summers, my lord.” Jaskier murmured, mind lost in the memory of that day. He still remembered the shock when he’d found out.

“The healers said I went mute for ten moons.” He continued to say, even though he didn’t know why. “My father tried everything to make me speak. Apparently I couldn’t be brought back. After a while, most healers gave up.”

Geralt watched him silently. Slowly, he stepped forward, closer and closer. With each step, the floor creaked until Geralt was mere inches away from him. When Jaskier looked up, he sucked in a sharp breath. The Warlord was so close, they were practically sharing breath. His eyes were piercing into his soul.

“And then? What happened?” Geralt asked quietly, hands clenching and releasing by his sides. Jaskier’s eyes darted everywhere but couldn’t quite escape seeing the wolf before him. Geralt’s lips and chest and neck and eyes were all within touching distance and he struggled to ignore it.

“I-ah, one of the healers suggested giving me a soft toy. The toy was meant for young children to hold in their sleep. But he gave it to me and told me it would protect me. After that, I began to play with it. My father would’ve gotten rid of it but the healer advised him not to. Said I was ill and lonely. And that I needed comfort. So I was left with it for a while. Eventually I spoke again.”

Geralt seemed enraptured, like he could not turn away. His eyes looked over Jaskier carefully, deep and swimming in thought as Jaskier swallowed and tried not to shake. He wasn’t sure what Geralt was thinking, but he could guess that the warlord probably thought him weak. He couldn’t blame him.

“Your mother loved you?”

“I-I believe so.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said and turned away. The moment was thankfully broken and Jaskier’s shoulders loosened. Hopefully, the Warlord would leave him be. He was so tired and he just wanted to rest in peace.

“How did you get that mark, Jaskier?”

Jaskier’s head shot up. And instantly his blood ran cold.

“I don’t know what you-“

“Your cheek.” Geralt said quietly, looking down at the salves and paints on his desk. “You’re hurt.”

“I…fell.”

For all the good it did, Jaskier truly tried to believe that. He couldn’t remember what exactly had happened, but he did know he didn’t want Geralt to find out. He could only imagine the issues it would cause. The contract would be affected and Redania would suffer.

With almost careful movements, Geralt picked up the pot of powder and held it up. The worn edges caught the light and gleamed back, and Jaskier could see the thinner patches where the base of the pot could be seen through the powder. Feeling his palms shake, Jaskier clenched his fists and shifted.

“My lord, I believe Lord Eskel was nearby-“

“Yes, I know.” Geralt snapped and grit his teeth as he clenched his fist around the small pot in his hand. “How did you get that bruise, Jaskier?”

“I don’t-my lord, I fell -“

”You’re lying to me. Don’t lie.”

“I fell, my lord, down the stairs like a fool-“

“I CAN SMELL YOUR TEARS!” Geralt roared and Jaskier scrambled back onto the bed in fear. “I CAN SMELL YOUR BLOOD!”

Heart thundering, Jaskier wrapped his arms around his head, praying desperately to all the gods for help. He’d never been so afraid in his life, his heart felt like it was going to give out. His breathing rose sharply and with it, the sudden realisation that Geralt was furious. Furious with him.

His body shook as he curled into himself and continued to pray. Tears began to fill his eyes as he tried desperately to think of something to calm himself. To think of something to say that would help him and maybe calm the Warlord. But he couldn’t. When he opened his mouth, he began to hiccup and sob.

He could feel that haze beginning to take over again, rapidly this time. He was almost there-

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

A sniffle escaped him as he pressed his back against the wall tighter. His whole body continued to tremble and it worsened when he felt the bed dip and-

Arms pulled him in. And began to uncurl him gently.

“Hush. I won’t harm you. I won’t ever harm you.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into his chest, body warm and encompassing, as he murmured reassurances into his hair. And the warmth was unlike anything Jaskier had ever felt, he’d never been-never been touched like this before-

“You are safe. I’m here, I will never let anything happen to you. You are safe and all is well.”

Slowly his heart began to settle. And the haze began to disappear before it could set in. Jaskier slowly shifted and curled his fingers against the black shirt covering Geralt’s chest. His ear was pressed against it, and for a moment, Jaskier pressed closer and listened to the beat of Geralt’s heart. It was racing, just as much as his was, and out of nowhere, a thought emerged in his mind.

He’s afraid, just like me.

“I’m sorry. By the gods, I am sorry. I never meant to scare you, I am so sorry, Jaskier.”

“It’s okay.” Jaskier whispered, pressing his cheek closer and breathing in the scent of Geralt. He felt so…so shielded from everything-Geralt’s arms were holding him close and wrapping around him, like a vice but it didn’t feel restricting. It didn’t feel cruel or hurtful in any way. It felt kind.

“I’m okay.” Jaskier said more loudly and pulled back a little. Geralt’s hold loosened and when he looked up, Geralt was looking at him carefully. His expression saddened.

“You’re hurt. I can see it in your eyes.” Geralt said quietly, voice gentle as he reached up and brushed Jaskier’s hair away, the tips of his fingers tracing his forehead lightly. “Who hurt you? Who did this to you?”

“I can’t say.” Jaskier said quietly and looked down at where his palms were pressed against Geralt’s chest. Geralt was like a wall, built to fight and protect. A true king.

They didn’t speak for a while. The gentle rise and fall of Geralt’s chest continued to distract him as he tried not to feel sad at the thought of Geralt leaving. Yet again, Geralt had proven to be kind, not hitting him or hurting him in any way. He’d even apologised to him and yet, he’d soon leave. He wouldn’t get to be with Geralt. It just wasn’t meant to be.

“If I don’t take you with me, what will happen to you?”

“I don’t know, my lord.” Jaskier replied, trying not to consider the possibilities too much. It would only serve to scare him, he knew. “I imagine there will be a new contract. For another kingdom.”

“And if you were to be mine?” Geralt said quietly, jolting Jaskier out of his thoughts. “If I were to take you to Kaer Morhen?”

At that, Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh. The sound was bitter as he reached up to rub at his eyes. What was the point in wishing for impossible things?

“You made it clear to me, you do not want me. I am sorry for not being suitable.”

When Jaskier made to rub his cheek, Geralt caught his wrist gently and looked at him. His eyes looked anguished, like he was in pain.

“Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.” Geralt murmured and released Jaskier’s hand slowly. “And you are suitable. I never said you weren’t.”

“But you have said-“

“I meant that it wouldn’t be good for you. To go to Kaer Morhen. But I was wrong.” Geralt said and reached to pull Jaskier close again.

Geralt tucked his nose into his neck and breathed deeply. And then he spoke once more.

The words coursed through Jaskier’s body like a promise, making him shiver.

“I have made my decision. I will take you with me.”

Jaskier’s heart froze. And then it leapt.

“You will be my consort. ”