Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jaskier had been traveling together with Geralt and Milva for a few months when they took him. The three had made good progress on their way to Nilfgaard, occasionally adding other skilled individuals that were willing to aid in their cause to their group, like the high vampire/surgeon Regis, and the possibility of reaching Ciri was becoming more tangible with each passing day. Jaskier was, despite the sharp worry in his gut for the girl he had come to consider something akin to a daughter, relatively content.

Things were in no way easy, but at least he was (finally) at Geralt's side again. Plus, this time around he was actually able to pull his weight. Gone were the days of him being barely more than a burden that slowed the witcher down and made his life harder, as his role had been for the majority of their acquaintance.

(If life could give me one blessing-)

He had been by himself in some backwater village, because they needed to make money somehow and Jaskier was, if nothing else, an excellent bard. His ability to be useful, even amidst such impressive individuals, filled him with pride. The others had made camp a few miles away in order to not draw attention. It was risky enough for Jaskier to make those semi-frequent appearances in the public eye, even with the new moniker he had adopted in his attempt to pass as a different person. He had rarely traveled this far south in the past, so he wasn’t too worried about being recognized.

It goes without saying that he also made sure to omit any songs from the vast repertoire he had created centered around his greatest muse, the White Wolf, from his performances.

His set was coming to an end and he was looking forward to drinking an ale after gathering his earnings before having to start his long way back to his companions. He was in the middle of just that when he was approached by a hooded figure. They moved gracefully, weaving skillfully through the crowd before sitting down across the bard.

“Beautiful voice you’ve got there.” Their face was hidden in the shadow created by the hood, which was dark and modest, not carrying any identifiable markings.

Jaskier didn’t let his alarm show. “Thank you friend, I’m always one to appreciate compliments.” He took a long sip from his tankard methodically in a show of nonchalance.

The hooded figure cocked their head to the side and reached their hand out. “With talent such as yours, it’s a wonder you’re not more well-known Master…?”

Jaskier gave a bright grin, subtly wiping the sweat making its way down his forehead, and shook the stranger’s hand. Their grip was firm, and its hold lasted a bit longer than was considered socially appropriate. “The name’s Dandelion. And you are…?”

“A beautiful name to match the beautiful voice.” The figure avoided the question and tilted their head back so their matching grin could be visible to the bard. Jaskier couldn't see their eyes, but he had a nagging suspicion he was being checked out from top to bottom. “Not to mention the equally beautiful appearance..." Bingo. "Though if you don’t mind my humble opinion, I’d say there’s another name that would suit you more fittingly.”

The bard’s grin twitched ever so slightly. “And what would that be my dear fellow? Do say so.”

The stranger leaned forward. “Jaskier.” they said conspiratorially.

The bard’s smile fell all together, and he looked around with the corner of his eye. None of the inn’s patrons seemed to have heard, too busy drinking, eating and chatting loudly with each other. The innkeeper himself was curiously missing from the room.

“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“If you want to find out then follow me and don’t make a scene. It wouldn’t benefit either of us.”

Jaskier gulped and slowly stood up. He made sure to grab his lute and not let his nervousness show. “As you wish.”

They made their way outside, and as soon as they were out of people’s sight, the stranger grabbed his arm. Their grip was strong and left no room for resistance, no matter how much Jaskier tried to pull away. They reached a building that stood tall in the periphery of the village, and the hooded figure surveyed their surroundings before opening the front door and pushing Jaskier inside. The force made the bard fall to his knees and he hissed in pain, lute thankfully tucked safely against his back. He vaguely heard the door close and lock behind him just as he looked up, his mind too busy short-circuiting at the sight he came across.

“Hello darling.” said Radovid as he stood up from a makeshift throne, making his way to the bard and dropping to one knee in front of him. The newly-crowned king took Jaskier’s chin in one hand and gently stoked his cheek with the other, smiling gently. “Oh how I’ve missed you.” He said wistfully and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Jaskier was left speechless, his brows furrowing together in confusion. He hadn’t seen Radovid since that fateful day in Aretuza after the Thanedd ball, in the midst of all the chaos. Their parting had been hopeful but it didn’t take long for Jaskier to hear about Radovid’s sudden enthronement, so he had resolved himself to the reality that their story would remain forever unfinished. Though his regret lessened more and more with the time he spent at his witcher’s side.

“Radov-, Y-your Majesty, to what do I owe the honor of this, ah, sudden summons?” he said when he finally managed to make his mouth move.

Radovid’s eyes hardened almost imperceptibly at the bard’s term of address. He let out a defeated sigh and hung his head low. “I never once stopped thinking about you my dear, every day we spent apart was pure torture, and now that my reign has stabilized I though it was the perfect time to pay you a visit." He looked up and stared unblinkingly into the bards blue eyes. "Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Jaskier swipped his lips with his tongue, a motion that Radovid tracked hungrily. “Oh, I uh, I’m elated to see you, truly, but I’m just a tad confused. You see, your buddy over there that escorted me here- let’s just say they weren’t very gentle in their approach. In few words and with no offense, it left a lot to be desired. I was expecting to encounter some sort of Nilfgaardian general ready to chop my head off and not… you.”

Radovid huffed and offered a hand to Jaskier, helping him up. Now that Jaskier was somewhat over his initial surprise he was able to take in the king’s appearance. There were some subtle changes, like the short beard that had replaced his previously clean-shaven face and the way his once lean body seemed to have filled with muscle. But the biggest change, the one that made Jaskier’s breath catch in his throat, was in his eyes.

Before, Radovid’s eyes were like a window to his soul that only Jaskier had a key to, full of intelligence and softness, specifically towards his person, but now… Now his gaze was guarded. The only thing Jaskier could detect besides the show of the king’s current emotions, was darkness. It was something he was only able to decipher after years of experience performing in countless courts and dealing with all sorts of people in his travels. It caused a chill to run down his spine.

“You don’t have to worry about Nilfgaard any more my love, you won’t have to deal with them ever again.” Radovid said as he patted down the outrageously large fur that hung from his shoulders.

Jaskier blinked rapidly a few times and raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that Your Majesty?”

Radovid looked at him as though he’d asked a very stupid question. “Redania’s power has grown vastly in recent months as I’m sure you’ve heard. Nilfgaard wouldn’t dare take a single step towards us. Also please cut all the ‘Your Majesty’s, our relationship has evolved beyond such formalities.”

Jaskier nodded tentatively “I’ve certainly been made aware of your accomplishments, but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

Radovid rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “You’re coming with me silly.”

Jaskier’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He had been bombarded by shock after shock in such quick succession that he hadn’t been able to calm his racing mind in a minute.

“I appreciate the offer, truly, Your Majes- Radovid.” the bard quickly corrected his words after seeing Radovid’s face twist in displeasure. “But I’m afraid I have to decline. You see, I’m currently in the middle of a very important quest that I must see through to the end.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. "Quest" he repeated bitterly. “So you’d choose that witcher over me? Even after everything he’s put you through? I could give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, comfort and luxury beyond your wildest dreams and yet you'd rather continue following that monster like a lost puppy?”

The bard wasn’t happy with the name Radovid used to describe his dearest friend, but he let it go, choosing to focus on the matter at hand. “I’m sorry Radovid. The moments we spent together were meaningful to me and you will always have a special place in my heart, but I don’t think this is the right time for us.”

A glimpse of hurt flashed in the king’s eyes.

"That’s just an excuse and you know it. It sounds to me like this 'right time' you speak of will never actually come. Given the chance you will always pick him."

Jaskier looked down and stayed silent.

The king, taking it as the confirmation it was, turned to face away from him with his shoulder’s slumping. He took a few deep breaths to collect himself before he straightened up again. When their eyes met once more, Radovid’s hardened gaze was filled with resolve. Jaskier waited with bated breath for his response.

“If you won’t come with me willingly… I’ll just have to bring you by force.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold. Before he was able to do anything, two guards surrounded him and grabbed his shoulders from each side. He thrashed wildly but it was for naught, the bard being much weaker than his captors. “No stop-, Radovid- please don’t do this, I’m begging you!” He asked desperately.

The king looked down at him with his chin up and an air of confidence surrounding him, for the first time appearing as ruthless and regal as his title implied.

“I’m afraid I can’t listen to you darling. One of the perks of being a king is that I can do and have whatever I wish for, and nobody can stand in my way.” He waved his hand towards the bard nonchalantly as he addressed his followers. “Bring him a pen and paper. Have him write a letter to the witcher and deliver it to the innkeeper. He’ll know what to do.”

The guards dragged Jaskier towards a desk and deposited him in a chair, writing tools being placed on the surface before him a moment later. His hand was shaking as he picked up the pen. A tear slid down his cheek as he tried one last time to change the king’s mind. “Please Radovid... Let me go.”

The king crossed his arms and his mouth formed a tight line. “That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you.”

Jaskier let out a sob and stared down at the paper, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear his blurry eyesight. His mind was racing trying to find a way to leave some sort of secret message to alert Geralt of his situation. Radovid seemed to read his thoughts however, because he gripped the bard’s nape tightly and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t even think about pulling any tricks or your dear witcher and the rest of your group will leave their last breaths at the camp they’re currently stationed at. My soldiers have the place surrounded as we speak.”

With those words the bards last hope was extinguished. The last thing he wanted to do was put his friends in danger. Even with their combined extraordinary strength, he didn’t want to chance either of them getting seriously injured. If obedience was the price to pay for their safety, then so be it.

“At least promise me you’ll leave them alone.”

Radovid gave a chaste kiss to the bard’s neck, and ran what under normal circumstances would be considered a comforting hand down his back. “You have my word. I didn't care about them in the first place.” He gave the bard one last squeeze and went to sit back in his throne.

Jaskier took a deep breath and started writing. The single tear that hit the paper, while certain to be identifiable with the witcher’s heightened senses, would probably be assumed to have been a product of Jaskier’s typical sentimentality and nothing more.

Dear Geralt,

You’ll find me deeply saddened to inform you that our long-standing companionship must come to an end. You see, I’ve had time to think while staying in this lovely little settlement away from you lot, and I've come to realize what it is I truly want. That of course being king Radovid of Redania. I’ve talked to you about our ill-fated relationship before as you might recall. Somehow, things for us two don’t seem as bleak as they once were. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel and thus I’ve decided to go to Redania and try to build a future with him. Love conquers all and the like.

For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself before you. I’m choosing my own happiness. I hope you’re able to achieve your goals and manage to locate Ciri safe and sound. When you do, which I've no doubt you will, give her all my love. Please inform the rest of our group about my decision. I’m sorry for doing this so suddenly but you know how matters of the heart can be. They leave no room for patience.

Ever your affectionate friend,

Julian Alfred Pankratz.

Chapter Text

The first few months at the Redanian court weren’t too bad all things considered, (especially in comparison to what was to come, the bard thought wryly).

One of the first things Jaskier had to do when he arrived at the palace was surrender his travel-worn clothes- together with his beloved leather jacket, and shave his patchy beard. The clothes were replaced by silk garments in various colors, made to fit Jaskier’s exact taste and measurements. He was also given a haircut, his hair now longer than when he first met Geralt but still relatively short. Apparently Radovid wasn’t a fan of his most recent hairdo.

(Truthfully, neither was Jaskier, but he refused to voice his agreement.)

Radovid kept Jaskier on a tight leash, never letting him stray too far during their time together, but he was allowed to perform at banquets and the like. Those were his favorite moments while in Radovid’s presence. He could almost pretend he was a normal court bard when he was prancing around, dancing on tables and entertaining an audience. He had done this plenty of times in the past, but he always found courts stuffy, no matter how much he enjoyed the lavish balls, and usually tried to limit his stays to a season or two. It was the main reason he’d abandoned his noble birthright and became a traveling troubadour that ended up broke more often than not. Courts were only tolerable in small doses.

That’s also what the nobles knew him as. Radovid’s court bard. There were rumors going around - gossip being one of nobles’ favorite pastimes and all - and many suspected the true nature of his relationship with the king, but none of them knew the specifics. It’s not like they could just up and ask about it without evoking the king’s wrath.

Radovid’s physical changes were nothing in comparison to those in his personality or the way he appeared before others. The façade of the irresponsible naïve prince that only cared about the pleasures of life and knew nothing about politics was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a ruthless and commanding leader that ruled his people with an iron fist. ‘Radovid the Stern’ they called him.

Apparently, in the time between his enthronement and the present, Radovid had engaged in a long and intricate power battle with the spymaster Dijkstra and the court mage Philippa and had come out on top. Now both of them had been demoted to mere advisors, without any real say in the inner workings of the kingdom, and forced to comply and assist the king with all his whims.

There was also another reason Jaskier cherished the time he spent performing, something that had nothing to do with the love for his profession. Being at the center of attention, unnerving as it could become occasionally, even for a seasoned bard like Jaskier, also doubled as a shield of protection. When everyone’s eyes were on him, Radovid kept his distance.

Many would argue that there was no better way of cementing a monarch’s reign than the birth of an heir - and since Radovid had yet to take in a queen, him having a male lover wouldn’t exactly be met with applause. Moreover, the king didn’t want any of his remaining family members to get any ideas in response to his sexual preferences. He had bigger problems to deal with than petty attempts to usurp the throne by ambitious relatives.

When he was alone with the bard it was a different story. As Jaskier didn’t have his own quarters in the palace, he was obligated to spend every night in the king’s company. No one could protect him in these moments. Radovid may not have been ready to announce their relationship to the world but that didn’t stop him from leaving a myriad of marks on Jaskier’s pale skin. It was the bard’s responsibility to cover them up as best he could, regardless of their placement. He didn’t know which he hated more, the knowing smirks or the pitying looks he was met with by the servants that helped him wash up and dress each morning.

Radovid didn’t always touch him. Sometimes he just wanted to engage in conversation and bask in the bard’s company. These instances were almost harder than the alternative because Jaskier was forced to pretend to be his usual charming and witty self, when all he wanted to do was scream at the other man to let him go.

Most of the time he was also under the supervision of the not-so-kind fellow that brought the bard to Radovid in the first place, whose name he later found out was Blade.

(a bit on the nose if you asked Jaskier, but he named himself after a flower so who was he to judge?).

They had short auburn hair, hazel eyes and a lean physique that allowed them to move nimbly and blend in with their surroundings. It was a true feat because they usually kept their signature hood on, yet somehow their presence was hardly ever noticed.

Blade wasn’t always visible to the bard, preferring to stay in the shadows, but Jaskier knew he was constantly being watched by the ever-present tingling sensation at the back of his neck. And also because all his attempts to escape were immediately squashed.

The first time he tried was about a month in. He had played nice with Radovid in order to lower the king’s guard, while secretly mapping the castle’s interior in his mind. When he deemed his efforts sufficient, he made a run for it during a set break at a banquet. He managed to bypass a handful of knights and almost make it outside when Blade suddenly appeared, blocking his path. They rolled their eyes in disapproval and pulled out a knife, which they pointed at Jaskier and nodded for him to walk back towards the banquet hall.

Despite Jaskier’s fears, the king didn’t mention his little blunder that night. He acted completely normal, being sweet with the bard and talking about his day, to the point where Jaskier assumed Blade hadn’t mentioned it to him yet. But when he was pulled to the bed, it was with far less gentleness than usual. The king had placed him on his hands and knees - whereas he usually preferred positions that allowed them to make eye contact - and entered him after little preparation. He set a punishing pace, his hands leaving dark bruises on Jaskier’s hips, and completely ignored the bard’s pleasure. After he finished, he went to wash up, leaving the bard unfulfilled and dripping with Radovid’s seed on the mattress. They didn’t exchange any more words until the next day.  

Some of his other notable efforts to break free included when he tried to sneak in a noble’s carriage unnoticed (it was stopped and searched at the gates), or when he pleaded with an old classmate from Oxenfurt, that had recently inherited his father’s title and had traveled to Tretogor with the intention of pledging allegiance to the crown, to deliver a message to Geralt. (Blade had interrupted them mid-conversation and told the noble that the king wanted to have a word. Jaskier never heard from him again.)

It was failure after failure, so Jaskier’s disheartened attempts became few and far in between. A part of him had even started to feel guilty for wasting Blade’s time. Following the bard around all day was probably tedious enough on its own. Privacy was a concept long forgotten but there was something almost comforting in the knowledge that Blade was never far behind, even if the bard couldn’t see them. Jaskier was so starved for genuine human connection that he was starting to become fond of his captor.

During daytime, while Radovid was busy dealing with his kingly affairs, Jaskier was left to wander around with no real purpose.

The library was, predictably, one of his favorite spots. It contained a vast variety of books that mostly focused on the politics of aristocracy and such topics, in contrast to those at the Oxenfurt Academy or the library in Kaer Morhen, whose main subjects were literature/science and encyclopedic knowledge on monsters respectively. Jaskier much preferred the latter two, but beggars can’t be choosers.

The kitchens were also a precious place for the bard. The servants he usually encountered had at least some sort of idea of his importance to their king- while also being aware of Jaskier’s noble status- so their behavior towards him was strictly polite, maintaining a distance that none of Jaskier’s quips and jokes could manage to bridge.

The cooks and their helpers on the other hand, who were always steadfastly cooped up in their workspace - having no reason to venture outside of it as that’s where their responsibilities lied - knew nothing of Jaskier’s identity other than ‘renowned bard’. They had no clue what was happening outside their little bubble, and for that ignorance Jaskier was grateful.

The head chef, a kind older woman named Burneta with distinct laugh lines visible around her eyes and messy braids wrapped in a bun, always welcomed him with excitement and treated him to bits and pieces of whatever she’d made that day in return for a small exclusive performance that Jaskier gave with pleasure.

Her husband, Chleb, was more of the taciturn type, whose job was to help around with tasks that needed physical strength, like butchering animals and carrying in ingredients in bulk. He always glared at Jaskier and swiped at him with a towel when the bard made feign advances on his wife, but the small grin as he did it gave his mirth away.

Sometimes Jaskier liked to take walks in the gardens. They were beautiful and well-groomed, containing hundreds of flower variations and a few rare bird species that had been imported from faraway lands. The sound of their chirping, the sun against his face and the light breeze that gently ruffled his hair made Jaskier feel alive.

Being outside gave him a sense of freedom, that though false, did wonders for his ever-declining mental health. Sadly, his access to the gardens had been recently restricted after yet another escape attempt. (He tried to jump over a fence only to find another, smaller garden on the other side. Blade was already there waiting for him unimpressed).

Nature had always been of big importance to Jaskier and being away from it made the fact that he was a prisoner all the more real. He couldn’t even look outside since most of the castle windows were decorated with stained glass illustrating Redania’s coat of arms, a crowned silver eagle on a red field, and other such designs.

Whoever created them was clearly skilled, every detail having been made with meticulousness. The colors were vibrant and yet the light that passed through them gave off an elegant glow without being blinding. Aside from their beauty they also served to inspire a sense of patriotism to the masses, while also showcasing the crown’s power in a blatant attempt to keep the nobles in check.

When Jaskier was once dragged here by his father for official business in his youth, as the heir to the Lettenhove estate, he spent hours staring at them. It was the first time he was experiencing such awe. It inspired such powerful feelings in the young boy, the need to somehow capture them pushing him towards his first awkward attempts at poetry.

“I saw you back then.”

Radovid told him as they were lying in bed after a passion filled night. Jaskier had mentioned his long-time interest with the palace windows as a form of small talk, and he was surprised by the excited response he got. It almost felt like the king had been waiting for him to bring it up.

“I used to be a sickly child, and my brother was the heir, so I wasn’t allowed to venture outside my rooms much. My existence as a spare was rendered useless due to my poor health, with most considering the possibility of my survival to adulthood unlikely.” He twisted to his side in order to gather Jaskier in his arms. “Vizimir was nice to me though. He always made time in his busy schedule to come visit me, skipping his lessons on occasion.” He let out a wet laugh. “Though I suspect that was his actual motive and he just used me as an excuse."

The king’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, his lips trembling. Vizimir’s death was obviously a raw subject still. This was one of Radovid’s rare shows of vulnerability that he only ever allowed in Jaskier’s presence. Those glimpses of his past self, the one the bard once fell in love with, made Jaskier’s heart swell despite everything.

Radovid shook his head to clear away the memories. “There was a council meeting that day and most of the servants were busy. Due to some sort of miscommunication, I was left unattended. When the hunger got too much, I stepped out by myself for the first time in search of food. The overall anxiety and the fear of being caught almost made me turn back on my heels.

But then, I saw a boy standing in the hallway. He had beautiful brown hair and the most stunning blue eyes. He didn’t notice me in his trance, seeming fascinated by the window décor. I had never met anyone my age and I didn’t know how to approach him, so I settled  to just watching him from afar. I think I was as fascinated by him as he was by the stained glass. He made me see it a new light. For me it was just part of the background, something I never thought to pay close attention to, but I wanted to understand the boy, see the world through his eyes. And so I looked again with this new perspective as if it was the first time. The beauty I’d overlooked for so long almost made me tear up.”

Radovid gazed softly down at the bard and caressed his cheekbones with his knuckles. Jaskier’s mind was reeling from this revelation, not expecting it in the slightest.

“I later found out, after some pestering, that his name was Julian and that it was unlikely I’d ever see him again. That didn’t stop me from thinking about him though. When I heard the phrase ‘love at first sight’ a few years later, I figured exactly what it meant.”

The king chuckled and kissed Jaskier’s forehead. “I had never asked for much until that point, but somehow I couldn't stay silent about this. Vizimir promised me he’d keep an eye out for news about him, and soon after I was informed that Julian had enrolled in Oxenfurt Academy. I begged and begged but my father wouldn’t allow me to attend. When I turned 18 I made up some excuse to visit the Lettenhove viscounty, but when I got there I was greeted by your cousin Ferrant. He told me you had relinquished your title to him and left, managing to slip right through my fingers…

After that instance I stayed out of trouble until my brother could safely ascend the throne, and then I started drinking, partying and the like. I developed an interest in music and poetry and frequently invited bards to perform for me and my circle. My favorite pieces were created by someone called ‘Jaskier’, but I never managed to contact him. Nevertheless, I continued revisiting his work because for some reason it was the only thing that made me feel anymore.”

Radovid pushed a shaken Jaskier to his back with a glint in his eye and gave the bard a long, open-mouthed kiss. “Then a miracle happened. Dijkstra and Philippa wanted my help, the war having left them with few options. I was going to refuse before they mentioned your stage name. They wanted me to use my royal status to convince you to bring them Princess Cirilla, but I didn’t much care for that. I was just excited to meet the person I’d been a fan of for so long.

When I caught your lute and we made eye contact, I instantly recognized you as the boy from my past. Our kiss that night at Thanned Island was one of my happiest moments. But then I fucked up. I tried to take the princess and you started to resent me. When we met again the next day, despite all I did, you gave me hope, and I wanted nothing more than to earn your trust. I returned to Redania and told my brother that I had found someone I wanted to be with and asked for his blessing to go to them. Vizimir agreed but I regrettably never got to depart for reasons you already know...”

Jaskier stared at him in shock. Radovid was going to abandon everything for his sake? That couldn’t be true, could it? No one would go to such lengths for him. Destiny had created an intricate plan ready to play out and Jaskier was but a mere storyteller, fated to follow the main characters around and record their heroic tales. He could help lighten the mood when things got tough and offer what little assistance he could as a mere mortal, but that’s where his role ended. His importance was insignificant in the grant scheme of things and also to the people around him.

And yet Radovid held a different opinion. To him, the king of a powerful nation, Jaskier’s meagre existence was valuable. He had never felt so wanted in his entire life. He didn’t even think it was possible.

The emotions he felt overwhelmed him. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was about to burst through his chest. Jaskier grabbed Radovid’s head and pulled his face down, crashing their lips together. It was the first kiss he had initiated since their reunion.

The kiss deepened and Radovid’s hands moved lower down the bard’s body, his thrill at Jaskier’s response evident. Jaskier’s senses were completely occupied by the man on top of him, he couldn’t see, hear, feel, smell or taste anything other than the king. That changed as soon as Radovid paused the kiss to start mouthing at his neck. With his eyesight back, Jaskier’s awareness started slowly creeping in. What was he doing? Why was he allowing this to happen?

...Was there even any point left in resisting?

Letting go would certainly be easier. He couldn’t get out of this situation either way so maybe acceptance was the best way forward. He could just pretend he was there willingly and ignore everything else… Jaskier was about to close his eyes and leave any rationality behind when Geralt’s disappointed face flashed through his mind. What would the witcher think if he could see him right now? If he saw how weak Jaskier was, how quickly he gave in? Besides, the bard didn’t choose this life and that’s not something he could forget no matter how much he wanted.

The king’s story may have sounded romantic at first, but his actions spoke of something different, something darker, and Jaskier couldn’t allow for this false narrative to override the truth.

Having made up his mind, Jaskier pushed Radovid off with as much strength as he could muster. The king was caught off guard and he stumbled backwards until he fell off the bed. It would have been a funny sight if it weren’t for the way Radovid immediately stood up, eyes blazing, and grabbed Jaskier’s hair to drag him close.

“What the hell was that?”

All the sweetness from mere seconds ago had vanished.

Jaskier looked at him defiantly. “Something I should have done from the start. What you felt for me both in the past and present isn’t love but obsession. You used the idea of me to help you get through hard times, I get it, and your feelings may have been genuine once but I fear that time is long gone. If you cared about me even a little bit you wouldn’t have fucking kidnapped me! All you care about is yourself and I’m done keeping quiet to appease you!” he yelled, releasing all his pent-up frustration and misery. The adrenaline coursing through his veins, combined with the overwhelming surge of gratification, was making him light-headed.

Radovid’s jaw clenched but his expression was eerily calm as he moved his hand from the bard’s hair to wrap around his neck. He slowly started squeezing.

“If that’s what you think then there’s nothing I can do. You’ve had months to come to terms with the situation, and I’ve gone above and beyond to make you comfortable. I’ve been so fucking patient and this is how you repay me?!” Radovid’s harsh voice gradually got louder as he spoke.

“I gave you a rare gift, but you didn’t want it.”

In the blink of an eye he maneuvered Jaskier on his back against the bed, choking him still. The grip was tight enough that the bard’s airways were completely blocked and he was left desperately gasping for air. He tried to claw Radovid’s arm away, which didn’t budge an inch.

“But there’s something you’re forgetting darling. Remember what I said to you at our little reunion when you refused to join me?”

Jaskier’s vision was beginning to blacken, but even then the memory flashed clearly through his mind. He let out what was meant to be a whimper but came out as a choking sound.

Radovid understood the recognition in the bard’s eyes and he smirked cruelly in response. His free hand came up to stroke Jaskier’s torso, running through his chest hair and pinching a nipple when it came into contact with it. He leaned close to give a teasing little bite to Jaskier’s lower lip before hissing in his ear:

“If you won’t come with me willingly, I’ll just have to take you by force.”

That was the last thing Jaskier heard before everything went dark.

Chapter Text

After that fateful night when Radovid decided to stop playing nice, everything changed. Jaskier was moved from the king’s quarters to his own little room not too far away, which was both a blessing and a curse as it gave the bard some much needed privacy, but also signified to the staff that his importance had severely decreased, making them gradually neglect their duties in regard to him.

The upkeep of his recently acquired room was left to Jaskier more often than not, something he wasn’t very good at since he’d grown up as a noble and then spent the rest of his life as a travelling minstrel without a permanent residence - save for his small apartment at Oxenfurt Academy, which wasn’t really his, just a living space that was lent to him as part of the remuneration for his occasional position as a professor.

The lavish meals that used to be delivered to him three times a day had also started to become scarce. Thank Melitele Jaskier had made friends with the kitchen staff or he would be borderline starving.

Another sign that the bard had fallen from the king’s favor was the fact that Radovid called for him with far less frequency, maybe twice a week at most- which wasn’t little, but it was a clear deviation from their previous routine, and Jaskier was usually kicked out after their (rough, a lot rougher than before) coupling ended.

Thankfully, he was still allowed to continue with his role as court bard. The show must go on, Radovid had said after Jaskier inquired about it, but sadly the position didn’t belong exclusively to him anymore and other bards visited every so often to perform. The first one of them being *gag* Valdo Fucking Marx. Jaskier wasn’t sure if Radovid had invited him on purpose after hearing about their long-standing rivalry or not but he was pissed nonetheless.

“I don’t know how you managed to keep the king’s favor for so long Javier, but your luck has run out. Seems like he’s losing interest in you.” Valdo said to him with a taunting sneer when they inevitably crossed paths.

If only, Jaskier thought with a resigned shake of his head and didn’t even bother to correct the other bard about his name. 

Because of those sudden breaks in schedule, and with the added bonus of most of Jaskier’s nights post-performance being free, he had a lot more time to enjoy the banquets and indulge in the wine and ale that was offered to the guests in abundance. The amount he consumed increased steadily each day, but he was past the point of caring.

His relationship with alcohol was a complex one. Like the majority of people, Jaskier often drank as a way to let loose and have fun, to just plainly sate his thirst, or as a coping mechanism after going through hard times- when he was not yet ready to sort through his feelings and express them through poetry or song. Τhe most notable instance in recent history being after he was abandoned at the top of a mountain by the person he cared most about in the world. Geralt may have apologized (in a rather lackluster attempt) but the damage was already done.

Over 20 years he spent loyally following the witcher and yet he was discarded so easily, as if he meant nothing. Their friendship- even though the witcher still refused to call it that- had been going for over ten years when the djinn incident happened, and all this while the witcher snapped at him and tried to leave him behind at every turn, keeping clear boundaries and only allowing minimum physical contact.

Jaskier thought that was because Geralt just wasn’t used to kindness and companionship, but after seeing the way he was immediately taken with Yennefer, the bard had to face the bitter truth that he himself was the problem.

The bard was perfectly aware as to how he was often perceived by others, being either too much or too little, only tolerable in small doses and easily tossed aside. He’d just been stupid enough to assume Geralt was different…

He spent a few months post-mountain in an intoxicated haze before the war worsened and he decided to use his popularity to help smuggle elves away from certain death. He felt like he owed it to them, partly because of Toss a Coin- which didn’t paint them in the best light- but also as an apology for what his kind was doing to them. Through it all he continued to drink, albeit with less vigor, not wanting to chance anything going wrong with his plans and putting everyone who trusted and depended on him in danger.

After the Voleth Meir incident, where he spent most of the night being useless and hiding underneath a table while drunk as witchers around him lost their lives, he decided to put an end to his addiction. It took a lot of time and effort, but he pulled through because he couldn’t be of any use to Geralt otherwise.

Some might call his loyalty foolish, but if the witcher ever needed him, Jaskier would damn well do anything in his power to help him. Even if that meant staying behind and taking care of various matters while Geralt played happy family with his child surprise and the woman that he had decided to tie himself to after knowing for less than a day.

Soon after his arrival to Redania Jaskier broke his sobriety streak, finding no point in maintaining it anymore, and it got a lot worse after his and Radovid’s ‘falling out’. Life was just so much easier to deal with that way…

Jaskier was making his way back to the palace’s living quarters from the banquet hall, having given a truly excellent performance if he’d say so himself, one that left everyone present in a jovial mood, handing him drink after drink after drink... In few words, Jaskier was well and truly wasted.

He could barely see from the dizziness, and the faintly lit torches that were placed sparsely throughout the hallway for aesthetic purposes weren’t much help, so the bard’s subsequent stumbling and falling flat on his face was unavoidable, really. Jaskier’s reflexes, not so great to begin with, had been made even worse due to the large amounts of alcohol in his system and he barely had time to shield his head with his hands before he made contact with the (thankfully) carpeted floor.

He stayed in that position for a while, cursing his shitty luck. This had been one of his best days since he arrived here and now his mood was once again ruined. The pleasant buzz in his head was already slowly disappearing and soon he’d have to face reality once again.

After wallowing in misery for a good five minutes, Jaskier planted his palms to the ground and tried to lift himself up in what could be considered the world's worst push-up, before his trembling arms gave out and he ended up back where he started.

All the muscle I gained after the mountain is almost gone, he thought bitterly. With a loud groan, the bard used the rest of his strength to flip himself to his back. All that time and effort wasted.

That position was a lot more comfortable, and at least he didn’t have to deal with a mouthful of floor any longer, so it was a win in Jaskier’s book.

As he stared at the ceiling, he noticed how the flickering light from the candles reflected against the unlit chandelier, the crystals forming small rainbows that danced around them. It had been so long since Jaskier had seen an actual rainbow.

He could almost imagine Geralt standing above him and rolling his eyes fondly as he waited for Jaskier to take his outstretched hand and help himself up, like they’d done so many times in the past. Jaskier reached his hand up tentatively but there was nothing in the empty space for him to grab. He pursed his lips to stop them from trembling as he felt a tear slide down his cheek.

He closed his eyes. Geralt wasn’t here. Jaskier would never see him again, and out of everything he'd been through so far, no pain could compare against the one caused by this knowledge. Gone were the days where they travelled side by side, huddled together for warmth, relaxed around a campfire under the stars, bickered…

The witcher finally got his blessing.

This was the second time the bard had to mourn Geralt while he was, hopefully, still alive. The witcher was, predictably, doing a good job of hiding his traces because no rumors circulated about him or Ciri at court, and while Jaskier was desperate to know if they were ok, he hoped that no news meant good news.

Jaskier was about to lower his still extended arm and go back to ignoring the gaping hole in his chest when it was suddenly enveloped in someone’s grip. The bard opened his eyes, startled, to see Blade looking down at him with a smirk.

“How much longer are you planning to stay here? It’s been almost 20 minutes and I would’ve preferred to be in bed by now.”

Jaskier glared up at them and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Bed? And here I thought you spent the nights crouched outside my door like a little imp.”

Blade rolled their eyes and swiftly pulled Jaskier to his feet. The bard swayed and his knees were about to give out again when Blade wrapped an arm around his torso.

“Oof, you’re heavier than you look bardling.” They grunted.

Jaskier bit his lip harshly to distract his mind from the resurfacing memories of Yennefer who used to call him that and squawked in offense. “Are you calling me fat?! Ohohoho no, this will not stand, uh- Mister? Miss? Argh whatever, you don’t deserve to be called by a respectful term anyways, but you get the point!

Blade chuckled and leveled him with a look. “By this I assume you mean yourself, because you're the only 'thing having trouble standing currently.”

Before Jaskier could find a retort, they half-dragged him along in the direction of his room. The movement made the bard’s stomach roll, but the dizziness had mostly cleared due to the fall. They reached his bedroom soon after and Blade deposited the bard to lean against the door. The guard nodded toward it. “Go on then. And be sure to dream about ways to get back at me.”

Jaskier punched their chest weakly and yawned. “Eh, this should be enough.” He said and made to turn around but paused in his tracks. He turned back towards Blade. It was one of the rare instances where their hood was missing. Jaskier had never seen their bare face from this close before so he took his time studying it.

Their auburn hair had taken an even more reddish hue as a result of the candlelight, creating a stark contrast between it and their tan skin, that was made darker due to the shadows. Their facial features were delicate yet sharp and long eyelashes framed their round hazel eyes. Barely visible was a thin scar making its way vertically at the left side of their mouth that inevitably drew Jaskier’s gaze to their lips.

It had been so long since he’d done anything with anyone that wasn’t forced Radovid, and he was desperate to gain any semblance of control by reclaiming that part of himself. And Blade was right there, in all their beauty, looking back at him through half-lidded eyes that were doing a bad job hiding their thinly-veiled desire…

So Jaskier did the only logical thing in this situation and grabbed the guard’s collar to pull them in for a rough kiss, teeth clanging against each other from the force of it. Blade responded immediately, grabbing the bards waist to press their bodies together and Jaskier took that chance to grind his hips against the other’s. Blade groaned against his lips and moved to mouth at the bard’s throat. Everything was moving so fast, the overwhelming sensations finally managing to quiet Jaskier’s raging mind and, at least superficially, fill the emptiness in his heart.

The bard blindly searched for the door handle with his free hand, eager to reach his bed so they could continue further, when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Both him and Blade froze for a second before pulling apart abruptly.

Standing a few meters away, with his arms crossed and wearing a deceptively calm expression, was none other than the king of Redania.

Chapter Text

When Jaskier was 13, he started getting closer to the stablehand, who was a few years older than him. He used to skip his lessons just to meet up with the boy, and they spent hours chatting about anything and everything, and the more Julian got to know him, the more a strange desire for him grew. He had only ever had crushes on girls before and it took him a while to realize that what he felt for the stable hand wasn’t much different, but when he did, he wasted no time in making a move.

It was late afternoon and they were huddled together in an empty stall in the stables. The hay pressing on young Julian’s back felt softer than the most high quality eiderdown when their lips touched for the first and last time, and the faint sunbeams peaking through the cracks on the hardwood wall lit up the space just enough for him to be able to see the other’s flushed face. It was a magical moment that ended all too soon.

After a servant caught them in the act they hastily informed the Viscount, who came and dragged Julian back to the manor by the hair and proceeded to give him the beating of his life once they were safely behind closed doors.

What under different circumstances would have become a fond memory for Jaskier to look back on ended up becoming lifelong nightmare fuel.

What he was feeling presently wasn’t dissimilar to the all-encompassing dread that once filled him as he stared at his father’s furious face. His breath was coming in short as cold sweat clammed up his entire body.

“Rad- Y-your majesty, this isn’t-“

Radovid raised his hand in a swift motion and Jaskier took the hint and shut up.

The king stared at him for a long moment that felt like it lasted hours when it was probably just a minute or two, his lips pressed in a firm line, before turning his gaze towards Blade, who was looking down at the floor with their hands clasped together behind their back, posture rigid.

“You.” Radovid addressed them at last. “Follow me. Julian, you are to remain in your quarters until you’re summoned.” He said and started walking away towards his office. Blade didn’t spare Jaskier a single glance as they hurried to obey.

Jaskier stayed frozen in place until both of them were out of sight and then didn’t wait a second longer before entering his room and slamming the door shut behind him. He leaned against it as he slowly slid to the floor.

He sat there for a long time, with his eyes pressed shut and his hands pulling at his hair as he tried to calm his hyperventilating with some simple breathing exercises. Despite what his father had said when Jaskier had voiced his ambitions, his chosen profession could be unexpectedly useful. 

How could I have been so stupid?

Things with Radovid were already strained enough as it were, but, maybe due to some lingering sentiment, the king hadn’t subjected him to any actual punishment after the bard’s little show of defiance- save for the forceful nature of their bedroom activities that had lost any pretense of mutual consent. Jaskier doubted that would be the case this time.

The room was dark and he could barely see anything, no matter how much his vision had adjusted since he entered, but he had trouble dealing with fire on a good day so lighting a candle in this situation wasn’t even worth considering. Once he felt stable enough, he got up and made his way to an armchair where he discarded his doublet and vest before throwing himself to the bed face down.

It was big enough that when he turned his face to the side he could pretend Geralt was laying right next to him, sharing a bed like they’d done so many times before while on the Path. But, like mere moments ago in the hallway, when he reached out his hand empty space was the only thing waiting for him. At some point he must have dozed off because he was startled awake early next morning by a few hard consecutive knocks on the door. A guard’s voice followed soon after.

“Lord Pankratz, the king has demanded your presence at once. Please make haste.”

Jaskier tentatively entered the luxurious throne room, whose decoration featured a massive crystal chandelier and intricate tapestries covering the walls, which was uncharacteristically empty save for the king and the two knights that flanked him. Curiously, blankets and cushions of various sizes were strewn across the floor. Blade was nowhere to be seen but Jaskier had suspected as much.

He didn’t dare look Radovid as he went to the middle of the room and kneeled in a show of submission that he hoped would somewhat mollify the king, before steeling himself to take the liberty and talk first.

“Your Majesty, what happened yesterday was but a mere accident! You see, I was heavily inebriated and I didn’t have the mind to think straight. It led me to unfortunately resort to old habits, which are known to be hard to die. I beseech you to show mercy.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt pride at the fact that his voice didn’t shake, yet another use of his “waste” of a profession.

There was a long, charged silence before Radovid finally responded.

“Old habits you say. Is it your debaucherous reputation that you’re referring to?”

Jaskier gulped. “Yes your Majesty.”

Radovid hummed. “Interesting. Well, to be honest, while pondering on what your motive could’ve been for such insolence, I arrived at the exact same conclusion.”

Jaskier blinked rapidly and looked up at the king, not expecting that in the slightest. “I-Is that so?”

Radovid stood from his golden, jewel encrusted throne and motioned for his knights to stay put as he walked down the carpeted marble stairs. He came to a halt in front of Jaskier, his expression unreadable. He extended a hand towards the bard and helped him up just as a servant appeared, carrying a tray with a silver goblet.

The king took the goblet and handed it to the bard, who had no choice but to take a large sip under Radovid’s expectant gaze. It was some sort of high quality red wine that left a familiar bittersweet aftertaste, though Jaskier couldn’t quite place what that was.

“Indeed. I should have taken better account of your personality before bringing you here. I promised to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of while neglecting your infamous disregard for monogamy. It’s no wonder you took matters into your own hands to fullfil such core needs. But worry not my sweet, I’ve taken measures to correct this oversight.” He said and went to sit back on his throne, settling comfortably with his elbow perched on an armrest and the side of his head laying on his fist.

The bard’s mind was reeling, confusion evident on his face that quickly switched to horror as various scantily dressed nobles, some of whom he recognized from banquets, entered the room from the side doors and made their way towards him with hungry expressions. Suddenly it hit him. The aftertaste from the drink was pomegranate, an ingredient frequently used in aphrodisiacs.

He tried taking a few steps back but whatever was used to spike the wine was potent and he was already feeling dizzy, so he stumbled and fell to the floor, landing on a large cushion, whose intended use he just realized. By then a middle-aged couple had reached him and they wasted no time by pawing at his garments.

Jaskier tried to resist, or at least voice his objection, but it was like his limbs had turned to goo and he had little control over his tongue so he could only sit there and make high-pitched keening sounds. With the last of his will he turned to desperately look at Radovid, who was watching him with a perverse sort of excitement and showed no sign of budging despite the bard’s pleading gaze.

His eyes were ripped away from the king as the man from the couple grabbed Jaskier’s face and turned it towards him. He and his wife had succeeded in removing his clothes, with the rest of their brethren having joined them and already touching him all over. Despite his disgust at the situation, Jaskier felt relief from their touches because his body was burning hot and the feeling of need that overtook him was bordering on painful.

The man maintained his grasp of the bard’s face as he used his other hand to untie the front of his breeches and pull himself out. Jaskier sobbed, big fat tears streaming down his cheeks, and closed his eyes as the noble fed him his cock with a quick thrust that made him gag.

Whenever Jaskier found himself in trouble, Geralt was there to save him more often than not, but no matter how much he wished for the witcher to come to his aid at the moment, he knew it was a lost cause. And even though he had stopped believing in any sort of deity a long time ago, when his instructors at temple school first started using corporal punishment on him, he couldn't help but pray with all he had as a last resort for this situation to stop.

Predictably, no one listened.

Chapter Text

After the nobles had their fill, they left Jaskier an aching, sticky mess on the floor. He laid there, listening to them make chitchat with each other as servants appeared and offered them wet cloths and robes. Once they were done cleaning themselves, they gathered in front of the throne, where Radovid had remained for the duration of the assault, watching them from his vantage point while drinking wine and picking on a platter of fruit. They offered him deep bows and one of them spoke up.

“Thank you for this opportunity your majesty, I think I can speak for everyone when I say we enjoyed it immensely.”

The king gestured for them to straighten back up.

“Oh please, it’s the least I could do for my loyal followers. You lot are the pillars of our kingdom, and you deserve to be awarded for your contribution to its prosperity. I will be counting on your continued support at the next assembly.”

After they left, Radovid made his way towards the bard, observing the tears drying underneath Jaskier’s clouded eyes as he stared up at the ceiling, motionless.

Beautiful

The king leaned down and grabbed his chin, startling the bard and forcing his gaze towards him.

“How do you feel darling? Was that enough to fulfill your insatiable needs?”

Were Jaskier in his right mind he would have let the king have a piece of his mind, but as it were, his numbed senses had yet to fully return, so he settled for a weak glare that made the other chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He gathered the limp bard in his arms and lifted him up, carrying him bridal style all the way to his quarters where a bath had been prepared, and deposited him inside it. Jaskier hissed as the hot water made contact with his sensitive skin, but he couldn’t deny that it did wonders for his stiff joints that were screaming in pain from how hard he’d been tensing his muscles.

Radovid stood back to make space for the two servants that were tasked with washing the bard and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway.

“Ambassadors from Maecht will be visiting next week, be ready to serve them like you did today for those bumbling fools.”

The water splashed around violently as Jaskier sat up sharply, dislodging the servants’ hands from his body in the process.

“Wh-” he coughed to clear his hoarse voice “W-what?! But I-”

“No buts. It’s about time you started pulling your weight around here. Bards and whores are practically the same thing anyways so it should hardly be a strain.”

He tutted and rolled his eyes when noticed Jaskier had started crying again. The king came to sit at the edge of the bathtub and made cooing noises as he stroked the bard’s wet hair, not reacting when Jaskier flinched at his touch.

“Come now dear, I’m practically doing you a favor! Can’t you see how beneficial this arrangement will be for the both of us?”

When the bard’s tears showed no sign of stopping, Radovid let out an irritated sigh and stood up, patting his fur down. “I will let you rest for now. You’d better have this attitude fixed by the next time we meet. Are we clear?”

Jaskier’s lips trembled as he struggled to get the words out of his mouth. “Y-yes your majesty.”

Radovid seemed pleased by the response and gave him a little wave before leaving, the servants following soon after, having finished their job as the king talked. Once the door closed and the bard was finally alone, he hugged his knees and sobbed until the water cooled and long past that.

For the following days Jaskier stayed locked in his room, doing his best to recover. He rested in bed for the most part, because moving still hurt like a bitch, and read books to pass the time, occasionally practicing a bit of meditation. Geralt had tried to teach him a few times in the past, and even though the bard never really got into it, he still remembered the basics.

It proved to be very beneficial, helping him clear his mind and mentally prepare for what was to come. He was determined not to let what happened at the throne room break him. Besides, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t been through before.

Being a traveling bard came along with its fair share of danger, and even though Geralt’s presence was usually enough to deter people with ill intentions, there were a couple… incidents that occurred while he and the witcher were travelling separately, and Jaskier was able to cope with them just fine. He just had to do it again, no big deal.

Plus, he wasn’t a foreigner to sex work either. He’d only done it a handful of times in the past, when coin was low, contracts scarce and audiences unresponsive. It was barely a hardship, he’s always loved sex after all, and it was a small price to pay in order to ensure he and Geralt didn’t starve to death. In each of these cases, he made sure the witcher had been none the wiser so that his friend didn’t feel guilty.

Definitely not because he worried Geralt would think less of him if he found out.

When Jaskier emerged the day before the ambassadors’ arrival, he acted completely normal, like nothing bad ever happened. He mostly hung out at the kitchens where he helped Bruneta and Chleb bake a variety of pastries for the coming banquet and jovially greeted anyone that he happened to run into. Everything was fucking fine.

Everything was not fine.

The ambassadors were a lot rougher than the nobles, if that was even possible, and he was forced to be at their beck and call all throughout their one-week stay. In contrast to the nobles, who already knew who he was and were careful not to damage their king’s boytoy too badly, especially since he was there watching at the time, to the ambassadors he was nothing more than a common whore and they treated him like it. Nevertheless, he managed to endure it.

Following that incident, Radovid mostly used Jaskier in a stealthier way, having him use his charms and go after specific people to sleep with in order to gather information, or, at the very least, leave them in a pleasant enough mood so that they’d be more receptive to the king’s incoming demands.

It seemed he intended to keep Jaskier’s new ‘occupation’ under wraps for the most part, something he probably decided on after seeing the bard take the initiative and approach the ambassadors first.

Jaskier did so because he wanted to preserve what little pride he had left, and because he wished to avoid the feeling of helplessness he experienced previously with the nobles. He decided he was going to do this on his own terms, and that’d be easier to accomplish if his targets thought he was there willingly.

The king was eager to take advantage of this attitude, making it so that people thought Jaskier was seducing them entirely by choice. Everyone simply assumed the bard was returning to his debaucherous ways, not suspecting a thing about the hidden agenda at play.

Jaskier still found himself puking his guts out after a few of those ‘’encounters’’, because even though his partners thought he was there of his own volition, that didn’t mean he was allowed to reject any of their specific wants or kinks, no matter how much they repulsed him. Radovid had made that very clear.

At least this arrangement allowed Jaskier to sleep with people of his choosing as well. He was basically free to do as he pleased as long as he performed his duties diligently. It had the added benefit of making it easier to avoid suspicion since he didn’t only go after those with influence, so the king was on board.

The nobles from that first time were tasked with monitoring him as he used his charm on the targets, making sure he did his job well, and guards were always around to prevent him from escaping, something he didn’t even think to try, too afraid of whatever punishment he would be subjected to if he failed.

Blade, his previous monitor, was nowhere to be seen and the bard had no way of knowing how they fared, or if they were even still alive.

This routine continued smoothly for around two months before certain… rumors made their circles at court. Jaskier first learned of them while in bed with two noblewomen. He was laying on his back while one of them rode him and the other sat on his face, making out with each other.

“Have you- ah! heard about king Henslet of Kaedwen?” The woman on his face asked, breaking away from their kiss.

“Mmm the one that died recently? Wh- oh! What about him?”

“They say he was killed by a witcher.”

The bard’s eyes widened but he continued to move his hips and tongue, fearing that a break in rhythm would disrupt the conversation. The woman riding him made a questioning noise, prompting for more details.

“Ah ah y-yeah, the famous one from the songs. White Wolf or something.”

Jaskier’s movements couldn’t help but falter this time, but thankfully it went unnoticed. The women he was pleasuring had recently arrived from the countryside and hadn’t had a chance to see him play yet, so they didn’t know about his profession or his relationship with said ‘White Wolf’. His mind was reeling. What could have possibly happened for Geralt to make such a decision?

“Huh? Did- ah, someone hire him?”

“I doubt it since he- oh, he was aided by other witchers and non-human folk.” She paused for a moan. “It seems they’ve taken full control of the palace and are establishing their own rule.”

The other noblewoman let out a breathy gasp. “A kingdom run by non-humans? What has the world come to?”

“Ah well, at the end of the day it’s not us, Redanians’, problem so who cares?”

Jaskier wanted to know more, but the women finished soon after and went on their merry way. For the next month he scoured the court for information, and from what he managed to gather, Geralt had united the witcher schools and teamed up together with the elves, dwarves, halflings, gnomes and the rest of the elder races, creating an army strong enough to battle against human oppression, with him as their leader.

Through it all, there was no mention of Ciri, which deeply worried Jaskier, but he continued to hope for the best.

The White Wolf’s army amassed power at an impressive speed, conquering Aedirn next and quickly advancing towards Rivia and Lyria, who didn’t even bother to put up a fight. White flags were already hanging from the castle walls when Geralt arrived, and the monarchs quickly agreed to his terms in a successful attempt to partly maintain their positions by becoming vassals.

Even though he did his best to conceal it, Jaskier was thrilled at this turn of events. He’d spent the majority of his stay in Tretogor worried for his friend, who was on a dangerous mission to find and protect the missing princess of Cintra aka the most wanted person on the Continent.

Like most bards, Jaskier adored heroic tales, and he’d always pictured Geralt as a strong, selfless hero that was destined to save the world, though begrudgingly. It sounded silly, even in his own mind, but all the events so far pointed towards that direction. And as a protagonist, Jaskier expected Geralt to have certain ‘buffs’ to ensure the witcher made it to the end goal.

But as his tutors used to advise, the bard had to remind himself not to cross the line between fantasy and reality. And the reality was that Geralt’s chances of survival were very low. But now, with an army between him and his enemies, the witcher’s safety was all but guaranteed. Jaskier could finally put his mind at ease.

He was about to knock on the large doors of Radovid’s study, wanting to report some information he had extracted from some baron he’d slept with the previous day, when loud voices from inside the room stopped him in his tracks.

“We have to make a move your Majesty. From what my spies tell me, the White Wolf and his entourage are currently at a standstill, too preoccupied trying to stabilize their reign to notice us if we stage an ambush.” a familiar voice echoed, making Jaskier’s blood run cold when paired with Radovid’s following response:

“You’re right, this is the best time for us to act. Start by gathering the noble’s private armies and put the first order in charge, they’re our best chance at coming up with a successful plan.”

No! Jaskier thought, this can’t be.

No matter how strong Geralt’s army had gotten, they couldn’t possibly hope to compete with Redania, which was arguably the most powerful of the Northern Kingdoms, especially after Radovid’s ascension to the throne.

Redania was currently stronger than ever, more akin to an empire than a kingdom, and they had a much bigger chance at coming victorious when pitted against the Wolflands, as people had taken to calling the parts conquered by the White Wolf.

The bard threw the twin doors open, with force strong enough to make them bang loudly against the walls.

“You can’t do that!” he yelled in accusation, “You promised me that if I came with you, you’d leave Geralt alone!”

Three pairs of eyes, belonging to Radovid, the spymaster Sigismund Dijkstra and the court mage Philippa Eilhart, focused on him. The first two were startled but the remaining one looked bored.

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in.” The sorceress said in a sing-song voice.

Radovid spared her a glance before blinking his shock away, face hardening. “That was before your dear witcher started conquering kingdoms left and right. You can’t possibly expect me to remain with my arms crossed in this situation.” He said, leaning forwards to place his elbows on the desk in front of him, hands clasped.

“Besides, if I leave him be, what guarantee do I have that he won’t come and whisk you away?” He stood up and made his way towards the bard. “I bet you’ve been wishing for that. Waiting for your knight in shining armor to arrive and save you!” He threw his head back and cackled.

Jaskier looked down at the floor, clenching his fists as his face flushed with embarrassment. What Radovid said was true and the bard didn’t bother to deny it.

A small bit of hope had indeed started building in his chest, becoming larger the more he learned about Geralt’s accomplishments. He’d done his best not to acknowledge it, but Radovid was now forcing him to confront it head on. The foolishness of his thoughts made him burn with shame.

But this wasn’t the time to get caught up in his head, he had to act, and fast.

A tear slid down his cheek and he dropped to his knees. He stared up at Radovid with trembling eyes. “Please don’t hurt him.” He pleaded; his voice barely more than a whisper. He hoped this pathetic display would tug at Radovid’s heartstrings. Whether in pity or glee he didn’t care, though he’d prefer a combination of both.

No matter what had happened between them, Jaskier knew that Radovid still cared for him, in his own fucked-up way, and the bard hoped this little show would be enough to make the other waver.

The king’s eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together as his gaze broke away from Jaskier to wander around the room in contemplation. It seemed the bard's prediction had been correct.

Suddenly, Radovid's eyes stopped to rest somewhere off to the side.

A long moment passed and then his face twisted in a wicked smile. The bard turned his head to see Philippa looking back at the king with a matching expression. Dijkstra on the other hand looked just as lost as him.

Finally, Radovid turned his attention back to Jaskier with a glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll grant you your wish.” Just as relief started filling the bard, the king’s words continued. “But under one condition.”

Jaskier grabbed at Radovid’s cape, fists bunching the soft material, and nodded fervently. “Yes, yes! Whatever it is, I agree!”

The king cocked his head to the side, smirking wickedly. “Even if I were to ask for your soul?”

Jaskier could swear he felt his heart stop for a moment. The bard slowly retracted his hands, resting them atop his thighs, and started fidgeting with his fingernails. Despair threatened to swallow him whole. His soul was all he had left, the only part of him still intact.

If he said yes, he’d completely lose even the smallest chance at freedom. He’d never be able to make his own decisions ever again. His entire being would belong solely to Radovid for him to control and do as he pleased with.

It didn’t sound all that different to his current situation, but the physical restraints he’d become accustomed to were eons apart from the complete and unescapable imprisonment that would follow if he gave up his soul.

But even then, it was a small price to pay. There was nothing Jaskier wouldn’t do to protect Geralt and Radovid knew that. His answer had been obvious from the start.

He took a deep breath and said with conviction:

“If it’s my soul you want, you can have it.”

Chapter Text

“You can’t possibly be serious Your Majesty-- this trade is in no way equal!” Dijkstra yelled in disagreement, standing up abruptly and slamming his hands on the table.

Radovid shot him a warning look, displeased by his outburst. Tensions between the king and his advisors still ran high. They only recently started working towards some sort of reconciliation for the sake of the kingdom, and the balance was still too fragile for the Spymaster to make such a big show of defiance against the king, but he couldn’t help it.

Dijkstra took a deep breath to get his emotions in check and sat back down. “I understand how important this… gentleman is to your Majesty, but I merely worry a decision like that would put Redania in huge disadvantage.”

Radovid sighed and scratched his chin. “I can tell why you’d see it that way Dijkstra, but think about it.” He came to stand behind Jaskier and placed his hands on the bard’s shoulders. “Julian here is one of the White Wolf’s dearest friends! From his point of view, Julian came here to be with me of his own free will because we’re madly in love. Surely he wouldn’t carelessly put his friend in danger by attacking us.” He tightened his grip and Jaskier winced as the king’s nails dug into his skin. “Especially if said friend is tied to me.”

He let go and went back to his seat behind the desk. “Besides, the White Wolf isn’t just conquering kingdoms for the fun of it. He’s only doing it to the ones he deems unsafe towards non-humans. If we try to limit the discrimination against them and give them equal rights he should have no reason to show hostility.”

Dijkstra was silent for a moment, considering. “…Do you think we can make all these changes before the White Wolf comes knocking on our door? The sentiment against the elder races is deeply rooted in this kingdom. People aren’t going to change their ways easily.”

Radovid scoffed. “That’s what laws are for dear. We may not be able to make a difference right away, but we have to show we’re trying. That alone will be enough- especially if Julian vouches for us.”

Philippa looked at her nails nonchalantly. “And to ensure Julian’s cooperation, a soul contract will be needed.” She said and turned to Dijkstra. “I’ve got the perfect spell for it too. Our king gets to keep his boytoy forever tied to him and Redania stays safe as a result. It’s a win-win situation.”

The Spymaster frowned in contemplation before relenting. “Fine. But we must get this over with as quickly as possible.”

The king nodded in agreement and all three of them turned to look down at the still kneeling bard. Jaskier flinched at the sudden attention after his presence was mostly ignored for the majority of the conversation. He gulped and avoided their gazes. This was really happening.  

The king’s quarters were chosen as the best place for the binding ceremony to take place, being in the safest part of the palace and away from prying eyes. Jaskier and Radovid were left there alone for a moment while the sorceress went to gather the necessary items, and the king spent this time reading through documents as if it was any other day, but the smile on his face betrayed his good mood.

He glanced up at the bard, who was sitting motionless on the bed, staring off blankly into the distance with his head hung low. Radovid rolled his eyes and abandoned the documents to come sit next to the other man, taking the bard’s hand in his own. When that still didn’t snap Jaskier out of his trance, he tagged at it harshly.

Jaskier blinked a few times and turned to look at Radovid, whose gaze softened when he saw the haunted look in the other’s glassy eyes. The king raised his free hand to gently stroke Jaskier’s cheek- as if the bard was made of crystal, fragile. As if Radovid hadn’t spent the past nine months trying his hardest to break him in every way possible. He seemed to have mellowed out now that he knew for sure he’d won.

“Why the long face love? We’re gonna be together forever- this is cause for celebration!” He leaned in to kiss the bard’s cheek and giggled. “Almost like a wedding don’t you think?”

Jaskier couldn’t tell if the king was saying this to mock him or because he genuinely believed it. Nonetheless, he chose not to respond, too lost in his own thoughts to care. Ever since he’d arrived in Tretogor he’d tried so so hard to keep it together. To stay positive. To find joy in the little things. Would that even be possible after this spell was done? How binding would it even be? He wished he’d asked for more details beforehand, though his questions would have probably gone unanswered anyways.

The king was starting to get annoyed by Jaskier’s silence, but he didn’t get to do anything about it since that was the moment Philippa chose to appear inside the room, through a portal that created a light breeze before it vanished.

With a flick of her fingers, various furniture started to move away to create space in the middle of the room. She used chalk to draw a magic circle on the floor before beckoning the other two closer and making them stand in front of each other at opposite sides of the circle.

The bard watched her place candles, crystals, feathers and animal bones at what seemed like specific spots inside the circle, before entering it herself and standing in the middle, arms reaching out.

“Take my hands, both of you.” She said calmly. After they’d both obeyed, she scrunched her face in concentration and started reciting words in Elder. The air in the room started swirling around them, blowing the candles out and leaving the three in complete darkness. The magic circle started to glow red.

The red light gathered in the middle of the circle and climbed onto the sorceress, who closed her eyes and tightened her grip on Jaskier and Radovid’s hands, causing the magic to course through them. It felt like static was making its way all throughout the bard’s body, getting more and more painful as time went on. He bit his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood in order to stop himself from screaming.

Finally, the sorceress stopped chanting and exited the circle, though the magic continued unperturbed. She brought the men closer to each other, pulling them inside the circle, and let go, making them hold each other’s hands instead of hers. She took Radovid’s free hand and placed his palm on Jaskier’s chest, right above Jaskier’s wildly beating heart. The sorceress looked exhausted, but she kept her chin held high.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and King Radovid V of Redania both consent to the following: The latter will have ownership of the former’s soul in return for promising not to engage in war with the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia. Julian’s life will be tied to Radovid’s and if the latter one dies, so will the former. If the White Wolf attacks Redania first, Julian will lose his life since his part of the deal will be broken.”

Suddenly, an excruciating pain started radiating from Jaskier’s heart. It felt like it was being squeezed and the skin over it started to burn as if something was being carved on it. This time the bard wasn’t able to muffle his screams and they echoed loudly throughout the room. This moment felt like it lasted hours but it was probably just a few seconds because it ended just as suddenly as it started.

Jaskier immediately fell to the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He sat there for a moment to rest, dry heaving.

“So it’s done?” Radovid asked, looking a lot better than the bard. He was staring down at his palm in curiosity. “Yes, it’s done.” Answered Philippa hoarsely, who was also trying to catch her breath.

The king’s gaze snapped to Jaskier as a sinister smile creeped on his face. He closed his fist and manifested a glowing red chain that extended until it attached itself to a matching red collar that appeared on Jaskier’s neck. He tugged harshly, forcing he bard closer to him.

“W-what is that?” Jaskier asked, horrified. The sorceress chuckled. “Just a little something to keep you in check. Its radius extends all the way to the outskirts of Tretogor but you won’t be able to go farther than that unless the king is accompanying you, and he can bring you back to him whenever he pleases.”

Radovid looked very pleased by this add-on, and he made sure to let Philippa know. The two started talking about her compensation as they made their way outside the room. Jaskier chose to stay behind as he struggled to come to terms with what had just transpired. When his raging mind showed no sign of calming down after a while, he decided it’d be a good idea to go get piss drunk instead, but before he went looking for alcohol, he stopped in front of a large ornate mirror and pulled his shirt up.

There, right over his heart, was something akin to a tattoo- made of scar tissue instead of ink- depicting a crowned eagle holding a scepter and what seemed like a banner with a cross on its chest.

Redania’s coat of arms.

Life moving forward was much the same as it was previously but with one notable difference.

Since it was now physically impossible for Jaskier to escape, he was finally allowed to leave the palace premises. The first time he stepped outside he almost wept with joy, but the direness of the situation prevented him from shedding any actual tears.

Being outside was intoxicating. The direct sunlight was almost blinding to his eyes, and Jaskier’s skin tingled with warmth on the places it touched. Other than the sun, the weather was less than ideal, what with winter being right around the corner. The greenery had mostly withered already, and a small fog was created whenever Jaskier exhaled, but none of it mattered. If anything, the cold air that entered his lungs was refreshing.

Autumn used to be Jaskier’s least favorite season, because whenever the temperatures started dropping, it signified the end of yet another year on the Path, which meant the time for him and Geralt to part ways was also coming near- unless it was one of the rare occasions Jaskier accompanied the witcher to Kaer Morhen. Somehow, the anticipation of their parting was worse than the months that followed which they spent apart. Out of sight out of mind as they say.

Now that none of the above were any of Jaskier’s concern anymore, he was able to at least partly appreciate the season for the first time in years.

He hadn’t spent as much time in Tretogor as other Redanian cities, like Oxenfurt or Novigrad, but he still remembered the way to a few places, though it was mostly inns and brothels.

Seeing as sex was something he was currently far from lacking, for better or for worse, he decided to stick to the inns instead. The one he used to frequent most in the past was called ‘The Merry Maiden’, and so it was the first place he chose to visit. The man who owned it was thankfully the same as before, and he recognized Jaskier instantly.

“Well well well, if it ain’t the famous Jaskier! We’ve been waiting for ya to show your face ‘round here ever since we learned ya’ve been staying in these parts. I started ta think ya’d forsaken us common folk since ya never left the palace.” Piotr, the innkeeper, said when he spotted Jaskier.

“What nonsense my friend! I’ve just been really busy; the king has been throwing banquets almost daily if you can believe it.” Jaskier said with a strained laugh, taking a seat across the bar. Piotr immediately placed a tankard of ale in front of him. “Good ta know. I see ya’ve yer lute with you, ya plannin’ on playin’ tonight?”

Jaskier downed the ale in one long gulp and wiped his face with the back of his hand before turning to look at Piotr with an expression of mock offence. “But of course! It’d be an insult to my name and my bardic integrity if I didn’t!”

The innkeeper chuckled. “Then get ta it lad! Business has been shite lately, if ya do yer magic I’ll let ya have dinner on the house.”

The bard all but jumped off his seat in excitement. “No need to tell me twice old pal!” He said and took to the stage, elated at the chance to play for his preferred audience for once instead of the Redanian high society that saw him as barely more than a toy at best or a piece of meat at worst.

The tears he couldn’t shed before threatened to come out as he sung the bawdiest songs in his set list and his fingers trembled as they plucked the strings of the lute, though he managed to at least keep his voice steady thanks to all his past training. This was the closest Jaskier had felt to happiness in months, and he wished this moment could last forever.

What a useless thought to have, he thought bitterly. The performance went great regardless, and the crowd that gathered to watch him made sure his tankard was never empty for long.

After his set ended, most of the patrons got up to leave, but Jaskier stayed behind to flirt with Piot’s daughter, Anna, as she cleaned up around the place. Things between them were starting to heat up when the bard felt a tug at his neck that made him yelp. He looked down to see the collar from before, whose chain stretched across the room and disappeared into the wall. Jaskier turned to look at Anna in alarm, an excuse ready at the tip of his tongue, but her eyes hadn’t left his face.

“Is something wrong?” She asked in confusion.

Oh, Jaskier sighed in relief, she can’t see it, thank fuck.

“Nothing’s wrong my lady, but it is getting rather late. You should probably finish up and go to bed before Piotr catches us.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. “Fine. Don’t be a stranger ok?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Jaskier said and kissed her hand, making her blush and giggle.

His smile dropped when she disappeared from his vision. The bard wasn’t ready to return to reality yet, but he didn’t have choice. He was barely out the door when the tugging started again. He stumbled several times as the chain dragged him across town, all the way to the palace, and he was out of breath when he finally made it inside.

Radovid was waiting for him in his room while lounging on the bard’s bed in his nightclothes. The king frowned when he took in Jaskier’s disheveled appearance and clicked his tongue. “Your little outing went well I presume?”

Jaskier closed the door but stayed frozen at the entrance. “Y-yes your majesty, I am deeply grateful for this opportunity.” The king stood up and sauntered towards him, closing the distance. “I see.” He said and started unbuttoning Jaskier’s doublet, making the bard shudder, and not in a good way.

The king leaned close to whisper in his ear while his hands continued working on the buttons. “I’m glad you had fun darling, but I have to admit I missed you terribly.” He grabbed Jaskier’s nape and squeezed harshly. “If you were as grateful as you say, you wouldn’t have made me wait this long.  Don't let it happen again.”

The only thing Jaskier could do in response was nod.

Being able to go out was a nice bonus but it didn’t take long for it to lose its appeal since Jaskier’s hellish life in the palace continued on without respite. The bard’s “workload” increased more and more as time passed, and when the nobles started realizing Jaskier wouldn’t say no even to their most depraved desires, they took full advantage.

Asphyxiation was one of the tamest kinks he was forced to engage in, but one night early on, a particularly eager baron took it too far.

Jaskier was laying underneath the man on all fours as the other pounded into him. A piece of silk ribbon was tied around the bard’s neck, and the baron took great pleasure in cutting off Jaskier’s airways by pulling at the ends until he went dizzy, at which point the nobleman loosened his hold to allow the bard to breath once more.

This pattern continued until Jaskier could feel the baron getting closer to his climax. He cheered internally, already imagining the hot bath he was going to take once this was over, but when the nobleman gave one last tug to accompany his release, he didn’t let go. It was awfully reminiscent of the time Radovid stopped playing nice, and this only served to make the bard’s panic even worse.

Jaskier struggled to hold himself up with one arm as he used his other hand to claw at the ribbon on his neck, but it was no use. The baron was too far gone in his post-orgasmic bliss, and when he finally noticed what was happening, Jaskier had already gone limp

When the bard woke up again he was in the infirmary and one full day had passed. The healer ran to inform the king of his return to consciousness, so Jaskier had a short moment alone to gather his bearings.

I almost died.

It was a thought that by all accounts should have terrified him, but the only thing he felt was regret. Regret that the baron didn’t finish the job. Regret that he survived. Jaskier had never been a suicidal person, but recently he’d started toying with such thoughts more and more.

The bard had many qualities, positive and negative alike, like his outgoing nature for example, or his flair for the dramatic. But his most unique quality was his ability to feel things much more intensely than other people. It was a gift and a curse all at once, because while it helped him form deep, meaningful connections and become an outstanding artist through his ability to impart a piece of his soul in everything he created, it also greatly amplified all his negative emotions as well, sadness being one of the strongest amongst them.

Jaskier was someone that wore his heart on his sleeve, and even though it had been trampled on time and time again, he couldn’t make himself stop. Even now that he was experiencing the absolute worst time of his life, he wasn’t able to numb his pain by disassociating, no matter how hard he tried. He was mentally present for every torturous second, and he felt Everything, even when drunk out of his mind.

After taking all of the above into account, who could fault him for considering death as a possible solution to his predicament? But despite how much he’d love to escape this eternal torment by ending it all, he knew it was impossible, not if he wanted to maintain his and Radovid’s deal and keep Geralt safe. So he went with the next best thing.

Jaskier was first exposed to fisstech on one of his rare outings. He had found himself back at ‘The Merry Maiden’, only this time he wasn’t at the bar, but at Anna’s bedroom, doing a whole different kind of performance.

The were laying on her bed facing each other after the second round, both sweaty and breathing heavily, when Anna sat up and reached over the bard, taking out a small pouch filled with white powder from the nightstand drawer.

She gave Jaskier a cheeky grin before pushing him to lie on his back, and poured some of the powder on his chest, arranging it in three neat lines using his tuning fork necklace, before leaning down to snort one of them. She gave a contented sigh and fell back into the pillows.

“Oh fuck yeah.” She laughed. “Feel free to have a taste handsome, there’s more where it came from.”

Jaskier considered her offer. There had been many opportunities for him to give fisstech a try throughout his life, especially while he was a student at Oxenfurt Academy, but one of the most common side effects was damage to the respiratory system, and that would be catastrophic for a bard, so Jaskier always resisted the temptation.

But now he was at a point in his life where he had run out of fucks to give.

The bard swiped at one of the lines with his index finger, gathering some of the powder, and then opened his mouth to rub it on his gums as he’d seen others do. Right away, he could feel his brain getting foggy and his muscles relaxing, all his troubles melting away. He let out a groan of satisfaction and stared up at the ceiling with a loopy smile. How had he not considered drugs before? It was exactly what he needed, the perfect cure to help him escape his horrid reality.

Before going back to the palace, Jaskier traded all his measly earnings (gone were the days of luxury) for all the fisstech Anna had left, after ensuring from her a steady supply in preparation for the future.

That night, as some aristocrats used and abused him like usual, Jaskier was able to lay back and accept it easily from his vantage point up in the clouds, sheltered inside the safety of his own mind. No more buzzing thoughts or internal screams of pain.

Blessed silence at last.