#and at one point people must have started to realize that either a. Jaskier doesn't age b. he studied for quite a while and how old??

[spielzeugkaiser]

I’d love to see Valdo’s reaction to bear!Jaskier or Shapeshifter!Jaskier! I love all of your verses!

[MASTERPOST] Jaskier is a man of words, but for this, he just.. ripped off the band-aid. Also: Geralt is not the only one who is immune to fair maidens in need! (and yes, I literally took little Greta (and her brother) from undercover at lettenhove and Valdo from Onlyfans! it was first like a lazy thing, but the more I think about it, the more I like it! it's like one universe where they're at least semi-happy)

And ohhh, I had a lot of fun drawing the gang. This is like, way in the future, after Jaskier starts to fill up his witcher shoes more and more - but still never talked about it with his friends. I don't think it's easy for him to not hide, after he did that for decades.

[jaytodd1129]

the power of yenskier is that nobody gave a shit about yennefer unless it was serving their own purpose in s1, and apparently nobody gives a shit about yennefer in s2 either. everybody uses her, nobody really cares what she wants or the toll that it takes on her (ie: "i'll bind myself to this sorceress and then not tell her for years because i want to feel that we are in love, and if i tell her, it might ruin that" or "i know you're the hero of the Battle of Sodden and lost everything to save us all, but you'll have to let someone else take the glory because you being the hero doesn't favor our politics at all"). love seems to always be.. conditional. it always seems to exist in a situation where the other person is fulfilling their own wishes and needs without necessarily taking into account hers.

she's always the vessel.

and then there's jaskier. and they've been at each other's throats like cats and dogs for like 20 years now but he's such a sight for sore eyes because yennefer realizes this might be the one person who's ever been honest with me from the start and whose never stood to gain anything from interacting with me.

they banter. and jaskier grants his supposed nemesis safe passage to Xintrea without asking anything in return, because.. well, because that's just who Jaskier is. he's the kind of person who uses his resources to smuggle refugees to safety without having any direct personal stake in the matter cause.. it's the right thing to do? he's the kind of person whose first thought after being tortured is to warn the guy he got tortured about--even though last time they interacted was when said person abandoned him on a mountain top-- that there are dangerous people who are after him. the kind of person who leads his and Yennefer's persuers towards him and away from her, again because... that's what you do, isn't it?

all the while not expecting anything in return.

and Yennefer must find this so.. strange.

and then the ending happens.

and Yennefer has just slit her wrists to--once again--become the vessel for everyone. to serve other people's purpose. to save other people's loved ones. cause that's what she is, and she's begun to understand. that's what people want her for. and even though she just saved his child surprise, Geralt can't be bothered to even glance in her direction, because.. well, she's served her purpose.

but you know who does glance?

Jaskier.

the ever present sing-songy twit she used to take such pleasure in teasing about crow's feet, her self-proclaimed nemesis, is the first person to reach out with a steadying hand and ask if she's ok.

and she looks into his eyes, and there's this reproachful glint, this anger almost of "how dare you ask if i'm alright? didn't you know i'm just a vessel?" and there's recognition there too, because

they are both vessels in a way. they are there when people need something from them and they're not when it's not convenient. and neither of them expect anything in return for what they do at this point, cause they've been through too much for that. but maybe, just maybe.. two vessels can rely on each other. comfort each other. and most importantly truly see each other.

maybe, finally, they can be important too.

[andyet-here-we-are]

Jaskier, Yennefer, and Ciri find out Geralt has never had a birthday party so they go out of their way to have steamers and balloons and game night, all the while Geralt is just emotionally constipated because he doesn't know what the fuck is going on.

(Also can be read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742986 )

"Keep him busy, and don't be here before the evening!" Jaskier says to Yennefer.

"How the hell am I supposed to keep him busy all day?!"

"You're a mage," the bard reasons and pushes her out of the door, "I'm sure you can find a way! Put a spell on him which will make him want to explore aaaall the pretty flowers and trees in nature till evening or something, I don't know! I know I'm the brain of this lovely team, and you all depend on me for every little thing, but even this extremely handsome and intelligent bard can't think of everything all the damn time!"

"... do you even hear yourself?" Yennefer rolls her eyes. "You're not the brain of this group. If anything, I'm not even sure if you have one."

"Rude. Oh wait a second, you didn't deny that I'm extremely-"

"Jaskier."

"Anyway! Less talk, more work. Out out out!"

***

Jaskier ends up making a birthday cake with Ciri. Okay okay, that's a lie, because it's more like Ciri just tells him to stay out of it, so he starts decorating the cottage while Ciri makes the cake –he nails it, thank you very much.- He gives her some ideas about the topping though, so he thinks he deserves some credit anyway.

Hours pass, and right when Jaskier thinks that Yennefer might have put his spell suggestion into practice–not that he is sure that it actually exists- they hear the sound of the key turning the lock, and he can’t help but swear. Because damn it, they were supposed to knock the door to give them some more time! But what they do instead? They step into the cottage like god damn savages.

Jaskier definitely doesn’t panic and nearly falls face-first on the ground while he runs to the basket which was filled with flowers, while Ciri manages to keep her chill.

“Happy birthday!” they cheer, and Geralt can’t fathom what is happening for a moment, even though it's pretty clear.

He is awestruck by the way the cottage is decorated: colorful streamers hanging everywhere, balloons covering the floor, various food dishes, and baked goods waiting for them on the table. Where did they even found streamers?

The Witcher doesn’t even know how to react.

It feels just so strange to him. All of it.

He is familiar with kikimoras, ghouls, basilisks and much more, he knows how to react when he sees one.

He knows what to do then.

But as he stands there while delicate flowers kept thrown over his head by the delicate hands of the most precious ones in his life, he just can’t react.

 

"What do you mean you never had a birthday party?!" he remembers Jaskier asking him nearly two months ago when he accidentally let it slip when his birthday was "...at all?" The bard’s face was coated in sadness.

"We don't have time for a birthday party. And it's irrelevant."

"Irrelevant, he says! YOU are irrelevant! We’re sooo gonna celebrate it!"

“Jaskier, no. We’re not going to do that.”

“Jaskier, yes! Just you wait, my dear Witcher.”

He had forgotten about it.

But apparently, Jaskier hadn’t.

 

Geralt isn’t the only one who is surprised. Because not only Jaskier and Ciri throw flowers over their heads while singing a Happy Birthday song, there is a banner that reads “Happy Birthday, Geralt and Yennefer!”

“It’s not even my birthday.” Yennefer states with a hard to read expression on her face. “I think I get it now.” She then looks at Ciri questioningly. “It was your idea, right?”

To her surprise, Ciri shakes her head and points the bard with her head.

“Let's just pretend it is!” Jaskier says. “I wasn't sure if you ever had a birthday party either, well, maybe you have, I don’t know. But!” he holds up his index finger, “ I’m sure it wasn’t anything as splendid as this since I wasn’t the one who-”

Ciri coughs, and Jaskier immediately corrects “We! I mean we, as in, me and my excellent, one and only dear assistant Ciri, weren’t the ones who organized that party. So I just thought... It seemed unfair that- not that I care or something, but-”

As much as is amusing to see the bard –who normally has his way with words- stumbling over his words- Yennefer prefers him to just shut his mouth at that moment.

So she does the only logical thing and gives him a very brief hug as a silent, but sincere thank you. She can swear that there’s the smallest hint of pink covering his cheeks afterward.

“I promise to you that your real, true-to-its- date birthday will be as good as this one. Happy birthday!” Jaskier says while Ciri is busy with giving Geralt a hug and wishing him a happy birthday.

As if he is saving hugging Geralt for later, Jaskier makes a beeline for his lute after telling them to have a seat. “Or don’t,” he adds “if you prefer to dance. Which I’m sure you will. So, I’ll start with the song I wrote for the confused mage over there.”

Jaskier’s song starts with “Once, lived a mage” which makes Yennefer frown.

"Once? Lived? I'm still here, you arsehole."

And includes lines such as:

"but don't make her upset!

Or else, you will, oooh, so regret

Yennefer of Vengerberg

is here with all the souls she has collected!"

“Only you could manage to warn people about not to make someone upset, and upset the said person the very next moment,” Yennefer rolls his eyes at the bard, who seems pretty proud of how his song turned out.

“What can I say? I'm a man of many talents.”

“Since when talking non-stop and giving people, hell, even monsters a headache count as a talent? For your information, I don't collect souls. What do you take me for? A demon?”

“Oh no honey, how can I? You’re worse than a demon. Demons are much easier to deal with. I’m sure that Geralt agrees with me. Right, Geralt?”

“I’d shut up if I were you, Jaskier.”

“Okay, maybe not so sure anymore. Yeah, of course you would shut up. That’s like, one of your personal traits. Not talking, as if someone made you take a vow of silence.”

“Hmm.”

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No song for me?” Geralt wonders.

"Well, I've written enough songs for you. I thought it was time for a little change."

"Hmm. Fair enough.”

Geralt nods like he was completely expecting that to happen, and even the idea of Geralt thinking Jaskier would stop writing songs about him eventually, breaks Jaskier's heart.

He set his lute aside, and walks behind his chair. "I could travel the whole world to find the gift you deserve, the perfect gift,” he says softly as he leans over the chair, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.

“But what you deserve is the world we travel in, its better, flawless version where everything is beautiful, where minacious creatures that you have to deal with don't exist.”

Jaskier is almost sure that Geralt will tell him to shut up, but instead, what he does is putting one hand on his, and listening to him.

 So he keeps talking: “A world where the sun always shines and warms upon your face every morning, where flowers never wilt, and moon always sings its sweet lullaby to you every night.

You say I am the crazy one, yet you must be crazy to think that I'd ever stop composing songs for you and sing them. Of course I wrote a song for you. But the thing is...”

The bard leans in even closer, and the rest is whispered in a tone oh so sweet that honey would be ashamed of letting people call it sweet.

 “-it's only for your ears to hear. And my other, dare I say, gift is, only for your eyes to see. Anything you wish tonight, shall be yours. All yours. Happy birthday, my love."

Geralt can’t help but shiver ever so slightly.

“You know we can still hear you, right? There are children here.” Yennefer remarks a moment later –which Jaskier responds with: “Hush, jelly Witchy, you got your song!”

“I hope you're not referring to me. I'm not a child,” Ciri says with a little smirk. “Let my dads have their moment.”

“Yeah! Let her dads-”

Jaskier starts, but then almost chokes on his own spit in surprise once he realizes what Ciri had just said.

They all, even Geralt, laugh at his reaction.

Their evening goes absolutely perfectly; Jaskier plays his lute and sings the most lively, cheerful songs for them. Sometimes he sings them alone, sometimes Ciri sings along. And sometimes just Ciri sings as he strums his lute, making up notes and melodies on the spot.

They even play games, but then Jaskier gets on Yennefer’s nerves as usual while playing -she nearly starts a cake fight with him, fortunately, Ciri and Geralt prevent it- they eventually stop playing games.

Even though Geralt can’t say that he really understands why they care about his birthday that much –he just got one year older, so what? It’s not worth celebrating- he still appreciates everything they do.

***

“My sun already shines every morning. Actually... He even shines in the darkest nights.”

Geralt says after he covers Jaskier’s naked body with the blanket so he doesn’t get cold.

It has been a hot night, and also very sweet.

“And my little flower,” he whispers sweetly as he watches how Jaskier’s chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, running his fingers through his silky, and messy hair “he never wilts, no matter how harsh the winter is. No matter how mean and inconsiderate the stupid winter can be towards him sometimes.”

The peaceful expression on his bard’s face as he curls even closer into Geralt’s embrace makes the Witcher smile fondly.

 “And my moon,” he buries his nose in his boyfriend’s hair, breathing in his very unique, familiar and heavenly scent “already sings sweet lullabies to me every day. ”

He then lets out a content sigh, and closes his eyes after brushing his lips against Jaskier’s sweet lips, stealing a soft kiss from them.

Not aware of the now blushing cheeks of his bard.

“Sleep tight, little hummingbird of mine. Thank you for everything."

[crimsonrae]

Across the Road, At the Brothel

Chapter Five

Summary: Jaskier fell in love any day that the sun rose in the East. It was a trifling, pleasurable experience for him. Even when he was jumping out a window to avoid cuckolded husbands. So what happens when his trifles start to become more significant? Jaskier/OC. Some Yennefer/Geralt

A/N: Jaskier is just too adorable not to write about. This is a relationship development story with an OC. There will be smut in later chapters and plenty of angst. 

Warning: Attempted Rape in this Chapter

Rating: Mature

The Trials of I'm Fine

Something was burning.

A deep trench furrowed into Geralt's brow as his eyes rolled open. He was still lying on the bed. He had a vague memory of Jaskier ranting away before he had let oblivion take him again. Now there was only silence and the faint smell of burning food.

Gingerly, he eased himself up to sit. The wooden frame of the bed creaked loudly in the small room. For the first time, he noticed his boots were gone. A quick check over showed he was missing more than his boots. His shirt was gone, replaced by bandages and a light blanket that had fallen to his waist. His daggers and tonics also seemed to be missing.

Where the fuck were his swords?

Unnerved that he hadn't noticed their absence before Geralt cast his gaze about as he properly took in his surroundings. The room was small. Smaller than he had realized, a dwarf would even sneer at the wardrobe size of this room, but it was clean. The old floorboards had been swept of dirt, the table next to his bed held a small washbasin and just across from that was a small wooden chest. A window faced opposite of him as he eased his feet to the ground, his hand drifted to grip the back edge of the bed to leverage himself up as he ignored the shocks of pain tearing down his shoulders and into his spine.

If he could only kill those fucking fleders again he would.

His hand brushed against something cold – metal. For a moment, he thought he had found his swords, silently thankful that Jaskier had kept the weapons nearby. He gently wrapped his hand around the familiar feel of a blade and drew out the hilt. It was a sword alright, but it wasn't his.

The blade was too short by far for someone of his stature and the hilt well-worn from continual use, though the dust that had collected bespoke of the last time it had been touched. Geralt let the sword fall to the bed and finished his movements toward standing. Almost immediately he felt a rush of blood and a spiral of dizziness as he did so. The woman – he had to remind himself that she wasn't Renfri -Lyrra had said he shouldn't be up. He had never been particularly good at listening.

It was only with a few tentative shuffling steps that he managed to find his bearings and force down the dizziness with the twinging pain. In five steps he was out of the bedroom and into the main living space. It only took a few seconds to ascertain that the shack he was in, only had the two rooms. A table stood not far from him, fruits and some chopped vegetables covered the top. To his left was a small open area that held a fireplace with a pot hanging from a trammel hook inside. A faint stream of smoke came from the top.

He took a deep breath and ambled over to the poker set next to the hearth. It took more effort than he wanted to admit to lift the iron rod and remove the pot from its hook. He set it down cautiously as his eyes caught sight of familiar black leather. His boots. Geraltblinked and sighed as he noticed the folded pile of blankets, a stack of fresh laundry, and a lute.

Jaskier.

Geralt shook his head bemused and sat down to reach for his boots, by his estimate it was now early evening and the bard and Lyrra had been gone for several hours. She must have been cooking dinner before the surprise discovery of a long-lost betrothed occurred.

What a fucking mess that was.

There was one thing in his rant that Jaskier had gotten right, however. They needed to go.

Now that Geralt had recovered more of his faculties, he wasn't about to continue to depend on Lyrra's hospitalities. She barely had enough room for one person, let alone three. And he wasn't sure he could continue to look at a ghost, no matter that her eyes weren't sparkling hazel, but grey or that her long hair was only a few shades off from her sister's. Jaskier should have found a way to get him back to the inn. It's not like they hadn't done more with less in the past two years they had traveled together.

With one last grunt, he tugged on his boot and began his return to the bedroom. His shirt had been resting on the wood chest when he had exited. Light footsteps reached his ears just as he stepped to the bed. Automatically, he reached for the sword when Jaskier's familiar vibrato registered. A softer responding timber told him that Lyrra had returned with the bard. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

As if the couple could sense his thoughts, he heard an indignant squawk of a verbally abused minstrel followed by an amused giggle. He leaned into the doorway.

Lyrra was the first to notice his presence.

She raised a brow as she caught sight of the short sword in his hand, "You're not to be up yet. Much less kill something."

"Heard voices." Geralt murmured lowly.

"Where'd you get the sword?" Jaskier asked as he came to stand beside her. He had found the witcher's broad sword in the grass and had hidden it safely beneath his laundry.

Weariness more than showed in Geralt's gaze as he subtly used the doorway to lean against and outright seemed to ignore the question. Lyrra sucked a breath in between her teeth, "It's mine, it was stowed between the wall and the bed."

"Why do you..?" Jaskier's attention was split between her assessing stare and the stalwart front his friend was attempting to convey.

Geralt raised a brow at her, similar questions were on his mind. Why did she have a sword? Had Renfri given it to her? Why was she taking care of him of all people?

Lyrra shifted uncomfortably under his stare before she shrugged, "I've been on my own for over a decade. Girl needs to protect herself somehow." As if the words were enough to steel her spine, she settled a pointed glance over his shoulder, "You look pale. You should still be resting."

Jaskier nodded perfunctorily, having grown used to the other man shouldering on when injured, "Right... We should get you back to bed."

"No." Geralt grunted, to Lyrra's disbelief, but lack of surprise, "I can rest at the inn. We've taken up more than enough of your hospitality."

Jaskier moved to protest, but Lyrra's light touch on his arm stopped him as she shook her head. She turned her attention back to the witcher, "Alright... Come hand me my sword, then."

Geralt held her gaze and hefted the small sword up to anchor the handle towards her in offer. Lyrra crossed her arms and shook her head again. He knew what she wanted him to do. When she didn't waver under his glare, he let it fall on Jaskier.

The bard raised his hands in surrender and shook his head, "No, sorry, I'm with her on this one. You look like hell."

Geralt scowled lightly, "Already practicing your duties as a husband then?"

Both Jaskier and Lyrra flinched at the barb, much to Geralt's amusement, even as his hostess stalked forward to relieve him of her weapon. With experienced ease she flipped it to rest against the wall, before grabbing his forearm, "I don't think any of us will be contemplating matrimony any time soon. Bed with you. I'll have no patience if you ruin the work we've done by attempting to be chivalrous. It's unnecessary."

Geralt stared down at her, silently refusing to move. She returned his scowl and he expected to enter a battle of wills with the woman when she sighed in exasperation. "Fine, be foolish." Her grey gaze fell on a silently amused bard as she suddenly stated, "Try and see to it that he doesn't kill himself in my home."

Jaskier nodded sagely and tossed her something from his pocket. She caught it deftly before disappearing from the cottage entirely with nary a goodbye. Geralt sent a querying look to his companion, "Where is she going?"

"The tavern. She works as a barmaid." Jaskier answered lowly as he sidled up to him, "She'll stay in my room tonight. And you definitely need to lie down, your face is almost the same color as your hair. I see you've been up long enough to get dressed properly which was probably far longer than you should have been up. Being stubborn isn't going to do you any good, you know?"

"We shouldn't have displaced her from her home." Geralt muttered wearily as he let Jaskier prod him back towards the bed. If he could just have a few minutes of rest then they could return to the inn and let Lyrra have her cottage back.

The bard snorted quietly, "If it had truly been an imposition to her then I doubt either one of us would still be standing here. Kind, though, the fair lady's heart is, she has very effective means of getting others to leave her be. Gods know I've watched her do it enough while she's served some rather brutish characters." He reached down to tugged Geralt's boots back off, "I have your tonics in my bag. Will any of them help you?"

"What about my sword?" The witcher asked as he sat against the wall. His long legs dangled over the edge of the bed and a dull throbbing had begun to thrum in his skull.

"I have that too, don't worry." Jaskier answered as he sat back on his haunches, "Tonics, yea or nay?"

Geralt nodded tiredly and closed his eyes. He listened as the younger man drew away and rustled about in the other room. There was a brief pause and the faint sound of clattering metal. Geralt could only assume that Jaskier was looking over whatever had been cooking in the pot. It was only a moment later he felt a heavy weight land in his lap. The pouch of his mixtures.

With careful fingers, he undid the drawstring and began to sift through the bag's contents, "I take it you're no longer writing wedding vows."

Geralt didn't need to look up to see Jaskier's raised brow. He could practically feel the other man's incredulity, "As a matter of fact, no. Lyrra has made it clear that she would much rather like to continue living in squalor than have my hand in marriage."

There was a bitter note to the bard's voice that had Geralt studying him closely. He was faced with the younger man's usual good humor, but there was something..., "Is that not what you wanted?"

"Of course, it is."

Jaskier answered quickly, too quickly. Geralt kept silent and finally selected a tincture to drink. Silently he counted down from ten as he tossed back the liquid and subtly eyed Jaskier's suddenly tense form.

"I just...I just don't." Jaskier sighed heavily and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "I know why I don't want to marry. I mean eventually...someday, I wouldn't mind – but she, she was just so sure. No, we would not marry. I just want to know what causes that kind of certainty in a person."

"You're a link to a past she's trying to escape, Jaskier. It makes sense why she didn't want to honor your betrothal." Geralt objectively grumbled as he tucked the pouch against his side. His response did not seem to quell Jaskier's agitation, however.

"No, it wasn't that." Jaskier bit out wearily as he tried to find the words to explain. His time with Lyrra had gone better than he had anticipated, but it had left him with more questions than answers and he wasn't sure he would ever have his curiosity satisfied, "There was this finality to her voice. She didn't say it in so many words, but I don't think she ever wishes to fall in love or marry. I don't understand that."

There was no denying the attraction between the two of them. Even after dismissing their engagement, they continued to flirt, but there was a wariness to their actions now. Their innocent game had turned into something more complicated and Jaskier wasn't sure if that pleased him or not. Despite their little seductive dance, the bard found he truly did want to know the princess turned barmaid. What had happened to Lyrrana de Sansa?

Geralt observed the mix of emotions that crossed the bard's face and nearly sighed himself. He had his own curiosity about Lyrra, but he somehow knew he didn't want the story that piqued at the corners of his mind. He had already slotted a few of the pieces into place and he didn't care for the grim tale that was being woven before him, "If her story is anything like her sister's then it's probably best you don't understand."

Jaskier looked up sharply, a contemplative frown painted his mouth and made him look smarter than he usually acted, "I knew you had killed Renfri at Blaviken, had heard talk that she was some sort of monster, even if she did have the King's favor. I hadn't realized you knew her. I'm sorry, Geralt."

"Hmm." The witcher grunted, a wall fell shut over those memories as he silently refused to share, "I didn't realize you were of royal blood."

Jaskier rolled his eyes at the topic change, "Oh well, that. Lesser nobility, really, and it's not something that has won me many points in the past. So, I try not to spread it around."

"Based on your earlier snit, it sounded more like you didn't care for your status – not the other way around." Geralt countered lightly and eased himself onto his back with a grunt. The throbbing had mellowed, but he still felt ludicrously tired. He was beginning to think he would need to revisit the fleders' corpses, something wasn't right.

"It's not my social status that's the problem. It's my family, specifically my father." Jaskier muttered bitterly, "Oi, don't fall asleep yet. You need to eat some food."

Geralt leveled a dry stare on the bard, "Food's burnt. Now fuck off."

"Eat an apple then." Jaskier threw over his shoulder as he swept out of the room. A moment later an apple hit Geralt in the chest. The bard was lucky he had already left the room.

»»————-　　————-««

"What ta hell 'appen t'yer neck, lass?"

She should have expected the question. Honestly, the bruising wasn't that terrible. Jaskier had gotten her out of Geralt's grasp fast enough for only some faint markings to appear. In the dim light of the tavern, the discolored skin was barely noticeable or so she had thought. Hillard was more observant than most, however.

Lyrra met his concerned gaze as she flipped her tray onto the bar with a raised brow, "Nothing special."

Hillard frown churlishly at her words, a dangerously protective tone entering his voice as he asked, "Did tha bloody bard -"

"No." She responded firmly, a blush began to rise to her cheeks as she noted the regard that she was receiving from a few of the nearby patrons, "No. Nothing like that, Hillard. 'Sides you know I can take care of myself."

"Hmmp." Hillard grunted in disbelief, but let his line of questioning go as they glared stodgily at each other. The barkeep had a soft place in his heart for the younger girl. She had proven herself a hard worker in the time she had been in Glynedol and she never asked for much from anyone. He hated seeing her hurt.

Lyrra rolled her eyes at his stubbornness and tapped the top of her tray for her next order. Already it had been a long night. The Rose and Pine bustled with new faces and she suspected that had much to do with the creatures that the witcher had killed. She wondered how two such monsters could go undetected for so long. She had to push that line of thought to the back of her mind to ponder later as she continued on with her duties. There was just too much to be done, even Mirel was working harder than usual.

It wasn't until hours later that she managed to gain a few minutes to herself as she stepped into the alley behind the kitchen for some fresh air. Sweat clung to her brow and neck in the warm summer night, but to stand free of the mass of bodies inside was something of a reprieve. She leant against the plastered wall of the tavern and sighed in stagnant relief. As much as Lyrra liked to be busy, too many people could become overwhelming.

"Well now, dontcha look pretty."

Lyrra's eyes flew open unaware she had shut them as she eyed the entrance to the alley. The crusty voice sounded familiar as she met his leer. A faint memory of horrible breath pushed to the front of her mind as she realized it was a trader that had come into the Rose before – a handsy one she recalled now. And he had a friend with him, lurking just behind his shoulder.

She said nothing and began to inch toward the Rose's back entrance.

"Uh uh uh." The trader taunted with a raised finger. Yellow teeth flashed into an eager grin and Lyrra had to fight not to sneer in disgust. She took another step back and into a hard, strong body. She glanced up and into cold dark eyes that glittered with twisted amusement.

Oh, Gods.

This man was larger. He loomed well over her like a church gargoyle – two friends then. Her heart began to race and she felt it choke in her throat as the muscles drew tight. She wouldn't be able to scream. She swallowed convulsively as her sweat turned cold. Quickly she reached trembling fingers into her apron for a dagger, she kept hidden.

"No stools to help you this time, missy." The trader cried mockingly as he stepped before her. Her head whipped around to meet his beady eyes again.

No.

Lyrra clenched the leather of the hilt tightly as she felt a larger hand grasp her arm painfully. She attempted to pull away. Her voice was barely more than a rasped whisper as she pushed against the tightness keeping her silent, "Lemme go."

The larger man only tightened his grip just as the trader reached a grimy hand up to trail across her cheek and down her neck to her breasts. She flinched and her stomach dropped. It burned where he touched her, like a trail of ants had begun to crawl over her skin. The acrid taste of bile began to slide up the back of her throat and she so very wanted to scream as frustrated tears began to prick at her eyes.

It only made her angrier.

She would not cry. She would not give this man the satisfaction.

"Now why would we do something like that?" He chuckled.

She hated the sound of it.

Although she could feel herself trembling, she waited until the trader moved even closer to her. His breath was as bad as she remembered and she held onto that inane thought as a buoy against the terror icing her veins.

She was strong.

She could fight.

She was strong.

His fingers dipped below the hem of her neckline and that was when she struck. Her knee came up swiftly to land a hard, brutal blow between his legs. He cried out in pain and crumpled in toward her, but she was no longer paying him any attention as she twisted against the brute crushing her arm. With a cry, she pulled her dagger free and slammed it into his side. He hadn't expected her to be armed. He grunted more than shouted as he let her go to clasp at his wound.

Lyrra didn't waste time as she pulled up the edge of her skirt to run for the Rose's entrance. It was only when the dull press of strong fingers in the back of her dress registered that she realized she had forgotten the third man.

No -

Too quickly for her to process, he slammed her into the plastered wall she had been leaning against. His hand cruelly twisting at her wrist that held the dagger as he did so. It clattered to the ground with a distant thunk and with it the last of her hope as a heavy body covered hers.

"I do like fighters." A voice whispered against her ear. His breath hot against her skin.

No.

Her elbow lashed back in an attempt to throw him off. He laughed.

No.

A shrill scream of terror tore through the air, but Lyrra barely registered it as she struggled. Moments later the man's weight was gone and she was free. Lyrra didn't even think about why as she flew for the door where a teary Mirel stood with open arms. The two girls hovered in the threshold. Mirel watching the proceedings outside with a cautious stare while Lyrra tried to compose herself.

By some miracle, she held in the tears that threatened to spill, but darker thoughts continued to shred at her mind. She felt dirty. Memories of another time, of another's touch, pressed down on her and she struggled to breathe.

"Lyrra?"

Fingers trailing...

"Yer alright now, lass."

Probing, pushing... pain...

She couldn't fight.

She was too weak.

"Lyrrana."

No one called her that. A hand gently cupped her cheek and a sense of safety began to pull at her panicked thoughts. Her grey eyes opened to find a familiar set of blue peering at her worriedly, "Jaskier?"

What was he doing here?

The bard nearly slumped in relief as he forced a kind smile for her, "Hello."

She stared at him not comprehending, "You're supposed to be taking care of Geralt."

A vague hint of disbelieving amusement crept into his gaze as the two studied each other, "Yes, well – his grumpiness has succumbed to sleep again. I thought I would come to check on you and get a few things from my room... Glad, I did. Are you hurt?"

What?

Quietly, her eyes trailed over his form and noted the rumpled set of his doublet. He was breathing a little heavily and then she noticed it. The blood trailing over his hand. His knuckles were split open, "You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

A muffled snort reached Lyrra's ears and she looked up in time to see Hillard ambling toward her. If it was possible, he looked more concerned than he did earlier. His own hands were beginning to show some bruising, "Yer boy's fine, lass. He jus did a pretty number t'tha vile shit's face. Good thing, Mirel found ya when she did."

Lyrra twisted around to find the other woman. Her large green eyes were streaming with tears, but she hadn't moved far from Lyrra's side, as if trying to reassure herself that her fellow barmaid was indeed alright, "The scream."

Mirel smiled almost sheepishly, "I panicked when I saw you against the wall."

"No... no." Lyrra shook her head with a whispered, "Thank you. I was too scared to get much sound out."

"Lyrra, are you hurt?" Jaskier asked again.

"I'm fine." She parroted back at him.

Hillard passed a clean rag to Jaskier, "Owain and a few regulars are takin' care o'tha two bastards, now."

"Two?" Lyrra murmured, "There were three of 'em."

The men seemed to still at those words and Hillard did an about-face as he hurried back towards the men gathered in the alley. Words didn't need to be spoken for Lyrra to understand that one of the men was missing. She had no desire to step into the alley to find out which one at that moment. Memories burned at the back of her mind and she knew she needed a distraction, "Mirel, can you grab the bandages from the front?"

The other woman nodded, thankful for something to do. Jaskier raised a brow at her as she neared him, "Lyrra?"

She twitched her fingers at him, "Hand."

"I'm fine." He murmured trying to catch her gaze. Even so, he let her remove the rag he had wrapped around his knuckles and was kind enough not to comment on her trembling hands. His first two knuckles were torn up rather good, bruising and swelling had begun to take over the rest of his limb.

Lyrra frowned at the sight and pulled him toward a clean water basin to the side. One of the scullery boys quickly scampered out of her way, just as Mirel returned with the bandages. Lyrra smiled at her in thanks before turning her attention back to the minstrel's hand. Jaskier hissed a second later as she pressed the now damp rag against his damaged hand, "Sorry..."

Jaskier shook his head, "It's fine. My strumming hand, I can still pluck the strings with it...I think."

Lyrra sighed, "I didn't take you for the punching type."

"Oh? And what type did you take me for?" The bard asked quietly as if he was well aware of what she would say.

She finally met his gaze and forced a faint smile, "You know. The fast-talking type."

Jaskier's azure orbs danced with grim amusement as he responded, "I didn't feel much like talking this time."

Lyrra swallowed and turned her attention back to her ministrations avoiding his intent stare.

Almost as soon as she had finished wrapping his hand, she felt him tilt her chin up to meet his gaze again. Slowly, gently as if he was afraid that she would break he linked their hands together and pulled her into his frame. It felt like the most natural thing to fall into his arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder as she fought back another wave of tears and let the subtle smells of sandalwood and musk calm her. He held her tightly and only pressed a faint kiss into her hair as he waited for her trembling to subside.

Shuffling footsteps sounded behind them and Jaskier lifted his gaze to meet Hillard's. The old barkeep nodded in quiet respect as he ushered a few of the workers away from the couple. The bard appreciated the moment of privacy, especially when Lyrra drew a sharp breath and moved to step away. He didn't let her go far, not ready to have her out of his sight just yet, "What is it? Talk to me."

"I should get back to work."

Jaskier stared at her in disbelief, "Are you joking?"

She shook her head, "I'm fine. Not hurt... just a little shaken."

"Lyrra -"

"Jaskier please." Lyrra nearly begged as she crossed her arms, "I just need to get back to it. Thank you for coming to my rescue, but -"

"NO. No, no, no." He shook his head, eyes wide as he tried to get her to understand. She hadn't been silent in that alleyway. Whispered pleas had left her mouth as he charged toward the attacker she fought so valiantly against. He had thought the worse in those few seconds, then to find her nearly catatonic in the kitchens - and now she wanted to continue on with her night as if nothing happened? She was bloody well going to think again, "No, Lyrra. We can sit here until the tavern closes and Hillard can escort you back to the inn or you can come with me to the inn, but no, you will not go back into that mass of people. Not after this."

A sudden surge of anger tore through her at his demanding tone, "Jaskier -"

Seeing the fight she was gearing up for, Jaskier headed her off at the pass as he shouted, "Hillard?"

The old barkeep stepped into the kitchen to find the couple now glaring at one another. The bard pasted on a pointed smile as he asked, "How would you feel about Lyrra here finishing off her shift?"

"Ye can't be serious, boy." The barkeep began in a huff only to be cut off by Jaskier's pointed wave in his direction.

Lyrra practically growled, "I'm fine."

Hillard nearly rolled his eyes as he realized what the problem was, "Oh lass, let the boy take care o'ye."

Lyrra grumbled something unintelligible under her breath that had Jaskier narrowing his eyes before she brushed past him to head for the alleyway exit. She froze at the threshold as ice began to take hold of her veins again and her heart began to pound.

Those men would no longer be there... she knew this logically, but -

Jaskier came to stand beside her as he sent her a knowing look, "Still feeling fine, Princess?"

She sent him a dark glare, but he remained unfazed as he threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her outside with him, "You know for a small town it certainly isn't dull."

"Jaskier." She murmured warningly.

He sent her an unimpressed stare as he pulled her along, "It's only a few metres, Princess. I'm sure you can manage. After all, it's not like you've just gone through a traumatic experience or anything."

Her earlier anger was back as fire suddenly thrummed through her. Lyrra yanked her hand from his and stormed out of the alley and toward the inn. Just a few more feet. Jaskier didn't miss a beat as he stayed on her heels.

"You're an ass." She threw petulantly over her shoulder.

"Yes, well. You're hardly the first to make that distinction." Jaskier threw back as he easily kept pace with her, "Do try and be a little more original."

The invective curse that left her lips brought an amused grin to his. He was fairly sure that in the short time he had known her that she hadn't sworn once.

They stepped into the inn and she bounded ahead, intent on getting away from him. Stifling his own curse, Jaskier caught up to her in time for the door to his room to slam in his face, "Now that's just rude."

He didn't think much of it when he flung the door back open and marched inside, silently grateful that she hadn't locked it. His irritation had built and he wasn't about to leave until he said his piece to the stubborn woman and made sure she was alright for the night. Mostly, he was trying to quiet every instinct that was telling him that Lyrra shouldn't be left alone.

She was brooding in front of the window when he entered. Intent on ignoring him, Jaskier was sure. Unluckily for her, he was rather hard to ignore, "Lyrra."

A slight twitch in his direction was the only indication that she heard him, "You know, normally I'm the one being accused of dramatics."

"Jaskier." Lyrra muttered exasperatedly as she turned to glare at him, "Just leave me be, please."

He raised a brow at her, "Technically speaking, this is still my room and I would like it very much if you would talk to me."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and silently counted to ten as she tried to get her emotions under control. She hadn't been able to have a coherent thought since being pressed against the wall and she knew – she knew that her emotions were all over the place and that she wasn't being fair to Jaskier, but she did not want to breakdown in front of him, "Why do you care? We've known each other for five minutes."

He tilted his head and smiled at her that gentle smile that made her knees weak and sauntered before her, "Well one, we've known each other for slightly longer than five minutes, and two, you're my friend now. It's the only reason I need to care about you."

Her lips moved silently as she tried to find a reply suitable, but what came out was, "You're an idiot."

His smile turned rueful, "And you're trembling again."

Jaskier opened his arms in silent invitation and it only took a moment before she accepted and stepped into his embrace. He held her tightly and wished more than anything it was under different circumstances, "Tell me what happened."

"You saw what happened." Her voice was muffled against his chest.

He sighed wearily, "I saw part of it. I honestly only saw the one man attacking you. Didn't realize there was two until your barkeep slammed someone against the ground next to me. You said there were actually three."

"Jaskier, please. I don't want to relive it right now." She whispered and pressed her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder, "You should get back to Geralt."

Her actions belied her words and Jaskier rolled his eyes, "Somehow I think Geralt is going to be just fine. You, on the other hand, are not."

She tilted her head back and met his solemn stare, "Then... Then can we just stay like this? This is easy."

Jaskier chewed on the inside of his cheek as he contemplated her request, but silently nodded, "Alright...for now."

Lyrra sighed in relief and fairly melted into him. She didn't know what it was about the bard that soothed her so. On some level, she was terrified of the innate trust that she had for him, but in that moment she was simply glad he was there.

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