#tldr: nobility as scum and trick geralt

[jaskiersvalley]

Ummmm so I am IN LOVE with your Geralt whump and it’s literally giving me life during this pandemic so like THANK YOU.

I come bearing more Geralt whump for you! Along with a side of angry Jaskier, some comfort and some fluff to boot. Hope you’re keeping safe and well in this pandemic!

Something wasn’t right about the contract. There shouldn’t have been a kikimora so deep into inhabited lands. For one, there weren’t any sufficiently murky bogs for the creature to actually live in. Then there was the issue of nobody having actually borne witness to it or encountered a tragedy with it. Not ever sheep were going missing. But, the advert was there on the noticeboard, calling for a witcher to deal with the creature. Money was low, Geralt and Jaskier couldn’t afford to be picky so the notice was plucked off the board and they made their way to the castle that had put out the contract.

There was far too much excitement in the courtyard at their approach. In fact, everyone seemed to spring into action as they were shown to the Great Hall.

“Witcher!” The count looked so pleased, he even smiled at Geralt. “We have a kikimora for you to kill. Do it well and we’ll even double the original pay.”

The amount of coin in question was more than Geralt would usually earn in half a year. All that for one single kikimora. Even more unusual, he and Jaskier were given a room, a comfortable one at that. They were to rest up and then go to the inner ward in the morning. The one request was that Geralt be ready to hunt straight from the meeting.

It was one of the best nights of sleep Geralt had ever had. The niggling feeling of something being off was so easy to ignore when Jaskier looked so happy. Food, bath, comfort as they both needed and rarely got to indulge in. In the morning, a servant intercepted them, apologetic as Geralt had ever seen anyone around a witcher and asked for Jaskier to accompany him.

“You’ve seen a kikimora a thousand times before, go,” Geralt said, urging Jaskier to go to his fans. A little longer in the laps of luxury while Geralt saw to the kikimora would be good for him. And at least he would be safe in the castle.

He was led to the doors to the inner ward and gestured through. Stepping out into daylight, the doors clanged shut behind him and he was out on the grounds, alone.

Meanwhile, Jaskier had been led through the castle, higher up and to the inner ramparts. They were crowded with nobility and rich merchants, all peering into the inner ward with excitement. A cheer went up and Jaskier was shown to a gap he could see from. Geralt had stepped into what could only be described as an arena from where Jaskier stood. It had been cleared of everything, a perfect battle ground. With a creak, the metal grates of a gate opened up at the far end of the inner ward and Jaskier watched as a kikimora lumbered out. He didn’t have to be a monster expert to know it was sickly, dried out and hungry. Obviously it had been kept in appalling conditions, for the sole purpose of entertainment for the upper echelons.

There was no choice for Geralt. It was kill or be killed. He draw a sword and walked up to the hissing, swaying creature. Jaskier knew Geralt, knew that there was going to be no theatrics, no show. In one deft step to the side and swing of his sword, the kikimora fell to the ground, head almost completely severed.

All the cheering stopped. The show and entertainment that had been anticipated was just a dream. Slowly, the ‘boos’ started and built into a raging, baying howl. They were going to have to leave and quickly. Jaskier pushed his way through the angry crowd and hurried back to their room, intent on packing up as hurriedly as he could. By the time Geralt was back, everything would be ready for travel.

It took longer for Geralt to return than anticipated and Jaskier was getting impatient. Finally, the door clicked quietly and Geralt stepped through, head bowed. A pouch of coin was thrown onto the bed without a word.

“Geralt!” Jaskier almost sighed his name in relief at seeing him. Silver hair hung in Geralt’s face but, as he moved, Jaskier swore he caught sight of eyes that weren’t their usual white and gold. It made no sense, there had been no need to take potions, especially not something like cat. In fact, Jaskier was quite sure they were low on potions and possibly didn’t even have any. “Geralt?”

When there was no response to his question, Jaskier reached out and gripped Geralt by the chin, turning his face to look at him. There were no potions at work and Jaskier gasped, hand reaching up to brush over the swollen, bruised skin. Geralt’s eye was red with burst vessels from where something had struck him.

“What the hell happened?” Jaskier asked, horrified. The kikimora hadn’t put up a fight, hadn’t even got beyond looking funny at Geralt before it died.

“Doesn’t matter. Got paid.” Geralt tried to step around Jaskier, doing his best to hide a limp. “Let’s go.”

There was no way they were going anywhere when Geralt was in such a state. Hands on hips, Jaskier pressed his lips into a firm line and watched as Geralt reached for a bag and his breath caught before he pushed through the pain.

“Put that down.” When Geralt refused to listen, Jaskier marched up to him. “You put that down this instant, get out of your armour and let me take a look. I need an inventory before I take me next step.”

In testament either to how much Geralt trusted him or how badly he was hurting, Geralt let the bag drop from his shoulder and let Jaskier help him out of his armour. Bruises, welts, skin split under strikes began to reveal themselves and Jaskier’s hands shook with rage.

“Fucking entitled bastards,” he cursed. A hand swept over bruised, likely cracked ribs. It looked like somehow had take a metal chain to Geralt and tried to whip it around him. “They’ll be so sorry they tried this ploy.”

He struggled to imagine what could have happened once he left. Whether the angry mob had swarmed the inner ward to take their fury out on Geralt. Or maybe Geralt had been summoned to the Great Hall and a select few of the count’s inner circle had been granted the alleged privilege. Though that would mean Geralt hadn’t fought back. Then again, this was Geralt, of course he wouldn’t have fought back. Probably had convinced himself he deserved it too.

Down to his smalls, Geralt let Jaskier do as he pleased, too tired to protest anything. Even when Jaskier gently bullied him into bed and told him to rest, meditate and take it easy.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. It wasn’t often that Jaskier openly wore a weapon but he pulled his sword from his pack and strapped it against his hip. Marching out, Jaskier set off on a warpath.

In less time than anticipated, he was back and was pleasantly surprised to see Geralt was exactly where he left him, eyes closed and seemingly at peace. It was all a ploy, Jaskier knew he wouldn’t relax, not when alone in a castle that hurt him so badly.

“We have three days here, everything is at our disposal. Nobody will bother us. Food, bath, creature comforts, I talk to someone and it will happen.”

Gingerly, Jaskier sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked through Geralt’s hair, holding back a wince when his eyes opened. One was still a deep, blood red, likely would be for a couple of days before Geralt healed. It was just as well they had a few days in a protected space. If the masses saw Geralt as he was, no doubt there would be more tall tales about witchers.

Softly, Jaskier began to hum, lulling Geralt to sleep.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” he promised, one hand on his sword’s hilt, the other in Geralt’s hair. The soft murmur Jaskier got in return could have been a ‘thanks’ or a hum of sceptical amusement, it didn’t matter. What was important was that Geralt got his rest and dignity.