Imagine if Geralt was taken while on a contract by slavers, and sent to be sold off at an auction to the highest bidder. To be…used, or worse.
And Geralt, trapped in dimeritium cuffs, spends three days thinking this is the end for him. He would never see his brothers again, they’d never know what had happened to him. Would one of them take the contract for the bruxae he’d been fighting, and find his swords? Would they be left to wonder forever what had happened to him, what had gone so wrong?
And Ciri, his poor Child Surprise. Would she try to use her magic to look for him, only to find nothing? Beg Yennefer to search as well, only for the witch to have to tell Ciri that…that he was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.
Not to mention Jaskier, who had been performing at the tavern when Geralt was taken. Would he go looking for Geralt, when he didn’t come back? Did his capturers even leave any of his things behind? Would…
Geralt clenched his jaw tightly against the prickling in his eyes, desperately hoping the slavers left behind some sort of clue. Some sign that Geralt hadn’t wanted to leave Jaskier behind, hadn’t tried to abandon him like all those other times years ago.
Please, Geralt thought, prayed, don’t let Jaskier—
Geralt blinked, not having noticed the approaching footsteps somehow until they stopped right outside of his cell. He looked up, teeth bared in a snarl, only to freeze, because—
“Jaskier?”
Jaskier—because it was Jaskier, Geralt hadn’t been here long enough to start hallucinating—and they hadn’t given him anything to eat or drink so—
The bard, his bard, grimaced, clearly doing his best to give Geralt a smile as he used the key in his hand—where on earth did he get a key?!—to unlock first the door and then Geralt’s cuffs.
Geralt rubbed his wrists, listening intently for any guards that may come running at the intrusion. Distantly, he wondered just what distraction Jaskier had set up to get down here, how he’d made it so far through the heavily manned auction house.
“You shouldn’t have come, Jaskier. What if you—”
“Can you walk?”
Geralt scowled.
“Yes, but—”
“Come on then, I don’t want to spend another second in here dear witcher.” Jaskier calmly walked back out the door, making his way to the stairs a few steps before being yanked back by Geralt.
Jaskier hissed, pulling his arm from Geralt’s grip.
“What was that for?! I—”
“Be quiet!” Geralt whisper-yelled. “If the guards come—”
“Guards?”
“—don’t have my swords, so I need you to run, Jaskier. I—”
Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s shoulders.
“Geralt, look at me.”
“Jaskier, we don’t have time for—”
“This isn’t some grand escape, or—or whatever you’re thinking. They gave me the key.” Jaskier said slowly, waiting until the tension eased some from Geralt’s body before giving a squeeze and letting go.
“You…the auction…?” Geralt tried to ask, wondering how much money Jaskier had spent to…to purchase the witcher. He didn’t want to even think about what the bard had to do in order to acquire what must have been a hefty sum so quickly.
“There was none.”
Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm, gently leading him to the stairs. Geralt blinked, his brows furrowing.
“Honestly, Geralt, did you really think I’d let them parade you around like some—some pet, no better than livestock?”
Geralt frowned.
“But how—”
The witcher stopped mid-sentence, wincing at the sudden light as Jaskier opened the door to the main floor, which was—
Geralt went rigid at the two rows of armed men lining the way from where he and Jaskier stood to the door leading outside. He—Jaskier said they’d given him the key, but he hadn’t bought him, there was no auction, so—
“Ah, thank you, we’ll be taking those.”
Geralt resisted the urge to pull Jaskier back as he approached the first man, who seemed to be the captain of sorts, and was holding—
“And his bags?” Jaskier asked, grabbing Geralt’s swords and looping them around his own back before taking Geralt’s three daggers and holding them out to the witcher.
Geralt stared at them for a moment, before taking them and hiding them back in various spots on his person. He kept his eyes trained on the man who’d had his weapons though as he responded.
“Untouched, including his…concoctions. The witcher’s—”
“Geralt’s.”
Geralt’s lips thinned, and he internally cursed Jaskier for having to defend the witcher now of all times. Didn’t he understand the situation they were in? Geralt had weapons now, yes, but there were easily twenty likely well-trained men in this room who were standing between them and the exit. This wasn’t the time to be mouthing off, especially when Geralt was weakened from the lack of food and water and the bard was standing right next to their leader.
Geralt gaped at the man as he looked at Jaskier and simply nodded.
“Geralt’s things are on his horse, which has been cared for and prepped for departure.”
…Melitele help him, his captors had a mage. A very creative, very…stupid, mage, because why on earth did they think Geralt would believe this, this crazy—
“You’ll be hearing from my proxy, Piotr, about further orders. In the meantime, I’ve made myself clear that this—” Jaskier motioned to Geralt, voice imperial in a way the witcher had never heard before—“is not to happen again, yes?”
The leader nodded.
“Understood, sir. We shall make plans to discontinue our…agreement, with the slavers.
Jaskier nodded back to him.
“Good. We’ll be taking our leave now.”
Jaskier glanced back at Geralt, frowning. Geralt suddenly realized his mouth was still open, and hurried to shut it with a small click as he grabbed Jaskier’s arm again.
He tugged the bard towards the entrance, gentle but insistent as he walked briskly past the men who stood ramrod straight, eyes trained forwards. The sound of their boots echoed on the stone flooring, Jaskier seeming to sense Geralt’s unease and remaining silent for now.
Good, Geralt thought, his own eyes darting back and forth between every enemy they passed. Who knew exactly what ruse Jaskier had planned, what noble he’d impersonated to get the guards to react so well. Any second now a messenger could come or some other man may barge in and call Jaskier’s bluff.
It wasn’t until they were out the door, until they’d gotten Roach—sweet, wonderful Roach who he’d never thought he’d see again—and placed the bard in front of him on said mare that he finally felt like he could breathe. He pushed Roach to run as fast as she could, only relaxing when they left the street, the city, the entire road behind, cutting into the forest as day turned to night.
Geralt led Roach to a semi-flat clearing, before dismounting and helping Jaskier down. He shook his head at the bard, fond exasperation mixing with the remaining anxiety of what exactly the bard had done to get Geralt out.
“Jaskier, I…thank you.”
Jaskier blinked, the smile he gave the witcher small and a bit sad.
“Geralt, you don’t have to—”
“But you shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what…what favors you promised, or lies you told, but it wasn’t worth the risk. You should never have—”
“Geralt—”
“No, Jaskier, I—”
“Geralt.”
The witcher’s mouth slammed shut at the authoritative tone Jaskier used, the same he’d had earlier with the guard.
Even Jaskier seemed surprised at his own voice, pausing for a moment before continuing, softer, “you are worth making such risks, even if you don’t…can’t, see that. And before you try to—to argue, or insist I never try to rescue you or something, you should know nothing you do or say is going to stop me from doing my utmost to help you when you’re in danger.”
Jaskier shook his head, tone lightening as he added, “dear witcher, you’ve known me for twenty years—I can pretend to listen to you if you’d like, but I think we both know what would happen if something like this occurred again.”
And that was—Jaskier shouldn’t—
Geralt growled, turning to his bag to grab some dried meat and his waterskin, which was—
Jaskier traded the skin for his own, which was still half-full. Geralt grunted in thanks as he drank deeply, the cool water soothing his parched throat.
“Also, you should know that I wasn’t actually acting back there.”
Geralt had to remind himself to swallow, pulling the skin away before he could choke.
“What—Jaskier, he called you sir.”
Jaskier smiled, clearly reveling in his own success.
“As he should his new boss.”
Geralt stared.
“Honestly, Geralt, I’m the viscount of a rather well off, large portion of land. Well, actually marquess now, as soon as I find the time to go back and sign the papers. Apparently my proxies have been doing a very good job these past few years, I should honestly give them a raise—”
“Jaskier.”
Jaskier, head tilted in thought, hummed absentmindedly.
“Did you…did you buy off all the guards?”
Jaskier laughed, and Geralt almost joined in as well. Honestly the idea was ridiculous, the sum it would have taken more coin than Geralt and the bard earned in an entire year most likely. There was no way Jaskier had that much money to spend, even if he was well off—
“Don’t be silly, Geralt.”
The witcher rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to retort—
“I bought the whole auction house.”
Jaskier’s smirk was downright wicked.
“The guards were just a nice bonus.”
