He might very well be the new king of Redania (all hail, long live, etc etc), but they tell him very little. He's a figurehead at best, a puppet at worst, and neither of these parts require actual knowledge of what goes on in his new kingdom. He realizes that, he thinks, better than Vizimir ever did, how little power he actually has, despite his name being on the banners and the treaties. Philippa and Dijkstra hold the reins and they allow him to live, stern-faced on the paintings and smiling at court, and alone, alone, always alone, as long as he doesn't give them any trouble. He's been much too scared to step out of line so far, the memory of his brother's blood dripping from the crown and into his hair too fresh in his memory. But today, he will.
He hears about it because Philippa and Dijkstra are away for a few days, brokering whatever arrangement they feel is necessary at the Northern border of Redania. They didn't need him to be there and left him at the castle, to wander the halls and listen in on guards talking excitedly about a skirmish that happened in the forest. The witcher, they say, and it certainly gets Radovid's attention. The white wolf. He escaped, but we got his bard. Keeping him in the dungeon. He might know something, Dijkstra'll want to see him.
Radovid can barely stop himself from running all the way back up to his rooms, standing in front of the fire with his fists clenched tightly. Jaskier. A prisoner in his castle. A shiver of cool dread goes down his spine, making his stomach knot and his throat close up. He's too aware of how, exactly, Dijkstra gets information from people. To let Jaskier suffer through that, is unthinkable. He's also aware that doing what he's about to do will most likely get him into a lot of trouble.
At nightfall, he slips out of his rooms. He has to wait until the guard there leaves to have his dinner, soon to be replaced by another. While they both chat and joke on the stairs there is a minute when the corridor is empty, and Radovid knows that this is his window. He's never done this before, but he's certainly thought about it. From there, he knows the castle well-enough to make his way to the dungeons undetected, keeping to the shadows, the less-used corridors. It helps that all the guards are staring anxiously at the southern border of the city (they say that's where Emhyr will attack, when he does), and not actually at the inside of the castle.
He stole a set of keys for most of the locks in the castle a while ago and clutches them tightly as he goes down, down, and down to the basement of the dungeon, where the cells are. Most of them are empty and he has to make his way to the very back before he finds one that's closed. On the table next to it is Jaskier's lute, a little worse for wear, and a blue doublet that's seen better days.
"Jaskier?" he whispers, as loud as he dares. In the dim light he's only a backlit hooded figure, golden hair tucked behind his ears, eyes sharp in the gloom.
Jaskier really should have known his luck would run out eventually. Since he had started traveling with Geralt more and more, it did put a target on all of their backs. It certainly didn't help that Geralt's first and foremost concern would always be Ciri, though the bard could hardly blame him. Besides, it was gratifying seeing him care for someone so deeply after his initial attempts at ignoring his child surprise.
In the end, Jaskier blames Philippa more than anyone else. He knew going into their little arrangement that trusting the sorceress was dangerous business. He recalls the way Yennefer had treated him during the little djinn incident, but after being left to his own devices following the dragon hunt, it had left Jaskier with a gaping hole in his heart that he had desperately tried to fill with any little thing. He might never be Geralt of Rivia, but maybe he could do some good in this world.
Of course, now that seems to have backfired, as he wallows in his cell, deep in the bowels of Redania. They had taken his precious lute, leaving him naught but the sound of his voice to keep him entertained. Frankly, he did not expect Geralt to abandon his journey to Nilfgaard to see if it truly is Ciri they've managed to capture. He half-expects to rot in here for all eternity, or until the war reaches this far north. It's bound to eventually.
What he doesn't expect is for someone else to take up the challenge. In the darkness, he can hardly pinpoint who it is that's come down to find him. Rience, he was reassured by Geralt, is dead, and yet he cannot stop his heart from sinking into his stomach.
That is, until he hears his name. And while he still can't quite make out Radovid from underneath the hood, he thinks he recognizes that voice. Torn between slipping into a defensive position and jumping at the chance of being rescued, he opts to play it safe. Besides, he reminds himself, Radovid had tried to take advantage of circumstances to get a hold of Ciri. Now that he's apparently been crowned king, who says that he isn't still up to no good?
"Who goes there?" he rasps back, wishing very much that he had even half as much of Geralt's resolve right about now.
"It's me," he says quietly, struck by the huskiness of Jaskier's voice. He should have brought water, he didn't think of it. "Radovid." Comma, King, he doesn't add, because he doesn't really want to joke about this. He pulls his hood back so Jaskier can see for himself, his blond hair curling against his cheeks. Radovid looks tired, dark shadows deep under his worried eyes.
"Jaskier, are you hurt?" he whispers urgently, stepping closer so he can slip his arm through the bars of the cell, reaching into the darkness for Jaskier's hand. Perhaps it is unwise, he realizes, to come so close to a man backed into a desperate corner. Jaskier could hurt him. He has before, though only with his words, not with his hands. He persists still, his other hand coming to rest against the bars, the keys he's holding clinking against the metal.
"Radovid?!" Jaskier's voice boomed with disbelief, echoing off the dungeon's walls. He wasn't sure who to expect to approach his cell, but admittedly Radovid was so far down the list he found himself sputtering as he struggled to get his brain to catch up. And sure enough, it was Radovid standing in front of him, plain as day. He wasn't sure if he was wholly glad to see him or just happy that it wasn't someone worse than Rience.
"Am I hurt, he asks?" Jaskier scoffed, dusting himself off dramatically, because even in distress he could not help it. It was in his nature to deflect, so as not to show any weakness. It was the only strength he had, the ability to perform, so he might as well put it to good use, right? "I shall live. I have not been interrogated yet, thankfully." Even though the fire fucker was no longer a concern, the association would be enough to fill him with enough fear to freeze up. He could not afford it, if Redanian intelligence should try to pry Ciri's whereabouts out of him.
"What in Melitele's tits are you even doing here?" he asked as he struggled to keep his expression neutral, even though memories of their time spent together started to rise to the surface, begging him to be a little softer.
"Shhhh," Radovid shushed in return, eyebrows going up in worry, extending his arm into the cell further to placate Jaskier pleadingly. He glanced towards the end of the corridor anxiously, where the guards would no doubt be back very soon. "Please, not so loud. No-one knows I'm here," he added quietly, a little apologetic at the way he had just shushed Jaskier.
He straightened up at Jaskier's scoffing answer, squaring his shoulders to take it better, nodding. "No, I-" He answered, swallowing but meeting Jaskier's eyes. "I told them to wait until Philippa and Dijkstra were back." An easy enough order, as the guards would much rather wait until the true masters of the castle came back to take any kind of decision.
"I'm going to break you out," Radovid announced, pulling his hand back once it was clear Jaskier wasn't going to take it, holding up the keys instead. "I have the keys, I am kind of, um. The King?" That sounds almost like an apology, too. "They won't let me free you, but I've lived in this castle all my life. I know how to get in undetected, and how to get out."
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post S3 plot, for Jaskier
He might very well be the new king of Redania (all hail, long live, etc etc), but they tell him very little. He's a figurehead at best, a puppet at worst, and neither of these parts require actual knowledge of what goes on in his new kingdom. He realizes that, he thinks, better than Vizimir ever did, how little power he actually has, despite his name being on the banners and the treaties. Philippa and Dijkstra hold the reins and they allow him to live, stern-faced on the paintings and smiling at court, and alone, alone, always alone, as long as he doesn't give them any trouble. He's been much too scared to step out of line so far, the memory of his brother's blood dripping from the crown and into his hair too fresh in his memory. But today, he will.
He hears about it because Philippa and Dijkstra are away for a few days, brokering whatever arrangement they feel is necessary at the Northern border of Redania. They didn't need him to be there and left him at the castle, to wander the halls and listen in on guards talking excitedly about a skirmish that happened in the forest. The witcher, they say, and it certainly gets Radovid's attention. The white wolf. He escaped, but we got his bard. Keeping him in the dungeon. He might know something, Dijkstra'll want to see him.
Radovid can barely stop himself from running all the way back up to his rooms, standing in front of the fire with his fists clenched tightly. Jaskier. A prisoner in his castle. A shiver of cool dread goes down his spine, making his stomach knot and his throat close up. He's too aware of how, exactly, Dijkstra gets information from people. To let Jaskier suffer through that, is unthinkable. He's also aware that doing what he's about to do will most likely get him into a lot of trouble.
At nightfall, he slips out of his rooms. He has to wait until the guard there leaves to have his dinner, soon to be replaced by another. While they both chat and joke on the stairs there is a minute when the corridor is empty, and Radovid knows that this is his window. He's never done this before, but he's certainly thought about it. From there, he knows the castle well-enough to make his way to the dungeons undetected, keeping to the shadows, the less-used corridors. It helps that all the guards are staring anxiously at the southern border of the city (they say that's where Emhyr will attack, when he does), and not actually at the inside of the castle.
He stole a set of keys for most of the locks in the castle a while ago and clutches them tightly as he goes down, down, and down to the basement of the dungeon, where the cells are. Most of them are empty and he has to make his way to the very back before he finds one that's closed. On the table next to it is Jaskier's lute, a little worse for wear, and a blue doublet that's seen better days.
"Jaskier?" he whispers, as loud as he dares. In the dim light he's only a backlit hooded figure, golden hair tucked behind his ears, eyes sharp in the gloom.
no subject
In the end, Jaskier blames Philippa more than anyone else. He knew going into their little arrangement that trusting the sorceress was dangerous business. He recalls the way Yennefer had treated him during the little djinn incident, but after being left to his own devices following the dragon hunt, it had left Jaskier with a gaping hole in his heart that he had desperately tried to fill with any little thing. He might never be Geralt of Rivia, but maybe he could do some good in this world.
Of course, now that seems to have backfired, as he wallows in his cell, deep in the bowels of Redania. They had taken his precious lute, leaving him naught but the sound of his voice to keep him entertained. Frankly, he did not expect Geralt to abandon his journey to Nilfgaard to see if it truly is Ciri they've managed to capture. He half-expects to rot in here for all eternity, or until the war reaches this far north. It's bound to eventually.
What he doesn't expect is for someone else to take up the challenge. In the darkness, he can hardly pinpoint who it is that's come down to find him. Rience, he was reassured by Geralt, is dead, and yet he cannot stop his heart from sinking into his stomach.
That is, until he hears his name. And while he still can't quite make out Radovid from underneath the hood, he thinks he recognizes that voice. Torn between slipping into a defensive position and jumping at the chance of being rescued, he opts to play it safe. Besides, he reminds himself, Radovid had tried to take advantage of circumstances to get a hold of Ciri. Now that he's apparently been crowned king, who says that he isn't still up to no good?
"Who goes there?" he rasps back, wishing very much that he had even half as much of Geralt's resolve right about now.
no subject
"Jaskier, are you hurt?" he whispers urgently, stepping closer so he can slip his arm through the bars of the cell, reaching into the darkness for Jaskier's hand. Perhaps it is unwise, he realizes, to come so close to a man backed into a desperate corner. Jaskier could hurt him. He has before, though only with his words, not with his hands. He persists still, his other hand coming to rest against the bars, the keys he's holding clinking against the metal.
no subject
"Am I hurt, he asks?" Jaskier scoffed, dusting himself off dramatically, because even in distress he could not help it. It was in his nature to deflect, so as not to show any weakness. It was the only strength he had, the ability to perform, so he might as well put it to good use, right? "I shall live. I have not been interrogated yet, thankfully." Even though the fire fucker was no longer a concern, the association would be enough to fill him with enough fear to freeze up. He could not afford it, if Redanian intelligence should try to pry Ciri's whereabouts out of him.
"What in Melitele's tits are you even doing here?" he asked as he struggled to keep his expression neutral, even though memories of their time spent together started to rise to the surface, begging him to be a little softer.
no subject
He straightened up at Jaskier's scoffing answer, squaring his shoulders to take it better, nodding. "No, I-" He answered, swallowing but meeting Jaskier's eyes. "I told them to wait until Philippa and Dijkstra were back." An easy enough order, as the guards would much rather wait until the true masters of the castle came back to take any kind of decision.
"I'm going to break you out," Radovid announced, pulling his hand back once it was clear Jaskier wasn't going to take it, holding up the keys instead. "I have the keys, I am kind of, um. The King?" That sounds almost like an apology, too. "They won't let me free you, but I've lived in this castle all my life. I know how to get in undetected, and how to get out."