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."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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."