Geralt z Rivii (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gynvael) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2021-07-04 01:42 pm
gynvael) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-07-04 01:42 pm
Entry tags:
( CLOSED )
Who: Geralt + Jaskier
When: Before the July event
Where: the castle // dungeons
What: A bardish visit, part 2.
Warnings: N/A
[ Time passes both quickly and not at all down here—but out of everything, it's the continued allowance of visits that surprises him. He's been waiting for security to tighten, for the guards to begin disposing of prisoners, for something to change. So far, nothing has. It leaves him uneasy, but it does mean he has a chance to bide his time while Jaskier is above.
He's been avoiding dwelling on the princess. It's been, what. Four weeks? Just about. A long time for a girl to run from an army. It's easier to simply accept there's no longer anything to go back for. The thought leaves a bitter taste, but he's not about to hang his hopes on fanciful hopes. On Destiny. Besides, what's one more regret amongst a pile of others?
Time to move on. Put his focus on other matters that need more pressing attention, here and now.
His leg, at least, is steadily healing. Not quickly; not getting worse, either. It's about all he can expect. He's seated on the ground where he often is, preferring its flat hard surface to the lumpy, scratchy bed, which he only just barely fits into. Geralt's got half a bun in his mouth—the same one he's been eating for weeks, every day, and even he's getting fucking bored of the same damn meal by now—when Jaskier appears out of the corner of his eye.
He doesn't turn around, but it's clear he notices the bard, his eyes sliding ever so slightly in Jaskier's direction before he turns back to his food. There's a vague Mmm that passes for a greeting. ]
When: Before the July event
Where: the castle // dungeons
What: A bardish visit, part 2.
Warnings: N/A
[ Time passes both quickly and not at all down here—but out of everything, it's the continued allowance of visits that surprises him. He's been waiting for security to tighten, for the guards to begin disposing of prisoners, for something to change. So far, nothing has. It leaves him uneasy, but it does mean he has a chance to bide his time while Jaskier is above.
He's been avoiding dwelling on the princess. It's been, what. Four weeks? Just about. A long time for a girl to run from an army. It's easier to simply accept there's no longer anything to go back for. The thought leaves a bitter taste, but he's not about to hang his hopes on fanciful hopes. On Destiny. Besides, what's one more regret amongst a pile of others?
Time to move on. Put his focus on other matters that need more pressing attention, here and now.
His leg, at least, is steadily healing. Not quickly; not getting worse, either. It's about all he can expect. He's seated on the ground where he often is, preferring its flat hard surface to the lumpy, scratchy bed, which he only just barely fits into. Geralt's got half a bun in his mouth—the same one he's been eating for weeks, every day, and even he's getting fucking bored of the same damn meal by now—when Jaskier appears out of the corner of his eye.
He doesn't turn around, but it's clear he notices the bard, his eyes sliding ever so slightly in Jaskier's direction before he turns back to his food. There's a vague Mmm that passes for a greeting. ]
no subject
Something is surely coming. It's already been too long since they arrived.
What a terribly depressing chain of thought. And yet it lingers.
What also lingers is (a bit) of worry for the Witcher, cursed with prison food, which is, in nearly every case, gods-awful. Even if Geralt has previously mentioned that is not the case here (which is doubly suspicious, if you ask either of them), it hasn't stopped Jaskier from, on every new visit to Geralt, unfolding a little bit more nice food he's tied up in a handkerchief he might have stolen, maybe, from a table during the festival. Who knows! The prison food could be cursed, or... or poisoned.
Jaskier doesn't give much of a glance to the guards as he passes down into the depressing underbelly of the castle, where a few faces have already become familiar simply from his visits.
He purses his lips.] Well, hello to you too. You know, I don't think you've ever once been happy to see me.
[Oh, what, nothing's changed? He takes out his newest bundle -- a handful of grapes and a bit of cheese -- tucked in his doublet. The benefit of puffy sleeves.]
Let's go, you sweaty beast. I've got some work for you.
[And also: he is taking the Witcher for a bath, because Melitele herself can smell him from whatever plane of existence she sits on. And... it's the least he can do at this point.] And maybe some soap.
[He winks. Twice.]
no subject
[ He accepts the bundle of food, slipping it under his pillow for when he returns later. Their meals might be decent, but there's not much of it. The guards seem to turn a blind eye to food brought down by the guests, though—something he's been curious if it's done on instruction of the mage, to let the welcomed guests do as they like so long as it isn't especially egregious.
Soap, huh. He raises an eyebrow. Well. Not going to complain about that. Jaskier looks about the same. Hasn't gotten in any trouble, then. More magic learnt, perhaps. He'll have to ask. That Jaskier even has access to magic at all is...he still doesn't know how, but it seems to be a particular effect of this world. Either way, some use yet might come out of it.
He follows Jaskier into the castle proper, careful not to stray too far in case someone decides to accuse him of trying something. It's nice, at least, to get some air. He lets Jaskier fill the silence or not as the bard desires. Only when they're behind closed doors does he speak up. ]
Heard anything new?
no subject
[And yet he bumps Geralt's shoulder once the guard has let him out, leading the way out of this gods-forsaken place to where the air was fresher, the people were flashier, and he was already getting a little bored of it all. A strange, new feeling it was, sharing boredom and fear in the same space.
He relaxes in the presence of the Witcher, however. As he always has.
Jaskier takes in Geralt's stride now he's not trapped in a cell, guessing that his leg must be healing, simply at a slower rate. Well. It's one thing he can help with, at least. He hasn't spent the last month sitting on his laurels. He chatters, of course, with news of what he's been doing, which is mostly reading on this world's history, practicing his magic (still weird as fuck, but his bird is rather well-formed now), and performing, when he can.
He relaxes even more once a door has closed behind them.]
I've kept an eye out, but no one I recognize has popped up. [He can only assume that's the news Geralt cares foremost about.] A little gossip about typical political intrigue, but nothing world-shattering. Yet.
[It's going to happen. It always does.] Be honest: how are you?
no subject
No news. He mulls that over. Something must be brewing. They haven't been gathered here with such effort for no reason, nor kept alive if they're of no use in Thorne's ambitions. But it's difficult for him to surmise much more when the information they have access to is so insular, controlled entirely by Thorne. He knows Jaskier has found little despite his greater freedom through the libraries.
The bath that Jaskier leads them to is small, but private. Water pours gently from a spout in the wall, and there's a certain relief he can't deny. Even on his travels, he can still bathe in the rivers and lakes he passes by, or an inn if he has the coin for it. His hair has grown matted and filthy; his skin sticks. A minor concern, all things considered. He still fucking hates the feeling of it. ]
Could be worse. [ He pulls the worn tunic over his head, dropping it on the ground. It's honest. He doesn't like what's happening here, but he can come up with a hundred ways in which things could take a darker turn. ] They're still feeding us. No word of any future excursions.
no subject
Though he's quite sure not all of them are. Like that chattering, slightly evil child.
Jaskier tips his head, practicing idly, like he has made a habit of, pulling the magic in his veins, crafting his blue little bird. It chirps, perched on his fingers, and then flies up to a rafter to watch the room. The more he works with it, the less it feels like an impossibility. Even if it, clearly, still is.]
You always say that. Everything could always be worth, every time, always, because by the time it can't be worse, you're dead. It bears no need for repeating!
[He rolls his eyes, retrieving the small amenities the private baths provide: soaps and oils that would have certainly cost some coin back home. He lines them up for Geralt at the edge of the water, taking a seat there.]
I hate to bid you bad news, but I'm quite certain they've gathered us for a large, future excursion, if my vast knowledge of man has anything to say about it.
[He pours some oil in the water. Geralt needs it. Jaskier's nose needs it.] Actually, two bouts of bad news. And before you go about insulting me, I did this knowing you'd be annoyed. For one, I've seen about trying to have you released, but so far, my requests have been denied.
[He simply did not ask Geralt about it because he knows the Witcher would have told him not to bother. And look, he's probably so smug to know he was correct. Still, Jaskier intends to keep appealing the decision.]
As for the second bit of bad news... Have you heard of the Singularity? Surprisingly, they have a rather vast library and have not limited my accessing of it. Do any of your fellow cellmates know of it? Because I'm quite sure we're going to be conscripted in some sort of... [He gestures with both hands in the air, vaguely.] War for it. Probably.
no subject
He says nothing at first. He doesn't want to get into it, the slow conclusion he's come to about Cirilla. What does it fucking matter? He's not sure who he should be angry with: himself, for being too late, or Thorne, for ensuring that he will never know how things could have been different. But it's not an anger he wants to sit with. It will stew, he knows, until it festers and bursts, and right now with Jaskier trapped here alongside him, that's dangerous. The last thing he needs is to make reckless decisions.
Especially when Jaskier does that enough for the two of them. His gaze is sharp as it turns towards Jaskier. He did what? A noise comes from his throat. Of course he did. And of course Jaskier would've not told, knowing what Geralt would've said in response.
He sighs. It's not that he doesn't understand why. It's only that Geralt wants to remain out of scrutiny. And having someone press for his release will only keep eyes on them both.
In the end, he avoids the entire topic altogether. Jaskier will not back down when it comes to trying to get him free, however fruitless the endeavor. He already knows this. And their time is too limited to argue in circles. ]
It's been mentioned. [ His information is haphazard, gathered by listening in on conversations. That there's conflict brewing doesn't surprise him. What kingdom is free of ambitions of war? ] There must be something more. Thorne's mages are powerful. Their castle is well guarded. What's special about the summoned guests?
[ Because Jaskier is entirely human. On his own. And certainly not a soldier. So there has to be something else. ]
no subject
Imprisonment has really done a number on him.]
I'm not quite sure if there's more. There's certainly a few gods and goddesses dotting their histories, but they don't have names. But this thing, whatever it is, is spoken about as such. Perhaps more venerated, even.
[Considering how it's spoken of, how often... there's not exactly a comparison he can think of to the Continent.] It's all completely guesswork at this point, of course. It's not exactly easy to plea for an audience with anyone of importance. [Typical of courts.
Typical of everywhere, really.]
That's about what I've got so far. And as far as our positions, I don't know. We both know if it was only about war, you should be the one out here. [And he wasn't. A bard without direction from a kingdom was not particularly a benefit to war effort.
He claps his hands together. On that somber note.] But, on the other hand, I've learned enough I believe I can help you with your leg. If you're not going to bowl me over with your ceaseless grumblings.
no subject
He scrubs roughly at his hair, annoyed at the entire situation. The water runs murky. ]
I wouldn't have been out here for long either way. [ They'd have learned quickly he had no interest in serving whatever petty hunger they had for land or power or illusions of greatness. And yet he's been caught up in it nonetheless. With Jaskier. It bothers him how little he can do in his current position, with his current limitations.
He sighs. What the bite? Geralt glances up. He isn't going to grumble, actually. The sooner it heals, the better. He draws his leg up, letting Jaskier take a look. ]
Go ahead.
no subject
[Not that it's anything to hold against him. It's simply... the way Geralt is. The way people react to him.
Jaskier moves to the edge, folding his legs underneath him. He rubs all his fingers together, warming them, and gives Geralt a companionable clap on the shoulder.]
Now, I've been practicing, but don't expect any miracles. [Of course Geralt would never think so highly of him. He covers the wound with a hand gently -- healing, but not healed -- drawing on his magic. The bird above them gives a chirp and pops like a bubble. He may have been practicing, but two things at once is a lot.
There's not much of an interesting visual. His hand warms, and a slight glow, as the magic waves through Geralt's skin.
He nods to himself. Not bad at all, Lord Pankratz.] Rather impressive, wouldn't you say? No, say nothing. I understand. A bard doing magic is breathtaking.
no subject
Hmm. Hard to say how he feels. It concerns him, if there's a hidden cost to the magic Jaskier has found. Or perhaps the cost is simply that they're stuck here. ]
You have been learning. [ It might not sound like praise; from Geralt, though, it's nearly so.
He looks over to where the bird once was. All this talk of magic and mages. Yen always did like her birds. He wants...he's not sure what he wants. Some quiet in his mind, maybe. He'd found that with her. When things were calm, anyway. Fuck. As much as he's tried to separate it all, taking one problem at a time, it's beginning to feel crowded. A heavy weight he can't shake.
His fingers dip into the water, tracing a small circle on the surface as he tries to bring his thoughts to more practical concerns. ] How far does Thorne's territory expand?
no subject
[He pats Geralt's leg, letting him lower it. Not healed completely, but certainly better. He'll have to see how he walks from here on. Hopefully with no limp.] You're welcome.
[He's thankful Geralt survived the bite. And the sooner it's gone, the sooner they can worry about other things.
Jaskier moves behind Geralt. If he's not going to bloody bathe himself right, Jaskier will help. It won't be the first time, and it's an ease he sinks into because this, at least, is so fucking simple. He grabs the soap, pulling Geralt close to the edge so he can start rubbing it into his dirty hair.
They don't even let them bathe. Monstrous.]
Well, it's a kingdom, and from what I can tell, a powerful one, so it's bloody big. From what I remember of the maps, there's a few outlaying towns on the edges. Something perhaps a few days away by horse? Hopefully?
[It's all guesswork, really. He hadn't memorized any maps when other things had been more pertinent.] I'll see if I can sketch a copy.
no subject
[ Jaskier does not do nothing. Jaskier is always doing something, and half the time that something tends to be a decision that stirs shit up. He could only wish that Jaskier would occasionally choose to sit and do nothing. Or rather, right now, he wishes Jaskier has the option to do so. Geralt needs him, though. Out of everyone here, there's no one else trusts. Not in the same way.
He makes an irritated sound when Jaskier snatches the soap right out of his hand. His eyes roll upward, but he lets it happen. Not the first time Jaskier has gotten fed up with Geralt's coarseness when it comes to untangling his own hair. (Geralt sees no reason why he shouldn't put speed and efficiency over grace. He's also not about to provoke yet another expansive lecture on it from the bard.) ]
No. [ A physical copy, if found even on a guest, might lead to conclusions he's not sure he wants. Especially not when they know full well Jaskier has a prisoner he's currently interested in appealing to free. ] Take me to the library next time. Tell them I'm there to carry your tomes. I'll take a look when we're in your chambers.
[ He only needs a glance. It'll be enough to start orienting himself to what's out there beyond some mountains to the north. ]
no subject
Well. He could certainly make it sound completely true. It wasn't a lie.]
Oh, you're so terribly paranoid. Fine. The next time, in lieu of a bath, we'll take a turn in the library instead.
[One could so easily get annoyed to imply that he is, apparently, too weak or lazy to carry a book, yet... he knows nobles well. It's not an unfair request.
He cups water into his hands and dumps it over Geralt's head.] There's a woman. Quietly pretty, brunette hair. Her name is Belle. She's been sneaking things to the prisoners. [Another dump of water.] If you need a bit more food and I can't get to you, she could help. But be nice. She was cursed once, and the lady doesn't need any of your nonsense.
no subject
Forgive me for not wanting either of us to lose our hands.
[ Water pours over him midsentence. He spits it out with furrowed brows. Fuck. He needs a drink. Several drinks. Wait, what woman? He looks over his shoulder, studying Jaskier for a moment before turning away. He's not certain he wants an additional face at his cell—he has plenty as it is (two is plenty)—but he gets what Jaskier is saying.
He'll keep her in mind. ]
And what other new friends have you been making?
no subject
[So far. There's a certain emphasis for that. And he isn't afraid -- okay, scratch that, he's very afraid, but he thinks -- hopes, fuck -- that that won't stop him from helping Geralt where he needs to.
So far, fortune smiles upon him. Much less so on Geralt, which seems to be a running theme.
Jaskier splashes his face just to annoy him this time, then dips his hands in water to get the rest of the soap washed off. He shakes them dry, patting against his trousers.] Plenty of them, thank you. But I only trust her because she admitted it to me first. [He shrugs. All right, and she's very pretty. And he feels a certain kinship with her, having been cursed. The djinn nearly killing him was not necessarily a curse, but it may as well have been one.]
There's others besides me that want the prisoners freed. A staggering amount, actually. Apparently they made quite a mistake, summoning so many sympathetic fools.
no subject
—What the fuck. Geralt's brows draw downward as water splashes right in his face. He gives Jaskier a smack in the arm. Idiot. ]
Ambrose seems amenable in rare cases. [ Those that have left the dungeon aren't many, but still more than Geralt would've expected. He's been considering what that means. Do they need them? Is that why they've been held until now? Because the mage wanted an excess pool of resources on the chance the welcomed guests didn't all work out?
It would've been simple, after all, to have gotten rid of the mistakes immediately. The guests would've never known better.
Speaking of making friends. ]
When they sent us to the mines, there were guests who came. Spent the week with one. [ He looks over at Jaskier. ] Room 3. Sam Wilson.
[ He doesn't need to say much more than that; Jaskier knows there are few he considers worth talking to. Sam is...he's not ready to use trustworthy or friend. Dependable, maybe, is the word he's looking for. ]
no subject
Fuck. Already he misses traveling. There's certainly a difference between being trapped somewhere and rooming up in Oxenfurt for the winter.]
Ah. You mean the prisoners scurrying about? One can only wonder how you, too, haven't earned that sort of favor.
[It's a light prodding. He can't help himself. So far, there's so little humor to be found. Well, considering that urchin had weaseled her way to the festival and Geralt hadn't was a bit humorous.]
Oh. Guests? Hm. [He raises his brows, moving aside to a cushion, crossing his legs. Oh. Oh. That thing they'd offered him. When he'd first gotten here. As if the first thing he would want to do was run off to the middle of fucking nowhere. And some madman had agreed?]
Sam? You're making friends without me now? Marvelous! This is quite the development. [He tips his head, considering that. Geralt does not recommend people. Er, ever. So this is a development.] I'll make sure to strike up an invigorating conversation with him, then. And what could he have possibly done to earn a somewhat glowing review from you?
no subject
Fuck off. [ He levels narrowed eyes in Jaskier's direction, as if to silently impress upon the bard the difference between a potential ally and a friend. ] We shared a drink. He seems to have the disposition needed to put up with all of your nonsense.
[ He's yet to tell Jaskier about the hallucinations down in the tunnels, nor the people who'd become unwitting witnesses to them. He doesn't plan to any time soon. Or ever, really, so long as it remains irrelevant. It's been dealt with, put aside, and he's even sleeping marginally better. So.
Besides, they both have more important concerns. ]
no subject
[It no longer holds a shard of bitterness like it may have years ago. Instead, it's most certainly a prodding joke, with Jaskier meeting Geralt's glare with a smile. He won't say it -- neither of them will -- but it's good to see him out here, being annoying and gruff and himself. Recommending, apparently, other acquaintances.]
So you trust him enough that he won't stab me in the back. I appreciate it. [He throws a cloth to dry his face at Geralt's, er, face.] And where did you find enough respite to share a drink? [This time, Jaskier's gaze may actually be a bit scrutinizing. He knows the sort of things that has Geralt standing up for someone else. And those occasions are often monumental.] Did something happen? Another detail you've found no importance in telling me?
no subject
[ His reply is dry, but not wholly without amusement. He wouldn't have wished for Jaskier to be here. That's the last thing he would've wanted, given the choice. But he can admit he's glad he's had the chance to talk to Jaskier before...
Before something happened. (He wants the same for Yennefer. Maybe it's for the best, though. What would he say to her? Would she even care to hear it?)
He catches the cloth, hauling himself out of the water. ]
Before they took us back. We had a few hours to rest. Guards were willing to look the other way. [ They're only guards, after all. A week in the tunnels, he imagines that final day, they'd just wanted to return home without trouble.
On the topic of trouble. He meets Jaskier's scrutiny with a look of his own, roughly drying himself off. There's nothing to talk about. Nothing that he wants to talk about. ] Drop it, Jaskier.
no subject
Or, perhaps, if he's feeling particularly spicy, despite it. Even if Thorne itself has deigned to treat them as separate, instead of a package deal.
Which, of course, they are. Considering how much Geralt owes him.]
Ah, guards. Always so astute and dedicated to their craft. [Jaskier gives a huff, watching the White Wolf dry himself with all the grace of a three-legged horse. Still, one can't help but appreciate the sight -- and also examine him for more scars that he doesn't recognize (he knows them all, thank you.) Nothing he can tell, except scrapes on his hands, and that wound on his leg.
It's not healed completely, but it's far less red. More a delicate pink now.
Jaskier arches one delicate brow.] So something did happen, and you're bent on grousing about it in your head without sharing, which has proven to make things infinitely easier on a man's mind, which I am quite aware of through both personal experience and, oh, years of study. [And though it's certainly an admonishment, Geralt can do what he likes. As he always does. Even if it bothers Jaskier greatly his friend always bears his pain alone.
It's almost as if, after all this time, he still does not trust his friends.] I won't bother you about it, but I do... I do wish you would tell me. Perhaps you have better understanding, but I still have little idea what horrors this place promises us yet.
no subject
No answer comes for a good minute or two. He tucks the edges of the bandage in, reaches for the ratty trousers he's been wearing for the past few weeks. A soft exhale suggests he has something he means to say that he isn't letting out quite yet. The other reason he hasn't spoken of it is because it isn't related to Thorne or what's happening here in the castle. They'd been shuffled off to do menial labour, and said labour had some shit side effects. That's all.
But he senses Jaskier's uncertainty, the fear that lingers under his words. Geralt perches on a table, leaning back against it to take the weight off his leg. ]
The crystals we were sent to gather had hallucinogenic effects. I saw some things. Anyone with me saw the same. [ He picks up the leather cord he's since gotten from Jaskier and wraps it around his still-damp hair, sweeping it out of the way. ] Not exactly the way I prefer to introduce myself.
no subject
It's only when Geralt sighs that Jaskier perks up. Oh, he knows that sound. Very well.
So he waits. As patiently as he can, which is not very patient at all, but at least he's quiet about it, picking at his cuticles with his nails, tossing Geralt the cord once he's squeezed his hair out.
It begins. The crystals. Jaskier blinks, slightly wide-eyed.]
I'm sorry, the crystals gave you visions? Shared visions? [Oh, that's totally normal. Completely. And, he imagines, an extremely not-nice thing for someone with Geralt's level of personal tragedy.
He knows better than to ask what he saw. Not that he doesn't want to know; he is quite aware Geralt won't answer.] I see. Makes sense why you're so ornery about it. In that case, I certainly won't go around touching any random crystals, then. [It isn't a joke; an observation only. And that means, if Geralt is recommending Sam, perhaps he can put two-and-two together and assume Sam must have seen something, too. The same thing, perhaps.
Time to do a bit of investigating on that note, then.
He stands, stretches, and walks over to Geralt to pat his shoulders in solidarity.] I'm being quite serious here, so listen.
[He takes a deep breath.]
Take care of yourself, all right? As well as you can.
[He doesn't ask permission (because he certainly never does for anything) before pulling his friend into a tight hug, brief and sudden and over with in a few moments.] We'll get you out of there soon enough.
no subject
For a bit, he simply sits where he is. His reluctance to return to the dungeons is apparent, even if he won't say it. The cell feels ever more crowded as time passes. Pushing Cirilla out of his mind grows harder the more restless he is. It all snowballs into a yawning pit, an urge that itches his fingers, makes him want to curl them around the grip of a blade he doesn't have.
So when Jaskier embraces him, out of nowhere, it startles him briefly. He's tense, before lifting a hand to accept it. His expression is difficult to read afterwards: contemplative, but etched with a concern he won't yet voice. Jaskier doesn't often hide his emotions. This time, it's different. He knows his friend is keeping a few things unspoken. That Jaskier has not said in explicit terms what he's afraid will happen, might happen. Truth be known, Geralt's not sure if Jaskier knows -- if any of them know. Maybe that's part of the fear. ]
Should worry about yourself first, bard. [ It's gruff, intentionally so, but a softness belies his words. ] Just find me those maps.
[ It'll give Jaskier something to do. Something to focus on. And the implication, further: that he doesn't plan on wasting away in some foreign court's dungeons if he can help it. ]