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Whew, right at the 1k mark~ I hope you all enjoy! Soon to be posted on my AO3 account as well ❤️
Buttercups and Buttresses
Jaskier was never very good at following instructions. It’d been true for as long as he could remember, much to the chagrin of his parents and tutors. Even his instructors at Oxenfurt had commented on his rebellious streak, lamenting how hard it made him to teach, though they also said it was an excellent trait for a bard.
It, combined with his insatiable curiosity, often got him into trouble. He supposed that by now he should have learned his lesson- when someone told him not to do something, there was usually a good reason for it. A good reason that he almost always ended up well acquainted with. It was never more true than with Witcher business.
Geralt had told him to stay with Roach. Told him that the monster he was hunting was too dangerous for Jaskier to follow into the abandoned and ruined castle. Jaskier hadn’t listened. In his defense, Geralt said that about every monster hunt. Drowners? Too dangerous. Manticore? Too dangerous. Warg pack? That’s right, too dangerous. How was Jaskier supposed to know that this time he actually meant it? Maybe if Geralt had sat down and explained what Huldra were and what they did, Jaskier wouldn’t have found himself in this situation.
Which was braiding wildflowers into the hair of something that looked like a beautiful woman. That didn’t sound bad, but Jaskier had no control over his actions, mindlessly staring at the dark, overgrown hole in the woman’s back as her tail curled possessively around his wrist, like a shackle. He could only guess this must be the monster Geralt had come to slay, in which case he wished the Witcher would hurry up and get on with it- mud was starting to seep into his breeches, making his kneeling position quite uncomfortable.
“...Dammit Jaskier!” He can hear Geralt growl from somewhere to his right, but his body’s attention remains firmly on the handful of buttercups and daisies he’s plaiting into the silken locks before him. The woman- or whatever she is- gives a hiss of displeasure, her tail uncurling from Jaskier’s wrist.
“That’s enough, bard.” Her voice is a silken purr, and his body immediately stills, the flowers falling out of his lax grip. “Be a good boy and stay.” The last word freezes his body, and Jaskier hates being told what to do, but he’s powerless. All he can do is watch helplessly as she stands, presumably facing Geralt.
“Release him.” Geralt says, his voice cold. What sort of expression is he wearing, Jaskier wondered. Was it blank, like usual? Or was his brow furrowed in anger, eyes narrowed as he glares at the woman?
“Why should I, Witcher? I doubt you’ll spare me if I do… maybe I should kill him.” The woman’s voice is equally cold, and Jaskier isn’t too fond of the way this conversation is suddenly going. He’d like to be able to say something, maybe try and convince her that really, killing him wouldn’t be worth it, but he still had no control over his damn body. She could at least let him look up, instead of keeping his gaze fixed on the discarded flowers. Oh who was he kidding, they were weeds, growing in the ruins of some ancient castle’s garden… it felt terribly poetic, and if he could have, he would have immediately started to write a song mourning the past glory of the buildings and how noble they must have looked, with their crenellations and buttresses, and all those other fancy architectural terms.
He was already composing the first verse, something about red gabled roofs reflected in a pond when the woman gave a shriek, turning towards Jaskier and oh dear, maybe he should have been paying attention. There was a flash of golden light- one of Geralt’s signs- and the woman was thrown back. Frustratingly, her hold didn’t loosen. So his gaze was still fixed on the ground as he heard the thud of boots running, the monster’s hiss. It sounded exciting and dramatic and he couldn’t see it.
How often did he get the chance to see Geralt actually fight a monster? Not often enough, and he was stuck staring at a pile of weeds. He wanted to howl in outrage, but, as before, nothing came of it. Then there was a screech, followed by a wet-sounding slice and then a sickening thud. Instantly, the tight feeling left, and he was able to move freely. Jaskier looked up just as Geralt walked over, sheathing his silver sword. He was scowling, which would have made a lesser man run, but not Jaskier. He greeted the Witcher with a smile.
“Thank you Geralt! It was dreadfully boring, being her slave. Was that the Huldra?” He chatted on, standing up with a groan- his poor breeches would be stained with grass and dirt forever- and these were brand new!
“I told you to stay with Roach.” Geralt snapped back, running a critical eye over Jaskier. “...She could have killed you.” Ah. So he had been worried.
“But she didn’t! All's well that ends well, I suppose. I have you to thank for that!”
“Hmm.”
“‘You’re welcome, Jaskier, I’m glad you aren’t hurt.’ And if you were just better at telling me about the monsters, maybe I wouldn’t get into so much trouble! Because you didn’t tell me she could hypnotize me to do her bidding, you didn’t tell me anything! I just saw a lovely young lady wandering about where a monster was. Yes, I realize she had a tail and pointed ears and a giant hole in her back but I didn’t notice that.” Jaskier rambled on as they walked out of the ruins, picking his lute up from where he had dropped it and starting on that song from earlier.
“All that remains are weeds and ruins,
Crimson stained curtains under red gabled roofs,
Ashy remains of those from long ago,
And monsters who hunt those who dare go.”
...He’d work on it.
