#also being too afraid to rate yennefer is a mood

[lesdemonium]

Into Nightfall chapter 2

Rating: M Words (so far): 9162 Chapter: 2/? Summary: Nilfgaardian insurgents do not want the treaty between Cintra and Nilfgaard to take place, so Geralt, a witcher bodyguard-for-hire, is reluctantly hired to escort Princess Cirilla across the continent to expedite the signing of the treaty. What should have been an easy-enough contract keeps getting more and more difficult, though, especially when Geralt is forced to ask for help from those he has wronged in the past. Calanthe tapped her fingernails on the thick, solid wood of the arm rest, thinking hard. Geralt could see her mouth moving in a silent conversation as she considered her options, and then she stood, a decision made. “Fine, Witcher. I remain skeptical at best of the intelligence you have brought me. But I accept the terms of your wager. You will attend the banquet tonight as a guest and tell no one of your true intentions. And in the morning, when I am right, you will leave Cintra and never return. Do we have a deal?” Calanthe strode forward, holding out her hand to Geralt. Chapter 1 on tumblr | on ao3

Chapter 3

It took Geralt an hour to return to where Cirilla and Yennefer had at least built a fire. As Geralt approached, they both glanced up and evaluated him. Geralt noticed the twitch of Yennefer’s hands as she likely prepared a spell, though they relaxed back into her lap with recognition. Cirilla, however, just looked tired, and didn’t relax once she recognized Geralt, but looked down into the fire, her expression unchanging. He was relieved, at least, to see Yennefer and Cirilla sitting close together on the log--at least someone could provide some comfort to the girl, even if it was middling at best.

Geralt dismounted and his hands hesitated over the saddlebags, before he turned to Yennefer and Cirilla and took a seat on the other side of the fire. He tossed the bag Mousesack had packed toward the child, and it landed at her feet.

“The queen is alright,” he grunted, and Cirilla’s wide eyes found his. “Mousesack is as well, and, I suspect, Eist. They were ambushed after you were abducted, but Mousesack didn’t tell me of any losses. No one else knows you’re gone, but they’ll notice soon enough. They bought us time to go to Nilfgaard.”

Cirilla considered him for a long moment, and Geralt met her gaze unwaveringly. He could practically see the wheels turning in her brain as she decided what she wanted to say to him, and he had no intention of rushing her. Yennefer seemed somewhat disinterested--or wanted to appear that way--and stood up to prepare a tent.

“We’re going to be traveling together for a while, then,” the princess finally settled on. Geralt grunted in response. The princess likely knew how far Nilfgaard was from Cintra; he didn’t need to add information. Otherwise, what was the point of her formal education? “Why you? My grandmother doesn’t seem the type to hire bodyguards.”

“She isn’t,” Geralt agreed. He stood up and prepared his own bedroll, and felt the princess’s eyes boring into him.

“Then why you? Why not the castle guards? Or her herself?” she repeated, and no amount of etiquette training could soften the edge of an annoyed thirteen-year-old’s voice.

“I don’t pretend to understand all the decisions of royalty, princess,” Geralt answered, nonchalant. He wasn’t going to rise to any bait. “She didn’t want to hire me. We set a wager. I won. So now I will safely get you to Nilfgaard, and she will pay me.” He squat low to the ground, arranging his swords close to him. He didn’t truly believe that they were safe from Nilfgaard, not to mention the random lucky bandits that would view Yennefer’s magicked tent as a luxury, and them worthy of stealing from.

His task complete, Geralt met Cirilla’s eyes again and was unsurprised to find her still looking at him expectantly. Her lips were pursed and it was clear she wasn’t afraid of him, though possibly irritated and likely stressed out by the entire situation, if Geralt had to guess. She was handling it well, and Geralt had to admit he was impressed at her standing her ground rather than shrinking back when he proved to be difficult. Geralt could throw her a bone.

“A full guard would call too much attention. A well-known and easily-recognized queen would also call attention. A witcher and a princess who does not look like a princess--if you change into the clothes packed for you--attract far less attention. We have a long way to go and the more we get by undetected, the easier it will be. I will keep you safe, Cirilla. As will Yennefer, for as long as she travels with us.” He stood up, and crossed the fire to her. Geralt held out her hand for her to shake. “Can you trust me?”

Cirilla stared at his outstretched hand. Then her eyes met his again and she stood before taking his hand in hers. Cirilla was far shorter, but she squared her shoulders back and added as much length as she could, and the corner of Geralt’s mouth quirked up into a small smile.

“Ciri,” she answered, and Geralt’s eyebrow rose in a silent question. “I prefer to be called Ciri.”

“Ciri,” Geralt agreed, nodding.

--

Geralt was in a surly mood the next morning.

It was entirely Yennefer’s fault. Part of why he didn’t want Yennefer involved--the first reason being that he didn’t need help, but he couldn’t very well say that now that she had saved their hides in the castle--was because she was so damn stubborn. She had woken this morning and rushed Geralt and Ciri, who had now changed into a dress more appropriate for travel rather than a banquet, on the road. But not the path Geralt wanted to take. No, of course not. For the gods knew what reason, they were going north.

“Kagen is in the opposite direction of Nilfgaard, Yennefer,” Geralt had groused.

“Yes, thank you, I’m aware, Geralt. You’re not the only one that knows his way around the continent. I’d like to remind you that I am just as world-weary as you are.” She hadn’t even deigned to grace him with the full power of her eye roll. It would have been a good one; he could hear it in her voice.

“Then why are we going there?”

“I left something there that you are going to need. Quite desperately.”

Geralt had already known when he started the argument that he had lost. However, there was something particularly infuriating about the fact that Yennefer refused to explain further, so instead he and Ciri were left to follow the whims of the sorceress who also insisted that she couldn’t portal them.

“I can’t transport Roach, Geralt.”

“We’ll leave her behind.”

“I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea about who the most important woman in your life is.”

She was hiding something, obviously. But there was only so much prying Geralt could do when Yennefer did not wish to be pried upon. They walked to Kagen. It took half the day, which meant it would take the full day just to get back to where they had started originally. Yennefer did not seem to understand that the entire point of Geralt transporting Ciri was to expedite the process of signing the treaty, not to waste an entire day on some errand.

Unfortunately, the pieces all fell into place as Yennefer led them to a tavern. Geralt could feel the dread well within him even before he heard the familiar singing leaking out from behind the shoddy-looking door. Geralt halted his feet abruptly, so abruptly that Ciri crashed into his back.

“No,” he snarled, wheeling on Yennefer.

“Ah, so he is still here,” Yennefer answered absently, and kept walking. At least, until Geralt took her arm in his hand.

“We’re not going in there.”

Yennefer’s stare was withering, but she seemed to forget that Geralt wasn’t afraid of her like most were. Aware of her power, absolutely, but he wasn’t any more likely to back down than she was. Unless she forced his hand.

“Ciri, aren’t you hungry?” Yennefer asked, turning her violet eyes toward the princess. “Let’s go eat.”

She tugged her arm away from Geralt’s grasp and they continued on, leaving Geralt behind as his teeth clenched. How he had lost two arguments with Yennefer already, he wasn’t sure, but now his charge was walking into who knew what, and he had no choice but to follow and enter the tavern.

The music was lively, it always was at first, and thankfully seemed to be a sexually suggestive song rather than anything about any heroics. Yennefer led the way to a table in the far corner of the tavern and Geralt slid in beside Ciri, trying to hide her from the other patrons as much as he could. It didn’t seem to be a worthy effort, anyway. No one had noticed their entrance; they were far too enthralled by the performance the bard was giving.

Geralt couldn’t blame them.

Geralt didn’t like the way his heart stuttered when he finally turned his gaze on Jaskier. The bard looked good, like the year away from Geralt had been good to him, and didn’t that just drive the knife in? They shouldn’t be here; clearly, Jaskier was doing just fine by himself, if the grin and the amount of coin he seemed to be getting from the tavern patrons was any indication. “Last time we were all together, the two of you openly shared your distaste for each other,” Geralt answered, keeping his tone even. If they didn’t leave soon, Jaskier was going to see them. Honestly, it was amazing that he hadn’t already. “I do not see how he would be able to help us.”

“And don’t the three of us make a inconspicuous traveling party! A witcher, a sorceress, and a young girl that we’re clearly protecting,” Yennefer hissed, leaning in. It wasn’t for Geralt’s benefit, so he assumed it was for Ciri’s. “I thought you were good at this. Jaskier is loud-mouthed, skilled in distracting, and a quick thinker. And he’s someone we know we can trust. You’re the one that cocked this up, so you’re the one that will fix this, or we will barely make it to the next township before someone notices that there’s something amiss with us and starts asking questions. How, exactly, are you planning on answering those questions?”

Geralt grunted in response and Yennefer leaned back, that insufferably knowing smile on her face. She was right, of course. Jaskier was the perfect person to throw others off their scent. And, as much as Geralt hated to admit it, Jaskier would probably be able to come up with a much more satisfying story as to why they were traveling companions, or at least annoy whoever was asking enough for them to drop the question. It had to be him. But why did it have to be him?

“Now’s your chance,” Ciri piped up, nudging Geralt with her elbow. Geralt looked up to see Jaskier thanking the crowd, making his bows, and collecting the money he had at his feet. From the way he was very pointedly not looking in their direction, he must have realized Geralt’s party was there.

Geralt’s jaw set and he hesitated only a moment before he pushed away from the table, following Jaskier to the bar. He sat down heavily on the stool next to Jaskier and if Jaskier knew he was there (how could he not?) he didn’t let on.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said after a long, painful moment of silence. Jaskier’s expression did not change, though he did take a long, long drink from the ale before him. It had been full moments ago, but now as he set it back down on the bar with a thud, it was only half filled. Jaskier wiped his lips, wrapped both his hands around the tankard hard enough that Geralt could see his fingers turn white, and let out a woosh of a breath.

“Geralt, to what do I owe the honor?” And that, exactly, was why Yennefer was right. They needed Jaskier. No one else could sound bright and cheery to see him, with the added layer of deep, deep sarcasm. He didn’t even bother to look at Geralt, which was probably the worst part. “Did you like my set?”

“Jaskier, we need to talk. Somewhere private.”

Jaskier turned, but still he didn’t look at Geralt. His eyes slipped right over the witcher and instead settled briefly on the table Ciri and Yennefer were sitting at. At least, that was what Geralt assumed Jaskier was looking at; he didn’t look himself. He was certain at least a few pairs of ears were listening in, and he wasn’t about to draw more attention to the princess.

“Interesting company you’re keeping, Geralt. You and Yennefer decided to adopt? How quaint,” Jaskier said in lieu of an answer, turning back to his ale. He lifted it to his lips, looking intent to finish the remaining drink, when Geralt seized his wrist to stop him. Jaskier’s reaction was immediate–he tore his arm away from Geralt viciously, his ale sloshing out and drenching a man a seat away.

The man shot up, towering over Jaskier’s seated form, and shoved Jaskier off the stool. The stein and what remaining liquid there was crashed to the floor, and Jaskier scrambled to his feet to face his assailant.

“Someone should have laid off the ale, bard,” the man declared, tone threatening and his face only inches from Jaskier’s face. Even with Jaskier standing, he was taller than the bard, but not by much, and the murderous look on Jaskier’s face had Geralt stepping off his own seat to intervene.

“Really? I think your smell has greatly improved. You should be thanking me for my service,” Jaskier snapped, and Geralt groaned. Of course Jaskier couldn’t just leave it alone. If Geralt hadn’t spoken to him, maybe Jaskier would have made a joke to calm the man down, get him off his back, but an angry Jaskier made for an impulsive Jaskier, ready for a fight.  

Rather than allow this to get any further, Geralt tugged Jaskier back and behind him by the collar of his doublet, standing eye-to-eye with the tavern patron. “Leave the bard be.” He dropped some coins on the bartop. “For the injury and to get your clothes laundered.” 

The man’s eyes glinted angrily, but he accepted the money with only muffled grumbling, and returned to his seat. The tavern slowly stuttered back to life, but when Geralt turned around, Jaskier was already halfway out the door, his fury palpable.

Geralt turned to Yennefer and Ciri, raising his eyebrow expectantly, but he was met with Ciri’s disappointed face and Yennefer’s exasperated one. Yennefer strode out the door without another look at Geralt, who felt thoroughly chastised, and irritated for it. How was he supposed to know Jaskier would behave so dramatically? He had done his best.

Taking a deep breath, Geralt made his way to the table and sat beside Ciri.

“So. That went poorly,” Ciri said, and her voice held all the practiced neutrality of a royal, which Geralt knew hid her scathing judgment.

Geralt only grunted in return. He would not be made to feel small by a charge, much less a child. They would wait for Yennefer to do whatever it was she thought she was going to do, and then they would leave, with or without Jaskier. 

For a while, Ciri was silent, which Geralt was hoping would mean the subject would be dropped until Yennefer returned and they continued on their way, without Jaskier. But, because this was the way Geralt’s day was going, eventually Ciri said, “Who was that?”

“A bard,” Geralt answered hotly.

Ciri let out an exasperated sigh and shoved Geralt’s shoulder. “You asked me to trust you, Geralt. How am I supposed to trust you if you don’t tell me anything?” Ciri asked.

Geralt turned to look at her determined face. Curse him, he seemed to have a tendency for attracting strong personalities, and it didn’t seem to be working out for him, especially today. He was going to go back to hunting monsters as soon as this particular contract was through; Geralt had enjoyed quite his fill of people.

“We used to travel together. He sang the songs about me.”

Ciri’s eyes went wide and she shifted in her seat, peering out the window but, apparently, finding no acceptable angle with which to view the man she had clearly now decided was famous. “That’s Jaskier? Jaskier is going to come with us?” she asked, and Gods help him, she actually sounded excited.

“No, he’s not. Instead, he’s going to try his best to start bar brawls and storm off like a child.”

“Why is he angry with you?”

Geralt glared down at the table. A phantom of a memory he tried hard to purge crept up on him. If life could grant me one blessing--he shook his head, as if that would rid him of the thoughts that kept him awake so often. He grunted, and this time, when he felt Ciri’s eyes on him, he didn’t bend beneath it. It didn’t matter why Jaskier was angry, only that he was. Yennefer was wrong, anyway; they could get by just fine without him.

At the same moment that Ciri opened her mouth, probably to press further, the door opened and in walked Yennefer. Her eyes found Geralt’s and she nodded her head toward the door, so Geralt stood up, not bothering to look if Ciri was trailing behind him, only trusting that she would. Yennefer stayed at the door only as long as it took Geralt to take it from her.

Geralt stepped back out into the afternoon sun after Yennefer and Ciri, though he staggered a bit when he saw Jaskier waiting by Roach. Geralt turned his gaze imploringly toward Yennefer, who merely crossed her arms at him, before he resigned himself to continue to his horse.

“Right, then,” Jaskier said, his voice sounding a bit wrecked. But he put on a bright smile as he faced Ciri, and Geralt was sure he wasn’t the only one who noticed that it didn’t quite reach Jaskier’s eyes. “You must be Ciri! You’re the splitting image of Pavetta, you lucky girl.”

“You knew my mother?” Ciri asked, and curse Jaskier, because the girl already sounded charmed.

“Did I know your mother? My lady, do I have a story for you. I was there the night of your parents’, and grandparents’, for that matter, wedding! Good thing we have a long journey ahead of us, it’s really quite a long story.”

Geralt had seen enough of Yennefer’s smug looks in his lifetime; he didn’t need to look at this one. He took Roach’s reigns and pulled them back on track, cursing this Godsforsaken job the entire way.

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