#by the way I was inspired by Yennefers promo pic where it seems like shes captured

[writings-of-time80]

How I thought the S2 reunion between Jaskier and Yennefer would go... :)

Beneath the calm facade, the innkeeper knew he was in a problematic situation. He could determine someones wealth the moment they walked through the door --- identify their social status even sooner. This was why his tavern was surprisingly popular, he had never served a bad ale to anyone of influence, no matter how disguised or plainly dressed they were.

The blue-eyed man standing before him hadn’t even bothered with disguise. Two armed men stood on either side of him, their sharp eyes searching the midday crowd. The windows were propped open, and the innkeeper could see two more armed men, clearly also part of the man’s guard, holding seven saddled warhorses outside the stable. If each man rode in on horseback, then that meant there were two armed men unaccounted for, which was unsettling.

“What’s yer business with him, sir?” said the innkeeper gruffly, fighting the feeling of rising dread.

The man’s voice was aristocratically slithering, intense and charismatic.

“Some of his recent composition. When I heard of his stay here, I set out in hope to hear it performed by the bard himself. Nothing sweeter or more sincere than water from its source, so to speak.”

The man eyes became suddenly fixed upon the innkeeper, who couldn’t help but freeze, hypnotized. The charmer had become the cobra. All of a sudden, it was plain this man was very dangerous. Dangerous not only for his charm, power and wealth - but without it. This man was a snake, and he was poised to strike.

It was clear there were to be no questions, now or later. No misdirection. No pretense. There were no words spoken aloud, but there didn’t need to be. The threat was there, and certain absolution.

“You’ll find ‘im in a private room out the back. It's where he sits down to write,” said the innkeeper reluctantly, ashamed of himself despite it all. “Down the hall on the eastern side, last door on your left.”

“Thank-you kindly, inn master,” said the piercing blue eyes.

The man gave a low whistle as he headed toward the back, the guards gave up their intent scanning of the crowd, and smoothly followed. Their focus fixed on the unsuspecting bard at the end of the hall.

(...)

“Oh, those fools in Nilfgaard,

They caught a beloved bard,

Tried to read his mind,

But all they could find

Were dreams of his own vineyard.”

Jaskier tilted his head forward to give the two men sitting by the door considering looks.

“I’d give you boys discounts if you let me go. Huh, Bert? Whaddoya think? Or, maybe you, Harold? Yeah, Imma go with Harold. Harold, you look more like wine guy to me. But, don’t worry I haven’t written you off, Bert, there are many wine enthusiast’s I have mistaken before. You’d receive the viscounts discount, to phrase it poetically.”

Jaskier let out a sudden yelp. Having moved with a bit much enthusiasm, he had jostled his numb arms and sent them into a bout of spasms, his tortured muscles cramping and seizing with white hot agony.

“Fuck!” he gasped. “If one of you could just untie me, I’d fucking give you my fucking vineyard.”

He had barely finished speaking when a distant door burst open with a bang. Jaskier very nearly jumped in fright but somehow fought the urge as the muscles in the back of his neck tightened in warning. Bert and Harold leapt to attention as a heeled footstep rang down the stone corridor.

“You pair of whoreson bastards!” Jaskier shouted.

He took a breath to really let them have it when a strangely familiar, womanly grunt caught his ear. He couldn’t place it for the life of him. He froze, straining to listen. The footsteps were closer now, and they were accompanied by a soft scuffling – and a second pair of footsteps.

“Has he said anything of importance?” came the slithering voice of their leader – the man who had captured him in the first place.

“Nothing, sir,” said Bert.

“How dare you,” Jaskier hissed like an angry cat. "Everything I - "

“Good,” said the handsome voice as if Jaskier hadn’t spoken.

The scent of cloves and warm spices cut through the dank smell of his cell as the blue-eyed snake entered, dragging a smaller figure in behind him. With a vicious tug of her trussed wrists, Yennefer of Vengerberg went sprawling on the damp stone at Jaskier’s feet.

“One of eight sorcerers who survived Sodden Hill. Weak and powerless after burning down Nilfgaardian forces. Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

Yennefer’s violet eyes blazed with fury, still as striking as they were when he last saw them. If looks could kill, this man would be a pile of ashes. The sorceress was dirty, bloody and bruised; dark hair hung in limp strands around her face and her clothes were ruined.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg can’t stand me any more than the plague,” said Jaskier. “She wouldn’t give a rats-arse if you lopped my head off. In fact, she’d probably thank you for it.”

The man’s thin lips pressed together, and his evil eyes fixed on Jaskier.

“Did I not say earlier that I was a fan of your work,” said the man dangerously. “I’ve done my research. I know what and who you write about, bard. There is quite a few verses about a woman with raven hair and violet eyes.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold back his screams as he was kicked brutally in the shin, forcing his arms to bare his bodyweight and every muscle in his body to burn with white hot agony. A iron grip grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at the man through watering eyes.

“Don’t take me for a fool.”

Dead eyes stared at him, Jaskier caught a glimpse of the rage that was boiling beneath the cold façade. The hand tightened on his jaw. For a terrible moment, Jaskier thought that the man was going to break his jaw. Then the rage was submerged again and Jaskier was roughly pushed away.

The man pulled out a stiletto.

“This blade has been coated in a rare poison. A single drop in a mans mouth can make him pull his own tongue out. I wonder what it will do to a witch,” said the man, jerking Yennefer up by her hair. “I am asking you once more, Jaskier of Oxenfurt. Tell me where Geralt of Rivia has taken Princess Cirilla, the Lion Cub of Cintra.”

He sliced cleanly through Yennefer’s gag.

“Don’t tell him any – AAARGH!”

Yennefer’s scream rent the air and Jaskier’s very soul. The man had just sliced a bloody gash across Yennefer’s face.

“I don’t know where they went! Please! I don’t know anything!” Jaskier begged.

“I can take it!” Yennefer howled.

The man snarled and plunged the blade into Yennefer’s stomach, letting her drop to the floor screaming and writhing with the blade still in her guts.

Jaskier heaved.

Then everything happened so suddenly that Jaskier wondered if he did indeed black out. The screaming stopped. For a moment Jaskier thought Yennefer had died, but when he looked it was like she had never been there at all. Not even a blood stain remained. Then, the smell hit him: lilac and gooseberries.

There was an intense blue flash and a bang like a whip crack. The sound of steel hitting stone and a flash of orange sparks, followed by a whoosh, like that of a sudden wind. A flash of silver, a faraway bellow of pain, and then an orange flame illuminated Yennefer’s face and went out again.

“What the fuck!” wheezed Jaskier. “How are you – “

“Shut up, we’re not safe, yet,” hissed Yennefer, who was dressed in a man’s clothing, but had the same bruises on her face when Jaskier first saw her. “I sent an illusion. But I don’t think I’ve got much power left.”

#the witcher #witcher #writings #season 2 witcher #concept #no ragrets #yennefer #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #by the way I was inspired by Yennefers promo pic where it seems like shes captured #yennskier