Chapter Text
Jaskier was sat in The Solar, a relatively spacious room, with some of his much-loved tapestries hanging up, covering the stone walls where possible. This room had been one of the only rooms he had not needed to ‘do-up’ after inheriting the small private estate owned by his now-deceased father.
It had once been favoured by his mother and although Jaskier did not have much good to say on the subject of his father, he knows the love he held for his wife was visceral and real. His love and devotion for her, causing him to never set foot in the room again but also to never see fit for it to be changed.
Practically everything was in the exact same spot from when Jaskier was just a boy, the furniture now dusted and cleaned, the velvet linings refitted and the fireplace mended.
Everything in it had been ‘spruced up’ a little and even some of Jaskier’s own things had made their way into the room; his lute which he still managed to play most nights- even if his only audience was that of his messenger and bodyguards- his favourite books on poetry and prose, his lyric pad with his preferred feather pen, one or two paintings he’d had commissioned and most importantly a little cabinet stocked with his beloved Fiorano wine.
But everything else was the exact same. And this Jaskier was glad for. It meant when things were a little tough for him; his duties as a Lord and Viscount becoming overbearing, or perhaps memories of a life he missed deeply reared its head and all Jaskier could do was drown in them, this room became his solace.
Currently, both Arni and Rané were sat with him, his head resting in the latter’s lap whilst his feet were tucked up under Arni’s thighs. He wiggled his toe at her for which she glared at him and slapped his prodding foot away.
“Ugh, stop it, Julian, you’re more annoying than a buzzing fly I swear it.”
He simply laughed at this, winding up the people he loved was on the top ten list of fun things to do. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the knife she was skilfully sharpening.
Rané snorted out loud and Jaskier turned his head in her lap to look up into her beautiful face to see what exactly had caused the outburst. She flicked her eyes down and away from her book and shrugged, gesturing to the thing she was reading.
“Enjoying that are you? Surely you’re nearly done with that author? You must have read all the books in his collection by now.” And Jaskier’s voice is teasing but he can’t quite mask the awe that’s shining through. He’s always loved people who were passionate about the things they loved and were unabashedly proud of it.
She glanced away from the book again and let out a little sigh, her face looking unimpressed but her free hand continued to play soothingly in his hair, “I can’t simply go back and re-read those that I love?” she asked.
Jaskier beamed up at her, “Of course you can. Why else do you think I go back and play my old songs? It’s not because people request them- well, okay it’s partly that, but also, it’s because I loved them once, and a part of me will always love them.”
“You’re sure you’re talking about your songs there and not something else, specifically someone els- hay-” Arni was cut off by Jaskier stabbing all his little toes into her thigh, digging in tight.
“-alright, alright- I take it back, I didn’t say anything. Ignore me.” Jaskier let out a little hmph and settled back against his two bodyguards.
There was silence once again, as Arnianh went back to her knife sharpening, the only sounds were that of scraping metal against metal and the softer ‘swish’ of a page being turned by Ranéeglua. Jaskier hummed noncommittally and closed his eyes.
He felt peaceful, on the verge of sleep, ready to shut out the world. Thinking that maybe he could postpone some of the duties he was meant to be doing today, or at least draw out the time in-between carrying them out. He needed rest.
He was tired after another day trying to harness and practice his magic with his elven sisters. Another day, trying to defuse any disputes between the neighbours in his land. Another long day trying to find solutions to the problems that faced not only his land but the continent.
The world right now was on the verge of war, and he really did not want to have his people partake in it. He and his counsellors of the court were all trying to stay updated on the quarrels of men outside their meagre land, stay updated and try to be prepared for it.
If Jaskier could help it, his land, being so far out and away from the major cities in Redania- as well as being considerably smaller -would hopefully be overlooked and forgotten about when the continent decided to erupt into a relentless battle between the powerful.
And if not, he hopes they’ll be overlooked for quite some time before they are called upon to fight in whichever side Redania pledges their alliance too.
Jaskier was no idiot, and though his war and politics skills had been rusty, more than a year had passed since his taking up of the position of Viscount Lettenhove. He was now well versed once again in the histories of the continent and more specifically the on-going feuds between the mighty and powerful cities. Give him some more time and he might very well be able to hide his land from prying eyes.
Give his people the safety they need to continue cohabiting in peace.
Or, perhaps not.
He was suddenly jolted back to the land of the living when the door to his Solar room was hurriedly pushed open, emitting a loud creak as Barnsley Fawcett came rushing through.
He was panting and red in the face, his body frantically trying to draw in quick gasps of air,
“M-m-my Lord?” and he attempted a bow but merely stumbled over his own feet, still quite clearly struggling for air.
“Barnsley please, I’ve told you about this, you do not need to bow to me, especially when it’s just me and the girls in a room okay?” Jaskier pleads with him, his face exasperated for having to repeat himself once again to his dear friend and messenger.
“My Lord. I do understand and respect your wishes. However I am afraid I shall most likely continue doing so, I feel much more professional sir.” He looked up into his Viscount’s eyes, his own betraying the slight fear he felt at disobeying his lord.
Jaskier rolled his own back. “Fine, if it makes you more comfortable I shan’t stop you. Now why the red face and the lack of breath?”
Barnsley fumbled with his hands before blurting out, “Ahh, yes, of course, right, well you see sir, it’s just that someone has said that they think maybe-”
“I never thought I’d say this, but Barnsley dear? Do hurry up. You’re disturbing my reading” Rané’s sweet nectar filled voice seemed to startle the messenger out of his ramblings. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Right, of course, milady, a person who’s countenance I trust has embarked upon me some interesting information-”
“Barnsley I swear to the Gods if you don’t get to the point my newly sharpened knives will find themselves target practising on you.” Ahh, you can always rely on Arni to threaten harm and disembowelment, Jaskier thought.
“There is a Witcher that fits your description of the white wolf, currently sat inside the Sweet Orchards, my Lord.”
“Shit.” Both Rané and Arni say in unison, their heads turning swiftly towards their friend. They watched his face pale, saw him breathe in quicker and shared a glance with each other.
Jaskier however, simply breathed in deeply then out. Closed his eyes and tried to let the little spark of warmth that his messengers words had created, fall back and bury itself away again.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped to one day see the Witcher. To see him come across this patch of land that Jaskier had put his broken but still-beating heart and soul into. Wanted to see Geralt’s reaction upon seeing him do something worthy, seeing him as more than just an annoying travel companion who only seemed to cause trouble.
But now that the time was here, he didn’t know if he was ready to face him.
He did not have much time to ponder this though. And if Jaskier had learned anything from his life, it’s that barreling headfirst into something wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, sometimes it brought you a song that would earn your fame and a friend that you would stay loyal to no matter how much of a bastard they had been to you.
He stood up from his seated position and nodded his head at his companions.
“Time to go get my Witcher back.”