#but now he acts like i'm a fucking blight on his day. like he mutters my name under his breath he literally did

[mare-the-silly-scroingle]

every single person in my college needs to transfer i'm so fucking serious

[ahhhhhhdonna]

Summary: I really just wanted to write Jaskier getting locked up in a pillory!  Like this one:

And then this Yen and Jaskier fic just happened.(Warning for swearing, if that’s not your jam.)  Is there more to this? I don’t know.  For now, though, this:

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

High heeled shoes walked into his line of vision; beautiful, impeccable, without a single speck of road mud on them.  The hemline of a black dress in some expensive fabric.  Silk, maybe.  Or satin? Organza... If that was a fabric.  Didn't really matter, he thought miserably. What mattered was the insidious owner of said shoes and fancy dress was standing close enough he could feel the chill of her shadow and smell her perfume.

Somewhere above him, she laughed. Not a demure lady-like chuckle either, oh no, a real belly laugh.  Downright rude, if you asked him. He straightened up, as much as he could straighten while being locked rather piteously in a pillory.  

“You know, I was beginning to think this day couldn't get any better,” Jaskier said, amicably, “and yet...ahh, here you are.”

“Oh, Jaskier,” she said, with that tell-tale edge of sarcastic delight. It felt on his ear like a finger-nail catching in a pill on a silk coat.  “How did you get yourself into this little predicament?  Did you get caught fucking the alderman's wife this time?  Or, oh dear... did she catch you with the alderman? I know you aren't terribly...discerning when it comes to your pitiful little conquests.”

Jaskier's mouth opened with a huff before he snapped it closed, unsure which bit was more offensive.  

“I...I'm- I am discerning,” he managed, “and for your information, Yennefer, none of my...my conquests- as you so charmingly put it- would consider the encounter pitiful in the slightest....not that you will ever know...you...you could be the last woman alive, and I promise I would rather put my-”

“If your usual debauchery didn't land you here,” Yennefer cut him off, the smile still in her voice, “then what else would warrant such a public shaming? Was it your big mouth?”

He sniffed and went silent, fuming. He heard her long lacquered nails ticking on the wooden slat above his head.  One lovely shoe tapped impatiently.

“Well,” she said, after it was clear Jaskier wasn't going to be forthcoming, “whatever it was you did, I'm sure the punishment is well deserved... However, I do find it hard to believe Geralt would have allowed them to put you in the stocks.  He has a soft spot for your antics, no matter how stupid.  So, where is our witcher?”

Oh, wouldn't you like to know, Jaskier immediately thought but didn't say. Regardless of what Yennefer thought, he wasn't that stupid.

“Our witcher is not here,” Jaskier ground out, instead.  “He's on a hunt.  He picked up a contract here.  Actually, he's...well, he's... he’s missing.”

The tapping of nails stilled.  

“Oh, it's not like you're going to help,” Jaskier spat, “so why even bother?  Why don't you just portal off somewhere else and leave me alone?”

“Jaskier.” Her voice was quieter but impossibly more dangerous. “Geralt is missing?”

“He's...more late, really,” Jaskier said.  “He was due back three days ago.  I tried to tell the good alderman that monster hunting is not an exact art,  but...it was quite a well-paying contract, and Geralt was given half up front...and the alderman thinks Geralt has just taken off with the gold.  So--”

He waggled his hands in the holes beside his head.

“--they decided that since they can't punish Geralt for the alleged thievery, why not punish his faithful companion instead?  They locked me up this morning and I'm to be kept to the pillory until Geralt eventually returns or... or they tire of all of this, or I die, I guess.  I don't know.  On orders of the alderman.”

He swallowed.

“I'm rather...worried about Geralt, actually.  He's fine, I'm sure, he's always fine but it's not like him to-”

“-He'll return,” Yennefer said, decisively.  “In the mean time, I could free you but far be it from me to interfere with local politics...  I think it would be rather more interesting to see this sort itself out, don't you?”

“I knew it,” Jaskier muttered.  “I knew it!  Why did I even bother?..”

“I’d best be going,” she said, and he could hear her infuriating smile again, “Lovely chat, dear. But It does looks like it might rain.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yennefer listened to the rain pounding on the inn roof that night as she sat by the fire and drank mulled wine.  She tried to think of Jaskier and glean some satisfaction for his suffering but now, as the wind howled a bit in the rafters and the night's chill crept in, she frowned into the depths of her cup.

He was only human, after all.  A weak, stupid, annoying human, to be sure, who prattled on and on and wrote nasty songs about her and pretended they weren't about her when they clearly were. But...Three days late, he'd said. And Jaskier-for all his glaring and numerous faults- did harbor a deep and unyielding love for their witcher.  Her witcher, she thought, unbidden, and drank.

It had been a surprise when she had come into this blighted town and saw the familiar bard clamped into the stocks in the town square.  Another strange coincidence. Since their fateful and brief meeting in Rinde, she had run into Geralt on two separate occasions and now this... She had only come here to provide a service, a round of cures and magical remedies, to fill her purse for another dose of that probably useless fertility treatment with the cost of it ever increasing.  It was better to keep moving to different towns, she found, some were more friendly to magic than others. 

A town that treated friends of witchers so poorly might not have a high appreciation of mages either.  Best to move on, she decided.  In the morning then.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, Yennefer cursed herself as her legs led her back to the town square, her velvet cloak enchanted to keep her dry as the rain continued pouring down and the mud pooled around her boots.

Jaskier was soaked to the bone and looking twice as pitiful as ever, bent as he was and trembling with cold.  When she approached, he contorted his neck to do his best to look at her, squinting and sniffling.  He looked as pale and red-eyed as a wet white rabbit.  

“Yennefer...I, uh, to... to what do I owe this... odious pleasure?”

Ah, he had been crying then.  It wasn't just the rain.  She bit back the worst of her responses- a decided act of charity, if there ever was one- and went straight to the point.

“What was he hunting then, bard?”

Jaskier blinked at her with swollen eyes. He certainly seemed no longer up to their usual verbal sparring and she was glad to not waste time.

“The alderman didn't know what it was, just that it smelled terrible and was killing villagers who wandered too far into the woods.  Geralt thought it was a rotfiend.  Should just take a day, he said, maybe two if it was hiding...”

“And it's been five,” Yennefer mused. Yes, Geralt should have been able to handle a single rotfiend in a leisurely afternoon.  And while the man could certainly be accused of moving on without saying good-bye, he would have at least returned for the payment.  Priorities, she thought, wryly.

“Nearly six,” Jaskier said and then his teeth chattered loudly enough that Yennefer could hear it over the din of the rain, like a tin cup full of dice. He once again tried to look at her, lifting his head an uncomfortable angle.  

“...Are you going to go looking for him?  Please.  Please, please tell me you're going to go looking for him. Please. If he's hurt, only you can...If anyone can find him, it's you, Yen, it’s you....”

“I'll look for him,” Yennefer said and watched the bard sag against the restraints with relief.  

“Thank you,” he murmured, in a voice soft enough that she was sure she wasn't meant to hear it.  She was sure he expected her to leave him there and, oh gods, did she want to.  Especially after his last ballad about the 'violet eyed siren of Vengerberg, with generous bust, who eats men's hearts for sport and lust'--  Ugh!  He deserved to stay here in the stocks, all ruined silk and wet lace and aching back! It might humble him and he certainly needed some humbling for all his lyric writing to the contrary.

But... Geralt would not forgive her easily if she left his companion to starve or freeze in the stocks and, fuck, if the thought of his disapproval didn't strike an irritating chord inside her. And if she was somewhat swayed by the bard's sudden spell of repentant gratitude, well...he'd never have to know it.  Bound and begging was surprisingly a good look for him, she thought.  And she was feeling absurdly generous this morning, so...

Yennefer made a little gesture and the thick padlock on the pillory unlocked itself and fell to the ground with a thud.  Jaskier startled and gaped at the fallen lock.

“You...you just...?”

“Come on, then, and don't make me regret it, Jaskier,” she said, in a tone she hoped implied that she already did.  “Lead the way.”