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dhwty-writes · 4 years ago

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Chapter 3 - A Broken Day

Looks like we continue in the 4k words range. Looks like we also continue churning out daily chapters. I just want to inform you that this is not my normal modus operandi. Not that I am not pleasantly surprised. For those of you who are curious, I took Castle Eltz as a large inspiration for Lettenhove, though the colouring is more like Schloss Hohentübingen. Check both of them out, they are beautiful! This is also the chapter I am most unsure about until now so let me know what you think or if you're interested in betaing this fic!

Summary: Geralt has been in Lettenhove for less than a day and he is already done with it. And - who would have guessed it? - it can get even worse.

part 1 | part 3 | part 5

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Geralt slammed the door to the study shut behind him. He had been in Lettenhove Hall for less than a day and he already had enough of it. He fucking hated that everyone in this castle took the opportunity to just order him around whenever it presented itself. And not just that: there was absolutely nothing he could do about it!

He grunted in frustration and began the quite long way back to his rooms. 'Bastard,' he thought as he began climbing down the stairwell that led back to the courtyard. It was very obviously that his presence in Lettenhove Hall was only tolerated. If it hadn't been already by curtesy of Jaskier’s treatment, the fact that he had lodged them as far away from his own quarters in the east wing as possible without depositing him with the servants in the west, was a pretty strong indicator. At least he doubted that they were given the rooms above the gate house for the nice view on the town that lay to the south of the castle.

They were nice rooms, though, and by now he was fairly certain that Jaskier wouldn't throw Ciri out for his disobedience but that said nothing about him. No, if he was honest with himself, he was pretty sure his not-friend would be delighted to show him the door and if it was just to show him that he could. Or at least that was what he thought.

He pushed a door open and stumbled into the daylight. Only that he hadn't landed in the courtyard but on the gallery one floor above. With a wall on the other side. And no stairs. Great. He turned back inside. Now he'd taken the wrong turn, too. Lettenhove, while much smaller than Kaer Morhen, was no less a labyrinth as he discovered - and nearly as much an enigma as its master.

Because that was another huge fucking problem. Whenever he thought he finally caught a glimpse of Jaskier behind that facade, it vanished just as quickly. Whenever he thought he could finally pin down Jaskier's motivation or thoughts, they were contradicted the next moment. 'He changed a lot in those past eighteen months,' he thought angrily and stopped in his tracks. 'Or was I just too dumb to notice?'

He frowned and started pacing. Probably the latter. Since his arrival the previous evening he had learned more about Jaskier than in the last decade or so. His father was dead and his mother, too - at least there was no trace of a Lady Pankratz in the castle. He knew that he was a benevolent lord - that was no surprise - though strict - that very much was. He had learned that Jaskier had not only one but four sisters, two of whom were married and did not live in Lettenhove and one who was also married and vied for Jaskier's title. And that he knew how to fake various documents entirely too well for any law-abiding citizen.

That meant that he probably didn't know Jaskier half as well as he had imagined himself to. 'Great.'

He had also learned that he was apparently in some kind of mood today which struck him as odd. Geralt knew plenty of Jaskier's moods, of his thoughts that were too fast for his mouth to keep up, of his vanishing thoughts, of his laziness and his stories that always took two dozen detours as well as his mouth that spoke without thinking. He had lived through all of them - and not minded half as much as he'd always said. And today there had been no sign of any mood. 'Great,' he thought, 'so he's learned to hide that, too.'

"Sir?"

"What?" Geralt whipped around. It was that man again, the one who had come to him in the morning already to tell him that ‘His Lordship ordered that you cease your pacing at once’.

"I was told to inform you, witcher-"

"That's not my name," he growled.

The man blinked stupidly. Actually, he looked really stupid in general. 'This must be the most boring person in the world,' he thought as he took in the grey-haired man with the greyish skin wearing a grey doublet and grey breeches. "I'm afraid, we have not been introduced yet."

"Geralt of Rivia."

"Of course," he straightened his doublet. "At request of his Lordship, I find myself pressed to direct you to the stables."

Now it was Geralt who was blinking stupidly. "What? Why?"

"His Lordship demanded that in case you started pacing again, you would be sent to the stables. He also said that you are better talking to horses than people and that at least you won't scare them with your lack of social abilities."

Geralt was positively fuming. "Jaskier-" he growled. He would really like to strangle the bard right then. "Go tell his Lordship to go fuck himself."

The man looked appalled. "I would rather not. I prefer to avoid his anger. Though I can send an armed escort and you can go tell himself. If that is your wish, witcher. Still, I would advise a more peaceful approach to your stay in his Lordship's home."

Geralt frowned. 'You're forgetting who you're talking to,' he remembered Jaskier's words. "Right," he said. He might be fairly sure that Jaskier wouldn't throw Ciri out again, still he should know better than picking fights the first day. 'You know Jaskier,' he told himself, 'just trying to rile you up. He'll have forgiven you before you know it.'

He took a deep breath to clear the anger from his mind. "I know where the stables are."

The man smiled. "I'll just make sure you arrive there, too."

Geralt rolled his eyes and grunted, turning to the stairs leading to the courtyard. 'A bloody escort,' he thought, weaving through the small corridors, 'fucking great.'

The courtyard was just as awe-inspiringly beautiful as he remembered from the previous day with the only difference that there were a lot more people about now in the afternoon. Just as he stepped outside, he saw Jaskier in front of the stables, wearing all black riding clothes.

'Don't touch Roach,' was the first thing he thought when he saw him with the chestnut mare, petting her and sneaking her treats.

'Be careful,' he thought next when he put the reins over her neck, to grab them and the horn of the saddle with one hand and the back with the other.

His breath hitched when Jaskier brought his left foot to the stirrup and hoisted himself up. He half expected him to keel over to the other side or the horse to throw him right off again or anything else horrible- None of that happened. The horse just snickered quietly and he leaned over her neck to pet her and whisper encouraging words into her ear.

Then the gates opened and Geralt's thoughts stopped working for a bit. Jaskier clicked his tongue loudly and pressed his heels to her flanks. A moment later he was off down the road and Geralt could do nothing but stare after him and- stare. 'Jaskier can ride,' he realised very belatedly. And fuck, he rode like a madman, too.

He was still staring and wondering where he might be off to, when his attention was recaptured by the grey man who was walking to the stables. "Wiktor," he demanded, "come out here!"

A man who was roughly about Geralt's height stepped outside with an annoyed expression on his face, rolling his eyes at the grey man and looking Geralt up and down. "You're the witcher?"

"Geralt of Rivia."

"Wiktor. You can go now," He told Geralt's escort and tilted his head. "The Viscount said you know horses?"

"Have had quite a few."

The stablemaster scoffed. "That bad, huh?"

It took Geralt a while to understand what the man was saying. Then he snorted. "Horses don't even last a human lifetime. Never mind a witcher's."

"How old are you?"

Geralt thought for a moment. "Old."

Wiktor snorted "Wouldn't have guessed it. Come, I'll introduce you to their majesties."

By ‘their majesties’ Wiktor meant, to Geralt's relief, the resident horses in Lettenhove. There were ten in total, six belonging to the general garrison and four that could count as true nobility. The old dark palfrey of the late Viscount Alfred had seen better days but the chestnut mare belonging to one of Jaskier's sisters was true beauty. “His Lordship just took the other one,” Wiktor informed him. “They’re twins.” Geralt nodded, wondering what he would have to do to ride one of them.

"And that," Wiktor concluded and strolled over to a beautiful white yearling, "is our newest addition. Master- sorry, Lord Julian's new horse. His name's Pegasus."

Geralt snorted and let the gelding nuzzle his shoulder.

"Ridiculous name, I know."

"He’s Jas- Lord Julian's horse. Could've been worse."

Wiktor snuck Pegasus a treat. "Your horses had names?"

"Roach," he answered.

"And the others?"

"Roach."

He frowned. "All of them?"

"Hm."

That earned him a laugh. "And you mock him for Pegasus? That's hardly fair."

Geralt was still thinking about how to answer that when Wiktor clapped him on the back. "You can start brushing them out, if you want. The lads neglect that normally. You know how?"

"Sure."

"Good. Equipment's in the back." He left him, so Geralt was on his own to figure out where exactly said back with the equipment was, but he quickly found hard and soft brushes as well as a curry comb and got to work.

When he was done with the first two horses, he was still wondering what kind of bizarre punishment this was supposed to be. After finishing the fourth, he was pretty sure it wasn't a punishment at all.

He was quite content to spend the rest of his day like that until the blessed silence was - of course - interrupted by a Pankratz sibling: "Stefan, where's my- Stefan! Gods, where is that useless boy- oh!"

Geralt turned around and saw Jaskier's younger sister standing in the doorway, dressed in black riding clothes. It was remarkable how little and yet how much she looked like her elder brother. Her face was rounder still, as was all of her, truth be told, and her hair golden instead of brown, yet she had the same blue eyes all the Pankratz siblings seemed to share. And he'd be damned if the smile wasn't exactly the same.

"Witcher," she greeted him with that familiar smile.

"I'm not Stefan.” He offered a little bow. "My lady."

"I know. He's one of the stable hands. Though it is just as fine that I am stumbling upon you. I didn't expect to find you down here. Whatever are you doing here?"

Geralt grunted and moved to turned continue brushing the horse.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

Of course. Why would Jaskier's sister know when to shut the fuck up? "Got told off for pacing."

That made her laugh, though it was a puzzle to him why that should be funny. "And who would dare to send the White Wolf muck out stables?"

"Didn't ask for a name."

"Of course, you didn't." For him the conversation was done. Still, she looked at him expectantly. When he failed to give a satisfactory - or any - answer, she asked: "Well, what did the gentleman - or lady - in question look like?"

He shrugged. "Normal man. Middle aged. Grey hairs. Boring."

She laughed again. Was she mocking him? But there was no trace of that to be found, only true amusement. "You wouldn't be talking about our dear Jakub, would you?" This time, thankfully, she didn't wait for an answer: "Though boring does describe him rather well. He is my brother's manservant, almost never leaves his side. Though what Julek sees in him I can't tell."

Geralt frowned. "Hm." Was she insinuating that Jaskier and Jakub were- involved? The plain man was so unlike Jaskier's other conquests; he would have sooner guessed him to have taken a tumble with Wiktor.

"Anyways, if you wish to be relieved from your dreary punishment, consider it done. I am sure you could imagine much more interesting activities."

"I like horses," he answered. Being in the stables was probably the least 'dreary' activity in the castle - besides spending time with Ciri.

"How about you come with me for a ride, then? That way you can be with horses and tell me about some of your adventures."

'Gods, no.' The mere thought was mortifying. "I like the quiet."

"Oh, I can be quiet. I won't be-"

"-but silent back-up, yes, I know." He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Physical dissimilarities be damned, that was definitely Jaskier's sister. 'Melitele save me.' "I would to prefer to stay here, my lady."

"And let me ride alone, you brute?" She even pouted like Jaskier. "What if some kind of scoundrel tries to endanger my virtue?"

"I can fetch you a guard if you're worried."

"Well, you're no fun at all!"

"If you want to be entertained, maybe you should employ a juggler."

"You’re rude!" she declared. "Julek has got a terrible taste in men. I don't know what he sees in you, either."

A snort echoed through the stables. "As if yours is any better," Jaskier answered. "As if yours isn't the same. Back off, Józefa, my witcher has standards."

There was an odd warm feeling in the pit of his stomach when Jaskier called him his witcher and he found himself distracted for a moment by the sight of him. The Lord of Lettenhove leaned against a wooden pillar, his doublet nearly completely undone under his cloak and his hair windswept with the occasional leaf stuck in it. His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword. 'Wonder if he knows how to use it.'

"Obviously not very high ones," Józefa's words brought him back to reality. "Don't you have any decency, brother?"

"That goes without saying." Jaskier sauntered over to them, closing the buttons. "He only takes a tumble with powerful witches who could - and would - kill him with the flick of a wrist. And for your information, I do. I am a viscount, after all."

"A friend, I suppose?"

"More of an acquaintance of mine. You would like her, though. Magical gossip is even better than normal one."

‘Wait, what-?’ He stared at Jaskier. He hadn’t thought too much of it when he had told him about Yennefer the previous day, but that almost sounded like they had talked to each other only recently. ‘That almost sounds like they like each other.’

Józefa scrunched her nose and turned back to Geralt. "So, about that ride-"

"Not interested," he grunted. "My lady."

Jaskier cackled gleefully. "Told you."

She shut him up with a dark look. "And you would know plenty about his disinterest, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe I do." He waved her off with a hand. "Off you go, Józefa. Your horse is waiting outside. She's a bit slow, though."

She scowled and for a moment Geralt thought she might start shouting at him. To his surprise, she just pecked her brother on the cheek. "See you at dinner, Julek." With that she was off and there was blessed silence again.

At least until he broke it: "Is she always like this?" he heard himself asking. "My lord."

"That is none of your business, witcher." Geralt nearly flinched at the coldness in his voice. "Just do all of us a favour and do not fuck my sister. Neither of them."

Geralt frowned. 'Weird to hear that advice from Jaskier.' "Didn't plan on it," he answered.

Jaskier turned to face him and tilted his head.

"My lord," he added.

Still, the viscount did not stop staring, measuring him with his glare like some- some- "Walk up and down the aisle," he commanded.

"I'm not some kind of dancing bear you can make walk on his hind legs on command."

"Just do it, witcher."

He stared at him, trying to get him to relent, but Jaskier didn't even blink. Geralt bristled with anger and pushed past him, but did as he was told all the same.

When he stopped in front of him again, Jaskier still stared at him. "How long since the fight?" he simply asked.

"You, b-" He looked around as if he was searching for onlookers. Safe for the horses they were alone. "How did you-"

"Just answer the question.”

Geralt ground his teeth. "Four days, my lord."

Jaskier snorted and started walking. "Come."

He hesitated only a moment before following the command. "Where are we going?"

"Back to your room," Jaskier snarled. This time Geralt did flinch. He had never witnessed such pure and unadulterated anger in his bard.

They covered the short distance from the stables in the West Wing to Geralt's room above the gatehouse in silence save for the time when Jaskier flagged down a servant to utter an order.

Only when the door fell shut behind them, did he start talking: "I can't believe you haven't told me before!", Jaskier hissed.

"There wasn't really an opportunity for that." After a moment he added: "My lord."

"Nonsense," he declared. There was a sharp knock on the door and a moment later an elderly woman entered and bowed to them both.

"My lord," she said, "are you unwell?"

"No," answered and pointed at Geralt. "He is."

"I-" Geralt started and was promptly interrupted again: "Sit down, shut up and let her do her work," Jaskier ordered. "You're hurt, don't pretend you're not."

Without thinking he did as he was told. If he was completely honest, his injuries from the fight did still hurt. They would heal on their own, of course, but maybe a healer wasn't the worst idea.

"Fiona?" was all that Jaskier asked.

"Next door, my lord."

"I expect to see you at dinner," he said and left the room.

Geralt looked up at the healer and quirked an eyebrow. She crossed her arms. "What are you waiting for, lad?" she croaked. "Get undressed, I can't see your injuries with your clothes on!"

He sighed. He should probably get used to being ordered around. He suffered through the whole healing session silently, only sometimes answering her questions and completely ignoring her tuts about all his scars and how badly most of them had healed. When she was probing at a particularly nasty one, he raised his head in exasperation: "His lordship's responsible for that one."

She clicked her tongue. "Of course, he is. Master Julian has never been good at sewing." She prodded at the newest one, still not quite healed and probably a bit infected. "You really should take better care of yourself, young man."

He wanted to retort that he was probably far older that her but she raised her hand. "Ah ah ah! No protesting!" She started rummaging around in the oversized bag she had brought, putting selves on the nightstand next to his bed and explaining their uses - which he knew already. Still, he found himself too dumbstruck to say anything. She glared at him and threw his breeches again. "You can get dressed again. I'm done." With that she turned to leave.

"Wait!" he called after her when she was already at the door. "I have no coin to pay you."

She tutted again. "Silly witcher. Master Julian has paid already." With that he left Geralt alone to get dressed and once more reassess Jaskier's intentions.

"Geralt?" There was a timid knock on his door, accompanied by Ciri's frail voice.

"Yeah," he sat up and quickly pulled a shirt over his head. "Come on in."

The door opened just a bit and she slipped inside.

"How was your day?" he asked once she was comfortably settled against him and he had one arm around her.

"Fine," she said, "I think I like Józefa. She smiles a lot. And the woman who met us at the gate yesterday spent a lot of time with me today. Look, she even did my hair!" She displayed the braided bun proudly.

"Hm. You like that?"

"I think so."

"Good."

"Julian came talk to me, too."

"Jul-? Ah. And?"

"I don't know. He was weird."

"Weird how?" Geralt frowned. "Was he mean?" 'Jaskier, if you fuck this up-'

"No, I don't think so. Just weird. Not like yesterday. He got down to his knees and called me princess and all that. He also smiled a lot and told me of his plan and all. He was pretty nice."

Geralt blinked in confusion. "What's the problem then?"

She chewed her lip. He had given up trying to correct her. "I think he doesn't like me."

That startled him even more. Jaskier did not just not like people. Jaskier liked everybody. And everybody liked Jaskier in return. Those, at least, who didn't have to spend more than ten minutes at a time with him. "Why would you think that?"

"He doesn't like you."

"That's-" Geralt faltered. '- true, probably.' He sighed. They did not have the time to lead that conversation. Nor did he have the nerves. "Jas- Lord Pankratz asked us to join him for dinner. We should be polite guests and hurry. It's not nice to be late." He got up and pulled Ciri on her feet.

"I hate dinners," she complained.

"Me too," he agreed. "But it will make Lord Pankratz happy."

It was already dark outside when they walked back to the East Wing, where dinner was usually eaten as Ciri informed him. He nearly cursed. 'How come she knows twice as much as me about Lettenhove already?'

She took him by the hand and led him into the building and up a flight of stairs from where he could already hear the sounds of cutlery on plates and the occasional thunk of a wine goblet. No talking, though.

A servant opened the door for them and even those sounds stopped. The three Pankratz siblings were all sitting at the long table staring in long distances and pulling long tables. 'And that is why I fucking hate family affairs,' Geralt thought.

"I don't think it makes Lord Pankratz happy," Ciri whispered entirely too loud and he nearly winced as the silence carried the words through the hall.

That at least startled some life into their hosts. Janina gasped indignantly and Jaskier frowned, opening the mouth to say something. It was Józefa, however, who beat him to it. "Don't mind my brother," she said with a bright smile, "he's in a terrible mood today. This lady Pankratz, however, makes your presence very happy. Come sit with me, Cousin Fiona?"

Cousin Fiona. Right. They had roles to play. Ciri moved and sat down next to Józefa. She even smiled a bit.

That meant that for him there was one seat left, exactly- 'Fuck.'

"Saved you a seat," Jaskier said and pointed to the place between himself and his elder sister. The words were innocent enough, yet his voice was cold as ice.

Geralt was slow to move, cautiously looking back and forth between the stony masks that were the faces of the two older siblings. "My lady," he said to Janina as he pulled the chair back. "My lord," and sat down. He didn't know what was worse: the complete and utter ignorance of Janina or the nigh unnoticeable flare of Jaskier's nostrils. He decided that he didn't like either one very much.

He and Ciri were quickly served their food but if he had hoped that that would maybe lighten the mood or - something, he was promptly corrected. Józefa tried to strike up a conversation once in a while, always promptly smothered by Janina's resolution to ignore Jaskier and Geralt and Jaskier's to return the favour. Geralt wasn't much more talkative either. 'And it isn't like Ciri's shyness helps.'

He had hoped that they would get out of it quickly. He had been wrong. There was a whole fucking feast prepared for their arrival. And they suffered through the whole ordeal in silence. 'If Ciri thought Jaskier was weird before,' he mused, 'I wonder how she would describe this.'

He looked pityingly at his child surprise who sat miserably across from him as if that could tell him her thoughts. 'I should probably teach her some proper swearwords beforehand, though.'

#my writing #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #cirilla

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