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mordoriscalling · 2 years ago

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The Shrike and the Lark (pt.9)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt. 3) (Pt. 4) (Pt. 5) (Pt. 6) (Pt. 7) (Pt. 8)

Creyden, 1237

There are many people in the Queen’s bed chamber, but all that can be heard is deathly silence. Queen Renfri is seated in her bed, for she is still very weak, while King Julian paces nervously. Lady Chancellor and the rest of the Council stand by, their faces grim.

“Ivyr has had a hand in this, hasn’t he?” the King says.

Ivyr of Poviss, the husband of the eldest daughter of Queen Aridea, is currently one of the most persistent enemies of the Black Sun Twins. His actions have led to much loss and heartache in the past. He has taken it as his mission to make Queen Renfri and King Julian pay for the misfortunes they’ve caused to the remaining children of Aridea. The question King Julian posed is purely rhetorical; both the Council and the monarchs have been aware that Ivyr has gained considerable sway on the court of Kovir and Poviss. Thus, no one speaks, for there’s no need to answer.

The quiet is interrupted when the White Wolf and his three people – Eskel, Lambert and Lady Yennefer – are brought in.

“Why is it that you summoned us here so urgently?” the sorceress asks.

With a heavy sigh, Queen Renfri replies, “There is something we must inform you about. A messenger came with news. Pont Vanis has been seized by the forces of Kovir and Poviss. As we’ve said before, we have expected them to rebel against our rule for a while, and it seems to be happening. Their army has taken the city and they threaten to march to attack this castle.”

The Warlord makes a wordless conversation with his right and left hand through meaningful, disapproving looks. Then, Lady Yennefer speaks.

“It appears you’ve wasted a lot of our time. You cannot meet the conditions of the treaty now. Pont Vanis was the port we wished to use the most.”

The rulers and the council of Creyden do not attempt to refute that. No one of their advisors has any reply either.

Finally, it’s King Julian who takes action. He approaches the White Wolf and asks, “May I request a moment in private?”

“You may,” the Warlord permits coldly.

The King leads the Warlord outside of the Queen’s chambers, then downstairs, to the war room where they talked of broken hearts not so long ago. After the doors close behind them, silence reigns in the room for a while. King Julian steadies himself, holding onto the back of a chair by the table with a white-knuckled grip. The White Wolf stands by with a formidable scowl, waiting.

Then, a murmur cuts through the heavy hush.

“I need your help, my Lord.”

The Warlord jerks as if he had been struck. “Creyden needs military support,” he rephrases, dumbfounded.

“No. I need your help,” King Julian confesses. “Renfri is too weak to even walk, and I... I cannot go to battle alone. I’m utterly unlearned in the art of war! I’ll do anything you wish, my Lord, just help me through this, please.”

If anyone heard this, they would be astounded to find the King begging so openly. It seems to raise the White Wolf's suspicion: his eerie eyes narrowed, he stares the monarch up and down. Yet, Julian does not cower, only looks on at his former lover pleadingly.

“Anything?” the witcher echoes. “Truly? Then will you undo all the ties that bind us? Will you make Renfri renounce her claim of the Law of Surprise?”

King Julian remains silent, his lips pursed.

“Of course you won’t,” the Warlord scoffs. “You are in desperate need of heirs, are you not?”

The monarch does nothing to deny this. “Me and my sister do not see any of our next of kin to be a fit successor.”

“Both of you refuse to marry, too,” the White Wolf adds. “No lineage in sight.”

Every ruler knows what no clear line of succession involves. That is, great unrest at the very least: the kingdom is left in a state of conflict as pretenders to the crown compete for power. No heirs mean that your own power is not ensured, lasting as long as you live, and rulers can happen to have their lives cut short. Only those with descendants secure kingdoms.

“The boys are Renfri’s Surprise Children,” King Julian replies. “They are her children, then.”

“They’re not,” the witcher snaps. “I won’t give them to you.”

The King sighs tiredly. “Is the Warlord of the North truly powerful enough to deny what Destiny seems to want?”

“I wish I were,” the witcher replies morosely. “Forces beyond my control have ruled my life too much already.”

“Gods, I know!” Julian cries, throwing his arms up in the air with sudden frustration. “I know how little agency you’ve been left as a witcher! I know how you despise lack of choice!” He walks up to the White Wolf and carries on in a hoarse whisper, “Do you think it pleases me that you’re made to give up your very pack on our benefit? Do you think it’s a joy to see your resentment?” His blue eyes are made brighter with the glistening of tears. “Geralt, I... I’ve written so many poems and songs, of how you used to look at me when there was only warmth in your gaze.”

There isn’t a hint of affection in Geralt’s sun-like eyes now, only cold fury and hurt.

“How the hell do you expect me to feel, Jaskier?!” he all but snarls. “You boosted your fame with my stories, took your pleasure with my body and then left, giving me no explanation! Was I just a tool for you? Was it your plan all along to discard me once you had no more use of me?” he spats. Jaskier flinches like the question has inflicted physical pain upon him. “How do you expect me to trust you now?” the witcher demands.

Jaskier has been rendered speechless. Helplessly, he opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out. Geralt scoffs incredulously and begins to walk out of the room. Mere moments before he leaves, Jaskier finally regains the ability to speak.

“I can swear on Renfri’s life.”

The witcher turns back to him abruptly, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

Jaskier, pale as a ghost, repeats, “I can swear on Renfri’s life.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Geralt says, his tone soft like it almost never is.

“I know,” Jaskier replies.

And then, before Geralt can stop him, Jaskier begins to speak the truth, his body shaking under the gravity of his words. “I swear that I’ve only ever held you in the highest regard. I gave you no explanation before leaving because I was too afraid of what you’d think of me, of how you’d react to having been lied to and, as I’ve told you before, I also feared for my safety.”

Then, Jaskier makes a short pause, gathering his strength to go on.

“I swear I had every intention of explaining it all to you after me and Renfri executed our initial plan of defeating Stregobor... which, well, went to shit the moment you appeared in Blaviken.”

Geralt huffs but doesn’t comment, so Jaskier continues.

“I swear that, very aware of how much I am asking, I request your help. If I were to handle this conflict alone, I would only lead my kingdom to a grave defeat. In my ignorance, I’ve always left the matters of war for Renfri to deal with, thinking her invincible, and now...”

The witcher smiles wryly, in sympathy. Jaskier gazes at him for a moment silently, with stark openness.

“And lastly, I swear that I have no wish of hurting you ever again and that I am willing with my whole heart to earn your trust and forgiveness, i-if you’d allow it.”

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier finishes, “All of this, I swear on the life of Renfri – my Queen, my sister and my soul.”

Heavy silence hangs between him and Geralt. Jaskier still trembles, too shaken by his vows. Geralt reacts to his distress with surprising gentleness, putting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and murmuring, “I do not take this oath lightly.”

The King nearly sways on his feet as all the tension suddenly leaves his body. With a nod of gratefulness, he only manages to breathe a quiet thank you to the witcher. The White Wolf holds him by the shoulder, steadying him until Julian regains control of his emotions.

“Let’s go,” the witcher says. “The rest are waiting.”

As they return to the Queen’s bed chamber, many pairs of anxious eyes turn to them, silently begging for information.

“Your King has asked me to come to your aid,” the Warlord announces.

“And will the Warlord fulfil the King’s wishes?” Lady Chancellor inquires.

“He will not,” the White Wolf answers. Everyone freezes and King Julian gasps, too shocked to speak. Then, the witcher adds, “But Geralt of Rivia will.”

The air in the room is changed, a breeze of hope sweeping through it as the witcher carries on, “The Warlord has no intention to partaking in this conflict, but Geralt of Rivia wishes to support a friend who once saw him as a man and not a monster and a friend who snapped him out of his self-imposed neutrality.” He looks at King Julian and Queen Renfri. “The lessons they’ve taught me changed the lives of all witchers.” The White Wolf turns to his right hand. “Go back home,” he instructs, “ask if anyone wants to come to help. Volunteers only.”

“They’ll come,” Eskel assures with a smile.

Only then does King Julian seem to comprehend what is happening. With a sound of pure joy, he throws himself into the White Wolf’s arms, embracing him tightly.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the crook of the witcher’s neck. “Fuck, Geralt. Thank you!”

Gingerly, the Warlord raises one hand and cradles the back of the King’s head with it, while his other palm comes to rest on King Julian’s lower back. Then, he buries his nose in the King’s hair and draws a deep breath, his eyes shut tight. King Julian relaxes in the Warlord’s tender hold and hides his face deeper into the crook of the witcher’s neck.

As they bask in the embrace, the moment stretches into a little eternity. For them, nothing else matters; they do not feel the weight of many eyes on them. Too focused on the beating of each other’s hearts, they do not see all the gazes upon them, some of them perplexed, while others knowing.

It is Eskel who interrupts their intimacy. “There’s no time to lose,” he says briskly, looking anywhere but his lord and King Julian. “I will go to Triss, she’ll portal me. I’ll take Lambert with me. Get your xenovox, Yennefer.”

With that, the scarred witcher leaves, Lady Yennefer follows right behind, and the King and the Warlord step away from each other. They seem concerned, looking to where Eskel just left, but then Queen Renfri speaks.

“He’s right. We must decide on our strategy.”

This spurs the royal council into action. They debate with their King and Queen about what should be done, with some suggestions from the White Wolf and Lady Yennefer, who soon returns to the room. It gets determined that, no matter how many witchers volunteer to help, messengers should be sent out around the kingdom with a call to arms. After that matter is settled, Eskel’s voice resounds in the xenovox that Lady Yennefer brought with her.

“Yennefer, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“We’re ready. Go to the Great Hall.”

“How many of you are coming?” the sorceress asks, bemused at the request.

“You’ll see,” the witcher responds, with a smile that can be heard.

The Queen tells the members of the Council to head to the Great Hall. Once they leave, only her brother, the Warlord and Lady Yennefer remain in the room. Renfri moves to sit at the edge of her bed and tries to stand but her knees buckle under her and she has to sit back down.

“I could – ” the White Wolf begins.

“If you want to carry me,” she warns, “Then I fucking swear to Melitele, I’ll cut your hands off the next time we spar.”

An occasion for them to spar won’t come for a few months at least, but no one points it out. The White Wolf wisely remains silent.

“I could portal us there,” Lady Yennefer offers.

“You should reserve your Chaos,” the Warlord replies.

“And His Majesty should practice travelling through a portal,” the sorceress retorts.

“Wait, what – ” King Julian says, alarmed.

“Fine,” the witcher grunts, cutting him off. “I’ll meet you there.”

With that, the White Wolf leaves the chamber. Lady Yennefer watches him go with an expression of deep amusement.

“He hates portals,” she explains once she notices the confused looks the twin monarchs give her.

“What does it all mean,” the King demands.

In response, Lady Yennefer conjures up a portal and says, “I’m afraid you’ll have to experience this for yourself.”

The King and the Queen exchange a look of suspicion. Then, a wordless conversation seems to pass between them, and they come to a decision. Renfri raises from her bed helped by her brother and leans all her weight against him as she stands. Lady Yennefer walks into the swirling circle, and the King and the Queen follow slowly, for the Queen’s legs shake as she walks.

Down in the castle’s Great Hall, the twin rulers stumble out of the portal, looking much affected, pale and unwell.

“Fucking gods,” Queen Renfri chokes out.

“What in thrice-damned fucking hell,” King Julian exclaims, “was that?!”

Lady Yennefer only chuckles; she seems completely unmoved.

The King and the Queen sit down at their thrones, trying to recuperate while the members of their Council start joining them.

“I don’t think my insides are in the right places,” Renfri gasps out, her breathing laboured.

“My head is spinning so much,” Julian moans, “I think I’m about to faint!”

“You will live,” Lady Yennefer tells them. “Just take deep breaths.”

The twins are not given much more time to recover; the rest of the Council and the Warlord appear in the Hall quickly. Then, Lady Yennefer informs Eskel through the xenovox that they may come and a portal opens before the thrones.

Two witchers walk through it, then another one, and another. Yet another pair follows. Then, witchers keep coming. And coming. And coming.

Lambert and Eskel are the last to appear. The portal closes behind them. Four dozen new witchers, plus one, have walked through it. Together with the Warlord, that makes them fifty. A rather formidable number: such a group of witchers can defeat a group of human warriors at least ten times their size.

Queen Renfri and King Julian stare at them, wide-eyed and astounded. The King actually gapes. When he remembers himself, he promptly stands up from the throne and walks down to Eskel.

“You are a wonder,” he murmurs to the witcher.

Eskel’s answering smile is tight.

“We’ve come as a way of thanks,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. “Your songs about Geralt helped paint us all in a better light. Queen Renfri was the one who made Geralt consider hunting all monsters, including human ones, which led to the rise of our home kingdom. The actions of both of you improved our lives.”

Heartache flickers in King Julian’s expression at his lover’s dismissal. “Well, then,” he replies, putting on a cheerful face, “You shall have our unending gratitude for your help.”

“Indeed,” Queen Renfri chimes in from her throne, “You’ll be received with high honours. I shall have a feast prepared to welcome you. Before that, please sit at the tables here. Let us discuss the problem at hand.”

Two main courses of action soon emerge from the debate. The first one is to wait and gather enough army to march at Pont Vanis, while the other is to portal the witchers and a small group of soldiers near the city, then launch an attack at the King’s palace during the night.

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” the Warlord argues. “We’ve been successful so far.”

“It’s very risky,” Queen Renfri counters.

“The element of surprise makes it effective,” the White Wolf retorts.

In the end, Queen Renfri is convinced to execute that plan, though isn’t thrilled about it, for she thinks it too hazardous. Her brother isn’t enthusiastic either, but his displeasure stems from how much danger the witchers will be putting themselves in.

Then, numerous details are talked about and established, including King Julian’s physical involvement in the whole operation.

“What if... something unforeseen should happen?” the King says then. “What if some of you, or I...”

“Do not speak of it,” Queen Renfri hisses. “If you put it into words, you put it into minds and thus into motion. Do not speak of it.”

“But I must,” he insists sternly. “I’m not the one to go to war, yet I must go.”

Renfri relents. “And I’m not the one who stays behind, yet I must stay.”

“If not many people respond to the call to arms, you wouldn’t be able to hold the castle for long. You’re in no condition to fight. Gods, what would become of you?”

His sister says nothing, for no answer is needed. With a pained smile, she only takes his hand and squeezes it.

“I could stay here,” Lady Yennefer proposes then. “To guard Her Majesty against any possible danger.”

King Julian gets rendered speechless by the generous offer.

“There’s no one Renfri would be safer with,” the Warlord says, taking his silence as a sign of disbelief. “Yennefer is the most powerful mage of the Continent.” He smiles at the sorceress with unconcealed pride. “She’s capable of turning whole armies to ash.”

“Then I’m leaving my sister in most capable hands indeed,” King Julian replies. “Thank you.”

His thanks are not filled with much apparent gratitude; rather, he says them in a measured way, not letting any of his emotions slip.

“And what of you?” Renfri asks her brother, squeezing his hand tighter. “You’ll be in much more danger than me.”

“I could make sure His Majesty is unharmed,” the Warlord says. “If that would put your mind at ease, I’ll keep him safe.”

“I believe there’s no one Jaskier would be safer with,” Lady Yennefer remarks with a soft smile directed at the White Wolf. “Geralt is the mightiest witcher of the Continent. No monster, human or not, can beat him.”

“Then I’m leaving my brother in most capable hands indeed,” Renfri says.

She does not thank her; the plain affection between the witcher and the sorceress pains her visibly.

Many more matters are discussed and settled. The feast is prepared and had. The twin monarchs never let go of each other’s hand for long, too gripped by fear.

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#myfic #geraskier #jaskier/eskel #the accidental warlord and his pack #jaskier & renfri are disaster twins

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