Siren's Call

Silence is not Always Golden

                Jaskier continued in uncharacteristic silence for the rest of the ride. Even worse, he was tense against Geralt, constantly on edge and shifting away from touching him. Geralt could smell the fear on him. He'd thought it would abate as they rode away from the people who had captured him, but it only grew stronger as time went on. He found he didn't like that smell on Jaskier.

He hadn't deserved this, he was too young, too innocent, too happy. They had taken that from him and it made Geralt burn to think about.

Finally they'd gone far enough that he wasn't too concerned about any pursuers. He almost wished some of Jaskier's captors would come after them, he itched to have some kind of reason to spill their blood. But it would be worse for Jaskier, he hadn't wanted vengeance against Solma back at the inn, and it was not his place to seek a personal vendetta where it was not wanted by the victim. It was Jaskier's call and he would have to respect it. Still, that wouldn't stop him from defending them if they were dumb enough to attack.

He dismounted and led Roach off the road until he found a small clearing that was well hidden from the road. He turned and picked Jaskier up off Roach, ignoring the startled huff of protest, and set him gently down, not letting go until he was sure Jaskier wasn't going to fall over.

Jaskier swayed where he stood, still clutching his lute. Geralt reached out to steady him on impulse. Jaskier jerked away from his hand, stumbling over his own feet and going sprawling on the ground.

Geralt sat down next to him as Jaskier maneuvered himself into a seated position, still dangerously quiet, eyes on the ground. Apparently his time with his captors had been more traumatizing than Geralt had initially thought. "I'm not going to hurt you Jaskier."

"Okay, yeah." Jaskier mumbled.

Geralt spoke slowly and tried to soften his voice. He'd dealt with humans in shock before, and he'd found the important thing was to be as non-threatening as possible, and to explain everything you were doing, no matter how tedious. "I am going to go get some firewood, then I'll take a look at your injuries. Is there anything that needs taking care of right now?"

"No, it's fine."

Geralt nodded and set off into the woods. If Jaskier really went into shock he was going to need to keep him warm. Fortunately he still had the extra bedroll and blanket he'd bought for Jaskier when his whining about the cold got too annoying. If it came down to it he could lay Jaskier down on one bedroll and layer the other bedroll and blankets on top of him. If worst came to worst he could get under the covers with Jaskier and share body heat, but given his reaction to physical contact that would need to be a last resort option.

He came back with an arm full of firewood to find Jaskier standing up and patting Roach, leaning some of his weight against her.

"You need to sit back down."

Jaskier glanced up, startled. "I'm fine, I can stand."

"No, you can't. Sit back down." Geralt was started to get irritated. Jaskier might not be the most pliable when it came to other things but he usually bordered on the side of overreaction when it came to personal injuries. He'd seen him dramatically laid up for weeks over a simple cold.

Jaskier met his eyes for the first time since the inn, glowering at him. Geralt glowered right back, then bodily picked Jaskier up and sat him down against a fallen log. Jaskier gave an indignant squawk and looked to be ready to go leaping back up but Geralt kept a firm hand on his shoulder. "Stay, you'll just overtire yourself."

When it appeared that Jaskier was not going to immediately go leaping up again, he turned and took a blanket from Roach, tossing it at him.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Jaskier asked, nonplussed.

Geralt didn't pause in setting the fire up. "Wrap yourself in it, you need to stay warm."

"I need to stay-" Jaskier stumbled as he seemed to put the pieces together, and then angrily threw the blanket away. "Geralt I am not going into fucking shock!"

He raised his eyebrows "You have the symptoms of someone on the verge of going into shock. You're not talking, you're acting strange and on edge, and you can barely support yourself. Put the blanket back."

"Oh, you want to know why I'm not talking? Why I'm not being chatty? Why I'm 'acting strange'?" Jaskier's eyes shone with a dangerous light. "Well I'll tell you Geralt I'm not going into shock I'm fucking pissed."

"That's a reasonable reaction to what was done to you-" Geralt started, ready with his 'traumatized human who's just discovered the world is quite a bit nastier than they'd thought' talk, but Jaskier didn't let him get started.

"You think this is about that motley little band that captured me and knocked me around a bit and took some of my blood?" Jaskier seemed incredulous. "I'm a godsdamned siren Geralt! Do you think nothing like this has ever happened before?!" He was practically snarling now. "No, you don't. Because I'm just a stupid, naïve, child to you aren't I? Ready to come running back to you no matter what, just so long as you save my neck? Well my neck didn't need saving. I'm not a child and I'm not helpless. I think you forget what it is I am and what it is I'm capable of."

Jaskier was standing now, still unsteady on his feet, but refusing to clutch at anything for support. Geralt stared back up at him, face impassive. He could see the glint of fangs more clearly now as Jaskier talked, and small scales were starting to pop through whatever illusion kept them out of sight.

Jaskier barreled on. "Do you want to know how they were able to keep me in captivity Geralt?" He went on without waiting for an answer, seemingly assuming he wouldn't get any. "Because I couldn't see a way to escape that wouldn't kill at least some of them and get a bounty put out on my head. If I'd wanted out I could have gotten out, those stupid little spells that one man put on me did jack-shit Geralt."

Jaskier paused for breath. Geralt's medallion was thrumming an insistent warning against his chest and his hand itched to grab for his sword. But he wouldn't, not this time. Jaskier continued. "So don't think this makes us okay, don't think you can just save my ass and call it good, you told me it was only mercy that kept you from killing me and you sent me away without a second thought. You treated me like just another of your monsters to get rid of and now you come waltzing back like everything's okay and you want to be friends again. I can take a lot but I can't take that you son of a bitch."

There were tears in Jaskier's eyes when he stopped, breathing hard. There was a complicated cocktail of smells coming off him. Anger, fear, sadness, and, most improbably, a faint hint of arousal.

Geralt braced himself for a continuation of the tirade but when none seemed forthcoming he asked quietly "Are you done?"