'Ello there, and welcome to my very first The Witcher fanfic! It's not going to be very long, but I hope that you'll enjoy it regardless. I had a lot of fun writing it and will definitely make more in the future.

Warning: This story includes violence, gore, some swearing, and other elements that may prove too much.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."

The words echoed in Jaskier's head, loud and unforgiving. It haunted him in his waking life and nightmares. No matter what, he couldn't shake them off. He tried, but they always came back when he thought they'd left for good.

For days, he couldn't focus on anything other than those words and the expression on the witcher's face burned into his mind. The rage in those golden eyes had made him fearful for the very first time. It had him hesitate, and instead of ignoring—as he'd done with all other outbursts of the other man's. He had conceded defeat and left.

Jaskier had found an inn and settled inside. At first, he felt nothing. However, on the second day, the shock finally wore off, leaving his heart feeling more oppressive than ever in his life. On the third day, he felt anger towards everything that had happened. The fourth day rolled around, and with tears of anguish shed, he came to a realization. He'd fallen in love with the witcher.

It took a full week before the bard found his voice again. He sang to the patrons of the inn and tried to pretend that everything would be alright. For a moment, it worked. Jaskier's joy for life returned. However, when night fell and in the silence of his room, that happiness dwindled. The heaviness in his heart returned, and he knew at that moment that he would never be truly happy again.

The next day, he decided to leave. Jaskier took to the road and travelled from place to place. He sung in taverns, conversed with good folk, and drank until he couldn't think any more. He did all he could to forget that fateful day on the mountains, but nothing got rid of the heaviness in his heart.

A month later, he almost lost his life.

Jaskier sat drinking in a tavern when three burly men approached his table. He looked up and instantly got a bad vibe from the group, but tried to hide his nervousness as best as he could. "C- Can I help you, gentlemen?"

The tallest man of the group—presumably the leader—grinned in a wicked way. "You're that bard who travelled with the witcher, aren't you?" Before he could answer, the other man continued. "Where is that witcher of yours anyway? Did he finally get tired of you? Tossed you away?"

The other two men behind him laughed as his words dug deep into Jaskier's very being. He clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into the skin.

"Can't say I blame him considering all the things I've heard about you." More laughter. "I've heard you're more trouble than you're worth. Unless, of course, you gave him something worthy. Maybe you sucked his cock for all the trouble?"

"Now, listen here–!"

"Ah! That actually could be it. You're not the witcher's bard. You're the witcher's whore. His own personal–"

He didn't manage to complete his sentence as Jaskier's growing rage exploded and punched the other man in the face. The leader fell backwards and before either one of his lackeys could react, the bard left the inn. He didn't manage to get very far as someone grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him to a nearby stable.

Jaskier's back hit the wall and looked up to the three men. Even in the dark, he spotted a bruise already forming on the taller man's cheek. It occurred to him then that he'd made that. He'd actually hit someone. Oh, fuck.

"The bitch seems to have some bite," said the taller man, cracking his knuckles and grinning widely. "Let's say we tame it first, and then have it do our bidding, boys?"

The two men behind him agreed, and before Jaskier could make another move, one of them stepped up to hold him while the other two mercilessly beat him.

After the third hit, he lost count on how many he'd taken. All he knew was pain and the taste of blood. Finally, they grew tired of his lack of noises as they let him drop to the ground. He hit it hard, but the hurt felt null compared to what he had sustained thus far. He hoped that the group were satisfied and would leave him to wallow in his misery.

No such luck.

Jaskier felt something grab his hair and tug it upward, forcing him to face the leader. "Don't go to sleep yet, bitch." Ugh, his breath smelled awful. "You haven't done what we've wanted."

The taller man let him go as the three discussed among themselves on what to do next. One of the topics made his blood freeze and body tremble from fear. He knew that he had to do something. But what could he possibly do? He wasn't a fighter. He was nothing. Unimportant. A nuisance. A waste of space.

'No.' He shook his head. 'I can't think like that. I need to focus. I need–'

Jaskier's thoughts cut off as his gaze landed on something hiding beneath the hay. It was hard to tell what, but after sneaking a glance at the three men and noting their lack of attention on him, he stretched out a hand to grasp it.

A dagger with red jewels decorating the handle was the last thing he expected to find in such a place. However, he was immensely grateful for it as now he had a chance. Despite the pain coursing through his body, he sat up and used the wall to lean on. He took a deep breath and faced the group that still paid him no mind, all the while hiding the dagger behind his back.

'Here goes nothing,' Jaskier thought while out loud he said, "Gentlemen. I'm growing quite bored with your constant chatter, have you come to a decision yet?"

The three men startled at his voice as they turned around to face him. The leader took a step forward. "Got some fighting still left in ya? I'm impressed."

The bard smiled. "I'm flattered. Now, which one of you lovely men get to ravage me finally?"

The taller man looked taken aback but quickly recovered. "Well, well, well, seems I was right about the whore thing. Good. That makes me feel less guilty about this."

'You don't have the sense to be able to feel any guilt at all.' He pushed the thoughts away and refocused on the matter at hand. "I'm so sorry that I hit you earlier. I was merely not expecting to be found out. Why don't I kiss your wound to make it better?"

The other man grinned and closed the distance between them. "Instead of kissing, you can do something else with your mouth." He grasped the front of his trousers and fumbled with the belt.

Internally, Jaskier hadn't felt more disgusted with the current situation than he's been with anything else his entire life. And that's saying something to someone who accompanied a monster slayer who would be covered in blood and guts more often than not. Despite the urge of wanting to vomit, he kept still until the other man was close enough for him to touch.

"I hope you're better at sucking than singing."

Jaskier met his gaze, all pretence gone. "I'll have you know my singing is perfectly fine." He wasted no time in the next moment as he drove the dagger into the leader's right thigh.

The other man screamed in pain, and before he managed to recover enough to hurt him more, he stood up—albeit with some difficulty—and plunged the blade into his throat. Blood splattered onto his clothes as he pulled it out, letting the body drop to the ground. He heaved out a heavy breath and turned his attention to the other two men.

Jaskier beckoned them as a grin broke out on his face. "Well, what are you waiting for? Come and get some."