Splash.
The water pours out of the wood bucket, falling over Geralt's hair and onto his body. The selkimore guts, now floating in the tub, the stench not nearly as burning as it had been previously. Like a dog, he shakes his head, droplets of water hitting the walls and Visenya. Without moving her gaze from the novel in hand, she wipes it away, turning the page immediately after.
"Could you be a dear Jane, and grab me more of that soap?" Jaskier asks, setting the bucket down on the ground, wipes away the water on his forehead, and pushes his puffed sleeves to cuff around his elbow.
"No."
Flick.
"Isn't she just lovely, and so helpful too?" Jaskier exclaims, sticky sarcasm coating each word like honey as he glides across the room, only two paces away from Visenay's left side. He reaches up, standing on the tips of his toes- despite the shelf being within comfortable reach - and grabs a bar of soap, a distinct lavender scent following it. He twirls, like a dancer on a stage, his large sleeves lightly smacking Visenya's cheek. She reaches up to swat him with the palm of her hand, but he's already danced away from her, twirling and spinning his way back to Geralt.
"Oh I'm helpful alright, I help you empty your coin purse." she mutters, pursing her lips into a tight line.
Flick.
Geralt snorts, a smirk on his lips as he watches Visenya, his amber eyes practically glowing in the dim light. Their eyes meet for a second before Visenya snaps her gaze back to the book.
"You know, maybe the two of you should travel together, you're both so angry, like a pair of old people - you moreso, Geralt." Jaskier says, his tone similar to that of a spoiled child groaning about not getting its way. "At least Jane cracks a joke and a smile once in a while." He picks up the wooden bucket, filling it with clean water.
Geralt grunts, glaring at Jaskier, his white hair slick against his face; Visenya just shows Jaskier her middle finger.
Flick. There's only ten pages of the book left, yet Visenya can't remember the name of the leads in the story…, or even it's plot.
"Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest."
Water hits Geralt from above, his hair nearly clean of monster innards as they get washed away from him. The water pooling in the tub ripples, small waves flying out as new water takes its place. Instead of shaking his head, Geralt scrubs at his face, nearly growling as he does so.
"It is one night, body guarding your best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be." Jaskier says, turning around, and tosses the diary rag from his hand onto a bench, before circling around the tub until he's standing on the opposite side of his previous spot.
"I'm not your friend."
"Oh, so you normally let strangers rub chamomile on your lovely bottom?" Jaskier's tone is teasing, a smirk on his lips.
Geralt turns towards Jaskier, arms on the side of the tub, lips set in a thin line with eyes burning like hot coals.
Visenya bites her lip, and despite her desperate attempt to hide the smile that's pulling at the corners of her mouth, laughter escapes from her tightly pressed lips. Immediately after, she coughs, a fragile and ill attempt to disguise the noise. Even a mute with a bad left eye however would see through the coverup. Jaskier turns and meets Visenya's gaze, flashing her a wink before looking away.
"Right, that's what I thought."
"I thought you were paying Jane to make sure you don't get stabbed or robbed?" Geralt asks, tone low and raspy.
Flick, eyes scan the book, only retaining every other word carefully written in aged black ink, keen ears intently listening to the conversation.
"I am, and she does a very good job at that. The only wounds I've sustained since hiring her are the ones she inflicts onto me. But this isn't just any old party, my friend. This is a betrothal feast, hosted by the Lioness of Cintra herself! There will be suitors from all over the world, powerful lords vying for the chance at winning the hand of her daughter, who I hear is very beautiful."
"And?" Geralt asks, raising a single ashen brow.
"And Jane won't agree to go...but if you go, I'm sure she'll agree to it!" Jaskier says.
"I'm right here."
"Yes, reading a book you claim is stupid and frivilous. So pointless, in fact, you haven't put it down all day." Jaskier says, turning to face her, a smug grin on his face that's short lived.
Smack.
The book flies across the room, narrowly avoiding Jaskier's face by only a few inches. It hits the wall with a resounding thud, pages crinkling as it falls to the ground. Geralt curses under his breath, grip on the wood tightening enough that veins begin to faintly pop out. Jaskier however, remains unphased, simply turning away from her to face Geralt once more.
"Don't mind her, she's just a bit cranky, she's been having nightmares I think." Jaskier says to Geralt, tone nonchalant and even, as if a book wasn't just thrown at him.
"Shut up."
Geralt levels his gaze to Visenya, raising both his brows at her, an unspoken question in his eyes.
'Are you okay?'
She shakes her head, lips in a tight line as she rolls her eyes, not willing to delve into all of her childhood trauma that's reared its ugly head since that first dream all those nights ago. She'd been successful, nearly all the memories locked away in that same box in the darkest corner of her mind, yet just enough remained to taunt her in her dreams.
Lingering only a second longer, Geralt shifts his eyes back to Jaskier, who bounces on the balls of his feet, watching the two of them as if they were the only entertainment he's had in weeks.
"How many of these lords want to kill you?"
"Hard to say. One stops keeping track after a while: wives, concubines, mothers - sometimes."
Both Geralt and Visenya look up at Jaskier, looks of equal incredulousness and annoyance painted on their faces.
"Oh, yes, there's that face -" Jaskier sits on the small stool that's pushed up against the tub. "- scary face. No lord in their right mind would dare come near me with you there!"
Geralt's jaw clenches just a hair, his eyes twitching ever so slightly that it could be written off as a trick of the light. He reaches over and grabs his mug of ale, bringing it to his lips, but Jaskier intercepts him, pulling the cup away from him as if Geralt was a child.
"Ooo, on second thought, might want to lay off the Cintran ale, a clear head would be best." Jaskier pats Geralt on the shoulder, stands from the stool and moves towards Visenya.
"A gift for My Lady!" Jaskier exclaims, lowering into a deep bow as he passes Geralt's mug to Visenya, amber liquid spilling over the brim as he carelessly carries the cup. Face void of any emotion, she grabs the cup...pouring out the entirety of its contents on the ground, far enough away that the liquid won't touch her feet. Jaskier just huffs, feigning anger as he turns around and moves towards the small vanity pushed up against a wall. He grabs a jacket that's dark blue, the fit and fabric suited for a party rather than travel, distracting himself by holding it up and then setting it down, only to repeat the cycle.
"I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I'm not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men."
He sets it down a final time, refolding it, and turning back to Geralt.
"Yes, yes, yes, you never get involved. Except you do, all the time." Jaskier says, huffing as he moves towards Geralt. "Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbelievably cantankerous and crotchety. Actually, I've always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?"
"Yeah when they're slow and get killed." Geralt says, his tone aggressive but lacking the usual ferocity and fire found in it.
"Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with?" Jaskier says, pressing the conversation further and further, fiending for anything Geralt will tell him.
"I want nothing." Jaskier looks down at his nails, then moves his gaze back to Geralt. He walks forward, leaning down so his elbows rested on the edge of the tub, facing Geralt.
"Well who knows, maybe someone out there will want you." Jaskier's eyes flash to Visenya, but she isn't looking at him, too busy pretending to be occupied.
"I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me."
"And yet, here we are."
It's silent, each moment dragging on as the three of them wait for the other to break it. Geralt breaks eye contact, looking left and then right, eyes burning in the dim room.
"Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?" Geralt says, snarling like a rabid animal.
"Oh, I had them taken to be cleaned, they were covered in selkimore guts, but you're not going to the feast as a Witcher tonight." Jaskier says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, ever present when Geralt is around it seems.
Geralt opens his mouth,a stinging response on the tip of his tongue, but Jaskier interrupts the words before they can fully form.
"But no need to worry about that." Jaskier waves his hand, straightening his postures and gliding around the tub, and moving towards Visenya. "Now my dear Jane, will you agree to go with me now that our mighty, heroic Witcher-" Visenya just looks at Jaskier, face hard as stone.
"No. I already told you I'm not going."
"But why not! Please, your presence is absolutely necessary with me!" Jaskier practically throws himself onto his knees, face like a begging puppy.
"I don't like parties or weddings or betrothals." She maintains the facade, not willing to break or show any weakness; cold and unfeeling, anything less and Jaskier will never let it go.
"Why not."
"Because I was murdered at one." the words are like oil on her tongue, always just a few seconds from slipping out, but they don't. She won't let them. If she says the words out loud, it means they're real, and if they're real...she doesn't know what she'll do.
"I just don't." It's a lie, but an easy one, one she's gotten good at telling.
"Leave her alone Jaskier, I've already been pulled into your mess, no need to drag Jane into it, I'm sure she's dealt with her fair share of predicaments, thanks to you."
"Whatever, I'll have you know all of my messes, both intentional and not, are lovely." Jaskier tilts his nose into the air, sniffling like an injured child playing into theatrics for attention. "I'll leave you two grumps to it, maybe you can convince her with a smoldering gaze or something."
With one last teasing grin towards the both of them, Jaskier quickly exits the room like an actor leaving the stage after a staggering performance. The door closes behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.
Visenya looks at Geralt, who looks at her, neither moving an inch.
"Jane."
In that moment, with Geralt saying the fake name she gave herself all those months ago, it makes her realise just how much she misses hearing her real name. And she wonders how it would sound coming out of his mouth, whether the word would be like honey, sweet and smooth, sticking to her brain for the rest of her life. Or would it be harsher, his tongue having difficulty wrapping around the Old Valyrian name she stole from Queen Visenya I, like a petty thief. She remembers how Renfri would say it, somehow making her own name, something she's heard a million times in her life, like sweet Southern sweets melting in her mouth.
She remembers how...nice it felt, being able to be completely open and honest, when her life has been nothing but deceit and shadows for so long. And she almost breaks, pouring out everything from the moment she came into the world, banishing away the darkness that hung over King's Landing, screaming and crying as she did. But she doesn't. Fear claws at her mind, doubts that he would think her crazy or a deranged monster trying to work into his life assaulting her all at once. And it's dizzying, so much so she nearly faints from the feeling.
"Jane." Geralt says again, firmer this time, banishing away her inebriating fears and worries, everything clear within a single second.
"Geralt,"
She smirks at him, but it's awkward and strange, looking more like a grimace than anything.
"You alright?" he asks, and even in the dim light, she can see the lines in his forehead, brows furrowing. And for the second time that day, she considers telling him everything. But the same fears hold her back.
"Aren't I always?" she tries to joke, her voice going up three octaves as she tries to keep out the heaviness that always seems to follow her.
"Hmm."
Silence washes over them, unspoken words and questions ricocheting off the walls and making everything feel smaller.
"Thanks for the broach by the way." Visenya breaks the silence first, motioning towards the broach that's pinned to the left side of her tunic, hanging above her breast.
"It looks better on you than it did me," Geralt says, a smile that shows all his shiny white teeth on his face. Visenya nods her head, standing from the bench she perched herself on the moment Jaskier pushed them all into the room. Slowly and calculated, she begins to walk towards Geralt, each footstep ringing in the room until she's by the tub, sitting on the stool Jaskier previously claimed.
"I know, does wonders for my eyes when the light reflects off the gems," she teases, crossing her left leg over the right. "It was the least you could do after leaving me to wake up by myself."
"I didn't realise you wanted me to stay." Geralt rebuttals, raising a brow as he waits for her next move.
"Oh don't flatter yourself, I just wasn't happy to deal with Jaskier's prying questions alone. Do you know how many times I had to threaten to stab him, rob him, and then leave him for dead until he shut up? And even now he still makes subtle jokes about it." Visenya says, rolling her eyes, resting her elbow on the edge of the tub, only a few inches away from Geralt.
"My apologies for leaving you in such a dire situation." Geralt leans forward, mimicking her light tone.
"For shame Geralt, for shame."
"Is there anything I could do to make it up to the Lady?" he asks, leaning just a hair closer, and like there's a magnetic field around him that pulls her to him, begging her to close the gap and feel his steady breaths fanning over her face.
"The broach was a good start." she replies, trying to not sound as breathless as she feels.
She's burning, her body all over electrified in a way it hasn't been since the last time she saw Geralt.
And then it's suddenly cold, all the warmth being forcibly ripped from her body. The water hits against the tub as Geralt moves back, his body pressed against the other end of the tub, all coy smirk and smug eyes.
Payback for last time it seems.
Visenya rolls her eyes and straightens her back, eager for the flush that covers her body to disappear as quickly as it came.
"Yeah whatever, you're naked and vulnerable, I could take you." she says, waiting a moment before her eyes widen a fraction, Geralt smirk widening. 'With my sword, that is. I could stab you with my sword and leave you dead. That's what I meant, nothing else."
"Hmm, is that so?" Geralt's eyes glint with amusement, the candles reflecting like roaring fires in his eyes. He's beautiful in the dim glow of the flickering flames, skin wet with droplets of water sticking to his body, further accentuating his rippling muscles and broad shoulders.
"I hate you and Jaskier equally, just so you know." Visenya says, huffing like a child, rolling her eyes and glancing at the bare wall, eyes tracing over the wooden panels, counting each grain as she does.
"I'm sure. So what's the real reason you don't want to go to this feast? Jaskier drags you around to all his other parties, why not go to this one?" Geralt asks. Visenya's eyes flicker back to Geralt. Her mind is blank, yet brimming with a million different words and phrases that jumble together until she can hardly find any words to speak.
"I guess I'm not a fan of weddings or anything related to them." is all she can say. "It's not a big deal, just a weird tick I guess." She nods her head, trying to make the words seem convincing to both her and Geralt. But it's impossible to swallow the lump forming in her throat, nearly suffocating as Westeros hits her mind, the calamitous memories physically painful.
"Bad experience?"
Her face still sour from the fight with Robb, nearly breaking her jaw from how tightly she kept it clenched.
Lady Catelyn looking shrewd and nervous, but slowly softening to Talissa and Robb's relationship.
Everyone celebrating and getting drunk in the room.
"I've never been a good dancer," she says, the words are soft and light, a tentative smile forming on her face.
Robb falling to the ground, like a pincushion for crossbow bolts, choking on his blood despite being dead the second he entered the keep.
The camp burning.
Everyone around her dying.
"And if I promised you wouldn't have to dance?" Geralt says, leaning towards Visenya.
Her heart dropping when the slaughter started, frozen like a statue in the dead of winter, bolted to the floor and unmoving.
Screams lighting up the room, ricocheting off the walls as they were stabbed, bludgeoned, and strangled.
Greywind locked up outside, unable to help and dying alone, butchered like a pig.
"You seem desperate for my presence there, Geralt of Rivia." Visenya teases.
The wail that ripped through her throat, leaving her drinking her own blood and tears.
The pit in her stomach as her legs gave out.
Their snears and taunting words as the world grew dark.
"If I have to suffer the night sober, I would prefer good company." His lips pull into a smirk that's lopsided, making his left eye crinkle an inch further than the right.
And that little piece of her who wished she had died with the rest of her family 17 years ago.
"And you couldn't think of anyone else?" Visenya replies with a smile on her face that grows, eyes bright as Westeros and all it's demons dim, leaning her chin onto the palm of her hand.
"Well I'd bring my horse, but I don't foresee them allowing Roach into the palace."
"No, I imagine that wouldn't go over too well."
Visenya sighs deeply, closing her eyes as she does, resolve breaking with each passing second that Geralt looks at her.
"Do you think Jaskier would give me any say in my dress?"
The door flings open, crashing into the wooden wall and causing it to shake for a moment.
"Have no fear, My Lady, I've already got the perfect one!"
o0o0o0o
The water is scalding hot, steam rising from the water and dissipating into the air. But it doesn't burn, not in the way it should, instead every muscle in her body relaxes the second the it touches her skin. Small waves ripple through the water as her body twists and turns into a comfortable position. A small sigh leaves her mouth, echoing in the smaller room only to be swallowed by the door opening and closing.
"I don't need help bathing." Visenya says, weaving annoyance and mild anger in each word.
Just one moment alone would be nice.
"And I'm not here to offer it, I just wanted to quickly discuss a few things," Jaskier says, completely ignoring any warning signs and moving further into the room.
"And then you'll be out of my hair?" Visenya says, water splashing out of the tub and onto the floor as she pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Well funny you should say that, actually…" She doesn't need to turn around to see how his brows are furrowed, eyes unsure and a touch afraid that Visenya might fly off the handle. He's never fully learned all her triggers yet, but to be fair, neither has she.
She groans, loudly, sinking as far into the water as much as the tub would physically allow, wishing to be swallowed into an abyss. Always something with the hair, whether it's pleads to let him style it or to tell him why she keeps dyeing it.
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Jaskier exclaims, in an attempt to defend himself, feigning innocence he doesn't possess when it comes to meddling.
"I don't have to. The answer is still no." Visenya's voice is firm and stern, unmovable like a stone wall.
His footsteps echo in the room, the heels on the boots clicking against the wood flooring as he approaches, each step tentative and slow.
"Well that just isn't acceptable, you won't even give a gentleman the simple opportunity to-"
"Just tell me what you want so I can tell you no again" Visenya interrupts Jaskier, breathing heavily through her nose.
"Alright, alright, tough crowd-"
"Jaskier!"
"Okay, alright, your hair! I wanted to talk about that." Jaskier says, voice raising in volume as many octaves it did. "How do I say this while still keeping my life… it looks, well- like a wild animal lives there and has lived there its whole life."
The water splashes and ripples as her hand breaks through the stillness, joining the rest of her body beyond her head and the tops of her shoulders underwater. Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for Visenya to either tell him to fuck off or pretend he doesn't exist at all.
"I know."
Jaskiers loudly exhales, physically deflating.
"So I was thinking, what if we made it not look like that for the feast? You really should look your best before a monarch." Visenya turns her head and glares at Jaskier. "I know you dye your hair, heavens know why, so I was just thinking what if you...washed it out."
"So you want me to wear my natural hair color for the feast?" Visenya clarifies, her voice not indicating anything she's feeling.
"Yes, exactly!" Jaskier exclaims, tone becoming more jovial and ecstatic, bouncing on his feet as he does.
"No."
"But-"
"I said no."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Come on, it can't be that bad."
"I said no Jaskier." Visenya growls, the edges of the wooden tub crack under the pressure of her grip, splitters getting pushed under her nails.
"Don't be so dramatic, let's see what color your roots are-" Jaskier moves closer, hands outstretched, desperate to see the silver hair shining under the dry brown. Visenya grits her teeth, anger pulsing under her skin, mind going white as all the sound in the room silences for a painstakingly long moment.
"I said, no!" The words are piercing and sharp, nearly leaving both of their ears bleeding. The walls shake, the structure of the building itself rejecting the shrill words rolling off of Visenya's mouth. Her eyes flash like fire, burning anything in its wake; it's dangerous and untamed, wildfire barely contained in two eyes.
Her hand flies up in the air, palm nearly meeting Jaskier's cheek, but he manages to duck out of the way, stepping back far enough to avoid the slap, the residual heat radiating from her hand nearly singeing his hair. With wide eyes, baby blues watching her with bewilderment and a small tinge of something else- something she never wants him or anyone else to ever look at her with again.
Fear.
Visenya inhales sharply, simply staring at her own hand with dazed eyes. It's still hot, she's still hot. The previously scalding water that had begun to cool, heats up again with a vengeance, boiling wildly around her. Small beads of sweat form at her temple, the room growing smaller with each sharp breath Jaskier takes.
"I'll just- I'll just leave you to it, just… forget I asked, I guess," he says, the words jumbling and melting together, nearly disappearing into the wooden walls that seem to close in.
Click.
Just as quickly as he entered the room, he exits, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of his perfume and hair styling product. The room is silent, unbearably so. Visenya turns, water languidly splashing, her back facing the door as she stares at the bare wall, eyes glazing as she attempts to focus on every small detail of the wood. Her mind is blank, yet at the same time it's a storm, ferociously raging in her head, until her ship is pulled under, thoughts drowning her.
"Fuck!" The palm of her hand smacks against the water, a barrage of droplets sticking to the sweat beads. A growl of anger and frustration leaves her mouth as she thrusts her hands forward, creating a wave that forces a large amount of water to spill onto the ground, forming a small puddle of anger and guilt.
Regret weighs heavily on her, like wearing a suit of full plate in the middle of the ocean. She shouldn't have snapped at Jaskier that way, she wishes she hadn't. He's just trying to help, to pull Visenya out of this hole she's happily buried herself in, clawing at the dirt with perfectly manicured hands and a velvet outfit, humming a sweet melody as he digs. She'd yelled before: threatened to hurt him in every way imaginable, screamed so loud her voice nearly vanished. She'd smacked his chest and shoulders under the guise of seriousness with a sly smirk playing on the corner of her lips. And he took it in stride, laughing it off with a charming smile and a witty quip, bouncing back instantaneously, because she never fully knocked him down.
She tries to believe this isn't any different, that she'll walk out of this room, only to be bombarded by Jaskier's incessant teasing. But no amount of rose-tinted lenses can bury her in that delusion, because this time is different. She could see the way he looked at her, the way he crumbled under the fire in her eyes and rage simmering under her skin.
Her fury in that moment was harsh, but true, and very much directed at him with intent to harm. All because he wanted to see her hair. How could he ever understand that it's more than that to her. How does she explain how the same silver strands that crown her a Targaryen princess, something that marked her a paragon of her ancestors, but a pariah to the living. She'd never be able to explain how it was the one unmistakable trait that marked her as the daughter of the man who stole away Winterfell's princess, staining her a traitor to all of Westeros.
No one here knows who House Targaryen was or what her ancestors did - both horrible and great. And maybe it's better that way. To wipe her home and family name out of her memories, drown Westeros and all the hurt and pain and misery that came with it until she can't remember anything prior to Blaviken.
Because what did they achieve, what did any of them really achieve? Aegon the Conqueror along with Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen formed the Seven Kingdoms. They brought war and then peace, only for that to be lost 300 years later due to the madness of a single man, that apparently bled into his eldest son.
With Fire and Blood, they took what they wanted and bathed the rest in dragon fire as they reigned calamity upon their enemies. Some were kind and fair, but most were cruel and callous, seeing themselves higher than the rest because their eyes shone like amethysts with hair threaded from silver.
What did being the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen ever give her, except for despair at the loss of the family he abandoned to the whims of a madman. What did being the granddaughter of the Mad King Aerys give her, beyond the crippling fear that would leave her awakening in the darkest part of the night covered in sweat, fears that she'd descend to that same madness that haunted him. That she'd lose the ability to control her own mind until she was put down like a dog, something Robert Baratheon would've done happily as the people whispered 'What a shame she went mad.'
What did being a Targaryen ever really bring her if not scars and lingering ghosts?
The last time she fully embraced her blood, standing as tall and regal as a Targaryen should, how she believed they would, she burned down half a village.
No, it's better this way.
Even if it's just hair.
She sinks further into the boiling water, breathing in the steam like the smoke from a fire, praying and hoping she would just disappear. She continues down until her shoulders and underwater, then her neck, until the back of her head touches the bottom of the tub, eyes closed as her water floats around her face. And surrounded by the boiling water, washing away the day and all her mistakes, salty tears leave her eyes, being swept away into the water.