A/N

As always, many thanks to my beta reader fredbasset from AO3! Remaining errors, typos and holes in the plot are all mine.

~Day 1~

"A beer and stew, if you have it. Bread and meat if the stew is out. I'll have a seat over there." Geralt didn't wait for the innkeeper's reply, making his way across the taproom to the table in the corner where he dropped his saddlebags and the case with his swords. Slumping down on the bench, he was glad that Jaskier wasn't there yet. He was exhausted and needed some rest without the bard talking his ear off. As much as he loved Jaskier and was looking forward to meeting him after weeks apart, eating and drinking in blessed silence was equally a thing he cherished.

It didn't slip his attention that the patrons were eyeing him suspiciously, peeking at him now and then. Even the innkeeper had frowned when he had walked in and was gazing at him now while pulling beer. Geralt was used to not being welcome, but provided the atmosphere didn't change towards hostility and as long as he was served, he didn't mind. As soon as Jaskier was there they would hit the road again together.

The innkeeper came over and put a tray with beer, stew and bread in front of Geralt. He hesitated a moment until Geralt looked up.

"You should go, he won't come," the innkeeper mumbled, turning to leave.

Geralt grabbed the man's arm. "What? Who won't come?"

"Just go. The bard will not turn up," the man hissed, breaking free from Geralt's grip.

"What have you done to him?" Geralt growled.

The man backed away from the table, out of Geralt's reach. "We've done nothing, it's just good advice. Go before it's too late."

The innkeeper returned to the counter.

Geralt stood up and followed the man. "What has happened? Why should I not wait for the bard? How can you be sure he won't come?" And how did the innkeeper even know he was here to meet with Jaskier?

The innkeeper scowled at Geralt. "I've already said too much. Do as it pleases you, heed my advice or not." He turned his back on Geralt, busying himself with washing the dishes.

A courageous act to turn his back on an angry witcher, Geralt thought. He would have been impressed had he not been confronted with a more pressing problem. Knowing he would not get more from the innkeeper without the use of violence, he turned around and let his gaze sweep over the few patrons in the taproom.

All of them bent further down over their cups and tankards, avoiding Geralt's gaze, except for one. An elderly man with white hair, weather-beaten skin and friendly eyes met the Witcher's gaze without looking away. The man took a gulp from his tankard.

Geralt walked over and planted himself in front of the table, waiting for the man to set his tankard down.

"A witcher once saved my young sister from certain death, even though he wasn't obliged to do it," the man finally said in a low voice, wiping beer foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. "To this day, I'm still in his debt and I have never forgotten what he did for us. So I'll tell you this. Argaenor was here, he has taken the boy with him. It's a trap, don't even think of taking the bait. Turn around and go, it'll be the best for you, and probably for the poor lad, too."

"Who is Argaenor?" Geralt asked.

"The town's mage. Protected from the magistracy because he has a hold over them. Been here for longer than I remember. If you ask me, he's evil incarnate and more dangerous than you can imagine, even though he always assumes an air of innocence and philanthropy. Leave this place and never come back before it's too late."

"What does he want with the bard? What has he done to him?" Geralt growled.

The man answered with a shake of his head, signalling to Geralt that everything had been said in this matter.

Just then, the door opened and a young man stepped in, looking around the taproom.

As soon as the young man entered, Geralt felt the atmosphere in the tavern tense. The patrons seemed to stoop even further over their beverages and the man in front of him looked away. Geralt scrutinized the young man who looked neither dangerous nor particularly clever.

The stranger's eyes finally landed on Geralt and he stepped up to him.

"Are you the Witcher?" he asked.

"Who wants to know?"

Geralt's answer seemed to throw the young man off course. He gaped at the Witcher until he finally pulled himself together. "If you want the troubadour back, you must come to the old keep at the lake. He's waiting there for you."

"Who? The bard?"

"What?" Again, the young man seemed to be thrown off.

"Who is waiting there for me," Geralt barked.

"The... the... he," the man stuttered.

Geralt growled, stepping up to the young man until he towered over him threateningly. "Who is he?"

"The mage, Argaenor," the man cried, stumbling back, away from the Witcher. He turned and fled the inn.

Geralt made a move to follow him, but was held back by the man at the table. "Leave him be, he can't help or tell you more. He's just an imbecile the mage uses for his pleasure. He is just the messenger."

Geralt turned, glowering at the man. "What kind of game is being played here?"

"I told you. Leave. Whatever the mage has in mind for you and the bard, you can't win. I fear the bard had already forfeited his life the moment he entered the taproom and asked whether you had arrived yet. Geralt of Rivia," the old man added, his voice resonating with a mixture of admiration and regret. "If you don't want to die, too, go." The man emptied his tankard and rose. Nodding a farewell to the innkeeper behind the counter he turned and made his way to the door.

"Wait," Geralt called after him. "Where do I find this mage's keep?"

With a sad look, the man glanced at Geralt. "You can't miss it. Follow the road northwards out of town. It is as the boy said, the old keep by the lake, you'll know you're right when you see it. But heed my words. It's a trap you can't escape."

"That remains to be seen," Geralt muttered, walking back to his table.

He emptied his tankard in one go, grabbed his bags and swords, put a few Orens on the table and left.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Cautiously, Geralt neared the sinister looking tower. The old man had been right. The tower was impossible to miss on the way out of town, and it looked every bit the epitome of a hideous mage's residence. The tower was huge, almost as wide as it was high, with thick walls stretching left and right. Geralt guessed that in the past, the tower must have been part of a grand fortress, even though not much was left besides a few ruined buildings further down the road. At least that was all he could make out; maybe there was more hidden behind the walls which were three times as high as he was.

Geralt dismounted and tied Roach to a nearby tree before stepping onto the small bridge spanning a foul-smelling, black pond in front of the tower, leading to the iron-bound gate. He didn't have to knock or make his presence known in another way. Before he had reached the gate, its doors opened, surprisingly smooth-running and noiseless, revealing a dark hallway which led to an equally dark entrance hall.

Geralt stepped in. As soon as he had taken a couple of steps towards the hall, the doors in his back closed again. His amulet hummed, but he had sensed the magic in the air anyway.

"Ah, the famous White Wolf."

From somewhere above, a voice drifted down and Geralt looked up the narrow staircase in the hall leading up to a gallery. The gallery ran around the pentagonal hall with doors on three sides, and a small window to the west.

Geralt watched a dark-clad figure slowly make his way down the staircase, conveying the impression it was floating rather than walking. A trick, Geralt mused.

"Geralt of Rivia, I take it?" the man said when he reached the floor.

Geralt noticed that his opponent was a big man, almost a head taller than Geralt himself, with broad shoulders, a thick, grey beard and piercing eyes. Surprisingly, he looked neither old nor young and Geralt could not judge the man's real age. He assumed the mage was at least thrice as old as him; age was always hard to tell with mages and sorcerers.

"Where's Jaskier?" Geralt growled.

"Who?"

"You know who I mean."

"Oh, the minstrel who's travelling with you, right. I didn't know his name is Jaskier. Yes, he's here."

Geralt briefly thought how Jaskier would probably throw a fit if he heard the mage refer to him as minstrel.

"What do you want from him?"

"From the troubadour? Nothing."

Geralt growled. If the mage wanted to play this game, well, Geralt would take the bait and play along. "If you want nothing from him, why did you abduct him and send a messenger to lure me here?"

"Because you might not have come had I asked. I have a job for you, Geralt of Rivia. I'm in need of a witcher, and I heard you're among the best, at least of those who are left. To secure your services I thought holding the troubadour hostage would make it easier. For me, as well as for your conscience and decision-making."

"Hm."

"Do we have a deal then?"

"I don't deal with mages, less so with ones trying to bribe or force me into their service."

"Then the minstrel will die."

"What makes you think it would matter to me?"

The mage looked Geralt up and down closely. "I know you witchers care for nothing. That's why you are so good at what you're doing. There's a reason, after all, why you were created like this."

Geralt kept silent.

"However, I've heard you and the minstrel have some kind of a special relationship. It's uncommon for a human to travel with a witcher, and vice versa." The mage started walking around, his hands clasped behind his back.

"His name is Jaskier," Geralt said, following a sudden urge to answer for Jaskier and stop the mage from repeatedly calling the bard a minstrel. He knew Jaskier would be extremely vexed about it.

The mage stopped in front of Geralt, perking his eyebrow. He scrutinized the Witcher "Is it now? Interesting," he finally said.

Once more, Geralt was reminded why he loathed mages. It was unnerving how they never said what they meant. When they spoke it was always vague, nebulous and allegorised.

"Would you really walk away from here without caring about his fate? Do you not care one bit whether he lives or dies?"

The mage stared at him and Geralt felt how the sorcerer was trying to penetrate his mind. He fought against it.

"What's that to you?"

The mage smirked. "I don't care. But since you followed my invitation and took in upon yourself to come and ask for the minstrel, I believe you care awfully well, so I'll tell you about my request anyway. Then you can decide whether you care or not. I need you to kill someone for me. If you do it, the troubadour is free to go."

"I don't kill men."

"I've heard otherwise. And not only men, either."

Geralt glowered at the mage.

"Butcher of Blaviken, isn't this what they call you, too?"

"I had no choice."

"There's always a choice, isn't there? In the end you had to kill her anyway, you could have done so right from the start when you were asked to do it. Would have saved lives and you wouldn't have been chased out of town afterwards, either."

Geralt wondered how the mage could know of these things, but he guessed that like anyone else, sorcerers met from time to time to exchange news and stories and laugh at the creatures of the Continent who were not as clever and powerful as them.

"You kill for money, that's what witchers were made for. You kill and get paid for it, or am I wrong?"

"We slay monsters, yes. But I'm no killer."

The mage scrutinised Geralt for a moment. "Maybe I can contribute to your decision-making. Follow me."

Without waiting for Geralt, the mage turned and walked away.

Geralt was tempted to just turn around and leave, but he knew in the end he might have to yield to the mage's will to save Jaskier. Unlike what he'd tried to make Argaenor believe, it mattered to him a great deal whether Jaskier lived or died. He would, in fact, gladly give his own life if it would save the bard.

He followed Argaenor through a dark, poorly lit hallway until the mage stopped in front of a thick, iron-bound door. Argaenor opened the door with a large, rusty key, and Geralt almost sneered at the way the mage made a show of how he held the bard captive; he was sure it would only need a word or a gesture with Argaenor's hand to lock or open the door, not an old, rusty key and a heavy lock.

The door swung open, revealing a similarly dim-lit room. The furnishing was frugal, to say the least. Geralt saw a stool, a bucket in the far corner and a small bed at the wall opposing the door. On the bed lay Jaskier, either sleeping or unconscious. Not dead. Geralt sensed the heartbeat.

"I see he's here and you've not lied about his whereabouts. It doesn't change my decision, though. I'm not a killer for hire. I don't kill men for money."

The mage squinted at Geralt.

Geralt could see Argaenor apparently was wondering whether he had misjudged the Witcher.

Suddenly, a smirk appeared on the mage's face. Slowly, he shook his head, clicking with his tongue to show his annoyance. He cast Geralt a reproving look. "Always so rash, and never taking sides, is it? I've heard of you, Geralt of Rivia. Evil is evil, you say, lesser, greater, middling... makes no difference. You'd rather not choose at all if you are to choose between one evil and another. Only, one day, you will have to take sides and choose."

"What makes you so sure I won't kill you here and now? From this perspective, it would probably be the lesser evil and Jaskier and I could just walk away. Killing you wouldn't even leave me with a guilty conscience "

"Ah, well, I've considered that. It might be the lesser evil seen from your point of view. But how about the minstrel? I doubt he would see it this way, too."

Geralt quickly looked Jaskier up and down. He couldn't see any hints of injuries, but that didn't mean the mage had not harmed him. His eyes returned to the mage.

Argaenor snapped with his fingers and whispered something Geralt didn't understand.

A moment later Jaskier stirred, opened his eyes and sat up. Apparently disoriented he looked around the room until his eyes landed on the open door, and the Witcher and the mage standing there. He blinked and moved his mouth as if to say something, but obviously didn't find the words. Wide-eyed, he stared at Geralt.

"Jaskier, are you okay? Has he harmed you?"

Jaskier shrugged, shaking his head.

Geralt was confused by the bard's reaction. "No, he didn't harm you or no, you're not okay?"

Jaskier moved his lips as if he was speaking, but Geralt heard nothing.

"What's wrong, are you hoarse? Answer already," Geralt hissed gruffly.

"He can't."

Geralt's attention returned to the mage.

"A simple precaution. If you kill me, he might live, if he ever manages to step out of this cell again, but his voice will be gone for all eternity, thanks to you and your actions. A troubadour without a voice is as useless as a knight without sword. Or a monster hunter without commission. Are you willing to sentence him to a life without his voice?"

Geralt glanced at Jaskier who stared back at him with a pained expression. On the bard's face Geralt could read Jaskier's fear of Geralt actually weighing the pros and cons of this decision and maybe coming to the conclusion the loss of the bard's voice was a price he was willing to pay.

Pleadingly, the bard shook his head slightly.

"Hm," Geralt grunted.

"I think at last we understand one another. Here are my conditions. You will kill Tjark án Thajsin for me, it won't be a problem for you, you've killed far more dangerous creatures. The minstrel stays here until your return. If you come back in time and bring me a token so I know Tjark is dead, you and the bard are free to go. I'll break the spell and everyone gets what he wants."

"Why don't you kill him yourself, if you're so keen on it?"

"Why should I when I can have the best monster hunter on the Continent do it for me?"

Geralt looked back at Jaskier. The bard had not moved from the bed and Geralt wondered how many more spells were keeping Jaskier covered. In any case, he was showing a most unusual behaviour, most untypical for the bard he knew.

"Assuming I would agree, what token and what timescale are you speaking of?"

Argaenor smirked, and with a tiny movement of his hand and fingers he banged the door shut without touching it. "Let's have a cup of wine while we discuss the details."

Geralt glowered at the closed door, and then at the mage. "I want to speak to Jaskier again before I leave."

"You may do as you please later. Come now," the mage said, already heading back the dark hallway.

Geralt followed, annoyed with the dilemma he suddenly found himself confronted with. He would most certainly not become a murderer and kill a man without need or reason due to some mage's whims, but he was also not willing to leave Jaskier to his fate. The bard had become a pawn in a game he hadn't chosen and didn't understand, and one he couldn't win either. And all this only because he had once chosen to befriend Geralt of Rivia.

For Jaskier's sake, Geralt had no choice but to play this game, though he was not willing to play by the rules laid down by the sorcerer.

The Witcher/Wiedźmin is property of Andrzej Sapkowski (books) and Netflix (show). I only borrowed the characters of the show for this work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.