Jaskier has never been the best around children. He likes to empathize with people, but children have such strong emotions that he finds that he gets overwhelmed and awkward around them. So suddenly being solely in charge of two of them, and under such horrifying circumstances, he finds himself at a complete loss.
He absentmindedly grabs at one of his necklaces to fiddle with the pendant, chewing on his lip as he takes a quick survey of their surroundings.
The area is fairly open, with plenty of space for storing things meant to be kept out of the heat of the summer. It's lit by a single torch set on a sconce on the far side of the room near a set of stairs. A few barrels and crates line the walls, along with abandoned and upturned pieces of furniture, now greying and splintering with age.
He makes a list of potential weapons as he looks, hoping dearly he won't have to use one. A half broken chair leg, a few empty bottles, a loose board holding on by the tip of a rusting nail...
He's so engrossed in his current task that when a cold hand touches his, he jumps and curses out loud.
He looks up in time to see the boy scramble backward, scrunching into a ball in the corner with his sister again. Jaskier shifts from alarm to regret quickly when he realizes what just happened.
"Oh no! No, no, no, no, no! It's okay! I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I mean fu- shi- argh!"
Jaskier backs away a bit, hand over his heart, pendant still tangled between his fingers and he pauses when he catches sight of the golden tuning fork. Oh!
He lifts the necklace off and over his head, holding the small fork by it's base and letting the chain fall. The boy watches him quietly from behind his knees.
"Do you know what this is?"
The boy hesitantly shakes his head.
Jaskier smiles at him, and lifts the object a little higher for him to see before he flicks the side with the top of his nail. A single high note chimes faintly in the space, and the bard is relieved when both the boy and his sister unfurl a little more to see and hear it more clearly.
"This," he says as he rotates the base between two fingers, "Is called a tuning fork. Though I'm afraid this one is less for practical use than it is for decoration."
"It's an important tool for musicians, you see? We use them to find the right notes on our instruments, and sometimes...even our voices."
He taps the fork again, brings it up to his ear and mimics the note quietly, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He tries again, and matches the note in an exaggerated falsetto, internally lauding himself when the children seem to brighten up.
Jaskier extends the fork towards them, "Would you like to see it?"
The boy finally uncurls himself completely and leans forward on his knees to take the fork. His sister, still more cautious, stays back but doesn't stop the movement. She simply keeps a comforting hand on his shoulder, watching the interaction like a hawk.
It's only when the boy's hand brushes his that Jaskier finally realizes just how cold he is. He frowns in concern and watches as he sits back with his sister, turning the fork in his hand in the dim light and tapping at it.
He moves without thinking, surprising himself just as much as the children when he leans over both of them and wraps them in a hug. He can feel the way they tense, and he doubts himself for a second, which is eased when the boy leans into the embrace, dropping his head underneath his chin with a sob. The girl grabs at his sleeve and looks up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, then circles her other arm around her brother and fits herself into the space on his other side. They're absolutely frigid, so Jaskier lets the embrace linger longer than would normally be comfortable. It's not a great attempt at comfort, and in the long run his jacket would have been more beneficial but that option is thoroughly out of the question.
What would Geralt do in a situation like this? Probably something stoically heroic. But he would definitely get the children to safety first.
Jaskier leans back, a hand on each of their shoulders to maintain some small warmth. He makes sure that he has their attention.
"When we get out of here, we'll find my friend and he can help us. He's stronger than any man you'll ever meet. He might look a little odd, his hair is white like and old man's, but he isn't old- sort of. Anyways, he's really, really good at fighting monsters, you don't need to worry. But for now, I'm going to get a better look around and find us a way out. No matter what happens I need you to listen to me, alright?"
Jaskier expects more nod's in acknowledgement, so he feels a sudden rush of warmth when the boy gives a quiet "Okay," as he reaches up and pats a cold had to his cheek.
"Okay, good, that's good."
He tries to keep tears out of his eyes as he covers the small hand in his own and makes to stand, hiding a wince when his ankle throbs, "I'll be right back, I promise."
He brushes his pants off, and does a quick visual sweep of the room before making his way toward the set of stairs. From the bottom he can see a heavy door, very clearly bolted from the other side, and decides against risking the climb to investigate further. He pauses only to take the torch from the sconce, and begins a slow circle around the perimeter of the space. There's a small alcove under the stairs crowded with barrels, surrounded by empty jugs. As good of a place to start as any he supposes.
He crouches down and hefts one the jugs for a moment to gauge it's weight. The container is solid clay and the handle will give him better leverage should he decide to use it in defense, so he opts to keep it for the time being. He has no clue what he's doing, but at least he can look like he does for the sake of the siblings.
Jaskier sets the jug on one of the barrels and awkwardly shifts a few of the others around with his free hand hoping to find anything useful... but there's nothing hiding behind, in, or around them. He sighs and shimmies them back into place before hooking a finger around the handle of the jug and swinging around to investigate the room further.
He doesn't expect the weight of the container to pull his arm out in a wide arc and he steps back just in time to avoid slamming it into a nearby support beam. The last thing he needs right now is to draw attention. He can feel his heart caught in his throat, and his stomach crumpling like bad parchment but he catches sight of the children out of the corner of his eye and makes a split second decision.
So he steps back onto his good ankle and pretends to flail for a second, then exaggeratedly rights himself before putting his hand, jug and all, over his chest and pantomiming a huge sigh of relief. He looks towards them expectantly.
In that moment, as he watches them both suppress quiet giggles behind their hands, he feels a spark of hope, and more than that...he feels strong. In a way he's never felt before. He sees the world a little bit more like Geralt does, in the lives that he's protecting. But then as he lifts the jug to put a finger to his lips, his smile fades. He can't help as his eyes flicker to the spot on the ground where the woman lies and that split second is all it takes for their current reality to come crashing down on his shoulders. He forces the smile back and then gestures for them to stay put, dropping the facade only when he's a little further away.
As he investigates further he notices a distinct lack of well...anything. Besides old furniture. No food, no wines or ales, nor grains. Nothing someone would need to survive the upcoming frost, and certainly nothing to justify the meal he was served when he arrived. There's a thought whispering at the back of his mind, telling him to connect the dots. That there was meat in that stew, no livestock in the fields that he could see which meant that-
The corpse, missing her leg, the chunks from her thigh-
Saliva pools at the back of his mouth and a wave of nausea washes over him so abruptly that it makes him stumble into a nearby wall, his shoulder colliding harshly with the old boards with enough force that one pops loose. The sound of the board clattering to the floor snaps him back to attention in time for him the realize there's a gust of cold air at his side before the floor boards above their heads creak with quick and heavy steps. Jaskier panics, dropping the torch and jug to the dirt floor as he makes a desperate grab at the planks. There's a walled off exit right there, he can see an alcove with steps covered in a light layer of snow just on the other side. He's out of time.
He heaves at the wood desperately and calls out to the children. They might be able to make the gap at least. They arrive at his side just as the door above slams open, Jaskier snaps his attention to it with gritted teeth, then lifts the boy up to the opening and sends him through feet first. The man makes it to the bottom of the stairs as he lifts the girl and does the same.
"RUN! FIND GERALT! FIND MY FRIEND!"
Jaskier turns around just in time to be slammed back into the boards. He growls breathlessly as the man pushes a huge arm across his throat and pins him in place.
"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"
The man pulls back and slams him against the boards again, causing them to creak. Jaskier gasps as the air is driven from his lungs and his head collides with the wood. His vision darkens around the edges as the man increases the pressure on his throat and he claws at the unyielding arm at his neck.
"I was saving that for later."
Jaskier grits his teeth as the man gets close enough that they're nearly nose to nose, so close he can see the pinprick pupils in nearly black irises.
"Do you know how hard it is to get veal out here pretty boy?"
The bard doesn't get time to process the flash of white hot anger that passes through him as he's once again slammed backwards. He lets out a choked off scream as he hears a crack before he's suddenly released and drops to the ground.
"But I suppose you should be just enough to last me the winter. Now you just stay put," he kicks Jaskier in the side harshly and smiles at the whimper it elicits.
"I've got some hunting to do. Couldn't have made it far, with little legs like that."
Jaskier watches as the man turns to pick up the loose board, and clenches his hands in the dirt. Every inch of his body is screaming in agony, he can hear his heart thudding in his ears. No fucking way, he won't touch them ever again.
He lunges forward and snaps up the torch as the man looks back at him. He swings it at the man's face, causing him to reflexively back away from the flames, which buys Jaskier enough time to get a hold of the jug. With every bit of strength he has left, he swings it down on his head.
Pieces of clay go flying as the container shatters, and the man drops to the floor like a sack of flour.
"Fuck." Jaskier clutches at his ribs, stepping over the man and examining the blocked exit where the boards have now cracked. He glances over his shoulder at the lump of the man on the ground, then starts to kick at the weakened boards, ignoring his pain as the wood splinters and gives way.
Just as his boot breaks through the last board, he hears the man shift behind him. He doesn't look back as he tears through the new opening, and doesn't stop even as a particularly sharp chunk of wood catches his side as he goes, ripping through his chemise and opening a gash in his side.
AN: I was about half way done with this chapter when I got stuck down with the flu...right in the middle of retail holiday hell. So huge apologies for the wait. Anyways HOW ABOUT BLOOD ORIGIN HUH???