Chapter Text
So, this is how I die, Radovid thought somberly…
All things considered, it really could have been worse.
As it turned out, Jaskier had been wrong; he wasn’t alone – not really, at least.
He was lying amongst the bodies of his soldiers – brave men (and women, though they were more rarely found on the battlefront) that had given their lives to keep their families and homes safe from an invading Empire.
Radovid had neither of those – the castle in Tretogor had always been his father’s, then his brother’s, and it carried too many awful memories to feel like such now. The only place that had ever truly felt like home to him was a small woodshed in Loxia, but it was now empty – much like he’d been told he apparently was, he supposed.
Trying to keep other people’s families and homes safe, however, had given him some sense of purpose and the illusion of belonging…
And maybe he did… or he had…
He might have been a terrible spymaster and not even a good prince – turns out he was a solid strategist with some uncanny understanding of warfare. Those unexpected skills had soon earned him the respect of his officers and generals.
They regularly sought him out to share their ideas and get his input on any battle plan they had – the communication was always very straightforward and refreshingly honest.
No senseless scheming or pissing contests; just trying to figure out together how to outsmart the other army and either gain territory or keep them from advancing.
The hardest aspect of the job had been knowing that, no matter how hard you tried, some of your own people were always going to die – that you would always need to sacrifice the few to save the many.
It was one of the things he didn’t think he ever would have been able to get used to, no matter how hard he would have tried.
His brother had always preferred to wage war from the comfort of his own castle, or well-guarded in remote outposts.
Radovid, however, had quickly discovered that the only way he could live with the idea of giving the order to send his troops to fight was if he was willing to fight
alongside them.
There had been quite a few that had been vehemently opposed to the idea, mind you – what with him having only received basic private military training in his youth, and the fact that Redania losing its king might threaten the nation’s already fragile stability.
But they’d also discovered that the knowledge that their king was fighting alongside them seemed to greatly embolden the troops.
And besides, it wasn’t as if many of those he was fighting against hadn’t just been drafted by Nilfgaard into their own armies, too! Or many of his own men, for that matter. Basic private military training in one’s youth was way more training than many of them had ever received!
Queen Calenthe and Queen Meve – as ruthless as they could be – had always understood that the best way to earn people’s loyalty and inspire them to give their all was to be visibly present in those battles. It was showing them that their leader only asked from them as much as they were willing to give!
And it had worked rather beautifully! For both Radovid and his troops!
Up until that point, Radovid’s only genuine way of connecting with the world and the people outside of his brother’s court had been through Jaskier’s poetry and songs.
That was actually one of the reasons why he’d been so desperate for Jaskier’s help – he’d hoped that Jaskier might have been able to help him better understand them as their king, and figure out ways to help him connect with them as well.
He supposed he couldn’t really blame Jaskier for not having had “introducing a pathetic, sheltered, privileged royal to the people he was meant to serve” that high on his priority list back then.
So, he’d figured that if he was going to go and risk his life amongst them, he might as well start learning a bit more about the soldiers he’d be fighting alongside with, at the very least.
He'd thus started making rounds with his guards in his army camps and stopped by a few campfires to share a drink with them (though he always kept himself sober in an effort to part from his prior persona), and listen to their stories.
Things had been a bit tense at first – the soldiers visibly unsure what to think of those visits while fearing they were being evaluated or something.
But Radovid had allowed the mask to slip just a bit – not revealing the full truth, i.e. that he had no fucking clue what he was even doing, or why anyone would be stupid enough to put him in charge of anything! But a version of the truth that would show just enough to avoid causing them any needless doubts about their chances of success.
He'd told them that, if he returned to his own tent, no doubt some anxious general would want to start reviewing the same battle plans he’d already reviewed at least a hundred times with them, and he’d then be unable to get any sleep before morning.
So, he was looking for something to take his mind off strategy and warfare for a moment – maybe share a drink, listen to some off-key singing, stories, or jokes being shared – just unwind a bit.
Over time he’d winded up sharing some of his own stories of court scandals with them as well, making quite a farce of it, too; delighted to discover common folks were called such because they actually possessed the common sense most nobles lacked. He’d even told them as much!
Now, soldiers appeared to be looking forward to his visits and would smile and greet him in a friendly manner whenever they crossed paths – still respectfully using his title, of course, but with a warmth and easiness that managed to put Radovid much more at ease.
He'd come to accept that “King” and “Your Highness” could mean “protector” and “provider”, if that was how you chose to treat your people. He still couldn’t help but feel like a bit like a fraud, though - like they’d deserved so much better than a scared, wayward, once awfully bored “spare” to watch over and lead them; but he was all they had… and turns out they were all he had, too.
He'd managed to make the most of his “least bad option”… and now, he was slowly bleeding out on the battlefield because of it.
Still, even there, he’d gotten lucky, he supposed. He was still breathing, wasn’t he?
The lucky soldier that had managed to find a gap in his armor hadn’t been so lucky when one of Radovid’s own men had promptly decapitated him before he’d gotten the chance to take a second swing and do the same with him!
So, Radovid had done the smart thing – he’d gone down and chosen to play dead; long enough to roughly assess the damage, and choose the next course of action.
From what he could tell, the sword had been deflected by his chainmail and had managed to embed itself deep in his thigh. The shooting pain and tingling he got from attempting to move his leg had quickly told him that getting back on his feet to continue the fight was entirely out of the question.
Meaning that his best shot at survival was essentially playing possum while hoping no one would look at him too closely and decide to absolutely make sure he’d been killed by crushing his skull or slitting his throat or something.
Thus far, he’d been occasionally stepped on and tripped over, though he’d strategically positioned himself to protect his head as much as he could and, the armor was offering him some level of protection – so was the cushioning of the other dead bodies beneath and surrounding him (he was doing his best not to think too much about it!).
But the more it went and the less and less people got in contact with him – the sound of the raging battle growing increasingly distant and, well, less raging…
Radovid was dearly hoping that meant it was dying down and the Nilfgaardian forces were being driven back; not that he was dying and therefore the sound perceived by his brain was being driven away.
He knew he’d eventually have to open his eyes and actively look around to signal for help. He was already starting to feel a bit lightheaded, cold, and nauseous – very worrying signs of blood loss.
If he lost consciousness now, the chances of being rescued would be almost nonexistent. But if he miscalculated and dropped the act while a Nilfgaardian soldier was still close enough to get to him, he’d be sealing his doom.
And yet, Radovid also knew that he was his own worst enemy in that situation. Because he was tired – oh so fucking tired… and there was that tiniest part of him that was genuinely starting to wonder if not being rescued would be such a bad option.
The rush of adrenaline still coursing through his system was doing a pretty good job at numbing most of the pain… With the way he was being nestled against the bodies of other soldiers, he could almost fantasize they were there with him – holding him gently as he fell asleep.
It would be so easy to keep his eyes closed and not bother to try to call for help. He’d go down in history as the Redanian King with the shortest reign – crowned and killed in the middle of a war – but hopefully they’d say he died trying to do the right thing. No matter how foolish or ill-advised it might have been…
A somewhat dignified exit, he supposed. It’s not like anyone would have been given the chance to truly get attached to the idea of him being king, and start missing him anyway.
Sadly Radovid had started getting attached… Not to the throne, but to his troops, to his people, to the idea of doing right by them and stopping schemers like Dijkstra from taking control of the kingdom – advantaging nobility at the expense of the families his soldiers were fighting so hard to protect.
So, despite how easy it would have been to finally rest and stop being scared anymore, Radovid still held on and carefully tried to listen for an opening…
But he feared that he might have done a bit too much of a good job hiding amongst the corpses that even if he did open his eyes and attempt to wave his hand at some of his men right now, they’d have already moved on to another battle area, and would be too busy with keeping themselves alive to notice him back here.
Story of his life – and likely his death – really… No one ever bothering to look, no one ever really seeing –
“RADOVID!”
Radovid froze, wondering if blood loss was supposed to cause such vivid auditory hallucinations.
“Oh gods, Radovid… No-no-no-no-no… Please, come on…”
Radovid didn’t move and didn’t dare breathe as he felt himself being turned on his back – then seemingly gathered into someone’s arms – calloused yet gentle fingers frantically pushing damp sweat and blood-covered hair away from his face.
“Come on, you’re okay… you’re okay… Please be okay… Just open your eyes…”
No. No. Radovid most definitely wasn’t okay and he didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t get it. He absolutely didn’t get it!
The fact that the next sound he heard was a choked-up sob and a half-whined half-spoken “Please…” did nothing to help clear the confusion!
Neither did the way his upper body was suddenly lifted off the ground and thrown against the other man’s chest like a bloody rag doll, head cradled against his shoulder, or the way he was now weeping against his neck!
Did Nilfgaard enjoy torturing their enemies so much before killing them that they’d send a fucking doppler to check if he was truly dead?
Or was he so close to death that his brain would have chosen to conjure up his wildest and most unlikely fantasy to make it easier?
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
Except fantasy or not, even through his armor, he could feel the way that Jaskier was shaking and almost suffocating against his neck.
It was too much…. It was all too fucking much!
Against his better judgment, Radovid weakly wrapped his arms around him and let out a sob of his own.
Maybe he shouldn’t have, because next thing he knew Jaskier gasped, froze and pulled back – lying him in his arms and frantically started checking up on him again.
“Radovid?!”
But Radovid wasn’t answering, only whimpering harder, tears mixing with the blood, sweat and dirt on his cheeks.
“Come on, love. Open your eyes…”
That only made him scrunch up his eyelids tighter together, while stubbornly shaking his head “no”.
Jaskier was at a loss! At least, Radovid was clearly alive, but he was being really stubborn about this! Whatever this was? Oh!
“Is there something wrong with your eyes?” Jaskier asked, gently touching the area of his face surrounding them to see if any of the blood seemed to be coming from them, or they might have been filled with dirt, or…
But Radovid only shook his head “no” again.
This was driving Jaskier absolutely insane!
“Then what is it?!” he asked, sounding near hysterics, mentally kicking himself over the slight wince his sharper tone earned him.
“It’s such a lovely dream…” Radovid helplessly whined.
Oh. Oh gods… Jaskier was immediately brought back to Aretuza – to the frightened prince weeping over his dead guards, looking beyond confused when he’d offered to help him find a way to safety.
He'd been expecting Jaskier to abandon him to die there back then, what reason would he have to expect, much less believe, Jaskier would be trying to save his life now?
“Look, people do and say really stupid things when they think they’re trapped in a corner, and last time you and I saw each other, I think it’s fair to say we were both standing on a very tight ledge…”
He noticed the way Radovid’s face relaxed ever so slightly. Good, that was good.
He found just enough courage to lean forward to gently nudge Radovid’s nose with his own.
Pegasus often nose bumped his nose against him like that when he sensed Jaskier was sad, or nervous, or angry… the gesture both a peace offering and offer of comfort. He wasn’t sure that’d work with a stubborn overwhelmed king, but it was worth a shot.
“And right now, I just need you to know that I’m sorry, and I’m not willing to let you die alone, or at all – so, if you could please open your fucking eyes I would – ”
And just like that, the brightest and most disarming pair of clear grey eyes in the whole godsdamned Continent was finally staring back at him. There was a heartbreaking hint of apprehension in them – and Jaskier absolutely loathed that he was the one that had put it there – but still a touch of tentative hope, and trust.
And Radovid didn’t miss the way Jaskier let out a shaky sigh of relief, nor the amount of concern, sadness and tenderness in his own impossibly blue ones. It stirred a very protective instinct in him.
“It’s not safe. You shouldn’t be out here.” Radovid heard himself say – his brain apparently having chosen to air his thoughts out loud.
“It’s not – ?” Jaskier blinked back at him stupidly. Was he for real? “What the hell, Radovid?! How did you even manage to fit into heavy armor without toppling over?”.
When he’d suggested Radovid be a king and do what kings do; throwing himself mind and fucking body into full blown warfare hadn’t quite been what Jaskier had had in mind! He’d suspected he had what he took to be a good strategist, not launch himself claws and teeth out at Nilfgaard from the bloody front lines! (Though he knew, from experience of course, that Radovid was physically much stronger and could move much faster than you’d expect! What with the way he’d managed to unexpectedly lift him up and slam him onto –)
“Well, apparently, I did topple over. Took a sword to the thigh for it to happen, too, but – ”
“The thigh, as in the fleshy leg part with the pretty big arteries?”
“Yeah, and I’ve been feeling a bit nauseated for a while now, thought it might be worth mentioning…”
Jaskier was suddenly looking like he wanted to throttle him.
“You know, it’s not too late to pretend you didn’t see me and just let me die,” Radovid couldn’t resist smugly adding, the blood loss apparently making him feel a bit braver.
“Oh no, if you die I’m going to be the one to kill you! Not letting some stupid flesh wound do it for me,” Jaskier shot back, nevertheless with a real hint of urgency in his voice. “I’m guessing if you were able to stand and walk, you’d have gone back on your feet and tried stupidly carrying the fight until you passed out by now?” he very accurately guessed. Still, Radovid nodded for confirmation.
Jaskier’s gaze quickly scanned the battlefield. Thankfully, the fight truly was winding down – and the Redanian forces were winning, no less. Meaning he could afford to lower his guard long enough to…
“What are you doing?”
“Removing your armor. If I can use my scarf to make a garrote on your leg and stop the bleeding first, it should buy me enough time to take the heavier pieces of it off, and carry you back to camp myself.”
This seemed like a rather sound plan, all things considered. Much faster and likely safer than trying to gain the attention of the right kind of people while avoiding the wrong kind of people, then hoping one of them would so happen to be particularly buff, able, and available to carry him in full body armor back to camp.
“Might help if you kept talking so I know you haven’t passed out on me yet,” Jaskier suggested, working rather impressively fast at undoing those straps and buckles. Probably wasn’t the first time he’d been helping someone out of their armor, Radovid realized with a small pang of – well, not exactly jealousy, but maybe the tiniest bit of envy?
Must be nice to have an actual partner – someone that actually chose to care and be there for you, rather than do things for you just because they saw you as powerful, and felt like it was their duty or….
“Radovid?”
Oh! Right. Talk. Right… Hmm…
“How’s Geralt?” Really, of all the things he could have thought to ask…
“You’re supposed to be doing the talking, not be prompting me to talk,” Jaskier pointed out, not unkindly.
“What is there really for me to talk about? Unless you’re into battle plans, war and politics…” Radovid sighed.
“I’m currently into taking you out of your armor while keeping you awake,” Jaskier retorted, making Radovid snort.
“Not quite the context in which I’d have fantasized about you saying that…”
“You and me both,” Jaskier answered truthfully, implying that Radovid might still have been part of his own fantasies – something the king had a very hard time wrapping his head around.
“I still don’t understand why you’re here…”
“I promise I’ll give you all the answers I can offer once I know you're safe and rested!”
Radovid was tempted to answer he’d have to wait a very long time for any answers then, as his life hadn’t exactly been safe, and he’d sure had little to no time to rest lately. Still, he understood that Jaskier likely meant safer and more rested than he was now.
“What about Ciri? From what I’ve been told, she hasn’t been reunited with her father yet.” He knew Jaskier had said he should be doing the talking – and now may not be the time for deeper discussions that might require some more significant attention – but he still couldn’t help being concerned.
Helping Geralt find Ciri had been all that had mattered to Jaskier ever since the whole mess at Thanedd, so if Jaskier was here…
“We know where she is, but rescuing her is likely going to take a lot of fighting, and Geralt has a tiny company of well-trained warriors to help him out.”
Radovid let out a small pained grunt as Jaskier tightened the scarf around his leg. “Sorry,” Jaskier apologized, now working on getting the rest of his armor off.
“In case this doesn’t work, you know it’s not your fault, right?” Radovid asked softly.
“I know… or, at least, that’s what Geralt keeps telling me, too. That I’m still pretty spry and good at dodging, but there’s no point in me being an idiot and attempting to throw myself at the likes of Vilgefortz when there are other ways I can help to – ”
“No. I mean yes, obviously! You going against Vilgefortz sounds ill-advised, I just – ” he sighed, there really was no easy way to say this. “I meant if this doesn’t work. ‘cause I’m pretty sure I might pass out on you as soon as you attempt to pick me up…” there was, after all, a pretty big difference between how easy it was for blood to reach his brain while lying down, and while being thrown over and carried around on someone’s shoulders.
“…and though I’m not planning on not waking up from that impromptu nap, should anything go south…” Although Jaskier seemed to have successfully staunched the bleeding, at least, so many things might still happen between where they were and the army camp…
“Oh no! I’ll have you know that if you don’t make it out of this alive that’s entirely going to be my fault, and I’ll never forgive myself, and I will live an utterly miserable and very unhappy and unfulfilling life for the rest of my days, and it’s completely going to be on you!” Jaskier retorted with that stubborn and inflexible edge in his voice.
“Well, I guess that means I’ll never rest in peace over the anguish my death will have caused you, and will be forced to haunt you for the rest of that miserable, unhappy, and unfulfilling life then,” Radovid shot back, choosing to humor him.
Even in the relative darkness, he could plainly see the way Jaskier was trying to cope with the stress of the situation through barely appropriate humor and deflection.
“That’s the plan!” Jaskier answered, as another piece of armor was promptly discarded. “Besides, I’m a bard, darling. Those are the types of tragic stories I live for…”
“Well, I’ll try my best not to make it a tragic story I died for.” That was the one promise he could afford to make, at the very least.
“Worst case scenario, I happen to know the location of a lovely mausoleum – once owned by a wraith that attempted to drag me to Hell, no less – that's now vacant.”
Wraiths were spirits filled with regret and sorrow that could no longer be reached nor reasoned with by the living, weren’t they? “You tried to help a wraith?”
Jaskier let out a derisive laugh. Of course Radovid would assume he’d be that noble! Even after everything, he still saw the best in him. “No, more very stupidly read the inscription on their tomb that was a literal invitation for them to drag me to ‘fiery Hell’, and they took it!”
“You still helped them, though,” Radovid argued softly.
“What do you mean?”
“You said it’s now vacant. If the wraith’s gone, I assume they’re no longer alone, suffering, nor desperately trying to cling to people to share their own personal Hell with.” At that, Jaskier briefly had to pause from his task to look at him.
Radovid’s gaze held something akin to regret, and an apology. A desire for understanding too, perhaps. He wished they had more time to talk – more time for him to apologize and seek Radovid’s understanding, too.
Words between them – spoken in the middle of various impossible crisis – had been such sources of misunderstandings lately, that he hardly trusted them now.
Keep your words on ice. Your gaze lights the fire…
He should probably have listened to his own song back then.
He did listen to it now, leaning in to use his lips to kiss Radovid’s forehead instead of risking saying anything that could be misinterpreted. He took a moment to rest his forehead against his then, sliding his hand into Radovid’s and giving it a gentle squeeze while sharing a breath – his own wordless way of letting him know whatever happened, right now, they were together.
To his overwhelming relief Radovid, pressed his hand back, tightening the connection between them from his own end.
When he lifted his head, he could see how Radovid was struggling to keep his focus.
“I’ve got you, alright? Just try not to completely let go,” Jaskier finally allowed himself to say, tenderly cupping his cheek. He saw the small smile and nod Radovid gave him, before the exhaustion and blood loss finally caught up with him and his eyes drifted close, the grip on Jaskier’s hand loosening.
Jaskier made short work of removing the last armor piece before picking him up in a ‘witcher carry style’ and making his way towards the Redanian army camp.
Thankfully, the very second the men guarding the camp recognized who he was carrying, they wasted no time calling for the royal surgeon and healers and directly guided him towards the royal tent.
As he exited the tent to give them space to work, one of Radovid’s generals – that Jaskier assumed was the king’s second in command and in charge to keeping the whole camp organized and running in his absence, came to introduce himself and assess the situation.
While there was an air of authority and slight suspicion around him, there also was a healthy dose of benevolence. This was a man concerned for his king and the safety of his camp and his people; not some paranoid power-hungry lunatic seeing enemies everywhere.
He actually asked for Jaskier to come sit with him in the war meeting tent adjacent to Radovid’s, and requested for some ale, a warm meal, and a blanket to be brought to him.
Jaskier jokingly said something about the accommodations being much nicer than the last time he’d been held captive in a Redanian army camp – and the damn general immediately picked up on the nervous and concerned edge of his tone, ignored his comment, and instead said something about how the physicians working on Radovid’s injuries were some of the best in the kingdom, and that Jaskier would be allowed back in as soon as they confirmed the king’s condition was stable.
This baffled Jaskier for a moment, a reaction that made the general – named Norbert – chuckle, of all things.
He pointed out that, as far as he knew, bards scouring battlefields in search of wounded monarchs to rescue – after having been told they were out there leading their armies – was far from common occurrence.
So, whether Jaskier sought some personal favor from King Radovid, or was here because he had something valuable to offer, it was clear that he needed him very much not dead at the moment. Therefore, he was neither considered a prisoner, nor an active security threat.
And besides, Radovid’s affections for a certain bard were hardly a secret. Although no one truly knew what had happened between them – or why King Radovid had gone from this seemingly lovesick drunk fool that would rather play the mandolin in war meetings than make any decision, to an actually capable and highly intelligent army leader - he’d still requested that his intelligence services continue to keep an eye out on Geralt of Rivia’s progress on finding his daughter.
But everyone knew that what their king had meant was to let him know if the White Wolf’s bard was in trouble.
The general then started talking about how much things had positively changed ever since King Radovid had gotten rid of Dijkstra and gotten actively involved – the way he’d been able to inspire his troops to give their best, made them feel seen and valued, how incredibly smart and strategic he was, yet did everything he could to avoid needlessly sacrificing lives to achieve victory.
He only wished the king smiled more, and didn’t look so tired, sad and haunted most of the time.
“You like him,” Jaskier finally said, fully realizing what General Norbert was doing.
“He is a good man, and a smart and fair leader,” Norbert acknowledged. “I’ve served under King Vizimir. Can’t imagine what it must have been like growing up in that overbearing man’s shadow, only to suddenly have the weight of the Continent thrust upon your shoulders in the middle of a war.”
“Can’t imagine…” Jaskier reflected back quietly, only to have the general give him a lopsided, all-too-knowing smile.
“Oh, I think you can. I think it might even have something to do with your presence here.”
Jaskier froze, feeling a bit more exposed than he’d typically be comfortable with. Thankfully, the general genuinely didn’t project any maliciousness. If anything, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort knowing that Radovid had had some good people watching out for him over the last few months.
Here he was, talking about Radovid with someone that actually seemed to be able to see him – or parts of him, at least – and had found himself caring about the once lost and wayward prince behind the kingly façade.
He reminded him of Geralt a bit when he spoke about Ciri…. Come to think of it, General Norbert looked like he’d be just old enough to be Radovid’s father. A kindly officer with a protective edge that bordered on being paternal. Reasonable and willing to forgive, yet with the implied warning that should you attempt to purposefully bring any harm to those he wished to protect, he’d be there to seriously and very personally fuck you up – and not in the ‘fun way’.
Someone that was trying to help Jaskier himself understand that Radovid was human, first and foremost, and whatever might have caused that painful rift between them, he was still someone fundamentally worth fighting for - regardless of whether Jaskier was the right person to fight for him.
“Either way, should he manage to survive this war, I believe he might be our best hope of helping Redania recover from it,” he stated sincerely. “The hardest part will be convincing him of that.”
Yeah, and Jaskier likely hadn’t helped in the matter... He tried to forgive himself by believing that, under normal circumstances, he’d have been a bit better at perspective taking and measured the potential long-term impact of his words.
Radovid might’ve held the title of Crown Prince when they’d met, the circumstances of his upbringing had been vastly different from Ciri’s.
Cirilla of Cintra had been raised the heir of Queen Calanthe, the Lioness of Cintra, fully expected to succeed her grandmother when the time came.
Radovid of Redania had been raised the useless spare to a similarly aged brother expected to rule until illness or old aged finally claimed him, given how he rarely left his castle.
Realistically, it would have been unfair to expect him to instantly adapt to becoming king, and be comfortable wielding that level of power and influence, even under the best circumstances.
And given everything Jaskier had since learned regarding the circumstances of his coronation, it was a miracle that he’d managed to step into that role – alone – regardless of how terrifying things must have been for him.
Radovid had never been given the chance to find out nor express who he truly was – suffocated by his brother’s shadow and needing to keep himself alive amongst violent court intrigues – and Jaskier had told him he was nothing but an empty lie.
He'd been paralyzed by fear and uncertainty while desperately clinging to his old survival strategies – as he’d gone right from being a useless spare to suddenly being seen and treated as the most powerful man in the North – and he’d called him weak at his core.
Radovid was neither empty, nor a lie, nor weak… and he’d deserved better than having the very first person he’d ever tentatively allowed himself to be vulnerable and honest with essentially punish him for having dared show him such vulnerability and sincerity.
But Jaskier wasn’t the only person in the world Radovid could trust anymore, was he? And if others, besides himself, had been able to see it… If others had dared to love him and take responsibility for him…
He waited for his meal to arrive, a reasonable excuse that would help justify the silence, got his notepad out, and scribbled something on it, sliding it towards General Norbert with another document, while praying to all the gods out there he was making the right decision.
It was, after all, not only his own life he was gambling with, but Radovid’s as well.
To his credit, the general kept perfectly quiet while various emotions crossed his features – curiosity, shock, anger, then determination with that touch of distinctive fatherly protectiveness he'd picked on earlier.
He borrowed the notepad from him to write something of his own on it.
Yes, I do recognize the handwriting. Finish your meal, then we’ll take care of it. Until each of them have been apprehended and accounted for, you are not to leave my sight. Am I clear?
Jaskier nodded, the fragile hope in his heart shining just a tad brighter. Maybe Radovid would truly be okay after all.