Try, Please Try For Me

Intertwine Reprise Part 1

"Hey Geralt, what's this?"

"What's what?" Geralt puts down the meat he'd been preparing and turns to Jaskier, where the bard has the box extended in his direction. "Oh that," he says, wiping his hands on a rag, and taking the box from Jaskier. "I forgot about it, it must have fallen to the bottom of my bag."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, probably jewelry or some shit," Geralt replies, undoing the buckle-like fastening on the front of the box. "The Earl gave it to me before the wedding."

Jaskier's blood runs cold.

His father gave it to him?

No.

He didn't. He wouldn't. There's no way he would do that.

Except Jaskier knows he would.

He watches in horror as Geralt opens the box, and pulls out a neatly folded scrap of paper-- because he knows exactly what's on it.

Jaskier wants to scream, but he can't breathe. It feels like someone's hands are around his throat.

No.

No. Please, not again.

He can't go through it again.

Terror grips him like a vice, and Jaskier can do nothing except watch in horrified silence as Geralt unfolds the paper.

For a fraction of a second, the only thing Jaskier can see on his face is confusion. But then that confusion is replaced by recognition and Geralt goes very, very still.

"He used your name."

Geralt's voice is dangerously quiet. But Jaskier doesn't reply. He can't think. He can't breathe. All of a sudden, he's powerless again. The faded wood of the cabin walls morph into white paint and gold moulding, the dusty floor into plush carpet, and Jaskier finds himself back in his father's estate, curled on the floor with his hands over his ears and tears streaming down his face.

"No, please don't," Jaskier whispers, "just leave me alone."

His father towers above him, face curled in displeasure.

Listen to me, Julian. Listen and obey.

Geralt is saying something. He sounds far away, but Jaskier can just make the words, it's as if someone's shoved his head underwater and he can hear their voice vibrate above him.

"He used your name, didn't he?"

Jaskier is shaking. And when he looks up, through blurry eyes, he can see that Geralt is shaking too.

Shaking with rage.

"Please," Jaskier chokes. His voice is hoarse and wavering. "N- no, please."

He should feel ashamed, he's cowering on the floor. But he can't bring himself to do anything else.

Geralt whirls towards him, his amber eyes burning with hot tempered anger-- and for a moment it's the most terrifying thing Jaskier has ever seen.

"Please," he says again. "Please don't."

But Jaskier knows that all the begging in the world won't help him. It never did before.

It's only when Geralt locks eyes with him, and sees Jaskier, crumpled and broken on the floor, that the rage in his face melts away.

"Jask, I--"

Jaskier shakes his head. "No."

Geralt is stepping towards him, the paper still in his hand, and Jaskier scrambles backwards until his back hits the cabin wall.