Chapter Text
It turns out that everyone agreeing to actually take on a king leads to a flurry of preparations. Because it is almost winter, they decide to take some time to actually prepare. And in Jaskier’s humble opinion, all that preparation means that he lacked the cuddles with Geralt (and Eskel) that he had gotten the previous winter. In the end, they decide on a siege just at the waning of winter; since Henselt doesn’t know to expect him, he will be in Ard Carraigh still getting fat from his (likely ill-gained) wealth.
By the time the snow keeping them isolated in the mountains begins melting, they have built up a stock of potions, bombs, and they have repaired all their armour and weapons, and it is time to set out.
They travel as one. They are not quite organised like any marching army Jaskier has ever seen or studied, but they must still look like one as even though they avoid villages and towns the people who see them on their way avoid them. Or, well, they avoid all villages bar one. It is just Jaskier and Geralt (and perhaps one of the cat witchers that Geralt has assigned to keep a hidden eye on the bard) that wander into the town they met Zofia nearly a year and a half prior, having left the rest of the force behind them. It is the evening, and they find her already collapsed on a tavern table. Geralt waits to the side as Jaskier goes to wake her up as gently as he can. He lays a hand on her forearm as softly as he can, though she isn’t as gone to the world as she appeared because with her warrior’s speed, she grasps Jaskier’s wrist tightly, so tightly that he may even bruise from it. Geralt moves to react, but Jaskier mentions for him to wait.
“Zofia. It’s Jaskier, do you remember me?”
Her eyes are slightly bleary, but her grip loosens with her recognition.
“The bard.” Her speech is slightly slurred, but not as much as Jaskier feared it would be from the way they’d found her.
“Yes. Do you mind having a discussion outside? We want to talk about something you may be interested in.”
She follows, only staggering a little, which is surprising given how much Jaskier suspects she’s had to drink.
“You’re lucky,” she slurs out, “if you were looking for me, I plan to be gone from here from the morrow, and to never come back. I came back to see if perhaps… well it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t seem that any of them cared and I shan’t be spending the winter with them again.”
There’s not a lot Jaskier can say to that, necessarily, no comfort for him to bring. It’s an awful thing for one’s family to suggest they don’t care about them, a feeling he’s no stranger to, and he knows no platitudes are going to make that ok.
Instead, it is Geralt that speaks, uncharacteristically, “we’re going to kill the King.” There is no softening of the situation from him, though perhaps, Jaskier thinks, for a warrior like Zofia, in the state that she is in, no softening is necessary.
A light that was missing from Zofia’s eyes suddenly appeared. It had probably been extinguished prior to their meeting as neither of them had seen it before, and it might not be the one that was there prior as this one was certainly borne of vengeance and the possibility of exerting it where she hadn’t thought it would be possible before, but there is life back in her eyes.
“Good.” It is said viciously, like a hissing of a snake.
This time it is Jaskier that speaks, “would you like to come with us?”
“I don’t see what help I could bring, and a third person will probably limit the ability to be sneaky about this, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier knows that there is amusement in Geralt’s hum, but Zofia doesn’t have the ability to decipher it so she just looks on in confusion. Jaskier chuckles a bit, and offers a clarification that clarifies very little, “We’re not planning on doing this sneakily, to be perfectly honest with you.”
After that, mostly because he wants to see her reaction, he doesn’t answer her follow up questions, and Zofia is slightly too sloshed to actually follow the line of questioning even if she wanted to.
There is a moment of shock when Aiden jumps out of the trees at the edge of the village, when they reach the edge of the forest before the hill that hides their camp. Jaskier had suspected that he was there, Geralt had only agreed that he could come if he had a guard. Jaskier considers it a bit of an overreaction, but well, if that’s the only way he’s still going to take it. Zofia, however, hadn’t known of his presence and jolts herself out of her alcohol induced but light sleep on her horse to draw her short sword and point it at him.
“He’s with us. In fact, let’s get off our horses now. We’re almost there, just beyond the hill, and I suspect that he hasn’t taken a horse because he must have run after us to sneak after us.” The last part is directed at Aiden, who doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.
He simply responds, “someone has to watch you, songbird. White Wolf’s order.”
Jaskier glances at Geralt to see that he’s gotten off Roach and is leading her by her reins with a slight but far too smug smirk.
Zofia only has the time to question who the Cat witcher and get a response before they reach the top of the hill and the follow up question of why he is there is silenced by the sight of almost a hundred tents haphazardly set up at the foot of the hill.
“As I said, we’re not so much aiming for subtlety for this particular hunt.”
Zofia seems too surprised to actually be able to respond immediately. She just looks at Geralt, then at Aiden who is wearing a different medallion.
“But that’s got to be…”
“All of them,” Jaskier completes the sentence for her when she seems to be unable to finish it. “Or at least as far as we can figure. Well, actually, some of them stayed back to take care of a few things. But just about all of them, yes.”
“Need more than a few witchers to take on a King.” Aiden adds cheerfully, “and when that good-hearted fool asked us if we thought that some humans can also be monstrous, we thought he was making some sense, so…”
Jaskier chuckles softly at Geralt’s look of consternation, “come, Zofia, let's see if we can find a place for you. Somewhere you can sleep off your drink.”
When they make it down into the camp, a large bald witcher comes up to them. “Are we adopting humans now, bard?”
“Auckes, this is Zofia. The woman who brought the issue to our attention. It seems you have volunteered to find her a place to situate herself, if that’s alright with you, Zofia.” Jaskier gives this order with a bit more snark (and actually ordering) than he really ought, however Auckes is one of the Vipers that challenged Geralt with Letho, so the ire is not entirely misplaced.
“Well, witchers can’t be much different than mercenaries, and I know how to deal with mercenaries if they get too handsy.” Somehow, Zofia manages to make her grin look as pointy as her words, which Jaskier is incredibly impressed by.
“None shall touch you, not unless you ask them.”
Geralt is firm, so firm that the surrounding witchers, those close enough to hear, bow their heads and whisper “White Wolf.” They’d begun doing that this winter whenever Geralt said anything that may be construed as a reasonable order. And sure enough, when Jaskier looks up at his witcher, he has that same look he’d started sporting every time they do it, one remarkably similar to the face of someone who’d sucked a lemon and found it too sour.
“Huh, we’ll see if that’s right then. Well, lead on, Sir Witcher.”
Well, then, perhaps the sucking on a lemon expression is contagious, because Auckes is now sporting it, something which Jaskier finds very amusing.
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They continue moving in the morning, and Jaskier is happy to find that Zofia is mostly recovered from her alcoholic adventures the previous evening, though with a nasty hangover. He thinks he’ll talk to her if he thinks it continues being an issue, however, even when alcohol is brought out in the evenings, he doesn’t see her drink even a drop of it. She’s been more resolved than anything, learning any combat tricks she can from Auckes and any witcher that accepts.
In the end it only takes them 5 more days at a military-like marching pace to reach the gates of the city. By the time they make it there, the Kaedweni capitol had figured out they were coming and locked the gates.
As they settle under the walls of the city, far enough that no projectiles can reach them, the witchers hear the Kaedwani soldiers on top of the walls ridicule them for their lack of proper siege equipment. Of course, there’s a plan, but Henselt doesn’t know to fear it yet.