Chapter Text
It was the storm that had done him in.
Flying in the rain was so much harder than any other time, the heavy winds of the storm making it harder to control his path, and the thunder was so loud this close to it, dodging between lightning strikes as he soared through the air till a stray bolt had sent him crashing into the forest below. Tree limbs snapped beneath his weight as he crashed to the ground, rain pelting his scales as he shook.
Alive.
He was still alive.
The lightning still crackled through his veins as he tried to push himself up, limbs weak and uncoordinated as he stumbled to his feet.
“Up ahead!” a voice called. “I saw it crash, I know I did!”
Not good.
For a moment, he tried to shift, tried to reclaim his human form and disguise himself once again, but it was no good. The lightning had left him weak, shaking as he tried to straighten out his wings with a hiss.
Something had snapped as he’d fallen, he was sure of it, but everything hurt and it was too hard to try and pull himself together, let alone attempt chaos.
Before he could do more than push himself up onto all four legs, he found himself surrounded by a group of men, maybe ten in total. Villagers from a local town, perhaps? He didn’t want to fight them, or to scare them.
Maybe… maybe if he showed he wasn’t a threat?
He tried to back up, keeping his head low to the ground, trying to show that he wasn’t going to cause any problems, but the humans just grinned.
“It’s hurt,” the man in charge chuckled, and Jaskier remembered exactly why he didn’t like humans. “Come on boys, I think a dragon would be an excellent addition to our collection, don’t you?”
Collection?
Bad- very bad-
Jaskier tried to take to the sky again, but his wing sparked with agony as he tried to move it, and the men didn’t give him a second chance.
The men tossed metal chains over his neck and back, keeping him downed as he thrashed, trying to roar at them only for the fire from his mouth to sizzle, and die, and he realized quite suddenly that there had to be dimeritium in the chains.
Fuck.
He thrashed, the rain pelting harder on him as the men closed in, one of them landing a blow to his ears as he tried to pull back, the chains keeping him trapped.
No, no no no!
Thick arms wrapped around his snout, keeping his mouth shut as someone else wrapped more chains around his snout, effectively muzzling him, and desperation could only carry him so far when he was already half broken from the storm, and his earlier flight.
“You’re gonna be fun,” the man in charge commented, before his hand glowed, and Jaskier could do nothing but pass out.
“Easy,” a rough voice spoke, calloused hand resting against his head. “Easy there. I know you understand me. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Jaskier opened his eyes, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, only really catching white hair before he hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut again.
“You’re banged up. I can take a look if you let me, but you need to give me your word you won’t bite me for it.”
He tried to open his eyes again, taking in the cramped space they were in.
It was underground, at least the lack of natural light suggested that. A fire burned in a torch nearby, the only light to see by. It smelled, too. He could make out the scents of all sorts of creatures, from chorts to wyverns to a fucking bruxa.
But he could also smell the man in front of him.
Witcher.
He glanced at the man, frowning.
He smelled like a Witcher… but he didn’t really look like one. Witchers had swords, after all. But this man had no weapons, or armor. He wore a black shirt, and pants, and his leg-
Was chained, to the other side of the wall.
Glancing back at himself, Jaskier found that he was also chained, and a quick tug at his magic revealed it was dimeritium.
No magic from him for a while.
“…I… don’t know what dragons can do,” the Witcher began cautiously from where he knelt next to Jaskier, “but I’d imagine the dimeritium’s not helping anything.”
Jaskier huffed, but after a moment he nodded.
The Witcher accurately guessed that this was permission to continue, and he moved carefully around Jaskier, stretching where he had to, and taking a look at Jaskier’s mangled wings.
Jaskier did his best to stay still as the Witcher worked silently, only really letting out small whimpers and gasps as the pain grew worse, and the Witcher always seemed to move gentler whenever he did.
How had he ended up here? Where was here? And what did these men want from him?
A ‘collection’ they’d said…
Chort. Bruxa. Wyvern.
Witcher.
Dragon.
Oh.
A collection of monsters.
Of course.
He whined as the bone in his wing slid back into place, but then the Witcher was stepping quickly back, keeping his hands perfectly visible. “I'm done,” he insisted. “I’m done. You’re as patched as I can get you.”
He nodded, shifting slightly as the Witcher returned to his own side of the dungeon, where Jaskier wouldn’t be able to reach.
Interesting.
Their chains were long enough to meet in the middle, but they were chained on either side of the giant cell, so that if they stayed on their own side, neither could reach the other.
Were their captors running out of room? Or was there something more sinister at work here?
He huffed, and the Witcher tilted his head. “…You have a human form, don’t you?” he asked, and Jaskier nodded. “Can you shift into it?”
He did his best to lift one leg, the cuffs clinking as he did so, and the Witcher winced.
“Right.”
Jaskier tilted his head, then whined, and the Witcher frowned. “I… don’t know what you’re trying to say,” he admitted, and Jaskier sighed, but looked around.
There wasn’t much to work with, but the Witcher had to know more than he did, but he had no way to ask his questions-
Though. The rest of the cell might be made of stone, but the floor wasn’t.
He brought one paw forward, extending his claw and scratching into the dirt of the floor, and the Witcher stepped closer.
He had to keep it simple, he was still in agony, but he needed answers.
First of all-
Name
The Witcher blinked. “…Geralt,” he answered. “What about you?”
Jaskier.
“Jaskier. I wish we could have met under different circumstances. I’ve never met a blue dragon before.”
Most people hadn’t.
He scratched at the dirt again, only managing to get one more question into the dirt before he needed to take a break.
Where
Geralt sighed, shaking his head.
“Somewhere in the mountains near Ebbing. I wish I could tell you more. There’s a colosseum built into the mountain. You probably won’t be expected to fight for a while though.”
Colosseum? Fight?
He tried to vocalize his objections, but Geralt just shook his head. “Easy. You’re the only dragon they’ve captured, so they won’t want you to fight. Not until they have a second dragon. They parade around their more ‘exotic monsters’ for their guests, but they only make you fight if they’re willing to let you die. You likely won’t have to put up with that unless they catch another dragon.”
They shouldn’t have even been able to catch him. Dragons were always careful to never be seen, and never be caught. He’d been taught from hatching that he was to run away from fights, and never engage. There weren’t enough dragons left for him to be getting caught up in any battles.
Hot tears slipped down his face, and Geralt respectfully turned his head to the side, not commenting on the display of weakness.
Jaskier shook, gritting his teeth and willing the tears to stop. They wouldn’t help anything, but right then it didn’t seem like there was anything he could do. No one would come looking for him, and even if they did, no one was going to risk their survival to rescue him. That wasn’t how dragons survived.
A useless dragon he’d turned out to be, just like his father had always said.
After a moment, he felt a cautious hand on his shoulder.
“…They rarely have me fight either,” Geralt offered. “I’m likely to be here a good while longer. You’re not alone.”
The words were stilted, and forced, and Jaskier got the distinct impression the Witcher wasn’t used to offering comfort, but in that moment it was deeply appreciated.
He nudged his snout gently against Geralt’s leg, a silent way of showing just how much those words meant to him, and Geralt knelt down on the floor next to him.
He was right. At least Jaskier wasn’t alone in this.