Chapter Text
The carriage rocked in a way that turned Jaskier’s stomach or maybe that was his nerves. He hated auctions. The peasants came to stare and mock while the bidders were cruel and judgmental. He didn’t know what else he should expect from an auction. People came to buy people. It was never intended to be fun… well at least if you were on his side of the purchase. He was sure that the other side had a lot of fun. They seemed to anyway.
The carriage suddenly jolted strongly, harshly enough to make him jump out of his seat, causing his sore bottom to hit the rough, splintered wooden seat, pain exploded up his spine, and his chains to chafe painfully around his wrist and ankles. He let out a quiet groan which was thankfully covered up by the sound of the cart wheels rolling over the street cobbles.
His eyes flicked around the floor of the cart, seeing five other pairs of bare feet, tied together with a length of chain barely long enough to walk, belonging to five other miserable souls who would be sold today. He was too much of a coward to look up and into their faces, he knew the broken expression he would see lacing their features, and he knew his own face would mirror their pain. With not much else to do he closed his eyes and tried to disappear into the safe space in his mine, where his fingers moved effortlessly over the strings of a lute and he was surrounded by parchment covered in scribbles of lyrics and musical notation.
But it seemed he was barred from going there right now, with anxiety sending his heart into over drive and sheening his brow with dirty sweat. The only music he could hear in his ears was the same music he could always hear when he was near an auction, that god-awful tune that haunts him in his moments of his worst anxiety, and he remembered it perfectly. It was the tune playing at the feast in the great hall of the Lettenhove estate when he presented as an omega. The tune would repeat torturously in his mind, taunting him with the memory of his life before his father had shackled him and sold him for a silver coin. It would repeat and repat, getting faster until his anxiety got the better of him and all he could hear was the ringing of white noise.
The cart stopped. The music stopped. The ringing started and the doors of the cart were pulled open. Sun shone in and made Jaskier squint, it was disorientating, especially when one of the slavers grabbed the chain linking his hands together and pulled him unceremoniously out of the cart. He wasn’t prepared and he couldn’t find his footing, making him fall into the mud churned thoroughly into mush by the villagers and horses. He didn’t hear the insults he knew were shouted at him over the white noise before he received a quick kick to ribs, he scrambled to his feet and clutched at his ribs as the other omega slaves were pulled out of the back of the cart.
They were taken behind the shoddily crafted stage, that looked like it may fall apart if the wind blew the wrong way and all six of them were lined up, shivering with mud squelching between their toes. He stood second in line and he had been at enough auctions to know what was going to happen next, the ringing in his ears became all encapsulating as the slaver took a dagger out of the sheath on his belt and walked up to the first slave in line, drawing the knife straight up the middle of the smock they were all given to wear, sending the ripped piece of fabric falling to the ground leaving the female omega in front of him as naked as the day she was born. He stared between her pale and bony shoulder blades, tense with anxiety and cold, but lowered his eyes as the slaver stood before him and repeated the same action.
Jaskier’s smock, his only protection from the elements, fell in tatters into the mud at his feet baring him to world. He tried to not focus on how he must look; his flaccid cock hanging between his too thin thighs, ribs protruding from his skin, one was obviously cracked from a few weeks ago, and his collar bone that had been broken a few years ago that had never healed properly. His skin that was covered in scars and burns, constantly painted with bruises of all colours under the coat of dirt that he never seemed able to rid his body of. He kept his head lowered but his eyes open, too scared that if he closed them he would be expected to walk and not notice, so he trained his eyes on the omega’s heels who stood in front of him and despite himself his mind wandered to the place of hope that he had tried to destroy years ago – and he wondered if his new owner would allow him clothes. He didn’t want to repeat that one over-zealous owner who never let him wear anything other than a cock cage, chastity belt or nipple clamps. If he was allowed more than that he would be grateful, but his useless thoughts of hope were dragged away from him when the omega in front of him was grabbed by her ragged blonde hair, that he was sure would be lovely if she was allowed to wash it, and dragged up the steps onto the stage.
Suddenly the ringing stopped and he felt like he could hear everything. The crowd cheering, the clink of chains from his own trembling, the slaver shouting out her price before haggling with the auctioneers. It didn’t take long these things typically didn’t. Soon she was dragged back down the stairs and led away by a slaver to be taken to her new owner.
The slaver soon returned and mercilessly grabbed the chain binding Jaskier’s hands together and pulled harshly, all but dragging him behind him and up the stairs. When they reached the stage he felt the wind whipping his body and he tried his best to repress a shiver but wasn’t totally sure he was successful. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder as he was pushed roughly to his knees. He allowed his head to drop down, knowing the position that was expected from him. He heard gasps take over the crowd as they always did, male omegas were rare. Despite his ruined state he knew he was valuable – which was why when he had tried to run they spared nothing to drag him back into their bonds. He wouldn’t ever try that again… he never wanted to repeat what had been done to him.
“Right ladies and gentlemen!” The auctioneer barked loudly getting their attention, “as you can see we have a male omega. Little scamp has had nine previous owners,” he said cheerfully, but Jaskier could hear the displeasure under his façade, “but don’t be put off! His tenth owner is getting a discount! And it means he has had plenty experience providing for his owner’s…. needs.” He left a purposeful pause before chuckling cruelly, and honestly Jaskier had never understood the stupid sadistic puns that slavers and owners came out with. One of his owners had always been full of euphemisms thinking he was original and funny, but it was so crude and unclever he had always failed to see the point. But it wasn’t his place to common on his owners poetic abilities, it was his place to be bedded in whatever manner pleased them.
“Shall we start the bidding at 20 silver!” Jaskier almost let out a chuckle, that was the same price he always started with, forget a discount, but he didn’t care how much he ultimately went for. He always sold for around 50 silver so he almost zoned out as he heard male and female betas and alphas alike shout their price.
“120 silver.” A gruff voiced announced. It wasn’t the usual desperate shouting that he was used to at auctions, it was completely controlled and the amount sent to crowed into silence. He couldn’t help but raise his own head in shock at the amount as he tried to subtly scan the crown with his eyes and find the owner of the voice.
“120 silver, sir Witcher?” The auctioneer could barely contain his surprise and excitement, Jaskier followed the staring eyes of the crowd to a man who stood imposingly to side of the crowd, who nodded his head, his white hair framing his face. Jaskier felt his heart stop and his mouth dry in a moment.
Witcher… white hair… he may be a slave but he heard stories, he knew of The Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf. It felt like time slowed down and sped up all at once as the auctioneer slapped his table and announced gleefully;
“Sold to the Witcher for 120 silver!”
The world came crashing back to him at normal speed violently as the slaver soon returned to his side and gripped his arm hard enough to leave bruises and pulled him to his feet but he was shaking so hard he couldn’t find his footing and he feel back to the floor.
“Bitch.” He heard the slaver mutter as he grabbed him under both of his arms and dragged him unceremoniously across the stage to the stairs at the back where he was thrown down the few steps, landing on his shoulder painfully. “The Witcher.” He said to the other slaver who would take him to his new owner, before grabbing the next slave in line and dragging her up onto the stage.
The transport slaver made his way over to where Jaskier was staggering to his feet shakily.
“It’s a shame really,” the slaver said to him, “I’m going to miss you, but the thought of you being speared on a Witcher’s cock for the next few months is enough to wank off to.’ He laughed, and Jaskier saw red. This man had assaulted him in so many ways and the idea of him still getting pleasure from his pain even when he wasn’t around to cause it himself made his stomach churn with anger and before he could think better of his actions he spat in the slaver’s face. He didn’t own him any more and he would be damned if he let him get away with this last humiliation without a little bit of fight. “You little shit!” The slaver ground out between clenched teeth as he wiped the spit from his face. He regarded Jaskier for a moment before backhanding him hard enough to send him back to the floor, making Jaskier cry out in pain, reaching up to cup his smarting jaw as best he could shackled.. “A parting gift from you to me.”
“Hey!” He heard an angry shout from a few paces away, and he saw a pair of boots heading towards him quickly. “Away!” The voice demanded.
“Yes, sir Witcher.” The slaver responded taking a few steps away from Jaskier, his tone respectful enough but he could hear the smirk in his voice. “I do apologise for touching your property but he was in need of some last minute correction and punishment.”
The boots had landed in front of where Jaskier was huddled on the ground and didn’t dare move to stand, he didn’t know what his new master wanted from him and he wasn’t going to presume anything. He knew Witchers were stronger than average folk and he wasn’t in a hurry to incur his wrath anytime soon. But the Witcher’s next words sent a chill down his spine;
“I will decided what needs to be corrected and I will punish him how I see fit, now I suggest you move away.” The words weren’t shouted but they were said with enough threat that Jaskier flinched into the ground and the slaver moved away, leaving him alone with his new owner.