#part 2 will be posted in about a week | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaptersinprogress · 2 years

Text

where the sky meets the sea | 1

Watching the destined trio make plans after the encounter with the Deathless Mother—plans which don't include him—Jaskier was fully prepared to make his way off another mountain on his own (preferably without any yelling involved). He doesn't expect Yennefer of all people to demand he come with them—offering to both heal his injuries and a place by her side—irrespective of what the other members of the bound family might have to say about that.

Rating: M

Warnings: fire-related injuries, mentioned canonical torture & presumed after-effects

Pairings: Jaskier/Yennefer of Vengerberg

for @jaskierminibang 2022

Jaskier watched from out-of-view as the destined trio made plans amongst themselves out on the battlements of Kaer Morhen. Plans which very much excluded him. Then turned and headed back to the room he'd claimed for himself to finish erasing his presence from the keep.

He could ask Yennefer to portal him back to Oxenfurt or something tomorrow.

There was a knock on the door later that night.

"Come in," he called out.

The door swung open to reveal the witch.

"Yennefer," he said, rising from the bed, concern leaking into his voice. "Is there something you need? Anything I should do?"

She shook her head and stepped through, closing the door behind her.

"It's more what I can do for you, bardling."

Jaskier stared at her, bemused. "What you can do for me?"

She strode right up to him and took his wrist, her grip as gentle as it would be around a fragile chick in her hand.

Jaskier looked down, then away again quickly as the burns on his fingers and palm flared painfully in reminder. He didn't want to see them. If he didn't see them, he could pretend that their condition wasn't as bad as he had the feeling they were.

"Oh bardling…" Yennefer said softly.

His head whipped up to look at her. "Is it that bad?" he asked, horrified.

She didn't reply, only lifted up his other hand to examine it as well.

The back of Jaskier's eyes burned, matching the throbbing he was trying to ignore in his hands.

Yennefer finally broke the deathly silence that filled the room with a sigh.

"Fire magic is forbidden for a reason, Jaskier," she said gently. "The price I paid for burning half of Nilfgaard's army to the ground was the loss of my Chaos, albeit temporarily."

She stroked a thumb over the skin of his wrist. "It won't be easy. And it'll likely be excruciating for you. But I think I can extract the lingering magic, and then heal the actual wounds after."

Jaskier let out a shuddering breath, part in relief and part in fear of what was to come. "Anything... Anything as long as I can play again."

Yennefer looked him in the eye. "I cannot make guarantees, bardling. But I promise you, I will do my best to restore your hands to their former delicate state," she teased.

"It's better than nothing," Jaskier replied with a trembling smile.

She smiled back at him, a genuine one that shyly showed her teeth and made her look even more stunning than he’d ever seen her look before, dishevelled as she still was. And despite all his jealousy, she had always been so very stunning.

"Come," said Yennefer. "We best start as soon as possible. It's never good to let such magics linger longer than necessary."

Jaskier nodded, and the two of them made their way down to the deserted laboratory.

When they arrived, Yennefer immediately began pulling items off the shelves, a purposeful whirlwind of activity. With nothing in particular to do, Jaskier seated himself on a bench in the centre of the space to watch the mage work her magic.

It wasn’t long before the antsy feeling that had long made itself home in the pit of his stomach since the encounter with the fire mage had him finally speaking up.

"Can't you just wave your hand over mine, chant stuff in Elder and fix my hand like you did the witchers?"

Yennefer deposited a bunch of herbs and jars in front of him then bustled off to grab some of the beakers, mortars, pestles and other equipment.

"It's risky to try directly attacking the magic with mine now," she replied as she examined the offerings available. "And I’ve never attempted to heal damage from fire magic before."

"The chance for accidental damage from backlash is too high right now since it’s had time to seep deep into your flesh. Prying it back out is going to be quite the challenge. I plan on using pastes and balms to slowly pull the magic back to the surface over time and then use my own magic to scrape the topmost layer off, hopefully without triggering a backlash."

Jaskier kept his hands hidden under the table. "How painful will it get?"

The mage placed her bounty beside the others. "There will be a low-grade tingling or burning sensation when the paste I have in mind begins to draw out or to the surface any loose magic.”

“The actual removal however," she grimaced sympathetically, "that will probably be as painful as when you first received the burns. Maybe even more so since it's been left unattended for so long."

Swallowing thickly, Jaskier then asked, "Is this like a one-and-done thing?"

Yennefer shook her head. "If we're very lucky, 3 days."

The pit in his stomach widened. “And if I’m unlucky?”

The sorceress stilled before finally replying, not looking at him, “3 weeks to a month. Daily.”

“Fuck…” The word left his mouth in an unconscious shuddering breath.

Yennefer dumped the contents she had been examining back onto the table and crossed over to him in a few purposeful strides, then grabbed his elbows with both hands, holding him.

“You will get your hands fully healed, Jaskier,” she said, violet eyes searing into his own blue. “No matter how long it takes, or how much magic I need to pour into you, we won’t let that Firefucker win. Not while we’re still alive to stick it to him.”

Jaskier huffed, the sound shaky even to his ears. “What happened to not making guarantees, Yennefer?”

He swallowed, then dropped his gaze to somewhere beyond her shoulder, unable to meet her eyes any longer.

“You have far more important things to do than waste your Chaos on a useless bard, witch,” he said quietly. “There’s a child who needs you. Your strength and power. A child being hunted by forces beyond my most terrifying nightmares.”

Yennefer shook him lightly. "I'm the one who decides what I will and will not expend my Chaos on, not you, bardling." Her tone softened. "What is this really about, Jaskier? All this will cost me is time, application of skill, and an easily recoverable amount of Chaos."

The shards of his heart twisted in his chest, slicing new gashes into him. Fuck, was she really gonna force him to spell it out?

From the way she kept looking at him, it seemed so. Jaskier inhaled slowly.

"Yennefer," he gritted out. "I may play the part of a foolish bumbling bard most of the time, but I'm not actually an idiot. I heard you, Geralt, and Cirilla making plans earlier. And with three all-powerful beings on the run from equally powerful forces, the last thing they need is dead weight in the form of a helpless injured human bard trailing after them."

He spread his arms wide sardonically. "Let's say we're lucky and you can fix this in three days! Can you even afford to wait three days? Geralt is all for leaving as soon as possible, and with good reason too. What're a few measly burns compared to the continued safety of his daughter?"

Before Yennefer could interrupt, he barrelled onwards. "And if we're unlucky, then you'll have to account for the burden of me travelling with you for a month. Not to mention all the time and resources you'll need to spend on me, and I'm not referring to just the healing here."

"Are you done?" Yennefer asked, unimpressed.

Jaskier scoffed and waved a hand as he slumped back onto the bench. "Be my guest."

"Do you think me incompetent, Jaskier?"

His head snapped up at that. "What?"

"Do you think me incompetent? Or perhaps arrogant and overestimating my abilities? Incapable of understanding the severity of situations?"

"No!" Jaskier blurted out. "That's not what I—"

"Then what are you thinking?" Yennefer cut him off. "Because every way I look at it, it seems like you either think I'm unaware of exactly what is involved in the effort of healing you, or you think I am unable to evaluate courses of action and make appropriate decisions."

"That's—I—"

Yennefer rolled her eyes. "There's no need for you to pull the martyr act on me too. As flattered as I am, let's not forget who saved whom even without her Chaos, husband dearest. I know exactly what I'm getting into. And you are well aware that I do anything and everything required once I decide on a course of action."

Jaskier's mouth flopped open and closed. "I—You—" He jabbed a finger in her direction. "You changed your mind about killing that dragon!"

"Because the situation had evolved and so I evaluated the changed circumstances and decided on the appropriate course of action. Do keep up."

Jaskier deflated. "Yennefer, I—" He weighed the words carefully in his mouth before finally letting them out. "I have nothing to offer."

"And Geralt... he never realised, or perhaps he simply didn't care to look, and at this point I don't want to know which it was. But travelling with you all would mean that he would find out, about"—he held out his palms—"this. And I don't want him to care about this simply out of his over-inflated sense of guilt. I know where I stand in his life. And I'm not eager to have a refresher."

Yennefer shrugged. "Frankly I don't see why he or Cirilla need to be involved in this at all. I'm more than happy to keep this between the two of us. Can't give them the impression that I've suddenly caught Geralt's saviour-complex."

He gaped at her. "Then how, exactly, were you planning on explaining my presence amongst your motley crew?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" A playful smirk danced across the witch's face. "Let's start work on your hands first. Then we'll talk."

Stunned, Jaskier could only huff a laugh and collapse back down onto the bench. "Well, it's not like I have any other commitments I can attend to after all."

He watched quietly as Yennefer worked her magic: chopping and crushing herbs, boiling and filtering liquids, mixing solvents and fats into pastes and balms, murmuring spells ever so often.

By the end of the process, she had two bowls of pastes sitting between them on the cluttered workstation. Brushing the loose strands of hair that had begun to frizz out of her face, the mage stalked around the room looking for something, before letting out a noise of satisfaction as she unearthed two pieces of scrap metal from deep within the shelves.

Jaskier raised a questioning eyebrow as she dumped the pieces onto the table, only for his mouth to drop open into a soft 'o' of surprise and understanding after she waved a hand over the pieces and muttered a few words in Elder, transmuting the pieces into two small elegant tins.

The sorceress neatly packed the mixtures into the two tins, leaving behind a small portion of the thicker paste within the bowl.

"The problem," she exhaled as she slammed her palm onto the tins to tighten the lids shut, "is that these kinds of magics either require a lot of Chaos for it to linger, or needs to be remade often since the potency of it deteriorates quickly. And since we can't afford to overdo the magic, helping me remake these is going to be one of your tasks while we travel."

Jaskier looked at her with no small amount of confusion given the state of his hands but smartly kept his mouth shut. She was hardly going to make him do something that would worsen his condition, given the sheer amount of effort she was putting into fixing it.

"I assume, from your words," he ventured, "that I have other tasks you need me to complete, yes?"

"Of course." She washed her hands and dried them on a piece of nearby fabric. Then with a quick spell, filled another bowl with gently steaming water. Getting a clean piece of linen from the cupboard, she dipped the fabric into the water and wrung it till it was merely damp, unbothered by the heat. And laid her open palm on the table after. "Your hand, Jaskier."

Every single muscle in his body immediately tensed. Jaskier swallowed and breathed slowly. Yennefer was not going to hurt him.

In 4 counts, out 8 counts.

Then raised his hand, and laid it palm-up atop of hers.

Yennefer's lips quirked into a fond smile and her thumb stroked the back of his hand soothingly. "I'll be as quick as I can."

Without waiting for a reply, she began to wipe the injuries clean. As gentle as she tried to be, each passing stroke of the fabric felt like abrading his skin on jagged rock and spilling salt into the wound right after. Tears welled up in his eyes and a low keening sound filled the room, like a wounded animal was trapped inside with them.

Wet trails dripped down Jaskier's cheeks and his hand spasmed in Yennefer's, muscles blindly reacting and struggling to get away. The mage was far stronger than she appeared however, and with the speed of a pit viper, yanked her hand from under his to carefully pin his palm open with the spread of her fingers, avoiding the worst of the wounds.

She made low soothing noises even as Jaskier gasped and wriggled in place, body and head locked in battle; his flesh demanding him to get away while his mind fought to stay in place to make the whole thing less painful and get over faster.

"Almost done, bardling, almost done," Yennefer murmured.

When she finally put away the piece of fabric, a broken sob of relief escaped Jaskier. He yanked his hand back to his stomach, doubling over slightly to shield it.

It was then he realised that the thing in the room that had been whining in pain had been him.

Yennefer gently wiped away the fresh tears that fell. "You're doing well, bardling." Then tucked his hair behind his ear. "We've got to apply the paste now. Then we'll take a quick break before dealing with the other hand, alright?"

Jaskier inhaled and coughed, snot clogging up his nose and throat disgustingly.

"Okay," he warbled hoarsely, then reluctantly placed the stinging hand back onto the table.

Yennefer scooped up some of the mixture with her fingers.

"There's a mild analgesic component within this that'll help reduce the amount of pain you're experiencing," she said as she began to spread a thick layer of paste onto his hand.

It was cool, causing his skin to tingle as the burning sensation from the cleaning slowly began to abate. The sorceress made sure to cover every bit of skin, even rubbing it into the delicate skin between the fingers.

She then carefully wrapped his hand in a long clean strip of linen, each digit individually bandaged. The sensations that lingered in his hand were strange, his skin feeling tight and stretched while the tingling remained in the background.

"Here." Yennefer pulled a delicately embroidered handkerchief out of her dress pocket. The fabric was a lovely cream shade, and there were small sprigs of lavender in light purple thread decorating the corners of the kerchief. "Blow your nose. There's no need for you to sound like a snotty five-year-old."

Jaskier opened his mouth. "Are you—"

Yennefer rolled her eyes. "I'm sure. It's easy enough to clean anyway."

Jaskier laughed, the sound wet and as snotty as she described. "Alright then."

He took the kerchief between his bandaged fingers and found great satisfaction in blowing his nose like a trumpet, the sound echoing long and loud in the otherwise empty laboratory, and eliciting a delightful look of disgust on the mage's pretty face.

"Urgh," she vocalised, lips curling into a sneer. "Make sure you drop that far, far away from me."

Jaskier had to wrestle down the instinctive urge to shove it into her face at the golden opportunity to irritate her she'd handed to him on a platter. As much as he enjoyed one-upping her, he’d hardly get to savour the satisfaction before she'd crush him like a bug under her fashionable pointy heels. Plus, gift horses and mouths, you know?

From the way she side-eyed him, he had the feeling that she'd caught all of that. He smiled beatifically at her and plopped the handkerchief at the other end of the table away from her. She huffed.

"Other hand now, bard," was all she said, once again dipping the cloth she'd used to clean his hand earlier back into the still steaming water and wringing it like she was imagining it was his neck.

"Now?!" Jaskier squeaked.

"No time like the present. It's only going to get worse if you let the anticipation get to your head."

The bard grimaced. Then laid his other hand out on the wood like he was resting his head on an executioner's block. Yennefer's fingers once again spread out over his palm, holding it open and in place.

'At least there are fewer burns on this one,' was all Jaskier had time to think before the fabric was being dragged over his skin once more.

A scream caught in his throat, only a high-pitched whine escaping him. Tears bubbled over and spilled as he squeezed his eyes shut, fingers flexing as he fought to keep himself from twisting out of the sorceress's grasp.

There was a brief pause. Then a gentle hand was guiding his head into the crook of a neck. Lilac and gooseberries filled his nose.

"Breathe, bardling. Remember to breathe."

He shuddered as he breathed in for four, and exhaled hotly from his mouth for eight.

The cloth once again resumed its journey over his skin. Clear rivulets dripped down his face and dampened the fabric of Yennefer's high collar and the skin of her neck.

"Just a bit more now, bardling," she said quietly. "Almost done."

A keening noise left him, and the cloth was hastily put away. He sniffled as the paste was gently smeared over his skin, stealing away the pain, and then more fabric wrapped quickly and neatly around his hand. He turned his head slightly and was filled with a sense of quiet fondness as he spotted Yennefer tying off the bandage in a fluffy bow around his wrist.

"We're done for today," she said, rubbing her thumb over his wrist and letting him hide a little longer. "We'll leave it for about 24 hours, then see how much magic the paste manages to pull out first. Then I'll adjust the frequency and potency if required."

"Alright," Jaskier replied quietly.

She let him stay in the safety of her neck for a few moments more, before sliding her hand around his back and standing the both of them up. Jaskier reluctantly began to pull himself away, but Yennefer's arm firmly hauled him back into her side.

"You can stay with me in my room," she decided as she waved a hand and all the equipment she'd used began to wash and float back to their places on the shelves. "It'll let me keep an eye on you for any adverse effects or reactions."

With another wave of her hand, the air in the room suddenly seemed to freshen.

"So that they can't smell your..." she trailed off, tipping her head meaningfully.

Jaskier nodded in relief. "Right..."

He couldn't believe that he had so easily forgotten just how good witchers' sense of smell was. The last thing they needed was for the stink of fear, pain, and tears along with Yennefer's magic to raise questions and make things complicated. It would hardly endear her to them any further, given the amount of effort she was going through to respect his wishes in keeping the whole thing quiet.

A tremble ran through the sorceress's body which she tried and failed to hide, given that he was plastered to her side. And suddenly Jaskier was wide awake.

"Shit, Yennefer, are you alright?!"

Yennefer glared at him, opened her mouth to tell him exactly where to shove his concern, then deflated slightly. "I may have overdone it slightly," she finally said reluctantly. "I just got my Chaos back after months of being without it, my body needs time to get used to it again."

"Like a muscle," said Jaskier.

Yennefer shrugged. "Sort of."

"Well it's a good thing that the only thing left on both of our agendas today is sleep," said Jaskier, guiding them out of the laboratory and into the corridor.

"Not even those creepy monster thingies can stop me from collapsing on a mattress and dropping straight off to sleep. I've had enough excitement for the next week!"

He took a few steps down the right turn and then stopped. "Uh, which way to your room again?" he asked sheepishly.

Yennefer snorted, lips twitching with mirth. "The other way, bardling."

Jaskier spun the two of them around and began to march back down the left corridor. "Righty-ho! To bed we go!"

The two of them stumbled into the room Yennefer had claimed as her own.

It was a sad room really, as small as Jaskier's and equally as empty. The only thing that made it better than his was that it was slightly warmer naturally, no draught seeping in from some unidentifiable place.

"I don't know what I expected," Jaskier announced at large as he kicked the door shut. "But this is just sad. Isn't it, wife mine? A cold keep with cold rooms filled with cold witchers."

Yennefer slipped away from him and knelt next to the fireplace. "Well it's a good thing that I have my husband to warm my bed for me then, since we're liable to freeze surrounded by all this cold," she called.

"Yes, exactly!" Jaskier said wildly. "And so there's very much no need to go about messing with the hearth when you have this smoking hot body ready to warm the ice-cubes you call toes right up!"

The mage slowly twisted around to stare at him, one shapely eyebrow raised high on her forehead.

"Ah..." she said after a few beats.

"Can we not discuss this?" Jaskier asked desperately.

Yennefer got up. "We can leave it for tonight," she said. "But we'll have to discuss it at some point because you won't be able to hide that for long when we're travelling."

Jaskier snorted bitterly. "Yes, well, considering Geralt never realised anything this whole time, I wouldn't worry about that too much."

Yennefer considered him for a few moments, then seemed to decide that his issues with Geralt were not her problem to solve. "Well it's still winter and I would like to stay somewhat warm at least. Give me a few moments."

She pointed at the sorry excuse of a mattress. "Sit."

"I'm not a dog, Yennefer," Jaskier complained. But sat exactly as she had instructed him.

She grinned that lovely impish grin again and his heart did a little flop in his chest. "Good boy," she cooed.

The tips of Jaskier's ears reddened, though thankfully covered by the length of his hair. He scowled at her. Unfazed, her smile widened and she laughed—a soft, short sound. Then with a wiggle of her fingers, strode out of the room to do whatever dastardly deed she had planned.

Jaskier huffed and flopped back onto the bed, wriggling to get comfortable on the lumpy thing, though there was not much comfort to be found. With a long, loud sigh, he stared up at the grimy stone ceiling and tried to recall the chords of the song he'd come up with in the cell Geralt had liberated him from.

‘Whoreson Prison Blues,’ he decided to call it.

He'd been humming variations of the chorus for a couple of minutes when the door to the room swung open again, and Yennefer strode into the room, a smooth hunk of rock floating in front of her.

"Yen!" he gasped, shooting up. "You're not supposed to be using your Chaos anymore today!"

The mage simply patted him on the shoulder condescendingly. "I've been alive for decades more than you, bardling. I can push through a bit of overexertion, I know where my limit is. I found it at Sodden. Now get up."

Jaskier wrinkled his nose at her but got up. She threw back the thin covers and let the stone slowly pass over the expanse of the mattress.

"Soapstone?" he asked. "Where did you find that?"

Yennefer nodded. "Transmuted it from a broken hunk of the keep walls. It didn't cost me much, stop fretting, Jaskier," she cut him off as he opened his mouth.

"I know, I know,” he sighed. “It's just, you don't have to keep exerting yourself to accommodate me."

The sorceress gave him a wry look. "Who said I'm accommodating you?"

He stared blankly at her for a moment, then it clicked. "Ah..." he said.

"Ah..." she repeated drolly.

"Well, at least we'll be warm and toasty," Jaskier said cheerily.

"Mmm," the witch hummed. Then wrapped the stone in a fur and laid it at the foot of the bed. "Boots off and into the bed with you, husband."

"As you wish, wife!" said Jaskier, then he wrestled his boots off and tumbled onto the mattress.

Yennefer sighed, the sound irritated and fond, and shoved him further across and nearly into the wall before sitting on the bed and ridding herself of her own shoes. She then slid into the bed and pulled the thin sheet over them both.

The two of them laid quietly, staring at the ceiling, an awkward silence filling the room with its unwanted presence.

The mage loudly sighed again, then flipped onto her side, her back to Jaskier. "Come on, husband dearest. I was promised that I'd be warmed up by a smoking hot body, wasn't I?" she mocked.

A shocked laugh escaped Jaskier at that, and he turned to face the elegant curves of her side. Taking a deep breath to steal some courage, he wriggled over till there was barely any distance at all between them and tentatively draped an arm over her waist.

"Is this ok?" he breathed.

The silence remained unbroken, and for a brief moment, panic rushed through him and he nearly drew back.

Then Yennefer shifted backwards slightly, pressing her back to his front and tucking his face into the crook of her neck. "It's fine. Go to sleep, bardling."

"Ok," he whispered, fingers curling. "Good night."

"Night," came the quiet reply.

And for the first time in over a year, Jaskier closed his eyes and almost immediately dropped off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Jaskier... Jaskier..."

Two icy hands smacked his face and squished his cheeks together and the bard's eyes flew open.

"I'm up! I'm up!" he squawked, flailing.

"Rise and shine, husband dearest," Yennefer sing-songed as she pulled at his cheeks with an evil grin. "We've got a busy day ahead of us."

Jaskier batted at her with his bandaged hands, getting her to let go of him. He rubbed at his aching cheeks with an unconscious pout and shot her a glare.

"Come on," Yennefer said briskly. "Get anything you want to bring with you from your room, we're heading down to the hall for breakfast before we finish the last of the packing. Geralt wants to leave before mid-morning."

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at her. Then sighed and spread his arms open wide. "This is it."

Yennefer's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What is it?"

"I mean, this is all I have," he said slowly.

The mage's eyes flashed. "You mean to say Geralt dragged you here with nothing but the clothes on your back?"

"He was a bit preoccupied with pumping me for information about you and dragging me along on his hunt for his missing Child Surprise," Jaskier replied. "And then instructing me to bring her here, a place I've never been before in the 20 over years I've known him, mind you. I have no idea what he was thinking either. Or maybe he just wasn't."

"Of all the—" Yennefer bit out, then breathed out slowly. "Alright. So we should start with getting you a change of clothes. You're wearing the same thing from our encounter in Oxenfurt for fuck's sake!"

"It would be appreciated," he said wryly.

Yennefer sighed. "Well now's a good time to give you these I suppose," she groused, then tossed something into his lap.

Jaskier picked up the beautiful pair of supple black leather gloves. Which were exactly in his size.

"Yen..." he breathed out.

The mage shrugged. "It was nothing. I found a spare pair and simply resized it. It'll do a good job of covering those—" she nodded at his bandages "—and also keep your fingers from getting frostbite. I don't want to have to treat multiple kinds of burns, just the one is more than enough for me."

Jaskier pulled one on and Yennefer helped him with the other. "You're the best wife a man could ever hope for," he said, admiring the look of them.

"Of course I am," she said smugly. Then pulled him up and out of bed. "Breakfast, bard. Now. Chop chop."

They walked into the mostly empty hall arm-in-arm. Yennefer led him straight to a table at one corner where a plate and small bowl had been made up. Towards the middle of the room at the other end of another table, sat two witchers, quietly eating. Though they brooded more than they ate.

"Eat," ordered Yennefer, all but shoving him down onto the seat in front of which the plate sat. "There are only a few more things I need to get done, then we'll go."

When she made no move to head off, Jaskier placed a slice of hard cheese and cured meat on a piece of bread and took a bite.

The sorceress pointed a finger. "Make sure you finish the whole plate, bardling. Or else." And with that ominous threat, spun on her heel and strode out of the hall.

Jaskier glanced down at his plate and mechanically began to eat. Bread, cheese, cured meat and a small bowl of some porridge. Not quite a feast, but food was food. At least it wasn't bread rolls thrown at his head. He shook his head to clear it. There was no need to be glum when the day had only just begun.

Chewing, he let his gaze wander.

The damage from the attack the day before was even more stark without adrenaline to cloud his vision. The debris hadn't even all been cleared from the place, only shifted to the sides here and there to make the hall accessible. The whole debacle had been a shitstorm.

"Dammit Jaskier, why is it that whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you shovelling it?!"

He swallowed. Suddenly, he wasn't very hungry anymore.

The sound of boots stomping down the hall, getting closer and closer to him, had him fixing his gaze on the plate. If he shoved the food into his pants, what were the chances the witch would sniff it out and turn him into a newt for not finishing the whole thing as ordered?

A plate was slammed onto the table and a body thumped into the seat opposite him.

"I'm sitting here. Is that a problem?"

Jaskier lifted his eyes to meet those of the painfully young girl in front of him, face hard and just daring him to say anything.

"No," he replied quietly.

"Good!" she spat, seeming almost disappointed that he didn't give her an excuse to start a fight, yet poorly hiding relief that he hadn't rejected her presence.

The two of them sat in silence, Cirilla tearing into her breakfast like she was imagining it was her enemies heads while Jaskier pushed the remaining few bits of his food around the plate.

"Are you going to eat that?" she asked him around a mouthful.

Jaskier looked at his plate, then at the girl's empty one. "No, not particularly hungry," he said, pushing it over. "You can have it."

Cirilla transferred the food over. "Thanks," she said. "But you're finishing the porridge on your own though."

The bard nodded and picked up his spoon. He had just been scrapping the last of it out of the bowl, Cirilla licking her fingers like a heathen instead of a Crown Princess, when the sound of footsteps filled the hall once more.

"Cirilla, we need to—" Geralt came to a stop. "Jaskier."

Jaskier gave him a false smile. "That's my name, yes."

"Fuck..." From the guilt in his eyes that he was trying to conceal, it was blatantly obvious that he'd forgotten Jaskier was even there.

Jaskier finished the last spoonful of porridge. It slid down his throat like a lump of wet coal: sticky, filthy, and liable to choke him. He placed the spoon neatly beside the bowl. Geralt just stared at him guiltily.

"We need to—I'll see if we can portal you—Yen!" Geralt yelled for the sorceress.

The sharp clicks of her heeled boots on stone heralded her approach.

"What is it, Geralt?" she gritted out as she stormed in. "Don't yell for me unless someone's dying. I'm not a dog to come to heel every time you call."

Jaskier snorted. "Pot," he pointed at her, then at himself, "meet kettle."

Yennefer rolled her eyes at him. Then turned to face Geralt. "So, is someone dying?"

"Yen, I need you to portal Jaskier back to Oxenfurt."

"No."

"What?" Geralt seemed genuinely stunned by her refusal. "Why?"

"Because he's coming with us."

The witcher's eyes flashed. "Yen," he growled.

"Geralt," she said back, a thinly-veiled mocking hint in her tone.

"Yen, he's human," Geralt ground out. "And a bard. We can't just—"

"Yes, he's human," Yennefer cut in calmly. "And when everyone is on the hunt for an easily-identifiable witcher, a mage wanted by the Brotherhood, and a lost Cintran Princess every kingdom is salivating over to use as a pawn, who better to blend in and get what we need than a regular human? Every bit of Chaos we expend from now on will leave a trace, a trail that can lead a persistent, dedicated hunter straight to us no matter how well I obfuscate our tracks, because we can’t avoid it completely."

"So tell me Geralt," she continued. "Were you planning to simply hide out and play hide-and-seek in the densest woods you can find for the next few years? Because that certainly isn't a sustainable long-term solution."

"And whose fault is it that I'm so recognisable?" Geralt snapped back. "I didn't ask to have songs sung about me and spread all about the Continent."

"No," the mage sneered. "You managed that just fine on your own decades ago, Butcher."

Geralt’s eyes blew wide as he recoiled, face turning white from the unexpected gutting. Jaskier flinched.

The witcher and the mage’s eyes immediately snapped to him, predators sensing movement from prey. Cirilla had earlier twisted around in her seat to watch the two of them argue, and stared back at them both, gaze shuttered.

Something that looked like remorse flickered in violet eyes and Yennefer looked away first, the barest hint of a sigh escaping her lips.

"The facts are these," she told Geralt. "We cannot use magic in the open on our way to Aretuza, not if we don't want to be tracked. We are far too recognisable as ourselves. We will need supplies on our journey. We cannot avoid passing through settlements. Ergo, we need someone who knows how to play people and disseminate misinformation to throw people off our tracks. Someone who is used to presenting themself as required in various situations. Someone who will not raise people's alarms nor attract the wrong kind of attention."

Jaskier dropped his head to hide the small smile that grew on his face as Yennefer spoke. He rubbed at the buttery leather of the gloves she'd made him, concealing the salved hands and carefully-wrapped bandages beneath. His ears and the back of his eyes tingled from the confidence with which she spoke about him, the way she'd recognised the skills of his trade. The value she saw in him.

His heart grew two sizes bigger in his chest. There was no denying that she cared about him. Every word, every deed she'd done from the time they met in Oxenfurt screamed it.

So of course Destiny had to burst his bubble.

"And you think that someone is Jaskier," Geralt stated with derision. "Yennefer, he's far from subtle, he gets himself into trouble every other moment thinking with his prick, he never knows when to keep his mouth shut, and has gotten the two of us thrown out or chased out from an incredible number of places. You've only met him briefly for a handful of times, you don't know him at all if you think he is the person you need."

Jaskier's ears and eyes burned, for a completely different reason now, and he ducked his head further, turning it to let his hair conceal his face. A heated flush crept up the back of his neck. Gods, Geralt wasn't even exactly wrong, he was indeed responsible for all that. It was just... Fuck, twenty years! Over twenty years they'd known each other, and the sum and total of his character in Geralt's eyes was that. Did he bother to see him at all?

Fuck, no wonder Geralt had gotten rid of him on the mountain...

Yennefer stared at Geralt for long moments in silence. Shook her head lightly as if to clear it, then laughed. It was a brittle, self-mocking thing. It twisted Jaskier's already tormented heart to hear it.

"I can't believe," she murmured, voice amused and wondering, "I ever thought you looked at me and actually saw me."

The witcher opened his mouth, but the mage raised a hand to cut him off. "Save it, Geralt. I'm not interested."

"And I'm not asking for permission," she continued. "I'm telling you. The bard's coming with us. And if you're concerned about what that means for us as a group, don't be. He's my responsibility, and mine alone. I will not trouble you or Cirilla with him."

"Are you done with breakfast, bardling?" she asked, causing Jaskier's head to jerk up to meet her eyes.

Throat tight, Jaskier could do nothing but nod at the violet-eyed sorceress.

"Then come," she ordered. "We'll wait for them in the courtyard."

Nodding once more, he stood. As he moved to clear the cutlery, Cirilla cut him off.

"Don't worry about it," she said, watching him with a strange expression. "I can take it to the kitchens with my stuff."

"Thank you, Princess," Jaskier replied after a moment. He bowed slightly, then made to move to Yennefer's side.

"Jaskier—" tried Geralt, but the bard simply walked right past, letting his hair curtain his face and keeping his gaze on the witch.

Yennefer spared Geralt a glance, but said nothing more, only turning to stride out of the hall.

The two of them walked in silence as they made their way to the courtyard.

When they stepped out, Jaskier had to raise his hand to shield his eyes against the bright morning sun, reflecting off the snow that dusted the floor. A shudder ran through him, the cold of the outdoors quickly seeping through the coat he wore. Still, the warmth of the sun's rays made the chill more bearable, and he closed his eyes and tipped his head back to enjoy the sensation.

Then spluttered as a heavy cloth was tossed over his head. Fighting his way out of it, he gathered the fabric in an untidy bundle and blinked in the light, eyes watering as they alighted on his assailant. Yennefer grinned back at him impishly from beside two horses: the black one Geralt had obtained from the dwarves, and a seal brown one. The mounts were weighed down by packed saddlebags, and two rucksacks laid at the mage's feet.

"Is there a reason," Jaskier groused, "that you decided you would rather smother me so early in the morning?"

"It's hardly early, bardling," Yennefer snorted. "Besides, I didn't need you freezing to death before we even managed to escape the keep since you clearly lack the proper wear."

"Oh..." Jaskier unfolded the bundle to discover what he had was a heavy clock, trimmed with dark fur along the inner edges and hood. "OH..."

He threw it over himself and discovered that it was wonderfully comfortable. "Many thanks, wife mine."

Yennefer hummed, pleased. Then her expression grew serious. "I owe you an apology."

Jaskier gasped theatrically. "An apology?! Are you ok, wife?! Is something the matter?! Are you dying?!"

He raced over and began to exaggeratedly fuss over the sorceress, earning himself a harsh smack on the shoulder and a roll of her eyes. He painted a wounded look on his face, causing her to pinch his cheek and pull. After watching him flail for a few moments, Yennefer deemed him sufficiently punished and let go to adjust the reins of the brown horse.

"I should have informed Geralt before he came to collect Cirilla," she said, steadily facing away from him. "I put you in an uncomfortable position, one which you had told me yesterday night you would rather avoid."

Jaskier huffed. Then stepped closer to press his arm against hers.

"Yennefer, it would have happened anyway, whether you informed him earlier or not. Geralt doesn't change his mind once he's decided on something, unless there are truly exceptional circumstances. I would know. He spent over a decade avoiding any mention of his Child Surprise and only came for her once Nilfgaard was knocking at Cintra's doors."

"Geralt’s reactions to my presence are not your fault to bear," he said quietly and shrugged. "Besides, it's not the worst he's said. At least this time, the faults he mentioned are indeed mine."

Yennefer opened her mouth, though the arrival of Geralt and Cirilla made her close it again. But from the intent glance she shot him, Jaskier was made well aware that the topic was not closed yet.

Geralt helped the girl onto the black steed, and picked up one of the rucksacks to swing it onto his shoulders. His silver sword was strapped onto the horse, while the steel hung at his hip instead of across his back like it usually did. He stared at Jaskier and Yennefer.

Jaskier looked at the mage and dipped into a sweeping bow. "Age before beauty, m'lady."

"Such a shame for you that I am both then, isn't it," Yennefer shot back before swinging herself onto the other horse.

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "Yeah, alright, you've got me there," he finally said resignedly.

She watched him out of the corner of her eyes as he carefully swung the other rucksack onto his shoulders, avoiding touching it with his hands. When it was settled comfortably on his shoulders, she turned her gaze to Geralt.

"Shall we go?" she asked cooly.

"Hmmm," was all Geralt said in reply, before turning and leading—well, Roach, Jaskier supposed—onto the path down the mountain.

The day passed by mostly in silence as they trekked down the mountain, stopping only for lunch and other bodily needs.

Geralt and Cirilla led the front while Jaskier and Yennefer followed a few metres behind. And while it wasn't unusual for Jaskier to trail behind Geralt at some distance, the lack of his lute made it all the more conspicuous just how different these circumstances were. He often found himself unconsciously reaching for it, only to recall where he was and dropping his hand.

With Geralt's enhanced hearing, there was also not much he could talk about with Yennefer, considering he wanted to keep his more dangerous experiences on the down-low and he had no clue of how much Geralt knew of what was going on with the sorceress.

It made lunch all the more awkward as no one was open to conversation about anything beyond what was required for the meal. Even Cirilla was incredibly silent for a teenager, only watching the three adults with that same strange look on her face she had during the argument at breakfast. Jaskier wasn't sure he wanted to know what that was about either.

And so Yennefer bore the repetition of him reaching for his non-existent lute, sighing, humming, sighing, throughout the morning and well into the afternoon past lunch with no more than the occasional glance his way, until even she'd had enough.

"So, bardling," she began, "what else had you been up to apart from your... piping business?"

Jaskier couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the non-sequitur, but being bored out of his mind and grateful for conversation, decided to play along.

"Not much really," he replied. "I took up a year-long teaching contract at the Academy as a visiting Professor. Then I did my rounds along the taverns at Oxenfurt and Novigrad with my students to give them some experience in a controlled environment as well as a court debut or two of theirs."

She grinned at him. "Gods, I remember when I was a student, they must have been a bunch of little shits! And taken right after you too!"

Jaskier barked a laugh. "Oh Sweet Melitele, they were! An adorable bunch of ducklings following me around with their starry-eyed enthusiasm, but by gods, they were absolute menaces! Do you know how often I had to bail them out of trouble? I'm supposed to be the damsel-in-distress, not the responsible one! I have much sympathy for my Professors now, I earned many grey hairs from all the stress."

"Really?" she teased him. "Have you by chance grown colour-blind in your old age, bardling?"

Jaskier leaned in close and stage-whispered back, "I had to pluck them all out, I was surprised I had any hair left on my head after that! I'm just lucky it grew back!"

She laughed. It was a gorgeous sound that made his heart soar. And her smile, sweet Melitele, Jaskier could see why Geralt had fallen heads-over-heels for her if she'd smiled like that at him even once!

Jaskier forced himself to drag his eyes away and tried to coax his shattered heart back into his chest. It never learnt, even after 20 years of continuous heartbreak at the hands of a witcher. So eager to throw itself at the next impossible love. What would a sorceress of her calibre, with anything and anyone she could have, want with a human bard?

"Tell me about them," Yennefer's voice interrupted his thoughts. "What sort of mischief do tiny bardlings get up to? Can't be any worse than Aretuza's trainees."

"Ho ho!" he cried. "You'd be surprised, witch. These menaces of mine rivalled the sort of trouble my friends and I used to get caught up in when we were students! Let me tell you about the time Alicja..."

Jaskier spoke at length about the bardic aspirants he'd taken under his wing, about the mischief they got up to, the hilarious mishaps they'd made, the silly jokes and pranks that filled his class. He gesticulated wildly, acted out some of the funniest moments, did silly voices, sang, pranced around and in front of the sorceress' steed as Yennefer laughed and jibbed back and egged him on to tell her more and more.

It was like flying, like leaping off a cliff into the sea, like dancing on stage in front of an exhilarated audience, like the rush of pulling off a successful trick with his drunk friends. Nothing in the world existed other than the delight of Yennefer's grins, her laughs, her amusement, her joy.

On occasion, he even managed to wheedle out some stories from her.

"I can't believe it!" he gasped, shoulders shaking with laughter. "You actually got the kids high during class?! And you all got caught by the rectoress?!"

Yennefer's violet eyes sparkled with mirth. "Tissaia was so pissed," she said around a satisfied smirk, lounging on her horse like the cat that got the cream. "She lectured me at length about corrupting the youth—nevermind that I hadn't been her student for decades for that to do anything—and no doubt the trainees spent a long while paying for that stunt. But it was totally worth it to see the look on her face."

Jaskier shook his head and wiped at his eyes. "Those poor kids," he said in mock despair. "Having to pay for your prank on them."

Yennefer simply shrugged, unrepentant. "It'll teach them to be more discerning about who they listen to, and what people may convince them to do at least."

"Ah yes, the treachery of court politics..." Jaskier sighed.

"We'll make camp here for the night," Geralt's voice cut in.

Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound; much, much closer than he thought it'd be. It was then he realised that he and Yennefer had somehow ended up right behind Roach without realising. He had absolutely no recollection of when they'd sped up enough to end up that close.

"Ah, yes, sure," Jaskier stammered out, caught off-guard.

The preparations for setting up camp this time were as equally silent as that during lunch, the only difference being the tents set up for the night. Geralt and Cirilla were working together to set up a tent they'd brought from Kaer Morhen, Jaskier leaving to go search for firewood, while Yennefer set up hers with a tiny application of Chaos to an amulet.

Arriving back at camp, the white fabric of the mage's tent had Jaskier's breath catching in his throat and a sting of sadness, hurt, and shame lodging in his chest as memories of the dragon hunt—the day he'd lost the person he'd cared about most—hit him and sent him reeling backwards.

"Jaskier, is something wrong?"

He was yanked back to the present and forced his racing heart to slow.

Geralt watched him warily, a debate playing out in golden eyes whether to come closer or stay away. Cirilla and Yennefer were also watching him: the Princess trying and failing to hide her curiosity while something that looked like guilt or discomfort was quickly wiped away from the mage's face.

"Everything's fine," Jaskier replied, pasting a smile on his face. "Just had an unpleasant thought. Nothing to worry about."

He didn't want to know which option would win out in Geralt's thoughts. And it was hardly fair to keep making Yennefer feel responsible for Geralt's shitty decisions. Truth of the matter was, she was the only one on his side. She shouldn’t have to take the burden of his feelings onto herself out of some strange, misguided sense of guilt. It wasn’t her fault that he'd been in love with her partner for years.

No, that fault lay on Jaskier, and Jaskier alone. He was the one choosing to twist the knife in himself, year after year. He just wished some day he would manage to stop.

Dinner once again was a silent affair once they'd gotten over Jaskier's brief hangup.

Jaskier and Yennefer sat on one side of the fire, Geralt and Cirilla on the other. The only thing that managed to keep him in place was the warm line of Yennefer's weight against his side, a steady reassurance that no harm would come to him, not when she was there to put herself between him and anything that could harm him.

For once, the flickering flames in the night did not remind him of the snapping fingers and endless pain.

No, it reminded him of his brilliant wife.

The flare of panic as she stumbled into the inn with only a bottle of liquor, the brief tingling press of her lips against his head, the fiery blaze she spat out at his torturer, the searing brand of her grip as she dragged him out of his hell-hole.

Yennefer was the wildfire that torched Sodden Hill, the torrent of flame that blinded his tormentor. She was passion, rage, protectiveness. She burned as bright as the sun itself, with or without Chaos running through her veins. She was incandescent.

What threat did the burning branches in front of him pose? What could a measly campfire do to him?

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

It was nothing compared to the living blaze beside him.

There was no safer place for him than by her side.

A huffed laugh sounded beside him, and he felt more than saw Yennefer turn her head towards him.

"You're thinking very loudly," she murmured.

The warmth of her breath hit his neck and sent goosebumps breaking out over his skin.

Jaskier couldn't conceal the minute shiver that ran through him. He turned to face her.

She was watching him with an amused yet fond look, much like the one she wore when they'd bantered after meeting in Oxenfurt. The play of firelight against the violet jewels of her eyes was mesmerising. He couldn't help the upward tilt of his lips in response.

"Nothing that isn't true, witch," he breathed out.

A loud yawn interrupted any further conversation as all of the adults' eyes fell on the Princess. She flushed under all their gazes.

"What? It's been a long day," she said defensively.

A soft smile played at Yennefer's mouth.

"It has," she agreed, then stood up. "Time for us to retire I think."

Jaskier too rose to his feet.

"Jaskier, you—" Geralt began.

"—are sharing with me," Yennefer completed smoothly, wrapping her hand around Jaskier's arm possessively. She then smiled at Cirilla. "Sleep well tonight, Ciri."

Jaskier tipped his head and did the same. "Pleasant dreams, Princess."

Cirilla's eyes darted from adult to adult.

"Thanks," she finally replied awkwardly. "You and Lady Yennefer too."

With that, Yennefer led the two of them to her tent, not bothering to wait and see if Geralt would exchange similar pleasantries. As the door flap fell shut behind them, the tension that had instinctively formed within them when Geralt had begun to speak drained out.

They both stood there for a moment in silence.

"Well, it's been long enough for us to take a look at your hands now," the sorceress finally spoke, letting her hand fall away from Jaskier as she strode deeper into the space. "Depending on how they look we'll need to adjust the potency and frequency of the mixtures so do take the seat over—Jaskier?"

Jaskier finally picked his jaw off the floor.

"Yennefer, this is a marvel!" he breathed, unable to take his eyes off the contents of the space. "How is it so much bigger on the inside? Is everything stored as it is? How come the magic isn't traceable?"

He pulled his gaze away from the furniture and fixtures in the tent to find the mage watching him with a fondly amused tilt to her mouth.

"I forget," she said, "that sometimes things I use or do without thought can be wonderous occurances to be admired in the eyes of others not used to Chaos."

He didn't know what to say to that, although Yennefer did not seem to be looking for a reply. The mage had turned around to locate the two tins from the night before, unearthing them from a chest at the foot of the vanity table and placing them on the tabletop. She then kicked out the chair and gestured for him to come over.

Jaskier found his legs automatically bringing him to her before his brain had even registered the intent of the action. He sat down hard on the chair and fiddled with his gloves.

Yennefer perchered herself on the table, then calmly seized his hands one-by-one to pull off the gloves and place them aside. Then carefully began to unwind the bandages.

Jaskier could not help but look away, unwilling to face his damaged hands and more than that, the pain that would soon follow as Yennefer began the lengthy process of healing them.

"Seems like this version is working decently," came the mage's voice. "Not as much as I hoped, but still better than expected."

She placed his hands on the table and walked over to a curtained off portion of the tent. Jaskier steeled himself, then stole a glance at his hands. The cream paste that had been applied on them had turned a light shade of grey, with pitch-black lines snaking through them and patches of equally dark spots on the more injured areas. His stomach turned.

Yennefer came back over with a bowl of warm water and a fresh damp cloth.

"Wash most of the paste off with this, bardling," she ordered, placing the bowl in front of him. "I'll wipe the rest off."

Jaskier could only give her a sharp jerky nod, then set his jaw and dipped his hands in. Submerging them in the water, he gently rubbed as much of the paste off with his fingers, hissing through gritted teeth whenever he agitated an injury. The clear water soon turned a murky grey.

When she deemed his hands washed enough, Yennefer drew them into her own one-by-one to wipe the abused flesh clean with the cloth. Under her brisk yet tender ministrations, interspersed by more hisses and groans, the extent of the burns were once more revealed.

Jaskier was careful not to look.

Yennefer pried open the tin containing the second balm—a gel-like transparent thing—and scooped some up with two fingers, then began to smear it liberally onto his skin. Jaskier hissed a long breath through his teeth, the burns stinging as the balm was applied, even through the analgesic from before. Once both of his hands were thoroughly coated, Yennefer looked him in the eye.

"This is the part where things are going to get painful, bardling," she said. "I'm going to use my magic to subtly pull out whatever loosened and surfaced Chaos is there, using the balm as a conduit. But it is guaranteed to resist active removal, so you'll be feeling some amount of pain."

"Right, right..." Jaskier exhaled, voice wavering ever so slightly. "And there's nothing you can do for it?"

"Nothing that won't interfere with the rest of the process," Yennefer told him, sympathy briefly passing across her face.

"Right, ok..." Jaskier breathed in and out deeply a few times. Then set his jaw and stared at a point over her shoulder. "I'm ready."

Yennefer began to murmur in Elder, one hand hovering over Jaskier's, Chaos sparking in the cup of her palm, while the other cradled it from below, slender fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist.

Then his skin began to burn.

A strangled yell forced its way out of his closed mouth as he doubled-over his hand. His fingers spasmed and trembled, splayed out as they were from the pain, and he couldn't help but try to yank his hand backwards to escape it. Yennefer proved stronger however, and he remained pinned in place even as he writhed and wailed in his seat.

Out of the corner of his watering eyes, he noticed black strands twining their way through the clear gel, being pulled out of his skin like threads spun out of flesh. His stomach violently protested the realisation joining the pain and he only managed to choke out, "I'm gonna hurl", before he was spilling his guts onto the floor beside him in choking, gasping heaves.

Undeterred, Yennefer kept going.

By the time the pain finally began to die down, there was nothing left in his stomach to expel. Saliva and bile dripped out of his open mouth as he struggled to get his breathing back under control even as his stomach still roiled. Through the prickling agony in his hand, he barely felt the sorceress pass a cloth over his palm to wipe the gel off.

There was the sound of another tin popping open, and a paste was smoothed over his inflamed skin, and the hurt slowly began to ebb away. For a while, the only sound in the room was the loud heaving breaths Jaskier sucked in as Yennefer rubbed soothing circles on his back.

Finally, Jaskier shuddered, then pulled himself back up. "We should do the other hand soon."

"Yes," the sorceress replied, her hand a warm weight through the fabric of his sweat-soaked shirt. "The sooner it's done, the sooner it's over."

Jaskier sucked in a few more deep breaths, trying to steady his breathing and pulse rate. He flexed his treated hand where it lay in his lap, the white paste from last night coating it and drawing out the lingering pain. Then placed his other hand in Yennefer's waiting one.

Yennefer spared no moment for him to change his mind.

And so Jaskier screamed long and loud, the sound echoing around them as it writhed in the air, caught within the flimsy walls of the tent, trapped with nowhere else to go.

By the time the gel was wiped away and the paste applied, he was nearly catatonic from pain, only the barest whimpers creeping out his open mouth.

"Bardling, bardling, can you hear me?"

Yennefer's voice came from far away, lilting and drifting as if through water.

"Jaskier. Jaskier, I need you to respond!"

The bard's fingers twitched. His eyes struggled to refocus as the thinly-veiled panic in the voice latched onto his attention and pulled.

"Jaskier!"

A wheezing rattle filled the air as Jaskier forced air into his lungs. He tipped his head towards the ceiling from where his cheek rested on the cool tabletop and locked his gaze with violet eyes.

"Yen..." he rasped.

"Thank fuck," the mage exhaled, the tension in her frame slowly drawn out like thread spun from wool. "Jaskier..."

"I'm not sure... if I can take... much more of that..." Jaskier struggled to breath out, voice as if he'd been gargling shards of glass. From the faintly metallic taste at the back of his throat, he was certain he'd done some damage to it at least.

Yennefer placed a cool damp cloth over his forehead and began winding bandages around his hands.

"That was the worst of it, bardling," she murmured reassuringly. "It’ll get easier from now on. We got lucky that a good chunk of Chaos remained surface-level and more had been loosened up by the paste. It might be possible to pull everything out in under 2 weeks and properly heal your hands after."

Jaskier managed a nod of acknowledgement. "You didn't… overexert… yourself, right, Yen?"

The sorceress snorted, the sound amused and contemptuous. "Not in the least, bardling. Worry about yourself."

She tied the bandages off in the same bows from yesterday, causing Jaskier's lips to stretch into a trembling smile. Done with his hands, the mage dragged the cloth from down his forehead to gently wipe off the sweat and dirt on his face and neck. Then waved a hand to summon clothes which she proceeded to dump on Jaskier's lap.

"Get changed, husband," she ordered, spinning off to stride somewhere else in the tent. "This day has dragged on long enough already and I don't doubt that Geralt will force us to march on before the sun finishes rising."

Jaskier groaned at the very thought, his body already feeling like one massive slab of tenderised meat. Then pushed himself upright to wiggle himself out of his old clothes and into the new ones from his perch on the chair, underclothes included.

A sigh escaped him as he sank back against the chair once he was finished. It was a relief to get out of the sweat-drenched clothing. Frankly, he was in desperate need of a proper wash, but the toil of the day with an added dose of torturous treatment had him unwilling to move a single centimeter towards that goal.

And despite their rather spontaneous-and-willing-yet-definitely-not-legal marriage, he and Yen were not quite there yet in their relationship for her to bathe him.

He brought one of the two tankards of water she’d left for him to his lips with shaking hands, rinsing his mouth out and adding to the mess on the floor with one, then drinking deeply from the other. A brief smile pulled at his lips when he noticed the spoonful of honey she’d also placed out to soothe the burning in his throat.

The tingle of Chaos as it washed over him and erased the filth and smell of the place and from him was hardly noticed.

Even as his eyes began to slowly slide shut, Jaskier couldn't help but rub his shaking, bandaged fingertips over the soft cloth of his new outfit admiringly. The cream shirt and brown pants were simple and clearly meant for someone with a broader stature than himself. Yet the material was comfortably worn-in, butter-soft from repeated use and wash, lying as gently and lightly against his skin as the finest silk.

The repetition of the action soothed him, and his eyelids finally fluttered closed.

"Time for bed, bardling," came Yennefer's voice from beside him, settling over him like the soft fall of shadows from candlelight. "Don't fall asleep on me just yet."

Jaskier simply hummed, and automatically leaned into her side, face-planting into the soft silk of her nightgown over her stomach. Yennefer huffed, then slid an arm around him to pull him to his feet. A discontent noise escaped him at the motion, and the sorceress laughed softly, catching him as he swayed into her and buried his face in her hair. She had a lot of hair, that woman.

He followed blindly as she steered them towards the bed and tumbled the two of them onto it, their limbs flopping about wildly. With another amused huff that Jaskier hid a smile to, he remained loose and pliant as the mage rearranged them to her liking. Once she was satisfied with the way the pair of them were wrapped around one another, he felt her raise a hand and the light seeping past his eyelids winked out.

Jaskier shuffled the tiniest bit closer to her, face resting in the hollow of her throat and the scent of lilacs and gooseberries settling around him like the blanket she'd covered them with. Then with the barest whisper of a sigh against her skin, drifted to sleep in her arms.

part 2

#chaptersinprogress #jaskierminibang2022 #the witcher netflix #yennskier #yenskier #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier #fanfic #fanfiction #fucking long post - this section is over 10k I think #part 2 will be posted in about a week #where the sky meets the sea

48 notes · View notes