Chapter Text
Jaskiers hand ached. He flexed it in irritation. The cold of the keep made it almost impossible for his worn body to not burn and scream with pain. He shuddered again and curled up in a tighter ball on the worn bed he had claimed. He couldn't fight the fever that was building behind his eyes.
He had been in this miserable castle for almost two days- Kaer Morhen was unforgiving even to the best of men, or anyone in all reality, according to Geralt.
Two days and not a single person had come to ensure Jaskiers survival, much less his comfort. Could he quite blame them? He wasn't particularly vital to their cause and he knew his existence would be barely tolerated if it was tolerated at all.
His nerves flooded with pain as he shifted again, that mage had done more damage than Jaskier had initially realized. He had been running on so much adrenaline as of late that he hadn’t actually noticed the bruises blooming on all his sides. His fingers were a nasty red, pus was leaking from the blisters he had been neglecting to take care of.
He hadnt eaten anything in what he assumed was days- his stomach wasnt even trying to demand anything from him anymore, and his body was taking on a full wave of intense nausea.
He breathed in and out and hoisted himself up. As much as he wished to stay alone and secluded, he needed warmth, food and water. There was a hearth in the room with him that he was choosing to ignore, he wouldn't be able to hold a candle in this moment much less light a fire.
He stumbled to the door, grasping at the walls while sucking in lungfuls of air to stay conscious. His vision dotted a bit and his head felt like it was floating away, but he pushed through it. He opened the door, silence filled the keep like a suffocating blanket. He suddenly remembered he had no idea where anything was, trembling, cold, in excruciating pain and lost in a goddamn castle.
He stepped forward and looked around a bit, he clutched his ribs as they protested heavily to moving upright. No one was nearby from what he could tell, but with his perception he was certain he wouldn’t be able to tell anyway.
He tripped several times on the way to a familiar direction, his body was seemingly begging him to sit back down. He complied in more of a collapse but he steadied his back against the wall. It was all a little too much and he wasn't sure he could get back up, but he was still freezing. The stone floor underneath him offered no warmth.
“Where the fuck is everyone?” Jaskier muttered, his breath clouding out in front of him.
There was a clanging noise in a room down the hall, as if someone were knocking around items and chucking them against walls. The door to that room swung open, and Cirilla stalked out, her body language conveying a very unforgiving emotion. Her eyes were rimmed red and her breathing was labored.
She glanced over as soon as the red of Jaskiers coat caught her eye. “Oh!” She quickly wiped away the tears that had built up again. She looked around to find anyone other than Jaskier, who was still sitting against the wall and clutching his ribs.
He made a small salute motion with his hand, cringing as his body hated the motion. “Morning, Princess.”
She made a face. “It's the afternoon.”
“Ah, hard to keep track lately, time moves so horridly in this damn place.” Jaskier said in between slow and heavy breaths. He envied how she was able to stand, and breathe, and walk without any assistance from the wall.
“Are you alright?” She asked, her guard coming down a little as she took in his condition.
Jaskier felt no reason to lie to her and shook his head. “Being fully honest, no.”
“Here.” She held out a small hand, “Ill take you to Yennefer, she can help you.”
Jaskier was confused, “Yennefer is still here?” He was so relieved, the tense air between him and Geralt was suffocating and Yennefer made it so much easier to breathe nowadays. But Jaskier had assumed Geralt kicked her out, he had been so sure of it that he assumed he would have been sent after her as soon as Geralt remembered he was around.
Cirilla nodded, and pulled him to his feet. He groaned heavily, and attempted to not put his full weight onto her. She brought him to the main hall, destroyed and bloody, it wasn't a sight to behold and the air around it was stagnant.
They scurried past it, avoiding eye contact with the holes in the walls around them. Too many reminders of a battle too fresh in both of their minds.
Cirilla looked almost unnervingly calm and confident as she walked through the keep, her posture reflected Geralts in her readiness for anything to happen. Jaskier wondered what memories the keep already stored for her, and an ugly twinge of jealousy shot through his chest.
He had never received an invitation to Geralt's home, not that he was sure he deserved one, but it still hurt.
They turned into a doorway, the door already open to a warm and very inviting room.
Geralt wasn't there. And Jaskier breathed a little easier.
Yennefer was sat in a chair, regal as always, but her body radiated sorrow. Her posture was so full of it that Jaskier quickly forgot about his own.
She looked up and her face immediately brightened, a slight smile on her face. “Jaskier! I was wondering where you had gone, Geralt stalked off hours ago and I wasn't able to ask.”
Jaskier smiled, he had forgotten how fond of her he had become. Her eyes were beautiful in the firelight and her hair was let down, presumably to anxiously run her hands through it. Her descriptive scent comforted him as he fell into a chair that Cirilla had brought behind him.
“Ciri, where has Geralt gone?” Yennefer asked, her tone barely concealing the anxiety behind the question.
Cirilla shrugged. “Could be anywhere, didn't tell me anything.” She said, turning around to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
She left, and the room fell into silence. Jaskier braced himself for the inevitable questions.
“Where have you been hiding?” Gods she was blunt.
“In one of the spare rooms, looked unused enough so I let myself in after the battle. Needed somewhere to sleep, and Geralt never came to find me.” He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. “Not that I particularly blame him.”
Yennefer nodded, he was sure she could feel the exhaustion seeping from him. The fire was lulling him slowly back into wanting to sleep.
“You look like you've been freezing to death all night.”
“Can't light a fire.” He said simply, opening his eyes to look at the ceiling.
Yennefer looked at the hearth in front of them. “Fire mages are ruthless. I'm so sorry Jaskier.”
He blinked, he felt nothing in response. Any sort of grief or rage was lost, and he just felt defeated.
Minutes passed in silence. It was nice to not have to perform for the woman next to him, she would see through any performance anyway.
Cirilla came back in, her own bag and waterskin in her hand. She silently handed the waterskin to Jaskier and started digging around her bag. A very focused look on her face. She managed to find an apple, but everything else had been eaten by what looked to be rats.
She groaned in frustration. “I need to convince Geralt to open the pantry for us.”
“Could one of his brothers do it?”
She looked around in thought and smiled a little at a memory. “I will ask Lambert.”
She left again.
“She is so motivated.” Jaskier observed, he ate slowly, not used to eating with his left hand quite yet.
“It's admirable, a lot is on her plate.” Yennifer said simply.
Jaskier hummed. He reminded himself of Geralt.
“How much pain are you in?” Yennefer had dropped the volume of her voice.
Jaskier just looked at her, he didn't even have words for how badly he wanted to be put down like a limping horse. “Loads.”
She nodded again and reached to her side on the expansive table beside her.
“I've been playing healer all night.” She dug around and got some sort of salve that smelled overwhelmingly of mint and pine, and bandages. Finally he wouldn't have to look at the ugly holes in his fingers, fingers he was sure would never strum a lute again.
She was fast, even with her own magical healing properties she seemed to understand how human medicine worked. “This is all I can do for now. My chaos has been…”
She blinked back something in her eyes, Jaskier could see the scared girl she must've been before she ever became a mage. Lost and beautiful still.
“Don't even worry, this is more than enough.”
She shook her head, “I should be able to make this all go away” Her hands rested on his own. “Jaskier, you are trembling.”
“Hmm?” He felt so out of it, the world was fading and his body felt like it was buzzing under his skin.
“And you are burning up.” A hand was on his forehead, and he leaned into it.
“Mhmm.” He knew that. He knew he was on fire. Always. Always on fucking fire.
He looked up at Yennefer, she was biting her lip and taking in his physical condition. She reached down to her fur she had pushed off herself earlier and draped it over him. The weight was amazing, his eyes shut and he didn't have the energy to open them again. He slumped forward.
She was busying herself again at her table, he could hear the shuffling of paper and bottles. The sound was methodical.
He must have lost time, he opened his eyes to Yennefer sitting close to him, her hands were in his hair caressing. She had positioned his body to lean on the side of the armchair he was in. It was the first real physical touch he had received since the hug with Geralt, and he could melt into it. However, his body was back to its demands, pinching and aching pain in his ribs and sides. He sat up and groaned.
“I have to find Geralt.” Yennefer said, her eyes suggesting she knew how Jaskier was going to feel about that.
“If you must.” He muttered, he was hesitant to see him at all but he knew he couldn't avoid him forever in his own home.
Unless he left. Now.
Yennefer strode out of the room, oblivious to the sudden decision that was made. His body was aware of his goal before he was. He was up and he made his way back to the front of the keep. He could do it; he could leave before Geralt kicked him out. Threw him out with the haunting words of destiny on his tongue.
The door was heavy and the storm outside was dark and cold. He had to leave. He couldn't do it again. The moment Geralt knew about his meeting with that disgusting mage he would know Jaskier put them all in danger. What would he say then? What would he do? So here he was, completing his promise he made on that mountain. Taking himself off his hands.
Jaskier had already accepted that he would most likely not survive his journey back through the pass and down the mountain. But he wasn't sure he could survive Geralt either. And he was always good at picking the lesser evil.
His sides did not relent their complaints, his exhaustion was barely held back by his own adrenaline. He passed the stable, and entered a trail he hoped led West. He could escape the consequences of falling for those stupid gold eyes. If he just kept moving. Step after step.
He didn't even make it to a mile before he collapsed in the snow. He laid there, his chest seizing and struggling to take in air.
Rience should've killed him. He did everything else. He took everything else. Why couldn't he just finish him off?
The bandages on his fingers were drenched in blood, the cold was cracking his blisters and causing them to ooze. The fire in his body was leaving, but in its place was a cold that felt almost exactly the same. Hollow and unmerciful.
He imagined being hanged, faster than freezing to death and he suddenly envied the people he had seen hanging around Velen. He imagined being burned at the stake. Imagined poison. He imagined any death because anything would be better than this. He imagined passing away peacefully in someone's arms, the ending he knew he would never get.
The snow offered nothing. It didn't cradle his body, it didn't offer support as he died. How comical, he thought, to die meters away from the keep. How pathetic that he couldn't even remove his death from Geralt's life. Just another thing to put on the man's shoulders.
He just hoped he stayed dead this time.
—
“I was preoccupied.”
“You've always been too preoccupied for him Geralt. Do not use that excuse now.”
Jaskiers head hurt. His chest was still tight and he couldn't feel his hands. He was so cold. And alive. Fuck! He groaned, grieving the consequences of his attempt to escape. He had been saved. Of course, Geralt and his stupid guilt and stupid heroics stepped in.
He was strung between Yennefer and Geralt, their hands on his sides as they carried him through the keep. All he could do was groan again.
“I know. It's okay. Almost there. You fucking idiot.” Yennefer bit out, her strength had not returned and Jaskier was not a small man.
Geralt was silent, the only thing that changed was the grip on his left side, bringing him a little closer to the larger man's warmth.
They entered a room, the only person he could think it would belong to would be Geralt, if not him then it was an empty room. Perfect for Geralt to throw him in and stalk off to forget him again.
The tears on his cheeks were too hot. Fucking idiot. Yennefer was right to be mad, his random impulsive decision to run from Geralt and his emotions was in fact a stupid thing to do.
But all he wanted to do was finish the job. He didn't want to navigate this. And he felt, after all he had gone through, he deserved to be left alone to end it all.
“Why.” Jaskier asked simply to the both of them. His voice cracked as they both turned to look at him. “Why didn't you let me leave?”
“Jaskier you are ill. Why would we let you go through a mountain like that?” Yennefer asked, her voice conveyed the panic she was feeling. She must be blaming herself for not being able to help him. Help him leave at least.
But he got a harsh sense of justice knowing Geralt knew what he was running from. Geralt wasn't stupid and Jaskier wasn't going to let him pretend he was.
He was gently placed on the bed, he melted into the mattress. His body refused to listen to any mental stimuli and he was trapped there.
Geralt and Yennefer sat at his sides, both of their hands still resting on Jaskier as if the two of them were worried he would bolt.
The two were so unnervingly similar, and he was certain that's why everything played out the way it did. Geralt had been searching for himself while Jaskier had been searching for something different. And it was no one's fault but his own for not seeing the obvious. He tried reaching for that emotion, the little thing he kept inside of himself for Geralt. But it was barred away. He didn't know how to get it back, and he was unsure he would be able to.
He could reach the emotion easier with Yennefer, his infatuation with her kindness and ability to love overwhelmed him. Her mask, once down, was impressive, her power made no less terrifying even in her docile state. He adored her, her bravery and strength.
He wanted to leave again. He had to leave before they both decided he was an unfortunate stroke of fate and tossed him aside like nothing.
Jaskier was crashing again, the room beginning to spin. He fell asleep to the lingering smells of Yennefer and Geralt settling in the air. Reminded him of a field of flowers and horses. He thinks he could be buried there.
As soon as destiny let him die.