Chapter Text
If one were asked to describe one Yennefer of Vengerberg, one would be inclined to say she was ruthless but beautiful. A flower bush filled with bloodied thorns. However, she herself would say that, at least after the battle of Sodden Hill, she was more blood and thorns than perfume and petals.
And so she had gone into hiding afterwards, had given herself time to heal her wounds and replenish her energy. She was planning to throw herself back into searching for a child, no longer a cure, per se, a certain dragon’s words echoing in her ears, but rather a babe to adopt and raise as her own, maybe. Gods knew, there were enough people that abandoned their children and Yennefer’s heart ached at the thought of those poor souls, all alone and with no place to call home, no one to call family, only surrounded by a cruel world of hate and darkness, one that Yennefer had always been familiar with. But then Geralt of fucking Rivia found her. It had been a year or so since their last meeting and Yennefer would lie if she said she hadn’t missed him at all. But things had changed since then. The very air between them seemed different, no longer charged with lightning and fire, but rather understanding. Compassion, perhaps.
But Geralt wasn’t alone either, when he came to her, when he apologised to her. It seemed he had finally decided to take responsibility and claimed his child surprise. It was quite a shock to discover that that very child was the last heir to the cintran throne, princess Cirilla, the target of half the nilfgaardian army.
So of course, when Geralt asked for her help to protect the girl and teach her how to control magic, she had accepted right away. Maybe Ciri could be her legacy, her everything. Yennefer started travelling with Geralt and his child surprise, afterwards, slowly distancing herself from an idealised version of an impossible future.
They went into hiding for a few months, listening to the rumours about the White Wolf hiding the Lion Cub of Cintra as they spread like a bloodstain upon white silk. Travelling and laying low wouldn’t do it anymore, not when both Geralt and Yennefer knew that Ciri needed a place to train for the winter, a home, something stable in her life.
It was almost winter when they finally set their sights on Kaer Morhen.
The clouds that were already lazily drifting over the sky while they had been on the way now gather in dark swirls of inky black overhead. Yennefer clutches her fur coat closer to her frame, exhaling a puff of white smoke. It gets colder the closer they get to Kaer Morhen, she thinks, almost regretfully, imagining that the huge stone fortress isn’t necessarily going to be the warmest place, not really. But it’s nothing a spell can’t change.
For now, though, she walks through the market, empty as it is of people at the moment. It is noon, but with the brewing storm, most have already taken refuge, however, there are still the stragglers and the ones who can’t go inside.
Yennefer shakes her head and keeps walking towards a shop with a sign depicting a lily hanging above the door. It doesn’t take her more than a couple of minutes to negotiate with the shopkeeper to sell her some rather expensive herbs for half the price. At least she’ll be back before the storm breaks, Yennefer thinks as she pockets the little bags and vials of dried leaves and the sort in her coat. She is a bit distracted thinking about the fact that she left Geralt to care for Ciri in the little camp they made just outside the town, what with Ciri excitedly claiming that Geralt was to teach her how to hunt while Yennefer was gone before she left to get extra potion ingredients.
And with her thoughts being elsewhere, Yennefer almost stumbles over the body that gets kicked at her feet just as she opens the door. Violet eyes widen as the ragged figure whimpers pitifully, their grey cape frayed around the edges and revealing the person’s bare legs and even more ragged pants. There are two men in front of the shop, a few paces away, one of which is breathing heavily, the other just looking over with a bored expression.
Yennefer narrows her gaze and, inside her pocket, her hand tightens around a small dagger, though she knows magic would be more effective if a fight were to break out in front of her, but she’s not really eager to unmask herself as a mage quite yet.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”, she asks, tilting her chin out, lips smiling pleasantly, but coldly.
The man who, Yennefer assumes, kicked the person, just huffs and turns away to leave with shaking shoulders. The other responds with an even more bored tone than his face:
“Crazy beggar”, he nods at the lump on the ground, who hasn’t moved much since he was thrown at the hard stone, “Tried to steal from us.”
With that, the man leaves. Yennefer rolls her eyes. She is about to leave when the beggar grasps the seam of her fur coat with a trembling but unrelenting hand. She doesn’t have time for this! Yennefer gathers the coat’s material in one hand and tugs, but the person stumbles to his knees and uses his other hand to keep himself attached to Yennefer’s clothes.
“Please...”, it’s so quiet, Yennefer almost misses it. Her eyes soften for just a moment before she clenches her jaw and reaches for her coin purse. She tosses a few coppers at the beggar, but he still doesn’t let go.
At that, Yennefer slowly reaches a hand towards one of the beggar’s and is almost shocked at how cold his skin feels. Looking closer at his fingers, they do have a bluish tint. She shakes him off and looks down at him as he remains on his knees, head bowed.
“Take the coins. It’s enough to rent you a room at an inn until the storm passes”, she tries to speak as softly as she can, but Yennefer really needs to get going if she wants to make it back to Geralt and Ciri before it starts pouring down.
But then the beggar looks up and a shock travels through Yennefer, her body going tense and breath stuttering in her chest as violet meets azure blue. No way…
“Is it… Jaskier?”
Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the man’s face shows no recognition. It shows nothing if she’s honest, and Yennefer has never been fond of the bard, having seen him about one year ago and still remembering their petty banter, but worry grows in her chest. There are blotches of brown and green framing his face and dark circles under his eyes. There’s also a layer of grime covering his skin, but what she can see through the filter of dirt is enough to worry her.
He doesn’t speak, just looks at her - no, Yennefer scrunches her nose and furrows her brows in a hard expression, he looks through her, at a spot just above her shoulder, big blue eyes unfocused.
“What the hell happened to you?”, she asks, not expecting an answer. Yennefer feels a few droplets of cold water hitting her face and a glance upwards confirms that, yes, the storm is just about to start, she needs to go right now-
With a short inhale and a decision made in her head, Yennefer brushes her dark locks over a shoulder and bends her knees to meet the beggar’s - Jaskier’s - gaze. He still doesn’t react, which just steels Yennefer as she snakes an arm around the bard’s shoulders. Former bard, Yennefer muses as she picks him up. She places Jaskier’s arm around her own shoulders and moves her own around his waist. She can feel just how thin he is and it nurtures her worry even more.
Yennefer never really got along with Jaskier, not before she and Geralt went through their breakup and surely not afterwards, as she hadn’t seen him since, no, but even she can tell that something is wrong, very wrong.
She remembers asking Geralt where his bard was when he came to her with his child surprise in toe and no bard clinging to him, but he never answered. Yennefer walks as fast as she can with an unresponsive Jaskier barely stumbling about the path out of the town even as she half drags him, half leads him on it.
No, Yennefer never got along with Jaskier, and she will probably claim that the decision to bring Jaskier back with her is one born of suspicion that surrounds the fact that Jaskier, in this abysmal state, managed to find them . She will say that it’s too much of a coincidence and they can’t afford to turn a blind eye, but right now? Right now, as Yennefer looks at him with a sideways glance and sees barely a shadow of the person Jaskier used to be, her heart lodges itself in her throat and panic bubbles just below the layer of confusion.
The rain falls like drops of mercury by the time Yennefer and Jaskier make it back to the camp. Geralt is outside, keeping guard and Ciri is probably in Yennefer’s tent. Roach is shielded under a rocky ledge, oats having been laid out for her to enjoy and a thick blanket resting on her back. The mare sees them first and bristles as she sees not one, but two figures approaching. Geralt notices them next.
“Yen?”, he calls, hand tightening into fists and Yennefer hurries their steps, but she thinks Jaskier has fainted midway through their short journey to camp, and while she holds great magical powers, physically, she is not quite as gifted. When they get closer, Yennefer sees Geralt’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. She thinks she sees a shadow pass over his face, but not even one second later, he is stomping towards them and picking Jaskier up, not even bothering to look at him properly.
The only clue Yennefer gets that Geralt recognised her ’companion’ is a harshly whispered, “How?”, and Yennefer just shakes her head with a sigh. They make their way towards the tent, which is glowing a muted orange in the dark atmosphere, almost like a lighthouse through the rain falling heavily around them.
When they enter, Yennefer doesn’t hesitate to drop her waterlogged cloak to the tent floor and quickly makes her way towards her desk, laying out all the newly bought herbs. Ciri rises to her feet, her smile at their return merging into something else, something tinged with fear as Geralt drops the grey bundle that is more cloth than human on the bed, what with how Jaskier swims in the fabric, the hood covering half his face.
“What happened? Is he hurt?”, Ciri question’s, panic in her voice. Her eyes move between Yennefer, who is looking through her notes looking for all of the healing potions and muscle relaxants she could prepare with her current supplies, Geralt, who seems frozen in place by the bed, expression unreadable as he looks at Jaskier and Jaksier himself, who looks so pale and so small that he, scarily enough, reminds Yennefer more of a corpse than a sick patient. She doesn’t let it get to her head.
“Found him in the market”, Yennefer says, tone flat and uninterested, but her hands are already busy throwing bits of dried leaves in glass vials and mixing them together with ease. Ciri finally settles on a chair next to the bed and frowns at Jaskier.
“I think I… I think I know him. He used to come and play for my birthday”, there’s something soft and pained in her voice, her eyes heavy with too much hurt for Yennefer’s liking.
Ciri reaches for his hand but hesitates.
“Why?”, Geralt asks.
He still hasn’t moved. A muscle twitches in his neck above the armour. The rain patters above them, hitting the tent roof.
“He’s hurt, Geralt. Something’s not right here”, she starts, glaring at the witcher with a heated look flaming behind walls of violet ice, and then, more softly, “You know I don’t believe in coincidences, but…”
Yennefer just gestures at Jaskier and the man in question lets out a small breath. All eyes are suddenly on him as he opens his eyes, mouth wide open to let out a croak. Yennefer thinks he might have wanted to scream, but only a weak sound comes out. Yennefer works faster.
“Ciri, help me cut these. Geralt, undress him”, she orders, shoulders tense. Ciri is right next to her a second later, clutching a silver knife and chopping up dried petals. Geralt doesn’t fucking move .
“Geralt!”, Yennefer snaps again, before turning back to her potions. She could try some healing spells, but the potions are safer.
Geralt seems to crumble at that, something eerily close to pain glowing through the gold, but Geralt heeds her order and moves, first taking of Jaskier’s cloak and, though Yennefer doesn’t have the same keen sense of smell Geralt does, she can still smell the scent of blood wafting through the air.
Geralt’s jaw clenches so hard Yennefer thinks he would break his own teeth, were he anything less than a witcher. Ciri lets out a soft whimper, but Yennefer is almost ready. Still, she bumps their elbows together in silent comfort.
Next, Geralt strips Jaskier of his dirty tunic, so dark with mud that Yennefer almost misses the darker areas that she figures must be blood. Almost. Countless patches of dark skin and dried blood are highlighted by the warm glow of the fire burning in the centre of the enlarged tent, and Yennefer knows they’ll have to clean up the dark red patches before she’s able to asses him fully. She pats Ciri on the back, signalling that their work is finished and the girl all but flies to Geralt’s side, peeking fearfully at the still form of Jaskier. His eyes are wide open and his chest is rising and falling at a much quicker rate than Yennefer would like. Ciri chokes on a sob and Yennefer’s heart aches.
Jaskier’s trousers are taken off afterwards and they are in much the same state as his torso, though maybe slightly less muddy, less patched with dried blood. Yennefer takes note of the ripped skin around his wrists and ankles and hesitates to look at his neck to see the exact same markings.
”Who-”, Ciri tries to ask, but she slaps her palms over mouth as sobs shake her whole frame. Geralt wraps his arms around her and lets her hide her face in his chest, but his eyes don’t leave Jaskier. There’s fear in his eyes.
Yennefer takes the vial she’s just prepared, along with a small tub of salve, an empty bowl and a piece of soft cloth.
Geralt throws her a glance and a silent conversation passes through their eyes. He leaves Ciri for a bit, grabbing the bowl from Yennefer and heading outside the tent. Yennefer makes a small gesture towards Ciri, spelling her asleep. She really doesn’t need to see this. After putting the supplies on the bed next to Jaskier, she leads an almost asleep Ciri next to the other bed. Geralt returns with the bowl, now filled with clean water.
The two set to work in silence. Yennefer grabs the cloth, wetting it, and starts cleaning Jaskier. Yennefer figures that Geralt doesn’t think she notices that he grabs Jaskier’s hand as he closes his blue eyes again, breath hitching around whimpers as Yennefer wipes at the cuts and bruises littering his torso. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. Some blood patches turn out to be much worse than just the result of open wounds. They are darker than the rest of the bruises on his body, not quite as faded and yellowish, and Yennefer thinks they might be more recent. It makes her question just what happened to Jaskier, as these bruises seem too new compared to everything else, yet they seem to belong together. Internal bleeding is not her area of expertise though, so she keeps wiping the dirt and blood away as slowly as possible. Yennefer has never been interested in medicinal magic, but she knows a thing or two, especially after having to experiment on herself with patch-up work after Sodden. Yennefer knows that the bruises on Jaskier’s torso are from internal bleeding that still hasn't stopped, despite her limited knowledge. Shit.
“Tortured, probably”, Yennefer answers Geralt’s questioning gaze, the one she can see floating in his thoughts through his eyes, and he squeezes Jaskier’s hand with two of his own. It looks incredibly small, almost frail in Geralt’s hands.
“Who would have… He’s just a human. A bard”, his voice seems as toneless as ever, but Yennefer picks up a tension. He’s trying to hide how much this affects him. Just how did Geralt and Jaskier end up separated, anyways? Gods, Yennefer wouldn’t be surprised if it was some stupid heroic bullshit type of reason that Geralt always uses.
“Not just a bard”, Yennefer sighs and moves on to Jaskier’s thighs. There’s a lot more blood on the inner thighs. All at once, she knows that she will need to do a much more thorough investigation. Something sick and disgusting curls up in her stomach. Yennefer takes the cloth away and wrings the water out of it before raising a thigh. A small voice whispers that the obnoxious bard that she used to know would be mortified to find himself naked and under Yennefer’s scrutiny, but as it stands, Jaskier has his eyes clenched shut and is twitching every so often. He’s still so cold…
“No, not just a bard. Your bard”, Yennefer lifts the man’s thighs but stops for a moment as that seems to cause too much jostling of his injuries, or something else makes him shake when she tries to touch him there . “Keep him still”, she instructs Geralt as she continues and wipes the blood between his thighs, cleaning some small cuts, burns and what she thinks might be bootmarks.
Geralt does as told, moving to hold Jaskier’s shaking shoulders between his hands and rubbing small circles into them, but frowns, slightly.
“He’s… It’s not like… He’s not my bard”, there’s a hint of bitterness mixed with the anger and hurt, but Yennefer thinks, if she peers close enough, she might also see guilt.
“But that’s a matter to be settled between you two. As for the rest of the world, he followed you around for twenty years, Geralt. In their eyes, he's yours as long as he sings your songs”, Yennefer sets his legs back down with uncharacteristic gentleness. Suddenly, she’s all too aware that they will need a better healer. She moves onto his arms all the same. Geralt moves back to stand at Jaskier’s side.
“If anyone wanted to get to you...”
“They’d use him for that”, Geralt murmurs and now the blame he is probably in his head stubbornly pointing at himself is obvious in his voice. Yennefer glances at Ciri for just a second, but Geralt catches the movement.
“Nilfgaard?”, Geralt asks, but they both know the answer.
“Nilfgaard”, Yennefer replies all the same.
It takes Yennefer only a few more minutes to finish cleaning him up and then Geralt is dressing him up in an old tunic of his, tying the laces at the neck tightly, though the material still hangs below bruised collarbones. He is so thin... Jaskier doesn’t stir and Yennefer thinks, hopes , he’s fallen asleep.
She and Geralt stand between the two beds, looking at Ciri who sleeps like the weight of the world rests on her shoulders and at Jaskier, who looks like he’s this close to being picked up by a strong enough gust of wind. It is a terrifying image. Yennefer moves to pour the potion between Jaskier’s parted lips and Geralt empties the bowl of surprisingly pink water outside. When he returns, he looks his age, hundreds of years old, eyes too tired and scars too obvious on his otherwise stunning face. Yennefer starts setting her desk in order.
“The potion will keep him asleep. But Geralt...”, Yennefer has a hand on his arm and her eyes are a bit wild, a bit terrified, as she speaks, “This, I can’t heal. Not fully. Not correctly."
“We’ll search for a healer”, he says, almost instantly.
“No, we have to make sure Ciri is safe, we have to continue-”, Yennefer shakes her head, but Geralt is already speaking again, eyes hardened with his own decision. Damn stubborn fool, Yennefer thinks, almost fondly.
“We’ll pass by a few more towns on the way. This whole thing...”
And Yennefer knows what he wants to say.
“It’s not your fault, Geralt”, there’s a certainty to her voice, but then she sees Geralt’s eyes darken and sees the sorrow on his face.
“I chased him away, Yen. And he’s here. And he’s hurt. Because of me”, Geralt grits his teeth as he speaks, whispering roughly, though they both know neither Ciri nor Jaskier will wake up any time soon. And when Geralt turns to face her, there’s a twinge in her heart as she sees tears.
“Nilfgaard doesn’t leave witnesses, nor survivors.”
Yennefer knows this already.
“They hurt him, but he escaped. Somehow. And he found you again”, Yennefer whispers softly as Geralt collapses on his knees next to Jaskier’s bed. His pale hand twitches and Geralt takes hold of it once more.
This whole situation feels wrong, she doesn’t say. Taking him in is a risk, she doesn’t say either. Yennefer just reluctantly watches as the witcher is wrought by pain.
“We will figure out what happened and how to help him after he wakes up Geralt”, she does say.
If Jaskier wakes up, Yennefer doesn’t say.