Work Text:
Not Without You
The tug of the portal pulling him along to a new world was a familiar sensation now.
When the urge to resist or redirect his path along the universe became too strong, he would force himself to focus on what this was all for.
Jaskier.
Just the thought of the bard left a dull ache in his chest that no amount of rest or food would ever fix. When he’d still been on the Path— his Path—he’d tried not to think about the day when Jaskier was no longer at his side. The bard had always been too brave and too foolhardy for any human to survive a life beside a Witcher, but he’d remained there all the same. Mortality made Jaskier like wildfire—destined to fan out and leave only the impression of its presence lingering behind closed eyelids.
Not yet, he thought fiercely. He will survive this.
If Jaskier was to die, it would be at the end of a long life and only after Geralt had done everything in his power to prevent it.
Uncaring of his inner fear and worry, Ciri’s magic continued to pull him toward some unknown destination. He thought of Jaskier and all the versions of the bards he’d already seen. Jaskiers who fought as Witchers would or a warrior in their own right. All of them with that same painful bravery and fierce loyalty even if they stared at him with none of the familiarity of his own lark. It made him ache in a way he’d never experienced in the months or years when he’d separated from Jaskier in his own world.
Maybe it was the knowledge that Jaskier was hunted by a monster the likes of which Geralt had never seen before. The creature Stregobor had created was massive, vicious, and was utterly fixated on destroying everything Geralt cared about. The brief glimpse of the beast was enough to make Geralt truly terrified of what could happen if it found Jaskier.
It was bad enough that the bard had been ripped away from him once. That Geralt went to sleep each night with the image of Jaskier’s last moments with him before the creature dragged him back in the portal and out of Geralt’s reach. Maybe forever.
Pushing away the thought, Geralt looked ahead to the distant grey light that signalled the portal’s destination. He reached down to grip his sword hilt like a child to its favorite toy and took a deep breath. He’d parted with Ciri for this trip--ostensibly to cover more ground, but, if he was truthful, he knew it was more about the growing panic that came with every failure to find Jaskier. His Jaskier.
The only good this nightmare had produced was to clarify the confusing mix of emotions between himself and Jaskier. He could pretend that the relationship between them was purely friendship, but their separation made that more and more impossible to maintain. At least when they’d been apart before Geralt could rest easy knowing Jaskier had friends and allies around him who would keep him out of serious trouble. Or send for Geralt if the bard needed more martial support.
Now he wasn’t even sure that Jaskier was alive .
Before he could continue to fret over the fate of the bard, the magic around him seemed to build until it practically was humming in his bones. He breathed through the discomfort with a grit of his teeth and was rewarded with the sensation of solid earth beneath his feet. Geralt closed his eyes against a final flare of light from the portal as it snapped closed behind him.
Carefully, he opened his eyes and looked around. The portal had deposited him in a simple stone room. Judging by the shapes in the dim lighting around him, he’d guess it was used for storage. The musty scent of disuse confirmed the hypothesis. The masonry and stonework looked similar to the buildings in his own world and he felt a flash of hope that maybe he was somewhere familiar.
Then he heard the screaming.
It shattered the relative quiet of the room, distant enough that he knew it wasn’t in the hallway outside, but maybe on this level somewhere. It rose into a painful crescendo, breaking in untold agony. He took a step towards it instinctively, his gut twisting in painful knots. Whatever animal or creature was making the noise it was obvious that it was being pushed to its breaking point.
Geralt stalked over to the door, listening for anyone lurking outside before slowly shouldering it open and peering out into the hallway. The corridor was left dark aside from a single torch ensconced halfway down the hall, but further down he could see light and the shadow of people moving back and forth. There were no tapestries or coats of arms mounted on the wall to hint at where he was or who owned this castle, only the faint scent of iron and rust.
He flinched when the scream finally broke off, leaving only silence in its wake. It made it easier to hear the murmur of voices and the scrape of feet against stone. With no other indication of life in the area, Geralt padded forward, taking care not to make any sounds that would give away his presence until he knew where he was.
“...the Asset is malfunctioning more often, Dagan,” a familiar voice growled. Geralt frowned into the darkness. Was that...Stregobor? “I thought these issues would be resolved by now.”
“It is human, sir. Perhaps we overestimated its ability to survive the process.”
Their conversation was soft against the ragged breathing of the creature in their midst. Geralt clenched his teeth and moved closer, some part of him convinced that he needed to help whoever was being held here.
A sigh. “This is beginning to test my faith in your abilities, doctor.”
Whatever Stregobor might have said next was cut off by a wretched sounding moan of pain.
“Asset,” Stregobor snapped, “status report.”
Geralt eased around the corner and eyed the guards stationed near the doors. Both men were focused inwards, hands on the hilts of their swords like they expected an attack at any moment. It was clear that the real threat, to them, was within the walls of the room where Stregobor and the doctor remained. Whatever they were watching had them on edge, judging by the stench of sour sweat lingering around them. He was glad for their distraction--it would make them easier to kill.
“F-fuck you,” a voice rasped and Geralt froze where he stood, realization pouring over him like ice water.
Jaskier .
The thought came with the sensation of drowning. The ground beneath his feet seemed to tilt and he had to throw out a hand to brace himself against the wall. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears loud enough that he nearly missed the sound of the slap.
“You will break, little bard,” the other man crooned as though he hadn’t just struck Jaskier, “You’re only hurting yourself more by fighting this.”
“Don’t… touch me.” Jaskier’s voice came through teeth chattering with the aftershock of whatever torture he’d been put through. Geralt could hear the drag of chains against stone as he shifted listlessly.
“And why shouldn’t I? You belong to us now.”
“I don’t belong...to anyone.”
The cruel laughter echoed over the stone. “Not even your precious Witcher?”
Jaskier coughed, wet and painful. “Ger...alt.”
Geralt moved closer, tightening shaking fingers around his weapon and trying to think of a plan that would keep Jaskier alive. If this Jaskier was the one from his world or not, there was no way Geralt could ever walk away knowing he’d left the bard to be tortured.
By his count, there were at least four armed guards in the room with Jaskier along with the doctor and possibly Stregobor. He couldn’t be sure that there wouldn’t be another mage as well. The odds of him being able to incapacitate all of them before they either killed Geralt or used Jaskier as a hostage were slim. If Stregobor was the voice he’d heard, he would do everything in his power to make sure the Witcher was dead and that he suffered for as long as possible beforehand.
The conclusion was one that made Geralt want to vomit. He couldn’t do anything until at least a few of the men left the room. Which meant Jaskier would have to survive whatever torment they planned for him now. That, or Geralt would need to leave Jaskier here with them in order to try to lure them away with some kind of distraction.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Jaskier,” the bard growled, cadence even like he’d said it often, “Geralt will find me.”
“Wrong answer,” Stregobor snapped.
Geralt managed to shift enough that he saw the moment the mage’s hands came down around Jaskier’s head and the chained man’s body bow in an arc of pure agony. Jaskier’s mouth stretched wide to release a sound that no human should ever make. His eyes rolled back into his skull even as his body strained against the chains binding him in place.
It went on for an eternity. Until only the sound of Jaskier’s torment was the only reason the sound Geralt made in return wasn’t heard by the guards.
Then, just as quickly, Stregobor raised his hands and Jaskier went limp. Geralt sucked in a ragged breath in time with the man on the table, eyes fixed on the trembling body. He knew now that this was not his world, but he had no answer for why his counterpart in this plane of existence hadn’t rescued Jaskier from this place. Was he dead? Or had he somehow abandoned Jaskier to this fate worse than death?
“Who are you?” Stregobor repeated.
There was a pause where Jaskier’s head rolled limply back and forth like he was searching for the answer.
“ Who are you? ”
“ ‘m Jask..ier.” The words were faint enough that Geralt had to strain to hear them. “Geralt.”
With a single word, Geralt's mind was made up.
“Again,” the doctor demanded.
It was the last thing he ever said.
Geralt cast a Quen shield strong enough to pin the outer two guards to the wall before sliding into the room like a nightwraith. Stregobor died next courtesy of a throwing knife in his neck that prevented him from doing more than gurgling through a spray of blood that rained down on Jaskier like a fine mist. The Witcher finished off the two trapped guards with an efficient swipe of his sword--he felt no mercy toward men who were willing to watch a man get tortured.
He was almost grateful that the last two guards gave him a bit of a fight to allow him to work through the rage threatening to choke him. The first came at him with a wild swing of his sword that Geralt blocked with a quick flick of his wrist. It sent him stumbling backwards and left Gerealt with enough room to engage with the second.
The urge to draw out the fight, to let these men feel even an ounce of the terror that Jaskier felt, was all-consuming, but he forced himself to focus. Jaskier was hurt. He needed Geralt to help him, not fixate on vengeance.
Another block gave him the opening he needed to cast Aard close enough that the soldier’s neck snapped with a dull crack beneath his leather armor. He fell in a limp heap that Geralt stepped over with a smooth movement. The last of the guards gave a wild cry of rage that was cut off when Geralt ducked beneath his sword and kicked him hard in the gut. It sent him tripping backwards and made it easy to stab deep into the meat of his chest, ending his struggles for good.
He turned in time to see the doctor attempt to make a run for the door, clutching at a sheaf of papers like they were a shield. His clammy skin was pale with fright, but Geralt could only think about the way the man had encouraged Stregobor to continue torturing Jaskier and how he’d spoken about the bard like he wasn’t human.
The doctor must have seen his death lurking behind Geralt’s eyes because he squeaked and raced toward the door. With a grunt, Geralt shifted his hold on his sword until he could throw it like a makeshift spear. It sliced through the air like it had been made for it and sank deep into the man’s chest and into the wall behind him. The man gasped, blood spraying from his lips, as his shaking hands tried to find a grip around the sword hilt. Geralt watched him go limp with grim satisfaction before going to the table.
Were it not for the blue eyes staring up at him, Geralt might not have recognized the scarred and emaciated man on the table as Jaskier.
The bard eyes were dilated with shock, darting around the room like he wasn’t sure where to look. His mouth opened and closed like he was trying to find words, but they kept escaping him.
“Geralt?” he finally whispered, a fragile hope in the familiar word.
“I’m here,” Geralt said as he crossed the room to stand next to the table. “I’ve got you.”
Kicking aside the corpse of the mage, he fumbled with the restraints until he was able to release Jaskier’s arms and legs. They twitched weakly against him and Geralt ran his hands over the rough shirt and pants Jaskier had been dressed in, searching for any other injuries.
“Geralt?”
“It’s me,” Geralt soothed. “They won’t hurt you again, I promise.”
Jaskier’s hands found an anchor against the front of Geralt’s shirt and he shuddered violently. “I thought...I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
Geralt was helpless against the urge to gather Jaskier close enough that he could feel the way the other man shivered at the touch. When he went to release him in case the touch hurt him, Jaskier only clung to him more tightly. He settled the bard more firmly in his hold and rested his cheek against dirty brown hair.
“I’ll always come for you. Always.”
The promise felt more true now than ever.
The bard hummed softly, breathing in like he was trying to convince himself that Geralt was truly there. “How did you find me?”
Geralt hummed to avoid answering. There was no easy way to say that he wasn’t the Witcher who should be looking for Jaskier. He didn’t even know if his counterpart was alive or how Jaskier had become Stregobor’s prisoner. There were too many questions and not enough answers.
“Can you walk?” he asked, “We should get out of here.”
Jaskier stiffened in a way that told Geralt all he needed to know about what had happened in this room and he had to bite down a growl. He should have made them suffer longer before killing them. They were far more monstrous than any of the beasts he’d hunted on the Path--he wouldn’t feel any guilt for butchering them here.
Without waiting for a response, Geralt swept Jaskier’s too-thin body into his arms and stood. The bard flinched at first at the movement, but relaxed after a beat and buried his face into the curve of Geralt’s neck. Warm breath tickled against the sensitive skin of his neck and he shivered, hating himself for the way he relished the excuse to be this close to the bard.
He’d become addicted to the easy way his Jaskier had touched him. Like it was natural. Like it was normal to want to be close to a person the rest of humanity had labeled a monster. It started with bumping shoulders and quick brushes of clever hands, the long line of Jaskier’s throat bared as he threw his head back to laugh at something Geralt had said. It made it easier to offer to let their bedrolls be closer together when the nights got cold or to offer to share when there was only room available at a tavern.
Somehow, over the last twenty years, he’d let Jaskier become his lodestone. The true north that he always seemed to return to no matter how far away he wandered. It was inevitable. He had to believe that he would find him again.
Until then, there was no way he would let this Jaskier suffer at the hands of his enemies. Maybe once he found a safe place for Jaskier to recover, he could tell him the truth.
“Do you know how many men Stregobor had here?” Geralt asked as they stepped through the doorway, pausing only to yank his blade free from the wall.
Jaskier nudged his side until Geralt begrudgingly let him slide to his feet, letting the other man lean against him to keep him steady. His hands clenched weakly at his side with the urge to keep hold of him, but the steely look in Jaskier’s eyes kept him at bay. “I’m not sure...I wasn’t in good shape when they brought me in.”
Geralt grunted at the thought of Jaskier--bleeding, alone--being chained to that table for Stregobor to torture.
“I recognize the guards that were killed in the room though--there’s at least two more soldiers. Probably more staff, but I doubt Stregobor would’ve risked many people knowing what he was doing here.”
The flat tone of Jaskier’s voice was alarming compared to the memories of a bard who’d held the hands of more than one of the victims they’d rescued from a beast or who’d crooned soft lullabies each time he was injured in a fight. Even more strange was the way he reached down without a word to strip one of the guards of his weapons. Lute calloused fingers quickly stripped the man of his belt and slipped it over his own slim hips to hold up his newly pilfered sword.
The Witcher tried to resist the urge to take away those weapons of death to keep Jaskier from staining his soul with violence. He couldn’t justify keeping the bard from any sort of revenge or the method that he gained his own control over his life after being bound and helpless for so long.
“What did they do to you?” It wasn’t the question he’d been meaning to ask, but the words slipped free from his lips anyway.
Jaskier’s lips twisted into a wry smile without any trace of humor. “Don’t like it, Witcher? I thought you always wanted me to be more useful.”
The reminder of the cruel words he’d said a lifetime ago made shame curl hot and rancid through his gut. He reached out with a hand that felt too weak and brushed against the other man’s shoulder.
“You have always been far more valuable than you knew,” he said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”
The apology brought to life the words he’d been hiding from ever since he saw Jaskier get yanked back through the portal with Stregobor’s monster.
The bard turned to stare at with eyes that should never have been allowed to become so jaded. One dark eyebrow arched. “Is that your answer then? To what I told you?”
A thread of panic began to grow in his gut. He had no way of knowing how Geralt and Jaskier had separated in this world. If he answered incorrectly, the other Jaskier would know that he wasn’t the Witcher he’d been calling for each time they chained him down and made him scream for hours.
“I…” Geralt floundered, but Jaskier cut him off.
“Where’s Yennefer?” he asked briskly, “I doubt you could’ve managed to get through Stregobor’s wards on your own.”
“She-” Thinking quickly, Geralt tried to construct a narrative that would explain his appearance, “-she portalled me inside.”
“Is that so?” Jaskier narrowed his eyes at him for a long moment, pinning Geralt in place among the corpses of the fallen soldiers as easily as a weapon. “Nice of her, considering.”
“Considering what?”
Smoothly, Jaskier raised the sword from his side and pointed it at Geralt with a snarl. “You aren’t Geralt. Who the fuck are you?”
Immediately, Geralt raised his hands in a placating gesture. He could see the way Jaskier’s muscles were trembling with effort to keep the sword steady and there was something close to devastation in the bard’s eyes. “Jaskier, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I thought you’d come for me!” Jaskier shouted as tears spilled over to run down dirt streaked cheeks. “I waited for you!”
Geralt felt his heart break into ragged shards carving deeper into his rib cage like claws. “Please…” he whispered.
“What are you then?” Jaskier snapped with a challenging sneer. “A doppler? Another one of Stregobor’s fucking tricks?” He looked around the room like he would find the answers hidden behind the stone walls. “Maybe I’m hallucinating again…I should have known this was too good to be true.”
The bard shook his head roughly, muttering almost too softly for Geralt to hear under his breath with a cadence of something he’d repeated more than once. “My name is Jaskier. Geralt is coming for me. My name is Jaskier. Geralt is--”
Geralt reached out in an aborted motion that halted when the sword was pressed against his neck, point pricking the skin of his neck in a mockery of Jaskier’s gentle breaths. “I swear, Jask, I swear I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Then what do you want?”
Fuck, what must have happened to Jaskier to chase away the hope he’d once had in the world?
“I just,” Geralt felt his tongue trip over words that were too insignificant against the weight of all that needed to be said. “You’re right. I’m not the Witcher you traveled with.”
Jaskier’s mouth went flat in a way that showed how little comfort came with that answer. “So who are you?”
“I am Geralt. I’m just--I’m not from the same world as you.”
“What does that even mean?”
“There was an accident in my world--Stregobor created a monster that can destroy the very fabric of reality and it is hunting us. Me, you, and Ciri.”
“Cirilla? Your child surprise?”
A smile tugged weakly at his lips at the thought of his daughter. “Yes, although she’s grown in my world. She helped me portal here.”
“Why?”
“The monster took you--er, my Jaskier and we’ve been trying to find him. We’ve been moving between worlds to try to rescue him.”
The sword against his throat trembled as Jaskier swallowed hard. “So why bother with me?” His lips twisted into a grim slash. The betrayal there felt like being skinned alive. “I’m not the person you’ve been searching for.”
“You were screaming,” Geralt said helplessly, hands falling at his sides, “I had to help you. They were hurting you, Jask. I couldn’t just walk away.”
“But you will. You’ll leave to go find the Jaskier you really wan--”
Jaskier’s words were cut off as the ground beneath the feet trembled hard enough that the stones shifted alarmingly. Dust rained down from the ceiling as the castle protested the movement and both of them looked around in alarm.
“What the fuck was that?” Jaskier demanded, lowering the sword in favor of scanning the hallway for any kind of threat.
As if in answer, an ear shattering roar screeched through the air like an assault. Geralt pressed his palms against his ears in an attempt to shield his sensitive hearing. The sound brought a terrifying knowledge with it, one carved into his mind like a living nightmare.
It found him.
“Jaskier,” he said quickly, grabbing his sword, “we need to move quickly. Can you walk?”
“What is that thing?” Jaskier replied, looking far too close to shock for Geralt’s comfort. Thankfully he didn’t protest when the Witcher ducked his shoulder under his arm to support him as they hobbled down the hallway as quickly as they could.
Another shudder rocked the building, throwing Jaskier against Geralt’s side when he lost his feet.
“The monster that’s hunting me. Us.”
He spotted a narrow window set into the wall and headed in that direction. Outside, he spotted the familiar line of mountains where he’d once watch Borch fall to his death. Stregobor must have built a castle into the mountain itself that would be nearly impossible to lay siege to by human means. It was the height of irony that it would be attacked by a monster of his own making. The chilly mountain air tugged at his hair and stung his cheeks tasting like an incoming storm when he leaned out the window. It promised destruction even without the rumble of footsteps coming closer.
Geralt took the opportunity to scan the area for some sign of the creature and felt adrenaline burst at the first sight of the now familiar insect-like body. It was climbing its way up the side of the mountain with the sharp claws that lined its pincers. Around it, the mountain trembled as if it was rejecting the very presence of the abomination. Each brush of the creature against the ground sent tremors through the earth that carved deep grooves bleached of color, seeping into the surrounding area like a sickness.
Its eyes were fixed on the castle above it, destroying any weak hope that it didn’t know where Geralt was. Red-stained teeth peeked hungrily from its mouth as it threw its head back to release another ear-splitting scream.
Geralt flinched away from the window with a curse. The creature had cut off the only escape route from the mountain. He reached into his pocket and frowned at the amulet Ciri had left him to portal away from the world when he was ready. It flickered weakly, a sign of the power needing more time to recharge.
They needed more time.
Jaskier took his place at the window, blue eyes wide on the creature even as his hand tightened around his stolen weapon. “Stregobor created that?” he asked.
Geralt glanced at him, taking in the pale skin of his face, and knew what he was really asking. Would I have become a monster like that if I’d been left here?
Grabbing the bard’s hand, he tugged him toward the stairs around the corner. “Up. We need to get to the roof.”
A shoddy, half assed plan was forming in his mind, centered around the fervent need to keep Jaskier safe. If they got to the roof, maybe they could use the storm to recharge the amulet long enough to create a portal somewhere safe. Any chance of him leaving this Jaskier behind had disappeared the moment he realized the monster had followed him.
Jaskier didn’t protest as the Witcher braced him once more and they began to hobble up the steps. It was obvious that the movement was draining the bard’s already flagging strength, but he didn’t protest. Sweat stained the collar of his shirt in a dark circle and Geralt was aware now more than ever of just how frail Jaskier had become here. His weight was leaning almost entirely against the Witcher, but it was barely noticeable even as they made their way up three flights of stairs towards the roof.
“So... ,” Jaskier panted, glancing back when the castle shuddered as something slammed into the exterior wars, “what’s the plan?”
“Get to the roof,” Geralt grunted back, “Charge the amulet. Portal out.”
“Won’t it be able to follow you?”
“Not immediately. I don’t think it can jump between worlds right away. That, or it takes time to figure out where we jump to.”
Jaskier nodded, clearly needing his breath more for keeping upright than asking more questions.
Geralt let him lean against the wall when they reached the next landing. The layout of Stregobor’s castle was unfamiliar, so he scouted ahead a bit to try to find an access point to the roof. Something crashed in the levels below them in a bone-jarring impact that made Geralt wince. Shoving open a door, he tried not to think about the way the monster’s attacks were becoming more frequent now. It had to be trying to pry open the walls enough to dig out the Witcher by force. That, or bring the building down on top of them.
With that in mind, Geralt shouldered open the door nearest to him and glared into a spare room before moving onto the next. It took three tries before the bitter chill of mountain air slammed into him, digging deep into his bones. He shivered at the cold, but didn’t let it stop him from going back to where he’d left Jaskier.
There was a long stone pathway that stretched between the keep and the next peak in an icy bridge. It was probably only about a half of a mile wide, but it might as well be leagues if the beast caught them. Geralt considered the building crumbling around them and the monster moving closer. “We need to get as much distance between us as possible.”
Jaskier nodded grimly, visibly preparing himself for the sprint.
Above them, the sky flashed with lightning that seemed to move closer impossibly fast. It was a visceral reaction to the presence of the unnatural beast, as though nature sought to attack it before it lingered longer. Geralt eyed the flashes with a gimlet stare. While the lightning might be enough to trigger the portal they needed to escape, it could just as easily electrocute them both in the process.
A hand slowly found his and Geralt looked down in surprise when Jaskier linked their fingers together, blue eyes focused on the stone bridge. A silent display of trust.
Swallowing hard against the emotion clogging his throat, Geralt stepped forward onto the bridge. The storm mixed with the cold of the mountains to create a treacherously slick platform that he attempted to offset by widening his stance and holding Jaskier more closely. The bard was silent aside from the occasional chattering teeth and seemed more than willing to allow the Witcher to act as a windbreak as they inched forward.
The ground rumbled beneath their feet and they crouched low, trying to ride out the tremors without losing their footing.
“Is it triggering an earthquake?” Jaskier shouted over the howling wind.
Geralt shook his head, wordlessly signalling his confusion. When he’d seen the monster before, there had never been such a dramatic reaction in their surroundings. He looked up at the clouds, stained dark purple and indigo like an approaching hurricane. It was nothing like what he’d expected to see in the mountains. In the distance, he heard a loud cracking sound a moment before a sheaf of white snow break free from another peak to slide down in a massive avalanche.
Thunder rumbled ahead, signalling the storm moving closer, following the beast like a cloak of mayhem. Was this part of the power Stregobor imbued into it? The thought of it being even more powerful was terrifying. Geralt had no hope of fighting it with silver or the Witcher’s signs. If he fell to it, there would be no one left to protect Jaskier.
He looked down at the man pressed against his side and saw none of the indecision plaguing his mind. Instead, Jaskier met his eyes squarely, straightening like a soldier waiting for a command.
But he was just a Witcher. A butcher.
Helpless to the pull, Geralt let himself lean down to press his forehead against Jaskier’s in a quick caress before he began moving again. He couldn’t risk them being exposed on the bridge for longer than absolutely necessary.
They made it halfway across the bridge before the beast made it into the main keep. It’s entrance made the bridge shudder for a terrifying moment where Geralt could hear several stone slabs fall free from the bracing beneath their feet. He nudged Jaskier in front of him.
“We need to balance our weight more evenly,” he said quickly, “The bridge supports are beginning to collapse. You need to move ahead.”
Jaskier narrowed his eyes in a way that proved he wasn’t pleased by Geralt’s reasoning for moving him ahead of the Witcher, but knew he didn’t have a way to truly protest. Not when he was gasping for air after just a few flights of stairs. Thankfully he didn’t protest any further, just ducked his head against the wind and began shuffling forward.
Geralt let himself wait until there was a few yards between them before he began to follow. The edges of the bridgeway were beginning to chip away, falling into the valley below without a sound. The wind tugged at their clothing greedily, the empty air beneath them howling with the storm. He kept an eye on the building behind them as they moved, hoping that he might be able to give Jaskier a warning if the creature closed the distance.
That decision proved to be the only thing that kept him breathing another day.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the bridge beneath them gave an unnatural shudder that sent Geralt to his knees and Jaskier stumbling forward as the bridge behind the bard collapsed into the empty air below. The bard spun, wide eyes taking in the gap between them.
Geralt eyed the gap with a frown. He gestured toward Jaskier, “Keep going! I’ll catch up!”
“No!” The vehemence in the word made Geralt jerk his eyes back to Jaskier’s in time to watch the human shout over the howling winds, “Not without you!”
Sighing and cursing under his breath, Geralt backed up a few steps and took a running start before jumping across the gap.
For a moment, he seemed to hang in the air before gravity caught up with him and brought him back to earth. He landed awkwardly, skidding across the slick surface towards the edge. Strong hands wrapped around his chest a moment before he might have gone over. He recognized the scent of meadow grasses mixed with iron and let out a shaking breath that was matched by the man curled over him.
“That was too close,” Jaskier murmured.
Geralt swallowed and nodded his agreement, soaking in the heat of being held close against the bitter cold.
“The storm’s getting closer,” he continued, tilting his head up, “Might be a good time to try to get your portal working.”
The Witcher got to his feet and considered his options before slipping Jaskier’s sword out of its sheath. “I need to borrow this.”
Moving quickly, Geralt gestured for Jaskier to move even further back from the ledge before driving the sword into the stone at the center of the bridge. Above him, the lightning strikes were nearly constant and he prayed to gods he usually ignored that the metal in his weapon would be enough to attract a strike. He wasn’t even sure that the lightning would be enough to power another portal--all he had was a fuzzy memory of Yennefer talking about training in Aretuza.
“Please,” he whispered into the wind and wrapped the amulet around the hilt of the sword, backing away closer to Jaskier.
The hairs on his arms stood up as the air around them went electric. A bolt hit the rockface about a mile off and Geralt winced at the sound as thunder cracked above their heads to match the rocks falling away. He backed as far away from the sword as he dared and tugged Jaskier beneath him, crouching over him protectively.
“Please,” he breathed into hair that was matted and dirty from being trapped on that stone table for so long.
Please .
As if in answer, that terrible bloom of power grew around them. Geralt’s arms tightened around Jaskier and he felt the bard’s fingers dig into the flesh of his forearms. They took in a shuddering breath and--
The world exploded.
The sound was overwhelming, blasting Geralt’s ears until all he could hear was a high pitched ringing noise. Jaskier was shouting something, but it took him a moment before he could understand the words.
“--okay? Geralt, are you hurt?”
Urgent hands smoothed over his face and Geralt opened his eyes to find Jaskier only a few inches away. He reached out to stop the bard before he would have made another sweep. “I’m fine,” he said, “Are you okay?”
Jaskier nodded and looked over Geralt shoulder to where the sword was, “Did it work?”
Geralt turned to survey the smoking metal that gleamed red hot in the cold air. The lightning strike had been enough to burn jagged dark lines onto the stones like roots from a tree. And there, at the center of the cross hilt, was the amulet glowing softly.
He let out a disbelieving sound, a wide smile growing on his lips. “It worked.”
“I can’t believe it!” Jaskier cried excitedly, getting to his feet. “It really worked!”
Laughing a little at the other man’s prancing, Geralt walked over to the sword and carefully tugged the amulet free. It was hot in his hand, but he ignored the burn to murmur the words he needed to make the portal spring to life. Jaskier stood next to him, still grinning broadly, as the magic crackled through the air. It spun with now-familiar power until he could feel the pull deep in his gut. Geralt took a step forward, hand outstretched like he could practically sense the safety promised on the other side.
Maybe if he hadn’t been so distracted by it, he would have been able to stop what happened next.
Behind him, the wall of the mountain keep seemed to explode as the monster burst free from the interior. The outer walls collapsed around it, slamming into the already weakened bridge. It vibrated through their feet, pitching and bucking like a wild creature as they desperately tried to keep their footing. The monster stared hungrily at the Witcher and leapt forward without caring about whether the bridge would survive the extra weight.
As soon as it landed, the stones gave way and Geralt gaped as the beast fell into the gorge below them with another ear splitting scream of rage. He leaned over the edge to watch it fall. There was no time to celebrate the near miss as the rest of the bridge began to fall with it.
“Geralt!”
He whirled away from the edge and gasped as he saw Jaskier sliding across ice and stone toward the ledge. Lunging forward, he threw himself onto his stomach to skid forward in time to grab Jaskier’s outstretched arm just as the bard went over the edge.
The added weight made him slide forward in a terrifying movement and he was forced to brace against the slick stone as the storm continued to rage around them. Far below, he knew the creature was making his way back up the mountain to finish them off and it seemed the unnatural storm was working just as hard to do the same. In the distance he saw one of the mountains collapse inward like it was being pulled by a collapsing star.
Like the world was collapsing.
Geralt stared down at Jaskier with newfound horror.
Stregobor had broken all matter of magical laws in order to create whatever abomination he’d designed to hunt Geralt. One that threatened to rip apart the very fabric of the universe. He thought of the way the storm seemed to follow it whenever it arrived alongside Geralt--like the magics fought against its presence in a world it didn’t belong in. How long would this world last if the creature’s magic continued to create this chaos?
It was a race to see what would kill Jaskier first--Geralt’s tenuous hold on the bard or the beast below.
He stared down at Jaskier’s wide eyes and tried not to let his panic show. Behind him, the portal crackled in warning, beginning to weaken despite the new charge. It wouldn’t be able to stay open much longer.
The Witcher shifted his weight and tried to pull Jaskier up, but only slid forward a few more inches. Grunting, he dug the toes of his boots into the stone for something to brace him.
“You have to let me go,” Jaskier said in a strangely calm voice. Like he’d lived this moment before.
“No!” Geralt shouted over the roar of the beast and the wind pulling at them towards the fall below. “Not without you!”
“Both of us aren’t going to make it out of here!” Jaskier looked over his shoulder towards the drop and the creature climbed the cliff below them. “Stregobor wants it to kill you--I won’t let that happen.”
“I’m not going to let you die!”
The bard looked at him with a darkness that seemed unnatural against the memories of his own friend. “Geralt...it’s already too late for me. You have to find a way to stop him.”
“Come with me!”
Jaskier faltered, looking torn before he slowly nodded. “Alright. Alright, Geralt, I’ll go.”
Geralt tried not to let the relief make him giddy as the bard reached up with one hand to get a better hold so he could be pulled up. He was so focused on getting Jaskier up the ledge without falling further that he missed the bard grabbing the knife from his belt until it was slashing across his hand in a line of bright pain. Shocked, he instinctively jerked against the hold and he felt his eyes widen in panic when his grip on Jaskier’s hand began to slip.
Their eyes met for a brief moment. “You’ll stop him, Geralt. I know you will.”
Then he was falling.