Work Text:
Yennefer hadn’t known Jaskier was so close. She had seen him duck behind a nearby tree as soon as the fight broke out, mostly out of sight. Apparently he hadn’t been able to keep out of the fray. From across the clearing, she watched in horror as a knife was plunged into his gut. He fell to his knees, hands hovering around the blade sticking out of him. She threw a blast of magic at his assailant before he pulled the blade out, knocking him back against a tree with a sickening crack. He didn’t get up.
Yennefer quickly dealt with the rest of the bandits, or whoever they were, before rushing to Jaskier. He was now laying awkwardly on his back, one leg bent underneath him. There was already a sizeable bloodstain on his clothes, growing larger by the second.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath as she crashed to her knees beside him. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Y-Yen,” he groaned weakly.
“Alright, it’s alright. You’ll be fine. I’ll fix this.”
“Please.”
She took a moment to assess the damage. The knife had gone deep into his gut. There was no way to tell how much damage had been done. All that was keeping him alive right now was the knife, preventing him from bleeding out in a matter of seconds. Yet at the same time leaving it in was only causing more damage. She would have to remove it, acting fast to prevent his death.
“I have to pull it out,” she said. Jaskier cried out when she grabbed it, the slightest movement amplifying his pain.
“Please, Yen, no,” he begged.
“I’m sorry. I have to.”
With one fluid motion she pulled the blade free, already summoning her chaos for the next step. Jaskier screamed, his body going rigid from the pain. Casting the blade aside, she focussed her energy into knitting his tissue back together, starting from the inside.
The damage was more extensive than she had initially thought. He was bleeding out faster than she could heal him. If she didn’t hurry up, she would be healing his corpse. Cursing under her breath, she drew her own knife, redirecting her chaos into heating the metal until it glowed red. “I’m sorry,” she whispered under her breath as she pressed the blade into his wound.
He screamed again, the sound tearing through his throat. She had to kneel on his chest just to keep him from thrashing around. It would do no good to burn him more than absolutely necessary. She kept muttering her mantra of “I’m sorry,” hoping somehow it would make up for the pain she was inflicting.
He forced herself to ingore the smell of burning flesh, almost gagging at it. After only a moment she removed the knife, tossing it aside into the dirt. The bleeding had slowed enough for her to continue healing him now. He would be left with a scar but he would live. She just hoped he could forgive her.