Chapter Text
Jaskier expected the weapons and tools at Kaer Morhen but he didn’t expect them to have instruments. Considering Geralt’s lack of appreciation of Jaskier’s talents, Jaskier figured Witchers didn’t really understand music.
Obviously, this was not the case. They had a room full of instruments. None of them were tuned, they were covered in dust, and horribly outdated but they were instruments. Among them, Jaskier was even able to find a lute.
It wasn’t as nice as Filivandrials but it was a lute. Jaskier spent a good part of his day searching for new strings and then tuning the lute, repairing what he could. He was able to polish it up a little.
Now, Jaskier sat in his room, lute beside him, waiting for the rest of the Keep to go to bed. He had tried to pass the time by cleaning his room, but he hadn’t gotten far. It was too small for all of his bags. Most of them remained scattered around the room.
It had been nearly an hour since he heard anyone rustling about and Jaskier was mostly convinced that they were all asleep. Even if they weren’t though, Jaskier’s room was a good enough distance from everyone else that he doubted they would hear him.
Jaskier brought the lute into his lap.
He hadn’t tried playing anything since his meeting with Rience. The less Jaskier thought about him the better, but he kept finding his thoughts straying to their…interaction.
Fires and torches were spaced all around Kaer Morhen to combat the chill. Jaskier tried to keep them out of his room. He left his hearth unlit even though it made his room frigid. He wasn’t ready to light fires and sleep beside them. Just the sight of a fire quickened his pulse and made his hand ache.
It didn’t help that his fingers were too burnt to do much of anything. Everything they touched caused pain. It was his dominant hand. He wasn’t even sure if he could play.
Jaskier ran his hand across the strings. Sharp pain shot through his hand all the way up his arm. Jaskier bit his lip to keep any noise from escaping. He kept his eyes squeezed shut until the pain faded to the dull ache that always stuck with him.
The lute, though imperfect, wasn’t the problem. It sounded fine, tuned to perfection. But Jaskier wasn’t up to the task.
It would heal. Of course, it would heal, but he wasn’t sure if it would be the same.
Jaskier opened his eyes and looked down at his hand.
A soft knock at his door got Jaskier’s attention. It was soft enough that it would not have woken him if he had been asleep but, while Jaskier was trying to be quiet, the knock sounded extraordinarily loud.
Jaskier stood, sliding the lute under his bed, and padded over to the door.
He opened it causing the hinges to squeak.
“Yennefer?”
Yennefer looked exhausted. Ever since her fight with the Deathless Mother, Yennefer had seemed exhausted. The return of her chaos had helped, but the fight left Yennefer with wounds that were difficult to heal.
Yennefer had terrified Jaskier that day. The image of her slicing her wrists before being possessed was an image that would haunt him for a long time. He hadn’t thought she would survive it.
When he checked on her after the battle he saw old scars from where she had cut herself before. It made him wonder if she wore long sleeves for the same reasons that he did.
“What are you doing up? Did I wake you?” Jaskier asked. He had been so sure that he had been quiet.
”I was never asleep. Can’t sleep much these days.”
Jaskier nodded. That was something he understood. Every time he closed his eyes he saw fire and right before he could fall asleep he felt the rope digging into his wrists. It was easier to just stay awake.
Yennefer glanced past him.
”You don’t have company, do you?”
Jaskier turned around, as if also checking that the room was still empty. “No?”
Before he could turn back to look at her, Yennefer was already pushing past him and into the room.
She sat on the bed. Jaskier noticed her foot almost touch the lute and felt something akin to panic.
It wasn’t that he was hiding anything per se, but what use was a bard that couldn’t even play an instrument?
“Is there anything you need?” Jaskier asked, tearing his eyes away from the hidden lute.
Yennefer had her gaze focused on the sheets, purposefully avoiding looking at him.
”I can’t sleep,” she repeated. “And I was hoping I could stay in here with you. Just to try to sleep.”
Jaskier frowned. It was weird to hear such words directed at him coming from the mage.
Yennefer seemed to misunderstand his frown and made a disappointed face.
She stood.
”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Jaskier shook his head. “No, no. Yennefer, you’re welcome to stay. It’s too cold in here by myself.” He offered a small smile.
Everyone had been hit hard by the recent battle. Ciri had even more trauma and Geralt was trying so hard to balance her. Vesemir and the other Witcher’s were busy trying to repair their home while mourning the loss of sons and brothers. Jaskier assumed that left himself and Yennefer to try and work together to try and heal themselves.
She looked at him for a moment as if do decide whether he was making fun of her. He looked back, fighting the urge to look away. Jaskier must have appeared trustworthy because she nodded.
Convinced that she wasn’t going to leave, Jaskier walked over to the bed. Discreetly as possible, he shifted the lute further under the bed. It was far enough from sight now that no one would see it accidentally.
Jaskier figured Yennefer’s idea to try sleeping with someone else in the room may be the smartest decision. He would be lying if he said sleeping alone in the drafty room was doing him any favors. Maybe another person around could help keep the nightmares at bay.
He turned back around.
Yennefer was kneeling beside the hearth. It took him too long to realize she had used chaos to dry the logs. He heard a match strike and before Jaskier could stop her, she lit the stack.