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It's a rare quiet moment. Geralt and Ciri are off training though the sun set long ago, their swords clinking off of each other somewhere nearby in the trees. Sparks fly off the fire and drift off up into the night sky. Yennefer watches them until they vanish. She drops her eyes back down and finds them settling on Jakier, seated across from her, gently strumming his lute.
He's entirely wrapped up in his own world as his lips form unspoken lyrics, his brow scrunched deep in concentration. She allows herself a small smile and rests her chin on her folded arms, simply watching him. For once, there are no intrusive thoughts to ruin the peace that settles inside of her. She is calm.
Jaskier strums another chord, but something happens. His fingers seem to spasm and twitch, twanging the strings oddly. He quickly curls them into his palm so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His face contorts into a subtle wince and Yennefer's smile slips.
'What's wrong?' she asks, evidently startling him as he looks up at her as though he had forgotten she was even there. She answers her own question with a simple glance at his hand, and her voice softens as he tries to flex his fingers like nothing happened. 'Do they still hurt?'
'What? No, no.' He looks back down at his lute and clears his throat like he's about to start singing again. Only, he gets stuck staring at his hand. 'Well. Sort of. It's not really a physical pain. It just sort of... aches and spasms a bit. And when I think about it too long...'
He trails off darkly. His mouth presses into a thin line and covers his hand with his other, though Yennefer still catches the discreet movement of his thumb running along the tips of his fingers.
She frowns at the sight of the familiar expression on his face. It's one she knows all too well.
'Let me show you something.'
She gets up and moves around the fire to sit beside him. He shifts over to make room for her, though he eyes her warily, still cautious about being in close proximity to her when they're alone. Really, she knows it's a front and doesn't mind the facade.
'Alright, fine, but only as long as you're not going to start drawing amphoras on your stomach again.'
She smiles again, however, it fades once more. She pulls her sleeves away from her hands, exposing the scarred strips of skin on her wrists. While she had boldly demanded they be left to show her strength, it's still sometimes hard to stomach now and then, seeing the proof of how weak she once felt. How deeply alone she believed herself to be.
There's a sharp inhale beside her as she runs her thumb along the jagged lines. Another hand joins her own, touching her skin like it may tear open under the lightest pressure. It admittedly sends a shiver down her spine and she sucks in air through her teeth at the odd sensation.
'Sorry,' Jaskier mutters, but he doesn't retract his hand. She doesn't mind that he doesn't. He looks at her instead for permission, and when he receives it, he follows the trail along her wrist with his own thumb. 'When did it...?'
'When I first went to Aretuza. Before my transformation. My stepfather had just sold me to Tissaia for four marks — less than half of what a pig was worth. I felt... hopeless.' She looks at her hands, the memory of it hollowing out her chest just as it did back then. 'I didn't feel I should even be alive if I was worth so little.'
It's different now. Of course it is. She knows now that it isn't true, and she is worth something. More than what anyone believed of her. Except Tissaia, the one who could see the beautiful chaos brimming in her even before her transformation.
Jaskier is silent for possibly the first time since she has met him. She would assume she had scared him off except his hand has not retracted from her own, continuing to trace her scars like they were the strings on his lute. Creating a gentle melody out of a near tragedy.
Finally, he speaks. 'You, Yennefer, are worth more than most on this continent.' When she looks at him in surprise, he smiles and curls her fingers into her palm and between both of his own. 'Magic or no magic. Witch or elf, or simply human. Never forget that again. Or else I will have to remind you, and that will take far more effort than I want to put into this thing we have going on between us.'
She returns his smile at the quiver of fondness in his voice. Her heart aches at his words though she isn't sure why. It isn't unpleasant, just odd, and it leaves her craving a further sense of assurance. As if reading her mind, Jaskier squeezes her hand lightly.
His eyes dart down and he appears to hesitate just a moment before speaking again, his voice much softer if that is even possible. 'You're not alone, you know.' He holds her gaze meaningfully. 'I mean, obviously, you've got Geralt, and Ciri, and... me. Just, don't try to tough it out alone. It's an agony like no other. I know it is.'
Yennefer's heart aches deeper now but she understands it this time. She covers his hands with her other one and says, 'Then you have to swear by it, too. You talk and sing and say silly things to make people laugh, but you hide the truth behind this mask, letting the world believe that the only thing wrong with you is your incessant need to pester and annoy the shit out of people.'
'Oi! I'll have you know that some people actually find me a delight to be around,' Jaskier says, but there's no real heart to it. His features soften and he drops his eyes with a slow nod as he sobers, pressing his lips together as her words truly sink in. 'Alright.'
'Alright,' she repeats with a firm nod. 'We face it together.'
Shaking his head, Jaskier says, 'At least you're more emotionally competent than Geralt. He'd have grunted his way through that entire conversation.'
'Yes, well, I'm working on that too.' She pats his arm. 'One emotionally constipated man at a time is all I can handle right now, and clearly, you needed the talking to more than he did tonight. Besides, as your wife, it's my duty to nag you to tell me how you really feel.'
'See, this is exactly why I have never gotten married,' Jaskier jokes, pointing his index finger.
'Well, you're stuck with me now.'
Jaskier looks at her, not saying anything. His lips twitch, his tongue sliding around behind his teeth like there's something itching to get out, but he just huffs out a quiet breath of laughter. He then brings their clasped hands to his lips.
Warmth courses beneath her skin, climbing to the surface of her chest, encasing her neck like vines. It doesn't help that her heart is beating faster than a spooked horse. It trips and falters when he says, 'There are worse fates, by far, than to be permanently entangled with you. Like being forced to listen to that warbling fraud, Valdo Marx. Or being cursed by a djinn — now that is not fun, let me tell you. No, I would much rather have to put up with your nagging for all of eternity.'
Yennefer smiles. 'The feeling is mutual, Bard.'
The nickname draws a proper smile out of Jaskier. The tender air surrounding them is broken by steel on steel, the clang of two swords meeting reverberating through the forest. They both look in the general direction and she sighs.
'I should go and bring them back before the sun rises,' she says, standing up. Her hand slips out of Jaskier's but she lets it linger on his shoulder as she moves behind him. She presses a kiss to the top of his head and softly says, 'We'll be right back.'
She leaves Jaskier smiling after her as he calls back, 'Okay, well, if you're not, I will not be coming after you. I will, however, write you an epic, heroic death ballad.'