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“I’ll stay behind; I have to tune my lute.”
Yennefer wasn’t sure if that man truly meant his lute, or his lute. He did have to perform this evening at the inn they were staying at, so maybe he really meant his instrument. Such a shame. She would have liked it if he had accompanied them, he was fun to gossip with at the vendor stalls. Neither Geralt nor Ciri truly had that required fashion sense.
“Geralt, is this my colour?”
The Witcher just hummed without really looking. Yennefer sighed.
“I think you’d look lovely in it, Yenna.”
Yennefer smiled at Ciri; bless her for trying.
“Thank you, duckling,” she responded and put the cloth back.
She itched for Jaskier’s company, but she could never let him know, his head would explode.
“It’s sad that Jaskier didn’t come with us,” Ciri said and Yennefer agreed. “You think it’s because of what that woman said? She was so rude, I wanted to smash her stupid crystal ball.”
Yennefer nodded again.
They had come to this village originally because they had heard rumours that there was a wise woman here that could tell them more about the Wild Hunt. They had indeed found this wise woman, but when they had entered her hut, she had pointed at Jaskier immediately and screeched: “He does not belong; destiny has no place for him!”
It spoke of years of self-restraint that none of them burned her hut down right that second.
Later, Jaskier had played it off, his usual laugh, but Yennefer knew it had stung. In their party, Jaskier was constantly wondering why he was here, and if he had a place among them, when in truth; without him, none of them would be here.
He brought her and Geralt together, and he brought Geralt and Ciri together. Without Jaskier, would Geralt even be able to properly care about Ciri? Would she?
She picked up a little wooden toy, a small duck, and turned it in her fingers. Jaskier would gush about it and insist she buy it for Ciri.
“You call her duckling all the time, Yennefer!”
“Perhaps I should buy it for you, the ugly duck of our group?”
“How dare you! I am the most magnificent swan this world has ever seen! But how would a water hag know beauty when it flew past her, true?”
She grumbled and put the toy away. The bardling could never know that she was able to envision entire conversations in her head.
Jaskier was nobody special, no magic, no fighter, no nothing. All he had was that lute of his and that notebook he took everywhere.
He was the stupidest man she’s ever met.
She’s rarely known a braver man.
“Magic could never be done with the likes of you, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”
He had not been aware of it then, and was not aware of it now, but in that time, he was the only one to believe in her. Because he had that unshaken faith, she could borrow it from him. She could believe in herself that she was still worth something, because he did.
Ever since then, Jaskier had become... important, to her.
He would never know, not with words, not like that, but it was Jaskier. He knew. He knew, but maybe he didn’t truly believe it.
“FIRE!”
All three of them lifted their heads.
“No,” whispered Geralt and started running.
“Jaskier!” shouted Ciri and ran after him.
“Julian,” Yennefer whispered and she took running.
The smoke was coming from the inn.
Geralt, Ciri and Yennefer came to a screeching halt in front of the inn. Jaskier wasn’t here. He couldn’t be inside still, could he? No, he couldn’t. Not in the fire, Jaskier was scared. He wouldn’t have stayed.
Yennefer’s heart was beating too fast, she couldn’t think. A portal. Yes, a portal. No. No she couldn’t do a portal. It was too dangerous in the fire.
“Where is he? Where is the bard?”
A shaking woman was answering, her voice waiving: “H-he’s still inside! He – he told us to get out, I didn’t look, oh gods.”
“I’m going inside.”
One look at Geralt and she knew he wouldn’t take no as an answer. So she just nodded. “Hurry,” she said and he took off.
“We should go too,” Ciri said and Yennefer shook her head.
“No. The smoke is too dangerous, Geralt will be faster than the two of us.”
“But –“ Ciri started to protest, and Yennefer pulled her into a hug. If the girl noticed her faint trembling, she didn’t say. Jaskier would never let her live it down. Instead, Ciri hugged her tighter.
“He’ll be okay,” she whispered and by gods, Yennefer wanted the girl’s words to be true. If not – If Jaskier was beyond saving – she –
No.
No, she wouldn’t think about that.
Jaskier was going to be fine.
He’d make a joke about having to live up to his damsel in distress status.
When Geralt stormed out of the fire, Yennefer would later tell Jaskier that there was a big explosion of fire behind them. In truth, there was just more smoke and Yennefer had no eyes for it. In his arms, Geralt was carrying an unconscious Jaskier, with his head lolling. Geralt didn’t stop running, he jogged over to a place without smoke.
Yennefer’s stomach dropped and she hurried after them, leaning over Jaskier as Geralt put him onto the ground.
“Julek,” she whispered into his face, begging him to wake. “Julek.”
“He’s not breathing, Yen, he’s not –“
He was right. Jaskier wasn’t breathing. Yennefer could barely breathe herself.
She closed her eyes and kissed his forehead, on all the soot from the smoke and the fire. “I’m not losing you, Julek, I’m not.”
She pressed her lips on his, breathing into his mouth. Her hand searched for his chest, feeling his heart beat. Yennefer swatted Geralt’s hands away, as he wanted to start pumping.
“It’s beating,” she said between breaths.
She kept breathing for the bard, and determined that he could never know. Jaskier could never know that she almost lost it today.
Ciri was next to her, talking to Jaskier softly: “You gotta wake up, Dandelion. You promised me you’d show me how to play the lute, remember? And you were writing a song we could sing together! We wanted to surprise Geralt and Yenna with it, remember? So you gotta wake up, please.”
Yennefer’s heart broke for the tone of Ciri. It was so easy to forget that she was still just a child.
As if hearing the girl, Jaskier started coughing heavily, and Yennefer helped him into a sitting position. The bard was coughing out a lot of phlegm ad the sorceress gently rubbed his back.
“Julek,” she whispered so softly nobody heard her.
“Jaskier!”
Still coughing, the bard looked up, completely and utterly confused.
“Ge-Geralt? What?”
His voice was hoarse, and she only now noticed that most of his beard got singed. He was shaking, and looking around himself.
“Wha-what happened? I, I.”
He sounded close to tears, and his breathing got worse.
“Shh, little bard,” Yennefer cooed, “it’s all good now. You’re safe, you’re safe. We’re all safe, you stupid, stupid man, we’re all safe.”
He leaned against her and sagged, and Yennefer gently brushed through his hair. There was ash in his hair, and she knew this wouldn’t be shaken off so easily.
But he was alive.
He was alive.
As Geralt and Ciri took each of Jaskier’s hand, she pressed a kiss on his head.
“Julek,” she whispered and closed her eyes.
Right here, between them all, right where he always ought to be, his shaky puffs of breath on her collarbone were the greatest gift she could ask for.