[Chalk up a point against the Jaskier that, even a decade ago, would have been disgusted with the idea of folding himself into Yennefer's arms. That he would ever let a witch like her touch him -- like this. With his heart bared where she could so easily slice it, or crush it, with a few easily placed words. Where she could ever see anything in him besides a fool, or a man who'd like to fuck her, like any other man with eyes.

Now he allows it. His arms come around her and he buries his face in her shoulder, muffling his sound. This whole time, he's been pretending like he doesn't feel some guilt for it, some responsibility -- like the elves he could not save when he tried. A city. A whole city, a beautiful one, full of artists, and rebels, and musicians. Gone.

Because of what? A single woman's whims? Some ill-sought vengeance?

He doesn't move from his spot pressed against her, holding her tight -- but this time it's because he needs an anchor himself.]

By the time I woke up... it was already gone. I'd just... I'd just held an event there, only weeks ago. An art walk. I'd seen those people. The city itself. It -- [Jaskier knows he has nothing to do with it. He could not stop it. He does not have magic to protect an entire city. And how could he know? How could any of them?] If I was there, I'd kill her myself. It's the least she deserves.