[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.
[ it hadn't been that long ago, though at the same time, it has felt like lifetimes - when he had been nothing but the annoying bard who followed geralt around. who yennefer hadn't even wanted to spend time with when she was forced to, but did because of their proximity. because of where they were and what had happened to them both. they had found a comfortable enough distance to inhabit and very little else, and then-
well. now yennefer sees the realization of what has happened cross jaskier's features like a blow across his jaw. part of her nearly wishes she could take the words back just to save him from that, but she knows that she couldn't, she wouldn't, even if she had her chaos.
I'd just held an event there. weeks ago. that is what has her breath hitching, a kind of pain in her chest, because it had been so close. and what would she have done, if they had been there? if jaskier had been in libertas? if ciri? geralt? it makes her want to scream, the sound of jaskier's sobs matching the feeling between her ribs, and she holds him even tighter. ]
It's not your fault. [ her voice is quiet, when she says the words, because she knows what he's thinking. knows what he has wedged somewhere between the anger and the pain, and despite it all, there is the exhausted, primal urge to want to fix it for him.
it isn't his fault, just as the elves he couldn't save hadn't been his fault. but jaskier will take these things on, will have them weigh at him, as much as she wants to shake him free of it all. ellya - a woman scorned, a lover dead, and now? now a war between factions that had been building for years.
his threat to the queen's life has yennefer not quite laughing, but huffing out a sound that could be close. it pulls her out of the embrace enough that she can look up at him, that she can set her hand to his cheek. she does not feel it in the same way he does - wars between men are one of the few and only constants of time, no matter how many decades, how many lifetimes. but jaskier does not have lifetimes, and yennefer feels in this moment more than in any other, what that can do. ]
And it is the least of what is coming for her. [ she does not say it to be reassuring, exactly, but it had always been part of the plan. ever since those first few weeks after the jail break, as she had first started to settle within the ranks.
yennefer does not want the spot - yennefer has no interest in ruling - but a woman like ellya, when the people she cares about are within reach, cannot be left to her own devices. ]
[Now that he has really allowed himself to accept the thoughts that had been clawing at the edge of his mind, it has somehow emboldened them. His sounds muffled into her shoulder, his eyes wet. So many things at once: the close brush of a meaningless death, the destruction of a city he had begun thinking of his own, the loss of people and artists and builders and musicians in a city rife with all the best and worse echelons of life that a city could offer.
And to know, to accept, that this is only the beginning.
Ugh. He does not want to be pulled away because he does not want Yennefer to see him like this. Or anyone. Perhaps this is why he has been able to tell Ciri and Geralt that he was perfectly fine. It was all waiting to boil out when it found a crack in the pot.
He wipes his eyes, shaking his head. No, it isn't his fault, but they both know that hearing the words changes nothing.]
What? You don't think I would, if I could? [He glares at her, which he knows must be rather comical with red cheeks and puffy eyes, and then... his shoulders fall a bit.] Perhaps you're right.
[He places his hand on top of hers, carefully pulling it away.] Don't tell me you mean to, Yennefer. It's too dangerous.
[ there are some moments there when yennefer can feel the weight of all that jaskier is feeling. and she has some idea of what it is, the force of it, how it rattles through his body. she might not know the details, might not know each and every thought that goes through his head, but she knows enough to know the force. and for those few moments, all yennefer does is hold him, one hand rubbing at the flat of his back, another at the back of his neck, because is there really anything else she can do but provide this small, not even physical comfort? again, she's reminded of the limitation of their distance, of just how far they really are, how much more powerless it makes her feel.
his glare has her brows lifting in challenge - he can be as angry with her as he wants to be, though she knows there is little to back it up. perhaps you're right also has her expression dropping, softer, less like she is trying to play off that comical expression of his. ] If you could, I know you'd mean to. [ and it's the truth - he would try, because he wouldn't be able to let this slide.
perhaps it isn't such a terrible thing that he's so far after all.
yennefer lets him pull her hand away from his face, gives him one of her small smiles. perhaps a little tired, perhaps a little accepting of where it is she's worked herself to be. in thorne, yes, but also the rest of it. all of it. she tries for entertained, tries for playful, when she says, ] You don't believe I could do it?
[He's not sure how complimentary it is that if you wanted to kill her, you would is, but in a strange way, it is some measure of hope where there is little. Because he would. He remembers he did not hesitate for Valdo Marx, either, and his hatred for the Queen is much deeper than it ever could be for that shit troubadour.
How laughable. That things like Valdo Marx's rising reputation was something that used to... pick at him.
And now he's here. Full of holes. Relatively speaking.]
I do. I do believe you could, and that's why I'm. [He swallows.] Afraid. Of what may happen after. Of what will become of you.
friend….you say this like i’m not just now getting to tags….😔
[ and maybe that’s where he should take the compliment - that yennefer does not question that he’d be able to. that he’d do it, if he could. but would it probably eat at him? would there be repercussions on his emotional state?
perhaps not, where the queen is concerned.
there is something that settles in yennefer’s chest at jaskier’s words. that he is afraid of what she will become. the feeling is cold, hard, and heavy, as it settles. a part of her wonders if she should tell him that her killing the queen isn’t something she hasn’t done before. wonders, too, what he’d think of her if he knew even a fraction of what she’s done, already. it makes her feel…not unsteady, exactly, but distant.
a fraction of the pain and exhaustion from her physical body seeps through, as if finding the crack in her focus. yennefer shakes her head. ]
I’m sure there are better uses for your fear. This war has only just begun.
grips you by the lapel. understand I will wait forever
[Jaskier can see it -- that exhaustion. And worse. Like before, once upon a time, his hands find her elbows, not to hold her up, but to balance her. To ensure to himself that just because she is tiring, that she will not fade away again.]
That is quite possibly the most ominous thing you could have said. I really appreciate hearing it out loud.
[The worry between his brow indicates he is actually the opposite of appreciative of it. And that she should think his fear could be better attributed than to her well-being. Jaskier is not a fool, and he does not know what the queen's next move will be, but he is considerably more safe with Ciri and Geralt and his own magic than most people in Cadens.
Not that he intends to hunker down and hide from this war behind the bodies of others. He simply... cannot.]
Then you must promise me before you do anything insanely rash, that you'll tell me. Send those mental letters, if you must, but if I do not hear from you often enough, Ellya herself will not stop me from finding my way to Thorne.
[ yennefer knows he can read it the moment she feels the weight settle over her, and while she has not reference to the feeling of his hands at her elbows, it supports her now. her eyes fall to his hands, clean and orderly and the way he wants them to be, here in the horizon, but they are still his, aren't they?
at the sound of his voice, yennefer feels herself snort, shaking her head once when she notes the worry in his face. it would have been easier if it had simply been a joke, if he had offered a way out of the weight of the conversation, but she knows better than to think any of this would be that easy. ]
The most? Really? [ not even yennefer is confident in ellya's next move, and there's so little for her to do until she can get out of her bed, until she can get back in the castle and out of the thumb of the various mages coming in and out of her sick room. and of course there is that smallest part of yennefer that feels ill, wondering if she hadn't been out cold, if there could have been something she could have done.
not that it matters. what's done is done.
promise me he says, and yennefer exhales. ] Jaskier- [ because he knows what he's asking, knows what he's telling her to do by mentioning what amounts to a check-in. ] I am a busy woman, you know this. [ but also, at the same time, before you do anything insanely rash. not if, but when. it makes her feel...not better, exactly, but less like she has to lie about the things going on in her mind. ]
You know I'll never forgive you if you return to Thorne and I'm not there.
It's not a challenge! [He feels he must state before she does include something more ominous, because he's already lying in a bed and recovering from a near-death experience; what more use could he have for the ominous?
Even optimism cannot survive forever. But damned if he will not attempt to keep its flame alive.
He watches her face as his name leaves her mouth as an exhalation, which in other circumstances -- that is, they were not both almost dead -- may have been very attractive indeed. Now where he once would've goaded Yennefer into fucking him again, perhaps, there is only a fear that every time may be the last time he sees her. That she will get in over her head. Again.
Every time he must marvel what a witch has come to mean to him.
Her answer sounds like the beginnings of an argument, but her final words make him smile. He leans in, kissing her cheek with a warm press of his lips.] Oh, no. I would hate to disappoint my beloved wife. The busy woman that she is.
[That is all he'll get from her, and it will have to be good enough. (It is.)]
[ as if against her will, there is a small smile that comes to her at that - it's not a challenge he says, and her brows still lift. in question, yes, but also in jest. in the fact that even now, even with everything hanging over them both, there will always be jaskier's ever present ability to do just this.
he leans in and kisses her cheek, and yennefer turns ever so slightly - as if she were expecting it. expecting him. there is a very desperate, exhausted part of her that wants to clamp down on his arm. to not let him go, despite the way she knows that she herself is the one who must return. who mustn't draw attention. if she spends too long like this, there is a higher and higher chance the mages in the infirmary will start looking too closely at her, and if any of them realized...
so instead, yennefer looks back up to him - finding his eyes, whatever unspoken things are written across his face, and whether or not she is satisfied by what she sees, yennefer does take a step back. ]
Speaking of your beloved wife, I'm going to need another night of wine, dear husband. You'll have to provide.
[ which is what will have to pass for a goodbye, for now. she has no idea just how frustrating the next few weeks will be for her, but she can guess. ]
[Jaskier lets her go. The witch passes out from under his lips and his hands nearly effortlessly. There is a fear that lingers in him, and one he thinks he will not easily get rid of, but for now... he can let her go.
They need this energy. They need to heal. And even in this distant, distant way, he feels the connect of his sandpiper. It is still there, watching over her.
(Not that she needs watching after, of course.)]
Hardly much of a request to make of me. If I'm inundated with anything, it is copious amounts of wine. [He gives her a smile, his fingers curling in against his palms. There is already a pulling of the waking world, and he will let it happen. For now.] Come find me in time.
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
no subject
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.
no subject
well. now yennefer sees the realization of what has happened cross jaskier's features like a blow across his jaw. part of her nearly wishes she could take the words back just to save him from that, but she knows that she couldn't, she wouldn't, even if she had her chaos.
I'd just held an event there. weeks ago. that is what has her breath hitching, a kind of pain in her chest, because it had been so close. and what would she have done, if they had been there? if jaskier had been in libertas? if ciri? geralt? it makes her want to scream, the sound of jaskier's sobs matching the feeling between her ribs, and she holds him even tighter. ]
It's not your fault. [ her voice is quiet, when she says the words, because she knows what he's thinking. knows what he has wedged somewhere between the anger and the pain, and despite it all, there is the exhausted, primal urge to want to fix it for him.
it isn't his fault, just as the elves he couldn't save hadn't been his fault. but jaskier will take these things on, will have them weigh at him, as much as she wants to shake him free of it all. ellya - a woman scorned, a lover dead, and now? now a war between factions that had been building for years.
his threat to the queen's life has yennefer not quite laughing, but huffing out a sound that could be close. it pulls her out of the embrace enough that she can look up at him, that she can set her hand to his cheek. she does not feel it in the same way he does - wars between men are one of the few and only constants of time, no matter how many decades, how many lifetimes. but jaskier does not have lifetimes, and yennefer feels in this moment more than in any other, what that can do. ]
And it is the least of what is coming for her. [ she does not say it to be reassuring, exactly, but it had always been part of the plan. ever since those first few weeks after the jail break, as she had first started to settle within the ranks.
yennefer does not want the spot - yennefer has no interest in ruling - but a woman like ellya, when the people she cares about are within reach, cannot be left to her own devices. ]
no subject
And to know, to accept, that this is only the beginning.
Ugh. He does not want to be pulled away because he does not want Yennefer to see him like this. Or anyone. Perhaps this is why he has been able to tell Ciri and Geralt that he was perfectly fine. It was all waiting to boil out when it found a crack in the pot.
He wipes his eyes, shaking his head. No, it isn't his fault, but they both know that hearing the words changes nothing.]
What? You don't think I would, if I could? [He glares at her, which he knows must be rather comical with red cheeks and puffy eyes, and then... his shoulders fall a bit.] Perhaps you're right.
[He places his hand on top of hers, carefully pulling it away.] Don't tell me you mean to, Yennefer. It's too dangerous.
no subject
his glare has her brows lifting in challenge - he can be as angry with her as he wants to be, though she knows there is little to back it up. perhaps you're right also has her expression dropping, softer, less like she is trying to play off that comical expression of his. ] If you could, I know you'd mean to. [ and it's the truth - he would try, because he wouldn't be able to let this slide.
perhaps it isn't such a terrible thing that he's so far after all.
yennefer lets him pull her hand away from his face, gives him one of her small smiles. perhaps a little tired, perhaps a little accepting of where it is she's worked herself to be. in thorne, yes, but also the rest of it. all of it. she tries for entertained, tries for playful, when she says, ] You don't believe I could do it?
i am. so fuckin late I'm sorry
How laughable. That things like Valdo Marx's rising reputation was something that used to... pick at him.
And now he's here. Full of holes. Relatively speaking.]
I do. I do believe you could, and that's why I'm. [He swallows.] Afraid. Of what may happen after. Of what will become of you.
friend….you say this like i’m not just now getting to tags….😔
perhaps not, where the queen is concerned.
there is something that settles in yennefer’s chest at jaskier’s words. that he is afraid of what she will become. the feeling is cold, hard, and heavy, as it settles. a part of her wonders if she should tell him that her killing the queen isn’t something she hasn’t done before. wonders, too, what he’d think of her if he knew even a fraction of what she’s done, already. it makes her feel…not unsteady, exactly, but distant.
a fraction of the pain and exhaustion from her physical body seeps through, as if finding the crack in her focus. yennefer shakes her head. ]
I’m sure there are better uses for your fear. This war has only just begun.
grips you by the lapel. understand I will wait forever
That is quite possibly the most ominous thing you could have said. I really appreciate hearing it out loud.
[The worry between his brow indicates he is actually the opposite of appreciative of it. And that she should think his fear could be better attributed than to her well-being. Jaskier is not a fool, and he does not know what the queen's next move will be, but he is considerably more safe with Ciri and Geralt and his own magic than most people in Cadens.
Not that he intends to hunker down and hide from this war behind the bodies of others. He simply... cannot.]
Then you must promise me before you do anything insanely rash, that you'll tell me. Send those mental letters, if you must, but if I do not hear from you often enough, Ellya herself will not stop me from finding my way to Thorne.
;A; MY HERO
at the sound of his voice, yennefer feels herself snort, shaking her head once when she notes the worry in his face. it would have been easier if it had simply been a joke, if he had offered a way out of the weight of the conversation, but she knows better than to think any of this would be that easy. ]
The most? Really? [ not even yennefer is confident in ellya's next move, and there's so little for her to do until she can get out of her bed, until she can get back in the castle and out of the thumb of the various mages coming in and out of her sick room. and of course there is that smallest part of yennefer that feels ill, wondering if she hadn't been out cold, if there could have been something she could have done.
not that it matters. what's done is done.
promise me he says, and yennefer exhales. ] Jaskier- [ because he knows what he's asking, knows what he's telling her to do by mentioning what amounts to a check-in. ] I am a busy woman, you know this. [ but also, at the same time, before you do anything insanely rash. not if, but when. it makes her feel...not better, exactly, but less like she has to lie about the things going on in her mind. ]
You know I'll never forgive you if you return to Thorne and I'm not there.
no subject
Even optimism cannot survive forever. But damned if he will not attempt to keep its flame alive.
He watches her face as his name leaves her mouth as an exhalation, which in other circumstances -- that is, they were not both almost dead -- may have been very attractive indeed. Now where he once would've goaded Yennefer into fucking him again, perhaps, there is only a fear that every time may be the last time he sees her. That she will get in over her head. Again.
Every time he must marvel what a witch has come to mean to him.
Her answer sounds like the beginnings of an argument, but her final words make him smile. He leans in, kissing her cheek with a warm press of his lips.] Oh, no. I would hate to disappoint my beloved wife. The busy woman that she is.
[That is all he'll get from her, and it will have to be good enough. (It is.)]
wrapping?
he leans in and kisses her cheek, and yennefer turns ever so slightly - as if she were expecting it. expecting him. there is a very desperate, exhausted part of her that wants to clamp down on his arm. to not let him go, despite the way she knows that she herself is the one who must return. who mustn't draw attention. if she spends too long like this, there is a higher and higher chance the mages in the infirmary will start looking too closely at her, and if any of them realized...
so instead, yennefer looks back up to him - finding his eyes, whatever unspoken things are written across his face, and whether or not she is satisfied by what she sees, yennefer does take a step back. ]
Speaking of your beloved wife, I'm going to need another night of wine, dear husband. You'll have to provide.
[ which is what will have to pass for a goodbye, for now. she has no idea just how frustrating the next few weeks will be for her, but she can guess. ]
yes!
They need this energy. They need to heal. And even in this distant, distant way, he feels the connect of his sandpiper. It is still there, watching over her.
(Not that she needs watching after, of course.)]
Hardly much of a request to make of me. If I'm inundated with anything, it is copious amounts of wine. [He gives her a smile, his fingers curling in against his palms. There is already a pulling of the waking world, and he will let it happen. For now.] Come find me in time.