Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cointosser) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2021-10-01 09:35 pm
cointosser) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-10-01 09:35 pm
[ CLOSED ] when I'm like this, you're the one I trust
Who: Jaskier, Ciri, Geralt, eventually Sam?
When: First week of October
Where: The desert outskirts of Cadens
What: Jaskier attempts to help Ciri learn magic with disastrous results.
Warnings: Bodily injury, may move to mild body horror depending.
[With the climate they found themselves in, it only made sense for them to really embrace their new... eccentric talents. At least, that was what Jaskier tells himself, and when he tells himself it -- regarding Ciri, in particular -- it all makes sense, of course. If they are all gifted with magic, then it only makes sense to make use of it.
After all, it's free. And they need skills to make a living off of. As far as he understands, Ciri is, er, well. Like Geralt. A hunter.
Magic, hunting. It all fits together.
Okay, fine. He's terribly bored also. And he's tired of being the only one with magic around here. (He's still avoiding the whole plant thing. He prefers not to think about it, actually.]
All right, my dear. I -- well, I don't claim to know many, er, spells, but we can start on what I started on. Simply a little bird. [He, of course, adds a completely unnecessary flourish to his movements, and a bit of sparks, holding out his hand with a dove sitting on his palm.]
It's a bit hard to describe. I sort of... imitated watching it, I suppose.
[He sort of definitely wants to see Ciri try to imitate his flourish.]
When: First week of October
Where: The desert outskirts of Cadens
What: Jaskier attempts to help Ciri learn magic with disastrous results.
Warnings: Bodily injury, may move to mild body horror depending.
[With the climate they found themselves in, it only made sense for them to really embrace their new... eccentric talents. At least, that was what Jaskier tells himself, and when he tells himself it -- regarding Ciri, in particular -- it all makes sense, of course. If they are all gifted with magic, then it only makes sense to make use of it.
After all, it's free. And they need skills to make a living off of. As far as he understands, Ciri is, er, well. Like Geralt. A hunter.
Magic, hunting. It all fits together.
Okay, fine. He's terribly bored also. And he's tired of being the only one with magic around here. (He's still avoiding the whole plant thing. He prefers not to think about it, actually.]
All right, my dear. I -- well, I don't claim to know many, er, spells, but we can start on what I started on. Simply a little bird. [He, of course, adds a completely unnecessary flourish to his movements, and a bit of sparks, holding out his hand with a dove sitting on his palm.]
It's a bit hard to describe. I sort of... imitated watching it, I suppose.
[He sort of definitely wants to see Ciri try to imitate his flourish.]
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Geralt shakes it off. That's not important. They can sort that out later. He reaches for Ciri's arm. ] Slow down. How was he when you left him?
[ Do they have time, is what he wants to know. Geralt is willing to ride a horse into the ground if he has to. If that's what it takes to make sure Jaskier stays alive. But he isn't about to do it without cause. They have enough problems on their hands without having to explain why the stable's gelding has collapsed outside the city gates and won't be getting back up.
Fuck. He should've never left. Should've known things were still too unstable in this damn world, too unpredictable. I lost control. He wants to ask her to explain, but that's not what she needs right now. Or either of them. He needs to get them both back into Cadens, steady, and go from there. Sam should be able to find a healer, he thinks, but—this should've never had to be Sam's problem in the first place. Geralt had meant to look after the two of them. Somehow, it feels like he's left them behind instead. ]
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Unconscious. Lost a lot of blood. Sam's taking him back to where he's staying. Said he's got something that'll help.
[ Her eyes well shamefully with tears again. She blinks them back, and pulls her hand away to smear them on the heel of her palm.
Geralt had told her to take care of Jaskier. He'd trusted her. ]
I'm sorry.
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(Will it work? It should. Jaskier is human, like the others in this world. It can work.)
He pulls his attention back to Ciri. He can't do anything for Jaskier right now. So he puts it out of his mind, as much as he can. Until they get back. He trusts Sam will do what he can. For now, he needs Ciri to get some damn rest before she collapses, too.
His gaze softens as he looks down at her. ] You couldn't have known.
[ He isn't sure what happened, exactly, but he can get the details in the morning when she's gotten some sleep. Whatever it is, he knows she isn't to blame. He remembers her mother's power. A fraction of that, triggered unintentionally, would be more than enough to wound a human. Or is it something else? Something more? Something like Jaskier's sudden ability to control plants, Amos' insistence that he could, out of nowhere, change the weight and pressure upon an object?
He unstraps his pack from Roach and sets it down, then hands Ciri the reins. He can't fix what has her so afraid, as if she thinks she must've nearly killed Jaskier with her own hands. But he can at least have her occupied instead of dwelling on it. The sky is growing dark. They have some hours ahead of them before they can move again. ]
Get the horses settled. We ride at first light.
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Or... no, that isn't quite right, if she's being fair to herself. But it's very difficult to feel like cutting herself any slack after what's happened. What she'd done to Jaskier. How he bears her wounds. No, she hadn't known that would happen or that it was even possible, but she'd had a bad feeling. And it feels like she should have known better, somehow. Should have been stronger, been able to stop it.
Mechanically, Ciri takes the reins when Geralt hands Roach over to her. Her mind is still whirring, but she feels the exhaustion begin to settle into her muscles, her bones. They sag like her horse is sagging beneath her, and she knows he is right. They all need to rest.
Jaskier should be all right with Sam's help. An injured arm isn't life-threatening if the bleeding's stopped. At this point, she can't do anything else to help, and riding into the night is as stupid as it is dangerous. So Ciri nods, not able to explain anything further yet, and takes what solace she can in Geralt's proximity.
She untacks the horses one by one, hangs up their gear, lets them cool off. Luckily, there's a stream nearby that Geralt must have been riding along for a bit, so they can all drink. Higher up in the hills, the desert feels less vast and unforgiving, and less hauntingly familiar.
When the horses are settled and left to graze on shrubs nearby, Ciri crouches by the stream and finally begins to wash the dried blood off her face and arms. ]
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He lights a small campfire nearby, just to get them through the night. Digs around for some crusted bread and dried jerky, finds a clean cloth in his pack, and goes over to where Ciri is by the stream.
His boots scuff the dirt as he crouches down beside her. He hands her the cloth and unwraps the food between them. He doesn't need to ask to know she hasn't eaten. Or that she will probably tell him she isn't hungry. She still needs to eat. ]
He's in good hands. [ Is he trying to reassure her or himself? Both, perhaps. Geralt looks across the trickling stream. The ride ahead seems to stretch into the distance. He glances back at Ciri. He doesn't want her to think he doesn't want to hear it, what happened. To misunderstand his putting it off as a signal that he quietly blames her or would rather not deal with what she might've done. That's not it. It's only that he knows it'll be better spoken about when she isn't exhausted. When it's not so fresh. ] We can talk after you've rested.
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She stares at it. Not because she wants to argue or even because she's lost in thought.
All of a sudden, there really is... nothing. Just the exhaustion, and the sadness, and the fear. Without words.
Ciri sits down heavily in the rocky dirt, reaches over to grab a piece of jerky, and numbly begins to gnaw on a corner of it without tasting much. ]
There's something wrong with my magic.
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Because of the Singularity?
[ He's trying to keep up, keep ahead, working out what she's told him before about her ability to open a portal. How reluctant she'd been to discuss her magic with Jaskier back at the inn. Their first night. Geralt had assumed she was simply tired and apprehensive about the notion of anyone else knowing of her Elder Blood. Now he's realizing there might be more to it. Was something always wrong with her magic?
All of this, about Elder Blood. The prophecy. He doesn't know what the fuck it all means. Why it has to do with her.
He settles down beside her at the edge of the stream. The fire crackles behind them. He's never felt so much as though he were stumbling blind. It's always been a sure thing, his place in the world. Until the girl. And he can't tell how he's supposed to—help her now. The only thing he knows how to do is kill and there's no monster here for him to take care of. ]
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Her head had been so full of things to do mixed up with things she should or shouldn't have done, with frantic necessity and regrets. It had been so loud. And now-- there's silence. The emptiness is almost worse. It forces her to fill it.
To talk. To say aloud the things that have been rattling around in her skull all this very long day and need to be let out. ]
I... don't know. It must be. I- I think.
[ She doesn't understand any of it. Ciri bites off a chunk of jerky with a dull frustration, staring at the shriveled meat in her hand, chewing thoughtfully for a few moments before continuing. ]
The thing is... I've never been able to control it. Not well. I tried, Geralt. [ She looks up suddenly at him, as if afraid he might think otherwise, think her uncaring and lazy, and she rushes to assure him: ]
I tried, for so long. Yennefer tried to teach me how. And then others. They said... I'm a Source. But no matter how I try, I still can't get it right. I'm supposed to be able to control the chaos, but instead--
[ She shakes her head, like she might shake out the right words if she just does it hard enough. ]
--it bursts out of me. It hurts people. It's... It's too much.
But it's never done... what it did today.
[ The sudden urge strikes her to throw something, to scream and curse, her heart beating faster and faster in her chest until it hurts. She's shaking, Ciri realizes, and presses her fists into her knees, pushing down the hurt and frustration before they bring up what little food she's had.
She hates feeling like a child again, like a little idiot lost in a world too abhorrent and cruel, scrambling and fighting tooth and nail just to hold onto any scrap of something that was hers. Even after all the running, even after she'd had to say goodbye to Geralt and Yennefer, she'd had the knowledge that she could rely on herself at least. That she knew what she was dealing with and how to move forward.
She doesn't know any of this at all. ]
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Carefully, he lays his hand on hers. He ducks down to catch her gaze. Her pulse pounds between his ears, stuttering. ]
Tell me what happened. Exactly.
[ Too much. He's noticed Ciri's never tried to pull on the magic available to them here. Had she finally done so? With Jaskier there? That is what happened, isn't it? Ciri hasn't said anything about being attacked, about trying to save him, which means the magic that burst out of her, it was not in a moment of instinct or reflex. She'd tried to use it. It's why she believes it was her fault.
Geralt had not asked, about her magic and her powers. Should he have? Could he have kept this from happening if he had? It wasn't that he hadn't had a dozen questions. She'd just seemed so much more content, talking of monsters and hunting, so loath to discuss her Elder Blood—the future that laid ahead of them which only she had seen—that he'd. Let it go. Believing that, as she'd told him, she simply wouldn't be able to access her abilities until they resolved the problem with the Singularity. A mistake, on his part. He should've realized it would never be so easy.
He can't help asking if it was because he'd wanted it to be true in a way he wasn't willing to admit, this notion that Cirilla had chosen to...walk the Path. The first, to decide to live the life of a Witcher not because she'd been made to, but because it was what she desired. Until she'd come along, it was not something he'd thought possible nor something he would've thought he'd wanted to see. His was not supposed to be a life one sought. Except she had, and he was starting to settle into the idea that it didn't have to be...a painful, lonely existence that'd been pushed upon them as children. That it could offer her more than it had for him, for any of the others that'd come before her.
Now it's dawning on him that perhaps she'd taken up the sword because her own magic had frightened her far more than the monsters that lurked outside. And how much of a choice is that, truthfully? ]
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Ciri takes a deep breath, and gives herself a few moments to try to organize her scattered thoughts. She sifts through the fears and the what-ifs and guilt to look for the truth, for the most accurate and objective rendition she can muster of the events that brought her here. It feels like it's been days. It was only this morning. ]
Jaskier and I rode out to desert at the outskirts of Cadens after sunup. We intended to practice a few spells together. He wished to teach me what he's learned and has been encouraging me to... see what I can do. Try it out. We thought it would be best to practice away from people -- hence, the desert. Draw less attention too.
[ Her voice is quiet and methodical, recounting everything in her own words as best she can. Every once in a while, she stops to chew on the words and the jerky. Building up to when everything went wrong. ]
I asked him to teach me the healing spell he used on Yennefer, back in Thorne. Jaskier insisted I should practice on him. He showed me how, then bade me to make an attempt. He cut his forearm, very shallowly. Just a scratch to demonstrate on.
Then, I tried to do what he did.
[ And this is where things get hard. Ciri doesn't look up at Geralt, staring off into the trickle of water that barely can be called a stream in places. ]
As soon as I called on the chaos, I knew something was wrong. I couldn't will it or hold onto it. It... lashed out. I'm not sure of the details. In truth, I... struggle with full awareness, when it takes over like that. But it shouldn't have. Such a little thing--
[ No. She's getting distracted. Geralt only wants to know what happened. Ciri swallows hard. ]
I don't know exactly how, but it hurt him. And then there were-- [ This part she's actually not sure about at all. She doesn't understand, but Ciri does her best to recount what she'd experienced, the way the plants had come out of nowhere. She can only presume Jaskier had conjured them, perhaps on instinct, even though she's never seen him do anything of the sort before. ] There were vines covered in thorns. They erupted out of nowhere, but I think they were Jaskier's. They restrained me. My magic... reacted, without my willing it to.
Then, it was over. I don't think it took very long at all, even though it felt like it. Jaskier's arm was flayed open, and he lost a lot of blood. I bandaged him as well as I could.
[ Another pause. She picks apart the remaining piece of jerky in her hands, tearing it into little pieces she has no appetite for. ]
I noticed that I wasn't bleeding. Even though I felt the thorns bite into me. Somehow... only Jaskier was hurt. His arm, and everywhere the vines had hurt me too.
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And he does have a picture: Ciri, already powerful, now even more so under the influence of the Singularity, combined with Jaskier's newfound powers that the bard hasn't fully gotten under control, provoked on instinct when he was in danger. A fucking spark to an oil drum is what that is.
Shit.
Ciri is a coiled spring beside him. He isn't used to knowing the right thing to say, to make someone feel better. He can tell her she isn't to be blamed, and she will still feel as though she is. He can't truthfully tell her everything will be fine, because he doesn't know if they will be. A restless buzz hums under his veins, one he can't quite shut off. It wants to do, to act, and he can't. Not until they return. He wishes, somehow, that he'd been there to keep this from happening at all. It's a foolish whimsy. One he is aware need not be entertained, and yet it crosses his mind all the same. That he should've been better at protecting them.
In the end, he does the only thing he can think of, what he remembers once made the world a little more bearable when he was still young, when words felt not near enough: maybe it'd been Vesemir who was there, maybe one of his brothers—either way, he hesitates, then slides an arm over her shoulder, unsure if she'll accept the embrace but not really knowing what else to do. ]
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She lapses into silence, letting the minute noises of the nighttime settle down around them. Their breathing. The faint rustle of movement beside her as Geralt shifts.
His arm settles around her, surprisingly warm, and for a moment, Ciri freezes in surprise. Her breath catches, stutters-- and then comes out a quiet sob, as much of relief in the sound as there is sadness. She leans into him, tucks her knees up and curls against his side, made small. There are only a few tears, scattered by her eyelashes.
Mostly, she is quiet. And she stays close. ]
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He breathes out. It's a few minutes before he finally speaks up. ] You know Jaskier will hound you for life if you blame yourself. Only one of us needs to be subjected to him. Have I told you about the time he stole my clothes?
[ He already knows Jaskier will be worried about her more than anything. If he's awake. (He'll be awake.) Geralt's not certain how that draught Sam's got works, but he does distinctly recall Sam telling him it carried the same properties as the crystals. A problem for Sam to deal with, for the time being. At least Jaskier's mind is unlikely to carry dark images.
His fingers slide over a smooth flat stone, his other arm still around Ciri. He considers, then lays it on the ground before them. When he finds another, he stacks it on top, delicately balanced. It's as much to keep himself occupied, but. There's an unspoken invitation for Ciri to join if she wants. Perhaps they both need to just not fucking think right now. Night's longer, with winter just weeks away. They have too many hours to wait out before they can ride. ]
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No... you haven't.
[ She doesn't make any comment toward whether or not she blames herself, and how Jaskier may or may not hound her for it. That'll have to be between them. Later. When the bard is awake again. When he's okay. ]
Why did he do that?
[ Her eyes follow Geralt's hand, the way the stones lie on top of one another in delicate balance. For now, she doesn't join in. But she's watching, and she's focusing on something else -- so that's a start. ]
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She's answering, so he holds onto that, tenuous though it is. ]
He decided it was the ideal way in which to get me into new clothes, and lost both to the damn river. I nearly left him in the woods that day. But we did discover it's possible for me to get into his silk breeches.
[ There's some fondness, in how he tells it, something he doesn't often let through when it comes to Jaskier. He stacks another stone on top, turning it until it sits without wobbling. Thinks of the knucklebones he found in her room, and wonders if he ever played it with her while they were travelling, while they were at Kaer Morhen. When she was younger. They're memories he can only imagine at best. ]
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She almost cracks a smile, imagining it. ]
I'm certain you looked very fashionable. [ She says this in a way that makes it clear she thinks he probably looked rather silly, in fact.
After a moment, she reaches down finally to grab a flattish stone of her own and start a little pile next to Geralt's. ]
If you were wearing his trousers, what was left for Jaskier?
[ Talking about him makes Ciri worry-- but she was already worried, and at least this way, the subject is lighter, if he's going to be on her mind anyway. ]
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[ A smallest curl lifts his lips, at least for a moment. There are, if he sits and thinks about it, dozens of stories he has about Jaskier. Even for a Witcher, two decades is awhile. A long time to have—a companion. He wonders if Ciri has any of her own. If he and Jaskier were still...friends, that many more years, he imagines Jaskier must've spent plenty of time with her, too.
He gives a soft snort. Very little was what. ] His complete lack of shame.
[ Another flat rock joins. He glances over while Ciri builds her structure. His shoulders relax just a touch. A light breeze stirs the dry earth around them. They'll be all right, her and Jaskier. It's a thought he holds firm because, right now, dwelling on the alternative will do nothing to help.
Besides, Red is here, waiting to guide them the rest of the way come morning. Geralt wants to think, if Jaskier were gone, his magic and its creations would be, too. ]
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Eventually, exhaustion takes its toll, and the anxiety and adrenaline have drained away enough to let her rest. She nods off in the middle of one of Geralt's tales, head heavy on his shoulder, and dozes there until Geralt nudges her closer to the fire and the blankets.
Some force of nature must have taken pity on her at last; it is a blissfully dreamless sleep. ]