[ OPEN / CLOSED ] i think i found a way to kill the sun

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: December
Where: Cadens, Horizon
What: Some catching up now that he's home
Warnings: Discussion of trauma; nsfw marked



(( placing starters in the comments below. find me at discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

Comments

[gynvael]

[ That says enough. Geralt has always been aware, between the things Amos has told him and in the spaces where he's said nothing, that the man has as tumultuous a past as Geralt does. No. Amos will not ask. He finds himself concerned more for Amos. Not much unsettles him. He hopes it hadn't—

He studies the blooming rose. He wonders if Jaskier can sense it, how he is already beginning to close himself off—to grasp the first reason he can find to do so, perhaps. (Is that what he's doing?) Jaskier need not be burdened further. His friend has seen enough, understood enough. And he doesn't expect anyone else to shoulder the weight of his memories. The offer lingers there, waiting. He wants to take it as much as he doesn't. ]

She reached for it. [ The words spill out of him, unbidden. ] Those memories. To drown out all else, when the mages broke through.

[ Not on purpose, he knows. It just...he doesn't know why he's telling Jaskier. He's not interested, hearing his friend angry or upset on his behalf. That's not what he wants. Maybe it's a simple matter of needing to say it out loud, to someone. ]

[cointosser]

[And there is that. It's not really an... an offering. Calling it that, like it's a gift, is disingenuous. It is more a statement: that Jaskier is here, they are trapped here together, and through Destiny or the Singularity or neither or both, they are tied inextricably together. Whatever happened to Geralt is his pain, his memories. But it needn't sit in the Witcher, alone, forever. If he can't share the pain, what's the fucking point?

Jaskier knows that's the point, and yet. And yet he does not expect an answer.

It's receiving one that makes him jerk; all at once the rose withers and dies in a moment, in mere seconds, the very life choked out of it. He hadn't meant to, barely has mind to even notice how the blackened leaves now curl in on themselves, how the petals have fallen.

Geralt says only enough for Jaskier to pick up the pieces himself. She. He goes through women in his mind, but the list is terribly short when it comes to Geralt. When it comes to... Thorne. Of course it's she. It's always She, with a capital S, because She certainly is always there when things are right and proper fucked.

Who else could it be? Who else interferes and makes things worse? Gloating around, searching out her little feelers for more power? He begins to feel that sharp sting of anger -- mixed with that cold, awful attraction he prefers to deny to himself even now -- and it nearly rises to his face. Perhaps it does, for a second: the darkening of his brows and a snarl to his lip. But. To drown out all else.]

Yennefer was there. [A statement that he's quite sure does not need confirmation. He closes his eyes, lifts his hands to rub his face. Yennefer was there, because surely she has spent her time ingratiating herself to the nobles of Thorne. Perhaps to the monarchs themselves. To the other mages. Gloating about her power. Showing it off. Helping --

Yennefer was there, while mages were digging through the Witcher's memories. To find what? is the obvious question, but it could mean so many things. Yennefer, reaching into his mind, and -- and she found that basement somehow? Is that why it had appeared?

It must be. Why it had only appeared in the scant seconds Geralt could manage to maintain the Horizon. Unbidden. Unwanted. Like the shadow of the girl.

Jaskier is quiet, his words steady, yet slow. As he picks them out before Geralt shuts the door in his face.] Did she know what she was reaching for? Did it... did it work?

[gynvael]

[ He catches the curl of distaste, the dying flower. That flash of resentment for his sake. And for a moment, he feels it, too, coiling hot inside him before he snuffs it out. Yes. Yennefer was there. They had agreed to place her in Thorne to keep Ciri safe. He does not know whose mistake it was that it'd nearly been undone. Perhaps it was both of theirs, for giving in to each other in that moment out in that yard, out by the portals, even knowing where they were, who'd been watching. They should've known better. He should've known better.

Did she know? He wants to say, she didn't. Because he'd seen it, the fear that flickered in her eyes. He had turned to her, knowing that whatever she had to do would not be pretty. He'd just not expected it to be...that. The doubt lingers. Would she have done that to him? For the girl? (For herself?) Did it matter so long as Ciri remained safe?

His lack of an answer to Jaskier's first question serves as answer enough. ] It worked. I should think.

[ It must've, or Yennefer would've] passed on a different message to him through Kylo in those cells. He can't say himself. He remembers not much after that. Only blood and screams. ]

The mage started to see a figure. [ It is by way of explanation, why Yennefer would have done this. Neither he nor Yennefer have explicitly said why she'd remained in Thorne. It'd seemed...secondary at the time, given that was not the only reason she stayed. He knows, as always, she has her own purpose, her own agenda, but he remains of the belief that Ciri is the priority no matter what. Yennefer is well aware of how important the girl is. But that figure. Geralt knows there can only be one figure that might sit at the forefront of his mind, especially in that moment. ] They can't know about Ciri.

[cointosser]

[Like all of Geralt's silences, it's the lines between them that must be read. He doesn't say, which means two things: either Yennefer knew and did not care, or she hadn't meant to at all. He must wonder what it means, knowing what both of them would prefer to believe. What is most likely true in the end. And yet how they make absolute arseholes of themselves so easily.

Jaskier releases a breath, his shoulders sagging.

That explains things. Both what the mages were trying to see, perhaps, but also what Geralt was so desperate to protect. What a bizarre thing it is to behold now, after all of those years of Geralt refusing to even hear a word about his Child of Destiny. And even now, without Abraxas, he would still be running. Jaskier would never have met her. She would be a child in a womb; a concept. Barely even a name.

How his heart hurts now to think of a time where he doesn't know her. Without asking Geralt, he knows he feels the same.]

They won't. [Jaskier takes his friend's hand and squeezes it without prompting, looking him in the face.] You protected her, and you did a fine job of it. Through all of that. It's more than anyone else would have tried. I don't think I... [And then he lets him go.] I'll look into spells of the mind, that can protect them. They may be something. Something to safeguard memories.

[gynvael]

[ Had he? He looks back at Jaskier. He is aware he tried. He's also aware he'd failed. That if Yennefer had not been there, he isn't certain what he'd have done to stop them. If there were anything he could've done. It is a helplessness he doesn't ever want to feel again.

The thoughts go unvoiced. They don't need to be said. Jaskier's hand moves off of his. He curls his fingers around his medallion. (He still can't decide what she was doing with it in her possession, before he ever landed in Thorne. Why she would have it, why she would hold onto it, where the hell she got it.) ]

There may be. [ He glances away again. Solutions are good. He can work with solutions. And he knows he's not the only one vulnerable—that it isn't a good sign for anyone that they could so quickly beak through his defences. ] Spells are more difficult to find around these parts, but someone may know a thing or two.

[ Not that he intends to be taken again. He stretches his legs out on the grass, sitting back on his hands. His ribs shift with a piercing ache, though the bones have largely knitted back together, leaving a heavy bruise up his side. He knows it was Jaskier's doing. He'd passed out, woken up with his knee and his ribs healing better than they should've. ]

[cointosser]

[As if he does not catch that particular furrowed brow in the very handsome face of his friend. That expression is exactly why he said as he did. And because... in this moment, he cannot believe otherwise. At least one of them has to believe in the good. In the victories. Small as they are.

Jaskier's laugh is more like a croak.]

I do believe that's the most optimistic thing I've ever heard you say. [Already they are moving about as far from optimistic as possible. The Great White Wolf, snatched away as easily as a babe. Torn open. His mind cracked like a nut. And all of it sounded as easy as anything for them. For Thorne.

He should have known it was them. Yet he'd truly believed they were safe. For if Thorne had that much power, why was it only Geralt who was taken? What of the other runaways?

The question, spoken in his head, answers itself. Because Geralt is connected to someone there. (Is it truly Yennefer's fault? Could he believe she would use Geralt like that? That love could mean so little to her?)]

Who gave it to you? The medallion. [He can see Geralt messing with it in the corner of his eye. Exactly like the one he's worn for years. Identical in every way, from what Jaskier can see. Does it vibrate now? When he raises flowers from nothing, does the medallion sing?] Was it her, too?

[gynvael]

[ He snorts. He likes to think of it as practicality, not optimism, though he doesn't correct Jaskier. He releases the medallion. It does hum. Gentle, thrumming. More than that, it's his. The weight of it is as familiar as an old friend.

He'd slipped the replacement medallion Jaskier had obtained him in a drawer. He's already decided what to do with it. Just needs time to visit a blacksmith, when he's recovered a bit more. ]

By way of another. [ Speaking of friends. His eyes slide towards Jaskier. ] Your smouldering muse. Kylo Ren. He met me in the cells. Arranged...something with one of Thorne's mages.

[ A woman, a sorceress. Obviously not in league with the queen. He was only there for a few days in the castle and already he could sense the wheels turning, the vines tangling. He's never one to concern himself with politics, but it's beginning to feel too much like politics are concerning themselves with him. Because if the monarchy falls, what happens? A country with a void bodes ill for everyone.

He sighs. Everything is shifting far too quickly. ]

[cointosser]

[Whatever answer he braces himself for -- and let's be honest, he braces himself for the answer to be Yennefer, who he cannot imagine coming within a hair's breadth of any action so meaningful to anyone, let alone Geralt -- no amount of bracing could have been enough for this.]

Oooh. Smouldering muse, I like that. [Wait a second. He jerks his head towards Geralt.] You're telling me, [He starts, and for the first time in the conversation he is animated and no longer so much a shirking violet, pulling away from what has happened to his friend,] Kylo-fucking-Ren gave you a perfect replication of your old medallion, while you were imprisoned in Thorne's dungeons, that was passed onto him from Yennefer, prior to your escape, as orchestrated by a Thornean mage under Kylo Ren's request?

[His head spins. He feels abruptly as if, somehow, another Conjunction has happened, and he has been smashed into some other sphere where this story makes sense, cohesively. He raises a hand as if he has to stop Geralt from launching into more words, even though he's clearly said his piece.]

I am experiencing so many emotions right now. [It's almost a joke, except it isn't. He has yet to check in with Kylo Ren at all since their escape; their relationship was far from tenuous while he was in Thorne, but Jaskier could guess where his loyalties lay, and it's certainly not with those who scurried about and escaped into portals. The conversations with him, and the meetings they set up -- they were not frivolous things, and neither were they particularly heartfelt. While Yennefer is evil and rude and one of the worst people Jaskier's ever met, he doesn't take Kylo Ren as a sentimental sort, either.] H-how... whhhhy would Yennefer trust Kylo Ren enough to -- augh. She's probably fucking him, isn't she? Oooh, how I could wring that weird little goose neck of hers.

[She probably did it on purpose, hearing that precious ballad he'd rung through Thorne's halls. (He still thinks it's one of his best.) Well, the joke is on her. Kylo Ren thinks he's supremely sexy, and carried him across literal fire, and he can bet five crowns that Yennefer has never even seen his volcano. So. Hah.]

If it's from Kylo Ren, then I bet my left asscheek that Ronan made it. Abrasive git. I couldn't even get a bloody pierogi out of him. [Or a lute, which he never asked for, which probably would have happened, maybe, if he had. Well, fuck him for asking for a treat instead of an Elven lute crafted out of magic. He bets it would've been fuck-ugly, anyway.] How on Melitele's green fucking earth did you manage to receive aid from Thorne sympathizers? I'm sorry, but Yennefer is not that convincing.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt may have said his piece, but Jaskier is only getting started. So he lets the bard go on, eyes closing for a minute or two while he tries to remember through the haze his mind had been. His time in the cells was a clouded blur. He's only just barely kept track of how much time was passing. But he does recall their conversation, brief though it was. Recalls their conversation before that, too. ]

She did not convince him. [ That much he can grasp. She would have used someone else were she manipulating another, not a man who seems to have the proclivities of a rock. No. She and Kylo have made an alliance, for their own reasons. And he can surmise what those reasons are given who had captured specifically, who had placed him behind closed doors in that throne room. The distaste Kylo held for the mage boy at the queen's side. ] She found aid with those who sympathize with Thorne's plight, but not its queen.

[ What was it. Amnesty? He believes the man when he stated that was their desire, to grant amnesty—no doubt in hopes of wooing those who fled to return—and he can see how a prisoner locked away and torn to shreds would interfere with those goals. He can also gather why Yen would forge an alliance with someone like that. ]

We know Thorne fears the destruction of their world. But the queen... [ What does she want? ] I don't know what she's after.

[cointosser]

[He gasps. All those months of political machinations, and this is one of the fruits it bears?]

The queen? Oh, for fuck's sake. That's bad. Ooh, that seems very bad, a monarch coming out of the shadows. All that time performing and canoodling, I did not once catch sight of her. Barely even a word.

[So in their absence, Kylo Ren has somehow allied himself with Yennefer -- or the other way around, whatever -- and Thorne sympathizers working against the queen?

It's juicy. It's terribly juicy, and his fingers are rubbing together. He can't help it; the lyrics rise from nothing. He tamps them down. There is not a chance on this sphere he will be setting a target on his back for the queen of any kingdom.

He really needs to set up a line with Kylo Ren again. This is far too... much. Too much to not be aware of, especially if Thorne has their sights on his friend.

He shakes his head, pulling his legs up so he can lean his arms on them. Perfect place to put his face, his hands holding it, his breath a sigh.] Power. Aren't they always? It's what everyone always wants. And if she is sanctioning kidnappings and tortures, it means... well, it's like to mean she has her sights on something specific. The Singularity, of course, is an easy guess, but I imagine it's not just that. Not when they already had pieces of it through us.

[gynvael]

[ His gaze slides towards Jaskier, a knowing look like he's well aware of what's crossing the bard's mind before any of it is said out loud. It's a tangled mess. One he's been caught up on, despite his efforts to do otherwise, and he's not. Happy about it. To say the least. But now that he's here, now that each piece of information that unravels keeps falling into his hands, he can't help thinking about it, either. Putting it together, for what it all means.

Power is broad. He knows she's attempted to transfer the link to the Singularity to one of her own people. It failed, but...something tells him she had not pulled that stunt for the sake of the peasants. She would want it for herself. To access the one thing no one native to this world can. Is that true? It's hard to conclude much, with how little he knows, but it isn't unheard of for a monarch to crave that kind of power. ]

Tell no one. [ Jaskier already knows, but it feels important enough to be said. Until they know more, he's not willing to discuss any of this outside of the few he trusts. The information feels too dangerous to hold. If the Free Cities catches wind of instability in Thorne's court—he'd rather not go there. ] I need to decide what to do with the prime minister here before we worry about a court across the land. She has spies in her city.

[ And if he waits too long to bring this information forth, well. Who the hell knows. None of this sits right. He needs to talk to Sam about it. The man is the only one he knows of who's spoken with Marlo more than once. ]

[cointosser]

[Jaskier scoffs at him, dark with derision. Need it be said? How long has he survived in the courts of the Continent again?] Of course she has spies, Geralt. Every fucking person with a whit of intelligence has spies. Even I have spies, as useless as they are.

[Look, he's still working on the spell with the birds. Or... well. He had been working on it. He has not worked on much for nearly a month, now. Without the efforts of Hector and Rinwell to ply himself and Ciri with food, he's not sure much would've ever been accomplished. At the very least, they and Red had both helped find Geralt's camp, as helpful as it'd been. (Read: none. He's not even sure Ciri's brought it up. Perhaps they shouldn't. What's a bit of murder between a man and his friend's daughter?)

He rubs his hands together, only now noticing the dried up, dead rose. A frown crosses his face. He hadn't meant to do that.]

Who was the mage? The one from our original escape?

[gynvael]

They're not spies if they're useless. [ Look, he's just saying. He sighs. The whole thing keeps giving him a headache. ] I can't wait for one of their soldiers to knock on my door and interrogate me about it.

[ Or he could, but he doubts that'd be pleasant. It'll be unpleasant either way. He's fairly certain word must've come around, or it will eventually, that something happened to him and that something involves Thorne's interest in the Free Cities. Secondary matter or not, he's not interested in sitting around until someone comes to arrest him or investigate him or press him on why he would have kept silent on the situation.

He's already nosed enough around their outpost as it is. (How does he always end up here?)

He looks over. ] No. Someone situated within their court. I didn't get a name.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier hits him, a slap across the chest, as easy and automatic as anything.] Oh, shut it. I don't see you providing surveillance for our... strange, awkward family. Besides, Red is far from useless.

[He wasn't for spying, exactly, but Sam had certainly had no complaints on the utility of the bird.

He drops his arm, looking back.]

Not that I blame you, but it doesn't narrow things down. [Who would be willing to portal someone out of Thorne, especially a prisoner of the queen? Someone assured they would receive no blowback.

It's a lot to take in. Gods knew that Geralt's head must have been spinning, taking it all in. All these hierarchies, the traitors, the possibilities these alliances may mean. And here they had been in Cadens for months, hoping that their escape would not come crawling back to nip at their heels.

A breeze moves through the cemetery, bringing the scent of freshly turned soil, the sweet notes of the blackberries. The dead rose crumbles to nothing as he touches it again, and he ignores the poetic omen it certainly must represent.] I know it does not mean much, hearing it... but I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened to you. Whatever you need, Geralt, if you can think of a thing. It's yours.

[gynvael]

[ The smack draws a faint wince out of him, light though it is. It's not really Jaskier's fault. All of him is tender at the moment, aching even when he's sitting still. ]

Talk to your mountain king. [ That's the only real answer he has. Kylo communicated with that mage. That much is clear. If anyone knows who and why, it would be him. The question is whether Kylo would be willing to divulge the information. He can see several reasons why the man would be reluctant to share, though he imagines Jaskier can convince someone to cooperate easier than another.

He grows quiet again. He hears what Jaskier is saying. The concern in his friend's voice. And he wants to say he's okay, that he's already well on his way to recovering, but they both know there's more to it than that. This, Jaskier says. He can't tell if Jaskier means Thorne or much further back than that. The Trials. Both, perhaps. His fingers flex. He does not remember clawing the floor, but there are stark signs of it on his hands, his nails. It feels like all of him reveals too much without his having to say a fucking word. ]

Ciri told me she'd have not managed without you. [ He glances over. Not in those words, but he understands her well enough to hear the sentiment. Jaskier's done a lot, but more than anything, Geralt is grateful for Jaskier remaining by Ciri's side while he couldn't be there. And if there's one thing he still needs— ] I'm staying with Sam. For now. [ Until he can...pull more of himself together. Until he isn't just barely aware of the time passing, until he feels less raw all over. ] If you'll stay with her some more.

[cointosser]

[Oh. Oops. Jaskier removes his hand before he can, apparently, instill any more pain onto the Witcher. It's rare he's seen him so sore, yet still not the first time.

He huffs.] Oh, you can bet your horse I will. I want an explanation.

[And, perhaps, to thank him. Though he knows Kylo Ren is far from the most sentimental man he's ever met, and he will most likely not appreciate it. Clearly getting Geralt out of that dungeon was not out of some hidden love in his heart.

Jaskier turns away with a laugh, sweeping dirt off his trousers.] I know for a fact she did not say that. [Perhaps something like, oh, Jaskier was a light in the darkness while we searched for you. No. Too poetic. More like what he wishes would be said about him. Maybe He made a lot of bread and it was all right.

Yes. There. Fitting.

He jerks his gaze back over.] With Sam? [Sam, who had indicated that something strange had come between them? Apparently not, now, that lives had been threatened in the meantime. He almost questions the choice, but... well, their home is no longer the quiet echoing the two of them alone on the road. Or even the three of them. Which is mostly Jaskier's fault, but he is not willing to even persuade Rinwell or Hector to look elsewhere. Not when they need the place just as much.

After a moment, he nods. Right. He gets it. At least in Sam's place, there is quiet respite. And Sam... Sam could use the company, too. Now that the others are gone. Now that Alina was the last to leave.]

I'm not going anywhere. [He never intended to.] Though you know as well as I that she does not need anyone looking after her.

[Though he liked to think they had helped each other, the last month. Grown closer, certainly. Jaskier believes he does understand her quite a bit more. Now he's watched her burn people as Geralt has done.

Fascinating, how those things pass on.

There is nothing that prompts Jaskier's movement other than his own heart. He rises to his feet with Geralt, the blackberry bushes shifting behind them, and he pulls him into a hug. Tight, tight enough it's clear he means to hold him for a moment, for two. The strength of Geralt's body against his a solid reminder he is here. Home. Or, at least, Jaskier's home now. He can't imagine Geralt thinks of anything other than Kaer Morhen for that.

I missed you. He had. But he swallows his sentimentality, lest the Witcher roll his eyes at the barrage of it.] Stay in touch. That's all I ask.

[gynvael]

[ She had, in fact, phrased it as He menaced me with bread and encouragement, so Jaskier isn't far off. He can tell Ciri is fond of the bard, warmed to him, and he's glad to see it.

Jaskier's surprise is met with not more than a look. He knows what Jaskier is thinking. Jaskier is hardly oblivious, has undoubtedly noticed something has been amiss between him and Sam before. Geralt's never gotten into it and he doesn't now. It isn't important. Not anymore. Sam came to his aid despite it all, and Geralt, in that moment, had not questioned whether Sam would or not. And he's come to realize there are few he can ever rely upon like that, here or home or anywhere. Besides, he can't remember when someone last had recoiled from him, and then come back to apologize for it. It's worth something to him.

So he will stay with Sam. Sam knows not to push him; he'll get the space he needs there. In return, Sam can have a home that isn't so empty. ]

Doesn't mean she can't use someone there. [ No. Ciri can take care of herself. She's likely been on her own, alone, plenty of times. But he thinks, she shouldn't have to. More than that, he thinks Jaskier could use the same. Someone there.

Because Geralt is not. Not as well as he should be. He wants to, he does, but he's been scattered, still can't focus well enough to enter the Horizon, still can't close his eyes for long. He just. Needs time. He's been trying to be patient with it, with himself. As much as he can be.

He steadies himself on the headstone as he rises to his feet. The fresh air's done him good, but he's beginning to tire. When he catches Jaskier reaching for him, he doesn't resist. There's a soft grunt as he's pulled in close and he finds himself holding his friend in turn. He breathes out, lets a part of him unwind a hint. He wants to say, I'm down the road, idiot; it's not as though Sam is far. But he gets that's not what Jaskier means, that Geralt more than has a habit of withdrawing no matter the physical distance.

He can't deny the urge is there. It always is. He also knows he can't do that to Ciri. So. ] I'll be here.

[cointosser]

[Ugh, he knows what that means. That Geralt quite clearly can see that Jaskier is the last who should be alone, either. Yes, well. Ciri kept him sane, too, even if it was with far less bread and more blood and monster bits all over his kneading table.

He gives him a last squeeze and, because he's a little shit, a kiss on the cheek.]

It's good having you around once more. [Ah, damn sentimentality. It leaks out despite. As he pulls away, there's a smile on his face. Moreso than he'd managed during their conversation. It's still a lot -- far too much, if you ask him -- but they will take it a step at a time. As he forced himself to learn while Geralt was gone. A day, a moment at a time.]

Come. I'll walk you home, and not a step farther. [He imitates Geralt's voice with a bit of a flourish. He only notes Geralt's slow movements, but makes no commentary on them.] And if you ignore my messages again, I'll kill you myself. In the most obnoxious way possible.

[gynvael]

[ A quiet huff escapes him. Yeah. It is good to be around again. Good to have people he can rely on nearby, good to finally be in a place where he can start to heal without the stops and starts he was dealing with before, wounds that would start to close only to tear open or for new ones to appear.

He will not admit the deep seated fear that followed him those weeks—not of death, but of earning an injury severe enough he'd not recover from it. One that would leave him unable to really protect anyone at all. It is, he supposes, every Witcher's fear. Whether they speak of it or not. ]

Fuck off, Jaskier. [ There's no heat behind the words. He falls into step beside the bard, chooses not to point out he didn't ignore any messages. He simply never allowed himself to receive them in the first place. Semantics, he's aware. And not the point. He'd done what he had to. He's just glad they were safe, Jaskier and Ciri both.

He lets Jaskier walk him back to Sam's. If a bit of hovering is what Jaskier needs after all this shit, he can allow for it. His side aches worse by the time they reach the door, and he feels every heavy movement as he drags himself up the stairs—but he can't say the walk wasn't time worth spending. ]