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fandomweekly2020-01-20 10:09 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2020-01-20 10:09 pm
Entry tags:
[#038] Wounded Heart (The Witcher)
Theme Prompt: #038 - Betrayal
Title: Wounded Heart
Fandom: The Witcher (TV)
Rating/Warnings: N/A
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 880
Summary: Jaskier is betrayed by someone close to him, and struggles to process.
Jaskier couldn’t stop shaking. He pulled Geralt’s cloak tighter around himself, his own lost to the dark water surrounding them. The Witcher paced like an angry bear, growling low and deep in his chest as he circled, easily travelling from one side of the room to the other in a few steps.
Normally Jaskier would utilise every tactic he had at his disposal to distract Geralt from his brewing rage. He could hum his newest song until Geralt sighed, weight slipping from his shoulders despite himself, allowing himself a moment of stillness to just listen. He could place himself in Geralt’s way, stretching up on his toes to loop his arms round the Witcher’s neck and pull his face down to kiss him until all other thoughts had been chased from his mind. But he couldn’t.
It was as if chains were keeping him on the cold floor, icy water soaking into his trousers. Geralt paced in circles and Jaskier’s thoughts tumbled over each other with every heavy footfall. He’d known something like this could happen, had heard whispers in court about this Lord or another who had been overthrown, but he had left. Did that count for nothing?
Only the moon had watched Jaskier leave his family home, lute by his side and everything he thought he would need in a bag on his back. He’d been wrong, too many nights to count spent cold and hungry, huddled beneath a bush, but he’d survived. He survived without them, renouncing everything in his letter left carefully atop his pristine sheets.
“I’ve got the sinking feeling that I can never return home,” Jaskier said to the air, teeth chattering so fiercely that he nearly caught his tongue. Geralt paused in his pacing, eyes slipping closed in fond irritation for a brief moment before he sat heavily down next to Jaskier, gold eyes luminous in the gloom.
“A joke Jaskier? Really?”
Geralt’s skin was cold even to Jaskier’s freezing fingers, the Witcher grunting as Jaskier crawled onto his lap, tugging him closer and settling the cloak more comfortably on his shoulders.
“I will die as I lived, entertaining other people,” Jaskier declared, his dramatic words losing their impact as the ramshackled prison shifted, wave hitting the side almost drowning out his terrified squeak. Geralt made a non-commital noise, the sensation rumbling through Jaskier’s chest.
He should feel comforted. Geralt made him feel safe despite the inherent danger that dogged the Witcher’s every step. But in the stillness and the silence, Jaskier’s thoughts turned towards what had happened, when his sister-
He couldn’t even think the words. He felt empty, everything good inside him scraped out leaving nothing but a shell behind. There was no music left inside him, only a pit where it once had lived. Geralt’s heartbeat was slow beneath his ear but even that failed to rouse him from his black mood. A slight skip in the rhythmic beat, Geralt’s arms tightening around him as his head snapped to one side, listening.
The noise was faint, so faint Jaskier could barely hear it over the wind and the waves, almost convinced he was imagining it. A violin’s call, high and haunting, carried on the air.
“Jaskier!”
Jaskier blinked back into himself, hands flying up to steady himself on Geralt’s broad shoulders. His ears were ringing, throat dry, and he blinked frantically to try and remove the floating lights dancing across his vision.
“A nøkken,” Geralt growled, sword held loosely in one hand as the other pressed bruises into Jaskier’s hip, “Your sister pulled out all the stops.”
Jaskier must have flinched, heartbeat picking up at the mere mention of his sister. Geralt’s gaze softened, brushing a kiss along Jaskier’s forehead in wordless apology.
“Stay here. I’ll be back soon,” Geralt promised, gaze piercing Jaskier who smiled weakly, nodding in agreement.
The bard sat back down onto the cold floor, tugging the cloak further up his shoulders as his thoughts wandered back to dark places. He knew coming back would be difficult, but he had no other choice as he followed Geralt across the land, unwilling to be parted again. And that devotion had proven to be his downfall as Jaskier always thought it would be.
The betrayal hurt, he had expected it but it still hurt, wiping away everything else in its wake until it threatened to drown Jaskier in a dark ocean. He tried to hum softly to himself, to remember the phrases that had plagued his every waking moment, the fragments of melody that refused to be woven into song, but they were gone. In their place was pain, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Jaskier sat and waited for Geralt, or waited for this pain to fade. It could have been hours, or days, or only minutes as the cold crept into his chest, entire body trembling. He must have fallen asleep, as when he next opened his eyes Geralt was carrying him. The Witcher’s jaw was set, a livid red mark on one cheek vivid against his pale skin.
“Be over soon,” he murmured, noticing the fluttering of Jaskier’s eyes. He wanted to believe Geralt’s words, wanted to believe the words he said with such confidence, and yet Jaskier couldn’t, his mind falling back into uneasy silent dreams.
Title: Wounded Heart
Fandom: The Witcher (TV)
Rating/Warnings: N/A
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 880
Summary: Jaskier is betrayed by someone close to him, and struggles to process.
Jaskier couldn’t stop shaking. He pulled Geralt’s cloak tighter around himself, his own lost to the dark water surrounding them. The Witcher paced like an angry bear, growling low and deep in his chest as he circled, easily travelling from one side of the room to the other in a few steps.
Normally Jaskier would utilise every tactic he had at his disposal to distract Geralt from his brewing rage. He could hum his newest song until Geralt sighed, weight slipping from his shoulders despite himself, allowing himself a moment of stillness to just listen. He could place himself in Geralt’s way, stretching up on his toes to loop his arms round the Witcher’s neck and pull his face down to kiss him until all other thoughts had been chased from his mind. But he couldn’t.
It was as if chains were keeping him on the cold floor, icy water soaking into his trousers. Geralt paced in circles and Jaskier’s thoughts tumbled over each other with every heavy footfall. He’d known something like this could happen, had heard whispers in court about this Lord or another who had been overthrown, but he had left. Did that count for nothing?
Only the moon had watched Jaskier leave his family home, lute by his side and everything he thought he would need in a bag on his back. He’d been wrong, too many nights to count spent cold and hungry, huddled beneath a bush, but he’d survived. He survived without them, renouncing everything in his letter left carefully atop his pristine sheets.
“I’ve got the sinking feeling that I can never return home,” Jaskier said to the air, teeth chattering so fiercely that he nearly caught his tongue. Geralt paused in his pacing, eyes slipping closed in fond irritation for a brief moment before he sat heavily down next to Jaskier, gold eyes luminous in the gloom.
“A joke Jaskier? Really?”
Geralt’s skin was cold even to Jaskier’s freezing fingers, the Witcher grunting as Jaskier crawled onto his lap, tugging him closer and settling the cloak more comfortably on his shoulders.
“I will die as I lived, entertaining other people,” Jaskier declared, his dramatic words losing their impact as the ramshackled prison shifted, wave hitting the side almost drowning out his terrified squeak. Geralt made a non-commital noise, the sensation rumbling through Jaskier’s chest.
He should feel comforted. Geralt made him feel safe despite the inherent danger that dogged the Witcher’s every step. But in the stillness and the silence, Jaskier’s thoughts turned towards what had happened, when his sister-
He couldn’t even think the words. He felt empty, everything good inside him scraped out leaving nothing but a shell behind. There was no music left inside him, only a pit where it once had lived. Geralt’s heartbeat was slow beneath his ear but even that failed to rouse him from his black mood. A slight skip in the rhythmic beat, Geralt’s arms tightening around him as his head snapped to one side, listening.
The noise was faint, so faint Jaskier could barely hear it over the wind and the waves, almost convinced he was imagining it. A violin’s call, high and haunting, carried on the air.
“Jaskier!”
Jaskier blinked back into himself, hands flying up to steady himself on Geralt’s broad shoulders. His ears were ringing, throat dry, and he blinked frantically to try and remove the floating lights dancing across his vision.
“A nøkken,” Geralt growled, sword held loosely in one hand as the other pressed bruises into Jaskier’s hip, “Your sister pulled out all the stops.”
Jaskier must have flinched, heartbeat picking up at the mere mention of his sister. Geralt’s gaze softened, brushing a kiss along Jaskier’s forehead in wordless apology.
“Stay here. I’ll be back soon,” Geralt promised, gaze piercing Jaskier who smiled weakly, nodding in agreement.
The bard sat back down onto the cold floor, tugging the cloak further up his shoulders as his thoughts wandered back to dark places. He knew coming back would be difficult, but he had no other choice as he followed Geralt across the land, unwilling to be parted again. And that devotion had proven to be his downfall as Jaskier always thought it would be.
The betrayal hurt, he had expected it but it still hurt, wiping away everything else in its wake until it threatened to drown Jaskier in a dark ocean. He tried to hum softly to himself, to remember the phrases that had plagued his every waking moment, the fragments of melody that refused to be woven into song, but they were gone. In their place was pain, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Jaskier sat and waited for Geralt, or waited for this pain to fade. It could have been hours, or days, or only minutes as the cold crept into his chest, entire body trembling. He must have fallen asleep, as when he next opened his eyes Geralt was carrying him. The Witcher’s jaw was set, a livid red mark on one cheek vivid against his pale skin.
“Be over soon,” he murmured, noticing the fluttering of Jaskier’s eyes. He wanted to believe Geralt’s words, wanted to believe the words he said with such confidence, and yet Jaskier couldn’t, his mind falling back into uneasy silent dreams.
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