AN: Jaskier's side of things, mostly focuses on being caught and tortured( cut up for parts) so yeah, warnings for torture graphic injury and majority of the bad tags for this chapter. So be warned.
Jaskier had been warned to beware of the fisherman's nets. Been told horror stories of their kind being snared in nets and stolen away to never be seen again. Told that humans were a danger that hunted their sort for fun, most of his kin attacked any human foolish enough to encroach on the beaches or waves of their territory. Some liked to play with humans lure them in with songs and looks, flirt with them before dragging them down into the water's depths. Watch the air leave their lungs in a beautiful dance of bubbles as they choked and drowned. Others simply stay out of their way, preferring to avoid them altogether.
Not him, young and foolish as he was, Jaskier found the humans fascinating, especially the little ones. The little ones were fun, he would sing to them on the shores not far from the small village they lived in, when no adults were around to see. Sometimes they would sing with him even if they didn't understand each other's words, and they would play in the waves, splashing and collecting shells. Some days he would take to the air and show off, twisting and somersaulting though the sky before diving into the water. Or they would toss things into the sky and he would swoop up and catch them, the young humans squealing and clapping in awe.
Sometimes they would show him tricks of their own, dancing and cartwheeling, two of the boys danced about each other with sticks in a mesmerising show of swings and clashes. One girl even made the most gorgeous sounds on piece of wood with strings once and he'd thought it the most amazing thing he'd ever seen or heard. The adults weren't so fond of him, one lady had screamed the most horrid sound when she'd spotted him while out for a stroll. So rudely disturbing his relaxing laze in the sun, he wasn't even on their beach, he'd been lounging on some rocks by the base of the cliffs just around the bend. If anything, she was encroaching on his and his sisters' land. There was one old lady who enjoyed his singing though, she lived alone in a hut on top the cliffs and often sat outside in the evenings listening to his songs.
He supposes he should have learnt his lesson when a few of the men had come rushing down to the beach waving weapons with angered shouts. He didn't understand why they were so made with him; he hadn't been the one who hurt their young one. The small girl had been snatched by a drowner -the nasty creatures had started nesting in a nearby cove- while the children were playing. He'd let out a shrill to warn the others away from the beach, diving in after the creature fending it off as he rushed the girl back to the surface. She was hurt but still breathing as he lay her on the shore, one of the boys returning to the beach with the men in toe.
He had fled at the sight of their weapons.
Drowners had a nasty bite and he still had feint scars on his shoulder from his tousle with the foul creature.
He cursed himself for not taking the warnings so seriously as he found himself caught in the fisherman's net.
When first the weave of thin rope fell upon him, he though it little concern, his sharp nails would easily tear through it. He soon found out the more he moved the more the ropes tangled around him, trapping his wings and constricting his movement. Still, all he had to do was pull it out of the man's hands, then he could return to his sisters and they could help free him of the net. It was one man, humans were dangerous, but his kind were stronger he could pull the net from the fisherman's hold.
But then another man appeared distorted through the rippling water, and a third and he no longer had the advantage as the net was yanked towards the surface. wrapping tighter and biting into his soft skin, binding his wings painfully and cutting into his tail. He cried out as they dragged him into the shore, the waves knocking him about and further entangling him in the fine ropes. The men speaking to one another in their foreign tongue, as he was dragged from the water and along the sand.
Then a boot met his back and he let out a cry as a few of the other men joined in beating him where he lay trapped and unable to defend himself. One of the men wielding a thick wooden club bringing it down painfully on his side before striking him across the head. Sending his world into a sluggish haze as he fell limp, he wasn't sure how long it took for the haze to clear but when it did he found most of his top half had been cut free of the net.
Big mistake, a siren's voice and nails were two of their strongest weapons.
He lashed out instinctively catching the men off guard in a flurry of claws and teeth. His nails catching one of the men across his soft belly, the man tumbling back with a cry of pain, teeth grazing another man's hand, as he swiped his tail out as far as the net allowed, knock another two off their feet. But there were so many of them and it seemed every time he fought one off another took their place. Grabbing at his arms and tail in an attempt to hold him still, the barb at the end of his tail caught one in the leg burying deep into his flesh as the man hollered in pain. Still he was fighting a losing battle, so opening his mouth he sent out a desperate call for his sisters' aid. The sound drowning out the men's cries as they covered their ears, the call cut short as the club was brought down on his head once more. Turning things fuzzy again, and a glint of metal caught his eyes as a second blow sent him into darkness.
His jaw ached as he came to the second time, and he realised something had been wrapped painfully tight around his mouth. A sharp agony spread up spine from his tail, stomach churning as he looked to find they had cut his barb clear off. The frightened and pained yowl he let out at the sight was muffled by the gag. His sight drifted to the two men near his tail, the man who he'd caught in the gut had wrapped his wound and was currently help his companion remove his dismembered barb from his thigh.
A rough tug at his wrist had him belatedly realising his hands were being bound by a thick rope that cut into his wrists. He tried to pull away, to slip his hand free but it was too late, the knot already too tight.
Where were his sisters?
They hadn't heard his call.
…He was on his own.
One of the men pressed his knife under one of his nails, and he tried to rear back, to struggle free, away from the blade. But a second man shifted to hold his wrist in place, and another grabbed his shoulder, holding him still as the first dug the knife deep under the nail and ripped it from his finger. Screaming as it was torn from its bed and placed in a satchel. He tried curling his fingers in tight, uncaring that his own nails sliced into his palms. Pleading helplessly in a muffled tongue they'd not understand even without the gag, but the men were unrelenting in their attempts to pry his fingers free. Going as far as breaking them if they had too, so in the end he just gave in and let them uncurl his fingers to get the nails.
He didn't understand why. Why were they doing this to him? He'd not done anything to them, he not done wrong to anyone. He's never hurt a human in his life.
Once all his nails were removed, the men seemed to back away a bit, giving him a little more space. He lay weak, trembling and whimpering on the heating sand, trying to regain his breath. Not an easy task when the tightly wrapped material gag partially blocked his airways. Speaking to one another again as one man emptied a small bucket of baitfish and entrails on the sand nearby, rinsing it in the waves before using it to store the parts they'd cruelly carved from his body.
He prayed that they were done with him. That now they had weakened him, taken two of his weapons and made him less of a danger they might let his free. His tail would never be the same again, one of his defences forever removed, but his nails would regrow in time. He prayed that one of his sisters might happen by and spot him, come to his aid and call the others for help. That they would save him and take him home to their sea stack where he'd be safe in their care.
His prayers were not answered.
The men returned then, rolling him onto his front as one worked in cutting the net free from his right wing. And for one foolish moment he actually thought they may have been freeing him.
So naïve.
The moment they managed to pull it free and one of the men started stretching it out and the one with the knife set his attention on it he realised what they had planned. Apparently, it wasn't enough that they had already taken his barb and nails.
He knew it was pointless, gods did he know. They would simply overpower him like they had ever since he'd been caught in their net and he was so much weaker than he had been. Still it didn't stop him from fighting with everything he had, even if that was wild thrashing more likely to further bind his tail in the net cutting into it than anything. He managed to pull his wing free from the man's hold smacking it into the man with the knife and sending him tumbling into the sand. Catching another in the nose as the fishermen all clung to him trying to regain control. Two throwing themselves across his tail to hold it down, another kneeling his weight on his back, while the remaining two wrangled his wing back to the sand.
Power thrummed in his veins, so ferociously it made his entire body tremble. A song resonating in every fibber of his being of terror and rage, agony and anguish, torment and despair. Gods, how he wanted to unleash it upon them, to watch them crumble under its power. As it was his song remained trapped, even his howls of agony were muted as the man swung his knife down near the base of his wing to cut it off. The small blade doing little more than slicing through skin before being halted by bone, it didn't stop him from bringing it down again and again in a futile attempt to achieve his goal.
He could feel his own blood trickling down his side as the blade slipped from the bloodied wing slicing into the smooth scales at the base of his hip. Finally giving up the man with the knife got up walking out of sight further up the beach as one of the men holding his wing released it in favour of bringing the club down on the bone in place of the blade. Sending jolts of pain like electricity through his nerves and he howled and cried his throat raw as the other man returned with a bigger serrated blade to continue his work. Thankfully, the excruciating pain tearing through his system and the lack of air making it to his lungs; through his stifled screams and the weight pressing down on his back, had the world fading back to black.
Everything was distant, muffled and hazy when next he blinked his eyes open, the fisherman gone, and the metallic smell of blood had overpowered even the smell of the salty ocean. He was vaguely aware of the searing pain radiating from his lower back and he felt… wrong, but it was dark again before he registers why it hurt. The sun was hot above him and the sand burning under his skin when next he woke. His skin feeling hot and tight under the suns glare in his weakened state just another ache to add to his overall agony. His wings were gone, he didn't have to look to know that, though he did anyway. Wailing in anguish at the loss, at the sight off the gruesome mess they'd left. It was enough to make his stomach roil, and heart constrict.
He would never fly again. Never get to join his sisters dancing above their sea stacks.
He whimpered as his eyes shifted to the ocean's shore, meters down the sand. The tide was going out, gods it must have been hours since he was first caught in their net. Part of him couldn't help but wonder how many of those they had spent torturing him, how long had it taken for them to finally saw through his bones to take his wings after already taking so much. The waves seemed so far away but he had to get to them, he had to try, Their spray and would help sooth his burning skin, their caress would help heal his injuries. As slow going as that would be when his wounds were as severe as they are.
He couldn't stay here exposed in the open under the sun on the hot sand, as weak as he currently was and with his tail still tangled in a mess of net. If his injuries didn't kill him first whatever happened across him next surely would. It hurt; the sand felt like razor sharpened rocks under his raw torn fingers as he tried desperately to drag himself to the water. The movement sending searing pain through his entire body as his wounds reopened anew, each breath seeming more strained than the last as exhaustion took over him. His trembling arms no longer able to drag his weight inch by inch through the sand, as he collapsed to his side, vision waning as his lungs seized. His laboured breaths struggling to pull enough air through the thick material gag.
He tried frantically to remove the cloth; his slick bloodied fingers unable to pry it away. He was only a few meters short of the water's edge, it was so close yet impossibly far. He was never going to reach it.
He was going to die.
Shade, or more so a shadow blocking out the suns hot glare had him groggily blinking his eyes open who knows how long later. A man standing over him sword raised and glinting in the sun and he was flooded with fear anew and he whimpered as he uselessly struggled to get away. He knew he didn't have the strength to do more than squirm. They had come back but for what? What more did he have for them to take?
Then to his surprise the man put his weapon away, speaking something he didn't understand, but the tone was calm. The man grabbed him under his arms, and he panicked once more, until he realised he was being pulled towards the water. He was dumped in the shallows, the salty waves tumbling into his body soothing some of the pain. Then the muzzle was cut free of his mouth and he let out a shrill an instinctive warning. The only defence he had left and even that failed him as the lack of air in his lungs cut it short. Tampering out in a fight of choking and gasps.
The man didn't back away and he let out a growl as his dagger drew close again, watching him warily as he freed his wrists from their bounds then started on the net. He was helping him; the man was cutting him free. He stays still as the white-haired man worked, eyes glued to him, twisting as soon as the last of his binds were gone. Chirping his thanks before sluggishly heading into the deep.
He wanted nothing more than to return home to his sisters, but in so much pain and exhausted as he was, he couldn't fight the currents. They just rolled him around and pushed him back to the shallows, so instead he headed to the rocks a little further up the beach. Dragging himself up and over them into the tidal pools, curling his exhausted form up in the shade of the rocks to rest in the pools gentle calm water.