Febuwhump Day 23: You'll have to go through me
"Jaskier?" she gasps in surprise.
"In the flesh!" He sets down the tray on the bench and bows theatrically, flashing Yennefer his most charming smile. He looks as good as ever, no bruises, black eyes, new scars, torn clothes, or anything at all that would hint at a violent kidnapping.
"Why aren't you being interrogated and tortured by evil intelligence agents or raving mad mages? I was almost out of my mind with—"
"Worry? You, Yennefer of Vengerberg, the witch who almost castrated me, were worried about little old me?"
"Of course, I fucking was, you twat! And you very well know it! If I wasn't so happy that you're alive and kicking, I'd kick you in the balls until you see stars, no, whole constellations of stars!"
"Ah, the rage. Love you, too, Yen." He enfolds the angry witch in a great, big hug. Despite her initial vexation, she lets it happen with a heartfelt sigh. Her bard is here and whole, smelling disarmingly of apple and lemon blossoms with just a hint of cinnamon, as always. That's what is important, isn't it? And the tracking spell. She whispers the three magic words quietly into the fabric of his wine-red leather coat. It is just a temporary one for a couple of days, but it should do until she can craft something more permanent, like an enchanted pendant or bracelet. At Kaer Morhen it will not really be necessary, but better safe than sorry. Jaskier has a tendency to disappear, after all.
"And you brought my lute, dear wife," Jaskier says with a happy smile when he finally breaks the hug. Holding her at arms length, he looks her deep in the eyes. "Have I ever told you that you're my hero, Yen?" Then he smirks teasingly. "Despite your dishevelled hair and crumpled clothes. Not to forget the large, clunky shoes full of snakes."
"Good wife that I am," Yennefer grins, her anger evaporated, "I did indeed bring your clunky lute full of headache-inflicting secret messages, husband." She unslings the instrument from her shoulders and passes it to the bard. He strokes across its perfect body caressingly, then leans it against the bench.
"Knew you'd figure it out," he grins.
"Of course, I did! I actually sometimes listen to your silly songs, no idea why. But what, in Melitele's name, are you doing here, Jask? Vacationing? Taking a gap year? Making out with Mermaids?"
"Uh, yes, the Mermaids, lusty bunch they are, hard to keep away so a man can work on his new ballad in peace."
"You have come here to write? Why for fuck's sake haven't you told Shani? She was convinced someone had kidnapped you!"
"It's a long story." Jaskier looks at her apologetically. "Care for a cup of tea while I enlighten you?" Yennefer nods and sits down on the bench next to the tray with Jaskier's late breakfast. She is quite hungry herself, she suddenly realises, and grabs one of the two thick slices of buttered bread with honey.
"You don't mind, right?" she asks while taking a hearty bite.
"I couldn't let my dear wife starve, could I now? There's more where this came from. And you need a cup. Back in a minute." With another smile, he swiftly disappears inside the cottage.
Through the open door, Yennefer can hear Jaskier rummage in the kitchen, humming a happy tune. It feels good to sit here in the sunshine in this remote, idyllic and peaceful place knowing that nothing bad has happened to her bard. And she will make damn sure it stays that way. Directly after breakfast she will portal him to Kaer Morhen and lock him up behind the keep's high, solid walls. Used to buskering around the continent, he might not like it and start to protest, however, she will not budge. Safety first. It will be nice to have him around, too. And if he grates on her nerves, she knows a nice little silencing spell. But first she is curious to hear this long story of his. There better is a good reason for this charade.
"One more minute, love, making us some scrambled eggs!" Yennefer hears from the kitchen. Jaskier is cooking something for her. How cute, she thinks with a smile. Perhaps they could stay here for a little while longer? Have a brief vacation indeed? It feels completely safe here, and cosy. A place where you can relax and forget about the troubles of the world. Yennefer closes her eyes and leans back with a sigh, enjoying the serenity of the moment.
Suddenly she can feel the electrical prickle of magic in the air. Almost knocking the tea pot over in her haste, Yennefer leaps to her feet in alarm. A portal opens up at the edge of the glade and half a dozen men come storming out of it. Heavily armed men in Redanian armour. To kidnap her bard? Well, why else? Fuck!
"Run, Jaskier, run!" Yennefer shouts at the top of her voice while aiming a blast of her magic at the quickly approaching attackers. Hopefully there is some kind of backdoor or big enough window and Jaskier can make it out of the house unseen and into the woods to hide until she has dealt with the attackers. The bard ought to be good at and pretty experienced in the art of running away - at least if one can trust his many stories of dates gone wrong.
Hit square in the chest by Yennefer's magic, the soldiers stumble and fall. However, there is something else coming through the portal just before it closes again. Something small and whitish and feathery. An owl. Damn it! In midair, the owl morphs into a beautiful, dark-haired woman with perfect bronze skin and an impressive feather stole adorning her shoulders. Philippa Eilhart. How the fuck has she found them?
"Ah, Yennefer, long time no see. You aren't by any chance hiding this wayward spy of ours somewhere in there, dear? My good old friend Dijkstra would like to talk with him. Just an amicable chat, nothing more. He'll let him go in a jiffy, I promise, if he gives us a tiny weeny little piece of information."
"Jaskier, a spy of yours?" Yennefer scoffs. "Are you drunk, Philippa? Or taking him for somebody else? Jaskier's just a simple bard, there's no way he's a spy. This is ridiculous. Call your dogs off and get the fuck out of here. Jaskier will tell you nothing because he knows nothing - besides his silly songs. Leave him out of your political games and scheming."
"Sorry, can't do that." Philippa shakes her head, not looking sorry at all. "There's much more to this bard of yours than meets the eye, I can assure you. You'll be surprised. Last chance to hand him over without a fight. You know you cannot win against me and my men."
Damn it, Philippa is not wrong. Yennefer reckons that she and Philippa are a pretty equal match magic-wise, but Jaskier is not a fighter, let alone a trained warrior. And it is two against seven. However, she cannot leave Jaskier to the owl-lady, no way. Yennefer knows what Philippa can do with a mind extraction spell. She is a lot more ruthless than Tissaia, even more so than Stregobor. There would be nothing left of funny, cheerful Jaskier but a blithering, gibbering idiot. She cannot let this happen, no.
"If you want him, you'll have to go through me," Yennefer says, determined.
"Then so be it. I gave you a choice, Yennefer. Too bad you always try to play the hero. Remember what it got you in Sodden."
Oh yes, Yennefer remembers all too well, how could she forget? If she had forgotten about it, she would not have wasted a single word but simply have incinerated the whole glade and good riddance, Philippa Eilhart and her men. However, she knows of the dire cost of fire magic now. No, she has to be careful with her chaos, to not overexert herself. But she has to do something, and quick. The soldiers are about to scramble to their feet already to go after Jaskier. Who, hopefully, is hiding somewhere safe, at least as safe as it can get under the circumstances. Well, she cannot pay the Redanians any attention now, she has to concentrate on Philippa if she wants to gain the upper hand.
Yennefer thrusts her arms out and mutters a powerful spell. A blue jet of magic shoots across the glade. Unfortunately, but not quite unexpectedly, Philippa is ready. She blocks the magic and hurls it back at Yennefer. Who ducks. Behind her, the pane of the kitchen window scatters into a thousand pieces.
"Fuck!" a voice yells from inside the kitchen. Jaskier. He is still here, the bloody moron. Why wouldn't he do what she told him to do? Because he is Jaskier? Or perhaps there is no backdoor? Damn it! At least, as long as she is standing here blocking the entrance, nobody will be able to get inside the cottage.
Yennefer aims another spell at Philippa. And another and another, but to no avail. After a while, her nose starts to bleed. Shit. Philippa, on the other hand, looks mostly unaffected. Which does not come as a big surprise. Deflecting magic does not take even half as much chaos as conjuring it up. She has to slow down, preserve her chaos, let Philippa attack and counter her opponent's magic, reverse their roles in this deadly dance. Is it a deadly dance, Yennefer suddenly wonders. Would Philippa go as far as to kill a fellow sorceress? And would she, Yennefer, kill Philippa? Although she has never been a big fan of the power-hungry sorceress, possessing the ability to wield magic makes them all kind of sisters, doesn't it? No, Yennefer would not kill her if it can be avoided. But if it is necessary to save Jaskier from torture, maybe a fate worse than death? Yes, then she would. Angrily, she wipes the blood from her nose with the back of her hand.
"You are slowing down, Yennefer. High time to give up." Philippa smirks at her from across the glade, shaking her long dark curls. "I'm in a generous mood today. I'll give you one more chance to back out. A very last one."
"Stick it up your avian arse," Yennefer hisses, raises both her arms above her head and brings them down with a powerful downward thrust. The blast of her magic throws Philippa and her soldiers off their feet, armour clanging as they are pinned to the ground by the magical shockwave. In contrast to the soldiers, Philippa is back up in a second, though. And before Yennefer has recovered from her own spell, Philippa opens a portal directly behind her opponent with one hand, while, with the other, blasting her through the magical opening in the fabric of space. There is nothing Yennefer can do to prevent it.
Butt first, Yennefer lands on a hard, rocky surface. A cliff promontory overlooking the coast. It cannot be far from the island, can it? However, before she can get her bearings, Philippa emerges from the portal. The portal disappears. With satisfaction Yennefer notes that this time the owl-lady's nose is bleeding. Creating a portal while simultaneously throwing a resisting Yennefer through it with her magic seems to have finally taken some toll. Yennefer's chance to end this? So she can portal back to the island to save Jaskier from being captured by the soldiers? The thought of the bard and the danger he is in makes Yennefer jump to her feet. A little too quickly, as she suddenly feels woozy and not ready to immediately fire off any magic, as originally intended. Fuck!
The two sorceresses stare at each other. Slowly, Philippa wipes the blood from her nose with a handkerchief.
"Contrary to what you might think, Yennefer," Philippa begins to speak, looking at the red stains on the white fabric pensively, "I have nothing against you personally. Why don't we sit down here, just the two of us, and talk things through. I'll conjure up a nice cup of tea, no poison, I swear. There is a bigger picture to all of this. Let me explain and you'll no doubt understand why we need the bard."
"Sorry, can't do that." Yennefer shakes her head. "Jaskier is my friend. I don't sell out friends."
Having mostly recovered from the dizzy spell, she quickly and without warning aims a fiery jet of magic at Philippa. Perhaps she can blast her off the cliff? Fuck, Philippa would probably just transform into an owl and laugh her head off. While, if the same happens to her, Yennefer, she will not have that luxury. Turning into an animal is not a skill she has mastered, nor has she ever had the desire to do so. And Philippa knows it.
Philippa dodges, the stream of light only grazing the side of her white dress, leaving an ugly singe mark in the fabric.
"You've ruined it, bitch!" Philippa spits. Then she launches the counter-attack. Several blasts of magic in quick succession that drive Yennefer, who parries the blows as good as she can, closer and closer to the edge. Three steps. Another blow and parry. Two steps. Now she is standing precariously close to the rim. Shit, she has to do something or she will tumble a hundred meters down into the abyss. Luckily, Philippa has slowed considerably by now, showing the telltale signs of magical exhaustion. Not only her nose is gushing blood, but her eyes are starting to bleed, too. Hell, they both must be looking not a little worse for wear, and feel like it.
Yennefer takes a deep, steadying breath and summons all that is left of her chaos. With all her might, she hurls it at her opponent in a tremendous explosion of magic. Philippa is too exhausted to shield herself. The blast hits her square in the stomach and flings her across the promontory. Lying in a heap on the stony ground, she does not move.
However, something else moves. The cliff. In the very place where Yennefer is standing. Fuck!
Together with the ground under her feet, Yennefer falls.
