Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of the witcher. Those are property of Mr Sapkowski and I using Netflix series canon mixed with the books.

Warning : Description of burns, blood and body marks. Some violence (nothing too graphic). Mostly anxiety and depressive state. Swearing. Humiliation.

This chapter is mostly whump.

Extra warning for those who can be triggered : Panic attack with hallucinations.

Chapter 2 - Day one - Liar

He was back in the tavern, tied up to the chair, his hand was burning but this time no sorceress were there to save him. He screamed his lungs out while his flesh calcined. He was thrashing in his bounds but he couldn't escape the pain. The only thing he could see between the tears that blurred his vision was the sadistic smile of his tormentor. He couldn't bear it anymore.

He jerked awake, crying and panting heavily through his constricted chest. His mouth was dry as sand. Probably because he couldn't breath correctly by his nose. It took him several long seconds to remember where he was and to understand that he had just dreamed a much worst version of his ordeal. He realised that he probably slept just a few hours as the sunlight was still entering his cell by the small window above him.

He lifted his quivering burnt hand to his eyes and looked to convince himself that it was not that bad.

But looking at his fingers and palm still angrily red with patches of dark didn't do him good. Sure it was not the horror of his nightmare but this was still bad. It could still feel the burn underneath and the pain irradiated up to his wrist. He fought against the urge to cry more. He had to be strong, but he couldn't help but let a pitiful moan escape when a spiking pain hit him as he tried the close his hand.

It was just a bad dream. He repeated to himself like mantra. This is normal. You took a good beating. It's ok. You'll manage. But he was in pain. Much more than when he had been locked there. And it cut through his self encouragements. It was like resting had let his wounds bloom. Physically, it was sort of as bad if not even worse than the actual beating. His body had just given up. When he was tied to the chair, he could see most of the blows coming. He knew when it would hurt more. He knew when to resist. When to breath. Now it was a more constant pain, spiking from every movement.

He touched his face with his good hand and hissed. The flesh had swollen a bit and his left eye was progressively closing. Maybe it was because he laid down too long. Fluids not moving enough under his skin.

He sat up and discovered quickly it was maybe the worst idea he had. He felt immediately dizzy to the point of losing consciousness. He dry heaved between his legs. His heart was beating strongly against his ribs and his battered chest was not allowing him to breath correctly even if he was already hyperventilating. The world was spinning around him dangerously. The conjunction of all pain combined sent him into a living hell.

For a moment, he was back in the tavern again. His own quivering whizzing breaths sounded like someone's else laugh. Why his chest hurt so much suddenly ? Had he been hit again ? He hear some noise from afar. He was not alone. Was the mage here again? He closed his eyes. But immediately his world shifted. He forced himself to open his eyes. But nothing seemed real any more. He needed to break the nightmarish illusion his exhausted mind was sending him into.

He turned his body as quick as he could to face the pitcher of water and plunged his full hand in it. The cold made the pain more tolerable, so he tried to calm down, but the illusion didn't break at all. He couldn't help but be terrified. He didn't know how to manage the fear and he was growing sicker by the minute. He wished he could just lose consciousness on the spot to forget this all mess.

The panic grew and with it the pain in his chest as he was forcing the air in until it became hardly tolerable. He was spiralling badly. He was aware of it but he couldn't fight. No escape. So ,he stopped trying, letting his mind drown him in his own hell.

Soon enough he found it hard to distinguish what was real, what was a memory and what was entirely a construction of his mind. Neither he couldn't tell the real extend of his injuries and which pain was real. The world was spinning faster.

In his poor state of awareness, he heard before he saw the door of his cell opening on three men. Two guards he couldn't recognise with his blurry vision and a judge or some lawyer, by the robe he wore.

- "What's the problem with him?" Ask the man in robe.

- "I don't know, master. Maybe he was hit in the face too much. As you can see, he was clearly in a fight." Responded one of the guards.

- "Hey, can you hear me ? Do you understand what I say ?"

- "Yes" crocked Jaskier, ignoring to whom he was responding.

- "What happened to your face ?"

He had little time to make something plausible. To those illusionary or real people. He remembered Yennefer playing his wife and he came quickly with a story.

- "I slept with the wrong woman." He hadn't to search too far for this one. It happened arguably too many times in his life. "I didn't know she had a husband and the man wasn't pleased to find me with his lady." He said before taking a long whizzing breath.

The judge came closer and with a movement of his head he ordered the guards to lift him. The men weren't very delicate. He was forced to his feet too quickly and his vertigo intensified. The only good part of this situation was that the touch cleared most of the illusion. This was very real to him. But he was terrified. He remembered that the redanian militia was brutal and the guard that introduced him to his cell said he would be interrogated. That was it probably.

He had to play it well if he wanted to minimise the blows. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through his nose only but the blood had clot and he had to continue his hard breathing through his mouth, which had an awful effect on him.

The strong arms of the guards were the only thing that kept him upright. When did he became so weak ? How ? The judge or whoever he was approached. He just took his tunique with two fingers and revealed his battered chest. By his disgusted expression he could only imagine the extend of the bruises covering him. He haven't looked yet but the memory of the many punches he received and the global pain he was in were enough

- "That was a very angry husband, I see…"

- "Very." Tried to jock Jaskier. The judge laughed cynically.

- "You know I don't like liars." His look was severe. "It didn't take long to have some testimonies of what happened around the brothel. You've been seen with a rogue mage of Aretuza by several persons. Famous Jaskier or not this is a death sentence for high treason. Yes I know who you are." Added quickly the man in robe as the bard couldn't hide his surprise. "But! If you help us with this affair we could forget the worst of the sentence and the bad publicity… you could return to your songs as it should. What do you say ?"

Jaskier felt his heart sink. This was bad. Very bad. Yet he had no intention to betray Yennefer, even if she had vanished inexplicably.

- "My head is a little bit fuzzy, master. Maybe that mage had put a spell on me."

- "Don't try your luck too far, bard. Don't try to cover that criminal. Aretuza informed us that she was part elf, that makes her more despicable."

Jaskier felt an urgent need to attack the man but he stayed silent and as stoic as he could. Without warning, the judge took his burned hand and exposed his fingers.

- "Hits made to hurt not to kill. Fingers burnt. This is torture, bard. Did she do that to you?" Maybe he wasn't a judge but an inquisitor.

- "No.." He whispered.

- "Then who did?"

He barely lifted his shoulders in sign of ignorance but that clearly didn't please the man who slapped him hard on the already too damaged side of his face. Jaskier let out a cry of pain and felt blood rushing back in his mouth.

- "I'm not against the idea of giving you another round, so speak now and we'll both avoid very unpleasant moments."

The copper taste finished what his dizziness had begun and he heaved bile and blood on the certainly expensive shoes of the man in front of him. He had no time to enjoy his outraged expression. He was pushed hard against the wall by the guards and someone's fist connected again with his jaw, followed by another to his stomach. It was the one blow that was too much. He lost consciousness almost instantly. He felt himself fall as he was released but fortunately not his body slam on the ground.

###

He woke up in the middle of the night. Blank mind. He could hear the snores of a not really implied guard. His cell was cold, still empty and dark. He didn't move this time. He didn't even try. He just waited in silence, till the exhaustion claimed him again.

See you soon