Just as a forward for this chapter
TW: child death
The trip down the stairs is extremely short, but to Jaskier, it might as well take a lifetime. Each jarring step has Geralt accidentally putting more pressure on his injured leg, the wound at his side pulling slightly where the blood has dried to his chemise, the pain there throbbing in time with his heart and traveling all the way up to his aching head. There's a certain temptation to just give in to the blackness that's threatening to take over the edges of his vision, but the girl…
She had stood briefly at the threshold of the door, just long enough for Jaskier to spot her, one small hand resting lightly on the frame before slipping silently down the hall.
Why wasn't she with her brother? Why did she come back?
Why has she gone down here of all places?
His hand tightens around the collar of Geralt's tunic as they pass the mangled corpse at the bottom of the stairs, and Jaskier forces himself to look away swallowing thickly. He can't even bring himself to feel relief at his death, too horrified at the thought of the little girl bearing witness to the sight as well.
Once Geralt is past the worst of the man's remains, Jaskier pushes himself away and tries to get out of his hold. The Witcher, to his credit, merely gives him a long suffering stare from over his shoulder and kneels slightly so that Jaskier doesn't fall, making sure to let him use him for support while he balances most of his weight off of his injured leg. Once he's stable- or as stable as he's going to get- Geralt once again takes him under the elbow, with a single arm braced across his back so that he is taking most of his weight.
Jaskier doesn't move immediately, scanning about the room warily, once again feeling the grip of anxiety over his lungs with every bare corner exposed by the flickering of the dying torch.
He saves the body in the center of the room for last-
And there she is, kneeling somberly at her mother's side, running a hand through her hair where it's visible underneath the jacket. Jaskier makes a distressed noise at the sight, something like a whimper mixed with a groan, and the girl glances up at him with a small smile, extending her free hand out to beckon him over.
He does so, stumbling out of Geralt's grasp a few steps and down to the ground. Geralt steps up behind him, laying a warm hand on his shoulder,
"Jaskier?"
And he sounds concerned, but Jaskier won't take his eyes off of the girl. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe ask a question, or try and reassure her that she's safe, that they'll get her out of there, but before he can utter a single syllable, the child is moving around her mother's shroud to stand in front of him. There's something odd about her, as if she's not quite there, her skin pale and glowing dimly in the sparse light of the room.
He sits dumbly as she cups his face in her little cold hands, and she's smiling that sad little smile again, eyes bright with unshed tears,
"Thank you."
Her voice is light, like a plucked note resonating in the silence of the end of a song, somehow filling the room, but at the same time, it's as if she'd never made a sound.
She leans forward then, and presses a kiss to his forehead as Jaskier closes his eyes,
And when he opens them, she's gone.
"No."
"Jaskier?"
Then he remembers, something that seemed so insignificant at the time, but now is screaming at him from the depths of his memory. He peels back the edge of the jacket, where the woman was slumped over the sack, but no, he can see it now. The curve of a small back, tucked securely in an eternal embrace. He gasps, choking on a sob as he shifts forward and sees the girl's face, cold and blue, patches of skin being eaten away by scavenging insects-
And suddenly the world is falling out from beneath him.
"Jaskier!"
The second Jaskier sways, Geralt is already lunging forward to catch him.
He'd watched silently as the bard had stumbled forward, confused as to what exactly he was doing but sensing some purpose in it, which had become more clear when he'd pushed back the jacket to reveal what Geralt hadn't seen before in his haste. The sight of the other body leaves more questions than answers though, but he doesn't have the time to ponder them as Jaskier collapses.
He barely keeps the man's head from hitting the ground, swearing as he catches him around the shoulders and carefully lowers him the rest of the way. This is most definitely not a good place to check him over, but he's alarmed by how abruptly he'd fainted, and is worried there are other hidden injuries at play.
Geralt runs a careful hand over the back of Jaskier's head, fingers catching on a few clumps of hair clotted with blood and a nasty bump near the base of his skull. He also spots a gash near his hairline, which seems to be the source of most of the blood on his face, but neither of them are severe, so he continues his inspection. It's the cut on his side and his leg that are the real causes for concern. Both are ragged wounds, and the likelihood of infection from debris is real. He needs to get them somewhere better lit, and preferably cleaner if he has any hope of treating them effectively.
He keeps one hand on Jaskier, near the base of his neck where he can feel the fluttering of his pulse, then pulls a small charm from his waist bag, rubbing it between fingers.
"Yennifer."
A/N: okay yeah so I'm pulling Yenn into it, but honestly I want maximum bard care from this point on. He needs it.