At some point after the fiasco on the mountain, perhaps even after the raid on Bleobheris, Jaskier had changed. His self importance giving way to a selflessness that would have left his younger self baulking. It's reflected in his clothes, his hair, and even in his music- becoming less decorative and far more practical- well at least for the most part. He's been tempted as of late to try and snatch one of Geralt's leather hair ties to keep his bangs out of his face or at least attempt a half braid, maybe with Ciri's help. It's easy to braid someone else's hair and a lot harder to do blind and backwards, though he's sure he could get a handle on it with a little practice…which is beside the point-
The point being that this new found temperament comes with a whole new set of problems. Namely: when he see's someone in danger, he doesn't think, just reacts. Which is how he finds himself in this current predicament, partially because if he stops to think long enough, his legs will seize up and fear will take over, and he refuses to be useless, especially because he knows there isn't much else he can do.
Jaskier has already successfully managed to pull a couple of their dwarven companions out of the fray, ducking and dodging past swords and arrows, and it bolsters him enough that when he sees another dwarf go down, he doesn't hesitate. He's already half way into the battlefield and calling out before he even registers that he's moving, so singularly focused that he doesn't realize he's just become the prime target of an archer on the other side of the ruins; won't know until the dwarf is back on his feet and running. Jaskier is one step behind him, pivoting in place to head back for cover when something slams into his back, the momentum pushing him forward and back down to his knees, effectively knocking the air from his lungs.
He tries to catch himself before he hits the ground, scraping his palms against the rough stone beneath him as the world narrows, centering on the fiery pain flaring out from between his shoulders. Something hot and sticky pools at the back of his neck, snaking down towards his clavicle and dropping in small crimson pools to ground below. He understands what it means, isn't so far gone that he doesn't taste the copper at the back of his throat, nor miss the way the strap of his lute snaps and sends the instrument to the ground with a discordant twang of strings. An arrow must have gone right through it, making him the unlucky recipient.
The cacophony of the battle melts into the background, shapes and colors all blurring black at the edges until all Jaskier can see are the backs of his hands precariously holding him aloft. There's shouting, but right now everyone is shouting so it doesn't seem too special until Ciri materializes at his side, all fierce determination and concern behind those wide green eyes. He thinks she must be calling out to him, but the sound is muffled, as though he's covered his ears with the flats of his palms. He can only manage a rasping moan in response, ending in a wheeze when she ducks under his arm and hefts him up to stand. She doesn't seem to mind his weight, supporting a good portion of it as she drags him off the battlefield. She tries her best to catch him as he collapses, frantically wrapping her arms around his shoulders below the arrow and straining to ensure that his back doesn't slam it into the rocky flooring.
He wants to reassure her, maybe crack a joke, but he's feeling a little too fuzzy at the moment, and doesn't think he'd be able to form the proper words. It's becoming a little difficult to breathe, and between the pain and the lightheadedness he finds that there really isn't much he can do, though he makes a sad attempt at patting her shoulder, barely managing to lift his arm before it flops uselessly over his stomach
"No no no no no…Jaskier look at me!"
She puts a hand on his cheek, tipping his head up as everything begins to shift around him. He feels himself slipping sideways from her grasp but can do nothing to stop the fall.
Another arm slides across his back, firm and steady, carefully avoiding the arrow as it lifts him away from the ground, away from pushing the arrow in further.
"Jaskier!"
Oooh he knows that voice, would follow it anywhere, has spent many a night wishing to hear it more, and fewer nights cursing it into the ground.
"Ger-" he gasps, blood catching at the back of his throat and cutting him off.
"It's okay Jaskier, just hold on."
Geralt lifts him further, leaning him up against his chest so that he's resting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, one hand cradling the back of his head when it's clear the Jaskier doesn't have the energy to hold it aloft. Jaskier tries to take comfort in the thrumming of Geralt's pulse by his ear as more blood bubbles at the back of his throat, spilling its way out of his mouth in a thin line down his chin.
Why was it getting so hard to breathe?
There's a warm tingling tingling sensation at his back, and suddenly, Yennefer is leaning over him as well, black hair brushing at his cheek, brows lowered and lips drawn thin in concentration. She looks into his eyes, and he really tries to focus on her, but it's like trying to grasp at water with his bare hands. He can just see her lips moving, turning to say something to Geralt, but Jaskier can't make anything out. It feels like he's been dropped into an icy lake, sinking into the depths too far under to kick back to the surface, drowning as the blackness swallows him whole.
Of the three of them, Ciri is the first to notice when something changes. Jaskier's eyes unfocus, lids dropping partway as his head falls limply against Gerat's shoulder. There's a loss of energy, something coming untethered and it takes her a moment to realize that she can no longer see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.
No.
She cries out as she dives forward, urgently pressing an ear to Jaskier's chest. Geralt and Yennefer freeze, both of them now hearing and sensing what Ciri is just now confirming.
"He's not breathing! Geralt!"
This is beyond her. She still doesn't have a firm grasp on her magic, and while she knows the basics of first aid, this isn't a cut or a bruise she can bandage. So she forces herself to pull away, watching as Geralt bites out a curse, leaning Jaskier forward with one arm and grasping at the shaft of the arrow. He makes eye contact with Yennefer, and she nods, face set and determined as she hovers both hands close to the spot.
With one firm tug, the arrow comes loose, but Jaskier doesn't so much as twitch.
Yennefer places both of her palms flat against the freely bleeding wound, grimacing when she finally understands the full scope of the injury.
"It's hit a lung! Geralt, hold him steady!"
Ciri takes a hold of Jaskier's arm, somewhat hopeful that she can contribute to the chaos Yennefer is pushing into the wound, mostly to ground herself, much like what Geralt is currently doing. If he's worried, she knows it's bad.
"Come on Jaskier, come on!" Geralt speaks low, mostly under his breath, almost directly into Jaskier's ear, having shifted him up further so he's almost sitting, hand once again supporting his head and pulling him in close like he might drift away otherwise.
"Now is not the time for theatrics Bard, breathe!" Yennefer pushes harder, the anger in her voice doing nothing to disguise the undercurrent of desperation therein.
For a horrible moment, there's silence. Ciri can't tear her eyes away from Jaskier's face, skin pale and reflecting the purple glow of Yennefer's magic, a single strand of hair falling loose from where it was caught beneath Geralt's thumb, and somehow he looks young, younger than he has any right to look.
She feels tears welling up, anguish closing it's fingers over her throat as she leans hopelessly forward with a sob, dropping her forehead against Geralt's chest as she grips at the sleeve of Jaskier's jacket.
"Jaskier, don't leave me…don't leave us."
While she hasn't really known Jaskier as long as Yennefer and Geralt, he's been a particularly sunny spot in her life. She can talk magic to Yennefer, and combat with Geralt's to the ends of time, but with Jaskier…
Well he gets it. Being human, missing the luxuries of the courts, being normal. He doesn't treat her like she's some kind of weapon, he treats her like the young lady that she forgets she is. He's somewhere between the fun uncle and the annoying older brother, he's family.
He's funny for Geralt, and a shoulder for Yennefer to lean on when she doesn't think there's anyone else to turn to. It's odd really, the kind of love he brings with him, open to anyone that will take it, while asking little in return but their companionship. He complains, and moans, and snipes often, but at the flip of a coin, he's supportive and willing to do about anything as long as it's for the people he cares about.
And now…
He's silently slipping away, becoming another memory of a past she wishes she could get back.
He's quiet, and it's so unlike him, so very wrong. Jaskier doesn't do quiet, and according to Geralt, he never really has.
"Jaskier-!"
Ciri lets her tears fall then, snapping her eyes shut so she doesn't see the defeated looks settling over her guardian's faces, barely glimpsing as Yennefer lets go of her chaos, the glow leaving her hands even as they remain in place.
She yells, long and devastated, sliding down from where's she's leaning against Geralt to fall against Jaskier's chest, bringing one fist down weakly over his heart a few times before grasping at the fabric there as if to physically pull him back.
Something wells deep in her chest, basic and instinctive, and she doesn't try to hold it back. It travels down through her arm like lighting, pulsing from her fingertips and into the still chest beneath, traveling through Jaskier in a wave until the energy dissipates into the ground below.
She doesn't have time to think about it before Jaskier's eyes shoot open, rasping in a desperate breath, hands uselessly clutching at her vest for purchase. His grip is tight, but she doesn't care, staring at him bewildered as her sobs intertwine with disbelieving laughs before she envelops him in a crushing hug.
Jaskier returns the hold, albeit somewhat weakly, still leaning heavily against Geralt and panting as though he's just run a great distance. He looks out of it, not quite understanding what is happening, especially when Geralt leans forward to envelop both he and Ciri into his own brand of hug. He's too tired to react when Yennefer appears from behind, eyes bright with tears as she joins them, not saying a word as she wraps her arms around the younger two, pressing a kiss to the top of Jaskier's head before doing the same with Ciri. All he knows is that they are warm, and safe, and he lets this thought carry him into sleep with a tired smile on his face.
A/N: Hello, hi, yes. I needed to take a crack at it. It's been clawing at my brain since the moment I saw the episode (it's been weeeeeks) so here we go, and with any luck and inspiration, it will come with another chapter! If it sits long enough I'll just change the status to complete but I really do still have some things I want to tie up with this. After all the support he gave Geralt during his recovery, I just needed like a metric crap ton of Jaskier love.