All previous disclaimers apply.


Yennefer sang quietly under her breath, a melancholy melody that she had been partial to all her life. It was one that her mother had sung to her on nights only when the man she had called father until Tissaia had come to take her away was out of their cottage, getting himself disgustingly drunk at the local tavern. It wasn't until years later that she had realized that the reason her mother hadn't sung it when he was there to hear was because it was Elvish and only served to remind him of Yennefer's own true parentage. To remind him how her mother had trapped, according to his memory, him into a marriage and the taking on of a child that was not his seed. As if Yennefer herself, hunchbacked and ugly, trying so hard to earn a love that he hadn't been able to give from the moment she was born and he'd seen the truth of her lineage in her extraordinary eyes, hadn't been enough to remind him every day.

As twisted as the body she was born in had been, her mind had never suffered any lack of capacity, though trying to convince her mother's husband and the rest of the peasantry of Vengerberg of such had been ever futile. It had been more of a relief than a shock when she'd heard the man she had never been able to love as a father when she was just five years of age denounce her as his daughter and make plans to get rid of her as soon as possible. She'd made sure to stay out of his way as much as possible after his cruel, drunken voice had revealed that he was the reason her mother, beaten and broken down by himself and the life she'd been forced to take on, was without the man she'd loved enough to take him into her bed. Her mother had been the great beauty of their village once and when the wandering bard with the obviously Elfin eyes had taken her attention he hadn't been able to abide it and had killed the man on his way to dote upon his black-haired sweetheart himself, putting a knife in his back and dragging his body to the woods where the animals could take care of the rest. Not that he needed to go to great lengths. No one in Vengerberg would have batted an eye, Yennefer was certain by pulling from her own experiences with them.

Perhaps the truth of her parentage and all the strife it had caused her in her early years was what had originally had rubbed her wrong about Jaskier. She hadn't felt one way or the other about him when Geralt had first brought him to her, asking her to heal him. He was any other man to her, paling in comparison to the witcher who'd brought him to her. But, then Geralt had mentioned needing to his voice saved along with his life at all costs. He was a bard and would find his life not worth living if he was spared but could not perform his music any longer. The moment he's mentioned it she'd felt the sneer come to her face and her back go up. Bards were little better than whores, whether they whored themselves out or turned the women who swooned for them into whores by taking them into their beds. And so, she was predispositioned to dislike him from the start. That he was a rival for Geralt's attentions hadn't helped matters.

But, Jaskier was nothing like what she'd made him to be in her head. Yes, he was a loud-mouthed, philandering drunkard much of the time. He would be the first to admit it. He was a peacock who strutted about and shone most when he was being theatrical in front of an equally drunken audience. He had no sense of self-preservation, clung onto others even when they did not give him any indication that his attentions were appreciated, and never knew when to close his mouth. He could never keep coin in his pocket and could not control his temper. And, yet, for all of that, he was also brave, selfless, a ridiculously hard worker, and loyal to a fault, often to his detriment. He protected those he felt life, and people, had slighted, whether they accepted the protection, like the elven refugees, or not, like the witchers.

Somewhere along the line over the many years they had known each other, they had become friends. She had to admit, she'd felt a truly ridiculous amount of relief flood her at the realization that Jaskier was The Sandpiper. For, as much as they sniped at each other, as much as they enjoyed putting each other through their mental paces, she knew that Jaskier would die before he let anything happen to her. He was that way with all of those he considered close to him. And it was why she found herself tenderly cleaning blood from his cold body, preparing him for burial.

She wiped a damp rag as gently as she could down his arm, taking as much care as she would have on his burnt fingers as she would have if he was still breathing. Her voice broke around her hum and she felt a tear run down her cheek as she lifted the blackened fingers to her lips to place a tender kiss to them.

"I don't blame you, you know."

She probably should have been surprised. But, somehow she wasn't. If there was anyone who would stick around after death, even if it was just to talk some more…

"I should have realized, Jaskier." She couldn't make herself turn to look at him, the guilt overwhelming her, "I saw you out of the corner of my eye when the witchers were putting the medallions up and I…" She wiped away another tear angrily, "It's no excuse. I should have checked on you. I…"

"I don't blame you, Yennefer." He repeated. She didn't know why she thought that his voice would have sounded changed in death, but it was no different than it had been on the that last night when they were in Vesemir's lab together, desperately trying to find anything to help Ciri. She set down the hand she had been washing gently and looked up finally at the bard sitting on the stairs that led to the exit of the room. He looked more exhausted and defeated than she had ever seen him as he lived, his shoulders curled in, his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. She moved to sit next to him, settling her skirts around her ankles before she turned to him. She wanted to reach out, to pull him to her and lay his head on her shoulder, but she stopped herself before she could, before she could embarrass them both with the attempt.

"Then, who do you blame?" She asked quietly.

"Who is there to blame but myself?" He asked bitterly.

"Jaskier…" She tried, gently.

"No!" He looked up at her and his eyes were ablaze with an anger she'd never seen in them when he lived, "Who the fuck can I blame but myself, Yennefer? I chose to follow Geralt. I chose to love him, to make him the most important person in my life even though I knew I would never be the same for him. I chose to stay with him despite the abuse, the harsh words, the never once in twenty years ever admitting that we were even friends! I'm the one who forgave him without making him do anything to deserve it! I let him order me to bring Ciri here."

"I was the one who woke you up that night!" She interrupted desperately. The more he yelled out his bitterness the dark and darker his eyes became. It was frightening to her. She knew that a restless spirit who could not let go of the bitterness left from his life could very easily become a wraith. And she knew that she wouldn't be able to stand it if one of the witchers had to put him down so that he couldn't hurt anyone. Wouldn't be able to stand it if she knew his soul was erased from existence. It would be different if he, at peace, moved on to whatever waited each of them eventually, but knowing that her gentle friend became something that needed to be destroyed to never move on…She didn't think that was something she'd be able to come to terms with.

Just as she had expected, his care for others outweighed the bitterness he was feeling and his eyes brightened again into their normal cornflower blue. He almost seemed to deflate as he came back to himself, looking smaller and more tired than ever.

"But, I chose to go, dear heart." He moved as if to push her hair back and tuck it behind her ear. She felt a cool breeze where he touched and tried to ignore the heartbreak in his eyes when her hair remained where it was as she knew he was good enough to ignore the heartbreak in hers, "For ask much good as it did."

"Jaskier, please." She knew her tone was pleading, but she would cry, scream, and beg if it helped him to see that he wasn't at fault any more than anyone else had been. The he was perhaps the least at fault of any of them.

"I…" He swallowed hard and stood, "I have to go. Ghost things to do, you know. If I could ask one small favor?"

"Anything," She nearly tripped over her skirts as she got up in her haste.

"Make sure my family knows I'm dead? We've never really understood each other, but…there's always been love there. And they always supported my endeavors. They…they deserve to know I won't be back again."

"Of course, Jaskier. I'll let them know myself."

"Thank you, Yen."

She almost expected him to flee through the door, but instead he just closed his eyes, as if finally giving into an exhausted sleep, and faded away. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging tightly, and let out single cry of grief that turned into a sob before she could stop it. She'd been keeping it all so tightly controlled, not just her grief, but her guilt, her fear. She collapsed back on the stone steps, burying her face in her arms and allowing the tears to come hot and fast until the arm of her dress was wet and her nose felt three sizes too big.

And when the tears stopped she put the wall back up again, needing to keep working so that she didn't give herself over to the despair. Because if she did that she wasn't sure that she would ever pull herself out of it again. She cast a light glamour so that she looked as put together as she was trying to convince herself she was and stood again, standing to her full height in her most rigid posture. She took one more moment to make sure that her masks and walls, all of them, were put back into place before she walked back to the stone slab where Jaskier's body lay, picked up the limp hand she had been carefully tending to, and began again, gently washing blood and ichor away so that, later in the day, the bard could be put to his final resting place.

And as she did so she said a quick prayer that his spirit, too, would find the same rest she was preparing his body for.