For the Whumpril prompt 6 "Dizziness" and the Angstpril prompts 19 "Trembling" and 22 "Drained"

Regis finds Ciri fast asleep with both Geralt and Jaskier watching over her. She is still a little pale and it will take a few days until her body has regrown the blood she has donated, but otherwise she seems to be in perfect health. The girl was incredibly lucky to get away from the catastrophe with hardly a scratch. Well, she might need a while to process the traumatic experience of being buried alive and the one or other bad nightmare is to be expected, Regis assumes. However, with both Geralt and Jaskier around, she is in the best of hands and will not need any medical attention.

"How's Cahir? And Yennefer, how's she holding up?" Geralt asks his vampire friend in a low whisper to not wake his daughter.

"Lady Yennefer is resting. Thanks to her magic, Cahir is stable for now," Regis says softly. "However," he looks at Geralt gravely, "I doubt he will be able to do any monster hunting in a very long while, if ever again."

"Fuck," Geralt says under his breath. This is bad news. Although Cahir is not really a Witcher, he has become surprisingly good at hunting monsters. It has turned into his new mission and must feel like a good, a meaningful way to atone for the sins of his past. It will hit him hard to lose this new purpose. But Regis is probably right. Even with Yen's magic, there is no way those injuries will heal without any lasting aftereffect. Hell, he still has problems with his knee once in a while, and the waters of Brokilon are the most potent way of healing broken bones. The dryads will hardly agree to treating a former Nilfgaardian Commander General though, and anyway, it would not be possible to transport Cahir there without worsening his condition, not even by portal. Damn it.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Darkness has fallen when Yennefer blinks her eyes open drowsily. As it is very close to the shortest day of the year, this does not say much. It could be early evening or the middle of the night for all she knows. Judging by how tired she feels, she would guess that she has not slept for more than an hour or two, but she could be completely wrong. She sits up, momentarily disoriented in the almost complete darkness. Only the glowing embers of the low-burning fire in the fireplace bathe the far end of the room in a faint, orange shine. It is enough to see, though, that it is not her much smaller chamber with the broad, comfortable four-poster bed with the many pillows and the lingering scent of lilac and gooseberries. Where the— Then she remembers and her heart misses a beat. Cahir. She looks around wildly in the almost dark.

"Lady Yennefer, you're awake," Regis says, stepping out of the black shadows of the far corner. He lights a big candle placed on one of the tables and smiles at her through pursed lips. "I hope you're feeling better?"

"How is Cahir?" she asks instead of answering and almost jumps out of the narrow, simple wooden bed to rush over to the only other occupied one close to the fireplace. Which, it turns out, is not a good idea.

"Fuck," she says, dropping back down onto the mattress as the room starts to spin.

"Slowly, slowly, my dear. There's no need to be in a hurry," Regis soothes. "Cahir is alive but still unresponsive, which is to be expected."

"Would you perhaps like another sip of my special Moonshine," he then asks, "to help your circulation?"

"Thank you, Regis, but no. I think I'm OK now." She stands up more slowly this time and gingerly walks to the bed where Cahir is sleeping. She feels a little wobbly but the worst of the dizzy spell has passed. With a deep, tired sigh, Yennefer sits down on the edge of the bed next to her lover. Perhaps it is a good thing that the room is so dimly lit that she cannot see how pale he is. It is bad enough to see him lying so still with only the faintest movement of his chest indicating that he is indeed alive. Yennefer finds Cahir's hand under the covers and takes it in hers. It is far too cold for her liking and she feels him tremble in his sleep despite the many blankets and the warmth from the fireplace.

"He'll need more blood, I fear," Regis says quietly. Even in the darkness, he must have seen her worried expression. Probably his vampire-bat senses, Yennefer assumes. They seem to work even more effectively than a Witcher's heightened perception. "Better sooner than later, too. The trembling and shivering are caused by hypothermia. Which, in turn, is a result of blood loss."

"I can do it with a spell," Yennefer suggests, however, unfortunately, it is not as easy as it sounds. New blood cells are constantly produced in the red bone marrow of large bones, but it takes seven days for them to mature. The spell can speed up the natural process, but it will take hours before the first positive effects manifest, plus it will require a lot of chaos. Will there be enough time? And, does she have enough chaos left to do it? Despite her nap, Yennefer feels drained and empty and not really ready to cast any spells, not even a very basic one.

"First, my dear Yennefer," Regis objects with another smile, "you need to eat something. You won't be of any use to Cahir if you faint from fatigue. I believe Vesemir has prepared a nice vegetable stew which should be ready any minute. And," he adds wisely, "may I suggest the application of cold water? I'm sure you'll feel much better after you have freshened up a little."

Although reluctant to leave Cahir's bedside, Yennefer has to admit that what the barber-surgeon says makes sense, as always. She lets go of her unconscious lover's hand and rises to her feet.

"You'll call me immediately if there's any change?" she asks.

"Of course, my dear, of course," Regis assures. "Don't worry. Cahir's tough. He'll be OK, eventually."

Regis sounds very confident and Yennefer would love to believe him. Yet, she still feels anxious and uneasy when she walks through the laboratory and down the corridor toward her bedroom. It will be good, though, to change into more practical and comfortable clothes and shoes, to wash her face and to comb her hair before getting some of Vesemir's stew. It smells delicious in the hallway as she passes the kitchen, of carrots, onions, mushrooms and sweet chestnuts, and all of a sudden and despite her stomach being all in knots, Yennefer feels dastardly hungry. Hopefully, Lambert will leave something for her until she looks like a sane person again and not like a sleepwalking zombie.

When Yennefer opens the door to her bedroom, though, all thoughts of dinner evaporate. For a moment, she stands in the doorway, rooted to the spot, and stares at her bed. A small piece of parchment is lying on top of the purple bedspread.

Slowly, she approaches it. There are only a few words on the note. In Cahir's handwriting. Yennefer sits down on her bed, picks it up with slightly trembling fingers and reads.

I had to tell her. I am sorry.
Farewell, my love
Cahir

A good-bye note.

Yennefer stares at the black letters, reads them again and again.

He intended to leave without even telling her. Why? They were happy together despite everything, were they not? And how typical, only how many words? A dozen? Including his name. Does she not deserve more of an explanation when she gets dumped like this? Why the fuck does she always fall for those broody, troubled, taciturn types? Why did she not fall in love with the bard instead? He would have written her a long, elaborate masterpiece of a farewell letter that actually deserved the name. This here definitely does not. What does it mean anyway? How is she supposed to make heads or tales of this cryptic message?

Suddenly, another, much more verbose farewell letter springs to mind. Sometimes a flower is just a flower and the best thing it can do for us is die. Tissaia. Tears well in Yennefer's eyes. How she still misses the formidable headmistress of Aretuza. But Cahir did not want to die, right? This is not a suicide note, it was an accident, wasn't it? Fuck, but why leave his friends, his new home, her? With the long sleeve of her dress, Yennefer angrily wipes away the single tear that is rolling down her cheek. Then she gets up. She needs to find out what this is all about before she goes crazy. She needs to find the bard.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Fortunately, finding Jaskier is not difficult. She spots him in the kitchen with Vesemir, pretending to help setting the table but instead trying to get his fingers into the dessert. Chocolate pudding. Well, Yennefer can actually relate. Vesemir's chocolate pudding is legendary thanks to its secret ingredient, which is not even all that secret. A nice helping of whiskey, of course. She only hopes he did not forget to make a bowl full for Ciri without it.

"Bard, I need to talk to you," Yennefer says on entering the room, Cahir's note still in her hands.

"Witch." Jaskier looks her up and down critically. "You look like shit. Did you sleep in that dress? And with that hair?" Then, all of a sudden, he enfolds her in his surprisingly strong arms. "How's Cahir?" he mumbles, holding her tightly.

"Alive. At least he was when I left." Yennefer sniffs into Jaskier's shoulder while he is passing his fingers through her unkempt mass of black locks. It takes all her strength of will not to burst into tears right here and now.

"I found this on my bed," she says miserably and holds out the piece of parchment for her friend to read. Jaskier whistles softly through his teeth.

"Come, Witch, sit," he then orders and gently presses Yennefer onto one of the kitchen chairs. "I think I know what this is about. Ciri told Geralt and me. It's a pretty ugly mess, all in all, but nothing that can't be sorted. Don't worry, darling." He gives her an encouraging smile. "Cahir's just being the usual idiot. He should know by now that, no matter what he did in the past, he is family and this is his home, and nothing will change that."

"Thank you, bard. You will tell him that when he wakes up, right?"

"I will," Jaskier promises solemnly. "I could even compose a ballad about it," he goes on, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "so he won't ever forget, regardless how hard he gets smacked in the head."

Despite being almost sick with worry and tired and hungry and miserable, and although there is certainly nothing funny about Cahir's head injury and amnesia, Yennefer cannot suppress a soft giggle at the idea of a song like this. Jaskier's very own magic, making others feel better when they are troubled and sad and would rather weep than laugh. The bard's secret poultice for the soul. Cahir will hate this ballad if it ever gets written and turn bright red and, secretly, love it.

"Now, Jask, tell me," Yennefer then says, serious again, but somehow feeling a lot less anxious and depressed than before. "What did Cahir do that he couldn't talk to me about, besides being a wanted war criminal in both the north and the south, and an idiot?"

So, Jaskier tells her and Vesemir about King Eist and Ciri screaming.

"Fuck," Yennefer and the old Witcher say in unison when he has finished his tale.

"It is bad, yes," Jaskier agrees. "But Ciri will come around, you'll see. Just leave it to Uncle Jaskier." He smiles at his two friends so genuinely optimistic that it is contagious. "Yet, I have one condition," he then adds.

"Spit it out, bard, what do you want?" Vesemir raises his eyebrow with suspicion, fearing for his precious supply of Skellige whiskey.

"For my prime services as emotional support bard," he says with a broad grin, "I herewith demand the exclusive right to this big bowl of amazing chocolate pudding." And before anybody can reply or prevent him from doing it, he sticks his finger right in the middle of the delicious dessert.

For once, Vesemir lets him get away with it. If Jaskier indeed manages to sort out this mess, he can have a bowl of chocolate pudding every day from now on until the very end of time.