Chapter Text
"Where is he?"
Jaskier storms through the door like a bat out of hell, pushing unceremoniously past an unsuspecting B.B. and nearly toppling the poor man over in his momentum.
"Calm down, Jaskier," a familiar voice calls out just as a strong hand lands on Jaskier's shoulder, the grip just painful enough to stop him in his tracks.
"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, Geralt!" Jaskier shoves Geralt's hand off him, and the witcher allows it, which is the only reason Jaskier decides to be reasonable and hear his friend out. "Where is he?"
"Upstairs," Geralt provides tersely, his voice rough with all the emotions that he doesn't allow himself to show. In a marginally softer tone, he adds, "He's breathing. He's alive."
"Don't lie to him," another voice, sharp as the crack of a whip, resonates from behind Jaskier. The words pull a displeased groan from Geralt, who shoots Lambert a pointed glare over Jaskier's shoulder.
"It isn't a lie," Geralt maintains, which earns him a humourless snort from the younger witcher. Geralt ignores him, instead addressing Jaskier directly once again. "He is alive. Triss is attending to him."
"He's maybe breathing but he's been unresponsive since it happened," Lambert continues, this time appearing in Jaskier's line of vision. The younger wolf's expression is closed off as he avoids making eye contact with Jaskier. "Don't give him hope where there is none."
"Stop scaring him!"
"Gentlemen, please," Jaskier snaps, loud enough to startle both witchers into silence. Jaskier bites back the tears welling up in his eyes, unwilling to play into Lambert's fearmongering or Geralt's misplaced concern. "Just tell me which room. I need to see him, please."
Geralt and Lambert share a look, albeit briefly, and instead of arguing like Jaskier feared they might, Geralt leads Jaskier up the wooden steps to the guest rooms on the first floor. Lambert doesn't follow them and Jaskier hears the distinct sound of a fist colliding with a wooden surface. Lambert's words do precious little to appease Jaskier's nerves, but he will be damned if he allows himself to lose hope before having laid eyes on Eskel himself.
Geralt opens the door furthest from the stairs and allows Jaskier to step inside first. It takes all of Jaskier's willpower not to fall to his knees at the sight that greets him. The double bed is occupied by Eskel's body, his skin matching the shade of the white sheets nearly to perfection. Above him, Triss is muttering a string of unintelligible words as she weaves her healing spells. Geralt failed to mention that it isn't only Triss attending to Eskel. Keira Metz and Yennefer are also nearby, lending Triss a hand. The floorboards creak under Jaskier's weight, startling the three sorceresses.
"Now was not the time to bring him, Geralt." Yen states matter-of-factly, though her tone is unmistakably chastising.
"If you want to try keeping him away, be my guest," comes Geralt's tart reply.
"You can't expect me to wait downstairs and twiddle my thumbs while Eskel is.... while he's..."
Jaskier can't bring himself to finish his sentence. In all honesty, he's not sure how he's supposed to end it. Is Eskel fighting for his life? Is he already dead? Jaskier doesn't want to think about either option, so he settles for staring at his witcher in silence all the while trying not to let despair consume him.
"Jaskier, we know this is h-hard for you," Triss speaks up, her voice hitching as she struggles to keep focused on her task. "But you being here isn't helping."
"I have to be with him!" Jaskier takes a few steps forward only to be stopped in his tracks by an invisible wall that can only be Yennefer's doing. "Let me be with him, please."
"It won't do any good," Keira says without looking up from the prone witcher on the bed. "He won't know any different."
"You don't know that!"
"I do." Keira's statement leaves little room for argument, though her expression softens when she does meet Jaskier's gaze for the first time since he barged in. "Why don't you go downstairs, I'll come down in a minute and explain everything."
Jaskier hesitates, his eyes darting between Eskel's ghost-like face and the three sorceresses doing something to help, though all three are being extremely stingy on the details. The thought doesn’t sit well with Jaskier, cold fear coursing through his veins at the thoughts racing through his mind. Thoughts he doesn’t want to analyse too closely, thoughts he decides to banish to the deepest confines of his mind for now. His throat clicks loudly as he swallows around the lump in his throat. He finally offers a small nod in response to Keira's suggestion, not trusting himself to speak.
"Very well. Geralt, take him downstairs. And trouble Marlene for some tea."
"I have a feeling we'll need something stronger than tea to get us through that conversation," Jaskier whispers under his breath as Geralt leads him out of the room and back down the creaky stairs. Geralt's noncommittal hum tells Jaskier the witcher is in agreement.
Lambert accepts the flask of white gull that Geralt hands him and downs half its contents in one gulp. Geralt follows suit, grimacing at the vile taste on his tongue. Jaskier, meanwhile, opted for a large glass of wine which he drains in record time before helping himself to a second serving. Lambert, to Jaskier's surprise, still asks Marlene for a pot of tea to be made and were Jaskier not focused on more pressing concerns, he might have questioned the action. As things stand, he's too busy fidgeting in his seat awaiting Keira's arrival to pay much attention to what's happening around him. He is so relieved to see the sorceress appear in the dining room that he nearly spills his wine over Geralt's expensive table cloth.
"How is he?" all three of them ask in near-tandem, a scene that has Keira raising an eyebrow at them.
"Much the same as before," she admits, unable to meet any of their gazes. She takes a seat next to Lambert before reaching for the pot of tea on the table. "Still unresponsive, but his vitals are stable even without our magic."
"What happened?" Jaskier asks, growing impatient.
"We were working a contract on our way to Toussaint for the winter." There is a faraway look on Lambert's face as he begins his retelling. "A noonwraith hiding in ruins near Belhaven. Easy enough job for two witchers, we made quick work of it. When we were done we decided to take a look around for loot."
Lambert takes a steadying breath at this point, his brows furrowing into a sullen expression.
"There was a chest hidden behind some ivy. Eskel picked the lock and started going through its content. It was mostly gold so he started packing away most of it, as one does. Then I hear this... this horrible noise. And when I turned around, Eskel was on the ground, convulsing. I thought he was poisoned initially, so I fed him a white honey. Didn't do shit. I was completely fucking useless until he stopped seizing and just lay there. He's been unconscious since... probably been what, six hours?"
"There is nothing more you could have done, Lambert." Keira's tone is calm and well-meaning, but her words don't manage to appease Lambert's guilt. She takes a sip of her tea and lets out a small noise not unlike a cat purring in contentment.
"So if he wasn't poisoned, what happened?" Jaskier presses, not bothering to hide his growing urgency.
"The evidence points at a curse," Keira continues, one hand disappearing under the table where it presumably lands on Lambert's leg, effectively putting an end to his restless fidgeting. "Whatever else was hidden with the gold clearly was placed there as a deterrent. By the time Eskel realised, it was probably already too late."
“But…” Jaskier's eyes flit to Lambert then, who meets his gaze sheepishly. “His medallion, it… it should've—”
“Both our medallions were still vibrating from the battle with the noonwraith,” Lambert explains, his tone angry, though none of it is directed at Jaskier. “Sometimes the damn things take a few minutes to catch up.”
“What kind of curse are we talking about?" Geralt asks this time, taking the words right out of Jaskier's mouth.
"Yen thinks it's a potent sleeping curse. Are you familiar with the fairy tale where the princess pricks her finger on a spindle and is cursed to a hundred year sleep?" Keira takes another sip of her tea and Jaskier feels the irrational urge to slap the cup right out of her hand if she continues marking unnecessary pauses in her explanation. "We believe Eskel to be under a similar curse."
"Hm." Geralt takes another sip of white gull straight from the nondescript bottle before handing it back to Lambert. "Except the hundred year sleep is but one iteration of the fairy tale. In the original, the princess pricks her finger on the spindle and dies. In other variations, she dies if the curse isn't broken after a descript amount of years."
"Yes, you're right," Keira admits.
"Have one of you figured out a timeline for lifting the curse?"
Keira hesitates, her jaw tensing as she debates how to deliver the news to them. Which can only mean one thing, in Jaskier's experience, and he's not sure if he's ready to hear any more bad news beyond the fact that Eskel is currently lying unconscious in Geralt's guest room.
"We have." Keira pauses again, biting her lower lip. Lambert tilts his face towards her and while Keira wouldn't look at either Geralt or Jaskier this entire time, she does meet Lambert's gaze when she announces her findings. "We think we have about a week to figure out how to break the curse before..."
The words she won't say hang over their heads like a dagger ready to drop at the bat of an eyelid. Jaskier blinks several times, his brain stalling as he replays Keira's verdict over and over in his head, trying to make sense of it, trying to fix it even though he doesn't have the faintest idea on how to lift a curse. That's Geralt and Lambert's area of expertise, but a quick glance at both of them tells Jaskier that neither witcher knows how to react to the news of their brother's impending death either.
Great. Now what?
"We have to do something," Jaskier declares, his voice wavering dangerously. "We can't just let it happen."
"Yenna and Triss are already working on a solution. It won't happen overnight."
"If we only have a week, time isn't on our side to begin with." Lambert heaves a heavy sigh before rising to his feet. "What can we do to help?"
"Right now, what will help is keeping out of our way while the three of us figure out the limitations of the spell." Keira returns her cup to the table before reaching for Lambert's arm, catching his attention once again. Jaskier never realised until now just how close the sorceress and the youngest wolf had become since Jaskier last saw them. "Lambert, I know you’re blaming yourself for what happened, but that won't help Eskel right now. Rest or find a way to blow off steam, but guilt tripping yourself won't help."
Lambert looks ready to argue, his muscles recoiled like springs ready to leap into action, but he must have seen something in Keira's face that gives him pause. Jaskier watches, fascinated, as Lambert's shoulders relax a fraction right before he leans into Keira's touch.
"Fine," Lambert relents, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he gives into Keira's demands. His tone changes the second he steps away from her and towards the door. "I'll be outside with the horses. The second there's any movement, come and find me."
The door slams behind him before anyone can answer.
“I better get back upstairs,” Keira announces after finishing her second cup of tea, breaking the uncomfortable silence that settled over the three of them. “Yen and Triss will be wondering where I am.”
“I’ll get Marlene to prepare some dinner to be brought up to your room,” Geralt tells her, earning himself a grateful smile from Keira.
“That will be much appreciated. And maybe instead of a pot of tea you could bring up a couple of bottles of wine?”
“Woah, hold on a minute,” Jaskier pipes up right about then, turning in his seat to face the sorceress already halfway out of the room, “you mean to drink while you figure out this curse? What if you end up making it worse? What if your hand slips and you kill Eskel on the spot?”
“I will let this one slide because I know you’re worried about your witcher.” Keira’s tone isn’t unkind exactly, but Jaskier can tell he offended her all the same. He can tell and he doesn’t give a flying fuck. “Triss, Yenna and I are highly skilled sorceresses who trained under one of the most powerful rectoresses at Aretuza. All three of us know how to work under pressure and all three of us have, at some point in our lives, advised capricious kings who could destroy regions at a whim if they so chose. A few glasses of wine won’t affect us the way you think it will.”
“And while I don’t mean to diminish your exploits, I dare say that if you were on an operating table you’d expect your surgeon to be sober during the procedure,” Jaskier argues, ignoring the way Geralt sighs at his words.
“I dare say that if I was to ever find myself in that situation, I’d expect my surgeon to save my life. If a glass of wine helps him achieve that, then so be it.”
Jaskier has a biting retort at the ready, but the pointed glare the sorceress levels him with is enough to shut him up. For all his feelings on the matter, Keira is still powerful enough to cause Jaskier a lot of trouble if he doesn’t lay off, and while he has been known to make rash and irresponsible decisions in the past, Julian Alfred Pankratz is not that foolish. He snaps his jaw shut sullenly, huffing a curse under his breath that Keira definitely hears but lets him get away with.
“If that’s all, I’ll be on my way. And Jaskier?” Keira’s tone is lenient when she addresses Jaskier again, which is the only reason he decides to acknowledge her. Her expression is kinder than he expects considering he accused her of incompetence a few seconds earlier. “There isn't a single person in this house who doesn't care about Eskel’s life. Perhaps not as much as you do, for obvious reasons. But he's dear to the people who matter to me. I’ll do all I can to bring him back, I promise.”
There is genuine warmth lacing Keira’s voice. Jaskier didn’t need the reassurance, but he allows it to wash over him all the same. He offers Keira a grateful smile, biting back the fresh tears welling up in his eyes.
“Call us if there’s any change,” Geralt urges Keira before she disappears upstairs. “Any change at all.”
“You have my word.”
With that, Keira is gone, leaving Geralt and Jaskier behind. Jaskier releases the breath he’s been holding since he saw Eskel on that bed. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep his emotions in check when all he wants to do is collapse onto his knees and wail at the sky in the hopes that someone, anyone, will hear his prayer and spare Eskel this tragic end. He can’t lose him, not now, not when Eskel is so close to a happy ending, not after he finally agreed to retire with Jaskier on Geralt’s estate—
“You doing okay?”
Jaskier doesn’t know what does it, if it’s the kindness in Geralt’s tone or the way he squeezes his shoulder to ground him. All he knows is that suddenly, the tears he’s been repressing since he received news of Eskel are flowing down his cheeks and his sobs echo in the small room despite Jaskier’s best efforts to stifle them. Geralt remains a stalwart, comforting presence at Jaskier’s side the entire time. No platitudes are offered, no comforting words, not even a hug, but were it not for Geralt’s hand on his shoulder Jaskier knows he would long have fallen off his chair.
“Gods,” Jaskier sniffles after a while, unsure how long he’s been dribbling tears, snot and drool over Geralt’s table. He has the decency to feel ashamed at the pitiful display he’s putting on and his futile attempt at wiping the table with the sleeve of his doublet does precious little to improve the situation. “I’m sorry, old friend. Guess my emotions are getting more volatile in my old age.”
“Was there ever a time they weren’t volatile?” Geralt asks jokingly in a desperate attempt to brighten Jaskier’s mood. To his dismay, it works.
“Touché. Touché, indeed.” Jaskier wipes his nose with the back of his doublet and wipes the wetness off his cheeks. “He looks so pale. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so pale.”
“Before we knew of the curse, we fed him some Swallow to rule out internal bleeding. The paleness could be due to that,” Geralt explains, though he doesn’t sound all that convincing. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve seen him in worse condition and he’s always made a full recovery. Besides, Eskel’s capable of sweet talking his way out of his own grave.”
That pulls a more earnest laugh from Jaskier.
“Let’s hope you’re right. I just wish I could be there. I know Keira said he wouldn’t know, but… it would make me feel better to see him. Hold his hand, maybe.” Jaskier huffs a humourless snort. “You must think me a fool.”
“Hm. You’re a romantic, always have been.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s shoulder one final time before stepping around the table to where Lambert left the bottle of White Gull. He downs the dregs in a single gulp. “But a fool all the same.”
“Tell me then. Does love make one a fool or do only fools fall in love?”
Jaskier never does get an answer to that question.
The breakthrough doesn’t come for another day.
The sorceresses don’t sleep that night as they try to work out the parameters of Eskel’s curse. This also means that Marlene works late to keep them all fed and supplied with drinks, alcohol or otherwise. B.B. periodically checks in with Geralt regarding the progress of Master Eskel’s condition, and whether there’s anything he can do to be of assistance. Of course, for how competent and lethally efficient the man is, he has yet to be hailed a miracle worker. And oh, how much Jaskier wishes that B.B. could work his magic on Eskel.
Lambert and Geralt try to keep themselves distracted by playing a few rounds of Gwent, but it becomes apparent early on that neither of them have the patience for it. When Lambert nearly flips the table when Geralt doubles the points of his range cards with a last-minute Horn, they decide to call it a night. While Geralt retreats to his room to brood in solitude, Jaskier joins Lambert in the fields behind Geralt’s house. Jaskier and Lambert don’t speak much, but both take comfort in each other’s presence all the same. They are both lying on their backs facing the stars by the time the moon reaches its peak. Sleep, however, continues to elude them both.
It isn’t until early the next morning that Triss comes down, her red locks dishevelled and her face haggard. Her appearance has Geralt, Lambert and Jaskier shooting up from their seats and staring at her with expectant eyes.
“Would you like the good news or the bad news first?” she asks them, her voice slurred from lack of sleep and the effort of using her magic for the best part of twelve hours.
“Lead with the bad,” Lambert decides before anyone can object.
“This sleeping curse is more complex than we initially anticipated. With most sleeping curses, a skilled sorceress should be able to dig into the mind of the victim and retrieve their consciousness easily enough. Except in this case, the three of us have failed at doing just that. We think it’s a feature of the curse to resist magic-wielders.”
“Fantastic,” Lambert declares, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“That’s not all,” Triss admits, almost sheepishly. “Not only does the curse resist our magic, but Yen believes that it also reacted with Eskel’s chaos.”
“Eskel’s chaos?” Geralt questions, beating Jaskier to the chase.
“It can’t be a surprise to you, surely?” When Geralt fails to react, Triss merely rolls her eyes. “Apart from the fact that he’s one of the best sign casters Kaer Morhen has seen in centuries, by Vesemir’s own admission. Heavens, the first time Eskel touched me I could feel his Chaos thrumming through my skin.”
“Easy, Merigold.” Lambert sneers cruelly at her, knowing how much she hates being referred to by her last name. “Don’t think Dandelion’s the type to share.”
“I’ll let that woman kiss him if it means getting him back,” Jaskier intervenes before the situation can escalate into an argument. “So none of the sorceresses under this roof could reach Eskel’s consciousness and his own Chaos is sabotaging him from the inside. What’s the good news?”
“The good news is that we can bypass the curse’s barrier. The process is complicated and taxing. It will take Yen, Keira and I working as a team so one of us is constantly keeping an eye on the situation. We’ll sleep in shifts, that shouldn’t be a problem—”
“What is the plan, exactly?” Jaskier presses before Triss has a chance to go off-piste. Triss meets Jaskier’s gaze, only briefly hesitating before answering the question.
“I think we should all be there for this conversation.”
“Let me get this straight.” Jaskier swallows thickly as he tries to arrange the information into coherent thoughts in his head. “You want to transfer my consciousness into Eskel’s mind so I can look for his consciousness somewhere in the depth of his memories?”
“That is actually the most concise I’ve ever heard oneiromantic mentalism described,” Yennefer admits, almost reluctantly. Yennefer is many things, but quick to praise is not one of them. “A tad oversimplified, but it will do. Keira will prepare a special sleeping draught that will allow you to enter a deep sleep and not wake up until one of us breaks the spell. Which will be as soon as one of us can feel Eskel fighting the curse or…”
Yennefer has the decency not to finish her thought, but the harm has already been done.
“Or when he’s dead,” Geralt supplies unhelpfully. Yen looks up at her lover then, and if Jaskier didn’t know her any better, he’d say that she almost looks apologetic.
“Lambert, will you help me with the sleeping draught?” Keira asks, which Jaskier thinks strange considering that all she has to do is snap her fingers and Lambert will come running.
“Course I will,” the youngest witcher agrees, and if he shares Jaskier’s puzzlement, he doesn’t show it.
“Wonderful,” Yennefer resumes her outline of their plan effortlessly, as if the interruption never happened. “Once you’re asleep, one of us will transfer your consciousness into Eskel’s mind. The mechanics are not important, but there are a few rules to follow.”
“Oh goody, rules!”
“I should be grateful if you kept your sarcasm to yourself, Dandelion,” Yennefer snaps in response. “Now pay close attention. Oneiromantic mentalism is a balance between dreamwalking and mindreading. The term is misleading. I don’t expect you to walk through Eskel’s dreams so much as his memories. It’s likely that you’ll have to wade through a lot of memories before you find Eskel’s consciousness. He could be hiding in any memory, so pay close attention to your surroundings.”
“How will I know I found him?” Jaskier asks, an unexpected feeling of unease washing over him.
“You’ll know,” Yennefer says simply, which is exactly no help at all. Mercifully, Triss takes pity on Jaskier and deigns to elaborate on Yennefer’s statement.
“There will be signs,” the red-haired sorceress tells him. “If you’re in a childhood memory, look for an adult version of Eskel, for example. Perhaps the most recognisable feature will be his scars. For as much as Eskel hates his scars, he defines himself through them a lot more than we know.”
Jaskier knows this to be true. For as much as Eskel won’t ever admit as much out loud, Jaskier knows that his witcher is most conscious about his scars. In the years they’ve known each other, however short a time that may be in the grand scheme of both their lives, Jaskier has noticed Eskel shying away from people when they stare at his scars for too long. He has seen Eskel pointedly tilting his head away from children so as to not frighten them. While Jaskier has worked hard to show Eskel that his scars are nothing to hide from the world, Eskel still avoids his reflection as much as possible.
“Keep an eye out for things that Eskel likes,” Keira adds from the other side of the room. “A black stallion, goats, any food items he likes treating himself to. Dreams can be very revealing.”
“You said that he’ll be walking through Eskel’s memories, not his dreams.” Geralt points out, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“It’s more nuanced than that,” comes the gentle correction from Yennefer. “Have you ever dreamed of a place you visited before, but things didn’t quite feel right? Dreams are the brain’s way of consolidating and processing memories. In doing so, the brain can distort reality by adding details that may seem out of place to outsiders but completely coherent to the dreamer.”
“Fine, look for clues of the real Eskel in the dreams slash memories. Got it. Once I find him, what do I do?”
“I’d definitely lead with ‘wake the fuck up or you will die’, personally.” Lambert’s comment earns him a smack up the back of the head from Keira, pulling a startled hiss from the witcher that stems more from shock at being disciplined like a child than actual pain. “Well, I don’t want the bard literally serenading him to death!”
“For as much as the delivery can use some work, Lambert is right.” Triss’ statement takes everyone in the room by surprise, not least Lambert who is staring at her like she’s grown a second head. “Once you find Eskel, your main job will be to convince him that he’s under the influence of a curse. Which won’t be easy, especially if you find him in a pleasant memory.”
“Here’s to hoping I find him in the middle of a battle against a griffin instead!”
“Here’s to hoping,” Yennefer agrees drily. “And word of advice, Dandelion. Don’t try to influence any decisions or outcomes. These are Eskel’s memories and he won’t associate your presence with any of them, so don’t worry about hiding. However, trying to influence decisions and outcomes will potentially confuse him and send danger signals to his brain. Whatever you see, you must remain a passive observer. For Eskel’s benefit.”
Jaskier will agree to just about anything at this point, but the pained looks on Geralt and Lambert’s faces give him pause. The sobering sight is a harsh reminder of exactly what kind of memories Jaskier can expect to see in Eskel’s mind. Eskel rarely speaks of his childhood and even when Jaskier has pried in the past, Eskel only ever focused on the positive memories from Kaer Morhen, giving the impression of a fairly happy childhood, insofar as witcher apprentices taken away from the only family they ever knew to be put through cruel and horrid magical experiments can be considered ‘happy’.
“I swear I won’t interfere,” Jaskier vows, earning himself a pleased nod from Yennefer.
“Good. In that case, Keira and Lambert will start on the sleeping draught. Triss and I will get some rest until then. Time is not on our side, so meet us back here at sunset.” As the others start to disperse from the room, Yennefer meets Jaskier’s gaze and even manages a small smile that is meant to be reassuring but comes across more tired than anything else. “While Triss and I go to our beds, would you mind watching over Eskel for us?”
“I thought you’d never ask!” Jaskier cries out with relief, reaching for Yennefer’s hand and squeezing it softly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she tells him before rising to his feet. “Not until the curse is lifted. But one step at a time. Go to him.”
Jaskier doesn’t have to be told twice.