Try, Please Try For Me

Not Strong Enough

A scream rips its way through Jaskier's throat.

No.

He watches with horror as the witcher stumbles from the force of the shot, blood seeping into the leather of his armour like spilled ink on parchment. Geralt lets out a pained hiss, but holds his ground, drawing his sword with a shaking arm and holding it between Jaskier and their attackers.

No.

Something inside Jaskier cracks. Even with an arrow in his chest, Geralt is still trying to protect him.

"Good to see you again, witcher," a voice says from the trees.

Dread twists in Jaskier's gut as figures start to emerge from their cover. About ten men in total, and leading them, the owner of the voice: the blond haired mage from the woods.

"You must be Julian," he says, nodding his head towards Jaskier. "We never got the chance to officially meet last time, I was too preoccupied with your lovely witcher there." The man makes a mock bow and Geralt twitches, stepping further in front of Jaskier. His face is bared in a snarl, but Jaskier can see that he's weakened.

Fuck. They need to get out of here now. From the way that Geralt's eyes dart around the clearing it looks like he's thinking the same thing.

"The name's Kaspar," the mage continues. "Third Commander of the New Nilfgaard army."

Jaskier's eyes narrow. "New Nilfgaard?"

"The name for our soon to be empire. Separate from that coward that calls himself our king."

Okay Jaskier, think. Keep him talking.

His eyes scan the swamp around them. Fighting their way out is not an option. If they go inside the cave the darkness might help provide a cover, but they would need to rely on Geralt's eyesight which might not be an option with a fucking arrow in his chest. That leaves running as the only option.

The other men are watching them intently. Out of the corner of his eye Jaskier can see the one holding the crossbow is reloading his shot.

Fuck, they're trying to keep him talking. Well, Jaskier can work with that. He just has to pray to every god he knows that his idea will work.

"We have no affiliation with Nilfgaard," Jaskier says, stepping closer to Geralt. "What do you want with us?"

The mage shrugs. "To kill you mostly."

Jaskier is close enough that his left arm is shielded behind Geralt's back. Carefully he places his left hand against Geralt's spine and traces the sign for Aard against his armor, praying that with his enhanced senses Geralt will be able to feel it and understand what he means.

Jaskier schools his voice into something that he hopes sounds like a revelation. "You're trying to stop the treaty."

The mage grins. "So you understand why I can't let you leave here alive."

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier reaches for his magic. He can feel it thrumming in his bones, faint but present.

Please, he thinks. I know I'm shit at this. But just this once, let this work.

He taps his fingers as hard as he can into Geralt's back. Now.

Geralt moves so fast Jaskier's eyes can barely register it. He slams his hand forwards, casting Aard, the force ripping through the clearing all around them, knocking the men back.

Jaskier drops to his knees, and presses his hand into the mud. Please let this work. Please let this work.

With a strangled cry, he focuses all his magic on the ground. Wind whips through the swamp, the creaking of wood fills the air.