The Witcher One Shots

Painful Illusions (Jaskier) (Angst)

Jaskier had been taken by Nilfgaard soon after they lost Ciri at the Tower of Gulls. They'd been in a tavern in Lyria, Jaskier left the building to get fresh air, only to be knocked out by someone and taken. Geralt only noticed Jaskier being gone on his way back to the inn, and he tore the small town apart, brick by brick, desperately searching for his beloved bard, but there was no sign of the Sandpiper.

Jaskier woke in a cold damp prison cell, the darkness made it difficult to see anything, although he could hear the loud, harrowing snaps of fingers echo off the bricks.

No, not again no. Jaskier could feel a deep, rough panic grow in his chest, Rience is dead, Geralt killed him, this isn't real, it can't be real. Jaskier was just barely able to see a silhouette of a man standing outside the dark cell.

Jaskier hopelessly crawled away from the prison walls, toward the far wall, putting as much distance between him and the figure as he possibly could.

"Jaskier the bard." The man said through a thick Nilfgaardian accent, "where is Cirilla?" The man's voice reflected off the damp walls, as his loud footsteps got closer to the cell.

"What?" Jaskier's voice cracked, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The Child of Elder Blood, where is she?"

"Nilfgaard I believe." His voice gently layered in sarcasm; he knew Ciri was here. She had to be.

The Nilfgaardian took a key from his beltloop and opened the cell. Getting closer to the bard, not saying a word until "You know that's not true, let's do this the hard way."

Jaskier's eyes frantically searched around the cell looking for any possible way to get out, to escape, but he came up short, "and what would be the hard way?" He says, hoping it'll buy him a bit more time to figure something out.

"I'll just have to break you."

The world shifted from the deep blue of the night sky to pitch black, suddenly there were ten loud taps on what sounds like a wooden table. Jaskier's eyes shot open, looking down on his fallen colleagues, Geralt laying on the ground in mud, eyes open, blood streaming from a gash on his head, his chest not moving, Yennefer crying over him, hands looking rotten, like an old corpse decaying, and Ciri, looking six years older, standing there, eyes glowing green, hair drenched in sweat and dirt, fire burning around her, and a dagger in her hand. 

"Geralt?" Jaskier froze, never once did he think the Witcher would fall, Geralt wouldn't die if it meant anyone he cared about would get hurt. He simply wouldn't let it happen. Jaskier looked around on the muddy battlefield, dead dwarves, elves, and humans alike, some in Nilfgaardian armor, others in Redanian, some not even in armor, some were just people. Not soldiers, civilians. The sun burnt red upon the blood-soaked dirt and pyres of bodies.

Ciri looks to Yennefer, her voice sounding metallic, "The Child of Elder Blood, broken at last, the end of time has started, and you started it, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg. You'll be the first to fall."

Jaskier woke in a cold sweat. Hearing the snaps again, the Nilfgaardian standing there.

"How is it I scouted your memories, and I found nothing? I searched for hours, and you gave me nothing." The Nilfgaardian, clearly a mage, cleaned off his hand, "I suppose this will be more difficult than I thought."

Two weeks went by, every day was torture for the bard, every day the Nilfgaardian mage tried to break his mind, every day Jaskier was able to resist. It got to the point where Jaskier could figure out if it were real or not. He obviously didn't let the Nilfgaardian know, if he knew he could turn to physical torture, and Jaskier knew he wouldn't be able to handle that again.

Jaskier watched as they hurt Geralt, pulling out his fingernails, burning his skin, but all Jaskier did was watch, listening for the ten taps, the dead giveaway of this being a hallucination, ten taps, sometimes on metal, other times on wood, occasionally he felt those taps on his skin instead, today was a feel day. He felt those ten taps on the back of his neck, letting him know this wasn't real, letting him release all worry of his closest friend being tortured.

Jaskier was once again ripped out of the illusion, although this time it was different. This time it felt accidental. The sweat on Jaskier's face drips onto his filthy shirt. He looks around looking out for the mage, but nothing in sight, just the dark cell. Jaskier curled up into a ball on the floor, crying.

"Geralt is coming for me," Jaskier muttered to himself, "I know it, he wouldn't just leave me here." tears stream down the bard's face as he hums to keep himself calm.

Geralt led in a troop of Redanian soldiers, Radovid followed by Geralt's side. The old rickety castle in the middle of nowhere was heavily guarded with Nilfgaardians and Geralt cut down every single one that raised their sword to him. The mage stood at the end of the castle corridor in the shadows, blocking the entrance of the prison block.

"Where is the bard?" Geralt asks, knowing damn well where he was, "hand him over and I'll kill you quickly."

"Rather than painful and slow?" The mage laughed, "threats, threats, Witcher. I think your bard lost hope, he hasn't spoken in a week." The mage summoned a ball of energy, "he thinks you left him."

Radovid pushes his way in front of Geralt, "let him go, now."

The mage throws the ball of energy at the King of Redania, Geralt pulling him aside just barely in time. The energy hits the wall, melting the brick.

The mage continues throwing magic at the soldiers, a few soldiers fell, but Geralt and Radovid got out of the way before getting hit.

"Geralt, there's a back way into the prison, if you go around, you'll be able to get to Jaskier. We'll distract him."

"No. I'm going to kill him. Me." Geralt disagreed, blinded by rage. If Jaskier truly lost hope, if this mage truly did shatter his pride, that's a crime punishable by death.

The Redanian soldiers charged at the mage, as the mage picked them off one by one. Geralt used a soldier as cover, getting closer and closer to the mage, before that soldier got hit to the ground. But by then, Geralt could reach the mage, plunging his steel sword into the mage's chest. Into his heart, or the empty chasm where it should be, and the mage falls to the ground, bleeding out, staring dizzily at the ceiling before taking his last breath.

Geralt rushed into the prison block, searching for Jaskier's cell. Finding the cell at the very end of the block, a man curled into a ball, head in his knees, shirt torn and filthy, hair straight with grease.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice startled the crying man, "is that you?"

The man turned his head, his eyes glimmering with tears, "Geralt?" His voice was raspy, tired, like he hadn't spoken in days, and if the mage wasn't lying, he hadn't.

Radovid got to the two men, holding the key to the cell, unlocking it as fast as his hand could move.

The bard stands up, but quickly loses his balance, Geralt catches him before he can hit the ground, "We have you, you're safe." Geralt felt stinging in his eyes, as tears fell down his face, "did you tell them anything?" Geralt asks, moving the bard to look at his face.

The bard shakes his head, as his blue eyes meet Geralt's yellow ones.