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Jaskier was used to breaking the rules. He had never done what he was told, whether those rules came handed down from the mouths of his parents, his teachers, or even Geralt, he lived to upset what most people would call balance.
It was something so large a part of himself that when he’d first learned that mages referred to magic as Chaos, he had joked that surely that made him an honorary mage. Funny, how close to the truth he’d been.
Years of study with his college had taught him the true nature of the energy that always sat below his skin, the spark that drove him every bit as much as his desire to tell stories. He’d learned, however, almost as soon after that his magic, a bard’s magic, was outlawed. Had been for decades if not centuries. It was thought to be too unstable, too unpredictable and therefore not a viable school of magic to be taught much less practiced.
But Jaskier had never let something so silly as a rule stand between himself and greatness.
Now, stood in the center of a maelstrom of swords and blood, he had never been more grateful for his willful disregard of anything relating to rules.
The battle had been raging for the better part of the day and everyone was injured, tired to their bones, and scared enough that one didn’t have to be a Witcher to smell it. They were losing men, losing ground, losing the fight and that just wasn’t acceptable. This was their last foothold, Ciri was here, and though she wasn’t Jaskier’s, somewhere along the line that little factoid had stopped mattering. He cared for as if she were, and the idea of her being harmed had his heart racing just the same.
By now, even Geralt was exhausted. He’d been cornered by a group of Nilfguaardians and was only just able to fend them off. Who even knew where Yennefer was.
If ever there was a time to do it, it was now.
Jaskier, hidden as he was in the alcove Geralt had more or less forced him into when it became clear there wouldn’t be time to get him out even if he’d leave (which he wouldn’t), wouldn’t be spotted until long after it was too late to stop him. Without allowing himself the time to second guess, Jaskier reached for both his lute, thankfully kept cradled close to him, along with the ornate bow he kept on his person just for such an emergency.
He rolled from his hiding spot and to his feet, sliding his bow over the strings of his lute as he did so.
Immediately the power that usually only flirted with him during his time on stage rushed up to greet him. Under circumstances any less desperate than these it might have been enough to carry him away. As it was, he sharpened his focus and pushed his intent out into the world around him on the back of the breathy notes he sang.
“ I am the keeper
I am the secret
I am the answer
I am the end”
The air resonated with the words, the deep, bone shaking thrum of his magic wrapping around the physical world like lovers in a long awaited embrace.
Somewhere in the distance he was sure he could hear Geralt shouting, confused as to what he was doing, but the immediate area around Jaskier grew unnaturally quiet. The sounds of the battle seemed far off as his influence seeped into the soldiers, enemy and friend alike, into the Earth as the deep basal notes he wrung from his lute woke even her.
“Dragged by the wind
Taken by the stars
Carried with the madness and scars”
The wind around the battle kicked up as Jaskier repeated the line, his fingers creating the rhythm it followed along the neck of his lute. Enemy soldiers were plucked from the ground by it, flung up into the sky as if they were no more than leaves stirred by the autumn wind. Howls of pain joined the terrible melody Jaskier had begun to weave as old wounds split open along the scar riddled bodies of the enemies not taken by the wind.
Jaskier for his part paid it very little mind, as he’d begun moving. He had a target to find.
His playing became wild, louder, as he sought to drag more of the battle field into his sphere of influence. There was so much ambient Chaos, floating around in the air like a haze, that it barely took any effort at all to wrap the area up. His voice echoed, a second, darker layer adding itself to his hellacious chorus.
“Tear down hollows
Take back eternity
Puppets learn to pull strings
And cut down the user's lead”
There. To the East, away from the main battle, was his target. He could see him through eyes that were not his own, clear as day. He pushed his will against the soldiers that were nearest to the White Flame, but they were just far enough away to resist, their zealous faith making them harder to push than they would have been otherwise.
He’d need to get closer.
Jaskier pivoted on the tip of his toe, letting the music swiften his footfalls. His path took him towards the archers. Most of them had long since run out of arrows, and had begun to improvise with whatever they were able to find. Jaskier’s magic thrummed through the air, refilling quivers and revitalizing sore arms and fingers.
“Don't stop, don't think
Move up, don't blink now
On your knees pray for rain
Don't breathe when you take your aim”
His voice swirled around the minds of the enemy soldiers, lulling them into falling to their knees before the newly restocked archers. He looked away as the arrows temporarily shaded the sun from view. He didn’t relish the loss of life, quickly moving on.
“Jaskier!”
He stuttered to a stop at Geralt’s voice, the desperation in it so uncharacteristic that it broke through the trance he’d more or less put himself into. His head snapped toward his direction, finding Geralt to be apparently trying to battle his way over to the bard. He had made a considerable amount of progress, all black eyed wildness, but there was still a sea of people between them. For, perhaps, the first time in their friendship, Jaskier was actually in a position to make things easier for Geralt.
“So climb up and come clean
Move back the smoke screen
It's all here, it's all you
Get clear on the darker view”
Around the Witcher, billows of black clouds rose up from the earth. They wrapped around his movements as he stole through the crowds of men like a living thing. He made eye contact with Jaskier one more time, seeming to realize that the bard was responsible for the magic roiling across the battlefield at the moment. Before the haze wiped out his image completely, he gave a little nod.
Jaskier coaxed another quivering note from his lute, feeling the Chaos around him shake with it.
Yes, that would do very nicely.
The friction of his created Chaos and the natural Chaos in the air was perfect for what came next. He wouldn’t have to work nearly as hard to give the words life as he would have otherwise.
“Don't stop, don't think, don't look back
You're a bolt of lightning in the sky now
Don't stop, don't think, don't look back
I've pulled you in, nowhere to hide now”
The wind whirled stronger around him as Chaos shot electricity in rebounding arcs through the air. It chained from enemy soldier to enemy soldier, using their forms as fuel to continue as it touched them each.
“Don't stop, don't think, don't look back
You're a bolt of lightning in the sky now
Don't stop, don't think, don't look back
I've pulled you in, prepare to die now”
Soldiers began to lift off the ground, pulled by the force of the gale winds around him. Beyond the void of sound around him, past his song, Jaskier could faintly hear screaming.
“The bard! Cut him down, cut him dow--!”
Before Jaskier had the chance to address the threat behind him, a growl rung out, silencing the cries. He didn’t have to check to know it was Geralt who had dispatched the man. He’d know that snarl anywhere.
“No one touches the bard.” Geralt growled, confirming Jaskier’s supposition.
The sound of ringing swords mutedly greeted his ears from the battle breaking out from behind him. From the sounds of it, there would soon be too many for even Geralt to handle on his own.
It was time to finish this.
“I am dark matter
Your road to ruin
I am dark matter
I'm your undoing”
Jaskier felt his feet lift off the ground, power caressing every inch of him, humming and buzzing over his skin. His fingertips grew cold as they flew over the strings of his lute, black blooming from them and winding up his arms. The stone of the keep chipped away, unmaking itself while the earth below him warped and eroded.
“Bring me your soul, bring me your hate
In my name you will create.”
The sound of his song ratcheted up as Jaskier’s fingers flew relentlessly over the strings, his voice gaining a third layer, growly and grittier than the first and second. Before his eyes, translucent images of the soldiers who managed to get around Geralt were pulled from their bodies. Bodies that slumped to the ground as the whisps of their beings reformed into whatever forms Jaskier commanded of them. Walls, swords, pits of fire and steel, the world around them reformed itself according to Jaskier’s will.
“Bring me your fear, bring me your pain
You will destroy in my name”
Jaskier flicked his bow out, directly to where the White Flame stood. The souls he’d taken followed his command, thinning and elongating into chains and spears, leaving the man utterly unable to flee as they pierced through his armor. It wouldn’t be enough to kill him, not on it’s own, but Jaskier had no intention of stopping now, not with victorious safety so close at hand.
‘I am dark matter
Your road to ruin
I am dark matter
I'm your undoing!”
The darkness that had been creeping up his arms had made it all the way to his neck and jaw by now. His anger, his terror, and his chaos bled into the White Flame, rotting his skin until it peeled away, piece by piece. The man, and he was only a man, collapsed to his knees as Jaskier took him apart before his army. Soon, there was only his skeleton left inside of his blood soaked armor.
The White Flame had been extinguished.
The soldiers in the immediate vicinity who had seen their leader die stuttered or halted altogether, the others farther away continued to fight but the air had changed. Jaskier would have loved to proclaim the news at the top of his lungs, but the strain of channeling so much Chaos caught up to him nearly as quickly as the relief of having killed the White Flame.
Jaskier fell from where he’d been lifted into the air (when had that happened?), hitting the ground gracelessly. He thought to cushion his lute from the blow, taking the damage to his knees and shoulder instead.
He heard the ringing of metal on metal around him once again, unfettered, but was too tired to check if it meant his imminent death. At least if he died now, he’d die knowing he’d protected his family.
To his mild surprise, death didn’t come, but instead he felt the gentle touch of a rough hand on the small of his back.
Geralt.
“Jaskier?” He said, his voice tight and controlled like it got when he was trying not to panic, “You’re not allowed to die yet, bard. Not after all that.”
He would laugh if he had the energy to.
“Yennefer!” Geralt roared over the dimming din of the battle.
Jaskier’s eyes drooped closed as he heard heavy fabric rustling over towards them. He was surprised he knew that sound so well, but Yennefer had always been one for heavy, dramatic clothes even in the midst of battle. Fashion was, after all, one of the few things they could talk about without immediately descending into petty bickering.
“Jaskier!” She hissed, taking hold of his cheeks between her small palms, “What in the fuck was that!? Wake up, stupid bard!”
A bottle was held up to his lips and unceremoniously poured inside, making him sputter as the liquid conflicted with his implicit need to breathe.
He was sat back up in seconds, feeling his heart pounding like he’d just run a mile. He felt much less exhausted, though in the manic way that normally meant he’d been up for days on end.
When he looked up to glare at Yennefer for poisoning him after he’d just heroically saved the day, he instead found two sets of eyes staring at him with equal measures of panic and wonder.
“Thanks, for that.” He managed, not quite the condemnation he’d been aiming for, but that was probably for the best. He did feel much less likely to die of exhaustion.
“Since you were unconscious just then, I’ll ask again, Jaskier what the fuck was that?” Yennefer was the first to untie her tongue, to no one’s surprise.
“Uh, yeah, about that.” Jaskier cleared his throat of residual potion, “I have Chaos.”
“I’ve always known that, but that was not simply having Chaos.”
“You’ve--” Geralt stared over at the witch for the first time since she’d gotten there, “You knew?”
“Not that he could do that , I’ve known centuries old mages that couldn’t have done what this,” She gesticulated at Jaskier vaguely, “Bard just did.”
Jaskier at least had the good sense to look sheepish.
“In all fairness, I’ve never done anything to that degree before either.” He tried for a smile.
“But you have done magic before?” Geralt turned his frown onto Jaskier now and he recognized that frown, it was the one he usually reserved for betrayals.
“I- uh, yes. But technically, the magic I can do is considered illegal. Bardic magic has been outlawed since long before any of us were alive.”
“Bardic magic.” Yennefer echoed, “I’ve heard rumors but I didn’t think…”
She looked out at the battle field. All the fighting had nearly concluded, the enemy Nilfguaardians being rounded up, the ugly, peeled remains of The White Flame still collapsed where they’d fallen.
Geralt blinked his attention away from the site and stood.
“I should find Ciri.” He said flatly, not waiting for either of their input before he jogged off through the wreckage.
“I’ll hang out here.” Jaskier gave him an awkward thumbs up that he regretted as soon as he’d done it and let himself collapse back onto the ground.
“You and I are going to have to have a serious talk after things settle down.” Yennefer said then, reminding him that she was still there, “But for now….thank you Jaskier. For defending my-- our family.”
Jaskier had never been one to resist a well deserved cry, the emotions thick on his tongue as the tears streamed down his cheeks.
“You’re welcome Yen, more than welcome.”
Our family, he thought as he let his eyes close.
Ours.