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Dead I live

Summary:

...and dead I love....

 

Jaskier is captured and killed.
And resurected.
He does not know why, but a necromancer keeps him alive, and he dares not tell Geralt.

Notes:

Here it finally comes!! It will be rather dark but I aim for it to be sweet as well!
I am in need of motivation so feel free to yell at me in the comments or on tumbl <3
Please enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The pain is unbearable.

His face is beaten bloody, at least three ribs are broken, his legs are cut and stabbed and beat until unrecognition.

The worst pain is his fingers. Bent and broken, one entire digit on his pinkie missing. All his nails are gone, his hard earned calluses cut away. He will never be able to play again.

There probably won’t be much of anything anymore. His most recent session with his torturers earned him a broken collarbone and bleeding ears. They are ringing loudly and he can feel hot blood dripping from his earlobe.

But none of that will matter for long.

The woman that stands above him is hooded. Her matted brown hair touches his face as she leans over him. She pulls his arms above his head, binds them in chains. He doesn’t have any energy to resist anyway, he just wants it all to end.

The contrast of her hair against his face and the cold chain digging into his chafed skin is making his head spin.
It could also be the blood loss but here’s to being optimistic.

The next thing he knows is a knife scraping against his ribs. Shoved down hard, plunged into him with cold anger. And there is some kind of chanting. His limbs spasm, the darkness and the cold coming in fast.

There is a flash of purple.

 

And then nothing

 

 

~

 

There is air. Pushing its way inside his lungs.

Cold.

Cold everywhere. Burning, spreading upwards, downwards, inwards. Everything burns.

With the new air he screams, hoarse, harsh. He finds he has fingers, and they are clenching, unclenching.

Stretching, reaching and then closing up again. Seeking a comfort that he knows will never be there.

His heart beats painfully.

Once.

Twice.

He gasps, he twists, he turns.

And then he opens his eyes. The world is hidden by a shade of grey. His eyes are so, so dry. He blinks, blinks again. The ringing in his ears comes back, slowly creeping up on him. No. He was supposed to be free.

The grey softens and he can see darkness past it. It’s not entirely dark, he realizes. There must be a torch somewhere, lighting up the stone ceiling far above.
He blinks again. The ringing in his ears settles into the background and he can pick up new sounds. His own raspy breathing, his own unsteady heartbeat.

And that chanting.

Then it burns again. Jaskier screams.

The world around him fades and again there is darkness.

~

Something is itching. There is a pressure around his ribcage, and something there is itching. He lifts a hand to do something about it but he finds that it is heavy. He struggles on, drags that hand towards his chest. His senses are muted, he senses more than he actually feels the bandages when his hand gets there.


Lamely he scratches. It doesn’t help. He scratches harder but it only gets worse. The itching spreads and it intensifies and fuck. It hurts.

His breath comes faster, panic is setting in. His heartbeat races and that hurts too. The muscles in his chest aches as they expand, working to keep up with his frantic breathing. His other hand scrabbles up towards his chest, he throws his head back and a sound escapes his throat.

Hands grab his, hot against his skin, and fear grabs him, tears in him.

“Jaskier. Shh. It’s alright.” A voice, low and rumbling, somewhere above him.

It sounds far away, it is hard to determine over the ringing. His hands are pushed to his sides, his skin is screaming at him. There was something familiar about that voice.

The hands stays over his, holding him down firmly. Jaskiers fingers twitch and shake, but his body is too heavy to fight. A scream claws in his throat, fightin to get out.

There is a thumb stroking his hand in soft, light circles.

Geralt. This is Geralt.

 

Is it real this time?

 

He can’t tell how the time passes. It might be seconds or hours, but the itching slowly recedes. Jaskiers vision returns, slowly. The grey mist is almost gone. He blinks.

That looks like stars. It couldn’t possibly be stars.

So many times he looked up at that cracked stone ceiling imagining them. And the sound of a campfire, crackling and popping as it devours the firewood. A friend just outside the line of his vision, watching over him.

But it was always stone. Always clanking chains. Dripping of moist along the walls. The silence between the cuts, his screams.

Is it really the stars?

He draws in a shaking breath, cold night air filling his lungs. Gods, it even smells like a night sky. He must be dead. Should be dead.

There is no way he would be able to get out of there.

There is movement somewhere on his right. His body tense up, ready for the pain.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt.

The familiar ache builds and his dry eyes does their best to tear up. He bites his lip, and his dry skin cracks and a drop of blood pushes through it.

He won’t allow himself to say his name.

“Are you awake now?” There is movement again and someone leans over him. White hair falling forward over pale skin. Jaskier blinks. That scar over his eye looks new.

His face blocks out the view of the would-be stars.

“Hello.” Geralt says, Jaskier can see his lips moving but the voice is far away, behind the ringing. “Thank fuck you are alive.”

Is he though?

There is still that cold, burning sensation. The itch between his ribs. The- wait. Fuck. The knife. There was a knife between his ribs, and a woman, and purple.

He starts hyperventilating again, straining against his bandages.

“Nononono Jaskier, easy, deep breaths. You are safe. Breathe.” Geralt's hand is on his shoulder and it’s burning hot. Jaskier is so cold. His heart is pumping hard, but it’s not enough and it gets dark around the edges.

Jaskier really did die. He must have.

The woman. She must have done something. She stabbed him, killed him, and brought him back. There are no stars. But there is a pull, almost like a string tied around his heart in a tight, tight knot. He can feel her presence.

The stars return. The white strands, the burning hand on his shoulder. Now that he feels the bond, the string rhythmically pulling at his heart, making it beat, he is calm.
He knows.

 

Jaskier did indeed not come out of there alive.