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The church was lit in the pre-dawn light by the stumps of candles that had burned into puddles of wax at the edges of the altar. Shadows clung to the corners of the vast chapel hall and made even the most innocuous objects seem like monsters that would come alive at any moment. Mist gathered outside, dampening sound and soaking anyone daring to step out their door.
When Geralt found him, his fingertips had turned blue. The rope wrapped around his wrists had bound them so tightly that any blood that might have still tried to flow had long since given up. Despite that, he desperately hoped for any twitch, any indication that the man kneeling at the front of the church was still alive. Instead, the body was still. Frozen - like a statue, dark chestnut hair fallen down in waves overtop of unseeing blue eyes.
For the first time in his life, Geralt felt like he couldn’t catch his breath.
The High Commander was eyeing him suspiciously from where the physician was examining the body, like he was to blame for it being there, just because he’d found it. And he could only think of it in those terms now - it, the body, the deceased - because to say his name out loud, or even in his own head, would make it more real, somehow. For a moment, he wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, that he could walk out the door and down the cobblestone road to the estate he’d been visiting for the past week, and Jaskier would still be there. Waiting for him.
Not bound hand and foot, kneeling on the hard flagstone of the Church of the Eternal Flame, throat cut and blood pooling around him.
The reality of it rushed up on him all at once and he turned, fleeing out the nearest door to get away from everyone inside. The High Commander with his shrewd gaze, the Priest with his angry, pale face, even the physician with his clinical, detached expression as he made notes in his little black book. It was all too much.
“Geralt - !” Behind him he heard a bitten off expletive but didn’t stop to see who it was. There were too many things stuffed inside his head. It was making him dizzy and he just needed some air.
Outside, the sun was trying to burn away the mist, but wasn’t having much luck. The day was grey and dark and felt like a wet wool blanket was pressing down on him as he hurriedly made his way along the path behind the church. He could hear someone following him. By the footsteps he could tell it was one of his brothers, so he didn’t slow until he was deep in the woods, the church just barely visible between the trees and the cloying fog.
“Geralt! You daft bastard,” Eskel grumbled as he finally caught up with him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He wiped a hand over his face, staring at the sheen of sweat that coated his palm before closing his eyes and blowing out a steadying breath. “I couldn’t be in there anymore. He - “ he stopped, swallowed down the emotions that threatened to drown him and tried again. “Why would anyone do this? He wasn’t a threat. Wasn’t even on anyone’s bad side this time.”
Eskel was silent for a long moment. “It’s too calculated,” he decided. “Too blatant, too obvious.”
Geralt whipped his head around to stare at his brother, hard. “What does that mean?” He thought he knew, but he needed to hear him say it, in case there was any mistake.
“Someone is planning something and Jaskier was a target, a catalyst.” Eskel gnawed on his lip as he thought about it, pulling at the scar tissue. “There must be something we’re missing - something his family - “
He cut himself off as they both caught the sound of pounding footsteps headed directly for them. A moment later, both Lambert and Coen came running around the corner, eyes wild.
“We need to go, now,” Lambert hissed, grabbing at Geralt’s arm and trying to forcibly drag him further into the woods.
“Why? What’s going on?” Eskel asked, even as he allowed Coen to shove him along in front of him.
“The High Commander thinks we killed the Viscount. Thinks we want to start a war with the King!”
Geralt stumbled slightly at this news. He’d known Jaskier was a viscount - known he’d hated the title at the best of times and been trying to find a way to foist it off on a relative for a while. It was one of the reasons they were visiting his parents’ estate this year. But to kill him? To incite a war?
“Why the fuck would we want to do that?” Eskel voiced his thoughts out loud, incredulity making his voice higher pitched.
“Something about how the Witchers have always wanted more land and more wealth, and killing the son of an Earl would be the perfect way to incite instability. The High Commander believes we tried to set up the Church as the scapegoats by leaving his body in the chapel.”
Geralt was stunned again by this news. What game was the High Commander playing?
“Come on! We need to get out of here before they notice we’re all missing!” Lambert urged, pitching his voice low and looking frantically behind them.
Finally, they all agreed to the urgency of the situation and picked up speed, just in time to start hearing raised voices and an alarm being raised somewhere behind them.
Geralt’s head was spinning as he followed his brothers further into the mist-covered woods. His heart ached with the knowledge of his best friend’s death. But to learn that he may be a pawn in some scheme to frame them and divide the Witcher Clan against the King was almost more than he could handle.
The image of Jaskier, kneeling in a pool of his own blood, eyes open and looking without seeing, fixed forever on the altar of the Church of the Eternal Flame was burned into his memory now, along with the thought that those long fingers - so elegant and expressive in life - were now lifeless and blue, binding him eternally into a mockery of stillness and subservience.