Jaskier

"You took my life from me!" Vekathe's teeth glinted with venom as he spat, the acid dripping from his tongue. "I had a chance and you squandered it!"

"Vekathe, please," Jaskier began, eyeing the divets in the sandy ground beginning to form from the acid, "Calm down, we can talk-"

"You keep saying that and we never DO!" Vekathe's howling voice was caught in the wind, his acid splattering forward as the breeze caught it. Jaskier winced, flinching back as it landed on his shoulder, a hiss of pain escaping his mouth.

Vekathe froze, staring at the blistering point on Jaskier’s arm as he tried to brush off the acid unsuccessfully. Hurrying to the water's edge, he dunked his leg and shoulder in, hissing as he tried to carefully wash the poison off. Vekathe felt his breath turn to ice as the skin reddened and boiled, the acid giving one last hurrah before dissolving in the water. He didn't mean to... in all his rage he hadn't meant to hurt Jaskier like that...

By the time Jaskier turned around, Vekathe was gone.

...

It was a miserable evening to be sure, the wind kicking up even louder at night. Vekathe flattened his ears to his head, clutching the satchel that held his pearl close as the wind threatened to snatch it. Snarling, he heaved himself forward several steps, staggering as the wind fought him. He hadn't meant to end up in the Plateaus, had never even intended to approach the Crescendo, but here he was. Suffering for his choices. Again.

"Having some trouble," A voice to his right called calmly, unaffected by the wind. Squinting through the air, Vekathe focused his gaze on a silvery gold figure, standing tall in the breeze. His long silken hair blew gently, directly opposite what it should be doing in such winds.

The wind blew harder, threatening to throw Vekathe off balance again. With a chuckle, the figure stepped forward, the wind dying down in his wake. Staggering as the pressure was lifted, Vekathe shook his mane and rightened himself, turning to gaze at the figure.

A finely dressed pale Wildclaw with black-tipped wings and dark markings stood before him, a clever smile on his face. He gazed down at Vekathe with a sense of familiarity, and he was suddenly struck as to why he was unafraid of this being.

"You're a demon," Vekathe said with certainty, spying the pale glint of pride in the Wildclaw’s eyes.

"Yes, though I prefer the name Sarabi," the demon said calmly, "And you?"

"Vekathe, the... demon." He wasn't really a bard anymore, was he?

"So I assumed. Tell me, youngling, what's got you so agitated as to wander these plains alone?"

Vekathe found himself walking beside Sarabi suddenly, pulled along by an unseen but not unpleasant force. He felt strangely safe beside the demon, despite knowing he was older, wiser, and far stronger than himself. He didn't bother to resist the pulling, falling into step with ease.

"A friend and I had an... argument," Vekathe said bitterly, "A feud really, a long time coming. He deserves the wrath he has gotten."

"You have killed him?" Sarabi's words sent a chill down his spine, and he growled low in his chest.

"No," Vekathe spat, venom dripping from his teeth and burrowing holes in the grass below, "I'm no killer."

"No, I didn't think so. Why do you say he deserves such wrath then?" Sarabi did not look at him as he spoke, pausing by a bush to grab some berries before continuing, "You call him friend yet wish him to hurt. You speak bitterly of him yet carry guilt on your shoulders. You show nothing but affection and speak only of affliction."

"What?" Vekathe startled, frozen to the spot. Affection? He was pulled along by that force as Sarabi continued to walk, stumbling as he was caught off guard.

"Mmm, don't try to deny it," Sarabi hummed, "I've seen worse than you. Tell me though, why do you loathe the man you care so deeply for? If you truly detested him unequivocally, you would have killed him, yet you balked at the mere thought."

"I... he took my life from me, my chance to be appreciated."

"Did he now? Or did you miss your chance because others have blinded you?"

"I'm not blind," Vekathe hissed, "I know the world detests my songs because I am a demon."

"Maybe you try too hard to be something you're not," Sarabi said, pausing to gaze at him with heavy gold eyes, "Maybe you have forgotten who you really are."

Vekathe stared, suddenly faced with a being centuries older than him. He could see it in his eyes, the way Sarabi spoke from the heart. A pain, bone-deep, wore on them both, but Sarabi was mending. Could he?

"Consider what I have said," Sarabi advised, offering Vekathe a blueberry from the bucket in his paws, "A friendship should not be squandered simply because of jealousy and misplaced hurt. You are more than what they say, I suggest you find yourself."

Vekathe opened his mouth to respond as he took the berry, but Sarabi was gone, the wind kicking up again. It nearly bowled him over at its sudden reappearance, and he staggered back a few steps. He stared at the spot Sarabi had been, mulling over the words. Could he really? Forgive Jaskier? Become a bard? Maybe...

Mind made of, Vekathe straightened against the wind and turned, setting out on a mission once again.
…
“VEKATHE,” Jaskier bellowed into the night, his voice cracking. He had been screaming for hours, searching for his friend. He wasn’t even sure what he had done this time! He was just washing the acid off and boom, Vekathe was gone!

“Vekathe!” Jaskier swooped low, landing on the ground with a pained groan, his injured shoulder protesting his movements. He staggered, losing hold on his pearl for a scant moment before desperately pulling it close again.

“Vekathe,” Jaskier gasped into the darkness, struggling to get his breath back, “VEKATHE!”

His voice echoed through the canyon, eventually drowning in the rushing waters far below him. He found himself in the Reedcleft Ascent, leaning against the forest of bamboo. Alone. He felt the hot sting of frustrated tears falling down his cheek and he snarled into the darkness. His shoulder ached, his throat ached, his heart ached, and Vekathe wasn’t there. Despite everything, he still loved him, still hoped he could mend the hurt he caused.

A steady wingbeat caught Jaskier’s focus and he glanced up eagerly, only to find an unfamiliar Skydancer descending a few paces away. With black scales and a ghostly cloak, the dragon looked eerie and fitting in the descending darkness, lithe form moving smoothly between the bamboo.

“Are you alright,” He asked kindly, pulling back his hood to reveal pale white eyes, “You’ve been screaming for hours.”

“You could hear me?” Jaskier asked, wincing as he leaned too much weight on his injured leg. The stranger’s gaze flicked to his shoulder, worry etched in his features.

“Me and my clan. You’ve circled our base three or four times by now,” The stranger started forward, peering at his wound, “You really need to get that looked at.”

“Later, I need to find Vekathe,” Jaskier said, pulling away from the stranger’s gaze, “I need to… I…”

The stranger sat back, waiting patiently for Jaskier to finish, but the words lodged in his throat. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing. Was he going to apologize? For what, washing acid off? He wasn’t sure what he did, and what he knew he did he wasn’t sure how to apologize for! A whine crept up his throat, turning to a whimper as he put weight on his injury again. The stranger sighed, stepping forward to gently push him onto his haunches. He went quietly, allowing the stranger to observe his wound carefully, a quiet feeling of discomfort overtaking him.

“ShadowedGhost,” The stranger said, reaching into his bag for something, “My name is ShadowedGhost, but many call me Shadow.”

“Shadow,” Jaskier said, watching as he wet a cloth and pressed it lightly against his wound. Startlingly, it didn’t hurt. “I am Jaskier.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Jaskier,” Shadow replied smoothly, “Pray tell, why are you searching for your friend in the middle of the night? And in such a frenzy?”

“I… I hurt him,” Jaskier admitted, “Long ago and again just now, and I need to find him. I need to make sure he’s alright.”

“You need to apologize,” Shadow said, though not as an instruction. He said it… calmly. As if reading a book.

“Yes… I do… but I’m not sure how,” Jaskier sighed again, wincing as Shadow poked at one of the blisters on his shoulder. “How do you apologize for making someone lose their mind?”

“Speaking from experience, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ tends to go a long way,” Shadow said, clicking his tongue as he busied himself in his bag again, “And beyond that, it depends on the dragon. I suspect explaining that guilt of yours would help, not every species can read such things.”

“Hm? Oh, a Skydancer, of course,” Jaskier nodded, Shadow grinning and tapping the gem in his forehead gently, “Sympathy.”

“Empathy, actually, but close,” Shadow offered Jaskier his waterskin, moving to his shoulder and uncapping a salve once he took it. “I feel what you feel, and I can make you feel what I want, to an extent. It’s why the pain has faded.”

Watching Shadow dab the salve on him, Jaskier realized he was indeed feeling less in pain, more tired though. He wasn’t surprised at the news really, only vaguely annoyed it took him so long to recall how Skydancers worked.

“So I should apologize,” Jaskier said, “And then what? Go our separate ways? I don’t think he wants me around right now, he ran away in the first place.”

“I think that’s something you should ask him about,” Shadow advised, “For those outside of Skydancers, communication is incredibly important. Speak to him, apologize, and lift the guilt from yourself. I think you will find he has done the same.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Jaskier grumped, taking a sip of cool water, “How do you know? You’ve never met him. He holds grudges.”

“A clanmate of mine has, which is why I finally came out here to check on you. He mentioned your friend by name, though I doubt your friend will have heard you. He’s far from here, by the Crescendo last I checked.” Shadow sat back, recapping the salve and tucking it in his bag once more. He accepted the now mostly empty waterskin and tucked it away as well, looking Jaskier in the eye once more. “My advice is listen to yourself, and apologize. These things have a way of working themselves out when they aren’t clawing through the dirt. We cannot bury everything we regret, we have to let it breathe.”

“Stop speaking in riddles,” Jaskier huffed, though a smile was on his face.

“But my name is so poetic,” Shadow said, a grin on his own face, “Jaskier? Can you do me a favor?”

“Perhaps, what is it?”

“When you and Vekathe make up, find me again. The Galestorm Flyers would love to welcome more members, and I think you two would do some of my clanmates some good,” Shadow said softly, “You are not the first I have tried to console through struggles, but you are the first to listen.”

“You want me to show them it is possible to recover,” Jaskier said, “Who says I will?”

“You have too little faith in yourself, Jaskier,” Shadow hummed, “I believe things will go better than you think.”

“And your friend, did he think Vekathe would recover?”

“He didn’t say it in so many words, but yes. Now go, my mates are to be leaving for their work soon and the light has almost abandoned you. Hurry, find Vekathe, and apologize.”

Jaskier sighed deeply, nodding a final time. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course,” Shadow murmured, stepping back as Jaskier leaped toward the sky. His shoulder throbbed dimly for a moment, though the sensation faded to cool relief a moment later. Twisting in the sky, Jaskier set his course towards the Crescendo and flew.
…
It would be the earliest hours of the morning before the two would find each other again. The sky was still dark, though moonlight shone down and illuminated the plains below. Vekathe was sitting on a rock, curled in on himself, apparently sleeping as Jaskier flew in. Beating his wings quickly, Jaskier landed with a thud, wincing as his shoulder complained for a moment. Vekathe woke instantly, a growl rumbling in his chest before suddenly cutting off.

“Jaskier.”

“Vekathe.”

They spoke at the same time, then paused. Stared.

“I’m sorry.”

They spoke again. Paused, stared. It was getting annoying.

“Let me speak first, it’s been a longer time coming,” Jaskier said quickly, barely bothering to draw a breath as Vekathe went to speak again. Opposite him, the Pearlcatcher nodded, snapping his jaw shut.

“I… I’m sorry, for yesterday first of all. I should have stopped to listen,” Jaskier began slowly, simply. Shadow’s words echoed in his mind, and he struggled to find the words to say exactly what he felt. “I’m sorry for never giving you the chance to speak--you will have it tonight I swear--and I’m sorry for never stopping to listen, or to explain. And I’m sorry for taking your stage and your fans, and I’m sorry for making you feel as if I were trying to outdo you. I wasn’t, I never intended to be a bard I promise you that. I… Standing in the crowd and watching you play was the greatest day of my life, but you looked so hurt when no one delighted as I did. I had to do something. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wanted to do something, to make them see what I had. Hear what I did. I wanted them to know how much I adored you and your work and your everything.”

“Jaskier…” Vekathe breathed, looking startled, but Jaskier was on a roll now.

“I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry for that. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret the hurt I have caused with my actions,” Jaskier continued, tears pricking at his eyes, “I only wanted to show everyone what you were to me. When I saw how much my actions had wounded you, to make you go mad as you did, I panicked. The song I sang was for you Vekathe, it always was. And it still will be, now, if you’ll have it.”

“I… Are you mad?” Vekathe said at last, much to Jaskier’s confusion.

“I… not that I know of, no,” Jaskier said tentatively, brow furrowing.

“Then why are you professing your love to a demon who wounded you in a very literal sense,” Vekathe said, nodding to his wounded shoulder, “Masochistic tendencies don’t suit you, save your confession for another day.”

“I… Right. Sorry, this is not the time, is it?” Jaskier laughed nervously, shifting his weight.

“No, it really isn’t,” Vekathe said, face suddenly hardening, “I haven’t forgiven you for what you did, but I appreciate the apology nonetheless. Right now, there is nothing for me to give you, forgiveness or otherwise. I need to find what I really am before I could even dream of giving someone something.”

Jaskier felt his heart sink. Shadow was wrong, they weren’t going to make up. Vekathe sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head.

“It would be cruel of me to say I do not care for you still, Jaskier,” Vekathe said softly, “I do, more than I care to admit. You are still my friend, and for some strange reason, I’m not quite sure how to let that go. Jaskier, if you are willing to have patience, I would be willing to allow you to accompany me.”

Jaskier’s heart soared, and he had to clear his throat, blinking tears rapidly from his eyes.

“To where?”

“Anywhere.”

“The Galestorm Flyers?”

“Who?”

“I’ll tell you about it on the way there.”

Things weren’t quite mended between them. There was still a fissure of hurt, aches carved in their souls that could not be healed by kind words alone. But they walked, side by side, parallel to each other as they searched for a bridge. Jaskier took to the sky, animatedly explaining his meeting with ShadowedGhost as they flew towards where the Flyers resided. Vekathe listened, mentioned his own meeting with Sarabi. They flew slowly, together, side by side and all about each other. There were scars still, ones that would never heal.

But it was a start.