( OPEN ) february catch-all

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Jaskier; Yennefer; You
When: February // Feoveuer
Where: Aefenglom
What: A rescue. Not quite from who you'd expect. + other things as they come.
Warnings: Violence, CW related to the current event.

[ starters in comments. plot with me at discontinued! ]

OPEN: post-kidnapping

CLOSED: Jaskier | Yennefer | Jaskier pt. ii | yennefer + myr

Comments

♞ jaskier

[gynvael]

(( ENTERTAINMENT DISTRICT; 02/08; nightfall ))
[ Considering he's investigating this case with no expectation of getting paid, perhaps what ultimately occurs is his own damn fault for being involved in the first place. It's not as if there aren't others looking. The entire city has been alerted, Coven included.

Personal concerns have him looking into it, anyway, against better judgement. It's simple enough at first: the meetings aren't obscured. Geralt lingers nearby here and there. Even if he can't hear what goes on inside -- enchanted walls, no doubt -- snippets of conversations can be caught outside. More than that, he's interested in where they go. There's always a pattern, if one pays close attention. He just needs to see what it is.

He follows one of them for a few days. Caution serves him well at first. As news of the disappearances spread, the streets grow emptier when the sun goes down. Harder for someone like him to go unnoticed. It's why he's left it alone for tonight. What he's discovered so far (not much) doesn't seem worth the risk.

So he's out here tonight not to work, but looking for a drink. Maybe Jaskier, if the bard happens to be performing somewhere, or Yennefer if she's also seeking liquor. He's left his sword at home as a result; only a dagger accompanies him. It's when he makes a second circle about the tavern at the edge of the district that he notices there's someone on his tail. Not especially discreet. And not just someone, he realizes. Multiple. He counts six...seven, maybe. A minor problem if they were only human; less so when they're Witches and Monsters alike.

Shit. He ducks into an alleyway. The dagger flips into his hand. So much for laying low. ]

[cointosser]

[While Jaskier has heard the news that flutters about the city -- he does make his living in taverns, after all -- he's not put much of his mind to it if only because he is quite used to people disappearing under mysterious circumstances, never to be seen again. And while there is the smallest touch of worry, it's highly unlikely anyone would be so stupid as to try to touch either of his Bonded, which is a strange reassurance when they seem so eager to hurt themselves.

A matter they're all looking into. It doesn't linger on his mind. (It does.) Unfortunately, the matter of watching Geralt and Yennefer die in the sorceress's head has lingered with him, and infected his own dreams (that he is trapped alone in, if that makes it any better.) It's one of those dreams he wakes from in an overheated sweat that convinces him to slip out of the home they now live together. It's in a much better place than the little cottage Jaskier lived out of near the edge of the woods, and safer through Yennefer's wards. The magic plucks at him as he dresses in a warm coat and pulls on a furred cloak, stepping outside where snow has once again littered the ground. While the inside of their home is temperature-controlled by magic, even a step outdoors hits him with a frigid chill in the air.

He sighs, his breath an inky puff in the air. A walk is better than sitting around, being afraid to sleep again. He's been so tired as of late. Foolish to think he could enjoy such a simple thing as a nap.

Well. Nothing invigorates the inspiration as a beautiful night does, especially a snowy one, weather that is rare for most of the Continent, and certainly for him as he goes further south as winter approaches. Or he did, once. There's no escape in Aefenglom.

As he buries himself in his cloak, he keeps his gloved hands in front of him, muttering words of Elder. It's a fine time to practice his latest spell: something to keep himself warm. It's been a tough go to decide on an outward source -- a small orb of fire, perhaps -- or something that sinks underneath his skin to keep him warm inside out. The concentration on his spell means he notices something in the Bond tug on him.

Geralt must be nearby. Where is that little scamp? He could use company right now, and it's nothing new for him to force it on the Witcher. Surely Geralt would --

He stops, the fingertips of his gloves still glowing with magic. The Bond sort of.. twists. In a strange way. It's not Yennefer, he feels, but something else. Something with Geralt. What could that possibly be? (Surely he wasn't out here for the same reason.)

Several men rush down the street a bit of a ways from him, only a glimmer of moonlight and stars lighting their forms up. Oh. Hell. Had Geralt pissed the wrong people off? Jaskier looks back to see no more have come, then follows behind them. His heart thunders. Something feels off. In a terrible way.

He reaches to the knife Geralt has all but forced him to carry on his person, strapped next to one of his bombs. Night stroll or not, just in case. Since that night he almost was murdered by a undead dragon, there's not a chance he goes outside without protection. As he touches the knife, he tries those words again. The Elder words he's been playing with. Warmth. Fire. The knife heats but doesn't burn his own fingers.]

[gynvael]

[ Three bodies are visible in the waning moonlight. They might be alive, but it's unlikely -- blood pools on the cobblestone, more than a witch or a monster can live without. The gashes across their throat isn't clean. Claws rather than a sharp blade.

In the tight space behind the dilapidated buildings, it's easier for him to control the fight. But they've obviously for him and they've prepared enough to handle a Turnskin. Silver weapons in particular.

The pull of Jaskier's presence alerts him before he ever catches the scent of him in the air, or hears his heartbeat. It distracts him more than he intends it to. Just -- of all the fucking times for Jaskier to go looking for him. His loss of focus lasts only a split second. Still enough for a chain to wrap around him. The silver sizzles against his skin. He curses.

Jaskier better not step in. And though he sees the glow of a blade in the distance -- one he recognizes -- he keeps his mouth shut. The last thing he wants is to draw attention to the bard. ]

[cointosser]

[In retrospect, Jaskier, possibly clearly, has no idea what he is doing.

He as sneaked around a lot in his life, but that was to avoid angry husbands coming in their wives' bedrooms to beam him with a rolling pin, or a butcher cleaver, or to pelt him with tomatoes (that happened once.) Now his heart is thrumming like a jackrabbit being struck with lightning.

Good gods, he's never even killed a man. Stabbing was -- twice, and one was mostly an accident. (Sorry, Geralt.)

For a moment, watching from around the corner, it feels like it might be. All right. It's certainly not the first time he's seen Geralt kill a man, but he does admit that. That it's usually with a sword. Those are his claws, aren't they? The night is fully dark but he can see flashes. Hear the noises of wet, tearing skin. Bile rises in his throat.

It's either panic or adrenaline that takes over him. The sizzle of silver on Geralt's skin is a sound he's heard once... when he was the one shoving silver scissors into a giant wolf's side before it could tear him apart. Jaskier runs into the alley without a sound -- unable to think of screaming or yelling Geralt's name or anything but what he is about to do:

He shoves the burning hot knife into the spine of a witch. What he thinks is the spine, at least. The reaction is immediate: the sound of flame catching cloth, and the scream, and how terrible and loud and real it is. As Jaskier stumbles back, his hands shaking, he grabs the bomb off of his belt and throws it at two men to the side, who have spun around to face him. The smoke erupts immediately, bathing them in what he knows is blue gas but appears black in the night. Both of their bodies drop to the ground.

He didn't plan beyond that. And suddenly he's frozen as the others turn to him, the knife still sticking out of the one witch's back, who has collapsed and folded in on himself, the sleep bomb emptied. This isn't some stupid bar fight. This is --

Ah, fuck.

A faun rams him, tossing him backwards, before he even recognizes she was even there.]

♞ yennefer

[gynvael]

(( THE HAVEN; post-kidnapping; late night ))
[ It takes everything not to grab his horse and ride out to find Jaskier on his own. He might've, had they not vanished through a portal. His tracking is good -- more than good -- but trails left by magic, especially the unfamiliar magic here, are more difficult. There's no time.

He needs Yennefer. Besides, Jaskier is bound to her, too. She needs to know what's happened. (What he's allowed to happen. It's a thought he knows Jaskier would reject, but it feels true nonetheless. It is true. )

There's blood staining his hands, his hair, when he steps into the house. Not all of it is his. Angry red blisters wind up his arms and around his throat, patterned like chain links. He hasn't stopped to treat any of it, not even to hastily bandage the silver burns. It doesn't matter, really. Not right now. ]

Yen. [ He calls for her, hurrying up the stairs. Shit, where is she? This house is too fucking big. ] Yennefer.

[chaoticbeauty]

[ She's been buzzing with worry, knowing abductions have been happening. It's kept her mostly at home unless going out with someone or going somewhere close by.

When the messages go unanswered, she's upstairs gathering a few supplies -- dressed to go out. They're both still alive, but something's wrong. Something's very wrong. The sound of Geralt yelling her name is met with quick footfalls out of her room to meet him, taking in the sight and then immediately looking past him for the third in their bond. Only to see nothing. ]

What happened? Where's Jaskier? [ Her eyes settle back around his neck, quickly drifting down to his arms. Her blood chills and everything gets extremely calm in her mind, already answering her own question.

Shit. Oh shit. ]

[gynvael]

[ Even as he's approaching their bedroom, he's already thinking of where the fuck else she might be -- if he can even reach her. (If she's been taken, too.)

His relief at seeing her safe is short-lived. ]

They took him. [ Still alive, he knows that much. It's small comfort. There are many things in which being alive is not preferable. He's seen enough of the consequences -- the victims lost in the Wilde.

Geralt starts to move past her, towards where his sheath sits on the dresser. The sooner they find Jaskier, the better. He never should've let it happen in the first place. They were after him -- not the bard. ] Through a portal. I need you to trace it.

[chaoticbeauty]

Geralt.

[ He's moving and speaking and she knows any other time, she'd already be trying to track him down and getting ready to run and fight. But, instead, she just stands still -- closing the door to the bedroom.

She will barricade it as needed and be the villain in this moment if that's what he needs. ]

Geralt. You are in no condition to take on the amount of forces I am sure already surround Jaskier and whoever else has been captured. Barge in there tonight and you will die or worse. [ And she can't let that happen. ]

♞ open to all

[gynvael]

(( post-kidnapping events ))
I. THE HARBOUR

[ It's only through both Jaskier's and Yennefer's insistence that Geralt has finally left his friend's side. Not that he can't use the time to himself. The heavy air when he's around Jaskier is oppressive, and the truth is he's not certain if it comes from him or if it's coming from Jaskier. From the weight that still hangs on his shoulders. Physically, Jaskier is recovering well. That's about all he can say is going well.

He should've done better. Different. That's all it comes down to. (Isn't that what it always comes down to? All the wrong choices he's made? As if he's ever made a single right one. Hard not to wonder if there's ever someone he won't fail.)

They sent him off to rest. So he should rest. He won't, because the last thing he wants to do is sleep and dream. Instead, he takes to the furthest reaches of the city: down by the harbor, in one of the rundown taverns. He wants cheap, shit beer that he can drink until his coin runs out. And as much as he wants to be left alone -- as much as he rarely ever seeks anything to do with the petty conflicts men -- a part of him would not entirely be against some idiot picking a fight with him.

But mostly he does just want to be life alone in his corner. He slips the bartender a few more cunes to take the entire pitcher to the table with him, and that's where you'll find him if you decide he's worth bothering. If he looks fucking depressing, that's because he is. ]

II. THE WOODS

[ Eventually, even the people in the taverns become more than he cares to be around. Either that or he's gotten kicked out. Hard to say. Geralt will only acknowledge the first option.

He's not visibly drunk, not really. Unfortunately. He's not sober, either. He's carried a bottle of (fuck, what is it. Whisky? It's strong and sharp, and that's good enough for him) into the woods. Not deep -- he's not so reckless as to look for a fight with a Cwyldtid after he's been drinking all night. Tempting, though. But Jaskier and Yennefer both expect him home in one piece. 

So he's only just at the edge of the city: far enough to escape the residents, not so far that the snow has melted. A thin layer covers the grass, and in the distance greener trees can be seen under the moonlight. His legs hang over a the ledge he's climbed up on. Roach grazes below, oblivious to the shit that's happened in the past few days.

It's quiet. There's that, at least. It does little to settle his mind, but that's where the liquor comes in. You can find him tipping back most of that bottle or laying back in the snow without so much as a cloak, unbothered by the cold. If there are any footsteps approaching, Geralt seems stubbornly determined to ignore it. ]

Fuck off.

III. WILDCARD

[ feel free to find him any time post event things. you can mostly catch him around the city looking...like he always does, tbh but like. sadder. he may also be in and out of the coven in the earlier days post-event, to visit both his bonded recovering from the infection. ]

II

[al_bhed]

Hey! There's no need to be mean.

[Geralt's vision is soon obstructed by a teenage girl staring down at him as he lays in the snow, her expression a combination of irritation and concern.]

I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead or something. Aren't you cold?

[gynvael]

[ What? Ah, shit. Of everyone to appear out of nowhere in the woods, he doesn't expect it to be a young woman.

Geralt sits up. Hmm. They haven't met, or if they have, it was too brief to recall. He doesn't quite apologize, though his expression softens. ]

I don't get cold. [ Well. Not anymore. The white pointed ears on his head suggest why that might be the case. His breath steams in the air. It's a pleasant night, in truth. The kind he'd normally be enjoying with a quiet walk. ] And I'm still alive. Thank you.

II-ish

[cryptsleeper]

[Alucard makes his way towards the woods a little after the sun peaks over the horizon. He hasn't slept, but that's normal enough when one's boyfriend is a vampire. The dhampir just wants to enjoy some quiet scenery before he goes about a few morning errands and then settles in continue reading a trove of absolutely horrifying notes that were taken from the rebel coven.

He's buttoned up in a fur lined version of his usual coat, gloves thicker and his hair arranged just so in order to warm his neck and shoulders. Silly, but important. He walks, and his breath condenses in front of him.

Deeper into the forest, with birdsong faint. And then--

--absolutely not birds. Alucard pauses, turning his head towards where two very stubborn words came from.]

And you've been out here for how long?

[gynvael]

[ In retrospect, it's only a matter of time before Alucard is the one who finds him. Who else is out here?

Geralt turns to look up at the man's tall shadow looming behind him. It's not Alucard specifically he'd meant to tell to fuck off -- if anything, he's almost a little glad to see him -- though his apology only comes in the fact that he doesn't say it again. ]

Sundown. [ It's sunrise now, so. A while. He's often come out to watch the sunrise -- the quiet in the early mornings are when he most prefers to take time to himself -- but today's a different matter. More a case of not sleeping. The bottle next to him isn't empty just yet, but it's close. ]

Morning walk?

I

[notbert]

[Elidibus has been watching for haggard souls like Geralt's.

Which sounds more sinister than it really is. Information is what the Ascian is after and without any particular malice behind it. Even if his targets aren't Mirrorbound, are not affected by recent events, he's still going to come out with- one hopes- a relatively positive encounter between someone and the identity known as 'Ardbert'.

He waits until the target in question is nearly done with that first pitcher but not so far in that he might call for a refill before Elidibus reaches him.

Because the one that approaches him now comes with an offering.]

You know, I've heard it said that if you're going to drink away your sorrows, you better make damned sure that beer doesn't taste like shite.

[While Elidibus doesn't have the advantage of Ardbert's memories, he did overhear some of the conversations exchanged by the 'Warriors of Darkness' he took into his charge. And the one called Branden had some specific priorities when it came to this type of thing.]

But in lieu of anything approaching that in this fine establishment, I can at least offer a round or two that's a step up from that.

[What the somewhat good-natured man bears in a pitcher of what constitutes the best in the house. Still piss poor beer in comparison to what you can get... well, nearly anywhere else. But better than what Geralt just scoured his throat with. The man also holds his own mug. So this gift comes with the price of company, if accepted.]

[gynvael]

[ It's good timing: Geralt's not in the mood to let his pitcher run dry. There's a quirk of an eyebrow as he examines who's brought him a drink this time. Not that it's unwelcome. But folks don't tend to buy him a drink unless they're looking for something.

After a moment, he accepts. He tips the filled pitcher into his mug, which smells vaguely less like watered down piss. ]

And what am I offering you in return?

[ If the man is seeking pleasant company, he'll not find it here. A job, though -- hell, Geralt could use the distraction.

(That's the irony, too: since the Evergreen Circle has been cut down, the city's grown quiet. Normally his preference, the quiet, but right now it only makes him restless.) ]

I

[whomthebelltolls]

[Maria hates being down by the docks. The scent of the fish market and the ocean itself makes her ill, but at least walking into the rundown old tavern masks that scent under stale, spilled beer, and a bit of body odor from the sailors that frequent the joint. Okay, maybe that's hardly an "upgrade", but at least it doesn't make her physically ill.

She's only down here to make a couple deliveries from her newest business venture, Abholos tied up outside with the now-empty cart. She'd definitely put this one off for last, just due to location, but now it's a bit more interesting, seeing as there's a familiar form bent over a pitcher in the corner.

Maria goes the opposite direction for a moment, walking up to the bar with her partially-filled crate, and hands over the last few bottles she'd had. In turn, the bartender tosses her some cunes, and she hesitates for only a moment, before turning to hand of the coins back to him and order a couple of drinks. They're not beer.

Maria knows the look on Geralt's face... she knows it intimately well, seeing as it is her default state of being most of the time, and while she rarely ever wants company during those times, and she suspects he's the same, she steps forward and drops into the seat across from him nonetheless, leaning the empty crate up against the side of the chair, and setting one tumbler down near his pitcher.] Beer's never strong enough. It just fills you up faster than you get drunk.

[gynvael]

[ As soon as she steps through the door, she's hard to miss. Geralt doesn't quite greet her while she makes her deliveries -- more of her homebrewed liquor, he assumes -- but when she ends up at his table with something harder than piss watered beer, he acknowledges her with a nod.

He's not keen on company, no. She's bringing liquor, though. He's willing to take company for that in exchange. Besides, Maria has never much pried in his business and that's the way he prefers his companionship. ]

True. [ He sniffs the tumbler she's brought him; the smell is sharp with a hint of sweetness, and he tosses it back without much thought beyond that. It burns nicely on the way down.

He tips the glass towards her, head tilted in question. ]

One of your concoctions?

i.

[weatherscience]

You look terrible,

[ comes her opening line as she walks up to his table, a drink in her hand too, hair windswept — it tends to get like that, after an evening of sailing.

the statement is deadpan, sure, but contains sympathy, too; she'd seen him, there, as one of the rescuers. she'd fought to get back her bonded, too. so it's not hard to imagine why he's here, trying to hide all his worries in drink after another.

without asking, she draws herself a chair and sits down. ]

[gynvael]

[ The familiar voice makes him look up. The girl with the teleporting cat. He remembers seeing her there, as well, a flash in the crowd. A lot of people he'd seen.

He's tried not to think too hard about the ones he'd left behind. He knows better than to believe he can save everyone. His priority had been Jaskier, and that's not something he regrets. Still—it hadn't been what he'd wanted, walking away. It's easier when he's not involved at all in the first place.

He pours her a drink without a word. It's watered down piss, but it's all they have here. ]

Good evening to you, too.

♞ jaskier

[gynvael]

(( HOME; post-drinking; morning ))
[ He's made sure not to disappear without letting either of his Bonded know where he's gone. Hardly his usual habit, but things are...different. To say the least.

So, too, is his decision to return home once the sun rose when before he's hunted or lingered in the woods or at another settlement for days at a time. It's only been days since Jaskier has returned home from the Coven's infirmary. Geralt is still reluctant to put too much distance between them. He tells himself it's because proximity between Bonded helps with recovery—part of it, certainly—but there's more to it than that.

He's left the empty bottle of liquor behind in the woods, though it wouldn't be impossible to smell beer and whisky on him. Not that he's drunk to any visible degree. But the edges are dull and that's what he needs.

Through the gates, he can catch Jaskier's scent in the air. He stops inside to get bread and cheese first before exiting out the back. Jaskier is in the garden, enchanted in its own dome and protected from the snowfall.

Geralt sits beside him without a word. He offers over the plate of food. ]

[cointosser]

[Ironically, time passes much the same as it had when he was in the cult's hands. It is only after, really, he learns so much about them -- though it became increasingly obvious, once he noted how people changed. The way he was spoken to. The tattoo forced upon them that they all had to bear.

Once he is released into the Coven's care, time edges along without much notice from himself. He's quiet, so uncharacteristically so, because he can think of nothing to say. No, he does not wish to speak on it. Could he know something important, that would lead to their further downfall? No. He wasn't spoken to often, and when he was there was no information.

He didn't ask questions. He didn't investigate. And now, released, it is so much more humiliating to know that. That he had sat there and accepted it. The most he'd done is scream. Kick the harpy who first came to take care of him, once. After that, he was too tired for any more.

Eventually, the Coven releases him; not, they emphasize, he was ever really held against his will. Because who would want to further spread the illness? (He remembered wanting exactly that, instinctually, down to his core. The need to spread it.) Jaskier simply doesn't argue. The... the growths are removed from him, the scar that had split opened gradually closed once again. His arm had been wrapped and rewrapped, squeezed until his blood went red again instead of black. Unfortunate that large chunks of his hair still remained black, the pigmentation permanently changed.

Ah, well. Shit and uphill and all that.

It takes him some time before he manages to go outdoors, but with having (fatefully) already moved into a manor with Geralt and Yennefer, a lovely, magicked garden has come along with it. He finds some solace there, though he made absolutely sure to ask Yennefer that there were no -- no growths there. That would remind him.

He looks up when he hears familiar heavy footfalls that, despite their familiarity, still leave his heart racing. He white-knuckles the stone bench underneath him until Geralt comes into view.

A flash of golden eyes. He shivers, swallowing it down. At least no vision follows it after. (Is that man, Brennan, still alive?)

Jaskier glances at the food, taking it robotically but not eating it. It sits mournfully on his lap and it's clear, without a lute or a bound notebook with him, that he'd been in the middle of nothing. Not like him at all.

His friend smells thickly of liquor, even to him. Stifling.] How was your walk?

[gynvael]

[ Every time Jaskier's heart stutters, Geralt feels his own sink. It's funny. He would've never described Jaskier as brave before, but it's not as if he'd considered him cowardly, either. Foolhardy, more like. Lacking any real fear not because he understood the danger but because he was too carefree.

It's unusual, is what he's trying to say, to see his friend so easily startled. A hare frightened of its own shadow.

He finds equal solace in the garden, at least. It's sheltered. The snow falling around them but never quite touching. ]

Quiet, mostly. [ He's not good at this. He's fucking trying, but he simply isn't. It's not what he was built for. He understands exactly what Jaskier is going through and he can't truthfully tell him it'll be fine. Geralt has lived over twice Jaskier's lifetime. The nightmares still linger. Time does not so much make it better as it simply allows one to get used to it. Like an ache in a joint that won't go away. Sooner or later, it's just a part of you.

And this is not something he's ever wanted to be a part of Jaskier. ]

You've been out here all night? [ It's a careful question, one that skirts outright asking if Jaskier got any sleep. ]

♞ myr + yennefer

[gynvael]

(( THE WILDE; end of month; morning ))
[ Lately, he's been reluctant to venture too deep into the Wilde as he usually does -- between Jaskier and Yennefer, he's stayed closer to the city -- but it also means after a couple weeks, the restless itch becomes harder to ignore. When a Witch follows him through the city with a handful of cunes and a broken arm, he finds himself eventually accepting.

Maybe he just doesn't want to walk by a week later and discover the same Witch still without his bondmate. (Maybe that hits a little too close to him.)

It's only natural to ask Yennefer to come: he needs her magic. Besides, it seems a good opportunity to simply be. Doing something that isn't about the kidnapping that night.

Though don't ask him how a third stranger has wound up tagging along, too. He figures the man will insist on coming either way, with company or not. Might as well take him. He packs up Roach, gathers the sleeping bombs Jaskier has made for him, and waits for Yennefer before they make their way to the edge of the woods. It's where he's asked Myr to meet them. Most of his injuries have healed, though a few marks from the silver chains remain, largely hidden beneath his sleeves and on the underside of his palm.

At least an overstressed bear shouldn't be difficult to find in the Wilde. It's bringing her back that'll be the problem. ]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Myr's own reasons for inviting himself along on this little jaunt were simple: He also needed an escape from the city in the aftermath of the Circle's dissolution. An escape that meant helping someone in desperate need? All the better. The sheer urgency of the situation--Cwyld-infected Turnskin, forest full of temperamental bears, the full moons coming on--made it a perfect distraction from all the things he doesn't want to be thinking about right now.

He's under no illusion that this will be easy, but it's a damn sight more straightforward than the disaster the rest of his life's become.

Eagerness (and desperation) made him punctual to the rendezvous Geralt had given him. He's hard to miss, having taken deer-shape for their foray into Wilde: An enormous white stag nearly the size of a moose with all his gear tidily strapped to his back and an incongruous blindfold wrapped around his face. His ears swivel toward the sounds of someone--several someones? And is that a horse?--approaching; he lifts his antlered head from investigating a fallen log.]

Hello?

sorry for the delay

[chaoticbeauty]

[ It had been necessary to keep Geralt close when Jaskier was in the hands of the Cult. Both out of her own fears and that need to make sure he didn't make an impulsive decision or get grabbed. But the threat was mostly gone, weakened at least enough that an immediate retaliation wouldn't be in the next few months.

She has a few extra healing brews on hand and a few ointments and bandages from the Coven to assist with the infection. The prospect of attempting to return a bondmate to someone, to bring them back from the brink of being too far gone... It also hits a bit too close to home for her. Given how close she'd been to possibly losing both Geralt and Jaskier. An attempt to refresh some of her less violent skills, negotiation and a calming force in a high stakes situation something she could manage.

Yen is the first to speak when they arrive at the meeting spot, the very large white stag catching her eye. ]

I take it you're Myr? [ She looks to Geralt for confirmation, having not met the other one coming along on this particular quest. ]