Work Text:
Wandering, yet again on the frozen tundra of Drakkar. Jornir never showed much emotion or reaction, for that wasn't necessary within the quest the five of them were upon; no matter how much Skrimm complained about the cold, Taishen whimpered about the loss of freely pouring tea without it freezing over, or Barnabos mourning the seasonings of his beloved cast-iron skillet; Jornir did not react.
The closest thing to a reaction he'd had in recent memory was slumping into Queenie's small arms, vision doubling and blurry with the tears of electric pain shooting through his body. A body he, admittedly, could've treated better. Yes, he meditated as he should, but letting go of stress was growing difficult. The feeling of that slug coiling into his ear was less than ideal. Disgusting, even. The loss of clarity— the knowledge that defined him as a part of this party— flickering and fading as seconds ticked by. Thank the gods that striking himself down worked as he hoped. Queenie, stubborn as always, forced him to lie back as she and the others set up camp for a night. Allowing Jornir at least some sense of respite, though she at least was aware Jornir would still attempt to be of use in some way. Idle hands seemed to disturb the firbolg or somethin', she supposed.
Jornir sat and meditated for a while, eyes closed and back straightened. Trying to empty his head, purge himself of all sickness and stress he might have attached himself with.
He struggled, he'll admit. Every time he felt himself phase a little, once again the thought of what exactly the others were doing flickered into his head, cracking his good eye to peer— then instantly sighing in defeat from yet another broken attempt. The shaman almost felt ill, not from the worm or the repeated brushes with death, but simply from lack of weight. Queenie told him not to worry about anything. And he wasn't. But at the same time, all he could do was worry. He worried about the firewood, but Banabos had snatched enough to not need to— he worried about the food stores, but everyone had grabbed enough food to last them for a few weeks— shelter? They were by the forest, there wasn't anything to worry about. Morale- well, Jornir never worried about that anyway.
Simply the lack of any responsibility felt wrong.
After three more attempts to meditate, the shaman simply gave up. Perhaps it wasn't his fate for him to meditate today. He hung his head down a little, loose strands of red hair whipping in the chilled wind. Perhaps he shouldn't clear his mind, perhaps he should just... think.
Think about all that's happened, think about his serious brush with death, what he saw under that slug's control, the loss of Ogreton, where the brain even went, everything he pushed aside for later all flooding back at once.
His hand slipped underneath his furs, tracing the new, still painful, scars now scattered over his form. Fur singed off the second the lightning had shot through him, sizzling with a mix of wet dog and burnt hair. More scars, more pain, more signals of his failures as a druid. Blind in one eye, he could not save his clan, scars like shattered glass, he allowed himself to be taken— a threat to the saving of this land. All foolish and worthless mistakes, not the strong shaman he wished to be, but subpar. Perhaps he was not cut out for this. Perhaps he was not needed as much as he believed.
Skrimm didn't want to bug Jornir, especially when he was fucking meditating. That man could squash him like a damn bug, but Barnabos told him to alert "Mister Jornir" that dinner was done, and Barnabos could also squash him like a bug. So he conceited. Throwing his hands up and shuffling towards the firbolg. Jornir was slumped over though, that usually never happened— actually, Skrimm was a bit worried about the guy. He was so quiet— well, more than usual. Even Queenie wouldn't spill the beans of what they were doin'! If it was sex she would've made at least one sly comment, but she was closed like a damn bear trap! It was pissing the goblin off. He at least hoped he was trustworthy! Well. ...At least somewhat. But they had been so secretive, right after they basically defeated a weird giant brain thing! He deserved honesty! How dare they!!
Grumbling to himself, Skrimm tapped Jornir on the shoulder, mouth open to tell the guy that food was done— and he flinched.
Jornir doesn't flinch. No, he turns around all solemn-like and says in that stupid calm voice, "Yes, Skrimm?" and gets up to eat. That man does not flinch. The sudden jolt caused Skrimm to flinch back himself, staring wide-eyed at Jornir's back.
" Hey- you alright, Jornir? I was tryin' to tell you dinner was done. It's just me! Ya’know, Skrimm!! Not a brain or a slug or nothin'- "
Jornir's breath hitched a bit at the mention of a slug, only freaking Skrimm out more. Oh god, did something happen?? Was Jornir dying or something?? Was he doing a weird firbolg death ritual!?
"J-Jornir, you alright?— "
" Yes. Yes, Skrimm. I am alright. Dinner is done, yes. I'm coming. "
His voice was the closest to shaking that Skrimm had ever heard, this was terrifying. But what if poking the bear with this makes it worse?! Ugh, whatever. He said he was coming, maybe he isn't dying? Gods, he hoped not.
Skrimm turned and began to walk back towards the warmth of the fire, not before looking back at Jornir for a moment, then skittering. It was Jornir, that man was always calm, maybe Skrimm hallucinated it or something. Yeah, that had to be it.
Jornir waited for Skrimm to be at least halfway towards the fire before attempting to stand. Body wobbling from exhaustion, he pushed himself to his feet. Bracing himself on his walking stick, thumb circling a few of the runes he'd carved over the decades he's had it. Pushing most of his weight, he hobbled over to the fire. Sitting himself down in his usual spot. Gently taking the stew Barnabos whipped up and slowly eating.
Usually, dinner was nice. Calming, even. Everyone else would chat about their day or their thoughts and Jornir could... As you say, people watch. Listen silently, laugh to himself, and feel almost homely with them all. But tonight, of course, would not let him fall into routine. All of them were staring at him, all with their thoughts plain upon their faces.
Skrimm, biting his lip anxiously, eyes darting around to his friends and then back to Jornir; trying his best to still be sneaky. Barnabos, staring skeptically, one eyebrow quirked up with narrowed eyes; eating at a pace that fell slower than he usually would. Queenie, eyes soft and concerned for the man, every once in a while elbowing the men next to her, whisper-yelling for them to stop rubberneckin'. And Taishen, staring dumbly in golden-hearted concern, far more obvious than the rest, almost instantly the dragonborn opened his maw.
"Jornir, are you ill? I have an amazing blend of tea that I'm sure will lift your spirits! " Taishen smiled patiently at Jornir, who only stared, before jolting a bit and frowning at Queenie; who smacked him in his arm.
" Why don't y'all just leave the man alone, he's fine! "
She was a terrible liar.
" Mister Jornir, " Barnabos started, setting his bowl into his lap and folding his arms a bit, " Are you alright? Did you see a vision er' somethin'? Is there somethin' comin'? "
" Guys, guys! " Skrimm waved his hands a little, trying to lighten the mood. " Jornir's fine, he's always mopey like that! Haha! "
The most unconvincing Skrimm has been in months.
The four began arguing, Taishen trying to really sell his tea, Barnabos grilling Jornir on whatever he must've seen, and Skrimm and Queenie both trying to get the others to drop it (Queenie out of concern for Jornir, Skrimm out of concern for if Jornir gets mad at him.)
Jornir only stared silently at the lot, working eye drifting between whoever takes center stage. One spoonful of stew still sitting in his mouth.
" S'it about my pan!? I know, the stews s'not as flavorful cuz of the ogres. Is it messin' up yer magic? " Barnabos seemed almost terrified at that idea. As if confirmation would stop his heart.
He couldn't hold it in anymore.
Hmh-
Jornir pressed his hand over his mouth, trying to supress the odd laughter that escaped him for a second. The group now completely silent. All in some sort of shock.
" Oh?- What's so funny, friend? " Taishen was first to speak. Leaning forward in a type of concern.
"... You all... are quite foolish. " Jornir exhaled, pulling the spoon from his mouth and setting it down in his bowl.
" Wow. Thanks— " Skrimm started, already dripping with sarcasm. " I am not done, Skrimm. " The goblin dipped his head a little.
" But, I thank you all for your concern, I am merely fatigued and need some days of true rest. All of your... attempts to help were merely a bit... comical. That is all. "
" .. Oh! " The party was quiet for a bit, all calming down from the panic they momentarily felt. "...Do you still want the tea? " Taishen already had his teapot at his side, hopefully sliding it into view.
Jornir paused.
"Yes, why not. " It was good tea, Jornir was at least certain about that.