Chapter Text
The first day of trekking up the mountain hit Jaskier harder than he’d expected. The paths here were narrow and hadn’t been used by anyone since before the snow came. Geralt lead from the front, trudging through the snow and clearing a path for Roach. Ciri was sat upon the mare, the path deemed too dangerous for her to walk. Jaskier trudged behind, holding his cloak tight around himself to keep out the biting wind. It wasn’t enough to keep him from shivering, though how much of that could be attributed to starvation he couldn’t be sure.
The path was steep, more than he was expecting. Which, in hindsight, was a stupid thing to think since they were literally climbing a mountain. He was almost they glad they had to take it slow, any faster and he was sure he’d be left behind, unable to make his legs move any faster.
They travelled from sunrise to sunset the first two days, camping in caves overnight. They appeared to be well used, a small supply of firewood kept at the back and blackened rings burnt into the floor. Jaskier wondered how many witchers used to pass though these caves before making their way to the keep, before the sacking and the fall of their order. Sadly, none of the more recent visitors had left any rations behind, only a blanket or two, though that was nothing to be sniffed at. Getting warm was nearly impossible for Jaskier now. He’d lost too much weight and he was wearing as many layers as he could, but he was soaked through from the constant snow so when Geralt offered him a dry blanket, he found it impossible to refuse.
He stripped off his outer layers, keeping on the dryer things underneath and ignoring the way his clothes felt a little too big these days. Neither Geralt nor Ciri had seemed to notice thankfully, too preoccupied with keeping the fire going. He wrapped the blanket tight around himself and sat as close to the small fire Geralt had lit as possible without burning himself. Ciri sat by him soon after, similarly wrapped in a blanket.
On the third day, Jaskier was woken by Ciri shaking him awake. He was finding it increasingly difficult to get up in the morning, unable to shake the fog from his brain for some hours after waking, fighting off nausea despite his empty stomach. It would be over soon, he would tell himself, they were almost at the keep, Ciri would be safe and they would have plenty of food. He packed his things away and picked up his clothes from where he’d laid them out to dry by the fire, glad that they were only slightly damp instead of sopping wet.
The snow had stopped coming down at some point overnight, leaving clear skies and pristine, untouched snow. The valley below was beautiful like this, Jaskier almost wanted to compose a ballad. But they had to keep moving.
Midday was nearing and Jaskier hadn’t felt right since waking up. Normally the brain fog was gone by now, but today it only seemed to worsen. His stomach cramped painfully, bringing waves of nausea with it. He stumbled more often and even Geralt had picked up on it, suggesting he switch places with Ciri on Roach’s back for a while. Jaskier had refused the offer and had tried to pay more attention to where he was putting his feet. That unfortunately meant he had little capacity for anything else so any time someone tried to speak to him, it usually took him a moment to even realise something had been said.
It wasn’t until his vision started going grey at the edges that Jaskier realised something might be badly wrong. His head felt strange, like it was too light but with a growing pressure inside his skull. His knees gave out without warning and he fell to the ground, snow soaking through his layers, freezing his skin. His vision was completely grey now, blind to the world as he panted for breath. He was aware of Ciri calling his name, but he couldn’t answer, didn’t know how. Then Geralt was calling him too.
Large hands gripped his arms and he didn’t even have the energy to flinch away. Slowly his vision was returning, a pinpoint at first but gradually expanding. Worried amber eyes were looking him, framed by hair as white as the snow surrounding them.
“Jaskier? Are you alright? What happened?” Geralt asked, sounding muffled and far away despite his close proximity. It was like someone had covered his ears, muting the world around him.
“Fine, I’m fine,” he gasped, trying to wave him off, blinking hard to clear his vision.
“No, you’re not. Tell me.”
Jaskier shook his head, regretting it instantly as his vision started to go grey again, the nausea only worsening. He fought back a retch, resulting only in a gurgle of air that brought a little relief. He wanted to hold on to Geralt to ground himself but found his arms numb and uncooperative. He could only move his head, and even that was almost too much. He felt so weak and helpless he wanted to cry.
“Can you stand? We should get to shelter, there’s a place not too far ahead.”
Jaskier lied, nodding his head. They needed to get going, he was only slowing them down. Grey still lined the edged of his vision, he couldn’t feel his limbs, but still he tried to power through. He somehow managed to get his feet under him with Geralt’s help. Geralt had to pull him upright, Jaskier unable to do so himself.
Standing was a mistake. There was no warning this time. One moment he was standing, leaning heavily on Geralt for support. The next he felt the ground fall away underneath him, Geralt calling his name as he sank into blackness.
Jaskier woke up lying on something soft. A bed? Strange, he didn’t remember being inside. Though he couldn’t remember where he had been. He was vaguely aware he should probably be panicking but he couldn’t quite muster the energy to be concerned.
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” a familiar voice said from somewhere to his left.
“Ge’lt?” he mumbled, his speech as garbled as his brain felt.
“It’s me.” A warm hand rested on his, squeezing lightly. Jaskier finally managed to crack open his eyes. Geralt was sitting beside his bed, looking both relieved and concerned.
“Wha’ ‘apenn?” Jaskier tried to ask, his tongue sticking in his dry mouth, still not quite cooperating.
“You lied to me.” There was no anger in the words, no clue as to what Jaskier had actually done to be found.
“I did wha’?” Jaskier really wasn’t sure what Geralt meant. He didn’t remember much of anything other than endless walking and hunger.
Geralt sighed, a heavy thing that filled the room. “It’s alright, I’m not mad. I should have realised sooner what you were doing. Why our supplies were lasting longer than they should’ve.”
“Wasn’t doin’ nothin’,” Jaskier said automatically.
“You don’t have to lie any more. It’s alright. I just… I wish you didn’t feel like you had to. We would’ve been fine.” He squeezed Jaskier’s hand again, offering a small smile.
“Sorry. Din’t want t’ make you worry.”
Geralt shook his head. “I should be apologising to you. I should’ve done something before you decided to pass out at the top of a mountain.”
Oh, so that’s what happened. “Oops,” was all he managed.
Geralt huffed a laugh. “Yeah, oops. We’re all safe now though. Vesemir even made you some soup.”
The thought of food made Jaskier’s stomach clench painfully. Maybe later he would be able to eat, but not now. He turned his head away, facing the wall.
“Come on, Jaskier, you need to eat.”
“Can’t. Feel sick.”
“I know, but it will only get worse the longer this goes on. When was the last time you ate properly?”
Jaskier cast his mind back, the memories slowly surfacing. It’d been a little over two weeks since they’d first started rationing their food by his estimate. Though his mind couldn’t b trusted to be accurate. He ended up not answering Geralt, even as the witcher began manoeuvring him into a more upright position.
Sitting up only made the pain in his stomach worse somehow. Geralt sat ready, a spoon in his hand hovering, ready with soup. Jaskier turned his head away again.
“Come on Jask. You need to eat or you’ll only get sicker. Do it for me?”
Jaskier turned back to him with immense effort. His eyes were threatening to close already, struggling to keep them open, utterly exhausted. Reluctantly he opened his mouth, allowing Geralt to feed him the soup. It was watery and slightly salty but otherwise didn’t taste of much. He swallowed it without too much effort, hating how he could feel it sitting in his stomach.
Geralt was already with the next spoonful. He let Geralt feed him until his nausea threatened to overwhelm him and he refused.
“Alright, you’ve done really well. I’d rather you kept that down than threw it all up.” Geralt helped him lie back down so he was more comfortable. “Try and get some rest. I won’t be far.”
Jaskier only nodded into his pillow, his eyes already closing against his will. Geralt’s warm hand remained in his as he fell asleep, rubbing soothing circles there with his thumb.