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The light trill of a lute hangs in the air as Jaskier hums to himself. It had been a rather eventful couple months for himself and he was eager to reach his next destination. First however, he would have to stop and make camp soon. Though, by tomorrow afternoon, he would be with not one, but all three of his beloved Witchers.
He had parted ways with Geralt some weeks earlier to attend the annual bards competition in Oxenfurt. As the reigning champion for the fourth year in a row now, he simply had to go to defend his title. With a flourish of his fingers, he plucked out several complicated chords, enjoying the crisp, clear sound that rang out. He couldn’t have been happier with the new gut strings he had purchased with his champions winnings. New strings, a new outfit, a trail of success behind him, and adventure ahead, the bard couldn’t be happier. Though, that isn’t entirely true, now is it? He thought to himself. There was one thing, more specifically three things, that would make his evening even better. He would have to settle with what he had and what was shaping up to be a beautiful evening.
Jaskier tipped his head back to look up at the fading light as the sun dipped behind the tree tops. Shifting his lute around to rest behind his back, he made his way off the main road. He pushed through the underbrush, occasionally stopping to look behind him to see if the road was still visible. Once satisfied that he was far enough away, the bard found a small clearing to claim for the night. He checked his distance from the road once more to make sure that a fire wouldn’t be seen. The last thing he needed was for bandits to find him, all by himself. He wouldn’t be able to face his pack if he let himself be mugged just before reaching them. Especially after everything that they taught him, it would be downright shameful.
Hands on his hips, and bottom lip between his teeth as he studied his surroundings, the bard nodded once to himself and set his lute and pack down. He then reached up for a low hanging branch on a tree that was in the direction he had come from and snapped the twig to mark his way. Couldn’t have himself getting lost either. That would be even worse than running into trouble along the way. Lambert would never let him live it down if he was late for something as simple as getting turned around.
Before long, Jaskier had a small fire going in the center of his clearing as he sang quietly to himself. His sleeping mat was spread out just behind him as he sat beside the fire. He set a small section of bread on a stone at the fires edge to warm up while he debated with himself if he wanted the last apple in his pack, or a bit of hard cheese for his dinner. With a slight shrug, he decided on the cheese. The apple could be his breakfast, and by lunch he should be in town. The bard smiled to himself, Perf-
His thought process was cut short at the sound of a twig snapping in the distance at the edge of his hearing. His song and dinner alike were abandoned as he sat up slightly straighter, ears strained for any further noise. Only, there isn’t any other noise. Not a single sound can be heard. It's spring time, the woods should be teaming with life, even at this time in the evening.
Another twig snapped, though this time the noise was much closer, and Jaskier spun around in the direction it came from. The hairs at the base of his neck stood on end as goosebumps erupted all over him. An overwhelming wave of anxiety griped his gut and he scrambled for his pack. He ripped the opening flap back and shoved a hand inside for the dagger Geralt had insisted he carry with him. The very dagger that he should have put back into his boot before leaving Oxenfurt. After traveling so long without one however, it was simply not on his mind before he took to the road once again.
Mentally berating himself for his lack of forethought, Jaskier pulled the dagger free. Ripping the steel from its sheath, he tossed the scabbard aside and held the dagger out in front of himself. Desperately trying to recall all of Geralt’s lessons, he sucked in a deep breath to steady himself and stop the shaking in his arms. Bright blue eyes scanned the darkness that was quickly engulfing his camp, and he muttered to himself as he went over the weak points best used for a quick defense and an even quicker escape. Eyes, throat, elbows, knees, groin. Eyes, throat, elbows, knees, gr-
Suddenly, something in the distance was bounding away, crashing through the undergrowth as it disappeared further into the forest. The bard let out a shaky laugh as the nervous energy dissipated from him with the realization that he let himself get so worked up over what was surely a deer. He let his arms fall back to his sides, and turned back to what had to be a burnt loaf of bread by now.
A flash of teeth was all he saw before everything is suddenly very dark.
~
A heavy, leather clad fist slams into the table, sending a nearby mug toppling over, which is quickly followed by a shout and grumbling at the loss of a drink.
"It's already past noon, where is he?" Geralt's teeth ground together as he stared a hole through the table in front of him. Around him, the hum of the busy inn has faded away into background noise as his mind was completely focused on the empty seat to his right.
Across the bench from the irate Witcher, Eskel raises his mug to his scarred lips. "He'll come. You know how he is." Despite the calm in his voice, his eyes shift to the front doorway as he takes a long drink.
"He probably slept half the morning away," Lambert ground out as he sopped up the mess Geralt had made with his drink. Deciding it was good enough, he looked to see what was left in his mug and let out a heavy sigh before he downed the rest of it. Like hell he was going to lose the rest of it to the dirt floor as well just because Geralt couldn’t stop throwing a fit. "Hell, he probably only just set out. He'll be fine."
"It's not right." The leather of Geralt's glove squeaked in protest as his fist clenched even further. "He's never been late. Not for us." Pushing himself up from the table, Geralt rose to his feet, amber eyes burning as they glued to the door. "I'm going to find him."
"If you wanted some alone time with him before the rest of us, all you had to do was say so," Lambert sneered as he waved down the barmaid for another ale.
Eskel kicked the younger wolf in the shin under the table and shot him a heated glare that would have melted the White Frost itself. "Go," he said to Geralt as Lambert shot the larger wolf an equally fierce glare. "We'll be waiting here for your return."
With a grunt, Geralt was out the door before Eskel had finished speaking.
~
Everything was so cold... Why was everything so cold? So cold, and so heavy... Had it snowed overnight? No... That couldn't be right. It was so warm the night before. A warm and quiet night. Quiet... It had been too quiet.
Without even the energy to groan, Jaskier cracked a single eye open. The other was being held shut by something. He couldn't tell what it was though. If he was being honest, he was too tired to truly care what it was either. In a haze, he noticed the bright sun overhead, shining down through the treetops. Right, no snow, lots of sun. So why was he so bloody cold? A paltry whimper escaped the bard and he attempted to shift and felt something warm sliding down from his shoulder. That's right... It wasn't cold out at all. He himself was cold, cold and broken on the forest floor. A shaking hand reached up to prod at his shoulder. His hand made it halfway across his body before it's strength gave out and collapsed into the grass. Grass... At least the grass was soft. He let his eye close once more. He could rest for a bit before he got up to finish the last leg of his journey. That's right he was traveling. Traveling to... To White Orchard. The Inn at the Crossroads. To meet... Who was he supposed to meet? Everything hurt and it was getting difficult to stay focused... His Witchers. That's who. He was supposed to meet his wolves at the Inn at the Crossroads. He was still half a days walk away though, and... And he was just so tired.
His one eye barely opened as he slowly blinked at the afternoon sun. There was so much red. He didn't remember wearing red the day before. He had been wearing a soft and brilliant yellow that played so nicely with the blue of his eyes. So why was he wearing red now? He tried to reach for his now red pants leg. His fingers were sticking to the grass though. That was odd. He shouldn't be sticky, he always made sure to wash up before bed. He lifted his hand off the ground to see what the offending stick was. More red . Why was his hand red too? His one open eye blinked slowly and he let his hand fall to the ground once more. Blood. He's covered in blood. His blood. And there's so much of it. His labored breathing hitched as the memory of the night before returned. There had been something around his camp last night. He had been too slow... Now he lay in a literal pool of his own blood, miles from his Witchers. A tear pooled at the corner of his eye. This was it wasn't it? This was how the great troubadour was going to meet his end. Not in the lap of luxury and comfort as ripe age took him, but in the middle of nowhere, alone. All alone, and no way to say good-bye. He let his eye close as tears spilled over and dropped into the grass beneath his cheek. He was going to have to leave his Witchers behind and it would break their hearts. The hearts that he had worked so hard to help open and heal. The hearts that meant everything in the world to him, and he was going to shatter them. Geralt... Eskel, Lambert. Even old, uncle Vesemir... How could he ever forgive himself? At least it wasn't something he'd have to worry about for long. It was so cold... And he was so tired. He just needed to rest for a moment…
~
Roach tossed her head in protest as Geralt urged her forward. "He has to be around here somewhere. Even he couldn't have gotten so lost." With a snort and a shake of her head, Roach started down the path to the left instead of the right that Geralt had been trying to lead her. "This is no time for games, Roach, We need to find him." The mare completely ignored the Witchers protests as she continued on her way. As he was about to give the reins a tug, a faint breeze swept across the roadway. There was something off about the wind though. It reeked of pain, fear, and sorrow. And the overwhelming smell of blood nearly drowned out everything else carried with it.
The color drained from the Witcher, leaving him nearly as pale as the hair upon his head. He knew that scent. He had smelled it once before when he was teaching Jaskier how to properly wield the dagger he had gifted him. Geralt shoved away the panic threatening to take over his mind as he spurred Roach forward down the path she had chosen. With his mind completely void of thought, he focused on finding the source of the stench of blood. His vision narrowed as he followed the nearly visible trail of the scent that stretched into the underbrush.
He pulled Roach to a halt and leapt from the saddle. Crashing through the foliage,he came to a small clearing. There was the remnants of a small fire, and... And Jaskier's lute beside his pack that had clearly been hastily torn through. Beside the fire laid the corpse of a rather sizable warg with Jaskiers dagger still embedded at the back of it's skull, just below the ear.
Geralt took an unstable step forward towards the warg. Where there was a warg, there was a pack of wolves not far behind. The pack must have dragged Jaskier off and- Geralt shook his head, cutting off his thought process as he moved closer. He had to find the bard. Find the bard, and then he could focus on everything else after. He had to find-
"Jaskier!" Geralt shouted as the view of the back of the bards shoulder peeked out from where he had fallen just in front of the beast. The Witcher vaulted over both beast and bard and dropped to his knees. With a careful hand, he placed two fingers to the pulse point on the bards neck. A faint thud was all he needed before Geralt burst into action. Jaskier was still alive.
Geralt leapt to his feet and ran full tilt back to Roach. Opting to explain to her on the way, he snatched the reins and started to pull her into the forest. "Come on, Roach. He doesn't have much time left..." With a toss of her head, that seemed suspiciously like a nod, the mare followed after him without complaint.
Once they were both back at the clearing, Geralt threw open the pack on his saddle and pulled out two small vials with a similar milky white substance in each. He paused for a second before reaching back into the pack and grabbing several more vials of the one potion before hurrying back to the bards side along with a skin of water.
Setting everything down, he separated the two potions to make sure the proper one was used where it was needed. One vial of Swallow to help close the wounds, and several vials of White Honey to clean out whatever may be inside the wounds.
Ever so gently, he shifted the barely breathing bard to rest his head on his lap. Geralt started to brush back the bloodied bangs from Jaskiers forehead when his hand snapped back and grabbed the vial of Swallow instead. "Help first. Comfort later," the Witcher murmured to himself as he pushed away his thoughts to keep his mind carefully blank while he worked. Tilting the bards head back, he tipped the vial into his mouth and ran his fingers down Jaskier’s throat to urge him to swallow the potion. As the liquid disappeared down the bards throat, Geralt held his breath. Witcher potions were not meant for human consumption. This would either help him, or... No. There would be no "or." There could be no "or." If the potion didn't work, the bard would be lost. Without the potion, the bard would be lost. There was no choice.
A moment passed and when Jaskier didn't start to seize in his lap, Geralt let out the breath he had been holding and set to work with the White Honey. He couldn't risk feeding Jaskier both potions but he had to make sure there wouldn't be any risk of his wounds closing with infection trapped inside.
As gently as he could, he pulled back the bards shredded doublet and chemise to reveal the nasty gashes and bite marks that covered his arms and chest. The Witcher took a deep breath, once more shoving away the overwhelming emotions that threatened to rush forward and tore away what may have been the only clean section left on Jaskiers doublet. He pulled to cork free of the first vial of White Honey and poured it onto the makeshift cloth before pressing it to the smaller wounds along the bards forearm. They would close first, and as such, needed to be cleaned first. The potion bubbled and hissed as it came into contact with the open wounds, and Jaskier shifted slightly in Geralt's lap.
A small whine pulled from the back of the bards throat. His arm was burning. Why was his arm burning? Everything else was so cold still. He shifted to try and move away from the burning but was met with a flare in pain across his body and a firm hand across his one shoulder. He tried to push against the hand, but quickly settled as the burning was lifted from his arm and he relaxed back once more. His relief only lasted a short moment as the burning quickly erupted across his chest. Another feeble attempt to move away was once again met with resistance, and Jaskier cracked open his one eye to see what it was that was holding him in place. Several slow blinks revealed his Witcher leaning over him.
A low humming filled his hearing and the bards brow knitted together as he watched Geralt's mouth move. With a blink, Jaskier realized that the White Wolf was speaking to him, but his mind was too muddled to hear what he was saying. The bard watched Geralt as he spoke, wishing that he could hear him. He couldn't think of a single time his wolf had spoken so much, and it was falling on deaf ears. Tears started flowing once more as he reached up with a shaking hand and placed it over the one keeping his shoulder to the ground.
Geralt removed the cloth from the wounds on Jaskiers chest and finally allowed himself to look down at the bard. He swallowed thickly around the threatening lump in his throat, and gave Jaskiers fingers a slight squeeze before reaching for the last vial with his free hand. "...This last one is going to hurt." Geralt watched the bard for a moment, searching for any notion of acknowledgement. When Jaskier made no movement nor noise, Geralt let out a short but heavy sigh, brought the vial to his mouth and pulled the cork free with his teeth. He then upended the vial to pour it directly onto the wound across the shoulder he was not currently holding into place. The bards face instantly twisted in searing pain as the potion fiercely bubbled across the open flesh. His jaw dropped open in a silent scream and he weakly thrashed against Geralt's hold. After a moment that seemed to stretch on for eternity, that bard stilled under his hand as he slipped into unconsciousness once more.
~
Everything hurt. Jaskier had been sore before, he traveled with Witchers after all and accidents happened. But not like this, he thought. This hurt reached into his very bones. The kind of hurt that's not easily forgotten or left behind. The kind of hurt you carry to the end of your days. But at least he wasn't so ungodly cold any longer.
In fact, he felt quite warm. There was also a comforting weight over him and a pleasant, deep, rumbling hum filled the air. Slowly, he pried his eyes open. Both of them actually listened to him this time. That was unexpected. He blinked twice, thrice, as he took in the settings around him. He was in a bed. That’s a good start. It was unfamiliar, but decently comfortable. Far better than the ground he had spent the last two weeks sleeping on. Across the room was a well tended fire burning away in a cozy little hearth. The rest of the room itself was sparsely decorated, but not unpleasant.
His focus then shifted to the bed. Curled against his side was Lambert, fast asleep. The Witchers face was plastered against his hip with his arm tossed across the bards lap where his hand was tangled in a mop of white hair. Geralt was kneeling on the floor to his other side where he had also fallen asleep with Jaskiers hand in his own. A smile slowly made its way over the bards face as he looked up to search for the remaining piece to his puzzle.
Behind Geralt sat Eskel in a chair near the bed. He had a finger in the now closed book on his lap that he had been reading aloud from. As Jaskier's gaze reached the Witchers, a broad, warm smile spread across his face. "Welcome back, sunshine."
Tears started to streak down the bards face as Eskel's voice filled his ears, happy beyond all relief that he could hear those words spoken so tenderly towards himself.
He had made it back to his wolves.
He was home.