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It was Ciri’s idea originally.
Jaskier had a sneaking suspicion that Geralt and Yennefer would have been a lot more resistant to the idea if he’d been the one to suggest it, but since the three of them had always been equally powerless to deny Ciri anything, he couldn’t say that he didn’t understand.
Four candles lined up neatly on the mantelpiece in his professor quarters at Oxenfurt; black for Geralt, purple for Yennefer, white for Ciri and a delightful sky blue for himself. Each of them carried an identical set, which Yennefer had spelled to be magically linked. When he lit his blue candle here, the corresponding candle would light for each of the other three. The same would happen for the rest of his candles when they lit theirs.
Ciri had pitched it as a way to easily communicate that everyone was safe when they were travelling separately, but Jaskier knew it meant more than that really.
I’m here. I’m thinking of you. I love you.
He was the first one tonight, picking up his blue candle and lighting it from the nearest wall sconce. The wick caught easily, flaring to life with a vibrant blue flame that indicated the chaos imbued within. He smiled as he placed it back down on the mantelpiece, wondering how long it would be before it was joined by its companions.
Ciri and Yennefer’s candles flared to life about twenty minutes later, while he was in the middle of grading papers. He caught the flicker out of the corner of his eye and smiled fondly to himself. The pair were travelling together - Yennefer helping Ciri to harness yet more of her power as she came of age - and it was nice to see that they still remembered.
We’re here. We’re thinking of you. We love you.
It was coming up to the time of year where students were preparing for their final exams, and so it was late into the night before Jaskier finished his marking. It had been a mixed bag; mostly average, but there had been one or two that Jaskier could tell were written by students who would set the world alight once they graduated.
It was one of the reasons he came back to teach at Oxenfurt winter after winter; for all his adventures on the road there was something...magnificent about watching the next generation of storytellers come into their own. He couldn’t wait to see what they brought to the Continent over the next few years (as long as they weren’t better than him of course!)
He leant back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his spine to work out the kinks caused by having sat in one place for too long. His joints clicked with a satisfying sound and he hissed in approval. Right, time for bed.
He pushed his chair out from underneath his desk and stood up, already fantasising about the decadently soft mattress waiting for him in the other room. He had to take these creature comforts while he could, after all, because he certainly wouldn’t get them while travelling. Turning towards his sleeping quarters, his eyes scanned across the mantelpiece as it always did, and he suddenly found himself frozen in mute horror.
Geralt’s candle was still unlit.
For a moment all Jaskier could do was stand and stare, his heart jumping painfully into his throat. It was beyond late, and Geralt was at Kaer Morhen for the winter. While there had been plenty of instances when the Witcher had been on a hunt and his candle had remained unlit for long periods of time, when he was home for winter he was practically religious in making sure he stayed connected.
Shit, shit . Jaskier forced himself to take in a deep, steadying breath of air, and told himself firmly not to panic. There were hundreds of reasons why Geralt might not have been able to light his candle tonight, hundreds of reasons which didn’t involve him dead in a ditch or bleeding out alone somewhere. He was fine, of course he was fine.
But what if he wasn’t?
With shaking hands he tugged open the top draw of his desk, pulling out the Xenovox that Yennfer had firmly told him was strictly for emergencies. This was an emergency right?
He tapped the device in the way the sorceress had shown him, willing his heart rate to slow, to calm. Odds were that Geralt was absolutely fine, and this panicked call would be used against him as teasing fodder when they all reunited in the spring. But he’d rather be teased than...the alternative.
The Xenovox crackled to life, and Jaskier heard Ciri’s voice echo from the other side of the void.
“Jaskier?”
“Ciri darling,” Jaskier said, trying desperately not to let his voice shake. “I know it’s awfully late, but-”
“We haven’t heard from him either,” Ciri interrupted, and now Jaskier could hear the equal concern in her voice. “Yenn is trying to reach Vesemir now, but there’s a blizzard in the area which is throwing her chaos off.”
Jaskier let out a heavy exhale, torn between feeling relieved that he wasn’t the only one to be concerned, and doubling down on the fear that had clenched his heart since he first saw Geralt’s candle.
His mind kept flashing up unhelpful images; Geralt being overwhelmed by a hoard of Drowners. Geralt going down under the swipe of an Archgriffin’s talons. Geralt lost, Geralt alone, Geralt dead, or dying, or worse .
Because if the last twenty years of travelling with the Witcher had taught him anything, it was that no matter what his overimaginitive brain could come up with, there was always worse.
“He’ll be fine, Jask,” Ciri’s voice cut through his mounting panic, and Jaskier forcefully dragged his attention back to the Xenovox in his hand. “He’ll be fine, he always is.”
“Thank you, love,” Jaskier said, silently cursing himself. He should be the one comforting Ciri, not the other way around. “I’m sure he just lost a round of drinking-gwent against Lambert and is curled up somewhere in a passed-out stupor.”
Ciri laughed softly, her voice dipping in and out of range as it travelled the many miles separating the two of them. “If that’s so, I’m wishing him the most awful hangover tomorrow. As punishment for scaring us.”
“Too right,” Jaskier replied, plastering a smile he didn’t really feel on his face, even if there was nobody to see it. “That seems more than fair.”
It sounded like Ciri was about to say something else, but then the noises of general commotion echoed through the Xenovox instead. Jaskier could hear Yennefer’s voice behind her, so faint he couldn’t make out specific words, but undeniably panicked.
“Ciri?” he asked, heart rate ratcheting up again. “Ciri, what happened?”
“I have to go, Jask,” Ciri replied, her voice pitching in a way that was distinctly nonreassuring. “I’ll call you back as soon as I can, I promise.”
“No, Ciri, wait!” Jaskier cried out, clutching the Xenovox close to his lips as if that would somehow bring him physically closer to her. “What’s going on?”
But there was only silence in response.
For a moment the whole world seemed to freeze, the very air around him stuck in place as his brain struggled to catch up with the sudden turn of events.
“No,” he whispered, shaking the Xenovox like that would do anything at all. “Nonono...Fuck!”
He paced around his small living quarters, one hand clenched so tight around the communication box his knuckles turned white, the other fisting frantically through his hair like he always did when agitated.
What could he do to help? Fuck all, that’s what. Not from here, and likely not even if he’d been at Kaer Morhen. He was powerless, reduced to sitting and waiting for news, desperately praying that the news would be good when it arrived.
He never had been much good at waiting at the best of times, and at that moment the task seemed nigh on impossible.
He had to do something, anything to keep his mind away from the terrible thoughts and images that kept making themselves known in his brain. His gaze darted around the room until it fell on his lute propped neatly in the corner.
With a heavy exhale that felt strangely like relief, he carefully placed the Xenovox down on the desk, and walked over to pick the instrument up. He slipped the strap over his head, feeling the familiar weight settle on his shoulders. His hands instinctively came up to their usual resting position - one gently clasping the neck, the other splayed across the strings of the body - and a comforting wave of calm settled around him. There might be nothing he could do to help right now, but he could still sing.
This was what bards did after all, they sang for hope, for comfort, for reassurance. They sang their confidence that good would conquer evil, and that the lovers would live happily ever after. They sang the world not as it was, but as it should be. A world where everyone got their happy ending.
And so he did. He sang of all those things and more, losing himself in the music and scribbling down snippets of verse across the back of one of his student’s papers when they came to him. He played until his fingers ached and his voice was hoarse and the sun had started to rise in the sky. He played until his eyelids were heavy with sleep and his brain felt like cotton, and the only thing he could focus on was that damn black candle sitting on the mantelpiece.
And then, just when the thought he might not be able to play any more, that he might have to admit defeat and succumb to the tiredness that had crept deep into his bones, there was a sputtering noise and Geralt’s candle finally, finally flared to life.
Relief crashed into him like waves against ancient cliffs, magnificent and breathtaking enough to bring him to his knees. He slumped heavily to the floor, having just enough presence of mind to lift his lute high enough to not crash down with him, and exhaled everything in his lungs in one long, shuddering breath.
Geralt was okay, he was okay .
The Xenovox on his desk crackled to life, Yennefer’s voice echoing through the silence. “Jaskier, are you there?”
Jaskier scrambled up off the floor, tripping over his own feet in his haste to grab the communication box. “Yes, yes I’m here.”
“Geralt’s okay,” Yennefer said, voice as dry as always, but Jaskier knew her well enough by now to hear the relief hidden underneath. “He was hunting and got caught out by the blizzard, had to hunker down in a cave overnight.”
“That idiot ,” Jaskier said wetly, doing his best to sound cross but knowing he just came across as relieved. “That storm has been brewing for weeks, did he think it wouldn’t apply to him?”
“Witchers,” Yennefer said as if that explained everything, which in all honesty it probably did. “I portaled Ciri and myself to Kaer Morhen, she’s tearing Geralt a new one as we speak.” A pause, then “I can make one for you as well if you want to join us.”
“Aw Yen, I didn’t know you cared,” Jaskier crooned, imagining the furious scowl his words would elicit on the sorceress’s beautiful face. “Give me 10 minutes to freshen up?”
“Because I have nothing better to do than to wait around for you, clearly,” Yennefer sniped, but there was no real heat behind her words.
“Be ready in an instant, darling,” Jaskier said. “And don’t tell Geralt I’m coming will you? I want to surprise him.”
Yennefer simply laughed in response, and then the Xenovox went silent. Jaskier stood smiling down at it for a moment, feeling a touch overwhelmed at the sheer joy he was feeling after so many hours of tension. Then with a chuckle of his own he went to grab a fresh doublet from his closet, his eyes lingering for a moment on the mantelpiece with its row of four candles now all burning in unison.
I’m thinking of you. I love you. I’ll be with you all soon.