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It had been a relatively uneventful day, as far as Geralt was concerned. With the exception of Jaskier chattering away about the usual nonsense, not that Geralt paid much attention, he’d learned early on to tune out his bards ramblings. Uneventful days were concerning this far into the wilderness. They were taking a shortcut towards a small town where they were due to rendezvous with Geralt’s brother, Eskel, before they separated for winter and it all just seemed too...easy. Most forests had groups of bandits or at the very least a wolf or two, even when there was frost everywhere. The Witcher struggled to relax on his horse, part of him waiting for something to jump out at them.
As usual, Jaskier pulled him out of his thoughts.
“You seem even more broody than usual today, dear. Is something the matter?”
Geralt tried to push down the flutter in his stomach when Jaskier called him that. In their years of travelling together, he had gotten used to the bards various terms of endearment for him, but was confused by how they made him feel. As part of their training, Witcher’s were told to push away their emotions so they weren’t ruled by them. They were told they were a sign of weakness, and therefore it meant they were hard to process. If he had to put a label to what he felt for Jaskier, it would probably be something like affection or fondness, but neither of them quite managed to describe what he felt.
“Geralt?” Jaskier pushed, making the Witcher realise he’d gotten lost in his thoughts.
“It’s quiet.”
“Quiet? Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying to you?”
“Not really.” Geralt shrugged, making Jaskier wave his arms in frustration.
“Honestly, Geralt, I could be saying some really important stuff here, and you’re just ignoring me. The nerve!”
“Were you?”
“Was i what?”
“Saying really important stuff.”
Jaskier crossed his arms and stared up at Geralt. “I hardly think that’s the point.”
Geralt let out a low chuckle at that, which made Jaskiers face crack into a smile. They continued walking and Geralt allowed himself to be distracted by his companion, who was mostly talking about his latest bardic competition win and how he’d rubbed it in the face of Valdo Marx, who not only didn’t win, but came third. According to Jaskier, this was a huge embarrassment (not that Geralt had a clue how these things worked).
They continued like that for another hour, genuinely enjoying each others company, when Geralt suddenly heard a branch snap and pulled Roach to a stop. When Jaskier went to open his mouth to speak, Geralt shushed him and tried to listen for movement. Although he couldn’t hear anything, he could smell the creature. Looked like there were wolves around after all.
He stepped down from Roach and turned to Jaskier before saying in a hushed voice, “Jaskier, there’s a wolf nearby, take Roach, hide past those trees.”
“What about you?” Jaskier asked, concern filled his expression.
“I’ll be fine, I’ll follow you in a minute.”
Jaskier looked hesitant but nodded, grabbing Roach’s reins and leading her through the treeline, tracking footprints in the frost as he went.
The wolf was much bigger than Geralt had anticipated, nearing the size of a horse and wearing a viscous snarl. It charged him and he narrowly dodged, underestimating its speed. This couldn’t be a normal wolf, he’d fought them before and they were never faster than him. He drew his steel sword and caught the beast on the shoulder, enough to wound but not to kill. He went for another strike when the wolf suddenly stilled, its nostrils flaring, and it turned its gaze towards the direction of Jaskier and Roach. Even though they were hidden by the trees, the beast caught their scent and bolted. Geralt quickly followed, sword still drawn and heart pounding in his ears. He couldn’t let it get to Jaskier, if it harmed his bard...he didn’t want to think about that.
The path the wolf had taken brought him to a frozen over lake, where he saw Jaskier trying to lure the beast away from Roach, not realising he was stepping backwards onto the ice covered water. Geralt shouted and the beasts attention was drawn back to him, just where he wanted it. It charged him and he narrowly managed to avoid it before it whipped around with immense speed and clawed his shoulder.
“GERALT!” Jaskier cried out, his voice panicked. Geralt could feel the fear radiating off him even though they were at least 20 feet apart. He had to kill this beast. Even if he was hurt, he couldn’t let it near Jaskier. His Jaskier. The realisation suddenly dawned on him that he would do anything in his power to protect the bard, and it gave him a burst of confidence and energy. He thrust his sword with such force that he almost tore the wolfs chest in two, and it bared its teeth one last time before it was dead.
He took a breath and looked towards Jaskier, who had tears of relief streaking his face.
Jaskier looked back at his wonderful Witcher, his hero, his muse, with pride and it looked as though Geralt was about to smile back, when he heard a loud crack.
And the last thing the bard saw was the panicked golden eyes of his friend before the ice gave in and he was pulled under.