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My Dearest Witcher,
I haven’t the faintest idea what to do when you aren’t around for adventures, winter can be so dreadfully boring in one place, at least in comparison to our usual escapades, so I have decided to at least write out some thoughts rather than letting them fester like a wound overripe fruit.
The snow has finally begun piling up here in Oxenfurt, and it becomes a real issue whenever I wish to go out. Which is mainly an issue for the market and other purchases I wish to make, but sometimes I need to see more than just the walls of the university as well! I suppose that wherever you head off to, it must snow as well? Do you also get restless staying cooped up in one place, or does the solitude appeal to you? I can already imagine you brooding in front of a fireplace for the whole of winter.
Well, what do you know, I’ve inspired myself! It seems your inspiration knows no bounds, physical, emotional, artistic, etc.
I cannot know if I will ever send this, after all where would I send it to? But who knows what life’s whims may decide.
Farewell then,
Jaskier
Bard and Poet Extraordinaire
My Dearest Witcher,
As per my third letter ago, I finally made good on my promise. Valdo, may he always find a nail to sit on, was furious! Ha! It’s hardly my fault for being more skilled though. Valdo wouldn’t know hard work if it bit him in the ass!
Forgive my language though. The story is simply too compelling to write out here, so I shall have to simply remember to tell you once we meet up again.
That shouldn’t be long now, since the snows have stopped. Occasionally I look closely at the tree next to the entrance to the courtyard. It’s a perfect height, you see, and one of the earlier bloomers. Once I see even a spot of green on it I shall be off to find you, and we can begin our exciting travels together once more! Do you miss me those times as much as I do? Of course I realize The Path is something you consider a duty, of sorts. Under that gruff exterior though, I think you must enjoy our time together.
Ah, I’m going to end the letter here before I get any more wistful.
Sincerest wishes well,
Jaskier
Bard and Poet Extraordinaire
[Next Year]
Jaskier
I don’t know why I'm writing this. I just can’t stop thinking about all those letters you wrote last year. Why would you waste the paper when you had to hand them to me in person? Why am I?
Geralt
Jaskier
The snows got high enough to keep us me inside most of the time. Getting restless means more chores though.
Geralt
Jaskier
Sometimes I think I might enjoy your composing over some of the silence. But I’m never giving you this letter.
Geralt
[Next Year]
My Dearest Geralt,
I realize it’s only two weeks into our separation, but I cannot help my excitement! You had better be writing letters this year, as you promised. Just thinking about what could have been in those letters sends my romantic soul into despair! Oh, I will never know what contents might have lurked within! Only a glimpse of the paper sitting within your bag to tempt me!
But no longer, if you should write the way you said you would. I will be holding you to that dearest.
Until then, know that I have been invited to the courts of the Countess de Stael for the winter. A fine enough place, and perhaps singing of some of our adventures within the upper echelons will help the witcher reputation on a grander scale? One can only hope, and you know I will be doing my best.
Of course, I’m certain I will have been telling you all about this long before you read my letters. Perhaps we ought to consider a way to actually send them? Surely seeing my letters and imagining my voice would liven up your own winters Geralt!
Your dearest Jaskier
Bard and Poet Extraordinaire
[Next Year]
Jaskier
Still don’t know what to write, but you liked last year’s letters well enough. You talked for hours. I do the same thing almost every winter. It’s not as exciting as you seem to think our travels are.
Geralt
Jaskier
I killed a bear. It was a good fight. I got a new fur for my bed.
Geralt
[Next Year]
My Beloved Geralt,
This past year was something incredible. I cannot begin to express how I feel in a letter, though I will certainly try. I’ve already mentioned the sweeping sensation of loneliness which comes to consume me whenever we are apart for more than a month, but truly, the world just seems far duller without your shining presence. Yes, even with all your grunting. I’ll bet you did one just now while reading! Truly, it is this kind of understanding I miss when we separate. We each go and find our own companies, but who is to listen to my newest compositions with as discerning an ear as yours? Who is to remind you to use gentle scented oils on your hair?
Ah, but I am only causing myself to miss you more with each word I write. I shall simply have to hold memories of our travels in my heart until we meet up this spring.
For now, I suppose, I shall get back to the young students’ compositions I am supposed to be grading. Should you care for me at all, please do not mention them to me. Certainly I have plenty to say on the subject, and all of it wearing thin on my patience. If I have to see one more description of lips as flowers…
Your Dearest Jaskier
0-o-0
If the occasional patch of snow and barely budding trees told Jaskier anything, it was that it was early into spring, earlier than he usually managed to start traveling. While he was aware that the northern part of the continent held stubbornly to its snow, at least in practice, he was hardly ever around to see it; He’d forgotten just how bone-bitingly cold it could be. Well, to him. Geralt usually bore the cold with calm stoicism. As to whether or not he ever actually felt it the way Jaskier did… Jaskier could only speculate.
It might also have been the differences in their clothing--not that Jaskier would ever admit to that.
Besides, he’d gotten a nice cloak to wear, it was simply that the wind would still bite his cheeks or nose, or ears, even if he tried to put the hood up. Jaskier could not wait for the time when he could sell off the cloak for his summer ensemble. Geralt would be around then too.
Jaskier smiled to himself as he strolled. He’d arrived early, yes, and decided to wait at the little town he and Geralt had met at for the past couple of years. Apparently it was close to the foot of the mountains where the witcher keep resided, thus convenient for geralt to pass through on his way back into the continent, onto the path. Jaskier felt a little nugget of warmth when he remembered Geralt divulging such information, and that warmth spurred Jaskier on in his little walk.
He’d gone out for fresh air--a ridiculous thought once he’d been out in the cold for only a few minutes. Even the nearby river barely moved, sluggishly rippling alongside him. The warm air of the inn was likely to seem positively blistering in comparison though, and the innkeeper was a lovely woman of years who would be keeping mulled ale going for most of the day. Something wonderfully comfortable to return to.
The entire village seemed relaxed, at least in one sense: they didn’t seem to mind witchers at all. Expected them, in fact. It seemed living so close to a stronghold had made them used to their comings and goings around wintertime. So Jaskier could say he was waiting for one and that was that, no suspicions or accusations. What a breath of fresh air--so to speak.
Actually, Jaskier thought he might as well head back. Despite his restlessness at waiting for Geralt, readiness to share his letters and travel, his companion by his side again, the chill of early spring was chipping away his desire to be out and about. He would see Geralt at the inn, once the witcher actually arrived.
“This cold air will likely only ruin my voice,” Jaskier said to himself. “Can’t have that.”
So he turned. Too quickly.
And it turned out the water was deeper than he’d thought. Not that it would have mattered much.
As soon as his body hit the water--mid spin as he tried desperately to windmill his arms for stability--he spasmed. The cold shocked him to his core and his mouth flew open. Water like ice flew into his throat and he choked. His limbs jerked in a way which gave him no ability to swim, and his head wavered as he attempted to determine which way was up.
When a foot hit something solid, Jaskier pushed. Something cold hit his forehead for a moment--he realized only a split second too late that it must have been the open air and tried to rush towards it, panicking and taking in another mouthful of water.
All the while, he was certain he was being pushed downstream.
Jaskier’s legs hit the bottom again, but his muscles were weak, cramping from the cold. He managed a tiny push and felt the air again. The river worked with him, barely, and Jaskier felt himself being pushed into a little curve of sediment, where water swirled around before going back into the main flow. Limbs numb, Jaskier pushed up, one limb at a time, until he coughed and sputtered, heaving up the water in his stomach with involuntary muscle spasms. Then, having pulled himself completely from the water, numb and vision going dark, Jaskier found a patch of bare ground, and pulled his cloak around himself, curling into a ball as darkness stole over his vision.
0-o-0
Geralt could track; He knew what signs to follow, he knew how to keep alert, he knew how to keep himself calm. Jaskier always seemed to ruin every step of his skills. Because Jaskier was missing.
The inns woman was more than helpful, telling him the bard had been waiting for him, mentioning she worried when he’d gone off for a “brisk walk” and hadn’t immediately returned. Geralt knew the bard’s penchant for trouble. He went to look. There was hardly a need for stealth, but Geralt still couldn’t keep himself from frowning at the way his heartbeat seemed to pound in his ears, especially as he followed the bard’s trail closer to the river. It was too early for drowners, Geralt told himself, and there were almost never any this close to the keep. Still, Jaskier’s trail ended there.
Or so Geralt had assumed. The last footprint wasn’t much of a print, more like someone had slid their entire heel through the mud there, like they had been leaning-
Geralt practically jumped to attention and stalked off downriver, eyes scanning and nostrils flared as he scented the painfully sharp air. Jaskier was fine. He stumbled and continued walking. He slipped a bit and got wet, then left. He-
He was on the riverbank. He was soaked. He wasn’t moving.
Geralt sprinted to Jaskier’s side, dread pulling all his limbs to the ground. Geralt gently cradled Jaskier’s face, looking at the worryingly pale skin and purple lips. He leaned in close, not daring to breathe. A small, barely warm puff of air reached his cheek. Another heart beat--too slow too slow--alongside his own. Jaskier was alive.
And if Geralt wanted to keep him that way, he needed to move.
Taking quick stock of Jaskier--a woolen cloak and gloves and sensible shoes, good, the wool would keep him warm even wet--Geralt carefully picked up his friend companion bard, pulled a little of his own cloak over the man, and sprinted back towards the inn, making sure not to jostle Jaskier on the way. The inns woman needed no instruction upon seeing Geralt burst inside, wet body in hand. Geralt spent one moment being thankful for competent humans, nodded at the woman at her offer of a bath and extra firewood, then he turned and went down the hall.
He easily found Jaskier’s room, the only one with his scent behind it. Once inside, he laid Jaskier on the bed and got to work.
The cloak and all the rest of Jaskier’s clothing had to go. Despite the wool doing a good job of keeping Jaskier warm, keeping him alive, it was still wet and would do best if removed. As Geralt removed each piece, he also tried to warm Jaskier up, cupping Jaskier's neck to transfer warmth, shucking his own clothing to press against Jaskier’s chest, placing himself over Jaskier and throwing his own thick cloak over the both of them. Jaskier was still breathing, his heartbeat steady but not as fast as it should be, and he didn’t wake.
Meanwhile, the inns woman had two of her children hauling buckets to them, and the bath was full. Geralt grunted a thanks. Once they left, Geralt removed one hand from the cloak to form an igni sign, first to light the wood in the fireplace, then to heat the water.
He didn’t wish to shock Jaskier though, so waited. And waited. Being warm and dry worked, though slowly. Geralt felt as though time were crawling, stretching like a thin rope, fraying like his thoughts.
When Jaskier's heart gained some speed, and his lips started gathering some pink, only then did he breath easy.
He checked Jaskier's hands then, knowing how important it would be to the bard. Geralt felt blood pumping in them, and they were losing that pale white color. Good. With Jaskier's temperature stabilizing, the bath would be acceptable.
Still Jaskier did not wake, so Geralt removed himself from the cloak and checked the water; barely lukewarm. The fire kept the air warm enough though. Geralt nodded to himself.
When he pulled the cloak down and Jaskier didn't stir, Geralt patted his shoulder. Then his cheek.
"Bard," he said. "Jaskier."
But aside from a slight shift and sigh, not much of a response. Better than nothing though. Jaskier was recovering.
With that comfort in mind, Geralt gently picked Jaskier up and moved to the bath. The second hw tried to place Jaskier in, the man started moving, thrashing. He flailed, limbs slow and clumsy still, like he feared drowning again. Geralt lifted him back up, holding him close as Jaskier whimpered.
“Jaskier, it’s okay. I’m here,” he said, over and over. Jaskier stopped trying to move, except for his eyes, which moved back and forth. Geralt wouldn’t be able to move him away.
Instead, Geralt steeled himself and slipped into the tub of water as well; After all, he had already removed his own clothing to keep Jaskier warm. Jaskier’s breath still hitched at the touch of water, his eyes fluttering like he was trying to wake, but in Geralt’s arms, with his assurances whispered into his ears, Jaskier calmed. Geralt was better able to feel the temperature too, and resolved to keep an eye on it to make sure it didn’t stray too far in one direction. With a little maneuvering, he had Jaskier more spread out on top of him. He did checks of Jaskier’s hands and feet, seeing that they were more flexible and gaining color like the rest of Jaskier. Geralt let out a sigh of relief. Jaskier let out one as well.
Geralt watched intently as Jaskier groaned, shifting only a little before settling back down. With gentle motions, Geralt made sure Jaskier was clean of any lingering mud, simultaneously keeping an eye on his heart, breathing, and the way his skin was responding.
A little jar of oil sat near the tub, probably Jaskier’s, whether from earlier use or in preparation for Geralt, he couldn’t know. The scent was calming though, same as the circular motions Geralt used to rub it into Jaskier’s skin. When Jaskier grunted again, eyes finally opening, Geralt froze. He meant to say Jaskier’s name, or maybe ask if he was aware, how he felt, but all the words stuck in his throat. Every emotion he’d been feeling since he’d gone searching for Jaskier and found him near dead tried to escape at once, and all that could squeeze out between them was a tiny breath.
Jaskier turned his head, eyes slightly unfocused. “Geralt?” His voice was breathy, but the sound brought Geralt’s own voice back.
“How do you feel?”
“Happy.” He leaned further into Geralt, like he was trying to snuggle into his arms. “You’re here.”
Another lump tried to block Geralt’s throat, this one heavy and thick. “You almost died.”
“Yeah.” Jaskier shivered, maybe at the memories, but Geralt wrapped arms around him regardless and was rewarded with a smile. “Which is why I’m happy to see you.”
Eyes stinging, Geralt had to close them. “I didn’t… I wasn’t there-”
“No one was. Geralt. Look at me.” He did, unwillingly, when Jaskier raised one weak hand to cup his cheek. He had to occasionally pause, maybe for breath, or pain, or because he was still tired and cold, but Jaskier forged on, determination in his eyes and the set of his mouth. “I was alone. That was my fault. That could have happened to anyone, and it was careless, too. Without you there… if you hadn’t looked for me, I would have died. Like anyone else. You’re the reason I’m alive.”
It didn’t ease the pain in Geralt’s chest, the little whisper of Jaskier being fragile and short-lived. He still felt his eyes grow wet, and his arms pull Jaskier closer so that he could place his nose at Jaskier’s pulse point. But… he enjoyed the sensations, understanding what Jaskier meant, at least.
“Still not gonna let you get here first anymore,” Geralt grumbled.
Jaskier huffed. “One time. The only time it’s been something mundane!”
“Cuckholded couples are mundane.”
Jaskier made his best offended noise and attempted to lecture Geralt on how long ago the last instance was and how dare he bring it up, but Geralt wasn’t listening. Which got him another half-hearted rant once Jaskier figured it out as Geralt dried them both and got Jaskier warm tea.
It would be another couple of days until they exchanged letters, and by then, they already understood.
0-o-0
Jaskier
I miss you when you leave. I am glad for your presence when you are around. maybe we Would you be interes Winter with me this year.
Geralt