Chapter Text
When you had decided to spend the winter in Oxenfurt with Jaskier, you’d assumed it would be relaxing and restorative. You couldn’t imagine a season staying in a house with a bed could be any more taxing than traveling with Jaskier and the Witcher, staying in dingy inns and sleeping on the ground. So of course Jaskier had to prove you wrong.
He spent every winter at Oxenfurt while Geralt went to stay with his fellow Witchers at Kaer Morhen, but this year he had been invited to take a position as guest director for the Oxenfurt choir, the very choir you and Jaskier had both sang in during your respective years at the University.
It was where Jaskier had met you two years ago—during one of his other terms as a guest professor—and decided to take you on as his apprentice. You both were excited for him to take the job directing the university’s Yule concert, but you had no clue the toll the next month would end up taking on you.
***
Five Days Until the Concert.
You woke up to the sound of Jaskier humming from the kitchen. You didn’t want to get out of bed. You were exhausted. But you knew if Jaskier was up, you would need to get up too, unless you wanted to go to rehearsals on an empty stomach.
The floor was icy against your bare feet as you walked into the kitchen to find Jaskier pacing, holding a piece of sheet music in one hand and conducting with the other hand.
“Perfect,” he said when you entered the room, not looking up, “can you sing through this part for me?”
While Jaskier had spent several terms teaching poetry, he had never directed a program like this before, and it had been a steep learning curve for him.
You took the sheet music from him, recognizing this part of the program. It was the toughest section—eight voice parts all polyphonic—and you knew Jaskier was having trouble conducting this bit. You wanted to help, but this was the last thing you wanted to sing first thing in the morning.
“Can you do the tenor two part up the octave at the start of the b section?”
Jaskier was the best musician you knew, leagues above anyone else you’d ever met, and sometimes he forgot not everyone could perform at his level.
“I don’t think I can sight read this, Jask,” you admitted.
“Right, yeah, of course. Can you just do the rhythm then? We can take it slow.”
“I can try.”
You somehow managed to fumble your way through the b section while Jaskier sang the baritone part, conducting both of you with his right hand.
“Can we take it again?” he asked, once you finished.
“I was hoping to eat before we left.”
“Right, food, yeah, of course.”
You swore that Jaskier was quite literally fueled by his work, managing to work through meals, and get half the sleep you did while somehow having twice the energy. Sometimes you wondered if he was completely human. Maybe you and Geralt would need to do an investigation once you reunited in the spring.
Geralt.
Your mind wandered to your Witcher as you and Jaskier ate breakfast. If only he could be here to celebrate Yule with you and Jaskier. The concert was set for the night before Midinváerne, and you’d give anything to have Geralt there to watch.
“Are you ready to go?” Jaskier asked after you’d finished your hasty breakfast, pulling you from your daydreams about warmer days, and beautiful Witchers. The last thing you wanted to do was venture out into the snow to make the twenty minute trek to the chapel, but if you wanted to get back into bed, you’d have to get through a full day of rehearsals first.
You kept the image of your bed in mind as you got dressed and pulled your boots on, as if thinking of it might keep you warm in the cold, unforgiving air of the early morning.
Only five more days, you reminded yourself. Then you could rest.
***
Jaskier shook your shoulder, pulling you from your doze.
“Hey,” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What did I miss?” The last thing you remembered was watching the tenor bass rehearsal. At one point, you’d laid down, resting your head on Jaskier’s folded up cloak. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but you weren’t sure what you expected. You were just so tired.
“It’s all right,” Jaskier assured you. “You didn’t miss anything. There’s a twenty minute break until your rehearsal. Do you want to go for a walk?” he offered. “Maybe wake up a bit?”
You accepted his hand up and followed him back outside. It had been snowing and overcast when you’d walked to the chapel this morning, but sometime during the first rehearsal, the snow had stopped and the sun had broken through. The sunlight and the cool air on your cheeks helped pull you from the fog of sleep. Usually during the morning men’s rehearsal you would watch and listen, carefully making notes for Jaskier, occasionally going to fetch something for him or running a sectional. It wasn’t like you not to pay attention, let alone fall asleep.
Jaskier seemed to pick up on this strangeness as well, because once you were out of earshot of the other singers, he sat you down, holding both of your cold hands in his as he spoke.
“Are you feeling alright?” Jaskier asked, concern evident in his voice. “You look worn out. I’d hate to see you ill so close to Midinváerne.”
‘I’d hate to see you ill so close to the concert,’ you knew he wanted to say. There would be no show without you, and you were both painfully aware of that fact.
“I’m fine,” you lied. In all honesty, he had it exactly right. You were worn out. Three weeks straight of all day rehearsals five days a week, and important dinners every few nights beside. You weren’t sure how much left you had in you. But you didn’t want Jaskier to worry—even if he had every right to—because there was nothing to be done about it.
With so much to do in such a short amount of time, you couldn’t afford to waste any rehearsal time. And you definitely didn’t have time to fall ill.
No. You would be fine. You only had to hold out for a few more days.
Five more days, and you’d be able to rest.