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"So, how do you celebrate?" It started with what Jaskier assumed was a simple question. Turns out, the answer was not that simple at all.
"Celebrate what?" Geralt asked. He was kneeling before the hearth caring for all his blades. Geralt kept a slightly disconcerting amount of weapons on his person. Jaskier leaned back in his chair, standing it up onto just the back legs as he debated how to answer.
"Midinváerne, of course. It's at the end of this week, and I wanted to make sure we made time for your traditions as well as mine." Jaskier answered after a moment. Really, he was trying to be considerate about this. Jaskier knew that some Kaedweni celebrated the solstices differently than the rest of the Continent.
"Hm…" Geralt hummed noncommittally. Jaskier just sighed and went back to marking the finals on his desk.
Honestly, this entire winter had been a lesson in learning to read the Witcher. Jaskier had only known the man for about three years now, so every interaction was a learning experience. It was fascinating. Like how even if Geralt spoke with a perfect Rivian accent, all his customs were Kaedweni. But there was no way that Jaskier was going to let Geralt trek up into the Blue Mountains after getting his throat practically ripped out by a Striga.
So, to Oxenfurt and Jaskier's flat it was.
"There's no need to be shy about it. Melitele knows how many different types of festivals go on around the city." Jaskier said, throwing out a dismissive hand. He'd learned early on it was easier for Geralt if Jaskier didn't watch him while waiting on a reply. Jaskier continued to grade while he heard Geralt finish sharpening or whatever he did to the blades.
"...We don't… usually celebrate." Geralt finally answered.
"That's a shame. There will be a big bonfire in the city square, and some of the more well-to-do professors like to throw banquets." Jaskier rambled, leaning back in his chair again. Gods above but did he hate grading tests. It was the worst part about being a professor!
"Hm…" Even though he'd gotten much better about reading the witcher's non-answers, Jaskier still couldn't understand that grunt. He heard Geralt's boots hit the floor as he stood (a courtesy to the bard who'd been scared by a too-silent Witcher one too many times) and figured that would be the end of the conversation. Geralt's soft footfalls headed toward the spare bedroom (Geralt's room this winter) and Jaskier turned back to his task. He had to finish these tonight, the grades needed to be recorded before the semester actually ended.
He finished just as the midnight bell was ringing and Jaskier let out a soft laugh. He stood and stretched before padding down the corridor to his room. He paused at the hallway window to look out. He really was very lucky to have gotten this suite of rooms. It was on the top floor of the building, and all the windows had an excellent view of the academy and the surrounding city, but this hall window had the very best of the views. He could see a few streetlamps still lit, and fewer still windows had light behind them, but the fresh layer of snow that had been falling since nightfall brightened up the city.
It was beautiful, and inspiring. Jaskier leaned against the window for just a moment, and sighed, letting his breath fog the glass. A quick swipe of his fingers through the fog had a small little wolf's head sketched across the payne. Jaskier smiled before he wandered off to his room, where he sat with his lute, fingers ghosting across the strings.
The next day was exhausting, as Jaskier finished up his few rhetoric classes, and turned in all the grades to his department head. He collapsed onto his little couch in the sitting room just as soon as he was able to unbutton his doublet, earning a small laugh from Geralt, who had been in the middle of mixing some kind of surprisingly not-terribly-smelling potion or other. He had no doubt started to put away his equipment as soon as Jaskier had turned the key in the door, because there were just a few bundles of dried leaves left on the table when he'd stumbled into the room.
"Ugh."
"Bad day?" Geralt asked, and there was the smallest hint of amusement in his voice.
"You've no idea." Jaskier mumbled into the pillows. "I cannot wait until I am famous enough I've not got to rely on teaching to survive the year."
"You're famous now?" Geralt asked the question almost hesitantly. Jaskier smiled into the pillow. He sat up and winked at the Witcher.
"Obviously." He said with an eye roll, and Geralt just shook his head. "But what I mean to say is that once I am more famous, I shall be invited to competitions and to courts as a paid entertainer. Kings will invite me for betrothal feasts and weddings and such, and will brag that they have The Famous Jaskier to play."
"Hm." Geralt grunted and that one Jaskier recognized.
"Excuse you!" Jaskier called out, affronted by Geralt's callous disregard to his dignity. "By the time I'm done making a name for myself, kings will beg me to perform for them!"
"Beg you to stop." Geralt shot back without missing a beat. Jaskier made the most haughty and offended noises he could.
"You-! Why-!" He sputtered before he finally pointed at Geralt's face. "You, sir, need a nap!" Geralt shook his head again, but it was soft and there was, unmistakably, a smile on his face.
The next few days passed in a blur now that Jaskier was no longer confined to the lecture halls. Jaskier took the opportunity to show Geralt around to some of his favorite places. Bookshops of questionable repute, taverns with delicious ale and a penchant for excellent music, and the very best sweet shop in the city, run by a spitfire of a woman.
All in all, it was some of the best days in the city Jaskier had had in… a very long time. Geralt tried to remain his grumpy stoic self, but even he ended up smiling by day's end, lounging with Jaskier in front of the warm hearth of his room.
Midinváerne was tomorrow.
"Here." Geralt's gruff voice startled Jaskier out of the sleepy contentment he'd been dozing in.
"Hrm?" Jaskier questioned as Geralt shoved something small and slightly pokey into his hands. "What's this then?" Geralt refused to meet Jaskier's eyes before the bard actually examined what he now possessed.
It was an orange, or at least, it had started out that way. The peeling had been carefully carved away in a pattern along the sides, four little white vertical lines evenly spaced around. In between each mark were lines of spikey little beads? in a diamond pattern. The beads all met at the top and bottom of the orange.
It smelled heavenly as Jaskier turned it over in his hands to examine it.
"It's a tradition." Geralt mumbled, voice low and barely audible to the bard over the crackling flames. "Oranges, cloves and some other spices."
"Thank you, Geralt." Jaskier said honestly, voice soft and sweet. He was floored by the gift; he hadn't expected anything. He could hear the bells chiming for two; how did it end up so late? He must have dozed for longer than he thought. He noticed Geralt twitch at the chiming, something he hadn't done in weeks. "Something wrong?" Geralt grumbled and grabbed his medallion chain, holding it up for Jaskier to touch.
"Midinváerne." Geralt said as Jaskier touched the medallion hesitantly. It was vibrating softly, tremors so faint that Jaskier could barely pick them up. "My medallion will be useless. Too much ambient Chaos." Jaskier relaxed slightly at that. He'd been worried.
"Will it react all day like that?"
"It'll get worse."
"Oh, that sounds… unpleasant." Jaskier said, off-balance and unsure. Geralt just grunted an acknowledgement. "Well, let's head to bed, yeah?"
"Yeah."
Jaskier woke later in the day than he'd planned, but Geralt didn't seem to mind. First things first, Jaskier got them a breakfast of honey cakes, which Geralt raised an eyebrow at but did not object to. Then, they were off to a little pub run by an old Kaedweni couple, who were serving some sort of mulled beer Jaskier did not even attempt to pronounce the name of, but Geralt knew immediately from smell alone. It was different, no doubt, but delicious; and Geralt seemed to appreciate the taste from home.
Jaskier had to perform as part of this year's celebration at the bonfire, but even that did not seem to dampen Geralt's good mood. By the time the bonfire had been lit and his set was finished, Jaskier was sweaty even in the snow. He was smiling as he stepped off the stage, and Geralt handed him a warm mug of cider.
"Thank you, my friend." Jaskier said as he raised his mug in a toast before downing about half of it.
"No, thank you." Geralt's voice was soft with a real genuine smile. "My friend."