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The winter at Kaer Morhen was going fairly great. Jaskier got to see Cherry again. It turned out that Lambert did take her the first year, but decided to get a new horse the following year that was taller. Apparently Cherry didn’t have the stamina to stand up to Lambert’s wants, either. Jaskier thought the man was just being picky, but what did he know?
Lil Bleater was a wondrous gift. Eskel hadn’t brought another goat up to keep Lil Bleater company, but he did bring a small flock of chickens. They preened and prided themselves through the day. Jaskier thought their feathers were quite deluxe. Though apparently Vesemir only agreed to the new additions because it meant fresh eggs for the kitchen and on the off chance that they ran out of animals to hunt, the chickens could provide.
Aiden was in the middle of telling a story, “–then the bard named the serpent Vanessa, as if that was normal.”
Coën chuckled as he sharpened his steel sword. Jaskier looked unamused as the Cat witcher then relayed how they got absolutely sloshed in a tavern that night. Jaskier purposely forgot what happened, if only for his peace of mind. Coën seemed to enjoy the story, though.
The Griffin witcher then told his own. “I woke to the bard blowing out a candle after stitching me up. The smoke was what roused me awake, I think.”
“My stitches were the height of perfection,” promised Jaskier.
Aiden tinged his daggers together. “They’re cheering for you,” he said sarcastically.
Jaskier rolled his eyes. Coën chose that moment to continue. “Then Jaskier got me food and water. I appreciated that. I did not feel up to walking around quite yet. My healing was still recovering from the blood loss, so it had other things to focus on.”
“What I’m hearing is that you’re an idiot who didn’t stock up on potions.”
“I was heading here!” defended the Griffin. “I didn’t expect to take the Drowner contract, or to fight a Striga.”
They went back and forth until lunch. Lunch was a quick affair like usual. Vesemir mentioned how they needed to get more meat in, Geralt pulled out his Gwent deck, Coën decided to learn how to play the spoons from Jaskier, Aiden and Lambert acted all cutesy, and Eskel knitted scarves for his group of chickens.
“How many chickens are you knitting for?” asked Jaskier.
Eskel glanced up from his wool work. “Got 8 chickens up here. 2 roosters and 6 hens.”
“Hmm.” Jaskier cocked his head at the thought. He had been too busy with Cherry, Roach, and Lil Bleater to visit with the chicken coop that much aside from getting pecked at.
“Do you want to meet them?” asked Eskel.
Jaskier beamed while Lambert rolled his eyes across the table. “That would be absolutely lovely,” promised the bard.
A short while later, Eskel was showing off his chickens to Jaskier. Eskel put one of the scarves around the smallest hen there. He grinned at the way the chicken cooed and prattled. Jaskier awed as one of the roosters started to strut at a hen, doing a mating dance. Eskel chuckled as the time went on and the bard decided to name them all.
Jaskier put on his cloak and went on a walk after visiting with Eskel, who was pulled away to training. The witchers were busy sparring in the courtyard and Jaskier got bored watching them most days, so he started to go for walks to pass the time. He didn’t understand why they didn’t rest while they could, but he also understood that they couldn’t stop honing their skills.
His mind drifted to Dragonfly, who surely was still at her cottage happily. Maybe she got with the barmaid, he thought in hopefulness. She deserved some good fortune for being what he suspected, that being that she was as old as Vesemir. He puffed out air to get his mind off of it, only to be surprised when he blew away a snowflake.
He looked up to see the clouds had turned gray. He frowned. Jaskier could have sworn that the weather and sky were clear for the day. He tightened his cloak, though he knew that he couldn’t become warmer. He was already wrapped in enough wool to keep 4 horses warm in a blizzard. He trudged his way down to a clearing. The round stub of a cutdown tree was dusted off of snow from the previous times he had gone there.
Jaskier sat as the snow fell slowly. The flakes were small yet growing larger by the minute. His cheeks turned pink as he sat, but he hadn’t been able to get out of the keep that much. He needed a break from staying inside. He knew that it was safe– Coën and Eskel defeated a group of Harpies last week that were getting too close for comfort.
Jaskier got up to return to Kaer Morhen. His toes had turned cold which meant he had clearly been out there long enough. He traced his path back to the keep. He was met with the small river that didn’t freeze over, almost delighted when he saw a small herd of deer. He then went through a winding path around a tree when he heard a growl. He felt fear as he turned to see where the growl was coming from.
Just a few yards away was the largest wolf Jaskier had ever seen or heard of. The wolf was the size of a horse, if not larger. Its dark gray fur stood out against the landscape of snow, which only made the wolf seem more daunting. Jaskier’s eyes trailed to the wolf’s large, pointed teeth and the huge paws which held claws the size of Jaskier's hand.
Jaskier backed away from the large wolf. He stepped onto a twig. The wolf’s growl heightened at that, which made Jaskier kick up his pace. He was almost to a familiar brush of trees when he ran into something. He turned around to see a snow-clad figure.
“What are you–”
Jaskier cut himself off when he saw the woman’s blue lips. She wasn’t dead, no, her bright blue eyes looked much too alive to be dead. Jaskier gaped at the sight of a woman covered in frost. Her skin was almost the color of clouds on a summer day. She turned her icy gaze to the bard, which made Jaskier freeze.
She tilted her head to the side in what Jaskier called amusement. Her arm reached out to him– thin, bony, and just as pale as her long hair. Her fingernails trailed across his forehead down through the side of his face and against his chin. She withdrew her hand as her face morphed into a thin smile.
In her other hand was a large staff. It leaked sap, though Jaskier knew that the woman didn’t mind. Her hand tightened around the staff, which made the bard stare. His eyes went to the top of it in order to see a large clear crystal at the top.
“Are you a mage, dear?” he wondered aloud.
The woman didn’t answer. Her staff lit up, eliciting a blinding white light to travel from her hand, through her staff, and into the crystal. The crystal, which was pointed to the sky, sent a shot of the white light to it. The sky instantly thundered as storm clouds banded together to create more snow.
The woman took Jaskier’s arm. When he didn’t move, she pulled. He trailed after her as she went to the wolf. She climbed onto the animal easily like it was a repeated motion. She urged Jaskier to do the same, so he did.
His thoughts became dizzying as they rode through the snow. Jaskier tightened his hold on his cloak as well as on the thick fur of the wolf. The woman who dragged him along stayed silent as they went about through the forest. His thoughts were clouded with how freezing he was– with how he didn’t understand what was happening.
Jaskier wasn’t sure how long they rode on the wolf. Either way, the wolf didn’t seem to tire. The sun was waning as twilight set and he lost his sense of time. The bard thought about falling off of the wolf, but every time he tried the frost-covered woman would hold him still with her frozen touch. He grew tired from battling the cold to keep warm. The woman seemed to know that, so she directed him to lay down on the wolf as they continued to ride.
Jaskier wondered if the snow woman was thinking of harming him. She seemed kind in some ways, but she didn’t talk nor let him go back to the keep. He grew warmer as he was surrounded by the thick, gray fur of the wolf he was riding. The woman slicked her pale fingers and pointed nails through his hair as the night went on. He knew it was nighttime, for the sun had completely gone. All that was left was a rising moon and an uncountable number of stars.
They had made it quite a ways from the mountain. For the first time in a month, Jaskier was met with green. It seemed that there was a part in Kaedwen that wasn’t bathed in snow. The bard stayed close to the wolf for warmth as the woman slid off. He watched in silent fascination as the woman tapped her staff onto the ground.
From her hand, just like before, a white light traveled through the staff, into the crystal, and up to the sky. Also like before, the clouds cluttered and stormed. The snow fell quickly with large flakes hitting Jaskier’s nose. The frost woman looked up at her work with a slight smile before climbing onto the wolf once more.
Jaskier managed to say, “You make it so that humans can’t travel to Kaer Morhen.” The woman looked down at him with a neutral gaze. “Thank you,” he whispered. “They deserve peace.”
The woman stayed still for a moment, as if processing what Jaskier said. She then quickly tapped on the wolf’s neck. The wolf took off with quick speed. The bard gripped tightly onto the gray fur in order to not be flung off. He couldn’t tell where they were going, for it was so dark. He brushed snowflakes off of his eyelashes and eyebrows before gripping onto the fur again.
He knew he shouldn’t fall asleep. If anything Geralt ever said that was ingrained into his mind was to not trust someone – or something – that you don’t know the motives of. Jaskier knew he should have fought against his bleary eyes and the ways his eyelids felt weighted down, but he couldn’t anymore. He let the cold wash over him along with the sleepiness he had fought off for hours.
He woke to pitch black darkness. He gripped the fur below him to reassure himself where he was. He looked up to see the pale frost woman staring at him with an unreadable expression. She tapped on the wolf’s neck, which made the wolf stop running. The wolf walked in the snow as the moon shone a reflection of the sun’s rays brightly.
Jaskier sat up sluggishly. He had slept, obviously, yet he still felt tired. His eyes traveled to assess his surroundings. The trees seemed familiar, which he counted as a good sign. His fingers hung onto the fur of the wolf as the woman looked around as if lost.
Then, Jaskier saw it. Kaer Morhen was just to their right. The snow woman knew it too. She tapped the side of the wolf’s neck twice, which made the wolf start to walk towards the keep. Jaskier couldn’t help the elated feeling that filled him. His fingers suddenly melted and his muscles felt useless.
He wasn’t going to die. He was being taken back to Kaer Morhen.
The wolf stopped a few paces from the keep. Jaskier looked up to the woman as if asking if he could go. The frost woman shook her head half-way towards the keep’s door twice. She urged him to go, so Jaskier did.
He bowed to her, a quick and short thing. “Thank you, darling,” he spoke, like a whisper in the wind. When he looked up, the wolf and the woman were gone. For a second, Jaskier thought he imagined it all in a hallucination brought on from freezing to death. He walked to the keep’s door. He knocked on it with strength he thought he didn’t have.
Lambert opened it. His eyes were wide as he registered who it was. “Jaskier,” his tone was in awe but it was still gruff. “What are you doing out there? Get in here, you fuck.” He yanked Jaskier inside, too focused on the bard to notice the large pawprints in the snow.
The witcher patted Jaskier’s cloak off. Snow trickled onto the stone floors of the keep. As Jaskier stood still, Lambert did the work. He took Jaskier’s cloak off then shook it. Snow and bits of ice shattered down to the floor. Lambert’s face contorted in a mix of confusion and concern.
“How long were you out there?” asked the youngest Wolf witcher.
Jaskier took off his snow-covered boots to reveal thick wool socks. The bard hit his boots together in order to get the clumped snow out of the treads. He set his boots down then gave Lambert a questioning stare.
“Did you go for a walk in the middle of the night? For Melitele’s sake, bard, what were you doing out in the storm?” demanded Lambert.
Jaskier furrowed his brow in confusion. He walked down the hall in an attempt to seek warmth. Lambert went after him. He caught up with an extra step in his walk. He poked the bard as if something was wrong, then went as far as taking out a silver dagger. Jaskier squinted his eyes at Lambert as the witcher put his dagger away.
They arrived to the Great Hall. Jaskier saw that the witchers were merrily drunk and singing their songs he wrote about them off-key. It made the bard smile.
Lambert patted his shoulder, pulling the bard back from his thoughts. Jaskier glanced up to see that the man had a worried look written across his face.
“Bard,” he said again, “what’s wrong with you?” His tone was worrying enough for the other witchers to pause their drinking, as if sobering up at the thought of a threat, and looked up to Lambert and Jaskier from their game of Gwent.
Jaskier knew he must have looked insane as he shook his head. “Nothing much.”
And then his vision turned spotty until all he could see were black dots. He realized, vaguely, that he was falling back. The last thing he heard was a worried shout from Geralt.
Waking up felt like a chore, so he slept.
He opened his eyes in a freaky self-awareness. His eyes traced his surroundings to find he was in a bed within Kaer Morhen. He sat up slowly to see Triss asleep at a table in the laboratory. She was zonked out against an open book. Even though his muscles protested it, Jaskier hobbled over to where she was. He gently lifted the book away and draped a cover that was on him onto her shoulders.
He sat down at the table to see what she was reading. The page she was open to was about healing sleeps for humans– how much magic to put into it so they didn’t accidentally die instead of being healed. Jaskier smiled softly at the thought that he was cared for. He flipped through the other pages to find spells upon spells, but none of them drew his attention. He shut the book and hummed quietly to himself.
That was how Geralt found him a few minutes later. The White Wolf almost staggered when he saw Jaskier’s frame sitting up at a table and eating random ingredients in the laboratory. He wanted to shout out, but Jaskier turned to him quickly with a finger over his lips. The bard gestured to Triss, who was asleep on the table across from him.
Geralt huffed in fondness as Jaskier shakily raised from his seat. The bard walked over, only to be greeted by a hug. Jaskier melted into it, as he always did. Geralt breathed in the bard’s scent, his shoulders releasing tension that had made a home there. When they separated, Geralt was met with Jaskier’s loopy grin.
“Good morning, darling,” greeted Jaskier.
“It’s a bit late in the day for that.”
“Good afternoon, then…?”
Geralt brushed a fallen piece of hair from Jaskier’s face. “You were asleep for 2 days.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be–” Geralt’s face tightened. “Don’t be sorry. I didn’t notice that you went for a walk after dinner. I would have gone with you–”
“After dinner? Geralt, I went for a walk after lunch like I always do.”
Geralt’s golden eyes scrunched. “What? I knew you didn’t show up, but I thought that was because we killed one of the chickens for soup. You wouldn’t have been able to survive that long in the cold, Jaskier.”
“I, uh, I wasn’t alone.”
Alarm bells rang in Geralt’s head. “Who was it? Did you get abducted again–”
“It’s fine, Geralt.” Jaskier combed his finger through the witcher’s white locks. “Calm down, sweetheart. I’m fine. Just… just a bit tired still.”
Geralt’s eyes softened. He moved through the laboratory, leading Jaskier back to the bed he was on before. “Sleep. I’ll bring up some of Vesemir's human-soothing tea and a bowl of soup in a little bit.”
“Soup? The same soup you made out of Daffodil?”
“You named a chicken Daffodil?” Geralt shook his head. “Eskel picked which chicken it was. Said their name was Poinsettia, I think.”
“Oh.” Jaskier flopped onto his back. Geralt helped pile furs onto him. “Poinsettia was awful– they looked quite nice but kept pecking my fingers when I passed by the coop.”
“Sounds like they were a good judge of character.”
“Asshole.”
Geralt laid a kiss upon Jaskier’s forehead. “Sleep,” he repeated. Jaskier puffed out his cheeks. “I’ll be back soon.” He waited until the bard grunted and shut his eyes.
Geralt walked past Triss. He shook her awake. The mage was startled, but upon seeing who woke her, she gave a small smile. Geralt gestured his head to walk, so they did.
Through the halls of the keep, Geralt asked, “What happened? He told me he left after lunch. That’s when the snowstorm hit. He couldn’t have survived out there for over 12 hours, Triss.”
“Oh, uh.” Triss guiltily looked down at her hands. “I saw something when I was healing him. I didn’t think much of it, cause, well, things don’t happen like that all of the time. Trouble isn’t supposed to just walk around as a personified bard.”
Geralt raised his brow at the mage. In slight desperation, he asked, “What did he do, Triss?”
“Would you believe me if I said he ran into a winter spirit that seemed to like him enough to not leave him out in the cold to die like most winter spirits do to humans?”
Lambert, who was just around the corner and listening in on the conversation, summed it up by saying, “What the fuck? The hell is wrong with that bard?”