Chapter Text
Geralt would greet Jaskier for the year in the spring, when travel was favorable for both parties, and frost melted fast. Geralt would most often see Jaskier in the summer, or should he say, they more or less spent all of summer traveling together. Geralt would start to pull away from Jaskier in the fall, the bard choosing more often to stay in towns longer as the weather turned, and Geralt pressed on. Geralt spent his winters tucked away in Kaer Morhen, and would always hear in other seasons how Jaskier spent his. This was how they spent their years within one anothers orbits.
This year, however, was different. Lambert was wintering with Aiden. Vesemir’s presence had been requested in a secretive, official sort of meeting he wouldn’t divulge the details of, and it would take most of the season. Eskel was off with Triss, learning more about his ‘innate magical prowess’ she did so love to fawn over. Other witchers, surely, would still make the journey, still stay for the season, but Geralt didn’t really want to make the long journey only to not see the only three people he would really like to.
The browning leaves began to break off their branches, and Geralt’s eyes slid over the bard’s form. He always slept in later in the fall, when Geralt allowed for it, but Geralt could hear Jaskier’s breaths, and knew he was awake this time, if still burrowed deeply into his sleeping roll, underneath Geralt’s cloak he had draped over him as the night’s temperature had dipped lower.
“Jaskier.” He shuffled in response, barely an acknowledgement, and Geralt continued. “I’ve had a change of plans.”
Ever curious, Jaskier peeked his head up, hair sticking every which way, and heavy blue eyes found Geralt. “We’re not taking the noonwraith contract?” He questioned sleepily, only for his eyes to widen sharply, and he fought his way out of the comfort of his bedding. “Why, are you hurt? Is there something more pressing?”
“No, I’m still taking the contract,” Geralt clarified. “I meant after.”
“Oh, we had plans after?”
Geralt suppressed a huff. “I did. Like I said, they’ve changed, depending.”
“Going about this conversation with an air of mystery then, aren’t we?” Jaskier teased, now fully awake and packing up his bed roll, Geralt’s cloak returned to him with a light pat to the arm in lieu of a thank you. “Lucky for you, I enjoy the banter,” he gave a toothy grin. “What were the plans, and what have the plans changed into, depending?”
Geralt suddenly found himself very interested in brushing down Roach, eyes trained on the task at hand. He had been mulling over this for a while now, ever since he received word from Vesemir, so he didn’t dither any longer. “I won’t be going to Kaer Morhen this winter-” he trudged on quickly as he saw Jaskier’s mouth pop open to exclaim, or ask more questions, who knew “-not because of any misfortune, wipe that look off your face. My brothers are just busy this year, and so I thought I’d accompany you back to Oxenfurt, if you were to go there.” Jaskier often brought up Oxenfurt when speaking of his winters, so that was the location Geralt landed on for his question.
Jaskier’s mouth opened and closed not unlike that of a fish laid out on shore. It would’ve been funny, if Geralt wasn’t trying so hard to not care about Jaskier’s response. If he declined, Geralt wasn’t sure who his next option to spend winter with was. Yennefer, perhaps? That’d be quite a length of time to have to spend around her. When they met, it was normally only for a few days at most, not weeks, not months.
“Well, I mean, I’m terribly flattered, I know how you witchers love your winters and all that, but-” Geralt braced himself, not liking the word choice Jaskier had landed on. “-I only have scheduled a couple of guest lectures, I didn’t elect to teach this year because I wanted to head on to Bremervoord to see Essi and Ellen.” Of course, this close to winter, Jaskier would’ve already made arrangements. But Jaskier continued. “Now that said, if Bremervoord is to your taste, I’m certain the girls would love to meet you.”
Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he had found himself in Cidaris, much less Bremervoord, so he had no way of knowing anything of its taste, but Geralt immediately agreed. He had asked to go to Oxenfurt with Jaskier, after all, so Bremervoord couldn’t be worse.
Jaskier clapped his hands. “Right! If you’d like, we can go ahead and start heading west, then. No time to waste!”
As they journeyed, Jaskier spoke of how winters on the coast most often held little snow, and although still quite cold for humans, it didn’t dip to such intensely low temperatures as Geralt would have been used to in Kaer Morhen. He mentioned a beginning of season winter festival often held in the park in Oxenfurt, and how although it was technically a week long affair, plenty of locals liked to drag out the less formal parts of the revelry, and Geralt shouldn’t expect many shops to open before midday during that time, as everyone recuperated from their indulgences. Geralt laughed to himself. Yes, that sounded exactly like a town Jaskier could fit into.
“Will you still take contracts around the coast this winter?” Jaskier questioned one night, fingers hovering dangerously close over the fire.
“If I must,” Geralt said, his reluctance clear both in tone and expression. “But winter is for rest. That’s why I avoid humans.”
“But not this year,” Jaskier reminded him, waggish and prideful, as though he had captured the witcher and forced him into the journey, as opposed to Geralt asking. “Lucky for you, where we’re headed monsters are few and far between. Although I recommend putting away those swords and armor once we get there, if you don’t want to have any witcher-duties,” he nodded to where they had been set aside for the night, close enough to reach if needed.
Jaskier shivered, and pressed his now warm fingers to his own cheeks. “Personally, I don’t like the winter,” he voiced, not for the first time in their years traveling together. Something about his tone this time, though, was different from his normal petulance, complaining just to complain. It sounded tired, solemn. Like he was just talking to himself, not Geralt.
Geralt didn’t voice that, however. “I don’t know why you’ve yet to buy yourself a proper cloak,” he instead chastised, dropping his own on top of Jaskier’s head without grace.
Jaskier excavated himself from the furry folds, only to re-bury himself more comfortably. “But I like yours,” he said, and pulled the cloak even tighter to punctuate the sentiment.
“So you’d rather I be cold?” Geralt questioned.
Jaskier looked utterly affronted, almost vengefully eyeing Geralt’s basic linen shirt, a contrast to Jaskier’s own layers. “I know for a fact you aren’t cold.” And despite Jaskier being right, and them both knowing that other knew he was right, Jaskier still shuffled closer to Geralt, and flicked a sparse third of the fabric onto Geralt. Geralt in playful retaliation pulled over more of the cloak, but Jaskier was wrapped in it so snugly that he came right along with it, and he settled, leaning against Geralt’s arm. Geralt allowed it, and Jaskier hummed quietly to himself as the fire crackled and Roach puttered about grazing. The sky was clear, and in the distance, Geralt could hear gently running water. He breathed in, and he smelled smoke, crisp cool air, and Jaskier. One of Jaskier’s arms snaked around Geralt’s that he was leaning on, and Geralt could feel his slow, calm pulse beat a warm path across Geralt’s skin. His humming faded into slow breaths as he drifted off. Somewhere distantly, an owl hooted.
Geralt felt… content. Peaceful.
He waited until Jaskier was well pulled under into his sleep before he settled himself down onto his bedroll, gently laying Jaskier down alongside him, making sure the bard’s feet were tucked up so he wouldn’t wake up to numb toes.