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Winter had snuck up on him this year, as it seemed increasingly prone to do. He hadn’t much noticed the carpet of fallen leaves or the chill in the early evening air, as he and Jaskier spent nearly every night warming their feet with the fire and debating things of no importance.
“Have I mentioned Oxenfurt has the lovely tradition of starting a huge bonfire in the middle of the campus square?” Jaskier asked, breaking up a moment of silence. “Rather a rowdy affair, yes, but! It can be seen all the way from the library. Owing to my privileges as a professor, I’ve been able to spend the night there watching the fire from a window with a good book and a cup of tea.”
Geralt looked up from the mending he was doing on one of his socks and saw Jaskier stare longingly into the fire between them. Jaskier had mentioned the Great Oxenfurt Bonfire before, many times. He spoke often of Oxenfurt and the debauchery of his youth, though when the weather began to cool and the first frosts started to glaze the paths they traveled, he spoke of the place with a quiet fondness that tugged at the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“Kaer Morhen has a library,” Geralt supplied, feeling a little defensive. “Has books not found anywhere else. And there are also caves underneath the keep which fill with steaming water from beneath the mountain. Nothing like a long soak in the hot water after an afternoon in the library.”
He didn’t mention that it wasn’t safe to light torches in the caves with the thermal pools and bathing had to be done in darkness. Or that the library, once one of the few comforting fixtures of his youth, was now half in ashes.
Jaskier smiled gently, politely. “That sounds lovely, my friend. I can see why you long to make the return every year.”
Geralt grunted. He knew there was no way to make an old crumbling fortress sound as pleasant or as inviting a place to winter as a lively university town. He couldn’t picture Jaskier coming to enjoy freezing nights, crammed safely into one small room, a former school master’s study with a fireplace, in order to keep warm with the last of the embers that heated their dinner. As much as he wanted to imagine it, there wasn’t a way Jaskier would find simple pleasure in passing around half a bottle of mead between several grown men, with no entertainment but a game of telling increasingly exaggerated stories until someone spotted the lie.
“It's not as storied or fascinating as Kaer Morhen, but there is everything one could need: shops for clothing, armourers, blacksmiths, restaurants, stables, pleasure houses… and the bonfire! You have to see the bonfire!” Jaskier continued, his voice rising into exuberance and his eyes gleaming hopefully.
Geralt escorted Jaskier to Oxenfurt before setting out for the Blue Mountains each winter, without fail. Still, Jaskier never tired of reminding Geralt of every pleasant detail of his beloved city, as though he worried Geralt would forget their arrangement and carry him off to Kaer Morhen like an overlooked piece of luggage.
“I’m sure it’s everything you say it is, Jaskier,” Geralt agreed. Jaskier did not seem to be so easily placated. He held his breath, his hands twisting and rubbing together apprehensively in his lap, as he waited for Geralt to say the right words.
Even if he did travel with Geralt in much-reduced conditions for most of the year, Jaskier, who was so fond of warm roaring fires, good wine, and interesting varied company, could not bear to be parted so long from what he loved. Geralt couldn’t fault him for that.
“I’ll get you to Oxenfurt before the week is out,” Geralt assured him firmly. “You’ll make it to your bonfire. Don't worry.”
Jaskier’s tense shoulders dropped and he nodded acceptingly. Eventually, he settled back quietly under his cloak and blanket. He continued to watch Geralt working late into the night, as he finished the sock and moved on to mending and patching every other garment they had been neglecting all year that would be needed for the coming winter.
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“Well, this is my stop,” Jaskier said, turning back to give one last look at Geralt. His blue woolen cloak swirled around him and his cheeks were rosy from the cold that had become more pronounced in the last couple of days.
“Yes,” Geralt said. He held Roach’s reins tightly, keeping her from getting a move on, as she seemed eager for them to be on their way. Jaskier hesitated toward them, reaching out a hand to help steady Roach.
The bells of the Oxenfurt University chimed its warning for the end of the day’s classes. Soon students and professors would be streaming into the many bars and taverns to blow off steam. Jaskier could probably make a dramatic entrance, reunite with old friends, and charm at least a few young students into listening to his stories.
“Go on,” said Geralt tightly, jerking Roach away from Jaskier’s hand. “Can’t have you missing that bonfire, Professor.”
Jaskier gave a strained laugh. “Right! Your hot springs and rare books await!”
Geralt huffed out a weak chuckle. It felt like forcing cold glass out of his throat. The winter air tore at his lungs and stung at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps they had left it too late into the season after all.
Jaskier too, cleared his throat roughly, blinking rapidly through the pain. “Be safe, Geralt.”
Geralt nodded as Jaskier turned towards Oxenfurt. “Jaskier?” He called.
“Yes?” Jaskier answered breathlessly, turning back.
Jaskier, with his windswept hair, his face slightly gaunt and weathered from hard travel, though not less handsome for it, his lute case slung over his shoulder, looked every bit like an adventurer returning home at last. His brows were furrowed with still-present signs of longing, though a few hearty meals, bonfire-lit festivities, and restful sleep in welcoming beds would, no doubt, return to him the plump youthfulness that Geralt saw every spring.
“It’s nothing,” said Geralt. “See you in the spring.”
He spurred Roach into action, as he carefully calculated in his head the number of days left in winter.