Reblogging And Chilling

He’s seen other lovers do it, and Geralt does love Jaskier.

So Geralt has just started copying what he sees other couples do.

I didn't expect my picture to be so beautiful on a large format at all.

I can hardly believe that this is my job.

But it’s fine, it is, he can deal with all that until he wakes up on the fourth day of his cold to find his voice is gone. And Geralt just smirks, reminding him again that he should have invested in a thick warm cloak rather than a new doublet. Which is entirely unhelpful, and Jaskier would love to tell Geralt where he can shove his opinion, but limited as he is he sends Geralt a crude gesture and just silently follows after Roach.

Geralt is nice enough, though, to give the bard his blanket that night. Which is…something, even if Jaskier is still mad at the witcher for finding pleasure at his expense. It takes him ages to settle into a comfortable position on his bedroll, the wetness of the ground making the fabric damp, until he finally manages to fall asleep even with all the aches and pains he’s feeling.

And then he dreams of the Djinn, of trying to speak and hot blood spilling from his lips. He wakes with a scream that isn’t a scream, fingers scrambling over his throat, his mouth, and he can practically taste the warm viscous substance. He claws at it, trying to get rid of it, to make it stop—

Strong hands grab his own, gently lowering them until Jaskier’s digits spasmed, clinging tightly to familiar black fabric. He felt arms around him, tucking him close to Geralt’s chest, whispered words telling him that he was okay, he was safe, to breathe.

And Jaskier, chest suddenly burning, gasped greedily for air, large inhales broken up by silent sobs. He wasn’t sure how long it took to calm down, only aware that when he woke up, it was much later in the day than he and Geralt usually broke camp, and he must have fallen asleep in the Witcher’s arms.

Embarrassed, Jaskier tried to apologize, frowning when nothing came out still. But Geralt simply shook his head, telling him it was fine as he began to break camp, Jaskier rushing to his feet to help.

And Jaskier shivered as he reluctantly packed away the bedding, wondering if he could just wear the blanket as a cape, when he felt something warm and heavy land on his shoulders. Freezing in shock, Jaskier had just enough time to process he was wearing Geralt’s own pitch black cloak before he was lifted onto Roach.

The bard let out a silent squeak, feeling rather dizzy at the sudden movement combined with the sensation of cotton stuffed in his head. He didn’t have long to process his new position, as Geralt hoisted himself up behind the bard. The witcher grabbed the reins, warm arms firmly pulling Jaskier towards the Witcher’s chest with a command to sleep.

And Jaskier still hated getting sick, and would love to never lose his voice again, but when that night Geralt silently curled up behind him, arm loosely wrapped around the bard’s chest to ensure he could act at the first sign of a nightmare, well.

The witcher doesn’t care much about the snow, his mutagens keeping his body warm enough that with the thick cloak he has, he barely even feels chilled. He doesn’t usually get cold at all, really, the only time he’d ever even shivered being when he had overestimated the integrity of the ice on the lake near Kaer Morhen.

If he ever got cold as a human, he doesn’t remember it, although surely it can’t be as bad as the bard is making it seem. Yes, the man’s cloak may be a bit thinner than Geralt’s, but that didn’t mean the bard had to whine so much about the snow coming down or his wet trousers. The bard’s voice was annoying enough when it wasn’t coming across muffled from the wind and the scarf covering half of Jaskier’s face.

Besides, if her really didn’t want to come with the witcher, he should have stayed back at the inn they left three days ago.

The witcher was a bit more concerned, annoyingly, when the verbal onslaught was slowly replaced with chattering teeth, but the bard would be fine. They’d make camp soon, and the fire would warm him up, and then Geralt would be stuck with his loose lips again.

So a couple hours later, Geralt left Jaskier with Roach at the empty cave he’d found, trusting the bard to get a fire started while he went out to see if he could find something to eat, now that the storm was passing. He eyed the bard for a second, but he’d already stopped shivering, so he should be able to make a break for it if anything did see him as an easy meal.

Thus, when Geralt came back half an hour later to find Roach still tackled, curled around Jaskier on the ground, with no fire to cook the rabbits he’d scrounged up, he was beyond infuriated. Swearing loudly, he stormed over to the useless bard, eager to give him a piece of his mind, when Roach let out a sharp, piercing squeal.

At him.

Blinking rapidly, Geralt instinctively held up his hands, taking one careful step forward. When Roach didn’t react, he took another, watching as his horse snuffled at the bard’s hair with a soft whinny. Geralt was beginning to wonder just when Jaskier had become Roach’s new favorite, before he noticed how the bard’s usually bright blue eyes seemed…vacant.

He called the bard’s name, but the man didn’t answer. More worried now, he reached for the bard’s forehead, wondering if he was sick—

Geralt recoiled his hand instinctively at the coldness of Jaskier’s skin. Only corpses were ever that chilled, he swore, noticing for the first time how the bard’s heartbeat had become witcher slow.

He quickly got to work building a fire, and turned to the bard, hoping for some reaction as the flames started to grow. But the bard didn’t even seem to notice the change, eyes now closed and body leaning even more fully against Roach, far enough from the fire that little warmth would reach him.

Swearing again, he pulled Jaskier closer, grateful for the way Roach easily let him do so.

And if Geralt ran his hands over every part of the bard’s skin he could reach as he held him in front of the fire, desperately trying to heat him up?

It's simply because Jaskier has an astonishing talent for getting cursed, enchanted, or trapped.

Over the years, he spent decades imprisoned as a statue before finally being restored. Some time later, he ended up trapped inside a painting. After escaping that fate, he was transformed into a magical flower for a while.

Jaskier has spend years as a Sword, a mirror, etc

And Jaskier noticed.

And then decided yeah, okay, he could work with that.

Which leaves the witcher staring, perplexed, as Jaskier haggles with a merchant for a new blanket for Roach, trying to obtain the dark green piece of woolen fabric at a cheaper price. As he watches Jaskier bring out the agreed upon coin, he remembers the way the bard had insisted she needed a new one because hers was getting too thin, and it was getting colder, and honestly Geralt don’t you care for her at all—

It had made Geralt feel uncomfortably guilty, that it was Jaskier who noticed his horse’s need before he did. The bard didn’t even ride Roach, and yet he was aware of the issue.

Not to mention that Jaskier insisted she be brushed every night, that the pets he gave her helped make her calm and happy. And Geralt wanted to refute that claim, he truly did, but Roach did seem to truly enjoy the attention. In fact, Roach had warmed up to the bard in a way that she had never done with others she saw frequently, like the other wolf witchers or Yennefer.

Perhaps, he conceded, that may be due to the bard bribing her with treats. But even in that, the bard seemed to be a step ahead of him, keeping a ranked list of Roach’s favorite snacks in his journal and updating it as needed. Geralt had tried to convince Jaskier multiple times that she did not need such indulgences, to which Jaskier had pointed out quite frankly that the witcher need not buy ale at every tavern they frequented either, or a bath rather than a swim in a stream, or—

Geralt could admit to himself that the bard had some…convincing arguments. After all, Roach worked so hard, was there for him through so much, and she deserved to be appreciated. Truly.

So maybe Geralt started to pay a little more attention to his horse, and to the care the bard gave her. And maybe he noticed that the bard was shivering more, his thin, flashy doublets not designed for the cooler autumn nights. And if the bard asks, Geralt only bought him the cloak because he knew the bard would soon start complaining about being cold all the time, so this was just a preemptive measure.

Yes, Geralt could have gotten the brown cloak for cheaper, but again, Geralt didn’t want to listen to the bard complain about how ugly he looked in it. So he chipped in the extra coin for the royal blue one, the color that Geralt had noticed the bard favored.

And, okay, Geralt hadn’t really meant to start giving the bard shoulder pats after a particularly rough performance, or to give the bard hugs when the man woke up from nightmares that left him drenched in sweat, unsure of what was real. But honestly, it was just logical to use what seemed to work best, no matter how foreign it felt to the witcher.

It was fine, he told himself, pulling Jaskier closer after one such terror-filled dream. He moved his hand up and down the bard’s back, trying to physically remind Jaskier of where he was.

Geralt reminded himself there was nothing weird about this, that this was how one was supposed to treat traveling partners.

Geralt first meeting Jaskier!

Witchers are rarely someone people run towards. Normally away. Geralt is sailing in the icy south, doing whatever it is Witchers do. It’s McFucking cold and empty, not another human for ages. Beautiful, but brutal.

Then he sees something breach the water. It’s a seal - a gigantic, strangely-proportioned seal from anything he’s seen before, spotted and sleek and powerful with fearsome teeth - and it’s being chased by orca. The leopard seal’s sole natural predator.

He expects to witness an animal hunt, but the seal books it for his boat and dives in, flattening him. Before Geralt can draw his sword, he finds himself with a lapful of a drenched, terrified, exhausted man, spotted sealskin loose around his shoulders, clinging to Geralt and pleading to let him stay in the boat until the orca lose interest now their prey has “vanished.”

"Oh, whoa," the selkie exclaimed, leaning closer to Geralt. "That was a close one. It would be terrible—dreadful—to be eaten by an orca. Absolute jerks, by the way."

"So I've heard," Geralt replied, uncertain how to proceed. His gaze flicked pointedly toward the very naked selkie. "You should cover yourself."

"Oh, right. You humans and your strange obsession with clothes." The selkie gathered his pelt around his shoulders, fashioning it into a rough cloak. "I'm Jaskier, by the way."

"Geralt," the witcher said. "And I'm not human."

Jaskier laughed.

"You, witcher, are certainly more human than I am."

His eyes drifted toward the ocean. Unfortunately, the orca was still circling offshore.

"And since it doesn't look like I'll be going anywhere anytime soon..."

"I can row you back to shore," Geralt offered.

Jaskier clapped his hands together, delighted.

Jaskier likes to gossip and he has a lot of secret and compromising information about everyone and Geralt listens to him when he talks about it, even when he's pretending not to.

So when some noble or mayor refuses to pay Geralt for a job, because he thinks he can get away with it, Geralt is like:

"Oh, fine... Guess your wife won't mind to hear you slept with her sister".

And just like that, he gets paid.

***

Seriously, the bard was still pissed at Geralt after what he said on that mountain. And yeah, it was sweet of the witcher to come and save him personally from the Nilfgaardian soldiers when he was captured for information. But the only reason they wanted Jaskier in the first place was because Geralt had somehow wound up gathering quite a bit of power to keep his Child Surprise safe, which, while sweet, had resulted in Jaskier being tortured for information. On the witcher warlord. Which was apparently now a thing.

Jaskier didn’t even know why he was surprised anymore as he found himself dragged to a treaty meeting between the elves and the new…nation? Domain? Entity? Jaskier didn’t actually know what they were calling Kaer Morhen and the neighboring cities the witchers, witches, and mages united under Geralt had claimed. He was dreadfully underprepared for this meeting, and had no idea why Yen seemed insistent he attend, something about a communication issue.

Which—okay, Jaskier could help with that. He was a little surprised to find he was the only one on the entire mountain to speak Elder, and even more confused why Yen couldn’t just use her witchiness to make people understand, but whatever. It was a morning meeting, so Jaskier just sat down, focused on translating Elder and Geralt’s various grunts, and spent the next two hours wishing desperately for his warm furs and comfortable bed.

And Jaskier rolled his eyes at Geralt’s grateful expression afterwards, although it did leave Jaskier feeling a bit warmer than he’d been since reaching Kaer Morhen. Since the soldiers had taken him from his room in the middle of the night.

Since the mountain.

So when he was once again dragged out of bed to help with the dwarves, he went a little more willingly this time. Although, honestly, even he was struggling a bit as dwarvish was not one of the languages he focused on much at Oxenfurt. But if he was all they had, he would do his best to make sure that the message Geralt was trying to give was received accurately, and that Geralt was well aware of what exactly he was agreeing to in this treaty.

And maybe Jaskier bought some books about the languages from the different countries Geralt was dealing with now. But it was just because he was bored, honestly, it’s not as if there’s much to do stuck in a cold keep with everyone too busy most nights to listen to a bard.

(Secretly, Jaskier liked feeling useful. He knew he didn’t have a role in this stronghold, not like the witches and mages and witchers and various workers. So if he spent hours each day studying, trying to make himself more knowledgeable, more indispensable, no one could really blame him. He knew what happened to people who weren’t useful.

He’d learned that lesson the hard way.)

While it wasn’t singing and entertaining for the masses, Jaskier grew to like his new job. As more meetings occurred, he found Geralt even asking for him in the evening to talk to him about specifics and checking document wording for loopholes, even occasionally turning to Jaskier during the interactions with the other parties to ask his opinion. It was…rather nice. It made the bard feel wanted, if nothing else.

And then, on a morning Jaskier had been planning on using to sleep in, thank you very much, the disgruntled man found himself dragged to the meeting with the representative from Redania. Which was…weird.

More than a little confused, Jaskier sat down in his seat, too baffled to even wither under the glare from Yen at his tardiness. Honestly, what did they expect! How was he supposed to know they wanted him here?! Yes, Geralt did sometimes ask what he thought, but at the end of the day, the witcher had advisors for such things.

So Jaskier watched, waiting for this to make sense, until Geralt spoke and everyone turned to him. Waiting. Which was…okay.

Clearing his throat, Jaskier repeated what the witcher had said, with a few added words (sentences) because honestly, the witcher still didn’t speak in complete thoughts, barely more than grunts, really, and—

Jaskier froze, glad the Redanian representative was speaking now as that meant Jaskier didn’t need to listen. Not really. Because, as Jaskier had just realized, he had a very different job than he’d initially assumed.

Jaskier was a translator, yes. And he was chosen, apparently, because he was the only one who spoke the language that others struggled to understand. The language Jaskier had spent literal decades of his life learning through trial and error.

As a result, whenever he gets hurt, his first instinct isn't to panic. It's to glance at Geralt.

If Geralt barely reacts, Jaskier assumes he's fine.

Because Jaskier is exactly the sort of person the Fae would adore.

Bright, curious, charming, endlessly willing to follow a strange song into the trees or accept directions from a talking fox. Practically gift-wrapped for kidnapping.

Which means that, for the foreseeable future—at least until they finally leave the forest behind—Geralt spends an alarming amount of time stopping Jaskier from wandering off with suspiciously beautiful strangers, chasing impossible music, or following glowing lights that are very obviously a trap.

Jaskier insists he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Geralt has already had to drag him away from three flower circles, two mysterious feasts, and one brook that kept calling him by name.

But Jaskier isn’t stupid, and so he carries around a very potent poison that can kill him almost instantly, and from experience has been proven to only leave him dead for around fifteen minutes. Because he does travel alone sometimes, and it’s better to kill himself in the middle of nowhere than to risk getting robbed when he’s sick, injured, etc.

Even though he can do it though, he’s not a big fan of it, and prefers to just ride out the pain/sickness with Geralt when possible. Because, okay, dying HURTS, and he’s never been able to find a poison that works rapidly and doesn’t make it feel like he’s being boiled alive, his heart thudding painfully in his chest until it just…gives out.

(Plus, he secretly likes the way Geralt will give him his cloak, and make him tea, and gently check his wounds. The witcher doesn’t exactly fuss, but he does let him ride Roach sometimes when he’s particularly unwell, with the witcher sitting behind him in the saddle and making sure he doesn’t fall off as he dozes.)

But then the mountain happens. And Jaskier is traveling with Geralt again, sure, but now he knows how he actually feels about traveling with a “human”. So even though Jaskier would prefer to just power through the nasty head cold he feels coming on, he digs in the bottom of his pack for the poison as soon as Geralt leaves to hunt. Because he can’t give the witcher yet another reason to leave him, not when the fix is so easy, not when Geralt clearly already wants as little contact, physical or otherwise, with him as possible.

He downs the vial, the familiar spasms taking over him almost instantly, and is about to let his eyes fall shut when he hears Geralt returning far too soon. A Geralt who does not know about Jaskier’s regeneration ability.

But the bard’s mouth has already stopped working, he can’t even lift his head, and the last thing he thinks before he’s gone is that Geralt looked a lot more…concerned? Than he thought he would.

And when Jaskier wakes up in Geralt’s arms, and explains everything, the bard is more than a little confused at the witcher’s insistence that he never kill himself again, at least when traveling with Geralt. The bard tries to argue that sometimes it’s necessary, but agrees to not do it unless it’s an emergency at the wild look in the man’s golden eyes.

Jaskier is still a little worried when he starts to feel another cold coming on two months later, but instead of Geralt leaving him like he feared, the man becomes a verifiable mother hen, refusing to leave the bard alone for even a second. And if Jaskier notes the way all weapons are kept far out of his reach, and the dagger he usually hides in his boot goes missing, well.