A/N: Deviates from the Netflix series in episode 2.07 "Voleth Meir" and precedes the season 2 finale.
This story happened because I thought some more words were needed after what happened in "Rare species" (1.06)... Titled after Schubert's "Winterreise" dealing with the rejection by a loved one. ;)
Summary: After Geralt frees Jaskier from prison, the two of them travel up towards Kaer Morhen with Yennefer and Ciri. Things happen; words are had... some rebalancing occurs.
"How's the hand, bard? – I see that you have not gotten yourself a new lute, yet."
Jaskier met Yennefer's slightly inquisitive gaze, secretly wondering when antagonism had given way to the mild concern he easily read on her face now.
"Winter's not really the greatest time for frivolous song and dance now, is it?" With what he hoped was a semi-casual shrug, he threw another log onto the fire that was offering some heat between them. "I'll get a new one in spring."
A small frown appeared between her eyebrows. "That doesn't answer my question though. How is your hand?"
"What's wrong with his hand?" Geralt interrupted in his usual grumbly cadence before Jaskier even had the chance to reply.
"I told you," the mage remarked impatiently, eyes still on the human. "Fire-fucker sought information from him."
Now Geralt was frowning as well. "Why would that…" Then, gaze quickly going to Ciri once understanding dawned: "I see; well. I'm sure he would have already let us all know – loudly and repeatedly – if something was still wrong with him." A small smile that was probably meant to be teasing, but still sent a brief sting of pain through Jaskier's chest.
He forced small smile on his face as well. "Right… the one thing you can count on with a bard. Always ready to spill all of the beans." He almost winced at his weak comeback; he would pay good coin for this conversation to simply be over.
"Right." Yennefer echoed dryly, very clearly unconvinced. "Here – catch!" With that, she deftly threw the apple she had been about to eat towards Jaskier's dominant right hand, watching the bard flinch back with a barely suppressed hiss of pain and without any attempt to actually keep the fruit from tumbling into the snow.
The mage raised an unimpressed eye-brow. "You did bandage it under that glove, right? Clean it? Burns are no joke, Jaskier, you should know that."
Jaskier's quiet "It's bandaged" was easily outvoiced by Geralt's now determined "Let's see it, Jaskier."
The bard immediately met the witcher's piercing gaze. "I'm fine, Geralt. There's nothing to–"
"Dammit, Jaskier!" The suddenly booming voice and abrupt arm movement made the bard briefly flinch back, before he caught himself and replied with an easy grin, forcing his body to relax:
"No reason to go all growly on me, wolf." Then, noticing the tears already threatening to fill Ciri's eyes. "No, no, no… none of that, little princess. He didn't mean it and there's nothing to worry about. Geralt's all bark and absolutely no bite."
Even though he looked just the tiniest bit sheepish, Geralt was still watching the younger man intently. "Lose the glove, Jaskier. Now."
When the bard still hesitated, he simply reached out and started pulling on the item in question, intent on getting to the bottom of all of this as quickly as possible now.
He immediately stopped the attempt again, though, when Jaskier surprised him with a barely restrained shout of pain.
That finally was too much for Ciri, who now yelled at the Witcher: "Stop it! You're hurting him!"
"I'm trying to help him," Geralt pressed through gritted teeth, refusing to meet her panicked gaze.
"Okay!" Jaskier was still pale with pain, but tried his best to project calm, carefully cradling his hurt hand in his good left one. "Everyone relax. How about we wait until a little later. I'd like to eat and the princess needs to get some rest soon… What do you think?"
"If it's bad enough that you don't want her to see it, we're doing it now." Reaching out for Jaskier's hand again, Geralt started to peel off the glove, much more carefully this time.
As soon as the garment was gone, the witcher couldn't help but grimace. "I can smell an infection…"
At that, Yennefer also joined the pair and critically inspected the hand once the small bandage had been removed as well. "This doesn't look good. Did you not treat it?"
"Well, I am really sorry… But I was just removed from a somewhat austere prison cell if you remember, so I'm not exactly carrying around an apothecary with me right now. – Ow!" He flinched heavily when the sorceress tried moving his fingers slightly.
"Do you have anything that we could use, Geralt? Without my magic, there is very little I can do with a wound like this. At least something for disinfection maybe?"
"Why would I carry anything with me that's suited for humans," Geralt growled, regretting the words almost immediately.
"Yeah, why would you," Jaskier confirmed with a small laugh that sounded more bitter than Geralt had ever heard from him.
He actually looked contrite now. "Jaskier, that's not what–"
"No! No. You're right. – It's been months now since we've… And even before that," he finished a little awkwardly making the witcher inwardly cringe. It was true: The bard had routinely spent a lot more time and energy tending to his wounds than it had ever been the other way around. On the other hand, he had always done his very best to prevent the human from getting injured at all.
"Jaskier…"
"I'll be alright," the bard had turned towards the mage again by now, forcing another small smile. "But thanks for the concern. I appreciate you trying to help."
With that he pushed himself to slightly shaky legs and turned towards his bedroll. "I'll try to get some rest now if you don't mind." When he started fumbling with the old bandage, Geralt stilled his movements with a firm hand on his arm.
"I have fresh bandages at least. Allow me to redress this for you."
Hesitating slightly, the man finally just nodded. "Okay, sure. Thanks."
He endured the procedure in stoic silence, only flinching again when Geralt carefully tried to wash out the wounds with some snow. When the hand was finally bandaged again, a cold sweat stood on Jaskier's forehead, but he still managed another smile in Ciri's direction.
"I'm fine, princess. Stop looking so worried… It's just a little burn. Nothing that would ever kill a big, strong bard like me."
She giggled at that and was successfully distracted from the deep frown edged on Geralt's forehead.
That frown seemed to permanently distort the witcher's features when Jaskier stumbled for the third time not even 24 hours later. This time, he didn't immediately get up again, instead leaning slightly to the side to retch weakly into the snow.
Yennefer hurried towards him at that, frowning as well now at the very small amount of bile the bard had produced. She didn't need to feel his forehead to sense the heat radiating off his body.
"You have a fever." She nodded towards the snow. "And you're obviously dehydrated…"
Nodding slightly, Jaskier fumbled for his waterskin with by now visibly shaky hands.
"Here! Let me." Ciri took the skin from him and gently held it against his lips.
Jaskier took a few swallows, then smiled at the girl again. "Thank you, princess. Tastes twice as good coming with your help…"
She giggled again despite the worry also still clouding her eyes.
Yennefer pulled him a bit to the side until he could sit leaning against a medium-size rock.
"We will rest here for a few minutes." Then, frowning slightly again: "You didn't really bring anything up just now. Have you been eating?" To her shame, she couldn't really remember. He had refused to share any of their food the night before, but whether or not he had had anything from his own pack…?
"Of course," Jaskier immediately replied easily and gave his pack a weak pat. "Took all of the leftovers with me." A quick wink.
"Leftovers?" Yennefer asked with a once again deepening frown. "From that prison cell?!" Then, very sternly: "Jaskier! What have you eaten these last two days?"
He met her angry gaze, a slightly confused look on his face. "Some bread and, uh…" With that he leaned to the side again and once more started retching.
"Geralt, we have a problem." Yennefer turned towards the witcher, completely ignoring the bard at this point. "Apart from the fact that we've been traveling up a mountain with a starving man in our group, we need to get a grip on this infection. – I am going to look for a healing plant."
Geralt eyed the snow-covered rocks around them with a skeptical look. "Or we could dilute some of this maybe." He pulled a small potion's bottle from his own pack. "It should be save for human use then, I think."
A small nod. "Let's build a fire."
Once they had diluted the potion with some melted snow, Geralt carefully applied some of it to the burnt tissue on Jaskier's hand. From the smell of it, the infection had worsened over night and the bard was shivering with fever by now.
"Is he going to die?" Ciri asked in a very small voice, anxious eyes resting on the bard.
"No," was Geralt's grim – and very short – response.
Jaskier took it upon himself to once again try and console the child.
"I'm not dying, Ciri." Then, searching Yen's and – hesitantly – also Geralt's gaze while still clearly talking to the princess: "But I think you guys need to go on without me for a little while…? I'm afraid I need to rest a few hours more today. I'll catch up with you soon enough though, don't worry. You're not getting rid of me so easily, just ask this big guy over here…" Another tired grin.
The expression on Geralt's face once again reflected pure anger. "We're not just going to leave you here in your condition – are you crazy?! You'd probably freeze to death and you're definitely not going to make it up this mountain alone this time of year."
Jaskier stubbornly held his gaze, allowing some irritation to enter his voice as well now. "I'm not a child, Geralt. And speaking of children… There is one that actually depends on you getting her up this mountain!" Then, with a very tired, slightly bitter smile on his face: "This could finally be it, Witcher. Your one blessing… remember?"
He said it mostly in jest, but the words still made Geralt flinch sharply.
"Dammit, Jaskier – stop this bullshit! You know damn well that I…"
"Love you?" Yennefer suggested dryly when Geralt was clearly not about to finish the sentence. "Or 'am an arse' maybe? Either of those would work just fine I believe."
Geralt threw her a murderous glance. Then he wordlessly stalked towards his new Roach and threw his bedroll onto the snow.
"We're not leaving you."
tbc :)