Jaskier doesn’t think, doesn’t question, just drops to the leafy mulch covering the forest floor. He sees Geralt gesture with his left hand and a whoosh of air thunders over his head.
The shockwave slams into the huge, hideous arachnomorph that had been scuttling towards him, lifting the creature off its legs and sending it flying ten feet through the air. It hits a tree trunk with a sickening crunch and falls, twitching, to the ground.
He’s still in shock when Geralt comes over, picks him up and sets him on his feet.
“What was that?” he asks, heart pumping furiously.
“Giant spider,” Geralt says flatly.
“No, the -” he gestures by flapping his hand about. “- thing you did. Was that Witchery magic?”
Geralt scowls but indulges him anyway. “It’s not mage’s magic. It’s called a sign. That one was Aard.”
“Show me another of your signs.”
“They’re not party tricks, Jaskier.”
Jaskier pouts. “I have the natural curiosity of an artist, and it’s cruel to deny me the sustenance of knowledge.”
Geralt glares at him. “You want to see another sign? Fine.” He inscribes a round shape with his fingers and a line of purple light glows in a wide circle on the floor around Jaskier.
“Now stay right there.” With that, Geralt disappears off, silver blade in hand. Jaskier twiddles his thumbs, pretending he isn’t bothered by the muffled sounds of something inhuman shuffling around the old castle or the distant blood-curdling shrieks.
Out of the corner of his eye he’s sure he sees something pale and insubstantial flit through the air, but when he turns to look directly at it, it’s gone. Then there, again, more shapes moving in the dark corner of the room, then another by the window.
“Geralt?” he calls, determined not to let his fear show in his voice. “Um.”
One of the shapes draws closer, still wispy like smoke until it crosses the threshold of the purple circle and all at once solidifies into a twisted nightmare of a human skull, flesh tearing away from the bone in filthy chunks.
“Geralt!” he screams as the figure approaches him, all thoughts of bravery forgotten. “Geraaaaaaalt!” The figure is inching closer, bony hand outstretched to claw at Jaskier’s face.
As he thinks this is it, this is how I die, Geralt leaps from the darkness with blade in hand, slicing the wraith’s head clean off. Its body collapses and its head rolls to a stop in front of Jaskier’s horrified hands.
“You used me as bait? You absolute brute!”
Geralt shrugs one shoulder. “Worked, didn’t it?”
Jaskier shivers, looking morosely at the cold bath. They’d been trekking through the snow for days and every part of him was frozen from his nose to his toes.
He’d got through the freezing nights by promising himself a lovely warm bath when they finally reached an inn, but they arrived late and had been lucky to find accommodation at all.
He’d insisted Geralt take the bath first to have the benefit of the lukewarm water. He needed it more after the hunt. But by the time he was clean, the water was stone cold.
Jaskier braces himself. Needs must, though he dreads the idea of becoming even colder for the sake of getting clean.
As he contemplates the bath, Geralt slips up beside him. He looks him over, seems to make a decision, and waves one hand.
There’s an orange glow, and then the water is steaming and Jaskier can feel the heat radiating off it. He could honestly cry.
“How did you…” he looks at Geralt. “Never mind. Thank you, Geralt, really.”
Geralt grunts and goes back to cleaning his armor.
The pain is unlike anything he has experienced before. The gash in his leg is deep and ugly, but the tearing of the rent flesh pales in comparison to the agony of the arachas venom racing through his veins.
Every muscle in his body feels like it’s on fire, a blazing explosion of acid which leaves his lungs heaving for breath and his voice hoarse from crying out.
“It’ll be okay, Jaskier,” Geralt says, his voice clipped and tight. “We need to get you to a healer.”
Through his panic Jaskier catches sight of Geralt’s face, frowning deeply. He longs to wipe his sad expression away. But his body is wracked by another jolt of pain and he can’t stop screaming long enough to respond.
As his vision begins to swim and fade, he sees Geralt gesture with one hand and his mind goes suddenly, blissfully blank. The pain and the worry and all of his thoughts dissolve away, leaving him floating in empty space.
Feel no pain, Geralt’s voice echoes through his mind, and everything in him yearns to obey. Sleep.
The pain is gone. His eyes drift shut and darkness descends.
Jaskier barely has time to register the gang of bandits that appears on either side of the ravine they’re travelling through before a hail of arrows descends on them, sharp death incoming on the end of every shaft.
Geralt swears and moves faster than lightning, grabbing Jaskier and pulling him close, throwing one hand upward. A shimmering gold shield fizzes and pops into place around them both, the arrows bouncing harmlessly off it.
Jaskier looks up at Geralt with wide eyes, seeing him cast in a golden glow as the shield thrums around them. The bandits yell and growl, but within minutes they give up their assault and slink back into the forest in search of easier prey.
Geralt’s arm is still around Jaskier’s waist and their bodies are pressed together. Warmth blooms everywhere they touch.
“You okay?” Geralt asks, voice gentle.
Jaskier is breathing heavily, and it’s not due to the close call. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Thanks to you.”
Geralt’s face pinches and Jaskier can see the refutation forming, so he distracts Geralt by taking his chin in his hand. The golden shield holds, keeping the world at bay for a few precious moments.
“My hero,” he says, and means it.
“You don’t have to -” Geralt says, turning his face away, but Jaskier keeps a hold of his chin and turns it back.
“I know I don’t have to,” he says, sliding his hand around to cradle the back of Geralt’s neck. He leans in until there’s nothing more than a breath between their lips. “I want to.”
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