Chapter Text
Ciri woke to the sound of coughing. She was tempted to ignore it but it kept going, pulling her further away from sleep. She opened her eyes and rolled over to face the camp. Geralt was kneeling on the ground next to Jaskier, his back to her, blocking her view. She couldn’t see Jaskier, just hear him as he kept coughing.
Geralt was saying something to Jaskier, though she couldn’t make out the words. His voice was soft, reassuring. It was something that only ever happened when she’d had a nightmare, her mind sending her back to the fall of Cintra, her grandmother slowly dying before her eyes. Geralt would speak softly to her, gentle words of reassurance as he held her close until she calmed.
She sat up, blankets falling to her lap. There was a chill in the air that almost made her want to curl back into her bedroll and go back to sleep. But something was wrong with Jaskier, and she wanted to help.
Jaskier had had a cough for the past few days but otherwise seemed fine. Last night he had gone to bed early without eating. Ciri had wanted to wake him when their dinner was ready, but Geralt told her it was better to let him rest.
She felt anxiety settle in her stomach as Jaskier continued to cough. Whatever Geralt was trying to do didn’t seem to be helping. He must have sensed she was awake somehow as he asked her to fetch a waterskin without even looking at her. She wasn’t sure she would ever get entirely used to his witcher senses.
She did as she was asked, pulling on her boots before going to find a nearly full waterskin from their packs and bringing it over. Now that she was closer, she could see Geralt had sat Jaskier up and was now holding the bard in his arms as the convulsions in his chest continued to wrack his body.
Jaskier himself barely looked aware, his eyes screwed shut, his head lolling forward. He was sickly pale, save for the red flush across his cheeks. He looked utterly exhausted, having to fight for even the slightest breath before it was swiftly stolen from him again.
Geralt thanked her as she handed the waterskin over. He adjusted his hold on Jaskier, helping him take a sip. Thankfully, Jaskier managed not to choke on the water, and for a moment it seemed to have helped. That was until the coughing started back up again. For the next few minutes, Geralt carefully kept giving Jaskier more sips until his breathing had calmed.
Their camp quietened down, hacking coughs replaced with crackling breaths. Jaskier fell asleep almost instantly. Geralt lay him back down, dragging over a bag for him to lie on so that he wasn’t flat on his back.
“Is he going to die?” Ciri asked, her voice pitifully small.
“Come here,” he said, holding an arm out, inviting her in for a hug. Ciri clung to him, fighting tears at the thought of losing someone else so soon. “He’s going to be fine. I’m going to make sure of it. He just needs rest.”
“But Nilfgaard—”
“Nilfgaard isn’t going to find us this far north. Not yet. We can rest a few days here while Jaskier gets better.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“He will.” He sounded so sure; it was hard not to believe him. “Why don’t I make us something to eat?”
Ciri nodded into his chest before reluctantly letting him go. She followed him back to the remnants of their campfire, sitting back on her bedroll. She watched as Geralt tossed some wood on the blackened remains of last night’s fire before lighting it with igni.
She sat in silence as she watched Geralt fill the pot with water before adding some oats. The porridge he made was often watery and plain, but it at least kept them full until they stopped for lunch.
The only sounds came from the fire and Jaskier’s breathing. It was a horrible noise, each breath crackling wetly in his chest. He looked like he was having to put in a lot of effort just to do something so simple, each breath gradually sapping his little remaining energy. It was frightening.
“When is he going to wake up?” she asked eventually, unable to take the silence any more.
“I’m not sure. I doubt he’ll wake properly for a few hours at least but maybe not until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“His body needs to rest. Whatever it is that he’s got, his body is struggling to fight it. We can only help by letting him rest properly. Here,” he said handing her a serving of porridge.
She ate quietly, not really hungry but needing something to distract herself with. Geralt for once was the one to break the silence.
“I think for now you shouldn’t get too close to him.”
Ciri’s head snapped up. “What? Why not!”
“I don’t know if it’s contagious. The last thing we need is you getting sick too.”
“Why do you get to go near him then? How do you know you won’t get sick too?”
“I’m a witcher. I’m immune to human diseases.”
Ciri didn’t have an argument for that so instead stomped off to her bedroll. Geralt left her be, and she wasn’t sure if that was the desired outcome or not.