When they leave for Oxenfurt, it's only reasonable for Jaskier to ride on Roach; he's better but still injured, and his slowed pace would only delay them on the road. The combined weight of both of their sets of gear and their bodies would be too much for the poor mare, too, so if one of them had to walk, it ought to be Geralt. He could tolerate a more strenuous pace than even Jaskier when he was well, and for longer; they wouldn't lose too much extra time. The bard seems pleased at his new position, too, and barely even complains.
Camping is similarly more pleasant than Geralt remembered. Jaskier still plays his lute incessantly, but he deigns to do it more softly when Geralt reminds him that he's a wanted man. They fall back into a modified version of their old routine, and the changes seem to sit well with the bard; he's back to his usual vibrancy and complete disregard for personal space. Since that first night at the inn in Vizima, he has apparently decided that having a witcher in his grasp is the only way that he can sleep through the night, and shared bedrolls has become the norm. This is mostly fine-- the nights are cold and sharing is an efficient way to keep warm, but has occasionally led to awkward mornings where Geralt has to run through a mental checklist of every potion recipe he knows, in alphabetical order, to get rid of a slowly-burgeoning problem. He blames Jaskier's restless sleep and propensity for clinging.
It's not something that he has the liberty to think about, anyway. Nilfgaard continues to pursue them, and the further north they go, the better chance they have at evasion. Jaskier is still injured, they are only newly friends, and the fact that he continually smells like arousal just underscores their need to get to the city. Once he's within its walls, Jaskier can find as many pretty barmaids or tavern wenches as he needs to get it all out of his system before they go to Kaer Morhen. And, godsdamnit, if their funds weren't so tight, Geralt might think that he needs to find his way to a brothel and pay to get some pretty blue-eyed little thing into bed, too.
The salt in the air tells Geralt that they aren't far; once they're approaching the bridge, the witcher grunts in assent at Jaskier's request to dismount, reaching up to help him out of the saddle. It is better if the bard takes the lead here, in his adopted hometown.
Getting through the gates is easy, and Jaskier knows the streets like the back of his pretty hand. Accommodations are the first thing to get squared away, and after leaving Roach in the university stables with firm instructions to the stableboy to treat her well, Jaskier just has to sweep in, all charm and wit, and speak with some rectors or deans or what-have-yous to get access to his rooms again. All while Geralt makes his best attempt at blending in with the wall, in the hopes of attracting as little attention to himself as possible.
no subject
Camping is similarly more pleasant than Geralt remembered. Jaskier still plays his lute incessantly, but he deigns to do it more softly when Geralt reminds him that he's a wanted man. They fall back into a modified version of their old routine, and the changes seem to sit well with the bard; he's back to his usual vibrancy and complete disregard for personal space. Since that first night at the inn in Vizima, he has apparently decided that having a witcher in his grasp is the only way that he can sleep through the night, and shared bedrolls has become the norm. This is mostly fine-- the nights are cold and sharing is an efficient way to keep warm, but has occasionally led to awkward mornings where Geralt has to run through a mental checklist of every potion recipe he knows, in alphabetical order, to get rid of a slowly-burgeoning problem. He blames Jaskier's restless sleep and propensity for clinging.
It's not something that he has the liberty to think about, anyway. Nilfgaard continues to pursue them, and the further north they go, the better chance they have at evasion. Jaskier is still injured, they are only newly friends, and the fact that he continually smells like arousal just underscores their need to get to the city. Once he's within its walls, Jaskier can find as many pretty barmaids or tavern wenches as he needs to get it all out of his system before they go to Kaer Morhen. And, godsdamnit, if their funds weren't so tight, Geralt might think that he needs to find his way to a brothel and pay to get some pretty blue-eyed little thing into bed, too.
The salt in the air tells Geralt that they aren't far; once they're approaching the bridge, the witcher grunts in assent at Jaskier's request to dismount, reaching up to help him out of the saddle. It is better if the bard takes the lead here, in his adopted hometown.
Getting through the gates is easy, and Jaskier knows the streets like the back of his pretty hand. Accommodations are the first thing to get squared away, and after leaving Roach in the university stables with firm instructions to the stableboy to treat her well, Jaskier just has to sweep in, all charm and wit, and speak with some rectors or deans or what-have-yous to get access to his rooms again. All while Geralt makes his best attempt at blending in with the wall, in the hopes of attracting as little attention to himself as possible.