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Geralt turned off the road and onto a small path. Roach followed obediently behind her master while Jaskier took a moment to realize they had turned.
“Where are you going?” Jaskier asked as he jogged for a few seconds to catch up.
“Crossing the river.”
“Isn’t the bridge another half a day’s walk that way?” Jaskier gestured vaguely along the main road.
“Yes. But the weather has been dry this year. The river should be fjordable. It will save us time.”
“How shallow are we talking? Because I may be technically capable of wading through chest deep water but I certainly do not want to get my clothes sopping wet.”
“Roach doesn’t like wading through deep water. If it’s too deep we’ll continue to the bridge.”
Jaskier, predictably, made an indignant squawk. “So you care about your horse’s feelings but not your bestest friend in the whole world’s? Why I never!”
Still walking ahead so that Jaskier couldn’t see his face, Geralt allowed himself a small grin. It was very easy to rile up the bard, and though he would never admit it under threat of death, it could also be quite fun. Jaskier would likely rant for the next several minutes.
“After all I’ve done for you, I rank lower in your priorities than a horse? A horse! No offense Roach, you are lovely. But it’s the principle of the thing, Geralt!”
Geralt made his way down the path, letting Jaskier’s words flow over him. He grunted occasionally as needed, but otherwise allowed the bard to work the rant out of his system uninterrupted. He knew Jaskier wasn’t actually mad, not truly.
After about 15 minutes of walking, the trees began to thin out and the river became visible.
The bank on this side sloped down gently, the transition between dirt and a mixture of sand and rocks marking where the edge of the water usually reached. Sure enough, the water level was significantly lower, the current edge of the river several meters beyond. The far bank was a bit steeper, but should be manageable, even for Roach.
Once they made their way down to the riverbed, Geralt studied the water itself. The water was relatively clear and currently shallow enough he could see the bottom. It didn’t appear to reach beyond knee height at any point. The riverbed itself was quite rocky and uneven, which made the crossing a bit more treacherous, but they should be fine if they took it slowly and carefully.
Letting out a satisfied grunt, Geralt turned to Jaskier. “We’ll cross here. Watch your step and take your time. You don’t want to slip or twist an ankle.”
“Oh so now you care about my safety and well-being.”
“I just don’t want to have to rescue you and carry you across if you break an ankle.” Geralt retorted. He was also taking it slow as he waded through the water. He wasn’t concerned about himself, some slippery rocks were hardly a challenge compared to the obstacle courses he ran during Witcher training, but Roach was uncertain over this terrain and he didn’t want to rush her.
“You know, maybe I should twist an ankle. It might be nice to be actually taken care of for once. Doted on, after all I do for you when you’re injured.”
Geralt rolled his eyes. He and Roach reached the other side of the water, and from the sound of it, Jaskier wasn’t far behind.
“Maybe you’d even let me ride Ro-” Jaskier cut off abruptly.
Geralt turned just in time to see Jaskier lose his balance on a rock and fall. He attempted to put his arms out to break his fall, but wasn’t quite fast enough. His hands hit the water an instant before his head hit an exposed rock with a sickening crack. His whole body went far too limp.
Geralt just stared for a moment that felt like an eternity. Then he dropped Roach’s reins and rushed towards his fallen friend. By the time Geralt reached Jaskier, he was already starting to move again, attempting to lift himself up and sputtering as he accidentally inhaled some water.
Geralt grabbed him by the torso and dragged him the couple of paces to dry ground. He laid Jaskier on his side and gave him a couple of firm pats on the back to help him cough up what water he had inhaled. Once he was breathing okay, Geralt helped him roll on his back so he could get a better look at his injuries.
His left wrist was reddened and already starting to swell slightly. It was likely sprained but possibly broken. Jaskier would be devastated to have to stop playing his lute for a few weeks, but the injury itself wasn’t dangerous.
Much more concerning was the bleeding gash along his left temple.
Throughout his decades on the path, Geralt had seen enough violence and bloodshed to get a pretty good idea of which wounds were survivable and which weren’t. But head wounds were unpredictable.
He had seen a man survive having his skull cracked open, and another man walk away from a seemingly minor head injury with no ill effects only to suddenly drop dead the next day.
And even if Jaskier survived, there was no telling the type of damage that could be done. He could be struck dumb, or plagued with fits. He could have memory issues or weakness in parts of his body.
Geralt had once met a woman whose entire personality had changed so drastically after getting kicked in the head by a horse that her family was convinced she was possessed and called in a Witcher. He had been told that she had been kind and soft-spoken, but the woman Geralt met was vulgar and short-tempered, having little regard for the consequences of her actions. Geralt had found no signs of magic on her at all and had been forced to conclude it must have been caused by the injury.
Every single scenario Geralt thought of would be devastating to Jaskier’s bardic talents, if not completely career ending.
He pressed a cloth to Jaskier’s head wound, which was bleeding quite profusely.
“Ow…” Jaskier groaned. “That hurts.”
“I told you to be careful,” Geralt admonished, his internal worry coming out as gruffness.
“I was. You think I slipped and fell for fun? Not everyone has Witchery balance.” Jaskier was sounding mostly coherent, only a slight slurring to his words. That was a good sign, probably.
Geralt checked under the cloth. The wound was still bleeding. He applied pressure again, causing Jaskier to moan in pain once more.
The second time he checked, several minutes later, the bleeding had finally slowed.
He debated whether to try and treat Jaskier here, on the riverbank, or wait until he made a camp. In the end, he decided that it would be best to make a camp nearby. Jaskier wasn’t in immediate danger of bleeding out, and he’d need to get a fire going to boil some water anyway.
“I’m going to carry you. I’ll be gentle.”
He waited for acknowledgement, then picked Jaskier up carefully, hooking his arms under the bard’s back and knees. He tried to keep the movement as smooth as possible, knowing from experience the nausea that often accompanied head wounds.
Sure enough, Jaskier screwed his eyes shut, mouth pulled tight into a grimace as he tried to resist the urge to vomit. Geralt held him still to give him time to adjust, not particularly wanting to be thrown up on.
“Okay, you can move now,” Jaskier said after his face had relaxed somewhat.
He walked only far enough to find a suitable spot to set up camp: a small clearing in the trees, made up of a shallow, bowl-shaped hollow. There, he lowered Jaskier down to the ground, equally as carefully.
“Stay here while I set up camp.”
“Believe me, I have no desire to move anywhere,” Jaskier groaned, laying back on the ground and closing his eyes.
Geralt set about getting a fire going, then gathered some water from the river and set it over the fire to boil. He also untacked Roach and set her to graze, though her full amount of care would have to wait until after he took care of Jaskier. It felt weird setting up camp for the night this early in the day, but Jaskier was in no shape to travel any further.
Out of their bags, he pulled out what he would need: bandages, salves, and a clean pair of clothes for Jaskier, whose current clothes were still wet from his face plant into the water.
He helped Jaskier get changed first. The clothes he picked were some of the bard’s most plain, a simple linen tunic and leggings. While less flamboyant than most of his wardrobe, it should be comfortable, which was more important when recovering from an injury anyway.
By now the water had started to boil, and he poured some into a cup before setting the rest aside to cool. Into the cup of hot water he added willow bark, chamomile, and mint, to make a tea which should help with the pain and nausea.
He checked on Jaskier’s head wound, unwrapping the temporary bandage and tilting his head gently to the side to get a better view. It had continued to bleed sluggishly, enough to make Jaskier’s hair sticky and stain down the side of his cheek and jaw, but not so much that Geralt was worried about blood loss.
“How does it feel?” He asked.
“Like someone’s stabbing a knife through my skull.” Jaskier replied, his words slurring worse than before. Geralt hoped it was only because the pain was catching up with him and not that his health was declining.
“Hmm.” The willow bark tea was cool enough to drink by now. “Here, drink this. It will help the pain.”
Geralt held the cup up to Jaskier’s lips, helping to hold Jaskier’s head up enough with the other hand so that he could sip without choking.
Jaskier sipped slowly, and once the cup was empty, Geralt set it aside.
They waited for the water to cool, Geralt wishing he was a better conversationalist so he could keep Jaskier distracted from the pain. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so they sat in silence, Jaskier himself in too much pain to ramble like usual.
When enough time had passed, he wet a cloth and began washing the blood away. He dabbed at it gently, rinsing the cloth out frequently. He started with the wound itself, doing his best to ignore Jaskier’s pained hisses. It had to be done.
Once the wound was cleaned, he moved on to the surrounding skin and hair. He couldn't get Jaskier’s hair fully clean, not with only a wet cloth, but he got enough blood out that it was no longer matted down and stiff.
With the blood gone, it didn’t look nearly as gruesome. The gash was sizeable, three finger-lengths long, but wasn’t too deep. He couldn’t see any white of bone. It would scar, but Geralt didn’t anticipate any difficulties with healing the surface wound as long as he kept it clean and changed the bandages often.
He grunted, satisfied with his work so far. Next came the salve.
He applied a generous amount, not wanting to risk an infection. Then, he wrapped Jaskier’s head with bandages.
That took care of the head wound, at least the outside part. Geralt knew that the worst complications could come from inside, where even the most skilled of physicians were often unable to treat them.
Jaskier’s face was beginning to relax as he started to feel the effects of the tea.
“…tired,” he muttered.
“Almost done, then you can sleep,” Geralt promised.
Jaskier hummed in response, closing his eyes.
Jaskier’s wrist was easier to treat. Geralt palpated it gently.
“Sorry,” he said as Jaskier moaned in pain and tried to pull his wrist away.
It didn’t feel broken, as far as he could tell. Still, it had continued to swell. He covered the entire area with a thick poultice of comfrey, then wrapped it carefully, tight enough to provide support, but not so tight as to cut off blood flow, incorporating a stick into the outer layers to keep the joint straight.
“There. All done.” Geralt sat back and began cleaning up the medical supplies.
Jaskier didn’t respond. When Geralt checked on him, he was already asleep. He watched Jaskier’s chest move, making sure his breaths stayed strong and even.
He would stand vigil over Jaskier while he slept today, as well as tomorrow, and the next day. However long it took for Jaskier to recover, Geralt would be there.