"She knows you're up here," Geralt pointed out, wryly. And Roach did, though she didn't seem to mind much, valiantly plowing on through the snow. He could hear Jaskier's teeth chattering still, and the bards' knee gave off no warmth at all where it was pressed against Geralt's leg.

He glanced over his shoulder, giving Jaskier a carefully neutral once-over. "Hmm," he answered, and it sounded like an agreement. He reached for the strap running across his chest and securing his swords to his back, tugging it loose. He could fasten the swords to his saddle for the time being, nothing was going to attack them in this blizzard. And that way, Jaskier would be able to huddle closer with nothing between them.

This wasn't something Geralt would have allowed many people to do. In fact, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of beings he would let huddle up against his back. But, as much as he tried not to think about it, his soft spot for Jaskier was there, and seemingly not going anywhere.