#Dadskier

[fandom-junk-drawer]

Not the Favorite Uncle (or is it Favorite Dad ;) ) vibes! *sobbing happy tears*

#how it started vs how it’s going

[dreamofbecoming]

“sleep now,” she pleads

hello my loves, i’ve decided to start posting my ongoing dadskier songfic (that’s rapidly turning into The Kaer Morhen Therapy Time Jamboree) here on tumblr instead of just AO3, so please enjoy!

Chapter 1 (2) (3) (4) (AO3)

Ciri was weak.

She knew this; she could feel it in the way she woke up shaking, tear tracks on her face, afraid she was still locked in the nightmare of everyone she loved turning to ash as she failed to save them, afraid the violence inside her was being used against her will to destroy the last shreds of home she had left. She could see it in the way the witchers looked at her now, somewhere between pitying and wary, like they couldn’t quite trust that she was safe to have around, but they felt bad for her anyway. She could hear it in the way Geralt and Yennefer would stop whispering to each other when she entered the room, heads jerking apart like she wouldn’t notice they had obviously been discussing her behind her back.

She was weak, and being weak was not an option. Not anymore, and certainly not at Kaer Morhen. Her grandmother wouldn’t have stood for this weakness, and she knew the witchers wouldn’t either. Not for much longer. Geralt was holding back their disdain, she knew, out of whatever paternal obligation he felt due to the Law of Surprise, but he wasn’t one for weakness either, so she knew he would only allow her so much leeway before he, too, had to give up on her. She could see the way he looked at Yennefer, the strange mixture of anger and grief and longing she knew must come from the failure the sorceress had shown in giving in to Voleth Meir, even as she slowly gained back his esteem now that she had power again. Now that she was worth something again. Now that she wasn’t weak.

Mostly, she could see the way everyone treated Jaskier. She still wasn’t quite sure why Jaskier was here, how he fit into this life of violence and endurance that was, apparently, her birthright. He didn’t have any power- no magic, no mutations, no skill with weapons or combat. He hardly spoke to anyone, or maybe it was that hardly anyone spoke to him, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure it mattered. The only person he interacted with on any kind of regular basis was Yennefer, who was something of an outcast at the keep herself, so Ciri thought she was probably just glad for someone to order around the stillroom where she holed herself up most days, mixing potions and testing out the edges of her newly-restored Chaos. It wasn’t anything to do with him, specifically, as far as she could tell.

She knew from listening to the witchers gossip (and no, overhearing was not eavesdropping, whatever Mousesack would say) that Jaskier and Geralt were friends (or used to be friends, it wasn’t clear), but she honestly couldn’t imagine why. They didn’t seem to have anything in common. Jaskier was just a human, not even a magical human or a warrior, just a man. There was nothing special about him at all, that she could see. Everyone called him a bard, but he didn’t even have an instrument, and she never heard him singing, plus she’d never even heard of him at court, so how good of a bard could he really be, anyway? Besides, he and Geralt barely even spoke, mostly since Jaskier seemed to all but bolt from any room Geralt entered before the witcher could think of something to say. He did his share of the chores without complaint, but he was always slower than everyone else, and she saw him wincing sometimes when he had to lift things or hold tools, like the very idea of working was painful. And it wasn’t like he had been much use on the trip back to Kaer Morhen, for all that Geralt had trusted him enough to get her home safely from Cintra. Which he had, incidentally, failed to do, since she didn’t even remember the second half of the trip after being possessed, but she knew he didn’t notice anything was wrong until it was too late.

Still, obvious weakness and uselessness aside, Jaskier was, inexplicably, still here, and part of Ciri was glad for it. Jaskier being here meant that she wasn’t the frailest person in the keep, and she hoped the witchers’ contempt would remain focused on the bard rather than on her, uncharitable though those thoughts may have been. It probably wasn’t kind of her to be grateful to have a target to throw under the proverbial wagon, but for all that she was the most magical person on the mountain and basically a grown woman now (she was thirteen, she would be getting her courses any day probably, and she was, for all intents and purposes, the rightful queen of Cintra- she was not a child, Lambert), she still felt impossibly small next to the ancient warriors and experienced magic users surrounding her. So yes, it was nice to be able to point at Jaskier and say, ‘Look, at least I’m not as pathetic as him.’ If this meant that she perhaps participated a little more loudly and enthusiastically in the mocking taunts Lambert and some of the other witchers directed his way, she could hardly be blamed for wanting to be part of their camaraderie. They were, after all, basically her family now.

She pretended very hard that Jaskier’s downcast eyes and slumped shoulders the few times he tried and failed to start a conversation with her didn’t make her feel anything at all.

She could feel Geralt’s disapproving eyes on her once or twice, but he couldn’t possibly understand feeling so powerless and alone, so why should he get to judge her? If he cared so much, maybe he should speak to Jaskier himself once in a while, or train him to use a sword, so at least he would maybe be good for something. She did feel a little guilty when Vesemir called them out in his own gruff way- scowling as he smacked Tolbert upside the head after a particularly mean joke about bards and brothel workers and assigning everyone who laughed extra chores- but not enough to stop. Yennefer was obviously unhappy with them, but just as clearly didn’t feel like she had the standing in the keep to demand changes to anyone’s behavior, so she made her displeasure known by pointedly avoiding everyone but Geralt, Vesemir, and Jaskier, and refusing to heal any training injuries or contribute to meals for anyone else. (This did perturb Ciri, since the only reason Yennefer was even here at all was to teach her magic. Ciri was still a princess at heart, and she didn’t appreciate being ignored, but she let it go for now, since she hadn’t quite forgiven the witch for nearly selling her out to Voleth Meir yet anyway. She would demand her due respect once she felt like she could be in a room with the sorceress without yelling at her, until then she was mature enough to let it lie.)

Still, even with the handy distraction of a droopy human minstrel, she knew she was still unacceptably weak, and she needed to hide that weakness at all costs. She found herself training longer hours than even any of the witchers, starting at dawn and not stopping until the sun had long set and Geralt or Vesemir forced her inside to eat and bathe, no matter how her muscles shook or her vision greyed at the edges. She wouldn’t fail. She was the Lion Cub of Cintra, the blood of Calanthe, she was Ilthilinne’s Prophesied, she was the daughter of the White Wolf, she refused to show weakness.

Even though she pushed herself to the point of collapse, even though she woke up every morning covered in bruises and scrapes and feeling like her muscles would seize up and lock her in place with pain, it was never enough to escape the nightmares. There were so many, now. She dreamed of Cintra burning. She dreamed of Mousesack’s face turned ashen and cruel, sizzling under her knife. She dreamed of her grandmother and Eist and Lazlo and Dara and Geralt and her parents all crumbling to dust, begging her to save them, begging her not to let them die again. She dreamed of looking out through her own eyes like looking out a tower window, unable to move or speak or scream, watching as her hands slit the throats of her friends, as her voice rent the air and tore her family to pieces. She dreamed of being left behind, of Geralt realizing how useless she really was, how impotent she would always be, and giving up on her in disgust. Sometimes she dreamed them all at once. No matter what the dream, she always woke after only a few hours sleep, drenched in sweat and tears, a scream caught in her throat and a sprinkling of dust from the stone walls of her room still shaking to the ground in the wake of her power.

She never got back to sleep after a nightmare, not right away, so she took to wandering the halls at night. She stayed away from the common areas and the bedrooms, choosing instead to explore the more deserted wings of the crumbling fortress. She ghosted through underground corridors overgrown with mold and rot, reeking of decay, with stains on the walls and floors that she couldn’t identify in the scant torchlight but hoped against hope weren’t blood. She picked her way carefully across partially collapsed battlements, hundreds of feet in the air, balanced precariously on fallen stones and rickety steps. She climbed tower after tower, turret after turret, marking the doors to the ones she had seen already but somehow always finding more. Those were her favorites. She would spend whole nights propped against a merlon, staring at the stars and wondering if everyone she’d lost was looking back at her. Those were the nights she was most likely to fail to make it back to bed, and Geralt would come find her in the morning, shivering in her sleep, and carry her back down to set her in front of a hearth until breakfast.

It was one of these nights when she first stumbled across Jaskier. She was climbing the steps to her favorite tower- the one with the view of the lake in the valley below the keep that reflected the stars so perfectly, facing east so she could watch the sun rise over the mountains if she stayed awake that long- when she heard noises coming from above her. No, not noises, music.

Yennefer had regained enough power the week before to portal out of the keep and back, and she had taken Jaskier with her and returned with bags of shopping for both of them (and only them, which Ciri found unspeakably rude. She might not have a kingdom anymore in the strictest sense, but she was still of royal blood- if anyone deserved nice things in this place it was her, surely?)- clothes and bathing oils and, to Ciri’s irritation, a lute. She told herself the annoyance was because now he would be playing at all hours, distracting everyone from their work, and her from her training, but the truth was she worried that if he became useful again as a bard, everyone might then notice how purposeless she was. Her fears had proved unfounded so far, as the bard hardly left his room since their return, only playing when no one was around to hear.

Or, apparently, when he thought no one was around, on account of it being the middle of the night and him being up a tower.

She thought about storming up the stairs and demanding he leave and give her back her spot, but she had to admit she was curious about his music. Geralt had to have kept him around for something; from what she could gather, they had traveled together longer than she had even been alive, and she couldn’t imagine what else he could have been good for. Maybe Geralt just really liked his music? She decided to wait here at the bottom of the staircase, just for a moment. Just to see what the fuss was about.

The strumming sounded a little...faltering? Or maybe just simplistic. It was just the same couple of chords over and over, she thought, if she was remembering correctly from her music lessons in Cintra. She’d never been particularly interested in music, so admittedly she had never paid much attention in those lessons, but she was fairly certain he was only playing two chords, and relatively simple ones at that. So much for the famed bard of the White Wolf, she snickered silently to herself. Then again, she thought magnanimously, he was several weeks out of practice, and she remembered how hard it had been to build up enough calluses that her harp lessons didn’t end in blood. She supposed she could sympathize with that, at least a little.

A voice filtered down to where she stood in the corridor, echoing slightly off the stones of the tower walls on its way. She had to admit, his singing was...pleasant. Soft and melodic, almost haunting in a way. He obviously wasn’t playing for an audience, and she found the gentleness of his voice at once compelling and uncomfortably intimate. She didn’t think she should be listening to this, but she found she didn’t want to leave.

“You are in the earth of me.

 My head’s not yours, it’s mine,

‘Cos you are in the earth of me.”

Something about this song- the words? The melody? The obvious pain in his voice?- tugged uncomfortably at something in her chest. It felt a little like she wanted to cry, but she didn’t know what about. Part of her wanted to run back to her room and never think about this song or this pathetic little man ever again, but she found herself rooted to the spot, straining to hear more.

As she stood here at the base of the tower, the strumming picked up speed suddenly, the melody becoming more complex. It even sounded like he was playing a drum at the same time, maybe he was drumming on the body of the lute in between chords? It must take a lot of coordination and practice to do it so smoothly, to make it sound like there really were two musicians up there. Maybe he was as good as he was supposed to be.

“Who’s left me, he’s left me at last,

 And I laugh, and I laugh,

‘Cos laughing right now,

 It’s all, it’s all that I have.”

His voice had taken on a whole new quality. He was no longer soft and grief-stricken. There was still something jagged and painful in his voice, but now it was harsh, angry, and there was a bitter laughter in it to match the lyrics. As she listened, the song continued to swell, volume increasing as Jaskier vented more and more anger and fear into his song. The words were more passionate, almost a conversation.

“I can’t do this!

 You can!

 I can’t do this!

 You can!

 I can’t do this!

 You can!

 I can’t do this, you don’t understand!”

The wanting-to-cry feeling was back, stronger this time. She felt like his song was coming straight from her, like he reached into her nightmares and pulled it out wholecloth. For a moment she was furious, thinking he must have written this about her, mocking her. Revenge for all the jokes and taunts she and the witchers had sent his way in recent weeks. But as she listened, it was clear that however much of her own truth she found in it, this song was being pulled out of Jaskier’s soul, not hers. No one could sing something like this, with so much feeling, unless they had experienced it themselves. She wondered what had happened to him, to make him feel this way.

“You’re not a coward ‘cos you cower,

 you’re brave because they broke you,

 yet broken, still you breathe.”

Her breath caught, hitching uncontrollably over the start of a sob. She didn’t know anyone else felt like that. She thought she was the only one who knew what it felt like to be so scared of being weak, of not being enough, of being too broken to matter to anyone anymore. It felt like he was singing just to her, like he was looking for exactly the words she needed to hear. She didn’t notice when her feet started to carry her up the stairs, needing to be closer to the music.

Jaskier was sitting on the edge of the wall, leaning against a merlon with one leg dangling off the outside. He was facing mostly away from her, eyes closed as he growled his pain to the night sky. She could see his face in profile, the lines around his eyes and his mouth twisted to display the same anguish she could hear in his voice. She leaned silently against the wall, hoping he didn’t look up and notice her before he finished. She wanted him to finish the song. She needed to hear how it ended.

“Where you see weakness,

 I see wit,

 Sometimes I fall to pieces

 Just to see what bits of me don’t fit.”

Slowly, as quietly as she could, she lowered herself to the floor to sit against the wall. She covered her mouth with her hand as she leaned her elbows on her knees, desperately holding in a sob. She couldn’t stop the tears running down her cheeks.

It couldn’t be that simple, could it? Weakness was weakness, she knew that. She had seen it. Her grandmother was strong- she did what she wanted and anyone who tried to stop her she ran through with her sword. That was strength. Strength was taking what was yours, weakness was not being able to stop others from taking from you. Right? That was true here at Kaer Morhen, too. The witchers were strong. They had muscles and magic and swords, and nothing could hurt them as long as they were strong enough to fight it off. Yennefer was strong, or at least she was now that she had her Chaos back. Before, she couldn’t stop people from taking things from her, from forcing her to go where she didn’t want to, from locking her up. Now she had power. Now she had strength, the strength to simply make sure anyone who tried to hurt her got hurt back. That’s what strength looked like. Not, not words. Not wit. Not letting yourself be broken on purpose. Jaskier was weak. Right? He had to be. He had to be, because if he wasn’t, then what was she?

But, Eist had been strong. And he could fight, when he had to, but he hated it. He liked words, and music, and art, and laughing. He liked games. He was nothing like Grandmother, but he was strong anyway, Ciri knew that much. And...and Dara had been strong. He didn’t like fighting either, and he hadn’t wanted to be around her when she brought violence and danger, and he had wanted to give up fighting and forget everything to stay with the dryads, and he had been afraid when he followed her into the forest and again when he followed her out of it, but those things didn’t make him weak. He was one of the strongest people she had ever met. He saved her life more than once. So maybe...maybe strength wasn’t all about fighting. Maybe there were more ways to be strong than just hurting people who tried to hurt you. But what did that make her, then? Was she weak because she was afraid of Voleth Meir, or of the man in the black winged helmet? Of losing control of herself and hurting people she loved? Was it weakness that she missed her family, that she wished Cintra had never fallen and she was still a princess? She was so confused, nothing made sense. Everything hurt so much.

She didn’t realize she had started sobbing until the music stopped suddenly and Jaskier’s shocked and worried voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Ciri? Princess, are you alright? What are you doing up here? What’s wrong?” He knelt in front of her, lute discarded on the ground beside him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I couldn’t sleep, and this is my favorite tower, and then you were singing and I wanted to listen and I’m sorry it won’t happen again I’m sorry I’m leaving-” She was scrambling to stand, ready to bolt down the stairs, abashed at having been caught invading his privacy so blatantly. Even if she made a point of being rude to him, this was out of line.

“Dear heart, it’s all right, I don’t mind. Sit, love, you’re going to slip and hurt yourself. Sit down and breathe with me, can you do that? Can you follow my breathing?” She hadn’t noticed that her breathing had gone rapid and shallow and she was struggling to take in air until right now. She looked up at him in a panic, shaking her head frantically.

His blue eyes were soft and kind, his expression open. “It’s alright, Ciri, I’m going to take your hand, alright? Can I touch you?” He waited for her to nod before taking her hand and placing it on his chest. “I’m going to count to four, I want you to breathe in for four and out for four. Feel my breathing under your hand, try to match that, ok? Here we go, that’s it.” He counted slowly, evenly, chest rising and falling smoothly under her hand. Her first few attempts were shaky but slowly the silver spots started fading from her vision and her racing heart gradually slowed. “Good, darling, you’re doing so well. Just keep breathing. Are you feeling a bit better?”

She nodded, feeling even more embarrassed now that she had been so pitiful as to break down in front of him. Especially since he had so readily helped her, been so unflinchingly kind, despite all the unkindness she had shown him since their arrival. She lowered her head in shame, hand falling back into her lap.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he was still only inches from her, so she knew he heard.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Ciri. Anxiety attacks happen to the best of us. They’re perfectly normal, and entirely to be expected given everything you’ve been through. Frankly I’d be more concerned if you weren’t having nightmares and anxiety, at this point. I promise, you have nothing to be ashamed of, alright?” She stared at him, caught somewhere between baffled and indignant.

“Why are you being so nice to me? I’m rude to you all the time, you should hate me.”

He smiled a little ruefully. “I can see why you might think that. But I was thirteen once, too, much more recently than anyone else in this place. I remember what it’s like. How confusing, how chaotic. How important it is to fit in, to be what it feels like everyone wants you to be. Most of the people here don’t think very much of me, it’s only natural you would pick up on that. You’re a clever girl, after all. Besides, you’ve been through gods know how many unspeakable horrors in the last year, of course you need someone to vent it on. I’m the obvious choice. I’m not angry, I promise.”

Somehow this was worse than anything else he could have said. She felt like a monster. How could he be so kind to her? So understanding? How could he just accept that his lot was to be the victim of everyone else’s senseless cruelty and directionless anger? How was that fair?

“That’s not fair! You haven’t done anything except be here and not be a witcher or a mage, that’s no reason to just- just- let everyone hate you! Why don’t you fight back? Why aren’t you angry at Lambert and everyone else at least?”

He huffed a laugh, another wry little smile on his face. “I would say you’ll understand when you’re older, but something tells me you won’t accept that bullshit from anyone, least of all me.”

“Fucking right I won’t. That’s what grownups say when they think you’re too stupid to know better, or when they don’t know the real answer. I’m basically a woman, I’m thirteen! It isn’t fair for everyone to keep treating me like a child!”

“Oh, Princess, I wish I could convince you not to be so quick to grow up. You’ve had so much taken from you, your childhood shouldn’t be added to the list. But you’re right, you deserve a real answer.” He heaved a great sigh and spun around until he was sitting next to her, back against the wall. “The truth is, Ciri, I don’t really think I belong here, either. So I suppose it doesn’t feel worth the trouble to stop everyone else from thinking it, too.”

“Why not? I thought you and Geralt were like, best friends, or something.”

“So did I, once. Now I’m not really sure what we are, or if we were ever really anything at all. But he said he needs me here, so here I shall stay until he changes his mind.” He wasn’t looking at her, instead staring out at the nearly-full moon, but she could still see the sadness etched on his face.

“But what about you? What do you want to do?” He barked a laugh for reasons she didn’t really understand, a harsh, angry thing. It reminded her of his song.

“You’re the only one who’s asked me that, dear heart, did you know? Well, except Yen, but against all odds and possibly my better judgement, she is, unfathomably, my best friend these days, so that barely counts, it’s basically her job.” He sighed again, propping his chin on his hand, arms braced on his knees. “I don’t rightly know what I want, Princess. Truthfully I haven’t been thinking about it much.”

“Because you’ve been writing that song instead?” That hadn’t been the question she’d meant to ask, but she really did want to know about the song, so that was alright probably.

He looked at her sharply, eyebrows raised. “I...I suppose it is. How much of the song did you hear, Ciri?”

She looked at the floor between her feet, unable to meet his eyes when confessing such a greivous violation of his privacy. “I’m not sure, it was very soft and quiet when I got here though, and it only started getting louder after I started listening. How did you make it sound like you had drums at the same time?”

He grinned, which was...not the reaction she was expecting, and stretched across the tower floor to grab his lute. “That’s a trick I taught myself when I was a student, mostly to show up one of my classmates who insisted that real music needed to be played by a full quartet at least. I told him if you couldn’t make good music with the instrument in front of you, then you couldn’t make good music at all. And then I proved I could imitate the sound of multiple musicians by myself anyway, and it made him fucking furious! It was brilliant. Putting Valdo in his place was always my favorite part of school. And honestly, I think it can be very evocative to have more than one sound going, but I’m certainly never going to tell him that. Besides, I was right, music is about the musician, not the instrument. Instruments are tools. I loved my old lute more than I love my own leg, but I’m perfectly capable of making music without it, any good bard is. Why, Geralt can tell you, when he picked me up from jail before we found you in Cintra, I was playing a pair of spoons! And quite brilliantly if I do say so myself. Music is about the feeling. The sound is a means to an end. A very important means, but the real trick is to be able to use the sound to tell a story or create a feeling. You can use any kind of sound, you know? A good musician can make you cry using nothing but a whistle! Some of the most honest music I’ve ever heard comes from ordinary people, peasants, no training, no instruments, just their voices, their hands, singing to themselves as they go about their lives, and it’s- Ciri it’s beautiful! It’s not trying to be anything it isn’t. There’s no pretension, no vanity, just music for the joy of music. That’s what it’s about, you know? That’s why I love it. My classmates didn’t understand why I wanted to be a traveling bard instead of securing a court position, but out there, in the world, that’s the only place music has any soul! At court it’s all just- sound. Noise. Empty, you know? My parents didn’t understand. They’d have disowned me for disgracing the family by playing for “filthy common tavern-goers” except I’ve only got sisters, so they’ll have to give the estate to my cousin Ferrant if they do, and they hate Ferrant. Even more than they hate me, which is saying something. It doesn’t matter though, I’ll never go back. I’d rather be penniless and sleeping in the woods, as long as I have the music, you know?” He looked at her expectantly, his eyes clear and glittering, a bright smile on his face.

She blinked at him. That was...so many words. So very many words. More words than she’d heard anyone say since she got here, combined. Lambert had made a few cracks about Jaskier never shutting up, which hadn’t made any sense to her until this moment.

His eyes went wide, and a flush rose rapidly to fill his whole face. “Oh, oh no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk so much at you. I do that sometimes, I ramble. It drives- drove Geralt crazy. I’m so sorry!” He looked genuinely upset, like he was worried he’d offended her somehow. She wasn’t sure why, but she sort of hated that he looked like that. Sure, it was a little overwhelming to suddenly have all of that information dumped on her, but it was sort of nice, too. She liked hearing someone be so passionate about something other than monsters and killing and the balance and order of Chaos, Ciri, you’ll have to understand these concepts when we start our lessons so I expect you to have read these texts in full by then. It was nice to hear someone just be...happy about something. To be excited about the world, instead of telling her all the reasons she should be afraid of it. She wanted to communicate this to Jaskier, but she wasn’t sure how.

“Don’t be sorry, I don’t mind. It was kind of a lot, but it’s nice that you’re passionate about something. No one here is happy about things, they talk about what to expect in the world, on the Path, but it’s all warnings and training, and ‘don’t do this, Ciri, don’t say that, Ciri, never lose sight of your sword, Ciri, don’t talk to strangers unless you have to, Ciri, they probably want to sell you to Nilfgaard.’ It’s exhausting. It’s nice to hear someone be excited about traveling and meeting people. I don’t really understand music at all, I was never very good at my lessons and Grandmother decided they were a waste of time, but I really liked the song you were playing. It was pretty, but also, it sort of...hurt? But in a good way. I don’t really know.” She flushed, embarrassed. That was so much more than she meant to say. He probably thought she was an idiot, now.

“Thank you, dear heart. That’s very nice to hear.” When she looked up, he was smiling at her softly. “And the song...that’s how it’s supposed to feel, so I’m glad you connected with it. I wrote it about- well, never mind what I wrote it about, what matters is that you enjoyed it. You’ve had a very hard year, I’m glad I could offer some catharsis.” He was fidgeting with his hands, running his thumb in circles around the pads of his fingers, when he flinched suddenly and hissed.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is it calluses? My fingers hurt so much when I had to learn how to play the harp, and I know you haven’t played since you got here, did you lose all your calluses?”

“Uh, no, it’s not- um. It’s not my calluses, although that’s an excellent guess, and I can definitely relate to the pain of learning the harp, I hated the harp in school, could never get the hang of the elbows, but, uh. It’s nothing. Not to worry, nothing worth fretting over. I’ll be just fine.” He didn’t look just fine. He looked flustered, and a little scared, though why he would he scared she couldn’t imagine.

“That’s silly, the others are just going to notice at breakfast anyway, they can always smell when I’m in pain. It’s so annoying. I don’t know how they expect me to get stronger if I don’t train harder, and I have to get hurt in training if I want to get better. I wish they wouldn’t fuss. But you might as well let me look now. I’m pretty good at field medicine, Geralt said so. He let me help him sometimes while we were on the road from Sodden the first time. I’m good, I promise!” She made a grab for his hand but he yanked it back before she could reach it. He looked…he looked crushed, for some reason. What had she said to make him look so sad?

“It’s, uh. You know what, don’t worry about it, Princess. I’m sure you’re an excellent medic, I’ve dressed enough of Geralt’s wounds to know how much skill that takes, but I promise they won’t notice. Or at least, they won’t be too worried. They haven’t the whole time we’ve been here, so it really is fine.”

“Why wouldn’t they care? Geralt at least will, and I think Vesemir likes you. Wait, what do you mean, the whole time? Have you been hurt since we got here? Was it…,” she quieted a little, shame sweeping through her. “Was it the battle? Did you get injured while I was...when I…,”

His eyes go wide, and he grabs her hand, tilting her chin up to look at him with the other hand. His skin feels strange where his fingers rest on her cheek, smooth and rough at the same time somehow.

“Darling girl, do not apologize for anything that happened that day. You are not responsible for what Voleth Meir did with your body, you are every bit as much a victim of her violence as the rest of us. You did nothing wrong, do you understand me? Please do not think that any of that was your fault, please promise me.” His blue eyes were so big and round and earnest, swimming with tears. How strange to think those tears were for her. She didn’t understand this man at all.

“It was my body, though. And...and I could hear Geralt calling, but I didn’t want to leave. She made me think I was back in Cintra, and my family was alive, and I knew it wasn’t real, but I still wanted to stay. I let her hurt all those witchers, just because I wanted to stay. I was selfish, and childish, and weak, and it was my fault if you got hurt.” He still had a hand on her face, so she closed her eyes to escape his scrutiny instead. This man had been nothing but kind to her when she didn’t deserve it, but this was surely the last straw. She didn’t want to see the concern in his eyes turn to disgust. There was a reason she hadn’t told anyone the truth about the dream world Voleth Meir locked her in.

“Oh, Ciri. Sweet child. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry she forced you to lose them twice, that wasn’t fair. That must have hurt so much. Have you been carrying around that guilt, all this time?” She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, feeling tears leaking out between her lashes, and nodded slightly. “Oh, love, you poor thing. It was not your fault, do you understand? Please hear me now, even if you don’t believe anything else I say. You are not to blame, alright? She was a monster, and she hurt you, and she hurt your family, and you sent her away. You saved us all, darling. It was not your fault.”

There were strong arms around her, holding her tight to a deceptively broad chest, and she realized she was shaking. “Shh, darling, it’s alright. That’s it, it’s ok. It’s all going to be ok. I’m so sorry, love, it will be alright.” He murmured more reassuring nonsense to her as he rocked her gently back and forth, just like Grandmother used to when she was very small. Eventually he started humming softly. She was distantly startled to realize that she recognized the tune, an old Skelliger lullabye. Eist used to sing it to her when she couldn’t sleep. The sound made her cry some more, but luckily he seemed to understand and he didn’t stop, just gathered her closer to his chest and kept humming.

Eventually her sobs tapered off and she found herself on the edge of sleep.

“Come on dear heart, up we come. There we go. Let’s get you back to bed, shall we?” She should maybe have been surprised when he stood with her still in his arms, one behind her back and one under her legs, easy as anything, but she was too tired and comfortable to care. She was vaguely aware of a faint twanging sound as he slung his lute across his shoulder without even shifting her weight, and then of the moonlight disappearing as they descended the stairs, but she was so soothed by the rocking motion of his steps and the steady beating of his heart that she didn’t remember dropping into a dreamless sleep before they even reached the bottom.

For once, she had no more nightmares that night.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Hi Comfy! 💜 Could you write some Tired Dad™ Jaskier, please? Ciri has been really difficult all day, crying because she misses her other daddy. Geralt made a business trip 3 days ago and will only be back at night.

Nonie i love this. I really hope i did your idea justice. I threw in as much fluff as I could!

just for clarification, ciri calls Jask “Fafa” and Geralt “Papa”, also I'm going with her being like 4? so only having a light grasp on language?

Warnings: none unless you don’t like specific dad nicknames? crying toddlers?

____________________

Three days. 

It's not that long. It's not a big deal. Jaskier wasn't even worried about the logistics of Geralt being gone (other than Ciri being a morning baby), he was worried about missing his husband. So worried, in fact, that he forgot until night #1 that Ciri was going to miss him too. 

"Where's Papa?" She asked, holding one of her feet close to her face to examine the bruised toenail from when she dropped the birdbath on it last week. 

Jaskier gently tugged her leg back down so he could tuck her in, "He's working, cub. He went to help Uncle Skel." 

Her little brow furrowed just like Geralt's did when he was thinking. They were so much alike you'd think they'd used Geralt's sperm for the fertilization. How she got bright blonde hair and green eyes with Jaskier's DNA was a mystery, they were pretty sure the egg donor they chose had brown eyes too, but either way she was cute as could be. The one thing she absolutely got from Jaskier was how much she loved Geralt. 

"Papa will be home late?" 

Jaskier brushed the hair off of her forehead as he sat next to her on her brand new big girl bed, "Really late. He'll be gone two more nights." 

"But where will he sleep?!" 

"At Uncle Skel's house," Jaskier laughed. 

Ciri didn't think it was funny in the slightest, "But people sleep at home!" 

It was a good half hour before she accepted that, yes, Papa would sleep okay somewhere else, and no, that doesn't mean it's his home now. It was another half hour before Jaskier heard little snores coming from her room and could finally relax. Not that he slept much. The bed was cold and the constant reminder that he was gone just made him worry over his husband. 

Geralt called them early the next morning and Ciri was ecstatic, holding the phone up close to her face and cradling it reverently. She prattled on about a dream she had and nearly choked on her oatmeal because simply wouldn't stop talking. When Geralt finally said he had to go, she dragged out the 'i love you's and 'see you soon's as long as she could. 

As soon as Jaskier stuffed his phone in his pocket and turned to grab a paper towel, the toddler was in tears. 

She wailed as Jaskier pulled her out of her booster seat and cradled her to his shoulder, bouncing back and forth like he did when she was still bottle feeding, "I know Cub, I know. He'll be back soon. It's okay." 

"I want Papa!" She shrieked and cried some more, burying her face in Jaskier's sweater. 

"I know, darling. I miss him too." Jaskier tried not to be hurt by her little tirade, she was only four, she didn't mean anything by it, but it still stung. 

The days passed in a coffee-fueled blur, Jaskier doing his best to distract Ciri and avoid complete meltdowns. They went to the park, went for a ride on Roach (and even gave her a bath), went for bike rides, saw a movie, did two parent/child painting classes, and even baked a cake from scratch to fill the time. Jaskier thought he might fall asleep walking.

On the third night, Ciri crept into their room just as he was about to fall asleep, “Fafa?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m-” she was cut off by a yawn, “I’m not sleepy.”

Jaskier propped himself up on an elbow, “Do you want snuggles?”

She nodded and wiped at her nose. He pulled back the blankets and she scrambled onto the bed and up against his side, flinging one of her lanky little arms over his chest. He tucked her under his arm and made sure they were both pleasantly cocooned in the comforter. 

“Fafa?”

He resisted the urge to sigh, just wanting to drift off to sleep, “Yes, Ciri?”

“Do you miss Papa too?”

He looked down at her and frowned, “Of course I do, darling. I miss him even when he’s gone on a regular workday.”

She snuggled in closer and wrapped her little fist around his sleepshirt, “Why don’t you cry?”

He kissed the top of her head, “I don’t want to worry you, love. And I know he’s coming back.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

That’s how Geralt found them, snuggled up and both snoring softly as the morning light filtered through the curtains. 

He quietly set his luggage down and shrugged off his jacket before slipping into bed on Ciri’s side and pulling them both close. It was a few minutes still before either of them stirred, and even when Jaskier sleepily carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair he didn’t seem to notice till a few seconds later. 

A sweet smile spread across his face, still keeping his eyes closed, “You’re back.”

Geralt leaned over to kiss him, doing his best not to squish Ciri, “Did you miss me?”

“Immensely,” Jaskier sighed, going back to playing with Geralt’s hair, still not opening his eyes.

Their talking woke Ciri and before Geralt even had the chance to say ‘hello’ she was squealing and clinging to his neck for dear life. 

Geralt laughed and Jaskier just rolled his eyes fondly. “Hope you’re not tired, love.”

Geralt peeled Ciri off him to set her on his chest, “Good morning, princess. What do you want for breakfast?”

She bounced, punching the air out of Geralt’s lungs as she answered, “Pancakes!”

“Pancakes it is,” he roared, hoisting her above his head and rolling to sit up on the edge of the bed. He glanced back at Jaskier, “Coming, Fafa?”

Jask snuggled deeper under the blankets, “Call me when the coffee’s ready.”

[thesourthernpansy]

Ciri: Am I in trouble?

Yennefer: Take a guess

Ciri: ...no?

Jaskier: Take another guess

[andillwriteyouatragedy]

ciri getting cold feet on dyeing her hair because people are always complimenting her natural color so jaskier dyes or dip-dyes geralt's hair first and the two of them just have dope matching father-daughter white and bright colored hair together

[fangirlshrewt97]

Ciri: Can I have a slice of cake? Please, please, please?

Jaskier: What are the rules, cub?

Ciri(dejected): No sugar before bedtime

Jaskier: No those are Geralt's rules. Mine is, "Get me a slice too."

[g-a-y-b-a-c-o-n]

Lambert likes to hold Ciri upside down. Ciri loves it and she giggles, meanwhile Jaskier almost has a heart attack every time he sees it-🔮

Kefeosgdisgekeg

Lambert is probably the gentlest when it comes to playing with Ciri, which says a lot. Jaskier nearly fainted one day when Geralt tossed her, like, 6 feet in the air and caught her-

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

WIP Tag Game

Rules: Share the titles of each of your current WIPs and if your followers ask, share a preview of the one they find most interesting. Send this on to ten mutuals who you are curious what they’re working on. (I will not tag 10 people, and I’m not sorry.) I was tagged by my darling @mihrsuri

nights without sleep and days that burn

by god still am

raised by wolves and voices

make a refuge

music like a curve of gold

Small God of Kaer Morhen

Kittenskier

Jaskier goin’ conspiracy board on his past life

Streobor’s a bitch but Jaskier’s got a mean right hook

Jaskel Bakery AU

because we can always use more roleswap AUs

Hey There Cirilla (aka Dadskier)

Sparklepony AU

pansies, columbine, and snowdrops

EDIT I NEARLY FORGOT THIS ONE: Mags Attempts Porn (God Help Us All)

Bold is partially posted on AO3, Italic is I’m trying to actively work on it right now (it’s not going well), and I’m just. /faceplant/ Braaaaaain, let me wriiiiiiiiiite.

But do feel free to ask me about them! :D

Anyway I’m tagging @jackironsides @a-kind-of-merry-war @storm-and-starlight @inexplicifics @anarchycox @terezis just in case idk if you have any WIPs rn Ginny, and @blue-mood-blue and all of y’all if you want to, I’m literally thinking off the top of my head in class <3

[anoddconstellationofthoughts]

Title: a throat full of teeth

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply                                

Categories: M/M, F/F, M/F

Chapters: 3/7

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Baker Jaskier, come explore my love of bread with me, Original Character Death(s), Death in Childbirth, Vomiting, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, this isn't all heartbreak i promise, Adult Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, except i make it a lil bit worse and fix it like a decade later, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Healing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It, playing fast and loose with the realities of the 13th century, Slow Burn, Mild Gore, Kid Fic, as in jaskier is a daddy, geralt likes to garden

Summary:

It occurred to Jaskier, as he forced his own feet to move, one ahead of the other, that Geralt hadn’t once shifted from where he stood on the mountain, arms ridged by his side, staring out into the valley, ass clenched like there was no tomorrow.

He really had just let Jaskier leave.

Jaskier clenched his jaw. Guess this one is for real then.

When he arrived back at camp he gathered his things and gave Roach a gentle pat.

He’d told Geralt “see you around,” but he didn’t think it would happen.

No, actually, he decided. He was planning on it.

jaskier and geralt lose each other. it takes a long time to be found again.

updates every few days.

[stitchedopen]

Quick Q, Witcher fandom:

I have a hankering for a specific kind of fic. I do not know if this fic exists or not. 😂

Does anyone know of any fics where after The Mountain Incident™️ Jaskier actually went off and tried to move on, maybe got a wife he likes just fine (even if she’s no Geralt), and has a baby. And then maybe something happens and the wife passes away (I’m so sorry I’m using you as a vehicle for a man’s story, hypothetical wife, I’m doing you dirty bb sry sry), and Jaskier is left raising this baby on his own. And maybe 2 or 3 years have passed since The Mountain Incident™️ and Geralt and Ciri come to find Jaskier (maybe Nilfgaard is after the Witcher’s bard?) and find him with a baby/toddler, so they have to take Jaskier and baby/toddler on the run with them/to Kaer Morhen. And Geralt’s Shook™️ like oh fuck he moved on I missed my chance I am The Worst. And Jaskier’s like oh fuck I have a child he’ll never want me now but I love my baby so much obvs there’s nothing I can do about it. Hijinks ensue. Geralt and baby bonding time. Ciri getting to be a big sister. Maybe all the wolf witchers secretly-not-so-secretly falling in love with baby. HI 👏🏻 JINKS 👏🏻

And if this post like... inspires anyone... feel free to 👀 write this 👀 and let me know 👀

[saltytransidiot]

Sweet Sorrows -- Part 2

Jaskier is a fool in love, a fool who can’t seem to stop loving Geralt of Rivia. He is a bard, a poet, and his soul had chosen long ago that it would devote itself only to one person for all of its life. He has had many lovers, has loved women and men alike along the road, but there had only ever been Geralt to inspire in him the absolute faith and trust that Jaskier knew meant more than love. He adored the man, and he had only been repaid in heartbreak and harshness. And yet, his heart refuses to learn the lesson and move on. He is a fool, and he will always be when it comes to the White Wolf.

Tadaaa, second and last part of the Dadskier AU !! In which Jaskier faces his own past and bad memories, and learns to lean into the love of the Wolves (+ one very nice Cat).. After some more hard times :’)

I hope y’all will enjoy this! It has a lot of self-inspired backstory, and it was very emotional for me to write :) 

CW for: suicidal thoughts, trauma, intrusive thoughts, hypothermia, mention of abusive family (past)

Read it on AO3!

[jsficrecs]

A Tale Told Before, Told Again - The Witcher

A Tale Told Before, Told Again by taran

Rating: 16+ Audiences

Word Count: 57375

Status: Incomplete

Summary: Fleeing across a war-torn Cintra on her quest to find Geralt of Rivia, Ciri finds... not Geralt.

*

“I want you to let me go!” She snapped, and pulled her arm from his grasp. He let her go easily. “It’s, it’s no business of yours what I am doing,” she declared, every inch royalty in her moment. It fled her the next, leaving a scared little girl in its wake. “Please, let me be.”

“I can’t,” Jaskier replied instantly, and he found he meant it. “Let me help you,” he said.

After a long, squint-eyed moment of suspicion, her chin thrust up defiantly.“I won’t lie on my back for you.”

“Lie on your-- no,” he retched, horrified, but her face remained as it had, cagey, untrusting, jaded. “Princess, no. I want nothing so vile from you, I promise you. You must leave this place, immediately. You need accompaniment,” he pressed, even as she shook her head. “You- you need to find Geralt of Rivia!”

Some Thoughts: I absolutely treasure this fanfic, despite the fact that it hasn’t updated since April. Personally, I really like long fanfics, and would try to consume as much of the really long fanfics as possible, and this fanfic has 9 chapters for 50k+ words. The bells were ringing in my head, especially after I saw the tags, to read it. I was like, “Okay, brain. Whatever you say, but if it’s bad, you know what to do.” And it was not bad. It was great. I finished that fanfic in one morning. It was so good, so well written, and Geralt hasn’t even appeared yet! 

Half-way through the fanfic, I already knew it was going to be good. The premise alone is so different and seems like something straight out of my fantasies, and I just wish there was more like it. Of course, there are fanfics where Ciri finds Jaskier, or fanfics where Dara remains with Ciri, or Mousesack lives, but I’m shocked at how well the author combined these elements into such a good and compelling story with such a different dynamic. After I recommended this to my friend, she messaged me while she was reading it to tell me how well written it was. 

Don’t stop yourself from reading it because it’s ongoing. The risk is there, I understand, but it’s also so worth it. I loved reading the first 9 chapters–– the way Jaskier in this fanfic is portrayed is likely one of my favorites, and Ciri’s and Dara’s characterization works so well. It’s charming, thrilling, and I’m so grateful to the author for writing this. This deserves more kudos than what it’s getting. Just please read it, look at it, and enjoy the first 9 chapters as much as I have. 

Available on Site(s): Ao3

Part of a Series: No.

Other Notes: Kudos: 2800+; Bookmarks: 1600+; Hits: 820+ (if you’re into those kinds of statistics). Dadskier; Post-Episode 6; Multi-chapter; Multiple POV; Canon Divergence; Sort of a Fix-it (Mousesack lives and Dara remains); Ongoing

[dreamofbecoming]

“sleep now,” she pleads

Chapter 2 (1) (3) (4) (AO3)

Jaskier pulled the blanket more tightly around the sleeping girl’s shoulders, smiling a little as she snuffled softly and burrowed deeper into the warmth of her bed. He found himself oddly reluctant to leave her side, in case she had more nightmares, but he doubted she would appreciate the invasion of her space in the light of day. With one last gentle stroke over her hair, he slipped into the hall and shut the door behind him as quietly as he could.

What an unexpected evening this had been.

He turned down the corridor towards his own room, fidgeting anxiously with the scars on his fingers as he replayed the events of tonight, carefully going over everything the princess had said. There was...quite a lot, actually, that should probably be addressed rather urgently. Most of it thrown out casually like it didn’t occur to her that she was breaking his heart with every word, like she believed it was normal to feel so burdened at such a young age. Then again, she was Calanthe’s heir, and had spent the last several months surrounded by men who wouldn’t know how to process an emotion if it stabbed them through the eye, so he supposed there was a good chance she did think it was normal, actually. That wouldn’t do at all.

So consumed was he with his plans to earn Ciri’s trust and help her with some of the horrifyingly obvious pain she was in that he almost didn’t notice the witcher blocking his path until it was too late. He pulled up short, barely avoiding bouncing off Geralt’s chest where he stood leaning against Jaskier’s door.

“Geralt! Gods, Geralt, it’s the middle of the bloody night, you can’t just- lurk! You’re going to give someone a heart attack! By someone I mean me, of course, since I’m the only one in this godsdamned keep without night vision or magical senses, and I realize I’m hardly the most important person here, but still, fucking hells.”

He pushed past him into the room, angling himself carefully to shield his burned hand from view. That was not a conversation he needed to have right now, absolutely the fuck not. He wasn’t sure if Geralt had been deliberately ignoring his pain-scent so far, or if there were still so many injured and emotionally devastated people in this keep that he truly couldn’t tell Jaskier’s pain from anyone else’s, but he had no desire to find out tonight. Frankly he wasn’t sure which possibility would be more heartbreaking, anyway.

He winced internally at the reminder of Ciri’s wide-eyed faith that of course, the witchers would notice and address his pain. Of course they would, because they did it for her, so why wouldn’t they? He was glad he had been able to deflect those questions before he had to think of a way to explain to this sweet girl, still so trusting despite everything, that he simply didn’t matter enough for anyone here to notice or care. Or, Gods forbid, how to explain how he got the injuries in the first place. She was devastated enough when she thought he had been injured in Voleth Meir’s attack, no matter how he had tried to assure her she hadn’t been to blame for that. He shuddered to think of the burden it would lay on the poor child’s shoulders to know that he had been tortured for information on her whereabouts. Not that she was any more responsible for Reince’s actions than she had been for the demon’s, but he knew she wouldn’t see it that way. She had far too much of her father in her, for all they had met less than a year ago. Martyrs and fools, the both of them.

Geralt followed him in and closed the door behind them, looking at him with one eyebrow raised in that infuriating way he had that made Jaskier feel like it was somehow his fault for not having already answered a question Geralt hadn’t even fucking asked yet. Bastard.

“Was there something I could help you with? I was planning to try and get some sleep before dawn, if it’s all the same to you.”

“What were you doing with Ciri?” And didn’t that question fucking chafe? Didn’t Geralt trust him with his daughter? Did he think Jaskier would harm her somehow, or fail to protect her, like he didn’t have decades of firsthand experience of Jaskier’s character to know he would rather chew off his own fingers than hurt a child? (He tried to ignore the scornful little voice in the back of his head that whispered that Geralt was right not to trust him, not after what happened last time he gave his Child Surprise to Jaskier to protect. That voice could fuck off. He could hardly be blamed for demonic possession. That was not on the list of threats he had been prepared to defend Ciri from on the road.) He pushed down the hurt and fixed a look of only partially fabricated irritation on his face.

“She couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t sleep, turns out we have the same favorite insomnia tower. She found me playing, we talked for a bit, about music mostly, she fell back asleep, I carried her down and put her to bed. Nothing nefarious happened, if that’s your concern.”

Gratifyingly, Geralt did look a little chagrined at that. “I- I wasn’t worried about that, Jask. I just- I went to check on her, she gets nightmares and goes wandering at night. I was worried when she wasn’t in bed, and I didn’t expect her to be with you, that’s all. I know she’s safe with you.” He paused like he was searching for words. “Is she...how is she?”

Oh. Well then. That made sense. He felt a little silly for snapping. And of course Geralt was worried about Ciri, of course he was every bit the doting father Jaskier had always known he would be. Something clenched painfully in his chest at the reminder of all the times he had imagined this very thing, just a little to the left- the three of them, together, out on the Path. A real family. He cursed his foolish heart, forever dreaming up impossible things and leaving him bereft of their absence. Gods above, this man would be the death of him.

He softened, indignation bleeding out of him in favor of exhaustion. “Of course. I’m sorry, Geralt, I’m just tired, I think. She’s alright, for now, anyway. I’m not going to break her confidence, she’s lost more than enough and I won’t be one more person she can’t trust, but you should know she’s struggling. I mean, obviously she is, she’s been through so much more than any child should have to bear, but what I mean to say is that she’s trying hard to hide how much pain she’s in. I hope you’re keeping an eye on her.”

Geralt nodded morosely, and Jaskier wondered, not for the first time, how he was handling all of this. He had lost a half dozen of his brothers, things between him and Yen were...complicated, at best (but to be fair, when weren’t they?), and he still had only been a parent for a few months. Jaskier couldn’t even imagine how overwhelmed he would be in Geralt’s place. A frisson of guilt went through him. He hadn’t exactly been avoiding Geralt, per se, but he certainly hadn’t been seeking him out lately. When they had traveled together, Jaskier had taken on the unspoken duty of needling and bullying Geralt’s emotions out of him before they could boil over and scald anyone within range, and he wondered if anyone else had picked up the job in his absence. Somehow he doubted it.

“Well, good. That’s...good. Listen, I’m sorry, Geralt, I don’t mean to boot you out, it’s just, it’s very late, and I really need to get a few hours of sleep if I’m going to be functional enough to keep Yen from testing potions on me tomorrow, is it alright if we pick this up later?” He would probably feel bad about the dejected look on Geralt’s face in the morning, but sweet Melitele he was so fucking tired. He’d only managed a half hour of sleep before dreams of flames and a vicious sneer drove him up to that tower in the first place, and it was hardly an unfamiliar routine these days. He knew the bruises under his eyes were growing darker by the day. Yen had even stopped veiling her concern behind snide comments and now just shot him worried glances whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.

“Of course. Sorry. Good night, Jaskier.”

“Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier was already stripped to his smalls and halfway under the blankets. He had not been joking about needing to sleep immediately.

Geralt stopped as he stepped out into the hall, turning with his hand still on the door. “Thank you. For taking care of her tonight.” His eyes didn’t meet Jaskier’s.

“Of course, I always will. As long as you need me,” he mumbled, already half asleep. He thought he might have heard Geralt reply before he softly closed the door behind him, but he probably just imagined the whispered “I always need you,” before he slipped into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

----

The morning found him in an uncharacteristically good mood, despite the scant hours of sleep he had managed to steal, buoyed by his determination to bond with Ciri. Well, uncharacteristic since he’d come to Kaer Morhen, anyway. He found he actually felt more like himself than he had in some time, and he hoped it wasn’t a passing thing.

He was sitting in his usual corner of his usual unoccupied table, finishing his bowl of porridge so he could escape back to the kitchen and not have to pretend not to notice Lambert and Coën and Vartok and Tolbert sniggering at him from the next table over. He was on the chore rotation this morning for the breakfast dishes, which he was actually looking forward to. It would be restful, a nice meditative task, as long as he could stand the hot water on his burned hand.

Yen hadn’t been able to heal his fingers with magic like she had his ribs, something about undoing damage done with someone else’s Chaos being more complicated, something something he hadn’t really been listening. The balm she had given him was working well at dulling the pain, though, even allowing him to play for short periods, so he should theoretically be fine today.

As he turned to rise, Ciri entered the hall, passing him on her way to sit with the witchers. She hesitated a little, and he could see a flash of nerves across her face as she glanced at where Lambert was focused on trying to get Coën into a headlock, before looking back to Jaskier and nodding a greeting.

“Good morning, Jaskier.”

Oh, but he was so enamored with this girl. He knew how much shit she was liable to get from the witchers for treating him with even basic courtesy, but after only a single night’s conversation, she was clearly determined to brave their scrutiny for his sake. He could relate; one conversation and he would gladly burn the world down for this girl. He understood why Calanthe had gone to such lengths to keep Geralt from taking her, why Geralt had been ready to cut Yennefer’s throat over her, why Yen had slit her own wrists for Ciri’s sake without a moment’s hesitation. Why even these suspicious, insular witchers were so thoroughly taken with her. He knew he himself would cheerfully level armies to protect her.

He offered her an encouraging smile. “Good morning, Ciri. Did you sleep well?” He tried to keep his voice down, to avoid drawing the attention of the men at the other table, but in a room this size, with witcher hearing, he knew it was rather a lost cause.

“I did, actually. Thanks for...just, thanks.” She dropped her eyes to the floor and fidgeted with her skirt. She rarely wore her dresses these days, but he imagined the conversation about Cintra and her family must have triggered a nostalgia for home. He hoped the others would go easy on her. He had heard about Triss putting Lambert in his place for making fun of Ciri’s more feminine clothes, but Triss wasn’t here, and in Jaskier’s experience, Lambert was more of a dick than was strictly good for him. Or for anyone.

“Anytime, love. I mean that. I’d better get to the kitchen before the dishes start piling up. Enjoy your breakfast, your highness.” He gave her a courtly bow as he stood to leave, and reveled in the giggle and little curtsey he received in return.

“Oy, Princess! What, is the bard turning you all prissy again? Thought we were beating that out of you in training!” Lambert laughed uproariously at his own joke, Vartok joining in, although while Coën and Tolbert chuckled, they looked vaguely uncomfortable, and Eskel at the other end of the bench was giving Lambert a distinctly unimpressed glare.

Jaskier knew that snapping back in Ciri’s defense would only escalate things, and wouldn’t help stop them teasing her in the slightest, but he wasn’t going to just stand here and let them taunt a literal child. They could mock him as much as they liked, he had heard worse all his life, but bringing Ciri into it was a bridge too far.

“Oh, Lambert, I’m so sorry, my dear! Have I been leaving you out? If you wanted someone to teach you proper manners, you needed only ask! There’s no need to be embarrassed, I would be honored to oblige, good sir.” He affected a stage whisper, lifting one hand and pretending to shield his mouth from Ciri. “I know how difficult learning new skills can be, especially for someone of your advanced age, but don't worry. I have plenty of teaching experience, we’ll have you as proficient as any noble child in no time!” He performed the deepest, most mocking bow he could manage, complete with as many flourishes as he could conjure up.

Vartok, Tolbert, and Coën practically collapsed in stitches, while Lambert seethed in silence, shock at Jaskier volleying back for once apparently stealing whatever comeback he might have had. Even Eskel was smiling slightly, a twinkle of what almost looked like approval in his eyes. It was exactly the reaction he had been going for, taking the attention fully onto himself and off of Ciri, who was now snorting rather inelegantly into her hand as she sat down between Coën and Eskel, avoiding any further scrutiny. Her reaction left Jaskier beaming all the way to the kitchen, a warm weight settling in his chest that felt something like pride.

He had almost lost himself in the rhythm of scrubbing and rinsing, humming quietly in the late winter sunshine through the slitted window, the busywork for his hands leaving his mind pleasantly free to piece together scraps of lyrics and melody, when a voice sounded from behind him.

“You know, Geralt’s been telling us stories about you for 20 years, and I was starting to wonder if he had made them all up. Good to see the little shit he likes so much is still in there.”

If asked, Jaskier would absolutely deny the shriek that left his throat, as well as flailing around and chucking a half-washed bowl at the intruder in alarm, splashing water and suds all over himself and the kitchen floor. It would be a lie, but he would deny it to the grave.

Eskel was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, blinking at the bowl as it swiveled sadly on the floor between them where it had landed after apparently bouncing off the witcher’s gambeson-clad torso. He raised an eyebrow at Jaskier, who felt that the obvious amusement in his gaze was frankly unwarranted, since he was the one who had snuck up on Jaskier out of nowhere, and while a soapy dish was perhaps less lethal a weapon than he could have chosen, he had at least managed to hit his target. That had to count for something, right?

“What is it with you lot and trying to frighten me into an early grave today? First Geralt skulking outside my room in the middle of the night, and now you sneaking up on a man when he’s just trying to finish his chores! Is this some kind of witcher game I don’t know about? See who can make the poor human jump the highest?”

Eskel inclined his head gravely with a completely straight face. “It’s one of our most sacred traditions. Whoever makes you scream the loudest gets first pick of the armory at training.”

Jaskier barked a surprised laugh. “So you can have a sense of humor. Between Geralt being Geralt and Lambert’s being, well, terrible, I was beginning to worry it was a side effect of the mutagens or something.” Eskel grinned and shook his head.

“No, they’ve both just always been...like that. I’ve tried to fix them both, trust me. They’re lost causes. Although, Geralt can be pretty funny when he’s drunk. You just have to get him loose enough he stops wallowing in his broody angst for once.”

“Hah! Yes! Thank you, I’ve only been saying that for two fucking decades. Such a damn shame he doesn’t carry White Gull on the Path, I barely ever had the coin to get him properly drunk. Yen did it a few times, what with the,” he waved his hand vaguely, “magic infinite wine goblets and such, but sadly getting drunk with Yen usually led to me being exiled to the guest room.” He deliberately kept the grin plastered on his face, ignoring the painful twinge of remembering nights spent lying alone in a spare room of whatever mansion Yen had commandeered this time, trying desperately not to think about what they were doing on the other side of the wall, what he could never have.

“Sorry, I got distracted. Did you actually want to speak to me, or were you just here to see how much of a mess you could scare me into making? You’re absolutely helping me clean this up, by the way, I’m not taking the fall with Vesemir alone.”

Eskel grinned again, the scars bisecting his upper lip tugging the expression into a snarl that would be frightening but for the light in his eyes. He hadn’t had much cause so far to look at Eskel’s face; he didn’t antagonize Jaskier the way some of the others did, but they hadn’t ever spoken alone that he could remember. He took a moment to do so now. He knew people were probably awful to Eskel because of the scars, but Jaskier couldn’t help but think he was terribly handsome regardless. It seemed to be a prerequisite for Witchering, handsomeness. Horribly unfair, really.

“Fair enough, bard. Toss a rag to your witcher,” he said with a wicked glint in his eye. Jaskier glowered and threw the towel directly at his smirking face.

“Brat! You’re worse than Geralt.”

Eskel laughed and began wiping soap suds and a few stray bits of porridge that had landed on the wall opposite the wash basin. “I wanted to thank you.”

That made Jaskier look up in surprise. “Thank me? Whatever for?”

“For telling Lambert to fuck off. Truth be told, I’ve been waiting for you to tell him where to shove it for weeks, but you’ve seemed content just to let him and the others roll over you. I was a little surprised to see you stand up to him today.”

Jaskier kept his eyes focused on the pot he was scrubbing, carefully not looking up or meeting Eskel’s eyes. “Yes, well, it’s all well and good to throw a few jabs at the interloping bard, I can take it. I’m an entertainer, being the center of attention is sort of my thing, and it certainly isn’t always good attention. I’ve built up a thick skin over the years, Lambert will have to work harder if he truly intends to wound me. Ciri doesn’t deserve that sort of treatment, though. She’s...she’s not like you. Any of us, really.”

He did look up now, needing to be sure Eskel understood what he was saying. “I know it’s been a long time since anyone here was human, and longer still since any of you were children, if you were ever granted that luxury. I know raising a teenaged human princess wasn’t exactly what any of us thought we would be doing, but we can’t just treat her like she’s any other witcher and leave it at that. She’s not grown, really, she’s still a girl. She’s lost everything- her family, her home, her future, her safety. Everything she’s ever known is gone, and she has to learn to live in a whole new world, a world that’s full of blood and fear and monsters. She needs...she needs gentleness, Eskel, and I don’t mean to offend, but I’m not sure anyone here knows how to give that to her. But she won’t survive without it.” He took a deep breath, before plowing ahead. In for a copper, in for a crown.

“I respect all of you for everything you do, and I have no desire to step on any toes at Kaer Morhen. I know I’m an outsider here. But I’m also the only person who knows anything about where Ciri comes from, and who might remember what it’s like to be in her shoes right now. I’ve no intention of ordering anyone around or putting myself above anyone, but you should know, as long as I’m standing, I will do everything I can to make sure that girl gets to be a child, that she gets to experience joy and beauty, that she learns that it’s alright to be scared, that she’s allowed to be scared, or to feel pain, or to need rest, and that there’s strength in that, too. I admire and respect witchers, and I believe you all deserve better than you’ve gotten, truly. If I could give you all back the childhoods that were stolen from you, I would, but I’ve seen what your ideas that strength requires denying pain do to you, and I won’t allow that to happen to Ciri. Forgive my bluntness, but I won’t let anyone break her the way you were broken, and if that puts me at odds with the Wolves of Kaer Morhen, then so be it.”

Eskel’s amber eyes were fixed steadily on Jaskier’s, and his expression was unreadable. Eventually he seemed to come to some decision within himself, and he took a breath to speak, only to be promptly interrupted by a half-asleep sorceress stomping into the kitchen, eyes barely even open.

“Jaskier, I’m eating in here with you. The idiots out there are all in a mood, it’s clogging up the whole room. You’re still coming to the lab with me later, right?”

“Good morning to you, too, Yennefer darling. Don’t worry about interrupting, I’m sure Eskel and I don’t mind.” He rolled his eyes for Eskel’s benefit, snickering quietly when Yen turned to glance at the witcher where he knelt next to the counter, and heaved a sigh.

“Yes, alright, hello Eskel, if you’ll excuse us.”

Jaskier shook his head at her rudeness, secretly glad that some of her forceful personality had started to come back. She’d been too earnest and agreeable after she lost her powers. It was unsettling.

“I’m so sorry about her, Eskel dear, I would say she was raised by wolves, but, well, that’s Lambert, and even so I think being raised by witches is just as bad.” Yen shot a hand out to whack him in the chest without looking up from her bowl, making Jaskier grin.

Eskel huffed a laugh. “Not to worry, these halls have seen worse. I’ll leave you two to it. Would it be alright if I came and found you later, so we can continue our conversation?”

He didn’t seem angry, although Jaskier wouldn’t pretend to be an expert in witcher facial expressions these days. Still, Eskel seemed nice, especially by witcher standards. He probably wouldn’t kill him, at least not in the keep, where Geralt might trace it back to him. It would be fine, probably. Almost definitely.

“Of course. Yen and I will be busy until lunch, but I’ll be in the library this afternoon, come find me whenever you like. And thanks for the help, even if I maintain the mess was your fault in the first place, you brute.” He shot Eskel a smirk, who laughed as he returned it. He finished mopping up the water Jaskier spilled, and stood, holding out a hand for Jaskier to shake.

“It was nice to finally meet the real you, Jaskier.”

“And you, Eskel. I can see why you’re Geralt’s favorite brother,” he replied with a sly smile.

He was rewarded with a bright grin and another lovely laugh. “Oh, I’m so holding that over the Wolf’s head now. My eternal thanks, bard.” He clapped Jaskier on the shoulder and went to leave, before turning back to fix him with that eerily piercing stare all witchers seemed so proficient at.

“For what it’s worth, Ciri isn’t the only one who doesn’t deserve it. Just my two coppers. I’ll see you this afternoon, Jaskier.” Jaskier was left staring after him in shock. Yen’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Well now, songbird, what the hell was all that about, then?” He sighed and resigned himself to a morning of answering invasive questions from a pesky but concerned sorceress, all of which he would pretend to be annoyed by.

[spilledbutter]

FEL YES I SCREAM ABOUT THIS REGULARLY jaskier goes back to cintra long before geralt. he feels it's important to watch over geralt's charge, even when geralt isn't ready to do so. they become close over the years, and when jaskier gets word that nilfgaard is marching north, he heads to cintra straight away to pick up ciri. nevermind that he and geralt are separated.

i get to watch you grow up now and make me proud, make all of those mistakes that make me laugh

my heart aches everytime I listen to Welly Boots by TAD

because i imagine Jaskier singing it to (and for) Ciri...🥲

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

🌹

He could be fucking civil to this man who had looked after his daughter so much over so much of her life, even if he was a stubborn, arrogant jerk who had decided he knew what Jaskier was like without ever having met him.

It would just be a bit of a trial, was all.

(from Dadskier AU)

[deagle]

owns my heart and i mean it

based on this rly cute meme @likechoonee rb’d which went ‘when your daughter invites you to her first tea party, and she’s nervous the imaginary tea tastes bad but you loved it’

for @deagle

—

Daisy Rivia was in tears.

From the family room where he sat doing emails, Jaskier could see his darling daughter clinging to Geralt’s leg and fussing to be taken along. Geralt was finally on his way out with their son, Felix, and just an hour ago, Daisy had been perfectly content to stay home with Jaskier and play princess tea-time.

“I wanna go play ball,” Daisy bemoaned, clad in her jammies and one hastily donned sneaker.

“We’ll play when I get back,” Geralt reasoned. “Felix has practice today and he won’t be able to play with you.”

“But I wanna go, too!”

“Sweetie, I thought you wanted to stay home with Daddy.” Geralt was extremely patient, but at this rate, he and Felix were going to be late. Jaskier slid his laptop shut, rose and went to the rescue, deciding he could catch up on emails some other time.

“You two should get on,” Jaskier said, catching Geralt’s eye, “you’re cutting it close. Daisy, sweetheart, I know you’d like to tag along but Dadda’s got to go, alright? He’ll be back very soon, and the meantime you and I can have loads of—”

“Nooooo!”

“I can just take her,” Geralt offered, gently smoothing Daisy’s curls from her eyes, and Jaskier knew he would, because it wouldn’t have been the first time, and because Geralt was without a doubt the most unimaginably devoted dad he’d ever met, perfectly happy and willing to look after both kids no matter the circumstance.

A lesser spouse could have taken advantage far too easily of Geralt’s seemingly unlimited stores of energy when it came to rearing the kids, and far be it from Jaskier to be that person, particularly when just the previous night, he’d been away for another long recording session at the studio while Geralt spent another Friday night of Daddy Daycare. Jaskier planned to start making up for that by returning the smile to Daisy’s face and luring her away from her favorite – most of the time, anyway – father.

“I’d rather you kept an eye on Felix,” Jaskier said, prying their screaming toddler from Geralt’s limbs. “I’ve got her. You boys go on. Have fun, Felix!”

Geralt nodded, grabbed his keys, and put a hand on their son’s shoulder to make his way out, leaving Jaskier with a very unhappy girl. Though she fought him on it, he gave Daisy a cuddle and let her cry, endeavoring to tempt her with snacks and ideas for something they could do.

“Shall we go for a walk? Play on the swing? Go on the slide? Play fetch with Caspian?”

“No, no, no.”

“Hmm.” Out of ideas, Jaskier contemplated driving out to Felix’s practice. Geralt would be confused but if it got their daughter to stop crying when just an hour ago, she was happy to stay… Speaking of which: “Daisy, whatever happened to princess tea-time? You’d said you wanted to play with Daddy after you finished drawing.”

Daisy sniffled, distracted by processing that thought, and croaked, “I did?”

Jaskier smiled at her innocence and deposited her on the sofa beside his laptop, where he wiped the tears from her face and pulled her hair into a ponytail. “Of course you did my love, and as you know, Daddy loves a good cuppa. Why is it you always have tea time with Dadda rather than me?”

“Um… because...” She mumbled something unintelligible, and Jaskier only caught the last word. “Tiara.”

“Ah, yes.” The memory came to his mind: Geralt, Daisy, and the dog, sitting round a play table with tiaras in their hair. Jaskier even had pictures of their wee ceremonies. “I don’t mind wearing a tiara.” He cast a glance toward their dog, snoozing nearby. “And I might be a better guest than Caspian this time, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. He’s sleeby.”

“He sure is. Shall we play then?”

“Yeah. I need my things,” Daisy said and hopped determinedly from the couch to scurry on tiny legs over to her room.

Jaskier followed, to help her out of that one sneaker, and to be of any further assistance. He turned into her henchman as he essentially carried the tea ware over, set the mini-table, and squeezed into a chair that was definitely not meant to accommodate a grown man of his size. Suddenly he wondered for the first time how Geralt managed to sit onto these kid-sized stools for hours entertaining Daisy – with a tiara in his hair, no less. The man was a true hero.

“Ok. So, first I make the tea,” Daisy said seriously. “Here’s your cuppa. This is my cuppa. And… one for Caspian.”

The dog’s ear twitched from where he napped, though he made no effort to join the ceremony.

“What kind of tea are you serving, then?” Jaskier asked. “Black? Herbal? Green, perhaps?”

“Um,” Daisy frowned thoughtfully and for a moment there, as she poured air into their cups, she reminded Jaskier so terribly of Geralt, it made his heart sing like a choir of angels. “It’s… the good tea. The best one.”

“Ooh, the best one?”

“Yeah. Here we can drink it now.” Jaskier hadn’t so much as picked up the cup when Daisy looked worriedly up at him. “I hope it tastes good. Do you like it?”

Jaskier brought the miniscule cup to his nose. “Mmm. Smells wonderfully fragrant, my dear. And now I’ll have a sip… Oh, my. What an excellent tea! What did you say it was called again?”

“The best one.” Daisy beamed and fake drank from her own cup, imitating Jaskier’s appreciative noises. “It’s tasty. I’ll make another cup for you.”

“Oh, before I finish this one? O-okay.”

“Daddy. Do you want biscuits?”

At that Jaskier positively melted, utterly captivated by his daughter’s imaginative consideration. She was far too adorable and despite her tantrum earlier, a part of him hoped she’d stay this tiny and perfect forever. “Yes. I’d be much obliged, Madam Daisy.”

—

belong fic

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