#Lil'Bleater and it's a goat

[tomorobo-illust]

See hi-res version here: patreon.com/posts/106351320

Not too deep of a story, but @extra-standard-deviation requested a comic of Letho and Eskel and I of course HAD to include Lil'Bleater lskdjfsd During a battle, Letho spotted the goat and spent the entire fight protecting the baby.

Thank you so much Kestrel for being so patient and for indulging me in the wonderful world of Witcher~ As I finished this up I was reminded of how much I missed these two (especially Letho <3) It felt so good to draw these two again!

[flowercrown-bard]

A new us will begin (15/ ?)

word count: 5.590 AO3

part 1   / part 2 / part 3  / part 4  / part 5 / part 6  / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14

a huge thank you to my brilliant beta @tears-of-a-fool!

Strangely enough, things didn’t really change between him and Desanka. Except, of course, for the fact that as weeks turned into months turned into years, Desanka grew more and more comfortable with being herself around Lark. They rarely ever talked about it, but then again, there was no need to. It was enough that Desanka trusted him with her secret and she seized every opportunity she got to show him how comfortable she was around him.  

Affection flooded through Lark every time his friend turned into her wolf form and let him run his fingers through her pelt. Of course, Desanka also took full advantage of the fact that as a wolf she was far stronger and more agile than Lark could ever hope to be and he quickly found out that she oh so loved using her strength and weight to tackle him to the ground when he teased her. Naturally, it didn’t make him quit his teasing.  

Sometimes, when he said something particularly funny or stupid, his wolf friend would lick his cheek and he still hadn’t been able to figure out if she did that to be sweet or to be gross. Knowing her, it really could be either. 

Apart from the occasional slobber, travelling with a friend who could turn into a wolf was far more comfortable than Lark would have ever suspected. No longer was he as worried about his friend as he had been. Sure, he still kept his eyes peeled for any notice of a witcher or anyone else who might want to harm his friend, but at the end of the day, he knew that Desanka wasn’t helpless. Not that she had been helpless before, seen as she was far more comfortable with pointing daggers at people than Lark was. They protected each other. From the cold, from loneliness and from a world that did its best to work against them.  

It didn’t take them long to figure out a way to earn coin together. If anyone had asked Desanka, she would have said the two of them were the most cunning of bandits. If anyone had asked Lark, he would have said that they are simply brilliant actors. The truth lay somewhere in-between. While in her wolf-form, Desanka would jump at wealthy-looking travellers, baring her teeth and making a show of raking her claws across the ground to make a horrible scratching noise and making the poor travellers imagine what these claws would sound like buried in their flesh. Sometimes, that would be all that was needed for the travellers to leave behind their less precious belongings and run for the hills, but most of the time – and oh, how Lark enjoyed those times – Lark got to leap out of his hiding spot and stand before the travellers, pretending to be a mighty knight who could chase away any beast and then humbly accept the travellers’ coin when they thanked him for his bravery.  

It was strange. Being a knight was the last thing Lark could imagine himself as, yet acting as a defender of humanity, who faced down beasts, came as naturally to him as breathing. He had never met a real knight and apart from the dying witcher in the woods he hadn’t ever encountered anyone who slew monsters – he preferred not to think about the barghest he had taken down himself. Still, the way he sliced his stolen prop-dagger through the air felt so perfectly practised that he was sure he would have been able to go through the motions blindly. More than once, Desanka looked at him strangely afterwards, when they sat around a fire and counted their earnings of the day.

“You know sometimes when you point that dagger at me it looks almost real. There’s just something in your expression…the way you look at me.”

“I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

“I- yes. Yes, of course I know that. I trust you. I’m just saying it looks like you spent a lot of time studying how someone would look at a monster they were about to take down.”

“You’re not a monster.”

That had ended that discussion and Desanka hadn’t mentioned it again. Still, her words didn’t leave Lark’s mind. Because as much as he liked to deny it, as much as he knew there was no way she was right, he couldn’t help but feel as if she was. Somehow he knew what a hunter looked like. A knight. A fighter.  

A witcher.  

Perhaps it was just that he had a vivid imagination and the legends of witchers had supplied him with enough mental images of them that he was able to imitate them perfectly.  

And then there was the medallion, that he had repaired and was now wearing beneath his chemise, out of sight. It felt wrong to hide it from Desanka, but Lark knew that she would hate seeing it on him. That didn’t change the fact that the cool metal and its constant hum, that got stronger every time Desanka transformed, soothed Lark and gave him a sense of belonging, foolish as it was.  

If it weren't for this persistent reminder of the encounter with the Witcher in the woods months ago, Lark would have all but forgotten about it. Not that he would have otherwise been able to fully banish the uncanny feeling of something being wrong, that had clung to him ever since Lambert had looked at him so intently with those golden eyes, that had been just slightly wrong.  

Still, with time, the threat that had hung above him and Desanka’s necks like an executioner’s axe waiting to fall, slowly dulled to nothing but a sense of alertness that spiked up, whenever they heard of witchers being near, something that hadn't happened in a while now.  

They had other worries than witchers that may or may not cross their path again. Such as the latest attempted robbery, that had gone wrong, when the burly man, whom Desanka had growled at, had turned out to be a blacksmith on the way to his daughter’s wedding and he didn’t like being held up one bit.  

Lark and Desanka had been able to run away, but not before the blacksmith had swung the dagger that had been intended to be a wedding gift and cut Desanka across one front leg.  

Despite having been so handy when it had come to patching up the witcher before, Lark was helpless when it came to healing Desanka. For weeks, Desanka had been stuck in her human form, so she wouldn’t have to put any weight on her injured arm. Lark’s heart had clenched every time his friend had transformed back into a wolf again, her ears pricked and her tail wagging hopefully, only to wince in pain when she stepped on her front leg and had to admit that it still wasn’t healed enough to do as much as walk on it.  

Today was the first day that she could finally run with the wind again, though not without a noticeable limp. There was still a big patch of fur missing where the knife had sliced her, but apart from that, she was as good as new. As she ran on four paws and with her tail wagging contently, she seemed to have all but forgotten about the threats that were witchers. She was running down the road next to a forest with Lark at her heels, playfully snapping at him every now and again. A weight lifted off of Larks shoulders at seeing his friend so carefree once more. This is how she should have been able to live all along. Unafraid and comfortable in her pelt.  

Lark was so distracted by his friend, who had decided that Lark was too slow and was now chasing her tail instead, that he nearly missed the man sitting on the ground a couple of paces away. He would have probably missed him altogether, had Desanka not given up her game, sniffed the air and barked once to alert Lark.  

As Lark hastened closer, Desanka hesitatingly approached the hunched over form, nosing at it carefully. The stranger flinched away from the touch of her wet nose.  

"Desanka!" Lark sped up his steps until he could bury his hand in Desanka’s pelt and gently push her away from the stranger. "I'm terribly sorry. She's usually not that... eager."

He lifted his eyes from his friend to give the stranger an apologetic smile.  

He froze. “Oh.”

There was a piece of red cloth wound around the stranger's head, covering his eyes. From the looks of it, he had cut the cloth from his own shirt that looked like it had seen better days. And from beneath the blindfold -  

Lark sucked in a sharp breath. Black lines like spiderwebs crawled over the man's skin, reaching nearly down to his cheeks and tangling like thorny vines with the scars marring half of the man's face.  

It was a good thing the stranger was blinded by the cloth, or else he would have seen pure shock on Lark's face as he drew back.  

"Are you alright?" he asked and crouched down, reaching for the spidery lines on the man's face without thinking, as if he was an old friend that Lark could be so familiar with instead of a stranger he'd found at the side of the road.  

The stranger flinched at Lark's voice, making himself small and pulling his shoulders up to his ears.  

Lark let his hand fall back down into his lap.  

"Are you -" he began, but the man cut him off.  

"Quiet." His voice was rough like rocks grating together, as if his throat had dried up completely and he flinched, whether at the pain in his throat or the loudness of his own words, Lark couldn't tell. "Please. It’s too much."

Lark's mouth, which had already been open in question again, snapped shut. His eyes met Desanka, who gave a low whine that sounded like the audible manifestation of a shrug.  

Lark looked around for anything that could tell him what had happened. There were no signs of an ambush. A satchel was sitting next to the stranger, undisturbed, and between the trees, Lark could make out a horse with full saddlebags.  

Not knowing what else to do, Lark reached for the satchel. Maybe there would be something inside that could help. Before he could open it, a hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him. For someone who winced at the slightest sound, the stranger had a surprisingly strong grip.  

"Don't," he rasped. "You can’t- potions can kill. Not for humans.”

When Lark retracted his hand a bit, the man let go of his wrist, ever so slowly and flexed his hand once the contact was gone, like someone shaking off an unpleasant sensation. As if even a simple touch had felt like slicing his palm open.  

Too many. The thought shot through Lark's mind unbidden, not clarifying a thing. He drank too many potions.  

Now that Lark knew what to look for, he noticed empty bottles lying in the grass, one of them still clutched in one of the man's hands. The design of the small glass bottle was simple, nothing as fancy or expensive as Lark had seen mages sell. There was something almost familiar to the bottles. Like he had seen them before.  

But that couldn't be. Because the only time he could remember that he had seen any sort of potion bottle up close had been the witcher's potions when he had stolen them in the stables.  

Oh. His stomach dropped and he couldn't stop himself from letting a sympathetic noise escape him.

It wasn't that this man had drunk too many potions. If these potions really were what Lark feared, then even a single drop could be deadly. Nights on end, Lark had laid awake, thinking about what fate he would have been met with if he had swallowed or even touched any of Lambert's potions.  

He supposed he needn't wonder any longer. This, right here was what would have happened. His veins would have turned black from the poison and anything that nudged his senses would have made him feel excruciating pain, as the stranger must be in, if he rather blindfolded himself than suffer sunlight.  

This stranger must be some sort of rogue, for no one to be here with him as he died. He certainly looked the part of a bandit, with the scars running down his face, the ragged clothes and the bulging muscles that made his already huge frame look even more intimidating.

He must have made the same mistake as Lark and stolen from a witcher. Only, in contrast to Lark, this stranger was suffering the deadly consequences that Lark had so narrowly escaped.  

A shiver ran down Lark’s spine and he pressed his lips tightly together. He couldn't let any of his thoughts leave his mouth. If this stranger was doomed to die, he didn't need Lark to say it out loud and make it even worse.  

Still, Desanka must have sensed his dark hopelessness, for she pressed against him, putting her head on his knee in comfort.  

Comfort.  

There wasn't much Lark could do. He had no coin to give, no medicine to help with, no magic to soothe the pain this man must be in. But he had this one thing. Comfort, though it wouldn't prevent this man's demise, might make him feel less alone in his last moments. Lark would make this easier in the only way he knew how to.  

Softly, he began to hum. The lullaby, which had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember, left his lips softly enough that it wouldn't agitate the stranger's strained senses, but loud enough to drown out all other bothersome sensations.  

There was something raw in sharing this lullaby. Lark had never dreamed of letting anyone but his dearest friend hear it and yet, it felt so right to sing it for this stranger.  

The man stilled and tilted his head curiously, as if he could drink in more of the soothing melody if he got closer. The scarred lips opened and closed silently and for a moment, Lark was sure the stranger would tell him to be quiet once more.  

He didn’t. Instead, the man joined in, hesitant at first, but gaining confidence with every note. The blindfold hid too much of his face for Lark to discern the emotions flickering over it and the bits that he could see were twisted and made unrecognisable by the scars. Yet there was no mistaking the raw pain that scrunched up the man's brows and tightened his jaw.  

His voice was rough and untrained, but the melody, Lark's secret melody, was unmistakable as the stranger's voice entwined with his.  

Lark faltered. He didn't even realise that he had stopped singing and was merely listening to the stranger hum until he too stopped.  

Lark swallowed thickly against the lump that was forming in his throat. His hands balled into Desanka's fur, seeking stability he knew he wouldn't find. His head was spinning and his thoughts were a swirling whirlwind.  

"How do you know that song?" He whispered. With the humming gone, even the silence felt too loud.  

The man titled his head again, leaning ever so slightly closer. His brows were pinched together as if he was trying to figure something out.  

"My brother," the stranger said, before pressing his lips together tightly when the sound of his own voice must have been too much again. After taking a deep breath, he pushed through and continued, "He used to sing that song. Not sure if he ever noticed that he was doing it and he always stopped when he realised he wasn't alone." The stranger's grip on the potion bottle became so tight that Lark worried the glass would splinter. "He only sang when he was alone. Lonely. When he was missing -"  

Without warning, the man surged forward. The bottle fell onto the grass, rolling away harmlessly, as the man grabbed Lark's wrist once more. He ignored the warning growl coming from Desanka.  

"Speak again," the man urged, something Lark couldn't name reverberating in his voice. "Or sing!"  

"I don't think that's a good idea," Lark said, twisting his hand free. "You said before I should be quiet. You're hurt."

"This is more important. Your voice... It's been so long. I can't be sure. Just... Please, it has to be you."  

Lark backed away, snatching his hands to his chest as if that would keep the man from taking hold of them again.  

"You're not making any sense. The potions - it must be the poison. I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about." He gentled his voice as if he were speaking to a child. "Maybe you're having hallucinations. I'm sorry. I didn't want to make things worse with my song, I swear. I won’t do it again. It'll all be alright."

An unreadable expression flickered over the man’s face and he held his hands up as if surrendering.  

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean..." The stranger trailed off and Lark could see his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “I must have mistaken you for someone. But I would like to get to know you, if that’s alright?”

Lark’s eyes flickered over to Desanka, who cocked her head to the side unhelpfully. He knew he shouldn’t trust strangers. He himself was living proof that looks could be deceiving and danger could come even from those, who looked as harmless as could be.  

Yet, there was something about this stranger that made Lark feel like he could open up to him. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to live long enough to get the chance to betray his trust. The least Lark could do was grant this man his last wish and let him have some human connection before he succumbed to the poison that was slowly dragging him off to the other side.  

“Sure. I’d love to get to know you too.”

The man’s lips stretched into a smile so bright and relieved that it masked his scars. Lark relaxed his tense grip on Desanka’s fur loosening and turning into comfortable strokes instead.  

“My name is Eskel,” the man said and held his breath as if he was waiting for something. It took Lark an embarrassingly long time to realise what he was waiting for.  

“Oh, of course!” He hastened to say, and as he continued, he stumbled over his name, as if it was too big for his mouth, unfitting for his tongue somehow. “I’m Larskie- Lark. I’m Lark.”

He barely had time to register how Eskel sucked in a sharp breath because Desanka was wheezing, the equivalent of a wolf’s laugh.  

Lark huffed. “And this rude idiot is Desanka, my pet dog,” he said in retaliation, smirking when Desanka shot him an indignant look and growled lightly.  

Eskel’s smile dropped and his hand wandered to his chest, grabbing something beneath his shirt that Lark couldn’t see.  

“A dog?” Eskel asked slowly. “Are you sure that’s a normal dog?”

Desanka growled louder, her ears flattening against her head.  

“Ignore her growling,” Lark said, waving his hand through the air, despite Eskel not being able to see the gesture. “She’s as pliant as a lamb.”

“So, not pliant at all?” The corner of Eskel’s lips twitched up into a hesitant smile, though his shoulders were still tense and his entire posture screamed that he was guarded. “I know it’s not the same, but I have a goat. She is a right menace. When she was a kid, she would chew through all of my shoes. Now, she mainly rams her head against my brother’s shins when she’s mad at him.”

A fond look danced over Eskel’s face that Lark couldn’t help but melt at.  

“That sounds adorable. How old is she now?”

Eskel’s brows drew together and he hesitated. “Nigh on two hundred years.”

“Huh. Did you get her from a witch or something?” He tilted his head to the side. “Also, do magical goats age slower than normal ones? If she was still a kid when you got her, that couldn’t have been more than forty years ago.” Lark let out a laugh. “Either that or you look extremely good for a two hundred-year-old man.”

Eskel’s smile froze and his jaw worked. “Didn’t get her from a witch,” he said after a long pause. “I had a...a friend a long time ago, who said that he wished Lil’ Bleater would always stay as adorable as she was when they first met. Who knows, maybe he found a wishing star and wished for that.”

Lark’s fingers twitched in Desanka’s fur. “Sounds like a good wish.”

“It would be, if wishing stars were real.” There was something wistful in his voice that made Lark wonder if maybe Eskel had wished on stars himself, only to get disappointed time and time again, until eventually he had given up.  

He swallowed. “Maybe your goat just loved you enough to refuse to leave you.”  

Eskel’s expression softened. “Maybe.” He cleared his throat, an obvious attempt to hide the emotion that made his voice sound thick. “Just like your Desanka, I assume? She must be a loyal companion to travel with you so far. There’s not a town anywhere near.”

Before Lark could open his mouth, Desanka barked, as if shouting at the audacity that anyone could imply she wouldn’t follow Lark to the end of the earth. A wave of affection for his friend flooded Lark’s chest, until Desanka jumped up and winced when she put too much weight on her front leg. She whined, high pitched and pitiful. Immediately, Lark turned to her, running his hands soothingly over her head and reassuring her that she would be alright.

"Is she hurt?" Eskel's rough voice made Lark look up again. Eskel's spine straightened and his lips twitched as if he couldn't decide if he wanted to speak up again or not, but then he settled on continuing. "I might be able to help her. I'm good with animals."

Lark hesitated, exchanging glances with Desanka. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and her hackles rose, but she didn't look too sure of her own mistrust. Her hurt leg was lifted, so she wouldn't put any weight on it. Lark's stomach sank. He had known that the little he had done to patch her up hadn't been nearly enough and that they could be happy the wound wasn't infected. Though Desanka would never complain or tell him he hadn't done enough, the fact that she didn't growl at the thought of a stranger tending to her, told Lark everything he needed to know. Whether she wanted it or not, Desanka needed help Lark couldn't provide.

"Please," Lark conceded. "It's her left front leg. She could barely walk on it until today. We might have been celebrating a bit early."

They shouldn't have run. Lark had probably made it worse by indulging his friend and chasing after her as he had.

Eskel nodded in understanding. Then, he slowly held his hand out and after another moment of hesitation, Desanka gave it a careful sniff. The mistrust still didn't leave her eyes, but her hackles flattened and she didn't bare her teeth.

Blindly but with clearly practised motions, Eskel let his hand wander down her pelt until he reached the place on her leg where the fur wasn't growing.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, while he gently prodded the leg. "I need to know what kind of wound I'm dealing with. I would look, but I don't think I can take the blindfold off just yet."

"Uh, well, you see..." Lark blanked. He couldn't very well tell Eskel what had truly happened. Most strangers wouldn't take too kindly to being told his new acquaintances got injured because they had tried to rob someone. Lark sputtered and said the first thing that came to his mind. "She got bitten by a - a wolf."

Desanka let out a low growl, but she didn't react to Lark's foolish lie beyond that.

In contrast to Eskel, whose head snapped up, one of his hands going back to the thing beneath his shirt. His jaw worked, before he relaxed again.

"Ah, yes. That makes sense, all things considered. In that case... " He pressed his lips together and felt the ground for the potions satchel he had stolen. After rummaging through it with furrowed brows, he finally pulled out a small vial with a misty grey liquid. He held it up for Lark, who took it without thinking.

"What is that?"

"Wolfsbane extract," Eskel explained. "Don't worry, the other components neutralise the toxins of the plant. I don't know if you've heard anything about wolfsbane, but if you have, most of it is only old wives' tales. Wolfsbane won't kill or even hurt a werewolf, but it helps against wolf bites. Stops them from getting infected."

Both Lark and Desanka froze.

"Werewolves?" Lark laughed nervously. "Who said anything about werewolves?"

Eskel cocked his head to the side and shrugged.

"No one. It's only a precaution. I would suggest you use it only when you truly need it. This takes months to make. Call it payment for stopping for me and not just running away."

Lark didn't know what to say. He was so taken aback by what Eskel had said, that he completely forgot to ask him how he knew what this was. Maybe the witcher he had stolen this from had explained its use to him, though Lark couldn’t find a believable reason why that might be the case.

Eskel’s thoughtful hum shook Lark from his thoughts. Eskel was putting some sort of foul-smelling ointment on Desanka’s leg. Lark tensed and was ready to stop him if Desanka showed as much as a hint of pain flaring up, but his friend wagged her tail faintly, though she winced every time Eskel touched her.  

“It’s alright,” Eskel said soothingly. “I know it stings but this will help.”  

Lark relaxed, though his hands started fidgeting restlessly. There was nothing he could do but watch as Eskel treated his friend. When Desanka growled lowly when Eskel put more of the paste on her wound, Lark forced himself to look away. Desperate for something to distract him with, he grabbed a twig lying on the ground, drawing in the dirt with it. Random shapes that somehow became a specific thing. Eyes. What a strange thing to draw. Maybe it was because he didn’t know what Eskel’s eyes looked like. No, there was more to it. The answer was so close, Lark could nearly taste it on his tongue.  

He didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping the twig until it snapped in half. Maybe with his torturously sharpened senses, Eskel had heard the snapping, or maybe he had sensed his agitation. Either way, his hands stilled and his head tilted towards Lark, despite his blindness.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course," Lark said, fake chipper. “It’s just...”

“It’s hard watching a friend in pain.” Eskel pursed his lips. “Trust me, I know.”

His face twisted into a pained expression and it took all of Lark’s willpower not to reach out and place his hand on Eskel’s shoulder. They didn’t know each other well enough for that sort of familiarity.  

“If it’s too hard to watch,” Eskel continued after a brief pause. “I could try to distract you a bit? I could tell you stories.”

“From your life?”

The corners of Eskel’s lips tilted up. “That too. But I was thinking about stories from the life of a friend of mine. The one I told you about earlier. I could tell you how it came that he wished for my goat to remain ‘adorable’.”

And so, Eskel told him. It was a silly story, but it was also a heartfelt one, about a bard who did his best to befriend a goat, only because he thought it would make the man he loved happy.  

“He wasn’t just your friend then, was he?” Lark asked with a mischievous grin. “He sounds like he was in love with you if he even went through the trials of befriending such a menace of a goat only to get your approval.”

Eskel huffed. “That’s the best part,” he said as he secured a bandage around Desanka’s leg. “He truly was nothing more than a friend to me. A brother perhaps. The man he loved was my brother and -” He let out a quiet laugh. “Trust Jaskier to come up with convoluted plans to keep my brother happy. I asked him why it was so important to him that my goat liked him and you know what he said?”

“No, what?”

“He said I would be sad if my goat died and me being sad would devastate my brother.” His smile became wistful. “That bard was the best thing that ever happened to my brother. He...everything he did was to keep my brother happy.”

Lark’s chest clenched. “If your brother is half as kind as you are, I’m sure he deserved all that happiness and love.”

“He does,” Eskel agreed and secured the knot of the bandages. “And he is. He’s the kindest and bravest man I know. The most loyal man too. He’s still looking for his bard.” Eskel softened and his scars nearly disappeared with his smile, like lightning getting lost during the daytime because one was blinded by the sun. “You would like him. I know Geralt would like to meet you.”

“He does sound like a wonderful person,” Lark said and after a heartbeat, he froze. His pulse picked up and his chest tightened. “I’m sorry, what did you say his name was?”

“Geralt,” Eskel answered and there was a weight to his words that could only mean one thing.  

Geralt. Lark had heard that name before, spoken by the lips of a witcher. A name spat at by his trusted friend.  

Lark flinched back.  

“Geralt?” he asked, voice shaking as were his hands. “Of Rivia?”

He didn’t need to hear the answer. It was all so obvious. How could Lark not have seen it? It had been all right there. The potions, the uncanny knowledge that Eskel was dealing with a werewolf, the fact that he was still alive even after drinking witcher potions. There was only one explanation for that. An explanation Lark had been too blue-eyed to see. So desperate to have Desanka healed and so stupidly trusting that he had wanted to comfort a dying stranger, Lark hadn’t even realised that Eskel wasn’t dying at all.  

He was a witcher.  

When Lark said the name, Desanka’s ears twitched and a low growl emitted from her throat. She snapped at Eskel’s hands that were reaching out to soothe her again.  

“What do you want from me?” Lark jumped up so he was standing above Eskel. Despite looming over him, he felt small. Eskel might not have his swords within reaching distance and he was still blinded, but suddenly his bulk and the harsh lines on his face were the features of a man who could hurt Lark’s friend within a heartbeat.  

“Lark. I want nothing from you, I -”

“Don’t you dare lie to me!” Lark’s hands clenched into fists. “First Lambert and now you? In my life, I haven’t met a single witcher and now you’re the second one I meet and you’re behaving just as strangely as the other one.”

“Lark, please listen to me.” Eskel pushed himself to his feet and held his hands up in a placating gesture that did nothing to calm down Lark. “I mean you no harm. I can help you.”

“Help me!” Lark spat and red anger flared up in him. Desanka growled, her ears flat against her head. She had been right. Despite the doubts Lark had had, she had been right. The witchers wanted to take her from him. They wanted to hurt her. “I don’t need help! Desanka isn’t a monster and I won’t let you help me by killing her!”

Eskel blindly reached out for him.  

“Jaskier-”

Lark didn’t waste another moment listening to him. Quick as lightning, his hand shot forwards and he grabbed the blindfold, ripping it off. There was just a single second in which Eskel’s eyes – witcher eyes! - black as the night and yet with a glint of gold shining through, were visible. Then, he squeezed them shut and grimaced in pain as the light of the day hit them.  

“Leave us alone, witcher!” Lark spat, ignoring how the witcher flinched from his words more than he had from the sunlight. “And tell the Butcher I don’t care why he’s searching for me. If he ever comes near me or my friend, I will make him regret it.”

With that, Lark whirled around, Desanka by his side and ran. Panic flared up in him. Desanka wouldn’t be able to run for too long. Not without agitating her leg again. If the witcher chose to follow them, they would stand no chance, even less so, since the witcher still had his horse.  

But Eskel didn’t come after them. Though Lark knew he should be relieved, a small treacherous part of him wished that Eskel had followed them.

[advena87]

Kaer Morhen shenanigans (but mostly Lambert’s)

Just imagine the young witchers in training at Kaer Morhen, raised by  tired papa Vesemir. (long post!)

.

* 3 am *

Lambert: I’m scared.

Eskel: Why?

Lambert: There’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Geralt, from the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

Berengar: Lambert, for fuck's sake, shouldn't you be asleep?

Lambert: I'm supposed to be many things. I live to disappoint.

Geralt, kicking Lambert’s top bunk: Shut the hell up!

Lambert: Ouch! My armkle!!!

Berengar: Your fucking what now?

Eskel: His wrist...

***

Lambert: * threw a bomb in the castle*

Geralt: *falls off his seat* THIS IS WHY VESEMIR DOESN’T FUCKING LOVE YOU!!!

 ***

Vesemir: I AM AT A LOSS FOR WORDS!

Berengar, narrating: Despite being at a loss for words, he continued to yell at us for 10 minutes.

 ***

Vesemir: The kids always accuse me of having a favourite.

Vesemir: That’s not true.

Vesemir: I love Eskel and the not-Eskels equally.

*moment later*

Vesemir to young witchers: Alright, listen up, you little shits.

Vesemir: Not you, Eskel. You're an angel, and we're thrilled you're here.

 ***

Lambert: Did I do something wrong?

Vesemir: You've done so many things wrong, it feels unfair to pick just one.

 ***

Lambert: We have bad news and good news, which one do you want to hear first?

Vesemir: Good news first.

Lambert: We won't do it again...

 ***

Geralt: My witcher brothers have always got my back. Except for Lambert. You never turn your back on Lambert.

***

Vesemir: Ah, finally a moment of peace.

*sounds of crashing and destruction outside*

Lambert: Everything's fine!

Vesemir: Everything better be fucking fine.

 ***

Vesemir: What were you two doing out this late?

Geralt: We—

Vesemir: Five words or less.

Lambert, counting on his fingers: We. Had. A. Fight.

Vesemir:

Lambert:

Lambert: Bitch.

***

Geralt: Vesemir loves me more.

Eskel: He loves us equally, Geralt.

Lambert: I could stab you both and see who he helps first.

Eskel:

Geralt: Oka-

Eskel: I FEEL LIKE THERE ARE STEPS WE COULD TAKE BEFORE THAT

***

Lambert: Vesemir, you have to do something, this fucking goat has shit in the middle of the courtyard.

Geralt: Talk to Eskel, Lil'Bleater yelled at 3am for an hour today. The goat must go.

*later*

Vesemir: Eskel, there are screams in the middle of the night and faeces in the courtyard. I think about implement a no-pets policy in Kaer Morhen.

Eskel: Oh my god, Vesemir, you can’t just throw Lambert out like that.

***

Berengar: We are kind of missing something, guys.

Lambert: Cohesion?

Lambert : Teamwork?

Lambert : A general sense of what we are doing?

Geralt: Eskel is not here!

Lambert : Oh, that too.

***

Lambert: *throws the door open, looking panicked*

Eskel: What did you do?

Lambert: NOBODY DIED

Eskel: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

Berengar: Where is Geralt?

***

Vesemir, texting: Answer your phone.

Lambert, texting back: Give me a minute, I lost my phone.

Vesemir: Very well

Vesemir, 5 min later: You're a terrible child. You're killing me. You're killing your father, Lambert

***

Vesemir: You use sarcasm to distance people.

Lambert: And yet you're still here.

***

Vesemir: Coen just died!

Lambert: Its about time.

Vesemir: What?!

Lambert: Sorry I was on the phone with Geralt.

Vesemir: What did he say?

Lambert: Berengar is dead.

***

*After sudden teleportation by accidentally activated hidden portal in the castle*

Eskel: Uh, are we in heaven?

Lambert: No chance, I highly doubt they would let me in.

***

Lambert: I screwed up big time.

Berengar: Lambert, given your daily life experiences, you’re gonna have to be more specific.

***

Lambert, entering the room: Good morning, parental figure.

Vesemir, not looking up from his coffee: Good morning, problem child.

***

Vesemir: If you bite it and you die, it's poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it's venomous.

Geralt: What if it bites me and it dies?

Vesemir: That means you're poisonous.

Geralt: What if it bites itself and I die?

Eskel: That's curse?

Lambert: What if it bites me and someone else dies?

Vesemir: That's correlation, not causation.

Lambert: What if we bite each other and neither of us die?

Berengar: That's kinky.

Vesemir: Oh, my god.

***

Lambert: Ugh. There’s always that weak bitch in the group who isn’t down with murder.

Lambert: *glares at Eskel*

Eskel: Well SORRY I have MORALS-

***

Vesemir: Why is it, when something disastrous and drunk happens, it is always you four?

Berengar: [covered in glitter and wearing sunglasses indoors]

Geralt: [sporting a hickey the size of planet earth on his neck]

Lambert: [with a split lip and a shiner]

Eskel and Lil’Bleater: [covered in pancake batter]

...

Here is: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 and Daily Lambert

also Keira & Lambert’s love story, Aiden & Lambert’s love story and… this.

...

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Lil’Bleater

Masterlist

Summary: Mia is hungry when the small family return home.

Warnings: Medieval Surrogacy? Swearing, Humor, Fluff.

A/N: so here is part five of baby hustle, im really knuckling down trying to write as much as i can atm which is why im not really online much 🥰🥰🥰

Taglist: @viking-raider @havenoffandoms @two-unbeatable-beaters @thatgirly81 @littlefreya @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @thelastsock @seedless-vascular

"Eskel give me your goat!" Geralt shouted thundering into the training yard of kaer morhen a wailing hungry baby tucked in his arm.

"what- Geralt what the fuck?!" Eskel yelped trying intercept the white wolf that was striding towards his terrified lil'bleater

"She's hungry and our goat... Is incapacitated" Geralt said growling irritated at the loss of their goat just over a day ago.

The Witcher's growl spooked the goat sending it running for its life.

"Who? Oh god not again?" Eskel grounded spying the infant that was waving its tiny fists sobbing as loud as it could.

"Geralt why do you keep returning with children?" Eskel said with a chuckle finding his brothers plight amusing.

Geralt really seemed to over complicate his life. Djiin wishes, mage girlfriends, children of surprize and Jaskier? Now a baby.

"shut the fuck up and give my your goat!"

"boys! What is going on- Geralt why do you have another child?" Vesemir said with a worried look

"He stole it" Jaskier piped up from behind which made the other men frown at Geralt both furious and worried

"I did not steal Mai!" Geralt snarled turning to give the bard a death stare but Jaskier merly scoffed

"Bought it then" the smaller male shrugged looking to Vesemir and Eskel.

"I did not-Her mother gave her to me" the white wolf growled and looked to Vesemir and Eskel who were both watching the back and forth between them trying to make heads or tails of it.

"In exchange for gold! Geralt! You bought her!" Geralt winced as Jaskier's voice rose an octave then yipped and Yennefer slapped him across the back pf the head with a small 'whoops there was a fly'

The older Witcher's sighed deflated as Geralt didn't argue over buying the child with coin.

"Oh Geralt really?" Vesemir started making to scold the man but Geralt strode around him with a huff.

"can we discuss this another time? Shes hungry. Eskel where's your fucking goat run off to?"

"Geralt clam down, stop cursing in front of the child!" Vesemir chided sternly making the Witcher duck his head slightly, which in turn made Eskel roar with laughter and tease him.

"Yeah Geralt she will have a potty mouth!"

"Mia, is not going to have a potty mouth because I said a few fucks! Now bring me your goat!"

"No. Not until you ask me nicely" Eskel snipped crossing his arms his brow only twitching slightly as Mia's cries became hoarse.

"Wha- she's hungry just go get it!" Geralt seethed pupils contracting dangerously as his anger soared.

He did not like hearing his pups crying! Especially when he could stop it.

"Geralt say please" Yennefer warned him glaring at the Witcher, both Ciri and Jaskier were also glaring at him wanting the hungry child to be fed as quickly as possible.

"Eskel... Could you please bring your goat out here? So I can feed Mia" he sighed defeated and grimanced as his brothers face lit up in victory

"yes, I'd be delighted to just wait here." Eskel said waltzing off to fetch his precious goat.

In a matter of minutes Mia was quietly nursing on Lil'bleater

All eyes turned to Geralt who was sitting in a slouch. He was pouting after having lost Mia to Vesemir who was holding her securely keeping her comfortable as she fed greedily.

"What!? What's your problem?!" He snipped with a growl.

"... So you offered gold to take your whores baby; a baby that she had said she didn't want?" Eskel chuckled shaking his head unable to stop a grin from splitting his face.

"Yes, I... didn't want her to hurt it and... I knew the others would help" Geralt said trying to brush it off as mothing. He didn't want them to think he'd coveted the child after hearing her first tiny whimpers.  

" and now you and Yennefer are raising two girls and a bard?" Vesemir asked with a chuckle eyes crinkling as he smiled at his son. Everyone chose to ignore Jaskier who stuttered at the comment of being 'raised' by Geralt.

"He's a glutton for punishment" Yennefer smirked finding it amusing that both Vesemir and Eskel found

"I hadn't known she was a girl at first, it was only that night I actually checked" Geralt huffed growing a tad embarrassed.

"So for a whole day you didn't even know what you had?" Eskel gawfed before roaring with laughter, he could imagine the look on geralts face as he discovered she was in fact a female.

"No, and he wouldn't let anyone hold her much either! I had to physically wrestle him for her" Yennefer added fanning the flames in geralts cheeks as he got more and more embarrassed

"Well I for one am happy with yet another addition to the family" Vesemir smiled slowly raising the child and began to pat her back burping her.

Eskel and Geralt smiled, it would appear the old man had missed having youngsters about.

Vesemir was a combat trainer back when kaer morhen was in its prime but when he was not training he was helping with the much smaller children that were left for the Witcher's to find.

And it was safe to say the old Witcher hadn't lost his touch.

[kittynannygaming]

[Prompt] Goat

For the WitcherWriters Prompt (15/11/2021): GOAT

Tell us a 1 - 3 tweets Witcher story containing and/or about the word GOAT.

So this is my answer!

Little Ciri loved spending time with her Uncle Eskel in his farm. But what she loved the most was the goats. Particularly Lil'Bleater. They did a lot of mischiefs together but Eskel wasn't very good at punishing them. Just one puppy eyes look and a pleading bleating and he was done for. But Lil'Bleater wasn't up to mischief nowadays and Ciri didn't know why. Well, she didn't until a bright afternoon. Eskel showed her why she couldn't play with Lil'Bleater.

"This is Tiny Bleater, Lil'Bleater's daughter."

"You're as bad as naming pets than Dad."

But she couldn't pull away from the kid. And when their eyes met each other, Ciri knew she found a kindred spirit and that she was hers as much as Ciri was Tiny's.

[jaskiersvalley]

thoughts on a centaur au? Jask is a Buck and Geralt is probably one of those Draft horses! maybe when jask goes to Kaer Morhen they are fascinated with Jasks' antlers and Lambert hangs shit on them like Lil'Bleater or bowls

This ask made me do some happy wiggles of excitement because centaurs!! I adore your idea of Lambert hanging things on Jaskier’s antlers and we’ll get there, but first, I think a bit of tension is needed :D

The forest was overrun with men who hunted indiscriminately. Jaskier had been avoiding them y climbing higher and higher up the mountain he had always been warned away from. But he figured that nothing the mountain hid could be worse than what the humans were doing. At least, he thought that while it was daylight and he had energy. Now thought, it was dark, getting cold and Jaskier was hungry. He hadn’t had the chance to grab provisions as he had fled, an arrow glancing off his side, leaving a sluggishly bleeding gouge. Around him, the trees had stopped being large and welcoming with the sun peeking through them. Instead, they loomed menacingly, hiding any number of evil threats.

Exhausted, Jaskier couldn’t go on any longer. He found a small clearing next to the path, haphazardly gathered up a few armfuls of leaves for a makeshift nest and curled up as small as he could, hoping none of the howling creatures would stumble upon him. Sleep, no matter how tired he was, didn’t come easy. Every small snap of twig had Jaskier flinching, trying to listen out for anything prowling closer. Heart fluttering in his chest, Jaskier tried to calm himself yet he didn’t dare even hum to soothe his worries.

He was so caught up in calming his heart and stopping his trembling, Jaskier missed the soft fall of heavy hooves.

“You sure have strayed far from your patch, little buck,” a deep voice all but growled and Jaskier was up, legs buckling nervously as he looked up at the new arrival. He was big, taller and broader than Jaskier. “What brings you to our territory?”

Our?! Jaskier’s breath hitched as he twisted and saw that two more similarly built centaurs had materialised from between the trees. He was surrounded, outnumbered and outclassed. If he had been less exhausted and not injured, Jaskier might have been able to outrun them but, in his current state, he couldn’t even slip past them in all likelihood.

“I was hoping for a quiet, peaceful night in relative safety,” he managed to spit back, wit and tongue still as sharp as ever even if his body wasn’t.

Eyes glinted in the dark, positively predatory. Worse, moonlight filtered through the trees and Jaskier caught sight of scars littering torsos and faces. There was nothing friendly or reassuring about the new arrivals. What Jaskier didn’t expect was a low rumble of laughter.

“You won’t find that here.” And Jaskier didn’t think he could have heard anything less friendly. He braced to make a break for it, willing to risk his all because the only other option was to stay put and die.

“Stop being mean, Lambert,” the one behind Jaskier sounded amused and a lot closer than he was a minute ago. Jaskier whirled around, head tipped down to at least look like his antlers could do some damage if he was pushed. “Relax, little buck, we mean no harm. Could smell your blood and merely came to investigate.”

A hand merrily smacked Jaskier’s rump and he bucked, kicking out and skittering away, colliding into a firm chest with a squeak.

“That was mean, Lambert,” the chest rumbled under Jaskier as hands helped right him. “Go check the traps and pick up our bundles. We’re done for tonight and heading back. Eskel, take the rear.”

The one who was evidently called Eskel grumbled something under his breath about them not being bleeding hearted softies but he still moved as told, offering Jaskier a small half smile.

“Apologies about our herd. Brutish but well meaning. Come back to our home, we’ll tend to your wounds and you’ll be free to go whenever you want. We’ll even give you some food for whatever journey it is you’re obviously embarked on.”

Options were slim pickings and Jaskier could either go with them or run. He was too tired to run though so he allowed himself to be led up the mountain. The path was difficult, he delicately stepped over larger cracks and holes in the ground that the others seemingly avoided naturally, like it was a habit of theirs.

Sooner than expected, they were outside a giant, sprawling keep. Parts of it were crumbling away but a good portion of it appeared to be well maintained.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” the leader said, opening the doors.

“Geralt, what is the meaning of this?” Another large centaur asked, standing opposite the open door. In the flickering light of torches, Jaskier could see they were all draft horses but heavily scarred as if, rather than working in haulage, they fought for their keep.

“A stray. Found him just before the Forktail’s Pass.” Turning to Jaskier, Geralt smiled. “This is Vesemir.”

Vesemir looked about as welcoming as a pit filled with hungry wolves and when Jaskier was ushered past him, he tried to give the old and grizzly centaur a wide berth.

“Let’s have a look at your side then I’ll show you to bedroom.” Geralt said, ushering Jaskier into a room that looked like an infirmary. “Though Eskel’s usually better at healing.”

“Damn right I am,” a voice joined them and Eskel walked in. He should have looked so much more frightening in the light, what with scars marring his face and arms. Yet all Jaskier could see was someone who had a lot of pain in his past.

His side was gently prodded, cleaned and a light bandage was wrapped around it. All while Eskel was doing that, Geralt was silent in a corner and occasionally staring at Jaskier. Or rather, his antlers.

The bedroom Jaskier was shown to was basic but functional. Most importantly, is had a lock on the inside. Though what it would achieve was a mystery when any of the inhabitants of the old keep could probably very easily kick through the wood of the door. It didn’t stop Jaskier feeling a little better as he slid the lock into place. Exhausted, he pulled the knitted throws and pelts into a nest and curled up, leaning against the rest, pulling it away from the wall a little to make room for his antlers.

In the morning, Jaskier was disoriented and still tired. His stomach was actually hurting with hunger so, fighting down the worry, he opened the bedroom door and did his best to strut towards the sound of quiet murmurs and the smell of food. All chatter came to an abrupt stop as Jaskier all but pranced in. His rescuers were still terrifying but at least Jaskier didn’t think they were going to slaughter him immediately. At least, the pelts he’d slept on were all predator ones.

“Good morning my handsome heroes,” Jaskier forced a smile. Eyes followed his every step but nobody moved until Geralt cleared his throat.

“Help yourself to food.”

Permission granted, Jaskier helped himself, piling a plate high with food and trotting to the table. He could pretend this was normal, that he belonged, was one of the giants who lived here. Four sets of eyes were trained on him as he ate and he ignored them in favour of taking a bite and lauding the chef with a happy moan.

His hosts never stopped looking at him, sneaking glances even when they tried to get back to their own meal. Plates empty, it was Geralt who offered him a small smile.

“Shall I show you round?”

If Jaskier hadn’t had antlers, he was certain Geralt would have offered him an arm to guide him. However, too close, Jaskier had to turn his head so he didn’t take Geralt’s eyes out. They had stopped in the courtyard when Geralt finally mustered up some courage.

“May I?” His hands were raised towards Jaskier, reaching for his antlers.

“Of course!” Jaskier even dipped his head to allow it, appreciating how gentle and soft Geralt had been on their impromptu tour. “I shed them once a year. Probably due to do it in a few weeks.”

A wicked smirk split Geralt’s lips wide. “I have an idea.”

There was a general fascination with Jaskier’s antlers amongst the others. While Geralt asked for permission to touch them, Eskel only looked at them surreptitiously. Lambert, on the other hand, was on a mission to be secretive and mischievous. The first time Jaskier ended up with a sausage on his antlers, he thought he’d had a mishap at breakfast and thought nothing of it.

However, the incidents kept up. There was a paper chain, carefully crafted that was draped to span his antlers after Jaskier woke from a nap. For the rest of the day, he proudly wore it, suspecting Lambert was the culprit behind the draping. Though the crafting of the chain was much more the kind of thing Eskel would do. It became a game after that, Jaskier noticed. While the others worked tirelessly to keep their keep and surrounding lands safe and their gardens free of pests, they needed some downtime. Which was where Jaskier seemed to fill a hole in their lives. Singing and bringing a splash of colour and art into their lives, Jaskier was reluctant to leave. Especially when Geralt invited him to late evening walks through Vesemir’s rose garden. It was all incredibly sweet.

As sweet as it was, Jaskier was a bit outraged when he woke up to see Lambert hightailing it out of the room and half the kitchen hung on his antlers, clanging bad enough to make Jaskier jump which only dislodged more pots, adding to the noise.

His antlers had been itching for a few days and Jaskier longed to find a good tree to rub against. Instead, he got to ask Geralt to rub the bases for him.

“Payback is going to be so sweet,” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier nodded. The antlers were a little loose. All he needed was something a little heavier on them and they’d likely fall. “I’ll encourage him.”

Sure enough, when Jaskier was pretending to snooze the next afternoon, Lambert appeared with Eskel’s prized goat. It was a sweet, placid thing, Jaskier quite liked Li’l Bleater. He watched as Lambert approached and hefted the goat up. The weight of a happy goat settled on Jaskier’s antlers and there was a small snicker from Lambert. Eskel rounded the corner and he froze at the sight. Which was the exact moment there was a crack and one of the antler fell.

Lambert caught Li’l Bleater before he could fall but there was horror on his face as he watched Jaskier’s antler on the floor.

“Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuckity fuck.” Lambert backed away and even Eskel looked too stunned to do anything.

Pretending to wake up, Jaskier shuffled around and froze when he so obviously caught sight of his antler. Raising a hand, he patted where the antler had been and, with his best acting skills, looked up at Lambert with devastation in his eyes.

“What have you done to me?”

There was a shriek and Lambert crashed into Eskel as he tried to run away. They stumbled, legs tangling and Vesemir came running to see what the upheaval was.

Jaskier was already doubled over laughing and, from the other side of the room, he could hear Geralt hooting.

“I broke the buck!” Lambert cried. “I broke him.”

Vesemir took one look at the scene, stomped over to cuff Lambert on the back of the head and turned to give Jaskier the same treatment.

“Idiots. The lot of you.” However, his eyes strayed to the antler on the floor. “You got use for that?”

“It’s yours, parental figure of the herd,” Jaskier leaned down to pick the antler up and offered it to Vesemir.

“You’ll do,” Vesemir snorted and took the antler, much more gently than Jaskier had expected. “You know your way round already. Stay as long as your heart desires. And maybe ask Geralt about his heart too.”

He gracefully ignored the snickering comment from Lambert about getting the old breeding block out. Though Eskel did cuff him on the back of the head for good measure. Jaskier had never felt more at home or more accepted. He decided he could easily spend several seasons at Kaer Morhen, seeing if it could truly become the home he’d craved all his life.

[valdomarx]

If Lil'Bleaters in a lovely flower crown for the wedding, don't you think Eskel would be in a matching flower crown? He loves his Goat so much, matching would be fun

it’s what he deserves

[captain-britain]

Fact: in Witcher 3 there’s more than one goat at Kaer Morhen

Fact: all of these goats are named Lil'Bleater

Conclusion: Like Geralt and Roach, Eskel names every goat he encounters "Lil'Bleater”

[lunedin]

It's finished!...I guess..I mean, I don't really like it, but I hope you do! But I don't like all of my "art" sooo... (Special thanks to @akhuna, who said that I should do Eskel and Lil'Bleater, I really hope you still like it!)

[bryd-one-brere]