#because Eskel has that really deep voice who wants his throat to hurt less

[witch-witcher-witchless]

Modern Witcher band AU where Jaskier is a vocal coach who's newest client is a metal singer looking to alleviate their voice strain and improve their range.

Starts with lessons, ends with a small-time folk singer going viral singing with metal boys.

Imagine Jaskier perpetually dressed in thrift-chic and happy art-hoe aesthetics just bopping and weaving his tenor into this dark power-metal band of wolves.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

🥺 babe 🥺 bAbE

What if Jask gets sick at Kaer Morhen but tries to hide it from Geralt bc he doesn't want him to think he's gross/weak/etc? And Geralt has the Feelings Braincell for once?

oh babe... thank you

tw: sickness, falling unconscious, fever, whump/angst with a happy ending

---

Jaskier knew he had a fever the moment he woke up. He could feel it burning beneath this skin like a forge, flushing his face a more vibrant shade of pink than usual. He glared at his reflection in the small, round mirror above his dressing table and willed himself to feel better. It was his first winter at Kaer Morhen, and he didn’t want Geralt to think he’d made a mistake by inviting Jaskier along to stay. The bard knew that his stoic, self-loathing Witcher would blame himself immediately for any misfortune or illness that befell Jaskier. Geralt might even reconsider inviting him back again someday. So he had to keep his little bug a secret until he was well. Surely it was nothing major. Surely it would pass after a few days, unnoticed and unremarkable.

He should have known better.

Jaskier dabbed a bit more perfume than usual (which was generally none at all) beneath his ears and along his wrists. He hoped the peony-lavender mixture would mask whatever kind of scent his illness might carry and slowly, carefully made his way down the long stone staircase that led from the guest bedroom to the enormous kitchen. His limbs felt achy and tired, even though he’d slept heavily the night previous. His head sat heavy and unbalanced atop his shoulders; the world wavered and spun around him as he desperately tried to keep from pitching sideways into the wall. 

“You alright there, boy?” Vesemir asked, catching his eye from the bottom of the stairs. “You seem a bit… nervous.”

Maybe his anxiety was doing a better job of hiding his secret than the perfume. 

“Just a little wool between my ears this morning,” the bard laughed brightly, ignoring the searing pain that throbbed through his chest with the movement, “I think I might go chop some wood and see if the brisk mountain air helps clear it out faster.”

“Hmm,” the eldest Wolf nodded sagely. There was no doubt which teacher Geralt had admired most as a pup. “Alright. Be safe, take care. I’ll send someone to fetch you when breakfast is ready.”

“Thank you, Vesemir,” Jaskier bowed shallowly and headed for the kitchen’s back door. He took the axe into his hands and tried not to sway on his feet from the added weight. The bard covered his tracks by throwing a smile back over his shoulder and pushing the door open. “See you for breakfast!”

He stepped out of the keep and let the heavy slab of wood slam shut behind him. The early morning sky above Kaer Morhen was cloudless and the sun was bright, blinding him entirely. His situation only worsened when the sudden change in temperature, from the warm kitchen to the freezing mountainside, punched the air from his lungs in one thick cloud. He struggled to regain it as he wove his way through the snow drifts to the woodpile. Slowly, and with great effort, Jaskier lined up a thick log to be split.

The world felt watery and far away. His hand, which he knew to be attached to the end of his arm by some miracle, would not obey his command to pick up the axe again. His lungs felt heavy in his chest cavity and his legs suddenly ached with a fierce intensity. 

With a quiet cry of protest against his own body failing him, Jaskier collapsed into the snow.

---

Jaskier’s heartbeat was so slow and quiet, his limbs unmoving and his lips nearly blue from the cold; Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever been so scared before in his life. He turned to Vesemir and asked, barely keeping the frantic terror from clawing its way out of his throat: “How long was he out there?” 

“Half an hour at most,” the grey Wolf shrugged. “I don’t really remember, Geralt. I was busy taking care of the breakfast arrangements.”

“Fuck!”

“Calm down,” Eskel ordered. He frowned at Geralt from his place at Jaskier’s opposite side. He’d helped carry the bard from the courtyard to Geralt’s room and was just as worried about the human’s wellbeing. “Panicking won’t help him. Now, what’s the problem?”

“It’s hard to tell over all that stupid perfume,” Lambert snarled. “Stupid fucking bard fucking knew we would be able to smell it on him. He covered his gods-damned tracks.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmured, having grown suddenly calm. He let the back of his knuckles drag softly across the bard’s too-hot cheek until he could stick a stray lock of sweaty brown hair back behind his ear. “You idiot.”

The bard shifted against the blanket they’d laid him on, his brow wrinkling. His arms twitched slightly, as if he was trying to move them, and he whined plaintively: “G’ralt.”

“I’m here, Jask,” the Witcher replied quickly, forgetting they weren’t alone in the room. He took one of the bard’s freezing hands into his own and began rubbing the warmth back into his fingers. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you better. You’ll be alright.”

“Who are you trying to reassure?” Lambert huffed a short laugh. “You or the bard?”

“Leave off,” Eskel shot his younger brother a glare. The redhead rolled his eyes and moved to lean against the wall near the door. Eskel continued speaking to Lambert, but his eyes were back on Jaskier, who kept trying to get closer to Geralt even in his sleep. “Why don’t you go grab some clean clothes from his room while we get him warmed up and conscious again.”

“Fine,” Lambert spat. But he took off at a quick trot, regardless.

“Geralt, get his wet clothes off and get him wrapped up. Eskel, you come with me to the kitchen. I’ll need help carrying things and I’m sure the bard would prefer some privacy in this particular matter.”

Eskel nodded his agreement and followed Vesemir from the room, leaving Geralt alone with Jaskier. The White Wolf hurried to undress and swaddle the bard with a warm, heavy wool blanket and several furs, talking all the while in a low, worried voice. “Fuck, Jaskier. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened and that you- Why did you hide it? Why wouldn’t you- Are you afraid of me? Is that why you didn’t come to me for help?”

Jaskier’s lids fluttered open and Geralt watched with nervous anticipation as two of the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, blue as cornflowers and brighter than the spring sky, tried their best to focus on his face. “Geralt?”

“I’m here, Jaskier. What’s ailing you? Please, tell me how I can help you.”

“Hurts,” the bard managed to groan. “To breathe.”

“Fuck,” Geralt growled. “We need to get you warm. Lambert should be back with your clothes by now.”

Jaskier’s head lolled back against the pillow and he struggled to reach for his Witcher, “Hold me.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll warm up-” he gasped between words, as if every syllable pained him to expel “-faster if… you hold me.”

“Hmm,” Geralt’s brows furrowed in frustration. He knew Jaskier was right, that he’d feel better faster with skin-on-skin contact, but he also wanted to hold Jaskier for other, less emergency-based reasons. That was unacceptable. Losing Jaskier to death or sickness or other human reasons was intolerable but losing him, in all senses of the word, because of Geralt’s impossible feelings? That would be truly horrendous.

The warring factions of his heart were still clamoring over a decision when Eskel and Vesemir re-entered carrying two large trays. One was covered with foodstuffs and the other held an enormous clay teapot and mugs. A small pot of honey, gathered from Vesemir’s very own beehives, was the most obvious sign of affection Geralt had ever seen the older man display for a near-stranger. 

“I’m gonna… get… spoiled,” Jaskier gasped. The eldest Wolf shot Geralt a glare. 

“Why aren’t you in there with him? You know the best way to warm up a hypothermic person is skin contact, Geralt! I certainly taught you better than this.”

“I didn’t-” he stuttered. “I wasn’t-”

“He’s afraid,” Jaskier smiled sadly, cuddling himself deeper into the furs as he turned his gaze towards the fire. All three of the Witchers could smell his sadness, even more potent than the illness ravaging his delicate human body. Geralt winced when his brother and father glared at him in tandem, expressions nearly matching in fury. The bard was still looking away, watching the flames send dancing patterns of light against the stone walls. “Don’t worry… won’t ask… for any more.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispered, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. “May I hold you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s our cue to leave,” Vesemir smiled beneath his mustache. Jaskier was too tired to blush, and opted to bury his head in Geralt’s shoulder instead. “Come along, Eskel. Let’s see what Lambert has gotten up to.”

“What about Jaskier’s clothes?”

“He can borrow Geralt’s for now. I’m sure our White Wolf won’t mind sharing; he’s the possessive type, after all.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and grumbled out of habit more than disagreement. 

When Vesemir and Eskel had gone for good and the door was closed, Geralt pulled Jaskier out of the furs and removed his own shirt. He settled the bard against his chest and buried his nose in Jaskier’s dark hair, breathing in the scents of sweat and sickness and now, thank the gods, tangy-bright happiness. “Gods, Jaskier. Don’t scare me like that ever again. I can’t lose you.”

“I didn’t… want… to disappoint.”

“You never do and never will,” Geralt intoned. He pulled the furs over them both and splayed his large hands across Jaskier’s back. The bard’s skin was overly hot in some places and freezing in others; Geralt buried his panic in order to care for... for the man he loved. He took a deep breath and rubbed slow circles between the bard’s shoulder blades. “I… I love you, Jaskier.”

“Hmm,” the bard hummed tunelessly. “Love you… too.”

Geralt helped him sit up and drink a mug of tea. He listened, slowly allowing himself to relax, as Jaskier’s breathing eased and his heartbeat balanced. When the tea was gone and the fire was re-built to Geralt’s satisfaction, the Witcher tucked Jaskier’s head beneath his chin and wrapped his arms around the bard’s shoulders. “Oh, my little lark. I’ve been so foolish for too long.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier grinned into the Witcher’s warm pectoral. “Me... too.”

“Well, we’ll have plenty of time when you feel better,” Geralt murmured, lips pressing over and over to the top of the bard’s head. Jaskier couldn’t keep himself from smiling, even as he drifted back to sleep. The Witcher felt something settle in his chest when he whispered: “Rest up, dear heart. There are many more adventures to be had.”

[katecake]

Scars

I needed me a Jaskel Soulmate AU where Jaskier knows his soulmate’s a witcher, but he also knows it’s not Geralt. After wondering how that would happen, I finally came up w/ this!!

__

Imagine a world where soulmarks exist. While not exactly rare, they’re still fairly uncommon.

Little Jaskier’s soulmark is on the inside crook of his elbow. The face of a fierce silver wolf. For as unrealistic and stylized as it is, it’s still undeniably a wolf. His parents sneer at it. The servants and teachers are all uncomfortable when they see it. Little Jaskier, though? Oh how he loves it. He doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know its significance. But he loves it nonetheless.

Jaskier’s only five years old when he learns what a Witcher is. He’s only five years old when he’s taught to fear Witchers.

Jaskier’s twelve and he’s being held down as he begs and pleads and screams. He screams as the other boys bring a knife to his soulmark, laughing all the while. Because, what soulmate could a monster have than another monster?

Jaskier’s twelve when he makes the connection between his soulmark and Witchers.

He runs away less than a week later, wound still fresh, and ends up somewhere outside Oxenfurt. He decides to stay there, study there. The injury scars. He keeps it covered at all times with black cloth. Sometimes, it’s so tight it hurts. He never shows anyone his mark ever again.

–

Jaskier’s twenty-three when he meets Geralt, and he immediately recognizes the medallion. It’s the spitting image of what his soulmark looked like. He feels some residual anxiety from meeting a Witcher, but has learned humans can be just as monstrous as they claim Witchers to be. The black strip of cloth on his arm is proof enough.

So he takes a gamble and follows Geralt. And he continues to follow Geralt for years to come. He learns everything he was taught was a lie (something he’s suspected since the moment that knife touched his mark). He makes it his goal to change the world’s mind about Witchers. And if he hopes, deep down, that if he continues to follow Geralt he’ll meet his soulmate? Well, that’s his secret fantasy.

–

Years pass and eventually Geralt invites him up to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Jaskier says yes in a heartbeat. He’s as giddy as he is nervous and babbles the whole trip up.

When they get there, Eskel’s the one to greet them at the gate, not that Jaskier notices. He’s too busy still babbling nervously about nothing at all and removing his packs from his horse. He struggles to hold everything as he goes over to the two, intent on introducing himself to this new witcher. Except when he finally looks at Eskel, his breath catches and he drops everything he’s holding. He can do nothing but stare, pale and shaky, at the scarred face in front of him.

He doesn’t register how the man shifts so he stands with his scars less on display. He doesn’t register Geralt’s defensive and angry tone. He doesn’t register the third, angry, man who threatens him for making his brother uncomfortable in his own home. All Jaskier can think about is the shape of those scars.

Lambert’s outright hostile to him, not that Jaskier blames him. Geralt’s also cagey and defensive. Even Vesemir, despite keeping the peace between the wolves and the bard, makes his disappointment of Jaskier clear.

It takes another two weeks before Jaskier manages to catch Eskel alone and apologizes. He wants to explain himself, but every time he tries, his throat tightens and the words die on his lips. So instead, he works to befriend Eskel in earnest.

The first time Eskel smiles at him, really smiles at him (an entire month later), Jaskier feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. The way Eskel’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his lips curl awkwardly, the way his whole demeanor seems to light up. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. He can’t keep the dopey smile off his own face the whole day.

Eskel smiles more after that, and it seems to be enough for the others. Lambert’s no longer actively hostile and Geralt’s back to himself. Vesemir no longer looks at Jaskier with disappointment either. And if Jaskier scratches at the crook of his arm, that’s no ones business but his own.

Until, one night when Jaskier has long since stumbled off to bed, Lambert asks. It's just the three of them, Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel, still drinking in the kitchen.

“So what’s,” Lambert pauses to hiccup, “what’s with the bard’s arm?” He asks.

“Hmm?” Geralt grunts squinting at the cards in his hand.

“That damn bandage of his,” he continues motioning at the crook of his own elbow. “Wears it when he– when he fucken bathes too.”

“Maybe it’s covering a scar,” Eskel offers, “or a weird birthmark.”

Lambert scowls. “He’s got plenty other scars.”

Geralt snorts. “And weird birthmarks too,” he adds thinking about the vaguely cock shaped birthmark Jaskier has on his shoulder.

Lambert grumbles as Geralt and Eskel continue playing their game of gwent.

“What if it’s a soulmark?” He eventually asks.

“Humans don’t present them as easily as we do,” Eskel says at the same moment Geralt says:

“Not a chance.”

The two stare at him, clearly wanting an explanation.

Geralt grumbles and downs what’s left in his mug. “Jaskier’s a hopeless romantic,” he explains. “Wouldn’t shut up for weeks when he saw mine. And then he wouldn’t shut up for the better part of a godsdamned year after we finally met Yen,” he pours himself another drink and downs that too with a shudder. “Believe me, if he had one, we’d know.”

A few hours later, when Geralt’s fighting to stay awake, Lambert slams his mug on the table. It startles Eskel and Geralt enough that they’re more awake than they were an hour ago.

“I wanna know,” Lambert growls.

“Then ask him,” Eskel says.

Geralt yawns. “He always changes the subject.”

Lambert nods vigorously as Eskel frowns. “Then leave it.”

“But I wanna know!” Lambert complains.

Eskel gets up. “I’m not doing this,” he groans. “I’m going to bed.”

Lambert calls him a bitch as he leaves and grumbles into his drink. He and Geralt continue drinking for a few minutes before Lambert asks, “You grab him and I pull that damn cloth off?”

Geralt, too drunk and too tired to think about all the times Jaskier’s flinched when grabbed by the elbow, nods.

It surprisingly takes them a few days to catch Jaskier alone. He’s confused when Geralt grabs him but otherwise doesn’t struggle. It’s not until Lambert pulls at his sleeve that he panics.

Jaskier thrashes in their grip the moment he realizes what they’re doing. Decades old panic grips him as he screams and begs for them not to hurt him.

Lambert and Geralt stay frozen as Jaskier fleas down the hall. Vesemir is there demanding to know what happened while Eskel runs past them to catch up with Jaskier. Lambert and Geralt can only stare in the direction Jaskier fled, the stench of his fear hangs heavy in the air around them.

Geralt knows what Jaskier’s fear smells like. It’s hard not to when Jaskier often gets too close to a monster, but he has never smelled of fear because of a Witcher before. Not when he’d first seen Eskel. Not when Lambert threatened to gut him right after. And not even when the snow had finally blocked off the path down the mountain and he was subsequently trapped in the keep with four unwelcoming witchers.

They don’t see Jaskier for a solid week after that. They know he’s still in the keep, they can smell him in the kitchen, in the baths, through the halls, but they don’t actually see him. Lambert’s on edge, quicker to anger, and Geralt’s quieter, more prone to get lost in thought.

They both try to apologize, in their own way, standing outside Jaskier’s door. Jaskier doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a sound. The only reason they know he’s in there is because his heart’s racing and he smells of anxiety and residual panic.

Eventually Eskel’s able to coax him out and he tentatively resettles into the routine he’s established for himself. Jaskier now has a constant underlying scent of anxiety to him. He smells of panic whenever someone focuses on his arm too long.

It all comes to a head one evening. Vesemir reaches to touch Jaskier’s elbow to get his attention. Jaskier flinches so hard he nearly throws himself into the hearth they’re sitting around. He doesn’t smell of fear, but his panic is palpable. Vesemir apologizes but Jaskier assures him it’s fine, even as Lambert storms away shouting abuse and Geralt slinks away miserably.

Eskel cracks that night. It’s late, the others have all gone to their rooms in their attempts to avoid Jaskier, and it’s just Eskel and Jaskier in the library. Jaskier’s leaning against him, fighting to stay awake as Eskel simply enjoys his company.

“What…” Eskel asks tentatively. “Happened to your arm?”

Jaskier tenses against him, heart rate picking up as his hand goes to cover the spot. He sits up slowly, stiffly, and Eskel immediately kicks himself. “Sorry,” he says quickly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

But Jaskier shakes his head. “No it’s okay,” he says weakly. “It’s stupid really. It happened so long ago, almost thirty years,” he laughs shakily, voice impossibly quiet. “But I guess I still get scared someone’s gonna finish carving off my soulmark at times.”

Eskel feels like he’s been punched in the throat. Soulmarks are special. They’re Destiny’s will. All Witchers have soulmarks. Something about the trials make them emerge, almost like Destiny herself is desperately trying to preserve their humanity. Eskel knows his own soulmark all too well. Four little yellow flowers floating down a stream painted on his ribs. At times, if he just focuses on the general shape, they look like music notes. He knows the mark ties him to Jaskier. It’s why Jaskier’s initial reaction to him hurt so much.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel says lamely, because what else can he say? He could demand the name of the people that hurt Jaskier, but that won’t repair the damage. He could go after Geralt and Lambert again for their stupid stunt, but they’re suffering enough as it is and Jaskier doesn’t really hold it against them.

Jaskier barely shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’ve… actually wanted to show it to you for some time,” he admits quietly. His hands shake as he rolls up his tunic sleeve.

Eskel catches his wrist, stills the movement. “Stop,” he breathes. “You don’t have to.”

Jaskier leans towards him, his forehead coming to rest against Eskel’s. “Please,” he whispers.

Eskel reluctantly lets go. He watches as Jaskier halting works the black cloth off. There’s red marks across Jaskier’s skin where the edge of the cloth dug in too tightly. But Eskel’s breath and attention is immediately stolen by the mark. He feels fury and an unimaginable sadness wash over him in equal measures.

It looks exactly like the wolf school medallion. Or it would were it not for the angry scars distorting the right side of its face.

Eskel runs a thumb over it before he even realizes what he’s doing. Jaskier shivers at the touch and Eskel can smell the tears the bard is desperately trying to hold back. “I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to upset you when I saw you. It’s just…”

“The scars,” Eskel murmurs. “They’re identical.” He has a sick feeling that Jaskier’s mark was defiled the same day his face was slashed.

Jaskier explains himself fully that night, as he cries in Eskel’s arms. It feels strange to finally show his mark again after almost thirty years. He’s not sure if he’s scared or relieved or if its even good or bad. It just is.

The following morning, he’s understandably exhausted and spends breakfast tucked against Eskel’s side. Lambert and Geralt get to the kitchen and try to leave before the even enter it. Jaskier reeks of tears and misery and Eskel. Eskel asks them to at least stay for breakfast. Lambert still wants to run but seeing as how Geralt pitifully sits down, he refuses to be the only one that runs and sits down too. Breakfast is awkward with how exhausted Jaskier looks and smells, they’re both happy to go off and do their chores for once.

Jaskier spends most of the morning sleeping in Eskel’s room. When he emerges for dinner, it’s almost like nothing’s happened. He’s back to his loud and carefree self. The smell of anxiety is almost unnoticeable now. Vesemir claps him on the shoulder and Geralt’s less quiet.

Lambert’s still unsettled, though, still easy to anger and prone to snapping. He doesn’t believe the bard’s act for a second. That level of fear can’t just be forgiven that easily. It has nothing to do with the fact that it was his plan that caused that reaction and made his brothers upset.

His brothers and Vesemir tell him the bard’s fine. Even Jaskier himself assures him that it’s okay. He doesn’t believe it for a second. No amount of chattering with Geralt, or helping Vesemir in the library, or spending nights with Eskel will convince him.

But maybe seeing how Jaskier lets Eskel settle a hand over his arm helps. Seeing how Jaskier smiles all shy and happy when it happens helps. Seeing how Eskel returns the looks helps. Seeing how Eskel doesn’t shy away when Jaskier touches his scars helps.

Maybe seeing and smelling how happy the two are helps ease the guilt. Because what else could be under that black cloth than a scarred over soulmark?

[jaskicr]

reverse au BUT canon universe geralt and jaskier are sent to an alternate universe where their roles are reversed but they remember their canon lives

ft. bamf jaskier and blushy geralt

canon universe geralt and jaskier touch a weird artefact and they’re sent to an alternate universe where jaskier is a witcher and geralt is human

(this is established relationship)

so they grow up without memories of their past (???) selves but they get vague impressions/dreams that tell them something’s not right

they regain their full memories they’re 15/16 ish

jaskier is born first. he’s sent to kaer morhen and goes through the training and the trials to become a witcher (he gets extra mutations bc i said so, im a sucker for witcher!jaskier with white hair and cat eyes ok)

he remembers his life as a bard when he’s 16, not long before he sets out on the path

and he realises that geralt isn’t with him in kaer morhen - he’s in the cohort geralt would have been, he’s friends with eskel and all that, but geralt isn’t here

and jaskier thinks that whatever happened, geralt must be dead

it hurts, as he walks around kaer morhen, knowing that geralt should be there, knowing that, in another life, geralt had walked within the same walls

but jaskier still holds out hope, returning to kaer morhen every winter and hoping that someone like geralt would show up

but geralt never does, and on his travels, jaskier asks mages and researches to find a way to reverse whatever was done, but he can’t

after maybe 2 decades, jaskier gives up and properly mourns the witcher he had known, who doesn’t exist here

once, he tries picking up the lute, but it hurts too much. it reminds him of what he’s lost, reminds him that geralt isn’t here

he puts down the lute and picks up his swords. he doesn’t touch the lute after that

something like blaviken still happens but maybe in a different way bc it’s jaskier

a few decades after jaskier is born, geralt is born into a noble family

from a young age, he’s unnervingly good at sword fighting and combat, and he enjoys it, but something draws him to music

at first geralt isn’t very good at it, but there’s an inexplicable urge within him that tells him to continue, a quiet yearning for melody and music that makes him want to be good at it

so he goes to oxenfurt, and that’s when he remembers being a witcher once, remembers the path, remembers jaskier

and he searched desperately for jaskier. he scours the campus, asking professors and students, searching the faculty and alumni

but no one has heard of jaskier

and geralt knows that there’s no way that jaskier wouldn’t have gone to oxenfurt - the only reason jaskier isn’t here, isn’t in whatever universe this is, is because he’s dead

geralt vows to live in jaskier’s memory, and he takes up the lute

he misses jaskier’s singing, misses his songs. so he learns the lute, learns to sing, so that there’s always a part of jaskier with him

when geralt graduates from oxenfurt, he sets out on the road

in a fit of nostalgia, he travels to posada, something bittersweet and wistful rising within him

unbeknownst to geralt, jaskier is heading to posada as well, tracking a contract

they unknowingly end up in the same tavern

at this point, jaskier has learnt to tune out bards. it hurts too much to remember what he’ll never have, so he doesn’t register the bard that’s playing right now

geralt is playing when he spots a dark figure in the corner, black armour and swords marking him out as a witcher

it’s all too familiar, and a tentative hope blooms in geralt’s heart

maybe -

he makes his way over, heart hammering, and says the words etched deep into his memory

‘i love the way you just.. sit in the corner and brood’

and geralt’s heart is in his throat, hoping and hoping and hoping for the right response

and jaskier hears a familiar voice saying words he had said, a lifetime ago

jaskier raises his head and sees a familiar face, a face he knows as well as his own despite the different hair and eyes and stature, and his heart stutters

it can’t be. but it is. and jaskier just knows.

geralt almost cries when unnaturally bright blue eyes with slitted pupils rise to meet his, set in a familiar face marked by a long scar and framed by silver hair

‘i’m here to drink alone’

it’s this familiar exchange, repeated but reversed, that lets them know that the other remembers, that they’re here

and for the first time since they woke up in this different world, they feel complete

they bask in the moment, drinking each other in, because they’ve found each other, and even if they’re different, even if everything is different, they’re together

geralt slides into the seat opposite jaskier, and it’s so, so familiar, but so different

‘i thought you were dead,’ geralt whispers

jaskier smiles, a small and sad thing, but he reaches over and grabs geralt’s hand. their callouses are reversed, now. jaskier’s hands are rough from the grips of his swords, and geralt’s fingers are padded from years of playing the lute

‘me too,’ jaskier confesses softly. then his smile turns slightly more playful. ‘i didn’t think you’d have red hair and green eyes. you look good.’

then geralt ducks his head and blushes under his freckles (yes he has freckles it’s hella adorable ok) and jaskier is fascinated bc he’s never seen geralt blush

(and he!! has freckles!!!)

‘this suits you,’ geralt mumbles, still blushing. he peeks out from under his lashes and jaskier sort of melts. ‘the hair and the eyes, i mean.’

and, well. jaskier had been insecure about his mutations that mark him as something other, something inhuman, but hearing geralt’s acceptance of him...

jaskier squeezes geralt’s hand, still in awe that he’s here, he’s real. they’re here, together. ‘i missed you.’

geralt beams, and jaskier‘s heart warms at how easily geralt seems to smile now. ‘i missed you too.’

the elves happen pretty much the same way apart from the fact that geralt and jaskier expecting it

and when geralt follows jaskier, neither of them object to it

they try to find out what happened to them, but all they’ve figured out is that their lives have been reversed, and no one else seems to be affected

so they travel the continent together trying to find an explanation or a cure

they try to return to the place where they found the artefact, but they only find a patch of dirt

jaskier brings geralt to kaer morhen

they ask vesemir about their situation (and geralt aches at the fact that his old mentor doesn’t know him), but he has no idea

eskel and lambert look at geralt with no recognition, and it hurts

but they take to geralt easily, and in no time, it’s almost like they’re back in their own world

they find yen earlier than they do in canon. she’s hostile at first, not knowing why they’re seeking her out, but when she hears their story she’s intrigued and promises to try and find a cure

in the meantime they try to settle into the new lives and new dynamic

they both have two lifetimes in their heads, two whole lives that are theirs, that they’ve lived

of course, they’re not the same people, shaped by new experiences as well as old

geralt is more open, more affectionate, more vocal with his thoughts and feelings. he smiles more, and he’s less gruff with others, though he still isn’t completely comfortable in social interactions

jaskier is a bit quieter, a result of his witcher upbringing. he’s still mostly open about his emotions, and being around geralt makes him smile and chatter liked he used to, but there’s a hypervigilance in him borne out of his witcher training, something lethal and deadly

they learn about each other again, finding new things to love and explore

now, geralt is the one who plays in taverns, and jaskier is the one who takes contracts

geralt still retains the skills and memories of his training as a witcher. though he lacks the enhanced strength, he can still fight, and jaskier gets some lightweight swords for him

geralt helps out on contracts sometimes, when he’s confident that he won’t get hurt. jaskier is reluctant at first, but concedes that geralt should be able to hold his own against weaker monsters

that’s when geralt realises that witcher!jaskier is a huge bamf and also very buff (buff jaskier rights!!!) and geralt really shouldn’t like it as much as he does

jaskier also looks unfairly good in armour with his swords in his hands

and now he understands why jaskier used to be obsessed about his black eyes after taking a potion, because HNNNG

with geralt by his side, jaskier doesn’t mind playing the lute again. it doesn’t hurt like it used to, with geralt by his side once more

geralt lends jaskier his lute and jaskier plucks out tentative notes on the strings, before he launches into one of his songs

jaskier’s voice is rough and untrained, lacking the oxenfurt training he used to have as a bard, but it’s pleasant and sweet, and geralt joins in, their voices twining together in a lovely duet

jaskier doesn’t join geralt when he sings in taverns, fearful of how humans would react, but on the road, they sometimes sing together, and it’s unexpectedly nice

(maybe jaskier gets a glamour at some point, and the continent discovers that the famed bard geralt occasionally gains a partner)

as a witcher, geralt had been unable to lash out at the people who’d insulted him and attacked him

but now, he’s human, and watching jaskier’s shoulders slump as humans spit vitriol at him, well, geralt gets to be feral now

he’s far more dangerous than jaskier had been as a bard. sure, bard jaskier was feral, but he lacked the skills that geralt remembers from his time as a witcher

the humans don’t stand a chance against geralt, and jaskier is the one hauling geralt out of fights now, and many taverns witness a white-haired witcher dragging his redheaded bard out as he yanks him into a fierce kiss

they’re both very soft and very gone on one another. geralt is far more tactile now and jaskier does not mind. they cuddle a lot and jaskier is the big spoon

they’re both openly affectionate, there’s a lot of soft hand holding and hair braiding and casual touches and like. they’re just soft, ok?

jaskier makes it his mission to make geralt blush as much as possible, because it’s adorable

(he also discovers how far down that blush goes, and geralt gets to witness jaskier’s witcher strength and stamina)

they make it work. jaskier gets insecure sometimes, knowing that his features are unnatural and scarred and nothing like what he’d looked like as a bard

but geralt reassures him, telling him that he’s beautiful no matter what

sometimes, geralt hates his own human frailty, how weak he is without his enhanced strength and how easily he gets hurt

but jaskier shows him everything he loves about geralt’s human body, telling him how happy he is that geralt gets to live a life without the suffering of a witcher

and the longer they’re together and the more they get to know each other all over again, they become less sure whether they want a cure or not

geralt likes being a human bard. humans don’t hate him anymore, and he likes being a bard more than he thought he would

but he knows that jaskier is, by nature, someone who loves people. and watching jaskier be rejected by prejudiced humans makes geralt’s heart hurt, because jaskier loves people so fucking much, and now he’s hated by them

but jaskier doesn’t mind being a witcher either. he can help people now, even if they’re ungrateful. there’s a deep satisfaction as he slays monsters terrorising innocents, and like this, he also gets to protect geralt

(not that geralt needs protecting, but still, it’s nice. and geralt has realised that he quite likes jaskier swooping in to save him aka picking him up in his arms)

and jaskier sees how free and easy and open this geralt is, unburdened by decades of hatred and conflict, and he wants this for geralt, wants geralt to know the happiness of a human life without being hated by the very people he helps

both of them like the lives they lead now, and they don’t know if they want to go back. but their old life is the original world, and they still wonder if they should go back

idk how it ends - either they somehow find a cure and return to canon universe with a whole load of new experiences, or they never find a cure and they learn to live in this new world

or maybe they do find a cure and decide that they’ll stay in this world because they’ve learnt to accept and love each other even with the changes, and it’s their world now

there’s a fic for this now!

[tired-buttercup]

Last Christmas

On AO3

Jaskier stopped the car, and stared at the hundreds of blinking fairy lights that decorated the house in front of him. This year’s cabin was incredibly pretty. Jaskier would be the first to admit that when the booking for the place to celebrate that year’s Christmas fell into Lambert’s hands, he was afraid they would end up in a creepy and deteriorated house, by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Yet, somehow Lambert managed to outdone every one of them. It was their annual tradition, their special time. A Christmas with their chosen family and their friends. It was a time that Jaskier kept close to his heart, and nothing would keep him away from it. Not even Geralt.

With a sigh, Jaskier left the car. He hung his bag on one shoulder and took the tray from the passenger seat. He was on pastries’ duty this year. Closing the door, he headed towards the cabin, but before he could even knock, the door jerked open.

“Fucking finally! You were just being late so you wouldn’t have to help!” Lambert grumbled, taking the tray from his hands. Jaskier knew he didn’t want to help, just to steal some sweets.

“Did it work? I can come later if there’s still something to do”

“Ha, ha,” Lambert said pointedly. “Eskel hasn’t arrived yet, so he beat you at that.”

“No? I thought he would be here already,” Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t look so disappointed, buttercup, he’s on his way. Got delayed at work,” Lambert said, watching his face carefully, searching something.

Jaskier hummed in acknowledgment, finally taking off his coat. For a moment he felt ridiculous of having thought that Eskel wouldn’t be here. He would have told him yesterday, when they talked.

“Jaskier!” Triss' voice called him from another room, guiding him where she was. Lambert disappeared with the tray of cookies, while Jaskier followed his friend’s voice to the living room. Triss was decorating the Christmas tree, wearing an ugly sweater that somehow she managed to pull off perfectly. Life was unfair.

“Hello dear, you look lovely as always,” he said as he kissed her cheek.

“You don’t look that bad yourself”

“You know that’s a lie, lass,” Vesemir teased, making his presence known. Jaskier just smiled, and went to hug him, kissing his cheek too. He had missed the old man so much this past year. “You know that you don’t have to wait till Christmas to see me, right?”

“Hey, I also saw you on birthdays too” Jaskier joked back, but more seriously he murmured, just for Vesemir to hear “It’s been a rough year”

“I know kiddo, I know”

Jaskier could feel the tears trying to embarrass him, so he hid his face on Vesemir's shoulder, in a valiant effort to control his emotions. This man was the paternal figure he had never had, and even though he met him well in his twenties, the feelings weren't less for it. Vesemir was always there for him: for the advice, for the scolding, and for the laughs. And he was eternally grateful for having been practically adopted by the man.

“Where’s Aiden?” asked Jaskier, clearing his throat and letting Vesemir go.

“Here I am. Wouldn’t mind a little help”

He was carrying more firewood than he should, and Jaskier rushed towards him, taking half of the load and heading towards the fireplace to replenish the stack of logs for when it gets too cold to get outside.

Aiden was one of the last additions to the family, besides Triss. Yet, somehow, Triss has always been there, in the background, till she was invited to celebrate with them a few years ago when she didn’t have where to spend Christmas. After that, it became a kind of tradition for her too.

Aiden, on the other hand, was introduced last year by Lambert, and he got on so well with them that it seemed as if he had always been one of the merry band of misfits. It was a surprise, really, and they couldn’t help to tease Lambert a little bit, how an asshole like him ended up a cool and charming guy like Aiden. Deep down, really deep down, Lambert was a sweetheart too, and Aiden was a lucky one as well.

Jaskier was making the pile of firewood neater, when a well-known gruff voice called his name. Even though he was resigned to meet him there, the pang of anxiety he felt was like fingers closing around his throat. He willed himself to breathe, schooled his face in a neutral smile and turned around to face Geralt. Of course, Yennefer was with him.

“Geralt! Yennefer! It’s good to see you two!” for his surprise, he only had to half fake his enthusiasm. He felt a little spark of happiness at seeing them. At seeing him. He didn’t reach for a hug, though.

“We didn’t know if you’d come,” Yennefer commented offhandedly. Of course they had noticed how much he had been avoiding them. It had been odd, to be honest. He was so used to being around Geralt, that it had been terribly hard at first to keep his distance. Geralt didn’t look for him either, and he came to realize that he was the one who always reached for the other. He didn’t blame him though, he knew it was hard for him to socialize, but it hurt a little bit nonetheless. He felt so stupid, on one hand he was desperate to avoid them, and on the other he wished Geralt had tried harder to reach for him. But he didn’t, and Jaskier had been a mess for many months.

Something broke between them last Christmas, and none of them had been willing to acknowledge it on those times they had no other choice than to meet. But it was hard to ignore it now. The hesitancy in Geralt’s demeanor, and Jaskier avoidance were clear enough. If Eskel hadn’t caught him on that fateful day, if he hadn’t been a solid figure in his life for this last year, Jaskier was sure he wouldn’t have been able to be there that night.

“I’d never miss Christmas”, he smiled.

Vesemir diverted their attention to some other topic Jaskier had no presence of mind to follow, yet he felt grateful for the help. He let his eyes roam on the decoration of the room, before inevitably landing again on the couple. He couldn’t help to remember.

*

Geralt had been in a bad mood, but what else was new? He had quarreled with Yennefer yet again. Jaskier didn’t even know why this time, but Geralt decided to drink every bottle he could find in the house. The rest were sleeping, and Jaskier self-appointed himself to be the one in charge of keeping Geralt from drowning in his own vomit.

He had been a fool. Geralt was on the way of being too drunk to even put two thoughts together, but still he tried to speak with him. Deep inside, Jaskier knew that it was just a matter of time before whatever was happening between Yennefer and Geralt turned into a heartbreak for him. He just knew, but he had to try. He had too. So he spoke about longing and about happiness. He invited him to get away, maybe to the coast, wishing with all his heart Geralt understood what he was trying to convey. Even though he had plucked up a lot of courage to talk to him, he still wasn’t brave enough to hand him his heart so overtly. He had hoped for the best, yet Geralt brushed it off, and started to snore in no time. It hurt, it really did, but somehow Jaskier was relieved that he wasn’t rejected directly or harshly, that their friendship was safe.

“Well, that could have been a lot worse,” he said to the air and took a moment to calm his heart. Counting his breath, in and out, he tried to put himself back together. When he felt as ready as he could be, he pushed Geralt lightly, waking him up. “Alright sleepy head, time to go to bed.”

“Jaskier?”

“No, it’s Santa. Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt’s hand in an attempt to help him get up, but the man was dead weight. “I wouldn’t mind a little help here,” he encouraged, yet instead of sitting up, Geralt pulled him down so abruptly that Jaskier fell heavily on him.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” Jaskier cried, trying to get up and assess the damage, but Geralt just held him tighter, without letting him move an inch. His breath caught in his lungs, and he could almost feel the shift in the ambiance. He put a little distance between them – the little distance he was allowed to –, searching into Geralt’s eyes.

Jaskier was so aware of the arm around his waist, of Geralt’s chest underneath his palms, and of the warmth of the body he was lying on, that he couldn’t really process what was happening, and before his brain could even catch up, Geralt was kissing him.

For a moment, it was all emptiness and confusion, and then his heart was soaring. Geralt had understood what he was trying to say, and he was kissing him. Jaskier felt as if he could laugh maniacally of happiness. He couldn’t really believe it, but it was happening. It was really happening.

They kissed, and kissed, and then a little more. Jaskier felt as if he was in a dream, and couldn’t help to giggle in between kisses. This was the best Christmas present he could have ever hoped for. He lost track of the time, and before he was aware of it, they drifted to sleep.

*

Jaskier woke up when somebody threw a pillow at his face.

“Come on, sleeping beauty. Get ready, we are going to get breakfast”

He blinked slowly, trying to chase the sleepiness and the confusion away. It took some effort to recognize where he was, and immediately he spotted what was missing.

“Where is Geralt?” He felt a little bit disappointed in waking up alone.

“Upstairs, I think. Hurry up!”

“Alright, alright”

Jaskier yawned his way upstairs, still half asleep but feeling giddy inside. The excitement from the previous night was still running through his veins, making his steps look like a little dance. He was so happy he could hardly believe it. Happy and greedy, because there was no way he’d miss a good morning kiss. With that idea in mind, he peeked into Geralt’s room ready to singsong a good morning, but the words got stuck in his throat.

Yennefer and Geralt were there. Kissing. Pressed against each other as if they wanted to fuse.

He could swear he felt his heart stop and break. He wished to feel confusion, he wished to feel betrayal, but the only thing he was feeling was resignation. He knew it was too good to be true, but he had wanted so hard to believe that Geralt would want him in that way. But reality punched him on the face.

The couple made a noise, and that cued Jaskier to escape before he was caught being his pathetic self. He turned to go, but before he could do so, he found Eskel, watching him. When their eyes met, Jaskier was sure Eskel knew exactly what he saw, what was happening just in front of him. The understanding he found in his expression made his eyes start to sting, and when steps echoed from the stairs he could only stare at him in panic, wishing that Eskel could make him disappear.

*

After that horrible day, Jaskier avoided Geralt and Yennefer whenever he could. Sometimes it was hard, since their lives and friends were completely intertwined. But Eskel’s constant company and help was a pillar for him. They had always been good friends, but after what they shared that day, they had become incredibly close.

At first, Eskel was there because of his heartbreak, the mountain of a man too soft for his own good, but as Jaskier became better at handling it they somehow stuck together, too used now to each other’s company. He would sometimes drop at Eskel’s house to help him to mow the lawn, or Eskel would pick him up after work to have dinner in that new place they wanted to try, or just sit on the sofa and watch some awful random movie while eating pizza. The worse the movie was, the better.

With time and Eskel’s constant presence, he got better. He was better. It still hurt a little to see them together, he had spent so many years loving Geralt that he somehow had to learn how to deal with this new reality. He was doing well. Even now, watching them being so domestic made him smile a little bit. He was fine, and he was going to get better.

After a while, when everyone started to play Gwent, he moved to sit by the window, staring outside feeling a little anxious. It had started to snow lightly, but the weather forecast predicted heavy snowfalls for the rest of the night. Soon, it wouldn’t be safe to drive anymore, and Eskel hadn’t arrived yet. He’d call him, but he didn’t want to add a distraction.

Another thing that changed along the year were his feelings for Eskel. His lovely and kind Eskel. At first, he thought it was just because he felt grateful, but as the months went by, he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t the case. He had fallen in love with Eskel. His kindness and thoughtfulness planted a seed in Jaskier’s heart, and as time went by, and he got to know him better, it started to bloom. He couldn’t stop it, and not because he didn’t tried. He tried so hard at first. What if he just was replacing Geralt? What if he just was using him? What if he just was like an odd duckling following the first person to show him that kind of care? But time proved that he was selling himself short. He wasn’t using Eskel, he wasn’t confused. He was falling in love with Eskel, just as he was falling out of love with Geralt. And he didn’t know what to do with it. He was enjoying having those soft feelings, and how his heart started to run wild every time he even grazed Eskel’s hand, but at the same time, he was afraid. Geralt’s shadow still too present in his mind, making him feel like a coward, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake. He was just his friend and Eskel didn’t want him.

“You look like a kicked puppy,” teased Lambert, materializing besides him. It always annoyed him that such big guys could move so silently.

“Oh, shut up”

“He’s on his way, stop behaving like a lovesick fool”

“I’m not lovesick!” Jaskier complained feeling his cheek heat up with an annoying telltale blush. Was he that evident that even Lambert could catch up with his feelings? Did everyone know? He was starting to panic inside when Lambert’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

When Jaskier's eyes met Lambert’s, he could find just warmth in them. Yet, as always, it was ruined when the little shit opened his mouth again.

“Sure not, buttercup. Don’t tell Geralt, but Eskel has always been my favorite too”

“Lambert! Shut up!” Jaskier murmured in between clenched teeth. He didn’t mind Lambert’s knowing, but that didn’t mean that he wanted the whole house to know.

“Ok, ok, I’ll shut up, buttercup. I just wanted to let you know that I’m happy you are here tonight, I missed you this year… we all did.” Lambert’s words were so sincere, that Jaskier felt touched by them. He was about to reply, when his friend talked again. “But more important, I’m happy that you are better and moving on after that fine ass”

Jaskier just threw a pillow at him.

***

Eskel wasn’t driving as fast as he’d have liked. The weather was getting worse and worse, and he didn’t want to take chances. And perhaps, he also might be delaying his arrival, feeling a little bit anxious and suffering a tinsy-bit of a cold feet situation. He had made a decision, but after things kept going wrong all day, he started to have second thoughts.

Everything seemed against him. At work, two people called sick, and he had to take over their duties. Of course, he had to redo all the work of one of his colleagues, since the file got corrupted. Then, his boss asked him to stay a few over hours to help him finish their job before they closed for the holidays. He couldn’t say no. His boss was a good man who wished he was with his family as much as Eskel did, so the two of them stayed behind to finish the job. Then, when his truck refused to start, he was ready to smash something into pieces, his frustration raging in his blood. Yet, he managed to calm himself. At the end, his boss – blessed the man– lent him his car. It was a little uncomfortable for somebody of his size, but he felt ridiculously grateful for it.

And here he finally was, on his way to the cabin, more than five hours later than he planned. He had wanted to be one of the first to arrive, being prepared always calmed his nerves when he felt anxious. Not that he normally was, but with what he had planned for the day, feeling all that anxiousness was nothing. Last year’s Eskel would be amazed if he knew how things would end up being after that day.

*

“Shit,” Eskel murmured when Jaskier’s watery eyes filled with the panic of being discovered. Without even thinking, he took a few big strides, and pulled Jaskier behind him just in time for Lambert to appear.

“Let’s go, losers!” He called. Geralt and Yennefer left the room, hand in hand, and Eskel could feel Jaskier’s grip on his clothes get tighter.

“You just go, we’ll catch up later”

“You sure?” Asked Lambert, searching into Eskel’s eyes, aware that something was amiss.

“Yes” Eskel knew he would ask later, but for now, Lambert let them escape with that. Geralt and Yennefer seemed to be too invested in their world to notice anything outside their bubble.

The three went downstairs, but only when he was sure everyone was outside and the door closed behind them, Eskel turned around.

“Jaskier…,” he called, putting his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, trying hard think in a way to soothe him. He knew how Jaskier felt about Geralt, everyone knew it. Everyone except Geralt, it seemed… that, or if he knew his friend as well as he did, he knew but he chose not to do a thing about it. Not letting Jaskier know he was interested too, nor the other way around, whatever he chose to do. Somehow he felt it was a little bit unfair for Jaskier, but he was no one to dictate how Geralt should behave.

Being honest with himself, he pitied Jaskier a bit. He was so in love with Geralt that sometimes it hurt to see their interactions. And when Yennefer appeared, he knew she’d be bad news for Jaskier. He wished he had been wrong, but here they were.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said, without trying to explain himself to Eskel, he clearly knew what it was all about. “I’m fine”.

“No, you are not,” Eskel said softly. He could see the tears unshed, he could feel him trembling slightly under his hands, and he wouldn’t let him lie to him; not when he always pushed his feelings aside just for Geralt’s sake.

Just with that, just with Eskel’s concern, Jaskier broke. Big heavy tears started to flow, and Jaskier started to cry, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. Eskel just hugged him, not knowing what to say to make it better, not needing any explanation to know what was wrong. He knew, somehow he had always known everything would end up like this. He never thought he’d be the one to catch Jaskier when it happened, but he was glad he was there. Even though he couldn’t find anything to say, even though he felt his own heart ache with each raw sob, he was glad he was there for his friend.

Eskel hugged him tighter, rubbing small soothing circles in Jaskier’s back.

Jaskier just clung to him, crying his heartbreak out.

*

After that day, they became inseparable. They had always been good friends, but now it seemed they were joined by an invisible thread.

Eskel had tried not to leave him alone. Jaskier was a social butterfly, but in reality he didn’t have many close friends. He spent most of his time with Geralt, and when he started to avoid him, he was bound to get lonely. Jaskier’s family was out of the picture too, so he was alone most of the time. And being honest with himself, after what happened with Geralt, he was worried about him, so he tried to be there.

It had taken Geralt a few months to even notice the change in Jaskier behavior, and Eskel knew who was the one who put all the effort in making that friendship last that long. Jaskier had been avoiding Geralt, and Geralt didn’t seem to notice that absence in his life. The longer he spent with Jaskier, the more incredulous about it he felt.

Days became exciting for Eskel. Even though he tried to be the one helping the other, Jaskier’s constant presence improved his life in ways he couldn’t have ever fathom. Just having a laugh over silly things, shopping together, or even cooking dinner became a pleasant task instead of a duty. He started to enjoy the day to day in ways he thought it wasn’t possible in his usually boring –but still pleasant– life.

Those first months he couldn’t say that he had been in love with Jaskier, not really. Sure, he loved his friend, but he wasn’t in love with him. That changed rather suddenly. One minute they were both washing the dishes, chatting about nothing, and when Eskel looked up and saw Jaskier’s small smile he had his proverbial ‘Oh’ moment. Yet he couldn’t do anything about it, it wouldn’t have been right. He was trying to help Jaskier put his broken heart back together, not to take advantage of his vulnerable situation. So he waited and pined from afar.

As weeks went by and Jaskier was back to being his old self, Eskel started to long for him more than ever. Could he take a leap of faith? Sometimes he felt that Jaskier was interested in him too, but he didn’t want to be presumptuous in assuming it. After pondering about his course of action, he finally decided he’d take a chance. Jaskier was worth it. So he planned to do it that Christmas, he thought it’d be a romantic gesture, to soothe a bad memory with a – hopefully– good one.

However, nothing that day was going according to plans, and Eskel was having second thoughts. He was a fool, he couldn’t do that to Jaskier on the anniversary of a painful day for him. He wanted Jaskier in his life, as more than a friend, he couldn’t make him feel bad.

It was so difficult. He didn’t know how to confess his feelings without making Jaskier feel bad for rejecting him, or worse, making Jaskier feel that he had to say yes to him in order not to hurt his feelings.

He sighed. He was so sure in the morning, and now he was so full of doubts… maybe he’ll just stop thinking about it, and start wishing for the best or for a Christmas miracle. Maybe he had to just act normally and see where the night went.

Eskel parked in front of the cabin, and seeing Jaskier with his face pressed in the window, waving and smiling at him made him relax little by little.

**

Eskel was putting things away in his room when he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in”

It was Geralt. He seemed a little tense, fidgeting uncomfortably without saying anything. On any other night, Eskel would patiently wait for his friend to say what he wanted to say, but that night he wasn’t feeling particularly patient, especially towards Geralt.

“Geralt, what do you need to tell me?”

“Last year… I’m aware that… that you know what happened… I know you were with him throughout the year… I should say thank you, I guess,” Geralt sounded so unsure that Eskel felt a bit sorry for him. He loved his friend, but if they were going to finally talk about it, ha had to be sincere.

“You don’t really have to. I didn’t do it for you”

“I know. I regret what happened… I was a mess… I wasn’t sure… Yennefer was…is so volatile, and Jaskier ‘s … Jaskier”

“I know,” he truly did, he was not blind. He saw how Geralt used to watch Jaskier sometimes, till he met Yennefer. But that didn’t seem to mean anything for him. Somehow Jaskier was never enough for Geralt, and Yennefer was always too much. It wasn’t fair for Jaskier to be discarded every time she was around. “But you shouldn’t have given him hope, though” it felt good to finally say that, his voice betraying the anger and disappointment he felt. He loved his friend, but he was a fucking idiot sometimes.

“I shouldn’t have. But I made a choice”

“You did. And I made mine. I hope that doesn’t change things between us,” Eskel said. They knew each other well enough that he was confident that Geralt would understand. He waited, staring seriously at him.

“It won’t. Go for it”

**

“Where’s Eskel?” Jaskier asked. They had already had dinner, and everyone were in small groups, chatting so noisily that nobody hearing them would have guessed they were so few in the room.

“I think he said he was going to the car,” Aiden said.

“Is he still there?”

“It seems so”

Jaskier frowned, confused, it had been a few long minutes since Eskel went outside. He should have been back by then.

Making a quick decision, he went to grab a coat to chase after his friend. Normally, he’d have stolen it from Lambert, his leather jacket was amazing, but when he saw Eskel’s coat he couldn’t help himself and put it on, enjoying being surrounded by Eskel’s pleasant smell. Jaskier wasn’t a small man, but his stomach did a weird flip when the sleeves engulfed his hands, and he noticed that the shoulders of the coat were too big for him. He was sure he looked ridiculous, but he loved it.

He opened the door and the slap of the cold air almost made him regret the idea, but he kept going. He really wanted to spend Christmas with Eskel. Jaskier walked a few steps, and even though the first freezing impression, it wasn’t that bad outside. There was no wind, and the snow was falling so ethereally it seemed as if it was dancing its way down to the ground. And in the middle of the peaceful white scene, Eskel was resting against the car, staring into the night.

“If you are looking for Santa, I’m afraid to tell you that you missed him, he already left the gifts underneath the Christmas tree”

“Maybe not all the gifts I want fit underneath the tree”

“I knew you were a greedy bastard!”

Eskel smiled softly, but his eyes were oddly intense when they fixed on him.

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier asked when he was finally standing in front of Eskel. He was curious, but he was also trying to distract himself from the way Eskel’s was looking at him. It made him feel a little bit nervous and giddy at the same time.

“I needed a moment to think.”

“Am I bothering you? I can go inside…”

“No, you’d never bother me,” his voice, soft and lower than normally, made Jaskier weak.

“You scared me for a moment. I thought you wouldn’t be able to come. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without you,” Jaskier confessed, feeling the need to make Eskel aware of how important he was for him.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. For me, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without you too”

For a moment Jaskier didn’t know what to say, so he cleared his throat and blurted out the first thing he could think of.

“Aren’t you cold? I’m sure your hands are freezing,” he said, taking one of Eskel’s hands into his, in an attempt to warm them, but before he could fully start rambling, Eskel interrupted him.

“Are you wearing my coat?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, it was the first one I found,” Jaskier lied, feeling sheepish.

“It suits you. You should use more of my clothes,” he said, with a smug smile.

Jaskier froze on the spot, and his heart started to beat wildly, nervous and hopeful at the same time. What was Eskel trying to say?

“I’d like that,” he said, breathlessly.

Instead of replying, Eskel pulled him from the coat. Jaskier went with the movement, his legs shaky and clumsy, till he was almost pressed against Eskel’s chest.

“Eskel?”

“Jaskier, I really hope I’m not reading this wrong… if I am, please, tell me now before I–“

Jaskier interrupted his struggle with a quick kiss, only managing to get a hint of the softness of his lips. He couldn’t help it. Eskel was nervous, and he was too sweet, and Jaskier’s heart was beating hard in his chest. Could it be? It had to be, right? He couldn’t have interpreted things wrong. Suddenly he didn’t feel so sure, and panic started to constrict his lungs.

“You aren’t? Am I reading it wrong? If I did, I’m so so–”

This time it was Eskel’s turn to interrupt him. His lips, soft but sure, muffled Jaskier’s squeak of surprise, and his arms hugged him tightly against him. Jaskier’s hands came to rest on his chest, as Eskel licked his lower lip, asking for permission to deepen it. Jaskier just moaned and willingly opened his mouth, caressing Eskel’s tongue with his. That was enough permission for Eskel to kiss him as thoroughly as he needed to.

The surrounding cold seemed to disappear, and even the falling snow didn’t seem to be able to touch them. Their world was reduced to each other’s arms, to each other’s lips, and the sensations that threatened to drown them. They kissed softly and deeply, savoring the moment they had desired for what it felt like ages, and none of them thought it would be really possible. But it was, and it was everything they could have hoped for and more.

Eskel broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s, and taking a moment to bask in the sensations that flooded his heart. He’d never thought he could achieve this kind of happiness, yet, here he was.

“You didn’t read it wrong. I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and low, and his eyes fixed on the face of his love. Jaskier beamed at him, taking his breath away with his next words.

“I love you too.”

*************

I hope you liked. It’s been years since the last time I wrote anything, but I really wanted to write this silly thing down. I know it’s clumsy, but it made me really happy to write it.

Happy Holidays everyone!

[king-finnigan]

- The Walls of Kaer Morhen - Part 2 -

Also on AO3 Part 1

_._

“What happened to the west wing?” he asks at dinner, a few days later. He’s roamed in there once or twice over the past week, and every time, he couldn’t help but notice the dilapidated state of it – the stones of the walls chipped and scarred, the windows broken in several places, some doors even shattered to bits – right before Vesemir had found him and shepherded him out of it soon afterwards.

Vesemir always finds him, somehow.

The dinner table grows silent, and Jaskier gets the sneaking suspicion he asked the wrong question.

“The sacking,” Geralt replies eventually. “I’ve told you about that before.”

He frowns, then nods. He remembers it well, the night Geralt told him what happened to most of the Kaer Morhen Witchers: killed- slaughtered by an angry mob in their own home, their blood painting the walls of Kaer Morhen. He remembers the way Geralt’s face had seemed to age a lifetime in the light of the dying fire, and he remembers holding him close afterwards, trying in vain to sooth the greatest loss Geralt’s ever had to endure.

“Right,” he says. “You did tell me about that, about what happened and…” his eyes drift to Vesemir, who’s also fallen quiet, staring daggers into his untouched plate of food “and that Vesemir was the only one to survive.”

The kitchen is quiet, the silence almost palpable.

“Aren’t you going to ask, little bard?” Lambert eventually says, venom in his voice, and the tension in the room sets Jaskier’s nerves on end. “Aren’t you going to ask how he managed to survive? You’re smart, surely you’ve realized how odd it is that an entire keep of Witchers couldn’t make it, but somehow, he could.”

Jaskier clears his throat, looking down at his lap. “It’s uh… it’s really none of my business-“

“Tell him, Vesemir,” Lambert spits out, “tell the little bard how you ran while the others were being slaughtered, tell him how hid like a fucking coward until you were the only one left standing.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Tell him!” he barks out.

“That’s enough!” Eskel snaps, and Jaskier looks up to see that he’s bared his teeth in a snarl at Lambert, who’s growling back. Geralt has his jaws clamped together, his hands fists on the table as he glares at Lambert.

Vesemir stands up. “Excuse me,” he mutters, walking out of the kitchen.

Jaskier curses, scrambling out of his chair, following Vesemir into the main hall, intent on apologizing to him for the scene he caused – no matter how much he didn’t intend to. But when he steps foot into the hall and looks around, Vesemir is nowhere to be found.

---

He pushes open the door, sneezing when it sends a small cloud of dust into the air, waving his free hand in front of his face, his other occupied with the blanket and the book.

He’s decided to explore the keep, finding different reading nooks in different rooms. After all, he doesn’t want to spend the entire winter cooped up in the library – hell, if he wanted that, he would’ve just gone to Oxenfurt.

And maybe it has something to do with that one time he was walking through the library, and out of the corner, he’d spotted someone sitting in one of the chairs at the end of the aisle. He’d stopped in his tracks, taking a few steps back, only to find the chair very much empty.

Or maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with that. Maybe he’s just getting tired of the library. It doesn’t matter.

He looks around the room. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like much, with a few beds pushed against the walls and a curtain at the far end, but Jaskier knows not to judge too quickly, by now, and closes the door behind him, walking towards the curtain.

He lays down his blanket and book on the floor next to one of the beds, and pushes the fabric to the side, grinning when he finds an alcove with a bench behind it. It’s the perfect little reading nook, and Jaskier can already picture himself lounging there in the winter sun, surrounded by pillows, his book in his lap as he dozes.

He turns back to fetch his things, but finds his blanket gone.

He frowns. Strange. He walks over to the side of the cot where he left his stuff, lowering himself on his knees next to it.

He finds the blanket underneath the bed, and he frowns again, reaching under to pull it towards him. He must’ve accidentally kicked it when he walked towards the alcove, he supposes. It’s now covered in dust, though, which is less than ideal but it’s nothing a good shake can’t fix.

So, he shakes it out and folds it again, laying it next to the book once more before walking out of the room in search of pillows, smiling to himself as he hears the familiar clanging of swords in the courtyard.

His quest is forgotten, though, as he walks into the main hall, finding Eskel standing there, staring at one of the tapestries. Jaskier goes to stand next to him, taking in the scene stitched on the black fabric in vibrant thread.

It’s a Witcher fighting a wraith, his hand on the ground as a purple circle glows around the monster.

“The first Yrden,” Eskel explains to him.

Jaskier hums thoughtfully, eyes trailing over the details in the tapestry as he waits for Eskel to speak again.

“You know,” the Witcher eventually mutters, “I used to be able to sit here for hours as a kid, watching the older Witchers work on these tapestries. It was mesmerizing.”

“I bet,” Jaskier mumbles back.

They stand there in silence for a while, until Jaskier moves on to the other tapestries – the next few ones depicting the birth of every sign.

He startles when the front door slams open, Lambert grinning wildly as he walks inside, pausing momentarily to stomp the snow off his boots. “First snow’s here!” he announces cheerily and, quite frankly, a bit unnecessarily.

“Does that mean you can’t train outside anymore?” Jaskier asks, and Lambert shakes his head, grinning, still.

“No! As a matter of fact, it’s now that we start training! Nothing’s better than watching Geralt slip in the snow, I’ll tell you that.”

“Actually, there’s nothing better than putting snow in the back of your shirt,” Geralt retorts as he also walks into the hall, pushing the front door shut behind him.

“That’s just cheating.”

“Hmm. I don’t think it is,” Eskel replies in Geralt’s stead, following Lambert to the kitchen as they continue to bicker.

Geralt chuckles softly, walking over to Jaskier, standing beside him as they look at the first Quen, the Witcher on it fighting off a griffin. “How are you doing?” he asks.

Jaskier smiles softly. “I’m doing wonderfully.” He feels Geralt hesitate and turns his head to look at him. “What is it, dear heart?”

“Do, uhm… do you like it? Here, I mean. Kaer Morhen. Because I know you haven’t been sleeping well, and… if you want to leave… I understand. We still can; the snow isn’t too thick yet-“

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupts his ramblings, brushing the back of their hands together for just a second, ignoring the sparks that dance across his skin as he does so. “I love it here. The keep is beautiful and your family is delightful and… I really do love it here.” He chuckles softly, turning back to the tapestry. “Gods, sometimes I find myself wishing I might never leave this place.”

He looks at Geralt again, meeting soft amber eyes and slightly upturned lips. “You know,” he says, voice low, “my teachers used to say that no one ever truly leaves the walls of Kaer Morhen, as long as it’s their home.”

“That’s endearing.”

Geralt snorts. “It’s ominous, is what it is.” He jerks his head towards the kitchen door, Eskel and Lambert’s voices drifting towards them. “Come on, it’s nearly time for dinner.”

---

He wakes up in the middle of the night, unable to move.

His breath immediately speeds up and he squeezes his eyes shut, fear coursing through his veins as he desperately tries to lift his hands, wiggle his toes. A part of him urges him to open his eyes, to assess the situation, but a larger part of him screams not to, because he might see the one-armed man again – though reasonably, he knows that if the man is there, it doesn’t really matter if Jaskier refuses to look at him or not.

The chair in the corner creaks. Jaskier sobs.

Wheezy breathing joins his own gasping and shaking one, footsteps slowly falling on the floor, making their way to the side of Jaskier’s bed.

He sobs again, chest convulsing as tears run down his cheeks, pathetic little whimpers escaping his throat as fear takes a hold of him.

“Shh.” He sobs again, louder this time, as he hears the one-armed man right next to him. “It’s alright, little bard.” The voice is reedy and soft, words barely understandable.

He whimpers, desperately gulping in stuttering breath after stuttering breath, his throat seizing up, blind fear making him unable to even scream.

“I won’t hurt you, little bard,” the reedy voice next to him says. “It’s just been a while since I saw a new face. Especially one as pretty as yours.”

Sword-calloused fingers slide across his cheek, wiping his tears away.

Jaskier screams.

The door slams open but Jaskier keeps his eyes squeezed shut, even as he hears quick footsteps padding towards his bed, even as he feels Geralt’s arms pull his upper body up, into the Witcher’s chest.

“Hey,” Geralt whispers to him, “hey, it’s alright, Jask, it’s alright, I’m here.”

He sobs, still, bitter tears of pure, unadulterated fear streaming down his cheeks, the memories of the hand on his skin too fresh to ignore.

Geralt continues to hold him like that, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his back, the other holding him close as Jaskier cries, his arms and legs useless and limp.

“Did you see the man again?” Geralt asks eventually, and Jaskier manages to shake his head.

“I-“ he slurs, tongue heavy and loose in his mouth “-heard him. Felt him.”

He can practically hear the frown in Geralt’s voice. “Felt him?”

“Touched me.”

The hand on his back stills momentarily, before it continues its soothing circles. “It’s alright, Jask. I’m here, now. No one can hurt you.”

“Can… can I…” he swallows around his thick tongue “sleep with… you?”

He feels Geralt nod against the top of his head, before he shifts, picking Jaskier up the way he did last time. Jaskier lets his head lol against Geralt’s shoulder, able to peek over it as the Witcher carries him out of his room.

Right before they turn the corner, Jaskier spots the black silhouette of a large man with only one arm next to his bed, amber eyes catching the moonlight falling in through the windows.

He doesn’t have enough energy to scream.

---

“Whose room am I sleeping in?” he asks over breakfast, the next day.

Vesemir frowns, staring off in the distance, lost in thought. “Hmm. Suppose that was Wulgrim of Rosberg’s room.”

Lambert snickers into his porridge. “Wheezy Wulgrim,” he mutters, eliciting a chuckle from both Eskel and Geralt.

Jaskier frowns. “Wheezy Wulgrim?”

Vesemir nods solemnly, stirring his still uneaten bowl of porridge. “He had an… unfortunate encounter with a griffin. The beast managed to take his entire left arm and lung. He survived, but he could never walk the Path again.”

Lambert snorts. “Gods, I remember him parading around Kaer Morhen all day, pointing at everything and everyone with his one arm, commanding us around. ‘Go clean the kitchen’,” he imitates in a familiar, reedy voice that makes the hairs at the back of Jaskier’s neck stand up, “’stop playing around and do something useful’.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, brow furrowed with worry. “Are you alright?”

He nods quickly, swallowing back the porridge that’s threatening to rise again. “I’m fine. Excuse me for a moment.”

He stands up abruptly, practically fleeing from the kitchen, into the main hall. He takes random doors and turns until his lungs are burning in his chest, until his knees are cracking painfully, and he takes one last door, slamming it shut behind him.

He’s back at the room he found yesterday, the windows of the alcove showing the beautiful sight of the mountains in the distance, his book still on the ground next to the cot. He walks towards it, bending over to pick it up, pulling his blanket from under the bed, shaking the dust off and folding it, putting it down again.

He turns, walking to the alcove, kneeling on the wooden bench in front of him, taking in the sight of the pale, blue sky and the snowy mountaintops littered with pine forests. It’s definitely a sight he could get used to, and it helps calm his frayed nerves after what happened last night, even though it is a bit chilly in here.

He sighs, turning back around to fetch his book and blanket, mentally preparing himself for an afternoon of relaxing and forgetting all about goddamn wheezy Wulgrim and his missing fucking arm.

Only to freeze when he sees a small hand peeking out from under the cot, dragging the blanket underneath it slowly.

Jaskier’s breath catches in his lungs, before speeding up to small gasps, eyes widening as his heartbeat thunders in his ears, fear coursing through his veins as his hands clamp around the edge of the bench, nails digging into the wood, arms trembling.

And he watches. Watches as that little hand drags the blanket underneath the cot, watches as it disappears into the shadows, watches as… nothing happens after that.

His muscles unfreeze, as if a spell’s suddenly been broken, and he staggers to the cot on shaky legs, knees cracking painfully as he lets himself drop. He braces one trembling hand on the mattress, the other digging into his thigh as slowly – ever so slowly – he lowers his head down to look under the bed.

There’s nothing there. Nothing but the crumpled blanket and flakes of dust.

With a shaking hand, he reaches under the cot, retrieving the blanket and standing up again. He barely manages to shake the dust off the blanket, fold it loosely and drop it back down on the floor next to his book, his movements jerky and forced.

And then, he takes a step back. And another. And another. Until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bench and he sits down heavily, pulling his feet up to hug his legs to his chest.

He sits there. And waits.

Seconds turn into minutes and still, nothing happens, nothing moving in the room besides Jaskier’s chest and the flakes of dust floating through the air lazily.

He’s about to give up, about to shrug it off as a figment of his overworked imagination, about to walk away and pretend he didn’t see anything, when something moves in the shadows under the cot.

He watches, once again, as a child’s hand emerges from the shadows, grabbing the blanket in a tiny fist and dragging it under the bed slowly.

He swallows thickly. “It’s-“ he begins, his voice weak and wavering, and he wets his lips, trying again: “It’s not nice to take things that aren’t yours.”

The hand lets go of the blanket, slowly retracting under the bed. Suddenly Jaskier feels a bit guilty. After all, the child – because it definitely is a child – is just taking the blanket when they think he’s not looking, nothing more. They’re probably just cold.

He knows there’s two ways he can go from here: he can take the blanket and his book and walk out of this room, never to return, or…

Or he can stay and see what happens.

He makes a decision right there and then.

He sighs deeply, trying to push the fear out of his lungs. “It’s alright, though. Just this once. You can have the blanket.”

He waits, again, and for several long minutes, nothing happens.

He sighs again, pushing himself up and turning around, settling on his knees on the wooden bench, looking out of the window at the beautiful sight without really seeing anything.

“I’m not looking,” he calls over his shoulder. “If that’s what you’re scared of. I’m not looking.”

He waits again, the clock in his head ticking steadily as the minutes pass, his feet slowly growing numb from his own weight.

And then, he hears it: the soft slide of fabric on the stones, dragging through the dust. He takes a few deep, calming breaths, willing himself not to panic, pushing the fear that’s threatening to consume him down. And he waits.

The soft rustling of the blanket, and his heartbeat picks up.

Tiny, little footsteps on the stone floor, and his breath stutters in his lungs.

The very vague shape of someone standing behind him appearing in the glass of the window in front of him, and his eyes widen.

His hands are trembling where they’re lying on his thighs and ever so slowly, he starts turning his head, giving the person behind him plenty of opportunity to flee or disappear or – and he really doesn’t want to think about that – attack him.

But they don’t. They stand there as he slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder, heart racing in his throat.

It’s a child. Jaskier slowly turns around completely to look at them properly, to make sure he doesn’t startle the little kid.

He can’t be older than four – if that, even – his black curls framing his round face adorably, shoulders hunched up to his ears as he looks at Jaskier with big, brown eyes, the dusty blanket pulled around him like a shield.

“Hi,” he says softly, making sure not to scare the boy. “I’m Jaskier.”

“Hi,” the boy whispers, and Jaskier has to resist the urge not to coo at him, fear-frozen heart melting at the sight of the child.

“What’s your name?”

“Elias.”

“Nice to meet you, Elias.”

“Are you a mage?”

He cocks his head, curiosity stirring in him. “No, I’m not. I’m a bard.”

“What’s a bard?” Elias asks in that adorable little voice of his, brown eyes looking at Jaskier with curiosity.

He smiles softly. “I make music. I have a lute in my room- that’s an instrument. If you want I can bring it here, later, and show it to you.”

Elias nods eagerly, greedily, brown eyes wide as if he’s drinking up every bit of kindness Jaskier has to offer. “I’m going to be a Witcher,” he offers shyly.

“Oh, I bet you are,” Jaskier says, “you look like you’re strong enough to be one already.” It makes Elias giggle, and Jaskier has to resist the urge to gather him in his arms and protect him from all the evil in the world.

But he can’t help but wonder what the boy is doing here. Did he sneak inside when the Witchers weren’t looking? How’d he even make his way up the mountain? And how has he been surviving? Surely someone would notice food going missing, right?

He shakes the questions away. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that he’s got a little boy right in front of him, all alone in a near-abandoned wing of a dilapidated keep.

“Elias?” he asks. “Are you hungry? I can get some food for you if you want.”

The boy shakes his head, curls bouncing around his face as he rubs his eyes with one tiny fist, yawning widely. “No,” he mutters eventually. “I’m tired, mister Jaskier.”

He smiles softly, fondness spreading in his chest, warm and fuzzy, and he lowers himself to the ground, stretching out his arms. Elias takes his silent invitation, crawling into his lap, burying his chubby face in Jaskier’s shoulder, thumb making its way to his mouth.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” Jaskier mutters as he stands again, carrying the toddler to the cot he’d been hiding under, gently lowering him down on the mattress.

He tugs at the blanket a bit, rearranging it so the boy’s tucked in, nice and snug under the soft fabric, blinking up at Jaskier sleepily.

“Goodnight, my little Elias,” he whispers, tucking a few wayward curls behind the boy’s ear.

“Goodnight, mister Jaskier,” little Elias mumbles around his thumb, brown eyes drifting closed, slipping into sleep.

Jaskier can’t help but smile at the sight, and takes a few steps back, lowering himself on the wooden bench, eyes trained on the strange little boy in that old bed, sleeping peacefully in the near-abandoned Witcher keep. Gods, how he wonders what brought this little child all the way up here, what horrors he was fleeing from that caused him to take the dangerous passes up to the keep, hiding and fending for himself like no child should have to.

Jaskier sighs, leaning his head against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest.

He’ll let the boy sleep, for now, and in a few hours, he’ll try to convince him to have something to eat in the kitchen. He’ll prepare a room for him, somewhere warm and safe where he doesn’t have to sleep in a dusty, cold room with an even dustier borrowed blanket. He’ll protect the little one against all the evil in the world – with his life, if he has to – to make sure he’ll never have to face what drove him here in the first place again.

Yes. He’ll do that, and so much more, for his little Elias.

He doesn’t notice that his eyes are starting to drift shut.

---

He wakes up with a start a few hours later, disoriented and confused, and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he looks around the room.

Right, yes, now he remembers: the room filled with cots and with a lovely reading nook, his blanket dusty as it kept getting dragged under the bed by a little hand-

Elias.

He sits up straight, sleep completely chased away, and notices the dusty blanket in a heap on the cot Elias was asleep on. The boy is nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier curses silently, sliding off the bench, crawling to the bed on his knees, peeking underneath it, finding only dust and cobwebs. “Elias?”

He looks under the other beds as well, and when he doesn’t find the boy there, he starts pushing open the chests at the foot of each cot, heart racing in his throat the longer he goes without a sign of the boy.

“Elias?” he calls frantically. “Elias? It’s alright, you can come out, now, no one’s going to hurt you. Elias!”

The door swings open and he looks up, equal parts startled as hopeful, sagging a bit when he sees Geralt.

“You missed dinner,” Geralt says in lieu of greeting.

Jaskier huffs, letting the lid of the chest he was looking into drop back down. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

“I was worr- What are you doing?” Geralt asks, as Jaskier drops down to his hands and knees, looking under the cots again.

“Well, my dear Witcher,” he mutters, “you’ve got an unexpected visitor.” He sits up straight when the silence continues for a few seconds, finding Geralt frowning at him, still in the doorway. “A little boy,” he explains, “can’t be more than five, goes by the name of Elias. He was here earlier, but now he’s gone.”

Geralt blinks, shaking his head minutely. “A… a little boy?”

He huffs impatiently, pushing himself to his feet and walking to the door briskly. “Yes, and he’s out there on his own, and we need to find him.”

But before he can push his way past Geralt, into the hall, the Witcher’s strong hand wraps around his arm, keeping him in place. “Jaskier…”

“What?”

“We would’ve… noticed. If there was someone else in the keep.”

He clenches his jaws together, rolling his eyes. “Well, yes, I suppose, but he was right there!” He points to the dusty blanket, lying on the cot in a heap. “I tucked him in!”

“Jaskier…” Geralt says again, something sad and resigned in his voice, and Jaskier’s eyebrows knit together, tears springing to his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispers, voice breaking slightly, “don’t you fucking dare tell me that that little boy I saw- held in my arms, wasn’t real. Don’t you fucking dare tell me I’m crazy.”

Geralt’s hand tenses slightly around his arm, thumb rubbing soft lines into his doublet. “I believe you. I believe you, Jaskier, I really do…”

“This is the part where you say ‘but’, isn’t it?”

“But…” Jaskier’s chest cracks open like a rotten egg, tears spilling down his cheeks, and Geralt sighs. “I… It’s…”

He shakes his head, taking a step back, trying in vain to tear his arm from Geralt’s grip. “Just… save it, Geralt. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Do you know what I smell, right now?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier frowns at him, shaking his head. “I smell you and Kaer Morhen. I smell lemon and ginger, and I smell stone and dust and leather.”

“Where are you going with this, Geralt?”

“Every human has their own, unique scent that lingers in a room days after they’ve been there.” He pauses, staring at Jaskier intently. “I smell no one in this room but you.”

He clamps his jaw shut again, looking away as tears start to spill over once more, sliding down his cheeks in fat droplets, chest aching aching aching and his mind suddenly scattered as he feels his reality come crumbling down around him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says softly, reassuringly, the sound of it only making Jaskier hurt more, “I believe you. When you say that you saw a boy and held him in your arms, I believe you. But…”

“He was never really there,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m losing my mind, aren’t I?”

Geralt sighs, pulling him closer, and Jaskier buries his face in the Witcher’s chest, trying in vain to keep his sobs in.

“You’re not,” Geralt whispers. “You’re just… you’re just tired, probably. You haven’t been sleeping well.”

We both know that’s a load of horseshit, he wants to say, but he nods against Geralt’s chest instead. “Yeah,” he mutters, “it’s probably that.”

Geralt sighs again. “How about we get you some dinner, and get you to bed. Get you a good night’s rest.”

He shakes his head. “I’m… I’m not hungry. Just…” scattered “tired.”

“Alright,” Geralt says, pushing him away slightly to turn him towards the door, gently laying his arm around his shoulder, leading him into the hallway. “Then we’ll just get you to bed. Alright?”

“Hmm,” he agrees, feet dragging a bit as he walks. As they pass one of the dark windows, he hears the familiar clanging of swords in the courtyard. “Geralt?” he asks. “Lambert and Eskel are in the kitchen, aren’t they?”

Geralt frowns at him but nods. “Yeah, they are. Why?”

“No reason.”

[mordoriscalling]

The Shrike and the Lark (pt. 4)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt. 3)

Creyden, 1237

“My Queen is a match for your Lord,” King Julian remarks.

A match they are indeed. Queen Renfri’s skill with the blade is legendary, and the Warlord wields his weapon with the same level of mastery. The two are sparring in the courtyard, with a continuously growing audience. Witchers, the Royal Guard, courtiers and servants passing by; everyone stares at them in awe, for such lethal grace is staggering to witness.

The Queen and the Warlord are locked in a breathtaking, violent dance. One may almost see the sparks fly as they spin, duck, and par each other’s blows. When their swords cross, their faces mere inches apart, they freeze. The warrior and the wariorress stare at one another, panting heavily. The tension between them is palatable, but then Queen Renfri moves, and they are dancing again.

“That’s only because Geralt is on the defensive,” Eskel replies.

The sound of the King’s surprised laughter carries far. Some of the onlookers in the courtyard look up but, as they behold King Julian the Eskel standing together on the wall overseeing the ward, their attention returns to the ongoing duel. The King and the White Wolf’s right hand sharing each other’s company is an expected sight at this point.

The Warlord and his entourage arrived a week ago. Half of the witchers who came then have now left for good, for their presence is not necessary. In truth, only the Wolf and his two advisors have been constantly working for the past five days, endeavouring to negotiate the new treaty as quickly as possible. In the meantime, those witchers who remain in Creyden have taken to sparring in the courtyard, sometimes fighting with some of the more daring knights of the Royal Guard. Today is the first day that their Lord has joined them, soon followed by Queen Renfri.

“Why do you put so much faith in your Lord?” King Julian asks.

“Geralt is the strongest and fastest among us,” Eskel answers with a shrug. “If he were on the offensive, it would take him less than five moves to disarm your Queen.”

At least a part of Eskel’s claims is true – Queen Renfri has been the aggressor from the start of the duel. She attacks the White Wolf mercilessly, with viciousness she is infamous for. In a moment like this, the notoriety of the Shrike shows its foundations.

Yet, on the very same basis, the efficacy of Creyden’s army was built; after ascending the throne, Queen Renfri saw to the training of her knights and soilers by herself. Her experience in pardonless fighting proved invaluable; thanks to it, she led her warriors – just as she had led her bandits before – to victory.

“Beat him, my Queen!” King Julian calls loudly so that his sister can hear him. “I know you can, you’ve practised for this!” he cheers her on, “Day and night, you did! You’ve dreamed of defeating–”

“My King... please!” Queen Renfri exclaims between blows, “Will you... stop... that?!”

“Never!” her brother proclaims, drawing some laughs from the crowd below.

The King’s support seems to bear fruit then – Queen Renfri’s strikes become even faster and more violent. The White Wolf can no longer last under the assault and yields. As he does so, loud applause for the Queen rings out in the ward.

“He let her win not to cause offence,” Eskel says.

King Julian chuckles, shaking his head. “You know your Lord well, don’t you?”

“He’s like a brother to me,” the witcher replies, “We’ve shared a strong bond since we were boys.”

King Julian only hums in response. Eskel considers him for a moment, then speaks again, “And yet, when Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen for the winter after three years of not doing so, he refused to speak of the bard who had kept him away, even to me. He ignored all my questions. He couldn’t hide his hurt from me, though.”

King Julian does not answer at once. Instead, he observes as Kan, the Captain of the Royal Guard, and Lambert, a witcher with fiery hair and even fiercer temperament, begin to spar. Yet, Eskel’s gaze on him is a heavy, insistent weight, and he surrenders eventually.

“I am guilty of hurting him,” he admits ruefully. “Geralt only knew me to be Jaskier the bard. A troubadour who loved him... but who wasn’t honest with him. When he discovered who I really was, he didn’t hear it from me.”

Eskel scowls but calmly inquires, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“My own safety,” the King replies. “I feared for my life. I couldn’t tell him of how Stregobor imprisoned me in one of the towers of this very castle. Of how after I finally escaped, I ran and ran, and ran. I lived in fear of being pursued, stole and forged identities to survive.”

“He would’ve kept your secret at all costs,” the Wolf witcher counters.  

“I know,” Julian agrees easily. “But the scars which Stregobor inflicted upon me were too fresh. I couldn’t bear to talk about it back then.”

The conversation lulls for a while after that. The two watch Kan and Lambert spar until it is Eskel who speaks.

“I’m glad to see that you’ve healed enough,” he says, bereft of any anger or judgement.

The King’s gaze snaps to his witcher companion, the look in his eyes as warm as a summer sky. “You’re too kind,” he says.

Julian then reaches out and tucks a strand of Eskel’s blonde hair behind his ear. His hand lingers there, by Eskel’s cheek. The witcher stills, clearly taken aback by the touch.

“Your Majesty?” he murmurs uncertainly.

The King hesitates. Gingerly, he starts rubbing his thumb against the witcher’s skin. The caress is met with no resistance and he confesses, “I find myself wishing to be near you every minute of the day. To wake up and fall asleep beside you.”

Eskel sighs and moves away. “King Julian –” he begins, his tone suddenly formal.

“Jaskier.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m Jaskier to my friends.”

The witcher nods. “Jaskier, then. You honour me with your attention, but I must ask you not to pursue any further intimacy with me.”

“Must?” Jaskier echoes. “Why do you “must”?”

“I... don’t want to make these negotiations any more difficult.”

“So loyal,” Jaskier says, regarding the witcher with admiration, “So dedicated, to staying in the shadows. Why won’t you let some light shine on you?”

Eskel smiles wryly. Then, he turns his head, displaying the side of his face that is terribly marred. “Some scars of mine will never heal,” he admits.  

Jaskier’s features twist into an expression both pained and compassionate. “I could provide you with some relief, at least for a short while,” he offers, “I could take your worries away, ease the tension in your shoulders.”

The witcher seems immune to the ardent willingness. “No, thank you,” he declines. “I suspect you want me so because you see him in me. We bear a lot of resemblance to each other, I’ve been told.”

Jaskier is not deterred by the bitterness, nor the self-depreciation, in Eskel’s tone. With an earnest, wide-eyed gaze, he steps in closer towards the witcher.

“I see wonder in you,” he says quietly. “All the things you’ve told me about, about how much you do to serve your lord... You achieve whatever is asked of you because you care about your kin so deeply. What is your limit? Or can you make anything happen for the ones you love? What a wonder you are.”

Eskel looks upon Jaskier as if he was seeing him for the first time. “You are sincere,” he says.

Witchers, with their enhanced senses, are able to notice when someone is being disingenuine. The human body does not function normally when a lie leaves one’s mouth, and witchers have learnt to discern even the barest hints of untruth. Yet, it does not seem to be the case now.

“That I am,” Jaskier affirms, bold certainty in the whole of his posture. Then, he moves even closer to Eskel, looking deep into his amber eyes. “I cannot stop thinking about the wonder of you.”

“Gods be damned,” Eskel breathes out. “How am I to resist your song, Lark? How am I to deny you when you call to me so sweetly?”

Jaskier tilts his head up invitingly. “I call to you because I can hear you howling, Wolf,” he whispers, his voice low and husky.  

Eskel cradles Jaskier’s face in his large, rough hands. The delicate features of Jaskier’s face seem overpowered by the lines of Eskel’s strong palms.

“You maddening creature,” the witcher murmurs.

They breathe the same air now and their eyes are half-shut, heavy-lidded with desire. They are drawn to one another, inch by inch. Their lips are about to meet in a kiss, but then loud cheers erupt below, extinguishing the heat between them. Eskel and Jaskier jerk away from each other and look down, searching for the source of the interruption.

Lambert has just won against Kan.

Eskel clears his throat. “Let me consider it,” he tells Jaskier, “I shall give you an answer later today.”

At dinner, Eskel and King Julian are seen to retire for the evening together.

Read the rest on AO3

[whaticannotshowyou]

Witcher centaur herds, witcher centaur herds, witcher centaur herds!

A herd of these big burly centaurs who hunt monsters but also tend to get a bit rowdy, coming upon siblings Renfri and Jaskier, out alone in the woods. Unprotected. Far away from anyone who could help them. The centaurs could do anything they want to them.

Carrying the duo back to their camp and the breeding blocks they have there, mounting them and passing them around. Fuck it, A/B/O with Omegas Jaskier and Renfri so they can both get knocked up and turned into broodmares for the herd.

Didn’t know I needed it but here we are!!! I hope you mean......... they are centaurs and the rest humans... or maybe I just misunderstood. Tell me if that’s the case! Added some... forced incest without really meaning to and then it was too hot to take away, so sorry if that wasn’t what you wanted :(

But yes, Jaskier and Renfri in the woods unprotected, maybe just out for a stroll and got lost(Renfri knew she couldn’t trust Jaskier with a map!) and ended up far too deep amongst the trees. They keep walking, the map long since disregarded as they hope to find any way out before the sun sets, almost at the point of giving up when the thunderous sound of hooves draw closer. They know of the witchers and their camp deep into the woods by their town, the wolf herd(“ironic name, isnt it sis?”) that protect them from the monsters apparently close and they can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope at the prospect of the centaurs finding them. They are benevolent no matter what their peers say, sworn to help humans.

“Looks like we found some lost travelers,” says an amused voice, a dark brown witcher appearing behind some trees. Two others follow him, both of them sturdier looking and with less of a cheeky smirk on their faces. “How come you find yourselves on our land?”

They express their situation and beg for help, the centaurs sharing a quick glance before approaching. They offer to help them, to let them find safety and the siblings jump at the chance only to be mighty disappointed when they’re thrown across their shoulders roughly(“oh, so no horseback ride?” Jaskier mumbles) and then carried to their camp. Renfri is not as agreeable as her brother, immediately struggling as she realises they are not taken back to their homes. It earns her a slap to her arse and a grumble, the two realising the reason they were slung helplessly over their shoulders was to keep them from escaping.

They have no chance to get away before they are stripped naked and strapped to a large contraption, legs spread open wide and tied up. They are facing one another, noses able to touch when they look at each other. Jaskier tries to calm down his sister’s screaming with a nervous smile, whispering to her that they will be fine even if he doesn’t believe it himself. He has to be strong, can’t have Renfri be the only one. But he can’t understand why she won’t stop, her eyes focused beyond her brother as he gasps and yells (“No, no, no! Please, don’t! No please don’t hurt us- him! Don’t!”), tears in her eyes as she looks back at him.

Jaskier is choking on his own saliva when something thick and blunt presses up against his back, slick poured over his taint and rubbed around with the enormous cock. He can’t get any words out when it pushes inside of him, sinking in long and hard without giving him as much as a moment to comprehend it. Then it’s his turn to scream. He struggles against his bonds and shakes like a leaf, voice growing louder the more of the big cock fills him up. Thrashing on the breeding stocks, Jaskier can’t warn Renfri about the centaur approaching her, only aware of it the moment his sister goes completely silent with her mouth open wide.

The witchers fuck them long and hard, eventually the two humans giving up on their release. They are speared open on all of the three men’s cocks and painted in their seeds, the centaurs pulling out just in time to rut their gigantic members between their cheeks and coming over their backs in long ropes. Jaskier ends up thanking them, sobbing hard and choking on bile stuck in his throat as he is grateful for them not coming inside. All he is met with is a cruel laughter from the one who found them.

“Don’t want to break our toys the first thing we do, right?”

They learn their names eventually as they are bound to the posts for a few days, the rude and vocal one being Lambert, the white stallion Geralt, and the burliest of them with scars along his face Eskel. There is a fourth among them, the older one pacing the grounds every once in a while but never engaging. Vesemir. He views the whole ordeal from a distance, only ever yelling out to the younger witchers to be more gentle when either of the two humans are being loud or on the verge of passing out. Only once did he come close, when Geralt seemed lost in his own pleasure and kept rutting against Renfri for far too long, shuddering and screaming out as he came long and deep inside of her. They weren’t fucked for the rest of the day, Jaskier pleading for his sister to stop crying, that they would figure out a way to fix it once they were free.

The next day the herd continue their coupling, this time not wasting any energy to pull out. Instead they come inside of them over and over, staying flush against their bodies to trap the seed inside for a few minutes before pulling out and laughing at the mess pouring out from them. Jaskier and Renfri cries more often than not after that, resting their foreheads against the other’s shoulder as they are fucked open and bred, the witchers making sure to tell them what good mares they will make for the herd.

When just fucking them isnt enough, they try new things. Forcing their cock down their narrow throats, fisting their loose holes, painting their bodies in layers come to mark them. When fucking them hard, the witchers lean down over them to grab their hair, wrenching them up and forcing their faces together. Jaskier and Renfri are made to kiss in front of them, or else threatened to be branded eith an iron if they don’t. It’s a sick display of power, the two tasting each others’ tears on their lips as they are forced to make out for their amusement. The witchers make them suck on their cocks after fucking their sibling, ordering them to say just how good their cunts taste after being fucked. And they oblige, because there isn’t anythingn else they can do.

They are let out of the breeding stock when their bellies start to grow, tied up in a smaller shed and still used repeatedly. After birthing a foal each they are still kept chained up and bred full again, over and over, hoping one day the herd will tire and let them go.

[wordsablaze]

Or Lack Thereof

Jaskier loves meeting new people but sometimes he just wishes he could part ways with them properly. Or, the three times he doesn't get to say goodbye to Eskel - day one of @jaskierwhumpweek

A/N: me? starting a prompt week despite my half a dozen wips and making them all jaskel? more likely than you think. today’s prompt: “goodbyes”

-

Making camp in the middle of the woods is far from Jaskier’s favourite thing to do.

But needs must and since Geralt has gone off to hibernate or whatever, there’s no way he can travel through the night without being attacked by something or the other. 

Especially since he’s cold and he’s tired and he’s pretty sure that someone had been following him before he’d left the last town. Granted, it’s perhaps not the best idea to be a source of light in an otherwise dark forest but he has no other choice.

He’s only just settled in front of his small fire when something lands beside him. He lets out a rather undignified yelp and jumps backwards, instinctively brandishing his lute in front of him as if it were a weapon. 

“Believe me, you won’t even scratch me with that thing,” a deep voice says.

Jaskier scoffs but relaxes as he catches sight of amber eyes illuminated by the firelight. “And you’re a witcher so you won’t kill me or harm my wonderful lute.” 

The witcher chuckles and gestures to what Jaskier now has the sense to realise is a rabbit. “And you look like you’re in need of a decent meal.” 

Although the gesture only goes to prove that witchers really aren’t all that bad, Jaskier isn’t sure whether he should be flattered that another one chose to help him or offended that he’d been yet again deemed as incapable of providing for himself. 

“Well, won’t you share it with me, darling?”

The witcher pauses, clearly having intended to just leave. “You would want to share a meal with me?”

Jaskier nods slowly. “Of course. As long as you know what herbs are, unlike a certain white wolf we all know.”

The witcher laughs and places himself on the other side of the fire. “I’m Eskel, and I have more advanced taste buds than my brother.” 

Making a note to tease Geralt with that another time, Jaskier offers Eskel a grin. “Well then, it’d be my pleasure to share a meal with you, Eskel.” 

And so they do.

It’s quite easily one of the best meals Jaskier has ever had, and not because of the food. 

Later, he’ll be able to recall fragments: the scent of spice, the feel of old scars, the sound of unexpected laughter. Later, he’ll buy the pretty ring with the ruby embedded into it that he sees in the market because he doesn’t want to forget the witcher in the red armour. Later, he will poetically mourn an experience he almost had.

But when Jaskier wakes up, Eskel is gone. 

He doesn't quite remember falling asleep but he can’t bring himself to be surprised because of course a handsome witcher wouldn’t want to spend the night with him when he could be enjoying himself at Kaer Morhen. 

And in fact, there’s no sign that anyone else had been there at all, aside from the rapidly fading happiness in Jaskier’s heart. Because although the soft rays of sun are warm, there’s a coldness inside of him that comes from having to accompany himself once again.

If he couldn’t still taste the lingering herbs on his tongue, he’d be inclined to think that he’d imagined meeting Eskel altogether. 

“Note to self, don’t be tired when meeting witchers in the woods,” Jaskier mumbles to himself, because it’s not that he regrets meeting Eskel but it’s somehow painful to have only experienced a glimpse of him.

He then curses because he’s more or less entirely sure he hadn’t told Eskel his name in return. He hopes that next time, he remembers to introduce himself properly - maybe that way witchers will stick around rather than leaving with no warning.

Because this time, he didn't even get to say goodbye.

-///-

Something else Jaskier hates is being in dire need of a healer.

But he can’t feel his leg and there’s something seriously wrong with his shoulder and he can’t remember the lines to his own songs and that just won’t do. Stupid bandits.

“H’llo? please h’lp…” Jaskier manages as he stumbles in the path of the first person he sees upon reaching the town.

“D’you’ve a heal’r?” he asks, groaning as the stranger steadies him and thus accidentally puts pressure on his burning shoulder.

“I know where to find one,” the man replies, altering his grip on Jaskier so he’s not hurting him.

Jaskier frowns at how familiar the voice sounds but he can’t even remember what his name is, never mind someone else’s, so he just nods quickly and hopes he hasn't taken too long to reply. “Please. C’n you take me th’re?” 

The stranger must take pity on him because he feels an arm settle around his waist and the two of them start moving towards where Jaskier presumes the healer is to be found. 

He feels awful making someone go out of their way to help him but he knows he’s close to collapsing and he really doesn’t want to die in a town he doesn’t even know the name of so he had no choice but to bother someone else.

He can feel his eyes slip shut every so often but each time, they shoot back open and he’s reminded that he’d actually hit his head very hard on that rock when he’d fallen, like an absolute idiot. 

“Th’nk’ou,” Jaskier mumbles, well aware that he’s being a burden to the very muscular man practically dragging him along and hating the very idea. 

“Try and keep your eyes open, bardling.” the man replies.

Jaskier is almost certain he’s heard that voice before but all he can recall is fire and something about a goat and neither of those make sense to him, but then again, the ground keeps switching places with the sky so he doesn’t know what to think.

“What happened?” another voice asks urgently.

As if on cue, Jaskier’s knees decide they no longer want to support his weight. 

The man holding him up staggers but dutifully pulls him back upright and for a blessed moment, he can pretend he’s just being held for the sake of it rather than because his life depends on it. Oh, how he wishes that were true.

But then someone curses and someone else says something about his blood and he’s so tired and all he can think to do is whisper another “th’nk ‘ou ‘gain,” to the oddly familiar stranger still holding him up before his eyes flutter shut.

And when he wakes up, the healer tells him he’s lucky to have a friend like Eskel but really, he just wants to cry at learning he’d come oh so close to the witcher once more because all he’d done this time was make a right fool of himself.

And he still didn’t get to say goodbye.

-///-

Another habit Jaskier wishes he didn’t have is being drugged. 

But it’s hardly his fault that some people just can’t accept that their desires aren’t reciprocated no matter how obvious he makes it.

And unfortunately, he sometimes doesn’t notice until far too late. 

Which is why he doesn’t decline the drink offered to him as he takes a quick break from singing because really, nobody wants to hear a sore throat sing.

“Thank you, my dear,” Jaskier winks at the woman who’d handed him the cup. 

She just smiles and shares a glance with the man sitting next to her as Jaskier returns to the other end of the tavern and continues with his performance, fulfilling someone’s request for the next song.

He’d intended to sing for at least another hour but he finds that he can barely feel himself think after only half that time. 

“Sorry, I think I’ll have to retire early for the night!” Jaskier announces, wincing inwardly as people loudly voice their complaints and expectations. 

He hears himself promise to perform in the morning but the room seems to be spinning and he’s not sure who exactly he’s addressing. 

“Let me help you,” someone says softly.

Jaskier frowns as he feels someone take his lute from him but hands as soft as their owner’s voice have settled firmly around his arm and he can’t seem to shrug them off, he can’t seem to avoid being guided somewhere.

“Wait, my lute…” he manages to mumble, but the hands only tighten their grip on his arm, hard enough for him to grimace.

“We’ll return it to you in the morning,” a different voice says and Jaskier shakes his head.

He tries and fails to stop his feet from moving. “No, I- wait, we? Who’s we?”

The hands on his arms seem blurred and for the life of him he can’t tell whether they belong to the same person or not. For a minute, all he can focus on is the fact that he can’t see his own hands and thus he can’t be sure he still has them.

“You’re not as light as you look,” someone comments to his left.

Foolishly, he turns his head to look. Only to promptly groan in pain as his head throbs at the movement. He squeezes his eyes shut and almost forgets how to breathe until his lungs scream at him and he inhales sharply. 

“Maybe we gave him too much?” the person on his right asks.

But he doesn’t know what she means. Too much what?

“Stop talking or he might remember this tomorrow,” the other person hisses and he realises he’d said that aloud. Oops. 

“Wait, where’re we going?” Jaskier dimly hears himself ask.

Neither of them reply as they speed up and Jaskier has to bite his lip to stop himself from gagging at the wave of nausea that hits him. 

He doesn’t want to go anywhere, he just wants his lute and the bed he’d booked for himself and maybe a drink because his mouth is so dry, as dry as his lute needs to be, and where did he put his lute again?

“I would let go of the bard if I were you,” a new voice says, but it’s not that new because Jaskier knows that voice, he’s sure he does. 

“And who are you to stop us?” 

Jaskier doesn’t hear the reply because a sharp pain echoes in his head and he moans, curling into himself, which causes the hands on his arms to loosen considerably.

And then they vanish altogether and Jaskier expects to hit the floor but for some reason that doesn’t happen. Also the arms now holding him seem far nicer than the previous ones so he’s not complaining. 

“Thank you,” the nice voice says, sounding amused, so he must have said that out loud again. Whoops.

“Let’s get you to your room,” he hears as his feet are lifted into the air, along with the rest of him.

Amber eyes and half a smile drift into his mind and he finds that he trusts the new and yet oh so familiar voice. He doesn’t think of anything else until he feels a bed beneath him and a blanket above him, a blanket that feels a lot less comfortable than the arms of the kind voice. 

“You can sleep now,” the kind voice tells him.

Jaskier nods blindly, then groans when the action only hurts him. But he closes his eyes nonetheless, not that they were really open, and hopes that he manages to mumble an apology before falling asleep.

Once again, he wakes to be told that he’s fortunate to have a witcher on his side.

And once again, he finds himself grieving a moment he could have had, a moment that keeps slipping from his grasp the same way perfect rhymes often elude him, a moment it seems he is not fated to deserve. 

He wishes he knew how to earn it, wishes he could find a way to properly bid Eskel farewell if he is to always be denied a fully-fledged meeting, if he is to be denied the memory of their fleeting interactions. 

But this time he hadn’t even said hello, never mind goodbye.

-

i know this is like fragments of an actual fic but i don't have time to extend this atm, maybe in future? idk. i do promise the rest of the fics for this week are more blatantly jaskel though, if you're interested :p

-

next: “betrayal”

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thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier 

[myidlehand]

It had to happen! Finally, a story about Geralt and Eskel cause I couldn’t resist any longer. It’s not a fluffy one like the previous two but there’s still some hurt/comfort. It’s set when Geralt and Eskel are still baby Witchers in training.

Tumblr is being an ass about formating so you can find this on AO3

Wordcount is at 2,400

Charaters: Eskel, Geralt, Vesemir, Rennes

Tags: Eskel/Geralt, Angst, Improper use of Axii, Mind control, Hurt/Confort, Baby Witchers

Fear

"Master Rennes! Master Vesemir!" The boy yells from the door he's thrown open carelessly.

"What are you doing boy!" Rennes barks at the scrawny kid.

"Apologies Masters," the boy says, breathless.

"What is it!"

"It's Eskel Sir. He's gone mad! He's going to burn the keep down!"

"Where the hell is he?" Vesemir shouts at the poor frightened teenager.

"Down the training yard Master! Please, Sir, we don't know what to do! Geralt's down there too!"

The two older Witchers set off sprinting to the courtyard three levels bellow, following the boy. It takes only a few minutes to reach the yard but they can hear some of the kids yell even from the corridor. Most of them are watching from higher ground, from windows or the ramparts bordering the training yard. Vesemir can smell their fear and confusion even before he sees them. Three boys are closer to the action, right on the platform that overlooks the courtyard and are yelling in delight every time Eskel cast his Signs. Those three don’t smell like fear. One of them spots Rennes coming at them from the corridor at full speed and bolt down the stairs, disappearing around a corner. The other two are not so quick and the Witcher catches one by the arm and the other by the back of the neck before they have time to escape.

Down bellow Eskel sends an Aard towards Geralt powerful enough to take down the dummies right were Geralt was standing and part of the wall behind him. Luckily everyone at the top of the rampart has time to skater before the wall goes out from under them.

"Eskel it's me Geralt, stop!"

Eskel snarls and sends a wave of fire at Geralt, who has run under the little balcony at the top of the stairs. He barely manages to jump to one side, his arm reddening painfully when he's not quick enough to avoid all of the flames. Rennes throws himself and both the kids down when the flames come licking at the top of the platform, the air so hot they can barely breathe. Vesemir yanks both the kids back to the entrance of the corridor as fast as he can. Another Aard takes down half the stairs on the right side of the courtyard, they can even feel the shockwave from their hiding place. Nobody else but Geralt has the courage to come down and help calm Eskel.

"What is going on here?" Rennes ask in a tone that clearly mean they both are going to get flogged very very soon if they test his patience.

"It wasn't us Master, we swear!

"It was Marcus' idea!" 

They both answer at the same time.

"What the hell did you do to that boy?" Rennes snarls, pointing vaguely towards the training ground right outside.

"We just wanted to have a bit of fun. We didn't think he would go mad like this, honest Sir!"

The boys look at each other for a second before casting their eyes downward, looking shamefully at their boots.

“Explain yourselves!”

"Eskel never gets into real trouble cause all the trainers like him even though he does lots of stupid stuff with Geralt all the time, so we just wanted to get them in a little bit of bother. That’s all. We can't really touch Geralt cause he's special or something. But not Eskel. And Marcus he's pretty good with signs and stuff..."

"It was just for fun Master. To teach them a lesson cause they aren't great like everybody thinks they are! They're just orphans like the rest of us!"

Down on the courtyard, another dummy gets torn into splinters of woods and straw goes flying everywhere.

"For fuck sake Eskel! Stop, you muttonhead!" they hear Geralt yell.

"Out with it boy or I'll flog you myself!" Rennes snaps, baring his teeth dangerously at the teenagers.

"We didn't know he would go crazy! We wanted him to get frightened a little so we used Axii on him!"

"You did what?" Vesemir finally says, cold fury in his voice.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to cast Axii on a person before you are ready?"

"We didn’t mean to do him harm, it was just for fun!"

"You broke one of the most fundamental rules of the school just to have a bit of fun? I should just throw you down there and let Eskel burn you alive!"

Their eyes go big, not knowing if Rennes would really do it. The leader of the Wolfs has never been soft on anybody.

Outside, Geralt is just running in circles, hoping Eskel will tire himself out before he has to hurt him. Geralt is not even sure if he can hurt Eskel at this point anyway. He has no real weapon apart for the few training swords scattered all around the yard and even so, he's not been able to approach Eskel at all. The bastard is too quick with his hands and he's been trying to either crush Geralt or burn him alive for a good five minutes now. Geralt's strategy so far has been yelling at Eskel to try to make him come out of his trance and in the meantime, keep him out of the castle where he can't hurt anybody but Geralt and himself. Not ideal but better than put everybody else at risk. Well except for the idiots looking at them from the walls but not actually helping in any way. They are on their own if some flames come licking at their stupid asses.

"Who cast the Sign?" Rennes asks coldly.

"Marcus first cause he's good with them. But it wasn't working really so I… I did too Master. We just wanted to frighten him a little. Make him see stuff that isn’t there. Like a big kikimora or something. It would have been funny to make him fight nothing."

"There's nothing funny about making a man go mad lad. Casting an uncontrolled Axii on someone is dangerous enough, you could break his mind with two at the same time! Never do that again!"

While Rennes is scolding the two stupid boys, Vesemir risks throwing a quick look outside, trying to spot both his trainees. Geralt is a few meters from the platform, Eskel, maybe eight meters away.

"Come on buddy there's no treat here! You're just imagining things Eskel, it's not real. It’s just me," Geralt tells him softly, trying to avoid stones flying his way. Eskel apparently has learned how to direct things with his Aard Sign, already with impressive force and accuracy for his age. Geralt manages to grab half a training dummy and raise it in front of him as a shield. He's obviously too exhausted to cast Quen. Signs take out a lot of energies and he hasn't even mastered this one yet.

"Alright, now you're starting to piss me off Eskel!" Geralt growls, blood flowing from a cut right above his eye where a stone has nicked him before he could raise the dummy up. He braces himself and throws the dummy at Eskel with all his force. Eskel doesn't react quickly enough and takes the dummy square on the chest, tumbling down from the force of the trow. Geralt has barely the time to take a few mouthfuls of air before Eskel is up again.

"Come on man stay down!"

Vesemir sees the rage in Eskel’s eyes, glazed over with the Axii Signs. He sees the boy bend both his hands to cast Igni and he knows this time Eskel will burn Geralt alive if he doesn't intervene. Vesemir runs immediately towards the boy and leaps off the little platform to land in front of Geralt, right before the flames can reach him. Vesemir raises his Quen shield in an instant, protecting them both from the inferno raging around them. Eskel shouldn't even be able to cast Signs with both his hands at the same time yet, even less so produce two Igni with such force, he's too young for that. But somehow he can and Vesemir's shield is barely powerful enough to protect both of them as the flames engulf most of the courtyard. In another situation, Vesemir would marvel at the power displayed by the boy right now. Geralt can feel the heat of the flames through the protective golden aura and instinctively crouches low behind Vesemir to protect himself. It only takes a few seconds but to them, it feels like an eternity.

“Can you take him?” Vesemir yells, barely audible above the roar of the flames surrounding them.

“I think so. Yes… yes I can”, Geralt answers breathless but confident.

“Get ready then” Geralt moves next to the Older Witcher, feet braced against the ground, waiting.

As soon as the flames receded, Vesemir drops his shield and Geralt's bolts straight ahead. Eskel is slightly lightheaded from all the energy he just expelled and Geralt uses the opportunity and tackles his friend at full speed, toppling them both over.

Before Eskel has times to react, Geralt straddle him, trapping his legs with his thighs to avoid being kicked off and lacing their fingers together on each side of Eskel's head to stop him from casting another Sign and keep him down.

"Eskel look at me! It's Geralt! I'm your best friend I won't hurt you!"

Eskel snarls and try to throw him off with his hip but Geralt hold on, putting as much weight on Eskel as he can.

"Come on man you know me! You know my voice, you know how I feel! Concentrate on me!"

Eskel calms down a fraction, eyes huge and panicked. He feels trapped and scared out of his mind but there's a flicker of recognition there.

"Ger… Geralt the monsters! They're everywhere!" he whispers frantically.

"It's okay Esk, I’ve got you. You have to calm down. Everything is alright I promise. Let me take care of you, no more Signs", Geralt reply, squeezing Eskel’s fingers to reassure him. Because of Geralt's position above him, there hips, bellies and arms are flushed together. Eskel can feel the hit radiating from Geralt and he just has to raise his head a little and push his nose against Geralt's throat and breathes in. Geralt smells tired and scared but he feels honest too. If Eskel searches deeper he can still find Geralt's usual smell deep under the rest and it's enough for him to calm down and come back to himself a little.

"Sleep," Vesemir says right next to them and Eskel's head falls back on the ground, eyes closed, face relaxed.

"No! Why did you do that! I had him, he was coming back to me! You didn’t have to Axii him again!" Geralt yell at Vesemir.

"I couldn't risk it Geralt. He could have turned again and kill you. Uncontrolled Axiis are unpredictable."

“So your solution is to do it to him again? Two times wasn’t enough for you?” Geralt snarls at the older man.

“I know what I’m doing Geralt,” Vesemir answers patiently, not coming too close just in case. 

He knows Geralt is not mad at him, he’s just scared and very protective of Eskel. Everybody knows how much they care for each other. Even a blind mind would have noticed. It was dangerous but by the time the trainers had realised how close they really were, they missed their chance to separate them, the boys being already too old. There had been some debate among the older witchers and trainers to still try, even if the boys would go kicking and screaming. But Geralt had been chosen for additional mutations and Vesemir had argued he would have a better chance to live without the additional stress of losing his connection to Eskel. It was a gamble but it convinced enough people to keep them together. Vesemir knew he made the right choice the first time he heard Geralt crying and screaming for Eskel from even two levels above the deep trial room. The mages hadn’t been happy when Vesemir had shoved Eskel into the room that night, trainees weren’t supposed to witness the process. But the new mutations had been even more brutal than usual on the poor boy’s body and Eskel had been his lifeline, tightly grasping Geralt’s hand in his and whispering words of encouragement all night and day. 

"Is he going to be okay?" Geralt asks quietly, looking at Eskel again, eyes heavy with concerns. He had let go of his hands but he was still straddling his friend, not wanting to move before he was sure it was over.

"He's tenacious and determined. And he has strong connections to his friends.. to you. I'm sure he’ll find his way back to us after a good rest."

"Will they be punished for what they did to him? It’s not right." Geralt asks softly, gently sweeping away some hair from Eskel face, still not taking his eyes off him.

"Yes. Very severely. Trainees should never cast Axii on each other before they mastered it. And even then Signs should only be used in case of emergencies on a brother. They won't forget that lesson again. I promise."

"Good."

"Now, get up. I need to bring him to the infirmary."

"I’ve got him," Geralt says, moving to Eskel's side and delicately taking him in his arms.

"You're hurt boy, let me take him."

"No. I told him I would take care of him. I don't break my promises to Eskel." Geralt gets up, his left arm shaking a little, painful from the burn. But Vesemir knows there's no use arguing or interfering between those two. Geralt will never let go of Eskel without a fight.

Geralt takes the stairs up to the little platform and growls at the two boys when he enters the corridor and walks quickly toward the infirmary without another word.

Rennes stops Vesemir before he can follow them.

"How long has this one been training his Igni?"

"A little over seven months."

"Have the mages look at him when he wakes up. Something tells me he's been holding back, I've never seen a trainee use Signs as he does. He's remarkably powerful already when he lets go. Maybe Geralt is not the only special one after all."

“As you wish Rennes,” Vesemir says, walking after his boys.

***

Thank you for reading! I have an entire series of stupid headcanons like this one and a couple of fic if you’re interested on my AO3 page :)

[pressedinthepages]

Chapter 12: Threshold

Summary: In the aftermath of training, both you and Eskel find yourselves confused and seeking advice.

Series Masterlist

Words: 1966

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language, angsty, hurt no comfort...yet, neither of them are using the braincell.

    “What have I done?” You cradle your head in your hands, grasping at any thread of control to keep yourself together. Your mind races over all of the different shoulds that you had overlooked - should have kept Eskel at arm’s length, should have parted ways after that hunt, should have not let yourself fall for him all over again, should, should, should…

    You think that you could continue on this path, wallowing in your own mistakes that have changed the course of your life when you hear a sudden knock on your door.

    …

    “What have I done?” Eskel sits where you left him for a few minutes, stunned and achingly hard, but the latter problem ends up sagging into nothingness soon enough. He runs his hands through his hair, mulling over what he could have possibly done to warrant such a visceral reaction from you.

    He climbs to his feet and stumbles over to the stables. Eskel kicks up little puffs of snow with every step, his breath visible as it is pulled by the wind. When he shoulders open the doors he is hit with a comforting warmth from a fire raging in the fireplace. Li’l Bleater bounds over to him, clearly discontent with the fact that it has taken him so long today to come to see her. He typically comes here every morning before dawn, feeding all of the animals, brushing them down, and making sure that everyone will be comfortable until one of them can come let them out later in the day.  

    “Already took care of it, son,” a soft voice calls from one of the stalls before its owner strides out. Vesemir brushes his hands off on his jerkin, Lady following close behind him. Eskel leans against the wall and slides to the ground with a huff, Li’l Bleater clambering into his lap as soon as he is seated.

    “Vesemir, I-I think I’ve really messed up,” Eskel whispers, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He finds himself idly scratching the fur on Li’l Bleaters’ head as her eyes fall closed, clearly more than happy to keep him trapped here while he figures out his problems. 

    “I noticed the two of you training this morning, seemed like you were really working well together,” Vesemir’s voice is soothing as he runs his hands through Lady’s mane, swiftly untangling the knots and sectioning it to be braided. “Here, come help me.”

    Eskel sighs as he stands, crossing over to your horse. She snorts at him, somehow able to recognize the hurt that pours from him. She still lets him stroke along her nose as he offers an apple, then moves next to Vesemir as he takes some of the mane in his hands. 

    “Tell me what happened.” Vesemir doesn’t look away from Lady as he works, letting Eskel go at his own pace. 

    “Well, we were sparring, working on blocking and parries,”

    “Yes, I saw that,”

    “And then I overpowered her, brought her to the ground. But something shifted, like we weren’t training anymore, we were-I don’t know. But I felt like I just couldn’t pull away from her, no matter how hard I tried.”

    “Mhm, saw that too,” Vesemir hums, Eskel’s gaze snapping over to him. “That’s when I came in here, didn’t want to watch the two of you getting off in the middle of the courtyard.”

    “But that’s just it, we didn’t!” Eskel turns back to his braid, having to move back a few because he lost his place. “She twisted out, bringing us back to the fight. But then, she moved just right, and then she ended up bringing me down, and then when she was holding me there, we-gods, we just went somewhere, like the whole world fell away and all that was left was the two of us.”

    “And then, all of a sudden, she shot off of me, backing away like I was some feral animal.” Eskel’s voice breaks a little bit, but he clears his throat and keeps going, “She ran inside, and I have no idea what I did wrong...maybe I just read this all wrong.”

    …

    “Nah, you’ve got it right.”

    Geralt had shoved his way into your room when you opened the door, inviting himself in and making himself comfortable in the chair by the fireplace. You’d just finished going over the events of this morning, trying to figure out the easiest way to extract yourself back out of the corner that you’ve dug yourself into. 

    “What do you mean? I fucking held him down, and was using him, no more than some common whore.”

    “First of all, you wouldn’t do that to a whore either…”

    “What do you know, Geralt? We haven’t seen each other in three decades, you think you know how I treat the people I take to bed?”

    Geralt grunts, giving you a look, one that calls you on your bullshit without a single word.

    “You clearly care for him, what’s holding you back?”

    You give a breathy laugh, looking at him as if he had suddenly sprouted horns. “What’s holding me back? Hmm, let’s see. I’m essentially cursed-,”

    “Not true, and we’re going to find that son of a bitch,”

    “Witcher’s can’t feel-”

    “Wrong again, have you met Lambert? Fucking angriest prick I’ve ever met.”

    “And there’s no way he could ever feel the same for me. Why should he? I abandoned him, I abandoned everyone, and then, now, all I can think about is running again.”

    “No.” Geralt’s voice booms in your tiny room, startling you a bit when you meet his gaze. The fire in the grate reflects off of his eyes, only adding to the intensity there. You are suddenly struck with how similar he looks to Eskel, their body shapes almost identical and the only major differences between them being their hair and the scar that rakes along Eskel’s cheek. 

    “What do you mean, ‘no?’ I am a grown woman, Geralt, thank you very much, and I will not have you telling me what I can and cannot-”

    “Would you shut up for a moment? I am not trying to tell you what to do, but you really shouldn’t just run away from this...you have an opportunity here, a real opportunity to actually be happy, shouldn’t you take it?”

    …

    “An opportunity? Vesemir, she can’t possibly love me, I mean, look at me.” Eskel has started a second braid, thankful to be able to keep his hands busy. His braids are a bit sloppy compared to Vesemirs, but at least they’re better than what any of the others could do. 

    “Yes, boy, an opportunity. And gods, get over yourself. You think she actually cares about that scar?” Vesemir strokes along Lady’s flank as he speaks, laving her with care under his fingers. 

    “It’s all anyone sees Vesemir, she didn’t even recognize me at first…”

    Vesemir hums, quietly contemplating his next words. “But once she saw who you were, has she actually given you a reason to think that she thinks less of you because of them?” 

    Eskel falls silent, trying to remember if there had ever been a time that you were anything but caring towards him. Vesemir nods, taking his silence as answer enough. 

    “You should tell her. I remember when the three of you were young, how you and Geralt would bicker over her, and then you were the only one who still held a candle for her when you all started on the Path.”

    “‘Held a candle?’ Gods, Vesemir, sometimes I forget just how old you are.” Eskel teases, bringing a soft smile to Vesemir’s face. 

    “Shut it you, I’m just trying to help.”

    …

    “Yeah, well, your advice sucks.”

    You pace around your room, trying to see things from Geralt’s point of view. He keeps saying that it would be worth the risk to expose your long-repressed feelings for Eskel, but you can’t see past the horrifying concept of being known. 

  �� “Fucking hell, you’ve only grown more stubborn. What could happen, hm? What is so bad that could happen if you told him?”

    “He could push me away, leave me…” you whisper, terrified of that ever happening. 

    “Like how you left him?”

    You stop in your tracks, meeting his eyes from across the room. Your hands clench at your sides, fighting back the tears that begin to well in your eyes. You know he’s right, but you can’t bring yourself to admit that.

    “That’s low, Geralt.”

    “But am I wrong?” He crosses his arms, not backing down as you swallow and break eye contact, moving to the window. You look down at the empty training yard below, a fresh dusting of snow beginning to settle atop it.

    You hear Geralt cross to the door and open it, murmuring as he leaves, “You guys need to figure it out.”

    …

    Later that afternoon, you find yourself pulling open the door to the library. Eskel is perched on one of the windowsills, a thick book open in his hands. He looks up as you enter, something very complicated flying over his features before he turns back to the book. 

    You move to stand closer to him, probably able to touch him if you reached out. “What are you reading?” You ask lightly, hoping that he’ll ignore the way your heart is pounding inside of your chest. 

    “Beastiary, just freshening up. I fought an oddly strong bruxa a few months back, thought I’d see if there were anything in here about what might’ve been different about her.”

    Eskel suddenly slams the book shut, swinging his legs down from the sill to fully face you. You feel horribly vulnerable under his scrutinizing gaze, even though all you can see is confusion and weariness in his eyes. 

    “I just wanted to say-”

    “You know, I think that-”

    You both chuckle lightly, the tension palpable in the room when you both speak. Eskel gestures to you, silently asking you to speak first once more. 

    You take a deep breath and steel your nerves. “I wanted to apologize for earlier.” You hold up a hand as Eskel starts to sputter, clearly some argument coming to his lips. “It was inappropriate for me to take advantage of the situation like that, and I hope that you’ll forgive me.”

    “Forgive? Listen, if anyone should be apologizing, it’s me, I just-”

    “Eskel please, I just want to say this one thing.” He sighs and relents, falling quiet as he gently runs his thumb along the spine of the book. You can’t tear your eyes away from it as you speak, each word like a stab in the heart.

    “I think it would be easiest if we both just forgot that it happened. We can move on, still be friends, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you were cross with me after this.”

    Eskel looks as if he had just been slapped across the face with a fish, mouth agape and confusion written in every line on his skin. 

    “I-well, uh, if that’s what you want, that’s fine, um...” 

    You try to ignore the hurt that plagues his features, and the sorrowful scent that the room adopts and lets seep into the pages of the books tucked in the corners. 

    Instead, you extend your hand, bracing for him to slap it away and scream horrible things in your face. You know better though, Eskel has never been like that. He stews, lets the wrongs done against him sit deep in his belly until all of his anger bubbles over into an outburst of rage. 

    For now, though, he just takes your hand in his and gives a little shake, neither of you looking as though this was the outcome you had been hoping for.

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

No Man is an Island

final chapter. 

here’s to hoping y’all enjoy. 

 Part 5

Geralt shudders lightly when the bard strokes him again. The sticky mix of saliva and seed makes the bard’s fingertips lightly catch on his skin. He can’t believe Dandelion is making him hard again, and he has no idea what else they could possibly do without repeating anything. He’s so sensitive it almost hurts. They must both look a fright, covered in each other’s mess. Some part of him has craved this for so long he can’t blame the bard for trying to get in as much as possible as quickly as possible. Especially since he isn’t sure he wants to pursue this. He just isn’t sure he has the faith that he can keep the bard interested enough to keep him in his bed.

“I want you,” Dandelion tells him, kissing Geralt gently.

“I’m right here,” he says stupidly.

“Yes, I know, I would like to have you inside me, if you’re willing.”

“Oh,” he chokes for a second. “Yes,” he manages to get out, his throat squeezing with want. “We haven’t any oil,” he knows oil is necessary for this kind of thing even if he hasn’t done it. He’s not stupid.

“Spit will work, and so will this,” he tells Geralt, running his thumb over the head of Geralt’s cock. Geralt’s hips jerk involuntarily. “But if you’d rather not, I won’t blame you,” he says. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to,” he adds quietly. He means it.

“If you’re sure,” Geralt tells him in a low voice, fairly sure he would do anything the bard asked him to do, right now. If this really can be an isolated moment, then he would do whatever Dandelion wanted and think nothing of it later. Other than as a fond memory and something to touch himself to later when he felt lonely.

“Very sure, I’ve made do with less and it was a mistake.” The bard settles gingerly in his lap, kissing him all over his neck and face, pressing hands under his shirt against his skin and making Geralt feel extraordinary. He half wonders how Geralt has anything left to give, but he can’t complain about witcher stamina at a time like this. They shift and rearrange themselves until they’re both comfortable, and Dandelion takes Geralt’s hand and teaches him what to do.

Geralt groans low and soft in his throat when the bard eases down onto him all the way, and he freezes in paranoia again.

“It’s alright, no one to hear us,” Dandelion reminds him gently. “It’s just us, love, it’s just us.” He doesn’t move to do anything other than kiss Geralt reassuringly. “No one has any right to complain who you bed anymore, anyway, other than the person being bedded, and you.” He runs his fingers through Geralt’s hair, soothing and reassuring him until Geralt feels ready to keep going. “You’re so wonderful,” he whispers, and smiles when Geralt’s hips twitch. Praise is clearly a solid motivator for the other man. And it’s so easy to give it to him.

Geralt mostly sits back and allows Dandelion to do the bulk of the work, closing his eyes at times, absolutely overcome by the bard’s kind words. When he feels slightly less overwhelmed by it all, he leans back in and wraps his fingers around the bard’s cock, grinning when Dandelion gasps.

“Oh, yes, please do,” Dandelion encourages him. “Just go easy,” he asks.

“Was I too rough before?” Geralt can barely talk, it’s so hard to break that conditioning of decades of silence.

“No, no, not at all, I just don’t want this to be over too soon,” Dandelion tells him between breaths. “Do you want me to slow down, or speed up?” he asks, just in case Geralt has had enough.

“This is perfect,” Geralt admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He lets his free hand grip Dandelion’s hip and luxuriates in the motion over his body. Clearly this feels just as good to the other man as it does to him, if the soft moans and whimpers are any indication, and when Dandelion lets his head drop back baring his throat Geralt can’t resist kissing and nuzzling the soft flesh.

“Geralt,” Dandelion whispers, and his hands shift to grip the witcher’s shoulders. It takes Geralt a second to understand, but when Dandelion says his name again, he catches on. He lets his hand still, not wanting to help bring the bard over the edge because if he’s being honest, he isn’t ready for it to stop either.

“I want to come with you,” Geralt tells him quietly, almost ashamed. “I want us…together.”

“I can try,” Dandelion bites his lip. “Are you close?”

“I think so,” the witcher says raggedly.

“I will hold on as long as I can,” he promises, kissing Geralt hard for a few seconds. He shifts his position slightly so that it won’t be quite as pleasurable for him but should give Geralt a little more time to catch up.

“Almost,” Geralt tells him a few minutes later, panting lightly. Dandelion shifts again and can’t help but bite back a whine when Geralt works out how to push into him as he moves. It had taken him long enough to figure out he could participate properly. Not that it really mattered, it felt good to them both either way.

He presses his lips to Geralt’s as he climaxes, trying to muffle his soft cries and needy sounds. His fingertips dig into Geralt’s well-muscled shoulders and he’s gratified to feel the witcher crest with him.

They both sit there for a few minutes together, panting as Geralt slowly shrinks out of him. Dandelion gently strokes Geralt’s back, feeling the shivers that run through his lover’s body. He says nothing he wants to say, knowing it would put pressure on the other man. There’s no reason for that. This was good, and if nothing else they’ll always have this. To say it was wonderful and he can’t wait for more would be unfair. To tell Geralt how much he loves him, is also unfair. To thank him would be even stranger. For once, the bard stays quiet, listening to his own heartbeat thunder in his chest until it slows.

“Even with bathing, there’s no hiding this, is there?” Dandelion finally asks once his heartbeat is back to normal.

Geralt snorts, “No. Even if he didn’t smell it on me, he’d smell it on you. My scent is inside you now, for a while at least.”

“I suppose it is,” Dandelion agrees blandly. “Should I be sorry?”

“No.”

“Are we going to have to clean up in the ice-cold stream?”

“I think so,” Geralt tells him, not looking forward to it any more than he is. “I think I can get our saddle bags without waking Eskel. Provided he went to sleep.” The scent will still linger in the air, there’s nothing he can do about that other than hope by morning it dissipates.

“I’ll try and get myself mopped up some so there’s less time out here in the cold,” Dandelion tells him, for all he isn’t sure he’d brave the cold water in the night without the witcher’s eyes to help him. It might not be safe and if he slipped and fell or something stupid, he could get badly hurt and drown before Geralt got back. Perhaps he’ll just get his clothes wiped down as best he can manage.

Geralt does his best to move silently as he’d been trained. It doesn’t matter when he finds Eskel still awake. He winces as the other man wrinkles his nose. “Could you hear us?”

“No,” Eskel looks at him, and doesn’t say much of anything. He can see Geralt is waiting for him to do something and it would hurt his friend if he did. “When you don’t reek of… sleep next to me. Unless you decided early what to do about the bard.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then sleep next to me. You’ll be freezing anyway and I’ve already got the bedroll warm. If nothing else you found out what you were missing. Was I right or wrong? Being pretty like that giving him an excuse to be a terrible lay and make others do all the work?”

“Wrong,” Geralt says tightly, knowing there won’t be much hiding it. He can see Eskel evaluating his clothing in the firelight and he has seen it, too. He’s soaked in his and Dandelion’s seed.

“That’s good. If you decide you don’t want him as more, at least you got it out of your system.” He makes a slight face. “Or at least I hope you did.”  

Geralt hitches a shoulder in a shrug. He isn’t sure yet what the verdict is on that front, but things could be worse. “I don’t know if I should thank you or hit you,” Geralt tells him.

“Decide later.”

“I will.” He grabs up what he needs and walks back to the bard, glad to find him unharmed. They work together with quite a lot of cursing to get the worst of the mess out of their clothes and off their skin without having to get too cold or too wet. The stream only goes to Geralt’s knees, so it’s not deep but it is miserable. He’d brought soap, in hopes of lessening some of the smell of what they did, and he uses his shirt as a washcloth.

“Are you still alright?” Dandelion asks him, teeth chattering.

“Yes.”

“No regrets?”

“None,” Geralt tells him, surprised it’s true. For now at least.

“I know it changes nothing and I respect that, but I’m glad we’ll always have had that. Regardless. I hope it isn’t too forward to tell you that, I’d feel awful. I really… I really do not want you to feel any kind of pressure on my account, and I’m sorry if I caused any.”

Geralt shakes his head a bit. It could be like what he’d done with plenty of others at Kaer Morhen. Only all he’d ever done or had done was a far cry from what he and the bard had done. A few quiet hand jobs here and there were nothing like the amount of sex he’d had with Dandelion. But that hadn’t damaged any of his friendships with the other witchers and there’s no reason for this to, either. Other than perhaps the fact he wants to do it again some time.

By the time they’re both mostly clean, dried, and changed, Dandelion is almost warm again. Geralt isn’t, his slow heartbeat making it hard to maintain body heat when he’s chilled. They’ve rung their clothes out as best they can and make their way back to the campfire in companionable silence.

Dandelion knows better than to take offense when Geralt slips into Eskel’s bedroll. He could see that in their absence Eskel had moved things around so Geralt didn’t have much choice. In fact, he’s come to learn he’s glad Geralt has someone right now he can retreat to. Someone to help him process and feel safe. He’s unsurprised to see Eskel lift an arm as Geralt settles in, pulling the other man against his chest. They curl up together, and there’s a softness to it that melts the bard’s heart. Two deeply scarred men, both physical and emotional, curling into each other for comfort in spite of it all.

It’s nothing short of beautiful.

Eskel wakes first, having had plenty of time to nap and meditate while he was waiting on his travelling companions. He’s far more rested than either Geralt or Dandelion. He chooses not to get up, not wanting to disturb his friend. It won’t be long before Geralt wakes up anyway, they’re conditioned to rise with the sun most of the time. Especially out in the open with no way to block it out.

Geralt shifts a bit, opening his eyes slowly and noting he feels comfortable and disinclined to move. He curls in closer to Eskel, barely aware of where he is or what’s really going on.

“White Wolf is just so inaccurate,” Eskel grins, whispering. “It really should be White Puppy, or perhaps Kitten,” he teases, holding up a lock of Geralt’s hair against the light.

It occurs to Geralt they are not in their bed in Kaer Morhen, and they are both adults now and he needs to get out of the bedroll. They need to wash their spare clothes, as well. And he needs to bring the horses back to the stream in case they need water, stoke up the fire again, and figure out some kind of breakfast. He groans and pushes his face back into Eskel’s chest.

His friend tolerates the additional time wasted in a good-natured fashion before eventually poking and prodding at him until he decides it’s too uncomfortable to remain too close. By the time he’s made this decision and moved he might as well get up. Dandelion doesn’t sleep too much later, considering all the noise around the little camp rouses him. He automatically gets up to start helping, taking the horses back to the stream, but he chooses a spot a bit away from where he and Geralt had spent most of their night. He hopes it’s upwind, he’s trying, at the very least, to save Geralt from a little extra embarrassment.

By the time the witchers join him, they’re both stripping down and soaking their clothes in the water. Eskel’s spare change of clothing was already filthy and he didn’t have any spares to leave by the small campfire like Dandelion and Geralt had. The bard stares a bit, Eskel is just as badly scarred as Geralt and he’s never seen two people look so badly banged up. He’s also oddly surprised at how uninhibited they are about being nude.

“Like what you see?” Eskel asks when he catches Dandelion staring.

“It’s not that!” He protests indignantly, tugging his own clothes off to rinse. “I’ve just never seen two people with so many scars. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just, I know the story behind most of Geralt’s, but I don’t know anything about yours. And I realize it’s none of my business and I’ll just stay behind this nice big rock in the middle and not bother either one of you.”

Geralt huffs in exasperation while Eskel starts laughing. The darker witcher doubles over, unable to stop after a while, gripping Geralt’s shoulder to keep himself from falling over. Geralt has no idea what’s so funny about any of it, but he grins hesitantly in response to the other witcher’s mirth. Dandelion stares with his jaw slack and looks at Geralt.

“You’re allowed to laugh!?” He asks incredulously. Not that he hasn’t heard Geralt laugh before, but not with the same careless abandon Eskel is.

“I am, I do,” Geralt tells him, brows furrowing.

“Not that chuckle you do, or that silent little laugh, but like, Melitele’s tits, is he alright? Eskel, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Eskel wheezes for a few more seconds and wipes at his eyes. “Can you imagine, I’ve never seen someone have an entire conversation with themselves like that,” he grins. “You went through several assumptions all on your own, kept talking without letting anyone stop you, and then came to the wrong conclusion. Well, also technically the right one, but I don’t mind. Lambert would chuck you down the stream like a skipping stone, but I don’t care. One of these is from a succubus, another is from a pack of drowners. Over here is a harpy, and then there’s some wyvern marks here, and a cockatrice, then a pure basilisk…” he notes them all out individually. “I sincerely hope you don’t always do that to Geralt, though, where you assume everything he’d say.”

“Well, in my defense, as pitiful as it’s going to be, he would have said ‘fuck off bard’ in your place.” Dandelion does a passable imitation of Geralt’s gravelly tones.

Eskel looks over at Geralt who gives him a vaguely embarrassed shrug. It’s true. When he starts howling with laughter again Geralt knocks him over in the stream, utterly unrepentant. The cold water provides enough of a shock to stop Eskel from laughing, but it doesn’t stop him from being amused. Especially not when he’s able to knock Geralt over, too.

Dandelion chooses to work on getting his clothes clean so he can go back to their fire and put on his hopefully dry clothes from the night before. Otherwise he’s going to embarrass himself in front of both witchers because watching them do anything naked just isn’t fair. All that muscle and casual strength, and no hint of discomfort with it, either.

They don’t do much of anything once they’re both soaked, the cold stream making them far too miserable for any kind of play to keep happening. They quickly scrub their clothes and head back to the fire. Geralt’s glad that his clothes from the night before are only slightly damp and that the sun is warm. He won’t be uncomfortable for long. Eskel lays out his clothes near the fire and crawls back into his bedroll to wait until his things are dry as Geralt and Dandelion work on setting out food and packing up what’s unnecessary for the day. They intend to travel a bit rather than lose too much time. At least they’ll all smell better by the time they get to their destination. Which will make it easier to find a room at an inn and be taken seriously as something other than vagabonds.

Dandelion plays the lute for them while they wait, and they pass most of the morning in companionable silence. Bellies full, and clothes mostly dry, they pack up the camp completely and head out. The further on the road they get, the more Geralt drags. Finally, Eskel knows there’s no getting around dealing with it. The bard has noticed but is hesitant to do or say anything in case it makes things worse. He’s suspected the cause as well as the dark-haired witcher but knows it’s not his place to get into it.

“Dandelion, will you take the horses ahead a bit, we’ll catch up shortly.”

“I’ll see if there’s a spot to let them have more water and graze a bit, Roach is looking a little thin,” he says, even though it’s patently untrue. Geralt doesn’t even bristle like he might have, too miserable to consider himself insulted.

When the bard is far enough ahead that Eskel knows he won’t be able to hear them, he looks at Geralt. “We had to part ways again, and we won’t reach the town today, either. We have another day or so together.”

“I know,” Geralt huffs, misery stamped across his features in spite of his attempt to hide it.

“Then what?”

“And if our paths never cross again?”

“Geralt, you’re the only one stopping yourself from coming to the keep to winter. I’ve gone back a few times, Lambert usually overwinters. Vesemir lives there, as you know. Bring the bard. Come stay with us. I’ll head back there this winter. Sometimes I stay in the southern countries, sometimes I don’t.” Eskel watches Geralt for his reaction and steps in to hug him tightly. “This won’t be a goodbye.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt tells Eskel, unsure what’s wrong with him. He’s not prone to emotional displays. It had been such a change having Eskel around, someone he could just be himself with. He was too afraid to drop his guard with Dandelion entirely. He hadn’t wanted the bard to know he was in love with him. With Eskel, there’s no danger of that on either sides and it was safe to want comfort and shelter, and affection. It wouldn’t turn into anything more complicated.

“I’m glad our paths crossed,” Eskel tells him. He’s a bit overwhelmed by Geralt’s display, and is fairly sure his friend is crying again. “How long have you been stuffing all your feelings down?” he asks suddenly. It had been odd at first, for him. When he’d realized the elixirs and potions hadn’t worked and none of it was like that. He had gotten utterly shitfaced with a few other equally morose people and when one had started lamenting and crying they had all joined in. It wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat, but it had done him some good. He rarely had reason to cry, but he laughed when he wanted to laugh, got angry as he pleased, and let himself hurt when he needed to. Even if he didn’t display it like an average person would.

“When was the last time you saw me upset?”

“The forest the night before?” He knows what Geralt is asking. “When our friend Kelar died from the Changes. We were up all night. Do you remember, we all went into Erskin’s room, all of us. They didn’t even bother to punish us for it when they found us all in there.” That death had been the first of many, and the boys had reacted less strongly each time, but the dread they’d all felt when each one was taken through the process had increased until finally most of them were sick constantly with stress and fear. “So you’ve been packing down all of your feelings for almost six decades?” Eskel asks him incredulously.

“I was trying not to have them,” Geralt says thickly.

“And then you met someone who has given you quite a few, well, two someone’s from what I can tell.”

“I feel like I’ve been poisoned and fed saltpeter,” he mutters.

“The bard is making you more verbose and descriptive,” Eskel teases gently. He stays with his arms around his friend for a while, letting Geralt center himself. Looping an arm over his shoulders after, he walks with him as they slowly catch up to Dandelion. “I love you, Geralt, you’re one of my truest friends,” he says before they’re in earshot of the bard. “Come to Kaer Morhen this winter. Bring the bard, please. I pledge to keep him from harm, if that’s what worries you. Vesemir cannot fight us both. Not anymore. And he wouldn’t, anyway.”

“You truly think he’d tolerate the poet?”

“I think he’s bored, miserable, and alone, and someone was bright and cheerful as your friend will make us all pass the winter easier.” He ruffles Geralt’s hair and ignores the displeased sound he gets as a reward. “Or, if you chose to go it alone, then come alone. Or if you go back to the sorceress and she’ll agree to it, bring her. Just come back for a bit, alright?”

“Alright,” Geralt agrees, less devastated at the parting than he had been earlier. It had felt stupid. Then he blinks a bit and looks at Eskel. “I love you, too,” he feels almost stupid saying it. He grunts when Eskel elbows him lightly in the ribs. It had been right to say, he knows, he had needed to. Peace settles over him like a blanket and they alert the bard they’ve caught up.

The rest of the day is passed in relative calm, and when they camp for the night Geralt chooses to again share Eskel’s bedroll. They’ll reach their destination the next day, and it’s their last night together for months. “You’re lucky he’s not the truly jealous type,” Eskel smiles at Geralt before they fall asleep.

“Hmm?”

“If he was as jealous as he was earlier, for just a little bit, he’d never be able to stand this. He’s not all bad, your bard.”

“He’s not mine.”

“I don’t know about that, Geralt. You don’t have to choose him or change anything, but I don’t know about that. Go to sleep.” He grunts softly when Geralt shifts into him on purpose.

**

The camp packed up, the town within sight, Dandelion had suggested perhaps he and Geralt should head closer to Redania, and Eskel was thinking of heading further south again. Perhaps down past Cintra for a bit. There was more civil unrest, which meant more monsters feasting on corpses that needed killing. Personally, Geralt was hoping to stop in Ellander for a short bit, and they were already in Temeria. Perhaps he could convince Dandelion to go with him and then they could follow the river to Oxenfurt. Although he’d prefer to go overland where possible. Unless there was a contract to be stuck on a barge for a while.

It occurs to him as they travel that he’s decided he wants the bard to stay with him, but he hasn’t managed to figure out in what capacity yet. That doesn’t seem fair, but perhaps if the bard will be patient, he can work through it with his help. Decide what he truly wants. And what the bard is willing to offer in face of what the witcher needs.

Eskel finds a contract in town, and as promised Geralt leaves it to him. They’ll stay for a day or so while he wraps it up, and then hit the road again. Just in case he finds himself in need of help. The town isn’t overly hostile, but it’s better to know you have someone around whose got your back.

Dandelion finishes setting up the room in the inn they’d found, glad to have a way to get his clothes properly laundered and access to a hot bath. He doesn’t push Geralt to talk, doesn’t even try to engage him overmuch beyond making sure that the room will suit them both adequately.

Clean, fed, and comfortable, Geralt eases himself onto the bed next to the bard pulling the other man against his chest. He’s surprised Dandelion hadn’t been pushing him for answers the entire time. Apparently the bard did know how to be patient and show some restraint. “I want you to stay with me,” Geralt admits in a hoarse voice. “I don’t know if I want to behave like we did in the woods,” with absolute wanton abandon, “But I want to be with you. I want…but I don’t…”

“There’s conditions?” the bard asks gently, curling against the witcher. “Let’s hear them.”

“Are you mad?”

“Not yet, but if your condition is I stop singing songs, or something along those lines, I don’t know that we can work.”

“No!” Geralt winces. “I…If you’re sharing my bed I don’t want you to share another’s.”

“Agreed. Easily, but with a follow up question. If we’ve separated, even temporarily? Like we sometimes do in the winter?” He isn’t sure how Geralt would consider that. So he wants to know.

“So eager to make sure you can escape to someone else’s bed?” Geralt rasps.

“No, I just want to know if you intend to be sleeping with others and so I should know what to expect. I can be true to you, whether you’re in the same town or not, that’s easily done. I want to, if that’s what you want.”

“Come with me, to Kaer Morhen this winter,” Geralt pleads suddenly.

“I can do that,” he agrees easily. “Perhaps not every year? We could trade off, this winter at the keep, next winter at Oxenfurt.”

“Yes,” Geralt agrees.

“What else? What other conditions?”

“None, I think,” Geralt tells him.

“Well I have some for you, then.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows and feels a moment of alarm.

“Tell me when I’ve done something that hurts your feelings. Don’t wait five more months for us to head up north to Kaedwen and the keep so someone else can do it for you. And while I know you’re experienced in bed, if you don’t like something, you must let me know. I’ll adjust to your silence, and quiet breathing, but I have to trust that it doesn’t mean you’re bored, or unhappy. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”

“I don’t want to howl in bed,” Geralt tells him quietly after a moment. He wouldn’t mind feeling freer or safer, but he doesn’t want things to be loud.

“I won’t make you, or try. I was mostly teasing before. And my cock got away with me a bit. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.” He sits up to watch Geralt’s face. “I want us to be a pair, if that’s what you want. And you will have to learn to communicate some with me. I’m not asking you to share more of your past, or things you can’t bear to speak about.”

Geralt hesitates, feeling ridiculous. “I’m not stupid,” he finally says, unable to tell Dandelion to stop telling him he is.

“I know. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve said it and hurt you. I’m sorry for all the other ways I’ve misunderstood you or miscommunicated with you that’s hurt you. And I will try and listen better,” he says in a chagrined tone. “I’ve caused more harm than I meant to. To the person I’d like to harm the least. I am truly sorry.”

“It’s forgiven,” Geralt manages. His throat is oddly tight and if he could blush he’d be red. He hadn’t expected that. The bard had met his eyes the entire time, not a single word of it was a lie. “I will try and inform you of what is agitating me before I take it out on you.”

“You’ve been doing much better since Caingorn anyway, but I appreciate you’ll keep trying. And perhaps I’ll learn to stop being some of the cause of that agitation.”

Geralt snorts as if he to say he can’t imagine the bard not being part of the mess. His own feelings are always stirred up around the other man and it makes it harder. Then, one last thought hits him. “I don’t want to just have sex with you,” he says, not sure what he means. It’s not that he didn’t want to experience some of what they did again, it’s just he wants it to be different, he wants it to mean something different.

“I will make love to you as many times as you ask, in as many ways as suit us both, Geralt. What we did was fun, I enjoyed it. But it was meant to be a one time event. The next time we are intimate, it will be different. Do you regret it?” he asks fidgeting with his hands.

“No,” Geralt catches his hands and squeezes them tightly. “No. It was good. I just…I need… more,” he finishes lamely.

“And you will have it,” the bard promises. He smiles when Geralt leans in to kiss him, passionate but gentle and sweet. It isn’t the kind of kiss meant to lead to anything other than what it was. 

Dandelion took it for what it was, and kissed back, he loved the witcher. He would kiss Geralt like this as often as he wanted, until the end of his days.