#eskel convinces Geralt and Lambert to give lessons a go

[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.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nightmare of the Wolf: Review

There be spoilers ahead! For both the movie and other canons.

Context: I was really excited about this movie. Really excited. It's no secret that my favourite part of The Witcher as a franchise is the lore behind the witchers. I was hoping this would give me faith in The Witcher: Blood Origin, even if the main show was a complete loss for me personally. Vesemir, Vesemir, Vesemir. Yes, give me more of a hugely overlooked character.

Summary: I am bitterly disappointed, and the more I think about what I've seen, the more disappointed I become. I would like to emphasise that this is my personal opinion, but I feel like the movie overlooked/understated a major lesson of the IP, and that's the power of hatred and prejudice to stir up fear, and how genocide/massacres are always "justified" with lies.

Positives (there are some):

Vesemir's characterisation in the movie will hopefully do a lot to equalise the Papa Vesemir headcanon that many have, but also the one that tries to paint him as an uncaring monster: he's more complex than both. In the movie, he starts off as a rogue that completely dismisses Fil's request for aid. This is a far cry from how we know/see Geralt behave, regularly sacrificing himself and his 'neutrality' to do the right thing (to the point he sacrifices his life in Rivia after finally deciding to live for himself). This is something he learns from his mentor.

By the end of the movie, Vesemir is something of the man that will turn Geralt into what we know. I kept one of Geralt's lines while fighting the Wild Hunt from TW3 in the back of my mind ("Who taught you to fight like that?" "The man you slew."), because it encompasses their relationship for me. Probably because of Cockle's delivery of the line, to be honest.

Luka! Queer representation.

The one-armed witcher and other witchers with visible disabilities and deformities as a result of their profession. I figure he's half-dwarf (because we all know thoroughbred non-humans can't be witchers, right, Hissrich? RIGHT?)

Witchers as roguish bastards. Yes, please. More, I love it. Not all witchers are nice people (like not all humans are nice people); I like the emphasis on Geralt as the exception to the norm (and perhaps Eskel and Lambert too, based on my previous canon analysis).

There is lots of scope to write fanfiction about the relationship between Fil and Vesemir, but I haven't really liked the movie enough to spend time on it myself, so I will look forward to the efforts of others.

The soundtrack! Oh my - it was great.

Negatives (fuck, where do I begin?):

The Leshen. It's later explained that monsters have been spliced and mutated, but what the actual fuck was that? Other than the bursting into bats thing and the vines, it was wholly unrecognisable as a forest spirit.

What the fuck are those Signs? Vesemir makes a literal light display. I know it's "anime", but, c'mon.

Do we not have enough raven-haired sorcerers, Netflix? Could we not have adapted her character model a little to make her more unique and less generic?

They buried their gay because of course they fucking did. Why not behead one of the other witchers? Why not let Luka die in the battle with his brothers? It just felt so... predictable.

"Vesemir gave me my name" - are we to understand that scene right at the end was Vesemir giving Geralt his name? But Lambert and Eskel already had theirs while they were going through the Grasses? And Geralt's already been through, so he had his name? Is this an inconsistency or Netflix forgetting canon again?

Lambert and Eskel are older? Or is Geralt just that malnourished? Not only are you taking away Eskel as Geralt's closest friend from me, you're also going to take Lambert as the last to be mutated? The youngest wolf witcher?

A mage justifying hatred with corruption is... laughable. I think (I hope) we're meant to pick up on the absurdity of that, but I'm not convinced some viewers will.

They could have shown Tetra’s plans a little? Was she conspiring with someone else? How did she gather those mages? Why were they following her lead? Mages sometimes fight within themselves, did everyone support that group? Did the conclave know about it? (Some friends have said it could have been a mini-series; I agree, but then I would have had to endure a greater massacre of the IP I loved, so... you know).

They kinda fridged it (look up WiR or "fridging")? They killed Vesemir's love interest so that he had the motivation to... be a better person? To at least keep some of the promises that he made to her? To move his plot and story along? I... hmm, great.

And here it is. My main one:

They turned the pogrom into something that could be "justified/deserved"/gave it any reasoning whatsoever: the witchers were making new monsters to kill innocent people so they could keep working.

They literally ripped another part of the soul out of the IP. The pogroms were meant to be a product of fear, hate and prejudice. The idea that the Witchers - now they weren't really needed, because they had the audacity to demand payment for their work - were now unwelcome. It was part of a bigger anti-nonhuman sentiment spreading through the Continent; an extension of the one that had consumed the elves and every other non-human race. The "oop, we created this to serve us but now it's slightly problematic so we're going to try and bury them". Not a crusade by a pissed off sorceress that required her to 'reveal proof' of their duplicity.

There was a small nod to the fact that some witchers were looking for other work (therefore not all part of this scheme; Vesemir wasn't), but when mapped together with the rest of the movie? What the fuck.

Overall, the lore was a mess. I'm still trying to work out the timelines and where Netflix has decided to place Lambert, Eskel and Geralt. Needless to say, I won't be using any of this canon in my stories. Nothing. Zilch. I made a post saying it never claimed to be "based on anything" (spoiler: it claimed that in the actual credits though) so we could see it as fun, but it wasn't fun for me after the first 15 minutes. Because it so seriously missed the heart and soul of the witcher.

The Rivian Pogrom that kills Geralt is never really explained. You know why? Because hatred is illogical. That's the point. THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT. That isn't targeted at Witchers specifically, but non-humans.

But, according to the Nightmare of the Wolf: the witchers invited the sacking on to themselves. Fuck. Off.

And just in case you think you have to acknowledge any of this as canon? Here's the showrunner giving you permission to yeet her entire fanfiction and make your own.

Thanks, SparkNotes. I'll keep that in mind. You need to drop the "based on the books" bit and replace it with "loosely inspired by" (or did we just read two entirely separate series?)

[narniaandplowmen]

The Wild Abandoned

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Also on AO3

6773 words.

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply

Complete

When he arrived back at the foot of the mountain, Geralt most decisively went in the complete opposite direction of Jaskier’s smell. He didn’t hear the animal following him at a safe distance.

* * *

Jaskier didn’t necessarily plan on following Geralt. They just happened to be travelling in the same direction, that was all.

CHAPTER 1 - The Wild Abandoned

Animals following him wasn’t that unusual, all things considered. Most creatures were curious about this strange, not-quite-human being travelling through their territory, but even when Geralt fed them the scraps of his own meal none of them had followed him for - Geralt narrowed his eyes and mentally tallied. For five days, at least. Of which Geralt spent only three asleep, deciding to hurry his travels as his coin ran out. He had heard rumours of Posada looking for a Witcher, and - although he hated himself for it - he hoped none had shown up yet. He did not have to check his purse to know there was only one coin left in it, nor did he need to check his supplies to know they were dwindling. Geralt sighed as he heard the creature following him speed up to catch up with the chestnut mare. Whatever it was, it would be scared away as soon as he arrived in Posada. If there was any lesson Geralt had learned over and over and over again during his time on the Path, it was to never get attached.

In Posada, he met a bard named Jaskier, and his life changed.

Two decades later, on a mountain, half the continent over, his life changed again.

When he arrived back at the foot of the mountain, Geralt most decisively went in the complete opposite direction of Jaskier’s smell.

He knew the smell of humans lingered, but five days, an equal amount of baths in the Gwenllech and three un- and repackings of his supplies later, Geralt could still faintly smell the bard’s distinctive, pinewood, autumn leaves and wolve’s fur smell, although the flowery perfume he usually masked it with was gone.

Geralt tried to blame his surroundings for creating the smell, but he knew there were no pine trees to be found for at least a hundred miles.

It was still the middle of summer as well.

He didn’t hear the animal following him at a safe distance.

* * *

He knew it was still too early to arrive in Kaer Morhen, so although this far North wasn’t his usual territory, he took whichever jobs he could get. The benefit of breaking out of his usual stomping grounds was, aside from the fact that the ‘Butcher of Blaviken’-legend was not tied to his name, that Jaskier’s joyful catchy kind annoying songs hadn’t reached the area either. A group of drowners, two frighteners, a wreight and a cockatrice later, he could almost forget what happened on the mountain.

Almost.

It wasn’t till the beginning of October, after the wreight but before the second frightener, that Geralt noticed he was being followed. The animal seemingly attempted not to get noticed, timing his footsteps at the exact rhythm of the latest Roach, a horse with a surprisingly consistent walk. Geralt did not know how long it had been following him, but that night he purposefully didn’t finish the rabbit he had hunted and roasted, throwing the bones with plenty of meat in the bushes behind him, in the general direction of the sound of softly padded paws touching the forest floor.

The next day, the bones and meat were still there.

The sound, however, was gone.

He tried not to let the overwhelming silence bother him.

Three days later, Geralt was almost convinced his offer had scared the creature away. Either that, or the pouring rain had caused the animal to give up on his curious pursuit, and find shelter somewhere in the cavernous mountains. The resulting floods paid Geralt’s next meal and shelter as he took care of the drowners plaguing one of the small Northern villages. They pay had been small, but the citizens thanked him for arriving so quickly. For a moment he feared that the villagers would burst into an all-too-familiar song, but instead they told him a neighbouring place needed his help as well.

After fighting the second freightner, the now-familiar sound of the animal’s steps returned. So did the rains, and Geralt decided to cut this season short and turn his meandering route into a direct journey to Kaer Morhen, the closest thing to a home he knew, except for- No. The closest thing to a home he knew. Geralt stared at the deer-made path ahead of him and banned all thoughts from a certain bard out of his head.

* * *

The creature, whatever it was, kept following him. If his medallion hadn’t stayed silent, Geralt would almost be worried. It was far away from its own territory now that the towering, deciduous-treed and cavernous Dragon Mountains had been replaced by the equally towering but pine-treed, steep-cliffed Blue Mountains. The creature hadn’t accepted a single offer of food, or shelter, or warmth. Not even when Geralt, silently cursing his own idiocy, had called out into the forest that the food thrown away was intended for this mysterious pursuer.

Geralt almost considered travelling the long way so he would pass through the planes, simply to see if the creature would follow, would allow himself to be seen, but that morning he woke up covered in a thin layer of snow.

He saddled Roach, saw his latest offering of food was once again ignored, and hastened his journey towards Kaer Morhen.

The creature followed, even during the treacherous journey towards the Witchers’ Castle.

Geralt almost resented the idea of wintering inside, since the creature would surely leave before spring.

‘You can’t follow me inside, you know. A castle isn’t fit for wild animals to thrive,’ Geralt had called into the dark two nights before arriving home. ‘You should go back. To your territory. To your family, if you have one. And if not, I am sure that you will be able to start one, if you are strong enough to follow me this far.’

His reply, as usual, had been silence.

The next day, the creature followed still.

* * *

‘Geralt! You’re uncharacteristically early,’ Vesemir greeted him at the gate.

‘Stayed North this time. I- I was already on my way back, simply hurried my way when the snow started.’

‘You were on your way back? Did that bard of yours finally take that teaching position Oxenfurt has been begging him to accept?’

Geralt placed his bags on the stable floor a little more violently than needed.

‘He’s not my bard. And I don’t care what he is doing right now. It’s not my concern.’

That evening, after a bath in the hot springs and a nice bowl of soup eaten next to the safety and warmth of the fire, the entire story came out, and Vesimir’s heart bled for his young pup.

* * *

Geralt didn’t mention the strange creature that had been following him until Eskel arrived two weeks later, mentioning that he had been followed for the last days of his journey home.

He wasn’t jealous at all when Lambert, arriving five days later, reported he had seen a wolf-like creature from a distance. Nor did he find an excuse to leave the dinner table to train his frustration away when Lambert said he had even fed the creature, for it looked haggard and ragged.

* * *

They didn’t speak of the creature till mid-December, when the three men went out into the snowy wilderness to hunt for fresh meat.

The creature was still there, following them from a distance.

‘If that thing ate every living thing on the mountain, we might not catch any prey at all,’ Eskel wondered aloud after two hours of fruitless searching.

‘Well, it clearly didn’t eat every living thing on this mountain,’ Lambert replied, to a frowning Eskel.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, we’re still here.’

‘I would barely call you ‘living’,’ Eskel retorted, steadying his stance just in time for Lambert to pounce on him.

‘Shh guys!’ Geralt hissed, focussing on a sudden burst of sound in the forest. A running predator, a fleeing prey,  breaking branches, noises rapidly going louder until CRACK a frightened deer broke through a frozen bush, leaping over Eskel, a panicked cry as the Witcher grabbed her leg and pulled her down.

‘It does feel pretty unfair,’ Lambert mused as they dragged the carcass back to the castle. ‘This isn’t our prey, we stole it from that wolf. Should we, like, leave a part of it as some sort of thanks?’

Geralt ignored his two brothers but did hold out his bloodied sword when they decided to leave a part of the animal behind.

The next morning, the Witchers were woken up by a loud howl. When Geralt looked outside, he saw a bloody trail leading from the forest to the castle gate, where their offering was returned. ‘Looks like we didn’t steal its prey after all.’

* * *

The knowledge that, outside of the thick, stone walls, there was some creature looking out for them, made it a strange winter. From the brief glances in the dark evening, they had concluded it must be a wolf, but no reasoning for its seeming loyalty could be found. There was no magic, no curses or spells, no laws of surprise offered to pregnant wolves that could explain the presence of the animal. It didn’t seem to want shelter, and offered food was only touched occasionally. Any attempts at luring it out of the forest failed, as the wolf seemed to know when they were watching.

Geralt didn’t attack his brothers more aggressively during their training when the only consistency they could find was that the wolf didn’t seem to want to accept anything from Geralt, nor show itself when Geralt was nearby.

He also didn’t resent Vesemir when he told them one morning that he had seen the wolf prowling around the castle, and that when he had spoken to it, it had sat down and listened, its head slightly tilted and bright blue eyes surprisingly intelligent.

And that spring, when he travelled south and heard the creature following him, he most certainly didn’t feel relieved.

That was, not after he heard the news that the famous bard Jaskier had gone missing, hadn’t been seen in almost a year. Rumours were that the last time he was spotted, was in the presence of a certain white-haired witcher.

His arrival in larger cities was met with thrown rocks and angry insults.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be called a butcher and a murderer.

It was yet another reminder never to get attached.

The first coherent thought in Jaskier’s mind as he carefully made his way down the mountain was his internal surprise that he wasn’t crying. In all the songs of heartbreak and rejection, there were tears, heartbroken cries of anguish and dramatic falling to the knees. But the reality was that Jaskier was empty. Completely and utterly empty. For once he was devoid of words, devoid of song, devoid of poetic descriptions, laughs, chatter, of everything that made him the apparently so burdensome travel companion as he was.

The second coherent thought in Jaskier’s mind as he gathered his stuff from the inn and made his way into the forest was that he was lucky he never showed his more useful side to the Witcher. If he had, his broken heart would now most likely be literally torn to pieces. Geralt didn’t kill monsters, only if they hurt others.

And isn’t that what he did?

* * *

It took him half a day to find a body of water large and still enough to reflect his entire length. On the edge of the cave’s pool, lit by a hole in the ceiling letting in the midday sunlight, he started taking out his belongings, dividing them into three neat piles of ‘keep’, ‘toss’ and ‘hide’. The cavern itself gave ample opportunity for ‘hide’, and whatever he deemed unworthy of keeping was tossed in the ice-cold water. Whilst he waited for the stillness of the water to return, he methodically packed the rest of his belongings, taking in each item with precision.

A spider building his web in the opening between the light bright world of the insects and the darkness of the cave the eight-legged creature preferred, looked down at the strange man below him. He seemed to stare into the water for an eternity, before the form shifted, turned, and ran.

* * *

He didn’t necessarily plan on following Geralt. They just happened to be travelling in the same direction, that was all. Sure, there were quicker ways to reach the undiscovered regions north of Haakland, but those weren’t safe. Passing through planes and cities in this shape would certainly cause his end.

Jaskier told himself that travelling as a human would only slow him down.

He told himself that he couldn’t perform with this emptiness inside.

He knew that was nonsense, he knew he could act, pretend, and nobody would notice.

He followed Geralt anyway.

* * *

It was almost as if the past two decades hadn’t happened. It was almost as if he was still a young wolf, on his way back home after receiving his education, following a mysterious rider smelling of adventure and death and destiny.

Like last time, it took Geralt an embarrassingly long time to notice his presence. Unlike last time, he had gotten quite good at timing his footsteps to match that of Roach’s. And unlike last time, Geralt had thrown meat and bones in his direction.

Jaskier refused to eat. He could take care of himself, without being a burden.

He made sure to take a different route that night, knowing the direction in which Geralt was headed. He was practised with catching up to the Witcher by now, he was almost surprised that he had been able to find the man at all. If he was the cause of all of Geralt’s suffering, you’d think someone with Witcher training would be able to avoid him.

Then again, you’d think someone with Witcher training would know what he was.

* * *

After fighting a lost garkain without Geralt noticing a thing, Jaskier decides to follow the man for the Witcher’s own safety.

He does not allow himself to think about why Geralt is so out of form that he doesn’t notice a garkain following him for a full day, or the fight happening less than fifty miles from his camp. Instead, Jaskier blames the rain for Geralt’s sudden ineptitude.

He rejoins Geralt after he exits the village where he, according to two children playing witcher-and-monster a little too far into the woods, has defeated a freightener. He ignores every offering of food the Witcher throws in his direction. Not even when the man stupidly yells into the forest that the food was meant for him. There are enough squirrels and rabbits to hunt himself.

He never allows the Witcher to see him.

* * *

They are about a two-days journey away from Kaer Morhen when Geralt addresses him again. ‘You can’t follow me inside, you know. A castle isn’t fit for wild animals to thrive. You should go back. To your territory. To your family, if you have one. And if not, I am sure that you will be able to start one, if you are strong enough to follow me this far.’

If Jaskier were human, he’d laugh. ‘What do you think I am doing,’ he thinks instead. ‘Where do you think I am going? My territory is not where you finally noticed me following you. My territory is here, with you.’

It’s that last thought that makes him halt. His territory isn’t the Haakland’s mountains anymore, it isn’t the pack he left behind, nor is it Oxenfurt, nor is it any court he has performed at. His territory for the past twenty years has been Geralt.

But Geralt’s territory has never been him.

He follows Geralt to the top of the mountain and then makes his way down to await the Witcher’s brothers.

* * *

Eskel notices he is being followed after an hour. Lambert after fifteen minutes. As some sort of price, he allows the Witcher to see him, for just a bit.

He graciously accepts the offered food. He stays on the mountain, unable to leave his territory.

He knows it’s pathetic, he knows he should leave, he knows he will easily be able to take up the position as Alpha and lead his family through Haakland and beyond.

He stays near Geralt anyways.

* * *

It is well into December when he hears three pairs of footprints and silent banter echo through the forest he has now gotten to know so well. The Witchers, out for a hunt. He shrugs, listens where they are headed, and turns to run the other side.

He follows them, of course. And when he sees a lost deer that could feed him for the next month to come, he chases it towards them.

He wastes his precious energy that night dragging their pitiful offering back to the castle’s gate. An Alpha takes care of his pack, not the other way around.

He only eats from their offered food thrice. Twice out of politeness, and once because he is desperate. There isn’t much game and the mountain is cold.

* * *

He doesn’t approach the castle when he knows Geralt is watching. He knows the others have seen glances of him, and he secretly wonders if Geralt is frustrated that he is the only one who hasn’t. He wonders if Geralt has even noticed that he is the only one who hasn’t seen him.

In mid-February, during a particularly bright night, Vesemir talks to him. It’s mostly stuff Jaskier already knows: about who and what the Witchers are, about their history, about their home. But it is also things he doesn’t know. Vesemir tells about Lambert’s love for a Witcher from a different school, about Eskel’s insecurities regarding his scars, and finally, right before dawn starts to break, Vesemir tells him about Geralt. About how he most tortured of the children adopted into in Kaer Morhen managed to find joy on the Path in the shape of a brightly-coloured bard, who followed him and cared for him relentlessly for twenty years. About how he could finally let go of the heavy burden of his responsibilities, how he could finally see it as a joy rather than an oppressive fate. About how he realised the mortality of this human bard when he visited a village just as the little boy whose life he once saved was being carried to his grave by his grandchildren. About how all of the Witchers learned to never get attached. About the danger of the wolf being there, for it is clear the inhabitants of the ancient castle are getting attached to his weird loyalty.

That spring, Jaskier follows Geralt on the Path. He is his territory, after all.

Jaskier is too forgiving. When Geralt exits the first big city with wounds and quickly forming bruises, he is once again reminded the rest of the world is not.

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 belongs to this

Content warning: Memory loss (only briefly and not shown too explicitly) and brief mention of future death (very brief and only in the last section. To skip stop at ““I am with Jaskier,” he said instead of a real answer”)

can be read as a stand alone, I think. Only brief references to earlier chapters

Almost 5k sorry. I blame Lambert for this

“I’ve been thinking,” Geralt said and let his hand trace lazy patterns over Jaskier’s arm. “But I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Promising start.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh. “Sometimes I do have good ideas.”

“Mhhmm,” Jaskier said and snuggled closer to him, his hand coming to rest on Geralt’s chest. “Staying in bed was an excellent idea. So what have you been thinking about?”

Jaskier dragged the blanket further up until it almost covered his whole face, only the eyes peeking out to look up at Geralt.

Geralt hoped Jaskier couldn’t feel his heart speed up uncomfortably. He had been toying with this idea for a while now, ever since he had realised that it would be no use trying to regrow their flowers. The time for that had passed and the air had become too cold for them to sprout.

“You are cold, aren’t you?” He didn’t need to ask that question when the answer was so obvious in the way Jaskier was seeking out his warmth while being buried under a heap of blankets.

“Of course I am. It’s mid-autumn.” His tone took on a teasing note. “Good thing I have a lovely witcher to keep me warm.”

“What if you had more than that?” The question was out before Geralt could stop his mouth. He silently cursed himself. He had meant to ease Jaskier into his idea, not blurting his thoughts out as they came.

Jaskier’s brows knitted together and he rose slightly to get a better look at Geralt.

“I don’t need more than that. You are quite enough for me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Geralt swallowed nervously. “I meant, what if you had more than one witcher around you? With no flowers to sell, no music lessons and no contracts we won’t have much this winter.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jaskier’s words tumbled out of his mouth with all the enthusiasm of a young bird that was soaring up into the sky for the first time. “Please say you’re taking me to Kaer Morhen!”

Geralt sighed. This was exactly why he had hesitated to tell him. “Do you think you will manage there? You know the winters aren’t very … pleasant in the keep. Colder than here.”

“Lucky me then, that I have a lovely witcher to keep me warm,” Jaskier repeated with a playful smirk.

Geralt’s lips twitched up, but his fingers stilled in Jaskier’s hair. As much as Jaskier’s enthusiasm made his heart leap, he needed him to be serious.

“It’s just an idea,” he said carefully. “I haven’t thought much about how to get there yet. I don’t want to disappoint you if it doesn’t work out.”

Jaskier swatted his hand against his chest. “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried. Not when you’re so sweet suggesting we could go see the family again.”

Geralt’s lips stretched into a real smile at the word family. He had known of course that this was what his brothers and Vesemir were to Jaskier, but there would never come a day where Geralt would tire of hearing Jaskier say it out loud.

“Now, as much as I love being utterly lazy and cosy in bed with you,” Jaskier said while throwing the blankets off, ignoring his own shivering. “I believe we have preparations to make.”

--

“I can’t believe I ever missed this.” Yennefer’s voice cut sharply through Jaskier’s chatter, as he was doing his best to introduce Yennefer and Kris, who had been helping them with their travel preparations, to each other while also being unable to form a coherent sentence out of excitement.

Kris just gave Yennefer a lopsided grin and a nod in greeting.

“I guess you’ll be taking over from here?” they asked, fond exasperation in their voice.

Yennefer scoffed, though her eyes rested softly on Jaskier, not hesitating to steady him should the need arise. “I’m only taking them to their little vacation spot and then I’m off. Nothing could convince me to endure more of this” she nodded her chin towards Jaskier’s ear-to-ear- grin “than necessary. I don’t know how you do it.”

Kris just shrugged, but whatever answer they might have given was cut short by Jaskier’s mock offended gasp.

“You – “ he pointed an accusatory finger at Yen. “You love me and you know it. You just lack the mental strength to compete with my wit and charm.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at them. At least one thing that hadn’t changed, Geralt noted with the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Come on then,” Yennefer said. “We have no time to waste. Any longer and Jaskier might become ancient instead of just old.”

With a sly smirk she turned to Kris, whose eyes widened at the sight of the portal that appeared in front of the cottage at a wave of Yennefer’s hand. They looked on in wonder, as Geralt guided Jaskier through it. The last thing he could hear was a bemused “Enjoy your time off from these idiots” before the familiar headache that came with walking through a portal overtook his senses, only receding when he stepped out to feel frozen forest floor beneath his feet, the wall of Kaer Morhen towering over him.

“Since when are you able to portal so close to the keep?” he asked with a frown once Yennefer had passed through the portal as well.

“Since your bard would break his neck trying to make his way up the mountains,” she said, a look of barely concealed worry on Jaskier, who was swaying and leaning heavily against Geralt. Apparently travelling per portal didn’t get any easier with age. “I will renew the warding spells soon enough. At least until I have to get back here in spring to get you back.” Her lips quirked up. “That is unless Jaskier doesn’t do something to piss me off in the next few hours, making me leave you two to get back on your own.”

“Thank you, Yen,” Geralt said, hoping that his voice conveyed all the sincere gratitude he felt. None of this would have been possible if Yennefer hadn’t answered his letters so quickly, ready to make sure that Jaskier was safe and happy for the winter, even if she didn’t let up with her taunts.

“Just go see the others. I’m sure they’re already waiting for you.”

Yennefer was, of course, right.

The three of them hadn’t yet reached the gates, when they heard a shout of “Get your arses out here! They’re finally here!” coming from inside the keep.

Geralt felt his shoulders relax at Lambert’s unmistakable voice and the last of his tension left him, once he saw his family walk towards him. It had been too long. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed them.

The only thing keeping Geralt from running towards his brothers and tackling them into a long overdue hug was Jaskier, who was still gripping tightly to his arm.

The other witchers stopped their approach, their smiles frozen, when they finally laid eyes on Jaskier.

They stood still, as if Jaskier was a scared animal that could spook at any sudden movement.

No, that was not it. They looked, like they were scared of Jaskier. To anyone else they might look no different than on any other day, but Geralt knew them well enough to see the hints of fear around their eyes.

His heart clenched as Eskel turned his face slightly, a vain attempt to hide his scars in the shadows. Coën unfolded his arms, hunching his shoulders to make himself appear smaller and less threatening, while Vesemir did his best to ease his frown into what might have looked approachable and welcoming for a witcher, but for anyone not knowing them, would still seem like a threatening scowl.

Lambert was the only one, who did nothing to hide the tension in his body and his strained expression.

For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity no one said a word. Geralt could hear his brother’s stuttering hearts and held breaths.

The unspoken ‘What if he doesn’t remember us?’ hanging heavily in the air.

An indignant snort next to him broke the silence.

“It’s been a while since my beauty has left anyone speechless for that long,” Jaskier said with a wink, not a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Or maybe you don’t even recognize my handsome face under all these wrinkles?”

“Fuck, buttercup.” Lambert was the first to release his breath in a sharp laugh, laden with relief. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Jaskier’s answering laugh was enough to ease the tension out of the others. Smiles took the place of tense frowns and they finally got to embrace after years of being parted, only breaking away from each other when Jaskier’s shivering became too hard to ignore and he was ushered inside by Vesemir.

--

Jaskier hadn’t said anything about it, but it was obvious that he was aching. Winters were always harder for him and the sudden change in the climate - travelling from the mildly chilly south to the frozen north in a manner of minutes – left Jaskier shaking and pulling a grimace he was barely able to hide at every movement he made.

Yennefer clicked her tongue disapprovingly when Jaskier insisted that he was fine. She would hear none of his complaints, when she brought forth something that looked almost like candy, but judging from the face Jaskier pulled when he swallowed it, tasted nowhere close to the delicious treats he always liked to sneak.

It was worth it, though, to see the poorly concealed expression of pain fade from Jaskier’s face.

His steps were still slow and a bit wobbly at times, but Jaskier made it back to the library where the others were sitting, ready with blankets and a roaring fire in the hearth, without even once groaning in pain.

“What did you give him?” Geralt asked Yennefer quietly, once Jaskier had nestled himself under the blanket with Eskel, swatting away Eskel’s attempts at draping the blanket in a way that wouldn’t leave an inch of Jaskier bare.

“It takes away some of his pain. Triss showed me how to make it.”

Geralt perked up, willing his heart not to speed up in foolish hope. “It’s healing him?”

Yennefer sighed and leaned back, her eyes boring into Geralt with fierce seriousness. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.”

“I wasn’t –“

“Of course you were. Yes, it’s healing him in a way. It makes sure he is feeling a bit stronger and makes it so that Jaskier won’t hurt that much. But what he has is nothing that can be healed. Not permanently.”

Geralt felt himself deflate, even though he had known nothing would ever come of this train of thought. “He will still age.”

“As he should.” Before Geralt could speak up again, she gave him his answer. “I can do nothing about his mind either. I won’t alter any part of who he is. And this is who he is now.”

“Our lives have been made longer.” Geralt wasn’t sure why he said it. One could hold a sword to his throat and still he wouldn’t subject Jaskier to even half of what had been done to them. It just…Geralt had to at least voice it, even as he knew the thought would be leading nowhere.

“You don’t want that for him,” Yennefer said softly.

“No. I don’t.”

“He doesn’t want that either.” She paused, letting her eyes drift over to Jaskier, who was talking animatedly about their garden, describing the flowers in vivid detail and imagining with a dreamy expression how pretty wolfs and the griffin would look with flowers in their hair. “I talked to him about it, did you know? Must have been almost a decade ago. I offered to look into magic that could prolong his life. Do you know what he said?”

Geralt grunted, not sure if he wanted to hear it.

“He said his songs gave him all the immortality he could want. He said he was allowing himself to make the selfish choice and grow old.”

Geralt scowled, but swallowed down against the lump in his throat that was making his words come out choked. “Nothing selfish about being human.”

“Many would disagree.”

Laughter rang through the library as Jaskier brought one of his anecdotes to conclusion, his warm eyes landing on Geralt with a smile that showed off all of his wrinkles in their full beauty.

Something that had been pressing uncomfortably on his heart came lose in Geralt’s chest. “Nothing selfish about being happy then.”

Geralt’s eyes didn’t leave Jaskier, even as Yennefer reached out for his hand and offered the little comfort with her touch that she could. He skin felt smooth against his. Geralt missed the wrinkles of Jaskier’s fingers.

“I wouldn’t have had to see you grow old and aching all the time, if we had stayed together.”

“No,” Yennefer agrees. “But neither of us would have been as happy as you two are and as I am with Triss.”

“Nothing selfish about being happy.”

--

Yennefer had barely left the keep to go back to her own happiness, when Jaskier called out for him to get the thing they talked about.

Geralt dodged his brothers’ questioning eyes. Jaskier had spent too long agonizing over this to spoil it for him. Immediately after sending the letter to Yennefer asking her to help them with a portal, Jaskier had started gathering ideas for this, even writing them down, so as not to run the risk of forgetting anything.

Jaskier was practically vibrating with excitement, when he took the bag from Geralt under the curious eyes of the others.

Geralt shooed Eskel off his seat next to Jaskier and took it in his stead, ignoring the only mildly scolding look he received.

“Vesemir, you are first,” Jaskier said brightly and held something out for the eldest witcher, who accepted the gift with a lifted eyebrow. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he read the cover of the book.

“Bestiary of serpents and other sea-dwelling monsters,” Vesemir read out loud. “Where did you get this, lad? There is barely any reliable information of sea creatures out there.”

Jaskier’s smile turned sheepish, but there was a boyish glint in his eyes. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Vesemir obliged, opening a random page. For a heartbeat his expression didn’t change, before he burst out into laughter.

“This is the stupidest stuff I’ve ever read,” he snorted, before glimpsing at the shelf designated specifically for books featuring hilariously incorrect descriptions of various beast – most of which had their origins in Jaskier’s songs – where this bestiary would undoubtedly find its new spot of honour.

Geralt stayed quiet, as the rest of the witchers received their gifts and Jaskier’s eyes shone brighter with each smile he got out of his friends.

A knitted blanket for Lil’ Bleater, who by now barely deserved that name anymore that earned him a soft look from Eskel.

“Can’t let her get cold,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “We old folk must stick together.”

A pin with a greenish yellow gemstone called Griffin’s Eye that Jaskier had bought from a fisherman who had found it in the sea, for Coën. Jaskier explained that it could be worn in a beard, just as some people would put jewellery in their hair, though Jaskier didn’t fail to sternly remind Coën that there was no need to hide his scars beneath his beard, as he was just as handsome as the rest of the witchers.

“Well, apart from Geralt, of course. He’s the prettiest,” Jaskier said with a wink. “But I am biased, so that hardly counts.”

A little wooden figure of a cat that Jaskier had begged Geralt to make for Lambert.

“For when you miss Aiden.”

It earned Jaskier a “Fuck off”, but Lambert’s attempt at disguising his softened eyes with outrage had no one fooled.

“That’s everything,” Jaskier said, beaming at the way Lambert, Eskel and Coën were running their fingers over their gifts to feel the texture and Vesemir was already thumbing through his book with a chuckle on his lips.

“Not quite,” Geralt said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

When Jaskier gave him a confused look, Geralt pulled a little shard of sea shell out of his pockets and placed it on the sill of the fire place.

“It’s for good luck. For our second home.”

--

Despite what Lambert had said to welcome Jaskier, there was no doubt in any of the witchers that Jaskier had changed.

Geralt could see it in their expressions, when they weren’t sure how they should talk to Jaskier; in the way they wouldn’t shove him playfully anymore like they used to for fear of hurting him.

Eskel had always been gentle with Jaskier, but it was strange seeing Lambert and Coën walk on eggshells around him.

It was hard to miss that Jaskier noticed as well.

At first he didn’t pay much attention to it, but after a while, Geralt couldn’t help but notice Jaskier flinching, whenever Lambert went to pat his back only to change his mind last minute. He couldn’t unsee the way Jaskier’s face fell when Coën opened his arms as if going in for a hug to then let his arms fall limply and awkwardly, before Jaskier could fling himself into his arms.

The whole idea of coming to Kaer Morhen had been that Jaskier would be around familiar faces other than Geralt’s; that he could be with people who knew and loved him from before.

“They just need time to get used to it,” Geralt said in what he hoped was a soothing voice, after Lambert had cut himself off from making a cutting taunt and left before Jaskier got the chance to say anything. “They won’t be idiots throughout the whole winter.”

Jaskier cracked a weak smile. “They’re always idiots.”

“Of course they are.” Geralt leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you going to pass up on your chance to take advantage of that?”

Jaskier’s eyes, already sparkling in mischief were answer enough.

The next days were filled with harmless, but incredibly annoying pranks Jaskier pulled with the help of Geralt.

It was almost like old times, when Lambert and Jaskier would try to outdo each other to prove that they were the superior nuisance. With the small difference of course, that no one dared to take revenge on Jaskier.

That is, until one fateful morning, Lambert stormed into Geralt’s room, scratching his arms frantically.

“You!” He pointed accusingly at Jaskier, whose delighted grin was half-hidden by the blanket. “You have gone too far.”

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,” Jaskier said with the shit eating grin of someone who knew very well what they were being accused of and that they deserved every bit of it. “I am only a helpless and innocent old man after all.”

Lambert snorted. “Innocent, my ass. You put fucking itching powder into my shirt.”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Geralt had to repress a snort at Jaskier’s big eyes and not-at-all-innocent tone. “I must have misread the label. Old and fragile as I am.”

“Fuck off, buttercup.”

“That is no way to talk to your elders, young man. Truly, if only I wasn’t so – Hey! Put me down!”

Lambert didn’t pay his protests any mind, kicking the bedroom door open with his foot.

Geralt followed them, conveniently ignoring Jaskier’s calls for help that were broken off by his own laughter.

The sounds of mirth too were soon replaced by an undignified shriek, as Lambert unceremoniously, yet carefully dropped Jaskier into a pile of snow in the court yard.

Geralt stood to the side, leaning against the doorway, content to watch in amusement as Jaskier enacted his own revenge by throwing snow at Lambert. Geralt was only forced to join in when some stray snowballs not so accidentally hit him in the face as well.

He knew Jaskier’s hands would be freezing soon and they would spend the rest of the day making sure Jaskier didn’t catch a cold, making him drink tea and bundling him up in a blanket in front of a warm fire.

But for now, Jaskier got to enjoy the snow and the knowledge that Lambert was back to being the annoying bastard that he was always meant to be.

--

After that, the tension in the keep eased away steadily. Geralt’s brothers were still hovering over Jaskier, ready to jump to his aid at any minute, but after Jaskier had started loudly complaining about ‘young people these days’, they had taken to making it into a game of who could keep an eye on Jaskier the longest without being spotted or betting playfully scolded.

Coën didn’t exactly win with in a rout, but he certainly managed to secure his place close to Jaskier, when one day after supper, he just picked Jaskier up and started carrying him to wherever he wanted to go.

Jaskier’s delighted laugher mingled with half-hearted protests made Geralt’s heart swell.

“No, Coën, put me down this instant! I refuse to get carried about like a sack of potatoes!” He struggled in the griffin’s arms, weak enough to make it clear to anyone watching that he wasn’t truly trying to escape. “If you don’t let me down now, I will annoy you into letting me go!”

Coën chuckled at the threat and only tightened his grip. “Don’t be ridiculous, bard. I used to give Ciri piggyback rides all the time when she was around. If I could manage that rascal, I sure as hell can manage you.”

“Are you challenging my ability to be a nuisance?” Jaskier asked with a glint in his eyes that promised trouble.

Safe to say, Jaskier made good on his threat to be as bothersome as possible. And safe to say that with every attempt at annoying him that felt closer to how Jaskier had been as a young man, Coën seemed to take more joy in carrying him around.

Geralt feared it would take the entire winter to determine which one of them would win this battle of stubbornness.

--

Seeing Jaskier interact with his brothers as he had always done before lifted a weight from Geralt’s shoulders, he hadn’t been aware he had been carrying.

Still, there were days, even weeks at a time, when Jaskier retreated into that far-off place in his mind. He still teased the witchers, still laughed and was happy, but there was something off about it.

Geralt couldn’t be certain if Jaskier’s relationship with his family was still the same because he knew that he had loved them for years, or because he wasn’t aware of how much time had passed since he had last been in the keep.

After all, being surrounded by men who still looked the same as they had decades ago was bound to mess with Jaskier’s head, especially when every so often, he seemed to lose all sense of orientation and time on his own.

On days like these, Geralt could feel the pitying looks of Eskel and Coën burning into him.

Lambert was the only one who didn’t fuss over Jaskier when he got that distant look in his eyes or treat Geralt like a thin sheen of ice that could shatter at the lightest pressure. He had always been one to throw explosives at frozen lakes.

Lambert closed off himself, becoming gruffer than ever.

Geralt was almost grateful for him. As much as he appreciated Eskel’s concerned touches on his shoulder telling him that he was there if Geralt needed him, he didn’t want pity, didn’t want his family to treat him like he was about to break.

They were already deep in their cups, when Geralt couldn’t help but voice his thoughts. Eskel and Coën had left him and Lambert to drink alone after one too many jabs from Lambert, when the others had become too obvious in avoiding talking about Jaskier, who had spent the day staring into the fireplace mesmerised, only moving when Geralt urged him to eat.

Lambert scoffed at Geralt’s clumsy thanks for not pitying him.

“Well, he’s my friend too, isn’t he?”, Lambert said, gripping his tankard tightly, scowling at is as though it was the cause of all his problems. “The others might have forgotten that Jaskier’s not only your family in their ridiculous selflessness, but I for one am pissed that sometimes my friend doesn’t recognise me.”

Those words startled Geralt out of his drunken haze. “Being pissed off is selfish?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Lambert’s scowl deepened. “That’s what I’ve always been called though when I got pissed. I was pissed when I was dragged to this shithole as a child. I was pissed when I was send out to save people who would spit at me. I don’t fucking care if my anger is selfish.”

Unbidden images of Geralt storming away from Jaskier because he couldn’t handle seeing him like a shell of himself, fought their way to the forefront of Geralt’s mind. Images of Jaskier holding him close when it all became too much for Geralt.

“Good. You have every right to be angry.” Geralt said, eyes boring into Lambert’s. “But just for the record. It’s not - It’s not selfish. Or if it is, then we both are.”

--

More often than not, it was like old times. Once everyone had gotten used to Jaskier disappearing into his mind every once in a while, the old routine was back. Evenings were spent with Jaskier prodding everyone for details of their hunts or sitting in the library together while Jaskier played his lute, for as long as his joints allowed him too.

Yennefer’s medicine did not work miracles. She had made that abundantly clear before she had left, but it gave Jaskier the chance to make music for longer than just a few minutes before the ache in his fingers would force him to stop.

In the mornings, Jaskier would watch them train and spar with a familiar spark in his eyes.

Seeing Jaskier perched on a bench, nestled in a blanket to keep the cold at bay with an expression of pure joy was worth enduring Lambert’s merciless teasing about Geralt getting slow and lazy in his time off the Path.

Geralt couldn’t deny it, the long absence of any real fight was showing, but it felt good to spar with his brothers again.

He had been unsure how Vesemir would react to his decision of giving up hunting for a while, but all his old mentor did to acknowledge it was frown when Geralt got bested by Coën for the third time in a row.

“Retirement is no excuse for sloppy footwork.”

--

As the snow started to thaw and the witchers grew restless, itching to go back on the Path, Geralt found himself in Eskel’s room, sitting together on the bed like they had when they had been children.

Despite Eskel’s multiple attempts of talking to Geralt about Jaskier’s state, Geralt had successfully managed to avoid this conversation. Until now.

It was different knowing that soon their time here would end and their paths would split again, Eskel going off to risk his life and Geralt tending to flowers and taking walks on the shore with Jaskier.

It was good talking to Eskel. Talking to anyone, really, but Eskel had always known what to say and how to comfort people.

He didn’t ask about Jaskier. Spending the winter months with him had answered all questions better than Geralt could have done. Instead, Eskel asked about Geralt. How he was handling the quiet life, if he was alright, if there was anything Eskel could do to help him.

It was so close to how they used to talk before the trials and then after their first year on the Path.

Just like back then, Geralt didn’t know how to reply. How was he handling all of this? He didn’t know. Maybe it was alright not to know.

“I am with Jaskier,” he said instead of a real answer. Eskel nodded, as if that meant anything to him. Maybe it did. Geralt knew that it meant everything to himself.

“How will you manage after?” Eskel said carefully, tone blank, but one of his hands rested on Geralt’s shoulders, grounding him.

Neither of them explicitly said it, but they both knew what ‘after’ meant. After Jaskier was gone. After there was no quiet life on the coast left for Geralt to return to.

Geralt didn’t answer for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, leaning into Eskel’s touch. “But I will manage. Somehow. We still have time. For now, I am going to plant flowers and watch him smile and be happy.”

Eskel gave him a long look, but didn’t reply.

Maybe it hadn’t been fair for Geralt to escape the path and build this new life. Maybe it had been selfish to turn his back on the world and let his brothers continue on their own.

He thought of sea shells on window sills, of laughter and soft smiles, of flowers and toes that dug into sand until the sea washed his doubts away. He thought of Jaskier’s hand in his, squeezing lightly as if to say I am still here. Thank you for being here with me.

Maybe Geralt was selfish for choosing Jaskier and maybe he was stupid in refusing to think about what would come after. But for now, it was enough to have Jaskier’s smile and his blue eyes in his life and just be happy.

[ilovejaskierthebard]

Domestic!Witcher AU: Part II

Tumblr was very mean to me and stole the first reply to this, and I am so thankful that the majestic @gods-no-longer-tread-here has decided to add fuel to the fire and give me more to work with/takes pity on my dumbass ways that can't work a tumblr ask to save her life

So lets try this again!

It's not crazy to think the villagers would ask Eskel's brothers for the low down on the handsome goat dad; these people don't just want to unlace the Codpiece of Destiny for a night. They want to whoo Eskel. They want to court him. They want to put a ring on it and have a baby goat ring barer in their summer wedding that they have been planning since they tried his cheese okay -so of course they go to his brothers/father figure for advice.

Except neither brother are super great at romance.

Like, Geralt might not even count because they would ask questions like what's his favorite color and does he have a gf/bf? -and this poor horse trainer who just wants to be left alone is just like hmmn and does that even count as an answer -because no one has been able to afford Jaskier's Advance Understanding of Geralt's Hmms  lessons so that means they have no idea what he means??

((No one can afford it on purpose. As if Jaskier would share that power with anyone but Ciri))

Geralt probably does know the answers but is a super protective of his brothers and thinks if you want someone like Eskel you gotta do it yourself.

Meanwhile my favorite goblin baby Lambert is just doing what every little bro would do and just completely fucking with anyone who has the balls to ask him

He does NOT have time to deal with this. He has bread to poof! Cookies to make! Buns to butter!

So he messes with them.

Like, oh yeah. Eskel's birthday is tomorrow and his favorite color is yellow green and he really loves getting his socks in that color. You should totally get him a pair. Just run up and shove them into his hands. Don't say anything though, because he is super shy."

Or

"Eskel is super into knife jugglers. Yup. Like you wouldn't believe. Might marry you on the spot if he saw you doing it."

-and poor confused Eskel gets a lot of people suddenly handing him expensive ugly green socks that month with absolutely no reason?? They just smile at him and run away?? And he also gets really concerned when there seems to be an increase in terrible knife jugglers in the village now too...

((Of course he accepts the socks, why wouldn't he? They are nice socks even if they are a terrible shade and why won't Lambert stop laughing at them???))

Secretly Lambert is a romantic tho (and no he won't admit it and yes he will poison your breakfast toast if you tell anyone.) But again its not great advice or even makes that much sense???

Lambert: Just grow some horns. He's into that. Promise.

Villager: I will NOT dress up like a goat, Lambert! NOT AGAIN!

Jaskier is also a terrible person to ask, even if he would try to convince everyone otherwise. Like look at all his romantic lesson plans! Look at all the happy couples he brings together! His odes of poetry and limericks to Geralt’s ass is proof enough! Which sure yeah. There are some happy couples and turns out rhyming ‘his ample backside’ with ‘heart soars, satisfied’ isn’t the worst? 

no it is.

-except he is basically a chaotic fae in my world, so all his work is done in a way that causes several break-ups or causes the local priest to abandon his work so he can run away with the local cobblesmith so now no one can get married or have new shoes. And lets be real, his match making is probably along the lines of 'hey you two would make a great couple! You both enjoy [insert rare kink] and I would know because I slept with you both at seperate times, so you also have that in common, how fun!'

He makes as many couples as he breaks

The universal truth is that Vesemir is the best to ask, but it's hard to pin him down because he's so busy, teaching kids, yelling at Lambert and taking vacays with his multiple rich hot widows. He will only answer serious suitors for a price too. They either have to donate to the local library [1 book per question or put in the hours at teaching the kids a skill] -and so basically this funds the whole village's education. They have the best library for miles and miles. It's like if the Library of Alexandria was built on one Sugar Baby's wisdom. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Meanwhile Eskel is just hanging out with his goat babies and making cheese and wondering why the town he lives near is so god damn weird.

Srsly that one guy dressed up like a goat wtf

[shrinkynatural]

(The Witcher) Ficlet: Minigiant!witchers and the bard who’s terrified of heights (or rather, drops)

Rating: Green

Previous Parts: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

==

Geralt doesn't let Jaskier up in trees higher than where he can grab him. It doesn't matter how much the bard pleads and teases him with how good the fruit in those upper branches will taste, if he can't grab him down from the lowest branch then Jaskier has no business being up there. It's far more trouble than it's worth getting him back down and he's only mad that it took almost six times for him to realize the pattern.

His brothers don't have this hard-earned knowledge and while they should trust him, Jaskier has had them duped from the moment they all met up. The bard has always had this act, appearing flighty and innocent and harmless, but he truly delights in performing it around Geralt--and now Eskel and Lambert, too.

Though neither are near as tall as Geralt, Eskel has a good foot of height on Jaskier and Lambert a few inches more than that. Jaskier compliments their height and their strength and thanks them for performing tasks that he himself could do easily. He touches their elbows as he walks by and their hair when they’re sitting and easily lies by their feet around the campfire like it wouldn’t be so easy to accidentally step on him. It’s an act only in its exaggeration, every word still sincere but delivered in such a way that makes them all feel as though they’ve come back from a dangerous contract to a whole town giving them a standing ovation. It makes them soft and happy and stupid.

They’ve been on the road together only a few days and while the world is giving way to the first touches of winter, there is a tall apple tree that remains mostly untouched because it’s lowest branches are above even Geralt’s head. Jaskier gasps and gives Geralt a hopeful look and no, no way in hell.

So of course he turns to the weaker links of their group.

'Won't the apples be delicious on the road, Eskel? They'll make a lovely treat before all they have are winter rations, won't they, Lambert? What a nice idea it would be to save some for--who was the other one?--Vesemir, back in their keep? He's the smallest and the lightest so he's the obvious choice to go up there without being in danger of snapping any branches. Surely it wouldn’t be difficult at all for either of the tall, strapping witchers to give a humble bard a boost?'

Geralt warns them, tells them not to listen to him or they'll be sorry. But neither of them heed his words and next thing he hears is Jaskier's joyful woop as Eskel launches him by his hips up to the lowest branch of the tree. The bard climbs the branches easily, without hesitation or fear, and picks and drops apples down to the two fools of witchers who happily catch them and tuck them away in packs and saddlebags. Geralt can sense their smugness even without the occasional glance this way but he knows it's only a matter of time. That doesn't stop him from taking his share of the apples because if he's going to be the one to fix this he's getting something out of it.

That time comes when all the apples are picked and Jaskier makes his way to that lowest branch. Eskel holds up his arms and tells the bard that he'll catch him, just jump down.

And Jaskier refuses.

It's too far.

He's trapped.

Geralt mouths the words right along with Jaskier and takes a bite of one of his apples during the ensuing argument where Eskel and Lambert try to talk some sense into the terrified bard while Jaskier's voice just gets higher and more panicked. He always forgets his fear of heights, or rather drops, until it comes time to get down and then he's an absolute terror. Like an overconfident cat, complete with the hissing as Lambert gives Eskel a boost up so he can reach the bottom branch and try to grab him because no, are they insane! They'll all fall to the ground like that and break their bones and die in utter agony!

He gives it a few minutes, long enough for his brothers to hopefully learn their lesson but before they decide to give up and leave Jaskier up there. The rest of his apple Geralt feeds to a more than happy Roach and then he walks over, stopping right under Jaskier and tilting his head back to look up at him. He doesn't have to say anything for the bard to look sheepish and flush from his position gripping onto the tree branch for dear life, but he does know what he has to say to get him down.

I will use your lute like a little club to bludgeon the next drowner I come across.

I will pawn it off for coin in the next town, for far less than its worth, and spend the coin on a new sword.

I will send it back to Oxenfurt as a gift in your name to none other than Valdo Marx so that he might do it the honor that he cannot.

It works, in that it gets Jaskier dangling down from the branch and kicking his legs out at him as he curses him with gritted teeth. It takes a moment but Geralt just manages to get one of Jaskier's feet in his hand and from there he convinces him to let go so he can catch him in his arms. It's uncoordinated and Geralt nearly gets a knee in the eye from all of the bard's flailing but it's done.

He gets one arm under Jaskier’s knees and the other behind his back because the bard is still shaking in rage and fear from his ‘near brush with death.’ The last time he tried to put him down right away he collapsed in a heap and couldn’t move for nearly an hour; they don’t have that kind of time and Geralt knows it would be an embarrassment for Jaskier in front of his brothers.

How the bard never sees it as an embarrassment to be carried about by the witcher like some damsel he doesn’t know.

Eskel and Lambert look confused and shocked when Jaskier twists in Geralt's arms and shakily demands to know why the hell they let him go up there, calling the tree a death trap. Geralt sighs and quickly lifts Jaskier up and over his shoulder like a sack of grain to head off that argument--an argument he knows would happen because he had it with the bard six times before he wised up. He tells all three of them that they're behind now so they should get back to the road.

[fangirlshrewt97]

Geralt Whump Week Day 2 Submission

TITLE: Scars From A Lioness

SHIPS: Geralt of Rivia / Jaskier|Dandelion

PROMPT DAY: Potions

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: NA

SUMMARY:   Ciri was up with the sun, bouncing with excitement for the day. Finally, after weeks of begging, Geralt had said she could learn how to make a Witcher potion. A.K.A: Ciri learns how to make potions, there is family bonding, and Geralt gets hurt but its ok, he gets better. Ciri feels awful though.

WORD COUNT: 5737 words

AUTHOR’S NOTES:  Additional tags include  Prompt: Potions, Whump, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Family Bonding, Kaer Morhen, Cirilla is adopted by all the Witchers, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Soft, Soft Witchers, Established Relationship, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, I wanted to write a fic where we get to see Cirilla learning stuff from the witchers, This fic is really cute I promise, more fluff than whump, And so much softness

AUTHOR: Fangirlshrewt97

CHARACTERS: Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Rhiannon, Jaskier, Lambert, Eskel, Vesemir

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035172

                                                      /////

Ciri was up with the sun, bouncing with excitement for the day. Finally, after weeks of begging, Geralt had said she could learn how to make a Witcher potion. If Jaskier had been with them, Ciri was sure she could have gotten the Witcher to cave in sooner, but the bard had had a request to play at the Kaedwanian court, and having allies would only help them. Nilfgaard was still looking for her, which meant it had been nearing a year since she had arrived at Kaer Morhen and not left. She didn’t mind, she liked the castle, the ruins were a little scary but they also reminded her of Grandfather Eist’s bedtime stories of heroes and monsters. And if she behaved really well, Vesemir would tell her a story of one of his hunts that rivaled any of her grandfather’s stories.

Uncle Eskel and Lambert had also been helpful, teaching her all about fighting with a sword and hand-to-hand, though she thought they did that more as an excuse to tackle each other to the ground than to teach her anything. Ciri didn’t mind, it was fun to watch men the size of small mountains fling each other into walls like rag dolls and then get up and walk around as if that hadn’t just happened. They were never rough with her, but they also didn’t go easy, each day ended with more muscles aching than she knew she had. But the one thing that all four had been adamantly reluctant to budge on was Witcher potions. Or potions in general.

“It is too dangerous for you, Princess.” Uncle Eskel had explained.

“Those things could kill you Ciri, or give you a scar like knucklehead over there, and while his face might have been bad before the accident, yours is too pretty to risk damaging.” Lambert had advised before running out of the hall being chased by Eskel.

“Witcher potions are poisonous to humans Cirilla, and for many, the smoke alone is deadly. It is too great a risk.” Vesemir had stated with a finality to the discussion.

And of course, there was Geralt’s very eloquent “No.”

Ciri sighed. So many weeks of badgering, begging, and, even bartering for more chores had resulted in the reluctant agreement that all four Witchers would be in the room with her when she brewed the potion, Vesemir instructing and the other three as bodyguards to get her out of there is something started to go wrong. And that she would first start with human-friendly potions to understand the basics of brewing. Three Witchers seemed excessive for said job but they wouldn’t be dissuaded.

Ciri took off her clothes, using the nearby cloth to dip into the basin of water in her room and ran it across her body, wiping off the nightly sweat. All four had mentioned that potions were brewed beneath the keep, and it could get really hot in there, so it was better to soak in the hot springs after. Washing herself thoroughly, Ciri put on an old shirt of Uncle Lambert’s and the pants Uncle Eskel had sewn for her. She was plaiting her hair in a simple braid as she made her way down to the breakfast hall, finishing it right as she arrived.

The others were already there, Uncle Eskel and Grandfather Vesemir finishing with toasting the bread as Geralt and Lambert were eating. Skipping down to the area where they were sitting, she pressed a kiss to Geralt’s cheek before burrowing herself into Uncle Eskel’s side, an arm around his waist to steady herself.

“Morning cub, excited for the lesson are we?” Eskel said, amusement making his eyes twinkle. Ciri giggled and nodded her head.

“Well then Eskel, you better give the girl her food so we may all head down together. Don’t you think, cub?” Vesemir winked as he presented her a small bowl filled with dried fruits. Making a happy noise, Ciri took the offerings and gave her pseudo-grandfather a hug before going and settling next to Lambert. The youngest wolf just opened his arm so she could press herself into his side before starting to munch on her breakfast. All of them had learned early on the lion cub loved to cuddle, and while it had taken a bit to get used to so much physical affection, they had learned to treasure it.

Ciri was focused on her food and so completely missed the fond looks all four wolves sent her way.

Having spent decades being rejected and treated as beasts, here was this girl who through Destiny had found herself tied to a Witcher, and decided to embrace them all as her family. She had all of them wrapped around her little finger, ready to draw steel or silver at the slightest hint of sadness from the child. She had been afraid when she had arrived at the keep near the beginning of winter, escorted between Geralt and Jaskier. But it had only taken one extremely inappropriate joke from Lambert that all the others yelled at him for, for Ciri to giggle and relax. After that, it had been pathetically simple to see that these men were not the monsters everyone was convinced they were.

Eskel and Vesemir finished with the food and brought the rest of it to the table, Eskel sitting next to Geralt while Vesemir settled at the head of the table. The small family enjoyed the breakfast in silence, basking in the simple instance of each other’s company.

“Careful pup, you look ready to fall into your plate.” Geralt said as he gently nudged her leg with his. Ciri shook her head, a strand of hair coming loose.

“’M not.” Ciri said, punctuating it with a contradictory yawn.

Eskel and Vesemir smiled, whereas Lambert laughed.

“Sure about that menace?”

Ciri elbowed him in his side, turning her nose up in the perfect imitation of the obnoxious princess she had played so many times in court when dealing with insufferable nobles.

This got the other three to chuckle, and when Ciri peeked one eye open from where she had them closed, she saw even Geralt had a smile on his face, making her own grin grow.

“Vesemir she is abusing me.” Lambert complained, deadpan.

Eskel snorted. “That isn’t her abusing you. Her abusing you is her managing to throw a Witcher four times her age and size straight into the pile of hay for the horses. In one day.”

As they all laughed at Lambert’s indignation, Ciri settled contently into her food, joining in to the teasing. Uncle Lambert was so very easy to tease. And Ciri always had at least one person to back her up in case he turned on her.

Finishing up breakfast and cleaning up was a quick job between the five of them, and soon they were all headed to the potion making room. When they entered, they let Ciri go in first, giving her time to explore the space she hadn’t been allowed in before as they each settled into their seats.

The room was larger than she expected, twice the size of her bedroom, but with a low roof that Geralt and Eskel nearly brushed against. There were small windows running all along the walls, which when she looked closer realized functioned as vents to make sure the smoke did not fill the room. But since they had yet to start brewing, the room was cold, and she wrapped her arms around her self.

Moving from the windows, Ciri next went through the largest wall of the room, which had deep shelves carved into it, pulling out bottles of ingredients lining the walls. Some had fresh labels, the ones that were commonly used. For others, the labels were faded and the bottles covered in what seemed like a decade’s worth of dust. She was able to identify most of the herbs, remembered helping Vesemir sort them and place them into these very bottles. The last bottle she grabbed was murky, and when she rubbed at some of the grime, she nearly dropped it in shock when she saw an eyeball floating in there. The bottle escaped her grasp, her sharp gasp alerting the Witchers. Geralt was behind her in an instant, catching the bottle in his hand, his other a solid weight on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, they’re from deer.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved for that answer or horrified you thought I thought you were using human eyeballs.” Ciri said, injecting as much bravado into her words as possible.

Geralt replaced the bottle in its original place and led her to the benches. Eskel and Lambert were on the side benches, and Ciri saw that Vesemir had set out two stations in the center tables. Geralt guided her to her station and then sat next to her. At her questioning glance, he just shook his head. Shrugging, Ciri looked to Vesemir. The eldest Witcher smiled at her and set about explaining the different equipment in front of her, as well as the ingredients he had set out in front of her.

The day passed like that, Vesemir talking her through the compositions of some of the basic potions all Witchers always needed to have in stock, Lambert and Eskel piping in with practical observations from how they made potions on the road. Geralt took her through the potions of cutting up the ingredients and measuring them, and the five of them ended the day satisfied, a fresh batch of Swallow made between them.

The small group was happy with their day, and chatted as they made their way to the hot springs. Since Ciri, and sometimes Yennefer, had taken residence at Kaer Morhen, the wolves had put up a make shift cover of sorts to grant them some privacy.

Ciri personally loved the hot springs. She had never had anything like this in Cintra, and it still felt like magic to her. The warm waters felt like they unknotted muscles she didn’t realize she had knots in, and it was absolutely divine after a sword training session. She hummed happily as she sunk into the waters, leaning against the edge of the pool as she allowed her body to half float.

“Lion cub, wash up quickly, I don’t want to have to rescue a raisin from the spring.” Geralt called from the other side of the curtain. The other wolves were also being uncharacteristically quiet. But then again she could only recall one other instance when all of them had entered the spring at the same time.

“Ok Geralt!” Ciri replied before getting up and reaching for the soap, scrubbing herself down quickly. Another submersion and Ciri shook out her hair from her braid, washing it quickly. Picking up the towel someone had laid out for her, she wrapped it around herself and walked to the small box she had kept in here to store clothes for moments like this. Removing a pair of soft pants and an old shirt of Geralt’s they had modified for her size, Ciri dried herself and changed into the clothes.

The rest of the day passed quickly, a big lunch and a small break where Vesemir took her to the library and gave her lessons of maths and geography. Geralt came to collect her after two hours and the two made their way to the courtyard where Eskel and Lambert were waiting for her. The four of them practiced for an hour, then Ciri was allowed to just sit back and watch as the wolves sparred with each other, no holds barred. She always liked seeing them fight with their full abilities, it was a nice reminder of just who was guarding her. Dinner was a rambunctious affair as always, and all too soon it was time for bed. Ciri barely removed her pants and laid in bed before she was out like a light, satisfaction coursing through her.

///

The week passed in a similar manner, with a quick breakfast, a potions lesson with all the wolves, covering a mix of human and Witcher potions, training sessions with swords and hand to hand combat, and ending with a lovely dinner Geralt and Ciri prepared for the others.

That morning, Ciri woke up feeling jittery again, but she couldn’t remember why until she got to the dining hall and saw a familiar emerald-colored doublet.

“Jaskier!” she cried out, running towards the bard who stood up and caught her, swinging her around as she shrieked with glee.

“Ciri! Apple of my eye, lion cub of my heart, how are you doing?” Jaskier asked as he guided them both to sit at the bench.

“Jask, I’ve learned so much! Uncle Lambert showed me this cool trick where I kick off the wall and use that to kick at someone’s head with the other leg, and Uncle Eskel showed me a way to build a trap that will make sure that whatever gets stuck in it can only be released when I open it, and Grandfather Vesemir has been teaching me potions!”

Jaskier’s eye had been steadily twitching throughout the tirade, a mental laundry list of all the things he needed to scold the Witchers for considering appropriate to teach a child, but the potions thing gave him pause. Geralt had long refused to teach him the most basic Witcher potions, positing that it was too dangerous. Then again, there was no safer place to try out a potion than under the watchful eyes of four Witchers.

The lecture Jaskier was preparing was already lasting over half an hour in his mind though.

///

As promised, Ciri convinced the others to let Jaskier sit in on the potions lesson, with Jaskier sitting behind Eskel. The Wolves reluctantly agreed but then proceeded to unanimously boot him out of the room after one hour where his scent kept spiking with so much anxiety every time Ciri used her knife to cut an ingredient. It was setting all the Witchers on edge and so they collectively pushed Jaskier out of the room and slammed the door in his face claiming “You are more likely to cause an accident than she is.” Jaskier had huffed but let them be, retreating to his room, resigned to hearing about what his adopted daughter had learned from her daily recap.

///

Another week passed in a similar manner, and Ciri got used to the routine, the potions lessons becoming her favorite. But still, there was a war going on outside the mountains the Keep was hidden in, and Winter had been thankfully mild this year relatively speaking, so the pass down the mountain had reopened much earlier than usual. Lambert had also noticed a pair of griffins mating nearby, which could pose a problem if they decided to nest, so Vesemir had split them up.

He instructed Lambert to go deal with the griffins while he and Eskel ventured to the nearest town to restock their food stores. Jaskier had argued that Geralt should accompany Lambert on the hunt, but all four Witchers had been adamant of not leaving them alone in the keep.

The next day, the three Witchers departed early in the morning, hoping to return by night fall the next day, or the following day’s morning at the latest. Ciri, Jaskier, and Geralt bid them farewell, the two humans huddled in extra blankets and cloaks that nevertheless did nothing to stop the blast of cold wind that seemed to cut right through the fabric and settled in their bones. Geralt had herded them to bed, allowing them a few extra hours of rest, and a relaxing day to laze about the keep. After weeks of rigorous labour and lessons and chores, both Ciri and Jaskier had promptly returned to bed and slept until Geralt woke them up for lunch.

They passed the day in a similar manner, with Jaskier playing a new song he had been composing while Geralt taught Ciri how to play Gwent.

"Geralt can we have another potions lesson tomorrow?” Ciri asked as they packed the deck away.

“It will only take the others a day to get back cub, have patience.”

“But you all have been telling me I’ve been doing a really good job. Come on, a simple one. You will still be there with me. Please?” Ciri asked, deploying her puppy eyes.

“Oof, low blow Princess.” she heard Jaskier mutter from where he was sitting on the furs in front of the fire.

Geralt’s face was twisted the way it always was when he was conflicted, so Ciri gave it one last push. “Please Ger?” she whined. With a pout.

Hook, line, and sinker. The Witcher folded like a hut made of paper. “Fine, but a simple one. And you listen to me. Every word.”

Ciri nodded her head so hard Jaskier feared it would come rolling off. She grinned bright enough to rival the fire he was sitting in front of and leaped from her seat to hug Geralt tightly around his neck while singing a chorus of ‘Thank you’s. She merrily skipped out of the room. Jaskier was nice enough to wait for her to be out of earshot before he mentioned how pathetically easily it was for a thirteen year old girl to defeat the White Wolf.

Geralt gave him a look that conveyed all the curse words he wanted to say. Jaskier laughed.

///

Geralt was nervous, but he could never let it show. It was just a simple potion, what could go wrong?

///

The potions room felt larger with just Geralt and Ciri in it, the absence of the others obvious and heavy in the air. Shaking off the slight unease, Geralt prepped his and Ciri’s stations as he had seen Vesemir do so.

The lesson started and everything was going well.

And it continued to go well.

They successfully brewed the potion.

Ciri was not the only one who felt as if she had accomplished something after the lesson.

///

Geralt brought up the following day’s lesson on his own, to Ciri’s delight. Jaskier shook his head at the two of them, but let them be.

“Can we try a new potion today Geralt?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Ciri. I am still not sure if it is ok for us to be doing potions on our own anyways. Let’s stick with what you already know?”

“But we’ve been doing the same potions for weeks. Just one new potion? Please?” Ciri asked, employing her best pout and puppy eyes.

Geralt growled. One of these days he would build an immunity to them. Today was not that day.

“Fine. But you-”

“-listen to your every word and letter. I know, thank you Geralt, you are the best!” Ciri said as she cheered, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s cheek before skipping to her room.

“Fuck.”

“You are woefully defenseless against her.”

“Fuck off bard.”

Jaskier continued to laugh at his torment. What else was new.

///

It had been going well. Ciri had behaved just as she promised, she had diligently listened to his every instruction and done only that. He wasn’t sure if he had gone wrong in his teaching, or if he hadn’t checked the ingredients properly, but he heard a crackling sound. One that didn’t belong. His body reacted before his mind could think it through, and he pushed Ciri to the ground, covering her with his body as the potion started to fizzle and shoot boiling hot droplets all over the room. Having forgone his armor when he wasn’t doing sword training, his tunic was quickly destroyed by the potion, which burned itself into his skin.

Geralt clenched his teeth as more and more of the potion exploded from the table, landing on his skin and causing a sensation of being branded. Below him Ciri was distressed, trying to push him off, screaming his name, and when he didn’t budge, Jaskier’s.

Geralt couldn’t tell how much time had passed before the fizzling finally stopped, but he came to when multiple moments passed by with no new burned patches of skin appeared. The room was filled with the overwhelming scent of fear and burned skin, and underneath it, a faint smell of sulphur and charcoal clung heavy in the air. He stayed crouched over Ciri.

“lt! Geralt! Please, Geralt!” Ciri’s cries finally penetrated through his haze, and he looked down to meet tear-filled blue eyes, and a blotched face. Ciri’s voice was hoarse, as if she had been screaming for some time.

“Ci-ri?” Geralt grunted before collapsing onto his side so as to not crush her.

“Geralt? Geralt! Wake up, wake up, wake up, Geralt, please!” Ciri screamed, panic racing through her veins as a primal fear gripped her. She could feel her power swirling like a storm inside her, begging to be let out, the lump in her throat their only obstacle.

“lt? Ciri? Oh Melitele, what?” suddenly two strong arms came around her, lifting her. She screamed and clawed at the grip, but they held true.

She finally quietened when she saw Vesemir enter her field of vision, passing her to crouch by Geralt. “Cub, it’s me, stop fighting, it’s just me.” Ciri went limp once she realized she was being held in Uncle Eskel’s arms.

///

Geralt recalled collapsing, hearing Vesemir and Eskel and Jaskier come in, hearing Ciri screaming out for him. But the world was underwater, or maybe he was, but suddenly Vesemir was right there and he waved his hand in front of him, and all he knew was sleep.

///

“Damn it, Jaskier get it here!” Vesemir called out as Geralt succumbed to his Axii. The bard rushed in, a look of fear clearly painted on his face.

“Can you carry Ciri?”

Jaskier nodded.

“Eskel give him the pup, we need to get Geralt up to the infirmary.”

“Yes Vesemir” Eskel said, passing on the girl to Jaskier, who took her in a bridal carry, and stood aside to let Eskel and Vesemir lift Geralt and carried him out. He followed as far as the infirmary before Vesemir shot him a pointed glare. He nodded and took Ciri back to her room. Once she was in bed, he let some of the panic he felt come in.

Fuck, he had been in the dining area, working in a new song when Eskel and Vesemir had arrived. They had been discussing their purchases when both Witchers stiffened simultaneously and took off out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time.

He had only heard Ciri’s screams when he reached the floor where the potions room was. It made him want to vomit. Or tear off his skin.

And Geralt, fuck, Geralt had been steaming, literal tendrils of smoke rising from him. His Witcher had too much tolerance to ever express his pain, but his gaze had been unfocused, and in some ways that scared him the most. Geralt rarely succumbed to pain so easily.

///

Geralt woke up to even more burning. He jerked, trying to get away from it, only to realize he had been shackled to the slab he was lying on. A strong pair of arms landed on his shoulders, holding his down.

“-alt, relax, you are alright. It’s us, come on.” Eskel’s urgent voice broke through the fog.

The sound of his brother was enough to calm Geralt, and the man collapsed on the slab. Vesemir appeared in his field of vision when he opened his eyes. “We will discuss what has happened when you are more coherent. Right now I am going to place a burn salve, let me know if it helps our worsens the pain.”

Geralt nodded, clenching his jaw to brace for the pain.

Vesemir’s touch made him jerk, but the eldest Witcher had an iron grip on his thigh. The salve to the burn on his ankle was mercifully cooling, and Geralt hissed in relief. “Itsss niceeeeee.”

“Hmmm.” Vesemir said as he internally sighed in relief. He had Eskel shift to hold different parts of Geralt as he applied the salve.

The worst of the burns had been to Geralt’s back, his arms and ankles receiving some long but superficial burns, where the acid had hit the skin but slid off. They turned him on his back, wincing in sympathy as they saw burn marks all over his back starting from just below his neck to the edge of his pants’ waistband.

Geralt fell asleep at some point while they were rubbing the salve, so they left him sleeping, wrapping bandages across the worst of the burns. Most wouldn’t scar, although a couple in his back had been severe, the flesh wrinkling and black.

Vesemir hummed. “Scars from a lioness. These are scars he can be proud of.”

Time to get the bard.

///

Lambert had returned to a seemingly empty keep, and when he went searching, he heard humming from the cub’s room, so he followed Jaskier’s voice.

Inside, Jaskier was listlessly strumming his lute. Ciri was sleeping, which worried Lambert, it was the middle of the day, why was she asleep. When Jaskier turned to see him, the worry only increased ten fold at the sight of a hunted look in his eyes.

“What’s wrong Jaskier?”

///

When next Ciri woke up, she groaned as her head gave a painful throb.

“At last, the sleeping lioness wakes up.” Uncle Lambert declared as he peered over her, face looming.

“Uncle Lambert?”

“One and only pup. Can you sit up?”

Ciri nodded, so Lambert place this hands beneath her armpits and helped her up until she was sitting up against the headboard. Her headboard. She was in her room, in her bed.

“What happened?” and then as memories fluttered in, “Where’s Geralt?”

The panic was immediate and overpowering, making her scramble to get out of bed, stopped only by Lambert using all his power to keep her there. “Slow down, pup, Geralt will be fine. He is being taken care of. As for what happened, that’s what we are all wondering. Care to explain?”

“First tell me where Geralt is.”

“You’re not in a position to negotiate pup.”

Ciri slumped back. Unconsciously, she started to chew on her bottom lip. “I asked Geralt to teach me a new potion today.”

Lambert sighed, rubbing his face with one hand as the other came to weave into one of hers. “Pup, I can’t believe you’re making me be an adult right now. There is a reason we told you we’d only teach you potions when we were all together.”

Ciri started crying, first a few tears, and then the sobs, and then her whole body trembling like it was trying to shake itself apart.

Lambert freaked out for a minute before pulling Ciri to him, and holding her as she clutched him too tightly.

Her sobs had slowed down to hiccuping sniffles when the door to the bedroom opened again, letting in a weary Jaskier who seemed to wear every year of his life for once. He tried to put on a smile at the sight of Ciri awake, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Darling! You are awake.”

“Jask…” was as far as Ciri got before she started blubbering again. Jaskier indicated for Lambert to switch places with him, and smoothly brought Ciri into his embrace, soothing her with practiced ease. The youngest Witcher slipped out of the room when Jaskier started to hum an old Cintran lullaby.

///

Ciri was clutching Jaskier’s doublet, walking behind him, body a coil of anxiety so strong, even Jaskier could smell it.

They stopped before Geralt’s bedroom, with Jaskier turning and going to his knees so he could look Ciri in the eyes.

“Darling, I promise you Geralt is not angry with you alright. But if you keep being so scared you will scare him too. Now you don’t want that right?”

Ciri shook her head. Jaskier smiled, rubbing his thumb against her cheek until she giggled once. Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to her other cheek before standing up. Holding out his hand for her to take, Jaskier knocked on the door. Eskel opened the door, amusement coloring his face.

“My good Witcher, Princess Cirilla and I are here to visit our most beloved White Wolf, if you would so graciously grant us admission.”

“Hmm, I don’t know, the wolf is feeling hungry, and I’m afraid peacocks don’t agree with him.”

Jaskier squawked, making Ciri giggle at their antics. When Uncle Eskel shifted to play more into his role of ‘sentry’, Ciri saw Geralt laying on the bed, looking even more entertained by their actions.

He caught her looking though, and a playful smirk appeared on his otherwise tired appearance, and he beckoned her with one finger.

Smiling softly, Ciri slipped from Jaskier’s grasp and went to Geralt’s side. Lambert and Vesemir were sitting on either side of the Witcher, and Lambert helped her up to sit by Geralt’s side. As soon as she was within touching distance she flung herself at Geralt, hugging him tightly and burying her face into his neck. Geralt hummed, the vibrations alleviating any lingering anxiety Ciri had had.

“My pup, are you alright?”

Ciri sniffled. She pulled back and wiped her eyes as tears gathered there. When she spoke, there was a wobble in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt brushed a few strands of her hair back. “For what?”

“For hurting you.”

Geralt huffed. “Ciri, look at me, it is going to take more than a single errant potion to hurt me.”

“But you are covered in bandages!” And that was true, Geralt’s entire chest and back, and most of his arms were wrapped in white linen bandages.

“That is mostly due to Jaskier being an overprotective mother hen. I actually only need about half of these according to Eskel and Vesemir.”

“Hey! Not fair.” Jaskier said as he approached them, an utterly fake offended out on his face as he sat by Geralt’s unoccupied side.

Ignoring him, Geralt looked back at his daughter. “I promise I am all right.”

“I gave you new scars.”

“I’ll wear these ones with pride.”

When Ciri looked at him confused, Geralt gave her a wolfish grin. “I earned these protecting my child.”

Ciri blushed before nestling into Geralt’s side.

“Now little pup, I have something I want to say too.” Came Vesemir’s voice, making Ciri wince. Slowly, she pushed away from Geralt and sat straight, looked at her pseudo-grandfather from down turned eyes.

The old Witcher was standing next to Jaskier, one hand on his hip. “I hope you learned your lesson on why we didn’t want to teach you potions alone?”

Ciri nodded her head as hard as she could. “I am so so so sorry Vesemir. Please don’t blame Geralt, it was my fault. I only suggested we continue-” She stopped when Vesemir held up his hand.

“Child, while it was unwise of you both to continue to do these lessons alone, I fear I am also to blame for this incident.”

At that Ciri exchanged a bewildered look with Geralt before both looked at him.

“What are you talking about Vesemir?” Geralt asked.

Vesemir sighed. The potion, you grabbed the mountain ash for it right?”

Ciri nodded. “Yes! Geralt told me which one, and I found the bottle labelled mountain ash.”

Vesemir grimaced before schooling his features. “And I assume you did not to think to check the bottle Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head. “It was labeled with your handwriting. It was kind of faded, but it definitely said mountain ash.”

“And there in lies my mistake. I apologize to both of you. We actually ran out of mountain ash last season, and I kept meaning to get more to restock our supply. The particular bottle that Ciri grabbed did not contain ash at all, I simply made the error of putting it in the wrong bottle.”

“What was in it then?”

“Black-powder. It was used mainly by the School of the Crane. Apparently when used in the correct mix it can be used as an explosive.”

“I’ve never heard of such a powder before.” Jaskier spoke.

“It is not common in our lands, though I think you can find it in Zerrikania and further East.”

The group descended into a moment of quiet.

“I don’t want to do any more potions.”

Geralt sighed. He wasn’t surprised by her new fear.

Eskel tried to argue with her, “Ciri, you cannot let one accident turn you away from them completely. There are many potions we can teach that are usable to humans as well.”

But Ciri shook her head, her mind made up.

Geralt indicated for his brothers to quiet, and tugged at Ciri. “Cub look at me.” He waited until her gaze was focused on him, “I know you were scared when the accident happened, but as Vesemir just explained, it was only an accident that was entirely not your fault. I should have gone over your ingredients too, so I am to blame as well. What do you say once I recovered, we resume the lessons, this time with all five of us?”

Ciri chewed on her lip as she thought before giving a tentative nod.

Geralt smiled at her. “That’s my pup.”

Ciri grinned back and burrowed herself into his side, throwing her arm around Geralt’s waist.

“I am not leaving your side until you get better.”

“Impractical, but I will be alright by tomorrow, so I suppose I can allow such a concession.” Geralt teased her.

“How come Vesemir never gave me concessions when I got hurt?” Lambert wondered aloud.

“Because when you got yourself hurt, it was absolutely your own damn fault.” Vesemir replied.

Everyone laughed, the comment serving to break any remaining tension.

The small family settled comfortably around the room and spent the night talking. Lambert took great joy sharing an embellished story regarding his griffin hunt, with the other three Witchers mercilessly calling him out on his exaggerations. Jaskier added fuel to all their arguments, egging them on. And Ciri?

Well Ciri laughed until her stomach hurt, happy once again at her Geralt’s side. And as she listened to Lambert argue that the griffin truly had a head the size of Lambert’s whole body, she settled into a deep sleep at her father’s side, a wide smile colouring her face.

[inkatheart-fandom]

Ranty Plot #001(A)

So I’ve gotten into a habit in my fandom discord where I’ve started ranting about plot ideas. I don’t have the time to make these actual stories so I just throw the ideas out into the ether.

So my friend Charlie wanted something soft (which I don’t normally do) and this is what came out.

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier

Tags: Poly, Happy, Soft, Sweet, Modern. Nothing really bad here.

Poly Geralt, Yen, and Jaskier sitting on the couch. Yen and Jask are arguing over whether to watch American Horror Story or Project Runway. Meanwhile Geralt has already eaten half the popcorn and is watching My Strange Addiction on TLC, captions on 'cause ain't nobody can hear the TV over these two arguing.

Geralt and Jaskier trying to throw a surprise party for Yen. They want to bake her a cake and have her friends over. Jaskier convinces Triss, Sabrina, and the others to wear subtly horrible outfits so that Yen is the prettiest girl in the room and so she and him can make catty remarks after they leave. 

 Meanwhile, Geralt is in the kitchen with Ciri trying to bake a cake when it all goes wrong. There's flour everywhere, chocolate frosting stuck to the ceiling, the blackberry filling looks more like tar and when Jask comes in and starts freaking out he slips on an egg that fell on the floor and left a gooey mess.

Triss shows up with a nice bakery cake without anyone having to ask.

She remembers the time Geralt made her brownies after a breakup. She only got over that breakup because the brownies were worse than the heartbreak.

Geralt works at the old family ranch with his brothers and father. Yen was a big-time marketing executive that got tired of always being away from Ciri (and her boys) so she took a more modest job with a local business so she can be home at night. And Jask somehow makes most of their money because of his cult following on social media (Yen helped build it up so that she could take a less demanding job), and moonlights on weekends as Daffodil, an ostentatious Drag Queen.

Of course, Yen wears the pants in that house.

Jaskier has more dresses than her, and Geralt has accidentally washed (and ruined) Jaskier's drag bras more times than he likes to admit.

Vesemir never married. His family has had that old ranch for six generations. Mostly raises work horses and maybe a hundred cattle. It's hard work. But when he got lonely he adopted his first son, Eskel. 

Eskel came from one hell of an abusive family and was smart as a whip but skittish as all get-out. When Vesemir knew that Eskel was going to need more than just Vesemir, he adopted Geralt. He was glad to see the two boys become fast friends and thicker than thieves.

Lambert was sort of an 'accident.' Not in that he regrets it, but in that it happened without him really realizing it. An old client who liked to buy cattle from him and also liked to give him problems was complaining one day. Vesemir went over to the guy's farm and while he was there he kept seeing this run-down young lad who was too skinny and skittish for his own good. 

It reminded him a lot of a young Eskel, he knew the signs of severe abuse when he saw it. So he caught the kid alone before he left and told the kid where he lived. Said if he ever needed help to come find Vesemir, he would keep the kid safe. 

So a few days later, tiny scruffy Lambert is found curled up in the barn nursing a broken arm. And oops. The legal battle took several years, but he eventually wrestled custody from the bastard and by that time, Eskel and Geralt had basically assumed this was their new brother so... Now Vesemir has three boys, and they give him more headaches than anything else but he wouldn't trade them for the world.

Geralt never bought a car or learned how to drive. He knows how to ride a horse, why does he need anything else? Well, he can't exactly take Roach in the city. 

Jaskier drives a fucking mini coup, and Geralt rode in that sardine can exactly twice. Jaskier offered to drive him over to Yen's once while they were all still dating, then took Geralt back home and he swore he would never ever get in that thing again.

Eskel drives an old muscle car. It's not one of the expensive ones, collectors would never want it, but he loves that old thing. Keeps her in pristine condition. 

Lambert, of course, drives a fucking crotch-rocket to nobody's surprise. He's that asshole who's weaving through traffic at 80mph with no helmet on.

It was actually Yen who tried to teach him to drive. Tried being the operative word.

They refuse to ever tell Jaskier what happened in that lesson, but all he knows is that the passenger side door was missing, Yen looked like she'd gone through a wind tunnel, and now the engine squeaks when you put the little 4-door sedan into second gear.

She came in, announced that Geralt is never getting in her car again, and locked herself in the bathroom for three hours.

Geralt looked like he'd just come back from a war-zone.

It's Vesemir who has the rusty old work truck. Weirdly enough Geralt can drive that thing but it's no longer fit for driving on streets and would never pass smog inspection.