#tldr: witchers are dumb dragonsexuals

[jaskiersvalley]

Hello dear

Wanted to share with you how i FINALLY got iver and done with uni finals. So yay me! And so, i got the chance to reply to your...reply... yes. That madr sense.

I guess i can understand why writers in general (but specially you because you have a place in my heart now) fee like writing and posting on an anxiety void. I admire you all. Trully

I loved what you wrote to me. I love what you write to others. I love what you write put of your own wishes and impusles and imagination and-

I adore it all. You are a ge

Your nonnie ^.^

My dearest Nonnie, we’re getting into a loop here XD But I can’t reply and not bring you another ficlet like a cat dragging in a wet leaf from a “successful” hunt. Also, congratulations on finishing your uni finals! May whatever comes next be filled with happiness and success. To celebrate, here’s the promised wet leaf I’m bringing you :D

There was a rise and fall in creature numbers that Geralt was used to. Some years kikimora would be rampant in parts of the continent and the following year there would be a surge in cockatrices. One thing was odd though, there was a decline in forktails, wyverns and any other draconids. In the last decade or so there had been barely any he came across which was most unusual. Yet each winter he complained, neither Lambert nor Eskel had found such a decline. Neither had Aiden when he joined them for winter.

All it meant was that when the forktails got too close to Kaer Morhen, Geralt jumped at the chance to help, keen to keep his skills sharp. It worked in everyone’s favour, the others didn’t have to fight forktails, Geralt got to stay in shape and the keep was forktail free. At least, that was what happened until Geralt brought Jaskier with him. That year, Vesemir greeted him with worrying news.

“We were worried for you.” Which was unheard of. “A few days before your arrival, the forktails took off in a mass exodus. Something big is coming.”

They spent the whole winter worrying about what might have driven the forktails off. Alas, nothing reared its ugly head and they made their way down the mountain safely in the spring.

It went on like that for a few years. Each winter, any forktails that strayed to make their home on the mountain took off and left. Whatever it was that drove them away obviously led a migratory life and was likely nocturnal because no matter how much Vesemir kept a lookout, he never did spot what it was.

The fifth year Jaskier joined Geralt at Kaer Morhen, the journey up the mountain was a little different. As they climber, Jaskier fell quiet and uneasy, glancing around. Whenever Geralt prompted him, his worry was brushed off as a sweet but unnecessary concern. After four long days of hiking, they were finally outside Kaer Morhen, breaths puffing in white billows.

Vesemir greeted them at the gate. “The forktails left early this year.”

There was a snort of “I bet” from Jaskier which was confusing but mostly went ignored because the others were appearing from the keep to greet them.

“It’s a full keep this year, Lambert, Eskel and Aiden found a friend.”

“Mate!” Aiden called cheerily as he gave Jaskier a hug. “We’ve found a mate which sounds much cooler than boyfriend.”

As greetings were exchanged, another figure appeared from the doorway. He stopped a fair distance from Jaskier and the two of them stared, unblinking at each other. It was funny for a moment then got really awkward really quickly.

Trying to break the tension, Lambert laughed. “It looks like you’ve got smoke coming out your mouths.”

Two sets of dark eyes turned to glare at him. One red pair and one black. Immediately the witchers were taking steps back, uncertain what the hell was happening and cursing they didn’t have their swords. Given the appropriate space, Jaskier turned back to glaring at the intruder.

“I’ve already made my nest here.”

“I have three mates to your one.”

Eskel frowned and tried to wade in to peace keep, hoping his eyes had been deceived. “The fuck you on about Cahir? Oh shit that’s actually smoke.”

Both Jaskier and Cahir had smoke trickling from their noses. On close inspection their nails were darker too and Cahir had black scales creeping up his neck. Not that Jaskier looked in better shape, his eyes were a dark red and his teeth looked sharper in his mouth.

All of a sudden, Vesemir turned and walked through his pups, cuffing them all on the back of the head.

“And someone needs to smack me for being an idiot too,” he declared. “How the fuck did none of you realise you’re bedding dragons? And how did I not realise I was playing winter host to one, well, now two. Of course the forktails left.”

Little monologue finished, he walked up to Jaskier and Cahir. “You’re both guests here, this is my territory. So none of this posturing now, got it?”

Jaskier had the grace to look a little sheepish but his eyes stayed red and nails more like claws while Cahir struggled to get his scales to hide again. The four witchers stared at them agape, suitably stunned.

“This is why you hate the cold!” Lambert looked so smug at having figured something out at long last.

“Yes, Lambert, this is why I hate the cold,” Cahir replied, smoke still wafting out.

“Fly with me,” Jaskier suddenly said and he didn’t wait for Cahir before there was a red dragon beating its wings and taking off. With a growl, a smaller, black dragon was launching after him, leaving the witchers to stare as the two dragons twisted through the air.

It wasn’t an easy start to the winter, two territorial dragons trying to establish their claims. However, by the time spring rolled round, it wasn’t uncommon to find black and red tangled in a scorching warm pile in one of the cleared out storage caverns.