#triss merigold x eskel

[amalequin]

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 11.5

Chapter 11

"Now you see the lengths I can go to in order to take back what belongs to me," Daemon says in triumph as Caraxes stared down Geralt, the look in the dragon's eyes mirroring the same triumph and anger in his rider's.

Back inside the keep, the other witchers could only stare in awe and terror at the sight of the blood wrym.

"That's the dragon?!" Jaskier exclaims in shock, "that's THE dragon that Daemon rides?" "Caraxes," you nod in confirmation.

"I did say he was big," Ciri points out. "Yes, but THAT big?!" Jaskier exasperates.

"I have to agree with the bard on this one," Vesemir speaks, "Even if there were a hundred of us, we may not stand a chance."

"We have a sorceress to help us," Ciri points out. "I appreciate the confidence," Triss speaks, "but dragons are near impervious to magic. Just as with witchers, it would take dozens, even hundreds of us to subdue such a beast."

You sigh, taking a deep breath, thinking about what needed to be done. You were the reason Daemon came all this way. You were the one who could stop this conflict and prevent the bloodshed that was going to ensue.

"You are outmatched, witcher," Daemon continues his triumphant speech, "even with your tricks and spins and your enhanced senses, you are one man. You cannot hope to defeat a dragon on your own. Surrender now. Produce me (y/n) and my child, and I will spare you the destruction of your home, and you the pain of a burning death."

Geralt stood his ground, refusing to back down.

Right at that moment, the doors to Kaer Morhen opened wide. The witchers, lead by Vesemir, run out with swords in hand, their eyes black and skin ashen from the potions they had just consumed. Geralt turns to see the wolves join him in the fight.

Daemon's eyes widen a bit, not having realized there were more of the witcher's kind.

Geralt turned his gaze back to the prince, potion vial in hand, "as you can see, prince, I'm not alone," he downs the potion, his own eyes turning black and skin turning ashen white, "but you are, even with a dragon by your side," he points his sword at Daemon, "turn back now. There is nothing here for you."

"So you will not surrender?" Daemon asks, looking to Geralt, and the other witchers, "you would put your own brethren in mortal danger just to defend the woman you love?"

"We will all defend (y/n) and her child to the last fucking breath if we must," Eskel speaks, "they are one of us."

"You think yourself the first to invade Kaer Morhen?" Vesemir states,  "Men who possessed none of what you have tried to rid the world of the likes of us once before, yet here we stand. We've survived the last raid, we will do so again."

"Go back home to your comfy cushioned palace, you fucking spoiled princeling!" Lambert sneers, the other witchers shouting and jeering in agreement.

"...So be it," Daemon says in a rather calm yet threatening tone, looking to Caraxes, who seemed all too eager to obey his master's next command. Daemon turned to the witchers, a small smile on his face, "Dracarys."

Caraxes raised his head and a pillar of fire shot from his mouth. The witchers simultaneously cast the Quen sign to shield themselves from the dragon's flaming wrath. While the sign proved to be effective, it did little to conceal the heat of the flames.

Nevertheless, the wolves stood there ground.

Meanwhile Triss stood by the entrance to the keep, gathering her thoughts and her strength, focusing on the dragon.

She begin to mutter incantations in the Elder Speech, focusing the chaos around her to surround Caraxes.

It took some time, but the spell started to take effect. Right on time as the witchers were starting to feel the heat of the flames burn through their armor and into their skin. Their magic shields were starting to falter right when Caraxes stopped.

Daemon looked to his dragon, wondering what was going on.

Caraxes swayed and started to move about in a sluggish fashion, almost as if he were disoriented, until he faltered down.

The blood wrym was down, but he was not completely out.

Triss kept repeating the incantations that kept Caraxes sedated; it hadn't even been a minute and already the effects of the spell were starting to take its toll on the sorceress.

Many of the witchers were still recovering from the dragon flame.

Vesemir, Lambert, and Coen and two of the witchers rush up to subdue the dragon. Despite the heavy sedation spell, Caraxes could still push his weight around and knock the wolves about.

Eskel and Geralt take up their swords and charge at Daemon. The prince parried each of their blows from their swords. Valyrian steel was lighter then silver, which worked in Eskel and Geralt's favor as they begin to push the prince back.

While the fighting was going on you ran to your room and found your daughter still in your crib.

You had no doubt the Geralt and his brethren could take on Daemon (one would've been more then enough to suffice), but Caraxes was a different story.

You trusted Triss to be a capable and strong sorceress, but if what she said was true, she would not be able to subdue the beast for much longer. 

You take Aemma from the crib and cradle her to your chest, giving her a kiss on the head. You feel your eyes start to well up with tears.

Aemma looked up to you, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. To her, you were her whole world at this moment, unknowing of the outside world like she's been since the day she was born.

You loved her, and this was the last thing you wanted to do, but you couldn't be responsible for the needless deaths of the men who had welcomed you into their home and allowed you to stay and care for your daughter.

This needed to be done before more blood was shed.

You walk out of your room and into the main hall of the keep, heading for the front entrance.

"Uh, (y/n), what are you doing?" you hear Jaskier question in confusion, "Where are you going with Aemma?" You look to your brother with a knowing gaze.

"No," the Bard shakes his head, "no, no, no, (y/n), don't you dare, I forbid it." You scoff lightly, heart not completely in it, "when has that ever worked?"

"(y/n), you can't," Jaskier insists, "you don't have to do this, we can figure something else out." "Wait, what is she doing?" you hear Ciri ask. "Daemon is hear for Aemma and me," you say, "If I go with him, he'll spare Geralt and the others. I need to do this."

"No, don't," Ciri grabs your wrist, "you can't do this. I swore I would not let anything happen to Aemma, and I won't. I'll protect you, the both of you."

You turn to Ciri, tears in your eyes, "Ciri, you're a brave and sweet girl," you say, placing a hand on her head, "but don't make this anymore difficult then it already is." "But (y/n)-" "this is my decision, Ciri," you say sternly, "I'll be okay. Daemon won't hurt me, not as long as I have Aemma in my arms."

Meanwhile, the fight continued.

Daemon was pushed to the ground by Eskel as he and Geralt have their swords pointed at the prince. Daemon looked towards the keep to see Triss was still focusing her spell on Caraxes. If Daemon could take out the sorceress, the dragon would be back under his command once more.

Daemon got on his knees, putting his hands up to signify his surrender.

Geralt and Eskel still kept their defenses up as they slowly approach the prince.

Noticing the dagger by Eskel's side, Daemon quickly stands and grabs it, stabbing the man in the side.

"Eskel!" Geralt rushes to his brother's side as Daemon makes a run for it. Geralt was about to go after the prince, but Eskel was doubled over in pain.

The white hair witcher looked to see exactly where Daemon was running towards.

"Vesemir!" Geralt calls out, getting the elder witcher's attention, "he's going after Triss!"

Vesemir stopped fighting the dragon and ran after the prince.

Triss' nose was starting to bleed at this point, but she stood her ground and kept focus on the spell.

"Triss!" she hears Vesemir calls out.

Sure enough, Triss looks up to see Daemon about to stab her. The sorceress quickly dodged, but the sword braised her side, forcing her to falter in pain.

Vesemir ran to Triss' side and helped her to her feet.

The spell quickly dissipated and Caraxes shook off the effects, almost as if he was never under the spell's influence.

"We might want to fucking run now," Coen suggests.

Too late.

Caraxes growled and went after the witchers. One got snapped up in the dragon's jaws while the rest ran for their lives.

Daemon stood in triumph as Caraxes approached Geralt and Eskel. The prince walked towards the dragon and stared into both the witchers' eyes, ready to finish it all.

"STOP!!!"

Daemon and Caraxes both turned around towards the keep to see you by the entrance, the baby in your arms.

Daemon stood there, speechless. He felt himself start to walk towards you.

Before you knew it, Daemon stood in front of you, staring in awe at the bundle in your arms. "Please stop this, Daemon," you say, voice broken as you fought back your tears, "This is the reason you came all this way, isn't it? You came for me...and for Aemma."

"Aemma?" Daemon looked into the bundle to see your daughter's face, "you...named our daughter after the late queen?"

You nod, fighting the urge to shove Daemon away as he reached a hand to touch Aemma, rubbing her back.

"She is mine," you hear the prince whisper, "the blood of the dragon courses through her veins." 

You look up to Daemon, staring into his eyes with a hard look on your face.

"Spare the witchers," you sternly tell him, "and we'll go with you. Please, Daemon, swear to me no further harm will come to them, and I'll swear to go with you back to King's Landing, or Dragonstone, or wherever it is you wish to take us. Just please, stop this madness."

Daemon looked to his daughter, then turned his gaze back to you. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead, "you have my word, Little Lark. On the gods of Old Valyria."

You exhale, still annoyed by his pet name for you, but relieved that you were able to end this.

"(y/n)!" you hear Geralt call out, as he helps Eskel back to the keep, "what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," you say, letting a tear run down your cheek.

You feel Daemon place a hand on the small on your back and escort you towards Caraxes; the prince giving the witcher a knowing and triumphant look as he did so.

The witchers, Jaskier, and Triss could only stand and watch.

Ciri walked out of the keep, to see you and Daemon walking away.

"(y/n)!" she calls out, tears in her eyes, "don't do this!"

The young girl runs after you, but Geralt stops her, "Ciri!" he says. Ciri struggled, tears falling down as she watched Daemon help you up on Caraxes.

"No..." Ciri cries softly as Daemon mounts the beast behind you on the saddle.

"NO!!!!!"

The ground began to shake. Triss, Jaskier, and the witchers cover their ears from Ciri's screams. Caraxes roared in agony. You hold Aemma close to you for protection. Behind you, Daemon covered his own ears, looking to see where the source of this power was coming from.

For one reason or another, the chaos surrounding Ciri started to cause the witchers to pass out, the injured ones first.

Caraxes managed to protect you, Aemma, and Daemon by raising a wing to form in barrier in front of you.

"CIRI! STOP!!" you shout out, but it didn't do much good.

The keep was starting to crumble from the impact.

Triss stepped away from Vesemir, summoning what strength she had left to cast another spell to subdue Ciri.

It worked, but the spell also backfired, hitting Triss and Vesemir, causing them to pass out; the spell ricocheted towards Caraxes, who had lowered his wing, and hit you and Aemma.

To your surprise, you barely felt a thing. You look to Aemma, but it didn't seem anything different happened to her either.

Daemon leaned over your shoulder, concern for his daughter taking over.

Ciri, still disoriented from the impact of the spell, groggily got back on her feet. Seeing the everyone else was down, and the dragon had not yet taken off, she runs to you and Daemon.

Both you and Daemon could only stare at the young girl, shocked and speechless, even Caraxes seem to stare at her in shock as well.

"You want to take (y/n) and Aemma away from here, you're taking me too," Ciri states with authority.

---------------------------------------

Some time later, the witchers started to come to.

By the time Geralt regained consciousness he saw his brothers walk back to the keep, many of them exhausted and wounded.

Inside, Vesemir tended to Triss' wounds while Cone took care of Eskel.

Geralt walked in and approached the elder witcher, "Where are (y/n) and Aemma?" he asks. "...Gone," Vesemir says somberly, "as is Ciri."

"What?!" Geralt's eyes widen, "she...no, no, no," he shakes his head in denial.

He runs outside to calling out for Ciri, shouting into the mountain.

The witcher fell to his knees, not able to come to terms with the fact that not only was the women he loved taken away, but now his ward was taken from him as well.

Geralt turned his gaze to the west. He was going to do everything in his power to travel to Westeros, and bring you, Aemma, and Ciri back home.

Chapter 12

Masterlist

[quinemajo]

I made fanart for "A Hoard of Witchers" Witcher fanfiction

[finnyphcntom]

notorious.

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Chapter One : The Word Hate

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Did he over exaggerate? Yes. But something inside of him just.. felt weird when Dandelion was shamed upon. Geralt wasn't that bad of a dude, especially to Dandelion.

Lambert hated to say- yes, hated, that word again. He hated that he actually enjoyed Dandelion's presence.

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'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : oh but id lovee to convince you. maybe we can get a lil tipsy and ill go home with you, yeah handsome? ;)'

--------

Lambert was... notoriously known, for many things. What things? Well, the list is long, but here is the simplified version;

Being a bitch.

And then there was... well, thats about it.

He hated, hated, just about... Well, all? Of Geralts friends. Eskel would always say, "hate is such a strong word,"

Well no shit. He knew that, used it for a reason.

Speaking of hate, he hates when they hang out.

He was rather tired of everyone hanging out without inviting him. Yeah, he'd decline with a 'fuck no' or 'i hate triss lol' but, hell, he still wants at least an invite.

But no one bothered to invite him anymore.

They act like he doesnt know, isnt aware, of these events. Hes heard them talk, all because hes 'too angsty.'

Be real. If they had an Aiden, and then said Aiden died, theyd he angsty too.

Which, he will say, Geralt does have his Aiden.

Dandelion.

Lambert hated to say- yes, hated, that word again. He hated that he actually enjoyed Dandelion's presence.

And do you know what he hates even more?

That hes jealous.

He hates that he's jealous, and hates that he doesnt know what over.

Over Geralt? Maybe.

Over Dandelion? Maybe.

The fact that Dandelion gets invited to hangouts? Maybe.

Oooor the fact that Geralt, who treats Dandelion like shit, gets to keep his best friend. And he doesnt. Bingo, baby.

Well, okay, maybe it was a mix of all four.

But no, he heard of this party that was happening at Yennefer's house. How could he not? Kiera informed him alllll about it.

And another thing he was known for; not only being a bitch, but a petty one at that.

He was going to show up at that damn party.

~~~~~~

Lambert expected many things in his day. To fold clothes, deal with shitty customers, fold clothes again, to fix registers because somehow no one else knew how to do that, and then to again, you guessed it, fold clothes. Oh, and deal with shitty customers.

And then, he would go home around 3pm, just to clean horse shit and feed the goats on the farm. Only sometimes would he find holes in his perfectly good jeans.

But what he didnt expect? His phone to light up with a text. Ever since losing his girlfriend, he hasnt had a single text, other than from Eskel.

Eskel was a family man. Soft, sympathetic. He thinks he would have a little bit more trouble lying and hiding stuff behind his back. He thinks any of these people who are hosting these parties, throwing the- his phone dings again.

Oh, right. He was so used to a lonely phone that he forgot it went off.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : hey lambert, i know we dont really talk but what time is that party tomorrow? ive got a performance that day and want to arrange an uber ^-^'

Holy fucking shit? It had to be Dandelion. No one else in the group was talented enough with music to perform it.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : also!! how come u never go? :('

That was the second message.

Did Dandelion not know?

What does he do? He hated to say that his heart was racing. Why was his heart racing? It was just Dandelion. Just a rising celebrity with like seven degrees- from Oxenfurt no less- and his brothers best friend.

His heart was fucking racing. Does he be cool? Does he be mysterious? Should he even answer?

No, no he had to answer.

The few times hes talked to Dandelion have been.. amazing, actually. Of course, Dandelion had an issue with talking to strangers, and also, well, sleeping with strangers, but that was fine. Lambert felt like Dandelion enjoyed talking to, well...

Lambert.

Not Geralts brother, not a bitch (which he will admit he is,) not a depressed, angsty man who practically lives in his room at the farm he grew up on. Which he was.

His phone dings again. Shit.

Lambert grabs his phone off of his car mount this time, sitting in the parking lot of his shitty retail job at Cavill's Combat.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : oh shit my bad i probably shouldve clarified. this is dandelion im sorry'

Be chill Lambert.

'lambert : heyy yeah no youre good lol'

The multiple y's were cool? Right? Showed he was calm. One Y was boring, three was excessive. Right?

'lambert : as for the party, i have no clue thats a geralt question.'

He decides not to answer the second question. For now.

He puts his phone back on the mount and his car in drive, pretending like he didn't flinch at the sound of the bluetooth connecting.

His phone dings again, and he cant answer, but he does peak at the message.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : well i wou .. geral ... mad ... ignoring me ...'

That was all he could see for now. Quit frankly, that was all he needed to see.

Did Geralt ignore Dandelion whenever he was mad?

My brain was shut off upon hearing the first Hollywood Undead song start.

~~~~~

When I arrived home, I was bombarded with questions. Eskel was that type of man.

"How was your day at work?" He said from the kitchen, where Lambert was trying to sneak on by.

"Long." Lambert said. "Henry wasnt there."

His boss. Whenever Henry was gone, Lambert had to pick up all the shit- as an assistant store manager.

"Didnt have to fix anything today though, right?" Eskel said.

What a fake fucking bitch, Lambert thought.

"So... do you want me to fix you something to eat?"

He heard it, but didnt register it.

Being the odd one out was quite the funny thing. He lost his best, childhood friend of 14 years in his sophomore year of college to suicide.

He drops out of said college. Decides to start therapy; ends up getting sent to a psych ward.

And now hes working at some shitty fucking retail job; and still working at his adoptive fathers farm.

Yeah, life was fucking great. A ball of fucking sunshine.

Eskel was a doctor. Geralt was a successful Butcher, working under their adoptive father.

And he was a depressed man with a shitty retail job.

"Hello? Lambert?"

Without thinking, Lambert grabs the nearest item which just so happened to be a decorative vase, squeezing it tightly...

"How are things since you ended it with Kiera?"

and throws it.

Right at Eskel.

He's rather lucky it misses. Shatters all over the ground instead of on Eskel's mass.

"You're fake. Did you know that? You're a liar. You're a fraud. Stop with the fake fucking persona that you care about me."

And with that, he has no choice to storm away.

~~~~~

In his room, hes able to check his phone again. The text from Dandelion was sitting there, menacingly.

'lambert : does geralt always ignore u when hes mad at u?'

With how busy Dandelion was, you werent expecting an immediate response.

But you get one.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : typixally he tellsme to fuck off and rhats how i know hes mas at me'

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : u should go :( ive never seen u there, i know u dont like me'

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : but i got a few tricks up my sleeve to convince u too ;)'

It takes Lambert a bit to decipher Dandelions absolutely awful typing. For a man with an english degree, he is sure as hell bad at English.

Lambert kept reading the, 'i know u dont like me.'

Who the fuck told Dandelion that? Because Lambert has never, not once, discussed any sort of dislike for Dandelion.

If anything, Lambert actively defends his name. He remembers all the times Geralt spoke about ignoring Dandelion, called Dandelion annoying.

Lambert would always stick up for him.

Were there any good reasons why? He had a bunch, personally.

One, and the biggest reason, was that Lambert would kill in cold blood to be able to talk to his best friend again.

Two, is that Dandelion was a good person with good morals. And incredible talent. Dandelion deserved love and praise, not hate from his closest friend.

Three, he was oddly drawn to Dandelion. He didn't know why.

Did he over exaggerate? Yes. But something inside of him just.. felt weird when Dandelion was shamed upon. Geralt wasn't that bad of a dude, especially to Dandelion.

But it's common decency not to talk shit about your best friend when the person you're talking to lost theirs to suicide.

Kind of inconsiderate, Geralt.

'lambert : lol who told you that? i like you'

He suspects it was Triss. Maybe Yennefer had assumed? Lambert didnt really like anyone, it was a safe assumption. But Geralt knew- knew Lambert actually at least tolerated Dandelions presence.

He even told Geralt that he wanted to be Dandelion's friend. That Dandelion reminded him of Aiden. He opened up to Geralt, surely his own family wouldn't do him dirty like that?

Dandelion didnt answer, and Lambert didnt know why, but it disapointed him.

'lambert : i gotta know what those tricks are though, care if i ask for a little more convincing? ;)'

Lambert was going to shit his pants.

First, he double texts. Which is fine, because Dandelion like... quadruple texts. But then he had to hit on the man.

It was playful, right? It wasn't gay. Playful. A game.

Why was his heart racing again?

He was straight anyway.

~~~~~~

Eskel was full of concern at the dinner table when Lambert didnt show up. There sat Geralt and Vesemir, but Lamberts seat was eerily just.. empty.

"Lambert skipped his farm work today," Vesemir said, taking a bite of his mashed potatoes, before grabbing salt and shaking what seemed to be half the bottle in it. Taking another bite, he seemed satisfied.

"He didnt respond to my texts at all. Read every single one, too." Eskel said. "And he..."

Eskel did not want to throw Lambert under the bus. Not when it seemed something was seriously wrong.

"I had to pick up his fucking slack," Geralt said. "Seriously, this kid needs to grow up. We all work in jobs we don't like. I don't like slaughtering pigs and looking at blood, and I'm sure that Eskel doesn't like performing surgery. But we aren't babies about it."

Geralt was chewing into his food like a rabid animal, clearly angry. The steak that was on his plate was massacred, cut up and stabbed.

The walls at Kaer Morhen were pretty thin. The farm itself was nice, but the house wasn't in the perfect condition. It was pretty, but old, some of the rooms half-finished.

Therefore none of the men were surprised or so much as even flinched when Lambert yelled, seemingly speaking to his T.V screen and taking his anger out on Overwatch.

90% of Lambert's free time was spent on video games. It used to be with his girlfriend, Kiera, but she slowly started avoiding him.

He hardly noticed the change. It was gradual; slow, but eventually he caught on. She wasn't the same.

For his own sake, he left her. He will admit, he loved her, but it wasn't hard. She messaged him once every few days.

"He broke up with Kiera, Geralt." Eskel says. "And now hes having a rough time. Maybe we should cut him some slack."

"Don't really care. Shouldn't of been as toxic as he was." Geralt said.

"We should try to understand Lambert. He comes before a girl, Geralt. Put those events with her aside, it's clearly driving a wedge between the three of you."

They could hear Lambert; which means Lambert could hear them.

Toxic? That was funny. He devoted everything to that girl. She ran a small business he would fund- which typically took his full paycheck from Vesemir. Other than that, she didn't really work. He paid for everything.

Toxic was funny.

"Lambert was too much stress on her. Shes a girlfriend, not a therapist. Girls don't like emotional guys, I cant help that." Geralt says, sharply and angrily.

"Lambert hardly talks about emotions." Eskel corrects.

"Sure as hell corrects me all the damn time about them. Sick of him calling me ungrateful and shit. I cant control his losses." Geralt said, with a tone that ended the conversation there.

~~~~~~

Toxic was funny. Really, really funny. Was it toxic to correct your brother on his own toxic behavior?

Lambert didn't understand.

Geralt. A man who ran everything in his life with his dick, not his brain. Who cheated on women, who verbally abused his friends. Who ignores his so called "best friend" because he's mad.

Thats actually not really that bad, but whatever. Lambert was mad, and petty, and wondering why Dandelion hadn't answered him.

Why was he thinking of that? Not okay, Lambert. He's busy. Probably recording music and getting yelled at by his directors.

Toxic was funny, when Lambert was so loyal. When Lambert tried his best to fit in, he just genuinely never did.

Toxic was so, so funny.

His mind ran off, to a different place, one where theres grass and tulips and roses and fuck- Dandelions.

Dandelion.

Would Dandelion prioritize Lambert over Geralt? Sure, they'd talk. But when he's mad at Geralt. When Geralt's not around. He would be a rebound for a best friend.

Just like he was to Kiera.

He had just won a match when his phone dinged and lit up three times.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : hi ! sorry had to finish up recording a song for my album. stupid director :(

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : oh but id lovee to convince you. maybe we can get a lil tipsy and ill go home with you, yeah handsome? ;)'

Lambert was kicking his feet, giggling, and squealing like a high school girl. Well, his face was stoic, but mentally he was there. Mentally he was going insane.

He had never been hit on deliberately like that. Like stated before, he was the odd one out. With Geralt and Eskel his brothers, he was known as the ugly one of the family.

He was surprised when Kiera wanted him. Him, out of the three. He had made the move, god forbid a woman make a move on him. But she still accepted- still chose him.

She used to fuck with Geralt a couple years back, back when Geralt and Yennefer would cheat on each other. He always had girls left and right. Kiera, Yennefer, Triss, and boy, did he have a shit ton of one night stands.

He wasn't surprised when Kiera got distant. It hurt at first, but he realized one thing- thats life. She lost interest.

When people normally got to know him, they would see Geralt and run. They'd lose interest in him, all of the sudden. But Geralt would never take them from him though, he wasn't that bad a person.

And he wasn't a bad person either. But Geralt's best friend currently hitting on him? It shouldn't make him feel giddy inside. It shouldn't make him so happy that it felt like someone had chosen him over Geralt.

He couldn't help but smile.

But it was playful. It was all playful.

He couldn't help but feel his smile drop, as he went to read the last message from Dandelion. His face contorted in anger; wanting to lash out all over again.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : it was geralt. glad to see youve changed ur mind tho! <3'

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Thank you @0dde11eth @everything-but-the-not-natural

[gil-galadhwen]

Lady Of The Marred Moon [An Eskel Fic]

Chapter 5 - When The Weathers Just Right

Catrin settles in for her first night at Kaer Morhen, but after overhearing a conversation in the kitchen, she thinks perhaps the witchers aren't that happy about her being there after all. Especially one witcher in particular…

It's not Lambert despite the gif 😆

Read here...

(Dividers by @saradika-graphics)

[dapandapod]

Toss a phone at your bard

HELLO my darlings.

So I am slowly working through my wip hoard and today it was decided it was time for Jaskel. Thank you Kei and Jamie. Let it be known, I have used Instagram like twice, but I am known to throw my phone across the room if something unexpected (usually positive) happens, so that is firmly anchored to reality. Please enjoy my silly boys having a time <3

On Ao3 here

Medieval festivals are amazing. Swords, jugglers, tournaments, handcrafts, historical clothing, they got it all. Depending on which one you go to, that is. This one ticks a lot of boxes, especially on the hand craft market.

  Triss, Aiden and Essi had spent the past three weeks crafting their clothing, needling Jaskier's sleep-deprived student ass into joining them. On the condition that he could be That Guy, and play a medieval version of Wonderwall on his ukulele.

Because as cool as a lute is, they are fucking expensive, and hard to play at that. Jaskier knows, he tried.

Puffy sleeves and a scandalizingly open tunic really completes his look, and he enjoys all the looks the crowds are sending him. 

Well. His group, because they look fucking excellent, but he is a part of the group, so it counts. 

Aiden has dressed as a soldier, Essi as a historical crafting student has spent so much time on Triss' dress, and she looks every part a queen, save for the jewelry. Essi herself is dressed in a more modest dress, but no the less stunning with the attention to detail around her sleeves.

Yeah. They look awesome.

As they walk the area, they find so many crafts. Many of the stalls offer hand casted candles, even more offering lanterns and jugs, and where Aiden came to a stop, hand crafted wooden figurines.

Turns out Aiden knows one of the two standing there, the shorter, armored and rather angry looking Lambert. But no matter the scowling, there is no mistaking the spark between them. Lambert barely sees the rest of the group, eyes peeled on Aiden. It's cute, and Jaskier is happy for them, even if a pang of loneliness aches in him.

That is when Jaskier's eyes land on the other person by the stall.

How Jaskier didn't see him immediately is beyond him, because, wow. Belatedly Jaskier realizes he needs to close his mouth, as he feels Essi's elbow against his side. He looks away quickly, glad that the man didn't notice.

"You good?" She asks teasingly, and damn, Jaskier could *kick* her.

"Tired." Jaskier excuses himself, because he is. That's what you get when you are awake past 3am, staring at the ceiling.

Essi knocks her shoulder to his in sympathy, she knows of his struggles, and does her best to help him.

"Did you watch the video I sent?"

"Three times."

"Aw."

"Insomnia still kicking your ass?" Triss asks as she picks up a little wooden trinket. "Oh, this is cute."

This finally grabs the man across the table's attention.

He smiles at her, eyes gliding over the group, lingering on Jaskier, and suddenly it is hard to breathe.

"Thank you." He says, and why is even his voice attractive?! Unfair.

"You are the one making them? This swallow is really cute!"

"I am, yes. The swallow is my niece's favorite." He says, and Jaskier picks one up to inspect it. It really is well made, the cut of the blade is really subtle, giving a nice texture to the wings.

"They are really nice." Jaskier says, bringing those hazel eyes on him again, and a smile is directed his way. Shit.

"You should see the goats he makes." Lambert pipes up, earning him a glare. "No one loves goats like Eskel."

Aiden laughs brightly, as Jaskier rolls that name around in his head. Eskel.

"Fuck you, Lambert."

"That wasn't very medieval of you." Lambert retorts and Eskel rolls his eyes.

"Pardon my brother, my liege." Eskel says to Triss, tilting forward in half a bow. "He is desperate to impress that kitten knight of yours."

Both Lambert and Aiden splutters indignantly, and Triss covers her smile with a gloved hand.

"Apology accepted, sir, if you show us those rumored goat creations of yours"

Turns out, Eskel didn't bring them, but he pops up his instagram and youtube account, showing off some finished sculptures that he made.

They are incredible, and there are videos of Eskel working the wood, showing his whittling process. Some of them are how-to's, some of them are just sped up showing his progress, and Jaskier finds himself drawn towards those where Eskel is explaining what he does.

Essi buys a little figurine before they leave, and Jaskier snags one of Eskel's business cards. Why? For the social media accounts, of course. No other reason.

When they turn to leave, Essi hooks her arm around Jaskier's and whispers not-so-quietly if Jask should have asked Eskel if he is single.

She is a terrible friend.

Coming home from the fair is a busy affair. Many layers of clothing need to be shed and put away carefully for next time. 

Jaskier had the pleasure of playing Wondereth Walleth eight times before he was challenged to a duel, to which Sir Cat, meaning Aiden, stepped up.

All in all, it was an amazing day, and Jaskier managed to see Eskel a few more times, stopping by their stall to chat when Aiden wanted to flirt.

He is pleasantly tired, and he is filled with a giddy energy, which doesn't bode well for tonight, but fuck it, Jaskier lets himself enjoy it.

The moment he is free from his garments, after having posted some group photos and some *very* nice selfies if he may say so himself, Jaskier takes out Eskel's business card again.

Is this stalking? No, nah, not at all.

This is just checking out a craftsman at work, adding to his views, helping him out. That is what marketing is all about, you know?

It has nothing to do with how Jaskier can't stop thinking about Eskel's broad frame, his big hands around his delicate creations, his skill with a knife. 

Alright, maybe a little, but again, fuck it! Jaskier will allow himself to enjoy this giddy feeling. It's been a while since he's felt anything but stress and tiredness anyway.

In only his undies and an oversized hoodie, Jaskier throws himself on his messy bed with his phone.

Dragoninthewoods, a curious name, but it makes sense later, as Jaskier stumbles over a video where Eskel is using fire to stain the wood for effect.

Holy shit, he is hot.

Jaskier settles in, throwing the blanket around himself, only to kick a leg free half a minute later, and scrolls through Eskel's instagram.

Like always, Jaskier finds himself staying awake past midnight, finding himself lingering on a picture of Eskel and what seems to be his niece in a petting zoo. It's a nice picture, with the little girl staring a chicken down, and Eskel having at least three baby goats climbing him, looking delighted.

It is tagged with 'if one is missing it wasn't me' and 'don't tell lambert i found his mother - ciri' and 'guess I'm making more goats, huh?' and Jaskier is so charmed.

The more he looks, the more he notices. The scars, of course, are hard to miss, but the crinkle around Eskel's eyes? The way he holds himself up under the wheight of the little monsters, the way the side of his shirt is riding up, revealing skin and oh fuck, Jaskier this is absolutely stalking.

Everything comes crumbling down around him when he accidentally likes the picture. Jaskier unlikes it just as fast and throws the phone across the room on instinct. Because that will fix things.

Survival, he is good at it.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!

Well. There is bound to me an influx of activity on his social pages after a fair, right?

It's fine. It's fine!

It doesn't matter that the only picture he actually liked across his whole page is the one showing Eskel himself, this is fine! Jaskier throws himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling. No more phone for tonight, it's fine.

It's fine.

It's not fine.

It's been another hour, and Jaskier has a new message. The phone is oh so very far away, all the way across the floor, taunting him. It wouldn't be Eskel, would it? No, that would be dumb. But it could be, right?

No, it couldn't.

Without his permission, Jaskier's body is sitting up and tip-toeing across the room to pick it up, heart in his throat.

It's Aiden, but the message doesn't make sense at first, in the little summary box.

"Look, if you are gonna go through his pictures at 2am in the morning, it's fine, but please don't wake up the rest of the house by liking a picture without sliding into his DM's. Fix it. / Lambert."

......What? Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat?

Jaskier stares at his phone, and then he notices a high pitched sound, and then he notices it is in fact him doing that high pitched sound, and excuse him, what the actual fuck?!

The message has been taunting him for some good long minutes, until another message joins the other.

From Dragoninthewoods.

Jaskier throws his phone at the bed on instinct, hard, because that is apparently who he is as a person when he panics.

Retrieving it from between the bed and the wall, Jaskier braves to read the message.

"I can see that you didn't. Fixed it. There you go, perfect conversation starter. You are welcome /Lambert."

What the fuck what the FUCK?!

Not a minute later, there is another message, profusely apologizing, this time signed with Eskel.

Jaskier's heart is beating so hard he can hear it in his ears, his breath is coming in fast and the giddy nerves from before run through him like a storm. It is not as if Jaskier *wants* to overthink it, but as he types out a reply his mind is racing.

Without letting himself think more about it, Jaskier sends a reassurance back, and a promise to go see his wares at the fair tomorrow too. He hadn't planned on it but like. That is a good excuse, right?

Insomnia still holds Jaskier in a tight grip the rest of the night, but he manages to snatch an hour or two of sleep before he is woken up by his phone again, this time a message from Aiden, actually Aiden, offering to meet up at the fair and why didn't he mention he as going both days?!

Well. That is not something he is going to bring up on a phone anywhere near Lambert, if he has learned anything at all from all of this.

Jaskier redresses in his bard's clothes, even packing his uku-lute, as he has come to affectionately call it now.

Aiden and Jaskier meet up outside the gates, where all the tents are set up. That would explain a thing or two, if Aiden crashed with the brothers last night.

"Heard you put our dragon man in a spin." Aiden says by way of greeting.

"Uh, hi?" Jaskier says back, confused and embarrassed and excited all at the same time.

"Oh please. Eskel has been fretting all morning, and I know you have a thing for him already. That was painfully obvious. What did you even do?"

Ah fuck.

"I might have... liked a picture on his on instagram that I didn't mean to."

Aiden stares at him like he has grown a second head.

"That's all?" He asks, incredulous.

"That's all." Jaskier confirms, more confused than ever.

"Oh, he's got it bad." Aiden groans, throwing his head back in exasperation. "Ok, so I have a confession. I might be dating Lambert, and I might have shown  Eskel your picture at some point, and uh... talked about you a bit."

It is time for Jaskier to stare at Aiden like he has grown a second head, because what?

"What?" He asks, because yes, what?

"Yeah, uh. He's hot, you're hot, you know?" Aiden waves his hand nonchalantly and steers them towards the fair area. "So you should talk to him today, you know. Ask him out or something."

"I threw my phone across the room because of him. Twice."

Aiden snorts, "Exactly."

Jaskier makes weak protests all the way over to Eskel's stall, where Lambert already stands waiting. There are dark circles under his eyes, matched by Eskel sipping on a coffee on a little footstool next to his table. When they are noticed, Eskel shoots straight up, eyes wide and Lambert rolls his eyes.

"Good morning!" Aiden calls, stepping right up to his... boyfriend, Jaskier supposes, and steals a bite of the sandwich Lambert is holding.

"Asshole." Lambert mutters, but doesn't put up a fight. That is love, right there. "Here for my idiot brother?"

No mercy, whatsoever.

"Ah. I suppose... I am?" It comes out as a question, but yeah, he is actually. Jaskier gathers up his courage, and meets Eskel's eyes. "Want to walk around the fair with me for a bit?"

Eskel looks like a deer caught in headlight, and Lambert shoves him into motion to join Jaskier.

"If you keep him and therefore me awake another night, I will stab someone." Lambert threatens, and it makes Jaskier huff a laugh.

"No promises, I guess?" Jaskier teases, and then by some miracle takes Eskel's hand and leads them away.

As soon as they are out of sight, Jaskier lets go awkwardly, and scratches the back of his head.

"Uhm. Sorry? For just showing up and dragging you away I mean. You got a business to run."

"No, it's fine, I... Lambert will look after it. And Aiden I suppose. Sorry about last night, really, I didn't see Lambert taking my phone."

"It's fine, it's fine! Kind of sweet of him, really. Did I really keep you up?"

This is the strangest conversation Jaskier has ever had. Probably not true, but right now it really feels like it. Somewhere in the top ten list, at the very least.

"Uh, yeah. I kind of threw my phone across the tent when I saw the notification." Eskel confesses, and well.

"So did I. Twice."  They smile at each other, and start walking again.

"So. Where to? Anything we should see today?"

"There will be a tournament in about 15 minutes, my niece is the princess and my brother is one of the knights competing."

"Another brother?"

"Yeah, Geralt. He adopted Ciri last year, after her parents passed."

"Oh no, that's sad!"

"Yes, but they are dealing well. They are both smiling a lot more now."

They stroll between the stalls, around the small stage where a bard with an *actual* lute is setting up, together with a girl with a drum and a third with a fiddle, around the little dirt paths leading them towards the paddock where the tournament will be held.

Jaskier finds himself asking questions about Eskel's work, about his family, about that goat thing, and Eskel in turn ask questions about his degree, his outfit, and if he is doing anything next weekend and possibly might be free for a coffee.

Yeah.

Day two of medieval fairs indeed turns out to be better.

Jaskier learns that Eskel has a really dorky laugh, that Aiden has been trying to set them up for *weeks*, and for that, they both probably owe Aiden at least a bottle of wine.

[zoeysdamn]

Fanarts and illustrations masterlist

[MAIN MASTERLIST]

[Instagram art account]

Meet the artist 2023 (TW: mention of mental health issues)

Meet me in different universe //the 'girls on films' trend

The Wicther

The Witcher Tarot - Major arcanas

Jaskier Yennefer of Vangerberg Philippa Eilhart Anna Henrietta  Emhyr var Emreis  Avalla’ch  Yennefer and Geralt  Geralt of Rivia Angoulême  Emiel Regis Cirilla of Cintra  Radovid V  Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Eredin Eithné Leo Bonhart  Tor Zireael    Triss Merigold   Milva Barring  Mistle  Tissaia de Vries [TW: blood]  Ciri     

The Witcher tarot - Figures 

King of Swords - Eskel  Queen of Swords - Cerys an CraiteKnight of Swords - Sigismund DijkstraPage of Swords - Fringilla VigoAce of Swords - Ida Emean aep Sivney

King of Wands - LambertQueen of Wands - FalkaKnight of Wands - Olgierd von EverecPage of Wands - Assire var AnahidAce of Wands - Sabrina Gleivissig

King of Pentacles - Vesemir Queen of Pentacles - Francesca FindabairKnight of Pentacles - Margarita Laux-AntillePage of Pentacles - ShaniAce of Pentacles - Sheala de Tancarville

King of Cups - Crach an CraiteQueen of Cups - Lytta NeydKnight of Cups - Iris von EverecPage of Cups - Hjalmar an CraiteAce of Cups - Keira Metz

Other The Witcher fanarts:

Geralt’s Hansa (books) Philippa Eilhart (cosplay/fanart) The witcher 3 genderbends More The Witcher 3 Genderbends (Geralt, Yennefer, Ciri) Fem!Radovid x Male!Philippa Eilhart (TW: blood) Empress!Ciri || Another Empress!Ciri Cahir x Empress!Ciri Queen of Cintra!Ciri Ciri x Cahir Pirates of the Caribbean AU Witcher!Yennefer MET Gala looks for Yennefer, Triss and Philippa Witchersona sketches Triss x Philippa (cosplay/fanart) Witcher!Ahsoka Tano (Star Wars x the Witcher AU) Regis mandrake liquor

Avatar: the last airbender

ATLA Tarot

Aang Azula The Painted Lady Ursa Ozai Iroh The painted Lady x the Blue spirit Zuko Toph Roku Ty Lee Kyoshi Jet Kô Suki Zhao Air temples Katara [COMING SOON] Yue [COMING SOON] Sokka Mai [COMING SOON] [surprise card] [COMING SOON]

The Sandman

There shall be night series fanart Crack headcanon crossover Hamilton x The Sandman

Wednesday

Tatto artist AU (Xavier Thorpe, Wenclair)Glitter and Gold Rave’n outfits for Bianca, Enid and Xavier

A-Z double characters challenge

A & B C to K

Original Art

Golden Aphrodite [redraw]Lady Loki [redraw]Party Medusa [redraw]Greek Mythology women - color palettes studyArt progress from 2018 to 2023Modern!Medusa x AthenaMonstersona V4Pole dance strugglesBrush and layer mode theory [practice]

WIPs & sneak peek

Ciri x Cahir inspired by 'Paolo and Virginia' Queen of Cintra!Ciri ATLA tarot: Katara's card Unfinished Queen!Ciri x Knight!Cahir fanart ATLA tarot: more sneak peeks

[nezmar13]

Delicate things under the cover of night

CrimeBoss_Geralt x Jaskier AO3 fanfiction

(Explicit, 5,2K)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46563358

Summary

Geralt believed that delicate and beautiful things weren´t for him. The few times he managed to get something for himself that held a value to his heart, it ended up shattered and broken. Because of that he was unsure what to do or what to feel when he set his eyes for the first time on the new singer of his club.

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Jaskier | Dandelion

Lambert (The Witcher)

Triss Merigold

Vesemir (The Witcher)

Eskel (The Witcher)

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Fluff and Smut

Romantic Fluff

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings

Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Organized Crime

Fanart

Shameless Smut

Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46563358

[metalgearwitcher]

What I WILL write: Fluff Angst Hurt/Comfort Gender Neutral reader Fem Reader Male Reader MLM, MLW WLW Platonic (all underage characters are auto-platonic) Smut Pregnancy dark topics (suicide, murder, death, sh etc) canon typical violence ( there is a lot of it in these franchises, they are anti war stories afterall maybe not depicting some of the things that happen in canon it but I can still reference them )

Will Not Write Non-con Yandere Underage "disturbing" kinks (usually meaning involving noncon partners, violence or bodily functions, mostly) feel free to ask if your kink is ok or not) Character x Character AUs ( sorry not my thing)

I will not judge you at all for any kinks or personal interests - do not be afraid to message me with any questions you have

will some detail with the requests like a prompt, but not so much that I'm just writing your OC

am a slow writer. I might take a while to finish a request

If there is a character that isn't on the following lists, ask about them to see if I write for them

character list below the RM

Metal Gear

I'm not familiar enough with metal gear rising to write for those characters but most of the others are fair game

MGS character list

Solid Snake

Big Boss or Naked Snake

Revolver Ocelot

Otacon

Meryl Silverburgh

Johnny Sasaki

Sniper Wolf

Zero

EVA

Para-Medic

Kazuhira Miller

Strangelove

Cécile

Venom Snake

Quiet

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Witcher Iv only gone through the Witcher 3 so I'm not familiar with the previous games, so I will do research to write for some of the more popular characters like Vernon Roche and Iorveth

This is based on the game version the characters not the tv show. I still like the show I just think there should be more content for the game characters ( though I might make an exemption for Jaskier I love him too much to exclude)

I'm not finished with the book series yet but I may included details from it and reference book only stuff or use characterization if there isn't enough detail for them in the games, I will probably add more characters when I'm finished with the books, like Milva

Witcher character list Ciri

Geralt of Rivia

Dandelion

Jaskier (TV)

Triss Merigold

Shani

Vesemir

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Eskel

Lambert

Vernon Roche

Iorveth

Cerys an Craite

Regis

Ves

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

dearest comfy <3 what if Triss was a blacksmith AND Eskel was a blacksmith??? What then?? Enemies to lovers maybe? <3

Ellie. I love you. I love this prompt. And I love Trisskel. This is a triple threat of wonderfulness. Hopefully the fic delivers 💖💖

Warnings: no violence, some hostile Triss (mostly internal), lmao is this considered idiot and exasperated to lovers? idk you tell me, its pretty chill tbh, unless you don’t like daggers. there's lots of daggers. 

_____________________

Triss was furious. 

She had spent her whole life stoking a furnace, shadowing her father, sweating, suffering burn after burn and later cut after searing cut as she learned to forge all sorts of weaponry. Now, this teddy bear-shaped child was setting up shop in her courtyard?! Unacceptable. Unbelievable! She’d staked a claim on her territory for market day early. So early she hadn’t even made her first blade. Her father still had her hammering out decorative discs and fastenings for armor. 

One of her customers had the audacity to call him ‘cute’ to her face.

He was no more than twenty-five, tall and stocky like most people expected of a blacksmith, but they claimed there was a softness about him. Triss remembered that softness well, before loss and responsibility really set in. What others saw as sweet, boyish charm she saw as a weakness. 

She sent her assistant to assess his booth, maybe flirt and ask some questions, and was even more annoyed when they came back. 

“He’s young but he’s not inexperienced. His blades are good. So is his uh… customer service.” 

Triss rolled her eyes, “What kind of weapons was he selling? I don’t care about his looks. I have breasts.”

Her assistant shrugged and described his table. 

That following week she put in double the hours at her workshop, put the extra flourish on every piece, perfected every detail until her arms ached and her head pounded. She often forgot to drink water, let alone eat, when she got worked up, so her assistant brought her meals. 

When the next market day came, she proudly displayed her new wares.

And if she took her hair out of the usual braids and unbuttoned her blouse a bit lower than last week, who would be brave enough to point it out?

This time the newcomer had the gaul to visit her booth. 

“Good morning, Miss Merigold,” he dipped in a bow of respect before she even turned around to greet him, straightening up and disarming her with a lopsided grin, “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself after last week’s market. But you were far more efficient at break-down than I.” 

She wouldn’t have called him cute by a long shot. He was downright handsome.

Then she remembered they were rivals. There would be no fraternizing with the enemy.  

It took her a moment to gather her wits before she responded, “Good morning. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She knew. 

Of course she knew. But he was far better looking than she had assumed, his scars only adding to his alluring presence, and she needed to feel like she had the upper hand. 

His smile grew a bit sheepish, “Eskel of the Blue Mountains. I’m your new neighbor… sort of,” he offered his hand over her table and she took it, hoping her hesitation wasn’t too obvious. 

“Welcome. I hope the city is treating you well?” 

“Well enough,” he acquiesced, letting go of her hand after a moment, “To be truthful, I haven’t left my forge much at all. I’m still getting used to her. But you know how that goes.” 

Triss raised her eyebrows and plastered an over-polite smile on her face, “I must say I wouldn’t. I inherited my forge from my father. I learned with her. We get along quite well.” 

Eskel was called by someone from his booth as he made to speak. He waved at them to wait a moment and turned back to Triss with a wink, “Well if you have any relationship advice, let me know.”

Before she could think of a polite but not too friendly response, he was gone. 

She turned back to her assistant in a huff, “He’s infuriating.” 

“He’s dreamy.”

“Hush,” she snapped, pointing to her sketch pad, “Hand me that. Call for me if there’s a large sale or a problem.”

She sketched and planned half the day away. But when she realized how much the materials for her plans would cost she adjusted her cleavage and left her tent. Someone had to drive the hard bargain around here, and she knew her assistant was too kind. 

The next week she arrived with a beautiful set of delicate-looking throwing knives, a few different ornate daggers, and a sword fit for a king alongside her typical, practical items. However, she was seeing more than just her flowing hilt designs inlaid with etchings. 

Eskel seemed to have had a similar idea.

She wandered past his booth, pretending to buy fabric from the stall next to him, and fumed. It seemed Eskel had a sharper eye than she’d anticipated. He very clearly mimicked her setup and emphasized the smaller wares like she did. He even had the same sign in three different languages about customizations and bulk orders.

This had become all out war. 

When her sword sold that day she decided to finish off the dozen or so she had laying in wait for specific orders over the week. She even detailed a breastplate to match for three of them, guessing at the size in reference to the sword as best she could. As she worked she mulled over her new competition. His soft golden eyes that crinkled ever so slightly when he smiled were absolutely aggravating. At least that’s what she told herself. It was simply her competitive nature that had her fixating on this mountain of a man. 

She returned the next week with a spread so large she could barely fit it on her table.

Eskel had come back with daggers inlaid with precious stones of dazzling pale blue and sparkling greys and whites. Blue Mountains indeed.

Polite customers started mumbling comparisons to themselves while the brash ones outwardly used the other stall to barter a better price. Every time Eskel was mentioned Triss would bristle, hold back a snarl, and turn on every bit of innocent charm she had. 

She began leaving with a lighter cart and a challenging wink from her competition. Over the week she worked her fingers to the bone over fine details and getting the balance absolutely perfect. 

After months of competition, months of uncomfortable eye contact, she finally broke when he sold a matching helmet, breastplate, and dagger to one of her most loyal customers. 

“Eskel. We need to have a word,” she marched right up to his tent, hands tucked into her half apron at her waist. 

He smirked, “That all?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We can’t keep making the same things.”

“Pretty daggers and ceremonial armor? Why not?” he mimicked her, folding his massive arms over his own chest, leaning back against his table, making him just a little bit taller than Triss rather than the usual towering over her. 

She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer, “We’ve both done well, or I’m assuming you have, but eventually all the nobility this side of the canal will have been sold to. We’ll have saturated the market and be left with an armory full of ornate weaponry with no one to buy it.”

“Preserving the market means one gets to keep said market.”

Triss nodded but Eskel seemed unimpressed. 

“And how would you suggest we settle who keeps it?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she just wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Or kiss it. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

She scrambled for a moment, not having entirely thought this through, “A competition.”

He stood to full height and sighed, “What are the terms?”

“One dagger. Same price. Whoever sells first gets the market. The other has to branch out or move.”

Eskel nodded and held his hand out, “Agreed.”

Triss went to take his hand but he gripped her forearm, his whole hand covering much of her elbow. She did her best not to think about how strong his arm felt in her grasp, how when she squeezed she felt a gentle give before she hit muscle. 

He winked at her as he released his grasp and turned back to work, “See you next week Merigold.” 

Triss worked on a single dagger all week. 

She couldn’t get Eskel’s stupid cocky smile or his tanned arms out of her head. The way he looked down at her with that condescending smile enraged her. Her assistant claimed he looked more fond than condescending, but Triss only narrowed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been raised in the marketplace. She knew exactly how men viewed her. 

In the end, her dagger looked very fitting for a man like him. Broad, sturdy, a bit curved at the tip, and simply yet elegantly decorated. She cooled it in a liquid mixture her father had made and kept secret, giving the blade a finish similar to copper, but with all the strength of steel. 

If she noticed the coincidence she stubbornly ignored it. 

Eskel was already set up and waiting when she arrived at the market. She spared him only a curt nod while she set up her booth as if preparing for battle. 

He sauntered over to her before dawn had officially broken, blade in hand with what Triss might guess to be a nervous expression. 

“Good morning, Merigold,” he cleared his throat and set the dagger currently wrapped in cloth on the table between them, “What have you for our little competition?” 

Triss proudly pulled the dagger she had made from her case, handing it over by the hilt as she spoke, “Good morning, Eskel.”

He took the blade and hummed as he inspected it, whispering, “It’s beautiful...”

She wasn’t prepared for such a genuine compliment. Nor was she prepared for how much she loved hearing that word fall from his lips.

“Th-thank you.”

Eskel handed it back before unwrapping his.

Triss almost had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, gracefully curved, a turquoise stone grip bordered by an ornate handguard. The part that really got her though was the engraving on the blade. She stepped out and around the table to catch more of the sunlight to see what it was and gasped. Little jasmine flowers were etched into the flat of the blade. 

She looked up at him in awe, “Why jasmine?”

He gave her a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “You, ahm- your perfume. It is jasmine right?” 

She tilted her head and really looked at him since the first time she met him, “You noticed my perfume?”

“It’s nice,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his leather apron pockets. 

Triss thought about all the winks and the ‘good mornings’ and compliments. She’d thought they were just to get her buttered up, but maybe she’d been a little harsher than she needed to.

“It’s stunning,” she breathed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, not wanting to pull away from his warmth when she had to. 

They were interrupted by her assistant and set a price quickly before scurrying back to their tents. 

All day they would glance toward the other’s booth, but Triss was no longer checking his table. She was looking for him. His kind smile and boisterous laugh. His easy charm and especially his humility under pressure. 

All day she struggled with the realization that she was just a little bit in love with her competition. 

Nearing sundown she told her assistant to begin cleaning up and grabbed her coin purse before marching over to his stand once again. 

“Did you sell it?” Eskel looked disappointed and she was surprised to be glad to tell him no. 

“I have two things to say and I will only say them once, so listen carefully. I realize I’ve been unduly cold to you and I want to apologize. You’ve proven that you’re not only a skilled craftsman but seem to be a good man as well and you don’t deserve it. “

“Apology accepted,” Eskel grinned, leaning back on his table as he waited for her next item.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to buy the dagger. The one with the jasmines.”

Eskel frowned, “You- you’re forfeiting?”

Triss bit her lip and forced herself to look him in his honey gold eyes, “Yes. Though I hope we can both agree to stay where we are? I think I might miss you if you leave.”

He grinned and pushed off the table, standing just inches from Triss now that he was upright. His hand hesitantly brushed a stray curl out of her eyes as he leaned closer, hesitating to give her time to leave if she wanted, before he brushed his lips against hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed. His hands covered her back, pressing her to him and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

When they parted they were gasping for breath they both wished they didn't need.

“What about a trade and a truce?” 

Triss nodded, standing up on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips, “And dinner.”

Eskel chuckled, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.” 

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons:

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

----------------flashback------------------

You ignored Daemon's question and continued to gather your clothes. You huff a little when you collected your stockings and noticed they were ripped into shreds. You look at your dress and noticed it was slightly torn in the back too.

"You didn't answer my question, Little Lark," the prince speaks again. You huff once more and turn to Daemon in annoyance, "you have any idea how much money I spent on this?" you exasperate, gesturing to your dress. "I'll get you another," Daemon assures. "The fabric that was used to make this was imported from Kovir," you point out, "you plan on going all the way there to bring back more to fix it?"

"Point me in the right direction and I'll be there on my dragon," Daemon shrugs.

"Ugh," you groan, rolling your eyes and got your small clothes on.

Daemon got up, still naked as the day he was born, and approached you.

"What's you hurry? Stay awhile," he insists.

"I can't," you shake your head, getting your dress back on, doing your best not to look below the waistline of the man you fucked, "the princess will be expecting me soon." "The princess can wait," Daemon says, stepping in front of you.

Based on the look on his face, you could tell this man had no shame whatsoever in what he did last night. "I can't stay," you tell him, "I shouldn't be here any longer then I need to. I shouldn't even had done this in the first place." "Why not?" "Well for one, you are a married man," you point out. "Yet, you let that particular detail slip past your mind last night," Daemon says with a smirk.

He was right about that. You felt like a hypocrite, thinking back to the times you've scolded Jaskier for carrying on with married noblewomen back on the Continent. You've seen how many times your half-brother had gotten in trouble for such trysts, and you had sworn you wouldn't put yourself in a similar situation.

So much for that.

"I'm going," you insist, hastily pushing him to the side, "and don't be getting any ideas, prince" you tell him before you leave, "this is not going to happen again anytime soon...ever."

Looking out to make sure the coast was clear, you quietly slip out of Daemon's chambers and sneak your way back to your own.

You slipped out of your torn dress and put on another. You were in the middle of brushing your hair when you hear a knock at the door.

Your heart skipped a beat, hoping it was a summons to see the princess, but thinking it might be Daemon attempting to seduce you for another round. To your relief it was just the servant had come to give you breakfast.

Eggs with bacon and a cup of tea. The tea, you noticed had a unusual taste, but you didn't really think much of it. It was still decent

Just when you thought you could settle down some, you hear another knock at the door and another servant came in, "the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower is here, my Lady," he announces, "he wishes to see you."

You had a look of confusion on your face, "...me?" you frown a bit, "What for?" "He didn't say," the servant answers.

This was perplexing. You didn't know Otto Hightower all that well; in fact, you dare say you've only met him once when he was present at Rhaenyra's nameday feast. You did recall how very unimpressed he was with your songs and ballads that night, but he applauded when the other nobles had, though it seemed to be out of respect more than anything. What could the Hand of the King possibly want with you?

Said Hand didn't seem to wait for your permission as he walked past the door.

You stand up and curtsy lightly as Otto enters your rooms, "Lord Hand," you greet, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I'm afraid this is no social call, (y/n)," Otto says, looking you up and down with what to be contempt, "there is something I wish to discuss. Some rather...troubling rumors."

"Uh, rumors?" you frown a bit, taking a seat.

"It seems some...certain individuals, servants, have spotted the prince last night," the Hand explains, "romping about in the halls near his private chambers...with a woman. And, you'll have to forgive me, Lady troubadour, for the indelicacy of this situation, but some of them could've sworn that woman was...you."

"Oh," you say, feeling your face turn hot. It struck you as weird though as you didn't recall anyone being present when Daemon took you in that hall last night. And if they were present, why go to the Hand? Wouldn't it have made more sense to talk the king, Daemon's brother?"

Otto raised an eyebrow at that simple answer you made. You were caught in a compromising situation, yet you didn't seem to realize how this could affect your standing with the royal family. Then again you were a foreigner to this realm, he surmised, and therefore not accustomed to the ways proper women, especially highborn women, were supposed to behave in this part of the world.

"I know you are not from this realm," Otto explains, "you hail from this Continent to the East, across the Sea. I understand your sort are not as...restrained when it comes to indulging in certain vices." "MY sort?" you look at the man with a glare. "Women," Otto says matter-of-factually, "you may have been give more reign on the Continent to engage in such indecent acts, but here in Westeros, the women are raised to be proper paragons of virtue. To keep themselves as such until they are married and have bared children for their husbands."

"That must explain why there's so many brothels on the street of Silk," you mutter. "What was that?" "Nothing," you shrug, casually sipping your tea, "is there any particular reason why you're so fixated on my nighttime activities, Lord Hand?"

"You serve the princess Rhaenyra," Otto states, "she is an impressionable young woman who seems to be under the spell of your morbid, and rather vulgar ballads and siren's calls. It is imperative she does not have certain...ideals planted in her head, especially when she's yet to be betrothed and her virtue not yet called into question."

You were then able to put two and two together on what this was really about, "you want to ensure my 'foreign ways' don't corrupt the pure and virtuous princess," you sarcastically surmise, "...along with your daughter the Lady Alicent, the princess's companion."

"So we understand each other then," Otto says, small smile on his face like he'd won some kind of victory, "I do hope you enjoyed your tea. It was specially made for such...awkward situations. But don't expect it to happen again the next time you decide to think with your snatch instead of your head."

You were internally seething at this point; this man practically barged into your chambers (and you could've been naked for all he knew) and had the gall to control you by shaming your sexual choices. And top it all off, he had your tea spiked with contraceptives without your consent; granted, the fact your drank it gave you some peace of mind, but it still didn't change the fact this misogynistic son of a bitch made choices for your body without your knowing.

Daemon may be a rogue and a Lothario, but at least he was straightforward and wasn't one to beat around the bush, unlike this jackass.

Still, you decide to be the bigger person and stand up to face this man, speaking with a sincere voice, "Rest assured Lord Hand, I shall be discrete and will henceforth set an example for the princess and not let my certain non-Westerosi 'lifestyles' influence her in any way."

Satisfied with your answer, Otto nodded in approval and left.

You down the last of your tea, albeit reluctantly as you felt violated but still grateful as even on the Continent, a woman pregnant out of wedlock was generally frowned upon.

Right after another servant came to let you know Rhaenyra had summoned you to play for her.

You nod and grab your lute, "Paragons of virtue my ass," you mutter.

As soon as your time with the princess was over, you quickly walk out, and just as expected Daemon was there waiting for you to run into him again.

"Ah, my Prince," you greet, "Just the man I was looking for." Daemon was surprised, this was not like you to say something like that him, regardless of what he did last night; he expected insults, curses, you insisting that you had no desired to be bedded by him again (maybe some unsavory comments about his manhood while you were at it).

He was not prepared to hear say you were actually glad to see him.

You surprise even more when you pull him in for a kiss, the push him against the wall for another kiss, feeling him up as you did so.

Daemon pulls away for a brief moment, "Not that I'm complaining," he says, "but this cannot possibly be the Little Lark who had made very clear only this morning this would not happen again."

"I had a change of heart," you shrug leaning into him, "you really going to turn me down right now, Prince? I've heard the tales of your exploits on the Street of Silk. You can be quite...insatiable." "What about me being married? You were so adamant to bring that up," Daemon points out. You stop for a bit, but then decided to brush it off; you've already made your bed, you may as well sleep in it.

Sooner rather than later.

And you did drink the contraceptive tea, you may as well make good use of it while you still can.

"I've also heard you don't really like your wife all that much," you attempt to justify, "your Bronze Bitch, that's what you call her right? Besides, marriages like this, even on the Continent, are nothing more than political arrangements. Never stopped anyone from doing what they will."

Smirking, Daemon now pulls you in to kiss him. You moan as he did so, "my prince," you whisper as he moves to kiss your neck. "Call me by my name, Little Lark," you hear him whisper into your ear. "Only if you call me by mine," you say back.

-----------Present Day: Kaer Morhen---------

You were sleeping, something that was really considered a luxury these days since Aemma was born. You found yourself slowly waking though in the middle of the night. This was normally the time your daughter would be fussing about in her crib mostly likely to be fed.

It was quiet right now...too quiet. You feel the bed dipped on the side and look to see Geralt was sitting on the edge, cradling little Aemma to his chest as he did so.

"I didn't hear her fussing," you say, leaning on your elbow and rubbing your eyes.

"I heard her right as she started," Geralt admits, "I thought comforting her would allow you more rest." "I was wondering why I was sleeping so well tonight," you joke, "thanks for that, Geralt. You've really been a big help with Aemma." "No trouble at all," the witcher says, looking at the little bundle in his arms in awe.

Geralt may not be the father, but he seemed to adore the babe. Aemma seemed to feel the same way; Geralt would help out at night when she'd start fussing, and she seemed to settle quicker in his arms then she did in yours.

If anyone had looked and knew Geralt wasn't a witcher, they would almost mistake Aemma as his biological daughter.

It wasn't long though till Aemma started fussing again, nuzzling Geralt's chest.

"Uh, (y/n), I think she might be hungry again," Geralt tells you. "Yeah, babies do get hungry," you say, reaching out so Geralt could hand you your daughter. You give her a kiss on the head and arrange your night shift so you could feed her.

Geralt averted his gaze so as to give you privacy, something that didn't go unnoticed by you, "you're allowed to look Geralt," you chuckle, "we spent many an intimate night together before this, it's nothing you haven't seen before."

"This is different," Geralt insists. He wasn't really embarrassed or anything, but this felt like something of an intrusion; from what little he's heard about babies and mothers, this was their special moment of bonding. The way you'd looked at Aemma during this time felt intimate and private, and it was something Geralt didn't want to disrupt.

You kiss the top of Aemma's head as she stops nursing. You rub her back and rock her till she falls asleep.

"Let me take her," Geralt offers, and you hand her to him. Geralt gets up, carrying Aemma to her crib.

You lay back down admiring the view. For a man with a rough exterior he could be surprisingly gentle; it shouldn't really surprise you, given how well Geralt has been doing raising Ciri. Actually if anything, parenthood really seemed to bring out the witcher's softer side.

Geralt joined you in the bed afterwards. He pulls you in and you give him a kiss, which you return.

Things start to get a little more heated. You feel him up as he hovers over you. He starts to kiss your neck, but he pulls away before things could get any further.

"Geralt?" you speak. "I uh, I didn't want to get carried away," the witcher admits, "I know you're still recovering from your past labors."

You smile a bit. You and the witcher had continued to share a bed since Aemma was born, and though you and him had started to fool around a little more, you hadn't gone all the way with him yet.

"I, uh, I think I want to do this," you tell him. "Are you sure?" Geralt asks. "It's been almost two months, I think I'll be fine," you assure, finding it sweet that Geralt was considering your needs first.

"Alright," Geralt says, placing you on your back, placing a kiss on your forehead, "if this becomes too much, let me know."

You give a sweet smile and place your lips to his again before he works his way down your body.

He lifted your shift slightly and makes ready to spread your legs, however, you stop him. "Are you okay?" Geralt asks, concerned that he may have somehow gone overboard with the stimulation.

"I am," you assured, "but uh...it's just..." "You're not ready?" "No I am," you insists, "it's just...*sigh* things may not be quite the same down there since last you saw it. My body, it hasn't quite been the same since giving birth."

Geralt gives a small smile, leaning down to press a kiss near your thigh, "you're beautiful, (y/n)," he assures, "you're not the first mother to go through this. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

You smile, and you could've sworn you felt a tear escape your eye. Geralt has been nothing but kind to you since you came here. Whatever happened in the past, both with him and the time you've been apart, he accepted you into his home when you were in most need. He went above and beyond to help you out during and after the pregnancy, and he didn't have to. He didn't owe you anything. Aemma wasn't his daughter, yet he was still there for you and for her.

You feel the witcher dive in between your legs, getting you ready for what was to come this night.

----------------flashback----------------------

"Twice in one day and it's not even high noon," Daemon comments in slight laughter as you and him lay in his bed naked and staring at the ceiling. The prince had a content smile on his face as he placed a hand behind his head.

You weren't really listening to him though, you were still reeling from the fact you allowed this man to take you to his bed once again for another tryst.

Why, you wonder. What possessed you to do this again?

It felt good, there was no denying that, but it didn't change the fact this man was still insufferable.

This also may have been a way to get back at Hightower for pissing you off and indirectly slut shaming you, and infantalizing you when he gave you the tea without your informed consent. But since you drank the tea, you made sure it didn't go to waste; it was well put to use.

"What say we make it a third time?" the sliver blonde prince suggests, bringing your attention back to him.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea," you tell him, sitting up. "Why not?" Daemon asks, somewhat confused.

"I uh...oh gods, I did it again," you groan, getting out of bed again, "I actually did it again. Why? Why do I keep doing this?" "Because it feels good?" Daemon suggests, "did I not satisfy you?" "No, you did," you assure, "well, you did a lot more then that, it's just...I'm not sure how long that tea is supposed to last."

"Tea?" "Yeah that strange tasting tea that I guess prevents pregnancy, the one Otto Hightower had the servants bring me." "Otto?" Daemon's ears perked up. "Yeah," you nod, "he...some people apparently caught us together last night and...they went and told him." "Oh, that twat," Daemon mutters, getting up to face you, "did he threaten you in any way?" "Only to keep my legs closed lest I somehow corrupt the impressionable princess," you admit, looking down, "the Lord Hand seems to be under the impression us Continental women are fast and loose compared to Westorosi women. I'm not. Yes I've known other men, but I don't just go throwing myself at every single one I chance across. I have standards."

"I know that," Daemon jokes, lifting your chin so you could face him, "Listen, Otto Hightower is a cunt. He's never been fond of me, and he's spent the last ten years or so poisoning my own brother against me with his little network of spies around King's Landing. If you are worried about him causing you harm or threatening your standing with Rhaenyra, I won't let it come to that."

"As for your worries concerning unwanted consequences from our clandestine trysts," the prince continues, "I can have the kitchen servants bring moon tea to your quarters every evening if you wish. They'll be discrete if I command them to be so. That is..if you wish to continue this little arrangement."

"Arrangement?" "You continue to entertain my niece whenever her whims wish so," Daemon explains, "and then you come entertain me afterwards."

You scoff a bit, turning your back on him. "Why deny yourself this?" Daemon leans in to press kisses to your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you, "I think it a fair arrangement. I can give you whatever you wish. You'll be want to for nothing should you accept." "I'm already want for nothing," you say , fighting the urge to moan from his ministrations, "I'm paid well for my services for the princess."

"Ah, but surely the princess doesn't give you this," Daemon smirks into his next kiss, hands starting to roam, caressing your waist and breast. You couldn't help but let out a loud moan, making the prince smirk even more.

"So, what do you say?" he asks.

You sigh a bit, feeling some self-loathing for even considering this offer. But there was no denying that despite how insufferable this man could be, he sure knew what he was doing when it came to pleasuring his partner. You cup his neck and turn to face him. "I shall take some time to consider this offer," you say, tone turning rather seductive, "in the mean time, how about going a third round as you suggested my Prince, I mean...Daemon?"

Smirking, Daemon picks you up, you wrap your legs around him as he carries you back to the bed.

You don't stay on your back for long as soon as he wraps your legs around him, you put your hands on his chest on push him around till you were sitting on top of him.

Chapter 4

Masterlist

[lovelyrita1967]

Truth or Dare 🍸

“I dare you to…” Triss chewed her lip and peered at Jaskier thoughtfully “...get up on the bar and dance!” She had to shout the dare over the pounding bass line and whooping crowd. 

Jaskier shook his head and laughed. “That’s hardly a dare! I did that last weekend!” 

Sabrina smirked. “It’s true, I was there.” 

Triss laughed. “Fine then… with your shirt off!” 

They were celebrating the end of the term, and somehow a game of Truth or Dare had broken out. Jaskier always had to go first. He sighed. “You just want to ogle me, don’t you, you little minx. Anyway, they’ll kick me out. I know this because I also did that last weekend.” 

“Fine!” Triss looked around the crowded bar until her eyes settled on something behind Jaskier. A mischievous look crossed her features. “I dare you to go over there and hit on one of those witchers.” 

“What?” Sabrina’s face screwed up in a disgusted grimace. “A witcher? Gross.” 

Jaskier’s head whipped around, searching for whoever Triss had been looking at. 

Triss cackled, the effects of their finished bottle of bubbly taking hold. “No, not just hit on! You have to get one of them to kiss you!” 

“Ew, Triss, don’t make him do that,” Sabrina said, still frowning.  

“What’s wrong with witchers?” Jaskier wondered, and then he saw them. 

“They’re not even human! They’re just, like, killing machines. They don’t want anything to do with you, anyway.” 

He barely heard her. There were three of them, leaning against a high table, the crowd giving them a generous buffer of space. Their telltale swords were strapped across their backs, making them instantly recognizable, but even without the swords, Jaskier would have been able to tell. Thick, muscly, scarred, and those cat-like eyes. It was odd to see three of them together, and especially in a place like this. They usually kept to themselves—in, then out, monster safely put down. 

Two of them were facing him, one with black hair, one redheaded, and, quite frankly, he’d be happy to kiss either. The third one had his back to them, but he had long silver hair, half pulled back, and his shoulders were about as wide as Jaskier was tall. 

Then suddenly the third one turned and Jaskier was… well, he was in love. His breath left him in a whoosh as glowing yellow eyes locked onto his. The witcher’s face remained blank, and after a long moment he turned back to his friends. 

“Challenge accepted,” Jaskier wheezed, sucking air back into his lungs. He chugged the rest of his glass of champagne. Sabrina babbled something irrelevant as he stood up and smoothed his hair back. 

He marched over. The other two saw him coming. 

The redhead grinned. “Think you’ve got the wrong table, blue-eyes.” 

Jaskier smiled back, sliding his gaze over to the black-haired witcher, and then landing it on the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. “Oh, this is the right table.” 

“Need help with a monster?” the black-haired one asked, with a deep, scratchy voice. 

“Well, I need help.” Jaskier pointed back at his table. “See, my friend there,” he waved at Triss, who waved back, sheepishly, “has dared me to come over here and kiss one of you.” 

The first two chuckled, but the silver-haired one’s jaw tightened before he spoke. “We’re not here to be a box on your checklist.” Jaskier felt the rumble of his voice deep inside. “Fuck off.” 

“Ah, give him a break, Geralt,” the redhead cackled. “Like you don’t love the attention.” 

“Geralt, is it?” Jaskier stuck out his hand. “Jaskier.” 

Geralt stared at him, unmoving. 

“Eskel,” offered the black-haired one, kindly reaching for Jaskier’s dangling hand. “This is Lambert.” He shook both hands but turned nervously back to Geralt. 

“I’m very sorry,” Jaskier faltered. “I didn’t mean to treat you like a box on a checklist—” 

“Hmm,” Geralt grumbled at him. “And yet, you did.” 

“He’s just having fun, Geralt.” Eskel rolled his eyes and turned to Jaskier. “Sorry about him. He’s mad at the world. But I guarantee he thinks you’re cute.” 

Geralt narrowed his eyes at Eskel while Lambert laughed again. Then he looked back at Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s insides turned to jelly. But not in an “Oh, shit” sort of way. Jaskier knew he should be afraid with two hundred fifty pounds of trained killer glowering at him, but instead he was just… enraptured. 

“Alright, then. If you’re sorry…” Geralt nodded his head in the direction of the bar “...let’s see you hop up on that counter and dance.” 

“You want me to—” Jaskier paused, confused. 

Eskel covered a snicker with his hand. Lambert threw back his head and laughed. 

The corner of Geralt’s mouth lifted up. “Shirtless.” 

There was a glimmer of amusement in those glowing eyes. A tingle swept over Jaskier. He peeled his shirt off without a second thought and pressed it against Geralt’s chest. “Hold this.” 

He turned and marched towards the bar, giving Triss and Sabrina a wave. The bartender’s eyes were already narrowing at him as he approached. He hopped up on the sticky counter—despite a few yelps of protest from the patrons—and turned to see the witchers watching him. The quirk of Geralt’s lips had grown into a tiny grin. 

The bartender grabbed his ankle. 

Worth it. 

@oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co @lottelorelei @chaotic-bard @fangirleaconmigo

[thesleepy1]

Papa Eskel And His Litter

A/N: @writingmysanity requested a papa witcher fic with Eskel. I didn’t intend for this to be a series but it might be. Who knows lol. This is a sort of fic exchange so I’m super excited. We’re making it fluffy because I’m trying the whole be nice thing out. Tis how one makes friends from what I hear. By the way, this is unbeta’d and not proofread. We die like Vesemir’s sanity after babysitting.

Pairings: Dad!Eskel x Parent!Reader

Summary: For the past couple of weeks, your scent has changed. Eskel knows that it did, he’s just not sure how.

Word count: 3,867

Warnings: pregnancy kink, teasing, suggestive themes, language, threats of spanking,

Part 1

Eskel meditated on a small hillside, the long blades of grass brushing against his side as the wind blew from east to west. His back was to a great, old oak tree and you were to his side dutifully cleaning and polishing his swords. Your hands were skillful as you worked, heartbeat steady as you focused your full attention on the task. The flowers were in bloom and their floral scent almost hid the underlying change in scent on you.

Eskel tried not to make it a habit to sniff you while you were busy but before he realized what he was doing, he was subconsciously leaning into your side. His head laid to rest on your shoulder, eyes closed as he took in your scent. It was still you. The scent of honey and baked rye bread from the morning’s meal, the smell of oats and rosemary infused oil on your skin. But there was also something peculiar. Not bad per say. Just different. It smelt, if Eskel had not known any better, like a swaddled babe.

“Eskel,” you chuckled, distracted from your task, “If you insist on sniffing me, please refrain from tickling my neck as well.” Your hands still, resting Eskel’s swords so as not to hurt anyone as you shifted to better face him. “What has gotten you into such a playful mood?”

Eskel blushed, leaning back and rubbed at his facial scars. He suddenly wanted to hide his face in the side of your body but the bulk of his form was too large to properly hide away. Sometimes he wished he were smaller so he could easily fit onto your lap as you do to him.

“What ails you, my handsome witcher?”

“Nothing serious,” Eskel began, the flush on his face refusing to disappear. “I’ve just noticed that your scent has changed.” When you tilted your head in confusion and not disgust, it was the sweetest thing. Eskel relaxed his shoulders and rested his hand on your thigh in a comforting gesture. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, but you smell like a babe that had just been fed.”

“I haven’t been around any children from as far as I could tell.” You attempted to sniff yourself but all that could gather was that you smelt of Eskel. You wearing his tunic might have something to do with that, but besides the fact, you smelt the same as you always had. Just you and Eskel. “I can take a dip in the river once we get back.”

Eskel tugged on your sleeve as if trying to keep you from leaving. You had made no move to leave the comfort of the shade. And Eskel, having realized what he had done, quickly let go of your tunic. “I apologize.” You brushed him off with a wave of your hand, unoffended and unaffected by his somewhat strange action. “I don’t know what came over me. I-I just knew I didn’t want the scent to leave you.”

You made a teasing, almost knowing face. It was the one of mischievousness that was more common among cats than humans. “It sounds to me that you thought I was pregnant.” A pause as Eskel's face turned as red as his tunic, his expression stoic and forced to be unreadable. “And you liked that thought, didn’t you papa Eskel?”

Eskel hid his face the only way he knew how. He buried his head in his knees and hands, curling up into a ball of embarrassment and heat. What a thought. What a thought! What a dumb and foolish thought. What a stupid, stupid thing to think.

You seemed to think otherwise because the feel of your lips were on the back of Eskel’s neck, hands rubbing gentle circles through his clothes. The definite impression of a grin was at the back of his neck where the spine connected to his head. “Papa Eskel has gotten all fluttered and worked up over just that? Imagine what he'd be like if I really were pregnant?”

“Mercy,” Eskel begged in a faint whisper carried away by the wind. “Mercy please.”

Chuckling, you relented and helped Eskel free himself from the confines of his hands and knees. He sat a bit stiff next to you, perhaps afraid of what you would think of him. You gave him a genuine smile in return. A kiss was pressed to the right of his face, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick at the cleft left by his scars. He was practically forced to soften under your lips and the rest of the day was spent as you had started it. Eskel meditated against a great, old oak and you sat beside him, polishing dutifully away at his swords.

*****

It did not end there. The scent stayed with you despite the number of baths and cleanings you took. Frankly, the smell was stronger after you had just finished cleaning the dirt and grime from your skin. It was going to kill Eskel, not knowing the cause of such a scent. Absolutely kill him. And you were no help, ever the tease.

You were a devil sent to lure him to a hell that apparently smelled of babies and domestic softness. That was the only explanation as to how you made him stop in his tracks just to get another smell of you. Eskel was obsessed and he knew it. You knew it. It had to be some sort of trick but whenever he mentioned the topic you would merely tease him and explain you had no clue. He listened to the sound of your heartbeat like his life depended on it but never once did it falter. You were telling the truth. If you just also happened to enjoy his misery, who was he to stop you?

However, the mystery came to a stop when you both entered an inn also inhabited by one Triss Merigold. Much to Eskel’s relief.

You and Eskel had just arrived in the town and desperately needed to get out of the rain. You were soaked to the bone and Eskel had fared no better. Poor Scorpion had to endure more of the cold than anyone and he was happy to be out of the rain in the stables. After paying for a room for the night, you were both in need of a hot meal.

Triss sat by herself in the adjoining tavern, a piping hot meal and a tankard in front of her. She saw you and Eskel first despite the crowd of locals that had also ran to the tavern to escape the cold. The mage gestured you two over and flagged a barmaid down for two more meals. You were so grateful and sank down onto the seat across from her like an exhausted dog with no manners. As you rung out the water from your tunic, Eskel sat next to you and greeted Triss with a polite smile.

Triss had no qualms about formalities and cut straight to the chase. Her eyes were alight with amazement that neither you nor Eskel understood. “How did you two manage?” she urged you and Eskel, head darting between you two so quickly you were afraid she was going to hurt herself.

“Manage? The storm is not as bad as it seems. We may look awful but we had been out there since the storm began,” you explained, “Eskel and I managed out there just fine. How have you fared since we last saw each other?”

“Quit it with the formalities and tell me how you two did it.” The barmaid had returned with two meals balanced precariously on her hands. She set them both down as carefully as she could but some still spilled over on your lap. She had begun to apologize profusely but Triss merely gave her the coin for the meal and urged for the barmaid to leave. The incident had left you bewildered but Triss continued as if there had been no interruption. “This is a scientific breakthrough! As well a magical breakthrough that some could have only dreamed of. I’ve only heard of it being done twice before and only one of them had survived. The first had been by force and the second was by an accidental potion.”

Eskel, still clueless as to what Triss was referring to, began to sneak some of his meal onto your plate. The table had been served a fatty stew filled with peas and squash. Herbs and chilies drifted in the hot broth. Slices of still steaming bread were laid to the side. There was a warm side dish of potatoes and chicken. Eskel made sure you had extra of everything. “I’m truly sorry but I don’t believe we quite follow.” The witcher made sure you ate some of your meal first before he dug into his own.

“You don’t know?” This was addressed to Eskel who shook his head no as his mouth was full of food. Triss looked upset at the ignorance. She turned to address you with that look of glowing chaos in the eyes. “You’re pregnant.”

Eskel choked on his meal and a perfectly good slice of bread that should have been savored was quickly spat out. Triss pushed her tankard towards Eskel, a look of both sorry and judgment as the witcher took quick gulps to clear his airway. You had gotten up in the fit and stood next to Eskel, hands rubbing his side and back. The poor witcher was as pale as a ghost.

“How could you have possibly not known Eskel? They’re practically drowning in the scent.”

You could not help but let out a chuckle at the mention of your scent. “Oh, believe me, he’s noticed.” A blush coated Eskel’s face that he would have blamed on the ale if questioned. “We just didn’t think it was a baby, all things considered.”

“So you don’t know how you two did it?” You gave Triss a look that Geralt would be proud of. “Well yes, yes, I’m aware of how babies are made. What I meant was how you two managed to conceive a baby considering Eskel’s a witcher and I’m not even sure you had the right parts.” You stood proud at how androgynous you appeared that not even a mage could tell.

You shrugged, a smug look on your face, “I manage.” Triss rolled her eyes as you leaned in close to Eskel, knowing where you were going with this. “We managed just fine, didn’t we papa Eskel?”

“Oh leave it for the bedroom,” Triss groaned, roughly taking her tankard back from where Eskel had been cradling it like a lifeline.

“Why, if I’m pregnant as you say I am. Then we won’t have much time alone in the bedroom, now would we, papa Eskel? I have to make the most of our freedom.” You massaged Eskel’s shoulders as if preparing him for a fight. The fighting witcher hid his face in his arms and laid his head on the table.

“I forgot how insufferable you two could be.”

“Three,” you corrected with a grin and a wink that made Triss smile. She was a close friend and loved your antics despite her words. The mage loved you and Eskel as much as you loved each other.

“Or four, who knows,” she joined in on your teasing, loving the way Eskel tried to fuse himself into the table. “Like I said, I’ve only heard of it done twice before and the first by force at that. The second had used the influence of an accidental potion so it's unclear if it were completely the potion’s doing or the witcher’s. It's so rare that the little information we have is all speculation.” Her face grew gentle and kind. “Merely affection for each other could be the driving force. There was no love or care in the first trial as I’m certain that you two have for each other.”

You nodded at her explanation, smiling and kissing the top of Eskel’s head of hair. “Eskel could have the most potent seed in all of the continent for all we know. There might even be three or more witchers inside of me.”

“Please, I beg of you two,” Eskel moaned into the table, his food long forgotten. “Don’t kill me before I have the chance to see my children.”

“So he does want more than one!” You embraced his back, pressing the weight of your front into him. “Don’t worry papa Eskel. We can always make more if we end up only having one the first time around. Apparently, we have all the time and ability to do so.”

Eskel had gone silent underneath you and you worried for a moment that you had crossed a line. Triss looked on in concern, an apology on the tip of her tongue. “I-I can feel the faint bump of your stomach against my back.”

The three of you had almost been kicked out because of the laugh that you and Triss let out. You two were merciless to the poor, soon to be father.

*****

If Eskel’s scenting you had been bad before, now that he knew that you were truly pregnant it was terrible. His nose was always on you and that meant his stubble as well. You were so ticklish and he wanted revenge for all of the teasing. Eskel was unrelenting.

Your laughter filled the small clearing where you chose to set up camp. It was loud and joyous and probably kept critters away. The cold autumn nights forced you into a tent which was piled with all the furs and bedrolls that Scorpion was comfortable carrying. Eskel would mediate by the opening and keep watch for the night but until then he was preoccupied with getting back at you.

“If only you could smell what I do, you’d understand why I’m so intoxicated.” You smelled of oats and rosemary and the swaddled scent Eskel now had a name to.. Your chest was bare for Eskel’s eyes, the hill of your stomach showing more than when you had last seen Triss Merigold. When you wore your tunics, the front would be extended just enough to leave Eskel staring for hours. When naked, it was clear that if you were not pregnant then you had had a very, very large meal.

Eskel, knowing which of the two you were, was beyond obsessed to say the least. His lips would kiss your stomach, and laughs would be forced from your throat. He would peck at your neck and giggles would be fluttering in the night. What was worse was when he drew his tongue over your sensitive buds and your breaths would be caught conflicted between a moan and a howl.

“I just smell like dirt and monster guts, papa Eskel,” you teased, the nickname a staple for these indulgent nights.

Eskel sucked a dark mark to the side of your ribs, the sensitive skin there leaving you breathless. His hands were a menace as well, always on the small of your back or on your distended abdomen. “You smell like heaven,” Eskel said breathily, rough hands feather light on your skin. “If I were to die now, it would be in bliss. I would lay down my sword to get more of this scent.” Oats and rosemary and a pregnant mate.

“What will you do when I finally lose the scent, hmm?” you asked curiously at your insatiable witcher.

Eskel panted, suddenly breathless. Despite the activities he had just partaken in, this was when he was the most hot and bothered. His skin prickled with sweat, his body heated as his slow heart tried to keep up with him. “I-I-” he stumbled at a loss for words.

You looked at him through your eyelashes, batting your eyes innocently at him. “Would you like to keep me pregnant, papa Eskel?”

“Yes,” he breathed against your mouth, unable to hold himself back as he took your lips in his. “A thousand times yes.” Your hands went to his hair, tugging at him for more and more. “Yes, yes, yes,” he growled between kisses.

*****

One mid winter day, four children stumbled into a courtyard of snow and straw dummies. They walked in the type of row that only children could, there was an unspoken leader and the rest all collectively decided to gang up on them. An old witcher with the most silver hair watched from a balcony as three miniscule bodies piled on a fourth. His heart panged at the sight, a long ago memory resurfacing.

“Give Astrid air, you brats!” he scolded the four scowling wolf pups. Two did as they were told but one refused to let the other up. He was rougher than the others, the deep telltale scar on his chin preluding his personality. “Bastian, let her go before I come down there and hide your bottom!” Vesemir did not tell empty threats. The children knew he kept his words, even if they were violent.

Bastian quickly got up from Astrid, blocking a stray fist that was sent his way as he tried to remove himself from her. He growled at her but she merely snarled back. Although Astrid was the eldest, it was well known that Bastian was the strongest. Or the most reckless depending on how one looked at it.

The boy rubbed at the scar on his chin, lips turned in an irate pout. He looked down at his shoes refusing to look up at the older. “Sorry, Astrid,” he said under his breath. If it were not for Astrid’s heightened senses she would not have been able to hear the apology.

“You must say it louder, lest grandfather hadn’t heard.” The girl with amber eyes and twin plaits down to her waist spoke in an intelligent tone. “You don’t want to be held over his knee, do you?” She had been the first to part from the fight.

“How come you and Demetrius don’t have to say sorry?!” Bastian yelled at the others, digging the heel of his palm into his chin. “That’s not fair.”

Before Bastian could finish whining, the youngest of the four ran to the eldest and wrapped her in a hug. “I’m sorry for piling on you, Astrid.” Despite the threat from the old witcher and the whines of his brother, Demetrius’ words were genuine. His hugs were warm and the faint curl of lips were always upturned in a little smile. No one could stay mad at him for long. How could they when he tried his best not to displease them in the first place?

“You’re forgiven,” Astrid patted the younger’s back, brushing her short, shaggy hair out of her eyes. She gave a pointed look at Bastian and the girl with the twin plaits, knowing how her hair framed her face and made her look frightful. The scratch through her right eye made others shiver in terror at the focused sight. “And what do you two have to say?”

“Sorry,” Bastian grunted, looking at Vesemir for his approval. The elder witcher nodded at the boy having heard his word.

Lastly, three sets of amber eyes turned on the fourth who had started all of this. The one who had insisted on things in the first place. She who had called for the pile and required the apologies. “Why, I, Calwyn, am deeply sorry for having fought with you. Although, I was also the one who held Bastian back so you wouldn’t be harmed.” She batted her eyes innocently towards the others.

“No you didn’t, you liar,” Bastian roared the only way a five year old knew how. “You couldn’t have held me back even if you tried!”

Demetrius stood between the two parties despite his somewhat smaller stature. He held out both hands pleadingly at the two. “Let’s not start anew. Grandfather is still watching. He expects us to one day eventually be old enough to fix our problems without fighting.” The youngest knew how to fight, and how to fight well. But he disliked fighting in any other sense than fun and training. Conflict made his skin crawl. “Everyone said their sorrys. It doesn't matter who started it or who made it worse. Why don’t we all go see if we could go play on the frozen lake?”

“Shut up, Demetrius!” three voices yelled in unison, perhaps the only time they could agree on something. All three swarmed the youngest and soon another fight broke loose. Vesemir had to leap from the balcony before someone lost another chunk of skin or part of an eye. The witcher was getting far too old to still be pulling scrappy pups from biting off each other's ears. Yet here he was, perhaps a half a century later.

“Where are your parents?” Vesemir sighed, holding Bastian and Calwyn by the scruff of their necks. He held Astrid at bay from biting the others with his foot while Demetrius stood off to the side rubbing dirt out of his eyes and trying not to cry.

“They’re making obscene noises at each other,” Bastian groaned as if he had been through this before.

“Da’s reciting poetry again,” Calwyn said with the same amount of enthusiasm. “I bet he’s even written some of his own.”

Even to that, Astrid gagged, the look of pure disgust on her face. With her scarred eye and tongue sticking out, she would have appeared a terror to most. To her grandfather, she looked like a doll. Just as the rest of her siblings did.

“I think it's sort of sweet,” Demetrius piped in, ever the anomaly. “Think of it this way, we might get another sibling out of this.”

Calwyn rolled her eyes, her mock look of innocent nowhere to be seen. “Emery’s enough with her crying and whining at all hours of the night. We have no need for another. Frankly, it would have been enough if only I were born instead of all you lot along with me.”

Vesemir had placed himself in a poor position. He stood in the middle of all four witcherlings, the children of his own boy. If only Eskel had had children one at a time like most folk. But the boy had to be an overachiever, not only with his signs but now with his young. Eskel and his lover had had quadruplets and as if that were not enough, they had another baby years later. If they had another litter, he was making them live in their own keep. Vesemir would not survive another winter with them at the keep.

“How would you lot like to do me a favor?”

Vesemir was met with complete silence as the quadruplets listened intently. They all loved doing favors for Vesemir because most of the time they involved some level of mischief. It was even better than doing tricks for uncle Lambert because the scoldings would be lesser if they had been acting on Vesemir’s will.

“I want you lot to work together and try to prevent your parents from making another one of you stinking wolf pups.”

[hidden-misthios]

Luxury to Fall in Love

Pairing: Netflix!Lambert x female!reader

Warnings: Blood, angst, major character death.

A/n: I haven't written anything in AGES and I'm nervous to post this but since @sweetdulcets got me back into writing and gave me so much support, I had to post it! English is not my first language so excuse any mistakes you find along the way.

Also Im aware that I changed stuff a bit - bruxa's are born, not made. But for this fic's sake, lets pretend they are!

 Word count: 4 725

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

 "Cheers! To saving your ass two years ago. "

Y/N immediately lowers her glass.

"Lambert!"

"Well, it's true, lass." he grins and raises his glass even more, waiting for Y/N to raise hers as well.

Y/N slowly lifts her glass and clears her throat.

"To two-year friendship." she announces, giving him a soft smile.

"And may we have two more." Lambert adds and purses his mouth in a self-satisfied smirk. Small, red lock of hair fell at front of his face and he quickly moved it to a side.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Y/N said, clinking her glass to his. "Can't even remember why I let you in my house in the first place." she said then took a small sip of Sansretour chardonnay, the wine that Lambert brought with him. He would always get something for her from his trips: parchment paper, seashells, forest fruits and herbs, sometimes even a gemstones or medicine – depending on success of his quest and time of the year. But he would never show up empty-handed. At first Y/N would try to give him some money (it wasn't much but Y/N offered anyway) but he would always refuse.

"Because I saved your ass from those nasty Foglers? You should be grateful, lass." he grinned and took a sip as well.

"That you did. And you know I am." Y/N admits, with more serious tone this time. He chuckled and lowered his glass on the blanket. The wind calmed down and the sun began to set. The Nimnar river in front of them flowed quietly, bringing calming and fresh air into their noses.

Y/N loved living in Gelibol. Owning her own place at the end of the village and selling herbs was good life. She earned enough to provide herself a peaceful life. She would spend a lot of time in forest, in fresh air and silence. Until the day when Foglers attacked her. It was a broad daylight; the forest was silent and Y/N was collecting some mushrooms when small group of Foglers came out of nowhere and started chasing Y/N. Lambert was passing by the main road when he heard the screams and cries for help.

Y/N paid him, gave up her own bed for him that night and made him the best dinner she could.

"Does every bypasser receive this treatment? Maybe I'll pass this road more often." he said that night at her cottage.

Something clicked between the two that evening – they stayed up late, sharing stories and making each other laugh. Lambert could swear he made her blush a couple of times. Y/N felt like she reconnected with an old friend although she never met this man in her life before that day. They said their goodbyes the next morning and Y/ N watched him leave, thinking how it wasn't fair of fate to bring him to her, just to take him away the next day.

But three months later there he was at her door again. She didn't hesitate but jumped towards him and hugged him as tightly as she could. Red Wolf was startled but wrapped his arms around her and whispered It's good to see you too.

So, their friendship grew stronger and stronger. She never knew when Lambert is going to come to Gelibol but she knew he would. And every time he came, her heart grew three sizes.

"Hello, miss? You there?" he waved his hand in front of her face. Y/N shook her head and looked at him.

"S-sorry I was just thinking about something." she admitted and took another sip of Sansretour. Lambert chuckled.

"I got that. What's bothering you, love?"

Y/N nervously twisted crescent moon necklace that was hanging around her neck. Lambert got it for her, for the first anniversary of their friendship and she was wearing it every day ever since.

"Nothing it's just... I was thinking of all these times you came to visit me." Y/N admitted but then lowered her eyes. She felt stupid now when those words left her mouth. She noticed that Lambert wasn't...well, interested. He cared about her. Y/N was sure of that. But it felt like he kept her at distance. She understood why – witchers couldn't allow themselves to settle down. He was a man of road, not of one village. And Y/N didn't judge him for it. But it didn't stop her from liking him.

"Yes, this village of yours has its charms, but I don't understand what's keeping you here, darling. It's small, you know everyone and everyone knows you. It's too-"

"Normal for you?" Y/N interrupted him. Lambert chuckled, looking at the distance. The sun was down and the moon replaced it, starting to show its craters a bit by bit.

"Well, yes. But honestly now, Y/N, what's keeping you here? You're a curious person. You like to explore, to discover. You could earn money everywhere by selling herbs."

"I-it's complicated." she started but stopped. It wasn't complicated. Y/N knew that she didn't have chance of surviving the wild, hungry Continent by herself. She wanted to explore the world, but fears were stronger than wishes.

"What is?"

"Lambert, I'm not a witcher. I can't fight. I'm not a sorceress either. I have no Chaos to rely on. Woman with no fighting skill can't survive on the road. Especially the one who's alone."

Lambert put down the glass, still looking at the distance. He was quiet for a few seconds and then turned to Y/N, to face her.

"And what if she's not alone?"

Y/N's lips parted. She didn't expect him to say that. She expected him to made fun of her, to mock her for being scared, to ask her why she's so pessimistic – but this? She didn't expect this.

"W-what do you mean?" she asked quietly.

"You could find someone. Why didn't you?" he asked. Y/N let out a quiet sigh.

"Because I'd rather be alone than with someone who's not right for me." she said, looking him straight into his yellow eyes. He looked away first.

"I guess you're right." he said and few seconds later stood up on his feet. "Come on, love. It's time to go inside. Or maybe you'd like to hang out with Foglers tonight?" he asked while holding out his hand for her. Y/N grabbed it and stood up on her feet.

"I already have monster by my side, I'm good." she joked. Lambert rolled his eyes, suddenly grabbed Y/N and tossed her over his shoulder. Y/N screamed but started laughing and holding her hands tightly around his upper body.

"You really talk too much for someone who lives alone in middle of nowhere, granny." he said, walking towards Y/N's cottage. She chuckled. Lambert opened the doors of her small cottage and headed towards Y/N's bed.

"And you're way too-"

Y/N didn't have time to finish. Lambert threw her down on her bed and Y/N screamed again.

"You're an asshole!"

"And you are a nasty screamer." he said, proudly smirking.

 Morning came and Lambert was ready to start his journey. Kear Morhen was almost a whole day ride from Gelibol and he didn't want to waste a whole day horse-riding. Y/N helped him prepare and packed him more food than he actually needed but Lambert gave up on convincing her he won't need that much. He secured the last bag to his horse and slowly approached Y/N who was standing at the front door.

"So, this is it, love. All ready for the road." he said. Y/N smiled softly, but he saw the sadness in her eyes. It was always there when they said their goodbyes, Lambert recognised it.

"Safe travel, Red Wolf." she said, laying her hand on his chest to touch a wolf medallion. He lowered his eyes on her hands then slowly pulled her closer, cupping her face. He lowered his head and kissed her forehead.

"Be good, darling. And be careful." he said. Y/N only slightly nodded, with a gentle smile over her lips. Lambert let go of her, and headed to his horse.

He waved to her as he was speeding up the horse, not knowing this was the last time he will see Y/N.

 Only a month later, Lambert came back to Gelibol. The whole village was surprisingly quiet but Lambert didn't mind it because although he was a frequent visitor some folks would still give him the dirty looks as he was passing by. He scolded himself for speeding up his horse as soon as he saw the road that led to Y/N's cottage but held that speed anyway until he reached the small house. It was dark and late, so when he didn't see lights inside, he didn't think much of it. Maybe she's already asleep. He dismounted his horse and approached the door. Then he abruptly stops.

The door. It was broken down. He instinctively grabbed the silver sword from his backs. He focused his hearing. Nothing.

"Y/N?" he called cautiously.

Silence.

Lambert knew she wasn't there. He couldn't hear her heartbeat. Or any heartbeat for that matter. But he stepped inside anyway.

His medallion gently trembled at the sight of magic in the air. Lambert tightened the grip of his sword. Cottage was a complete mess. Beds were pulled around and pushed up against the wall, herbs were everywhere, food was on the floor, rotten. Something horrible happened here.

He was about to turn over the piece of parchment paper when he heard it.

Wings. Large ones.

He turned around and ran outside without hesitation.

Then he saw her.

A bruxa.

Gray, broad-winged bruxa. Just a few meters away from him.

"Fuck." he muttered, lifting his sword up, ready to cast a Quen Sign.

But then something odd happened. Bruxa didn't attack. She looked at him for a couple of seconds, with her wide, white, hungry eyes and opened month full of sharp teeth and then, suddenly, she fully transforms into a bat form and flies away. Lambert still didn't lower his sword. Maybe that was bruxa's way of messing with him. She seemed hungry for blood for sure. He couldn't relax just yet.

Not when Y/N wasn't safe.

He kept his guard up, watching the dark sky every now and then but bruxa was gone. Why did she let me go that easily? Did she already get Y/N?

He rarely felt helpless. It wasn't a pleasant feeling and usually, he would fight it of quickly, but now, he couldn't. Not when Y/N was not next to him.

He collected himself and took a big breath. He couldn't smell any human smell. Just bruxa that just took off, some flowers near the river bank and herbs from Y/N's small garden.

This didn't happen today. The smell vanished weeks ago.

Lambert frowned and looked around. He didn't have a trace to follow. It could take days before he finds something to track her down. He cursed and turned to his horse and jumped up in the saddle.

He needed the help of his brothers.

 Lambert looked like a mess. And felt like one too. He rode back to Kear Morhen, explained to other witchers what happened and managed to get some of them to join him. Now, he was back to Gelibol, in less than 24 hours. His horse was on the verge of collapsing. Lambert knew he wasn't supposed to do that. But he had no choice. He had to find her.

"Where do you want us to begin our search and rescue?" Eskel asked with arms crossed on his chests. He looked around, scamming the village in the distance.

"Lambert...where are the villagers?" Geralt asked quietly, looking at rooftops. Lambert looked at them as well. No smoke from the chimneys. Lambert frowned but stayed quiet.

"Did that damn bruxa massacred the whole village?" Eskel asked, nervously looking around.

"I don't know. Could be. Not many people leave their houses to greet me when I walk by." he said, not trying to show how badly he was hoping that those people were still alive and not bruxa's weekly meal.

"Boys!" the sound from behind the cottage called for them.

Eskel, Geralt and Lambert immediately turn around and follow the voice.  It was Vesemir. He was standing just a few meters away from the river. He turned around.

"Does this look familiar, boy?" he faced Lambert and lift his hand. The crescent moon necklace. Lambert cursed quietly.

"Yes. It's Y/N's."

Vesemir sighed and dropped the necklace in Lambert's hand. Lambert holds it, clenching it like his life depends on it.

"The smell is weak but we got something."

 Few hours later they got to the dead end. The trace ended deep into the forest, just in front of the small cave. Cave was empty, cold and full of plumards so they left as soon as they finished their search, not wanting to test their luck with encountering powerful vampires.

"So, this was a waste of time." Eskel said, while they were returning to the village.

Lambert ran at him, pushing him against the nearest tree.

"You, shithead, how-"

Geralt and Vesemir grabbed him, pulling him away from shocked Eskel.

"Lambert, calm down. You're tired, worried and exhausted. He didn't mean anything bad." Geralt said, facing him and making sure he catches the look in his weary eyes.

"For fuck's sake, just leave me be. I'll find her myself." Lambert pulled away, but Geralt didn't give up just yet.

"Listen. We will find her. Vesemir, Eskel and me. You will rest now."

"Like fuck I am, Geralt. Move."

But neither him or Geralt had time to even make a step. The whole world spun before his eyes and then suddenly everything went black.

 When he woke up, Lambert immediately knew what had happened. His own brothers used Sign on him. He rubbed his face and scanned the space around him. This can't be.

He stood up as quickly as his legs let him.

He was back at Kear Morhen. Why did they give up?

Lambert left the room and ran to the main hall. The hall was full of witchers who spoke and ate but as soon as the first one noticed him, the whole hall went dead silent.

"Where is she? Why am I here?" Lambert yells and his voice echoes through the hall. Vesemir stood up first.

"Come, boy."

 Kear Morhen wasn't as big as it seemed at first. Lambert knew every room and every corridor but when Vesemir took him downstairs to dungeons, he couldn't help but wonder why are they there.

"Why are we here, Vesemir? Stop wasting my goddamn time! Why did you use Sign on me?" he asked nervously. Vesemir lifted one finger to silence him and continued quietly walking next to him . Lambert was beyond angry at this point.

He was just about to protest again when Vesemir stopped in front of the small cell at the end of the corridor. It was dark but Vesemir didn't bother with lighting any torches. Instead, he turned to Lambert, with mixed look of sadness and seriousness.

"She's here, Lambert. Whatever you do, do not open the cell. It's protected with magic, too."

"What-"

" I'll leave you two alone now. " Vesemir said and gently touched his shoulder before leaving. Lambert was stunned. What a hell is happening? Why am I not allowed in?

He waited until Vesemir left the corridor and then slowly approached the cell. He touched the cold metal of cell doors. His medallion trembles.

"Y/N?"

Nothing. Silence. But as soon as he looked at the farthest corner of the room, he saw something. Or someone.

Its darker than hell here.

Lambert used Igni Sign on the closest torch and the whole room brightens immediately.

And then he sees her. He gasps, moving a step away from the cell.

"This can't be happening." he shakes his head.

The same bruxa that attacked him was in front of him. Face turned, dressed in a simple white underdress. But now, seeing her in 'human' form he immediately knew.

It was Y/N.

He grabs the bars and shakes them violently.

"Y/N! No!" he shouts, his voice cracking. Her head slowly turns and finally she faces him.

"Lambert." she finally speaks, her voice slick and soft, but with no emotions in it.

"What happened to you?!" he yells, shaking the bars again. She didn't seem upset. She didn't seem like she feels anything at all.

"I thought you witchers would recognize a bruxa when seeing one." she said, not showing any emotions in her voice again. Lambert swallowed hard.

"Y-you can't be a bruxa. This doesn't happen-"

"But it did, Lambert. As you can see." she interrupted him and turned her face again towards the wall. Lambert's legs betrayed him. He fell down on his knees, holding onto the bars.

"This can't be happening. Not to you." he says quietly. Strange sound, similar to ironic laughter, leaves Y/N's lips.

Lambert looks at her. His heart drops when she looks directly at him.

"So, when are you going to kill me?" she asks him. The question is hanging in the air. Lambert feels like it's not meant for him. And like the question wasn't about the woman he adored with his whole heart.

He looks at her and slowly stands on his feet again. His lips part but nothing comes out.

And then he storms outside.

 "How the fuck is this possible?!" he yells, opening the doors of the main hall. They hit the wall behind it and crack in one place.

Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir are the only ones looking at him. The rest of his brothers do not dare to look up.

"We...we don't know, Lambert." Vesemir starts.

"But she doesn't want to tell, either. She barely said a word after we caught her." Geralt adds.

Lambert leans against the table and punches it with his fists. Eskel slowly approaches him from the side.

"Lambert, she slaughtered the whole village. They were all dead, in their houses." he says quietly.

Lambert doesn't look at him. He knew Eskel wouldn't lie. But that just didn't seem like an actual truth. It couldn't be. Y/N helped her whole village. She was well known and loved there. She loved living there. She couldn't hurt any of them.

"Lambert-"

"I heard you!" he yells and then finally faces Eskel. Eskel gently touches his shoulder, forcing Lambert to look at him.

"You know what we must do now." he finally says. Lambert stands still and stops breathing.

"Is this why you captured her?! Just so I could kill her here!?" he yells, completely aware of his voice breaking.

"Lambert, she's a bruxa!" Vesemir raises his voice a little. The old witcher steps closer to Lambert and crosses his arms on chests.

"I KNOW!" he yells and rubs his face, pacing around. He takes a deep breath and turns to Vesemir again.

"I know." he repeats, this time quietly. "But I'm not letting you kill her. Not before we try other options. If this is some kind of a curse-"

"It's not a curse." the female voice from other side of the room interrupts him. Lambert turns around.

"Merigold." he says quietly. Young redheaded sorceress was leaning against the pillar, with her hands crossed on her chest.

"It's no curse, Lambert. She was bitten. I don't know how or why she survived that transformation, but she did. And she's not the person you once knew." Triss explains.

"She knows who I am." Lambert frowns.

"She does, but she doesn't care for you. She sees every single person in this room as a feeding source. Yourself included."

"I refuse to believe that." Lambert says, but not completely honest. He knew very well how bruxa's mind worked. If they let humans live, it was because they had use of them. If they didn't, that human would be long dead. Just like residents of Gelibol.

"You believe what you want." Vesemir adds. "But she is dangerous, Lambert. You know that. And she...she has to go."

Lambert looks away, not wanting to catch anyone's look.

"Give me a day." he asks quietly. Silence of the room was tiring. Vesemir spoke first.

"I can't. Triss' magic that's surrounding the cell will be gone by midnight. You have until then."

Lambert's heart drops but he nods after a couple of seconds of hesitation. He turns around and leaves the room, heading to the dungeons again.

 "Back already? I thought you won't show up until tomorrow. Maybe with an extra silver sword too." Y/N says, her voice flat. She was facing the wall of her cell. Lambert sits down on the floor in front of the cell.

"You know I won't be the one to kill you." he tells her. Small smile escapes her pale lips but she's still not looking at him.

"Aren't you merciful." she says quietly.

Lambert slams his fits against the bars, partly standing up on his knees. "Look at me!" he yells. Bruxa slowly turns her head, her white eyes staring into Lambert's.

"I know you're not the person you used to be. But I refuse to believe you don't acknowledge how I cared for you or how close we were." he said his voice trembling of agitation.

"I do remember. But since I'm going to die, it does not matter." she shrugged her shoulders and finally gets up from the cold floor. Lambert's throat tightened when she approached the bars.

"It matters to me. I didn't want this for you." he answers, still looking at her vampiric white eyes.

Suddenly Y/N hisses at him, grabbing the bars. She immediately regrets it. Bars burn her hands and she shrieks in pain, letting go of it. Lambert looks away, knowing that magic was source of her pain. He couldn't do anything about it, even if he wanted to. Triss' magic was supposed to keep her in and he agreed on that.

"Fuck, Lambert. Suddenly, you're full of concern and love for me! You didn't care as much when I was just a pathetic human. You feel regret, not a sympathy for me. Because, if you did, we wouldn't be here right now!" she yells, showing her vampire teeth.

"You know that's not the truth-"

"Oh, spare me your pity speech, witcher!" she interrupts him, rolling her eyes. "If you cared, you would take me with you when we had that talk about leaving my village. You knew I'd come with you. I was in love with you, for fuck' sake." she yells, throwing her hands around in the air with annoyance. Lambert lips part but he stays quiet, frozen in place.

"Oh, did that come out of nowhere for you? Because it's not new for me, for sure. It's been months. Hell, it's been years."

Lambert knew he had to say something but this all felt too much for someone who's emotions were modified by elixirs.

"I-I think I knew that." he says quietly, aware how unsure he sounded. But the moment the words left his lips he knew they were truth.

"And you did nothing about it. So, what's the point of you being here now?" Y/N asks, leaning her backs against the wall. "To torture me? To ask me for forgiveness because now it's too late to discuss those things? I don't know what you want from me, Lambert." she says, her voice suddenly filled with tiredness. This was the first time she sounded like her old self. Lambert exhaled, looking down. He had to tell her the truth. She deserved it, no matter how late it was for it to matter.

"I just...I think you deserve to know the reason for my behaviour." he finally spoke. Y/N waited.

"You mattered to me, Y/N. The more I wanted you to matter to me. It's just...I thought if I kept my distance, you'd be safe. I couldn't give you the life you deserve. I had to do what I was made to do. And that's why I couldn't give you anything. "

"You gave me hope." she says, but aware it wasn't entirely his fault, but hers as well. "You came whenever you could. You visited me even when you didn't have a work to handle around. So, excuse me for feeling like I mattered. Or that you felt the same." Y/N adds.

"Witchers don't have the luxury to fall in love." he says quietly, trying to catch her look. And he finally did with those words.

"But?"

"I did."

"But too late." she says, tilting her head to a side a little. He looks away.

"Too late." he confirms. She looks at him for couple of seconds, like she's trying to read his mind.

"So, again, what do you want now, Lambert." Y/N asks quietly.

"I don't know." he admits after a few seconds of complete silence. Small smile escapes her lips. It was a sad smile, he knew that. Lambert realizes she finally let down her guard now. If it wasn't for her new vampiric appearance, he would think he was talking to old Y/N.

"I want you to forgive me." Lambert suddenly says. Y/N lifts her head a bit.

"For?"

"For being too late. To save you from the bruxa that did this to you. For not realising sooner that you deserve to be loved no matter how difficult it was for me to do it. For not showing how I felt before it was too late. I know it doesn't change anything, but I had to tell you."

Her eyes were just looking at him for a couple of seconds and then she lowers her look to the ground. "You're forgiven. witcher. Now, let me die. And never think of me again." she turns her back on him and walks to the darkest part of the cell, letting him know she doesn't plan on speaking to him again. This was it.

 Lambert was outside, watching the snow on mountain tops surrounding Kear Morhen. The moon was full and bright. This was a first time he regretted being at home.

Suddenly a short scream comes from the inside of castle. Lambert runs inside, trying to figure out the direction of the noise.

The dungeons. He runs faster, feeling the heart dropping to his stomach.

He rushes into a corridor that led to Y/N's cell. There she was, laying down on the corridor floor, barely conscious. Vesemir was standing above her. His hand was holding silver sword, soaked in blood. Y/N's blood.

As soon as he realized Lambert was standing there, he withdrew.

"You shouldn't be here." Vesemir tells him. Lambert ignores him, slowly approaching to the half-dead being laying on the floor. She was dying, peacefully and calmly.

"Why is she so still?" he asks, without looking up at Vesemir.

"Triss gave her a sedative. She's completely calm and doesn't feel any pain."

Lambert crouches down next to her and grabs the cold hand that was laying down on her stomach. It was so cold.

"Thank you." he says, his throat tight. If she had to go, Lambert was glad it was this way. Vesemir gently squeezes his shoulder and starts walking towards the stairs.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N." Lambert whispers, tightening the grip on her hand. Y/N looks at him, briefly aware of his presence for a moment.

"Lambert." she barely whispers. Then, her eyes went completely still.  

"I'll never forget you, love." he whispers and slowly leans over her, cupping her face with his shaky hand. His lips gently touch hers, and for a split of a second, she responds to his kiss. Her lips were ice cold, but Lambert doesn't flinch. It lasts for barely a second but his heart starts to beat faster.

Y/N's hand gently squeezes his for a second and then she's still again. This time for the last time.

She was gone.

Lambert closes his eyes, letting out a quiet sob.

[gil-galadhwen]

Lady Of The Marred Moon [An Eskel Fic}

Chapter 7 - One Cannot Flee One's Fate

Catrin is about to head out on her first monster slaying excursion with Eskel when something unexpected happens... Who exactly is the princess with two wolves?

Read here...

< Dividers by @saradika-graphics >