Jaskier finally sits and starts on his breakfast, slicing the sausages into neat little pieces, as he is wont to do. It's a peculiar habit of his-- he slices everything on the plate, regardless of whether he's going to eat it or not. It doesn't matter too much, of course, because Geralt can eat it however it happens to be shaped, but it's quicker to just eat the thing as it is, not chop it up like finger-foods for a fancy party.
He eats his kasha while Jaskier talks, laying out his own skills and how they might be most useful to a bunch of witchers. Jaskier was never going to be someone that they would send out to the walls to do repairs, but he's more than suited for the domestic tasks of the keep. He's familiar enough with the preparation of wild game from twenty years of camping and should be able to handle the kind of meat they keep in their larders-- venison and rabbit and the occasional wild boar-- and lend a hand in the kitchen, he could do some of the basic chores in the stables. They usually have a rotation for the horses, anyway, so that it wasn't always one or two of them stuck with mucking-out duties, and so that they had time to check in with their mounts. Geralt would've made time for Roach regardless, but it was nice to have a portion of his schedule set aside for her.
And, of course, the library. Ciri mentions that there are a number of books and maps that are out of date, and Vesemir considers the suggestion. While witchers don't involve themselves in politics, it's still advisable for them to know the boundaries of countries and the ruling parties. Routes change, as well, with the passing of time, and so do some landmarks and even natural features. It's not unheard of for a witcher to wander into territory that they haven't set foot in for decades and find a lake where one never was before because humans put up a dam. This kind of record-keeping had been easier in the past, when the keep had been full and there had been witchers dedicated to maintaining the library's materials.
Then he and Ciri start talking about some baron that literally no one else at the table has ever heard of, nevertheless how many chins he has. Geralt has to lean back so that Jaskier can gossip with her, crack jokes that no one else understands. He looks up and meets both of his brothers' confused expressions, shrugs in response, and reaches over the bard to take bread and sausage from the unattended plate.
"I'll set aside a stack of books that need to be copied and rebound," Vesemir says, applying copious amounts of butter to his bread and otherwise acting as though there's nothing strange about a bard and a princess gossiping about foreign nobility. "If our maps and atlases need to be amended, deal with it as you see fit."
It's not a small task, seeing to the library's resources, but it's also not a task given lightly-- Eskel tilts his head for a moment, an inquisitive gesture, but doesn't question the old Wolf's decision. Their library is home to not just the maps and geography books, practical things that any person would need to journey the continent, but also tomes full of witchers' secrets, mages' tomes, and hunting journals from men who are long since dead. Priceless relics from a time when the Wolf school didn't have one foot in the grave.
"There are certain sections of the library that you should not touch. I trust Geralt will show you which ones those are."
Geralt nods, then takes more bread from the plate to use to mop of the remnants of his kasha. He leaves some for Jaskier; he'll complain if he doesn't get any.
"For the rest of you, the western wall is nearly shored up enough to survive the storms, but the roof over the southern hall will still need to be patched before the first blizzard. Lambert, Coën, you two should start on the roof. Afternoon training is as usual."
Lambert pulls a face at the order, probably a mixture of disliking being told what to do and a general reluctance to go up on the roof in the cold weather, but he knows better than to start an argument right at breakfast. And, anyway, the roof does need to be fixed, at least if they don't want snow coming through it.
Eskel nudges Lambert. "Trade you."
The youngest Wolf snorts into the weak ale he drinks with breakfast. "Your fat ass would fall right through the fucking roof."
no subject
He eats his kasha while Jaskier talks, laying out his own skills and how they might be most useful to a bunch of witchers. Jaskier was never going to be someone that they would send out to the walls to do repairs, but he's more than suited for the domestic tasks of the keep. He's familiar enough with the preparation of wild game from twenty years of camping and should be able to handle the kind of meat they keep in their larders-- venison and rabbit and the occasional wild boar-- and lend a hand in the kitchen, he could do some of the basic chores in the stables. They usually have a rotation for the horses, anyway, so that it wasn't always one or two of them stuck with mucking-out duties, and so that they had time to check in with their mounts. Geralt would've made time for Roach regardless, but it was nice to have a portion of his schedule set aside for her.
And, of course, the library. Ciri mentions that there are a number of books and maps that are out of date, and Vesemir considers the suggestion. While witchers don't involve themselves in politics, it's still advisable for them to know the boundaries of countries and the ruling parties. Routes change, as well, with the passing of time, and so do some landmarks and even natural features. It's not unheard of for a witcher to wander into territory that they haven't set foot in for decades and find a lake where one never was before because humans put up a dam. This kind of record-keeping had been easier in the past, when the keep had been full and there had been witchers dedicated to maintaining the library's materials.
Then he and Ciri start talking about some baron that literally no one else at the table has ever heard of, nevertheless how many chins he has. Geralt has to lean back so that Jaskier can gossip with her, crack jokes that no one else understands. He looks up and meets both of his brothers' confused expressions, shrugs in response, and reaches over the bard to take bread and sausage from the unattended plate.
"I'll set aside a stack of books that need to be copied and rebound," Vesemir says, applying copious amounts of butter to his bread and otherwise acting as though there's nothing strange about a bard and a princess gossiping about foreign nobility. "If our maps and atlases need to be amended, deal with it as you see fit."
It's not a small task, seeing to the library's resources, but it's also not a task given lightly-- Eskel tilts his head for a moment, an inquisitive gesture, but doesn't question the old Wolf's decision. Their library is home to not just the maps and geography books, practical things that any person would need to journey the continent, but also tomes full of witchers' secrets, mages' tomes, and hunting journals from men who are long since dead. Priceless relics from a time when the Wolf school didn't have one foot in the grave.
"There are certain sections of the library that you should not touch. I trust Geralt will show you which ones those are."
Geralt nods, then takes more bread from the plate to use to mop of the remnants of his kasha. He leaves some for Jaskier; he'll complain if he doesn't get any.
"For the rest of you, the western wall is nearly shored up enough to survive the storms, but the roof over the southern hall will still need to be patched before the first blizzard. Lambert, Coën, you two should start on the roof. Afternoon training is as usual."
Lambert pulls a face at the order, probably a mixture of disliking being told what to do and a general reluctance to go up on the roof in the cold weather, but he knows better than to start an argument right at breakfast. And, anyway, the roof does need to be fixed, at least if they don't want snow coming through it.
Eskel nudges Lambert. "Trade you."
The youngest Wolf snorts into the weak ale he drinks with breakfast. "Your fat ass would fall right through the fucking roof."