They get dressed without any further incident, which Geralt mostly chalks up to the fact that Jaskier's libido has been recently satiated. Hopefully he would remain satiated at least until the evening; there's too much work to be done between all the repairs and Ciri's training to take a sex break in the middle of the day.
Jaskier chats companionably the entire way back up to their rooms, apparently content to carry the lion's share of the conversation. He grabs Geralt's hand along the way, just to twine their fingers loosely together as they walk, and the witcher finds that anything that he would've said has dried up in his throat. The bard's hand is the same as it always has been, smooth-skinned except for the callouses he earned from countless hours of playing the lute, but it feels so warm when pressed against Geralt's palm. Has he always been so warm?
He lets go when they reach their room. He has to, of course, because he needs to go and fetch the supplies he'll need for copying and re-binding the books in the library, but even so-- Geralt's hand feels cold without it.
There's a brief flash of light as the coin arcs through the air, and Geralt catches it. He turns it over a few times in his hand. It doesn't have all of the marks and divots that he'd expect on a coin that's been in circulation for over twenty years, all because it's been tucked away safely in Jaskier's lute case. Safely and uselessly, a memento of something that hadn't happened the way that he remembered. Geralt could give him better keepsakes than this, things that are more practical than a coin that never gets spent. Even the rings and other gaudy baubles that Jaskier has from other lovers or that he bought for himself have their purposes beyond just sitting in a pocket-- they can be hocked for cash if necessary.
"It's a coin," he says, and tosses it back to Jaskier. "Use it to buy something. Even if I had given it to you then, it would've been so that you could've fed yourself, not to sit in your bag."
What good is a coin unless it's spent, after all? He would be content with any coin that he put into Jaskier's hands going towards keeping him warm and fed and cared for. For a hot meal or the shelter of an inn or a bath to clean off the dust of the road. Better even for it to be used on a brothel stay, he'd suppose. That would be satisfying a need, too.
And that goes double for when he'd been eighteen. He's a hale man these days, but when he'd been that young, he'd been lean and wiry and still growing into his own skin. Any coin that he'd gotten should've gone towards filling his belly, because stale bread picked up from the floor wasn't enough.
The heavy smell of disappointment invades the room as soon as Geralt tosses the coin back to Jaskier, who barely manages to catch it before it hits the floor. His reflexes usually aren't that bad, but he's feeling a bit shaken by Geralt's response.
He's told the witcher (at least twice by now) that he doesn't expect poetry and flowers from him, and he meant it. But they've also agreed Geralt would be nicer from now own, express himself better, just try a little more when it comes to understanding feelings and... well. Jaskier thought keepsakes were a safe topic to approach, considering the gifts he's found in this room the day they arrived.
Speaking of... yeah, that can a good place to start. Jaskier points at the book on the shelf as he speaks.
"And that's a ribbon. I gave it to you to use on your hair." A pause, a little frown appearing as his mind goes down memory road. "Or for a wound. I'm not sure which specific one it is." He sighs as he flips the coin, sending it up in the air before it lands on his hand again. "I misunderstood whom the coin was for that day. I get it. I promise I do," he adds with frustration in his voice. He doesn't like being wrong about something he considers so important, but there's no way around it this time. "But is it truly too late to still give it meaning now?"
As a calloused thumb rubs the coin in his palm, Jaskier hums the chorus of Toss a Coin, wondering if Geralt really hasn't made the connection yet - not only to the song, but also to the fact it's important because of the memory behind it.
Respect doesn't make history, he had told Geralt that day. And he still stands by it. Part of him, however... part of him wants at least part of the song to be true, to carry the memory of their meeting in its lyrics, for everyone to celebrate the crossing of their paths every time they sing it, every time it gets stuck in their heads the same way Jaskier stuck to Geralt's side: determined, perhaps a little annoying, but managing to stick because it still puts a smile on your face.
Jaskier's scent sours, all because of a single coin. Did it mean that much to him, to have this one coin be from Geralt? To tie this in to the lyrics of the song that made him famous? And could there really be all that many good memories tied up in this? Geralt remembers that hunt well, and none of it was something that he would've wanted to memorialize with a fucking keepsake. Did he miss some grand moment in between punching a teenager in the stomach and getting beaten up by elves?
"It can have whatever meaning you want it to," he says. "It's yours. Though I don't see why you wouldn't want a better keepsake than an old coin."
Hell, his lute is a far better memento of the whole thing than the coin. He got a fucking lute from the king of the elves after they broke his old one, which he then went on to use to compose the damn coin song to begin with, but it's the coin that he wants to have meaning. Is it because it was the first thing that Geralt gave him? Or, well, that he thought he gave to him, anyway.
Geralt goes over to him and picks up his things, to carry them down to the library for him. All of these notebooks and quills and things seems excessive, but who's he to argue?
"Are you ready to go? I've already kept Eskel waiting."
"It's mine?" Jaskier asks with raised eyebrows, his lips curling a little bit even - not a full smile yet, but they're getting there. One of the issues is that it hadn't been truly his after all. "I want whatever keepsake I can get from our travels together, and this is the only one I have from our first meeting. The lute doesn't count, it came later and is a memory of meeting the elves."
Although the lute does count as a keepsake of the moment his heart started falling for Geralt, he supposes. And yeah, he can't argue with Geralt's logic: objects can have the meaning one gives to them, they represent the idea behind the memory. In any other context, Jaskier would be reciting poetry about the concept. Now, though, it continues to bother him. Perhaps it's because he hadn't kept it as a keepsake at first - he just grabbed it like he grabs any other coin given by his audience. Geralt giving it to him is what makes it special... would it hurt the witcher to bring that meaning back?
Then again, Geralt calling yours is pretty intense for his talking standards. With a sigh and a nod, he puts the coin back in the lute case, then approaches his lover to grab half of his things from his arms. That way they both have a free hand, which obviously means Jaskier chooses to hand-hold their way to the library.
Does that mean he will still silent and drop the matter? Of course not, it's Jaskier.
"Isn't it an important memory for you as well?" The question is out of lips as soon as they give three steps out of the room. "Meeting you changed my life, Geralt. There's a before and an after Posada in my story."
Jaskier takes back half of his things, and though Geralt frowns, he doesn't object. It would be useless, anyway-- Jaskier will do as he will, regardless of what the witcher says. At least he's only carrying some of his things, rather than all. Jaskier shouldn't overwork himself in the next few days, not now that he's so high up in the mountains. The air is thinner here than it is down in the valley, and he'll need a little time to adjust to it.
"Meeting you was important," he says, and Jaskier's hand is warm and comfortable in his. He laces a few of their fingers together, letting his thumb rub gently against his knuckles. "But I prefer not to think about how I treated you."
Shortly after Jaskier took that coin, after all, Geralt had sunk his fist into the bard's stomach. He had thought it was for the boy's own good at the time, but now he wouldn't be able to raise a hand to him like that even if held at swordpoint. He doesn't like to think about the week or so afterwards, when Jaskier would wince when he sat up in the morning.
The path to the library is a well-kept one, so the halls are in decent repair and aren't too draughty, even for a human bard. There are a few places along the route that look out over the courtyard, repurposed into the witchers' training grounds.
"The memories you associate with that coin are more pleasant than mine."
Though how Jaskier has managed to avoid attaching an unpleasant memory like being slugged by a surly witcher onto that coin is beyond him.
The thumb rubs his knuckles, the words meeting you was important rub his heart - both are equally warm and make him smile, his scent sweetening with delight. He can't help gasping and looking at Geralt with wide eyes, though, when he adds the rest.
He's only been meaning to bring meaning back to the coin, he hadn't expected to bring out old feelings as well. Well, not so old perhaps, because apparently Geralt still feels bad about it right now. Jaskier is torn between melting at the sweetness of the statement and feeling bad for the witcher and his twenty-year-old guilt.
"And you've been carrying this remorse with you all this time?" He squeezes the witcher's hand. "Geralt..."
The door of the library appears in front of them then. Jaskier is about to curse their luck, but he realizes he can actually use this: letting go of Geralt's hand, he rushes inside, but only to drop his stuff on the table and then hurry back to his lover's side.
Well, not literally his side. Jaskier stands chest to chest with his witcher as he raises his hands to gently cup Geralt's face before leaning in to kiss him. There's no lust in it, no tongue or exploring - just a kind touch of lips with all his love put into it.
"Don't feel bad, my dear," he says when he finally breaks the kiss, but he keeps their foreheads touching, his thumb stroking Geralt's cheek. "I insulted you, and you responded in the only language they taught you between these walls - if anything, it bothers me more than you don't speak up against that dreadful misnomer more often."
He offers a smile then, one that's kinda smug. Scratch that, very smug.
"And alright, I do appreciate the fact my pain has haunted you, it's good for my ego after so many years of-" He imitates Geralt's voice. "we're not friends. But hey! You've admitted you do associate memories to that coin now, and that's all I need - if we both consider it a symbol of our meeting, then its importance shall carry on in the pocket of my lute case. Think of the punch as the first misstep a baby gives, falling to the ground only to stand up again and walk properly for the rest of his life."
Jaskier rushes off into the library to set his things down, though really he didn't need to hurry because Geralt's carrying the other half of his things. He returns just to kiss him, hands gentle on either side of his jaw, and it's a simple kiss-- soft, sweet, almost chaste if anything Jaskier could do could be called that. He feels it in his chest the same way that he does when the bard says I love you, those terrible little words that burrow into the core of him.
He frowns, then, at the bard's ego-- and at his unintentional feeding of it. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that Jaskier managed to stroke his own ego from Geralt's longstanding guilt about their first meeting, but well. At least he's pleased now.
"I wasn't a child, Jaskier," he says. "I knew what I was doing. I thought it best for you to run back to your University after your first encounter with a monster than to die on the second."
The bard has survived every monster encounter thus far. Geralt dreads the day that luck runs dry.
"Come," he says, and only breaks away from Jaskier's gentle grip because he has to. There's still a wall for him to fix, and books for Jaskier to go through. "Let me show you the things you aren't supposed to touch."
He sets the rest of Jaskier's things on the table, then leads him to the back of the library where there's a section cordoned off with an iron gate. The gate itself isn't locked, but serves as a warning for the contents beyond. The tomes on those shelves have curses attached to them, and after so many decades, it's hard to say if the magic that was originally laid on them is still in the same shape. Like all magic, curses are Chaos. Geralt warns him not to touch anything past the gate if he values his life and/or cock.
Once the bard is settled in, though, Geralt is free to go down to the western wall and meet with Eskel to help with the repairs. The other witcher is annoyed, of course, at his tardiness, and when asked why he's late gets a simple reply-- the bard's horny.
As a consequences of his lateness, though, Eskel makes Geralt keep working even into the lunch hour and goes to fetch the bard himself.
"Time for lunch, bard," he says as he enters the library. "Let's try not to be late for anything else today."
"What a curious thing to say," he replies softly, his thumbs still stroking the witcher's cheeks. "I don't remember meeting any monsters in Posada."
But alright, it seems that's all the feelings they're getting out today. Which is a lot for Geralt's standards, so Jaskier counts it as a very productive morning. The gate Geralt takes him to doesn't look very impressive, to be honest - Jaskier had sneaked into more protected places at the university. His curiosity (or shall we say, nosiness) will make him touch those books anyway!
...or maybe not. Thank the gods Geralt warns him about those curses, or this bard wouldn't have had much to fuck Geralt with later.
Book work is the kind of chore he usually enjoys in small doses, hyperactive as he is and all. But today? Time freaking flies. It's fascinating to look at all these witcher texts, even the 'normal' ones like Geography and History books, because some of them are so fucking old, it's like having a window into the past.
He doesn't even realize he's hungry until Eskel snaps him out of his concentration. And no, he doesn't squeal in surprise, that's all lies! Don't believe Eskel when he mentions it later! (Fucking wolves and their fucking silent steps he swears...)
"I hope you aren't trying to imply that was my fault. That was all your brother," he replies as he follows Eskel out. The witcher arches an eyebrow, not believing him. Jaskier huffs. "That arsehole! To think he complains about MY lies!"
He tries to tell Eskel the real story, but he isn't sure how much he actually listens considering how many times he tells Jaskier he doesn't want to know the details of his brother's sexual life. But at least that little issue is out of the way, there's more story exchange coming, and Jaskier can't be happier. Eskel tells him some anecdotes about the trouble they used to get into when they were kids and gets a bit awkward (perhaps flustered, even?) when Jaskier declares them both to be adorable.
Oh, these witchers and their inability to accept compliments. Jaskier is going to wear them down eventually.
The day continues to be fantastic when Ciri joins him in the library for her first lesson. And said lesson ends up not having that much studying, to be honest. They end up chatting a lot about court life and various nobles they've met through the years, sharing stories about particularly nasty ones that would pretend to like them anyway for the sake of their image. There's some discussion about the current politics and how things got to where they are now as well, so the afternoon isn't completely lost - but even if it had been, Jaskier wouldn't have minded. Ciri needs this - to simply relax and be able to remember her old life without getting about it.
(They're so caught up in their little conversation that they don't even notice Geralt stopping by to only watch and smell them for a moment. See? Damn witchers and their sneaky ways!)
It's Vesemir's turn to be in charge of dinner tonight, but he does ask them to come and set up the table, and of course they both accept. Jaskier almost drops the cluttery, though, when Cirilla asks him to tell her the full story of her mother's betrothal. That came quicker than Jaskier expected! Even with Vesemir around and the others probably in their way, he asks her. She says yes, it's okay. She wants to know, needs to know. Besides, it's Geralt's story as much as it is hers, so his family should know the details as well.
Which means Geralt has probably told them like two sentences about that day. He should've seen that coming. Jaskier the bard to the rescue, fixing his lover's mistakes!
When the four younger witchers approach the mess hall, they'll hear Jaskier's voice... imitating Geralt's.
"All I hope for you my good lords, at your final breath: a shitless death. But I doubt it."
Cirilla laughs, and... oh, is that a snort by Vesemir? Jaskier sure is achieving a lot of difficult accomplishments today.
Geralt nearly misses lunch by the time he gets back from the wall, only catching the tail-end of a few anecdotes that Eskel's telling to entertain Jaskier. Harmless things, really, about their youthful indiscretions at the keep, back when it was still full of witchers and witchers-to-be. With that many boys running around, it was inevitable that they'd get themselves into some kind of mischief-- aarding the younger children into haystacks and stealing white gull from the cellars, that kind of thing. Undoubtedly nothing worse than what the bard would've gotten into as a wealthy man's son with free range of an estate.
After that, there's more work to be done-- finishing up the wall, then helping Lambert and Coën with the southern hall's roof. The Griffin is a diligent and steady worker, with good hands and a good eye for construction; Lambert is mostly thumbs and hit his own with a hammer at least three times before his brothers arrived. It puts him in a terrible mood for the rest of it, which isn't at all helped by Eskel or Geralt. Especially not when Eskel aards him off of the roof.
A while later, Geralt heads back inside to check on the bard and his charge; Jaskier had agreed to give Ciri lessons in the more civilized subjects, things that she ought to learn that witchers wouldn't be able to teach her. There's no one better for it, really-- the bard's had both a nobleman's upbringing and a formal education at Oxenfurt. He's a professor at said university, so surely he would be able to handle being the private tutor of one precocious princess, right?
Geralt goes to check on them anyway.
They're in the middle of some discussion of politics when Geralt comes across them in the library, wrapped up quite cozily with a fire banked in the hearth for warmth. Redanian politics has never been a topic that Geralt's had much interest in, so he knows little about the names and events that the bard's talking about, other than the ruling monarchs. Ciri seems quite engaged in the discussion, however, so he assumes that it must be going well. Neither of them notice him as he stands, leaning against one of the library stacks, listening to their steady human heartbeats. Jaskier smells pleased and relaxed, as does his child surprise, and that's... good. They're safe and well, and what else could he ask for?
Well. Other than, perhaps, some news of Yennefer. The rumors out of Sodden had been concerning, and though he doesn't think that she had perished there, he would have liked some hint that she had gotten out all right.
Geralt leaves the bard and his charge to their political lessons. His presence would only interrupt them, and he has no valuable input to offer. He's best employed right now with manual labor alongside his brothers, shoring up the keep.
By dinnertime, all four of them are tired and sore, ready to sit down for a heavy meal and then laze around in front of a fire for a few hours with some of Lambert's questionable alcohol. On the way in, they all could hear Jaskier entertaining Vesemir and Ciri, his voice pitched as low and gravelly as it could get to imitate Geralt's. The Cintran banquet, going by the fact that he's repeating that bit he said about shitless deaths.
The four witchers pile in, cold and hungry, and it's a good thing that Vesemir is nearly done with the food. Lambert's already starting on the bread, taking a few rolls without even waiting for butter.
"Telling tales again, Jaskier?" Geralt says, putting a hand on Jaskier's waist to move him aside while he reaches for the rolls himself. His hand gets smacked with a wooden spoon for it; Vesemir has a quick hand with that particular weapon. He's told to wait for supper while Lambert shoves the entirety of one of his pilfered rolls straight into his mouth, smug as you please. Vesemir points the spoon at him as well-- a silent warning that his knuckles won't be safe either if he tries that shit again.
(Little princesses, however, ask for it first-- may I have a roll, please, Vesemir?-- with wide, sweet eyes and are given permission for it, and told to go get the butter too. No wooden spoons for those little knuckles.)
The sudden wooden spoon smack startles Jaskier, making him jump with a mumbled oh fuck. The only reason why he hasn't tried to steal a roll himself is that he's been too busy telling Cirilla the story she asked for, so obviously talking has priority over eating, because this is Jaskier. Now he's grateful he didn't even get to try - learned this lesson without getting hurt, thank the gods for small mercies.
The shock goes away quickly, though, because here's Geralt returning to his side and putting a hand on his waist. Jaskier's scent instantly changes from startled to amorous, sweet with adoration for the witcher together with that little spicy touch of lust that happens every time Geralt touches him so kindly. Or touches him in general. Or when he's nearby. Or when he simply exists in the general area...
It also means he can't stop himself and leans in to kiss the witcher's cheek. So Cirilla takes over the answer in between bread bites.
"I asked him to tell me the whole story of my mother's betrothal."
"Emphasis on whole," Jaskier interjects with a teasing tone as he takes his seat at the table next to Geralt. "Because certain someone continues to be stingy with the details."
"Wait, this about how Geralt asked for the Law of Surprise?" Lambert asks. Jaskier and Cirilla nod. "Oh fuck yes, I've been wanting to know about this one too. Go on, bard."
Lambert makes an urging gesture with his hand that makes Jaskier snicker. It's not different from what happened at the springs, he realizes - these are all the important tales of Geralt's life. Monster hunts are interesting and all, but Cintra and Posada? Those are a unique situation that makes witchers extra curious.
They're also proof that the witcher can have more than the Path. Jaskier wonders if they realize that or they think they only want to hear these stories to make fun of Geralt.
And so the story gets told throughout dinner. Cirilla is curious about many things and Jaskier does his best to answer as many questions as possible, even if there are some details about the hidden politics behind the visitors he doesn't know about. It is obvious she appreciates his efforts, though, because sometimes she takes over to explain some things about Cintra, giving Jaskier a break to actually eat.
(She's getting better, he'd like to think. Her eyes still look kinda sad, but she talks proudly of her home, without hesitation or stumbling over her words. He'll have to ask Geralt later for a better comparison.)
Jaskier grins at her when the story gets to the part of the brawl and Geralt defending Dunny. "Remember what he had told me earlier about the petty squabbles of men?"
Oh, look at that, it seems the storytelling included the kikimora incident. Cirilla giggles.
"That he doesn't get involved."
"And what did he do?"
It's Eskel that replies, "He got involved."
"He got involved!" Jaskier laughs and so does everyone else around the table, including a chuckle from Vesemir. Two in one night? Jaskier is definitely counting this as a very successful day. (Does he mean orgasms or Vesemir's laughter? Yes.) By the time he makes it to Pavetta barfing on the floor and Geralt's heartfelt fuck, the whole table explodes in laughter. It is quite an ironic moment, perfectly timed - it would be wonderful as the cliffhanger of a chapter in a novel. Most importantly, Jaskier is glad Cirilla is able to enjoy it with as much merriment as the rest of them.
Said merriment is interrupted when Lambert suddenly curses and lowers his tankard on the table with more strength than necessary. "Wait a fucking second. If she was pregnant already--- that means she fucked the hedgehog?" Eskel slaps him on the back of his head. "What, don't tell me you aren't thinking it too!"
Cirilla can only hide her face on her hands and mumble "Gross."
It makes sense for Cirilla to be interested in the complete story of her mother's betrothal banquet, considering how young she was when her parents died. Geralt's bare-bones rendition of the tale wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as Jaskier's, and he had more knowledge of courtly things besides. He could give context where Geralt couldn't. His brothers, on the other hand-- well, Lambert wanted to know what happened because it would give him something else to dig on Geralt for.
Jaskier tells the tale over the course of the meal, transforming the story from Geralt's factual report of events into something worthy of one of his ballads, dramatic and exciting and comedic in just the right places. He has a tendency, as he always does, to wax a little bit too poetic about Geralt's supposed heroics during the fight, and the witcher has to pelt him with bits of bread to get him to move on.
At the time, it hadn't been funny, when Pavetta vomited on the floor and the true weight of what had just happened was revealed to all of them. But the way Jaskier tells it makes it seem lighter than it was, and there is a hint of a smile to Geralt's lips for the fact that Cirilla laughs. There are few prices that he wouldn't pay to see his child surprise happy.
And then Lambert starts talking about Pavetta fucking the hedgehog knight.
"He turned back into a man at midnight," Geralt says, because for fuck's sake, Lambert, don't scar his child surprise for life. Does anyone know for sure if Pavetta slept with Duny while he was a hedgehog man? Not anymore, because they can't just go and ask Ciri's parents. Nor should anyone. And, really, no one in this room could judge her for being a monsterfucker, because five out of seven are considered monsters, one of seven is currently fucking one of said monsters, and the last is the end result of the aforementioned Pavetta monsterfucking. So everyone is in a glass house here, there's no room for anyone to throw stones.
Dinner finishes up without any further discussions on the bedroom activities of Ciri's parents, to the betterment of all. Geralt stays behind with Vesemir to do the washing up while the other witchers take Ciri and Jaskier into the great hall, where there was already a fire in the hearth and comfortable chairs around it, and tables set up conveniently for games of Gwent. Lambert fetches a few bottles of his homemade liquor-- white gull for the witchers, vodka for Jaskier, cider for little princesses who weren't supposed to have alcohol. (He sneaks a nip of vodka into the cider when no one's looking, at Ciri's behest. Someone's angling for favorite uncle status, it seems.)
Geralt and Vesemir emerge from the kitchen a little while later, dishes cleaned and everything back in order. The old wolf settles himself in his favorite armchair near the fire with a book, content to spend the rest of the evening reading. Geralt goes to join in the games of Gwent, where Lambert's showing Ciri how to cheat at cards.
Lambert forbids Jaskier from touching the white gull, which of course makes Jaskier want to try it even more. He does manage to steal a glass when the witchers are arguing over who is the real cheater here, but he regrets it a soon as he sniffs it: it makes him dizzy for a few seconds.
Right. Lesson fucking learned, thank you.
It's a very pleasant evening, Jaskier must admit. Calm (which yes he can do, thank you!), relaxed, cozy. He plays and sings for the witchers while they play (and read), laughing at their sibling squabbles and proudly congratulating Cirilla when she manages to win a hand or pull Lambert's tricks successfully. It's a cute little family, and while the circumstances that brought them here aren't exactly the best, Jaskier is glad they have each other - glad they've accepted him in it as well.
Thousand of ballads he'll write about them, Jaskier swears to himself on the spot, and the Continent shall never insult them again.
Cirilla, bless her young soul, starts nodding off soon after Jaskier finally plays the song about her parents' betrothal and it's Vesemir that offers to take her back to her room since he decides it's time for him to go to bed as well. And as soon as he's out of sight, Jaskier can tell the mood of the room instantly shifts - it's not like the witchers were tense before (they weren't) but there's always an obvious wave of restfulness among the "younger" people when an authority figure leaves them alone. It reminds Jaskier of evenings spent in Oxenfurt with fellow students (and eventually fellow teachers) sneaking around once the headmaster was gone.
And that gives Jaskier an idea.
"My dear witchers, how about a little game?" He asks after putting his lute back in its case and pouring himself more vodka. "Ever heard of Never have I ever?"
Lambert laughs, but the others look clueless, so Jaskier proceeds to quickly explain the rules.
"What do you think?"
"You really think you can outdrink *us*, bard?" Lambert asks back.
"Oh, could I?" Jaskier grins. "Never have I ever killed a drowner."
The witchers' faces and cursing that follows are music to his ears.
With Vesemir and Cirilla in bed, the rest of the witchers could relax-- they no longer had to be on their best behavior, or what passed for it, with their mentor and a child around. They could talk about things that they'd never speak of in front of Vesemir or Ciri, swap stories about hunts gone awry that would make their former teacher want to give them remedial lessons and sordid brothel tales that even a girl with a Skelligan grandfather shouldn't hear. (The latter had something of a practical purpose, too-- it's good to know which brothels are willing to host a witcher, even if you aren't going on a three-day binge of debauchery.)
Jaskier, however, has an idea for a game. Or, anyway, knows of one that goes well with drinking, and the rules for it are simple enough. He starts off strong, of course, picking a question that he knows very well will get all four of his witcher companions to drink. There is some mild grumbling about such a low blow, but all of them drink. Eskel is next on the go-around, gestures at Jaskier with his handful of cards.
"You should be careful, bard. You're easy to target, too." He puts down a card that makes Lambert curse, and says, "Never have I ever played a lute."
That will obviously catch Jaskier, and surprisingly, Coën too. The Griffin only shrugs in response, and just says, "I didn't play it well."
It's the Griffin's turn next, and he thinks about his question for a moment, watching Lambert try to recover in his card game. "Never have I ever... been eaten by a selkiemore."
"Gods willing you never will," Geralt says, and takes a drink. "Fucking reeks."
Thankfully, there aren't very many contracts ever put out to deal with selkiemore, since they're rare and, technically, not even carnivorous. If they ever swallow a person, it's usually on on accident, the poor soul just getting swept up into its maw while it trawls the water for plankton. Makes its guts reek something foul, though.
Lambert's up next, and considering that his game of gwent's going poorly, getting Eskel drunk might be the only way that he wins. "Never have I ever fucked a succubus," he says, and Eskel's the only one that takes a drink.
"A succubus?" Geralt says, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. Eskel grins and shrugs, apparently perfectly willing to leave the story there and let everyone wonder about it. Though Geralt's sure that he could get it out of him later, once he's good and sloshed; Eskel never holds out on out him for long.
Then it's Geralt's turn. "Hm. I've never... taught at Oxenfurt."
Jaskier rolls his eyes at Eskel, but drinks as he should.
"A target!" He exclaims with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're going to lose this game pathetically if you pick a target! The strategic key is finding the common denominator and--" And just like that, he goes from gamesplaining Eskel to beaming at Coën. "You WHAT! How come you didn't tell me!"
Silly witchers, always keeping the best details to themselves. Since the selkiemore thing doesn't apply to him, he takes that opportunity to shower Coën with questions about his lute playing, but Jaskier gets sidetracked again at the mention of sex with a succubus. Look, it's not his fault there are so many interesting tales being told at the same time, alright? This is why he likes this game so much in the first place.
"Fucked a succubus!" He says with a delighted gasp, eyes widening and sparkling with curiosity. "You can actually do that and survive? Or was it a witcher thing? Was it good? Would you do it again? What about an incubus? Eskel, don't give me that look, I need to hear the whole--"
Wait, never mind, time to indignantly gasp at Geralt with a hand on his chest. He's hurt, Geralt. HURT!
"You dare to target your beloved! This is harassing! Harassing I say!" Eskel is chuckling, and since he was the one to start the whole targeting deal, Jaskier glares at him and back at Geralt before saying, "Never have I ever asked for the Law of Surprise!"
An effective way to get Geralt and Eskel both, Jaskier thinks, considering the current company of Cirilla and Scorpion. What Jaskier doesn't see coming, though (and maybe he should've) is the fact everyone ends up drinking. Gaping, he looks from one witcher to the next, not believing what he's seeing.
"Unbelievable. Is that the only way witchers know how to ask for rewards?"
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Jaskier chats companionably the entire way back up to their rooms, apparently content to carry the lion's share of the conversation. He grabs Geralt's hand along the way, just to twine their fingers loosely together as they walk, and the witcher finds that anything that he would've said has dried up in his throat. The bard's hand is the same as it always has been, smooth-skinned except for the callouses he earned from countless hours of playing the lute, but it feels so warm when pressed against Geralt's palm. Has he always been so warm?
He lets go when they reach their room. He has to, of course, because he needs to go and fetch the supplies he'll need for copying and re-binding the books in the library, but even so-- Geralt's hand feels cold without it.
There's a brief flash of light as the coin arcs through the air, and Geralt catches it. He turns it over a few times in his hand. It doesn't have all of the marks and divots that he'd expect on a coin that's been in circulation for over twenty years, all because it's been tucked away safely in Jaskier's lute case. Safely and uselessly, a memento of something that hadn't happened the way that he remembered. Geralt could give him better keepsakes than this, things that are more practical than a coin that never gets spent. Even the rings and other gaudy baubles that Jaskier has from other lovers or that he bought for himself have their purposes beyond just sitting in a pocket-- they can be hocked for cash if necessary.
"It's a coin," he says, and tosses it back to Jaskier. "Use it to buy something. Even if I had given it to you then, it would've been so that you could've fed yourself, not to sit in your bag."
What good is a coin unless it's spent, after all? He would be content with any coin that he put into Jaskier's hands going towards keeping him warm and fed and cared for. For a hot meal or the shelter of an inn or a bath to clean off the dust of the road. Better even for it to be used on a brothel stay, he'd suppose. That would be satisfying a need, too.
And that goes double for when he'd been eighteen. He's a hale man these days, but when he'd been that young, he'd been lean and wiry and still growing into his own skin. Any coin that he'd gotten should've gone towards filling his belly, because stale bread picked up from the floor wasn't enough.
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He's told the witcher (at least twice by now) that he doesn't expect poetry and flowers from him, and he meant it. But they've also agreed Geralt would be nicer from now own, express himself better, just try a little more when it comes to understanding feelings and... well. Jaskier thought keepsakes were a safe topic to approach, considering the gifts he's found in this room the day they arrived.
Speaking of... yeah, that can a good place to start. Jaskier points at the book on the shelf as he speaks.
"And that's a ribbon. I gave it to you to use on your hair." A pause, a little frown appearing as his mind goes down memory road. "Or for a wound. I'm not sure which specific one it is." He sighs as he flips the coin, sending it up in the air before it lands on his hand again. "I misunderstood whom the coin was for that day. I get it. I promise I do," he adds with frustration in his voice. He doesn't like being wrong about something he considers so important, but there's no way around it this time. "But is it truly too late to still give it meaning now?"
As a calloused thumb rubs the coin in his palm, Jaskier hums the chorus of Toss a Coin, wondering if Geralt really hasn't made the connection yet - not only to the song, but also to the fact it's important because of the memory behind it.
Respect doesn't make history, he had told Geralt that day. And he still stands by it. Part of him, however... part of him wants at least part of the song to be true, to carry the memory of their meeting in its lyrics, for everyone to celebrate the crossing of their paths every time they sing it, every time it gets stuck in their heads the same way Jaskier stuck to Geralt's side: determined, perhaps a little annoying, but managing to stick because it still puts a smile on your face.
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"It can have whatever meaning you want it to," he says. "It's yours. Though I don't see why you wouldn't want a better keepsake than an old coin."
Hell, his lute is a far better memento of the whole thing than the coin. He got a fucking lute from the king of the elves after they broke his old one, which he then went on to use to compose the damn coin song to begin with, but it's the coin that he wants to have meaning. Is it because it was the first thing that Geralt gave him? Or, well, that he thought he gave to him, anyway.
Geralt goes over to him and picks up his things, to carry them down to the library for him. All of these notebooks and quills and things seems excessive, but who's he to argue?
"Are you ready to go? I've already kept Eskel waiting."
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Although the lute does count as a keepsake of the moment his heart started falling for Geralt, he supposes. And yeah, he can't argue with Geralt's logic: objects can have the meaning one gives to them, they represent the idea behind the memory. In any other context, Jaskier would be reciting poetry about the concept. Now, though, it continues to bother him. Perhaps it's because he hadn't kept it as a keepsake at first - he just grabbed it like he grabs any other coin given by his audience. Geralt giving it to him is what makes it special... would it hurt the witcher to bring that meaning back?
Then again, Geralt calling yours is pretty intense for his talking standards. With a sigh and a nod, he puts the coin back in the lute case, then approaches his lover to grab half of his things from his arms. That way they both have a free hand, which obviously means Jaskier chooses to hand-hold their way to the library.
Does that mean he will still silent and drop the matter? Of course not, it's Jaskier.
"Isn't it an important memory for you as well?" The question is out of lips as soon as they give three steps out of the room. "Meeting you changed my life, Geralt. There's a before and an after Posada in my story."
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"Meeting you was important," he says, and Jaskier's hand is warm and comfortable in his. He laces a few of their fingers together, letting his thumb rub gently against his knuckles. "But I prefer not to think about how I treated you."
Shortly after Jaskier took that coin, after all, Geralt had sunk his fist into the bard's stomach. He had thought it was for the boy's own good at the time, but now he wouldn't be able to raise a hand to him like that even if held at swordpoint. He doesn't like to think about the week or so afterwards, when Jaskier would wince when he sat up in the morning.
The path to the library is a well-kept one, so the halls are in decent repair and aren't too draughty, even for a human bard. There are a few places along the route that look out over the courtyard, repurposed into the witchers' training grounds.
"The memories you associate with that coin are more pleasant than mine."
Though how Jaskier has managed to avoid attaching an unpleasant memory like being slugged by a surly witcher onto that coin is beyond him.
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He's only been meaning to bring meaning back to the coin, he hadn't expected to bring out old feelings as well. Well, not so old perhaps, because apparently Geralt still feels bad about it right now. Jaskier is torn between melting at the sweetness of the statement and feeling bad for the witcher and his twenty-year-old guilt.
"And you've been carrying this remorse with you all this time?" He squeezes the witcher's hand. "Geralt..."
The door of the library appears in front of them then. Jaskier is about to curse their luck, but he realizes he can actually use this: letting go of Geralt's hand, he rushes inside, but only to drop his stuff on the table and then hurry back to his lover's side.
Well, not literally his side. Jaskier stands chest to chest with his witcher as he raises his hands to gently cup Geralt's face before leaning in to kiss him. There's no lust in it, no tongue or exploring - just a kind touch of lips with all his love put into it.
"Don't feel bad, my dear," he says when he finally breaks the kiss, but he keeps their foreheads touching, his thumb stroking Geralt's cheek. "I insulted you, and you responded in the only language they taught you between these walls - if anything, it bothers me more than you don't speak up against that dreadful misnomer more often."
He offers a smile then, one that's kinda smug. Scratch that, very smug.
"And alright, I do appreciate the fact my pain has haunted you, it's good for my ego after so many years of-" He imitates Geralt's voice. "we're not friends. But hey! You've admitted you do associate memories to that coin now, and that's all I need - if we both consider it a symbol of our meeting, then its importance shall carry on in the pocket of my lute case. Think of the punch as the first misstep a baby gives, falling to the ground only to stand up again and walk properly for the rest of his life."
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He frowns, then, at the bard's ego-- and at his unintentional feeding of it. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that Jaskier managed to stroke his own ego from Geralt's longstanding guilt about their first meeting, but well. At least he's pleased now.
"I wasn't a child, Jaskier," he says. "I knew what I was doing. I thought it best for you to run back to your University after your first encounter with a monster than to die on the second."
The bard has survived every monster encounter thus far. Geralt dreads the day that luck runs dry.
"Come," he says, and only breaks away from Jaskier's gentle grip because he has to. There's still a wall for him to fix, and books for Jaskier to go through. "Let me show you the things you aren't supposed to touch."
He sets the rest of Jaskier's things on the table, then leads him to the back of the library where there's a section cordoned off with an iron gate. The gate itself isn't locked, but serves as a warning for the contents beyond. The tomes on those shelves have curses attached to them, and after so many decades, it's hard to say if the magic that was originally laid on them is still in the same shape. Like all magic, curses are Chaos. Geralt warns him not to touch anything past the gate if he values his life and/or cock.
Once the bard is settled in, though, Geralt is free to go down to the western wall and meet with Eskel to help with the repairs. The other witcher is annoyed, of course, at his tardiness, and when asked why he's late gets a simple reply-- the bard's horny.
As a consequences of his lateness, though, Eskel makes Geralt keep working even into the lunch hour and goes to fetch the bard himself.
"Time for lunch, bard," he says as he enters the library. "Let's try not to be late for anything else today."
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But alright, it seems that's all the feelings they're getting out today. Which is a lot for Geralt's standards, so Jaskier counts it as a very productive morning. The gate Geralt takes him to doesn't look very impressive, to be honest - Jaskier had sneaked into more protected places at the university. His curiosity (or shall we say, nosiness) will make him touch those books anyway!
...or maybe not. Thank the gods Geralt warns him about those curses, or this bard wouldn't have had much to fuck Geralt with later.
Book work is the kind of chore he usually enjoys in small doses, hyperactive as he is and all. But today? Time freaking flies. It's fascinating to look at all these witcher texts, even the 'normal' ones like Geography and History books, because some of them are so fucking old, it's like having a window into the past.
He doesn't even realize he's hungry until Eskel snaps him out of his concentration. And no, he doesn't squeal in surprise, that's all lies! Don't believe Eskel when he mentions it later! (Fucking wolves and their fucking silent steps he swears...)
"I hope you aren't trying to imply that was my fault. That was all your brother," he replies as he follows Eskel out. The witcher arches an eyebrow, not believing him. Jaskier huffs. "That arsehole! To think he complains about MY lies!"
He tries to tell Eskel the real story, but he isn't sure how much he actually listens considering how many times he tells Jaskier he doesn't want to know the details of his brother's sexual life. But at least that little issue is out of the way, there's more story exchange coming, and Jaskier can't be happier. Eskel tells him some anecdotes about the trouble they used to get into when they were kids and gets a bit awkward (perhaps flustered, even?) when Jaskier declares them both to be adorable.
Oh, these witchers and their inability to accept compliments. Jaskier is going to wear them down eventually.
The day continues to be fantastic when Ciri joins him in the library for her first lesson. And said lesson ends up not having that much studying, to be honest. They end up chatting a lot about court life and various nobles they've met through the years, sharing stories about particularly nasty ones that would pretend to like them anyway for the sake of their image. There's some discussion about the current politics and how things got to where they are now as well, so the afternoon isn't completely lost - but even if it had been, Jaskier wouldn't have minded. Ciri needs this - to simply relax and be able to remember her old life without getting about it.
(They're so caught up in their little conversation that they don't even notice Geralt stopping by to only watch
and smellthem for a moment. See? Damn witchers and their sneaky ways!)It's Vesemir's turn to be in charge of dinner tonight, but he does ask them to come and set up the table, and of course they both accept. Jaskier almost drops the cluttery, though, when Cirilla asks him to tell her the full story of her mother's betrothal. That came quicker than Jaskier expected! Even with Vesemir around and the others probably in their way, he asks her. She says yes, it's okay. She wants to know, needs to know. Besides, it's Geralt's story as much as it is hers, so his family should know the details as well.
Which means Geralt has probably told them like two sentences about that day. He should've seen that coming. Jaskier the bard to the rescue, fixing his lover's mistakes!
When the four younger witchers approach the mess hall, they'll hear Jaskier's voice... imitating Geralt's.
"All I hope for you my good lords, at your final breath: a shitless death. But I doubt it."
Cirilla laughs, and... oh, is that a snort by Vesemir? Jaskier sure is achieving a lot of difficult accomplishments today.
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After that, there's more work to be done-- finishing up the wall, then helping Lambert and Coën with the southern hall's roof. The Griffin is a diligent and steady worker, with good hands and a good eye for construction; Lambert is mostly thumbs and hit his own with a hammer at least three times before his brothers arrived. It puts him in a terrible mood for the rest of it, which isn't at all helped by Eskel or Geralt. Especially not when Eskel aards him off of the roof.
A while later, Geralt heads back inside to check on the bard and his charge; Jaskier had agreed to give Ciri lessons in the more civilized subjects, things that she ought to learn that witchers wouldn't be able to teach her. There's no one better for it, really-- the bard's had both a nobleman's upbringing and a formal education at Oxenfurt. He's a professor at said university, so surely he would be able to handle being the private tutor of one precocious princess, right?
Geralt goes to check on them anyway.
They're in the middle of some discussion of politics when Geralt comes across them in the library, wrapped up quite cozily with a fire banked in the hearth for warmth. Redanian politics has never been a topic that Geralt's had much interest in, so he knows little about the names and events that the bard's talking about, other than the ruling monarchs. Ciri seems quite engaged in the discussion, however, so he assumes that it must be going well. Neither of them notice him as he stands, leaning against one of the library stacks, listening to their steady human heartbeats. Jaskier smells pleased and relaxed, as does his child surprise, and that's... good. They're safe and well, and what else could he ask for?
Well. Other than, perhaps, some news of Yennefer. The rumors out of Sodden had been concerning, and though he doesn't think that she had perished there, he would have liked some hint that she had gotten out all right.
Geralt leaves the bard and his charge to their political lessons. His presence would only interrupt them, and he has no valuable input to offer. He's best employed right now with manual labor alongside his brothers, shoring up the keep.
By dinnertime, all four of them are tired and sore, ready to sit down for a heavy meal and then laze around in front of a fire for a few hours with some of Lambert's questionable alcohol. On the way in, they all could hear Jaskier entertaining Vesemir and Ciri, his voice pitched as low and gravelly as it could get to imitate Geralt's. The Cintran banquet, going by the fact that he's repeating that bit he said about shitless deaths.
The four witchers pile in, cold and hungry, and it's a good thing that Vesemir is nearly done with the food. Lambert's already starting on the bread, taking a few rolls without even waiting for butter.
"Telling tales again, Jaskier?" Geralt says, putting a hand on Jaskier's waist to move him aside while he reaches for the rolls himself. His hand gets smacked with a wooden spoon for it; Vesemir has a quick hand with that particular weapon. He's told to wait for supper while Lambert shoves the entirety of one of his pilfered rolls straight into his mouth, smug as you please. Vesemir points the spoon at him as well-- a silent warning that his knuckles won't be safe either if he tries that shit again.
(Little princesses, however, ask for it first-- may I have a roll, please, Vesemir?-- with wide, sweet eyes and are given permission for it, and told to go get the butter too. No wooden spoons for those little knuckles.)
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The shock goes away quickly, though, because here's Geralt returning to his side and putting a hand on his waist. Jaskier's scent instantly changes from startled to amorous, sweet with adoration for the witcher together with that little spicy touch of lust that happens every time Geralt touches him so kindly. Or touches him in general. Or when he's nearby. Or when he simply exists in the general area...
It also means he can't stop himself and leans in to kiss the witcher's cheek. So Cirilla takes over the answer in between bread bites.
"I asked him to tell me the whole story of my mother's betrothal."
"Emphasis on whole," Jaskier interjects with a teasing tone as he takes his seat at the table next to Geralt. "Because certain someone continues to be stingy with the details."
"Wait, this about how Geralt asked for the Law of Surprise?" Lambert asks. Jaskier and Cirilla nod. "Oh fuck yes, I've been wanting to know about this one too. Go on, bard."
Lambert makes an urging gesture with his hand that makes Jaskier snicker. It's not different from what happened at the springs, he realizes - these are all the important tales of Geralt's life. Monster hunts are interesting and all, but Cintra and Posada? Those are a unique situation that makes witchers extra curious.
They're also proof that the witcher can have more than the Path. Jaskier wonders if they realize that or they think they only want to hear these stories to make fun of Geralt.
And so the story gets told throughout dinner. Cirilla is curious about many things and Jaskier does his best to answer as many questions as possible, even if there are some details about the hidden politics behind the visitors he doesn't know about. It is obvious she appreciates his efforts, though, because sometimes she takes over to explain some things about Cintra, giving Jaskier a break to actually eat.
(She's getting better, he'd like to think. Her eyes still look kinda sad, but she talks proudly of her home, without hesitation or stumbling over her words. He'll have to ask Geralt later for a better comparison.)
Jaskier grins at her when the story gets to the part of the brawl and Geralt defending Dunny. "Remember what he had told me earlier about the petty squabbles of men?"
Oh, look at that, it seems the storytelling included the kikimora incident. Cirilla giggles.
"That he doesn't get involved."
"And what did he do?"
It's Eskel that replies, "He got involved."
"He got involved!" Jaskier laughs and so does everyone else around the table, including a chuckle from Vesemir. Two in one night? Jaskier is definitely counting this as a very successful day. (Does he mean orgasms or Vesemir's laughter? Yes.) By the time he makes it to Pavetta barfing on the floor and Geralt's heartfelt fuck, the whole table explodes in laughter. It is quite an ironic moment, perfectly timed - it would be wonderful as the cliffhanger of a chapter in a novel. Most importantly, Jaskier is glad Cirilla is able to enjoy it with as much merriment as the rest of them.
Said merriment is interrupted when Lambert suddenly curses and lowers his tankard on the table with more strength than necessary. "Wait a fucking second. If she was pregnant already--- that means she fucked the hedgehog?" Eskel slaps him on the back of his head. "What, don't tell me you aren't thinking it too!"
Cirilla can only hide her face on her hands and mumble "Gross."
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Jaskier tells the tale over the course of the meal, transforming the story from Geralt's factual report of events into something worthy of one of his ballads, dramatic and exciting and comedic in just the right places. He has a tendency, as he always does, to wax a little bit too poetic about Geralt's supposed heroics during the fight, and the witcher has to pelt him with bits of bread to get him to move on.
At the time, it hadn't been funny, when Pavetta vomited on the floor and the true weight of what had just happened was revealed to all of them. But the way Jaskier tells it makes it seem lighter than it was, and there is a hint of a smile to Geralt's lips for the fact that Cirilla laughs. There are few prices that he wouldn't pay to see his child surprise happy.
And then Lambert starts talking about Pavetta fucking the hedgehog knight.
"He turned back into a man at midnight," Geralt says, because for fuck's sake, Lambert, don't scar his child surprise for life. Does anyone know for sure if Pavetta slept with Duny while he was a hedgehog man? Not anymore, because they can't just go and ask Ciri's parents. Nor should anyone. And, really, no one in this room could judge her for being a monsterfucker, because five out of seven are considered monsters, one of seven is currently fucking one of said monsters, and the last is the end result of the aforementioned Pavetta monsterfucking. So everyone is in a glass house here, there's no room for anyone to throw stones.
Dinner finishes up without any further discussions on the bedroom activities of Ciri's parents, to the betterment of all. Geralt stays behind with Vesemir to do the washing up while the other witchers take Ciri and Jaskier into the great hall, where there was already a fire in the hearth and comfortable chairs around it, and tables set up conveniently for games of Gwent. Lambert fetches a few bottles of his homemade liquor-- white gull for the witchers, vodka for Jaskier, cider for little princesses who weren't supposed to have alcohol. (He sneaks a nip of vodka into the cider when no one's looking, at Ciri's behest. Someone's angling for favorite uncle status, it seems.)
Geralt and Vesemir emerge from the kitchen a little while later, dishes cleaned and everything back in order. The old wolf settles himself in his favorite armchair near the fire with a book, content to spend the rest of the evening reading. Geralt goes to join in the games of Gwent, where Lambert's showing Ciri how to cheat at cards.
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Right. Lesson fucking learned, thank you.
It's a very pleasant evening, Jaskier must admit. Calm (which yes he can do, thank you!), relaxed, cozy. He plays and sings for the witchers while they play (and read), laughing at their sibling squabbles and proudly congratulating Cirilla when she manages to win a hand or pull Lambert's tricks successfully. It's a cute little family, and while the circumstances that brought them here aren't exactly the best, Jaskier is glad they have each other - glad they've accepted him in it as well.
Thousand of ballads he'll write about them, Jaskier swears to himself on the spot, and the Continent shall never insult them again.
Cirilla, bless her young soul, starts nodding off soon after Jaskier finally plays the song about her parents' betrothal and it's Vesemir that offers to take her back to her room since he decides it's time for him to go to bed as well. And as soon as he's out of sight, Jaskier can tell the mood of the room instantly shifts - it's not like the witchers were tense before (they weren't) but there's always an obvious wave of restfulness among the "younger" people when an authority figure leaves them alone. It reminds Jaskier of evenings spent in Oxenfurt with fellow students (and eventually fellow teachers) sneaking around once the headmaster was gone.
And that gives Jaskier an idea.
"My dear witchers, how about a little game?" He asks after putting his lute back in its case and pouring himself more vodka. "Ever heard of Never have I ever?"
Lambert laughs, but the others look clueless, so Jaskier proceeds to quickly explain the rules.
"What do you think?"
"You really think you can outdrink *us*, bard?" Lambert asks back.
"Oh, could I?" Jaskier grins. "Never have I ever killed a drowner."
The witchers' faces and cursing that follows are music to his ears.
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Jaskier, however, has an idea for a game. Or, anyway, knows of one that goes well with drinking, and the rules for it are simple enough. He starts off strong, of course, picking a question that he knows very well will get all four of his witcher companions to drink. There is some mild grumbling about such a low blow, but all of them drink. Eskel is next on the go-around, gestures at Jaskier with his handful of cards.
"You should be careful, bard. You're easy to target, too." He puts down a card that makes Lambert curse, and says, "Never have I ever played a lute."
That will obviously catch Jaskier, and surprisingly, Coën too. The Griffin only shrugs in response, and just says, "I didn't play it well."
It's the Griffin's turn next, and he thinks about his question for a moment, watching Lambert try to recover in his card game. "Never have I ever... been eaten by a selkiemore."
"Gods willing you never will," Geralt says, and takes a drink. "Fucking reeks."
Thankfully, there aren't very many contracts ever put out to deal with selkiemore, since they're rare and, technically, not even carnivorous. If they ever swallow a person, it's usually on on accident, the poor soul just getting swept up into its maw while it trawls the water for plankton. Makes its guts reek something foul, though.
Lambert's up next, and considering that his game of gwent's going poorly, getting Eskel drunk might be the only way that he wins. "Never have I ever fucked a succubus," he says, and Eskel's the only one that takes a drink.
"A succubus?" Geralt says, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. Eskel grins and shrugs, apparently perfectly willing to leave the story there and let everyone wonder about it. Though Geralt's sure that he could get it out of him later, once he's good and sloshed; Eskel never holds out on out him for long.
Then it's Geralt's turn. "Hm. I've never... taught at Oxenfurt."
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"A target!" He exclaims with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're going to lose this game pathetically if you pick a target! The strategic key is finding the common denominator and--" And just like that, he goes from gamesplaining Eskel to beaming at Coën. "You WHAT! How come you didn't tell me!"
Silly witchers, always keeping the best details to themselves. Since the selkiemore thing doesn't apply to him, he takes that opportunity to shower Coën with questions about his lute playing, but Jaskier gets sidetracked again at the mention of sex with a succubus. Look, it's not his fault there are so many interesting tales being told at the same time, alright? This is why he likes this game so much in the first place.
"Fucked a succubus!" He says with a delighted gasp, eyes widening and sparkling with curiosity. "You can actually do that and survive? Or was it a witcher thing? Was it good? Would you do it again? What about an incubus? Eskel, don't give me that look, I need to hear the whole--"
Wait, never mind, time to indignantly gasp at Geralt with a hand on his chest. He's hurt, Geralt. HURT!
"You dare to target your beloved! This is harassing! Harassing I say!" Eskel is chuckling, and since he was the one to start the whole targeting deal, Jaskier glares at him and back at Geralt before saying, "Never have I ever asked for the Law of Surprise!"
An effective way to get Geralt and Eskel both, Jaskier thinks, considering the current company of Cirilla and Scorpion. What Jaskier doesn't see coming, though (and maybe he should've) is the fact everyone ends up drinking. Gaping, he looks from one witcher to the next, not believing what he's seeing.
"Unbelievable. Is that the only way witchers know how to ask for rewards?"