Jaskier is already by the beds when he hears the news, but instead of putting down the blankets, he ends up dropping them rather suddenly when he hears-- To bring us the news. He should concentrate on the details that would usually call his beloved attention - the fact a witcher had a traveler companion, a fellow witcher even. Does it mean what he thinks it means? It puts a big sign of BULLSHIT on all the excuses Geralt had given through those two decades of traveling together for sure - witchers must stay alone, his ass.
Yet that's not the heaviest thought in his mind at the moment. No, it's the thought of maybe of finding himself in Coën's place one day. Of having to grab the medallion and make his way alone to Kaer Morhen...
"I'm sorry for your loss." He says as he chases those thoughts away, but Eskel quickly changes the subject, and Jaskier has to sigh. Yeah, he can see the similarities with Geralt there, god forbid they deal with his feelings. Silly witchers.
Eskel's tactic works, however, giving the bard the perfect distraction. Jaskier starts patting down his clothes under the cloak, trying to find the little notebook and pencil he always keeps with him in case inspiration strikes. Ugh, which of these hundred of layers did he put it in?
"Tsk tsk tsk, the bard decides what makes a good song, the witcher only shares-- Ah-ha!" That last bit is an expression of triumph at finding his notebook, and Jaskier quickly sits on the edge of the bed to start taking notes. The little comment about good looks doesn't go unnoticed, and Jaskier can't help glancing at Geralt, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. It's not like he can stop the bard from continuing to be a playful flirt from now on, but this is his brother, and that makes it weird even for Jaskier's standards (which are usually low when it comes to flirting - he's had a threesome with a pair of twins after all). "Worry not, no song of mine will ever fail to praise a witcher's mighty mien."
That is neutral enough, he hopes, although his heart and scent may give away how excited he is about this whole deal. Eskel is an excellent story teller and Jaskier soon finds himself caught up in his adventure, tongue peeking out in concentration as he fills the pages of his notebook with that fancy handwriting of his.
"This. Is. Brilliant. At this rate I'll have songs written for all of you by the end of month! No, make it end of the week! Fixing the reputations of the whole wolf school - and a now a griffin too! I'll have material to last me all winter! Oh, don't worry-" He turns at Geralt and winks at his lover. "--you're still my favorite."
Unaware of what he just did in front of company, Jaskier returns to his notes, reviewing them one last time in case he's forgotten to ask for any particular detail. It's different, having a witcher sharing the story so easily and without Jaskier having to do any stitches first.
...wait a minute.
Jaskier puts his pencil down and inspects Eskel from head to toes, eyes squinting and judging.
"A wyvern mad from hunger. Eskel, are you hiding any injuries?" That's a stupid question, he realizes. Experience tells him a witcher that doesn't want to be nursed isn't going to suddenly admit it because the bard wants him to - at least not for a couple of years. He turns to Geralt while pointing at Eskel, calling for back-up. "Geralt! Is he hiding any injuries?"
Because if he is, then Geralt's nose would be able to tell, he hopes.
Geralt leans against the wall near the fire, watching Jaskier as he excitedly pats through his pockets until he finds his notebook, ready to write down everything that Eskel tells him about the wyvern. He does this thing every time he's concentrating on composing or taking notes where his tongue juts just a little bit past his lower lip, and it's... a thing. That he does. Geralt only notices because he's observant, of course.
There must be something in his expression, though, because Eskel looks up briefly during his storytelling and catches his eye, tossing Geralt this knowing look that sets his features immediately back into sullen brooding mode. And then Jaskier has to go and make it worse by calling him his favorite, and he could see the shitty response written all over Eskel's face--
Until the bard interrupts that by asking about his injuries. Eskel stares at him for a moment, gobsmacked, like he has no idea how to respond to someone asking after his well-being in a genuine manner. In all fairness to him, he probably hasn't had anyone care about whether he was hurt or not for the past year, and even then, only from his fellow witchers. Eskel could probably count on one hand the number of times that a human has cared whether or not he got hurt in the process of slaying a monster.
"I-- what, no, I'm fine. It was just a wyvern--"
But Jaskier wants a second opinion, and Geralt sees an opportunity. Eskel wants to get buddy-buddy with the bard? Well, he gets all of the irritations of that association, too. Geralt sniffs once or twice-- and yeah, there it is, underneath the smell of dirt and reptile, the copper tang of blood-- then huffs through his nose like he's trying to clear the smell from his sinuses.
"Right arm."
Eskel has the gall to look affronted, like Geralt has betrayed him.
"I thought we were brothers!" he says, and Geralt just shrugs in response. "It's nothing. Remember that part where I stabbed it through the roof of its mouth? I got grazed by a tooth, it's barely a scratch."
The reaction to such a simple question breaks his fucking heart and it makes Jaskier extra glad he's asked, letting Eskel know that hey, someone cares, you dumbass. To think Geralt thought Jaskier would get bored at Kaer Morhen! Not only he has a whole lot of lore and stories to learn, plus a cub to tutor, he'll have his hands full working on the self-esteem of a bunch of witchers.
Eskel, of fucking course, denies any kind of wounds at all and, once again, Jaskier finds it super interesting and ironic how different yet similar he's to Geralt. He's more chatty and more expressive, but Jaskier recognizes that level of denial bullshit every day. Luckily for him he doesn't need to argue, his boyfriend comes to the rescue.
"Ha! I knew it!" Notebook forgotten on the mattress for now, Jaskier stands up and claps his hands twice. "Sleeve off, chop chop! I need to retrieve my salves from the supplies we left with the horses, but when I come back I want to see that arm!"
His tone leaves no room to discussion, but his voice softens when, on his way out, he pats Geralt's arm and whispers thank you, my dear, forgetting about the fact Eskel can hear him anyway. On top of that, both witchers can hear him complain all the way to the stables, because not even the snow can keep his mouth shut.
"I'm fine, Jaskier! It's just a scratch, Jaskier!" Is his tone mocking? Maybe a little bit. "Pertinacious pack of wolves, all of them! Not taking good care of themselves! And the princess will pick up these ludicrous habits of theirs, Melitele save us all!"
His babbling comes to a pause when he sees Roach and Pegasus have company. Of course, Eskel has a horse too! Jaskier spends a moment introducing himself to their new black friend and offering pats for all of them before returning to the hut with a leather satchel in his arms.
"Eskel, your horse has the most beautiful obsidian shade! What is its name?"
The bard leaves after making demands of Eskel, a fact that startles the witcher just as much as Jaskier's concern had. While there are perks to Jaskier's fearlessness around their kind, there are also downsides-- he doesn't have a single qualm about ordering them around or talking back to them. He can't be intimidated, he just laughs and pats your arm or takes your ale right out of your hand and tells you to get into the outfit that he, for whatever reason, just so happened to have in your size. Geralt knows this firsthand, he's tried to glare the bard into submission and just ended up at a wedding banquet for his trouble.
Both witchers hear his complaining as he goes all the way out to the stable.
"Is he always like this?"
Geralt grunts in reply. Eskel, having literally grown up with this walking communication disaster, is well versed in the nuances of grunting, and recognizes this one as an affirmative.
"And you rolled right over for him. We knew it was bad from all your moping last year, but wow."
Despite his complaining, Eskel unlaces his clothes and pulls his arm out of the sleeve of his jacket and shirt, revealing the full extent of the injury. It's just a graze, sure-- by a witcher's metric, anyway. By that, he clearly meant a good six inch gash along his bicep, stretching from elbow to shoulder. No longer bleeding, of course, his accelerated healing had taken care of that, but deep enough that it would benefit from stitches.
"Fuck you, Eskel."
"I think your bard might have something to say about that--"
The door opens again, bringing in a burst of cold air and snow, and one annoyed bard. His mood seems to have improved, though, simply from making the acquaintance of a new witcher's horse.
"Isn't he a sight? He was a knight's mount, I got him by law of surprise. I call him Scorpion."
And he seems quite pleased about it, his pretty stallion warhorse. But a good steed is as valuable to a witcher as his swords, just ask Geralt.
"Scorpion. A very befitting name." Yet for some reason, it amuses the hell out of him. "Scorpion and Roach. The law of surprise. I'm starting to see quite unexpected patterns here."
Apparently wolf witchers name their animals after other animals and don't know how to ask for rewards that aren't coin, so the law of surprise it is. Jaskier had expected matching training and habits, but these little things are taking him by surprise. It's delightful, and it adds to the pile of reasons why running from Nilfgaardian soldiers and dealing with the cold is worth the hassle (the first one being Geralt himself, of course).
Jaskier drags a chair to sit by Eskel's side, looking smug at the fact this new wolf has done as he said... but the smugness only lasts one second, because the sight of the injury brings all the indignation back. There goes his scent, filled with worry and frustration, and he hopes these idiots freaking choke on it.
"Bloody hell, Eskel!" His inner scolding housewife comes out as he takes out the salve and a cotton rag that he starts using to clean the gash. "This is not a graze! An actual graze wouldn't need stitches! By the gods, I should hit you both with a dictionary."
His words are harsh, but his touch is gentle, not different from how he treats Geralt's own injuries. Well, except for the part where his eyes don't linger with pining for the witcher in front of him, no words of affection thrown in his direction. (But what would've happened if destiny had put Eskel in his path first, he can't help but wonder.)
"Just because you can endure it doesn't mean you should. Needle." The last word is spoken as a heads-up as he shows Eskel his little tool before he starts stitching. He isn't that dumb, alright, he knows better than put sharp metal objects against a witcher's skin without warning. The tip of his tongue peeks out again as he concentrates on his hands movements, and for once, Jaskier falls silent as he closes Eskel's wound. He's done this thousands of times by now, having left any squirmish feelings with his younger self thanks to Geralt pushing him into the real world. But even after all these years, he's still extra aware of the fact he's handling a man's pain in his mere musicians hands. So he takes it very, very seriously.
Once he's done, he leans back and admires his work with a tilted head and hands on his waist.
"See? Not the end the end of the world. Move your arm, tell me if it pulls too badly so I know if redoing them or wrapping you up." With a sigh, he turns to Geralt, looking at him with his best puppy eyes. "Is there any vodka left?"
For himself, not for the injured. Not the worst witcher injury he's treated by far, but now having two wolves that won't care of themselves is definitely an I NEED A DRINK occasion.
"Won't do me any good, I was always a shitty student. Geralt's the bookworm."
The aforementioned witcher tossed another look Eskel's way, but it wasn't so heated this time. Mild annoyance at most. Most times, Eskel wouldn't trust another person to do up his wounds, but this is Geralt's bard-- the only person on the Continent less likely than your average witcher to let someone clean them up after a hunt. And he trusts this bard with a needle to his skin, knowing that a poorly stitched wound could be worse than one that was just let to heal on its own. If Jaskier's good enough for Geralt, he's good enough for anyone.
He's even considerate, giving Eskel a warning before he starts putting the needle into him. It's also for his own good, though-- a startled witcher might lash out in any number of ways, none of them pleasant. But he just grimaces a little and lets the bard do as he would, staying so still while he stitches that it might almost seem like he doesn't feel the pain of it at all. (Ask certain sources, and they would say that witchers don't feel pain properly, anyway, so it hardly matters if you're gentle when you treat them.) He does, of course, but the minor prick of a needle is far below the kind of pain that he felt when he got the wound, and he had handled the greater hurt just fine. Jaskier's stitches are neat and even from practice, and when he's done, the gash is just a thin line.
Eskel moves his arm as directed, testing his range of motion.
"Seems fine to me," he says, examining the neat stitching for himself. "Hey, you do pretty nice work. They teach you this in barding school, or did you pick it up on the road?"
While Eskel is examining his injury, Geralt fetches the vodka bottle for Jaskier; the bard likes to have a drink after he deals with the worst of Geralt's injuries, as a way to unwind. The really bad ones, the ones that seem like they might test even a witcher's constitution-- they tax him greatly, both because of the work involved and because of the stress and worry. Geralt isn't sure he'll ever get used to that, to the way that his actions have such a consequence on someone else.
"Mind it," he says, half teasingly. "We won't slow down if you have a headache tomorrow morning."
"A bookworm." He says, laughing. "That's adorable."
And it makes lots of sense - twenty years later, Jaskier still remembers that first review (if it can be called that) from Geralt. They don't exist. He's always been annoyed by lore inaccuracies in tales and songs, but Jaskier had blamed it on witcher pride. This is one hundred times better. Maybe he should start buying books for Geralt when he gets poetry for himself? Not a bad idea, and now the mental image of them cuddling in front of a fire, reading together, won't leave his mind.
There'll be time for that in the future.
Eskel compliments his work and Jaskier preens, pride swelling in his chest, his scent sweet as it can be. He's a sucker for praise in general, but having a witcher -and one he just met, at that- allowing him to patch him up and then complimenting him for it is doing wonders for his ego. It also pleases the romantic in him that wants to impress the in-laws.
"Thank you. It's nice to have someone that appreciates my work." He glances at Geralt when he says that, an expression on his face that says he's just being a little shit. "A little bit of both, actually. I learned to sew back in Oxenfurt to take care of my clothes, but anything healing related you can thank your brother and his lack of self-care for. I spent a whole night holding his bloody guts and he still wouldn't call me a friend!"
When Geralt approaches with the vodka, Jaskier lets their fingers brush for longer than needed as a little affectionate gesture to make up for all the teasing going on. He instantly regrets it, however, when Geralt fires back. The bastard!
"Oi! Don't act as if you didn't know my drinking limits as well as your own, you big oaf! At least I'm not the one meditating instead of sleeping!" He takes a pretty deep sip of vodka before passing the bottle back to Geralt and turning to Eskel again, this time to bandage the wound. "You can take turns with him from now on, right, Eskel?"
He's trying to sound as indignant as he can but there's an edge of begging to his voice - it breaks him that his lover hasn't slept in so long, Geralt deserves to fucking rest.
"Sounds about right," Eskel says, because if there's anyone who would refuse to acknowledge a relationship with someone even after that person had literally held their guts in, it's Geralt. And, gods, when had that happened? Eskel's going to need that story, if only to find out how Geralt had made so big of a mistake. But he's not surprised that his brother had been so distant because, as Eskel is very aware of, Geralt is, in fact, an idiot. He's very good at what he does, and he's surprisingly knowledgeable about a range of practical subjects, but he's still an idiot. A man that you trust to literally hold you together when you're coming apart at the seams is a friend, like it or not.
And, really, with the way that they both smell? Not just the fact that Jaskier's scent is all sunshine and light whenever Geralt looks at him, but also the fact that Geralt smells like floral oils and the bard's lute stuff, and his hair is neat and tidy and his face goes stupidly soft whenever Jaskier isn't looking at him? Any witcher would come to the same conclusion within five minutes of looking at these two assholes-- and not just the conclusion that they're friends. Also the conclusion that they're fucking smitten.
Eskel makes grabby hands for the bottle of vodka, but Jaskier hands it back to Geralt instead when he's done with it. Geralt, the bastard, doesn't take any sort of pity on his wounded brother and keeps the liquor for himself, rather pointedly taking a long swig of it.
"Cock," he says, and Geralt just drinks again. Eskel huffs but holds his arm out obediently for the bard to start bandaging. "Hm? Oh, yeah, we can take shifts. It'll only be about two days 'til we get back to the Keep, anyway. You're not far."
"I'm fine," Geralt replies, putting the vodka back into the cupboard. "Witchers don't need to sleep as often as humans, Jaskier."
Eskel says nothing against it, doesn't try to contradict Geralt-- it's not technically untrue, really, what he'd said. Witchers could go without sleep or food or water for longer than humans, though there's a difference between what can be done when there's no other option and what's good for them. Meditating in place of sleep can, in a pinch, let a witcher maintain his functionality while remaining vigilant and aware of his surroundings. It's not the same as sleep, and he can't do it forever. A witcher can go weeks and weeks with little to no food, too, but that doesn't mean that he won't eventually starve.
"All done." Jaskier says as he ties the bandages with a cute little bow, then pats Eskel on the shoulder a couple of times. "That's a good wolf."
Look, if they insist on behaving like feral puppies, Jaskier is going to treat them as such.
(They're adorable.)
He starts putting his things back in the leather satchel but pauses when Geralt replies, making a show of rolling his eyes and groaning in protest. Eskel doesn't back him up this time, and Jaskier knows he's coming face to face with another layer of witcher bullshit. Unbelievable! There's two of them now, one would think taking shifts would be the most natural thing to do - don't witchers like being practical?
"Oh, don't give me that pile of horseshit!" Here comes the indignant housewife back with his hands on his waist. "A week or so I could begrudgingly accept, but you haven't slept since fucking Gors Velen! And since then you've fought-" One hand is suddenly raised to start counting with his fingers. "Nilfgaardian soldiers, a werewolf, a hoard of nekkers, and then Nilfgaardian soldiers again."
Jaskier decides to stand up then, only to be able to poke at Geralt's broad chest. There's a frown on his face and he obviously sounds frustrated as hell, but the worry is most noticeable in his scent. "So don't tell me you're fine, my dear witcher." More terms of endearment in front of the brother, but hey, better get them used to that asap. "Be grateful I said shifts at all, because I actually should be asking Eskel to take one for the team and let you sleep the whole night through."
Eskel watches with some amount of bemusement as Jaskier puts his hands on his hips and starts arguing with Geralt like... well, like he's arguing with any old person, not a witcher with decades of combat experience and a severe disinclination towards sociability. It's a level of familiarity that he hasn't seen anyone share with Geralt since... well. Since Kaer Morhen, the few remaining wolf school witchers.
There are so few of them left, and it's a number that's only ever ticking down.
Geralt bears the bard's complaints and the finger that he jabs into the witcher's pectoral muscle with a sour face, his mouth twisted up in an annoyed expression and about an inch away from saying something like shut up, Jaskier. But he had promised the bard that there would be no more repeats of the mountain, no more callous disregard for him.
Also, Jaskier is assuming that he slept before he reached Gors Velen. A more accurate statement is that he hasn't slept much since he left Kaer Morhen the last time, to go look for him. But the bard can't yell at him for something that he doesn't know about.
"We're two days out and Eskel is injured," he says. "I'll sleep at Kaer Morhen."
"Hey, don't bring me into this," Eskel says, flopping back onto the bed that, apparently, he has now claimed. "And what's with the werewolf? Where did you hunt a werewolf?"
"Oxenfurt."
"...what? Why was a werewolf in Oxenfurt?"
Geralt shrugs. "Didn't ask it why."
"Maybe you should've, I want to know why there was a werewolf in the middle of Oxenfurt."
"Indeed, don't bring Eskel into this. I bet if I had ask a couple of moments ago, you would've also thought it was just a scratch."
Jaskier isn't dumb - Geralt had helped him in order to annoy Eskel, not because he genuinely thought his brother needed the attention. Witcher hypocrisy at its finest!
Speaking of Eskel, he isn't the only bemused one at the moment. Because see, Jaskier recognizes what happens next: sibling bickering. Which is delightful, and helps him feel less annoyed at them. At moments like this, it's hard to see them as dangerous witchers, he's expecting one of them to say I'll tell Vesemir any minute now.
"Geralt barely talks to people and you expect him to talk to a werewolf?" He asks between chuckles. Seeing as Eskel is getting himself comfortable, Jaskier thinks it's time for them to do the same. He sits on the edge of the other bed and points at the pillows while giving Geralt a poignant look that clearly says lie down, you big oaf, time to rest and cuddle, and I'm not taking a no for an answer.
"There were drowners in the sewers too, I forgot to add those to the list. You should visit Oxenfurt some time, Eskel. You'll be well received there." He won't be a superstar like Geralt, but a more positive welcome towards witchers will still be a thing. And that's when curiosity and his ego hit Jaskier like a rock - he worries his lower lip for two seconds before tilting his head and going for it. "May I ask you something? About the Path." It's not like he actually needs permission, nosy little shit he is, but being polite and friendly goes a long way to get people to open up to you. "After you started hearing Toss a coin, were there any changes around you?"
Has your life improved?, he wants to know, but he better word it as neutrally as possible. If improvement hasn't been a thing for Eskel, better not rub it on his face that it has for Geralt.
Jaskier points at the pillows as though Geralt is a dog who will just do whatever he asks, and... like a dog, Geralt does exactly what he asks. Eskel watches him the whole time, just gives him the most shit-eating grin as the big bad witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken, sits on the edge of the bed next to his bard. And he hadn't even slept with him yet, though not for lack of trying.
"Drowners barely count," Geralt huffs, pulling at the pillows under the pretense of rearranging them for sleep.
Then Jaskier says he has a question about the Path, and both Geralt and Eskel go still, listening. Humans don't ask about the Path, but, of course, Jaskier isn't just any human. After two decades of following Geralt up and down the Continent, he knows more about what the Path is like than anyone else who isn't an actual witcher--
Geralt sighs. Should he have expected more from Jaskier than taking this opportunity to ask about his own songs? Probably not.
Eskel, at least, laughs. "You mean aside from me nor anybody else being able to get the damn thing out of our heads? Yeah, there were a few things. I went into a town and they actually wanted to pay me the agreed upon price, in full. The innkeeper let me stay for free. Somebody bought me an ale."
He shakes his head, as though still marveling at the experience even though it was years ago. "Thought the whole damn town was cursed."
So there it is-- right from the witcher's mouth. Toss a coin did more than just make money for Jaskier, it lined the pockets of other witchers, too. Made the world a little softer towards them, for a little while.
"It wasn't like that in every town, but enough. Kinda been dyin' down lately, though."
A year of not singing the praises of witchers would do that. Humans had short memories, after all, and they might forget about tossing coins to their witchers if it's not stuck in their heads.
Pulling at the pillows, huh? Geralt is obviously buying time, and Jaskier wonders for how long he could keep that up. He's tempted to tease him for, call him shy in front of his brother, but then Eskel is laughing and his attention is somewhere else. Oh, how easy it is to talk to this new witcher who doesn't hesitate to answer any question thrown at him. A pity that, as far as he understands, the third brother waiting for them isn't the same.
Nobody being able to get the song out of their heads is already a huge compliment for a singer and composer, but Eskel keeps going and... gods, Jaskier thinks he could cry. Hands going to his chest in over-dramatic gesturing, his scent becomes overwhelming sweet again, only gaining a bitter edge at the end for obvious reasons.
"Ah, well, yeah, it's been-- honestly, you can thank Geralt for that." He nudges Geralt's foot with his own, letting him know he's not one hundred percent serious but he still wants to shit on him at least a little bit for the whole mountain fiasco. "But worry not, my new witchering friend!" Yep, Eskel has been adopted already. The bitterness in his scent already disappearing, Jaskier opens his arms, feeling incredibly empowered. Geralt has become his lover and other witchers are also benefiting from his songs - his ego couldn't be happier. This is his legacy, built without Pankratz money. "After winter has passed, this humble bard will be singing the ballads of the White Wolf again! And this time, he'll be joined by his pack!"
And just like that, hands still in the air as he pictures his future performances, Jaskier flops down on Geralt's lap, head and shoulders finding those thick thighs very, very comfortable. And warm as well, but that's not the priority here.
"Come spring, not a wolf shall leave their home without at least three songs with their names in it! Every tavern across the Continent will sing the praises of witchers' heroics once more, every inn will remember to treat them with the respect and kindness they deserve!" The honesty in his words is deep and raw, probably also kinda naive - not even traveling for two decades with Geralt has managed to completely kill his romantic view of the world. "You have my word as a bard, Eskel of Kaer Morhen, that I shall not step back from my mission to fix witcher reputation ever again!"
A pause. His hands fall to his stomach.
"...unless Geralt decides to be a blundering pillock again, but I'd like to think that's out of the question from now on." He winks up at Geralt, a smitten smile on his face.
Jaskier decides to take up Geralt's entire lap, just dramatically draping himself over the witcher's thick thighs as though they were his personal property. Geralt expression immediately twists into annoyance, and though he seriously considers the ramifications of shoving the idiot bard right onto the floor, he decides against it-- but only because they're in a very small cabin with no escape from his complaining.
The bard natters on about how he's going to write them all a hundred songs that will bring them eternal fame and glory or whatever rot he's got going on in his head this time, and Geralt shoots Eskel a long-suffering look. See what he has to deal with, Eskel? Do you see his suffering? The endless chatter, the ceaseless histrionics, the incessant attention-whoring. Somehow, Geralt of Rivia had managed to pick up the biggest romantic on the entire Continent in a shitty tavern in Posada, and the bastard had the nerve to grow on him. Like fungus.
Then he mentions the Many Fuck-Ups of Geralt of Rivia, and it's Eskel's turn to light up.
"Oh, what did Geralt do this time?" he asks, and by his face, it's like his birthday and every holiday just came early.
Geralt grabs one of the pillows from the bed and puts it over Jaskier's entire head.
"Shut up, Jaskier."
It's not held firmly enough over his face to cut off oxygen, he wants the little shit to still be alive by the time they get to Kaer Morhen, but it's enough to muffle anything he could say.
"He means nothing by it, he's just talking. He seldom does anything else."
Bloody hell, this is a whole new level of Geralt being an ass. It's kinda playful at the same time, and he'll admit that later, but right now Jaskier is incredibly offended by this turn of events. Oh sure, the asshole gets to abandon him on the mountain but Jaskier doesn't get to whine about it? Like hell he'll stay silent about that!
(To be fair, he doesn't stay silent about most things.)
As his legs kick the bed in protest, Jaskier starts pushing the pillow to get it off him, cursing all the way through (which is impossible to understand but hey the spirit is there at least!). Of course he doesn't have enough strength to push off motherfucking Geralt of Rivia, but as with everything else in this relationship, Jaskier eventually gets what he wants by fearlessly wearing Geralt down.
"You bloody brute! Using my own weapon against me!" To prove his point, he grabs the other pillow and hits Geralt's shoulder with it. "Unbelievable! Remind me why I love you again when you only insist on committing crimes against an innocent bard's treasured voice!"
Jaskier struggles underneath the pillow, which is to be expected, and swears expansively, which is also to be expected. It's muffled enough that it's hardly intelligible, though, even to a witcher's ears, so that's fine. If the bard would just stop kicking up a fuss, everything would be even more fine, but Geralt doesn't get to have nice things.
Eventually, Jaskier's pushing and thrashing gets Geralt to lift the pillow a bit, if only to make sure that the bard is still able to breathe. He is, and demonstrates this by using his lungs to their highest capacity to yell. And he also grabs a pillow and swings it at Geralt's shoulder, which functionally does nothing but it seems to be rapidly becoming his favored manner of scolding him.
Every time that Jaskier says that word, Geralt's chest squeezes up, like something's clawing up his chest and trying to choke him. Eskel's grin freezes on his face, his expression a little confused as though this is a joke that he doesn't quite get. Geralt doesn't quite know what to do about this, because if he tries to tell him to shut up again, he's sure that his voice won't be nearly as strong as he wants it to be.
Geralt puts the pillow back over Jaskier's face.
Eskel shakes his head, flopping down onto the bed. These antics? They just got weird. They got weird and he's too tired and cold and not liquored up enough to deal with this particular brand of Geralt's Shit.
"Just try to keep it down over there, okay? I'll wake you up in a few hours, Geralt."
The pillow goes back over his face, but this time, Jaskier doesn't fight or thrash. He's distracted, thinking about Eskel's expression and body language. Leaving the grin aside for a moment, the rest he recognizes: it's the same as Geralt when he closes up, when he's going through an emotional turmoil he doesn't know how to deal with. Did the l-word cause it? Even when it hadn't been directed at him? The fact a witcher is receiving love at all is enough to cause such a strong reaction... It breaks his heart.
Mental note: find an opportunity to hug Eskel some time in Kaer Morhen.
For now, he can only offer the one thing he's good at and is powerful enough, in his opinion, to share: his words. He pushes the pillow down more easily this time (Geralt is probable having A Moment too) and turns to his new friend with kind eyes and a soft voice.
"Thank you, Eskel."
There's a weight in his words that say Jaskier isn't only thanking him for taking the shift, or even for answering his questions and telling him the wyvern story. It's a thank you for everything you do, and he hopes it comes across, because he knows that saying it aloud would only make the witchers get weirder.
Which means the only thing left for them to do is finally going to bed. Jaskier leaves Geralt's lap to put the pillows back in place, then fixes the cloak around him to create his now usual cocoon. He lies down on his side and by the edge of the bed, leaving room for certain wall of muscles to take the main spot on the mattress, a spot that Jaskier can jump on to cuddle once is taken.
He pulls at Geralt's arm and mouths a very simple sentence at him. Let's rest.
Eskel just makes a vague, affirming noise when Jaskier thanks him, his body relaxed but his mind ready. His own two swords are propped up at the foot of the bed, within easy reach should something happen, though it was unlikely that anyone or anything would be out tonight. Not someplace so remote, and with the weather set to dip quite cold.
Jaskier puts the pillows back and assumes his usual sleeping position, leaving a large portion of the mattress available for Geralt to take up. It doesn't really matter, though, because the bard's just going to roll over and tuck himself up against Geralt's chest anyway. But he's ready to sleep, and he's not going to rest until he's got a witcher in bed with him. Might as well just not fight it.
Geralt gets into bed behind him, pulling the furs and blankets up over them to keep the bard warm. Even with the fire, it'll be cold, and Jaskier's fragile human body will need all the heat it can get. The witcher opens his arms to him, to let him get as close as he wants for tonight.
And once Jaskier has gotten himself settled, Geralt presses his nose into his hair, breathes deep and slow, and tries to sleep.
Geralt accepts to lie down without a fight - not only that, he opens his arms to him as well. Jaskier is surprised, he thought he'd have to insist more because of their audience. But hey, not gonna complain. It is better if Geralt gets used to this anyway, because there's no way he'd be able to completely cut PDA from their lives in Kaer Morhen even if he tried.
Eskel has already seen the wolf brooch anyway, and Jaskier is determined to keep it there for the rest of the ride, including when they finally make it to the keep. He's not going to hide his message when the wolves themselves are the ones that need it the most.
I'm not afraid of you. I welcome you in my life.
Without wasting any time, Jaskier tucks up himself against that incredibly warm body of Geralt's, his arms moving around the witcher's waist and his head resting on his chest. His smile grows when Geralt breathes against his hair. As far as he is concerned, he shall never use pillows again. (Well, unless Geralt is being an ass, but that's a different pillow use.)
He sleeps deeply and peacefully, feeling safe in his lover's arms. So it's good luck to have two witchers to bother him early in the morning this time, because if it was up to him, he would stay where he is a few hours more. Winter is coming, though, and he understands the need to hurry. There will be plenty of time to cuddle when they arrive to their destination.
(Eskel has a lot of teasing to do when he finds them so pressed against each other, but Jaskier doesn't mind. In fact, he kind of enjoys it - it sounds like approval.)
'The trail' (or 'The Killer' as Eskel kindly informs him) is as harsh as Geralt had told him, and Jaskier would've never been able to go though it alone - hell, he probably wouldn't have even been able to find it. He tries his best to memorize the way, but snow is already around them, making it hard to identify any land marks without witcher eyes. No wonder it's earned that nickname. Roach and Scorpion seem to be familiar with their surroundings, though, and Jaskier hopes Pegasus can pick up at least one tenth of that knowledge - they are definitely coming back some day, that's for sure. These wolves are his family now, whether they like it or not.
Conversation is difficult to keep up even for Jaskier. He exchanges anecdotes with Eskel a couple of times, but for most of the trip, they are too tired or too cold (or both!) to chat. Some times they aren't even riding side by side, and Jaskier doesn't have enhanced ears to hear whatever they say while being sandwiched in line between them (which is incredibly sweet of them, by the way, to protect him like that - look at this the songbird, safe in the center of the pack).
There is no stopping the inspiration that hits him, however, when the keep comes into view. Kaer Morhen lies on the mountains as if it had grown out of them naturally, and neither the pass of time nor the horrible siege had done anything to keep it from being impressive and intimidating. This is no lord's castle, this is the witchers' home, and such title is carved in every stone.
"On top of the mountain for hundred of years, watching the valley below-" He starts reciting as they come closer, clear awe in his voice. "-guarding the souls of the living down there, seeing them prosper and grow."
Fuck, his bones are freezing and they've barely reached the place properly yet, but Jaskier's fingers are already itching for his notebook. If this is enough to get his muse going, he looks forward to a winter filled with stories to last him for days.
When they finally make it to the entrance, Jaskier makes Pegasus slow down, dying to hop down and explore but keeping himself in check for now. There is something he still isn't sure how it'll work out yet, and he turns to Geralt to ask him exactly that. "Should I... wait here until you talk to Vesemir?"
Do I need permission to step inside, it's what he means. He doesn't want his arrival to start with the wrong foot.
The path the rest of the way up the mountain is treacherous, steep, and called The Killer for good reason. Only witchers could make their way safely up it, as the trail markers were too subtle for human eyes to pick up on and the harsh weather would push humans to exhaustion. Had Jaskier been on foot, he surely would've never made it on his own; the journey was hard even with a sturdy horse. They even keep him in the middle, regardless of whether they're traveling abreast or single file; both to protect him and to keep an eye on him.
The bard is quiet, too, mostly because the trip is so difficult that even his chattering mouth can't keep up. It's too cold, too hard, too everything, and more than once, Geralt is concerned that he'll have to drag the bard to Kaer Morhen on his own back. That worst case scenario doesn't come to pass, thankfully, and Jaskier manages to make it to the doorstep of the witchers' keep by his own power.
Jaskier asks him about Vesemir and the old witcher's approval, and... it's time. There is still a chance that Vesemir could reject him, tell him that he will not allow a human to set foot in Kaer Morhen. He had allowed Ciri, but she is his child surprise and they all know the foolishness of trying to stand in the way of Destiny. Jaskier has no such mandate demanding his presence at Geralt's side.
Jaskier would never make it down the mountain on his own, not now. Hell, this late in the year? Geralt didn't know if he could make it down the mountain in one piece, either. Turning him away would mean certain death, anyway, for the bard and a horrible choice for Geralt.
This possibility must run through Eskel's mind, as well, because he looks to Geralt with a tight jaw and serious face.
"Let me speak with him."
The old man must know they're here--
As he thinks this, the gate opens and standing inside of it, grey and silent in the wan late afternoon sunlight, is Vesemir. The old wolf of the mountain keep.
Geralt swings out of the saddle and approaches him, watching his former teacher's expression as his eyes go first to Eskel-- a nod, as greeting-- and then to Jaskier. Vesemir's face is composed and stoic, and the wind has picked up enough that the only scents in Geralt's nose are that of ice and snow. He has no insights.
"You've finally brought your bard," Vesemir says.
"Yes."
Geralt doesn't know if it's a good thing that Vesemir calls him his bard rather than just the bard. To be bound to a child surprise is one thing; to be bound to a human in the way that Jaskier is bound to him is something else entirely, and something they were supposed to avoid.
"I've expected this for years," he returns his gaze to Geralt, and he is still not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. "Bring him here and test him."
Eskel still hears him, even over the wind, and leans in towards Jaskier. "Go, you're needed. Try to make a good impression, yeah?"
Jaskier has never been afraid of witchers, and he isn't going to start now - but he is nervous as hell, he must admit. Eskel is friendly and has a great sense of humor, incredibly easy for Jaskier to interact with. Lambert he hasn't met yet, but from what he's heard so far, he just needs to be ready to fight words with words - and that's his realm. Cirilla is an innocent lady going through change, and that's another area he has expertise at.
Vesemir though... his presence is imposing and intimidating, closer to what people usually believe of witchers. Can he smell him even with this wind? Can he see the brooch on his chest? He's impossible to read, he's better at being a stone wall than Geralt, and wow, that sure is saying something. Nervous he may be, but Jaskier meets those yellow eyes with his chin high anyway, wishing he could hear what's being said.
(Learning Vesemir said your bard would've helped a lot.)
He nods at Eskel after gulping. "Wish me luck."
Swinging off his horse is quick and easy, walking to Geralt's side not so much. Part of him wants to run to him and ask him to hold his hand for moral support, but for once in his life, Jaskier is trying not to look desperate. Besides, walking at a decent pace gives him time to decide how to approach this. This wouldn't be the first (pseudo) father he has to impress, except he can't use his usual charms here, it's not what a witcher would respect. The opposite, in fact, Vesemir would probably find him dumb. Or even insulting.
So when he finally makes it to the pair of witchers, Jaskier leaves all his flourish behind and only offers a slight bow of his head and shoulders, internally praying to all the gods to stop his nervousness from leaking into his scent. At least his lack of fear will be noticed, right?
"Well met, Master Vesemir. I'm Jaskier of Oxenfurt - my deepest gratitude for receiving me at your home."
Jaskier approaches, and when the wind blows just right, Geralt can smell the anxiety coming off of him in sick waves. And if he can smell it, he knows Vesemir can, too, but there is one saving grace that Jaskier still possesses-- he smells worried, but not afraid. It's reasonable for him to be worried when meeting Vesemir, a man he has never met who nevertheless controls his fate. But he approaches the old wolf with the same fearlessness that he took ales out of Geralt's hand and ordered Eskel to show him his wounds.
He leaves the theatrics behind, and merely inclines his head to Vesemir. It's a smart choice; Vesemir gives him a brief nod in return, and that's the most that he could hope to get.
"Test him."
Geralt looks at Jaskier, standing in the snow and wind in his own old cloak, the silver wolf brooch pinned at this throat. He ducks his head to take the wolf medallion off from around his own neck, holding it by the chain.
"You hands," he says, and when Jaskier holds them out for him, he pulls the gloves off and then drops the medallion into his waiting palms. There is... no reaction, not even the slightest hum from the medallion nor any reaction in the skin it rests on. Purely mundane.
Geralt knows, of course, that Jaskier is human. Has known it for ages, and even if he hadn't been so sure, the bard has slept with the medallion pressed against his skin more than once. But there is a faint sense of relief, nonetheless, that he's passed this test. Vesemir nods to him and Geralt takes the medallion back, replaces it around his throat.
"Bring him inside. Eskel will see to your horses."
Eskel huffs at being volunteered, but he doesn't argue with an order from Vesemir. The old wolf doesn't wait for any of them, but turns and walks through the gate, up through the courtyard and towards the keep proper. Geralt gives the bard's gloves back to him and follows after, Eskel bringing up the rear with the horses; he has a hand on Pegasus' bridle to lead him, and Roach knows to follow on her own. He splits off from them, taking a different path through the courtyard to reach the stables and get the horses settled, while Geralt and Jaskier go with Vesemir through the front door.
The keep itself is maintained in some areas, run-down in others; Vesemir leads them mostly through the well-traveled areas of the fortress, into a sitting room with a roaring fireplace and a comfortable couch and several chairs. Sitting in one of them, a large book open on her lap, is Geralt's child surprise. As they walk in, her head snaps up from the book and a smile breaks out across her face.
"Geralt!"
She closes the book, sets it aside, and leaps to her feet, then runs across the room and throws herself into Geralt's arms. He catches her in a hug, holding her so tightly that she squeaks and he has to remember to be gentler. When she pulls away, she looks up at his face and frowns.
"You look terrible. Have you not been sleeping again?" she says, and when Geralt tells her that he's fine, she clearly doesn't believe him. But she's distracted by the new person in the room, and she peers around Geralt's bulk to get a look at him.
"Oh, hello." She looks a little closer at him. "I've met you before, haven't I? You're the bard that used to sing at court."
Wait, what? A test? Nobody told him he would be tested! Jaskier is starting to get more nervous, wondering what is being expected of him. There's a lot he's learned the past twenty years, from cleaning a fish and starting a fire to tending wounds and taking caring of horses, but something tells him this isn't about any of that.
It's Geralt the one asking for his hands though, and that helps ease at least a little bit of the worry - his beloved wouldn't let anything happen to him. He holds out his hands to him with no hesitation, taking this as an excuse to concentrate on his handsome face instead Vesemir's very serious and intimidating one. When the medallion touches his palms, Jaskier expects something -anything- to happen - not because his doubts his human condition, but because he thinks the medallion may have an use he isn't aware of. Some extra magic that only works at Kaer Morhen, perhaps?
But nothing happens.
Jaskier is left blinking for some seconds, more confused than a whore being paid to cook. It's Geralt handing him back his gloves that makes him snap out of it. "That's it?", he asks the witcher as he covers his hands up again and follows him inside.
No complaining, of course, he's grateful for being welcome but... okay, maybe he does want to complain a bit. Because if he's reading this 'test' correctly, then Vesemir wanted to check no monster was entering his keep. Which, in theory, sounds reasonable. In practice, however, it's dumb as hell. Does the old man think Geralt wouldn't have checked already? Doesn't he know Jaskier has traveled with him for years and not touching silver while in a witcher's company is pretty much impossible?
Doesn't he trust his very own student to know how to identify a not-human?
The grunt that escapes Jaskier's lips should make Geralt proud - it's definitely a copy of his usual I hate this shit but I won't say anything because I don't want to have to stab an idiot sound. He's still working on making a fine first impression, so he isn't going to protest so early, no when he's being allowed to stay - it'll seem he's complaining about the test itself, and that's far from the truth.
But hopefully he'll have an opportunity to give Vesemir a piece of his mind later.
For now, he'll put his attention on the keep itself, which is nothing like any castle or estate he's ever been in before. Archaic architecture isn't a subject of art he's an expert in, but there are details about the shapes and layout he may be able to recognize - at least in the areas that are better kept. Jaskier is already dying to explore, to visit every room and learn about Geralt's childhood, but settling in comes first. They arrive to a very warm sitting room, and waiting for them there is- ah.
Jaskier has always thought Cirilla is the living image of Pavetta, and the older the child gets, the more real that statement becomes.
And there's watching Geralt react to her, as well, which is- well. Incredibly sweet for the white wolf's standards, and Jaskier rests a hand against his chest, a cute little awww sounding in his head. He already cares about her, he can tell - it makes Jaskier feel incredibly happy for him, the man deserves to have a family of his own. To be loved in a kinder manner than the rough camaraderie of his fellow witchers - because she obviously cares for him already as well.
Pointing out Geralt is being dumb about his own health? Oh yes, Jaskier adores her already.
His eyes widen when she recognizes him, hopefully the witchers of the keep are ready to start smelling the overwhelming sweet scent of Jaskier's glee.
"It honors this humble bard to be remembered by Your Highness." All the flourish he didn't use on Vesemir, Jaskier performs it for Cirilla, bowing to her before falling on one knee to offer a friendly smile. "I'm glad to see you safe and well, princess. You may call me Jaskier, and now we're both here, away from the shackles of courtly manners, I hope we can become friends. We've brought you some presents, by the way, but I think those may have to wait. You see--" He puts a hand around his mouth then, as if telling a secret, and the other points at Geralt. "Certain wolf of ours hasn't been sleeping at all, as you've correctly deduced, so I think we should work on getting him to a bed first."
Geralt's hand lingers on Ciri's shoulder as she turns from him and walks towards Jaskier; he hovers, the instinct to protect there, but not the experience in how it's done. He watches as she approaches the bard, and these past weeks of living in Kaer Morhen with the other witchers seems to have done her some good-- she's less frightened and suspicious of new people, or maybe she's just less afraid of Jaskier because she'd met him before.
"Of course I remember you, you wrote a song for me for my tenth birthday," she says, and something in her face goes quiet and sad. "Eist sang it for me for weeks after."
The memory of the siege of Cintra is still fresh in her, the wounds still fresh. But Jaskier is a reminder of the good things-- the lively banquets, Eist's singing, her grandmother's eternal exacerbation at her husband's fondness for dramatic ballads. And maybe that will be a help.
She leans in, though, when Jaskier puts a hand to his mouth, like she's going to receive a secret. There aren't really any secrets in a keep full of witchers, of course, not with their hearing. She smiles when he tells her that her suspicions are correct, that pleased little smile that children get when they're proven right.
"He's really quite bad at taking care of himself, isn't he?" she says, as though Geralt isn't right there and listening to them. "You'll take him up to bed, won't you? Vesemir wants me to read through this bestiary by tonight because he's going to ask me about it tomorrow."
"I'm right here," Geralt says, though he doubts that it will make a difference.
"And I'll sing it for you many times more." He replies with a soft voice, clearly touched by what she said. "I have hundred of stories to tell you, and I shall share them all with you, if it pleases you."
Including the ballad he wrote for the betrothal of her parents, which Calanthe never allowed him to sing. Anything related to the white wolf was forbidden in Cintra and it used to pain Jaskier, not only because those are the songs people expected from him, but also because he wanted to give at least a little piece of Geralt to his Child Surprise during all those years. He doesn't say any of this aloud, not yet, not when he notices the change in her expression. They'll have a proper chat later, and she can choose how much she wants to hear from him.
Her question makes him throw his head back and laugh - oh, she's perfect. She'll be so good for Geralt, he can already tell.
"Oh, princess, you don't know half of it! But worry not, I'm quite good at taking care of him in return. Go finish your studies, you can trust me with this mission." He stands up and brushes his knees before turning to Geralt with a grin that isn't innocent at all and winks. "Let's take you to bed, shall we, my dear witcher? I actually may need a nap too."
It's when he turns to leave that he notices Vesemir is still in the room, making him hesitate for a second before finally speaking up.
"I brought vodka for everyone to share - a thank you gift." And some books for the library, but he thinks it may be too soon to drop that bomb. "We shall go through our supplies after resting, but I'm sure a wolf nose could easily found it if any of you wishes for an early taste."
He throws Geralt a look then that says take me out of here before I do something we all regret.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Yet that's not the heaviest thought in his mind at the moment. No, it's the thought of maybe of finding himself in Coën's place one day. Of having to grab the medallion and make his way alone to Kaer Morhen...
"I'm sorry for your loss." He says as he chases those thoughts away, but Eskel quickly changes the subject, and Jaskier has to sigh. Yeah, he can see the similarities with Geralt there, god forbid they deal with his feelings. Silly witchers.
Eskel's tactic works, however, giving the bard the perfect distraction. Jaskier starts patting down his clothes under the cloak, trying to find the little notebook and pencil he always keeps with him in case inspiration strikes. Ugh, which of these hundred of layers did he put it in?
"Tsk tsk tsk, the bard decides what makes a good song, the witcher only shares-- Ah-ha!" That last bit is an expression of triumph at finding his notebook, and Jaskier quickly sits on the edge of the bed to start taking notes. The little comment about good looks doesn't go unnoticed, and Jaskier can't help glancing at Geralt, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. It's not like he can stop the bard from continuing to be a playful flirt from now on, but this is his brother, and that makes it weird even for Jaskier's standards (which are usually low when it comes to flirting - he's had a threesome with a pair of twins after all). "Worry not, no song of mine will ever fail to praise a witcher's mighty mien."
That is neutral enough, he hopes, although his heart and scent may give away how excited he is about this whole deal. Eskel is an excellent story teller and Jaskier soon finds himself caught up in his adventure, tongue peeking out in concentration as he fills the pages of his notebook with that fancy handwriting of his.
"This. Is. Brilliant. At this rate I'll have songs written for all of you by the end of month! No, make it end of the week! Fixing the reputations of the whole wolf school - and a now a griffin too! I'll have material to last me all winter! Oh, don't worry-" He turns at Geralt and winks at his lover. "--you're still my favorite."
Unaware of what he just did in front of company, Jaskier returns to his notes, reviewing them one last time in case he's forgotten to ask for any particular detail. It's different, having a witcher sharing the story so easily and without Jaskier having to do any stitches first.
...wait a minute.
Jaskier puts his pencil down and inspects Eskel from head to toes, eyes squinting and judging.
"A wyvern mad from hunger. Eskel, are you hiding any injuries?" That's a stupid question, he realizes. Experience tells him a witcher that doesn't want to be nursed isn't going to suddenly admit it because the bard wants him to - at least not for a couple of years. He turns to Geralt while pointing at Eskel, calling for back-up. "Geralt! Is he hiding any injuries?"
Because if he is, then Geralt's nose would be able to tell, he hopes.
no subject
There must be something in his expression, though, because Eskel looks up briefly during his storytelling and catches his eye, tossing Geralt this knowing look that sets his features immediately back into sullen brooding mode. And then Jaskier has to go and make it worse by calling him his favorite, and he could see the shitty response written all over Eskel's face--
Until the bard interrupts that by asking about his injuries. Eskel stares at him for a moment, gobsmacked, like he has no idea how to respond to someone asking after his well-being in a genuine manner. In all fairness to him, he probably hasn't had anyone care about whether he was hurt or not for the past year, and even then, only from his fellow witchers. Eskel could probably count on one hand the number of times that a human has cared whether or not he got hurt in the process of slaying a monster.
"I-- what, no, I'm fine. It was just a wyvern--"
But Jaskier wants a second opinion, and Geralt sees an opportunity. Eskel wants to get buddy-buddy with the bard? Well, he gets all of the irritations of that association, too. Geralt sniffs once or twice-- and yeah, there it is, underneath the smell of dirt and reptile, the copper tang of blood-- then huffs through his nose like he's trying to clear the smell from his sinuses.
"Right arm."
Eskel has the gall to look affronted, like Geralt has betrayed him.
"I thought we were brothers!" he says, and Geralt just shrugs in response. "It's nothing. Remember that part where I stabbed it through the roof of its mouth? I got grazed by a tooth, it's barely a scratch."
no subject
Eskel, of fucking course, denies any kind of wounds at all and, once again, Jaskier finds it super interesting and ironic how different yet similar he's to Geralt. He's more chatty and more expressive, but Jaskier recognizes that level of denial bullshit every day. Luckily for him he doesn't need to argue, his boyfriend comes to the rescue.
"Ha! I knew it!" Notebook forgotten on the mattress for now, Jaskier stands up and claps his hands twice. "Sleeve off, chop chop! I need to retrieve my salves from the supplies we left with the horses, but when I come back I want to see that arm!"
His tone leaves no room to discussion, but his voice softens when, on his way out, he pats Geralt's arm and whispers thank you, my dear, forgetting about the fact Eskel can hear him anyway. On top of that, both witchers can hear him complain all the way to the stables, because not even the snow can keep his mouth shut.
"I'm fine, Jaskier! It's just a scratch, Jaskier!" Is his tone mocking? Maybe a little bit. "Pertinacious pack of wolves, all of them! Not taking good care of themselves! And the princess will pick up these ludicrous habits of theirs, Melitele save us all!"
His babbling comes to a pause when he sees Roach and Pegasus have company. Of course, Eskel has a horse too! Jaskier spends a moment introducing himself to their new black friend and offering pats for all of them before returning to the hut with a leather satchel in his arms.
"Eskel, your horse has the most beautiful obsidian shade! What is its name?"
no subject
Both witchers hear his complaining as he goes all the way out to the stable.
"Is he always like this?"
Geralt grunts in reply. Eskel, having literally grown up with this walking communication disaster, is well versed in the nuances of grunting, and recognizes this one as an affirmative.
"And you rolled right over for him. We knew it was bad from all your moping last year, but wow."
Despite his complaining, Eskel unlaces his clothes and pulls his arm out of the sleeve of his jacket and shirt, revealing the full extent of the injury. It's just a graze, sure-- by a witcher's metric, anyway. By that, he clearly meant a good six inch gash along his bicep, stretching from elbow to shoulder. No longer bleeding, of course, his accelerated healing had taken care of that, but deep enough that it would benefit from stitches.
"Fuck you, Eskel."
"I think your bard might have something to say about that--"
The door opens again, bringing in a burst of cold air and snow, and one annoyed bard. His mood seems to have improved, though, simply from making the acquaintance of a new witcher's horse.
"Isn't he a sight? He was a knight's mount, I got him by law of surprise. I call him Scorpion."
And he seems quite pleased about it, his pretty stallion warhorse. But a good steed is as valuable to a witcher as his swords, just ask Geralt.
no subject
Apparently wolf witchers name their animals after other animals and don't know how to ask for rewards that aren't coin, so the law of surprise it is. Jaskier had expected matching training and habits, but these little things are taking him by surprise. It's delightful, and it adds to the pile of reasons why running from Nilfgaardian soldiers and dealing with the cold is worth the hassle (the first one being Geralt himself, of course).
Jaskier drags a chair to sit by Eskel's side, looking smug at the fact this new wolf has done as he said... but the smugness only lasts one second, because the sight of the injury brings all the indignation back. There goes his scent, filled with worry and frustration, and he hopes these idiots freaking choke on it.
"Bloody hell, Eskel!" His inner scolding housewife comes out as he takes out the salve and a cotton rag that he starts using to clean the gash. "This is not a graze! An actual graze wouldn't need stitches! By the gods, I should hit you both with a dictionary."
His words are harsh, but his touch is gentle, not different from how he treats Geralt's own injuries. Well, except for the part where his eyes don't linger with pining for the witcher in front of him, no words of affection thrown in his direction. (But what would've happened if destiny had put Eskel in his path first, he can't help but wonder.)
"Just because you can endure it doesn't mean you should. Needle." The last word is spoken as a heads-up as he shows Eskel his little tool before he starts stitching. He isn't that dumb, alright, he knows better than put sharp metal objects against a witcher's skin without warning. The tip of his tongue peeks out again as he concentrates on his hands movements, and for once, Jaskier falls silent as he closes Eskel's wound. He's done this thousands of times by now, having left any squirmish feelings with his younger self thanks to Geralt pushing him into the real world. But even after all these years, he's still extra aware of the fact he's handling a man's pain in his mere musicians hands. So he takes it very, very seriously.
Once he's done, he leans back and admires his work with a tilted head and hands on his waist.
"See? Not the end the end of the world. Move your arm, tell me if it pulls too badly so I know if redoing them or wrapping you up." With a sigh, he turns to Geralt, looking at him with his best puppy eyes. "Is there any vodka left?"
For himself, not for the injured. Not the worst witcher injury he's treated by far, but now having two wolves that won't care of themselves is definitely an I NEED A DRINK occasion.
no subject
The aforementioned witcher tossed another look Eskel's way, but it wasn't so heated this time. Mild annoyance at most. Most times, Eskel wouldn't trust another person to do up his wounds, but this is Geralt's bard-- the only person on the Continent less likely than your average witcher to let someone clean them up after a hunt. And he trusts this bard with a needle to his skin, knowing that a poorly stitched wound could be worse than one that was just let to heal on its own. If Jaskier's good enough for Geralt, he's good enough for anyone.
He's even considerate, giving Eskel a warning before he starts putting the needle into him. It's also for his own good, though-- a startled witcher might lash out in any number of ways, none of them pleasant. But he just grimaces a little and lets the bard do as he would, staying so still while he stitches that it might almost seem like he doesn't feel the pain of it at all. (Ask certain sources, and they would say that witchers don't feel pain properly, anyway, so it hardly matters if you're gentle when you treat them.) He does, of course, but the minor prick of a needle is far below the kind of pain that he felt when he got the wound, and he had handled the greater hurt just fine. Jaskier's stitches are neat and even from practice, and when he's done, the gash is just a thin line.
Eskel moves his arm as directed, testing his range of motion.
"Seems fine to me," he says, examining the neat stitching for himself. "Hey, you do pretty nice work. They teach you this in barding school, or did you pick it up on the road?"
While Eskel is examining his injury, Geralt fetches the vodka bottle for Jaskier; the bard likes to have a drink after he deals with the worst of Geralt's injuries, as a way to unwind. The really bad ones, the ones that seem like they might test even a witcher's constitution-- they tax him greatly, both because of the work involved and because of the stress and worry. Geralt isn't sure he'll ever get used to that, to the way that his actions have such a consequence on someone else.
"Mind it," he says, half teasingly. "We won't slow down if you have a headache tomorrow morning."
no subject
And it makes lots of sense - twenty years later, Jaskier still remembers that first review (if it can be called that) from Geralt. They don't exist. He's always been annoyed by lore inaccuracies in tales and songs, but Jaskier had blamed it on witcher pride. This is one hundred times better. Maybe he should start buying books for Geralt when he gets poetry for himself? Not a bad idea, and now the mental image of them cuddling in front of a fire, reading together, won't leave his mind.
There'll be time for that in the future.
Eskel compliments his work and Jaskier preens, pride swelling in his chest, his scent sweet as it can be. He's a sucker for praise in general, but having a witcher -and one he just met, at that- allowing him to patch him up and then complimenting him for it is doing wonders for his ego. It also pleases the romantic in him that wants to impress the in-laws.
"Thank you. It's nice to have someone that appreciates my work." He glances at Geralt when he says that, an expression on his face that says he's just being a little shit. "A little bit of both, actually. I learned to sew back in Oxenfurt to take care of my clothes, but anything healing related you can thank your brother and his lack of self-care for. I spent a whole night holding his bloody guts and he still wouldn't call me a friend!"
When Geralt approaches with the vodka, Jaskier lets their fingers brush for longer than needed as a little affectionate gesture to make up for all the teasing going on. He instantly regrets it, however, when Geralt fires back. The bastard!
"Oi! Don't act as if you didn't know my drinking limits as well as your own, you big oaf! At least I'm not the one meditating instead of sleeping!" He takes a pretty deep sip of vodka before passing the bottle back to Geralt and turning to Eskel again, this time to bandage the wound. "You can take turns with him from now on, right, Eskel?"
He's trying to sound as indignant as he can but there's an edge of begging to his voice - it breaks him that his lover hasn't slept in so long, Geralt deserves to fucking rest.
no subject
And, really, with the way that they both smell? Not just the fact that Jaskier's scent is all sunshine and light whenever Geralt looks at him, but also the fact that Geralt smells like floral oils and the bard's lute stuff, and his hair is neat and tidy and his face goes stupidly soft whenever Jaskier isn't looking at him? Any witcher would come to the same conclusion within five minutes of looking at these two assholes-- and not just the conclusion that they're friends. Also the conclusion that they're fucking smitten.
Eskel makes grabby hands for the bottle of vodka, but Jaskier hands it back to Geralt instead when he's done with it. Geralt, the bastard, doesn't take any sort of pity on his wounded brother and keeps the liquor for himself, rather pointedly taking a long swig of it.
"Cock," he says, and Geralt just drinks again. Eskel huffs but holds his arm out obediently for the bard to start bandaging. "Hm? Oh, yeah, we can take shifts. It'll only be about two days 'til we get back to the Keep, anyway. You're not far."
"I'm fine," Geralt replies, putting the vodka back into the cupboard. "Witchers don't need to sleep as often as humans, Jaskier."
Eskel says nothing against it, doesn't try to contradict Geralt-- it's not technically untrue, really, what he'd said. Witchers could go without sleep or food or water for longer than humans, though there's a difference between what can be done when there's no other option and what's good for them. Meditating in place of sleep can, in a pinch, let a witcher maintain his functionality while remaining vigilant and aware of his surroundings. It's not the same as sleep, and he can't do it forever. A witcher can go weeks and weeks with little to no food, too, but that doesn't mean that he won't eventually starve.
no subject
Look, if they insist on behaving like feral puppies, Jaskier is going to treat them as such.
(They're adorable.)
He starts putting his things back in the leather satchel but pauses when Geralt replies, making a show of rolling his eyes and groaning in protest. Eskel doesn't back him up this time, and Jaskier knows he's coming face to face with another layer of witcher bullshit. Unbelievable! There's two of them now, one would think taking shifts would be the most natural thing to do - don't witchers like being practical?
"Oh, don't give me that pile of horseshit!" Here comes the indignant housewife back with his hands on his waist. "A week or so I could begrudgingly accept, but you haven't slept since fucking Gors Velen! And since then you've fought-" One hand is suddenly raised to start counting with his fingers. "Nilfgaardian soldiers, a werewolf, a hoard of nekkers, and then Nilfgaardian soldiers again."
Jaskier decides to stand up then, only to be able to poke at Geralt's broad chest. There's a frown on his face and he obviously sounds frustrated as hell, but the worry is most noticeable in his scent. "So don't tell me you're fine, my dear witcher." More terms of endearment in front of the brother, but hey, better get them used to that asap. "Be grateful I said shifts at all, because I actually should be asking Eskel to take one for the team and let you sleep the whole night through."
no subject
There are so few of them left, and it's a number that's only ever ticking down.
Geralt bears the bard's complaints and the finger that he jabs into the witcher's pectoral muscle with a sour face, his mouth twisted up in an annoyed expression and about an inch away from saying something like shut up, Jaskier. But he had promised the bard that there would be no more repeats of the mountain, no more callous disregard for him.
Also, Jaskier is assuming that he slept before he reached Gors Velen. A more accurate statement is that he hasn't slept much since he left Kaer Morhen the last time, to go look for him. But the bard can't yell at him for something that he doesn't know about.
"We're two days out and Eskel is injured," he says. "I'll sleep at Kaer Morhen."
"Hey, don't bring me into this," Eskel says, flopping back onto the bed that, apparently, he has now claimed. "And what's with the werewolf? Where did you hunt a werewolf?"
"Oxenfurt."
"...what? Why was a werewolf in Oxenfurt?"
Geralt shrugs. "Didn't ask it why."
"Maybe you should've, I want to know why there was a werewolf in the middle of Oxenfurt."
This could go on for a while.
no subject
Jaskier isn't dumb - Geralt had helped him in order to annoy Eskel, not because he genuinely thought his brother needed the attention. Witcher hypocrisy at its finest!
Speaking of Eskel, he isn't the only bemused one at the moment. Because see, Jaskier recognizes what happens next: sibling bickering. Which is delightful, and helps him feel less annoyed at them. At moments like this, it's hard to see them as dangerous witchers, he's expecting one of them to say I'll tell Vesemir any minute now.
"Geralt barely talks to people and you expect him to talk to a werewolf?" He asks between chuckles. Seeing as Eskel is getting himself comfortable, Jaskier thinks it's time for them to do the same. He sits on the edge of the other bed and points at the pillows while giving Geralt a poignant look that clearly says lie down, you big oaf, time to rest and cuddle, and I'm not taking a no for an answer.
"There were drowners in the sewers too, I forgot to add those to the list. You should visit Oxenfurt some time, Eskel. You'll be well received there." He won't be a superstar like Geralt, but a more positive welcome towards witchers will still be a thing. And that's when curiosity and his ego hit Jaskier like a rock - he worries his lower lip for two seconds before tilting his head and going for it. "May I ask you something? About the Path." It's not like he actually needs permission, nosy little shit he is, but being polite and friendly goes a long way to get people to open up to you. "After you started hearing Toss a coin, were there any changes around you?"
Has your life improved?, he wants to know, but he better word it as neutrally as possible. If improvement hasn't been a thing for Eskel, better not rub it on his face that it has for Geralt.
no subject
"Drowners barely count," Geralt huffs, pulling at the pillows under the pretense of rearranging them for sleep.
Then Jaskier says he has a question about the Path, and both Geralt and Eskel go still, listening. Humans don't ask about the Path, but, of course, Jaskier isn't just any human. After two decades of following Geralt up and down the Continent, he knows more about what the Path is like than anyone else who isn't an actual witcher--
Geralt sighs. Should he have expected more from Jaskier than taking this opportunity to ask about his own songs? Probably not.
Eskel, at least, laughs. "You mean aside from me nor anybody else being able to get the damn thing out of our heads? Yeah, there were a few things. I went into a town and they actually wanted to pay me the agreed upon price, in full. The innkeeper let me stay for free. Somebody bought me an ale."
He shakes his head, as though still marveling at the experience even though it was years ago. "Thought the whole damn town was cursed."
So there it is-- right from the witcher's mouth. Toss a coin did more than just make money for Jaskier, it lined the pockets of other witchers, too. Made the world a little softer towards them, for a little while.
"It wasn't like that in every town, but enough. Kinda been dyin' down lately, though."
A year of not singing the praises of witchers would do that. Humans had short memories, after all, and they might forget about tossing coins to their witchers if it's not stuck in their heads.
no subject
Nobody being able to get the song out of their heads is already a huge compliment for a singer and composer, but Eskel keeps going and... gods, Jaskier thinks he could cry. Hands going to his chest in over-dramatic gesturing, his scent becomes overwhelming sweet again, only gaining a bitter edge at the end for obvious reasons.
"Ah, well, yeah, it's been-- honestly, you can thank Geralt for that." He nudges Geralt's foot with his own, letting him know he's not one hundred percent serious but he still wants to shit on him at least a little bit for the whole mountain fiasco. "But worry not, my new witchering friend!" Yep, Eskel has been adopted already. The bitterness in his scent already disappearing, Jaskier opens his arms, feeling incredibly empowered. Geralt has become his lover and other witchers are also benefiting from his songs - his ego couldn't be happier. This is his legacy, built without Pankratz money. "After winter has passed, this humble bard will be singing the ballads of the White Wolf again! And this time, he'll be joined by his pack!"
And just like that, hands still in the air as he pictures his future performances, Jaskier flops down on Geralt's lap, head and shoulders finding those thick thighs very, very comfortable. And warm as well, but that's not the priority here.
"Come spring, not a wolf shall leave their home without at least three songs with their names in it! Every tavern across the Continent will sing the praises of witchers' heroics once more, every inn will remember to treat them with the respect and kindness they deserve!" The honesty in his words is deep and raw, probably also kinda naive - not even traveling for two decades with Geralt has managed to completely kill his romantic view of the world. "You have my word as a bard, Eskel of Kaer Morhen, that I shall not step back from my mission to fix witcher reputation ever again!"
A pause. His hands fall to his stomach.
"...unless Geralt decides to be a blundering pillock again, but I'd like to think that's out of the question from now on." He winks up at Geralt, a smitten smile on his face.
no subject
The bard natters on about how he's going to write them all a hundred songs that will bring them eternal fame and glory or whatever rot he's got going on in his head this time, and Geralt shoots Eskel a long-suffering look. See what he has to deal with, Eskel? Do you see his suffering? The endless chatter, the ceaseless histrionics, the incessant attention-whoring. Somehow, Geralt of Rivia had managed to pick up the biggest romantic on the entire Continent in a shitty tavern in Posada, and the bastard had the nerve to grow on him. Like fungus.
Then he mentions the Many Fuck-Ups of Geralt of Rivia, and it's Eskel's turn to light up.
"Oh, what did Geralt do this time?" he asks, and by his face, it's like his birthday and every holiday just came early.
Geralt grabs one of the pillows from the bed and puts it over Jaskier's entire head.
"Shut up, Jaskier."
It's not held firmly enough over his face to cut off oxygen, he wants the little shit to still be alive by the time they get to Kaer Morhen, but it's enough to muffle anything he could say.
"He means nothing by it, he's just talking. He seldom does anything else."
no subject
Bloody hell, this is a whole new level of Geralt being an ass. It's kinda playful at the same time, and he'll admit that later, but right now Jaskier is incredibly offended by this turn of events. Oh sure, the asshole gets to abandon him on the mountain but Jaskier doesn't get to whine about it? Like hell he'll stay silent about that!
(To be fair, he doesn't stay silent about most things.)
As his legs kick the bed in protest, Jaskier starts pushing the pillow to get it off him, cursing all the way through (which is impossible to understand but hey the spirit is there at least!). Of course he doesn't have enough strength to push off motherfucking Geralt of Rivia, but as with everything else in this relationship, Jaskier eventually gets what he wants by fearlessly wearing Geralt down.
"You bloody brute! Using my own weapon against me!" To prove his point, he grabs the other pillow and hits Geralt's shoulder with it. "Unbelievable! Remind me why I love you again when you only insist on committing crimes against an innocent bard's treasured voice!"
no subject
Eventually, Jaskier's pushing and thrashing gets Geralt to lift the pillow a bit, if only to make sure that the bard is still able to breathe. He is, and demonstrates this by using his lungs to their highest capacity to yell. And he also grabs a pillow and swings it at Geralt's shoulder, which functionally does nothing but it seems to be rapidly becoming his favored manner of scolding him.
Every time that Jaskier says that word, Geralt's chest squeezes up, like something's clawing up his chest and trying to choke him. Eskel's grin freezes on his face, his expression a little confused as though this is a joke that he doesn't quite get. Geralt doesn't quite know what to do about this, because if he tries to tell him to shut up again, he's sure that his voice won't be nearly as strong as he wants it to be.
Geralt puts the pillow back over Jaskier's face.
Eskel shakes his head, flopping down onto the bed. These antics? They just got weird. They got weird and he's too tired and cold and not liquored up enough to deal with this particular brand of Geralt's Shit.
"Just try to keep it down over there, okay? I'll wake you up in a few hours, Geralt."
no subject
Mental note: find an opportunity to hug Eskel some time in Kaer Morhen.
For now, he can only offer the one thing he's good at and is powerful enough, in his opinion, to share: his words. He pushes the pillow down more easily this time (Geralt is probable having A Moment too) and turns to his new friend with kind eyes and a soft voice.
"Thank you, Eskel."
There's a weight in his words that say Jaskier isn't only thanking him for taking the shift, or even for answering his questions and telling him the wyvern story. It's a thank you for everything you do, and he hopes it comes across, because he knows that saying it aloud would only make the witchers get weirder.
Which means the only thing left for them to do is finally going to bed. Jaskier leaves Geralt's lap to put the pillows back in place, then fixes the cloak around him to create his now usual cocoon. He lies down on his side and by the edge of the bed, leaving room for certain wall of muscles to take the main spot on the mattress, a spot that Jaskier can jump on to cuddle once is taken.
He pulls at Geralt's arm and mouths a very simple sentence at him. Let's rest.
no subject
Jaskier puts the pillows back and assumes his usual sleeping position, leaving a large portion of the mattress available for Geralt to take up. It doesn't really matter, though, because the bard's just going to roll over and tuck himself up against Geralt's chest anyway. But he's ready to sleep, and he's not going to rest until he's got a witcher in bed with him. Might as well just not fight it.
Geralt gets into bed behind him, pulling the furs and blankets up over them to keep the bard warm. Even with the fire, it'll be cold, and Jaskier's fragile human body will need all the heat it can get. The witcher opens his arms to him, to let him get as close as he wants for tonight.
And once Jaskier has gotten himself settled, Geralt presses his nose into his hair, breathes deep and slow, and tries to sleep.
no subject
Eskel has already seen the wolf brooch anyway, and Jaskier is determined to keep it there for the rest of the ride, including when they finally make it to the keep. He's not going to hide his message when the wolves themselves are the ones that need it the most.
I'm not afraid of you. I welcome you in my life.
Without wasting any time, Jaskier tucks up himself against that incredibly warm body of Geralt's, his arms moving around the witcher's waist and his head resting on his chest. His smile grows when Geralt breathes against his hair. As far as he is concerned, he shall never use pillows again. (Well, unless Geralt is being an ass, but that's a different pillow use.)
He sleeps deeply and peacefully, feeling safe in his lover's arms. So it's good luck to have two witchers to bother him early in the morning this time, because if it was up to him, he would stay where he is a few hours more. Winter is coming, though, and he understands the need to hurry. There will be plenty of time to cuddle when they arrive to their destination.
(Eskel has a lot of teasing to do when he finds them so pressed against each other, but Jaskier doesn't mind. In fact, he kind of enjoys it - it sounds like approval.)
'The trail' (or 'The Killer' as Eskel kindly informs him) is as harsh as Geralt had told him, and Jaskier would've never been able to go though it alone - hell, he probably wouldn't have even been able to find it. He tries his best to memorize the way, but snow is already around them, making it hard to identify any land marks without witcher eyes. No wonder it's earned that nickname. Roach and Scorpion seem to be familiar with their surroundings, though, and Jaskier hopes Pegasus can pick up at least one tenth of that knowledge - they are definitely coming back some day, that's for sure. These wolves are his family now, whether they like it or not.
Conversation is difficult to keep up even for Jaskier. He exchanges anecdotes with Eskel a couple of times, but for most of the trip, they are too tired or too cold (or both!) to chat. Some times they aren't even riding side by side, and Jaskier doesn't have enhanced ears to hear whatever they say while being sandwiched in line between them (which is incredibly sweet of them, by the way, to protect him like that - look at this the songbird, safe in the center of the pack).
There is no stopping the inspiration that hits him, however, when the keep comes into view. Kaer Morhen lies on the mountains as if it had grown out of them naturally, and neither the pass of time nor the horrible siege had done anything to keep it from being impressive and intimidating. This is no lord's castle, this is the witchers' home, and such title is carved in every stone.
"On top of the mountain for hundred of years, watching the valley below-" He starts reciting as they come closer, clear awe in his voice. "-guarding the souls of the living down there, seeing them prosper and grow."
Fuck, his bones are freezing and they've barely reached the place properly yet, but Jaskier's fingers are already itching for his notebook. If this is enough to get his muse going, he looks forward to a winter filled with stories to last him for days.
When they finally make it to the entrance, Jaskier makes Pegasus slow down, dying to hop down and explore but keeping himself in check for now. There is something he still isn't sure how it'll work out yet, and he turns to Geralt to ask him exactly that. "Should I... wait here until you talk to Vesemir?"
Do I need permission to step inside, it's what he means. He doesn't want his arrival to start with the wrong foot.
no subject
The bard is quiet, too, mostly because the trip is so difficult that even his chattering mouth can't keep up. It's too cold, too hard, too everything, and more than once, Geralt is concerned that he'll have to drag the bard to Kaer Morhen on his own back. That worst case scenario doesn't come to pass, thankfully, and Jaskier manages to make it to the doorstep of the witchers' keep by his own power.
Jaskier asks him about Vesemir and the old witcher's approval, and... it's time. There is still a chance that Vesemir could reject him, tell him that he will not allow a human to set foot in Kaer Morhen. He had allowed Ciri, but she is his child surprise and they all know the foolishness of trying to stand in the way of Destiny. Jaskier has no such mandate demanding his presence at Geralt's side.
Jaskier would never make it down the mountain on his own, not now. Hell, this late in the year? Geralt didn't know if he could make it down the mountain in one piece, either. Turning him away would mean certain death, anyway, for the bard and a horrible choice for Geralt.
This possibility must run through Eskel's mind, as well, because he looks to Geralt with a tight jaw and serious face.
"Let me speak with him."
The old man must know they're here--
As he thinks this, the gate opens and standing inside of it, grey and silent in the wan late afternoon sunlight, is Vesemir. The old wolf of the mountain keep.
Geralt swings out of the saddle and approaches him, watching his former teacher's expression as his eyes go first to Eskel-- a nod, as greeting-- and then to Jaskier. Vesemir's face is composed and stoic, and the wind has picked up enough that the only scents in Geralt's nose are that of ice and snow. He has no insights.
"You've finally brought your bard," Vesemir says.
"Yes."
Geralt doesn't know if it's a good thing that Vesemir calls him his bard rather than just the bard. To be bound to a child surprise is one thing; to be bound to a human in the way that Jaskier is bound to him is something else entirely, and something they were supposed to avoid.
"I've expected this for years," he returns his gaze to Geralt, and he is still not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. "Bring him here and test him."
Eskel still hears him, even over the wind, and leans in towards Jaskier. "Go, you're needed. Try to make a good impression, yeah?"
no subject
Vesemir though... his presence is imposing and intimidating, closer to what people usually believe of witchers. Can he smell him even with this wind? Can he see the brooch on his chest? He's impossible to read, he's better at being a stone wall than Geralt, and wow, that sure is saying something. Nervous he may be, but Jaskier meets those yellow eyes with his chin high anyway, wishing he could hear what's being said.
(Learning Vesemir said your bard would've helped a lot.)
He nods at Eskel after gulping. "Wish me luck."
Swinging off his horse is quick and easy, walking to Geralt's side not so much. Part of him wants to run to him and ask him to hold his hand for moral support, but for once in his life, Jaskier is trying not to look desperate. Besides, walking at a decent pace gives him time to decide how to approach this. This wouldn't be the first (pseudo) father he has to impress, except he can't use his usual charms here, it's not what a witcher would respect. The opposite, in fact, Vesemir would probably find him dumb. Or even insulting.
So when he finally makes it to the pair of witchers, Jaskier leaves all his flourish behind and only offers a slight bow of his head and shoulders, internally praying to all the gods to stop his nervousness from leaking into his scent. At least his lack of fear will be noticed, right?
"Well met, Master Vesemir. I'm Jaskier of Oxenfurt - my deepest gratitude for receiving me at your home."
no subject
He leaves the theatrics behind, and merely inclines his head to Vesemir. It's a smart choice; Vesemir gives him a brief nod in return, and that's the most that he could hope to get.
"Test him."
Geralt looks at Jaskier, standing in the snow and wind in his own old cloak, the silver wolf brooch pinned at this throat. He ducks his head to take the wolf medallion off from around his own neck, holding it by the chain.
"You hands," he says, and when Jaskier holds them out for him, he pulls the gloves off and then drops the medallion into his waiting palms. There is... no reaction, not even the slightest hum from the medallion nor any reaction in the skin it rests on. Purely mundane.
Geralt knows, of course, that Jaskier is human. Has known it for ages, and even if he hadn't been so sure, the bard has slept with the medallion pressed against his skin more than once. But there is a faint sense of relief, nonetheless, that he's passed this test. Vesemir nods to him and Geralt takes the medallion back, replaces it around his throat.
"Bring him inside. Eskel will see to your horses."
Eskel huffs at being volunteered, but he doesn't argue with an order from Vesemir. The old wolf doesn't wait for any of them, but turns and walks through the gate, up through the courtyard and towards the keep proper. Geralt gives the bard's gloves back to him and follows after, Eskel bringing up the rear with the horses; he has a hand on Pegasus' bridle to lead him, and Roach knows to follow on her own. He splits off from them, taking a different path through the courtyard to reach the stables and get the horses settled, while Geralt and Jaskier go with Vesemir through the front door.
The keep itself is maintained in some areas, run-down in others; Vesemir leads them mostly through the well-traveled areas of the fortress, into a sitting room with a roaring fireplace and a comfortable couch and several chairs. Sitting in one of them, a large book open on her lap, is Geralt's child surprise. As they walk in, her head snaps up from the book and a smile breaks out across her face.
"Geralt!"
She closes the book, sets it aside, and leaps to her feet, then runs across the room and throws herself into Geralt's arms. He catches her in a hug, holding her so tightly that she squeaks and he has to remember to be gentler. When she pulls away, she looks up at his face and frowns.
"You look terrible. Have you not been sleeping again?" she says, and when Geralt tells her that he's fine, she clearly doesn't believe him. But she's distracted by the new person in the room, and she peers around Geralt's bulk to get a look at him.
"Oh, hello." She looks a little closer at him. "I've met you before, haven't I? You're the bard that used to sing at court."
no subject
It's Geralt the one asking for his hands though, and that helps ease at least a little bit of the worry - his beloved wouldn't let anything happen to him. He holds out his hands to him with no hesitation, taking this as an excuse to concentrate on his handsome face instead Vesemir's very serious and intimidating one. When the medallion touches his palms, Jaskier expects something -anything- to happen - not because his doubts his human condition, but because he thinks the medallion may have an use he isn't aware of. Some extra magic that only works at Kaer Morhen, perhaps?
But nothing happens.
Jaskier is left blinking for some seconds, more confused than a whore being paid to cook. It's Geralt handing him back his gloves that makes him snap out of it. "That's it?", he asks the witcher as he covers his hands up again and follows him inside.
No complaining, of course, he's grateful for being welcome but... okay, maybe he does want to complain a bit. Because if he's reading this 'test' correctly, then Vesemir wanted to check no monster was entering his keep. Which, in theory, sounds reasonable. In practice, however, it's dumb as hell. Does the old man think Geralt wouldn't have checked already? Doesn't he know Jaskier has traveled with him for years and not touching silver while in a witcher's company is pretty much impossible?
Doesn't he trust his very own student to know how to identify a not-human?
The grunt that escapes Jaskier's lips should make Geralt proud - it's definitely a copy of his usual I hate this shit but I won't say anything because I don't want to have to stab an idiot sound. He's still working on making a fine first impression, so he isn't going to protest so early, no when he's being allowed to stay - it'll seem he's complaining about the test itself, and that's far from the truth.
But hopefully he'll have an opportunity to give Vesemir a piece of his mind later.
For now, he'll put his attention on the keep itself, which is nothing like any castle or estate he's ever been in before. Archaic architecture isn't a subject of art he's an expert in, but there are details about the shapes and layout he may be able to recognize - at least in the areas that are better kept. Jaskier is already dying to explore, to visit every room and learn about Geralt's childhood, but settling in comes first. They arrive to a very warm sitting room, and waiting for them there is- ah.
Jaskier has always thought Cirilla is the living image of Pavetta, and the older the child gets, the more real that statement becomes.
And there's watching Geralt react to her, as well, which is- well. Incredibly sweet for the white wolf's standards, and Jaskier rests a hand against his chest, a cute little awww sounding in his head. He already cares about her, he can tell - it makes Jaskier feel incredibly happy for him, the man deserves to have a family of his own. To be loved in a kinder manner than the rough camaraderie of his fellow witchers - because she obviously cares for him already as well.
Pointing out Geralt is being dumb about his own health? Oh yes, Jaskier adores her already.
His eyes widen when she recognizes him, hopefully the witchers of the keep are ready to start smelling the overwhelming sweet scent of Jaskier's glee.
"It honors this humble bard to be remembered by Your Highness." All the flourish he didn't use on Vesemir, Jaskier performs it for Cirilla, bowing to her before falling on one knee to offer a friendly smile. "I'm glad to see you safe and well, princess. You may call me Jaskier, and now we're both here, away from the shackles of courtly manners, I hope we can become friends. We've brought you some presents, by the way, but I think those may have to wait. You see--" He puts a hand around his mouth then, as if telling a secret, and the other points at Geralt. "Certain wolf of ours hasn't been sleeping at all, as you've correctly deduced, so I think we should work on getting him to a bed first."
no subject
"Of course I remember you, you wrote a song for me for my tenth birthday," she says, and something in her face goes quiet and sad. "Eist sang it for me for weeks after."
The memory of the siege of Cintra is still fresh in her, the wounds still fresh. But Jaskier is a reminder of the good things-- the lively banquets, Eist's singing, her grandmother's eternal exacerbation at her husband's fondness for dramatic ballads. And maybe that will be a help.
She leans in, though, when Jaskier puts a hand to his mouth, like she's going to receive a secret. There aren't really any secrets in a keep full of witchers, of course, not with their hearing. She smiles when he tells her that her suspicions are correct, that pleased little smile that children get when they're proven right.
"He's really quite bad at taking care of himself, isn't he?" she says, as though Geralt isn't right there and listening to them. "You'll take him up to bed, won't you? Vesemir wants me to read through this bestiary by tonight because he's going to ask me about it tomorrow."
"I'm right here," Geralt says, though he doubts that it will make a difference.
no subject
Including the ballad he wrote for the betrothal of her parents, which Calanthe never allowed him to sing. Anything related to the white wolf was forbidden in Cintra and it used to pain Jaskier, not only because those are the songs people expected from him, but also because he wanted to give at least a little piece of Geralt to his Child Surprise during all those years. He doesn't say any of this aloud, not yet, not when he notices the change in her expression. They'll have a proper chat later, and she can choose how much she wants to hear from him.
Her question makes him throw his head back and laugh - oh, she's perfect. She'll be so good for Geralt, he can already tell.
"Oh, princess, you don't know half of it! But worry not, I'm quite good at taking care of him in return. Go finish your studies, you can trust me with this mission." He stands up and brushes his knees before turning to Geralt with a grin that isn't innocent at all and winks. "Let's take you to bed, shall we, my dear witcher? I actually may need a nap too."
It's when he turns to leave that he notices Vesemir is still in the room, making him hesitate for a second before finally speaking up.
"I brought vodka for everyone to share - a thank you gift." And some books for the library, but he thinks it may be too soon to drop that bomb. "We shall go through our supplies after resting, but I'm sure a wolf nose could easily found it if any of you wishes for an early taste."
He throws Geralt a look then that says take me out of here before I do something we all regret.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)