Open post

[lovelybottom]

Comments

[rollstoseduce]

"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."

[lovelybottom]

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."

This could go on for a while.

[rollstoseduce]

"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.

[lovelybottom]

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.

[rollstoseduce]

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.

[lovelybottom]

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."

[rollstoseduce]

"He blamed me for-- mmmmph!"

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!"

[lovelybottom]

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."

[rollstoseduce]

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.

[lovelybottom]

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.

[rollstoseduce]

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.

[lovelybottom]

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?"

[rollstoseduce]

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."

[lovelybottom]

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."

[rollstoseduce]

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."

[lovelybottom]

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.

[rollstoseduce]

"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.

[lovelybottom]

The smile that Jaskier sends his way is absolutely not innocent at all, laden with innuendo that would only go over the head of Ciri, probably. It might not even go over her head, which is a fact that is acutely embarrassing and only doesn't show on Geralt's face because it's nearly impossible to make him blush.

"He needs to rest, Jaskier," she says, and there's that hint of royal imperiousness to her tone. She was a crown princess, after all, and she's used to getting her way.

"I'm still right here," Geralt says, and Ciri gently pats his arm. He can't say that he's exactly upset that his child surprise has no fear of him, but he's been treated remarkably casually by a lot of people lately. It's... disorienting. He's used to being feared.

Jaskier mentions the vodka that they'd stashed in the saddlebags, gifts for his brothers that could have been useful for smoothing out any interpersonal issues. Not that there's a need for it with Eskel, he and Jaskier got along like a house on fire. Might still help with Lambert, though.

Vesemir simply nods in acknowledgement, but Geralt says, "Half of it's probably already down Eskel's gullet."

The expression on Vesemir's face turns dry, and he walks over to the chair where Ciri left the book that she had been studying, picking it up and opening it to the marked page.

"Katakans. You have a lot of material to get through, Cirilla."

The princess sighs, but ultimately takes the hint and goes back to Vesemir, taking the bestiary from him and sitting down again with a huff. The old wolf, at least, looks pleased-- maybe she'll prove to be as good a student as her protector.

"Go to bed, Geralt. Try to be mindful of the rest of us."

Dismissed like he's a boy in training again. Geralt frowns, but puts a hand to Jaskier's elbow to start leading him out. The inner halls of the keep are labyrinthine, and it would be all too easy for a human to get lost or wander into an unstable wing. The bard will have to be chaperoned around until he can learn his way well enough.

"Come."

He leads Jaskier through the corridors, and, as he's taking him up a set of stairs towards one of the stable wings, where there are rooms that are sufficiently set up for bedrooms. Geralt's is in this area as well, though Eskel and Lambert have theirs elsewhere. It's as private as you can get in a fortress that houses witchers.

"You can have whatever room you want. The fireplaces are all maintained and if you need more blankets, I can fetch them for you. It can get draughty once winter fully sets in."

[rollstoseduce]

Oh, she did get that! What a pleasant surprise! Yes, pleasant, because Jaskier is not ashamed. At all. He probably doesn't know the meaning of that word, honestly. And the way Cirilla pats Geralt's arm too? Ah, she's just perfect. Jaskier will have to apologize to Roach, but he may have a new favorite girl in the world.

"Worry not, my sweet lady, we both need to rest. I only wanted to tease him - it's plenty of fun once you've learned to translate his grunts."

Maybe that could be another gift for her. Some kind dictionary. An encyclopedia? How To Understand and Take Care of Your Father Surprise. Meh, may need a better title, more catchy, but there's something there.

Meanwhile, Vesemir... well then, Jaskier doesn't see that one coming, both eyebrows raising in surprise. Is he like Geralt, throwing jabs while still keeping a straight face, or had that been a true warning? Geralt's frown doesn't exactly speak well of Vesemir's comment, so once more Jaskier decides not to push their luck and follow his witcher out after a simple good luck, princess.

(This good behavior won't last long.)

As soon as they're out of sight, Jaskier grabs Geralt's hand and intertwines their fingers together between them, coming closer to let their arms brush as they walk through the labyrinth that is Kaer Morhen. This isn't like any mansion or castle he's been at before - usually he doesn't have much trouble memorizing layouts, used to that kind of big building life, but this is proving to be a challenge.

The idea of needing an escort (a babysitter) to move around doesn't sit well with him, so he tries to pay as much attention as possible to his surroundings, but suddenly Geralt is talking and that's always much more important.

A frown appears on Jaskier's face as some worry leaks into his scent. Is he understanding this correctly? No assumptions, he reminds himself. He tilts his head at Geralt as he asks his question.

"Any reason why I can't simply stay with you, my dear? Because that's the room I want."

[lovelybottom]

Vesemir is a difficult man to read, even for those who know him well. And Geralt has known him for nearly a century now, since he was a scared six-year-old, so there probably isn't anyone left alive who knows him better. But even Geralt sometimes has a hard time getting a read on exactly what his meanings are. This one is-- a little bit of a jab, and also a warning, if he has to hazard a guess. He has the feeling that Vesemir will want to speak to him soon, and that it will be about the bard, and the Path, and what wants are allowed to a witcher.

He isn't looking forward to it, but it's easier to not think about it when Jaskier's fingers are twined with his.

After Geralt offers the bard whatever room he pleases, that sour worried smell creeps back in. He doesn't try to anticipate what Jaskier will pick; if he wants nothing, than there can be no disappointment. But he's not displeased that the bard wants to share his room with him, even if the choice is a little perplexing. This isn't like all those times when they had shared rooms at an inn and it was a matter of saving precious coin, or like Oxenfurt, when they were only given one dormitory. There are enough bedrooms that Jaskier could take a different one every week and not run out, could keep all of his notebooks and his lute there so that he could practice and compose to his heart's content without being bothered. And there's nothing that says that he has to sleep in the same room as Geralt to fuck him, so it isn't that.

If he had just wanted Geralt's room, than he could've had it, but he wants the room and a witcher in it, too.

"If that's what you want, than it's yours."

When he'd said that he doesn't speak in riddles, it had been true-- he'd said that he would give Jaskier whatever he wants, so he does. The room is his.

Geralt leads him to the end of a winding hallway, to the last room on the left. When he opens the door, everything is as he left it last winter-- there's little by way of decoration or ornamentation, the furniture spartan and pragmatic, the fireplace made of sturdy stonework. Geralt lights it with a quick sign, to start warming the place up for its new human occupant. The bed is large and sturdy enough to fit a witcher, and covered in thick blankets and furs to fight against the winter draughts. There's a worktable along one wall, sitting underneath a set of shelves that contain potion ingredients of various types, all labeled in, quite frankly, awful handwriting. There's a low bookshelf crammed full of bestiaries, monster manuals, and potion-brewing compendiums, as well as a few less obviously witchery books like botany guides. Several of the lower shelves are dedicated to leather-bound journals of varying sizes and quality-- his hunting notes, where he keeps track of all of the details of his hunts and the monsters that he encounters. On top of the bookshelf, there's a little wooden carving of a horse, standing proudly on a gwent deck that's in far better condition than the one that Geralt usually carries around. A potion manual that he'd been reading before he left last year still sits there, too, and the page is marked with a silk ribbon that Jaskier had once used to tie his hair back. He'd known that it would end up ruined if he took it on the road; it would survive much longer as a bookmark.

Once they're both in the room, Geralt would like little more than to lay down on the bed and sleep, without even bothering to take his armor off. Instead, though, he turns to the door.

"I'll fetch our things."

The bags were still on their horses, after all. If Eskel was feeling kind, he might have at least brought them in from the stables, but considering that he had been volunteered by Vesemir to take care of the horses to begin with, he probably wasn't.

[rollstoseduce]

"Ours." Jaskier quickly corrects. His tone is light, not even starting to suspect the reason why Geralt worded it like he did. He just thinks the witcher needs to get used to the concept of them being a couple now, and Jaskier will gladly guide him through it.

When the door to the room opens, Jaskier can't help standing there for a second, taking it all in. This... is is Geralt's bedroom. His personal space. The man who doesn't have any wants, the man who doesn't keep things with him that aren't practical... here it is all of it, in one space, filled with his things. Every corner of this room is Geralt.

"Eskel wasn't joking about you being a bookworm, huh." He comments with the biggest smile as he steps inside.

Jaskier lets his fingertips brush every object near him as he walks around, observing every detail. The book topics don't surprise him, but he's pleased to see Geralt's collection of journals - he's always wanted a peek into those. The potion labels make him giggle, and he makes a mental note to offer his penmanship to everyone later if this is how all labeling in the keep looks.

What does shock him and takes the air out of his lungs with a loud gasps are finding his old gifts. Not only the horse and cards, but also the damn ribbon. Once upon a time, Jaskier had tried to shower Geralt with gifts, and he thought the man didn't appreciate them - he changed to practical things after a couple of tries, like sharpening stones.

So to find them here, and well taken care of... there goes the sweet smell filling the room, his heart beating at hundred beats a minute.

"You- you kept them! All of them!"

He runs to Geralt and hugs the hell out of him, arms around his waist with as much as strength as a bard can muster, which isn't much against a witcher's wall of brick muscles, but hey, the intention is what counts, right? He's about to start a soft 'you've been adorable' kiss, but of course that's the moment Geralt chooses to open his mouth.

"...what?"

Oh, Melitele, please give him patience to deal with witcher bullshit.

"Geralt! We can pick up our things later! Why do you think I told Vesemir about the vodka? Let them find it themselves." He pulls back and starts working on taking off Geralt's armor, not different from the ritual they'd have after a hunt, with the witcher too tired or hurt (or both) to move. And even if it only had been a drowner hunt and Geralt had plenty of energy left, Jaskier would this for him anyway, because he deserves a gentle touch and warm comfort that should come after the emotional weight that comes with having to take lives, even a monster one. "You need to rest. Stop worrying for a second, would you, darling? We're all here. Safe. Your brothers. Your daughter. Your lover. You've taken care of us all, now take care of yourself."

[lovelybottom]

Geralt doesn't allow very many people into his room; even the other witchers don't generally hang around in it. They might enter if he's there and they require him for something, but they don't have any interest in the things that he puts in it. Jaskier, on the other hand, is fascinated by everything, even the things that aren't all that special. The labels on his potion ingredients, for instance, are simply for convenience's sake; he can't smell the ingredients when they're sealed up in jars, and many of them look similar at first glance, so a label is the easiest way to distinguish between them quickly. Jaskier likely wishes that he was so meticulous about labeling his actual potions, but he can tell the difference between those by sight.

The bard seems charmed by his books and journals, though they would hardly be the kind of material that he'd want to read. All about monsters and potions, not a bit of poetry to them. Geralt makes a mental note to look through the library later and see if he could track down anything that Jaskier might want to read; he thinks that there were some elven history books in there at one point.

Of course, he's most enthused by the little gifts that he'd given Geralt that survived the trip to Kaer Morhen. It's not everything-- there had been a few, more delicate things that Jaskier had given him that simply couldn't withstand the harshness of his lifestyle. A bottle of bath salts had broken, a handkerchief had been ruined by rotfiend ichor. Delicate things don't always survive a witcher's Path.

Geralt barely feels the grip of Jaskier's arms around his middle through his armor, and after chastising him briefly about wanting to go get their things, the bard starts pulling at the laces and buckles that fasten it. He needs little input from the witcher by this point to get the leather off, only occasionally requiring him to move an arm so that he can slide off a spaulder or to bend over to pull the main cuirass off. Geralt ought to clean it and oil it before going to bed, but... he's exhausted, and it weighs heavier on him now that he doesn't have some desperate purpose driving him forward. Everyone that he cares about are safe. Jaskier is safe, his child surprise is under the watchful supervision of Vesemir, his brothers are accounted for.

"Hm."

That particular flavor of grunt is just for the sake of acknowledgement, confirming that he did, in fact, hear that words were spoken to them and possibly understands their meaning, but offers no further response. He gets through the buttons on his shirt-- and about halfway through, debates the merits of ripping it, but that would also require effort so he just continues on the path that he started-- but can't muster the energy to actually take it off, or the rest of his clothes. Fuck it, he's slept in worse states than this before. Geralt walks to the bed and pitches himself forward onto it, without bothering to get underneath the covers or even take off his boots. The bed frame groans underneath the sudden addition of his weight but holds firm.

[rollstoseduce]

The fact Geralt just rolls with it speaks volumes of how exhausted he is. Jaskier is relieved to know he won't have to scold him or hell, even argue with him for it, and so he doesn't even comment on the fact Geralt keeps his clothes on. That's fine, as long as the armor is off - besides, without their things here to pick some kind of night clothing, it's better if he keeps those on to fight the chill anyway.

A couple of things he does fix though: he takes off the witcher's boots, then pulls the covers from under that heavy body, which leaves him panting. Damn those sexy muscles! But the effort is worth it to be able to keep his lover warm - and himself too! Because after taking off his own boots, cloak and doublet, he sneaks under the covers, puts his arms around Geralt, his head on his chest, and lets exhaustion take him as well.

Sleep comes easily, and Jaskier rests while smiling at the fact Geralt cuddles him back. Warm, protection and affection, such a perfect combo. The fact this will be his life from now on is still hard to believe.

There's something he didn't take into account, however: Jaskier did get to sleep the past few days, Geralt is way more tired than he is. Which means he wakes up first, only to find himself caged by witcher strength. Bollocks. He tries to be romantic about it at first, taking a moment to simply enjoy the moment - Geralt's peaceful sleeping face, the slow beating of his heart, their closeness, the fact they're cuddling in freaking Kaer Morhen. But as time passes, it's obvious that Geralt isn't waking up any time soon. Crying out for help isn't really an option - it would be embarrassing, bother his boyfriend, and he doubts anybody is nearby to hear him anyway, witcher hearing or not.

Thankfully, he's wrong - Eskel comes to his rescue when he stops by to drop their things. They had expected Geralt to do his hibernation thing, but he had been worried Jaskier got lost. The bard would consider him a sweetheart if it wasn't for all the teasing he did after freeing him from his brother's arms - fuck, teasing over their relationship he can take, but being found like this is simply dumb!

He can't stay mad at him for long though. Eskel thanks him for the vodka and offers to pick him in half an hour or so, which Jaskier appreciates. He keeps himself busy by taking everything out of their bags, knowing what to put where and in what order after years of traveling together. Seeing his own things mixed with Geralt's in the witcher's very own room fills him with glee, so of course he hums while he works - not one of his, what a miracle. It's a light tune written before he was born about a couple that stood the test of time.

Mental note: write a ballad for the songbird and the wolf soon.

Jaskier is finishing changing his clothes into clean (but still very fashionable, colorful and warm) clothes when Eskel comes by again, earning a toothy grin from the witcher when he sees him put on a bright light blue poncho-like cloak with golden embroidery and close it over his chest by using the wolf brooch. What can he say? That little thing means too much to him to let go of it so soon. Besides, hopefully this will help reinforce the message for the other witchers as well:

Someone out there cares for you.

Lute on his back and gifts in his arms, Jaskier follows his new friend around for a mini tour of the place. And honestly, Eskel has to be the best choice for a guide around here (sorry, Geralt, this bard loves you, but being stingy with the details isn't fun when Jaskier is vibrating with curiosity) - he's friendly, chatty, and doesn't mind answering Jaskier's questions. While it's obvious that he saves certain information for himself, his expression darkening at what can only be bad memories, he never dismisses the bard with a grunt or a shut up, he offers the little he can or at least says no idea, sorry. There's no doubt in Jaskier's mind that he'll become his favorite witcher after Geralt, no need to meet the other two.

What truly seals the deal is when he asks why he isn't allowed to go to the basement.

"Dangerous experiment leftovers. Stay out of it for the sake of everyone."

The pain in his voice makes his stomach turn, and Jaskier wishes he could've brought him so much more than just vodka. No treating him like a child, no hiding behind the 'secrets' excuse - the reason is succinct but clear. If Jaskier hadn't had his arms full of gifts, maybe this could be the perfect moment for that hug he deserves. Another thing for later - but one thing he knows for sure now: the first song he writes in Kaer Morhen will be for Eskel.

They separate at the library, where Jaskier finds Ciri reading through more monster books with a big bowl of grapes by her side. The library itself is absolutely stunning - maybe visually it doesn't look as the fancy one in Oxenfurt, but the sense of ancient knowledge is in the air, in every stone and every chair. It's the kind of atmosphere Jaskier knows he'll lose himself into more than a couple of times this winter.

But that can wait - first he gotta talk with the princess, who is thankful for having an excuse for a break. Cirilla loves every single present he's brought her, blushing furiously when she reaches the linen rags and notices one of the books the bard has brought for the library. Jaskier offers to help her put up her hair in braids, to allow those lovely new ribbons to 'debut', and she accepts after a moment of hesitation.

He brings up the heavy topics then, giving her the chance of to hide her face while he works behind her.

Jaskier tells her that he's sorry for her loss, tells her there's a lot she'll be hearing about the choices of his grandmother, but as far as he goes, he loved singing in Cintra every time, no regrets are had. He tells her he was there the day the Law of Surprise was called, which makes her speak up for the first time since he starting brushing her hair, curious with questions. Geralt had been stingy with the details, and Jaskier isn't even a little bit surprises. He tells her that she's the living image of Pavetta, that there's a ballad he wrote for her parents that he never got to sing because White Wolf related songs were forbidden in Cintra, and promises to sing them to her when she's ready.

He tells her he misses his own grandmother as well. He tells her he misses the huge, beautiful garden he grew up with - no more details are given, but she quickly catches on, especially when he mentions all the things Geralt had to teach him when he joined him on the road. She's a very smart girl, and he can tell she's warming up to him, laughing when he tells her the embarrassing parts of the improvised survival training he had to go through when he decided to follow certain witcher around. Not something he'd usually share, Jaskier always dresses up his stories, but this honesty is probably the best way to reach her, to make her feel better about feeling out of place in here.

He tells her he understands.

He tells her that after a day of reading about monsters and tiring her body out while learning how to use a sword, she can come to him and they can read some poetry, sing some old court songs, share stories about terrorizing their nursemaids.

He tells he can teach her to read every muscle of Geralt's face and understand every grunt.

He tells her he's here for her if she ever needs him.

When the braids are done, she hugs him. They both want to cry, but neither of them do, stubborn nobles that they are.

The start of a friendship has been forged, at the very least, and Jaskier leaves the library with less weight in his arms and also his heart - a heavy emotional moment had been had, and now they can both feel lighter for it, more ready to deal with whatever spending a winter with five witchers can throw at them.

By the time he makes it to the training grounds with three books in his arms, his scent is softly sweet, showing how pleased he's been with this day so far (ignoring the little trapped incident in the morning, thank you very much). Said grounds aren't difficult to find, by the way, because he can hear the witchers bantering and throwing jabs at each other in between grunts and sword clashes.

He decides to stay at the threshold for a moment before letting his presence known, even if he knows they probably heard his heartbeat many steps ago. There is Vesemir, correcting everyone's posture, and Eskel, calling someone out for being a prick. Ah, there's Lambert, and honestly? Jaskier is a little disappointed. His insults are strong, that's for sure, but they're also direct and crass, just being an asshole for the sake of being an asshole - nothing like, and Jaskier can't believe he's thinking this, the smart banter and word play of Yennefer's. Well, at least that means he won't have trouble handling the dickhead, a man so coarse with his mouth will never out-word a bard.

The last one must be Coën, and Jaskier realizes that even if he hadn't already known the wolves and nobody had been wearing their medallions, he would've still been able to identify a griffin. Jaskier may not be a master swordman, but after watching Geralt fight for two decades, he can easily see the same style in the way Eskel and Lambert move, but not in Coën. Fascinating. His beard is well kept, which surprises the bard after so many years of seeing his wolf be a disaster with his hair, and he can't help wondering if it's there to help with the unusual scars on his face. A disease, perhaps?

As cherry on top of all this information, every single one of them is really handsome. How is that even fair.

It's Lambert being a passive aggressive ass that snaps Jaskier out of his thoughts. He doesn't even turn around to look at him when he replies to whatever Eskel's jab had been.

"You're becoming soft, brother. Soon you'll be singing and bringing books to a sword fight."

"It wouldn't be fair for Eskel to fight you with words." Jaskier quickly replies, making everyone turn to finally look at him and acknowledge his presence. Ah, sweet attention, his ego has missed you. "Even in a battle of wits, there's no honor in attacking someone who's totally unarmed."

Eskel loses it then, his laughter reward enough for Jaskier, but there's also the amazing frustrated expression on Lambert's face. Coën raises his eyebrows in surprise, obviously not having heard enough stories about Jaskier to have at least an idea of what's coming - his nose twitches, obviously discovering there's no smell of fear. Good. Let them smell how pleased the bard is with himself at the moment.

"Bold little shit, aren't you, bard?" Lambert finally replies as he comes closer, trying to look intimidating - and he'd succeed with any other person that hadn't spent two decades travelling with Mr Brooding. "I know words that would make your delicate ears bleed."

Oh, he makes it so easy for Jaskier to come up with comebacks, gods. "If I wanted to hear from an asshole, I'd fart."

This time, Coën joins the laughter, although his is more of a discrete chuckle, nothing like Eskel's unrestrained laughter. Lambert has more to say, but Vesemir chooses that moment to jump in.

"Enough!" Eskel and Lambert don't need any more words - just one from his mentor is enough for them to return to their sparring while looking like scolded children. Vesemir turns to Jaskier then. "You, bard - unless you're interested in learning to pick up a sword, then take your books back inside."

"Your books now." Jaskier says after taking a deep breath. Unlike Lambert, Vesemir does manage to intimate him at least a bit, and he knows all of them must be hearing how fast his heart has suddenly started to beat. Bollocks. Usually he would be against the bad treatment of books, but he knows he's already pushing many limits here, coming closer isn't an option - so instead, he picks the top book of his pile (the one about the human reproductive system) and throws it to Vesemir's feet. "There's a woman in the keep now, and she needs you to learn as much as she learns from you. Enhanced senses you may have, yet somehow the fact women bleed once a month has completely gone over all of your witchering heads."

There's a moment of silence as Vesemir picks up the book, surprising everyone in the yard. So maybe he did notice something after all... Melitele bless this humble bard, please, there may be some hope for these disasters after all.

[lovelybottom]

Geralt grumbles when Jaskier tugs at his boots, pulling them off one by one, and when he makes the witcher roll over so that he can yank the blankets out from underneath him. It's certainly more comfortable this way, and a few moments later, Jaskier joins him underneath the covers. He feels the warm weight of the bard against his chest, his senses filled with his scent, the sound of his heart. He sighs, gets an arm around Jaskier, and settles; sleep pulls him under with surprising swiftness.

At some point during the night, he rolls, shifting the both of them onto their sides and trapping the bard in the cage of his arms. Had Geralt not spent the past god knows how long staying awake, he would have risen long before Jaskier, would have already been dressed and gone down to train with his brothers by the time the bard had stirred from slumber. But he was making up for an impressive sleep deficiency today, and when Jaskier wakes, he is oblivious to it. Even when the bard tries to wriggle out from underneath his arm, all Geralt does is tighten his grip in his sleep.

Eskel comes to his rescue by bringing up their bags, and thus discovers the poor bard's plight. He laughs about it at first, of course, before he makes any movement to help. In the end, he has to smack Geralt's shoulder a few times and tell him to 'Roll your heavy fucking ass over, Geralt,' before the witcher would budge an inch. He makes some vague, sleepy sounds of protest before releasing his vice grip on the bard and rolling onto his back.

Geralt doesn't wake again until much later; the spot next to him is cold, Jaskier long since gone. He drags himself out of bed and, since their things are there, changes into fresh clothes. Eskel must have been in a good mood that morning; he doubted that Jaskier would want to go down to the stables and haul everything up himself.

By the time Geralt makes it down to the common areas, it's past noon and the morning training is already complete. Eskel and Lambert are seated at a table, their empty lunch plates pushed to the sides, reading from the same book like a pair of schoolboys. He had planned to head for the kitchens and get himself something to eat, but now this is happening and he can't help but investigate. Geralt approaches and looks over Eskel's shoulder to read what's on the page, and sees... something about menstrual cycles, and stops reading.

Lambert looks back at him, his head propped up on his fist. "Did you know that your bard's got balls, Geralt?"

"I had assumed as much," Geralt replies.

"Yeah, no shit, but he had the stones to toss this book at Vesemir and tell us we all need to study up. Where the fuck did you find him again?"

"Posada," he says. "I got the same lecture." Geralt shrugs, then starts walking towards the kitchen; he hasn't been awake long enough to deal with this. "Just read the damn book."

Geralt makes his way into the kitchen; there's leftover kasha from breakfast, and though it's not as good when it's cold, it'll do for a late lunch. He just finished eating it with a little honey when Vesemir emerges from the larder, probably taking stock of their supplies. The fact that the old witcher is here precisely when Geralt is and no one else is not coincidence. He knows this, and waits.

"We need to talk about your bard."

Geralt nods. What Vesemir means, more likely, is that he needs to talk and he wants Geralt to listen. This is not a dialogue, it's an... admonition.

"I will not lecture you on why this bard should not know the secrets that he does," Vesemir says. "What's done is done. We shall see how that trust is repaid, in time."

"Jaskier would not--"

"You brought a bard to our keep. Will you be responsible for every word that comes from his mouth once he's left it?"

Geralt frowns, his forehead furrowing. Jaskier is not always... discreet, and he makes no secret of wanting to know everything he can about Geralt, about witchers, to write it into his songs. And, of course, the purpose of his songs are to be sung throughout the whole damn Continent, that's why he's in such trouble to begin with.

"I am reminding you of this lesson as a kindness to the both of you. Remember what you are, Geralt, because he certainly won't forget. You've been his meal ticket for twenty years, his protection. You do not need him, but he has a great need of you. Do not confuse need, or even want, with something more."

No one wants witchers, so don't think that someone is going to love you. It's an old lesson, from back when he was one of many boys and was still stupid enough to look at Vesemir's scars with admiration. Seems the lesson didn't stick, because here he is, soft on a bard before he'd even gotten the chance to tumble him. And not just any bard-- Jaskier, who has a reputation for falling in and out of love faster than the wind changes, the man who so many have had but no one can keep.

What makes Geralt think that he's somehow any different? If countesses and lords and countless beauties couldn't keep the bard's interest, why the hell would a scarred monster hunter? What does Geralt have to offer him but an early death?

"I don't care what you do with him behind closed doors. Melitele knows you could use an outlet so that I'm not cleaning Lambert's blood off of the floor again this year." If Geralt could flush, he might have done so at that reminder of his poor temper the previous winter. "Just remember that there are some kinds of foolishness that have no place on the Path."

Geralt nods, just once. That's all that Vesemir needs from him; he turns, leaves Geralt sitting in the kitchen while he goes to do whatever else he had planned for that day besides bringing a witcher back to harsh reality.

[rollstoseduce]

Interrupting the training session may've been a bit of a disaster, but these are witchers, and Jaskier thinks his boldness has earned their respect at least. He introduces himself properly after Vesemir is gone - Coën also thanks him for the sake, Lambert does so after a nudge from Eskel. Not only that, Coën accepts to tell him some stories, apparently he's impressed by the fact the bard could tell the difference in witcher fighting styles.

That's how Jaskier ends up having lunch with a griffin and a princess, who also should hear about these things since she's a witcher in training. It makes for a lovely meal - Coën isn't as chatty as Eskel, but he isn't as reserved as Geralt either. He's a happy middle, saying enough when answering Jaskier's questions (turns out his songs have made life easier for witchers of other schools as well) and even asking some in return (it's not every day a human stays for so long in the Path, after all).

Jaskier is on his way to the kitchen, carrying a tray with their empty lunch plates, when he hears the words that make him freeze.

We need to talk about your bard.

He can feel his heart jumping into his chest - he should've seen this coming, Vesemir is going to scold the hell out of Geralt, repeat all the bullshit his boyfriend has been repeating to him the last twenty years. Witchers travel the Path alone. Nothing prepares him, however, for what comes next.

It's like he's a child again.

Geralt tries to defend him and some people would think it's not much, but Jaskier understands. Little Julian would also freeze when his father would yell at him for wanting things that he shouldn't, for having dreams that would never come true. For assuming he knows better what his son wants than the son himself.

And gods, Vesemir sure is doing a great job right now at sounding exactly like Vincent Horatio Pankratz.

He should run. He shouldn't be listening to this... yet he can't bring himself to move. He can only stay there, his whole body trembling, his scent filling with hurt, anxiety, anger. Everything he's achieved for Geralt's acceptance of happiness in the last twenty decades is being destroyed in a few minutes. He's being accused of revealing secrets, of only wanting a meal and protection, of not actually loving the best thing that's ever happened to him.

He wants to scream.

What happens instead is him dropping the tray to the floor when Vesemir comes out, startling him out of his current emotional hurricane. If Jaskier had been any other man, he would punch the witcher in front of him. But Jaskier is Jaskier, so he does what he does best: he uses words.

"Who the FUCK do you think you are! Speaking as if you knew my wants and needs better than the man that's been traveling with me for two bloody decades!"

As his whole body is still shaking, the hands aren't as dramatic as usual, just enough gesturing to go with his unleashed anger. His voice, hoever, is high and furious, and he doesn't need to be a witcher to know there are steps coming to see what's going on.

Good. Let them hear. He's still not afraid of them.

"Do you even TRUST your students at all? Do you actually think I spent twenty years next to a witcher without touching silver? Do you really believe Geralt is THAT dumb? Not to have noticed something himself, to trust me with his secrets if there was a chance I would give them away? Everything he's said and showed me, I EARNED it! I've held his GUTS in my hands, old man, while you've been here thinking him a fool!"

There are people watching behind him, he can tell, but he only has eyes for the asshole in front of him. Let him see the raw fury in his blue eyes, to smell up close how much he means every single one of his words.

"How dare you treat him like naive child, as if he hasn't been punishing himself with all this horseshit logic all this time! How dare you imply he doesn't need anything, when it's obvious they are all craving a friendly touch! How dare you to accuse me of only wanting coin and a bodyguard when I've turned down every offer to be a court bard!" A sob escapes him then, which probably ruins the whole thing - boldness and fearlessness a witcher may respect, but tears? He doubts it. "And how dare you question my loyalty after I stayed by his side after every insult, after he tossed me away, after Nilfgaard whipped my very skin because apparently a bunch of soldiers believe in my bond to him better than you can even start to understand!"

He hears a gasp then, and Jaskier doesn't have to turn around to know who it was - there's only one woman at the keep at the moment.

"...bollocks."