Chapter Text
Kaer Morhen was colder than usual. Although the fires were blazing hot in the main hall, the kitchen and the bedrooms, a bone chilling cold seemed to have overtaken the old fortress and refused to be chased away even by the brightest of flames.
Eskel couldn’t remember the last time he had constantly yearned for warmth. Maybe when he had first arrived at the School of the Wolf, still dreadfully human and unused to the harsh climate and cold stone halls.
But now he was laying awake in bed at night, pulling the sheets up to his nose while shivering slightly. Something wasn’t right, hadn’t been right ever since he had left Oxenfurt over a month ago, when winter had begun nipping at his heels and he couldn’t put off his departure any longer. He had wanted to stay just as much as he had wanted to leave. Torn between the excited affection in bright blue eyes and the deep, content trust in golden ones. Torn between brown curls and white strands; a chiming soprano and a soft, resonating bass; gentle kisses and breathing in the familiar scent of leather, woods, musk, pine, sword oil, mutations and something unique.
In the end it had been an easy decision. Jaskier would still be there next year - hopefully-, Geralt might not. If he even was alive to still return to Kaer Morhen. At least that way he would know if… if his best friend had died while in the presence of his remaining ‘family’ and not walk around another year to find out about it through hateful gossip from voices tinted with glee.
However, just because it had been an easy decision didn’t mean that he didn’t miss his little songbird dearly. Because these days he allowed himself to call Jaskier his, even if it was only in the privacy of his own mind.
He missed Jaskier from the moment he woke up to the moment he finally fell asleep in the far too empty bed. The only time when he could forget about the fae was when he was training - which was a necessity seeing as Lambert was pent up about having to leave his cat and the bard behind and thus very eager to take a chunk out of Eskel’s arm-, while meditating or in the presence of Geralt. Geralt, who had observed him in his own quiet, watchful way ever since they had come across one another at the foot of the mountain.
He knew that something weighted on Eskel’s mind even though he refrained from addressing it, knowing he had no desire to speak about it. He had known, ever since they had worked together during the contract in Greviel.
It was difficult, falling asleep in a proper bed without protective arms curled around him. Usually he avoided staying at inns and he never had the soul wrenching need for another person to comfort him while on the road, but here he was… pining away. Miserable enough that he had stood outside of Geralt’s door repeatedly, just a moment away from knocking and asking if he could sleep in his bed.
A request that his brother would surely grant, but Eskel didn’t want Geralt’s curious gaze to become even more intense. Eventually the other man would ask questions.
Although Lil Bleater and Scorpion would probably relieved if Eskel would start bemoaning Jaskier’s absence to Geralt instead of emptying his heart out to them whenever he was in the stables.
But it hadn’t come that far yet. Eskel had it under control, although it was slowly eating away at him.
And not only him. He wasn’t the only one affected by the absence of Jaskier. Which had led them to this particular moment with Lambert standing in front of the wooden table where Eskel and Geralt sat. Their mentor was observing the small argument from an armchair a safe distance away. Just in case anybody got the idea to throw tankards or use signs indoors. He had lost too many tomes to his sons’ antics already.
Eskel exhaled patiently while Lambert glowered at him and Geralt.
“He’s my bard, I found him first.” The youngest Witcher jutted out his chin defiantly and crossed his arms over his chest. While there had been some tension regarding who the bard liked most all winter, this was the first time the prickly Witcher addressed the issue directly. Although Lambert would never admit it, Eskel was sure he had secretly hoped Jaskier would ask the youngest Witcher if he could come along to Kaer Morhen, when he had made one last stop in Oxenfurt on his way to Kaedwen.
Not that he hadn’t held the same secret wish, having refrained from asking Jaskier himself because he was being too much of a coward to face the possible rejection.
Geralt snorted. “That Cat of yours found him first. Then the Viper, then you.” He muttered from behind his stein of ale.
He had found out about the bard when they had gotten drunk together, when Lambert had started talking about cornflower eyes and the voice of everything beautiful. He had revealed a lot, because a drunk Lambert was surprisingly open.
It had made things… awkward. Lambert had been so embarrassed by his own affection that he had hidden in a cave further down the mountain. Vesemir had granted him two days of sulking, then he had retrieved Lambert and dragged him into the hotsprings by his ear, telling him to wash away the stench of old endregas.
It had also caused Geralt to stare at Eskel strangely.
Eskel nodded his head, the light of the fire casting shadows across his face. “And you have Aiden. You can’t keep that cat and the bard.”
“Yes I can.” The youngest Witcher disagreed while blushing hotly. He was standing stiff as a board and Eskel realised belatedly that they were still supposed to be pretend they didn’t know about Lambert’s involvement with the cat. Hopefully he wouldn’t go back to the cave… they had just gotten the endrege stench out of his clothes….
But then, the youngest pup recovered remarkably quickly and drew himself up tight. “I can take care of them both. And Aiden can help. I will buy the bard a bedroll and a nice cloak. And I won’t forget to feed him.”
Eskel sent a pleading look towards Vesemir.
“Stop looking at me like that, pup.” The eldest Witcher grunted. “I’m not getting involved in your squabble about a bard.” His golden eyes flickered from the heavy tome in his lap to the youngest Witcher. “But you need to remember that he is a bard and not a Witcher. He’ll not wear armour, he’ll want to sleep in a bed and he needs opportunities to perform. You’ll have to stop at villages and towns regularly.”
The unspoken reminder how humans still tended to react to cat Witchers made Lambert duck his head and Eskel smirked, but it quickly vanished when Vesemir continued.
“And you’re forgetting the fact that you can’t just strap him to your saddle and take him with you. He’s not a stray cat waiting to be adopted, he’s a person.” None of them missed how he deliberately didn’t use the word ‘human’. “Does he even want to leave Oxenfurt? He has a house, friends, a stable income and a broad and sophisticated audience due to the nearby university.”
Now it was Eskel who ducked his head. He stayed silent, but Lambert as always, didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.
“But I want to keep him. He’s mine.” The hothead snapped, only to hiss when a piece of bread crust hit him square in the forehead. His golden eyes flickered to Geralt with a hilariously scandalised glower. The white haired Witcher arched an eyebrow challengingly and smirked when Lambert’s fingers retreated from the haft of his dagger.
“Don’t talk back.” Geralt muttered, watching as Lambert bared his teeth.
“Shut up, teacher’s pet.” He huffed and turned towards the fire to sulk. He was joined by Lil’ Bleater who had seen the abandoned piece of crust and like any rational goat, wouldn’t waste good food.
There was a snowstorm outside, Eskel could hardly let his favourite goat get cold. And he knew for a fact, that last year, Geralt had snuck Roach inside and somehow managed to keep her hidden from Vesemir for over two weeks.
Eskel bit back a smile. As much as Lambert liked to bitch and hiss at Geralt, deep down they all knew how much the youngest wolf looked up to the star pupil of their school. Not that Eskel could blame him, he himself admired the White Wolf just as much. Lambert yearned for Geralt’s affection and approval, although he’d never admit it. Good thing too because while Geralt probably had an inkling that the pup of the pack looked up the him, the man would probably shit himself like he always did when someone became his responsibility.
That had never stopped him from taking care of them anyways. Another thing that made him such a great man and such a shitty Witcher when it came to getting paid.
For a long moment it was silent in the keep, only the whisper of the fire and the sound of parchment being turned could be heard, then Geralt spoke up.
“The bard must be something, if Lambert ’s so possessive.” He mumbled and Eskel’s hand twitched towards the small key dangling next to his medallion, hidden underneath his linen shirt. “Is he really that special?”
It was the first time Geralt had expressed interest in Jaskier. Or talked about him at all.
Eskel hesitated to answer his closest brother. Part of him twisted into something ugly and spiteful at the thought of giving Geralt information about Jaskier. He felt a strange rush of possessiveness.
Geralt was an attractive man after all, very attractive and never had a problem finding a willing bed partner, all of them beautiful. He was the strongest out of all of them, the fastest, the most famous one. Viewed as a hero, celebrated by the people and valued by royalty.
If Jaskier met Geralt, would he forget about Eskel?
Of course he would. Geralt was… Geralt. A Witcher who had somehow acquired a group of tight-knit friends that weren’t all Witchers. Granted, more than half of them were monsters or non-humans, but it still counted. A Witcher who -despite his insistence that he didn’t do it on purpose- frequently mingled with nobility and actually seemed to be genuinely liked by them because that was what Geralt did: he drew in others. And he made other people want to be liked by him, made them want to have his approval.
Eskel would know, he was one of those people orbiting around the White Wolf.
Geralt had always been that way. It had started with Vesemir, who had treated him always more like a son than just a trainee from the beginning. Then he had drawn in the other lost boys, among them Eskel. They had all looked up to him and for some unfathomable reason, Geralt had chosen to befriend Eskel.
How could he even think that Jaskier wouldn’t forget about Eskel as soon as he met Geralt?
Maybe he should downplay the importance of the bard. Just… just for another year. One more year during which he could pretend that Jaskier was his.
And that Geralt belonged to him as well.
Because if he met Jaskier, would Geralt forget about Eskel as well?
Of course he would. Jaskier and his unblemished face, his easy laugh, his eagerness to love others. Jaskier, who wouldn’t feel uncomfortable when walking through a crowded street, who wouldn’t avoid going into stores because he didn’t want others to see his disfigured maw. Jaskier, who would give Geralt everything he would ask for in a way Eskel could probably not. Jaskier, who was for all intents and purposes a prince in his world, part of nobility, of royalty even and with his magic and elegance the exact type of person Geralt would quickly fall in bed - and maybe even in love - with.
Juts one more year…
But then Eskel remembered that Geralt was viewed as a butcher. Loved in one part of the continent, hated in the other. Either welcomed with smiles or chased away with stones and spit.
Even if it meant losing Jaskier’s and Geralt’s affection, he wouldn’t withhold the way Jaskier could bring love and joy into someone’s life. Not for anything in the world. Not from his dearest brother, his closest friend. His… Geralt, who was so much more to him than any words could ever describe. So much more that some nights Eskel prayed to whatever gods were listening to let him die before Geralt because he knew he wouldn’t survive the loss. Wouldn’t even want to survive it.
He would do everything for Geralt. Give up everything and everyone. Would slit his own throat without hesitation, if it meant Geralt lived to see another day.
“He is.” Eskel answered eventually. “I’ve never met anybody like him. For some reason he’s not afraid of us, doesn’t find us repulsive. He’s just… full of love. You should visit him, he has asked about you.”
He could feel his brother’s golden eyes on him, but didn’t feel like talking anymore. Instead he turned back towards his ale, sighing in relief when Geralt did the same, each man lost in their own thoughts.
And yet deep down he already knew that come year, Geralt would make a stop in Oxenfurt on his way south. Maybe he should leave Kaer Morhen a bit later, linger about and help Vesemir out. Just long enough so he wouldn’t witness Jaskier and Geralt forget about him.
Jaskier was glowing.
Not literally, he had checked. Twice.
But figuratively, he was glowing. Radiating happiness, even. It went as far as making his cheeks ache from smiling relentlessly. But he couldn’t help it.
He was, after all, truly a famous bard these days.
After having won the Novigrad bardic competition the previous year, he hadn’t been able to save himself from all the invitations that had found their way into his hands. One was more promising than the other, parchment embossed and imprinted with gold, doused in the most pleasant scents, bearing the seals of some of the highest courts of the continent.
He had even been invited to play for the great and gracious Anna Henrietta herself and positively dazzled the Toussaintian court with his performance. Based on his own estimation and the chest of gold he had received in return.
A chest of gold he had sent back home with the help of a lovely little spell, because while Toussaint was protected by the most righteous knights he had ever come across, the beautiful countryside was littered with bandits. Not to mention the cesspit that was Velen.
He also had no interest in carrying around a heavy chest all day. Or relying on horseback. He much preferred to walk through the vast flower fields, the beautiful forests littered with elven ruins and the sprawling vineyards where he dared to sneak a grape or two when temptation struck.
Jaskier had fallen in love with Toussaint quicker than he should have, so he was slightly reluctant to leave again. As much as he valued the benefits of Oxenfurt, namely the academy, his friends and the close vicinity to Novigrad, his little fae heart had grown ridiculously attached to the duchy. And its lovely citizens that seemed to appreciate the fine arts almost as much as he did. Even if he could do without that one dreadful who reminded him far too much of Valdo.
Yes, he was contempt in Oxenfurt, but the restlessness that had started to itch at the back of his mind a year or two ago, had been harder and harder to ignore. Especially with his lovely Witchers telling him the stories of their adventures while on the path.
Oh, his Witchers. Butterflies tingled in Jaskier’s stomach.
His lovely, lovely Witchers and their lovely, lovely hearts. His big, soft hearted, gentle heroes. His kind, self sacrificing idiots who refused to believe how good they truly were and how they deserved nothing but the best.
No, he couldn’t leave Oxenfurt. If he moved further South, he wouldn’t be as accessible to them. Aiden and Lambert never strayed to Toussaint and neither did Eskel. Letho avoided anything that was somewhat closely associated with Nilfgaard and wouldn’t dare cross the border, all too aware of the possible consequences.
“Oh, I can’t leave them. My darlings.” The fae sighed and brushed a hand over the bark of a nearby tree. It hummed under the influence of his magic and whispered hushed words in return. A sliver of a story laced with delight that Jaskier understood it. He lingered a moment, allowing the tree to tell its tale, before he continued with one loving caress.
The forest hummed in response to his attention. It had been years and years and years since the elves had last held a claim to this realm. Since they had last wandered through the trees and talked to them. And the woods missed being heard.
Low voices called to him, trying to lure him closer with singing promises and he smiled slightly. It was late, the sun had set two hours ago and although he had planned to cross through the woods before settling down, to fall asleep under the wide open sky, he found himself persuaded in setting up camp amidst the trees instead.
The allure of ancient stories connected to the earth and all the magic running through it was too tempting to resist.
“Very well,” He sighed, as a delicate tendril of wisteria reached for him, wrapping itself around his finger “I will linger for a bit. But I expect a lullaby in return. An ancient one.” Jaskier said somewhat sternly, smiling at the joyful shiver that went through the canopy.
“I shall only find a nice clearing or a soft patch of moss.” He carefully freed himself of the vine, allowing a hint of magic to seep into it, making it sprout beautiful blossoms that filled the night air with their heady scent.
The fae turned around, about to start searching for a nice spot to spend the night, only to shriek when he ran face first into something fluffy. Something fluffy that immediately began to wiggle at earnest while reeking of distress.
Jaskier stumbled back, gasping when he realised what he had come across. Dangling high up in the air, was a little bunny. A beautiful creature with supple fur and large, trusting eyes. Its left hide was trapped in a clever snare, pulled at an undoubtedly painful angle.
“Oh no! Oh, you poor thing, you!“ Jaskier exclaimed as he carefully approached the trapped animal.
The bunny continued to struggle, wiggling helplessly where it was dangling in the air.
“Everything is alright, little bunny. I won’t harm you.” The bard soothed, allowing a hint of magic to fill the air and the frightened thing finally calmed down. Its tiny heart was still racing and there was fear tinging its scent, but it slowly subsided.
The adorable nose twitched and when it inhaled Jaskier’s scent, the fluttering pulse slowed down.
“Yes, I want to help you, sweet thing.” Finally close enough, he cupped the bunny and with a flick of his fingers, the knot of the trap loosened enough for its hide leg to slip free. Instead of wiggling out of his arms, the bunny stayed still and allowed the fae to inspect him, searching for external or internal injuries.
But he was entirely unharmed and would be good as new, the frightening encounter with a trap forgotten come morning.
“All better, my little friend.” Jaskier said happily and ran a hand down the bunny’s back, scratching it gently behind those adorably soft ears. It pressed itself against his chest, nudging his hand gently, clearly demanding him to continue petting it.
With a chuckle, Jaskier complied. He had never been able to say no to animals. Especially not fluffy ones.
“Yes, who’s adorable? You are, yes, you are!” He chanted, laughing when he could feel the fondness and affection radiating from the animal. “Oh, you’re so lovely. And brave, for letting me help you. And such bravery is worthy of a title. And a ballad! What can I call you, hm? Perhaps Eckbert? Ser Eckbert of Redania, knight of the forest?”
There was a hint of indignation coming from the bunny and Jaskier quickly corrected himself.
“Pardon me, Mylady! Don’t let my foolishness upset you! Of course you’re a little lady, not a ser.” He contemplated the little bunny. “How about Lady Flora of Redania? Descendant of the great Lady Margery, who hailed from Brokiloén and conquered these woods many, many centuries ago? And you, Lady Flora, have now taken on your ancestor’s cloak and with it the responsibility of guarding over this forest. Yes, I can work with that.”
The bunny purred.
A branch snapped behind him.
And cold steel touched his neck.
Jaskier held his breath. How had he not heard his approacher?
“What do you think you’re doing?” A dark voice growled and Jaskier couldn’t help the shiver that rolled down his back.
Oh!
Oh!
That voice! The deep baritone, the slight accent, the clicking consonants, the punctuation!
Oh, how he longed to hear the stranger recite him a poem or two!
The blade against his throat pressed into his skin and Jaskier’s raunchy thoughts disappeared as he remembered that the stranger clearly wasn’t very fond of his presence.
“Well, what does it look like?” He asked, voice bright to overshadow his nervousness.
He wasn’t in any danger and could defend himself without as much as a snap of his fingers, but he had never liked killing and would prefer to resolve this situation peacefully.
“It looks like you’re stealing my dinner.”
Dinner?
The fae glanced at Lady Flora, who clearly shared his indignation.
“Dinner?” He gasped dramatically and swiftly turned around, holding up Lady Flora. Only belatedly he realised, that the stranger must’ve anticipated his movements, because the blade had been removed quickly enough so he wouldn’t cut his throat.
“This, is not your dinner!” The bard insisted, shoving the animal in the stranger’s face. “This is Lady Flora! And she is the fearless protector of the forest. Defender of the defenceless! She is the brave heir of Brokiloén. And not your dinner! Do you even know her ancestry? The history of her house? Let me tell you, House Buttercup has a long and detailed past, of proud rulers and even prouder guardians!” He took a deep breath, to continue the endless array of titles he had decided were suitable for a bunny of such statue, only for it to leave his lungs in a gasp.
Only now had he registered who stood before him.
It was a man.
Nay, not just a man.
A god.
White hair, skin as pale as snow, eyes like molten gold, thin lips twitching as if he was fighting a smile or an annoyed snarl. Tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular statue that even the black armour couldn’t hide. A gleaming sword in one hand, a second one slung over his shoulder…
His thoughts came to a screeching halt.
Golden eyes with slit pupils. Two swords. Hair lacking all pigmentation and skin to rival those of fairy tale princesses?
This was him. The last wolf of Kaer Morhen that had yet to grace Jaskier’s bed.
Geralt of Rivia.
Perhaps the most famous Witcher to walk the continent.
Jaskier’s fae heart fluttered in his chest. Oh, if his cousins could see him now! How they would envy him. Valdo would turn green and splutter about, pretending like this god of a man wasn’t as grande and perfect as he was.
Geralt should consider himself lucky that he clearly had never stumbled across a fae before, because despite his distance to his court, Jaskier felt the strong urge to wrap this man in a bow, drag him to the closest fairy ring and take him back home.
They would take very good care of him of course, and let him live a life in luxury. He would be lounging on the softest silks, fed the ripest and sweetest fruit, be pampered to his heart’s desire and presented with a limitless supply of beautiful creatures eager to share his bed.
Fae were drawn to unusual beauty and this man was beautiful in a way that would make every fae swoon. Oh, he’d make such a good pet! If he were willing, of course.
Just like Eskel, who would attract just as many fae with his scars and the aura of magic surrounding him.
A sudden flicker of a fantasy flashed through his mind and Jaskier’s breath caught. Geralt and Eskel together, sparsely dressed and pampered by his kind. Treated like royalty.
However, an irrational tinge of jealousy soured his mood as his possessiveness reared its head. Eskel was his and he wasn’t willing to share him with other fae!
And Geralt… oh, how he longed to make this man his as well, because he was every bit as majestic and grand as Jaskier had imagined.
Until he opened his mouth.
“You made that up.” The Witcher growled, impatient and Jaskier’s fascination disappeared at once.
“I did not!” He insisted, pulling Lady Flora closer to him. She curled against his chest, clearly seeking his protection. “Now look at what you’ve done! You’ve scared her!”
The other man snorted. “Doesn’t seem very brave to me.”
Jaskier’s mouth dropped open. How dare this Witcher besmirch Lady Flora’s honour so?
“You, good sir, have no manners. And you will not touch this bunny.” Just in case the Witcher would try to forcefully take Lady Flora from him, he carefully put her down on the soft forest floor so she could escape if needs must. And although she hid behind his leg, she thumped one hide leg on the ground to voice just how insulted she was by this man’s barbaric behaviour. She was brave!
“And who are you to tell me that I can’t?” The Witcher’s sword was gleaming dangerously in the silver light of the moon.
“I am Jaskier. Winner of the Official Novigrad Bardic Competition, now four times crowned as best dressed bard - consecutively of course. Master of the seven liberal arts; renown poet and musician. And, without a doubt, the most talented bard the continent has seen in the last century.”
Understanding flickered in those golden eyes. “You’re Lambert’s pet bard.”
Lambert’s pet bard?
“Oh, you…” Jaskier was fuming. He put his hands on his hips and straightened his spine. “I am nobody’s pet bard. I’m Lambert’s friend. His pal. His mate. His fellow. His companion. His confidante. His… well not lover, you see. It’s more a friends who enjoy carnal pleasures in a purely platonic way. And nobody can blame me for that because he has very spectacular fingers that can make you-”
“I think I got it.” The Witcher interrupted, which… rude!
But then again, if someone had started to praise Valdo’s talents in bed to him, he would’ve done much worse than just interrupted them. He usually went for the eyes first…
“Good.” Jaskier sniffed and glanced down at Lady Flora, who was still eyeballing Geralt warily. Who, in return, was eyeballing the bunny contemplatively.
“No harming the bunnies!” He interrupted, before the Witcher could start using that sword of his again. “No harming any forest animals.”
The man arched one eyebrow, which was surprisingly expressive. And seemed to convey something along the lines of either ‘Just try to stop me’ or ‘why have I come across this obnoxious bardling and what am I supposed to eat now?’
And because Geralt had revealed to be a truly rude man, Jaskier didn’t put it past him to call his delightful personality ‘obnoxious’.
“There’s a beautiful apple tree right behind you. And if you ask it politely, it might even allow you to take some without sicking a hoard of squirrels onto you!” The fae said instead, which made Geralt look even less impressed than before.
After staring at each other for a moment, the Witcher snorted, turned around on his heels and vanished between the trees again without looking back.
Jaskier stared after him, his mouth having dropped open slightly, before he exchanged a scandalised glance with Flora.
“Can you believe this man?” He asked the bunny, who thumped her little paw again. “This cannot be the same Geralt Eskel and Vesemir told me about. Perhaps there’s another Witcher with that name? One who most certainly does not carry the title of a knight and would never be welcome in Toussaint. And who would never be able to work for nobility, because with an attitude like that, one was just asking to be imprisoned or executed.” He mused aloud and Flora nodded decisively.
“But no matter his lack of status and title, he was incredibly rude to such a delightful person as I am. I deserve better than that.” Jaskier tapped his foot as he stared into the thicket where the Witcher had vanished. Flora mimicked him in the most adorable way.
“You’re right. I deserve an apology.”
Seeing as the bunny agreed with him, Jaskier knew that he was right. He deserved an apology and he would get one.
Picking up Flora - because she deserved an apology too - he marched after Geralt.
Which sounded a lot easier than it was. Not because Jaskier couldn’t navigate the forest, but because the man had walked through every bramble in the vicinity, and while it might not do much to sturdy leather armour, it was very much so a threat to his newest doublet.
Luckily, it took only a bit of coaxing and a whisper of his magic for the shrubs and bushes to part in front of him, letting him pass through without a single tear to the fine silk.
Finding Geralt’s camp was quick work. The scent of smoke, fire, horse and Witcher were wafting through the trees and Jaskier didn’t hesitate to step onto the small clearing the Witcher had decided to occupy for the night.
Said man in question glanced towards him with a low huff, shared by the mare that had been grazing lazily at a patch of sweet grass.
“Geralt,” Jaskier stomped his foot “I demand an apology!”
“I demand peace and quiet.” The man muttered where he was sitting on his bedroll, taking another bite from something that looked like dried venison.
“I…” The fae’s voice trailed off. Who could blame him? Geralt had taken off his layers of armour and was only wearing a black linen shirt and his trousers. It was very straining on Jaskier’s heart. Especially because the damn thing still couldn’t really decide if it liked or hated Geralt of Rivia.
Right now he felt the urge to jump into the man’s lap to kiss him and the urge to write a scathing ballad that would make every man piss themselves with laughter as soon as they set eyes on Geralt.
Not really sure what else to do, he stomped his foot again. “Listen here-“
He was cut off again. Not by a Witcher this time.
No, he was cut off by the ugliest dog he had ever seen. It was huge and hulking, lacking all fur, with skin so thin that every muscle was clearly visible. Its eyes were white and ominous, saliva was dropping from exposed fangs and the stench of death and sulfur poisoned the air around them.
The thing jumped out of the thicket, a deep growl coming from its throat.
It was silent for half a heartbeat, then chaos broke out.
Geralt jumped to his feet, silver sword in his hand.
Jaskier squeaked and pulled Flora closer against his chest.
The horse whinnied.
And three more beasts appeared on the clearing.
“Geralt,” Jaskier laughed, eyes fixed on the ugly creatures circling them “please tell me these are really ugly looking but quite friendly puppies.”
“Do they seem friendly to you?” The Witcher hissed, dark voice tinged with incredulousness.
“No, but you’re the monster expert, not me.”
For a fraction of a second, Geralt glanced towards Jaskier with something like disbelief and affront in his eyes. The first beast used the opportunity and lunged.
It was fast, but Geralt was faster.
Jaws snapped, silver sung, flesh was cut. Then a lifeless body thumped to the ground, the ugly head disappearing into the thicket. But before blood could saturate the forest floor, the beast’s body seemed to turn into ash as it vanished into thin air.
Its death didn’t scare off the three others, to Jaskier’s sorrow. Instead, two of them ran towards Geralt and the third one…
The third one turned towards Jaskier.
“Geralt,” He called, voice slightly high pitched “what is one to do when one of these ugly puppies look like they want to rip ones throat out?”
Even while being circled by two monsters, the Witcher did have time to let out an impatient huff.
“Run.”
“Oh, shit.” The fae muttered. He knew he wasn’t in mortal peril, but Jaskier wasn’t exactly fond of fighting. He preferred snark over swords, degradation over death, healing over harm. And he wasn’t really sure how well Geralt would react to a display of his powers. The Witcher didn’t seem very fond of him already and he didn’t really want to make the situation any worse.
Otherwise he’d never get his apology.
So he did the only sensible thing: he followed Geralt’s instructions and ran. Only a few steps, because then he had reached the next best tree and quickly scrambled up the rough bark, using every branch and twig to heft himself higher, while cradling Flora gently against his chest.
He could feel the beast snapping at his ankle and managed to pull himself high enough not a second too soon. Sharp fangs closed around air, missing his skin by a hair’s breadth.
For a moment, the ugly dog tried to follow him, scrambling and scratching at the stem of the tree, then it was disturbed by a pained howl that was suddenly cut off. From the sounds of it, another beast had fallen victim to the Witcher’s wrath.
Where was his notebook? He would need to write that down.
Jaskier craned his head in an attempt to get a glance at Geralt, but the leaves of the tree that gave him shelter were obstructing his view. What a pity.
Briefly he considered climbing down again, in an attempt to witness the battle, but it never came to that.
The monster at the base of the tree stormed towards the fighting Witcher, more howls of pain and fearful growls, then two rapid slashes and finally silence, only disturbed by Jaskier’s racing heart and the Witcher’s heavy breathing.
Steps came towards the tree and then Geralt appeared, craning his head back to look at Jaskier.
“Are you an imbecile.” The Witcher said, and that didn’t sound like a question at all.
“Accentuation, my dear Witcher. Otherwise even a question will sound like a statement.” The bard piped and the Witcher rolled his golden eyes so hard, the fae worried he might’ve strained them.
“It wasn’t a question.”
“I will demand an apology for that as well. That’s two now. And one for Flora.” He informed the Witcher, as he carefully calculated the distance between him and the ground.
Geralt simply arched one eyebrow, before he turned on his heels and marched back to his campfire. Leaving Jaskier sitting on his branch.
“He could’ve offered his help.” The fae said to Flora, who agreed with him. He was starting to grow quite fond of the bunny.
A sigh came from the campfire, then the Witcher reappeared.
“Give me the thing, then you can climb down.”
“Call her Flora or I won’t.” Jaskier said in return and when Geralt seemed as if he considered abandoning him in the tree, he quickly added: “If you leave me up here, I’ll start serenading. Loudly.”
There was another world weary sigh. But then the Witcher relented and Jaskier grinned.
“Give me… Flora.” He bit out through clenched teeth.
“Of course, dear Witcher.” Jaskier lowered himself onto a lower branch until he could safely hand Flora to Geralt. Neither looked very thrilled about it, but he didn’t miss the way Geralt gently held Flora and even scratched her tentatively between her ears.
Because Jaskier didn’t have to worry about accidentally squishing innocent woodland creatures anymore, he simply jumped down from the branch, landing on soft feet.
Immediately, the bunny was thrust back into his arms. And Geralt was marching back to his bedroll.
Jaskier quickly followed him.
“So,” he began “what were those dreadful creatures?”
“Barghest.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. Barghest. Now, what exactly is that? Other than particularly hideous?”
“A monster.” Geralt really didn’t seem particularly eloquent. At least not verbally. Or he simply wasn’t interested in the conversation.
“I gathered as much.” Jaskier settled down across the fire. Flora made herself comfortable in his lap, closing her adorable eyes and yawning heartily. In return, Jaskier also yawned.
“Hm.” The Witcher said. Although he didn’t seem overly fascinated by him and behaved entirely different than the other Witchers had, Jaskier was well aware that he was being scrutinised closely.
Geralt’s golden eyes were calculating and there was a small frown between his brows. As if he was trying to figure him out. And why his brothers were so fond of him.
The bard didn’t take it personally. Not everybody could see and appreciate greatness when they encountered it. Some needed a little more time.
“Well, dear Geralt,” he cleared his throat, ignoring the man’s glower at the ‘dear’ part “now that fate has finally guided us to one another, I think we should….” His voice trailed off at Geralt’s thunderous expression.
Had he said something wrong?
“There is no such thing as fate.” The Witcher growled, venom lacing every word in a way that made Jaskier shiver with something akin to fear.
“Of course not.” The bard tried to hide his uncertainty behind a light titter. “It was just an… expression. Not meant in a literal sense, of course.”
Geralt’s eyes were still narrowed and his face pulled into a disapproving glower, but at least he didn’t look like he wanted to boot Jaskier out of the forest anymore. Not that Jaskier had ever been booted out of anything. Voluntarily left at the insistence of others, perhaps. But not booted out.
“What I meant to say was, that we have now coincidentally stumbled upon one another and perhaps we could use this opportunity to get to know one another. You see, I’ve heard quite the tales about you and from your reaction earlier I know that you seem to know who I am. Would you care to indulge each other’s curiosity?” He asked, while drumming his fingers on his knee.
“There’s no curiosity.” Grunted Geralt in return, chewing viciously on a piece of dried jerky.
“Surely you must-“ He began, but was interrupted.
“No.
The fae frowned. Uncertainty reared its ugly head and settled heavy in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t easily deterred and could usually wear people down into adoring him, but somehow he had a slight inkling that Geralt wasn’t particularly eager to even be in his vicinity.
And while he wasn’t behaving as callous as Lambert had in the beginning, Jaskier had to keep in mind that the youngest wolf had sought him out voluntarily. As had all the others, with the exception of Guxart.
“Oh.” Jaskier said softly. “Well, I’m sorry I misunderstood.”
All he got was a quiet hum in return. Then silence fell over their makeshift camp, only broken by the horse’s huffing breaths, the cracking of the burning logs and the occasional hoot of an owl. It was heavy and Jaskier longed to escape it, but when he had tried to get up an leave, Geralt had offhandedly mentioned that barghest usually travelled in large packs and that it was supposing that they had only been accosted by such a small number. Who knew what would be lurking in the trees….
It had made Jaskier drop back down on his bottom, protectively curling around Lady Flora.
And so he stayed. Quietly watching Geralt, who in return pretended that he didn’t notice Jaskier’s blatant staring. The Witcher didn’t offer to share a bedroll or even hold out his cloak and he didn’t ask for anything either. The ground was soft and the forest tried to accommodate him, providing him with thick a layer of thick moss that was vastly superior than some mattresses he had forced to sleep on.
Geralt himself made no notion to lay down. Instead he remained seated, carefully keeping guard. Whether he was watching out for monsters or wary of Jaskier, the bard couldn’t tell. And he didn’t dare to wonder.
By the time he fell asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the whispers and stories of the woods, he could still feel Geralt’s eyes on him.
-
The Witcher didn’t sleep. Or if he did, it was merely for an hour or two. And Jaskier had thought Lambert had serious trust issues.
As soon as the first light began to chase away the night sky, Geralt was already up, packing his things and readying his horse. He moved on quiet feet and it was evident that he had tried to avoid rousing Jaskier. The man didn’t even bother breaking his fast, instead preferring to sneak away.
It didn’t work, but Jaskier decided to feign sleep and let the Witcher move onto his merry way.
He knew when his company wasn’t appreciated and although it stung slightly, he wouldn’t bother Geralt further.
It wasn’t the Witcher’s fault that he had fallen halfway in love with him based on the tales alone that Eskel and Vesemir had told him. So he kept his eyes closed, his breathing and heartbeat even, when the other man finally took his horse’s reins to lead her back to the main road.
It was fine. Jaskier had more than enough Witchers, he didn’t need another one.
And he was deeply in love with Eskel anyways.
He didn’t care one bit about Geralt and wouldn’t waste any more time thinking about him.
But then the Witcher hesitated. For a moment, nothing moved, then steps came closer. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s presence as the man stood next to him and waited expectantly. Would the Witcher shake him awake to tell him he was leaving? Maybe ask him to come along?
But neither of those things happened.
Instead, a whisper of magic filled the air and the low campfire fire came back to life. Then something soft that vaguely smelled like horse and wood was draped over him. A… blanket?
Jaskier dared to peek at the man towering over him, just in time to see Geralt nod to himself in a satisfied manner, before he finally left. His steps disappeared in the forest, along with those of his horse.
The bard waited, before he finally moved.
His fingers closed around the edge of the blanket, pulling up to his nose as he curled into a small ball. The fire next to him was burning just bright enough to provide additional warmth and to keep wolves at bay. Not that there were any in the vicinity. The forest was peaceful and safe with the nearest predators dozens of miles away.
He bit his lip, trying to gain some sort of control over his tender heart.
Just when he had decided to not be fond of Geralt, the gruff man had to show a glimpse of his kind, noble nature, that had been described to him by those who knew him best. He had made sure that Jaskier wouldn’t be cold, that he would be as safe as one could be in a forest.
“Oh that lovely, lovely man.” Jaskier whispered to himself, knowing that he had lost the lone piece of his heart that didn’t belong to Eskel and his other Witchers already, to Geralt.
It was only hours later, when Geralt had been long gone and he stretched languidly to chase away the lingering sleepiness, that it occurred to Jaskier that he had never gotten that apology from the Witcher.
A few miles away, Geralt of Rivia angrily dunked his head in a cool stream of water, hoping it would clear his head. But he could still feel the tips of his ears burning bright red and the image of the bard’s full lips and sinfully long fingers refused to leave his mind. Not to mention those eyes… or that soft looking skin.
No.
He splashed cold water against his neck, clenching his jaw tightly.
No.
He couldn’t allow himself to think like that. The bard was Eskel’s and no matter how tempting and beautiful he was, Geralt wouldn’t even attempt to take that away from his brother.
Even if he would forever wonder how Jaskier’s hands in his hair would feel, softly combing through the white strands while Geralt’s head was bedded in his lap, the air filled with the high chirp of his melodic voice.