#SO HE JUST NEEDS TO KEEP ESKEL STOCKED IN GOATS ALRIGHT

[jaskiersvalley]

I must say that i fucking love your writing ❤❤❤❤my heart melts by how much Jaskier cares and loves his wolves. Just, god, so wonderful! Thank you so much!

There is something so good about Jaskier looking after all his wolves, isn’t there? And I’ve been thinking about Kaer Morhen and how it’s a place where witchers go to rest over winter. What would happen if we turned that on its head? This goes against everything canon but...have I ever been known to stick to canon here?

Each winter, Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen while Jaskier went his own way. It was an arrangement that suited them both, even if Geralt left it until the very last moment before leaving. Really, Jaskier just put it down to his sparkling, magnetic personality that Geralt was finding difficult to give up. At least, that was what he thought until he suggested that they spend a winter together. There was nowhere Jaskier really had to be and he was curious to see the crumbling remains of Kaer Morhen. Geralt was so sparse with details of the place, if Jaskier wanted to write epics about it, he would need to see it for himself.

After some hesitation where Geralt actually looked cagey, Jaskier turned big, pleading eyes at him and got a nod of agreement. Excitement had Jaskier’s heart soaring. He was finally going to see the nesting ground of witchers, see them at their most relaxed and in company of family. They stocked up a cart with salted meats and dried fruits along with any other things Geralt deemed necessary.

The trek up to Kaer Morhen was long, exhausting and Jaskier hated every moment of it. He couldn’t fathom why it had to be so winding, narrow and dangerous. One false move and it would be a slow yet certain death. Arriving at the keep, there was no warm greeting, no reunion of family. The food wasn’t taken to a communal kitchen or pantry. Instead, Jaskier and Geralt hauled everything up to a sparse bedroom and piled into a corner.

Other witchers arrived too, silent and slinking in the shadows. Geralt nodded at them but didn’t speak much. The most interaction they had with each other was on the training grounds. It looked gruelling. Jaskier winced at the blows they delivered to each other, breaking skin, pummelling each other, only to have Vesemir tell them where they were weak and useless. Suddenly, Jaskier understood why Lambert rebelled against being a witcher, why he hated it so much. All through the years, Jaskier had believed that winter was when Geralt could relax, spend time with family and not be wary. But instead, he was pushed harder, made to train, fight against his brothers with desperate brutality. Food was scarce, what they managed to bring with them had to be what lasted for the winter.

Things came to a head when Jaskier found Eskel in the stables, whispering apologies to a goat for not having enough food for them all. He looked miserable, clutching the goat to his chest, knife set to the side and ready, It was heartbreaking, awful and Jaskier had had enough. He’d snapped then and dragged Eskel up to Geralt’s room and gave him some of his own food.

“What are you doing?” Vesemir had looked disapproving when he found out.

“Your job.” Jaskier was livid, fury made him fearless. “You call this home? This isn’t family. This is a survival camp of the worst kind. You’re turning them on each other.”

He didn’t know what response he’d expected, Vesemir was a witcher and older than Jaskier could hope to live in the span of three lifetimes. Yet when the old witcher snarled, he didn’t back down.

“What would you have them do? Go soft over winter? Have them spoilt rotten so they don’t want to leave in the new season? Or if they do, they’ll be slow and reliant on others? No, they need to remember that the Path is a better place for them. This is how they get back out there each year.”

It was the most ridiculous logic Jaskier had ever heard. To make a winter so bad, witchers want to stay on the Path was disgusting. He sneered and glared at Vesemir.

“These aren’t the 900s, we live in modern times now. And I will not stand for your tyranny and bullying.”

Their altercation had been watched quietly by Eskel but also drew in Geralt and Lambert who were hovering behind Vesemir. Jaskier stared him down. “I’ll prove it. You just watch.”

With some help, he got Geralt and his stash of food down into the kitchen. Eskel brought his meagre pile down too, muttering shamefully about not having enough coin for more. However, Lambert lingered, hesitant.

“What do you want to trade?”

“No trade.” Jaskier shook his head. “We’re in this together. Everyone brings what they can, you’re brothers, not enemy.”

That evening, Lambert still hadn’t brought his stash down but Jaskier still served him a bowl of watery stew he had managed to put together from what was in the pantry. There was even a bowl left by Vesemir’s door. The next morning, Lambert’s stash had been added to the pantry.

Training was another battleground between Vesemir and Jaskier. They stood either side of the court, announcing they were both offering training. Strangely, Lambert was the first to head for Jaskier and it was just the two of them that morning, loyalty and fear making Eskel and Geralt stick with Vesemir.

Three days later, Geralt, head down, shuffled to Jaskier’s end of the training grounds and he sat down next to Lambert. As far as he could see, there had been no physical training or anything strenuous Lambert had been forced to do. It might change but he wanted a moment of peace, even if it was half a morning. Instead, he got offered a warm fur to settle in and Jaskier tried to draw him and Lambert into idle conversation.

After lunch, like a beaten dog, Eskel slunk closer. In the distance, Vesemir stood rigid, glaring. Jaskier looked up and set his book of poetry aside.

“Vesemir!” He shouted as the lone witcher turned to leave. Breaking into a run, Jaskier rounded on him and, without any preamble, pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay. You did what you thought you had to. Let me help though.”

It was one of the most miserable winters Jaskier had ever had. Despite careful rationing and pooling of resources, it was still a tough time. By the end of it, he could see the witchers were eager to leave, to get out of Kaer Morhen. Even with his care and gentle approach, the keep held too many bad memories, too many bad habits.

“Next winter, don’t come here. Come to Lettenhove. All of you.” It was a generous offer but the witchers obviously didn’t know just what he was offering. One by one, they agreed except for Vesemir. “You too, Ves,” Jaskier clarified. “Come and let me show you a winter you’re worthy of.”

The year passed, the witchers let loose from Kaer Morhen and dispersing without so much as a look over their shoulders. Spring melded into summer which bled into autumn. As winter approached, Jaskier made arrangements, had rooms prepared for potential visitors and returned home with Geralt in tow.

First at the door was Lambert, looking gaunt and exhausted. The year had obviously not been kind to him, his coin pouch looked light and that was without any supplies he needed to buy for the winter. He was shown to a room and Jaskier found him staring at the soft bed, not daring to touch it.

“You sure that’s for me?”

Jaskier simply helped take his armour off and pushed him into the bed, tucking him in. He would have laughed at the way Lambert looked so bewildered by the gentleness if his heart hadn’t been too busy breaking over the same thing.

Next, Eskel arrived, goat in tow. He was given a room of his own and Jaskier smiled when he was presented with a book of poetry as thanks for his hospitality. It was one he’d mentioned back at Kear Morhen as having never been able to get hold of. Chances were, it had cost Eskel a pretty penny.

When Vesemir knocked on the door, he looked deeply uncomfortable, as if expecting the whole thing to be a trap or to be turned away. He had a cart piled up with food for the season already. Jaskier showed him to his room without batting an eyelash.

Winter was so much better. The witchers still trained but there wasn’t the edge of desperation to their fights. Sometimes it was downright playful, Lambert clinging to Eskel and refusing to be thrown while Geralt pelted them with snowballs. There were other changes too. Slowly, the witchers softened. That wasn’t to say they lost their muscles, they still trained, kept sharp but there was a layer that Jaskier fondly referred to as ‘puppy fat’ on them. They weren’t locked away in a crumbling, cold keep and struggling to survive for another year. Instead, they were thriving.

While Eskel never strayed beyond the boundaries of the home, Lambert was out frequently. The one time he came home dejected because someone made a snide comment about how a witcher should be left out in the cold wilderness to freeze, Jaskier had gone out, a cheap lute in hand. He came back without said lute but the next day there were rumours Lambert heard of how the Viscount hand smashed a lute over someone’s head. After that, nobody dared question the appearance of witchers in the town. It was a well known fact that they were guests of Jaskier and were to be treated as such.

Vesemir’s last walls came crumbling down when, over dinner, rather than snapping and snarling at each other, the other witchers chattered away happily and Lambert laughed. It wasn’t the bitter, hollow bark of before. Instead, he leaned into Eskel with easy familiarity and giggled. Finally, Vesemir understood and he had no idea what to do with the regret and shame that witchers allegedly never felt. And yet, despite everything, a solid warmth settled on his left. Jaskier looked up at him with a smile. Someone settled on his other side and Eskel offered a soft shoulder nudge. It was Geralt who boxed him in from behind, hands on Vesemir’s shoulders and squeezing.

“You’re alright, old man,” Lambert said. “You did your best and what you thought was right.”

Come spring, the witchers were all raring to go, healthy, healed and ready to return to the path. They knew they had their roles and destiny to fulfil, wouldn’t even consider shirking their duties. However, now they had more of a reason to survive rather than sheer spite and not knowing how to die. Instead, they knew that, come winter, they would have a family once again.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #tldr: winter is not a nice time to be a witcher