#angry eskel

[mytestamentofyouth]

How about at the end of Season 3 Geralt dies and then they resurrect Eskel, the real Eskel, as the new main character and do their job with justice to the books ??!!

#the witcher #henry cavill #basil eidenbenz #geralt of rivia #netflix eskel #book eskel #angry #do something

[dapandapod]

LOVE CONFESSION PROMPTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💖 Pls combine "Saying I love you as a confession" with "Saying Ily angrily". Jaskel OBVIOUSLY. 😬 GO GO GO 🔥🔥🔥💪 thank you!!! ily!! 😘😘😘😘😘😘😘

On Ao3    I love you-prompts     I love you-collection (Thank you @flawney for beta reading!)

The thing is, Eskel is good at reading people. 

It is not as much 'sniffing out lies' as some humans call it— more that it's his job to see, to notice when there is more going on, when someone is believing what they say to be truthful, or if they are outright lying.

Most humans lie to Eskel. Not about everything, and not all of them. Just most.

He knows it's superstition about his employment first and his visage second. Maybe the other way around. 

Maybe both at once. What he knows is this: humans don't like what they see when they look at him. Yellow eyes and big scars all over his cheek. Notches in his lip, big build, yeah he knows. 

Humans seem either to try to hide how fucking scared they are, or how much they distaste the general look of him. They're bad at both. Some show respect despite that, some are even kind and understanding. Very few are entirely truthful.

Up to this point, it had been a relief to be around the bard simply because Jaskier speaks his mind. 

There are very few things that he actually keeps to himself, even when he probably should. The filter between mouth and brain that most beings on the continent were in possession of seemed to be severely lacking in Jaskier. 

It could be annoying, embarrassing, or sometimes downright mean, but mostly, if he were to be completely honest, freeing. 

Eskel never has to think about what Jaskier might mean, because within the next breath he will explain himself, asked or not. Or expand on the subject. Or just. Rant.

He does that. A lot.

Which is why it is so strange to see Jaskier like this. Cold. Quiet. Eskel can see the signs again, the holding back. The stolen looks and thinly pressed lips. It is... hurtful.

It's just small things. A word held back here, a face turned away there. A touch that never really connected, a song he won't play when Eskel is around.

It's been going on for a little while, but more frequently as of late, as they have taken to traveling together for longer than they've ever done previously.. It doesn't feel good. 

He should be used to it by now, but he isn't. Not when it's Jaskier.

The tension is so strong, Eskel's ready to snap like an overtaut bow string. (He suspects if he loses it, he'll end up hurting himself here too.)It built enough for Eskel to snap. 

It comes to a head while Eskel is in the middle of changing into dry clothes after a cold, refreshing,attempt at meditative washing a nearby creek, Jaskier, for once, choosing to stay behind and fiddle with... something.

Hurt and worry lance through him, tainting his words cruelly, sharpening them before they leave his mouth. And Jaskier, ever filter-less Jaskier, gives as good as he gets.

"Why are you lying to me?" Eskel hurls out.

"I'm not!? Not once have I lied to you!" Jaskier throws back,spreading his arms wide as if telling their audience of trees to look at this fool of a witcher.

"Holding things back is lying too!" 

"You are not privy to my every thought, Eskel!"

"Oh yeah? You talk all the time, there is no shutting you up!" He regrets it as soon as he says it, afraid the dark look of anger and hurt on the bard's face meant he'd crossed a line.

"So what is the problem, then? How can I hold things back if I can't stop talking?... Which also seems to be a problem, I guess." Jaskier asks angrily.

"I can tell there is something you are keeping from me." He insists instead, deciding not to open that can of worms.

"Do you tell me everything?" 

"Don't deflect the question."

"Don't ask stupid questions!"

Eskel takes an involuntary step forward and bares his teeth, like a damn animal. Jaskier matches him, leaning forward and meeting him head on. 

Just  one more thing about the bard that is so very refreshing, just one more thing that he is so damn scared of losing.

The thought makes him stop for a second and blink.

"I have to, when you don't talk to me." He says, but his words have lost their heat.

"There are things I can't tell you, alright!" Jaskier seems more frustrated than angry, dragging a hand through the fringe above his eyes.

No, it's not alright.

"Why? Are you in danger?" Protective instincts are hard to push down, especially now. 

"No! It's nothing." Jaskier says, taking a step back. It is all about reading people.

"Obviously it is something."

"It doesn't matter."

"Why?"

"Fucking-  It would change things, and you don't want that." His eyes are earnest, begging for trust, but Eskel has such a bad history with being trusting.

"How would you know?"

"Because I know you. It's my problem to deal with."

"You said you aren't in danger." Eskel glares and crosses his arms.

"For the love of- Fucking FINE. I'll tell you. If this blows up in my face, this is on you. I fucking told you-"

"Jaskier-"

"No. I fucking love you, alright? That's my secret. I love you, and you don't love me. It's fine. I was going to keep it to myself, but here we are.

 The world stops. The sun freezes in the sky. The clouds don't move, and not a single leaf dares rustle in the wind.

What?

 "And look, now you are panicking, and you will leave, and I will lose you. I should just have kept my mouth shut." Jaskier sneers, turning away and kicking at one of the logs next to their little campfire.

It is not that Eskel is panicking, it is more like. Alright, maybe he is panicking a little.

Of all the things Eskel expected him to hide, it was not love. Jaskier wouldn't hide love. 

"You're lying." He says faintly, still trying to get a grasp on the situation.

It makes the bard turn to look at him, the anger shifted into something else. Something sad and lonely and fragile.

"I'm not. Why would I lie about such a thing?"

"You can't hide your love." Eskel says quietly, and Jaskier steps back in front of him. 

"I haven't been. Just didn't say the words."

It has Eskel thinking back. To all the little moments during their time together, and the big things. In this light, maybe Eskel didn't read too much into it. 

The way they are looking at each other across the fire, how their eyes linger. The little gifts, silly trinkets or useful tools. Casual touches that has Eskel wishing for more.

"You're not…lying?" He sounds astounded to his own ears.

Jaskier's eyes soften at the admission of his own confession. 

"I'm not. And now things will change, and I understand. I can be... a lot. I know that. Which is why I have been holding back. Your friendship means the world to me, and if it meant that I had to suppress this, I will."

No. 

No Eskel doesn't want him to shove this down into whatever black hole Eskel made him dig for it. Carefully he reaches out, catching Jaskier's hand in his own.

They stand silently across from each other while Eskel holds his hand. Jaskier's fingers are slender compared to his own. Long and strong, and so gentle in his grip.

"This doesn't matter? This is nothing?" Eskel echoes back the words as he slides their palms together. 

"If it means I get to keep my friend, it doesn't." Jaskier says quietly, letting his thumb trace back and forth over Eskel's thumb.

"This doesn't feel like nothing."

"No?" Jaskier asks, looking up with naked hope drawn on his face.

"No. This feels important."

"Even if it changes things?"

"Because it changes things."

Their fingers lace together and they take another step forwards, the toes of their shoes inches apart.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." Eskel murmurs, bringing up his other hand to the side of Jaskier's neck, pulse is jack rabbeting under the skin.

"I'm sorry too."

"I was... scared. People lie to me, hide things from me, but you never did."

Jaskier stands quietly and listens, pushing into Eskel's hand when it travels up to cup his cheek.0

"I couldn't stand it. If the one truly important person outside my family lied too."

Jaskier's free hand is resting on Eskel's bare chest, hot like a brand. 

"I love you too." the Witcher murmurs, and Jaskier closes his eyes, brow scrunching up like he is in pain.

"I'm sorry." Jaskier whispers, and Eskel caresses the lines in the corner of his eye with the pad of his thumb.

"Don't be."

"Do you want to... change things? With me?" Jaskier whispers, and Eskel wraps his arms around him in a big hug, pressing him close.

"I want everything you can give me."

#the witcher #jaskel #jaskier x eskel #love you-prompt #angry love confession #getting together #fighting #firefly-party #dapanda writes

[vlka-fenryka]

I am (ir)rationally angry about what they did to Eskel in The Witcher’s second season. I wish I could have enjoyed this season more but I am so pissed off. WHY DID THEY DO THIS?

#officer fancypants' personal records #yes I just now finally watched the second season #I know I am late #;) #Eskel is one of my favourite witchers #I am so angry how they could do what they did #fuck this shit

[bestiarum]

no but the concept of eskel is actually god tier galaxy brain. like the first time we hear of him it's when geralt remembers how they were both young stupid boys and got a beating from vesemir when he caught them teasing a captured bumblebee. and when we actually meet him, it's from ciri's point of view and she's SO terrified of kaer morhen cause it's this dark unfamiliar place and she's just a little girl who's already been through too much, and then there's this guy whom she doesn't know and who sounds angry and evil and wrong (the polish word for that was "zły" which can mean all those things and more) and whose face is so fucked up that at first she thinks that he's not human. and then BOOM he smiles at her and cracks an unfunny joke and welcomes her to kaer morhen, welcomes her HOME and turns out to be the kindest gentlest most well adjusted Just Some Guy in the keep. iconic

#can you tell im very emotional about him #eskel #the witcher #wiedzmin #wiedźmin #kashmircastiel.post #kashmircastiel.txt

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

witchers x maleficent!/fae!reader

summary: how witcher characters would react to someone having maleficent type horns/wings and magic

notes: got this out just in time for the new season phew

warnings: gn!reader, lambert the middle schooler, jaskier's composing

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @lu-in-the-library @sunndust (msg me to be added!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN!

Geralt

He’s mostly just praying that fate isn’t throwing another curveball at him

Sureeee he’ll spend time with you!! (his fingers are crossed and he’s praying let them be normal let them be normal

Will end up totally accepting you, but he doesn’t love the attention that comes from being a witcher in the company of a fae

He secretly adores your wings

Jaskier

Immediately in song-writing mood

Will make up things about your life to fabricate contents for his ballads

Won’t treat you very different from his other ~weird~ friends

Loves loves loves the attention that comes with it (read: basks in it like the sun)

Yennefer

Yen is fascinated

The academic in her wants to tell her colleagues

And the girl who was all alone and abandoned in her absolutely adores you

You’d do good to make sure that she’s on your side, or she might sell you out

Definitely wants a piece of your magic either way

Ciri

Poor ciri

Eugh she just wants some friends

That don’t die…

She loves your horns and wings

Definitely adores you for also being *different* and having your own magic thing going on

Eskel

He adores your wings

If there is a wing care routing, please let this man do it

Otherwise, he might invent a conditioner-potion for your wings

Don’t scare him in the beginning though, or you may get stabbed

Lambert

Has the reaction of a seventh-grader

Might literally go woahhhhhh

Big hater, but not against you

Will protect you, but will also ask you if you can carry stuff with your horns constantly

Yeah becoming a christmas tree-esque creature may be a con

Coen

Coen honestly just enjoys a helping hand

Your magic will in fact be contributing to his work

Tbf he also makes sure you don’t get killed by angry farmers

The whole thing starts off as a symbiotic relationship but will turn into a friendship (if not more hehe)

Vesemir

Bro does not trust you

Thots and prayers girldude

Oh you have horns and wings? LIKE A MONSTER??

Unless one of his witchers (read:children) introduces you to him, he may attempt murder

#the witcher #the witcher series #geralt x reader #eskel x reader #geralt #eskel #vesemir #lambert #lambert x reader #ciri #cirilla of cintra #yennefer x reader #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt x you #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #the witcher imagine #the witcher fic #the witcher netflix

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Bi dudes Eskel and Lambert dating each other as their first all male relationship and grappling with internalised toxic masculinity as they both fall into the same expectations placed on them when dating cishet women, and getting Hella Flustered when the other does The Stuff They're Meant To Be Doing, like take out the rubbish, fix shit, pay for the whole meal. The tender stuff they do for each other is something they've never experienced.

Eskel breaks down into choked sobs when he gets home from work and Lambert has a hot bath and a cold beer waiting for him, and Lambert isn't sure how to deal with being the cuddlee not the cuddler, he tenses up like an angry weasel at first. And what do you mean those chocolate truffles are for him?! Disgusting. Outrageous. He doesn't want to throw out the empty box because no one has ever--

Both booking a super secret date night for valentine's day and going all out because they're so used to the weight of expectations, and then realising all they want to do is eat Nandos and watch Rugby, so they blow the whole thing off and do just that.

#heteronormative culture is so #urgh #having feelings about how men are expected to not need tenderness #or romance #and they go through relationships with expectations that are never interrogated

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"Whatcha doing, bard?"

Jaskier startled slightly when Aiden plopped down beside him next to the fire, eyes bright with the beginnings of drunkenness as he offered the wine he was holding. Jaskier took a swig straight from the bottle, choking a little in surprise. After the roughness of the various homebrews and the wines that had been aging in the cellar for possible decades it was sweeter than he expected. Definitely Southern.

"Just thinking. You?"

The Cat let out a dramatic sigh, leaning against Jaskier, "Lambert's ignoring me and it's making me sad."

"Oh, come on. I'm sure he's not."

"Oh?" Aiden cocked an eyebrow before taking a deep inhale, "Hey, Lambert!" He called over to where Lambert was deep in conversation with his brothers (and had been all night). "I'm not wearing any underthings and I fingered myself stupid while thinking of you earlier!"

"Yeah, that's fine Kitten." Lambert answered with a dismissive wave of his hand without even looking over as if Aiden had just told him that he was going to go grab more booze.

Aiden smirked at Jaskier as if to say 'see?', "And from the look on your face you know exactly what I'm talking about, no?"

Now it was Jaskier's turn to fill his lungs, "Oh Geralt!" He singsonged, "I just spilled sweet dessert wine all over my naked body. Want to help me get cleaned up? I'm so sticky and messy!"

Geralt gave one of his classic, non-committal grunts in response.

"Oh, sweet Gods." Jaskier took another angry mouthful before thrusting the bottle into Aiden's chest, ignoring the Witchers chuckle, "I understand he wants to spend time with his brothers but we haven't had any alone time for two weeks! He's either involved in some group activity or we're both too tired after training or chores."

"Hmm."'Aiden hummed in agreement, taking a deep swallow of the wine, "As much as I like Geralt and Eskel and how close they all are, there's certain activities I don't want them involved in." His expression turned devilish, "Want to do something about it?"

"...I'm listening."

Aiden crooked his finger in a beckoning gesture, prompting Jaskier to lean in closer so he could whisper in his ear as if the other Witchers in the room were actually paying attention to them.

"Fucking Hell!"

When he'd decided to call it a night and join Aiden in bed, the last thing Lambert had been expecting was to stumble on his Cat and Geralt's bard locked in a heated kiss at the top of the stairs, Jaskier's hands leisurely roaming over Aiden's back, whimpering when the Witcher moved his attentions from the bard's mouth to his throat. It was only when Geralt's telltale growl reached his ears he lifted his head, languidly turning to look at the two unsuspecting voyuers. Both Wolves looked an entertaining combination of aroused and annoyed. Mostly aroused.

Aiden purred internally. Perfect.

"Well, this is what happens when you forget about us." He said with an exaggerated pout, which Jaskier matched as he wrapped his arms around Aiden's neck, attempting to give Geralt his most pathetic look.

"I've never felt so neglected in my life." He whined, something Geralt knew definitely wasn't true but he decided to play along once he realised neither Jaskier or Aiden smelt even vaguely of arousal, despite their previous position.

"Oh, don't worry Lark." He growled as he stalked forwards, Aiden having the forethought to hurriedly disentangle himself, "I'm about to make sure you're very well taken care of."

Jaskier gave a yelp of surprise which turned into a laugh as Geralt threw him over his shoulder before stalking away towards his room. Jaskier grinned widely as he threw a salute to Aiden before they disappeared around the corner.

Before he realised what was happening, he found himself in Jaskier's previous position. Boxed in against the stone wall with Lambert's chest pressed against his, "That was your idea, wasn't it?"

It wasn't really a question and it was pointless to try and lie, "Yes." Aiden said, meeting Lambert's gaze, gasping in surprise when the Wolf ducked his head and started nuzzling at his neck.

"And you honestly feel the same?"

"...Yes."

Lambert let out a rumble, the meaning of which Aiden couldn't quite discern as he nipped at Aiden's pulse.

"So." Aiden prompted, squirming a little, "You going to make it up to me, or punish me?"

"Depends. How serious were you being about the no underthings?"

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #jaskier/geralt #witcher jaskier #jaskier #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt

[solcorvidae]

I've been thinking about how Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt all deal with the trials and how it shapes them into the people they would grow to become.

Lambert remembers his past. He is angry, upset, bitter, and vindictive. He's got this fire in him that is only stoked by the pain and suffering forced upon him. He remembers the boys who did not make it: the hell they all had to go through, and he has a complicated relationship with Vesemir that surrounds it. Lambert does questionable things that Geralt is bothered by in his grief and anger. Geralt calls him out for killing in cold blood, needlessly and mercilessly.

Lambert avoids Vesemir at Kaer Morhen and mocks him when he is not around. He may come off as childish and like an asshole, but Lambert knows what he feels. Lambert doesn't lash out because he can't control his emotions or because he doesn't understand the path of least resistance. He knows. He chooses to avoid conflict with Vesemir at Kaer Morhen by keeping out of his way. He knows he can't control his emotions effectively if he is face-to-face with him for too long. He knows, and he isn't stupid.

Lambert talks to Geralt about the trials and the injustice of it all. He probably looks up to Geralt, hoping his brother feels just as angry about it as he does. He went through the Trial of the Grasses twice for Christ's sake! Why is he not more angry? Why is he so apathetic?

And Geralt brushes him off time and time again. Such is life, is his attitude. We all went through it, he says. Geralt can't be upset because there is nothing he can feasibly do about it. He didn't choose to be a Witcher. He wouldn't have chosen this life. He would have some other job somewhere else, just like he told Regis. He can't change the past. He can't go back and fix something he never had control over in the first place. Besides, they can’t inflict the trials upon a new generation of kids, not anymore. It’s in the past now, so why dwell on it? What’s done is done and thank god no other kids have to suffer the way they did. It’s over. It’s time to move on.

Geralt doesn't enjoy fame. He tells Eskel this in To Bait a Forktail. Geralt is the famous twice-grassed White Wolf. He is The Witcher. The famed Geralt of Rivia. He has expectations piled upon him the size of mountains. He's got to be the perfect Witcher, he's got to be a loyal brother, a lover, and a best friend… Geralt had expectations put upon him that set him aside from the rest since he was a kid. He hates it. Underneath the banter and the wit, Geralt accepts that this is his life, but that doesn't mean he likes it. He tolerates it because it is his reality and nothing more. If he thinks about it for too long… maybe it will consume him.

"You remember her?" he asks Eskel about his mother.

Unlike Lambert, Geralt hardly knows what it means to live another life. He doesn't have that following him like it does with his brother. What little he remembers is not enough to erase the apathy drilled into him at such a young age. Maybe he has a more strict moral code than say, Lambert, (or if you want to bring in the other Witcher schools, most of the Cats and the caravan) but that doesn't make him the most ethical person on the Continent. How could you be? After all that he has endured, the things he was taught? Where do you draw the line? He kills monsters, but like in Velen, it's hard to see where the line's drawn in the sand.

Humans are monstrous too.

Eskel, however? Maybe he's jealous. He did everything right, why shouldn’t he be? He is superiorly skilled in magic, one hell of a good Witcher. He has a reputation for it. Maybe he's not as kind as your average person, but he gets the job done. He's got a more relaxed demeanour than his brothers which reveals itself in his reputation. He's reliable. He is damn good at what he does. So why does Geralt get all the attention? The fame? He clearly doesn't want it.

While Lambert got turned into a vindictive prick and Geralt became a quick-witted nihilist, Eskel? He's exactly who he should be. Why shouldn't he be praised for it like his brother? Why should he be forced to bend over backwards to accommodate people and keep up with his reputation? For what? His skills? Ha! He lives in the shadows of Geralt who's notably a good Witcher, but he's not quite as good as Eskel.

Eskel was beaten shaped into the man he is today because of the trials, his training, and everything else. Should he not get credited for that too? Why does someone who doesn't even want his fame get all the recognition? Genetic predisposition? Shouldn't his hard work be given more consideration and praise? Thank god Geralt survived the hell of being subjected to two rounds of mutagens rather than one, but why should that overshadow the efforts, the time, and the sacrifices that everyone else around him has made? Eskel is exactly the man that they intended him to be by the end of it all. He is an efficient hunter, he is outstanding with signs, and he works diligently for his reputation. He did everything right. He does everything right. Why is that not enough?

TL;DR: Lambert, Geralt and Eskel handle their traumas in different ways. Lambert gets vengeful, Geralt gets apathetic, and Eskel gets borderline jealous. (And it breaks my heart)

#this probably doesn't make as much sense as it does in my head but I tried to write it in the most coherent way that I could #this has been gnawing at me since last night I needed to get it out of my head because its eating me alive #the witcher #the witcher 3 #geralt of rivia #eskel #lambert #eskel witcher #lambert witcher #eskel tw3 #lambert tw3 #meta post #witcher meta #sol rambles #sol scribbles

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 3

The Wolf and the Flame

Summary: Geralt had just found Ciri and was headed to Kaer Morhen when something drew him into the woods. He found a woman near death and things changed for them all. (I suck at summaries just read please!) Yennefer is bad in the start of this but she and Geralt work on their friendship. Eskel is a dick at first but there is a reason and it works out. Will have a happy ending. Ciri is younger here than in the netflix show. She is about 12.

Warnings: abuse history, injuries, hurt comfort, no one under 18 to be safe, will add when I need to 

Words: 1717

They had been traveling for nearly a week. Naurel was getting stronger but Geralt was still worried. He knew something was not as it should be with her but he couldn't seem to get her to open up about the things that had happened. They came to the last city between them and the final part of the journey to Kaer Morhen. He knew they had to stop and restock supplies. Also, the humans needed a soft bed and warmth for a bit. They left the horses at the stable and walked over to the Inn. Naurel was leaning against him, holding his arm to help support herself or for his warmth, he wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that he didn’t mind it. In fact, he felt at peace when they were touching. 

Ciri heard someone singing inside the bar at the inn and bound up the steps. “It’s Jaskier,” she said excitedly. 

“Ciri,” Gerault sighed as she ran inside ahead of him. “Damn it that girl never listens.” He and  Naurel moved faster to catch up with her. Once inside Geralt grabbed Ciri’s arm and leaned close, whispering something to her that made her shiver and look repentant before he led her and Naurel to a table to sit. “Stay here where I can see you both while I get us a couple of rooms.” 

Naurel waited until he walked away to put her hand on Ciri’s arm that was resting on the table. “You are going to get hurt or end up making him so angry that he’s going to punish you.”

Ciri rolled her eyes. “Please, he’s not my father. I have no family which makes me an adult. I’m in charge of me.”

“You are far from an adult little miss and you are showing that childishness more and more by the day,” Naurel warned. “He cares about you. He worries about you. Stop making it harder for him.” She knew that Geralt was struggling to figure out how to deal with a child. He knew how to deal with a misbehaved witcher but not a young human girl so he just took what she dished out. The yelling, arguing, not listening, stubbornness that she likely got away with as a spoiled little princess and Naurel was losing patients with her. Ciri was a loving girl but she was being a huge brat. She looked up at Geralt as he sat heavily in a chair beside her, noting that he put himself where his back would be up against the wall. “Everything alright?”

He nodded. “Got two rooms with an adjoining door,” he eyed Ciri, “and a large tub.” He grinned when Naurel sighed happily. 

“Mmm, a bath sounds heavenly. Maybe if I boil myself I will actually heat my blood and stop having to steal your warmth,” she smiled at him. 

He reflexively pulled her close. “I don’t mind sharing warmth.”

Ciri made a slight gagging sound drawing their attention. “You two need to get a room.”

“We have a room. Two in fact,” Geralt smirked at her. He loved their teasing banter when she wasn’t driving him mad with worry. Naurel was listening to the two of them and jumped when someone plopped down in a chair near her at the end of the table.

“Geralt you gorgeous beast, who are you lovely friends?”

Geralt shook his head and sighed. “Jaskier,” he nodded in greeting. He let Naurel and Ciri introduce themselves though kept his arm possessively around Naurel. Jaskier was a friend but he was also amorous and for some reason that bothered him where his newest companion was concerned.

“How did two such lovely creatures end up with such a grumpy, silent companion?” Jaskier wondered. 

“He’s not silent nor grumpy,” you smiled at the bard. 

“He’s grumpy and bossy,” Ciri teased. 

The waitress approached and Geralt ordered food for the three of them before joining the conversation. “I’m surprised to find you this far north this close to the snowy season.  I know you hate cold weather.”

“You are right,” Jaskier chuckled. “Oddly enough I’ve been looking for you. You are a very hard witcher to find. You would think with the white hair, yellow eyes, and rippling muscles that you would stand out more.” Naurel chuckled.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled, stopping the bard from babbling. “Why were you looking for me? Is everything alright?” 

“A friend, no, no she’s not a friend she’s a,” he stopped himself before he finished his thought. “Someone we have in common needs to speak with you. She’s rather insistent and very annoying and she keeps following me. I implore you, please speak to her before I throw myself off a cliff.”

Geralt paused as if he was considering the option of speaking to someone or letting him jump, only answering when Jaskier whined indignantly. He had an idea of who the bard was talking about but he wondered why she just didn’t come to him herself. He’d heard that she survived the battle of Sodden from Triss and he was happy to hear his friend was still alive. “Is she here?”

“I’m here,” Yennefer said from behind him. “We need to speak, alone,” she looked at the others pointedly. 

He nodded and stood. “Jaskier, stay with them until I return?”

“Of course,” he smiled as he started asking both of them questions.

Yennefer led Geralt to an out-of-the-way corner near the stairs. She noticed that he positioned himself so that he could still see the table. “I need your help. Something has happened. I’ve searched everywhere, through all the lore about magic and chaos except the books at Kaer Morhen.”

“What are you searching for?”

“A spell,” she lied. “I am searching for a spell to try and help Istredd study the monoliths.” She wasn’t going to expose her weakness to anyone. It was bad enough that the old woman was in her head calling to her, telling her to bring both the woman and the girl to her; she wasn’t about to tell him she had lost her ability to do magic as well.

“Why doesn’t that ring true to me?” Geralt gave her a look.

“Fine, don’t help me,” she hissed and started to walk away.

“Yennefer,” he stopped her. “Portal to Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is willing to work with sorceresses and mages. He will show you the books you are looking for.”

“Why don’t we just travel together?” she asked. “Seems like you seem to be gathering a rather large party on your journey,” she eyed his new friends. “I could help you look after them. They both seem sort of defenseless.”

He could use some help protecting them since Ciri seemed to be so dead set on getting herself hurt. Maybe with Yennefer’s magic, he could actually rest a bit. “You want to travel, on foot, in the cold. You know it will be snowing soon?”

“Please witcher, the weather does not bother me,” she scoffed and walked back to the group at the table. She made sure to place herself next to Naurel where Geralt had been. Jealousy made her blood boil when she noticed how Geralt looked at the woman. The witcher and his new child suprise were supposed to be her family, not this woman's. She was tired of life screwing her over and giving everyone else what was rightfully hers.

Geralt frowned but sat next to Ciri. “Yennefer has decided to join us for the rest of our journey home.” Naurel looked into his eyes in question but didn’t speak, Jaskier however did.

“I’m going to then,” he insisted.

“I thought you wanted to be rid of her?” Geralt asked.

“Rid of me?” Yennefer scoffed. “I saved your life.”

“No, you distracted him so I could run. That’s not saving me, that's being a tease,” Jaskier argued. Ciri laughed at the two of them.

Their food was served and Naurel picked a small piece off of her bread and ate it as she listened to Jaskier tell stories of his time with Geralt. The bard was funny and he had kind eyes. She liked him. She could see how he would get on Geralt’s nerves though with his knack for babbling and Geralt being stoic and quiet.

‘The redhead! Bring the red head’ the deathless mother screamed in her head over and over. It was becoming hard to ignore but she pushed it to the back of her mind and continued on with the conversation. “Awe you left out the story of how the three of us met,” Yennefer interjected. “All bloody and dying because of the Djinn. Geralt, ever the protector, riding in to find me to save you.” She saw the muscles in Geralt’s jaw flex as he clenched his teeth.

“Well, he ended up saving you too,” Jaskier snapped. “More than saving you if I remember correctly.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed.

The bard looked up and quickly realized he’d said too much. “But he came to his senses!”

She closed the door behind her before laying on the bed next to her friend. “He thought she was dead,” she explained softly. She wanted to be sure she knew Geralt had not intentionally tried to hurt her though Ciri never realized that Yennefer and Geralt were mates.

“I know,” her voice choked as she lost her battle with her tears. “It’s my fault,” she repeated to herself more than Ciri. She took the comfort Ciri offered and allowed the young girl to play with her hair before she ran over to the chamber pot and vomited.

Wolf and flame tag list

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[wren-of-the-woods]

Of Magic, Meddling and Mice

When Jaskier leaves his prison cell together with Geralt, Gordon tags along. This changes far more than one would think. (Gordon may not quite be the ordinary mouse everyone expects him to be.) This is is the second part, which is about 5k. You can find the first part on Tumblr here or read the whole thing on AO3!

Eskel had been almost certain that he was going to die. 

He was tired. He was running out of potions. The fight dragged on for what felt like forever. The leshen refused to be killed. Eskel thought he could best it eventually, but he doubted he could do so without sustaining a very serious injury. 

Worse, he was already injured. The leshen had almost caught him several times and he had only barely managed to wrench himself free. He could feel its infection starting to take hold, feel himself becoming a little less controlled and a little more angry. Before long, he knew, his vision would begin to cloud, and unless he could get help or miraculously find another of his potions, he might begin to lose himself.

He was, in short, fucked. 

Once again, the leshen lunged at him. Eskel raised his sword to defend himself, bracing for the impact, when—

His vision blurred. The forest floor felt as though it turned to water. Something grasped him, taking hold not of his body but of something deeper, twisted him around their hands, and pulled. 

The world shifted. Eskel’s vision went white. His ears filled with discordant music, like the tuning of an orchestra. He thought, though he wasn’t sure, that he was screaming.

Everything went dark, the ground beneath him vanished, and Eskel knew no more. 

~

When Eskel came back to himself, he was half convinced that he really had died. 

His head was pounding. His entire body felt foreign and aching. Even his breathing and his heartbeat felt strange. 

He did nothing for a few minutes, trying frantically to get his bearings. As time went by, his senses slowly returned. He could hear the faint sounds of voices and the distant skittering of small feet. He could feel what felt like strange wood beneath him. He was lying on his side. He could smell old food, dirt, a little bit of piss, and the vague scent of fear and unhappiness. 

After a few moments of effort, he managed to open his eyes. The sight that met him was… 

Odd, to say the very least. 

It took him a few moments to make sense of it. As far as he could tell, he was looking across a mostly-empty room to a door. The sight was sideways, which made sense because he was lying on his side. His vision was strangely blurry and dull in color, but that would not be surprising if he had a concussion. What did not make sense was how incredibly large everything was. 

He tried to sit up, wondering if that would help. His limbs did not respond the way he expected. After a few more failed attempts, he managed to roll onto his stomach. 

That was when he realized that something was very, very wrong. 

He did not have to crane his head to see what was going on. In fact, it felt strangely natural to look forward while lying on his front. He had far more peripheral vision than usual, but his perception of depth was poorer and he could not see as far. He could feel the air in front of him in strange detail. 

‘Huh?’ he tried to say. 

“Squeak?” he heard himself say. 

He froze. He blinked. He tried to move his hand, only to feel something suspiciously like a claw scratch against the wood beneath him. 

Well, fuck. 

~

After spending an unknown amount of time experimenting — probably about an hour, judging by the movement of the sun through the window of the room he was beginning to suspect was a prison cell — Eskel deduced that he was, for some inexplicable reason, probably a mouse.

He figured this out from a combination of his size, the shape of his body, the nature of his senses, and from the fact that the other mice in the cell seemed utterly unperturbed by his presence. Also, he was the same size as they were. Seeing one of them for the first time had been a very startling revelation. 

Eskel had no idea where he was. He had no idea why he was here and not in a leshen-infected forest. He had no idea why he was a mouse. Was this a curse? The effect of the leshen venom? An elaborate hallucination? 

He was just beginning to consider an attempt at leaving the room to find out when he heard heavy footsteps and shouting from outside the door. 

He did his best to scurry into a corner. He was much clumsier than the other mice, who vanished within seconds, but he made it to a safe place before anything happened. He watched the door warily.

It opened. Two humans who appeared to be guards shoved a third, who looked rather disheveled, into the room and slammed the door closed again. 

The third human, who seemed to be a man, shouted at the door for a while. Eskel could not quite understand what he was saying — he had begun to suspect, after spending some time listening to the people outside the room, that mice had a rather higher range of hearing than humans did — but he sounded angry and slightly panicked. After a while, he stomped across the room and sat down against the wall near where Eskel was hiding. 

Eskel took the opportunity to study him. He wore a long coat, which would probably have been very fashionable if it weren’t for its strangely muddy yellow-brown color and its general air of dishevelment. His hair was mussed. There were bags under his eyes. There was what appeared to be blood on his face and shirt. He smelled of adrenaline, sweat and a surprising amount of smoke. 

The man groaned and buried his face in his hands. If Eskel was not mistaken, a few of his fingers looked as though they had been recently burnt. 

“Well, fuck,” he said. Eskel had little trouble understanding those words. They were, given the circumstances, unsurprising. 

The man sat there in silence for several long moments. After a time, he raised his head from his hands and leaned back against the wall. He took a deep breath. 

“Well,” he said brightly, clapping his hands together and then wincing at the pressure on his presumably-injured fingers, “There’s no point in throwing a pity party.”

He sat up a little. He stretched. He hummed a few notes, winced at the hoarseness in his voice, then tried again. After warming up for a while, he started to sing little snatches of tune. 

Eskel relaxed a little. His new cellmate certainly did not seem like a threat. His voice was nice, if a little hoarse. His company was not unpleasant. 

The man continued to sing and talk to himself. After a while, the prison guard returned to the room with a plateful of food. It was only when Eskel caught its scent that he realized how hungry he was. He had not eaten since that morning, before the hunt. Even the mediocre prison gruel smelled appetizing. 

Eskel watched as the prisoner ate some of it, then set the remainder aside. He saw another mouse edge slowly towards the plate. He tensed, expecting to see the man shriek and swat the mouse away. The prisoner turned. He caught site of the mouse.

A grin spread across his face, wide and delighted. 

“Hello!” he said brightly, shifting to get a closer look at the mouse. It squeaked and skittered away. 

“Oh,” said the man. He sounded unaccountably sad. “Sorry.”

He leaned back against the wall again, sighing deeply. For a moment, his cheer drained away. He seemed very tired and very alone. 

Eskel was hungry. He was starting to view the prisoner as a sort of companion. Even Eskel, as wary as every witcher had to be, knew that this man was not a threat — he could not bring himself to fear someone who sang in cells and sought companionship in a mouse. He could not bear to let this kind man look so lonely, so lost, and so sad. 

He took a deep breath, crawled out of his hiding place, and set off towards the plate of food. 

Once again, the prisoner’s face lit up. He was more careful, this time, not making any loud noises. He watched attentively as Eskel reached the plate and began to eat. Only after a few long moments, when Eskel was almost done with the food, did he begin to speak. 

Eskel could not make out the specific words, but the prisoner’s tone was friendly and unexpectedly musical. When Eskel had eaten his fill, he sat back and looked up at his companion. The man was looking down at him with an expression that could only be called fond.

When he cautiously reached towards Eskel, Eskel did not flinch. He let himself be picked up and stroked. It was oddly pleasant, and the grin that shone on the prisoner’s face was more than enough of a reward. 

The man continued to talk and sing to Eskel and the other mice. Eskel, to his own surprise, enjoyed it. He was a good singer and his speaking voice was pleasant. It was strangely calming.

After a while, the prisoner paused and looked thoughtfully at the mice.

“I can’t just keep calling you all Mouse. It’s not fair to your scintillating personalities.” He hummed to himself, thinking. 

“You shall be Penelope, and you shall be Ronald,” he said after a moment, pointing to the two other mice in turn. He turned to Eskel and thought for a moment. 

“You shall be Gordon,” he decided. 

Eskel couldn’t help but laugh at that. It came out as a squeak. 

“I choose to believe that means you like it,” said the man. Then he gasped dramatically. “Oh! Where are my manners? I am Julian Alfred Pancratz,Viscount de Lettenhove, but I am better known as Jaskier, the renowned bard. It’s what my friends call me.” He lowered his voice and leaned conspiratorially towards the mice. “I am also known, in some circles, as the Sandpiper, but that should not become widely known.”

Eskel blinked. The name Jaskier sounded familiar, but he could not quite place it. 

“I am here through no fault of my own,” said Jaskier. Eskel gave him a doubtful look. Jaskier puffed up, as indignant as if he had understood what Eskel meant. “I am, I swear! I have done a lot of things that could have led to my being arrested, but for once I am innocent of the particular thing I’m accused of. Anyway, I have more important matters to worry about than your doubt of my perfect truthfulness.”

He started to feel around in his coat’s pockets. After a while, he let out a sound of triumph and pulled a few spoons free from the fabric. 

“Now you’ll have a real performance,” he said to Eskel. 

True enough, he used the spoons to beat out a percussive rhythm between his hand and his knee. He was oddly skilled at it. With the spoons to accompany him, he composed his song about whoresons more happily than ever. 

When Jaskier seemed happy with the song, he began to sing in earnest. It was surprisingly good — the lyrics were simple and crass, but the tune was catchy and the bard sang it with enthusiasm. He was loud and cheerful. He did not let the guards’ protests deter him. He was smiling. Eskel was happy to see it.

He urged the mice to sing along with him. The real mice ignored him, of course, but after a few minutes of hesitation, Eskel decided that he might as well give it a go. He could not be recognized in this form. He had no reason to be embarrassed. It almost sounded fun. 

When he started to squeak along to the tune, Jaskier’s grin was almost bright enough to blind. Eskel found himself complemented repeatedly. Before long, “Gordon” was undoubtedly Jaskier’s favorite of the mice.

Eskel tried not to linger on the thought that he had made a friend now, as a mouse, far more easily than he ever could have dreamed of doing as a witcher. Now was not the time for such gloom. He focused on his new companion. To his own surprise, he found that he was having a good time. Aside from winters with his brothers, he rarely had the chance to enjoy the company of someone who could talk to him without fear. The fact that he was unable to talk back was only a minor hindrance. 

Things were going oddly well, in fact— right up until Geralt of goddamn Rivia waltzed right in through the prison door. 

For a moment, Eskel almost thought he was hallucinating, but Jaskier saw him too. Eskel’s squeak of surprise was lost beneath the sound of Jaskier cursing. The bard stood to meet Geralt. They exchanged a few words. 

Then they hugged.

Eskel had been under the impression that Geralt would never hug a human unless under pain of death. Evidently, he had been wrong. He suddenly remembered where he had heard the name Jaskier before. It seemed that Geralt’s bard was not as imaginary as Lambert liked to believe. 

It really was Geralt. Eskel could smell his familiar scent. There was no way he could hallucinate something like this. Geralt was here.

Melitele, Eskel was so happy to see him. 

This happiness was quickly dampened by the fact that, no matter how hard he tried, Eskel could not get either Geralt or Jaskier’s attention. No matter how loudly he squeaked or how fast he tried to run around on the floor, neither of them payed him any mind. They hugged for a long moment, then exchanged a few more words. Eskel, out of breath from trying to move quickly in his unfamiliar body, barely managed to scramble up Jaskier’s leg before the bard left the cell. 

Bouncing up and down in the pocket of Jaskier’s coat, Eskel spared a few moments for sheer frustration. Then, after a while, he made himself poke his head out of the pocket and keep an eye on where they were going.

He tried to keep his spirits up. Jaskier was free. They were out of the cell and on the move. Geralt was here. 

Everything, Eskel was sure, would work itself out soon. 

~

Nothing worked itself out.

Apparently, Geralt had become embroiled in a frankly ridiculous amount of trouble since the last time Eskel saw him. Going on the little Eskel could hear from his place in Jaskier’s pocket, it sounded as though Geralt had gone to claim his child of surprise, missed her in the burning of Cintra, found her, and then lost her again at the hands of a sorceress who was also his ex-lover. Eskel was almost impressed at the sheer drama of it all. 

More concerning than any of that, though, was the fact that Eskel still couldn’t get Geralt to notice him. 

It was absurd. Geralt’s medallion must be vibrating — Eskel was very definitely not a mouse, after all, and witchers were supposed to be good at noticing that sort of thing — but he seemed not to pay it any mind. Geralt even held Jaskier’s coat while Eskel was in it and didn’t notice anything was off, for Melitele’s sake.

It was fine. Eskel could handle it. He would simply wait until they found that sorceress they were looking for. Or any other magic user. Or anyone with even a little bit more intelligence than his idiot brother. He could do that. 

Things, of course, did not turn out so simply.  

~

Geralt found his sorceress and his child, threatened the sorceress, then disappeared with her on some sort of magical quest of which Eskel did not catch the details. The pace of these changes was, quite frankly, exhausting — only Geralt could get himself in this kind of trouble.  

Jaskier was tasked with taking Geralt’s child back to Kaer Morhen. For a time, Eskel allowed himself to hope that Vesemir at least might notice that something was off. 

Eskel’s priorities underwent a swift shift when he saw Geralt’s child get possessed by some sort of ancient demon. 

Eskel had no idea why he could see her when Jaskier and the dwarves so plainly could not — perhaps it was because he was a witcher, or because he had some affinity for magic, or simply because he was a mouse and the demon saw no reason to hide from him — but it did not matter. He had to warn someone. 

Jaskier was distracted while they rode. Eskel feared that trying to make the bard understand what had happened would alert the demon to the fact that he knew it was there, so he stayed silent for the moment. 

When they finally arrived at Kaer Morhen and no one else noticed either the demon or Eskel’s true nature, Eskel took a moment to internally despair at his family’s spectacular lack of intelligence, then began to plan. The demon could not have good intentions; he would have to hope he would be enough to stop whatever she was trying to do in Kaer Morhen.

It was pure luck that he managed to get there in time. 

He suspected that something was wrong when he watched Ciri leave for her room that night, so he followed her. When he saw her sit up, her movements jerkier than usual, and reach for the knife under her pillow, he waited only long enough to see which direction she was headed before going to get Jaskier. The bard was the only one who would pay him any mind — Eskel only hoped he would understand. 

After a few moments of frantic gesturing and squeaking, he managed to get Jaskier to follow him. He led him to Ciri’s room, then followed her scent and the acrid smell of strange chaos to Everard’s door. Jaskier’s shriek was only just in time to avert disaster. 

Ciri screamed. Eskel went flying across the hall. Swords were drawn. Footsteps pounded towards them. The battle began. 

~

After everything — after the battle was over, his brothers’ lives only barely spared from the teeth of the basilisks, the demon banished and half of the keep covered in blood — Eskel stopped trying so hard to be discovered. 

His predicament was not life-threatening or dangerous. Everyone in the keep was dealing with things that were just as difficult, if not more so. Some of his brothers were gravely injured and the rest were caring for them. Geralt was evidently in the process of forgiving his ex-lover and caring for his new daughter, who was apparently Cirilla of Cintra herself. Ciri was reckoning with her recent possession and the nature of her power. Yennefer was finding her footing in a strange keep. Jaskier, if Eskel understood what he had overheard Yennefer saying correctly, was dealing with the effects of having been tortured for Geralt on top of everything else. 

Eskel was in no immediate danger. Lil’ Bleater was being taken care of by Coën. Eskel saw no reason to add being squeaked at by what would appear to be an insane mouse to the list of everyone’s troubles. 

Instead, he split his time between keeping Jaskier’s spirits up and standing vigil over his brothers. He knew he could not help the injured witchers, not in this form, but it made him feel better to watch their chests rise and fall and listen to the beating of their hearts. 

And, while he might not be able to help his brothers, he could help Jaskier. It seemed to calm the bard to talk to “Gordon” when he was alone and had nothing else to do. Jaskier told Eskel of how he had been friends with Geralt and how Geralt had left him, of his work as the Sandpiper and his time with the Firefucker. It became increasingly obvious that Jaskier was in love with Geralt and that Geralt had broken his heart. The more the bard spoke, the more certain Eskel became that, if he could return to his true form, he would have to have a very long conversation with his brother. 

Then, after almost a week, things finally changed. 

He probably should have expected that the sorceress would be the one to notice something strange about him. When she realized that he was not what he seemed, she whisked him off to the laboratory. In the company of Jaskier, Geralt, and Lambert, she set Eskel on the table and asked his permission to look into his mind. He gave it easily. 

Hello? she asked in his mind, gently. 

Eskel was pleasantly surprised. He had half expected her to simply glance around his thoughts and then leave. 

Hello and well met, he said in response. It’s about time someone noticed I’m not a damn mouse. 

Yennefer’s presence in his mind felt distinctly amused. Indeed. 

Eskel sent her his corresponding amusement and agreement. My brothers are, apparently, much less intelligent than I gave them credit for.

Your brothers? asked the sorceress, startled.

Yes. My name is Eskel. I am a witcher of the Wolf school.

I see. I’ll tell them.

Yes, please.

Yennefer withdrew from his mind. Eskel opened his eyes.

“Well?” asked Jaskier. 

“He’s definitely not a mouse,” said Yennefer. 

“What the fuck is he, then?” asked Lambert with his customary gruffness. Behind him, Geralt was glaring in the way he did when he didn’t want anyone to know that he was nervous. 

“He says,” said Yennefer, “That his name is Eskel.”

Lambert dropped the bowl he had been holding. It clattered to the floor and went rolling into a corner. Geralt’s eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath. Jaskier glanced back and forth between the two of them and Eskel. 

“You’re not Gordon?” he asked Eskel, looking lost. 

Eskel, for lack of anything else to do, squeaked. 

“What does that mean?” asked Jaskier. 

“Hold the fuck up,” said Lambert. “What do you mean that’s Eskel? Eskel’s fucking dead.”

Eskel froze. He stared up at his brothers, his eyes wide. He’d thought— he’d known something could have happened to his body after he was taken from it, that it might have stayed behind in the forest, but he hadn’t once thought that his brothers might believe him dead. 

Gods, he should have told them. He should have found a way to make them understand. He should have found the sorceress sooner, he should have tried to communicate, he should—

Geralt stumbled towards the table. His expression and scent were enough to rip Eskel out of his thoughts.

“Esk?” he rasped. Eskel skittered towards him and nudged his hand where it rested on the table. Geralt lifted his hand and stroked a finger, with painful gentleness, down Eskel’s back. 

“It’s really him?” Geralt asked Yennefer. 

“Yes,” said Yennefer softly. 

“Fuck,” said Lambert. “Fuck. How?”

“You were here,” said Geralt, his expression torn between grief and confusion and hope. “You— I— you were a leshen. We lost you. I had to kill you, Esk.”

Jaskier made a pained noise at that, somewhere to the side. Eskel had eyes only for his brother. 

“Was that him?” asked Geralt, turning to Yennefer again. “Was— did I— was he there? Does he remember?”

“Why the fuck is he a mouse?” asked Lambert. He glared at Jaskier. “Where did you get him? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” protested Jaskier. “Yen, can you turn him back?”

“I think so,” said Yennefer. Eskel couldn’t help but slump with relief. “He can answer your questions better than I can, anyhow.”

“We should find Vesemir,” said Jaskier. 

“Fuck,” said Lambert. “What the fuck are we gonna say?” 

“I don’t know! He’s your mentor.”

“Boys!” called Yennefer. “Stop bickering and get me my ingredients.”

The next hour passed in a blur of movement, mental conversation with Yennefer, and people coming and going from the room. Eskel lost track of the details fairly quickly. All he cared to know was that Yennefer was making a potion, which Jaskier was expressly forbidden from drinking, that would hopefully return Eskel to his normal state. 

Eventually, Yennefer pronounced herself ready. Almost all of the witchers in the keep who were able were present, crowded into the laboratory. A few were sitting on tables. Eskel was in the center of the room on a table he had to himself. Beside him was a shallow bowl of shimmering purple liquid. 

Yennefer gestured at the bowl. “Go ahead.”

Cautiously, Eskel walked towards the bowl. He sniffed it. It did not smell unpleasant. He gathered himself, leaned forward, and began to drink. 

A moment went by. Nothing happened. Then, just as he was beginning to wonder if it was really going to work, he felt his body seize up. His vision blurred, then went white. The room whirled around him. His ears rang so loudly he could hear nothing else. He could feel himself twisting, reshaping, being pulled, and then—

He was lying on the table, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that very definitely did not belong to a mouse. 

Jaskier gasped. Lambert whooped. Vesemir made a wounded noise.

After a few moments of effort, Eskel managed to use his blessedly normal hands and arms to push himself up to a sitting position and take stock of himself. He was human-shaped again. The room was the right size and the right colors. He was uninjured. He was, thankfully, clothed in the same things he had been wearing when he fought the leshen, but his armor was undented. He was back. 

“Eskel,” breathed Geralt, and suddenly all of Eskel’s attention was on his brother. Geralt was staring at him as though he was afraid Eskel would disappear if he blinked. 

Tentatively, Eskel swung his legs off the table and tried to stand. His legs wobbled, but held. He stumbled a few steps towards Geralt. Geralt let out a shuddering breath, darted towards him, and pulled Eskel into a crushing embrace. 

“I missed you,” Geralt rasped as Eskel wrapped his arms around him. “I missed you so fucking much, Esk.”

“I’m here,” said Eskel, rubbing Geralt’s back. “I’m here, Geralt. I’m fine.”

“Fuck it,” said Lambert, and suddenly Eskel was being hugged from behind. The embrace was brief but firm. 

“I’m glad you’re alive, you fucker,” said Lambert as he pulled away. Eskel smiled. 

One by one, the other witchers approached them. Eskel’s back was patted, his hair was ruffled, his shoulder was shoved, and he was hugged. Geralt never let him go. Once upon a time, Eskel might have minded all of the touching, but right now he could not dream of being bothered. By the time everyone had enough, he was grinning despite his teary eyes.

Eventually, Geralt pulled away. He looked Eskel up and down one last time, then smiled. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For still being here.” 

Eskel hugged him again. “You’re welcome.”

After a few long moments, he pulled away and turned to Jaskier, who was waiting awkwardly off to the side. His coat was actually red instead of brown and he looked less blurry and more awkward than Eskel had ever seen him, but he was otherwise little different than he had seemed through a mouse’s eyes. 

“Hi,” said Jaskier, waving a little. 

“Hi,” said Eskel with a smile. “Good to meet you properly.”

Jaskier looked rather embarrassed. “You understood everything I said, didn’t you?” 

“Most of it, yeah.”

“I see,” said Jaskier. “Um. Well, in that case, I apologize for rambling at you incessantly. And also for not noticing you weren’t a mouse. And for naming you Gordon.”

Eskel chuckled. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

“Oh. That’s good.” 

Jaskier seemed completely unphased by Eskel’s appearance. His eyes did not linger on the scars on Eskel’s face. There was no trace of nervousness in his face or in his scent. Eskel probably should have expected it, given the fact that the bard had befriended Geralt of all people, but he could still feel his shoulders relaxing at the acceptance. 

Jaskier held out a hand for Eskel to shake. Eskel hesitated a moment. Then, giving Jaskier plenty of time to back away, he stepped forward and pulled the bard into a hug instead. Jaskier made a surprised squeaking sound, but hugged Eskel back after only a moment of confusion. 

“I’d still like to be your friend, if you’d be all right with that,” said Eskel when he stepped away. 

Jaskier grinned. “You seem much less grouchy than your brothers. I would love to be your friend.”

Eskel smiled back. “I’m glad.” 

Lambert and Gwain made indignant noises at Jaskier’s comment. Coën laughed. 

“You cannot deny that Eskel and I are the only polite people in this keep,” said Coën. Eskel heard the sounds of wrestling breaking out behind him and a very, very tired sigh from Vesemir. He ignored it. 

“Oh, and speaking of grouchiness,” he said, “I think Geralt and I will need to have a very long conversation.”

Jaskier and Geralt both looked rather alarmed at that, and Lambert laughed out loud. Vesemir shook his head. Eskel had to hold back a grin. 

It was good to be home.

~

In the training yard at Kaer Morhen, there was laughter. 

Cirilla was dueling Coën. Despite the fact that she was losing badly, there was a broad smile on her face. Merek and Hemrik, who were still recovering from their injuries and thus could not train as usual, occupied themselves by providing live commentary of the fight. 

Geralt and Jaskier sat nearby, watching and occasionally shouting words of advice to Ciri. Jaskier leaned against Geralt’s side. Geralt’s arm was slung around his shoulder. When no one was looking, Geralt pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, and Jaskier grinned as brightly as the sun. 

Yennefer stood off to one side, discussing herbs and magic with Vesemir. A newly-recovered Everard stood beside them, occasionally chiming in with his own alchemical knowledge.

Lambert was running the obstacle course with Diever. They appeared to have turned it into some sort of a race. Their antics routinely distracted Ciri and Coën from their duel; it was difficult, after all, not to laugh when Lambert fell off a platform and into a heap of snow. 

Lil’ Bleater was safely tied to a post off to one side, munching on some carrots Jaskier had given her and bleating happily at anyone who passed nearby. Tolbert carefully gave her a wide berth; he had been cautious around her ever since the Great Pantry Incident of the previous week. 

Eskel stood near Geralt and Jaskier, stretching in preparation for when he would inevitably be dragged onto the obstacle course by Lambert. Whenever one of his brothers passed by, they clapped him on the shoulder or gave him a quick hug. They were still getting used to having him back. Every now and then, Geralt would turn away from Jaskier to give Eskel a fond and grateful smile. Eskel always smiled back, warm and content. 

Destiny nodded. She sat back and watched the strange little family with a small, satisfied smile. 

There, she thought to herself. This is much better. 

The End

#the witcher #jaskier #eskel #geralt #twn #geraskier #just a bit but it's there #the witcher fanfiction #wren writes #not entirely happy with this part but it's all right and i want it out of my brain so here you go! :D

[sourwolf-sterek32]

Broken Heart

Summary: You were the first and only female Witcher.

You and Geralt had been together since you were teenagers, training and fighting alongside each other for decades. However, when Yennefer of Vengerberg showed up, he chose her.

Now, years later, you go back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and come face to face with Geralt of Rivia, forcing old feelings to resurface once again.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Language, violence

Previous Chapter

Chapter 19-

Over the next couple of days, you and Geralt trained.

It started off with simply walking around camp which then turned into slow and steady moves with your swords. Eithné had given Geralt a new sword since his had been shattered by Vilgefortz, and Triss, the wonderful sorceress, had grabbed your sword from the beach when she portalled you here.

Jaskier sat on the sidelines watching you and Geralt train while he wrote in his notebook, no doubt coming up with new songs.

Yennefer had shown up out of the blue one night. She didn't bring any good news with her though and she didn't have Ciri. She did however heal the worst of yours and Geralt’s injuries but left soon after saying that Aretuza and the other mages needed her now that Tissaia was dead.

Your knee was still playing up occasionally even after Yen had tried to heal it. Eithné gave you more of her healing waters to try and help, but nothing seemed to properly heal it. Whatever Vilgefortz’s staff was made out of, it had done some significant damage. It mostly healed though, and you only had a small limp, so it could be worse.

"I don't remember Vesemir's elixir recipe involving so many..." Jaskier trailed off holding up a wriggling worm in his hand. "...worm guts."

"It doesn't. But it's the closest thing to yghern venom I could find." Geralt answered holding the bowl of ingredients up towards the bard.

"Oh, come on, he's... look at him." Jaskier insisted, staring at the worm with sad eyes before he sighed and reluctantly put the animal in the bowl. "Sorry, buddy. Just be gentle with him-"

Geralt crunched the worm with the pestle causing a whine to escape Jaskiers lips as he watched the creature get turned to mush and you chuckled in amusement at his reaction.

You helped Geralt continue to add ingredients, some easier than others to do. Plant roots needed to be squeezed for their water, other liquids had to be boiled before being added to the bowl, plant pedals had to be picked and so much more. There was a lot that went into an elixir.

Next time you see Vesemir you should thank him for always making the elixirs for you all. It was hard enough making two, let alone supplying elixirs to you and your brothers.

Jaskier helped where he could, and by helped it was more like annoy.

"What do you think this tastes like?" Jaskier asked randomly, holding up the wooden stick that you had just been using to mix the fruit juice and... other questionable things together.

"Good. You should try it." You simply replied.

Jaskier shrugged before licking the end of the stick, but he quickly lowered it and poked his tongue out in pure disgust while he gagged.

"That is quite possibly the grossest thing ever." Jaskier exclaimed before pointing at you with the stick. "And you, my friend, are pure evil."

You snorted, "I didn't think you would actually taste it."

"You said I should try it!"

"Never listen to her when she says those words." Geralt suddenly said, looking between you and Jaskier in amusement. "She once convinced Lambert and Eskel to drink goats piss."

"Oh God, I forgot about that." You covered your mouth with your hands in effort not to laugh as you thought back to that day many years ago. "They were so angry."

"Why the bloody hell would they drink that?!" Jaskier questioned in shock.

"She told them it was a new kind of ale."

Jaskier’s head shot in your direction, and you couldn't stop yourself from laughing.

"Evil. Pure evil."

"I think the word you're looking for is genius. Pure genius." You corrected, but Jaskier shook his head.

"Absolutely not. You are a horrible person. Quite possibly the horrible-est."

"Horrible-est?" You repeated, raising your eyebrows at the new word he made up.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder into yours playfully, "don't be smart, you know what I mean."

"I do. I also know that you don't mean it because you love me." You replied with a shit eating grin.

Geralt snorted softly listening to you and Jaskier banter before he finally finished making the elixir and began to pour the liquid into two small bottles.

"Ready to try it?" He asked, handing you one of the bottles.

"It won't be as powerful as Vesemir's elixir, will it?" You asked, taking the bottle.

He shook his head, "no. But it should sharpen the senses."

"Good enough for me."

You lifted the bottle to your lips and downed the liquid quickly knowing it would not taste nice in the slightest, but you weren't going to give Jaskier the satisfaction of knowing that detail after what you just did to him.

"Did it work?" The bard asked, his eyes flickering between you and Geralt who had also drunk his bottle.

You glanced over at Geralt, his golden eyes meeting yours and you could feel your senses heightening instantly.

"Oh, yeah. It worked." You nodded, glancing around the forest before turning back to Geralt. "Want to spar?"

"Read my mind."

Jaskier followed the two of you out to the clearing in the woods and plonked himself down on his usual log with his notebook while you and Geralt raised your swords and started to spar.

"Go Geralt!" Jaskier cheered, watching on as you ducked out of the way of Geralt’s attack.

"Really? You're cheering for him?" You questioned, sparing a glance at the bard before swinging your sword at Geralt, who easily deflected it with his own.

"Yes. Yes, I am. Because Geralt is my friend, and you are a horrible person who made me lick that stick."

"You did that with your own free will, Jask. Don't blame me." You shouted over your shoulder.

Jaskier chuckled softly but didn't say anything else letting you and Geralt focus on training. Your swords clanged together loudly, hit after hit. Geralt jumped back a step as you swung your sword at him again, the blade missing him by an inch before he began to advance on you, returning the attack.

You quickly raised your sword and blocked the attack before spinning out of the way. The two of you continued to spar. It reminded you of your training at Kaer Morhen, he was always your sparring partner growing up.

Geralt was the greatest Witcher. He was stronger, faster and more skilled than the rest of you, you all knew that. But you always managed to keep up with him whenever you sparred. You always held your own pretty well against him, but Geralt always got the better of you eventually.

So, when he managed to knock your sword from your grasp after a few minutes of sparring, you weren't surprised. And not a second later, the blade of his sword was against your neck.

"Yes!" Jaskier whooped in the background.

You smirked, raising your hands in surrender and tilting your head towards Geralt, "just like old times, right?"

Before Geralt could answer an arrow suddenly whizzed through the air, narrowly missing both your faces and without looking, you knew who the arrow belonged to.

"You'd be dead now." Milva's voice called out.

"Hmm." Geralt grunted, lowering his blade from your neck before picking up your sword and holding it out to you. "We're leaving now."

"Good. Let's go get Ciri." You smiled, taking your sword and sheathing it over your back before glancing at Jaskier. "Ready to go?"

"You bet."

Jaskier pocketed his notebook and threw his lute over his shoulder before jogging after you and Geralt as you made your way through the woods, waving goodbye to Milva on the way.

The three of you didn't get very far before coming across what seemed to be a Nilfgaardian checkpoint. Nilfgaard soldiers were blocking the road from travellers, limiting who could cross and by the look of it the only way to cross was with the correct papers or by payment.

"We'll never get to Ciri if we don't get past." Jaskier whispered from between you and Geralt.

"How do we get past? Last I checked none of us have any coin." You whispered back.

"There's got to be another way round."

"Not for days." Geralt replied quietly.

Shit.

"I got this." Jaskier said confidently before he strode towards the soldier. “Hi. How are you?"

"Papers?" The soldier asked.

"We lost them." Geralt simply replied, stepping up beside Jaskier and you quickly followed.

"But we would be happy to compensate you for, uh, for your troubles with... umm, give me a second." Jaskier stuttered, checking all his pockets for anything valuable to trade.

"Wanna get through? Pay."

"Here. That's... two! Two orens." Jaskier announced, pulling out two coins from the inside of his jacket and handing them over, but the soldier shook his head.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, freak." He responded before his eyes flashed over to you and a sickening grin spread across his face. "Maybe I can take your beautiful girl round the corner, and she can convince me to let you through."

Geralt's body turned tense, his hand instantly forming a fist at his side, but you quickly stepped in front of him putting yourself between him and the soldier before he could do something stupid.

"That is not going to happen. But here. For your troubles." You said, reaching towards your neck and pulling Eskel's necklace off your head.

Well, technically, it was your necklace. After the Trials and all your training to become a Witcher, Vesemir gave you all necklaces with a school of the wolf medallion on it before you went your separate ways to walk the Path and kill monsters.

Although you and Eskel used to walk the Path together, eventually there came a time when the two of you had to go your separate ways...

"I don't want to do this." You complained, sitting on a haybale in the stables at Kaer Morhen.

Eskel finished saddling his horse before he walked over and sat down on the hay beside you with a deep sigh.

"I know. Me either." He admitted. "But we have to. Vesemir insists that we all need to walk the Path alone at least once. We have to experience it. We have to prove that we can do it."

"That's such bullshit." You mumbled, folding your arms across your chest in frustration.

You knew you were being a baby about it. You were an adult. You weren't a scared little kid anymore. But the thought of leaving your brother and knowing he was out there somewhere fighting monsters, but not knowing if he was okay or not... you hated it.

"Once we prove to the old man that we can do it then we can go back to walking the Path together like it's meant to be, yeah? Geralt and Lambchop can tag along too. We can meet up with Coen and the others along the way. We can do anything we want afterwards."

"That does sound good."

"Fuck yeah, it does!" Eskel agreed with a grin.

The two of you fell into comfortable silence as you sat on the haybale watching the horses, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible.

"I got an idea." Eskel suddenly said, pulling his medallion off from around his neck and holding it out for you. "Take it. You'll always have a part of me with you, no matter what."

"Only if you take mine." You responded, pulling your own medallion off causing Eskel to smile with a small nod before trading necklaces.

You looped Eskel's necklace over your head, lifting your hair to get it around your neck as you looked down at the silver wolf medallion resting against your chest. It seemed stupid swapping them. All the medallions were identical. But it was sentimental. You had your brothers and he had yours.

"Perfect. How does it look?" Eskel asked turning to face you properly with your medallion now around his neck.

"It looks the same." You teased.

Eskel rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle, "obviously."

"Thank you." You said sincerely, your tone turning serious which stopped Eskel's laughter instantly. "Thank you. I know the others won't get it, but... thank you. Having a piece of you with me..."

"It helps." Eskel said finishing your sentence.

You nodded, "yeah. It does."

He smiled before looping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side.

"Enough of this sentimental crap, we're Witcher’s, aren't we? Before we know it, we'll be back here and shovelling horse shit in the snow."

You smiled softly resting your head against your brother's shoulder and grabbed the medallion on your chest before closing your eyes not wanting this moment to end.

"Don't be afraid. I'll always be with you." Eskel whispered, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Everything will be okay."

You held up Eskel's medallion towards the soldier, twirling it around so he could see the front and back. Technically, it was your medallion from all those years ago when you and Eskel swapped necklaces.

Vesemir had taken the medallion off your brother’s body the day he died and instead of putting it on the tree of fallen Witcher’s medallions, he gave it to you instead knowing you wanted it.

"Wait, isn't that-"

"Eskel's necklace, yes." You said, cutting Geralt off.

"No. Y/N, no, come on, not that." Jaskier argued quietly.

"Pure silver. Vintage. Priceless." You negotiated, ignoring both men beside you as you stared at the soldier who was quick to snatch the medallion with a nod.

"Very nice. On you go." The soldier instructed, stepping to the side allowing you all to pass.

You nodded your thanks and walked off, Geralt and Jaskier hurriedly following.

"It's a damn shame though. I would've loved to have some fun with you girly! It's been a while since I got my dick wet!" The soldier shouted after you.

Geralt came to a sudden halt at the man's words, and you quickly grabbed his arm stopping him from marching back over there.

"He's not worth it. Let it go." You hissed under your breath.

Geralt glanced down at you, his golden eyes ablaze with anger before he looked over your shoulder in the direction of the soldier.

"Just keep walking." Jaskier whispered, backing you up. "Geralt, we need to get to Ciri."

Geralt ignored you both and simply handed Jaskier his sword before he yanked his arm free from your grasp. You knew better than to try and stop him, not when he had that look in his eyes.

You sighed watching him walk back towards the soldier who was completely oblivious with his back turned to the Witcher marching at him.

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" Jaskier sighed from beside you.

"For the Nilfgaard soldiers? Nope. Not at all." You answered.

"Should we follow him?"

"Probably."

"The fuck did you just say to her?" Geralt questioned, grabbing the man’s shoulder and spinning him around forcefully.

"Whoa! Hey, piss off!" The man exclaimed. "Or maybe I'll take her home and see what use she can be put to."

"That was the wrong thing to say." You mumbled under your breath.

"What-" Jaskier started to ask but didn't get to finish his sentence.

Geralt slammed his fist into the side of the soldier's face, once, twice, three times until the man fell to the ground unconscious with a broken nose and definite concussion.

The other soldiers that had been standing off in the background suddenly charged at Geralt, but he grabbed the axe from the man's belt before unleashing all his pent-up anger and rage on the Nilfgaardians.

You watched Geralt slaughter soldier after soldier. You weren't going to stop him. He needed to let out his anger. He needed this.

"Should you, uh, should you help him?" Jaskier hesitantly asked.

You shook your head, "he needs this."

After everything that's happened, after feeling like he failed Ciri for not protecting her, you were going to give him this. This was his way of protecting you and despite the fact that you were a Witcher and didn't need him to fight your battles, you knew he needed to do this. Not for you, but for himself.

"He needs his sword." Was all Jaskier said before he rushed headfirst into the fight before you had a chance to stop him.

"Damn it, Jask." You muttered, unsheathing your own sword.

Not even five seconds later, one of the soldiers noticed the bard weaving his way through the fight and charged at him. Jaskier managed to hold Geralt's sword above his head, blocking the axe coming down at him before you pulled out your throwing knife and lined up the shot.

A moment later, the soldier fell to the ground with the blade impaled through the side of his neck, the only piece of visible skin amongst the metal armour that covered his body.

Jaskier sent you a grateful nod before he reached Geralt and handed him the sword, and once Geralt had that sword in his hand it was over.

You rushed over to Jaskier grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the fight while Geralt tore his way through the remaining soldiers wielding both an axe and sword.

"Get him!"

You pushed Jaskier to safety and spun around to find Geralt kneeling beside a dead soldier, but it was the three other very much alive soldiers sprinting towards him that caught your attention. You ran over them, jumping over the dead bodies that littered the area before kicking the closest one away and slicing your sword through the others neck, killing him instantly.

You turned your attention to the next, the other staggering to his feet, but before you could attack, arrows suddenly soared through the air and stabbed them both with precision accuracy, and they dropped to the ground, dead.

Those were Milva's arrows.

You glanced over your shoulder to find the archer emerging from the woods, a sly grin spreading across her face. You chuckled softly, shaking your head before walking over to Geralt who yanked his sword out the dead soldier before getting to his feet with a sigh.

"I know, I know. We'd be dead now." Geralt said, beating Milva to it.

The woman smirked glancing between the two of you before Jaskier walked over. The bard looked you and Geralt up and down for any signs of injuries, but sighed in relief when he couldn't see any.

"We good?" Jaskier asked wanting to make sure.

"Not yet. Missed one." Milva pointed out, nodding to someone behind you.

"No, I didn't." Geralt muttered, his eyes hardening before he marched over to the remaining soldier, and you didn't have to turn around to know which soldier that would be.

You wiped the blood off your sword with your pants ignoring the disgusted look Jaskier gave you at the action. You poked your tongue out at him causing him to do it back before you sheathed your sword.

"No, no, no, no. Please, don't. Please-" The soldiers pleads were cut off by his own pained screams.

You looked over just as Geralt lowered his sword and the soldier from earlier collapsed to the ground holding his groin with bright crimson blood staining his hands as he cried.

"Ouch. What did that guy do to piss him off?" Milva asked with a wince as she watched.

"He threatened Y/N... uh, sexually." Jaskier answered, unable to take his eyes away from the scene. "Geralt can get protective over her."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that part out." Milva responded.

Geralt reached down and grabbed the soldier, hauling him back to his feet before pinning him up against the side of a caravan.

"You won't be getting your 'dick wet' ever again." Geralt growled, pushing him harder against the caravan causing the man to whimper before Geralt leant closer. "If you don't bleed out and manage to get to Nilfgaard before we do... you tell that fuck Emhyr that no matter his armies, no matter his walls, we will free Ciri. Understand?"

The soldier made a small groaning noise that you assumed was his response before Geralt released him and he instantly fell back to the ground holding his bleeding groin.

Geralt stood above him, breathing heavily through his nose as the anger and adrenaline from the fight slowly dissipated. You walked over to him and grabbed Geralt’s arm gently turning him to face you.

"You okay?" Geralt instantly asked, his golden eyes locking with yours.

You smiled softly, "I'm good. Let's go get our daughter back."

Geralt nodded before reaching down and grabbing your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You glanced over your shoulder to find Milva and Jaskier making their way towards you through the carnage of butchered Nilfgaardian soldiers that Geralt left behind.

"I want to help you." Milva spoke up, looking between you and Geralt. "And these soldiers have horses around the back."

Geralt nodded, "let's go then."

You, Geralt, Jaskier and Milva took the horses and continued on your way to Nilfgaard. You were going to rescue Ciri and kill Vilgefortz once and for all, and nothing was going to stop you.

-

MASTERLIST pinned to profile

Commissions open! Link in bio & DM for enquiries

A/N- For now, this is it. I do plan on continuing this story when the next season comes out, but I will be writing it based on Henry’s Geralt, not Liam Hemsworths.

Henry is and always will be my Witcher. You guys can imagine whoever you want while reading, but for me it is always Henry.

I wanted to rush this story and have y/n and Geralt randomly find Ciri in the woods just so I don't have to write any chapters based on the new season, but it felt too rushed when I tried to do it and after all the time I've spent on this and for all of you still reading, I couldn't rush the ending and butcher the story.

So, I plan on adding more chapters, but Season 4 is very far away and who knows what I'll be doing in real life when it finally gets released. So, I won't promise anything, but just know that I have really enjoyed writing this and seeing all your likes, kudos, reblogs and comments. I love you all so very much and thank you for your continuous support.

Until next time, stay safe guys and have a great night xx

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfic #henry cavill #jaskier #joey batey

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Assumptions

(Eskel finds out about Feral!Jaskier)

Eskel always enjoyed the winters when Jaskier stayed with them at Kaer Morhen. It was never dull when he was around. The more Eskel got to know him, the more he liked him. The man was talented, highly educated, entertaning, and a genious when it came to music. He was loyal, and cared deeply for the people he held close to his heart.

And while he was highly educated, and intelligent, he was also, well, to put it bluntly, dumb of a**. The man couldn't fight worth a d*mn. His strategy for avoiding trouble was to talk/joke his way out of it, seduce his way out, or scream and run like h*ll.

Even though Jaskier couldn't really fight, that didn't stop him from causing trouble. Eskel figured it was because not too many people were willing to mess with a man who was under the protecton of a scary Witcher, and an equally scary sorceress.

Still, the Wolves were concerned that Jaskier couldn't defend himself. They had tried several times over the winters to train him at least a little, but the bard just didn't seem interested. No one appeared to be concerned about Jaskier's lack of survival skills, so Coen had taken it upon himself to try to train the bard. He had, after only a few weeks, completely given up and told his brothers not to even bother.

Eskel had been shocked. When he questioned him on the decision, Coen had replied simply that Jaskier was absolute dogsh*t at it, and it would be more dangerous to train him. Eskel suspected that his sour mood had something to do with the hip pointer he'd aquired while trying to train Jaskier.

According to Lambert, it had been a complete sh*t show, and Coen had ended up falling hard on some tumbledown masonry when Jaskier had slipped and collided with him. Eskel decide that if Jaskier couldn't fight, he was just going to have to help Geralt look after him on the Path as much as he could.

That was how he found himself meeting up with Geralt and Jaskier one summer. They had crossed paths by chance and Eskel decided to travel with them for a while. Past experience had taught him just how hard a time Geralt had keeping the bard alive on the Path. Jaskier seemed determined to unintentionally yeet himself off this mortal coil at every opportuniy. Jaskier was happy to see Eskel. He rarely saw his friends outside of Kaer Morhen, so any chance meeting was welcome.

They stopped in Aldersberg to rest and let Jaskier earn some coin. The people had been genrous, and he had earned enough for supplies and a little extra to squirrel away. Geralt and Eskel were packing their things while Jaskier went down to get the horses. He was gone just a little too long.

F**k. He was probably getting into touble.

Sure enough, when the Witchers found him, he was being confronted by three angry men. Things were not looking good. Jaskier was already scuffed and had a bloody nose. He was definitely in trouble. Eskel was mentally thrown off balance when, instead of rushing to help, Geralt was just hanging back, watching.

"What the h*ll, Geralt!"

"What do you mean, 'wait'?"

"Geralt, he's in trouble-!" one of the men dragged Jaskier up by the collar, punched him in the jaw, then drew his sword.

F**k you, Geralt! Eskel thought, and rushed in.

He slammed into the man with the sword, sending him tumbling across the stable yard to crash into the stone wall. He turned and saw the second man was down, and Jaskier was struggling with the last one. They both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses. The man snarled in pain and his wicked looking bloodstained push knife went flying into the dirt. The scent of blood was in the air, and blood was beginning to pool on the ground.

Eskel reached for Jaskier, grabbing the back of his jacket, intending to pull him off the man.

Geralt's warning shout of "No, Eskel! Get away from him-!" came too late.

Eskel was knocked over backwards as Jaskier threw his bodyweight into him. His head was spinning as Jaskier attacked him. Pain exploded on the left side of his throat, just below his jaw. He felt something hot run down his neck, and his survival instincts kicked in. Eskel shoved his thumb into the jugular notch at the base of Jaskier's throat.

The bard made a choking sound and jerked, sitting back on Eskel's torso. Eskel saw him pull two knives from inside his jacket.

Holy f**k those knives were his!

Jaskier turned, his attention going to Geralt, who was apporaching slowly, his hands up and empty. Eskel covered the bleeding wound on his throat, trying to stauch the flow of blood.

Jaskier turned at the movement and Eskel recoiled at the cold, intense look in his eyes. He'd never seen him look that way. He had definitely never seen him pointing a knife at Geralt either, or with blood smeared around his mouth... This was not his Jaskier...

"Jaskier, it's us! It's Geralt and Eskel. Calm down." Geralt said, mentally cursing. He wished Yen was here. She was always able to bring Jaskier back to himself when his feral side came out.

Jaskier's fingers moved restlessly on the grip of the push knife he had pointed at Geralt. His hand twitched. A warning.

Geralt stopped walking, immediately going compeletly still. Geralt knew that if he moved any closer, Jaskier was going to drop the push knife, and go for the throwing knives.

He knew Jaskier wasn't seeing faces right now. He was too far into his feral state for that. He was only registering shapes, movement and sound.

"Julek, " Geralt said gently, "Julek, it's alright, they're gone." He hoped the use of the diminutive of his name would snap him out of it. It always seemed to work when Yennefer did it.

It apparently was a Yennefer Thing because it had no effect when Geralt did it.

F**k.

Geralt was more that slightly purturbed, and maybe just a little bit jealous at how Yennefer could just walk up to Jaskier when he was in this state, call him 'Julek', touch him, and he would just come back to himself. It was like watching a little girl walk up to the meanest f***ing bull in the village, and tame it with pat on the nose.

Geralt wasn't Yennefer, so he had to come up with a different way to fix this sh*t show.

He started Distress purring, not knowing what else to do. The sound thrummed, deep and rolling. He saw the way the knives wavered slightly as the sound vibrated through the air.

He kept it up, and Jaskier's arms started to untense, the push knives slowly lowering. Geralt saw his eyes unfocus for a minute.

Geralt knew he was starting to feel the soothing rocking sensation the purring was causing in his head. He purred louder.

Eskel started quietly talking to him while Geralt purred. "It's me, Jaskier, " he said softly, his hand moving up to slowly rub up and down Jaskier's thigh. "It's your 'Esol'. Come on, you remember," Eskel could feel the blood soaking into the collar of his gambeson.

Jaskier turned those hard eyes on him when he felt him touch him. It was getting hard to concentrate, to watch both men at the same time. The feeling of his own blood pounding in his head was starting to fade, and his mind was starting to feel quieter. Rational thoughts were starting to bob to the surface.

Eskel kept rubbing his leg and talking softly, ignoring the knife, "It's Eskel. You didn't forget me, did you, Baby Bird?"

Jaskier blinked. Baby Bird.

That name was familiar... That was what his friend Eskel called him...

"Baby Bird, put them down."

The cold, hard edge in Jaskier's eyes faded.

He took in the scene, saw Eskel bleeding heavily from his neck, saw the push knives in his hands. Tasted the blood in his mouth. He'd hurt Eskel! Oh gods, he'd hurt Eskel!

His face went pale and he dropped the knives, throwing himself off the injured Witcher to retch in the dirt.

Geralt was right there, hand rubbing up and down his back, still purring.

"I-I...," Jaskier stammered, looking at the blood on his hands, and on his shirt. "Shhhh," Geralt shushed him, "We'll talk about it later. We need to get Eskel patched up."

They got Eskel back into their room, got Jaskier calmed down, and Yennefer was summoned. Geralt filled Eskel in on the whole backstory while they cleaned themselves up and waited for Yennefer.

"F**k me," Eskel said, impressed, "You'd never know from just looking at him!" He reached over to Jaskier, who was kneeling beside the bed, and ruffled his hair, "Trained with an elven assasin. D*mn, Songbird, you're amazing! And you, Geralt, you're an ar*ehole for not telling me."

"Hmm."

"Those other ar*eholes know too??? Why the h*ll didn't any of you tell me?"

"'F**k around and find out'? F**k you! F**k all of you b**tards!"

Yennefer had been unsettled by the injury. It was on the left side of Eskel's throat, right under his jaw. She recognized the pattern of the marks.

Jaskier had almost severed Eskel's cartoid artery. With his teeth.

Yennefer used her magic, sealing up the ugly wound, and leaving him another set of scars. When she was done, she went to make sure Jaskier was okay. She sat with him on the bed while Eskel changed out of his bloodly clothes.

She let him lean his head on her shoulder, holding his hand, fingers laced through his. Yennefer tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear, stroked his cheek, and fussed with the lace on his collar while carrying on a private mental conversation with him. He smiled at something she thought to him, then took her hand and raised it to his lips to kiss her fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Eskel..." Jaskier mumbled miserably as he watched Eskel inspect the new scars on his throat. Eskel snorted with a cheeky smile. "It's not the first Love Bite you've given me, Baby Bird," he said, holding up his wrist to show him the bite scar there. "Now I've got another Love Bite! The others are going to be so jealsous, especially Lambert!"

"That's not a Love Bite," Geralt said with a smirk, "It's on your throat. That's a Mating Bite. You two are married now."

"But that's a werewolf thing! And anyway, it's just a myth made up by writers of erotic literature!" Eskel protested.

"Read a lot of erotic literature about werewolves, do you?" Geralt inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you even know what erotic literature is."

"Man, f**k you!"

It became The Joke and Eskel and Jaskier ran with it all winter long. Yennefer spent that winter in Kaer Morhen so she wouldn't miss a moment of watching the mayhem.

Eskel got to hear his bothers tell their stories about how they found out about Feral!Jaskier, and show off their scars. Except for Lambert, whose scars were in a place he couldn't show in the presence of mixed company.

And Eskel was reminded to never make assumptions. And never f**k with the bard.

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #eskel #kaer morons #geraskier #geraskifer #geraskefer #yennskier #yenskier #yennaskier #yenneskier #feral!jaskier #bamf!jaskier #assumptions headcanon

[bethdutten]

I have been reading 'out of the woods' over and OVER AND OVER again! It's so healing 😭 Could I request how they met and got together? Or some more kaer morhen fluff? Or both? I can't get enough of your writing about eskel! 😍

aww thank you!! definitely 😊 here’s how they got together, maybe i’ll do some from after OOTW later 😉

Eskel still doesn’t understand how he managed to land a girl like you. Especially considering the circumstances you met. It was when he got the scars on his face after a fight with a striga, near Redania. He would have bled out if not for you, a mage out collecting plants in the woods where he was attacked.

You took him in, saved his life. He thought he might have had a chance before the attack, before the disfiguring scars turned him into a monster. But he assumed you wouldn’t give him a chance, just send him on his way when he was healed enough. But that wasn’t the case.

“Sweetheart, eat,” you ordered softly, glancing at Eskel out of the corner of your eye. He was just staring down at his bowl of stew, spoon untouched, while you organized jars containing the medicine for his wounds.

He was almost completely healed, his face marred with deep, angry red scars but the fear of infection gone now. After four months, you’d gotten close to the witcher, quickly falling for him. But you knew he was just here until his injuries were healed, before he could go back on the Path. As much as it pained you to let him go, you expected it would have to end at some point.

Eskel blinked, eyes focusing back in on you as he watched you work. It was hard to eat when he felt so sick to his stomach at the idea of you kicking him out soon.

He knew it was coming. His face was healing, and he couldn’t stay here forever. Why you kept him around as long as you did, he wasn’t sure. But seeing you prepare the salve for his scars, packaged up for him to take when he left, felt like a sharp pain in his chest every time he thought about you kicking him out.

He was used to being taken care of, now. Eating meals together, often curling up beside each other in front of the fire at night, you calling him ‘sweetheart’ and ‘baby’, tenderly soothing his scars with your salves like they weren’t something to be afraid of—

How was he going to live without this?

“Eskel?” you brought him out of his thoughts again, a look of concern on your face.

He forced a smile on his face, ignoring the way it pulled at his lip in a way he knew made it look like a grimace. An ugly, horrifying monster, that’s what he was now. “Sorry, not very hungry.”

You sighed, abandoning your work and taking a seat beside him. You placed a hand on his forehead, sliding your palm down to cut the left side of his face as you observed him carefully. “You feel a bit warm… are you sure you’re ready to leave tomorrow?”

He nodded, the last thing he wanted to do. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay… maybe you should go rest, love.” You wished you could protest, insist that he stay, but— he wanted to leave. You couldn’t make him stay.

“Yeah,” Eskel agreed, ignoring the way his heart fluttered at the endearment. He rested his hand on top of yours, pulling it off his face and squeezing it gently before he stood.

You swallowed at you watched him head towards the bedroom, wishing you just had the courage to tell him how you felt.

Meanwhile, Eskel laid in your bed and wrapped himself in your blanket, breathing in your scent deeply and willing back the ache in his chest. Who would want him looking like this? He knew the chances of someone like you loving someone like him would be slim beforehand, but now— you deserved better.

After an hour or so, you finished packing up a bag for him to take in the morning. You wished you could go with him, watch out for him while he was on the Path. A witcher could use a mage, but he didn’t ask you to go with him.

You put a few more logs in the fire, gathering up an extra blanket to take to Eskel before you would go to sleep. But upon walking into the spare room, where Eskel slept since you brought him in, you were surprised to find it empty. You immediately panicked, thinking he might have left early. Wouldn’t he at least say goodbye?

A low snore caught your attention, the noise coming from your own bedroom. You quietly opened the door, letting out a relieved chuckle at the image of Eskel buried under your blankets in your bed, hair mussed as he slept soundly. You knelt down, brushing an errand strand of hair away from his face, memorizing every detail as this would be the last time you had the chance.

He was beautiful. You didn’t think too much about what he must have looked like before the attack— it didn’t matter to you. The face he had now was the one you felt most familiar with, the one that already felt like home. You wouldn’t change a single thing. But more than that; he was gentle, and kind, and as much as you wish you could have saved him from the pain, you are thankful to that striga for bringing you to him. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eskel’s eyes fluttered open, and he sucked in a breath at the sight of your face so close to his. Your eyes widened, an apology on your lips before he smiled, that warm crooked grin you were so in love with.

“Hi,” he whispered, something in the way you were looking at him making his heart beat faster. Like you didn’t see a monster, like you were looking at someone you… loved.

You smiled back, deciding then and there you weren’t ready for him to leave. And if he left, you would go with him. “Hi. Eskel, could I… would you want me to join you on the Path?”

The grin slowly left his face, Eskel swallowing audibly. “I would love that.”

“Yeah?” You felt a spark of courage, licking your lips before you continued, “Because I… really care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you again. I-I love you.”

You held your breath, waiting for his reaction. Eskel just stared for a few moments, not sure what he just heard. The scars on his face burned, reminding him of all the reasons someone like you would never want him, yet— here you were. Offering to be with him, take care of him.

Then he saw your face fall, a wash of sadness and rejection evident. He quickly reached out and grabbed your hand, not about to miss his chance.

“Yes! Yes, please. I want you to be with me. I-I want… to be with you. I love you, too.”

Your face lit up at his confession, leaning in and kissing him without a second thought. Eskel let out a sound of surprise, the feel of your lips of his warming his chest. He never thought anyone would want to kiss him now that he looked like this. He hoped no one else ever would, except you.

#eskel fluff #eskel drabble #eskel x you #eskel x reader #eskel fic #eskel #netflix!eskel #game!eskel

[kenobihater]

i think part of the reason why so many casual players hate lambert or complain about his supposed attitude is bc he doesn't act like either a "nice" trauma survivor, or an "unbothered" trauma survivor. his trauma has claws and teeth, he wrestles with it openly rather than behind closed doors, and it makes people uncomfortable. he's angry. he's bitter. he ISN'T over it, and he isn't afraid to bring that up. people like trauma survivors to fit into nice, neat, polite little boxes. if they aren't "nice" and don't get over it quickly, well by god they should at least box it up and act "unbothered" (all of these r generalizations ofc, but ones i find people are most comfortable with. you can be a "nice" or "unbothered" trauma survivor and still struggle, but you do it out of sight typically). lambert doesn't play by these rules at all. he brings up his trauma, he brings up his anger and frustration and memories, and he acts like an angry, traumatized man. he isn't polite, he doesn't give a rat's ass about placating anyone or shifting blame, and that makes people uncomfortable. he went through similar things to geralt, though we never see geralt act like this, same with eskel and vesemir. the three other wolves have either suppressed or dealt with their trauma to the extent that they can sleep at night. lambert doesn't act like a man who is at peace with himself and his past, and this is incongruent with the gruff, unbothered, macho reactions to unspeakable trauma that geralt, eskel, and vesemir have. idk, i just find it interesting and incredibly maddening that the wolf witcher who is the most emotionally open about his feelings regarding the trauma he was put through is the least liked among casual players!

#lambert #witcher lambert #tw3 #the witcher 3 #the witcher 3 wild hunt #tw3 wild hunt #len's meta #i've had a couple of beers and i'm a bit ticked off abt this if you can tell lmao #len speaks #lambert meta

[bestiarum]

okay so. this video essay series is easily the best critique of netflix’s the witcher as a story & as an adaptation that i’ve ever seen. no angry gamer screaming that 'wokeness' ruined the story, no pointless repetition of 'it’s stupid they killed eskel' and such; just really fair analysis. plus, it’s very well researched and mindblowingly insightful. so yeah there u go

#it is 8h long BUT the videos have time stamps and there’s five of them #so it’s really digestible #and so so so so good #the witcher #wiedzmin #twn critical #kashmircastiel.post

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

30 Days With the Bard

After a year and a half, several scrapped drafts, and 30K words, the sequel to Hanging Out With the Right People is finally posted! You can find it here on AO3 or read the first few scenes below.

Rating: M

Warnings: none

Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier; Eskel/Geralt/Yennefer; pre-Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

Summary: After saving Jaskier from execution, Geralt, Eskel, and Yennefer agree to let Jaskier travel with them for thirty days, with varying degrees of reluctance. But just as Geralt starts to develop a soft spot for the bard with the blue eyes and quick wit, they discover that there’s more to Jaskier than meets the eye—and the bard’s secrets might put all of them in jeopardy.

***

Before

"Would it kill the two of you to take me to a party someday where nobody is likely to get murdered?" Yennefer asks, checking her lipstick in the looking glass.

Eskel snorts. "Yenn, the last party you took us to, half the attendees died."

"And most of them deserved it."

Sitting back on the bed of the inn room the three of them are sharing, Geralt shakes his head at his lovers. "You two planning on murdering someone?" He directs the question mostly to Yenn. They aren't sure if the duchess whose third wedding Yennefer and Eskel are attending has really been sacrificing maidens in a bid for eternal life or if it's just a pernicious rumor. Knowing their history with noble weddings, it's sure to be a shitshow either way.

Yennefer meets his eyes in the looking glass, red lips curving into what someone who doesn't know her well would think is a sweet smile. "Only if they need to be murdered."

Eskel sighs, exasperation belied by the affectionate hand he brushes through Yennefer's hair. "You sure you don't want to come with us, Wolf? Keep the bloodshed to a minimum?"

"I'd love to," Geralt deadpans. "Unfortunately, there's a griffin in the woods that needs killing. Send the duchess my regrets."

"The griffin will still be there when we get back," Yennefer points out.

"And more than likely, at least one hunter won't be." Most lordlings at least have the sense not to send people into the territory of an angry griffin, but not the local baron. He's more concerned about getting fresh meat on his table than keeping his servants from becoming meat for a griffin. “Someone needs to take care of the problem before it makes its way into the village.”

“You going to need help?” Eskel looks hopeful.

“I think he can handle a griffin just fine.” Yennefer turns to Geralt with a raised brow. “We’ll be gone for no more than a week. Do you think you can stay out of trouble for that long?”

Geralt snorts. “Think I can manage that, Yenn.”

***

The griffin is no trouble. Neither are the ghouls that have taken over the local graveyard. The trouble comes back at the inn, where Geralt is fast asleep when three young men, all drunk and looking to prove a point, come bursting into his room with the intent to kill.

All that comes after is death and screaming.

***

Someone in the next cell is singing. He’s been singing for most of the two days since Geralt got tossed in the dungeon. His range varies. He sings odes to the rats he’s befriended and scalding ditties implying that the guard’s mother fucked a weasel—which, in Geralt’s opinion, is unfair to weasels. He’s singing the latter when Geralt hears the sound of something heavy ricocheting off the door. Probably a stool.

“Can’t wait to watch you swing tomorrow, you little shit! Hope it takes a long time for your fucking neck to break.”

The singing abruptly stops. Geralt hears the sound of heavy footsteps stomping past his cell. A moment later, he hears a stuttering inhale from the next cell, followed by a single ragged sob. It’s the first sound of despair Geralt has heard from his fellow prisoner in the past two days.

He thinks about calling out. He doesn’t know what he’d say; it’s not like he’s good at comforting people. That’s Eskel’s forte, not his. But it seems wrong to let the young man be alone on the last night of his life.

In a tremulous voice, the man begins to sing again. Geralt closes his eyes, leans his head back against the wall, and listens.

***

Day 0

Geralt knows he should walk away when the bespelled guard commands the executioner to free him from the gallows. The man reeks of lilac and gooseberries; the baron's change of heart and his guard's interference is clearly Yennefer's work. He knows if he walks away from the gallows, Yennefer and Eskel will be waiting for him, probably exasperated that Geralt managed to put himself in mortal danger yet again. He can take a bath to wash the scent of the dungeons off of him, have a decent meal, and lose himself in his lovers' arms. Maybe tomorrow, Yennefer will portal them to see Ciri. After thinking that he was never going to see her again, all he wants is to hug his daughter.

But he makes the mistake of turning around.

Jaskier can’t be older than his early-to-mid-twenties, wide-eyed and scared out of his fucking mind, though he's trying to keep a brave face. His mouth trembles as he tries to smile at Geralt. "Well, nice chatting with you, Geralt," he says. "I would say I'll see you around, but... well, you know."

The magistrate is reading out the charges against the bard: debauchery and disturbing the peace. Geralt isn't sure how refusing to fuck the baron is "disturbing the peace," but it doesn't matter. The fact that it's a bullshit charge won't make the kid any less dead if the baron gets his way. People die stupid, pointless deaths all the time, but this one seems especially so. Rejecting someone's advances doesn't warrant a death sentence, no matter how powerful that someone is.

Jaskier's heartbeat ratchets up to a silent scream as the magistrate finishes reading the list of charges. His enormous eyes are locked on Geralt's face. He isn’t pleading for his life, but he might as well be.

"Fuck," Geralt growls.

He knows it's a mistake, even as he steals the guard's sword and drives the hilt into the man's head, knocking him out. He knows it's a mistake as he cuts Jaskier free of the gallows and slings the bard over his shoulder. He knows it's a mistake as he turns to meet the incoming guards with his stolen sword raised.

But he'll get them out of this alive first and worry about the consequences later.

***

"I still don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do with a bard,” Yennefer grumbles.

The bard in question is sprawled out in front of the campfire, lying on his back with his limbs akimbo, snoring loudly. His chemise is hitched up a little, exposing the pale, hairy plane of his stomach. It’s a show of trust that no one with a sliver of common sense would show when sharing a campsite with two witchers and a sorceress.

“I couldn’t just let him swing for the crime of not sucking the baron’s dick.” Geralt can’t quite keep the edge from his voice. 

Her expression softens, just a little. “No, but we didn’t need to invite him along.”

“Think he invited himself,” Eskel says dryly from her other side.

“It’s only for a month, Yenn.” Geralt puts a hand on her knee, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. “Thirty days. He’ll be gone by the time we need to go get Ciri from the Temple of Melitele and head to Kaer Morhen for the winter.”

The bard snorts loudly in his sleep.

“Fine, but he’s your problem.” Yennefer jabs her finger at Geralt. “ Entirely your problem. I want nothing to do with this bullshit.”

Geralt nods, because he sees no point in arguing. Jaskier will only be with them for thirty days. That’s not enough time for him to cause any real havoc.

***

Day 1

“Hey.” Geralt nudges the still-snoring bard with the toe of his boot. Jaskier hasn’t stirred the entire time that Geralt, Eskel, and Yennefer have been packing up camp around him. They could probably leave him here and the kid wouldn’t notice. Geralt’s not sure how the fuck he’s survived as a traveling bard. “Time to get up.”

Jaskier’s eyes fly open and he gasps, flinching backwards. Geralt grimaces at the sour scent of terror flooding the air. He’s used to humans smelling afraid around him, but he hadn’t been expecting this human to be terrified of him, not after how insistent Jaskier had been the day before about wanting to travel with Geralt, Eskel, and Yennefer. On the other side of the clearing, Eskel’s head jerks up, posture going tense.

And then Jaskier’s bleary eyes focus on Geralt and his expression clears, a smile curling his lips. The terror scent fades as quickly as it had flared up. “Good morning, Geralt! That was the best night’s sleep I’ve gotten in weeks. Where are we off to this fine day?”

The day is gray and a little damp, with the chill of autumn cutting through the last vestiges of summer. It’s not what Geralt would ever think of as a “fine day.” “We need to put more distance between ourselves and Tridest. We’re going to head east to Flotsam. If we make good time, we’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Excellent!” Jaskier says, which is the most enthusiasm Geralt has ever seen anyone show about going to Flotsam. “I spent several weeks in Flotsam last spring. Met the loveliest lady, Hilde, I think her name was, or maybe Heidi. No, definitely Hilde, I remember because—”

Yennefer, who doesn’t tolerate cheerfulness before midday, gives Geralt a look that very clearly says, “shut him up or I will.”  

“Here.” Geralt shoves a piece of hardtack at him. No one can jabber and eat hardtack at the same time, one of its few virtues. “Eat this. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

Jaskier takes the hardtack with a grateful smile, one that only dulls a little when he takes a bite. He tries to say something, but it’s incomprehensible around the hardtack, so Geralt just turns away from him and goes back to saddling up Roach.

***

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Jaskier says an hour or so later, walking between Roach and Scorpion.

“We do,” Yennefer deadpans from the back of her mare, Sabrina, named after a girl she went to school with. Geralt thought that they must have been good friends until Yennefer explained that it was supposed to be a slight against the other sorceress.

Jaskier continues on, heedless of her reply. “How does this work?” He gestures between the three of them.

Yennefer looks down her nose at him. “If no one has given you the birds and the bees talk, bardling, I suggest you go back to Oxenfurt and ask one of your old professors.”

“No, thank you.” Jaskier looks up at her with a brilliant smile. “They did a shit job of giving that talk the first time around. I was nearly twenty when I realized you could use your mouth to—”

“How does what work?” Eskel cuts him off, frowning at Yennefer.

“The three of you,” Jaskier says. “Do you travel together all the time? How did you meet? How long have you three been together?”

Yennefer arches an eyebrow. “What makes you think we’re together?”

“I’m a bard.” Jaskier’s voice takes on a lofty tone. “I know love when I see it and the three of you are clearly in love.”

Eskel turns to Geralt with a look of wide-eyed incredulity. “You’re in love with Yennefer too?”

“Don’t worry, darling.” Yennefer’s lips curl into a little smirk. “There’s plenty of room in my bed for the both of you. Unless you’d rather duel about it.”

Jaskier looks between the three of them with the enormous eyes of someone just realizing they’ve stepped in it. ”I, er…”

“They’re fucking with you,” Geralt tells him flatly. 

Yennefer sighs. “You’re no fun, Geralt. Thank the gods I have Eskel.”

Eskel looks very smug.

“Ah, I see how it is.” Jaskier barks a laugh. “It isn’t kind to torment your new friend, you know.”

“We’ll keep that in mind when we make a friend,” Yennefer says.

Geralt talks over Jaskier’s offended gasp. “It’s been the three of us for ten years now. We don’t travel together all the time. Most towns will chase out two witchers with stones as soon as we step foot in them and Yennefer has her own life, away from the Path.”

“Oh?” Jaskier turns to Yennefer, eyes bright with curiosity.

“No,” she says flatly and his shoulders sag a little.

Geralt doesn’t know how he ended up being the one doing all the talking, but Yennefer seems uninterested in answering Jaskier’s questions, Eskel is still faintly bewildered by the bard, and he has a feeling that Jaskier will keep asking until he gets the information he wants. “Eskel and I have known each other since we were boys. Yennefer and I met fifteen years ago in Aedirn.”

“He was hired to kill me.” Yennefer’s lips quirk.

Instead of looking horrified, Jaskier looks delighted. “Oh ho, I can tell there’s a story there.”

“Not really.” Geralt shrugs. “I didn’t kill her.”

“Well, I would hope not. That would have been an inopportune start to a romance.”

“There wasn’t much of a romance at the beginning,” Geralt says dryly. “She tried to kill me the first time we met.”

Yennefer makes no attempt to look remorseful. “That’s what you get when you barge into someone’s hiding place with a fucking sword.”

“Why were you hired to kill her?” Jaskier frowns. “I thought witchers killed monsters, not men. Or in this case, mages.”

“I was accused of assassinating the Queen of Lyria and her daughter,” Yennefer says. “Geralt had the misfortune to be traveling through Lyria at the time.”

Geralt hums. “The King of Lyria didn’t give a shit that I only kill monsters. It was either my head or hers.”

“But you saved her instead.” Jaskier looks downright starry-eyed.

Geralt snorts. “She saved herself.”

“You helped.” Yennefer reaches over to pat his arm.

“And then how did it become the three of you?” Jaskier looks between Yennefer and Eskel.

Geralt exchanges glances with his lovers. The story of how the three of them got together is inextricably entwined with the story of how Geralt claimed Ciri via Law of Surprise. And Geralt doesn’t need to discuss it with Eskel and Yennefer to know that there’s no way in hell that they’re going to tell Jaskier about Ciri. What keeps their daughter safe is that everyone thinks Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon was lost at sea with her parents eight years before. No one would think to connect the lost princess to nine-year-old Ciri, the feisty, spirited student at the Temple of Melitele who gives her teachers endless gray hairs.

“I needed a witcher’s assistance and Geralt was unavailable,” Yennefer says, which isn’t entirely a lie. “Once Eskel and I got to know each other, it didn’t take long for us to realize what Geralt saw in the other one.”

“But how—”

“What about you?” Eskel asks. “How did a noble become a traveling bard?”

Jaskier strikes Geralt as the type to love talking about himself, so he’s surprised when the bard almost looks flustered. “Well, my parents sent me to Oxenfurt when I was twelve, like every noble son in Redania. We’re expected to study all seven liberal arts, but much to my parents’ dismay, I was far too interested in the art part of the liberal arts, particularly music. When I graduated from Oxenfurt, they thought I would return to Lettenhove and take my place as my father’s heir. Instead, I just… walked in the opposite direction of Lettenhove. That was seven years ago. I haven’t been home since.”

Geralt hums, remembering that Jaskier’s father apparently told the Baron de Tridest to go ahead and have his son executed. From the lost look on Jaskier’s face, he’s thinking the same thing. Taking pity on him, Geralt decides to change the subject. “Want to hear about the time Eskel nearly burned down the keep where we grew up?”

Eskel shoots him a betrayed look. “That was an accident.”

“Wouldn’t have made the keep any less burned down if there hadn’t been a mage nearby.”

“Come on, Wolf.”

“I would be delighted, Geralt.” Jaskier grins up at him, blue eyes sparkling with relief at the distraction.

Geralt has never been much of a storyteller, but he can try his best if it keeps Jaskier from getting that lost look on his face again.

***

Read the rest on AO3!

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskelfer #eskel x geralt x jaskier x yennefer #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #eskel #ghost's writing #ghost's fic #hanging out with the right people verse