#winter at kaer morhen

[dapandapod]

Bruises

I realized I forgot to post this on Tumbl! It's about 8,5k and written in one day in a fit of inspiration (helppppp) because I needed that sweet sweet Jaskier whump. Please enjoy this emotional hurt/comfort ish-fix-it of season 2. On Ao3 here

Jaskier never expected to see Kaer Morhen, especially not in the way he ended up seeing it.

The dwarves lead him and Ciri as far as they can, banter and cutting remarks following Jaskier at every step.

Sure, he gives as good as he gets; whatever he is dealt he makes sure to give back, if he can get away with it.

But you can only be hit so many times before it becomes a bruise, no matter how lightly.

And Jaskier is already sore, from years of barbs, from years of being told to “fuck off, bard” or “shut up, bard” or “you are so fucking loud,” and well. It hits harder when it is someone you consider a friend.

Especially when it turns out that friendship was one sided.

The little princess is full of resentment and anger, but trading banter puts a small smile on her face, so he lets her.

If the way to get friendly is to let her tease him, so be it. He knows she needs an outlet for her inner turmoil so it doesn’t fester, so he turns up the dramatics and plays along.

The second to last eve they spend with the dwarves, it suddenly becomes too much. He knows Yarpen isn’t a fan, he knows there is some truth behind his name calling and swearing. 

Ciri is sitting across the fire, sharpening a stick with the knife from her boot, looking for all the world like she isn’t paying attention to the conversation around her.

But then one of the dwarves calls Jaskier an ignorant, lazy, useless human, wondering what the fuck he is doing here anyway.

Maybe it is the ale, maybe it is the smoke stinging his eyes, or the years of putting up with it.

Jaskier doesn’t remember which one of them it was afterwards, and it doesn’t matter. His anger flares. He stands up, and the group goes very quiet.

“Have any of you asked me anything of my life? Have any of you bothered to ask what I was doing in a fucking prison cell, why I don’t have a lute, or where I went after you left that fucking dragon hunt with Geralt?”

There is complete silence, only the crackling of the fire and the night sounds of the forest.

“You might think I’m useless, and that I am lazy, and that I’m ignorant. But I don’t have to be here. I have people depending on me, yet here I am. Giving up responsibilities and comforts alike, all for someone who can’t even call me a friend, surrounded by people who clearly don’t want me here.”

He flexes his hands, feeling the blistered and burned skin strain, the pain clearing his head some.

“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.” He finishes, picks up his bedroll and his pack, and settles on the outskirts of the camp, by the wagon.

Close enough to be safe, far away enough to get some peace.

It takes a few minutes for the muttering to begin, a few more until Ciri stands up too, and gathers her bedroll.

Until now, she has been distant, and he can’t blame her in the least. Now she settles down just a few feet from him, alongside the carriage.

It is colder here in the north, and neither of them had any kind of proper gear packed for their journey, unplanned as it was. He still drapes his leather jacket over her when he hears her chattering teeth, and settles on his bedroll with just a thin blanket.

~

Kaer Morhen is all big halls, high ceilings and hairy men. Hairy witchers. Lots of them too, and Ciri runs to greet them with a big smile.

They had found Eskel along the path, guiding them the rest of the way up. Ciri knew some of the way already, but only the paths closest to the keep, so it was a great relief having someone who knew what to avoid and what trails led them past ancient traps and monster dens.

The road was long, and Jaskier can’t believe Geralt thought he would make it here unscathed. Eskel seemed a little concerned as well when Jaskier explained his task, but said nothing.

Still says nothing, now that Ciri is surrounded by witchers, and Jaskier is left just standing there at the edge of the room. He is usually not one to hesitate to introduce himself, but he is tired, hungry, and frankly feeling rather neglected.

Eventually Ciri introduces him to the group, and it takes about three seconds after that to figure out who Lambert is.

Ah, ‘Lambert, Lambert, what a prick,’ indeed.

He is given dinner, a place to sleep, and is shown to the room where they keep a myriad of bathtubs. Lucky for him, there is already a fire going, making the room warm and toasty, and making it considerably easier to warm the water without any signs.

Jaskier can’t lie, he had been picturing hot springs, or anything pre-heated really, especially the shallow pool that had been built in the floor.

A quick toe dip later, and he is never stepping foot in that pool, ever.

His fingers ache when they come in contact with the heat of the fireplace, and he flexes them in an attempt to dispel the discomfort.

Sinking down into a tub at long last is heaven.

Dirt from far more than the road to the keep has had his skin itching, his hair stuck in a permanent curl around his ears, and he longs for his artistic dishevelment once more.

Sharing breakfast with the witchers of Kaer Morhen enlightens him about the many odd manners of Geralt of Rivia.

Watching the other witchers mess with each other explains so much. Unguarded food is immediately stolen, and if given the chance, someone will increase the temperature of their tea all the way to boiling, and then challenge each other to drink it, and so on, and so forth. Brotherly pranks, clearly, but the kind you need a certain set of mutations to deal with.

Jaskier only has his mixed heritage to keep him out of the worst of troubles that technically would be bad news for full humans, but nothing to keep him safe from this, so he steers clear.

Yennefer and Geralt join them that same afternoon.

Ciri runs into Geralt’s arms, and Jaskier remains at the table where he is challenging Coën with loaded dice.

Not until most of the others have gone to bed does Geralt finally approach him.

“Thank you for bringing her safely here.”

Jaskier looks at him for a long while, before replying.

“You’re welcome.” He says finally, and Geralt pats his shoulder. Weird.

~

After that first day, Jaskier approaches Vesemir while the others are busy.

The way he left things in Oxenfurt doesn’t sit right with him, and he is pretty sure Pricilla is going to assume he is dead if he doesn’t get a message to her soon.

He still has no idea how long he is supposed to stay in the keep, but he writes a carefully worded letter, assuring his safety and asking her to keep singing the Song of the Shore.

She will know what the coded song title means, and he has enough funds squirreled away to keep the entire Sandpiper operation going for a while longer, before he needs to find a way to beg his benefactor for assistance.

Vesemir gives him a long look, and Jaskier offers the letter he is holding, stifling a frustrated sigh.

“You are free to read it. I’m not trying to give away your location, just assure my safety of me and those I left behind.” He says, because he knows.

He spent years in the library of Oxenfurt, and he has read the old tomes that contain what little witcher history there is to find, as poorly depicted as it is. He knows about the sacking of the keep, understands the fear of it happening again.

It still stings.

Vesemir accepts his offer, and opens the letter, reading it over. His eyebrow climbs up his forehead, and he looks at Jaskier before putting it back into its envelope.

“I’ll have it sent.” He says, his mustache twitching when he makes a considering face. “Do any of the others know?”

“About the Sandpiper?” Jaskier asks, and Vesemir nods. “Yennefer knows. She was a part of the last group I sent off, before…” Jaskier stops and takes a breath. “Before. I know how and when to keep things to myself.”

Vesemir nods again approvingly, and takes the letter with him.

No one seems to have noticed the exchange, and Jaskier is left wondering if that is a good or a bad thing.

~

Things are a bit tense in the keep. Geralt still hasn’t seemed to forgive Yennefer for her betrayal, and Ciri seems to be more withdrawn lately.

Between witcher practice and chores, Jaskier tries to make himself as useful as he can be.

Which is not very, as it turns out, since he is not trusted to be in the lab anymore because of a tiny little tasting incident. Nor is he allowed to help with the patching up the keep. The library is Vesemir’s baby, and Jaskier is sure he is safeguarding secrets of the past there.

So Jaskier just… hangs around. Without a lute, he can’t play, and he probably wouldn’t be able to just yet anyway with his fingers still in their sorry state. The blistered skin has started peeling now, and new soft pink skin has started to show underneath.

He and Yennefer are getting closer, both of them evidently outcasts of a sort.

Especially since none of the other witchers make an effort to get to know them, nor is Geralt paying any kind of attention to either of them. She is the only one who really knows about the firefucker, and nobody has bothered to ask about the bandages.

If she had her chaos, she could have healed him, but she doesn’t, so instead she makes what ointments she can and watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t eat it instead of applying it.

~

Late summer is slowly becoming early fall, and Jaskier realizes that his window for leaving is ever shrinking.

He doesn’t want to leave, not really, but he has no idea what he's doing here. Geralt hasn't asked him to leave, but neither has he asked him to stay.

Their interactions are short and rarely between them alone.

A lot of it consists of Geralt being nearby when Jaskier is retelling funny stories of their travels, making Ciri smile and the other witchers roar with laughter and the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitch in an aborted smile.

They don’t treat him like the dwarves did, but they clearly don't know why Jaskier is here either, and it is frustrating to say the least.

They seem to appreciate his singing more than Geralt ever did, sure, but sometimes it feels like they use him to annoy Geralt, and sometimes Jaskier thinks it’s working…

Lambert is probably the worst. He is an asshole and excuses it by calling it honesty.

He picks up where Geralt left off after the mountain, poking at every visible sore spot until Jaskier is stinging. Jabs and jibes, poking fun at Jaskier to make the others laugh. Nothing he isn’t used to, but something that makes Jaskier feel uncomfortable when nobody steps in to stop him.

Ciri sticks close to his side after those nights.

She doesn’t say much, doesn’t try to defend him, and he would never ask her to, but she glares at Lambert and asks Jaskier to tell her another story, which he gladly does.

~

It’s been two weeks since their arrival, and he, Lambert, Coën and Geralt are gathered around the dining table. Most of the others have filtered out to their own tasks or downtime activities, but they linger, chatting and playing dice. Coën stays out of it, still not trusting Jaskier since the loaded dice incident, which Jaskier is immensely proud of.

For the first time in a long time, Jaskier is actually enjoying himself, and enjoying being next to his friend. Maybe, after all this time, Geralt has started to think of him as a friend too.

Until Lambert opens his mouth and ruins it all.

“You are not half as bad as Geralt made you out to be. Or maybe it’s because he made you leave your lute behind at the bottom of the mountain?”

Next to him Geralt stiffens, and Jaskier feels his jaw working.

“Thanks,” is all he says, shaking the dice in the cup one more time before slamming it down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary. Then he stands up and climbs over the bench, very fucking done with the entire conversation.

Behind him he can hear Coën berating Lambert, who pretends he has no idea what he said wrong.

Fucking asshole.

He doesn’t hear Geralt say anything, nor ask about the missing lute.

It’s not that cold out yet, but the air is fresh and crisp on his face when he steps out through one of the side entrances to the courtyard. Here and there witchers are milling about, but Jaskier wants to be alone.

He hurries to the main gate and across the bridge, seeking his solitude amongst the trees on the other side. Technically, it is a bit dangerous to go out alone, but Jaskier is pretty sure no little beasties would dare come close to a monster hunter’s keep in broad daylight.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls after him, and Jaskier stifles a long line of swears. Still he lets Geralt catch up to him, even if he is decidedly not looking at the witcher.

“Lambert can be such a prick.” Geralt says when he has caught up. “He only wants to rile you up.”

Jaskier notices the clear lack of an apology in there.

“So I’ve noticed. And he succeeded,” Jaskier says shortly, flexing his fingers again.

A bad habit now, but it is better than picking at the sharp, hardened edges of skin that still cling to his fingertips as they heal.

Clearly, Geralt hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say, or he had expected this to be enough. It isn’t. He lingers, still standing there, waiting for… something.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” He asks when Geralt isn’t saying anything, and turns to look at him. His… friend. The man he has spent far too many years believing he meant something to.

“... I wanted to see if you are alright.” Geralt says haltingly, and Jaskier finally snaps.

“Oh yes, I am clearly alright after being told time and time again that I am annoying, unwanted, useless, loud, and being told by your family that you had made me out to be all those things too, before they even met me.”

Geralt looks taken aback, but Jaskier is not done.

“I’m tired of this, Geralt. I am so fucking tired of this. Not once have you come to my defence, not once have you told them to fuck off.”

“You can hold your own.” Geralt says, frowning, and Jaskier spreads his arm in frustration.

“I can, of course I fucking can! I have to, since not even the man I thought of as my best friend considers me a friend enough to have my back!”

Again, the witcher doesn’t have a reply to that. Fucking figures.

“Leave me alone, Geralt. Before I say something I’ll regret.”

“...Don’t wander.” The witcher cautions him hesitantly, and thankfully returns towards the bridge.

Jaskier stays longer than what is probably advisable. He is just fuming, and he kicks a young tree, making yellow leaves fall down around him.

He could technically blow off steam by sitting down to write, but there would be an audience no matter where he goes in the keep, and he is also not very much in the mood for another Burn Butcher Burn.

That one has done enough damage already.

In the end, it is Ciri who ends up fetching him. She doesn’t say anything about his red eyes and tousled hair, nor the bruises on his knuckles.

“Dinner is ready,” is all she says, and waits for him to join her back across the bridge with the others.

Jaskier takes his dinner and chooses another table far from the big group. Predictably, Ciri joins him, but he didn’t expect Eskel to sit down with them, too. Nor Yennefer. Nor Geralt.

They talk amongst themselves, even if Ciri and Jaskier are the only one replying to Yennefer when she says something.

It makes him feel weird, considering their rivalry all these years.

He knocks their shoulders together and teases her, calls her the worst wife ever. It is worth it for the smile he teases out of her, but he notices Geralt pull in a sharp breath of air.

“What?” he asks, but Geralt says nothing, just stares down at his food.

That evening, Geralt walks Jaskier back to his room.

“I’m sorry,” the witcher finally says after a long stretch of silence that Jaskier refuses to fill. “For what Lambert said. And for what I made Lambert believe.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise. When there is nothing else, he turns towards his door.

“Sure. See you around, Geralt.”

But Geralt stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Are you and Yennefer… really married?”

Of course. Of course that is what would be on Geralt’s mind. Another sore spot amongst the others on his bruised heart.

“Fret not, witcher, the sorceress is still unwed and free for the taking. She did get me out of a rather sticky situation, though, so if it’s all the same to you, I do consider her my friend and platonic wife.”

With that, Jaskier turns and closes the door behind him.

Fuck, that was not how he wanted this day to go. His eyes sting and he swallows many times and he clenches his fists to keep his emotions in line.

Maybe it is time to leave.

Maybe it is time to go back to where people need and want him. Where he can make a difference. Where he can matter. Where he is enough.

His eyes sting once more, and with a great sigh he heaves himself from where he was leaning against the door and pours himself a cup of water.

He’ll talk with Eskel in the morning. Or Vesemir. Find a way to leave that won’t inconvenience anyone any further.

~

Leaving is harder than he thought, mainly because now, all of a sudden, people seem to seek his company.

Yennefer keeps appearing, asking him for help with stupid things. Some of them, he realizes, might be a way to regain the trust she broke between her and Geralt, but he appreciates her company it all the same.

Especially since most of it includes making Ciri smile, some other parts of it to make Lambert’s life a little more shitty. Something he is all for, to be honest.

Jaskier is petty when he wants to be, and right now he is the Prince of Petty.

Geralt too, seems to have come to some conclusion. He bites back faster when Lambert becomes too much, or Eskel, or Coën for that matter. In Jaskier’s defence, even.

It’s… weird. Nice, but weird.

And it is tearing at the walls that he spent all summer building.

~

Jaskier writes another letter to Pricilla.

Vesemir had told him that he will accept no return letter, but there are some strings he could pull if it were really necessary. Since they are hiding from Nilfgaard in a keep deeply hidden away by time and nature, Jaskier respects the need for it, and continues writing his one sided letters.

He is rather used to one sided communication, after all.

~

When he finally thinks he is about to get Eskel alone, it is not by his own doing.

“I’m sorry, I found a journal without a name, and I looked through it to see who it belonged to.”

Well, fuck.

“Jaskier. You are putting yourself at great risk.”

“And others even more so, if I don’t.” Jaskier replies, knowing exactly what he is referring to. Eskel blinks, then nods.

“I need to go back, Eskel. Before winter comes.”

“It’s too dangerous. The pass will be open for a few weeks more, but you are a wanted man.”

This is news.

“What do you know?” He asks quietly, accepting his journal back.

“I have no idea how you got into the prison cell, but word’s spread that the White Wolf busted you out.”

Fuck.

“That’s not good.”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel says, and Jaskier pats his shoulder, but he immediately pulls his hand back with a grimace. How can one see the spikes on his shoulders, and forget that they are, indeed, spikey?

“Shouldn’t have done that. Why do you keep wearing spikes?” Jaskier says. “ Also, no fault but my own, I suppose, with the jailbreaking and all that. Actually, scratch that, are all witchers allergic to just bailing someone out? Or is it just a Geralt thing?”

Jaskier tries to lighten the mood, but his stomach is sinking and his hands feel clammy. Time to write another letter or three.

“Witcher’s are all cheapskates, I’m afraid,” Eskel grins, but then sobers. “Do the others know?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“They didn’t ask. Nobody asked.”

At the same time, Geralt comes around the corner and spots them, a frown forming on his forehead. Of course.

“Right. Well, if you would keep this to yourself, I’d be immensely grateful.” Jaskier says quietly, and this time Eskel pats Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I got your back, bard,” the scarred witcher says, ironically, and now there is a lump forming in Jaskier’s throat.

Great. Fantastic. Splendid. Amazing.

Without waiting, Jaskier takes off towards his room to hide his journal again. Not to avoid Geralt. Not at all.

~

The letters he puts together are swiftly given to Vesemir. His eyebrows shoot up again when he spots one of the names addressed.

“Not a friend I would have expected of you, Pankratz.” Vesemir says quietly. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

Jaskier knows. It is a high risk game for everybody involved, with him in the direct line of fire.

“They will have to make do without me for a while.” Jaskier says quietly. “Or so Eskel tells me.”

“Ah, yes. Might be good to lay low for a while. You are welcome to stay the season with us, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, but we expect you to pull your weight.”

Does he have anywhere? Is he really welcome here?

The way Geralt looks at him sometimes, he is not so sure.

“Thank you. Though I might need to make a trip down to civilization soon. Some more clothes, paper and a lute. What kind of bard am I without a lute?” He asks, half joking.

“It’d be better if we sent down one of our usuals.” Vesemir says, scratching at his beard. “A man like yourself is sure to stand out anywhere in these small settlements.”

Was that a complement?

“Was that a complement?” Jaskier says, smirking, and Vesemir huffs goodnaturedly.

“I can see them looking, bard. I have eyes. And ears.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, frowning, but Vesemir turns to go.

“Write me a list of what you need, and I’ll see what we can do.”

~

Aubry and Coën leave only a few days after Jaskier had written his list. He doesn’t really expect them to find him a lute, but something stringed to play would be nice. It’s rather likely they would find a 4 stringed lute at most, nothing like the one he smashed over that guard’s head, nor like the one he got from the Elven kind that he keeps safely in Oxenfurt.

Frankly, he’s glad that he couldn’t bring one of his nicer instruments.

The temperature changes could crack the wood, if not treated carefully, and it would be hell to keep that many strings tuned. He is pleasantly surprised when there is a knock on his door, and Geralt steps in with a leather case.

“The boys found you something,” he says by way of greeting, and Jaskier stands from his desk to accept the offered case.

He can feel the corner of his mouth tick up, and he wipes his hands on his trousers first to rid himself of stray ink before he dares touch it.

He grips it by the neck, feeling the smooth wood even through the leather of the case, and the gentle sounds of the strings as they are pinched in his grip.

“Oh, hello there,” he whispers to it, and opens it reverently.

She has six strings and a little care package, and she is terribly out of tune. The wood is old, loved, worn out, and he can see clearly where her previous player liked to put their fingers, the lacquer worn or marked to help the unpracticed one.

“What a beauty you are,” he tells her, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Geralt leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. It almost looks like he is smiling, but Jaskier won’t turn his head to look.

There is a nervousness in him, like when you get to know a new lover. Excitement, fondness, curiosity.

He sits down on the bed, lute perched in his lap, and attempts to tune it. He fishes out the little tuning fork around his neck, raps it on his knuckles, plucks the matching string, and starts adjusting it.

Geralt makes a face; it’s probably not a nice sound to sensitive ears, but he remains.

“Did you know, it's common lutes have as many as 12 courses?” Jaskier says, turning the peg until it feels right.

“Courses?” Geralt asks.

“Strings. Oh, I might need to get this little darling some new pegs eventually, and that string looks a little worn out. We will fix you up, love.” He coos at the lute, and he hears Geralt huff.

“Doesn’t yours have 13?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks up, surprised.

“They do, yes.” Jaskier looks down, and his hands suddenly feel a little clammy, his cheeks warm. “The most I have ever heard of is 35, which is ridiculous. One of my old masters in Oxenfurt has one with 19, but I find those are best suited for academic music, rather than music for the masses.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything else, and when Jaskier looks up, Geralt is smiling.

“What?” He asks, but Geralt just shakes his head.

“Just haven’t talked like this in a while. It’s nice.”

That… is not what he expected him to say. Truth be told, he is still a little hurt. He still hasn't received a proper apology from that outburst from Geralt on the dragon hunt, nor any kind of thanks for just dropping everything to come with him again.

“This is going to take a while,” Jaskier says hesitantly, when Geralt doesn’t say anything else, nor move. “Technically, I should look her over first, then tune, but ah, can’t blame a man for being excited, can you?”

Jaskier looks down, puts his tuning fork back inside his shirt, where it clinks against the ring, and puts both hands on his lute.

“I don’t mind. If you don’t mind me staying.”

This is so weird.

Geralt stays, and listens to Jaskier tuning his new treasure. It takes him almost twenty minutes to see that Geralt is holding another bag, most likely one with the requested clothing.

They will have to wait a little more, as Jaskier is getting into position and putting the lute strap over his shoulder.

His right hand already stings a little, the new skin not used to the sharpness of the strings. Jaskier plays a few scales to get to know her, and to get back into it. He plays a little ditty from his past, humming the familiar nonsense words of the warm up song of his early days in the academy.

They don’t know each other yet, but it feels good to play again.

Just because he can, and because he wants to show off a little, Jaskier decides to test her limits. An old lullaby, embellished by the academics and time, harmonies and contrast ringing out in the room.

He smiles, until his index finger stings, and he hisses and puts it in his mouth.

“You alright?” Geralt asks, sitting up straighter from where he finally was sitting on the chair by Jaskier’s desk.

“‘m good,” Jaskier says around the finger in his mouth. “Just a cut. New skin’s not tough yet.”

He takes the finger out, and inspects it. His fingers are red, and the small cut is bleeding a little more than it should. Even his cuts are dramatic, he hears his teacher say, an echo from a distant past in the back of his mind.

“...New skin?” Geralt asks, face blank, and Jaskier looks up at him. The good atmosphere in the room is changing, and for some reason Jaskier feels like it is his fault. It makes him feel a bit defensive.

“Yes, you know, after the old skin blisters after a bad burn? Haven’t played in some time either, so that probably makes it worse, I suppose.” Jaskier can’t help but prod, to see if Geralt will take notice.

“You didn’t tell me about the burn,” Geralt says, his mouth a thin line.

“You didn’t ask.” Jaskier says, laying both hands flat over the strings, looking at Geralt challengingly. Good mood is all but gone now, and he feels that old bruise makes itself known again. This time he is the one poking it.

“Usually don’t have to.”

“Maybe I got tired of our one sided friendship,” Jaskier says before he can stop himself. Fuck, that is not how he meant to say that.

By the looks of it, Geralt doesn’t take it too well either.

He stands up, staring at Jaskier as if he grew a second head.

“Tired?” He says, hands clenching and unclenching against his sides.

“When was the last time you called me your friend, Geralt?” Jaskier says, starting to get agitated. “When was the last time you asked me something, anything that didn’t directly relate to Yennefer, Ciri, or you needing me to do something? When was the last time you apologized, for anything you have said to me?”

Jaskier stands up and puts the lute down on the bed, lest he does something he regrets too. All the words are pouring out of him now, why risk breaking anything but his own heart?

“Maybe I grew tired of being the only one trying.” He grabs his handkerchief to stop the blood from his finger, clenching his hand hard around it.

“Why are you here then?” Geralt spits, and it’s like a slap.

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Jaskier shoots back, finding himself taking a step forward. “Why am I here, when clearly nobody wants me to be?”

Geralt stares at him, and Jaskier can’t really tell what that expression is.

“Are you leaving?” Geralt asks through clenched jaws.

“Can’t. Apparently there are consequences for being broken out of jail. Especially when it happens to have been by someone like the White Wolf.”

This time, Geralt visibly flinches.

“Didn’t think about that, did you?” Jaskier says. “I was so glad you found me again, I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I pretended we could start again, maybe you would want me by your side, walking next to you for once, not just trailing behind like some forlorn fucking puppy.”

Jaskier looks at his bed, looks at the oh so loved lute, that had seen so many sets of hands, every scratch and tear a part of a journey.

“Vesemir has allowed me to stay through the winter. Unless you’ve all got something against that. Let me know, and I’ll be on my way.”

Jaskier wishes he wasn’t in his room. Wishes he could just leave. Instead, he has to stand there like an idiot and wait until either Geralt does, or opens his mouth, for once.

“I didn’t realize…” Geralt begins but trails off.

“That actions have consequences, Geralt? That words do damage too? Did you learn nothing from your entire Butcher experience?”

That is a low blow, and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel like being nice right now.

It’s remarkable that Geralt hasn’t blown up at him yet, which in itself is probably not a very high standard to hold anyone against.

“You are still bleeding,” Geralt says eventually, and Jaskier looks down to see that he’s dropped his handkerchief. The witcher bends down and picks it up, grabbing Jaskier’s hand along the way.

Jaskier is too stunned to protest, and Geralt lifts his hand enough to inspect the cut. It’s not bleeding much anymore, but from where it’s placed, it is likely open easily.

Geralt pinches the tip of Jaskier’s finger with the handkerchief, and Jaskier suddenly flashes back to another room, another time when someone held his hand.

It takes effort not to just yank his hand back, his pulse rising and his palms getting clammy again. Geralt looks at him from under his brow, concerned, but Jaskier pinches his lips shut.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?” Jaskier manages when Geralt breaks the stare to reach for some linen Jaskier has been using as bandages every now and then.

“What I missed this past year. How to be your friend. Where we go from here.”

Geralt makes a tight wrap around his finger, to the best of his ability. Not the best place for a bandage, but at least Geralt has experience.

“I can’t tell you where we go from here, Geralt. If you ask, I can tell you about the months since the dragon hunt, but the rest, you will have to figure out along with me.”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s hand in his for a moment longer, neither of them looking at the other. The witcher’s hand is not much larger than his. With a gentle thumb, Geralt moves Jaskier’s fingers, allowing him to see what the firefucker did to him.

“You and Eskel seem to get along,” Geralt says carefully. “Does he know?”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tugs upwards in half a smile. Geralt is fishing, but Jaskier won’t say unless there is an actual question.

“Some. He found a journal of mine that I thought I had hidden.”

Geralt frowns and releases Jaskier’s hand. It drops to his side, and they both just stand there in the middle of the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

“You don’t usually hide your songs.”

“It wasn’t a song book.”

“... Can I see?”

Fuck it, why not. Whatever is happening in this room tonight will change things either way.

The new hiding place isn’t really a hiding place, just the drawer in his desk. He hands Geralt the leather bound pages, and Geralt opens and looks through it.

At first glance, it looks like his economic books. Taking stock of things bought and sold, to who and where.

Geralt glances up at Jaskier, who just nods at the book again.

Flipping a few pages, Geralt starts to make connections. When he looks up at Jaskier again, his face is carefully blank.

“You are the Sandpiper.”

“I am.” Jaskier agrees.

“You smuggled elves out of the big cities.”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, I have taken precautions for if I’m not around.”

If he should be discovered. If he were not to come back.

“Jaskier, you are putting yourself at risk.”

“And so are you, every time you take a contract. Don’t you dare tell me it’s not the same.”

“So it’s for the money?”

Jaskier sniffs, glaring at the witcher.

“No. It’s for the people who don't have anyone else to turn to. Because when they run out of elves, they will find new targets. You can’t tell me you took every contract for the coin, I have seen you accept contracts for half of your rate if they can’t afford it.”

“Is that why your fingers were blistered?” Geralt asks.

“No. That’s… something else. Something I’d rather not talk about tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier knows that if he does, he will spend the rest of the evening wondering if he gave anything away, wondering where Rience is, who else he is burning because Jaskier got away.

Geralt gives the book back, and Jaskier places it back in the drawer.

“Rest your hand, Jaskier. Heal before you play again.”

The room is strangely empty when Geralt has left.

Jaskier sits on the bed, staring at his hands for a long while, until he finally decides to look at what was in the bag of clothes that Geralt brought, and Jaskier promptly forgot about in favor of the lute.

Looking through it,it seems like Geralt might have added a shirt of his own to Jaskier’s new wardrobe.

He shoves it to the bottom of the pile.

Jaskier doesn’t make it down to dinner that night.

~

After that day, things slowly progress in small steps.

Everything goes to shit, however, when Voleth Meir makes herself known.

Ciri’s body moves at the possessing demon’s will, and she manages to stab three witchers badly before the alarm is raised.

Yennefer wakes him up, pulling him from a dream into a nightmare. She needs him.

Somehow they always need him.

The powers channeled through Ciri’s small body are strong, destructive.

Jaskier is hiding under a table when a large creature steps through a portal, a creature he has never seen before. It sweeps at the witchers, and Voleth Meir laughs with Ciri’s mouth.

It takes Yennefer tearing open her veins for Voleth Meir to finally let go, for Ciri to free herself from the snares her mind had been tangled in.

With a scream, Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt disappear from view through a portal.

Jaskier sees Lambert land on his back, leg bleeding badly after a swipe from one of the creatures still roaming. He pulls him to the relative safety of his table, and tears his tunic enough to wrap Lambert’s leg.

“Thank you,” Lambert grumbles as he gets his bearings, the commotion in the room making it hard to hear. Jaskier just nods, tying the makeshift bandage off.

Finally, it’s over.

And somehow, Yennefer got her powers back.

~

The days after are a mess. One of the stabbed witchers doesn’t make it, and Ciri has been hiding in her room, guilt ridden, making herself as small as physically possible.

Geralt tries to coax her out, but he still has too little time, too many things to sort out. With her newly regained magic, Yennefer heals who she can, focusing on major injuries until she almost exhausts herself completely.

All the while, Jaskier is left to his own devices. Again.

Not that there is anything he can actually do for them. He isn’t medically trained, nor does have magical abilities.

It leaves him wondering how he survived the whole ordeal at all, and while he feels lucky about it, there is also a morsel of guilt.

So Jaskier finds himself knocking on Ciri’s door. She is reluctant to let him in, but with some honey cake bribes, she finally relents.

This, he knows. This, he can help with.

A young girl, plagued with guilt and fear, struggling to get a hold of herself and what she did, he knows how to help her.

“Not what you did. What your body did, under someone else's control.” Jaskier reminds her between bites. “I might not have gone through what you have, but I know what it is like to feel helpless. Fear and expectations don’t mix well, especially not when a murderous witch is involved.”

They talk a lot, mostly Ciri actually, and maybe they cry a little. After they finish their stolen cakes, and Jaskier has sworn not to tell Lambert, Jaskier brings out his lute to let Ciri play.

It seems she has a basic knowledge, plucking out the chords of a famous love song.

Sadly, not one that Jaskier had written, but at least it wasn’t one of Valdo Marx’s. Which he tells her.

And then she proceeds to play one of Marx’s love songs.

When Geralt finally joins them, Jaskier is chasing a giggling Ciri, who is hugging the lute close, calling her a traitor and a terrible little child, cursing Valdo for tainting her poor, innocent ears.

~

The first day Ciri dares to join them for breakfast, she hides behind Geralt. Both Yennefer and Jaskier hover, ready to step in between if anyone has anything to say.

They don’t.

Lambert is the first one to approach, bandage and limp both gone, Jaskier notes. He sits opposite of Geralt and Ciri, slamming his plate down, his fork rattling down across the table.

“Hey, it happens. What is a little mind control between friends?” is all he says, then digs into his food with the worst table manners Jaskier has seen in a while.

The tension breaks when Jaskier starts berating him for it, and is met with a mouthful of food telling him exactly where he can stuff his manners.

Ciri smiles when Eskel settles next to her, bumping their arms together.

The others make a toast to the lion cub among the wolves, the one who finally found a way to shut Lambert up. Even if it was by challenging him to stuff his mouth full enough to almost choke.

~

The first snow falls not long after.

The last letter has been sent, the last visit to the village by the foot of the mountains has been made, and those witchers unwilling to be stuck for the season have left.

It is colder than a grave hag’s asshole, as Eskel declares one day, with Coën immediately wanting to know why he knows that piece of information.

“I am a man of science,” Eskel grins and winks, and Lambert almost spits out his mead.

Ciri and Yennefer are slowly bonding, their first lessons taking place by the giant lake below the keep.

Jaskier takes care of his lute, works on new material, and with Vesemir and Eskel’s help, looks for new routes for the Sandpiper to take.

Geralt finds him more often now, seeking out his company rather than just tolerating it.

For a moment, Jaskier had expected him and Yennefer to fall back into bed as soon as the air was cleared, but if they have, they never said.

Instead, Yennefer spends more and more time with Ciri, trying to work out ways to control her power when they realize just how strong the young girl already is.

Sometimes they all do things all together.

They go ice skating.

They lose a snowball fight, pelted until they yell for mercy.

Jaskier finally learns of the hot springs, much to his outrage.

“You mean I could have dipped into preheated water all along?!” he yells, waving his arms around dramatically, and is rewarded when Ciri snickers, and Geralt bites down a smile.

It makes something in his chest soar.

The walls from the past year are slowly being torn down.

Deliberately so, in fact.

Piece by piece, Jaskier decides to let Geralt in.

It’s not perfect. It’s painful and it’s terrifying to let himself be open to hope again, to trust that there is friendship this time.

~

When Geralt learns about the firefucker, he is gone for an entire day.

Jaskier has no idea where he went, and he is feeling terribly vulnerable after talking about it, hands shaking and heart racing. Yennefer finds him outside her workroom, and she pulls him inside, cursing Geralt all the way.

“Let him sulk,” she says. “If he can make a hardship his fault, he will. When he gets his head out of his ass, he’ll come back.”

Later that night, Jaskier hears Yennefer rip Geralt a new one for leaving like that, when Jaskier clearly was shaken up and shouldn’t have been left alone.

Ciri learns about the firefucker days after, and angry tears roll down her cheeks when she realizes what Jaskier went through for her, even before they met.

They sit on the bridge outside the gates, feet dangling over the edge. The air is cold enough for their breath to fog, and Ciri’s slightly damp hair to freeze.

Jaskier thumbs her tears away and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“The whole world could be at my heels, and I would do it all again to keep you safe.”

“Sometimes, I just want the world to burn.” Ciri whispers, and Jaskier tucks her into his side.

~

Geralt calls him his friend now.

It’s good.

Jaskier gets to borrow a horse, and they go out riding in the snow around the keep. They argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and who is the worse cook. 

When the window to Jaskier’s room breaks for reasons Lambert and Ciri swear up and down they know nothing about, Geralt simply moves him into his own.

The bed is wide enough for the both of them, which makes Jaskier think of who else might have shared it before him, but he pushes that thought down.

It has no place here, nothing to stand on.

They actually interact less after sharing a room, both of them needing their own space during the day.

They learned that after a vicious fight, where Geralt found all Jaskier’s sore spots once again and pounced.

“Do you ever tire of your own voice?!” he asked nastily, and that shut Jaskier right up.

He slept in the main hall for three days, until Geralt actually apologized.

After that first apology, the rest came a little easier.

They talked about what happened on the mountain. They talked about Jaskier’s past, and Geralt confessed that sometimes, since way before the dragon hunt, he thought Jaskier was only following him for the stories, for the fame it brought him.

It was Jaskier’s turn to apologize, for not seeing that, for not respecting privacy and boundaries set. He realizes he might have been blind to Geralt’s reactions to his songs, distracted with the fame their association granted them.

“But,” Jaskier says,”Not once would I have left you, even if you never lifted your sword ever again.”

To this, Geralt admits to how he always expects to be abandoned, or to be left behind.

“The thought of you leaving, or dying, it’s terrifying. I don’t think I could piece myself together again. So I left first.”

It’s like a kick in the chest, when Jaskier realizes.

That is the first night they actually sleep close on purpose. Geralt is a nasty little blanket thief, but Jaskier makes due by simply curling in close.

~

Midwinter comes, and a new year grows on the horizon. Darkness grants them a perfect view of the stars above, and the snow a blanket to let the world sleep.

Jaskier still is not allowed to join them on hunting trips, but he is getting good with a bow, under Vesemir’s sharp eyes.

~

Another sleepless night, another early morning, at the first light of dawn, when the first rays find their way through the dirty windows of Geralt’s room, that is when Jaskier dares to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead.

Convinced that the witcher is asleep, he leans on his elbow, tracing a wild strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a quick kiss, dry lips against warm skin, making Jaskier’s entire body ache.

This is why he feared bringing down those walls. This is why he withstood the bruises, an armor to keep his heart at bay.

He doesn’t expect Geralt to open his eyes and gaze up at him. Doesn’t expect Geralt to wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down, pressing a kiss of his own to Jaskier’s forehead.

Resting against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier draws in a shaking breath.

“Ask me, Geralt.” He whispers into the dawning day.

“Do you love me?” Geralt whispers back, arms tightening around Jaskier’s back, pulling him closer.

“I do.” His voice wavers, eyes stinging. “Where do we go from here?”

“Wherever we want to. We’ll figure it out.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare ask. Too scared of the question, even more scared of the answer.

Instead of replying, Geralt rolls them over.

Now he is the one leaning on his elbows, hovering inches from Jaskier. They are so close, he can feel every breath Geralt takes, see the pulse jump in his throat.

Instead of replying, Geralt kisses him.

A surprisingly chaste kiss, lingering and soothing and earth shattering and heart wrenching.

“I do.” Geralt whispers finally, lips brushing together. “Whatever that will do to us, I do.”

~

Come spring and the first visit to the village below the mountain, Vesemir finds him with ten envelopes and a small box.

The box is a set of strings and pegs and lute varnish they couldn’t get before the pass closed this winter. Most of the letters are from Pricilla, updating him on what is going on in Oxenfurt and the Sandpiper network, all well coded.

Jaskier realizes he can’t stay anymore.

The world around them is growing ever more restless and chaotic, and the only way to be prepared is to be out there.

Parting with Geralt is harder than it ever was before.

Being alone is dangerous, but being with them is even more so.

He has an organization to run. Stories to tell. Lies to spread.

During the winter, Jaskier came to realize how he can make a difference. On the road, with a lute on his back, in inns and taverns, the way he always did.

As they part, on a crossroad that finally will lead them to part, they stand next to new Roach and Pegasus, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together.

“Ask me,” Jaskier whispers.

“Won’t you tell me?” Geralt whispers back, making Jaskier huff and smile.

“I won’t make it that easy for you, witcher.” He teases, and Geralt steals a kiss, humming softly into it.

“So I’ll have to come find you then, and ask you to tell me again.” Geralt mumbles against his lips.

Jaskier will hold him to that.

Words held back until they meet again.

The road is long, and full of dangers.

Jaskier hopes it will lead him to Kaer Morhen once more.

#the witcher #geraskier #emotional hurt comfort #dapanda writes #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #slow build #geralt is learning how to be a friend #jaskier is very much unseen by all his important people #winter at kaer morhen #the witcher season 2 fix it #ish #i have a lot of feelings about being unseen in a group #being told you talk too much #jaskier deserves so much more than shitty friends #yennefer #lambert is a prick #eskel #yarpen #ciri

[0dde11eth]

Winters are long, the kaer morons share their sexploits they've had that year on the path:

Geralt: I was having sex with a jaskier, and I was riding on top and he just went: "oh look at you!"

Geralt: completely ruined the mood, I got way to shy to continue

*eskel and Lambert dying of laughter in the background*

#my nonsense #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #kaer morons #another day in kaer morhen #lambert #eskel #kaer morhen cracktivities #winter at kaer morhen #bottom geralt rights #pillow princess geralt

[beth--b]

In which the witchers look after their bard

written for @sicktember 2022 prompt 8 - Intense Coddling and Prompt 22 - cold/flu

Jaskier loved wintering at Kaer Morhen with Geralt and his brothers. It wasn’t easy by any means but it was always good to see the Witchers relaxed, not fighting day in and day out with monsters and people alike.

Kaer Morhen might hold some terrible memories for the Witchers but it was also their home. Nobody there was going to hurl insults or shy away in fear of them.

Jaskier made it his mission to spend time looking after the other Witchers at the keep as well, not just Geralt. They all deserved some kindness after what they spent three seasons a year doing for the people of the continent.

They had arrived a few hours earlier and Geralt was currently helping Eskel with firewood while Jaskier was unpacking their things. He sneezed a few times in quick succession and put it down to the room being a little dusty from disuse, nevermind that Vesmir aired the rooms out well before the younger wolves arrived home for the season.

Once he had unpacked he allowed himself a moment to lay on the bed, nobody was expecting him anywhere at the moment and he was exhausted after weeks on the road. Before he was really aware it was happening Jaskier’s eyes closed and he slept.

………………

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41563653

Jaskier woke slowly, as he did he realised he wasn’t alone. Geralt was beside him on the bed, Jaskier’s face pressed against his chest.

“Finally awake?” Geralt asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Hmm, I suppose. Sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Jaskier’s voice came out a little hoarse and he cleared his throat a few times. “Did we miss dinner?”

“Not quite, the other’s are probably already sitting down to eat though. We should join them if you feel up to it.”

Jaskier nodded and sat up, stretching before dropping a kiss to Geralt’s cheek and climbing over him to get off the bed.

Geralt just sighed at the impatient bard and stood up to follow Jaskier out of the room.

Jaskier hadn’t realised how hungry he was until he reached the hall and could smell hot food.

He sat at the long table the other’s were gathered at and greeted them.

“Apologies for our tardiness my dear Witchrer’s, I fell asleep. It’s been a long few weeks travelling.”

“Quite alright,” Eskel said, smiling at the bard. “Eat up both of you while it’s hot.”

Before long everyone had eaten their fill and moved over towards the fireplace, Vesemir settling into a worn armchair, Eskel and Lambert settled down on some furs in front of the fire and Geralt and Jaskier took a two-seater lounge that was old but still comfortable..

Jaskier sank down in the chair and leaned into Geralt’s side, the Witcher wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Jaskier settled in, full of warm stew and content to listen to the low rumble of Geralt catching up with his brothers after months apart on the Path.

A part of him knew he shouldn’t be so tired, after all he had slept the afternoon away. In that moment he couldn’t quite bring himself to care though.

Jaskier had been in a light doze, resting his head against Geralt’s shoulder when he woke up coughing. The fit lasted a few minutes and when it was finally easing off he found Eskel pressing a cup of water into his hands. He drank the water down, forcing himself to sip slowly lest he set off another coughing fit. Once he was done Geralt took the cup and put it on the floor at their feet and rubbed soothing circles along Jaskier’s back.

“Shit bard, you ok?” Lambert asked, sounding mildly alarmed at the display.

Jaskier just nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak yet.

After a few more minutes passed Jaskier felt himself flagging again. Geralt seemed to notice as well. “How about we get you to bed Jask?”

“Sure. Sorry about that. Goodnight everyone.” Jaskier let Geralt help him up and allowed himself to be led back to their room, the remaining Witcher’s calling out their own goodnights behind them.

Jaskier walked in a daze, letting Geralt guide him. Once they reached their room Geralt sat Jaskier on the bed and helped him remove his boots and get situated in bed. With Jaskier settled Geralt quickly got himself ready for bed and lay on the bed beside the bard.

Despite feeling exhausted Jaskier struggled to fall asleep. His throat felt scratchy and his head was aching. The more that he thought about those things the more he began to notice other things like the fact that one side of his nose blocked and he was aching in places that he wouldn’t normally hurt despite the hard trip up the mountain to the keep.

Sighing to himself he tried to cuddle up to Geralt and relax so he could sleep. Geralt wrapped his arm tighter around Jaskier and pulled the bard against him so that Jaskier’s head was resting on his chest. Despite his discomfort Jaskier’s eyes finally slipped closed and he slept.

Waking up the next morning was not the most pleasant experience.

Geralt was still in bed with him, which was probably the only good part of the morning. All the minor aches and pains he had noticed as he had tried to sleep the night before seemed to have increased tenfold and he felt utterly miserable.

He let out a low whine as he opened his eyes, the early morning light filtering into the room making his headache worse.

Geralt grumbled something soothing and Jaskier just whimpered again, this time Geralt opened his eyes and shifted so he could look at the bard.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

Jaskier just shook his head slightly, his throat felt raw and painful and he wasn’t sure that speaking was the best idea.

At Jaskier’s silence Geralt’s brow furrowed in concern and he pulled away to sit up. The bard shivered as Geralt’s warmth left him and tried to burrow back beneath the blankets.

Geralt uncovered Jaskier’s face and lay his hand on the bard’s forehead.

“You have a fever Jaskier, I'm guessing you don’t feel too well?” Geralt asked, running his fingers through the bard’s tangled hair.

Jaskier nodded slightly and pressed his face against Geralt’s side. The witcher kept running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, massaging his head slightly every now and then and leaving Jaskier feeling relaxed despite how generally awful he felt. Eventually he must have fallen asleep as he woke up to find the room much brighter and Geralt missing.

Not knowing how long he’d been asleep he figured he should probably get up and find something to eat. Not that he was particularly hungry but he knew he needed to eat, or at the very least some tea to soothe his sore throat.

He was just pushing his way up from the bed when the door opened and Geralt came in carrying a tray with a teapot, two mugs and a steaming bowl of something.

“Back to bed Jaskier. I brought you tea and soup.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier croaked, immediately regretting it when he began to cough.

Geralt sat the tray down and then moved to rub Jaskier’s back until the fit passed.

“Don’t talk if you can help it. At least get some tea and soup into you and hopefully that will help your throat. I asked Vesemir if we had any human safe ingredients to make something to help you and he’s checking his stores.

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak before thinking better of it and just nodding instead. He gratefully took the tea that Geralt passed him and sipped it slowly. Once the mug was empty he moved onto the soup, only managing half before his stomach roiled and he had to set it aside.

“Thank you love,” he said, voice still hoarse but better after the warmth of the tea and soup. “Sorry I’m sick, horrible timing.”

“Better here than while we were on the path to get here. Just rest for now and give yourself time to get over this.”

Jaskier nodded and settled back onto the bed.

Geralt leaned over to kiss his forehead before standing and taking the tray with him.

“I’ll come check on you later. Just need to help with some chores.”

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

Geralt left the room and Jaskier let his mind wander. While he was frustrated to have fallen ill just after their arrival, Geralt was right. It was far better to be sick where he had access to warm bed than out on the path.

Despite spending what felt like far too much of the past 24 hours sleeping Jaskier felt his eyes growing heavy again and let himself give in to sleep.

The next time Jaskier woke up Eskel was sitting in a chair near the bed.

“Eskel?” he rasped, voice coming out a pained whisper.

“Hey Jaskier. I’d ask how you’re feeling but I think I can guess as much. Maybe don’t talk. I finished my chores so Geralt asked me to come check in on you. You have quite a high fever so Vesemir is working on something to help with that. Do you want some water?”

Jaskier nodded slowly, his head felt like it was full of cotton wool but he was parched.

Eskel helped him sit up so he could drink, the witcher steadying his shaking hands before he could spill the water on himself. Once he was done Eskel set the cup aside and Jaskier let himself slump back against the headboard of the bed.

“Do you need anything else?”

Jaskier hesitated for a moment, wanting nothing more than to ask for Geralt, but eventually shook his head. He was a grown man. He could wait until Geralt was able to come back.

Eskel seemed to realise what he wanted anyway. “I’ll go check in with Geralt and let him know you’re awake.”

Jaskier gave a weak smile and Eskel just rested his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder for a moment before leaving the room.

Jaskier wasn’t alone for long before Geralt returned.

“Hey Jask, Eskel said your voice was pretty much gone so don’t talk if you can help it. Vesemir put together a remedy to help with your fever and some of the aches you’re feeling.”

He handed Jaskier a cup and Jaskier pulled a face at the thick consistency, at least with his nose so blocked he probably wouldn’t taste much. He downed it quickly, gagging a little at the bitter taste as it hit the back of his throat.

Geralt took the cup off him and nodded in sympathy. “Yeah it tastes like shit but it will help. Do you want me to sit with you for a little while?”

Jaskier felt torn, he shouldn’t keep Geralt here with him, he hadn’t seen his brother’s in months. But he really did feel like shit and wanted nothing more to be held.

Taking Jaskier’s silence as agreement Geralt shucked his boots and climbed onto the bed beside the bard. Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s chest and let the sound of his slow heartbeat lull him into sleep again.

………………

The next few days passed in much the same way, Jaskier slept, drank tea and small amounts of soup, and Vesemir’s terrible concoction to help his fever. Whenever he woke one of the witcher’s was there and quite frankly it was probably the most cared for he had ever felt.

As he started to get better though it became a little stifling.

Jaskier was sitting up in bed trying to write in his notebook and Lambert was bard-sitting.

Lambert didn’t seem to know what to do now that Jaskier was awake and feeling a little more like himself. They had played a game of gwent, Lambert had fetched him some water, but now Jaskier just wanted some peace and quiet so he could get down some of the ideas in his head before they were lost to him.

The fifth time Lambert stood up only to sit back down after pacing across the room a few times Jaskier snapped.

“Alright that’s it. Thank you kindly Lambert for your care but please, please just go. You’re going stir crazy in here and it’s making me crazy too.”

Lambert looked ready to argue, but Jaskier just stared at him, arms crossed.

“Fine!” the youngest witcher said, throwing his hands in the air before storming out of the room.

“Fuck,” Jaskier muttered. Not wanting to end things like that he threw the covers back and shakily got to his feet. Foregoing his boots lest he not be able to catch up, he made his way as quickly as he could to the door.

He hurried down the hallway, calling to Lambert as he went. He didn’t get far before he had to stop and lean against the wall as he coughed, head swimming from lack of oxygen as the fit dragged on. He was starting to sink to the floor when he felt arms wrap around him from behind and he was hauled up against someone’s chest.

“Come on bard, breathe slowly now,” Lambert’s voice cut through the fog of Jaskier’s thoughts.

After long moments his breathing slowed and he got himself back under control.

“‘m s’rry,” Jaskier gasped out.

“Shush you. I’m the one who’s sorry. Let’s get you back to bed yeah?”

Jaskier just nodded and let Lambert guide him back to his room.

Once Jaskier was situated in the bed and had finished off a drink of water, Lambert seemed satisfied enough to sit back down in the chair and stop hovering over him.

Feeling a little more like himself again Jaskier made to speak but Lambert cut him off.

“No, don’t speak buttercup. You’ve been bed bound for days with this fucking flu and my guess is you just wanted a few moment to yourself without someone hovering over you like we’ve all been doing for days. You snapped. It happens. There is nothing to apologise for. Now after that debacle in the hall are you going to be alright if I leave? Do you want me to get Geralt?”

Jaskier thought over his options. He felt wrecked, Lambert had only been trying to help. It’s all anyone had done the last few days. Finally he reached over to pat Lambert’s hand.

“Stay?” he asked quietly.

“Of course. Get some rest.”

Jaskier settled back on his pillow and let himself drift. He really did love winter’s at the keep, even if he had to be sick for the start of this one. He cared for his witcher’s so much, and they clearly cared for him too. He was on the mend and though nowhere near better yet, he could take a few more days of them coddling him.

#the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #winter at kaer morhen #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #Lambert #eskel #sick jaskier #geraskier #Sicktember 2022 #sicktember

[witcherscrane]

Eskel had been travelling with the Owl Witcher on and off for four years, both of them finding a pattern that worked perfectly when hunting together, the both of them even finding comfort with one another. Finally, the Wolf takes a deep breath and invites his heart's desire to Kear Morhen for the winter. The first time he's invited someone to join him, the first time he's loved someone so much... he just hopes his family will love Aleksei as much as he does.

#witcher #the witcher #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #Big Bang Event #Witcher Big Bang #kaer morhen big bang #kmbb #witcher event #Eskel X OC #Eskel #OC #Winter at Kaer Morhen #rated e #Mind the tags

[witcheringways]

Keeping Cozy in Kaer Morhen { The Witcher 3 : Next Gen }

#the witcher 3: wild hunt #tw3 scenery #wiedźmin #game photography #kaer morhen #winter #the witcher 3 next gen #tw3 screenshots #A blessed Yule to everyone!

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

Oh wait hold the fuck. Lambert is the one who actually holds the space.

He's loud and brash and frustrating and always running his damn mouth or needling a rise out of someone and it's always annoying, often amusing, and occasionally awful but most importantly it keeps everyone from thinking too hard. The great hall is built for hundreds and now only five sit and eat their meals there but it doesn't feel so empty because Lambert’s loud voice fills the space. Nightmare? Here's Lambert to tease you about it until you feel so embarassed and belittled that you forget what you were screaming about. The minute anyone starts getting too introspective he's there with a shot of alcohol and a topic change. He stomps everywhere and talks to himself and curses as easy as breathing because if something, anything, is taking up space Kaer Morhen doesn't feel so much like a tomb.

Does he mean to do this? Probably not. Is it actually a fundamentally unhealthy coping mechanism learned in childhood? Definitely (keep the peace by drawing attention to yourself so no one else gets hurt. Although now the hurt isnt immediate or physical and theres nothing, truly, to draw away anymore).

But if Vesemir is the wall, and Eskel is the buttress frantically trying to hold up said wall (selfishly even if the selfishness is unwilling but thats a topic for another post), then Lambert is the empty space between the wall and the buttress without which the whole thing would actually fall down.

But the question remains who fills that space for Lambert? It's exhausting being on all the time. He goes from one type of work to another without any rest. Who takes care of him?

#the witcher #lambert #im writing Vesemir and Eskel alone in Kaer Morhen the winter after Geralt's death in Rivia #and realizing that they just kind of curl up and die in this situation together #neither of them will talk about it and they both just let it fester and rot #Lambert would have (somehow not through direct means) allowed them to talk about it through some kind of back door #and he would have been there to fill the space while Vesemir and Eskel retreat in their grief #but now its just Eskel and Vessemir staring at each other from opposite sides of the table in silence and drinking to much and having #so much they want to say but being unable to say any of it #because they feel the world too raw and need a buffer #also i need to clarify that Vesemir and Eskel don't behave the same here #Vesemir is very business as usual #while Eskel makes a full retreat to bottle and bed and a silence bordering on mutism #its a different kind of retreat

[fawnnbinary]

listen. Listen. miles. listen. you are Driving me to Madness. i am frothing at the mouth. i am chewing on the walls. the concept of eskel in an apron has consumed me.

i have what you might call a Blorbo Formula (jaskier is my biggest exception tbh). Big Man. muscles. violent/traumatic background, highly developed combat skills. usually (not always) slightly long hair. Big Scary Muscle Fighting Man. but in his heart, he is Soft. he wants to cook food for the ones he loves. he want to nurture them and warm them and tuck them in at night. he wants to keep them safe and fed and loved! the bucky barnes/eliot spencer/dean winchester archetype is what i’m getting at. once upon a time, before i grew up and stopped being a girl and learned what a dogwhistle was, i might have described my Ideal Blorbo as a hufflepuff (fighting type).

eskel in an apron is e v e r y t h i n g to me miles i’m going feral. this ask is not to pressure you into drawing faster, it is just to let you know that whatever eskel-based apron-induced insanity you may or may not be experiencing, i am Right There With You. godspeed.

-eskel anon

he is fucking,,, he is making tea,,,, he is a big scary witcher but his heart is soft and it is kind and he wants to retire to his home in the winters and make tea for his family and sit by the fireplace to talk to them

@proheromidoriyashouto tagging u bc u sent me the apron guy this is your doing ksdjfhksjdgh

#miles.ask #miles.art #eskel anon #decided i HAD to post him on this ask bc you are just so enthusiastic about him djhfgksjdgh #eskel #i often think about the wolves - in their ever changing amount of memebers - retiring to kaer morhen in winters #and even though there is squabbling there is arguing there is the disdain that any broken little family has #there are moments when they are all still and calm and safe together #they do not always like each other but they do love each other and those moments where everything is still and soft #those are moments i think Eskel holds onto bc they are the closest to normalcy he will ever get #and you're right he wants to take care of his family and he wants them to be safe and cared for and tucked in at night #and when he gets to do so is some of the most peaceful moments of his long life #thank you for coming to my talk on this doodle of eskel in an apron sdkjfhskdgjh #next time I'll draw him fighting a monster or smth sdkfhsdkgjh

[dapandapod]

Stuff of dreams

Hello cuties! So I dreamed I was reading a snippit of @damatris fantastic work, and woke up and realized the only way to read it was to write it, so here ya go! Selfindulgent fluff at its finest! On Ao3 here!

The fire cracked merrily, built tall to fight the winter. It was colder than Geralt ever remember it being, and he was tired of trying to live up to standards of dead witchers.

Jaskier stands by the bed, tunic loose over his shoulders, legs bare save for a pair of cut off sleeping trousers and thick socks.

He climbs into the bed and under the many furs, and Geralt watches him make himself comfortable before following after.

As they had gone to their room, they had seen Lambert and Aiden push each other against every available surface, kissing as their life depended on it. It left something behind in the air, something like a promise.

~

Geralt never wears a shirt when they sleep, at least not here in Kaer Morhen. It leaves his chest on display, hair draped loosely over his shoulders. The bed dips when he sits, and then evens out when he lies down.

The room is still somewhat bright because of the fireplace, and it is comfortably warm in their shared room.

They watch each other in silence, Jaskier sees his own small smile mirrored on Geralt’s lips.

He suddenly realizes, were the circumstances different, Geralt might have kissed him.

In his mind, he sees how Aiden pushed Lambert down on a table, leaning over to completely ravage him. It makes his heart beat faster, and he slowly wets his suddenly very dry lips.

Geralt watches the movement, and with a rustle he leans closer, propping himself up on an elbow. His eyes are warm as he looks down on him, their bodies close but still without touching.

That is, until Geralt slowly leans down over him, his nose tracing along Jaskier’s cheekbone, and up to his temple.

There is no brush or press of lips, just the slightly cool tip of his nose against Jaskier’s now burning skin, and he clenches his fingers under the blanket not to reach out.

Jaskier holds still, eyes lowered and focused on keeping his hands to himself. The silence is so loud, his heart beat thuds in his ears. Geralt's other arm comes up to brace on the other side of Jaskier, effectively boxing him in, and Jaskier is weak.

"Jaskier," Geralt says, so softly Jaskier just has to tilt his chin up, get closer.

"Geralt," he replies, goosebumps breaking on his skin when Geralt's lips touch the shell of his ear.

The witcher leans more properly over him, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

Molten gold, warm honey, autumn sun, however you want to describe it, Geralt's gaze travels over Jaskier's face, lingering on his parted lips.

When their eyes meet again, Geralt reads the permission on him, and slowly leans down. Jaskier's hand come up to meet him, cradling Geralt's neck, warm under his hair, firm with muscle and restraint.

The kiss was a long time coming, he thinks, and ever so gentle. Geralt kisses him, and kisses him again, sinking into it until their chests press together, the hand he was bracing himself on dipping under the blankets and finding Jaskier's waist.

The contact travels through Jaskier's body, arching into the touch to be closer, reaching for what he has denied his heart for so long. Geralt pulls back enough to watch him again, then brushes their lips together before pressing a light kiss to the corner of Jaskier's mouth, then his cheek.

Their shape changes into an embrace, their arms around each other, Jaskier's head braced on Geralt's shoulder, the witcher's lips on the top of his head.

"Stay with me?" Jaskier asks, heart ever growing until it strains against his ribs, so full of emotion that his vocie trembles with it.

"Yes," Geralt confirms, tucking Jaskier closer, tangling their legs. "Yes."

#fluff #geraskier #the witcher #so much fluff #cuddling #winter at kaer morhen #sharing a bed #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #dapanda writes

[0dde11eth]

Jaskier gets tackled by all the kaer morons and ends up at the bottom of a puppy pile

"Oh no! Im trapped! There's only one thing to do! Tummy kiss my way out!"

*He then proceeds to blow raspberries on each of their tummies making them giggle like school girls*

***

(Papa vesemir smiling in the back ground like *I taught him that trick*)

#my nonsense #jaskier #geralt #lambert #eskel #coen #aiden #papa vesemir #another day in kaer morhen #kaer morons #bard in kaer morhen #kaer morhen cracktivities #winter in kaer morhen

[beth--b]

Hangover

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41429613

Prompt 4 of @sicktember

Jaskier was drunk.

Now this was something he had quite a lot of experience with given his profession, playing in taverns often comes with drinking quite a lot after all. What he was not used to however was Geralt also being drunk. Watered down ale in backwater tavern’s was nowhere near potent enough to have any real effect on the Witcher.

They were wintering at Kaer Morhen, and Lambert had brought out some awful home brewed concoction that left Jaskier lightheaded just smelling the stuff. Suffice to say he was sticking to other, human safe drinking options.

The witchers however were drinking Lambert's potentially deadly brew. In short they were all very deep in their cups and Jaskier was fairly sure he wouldn't remember much come morning. All good things must come to an end though.

When Jaskier's attempt to dance on the table found him flat on his back on the floor instead with Lambert cackling to one side and Geralt looking somewhere between worry and laughter, Jaskier conceded that it was probably time to call it a night.

"Come on then Geralt. I think I'm done for, will you come to bed?" Jaskier asked, looking up at Geralt from his place on the floor. Rather than answering, Geralt just pulled the bard to his feet and muttered a goodnight to his brothers before leading Jaskier out of the room.

The walk to their room was fuzzy, Jaskier unsure which of them was leaning more heavily on the other. Despite their rather poor coordination they eventually made it.

Geralt stripped quickly and crawled into bed, Jaskier attempted to follow and almost fell over trying to take his boots off before finally succeeding. Jaskier climbed over Geralt to his usual place beside the wall, clumsily trying to kiss Geralt in the process and only succeeding in kissing his chin.

Geralt huffed a laugh and shoved the bard the rest of the way over to his side of the bed. "Go to sleep Jask. You're drunk."

Jaskier sat up and stared down at Geralt in the semi-darkness of their room. "Excuse you! I may be drunk, but you sir are...well, you're fucking drunk too!"

Geralt rolled his eyes and pushed Jaskier back down onto the bed. "Fine. We're drunk. We need sleep. Goodnight."

Jaskier answered with a snore, already passed out half sprawled across Geralt and his side of the bed.

xxxx

The problem with drinking copious amounts of alcohol is of course, the morning after. Jaskier woke up to the sound of someone banging on the door. His aching head didn't appreciate the loud noise, and it seemed Geralt felt the same based on the groan the witcher let out. Geralt waited for Jaskier to roll over before getting up to answer the door, stumbling a little on the way.

Lambert was on the other side, looking rather worse for wear himself.

"What the fuck Lambert," Geralt growled.

"Training. Apparently we are not excused," Lambert muttered before turning on his heel and heading down the corridor, presumably to wake Eskel.

"Fuck," Geralt groaned, closing his eyes and leaning against the still open door.

"Geralt, come back to bed," Jaskier mumbled, head mostly covered by the blankets.

"Can't. Training," he huffed. Throwing on some clothes and his boots Geralt kissed the top of Jaskier’s head and made his way to the courtyard for training.

It took less than ten minutes before Lambert threw up.

Running with a hangover was never pleasant, and Vesemir seemed to find it amusing to torture the younger wolves for drinking too much.

"Fuck this!" Lambert moaned before emptying his stomach again. Eskel and Geralt moved as far away as they could, both feeling worse as the smell got to them.

"Your call Lambert," Vesemir said from his place in the middle of the courtyard. "You can keep going, or you can take laundry duty and mucking out the stables for the week.”

Lambert glared at the older witcher before shaking his head. "Nope, I'm fine. C'mon Geralt, I'll spar with you." The youngest witcher made his way back over to the group, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Geralt rubbed at his own aching head and readied himself for what was sure to be a messy fight.

xxxx

When Jaskier woke up again after Geralt's departure, he lay as still as possible, trying not to make the churning in his stomach worse. Eventually the feeling faded and he managed to haul himself upright. It took far longer than it should have to complete his morning routine but he finally deemed himself as ready as could be and stumbled out of the room to make his way to the hall.

The three younger witcher's entered just after Jaskier, the bard almost gagging at the smell of sweat and vomit they brought with them.

"Alright Jaskier?" Geralt questioned, stepping towards the rather green looking bard.

"Fuck Geralt. You three need a bath. Just go. Now."

Lambert took this opportunity to come up behind the bard and when Jaskier turned he was greeted with the cloying stench of old alcohol and vomit. Pressing a hand to his mouth, the bard turned and fled, moments later they all heard the distant sound of retching.

"Was it something I said," Lambert smirked. Geralt just punched him in the shoulder and headed out of the room.

"Move it you two. He's right. You reek."

Lambert threw his head back and cackled, while Eskel just shook his head and followed Geralt's lead to go get cleaned up.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Once clean Geralt headed back to their room to look for Jaskier and found the bard face down on the bed.

“Alright Jaskier?”

“Hmm I’m never drinking again,” came the muffled reply.

Geralt sat down beside the bard and coaxed him into turning over so he could see his face.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Jaskier rubbed his aching head and sighed. “You’re right. I really mean it this time. At least for the next week anyway.”

“I give it three days.”

Jaskier grabbed a pillow and threw it at Geralt before burying his head again with a groan.

“You are probably right but for right now let’s just not talk about it anymore. I think I need a nap.”

Geralt pulled the bard into his arms and laid them both back on the bed.

“Sounds good to me.”

#geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #hangover #alcohol #established relationship #winter at kaer morhen #geraskier #vomiting #sickfic #Lambert #Sicktember 2022 #sicktember

[ratskool]

got to do the “get drunk with da boyz” side quest in Witcher 3, shame they had to cut the part where you gotta go raid the pantry for food because we have all been there.

#I still maintain that Kaer Morhen used to turn into TKE during the wintering season #What surprised me most was that Yennefer didn’t beat everybody into a bloody pulp for wearing her clothes

[witcheringways]

Winter Arrives at Kaer Morhen

#tw3 #the witcher 3: wild hunt #kaer morhen #winter #the witcher 3 #wiedźmin #game photography

[teatitty]

It's way funnier to me to imagine that Geralt is the one who desperately wants Dandelion to winter at Kaer Morhen with him but Dandelion keeps saying no on the simple grounds that it's too fucking cold and do you want me to die Geralt? Do you want me to get hypothermia and fucking die?

And Geralt's like "please I am begging on my knees I will cuddle you every night to keep you warm I just need to prove you actually exist"

#the witcher books #dandelion #geralt of rivia #gerlion #you know those romcom plots that are like 'I told my fam I have a bf and now they want to meet him so pls pretend to date me'? #this is like that except the reverse #geralt tells his fam he has a bestie who's a bard that cuddles with him at night and they all just #don't believe him bc it sounds so ridiculous #'it's okay to say you're just lonely geralt you don't need to Invent A Guy to convince us you're not' #'I DIDN'T INVENT A GUY HE'S REAL I PROMISE STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M A PATHETIC WET DOG'

[roughentumble]

amyway steven universe spoiled me on the concept of fusions so in my mind they do NOT get smaller, they get bigger. not unreasonably so, but enough to be noticable in a crowd. they keep the shock of white hair, though their eyes are sea green, the blue and yellow meeting in the middle. they have callouses on top of callouses, some for swordwork and some from the lute, because it's an amalgamation of both of their hands

#and i picture them going back to kaer morhen in the winter because they have nowhere else to go #and quietly praying that they're believed. that geralt will get to gp home for te winter #they have to explain it. a lot. #and its rough becuz its been a year and the curse isnt broken and while theyre not willing to admit it theyre starting to get... used to it #they like the way they feel. oleander feels nice. less lonely than geralt and jaskier #witcher tag #ogc tag