#wolf school witchers run in packs because I say so

[inexplicifics]

💛 (reunion kiss / relief) + Gweld/Serrit?

This is AWAU 'verse, well before Geralt calls the Schools together, and Serrit has not transitioned yet or even realized she wants to, so uses he/him pronouns.

Serrit has gotten used to seeing the Wolf every few months. It’s not regular as dwarf-made clockwork or anything, but somehow they run into each other at least twice or three times a year while out on the Path. It certainly has nothing to do with Serrit asking around about a redheaded Wolf Witcher with a startlingly cheerful demeanor, and Serrit has no idea if the Wolf does the same sort of thing. Probably he does. He certainly never seems terribly surprised when Serrit turns up.

But it’s been six months, and Serrit hasn’t seen hide nor red hair of his…occasional bedmate and hunting partner.

He goes south to Gorthur Gvaed for the winter feeling slightly unsettled. Not that he’d ever admit to that, nor to the reason. The Wolf is a good fuck and a good fighter, and that’s all there is to it.

He does ask around in the spring, though. Even drifts up into the lower reaches of Kaedwen - Wolf territory, where Vipers are not usually welcome - to see what there is to see. It’s just because the contracts are decent in that area, that’s all.

The contracts are decent, and Serrit makes decent money and even finds a merchant selling elf-made pigments that she hasn’t seen before, which means his sketchbook is even more colorful than usual when he makes it back to Gorthur Gvaed in the autumn. But there’s no word of a redheaded Wolf, either living or dead.

Serrit doesn’t actually care, of course. But he’s a little more irritable than usual that winter, and he wears himself out sparring against Ivar at least once a week, which is a lot more often than most people prefer going up against the Viper of Morgraig himself.

He doesn’t bother going up to Kaedwen in the spring. Cintra has plenty of monsters.

It also, he discovers somewhere in the middle of Litha, includes a certain redheaded Wolf he’d assumed was dead.

Gweld shows up in the middle of a really rather annoying bullvore fight - the damn thing is smarter than it ought to be, and keeps dodging - and demonstrates his usual trick of being exactly in the right place at the right time, so when the bullvore dodges Serrit’s attack it manages to walk right into Gweld’s, and once it’s wounded it’s not hard to finish off. Serrit even gets the killing blow.

And then he whirls and grabs Gweld by the collar of his armor and slams the Wolf against a tree. “What the hell,” he grits out, not entirely sure why he’s so angry but absolutely willing to gut the Wolf if he gives the wrong answer, whatever that might be.

Gweld blinks down at him for a moment, and then, bafflingly, smiles. “Ran afoul of a pack of bruxae on my way back to Kaer Morhen,” he says calmly, as if there’s not an angry Viper up in his face. “I won, obviously, but I also broke most of my ribs and all the bones in my right leg and foot.”

Serrit suppresses a wince. That’s a bad injury. Even for a Witcher, that’s almost always going to be fatal.

“One of my brothers found me and dragged me home, and I spent the whole winter recovering; wasn’t quite back to full strength in the spring, so Rennes assigned me as a trainer for a year.” Gweld smiles more broadly. “It was fun, but it’s good to be back on the Path. And good to see you again. I -”

Serrit kisses him to make him stop talking. He has a faint, worrisome feeling that if he actually hears whatever Gweld was about to say, it will change - something. Something Serrit isn’t ready to change, just yet.

Gweld makes a small startled noise and then huffs a soft laugh and takes Serrit’s face in his absurdly gentle hands and deepens the kiss, and when they part, he’s still smiling, but he doesn’t say anything at all.

(Or here on AO3!)

#questions answered #ask meme #heart asks #gweld #serrit #snippet

[vvitchering]

Witchers of the Wolf School travel in packs. There’s strength in numbers and plenty of coin to be had for the bigger contracts they can handle as a team. The Path is less harsh, less painful, with brothers at their backs.

Wolves lack the ferocity of their Bear and Griffin cousins. Which isn’t to say an individual wolf isn’t dangerous, they certainly could manage on their own. But their true strength lies in their bonds with each other; in their ability to coordinate and work together.

Occasionally there are times when the blood lust is needed. The beast is too large or too powerful, or simply requires more than the wolves can muster. There’s another reason they travel together. A pack is needed to monitor the potential use of more...extreme decoctions.

The recipe for Bloodmoon isn’t written down in any field guide or alchemy collection. It’s passed from master to initiate in hushed, solemn tones. All wolves know it and all equally fear the knowledge. It strips away the humanity they cling to, leaving behind something raw. It trades sanity and reason for unchecked power and feral instinct. 

It’s a last resort for instances where death is assured, but the fight must be won, regardless of the cost.

--

Geralt isn’t sure what they’re hunting. It’s big, it’s wiped out entire herds of livestock on its own, and it’s left the whole surrounding area scared to death to leave their homes. It’s much too dangerous a contact for a witcher to take on alone. Thankfully, he is very seldom alone. 

Eskel thinks it could be a mutated fiend. The tracks seem similar enough and the behavior matches, but they’re hundreds of miles from fiend territory and the sheer size of the creature makes Geralt reasonably sure they’re not dealing with a simple freak of nature. Lambert watches them bicker, thrilled that, for once, he’s not the cause of the tension in the group.

Jaskier ignores them all and focuses intently on tuning his lute. His job came post-hunt, when it was safe for him to poke and prod around the beast’s corpse and create exciting stories about its demise while the witchers claimed their trophy and harvested any parts of value. 

He looks up from the tuning pegs when Geralt throws up his hands and storms out of the camp, muttering something about finding the damn thing himself since Eskel is so keen on sitting around theorizing instead. 

Jaskier has siblings so he’s quite familiar with the look of exasperation on Eskel’s face as he watches his brother stomp away into the woods.

“Not gonna go after him?” Lambert asks.

Eskel sighs.

“Nah, let him walk it off. He’s too damn prideful about that bestiary he calls a brain sometimes.”

 Afternoon turns to dusk and Geralt doesn’t return. They eat a meal of rabbits and wild mushrooms and still Geralt doesn’t reappear. It’s not like the white wolf to wander off alone for so long and Jaskier becomes increasingly concerned as the evening creeps in. Geralt knows better than to stray too far from his pack, especially when there’s an unknown threat waiting somewhere out there. 

The frogs are just beginning to sing when the tranquility of the evening is marred by a rumbling and deeply unsettling roar. It rattles around in Jaskier’s bones and makes something deep inside him cower in instinctual terror. It’s like nothing he’s ever heard before and he almost feels frozen on the spot, like a deer in the presence of a hunter. 

Eskel and Lambert are on their feet even before the roar has finished reverberating around their little camp. Lambert immediately takes off in the direction the horrible sound came from while Eskel turns to face Jaskier long enough to say,

“Do not follow us, Bard.”

And then he’s gone as well.

Jaskier likes to think he’s an easy traveling companion. He’s delightful company, pulls his own weight, pays his own way, and polishes the reputations of witchers everywhere with his music. He does admit to one shortcoming, however, which is his inability to sit still when he knows there’s a grand battle unfolding, the likes of which is just begging to be immortalized in song. 

It’s for science, for history, for precious posterity, even, that Jaskier leaps to his feet, checks his boot for his hidden dagger, and jogs determinedly into the brush. 

--

It’s properly dark by the time Jaskier finally catches the sounds of a fight close by. He can hear indistinct yelling, the clang of swords, and the roar of what he assumes must be the creature they’re after, just as deeply disturbing as the first time. Oddly, he can also see light up ahead, though he’s very deep in uninhabited forest. As he draws closer, he realizes the light is coming from several small fires in the tops of the surrounding trees. Either the beast breathes fire or someone has let loose with Igni. Neither option bodes well.

Abruptly, he’s hit with a wave of fear. Geralt never came back to camp. What if he’d encountered the beast on his own? Would he have been able to hold out against it long enough for Eskel and Lambert to arrive? Ice cold dread drips throughout Jaskier’s body. 

He crouches behind a bush and reaches out to comb his way through the foliage to get a glimpse of the battlefield. More fires dot the trees around the small clearing. He immediately spots Eskel and Lambert, who both look exhausted and injured. Lambert is favoring his right leg while Eskel has one hand on his sword and the other clamped tight over a painful looking burn on his neck. They look broken and haunted in ways Jaskier has never seen them before. 

His eyes dart to the opposite side of the battlefield, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dreaded beast before he’s forced to retreat. What he sees makes his heart seem to stop dead in his chest. 

Geralt stands beside the corpse of what must be the beast, breathing like a horse run ragged. The flickering light of the fires reveals he’s covered in black spider-webbed veins that show through his pale skin. His eyes are black like tar. At the sight of his friend alive and whole, Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief. Geralt must hear the exhale and turns his head slightly in search of the sound. 

Jaskier has seen Geralt under the influence of potions before. He’s no stranger to the veins and the eerily blank black eyes. But this feels fundamentally different, somehow. Geralt’s gaze is cold and more than slightly unhinged, without a single hint of recognition or warmth. Jaskier has never looked at Geralt and felt any type of fear in his heart until now.

Geralt lifts his face slightly, inhaling noisily, scenting the air. Zeroing in on Jaskier. Another bloodcurdling bestial roar has the bard sinking to his knees in all consuming terror and sudden understanding. It hasn’t been the creature producing that terrible inhuman sound. 

It’s Geralt.

(tbc!)

[EDIT] You can now read the whole completed fic on my ao3!

#my fic #the witcher #wolf school witchers run in packs because I say so #yeah I don't really know what this is either but it grabbed me by the throat and made me write it #witcher au #mine #no beta no editing we die like witchers

[havenoffandoms]

Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it! 

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?” 

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road. 

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level. 

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber. 

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words. 

“Huh?” 

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick. 

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months. 

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.” 

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer. 

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens. 

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden. 

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.” 

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…” 

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off. 

“You mean that?” 

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.” 

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again.  Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent. 

Lambert can live with that, he thinks. 

Request a prompt.

#havenwrites #fluff #angst #the witcher #wiedzmin #lambert the witcher #the witcher lambert #lambert #aiden #aiden the witcher #the witcher aiden #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #Lambden #laiden #lambert x aiden #aiden x lambert #aiden/lambert #lambert/aiden #soft #prompt fill #requests open

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier being an idiot #geralt apologizes #mutual pining #miscommunication #cursed jaskier #jaskier whump #reverse trope #lying spell

[goodieghosty]

Witcher Oc Witcher Oc Witcher Oc Witch-

Backstory below cuz it got loooong

Long story short a witcher-formerly a Wolf-was fed up with the way their master was running things(nah they just wanted their own pack, super power hungry)and stole a bunch of the mutagen in order to start their own school of witchers, training focused mainly on traps and the like. Called themselves the School of the Spider. It was small to begin with. And then it was completely decimated when a trap failed.

She never liked her master, detested him even. "He always told me he was going to marry me off to this wretched nobleman we helped who said he was surprised my skin was unmarked considering my line of work. He laughed about it. Got sick of it. Gave myself this scar. No more laughing. Blissful silence." Because it was never actually a joke to her, her family would have done similar had he not come along and "taken her off their hands to make way for their new son"

He knew Vesemir, they had been close, up until he had that hairbrained idea to make off with some mutagen to create his own school. Vesemir told him he had no business doing such. They made a bet.

He left a letter and a parcel in his office only to be read whenever he died. And as the only living member of their school-well whomst tf was going to stop her from going through his shit anyways?? That's how she discovered the location of Kaer Morhen, a n d realized she had to fulfill the dead man's final wish of returning to the keep.

Flash forward to her entering the great hall in the middle of dinner, during a snow storm, with the man's covered corpse. And you know of c o u r s e the entirety of the keep is going to be !!! About this stranger who none of them have seen before. Weapons are drawn. She doesn't bat an eye, just drops the corpse on the nearest table, says "This is for Vesemir." And then just fuckin, goes off to sit by the fire like nothing just happened

Vesemir would have to explain the situation after recognizing the corpse, but there would be a lot of questioning too. "I told him he couldn't trap a damn leshen. He didn't listen. He and my brothers and sisters paid the price. Stubborn ass. There were eight of us, and now there's just me. Ever see a spider with one leg?"

Made to stay at the keep due to the storm, decided to stay the winter after speaking with Vesemir. Absolutely boobytrapped the keep after some verbal jabs here and there. Just to keep them on their toes-and to prove she was useful. O k a y and so she could poke fun at Lambert, now she "baaaah"'s at him, because that's the sound he made when he triggered one of them

I think it'd be neat if Geralt asked her to help with Ciri, being a female witcher and all. She knows how to keep her head on straight, has experience. Also I want her to call Ciri "little sister" cuz that's cute. Also hehehehe "Is Lambert being an ass? I have a solution, watch.... baaaaaah!!"

Rough housing with the wolves used to be tough, but she's got it down now. There used to be so many blood jokes, until she started punching them in the nose. "Here, join me then." And no she can't get pregnant, if she does it results in a loss.

Ciri and Triss would have to show her how to properly take care of her hair and such cuz she just chops it off if it gets tangled

#the witcher #oc #i forgot to post this rp #the witcher netflix #listen i just love women who can kick my ass #Goodies.art

[innocentbi-stander]

Jaskier and Geralt do dumb stuff when they’re drunk

But I think that it’s absolutely imperative that we don’t forget the complete idiots they are while sober too

(Stupid boys Geralt and Jaskier: sober edition so they have no excuses)

Part 1 Part 2

The Continent has never seen two people so prone to chaos and idiocy than Geralt and Jaskier and not even Destiny herself foresaw them coming together

Some of Geralt and Jaskier’s Path Shenanigans include:

The time they were run out of town, not by the townspeople, but by a LITERAL ARMY OF SQUIRRELS (the reason from this mostly stems from geralt possessing an entire pack stuffed with nuts he had found in the woods but “no jaskier I’m not about to give up my food just because some furry hellions want it, if we die i’m dying with this full pack of nuts”)

The time jaskier managed to fall into a mud puddle so deep geralt had to reach in and pull him out because the bard’s head had gone under the surface

The time GERALT painted a giant dick on the alderman’s house in the dead of night because he had heard him call jaskier’s singing “whiny”

The time a town tried to arrest geralt and jaskier’s idea of a daring escape was throwing an entire alligator through the jailhouse window and rushing geralt off during the chaos

Jaskier often forgets that geralt has missed out on a lot of human experiences, and so he is appropriately shocked and hysterical when he does a playful “got your nose” and geralt demands it back immediately, dead serious (jaskier waits a few hours and it's COMPLETELY worth it)

The time jaskier almost threw down with a barkeep because he had put dirt on their food before geralt took a bite (geralt doesn’t waste food. Geralt is a witcher-raccoon) and discovered the dirt was actually seasoning

The time jaskier got sick and tired of waiting for geralt while he was hemming and hawing over swords in the market and stole roach to ride to the next town

The time geralt jailbreak an entire barn full of cats who he declared were being “held hostage” by the farmer

The time jaskier was imprisoned after being caught with a lord’s wife and geralt broke into his prison cell, not to bust him out but to hang out with jaskier (“prison cells are cheaper than nights at inns jaskier, and they even give you free food”) the guards didn’t know what the fuck to do- that had never happened before

The time jaskier drank a little too many ales while at court and managed to knick the queen’s crown and her best dress

When a mage tried to attack them after two straight days of travel and geralt asked him to “please wait until after we’ve had some fucking sleep or don’t bother”

When the mage came back in the morning, they were back on the path and jaskier stopped him with a simple “no.” and they kept walking

The time jaskier painted “Valdo Marx is a little bitch” on every stone in the Oxenfurt courtyard

The time geralt and jaskier got lost for three days because they realized neither of them could read a map (they also didn’t own a map in the first place but that’s not important)

The time jaskier paused mid chase by town authorities after being caught with the alderman’s wife to down an ale with his attackers because “cuckolding makes a man thirsty” (this one threw even geralt for a loop)

The time geralt was nearly arrested for “practicing karate” with the town’s beloved local swans (he won’t admit he was just trying to pet one but he was)

On the contrary jaskier was also almost apprehended, but because he was trying to coax one of the swans to drink a pint with him

The time jaskier managed to pass himself off as geralt with a poorly made imitation medallion (the symbol on it was not a wolf, but in fact a penis, but what’s a townsperson to do when a man dressed in witcher gear says he’s from the “witcher school of the dick” with a completely straight face?)

The time geralt stumbled around the campsite nervously looking for his sword for two hours before jaskier took pity on him and told him it was strapped to his back

The time jaskier mixed up a series of potions he found in a mage’s lair hoping to make a banger drink, but instead made himself immortal with powers (he’s still a little disappointed he didn’t end up drunk but you can’t win them all)

The time geralt called a hit on jaskier because he drank the rest of the wine (he called it off after a few days but it was fun to watch jaskier show his well-hidden spy skills to avoid assassination)

The time geralt and jaskier somehow woke up on a ship in the middle of the ocean and had to call yennefer to portal them out (neither of them knows exactly how they ended up there, but they realize chugging seven bottles of Eist Eist probably wasn’t the best plan)

Some more geralt and jaskier shenanigans! If anyone wants a part 4, let me know!

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #Witcher #witcher netflix #the witcher yennefer #witcher yennefer #yennefer #Yennefer of Vengerberg #the witcher geralt #witcher geralt #geraskier #Geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher jaskier #witcher jaskier #Jaskier #jaskier fanfiction #bamf jaskier #non human jaskier #immortal jaskier #feral jaskier #powerful jaskier #he makes a potion cocktail and it works out #these boys are dumb #and sober this time #so theres no excuse

[jaskiersvalley]

I've been doing nothing but read your fics for three days straight and I am in LOVE with your wolf pack fics. I love me some happy witchers and their bard.

I’m always so humbled when people read my stuff :) Thank you for coming along on this odd ride of who the heck knows what’s going to come next. But I am right there with you on happy witchers and their bard. So have some more :D

To say Jaskier was pissed off was an understatement. Nobody sent him packing with such cruel words. He would prove to Geralt that he was better than that. In fact, he would prove to the whole world! Revenge was a dish best served with a delicious side of “I told you so” and what was the point Jaskier had been trying to prove over the last 22 decades? It was that witchers weren’t the terrible, heartless creatures that the world liked to demonise them into. Well, maybe Geralt was but the others didn’t have to suffer because of his buffoonery. That left Jaskier with only one choice. He returned home to lick his wounds and prove his very own point.

It started, like many things, as an uphill struggle. Gone was Jaskier the bard and his place was taken by Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount de Lettenhove. His parents had wanted him to take a more active role in ruling the lands and that was exactly what he was going to do. But on his own terms. The decree went out that no witcher was to be turned away. Payment was to be prompt and fair and, of course, it would be subsidised by the Pakratz treasury. If word got out that a witcher was shunned or shortchanged, that particular village or town would be paid a personal visit and not a good one either.

Word started trickling back. Witchers were suspicious at first. Some outright refused the offer of a decent bed and a meal, opting to kill the creature in the area and flee with a bigger than expected pouch of coin. However, it seemed that a few more intrepid witchers sniffed out the area and deemed it ripe for the plucking. One corner of the Lettenhove lands even seemed to get a resident witcher. At first, the locals were wary but, it turned out, they could only see a witcher a handful of times doing very human things like fumbling a pouch or staggering back injured before they bonded. And suddenly, a cat witcher found himself a home. Not only that, allegedly he had a friend in the shadows, elusive and rarely seen. A rare sighting or two could confirm he was grumpy, suspicious and more likely to pick a fight than accept any kindness. Jaskier would put money on the fact that it was a wolf.

The fortune of one cat meant another was bound to turn up to try and get in on the good fortune. It was just as well Lettenhove was big enough and this cat took the southernmost corner which also happened to be the warmest. Surely nothing to do with the viper witcher that scouted the area before settling in too. So now Lettenhove had three, possibly four witchers who didn’t seem inclined to move on to other contracts. In fact, the settlements nearest to them seemed to be doing a great job of finding contracts for them - not all monsters but a witcher’s might was definitely needed in the fields when the ox were being stubborn and rumour had it, the wolf was quite impressive if let loose in a forge.

A messenger came pleading for help on a sunny afternoon. The wolf witcher had dragged another one into the village but seemed aggressive to any who came near and tried to help. Even the cat was no use, seemingly preoccupied with tracking down a human companion of the injured wolf. Without hesitation Jaskier jumped onto a horse and rode hard and fast, heart breaking already. Surely Geralt hadn’t found another human companion so quickly. Even worse, he hoped that the companion wasn’t dead, he didn’t want Geralt on his own again.

It was an odd relief to see a mop of dark hair than white. Not that Jaskier ever wanted anyone to be hurting but he still did hold a torch for Geralt despite his cruelty. While he wasn’t allowed near the injured witcher, Jaskier could make an educated guess that they were Lambert and Eskel which earned him a sliver of trust. He was allowed to get things from the local healer and apothecary to help Lambert care for Eskel. Even better, Lambert finally accepted a room at an inn that he could carry Eskel to. If only that had been all the drama. Jaskier didn’t expect the cat to come into the village at a pull gallop, a body slung across the horse’s back. Thankfully the healer got there before Lambert and the human got carted off with worried cat in tow.

Jaskier only left when he was confident everyone was healing and was staying put for the foreseeable future. The little he gleaned of the unusual group had his heart warming up though, glad that even out on the harsh Path, they had each other.

Of course, Jaskier’s act of generosity had consequences. Two more vipers, another cat and allegedly a griffin also took up residence throughout the lands. Which meant that contracts around the continent were being left unfilled. Witchers had plenty of work throughout Lettenhove and were well compensated for it, they had no reason or need to go further afield into harsher conditions. However, it gave Jaskier a business opportunity he just couldn’t resist. Especially when the messengers started trickling in, begging to borrow a witcher. There was no obligation for any of the witchers he considered ‘his’ to step in. But Jaskier made his home the middleman for contracts. He could negotiate pay, accommodation and other sundries for his witchers before they were offered a contract. Funnily enough, cats were the most likely to venture out, needing the change of scenery. While reclusive and prickly, it seemed that Lambert had found himself a new stomping ground he was reluctant to leave. Sometimes Eskel headed out, feeling the need to do good but never again was he chased from a village without pay, food and rest. The one time a viper was run out, Jaskier blacklisted the whole region for contracts until the king himself came to ask for forgiveness. Watching someone regal apologise to a bewildered witcher may have been the inspiration for Jaskier’s next ditty.

A grizzled wolf turned up on Jaskier’s doorstep, assessing and shrewd. He never did leave as Vesemir’s talents were put to good use with negotiations and also information gathering. Overall, Lettenhove was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Crime was at an all time low, the people were happy and witchers were beginning to be treated better throughout the continent. Yet there was no sign of Geralt. Slowly, Jaskier stopped hoping.

“He’s a stubborn ass. Should have started a new school just for him,” Vesemir grumbled one evening. “School of the Mule.”

It had Jaskier snorting a halfhearted laugh but his still pined. Months went by and other regions began to take inspiration from Lettenhove, offering their own versions of protection for resident witchers. It both filled Jaskier with pride and dread because now Geralt could settle somewhere else. The continent was vast and the safe havens were cropping up thick and fast.

Whispers started up. An elusive witcher had been spotted to the north. Nobody quite knew what he looked like, yellow eyes flashed from below the deep hood of a cloak. That was ruined by reports of Lambert tackling the mysterious witcher and Eskel piling in. Vesemir only smiled as he listened to the messenger relay the happenings while Jaskier’s heart thumped hard in his chest.

“Stubborn idiot. But also a loyal wolf.”

There were only four wolves in existence and Jaskier already housed three. Which meant the fourth could only be Geralt. His hopes and dreams were brought to life by the thumping knock on the door. Opening it, Jaskier regarded Geralt coldly.

“I have come to apologise,” he said as a blonde head poked out from behind him curiously.

“Only six years late.”

“My head was stuck so far up my ass, it took this long to get free.”

As much as Jaskier wanted to hold a grudge, he was also relieved Geralt was alive and well. Even better, he had his child surprise in tow.

“You have a lot to be making up for. But come on in.”

The rest, they say, is history.

#geraskier #implied aiden/lambert/eskel/cahir #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #aiden #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #long post #tldr: jaskier sets up witcher haven

[valdomarx]

Jaskier being shared around Kaer Morhen, requested by anons

Wolves are pack animals, and that means they share. The same is true of Wolf School witchers, and Geralt has shared food, clothes, coin, and space with Eskel and Lambert for almost as long as he can remember.

So it should not have come as a surprise that the first time he brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, he’s expected to share him as well.

Lambert had started it - of course Lambert had started it - flirting with Jaskier incessantly and pulling him into his lap while they sat in the cold keep of an evening. Jaskier had blushed and giggled, and Geralt couldn’t rightly say why that made something sharp and irritable thrum under his skin.

It progressed to hands all over Jaskier at the breakfast table, him sitting on Lambert’s knee with Lambert feeding pieces of dried fruit to him with one hand while rubbing his dick through his trousers with the other. And if that infuriated Geralt is was only because he was trying to enjoy his breakfast and he didn’t need to see Jaskier sucking on Lambert’s fingers and squirming like a harlot while he ate.

One day Jaskier would be sitting on the floor with his head in Eskel’s lap, nosing at his cock while Eskel ran a hand through his hair, and the next he'd be grinding against Lambert in the armoury when they were supposed to be cleaning the swords. Coen had come by for a visit before the snow closed the pass to the keep completely, and even he had found time for Jaskier to suck his cock in the kitchen while trading supplies.

Privacy doesn’t mean much among a group so close, so it’s not as if anyone thinks twice before manhandling Jaskier in front of Geralt. And that’s fine. Of course it’s fine. Jaskier is a grown man, and if he wants to fuck his way around the keep then that’s his business. Geralt keeps his hands to himself and watches with nothing more than idle curiosity as Eskel and Lambert enjoy Jaskier’s many famous talents.

Tonight had started as a quiet evening until Lambert had produced a bottle of that gods-awful spirit from his still. Now Lambert has Jaskier bent over a table, trousers around his ankles and shirt rucked up to his shoulder blades, and he’s fucking into him in short, hard thrusts which have Jaskier mewling.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Lambert asks, one hand holding Jaskier down between his shoulders. “You like getting stuffed with my cock?”

Jaskier barely manages to whine out an affirmative.

Geralt sits opposite, watching the two of them, full of discomfort and yet unable to look away.

“Good of you to share, Geralt,” Lambert drawls, smug even while balls deep in another man. “What a blessing to have a companion who takes it so damn well.“ Jaskier flushes deeper at the compliment.

“We’re not…” Geralt grinds his teeth, remembering a cold mountain top and his biting temper. “We don’t do that.”

Jaskier looks at him, and there’s something distant in his eyes for a moment, until Lambert snaps his hips again and gets him gasping.

Lambert smirks, hips still moving. “What, trying to tell me you’ve never thought about it?”

Geralt glowers. Of course he’s thought about it. As if anyone would be able to spend more than two minutes in Jaskier’s company and not think about fucking him. Not when he has those lips, plump and pink and impossible not to picture wrapped around your cock, and those hands which never stop moving and make you want to hold them down, and the way he swings his hips when he walks like he’s inviting you to focus on his ass.

He’s never followed through on it, though. He’s not blind - he knows Jaskier flirts with him - but he’d thought it mere banter, nothing to be acted on. He’d assumed that the reality of being touched by a filthy witcher would send Jaskier running. But seeing the way he’s whining and writhing on Lambert’s cock, it seems he was wrong about that.

“Too bad,” Lambert says, reading him without trying in that annoying way he can. “You’re missing out on one hell of a lay.” He squeezes Jaskier’s ass, hard enough that Geralt can see his fingers denting soft flesh, and Jaskier’s hands  scrabble at the rough wooden table.

Jaskier is a mess, strands of sweaty hair flopping in his eyes and jaw slack, ass in the air like he’s presenting himself for Lambert, and Geralt sorely regrets that he doesn’t get to see that view for himself.

He’s achingly hard, and no one would care a whit if he got himself off while watching them, but that would feel like an admission of some kind. So he ignores the way his dick is pressing up against the leather of his trousers and fists his hands at his sides, fighting a battle that he’s beginning to suspect might be only with himself.

Of course Lambert notices. “Be a good boy and look at Geralt for me,” Lambert says smugly to Jaskier, leaning over to get his fingers under his chin and tilt it up. “Let him see how well you’re taking it.”

Jaskier obeys, locking eyes with Geralt, and it feels like a punch to the gut. Lambert snorts and slams into him harder, making the heavy table rock with the force. Jaskier lets out a series of oh uh oh ohhh noises which Geralt has never heard from him before, and the arm of Geralt’s chair creaks as he tightens his fist around it.

“Such a good boy,” Lambert purrs. “You like having Geralt watch, don’t you? Look at him. Look at how hard he is. He’s ready to come in his pants just watching you.”

Geralt's scowl deepens, but it’s hard to take offence when Jaskier is looking at him like he might have found heaven itself. The fact he’s found it while getting his ass utterly wrecked by Lambert only puts a slight dampener on the effect.

“Alright, darling, you’ve been so good. I’m going to come all over you now. You want that? Want to be covered in my seed, so you’ll smell like me, so you’ll know who took you for days?” Lambert raises an eyebrow at Geralt as he speaks, and something hot and furious at the idea of Jaskier being marked by someone else flashes through him.

Jaskier seems into though. “Yes,” he whines. “Please.”

“You beg so pretty,” Lambert says, then he’s pulling out and taking his cock in his hand, jerking himself with a last few hard strokes and then coming with a groan, all over Jaskier’s back and ass and thighs. Geralt’s dick twitches in his trousers as Lambert thumbs through the cum splattered over his back, rubbing it into the skin.

“Can I -” Jaskier pants, propping himself up on one elbow and palming at his own cock. “Fuck, Lambert, can I come now -”

“Ah ah ahh,” Lambert says, smacking his hand away. “Not just yet, sweet thing. You’ve got one more round to go. One more witcher wants a fuck.”

Geralt’s heart trips up, stumbling at the thought that Lambert might invite him over, that Jaskier might let him, that he could sink himself into deep into Jaskier like he can finally admit he’s dying to do. He can imagine how it’ll feel, sliding his cock into Jaskier when he’s already loose and open, ready to take him, the noises Jaskier will make when he fucks him, the way he’ll moan his name. His cock is leaking in his trousers just thinking about it.

Lambert catches his eye and winks. “Hey, Eskel!” he yells down the corridor. “Get in here! It’s your turn on the bard.”

The absolute bastard.

#featuring jaskier getting railed by lambert with geralt watching #also jaskier covered in come #as requested #geraskier #jaskier x witchers #the witcher #my writing #i present to you this gift of filth in this trying time

[rosesupposes]

Navy Eyes Dark Enough

Or, five times Geralt didn't realize Jaskier was a witcher and one time he did.

Inspired by this post. Read on AO3 here.

-

Most witchers move among humans with some difficulty. People want them around for their skills but they’re hardly considered good company. Their swords, their eyes, their medallions all give them away for what they are and inspire fear in the humans around them. Jaskier passes much more easily as a human than any other witcher he’s met. A pretty face and prettier words go a long way for a witcher and he’s been blessed with both. He’d been called a pretty boy since his earliest days at Gorthur Gvaed and the mutations had been kind to his looks, leaving him baby faced into adulthood and granting him navy eyes dark enough to hide the shape of his pupils from anyone who didn’t look too closely. His teachers hadn’t necessarily approved of his interest in poetry and prose but they didn’t mind him tearing apart the library for all the fiction he could find, so long as he was reading the nonfiction as well. He’s unafraid to leverage this advantage while on the Path. He gains a town’s trust faster than his brothers and is rarely underpaid because of it. He’s never found himself short of romantic partners. He’d talked himself into Oxenfurt because it sounded like fun. He spends his time as a traveling bard, taking contracts only when he’s low on funds or his brothers ask it of him. It hurts, sometimes, to keep his twisted Viper medallion hidden under his clothes but it makes it easier to hide in plain sight. For all he leverages the way he blends in with humans, Jaskier had never expected another witcher not to recognize him.

1. 1240 Jaskier has traveled alone for most of his time on the Path. There was the string of contracts almost two decades back when he’d helped Letho and Auckes but that was before he’d left Nilfgard and the South behind almost entirely. After a week of traveling with Geralt, he’s starting to realize that he’s missed it. Traveling the Path with someone else is different than the traveling Jaskier does in caravans as a bard. Despite their unfamiliarity with traveling together, they fall into an unexpectedly easy routine when it comes to setting up camp. Geralt, a Wolf to the core, insists on doing the “hard work” of it all and Jaskier isn’t going to complain about leisurely picking berries and filling their waterskins. By the time Jaskier makes it back to camp with their waterskins full, Geralt is usually finishing setting up their fire after having set a few traps nearby. He lights it with Igni, of course, like any witcher worth his Signs would. It isn’t until their second week of traveling together that Jaskier beats Geralt back to their camp. The area they’re in, despite being filled with berries and freshwater, was suspiciously devoid of game. Jaskier had suspected magic at first but his medallion is too silent for the kind of magic that would require. If it’s a monster though, it’s leaving them suspiciously alone. He debates the likelihood of various possible monsters while he builds their small fire. He’s not nearly as skilled at the technical aspects of fire building as Geralt but a Sign can level a playing field and he has it started in no time. Geralt enters their small clearing only a moment later. “That was fast,” he grunts as he moves past Jaskier. Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve always been better than my brothers at it,” he explains, moving his hand in a general approximation of the Sign. He’d always preferred his magic lessons to swordplay at Gorthur Gvaed and he’s a bit jealous at the way he’s seen Geralt so easily use his Signs while he fights. The double shortsword style of Jaskier’s school did not lend well to Sign usage while fighting. Geralt gives the fire what Jaskier supposes is a thoughtful look and then grunts, moving away to set up a small tent. 2. 1244 It is not often that Jaskier finds himself caught up in the habits ingrained in him during his training. He’s decades removed from his trials and, for the most part, he has kicked the habits that Ivar and the other Viper Masters beat into him. His posture is a wreck. He doesn’t keep a journal in the way a witcher should. He takes his medallion off more often than most witchers would deem advisable. Perhaps most egregious to other members of his school is his chosen weapons. He still dual wields while fighting but these days he favors daggers to the traditional Viper shortswords. They’re much easier to hide. He keeps a stiletto in each boot and two in his lute case. One habit he cannot break is the way he cleans and sharpens his daggers after every use. He has two silver and two steel because he is a witcher, even if he’s a witcher who rarely takes contracts. They rarely need cleaning, especially when he travels with Geralt, but when they do, Jaskier is almost religious about it. His latest kill is a pack of drowners outside Murivel, as he’s lazily making his way through Redania and towards Ard Carraigh after completing his obligations at Oxenfurt. He finds no contract for them in town, which is frustrating after he ruined this season’s traveling clothes in the fight, but he gets some decent prices for some of the alchemy supplies he was able to harvest. When he makes it to an inn, it’s a bit before the midday meal, just enough time for him to clean himself and his daggers before he sings for his supper and his room. The innkeep is gracious enough to give him the room first, because he remembers Jaskier and knows he’ll be good for business. He lays his daggers out in a corner of the room and sits on the floor in front of them with a small bowl of water and a cloth. It isn’t long before he loses himself to the familiar motions. Clean the blade. Sharpen the blade. Polish the blade. Unwrap the leather. Oil the leather. Rewrap the leather. Repeat.  It doesn’t take very long, given how much smaller the blades are than his old shortswords but he takes longer than most men would bother with. A blade ill-treated is unlikely to treat you well in moments of need.

He goes downstairs to sing a bit for the midday meal. He’s debating the merit of playing through Geralt’s song cycle without Geralt himself present when the door swings open and the witcher himself enters. He nods at Jaskier when he sees him and then goes to speak to the innkeep. Jaskier finishes his song and wanders over to Geralt as he plucks at the strings of his lute, playing but not singing. 

“He’ll join me, my good man,” Jaskier declares after he hears the innkeep tell Geralt there’s no available rooms. The inkeep shrugs and shows Geralt to Jaskier’s room while Jaskier continues to play.

It’s another hour before he joins Geralt, who is making notes in his journal. Jaskier brings two bowls of broth and some bread with him and they share a pleasant meal after spending almost half a year apart. 

“You’ve bought more daggers,” Geralt says as they’re finishing, gesturing to where Jaskier had left his blades out after their rather thorough cleaning.

“Not new,” Jaskier clarifies, “just clean. They were a little too useful on the way here.”

Geralt snorts.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks him, with no real heat. 

“What use would you have for a dagger, other than the one you carry on your belt sometimes?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and gathers the bowls, immune to Geralt’s teasing for the most part. It is just like the other man, to consider the fighting style of another school inferior to his own. “Not all of us are trying to compensate for something with our gigantic swords.”

3. 1247

Jaskier manages to get his pants tied and his doublet buttoned as he runs back to the inn he and Geralt are staying at. He finds Geralt whetting his silver sword by the fire.

“Hello, Geralt,” he says, as casually as he can manage. “If you wouldn’t mind departing just a bit early, I think now’s a wonderful time to leave.”

Geralt grunts. “The room is paid until tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Jaskier says, moving quickly towards the table he’s been using as a desk to pack the papers he’s spread across it. “I’m afraid I’ll have to lose out on that coin. C’mon. Chop, chop. Pack your things.” Jaskier moves onto his small pack of clothes in the corner.

“Don’t forget your weird necklace,” Geralt grunts, shoving Jaskier’s Viper medallion into his hand and Jaskier remembers taking it off before going looking for a lay for tonight, trusting Geralt with it before trusting a random lay wouldn’t steal it.

Jaskier pauses for a second, offended. The Viper medallions aren’t the same heavy stamped discs the rest of the schools use- they were forged individually into various twisting shapes before they’d been enchanted. Jaskier finds them more attractive than the other schools’ medallions and more practical, easier to hide. “Excuse me, as if yours is better.” 

“Let’s go, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shuts his mouth and returns to packing for a moment before he’s forced to retaliate. “Fine but don’t think we’re not discussing your terrible taste in jewelry later.”

4. 1251

Geralt’s White Honey is absolute shit and Jaskier knows firsthand because he’s borrowed it before. He’d replaced it after, of course, and he could tell when Geralt used the one Jaskier had brewed because it flushed the toxins much faster than Geralt’s usual swill.

Ivar would be very disappointed if he knew how long it takes Jaskier to figure out why Geralt’s White Honey is so poor in comparison to his own. As it turns out, Geralt is preparing both the honeysuckle and the white myrtle petals incorrectly. He’s managed to flip their preparations, crushing the myrtle petals and chopping the honeysuckle, when it should be the other way around. Jaskier thinks maybe it’s a Wolf thing but he’s not sure it matters because watching Geralt butcher his potions every time is getting old. 

Jaskier doesn’t bother to keep his potions stocked beyond a few that are easy to keep in his packs but he helps Geralt when the other allows him to. Mostly he prepares ingredients as Geralt directs but given how sick he is of watching the other witcher butcher his potions, when Geralt asks him to crush some white myrtle petals he takes the knife from Geralt’s hand and chops them instead. “Just give me that,” he says, reaching for the honeysuckle Geralt had been about to chop. “You always do this wrong. You’re supposed to cut the white myrtle and crush the honeysuckle.”

It doesn’t take very long for Jaskier to finish preparing the potion, though he stops short of the final mix lest Geralt actually murder him. He wipes his hands and picks up his lute, idly strumming.

“Where did you learn that?” Geralt asks as he takes the ingredients Jaskier has prepared to finish mixing them. 

Jaskier rolls his eyes because White Honey, for all it’s helpful properties, is a recipe shared almost exclusively among witchers. “Oxenfurt, Geralt,” he answers with a hefty amount of sarcasm in his voice. 

“Hmmmm.”

And doesn’t that pique Jaskier’s interest. That’s Geralt’s genuinely confused hum, not his ‘Jaskier, shut up, you’re not that funny’ hum.

 “Where else would I have learned it?” he prods. “I am a Master of the seven liberal arts, as you know.”

“Didn’t know they taught White Honey at Oxenfurt,” is all Geralt says as Jaskier strums lazily at his lute. Geralt is being serious, Jaskier realizes- he believes he learned how to make White Honey at Oxenfurt.

White Honey is not taught at Oxenfurt. White Honey, per rather extensive experimentation by the Viper School, is mostly useless to anyone without a witcher’s mutations. While Jaskier is sure someone out there has the recipe who is not a witcher, it is certainly not taught at Oxenfurt. Jaskier is sure Geralt knows this but the other witcher is taking Jaskier’s joke seriously.

Oh.

Oh.

Geralt, somehow, just over ten years into their friendship, does not know Jaskier is a witcher. It takes effort to keep himself from crowing with laughter. This is just- Jaskier would be hurt if he didn’t find it so funny. 

Oh, this is incredible. Jaskier is going to milk this for all of its worth.

5. 1251

Jaskier continues to insinuate in every possible way that he can think that he is a witcher without actually saying it. Geralt does not catch on. It is simultaneously amusing and frustrating though it gives Jaskier a lot of perspective on certain aspects of their relationship.

Geralt is always surprised when Jaskier lights a fire quickly because he hasn’t considered that Jaskier is using Igni. Geralt insists that Jaskier’s hidden daggers are for show because he doesn’t quite believe that Jaskier knows how to use them. Geralt dismisses Jaskier’s Viper medallion as an odd piece of jewelry because he doesn’t remember that not all the schools use the same stamped metal the Wolves do for their medallions.

Jaskier’s current favorite game is trying to find the subject of his knowledge that will eventually push Geralt over the edge because he can’t accept that Jaskier learned it at Oxenfurt. He hasn’t found it yet.

He’s trying the Wild Hunt today because there hasn’t been a reliable sighting in nearly thirty years and he knows very few humans who actually study the subject. All witchers know about it, of course, but the Vipers are most familiar. They were founded to study it, after all, and Jaskier’s knowledge on the subject is both broad and deep.

“They’re elves, you know. Not the typical kind, mind you, but they speak an off dialect of Elder. Some of my teachers think they’re from some other world. There’s unicorns there, apparently,” he says as they walk beside Roach. It’s a not-quite-bastardization of the various facts and theories but Jaskier’s not aiming for the truth, he’s aiming to confuse Geralt.

Geralt just grunts. It’s not quite as satisfying a response as Jaskier had hoped but he thinks maybe Geralt is confused.

“I think the unicorns are a little far-fetched, personally,” he continues. “It’s a nice thought, though.”

“The Wild Hunt is not a nice thought,” Geralt says seriously. Which, well, is true. 

“I’m well aware, Geralt. I’ve read an entire library on the subject. The Continent’s biggest, in fact.”

“The biggest library on the Wild Hunt was at Gorthur Gvaed. It’s been destroyed.”

“Yes. Well.”

The painful reminder stops Jaskier short. He normally doesn’t have much trouble separating his memories of Gorthur Gvaed from its destruction. He wasn’t there and if he doesn’t think about the raid he missed, it’s easy to pretend it never happened; that the keep, with its hidden passageways and winding rivers, is still standing in the mountains of Nilfgard; that his teachers are still there tending to the library; that his brothers are still out there and they’re narrowly missing each other as they travel their own winding Paths. The mention of its destruction brings his idealized fantasy crashing down. Gorthur Gvaed is nothing but ruins and he has maybe five brothers left. 

Guilt wells up in the pit of his stomach and he decides the Wild Hunt is not the topic that’s going to make Geralt realize he’s a witcher.

+1. 1251

Geralt feels hazy and slow as he wakes. There’s the dull ache of a pain in his leg and his blood burns. His vision comes slowly and when it does he takes stock.

He’s trapped under a pile of rocks. The tunnel. The kikimores. The cave-in. The pain in his legs and his ribs is dull, due to his potions, but he thinks his leg might be broken and his ribs at least bruised. He has a concussion but he doesn’t think he was out for very long. There are potions burning through his system, one for the dark, at least, but with his head pounding, he’s not sure what else.

He’s in a fairly large section of the tunnel system, with a small stream running through. There are four entrances to the cavern. He was caught as the fifth tunnel gave way and caved in.

He can see where his sword had landed and he might have enough time to clear enough of the rock to reach for it. He doesn’t like his chances of getting out of the cave on his own but there should only be one injured kikimore left and if it comes to him, he might be able to take it out. Jaskier will come looking for him once he’s been gone long enough and as long as the kikimore is dead before Jaskier enters the tunnels, the foolish bard should be safe.

Geralt closes his eyes, trying to listen for the kikimore, trying to gauge where it is and how much time he has. Not much, he realizes, after a moment of listening to the echoes of it’s skittering legs, but he can do it if he works fast.

His legs are still mostly pinned under the cave-in when the kikimore enters the cavern from one of the tunnels opposite Geralt. 

Fuck.

He’s free enough to reach for the sword, stretching his body as far as it will go and exacerbating the pain in his leg, still pinned, as he does. His movement attracts the attention of the kikimore. It’s beady eyes turn toward Geralt. It’s a smaller specimen, a worker probably, but pinned as he is, Geralt knows it has the upperhand. He braces himself, trying to find the position that will give him the most power. If he can time this right, he might be able to behead the kikimore before it pierces his chest.

Suddenly, there’s another body in the cavern, a blur of blue putting itself between Geralt and the kikimore, a dagger in either hand. The kikimore stops, eyes focusing on the new arrival.

“Jaskier, get the fuck out of here.”

“Can’t do that, my dear.” Jaskier lunges at the kikimore, leading with his blades. 

Geralt stops breathing. His only goal after the cave-in- to kill the kikimore before Jaskier came looking for him- is now impossible. He hasn’t been fast enough for the bard’s impatience and now the fool is going to die trying to fight a monster some young witchers struggle with.

Jaskier lands the first blow, a lucky hit against one of the kikimores legs. It’s not deep but it’s enough to put the kikimore off balance. It strikes at Jaskier who dodges and pulls away. He puts some space between himself and the kikimore and pulls a small vial from his pocket. It’s one from Geralt’s own stores, though he can’t tell which. It doesn’t matter. It would kill any human. It will kill Jaskier.

“Don’t!”

Almost faster than Geralt can see, Jaskier throws his dagger into the kikimore’s eye with deadly accuracy, stunning it for a moment. In almost the same moment, he downs the potion and pulls another dagger from his boot in one fluid motion. He dives back in to slash at the kikimore’s throat, digging into it with both of his daggers. The kikimore chokes on its own blood, a sick wet, gurgling sound, and then suddenly it is on top of Jaskier, stabbing down and obscuring the bard’s body from Geralt. Geralt can barely see any of it but the sick sound of flesh being pierced overwhelms his ears. Instead of trying to watch, he returns to freeing himself from the cave-in.

It isn’t long before the sound has stopped and the kikimore is moving toward Geralt again. He can sit up fully now but twisting away from his legs to look at the scene behind him pulls at his ribs. Jaskier’s body is motionless on the ground and Geralt is furious. The idiot bard.

He manages to free the rest of his legs as the kikimore approaches. It takes massive effort to kneel up, ready to strike, but he manages. He still does not expect to make it out of the cave system but the least he can do is bring the kikimore down with him in honor of his friend.

Just as Geralt is preparing to swing at the approaching kikimore, it sinks to the ground. Standing over its lifeless body, is Jaskier, once again holding his daggers. His eyes are completely black and the veins surrounding them are dark beneath his pale skin. The toxicity of the potion hasn’t killed him. It’s swirling through his system. Geralt knows his face looks much the same.

“Fuck.”

-

“Eleven years, Geralt,” Jaskier crows as he helps Geralt back to the clearing where Roach is waiting for them. “How does it feel to have traveled with another witcher for eleven years and never once known? While holding his medallion in your hand and drinking the potions he’s prepared for you? Hmmm, Geralt? How does it feel?”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher!jaskier #witcher jaskier #witcher fic #the witcher fic #abb writes

[mordoriscalling]

The Second Waltz (pt. 4/5)

(Part 1&2  Part 3)

The day after the ball, Jaskier went downstairs half past noon. After all, he had gone to bed well past midnight, which was a sufficient justification for his late arrival to breakfast. Nobody needed to know that he couldn’t fall asleep because thoughts about a certain witcher had kept him awake until it was no longer dark outside.

When he entered the dining room, he found no one there, which wasn’t an unwelcome surprise. The young Viscount sat down at the table and started eating, trying not to revisit the certain memories of the previous day. He didn't want to think about how his family would continue to tease him about his behaviour. 

Just as Jaskier thought that, his father walked in. 

“Oh, Julian!” Lord Pankratz greeted his son cheerfully, “We’re alone, good.”

The words made Jaskier freeze. “What do you mean, father?”

Count Alfred Pankratz sat down across his son. His usual gaiety gave way to seriousness as he answered, “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Jaskier’s studied his father’s expression, looking for any clues as to whether he should be worried. “Has something happened?” he asked. Then, it occurred to him what could be the reason for this conversation – it had taken place before. “Please don’t tell me that scandalous rumours about me are circling around again.”

Lord Pankratz’s dark green eyes twinkled. “Why, dear son,” he replied, “I should say that they erupted like a wildfire after your... spirited dance with Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier looked down at his plate, his cheeks hot. Count de Lettenhove only chuckled, for at this point he knew there was nothing to be done about his son’s untamable nature. In fact, he had grown to appreciate and be fond of that particular trait in his middle child. It was very similar to his wife’s character, and he admired her greatly.

“This is not what we want to discuss with you, however,” he told his son. Letting out a heavy sigh, he went on, “As you know, we’ve been struggling with monsters on our lands for a long time.”

Jaskier nodded. There were many kikimora nests all over the Lettenhove county, and wyverns were a strangely common occurrence as well. No matter how many times witchers were hired to deal with the monsters, the issue returned quickly. Some thought their lands to be cursed.

“After the recent kikimora attack, we’ve come to the conclusion that special measures should be taken,” Lord Pankratz said, “Your mother advised me to write to Master Vesemir of the Wolf School to request aid. Master Vesemir judged our monster infestation problem as rather grave and proposed a certain... lasting solution.” Count de Lettenhove’s hands fidgeted and it suddenly struck Jaskier that his father was nervous. “It would a contract between Lettenhove and Kaer Morhen,” he carried on explaining, “effective for years to come. The witchers of the Wolf School would regularly patrol our lands and kill monsters in exchange for funds. As a way of sealing this contract, one of my children, who conveniently are renowned bards, would enter a... binding partnership with one of the witchers.”

“A binding partnership,” Jaskier echoed flatly.

“Marriage, Julian.”

“Oh,” Jaskier could only say. “With who?”

Lord Pankratz watched him warily. “Master Vesemir chose Geralt of Rivia as the one to be married.” He paused, anticipating some kind of reaction from his son, but there came none. Jaskier only stared at him, his face carefully blank, so the Count went on, “And well, we were very glad to see you and him get along–”

Jaskier rose from his seat so abruptly that the chair fell to the floor. He directed an accusing pointing finger at Lord Pankratz, for he now understood everything. “You! You planned this!” he cried, “You and mother both, and you didn’t tell me a thing! Why?!”

“We know your free spirit,” his father replied, painfully honest, “You would’ve done your best to disappear, had we told you earlier.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, then quickly closed it – he couldn’t deny his father’s words.

Lord Pankratz let out a rueful sigh. “I’m sorry that it has to be you, Julian, I truly am. Yet we simply couldn’t do that to Priscilla, and Essi is a bit too young.”

The Viscount pursed his lips but again found himself unable to disagree. “When?” his ground out, his jaw clenched tight.

There was immense sadness in his father’s eyes as he answered, “Next month.”

“All right, then,” Jaskier replied sharply. He then stormed out of the room and out of the Palace, barely aware of his surroundings. Fury almost blinded him.

 His legs carried him through the gardens, then towards the charming little forest that stood at the end of the grounds adjacent to the Palace. The brisk walk did nothing to help with getting the anger out of his system. In fact, the scorching heat of the day, rather unusual for May, had an opposite effect. Jaskier had to strip out of his doublet and unlace his chemise not to go absolutely mad, and when he finally reached the shade of the wood, he nearly teared up in relief. The Viscount wandered only a bit further, until he reached a small stream. He splashed its water all over his face and neck to cool down, almost soaking his chemise completely. After doing so, he sat down by the nearby oak tree, leaning his back against the massive trunk. Closing his eyes, Jaskier simply breathed in and tried to sort his thoughts.

He believed himself to be a true songbird in everything but physical form. He hated to be caged and always longed to fly free, after all. Being a witcher’s bard was practically a perfect way of living for him – he would gladly bear the tie of the partnership (that wasn’t too constricting anyway) in exchange for the constant travel and new wonders to immortalize in song. The commitment of being married to a witcher, however, displeased him greatly. Jaskier was aware that he was too self-absorbed to be married to anyone without hurting both parties.

The sound of a horse’s snort startled him out of his morose contemplation. Jaskier stood up and searched the surrounding with his gaze... only to see Geralt of Rivia himself, leading a chestnut horse by the reins a short distance away. Both the witcher and the Viscount froze in shock at the sight of each other, and Jaskier couldn’t help but notice that the handsome monster hunter looked even more impressive with the black armour on and the two swords on his back. His white hair caught the sunlight seeping through the trees and his golden eyes seemed to glow as they lingered on Jaskier.

Suddenly Jaskier realised what kind of picture he made – his chemise was still wet and unlaced, so it clung to his body and revealed his chest hair, leaving very little to the imagination. With a brazen smirk, Jaskier straightened his posture and put his hands on his hips, cocking them to the side. The witcher’s gaze followed the action in a rather appreciative manner, briefly roaming over Jaskier’s body before focusing on his face.

The bright gold met the cornflower blue and all at once, the yesterday’s memories of their dancing came back to Jaskier – the heat, the thrill, the breathlessness. Now, however, the experience was tainted with the truth of their situation, and Jaskier couldn’t fight the bitterness in his voice as he asked, “Did you find me satisfactory?”

The witcher let out a confused little “hmm?” that Jaskier refused to find endearing. “Yesterday, when we danced,” he clarified, “Did you deem me good enough to marry?”

Geralt of Rivia scowled formidably. “I didn’t know it was you,” he replied, “And I didn’t know about the arrangement either.” These words made Jaskier scoff. “I swear,” the White Wolf insisted with a growl, “If they’d told me, they wouldn’t have found me ever again.”

Jaskier strangely found comfort in this. The anger in him deflated as he let out a slow breath. He eyed his future spouse wearily, taking in his armour, swords and horse again.

Then, an idea struck him.

“We really could run away.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier as if he went insane. Then, he deadpanned, “Don’t tempt me.” Intrigued, Jaskier was about to say something, but the witcher spoke first, “We need this contract. Kaer Morhen is falling apart and we haven’t got the funds to properly restore it. My reputation, too...” he trailed off, then huffed. “I need a bard.”

As if that explained everything, the White Wolf tugged at his horse’s reins and started walking ahead, not even sparing Jaskier a glance. Jaskier, wholly overtaken by the urge to execute his brilliant idea, wouldn’t be ignored. He jogged up to the witcher’s side and stood in his way.

“Let’s run away,” he said.  

Geralt looked at Jaskier like he was the most vexing creature in the world. Jaskier, not cowered by the White Wolf’s furious stare, added, “For just a fortnight.”

This, Jaskier could see, made the witcher’s resolve crack slightly, so he pressed on, “We will leave no note, send no letters, just to make them mad with worry so that they will repent for the secrecy.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll have enough coin to cover all the costs of travel.”

“Fuck.”

“I won’t be but a silent backup –”

“Fine.”

The witcher’s irritated grunt made Jaskier beam. His happy grin seemed to placate Geralt somewhat. “Let’s meet at the stables after dinner, then,” he said.  

“Pack light,” Geralt grumbled.  

This made Jaskier smile even more.

A few hours later, the Viscount finally got introduced to the rest of the special guests. He found that Lady Yennefer was just as terrifying as she looked, and Lady Triss and Mister Eskel were both amicable and overall a wonderful company. Jaskier’s sisters appeared to think so as well, since although they stayed wary of Lady Yennefer’s merciless wit, Priscilla seemed to have made fast friends with Lady Triss, while Essi and Eskel were clearly quite taken with each other. As regarding the latter development, Jaskier decided that he and the Wolf witcher will have words soon, for he wasn’t sure he could allow his dearest, sweetest, seventeen-year-old Poppet to leave for the Path just yet.

That conversation was to come later, however. First, there was the escape. After Jaskier and his family ate dinner with their four special guests, both the Viscount and the White Wolf excused themselves before they joined the rest for the evening. Jaskier said that he had to fetch his lute, while Geralt announced that he would first check on his horse, for the mare had seemed unwell. What Jaskier did go to grab was actually both his lute and his travel pack, and Geralt’s horse (named Roach, for reasons Jaskiers couldn’t begin to fathom) in truth seemed to be in good health as she carried them both away from the Palace.

Jaskier was almost heady from the success of the little scheme but his joy didn’t last long. As they stopped in the fields for the night and lit the bonfire, Lady Yennefer portalled into the middle of the campsite, almost giving Jaskier a heart attack. Geralt had failed to mention that apparently, sorceresses could make use of what was called “tracking spells”.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she thundered.

The White Wolf only smirked and pointed to Jaskier. “It was his idea,” he said.

Jaskier gasped at the betrayal. He was about to call Geralt a bastard but then Yennefer’s lightning-like eyes were on him, taking away his ability to speak.

“Mister Pankratz,” the sorceress addressed him, her voice calm but with a detectable threat undreneath, “your family are worried sick. I’m asking you to go back home on their behalf.”

“I will not,” Jaskier mustered a reply. Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him but he only raised his chin defiantly. “If you’d be so kind, Lady Yennefer, please pass my deepest, sincere apologies on to my sisters. Please also tell my parents that they can expect me back home in two weeks’ time. This –” he gestured at the campsite vaguely “– is what I believe to be the best way to get to know my future spouse and the reality of our approaching, arranged partnership. It’s an opportunity which my parents denied me, for they told me nothing about the marriage until this morning, and I refuse not to seize the chance now that I’m here.”

To his surprise, Yennefer relented.

At the beginning of their travels, Jaskier and Geralt learned all the ways in which they were incompatible. Jaskier was a flurry of music and motion, which assaulted Geralt’s sensitive witcher senses. Moreover, Jaskier kept complaining about the discomforts of the Path and camping in the wild, and his incessant whining, together with all the noise he made, irritated Geralt beyond belief. The witcher was at the end of his tether at all times, which made him quick to snap at Jaskier for any reason. Jaskier bore Geralt’s bad temper up to a point but as days passed, the witcher’s prickliness was beginning to put him off more and more. Geralt also didn’t engage in any kind of conversation with “his” bard, and the witcher’s dismissive silences were perhaps what hurt Jaskier the most.

By the end of their first week together, they could barely stand each other’s company. They were both in a foul mood, as their forcedly-shared future was looking rather bleak, but then something happened that kick-started a change in their dynamic – Geralt took a contract to get rid of a noonwraith. The pay for the job seemed meagre even to Jaskier but the White Wolf accepted only half of it. When Jaskier asked him why he had done that, the witcher replied, “Look around. This village is so poor that I’m surprised they collected as much money as they did.”

It was at this moment that Jaskier realised that the White Wolf was kind. He was kind and willing to sacrifice his well-being to protect others, even if they spat at him and called him a Butcher. When Geralt returned wounded to their camp after the hunt, he only laid down on the ground without a word, and Jaskier’s heart broke a little.

“Geralt,” he asked, “what do you need?”

“Silence,” the witcher grunted. After some time, he added, “And the black potion in the green veil.”

Jaskier hurried to fetch it as quietly as he could. From that point on, Jaskier started learning how not to be so self-centred – he stayed silent when he noticed that the witcher couldn’t stand his chatter anymore and tried to complain less. Geralt noticed this and thanked Jaskier for it in his own way, by making sure that his bard was as comfortable as it was possible and gracing Jaskier with instances of his dry humour. Jaskier actually found Geralt quite hilarious. Soon, the two were trading quips and barbs with ease, and the rest of their journey was marked by jokes and challenging stares.

“You know, Geralt,” Jaskier said when they were approaching the Lettenhove Palace, “I can’t wait for our first-second dance. I’m sure you’ll allow me to lead this time, won’t you?”

Geralt only hmmed as he held Jaskier’s gaze, his golden eyes making Jaskier short of breath.

TBC

Part 5

***

A/N: My god, these two dumbasses. I love them. This fic wasn’t supposed to get that long but well... what can you do? XD Tagging @siriusly-the-best-bi and @sometimesiwrite. Part 5 hopefully coming later today. 

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #arranged marriage au #Regency AU

[acathea]

The Law of Surprise

A man saves a woman from a hungry wolf; the woman has no coin, no valuables, but saving a life is a debt that must be repaid, and how can you put a price on it? So, the man says: “You shall give me what you find at home, but did not expect”.  When she goes home, she finds her son as slain a deer for them to eat - but it goes to the man.

A man saves another from certain death, but he has been robbed and only has his horse and the clothes he’s wearing, and won’t be able to get home without either. So, his saviour says: “You shall give me the first thing that greets you once you step home.” As the man enters his house, his dog comes barking and wagging her tail to greet him. And she goes to the man.

A witcher saves a peasant from a pack of ghouls.”However can I repay you?” The witcher smiles. “You shall give me what you already have, but do not know.” When he gets home, the man finds his wife has given birth to a beautiful baby boy, but he now belongs to the witcher. 

Such is the Law of Surprise, a custom as old as mankind itself. While it can be invoked by anyone, it is most associated with witchers. Whether there is truth in the fear that witchers invoke it in order to get children for their school or not, the Law has also ties with Destiny - and it’s a dangerous thing to run from it. Most famously Zivelina, Queen of Metinna, made a deal with the gnome Rumplestelt: the crown for what ended up being her first-born child. When Rumplestelt came back to claim his child surprise, Zivelina drove him away with magic, and a few days later both mother and babe died of a plague. The price to be paid for ignoring Destiny. 

The bond between the invoker of the Law and their child surprise is undeniable - but do not worry, just because Duny ended up marrying his (which is. Hm. Gross.) does not mean that this always has to be the case. A father/son relationship is, I think, the most common result of getting a child out of this Law. In Northern legends a man named Mad Dei, victim of a curse, claimed the Law of Surprise and got a child out of it. That child then proceeded to lift the curse off him.

Contrary to what you now may believe having seen the show, being a child surprise does not grant you special powers. The ones Cirilla and Pavetta before her have exhibited, as hinted by Calanthe herself, run in the Cintran royal bloodline and will be explained later.  In short, the Law of Surprise is an ancient custom, invoked when a life debt has to be paid and coin is not sufficient, either because of a lack of it or because you can’t put a price on life. You can get pretty much anything out of it. A dog, a weapon. Something useless like a letter. Something terrible and awkward like, maybe, a tax collector and you now have to pay a debt that is not yours. Sometimes it’s a child, and that child will be bound to you by the Law, always. Ignoring it is a mistake and Destiny will, somehow, always find a way to bring you together. 

#me.txt #.txt #the witcher #twn #netflix #netflix witcher #geralt of rivia

[whaticannotshowyou]

Don't worry I finally made some progress. So, here's the fluff of the day. Vesemir wishing he could be a grandfather (or raising kids again? Because he's kinda lonely?). Lambert arguing with him about his way of raising the trainees. And Lambert realizing he wants a family of his own.

I’m proud of you!!! 🥰 and this is so good... maybe they are all back from a tough year, Vesemir happily doting on his boys and them all revelling in his pampering. When Lambert says his abundance of smooches and hugs are bordering on too much, Geralt chuckles and comments on the old man being lonely all year, not even having some boring fucks to argue with for coin even if he wanted it. Vesemir nods solemnly and they drop it, the silence suddenly... a lot.

A few days later Lambert catches him and Geralt talking when they think they’re alone, the two brothers gone to bed some time ago and Vesemir and his golden boy staying up for a while longer. He just meant to sneak into the kitchen for another tankard of ale, a snack as well if he was so inclined, but ends up flush against a wall listening to the two. Vesemir talks about being lonely, tired of the empty keep but he knows he can’t exactly leave. He talks about grandchildren, how he even misses the little trainees running around all day causing all kinds of ruckus and mischief, shaving years off of the old wolf’s nigh immortal life each passing day. Geralt even seems interested, happily indulging the fantasy that makes Lambert’s blood boil.

He doesn’t stay hidden for long, his brother calling out for him as he can hear his increased heart rate and Vesemir is suddenly quiet, just looking at his youngest with regret in his eyes. He knows Lambert would be the last he ever wished to tell this, knows how badly the man would take to such an idea after the things he’s been through and yet there he is, had heard all he had to say.

“Old man still not done fucking lives up, eh?” Lambert is raging already, his voice just shy of cracking from the exertion he has to use just to stay composed. He was one of the last litters to graduate the school, maybe even out of all witchers out there, and never got to experience coming back from a long year to a keep sprawling with kids fawning iver him, never had to see their soul leave their bodies for each passing winter. He’s happy for that.

“Lambert, I-“ He doesn’t let his mentor finish before he’s storming away, making sure to knock over the small table just by the door for the hell of it. He doesn’t want to hear his explanation, doesn’t want any part of it. No, he just wants to sleep and wake up thinking it was a dream, a nightmare. It isn’t morning come, Vesemir still giving him regretful looks and averting his gaze.

It takes a wekk before Lambert as much as talks to him, opting for grunts and flat out ignoring the man until he wakes up one night to his door opening. Vesemir sits at the edge of his bed and apologises, quietly brushing his hand against Lambert’s leg as he explains himself.

“I know it’s selfish, pup, and I regret everything from back then. If I could go back I would have-“

“Stopped it?” The silence tells him more than he ever wishes to have known. He’s just about to turn over and go to sleep again as Vesemir shakes his head, staring at his own lap.

“No. No, I wouldn’t... But I would have changed things.” Lambert can respect the honesty, sighing as he stares up into the roof. He hates it, absolutely does. But Vesemir starts talking about missing the kids, not wanting to be alone all year, and brings up old memories; Geralt and Eskel’s childhood together being rascals, Lambert’s peers and their ideas of pranks. That one time and Eskel and him spent a full day trying to coax Lambert down from the roof of the stables. Lambert can’t help but laugh at it, each story as entertaining as the last and he can hear his mentor’s fond voice retelling them, how he smiles and chuckling. It’s as if he remembers eacha nd every kid that soent their youth at Kaer Morhen, has memorised them all like his own sons. He think back to Geralt listening and adding to the stories that night, how even the grumpy white wolf had fun times memorised of the children.

Then something weird hapoens inside of Lambert, his heart aching in a way he rarely felt and he wondered just how it would feel to be like Vesemir, to have children to care for and raise, to see them become grown adults with aspirations and adventures. Would he want grandchildren as well one day?

“They wouldn’t become witchers nowadays, would they?” He surprises himself eith his question but Vesemir just smiles, leans back a little and looks at the roof. Shaking his head no, the old man says the days of old are lost, that there wouldn’t be any trials nor merciless training. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to just let them slack, he confesses, but they wouldn’t become witchers. Just regular humans with a unique childhood. They would all rather around and listen to the wolves as they came back for winter, marvel at their stories and dream of the continent. Perhaps Vesemir would pack his bags and they would descend the mountain in summer, travel to nearby towns and play with the other kids that didn’t fear their eyes. There would be a whole new generation growing up with an understanding for witchers, a new era.

#answer #🐭 #i dont know if u intended for me to add myself in here #i really wanted to but- #just imagining Lambert think of me waiting for him after the winter and how badly he wants to raise a child with me #sft

[last-wish]

Feainnewedd: Chapter 5

Summary: Ciri meets the witchers and starts her training at Kaer Morhen, Geralt struggles with his new role and unexpected troubles demand outside help.

Pairing: Geralt x Yennefer

Word Count: 3,7k

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter took me longer than I thought, with the change of setting in the fic and all the stuff happening in the world. I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think! Cross posted to AO3. Special thanks to @mclintocks for her invaluable help.

“Ciri, stop right there!”

The girl brought her horse to a halt some fifty yards ahead of Geralt. “You’re such an old man!” She laughed. “Why do you hate fun?”

“I am an old man,” he said as he caught up with her. “But wait until you see Vesemir.”

Ciri spotted a half-smile on the witcher’s face as he overtook her.

“Well, if he raised you, he must be even more boring than you.”

Geralt chuckled. “When I ride into a new town, kids not much younger than you stare at me with their mouths open. The very bravest among them even dare ask me about my exciting life hunting monsters.”

“I have seen through you already. You’re just a boring old man hiding beneath that armor.”

“You’re really hurting my pride, Ciri. Don’t you have any mercy?”

“Not when you don’t even let me run a little. Come on, I’m hungry! Can’t we go faster to the next town?”

Ciri put on her saddest face—to little effect on the white-haired witcher.

“You have dried meat in your pouch.”

“But it’s awful! We’ve been eating this shit for weeks.”

“Language. You don’t want Vesemir hear you say that. And yeah, this meat gets tiring pretty quickly. But we can’t stop at every tavern and risk someone recognizing us. Or someone remembering us when certain people come later asking for a certain rebellious, ashen-haired, green-eyed princess. Maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious if we had cut your hair short.”

Ciri stabbed him with an unambiguous look.

“But I see that’s still not an option,” the witcher added quickly. “Anyway, don’t worry too much, the next town is the last one before Kaer Morhen. Then it’s a couple more days and—”

A rider appeared out of a gully that descended from the nearby hills. He hastened his horse in their direction, looking nervously towards the hilltops.

“Good morning,” Geralt said.

The man stopped before them.

“Another one of you? Are you coming to help?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a man-eater around here. I just guided one of your kind to the place where it attacked yesterday.”

“What, who—”

“I’m not staying here!” The man hurried his horse. “Go up the gully and you’ll find him. Or what’s left of him!”

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed as he dismounted Roach.

Ciri noticed then a shadow on the ground. At first, she thought it was just a cloud. But as it grew steadily, moving towards the rider, she felt something was off.

“Geralt…”

She raised her head and stared in disbelief. A beast that looked like it had jumped out of a tapestry crossed the sky, piercing the cold morning air with a horrifying shriek. Folding its monstrous, bat-like wings, the creature dived towards the rider, quickly closing the distance despite the man’s desperate efforts.

“Ciri, hold Roach!” Geralt said as he unsheathed his silver sword.

Ahead of them, rider and horse fell to the ground. The animal neighed when the monster plunged its claws deep into its belly. The man wheezed as the fangs pierced his throat mercilessly. The man-eater stood on top of them, raising its bloodied head with an almost royal look. The impression quickly vanished when Ciri noticed its hideous face crowned by two long horns. It was then that the girl saw a figure nimbly descending from the hillside, sword in hand.

Before it could get close, the monster lashed with its long scorpion tail in a semi-circle. Ciri looked at the man’s face as he stopped, wielding his sword before him. A long, ugly scar crossed half of his face. The beast must have been fixated on the man, too, since it did not notice Geralt approaching it from behind. With a quick pirouette, the witcher slashed its left wing. The man-eater roared and writhed. Instead of trying to dodge the tail coming at him, Geralt crossed his wrists, stopping the sting amidst an explosion of sparks and blood.

It must be one of his witcher tricks, Ciri thought as the two men circled around the beast, its wounded wing preventing it from taking off again. Suddenly, as if they were reading each other’s thoughts, the two men attacked at the same time. But the monster was still very much alive, fending off the men with a lash of its tail, a dodge and a counterattack.

From her vantage point, Ciri watched the fight with fascination. The girl had seen skilled warriors dueling in tournaments back in Cintra but this was completely different. Instead of the slow movements of plate-armored knights wielding heavy maces, the nimble jumps, spins and dodges of the two seamlessly coordinated men resembled more of a court dance. The man-eater started moving more slowly as the dark blood spilling from its left wing formed puddles on the ground. Noticing this, Geralt and the scarred man got closer to the beast.

The end of the fight was quick. In the blink of an eye, the scarred man bisected the monster’s tail and Geralt sliced off one of its legs. The other man then jumped on top of the beast and buried his sword up to the hilt, instantly killing the monster.

The man with the scar landed on the ground and sheathed his sword into the scabbard strapped to his back. The witchers wrapped their arms around each other in a quick, tight embrace.

“Still sharp, Wolf.”

“It’s either sharp or dead, Eskel.”

“As Vesemir always says. Are you going to winter in Kaer Morhen too?”

“Yes”—Geralt looked at Ciri—“We are.”

“You’re bringing a boy? It’s been a long time.”

“Not a boy,” Geralt said while Ciri approached them, pulling back her hood. “This is Ciri.”

“Oh. Forgive me, Ciri. Geralt, are you sure Kaer Morhen is the right place for her?”

“As long as your food is better than the dried shit we’ve been eating,” Ciri answered for him, “I’ll put up with you.”

***

“Again!”

Ciri wiped the sweat off her forehead with her wrist and looked at her feet, one in front of the other, standing on a narrow beam four feet off the ground. She held the wooden sword in front of her, keeping perfect balance.

“Now!”

The girl took two quick steps and swung the sword with all her might against the target—a leather sack roughly shaped as a person.

“Way too high. We’re aiming for the carotid artery. You remember where it is, right?”

“I’m not stupid, Coën.”

The young witcher smiled at her from below, his yellow-green eyes glinting playfully against his bronze skin. Both outsiders—Coën came from the School of the Griffin in Poviss—they had connected with each other from the start. Besides, Eskel was too calm for the energetic girl, Vesemir could be too protective and Lambert… Well, Lambert was insufferable.

“That’s what I thought,” Coën said. “Again, come on.”

Ciri returned to the starting position. She glanced from the corner of her eyes at the opposite side of Kaer Morhen’s courtyard. Geralt had said he would be sharpening swords but every time the girl looked at him, he was staring into the distance through a wide gap in the ruined wall. The girl focused back on the target and attacked.

“No, no, this time you got too close. Shorter steps. If you get that close to a good swordsman, they’ll hack you to pieces before you swing.”

“Ugh.”

“Come on, you were begging all day for sword practice.”

“Because you have me all day practicing stances!”

“What’s so bad about it? It’s just like learning to dance. Didn’t they teach you in court?”

“Oh, they did,” Ciri scowled at him. “And I hated it.”

“Don’t look at me like that with a sword in your hand,” laughed Coën as he approached her. “Hold the sword in front of you. See, your grip is wrong. You have to hold it… like this. Try again.”

Ciri got into position, took a deep breath and tried again.

“Better!” Coën patted her shin. “Your steps were fine, the strike was alright. But you have to swing faster or your enemy will parry easily. Again!”

The girl took a moment. She re-tightened her ponytail, stretched her arms and looked at the leather sack. There was a wrinkle in its surface that seemed familiar, almost like a frown staring at her above a pair of sharp cheekbones. She saw a dark helmet, crowned by two feathered wings. Cold sweat trickled down her back. But Ciri tightened the grip on her sword and fire burnt through her.

“Great! You did it perfectly! You have to show that to Geralt. Hey, are you alright? Ciri!”

Ciri felt the sword leaving her hand. She looked at it, slowly falling towards the ground. But the ground was further and further, and the sword became so small it disappeared from her sight. A sudden gust of cold wind stung her face and darkness surrounded her. Somehow, the girl knew she was standing on the same spot of the witchers’ keep. She then saw lights at the other side of the courtyard where Geralt had been sitting just a moment ago—only this time the wall was no longer in ruins. The air grew warmer and she was relieved to hear distant voices. But as the voices grew nearer, she recognized something unpleasant among them.

The torches were close. The stench of smoke, sweat and blood inundated the courtyard. An endless tide of people marched towards her. Ciri saw their eyes and shivered. They all glimmered with hate. Hate and bloodlust.

“Good men of Kaedwen!”

She noticed the clubs, the axes, the pitchforks. Stained with blood.

“You have done the hardest part. You must finish the job now!”

She heard sobs beside her. A group of kids. Some cowering in fear, some standing defiantly with short swords in their hands.

“To exterminate the pack one must kill every wolf, even the pups!”

Only two wounded witchers stood between the mob and the boys.

“You want to end this plague of mutants and freaks?”

A roar answered. Geralt and Coën looked back at her.

“Then have no mercy.”

***

The old man was sitting at an austere table. Surrounded by piles of books and parchments, he pored over the pages of a leather-bound volume. With each page he turned, a small cloud of dust took off, barely illuminated by a dying candle. The man was so focused on the book he barely heard the light steps approaching.

“Across the Veil,” said the voice behind him. “By Sebille Tilly, if I’m not mistaken.”

“One of the most influential books on the arts of revelations, prophecies and dreams, or so they say. Although poor Sebille’s prose wasn’t the lightest, I was just about to go from theory to practice on this dreams chapter. How is she, Geralt?”

“She just woke up. Fine, just a bit agitated. The vision she had…”

“What?”

“You know she called out to Coën and me. What she described, Vesemir… It must be the Fall of Kaer Morhen.”

A tense silence followed, finally interrupted by a sigh from Vesemir.

“And you both were in the vision, I suppose.”

“Ciri saw us at the courtyard, trying to protect a group of kids from the mob.”

“That happened almost a century ago, how would you…? I was one of the first to arrive here after the Fall. We saw the bodies, what remained of them. And I’ll never forget it, there was a group of students there, lying on the courtyard. I don’t know a damned thing about these visions of the past and the future, I’m just a fencing instructor. But I can’t help but feel this is bigger than Kaer Morhen, bigger than us.”

“I know. And she should be here by now. If she can’t help her… I don’t know what to do. I didn’t even believe in destiny before finding her, what am I supposed to do with this? I don’t care about the meaning of the visions, I just want her to be safe. And I know enough about mediums and Sources to realize someone must teach her to control her power before she hurts herself or someone else.”

Vesemir stood up and put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“You said you trust her. She’s helped you before. She’ll help us now.”

Geralt squeezed Vesemir’s hand and nodded. “When I was hurt in Sodden, I don’t know if it was a fever dream but… I saw my mother. Visenna. She didn’t answer my questions but the look in her eyes was enough. Her silences were enough. She abandoned me because her life wasn’t fit for a child. She must have tried, I know that, but in the end it wasn’t enough. Look at us, what are we supposed to do with her? You took me, you trained and raised me, and I’m grateful for that. I would be dead otherwise. But I don’t want this for her. The danger, the hate, the loneliness of the Path.”

“Geralt. When I took you in, the School of the Wolf was in shatters. We were a ragtag collection of the few witchers lucky enough to be running errands far from here when the Fall happened. I had been on the Path, sure, but most of my life was here. I’d have never imagined I’d have to raise you, Eskel and Lambert. I did my best. But you… You shared the table with kings. You took impossible choices and bore the consequences. You saved a cursed princess and you protected the oppressed. You have friends among the elves, the dwarves, the dryads and the sorceresses. You are so much more ready for this than I ever was. And most important of all, you saved this girl. Destiny has brought you together for a reason. And I see how you look at her. You’re not Visenna, Geralt. You’re not me. And you’re not alone.”

“I just… Every night I close my eyes and I see Yen. I wish she were here. Because Ciri and I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for her. And I don’t even know if she’s alive… I must do this for Ciri—but also for her. Thank you, Vesemir. For everything.”

***

A few weeks passed since the incident in the courtyard. Ciri continued to train without experiencing more trances but her nights were becoming more and more restless. She usually woke up agitated in the middle of the night, covered in sweat. Strangely, she didn’t remember anything about her dreams after the incident, which did not make it any easier for her. And the lack of sleep was starting to affect her during the day.

“Ciri! Are you listening to me?”

“What?”

Geralt sighed. “Another bad night?”

Ciri yawned and nodded.

”Those damned nightmares,” Geralt said. “And this book is not helping. Too much dry theory. Let’s see… Do you see that shield over there, leaning on the wall? Well, this is the first Sign every witcher learns—Aard.”

Ciri saw the witcher’s fingers twisting and forming a strange gesture in front of him. An instant later, flames roared in a nearby hearth, an empty sack flew to the other side of the room and the shield fell with a heavy thud.

“Oh,” she gasped. “It’s like the trick you did with the manticore.”

“That was Heliotrop. Useful against a sudden attack. But it’s more advanced. Let’s focus on Aard, it’s the easiest Sign. You only need two things to do it. First of all, the gesture. Open your right hand. This finger… here. Bend this one… like that. And now extend these. Good. You can practice the full gesture now.”

“Aha! Not too hard. But why is it not working?”

“The second thing you need is concentration. You have to focus on what you want to achieve.”

“Alright. I want to knock that basket off that chair.”

“Good. You have to see in your mind how you’re going to do it. Close your eyes. Can you see it?”

“Mhm.”

“Then do the Sign.”

Ciri opened her eyes, arranged her hand forming the Sign of Aard and stretched the arm forward. But nothing happened. She tried again, with the same result. And again.

“It’s alright, Ciri. Sometimes it’s hard at the beginning. Remember, close your eyes. Focus. And… Don’t worry, I’ll do it again for you. Remember, you have to picture yourself doing it. Like this!”

The basket flew across the room.

“That’s what I’m doing! And I didn’t even moved it a bit. There’s no point, I’m blocked. I can’t do a simple Sign, I can’t control my visions and I can’t even sleep. It’s only getting worse. And I don’t see why this Sign is worth the effort, you only made an empty basket fly for a few yards and the people pursuing us are a bit heavier than that.”

“Hey, I know this is frustrating. But we’ll get through this, you’ll see. And Aard is very useful, I was just showing you how to do it. Besides, Signs can be intensified in some ways.”

“How?”

“Witchers have potions. Certain preparations can improve reflexes, build up stamina or accelerate healing processes. And strengthen the Signs too. But don’t get any ideas, a witcher potion would kill you on the spot. Only those who pass the Trial of the Grasses can bear the toxins and you know that’s not an option.”

“Then what’s the point of learning it?”

“There are other ways of intensifying Signs and magic in general. What you did that night in Cintra when you screamed… When you are pushed to your limits, your body and mind react differently.”

“So this will only be useful when I’m about to die?”

“Well, you can also provoke those reactions. In the end, what you need are heightened emotions. That stuff is not written in witcher books, I learned it from Yennefer. And I can tell you, it works.”

“Oh. Mmm. But how do you—”

The girl stopped when she saw the strange expression in Geralt’s face. The witcher cleared his throat. For an awkwardly long time.

“Anyways,” he continued. “We’ll get to that when you learn the Signs.”

The witcher was interrupted by hurried steps coming from the corridor. A smug face framed by rebellious red curls appeared from the doorway.

“Hey, you two! We have a visitor and I think you both know her. Come with me.”

Geralt and Ciri followed Lambert through the corridors of the eastern wing, making their way to the entrance hall of the old keep.

“Geralt, I knew you were fond of a certain sorceress. But I thought her hair was black. So tell me, does she enchant her hair when she gets bored or is this a different one?”

“Lambert.” Geralt looked at him with a stone face. “Stop.”

The witchers and the girl crossed the last doorway and arrived at the entrance hall. They almost bumped into Coën, coming from the stable laden with saddlebags. Behind him, among a sea of chestnut locks, a familiar face was nodding and smiling at something Eskel was saying.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Triss,” Geralt said.

“Greetings, Geralt. You keep this castle of yours well hidden, I almost froze to death finding my way here.” She grabbed a wooden mug Vesemir brought to her and drank. “Now that’s better. Fiona! Glad to see you again, you look different. Come here, let me see you.”

“Fiona?” Lambert laughed. “I think you got the wrong girl, this here is Ciri.”

Triss looked at Lambert with a raised brow. Then at Geralt. She left the mug in Ciri’s hands and crossed her arms.

“We couldn’t take risks.” Geralt said. “There will be time to explain everything, but yes—her real name is Ciri.”

“You witchers are always full of surprises. Well, I have news for you too, Geralt.”

The sorceress noticed his suddenly blanching face and hesitated. Ciri saw him clenching his fists.

“Say it,” the witcher demanded.

“Yennefer is alive. We found her in Tor Lara, she portalled there from Sodden Hill somehow.”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The expression on his face was something Ciri had never seen before. She saw relief, regret and hope. Her throat dried up all of a sudden and she drank from the mug. For a moment, she did not even notice the strange taste. Not until Triss looked at her with her mouth open.

“Ciri, that’s not for—”

The girl felt a freezing wind stinging her face and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was floating close to the high ceiling of the hall. She saw Geralt, Triss, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert below. Coën came back to the hall in that moment too. She saw the fear in their eyes. And she heard a metallic, unpleasant voice. It took a moment for her to realize her lips were moving and the voice came from within her.

“Verily I say unto you, the era of the Wolf’s Blizzard is nigh! The sword and the ax will flood the earth with hate and discord for it will be the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt! Beware, you two, who will fall in this struggle as your kind fell here before. Two teeth will kill the Griffin! Three teeth will slay the Wolf! Past and future converge now, the serpent sinks its fangs in its own tail. The world will end amid the frost and begin anew from the seed of Hen Ichaer. Watered with the Elder and the Altered Blood, the seed will not sprout but burst into flame! Watch for the signs! You will know it is time when the rivers run red with the Blood of Elves.”

#the witcher netflix #geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivia #cirilla of cintra #eskel #witcher coen #vesemir #lambert #fanfiction

[dlkardenal]

Tooth and claw - Aspects and execution of werewolf myths

Hey there, travelers!

As we promised last week, today I shall take over the post to come to the defense of the whole werewolf thing. If we go back to last weeks debate about the Underworld factions, I always sided with the werewolves (and only partially because the vampires were jerks in comparison). Why? Well, I think the myth has a large selection of really cool qualities that could serve as the backbone of a story, be it as an overall theme or a specific crux.

1. The savagery

Okay, I think we can all agree wolves are scary as shit. The earliest appearances in fiction were almost entirely horror stories and the iconic werewolf adversary in any spooky medium still gives us the creeps. In my understanding, this is because their savage and predatory nature. They have an instinct to hunt, to claim territory and devour anything that sets foot inside. Although modern zoology tends to show these noble beasts in a much friendlier light, older horror fiction kept to the juicy bits. They were portrayed as soulless beasts with no regrets, no thought and no emotions, only an unquenchable thirst for blood. You can spot these werewolves nowadays in titles such as The Witcher, Skyrim, Harry Potter or a number of indie horror novels and I love it.

The whole concept of an uncontrollable monster living under the skin of a regular old human being is really fascinating. There are several ways the character’s human side can relate to their occasional disemboweling of innocent creatures. If they shun it, like for example Remus Lupin in the Harry Potter series, it breeds conflict within the character itself, giving way to a whole armada of possible reactions. A werewolf can be suicidal, introverted, melancholic because of the heavy burden—or the exact opposite. Sometimes loosing control and thus being unaccountable for ones deeds means freedom, a refreshing escape from mundanity and that could behave like the most severe drugs (like in the case of Aela from Skyrim’s Companions’ Guild).

2. The power

Oh, yes, muscles larger than a greek god and claws shredding titanium, who wouldn’t want that feeling of invincibility? In some cases, the characters stricken with lycanthropy (especially when they’re largely in control of it) view it as a tool, a power one should utilize to achieve their ends. If you think about the Underworld movies, the second generation of lycans used their powers to defend against the vampires’ crusade and free themselves from servitude. My favourite installation of this trope is the case of Vincent Meis, a minor character in The Witcher 1 Chapter III. This guard captain in Vizima is a lycanthrope who acts as a kind of vigilante superhero. When it’s time for his transformation, he uses the feral beast’s agility and tracking skills to hunt down the city’s most wanted criminals, saving the lives of ordinary folk.

If you ask me how could one further this aspect, I’d say account for weaknesses as well. As with every power, it can make a character overly confident or even bold, and when a stray silver bullet comes their way and shatters their ego, it can really hurt. And hurt means character development, something every author tries to integrate into their stories. Let your werewolves run wild and shred people to pieces, then shoot them chock full with silver and see them grow as a person ~

3. The pack

Sailing onto more recent topics, we all now there’s no such thing as a lone wolf. No matter how much Geralt insinst on being one, wolves are pack animals, and so are werewolves—in some cases. You needn’t look further than Twilight to figure out the appeal of a pack, a gathering of like-minded people who will fight and die for each other. If you’re unsure why a society is important, we’ve already talked about it here, but to sum it up: from the times for our ancestors, being alone meant being destined to die, so our human psyche favors groups to lonesomeness. Werewolf packs are like the Lamborghini of groups, because they have more common traits then any other. First, they all experienced something nobody else has (turning into a wolf or wolf-man). Second, since most titles still establishes lycanthropy as socially unacceptable, they have a common secret. Something they should keep among themselves, something they can refer to and that differentiates them from common folk, pushing them even closer together. The third, and here’s the kicker—they can’t choose else. Many of these stories include that werewolves have a pack instinct, an inner calling that makes them crave each other’s company and thus they know they’ll stick together no matter what. This last aspect is ripe for abuse and I’ve read (reviews of) horrible paranormal romances that did just that. Please, for the love of Romulus, don’t use this instinctual belonging as a reason to keep a verbally, mentally and physically abused character coming back to the pact, because that’s not relatable, that’s just sad.

4. (Now we’re getting weird) The mates

Okay, now we arrive at Imprinting and similar things. The idea of having a pre-destined, fated mate is an exciting topic (at first): the alpha werewolf having an omega nobody as his fated mate, the one he HAS to choose no matter what. This simple position breeds (no pun intended) conflict, and that is the driving force of stories. BUT! You can so easily mock this up. Nowadays market is flooded with these alpha werewolf stories, partially because of the alpha’s character (another throwback about why that’s alluring is around here), partially because the fated mates trope. How can this be bad? Like with so many other tropes, by sticking to the tried and tired formula and not changing a thing. The best in show prize of a male falling in love with a grey, insignificant nobody snuck its way through every possible genre, from YA school romances, crime stories, historical fiction, and now paranormal romances. Mix it up! You can’t really change the alpha (although you can play with genders a bit), but the mate doesn’t have to be nearly incompetent. What if he/she is a total badass, just not in a way that befits an alpha’s mate? What if they are already taken and the conflict tears apart the pack? What if it’s not love that bonds them but an everlasting rivalry? This could be a really good enemies to lovers trope if executed well.

I’ll be honest, I’m not one for paranormal romances, so take everything I say with a grain of salt. At the end of the day, there is no correct way of writing a story, these are just the two cents of a story junkie. Howl away, friend! May Hircine take you.

Dar

#dissecting literature #paranormal #werewolves #werewolf #writing #writeblr #writersblr #bookblr

[hdawg1995]

DnD Antics: “mistakes were made” says the bard. cause she died.

today we took a trip to Elizander’s witcher school and Nazul gets 3 nat 20s in a row!

we start with everyone on the air ship. were going to make the legendary 99 cheese pizza as thanks/payment to master splinter and the turtles for helping out (and so Zack can level up to 20).

before we can however, we got a little distracted XD Spine went below deck to get working on...something. anything. he wants to distract himself from back story feels. Zack, Envoy, and Alicaria head down to the city to do some performances for money. a 300+ performance resulted is a parade and a holiday being made! NOT TO MENTION-

Coolie: its early spring? guess that means it’s Elizander’s birthday. me: THE PARADE IS IN HONOR OF HIS BIRTHDAY! Coolie: ALL witchers celebrate their birthday today- me: THE PARADE. IS IN HONOR. OF HIS BIRTHDAY.

Zack makes some dresses to prove hes a good tailor. after which we all accidentally leave the assassin alone in a town with a lot of assassin jobs for a few hours...

Envoy: wheres Nazul? *rolls low perception* hes not on deck so hes probably in the pokeball. Nazul: *makes a big display inorder to get the whole town’s attention for a public assassination* Envoy: *rolls low again* yup. in the pokeball. mmhmm. (i’ll get to Nazul’s HELLA AWESOME AND EXTRA EVIL ADVENTURE OF AWESOME at the end since no one was really there to see and he never regrouped with the party)

once everyone is settled in its time to make the legendary 99 cheese pizza!

we don’t get there quit yet however, so Envoy plays a cooking song to get us in the cooking mood. the DM said to just add the perform to our cooking scores as a 285 result created The LegenDAIRY 99 Cheese Pizza! lindsay: i have 99 cheese and yak aint one :D DM: roll will not to eat the pizza. everyone: *rolls* Sam: i got a 50, can i just smack people away from eating the pizza? DM: sure. you too coolie, roll will you’re in the pokeball. coolie: *passes* Tim: does sylvia have to roll too? DM: yes. she has to roll twice because shes having cravings. slyvia: *gets a 2 and a 3* DM: you all hear a crash. its as if someone kicked down a door. theres a Draconic Roar. Envoy:....the pregnant dragon monk smells the pizza you guys...

we had to use a sleep spell on her to keep her from 1. attacking everyone trying to get to the pizza and 2. eating the pizza. (don’t worry the baby was safe)

after delivering the pizza to master splinter and the turtles Zack stays and trains.

the Ranger took her pack and went hunting, killing a 6 legged horse and a saber tooth puma that tried to take the kill. Vale’s winged serpent friend constricted her because of a low bonding roll and fell asleep. Spine is entertained greatly.

Envoy, Elizander, and Alicaria go to the witcher school. its so bad that theres plant life and vines inside the building. the three head to the library where Elizander makes 3. nat. 20s. trying. to. read. a book.

me: Elixander is a GREAT student! he only gets nat20s when hes reading! Coolie: and yet im remembered more for breaking things....

after reading about some apocalyptic things (and Envoy casting bending on ALL THE BOOKS because HOW CAN YOU LEARN FROM A BOOK IF ITS FALLING APART! TAKE CARE OF YOUR BOOKS YOU LAZY WITCHERS!) Envoy and Alicaria go to the kitchen... its horribly gross so alicaria cleans it up DRUID STYLE! she creates water and floods it, whips it up with a storm, then gets rid of the water. sparkling clean now! and then they make a legendary cake that envoy cuts with Battle cry and gets a nat 20.

DM: you *laughs* you cut the cake and then throw it into the air, dancing around and slicing as if its a performance. the cake is cut into 6 perfect slices. eating it increases your crit range by 4. coolie: so if i eat it *laughing* my crit range is 6-20. me: WHAT THE FUDGE??? XD envoy: hows the birthday cake Eli? elizander: im going to save it for later.

being the only people on the ship at the moment, the ranger and necromancer fly off (cause Spine has wings. he has a breath weapon, wings, and is a lizard. hes a dragon. fight me.) and go to the kageet village.

Spine and Vale: *sees a pet ‘wildling’ on a leash* Spine: is... is that a pet??? do they have places to buy those???  Vale: keep moving Spine. Spine: but i WANT one!

Vale’s family is great. imagine a cat person holding another cat person by the scruff. thats how kajeet dad says hello to kajeet daughter.

vale’s mom: is your friend hungry? vale: Spine are you- Spine: food. Vale’s dad: *gets a live wildling and tosses it at Spine* Spine: *steven universe star eyes. he then eats it*

Alicaria goes off to hunt with her wolf while elizander gives a over stimulated Envoy a tour of the school.

Envoy: did you have classes? where are the class rooms? Elizander: dodge this class was out side. read class was in the library, and slice this class was also out side. Envoy: do you have a trophy hall? elizander: yeah. Envoy: do you have a trophy there? elizander: no- WAIT! *gets hydra scale* i CAN have a trophy there. Envoy: THEN LETS GO! *rides off* Elizander: envoy- envoy and yak: *falls through the floor* Elizander: oh...

could have flown but a nat1 resulted in the yak falling on envoy. there both dead.

“friend” of eli’s: what HAPPENED? Elizander: friend fell. “friend”: you KNOW the floor on that floor is dangerous! why did you let this happen? Elizander: i didn’t expect her to run off. the friend tries to atsy Eli, so Eli tries to counter sign him. failed. “friend”: you’re going to explain EVERYTHING to fltecher when he comes back! Elizander: okay. “friend”: and you’re gonna give me all your gold! Elizander: *wins roll* hey, heres a new sign for you to learn! FUCK YOU! *flips him off*

and now... the best effing moment of pure evil and death ever. WARNING. GRAPHIC.

Nazul gets a contract to publicly murder the heir of some wealth. the target is a half elf boy guarded by his caretaker, his uncle, and a templar. the two uncles are in on this (first uncle made the contract, second is currently a guard) and when Nazul sends his shadow double to tell him to run he doesn’t hesitate. the caretaker and templar guard the boy well, but it is not enough. the templar falls to a well placed dagger and the caretaker is reapped. not only that, but Nazul commits one of the True Evil acts and moprhs her soul into face paint. every attack he does is X10 for 24 hours. the boy is knocked out and taken to the middle of the town. a low roll results in a burtle killing, the daggers not going though all the way so Nazul has to saw the head off in the end.  Ghost boy goes and gets his pay but finds a note. “Kill his farther and you’ll get double the pay.” shadow melding back into the town he appears in the farther’s shadow, stabbing him in the kindeys and then ripping up, caising his organs to pour out. he is dead before his guards notice and his sword is taken as Nazul shadow melds away. he completed the deed so fast he catches his employer- the son’s uncle. turns out he was disowned and dethroned and wanted revenge. he is told to kill his wife “with my brother’s sword. make it painful.” and so Nazul does. a nat1 causes him to announce that hes here to kill the lady of the house and so Nazul goes in swinging! he is killed but revived when a guard spears him in the side, but a low will check results in the guard getting spectral branded and sent to attack the others. a second guard is sent into darkness as Nazul spider mans his way up to the top floor, killing guards and servants as he spins. once at the top floor he explodes one guy’s head and finds the lady gone. he figures out its a hidden door and follows after her. seeing that the stairs were made in a way to trip up pursuers he just shadow melds his way down. he finds her and a man servant in a boat. spectral chaining the boat he pulls them back to shore but the servant breaks the dagger breaking the spell. he dives in, swiming as graceful as- okay i was gonna make a joke but anything would be more graceful than Nazul swiming. he swims up, makes a low strength check so he tips the boat. he gets his target under him in the water and stabs her in the chest. shes bleeding and drowning (she got a reflex save that ment she was alive but if the sword moved at all she you die) so he yanks the sword out, gets out the water and kills the servant then falls down, thumbs up in the air and shouts “THAT WAS AWESOME!”

will Envoy and Shiba be brought back to life? what will Alicaria think when she realizes she left the bard and witcher alone for 5 minutes and one died? why is spine following cat lady? will nazul get back to the party or just get caught?

FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DRAGON BALL Z!

#DnD #D&D #dungeons and dragons #antics #gore #death #like really deathy death #freaking Nazul is best assassin ever like #like no he is #you can't even

[jaskiersvalley]

so wolves (the animals) show affection to humans in specific and structured ways - if you aren't high enough "ranked" as it were in the pack, you wait until those above you get a chance, essentially. what if witchers are like that and they WANT to show affection to jaskier but they CAN'T because geralt hasn't done it yet and they're like "please tell the bard you like him so i can tease him please i'm going mad" meanwhile jaskiers like "why do they just stand there glaring?"

What a delightful idea, Nonnie! Though I’ll put my hand up and admit I don’t know current theories on wolf pack structure and the like so please brace yourself for a liberal dose of artistic licence that’s about to come.

As was tradition, Jaskier and Geralt went their separate ways for winter. It wasn’t that Jaskier didn’t like Kaer Morhen but he couldn’t spend months on end with four surly witchers in a crumbling old keep that they hated and adored at the same time. No, Jaskier liked his creature comforts and at least his home didn’t have drafts, a library that held more than mouldy old tomes about poisons. Plus, there were people around him, those who appreciated his music, his wit and company. That wasn’t to say that the witchers didn’t but there was a hug difference between a grunt that could mean anything along a spectrum of “play that again and I’ll gut you” to “if you don’t play it again, I’ll gut you”. Jaskier thrived on the feedback of others and quite liked being showered in praise. Then again, who didn’t?

So Jaskier returned home and so did Geralt. He made his path to Kaer Morhen, greeted his fellow wolves as always and settled in for a long, harsh season. The old keep needed a lot of attention and it kept them busy for weeks on end, trying to patch holes in the roof, fill up the cracks in the walls. It was a thankless and never ending task. But at least it was mindless work that allowed them to burn off energy without having to think, no worries or fears about messing up.

On a bland, dark night, Geralt woke from his slumber to a deep rumble and his bed shook. His mind flashed back to the attack of Kaer Morhen and he jumped up, grabbing his sword and igni already warm in his palm as he barged out of his room. He found Eskel backing out of his room, debris in his hair. Before they could talk, the whole keep gave a violent quiver and dust, along with small chunks of stone showered them.

“The keeps coming down!” Eskel growled and, despite all sense, he dashed back into his room.

“Fuck.” Geralt did the same, gathering as much of his meagre possessions as he could. Armour, weapons and potions had to come first. He took a longing look at some of the trinkets Jaskier had given him but knew he couldn’t grab them safely. So he turned, heart heavy and ran, Eskel behind him. They got to the stables for Roach and Scorpion, the horses were panicked and stamping their feet, whinnying in distress.

At least Lambert and Vesemir were outside too by the time they managed to wrangle their horses. From the courtyard, they watched as a tower toppled, crashing through the roof of what had been the pantry and kitchen.

“We need to leave,” Vesemir said. “It’s all collapsing.”

Even as he spoke, cracks appeared under their feet. None of them really remembered much of the next couple of minutes, four witchers and two horses running along a snow laden pass, too focused on surviving to care about twisted ankles or cuts from bramble to cheeks. It was dark, only the moonlight from the clear sky illuminated their way and even with their heightened senses it was a perilous trek. Behind them there was an almighty crack and rumble. Turning as one, they watched the last of Kaer Morhen topple. There was no more home for the School of the Wolf.

“What now?” Lambert asked, sounding more lost than any of them had ever heard before.

They knew they couldn’t stay, winter was too harsh, they didn’t have the resources or the equipment to survive in the remnants of Kaer Morhen. Witchers weren’t welcomed to winter in courts, even taverns were skittish. To house one witcher was almost too much for most. Four of them under one roof was never going to happen.

“Jaskier.” Geralt said and moved to the front of their group, Roach’s rein in hand. “Follow me.”

They walked. Through bitterly cold storms, knee deep snow, pelted by hail, they kept moving. Whenever they encountered a town or village, there was always movement in windows, people curious to watch four bedraggled witchers slog through the elements, dressed in a way a mortal man would have succumbed to winter’s harsh chill already. Yet nobody offered them refuge or even a meal.

When Lambert’s foot got caught on a root and twisted, he ended up being lifted onto Scorpion’s back and they kept going. No mage or healer would see them. Finally, Geralt was leading them down a path to a mansion that looked so warm and inviting, none of the witchers could even imagine going near it, let alone inside. Yet that was where Geralt was headed. He knocked on the fancy door, water frozen into the mess his hair had become. They waited, not daring to hope that maybe someone would answer their call.

The door swung open and a butler looked over them with disdain. However, he stepped aside and gestured them into the warmth.

“Please wait here,” he instructed. “I will fetch you the standards.”

Watching his retreating back, Lambert wriggled to sit down instead of leaning on Eskel. He plopped down with a thump and tipped his head back, appreciating the warmth of being indoors.

“Standards?” Vesemir asked?

“For those in need,” the butler replied as he returned. “We don’t turn anyone away without some help at least. Food and furs.”

“No.” Geralt shook his head. “We’re here to see Jaskier.”

“A lot of people come in the hopes of seeing the master. Everyone wants to bask in his fame.”

“Tell him his wolves are here,” Geralt snapped. He stared down the butler and pulled his medallion from under his cloak, flashing it like some badge.

“I’m afraid that witcher or not, I still cannot permit you more than I would anyone else who comes to ask for help.”

Teeth bared, Geralt lost his patience. He turned towards the stairs and bellowed, “Jaskier! Jaskier get your arse down here!”

There was a clatter from somewhere within the mansion and the sound of rushing feet.

“Geralt! Geralt! You’re here!” Jaskier skidded into the entrance hall, slightly out of breath. “You’re all here! What happened?”

It took Geralt a moment to look over Jaskier, take in how cosy, happy and well he looked. Behind him, the other witchers stared too.

“Kaer Morhen’s gone.”

A hand to his chest, Jaskier took a dramatic step back. “My poor wolves. You had to traverse the continent in such harsh conditions. I am so sorry. Though I offer you shelter and the opportunity to call my humble mansion your new home, you are under no obligation to accept.”

He looked at the other witchers behind Geralt who were all glaring at him and Geralt. That wasn’t a good sign. Maybe Jaskier had missed something or had already managed to offend them within a minute of opening his mouth. That would have to be a new record.

“Geralt,” Eskel wasn’t whining but he was definitely pleading. It was echoed by Lambert who was tugging at Eskel to be helped back up onto his feet.

“Oh!” Jaskier looked over. “You’re hurt. I’ll get a healer over right away.”

Maybe that had been the issue, Jaskier should have been paying more attention. But then even Vesemir joined in with an annoyed “for fuck’s sake Geralt!” that made zero sense.

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked but didn’t get a verbal answer. However, he was wrapped in two solid arms, still cold from the outside and Geralt was pressing his face into his neck.

“It’s good to see you again,” he murmured to Jaskier and stepped away. Instantly, Vesemir was there, offering his own much more respectable greeting. He was all but bowled out of the way as Eskel and Lambert fought each other like excitable puppies to bundle into Jaskier’s embrace.

It would have been a lie to claim Jaskier understood but he realised that he was Geralt’s first and foremost which gave him some kind of hierarchical right. In the end, Jaskier decided to not worry about it. His concern was making sure his wolves were set up in new, warm and safe rooms, that they were well provided for and Lambert’s ankle was properly healed. While his mansion would never compare to Kaer Morhen, it was maybe the fresh start and a happier place to spend winter for his wolves.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #tldr: kaer morhen falls and the wolves find a new home