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A Bard's Guide to Adopting Strays

Summary: Jaskier and Ciri attempt to sneak a kitten into Kaer Morhen.

(Ao3 Link)

. . .

Jaskier had a bit of a thing with strays. Always had.

His parents had been the first to scold him for it, when he’d been six years old and standing before them with a shivering gray mutt in his arms. He’d found it beneath a rose bush in the garden, had crawled on his belly and scratched himself on thorns just to reach it, humming gently under his breath the whole time. The dog had nipped at him when he got close enough, but had gentled with a few soothing words in his squeaky, youthful voice. Getting out had been harder, but by the time he emerged from the bushes he’d thought of a name for her. He’d picked leaves out of her fur and grinned and told her that her name was Rose, that his name was Julian, and that they were going to be very best friends.

He hid her in his room for a grand total of two days before his parents caught wind of the scheme. After the shouting match of the century, his mother had held him back while his father carried Rose away, barking and whining as Jaskier cried and pleaded. He went three days without dinner as punishment, and he never saw her again.

He liked to pretend she’d escaped when he hadn’t been able to. He hoped she’d found someone better suited to taking care of her.

And, well, he hadn’t brought strays back to his parent’s house after that.

In Oxenfurt was where his propensity for collecting strays reallyshined. Before long he had a veritable mob of various animals that showed up at his doorstep for the food he put out. Essi teased him endlessly for it, but Jaskier maintained that they were the loveliest audience that a future bard could ask for. They didn’t pay well, of course, but they didn’t throw rotten fruit either, and sometimes the dogs would accompany his lute with howling. Jaskier chose to take it as a compliment. He awarded each audience member with a name of their own.

He found homes for a few of them and passed the feeding duties off to Priscilla when he left, making sure she knew their names by composing a short little tune and singing them. She’d rolled her eyes, but had played his own song back to him and then hugged him as he walked out the door.

He was eighteen, and he wanted to see the world. He ended up in Posada.

The next stray he picked up was a bit unconventional.

I’ve taken to traveling with a witcher, Jaskier had written to Essi, watching Geralt brush down Roach with great concentration. He’s proven to be quite the muse.

You and your strays, Essi had replied, her amusement clear in the swooping of her letters. Don’t get too attached.

Jaskier very much did not take that advice. He only regretted it once.

Twenty-odd years and an apology later, they end up in an Inn at the last village before the road to Kaer Morhen, with Jaskier singing his heart out on top of a table as Ciri clapped to the beat and Geralt pretended that he wasn’t smiling into his mug. They weren’t quite strays anymore, or maybe they all were. Maybe everyone was.

“Thank you, thank you!” Jaskier bowed to the small crowd, grinning and shooting a wink at the women to his right. “Remember to toss a coin, if you can! These clothes don’t pay for themselves!”

Geralt had actually paid for them, the fabric thicker and warmer while still maintaining his flare for the dramatics. His new cloak was hanging over the back of the chair on Geralt’s right. It would be only his second winter at Kaer Morhen, and he’d learned early on that staying warm was a particularly important issue, even though he wasn’t technically fullyhuman. His lineage gave him a longer life, not a higher tolerance to cold. Geralt reminded him of that fact often enough, the mother hen.

Ciri applauded him again when he made his way back to their table, and he bowed again, eyes crinkling at the edges. Geralt chuckled off to the side, pulling a chair out for him without standing up.

“Three words or less,” Jaskier said, sinking down next to Geralt and stealing a sip from his mug. “How’d I do?”

“Inspiring,” Ciri answered, eyes sparkling and a cheeky grin splitting her face.

“Loud,” Geralt said, but his lips were twitching, and Jaskier laughed.

“That’s an upgrade from fillingless pie.” Jaskier raised a teasing eyebrow. “I’ll remember this day forever.”

Geralt grunted and took back his drink. Ciri giggled, and Jaskier shot her a wink, leaning to the side to plop his feet in Geralt’s lap. It was all ridiculously domestic.

He loved every second of it.

They walked out of the Inn the next morning, bundled up in gloves and cloaks for the snowfall Geralt insisted was coming. He’d checked over their clothes himself, hands tugging at the sides to make sure it would all stay in place. Jaskier had assured him that he was quite warm, and rolled his eyes even as he enjoyed the attention. Quite warm, indeed.

“I’m going to get Roach,” Geralt told them when they step out of the Inn. He gave them a stern look. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Who, us?” Jaskier pulled Ciri under his arm, and they gave the Witcher matching grins. “We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“The very best,” Ciri added, and Geralt’s face dropped subtly into that of a man who was cursing the gods.

“Stay put,” Geralt said eventually, resigned, starting in the direction of the stables. “I’ll be right back.”

They stood in silence and watched Geralt until he turned the corner, at which point Ciri hopped up onto the fence behind her and huffed. Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

“It’s almost like he doesn’t trust us,” he said lightly.

“Ever since we accidentally released those cows he won’t let us have any fun.” Ciri frowned, but her eyes were joyful. “No one got hurt.”

“And I got a great song out of it,” Jaskier said, grinning. He nudged her playfully. “Valdo Marx wishes he could write something halfas good.”

Ciri hummed. “I still don’t know who that is.”

“A dirty rotten scoundrel, that’s who.”

Jaskier leaned up against the fence next to her, watching people wander up and down the road, bundled in their best warm clothes, some dragging children behind them and some dragging carts. The sky was gray, and it was early enough in the morning that there was a light mist in the air, making everything uncomfortably damp. It was a very wet type of bitter cold, and it was slightly miserable. It was going to be a drier cold, up in the mountains. Still miserable, but worth it.

It had taken several decades for Geralt to invite him to Kaer Morhen, and he would gladly suffer a hundred winters just to keep the privilege. He’d rather a warm heart than warm skin, at any rate. His heart had been through a lot. It deserved a bit of rest.

Ciri sat up straighter suddenly, and Jaskier glanced at her in slight worry, automatically scanning their surroundings.

“What?” he asked.

“I heard something,” Ciri said, brow furrowed and a faint frown on her face.

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know. Like a squeak.”

“Oh! Maybe a mouse!” Jaskier pushed off of the fence and turned towards the damp stacks of hay to his right. It was possible that most people didn’t get so excited about mice, but, well. “Did it come from over here?”

“Maybe,” Ciri said, hopping down and coming to stand next to him, peering into the piles of hay. “It was quiet.”

“Definitely a mouse,” Jaskier decided, crouching a bit as he continued to search. “I know mice.”

From the depths of the hay came a very distinct, very small meow. Jaskier blinked.

“I might have been wrong.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ciri shot back, because she really was just that bit too much like Geralt.

Jaskier shushed her, leaning forward and starting to dig gently through the hay. The pile was clearly something that had been ruined by the weather and dumped on the side of the road to rot. Certainly not suitable for warmth, as damp as it was, though he supposed it blocked the wind. And it would seem as good a hiding place as any for a creature small and cold. After a few seconds of searching, his gloved hand touched something that moved, and he startled even though he’d been somewhat expecting it. There was another pitiful meowing sound, louder this time, and Jaskier grabbed what he hoped was the creature's chest as he carefully pulled it out. Jaskier immediately felt his heart twist a bit, like it was reaching out, and Ciri inhaled sharply behind him.

It was a cat.

No, not a cat. A kitten. She was brown, damp, shivering, and had impossibly large and sad brown eyes. She looked at him and meowed, just hanging limply from his hands tucked under her front legs. A stray piece of straw was clinging to her head.

“Oh, I’m a goner,” Jaskier said resignedly, quickly bringing her closer to his chest and supporting her whole body.

“She’s so small,” Ciri said, awe in her voice. She moved closer and reached out to softly pet her with a single finger. “Do you think she has a family?”

Jaskier looked down at the kitten, a skinny little thing with no ribbon around her neck and no better place to hide than a wet pile of rotting hay. She was purring slightly, burying her nose into the crook of his elbow, ears flicking as Ciri pet her. Even through the gloves, he could tell she was too cold.

“I don’t think so,” Jaskier said, just a bit in shock, covering her body with his left hand, because her whole body fit under his left hand. “She hasn’t been fed, and any good family wouldn’t leave her out here in this weather.”

He was, of course, all too familiar with families who didn’t do what they ought to have done.

Ciri frowned, her hand stilling against the kitten's fur. “Will she be okay?”

Jaskier hesitated, an uncertain ache in his chest. It was already cold. It would only get colder. Chances were she wouldn’t be okay. Not on her own. And maybe it was stupid to care so much about what happened to this one little cat when he was sure there were hundreds more in the same situation, but this one was here now. This one they could help. And, well. He’d never been able to resist a stray.

“She will be,” Jaskier answered, shooting Ciri a mischievous smile. “If we take her with us.”

Ciri’s eyes widened. “You mean… keep her?”

“At least for the winter.” Jaskier nodded to himself, now completely decided. “Then maybe we can find someone who will appreciate her magnificence and grace.”

In his arms, the kitten sneezed. Jaskier and Ciri cooed at her.

“I’ve always wanted a pet,” Ciri said, an excited grin splitting her face, and then she faltered, looking up at him and raising an eyebrow. “What about Geralt?”

“Ah.” Jaskier winced. “We, um– We… Okay, bear with me. We pretend that the cat is me, and then Geralt has to take her up to the keep.”

Ciri did not seem impressed. “He’s not gonna believe that. Especially since you’re still here and not a cat.”

“I’ll follow behind you, obviously.”

“That won’t work.”

Jaskier huffed, and would’ve thrown his hands up if not for the kitten. “Fine. Any other suggestions?”

Ciri frowned, and then opened her mouth. She got halfway through the first syllable of whatever wisdom she was about to impart before she cut herself off, eyes wide and fixated over her shoulder.

“What is it?” Jaskier asked, starting to turn around to check.

“No, don’t look!” Ciri lurched forward to grab his sleeve, keeping him facing away from whatever it was. “Geralt’s coming back.”

“Ah, fuck.” Jaskier cradled the kitten closer, looking around for somewhere to hide her. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Ciri hissed, eyes flickering between him and the distant witcher. “You’re the adult here.”

“Oh, Melitele’s fucking—” Jaskier could hear Roaches hooves getting closer. He looked down.

The kitten was sleeping. He wasn’t going to leave her behind.

There was a pocket on the inside of his cloak. As the hooves approached, Jaskier quickly and carefully opened his cloak and plopped the kitten down in the pocket before wrapping it back around him tightly. He shared a frantic look with Ciri and finally turned around.

Geralt was already on Roach, looking as magnificent as ever, and he came to a stop a few feet away, looking down at them with an unimpressed stare. Oh, gods.

“Finally,” Jaskier blurted, because complaining was expected of him. “We thought you’d up and ditched us!”

“Hm,” Geralt said, looking between them with no small amount of suspicion. “You’re where I left you.”

It said a lot about the lives they led, that Geralt was at all surprised by that fact.

“Ah, well,” Jaskier began, glancing sideways at Ciri. “The cold tends to dull the sense of adventure.”

“I think our shoes were frozen to the ground,” Ciri added, putting a perfectly practiced amount of royal irritation behind it.

Jaskier nodded seriously. “My mouth may freeze shut next.”

“It’ll never be closed long enough for that to happen,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier scoffed, crossing his arms as he tried to think of a retort. The movement must have disturbed his passenger, however, because before he could say anything there came a muffled, confused meow from beneath his cloak. Jaskier froze, and Geralt stared down at him with a flat expression, because if Jaskier could hear it than he certainly could.

“What was that?” Geralt’s asked, deadpan.

Jaskier glanced at Ciri, whose lips were pressed into a thin line as she looked back at him helplessly. Right. It was up to him, then. He was a performer, he could do this.

“A mouse!” Jaskier blurted, turning back to the witcher, subtly lowering his arms back to his sides. “This hay pile here is just— infestedwith them, I’m sure. Lots of mice.”

“You smell like cat,” Geralt said, and something really needed to be done about that man’s nose.

“We met one while you were gone,” Ciri jumped in, apparently ready to contribute. Her stance was confident and her voice was easy, and Jaskier had taught her well. Or maybe he hadn’t taught her at all. “They’re here for the mice, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Geralt repeated, and then sighed roughly.

Jaskier’s shoulders relaxed, and he shared a triumphant look with Ciri. Geralt had his ‘I’m not even going to ask’ face on, which meant that for now, they were in the clear. The kitten was coming with them. Hopefully she’d be amenable.

“Ready to go?” Jaskier asked, a gentle nudge to move them on completely from the subject.

Geralt just looked at them for a second longer before giving a short nod. “We need to get to the keep before the snow sets in.”

“Perfect, yes. That’s certainly preferable.” Jaskier gave Roach a quick pat on the nose before stepping aside with a sweeping gesture and a quick grin. “After you.”

Geralt hummed in faint amusement and urged Roach forward, walking between Jaskier and Ciri and continuing down the road. Ciri stepped closer to him, and they watched in silence until he was several yards away, at which point they burst into relieved laughter and exchanged a subtle high five to celebrate their victory.

“I thought for sure he’d figure it out,” Ciri said, breathless and quiet, a wild grin on her face. “But how are we gonna explain why we keep smelling like a cat?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.” Jaskier waved a dismissive hand in the air, and they slowly began to walk after Geralt. “If we get far enough away from here, he won’t be able to make us bring her back.”

“Okay, that could work,” Ciri said, shrugging and then peering over at him. “Is she still okay?”

Jaskier checked to make sure that Geralt wasn’t looking before peeking down into his cloak. The kitten was resting her chin on the edge of the pocket, breathing deeply and fast asleep. Poor thing had probably just been introduced to what it meant to be warm.

“She’s alright,” Jaskier said, unable to help the way his voice softened. “Just sleeping.”

“Aww,” Ciri cooed quietly, a small smile crossing her face, and then she hummed. “Should we give her a name?”

“Oh, of course.” Jaskier nudged her playfully. “A name is a very important rite of passage.”

“You only think that because you chose yours.”

“You get a name when you get a home,” Jaskier said, closing his cloak over the kitten again. “It was only fitting that I gave myself a new one when I left.”

To his family, he’d been Julian. He hadn’t been Julian in a long, long time.

“So we’re giving her a home,” Ciri said, easy as anything.

“We’re giving her a home,” Jaskier confirmed, and then he grinned. “And we’re calling her Mouse.”

Ciri laughed, eyes sparkling and nose crinkling, brighter than the sun. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you agree!” Jaskier said, ecstatic, and then he fixed his eyes on Geralt’s retreating figure. “Let’s just hope that she’s as quiet as one.”

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #geralt of rivia #cirilla of cintra #journeys journal #in case anyone wants to read it here :)

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