Chapter Text
Their Bard - Part 1 - Eskel
Jaskier is despondent after his last fight with Geralt. He has not sung Toss a Coin in ages. The melody just does not hold the same appeal to him anymore, makes him ache in a way no number of bed partners can eradicate.
It makes him miss his friend or at least Jaskier thought they had at least been that. Had wished for more but Geralt made it clear he did not feel the same.
It has been a year and he is still waiting for his witcher to show back up. Waiting for them to chance upon one another. Hoping for an apology he knows will never come. He is following rumors of monster attacks in a village looking for inspiration, looking for his witcher. For something to bring life back to his nimble fingers, something to bring him joy again.
Normally he has a better nose for avoiding direct trouble. Or maybe he just grew far too accustomed to Geralt always being there when he happened to need him most. But he is not here this time and Jaskier is being chased! Clothes pulling on twigs and he would stop to complain about the damage to his fine garments but he is running short on breath.
Black leather and a silver sword come from the side just in the nick of time, keeping the creature hot on his tail from getting its claws into him. For a brief moment Jaskier thinks it is Geralt to his rescue like always. He cannot see the man's face but he can tell by the build and the color of his hair dark in the moonlight as he turns and watches him fight from behind a nearby tree that that is not the case.
Jaskier stays and watches, the man just as graceful as Geralt during a fight. Not that he ever really got to witness a lot of that, somehow always missing the action. He is not about to pass up a chance at inspiration when he has finally found some again.
It is as breathtaking as it is bloody. Geralt always came back a mess but somehow he always managed to spill less of his own blood than this man. Taking hit after hit and still managing to stay on his feet, still managing to take the monster down despite the deep gruesome grooves dug across his chest.
“Are you alright?” The man asks, panting, catching Jaskier off guard. The man sounds genuinely curious as he sags and uses his sword to keep from falling down.
Jaskier comes out from behind the tree with all of his usual flair and flourish, making a show of straightening out his tattered clothes “Grand, do you often lurk in the woods waiting to make a dashing rescue?” He asks moving closer, feeling a hum of something, feeling a little more like his old self.
The man snorts, “I came for the monster, you were just a happy accident.” More words than he could ever get out of Geralt at one time, banter and maybe even flirting, what a delight. “Can I get a name for my damsel?”
Jaskier narrows his eyes with a scoff, feeling no less pleased even as he feigns offense at the man who just gives him a bloody but dare he say it charming smile. “I’ll have you know I had the situation well under control.” A bold lie, he was pretty sure he was going to meet his end in these woods but there is no reason to admit that.
“Of course my apologies” The man says a bit of laughter dancing in his eyes and Jaskier might swoon, utterly charmed. He rattles off his full name with flourish, giving a dramatic sigh when the man finally gives into his injuries and slides to the ground unconscious.
“I hope you’re lighter than Geralt.” Jaskier says with another sigh looking for something he might use to pull the man along.
-
Jaskier is sitting in a chair by the fire in a room he used the witcher’s coin to rent, strumming a few cords on his lute, working on a new song. Something he has not done in months after too many failed attempts post his falling out with Geralt. He is working out a few lines and notes when he is interrupted, “that sounds nice, Jules, you’re a bard?” He cocks his head at the nickname, wonders if the man had misheard him in his blood loss induced delirium or if he just decided all of Jaskier’s actual names were simply too long. Either way he likes it, so he does not bother correcting it.
“One of the best.” Jaskier says proudly, chest puffed out as he sets his lute down and moves over to the bed. “How are you feeling? I used your coin to have the local healer patch you up. I would have tried myself but well, you were a bloody mess and I probably would have just ended up making it worse or fainting.”
“Eskel,” The man says with a groan as Jaskier lifts a bandage looking at the wound with a disgusted face. It is healing but it is still a bloody gruesome thing.
“Well Eskel, these are still wet” He says with a barely concealed gag, “but the healer said they shouldn’t take too long to heal given that you're a witcher.” Jaskier presses the bandage back down as gently as he can, Eskel still gives another little moan of pain. “She said it will scar but I guess you’re used to that in your line of work.”
“Just another ugly mark to add to the lot of them.” Eskel says, eyes cutting away from Jaskier, staring at the wall and that will not do.
“Are all witches so self-hating, they aren’t ugly.” Jaskier settles on the edge of the bed fingers gently tracing over the scars on Eskel’s face until the man turns to look at him with something vulnerable in his eyes. Showing so much more emotion to him than Geralt ever has and they have only just met. “They are a testament to your strength, a sign of your resilience, a reminder that you lived and keep on living.” Eskel’s eyes are wet as Jaskier keeps caressing his face, touching him gently, he does not pull away when the witcher leans into it.
“Will you sing for me?” Eskel asks and Jaskier smiles brightly. Geralt never once asked him to sing. It is so nice to be asked and to be trusted to witness this vulnerability without being scorned.
“Of course, anything you want,” Jaskier says, praying he does not ask for Toss a Coin, that is the last thing he wants to sing. It does not feel right. Somehow always coming out off key these days to the point where he just stopped singing it and singing it for another witcher feels like some sort of betrayal.
“What you were working on before. I would like to hear some more, it sounded good.” Jaskier grins, going to move away to grab his lute but Eskel grabs his hand. “Could you maybe just sing, maybe keep-” He cuts himself off, cheeks pink. Jaskier puts his hand back against his cheek, lets the other stroke over his arm, understanding what he is trying to ask for.
“Of course you like it. It’s about you actually, about how you came to my rescue.” Jaskier says, grinning as Eskel’s eyes go wide with glee. Jaskier starts singing, trying out different lines as he goes.
-
Eskel is sad when he must part ways with Jaskier a few months later. He was more than happy to drag the bard around with him before it was time to head home for the winter, back up the mountain to Kare Morhen. He hopes they cross paths again but he is looking forward to seeing his brothers, of rubbing it in that he too now has a bard and a song.
The trail home is as usual dangerous and cold and Eskel misses having a warm body to curl up to when the fire ambers are barely enough during the long nights. He misses having someone to talk to, even if he spent more time listening than talking himself. He hums his song, the one his bard wrote about him on the loneliest of nights.
The others can tell he is in a good mood when he finally makes it to the keep. The last to arrive this year, staying as long as he possibly could before making the trek, not wanting to part ways with Jaskier. “Geralt isn’t the only one with a bard now.” He announces over dinner voice quiet but heard over the silence of the meal, only the scraping of bowls and cups and the wind howling outside to compete with.
“Bullshit.” Lambert grumbles into his soup bowl, as Geralt grunts, something particularly sour about his demeanor this winter.
“It’s true, his name is Jules, he wrote Night Wolf about me.” He says with a little grin, humming the tune as best he can. He is no musician and it comes out slightly off but Jaskier always seemed genuinely pleased when he would catch him doing it.
“That’s not fucking fair!” Lambert hisses angrily, it is no surprise given how jealous he had been over Geralt getting a song written all about him. “Out of us if anyone should get a song written about them it’s me!” He jealously grabs his bowl of soup and stomps off, throwing a chunk of bread at Eskel when he does not stop humming, making him laugh as he catches it. “Fucking bullshit!”
“Really if anyone deserves a song it’s me. I’ve been around longer than any of you pups.” Vesemir says, pausing to take a sip of ale. “It’s a nice song Eskel. Geralt, did you meet up with your bard this year?” Geralt gives a particularly rude grunt as he storms out angrily. He does not even bother to bring his food with him.
“Still hasn’t made up with him then,” Eskel mumbles into his bowl. Geralt will not tell any of them exactly what happened, only that he parted ways permanently with both Yennefer and his bard before last winter. He only admitted that much after a lot of drink when one too many questions were asked about his bard. Vesemir just hums in agreement as they lapse into silence. It is going to be a long winter with a brooding Geralt and a jealous Lambert in the keep.
- TBC