What's Another Witcher

by FinchInTheMines

Summary:

After the moutain Jaskier finds himself stumbling through the start of a planned year long bender in which he doesn't care weather or not he makes it out the otherside. A kind elf running a tavern in oxenfurt helps him get back on his feet, shaky as they are and from there Jaskier becomes the Sandpiper.

What he doesn't know is that this line of work will lead him directly into the hands of the man he was just starting to get over. Geralt of course makes everything worse, leaving Jaskier alone to pick up the peices until a very handsome witcher (Eskel) finds him and decides that Jaskier is the most important thing in the world, that it would be a privalige to help him get back up again.

or Jaskier tries to recover from the moutain but the world seems determined to show him that he should only ever feel heartbreak until Eskel turns out to be the only constant in his life.

Notes:

I've got this whole thing planned out so just be patient with me about it :) I don't normally do multiple chapter things but I haven't not finished one in years so that's hopefully insentive to keep reading :)

Chapter 1: Two Years Later

Notes:

Just proof read through this and the next chapter... JESUS I need to do that more before posting - It is crazy how many typos there were. There probably still are some and defo some grammr mistakes but I hope this at least makes this more readable <3

"G-geralt?" Jaskier woke from his sleep to a hand pressed on his waist. The only other person who had a key to their room must have returned home… Until he realized-

 

His thoughts quickly dispelled as he came back to consciousness to find an empty inn room, the moonlight illuminating everything in sight. He was alone. Of course, he was alone. It had already been a full month since he had walked down that mountain on his own. Since his friend of two decades had thrown him away with yesterday's trash.

 

He curled up around himself in his empty bed. A bed that would stay empty for a while as he nursed his broken heart.

 

Tomorrow was another day of false smiles and chipper performances; he needed all the sleep he could get to keep himself going. It had taken everything from him not to drop to his knees and beg for another chance; the numbness that spread over his body was unlike anything he had experienced before.

 

Instead, he simply walked away, body aching and his eyes dry of tears. Even his lute felt heavy in his hands. He didn't want to write, didn't even want to try. What would he even write about. His livelihood came from writing about the great tales of the White Wolf. The spark of motivation seemed to leave with him for now. It would return; it always had. This was far from Jaskier's first heartbreak, but it was also by far the worst. He had never felt it physically in the tired ache of his legs or the sleep-hazed eyes he watched out of. It had always been a few days of sulking and writing to get his feelings out and then he would move on. This wasn't the first time he was told he was unwanted, so why had it sunken so deep no?

 

Maybe Geralt was right…

 

Maybe Geralt had always been right.

 

Every snapping word or harsh glare. Every biting shout or shove. Every time the witcher had grabbed his lapels or got into his face. Looks of disappointment and anger that laced every single one of their interactions. The constant threat that he would wake up to an empty campsite with the witcher long gone.

 

But he never did. Geralt had tired early on. Evidently not very well, but he made a show of letting Jaskier know that he could ride away if he wanted. Maybe Geralt was just lonely, and Jaskier was good for filling the space. God knows he was good for filling the silence.

 

But it had evened out. Honestly, those twenty years had been the best of Jaskier's life. Every biting word came with a hearty joke or a slight smile when he made a dumb joke. It came with Geralt pulling him by the scruff out of danger and begrudgingly getting him out of trouble with angered parents or siblings. All of the time spent telling Jaskier to quiet down came with its own small moments to make up for it. For fucks sake the man had saved his life more than an insignificant amount, that had to count for something... right?

 

Honestly, that made it hurt all the more. Made each one of the sweet memories sat around a campfire tinged with the sour anxiety that Geralt had always been looking for an excuse to send him away. All he would have really needed was to say that he was going with Yennefer again. It was usually the excuse he used when he stopped being able to stand Jaskier's presence.

 

She would call him, and he would go running. Those anxieties of being left behind were only realized when she came around. That's why he was here, right? She had come around looking for a one-in-a-million fertility cure, and Geralt had dogged after her just like he always did. Tongue out and tail wagging. Jaskier rolled his eyes. He wanted to ask why he was so loyal to someone who treated him so poorly, but… glass houses and all that.

 

The sun crested over the horizon, and Jaskier thought it was about time to get up. There were people who needed him now, and he had things to do. Time on the path had conditioned him to get up with the sun and work until he dropped. He had spent the last week and a half in and out of a bottle between performances and smuggling runs. The headache that currently twinged behind his eyes was an unwanted reminder of that. He ingnored it, there was hardly a monrning when he wasn't waking up with a headache so why should it matter this time.

 

He dressed quickly in a loose shirt and pants, donning his belt and satchel, before heading downstairs to eat. He had no permanent residence. There was no point. The fresh smuggling business kept him on his toes these days. It served as a good distraction. Made him feel wanted as fucked as that was, he needed it. Needed to do something good now that his music career was basically all reruns. It didn't really matter how he much he used the lives of those who needed help to feel better about himself, it was far from a worrying ulterior motive.

 

So he worked, worked, and spied and lived. Geralt's harsh words would not be the end of him. It was more spite than anything else. Refusing the give the man the satisfaction of ruining him so thoroughly that he couldn't bounce back. He could, he could keep living, no matter how incompetent and useless his former companion had insisted he was. He knew how to fight dirty, and now one of the elves he was working with was teaching him proper sword technique. 

 

Speaking of…

 

Sitting in the common area, he was working out of, Arden appeared from behind the bar. He was short for an elf but came up to just under Jaskier's height. Short dark hair and equally dark eyes. His hair curled tightly to his head, which set to show off as much of his dark skin as possible. He wore the nice-looking vest and pants that he always wore while working behind the bar. He was a full blooded elf, mom and dad both elves, but they had taken it upon themselves to round his ears before he was even old enough to ask what they were doing. When Jaskier had first heard his story, he had felt sympathy for the man having that part of him stripped away but Arden never seemed to be bothered by it. Apparently it was a semi-common practice now, which only set of harden the bard's heart further. 

 

"Jaskier! Fair morning." His voice was deep and gravelly as he began to set the bar up for the day. They had come to know a strained camaraderie in the couple of weeks that Jaskier had known the man. Arden had been the one to find him passed out drunk in the alley outside the tavern. As it turns out, he recognized the bard and offered him a place to stay if Jaskier would perform once he was sober. Jaskier has heard the tale several times, but he doesn't remember it. He doesn't remember much from those first two weeks.

 

His determination to live had not always been there. No, those first few weeks he spent half dead on the cheapest poison he could find or throwing himself into as many bar fights he could pick. It wasn't hard to find someone who was willing to punch him to the ground for the rumors surrounding him and Geralt. Where they had seen the witcher whore, Arden had seen a pity case. Not that Jaskier was complaining. The man demanding a performance had been the first time he had sung since the mountain.

 

It didn't fix him, but it was enough to snap him out of his drunken state long enough to be embarrassed about it. Not that his embarassment lasted long enough to keep him from the bottle but it had done enough to start.

 

"It is my friend." The bard answers as he goes to sit at the bar in front of the man.

 

"Can I get you some breakfast?" Jaskier nodded. They had long since established this alliance, Jaskier was fed and housed as long as he would perform for the tavern, and he lived the rest off the tips of patrons. It wasn't ideal, but as long as the Sandpiper was needed in Oxenfurt, then Jaskier would take it.

 

He didn't hate the nickname, so to say, one of the younger girls he helped on one of his earliest runs had called him that after she had heard him sing. He had no doubt that she didn't actually know what a sandpiper sounded like, but the high-pitched tweeting seemed to fit his chipper music just as well. Arden had taken to it immediately, clapping him on the back and calling him songbird. It wasn't the first time that Jaskier had smiled since the mountain, but it was the first time it had felt real. One of the only happy memories he could hold on to since then.

 

It was first time he had felt any sort of hope for the future, where his determination born of spite had sparked. Geralt couldn't take this from him. Jaskier would hold onto the joy the elven girl had given him like a vice to his chest and never let go. It was his. No one else’s. No matter how many times the witcher had made him feel like a burden, he could look back at this moment and prove to himself that he wasn't. That he deserved to have this. Sometimes he didn't always belive himself those times, but it helped.

 

Arden set down a warm plate in front of him and joined him on the outside of the bar. It was quiet in town these days, and the bar wasn't open yet. This was the time they used to discuss the day and, more importantly, the night.

 

They both sat in comfortable silence as they ate. A familiar ritual that had forced Jaskier to get up and start the day. He didn't know if Arden had done it on purpose, and he didn't care. He was grateful not to be alone through all of this.

 

"Lida will be out this morning; she's replenishing the stock, but she'll be here for the performance." Arden broke the silence with his cheerful tone. They often spoke like this. The Stock rather than our stock, The performance rather than your performance. Two different collections, two different events.

 

"Hm, she missed the last one, so I hope she enjoys it." Jaskier felt the tension crawl under his skin as he forced himself to take another bite of the gruel Arden had served him. They had just finished with a run yesterday, and Lida hadn't been there to help them. Because of this, they had come dangerously close to being caught. Today, they will start prepping for the next one. In his hidden words, Jaskier was telling his friend that he needed to figure out exactly where she was and what she was doing.

 

He didn't know Lida as well as Arden, but Arden seemed to trust her, so there was a good reason for concern for her abcense. Still, it didn't keep him from being slightly annoyed at the woman. It had taken a lot of smooth talking and even flirting with one of those disgusting bastards to get through the night.

 

Jaskier could still feel the rough hand caressing over his own. He shivered dramatically as if to shake off the feeling and took anthother bite.

 

"I talked to her last night, she said she can't wait. Arden responds and Jaskier pauses. He talked to her? That means she is likely okay, okay enough to speak anyway, which is for the better, he supposes. Arden eyes Jaskier's clenched fist and gives him an equally annoyed look. It's clear he is also pretty upset about the wrench thrown in their plans.

 

"Well, then I'll have to catch her in the audience." Jaskier hops off the stool with a huff as he finishes his meal. Taking his and Arden's plates, he begins to clean and dry them. The elf eyes him the entire way to the sink. Jaskier can see in his face that he's trying to see the real intention behind his words. He seems to come up satisfied because he gets up with a sigh and takes the two dried plates from the bard, putting them away under the bar.

 

"Well, that's me then, I'll see you tonight." Jaskier throws in a playful wink to insinuate that he's flirting, but they both know what he really means. Arden gives him back a smile and a wave, and Jaskier leaves through the front door.

 

He rarely leaves the tavern with his lute these days. Doesn't even keep it in his own room; it's too valuable to him now to have it that open. So it stays in the back room with the supplies they give to the elves who pass through. He feels much better about it there. His entire livelihood on a single leather strap. He doesn't have the funds to buy another one, probably wont for a long time at this rate. Most of the coin he earns goes toward the Sandpiper's needs, not Jaskier's.

 

He'll go to the market today, find clothing he thinks will be suitable for travel. His eyes always water when he has to buy children's clothing. The cruelty of the world had shocked him when he ran away at sixteen. It had scared him when he met Geralt at nineteen, and now it just saddens him. He tries not to remember their names so that when he sees them on tombstones, he doesn't spiral. They need him to be strong, so he is; they need him to be ruthless, so he is.

 

He still does of course. A bard is made for the people, and he loves his people. He'd likely recognize every face he's seen cross the plank to the boat. Not by his own choice.

 

The Market isn't busy just yet, but there a quite a few people walking around. Oxenfurt is a miserable little place, and the markets reflect that. This is not the type of city that has streets lined with in-building shops with little storefronts. Not this city was made up of houses on houses, taverns and bars, and all manner of places to pay for sex. It was half the reason he ended up here in the first place. Two weeks into his planned year-long bender, Arden had found him and offered him one jig. Just one. Then one became two, then two became 'as long as you're getting me coin'. Then that became drinking buddies and late-night confessions, Arden eventully revealing his elder blood.

 

Now here he is, a month without his witcher, and people rely on him. People care if he's late home or drinking himself stupid. It's not a content feeling, it's not even satisfying, but it's something. He needs something. The last song he wrote went up in a wildfire of cheers, mostly from broken-hearted women in the audience. Some small part of the bard still hoped that it would reach the ears of his witcher. Wished that Geralt would hear it and come for him with an apology on his tongue and a sorrowful heart.

 

But as one month turned into two, turned into three, then four… He stopped wishing. Stopped caring if his music had any impact on the man. Jaskier was done. He had a fine job. An important one. Sure, it wasn't as glamorous as traveling the continent looking for monsters, but he still felt it was more impactful. If Arden still had to pull the bottle from his hands some nights, then that was between him and his kidney; a bard was allowed to wallow a little bit.

 

It's not like Geralt was here to see it; he had no shame to hide nor any other distraction. Throwing himself into the bed of anyone who looked mean enough to hurt him certainly hadn't helped; he just needed… something. Something that no amount of half-done songs or scribbled lyrics could help with.

 

Jaskier had always poured himself into his songs; they were his heart and soul. A diary with more emphasis. But now he had a different way to show himself to the world, or to those the world has left behind. It wasn't all that different from what he was doing for the witchers, although he could see the direct aftermath up close now. Every action and decision held so much weight that, to not do anything, directly resulted in the deaths of many.

 

"Come on bard, I think you've had enough." Jaskier was pulled out of his thoughts by the bartender. He looked up to the slightly disappointed face of Arden looked at him as he rested his head down on the table. The room swam as he lifted up to look at his friend. He felt nauseous and disgusted, wanting to hide away in his room and never leave.

 

It was just one of those nights.

 

He had woken up fine, got through most of the day fine. The nights were always rough and this time he just couldn't. Arden let him have drinks free while he performed but made him pay for all of the ones outside of that. He had once joked that it was because then Jaskier would drink the place dry and never look back. He had looked so kind when he said it and Jaskier knew exactly why he had done it.

 

It wasn't often that he needed to be cut off but some nights were harder than others. Something would set him off and he would relapse.

 

There had been a witcher in town today. Jaskier had heard from some of the patrons talking about a man with yellow eyes and two swords. Despite himself, his heart had soured with possibility. Every excuse he had made up in his head rushed to the forefront as he hoped beyond hope that his friend had come for him. That he had just needed time, that maybe he didn't know where Jaskier was and was looking for him. Anything and everything he could tell himself he did. He barely even needed an apology at this point, just happy to fantasize about his knight in shining armor coming to rescue him from his own thoughts.

 

"Ar' Jus- 'on more." He knows he's beyond remembering the night now, everything hurts and his mind is already swimming with thoughts that are hard to grasp a hold of. It doesn't even occur to him how pathetic he looks; his mental state is too far hopped up on poison. Arden is at his side, taking the bottle from his hands. He lets it go as his hand fails to do what he tells it. Needless to say, the witcher in down had not been Geralt, hadn't even been a wolf, not that Jaskier would recognize them. It had been a viper by the name of Letho. Thats about all Jaskier knew of him.

 

He looked mean, hardened by the world in the way that Geralt always pretended to be but could never commit to. Jaskier hadn't exactly kept his distance, but once he had seen the man, he felt a lot less motivated to actually meet him.

 

"No Jask- let's get you to bed." Geralt used to call him that, but no matter how many times he had snapped at Arden for it, the man insisted on using it. He used to hate it, feeling the anger bubble up every time the man had thrown even that in his face. But now, now it doesn't mean anything to him. It's just what Arden calls him. It's not Geralt's voice that mocks him and demeans him when he hears it off Arden's tongue. It's just Arden, calling him a nickname.

 

Sometimes, on nights like this. It's just another thing this man hasn't let Geralt take from him.

 

"t-ank you Ar'en." He clutches onto the older elf as Arden guides him upstairs.

 

"Yeah yeah yeah. Thank me by being up in the morning hm?" Arden might be smiling, he might be grimacing. Jaskier isn't really looking. The floor looks too far away, and everything is moving. He's just trying not to twist his ankle as his feet move oddly.

 

They never talked about it. Not that Jaskier remembered anyway. He knows he must have said something at some point because Arden seems to know when the bad days are, but he's never said Geralt's name out loud. He doesn't want to. It tastes like ash in his mouth and makes his heart clench painfully. But still Arden seems to know everything. Jaskier supposes that's his own fault, could never keep his damn mouthshut when he was drinking. He's sure that once night when Arden had come to his resue once again he had just blurted it all out and now his freind has to deal witht that too. Jaskier might even feel sorry for it, if he ever remebered doing it. 

 

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands

 

Those words played over and over in his head like a mantra. Like motivation to keep going. They fueled his spite at the best of times and his drinking habit at the worst of times. The latter more often than the former.

 

"Here you are." The words stabbed through his already severe headache, and a wave of nausea crashed through him as he was unceremoniously dropped onto his bed.

 

"And this." Something cold was lifted to his lips as he sputtered through water in protest. Arden just kept tilting the glass, forcing himself to drink the only water he'd had all day. He hated the man for being the kindest thing he'd ever known. He hated him for wasting his time with a bard who couldn't even keep his head on straight most nights. He hated him for the way he forced Jaskier to live and be better, and he hated him for how damn effective it was.

 

Tomorrow, Jaskier would wake up late and be embarrassed, apologize, and Arden would ignore it. He'd tell him all the things they needed to do for the week, and Jaskier would listen with intent, ignoring the throbbing headache as he tried to regain the ability to be a person again. He'd perform and hope the audience couldn't tell how broken he was. He'd look at Arden in the back and smile and wink just like every night, and Arden would roll his eyes and wink back. He might hear news of another witcher in down a few weeks later but it would never be Geralt.

 

So he stopped looking. Stopped turning his head when he heard of a man with yellow eyes and two swords, and stopped checking the board for any recently taken contracts. Stopped watching the door of the inn as he performed with that slight hope of seeing a familiar face.

 

 

When the first year passed without a single qualm, Jaskier almost felt happy. No big world-ending events, no near-death experiences. Days pass almost domestically, aside from the highly illegal elf smuggling. The tensions are rising day by day, but Jaskier manages to keep a steady head when he needs to. In front of the people who need him, he can. It's harder when he's alone, but then Arden is there and he's never alone for long. 

 

Today was the anniversary, or as close as he could get to it. But he wasn't drinking yet. He was doing better; he had to be doing better. He'd even started writing again. They were small pieces, not meant for the public, and they had no lyrics to go with them, but seeing his notebook fill even that much more had him feeling slightly better. Arden stopped giving him those pitiful looks when he sat down at the bar because he was no longer there to drown out every waking thought with alcohol.

 

"Jask." Arden greets him with a nod.

 

"Hey Arden, how'd you like the show?" He waggles his eyebrows at the man, and Arden laughs.

 

"Too many clothes, you'd get more money with less on." He snarks back as if chastising Jaskier for daring to hide his body. Jaskier feigns flustered fanning.

 

"I'm not a common whore, Arden, you have to pay at least." Arden hums with the remnants of a smile. The bustle of the tavern quickly drowns out their polite conversation. It's a good night, a fine night.

 

It's a fine night, and there are enough distractions that keep Jaskier busy. Enough people talk to him to keep him from walking off the ledge accidentally. Enough talk of music and the rumors of the town. Enough petty gossip mixed with the chatter of tavern goers to keep Jaskier awake for the night.

 

It's fine. The night is fine, and Jaskier makes it through without even touching a tankard. He doesn't even regret it… that much. Not even when he takes his lute up to his room rather than storing it in the back because it's the only thing that reminds him of all the happy nights spent around a fire or in a warm tavern with his friend. He doesn't grit his teeth and bite through the back of his hand, trying to keep the tears from falling for a man who couldn't even care long enough to check in on him after abandoning him on a mountain. He doesn't even curl around the instrument like it's the last thing keeping him tied to this world. He doesn't.

 

Jaskier is left alone for the rest of the night to struggle through sleep. He struggles. He struggles more than the last few months combined. His words play in his head. Jaskier can hear Geralt's voice in his ear, can see the spit fly from his mouth as the only person who stuck by him for twenty years dumped all of his shit on Jaskier's head.

 

If he wasn't gritting his teeth before, he is now. It hurts like it did that first night. The tightness in his chest is overwhelming, and his head hurts from dehydration. His pillow is wet, but he doesn't feel the tears. It's shit. It's all shit, and he can't bring himself to breathe properly. He doesn't deserve it. He hasn't done enough. It's never enough to make up for the years he wasted on nothing. Jaskier swings hard into self-disgust. For everything he hasn't done. For everything he has done. Even for the damn lute in his hands.

 

Jaskier doesn't let go. If anything, he holds tighter, hoping that maybe it will make him feel better.

 

It doesn't.

 

 

The next year is better. If you can count it as better.

 

Jaskier does better. He thinks about it less, and he buckles down harder. There is a small pride in the way Arden looks at him. In the way they all look at him. The resistance grows faster than Jaskier can keep track of. There are more people who hang around the tavern after hours, and there are more and more elves pouring in each night. The place can hardly house them all. They have to expand into the sewers. It's not pretty, but Jaskier does his best.

 

His performances feel more real, and his heart aches less. It’s easy to get lost in the politics as his role for Vizimir grows bigger. He wants to think that it's because he's been so helpful against Nilfguard, but he knows better than to overestimate his worth.

 

Still, it pays passage for as many people as he can fit on trade ships at a time. The longer he can drag out his disappearance, the more people he helps. Day by day is all he has the energy for now, and that's enough. He helps behind the bar sometimes too, he's learned elder over the two years, and so his face is the first safe one that elves see when they enter. He can vet them or just let them know that they made it to the right place.

 

'The Sandpiper's den'. The name has been thrown around faster than he can really get a hold of it, and the others aren't all that happy about it. Neither is he, but some of them have started to talk about moving the operation. The more time they spend here, the more opportunity it gives the guard to find out exactly what is going on. Jaskier is against this. He knows the risk, but he also knows that if they move, ditch the small tavern that Arden has put his life into, then there will inevitably be some poor soul who comes here looking for salvation, only to be caught and caged faster than they can even get the word 'help' out.

 

As far as he's concerned, that's their responsibility. Every single person who has heard of the Sandpiper's den in passing could be an enemy, but so far… there hasn't been an issue. Jaskier wants to drag it out as long as possible. The king is closing in on him too, and he's running out of time anyway. What's another deadline? He will help every single elf out of this place or be caught first. He owes it to the people he's dedicated himself to. For the kids who pass through his halls every day in fear that they will end up in chains next to their parents, if they are lucky, that is. There are plenty of tales of guards who don't even give them the mercy to stand… or live.

 

Jaskier winces as he steps up to the stage. Right now, all he has to do is sing. The crowd is lively tonight anyway, and it's always fun when they are half drunk. He introduces himself with flourish to a cheer and begins. It's the same as every night. A rambunctious crowd full of new and old faces, interacting and egging him on. A few frivolous winks to the maidens closer to him get him a few laughing, blown kisses back.

 

He doesn't notice the man sitting in the back of the tavern nursing a glass of something. Doesn't notice the heightened guard around the tavern or the way the place breathes with a different air tonight. He belts and prances in the laps of those willing to indulge him and plays like he does everything, with his soul.

 

The night drags on as song after song takes the wind from his sails. A tankard gets him back on his feet, but the repetitive song and dance takes it’s toll nonetheless. It isn't until someone requests that song that he really starts to slow down. He hasn't played it in a year, he won't unless asked, and it seems not many people are brave enough to break the chipper attitude of the tavern for a song about a broken heart.

 

He warns the man who requests it, a man in the back with long dark hair and a shaky smile on his lips. The drink in his hand clinks against his ring when he talks, and Jaskier warns him that the song isn't a lively one. The man simple nods like he understands and holds his glass up as if to say 'go ahead'. There is something about the gesture that makes Jaskier want to turn him down, but he doesn't.

 

It starts slow, just like it always does. His breath stays even as much as he wills it, and his chest stays open no matter how wrong the words feel on his tongue. They scrape against his teeth like metal, filling his mouth with a sour taste. He pushes through, not wanting to disappoint a fan.

 

By the end of it, he feels flayed open and left to rot. No one moves to comfort him, which he is grateful for. If Arden were here, he'd be giving Jaskier that look. The one that says he really shouldn’t be singing that song anymore and he’s right but who is Jaskier to deny a fan. He finishes quietly with the last 'burn' still hanging on his lips before snapping back to the crowd.

 

The bard sighs and stands, not wanting to end on a bad note, he gets up and gives a winning smile; trying to convey that it was all an act. He jumps back into a rendition of Toss a Coin and gets the crowd laughing and clapping again. He hopes the bastard who requested the song is happy with his performance; it'll cost him the nightmares for the next few days.

 

When he glances back to where the man was sitting, he's gone. Half drunk glass of mead is still sitting on the table. Jaskier holds in his eye roll as he continues with his last song. It's late and he has a mile to go before he can sleep. There was another run tonight, one of the biggest yet. Near two dozen elves hidden in the sewers right now. Likely huddled together in the cold of the night. Just that thought, the images of people too young to know the danger they were in, was enough to force him to finish the set with a bang.

 

Arden waited for him in the back once the patrons had trickled out. The show was over and gone from his mind as soon as it had come. Pleasure became business, and he had a job to do.

 

Passing out blankets and food as they all waited for the cover of night. Changes of clothing and replacing some essecial items is about all they can manage for these people but it is helpp nonetheless. It was a straight shot to the docks and they had Lida looking out for guards tonight. It was easy, just as it had always been. Still, the nerves crawled over his skin like nothing else. That sticky feeling in the air clung to him as he threw his lute over his back. Now, in the little time before he sent them off, it was time to take stock. Trade stories and update what he knew about the guard. What people were saying about the Sandpiper, and how much everyone knew about the whole situation. Tending to wounds and feeding hungry mouths. All part of the process.

 

It was a trade at the most base form, although with a little more music and a lot more laughter. They took the joy where they could and let Jaskier figure out the rest. There was a big adventure ahead as they were on their own once on the boat. The Sandpiper gave them a way out, but there wasn't much he could do afterward. So for now, there was time for a little calm.

 

 

Jaskier peeked out of the back door to the tavern, Arden behind him with everyone else. He spotted Lida crossing the silent street in a casual manner. She was good at her job despite her rather flighty personality.

 

"You have five minutes, go." That was all she said before slipping into the building beside him. From watching the street to watching the tavern. Jaskier wasted no time responding. He was out with Arden on his tail without a second thought.

 

Crossing the paths and turning to the docks, a flood of bodies caught up and over took him. Everything they could carry in their arms and stuffed bears clutched tight to young chests. This was always the hardest part. Sending them into the unknown. He prayed they all made it, they all got out. To somewhere safer if not safe.

 

The Captain caught him and pulled him aside. That look in his eyes of a tired and beaten man that Jaskier had never seen him without. He paid the man with a sorry smile and began to help them load up. Arden was going with them now. The guards were closing in, and Jaskier hadn't been able to convince him that they had more time. He understood, of course. In Oxenfurt, there were still people who knew his heritage, and he wasn't safe. Some part of the bard wanted to follow him to the new world as well. The irrational and impossibly loyal part of him. The part he had tried to stomp out two years ago.

 

Arden walked up to him and embraced him hard, careful of his lute but still hard enough to bruise. Jaskier returned it. He would miss the man, but every day he saw the way he tensed under the shadow of the guard, the way he fought not to cower in gazed held too long. The way he scratched at the scars on his ears when he thought too long about it. Jaskier saw all of it. He knew this was a long time coming, but still his heart ached for it. Another loss in this world, humans was determined to destroy.

 

"Be well." Jaskier's voice wobbled as he spoke. Taking the man who had dragged him kicking and screaming out of hell and given him life once more. He'd follow, once there was nowhere else to go, he would follow.

 

"I've locked the liquor cabinet." Arden smiled that knowing smile, and Jaskier laughed.

 

"Jask. I'll be seeing you." He said it with such confidence, the bard couldn't help but believe it.

 

"Of course." And then they were gone.

 

Jaskier stood on the dock for as long as time would allow. Watching the waves carry away twenty four lives reborn. He felt hope, strangely, rather than loss. Hope that his friend's words were true, even if they did seem far-fetched in this free-falling world.

 

He slipped back into the shadows with a look of determination, the warmth of Arden's hands still clinging to his body.

 

 

That is where Rience found him.

 

 

The man from the tavern crawled from the shadows as Jaskier turned. His face held that shaky smile that looked all the more menacing in this light than it had in the tavern. Jaskier startled as the man advanced and tried to run but Rience was on him faster than he could get away. A shove to the ground made him feel the crunch and snap of broken wood. The strap was ripped over his head, and before he could get more than a shout brought hard down against his head.

 

Hope fled with the fading light as the dark-haired man stood over his rapidly failing body. His arms up as if to block another blow fell to the ground with their own weight. The world darkened around his eyes as he tried to make them focus. Nothing was left behind of the warmth he felt from his friend, only that cold and sneering chuckle of a man wishing to do him harm. 

 

 

When he woke again, it was to the throbbing pain in his head and an ache in his back. He was slumped forward in a chair, hands and legs tied down, and a thick rope wrapped around his gut. He blinked at his surroundings with a groan. The sleep haze refused to leave him and he had to force his eyes to focus to make the room stop spinning.

 

Once it does, he blearily recognizes the room. He's in the tavern. Tied to one of the chairs that were supposed to be stacked up against the side of the place. It's dark, the middle of the night, and there is no one around him. Not that he can see anyway. Lida is supposed to be here, but she isn't. He sighs as he realizes what's happened. He's been kidnapped by someone. No, not someone. That man from the performance. Jaskier grits his teeth as he turns his head to get a better look at the room.

 

"Uh- Hello?" He calls out into the dark. There is no response.

 

"You should know I don't discuss my work with anyone!" He cries out again, unable to keep the fear from reaching his voice. He's scared, terrified. This could be any number of things that have finally come to bite him in the ass. The thought at the forefront is that Vizimir has finally found a reason to have him killed, and this is just the steps leading up to it. So yes, he is absolutely shitting himself. That and regretting the fact that he didn't follow Arden onto the boat.

 

There is a click from the end of the room, and a lantern attached to the wall lights up. Jaskier flinches hard as his fear gets the better of him. His whole body aches, and there are several sharp pains in his back and legs. It feels like he was dragged a few streets on the gravel path.

 

There is another click, and Jaskier calls out again. No response and another lit lantern. He can feel himself shaking now, his eyes dart around the room at the slightest hint of movement. He waits for his death in an utterly helpless situation.

 

There is another click, and suddenly, out of the dark, the man's face appears. Jaskier wrenches back in an effort to get away from him and Rience's smile grows .

 

"Hello Jaskier." His tone draws out in a satisfied smirk. Jaskier looks at him with wide eyes, flicking between the flame dancing on his hand and his face. He keeps his mouth shut for the time being, just trying to anticipate what this guy will do next.

 

"I have a few questions for you, and you're going to play nice and answer them for me." Jaskier's skin crawls as he talks, like he's coaxing a child to give back the sweet they stole.

 

When the bard doesn't answer, Rience frowns and flicks out the light. He'll get what he's after and then leave. It really doesn't matter to him what happens afterward.

 

"Where is your witcher taking the girl?" Jaskier's heart stops in his chest. His witcher. Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blavikin. His witcher. And what girl? Could he be talking about Yennefer, most people would refer to someone that old as a woman, though.

 

"M-my witcher?" His voice shakes, and he hates himself for it.

 

"Geralt of Rivia and his child surprise." What. He- when did… A million thoughts flood Jaskier's mind as he struggles to retain the information through the very likely concussion he's sporting. He didn't even know Geralt went back for her. That was years ago, a decade at least. He'd heard that Cintra had fallen, but not once had he even thought about the child that was supposed to reign there. C-could that be true? Could Geralt have gone back for his child now that she was older?

 

Something bitter in him resented that fact. That Geralt had decided the child he shoved in Jaskier's face as a blight was also the same one Geralt cared enough to go back for. He wasn't angry at the child, no. But an entirely new fury raged inside him for the witcher.

 

"I don't know." That was all he managed to grit out. Rience's face turned up in annoyance. Jaskier had less than a second to brace before that ringed fist came down against his jaw; he felt his teeth bite into his tongue and the acrid taste of iron fill his mouth. His face stings and there are several opened cuts where theose rings split his skin.

 

"I DON'T!" He shouted again, trying to convince the man in front of him that it was true. He got another hit for it. This time, square in the nose. It crunched under the weight, and something warm dribbled down over his lips. Rience let his head hang as he watched his blood drip into his lap.

 

The mage wasn't done with him. Far from it, but at least this reprieve was nice.

 

It was short-lived as he felt a hand grip into his hair, yanking his head back and up at an odd angle. The crick in his neck flared as he tried to maintain eye contact.

 

"Tell me where they are going." His voice was cold and unamused now.

 

"I told you…" Jaskier gulped in air around his blood and spit.

 

"I. Don't. Know." He flinched reflexively, but the strike never came. Rience only let go of his hair, letting his chin fall back to his chest. He felt a wreck now as he waited for something else to happen.

 

That something else was answered when Rience pulled up another disused chair to sit down in front of the bard. He leaned over on his knees and caught Jaskier's eyes where they rested on the ground. The mage's face was a picture of understanding and serenity. Jaskier squirmed uneasily.

 

"Let's try another method hm?" He leaned forward, his palm skating over the back of Jaskier's hand in a smooth circle. Jaskier just watched it. Then with another click, Rience's finger was alight. Jaskier's eyes widened in horror as Rience gripped his hand, forcing it to stay outstretched as he brought the small flame to the tip of the bard's pointer finger. It didn't touch yet, but Jaskier could feel the heat on the pad of his finger.

 

"Now, tell me what I want to know about your witcher." Jaskier recoiled at 'your', Geralt wasn't his anything anymore. Geralt wasn't even his muse; wherever this man had gotten his information had been clearly very wrong.

 

"I- I haven't even seen Geralt in years- I don't- no- no.." Rience just gives him a disappointing look and brings the flame closer. Until their fingers are just about touching.

 

The flaring, white hot pain that boils under his skin is immediate. Jaskier's eyes black out as they lose focus from the pain.

 

He screams.

 

He screams until Rience takes the flame away, still holding his trembling hand. Jaskier comes back to reality, crying and whimpering as the residual pain still aches in his hand. He pants hard as his mind tries to catch up with the intense physical sensation of being burned.

 

"Ready to tell the truth now." Jaskier's whole body shakes with the pain and the bleary vision. He can barely make out the man's shape as he feels like he might pass out with any effort put into focusing his eyes.

 

"I- I can't- I" Rience doesn't like that answer and brings the flame back up. The bard screams again. The wordless shriek echoed around the well-insulated tavern. There is no way anyone would hear him unless they had their ears pressed up against the door. He was alone with this maniac, and Arden wasn't coming back, Geralt wasn't coming back. Sooner or later, this mage would realize that he really didn't know anything and kill him. Honestly, the best he could hope for was something quick. Although it was looking more likely that the man would just set the place on fire and leave all the evidence to deal with itself.

 

He passes out from the pain this time. As the fire is dragged along his pointer finger and back. His eyes roll back into his head, and he slumps forward, body still trembling but no longer screaming.

 

Rience lets up after that. Sitting back in his chair for a moment before leaning in and slapping the man hard across the face. Jaskier jolts and starts back awake, much to his satisfaction. Blood drips from his lips and nose, and his whole body is sweating. He looks terrified and exhausted, and the night has only just started.

 

The Mage gets up now, standing as he watches Jaskier regain his sense of consciousness. He wants to try dirtier methods to get what he wants. It's clear the bard has little in the way of experience with torture, and he doesn't want him to break before Rience is ready for it.

 

"You're very tight-lipped about your witcher friend." He states coldly. It takes a second for Jaskier to be awake enough to realize the words are for him.

 

"I'm not-" He swallows the spit and blood in his mouth before continuing.

 

"Really, I'm not, ask anyone." He pleads as Rience looks over him with something close to disinterest.

 

"I don't know anything about a child surprise, I only met her once, while she was still in the womb. So please-" His voice drops to a harsh whisper as he speaks the ending plea.

 

Rience doesn't respond, just lets him stew in his fear.

 

Once the mage has decided that's a long enough rest, he sits back down, leaning back against the chair with a glint in his eye. The sun is starting to rise, and he has yet to make any real progress. If this doesn't work out, then he'll have to find another lead, and he really doesn't want to have to do that.

 

He stays leaned back and clicks his fingers again. Jaskier flinches and stares at the flame.

 

"See, fire is a forbidden source." He says with a smile, pride evident in his tone as he brags about his accomplished talent. After all, Jaskier is in the presence of a very accomplished mage.

 

"Because it usually consumes those who draw from it." He goes on to explain. Jaskier's eyes focus and refocus on the light as he tries to keep his head up. Everything is buzzing, and everything hurts.

 

"… Unless you're… very talented." Rience begins to reach for his hand again, and Jaskier starts to shake his head, eyes not leaving the flame. He hates it. He wants to scream, and he knows he will once Rience makes good on the promise his other hand is currently making.

 

"Then the body can withstand it…" The bard's eyes flick to his, and he meets the man with a pleading gaze, pain already pulses though his entire body, but he knows it can get worse.

 

"…But it consumes the soul." Rience smiles at that little bit of information. It was so ironic, wasn't it? After all, what good is a soul in the face of all this power? Jaskier just whimpers.

 

He tries to pull his hand away again, but Rience's grip is unwavering.

 

"P-please! I don't know anything!" The first honest to god plea of the night, and Rience only smiles. It's music to his ears, much better than the racket of the lute. Now broken and bloodied in the street. Likely to be kicked to the side come morning.

 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, the mage pulls away, and Jaskier takes in a ragged breath.

 

"No? The songs in your catalogue suggest otherwise." Rience sneers, and Jaskier pales even more if that's possible. Before the bard can get another word out, the flame is back against his skin, and his lungs force another scream. His voice is going hoarse with the effort, and it scratches on the way out.

 

"Listen to me! Please! Please listen to me!" Jaskier screams through the pain, trying to get his message across through any means necessary. Thankfully, Rience stops, and Jaskier seizes the moment to keep talking. It's his job after all.

 

"I- I'm a bard. I am- Brilliant. This is what I do. He grunts. I tell stories. He mentions a witcher keep, and I turn it into a magical, mystical hideaway in the mountains- So please, listen to me when I tell you this-" His voice wavers between whimpers, and he can feel the tears warm on his face. The pain thrums heavily, and he uses everything he can to get his captor to see his desperation.

 

"-He doesn't share details." Rience's hand wavers, and Jaskier's voice does too.

 

"He does not have friends." He never has, and even if he did, he had never counted Jaskier among them.

 

"and he does not have- weaknesses-" His voice cuts off as his throat rips through another scream. Rience, clearly having had enough of the talking and much preferring his ragged and half-choked screaming instead.

 

When he pulls away again, Jaskier doesn't look up; tears fall freely from his face, and blood stains his pants. His hair is greasy with sweat, and his entire body shakes in pain; even his breathing is labored. Rience just looks on in disgust as he pulls Jaskier's head up by the hair once again. He searched for any sign of a lie and clenches his fist when he came up empty.

 

This bard is telling the truth. He doesn't know where Geralt and Ciri are. Then a wicked idea came to him as to why. He smiles something dreadful, and Jaskier shudders in his hold.

 

"Is that why you wrote the song?" His grin spreads even wider when Jaskier winces and tries to pull away.

 

"How long did you say it had been since you'd seen him?" Jaskier sighs, and his lip trembles.

 

"t-two years…" Finally, some information he can work with.

 

"Right around the time that Cintra fell? So what, he ditched you in search of his promised child?" Jaskier flinches, and Rience knows he's stuck gold.

 

"That's why you don't know anything, he didn't think you were worthy enough to tell. Maybe what you said was true, you aren't exactly tight lipped… He just didn't trust you enough to tell." Jaskier goes numb in an instant. It feels like someone has taken an anchor to the carefully built layer of protection he had constructed for himself. All the questions he had asked and asked in his own head were dredged up by a single sentence. He hasn't stopped crying since the fire, but now they are different tears. Even this bastard knew how much Geralt had hated him. Put up with him. Cause he was kind, cause he needed someone to yell at. At the end of the day, it didn't matter why Geralt had allowed him to tag along for two decades.

 

"Maybe there is some truth to that rumor huh… witcher whore." Rience watches carefully as Jaskier's face falls and falls from one of terror to one of resignation and self-disgust. He clicks his fingers, and Jaskier doesn't even flinch. He stares at the ground unblinking, and Rience just smiles. It's a beautiful sight. A barbed wire muzzle clamped tightly around this songbird's beak.

 

"That makes you useless to me, too." He stands and walks around the back of the chair, his flamed hand trailing up Jaskier's arm, burning away the clothing where he touches, but no further until he reaches Jaskier's neck. The bard is all bent forward, the back of his neck displayed and unprotected. Rience takes that as encouragement. His hand lighting up in flame as he cups Jaskier's nape, forcing him to bend further as he screams one last time. He only leaves once the screams die down and the bard is out once again.

 

Leaving him beaten and bloodied, tied to a chair in the middle of the tavern he owned. A handprint forever marking him as the mage's plaything. Rience smiles the whole way out. Stepping through the portal, he opened and saying goodbye to the caged songbird.

 

He would have died there.

 

He would have starved or bled out or given up right then and there. If the guard hadn't chosen that perfect moment to come and raid the place under the suspicion that they were hiding elves.

 

They find him like that.

 

His clothing is stained and in tatters as he sits unconscious in the center of the room. The men surrounding his body sneer and mock that this is supposed to be the Sandpiper. None of them are as careful as they cut open his bonds and take him into custody. The bare minimum of medical attention is given to the burns before he is thrown into a single cell with nothing but a shit bucket and a few mice for company.

 

He's barely awake then and all he can think are those words. His words. Playing over and over in his head.

 

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.

 

Geralt wished him dead for daring to be there. For daring to look him in the eyes when he asked if he was okay. For daring to not be Yennefer when he stuck around.

 

For daring to be anyone to him at all.

Chapter 2: The Witcher Keep

Summary:

Jaskier travels to Kear Morhen on Geralt's request and finds that two years of healing are really easy to undo when you're with the man who did that to you in the first place.

Then, Geralt had come for him.

 

He had just shown up in the jail cell looking as frustrated as he always did. Jaskier had just stared at him, unable to do anything as his mind short-circuited. Two years of nothing and now this. He was just staring at him.

 

He spent a total of one whole day in that cell before Geralt had shown up. Trying not to move his neck too much as the open wounds pulled and weeped. 

 

Two years and a day. Jaskier corrects as he stares into familiar yellow eyes.

 

He hugs him. Of fucking course he hugs him. The relief that floods through his system when he sees his old friend alive momentarily overtakes the painful restriction in his chest that he's pretty sure is more than just the numerous wounds he's suffered.

 

Geralt hugs him back, and some bitter voice in the back of Jaskier's head tells him this is likely the first time the witcher has willingly touched him without manhandling him. He doesn't say anything, and that little voice rises to the surface.

 

"Let’s go." Its the first words the man has said too him in two years and a day and Jaskier can't help the little bit of rage that flies from his lips.

 

"Really? cause the last time we spoke, you basically told me to fuck off and left me on a mountain. A mountain! I basically slid all the way back to Caingorn!" He can feel the fire in his voice roiling under the surface. He's mad. Really mad. More furious than he had been in two fucking years. In all that time when he had fantasized about Geralt coming back for him, it had always been an apology or more berating. Not this. Not ignoreace and neglect. Although that is shockingly on brand. It seems the witcher couldn't possibly ever bring himself to speak about something that made him uncomfortable. Not unless that thing was a walking sex magnet with violet eyes and questionable morals regarding consent.

 

With how many late-night heart-to-hearts he's had to overhear between them two, he'd at least thought he was worth one. Just one. But know Jaskier gets a sigh like his heartbreak is just another burden, and Geralt tells him that Ciri is in danger.

 

Jaskier bites his snarky remark back that maybe if Geralt had gotten her sooner, then she wouldn't be. He doesn't need another concession. Geralt has made it very clear who in his life is the priority, and Jaskier is pretty sure he doesn't even make the list.

 

"…Fine." And just like that, he ditches his sanity and dignity along with his self-worth and progress in that cell. All just to follow the man who has proven time and time again that he means nothing to him. He's not even really sure he can be mad at Geralt at this point. It's not his fault Jaskier keeps trusting him. Not his fault that the silly fool hearted bard longs for everything he can never have.

 

His time as the Sandpiper is over, now he's back to the witcher's bard. It feels like such a step back that he nearly reels from it. He can already feel Arden's disappointed look, Lida's half cruel jokes. Who knows what they would think if they saw him now. 

 

But he is weak.

 

And he is wanting.

 

He always knew that if Geralt had come for him, be it two years or another twenty, he'd always follow him to the ends of the earth, and he'll always be worse for it. It had been his fate since that day in Posada, and now it seems the universe is just laughing at him for daring to think he could be anything other than the witcher's bard.

 

He keeps to himself for most of the trip to the keep. It seems his loyalty of ten years amounts to about the same as the caravan of dwarves that he's sure Geralt has only met once or twice. He realizes with a start that this likely everyone that Geralt knows, that he is only here because Geralt can't trust anyone else.

 

His mood sours and sours the more he walks. That’s right walks. The cart apparently is too full to carry him and Geralt still refuses to let him anywhere near Roach unless he's actively dying. So he walks the long miles to the witcher's keep. The one Gerakt had only mentioned in passing. He was always tight-lipped about it. Not that Jaskier could really blame him for that, knowing what he did about the great extinction event of witchers. It was still just that bit more salt in his wounds. That he was only now being trusted with this new information because Geralt had no other choice. It had literally taken death threats on his family to get Jaskier to Kear Morhen.

 

He pried an apology out of Geralt's hands on the way there. It was small, but at least it sounded sincere. A single stitch over a gaping wound. Jaskier honestly felt worse after it. It probably would have been better if he had just left it alone. Now knowing that that pathetic 'sorry' was all he was going to get drove the ache deeper. He made some dumb joke about it and sunk to the back of the pack. Not being able to stand looking up at Geralt these days was becoming a staple of their travels.

 

Yennefer joined them soon after that. Or rather, they finally tracked her down and rescued Ciri from her villainous claws. Jaskier feels an unending satisfaction when Geralt draws his sword on her. That hard look in his eyes that says he is absolutely willing to cut her down. Jaskier doesn't breathe. He does however, get the girl to his side before he can think about doing anything else. He is no match for Yennefer, but Geralt has her covered, and he needs to make sure Ciri is okay.

 

His mind pastes another person who needs his help, that need’s him to be brave. So he is. That small piece of him left over from the Sandpiper jumped to the front of his head as he takes her back to the cart. He doesn't care what Geralt does with Yennefer, it'd make his life a lot less stressful if he simply killed her, but he knows that will never happen. It can't.

 

What he expects to happen is for Geralt to threaten and defend his daughter, the girl relying on him for safety. To tell Yennefer that if she ever showed her face near Ciri again, he wouldn't hesitate. Even if it would be an empty threat, it would still make the point.

 

What he doesn't expect is for him to lower his sword in resentment, but hope is evident on his face. Like, he doesn't even want to believe that Yennefer would have truly done it. He holds his tongue to keep from screaming, and his heart shrivels that much more. She gets a pass… She's forgiven.

 

She's wanted.

 

She stays with the caravan the rest of the trip. On the cart with Ciri. 

 

Of course, where else would she be. Yennefer gives a smug hum in Jaskier's direction. Nothing playful about her tone. Jaskier didn't respond. He felt shitty enough without a million-year-old witch rubbing in her face how she had ultimately won the only thing Jaskier had wanted the last twenty-two years.

 

It makes the whole trip that much harder. The bitter aching in his chest is nothing compared to festering wounds but it still feels worse in some way. Like no matter what he does, he will never be good enough. Like he's the one who has to apologize to Geralt.

 

Like that would even fix anything.

 

The only redeeming part of this whole thing was Ciri. She was a sweet girl with the fire of a hundred suns trapped inside. Jaskier always delighted in playing for children. The way their faces lit up when he got to the best part of the song or how they would sequel and clap when the hero came out on top. You never got such expressive reactions from adults. Of course without his lute there was little to be played but Ciri seemed to enjoy his stories just as well. It provided a nice break from the harsh glares of a witch and the dismissive glances of his once-freind. 

 

She of course was not a toddler anymore so she did not have the over excited reactions of them but she would smile and nod along, coming to Jaskier when they had settled down for the night to ask if he had any more stories. He would smile and gestrue for her to sit down, saying that he always had more stories. 

 

He told her about Geralt.

 

As much as it pained him to do, she deserved to know about her father. That he was a good man despite what people said and despite how he treated Jaskier. Ciri deserved to think of the man taking care of her as a good man. So he told her about how he had fought off a whole town just to save a princess. How he had protected a dragon from blood hungry men. How he slayed beasts and monsters, not because it was who he was made to be but out of a sense of protection.

 

He knows Geralt can hear him half the time and it's part of the reason he tells these stories. He wants Geralt to trust him, no matter how often his heart tells him to run away from the man.

 

It gets worse.

 

It gets harder.

 

Every night another wound, every morning another withering look. Yennefer has decided that Jaskier telling Ciri stories just can't stand with her and thus will glare at him whenever the girl comes up to him for another one. It's honestly not his fault that she's a bad mother and a terrible story teller. He really doesn't feel bad about it. The smiles Ciri gives him are all worth a little more animosity between him and the witch he can't bring himself to respect.

 

Eventually there comes a night where Ciri, the dwarves and him are all gathered around the fire. Soon the caravan will have to leave them to finish the rest of the trip up the killer on their own. There is no way to get that cart up something like that. The horses should be fine, the ones that were made for the climb anyway but the cart would never make it.

 

Jaskier has settled into a mellow sort of state now, having come to terms with the shredded scraps of his barely healed over heart, he pours all his attentions onto the little girl to young to know as much pain as she does. Ciri keeps his focus away from the empty void in place of the loyalty he once felt for his friend.

 

So much so that he almost doesn't notice when Geralt and Yennefer slip away into the forest at night. Almost.

 

They do this often. When they think most everyone is asleep. Jaskier doesn't know what brings him to follow but this time feels different. Feels somber some how. Of course, he had never been under the impression that they were a happy couple but he had always thought that their unhappiness was half the fun for them.

 

He doesn't know what possesses him to follow this time. Curiosity or the fact that he can still see them through the trees so he knows they aren't fucking this time. He motions for Ciri to follow him as they both sneak up on the two of them, getting within earshot.

 

It's worse than he expected. Obviously, it's worse than he expected. It's his apology. It's his apology to Yennefer. And it's perfect. Their conversation is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. It's the type of communication Jaskier had thought Geralt was incapable of. The kind that had never once been extended to him.

 

He doesn't cry. He doesn't even feel the hot prick in his eye that always tells him that tears are coming. He knows deep down that he doesn't deserve it. That the small 'sorry' he had torn from Geralt's clutching hands was all he was worth. His stomach drops, and it feels like the floor is falling away. Ciri is snickering next to him, utterly oblivious to the underlying implications of their conversation.

 

There is a ringing in his ear that makes it hard to hear her response. He's not sure he really even wants to. To watch these two make up and forgive while he is left as the tag along favor for a man who couldn't even bother to write him. He's not sure if Geralt knew what he was during those two years, but he is sure that it wouldn't have been hard to figure it out.

 

He tries to joke around with Ciri. He really tires. But eventually it becomes too much when they hug. When he initiates it. He almost gags in his mouth and retreats with Ciri in tow. He feels shaky and off balance. Almost feverish with despair as he turns in way earlier than normal.

 

Curled up on his bed roll several feet away from the fire, he ignores the cheering laughter of the dwarves and Ciri's added commentary. He ignores Yennefer's snide but playful comments and Geralt's annoyed huffing at the noise. He shuts his eyes tight as more and more pain seeps in. He tries to block out the fact that he knows Geralt hasn't even noticed him disappear, the way he hasn't even noticed his lack of instrument or spare clothing. Just like he hadn't noticed the fucking hand print just beginning to heal over the back of his neck.

 

The pain that shot through his chest and down to his fingers was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and his eyes didn't stay dry for long. Geralt was going to kill him like this, and Jaskier would walk into death like he belonged there. If the only man who had ever tolerated him for longer than his performance treated him like this… then really he must deserve it. If someone as goodhearted and kind as Geralt was saw him as nothing more than an obstacle and a burden than that's what he was.

 

Tears slipped silently down his face as he tried to force himself into unconsciousness. He knows he's angry. He can feel that fury under his skin, but there is no time for it now. That anger has exhausted him and all he can do is try to rest and hope that it will be better tomorrow. Maybe he'll forget about it all and go back to the blissful ignorance of not knowing Geralt thought of the woman who had almost killed his daughter as someone more important than his only friend of twenty years.

 

He missed the tavern and the people. The lively music and the smiling faces. Those nights that passed without a single spared thought to his long-lost friend. When he would wink at Arden behind the bar and the man would flip him off or roll his eyes. He missed having someone, anyone he could rely on. He missed trusting the people he knew would not to leave him behind at the first turn in the road.

 

Because that was another thing. Jaskier was getting up earlier than everyone else. He'd have the cart packed and the fire doused before even Geralt got up. Knowing there was the slightest chance they simply left him behind put him in a dangerously paranoid state. If they left him here at the base of The Killer, there would be no way for him to get back into town, not before dehydration killed him at least. That or one of the monsters lurking around. Part of him thought that might not be so bad. Just to give up and walk away. Leave Ciri to her dysfunctional parents and try to scrape together what was left of his life on his own. He knew he'd never actually do it. If not for Geralt, than for Ciri, he couldn't abandon the poor girl like that. So he sucked it up.

 

Not exactly much else to do.

 

The dwarves departed after that. Then it was just Jaskier, the off and on again couple, and their child surprise. Now with no buffer of other bodies around Geralt and Yennefer's relationship seemed to mock him directly. That or it was the knowing looks and glares the witch sent him after every brush of their hands. It got old quickly. But he'd never known Yennefer to be anything other than cruel so he supposed it could be dealt with.

 

Nights grew colder as the days passed. The climb got harder and harder with each hour and it didn't help that Jaskier seemed to be the only one starting to feel it. This climb was not meant for a human and even one with elder blood in his veins such as Jaskier, would struggle with it.

 

It takes a week to climb The Killer. He had overheard Geralt telling Ciri that only for the girl to groan and reply back with 'I know'. In that complaining voice that teenagers always had. Ciri had been to the keep before. It was hardly surprising, considering how well trained she seemed to be. The moves that Arden had taught him for self-defense paled in comparison to the aggressive attacks he had seen Ciri perform during hunting. He felt slight pride at that, happy for the girl as he imagined Geralt trying to learn her into being a witcher.

 

The two parents and their child had taken to huddling together for warmth by the sixth day, leaving Jaskier of course to sleep on his own. He had the spot closest to the fire but… with each glance his charred fingers thrummed in pain and his neck ached with the phantom pressure of a heated hand.

 

So he stayed away, didn't let the warmth of the fire touch him for fear that it might take him back there. If anyone noticed they didn't say anything. For once Jaskier was glad for His seemingly utter invisibility when it came to the people he was helping. He really didn't need just another reason for Geralt to tell him that he was slowing them down and that he needed to go. At this point, they are practically rock climbing with how steep it is he would absolutely not make it down the mountain. He's only making it up the mountain because at the end of the day Geralt has enough energy to hunt for all of them.

 

He takes it as a win.

 

They arrive to the massive stone structure on the seventh day just when the sun has started it's decent. Just past midday, the keep is bathed in a golden light that shines through it's careful stonework in the most magnificent way. There is a large iron rot gate in front of a stone bridge. Beyond that, a large heavy wooden double door stands as the final protector to the safe haven of wolves.

 

Never once has Jaskier longed for his lute as he has in this moment. Even just his journal and pen would be fine. The building is worth half a dozen ballads at least, and that's just the outside. He'd say he understood why Geralt made the trek every year if he did not know that the man had absolutely zero care for such things as architecture.

 

None of the others look surprised to see it, simply stepping through the gate and walking toward the doors. Jaskier shakes out of his awe and follows close behind, not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of what he assumes is Geralt's family. Probably all tough witchers, just as gruff as he is. Jaskier honestly thinks maybe he should have thought this through a little more before agreeing. He's not sure if he can really handle more than one Geralt right now.

 

As the four of them pass through the gate and then approach the door, Jaskier's nerves sky rocket. Geralt is the one who pushes open the door, and they all step out of the howling cold and into the soft light of a lantern littered common room.

 

Jaskier's eyes trace the high ceiling as he takes in the beauty of the keep that continues to amaze him. He nearly stumbles over Ciri, who elbows him playfully in the side.

 

"Wolf!" A deep and aged voice calls from within the room, and Jaskier is broken from his beauty sated haze. He looks out over the long rectangular tables that fill the hall. They are sparse groups of witchers now but one stands out. The one currently walking toward all of them. An older witcher with gray hair rather than Geralt's white. He embraces Geralt in a warm hug. He also looks over him with an almost fatherly scrutiny before his gaze travels to the rest of them.

 

Everyone in the room is looking at them, Jaskier only pays attention to the witcher in front of them. He's had enough of the scowls he's come to recognize as a witcher trademark.

 

"And Yennefer, good to see you're still alive." The older witcher continues, and Jaskier again has another heart sinking moment. He doesn't know why he thought that the rule about not coming to the witcher keep wouldn't only apply to him. Yennefer and Geralt are soul bound in a way he could never possible hope to be, of course she came here. This was likely as much her home as it was his. Ciri bolts past them once Geralt and the older witcher separate, nearly jumping into his arms with a cry.

 

"Vesemir!" Ciri shouts, and the older - Vesemir - takes her into his arms with ease. Jaskier is sort of impressed by the muscle on him, but he supposes all witchers are like that. Ciri hugs him too and then jumps down to head further into the keep. Vesemir turns to Jaskier. The bard stuffiness as his expression turns to a harder one, a scrutinizing look that says a lot more like sizing up than a friendly once over.

 

"…And a… guest-" That stings a little, but he supposes it's fair. They've never met before so the implication that Geralt hasn't really talked about him shouldn't really hurt as much as it does.

 

"That's the bard." Geralt dismisses, and Jaskier's jaw clenches. The bard. Like a fucking pet to tote around who will sing a little song whenever you put another coin in.

 

"He doesn't have a lute." Another voice speaks from the small gathering of what Jaskier assumes to be wolf witchers at one of the tables. The bard tightens his posture even more. He feels looked at. No, he feels leered at as he turns to look at the other witchers. There are four in one place and a couple of other groups of two dotted around the place. It’s a red-haired one that calls out to him. There isn't so much a sneer on his face as a look of accusation. As if Jaskier is lying about being a bard.

 

"Funny thing about that is-" Geralt cuts him off with a glare and a grunt, and Jaskier shuts up. Right, he had forgotten how grating his voice could be on witcher hearing. Well, he'll just have to speak quieter now that he's in a keep full of them. He's sure that at least Geralt will be happy about that.

 

"Well... Jaska it's nice to have you. Geralt has spoken of you." Jaska…?

 

"Jaskier." He corrects through gritted teeth, and Vesemir suddenly looks very sheepish as his slightly threatening demeanor melts away. There is some snickering from the witchers behind him, and he can't be bothered to look over to know who it is.

 

Geralt clears his throat and gives Vesemir a pat on the back before following Ciri into the keep. Yennefer gets her turn for a hug, and Jaskier just sort of stands awkwardly as the room seems to relax back into comfortable chatter. Once finished with Yennefer, the older witcher comes to Jaskier and extends a hand. Jaskier looks at him, puzzled, but takes it. He's got a strong grip and Jaskier can't help but think that this is just another thinly veiled threat.

 

Jaskier tries to show he's not really that afraid. If these witchers are anything like Geralt the worst he'll get is a punch in the head for being stupid or too loud or running into danger, or causing problems, or singing too long. And even then it was clear Geralt was pulling his punches, likely cause he could actually do some damage if he tried. So Jaskier is not really afraid of witchers.

 

Vesemir's eyes study him for a moment before dropping to his neck, and a startled look of concern washes over him. Jaskier suddenly feels very afraid. Jaskier is tugged forward by that hidden strength and his head is pulled forward and down so he's looking at the floor while this older witcher looks at the angry-looking hand print on his neck.

 

"Oh- Eskel!" Vesemir calls out, and Jaskier is let back up before he can even process being moved. It's a jarring experience, and he reels for a moment, standing back up straight with a bewildered expression.

 

He stares at Vesemir as another, taller witcher joins them. He has dark hair and a kind face that has clearly seen the horrors of the path. This Eskel looks from Vesemir to Jaskier with the same studying expression. Jaskier would go to rub the back of his neck if it wouldn't send him into excruciating pain.

 

"How long have you had this?" Jaskier stares at Eskel with confusion. Why are they asking him this. What could they possibly hope to gain with this.

 

"A little more than a week…" He says with a careful tone. He is very uncertain.

 

"My- You haven't treated it with anything. It must hurt no?" What the hell kind of question is that. He's seen the damn thing. By now the other three from the table that Eskel had been sitting at have started to make their way over.

 

"Something up with the bard?" The red-haired witcher speaks again. Still his tone isn't exactly mocking but it isn't really kind either. Simply a nutral question.

 

"He's got burns on 'im-" Eskel calls out as the other three join them in surrounding Jaskier. The bard himself is starting to feel much like a dog in a cage to be poked with a stick at this point.

 

"Were you not aware of these?" Vesemir asks and Jaskier just turns to him like he's stupid.

 

"Was I not- Obviously, I know they are there. And they have been treated. The guard feared I may get an infection so they gave me something for it." Jaskier defends, taking a step back as they all seem to invade his space.

 

"When was that?" The witcher who stands next to the red head has long dark hair and a nicely cut beard. He stretches his neck as if to look behind the bard. Jaskier is starting to feel very overwhelmed by all of this attention from men he doesn't even know the names of.

 

"Before the hike here- There wasn't exactly a hospice on the way here and I doubt we would have had time to stop anyway." They all frown at him for that. It's strange, an emotion he has seen on Arden many times, but not once on the face of a witcher.

 

"We have things here to treat burns. Vesemir will help you in the lab." Eskel tells him with a slight frown, and Jaskier just looks at him, confused again. It's a little overwhelming to be surrounded by so many people. Especially people whom Jaskier knows could snap him in half if pushed to. He's not exactly on the weaker side when it comes to muscle. Twenty years on the path have left him in very fine shape, especially endurance wise but witchers are in a category all their own with their mutagens.

 

"I- It's already been treated." Jaskier stuttered out his response as the largest of the witchers, Eskel, lightly grasped his hand. He was quick to pull away from that in a hard flinch as rough, calloused fingers brushed his own charred ones. Eskel's frown deepened and he retreated his hand.

 

"Is there something wrong with yer hand too?" The red-haired witcher observes somewhat obnoxiously. He is quickly elbowed in the ribs by the one next to him with a quick hush. To which he takes great offense to.

 

"Lambert!" The one next to Lambert shushes. Ok slowly learning names.

 

"Come to the lab, we'll get you looked after." Vesemir gestures for him to follow and then begins to lead him further into the keep. The other witchers all seem to break off and go back to their seats. All except for Eskel, who almost walks behind Jaskier as a mock body guard. As if he was anything worth guarding.

 

He follows willingly into the keep as Vesemir takes twists, leading them to a large room with another vaulted ceiling. Eskel and Vesemir both step into the room with confidence, moving quickly around the space and clearing a place for Jaskier to sit. Jaskier just looks around the well-stocked room. It's another beautiful setting with natural light from a sun roof and drying herbs hung from anything they can be.

 

"Jaskier was it?" Eskel calls out, getting Jaskier's attention.

 

"Hm? Yes?" He hurries over to the two of them, not wanting to take up much of their time. He notices both of their eyes rake over his face and neck. It's been a week and a few days since he had taken those hits to the face so his bruises should be mostly cleared, but be knows what the burns look like. They do look concerning to say the least.

 

"Come sit here, take your shirt off." The older witcher instructs, pointing to a spot on one of the desks. Jaskier gives him a smirk and saunters over the best he can.

 

"Usually people at least buy me a drink before demanding such things" He says to Vesemir. He gets a light hearted huff for it as he complies. It's clear the man has little time for a bard's antics. Eskel on the other hand. Well, Jaskier has never known that witchers could turn that shade of pink before.

 

Jaskier puts his shirt down next to him and watches as Vesemir walks around to look at his back. He tries to sit up under such scrutiny, but that pulls on his skin. He can only really see Eskel now, and he can hear the other witcher shifting behind him, but turning his head that far is definitely a no go.

 

"Didn't Geralt treat these on the way here?" Eskel asks with that same slightly worried look on his face. Jaskier bites down a scoff at the idea of Geralt willingly tending his wounds. Usually, the best he got was dumped at a hospice like a child and then picked up later once he had been fixed. That was if Geralt was there when he was finished getting treated, usually it was him paying and leaving and then going out to find the witcher.

 

"No? I'm not sure he noticed. Anyway, I'm not his responsibility, " He answers back, feeling a little chastised when Eskel only frowns again.

 

"He should have had something with him to treat burns," Vesemir speaks from behind him, and Jaskier can't help but scoff at his words. That might have been true, but these were more superficial than anything else, and he doubted those would be used to help him treat his wounds. Especially not with that fire fucker on the loose. What if Ciri needed them?

 

"They aren't that bad. Meant to hurt, not maim. Besides, they're healing… slowly, but they're healing." He had never had burns like these. The light singe as he passed his hands too close to a fire sure, but never anything like this. It felt like his skin was overly dry and tender to the touch. Every twist would pull and hurt.

 

"Someone… did this to you?" He saw Eskel and Vesemir exchange a glance, and that was something he really didn't like. It looked like pity. But it could also be a worry. I mean, they would be worried enough with Nilfguard looking for Ciri, and here Jaskier was bringing in another threat.

 

"What?" He asks as he suddenly feels something very cold pressed to the back of his neck. He flinches away instinctively, expecting it to hurt, but it doesn't. It’s a thick paste of some sort that cools the skin under it. It's actually quite pleasant against his skin.

 

"Oh that is quite nice. Thank you. If I had known you all had magic fix it goop, I would have complained as soon as I got here." He chirps and rights himself so that Vesemir can continue with his work.

 

"Your hand was hurt?" Eskel reminds him, not reaching for his hand this time. Jaskier looks a little nervous but turns his right hand over so his palm faces up like an offering to the witcher. Eskel does take it this time. Jaskier braces for the rough handling that he tends to expect from the few times that Geralt has checked over his wounds. But it doesn't come. Eskel gently takes his hand around the wrist, its so soft that Jaskier can barely even feel his grip. It honestly surprised him.

 

"Vesemir?" He calls out to the older witcher without breaking eye contact with the trembling fingers.

 

"Yep." The wolf hands over the bowl that he was apparently working out of. Jaskier can now see the paste that's been crushed under a pestle. Its semi clear with a slight froth to it. He can see little bits of herbs in it that haven't been crushed all the way down. He can smell it now too. Mint being the most prominent, but there is something floral there too. Not entirely unpleasant but definitely clinical. The mint explains the cooling effect, though.

 

Eskel dips his two of his fingers into the mixture and gently spreads it over his fingers and part of his palm. He doesn't look up to Jaskier. Utterly focused on his task. Jaskier waits for both witchers to finish with him in a half confused, half amused state. It's a stark contrast to the harsh treatment he's come to expect in his life. 

 

"Geralt didn't notice this?" A third voice sounds from the door, and there is another witcher there, Lambert, if Jaskier remembers correctly. Then there is a fourth. The dark haired one who always seems to stick by Lambert's side.

 

"Ah yes, I do love it when you interrupt my work. Jaskier, Aiden, and Lambert. We don't usually let Cats into the den of wolves, but Aiden has made himself an exception." Jaskier's eyes light up at the new information. A cat! One of the schools he has heard so little about. He cannot wait to annoy the man into telling him everything.

 

"Yeah well, they're filthy, aren't they." Lambert winks at Aiden as they both stride into the room. Aiden bites his thumb at the other with a poorly conceled smile. Jaskier feels himself smile lightly at their jovial banter. After being surrounded by the harsh intensity of Geralt and Yennefer for a week, he could really get used to people with a bit more personality.

 

"But seriously. You said Geralt didn't notice this? Is he losing his sense?" Aiden speaks to him now, the two have come to stand at the desk along side the others to talk to him.

 

"Well I assume. He didn't say anything about it if he did, although with Geralt, silence is sort of a given." He jokes, and there is an understanding passed between them as Eskel finishes up with his little hand massage.

 

"But you're his… little… birdy?" Lambert looks utterly lost as to what their relationship is, and Jaskier can't blame him. He doesn't even really know where they stand now. It's all a bit shit at the moment.

 

"I used to be his barker. Get the locals to cut him a deal, and in return, he'd sometimes tell me about his adventures or let me tag along. I'd write songs for him. They have done fairly well, I'm sure you've heard at least one."

 

"And had you a lute, you could play them for us." Aiden soothes, and Lambert groans.

 

"If I hear that one about the coin one more time I might give up on the path altogether." Jaskier smiles and laughs. He can't even remember the last time he laughed. He decides he really likes the other witchers at Kear Morhen, and it's simply Geralt's problem that he hates him so much.

 

"Speaking of, my earlier question still stands bard, where is your tool?" Jaskier tries to cover the wince as he begins to sit up. Eskel is sort of in the way, though and doesn't let him fuly get off the desk. Apparently, from the look in his eye, they aren't done.

 

"Yes well. I did have it a few days ago, but I fear I ran into some trouble with a mage." He explains, not feeling very much like recounting that terrible night.

 

"Same one who gave you these." Vesemir asks, finished cleaning up the rest of his supplies, and coming around the front to take a look at Eskel's handiwork.

 

"Mhm- he was looking for Geralt and Ciri. Didn't believe me when I said I didn't know where they were. Personally, I think he was simply jealous of my talent. Smashed my lute over my head just to get that point across." Jaskier crosses his legs and leans forward onto them. They look a little more worried now.

 

"This mage? Has Geralt killed him?" Eskel asks carefully.

 

"Hell if I know. Bastard only came for me after the mage had his fun." Jaskier scoffs, and the others hum.

 

"Guess he's losing his touch if he couldn't even keep you out of trouble." Lambert laughs once, loud. Jaskier looks at him with confusion again.

 

Vesemir and Eskel have started to tend to his more minor wounds. The severe rope burn on his wrists mostly. It's lesser now but thrashing in pain for hours against coarse rope isn't great for the skin. His nose still feels tender but he doubts it was broken and the cuts on his face of scabed over and are healing nicely. 

 

"Geralt wasn't there with me…" Jaskier clarifies. There is no way these people don't know that they haven't been traveling together… right? Although, Vesemir couldn't even get his name correct, so maybe Geralt doesn't really talk about him at all.

 

"Was he out on a contract?" It's Aiden who speaks up this time, looking almost equally confused to Jaskier.

 

"…Geralt and I haven't traveled together in years…" There is an odd silence that follows the bard's words. Like no one was expecting them.

 

"He didn't- He didn't tell you guys?" Jaskier honestly can't decide if he's surprised at the fact that Geralt didn't seem to think his exit from the man's life to be worth mentioning to his family. Although if he had almost never referred to Jaskier by name, why would he be surprised.

 

"Damn, bard, no need to take it personally. I can smell the self-pity from here. Geralt doesn't talk about anyone." Lambert wrinkles his nose like he can actually smell it before spewing a half-truth. Jaskier's face turns up at the obvious lie. He's seen the comfortable way Yennefer strode in, hugging Vesemir.

 

"Geralt doesn't know anyone. The one other person he does know already seems to be pretty comfortable here." He tries not to have it come out as biting as it does. Eskel grimaces.

 

"She just sort of invited herself in one day." Eskel tries to comfort, but it does little even if Jaskier appreciates it.

 

"Yeah well, if your only freind is willing to throw twenty years of friendship out the window just cause he got a little pissy, I think it's only fair to take a few things personally." He deadpans, and Lambert scoffs again and crosses his arm.

 

"It couldn't have been that bad. We go years without seeing one another all the time." The red-haired witcher continues much to Aiden's glare.

 

"He told me that if he could, he'd ask the universe to kill me after blamed me for all the shit that's ever gone wrong in his life. Then he left me on a mountain to go chase violet eyed tail. Then utter silence for two years until he needed me for a favor. I don't exactly expect much from Geralt of Rivia these days." Jaskier finishes bitterly, holding Lambert's gaze as he speaks. Sure, it's not the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone but he feels rightfully angry about it.

 

Lambert doesn't respond. He just looks frustrated and then glances to Eskel. Eskel sighs as if some deeper understanding has passed through them.

 

"I'll talk to him, but really, It does mean something that Geralt talked about you at all." Eskel tries to comfort. It has the opposite effect.

 

"Right. Next time he decides I'm worth less than the dirt under his feet and throws me out, I'll be sure to thank him for the effort." Jaskier deadpans, and Aiden laughs at Eskel's wince.

 

"I like you bard. Don't think you won't be getting away from us as easily as you did Geralt." His tone is light hearted and Lambert seems to smile too. Something warm settles in his chest as he looks at the three of them. Eskel even looks apologetic, which is nice at least.

 

"Herde." Vesemir hands him a small metal tin with a healthy amount of that paste in it. Jaskier looks at him. He doesn't have any coin on him, all of his worldly possessions minus the clothes on his back are back either at the inn or guard house.

 

"Apply it to the burns whenever you can. It's good to keep them moisturized. Will help with the scaring too." Jaskier smiles at him as he looks from the tin to the old man.

 

"You're things are still out by the horses? I'm sure one of my boys can help you get them, as well as showing you to one of the warmer rooms." Vesemir eye's Eskel and the witcher straightens, offering a hand to help Jaskier down from the desk. It's all so kind the can't really understand it.

 

"Sure, but all you see is all you're getting. Pretty sure my life's possessions are now in the hand of some greedy Oxenfurt guard." Jaskier jokes, and he gets another frustrated face from the witchers.

 

"A long winter of constant washings are in order." He tries to lighten the mood again but still no one seems to be finding it humors.

 

"See to it he has a few changes of clothes as well." Vesemir speaks to Eskel and the witcher only nods. Jaskier frowns a bit at that, getting the impression that there is some subtext he is missing out on with the shared looks.

 

"Really, it's fine. I-" He tugs on his shirt and then coat before Eskel takes his arm again, guiding him towards the door.

 

"I don't really have the-" They are out the door before he can finish his sentence. The double doors shut behind them. Now he is alone in the stone halls with practically a stranger who has been assigned to show him around. He turns to Eskel to voice his concerns, but the witcher is already talking.

 

"Vesemir can be a bit militant when there's something that needs doing. You won't owe him for this or anything else here." Eskel does little to reassure him, but hearing the words is nice.

 

"Hm, it would be nice to have at least something else to wear. And soap, ugh I haven't bathed in days. I can't imagine that's very pleasant for your witcher noses." Jaskier grimaces at the thought.

 

"We have a keep full of sweaty bullheaded witchers, I assure you it isn't your scent that bothers me." Eskel raises an eyebrow and Jaskier can't help but crack a smile.

 

"But I've heard we have the finest hot springs on the whole mountain." Eskel gives him a playful side eye as they walk down the hall. Jaskier perks up at the hot springs. He's been to false ones made by witches with too much time on their hands, but never a real one. Would it even be safe temperature wise? He doesn't think he really wants that kind of heat on the back of his neck or his hand.

 

"We'll get you settled and then I'll show them to you. We should also wrap your burns, your hand might be tricky, but your neck should come easily enough. Jaskier winced at the reminder. It wouldn't even matter if he got another lute if he couldn't play it.

 

"Right… my hand. How bad is it? I may not have my lute now, but I will eventually need to pick my career back up." He examined the few fingers, still slathered in the paste that Eskel had worked into them.

 

When he looked up to the witcher for an answer, it looked grim.

 

"Functionally, we aren't worried about your hand… but there will be some discomfort or pain if you try to get back into string instruments so early into recovery. At best, you'll just have to rebuild your callouses. At worst, the scaring will be painful to work with, but it shouldn't keep you from playing completely. Just maybe for long periods of time as the skin will be tender,"

 

It's not the answer that Jaskier is looking for, but it's better than nothing. He can deal with the pain if it means he can play again, hopefully.

 

"Here, this is one of the warm ones. My room is down that way, you'll see my marker if you look." Eskel had led him down one of the stone halls and then to one of the many doors. Jaskier opened the space and looked in. There was a barren bed and a fireplace with a frosted glass window and a small pile of old-looking firewood. All and all, not very inviting but workable.

 

"Ah- right. I'll get you some Furs and I'm sure there is a bit of flint around here somewhere." Jaskier's body flashes cold for a moment as he's reminded that he will have to light the fire for the winter. Whenever he looks at the flames, all he can hear is the click of fingers with the scent of his charred hand. It aches now in remembrance.

 

"S-sure. You said I needed to wrap my wounds. I don't have any gauze, I'm afraid, do you think that will affect my healing?" Eskel began to turn to go and get said furs, but stops to look at him with that same infuriating look that they had all been giving him. It's one he doesn't really understand.

 

"I'll wrap them for you, you should let me do it with your hand like that anyway but; as you can probably tell, I have some experience taking care of wounds." He smiles, and it pulls at the scar over his mouth. Jaskier is tempted to ask about it, curiosity getting the better of him. Mostly, he wants to know if it hurts him at all, it looks like it hurts.

 

"I- Sure. But the hot springs… I don't really want to feel that on my burns."

 

"Don't worry, they aren't that deep. You can sit on the ledge and keep your hand out of the water, that will keep your burns dry. First, let’s get you set up with bedding and some more clothing. You'll thank me when winter really starts." Eskel turns to walk further down the hall, and Jaskier can't help but imagine a witcher keep frozen over in the icy winds of a mountain's winter. It cannot be pleasant.

 

The bedding is mostly furs, which makes sense. There are also some burlap blankets to for an extra layer and then something cotton too that is softer. Eskel hands him a bundle as well as a straw pillow. He also comes back with a bundle of tough-looking pants and a few shirts. Eskel matches Geralt's height, which is only about an inch or two taller than Jaskier and although Jaskier isn't as wide as either of the witchers but he is just as built. Meaning that the clothing, which he assumes is Eskel's, is going to be a good fit. It's honestly more than he could ask for.

 

After setting up his bed, cotton then burlap, then fur, He gathers a change of clothing and turns back to the witcher standing in the door. Eskel has just watched him impassively, waiting for him to set up the room to his liking so they can head down toward the hot springs.

 

"Shall we?" Jaskier asks, stepping out and setting the marker to occupied. He is starting to feel very pampered now with an, admittedly very handsome witcher looking after him. He's a fool for a pretty face, what can he say?

 

"I'm sure Aiden and Lambert are already there waiting for us. Coen too If we're lucky." Eskel huffs, walking in Jaskier's stride while subtly leading the bard toward the hot springs.

 

"Hm, Coen?" The name is foreign on his tongue.

 

"He was sitting with us in the dinning hall?" Jaskier remembers the other witcher, the only one who hadn't spoken with him in the beginning.

 

"Oh yes. We have not been officially introduced, but I'm sure you've got that covered as my dutiful guide." He puts a playful tone on the end of his words, and Eskel is shows that wonderful pink color again. Jaskier can't help but grin at it.

 

"If he's not there he'll be there at dinner, you are welcome to join me and the others there as well if you are up for it? It's clear that Aiden has taken a liking to you so you might not have a choice in the matter. Cat's are possessive in that way." Jaskier's heart does a little flip in his chest at the invitation. Literally anything not to have to sit next to Geralt and Yennefer for an entire meal. He could not take another night of awkward tension and half-assed attempts and reconciling.

 

The walk to the hot springs is fairly short. It’s leads back through the main hall, which is mostly vacated now, and then through another hall that leads to another set of big wooden double doors. There is clearly a theme in the keep.

 

Eskel gives him a knowing smirk before opening the door for him. The sight that greets Jaskier is well worth a little smugness on the witcher's behalf.

 

The door opens onto a cliff edge, surrounded on two walls and capped by natural stone and on a third by the wall of the keep. The fourth side it open to the view of the mountainside and the forest below. The way the indent is angled keep the pools safe from the current winds so the steam rises lazily and hangs in the air. The pools themselves are four in total, divided by uneven stone walls. There are little carved wooden shelves that hold a few folded sets of clothing, and a few cloths for drying around as well. In the water, there are a few witchers that Jaskier doesn't recognize and two that he does.

 

Aiden and Lambert are practically in each other's laps with how close they are sitting. Everyone is completely naked. Jaskier is immediately in love.

 

"Hey Bard! Settling in alright?" Aiden perks up and shouts as Jaskier and Eskel move to undress. They set their clothing down on the wooden shelves, and Eskel gets out a roll of yellowish fabric and a few hemp strings.

 

"Your dear Eskel has been kind enough to fix me a room for the night." He pats Eskel's shoulder as he makes his way over to the pool. Eskel is close behind him, and Jaskier notices that the scars on his face do not stop there. He does let his eyes linger for moment as he imagines what they would feel like under his fingers, if the sensation would be pleaseant or uncomfortable for the witcher. 

 

"Come sit." Eskel beckons as he takes a place on the edge of the pool, Aiden and Lambert share. His feet tip tentatively into the water as he sits, and Jaskier follows his lead.

 

"If you keep playing nurse maid my friend, I might just have to stay." Jaskier jokes as he sits next to the man. Lambert chuckles to his side, and Aiden smiles. Eskel chuffs and holds out his hand to take Jaskier's. Jaskier has no hesitation when he puts his injured hand into Eskel's this time. The witcher notices and gives an appreciative smile.

 

Eskel tears a piece of the cloth with his mouth and then begins to carefully wrap it around Jaskier's pointer and index finger. He goes around his wrist to cover the burnt parts of his palm as well, and then tucks it under itself to keep it from slipping while he ties on the small hemp string to keep everything in place. It's not terribly tight, but he can feel the pressure there that wasn't before. 

 

"Yeah no kidding bard, if Lambert did that for me I'd stick around too." Aiden jokes with a jab to the man his legs are currently laid over. Lambert rolls his eyes before responding in a somewhat offended tone.

 

"I'd do that shit all the time if you stopped hiding all your wounds until they nearly killed you." Lambert splashes him in response, and Aiden laughs.

 

"There you go, now turn around and I'll see about your neck." Eskel, oblivious to the conversation, has his entire attention on Jaskier. Jaskier follows, pulling his hands into his lap to examine the wrappings and turning so Eskel can look at the back of his neck.

 

"Would you mind holding your hair out of the way?" Eskel prompts, and Jaskier reaches back with his good hand to lift his longer hair out of the way of the nurse' work.

 

"So are you two together?" Jaskier looks down at Aiden and Lambert in the pool; he has a better view of them now that he's turned this way.

 

"Yeah, ten years now. That a problem bard?" Lambert near threatens, and Jaskier laughs at his tone. As if he would ever have a problem with that.

 

"Oh no little lamb far be if for me to speak with a hypocrite's tongue." He clearly gets his point across as Lambert relaxes into his lover's hold, blushing slightly at the misunderstanding. Aiden looks just as pleased.

 

"I knew I liked you birdy, that why you've been teasing pour Eskel here?" Aiden blinks his eye lashes up at Jaskier, and Jaskier can almost feel Eskel tense even if he's not touching the bard yet.

 

"I'm hardly one to stay away from a pretty face. Especially one with such gentle hands," Jaskier turns his neck as much as he can to give Eskel another teasing look. Eskel is looking anywhere but his eyes, trying to work on treating Jaskier's wounds without the distraction.

 

"Oh hush bard, you're just using me for my medical services." Eskel responds, and Jaskier gives a light chuckle in response

 

"Alas, from what I've seen your skill is unmatched, and that's nothing to be said about your bedside manor." Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows, and Eskel pokes him in the ribs. Aiden and Lambert and laughing now, and Jaskier can't help but relax into the steamy atmosphere. It's nice here, he thinks. He was honestly prepared to spend an entire winter with only the company of Ciri and the rats that might invade his room. This has been a pleasant surprise.

 

Eskel's hands, true to Jaskier's word, are gentle as they begin to wrap around his neck. The cloth is soft on his skin but firm in it's hold. The pressure is uncomfortable but not painful. It pressed on the burn at the back of his neck but with the left over paste there it just felt like a cooling rag placed over it. Mostly, it was the pressure on his wind pipe that was the worst of it.

 

Eskel finished this off much the same, but rather than tying another bit of string there, he tore off a thinner piece of fabric and used that to tie around his neck, making Jaskier hold two fingers in front of his throat before he did.

 

"There, that just about does it. You aren't actively bleeding so these wont need to be replaced every time you reapply the cooling solution, but when you want them redone, you can come find me and I'll help you with them." Eskel gives a warm smile, setting down the supplies and slipping into the water with little more fuss.

 

"Thank you Eskel, this was… very kind of you. If I ever get feeling back in my fingers you'll have my first song back." He grins as he goes to also slip into the water. The steam is warm, but he is ready for a full body soak in very hot water. The water comes up to around just under his shoulders, and he leaves his right hand on the edge so neither wound gets wet.

 

"It's no problem Jaskier, you're part of the keep now. I just wish Geralt had taken action earlier." He frowns as he mentions his brother. Clear disappointment in him written over his face.

 

They leave the topic there for now as the witchers and bard sink into comfortable conversation for the duration of their relaxing afternoon. The water is perfect for such things, and Jaskier doubts he will ever be able to take a regular bath ever again, officially spoiled by the hot springs at Kear Morhen. Not that he really minds all that much.

 

By the time that Vesemir alerts them that dinner is ready, Jaskier has found himself comfortably slotted into the three witcher's dynamic. It turns out Geralt is the only witcher who has a weird complex about talking. Aiden and Lambert are all to happy to have someone new to prod at. Jaskier is all to happy to tell them everything about everything.

 

As it turns out, Geralt talking about him was mostly Geralt complaining about him. The reason Vesemir, and apparently everyone else didn't know his name was because the man always refereed to him as 'the bard'. Jaskier hates how much it stings him. Really, he shouldn't be surprised.

 

Really, he shouldn't.

 

Even when he can feel the hurt claw into his chest just like it always does, making his throat tighten in a way that it feels impossible to do anything but struggle to breathe.

 

But this time there is a hand on his shoulder, a wet hand that is carefully avoiding his still dry wrappings and feels rough from sword-wielding. One that squeezed when he made a dumb joke about his changed appearance since the last time Geralt saw him.

 

It doesn't fix it but it feels like it did when Arden did it. Something kind for the sake of being kind rather than because he needs the pity.

 

Dinner passes semi uneventfully. Jaskier joins his new witcher friends at their place and finally meets this Coen, a Griffin who only really comes up here sometimes. He is quieter than Aiden and Lambert who join Jaskier in carrying the bulk of the conversation but when he does speak it's pleasant and insightful. Jaskier takes him to be something of an intellectual this way, and he can respect that, being an academic himself.

 

He spots Ciri sitting with her parents, talking their ear off about her training or something. Jaskier only looked up to make sure she was here and not lost somewhere in this maze of a place. Then he is back to the conversation offered up to him.

 

The food is good, and so is the company and Eskel even escorts him back to his room afterward as the sun sets. Again, Jaskier is weak to a little bit of arm candy so he lets him and thanks him again for his kindness, assuring him that it was really not necessary. Eskel of course, brushes him off and wishes him a good night. Jaskier is a little bit struck by that; he's not sure if anyone has wished him a good night. Even Arden would just playfully put him in bed with a 'fuck off Jaskier go to sleep'. The memory makes him smile as he watches Eskel retreat further down the hall toward his own room.

 

Then Jaskier is left with a warm feeling in his chest that feels suspiciously like friendship and a room made up for him because there are people who want him here and enjoy his company. It's a nice feeling, and Jaskier doesn't think that he really ever wants to let go.

 

He looks around the room, at his borrowed clothing and his taken bed, and the small piece of flint on the mantle of the fireplace with three pieces of wood already stacked up there. He feels wanted. Like he has a place, if only temporary, it's still a large step up from the tavern he was staying in, getting raided by the guard after being tortured in said tavern. He's not sure where he will go after this, but at least for now he has a place here.

 

He doesn't touch the fire supplies, he will when he needs to but he really doesn't want to end this nice day with cowering in fear from his own damn fireplace. So he ignores it, stripping off his coat and climbing under the three layers of his bed and kicking off his boots. He cuddles into himself and settles under the soft cotton against his skin. He holds his injured hand to his chest and bends it as much as the bandages will allow. It's not long before he is dropping into a warm and safe sleep.

 

 

That peace doesn't last long.

 

It's only a few hours into the night when a commotion outside his door wakes him from his rest. He feels groggy from the deep sleep the comfort he was feeling, had put him in. In a slight daze, he raises his head and looks to the door, listening for another noise.

 

"I can't fucking believe you!" The muffled shout sobers him slightly as he sits up. It's Yennefer's voice, and she sounds furious. Honestly, when isn't she. He's just about to go back to sleep when he hears the second voice.

 

"Yen…" It's Geralt because who else would it fucking be, and his voice has a sort of pleading quality to it. Jaskier is wide awake now.

 

"No! I don't want to hear it, I- I'm leaving. I cannot stay cooped up in here like that. I won't!" She cries out, and Jaskier is already out of bed and walking toward the door to tell them both to shut up and let him sleep.

 

"What about Ciri!" Geralt tries in a last-ditch effort. Yennefer just scoffs, and Jaskier winces.

 

"Call Triss. If you're really so worried about it." Her tone is much colder than the passionate declaration before, and Jaskier suspects that this might not have been the first time Geralt has 'called Triss'.

 

He is about to open it when Geralt wrenches the door open first. He stands there in front of Jaskier looking utterly wrecked, and something in Jaskier's heart clenches painfully for his friend. He doesn't see the man who left him on the mountain or the one who thinks of him as less than dirt. He just sees a man who has been hurt over and over again by the same witch. The one he always sees when Geralt comes to him after they fight.

 

Geralt has no right to his comfort, but he is a broken soul, and he wants what he cannot have. So he sighs and opens his arms to his friend, letting Geralt into his room to help soothe his broken heart.

 

The man slumps heavily into Jaskier's arms but does not hug him and Jaskier feels some relief at that. At least they still have this, no matter how far they drift, they still have this.

 

"Geralt…?" He wants to probe for answers, but he knows he won't get any.

 

"Sh- Just-." Jaskier nods and guides them to the bed. He sits Geralt down and then climbs in himself. Pulling with witcher so that Geralt is half lying on him, he runs his hand out the back of Geralt's neck and over the back of his shoulders.

 

Geralt seems to sink into that fidgety sort of relaxation that Jaskier has only ever been able to get out of him. Then slowly, sleepily, Geralt drapes an arm over his stomach and then around his waist. Jaskier hates the fluttering in his gut he feels. He is frustrated that it has taken so little for him to give in.

 

This isn't the first time this has happened. Whenever Yennefer freshly ditches Geralt, he is there to pick up the pieces. They never talk about it, they never talk at all during these times. He is just a comforting presence to make Geralt feel better, and he's fine with that. He's happy to be useful to his friends. This is what friends do of course. It's what Arden did for him for two years, so he can suck up his hurt feelings for this right...

 

"mmh Yen~ s-stop moving." oh.

 

Jaskier blood runs cold at the words. He was wrong, he is not a comforting presence, he is less than that. A warm body for Geralt to fantasize about. That's all he is to the man. Something he can pretend is someone. He hadn't even realized his hands had stilled or that Geralt had dropped off. Has this what he has always been? … A replacement. Nothing more than a place holder for that witch. His chest feels so tight it started to hurt. He feels sick and used. The self-disgust so potent it might physically choke him. Suddenly, the gentle wrappings around his neck feel all too tight.

 

Is that what the others saw him as too? Someone pretending to be a person. Nothing fills the space in preparation for someone real. Someone who deserves that kindness, this comfort. How could he have ever thought this it would ever be meant for him. He is worthless to them. To all of them. Taking and taking, scrambling in the dark to find any sense of hope, and he had thought he had found it here. He must really be the stupid bard that Geralt had always known him to be.

 

He bites his tongue around the harsh tears that threaten him. He can't deal with Geralt seeing him like this. Getting another look at how truly pathetic he is. He wouldn't be able to- he can't.

 

Jaskier's breathing gets steadily harsher and harsher, his body shakes slightly as the pain in his chest grows and grows until it's the only thing he can feel. The only thought in his head is that he is dying and that Geralt will still use his body for the only thing he is good for, a stand-in.

 

Geralt, if he's awake, doesn't move, and Jaskier panics and panics as his body is overwhelmed with fear. A gripping fear that sinks it's claws in deep and carves out any sense of joy or wonder Jaskier had felt. He passes out soon after that, the hyperventilation shutting down his brain like a light switch. Geralt still doesn't notice, and by the time Jaskier wakes up, he will be gone.

 

 

It only takes a few hours before Jaskier jolts back to life, alone and cold in a bed that doesn't belong to him anymore. The blankets haven't been bothered to be put back over him, and he's pretty sure the door is slightly open. He is freezing. Openly shivering as the fireplace isn't lit, and his shirt alone isn't a good enough defense against the cold of the keep.

 

He does cry this time. Curling up under the covers, he pulled back over himself and clutched his good hand over his nose and mouth as horrible, silent sobs ran through his body uncontrolled. It's violent and messy, and it's exactly what he deserves. He chose to come here after all. That puts all of this on his shoulders.

 

His mind runs wild in a spiraling mess of self-deprecation. It's everything he worked so hard to get over mucked up and resurfaced after a single night trapped in a witcher keep with his- with Geralt. He doesn't have the right to call them friends anymore. Someone like Geralt isn't friends with someone like him. At best, he is a pet to be dragged along and interacted with on the other's terms. Less than that if how he treats Roach is anything to go by.

 

Eventually, he makes up his mind.

 

He has to leave.

 

He has to get out of here before Geralt kills him with his words. Last night, he had thought he was dying, and he was honestly surprised to have woken up this morning. Is it possible to die of a broken heart because Jaskier feels he came pretty damn close last night.

 

He feels the tears non-stop as he numbly gets out of bed. It's still dark outside, and there should be no one up. He changes back into his old clothing, leaving Eskel's clothing neatly folded as well as the bedding. He is nothing, he is nothing. He is nothing, and nothing wouldn't take these things, doesn't deserve these things. He doesn't deserve these kindnesses.

 

His eyes are blank and unseeing, and his hands tremble with the cold. He puts the tin of paste along with the rest of the things he has unfairly used. None of it belongs to him. You cannot have possessions when you are nothing.

 

He leaves the room untouched by him, taking down the marker that defines it as occupied.

 

No one lives here.

 

With little more thought Jaskier pulls on his boots and makes his way back through the keep. At night, it's harder, but the sparse windows provide enough light to see by. Once he's in the main common area he can see the front door's bathed in the moonlight. His escape.

 

He pushes the door open with a heavy sigh and steps out into the cold. It hasn't snowed yet this winter. but he can almost feel it in the air. It doesn't matter. He can't stay here, and it doesn't matter what the conditions are out there, he is already dead. Already rotted into the ground on the mountain at Caingorn, maybe even before that. Maybe he was always nothing, never meant to be loved or wanted.

 

He stumbles out into the night unseeing, closing the door behind him with one final heave. It's so quiet now. There are no sounds other than his own breathing on the mountain. He staggers forward, away from the pain and the heart break. On the bridge, he falls to his knees and cries. Cries hard, as if forcing the last vestiges of hesitation from his body.

 

His head throbs with dehydration, and his whole body shakes in the cold. This is what he deserves, he thinks. Out here with the animals and the cold. This is what he deserves.

 

With another step and then another, he gets to his feet and takes off into the night, somewhere in the direction of the path down. It won't matter if he finds it or not, he won't make it down on his own, but it's a nice thought.

 

Maybe, if he were a real person, he would be allowed dreams of the future. But as it stands, he isn't.

Notes:

I did tag this hurt/comfort... didn't? Oh yea... you have to wait a little longer for that :)

Also that bad person Geralt tag is no joke.

Chapter 3: Eskel

Summary:

Eskel finds out about Jaskier leaving the keep in the morning and peices together exactly what happened after going after him along with Aiden and Lambert

From the moment the bard had stepped through the doors of Kear Morhen, Eskel had known something was wrong. Even from across the room, he caught the scent of pain, and a slight fear that seemed to cling to the man like a heavy fur coat. He looked to Geralt to see if there was an explanation for the way the bard was shaking. Geralt seemed to be ignoring the situation. Which made Eskel frown.

 

So true to his fashion, when his father greets the bard, no doubt smelling exactly what everyone else in that room was smelling, he calls Eskel over, and the rest of their little group follows.

 

Getting closer, the smell is stronger, and Eskel needs to hold back a wince at the stench of burnt flesh. It's old, but raw, and unfiltered through wrappings or salve. The realization that the bard, Jaskier as he introduces himself, has untreated burns across his body is extremely worrying. Looking at the back of the man's neck is a whole other ordeal. It's not infected, by some miracle. But it still looks extremely rough and although he is clearly trying to ignore the pain of the wounds there is a twinge to his face that makes Eskel think that he can feel every movment of skin there. 

 

He can feel Vesemir worrying beside him, and for good reason too, the bard's whole body looks like it aches. Everything from the way he stands to the way he breathes is painful. Something sympathetic inside Eskel reaches out to him and wants to soothe everything that ails him.

 

When Vesemir asks him to help Jaskier with him, Eskel can only think it's the next step in the interaction. Never once does he even consider letting Jaskier go the rest of the winter in this condition. It would be cruel to ignore such a thing. Which only leads him to more confusion as to why Geralt had apparently not seen a need to at least wrap the wounds. Especially the one on his neck. If it had become infected a week ago, the infection would have spread to his blood by now. In such a crucial place, it would have been fatal. 

 

He finds Jaskier to be pleasantly surprising. He is polite and sarcastic and seems to get along very well with Aiden and Lambert, which is good. He complains very little about the pain, even though they can all smell it on him. There are times when he gets this look of confusion at what Vesemir and him are doing, like he can't even comprehend the kindness being done to him but other than that there is something delightfuly charming about the man.

 

Eskel's fears are stoked when Jaskier talks about Geralt; however, the biting fury is barely hidden behind small comments and clenched fists. The smell of utter despair mixed so deeply into his scent. He becomes even more worried when he sees the rest of Jaskier. Taking his shirt off for the treatment, it becomes clear that this is nowhere close to the first major wound. Scars dot the bard's skin; they range from whip marks to claws to bite marks. He looks like… well, he looks like he's seen battle like a witcher. Something else Eskel notices is the way Jaskier is built. He had known that Geralt had traveled with a bard for a very long time, but he didn't put together how that would shape a human body, or mostly human body.

 

Needless to say, Jaskier looks good. Rugged in a way that is hidden behind his light clothing and a flowy leather coat. Eskel had never had really a type per se, when you are a witcher, you don't exactly get to be choosy. In whore houses he was always drawn toward the person who smelt the least like fear, and he'd had a few men before, but there was a special beauty to the bard. Masculine in a light way, and terribly handsome. Eskel had no doubt the bard was very popular when he performed.

 

He went gently as he massaged the cleansing solution into Jaskier's palms. Trying to ignore the way the bard's scent had sweetened when he had gotten closer. Or the flirtatious compliments when he should really be focused on healing the man.

 

The more time he spent with him, the more he came to enjoy his company. Setting up the man's room, and then giving over some of his own clothing to assist him though the winter. He had suggested the hot springs initially because he couldn't stand the way Jaskier seemed to be in pain. Climbing The Killer was no easy feat, and for a human, it had to be excruciatingly difficult without the witcher's stamina. He would have hoped that his brother would have been aware enough to go slower up the path, taking into account that he had non-witchers with him, but more and more it seemed like Geralt was completely oblivious to the scent of Jaskier's pain and discomfort.

 

Eskel had promised the other witchers that he would talk to Geralt once he had gotten the chance, but ended up spending the rest of the day nursing the bard and lounging at the hot springs with Aiden and Lambert. After a wonderful first dinner in the keep, Eskel had learned quite a bit more about the interesting bard. He was a runaway noble from Lettenhove, off to be a bard just like he had always dreamed. There was something wistful in his eyes when he talked about it, and Eskel couldn't help but be wrapped in his attentions. Jaskier was truly in his element when he was telling stories. Yes. He was likely a very impressive bard.

 

Eskel couldn't help but mourn the fact that his lute had been destroyed, his voice, just when talking, held a sing-song quality, and the witcher could only hope that one day he would get to hear Jaskier sing. Of course, he knew some of the songs, having walked the path the last twenty years; it was hard to miss them, but hearing the bard sing himself would no doubt ruin all other performances of the songs.

 

Then the night was over, and Eskel took it upon himself to walk Jaskier back to his room with the reminder to reapply the salve and rewrap his wounds as well. Now, as he lingers in the scent of distress fading from Jaskier's tired eyes, he has to question what had affected him so badly as to start smelling like that. He was glad to contribute to the subtle sweetening of the bard's scent over the course of the night, but there was still the nagging issue of his brother's neglect. So many curiousities that Eskel looked forward to learning about as he got to know the new guest at the keep.

 

It dug under his skin as he slipped into his own room. An issue for tomorrow, he would wake the sweet bard to help him reapply and wrap his wounds. It was the least he could do for a guest of the witcher keep. Besides, if he ever wanted to hear Jaskier play, he would need to do whatever he could to heal that charred hand. He shivered at the reminder. It was a terrible thing to do to a bard. Injuries for the sake of pain, but this was a particular cruelty.

 

He frowned as he stripped and lit a fire before bed. Tomorrow the wounds would be better, and he would get to see Jaskier again. He would have to talk to his brother, but that would be nothing compared to the strange excitement he felt for the newest guest in the keep.

 

The next time Eskel woke, it was choking on the thick scent of distress. Heavy in the air like an omen. Even worse, it only gets worse in the hall.

 

When Eskel tears out of his room, he can see the other witchers starting to stir as well. Several blinking blearily out of their rooms as if annoyed to have been disturbed. Eskel dresses quickly and shoves on his boots as he sets out to find the source of the scent.

 

It's cloying as he gets closer to Jaskier's room. His heart drops, and drops as he realizes that's exactly where it's coming from. He doesn't hesitate to force his way in, not that it's needed, as he finds the door slightly open. The scent is overwhelming here; it's soaking into the bed and walls. Eskel's spare clothing is neatly folded on a made bed along with the tin of salve, and there is no sign of Jaskier. The witcher doesn't know why his heart sinks into fear so quickly, but it is soon replaced with confusion, and then rage as he realizes Jaskier's distress is not the only scent in the room.

 

No. There is also Geralt's. Faint as it is, it's centered around the bed… Eskel doesn't even think before he flies into a rage. Tearing out of the room and down toward Geralt's. By now, the other witchers are awake and alert to the obvious commotion. Eskel vaguely registers Lambert and Aiden tickling out of their shared room, but he doesn't care right now. His mind is one-tracked and blinded in its pathing. He pushes past Coen, trying to get answers from him, and kicks in Geralt's door in a loud 'BANG', as it swings, and crashes into the stone wall.

 

The other witcher is still in his bed, sleeping soundly until the noise shakes him. Eskel doesn't hesitate. His hands were on his brother before Geralt could manage to get out of bed. He drags the wolf from his bed and sleep, holding him harshly against the ground by the collar of his underclothes.

 

"What the fuck did you do to Jaskier!" Geralt scowls at him, his mouth turning down in a confused frown.

 

"…what." It only sparks a harsher reaction from Eskel as Geralt starts to fight to get up. Eskel isn't having it, and rams the other witcher back down into the ground with a growl that says 'stay down'.

 

"What did you do to Jaskier?" He asks, slower this time, his rage simmering into a quiet fury that boils under his skin.

 

"Nothing." Eskel is at a continuous growl now.

 

"You were in his room last night, and now the scent of his distress is all over the keep." Eskel's scared face pulls back in a snarl and his eyes narrow. He's about to hit the other witcher in a rage when Lambert appears in the doorway.

 

"Esk- Jaskier's left the keep." Lambert looks slightly spooked, but there is a hardness to his voice. The same kind of determination they all get when they are worried. Eskel doesn't break his growl as he responds. Something cold flashes through him as he registers Lambert's words. Jaskier is out in the cold of the mountain for Melitele knows how long , and he knows for certain that it's Geralt's fault.

 

"Pack our things. We're going after him." He directs Lambert; his eyes don't leave their brother.

 

Geralt looks a bit surprised, but mostly frustrated. Like this whole ordeal is just an annoyance for him.

 

"I spoke to him last night, and he was fine. He helped me with something. Bard's probably just overestimating his own abilities; he'll come back once he gets too cold." Geralt grumbles, finally giving in to Eskel's questions. Eskel feels nothing but disgust as his thoughts on his brother are all but confirmed. He is utterly gutted to know the man isn't who he had thought he was, but there's no time for it. Every minute he spends here is one less he can spend looking for Jaskier. Maybe one less that Jaskier has.

 

"Esk- We're ready, leave him. We're going." Aiden's tone is commanding as he gets Eskel for the ride. Eskel gives one last glare to Geralt as he shoves him back and geting off. Then, following Aiden out, he's handed his cloak and satchel.

 

He is tossed his swords by Lambert as he mounts Scorpion with determination. Lambert and Aiden are quick behind him, similarly dressed in their armor, and cloaks. They ride out of the large gate at a canter, even with the winter winds. Jaskeir's scent is potent, and it only speaks of heartbreak and distress. It makes all the witchers scowl. Even having only met him for a day, they are still all saddened by knowing their new friend is hurting and in danger.

 

The first snow hasn't fallen, and Eskel thanks whatever deity there is that this is the case. Even if it would make tracking Jaskier easier, they have no idea how long the bard has been out here, and snow would make the task of survival impossibly harder. Right now, as long as Jaskier has found somewhere out of the wind, he could still be ok. Perhaps he has lit a fire in preparation for heading down the mountain or perhaps he is still walking. That is a good option too, keeping himself moving so that his blood does not freeze.

 

Eskel clings to these notions even if the small, rational voice in the back of his head says that the bard didn't leave the keep with the intent to make it back down the mountain. He is likely still sore from the climb up, and with those injuries… Eskel shivers at the thought, his mind circling back to what's important.

 

"Did he take anything from the kitchen? How prepared is he for the wind?" Eskel shouts over to the two other witchers. Aiden gives him a discouraging frown and shakes his head. Eskel feels that sinking feeling in his gut again as he imagines Jaskier in only the clothes on his back. He was going to get himself killed like this. Eskel doesn't stop the growl in his throat.

 

"Damn, bard didn't take rations!?" Lambert shouts as he joins the conversation.

 

"Lamb… He wasn't trying to make it back." Aiden says slowly, coming to the same conclusion that Eskel had a moment before. A look of shock spreads over him as he takes in his lover's words.

 

"Good thing we're bringing all the things he left behind then!" Lambert responds, trying to keep the mood calm as the other two are clearly starting to get in their heads.

 

As they ride, Eskel flares his nose, drinking in as much of the air as he can. Even opening his mouth to fill his lungs. He calls out a direction change, but the others are already making it. Each one, getting more, and more desperate as the minutes tick by. There is evidence of Jaskier's path through the woods; he doesn't stick to the road, it's like he doesn't have a direction he's supposed to be going. Weaving back and forth along the mountain, running into a dead-end cliff, and then doubling back.

 

Everyone is antsy and on edge, waiting for the moment they start to smell blood or nothing at all. The mountain has been cleared repeatedly of monsters, but that doesn't stop new ones from venturing up it's cliffs. It's an intense ride, and all the horses are protesting soon enough. Eskel pushes them forward without thought as they all get closer and closer. There is time to rest after they have ensured that Jaskier is back home safe in the keep.

 

They push on.

 

The hunt comes to a head when the scent of despair disappears into a cave. It's a cliff face that has a separation at the bottom in one place that leads into a deeper opening. It's not tall enough for the horses, but none of the witchers want to lead them in anyway.

 

It's out of the wind at least, and Eskel is thankful for that. As they come to a stop outside the cave entrance, Eskel is first to leap from his horse.

 

"Aiden!" He calls out for the cat to get his horse as he disappears at a sprint into the cave.

 

"Got it!" He hears faintly from behind, knowing that they will take care of everything while Eskel gets Jaskier.

 

The cave isn't deep; it tapers into a much smaller crack at the back that leads down into the ground, but there is no way for a human to fit through there. It doesn't matter, however, as Eskel soon rounds the corner to the larger opening and spots Jaskier.

 

The bard is on the ground, curled up into as tight a ball as he can manage. His boots are muddied, and his coat lies limply in a pool around his body. Eskel doesn't break his stride as he hurries over. Sliding to his knees above the man to take in his condition. The witcher sets his bag on the ground as he slowly begins to roll Jaskier over, onto his back.

 

He is completely pale, limp in his arms as he moves him, and unresponsive to touch. Eskel frowns as he takes in the lingering scent of hurt on him.

 

"Jask-" He calls out softly to the bard as he strips his cloak and begins to tuck it around him. The bard stirs in a sleep-hazed motion, his better hand clutching the bandaged one in a death grip. He's not shivering.

 

He's not shivering. Eskel realizes with a start. Hypothermia has set in, and Jaskier is losing time. They need to act fast if they want a chance to save him. He gently beings the bard's head up as he begins to try and wake him.

 

"Jaskier. I need you awake." He calls out, again softly, as if he is scared to startle the little bird.

 

"hmm-" Jaskier groans, his eyebrows twitching in discomfort at the cold.

 

"Fuck, Aiden, Lamb- I need you! We need a fire!" He shouts back through the cave, hoping the others will hear and rush in once they have finished tying the horses.

 

"mh- gh…" Jaskier's breathing is shallow, and his movement is slow. Everything about him looks sore and achy, but he does open an eye, just barely, as he winces in the slight light of the cave. It stares at the ceiling of the cave, unfocused and dazed. Eskel moves over him, a warm hand on his face as he tries to make Jaskier's mind come back to him.

 

"Jaskier, it's alright. We're here, we'll get you out of this." He tries to be reassuring, but there is a shake to his voice that makes it sound scared. He is scared. He's terrified. There is still a possibility that it is too late, that the bard they had just met is already lost to them. He hopes that it isn't the case, but he won't delude himself into thinking that just because they are here, Jaskier isn't in danger any longer.

 

"E-s…" Eskel's chest tightens painfully as he turns his head back to Jaskier. The other eye is open now, both more than half lidded, but locked onto him. Jaskier is looking at him. It's good, very good. Hope surges in him as he looks down at the man.

 

"I'm here Jask-. Aiden and Lambert are coming with firewood. We'll get you warm." He promises because it's the only thing he can really promise. For now, he needs to move the bard, but he has no idea if he's injured or not. There is no scent of blood, but physical pain and mental pain are hard to distinguish, and Jaskier is hurting… somewhere.

 

Eskel decides to risk it. As gently as he can, he reaches under the man's body at his shoulder and his knees. His cloak is still draped over him, so he grabs onto that and tucks it under him so he can position the bard better. There are soft grunts of discomfort, but Jaskier doesn't cry out in pain at all. Eskel pulls slowly, very slowly, pulls off the long leather coat that clings to Jaskier's skin with sweat. Jaskier is slightly awake, but more out of it than anything, and mostly just lies there as Eskel takes the thing off.

 

With the leather out of the way, Eskel strips his own chest piece and holds Jaskier's back to his chest. The bard is limp in his arms, and his eyes have closed once again. Eskel fixes his cloak across the other as well as his jacket. The more layers, the better. Eskel can feel Jaskier's cold skin against his own; it's harsh, and it only makes him worry more for the man.

 

"We're here!" Lambert calls out as he and Aiden sprint into the cave as well, a good amount of firewood in their arms. They see the bard, and immediately pale. He looks rough. Worse than rough. Unconscious like this, and deathly pale, no movement in anything he does… Eskel knows what he looks like.

 

"Start it close to me, we need to get him warm before we take him back. I don't think he's hurt, but… he's not doing well…" Eskel can feel the sharp breaths against his chest as he cradles Jaskier in his arms. The heartbeat against his chest is faint and slow. That scares him more than anything.

 

"Is he…" Lambert looks up from where he and Aiden have stacked the firewood. Aiden whispers something under his breath before the small stack of wood bursts into flame. Eskel shifts the two of them closer to the flame until he can feel it on his face. Jaskier's legs are bent between his, and he makes sure to keep the cloak away from the fire, but other than that, they are as close as possible to the flames.

 

"Lamb." Aiden chastises, but Eskel can see in his eyes that same question.

 

"He's bad, but he woke for a moment before. If we get him warm enough, I want to keep him awake so I can see if he is injured. He needs to be able to make the trip back up before we do anything about moving him." Eskel lays out the plan that has been running over and over in his head since he saw the bard.

 

He looks down at Jaskier's head, cradled in the crook of his arms. Head turned to the side, and mouth slightly open, Eskel reaches his hand out from under the cloak to put it over the bard's forehead, adding that much more warmth to him.

 

Once the fire is at a good size, Aiden and Lambert are quick to strip off their own hard armor and slip in on either side of the bard. Warm hands wrap around his legs and arms, rubbing up and down to create friction. Eskel has never been more grateful for his family. All three of them cuddle up to the bard as their three cloaks make for a good cocoon.

 

Eskel's eyes don't leave Jaskier as the other witchers continue to rotate their positions to stoke the fire, and then return to the pair. Eventually, Jaskier's heart starts to beat with a little more strength, his breath going deeper than before. It's only then that any of the witchers feel comfortable talking.

 

"He'll be okay Esk, he's strong, and you did a good job." Aiden comforts the other, and Eskel only hums in response. He wants to believe it; looking at Jaskier's condition, it is undeniably getting better. There is still something in him that thinks that the moment he takes his eyes off, Jaskier will disappear again.

 

"I'm just worried about Geralt when we get back." Lambert jokes again, lightening the mood.

 

"From the way your dear brother is looking at that bard, I wouldn't put anything in his path to get to him." Aiden snickers from beside him.

 

"What did he even do to get you all growly like that?" Lambert questions, having only witnessed the aftermath of what Eskel had found in Jaskier's room.

 

"I found his scent on Jaskier's bed." Aiden whistles, a little confused.

 

"Little jealousy never hurt anyone. " The cat tries to fish out what Eskel is implying with his own questions.

 

"That was the source of Jaskier's distress." They both go silent at Eskel's words.

 

"Fuck, you don't think-"

 

"I don't know, I didn't smell that, but-"

 

"-But you know the last person Jaskier was with was Geralt, and something happened to convince Jaskier that running out into the woods in the winter was a good idea…" Aiden finishes for him, putting together Eskel's thoughts as they were laid out.

 

"…Yes." Eskel grits his teeth. Geralt was not off the hook, far from it. If anything Jaskier said once he woke up, because he was going to wake up, insinuated that Geralt was the reason he was here… Well, Eskel wasn't sure what he would do, but he could already feel the anger welling up again, along with another growl.

 

"What are you going to do when you get back…" Lambert asks this time, his words taking on a more serious tone. He's going to back Eskel, even if he doesn't know Jaskier very well; he knows Eskel, and the bard is clearly important to him. Besides that, they can clearly see Geralt was being a shit head, and someone ended up hurt because of it. It's also clear that this is not the first incident that Geralt has had when treating Jaskier like garbage. If they were going to talk to their brother about it, this has only made that discussion a major priority.

 

He also likes the bard, and he can tell so does Aiden. Jaskier brings a nice color to the keep with his stories and jovial banter. It's something Kear Morhen hasn't seen for a long time, and Lambert is hard pressed to go back to the gloomy atmosphere they had going before hand. Especially because Jaskier had also promised to write him a song if he ever got his lute back, and Lambert just can't miss out on that.

 

"I don't know, It depends on what Jaskier says." Eskel suddenly needs more details as to what exactly his and Geralt's relationship is, and how that has led them to this point.

 

Jaskier starts to shiver soon after that, and Eskel releases a sigh of relief. The fact that Jaskier still has enough strength to shiver is a good sign. Eskel shifts again to bring Jaskier closer to his body. The bard looks so small in his arms like this. Shaking from the cold, and wrapped in so many layers to drown him in warmth. Eskel frowns at that. He wants to see the man up and about again, telling stories and snarking the other witchers. He doesn't want to see him shaky and soft, out cold in the middle of a cave during winter.

 

In the back of his head is also the thought that he didn't want to hold the bard for the first time like this, but he brushes it off as unimportant.

 

"Should we be trying to wake him?" Lambert is now sitting off to the side of the pair, looking over the bard as Jaskier shifts and shivers.

 

"Let him rest for a bit longer, then we'll try again. He's likely exhausted from the trek." Eskel responds coolly, still staring down at the bard's flushed face. There is a sweat breaking out, and Eskel is preparing to deal with the fever he can tell is coming on. It's honestly better if Jaskier stays asleep for it, as he might panic after waking up again.

 

"Hm." Lambert agrees, leaning back against Eskel as he joins in sharing his warmth once again.

 

They stay like that for a long while. Eskel is making sure that Jaskier is comfortable and improving, however steadily, while the others ensure the fire doesn't go out. They don't chat much after that, preferring to sit in silence as Aiden dozes off, and Lambert keeps watch over the cave entrance.

 

Just as Eskel predicted, Jaskier broke into a fever eventually, sweating and shaking as Eskel shifted to make him more comfortable under the layers. He brushes a hair away from the bard's face, and gets a snort from Lambert.

 

"Don't get distracted now Esk-" Lambert huffs, turning back to look at the opening to the outside. Eskel frowns and continues watching the bard. He keeps his hand over Jaskier's forehead, trying to keep him as warm as possible. Jaskier pants as his breath becomes shorter, and his heart speeds up. Eskel tries to soothe him in whatever way he can, the hand under the covers rubbing over Jaskier's bicep repetitively as the other holds over his forehead. He feels the urge to lean down to kiss away the sweat-soaked skin, but he doesn't.

 

"E-e es..?" A small, timid voice sounds, and Eskel's mind snaps out of his fantasies. Jaskier is looking up at him from under his palm, dull blue eyes, hooded in sleep-haze, stare out at Eskel like a frightened deer.

 

"With us bard?" Lambert is the first to speak as they are all made aware of his wakefulness. The fever is still there, but it's ebbing away as they keep him warm. His voice reflects that.

 

"We came for you Jaskier." Is the first thing that Eskel can think to say. His mind wiped of all the things he needed to explain, and ask. Jaskier looks up at him as his eyes come into focus slowly, his mouth hasn't closed since he spoke, and it looks like it's trying to form words that just aren't coming. Eskel is patient and waits. He has all the time in the world for the bard; he's mostly just glad Jaskier is speaking to him at all.

 

"O-oh… I… sorry I- I forgot I h-had them." His body still shakes as he reaches up from under the cloaks. His movements are sluggish. Eskel wonders for a moment if Jaskier is even registering that he's lying in Eskel's arms right now.

 

The bard's hand reaches his neck, and he begins to pull at the wrappings there. Soft tugs that tighten the rest of the cloth the more he pulls.

 

Alarm shoots through Eskel as he realizes that Jaskier is trying to take off the cloth currently covering his burns. The witcher acts without thinking, swiftly moving to stop the bard from moving. He winces hard at the feeling of the rough skin around Jaskier's wrists as he restrains the bard completely.

 

"E-es?" Jaskier tries to move against him for a continued moment, but then stops once he realizes what's happened. He only stares at Eskel now with a look of confusion, half hidden behind a grimace of pain. Mostly because of the cloth pulling at his burns, but also because of the pressure against the rope burn on his wrists.

 

Jaskier frowns at the feeling and begins to look around. His hands still held by Eskel, he stops when he spots the fire. Then all hell breaks loose.

 

"N-no, no.. eesk-l n-" He squirms in Eskel's hold, and the witcher instinctively tightens his grip, the scrape of rough hands over his barely healing wrists causes some of the scabs there to start coming off. Eskel and Aiden are now trying to get him to stop before he hurts him self or flicks part of the cloak into the fire.

 

"D-don't know an-anything… any- no! p-please don-" The bard's rough voice scrapes as he struggles, and cries out. Somewhere in his sleep ailed mind he doesn't recognize where he is or what's happening. His wide eyes lock onto the fire without blinking as he panics.

 

"Jaskier? Jask- It's okay, you're okay." Eskel tries to coax gently as he keeps restraining the bard, but it doesn't really work. Jaskier doesn't even respond to his words. It's like he doesn't even hear them at all. All his focus is on the fire as he pleads to them. Eskel's hand lets go of his wrist for a moment to reach up and grasp Jaskier's jaw in a light hold, forcing the bard to turn away from it and toward him. He looks into the man's terrified eyes as he makes Jaskier focus on him, and only him. Eskel can see Lambert ready with an Axii if things turn worse than they are, and he is determined not to let that happen.

 

"Jaskier." He forces his tone to be firm even after the panic he feels.

 

"Look at me. We're here for you, we're going to make you better." He tries to sound as convincing as possible, listening to the rabbiting heartbeat of the man he holds. It's entirely too intimate for what the situation calls for, but Eskel is determined to convince the bard that they will save him.

 

"Eskel? t-the fire…" Jaskier's tone is a near whimper, like he's telling the witcher about the threat that's coming for them all. Like he's trying to save them, despite being the only human here.

 

"shh little bard. It's keeping you warm, you need to stay warm now." Jaskier continues to struggle, but it's losing its effort. Eskel keeps him looking away, no matter how much his eyes strain to keep them on the fire.

 

"Just look at me Jask- I'll keep you safe from the fire, okay?" Jaskier stares at him for a long moment, and no one breathes. Then he relents. His body sagging into Eskel's grip as he tries to turn his head more toward the witcher. His fevered mind finally deciding that Eskel would protect him from any more burns. Eskel stomps out the rush of pride he gets before it can go to his head as Jaskier tucks himself close to the witcher.

 

He's still shaky, but Eskel isn't sure whether that is in fear or because of the cold. He maneuvers Jaskier up so the bard can tuck himself against the witcher's neck, forcing his eyes to stay closed as he holds Jaskier's head there. His breath ghosts over Eskel's collarbones, willfully unprotected now that he doesn't have his armor on. A shiver runs down his neck as he holds Jaskier closer, ensuring the cloak is still covering all of him.

 

He is noticeably warmer now, and his temperature is still rising. Eskel holds him firm and ignores the look he is getting from both of the other witchers in the cave. He wants to chastise them for not taking this seriously, but Jaskier is clearly doing better and is no longer in any real physical danger, so he lets it slide in favor of keeping Jaskier from looking at the fire.

 

The bard still flinches every time he hears movement, and tries to pull away to look, but Eskel is stronger, and holds his eyes to the crook of his neck until Jaskier remembers he is supposed to be letting Eskel protect him, and relaxes into that familiar limp posture.

 

After a while, Jaskier stops trying to look. Eskel would almost believe him to be asleep if not for his heart rate jumping every time the logs on the fire popped or shifted. Now that he wasn't shaking as violently, the atmosphere around the four of them became calmer, more subdued as they waited out Jaskier's fever. Once he was sufficiently warmed, Eskel was sure they could head back to the keep with little issue.

 

"…What are you all doing here?" Jaskier's voice was muffled and rough from disuse, but it didn't shake anymore, which the witchers were delighted by.

 

"What do you mean bardling? We came to find you." Aiden answered with a soft edge to his tone.

 

"…why." Jaskier's voice came again, and that reeking despair started to creep into the edges of his scent once more. Eskel tightened his hold as his heart clenched painfully at the smell. He hated this, all of this. This is not how the bard should be. Jaskier should be singing and dancing with a lute in his hands, making those terribly lewd jokes that he had done all yesterday.

 

"'Cause you were gone," Eskel responds, hoping it will provide the comfort he means it to.

 

"…I'm sorry," Jaskier adds, and his scent quickly turns to that of nothing. The despair retreats, and in it's wake is a cold numbness that hangs like a gibbet. Even Lambert doesn't say anything about it for fear of worsening the bard's state. Very clearly, something happened. To go from the way Jaskier was yesterday to this in only a few hours… either they had completely missed the warning signs somehow, or something had happened. With what Eskel had found in his room, he is willing to bet that that thing had to do with Geralt one way or another.

 

"We were worried about you." Eskel continues, and Jaskier winces against him.

 

"I'm sorry." He repeats. It's starting to feel like a losing battle. Eskel tucks his head to nose at Jaskier's temple. It's sort of a self-soothing method that Vesemir used to do with them as pups. He inhales, trying to get past that numbness, and sour to get Jaskier's natural scent. Apparently, it tickles because the bard squirms as he does it, but settles back into his arms once he pulls away.

 

"Why are you sorry dear?" Aiden asks this time, getting closer to the pair, and leaning on Eskel to further get in Jaskier's space. As he speaks, he follows Eskel's lead and noses at Jaskier's temple, which Eskel lets happen, and Jaskier once again shifts at the unexpected, but not unwanted touch.

 

"I- sorry you think hm-" Jaskier cuts himself off before he can get his sentence out, and Eskel and Aiden share a concerned look. Even Lambert looks worried as he too closes into their space.

 

"Go on bard, you were so talkative yesterday." Lambert eggs him on, and Jaskier winces again. Eskel glares at his brother, and Lambert rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything else.

 

"Birdy? It's just us here, we're listening." Aiden soothes, pulling out the nickname he had given Jaskier yesterday in order to garner more pull with the bard. It seems to work as Jaskier shifts harder into Eskel, but opens his mouth as if to speak again. Chapped lips grazing over the witcher's pulse point as they shake with uncertainty.

 

"I- I'm nothing to him…" The words hang in the dead air as the three witchers simultaneously have that sinking gut feeling. Jaskier pulls his legs in closer, as if he would curl up again if Eskel weren't holding his upper body hostage. He looks smaller than ever, and it's painful to watch. The scared witcher can feel the slight tremor that begins the tell of crying, and the light wetness against his neck.

 

The three witchers share a harsh look as they all know exactly who Jaskier is talking about. There is clear anger in all of them, but none more than Eskel, who stares into the fire ahead of him with a silent snarl. He carefully controls his breathing as he doesn't want to frighten the little bard, but everything in him is seething.

 

"He didn't deserve you in the first place." Eskel bites out in a harsh and unforgiving tone. He's heard the songs, the decades of life in service to making Geralt's life better. He's heard all the little things that Geralt has talked about. Finally getting paid is what he is owed consistently, and nowhere near as many hateful looks in town. Only to have Geralt ungratefully throw it all away like this. They would all kill for the advantage, and the asset that Jaskier makes on the path, and it happened to be given to the one witcher who couldn't cherish it. Fate is a funny thing.

 

"Oh my dears, I am worth less than the breath you have expended to speak to me. I am nothing. Leave me fore you delude yourself into thinking otherwise?" Jaskier laughs as the tears slip down his face, dripping onto Eskel's shirt as they fall. The witchers share another, very worried glance. Eskel noses at his temple again, and this time, Jaskier just lets him rather than squirming.

 

They have to get him out of his head. Really, any attempts at cheering him up right now would probably make him spiral further as his brain pushes them further, and further away. From what they've seen, Jaskier is very stubborn, likely stubborn enough to keep pushing until they are either forced to leave or he leaves. Neither of which would end well. So…

 

"Then you must talk to us instead." Aiden proposes, turning Jaskier's words on their head. He wants them to confuse the bard enough to break his spiral, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Jaskier turns his head deeper into the crook of Eskel's neck and weeps softly. He doesn't want to speak, doesn't want to scare these witchers away. It's selfish, and he is undeserving, but he can't bring himself to tell them to leave. They will get fed up with him after they are done using him for whatever they need, and throw him away. Back into the cold, and the dark. He was so brave a few hours ago, but all of his determination and heartbreak have settled into an exhausted despair.

 

"… W-what do you need me to tell you…?" He speaks anyway, not wanting them to be frustrated or for Eskel to let go. He doesn't believe he could handle the fire without Eskel there to hold him. He feels horribly guilty about it, just one more thing that he is weak for. One more reason to be left here by this dying fire like nothing.

 

"Do you wish to talk Jaskier?" Eskel ventures, feeling the hesitation and the guilt on his skin. It's discouraging to say the least, but he noses back at the bard's temple, wanting it to sweeten up again as he does. It gets no reaction as it's unlikely Jaskier even knows the meaning of the gesture. Eskel highly doubts Geralt has ever expressed such a thing in his life, even with Yennefer it's a hard tell.

 

"… It's alright. I- I don't mind." His heart jumps at the lie, and the witchers frown.

 

"Then here, how about this?"Eskel wraps both arms around Jaskier's waist and pulls him gently up, and back so they are both lying on the ground, Jaskier still tucked into Eskel's side as he wraps his cloak around both of them. Aiden quickly follows with a relaxed sigh as he joins Lambert on the other side of Jaskier. Jaskier just lets it happen, but is clearly very confused as to why it's happening. The other witchers sink into each other's warmth and enjoy cuddling. Lambert's back cages Jaskier in as he holds Aiden, and the bard is pressed firmly into Eskel on his front. Warmed from all sides.

 

"I don't understand." The bard starts as his tears begin to dry. He's exhausted and has little else in his mind other than sleep; even in his heartbroken state, his body begs him to close his eyes. The laying down isn't helping, and the warmth and safety he feels, however false he thinks it is, makes holding them open ever harder.

 

"Hush now birdy, no talking until we've rested." Lambert mimics Aiden's use of the nickname as he tucks into his lover's arms.

 

"He's right Jask- sleep, and we'll talk once you are feeling up to it. Be that when we wake up or later. For now, your body needs rest." Eskel noses again, this time at the top of Jaskier's hair as he holds the bard close. Jaskier wants to protest, but everything is so warm, and his whole body aches with the strain it has taken today. Even the crackle of the fire seems dulled here, and he can't help but find himself slipping into a softer sleep.

 

He presses his face into Eskel's warm chest and sighs, feeling the arms around him pull tighter in a silent promise not to leave. He almost believes it as he is reminded of this witcher in particular's kindness.

 

Jaskier wakes to an all-encompassing warmth surrounding him, and a soft pressure on all sides. He sleepily mumbles and digs in harder to the warmth around him, hands clutching into soft cotton, and face buried in the same material. He feels tired, and warm, and sleepy, and he doesn't want to leave.

 

He feels… content? A new feeling… something he shouldn't be feeling right? He shouldn't be warm; he was cold and dying. Alone and scared, exactly where he was always going to be.

 

He opens his eyes to find that the breathing chest of Eskel is what he was previously, and shamelessly rubbing his face against. He feels embarrassment flood his system, and then humiliation as he realizes that not only had this witcher likely known what had happened, what he was, but was then forced to come after him anyway, and witness that truly pathetic attempt at… He doesn't even know what he was trying to do.

 

"Good morning birdy." A bright voice peeks through his wall of insecurity as Aiden notices he is awake. Jaskier tries to push his face harder into the other witcher, hoping that if he ignores them, they will just disappear.

 

Eskel's body shifts, and for one terrifying moment, Jaskier thinks that Eskel is pulling away from his hold. He doesn't, of course. The hands on Jaskier's waist tighten as Eskel comes back to himself, and he leans down to nose into the bard's hair. Agian with that soft gesture that makes something in Jaskier's heary loosen just that much more. 

 

"Morning Jask." His voice is rough with sleep, and his chest vibrates when he speaks. Jaskier can't think of anything to say now, he feels shamed, and hollow, and he is just waiting for them to tell him to get on with it already, and pull himself together because they have things to do that aren't babysitting an over dramatic bard.

 

"None of that now little bird. We are here for you because you are ours now. Nothing less." Eskel nearly coos to him, nudging his head harder to get his attention. Jaskier hates that it works to help soothe him. Eskel is so kind that he can't find it in himself to try and fight against the words.

 

"Come on now- you gonna tell us what happened?" Lambert takes a more direct approach. They want to know what happened to him, why he is out here in the first place, and how they can help him further.

 

"Please-" Jaskier whispers into the cloth of Eskel's shirt. He doesn't know what he is pleading for, but it's so familiar. Like he needs forgiveness.

 

"We won't leave without you." Eskel promisees. Jaskier wants to believe him; he even tries to. But all it does is make tears, the water for which he doesn't have, start to prick in his eyes. He clenches his fist in Eskel's shirt as if that will make the promise any more true.

 

"I'm sorry…" He tries again, still not really knowing what he was supposed to be apologizing for.

 

"'Fucks sake! You're forgiven!" Lambert calls out, clearly frustrated by the repeated words. Both Eskel and Aiden punch him in the arm as best they can lying down, but to all three of their surprise, it startles a laugh out of the bard as he's shocked back to himself.

 

"I just meant…" Lambert tries to cover for his slip-up, but Jaskier waves him up, now being sat up still in Eskel's arms as he tries to cope with this strange mix of crying and laughing. He needed to snap out of the spiral; maybe there were other ways of doing that, but Lambert's method seemed to have worked just as well.

 

"It's fine, It's fine-" Jaskier dismisses as Eskel's hands comes to cup the back of his hear, threading through his hair. 

 

The midday sun has warmed up the outside significantly, but it's still chilly, much better than early morning or night. The four of them are huddled together, and the fire is out. Without the wind, and the shared heat of their bodies under the cloaks has created a comfortable temperature that they can all bask in.

 

Jaskier feels undeniably better than he did earlier. Whether due to the sleep or the three witchers, currently doing everything they can to keep him alive, he doesn't know. It still hurts, his chest still aches, and every time he thinks about it, he feels like running all over again. Even the thought of going back to the keep, having to face Geralt again, sets a cold dread in his soul that he's not quite ready to confront.

 

"It's not birdy, but that's why we are here. Let your witchers take care of everything." Aiden teases, and Jaskier giggles through his tears.

 

"My heroes…" He deadpans with an added eye roll. Much to the delight of the witchers as they watched Jaskier perk up slightly. It was nice to see. Jaskier was finding it hard to wallow with such determined witchers to make sure he wasn't slipping back into his own head again. Part of why he was crying in the first place was due to that fact. Everything with Geralt felt so far away now as he breathed in the man still protecting him from the world. Just like he had said he would.

 

But he knew he would have to confront it eventually.

 

"So you gonna tell us what happened or are we just gonna have to beat Geralt up for you, and hope it's the right call?" Aiden offered, something in his tone telling Jaskier that this might have been a long time coming for the cat. The other two looked slightly uncomfortable at the idea, but still nodded in agreement. This was still their brother, but they also weren't just going to excuse his actions because of that.

 

"Okay- okay…" Jaskier relents, pulling his face out of the other man's shirt as he gets prepared to tell them what had happened. He knew talking about it would help. Having lived as long as he has, Jaskier knows quite a bit about himself, and one of those things was that the more he said to people he trusted, the better it would help him get over it. It had helped all through school, and then, when on the path, he would tell Geralt everything. Now he is starting to doubt that Geralt was ever really listening, but it had still helped him. Now he could do it with these witchers, and whether or not they are listening, he knew it would make him feel better.

 

"Yennefer, and Geralt were fighting last night. I… I heard it through the door of my room, and I was going to tell them to shut up and let the rest of us sleep, but I think she portaled before I opened the door. I couldn't see it obviously, so I don't know, but-" He takes another deep breath, and Eskel noses into his temple in an effort to encourage him to keep talking. Jaskier's heart flutters under the affections, and he continues.

 

"Before I could, Geralt was there. We uhm- we have- had this sort of understanding. Sometimes, after he, and Yennefer inevitably go back on the outs, I'm there to comfort him. You know how you told me that the fact that Geralt talked about me at all was an indicator that he sees me as a friend? I thought it was like that. Just one of the ways that he showed, rather than said, he trusted me. You don't just turn to anyone for that kind of comfort right?" Eskel shared a look with the others as Jaskier's face dropped.

 

"So that's what he was there for. I let him in, and he'll kill me if he hears I told you, but he likes to be held or he holds me, and we sleep for a little. He sleeps less than I do, so he's always gone by morning, and we never talk about it but it's nice while it lasts." Jaskier is staring at his hands now. As if they are going to give him answers to the many, many questions in his head.

 

"I had thought that he was seeking comfort from me." His emphasis on himself puts the whole situation into a little more context. It's starting to make Eskel feel a little ill to imagine Geralt using Jaskier like this, taking and taking from him, and then treating him like this. 'I am nothing,' said with the breathless voice of a man who believed every word of it.

 

"But last night he… he called me 'Yen'. He called me 'Yen'… I'm not even sure if he realized what he said."

 

"Holy shit." Lambert's reaction is immediate. Aiden is similarly scowling. Jaskier can hear the deep, angered growl in Eskel's chest

 

"I-… Every damn time I thought he needed me, he was using me as a sand in for her." Jaskier grits out, his own anger eclipsing the insecurity he felt. The witchers are feeling very much the same, the more he explains.

 

"Then, just like normal, he was gone when I woke up. So I left. I would love to say it was because I refused to take that kind of treatment, but… I think you know why by now." Jaskier still doesn't look at any of them. His face feels hot with shame, but there is still that feeling of finally breathing fresh air once again.

 

Eskel gently, takes his jaw in his thumb and forefinger to once again make the bard look him in the eyes.

 

"We believe you Jaskier." Is all he says before he takes the bard up into his arms again, maneuvering his songbird's face back into his neck so he can continue to nose at his hair. Jaskier wiggles slightly, turning so he can get a better view of the other two witchers still in the conversation, but otherwise doesn't pull away.

 

"Fuck, of course we believe you bard… I don't envy Geralt right about now." Lambert huffs, scratching the back of his neck as he blows out. It's very warranted considering Eskel was going to drop him without even knowing what had happened.

 

"Me neither, you better keep your witcher on a leash when we get back if you don't want a fight, birdy." Aiden laughs, and Jaskier frowns. He frowns deeply, and his scent sours again. Once the witchers wince, and give each other another look.

 

"Geralt is not my witcher, I'd be hard-pressed to even call him a friend at this point, and why do you all keep doing that? That little look thing." Jaskier scowls at them suspiciously. As long as he can keep them here, the longer he will be warm. Of course, it's nice that they came to make sure he was alive, but he couldn't expect them to stay. Not when he could see only three horses outside.

 

"Well… you know how witchers can hear lies? Well, we can also sort of smell… what you're feeling…" Oh. Wait…

 

Geralt had never once mentioned that. All those times Jaskier had come to him terrified, and tried to play it off like he hadn't just been chased out of a town by angry fathers. Every time he was hurting because of Geralt's actions, and he just assumed the man didn't notice… He feels like he wants to laugh. He wants to break down and laugh at this fucking world for stripping him of everything, for giving him the hope of a man he had adored, and then destroying him for wanting it.

 

He is laughing now, trying to push off of Eskel to get away. It's too much, and he can't have them see him like this. This broken thing that could never be fixed, no matter how many witchers tried to talk him down from the edge.

 

"He knew!?" Jaskier nearly screams as he finally wrenches his body away from Eskel. He's certain the witcher let him go, but he doesn't care. He stands in a frenzy and shivers at the blast of cool air that hits his unprotected skin.

 

"He's known the whole time- every time… what else can you smell?" He needs to know. He needs to know how much Geralt had willfully ignored about him for the sake of his own comfort.

 

The witchers look a little startled at his sudden energy, and Eskel looks about halfway to tackling him back under the cloak to keep him warm, but they answer anyway.

 

"I don't know… It's just what we can smell. It's not like a mind-reading thing, you just sweat a certain way when you're scared or nervous, and you don't when you're more content…" Lambert jumps in, getting freaked out slightly as he tries and fails to calm Jaskier down.

 

"Tears, salt when you've been crying, and pain." Aiden adds, trying to answer the question to the best of his ability.

 

"He- he…" Jaskier's fury loses its steam as he realizes more and more what it means for him.

 

"You didn't know this?" Eskel asks as carefully as he can manage. Jaskier winces at the idea that they can all tell he's still on a hair trigger.

 

"No, no I didn't. Nor did I ever get the impression that this was even part of a witcher's skills." His tone turns bitter as his raised hands lower back to his sides.

 

"Why… why would he… does- does he hate me that much? Was my pain that much of an inconvenience?" Jaskier's eyes unfocus as his mind retreats inward. If it was so much that Geralt had to block it out for years, Jaskier can't imagine how the three in front of him are doing. He must reek of fear and pain. They probably can't stand to be around him, and really, who would blame them?

 

Jaskier doesn't even notice Eskel until two strong arms grasp him from behind, and hold him against a warm chest, then a cloak is draped over his front as Aiden and Lambert stand in front of him. He just sinks into the witcher's arms. He hates how easily Eskel chases away all those thoughts he has been having for years. How these men so easily take him away from the things that he has been trying to cope with for the past two years. It really isn't fair that he hadn't met one of them twenty-two years ago.

 

"I think we should have the rest of this conversation back in the keep. You know, Eskel has a lovely room birdy." Aiden suggests, and Jaskier can't find it in himself to fight them on it.

 

"…Okay." Jaskier finally answers and lets himself be led out toward the mouth of the cave. His Jacket is done up on his front, and Eskel has passed him his own cape to wear on the way up. Eskel keeps an arm around his shoulders as they reach the horses. Jaskier isn't excited to walk the way back up; he has no idea how steep it will be without the path, and he's pretty sure he fell off a small cliff at some point on the way down. Nothing that would cause anything more than bruises, but he was not looking forward to trying to scramble his way back up. It is about now that Jaskier wishes he had owned a horse. Although that didn't guarantee that the witchers would have brought an extra horse with them. It was also unlikely he would have gotten it back after he was arrested.

 

He watches as the three mount, and then begins to turn to head back up the mountain. Before he can even make it two steps away from Eskel, a strong arm loops around his waist, and he is pulled backward and up. Eskel hoists him up onto his broad horse, sitting him in front of him so that Jaskier can lean back into him with the cloak around his shoulders. Eskel's arms wrap around him to hold him in place as they both settle into a comfortable position for the ride up.

 

"Did you think we were going to make you walk?" Lambert almost laughs at how absurd that is.

 

"Geralt did." Jaskier responds, not taking his eyes off the path ahead of them. He can see Lambert grimace out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't look over.

 

"Lazy ass couldn't get off his horse to let you have it huh? Don't worry birdy you can ride with us when we go anywhere." Aiden quickly soothes over, and Jaskier appreciates it, even if he doesn't respond.

 

They set off back up after that, and Eskel doesn't let go of the bard; he is quickly staking his claim to him the entire time. The thought comes to him that there is no way in hell he can let Jaskier go off with Geralt again, nor does he really feel all that comfortable sending the bard off by himself. Especially without a lute, that would be devastating to his livelihood. The best case would be for him to convince Jaskier to travel with him for a while, at least until he was over Geralt and back on steady feet. Then he could go back to being the world-famous bard he was. Not that Eskel would mind the extra company, especially from someone like Jaskier. Both the good and the bad, he found he enjoyed the bard's presence.

 

But that was a thought process to follow after he had dealt with Geralt and gotten Jaskier some warm food and water. Tucking him away in his room was a good first step; nothing could hurt him there, and that's exactly what Jaskier needed for a little bit. To be far from the man who had hurt him in the first place, and to feel safe and wanted by them. Those three words in Jaskier's broken voice sounded in his head again.

 

'I am nothing'

 

An ugly reminder of everything Geralt had done to the man without thinking or caring for the effect. He held tighter to the little songbird in his lap, hoping that Jaskier was encouraged by the closeness. He pushed his nose past the hair blocking the base of Jaskier's neck and inhaled to scent him again. Eskel felt the shudder crawl over Jaskier's skin, but he didn't say anything. Eskel hoped that meant he didn't mind when he indulged his more simplistic urges.

 

The ride back up is smooth; they aren't terribly far from the keep when walking in a straight line. The issue was Jaskier's weaving path that had them walking for so long in the first place. Jaskier doesn't speak the entire way up, but Aiden and Lambert banter back and forth, and Eskel will occasionally ask him if he is warm enough, and he'll nod, but Eskel will pull the cloak further around him anyway, and then do that thing with his nose. His breath is warm on the back of Jaskier's neck, and he has half a mind to pull the hood up to keep it from sending a shiver up his spine each time Eskel does it. He might even actually do it if he didn't think that this was all part of Eskel checking in on him, making sure he's okay. It makes him feel cared for, and he doesn't want to ever lose that feeling again.

 

As the three horses trot through the main gate, a sense of dread spreads over Jaskier. He must have tensed as Eskel once again tightened his grip and nosed at his neck. Jaskier has the vague thought that it can’t be comfortable with his bandages in the way, but Eskel doesn’t seem to mind.

 

"I've got you." Eskel whispered against him as he led them both toward the stables. Jaskier really, really wanted to believe him, but this was his brother they were talking about, and while Jaskier was sure that none of his own brothers would defend him, he had seen such camaraderie between witchers. It made no sense that Eskel would believe him over Geralt. Or maybe Geralt had said the same things that he had, truly not believing himself to have done anything wrong. Maybe that's why Eskel believed him so easily.

 

Eskel dismounted from behind him and then helped him down. Slipping an arm, protectively, around his waist as he handed the reins off to Aiden. The other two witchers would put up the three horses as Eskel led them inside to his room.

 

Just inside the keep was bustling with witchers, and Jaskier kept his eyes down; he didn't want to know if they passed Geralt at all. He didn't want to see him right now or anytime in the near future. It was fine, he didn't need to look, Eskel was still holding him as gently as he supposed someone with that much hidden strength could. In his defense, it was pretty gentle.

 

"Eskel?" A familiar voice caught Jaskier's attention, Coen's, if he wasn't mistaken. He looked up and was pleased to find he was right.

 

"I've dealt with Geralt for now. I don't want to know what happened; it's none of my business, but he's staying in his room until you want to speak with him again." Coen informed them, and Jaskier let out a breath of relief he didn't realize he was holding.

 

"Vesemir has some words for your altercation earlier, so if you want to … continue that, best do it before you go, and speak to him." It is now that Jaskier is reminded that Coen is a Griffin, and not a Wolf, and that he really has no stakes in the inner workings of the brothers' fighting. Not only that, but Coen is friends with Eskel and hardly knows the other, He marks him as another ally to Eskel. 

 

"Thank you Coen. I'll be around to speak to him later; songbird is my first priority right now." Eskel says without hesitating, and Jaskier can't help the little jump in his heartbeat at the words. He clings to them like a vice, giving a small smile as he internalizes them. Even the little pet names that Eskel seems to insist on calling him make his chest feel lighter. 

 

"Right, well he's sulking now, so I'd say you've got all day, maybe more." Coen huffs a small laugh, and Jaskier is grateful for his humor at Geralt's misery. It's one more reminder that he isn't completely alone in this whole thing.

 

Eskel continues to guide Jaskier past his old room and into Eskel's. The others were right, it is a much nicer room. A fur rug sits in front of the fireplace, and enough firewood to last the season is stacked in the corner. There are furs on furs, and pillows to rival those of kings on his bed; it's not even one of the small ones in all the other rooms, either, it's big enough to fit maybe four people across at a squeeze, and it looks plush.

 

Once inside, Eskel shuts the door behind them and finally drops Jaskier's waist. Maybe the bard would feel a bit more like a herded animal if Eskel hadn't been so gentle with him or if they hadn't been literally cuddling all morning out in a cave on the mountain.

 

"Sit wherever you'd like, but the bed is most comfortable. Aiden and Lambert will be here soon, then maybe we can go visit the hot springs together and eat. In any order. I can't imagine you aren't starving." Jaskier found that sounded very good. He wanted the jovial nature of yesterday's banter back.

 

"I should also like to redress your burns while there if you'll let me. It is such a shame I haven't heard you play yet. I was just musing yesterday that your songs must sound so much better on your lips than any other bard's. They do belong to you after all." Eskel kept talking as he added logs to the fireplace. Jaskier wanted to tell him not to, but he couldn't bring himself to. Thankfully, instead of lighting it Eskel put a fire grate in front of the cold logs.

 

"We'll retrieve your clothes from your room as well-"

 

"Your clothes…" Jaskier corrects a little too numbly for Eskel's liking.

 

"Okay-" He walks over to Jaskier, and noses into his hair again. Jaskier actually finds himself leaning into the touch, wanting to feel Eskel check over him, and make sure he's still okay.

 

"If you say so." The witcher continues, just as the door opens, and Aiden and Lambert step in.

 

"Heard the white wolf is pouting in his room?" It was likely an exaggeration of Geralt sitting in silence or sleeping, but Jaskier was happy to imagine Geralt feeling even a small amount of remorse or regret for everything that he's done.

 

"All the more reason to spend the day in the hot spring," Eskel answers, but then turns to Jaskier with a quizzical expression.

 

"Unless you'd rather eat first?" Jaskier hums.

 

"Like you can't hear my gut protesting every minute or so." He tries to put more sass in his voice, project an air of that confidence that he did not feel anything close to. Polite as he was, Eskel smiled anyway.

 

"With Geralt hidden away for now, we can get you the best grub too, no greedy bastards to steal it from you." Lambert offers, and Jaskier gives a small smile for it. He doesn't much feel like eating, but he is hungry, and if the others want to eat, then he won't say no to that feeling of normalcy he might get from it. Reminding him of those nights spent in the tavern with Arden, and whatever other company the elves he was helping would give him. Telling stories and laughing until the ale ran dry. The only kind of drinking he was allowed to get away with then.

 

The four of them make their way down to the mess hall, it is not entirely full, not like it is at dinner time. Even then, it's never exactly crowded. Now, as they enter, there are a few spotted around, eating or chatting, but since this isn't an official meal, there are hardly any servings on the tables.

 

"You're lucky, birdy, Eskel's one of the better cooks around. Hope he lets us have some of whatever he makes for you." Aiden winks at him, and Jaskier furrows his brow, looking back to the witcher who hasn't left his side since the cave. They aren't linked like they were when they first got back, but Eskel is still nearly on top of him in proximity. It's more comforting than it is annoying. Like he's taking his promise to protect Jaskier as seriously as it can be taken. Jaskier finds something oddly endearing and puppy-like about it.

 

"You're a cook too?" Jaskier teases, that sinking feeling of dread starting to lighten the longer he is surrounded by the three of them. It's like he's leeching off of their joy. Maybe he should feel guilty about it, taking their time and peace. Maybe he would if Eskel didn't smile so sweetly when he showed any signs of the chipper, and relaxed bard they had seen yesterday.

 

"We all are, we have to be on the path…, but some are better than others. You walked it for twenty years, songbird, I'm sure you're used to the hunt, and preparations too." Eskel glances at Lambert when he says that some are better than others, and Jaskier gets the distinct impression that he means he is specifically better than the red-haired witcher. It startles a giggle out of the bard as Lambert makes a face of indignation.

 

Eskel looks positively delighted at the sight of him. The small laugh is a good sound, one of the best he's heard, and one that he would very much like to make happen again.

 

The witchers lead Jaskier to the kitchen, where a very disgruntled Vesemir is waiting for them.

 

The room itself is more of a giant pantry with a wood stove and pots. There was a door that led outside, nothing like the grand one just outside in the mess hall. A small one, clearly used for utility rather than effect. The ceiling here was as high as the main hall, but slightly slanted, with the lower side toward the far wall that separated the keep from the outside.

 

"Should have run faster if you didn't want my boys to catch you Lark." Vesemir's posture spoke of complete authority, but there was a playful edge to his voice that Jaskier picked up on.

 

"They had an unfair advantage." Jaskier huffs back.

 

"They're witchers' son, they always have an unfair advantage. Not that they can make use of it on an empty stomach…" Vesemir groans as he gets up from where he was leaning against one of the stone counters.

 

"Help yourself to anything, but the hunt's for dinner. If I see even a bite missing, you'll all be running the training grounds until morning. That goes for you, too bard. You're one of ours now, you gotta follow the rules." Vesemir shouts over his shoulder as he leaves back into the main hall, and then disappears out of sight. Jaskier, despite the threat, is still reeling from being called one of them. He's only known them for a few days now. How can they accept him so easily? Even with his connection to Geralt, it still felt rushed, right?

 

"One of you? How am I one of you?" He asks, utterly bewildered at the older witcher's statement, how easily it rolled off his tongue.

 

"Please bard, you've been one of us since the tenth year you spent on the path." Lambert laughs as if it were obvious.

 

"But-" Jaskier tries to counter, but Eskel cuts him off.

 

"That's reason enough for us, Jask, you're with us now. For as long as you'd like to be." Eskel reassures as he crosses over to begin on a small pot of soup for the four of them. It seems like something warm and easy, like that will be best for Jaskier, especially with how pale he had looked at the mention of food. Eskel hopes that this will go down smoothly and not make him feel too full to the point of nausea. Then the four of them can relax in the hot springs, and he can rewrap Jaskier's bandages.

 

The three who aren't as skilled at cooking try to help where they can, Jaskier offers to help where he can, while Eskel harshly instructs Aiden and Lambert, who want much less to do with that actual preparation part of the meal. Jaskier makes himself as helpful as possible with restraint. Of course, he refuses to work the meat, but he does strip the scraps from the bones for a later broth. He's never been incompetent in the kitchen and he finds that as long as his hands are busy, his mind is occupied. Aiden and Lambert give jeering calls from their lazily positioned place by the door, and that helps too.

 

Eskel usually enjoys a quiet kitchen; it helps him concentrate on everything, even though he hardly needs to. This time, however, he finds he enjoys the lively conversation that the other witchers carry on, and the occasional times that Jaskier will chime in with his own retort. He knows that this won't fix it, that distractions only work for so long. There will come a time in the cold dark hours of the night were Jaskier will slip back into that space that nearly killed him this morning. Eskel also knows that some distance between the inciting event and those times can also be the difference between a total shutout like they saw in that cave, and the more open and honest conversations that will serve as reminders to the bard that he is wanted here. That is what he is seeking. 

 

One of them will have to sleep with the bard tonight, at least one, if the others don't take it upon themselves to pile into Eskel's room once the night winds down. He smiles at the image of Jaskier safe in his bed, surrounded on all sides by his family, and safe in their protection. Somewhere that Geralt can't get to. It's the very least they can do for the man they invited into their home. Of course, he knows it's more than that, but hospitality is a good defense once the keep's lovers start to turn their teasing words toward him.

 

"You gonna get that?" comes the soft, lilting voice of his bard to his right as he stands over the wood stove. He snaps back to the sound of the kettle boiling and squealing. Jaskier is looking at him and pointing to the kettle as it rattles. Eskel jumps out of his fanciful daydreaming and quickly takes the kettle off the stove with a thick kitchen cloth. This is why he prefers a quiet kitchen.

 

"Yes, I was just… letting it sit." Eskel lies, and Lambert snorts from somewhere behind him. Jaskier looks just as convinced as the witcher and gives Eskel an oddly quirked eyebrow.

 

"I was going to make tea, I think it will go with the soup. It's a good day for something warm." Jaskier nods in agreement quickly, remembering the loss of feeling in his limbs as the cold slowly took his life. He was also interested to see what kind of tea Eskel would drink.

 

As it turns out, that tea is raspberry flavored. Eskel brings down a jar of loose tea leaves with raspberries, which, as he explained, he had dried and crushed to add to the tea leaves. Jaskier of course, asks if he hand-dried the tea leaves too in jest, and of course, the answer is yes.

 

"I hang it off Scorpion while we walk. Extra motivation to keep myself and my horse dry I suppose. I've only really needed to do it every few months. It's not often we come across drinking water that I can afford to turn into tea, but it's always a treat on the path." Eskel explains as he sets down the second, and only other, cup of Eskel's tea. Apparently, Lambert and Aiden aren't treated to such a luxury.

 

Soon after the group eats, and Jaskier is quick to praise Eskel for his cooking. The meat is expertly tender, and he has spiced it in a way that Jaskier hasn't tasted before. The tea is also good; Eskel offers Jaskier honey with his, but takes his own unsweetened. It's another good meal, and despite Jaskier's earlier reservations, it seems an hour and a half of cooking has cleared that right up. He now sits against Eskel in a much more relaxed state, eating what the witcher and he prepared for the four of them, and still chiming in on Lambert and Aiden's rambunctious conversation.

 

 

"Come on! He'll freeze again if you make him sit out there any longer." Lambert's words get him a disapproving stare as Eskel works over Jaskier's hand. They are once again at the hot springs after their meal, fresh clothes for the bard, straight from Eskel's drawers, as they now sit next to the total sum of his clothing, all now soiled from his time in the wild. Eskel and him sit on the side of the closest pool of water in a very familiar position as Eskel works more of the cooling solution into his burn. His wrappings are carefully laid to the side, slightly stained with a green hue as the remnants of the paste had soaked into them.

 

The witcher's touch is reverent, almost loving, as he passes over the same spot with the lightest pressure. Jaskier couldn't care less about the hot springs now as he lets Eskel take care of them. Dying cloths are the only thing keeping them modest as the rest of the witchers are stark naked, and relaxed elsewhere in the springs.

 

Jaskier might think that there could be a hundred naked witchers, and the only thing he'd focus on is the soft pads of calloused hands carefully spreading the tonic onto his right hand. Truly, this man is good with his hands.

 

"Alright, turn round-" Eskel finishes wrapping the hand he was given, and begins the same treatment across Jaskier's neck. The bard nearly melts into his hands to no small ego boost to the witcher treating him.

 

As the night passes, the distractions work, they see neither hide nor hair of Geralt the entire day. Once dinner is over the four of them, as expected, retreat back to Eskel's room. As they pass Jaskier's, he tries to break off to where he was dropped off last night, but Eskel quickly slips his hand around his waist once again, and gently tugs him in the direction the others are heading. Jaskier gives him a confused look, but quickly follows with no fuss.

 

Once inside Eskel takes to stripping down into his nightwear as the others follow. Then he picks up the bard, and drops him into the bed with little fanfare. Jaskier yips in surprise, and glares at the manhandling, but doesn't move. It is exactly as soft and pillowy as he thought it would be.

 

"Don't watch this part pretty bird." Aiden calls from his place by the fire, just before Jaskier is pulled back into Eskel's side, his eyes hidden in the depths of the man's shoulder as he hears the small casting of fire. It pops and crackles as Jaskier jumps and tenses. He can feel his heart beating, and he wants to pull away, but then the light at the corner of his vision dims significantly, and the sounds die down to an almost imperceptible level.

 

Eskel lets him up, and he sees the protective grate in front of the fire that acts as a wall between him and the danger. There are also, notably, two witchers between him and the danger, but they are helping less than the grate. Eventually, he'd have to get over his paranoia, but that could wait until he knew that fire fucker was dead.

 

"So- what am I doing here?" Jaskier feels brave enough to ask after Aiden, and Lambert settle in front of the fireplace.

 

"The four of us will stay here for the night Jask-" Jaskier's eyes narrow as he sees through the explanation.

 

"You don't trust me to be on my own again." He deadpans, and Eskel winces at the straightforward callout of their ideas.

 

"That's part of it songbird. Of course we don't want you to be in danger, but we want you to know that you still have us even though we're back in the keep." Eskel says gently, Jaskier almost can't handle hearing the words. He feels himself get choked up as he turns away from the man currently sharing his bed with him.

 

"Jask?" Eskel starts to close in, and Jaskier can't face him, kindness etched into his face like he was made for it. Everything he has said and done the entire time Jaskier has been here, and he doesn't deserve it. He wasn't Eskel to finally break the trick or mask that this has to be. He'd given the man nothing, and in return, he was given food, warmth, safety, and protection. Nothing could possibly ever make up for it.

 

"Jaskier- what is it." Eskel's hand comes to rest on his arm, trying to gently pull him back. Jaskier can't stand it, but he craves it. He wants it to be true so desperately it hurts. To think of even the possibility that there is someone as generous and kind as Eskel in this horrid world is truly cruel, a reality he struggles to come to terms with.

 

"Little bard you're shaking, did I say something to offend you?" Of course, that's where Eskel's mind went. It only makes the tears start to fall harder, he bites the back of his hand as he is slowly made to face Eskel. The witcher looks worried because of fucking course he does, and Jaskier resists the urge to bury himself in that kindness, and never come back out.

 

"How are you real…" He croaks through a tear-soaked voice. Both of the other two witchers snort a laugh as they watch the interaction, their own concern dissipating quickly. Eskel still doesn't quite understand.

 

"How can you possibly be real." Jaskier half chokes a light-hearted laugh through his tears. It does little to comfort the witcher, half holding him now.

 

"Jask…"

 

"I fear I don't deserve this my dear." Jaskier admits, like it's a secret that he's been keeping from them. Like that's all it would take for them to drop him, and leave.

 

"Fuck what you deserve. Honestly, we're technically all criminals in places, you more than most birdy. So who the fuck gets to decide what you deserve." Aiden gives a heated outburst to Jaskier's words, shutting down that line of thought with his own philosophy. Jaskier smiles at him, feeling a little better about it.

 

"You more than most huh? What have you done that's so criminal?" Lambert wiggles his eyebrows at the bard, hoping to tease him into admitting to murder or whatever.

 

"Jaskier's part elf, you dolt. Can't you smell it on him." Aiden lovingly swats at his arm.

 

"Ohh yeah, you don't think that means you deserve what Redania is doing, do you?" Lambert challenges him, and Jaskier's face screws up.

 

"No of course not, I spent the past to years helping people get out of Redania. I was caught just before Geralt showed up. If he hadn't broken me out, I would likely still be rotting there." Jaskier chimes, tilting his head as he speaks to punctuate his words. The others stare at him with various contemplative looks.

 

"You're the Sandpiper." Eskel finally says, putting together his confession through the muddled words. There is something in his tone that makes Jaskier's heart swell with pride. His own actions were recognized for what they were, even if that wasn't ever the intention of them.

 

"Yeah I suppose, it was never just me, but that's what some of the elves I helped called me." Jaskier smiles softly as he remembers the young girl who gave him the name.

 

"So we were right about you being a songbird then?" Eskel gives him a similar soft smile, although this one has an entirely different meaning.

 

"They are hardly songbirds, dear witcher, but I will take the meaning of your words to heart either way." Jaskier giggles, and Eskel can not for the life of him look away from it.

 

They spend the rest of the night like that, happily enjoying each other's company. When Jaskier gets too quiet, and that small smile he uses to hold conversations dips lower, then the others are there to take over for him. To tell him that he is wanted here, and that he is safe with them.

 

By the time he lies down to rest, he believes it. Either from the words they give him or from the way Eskel manages to slip his arm around him and pull him close for the night. It's peaceful, and that comforting, and steady breathing against his back is what keeps his mind quiet long enough for him to sleep. A blessed relief after the poor sleep last night, and then the exhausting morning he spent half dead outside. He's grateful to them, to all of them, for this.

 

"Thank you Eskel," He whispers into the dark just as the fire starts to die.

 

"Anything, my little bard." Eskel says, half sleep dazed, and out of it. Maybe it doesn't hear the way Jaskier's heart jumps, and how his stomach flutters at the words. Maybe the witcher doesn't even realize he's added the possessive 'my' to his sentence, or maybe he just hasn't realized he's said that part out loud.

Chapter 4: Recovery

Summary:

Eskel confronts Geralt and finally gets to have his bard

Notes:

WOOOO!!! finally last chapter! hope you enjoyed and sorry for taking so long to complete this, collage is starting all over again and I need to get on that. IK Ik, not as important as writting about two men kissing but a guys gotta do what a guys gotta do. Anyway enjoy :) hope it's as fluffy and fully of as many good moments as you were all hoping for.

The morning is one of the softest that Eskel has ever had in the keep. He wakes to the warm sun shining on his face, spotted with the shadows of snowfall as it passes over his window. He mumbles and presses his face deeper into the soft scent of wildflowers and honey mixed with cinnamon. Jaskier squirms in his hold as he noses into the bard's side. He opens his eyes and looks up to see the peaceful face of his bard, soft and pliant in his sleep. It's the first Eskel has seen him this relaxed and he absolutely revels in it.

 

He looks over to the window to watch the beginnings of the first snow this winter, there is always something poetic about such things like this and no doubt hundreds of songs about it. Good, the witcher thinks, such beautiful things should be written about. He looks back to the peaceful face of the bard, utterly undisturbed by yesterday's harshness.

 

Beautiful things, he things again fondly. Their legs tangle under the furs and Eskel's arms constrict around Jaskier's waist. It is warm and safe here, just as Eskel promised. He feels no small pride at that and he hopes that Jaskier can feel it too. When he wakes, Eskel will show him the best views in the keep for after the first snow fall.

 

But that is a while away now. First, he has to speak to Geralt.

 

His mood instantly sours at the thought of his brother. They grew up together, closer than anyone in the keep and now…? Eskel didn't like to stomach the thought that they had drifted after the war. He'd ignored it for years afterward and now, it seems he can't even recognize the man. He hopes that's not the case, selfishly he hopes it's all a misunderstanding, that Geralt had not purposefully ignored Jaskier's health and well being for the sake of his own comfort. He hopes, but he's not unrealistic. Either way it's time to find out. He owes it to Jaskier to not do nothing. There has clearly been to much of that in the bard's life thus far and Eskel will not be complicit in that.

 

He takes another inhale of Jaskier's contented scent. Greedily holding his breath for a moment before slowly untangling himself from the other. Jaskier stirs and Eskel's heart clenches when Jaskier curls in on himself a little more to protect himself from the cold of the room. The witcher makes sure to tuck back in the furs around him so that not even a trickle of cold can get it. It's a little ridiculous he's willing to admit but he still takes to time to do it.

 

Aiden and Lambert and sprawled out on top of each other on the soft rug. Lambert is on his stomach, limbs in all directions with Aiden over top of him, using him as a pillow and purring softly. The fire is all but embers now but neither of them seem to be minding the cold. Eskel nudges his brother with his foot and Lambert wakes with a disgruntled groan, inadvertently waking Aiden as well. Eskel puts his finger to his lips and points to the still sleeping bard.

 

He wants them to watch Jaskier while he confronts Geralt, to keep him warm and hopefully asleep for as long as possible. Jaskier doesn't need to be awake while he is talking to Geralt and he absolutely doesn't want him to hear any part of that conversation.

 

"We'll watch your songbird darling, go take care of it." Aiden seems to read his mind and begins to get up to join Jaskier in Eskel's bed. Lambert huffs at being abandoned on the floor, but gets up to follow his lover anyway. He gives a thankful nod to both of them as they tuck in around the bard. Jaskier is slightly taller than both of them but it only helps them to tangle under his arms as the bard snuffles and settles once again. Eskel almost can't take his eyes away, ingraining the image of a peaceful and calm Jaskier in his head. It was such a contrast to everything he had seen yesterday, a nice break for the bard as he hopefully enjoyed what looked like a restful sleep.

 

The witcher shut his door with a soft click and rattle from the old wood. He got one last look at Aiden looking of Jaskier's shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look.

 

Geralt could well have left his room by now but Eskel was pretty sure the man was still in the keep. It's unlike him to actively run from this kind of situation. Ignore it, yes. But not run from it.

 

He knocked on Geralt's door, stealing himself for the conversation to come. It's not exactly something he had wanted to do, this might have even only been his second conversation with the man but here he was anyway.

 

"Eskel." Geralt stated once the door was open. He was in his small clothes, clearly also having just woken up with the early sun of winter.

 

"I need to talk to you." Eskel isn't cold with his words but he does keep an unusual distance for how close the two have been since the early days of their mutations. Geralt raises an eyebrow as if to say 'obviously' and walks back into his room, leaving the door open for Eskel to follow in.

 

"As long as you don't plan on attacking me for something I didn't do again." Geralt tries to lighten the mood slightly, but there is a little too much meaning to his words for Eskel to think that he is simply joking.

 

"No, not this time. I thought you… It doesn't matter. We aren't talking about my actions yesterday." While Eskel had been relieved that Geralt had not forced himself on the bard he was still unhappy with how their interaction played out. Maybe a little more than unhappy.

 

"Okay, then what do you have to speak to me about?" Geralt leans against the far wall, emanating an air of control and relaxation. Eskel ignores it, far too familiar with the subtleties of men who know they are on the back foot of the conversation.

 

"What is your relation to Jaskier?" Eskel starts, it's better than nothing and he wants to hear Geralt admit to some of the things he's heard Jaskier mention himself, without much prodding. However, he is prepared to prod if needed.

 

Geralt's face flicks over with a confused expression, he lets his eyes drag over Eskel as if to try and read why he asked that question. Eskel just continues to stare, waiting for a response.

 

"He writes songs about me." Eskel wasn't expecting anything as warm as 'friend' but he also was expecting something more than that. At least a fondness for the bard. This feels almost demeaning in a way.

 

"That's it?" Eskel pushes slightly and Geralt seems to change his stance in a more defensive way, he scowls and his shoulders raise as if Eskel is accusing him of something. As if there is something to accuse Geralt of.

 

"Yes." Geralt replies in a curt tone and Eskel bristles.

 

"Geralt, you spent twenty years with him and all you can say is that he 'writes songs about you'. You brought him to our home, I mean-"

 

"I brought him to help me get Ciri here." Eskel just sort of blanks at him for this. So he was just… using Jaskier. He thinks back to what Jaskier had told him when they had taken him to the lab. That Geralt had shown up after two years of silence to ask a favor. Which…

 

"Then why did you let Jaskier follow you all these years?"

 

"He's persistent." It's not exactly a lie but Eskel can see that there is more to it than that.

 

"You're faster and stronger. You have a horse. I doubt you couldn't have gotten away." Eskel challenges, getting a little fed up with this.

 

"I tried. He's. Persistent." Geralt insists, a slight growl to his words as he feels more and more backed into a corner.

 

"Geralt." Eskel deadpans, seeing right through him in a wave of annoyance that even surprises himself.

 

"Fine, he was good company… sometimes. Got me what I was owed. It's damn hard to find anyone who doesn't flinch when we raise our arms, I'll take what I can get." Geralt grits out like its painful to say. Like his words are meaningful or endearing in any way. Eskel feels nauseous. After having seen how Jaskier reacted, his passion towards their friendship and the heartbreak it caused him, now contrasted with Geralt's callous words.

 

There was no other outcome for these two meeting. It was always going to end with Jaskier in tears and Geralt trotting off with the next person who can stand to be around him.

 

"You think of Yennefer the same way?" It's an unfair comparison, Jaskier had been in Geralt's life longer and had clearly shown such a steadfast loyalty that it would be impossible to compare his kind of love for Geralt with Yennefer's. Yennefer, who isn't even here anymore, couldn't be bothered to stay even for the child she thought she wanted.

 

"No! of course not!" And why would Eskel think anything different. He was right to think he couldn't recognize his brother. He doesn't. Eskel's face turns up in disgust at him and he barely holds his fist at his side.

 

"But that kind of fondness is only reserved for your chosen bed partner." Eskel's tone turns dark as he drops the facade of caring at all what Geralt thinks about Yennefer. He's only met her a few times and the only time Geralt really talks about her is when they are on the outs again.

 

Geralt glares for Eskel's harsh words about the woman but he doesn't say anything and that's telling enough for Eskel.

 

"Why didn't you treat Jaskier's burns two weeks ago, when you first saw him." It's a demand for information rather than a question. Eskel has decided that he will bully the information out of his brother rather than let Geralt collect himself for a moment. He's doing this for Jaskier not Geralt and if the man somehow starts to feel bad about all of the things he's done then that would be an improvement in Eskel's eyes.

 

"He didn't bring it up." Geralt huffs.

 

"But you could see him in pain, smell the burns and see them. Why didn't you bring it up." Eskel pushes further.

 

"If he was truly in pain we would have known. He's not exactly quiet about the things bothering him."

 

"Are you talking about the nineteen year old you met twenty years ago or the man you traveled with now?" Geralt's face screws up at that and he studies Eskel for a long moment.

 

"Why are you asking me this." Geralt tries to turn the tables back on him, clearly hating feeling backed into a corner.

 

"Coen told you that Jaskier disappeared earlier this morning? You drove him off with your neglect." Geralt scoffs and Eskel gets that much closer to punching him. Images of Jaskier sobbing himself ragged alone and cold in that cave, those words hanging in his head like a death sentence.

 

'I am nothing'

 

"He's always been dramatic, I'm sure he came running back after he saw how cold it is outside." Geralt dismisses Eskel with another harsh look. Eskel feels the growl claw at his throat, wanting to sink his fists into that smug expression. Jaskier would need months if not years to recover after such a set back and here Geralt was, like nothing had happened.

 

"We found him half dead in a cave on the mountain, had we not found him, he would have died."

 

"Then that's his own damn fault! He's the one who chose to leave. I never even expected him to stay here for longer than a day so why are you telling me like it's my fault." Eskel gives up on self control at this point. He's in Geralt's face with a very similar expression to the one he had last time he was here.

 

"You're friend of twenty years nearly died yesterday and your first incitation is to shrug off the blame? After you betrayed him and then neglected him?" Eskel spits with his words but he hardly cares, it's more than Geralt deserves at this point.

 

"I apologized for that!" Geralt defends but it's ineffective in calming the situation.

 

"After I asked you to, and only after you sought me out for a favor." A third voice sounds from the door and Eskel looks up to see Jaskier standing there. He is draped in his usual outfit, his fair fluffy and falling neatly into place just like it always does. He wears Eskel's cloak over his shoulders, making him seem larger than he is and mixing Eskel's scent wonderfully with his own. His face holds a harsh glare and his eyes are fixed on Geralt.

 

There is a shuffle behind him and Lambert and Aiden suddenly appear as if they'd just run from the room. Jaskier is leaning on the door fame with a confidant look in his eyes and Eskel has never seen anything more attractive.

 

"Sorry Esk- We-" Lambert starts, slightly panting as he catches his breath.

 

"He was gone when we woke up." Aiden finishes.

 

"No but please continue, I'd love to hear your excuses this time Geralt." Jaskier sneers at him and there is clearly a certain protection he feels to be able to do this now that Eskel and the others are here with him. There is a falsity to his confidence that Eskel can see. He wants to be here but it's clearly making him extremely uncomfortable.

 

Eskel does take a moment to admire his bravery for that before turning back to Geralt.

 

"You've made it very clear that you cannot be trusted with the care of another, I fear for Ciri Geralt." Eskel digs deep, striking hard at the weak points and it shows clearly in Geralt's face. He is furious at the implication.

 

"Ciri is fine! She is strong. I never wanted a child but I take care of her as best I can anyway." Geralt defends and Jaskier smirks at his reaction. It's nice to finally see some of Geralt's insecurities thrown back at him rather than the other way around.

 

"You don't seem to realize that when Yennefer tried to kill her, it was on you to keep her safe from that witch, not go off to fuck her whenever you felt like it Geralt." Jaskier points out and the two witchers outside the door both stiffen, even Eskel looks enraged, more so than he already was.

 

"She what? And you let her into the keep!" Eskel shouts learning that not only has Geralt directly endangered Jaskier's life but also Ciri's and everyone else's in the keep.

 

"I told you Eskel dear, he is blind to rationality when Yennefer is in the building. Even the safety of his own daughter becomes secondary." Jaskier is shaking slightly as he says the words, his tongue working faster than his self preservation instincts. Aiden steps up to his side and is a comforting weight at the length of his arm.

 

Eskel steps back with and eerie calm spreads over his face. The tension in his shoulders hasn't dropped and they can all see him winding up for something. Jaskier for one hopes he hits the bastard for everything he's done.

 

"Geralt, you have not only put your family in danger, Jaskier in danger but the entire keep as well. If she had turned on us?-"

 

"It's wasn't her." Geralt growls, his focus only on the accusations against Yennefer rather than anything else. Jaskier's heart is far beyond shriveled to his pain but it still aches when he brushes off everything he's done.

 

"Thats all you have to say? You would have killed Jaskier had we not noticed and found him! Ciri would be dead and you would be responsible. Associating with a known threat, bringing her to our home! And that's all you have to say?" Eskel is seething, breath coming out in quick pants.

 

"Esk-" Geralt tries but Eskel is quicker, his fist comes down hard against Geralt's head, then a kick to his gut sends the white wolf to his knees with a groan. Jaskier is quick to rush to Eskel's side now, one hand cupping his shoulder in a loose hold, reminding him that he isn't alone and that there are other things worth more of his energy. Eskel clams at the warm touch, the scent of wildflowers and honey easing his mind.

 

He looks back to Geralt and spits at the man with contempt. Geralt looks angry and like he's going to retaliate at both of them but Eskel beats him to it. Jaskier and his witcher both look down at the man on the ground with a harsh stare, even Lambert and Aiden have steeled their faces. Lambert still looks conflicted but Aiden is there at his side, slightly in front of him with a hard gaze. As if Geralt had personally wronged his lover in some way or as if he expected him to.

 

"You should leave Geralt. And maybe, before you come back next winter, think long and hard about who you are going to prioritize." Eskel's tone is icy and his eyes regard Geralt with a harsh stare. Jaskier's whole chest flips at the words. The fact that Eskel is willing to go to such great lengths for him. Of course not just for him but… it felt like it. Like his words had started this and now everything else was just extra to be piled on. The way Eskel was standing in front of him dispute their equal measures, the way he had looked at Jaskier when the bard had first entered, it felt like he was doing this so that he would be safe. Rather than the keep as a whole as was he reasoning.

 

"Esk-" Geralt starts, that anger starting to build up now to action but Eskel cuts him off again, stepping further in front of Jaskier. This man will not take his anger out on his bard any longer. Jaskier has seen enough of the stick for a life time and if Eskel can manage to keep him from every seeing it again, he will.

 

"Geralt. Go. If you ride now you'll be in town before the first storm. We'll look after Ciri while you get your shit together. And I mean this brother, get your shit together." Eskel finishes with a final biting word before he turns back to Jaskier with a softened expression. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then looks back to Geralt and closes it. He doesn't deserve to hear the words only meant for Jaskier. Those will be saved for the saftey of their room.

 

With that, the dark haired witcher leads his songbird out of the room in a single breath. Jaskier is still stunned as he lets Eskel guide him. It's all so much more than he expected. For Eskel to choose him over Geralt… It seems to just elude his understanding. They are brothers, he's just a tag along. Of course he would consider Eskel his friend but this…? How will he ever repay this, survive this. He's- he's torn their family apart. The only witchers left in existence and he's torn them apart. They are brothers, they loved each other, still love each other. He's come into their home and ruined their family, a family he had hoped to one day even be accepted into.

 

They are going to kick him out. Like Geralt, he's Geralt's bard after all. Will he be expected to leave, but- but- he doesn't want to leave. Last night was the happiest in two years maybe more and-

 

"My little bard…" Eskel's voice coos to him as his hands tighten the witcher's cloak. It's a claim to him, one that Jaskier has readily accepted despite not quite knowing the meaning. As the inner monologue of thoughts begins to turn darker and darker, Eskel is there with the soft light of a lantern and a clear voice that can guide him through the dark.

 

"Eskel- he's- Will… will he be alright?" Jaskier tries not to sound desperate as they walk but he can hear it in his own voice. He doesn't dare look up to the witcher, he doesn't want to see those harsh eyes that had once shown him true kindness, turned to him.

 

"Jaskier, pretty bird. You needn't feel and guilt for what's been said or done. It was my decision for my family's safety. Geralt is well trained in the cold and he will be fine so don't feel guilty about that either." Eskel reassures and Jaskier can't help but shake his head.

 

"That family part includes you now birdy." Lambert pops up behind him but Jaskier barely hears him, he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. The 'but now you have to leave to' or 'aren't you going to go with him'.

 

"I- I'm not… I- should." Jaskier begins to pull away slightly, as if preparing to leave himself. He doesn't think he could survive these people's looks of disproval, quietly removing him from the group for what he's done.

 

"Jaskier." Eskel demands his attention in the softest way he knows how. He holds the bard by his shoulders and looks him in the eyes with a kind expression. There are tears starting to prick at Jaskier's eyes and Eskel thumbs them away, trying to take as much of Jaskier's fear away from him too.

 

"You… you won't make me go too… right?" Eskel can hear the way his voice shakes with the question, like he already expects an answer and it's not a good one. Eskel's heart shatters in his chest at the sight of it all. Jaskier thinks he'll be left behind again. They haven't done enough to convince him. Not yet. But they will.

 

Eskel drags him into a tight embrace, forcing Jaskier's head into his neck as he feels the wetness spread there in a very familiar hold. Aiden and Lambert flank the bard again and add their own comforting touches.

 

"Never. Jaskier. Never." Eskel firms his tone, trying to force out as much meaning into the words as possible. Jaskier shakes in a harsh sob against his chest, his arms wrapping around the witcher and clinging to his waist like it's a lifeline.

 

"I think we are all deserving of a mid morning nap." Lambert jokes as he gives Jaskier's shoulder a comforting squeeze. Aiden's hand is at the bard's back, rubbing small circles there.

 

"But-"

 

"No." Eskel cuts him off before he can even get the words out because there is nothing that Jaskier has done to make Eskel send him away. He honestly doubts there ever could be.

 

"Watch your hand pretty bird, we'll rewrap them now, and how about a bath hm? Even I feel dirtied after that whole thing." Eskel offers, still not letting go as he begins to walk them back toward his room, hand around the bard's waist as they go with Jaskier trying to keep him from pulling away. His good hand clutched tightly into the fabric of Eskel's shirt. Eskel leans in to nose behind Jaskier's ear once again when he feels the grip, he hopes it's as comforting for the bard as he finds it. Jaskier leans into his light touch silently behind them Lambert gets an elbow to the ribs for rolling his eyes.

 

"I don't deserve this from you, my dears. Geralt, all of this. I don't know how to accept this kindness you so freely give me." Jaskier finally admits as they enter Eskel's room. Eskel's gives another reassuring squeeze to his waist.

 

"It was hardly a kindness birdy, he put us in danger. Vesemir said it too, you're one of us. He put you in danger too." Lambert clarifies.

 

"Again." Aiden adds on and then Lambert parrots him. Eskel grimaces at the reminder.

 

"Tell me you have never done kindness simply for those who are close to you." Eskel counters, trying to poke holes into Jaskier's view points. It's clear there is a double standard, anything Jaskier does isn't applied to himself but Eskel hopes that is Jaskier's mind, he can at least point that out. It might even help. He hopes.

 

"Well yes of course but-"

 

"What would you call putting up with that oaf for twenty years. Seriously Jaskier that was a kindness in it's self." Aiden laughs and Jaskier can't help but feel a little lightened by it. They were taking him seriously, he wasn't ignored here or expected to be okay no matter what. They were talking to him, which was a big step up.

 

"It wasn't like that. I never pitied him- I- we were friends I had thought." Jaskier defends but the others don't look convinced.

 

"Darling you literally shaped your career around helping people like us to be treated better. That is the ultimate kindness. Not for Geralt or because you were friends, but because through him you saw the rest of us. Our stories and hardships and I bet you'd do it again for others. Perhaps the elves could use your lyrics next." Aiden sidles up next to him with the proposal and Jaskier laughs again.

 

"They already have them, it was part of being the sandpiper. I've been doing for the past two years. I lost my muse so I turned my attentions to the elves, and anyone else looking to get out of Oxenfurt." Jaskier explains.

 

"Oxenfurt. That must have been a big change from the path, I can hardly imagine." Eskel is the one who pieces it together.

 

"Oh right- Sandpiper" Lambert chimes in,

 

"last I heard he's- you I guess, were moving your operations." He continues. Jaskier grimaces at the reminder, they had tried to spread word quickly that they were moving, hoping to stop people from coming so the could make a clean transition. Maybe somewhere closer to the boarder of Redania. That had been the plan before the fire mage and guards and Geralt.

 

"I was, the guard were closing in on us so we decided it was time to move… we would have too if I hadn't been caught by the mage. There is really only one other person in Redania that still knows how to run the Sandpiper network but I don't have all that much faith in her actually doing it." Jaskier admits and the others listen dutifully.

 

"Caught by the mage. Wow that is shit timing bard." Lambert grins as he moves in a bathing tub with a small sack full of things Jaskier can't see then leaves once again to get pitchers of water. Eskel has sat him back on the fur covered bed and repeatedly pulled the cloak tighter around Jaskier's body as it slips down. The bard thinks idly that it's only his witcher that's allowed to see him. Or at least that's what Eskel is trying to communicate. It does make him smile a little at the ridiculous nature of such an idea. Especially considering they had been stark naked in front of many witchers at the springs twice now.

 

"Fucking tell me about it, some of the others wanted to move sooner but… I couldn't bare the thought of leaving anyone behind. You- you wouldn't believe the number of children and broken families that passed through my halls. To think that they might be forced to live though even another day like that." Jaskier looks down at the wrappings on his hand as he speaks. He picks at it, feeling like he's just born his soul to these people.

 

"I see your heart Jaskier-" Eskel stands just in front of him, off the bed. His face is open and sincere and Jaskier is captivated. Every emotion is so raw at this point and all he wants to do is sink into those words, that voice. Those hands with their gentle touch and warm grace.

 

"How can you think you are worth nothing to those people you have just described. I see it in you that kindness you say you don't deserve and far be it for a man like me to tell you what you deserve but… Jaskier- You are worth everything. Your love for this world and it's people is…" Eskel seems breathless as he speaks and Jaskier can not take his eyes off him, his mouth can not form words as Eskel's spread warm against his skin.

 

"Tell me about these people you've helped. Us? Those families. The children of those no longer part of this world? With your words and your songs, your actions. How can you sit there and speak such miss truths as that- mmph-" Before Eskel can start the next sentence Jaskier is yanking the collar of his shirt. His hand tangled in the witcher's hair as he takes his mouth with force. As if all of the passion of the past few days has finally built up to breaking in this single moment.

 

Their lips meet in a harsh hunger that seems to only be helped by this connection. Eskel has to bend over the bed, caging Jaskier in with his arms as he catches himself on the furs. His head has to tilt up as Jaskier forces him into this position. Eskel's face is lax almost with the heady kiss. He melts into the bard as Jaskier utterly dominates the kiss. As if taking all of Eskel's words and pouring them back into his mouth through his actions. The witcher moves one of his hands to clutch at the bard's chest, a silent plea for more.

 

Someone clears their throat off to the side. They break apart with a sting of spit connecting their swollen lips as they hold each other's gaze with half-lidded eyes. Never let it be said that Jaskier does things in halves as he immediately pulls Eskel back in for another, softer this time. Taking his time to map those scared lips with his own as his grip on the witcher's hair loosens into a much gentler hold. His hand coming to hold Eskel's neck to better angle his head. Eskel lets himself be moved, completely lost on the taste of his bard.

 

"Woo! Get is Esk-" Lambert's voice is muffled to the side of them and the two finally break apart for the last time. Just returning with the water and seeing the two of them act on their passion. Eskel, rests his head against Jaskier's and works on regaining his breath. They both pant into the space between them, no longer looking at each other but still holding on.

 

"Right well- we'll uhm… leave you to it then…" Aiden takes it upon himself to drag Lambert out of the room to let the two have their moment. The soft click of the door closing is what breaks the two out of their haze. Jaskier looks at him with a hunger and a smug expression and Eskel… His face is flushed in a dark blush, he hasn't stopped staring at Jaskier's mouth, his own is open and pliant. He looks like a walking sin, begging for another kiss.

 

" I- I just couldn't take it my dear, you were saying all those wonderful things and I couldn't help it any more. You've… You've been so kind to me for so long I fear I have quite fallen for it." Eskel seems to come back to himself at that moment, his eyes finally meeting the bard, matching that hunger.

 

"I… I know what you mean. It seems we've scared off Aiden and Lambert." Eskel hums, leaning in to nose behind Jaskier's ear and then down his neck to his pulse point. Jaskier is still sat in his cloak, their scents so thoroughly mixed that Eskel can't really begin to decipher where one starts and another ends. The scent makes his head spin at the implication. Warmth filling his gut as he takes in another breath of it.

 

"Shall we take a bath then my dear? Or would you like to spend a little longer like this?" Jaskier leans into Eskel's touch, putting his good hand over the hand on his chest to hold the witcher to him. He thumbs over Eskel's knuckles in a soft manner.

 

Eskel places one fleeting kiss on Jaskier's pulse point in order to further scent him and pulls back to look the bard in the eyes again.

 

"The springs aren't great for washing your hair but here, would you- would you let me?" Jaskier grins at the slightly sheepish tone of his witcher, the sight fills his heart with a fluttering that he is all too familiar with.

 

"Of course my dear, I-" He frowns as he was about to offer the same back, but looking down at his hand, that seems to be a lost cause. Eskel takes his injured hand and uses it to guide Jaskier up and over to the bath. The water looks cold and Jaskier is not exactly looking forward to it but he feels he needs to clean off that last interaction with Geralt. His mind is still reeling from his and Eskel's increased intimacy but when he looks at the witcher he only finds that fond contentment there.

 

After such words and actions, he can only feel lighter. Like the weight of everything has lifted for a moment, or maybe that Eskel has started to help him carry it. It's a truly freeing feeling. Again he is struck by the thought that he does not want to let this go.

 

Eskel stops them both in front of the bath and leans down to press his palm to the underside of the tub. Jaskier watches as a slow steam starts to rise from the top of the water but he hadn't seen any flame. Something he is sure was intentional and is very grateful for. He swoons just that little bit harder.

 

"Here," Eskel holds out his hands and Jaskier willingly slips into his hold, letting the witcher take off the cloak and then his flowy shirt, after that he begins untie and strip off the wrappings on him. Jaskier watches as he works, not noticing the few glances that Eskel gives to his bare chest now that they are this close.

 

The witcher takes the time to look over the burns with an odd hum or grunt. He pulls out the tin of paste from his pocket and places it next to the tub along with the used cloth.

 

Jaskier handles the rest with his good hand and the few fingers that aren't burned on his other. Unbuckling his belt and shuffling out of the rest of his clothing. He looks down at his hand and then at the tub, it's a little different from the springs as now he has to step up and over rather than just down onto the little sitting ledge. He takes a nervous breath and walks over to try to attempt getting in while Eskel folds and puts down his clothing. He doesn't get very far, as soon as Eskel notices what he's doing, he drops the clothing on the bed and rushes over. His hands snaking around Jaskier's waist to hold him steady and to stop him from trying to do that on his own.

 

Jaskier jumps at the sudden movement but settles quickly into the warm hold, it is very cold in the room and he is excited to warm up in the water.

 

"Let me help you pretty bird." Eskel coos before slowly picking up the bard in a bridal style and helping him lower into the tub. His sleeves get wet as he does but he doesn't mind, seeing the surprised but grateful look on his bard's face makes it all worth it.

 

"I like that nickname, it's nice coming from you." Jaskier whispers as he sinks in up to just under his shoulders. He makes sure to keep his hand over the edge of the tub to avoid the burns but other than that, it nice and warm. A good break from the cold, although as soon as he gets out he is going to request that cloak back. It had been a comforting weight on his shoulders and a nice smell that enveloped him as he helped confront Geralt. He's not sure he wouldn't have started shaking with anger or fear if he hadn't been wearing it.

 

"It is because I call you pretty?" Eskel hums in a slightly teasing tone and Jaskier smiles.

 

"I fear I would like most of the names you call me dear, you just say it so beautifully. Like you truly think it." Jaskier counters and Eskel can't help but feel a little sad at the reasoning. Of course Jaskier is handsome and beautiful in his masculinity, you'd have to be a fool or blind not to see that and he's surly been told that many times before right?

 

"Do you not get enough complements from your performances?" His teasing tone is gone now, replaced with the sincerity he had just been kissing this man with.

 

"I do my best and I am certainly no stranger to vanity but after you start to associate yourself with those who society have deemed beastly, then I find it a little more difficult to people willing to look past that just for the sake of my looks. Not that I'm complaining of course, sometimes the lack of groping hands in a bar is a good thing." Jaskier gives a cheeky smile and Eskel can not understand what there is to smile about. He'd known that bards tend to be seen and promiscuous and he'd certainly heard more than one tale of Jaskier's affinity to finding himself in a cuckold's bed, but this held a different tone.

 

"I will tell you everyday from now on if you'd like." Eskel offers, seeing Jaskier also take on that touched expression he seemed to wear only around Eskel.

 

"That's a big offer my dear, are you certain you know what you are asking for…?" His tone starts of confidant but tapers off toward the end as he looks up at the witcher. Eskel looks up from where he is riffling through the bag that Lambert brought in.

 

"For as long as you wish, I would love to have you on the path with me." Eskel confesses, taking Jaskier's hand gently in his from his kneeling position on the floor.

 

"You-" Jaskier looses his voice. Speechless at the offer.

 

"How- how can you offer such a thing so lightly. I- Eskel…" He struggles for the words he wants to say because yes, he does want that. More than anything he wants that. This man has shown him more kindness than he had experienced in what feels like ages, even those who had saved him after Geralt never looked at him like this. But he finds it's more than that. He doesn't just want Eskel, he wants Lambert and Aiden and Vesemir. The keep as his home and these people as his family. He is weak and wanting and everything he has ever asked for is simply being offered to him.

 

Before he can realize what's happening Eskel's thumb is brushing away the silent tears as he comprehends the offer. Both of Jaskier's hands are clutching on the rim of the bath, with Eskel kneeling their faces come up to the same height and Jaskier feels his control slipping again. He needs to show his emotions through action and his eyes flick down to Eskel's lips once again.

 

"Little bard…" Said with such kind fondness that Jaskier can only weep at the words. Eskel sighs the words as he strokes over Jaskier's cheek with his thumb.

 

"Geralt does not represent all of us. We would all be delighted to see you here again next winter even if you do not wish to travel with me." Jaskier hiccups. Again those raw emotions make themselves known. After everything so close together Jaskier finds it so much harder to keep his expression from showing everything in his head.

 

"I'd never thought- I don't compare you my darling. You are your own man I assure you I have never once compared you to Geralt. None of you." Jaskier uses his good hand to grasp onto Eskel's shirt again, getting it wet where he touches but he doesn't care. He needs this point to come across.

 

"I have had two years to get over him, I- I did not kiss you as- as a replacement if that is what you are thinking…" Jaskier searches for a reason as to why Eskel must have said that.

 

"No! No, little bird. I never once imagined that was the case." Eskel keeps his face soft as he feels Jaskier push into his hand. It's such a simple show of complete trust, nothing left from the stiffness he must have picked up from traveling with the cause of his mental anguish. Eskel can not help but feel a high of pride fill him at the sight. Similar to how he woke up this morning, he wouldn't mind waking up to such a sight for there rest of his days.

 

"Good, you are incomparable to any man I've ever met." Jaskier turns his head to press a soft kiss into Eskel's palm, coaxing out another one of those lovely blushes. Eskel's heart flutters wonderfully at the feeling, soft lips still light from a comfortable sleep, against his rough hands. It feels like a blessing right in the center of his palm. Right were Jaskier sits, looking at him like he's hung the moon. Truly the best winter he has seen since the war.

 

"Jaskier…"

 

"I want to travel with you, It would be an honor my dear…" He trails off and Eskel senses the hesitancy in his voice. Rather than reacting with anger or fear he simply smiles. Of course Jaskier would be hesitant about this, placing his trust with another just after being so betrayed by someone he had once considered a friend.

 

"You do not have to answer now, I don't want you to anyway. We have the entire winter for me to show you how you can trust me. That I am worthy of your voice for my tales." Jaskier laughs at his tone, a gentle thing that is born out of the joy he feels now rather than anything mocking.

 

"Well then, way don't you tell me some of these tales you had in mind." Eskel has been smiling but he feels his mouth stretch wider as he leans in to press a soft kiss to the bard's forehead before stepping away. He hands Jaskier a small cloth and a bar of soap and begins to set up to watch his hair while the bard washes his body.

 

As Eskel begins to wet Jaskier's hair he begins one of his favorite stories form the path, one that he often uses to cheer people up and this certainly fits that occasion. It's about a king who had hired him for a job but refused to pay as he was 'dissatisfied with my temperament' he got a full belly laugh from the bard at that. The thought of anyone finding Eskel unpleasant to be around was simply incomprehensible. The king had tired to have him sent away but Eskel had already met his son, the prince, the night before at a pub. After leaving the castle he was found by the man and given what he was owed in exchange for the beast's head.

 

The funny part comes in when he was returned there a few years later and was again invited to the king for another job, as the king spoke Eskel's eyes wondered to the prince who was grinning and stiffing a giggle as he pointed above the king's head. Where sat, the taxidermied head of the beast, it's tongue rolled out in a comically ugly snarl. The King had the thing stuffed so poorly that they could hardly tell what it was meant to be to begin with. Had Eskel not been a witcher, he wouldn't have recognized the kill at all. Had he been any less formal he would have made a laughing stock as the king so shamelessly displayed another man's kill, implying that it was his own, when he clearly new nothing of what the beast was even supposed to look like.

 

Jaskier was smiling by the end of it, making quips about royalty and nobles, and prompting the witcher for another. Eskel happily obliges, telling them like stories worth telling and never skipping on the details. He combs his fingers through the soft hair of his bard, working out the knots as he adds more of the hair wash, it doesn't smell like much but the texture was nice in his hands. Jaskier relaxes back into his hold so nicely that it's hard to ever want this to end. He decides there and then that if Jaskier does travel the path with him, he will want to do this as often as they can. He hopes that the songbird won't complain.

 

The next story is about a young girl he had been hired to find by two parents with a fundamental misunderstanding as to what a witcher does. He'd honestly found it a nice break from the usual and they were nice enough. Besides the pay was nice. Jaskier listens again, giving him the softest look as he describes how lively the child had been, never scared of anything. Which made it an awful lot harder to find her.

 

By the time the water has gone cold Jaskier has been thoroughly cleaned and filled with more tales than he could ever know what to do with. He tells Eskel that he will have to tell him again once he has a note book and Eskel only smiles at the prospect that they might be seeing each other for that long.

 

Jaskier gets out a similar way he got in and tries not to feel bad about the way he is soaking through Eskel's shirt and pants. Eskel lets Jaskier dry himself as he begins to slowly and carefully clean the burn marks with a softer cloth than the ones used for scrubbing away dirt and grime. He is careful to let up when Jaskier inevitably winces, taking a break and blowing cold air on the wound to provide some relief. Jaskier shivers in the air of the room and Eskel drapes his cloak back over the bard's naked form to keep him warm until he is ready to get dressed again. Jaskier is grateful.

 

Eskel tries to go as fast as possible, it is winter and the fire is out so Jaskier must be freezing. He sits as close as possible and lets the bard leech off of his heat. He covers the wounds in that healing salve again and wraps them up once more. Jaskier makes no fuss, only responding and asking questions as Eskel guides him through another story from his time on the path. Then another as Jaskier dresses and warms in Eskel's arms.

 

By then the adrenaline and heat of the morning is crashing hard against Jaskier's energy. Now, practical sitting in Eskel's lap, warm arms around his waist with that heady rumble at his back as Eskel tells him another tale, all he can really feel is the slow droop of his eye lids. Wanting to slip into the quiet silence of sleep at this man's side.

 

So he does, to the soft nosing at the back his ear and over his bandages. Eskel, as Jaskier fell into that rest, maneuvered the two of them back under those furs and blankets. Neither of them wanted to see the aftermath of Geralt leaving or to watch his goodbye. Both of them would much rather be surrounded by each other's warmth as they recovered from the heated morning. Eskel burying his face into Jaskier's chest so that every breath carried that scent that he craved. Jaskier wrapping his arms around the witcher's neck and relaxing into the soft bed as he felt Eskel's breath against him. It was a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone now or for the foreseeable future. That he is wanted here and that he is safe.

 

It was comfortable and soft and set in that considerable warmth and fluttering heart that surrounded the bard and his witcher. Jaskier placing one last soft kiss to the top of Eskel's head as they both drifted in the soft winter light of the window. Shadows of the first snow passing over their faces in a molten array of hope. Eskel thought about all the places he would take his pretty bird when they woke up while Jaskier wondered how in the world he had gotten so lucky as to be taken in by these witchers, this witcher.

 

 

By the time they wake the sun has crested over midday and the snow has stopped. Eskel is the first to wake when he hears the growl of Jaskier's stomach against his ear. He mumbles and noses at the warm wall of muscle against his face, breathing in the scent of a happy bard, content in his dreamless sleep. Soon after, there is a hand at the bag of Eskel's head, petting at his hair with the interspersed press of soft sleep laden lips that mumble coaxing words that barely make it to Eskel's ears as they both slowly slip out of the sleepy haze.

 

"You're hungry…" Eskel's voice is deep with the rest again and Jaskier sinks into it, feeling that feeling of excitement rise under his ribs.

 

"I would like to stay here for just a little longer, you make for a terribly nice blanket my dear." Jaskier's voice is the same, rumbly and comforting. Eskel noses at his chest again as if to get closer to the sound. Again he thinks the only thing that would sate his soul would be to hear that voice sing.

 

"We will return this evening, you need to eat." Eskel insists now, not willing to put his own selfish desire to keep Jaskier to his bed like this for the rest of the day above the health of his bard.

 

"Yes alright, I will hold you to that promise, your bed is lovely and… I don't think I want to step foot back into the other one if I'm honest." Jaskier admits and Eskel understands. Besides, why would he ever need to sleep somewhere other than here. The furs have started to smell like the bard too now, it makes Eskel feel hot under the collar at the implication and remembering that kiss earlier isn't helping.

 

He shakes his head into Jaskier's chest to clear them of unwanted thoughts… well not exactly unwanted but not productive for the current need. Food. They are getting food.

 

Again Eskel cooks for the two of them and Jaskier is much more helpful now that Lambert isn't getting in the way. They work well together, being some of the only two in the keep who can cook a proper meal without that much issue. Eskel makes them both a lean cut of meat and cuts some of the bread they had yesterday for them. Then they eat together and Jaskier tells one of his own tales, some of his time being the Sandpiper witch Eskel seems to get wrapped up in immediately.

 

Sooner rather than later Lambert and Aiden join them, they are dressed in their armor now, just walking in through the front door with two other witchers that Jaskier hasn't been introduced to yet.

 

They immediately spot Eskel and Jaskier and make their way over, shaking off the left over snow from their hair and boots before sitting down with them. They eye the two of their meals with an obvious hunger. Jaskier curls around his meal in an obvious motion, making it clear that neither are welcome to the meal Eskel had made for him. Eskel is less dramatic with his decline to their silent ask, just speaking his mind.

 

"Vesemir will make you all dinner soon, I'm sure you can wait." Lambert rolls his eyes but looks away. There is an obvious question in the air but Jaskier can't bring himself to ask, even if he does what to know. Eskel, next to him, presses his knee into Jaskier's. It had been the longest they had spent not physically in contact since the cave and this had become a welcome comfort to the bard. After going so long with so little touch that wasn't for the purpose of using his body until they were done, it was a welcoming comfort.

 

"Geralt's gone birdy, wont have to worry about him for a while now. Vesemir is not happy about it but I think he's more disappointed than angry." Jaskier feels his heart stop in his chest, Vesemir… is disappointed with him? He supposes it makes sense, Geralt is like a son to the man and Jaskier is closer to a stranger than anything else. He has a hard time looking at Aiden and tries to quell the overwhelming guilt that clogs his throat.

 

"Jask- Hey! not you. Not you." Aiden's tone is firm and it's enough to break him back into reality.

 

"With Geralt, for his damn actions and for bringing Yennefer here after knowing she was a threat to Ciri." Lambert adds and Jaskier starts to feel that guilt dissipate. Curse these witchers and their ability to see right through him. Eskel noses into his hair again, doing that thing where he just breathes there. Now that he knows that witchers have heightened senses, it feels like Eskel is reading him, everything wrong in his head and the man wants to know. Jaskier leans into the small touch, letting Eskel slip his hand around Jaskier's waist to get further into his space.

 

"Never you, no one blames you." Eskel whispers to him.

 

"How can you know that?" Jaskier tries not to let the residual hurt slip into his voice but he's pretty sure Eskel knows anyway.

 

"Some of us didn't take a morning nap and dealt with Geralt all morning. Trust me bard, no one blames you." Lambert snarks and Jaskier feels his chest lighten at the chipper nature of his voice. Imagining the other witchers learning what he had done must have been hard and he's now pretty sure that Eskel was keeping him confined for the singular purpose of keeping him from witnessing it. He hates to admit of thoughtful that is of him.

 

"He wasn't quiet about it. Mind you, took us four to get him to go. I know it's hard for the wolves but I for one have no regrets." Aiden adds in and Jaskier imagines Geralt kicking up a fuss about being unwanted. It hits him as ironic in a way, fate itself coming back in for karmic retribution.

 

"Ciri will be sad to see him go and I think the real punishment will be him finally walking the path alone for the first time. Without the luxury of a bard to sing his praise and tend his wounds." Eskel announces as if it is simply fact. Jaskier can't help but feel that pettiness come back to him. 'Good' he thinks, let him sit with the rejection of his witch alone and unwanted just as Jaskier had done every time the man had gone running back to her. Let him find himself looking for someone who isn't there, who he chased away without the distraction of daughter to keep his mind off Jaskier's absence. Good.

 

Even If Ciri misses him, she has an entire family here that she can actually rely on to protect her. Jaskier has seen it in the few interactions he's witnessed. Even right now, the girl sits with a group of witcher eating and laughing like she's grown up right along side them. It brings a smile to the bard's face as he looks. She deserves someone to be there for her and that wasn't Geralt, now it can be these witchers, just as they are here for him.

 

"Thank you, all of you." Jaskier says, his voice steady now as he is given more confidence by those around him. He leans into Eskel's side as he speaks, making it clear that the thanks are mostly for him. Eskel rumbles deep in his chest and Jaskier's heart swells at the sound.

 

"Maybe you can repay us by playing for us once you get another lute?" Aiden looks at him with a hopeful expression, more using it as an opportunity to ask Jaskier to come back to the keep and play for them rather than a real demand for any thanks.

 

"If I can find one for cheap enough, or maybe steal one. I've not exactly got the kind of coin needed for an instrument now." Jaskier says in a more than joking tone and Eskel gets an idea, he's not exactly sure how much a lute would cost. He is sure that if Jaskier does decide to travel with him, that is where his extra coin will be going. A bird without it's song, he cannot be having that.

 

 

By the afternoon, while the rest of the witchers eat, Eskel is taking Jaskier to one of his favorite spots in the keep. He guides Jaskier through the halls and the bard goes on about one of his times playing in a court, he describes it as mostly boring but 'you do learn so much from the help, you know they hear everything, truly and enviable job' He speaks with a cheerful tone after so much has happened but Eskel can see the tiredness in his eyes that runs deeper than just a few nights of comfort. There is years of built up insecurity there that will take much more than just a few meals and baths to cure. It doesn't matter, as long as Jaskier will keep letting him Eskel will continue to show him his worth. It is the one thing he is entirely certain of in this situation.

 

He doesn't know what to do about Geralt. It is true they are brothers and that deep ache of betrayal is still sharp in his chest, but there is so much that has changed about the man that he had seen Geralt raised to be. The caring father and sympathetic hunter. It would be easy to blame Yennefer after all she's done but he can't find it in him to care what the reason is. His brother is no longer the same man and Eskel knows that at the very least he needs to take some time to come back to himself. Discover the world that doesn't revolve around one romantic relationship and think about his family and friends. Until then Eskel is content to let him stew in everything that Lambert and Aiden threw back in his face. If he wants to be let back into their family, then he will have to change, adapt and most importantly make up for it.

 

That will be the bear minimum for forgiveness. Of course this is only for Eskel's forgiveness, he wouldn't blame Jaskier for never forgiving the man and in that case… well winters will be awkward but Eskel would never leave the bard for something like that. His songbird has as much right to be here as Geralt does, even more so now with everything that's come to light and that will remain the same in the future.

 

Eskel shakes his head as he gets lost in the fantasies of taking Jaskier up the mountain back to their family every year. Of spending long winters in soft fur beds and warm baths, hands full of soft hair and soap suds. He imagines that deep morning voice as he noses into that perfect, strong chest. He can't imagine anything more perfect than that.

 

"We're here." They slip out a smaller door and onto a balcony, one of the only ones left over from the days since he was a child. Jaskier's heart skips in his chest as he takes in the sight. It is the only place in the keep to overlook the other side of the mountain. The terrace is covered in snow and so is the railing. Their boots leave imprints side by side as Jaskier walks to the ledge and looks out. For a moment Eskel is sure he's stopped breathing as he takes in the sight.

 

"Its-" Jaskier's voice dies as he searches for the words to describe what he's seeing. There is no path on this side, no break in the thousands of snow dusted trees that stretch out as far as the eye can see. There is a light fall now as well and the flakes catch in Jaskier's hair, standing out against the auburn strands. Eskel watches as his cornflower blue eyes shine, reflecting the snowfall. He looks ethereal. Eskel almost doesn't want to blink, fearing that the dream of a man in front of him will dissipater the instant he looks away.

 

"Perfect." Eskel finishes for him, ignoring the view beyond the real thing he is looking at. Jaskier doesn't look back at him, his face lit up bright with wonder as he likely doesn't even hear the word. It only makes him want to show the bard more. All over the keep and beyond that. The pretty places he's marked on his map as he travels, taking the time to tell his pretty bird about all the little things that make those places so special. He wants for that so badly it hurts. A nice aching in his chest that reminds him of his devotion. He wishes to take Jaskier up in his arms and never let him go. Hold him close to his chest, next to his heart where he imagines the man would fit perfectly.

 

"Yes, yes it is. This is-" Jaskier speaks with an air of realization, the soft wind blowing through his coat and cloak as he keep his eyes trained on the view.

 

"Beyond the known world. Yes. There are no known civilizations out that way, to my knowledge no one has even set foot there. No paths or foot prints. Just the wild." Eskel finishes for him and he sees Jaskier's eyes grow even bigger if that's possible.

 

"There is little else to say my dear, I fear you have rendered me speechless." Jaskier laughs to himself and looks back to Eskel, a slight shine to his eyes that speaks to his wonder.

 

"A difficult task I imagine." Eskel laughs too, taking his place as a warm presence against his bard.

 

"You wouldn't imagine, all that I've seen? It's a shame I can't tell the world of it." Jaskier gets a sort of wistfulness in his eye and Eskel understands what he means. So many life experiences and the wish to share it with someone important. To share in the wonder of the world is such a special connection, finding Jaskier feels the same way is like a breath of fresh air.

 

"May I kiss you once more?" Eskel asks this time, wanting to pour his admiration into the bard in a way that words would never be able to manage.

 

"Not satisfied with only too?" Jaskier teases in a light hearted way as he turns to face Eskel, their chests nearly touching.

 

"I might not even be with three." Jaskier hums in amusement at his response and leans in. Eskel beats him to it, being the one to take the other's mouth this time. He lets his hands wonder over Jaskier's body, feeling the warmth there protected by the cloak. He sucks his bard's lip between his, licking over it in a slow and reverent motion. Jaskier hums in his throat and the noise excites something deep within Eskel's body, that fluttering feels in his throat now as he chases more.

 

Jaskier's hands find his chest, soft as they touch, weary of their pain. Eskel kisses and then nips, opening his eyes to find Jaskier's half-lidded with lust as they pull away for a moment. But only a moment as Jaskier's eyes flutter shut in a pleasure filled fog. They kiss again in the falling snow, backed by the vast view of the mountain side and the forest beyond.

 

It's perfect, just as Eskel thought it would be. Everything about him is perfect. His pretty bard, his songbird. His.

 

"You certainly know how to romance a man darling." Jaskier asks as they finally pull apart, slightly breathless and panting. That pleasurable blush still evident on both of their faces as they take one last look at the view before slipping back into the warmth of the keep. Out of the wind Jaskier shivers and leans into his witcher once again, the man's cloak pulled tightly around his frame to stave off the chill.

 

"You make it easy." Eskel hums and Jaskier gives a laugh.

 

"Then maybe I should make it harder for you." The bard teases and Eskel hums.

 

"There is nothing you could do to chase me away." Eskel promises and Jaskier goes suddenly quiet. Almost contemplative for a moment before responding.

 

"I'm not sure that is entirely true my dear, don't make promises you can't keep." There is that hesitancy again. That worry that this will end in heartbreak once again. Eskel can almost see that tiny voice at the back of Jaskier's head feeding him lies and harsh words.

 

"Then I won't, and I suppose I'll simply have to keep this one then as I've already said it." Eskel teases back and he sees the tension if Jaskier's shoulders retreat. A small swell of pride rises in the witcher as he sees it. It's a wonderful thing.

 

 

He spends the whole winter like that. With Jaskier, showing him places that he's shown almost no one else in the keep. Weeks pass with little difference as they grow closer and closer. Jaskier meets Lil' Bleater soon after that and he falls in love instantly. They spend a lot of time together when they aren't doing their respective chores. Sharing stories and events that they can look back on with a laugh. Close calls with death and interesting political situations they've had to navigate. It's everything that Jaskier can ask for, and at the end of each day he always has a warm bed to lay in with a personal space heater that doubles as a nice heavy blanket.

 

Lambert and Aiden coax him into their schemes around the keep and Vesemir treats him just like he were one more witcher. He finds a place among them, a home and a family. There are still long days were all he can hear are Geralt's biting words and all he can long for is another bottle to drink from but Eskel is good about keeping him up, and away from it all. Telling him all about this one horse he'd met on a job or one time he was chased out of a village with underclothes tied to a stick and set on fire. Jaskier finds those hard days are always lightened by the presence of his family. He imagines them there, carrying the weight of his life in their hands, lifting it high above his head so he needn't even touch it if he doesn't want to. Effortlessly carrying him through the harsh moods and long sighs. He finds it to be one of the kindest places he's know.

 

The keep of Kear Morhen, now his home as he walks the halls with confidence, his witcher at his side. Eskel doesn't break his promise, he stays by Jaskier whenever he can, showing him wonders and telling him stories. Most importantly stealing away with kisses as he indulges in the new found intimacy between them. Jaskier of course never minds, giving into kind hands as often and as many times as he likes.

 

When inevitably Eskel asks if Jaskier would like to travel with him come spring, Jaskier can only reply with one answer.

 

"Was there ever any doubt." He smiles and the world shifts into focus for the witcher, everything else revolves around this one man and he finds himself utterly okay with that.

 

Once spring comes they make their we down the mountain together, slowly this time as Eskel is more than cautious with Jaskier's ability. They both walk, Scorpion walking eagerly beside them and Eskel promises to get the bard a horse once they reach the next town. Jaskier of course assures him that it is no issue to walk like this but Eskel insists.

 

A horse named Pegasus joins their small group by the end of the second week of spring and a small, but growing pile of coins rattles in Eskel's bag. When Jaskier asks about it, Eskel simply says that it is for the most important thing in the world and that's all he says.

 

To hear his songbird sing just once would be the height of his life, once he learns the cost of a lute, he sets out to raise that amount. A small amount of coin, as much as he can afford, set aside from each job goes toward that small pile. By the middle of spring Eskel presents his purchase to his bard. A fine thing with near white wood and a darker pattern along with a journal and pen. Jaskier cries as he takes it. The tuning fork around his neck, seemingly all he has left from his possessions. He tunes it right away, feeling that inspiration jump to his freshly healed fingertips as he begins to pluck at the strings. They are stiff with tension and harsh on the burn scars but Jaskier plays anyway.

 

After so much he is deserved to have this delight back in his life. Eskel has assured him enough of that already, the man watches as his pretty bird chirps and sings, the accompanying melody of the lute creating an atmosphere of whimsy he's only seen in places of magic.

 

It's perfect.

 

It fills his heart in just the way he thought it would as he restrains himself from taking the lyrics right from the bard's lips as he so desperately wants to. Jaskier looks alive again, as if the music flows through his very veins from his heart. Eskel supposes it does.

 

They stay like that for nights on end. Jaskier preforming while Eskel does his job then spending quiet nights in taverns or barns or the forest where the witcher is treated to the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. A private performance, just for him to witness. Filled laughter and love and as many kisses as he can ask for as he drinks in the scent of delight of the bard's skin.

 

Not a single thought spared to Geralt as they gallivant around the continent, making trouble and merriment as they go.

 

it's the happiest Jaskier has been in a very long time, perhaps twenty two years but who's counting. As he looks at Eskel, following this kind man who had saved him in his time of desperate need, all he can see is just that. His man, his witcher. The most worthy thing on this continent and someone he is honored to sing for.

 

"The song bird and his witcher," Is the most recent song in his notebook, It's one of his favorites, and with how often Eskel asks him to play it… Sitting there holding his bard to his front while he noses into Jaskier's hairline, feeling that soft rumble as he sings and listening to the plucking of strings. It must be Eskel's favorite too. The words come easily to him and tell the story of the two of them. It was his gift to the witcher for the lute but Eskel never saw it that way. It was his confession and his devotion wrapped into lyrics that fed the soul.

 

It was a love song in it's basest form.

 

It was their love in it's basest form.

 

Love that was freely given and never once revoked. Something sturdy between them that held fast at each bend in the road. Even now as Eskel holds him, Jaskier can feel that love through every small movement, each soft kiss to the scar on the nape of his neck and every sigh of contentment when he plucks another cord.

 

It is their love. Not meant for others but also not hidden. Something only these two can understand and delight in. And it's exactly how they want it to be.

Notes:

Thank you for taking a chance on an unfinsihed fic!! You really know how to participate in AO3 culture :) Thank you for reading and I Hope you stick around for the next one

(it's already started)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 10 of Jaskier Centric Whump + Smut