#that Eskel remembers. In which he still has a mental picture of what Geralt looked like? but it's been SO LONG | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

julek · 3 years

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day 17 ❄ freshly baked bread

winter prompt challenge

The leaves have turned brown by the time they start trailing north. Geralt had had a significant number of contracts south of the Alba, after meeting Jaskier in Lyria, and they’d been slowly making their way into Kaedwen so they can arrive at the keep before the first snow. Jaskier’s joined him for many winters at Kaer Morhen now, and he knows better than to wait too long, careful to expose the bard to frozen temperatures when he doesn’t need to.

They’re making camp under a white fir after a long day of walking, but Jaskier doesn’t seem too tired.

“Where are we, exactly?” he asks Geralt, absentmindedly strumming his lute.

Geralt stokes the fire. “Not too far from Hagge.”

Jaskier frowns and licks his lips, and Geralt knows he’s looking at his mental map of the Continent, which, in Geralt’s humble opinion, isn’t all that accurate.

“Hagge... You know I always confuse that one with Brugge? Must be the spelling. Anyway! If we’re near Hagge, we’re near Lettenhove!”

Geralt sits down on a log next to the bard, whose eyes are glinting with excitement. His voice always takes on a soft note when he talks about his family, his expression warm and fond — Geralt knows he misses them, and sadly doesn’t seem to get time to spend around them. Whenever they’re in a city that’s big enough to have a good correspondence system, Jaskier writes to his sisters and his parents, telling them all about their lives as they trudge around the Continent.

Jaskier heaves a small sigh. “Would it be too late for a quick detour? I know you want to get to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible, but I haven’t seen my family for a while and I’d love to hug my mother goodbye for the winter— you don’t have to, though, they can be a lot.” He huffs a laugh. “And maybe— it’s okay if we can’t, actually.”

Geralt shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. He thinks of all the times they strayed from their path just because Geralt had caught word that another Witcher was passing through, the times Jaskier’s missed a banquet just so he could have another round of ale with Geralt’s brothers. “It’s fine, Jask. We can ride out tomorrow.”

“Really?” Jaskier beams, his smile entirely too big for his face and too bright for Geralt to handle, and leans forward to wrap his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “Oh, that’s so kind of you! I hope you’re prepared, though, they’ll have a million questions about you and they’ll want stories, Geralt—”

“Like you did?”

“Yeah.” Jaskier pauses, a small smile on his lips. “Like I did.”

Getting to Lettenhove isn’t hard by itself — the road’s well-traveled and the closer they get to the village, the more Jaskier remembers. They’ve walked through the marketplace and the smell of freshly baked pies lingers, Geralt’s mouth watering at the thought. There’s a narrow path just on the side of the road, and that’s the one leading to Jaskier’s family’s house. It makes a beautiful picture, the golden treetops curling into one another in each side of the path forming an archway, the stone house in the distance. Jaskier’s scent is tinted with excitement and happiness, and it feels warmer than usual, a bit more muted — home, Geralt thinks.

Jaskier’s family is almost as warm and bright as he is; Geralt’s barely set foot in their house and he’s already pulled into a strong hug, Jaskier’s father clapping on his back with a smile.

“You’re the Witcher!” Jaskier’s mother exclaims, and there’s nothing but pure joy in her scent. “It’s so exciting to meet you, after hearing all of Julian’s songs!”

Geralt can’t help but smile, already overwhelmed by their hospitality. After Jaskier’s sisters have hugged him welcome and introduced themselves —Kitty, Lizzie, and Jane— Geralt’s lead to a room on the second floor, which he belatedly realizes, belongs to Jaskier.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Jaskier’s mother starts as he sets his pack down by the door. “Had we known we’d have guests, we would have gotten the guest room ready— you’ll have to share with Julian, if that’s alright? Or I could ask the girls to find some clean linens and—”

“Thank you,” Geralt says, kindly interrupting her rambling, which sounds familiar. He bites back a smile. “This is perfect.”

She blushes bright red and goes downstairs, and her voice carries as she orders her family around to start preparing dinner. Geralt moves around the room, taking every detail in. Jaskier’s room looks like he’d imagine, and, at the same time, nothing like it — he immediately feels drawn to it, the dark wooden floors and soft blankets on the bed, the bookcase filled with all kinds of books and the seemingly endless stack of papers by his desk. It’s so him, so Jaskier, Geralt can’t think of another word to describe it.

“It’s weird, seeing you here.” Jaskier’s leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on his lips.

“Good weird?”

“Definitely good weird,” Jaskier says, and presses a chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips, then wraps his arms around him and lays his head against his shoulder. “I’m glad we’re here. Thank you.”

Geralt gently squeezes his waist, pressing his nose against the crook of Jaskier’s neck, breathing in. He hums against his neck.

“Are you hungry?” Jaskier says when they part. “I’m sure Mother would love to stuff you full of pie and wine.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt wakes in an unfamiliar room. He frowns and goes to reach for his sword when he sees a familiar tangle of brown hair peeking out of the blankets, the warmth of Jaskier’s body against his own grounding him. He drinks Jaskier in; the way his legs are tangled in his, the bard’s head resting on the crook of his arm, his slow breathing. Sunlight filters through the thin curtains and falls around them almost gently, painting everything golden in the early morning.

Geralt traces small circles on Jaskier’s arm, basking in his warmth. They don’t get many moments like this on the road, and Geralt relishes every second of them — no contracts ahead, no obligations, nothing other than laying close to each other. He closes his eyes and gently nuzzles his nose against Jaskier’s hair, hearing the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“You’re thinking sappy thoughts, Witcher,” Jaskier murmurs against his chest, his voice thick with sleep. “I can tell.”

Geralt smiles, then presses a kiss to his temple. “Good morning.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pulls the blankets over his head, making small sounds of protest, something along the lines of how it’s too early to be awake and too cold to get out of bed, then brings Geralt under with him, draping the covers around them.

“Hi,” he says in the dark under their pile. It’s too warm for Geralt, but for Jaskier, he’ll stay.

“Hi,” Geralt answers, and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s lips this time. It’s slow and sweet and lazy, their lips finding each other again and again, and it’s perfect. “We should get up,” he says when they pull back for air.

Jaskier pouts. “You’re an ingrate, Geralt of Rivia. I bring you to my home, feed you and bathe you—”

“You haven’t bathed me.”

“—share my bed and blankets with you, only for you to demand we get up at the crack of dawn, when we don’t even have anything pressing to attend to. Rude, that’s what you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says, kissing the frown between Jaskier’s brows. “Will you find it in your good heart to forgive such an indiscretion?”

Jaskier purses his lips, considering. “Hmm, I think I’ll have to. After all, I can’t risk being uninvited to Kaer Morhen. I’ll miss Eskel too much.”

“It’s him you’re after, then?”

“Of course,” Jaskier says with a grin. “This was all a ploy to get to your brother, my one and only.”

“I think you are getting uninvited to Kaer Morhen, after all.”

Jaskier gasps in mock outrage. “Geralt! You wouldn’t.”

“Hmm.” Geralt tosses the blankets aside and sits up on the bed. “It’s decided.”

Jaskier, with his hair all mussed and sleep still tugging at his eyes, kneels on the bed, and he’s never quite looked so beautiful. “I could convince you to change your mind?”

Geralt turns to look at him. “How?”

Jaskier lifts his eyebrows and licks his lips. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

After a mind-blowing blowjob and another few hours of sleep, Geralt and Jaskier make their way downstairs. The house is silent, and there’s a note on the kitchen table: Went to town to run some errands before the cold settles in. Help yourselves to breakfast! We’ll be back at noon.

“Well, seems we’ve the house to ourselves,” Jaskier says and grabs a mug. “Tea?” Geralt takes a seat at the table and nods. “Okay, I don’t quite remember where everything is— What would you like to eat? I’m sure there’s fruit, and some nuts, and we could— Oh! I could make some bread for you!”

Geralt lifts an eyebrow. “You can bake?”

“Of course I can!” Jaskier starts pulling ingredients out of different drawers and sets them on the table. “I’m quite a proficient baker, mind you.”

Geralt hums and sips at his tea when the water’s done boiling. Jaskier chatters away, bright and awake, and he’s wearing one of Geralt’s shirts. His hair is still a tangled mess, but his cheeks are flushed and he’s in such a good mood his scent is intoxicating. Geralt’s seen him in many ways — performing at banquets and taverns, forehead damp with sweat and a smirk on his lips; composing by a riverbank, his brows furrowed in concentration and a pen hanging from his lips; moving around Novigrad like he owns the place, in one of his brightest doublets and a smile plastered on his face after he downs a bottle of Everluce. He’s beautiful in each and one of Geralt’s memory, but right now, with a line of flour across his cheek, wearing Geralt’s shirt and kneading bread for him, sharing his bed and his home and his life with him, this is the most beautiful Geralt’s ever seen him.

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Jaskier stops mid-rant and brings a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide. “I— you do?”

Geralt breathes out, his chest feeling lighter than it has in years. “I do.” He steps forward, moving closer to him, and presses his hand on top of Jaskier’s. “I do.”

Jaskier smiles, and it feels like sunshine is pouring down on Geralt. He bumps their foreheads together. “I love you too.”

Geralt lets out a quiet laugh and presses a kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, their breaths intertwined. He thinks of Kaer Morhen, the way the bard takes to it like he’s lived there forever, like there’s no other place he’d rather be. The way he sits by the fire with a book and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, the way he teases Eskel and Lambert like they grew up together, the way he follows Vesemir around the keep with a million questions waiting to be answered. The way he belongs.

And Geralt belongs too, he realizes. Here, in the middle of Jaskier’s family’s kitchen, with his arms wrapped around his bard as sunlight washes over them, and the scent of fresh bread and love fills his senses. He’s home, too.

#mywriting #winter prompts #geraskier ficlet #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #this is so sappy i apologize in advance #they're in love. they're home. i don't need anything else

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peaktotheocean · 3 years

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base

written for the witcher flash fic #026! on Ao3 here

Geralt wasn't feral, he was just down to his base. And being at the base meant there was still a foundation on which to build.

In all her years, Triss has had plenty of villagers burst through her door without knocking. Their urgency clouding their auras as they frantically begged her to follow them to where loved ones lay, most easily helped and some tragically not.

Never had she heard barely a knock on the door but rather just a thud to the ground.

Apparently, her future charge hadn’t even been able to make it to the entrance, let alone through it.

As she swung the formidable piece of wood inward, Triss saw why.

A huge Witcher had collapsed atop of a smaller man. Not much smaller in height, Triss realized, when she got a better look at him. He waved with his one free hand at her. The other wasn’t trapped underneath the Witcher’s bulk but occupied with stroking the long white hair.

“Hello. Are you free to help?” He asked as though, if she said no, he and the Witcher would somehow manage to get off the ground and walk to the next nearest village with no issue.

Not answering, Triss leaned closer to the Witcher.

She knew him, this Geralt of Rivia. Well, she knew of him and was acquainted with his brother, Eskel.

And if this was Geralt, then the other man had to be “Jaskier,” she said aloud. The bard blinked at her in surprise. Geralt however, bared his teeth at where her hands were hovering above them.

“Geralt!” Jaskier turned towards him and shifted so less of the Witcher’s weight kept him down. “Be polite!”

Geralt of Rivia did not want to be polite. Though, Triss could tell it was through no fault of his own. The Witcher’s eyes seemed to go right through her. Not the bard though. He saw Jaskier. He just didn’t seem…aware of it. That might explain the growling but then again, perhaps not.

“I’m not sure what’s wrong.” Jaskier’s worried tone was only making his Witcher more on-edge. “I found him like this in that prison and well, I got him here but he was like this the whole way.”

“What prison?”

“Yes, the castle over the hills. Whatever the name of that pompous liege lord of those lands are—“

“You got him through the hills in this state?”

“Ah well.” Jaskier’s cheeks tinged pink. “It’s possible that he picked me up and carried me most of the way.”

“Did he?” Triss eyed the Witcher's biceps. She would have paid good coin to see that. Quite a show indeed.

The area around Jaskier's eyes wrinkled and he closed them. His voice lowered and Triss realized that he was trying to manage his heartbeat. Keep it at a steady rhythm even while remembering the imprisonment so that Geralt stayed calm. “There were a lot of guards. He just took me and ran. And didn’t stop running. When I finally convinced him to slow down, he nearly collapsed outside your village.”

“Then you dragged him here," she said in amazement. The terrain was not simple between her and the village. Uphill and a rocky crop.

“Best I could.”

Content for now, Geralt ignored Triss in favor of taking Jaskier’s hand off of his head and playing with his fingers. He didn’t speak but he hummed to himself.

“And he was like this the whole time?”

“I didn’t realize." Jaskier averted his eyes.

Embarrassed, she thought.

"I had not seen him for months. I just thought perhaps he didn’t want to speak of his capture. But after an hour or so slung over his shoulder, I realized something was wrong.”

“Someone told me that you were a master of the seven arts.”

“None of those arts are medicine!” Jaskier tugged his hand away from Geralt to use both in order to cover his eyes. “He seems healthy. Just exhausted. And like this.”

“Feral. Nearly feral.”

“Feral? But he's perfectly calm like this.” Jaskier watched as Geralt took his hand back and just held it. He still hadn’t looked at Triss again but he also hadn’t bared his teeth at her so Jaskier considered it a win for now.

“I’m not well-versed in Witchers. But I know their trials were horrendous. They’re named after animals for reasons that I cannot guess. But perhaps he wanted to protect himself. And you. Or…” Triss took a deep breath and Geralt’s head snapped towards her. Jaskier gentled him with one hand on the back of his neck.

“Magic. I smell magic on him.”

“A spell.” Jaskier slumped down impressively for someone still on the ground. “There was a mage there. I, well." He looked to his companion again. "None near us were left alive."

A dead end then. Down that route anyway. Triss waved the thought away. No use trading in past possibilities. “Then think no more of it. Let me contact another mage who is familiar with him and —“

“Yennefer?” Jaskier asked and Triss nodded. She pulled a xenovox out of her robes and flicked it open. Geralt startled at the noise but Jaskier shushed him again.

"Yennefer. Are you there?"

"Triss?"

Inexplicably, Jaskier felt his shoulders come down at hearing her voice. Friends, they might be one day but certainly not now. Still he knew she cared, would help, had the power. Hopefully.

"I found him. Geralt's here. He's safe. He's with the bard but...he's fine," Triss tilted her head to look at Geralt, unsure how to describe him. "The bard is in a good mental state and healthy. Geralt could do with a good meal but his mental health...I can't explain. He smells of magic but there are no survivors who might be able to tell us why. He is..."

She looked to Jaskier for help and he held out his hand. He carefully watched Geralt as he spoke into the device. Still no reaction from the Witcher. So long as Triss stayed away, he remained content.

"He does not speak. He is distrustful of all others," Jaskier started with the symptoms.

"Is he fighting invisible demons or just real ones?" Yennefer sounded as though she followed a routine check-list of questions. Jaskier tried not to get his hopes up.

"Real," he said with certainty. "Everyone or everything he has reacted to so far has been real. Triss called him...feral," Jaskier said reluctantly. "It's not a word I'd like to use to describe him but I'm currently at a loss for any others." He let her think for a moment and watched Geralt discover the length of his own hair. He tugged on it lightly and stretched it out in front of him, white strands falling down to his face. Geralt shook his head at the feeling and while Triss giggled, Jaskier felt like crying.

Before he could stop himself, he raised the xenovox up to his lips again. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't sure where we even were."

Yennefer's sigh was followed by reluctant support. "You did the right thing."

"I know the two of you--" Jaskier waved his hand even though Yennefer couldn’t see it.

"You can be angry at someone and not want them to perish in a dungeon, Julian."

If Triss was surprised to hear another one of his names, she didn't look it. Jaskier swallowed and went back to stroking Geralt's hair. Whether it was a comfort for himself or the Witcher, he wasn't sure.

"Can you?"

"He was looking for you, you know?"

Jaskier closed his eyes tightly. Geralt made a low worried noise but Jaskier only shook his head. “Don't tell me that."

"He is a Witcher. You can't keep them safe. Especially during war time. If he was going to continue fighting monsters during these conflicts, then it was going to be along routes where his bard was said to have been seen."

"His bard," Jaskier sighed. "That's what they called me when they caught me. The Witcher's bard. Then they took me down the dungeons and he was there. And when he saw me…”

"Aren't you? The Witcher’s bard," Triss interrupted.

"It's been. Well, I suppose that Yennefer might know how long it's been." Time had always been a foreign construct to Jaskier. The seasons helped but even they blurred together after a while.

"You're still his bard," Yennefer said firmly. "This proves it. One of his brothers has been looking for him. I was contacted by another mage who was paid to inquire."

"Good. He'll be safe with his brothers."

"Perhaps."

"Kaer Morhen, right?" Jaskier had never seen the castle in the mountains but his imagination always had a habit of making large assumptions. He pictured a keep built into the side of a mountain, hidden by architecture and low clouds.

Perhaps that was too fanciful. Geralt had given him only a few descriptions to go on. "He can heal there. Can you take us?" He asked it into the xenovox but directly it towards Triss.

"Triss, keep me updated." And just like that, Yennefer's voice was gone from the box. Jaskier held it back out to Triss who tucked it into her skirts.

"Not to the fortress," she explained. "It is not…Mages are not welcome there. But I can have the brother meet us at the village at the base of it."

Geralt sat at Jaskier's feet, poking holes in the the knotted wood floors. "How are they going to get him up the mountain in this state?"

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As it turned out, the answer was that they were not even going to try.

Jaskier found himself standing in front of three Witchers, with his own pressed against his back. Geralt hadn’t growled at his brothers but he had sniffed Eskel when the Witcher held out his hand in front of him as if Geralt was a cautious pet. For a moment, Jaskier thought Geralt was going to lick his brother’s hand but instead he tilted his head and bumped it against his head, wanting Eskel to stroke his hair. Even while looking nauseous, Eskel obeyed.

“But I thought it would be the best place to go. Geralt has said many times that this is...his home,” Jaskier said helplessly. He looked to the North. Snow still covered the mountains and presumably the hidden keep, but he imagined that kept all year round. He knew from Geralt that he and his brothers left Kaer Morhen as soon as the snow let them.

“A home full of nightmares,” one of the Witchers muttered.

Geralt held onto Jaskier's hand with both of his. He didn't look nervous exactly but definitely tense. Jaskier wanted to run his fingers through that white hair in an attempt to calm him down but it felt like too intimate. Perhaps not in front of the other Witchers but certainly out in the open, right outside of this village where anyone could see.

The youngest spoke again. Lambert, Jaskier remembered. “We’re...safe there but we weren’t always. Between the pogroms and the trials...” He looked at the eldest Witcher. Their tutor, the one who raised them. That helped make them. “It is a begrudging home. We have no other options.” He sounded ashamed and honest at once.

“Oh.” Jaskier looked around again. Safety could mean a lot of things. A home that was safe didn’t have to also mean comfort or contentment. “So you think...”

“I think if he’s down to his...base." Eskel said the word so delicately. "The mountain will not be a place to heal. I am sorry.” The apology wasn’t directed to Jaskier but rather to Vesemir, the oldest Witcher who not had yet offered advice during the conversation.

The tension broke then and Lambert approached Geralt who sniffed at him eagerly. He looked at Jaskier for permission, who tried not to let any tears fall as he nodded at him. “Go on, Geralt. You know Lambert. I’ll be right here.”

That was all Geralt needed. He crouched down in a stance and Lambert froze. He copied Geralt and narrowed his eyes. Geralt’s smile was there but it was wild as he pounced on his brother, soundlessly cheering as they rolled away, closely followed by Vesemir.

Jaskier sat down on the ground, exhausted but content to watch them for now.

“It’s like he imprinted on you.”

“Eskel, right?” Jaskier held out his hand and although surprised, Eskel shook it. For all his bulk, he gracefully sat down next to Jaskier, legs out in front of him.

“He told you about me?”

“He kept his brothers close. But occasionally, I was given some information.” Jaskier smiled at the memory. Geralt didn’t talk much and usually not while grinning but when discussing his family? They were where his heart lived. “Of course he made me swear never to use your names in songs. In case you were wondering why you never heard your name sung out in pubs. Blame your brother.”

“I’d prefer to keep it that way but Lambert might take you up on your offer.” Eskel winced as Geralt pinned Lambert hard against the dirt. It took some convincing from Vesemir to let him get up and before they began the game again, Geralt looked over to check and make sure Jaskier still sat in the same place. “I’m sorry that this isn’t the end of your journey. We will help you find a place to keep him for now. Then we will reassess once it is safer.”

“I teach, normally. In Oxenfurt," Jaskier said conversationally as if they weren't watching two grown Witchers wrestle, with one having recently attempted to bite off the ear of the other. "But I can’t imagine such a loud city being conducive to his healing. I’m thinking sunshine. And quiet.”

“Oh?”

"I have a place in mind, I mean. If you're sure he can't stay here."

Eskel watched his brothers wrestle. For Lambert to be the cautious one was something new indeed. “He can’t. Not as he is. He needs someone with him and we’re needed on the Path. It is a dangerous time. Even before winter, there were contracts I had no time for. I must go back to those villages.”

“Yes, of course." Trust Geralt's brothers to be as noble as the Wolf. "Well, you’d be welcome. All of you. If you’d like to visit, I mean.” Jaskier wanted to beg Eskel to come with them. Lambert, Vesemir. Any of them. He didn’t know how to care for a feral Witcher. Geralt hadn’t wanted him last they met. And now Geralt was stuck with him. “I, for one, would be comfortable knowing that you knew Geralt’s location. That I didn’t just steal away your brother.”

Eskel laughed, “You begged a mage to help him and then brought my brother back to us. I can’t imagine that we would think you’d be trying to hide him away.” Jaskier only offered a weak smile at that. Eskel clapped him on the shoulder. The noise of the gesture making Geralt’s head pop up from where Lambert attempted to keep him down. “No, bard. For your safety, I will accompany you where you’d like to go. And then you will be welcome to correspond with us for whatever you might need. It is a task that I dare say you do not take likely.”

“I’ll take you there.” Triss' voice came from behind them.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier and Eskel asked at the same time.

She hadn't stopped watching Geralt. Jaskier couldn't blame her. If she knew him before or at least knew of him, it was...unsettling to say the least. He was sweet, of course. He was still Geralt. But just...less, somehow.

Geralt would look them in the eye but not see them. Open his mouth with no intention to speak, only sounds. Jaskier liked Eskel's diagnosis more than Triss'. Geralt wasn't feral, he was just down to his base. Something for Jaskier to remember before those instincts kicked in again and he found himself being thrown over a shoulder yet again.

But being at the base meant there was still a foundation on which to build.

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It was too short a time before Triss had settled them at the cottage by the sea. She had already left to go find Yennefer. Jaskier only had Eskel and Geralt now, and he wasn't quite ready to watch Eskel leave.

“How can I find you if—“ He cut himself off, looking past Geralt to the horizon. His Witcher was sitting on the sand and staring out to sea. What he saw, if anything, Jaskier wasn't sure.

“If what, bard?” Eskel asked gently.

“I was thinking if he gets better but I suppose he’ll know how to contact you or find his way up the mountain again."

“Having second thoughts?”

Jaskier shook his head. He had never. Not about Geralt. He had left because Geralt had told him to. He figured that the kindest thing he could do for the Witcher was listen to his wishes. “He doesn’t like me. Your brother, I mean.” He took a deep breathe. Perhaps he should have mentioned it before Triss set a protection spell over the cottage. “The last conversation we had, he told me that he never wanted to see me again.”

“Geralt has told me that at least two dozen times in all the years I’ve known him. You can’t take it personally.”

“I don’t have another option. Or the— forgive me— benefit, for lack of a better word, of many years left on this Continent in order to find our way back to one another. He holds all the cards and best decks to boot.”

“What do you fear?”

The waves crashed relentlessly against the shore as Jaskier pondered his answer.

“That he will wake up one morning, realize who he is with, and curse me for not trying harder to get him his life back.”

“Bard— Jaskier...”

Jaskier only shook his head. “I asked him to go to the coast with me once. He said no. This is not what I had in mind.”

Eskel’s voice sounded far away. “No, I imagine not.”

“You’re sure you won’t stay?” Jaskier tried one more time. Eskel had stayed with them long enough. He recognized the look in the Witcher's eyes. The Path was calling and wouldn't take no for an answer. “He took to you better than anyone else.”

Eskel only shook his head. He got up off of the sand and wiped down his pants. He clapped a hand on Jaskier's shoulder, not even flinching when Geralt's head whipped around, eyes narrowed. He relaxed when he saw that again, it was just his brother. "You keep him safe.”

“Keep yourself safe. Come back to us.”

"You know, you would have our gratitude if you didn't already. For your songs. And finding him."

"Of course." Jaskier looked away again.

Eskel wanted to stay. He wanted Jaskier to understand how special it was for a Witcher to trust a human. How special Jaskier was to have earned that. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to let himself.

Returning would be a reward for a long few weeks on the Path. He’d stay as close as he’d let himself.

“I’ll be back for his birthday, all right?”

Jaskier nodded. “Right. After Belleteyn then.”

“It’s only a few months.”

Eskel watched as the bard steeled himself with an inhale and managed a smile. “So long as you bring him a cake. Cooking I’m all right with but certainly not baking.”

“It’s a deal.”

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"No, darling. That's just a cat. What a sweetheart, see? Hear the purring? Isn't it, nice? I-- Oh!"

Jaskier found himself being held against Geralt's chest. He tried not to let himself sink into it. He refused to be that selfish. He could just be happy that Geralt wasn't hissing at the poor puss.

But then Geralt's chest shuddered and began to vibrate. After a few false starts, the purring became steady and loud and Jaskier watched Geralt with wide-eyed amazement.

It was all Jaskier could do to not fall asleep against the purring Witcher.

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Geralt's brow furrowed just slightly. As if he was trying to remember how to concentrate on something. It seemed to strengthen as Jaskier put a hand on his arm but that quickly, recognition left his eyes.

-------------------------------

Jaskier sat up in bed. He knew the shadow at the door was Geralt but--

"Geralt?" He tried.

The shadow came closer and Jaskier's heart sank at the unfocused golden eyes searched around the room for him.

"It's all right. I haven't gone anywhere. Except to bed, I suppose."

Geralt said nothing. Just waited.

"Come on then," Jaskier offered quietly. "You need sleep, regardless of what's going on in that head of yours. Your brother should be here tomorrow, you know?" Acting before he could overthink the boundaries he had set for himself, he kissed Geralt’s forehead and let the Witcher settle in next to him.

-------------------------------

Where was he? Nothing about this place looked familiar but it smelled...safe.

Jaskier. It smelled like Jaskier.

Geralt let the sleep pull him under again.

The next time he awoke, the scent hadn't changed but he had.

He remembered little but he knew himself. Jaskier. He hadn't...been himself. Why?

Rolling around with Lambert.

Yennefer's voice.

A dungeon.

Geralt sat up with a start, head beginning to ache. He didn't move though.

Jaskier was in his bed. Next to him.

No, not Geralt's bed. It smelt more like Jaskier.

Geralt was in Jaskier's bed.

"Some mornings, I wonder if you wouldn't have just been happier being left at Kaer Morhen," Jaskier murmured, pushing Geralt's hair back and away from his face. "But then again, you've already been left with Witchers once in your life. I suppose I couldn't do that to you again. Not if I could help it."

Geralt kept quiet. This was not a tavern room that he and Jaskier had shared, that much was clear. His eyes followed Jaskier's fingers but he said nothing.

“I’d like you to remember yourself again but at the same time there are some memories I’d rather you not have to re-live. Yennefer said she found the name of the mage in the dungeon so hopefully there are notes somewhere. But she's not optimistic.” Jaskier sighed. He smelled...not sad, not exactly. But he wasn't hopeful.

He brightened up a bit, just for a moment. “Your brother should be by any time today. Perhaps that’ll help.”

Brother? Geralt kept his facial expressions blank. Eskel or Lambert? What year was it?

His brothers knew where they were. So did Yennefer. That was something then. But it was not the Path, that much he knew. They had never stayed in such a nice room as this on the Path. Nor were they in court though.

Flashes of an unknown castle came to him.

The dungeon again.

Jaskier's frightened face.

No, if Geralt had his way, they would not return to any court for quite a long time.

Then he smelled something else. Familiar, just as safe as Jaskier.

Eskel.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asked. If he expected a response, he didn't show it. And Geralt stayed put in the bed.

Even when there was a knock at the door and creaking from the hinges, Geralt did not move.

He watched Jaskier stumble towards the main room of the house.

“Hmm.”

Eskel.

“I never thought I’d be excited to hear that noise,” Jaskier laughed but it was a quiet, sad exhale. It sounded wrong. Still Geralt didn't move. He wasn't sure how to. Or what he would do after figuring it out.

"No change then?” Eskel's voice was low and Geralt wasn't sure how, but he knew that Eskel and Jaskier were leaning in close to one another.

"Every once in a while, his eyes..." Jaskier paused, gathering his thoughts. "I'll think he'll do something or his eyes will seem like they really comprehend me instead of just...going along with it. I can't tell if it's muscle memory or something similar. He'll brush down the horse, if I ask. Gather wood, if I'm in eyesight. Set and check traps but only if--"

"Only if you're with him. So he hasn't hunted at all by himself?"

At the suggestion, Geralt fought back his instinct to freeze. Why would he leave Jaskier by himself just to hunt? Then he remembered Jaskier was safe. He had left his bard to hunt many times before.

Before the dungeon.

Jaskier's scream as he reached towards him.

A mage cackling.

Geralt centering himself as much as he could to gather his strength to fight.

Losing himself.

Again, Jaskier's voice from the main room bought him forward in time.

"We've tried it a bit with varying levels of success. Me staying in the house didn't work cause he couldn't see me. Outside was a little better because he could smell me but he'd get too distracted. It's not something we do often, let's put it that way."

Geralt couldn't bear to hear the descriptions of his former self. The shell of Geralt. The bivalve of Blaviken. He willed his hands over his face but they refused to move. He wanted control. Gods.

“Is that his cake?”

“I figured that he deserved a treat. You both did.”

“It’s so ridiculous. I love it!”

“Of course you do, bard. Now where is my brother?”

"Through to my bedroom. I think he had a nightmare last night. I couldn't tell, quite honestly. See if you can coax him out and we'll eat."

"Cake for breakfast?"

"It's his birthday!" Jaskier sounded insulted on his behalf.

My birthday.

Geralt finally moved, feeling his fingers against the quilt.

"You're awake." Eskel sounded pleased. Geralt managed to meet his eyes. His brother stopped his tracks, voice lower, gentler than Geralt deserved.

"Oh, I see. You're awake." Eskel leaned in closer and Geralt could smell his excitement, his fury, his everything. “How long have you been awake, eh, Wolf?”

The smell turned bitter now. And Geralt couldn't have that. He couldn't. Not with his brother. Or his bard. He had to try.

“This morning,” Geralt croaked out, throat screaming, muscles taut. “I woke up this morning, I swear it. I knew nothing and just—“

“You just stayed quiet," Eskel finished for him. He soothed Geralt, running a hand down his back. "I'm sorry to have frightened you. I was worried for the bard."

"I don't. I didn't know anything.” Geralt couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice, so weak and uncertain. “Where are we?"

"It's all right," Eskel whispered. He left Geralt's side to pull off his boots and Geralt wanted to cry out. Perhaps even if he could have, he would have resisted the urge. He was grateful that he didn't have to find out. Eskel came back to him at once. He climbed into the bed and gathered Geralt in his arms.

“How long has it been?” Geralt asked, scared to know the answer.

“I saw you last midsummer solstice. The bard came to us when winter had nearly gone. He had you in tow. Along with Triss Merigold.”

“Triss?” Geralt remembered Triss. Gods, he had growled at her.

“You’re lucky that she was the first mage that he ran into after finding you. Rescuing you more like.” Eskel's hands against his skin felt like a balm. Geralt leaned back into him. “She took you both to us right away.”

“And then to here? Where are we besides...” He could smell the salt air from their room. So close to the coast. Just how Jaskier wanted. Perhaps not like this though.

The ocean spray.

Jaskier's laughter turning into tears.

Geralt panicked. Jaskier hurt? No. Jaskier sad. Sad.

Sad.

“The war has escalated. We did not think…the keep was not the right place for you. Not in that state. You needed to be with your bard.”

“My bard…”

Jaskier.

Commotion came close by the door and Geralt looked up. He closed in on himself but still Eskel didn't let go of him. He refused. If anything, he held on tighter.

“I— Eskel?” Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Geralt?”

His bard's scents had always been overwhelming. How one human could feel so many things at once, Geralt didn't know.

Jaskier reached out a hand as though he wanted to touch Geralt, clutch him in a hug but he stopped himself. He had too much momentum though so he changed his directions and grabbed tightly into Eskel.

“Oh thank you.”

Eskel met Geralt's eyes over Jaskier's hair. “An old Witcher incantation. Vesemir found it and I wanted to wait. I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he lied gruffly.

“Geralt.” The difference in Jaskier’s mannerisms was painful. Something was wrong. Geralt had to fix it. “I’m so so—“ he didn’t get his apology out before Geralt snatched him and held him against his chest.

“I’m sorry. Thank you.” Geralt’s word were choked, muffled against Jaskier’s hair.

“He needs to breathe, Wolf.”

Geralt's grip on Jaskier eased but he didn't let go, not entirely. Jaskier didn't seem to mind. He stayed squished between two Witchers.

"We're not having cake for breakfast," Geralt grumbled.

"But it's your birthday!" Jaskier placed his hand on his chest, as if Geralt's declaration gravely offended him.

"Feel free to go off and find your own meal then," Eskel ordered. "Me and the bard deserve some chocolate cake."

"Chocolate?" Geralt asked. His head perked up of its own violations and Jaskier stifled a giggle. "Hmm."

Eskel reached over Jaskier and tapped Geralt's nose. "Use that scent, Wolf."

"And then what?" Jaskier asked. "Geralt, are you--" Eskel held up a hand before he could ramble. Geralt was grateful. He tucked his face into Jaskier's neck, breathing deeply.

“He might need some more time to adjust.”

“Oh. Do you—“

“Here, bard. You should both stay here. Heal. It wouldn’t have worked if you hadn’t brought him as far as you did.” Eskel leaned away only to dig a pouch out of his pocket and set it on the table next to the bed. "We've got plenty of coin right now thanks to someone's songs still flooding the continent. Consider it your percentage of the profits."

"Are you sure?" Jaskier bit his lip, watching Geralt, forgetting after all this time of not having to worry about Geralt listening to him, that he could hear him from such a short distance away. "I don't want him to be uncomfortable. Perhaps you--"

"Here," Eskel insisted. "There's still trouble brewing out there. It's best not to move either of you."

"Either of us?"

"Did you think we'd let you go so easily? After what you've done for Witchers?"

"I don't need...a reward," Jaskier spat out, "for taking care of your brother. Anyone--"

"I'm not talking about Geralt. I'm talking about your songs." Geralt's arms tightened around Jaskier's waist as Eskel spoke. “But no, anyone wouldn’t have helped a Witcher. You did.”

"Oh."

"It's not about owing a debt. Think of it as...camaraderie. Kinship.” Then, feeling a bit brave and perhaps annoyance at Geralt, Eskel added, “We expect to see you at Kaer Morhen next winter. If the university can spare you.”

"All right. That sounds...that's good." He sounded unsure. Geralt hated that he could smell that on Jaskier. He let out a whimper that had the men above him freeze.

"This is your home, Jaskier. You're not leaving and neither is he. I know my brother can be stubborn," Eskel said firmly, fully aware that Geralt could hear him. "But he would not jeopardize your life. Not now when war is crawling over the Continent."

Jaskier looked as though he wanted to argue again but Eskel put a hand on his shoulder. "I promise you. This is the safest place for both of you right now. Besides, we cannot be sure that Geralt won't fall back under his trance so soon."

"Do you think your cure will not hold?" Jaskier asked nervously.

"I can't be sure." Mostly because I did not cure him in the first place. Eskel didn't say. He looked at his brother who shrugged. “Promise you’ll stay?” Eskel leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Jaskier’s forehead.

“We’ll stay. Until we cannot,” Geralt promised.

“Our bard already saved you once this during war, brother. You best watch him.”

“I’m right here!”

“We know.” Eskel and Geralt said at once. They turned to Jaskier at the same time as well and his eyes went wide. He shook his head and grabbed a hand from each of them.

"Come on, you two. I think if anything, we've earned some cake."

#the witcher #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #the witcher flash fic #i don't like chocolate or cake so that's why i didn't really focUS ON IT SORRY

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