Chapter Text
Ciri grabbed his wrist, skin pale with fright. “Jaskier… don’t leave tonight.”
Jaskier frowned, swinging his leg up on to the bed as he stilled the strings of his lute. “Do the nightmares scare you that much?”
“Yes.” Her eyes shifted to where Geralt was still cleaning up bits of glass. “How did I do that?”
“What? Shake your room and make your glass of water throw itself against a wall, shattering?” He tilted his head. “How did your scream toss the soldiers away from Geralt?”
She nodded.
Jaskier thinned his lips, turning to her. “You’re a Source. You’re powerful.”
Ciri’s hands trembled more so. “What does that mean?”
“You have a natural affinity for magic, but, as you can see, it’s hard to control.” He gestured to the glass. “The stress from your nightmare caused you to wield your power. In its current uncontrollable state, it’s dangerous. In certain situations, a Source can destroy a town.”
“So I could… do something like you did?”
“Yeah, you could.”
Ciri looked away, as pale as the moon on a bright night. She was true Chaos, in all that came in. She needed something, someone. A sorcerer. Jaskier strummed a note as the idea popped into his head. He could see now… Yennefer and Istredd, this was how they fitted in to the story. They could help Ciri, they could train her.
This was the third nightmare she’d had this week, but only the second time she’d had an outburst with her power. She hadn’t asked about the first time, maybe assuming she hadn’t done it, and Jaskier had. But now it was clear. It was bound to happen eventually, especially after a month in the keep, after learning so much about Nilfgaard, after seeing Geralt die, be brought back, and be unconscious for three days. After knowing of the deaths of everyone she knew…
“Remember when we told you of Yennefer?” Jaskier asked, settling his hand on Ciri’s. She stilled and looked up, wide eyes staring into his own.
“Yes… Could she help me?”
“She could. Do you want me to call for her?”
Ciri nodded shakily. “Please.”
They’d discussed it with Vesemir, just last week. The possibility of getting Yennefer involved. They had all agreed to wait for the right moment to ask Ciri, and this was as good as any. Better even, because of what had occurred. And now, with her consent, Jaskier could reach out and ask her to come. It would not only be beneficial for Ciri, but would act as a way to bring the family all together, for the first time.
Jaskier placed his lute down, leaning it upon the bed. “I’ll go now. Geralt, stop with the glass and come sit with Ciri.”
Geralt stopped, and glared at Jaskier. “She could hurt herself with it.”
“Just come sit, we can worry about the glass later.”
He stood as Geralt sat on the bed. Ciri scooted to his side, and he wrapped an arm around her as she settled her head against him. It was sweet, and a true display of how close they had grown over the last month.
Jaskier smiled at them. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
He whisked through the halls, at more of a run than a jog. Bursting out into the courtyard, he slowed, walking to the middle, tipping his head to the sky, closing his eyes. He searched, reaching out into the distance. She wasn’t hard to find, not with her strong tie with Istredd. Their signature made it easy.
‘Yennefer, are you willing to come to Kaer Morhen? Ciri, Geralt’s Child Surprise needs you. We need you. She’s a Source, she needs training, and I trust you. I trust you to protect her, to mentor her, to be there, and to be important.’
There was no response. The slight breeze in the air ruffled his hair. This… was a waiting game, but he was not leaving the courtyard until he made contact. So, he waited. And once five minutes had passed, the reply came.
‘Is this what you meant by the future holds family for us all? That I am family to Ciri eventually?’
‘Yes. You and Istredd become family. Come, and you shall see.’
‘On my way.’
Jaskier let his signature be felt by Yennefer, and a second later, a portal opened before him. Out stepped Yennefer, with Istredd right beside her. They both looked well, if not tired. The war had come for them, and it had drained them. But they were still alive, and not amongst the many sorcerers dead. Luckily, they were too bound by destiny to die yet. There were many years for them ahead.
“Yennefer. Istredd. I’m glad you came.”
Istredd tilted his head. “The girl, what has she done so far?”
Jaskier squared his shoulders. Business already… “She shoved soldiers away with a scream, and caused her room to shake with wind, throwing a glass with her mind.”
Yennefer breathed deeply. “Then she needs to be trained, quickly. Before another outburst.”
Jaskier nodded. “I’ll take you to her.”
He led them back to Ciri’s room, where Geralt was still holding her close. She was sniffling now, head buried in his chest. Jaskier frowned, heart lurching to protect Ciri from all. He went to them, sitting on the bed, stroking a hand through her hair. She was so young, so much younger than everyone else in the room. Jaskier could never truly understand her pain, no matter how hard he tried. But he imagined Yennefer could understand, that all the witchers could.
“Ciri, Yennefer is here,” he whispered to her.
Ciri shifted, eyes peeking out to look. She stared at Yennefer for a long moment. “You can help me?”
“I can, and hopefully soon.” Yennefer turned to the glass behind her. “You need to know how to control it, before you do something much worse.”
Istredd caught Yennefer’s eyesight. “First she needs to understand all that a Source is.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
Ciri peeled away from Geralt, moving to sit in the middle of the bed. “When can we start?”
Yennefer smiled, and Jaskier had a feeling that she recognised the fire in Ciri’s eyes. “It’s late now, and you’ll need rest. Does tomorrow suffice?”
“It does.”
“Then we will begin after breakfast.”
Ciri smiled. “Good.”
Istredd turned to Jaskier. “Where will we be staying for the night?”
Jaskier hummed, and he stood from the bed. “I’ll take you to Vesemir, he’s still awake in the library.”
Ciri made a wounded noise.
He turned to her, expression soft. “I’m keeping my promise, I’ll be back.”
“Okay…”
With that, the three of them left. Jaskier guided them to the library, finding Vesemir curled up with a book by the fire. As he tended to be most nights. And it was spectacularly late now. Everyone else was in bed, or had gone back to sleep after being awoken by Ciri.
“Vesemir,” Jaskier said upon arrival, “we have guests.”
Vesemir raised his head from his book, eyes settling on Yennefer and Istredd. “Are these the sorcerers?”
“Indeed. Ciri needs help.”
“Yes, the poor girl does.” Vesemir stood and regarded them with a raised eyebrow. “You can train her?”
“Let’s hope so,” Yennefer said, eyes full of that fire she held. “Otherwise she risks losing control at the wrong time.”
“Hm. I’ll show you both to a room.” He turned to Jaskier, eyes full of sympathy. “You should be with Ciri.”
Jaskier nodded and blinked away, not wanting to waste a second. Ciri needed endless support from him and Geralt, and they were happy to give. As he appeared in her room, he noticed that she was tucked into bed, with Geralt sitting beside her on the bed, a book open. He was reading softly, and Ciri was gazing up at him so calmly. Like she was at peace.
Jaskier joined them on the bed, much to Ciri’s delight. She sat up a little, grinning, resting back down after. Geralt regarded him with a smile and kept reading.
It was a peaceful night from then on, as Ciri drifted off to sleep. Geralt and Jaskier stayed, watching over her, keeping a promise. She was… She meant a lot now, to Jaskier. Like he and Geralt had adopted her, and she was their child. He never thought being a father would be so rough yet so rewarding.
And now he knew.
--
The training was going well. With Ciri learning control, learning magic, understanding Chaos. With the sword fighting, and just fighting in general. With Yennefer and Vesemir teaming up to incorporate Ciri’s abilities into her fighting. With everyone getting involved with the training.
Even Jaskier played his part. He set up some dummies in the courtyard, and screamed at them with all his raw power. They went flying, naturally, and a couple broke in half. He talked Ciri through it, and she managed to successfully make the dummies fly. With enough control on the power, they were both able to aim their shockwave, ensuring that maybe only one dummy cut through the air instead of them all.
Coën ensured Ciri knew how to fight against everyone at once. She used her magic, and her newfound skills to have a good go of it. Jaskier didn’t join in for that training (he was too powerful to be let loose like that), and Istredd stayed out of the action too, electing to read instead. But he was watching too, just as intently as Jaskier.
It was impressive, how quick she learnt. She certainly had enough mentors to gain advice from, to learn the skills of five different witchers, two different sorcerers, and a god. It would put her far ahead of the game. Nilfgaard would never know what’s coming. Never guess what Ciri would be able to do to them, once let loose.
That day would come, when they’ll know not to mess with her. Ever again.
While Ciri was training with Yennefer and Geralt, Jaskier made his way to the library. Over the past couple of days, few had seen Istredd wandering about. The same could be said for Vesemir. Albeit, Jaskier was more than a little curious. The others were busy with Ciri’s training, while his days were filled with music. Both in playing in his lute, and taking quick trips to complete his work when the right moments popped up.
So, the library seemed like a suiting adventure.
As he walked through the door, he noted that Vesemir had fallen asleep by the window. Istredd was sitting in the middle of the room, books surrounding him. A notepad sat in his lap, and the lad looked half exhausted and half obsessed. He was progressing then, and perhaps with the books of Kaer Morhen, along with his other research, he was finally getting there.
Jaskier cupped his hands behind his back and stepped towards him. “Have you gotten somewhere since we last met?”
Istredd snapped his head up, eyes smiling as they settled on Jaskier. “I’ve found old and torn books, handwritten, from before Conjunction.” He gestured to the bookcases. “Here, I’ve found notes from gnomes, hidden in ancient human books. There are forgotten words to be found, and none of yours were lies. I’ve spoken to dwarves, and once they believed my intentions, they showed me their libraries.”
Istredd had this slightly furrow in his brow, like the memory was pleasing yet confusing. As if he hadn’t thought beforehand that there were unknown libraries in the world. Jaskier was proud of him. Those that pursued history often only cared for the events after the Conjunction. Some were more concerned with the events that were documented heavily. But Istredd, and others like him, were curious about the greater unknown.
Before.
To know he had helped in the quest for knowledge was a joy.
“And what did you find, did the truth of history please you?”
Istredd lit up, his smile blinding. “Of course it did. It completes a puzzle in my mind, allows me to realise the true hurt those not native to this world have caused. It’s understanding.”
“The point of history is to understand, so that we may learn from the past?” Jaskier pondered. He didn’t know if he was on the right lines there, but from Istredd’s smile widening, he guessed he’d spoken truth.
“Exactly.” He gestured to his notebook. “If I can get my findings out there, perhaps humans will learn of their ignorance. Maybe then we can move on and start anew. With old lessons learnt, instead of repeating our mistakes over and over. There is no reason to hurt the Elder Races, or any race.”
Jaskier nodded slowly. “Individuals should be held to account, not an entire race, or an entire people.” He traced his lips with his thumb. “However, humans and their actions have caused much hurt, and their privilege in this world should never be forgotten. Humans still have power over the other peoples, but in time, that can change. Everyone can be equal, but not without remembering the brutal history?”
“Yes. Your pondering is correct, Jaskier. You’re wiser than I thought.”
“Hm, well, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on the actions of humans. I once deemed them evil, but I think they’re the same as any knowledgeable species. They fear the unknown, and what they don’t understand, they purge, claiming they are protecting themselves when all they do is slaughter.”
Istredd placed his notebook down and stood, stepping over the books. “You understand a lot about the species on the Continent…” He tilted his head. “Before the Conjunction, were there conflicts as brutal as the Nilfgaardian Empire’s expansion?”
“That I know of? Only a few, but nothing to this scale. That I’ve seen? None.”
“Why does history repeat?”
“Because it is forgotten, or because people grow complacent, thinking that long over history can never affect them, when it can.” Jaskier placed a hand at Istredd’s shoulder, staring into his soul. He was still pure in his intentions for knowledge. That was all he wanted. “But I believe that is a question you already know the answer of. What you’re really asking is if books and notes and knowledge can stop history repeating, right?”
Istredd nodded.
“Again, that is a question for you to answer. I am a mere god, I have not walked upon the Continent as I have with Geralt for long. History to me is… distant. But you hold knowledge, and have the ability to share it. If you do, and if it grows popular with the masses… then we’ll find out.”
“Thank you, Jaskier. That is reassuring, and helps me believe I’m doing the right thing.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
Vesemir poked his head around his chair. “What have I missed?”
Istredd chuckled, approaching him. “Nothing, my friend. Jaskier and I were pondering about history.”
“Ah, I see. An intriguing conversation?”
“Absolutely.”
Jaskier smiled. “History and thought provoking conversations aside, Coën and Eskel have offered to teach Ciri and I to cook. Want to join?”
Vesemir smoothly stood, arms folded. “I should, Coën and Eskel do not have the meal expertise that I have.”
With a laugh on his lips, Jaskier turned, gesturing for them to follow. “Then come on, I would love to see a master at work.”
“And you will,” Vesemir called, catching up to him.
Jaskier noticed Istredd grab his notebook, and quickly followed them out. They headed down to the kitchen where everyone had already gathered. With Coën and Eskel at a bench, laying out ingredients. Lambert was sitting on said bench, eyeing the ingredients like he disagreed. Geralt was at Ciri’s side, watching this unfold on the opposite side. And Yennefer was by the fire, stoking it. (She couldn’t have looked more bored if she tried).
“I’ve wrangled the stragglers,” Jaskier announced.
Eskel immediately looked overjoyed. “Vesemir, come help. We’re making a pie. Ciri should learn how to make pastry.”
Vesemir moved quicker than Jaskier had ever seen, already examining the available ingredients. “This is all we need.” His eyesight landed on Ciri. “Now, pastry can be complicated if done wrong. One important lesson to learn is, be patient. The pastry will work in your favour.”
Istredd leant against a wall, a smile pulling at his lips. “This is going to be interesting.”
“You mean it’s going to be pandemonium,” Jaskier said, watching as Geralt pulled away to sit upon another bench. Lambert joined him as he was shooed away by Coën.
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
Jaskier grinned, agreeing completely as he moved to stand beside Ciri. “Excited?” he asked her.
She glanced up at him. “I can’t wait to get started. Pastry never sounded fun until now.”
As Eskel grabbed a bowl, Jaskier could only imagine this would end in success. What could go wrong with three good cooks, four bystanders, and two students?
Everything, apparently, for pandemonium followed.
--
“Ready to go again?” Jaskier asked as he straddled Geralt’s hips. He dropped his eyes to his cock, the sight never growing old. It had only be a minute since their release, but that would not stop them, not when there was love to be made.
Geralt smoothed his hands up Jaskier’s sides. “You’re insatiable.”
Jaskier grinded down, just to make his point. A groan was pulled from Geralt’s lips. “So are you, dear heart.”
With a smirk on his lips, Geralt flipped them, pressing Jaskier into the mattress. They got all tangled together, as one. Geralt nuzzled Jaskier’s neck, kissing his way up to his ear. “And what do you need this time, sweetheart?”
“Fuck me, but slowly.” Jaskier pushed his hand into Geralt’s hair. “As slow as you can go. Make it soft, sweet, then when we’re close, one powerful thrust should be enough, don’t you think?”
Geralt caught Jaskier’s lips, nibbling at his bottom lip. A clear sign of a yes. Jaskier curled his arms around Geralt’s back, shifting against him so that their cocks rubbed together, the friction delicious as Geralt licked into his mouth, tongue curling around his own. A moan slipped from Jaskier’s throat, and he scraped his nails up to Geralt’s neck, delighting in the shiver that ran through him, and he rolled his hips, adding to the effect.
The groan that came from Geralt was oh so delightful.
This never got old, never boring, for each time brought small differences that made Jaskier crave more, just… more. He tangled his fingers in Geralt’s hair once again, pulling slightly as he licked at his lips. More luscious sounds greeted his ears, and Geralt returned the action by circling his entrance with wet fingers. Mm, he was getting better at stealthily slicking up. And how perfect too, as one finger pushed in.
It wasn’t as if Jaskier hadn’t already been prepped, this wasn’t the first fuck of the night, nor the second. It wasn’t so much the prep as the foreplay, as Geralt claimed. According to him, one should writhe and beg before being rewarded. Jaskier claimed it was horseshit every time, but he was intimately aware that it wasn’t. It always did get him riled up in the right way.
Jaskier broke their kiss as Geralt pushed a second finger in, twisting. “Slow, gods, go slow…”
Geralt slowed, dragging his fingers back and forth perfectly. The sensations of tenderness brought on a different feeling in Jaskier. While fast and hard was fun, it never truly made him go as wild as this could. As slowness could. He was love, and making love, the softness of what that meant, drove him crazy. In a way a delicious rough fucking couldn’t.
He threw his head back, moaning as Geralt dragged his fingertips against his prostate, oh so slow, pulling out again, a third finger pushing in on the way back. Geralt kissed along Jaskier’s jaw at the same time, leaving a small bite here and there, before he buried his nose in the curve of his neck. Jaskier tilted his head, to allow Geralt better access, and his eyes fluttered shut as Geralt breathed him in.
Teeth grazed his skin, and the smallest bite was left. As tantalising as Geralt’s fingers. Jaskier sighed out with the pleasure, rocking against Geralt’s fingers, digging his nails into Geralt’s back, scraping, and he tugged at his hair, to which Geralt groaned, finding Jaskier’s lips once more.
Jaskier fucked himself on Geralt’s fingers, needing more, needing his cock most of all. Letting the moment stretch for just a second longer, allowing Geralt that foreplay, allowing him to finish lavishing his lips with nibbles and wipes of his tongue. He deserved it, especially since Jaskier had rushed the first time tonight.
Geralt left Jaskier’s lips with a smile. “Ready, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” Jaskier breathed.
In what felt like a second but was more like a minute, Geralt slicked up his cock lavishly, pulling his fingers out, and pushing in gently. Jaskier closed his eyes at the welcoming feeling, breathing lighter now, like this was contentment. He pulled Geralt close, closer, by his neck and back. They were one.
The slowness of each thrust, of each brush, of each movement back and forth, was so tantalisingly maddening. It brought Jaskier right to the very edge of his mind, letting the rest go blank. Even the feelings only he as a god felt faded away. Sure, it had happened before, after kissing for what felt like hours, or from just being curled up in Geralt’s arms, but to have it happen like this, when all he could feel was Geralt inside him…
He was afloat with joy, ecstasy.
Tears pricked at his eyes, happy ones, from the rush of having heartbreak and death leave him for a good long moment. Geralt noticed of course, kissing away the tears, finding his lips, continuing his slow thrusts. He was a compassionate lover, knowing the deepest needs of his heart, and to Jaskier that was all he required from life. Geralt knowing him.
“Did it happen again?” Geralt whispered against his cheek.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s gone. No need for my block.” A bubble of laughter erupted from Jaskier, soft and elegant. He let his tears fall, smiling. “Keep going, dear heart. Show me what making love means.”
Geralt kissed his cheek and shifted a little, gaining a better position and advantage, letting him successfully brush against Jaskier’s prostate with each thrust. It had Jaskier moaning at varying pitches, his mind seeing nothing but Geralt, feeling nothing but him. Geralt groaned into his neck as he pulled all the way back, sinking back in agonisingly slow.
Jaskier threw his head back at the next few – though he wasn’t sure how many it really was – thrusts, as Geralt went slower than ever, making it all the more satisfying to him. Truly, this was what making love was about, the sweetness of closeness.
Then, Geralt was whispering, “Are you close, sweetheart? I am.”
Jaskier curled his fingers, grasping at the strands of Geralt’s hair. “Yes, my dear.” He turned his head, catching his eyesight. He gazed openly, at how undone Geralt looked. “Dear heart, let loose.”
Geralt pulled back, and thrust in with all his power, hard, fast, powerful. Jaskier tightened his grasp on Geralt’s hair, head thrown back, moan on his lips, and he was coming. His mind wiped itself out for a few seconds, as he came harder than he ever had before. Geralt’s hips jerked and he collapsed on top of Jaskier, panting hard. Jaskier closed his eyes, resting back fully, slowly cataloguing all the memories of that round (he would not be forgetting any detail of that any time soon).
Geralt’s panting calmed, and he rolled off Jaskier, turning on his side, leaning up on his elbow. “You need to make me immortal.”
Jaskier rolled his head along the pillow, his eyes widening slowly. “Say it again?”
“Make me immortal.”
There was nothing but knowing in that. He… He wanted it. Wanted to be with him forever, even after Jaskier informing him of all the hurt that would follow. That everyone he knew would eventually come to their end. While he would last, alongside Jaskier… forever, or for as long as he could endure that life.
And still…
“You’re sure…?” Jaskier asked, because the confirmation was needed, before he did anything at all.
“Entirely.” Geralt’s gaze was piercing, like he knew what worry Jaskier was harbouring. He knew what he wanted, without a single slice of doubt.
Jaskier shuffled off the bed, making his way over to the wash bowl. He cleaned himself up with a cloth, and then threw it over to Geralt, so he could clean any mess on him. As he did so, Jaskier waved a hand and manifested his godly garment. This time, a blue garb that was in the style of his white one.
“Dress in your best clothes, dear heart,” he said, his voice booming. He was easily slipping into his godly ways, the power curling around him.
Geralt slipped off the bed, and was soon dressed in his newly mended leather trousers and the black doublet Jaskier had bought for him months back. It was a ritual of sorts, this. It had to be formal. Not that it was a requirement, but it was respectful to the power he was about to harness.
Jaskier stood before him, hands cupped behind his back. “Are you ready?”
Geralt nodded curtly, surer than the gods had ever been of anything. He could feel that. “Yes.”
“Relay these words… ‘I, Geralt of Rivia, pledge my soul to my heart, Julian of Music, Love, and Fated Hearts’.”
Geralt breathed in, a smile gracing his lips. “I, Geralt of Rivia, pledge my soul to my heart, Julian of Music, Love, and Fated Hearts.”
A light burst into the space between them. Bright red. It stretched towards Jaskier and Geralt, looking like a string. It passed through their skin, and wrapped around their hearts. Jaskier smiled at the light, brushing his fingers along the string. He stepped towards the ball of light, and smoothed his hand down it. The light brightened and dissipated from the air with a twinkling sound.
Jaskier came to a stop in front of Geralt. Reaching up, he pressed his fingertips to Geralt’s temples. “This won’t hurt, dear heart, but it will feel like your cells are growing.” He closed his eyes and dived into Geralt’s mind, overriding his genome, and spreading the message to the rest of his DNA. No longer would Geralt’s telomeres shorten, effectively freezing him at the age he was currently. He ensured other biological processes could no longer continue to age him, and in some cases, he turned genes off.
He backed away, his hands dropping from Geralt. Opening his eyes, he realised that Geralt’s were glowing. His usual amber bright with light, not unlike the eyes of gods at home. The glow faded for a few seconds, and Geralt stared down at his hands, wiggling his fingers, clenching and unclenching.
“I’m different,” he whispered. “I’m… Is it done?”
“It’s done.” Jaskier grasped at his hands, smiling at him. “You are different, sort of. Parts of your DNA has changed, but nothing with you has changed. I only made adjustments to some biological process. And we’re bound by the power of gods now, death cannot touch you.”
Geralt settled, breathing calmly now. “I’m glad, because I am not leaving you, Jask. Never.”
“That’s a lot of devotion, dear heart. I would never ask you to be with me forever. It never ends, time, never.”
“You underestimate how much you mean to me.”
Jaskier almost gasped at that. What those words meant… He was his heart, they were meant to love for as long as time would allow, but Geralt saying that he cared to this degree. He believed him… Geralt would not leave willingly. “Then, we have much to celebrate.”
Geralt cupped Jaskier’s jaw and kissed him deeply, so deep that it was as if he was trying to pull his soul from him purely from kissing. Jaskier curled his arms around him, pulling his hips flush with his own. Geralt left nothing untouched, not his lips, nor mouth, he moved his hands just to kiss either cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose. He pulled back just an inch with a firm smile.
“Much to celebrate indeed.” He smoothed his hand down Jaskier’s garment. “The night is young…”
Jaskier smirked, kissing the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “It is.”
“Will you keep your dress on?” Geralt traced the neckline. “I like it.”
“As you wish, my dearest heart.” He pulled at Geralt’s hands pulling him towards the bed. “What will it be this time?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“Oh, do you?”
Geralt grabbed Jaskier, tackling him onto the bed. They rolled and ended up tangled together, with Geralt on top, grinning down at Jaskier. “I do.”
Jaskier beamed up at him, brushing stray strands out of his face. “Then show me, my dear.”
Geralt dove down and nuzzled Jaskier’s neck, breathing in. “I intend to.”
--
The weeks that came after Geralt becoming immortal were… good. The day after the mortality change, Yennefer took one look at Geralt, smiled, and told him she was happy for him. Istredd even clapped him on the shoulder and wished him luck for all the future. Ciri was sceptical of the whole thing, but was glad enough that Jaskier would never lose Geralt, as she claimed it would destroy the world too soon. He hadn’t told his brothers yet, but that would come, soon.
But yes, the weeks were going well. Ciri’s training was better than ever, and her nightmares had calmed. Everyone grew closer with daily cooking sessions and general bonding with training and late night Gwent games.
Currently, Jaskier was walking along the battlements, taking in the views of the snowed in valley. Ciri was having her daily session, with everyone involved this time. All except for Istredd, who was still in the library. And Jaskier, who wanted to see the sights.
He pushed through a door to a tower that blocked his path, made his way through, ended up back outside… and… he turned straight back around as he noticed Destiny sitting upon the wall as if she were innocent and not the cause of all his problems.
“Brother, please,” Destiny called out, sounding like she’d jumped off the wall.
Jaskier sighed, hanging his head. “Why should I listen to a word you say?”
“Because I’m sorry. Because we should have told you of the power you represent. Because the golden rivers are part of you, and the very lines you hold dear. Because you deserve to know yourself. I’m truly sorry.”
He turned slowly, eyes dark. “You could have done a lot of things, dearest sibling. You can apologise all day long,” He gritted his teeth, his lines grew brighter, “but it won’t change the fact that you let me watch him die!”
Destiny flinched, her lips trembling. “Please… Please don’t become the power you were never meant to be.”
“Do you know what it’s like to be heartbroken? To scream in agony because you lost the one you love? To yell at the world, hoping to the gods they’ll give your heart a second chance?!” Destiny turned her head away, eyes evasive. “No, I didn’t think so.”
“Jaskier, don’t be like a child.”
“I am not a child!” he roared, his lines bursting with light, making him glow like a star in the sky. “I have lived a long fucking shitty life. Binging people together, just to eventually feel their deaths. To feel each tie snap like a twig. No one knows what that feels like but me! It’s agony, all the time! The Slaughter of Cintra? The Great Cleansing? The Conjunction? Every major event where the masses died, every battle, every deadly pandemic… is enough to break me down. And they did. My soul has been torn out, drained, stomped on for centuries and you dare to call me a fucking child?” He scoffed. “I have seen and felt the worst. I’ve had my own heart break me, had my heart die on me! And yet all you gods think me some naïve ill-informed child!” He threw his arms up, rounding on Destiny, pointing at her, snarling. “Do not pretend that it is the amount of years one has lived that dictates their age. From my experience alone, I am older than any god.”
Destiny sucked in a breath. “Oh… brother… What did we do to you?”
“You made me lose him, and it just about turned me into the most dangerous god there is.”
“Because love destroys…”
“Because love can make souls burn entire kingdoms for their loved one. Because I would scream the Continent to dust if he ever truly died. That’s who I am, a god of love with everything to lose.”
“And once lost…” She nodded.
“Exactly, Destiny. Now you’re understanding.”
Destiny tipped her head to the sky. “Sweet fellows, a god in love… Fuck, how did this happen?”
Jaskier shrugged. “You created this path before I was born. Tell me, dear sibling, why bind me to Geralt of Rivia?”
“I didn’t. Neither did Melitele.”
He furrowed his brow. But… if they… “Did I– Did I bind myself with one unborn while I was being made?”
Destiny covered her mouth. “Perhaps dear brother.”
“Then… it was my heart that chose him.” He placed a hand at his hip. “Do you understand now?”
Destiny nodded to him, slowly, closing her eyes as she did so. “I understand. You can’t lose him because you’re the one that intertwined your destiny’s. Losing him would take away part of you, not just because he is your heart, but because it was a choice made during your creation. All would suffer if he died, just like a warrior losing their heart to bandits, or an army.”
Jaskier smiled, the perfect analogy.
“That warrior would cleave through the people at fault,” Destiny continued. “It would be revenge for killing their heart. But for you, living ones are the world, and so if a group of souls murdered him, rather than a creature killing him, you would blame the Continent. And this world would no longer have living souls upon it…”
“Yes. Yes, precisely.” He lit up with a grin. “Finally, my sweet sibling, we are on the same page again.”
She smiled right back at him. “Finally…”
Jaskier waved dismissively. “You are forgiven, because you understand. Besides, I don’t want to lose my sibling.”
“And I don’t want to lose you.”
She spread her arms out, asking, and Jaskier stepped into her arms. They hugged tight. It felt like it had been eons since they’d shared this. True sibling love. The months that he had been angry at her melted away, because he loved Destiny, dearly. And while she deserved some of his words, she didn’t deserve all, so he was happy to forgive now it was all out in the open.
He stepped back after the long moment passed on by. “Now, Destiny, what news is there of the world? I’ve been pretty… busy, shall we say?”
Destiny smirked, eyes smug. “Busy is one word, sure. But yes, brother, there is much to discuss.” She placed a hand at his shoulder and guided him to a wall. “First I shall update you on the war…”
The conversation went on for hours, but he was glad for it, as Destiny swore never to keep paths from him again. For he was a force of it, just like she was, and he deserved to see what she saw, and vice versa. For the first time in a long time, the two of them collaborated on the future.
--
Spring was with them. It wouldn’t be long now, till everyone would ride off and leave. Save for Jaskier, Geralt, Vesemir, and Ciri. Yennefer and Istredd had some sorcerer work to attend to, but they had vowed that there would be regular visits (well, Yennefer had vowed). Still, the winter was at an end and this whole… thing was being prolonged by the bonds that had been formed over the months.
They were family now. Brothers, parents, a child. Partners to last an age, and more.
Jaskier smiled, yeah, he’d been right. Family had been achieved now. It mattered to them, this. For fuck’s sake, they were such a family, that Eskel had deliberately stopped Jaskier from going to bed on several occasions just to teach him how to cook. Coën would join in too, on their late night cooking and baking. (Jaskier may or may not have tied Coën and Eskel, they matched really well).
Family in the way of Vesemir and Istredd bonding like an Uncle teaching a nephew how to fall asleep without anyone knowing in a library. Family in that Yennefer and Ciri were extremely close, and sometimes (even though they kept it a secret), Yennefer would read Ciri stories before bed. Family… in the way of how they had embraced one another. The wolves of the house were already brothers, and Vesemir their father, but now they had so many other additions.
A big extended found family. Perfect for each and every one of them.
Currently, he was watching from the side-lines. He’d taken a brief break from Kaer Morhen in the morning, dealing with matches across the Continent, but he’d returned at midday to find everyone in the courtyard, and what a joyful sight it was.
On this warm spring day, Ciri was sitting beside Yennefer, and they appeared to be practising humble magic, a book open in front of them. Istredd was sitting on a chair that had been dragged outside, taking notes down, as beside him was Vesemir, reading a book aloud (or parts of it at least). Jaskier overheard Vesemir mutter that this was still an impossible task, and Istredd rolled his eyes (a practised expression to that statement, Jaskier noticed, this wasn’t the first time impossibility had been mentioned).
Geralt was laying back on his hands, laughing bright. Lambert shook his head, dragging his palm down his face, and Coën – who was pressed against Eskel – went slightly red. Eskel patted his back and looked halfway torn between laughing and being supportive. They were most certainly playing Never Have I Ever, a disaster that never failed to make everyone embarrassed and/or make them all laugh to near death.
This… this was it. These people. Everyone here. Thank the fucking gods, because they were Jaskier’s family now. Forever under his protection.
He made his way over to Geralt, flopping down at his side, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “What did I miss, dear heart?”
“We’re playing Never Have I Ever, and Eskel mentioned dreaming about fucking a griffin. Except Coën interpreted it as a griffin witcher, not the monster.”
Coën rubbed his eyes. “I took a drink straight away. Everyone acted scandalised, so I had explain.” He waved his hand around. “Not my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Eskel said. “I thought I’d catch Lambert out.”
“Hey!” Lambert called. His scowl at Eskel quickly turned into a smirk. “Well, if Coën drank assuming you meant a Griffin witcher, you have to drink too, Eskel.”
Eskel rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He took a quick sip, but no more. Coën smiled bashfully, ducking his head.
Geralt studied Coën for a moment, eyes narrowed. “So, who did you fancy?”
Coën’s eyes grew wide, and he fiddled with his hands, mumbling a name. It was inaudible even to Jaskier.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“George of Kagen,” Coën said swiftly, louder this time, but still mumbled.
Eskel jostled him, gaping. “The Dragonslayer? My, my… Was he good looking?”
Coën grinned slyly, gazing at Eskel. “Not as good looking as you, my sweet.”
Lambert made a choking noise. “Oh, this is too sweet, I’m gonna be sick.”
Eskel collected up some loose stones and threw them at Lambert. “Stop being a dick.”
Geralt shook his head, laughter in his eyes. “Whose turn is it?”
“Jaskier,” Lambert said, followed by Eskel, then Coën.
Jaskier shrugged. “Well I need a drink if I’m gonna join in.”
They all blankly stared at him, judgement in their eyes. For one thing, there wasn’t a spare cup. For a second, Jaskier couldn’t get drunk. Third, they all knew he could manifest a drink from his lands that could. So he did, and they all promptly stopped staring at him.
“Okay… Never have I ever… come close to death,” he said with flourish and a big smile.
“Oh, come on!” Eskel exclaimed before taking a drink.
Geralt bumped his shoulder, grinning at him as they both watched the others drink. Then Geralt took a long gulp, draining his cup fully. “I came so close to death that I died.”
Jaskier kissed his cheek with a small chuckle in his throat as everyone else burst into laughter, shaking with it. Geralt appeared overly proud of the joke, laughing along with them.
Yeah… this was family, this was love, this was… living.