Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The inn was nothing special. Just another inn in another village with a name history wouldn’t remember. Geralt led Roach through the small main thoroughfare, and into the inn’s stables. The wood was creaky, rotted in places, but the stables were warm and dry. He unsaddled Roach, taking the time to brush her down, to pick the brambles from her mane, pausing at the sight of a small, bright yellow flower caught in one of the tangles. 

A dandelion. 

Geralt dropped it, crushing it beneath his boot as he turned away. He stopped in surprise at the stall beside Roach’s. A familiar black stallion was inside and a smaller silver gelding, a tiny goat with a bright pink ribbon around her neck asleep on its back, was curled at Scorpion's side. A wicker basket the size of a large wyvern egg tucked into the corner confirmed it. 

“Scorpion,” he murmured to the stallion, and looked at the tiny goat. “Lil’ Bleater.” Geralt frowned at the gelding. Whose horse was that?

He shrugged it off, and headed inside, a flicker of excitement at seeing Eskel warming his stomach. His brother had been absent from Kaer Morhen the last few winters, sending word to Vesemir he was too far to make it back.

In Beauclair,Toussaint, his last letter had said. Hunting a Bruxa. See you next winter.  

Why Eskel had taken a contract in Toussaint had puzzled them all. Except Vesemir. Geralt had a feeling there’d been more to the letter than the old wolf had shared with him and Lambert. The winter before the letter had been much the same, though Eskel had been in Skellige. The winter before that, he'd been in White Orchard. All places far from where he usually went. But what Eskel did on the Path was, ultimately, up to Eskel. 

He wondered if the Path seemed too quiet to Eskel, too. If maybe his brother had gone to Toussaint for colour and sound. Geralt sighed, hand on the door of the inn. 

His path had been far too quiet for the last few years. 

No more songs about the White Wolf had been written in a long time, though he’d heard many of the Black Bear. It had curdled something in Geralt’s gut to know Jaskier had so easily replaced him.

Just as he’d so easily tossed Jaskier aside.

Geralt shrugged the odd feeling off - guilt, it was guilt - and pushed open the inn door.  

The first thing that hit him was the scent. Vomit and hops and burnt bread. Unwashed bodies and the lingering stench of animal shit as the patrons milled about in the room. But underneath it was something familiar and missed. Leather with the warm smell of clean animals and blueberries. And something… some one else mingled with it that he couldn’t quite place. Geralt looked around, and spotted Eskel immediately in the corner, sitting with his body facing the door but his gaze fixed on the stairs. The usual armour was missing, and the other Witcher was dressed in a loose grey tunic and black trousers, his boots made of a softer looking leather and not as worn as the ones Geralt was used to him wearing. His hair was clean and soft, braided in one place behind his left ear, showing his scars off clearly. The gentle smile on his face made Geralt pause. Eskel didn’t smile like that anymore.

He took a single step into the inn, but Eskel didn’t look over. Was he hurt or drunk? Why was he not paying attention to his surroundings? His eyes had lit up, a soft  smile tugging at his scarred mouth, and a deep breath told Geralt why. 

Chamomile and citrus slammed into him, underlaid with Eskel’s own scent, and it made something in his stomach turn cold.

Jaskier bounded over to Eskel, plopping himself down into his lap and immediately twining his arms around Eskel’s neck. Geralt could only stare as Eskel’s hands came to rest, with a familiarity that spoke volumes, on Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier hummed happily, the faint sunlight coming through the grimy windows catching the delicate golden embroidery on his deep red doublet, a hint of pale pink lace peeking out from beneath the half-done buttons.

“I’ll keep the king, when you are gone away,” he crooned sweetly. “You were gone when I woke up, Esk.”  

Esk!? 

“Mm, I had to bring Lil’ Bleater down for her breakfast,” Eskel rumbled quietly. “And Scorpion and Pegasus needed to be brushed.” 

“The stable hand would have done that! It’s his job, dear heart,” Jaskier laughed, and Eskel grinned at him. 

“But they never do it right,” he teased gently and Jaskier laughed again, relaxed and bright, the scent of chamomile and citrus growing stronger in his joy. Eskel’s own scent was so thoroughly entangled with Jaskier’s that it left no doubt as to what their relationship was.

Geralt felt like he was watching something he shouldn’t be, and averted his eyes, looking over the rest of the crowded room instead. People were calling to Jaskier, congratulating  him on a wonderful performance the night before and he heard Jaskier’s light laughter join the general noise as the bard stood and took a cheeky bow.

And then the citrus and chamomile changed to something sharp and bitter, the blueberries and leather washed away by it, and Geralt looked up to see wide blue eyes fixed on his face in horror. 

Fuck.

Chapter Text

When he’d found Jaskier, the bard had been sitting on a rock jutting so far out over the sea, that Eskel had nearly left him there to do what he was clearly there for. To muster his courage and take the step over the edge and let the raging ocean below take him and his pain. And then the harpy had screeched from the cliff above and Eskel realised that the man wasn’t sitting there by choice . 

Sometimes the obvious wasn’t obvious, even for a Witcher.

The fight had been quick, the harpy nest easily disposed of with a bomb. Jaskier, as the man introduced himself, was beyond grateful for the rescue. There’d been no awkward lingering of his gaze on Eskel’s scars. His eyes had simply moved over them as a part of his face, and Eskel had been left feeling a little off-kilter by it. When the fuck had that happened last? Jaskier had spent a long while fussing over Lil’ Bleater, and looked like he was set to follow Eskel, much to Eskel’s amusement, before he paused and shook his head. 

“I don’t want to be a burden, ” Jaskier had said quietly. “I have been told I’m a terrible travelling companion. Something of a shit-shoveller, even. ” The grin on his face had looked more like a bleeding gash, and Eskel had hated it. 

The man’s actual smile was much nicer. So he’d insisted that Jaskier follow him. It wasn’t until they’d reached the next town that he’d learned just who Jaskier was . The first person to call him The White Wolf’s Bard had received another of those horrible grins, and Eskel hadn’t been able to ignore the tension in Jaskier’s body as he sang song after song about Geralt. 

So. This was the irritating little burr that Geralt had been bitching about the past twenty or so winters at Kaer Morhen. He didn’t see the problem, personally. The bard’s song about tossing a coin to your Witchers had gone a long way in ensuring the rest of them actually got fucking paid. Less and less were their drinks spat in or their food barely fit to feed to pigs. Less and less were the coin purses lighter than they were promised. Contracts were easier to find and the people they worked for were more forthcoming with their information. Eskel had been surprised at the honesty the last few years from the humans. 

Eskel had waited until the bard had finished his set, dragged him upstairs and then dragged the story out of him. His brother was a fucking idiot. That, he’d always known. But this took that idiocy to a level so far beyond what Eskel had believed Geralt capable of, it made his head spin. So he’d packed Jaskier, Lil’ Bleater and the bard’s lute onto Scorpion and taken them all south to Touissant to finish the season and winter there. 

And, somewhere along the way, his fondness for Jaskier had turned to something more. That first winter, things had been quiet. Jaskier was clearly nursing a broken heart, but he’d been warm and friendly with Eskel. And as spring had crept into the vineyards and rolling green hills of Touissant, the sadness and heartbreak clinging to the bard had burned away with the frost. He’d asked Eskel if he might compose a song about him, and with Eskel’s permission, had pulled his lute out and immediately dubbed him the Black Bear. The song was about Eskel’s fight with a wyvern on their way to Touissant, and it had become an instant hit. He’d played it first at the Clever Clogs Tavern in Beauclair and then again and again in the square and in each place they’d stopped as they travelled through the vineyards. Soon, people began to recognise Eskel from it and he found the looks being thrown his way now were less fearful, and more respectful and grateful. There were less terrified whispers at the sight of a hulking, scarred Witcher, and more smiles and nods. 

Now though… 

Eskel gripped Jaskier’s chin and tipped his pale face down to his own. Jaskier looked terrified, and Eskel sighed a little. He brushed his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier leaned unconsciously into it. “Go on an’ check on Lil’ Bleater for me, a’right. I’ll be out soon, songbird.” 

Jaskier’s eyes darted to Geralt and then back to Eskel. They’d been travelling together for many years now, and more for almost as many. Yet they’d never said anything about their feelings for one another, and Eskel had never regretted it more than he did right now when he saw a shadow flicker over Jaskier’s eyes. He gently tugged the earring in Jaskier’s left ear, and smiled at him. Jaskier returned it weakly, and Eskel felt the magic in the earring bite at his skin.

“Okay,” the bard said softly. “I’ll… yeah. I’ll be in the stables.” 

He extricated himself from Eskel’s grip and slipped out past Geralt, though Eskel could see the way he was hunched in on himself. The idiot clearly thought Eskel would take Geralt’s side now and leave him here. 

“Fuck,” he muttered and scrubbed a hand over his face in irritation. “Geralt. Come here.”

Eskel pushed aside the remains of his breakfast, and finished off his ale before Geralt sat down across from him. “You could give your brother a hug,” he said drily as Geralt settled himself down. 

“Wasn’t sure you’d want one,” the other Witcher grouched. 

“Don’t be a bitch.” Eskel got to his feet at the same time as Geralt, and caught the man in a firm embrace. “I have missed you, old man.”

“Fuck off.” Geralt huffed a laugh as they separated and took his seat again. “You wouldn’t have to miss me if you’d shown up for winter sometime in the last few years.” 

Eskel just sat back in his chair, ankles crossed and shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” 

“So I see.” 

“Don’t be vulgar.” Eskel nudged Jaskier’s untouched plate towards Geralt and sighed when his brother didn’t hesitate to just accept it. Some things never changed. Geralt’s lack of table manners was clearly one. “What’re you doing this far East,” he asked when Geralt had finished and was sipping at the ale. “You don’t normally wander this close to Aedern.”

“Contract,” Geralt grunted and wiped a hand over the back of his mouth. “There was a basilisk killing livestock not too far from here. I took care of it yesterday.” 

Eskel hummed and then narrowed his eyes. “So. Care to explain why you were such an asshole to Jaskier?” 

Geralt’s entire demeanour changed, his shoulders stiffening and lip curling, but Eskel had known him long enough, knew him well enough, that he just raised his eyebrows at him. “Don’t posture at me, pup,” he growled and Geralt dropped his eyes. “I’ve got a dozen Seasons on you.” Geralt grunted, but slumped back into his seat. “Better.” 

“We had a disagreement,” Geralt muttered. “He left.” 

“Wasn’t much of a disagreement from what I heard,” Eskel countered. “Sounded more like you took out your repressed feelings and anger at the sorceress whore out on the only person who’s ever actually liked you outside of Kaer Morhen.” 

Geralt snarled something that sounded like, “D on’t talk about Yennefer that way” but Eskel ignored it. “I’ll talk about her however I damn well wanna. Vesemir taught you better than this, Geralt. And I can tell you now, he is not a fan of hers.” Eskel leaned back in his seat, and eyed Geralt as he said, “He loves Jask, though.” 

Geralt choked on his mouthful of ale, and Eskel smirked. “ What? ” Eskel handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with, and Geralt wrinkled his nose at it. “What the fuck? Since when do you carry handkerchiefs? And when did Vesemir meet the bard?” 

“It’s Jaskier’s. And Vesemir met him when I took Jaskier to Kaer Morhen a few summers ago, when I knew your grumpy ass would be gone.” 

If he was any kind of artist, Eskel thought with amusement, he’d paint a portrait of Geralt’s face in this moment and hang it on his wall at Kaer Morhen. It was a shade of purple he didn’t even know a person could turn . He grinned as he leaned forwards to meet Geralt’s eye. “It’s been close to eight years since I met him. And yeah, he’s the reason I don’t come to Kaer Morhen in the winter anymore. He doesn’t like the cold. We winter where it’s warmer, and I send word to Vesemir. Then when the snow melts, we travel to the keep and visit with him for a month or so before I take the Path again.” 

Geralt stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “That… sounds awfully domestic,” he muttered and tugged hard on the medallion around his neck, something Eskel knew he did when he was stressed or anxious. 

Eskel just shrugged. “I suppose it is. But it works for us. He’s happy. I’m happy. And Vesemir don’t care as long as we still walk the Path and take contracts where we can."

“What about Lambert?” Eskel frowned in confusion and Geralt rolled his eyes. “Does he know?” 

Out of all of them, Lambert hated being a Witcher the most. Hated the Path, the mutagens, the lifestyle . Eskel sighed but nodded. 

“Yeah he does." Eskel smirked a bit. "Lambert likes him. Thinks he's a natural with a sword, too.” Geralt’s eyes went so wide he looked almost comical. 

“Lambert met the bard?” 

“ The bard has a name, Geralt.” Eskel sat back in his seat and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Yeah. He’s spent the last few autumns with us. We go to the coast by Novigrad.” Eskel couldn’t help the sigh when he saw how Geralt flinched a little at that. His brother had been an idiot, and missed out on something beautiful. Something steady that could have brought him peace. Instead, he'd bound himself to a capricious and often cruel sorceress, and left Jaskier out in the cold to move on. 

And Jaskier had moved on. Slowly but surely, and Eskel was grateful for it, if he was honest. Geralt had had his chance and he'd thrown it away. Jaskier was Eskel's now, and he had every intention of making it as permanent as the bard would let him. 

“We’ve got a cabin there that we stay in every year. A shed for Lil' Bleater and the horses, a cat and a garden.” He shifted his feet a little and stood up. “We’re thinking of making it permanent soon,” he said quietly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, brother, I need to check on my songbird.” 

Eskel squeezed Geralt's shoulder as he passed, but he didn't look back.

Chapter Text

Lil’ Bleater was, in Jaskier’s opinion, the sweetest damned thing in the world. Something that she’s clearly learned from Eskel. 

He brushed the little comb through her coat once more and then set it aside. The tiny goat stomped her sharp little hooves all over his lap as she got completely comfortable and then flopped down with a soft bleat. 

“Cutie pie,” Jaskier murmured fondly and scratched at one soft ear. “Who said you could be so adorable, hm?”

Lil’ Bleater just baah’d softly at him and went limp in his lap, her surprisingly long lashes fluttering as she closed her eyes. Jaskier leaned back against the wall of the stable and did the same. 

He wasn’t surprised his mind drifted back to the day on the mountaintop. Where he’d bared his heart, finally, to Geralt. 

We could get away for a while. See the coast. 

Find what pleases you. 

Well, what had pleased Geralt had had been disappearing to noisily fuck Yennefer, leaving Jaskier sitting and watching the sunset like a fool. Alone. He’d all but spelt it out to him. 

We could get away for a while. See the coast. 

Geralt, you idiot, I love you. 

Then there’d been dragons and fighting with Yennefer and all the rest. But the absolute worst part of the entire spectacle on the mountaintop, in his opinion, was that Jaskier knew deep down that Geralt’s temper was in control. That he was just lashing out at who was there. 

And, because Yennefer had fucked off - again - he was the only idiot left standing there, trying to reach out to a man who didn’t understand that Jaskier was his friend. A man who had proven time and again that he simply didn’t understand how his own emotions seemed to work. 

Jaskier had known this, and yet still tried to reach out to him. To let Geralt know that he was there for him still. 

To reach out a hand in friendship when his offer of more had been rebuffed the night before. Because being Geralt’s friend was better than being Geralt’s nothing. 

But Geralt had wielded his words for once instead of his sword, and he’d known just where to swing it to make Jaskier bleed. Jaskier had stood as strong as he could, let Geralt swing again and again and then walked away. He was convinced if he’d looked down there would have been a trail of blood to follow. 

The trip down the mountain had been a kind of blur. The nights when Geralt and Yennefer had met while they travelled together had been an exquisite sort of pain, but somehow, stumbling blindly down a mountain he barely remembered climbing, had hurt more. 

Jaskier sighed, petting Lil’ Bleater’s soft ears. “And then along came your daddy,” he murmured. “And didn’t he just turn my world upside down and inside out?”

Lil’ Bleater didn’t answer, but Jaskier didn’t need any kind of response. He’d stumbled into Eskel’s life and been invited to stay. And the invitation hadn’t ever changed, hadn’t had any terms added to it that Jaskier was never told about. There were no djinns and scary sexy sorceresses that forced their way between them. 

It was just Jaskier and Eskel. 

And Lil’ Bleater and the horses, too. Jaskier tipped his head back to rest it on an angle that let him see through a crack in the wall to the sky outside. He watched idly as a few stray bugs flitted past, getting caught in the sunlight and sending odd shadows over the floor. There was no doubt in mind that Eskel would be telling Geralt the way of things between himself and Jaskier, and he knew that Geralt would be telling him that he was an idiot. That he was a fool. That he was making a mistake letting some human bard follow. More fool him though. 

Jaskier tapped the earring in his ear and smiled. He wasn’t human. It was just easier to hide if the rest of the world thought he was. Filavandrel had gifted him more than just a lute. He’d given him a way to hide that was much stronger than the one Jaskier had already had. 

“There you are.” Jaskier looked up and smiled. Eskel was leaning over the edge of the half-door to the stall Jaskier was sitting in with Lil’ Bleater, smiling softly down at them. “I’ve said it once, songbird, and I’ll say it again. He was an idiot. You deserved better.”

Jaskier hummed and patted the straw beside him, laughing when Eskel sat down and immediately wound up with a lap full of baby goat. “And I got the better I deserved, didn’t I?” 

Eskel was quiet a moment. 

“Esk?” Jaskier leaned his head on his love’s shoulder and sighed. “Don’t fret,” he murmured. “What I felt for Geralt is like comparing a candle to the sun.” He lifted his head and bumped his nose into Eskel’s scarred cheek. “You are my sun, Eskel. You will always be my sun. You keep my world bright and warm.” 

Eskel’s cheeks flushed brightly as he ducked his head to hide in Lil' Bleaters head, and Jaskier laughed. 

New beginnings weren't easy. But when they came, they brought the sun with them to brighten even the darkest of days.