Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time he’d heard the bard’s name it was ingrained into his mind. It had been like any other winter’s night at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had arrived at the very last minute, covered head-to-toe in snow but looking hale. Lambert had heckled them both as Vesemir placed a hearty bowl of stew in front of each of them to chase away both the cold and the hunger.

“You’re looking less scrawny than usual, pretty boy. Pick up good jobs on the path?” Lambert asked with a spoonful of stew in his mouth. 

Geralt grunted at the question, too focused on the stew in front of him to interact with Lambert’s prickliness, but Eskel was also curious. It was rare for any of them to return from the path in good health. Something must’ve happened.

“Lamb’s right Geralt. You’re looking hale. A good year?”

Geralt rolled his eyes in annoyance, but finally began to speak. 

“I picked up something, alright.”

Before he could elaborate, Lambert groaned. “Of course you would be the only witcher to catch a venereal disease.”

Eskel nearly choked as Vesemir snorted into his drink. Geralt gave Lambert the dirtiest look before replying.

“You know that’s impossible, you prick.”

“Always a first, and with your predilection for mages I wouldn’t be surprised if you were cursed with one.”

Eskel was already moving to step between his two brothers at those callous words. “Ignore him. What did you mean, Geralt?”

Geralt sat back down, although his glare never left Lambert’s figure. “A bard. I met a bard and then he wouldn’t leave.”

Vesemir frowned and leaned towards Geralt, his displeasure carved on his face. “What does this bard want?”
Geralt shrugged and went back to shoveling stew down his throat. “Dunno. He just kept on following me. Said it was for inspiration.”

“Wait,” Eskel said as the gears in his head began to turn, “I heard a song along the path this year. Quite popular. Something about the White Wolf.”

Lambert perked up at the possibility of blackmail material. “Oh? I haven’t heard of it.”

Eskel grinned, watching as Geralt’s face grew more worried. Oh, his brother was right to be worried. Lambert would never let this go.

“Well come on! What’s it sound like?”

Eskel took a long swig of ale before launching into a hearty rendition of the song that had trailed him along the path throughout the autumn. He had heard it enough times to have it memorized. By the end Geralt’s face was red by witcher standards, Lambert was beaming like a child on their name day, and Vesemir looked chagrined. In other words, nothing out of the ordinary. 

He ended the impromptu performance with a flourish, accompanied with applause from Lambert. Geralt grunted, refusing to make eye-contact with anyone at the table.

“Come on, brother! Did you like my performance?”

“That’s not how it happened.”

Eskel snorted and slung his arm around Geralt’s shoulders. “Oh I’m certain it isn’t, but that isn’t the point.”

Geralt finally looked up from his stew, his eyes ablaze with indignation. He might’ve pushed his brother too far, but sometimes his brother needed the push to loosen up. Otherwise, he would explode. 

“The point is that this song has made things better for us on the path. Less people turned me away this fall. People tossed coins at me instead of rocks. This song is changing things, Geralt, don’t you see that?”

Silence fell through the hall, the other witchers intently watching the interaction with baited breath. Geralt finally broke the silence with uncharacteristic eloquence. 

“They are lies, Eskel. How can anything good be built from lies? Jaskier is a nuisance at best and a liability at worst. He knows nothing of the world and hopefully will not darken my path come spring.”

As his brother spoke, Eskel watched him and knew that the words he spewed were bullshit. Geralt was just a coward who didn’t know how to react when kindness was offered. He just hoped that his brother would come to that realization before it was too late. 

Eskel vowed to leave the topic alone for the rest of the winter, but if he perked up any time Geralt mentioned the bard over drinks, it was no one’s business. 

As the years passed, Eskel thought of Geralt’s bard more than he cared to admit. Every winter, Geralt returned home and told stories of the enigmatic man that followed his path. Each winter Geralt’s smile would soften when he spoke of his companion and Eskel’s heart would clench. His brother loved the bard and that was okay. He had no reason to feel jealousy over a man he had never met. 

But as the years passed, Eskel felt himself falling further in love with Jaskier. Every story Geralt conveyed as they passed around the White Gull made Eskel yearn in a way he’d never thought was possible. With these feelings came even worse doubts.

He’d never met this man, a man clearly devoted to his brother who was a better man than he’d ever be. Geralt was stronger, faster, and far more handsome than him. Geralt was the best of them and Jaskier deserved the best, not a broken, ugly, lump of a witcher. 

So he buried his burgeoning feelings as deep as they would go. There was no need to entertain the impossible. The bard would never feel that way about someone like him, especially when compared to Geralt. 

His plan had been working for nearly a decade when it all fell apart. 

He’d nearly missed the window to make it home. The Killer had been nearly impassable, but as he rounded the last bend in that path, he smiled. He was home. 

He made the final push towards the ancient gates, muttering soft promises of oats and rest to Scorpion. He saw a dark figure standing on top of the gateway so he waved. The doors quickly opened, allowing him to hustle inside the courtyard. 

Lambert landed directly in front of him, engulfing him in a strong embrace. “Didn’t think you’d make it, ‘Skel.”

“I didn’t either. Got a final contract on the way that set me back a few days.” Lambert grunted in displeasure, an action that warmed Eskel’s heart. “Don’t worry, I’m here now.”

Lambert snorted and pulled away, putting his grouchy demeanor back into place. “I wasn’t worried about you. I was worried I’d have to deal with Geralt and his bard for the rest of the winter.” 

Eskel froze. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Geralt finally brought his bard this year.”

Eskel blinked, processing the unexpected turn of events. Jaskier was here. Jaskier was here ! Fuck, he wasn’t ready for this.

Before he could respond, he heard two footsteps behind him. One tread was as familiar as his own, but the other was new. It was lighter and accompanied with the most intoxicating scent he’d ever encountered. A pair of arms turned him around and wrapped him in an embrace.

“Welcome home, ‘Skel.”

Eskel smiled, keeping his focus on Geralt. He knew Geralt. Geralt wasn’t the man of his dreams that he’d silently pined over for a decade. Geralt was safe. 

“Hi Wolf. Good to see you.” 

Eskel took the opportunity to inspect Geralt’s health. He seemed well-fed and healthy. There was a new scar near his hairline, but other than that, he seemed hale. Not a surprise considering Geralt had come home in one piece ever since he met Jaskier. 

Jaskier. 

He felt his eyes drift over towards the bard and his heart stopped. 

He was beautiful. Over the years, Geralt had let slip tiny details about the bard. The color of his eyes, his handsome features that often got him in trouble, his fastidiously kept hair, but all the daydreams he’d had didn’t do Jaskier justice. He was undoubtedly the most beautiful man he’d ever met and he was currently staring at him with wide, blue eyes.

Geralt turned and smirked as he followed Eskel’s line of sight. “Eskel, this is Jaskier, my travel companion.”

The bard perked up at the sound of his name and stomped through the snow towards them. “Jaskier. I’m pleased to meet you. Geralt has told me a lot about you.”

Melitele, even his voice was lovely. He was screwed. 

“I can say the same, although it is hard to get Geralt to talk much about anything." 

Eskel ignored Geralt’s grunt of protest in favor of listening to the bard’s melodious laugh. He could listen to it forever. 

“Yes, he’s not one for words, is he? Terrible to discuss poetry with him.”

“Eskel reads poetry.” Three heads turn simultaneously to look at Lambert who wore a shit eating grin on his face. “He loves it. Maybe you two should spend some time together.”

He was going to kill him. He didn’t care if Lambert was his brother. Lambert would have to die, because he knew . Somehow the bastard had figured it out and if the gleam in his eye was anything to go by, Lambert was going to be an absolute terror. 

“Is that true?” Eskel turned back to find Jaskier looking at him inquisitively. 

“Yeah, I like poetry.”

If Jaskier had looked beautiful before he became radiant in that moment. His eyes shone with excitement and the smile transformed his genial demeanor into that of pure joy. Eskel was fucked. 

“Then we must discuss the poets of the 10th century! Their use of nature symbolism is superb!”

Eskel smiled as he listened to the bard ramble on about scansion and similes. He would have let him go on, but he noticed a small tremor starting to run through the bard’s body. It was too cold for pretty humans outside. 

Eskel placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, momentarily startled by how sturdy the bard felt beneath his fancy clothes, but soon regained his faculties. “I would love to spend time with you, but for now we should get you inside. You’re shivering.”

The bard blinked and stood still. Eskel quickly removed his hand. He’d almost forgotten who he was. He was a witcher. Not only a witcher, but a disfigured one at that. He’d have to be more careful not to spook the pretty bard. Geralt would never forgive him if Jaskier ran screaming at the first opportune moment. 

Eskel cleared his throat and awkwardly nodded towards Scorpion. “I need to settle Scorpion for the night, but I’ll be in soon.”

Geralt nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “We will ask Vesemir to set out some stew for you.” Before he could make his escape, Geralt leaned over and whispered, “He likes you. Don’t overthink it.”

Eskel blinked and turned around suspiciously. He looked over at the bard and noticed that Jaskier was bright red and smelled strongly of arousal. 

“Aren’t you together?” he quietly asked.

Geralt wrinkled his nose in distaste. “He’s not my type.”

Eskel turned around once more, this time with hope in his heart. If Geralt was telling the truth, maybe he did have a chance. “Are you certain?”

Geralt snorted. “You’re definitely his type, brother.” With a final smirk, he called over his shoulder, “Come on Jaskier, let’s go in.”

Jaskier shivered once more and waved. “I’ll see you inside. Save you a spot for dinner.” 

Eskel watched Jaskier’s silhouette disappear into the one place he’d ever called home until the bard disappeared from sight. 

A wolf whistle sounded from behind him and Eskel turned around, stunned to still find Lambert standing there. After the events of the last few minutes, he’d truly forgotten that he was still there. 

“That was unexpected. You should go for it. He’s pretty.”

Eskel sighed and grabbed Scorpion’s reins. “ Fuck off, Lambert.”

Of course the pest didn’t listen to him, but gleefully followed him into the stables. “What gives, ‘Skel? Why aren’t you jumping on this opportunity? He’s exactly your type!”

Eskel scowled as he untacked Scorpion. She let out a happy snort as the saddle was taken off. Good, at least one of them was happy. 

“He’s a bard. A pretty bard at that. Even if he isn’t in a relationship with Geralt, why would he want to be in one with me?”

“Because he thinks you’re hot! Did you not smell his reaction to you? He would’ve let you take him there and then.”

Eskel wrinkled his nose in disgust. “For fuck's sake, have you no dignity?”

“Nope,” Lambert replied cheerfully. At some point he had sat down on a barrel and had begun to swing his legs like a schoolboy. What a prick. 

Eskel sighed and went back to focusing on Scorpion. “If I promise to think about it, will you leave me alone?” 

“For now,” Lambert said, leaving a sense of foreboding as he left the stables.

Eskel rolled his eyes at his youngest brother’s antics and started to brush Scorpion down. It was true that Jaskier had smelled like desire after their conversation, but there were many reasons for that. He could have been reacting to Geralt or just poetry! Geralt had said the bard loved poetry!

There was just no way that Jaskier could feel the same way... unless—

Well, Jaskier was a strange man, there was no denying that. He followed a witcher along the path for nearly a decade, a long time in human years. He’d dealt with ridicule, dirt, and death during that time. Perhaps he wasn’t giving the bard enough credit. 

With a final stroke, Eskel put down the brush and called it a night. Maybe dinner would put things into perspective. He’d already been half in love with the man for a decade. A few more weeks of confusion wouldn’t change anything. It would only give him the opportunity to know Jaskier better. 

With his heart feeling lighter than it had in years, he walked towards the keep. He had a bard to woo.

Chapter Text

Wooing a bard was harder than he’d thought. 

Eskel let his sore body sink further into the hot springs, letting the scalding water work out the tension in his muscles. It might’ve been winter, but there was no time to rest. A slow witcher was a dead witcher, and Vesemir worked them hard during the cold seasons so they would continue to come back home. It was a necessity for his profession, but the ache that ran through his limbs after running The Killer was annoying at best and painful at its worst. 

As the warmth sunk into his bones, he catalogued every move he’d made in the past few weeks to win over Jaskier’s heart. The lists of attempts were seemingly endless, but somehow he still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask the bard about his feelings. It was infuriating, but every time there was an opening for declarations of love, Eskel felt the words get caught in his throat. 

It wasn’t as though he were completely ineloquent. In fact, Eskel prided himself on being well-read and able to converse with many people when given the chance. Unfortunately, the torn shreds of his face usually chased people away, leaving him with a dearth of conversation partners. Regardless, he could talk to people! He had even spent hours discussing the finer points of past poets with Jaskier, ensconced in the library with steaming cups of tea. It just got harder to form words when feelings were brought into the mix. 

Feelings. 

Sometimes Eskel wished that the rumors about witchers were true. It would be easier if he didn’t feel as deeply as he did. His heart wouldn’t clench when a young child screamed in terror at his glowing eyes and ruined face. The butterflies in his stomach wouldn’t overwhelm him when speaking to Jaskier. It would be easier, but unfortunately, life wasn’t easy for a witcher—something of which he was painfully aware. 

He’d spent every meal sitting beside Jaskier, always making sure to pass the bard extras. Jaskier had spent the past few weeks shivering in the colder climate, even with the extra clothes that Eskel had provided. He needed extra insulation to get him through the tough winters in Kaer Morhen, so Eskel went out of his way to hunt more deer and make hearty meals. 

Of course that had backfired. When Jaskier’s shrieks of anger had rang out through the keep, Eskel had run faster than he’d thought possible towards the sound. Panic had raced through his mind, thinking of all the horrible scenarios that would have drawn such a sound from Jaskier’s angelic lips. Perhaps a collapsed roof or a hungry stray wolf. 

As he skidded to a stop in front of Jaskier’s lodgings, he had been perplexed. Why would Jaskier be screaming from inside his own room? Before Eskel could knock on the door, he heard Jaskier muttering under his breath. 

“Come on, come on. You have to fit! You fit only a month ago!”

Understanding had dawned on Eskel as he heard Jaskier suck in a huge breath and soon after curse in disappointment. His clothes didn’t fit. 

Considering the nicely tailored clothes the bard chose to wear, this was not overly surprising. His clothes tended to be tighter and were made of silk and other unforgiving fabrics. Of course they would stop fitting after a few weeks of the hearty fare that Eskel had been preparing. 

Later that night Jaskier had passed on seconds, a frown marring his handsome features and his usually colorful garb traded for Geralt’s own muted colors. Eskel’s heart had sunk in despair, noting how even the nice things he did turned out for the worst. 

Eskel frowned down at his own body, clouded as it was by the naturally hazy waters of the hot springs. If Jaskier was concerned about his own looks, it was even more evident that Eskel never stood a chance with him. Unlike Gerat, Eskel was not classically handsome, even disregarding the scars. Eskel’s body was thicker than Geralt's, holding onto a layer of fat throughout the year. During the winter, he bulked up even more, his already thick stomach rounding out more as the season progressed. It was something that he’d come to terms with decades before, but with Jaskier around he felt more sensitive about himself than ever. 

It wasn’t as if Eskel thought Jaskier would be cruel. On the contrary, Eskel thought that Jaskier would be nothing but frustratingly kind about letting him down. Hell, even if by some miracle Jaskier returned his feelings, Eskel knew that the bard would say nothing negative about his appearance. He was too nice for that. Instead, he would just put up with his scars, his hulking form, his bad manners—well, suffice to say, Jaskier would get the shit end of the stick. 

There had been times when Eskel had been certain that Jaskier returned his feelings. Lambert and Geralt had been telling him as much since the moment they had met in the courtyard, but their word hadn’t been enough to make him believe. It was the tiny moments they’d stolen sitting beside the fire, or the times that Jaskier insisted on helping Eskel with his chores, even though they made him leave the safe confines of the Keep. Jaskier always seemed to be there, no matter the circumstances. Hell, he even showed up to watch them train, sitting on the sidelines and plucking at his lute while they sparred each other. 

Perhaps he should start to memorize some poetry for the bard or brush up on his singing skills. He’d been told once or twice that his voice wasn’t half bad—

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as a familiar pair of footsteps echoed through the cavern. 

“Eskel?” a melodious voice called out, “Is that you?”

“Jaskier,” he responded, turning his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the younger man. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I thought you were already done. I could come back later.” 

Eskel shrugged and hid his concern behind an indifferent facade. It was just a dip in the hot springs. He did this all the time with his brothers. There was nothing to be scared of. 

“No need, Jask. You can join me if you’d like.”

It was hard to tell if the blush rising on the bard’s cheeks had to do with the heat surrounding them or the possible dirty connotation of Eskel’s words, but before Eskel could think over it, Jaskier nodded and began to disrobe. 

Eskel whipped his head around, trying to afford Jaskier the privacy he deserved, but there was only so much he could do when the bard made his way into the water. 

Jaskier looked good. The thick hair that covered his chest and face sent a thrill through Eskel’s chest. According to Geralt, the bard usually kept himself clean shaven, stating that it left him looking younger and more handsome. To Eskel, the beard leant Jaskier an air of roguish charm that took his breath away. 

Eskel also caught sight of the effects that his meals had had on the bard. While he was still quite slender, there was a layer of fat around his midsection that hadn’t been there before. Although he wasn’t at the right angle to see the bard’s ass, he would bet that it was looking plumper as well. All in all, Jaskier looked beautiful as always, although that was unsurprising to Eskel. Even when irate with anger or sloshed to high heavens, Jaskier was always beautiful. 

“Ah, yes, your meals are richer than I’d expected them to be.” Eskel looked up, finding a bashful expression on Jaskier’s face. “I don’t do all the training you witchers do so I’m looking a little more plump than usual. Hopefully it will be gone before the spring, because at this rate I’ll be walking down the mountain naked.”

Eskel flushed at the lovely image that description created, but quickly shook himself out of his daydreams. Something about the tone of voice Jaskier did not sit right with the witcher. It sounded...nervous. Vulnerable, even. 

“You look good, Jaskier.” Eskel’s eyes grew wide as his mind caught up with his mouth. “Uh, what I mean to say is it gets very cold here in the winter months. You’ll need a little extra padding to keep warm."

A smile crept onto Jaskier’s face, the bashfulness that was present a moment ago replaced with the normal cockiness Eskel associated with the bard. “I look good?”

Eskel swallowed, eyes glancing nervously from side to side.

Shit. 

“Um, yes, you do. I mean, anyone would say the same, Jask. You—”

As he spoke, Eskel watched in trepidation as Jaskier swam over towards his side of the pool, his blue eyes trained on him the entire time. Before he knew it, Jaskier was standing in front of him, much closer now than they’d initially been. 

“You look nervous, Eskel. Do I make you nervous?” Jaskier asked. Eskel watched as the bard’s eyes glanced down at him with a deeper question.

It was now or never. 

Eskel nodded and pulled at the recesses of his courage. “You do. I always get nervous around beautiful people.”

Upon hearing those words, Jaskier’s smile bloomed. Eskel had thought that the bard’s smile was beautiful before, but now it shone brighter than the sun. He was stunning. 

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Eskel nodded, unable to take his eyes off the man in front of him. “I’ve thought so since the day I met you.” He decided to leave out that he’d already loved the man before they’d met, not wanting to scare him off. If things went well today, he would have all the time in the world to work up to that detail. 

Suddenly, Eskel felt a calloused hand upon his cheek. Though he also had callouses, the placement of these rough pieces of skin spoke of a musician’s hands, not those of a murderer. Without meaning to, he leaned into the touch, soaking up what little affection he could have. 

“I hoped you felt the same way,” Jaskier murmured, “I thought you did, but every time we had a moment you would pull away.”

Eskel frowned. He’d known that he’d had trouble opening up, but he’d never thought of how that would affect Jaskier. Hell, he hadn’t thought that the bard had noticed his advances, let alone that it would hurt his feelings. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still transfixed by the hand stroking soothing motions along his scarred cheek. “I was scared.”

“Of me? Why?”

“Because you have the power to destroy me, Jask, and I don’t want to be hurt again.”

Silence reigned over the room as both men stared at each other, passion burning in their eyes. It was the moment that Eskel had dreamed of more times than he could count and now that the time had come he had no idea what to do next.

“May I kiss you?”

Well, that seemed as good an option as any. With a nod, Eskel watched as Jaskier lowered himself down and pressed their lips together. 

It was wonderful. Magnificent. Magical. Any other number of adjectives that Eskel could think of once his brain started to work again, but that was a job for later. For now, he focused on moving his lips against Jaskier’s, feeling the younger man moan into his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as they broke apart. “My lips, they—” 

He trailed off, unsure how to explain how much he hated the notch in his lips, how it rubbed against the smoothness of Jaskier’s lips as they kissed. Something so rough shouldn’t touch the pureness that was Jaskier.

“Shut up,” Jaskier replied as he dove back in to steal another kiss. 

Grabbing his hips, Eskel dragged Jaskier into his lap until they were pressed against one another, and deepened the kiss. Apparently the bard approved of his methods if the breathy gasp he let out were any indication. 

They pulled away for a moment, taking a moment to catch their breath as they looked at one another.  

“Again,” Jaskier pleaded, pinning him with the most desperate look he’d ever seen directed at him. Somehow, the bard had fallen for him too, a fact he still couldn’t wrap his head around. 

“Whatever you desire,” he replied, and he truly meant it. 

And as they laid against one another later, both more relaxed than they’d felt in ages, Jaskier spoke. 

“So I assume this means you feel the same way too?”

Eskel burst into laughter, pressing a chaste kiss to Jaskier’s temple. “Yeah, I’d say we’re on the same page.” 

Jaskier smiled, snuggling closer into Eskel’s embrace. “Good, because I don’t think I want to go back to being just friends.”

With a smile on his face, Eskel let his eyes drift shut as he savored the moment. 

Maybe wooing a bard wasn’t so hard after all.