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Chapter Text

Finally Geralt agrees to winter with Jaskier. It only took a decade and a half of travelling together and near constant pestering on Jaskiers part.
Jaskier is so elated to spend more time with his best friend and to not having to part for an entire season, that he forgets himself, jumps into Geralts arms and wraps his arms around the others neck and his legs around the witchers waist.
"On second thought ..." Geralt says dryly, before his friend interrupts him vigorously: "No, no, no, you don't get to take that back!"
Geralt sets Jaskier down carefully, thankful that they are camping way outside town and therefore no one bore witness to this ... hug ...
Jaskier lets him and it takes less than a minute for him to get that far away look in his eyes that means he is either composing or envisioning his plans or dreams or hopes or all of the above.
Geralt has two more minutes of blessed silence. Then his friend takes a deep breath and starts with: "I can't wait to show you ..."
"Show me?" Geralt uncharacteristicly interrupts. "Have you befriended one of my brothers unbeknownst to me, had him take you to our keep and explored it in such depth that you think, you know anything about it that I don't?"
The bard blinks at him very slowly, cocks his head and answers with a curious: "Hm?"
Geralts lip twitches and he raises his eyebrows.
Jaskier just looks silently for another really long moment or ten.
Then says slowly and quietly: "I feel like something is backwards and also possibly like I have something backwards?" It sounds like a question, because it is.
"Hm." Geralt hums to regain equilibrium for himself and restore it to their communication too.
"I am aware that you used all your words for the following eight hours by asking that question, dear. And though or perhaps because I am still slightly unsettled by that, I desperately need you to clarify something for me. When you asked me to spend the winter together, did you mean to invite me to your keep, instead of – like I assumed – inviting yourself to Oxenfurt?" Jaskier poses this question with a hopeful look in his eyes.
"Yes." Is the short answer of his Witcher.
Jaskier refrains from swatting Geralts arm, since he did as asked and clarified and also had the decency to not just hum at him.
"I thank you." the bard says simply. "I accept your invitation."

Thus Jaskier finds himself climbing the Killer, when the snow sets in a mere month later. He should be thankful they had made the loop through Kaedwin this year and therefore didn't arrive any later and to much worse weather conditions, instead he regrets a lot of his life choices. He thought the nickname for the last section of the trek up to the keep of the wolf witchers charming, up until he realized it was accurate.
It was his own bloody fault for not realizing witchers and creativity were mutually exclusive when it wasn't about bombs. Every horse of Geralt he had ever met, had the same (admittedly rather weird) name for Meliteles sake.
"I will just sit down for a moment, right here and die. Just leave me. I made my peace." He informs Geralt or possibly Roach, since despite feeling indeed peaceful, he isn't sure he is on speaking terms with the witcher, who subjected his poor soul and body AND FEET to this torture, right now.
The horse never liked him therefore he didn't have any expectations and doesn't feel deceived by her.
He begins to suspect that both of them like to unsettle him though, when the witcher takes one look at him and then promptly picks him up and sets him in the saddle and Roach DOES NOT bite him.
She nickers though.
"I know." Geralt tells her, petting her neck and then the utter lunatic proceeds to strip her of every last burden except the bard (and the lute, which basically counts as one of the bards limbs) and puts the saddle- and side bags over his own shoulders, takes back the reigns and continues up the mountain.
Jaskier is gaping and not ashamed of it.
He thankfully remembers to shut his mouth before snow can gather inside and accepts his good fortune? fate? Bizzare life.

Upon arriving in front of the keeps gates Jaskier can only marvel at the size of the keep. As the gates open he can only marvel at Geralt, who drops the reigns, rushes in, sheds the bags on the way and flings himself into the arms of another witcher. Roach is not fazed in the slightest and follows him at a more sedate pace. Luckily there is no other horse in the yard, she can greet, so Jaskier can stay seated and halfway rooted in reality. If Roach had been excessively friendly with another living
being right now, nobody could have convinced Jaskier, that he hadn't gone insane.
After taking a moment of trying to understand that Geralts brother is even bigger and boarder then the white wolf, the bard dismounts carefully as to not jostle his lute. He is cold and sore.
Geralt steps back and is released out of the bearhug of the other witcher. Both of them focus on Jaskier then, who is struck speechless. Geralts brother looks like he just stepped out of his wildest dreams. He has a thing for men taller than him (which is rather rare) with board shoulders, big thighs, dark hair, light eyes and scars.
To get off on the marks of pain on others might be inappropriate, but that is just Jaskier in a nutshell: inappropriate.
"That's Jaskier ..." Geralt tells his brother, clearly leaving an opening for Jaskier to take over his own introduction, but Juskier just stands there and stares.
"... and you shut him up." Geralt continues, turning back to the other witcher in awe.
"I think, I want to kiss you."
His brother gives him a wry look and shoves one of his big hands in Geralts face to hold him off.
Geralt says: "You always were my favourite, Eskel."
"Yeah, yeah." comes Eskel dismissive answer.
Both witchers walk over, Geralt to take Roaches reigns and lead her of to the stables and Eskel to pick up the dropped saddlebags and greet Jaskier.
He tosses the bags over one shoulder and holds out a hand to Jaskier.
"Eskel. Welcome to Kaer Morhen. We heard a lot about you." he says.
Jaskier also has a thing for deep voices.
He clutches Eskels outstretched hand between both of his and croaks: "You did?"
Somewhere to their right an older witcher suddenly appears seemingly out of nowhere to chide Eskel.
"The bard is almost frozen solid, Eskel. Try to act civilized and see that he gets warmed up by ..."
"A puppy pile!" a red haired witcher with laughlines around his eyes, who has just opened the doors to the great hall of the keep to them, finishes the sentence enthusiastically.
"Soup." sighs the older witcher as Eskel laughs, throws an arm around Jaskiers shoulders – careful of the neck of the lute, which extents above Jaskiers right shoulder – to herd him in and tells him:
"We must always listen to Vesemir, come in then."
Geralt returns from the stables to pull the redhead into a choke hold and ruffle his hair.
Jaskier turns to Vesemir and whispers: "I think there is something wrong with Geralt. Did he hit his head? Did I hit my head?"
Vesemir scoffs and Eskel chuckels, pulling Jaskier along in the direction of an enormous fireplace.
"He is home and safe." Vesemir grumbles and disappears through a door next to the fireplace. Judging by the delicious smell wafting out through the briefly opened door, it leads to the kitchens.
Suddenly the still disoriented bard feels a hand closing around his wrist and before he can react, he is pulled down to the furs covering the floor in front of the fireplace.
"Watch the lute!" he squawks on instinct.
"Let me." Eskel says, takes the lute from Jaskiers shoulders to set it down a save distance away very carefully.
"He is not as sturdy as a witcher, Gweld!" Geralt all but growls at the owner of hand that has tucked Jaskier down. He cuffs him over the head for good measure.
A little chagrined Gweld mutters: "But he looks so colourful and soft. I want to cuddle him. And Vesemir said to warm him up."
Eskel sits down behind Jaskier.
"You cold?" he inquires.
Jaskier looks from Gweld to Eskel to Geralt and back. Then nods, still obviously very confused.
Gweld visibly suppresses the urge to pounce and opens his arms instead.
Jaskier moves tentatively closer and just like that he is indeed in a puppypile with three wolves, confused to hell and back, but warm comfortable and happy ...
When Vesemir hollers that dinner is ready half an hour later, he is even warm enough to take of his coat.
About half a dozen older witchers and two dozen baby witchers all join them at one long table and all eye Jaskier curiously.
"Where is the rest?" Geralt asks the witcher beside him.
"Not back yet, you're here early this year. Maybe because of your bard?" presumably one of the trainers questions, looking at Jaskier.
"Hm." Geralt agrees.
"Jaskier." said bard says in lieu of an introduction, still a tad overwhelmed.
"Welcome." Is the short answer.
And that's that, since there is dinner to be had, rich soup and warm bread and chickenlegs and dark ale. It's really good.
Jaskier droops as soon as his plate empty.
Geralts gets up and motions for Jaskier to follow. Jaskier does - out of the great hall, through a corridor, up a staircase, to another corridor on the right and that's about the time, when the bards tired brain gives up on creating a mental map to navigate through the keep. He inserts "maze" as a space holder for future attempts and trots behind Geralt without taking in anything at all.
Until Geralt sits him down on a bed and kneels to take of his friends boots.
Jaskier lets himself fall back and his eyes fall shut. He is only distantly aware of Geralt tucking him in, since he is already half asleep at this point. He drifts off entirely before Geralt closes the bedroom door from the outside.

When Jaskier wakes late in the next day, it takes him close to a quarter of an hour to sort out that he is in Kaer Morhen. He takes another quarter of an hour to bask in the knowledge that Geralt trusts him enough to bring him here and likes him enough to want him here. Then it takes him even more time to convince himself of the necessity to get out from under the warm quilt and face the cold day.
He begins shivering as soon as he peels back the covers.
He looks around for his pack and spots it on the chair by the window. He puts his feet on the floor and is relieved to find a thick carpet there instead of bare stone.
As he rushes over to his pack, his teeth start chattering.
He tugs a turquoise doublet out, when the door slams open and Gweld cries: "What is wrong?"
Jaskier only half turns around, flicks his fingers towards the small fireplace of the room in a gesture, he hopes vaguely resembles igni and mumbles: "Could you?"
For a moment Gweld looks genuinely confused about Jaskier not casting the sign himself, before he remembers that the bard is not a witcher.
He lights the log in the hearth with a gesture that actually is similar to the one Jaskier made.
Reluctantly, because cold, he unbuttons and discards the doublet he slept in and pulls the fresh one on over the used chemise. He doesn't like it, but he likes revealing his bare chest to the winter air even less. He pulls grey breeches out to lay on top of his pack and starts undoing the binding of the ones he is wearing.
"Why is your heartbeat so fast? Why do you clack your teeth so loudly? Why do you tremble?" Gweld asks rapidly as if he had been holding back the questions for quite some time.
Jaskier looks up from his bindings at that and notices that Gweld is shifting from foot to foot awkwardly and processes that the witcher was alarmed, when he came in.
"Oh. There is nothing wrong really." Jaskier replies reassuringly. "Human hearts beat faster than witchers', especially when awake. I am shivering and my teeth are chattering, because I am cold, since I don't run as hot as you do."
Realization dawns on Gwelds face.
"I knew that." He says slowly. "There just are no humans in Kaer Morhen usually. It's confusing."
Jaskier nods understandingly.
"Thank you for lighting the fire. I'm sure I will warm up in no time now." He concludes and then waits for Gweld to leave, so he can continue changing, but the redhead doesn't.
"Why don't you just warm up in the hotsprings?" He asks instead.
"There are ..." Jaskier starts, but then does his breeches back up, grabs the clean ones and a chemise, braies and socks besides, pulls his boots on, turns back to Gweld and demands: "Show me."
Gweld grins.
Jaskier follows his new friend down a lot of stairs to a cave with ten round pools, glittering walls and stalactites, dimly lit by several wall scones.
Jaskier squints at the walls.
"Are those rock crystals?" He wonders.
"Better." Gweld chirps. "It's salt."
Jaskier nods, turning around his own axis slowly to take it all in.
When he turns back to the witcher he had chucked all his clothing onto a wooden bench pushed up against a wall and chooses a bar of soap from a small shelf above it.
Jaskier is briefly distracted by that fine ass and then puts his fresh clothes on the opposite side of the bench from Gwelds, takes off his fresh doublet to put on top and his travelling clothes to shove underneath the bench.
He turns around to find his friend already soaking in one of the pools, inviting him to join with a friendly grin. So the bard crosses the room and is about to dip his toes into the water, when two hands grab his waist and pull him back.
"Not! A! Witcher!" Geralt growls over Jaskiers shoulder at his brother.
"Melitele!" The redhead exclaims in shocked realization. "This pool is way to hot for humans!"
Geralt half drags half carries Jaskier to one of the cooler pools, while Gweld stays where he is shamefaced.
Jaskier sinks into the hot water of the Geralt-approved pool and sighs happily.
"Do not listen to that well meaning idiot." Geralt preaches grouchily, while stripping of his own clothes to join Jaskier in the water. "I will show you around from now on."
"You have training to do, o great white wolf. Leave him to me."
Jaskier looks up upon hearing Eskels deep voice to see the witcher has appeared beside the pool in all his naked glory, Jaskier squeaks. How such a big man can move so silently, Jaskier does not know, also that might be the biggest cock he has ever seen.
"And your training?" Geralt interrupts Jaskiers musing.
Eskel takes a seat between the two traveling companions and replies: "Fucked up my swordarm, got it broken on a fucking siren hunt. It healed wrong, Vesemir had to rebreak it and set it properly, when I got here three days ago. He said no more than a half dose of swallow a day for me, so it doesn't heal too fast again, something about ossification. I have another three days off from training." Geralt takes Eskels arm in both of his hands to examine it carefully.
"A sirenhunt?" Jaskier inquires.
Eskel chuckles ruefully. "Fair warning, if you turn this into a song, Scorpion might hunt you down and trample you."
"Scorpion is your horse?" The bard asks and Eskel nods.
"So, I was in Kerack near the Adalette and there was a contract on a siren. I plucked it off the noticeboard, spoke to the alderman and Scorpion carried me to the river near the coast. I had one ear out for a beautiful song and one eye out for a beautiful lady.
By the time night fell, we made camp by the riverside. When I rose from meditation in the early morning hours, Scorpion had bitten through the reigns, that had him tied to a tree, and was halfway in and out of the water, seemingly following a stunning black mare."
Geralt snorts.
"Yeah." Eskel continues. "That's what I thought: siren my ass, we're dealing with a fucking kelpie. But it gets even better. You know I had Scorpion since he was a foal."
Geralt nods. "Law of surprise working in a witchers favour for once."
"Right." Eskel agrees. "He has been by my side for over a decade now and I thought he was about to become kelpie fodder. So I pulled my silver sword from my back, snuck up on Scorpions right and grabbed his bridle to pull him back. He did not move. But the mare did. She came closer bit by bit, as if she was the one entranced. When she was only a few feet away, Scorpion did make a step back and I stumbled like an idiot, because of the sudden tension release. I tried to find my footing but overbalanced slightly. I raised my arm and sword in front of Scorpion to fend off the kelpie and nearly hit her snout with the flat of my blade. That broke her focus on Scorpion like she had only just noticed me. She moved her head extremely fast, bit my arm and yanked me forward. I dropped my sword..."
Geralt makes a wounded noise at that but doesn't otherwise comment.
"...and fell to my knees. Scorpion reared up and his hoof hit my head. I crawled dizzily back to shore and blacked the fuck out. When I came back to, Scorpion was…" Eskel breaks into a hiccuped laughter "... was mating the kelpie."
"What?" Geralt bursts into laughter as well.
Jaskier is laughing so hard, he has to be held up lest he drowns.
Eskel wipes his eyes, takes a deep breath and continues: "So since I really did not want to come between their song and dance a second time, I shuffled over to my pack quietly to fish out a vial of swallow to heal the bite and my headache. I did not realize the arm was broken at the time. I'm still not sure, if the kelpie snapped the bones with her bite or if one of the horses trampled my arm, when I was out.
After that I pulled out leatherstraps, I had bought for repairs, and knotted them into a bridle, with only one working hand no less."
Geralt whistles at that and Jaskier gets a far away look in his eyes, before he shakes himself to refocus.
"I waited and hoped for Scorpion and the kelpie to fall asleep and they really did around midday, Scorpion on the dry side of the shore and his lady on the wet side. I snuck up to them once again and got the kelpie bridled without waking her up. I tied her bridle to Scorpions chest harness with more leather scraps, giving her about three feet leeway. I used the rest of the leather and a few more knots to fix Scorpions reigns."
"So you are the kelpies master now?" Jaskier questions awed.
Eskel snorts.
"Apparently it doesn't count who bridles a kelpie, but who holds the reigns. She doesn't give a wit about my orders, but she follows Scorpions every lead and nudge and seemingly quite happily so."
"She is here?" Geralt asks incredulously.
"Yeah, she travelled with us for the whole two month, it took us to get my sorry ass up to Kaer Morhen. I couldn't take any contracts with the injured arm and didn't even try to get paid for the sirens contract without a severed head to show for. And since we are on topic: we won't walk the path next year, but stay here."
"Why?" Gweld inquires, finally joining them in the cooler pool, apparently done being ashamed.
"Because I won't go without Scorpion and Scorpion won't go without his lady and his lady won't bear her young on the path."
"He actually knocked her up?" Gweld wonders.
Eskel nods.
"I think Sirens offspring being half kelpie half kaedwini war horse is going to be a fine witcher mount." He declares.
"You called the kelpie Siren." Jaskier askes baffled.
Eskel just grins.
Geralt whistles.
Gweld asks: "How many foals is she carrying?"
"One!" Eskel says strictly. "And even if it turns out to be two, you won't get the other one!"
"Aww, why not?" Gweld whines.
"Because," Geralt answers "if you manage to forget my bard is human every hour, I don't want to know what happens if you are in charge of a half kelpie."
Gweld pouts.

Eskel shows Jaskier around after lunch and after finding furs for him and wrapping them around the bard to keep him warm. They visit the stables first, where Eskel points out Vesemirs efforts to turn part of them into a pool for Siren.
"You sure I can't make a song out of this?" Jaskier whines.
Eskel laughs. Jaskier is already in love with the sound.
Eskel strokes the muzzle of an extremely big black horse and tells Jaskier: "Meet Scorpion."
"My greetings oh most brave and noble of all horses." Jaskier says with a sweeping bow. When he comes back up, he is holding a sugar cube out on the flat of his hand. Scorpion sniffs and then takes the offering.
"So," the bard tells the horse "I will make you a deal. You let me set your epic love story to music and you will be the hero of the story and Siren will be the queen of all kelpies and Eskel will serve as comic release and I will bring you an apple every day all winter, what do you say?"
Eskel makes a protesting noise, but Jaskier ignores him in favour of Scorpion.
The horse assesses the colourful human.
And then bobs his head. " Fantastic." Jaskier enthuses, clearly gearing up for a longer speech, when Scorpion nudges his hand with his muzzle.
"Oh, first payment right now?" The bard asks and promptly produces an apple from somewhere and holds it out to the horse, who munches on it happily.
"How did Geralt manage to snatch you up?" Eskel questions wonderingly.
"Snatch me up? I attached myself to him like a barnacle and held on by sheer stubbornness, until he finally gave up and called me his friend." Jaskier answers wryly.
"Friend?" Eskel asked.
"Yeah, what did you think? - oh surely not lovers. Yeah, no, we don't work that way. Just imagine, on second thought, don't. Like a forest fire..."
"Alright," Eskel chuckles, "no more assumptions on my part."
"Better not, you are clearly bad at them. Just ask, I am generally happy to tell."
On their way out of the stables Jaskier sneaks a sugar cube to Roach, who takes it, but huffs at him.
"Yeah, I hate you too." Jaskier answers amicably, causing Eskel to chuckle again.
Jaskier makes that a new life goal.
Eskel leads him to the training yard, onto the battlements, to the kitchens, to the laboratory - with the strong advise to avoid the lab at all costs – to the armoury – also to be avoided – and to the library.
Jaskiers eyes go round.
It's huge and well kept and it has comfortable little nooks with plush seats and low tables or chairs, desks and writing utensils.
"I love it. I am moving in." He decides. "Where can I put my lute?"
"Is the room across from mine not good enough for you?" Eskel teases.
"I ... you ... across?" Jaskier stammers, blushing fiercely.
"Geralt wanted to deposit you directly into my bed, yesterday. He said, after you practically drooled over me in the courtyard, you were bound to end up there anyway. I told him, he was imagining things and thought he was jealous ..."
Eskel trails off.
Jaskier blinks at him. What is it about this man that makes his eloquence go up in smoke?
He turns and walks to one of the seats to sit down heavily. When he looks up, he notices Eskel still standing, where he left him. He pats the seat beside him.
Eskel joins him.
"So." Jaskier pauses, wondering what to address first. "Geralt is NOT jealous about me romantically, maybe about you though?"
"No." Eskel says. "We're brothers. How did you put it? We don’t work that way."
"Alright." Jaskier continues appeased. "Next thing. I did drool – metaphorically."
Eskel perks up.
"You did?" he asks.
Jaskier nods.
"But if somebody carries me to your bed, I'd rather it be you."
Jaskier hadn't known that witchers could blush. He was delighted.
"I think we are missing a few steps?" Eskel says after a pause.
"Which steps are we missing?" The bard asked, visibly confused.
"The getting to know each other and the courting." Eskel replies with a smirk. Then he suddenly turns pale. "... unless you were only looking for a tumble?"
Jaskier takes one of Eskel large hands between both of his.
"I am a bard, a romantic, if courting is on offer, I am happy to court and be courted."
He assures the witcher and to tell the whole truth he adds: "Not that I don't love a good tumble, but we have all winter to see, if we fit for more than a night or three."
Eskel is smirking again, much to Jaskiers relief.
"So which particular form of fitting together do you want to try first?" He asks teasingly, his voice somehow even deeper than usual.
"Music." The bard answers immediately. "If you don't love my music, you won't love me. That's just how it works."
Eskel looked slightly disappointed.
"You said getting to know each other and courting came before bedsport only moments ago." Jaskier reacts indignantly and with a hint of confusion.
"I was trying to banter." Eskel answers sheepishly, rubbing his neck.
"Oh, oooh, Eskel darling, I need time to work up to be able to take, what you are packing." Jaskier drawls, quick to switch gears. "Maybe your courting gifts should include whittled dongs increasing in length and girth every other week."
Eskel does not squeak, he does not.
"I am clearly in over my head." He mutters.
They abandon bantering and talk until dinner. After dinner there is another puppy pile and Jaskier cuddles up to Geralt happily. Later everybody goes to bed separately. Jaskier lights and banks the fire and puts on layered nightclothes before falling asleep, so he doesn't turn into an icicle first thing next morning.

Chapter Text

In the morning Jaskier wakes up warm. He grabs clothes and a towel and goes down to enjoy the hot springs, very gratified that he managed to embed the way in his mental map of Kaer Morhen after following Gweld once. The hot springs are empty, since it is early morning and everybody, who is up has a task to perform. Most of the witchers are either training themselves or running the not yet grassed lads through obstacle course or sword routines. The others are preparing food or cleaning and maintaining the keep. At least that is how Eskel had explained it yesterday.
Jaskier baths and dresses, before venturing into the kitchens after only two wrong turns.
Vesemir is cooking oatmeal on the hearth and there is bread baking in one of the ovens.
"Good morning." Jaskier greets him quietly. "Can I have an apple please?"
"We break fast in an hour." Vesemir says in lieu of answering.
"Oh, it’s not for me." Jaskier elaborates. "It’s for Scorpion. See, we made a deal. He gets an apple a day and I am allowed to make a song of his encounter with siren."
"You made a deal with Eskel's horse." Vesemir repeats flatly. "You will fit right in with the rest of the pups. Mad the lot of them."
Jaskier smirks.
"So may I have an apple?"
"Sure. Help yourself as long as you don’t make any more deals with the other horses. I need some of those apples to feed the witchers in this keep!" Vesemir warns him.
"Yes, sir." the bard replies, takes one apple and leaves for the stables.
Since the stables are located in the front yard and the training yard is out back, he does not run across anyone else for now, which suits him fine.
"Hello Scorpion. I brought your apple." He tells the black stallion and holds said apple out on the flat of his palm. Scorpion takes it and eats it in three bites. He neighs softly in thanks – or that’s how Jaskier interprets it at least. The bard pats the horses neck and then he carefully peers into the next stall to study Siren in order to be able to describe her in his song.
The colour of her coat matches Scorpions so exactly that he wonders, if she can choose her appearance beyond fishtail or hind legs. He will have to read up on that. There are more than enough bestiaries in the library.
He had planned to stay with Scorpion and Siren a bit longer, but though the stables shelter from wind and weather it is still colder inside than Jaskier is comfortable with.
So he decides to visit the library for a bit before breakfast. He contemplates if he wants to research kelpies or work on the melody of his song first, but when he arrives in the library Eskel is there, waiting for him.
"Hello there, handsome." Jaskier says smiling up at the gorgeous witcher, he apparently gets to court.
His stomach tightens and swoops at the thought. He hasn’t had butterflies this bad since his first flirtations in Oxenfurt.
Eskel smiles back, takes one of Jaskier’s hands and kisses the back of it.
"Good morning." he greets.
Jaskier’s smile turns dopey, he does not care.
"You are gallant as the knights of old." He tells Eskel.
"I am no knight, but of old might be more accurate then you think." The witcher admits.
"You are the same age as Geralt, are you not? So, about eighty? - That’s not that old." The bard concludes.
"Still 60 years your senior." Eskel counters.
"You are off by about a decade." Jaskier corrects him.
"A decade? You jest.” Eskel looks incredulous.
"Ask Geralt." is all Jaskier says.
"I will." Eskel threatens.
Jaskier smirks.

"How old is Jaskier?" Eskel asks of Geralt at breakfast.
Geralt looks up from his porridge and frowns. He calculates something in his head and then looks at his bard and does not take his eyes of him, when he answers Eskel: "Thirty-two, if he did not lie about his age, when we met fifteen years ago."
"I did not lie." Jaskier confirms cheerfully.
"You barely aged." Geralt sounds accusing.
"You just noticed that." Jaskier determines, sounding very amused. "I got that from my mother. She also always looked younger than she was. She still does."
Jaskier dedicates his attention to his porridge then and ignores the bewildered looks of the witchers around him.
After breakfast Eskel and Jaskier go back to the library.
"Are kelpies able to choose their appearance at will?" Jaskier asks once they are settled next to each other in two comfortable chairs.
"To a certain degree, why?" Eskel wants to know.
"I noticed that Sirens coat matched Scorpions almost exactly in colour and shine. I am considering using it in the song.” Jaskier explains.
"Hm." Eskel hums thoughtfully not unlike Geralt.
He stands up, ventures over to one of the shelves and pulls a big tome down.
He takes his place again, puts the tome in his lap and searches for something. When he finds it,
he starts to read aloud-
"The nature of kelpies is such that …"

After a light lunch Geralt, Gweld, Eskel, Jaskier and surprisingly Vesemir cuddle together in front of the fire in the main hall, while the trainers and trainees disappear to their afternoon lessons.
Everybody but Jaskier and Eskel eventually get up for their chores.
The bard snuggles deeper into the furs and Eskel's chest and asks a lot of questions about live in the keep and out on the path. He is especially curious what Eskel will do next year, while staying in Kaer Morhen. - Teach the older trainees how to perfect their signs, amongst other things.

Eskel walks Jaskier up to his room after dinner and card games.
"I really enjoyed our time in the library." Eskel says.
"I as well." Jaskier replies with a board smile. "I loved listening to you read. You have beautiful voice."
"Thank you." Eskel whispers, ears pink.
Jaskier smiles up at him sweetly, rises to his tiptoes and kisses his cheek.
"I'm off to bed now. I will play music for you tomorrow, alright?"
"Yes." Eskel agrees and hugs the bard to his chest. Jaskier chuckles.
"You need to let me go."
"No." Eskel denies almost petulantly.
"You already cuddled me all afternoon, if you take me to your bed now, this is going to proceed much quicker than we agreed. But how about a good night kiss?"
Instead of answering Eskel bends down to kiss Jaskier’s lips lightly. The scar feels weird and exciting against Jaskier’s lips and it takes a lot of the bards willpower to pull back.
"Very promising." He breathes into Eskel's chest.
"Good night." Eskel whispers and releases him.

Jaskier begins the next day with a dip in the hot springs, like the day before. Unlike the day before Eskel joins him. The bard really likes what he sees. He wants to compose a song about all the scars and the fights that won them.
"Tell me about the monsters you defeated." Jaskier demands rather than asks.
Eskel looks down himself following Jaskier’s gaze.
"You want to know how I got my scars." Eskel concludes.
"If you don’t mind." Jaskier amends.
Eskel rubs at his facial scars and thinks.
"I got these by a princess, not a monster. It ain’t a pretty story and one I don’t care to tell at this time. But choose another one and I will tell you about the hunt." He says after a brief pause.
"Hm." Hums the bard in contemplation and then touches Eskel's right collarbone lightly. "Wyvern?"
Eskel looks at him clearly impressed.
"Yes. The contract was for one wyvern. It turned out to be a nest."
Jaskier winced.
"Mummy was a tad protective of her young?" he guesses.
"A tad." Eskel confirms dryly.

They bring Scorpion his promised apple together and with Eskel's arms wrapped around Jaskier, the bard is warm enough to stay in the stables for a bit, like he wanted to the day before. He marvels at Vesemir's progress on the pool, asks questions about Siren and talks to Scorpion and Roach.
Then they go to breakfast hand in hand, which Geralt teases them for good-naturedly, calling them younglings.

The afternoon finds Jaskier in Eskel's room with his lute.
"So music. What do you like. You can make a wish. I hope you're not tone deaf like Geralt, that would put a damper on things." Jaskier babbles.
"Tone deaf? Geralt is not tone deaf. What gave you that idea?" Eskel questions.
"He has no opinion about my music other than loud and boisterous or annoying." Jaskier complains.
"Did you ever try to sing just to him and a capella?" Eskel asks.
"I ... rarely, why?" Jaskier is confused and unsure what that has to do with anything.
"Or just played to him without singing?" Eskel inquires further.
"Only when I was hoarse or when I didn't yet have lyrics to go along with the melody. I mostly just hum then. And doing the same bits over and over, trying to get it right." The bard explains.
"Witchers' ears are sensitive, Geralt's especially. We mostly try to concentrate on one thing and filter everything else out. So if you played in a tavern and your witcher was alert for trouble, he would probably recall very little of your songs. If you were in a quieter surroundings and mostly save, it would be easier to listen. And if you wanted an opinion from Geralt, well, less is more in his case. That's why he prefers slow and quite songs either instrumental or a capella." Eskel explains.
Realization dawns on Jaskier’s face.
"That is so not my style."
Eskel chuckles.
"What about you?"
"Not quite as sensitive. I still prefer music in a chamber to in a rowdy tavern. I love old kaedwini folk songs."
Jaskier has to think about that for a moment and then smiles and picks his lute strings rather then strumming them and starts singing: "At the well afore the gates ..."
Eskel smiles warmly.
When Jaskier reaches the chorus, Eskel's deep voice joins his and the warmth in Jaskier’s chest spreads.
They spend a pleasant afternoon that way.
When Eskel sings along to Jaskier’s a capella version of "Toss a coin", the bards heart turns over and he knows, if this ends up being nothing more than a few fun nights for Eskel, it's going to break Jaskier’s heart.

The next day Eskel has to resume his training and chores. So Jaskier spends the morning alone apart from his time in the stables with Scorpion, dutifully delivering the payment they agreed upon and talking to the horse for a bit. He comes up with the melody for the chorus of "Scorpion and Siren – working title".
He and Eskel have breakfast together with everybody else, before the witchers head back out for a second round of training.
Jaskier joins Eskel – and all the other witchers – in the hot springs after their training.
Bath time with more than thirty witchers and lads turns out to be rowdy and not the optimal environment for quite conversation.
Eskel's afternoon chores consists of wall repairs in one of the labs, necessary because of an experiment gone wrong. Jaskier follows Eskel down and mostly talks at him for the rest of the afternoon. At least there in another puppy pile before dinner.
Jaskier resolves to find tasks to occupy his time, now that he can’t spend so much of it with Eskel.
Maybe he will ask Vesemir about it the next day or so.

In the afternoon of Jaskier's fifth day in Kaer Morhen Lambert, Aubry and Gardis arrive.
Gweld pounces on Gardis in glee as soon as he steps inside.
"Oof." Makes the blond witcher. "I missed you, too."
Aubry shakes his head, showering his two entwined brothers with the snow that had gathered on his hood.
"You fuckers are blocking the door." shouts Lambert from behind them. "It's gods damned cold out here, so fucking move or I'll bloody well kick your ugly asses."
Gweld whoops with laughter and Gardis carries him further in, while Aubry just nods to everybody mutely and disappears into the kitchens.
Lambert pushes in and the doors fall shut behind him loudly.
Jaskier had talked Eskel and Geralt into a bit of cuddling in front of the fire not half an hour ago – not that the witchers needed a lot of convincing – and had been dozing up to this point. He jerks at the loud noise.
"Gweld, there's something green in the puppy pile." Lambert says sounding something between dubious and disgusted.
"That's Geralt's bard, he's human, no breaking him." Gweld replies cheerfully.
"My bard now." Eskel grumbles.
Jaskier swats him.
"We're courting, possessiveness is for later." He admonishes sternly.
"Witcher courting is very possessive." Eskel says seriously.
Geralt snorts.
"Last I heard." Lambert intersects, while cuddling up to Eskel's other side. "Witchers didn't bloody court at all. The fucking path is fucking hard and to be walked alone and all that shit."
"Anybody tries to take my bard ..." Eskel begins, but is interrupted by Jaskier's painful groan.
"Careful Gweld." He whimpers. "No squishing the human, remember? You said so yourself just a minute ago."
Gweld, who had tried to worm in between Geralt and Jaskier, is pulled back by Gardis so Jaskier can breathe, positioning the two newcomers at the feet of the other witchers in the pile.
"Appreciated. Jaskier's the name." He gasps in Gardis's direction.
"Gardis." The blond witcher replies. "Aubry." He continues, gesturing to the kitchen. "And Lambert."
Jaskier sits up to be able to peer over Eskel at Lambert.
"Oh hey there." Jaskier waves a little. "Geralt and I ran across some spiked wyvern in early autumn. We harvested and conserved some of the spikes. They might make a nice dancing star addition."
There is a short baffled silence.
"Now I sort of want to court him." Lambert mumbles.
Eskel chuckles and Jaskier grins and snuggles back in.
"Why?" Lambert asks after a while, not looking up from behind Eskel.
"Oh, for one I thought they were horn first, because they looked similar to his claws, but there seems be bone directly underneath and the bone and the horn merged? Anyway they are wickedly sharp and really sturdy, so I thought those are going to survive an explosion. So I started to think about bombs. I drew up a diagram, I can show you later." Jaskier explains.
"Why is a bard interested in bombs?" Lambert wants to know.
"It was an accident." Jaskier replies "When I was new to Oxenfurt, I thought I could save coin, if I baked my bread myself. But I had no idea what I was doing with the baking powder and boom I had a new passion."
Lambert snickers and the rest of the puppy pile laughs softly.
"I found a chemistry section in the library and when I was tired of art, I read up on it for fun, once in a while. So my knowledge is mostly theoretical, especially on monster parts. I got my knowledge about those mostly from interpreting Geralt's hums and growls …"
Geralt sighs exasperatedly.
Everybody starts laughing again and they don't stop for a while.

The little group joins everybody for dinner and then the alcohol, the cards and the dice come out and cheerful bragging about successful hunts ensues. Eskel saves Jaskier from Gweld trying to share his goblet of white gull with the bard. And Lambert is glad to hit Gweld over the head for forgetting about Jaskier's humanity again.
Jaskier begins to wonder if to many blows to the head might be the cause of Gweld's forgetfulness, but then again it seems that being scatter brained is just the nature of the cheerful redhead.
He gets to know Lambert and Gardis a bit better in the course of the evening. Aubry seems to be the quite brooding type though he does share a tale about a cockatrice hunt that earned him a scar across his left hand.
"I am not sure I approve of you helping Lambert with his bombs." Eskel tells Jaskier quietly, when the evening comes to a close.
"Hm?" Jaskier titles his head. He is deep in thought and only half listening, it seems. But then he registers Eskel's inquiry and explains:
"I need something to do apart from composing, now that you are back to training and chores. But I won't join him in the labs. I will be in the library helping with research and schematics. Aubry brought some scrolls, we are very interested in."
"Oh good. You had me a little worried." Eskel admits.
Jaskier smiles up at him and presses a kiss to his lips in front of everybody.
Gweld catcalls, Gardis whistles, Lambert gapes, Aubry shakes his head and Geralt chuckles.

Over the next few days the rest of the wolf witchers trickle in or send word that they are wintering somewhere else in Clovis’ case. Gascaden is not impressed by the bard and mostly keeps his distance. The other witchers seem to be between Geralt's and Lambert's ages though it is hard to tell with witchers and then Jaskier is pretty sure there is an age gap between Lambert and the next younger witchers.
After dinner two weeks into their stay in Kaer Morhen Jaskier asks Geralt for a walk on the battlements. When they are barely out of earshot of the hall, he asks: "So, courting gifts for Eskel. Give me ideas."
"Hm." Geralt makes, eyes sparkling with mirth.
"Don't you dare, Geralt!" Jaskier cries. "Words. I need actual words. I know you have a lot more of them up here."
Geralt laughs.
"Massage his feet, he likes that, but rarely asks for it. Maybe gift the oils you use for it to him. Write him a song, o greatest of bards. And do NOT cook for him."
Jaskier grumbles. That is solid advise. Then he rapid fires questions at his best friend and actually has them answered. Jaskier likes Geralt in Kaer Morhen even better than on the path.
"His favourite smell?"
"Rosemary."
"Colour?"
"Bourgudy."
"Drink?"
"Toussainti red."
"Thank you."
"Welcome."
They walk in silence for a while.
"How are you and – I assume – the other witchers so different here? Vesemir said something about home and safe? Also their seems a generation of witchers missing between Lambert and ... Adrian, was it?"
"That is a rather involved topic and not entirely my story to tell. You will want Aubry and Lambert for this and a cask of white gull." Geralt sighs. "But if you are serious about Eskel, you should probably understand that he is different on the path and why. And to get this out of the way early on might not be a bad idea either. Hm. I will talk to them."
Jaskier nods.
He does not join the cuddling that night, but retreats to the library and starts writing the lyrics for "the Siren and the Scorpion" and then reading one of the scrolls Aubry brought.

It seems that before Geralt explains about ‘home and safe’ - as Jaskier named the topic in his head,
the bard has some explaining or his own to do. He had asked Lambert for help with distilling rosemary oil to give to Eskel, which turned into asking Lambert to distil it for him, since nobody wants the bard in the labs.
Lambert is not so fond about the smell of rosemary and therefore decides to take a second bath in the hot springs before dinner and talks Eskel, who is covered in stone dust, Geralt, who is reeking of horse and fish or rather kelpie, and Jaskier, who is always happiest around naked witchers, into coming along.
"You are not thirty-two!" Lambert almost shouts.
Jaskier sighs. How did they get on this topic again. He glares at Geralt.
"I am." Jaskier says uncharacteristically short with his words.
"Do you have any idea why you look so young?" Lambert inquires.
Jaskier is halfway to making his usual excuses about oils and creams and travelling keeping him young and healthy, when he stops short and looks at his companions. These are witchers, they lifespan was drastically altered by the mutagens, that made them so. If anybody understands outliving everybody around you and is not bothered by it, it is them and Eskel should know and probably Geralt too. Hells he has grown fond of Lambert as well over the last week.
So Jaskier settles back against the stone wall of the pool and begins to talk:
"So there is a tale in my mothers family about my great grandfather. He was married young to a noblewoman within Verden, a duke’s fourth daughter. She was not happy to be married off to a mere viscount. Nothing he did could please her. She hated everything, but most of all his mansion. She told everyone, who would listen, about its many shortcomings.
One day the viscount rode out with her to show her his lands, hoping they were vast enough to please her. And when they halted on a clearing inside the great oak forest, which covered most of his lands, to rest for a moment, she seemed to like the place. But then she told him to fell the trees and build her a palace in their place. He refused her and they returned to the mansion.
The following weeks she would not cease to tell him that the clearing was the perfect place for her palace, if he would just fell a few dozen of the trees, there would be more than enough space.
He did not give in.
Two month passed.
Then the viscount was awoken by a terrible scream in the dead of night.
He called for his manservant to dress him, he rushed outside, had the stable hand saddle his horse and rode out to the clearing. There he found a dozen of his father in laws men hacking at the roots of an old oak. It was the oak’s scream he had heard.
The viscount demanded that the men cease their efforts at once. He reminded them that they were standing on his land, told them that his wife's wishes went against his orders and send them home to never return. The men left and the injured oak spoke to the viscount, spoke of duty, protection, failure and debt.
The viscount brought his wife to the clearing on the next day, he took no men with him and did not return for the entire night. In the morning of the next day he came home without his wife.
He visited the forest clearing once a month after that, always for an entire night, always alone.
The servants presumed that he had a hunting lodge build for his wife, moved her there and visited occasionally.
One year went by.
The viscount visited the forest and returned with a child, with his heir.
When he was asked about his wife, he said that she had died.
The servants wondered about the young and healthy wife dying in child bed, but the young father did not loose another word about it.
After a fortnight the manservant of the viscount rode out to the clearing to see the lodge and the fresh grave for himself. But there was no lodge and the grave between the roots of an old oak was grown over by grass and wild flowers. The tree roots bore deep gashes, where the bark was still thin.
When he looked up from the roots a beautiful woman dressed in greenery and crowned with flowers stepped out from within the tree and whispered: "Blood for blood and a life for a life."
The manservant took that to be a threat and fled. At home he warned everybody away from the forest and its evil spirits." Jaskier finishes his tale.
"You mean to say that one of your great grandmothers was an immortal and immortally beautiful dyrade, who drank your great grandfathers wife's blood to heal the roots of her tree and bore him a child in his wife's stead?" Geralt asks incredulously.
"You wanted to know, if I had any idea why I looked so young despite my age and I am saying that this is a tale in my family." Jaskier replies calmly.
"So, if our courting were to be successful, how long do you wager, would you stay by my side?" Eskel inquires quietly.
Jaskier melts a little inside, of course Eskel had been worrying about that. Suddenly he was eager to reassure all three of them.
"About a century, if my grandfather is any indication."
Eskel hugs him tightly to his chest, unbothered be their state of undress.
Jaskier chuckles.
When he looks back at Geralt, his friend also seems to be greatly relieved.

Chapter Text

Lambert has the rosemary oil ready the very next day and slips Jaskier the vials at lunch.
Jaskier, who has yet to ask Vesemir about what chores he should take on as to pull his own weight, decides to put that off another day and spends the afternoon preparing his bedroom for some alone time with Eskel. First of all Jaskier adorns the vials with ribbons and places them on the bedside table.
Then he makes his bed into a nest of sorts, heaping as many soft blankets, quilts and furs onto it, as he can find in various supply closets Vesemir showed him, and arranging them to his liking. Next he hunts down a dozen candles and candleholders. He spreads them out on the dresser, the windowsill, the desk and the bedside table. He even sweeps out the room and manages to light the fireplace.
Lastly he dresses in comfortable brown breeches and a dark red chemise, hoping it is close enough to burgundy to please Eskel.
When he goes to find Eskel he wraps a fur around his shoulders, before he braces the cold halls of the keep. He slips in the kitchen first, begging two more apples for the day from Vesemir and has to promise up, down and sideways that he will be feeding them to a witcher and has made no more deals with horses. Asking for bread, cheese, nuts and raisins goes a lot smoother, meaning Vesemir grumbles at Jaskier to just take what he needs and get out of his kitchen already.
Jaskier suspects that Vesemir is quite fond of him.
Eskel is already in the great hall by the time Jaskier carries his bounty out of the kitchen in a basket.
The witcher looks at the bard in bewilderment.
“Come with me.” Jaskier tells him.
Eskel follows him, glances into the basket curiously and asks: “What do you have in mind.”
“Courting you.” Jaskier says curtly and beams up at Eskel.
Eskel blushes and smiles and when he steps into Jaskiers room he coos.
Then he lights all candles by signing igni once and turning around his own axis.
Jaskier looks around his back and laughs delightedly.
“Let us sit at the table first. I don’t want crumbs in our nest – uh – my bed.” Jaskier stutters.
Eskel grins at him and makes a sound suspiciously close to purring.
“Our nest, I like the sound of that. So you mean to feed me and then cuddle me?” he inquires
“I meant to put food on the table and offer you a first courting gift, but I like the way you think.”
Eskel sits on the chair by the desks and waits for Jaskier to put the basket on the desk, before pulling him into his lap. Thus settled Jaskier pulls an apple and a knife out, cuts the apple up and offers Eskel the first slice. Eskel takes it out of his hand with his teeth and chews on it, smirking to himself.
“You know,” He says. “not that I am complaining, but there is no need to bribe me with apples, if you want to write a song about me.”
“Oh?” The bard asks teasingly. “That is good to know, since I already have the song about your heroic wyvern hunt half planned out in my head.”
Eskel grins, wriggles his eyebrows and opens his mouth for another apple slice.
Jaskier gives him one and takes one for himself.
They each eat their share of the bread and cheese and feed each other the nuts, raisins and the other apple.
“Let us sit on the bed.” Jaskier suggest, when the basket is empty.
“Lets.” Eskel agrees and stands up with the bard in his arms.
Jaskiers eyes darken. “Witcher strength is so hot.” he breathes.
Eskel chuckles and gets them settled in the nest of furs.
“You said something about a gift?”
Jaskier forces himself to look away from this marvel of a man, to reach out for the vials of oil on the bedside table and present them to Eskel.
“It is rosemary oil.” he explains.
“I … thank you?” Eskel says, taking the vials visibly confused.
“Here let me show you, what it is for.” Jaskier says with a smile, takes the vials back, sets them down on the furs and moves down to the foot of the bed to … take of Eskels boots. They forgot to take of their boots. Melitele, he is gone on this witcher.
He takes of Eskels boots first and then his own and tosses all of them off the bed.
He proceeds to take Eskels stockings off. He takes one of the vials then and uncorks it with his teeth, pours some of the oil into his hand and stoppers the rest of it back up without spilling any.
The brunet grins up at the barefooted witcher cheekily, while spreading the oil on both of his own palms. Eskel looks at him in awe and continues doing so, when Jaskier pulls one of Eskel’s feet into his lap and presses his thumbs into the arc of it.
He massages the sole of the witcher’s foot in long strokes, putting his lutenist’s finger strength to good use. When he moves on to the ball of the foot, he switches from strokes to circles. He then works each toe individually and finally massages the heel with his palm. Then he releases the foot and repeats the whole procedure on the other one, using plenty of the rosemary oil all the while.
Eskel is still watching Jaskier albeit half lidded, has relaxed back into the blankets and furs and is moaning softly.
A long while later Jaskier halts his movements, just holds the foot in his lap and looks up at Eskel smiling. Eskel smiles back widely.
“Best courting gift ever.” He sighs contently.
“I have to admit that Geralt gave me a hint or two.” Jaskier whispers, unwilling to disturb the relaxed atmosphere.
“I knew there was a reason I liked him.” Eskel jokes light-heartedly. “Was one of the hints to wear that chemise?”
Jaskier chuckles quietly.
“One of the hints was burgundy.” The bard amends.
“Hm. I really like it.” Eskel stresses.
Jaskier smiles wider.
“Come up here?” the witcher request, only to have an armful of bard almost instantly.
Eskel laughs softly and cuddles Jaskier close.
“I think.” He says. “This is going quite well.”
The brunet hums, sounding satisfied and a little smug and buries his nose in Eskels chest.
After just a few dozen heartbeats his breathing slows and he has fallen asleep on his soon to be lover. Eskels chest swells with affection. He is just going to sleep in Jaskier’s bed then, there is no way he is going to move his bard, looking utterly adorable in his sleep.
When they wake up with entangled limbs in the morning, they grin at each other and quietly admit to themselves, that they are utterly besotted. They can’t stop grinning the entire morning.
Eskel cheerfully trumps Geralt on the training ground, which happens once in a blue moon and continues feeling on top of the world through all his chores.
Jaskier finally asks Vesemir, where and how he could be of assistance during breakfast.
Vesemir suggests helping in the kitchen, but when Geralt makes a chocking noise and looks absolutely horrified, he quickly changes his mind and gives Jaskier various tasks in animal care instead. That suits Jaskier fine, since he visits Scorpion everyday anyway to give him his promised apple and the chicken coop and the goat den are adjacent to the stables.
He even enjoys feeding the animals and doesn’t mind mucking out after them too much.
What he does mind is that he has to bath in the afternoon now instead of the mornings, which means no quiet conversations possible, since everybody baths at that time.
Though he discovers that he can at least have a quarter of an hour to himself, if he is real quick about his tasks. And there is still always someone to cuddle in front of the fire in the great hall afterwards.

A few days later Jaskier has help with animal care from Adrian and therefore has time to compose for several hours in the library. When he comes to the great hall after, hoping for late afternoon cuddles, Geralt, Lambert, Aubry and Gardis are waiting for him. They are not cuddled together on the furs in front of the fire though, but sitting side by side on one of the benches near by.
All of them stand simultaneously as Jaskier approaches.
Geralt throws an arm around Jaskier's shoulders and turns him right back around and leads him out of the hall. The others follow behind them.
They go up to where the bedrooms of the path travelling witchers are located, away from trainers and trainees. Geralt stops in front of a door and waits for Lambert to open it.
Lambert goes inside first, takes of his boots and sits against the headboard of – obviously – his bed.
Then he gestures for the others to join him. Everybody takes their boots off and climbs onto the bed.
Aubry sits against the headboard next to Lambert, Geralt sits cross-legged to Lambert's side and Gardis mirrors him on Aubry’s. That leaves Jaskier to complete the circle by taking place at the foot of the big bed, across from Lambert and Aubry.
“So.” Lambert begins looking directly at Jaskier “First, you fucking interrupt bloody once and I fucking toss you out on your ugly little arse, clear?”
Jaskier nods, Geralt and Gardis fold their hands in their laps and look serious and Aubry – astonishingly – takes one of Lambert's hands, squeezes it and then keeps holding it, without Lambert so much as scowling at him.
“I was fucking dragged to Kaer Morhen kicking and screaming bloody murder by that thrice damned arsehole Varin, who had saved the live of my useless wife- and child-beating shit stain of a father.
The son of a bitch wasn’t willing to give any fucking coin, he could damn well drink or gamble or whore away, to a bloody witcher. Instead he decided to fucking rid himself of a mouth to feed and throw his – by Melitele’s tits – barely nine years old son to the bloody wolves.”
So that was what Geralt had meant, when he had said, that it wasn’t entirely his story to tell. Jaskier suppresses a noise of sorrow as not to interrupt. Aubry squeezes Lambert's hand again.
“I did not bloody want to become a damned witcher. I hated Varin, I hated this keep, I fucking hated the training. I did not hate Voltehre, who had somehow despite my best fucking efforts become my friend. We survived the trial of the bloody grasses side by fucking side, even thought the mages – fuck them sideways with a spiked wyvern prick – did their bloody worst to torture the shit out of us and our humanity besides. I was bloody fucking sure, we were going to die strapped to those thrice damned stone tables. No such luck. Those whore son mages managed to mutate us into monsters, only to have Voltehre killed in the trial of the mountains not much later along with each and every other survivor of our year but me.” Lambert stops, looking wretched.
So Aubry picks up the story quietly: “Lambert did not swear, did not speak, went half mad with grief. So I decided to guard his sleep and posted myself in front of his room’s door that night. Geralt had the same idea. Lambert – of course – did not sleep. When he left his room to wander the keep at night, he barely noticed and did not acknowledge us, so we followed silently. He went to the laboratory, where the trial of the grasses had taken place and sat on one of the stone tables. Geralt and I stood outside the door, when two mages came down the corridor, talking to each other about the trials. They were lamenting the fact that they did not have access to the bodies of the witcher candidates, who died on the mountain, for further experiments. They said, they would still have these “necessary resources” if only more had died during their trial of the grasses, like intended...”
Jaskier chokes on nothing, horror stricken.
Geralt takes over: “Wolf witchers don’t tend towards loosing control and going mad like some of the cat witchers, but we went berserk, all three of us. I think, I might have torn out one of their throats with my teeth.”
Jaskier winces, but holds his tongue.
Geralt continues: “We went through all the laboratories and their quarters and killed every last one of them, before they knew what was happening and thank fuck for that, because if they had had time to defend themselves, we wouldn’t be alive to tell the story.
Gardis came looking, wondering about the noise and found us after a while in one of their bedrooms, near catatonic.”
He nods at Gardis to take over, Gardis does.
“It was a bloodbath. I bellowed for Vesemir and sat on Lambert until he showed up. I suspect Vesemir was beside himself with rage, but somehow he stayed calm, managed to talk Geralt out of his dazed state and pried from him, what the mages had said. I swear to you Vesemir’s eyes flashed. In the entire time I have known him, he never looked more dangerous than in that moment. He rose every last witcher from their beds in the matter of minutes and had them assemble in the hall. He spoke of treachery, arrogance, cruelty and consequences. The bodies of the mages were burned, the halls were scrubbed and then their research was laid open. I never saw grown witchers weep before, but each and every one of us had lost brothers and charges and – as we found out that night – quite a few of them were taken from us on purpose and entirely without sound reason.
It was early spring and while Geralt and Lambert went out on the path – in Lambert’s case for the very first time – Aubry and I stayed to study the mages research.”
Jaskier looks at Lambert.
“I couldn’t stay at the keep.” Lambert whispers. “All the good memories within died with Voltehre.”
Jaskier notes the lack of swearing and says nothing.
“He stayed on the path for three years, before he returned to the keep.” Geralt takes over. “We feared that he didn’t make it past his first year out. I even suspected he might have been so stricken with grief, that he let the first kikimora, he encountered, eat him and didn’t bother to climb back out after killing it from within.” He shoots Lambert a wry smile. Lambert shrugs in response and continues the story: “I came back after I got word that fucking Varin had taken a contract on a mated pair of arch griffins protecting their clutch of eggs and ended up as dinner for said clutch, when they hatched the night of the fight. By Melitele’s cunt, I think that might have been the first news to make me feel anything since the slaughter of the mages.”
“When he came through the gates in early winter I knew something had to change and I was not the only one.” Aubry tells Jaskier. “Actually things had already started to change. We had studied the mages vile research and discovered that we could make the grasses much safer, if we sorted the mutangens by group and applied them one group at a time to spread the changes out over weeks with periods of rest and healing in between. It was all theoretical at that point, mind you.
Also we had decided to contact the other schools to warn them of the treachery and wicked ways of the mages, lest word about the disappearance of the wolf school mages made it out some other way and came back to bite our arses. We could determine, if the mages of the different schools had communicated with each other by spell ravens or some such. Also we couldn't keep all the not yet grassed boys at the keep indefinitely. We wanted to be damn sure our way of turning a boy into a witcher worked and worked reliably. We still were not sure what the boys needed to bring to the table … so to speak … other than being healthy, well fed and young enough. Neither had we figured out which draughts, teas and foods we needed for the healing and resting periods.
And by the time we were certain of everything and ready to test it on anyone, the boys would have been to old. Some of them were content to stay in the keep to help in the kitchens or with the horses, but the majority of them wanted to go down to one of the villages at the foot of the mountain and take up apprenticeships as carpenters or farmers or what not. So our secrets were not exactly safe.
Anyway I wanted someone with Lambert’s talents for potions in on the developing of the new grasses. Rennes had told us, that Lambert had shown the most talent in that area in a few generations. And – like Geralt said – we feared he had died, but there he stood inside the gates and before any of us could greet him, let alone ask him anything, he had seen Eskel sitting hunched over in front of the fire with half his face freshly in shreds.
He stomped over, gripped Eskel’s chin, tilted it up and told him:”
Lambert, Geralt and Gardis join in, so that all four witchers speak in unison: “I know the bloody recipe for a fucking salve that will damn well help a hell of a lot better than what any of the other fuckers have been trying and you’re going to be fucking fine.”
Jaskier can’t help, but chuckle. Lambert grins at him a little ruefully.
“It was the start of a beautiful, not very polite friendship.” Geralt quips, making Jaskier laugh outright.
“When Aubry and I saw the wonders Lambert’s salve did on Eskel’s face – nothing had even gotten the wounds to close properly up to that point – mere days after he had arrived in Kaer Morhen, we sat him down to tell him about our findings and ask his help.” Gardis tells. “Vesemir somehow managed to include every last wolf witcher in Kaer Morhen in our little meeting and took over, declaring that things needed to change. Witchers had not been treated well out on the path for decades and it only got worse. People were scared of us and thought of us as monsters for hire to kill the slightly more malevolent ones. And these twisted words had settled in the minds of humans, mages and witchers alike, disguised as a fact, a truth even, when it was a falsehood at best and a self fulfilling prophesy at worst. He told us that we needed to change from within, that in fact change had already begun with “the ban” of the mages. He let us lay out our idea of the new grasses and subsequently explained his own idea about the keep becoming a save haven and a true home for all of us, where we could lay down our metaphorical amour along with our literal amour. He said we were wolves, that we had been lone wolves and needed to become a pack.”
“So when we go out on the path, we know we are going to be seen as monsters and we guard ourselves against that. Everybody knows us to be dangerous by our cat slitted eyes and two swords and we have to work with that, use it or compensate for it, depending on the situation. Eskel is bigger and boarder then most of us and bears the most horrific scars on his face. He has to endure and recompense like all of us, but doubly so.” Geralt explains to Jaskier, who nods solemnly, finally understanding … a lot.
He looks up at Lambert questioningly.
“You can ask now, no more story to be interrupted.” Lambert answers his look gruffly.
“How did warning the other schools turn out?” Jaskier asks.
“We don’t actually know much. The schools still keep mostly to themselves.” Geralt replies. “Some of the older Wolves had connections to Aretuza. So we had some sorceresses put up magical shields to ward against any repercussions from eventual supporters or acquaintances of the former research mages of the wolf school. I heard the school of the bear banned their mages and I imagine they have taken similar measures to ensure their safety. The others will have done similarly, since none of the schools have been attacked to my knowledge.”
“How long did it take until you had a new generation of witchers and how did you choose them?”
This time Aubry answers Jaskiers question: “It took us more or less three decades and I happened across an abhorrently abusive orphanage, shut it down and took the eight surviving boys up mountain with me. Adrian was the eldest of them at about eight years old. All the boys lived through all the trials and we have been training them to become pack, not lone wolves.”
Aubry’s grin turns from a little bit feral to quite proud.
“Last question for now.” Jaskier announces. “How did the decision to be pack instead of lone wolves turn into puppy piles?”
Gardis laughs and manages to explain it in two words: “Gweld happened.”

The very next day the snow sets in at earnest and a storm brews up.

Chapter Text

The storm hits in late morning. Neither the trainers nor the path travelling witchers try to hold training or train in the yard, but move the training inside to several halls on the first floor of the keep. Vesemir is in the kitchens with Lambert and Aubry, preparing lunch, when someone pounds on the outer gates.
They only hear the pounding over the sounds of the storm because they have real sensitive ears and their visitor magically amplifies the sound, possibly by using a concentrated form of aard.
All three witchers hurry into the front yard, Aubry using igni to melt the snow and clear the path.
Vesemir, having no patience for a shouted conversation through the thick wood of the gate and trusting their magical shields, opens the gates immediately. In front of it stands a huge witcher, who leads his horse by the reigns with one hand and holds a girl on one hip with the other.
The wolves look at the trio in bafflement for a moment. Then stand aside to let them in.
Nobody braves the killer in this weather without good reason after all and one witcher, a girl and a horse are no threat to a keep full of wolves.
Aubry takes the horse off the witchers hands to get it settled, while Lambert and Vesemir guide their guests inside.
Once the odd duo is in the great hall, the witcher eases the girl to the ground to stand on her own two feet. They push back the hoods of their cloaks and look at the wolves for an introduction.
„I am Vesemir and this is Lambert.“ the grey wolf says shortly.
“Junod of Belhaven, school of the bear.” the massive witcher grumbles. "I had a few contracts in Cintra this year and found this little thing in one of my saddlebags, believe it or not. She yours?"
“Why would she be ours?” Vesemir asks bewildered.
“Because she said, she needed to see her wolf of surprise, since he would help her to not be betrothed to idiot princelings.” Junod answers, sounding dry as the Zerrikanian desert.
“This is princess Cirilla of Cintra? Why did you not bring her back to Calanthe?” Vesemir questions, looking between the girl and the bear in disbelief.
“The little cub paid me to bring her here... – also I am not fond of Calanthe.” Junod explains.
Lambert snorts.
“Nobody but Eist is fond of that woman.” he agrees readily.
Geralt enters the hall and stops short.
“The lion cub of Cintra.” He whispers in confused awe.
Jaskier peeks around his back.
“She is your child surprise. Doesn’t that make her a wolf cub?”
“No.” Cirilla chirps, speaking for the first time since entering Kaer Morhen. “I am a bear cub now.”
With that proclamation she steps closer to Junod and hugs his leg.
“How did you fit into the saddle bag?” Vesemir asks, addressing the cub directly.
Ciri grins proudly.
“I climbed onto the horse, opened up the saddlebag, pulled out a bundle of cloth, threw it into the next stall of the stable, stepped into the bag feet first and sat in it, hugging my knees and ducking my head and then pulled the flap back down.”
“Bundle of cloth?” Lambert wants to know.
“My bedding.” Junod grumbles, glaring at Cirilla.
“So he discovered me, when he made camp for the night.” Cirilla finished explaining undeterred by the glare.
“Tried to make camp.” Junod corrects. “I had to meditate all night, since I had nothing to sleep on and a wayward princess to look out for instead.”
“Where did you sleep.” Jaskier asks Ciri.
Ciri grins up at him brightly and pats Junod’s leg, which she is still wrapped around.
“Junod made me a nest for me out of his winter cloak.” she confides smugly.
Jaskier chuckles.
“So you are her wolf of surprise?” Junod asks Geralt.
“I … have never heard it put that way, but I guess so?” Geralt replies.
He is still too off balance to provide more of an answer.
“Well, it is your task to protect help her to not be betrothed to idiot princelings then.” Junod repeats for Geralt’s benefit.
“Out of curiosity and since I did not hear anything about Calanthe scouring the continent in blind wrath to find her heir, how did you convince her to let you go?” Jaskier comes to the point conversationally.
“I ran first and wrote her a letter telling her about going to find the white wolf second?” Cirilla says sheepishly.
“Meaning Mousesack is half a day behind you.” Geralt concludes.
“Maybe.” Cirilla says at the same time Junod shakes his head.
“So the rumours about Nilfgaard laying siege to Cintra...?” Geralt grumbles.
Junod just nods. Ciri looks up at him in confusion.
“Let us sit by the fire.” Vesemir says gently.
The small group sits in a half circle on the furs, the wolves usually cuddle upon.
Cirilla moves to sit in Junod’s lap and looks between him an Geralt, trying to figure out what the grown ups are talking about. A siege sounds horrific.
“And might that be the real reason you took her with you?” Vesemir inquires.
“I would have taken her with me either way, but the coming winter was not the only reason I made haste.” The bear admits.
“Junod?” Cirilla asks quietly, her big eyes pleading.
“I am sorry, cub. I wanted you save first.” He tells her, sorrow in his voice. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He hates to hurt his cub, but during the weeks he travelled with her he learned not to evade her questions. It never lead to anything good. So he tells her straight up:
“Cintra fell, Calanthe and Mousesack are gone.”
Cirilla’s eyes spill over and then she is sobbing into his chest.
Aubry comes back inside from the stables, takes one look at the situation and says:
“I will go to the kitchen and see everyone fed.” before disappearing in said direction.
There is a moment of silence.
“Pup? A child surprise? Would you care to explain?” Vesemir asks gently, looking at Geralt.
Geralt looks at Jaskier pleadingly.
“I will explain.” Jaskier concedes.
The bard tells the tale surrounding Pavetta’s betrothal feast, discovering that Lambert and Vesemir both knew bits and pieces, but nobody had had the whole story. He suspects Eskel might have, he will have to ask later.
Cirilla’s sobs have been ebbing down, while Jaskier talked. She finally turns around in Junod’s lap to look at Geralt with red-rimmed eyes.
“So I am your cub?” she asks, her voice small.
“You are.” Geralt reassures her, knowing he has to step up to the task of caring for this girl, who is all alone in this world, but for him and – apparently – the bear cradling her.
The hall has been steadily filling with witchers and lunch is served. Vesemir stands and urges their small group to take seats at one of the tables and eat.
When Cirilla and Junod are done with their fill of the stew, Geralt gestures for them to follow him.
He leads them to his room for now.
“I will have your things brought up and prepare a room for you, meanwhile you can stay in mine and rest.”
“Thank you.” Cirilla says and to Geralt’s utter astonishment she wriggles out of Junod’s arms and hugs him. He strokes over her head in wonder.
“You are welcome. I should have come for you, cub. I am sorry.” He says.
“Nonsense, I needed to meet my bear first.” Cirilla says with an air of absolute certainty, as only children have.
Geralt raises his brows at Junod in question. Junod shrugs, but the corners of his mouth twitch and his eyes crinkle. He touches Cirilla’s shoulder and she looks up at him.
“Come now.” He says and guides her into the room.
Geralt closes the door from the outside and goes off to prepare a room like promised.
While Geralt airs out an empty room one floor down, Eskel finishes his lunch down in the great hall.
He was sitting with Gardis for the meal and excuses himself from him with a clap on his brother’s shoulder. He crosses the hall and takes Jaskier aside to be caught up.
“What happened?” he asks worriedly.
“Do you know the whole story about Geralt's child surprise?” Jaskier asks in lieu of answering.
“Yes, but … you mean to say that was her???” Eskel looks at Jaskier, something akin to shock in his eyes. Jaskier nods.
“You can tell me on the way.” Eskel decides and stirs Jaskier leftward with a hand on his back.
“On the way where?” Jaskier questions.
“I wanted to spend the afternoon alone with you.” Eskel replies smiling. “Don’t worry, our chores are taken care of. So, Ciri?”
“Oh yes, the lion cub of Cintra turned wolf cub of Kaer Morhen is apparently a bear cub now ...” Jaskier babbles happily.
By the time they arrive at their destination Eskel knows as much as Jaskier does, concerning Ciri and Junod at least. Eskel pushes the bard through a doorway, hoping the place he chose for this afternoon will please Jaskier.
Maybe it was meant to become another room or ... Jaskier does not know. It is essentially a balcony, surrounded by archways with hip high balustrades in the openings and somebody put flowerpots everywhere: afoot the archways planted with ivy, which ranks up the columns, atop the balustrades, some planted with rosemary, thyme, woodruff and ramsons, others with poppy, camomile, nettle and peppermint and to the sides of the entryway planted with rosebushes.
Somehow everything is in full bloom despite the season and it is warm on the balcony despite the lack of roof and proper walls.
Jaskier spins around once, taking it all in. It is fascinating to see the snow storm rage all around them without a single snow flake or cold breeze ever touching any part of the balcony.
“How?” He asks Eskel in awe.
Eskel bends down to whisper in his ear: “It’s magic.”
Jaskier scoffs and Eskel laughs.
“It is an atmospheric spell of a long dead mage, which developed a live of it’s own. One of the many wonders of this keep.” He finally explains.
They sit on cushions in the middle of the balcony. Eskel pours Jaskier a goblet of wine and himself a goblet of mead. Jaskier looks at Eskel’s goblet curiously.
“Can I try that?” He inquires.
“No.” Eskel denies him firmly. “This is spiked with white gull.”
“Oh. You know, Geralt said, he and the others would need a cask of white gull for the talk, but I don’t think they had any before or after.” Jaskier muses.
“Which talk?” Eskel frowns at him slightly.
The bard takes a sip of the wine and decides to start with him asking Geralt about "home and safe" and then tell Eskel about the ensuing history lesson.
“Lambert must really like you.” Eskel says when Jaskier finishes the tale, sounding astonished.
“I am highly likeable.” Jaskier remarks cheerfully, which makes Eskel laugh anew, as intended.
Jaskier grins at the witcher.
“I am going to so my utmost to change the way people see witchers, if I have to write a hundred songs to do it. It is my second most important mission now, right after making you laugh.” The bard declares.
Eskel is smitten. This is the perfect time to offer Jaskier his first courting gift, Eskel realizes.
“I have something for you.” Eskel says, blushing slightly.
He pulls something out of his pocket and lays it into Jaskiers awaiting outstretched hand. It is a wooden buttercup the size of half his palm and beautifully detailed. Curled around it is a wolf, so finely whittled, Jaskier can make out it's teeth and claws and eyes and the texture of it's fur. One side of the wolf's muzzle has a set of very familiar scars. Jaskier tears up.
“Oh Eskel, I love it. It's beautiful. When have you had this made?” Eskel wipes Jaskier’s tears away with his thumbs and kisses both of his cheeks lightly.
“I worked on it for the last fortnight, whenever I had a bit of time.” He admits.
“You made this?” Jaskier squeaks. “Oh I want to serenade you, but I ... your song is not ready, yet. I finished Scorpion’s first…”
“It is done?” Eskel interrupts, sounding excited. Jaskier nods.
“Do you want to sing it in the hall after dinner?” Eskel is essentially begging Jaskier to sing one of his songs about the witcher’s horse, in which the witcher himself is a comedic side character. Jaskier scrambles into Eskel’s lap, straddling him, puts his arms around the taller man’s neck, courting gift still safely cupped in one hand and kisses him full on the mouth. Eskel’s right arm winds around the bard’s back, while his left hand cups his arse and Eskel uses both to pull Jaskier a bit closer and then flush against him. He tilts his head and opens his mouth to invite Jaskier’s tongue in. Jaskier cups the back of Eskel’s head with his free hand, burries his fingers in his hair and licks into Eskel’s mouth. The bard squirms in the witcher’s lap and moans into the kiss, when his half hard cock rubs against Eskel’s. He pulls back from the lip lock to look into yellow eyes.
“Fuck it.” He whispers. “Fuck going slow. I like you, I am falling for you and fast. Take me to bed, darling witcher mine. Ravish me.”
Eskel’s head drops to Jaskier’s shoulder and he groans.
“How am I supposed to say no to that.” He mutters.
“You are not.” Jaskier answers, sounding offended.
Eskel chuckles.
“Alright. One condition.” The tall man declares.
“Yes?” Jaskier inquires, still clinging to Eskel.
“You are mine and only mine after I take you to bed, just as I am exclusively yours. And it won't be just fucking either, I still want the alone time talking, the serenading and the gifts.” Eskel says seriously.
Jaskier is so charmed.
”That is more than one condition, sweetheart. I need a lot of loving. Are you sure you are prepared for that?” He asks with mirth clear in his voice.
“Witcher stamina, sweet little bard, is a beautiful thing.” Eskel smirks at him and stands up, lifting Jaskier effortlessly. Jaskier groans.
“That is so hot.” He mumbles into Eskel’s chest.
“The stamina?" Eskel asks teasingly, while he carries the bard off to his room.
“The strength.” Jaskier replies, firmly wrapped around his witcher.
Eskel hums contentedly.
Geralt hurries past them in a corridor, then turns around to say:
“Ha, I told you so. Also, don’t wake the cub. She is in my room for now.”
“Yeah yeah, the walls are thick and she is human. I am so not staying quiet while I get railed by this godlike creature.” Jaskier tells his best friend.
Geralt shakes his head and then can’t help but grin at them. Jaskier’s heart warms.
But since he really wants Eskel naked about an hour ago, he does not tell Geralt that. Instead, knowing full well Geralt can still hear him, he whispers in Eskels ear: “If you don’t want me to tear your clothes off right here, I need you to move on.”
Eskel and Geralt chuckle and start to move in opposite directions of the hallway. A few turns later Eskel closes the door of his room behind him and throws Jaskier onto his bed.
“Get naked.” He tells the bard, whose pupils dilate at the command.
Jaskier scrambles to get out of his clothes. Eskel takes his own clothes off and throws them over a chair and then proceeds to rummage in the chest at the foot off the bed for the oil. Once he has found it, he looks up to see Jaskier has slipped under the covers. He reaches out to pull them off, so he can see the man.
“No!” Jaskier protests gripping the quilt.
Eskel backs off immediately.
“What are you doing? Come back here.” Jaskier whines.
“You ... you told me no.” Eskel replies and stays where he is.
Jaskier huffs frustratedly.
“No to pulling away the covers. It is fucking freezing in here. You are very welcome to fuck me under the covers though.”
Eskel steps up to the bottom of the bed, lifts one corner of the quilt and dives under it head first. He grabs Jaskier’s ankles and puts them on his shoulders. His hands glide up the brunets legs to settle on the thighs. He spreads them, ducks his head and licks over Jaskier’s hole. The bard keens.
It feels so good. Everything is so sensitive down there. He had this done to him before only a handful of times and he is pretty sure it was never this good. Eskel swirls his tongue. His nose is pressed into Jaskier’s scrotum and somehow even that feels good. The witchers hands move from his thighs to his arse cheeks to spread them further for even more access. Jaskier relaxes. The tongue retreats and he hears Eskel taking a deep breath and then huffing out air onto his now wet opening. The brunet shivers, it feels incredible. Eskel resumes licking him open and Jaskier moans.
He twist a hand into Eskel’s longish dark hair and holds his head in place as he pushes up into his face. It is so good.
When Eskel pulls back after a while, Jaskier whines.
“Hush.” Eskel whispers as he fumbles with something next to Jaskier’s hips.
It takes a moment and then a slick finger presses first against and then into his hole. It is a little uncomfortable. The last time anyone fucked Jaskier was ... a while ago.
But Eskel distracts him by pulling his cock away from his stomach with two fingers and taking the head into his mouth and sucking.
The finger of the other hand slips all the way in and presses against the pleasure spot.
"Oh, oh, Eskel! Eskel so good. Too good. Eskel!" Jaskier cries.
The witcher moves his finger back and forth, no longer pressing up, as to not overwhelm his bard, he continues sucking Jaskier’s cock though.
When he lets Jaskier’s cock fall from his mouth after a blissfully long time, it is to tell him:
“Hm. Jaskier, you sound so good. You feel amazing around my finger. Can’t wait to sit you on my cock.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I want that.” Jaskier sighs.
The mental image alone makes his cock twitch.
The finger is pulled out, but before he can complain, there are two fingers pressing into him, fucking him, twisting, turning and spreading inside of him.
Melitele, he loves getting fucked. He wants that perfect cock inside him now, but he knows he needs more stretching first. Maybe he really should have been preparing himself with wooden dongs.
“I am going for three fingers now.” Eskel says huskily.
“Yes yes yes.” Babbles Jaskier.
Three of Eskel’s fingers feels so different than three of his own, Jaskier goes momentarily absolutely still.
“It is alright, breathe, honey, breathe.” Eskel soothes him.
Jaskier breathes and pushes against the intrusion and relaxes as three fingers glide in.
“You are taking them so well. Let me move them. How does that feel, sweetheart?” Eskel talks his lover through it.
“Amazing, so good, don’t stop. Love your fingers. Melitele. Eskel!” Jaskier moans.
Eskel crawls up under the covers, leaving his fingers firmly seated in Jaskier’s hole.
He shifts, so he can lie on his side next to his bard and kiss him. Jaskier licks into his mouth right away and puts a hand on his chest, finds a nipple and plays with it. Eskel groans into the kiss.
He pulls away a little while later, looks Jaskier in the eyes and asks: “Ready?”
“Yes.” Is all Jaskier says, absolutely certain.
Eskel pulls his fingers free, turns onto his back and scoots up until he is half sitting, leaned against the headboard. He gestures for Jaskier to sit in his lap. So Jaskier sits up and straddles Eskel’s hips. Their cocks press together and Jaskier throws his head back and groans his pleasure. The covers slip around his waist and he shivers.
Eskel pulls the blankets back up and around the bard’s shoulders. Jaskier grins at him thankfully.
The witcher fishes the oil from between the sheets – Jaskier has no idea how he kept track of it – and slicks up his cock.
He holds it upright and smirks at Jaskier.
"You wanted to sit on it." He says invitingly.
Jaskier’s cock twitches again as a wave of arousal runs through him at Eskel’s words. He raises onto his knees, positions himself and then sinks down. There is a moment of resistance and then he is taking Eskel’s cock, bit by bit.
He clutches the covers around his shoulders. He looks at Eskel’s face. It is screwed up, showing the effort it takes for Eskel to hold still. Jaskier always thought peoples faces looked weird during sex.
So he lets his eyes fall shut and just feels. When he is fully seated, his legs are trembling slightly and his knees are weak. He bends forward and kisses Eskel, not moving, just enjoying the feeling of being full. The witcher kisses him back for a time, but then he puts a hand on the bard’s chest and pushes him back upright.
Eskel’s hands move under Jaskier’s thighs to the juncture of his arse and then he lifts him and lets him slide back down. When Jaskier told Eskel he thought witcher strength is hot, he had obviously had no idea how right he was. Eskel moves him up and down his length and all Jaskier can do is moan. The thing is in Jaskier’s mind, being used for the pleasure of someone else is a turn on in theory, but often real uncomfortable in reality, but Eskel is not – just using Jaskier for his own pleasure that is. Eskel’s cock presses against all his inner walls and his pleasure spot is constantly stimulated and the bard desperately needs to tell his witcher.
"I am in love with your cock. Sweet Melitele, it is so big that it is in deep enough to press against all the right places the entire time. " Jaskier gasps the sentence out in little increments.
Eskel grins wolfishly and then he picks up pace. It only takes Jaskier being moved up and down Eskel's cock a few more times before he comes without warning, without a touch to his cock, all over himself. Eskel moans, pulls Jaskier down hard and simultaneously pushes his hips up and fills Jaskier with his seed. The bard collapses onto the witcher’s chest utterly sated.

Next door Junod looks up at Geralt, who has been seated opposite to him on the little table for a quarter of an hour, after having set up the other room with the last few things just before.
“Are they done now?” He asks tone somewhere between amused and exasperated.
“I think so. I mean Eskel can probably go again in five minutes, but Jaskier will need a few hours.
This has been building up for weeks now. They should be blissed out for now. I don’t know either of them has ever waited so long once having set eyes on somebody.” Geralt explains.
“Oh?” Junod prompts.
“Eskel is my brother and Jaskier is my friend. You would not believe the amount of inadvisable people Jaskier has tripped into bed and Eskel … Eskel had a thing with a nymph for a while and then there was a succubus, there might have been a satyr and there definitively was a crane witcher. I never got the full story on the satyr. Both of them usually burn hot and briefly, is what I am saying and I hope this is different.” Geralt confides.
“But how will you sleep with those two going at it like that?” Junod wants to know.
“If I could not sleep, while Jaskier is having fun next door or Eskel for that matter, I would have hardly slept for decades. I learned to fall asleep to those sounds, when Gweld and Gardis had there thing, back when we were boys and Gweld is the definition of a screamer.” Geralt replies chuckling.
Junod chuckles in turn.
“Never fear.” Geralt adds. “The room I prepared for you and the cub is save from their noise.”
Both witchers look at the sleeping cub in the middle of Geralt’s bed cocooned in furs and covers.
“When did you see her last?” Junod asks.
“I did not actually meet her before.” Geralt admits “She was still in the womb, when the law of surprise was invoked.”
“Hm. You will warm up to each other real quick.” Junod assures him.
“How can you tell?” Geralt questions.
“She wants it that way, so that’s how it’s going to be.” Junod says.
Geralt laughs quietly.
“Tell me about her?”

Chapter Text

Jaskier does not perform Scorpion’s song that night. He does not leave Eskel’s bed for more than half an hour total until the next morning. Eskel lights the fire, which warms the room.
So Jaskier is not cold at all, when he stands up to wash himself over a basin of water, Eskel warms for him with a thankfully very controlled igni. While Jaskier is desperately curious about Eskel’s “dragon’s breath”, he really does not want a demonstration of it inside. Thank you very much.
He shrugs on his chemise, loosely ties his breeches and slips into his boots for a quick run to the privies, while Eskel bothers Aubry for some dinner in the kitchens.
They eat together at the table in Eskel’s rooms and then snuggle up together in bed again.

Not a quarter of an hour after Eskel leaves the kitchens with his bounty, Geralt pokes his head in.
“Aubry, could you ...” he starts and is interrupted by his brother’s growl.
“Take what you need and piss off.” Aubry grumbles after glaring at Geralt for a long moment.
Aubry likes order and an example for order is, that everybody, who is not sick or injured, eats in the great hall. Geralt realizes that he is probably not the first to ask for special treatment tonight and slips in and throws together a cold spread for the bear, the cub and himself really fast.
When he leaves the kitchen he throws hopefully reassuring parting words over his shoulder:
“We will join the hall for breakfast, alright? I am sorry to trouble you.”
“You fucking better ...” Aubry threatens the empty kitchen.

Junod and Ciri have relocated to the rooms Geralt prepared for them, after the cub woke up.
She is as cheerful and inquisitive as Junod described her. She has already asked two dozen questions about Kaer Morhen, before she vacated Geralt’s bed.
Geralt was actually relieved, when her stomach growled before he could answer half of them.
So he had an excuse to usher her into their rooms and run down to get dinner before his dearest friends next door had time to initiate round two. He did not want to answer any questions a young girl might have about any funny noises from Eskel’s rooms.
They have dinner together in their rooms and Geralt is happy to learn that Ciri does not talk with a full mouth, so he and Junod can get a few words in edgewise.
“Yes, we usually all eat in the great hall.”
“There are about sixty people all together living here right now.”
“No, there are no girls.”
“Yes, some witchers like women, but some like men and some like both.”
Ciri’s nose crinkles adorably in thought at that answer and Geralt looks up at Junod to share his amusement, only to find the bear contemplating him, question clear in his eyes.
Geralt’s smile turns into a smirk. He very deliberately puts his right hand flat on his sternum and then lifts it and taps the right side of his nose with two fingers, saying: ‘Me both’ in wolf signs and hoping the bears haven’t changed their signs to much since the schools separated.
Junod gives him a positively feral grin, which Geralt takes to mean he understood and approves – possibly for personal reasons.
“But why don’t women live here, if it is not because witchers do not like women?” Ciri asks.
“Because this is an all boys school.” Geralt answers simply.
“In the all boys schools in Cintra there are still washer women and cooks and such.” Ciri insists.
“We do the washing and cooking ourselves and my brothers visit their women, when they are out on the path and sometimes women visit them.” Geralt tries to explain.
The cub clearly is not convinced that the way of the wolf school makes any sense.
“But if there are no women living here, does that mean there is no queen? Who tells you what to do then?” The little princess argues.
Geralt chuckles.
“The trainers tell the trainees what to do. The head of the kitchens tells the cooks what to do and the head of the labs tells the potioneers what to do and so on.” Geralt lays it out, wondering what Lambert and Vesemir would say to being titled as heads of their respective areas.
“But grandma always says ...” Ciri begins and then abruptly stops and looks stricken.
“Oh cub.” Junod says quietly and opens his arms. “Come here.”
Ciri throws herself of her chair and into Junod’s arms.
Geralt looks at the half eaten slice of bread and cheese and the apple case on the cub’s plate.
He sighs. At least they got some food into her.
He fills her cup with apple juice and water and offers it to her once her sobs die down, to keep her hydrated. She drinks.
“Can I do anything for you, cub?” he asks her, feeling our of his depth, despite knowing more about grieving than he cares to admit.
“Watch over me?” she whispers.
Geralt nods and then gestures for Junod to hand Ciri over.
Junod puts her in Geralt’s arms and he cradles her to his chest and strokes her hair.
He looks at Junod and tilts his chin toward the bear’s plate, which isn’t any more empty than Ciri’s.
Junod eats and something in Geralt’s chest settles. This feels right in a way that makes no sense, if one takes into account that Geralt only met these two for the first time only a few hours earlier.
Never the less he is going to watch over the cub and the bear. A night meditating on the hearth rug won’t hurt him and will hopefully go a long way to reassure the little princess of her welcome here.

Meanwhile Geralt’s best friend is also exactly where he feels he is supposed to be, even if grieving is the furthest thing from his mind.
Jaskier grins up at Eskel from where he is stretched out on the naked chest of the witcher.
“Hmm.” he hums contentedly. “I like this.”
“Cuddling?” Eskel asks amused.
“Yes and being close.” Jaskier replies. “...and being naked together.” He adds as an afterthought.
Eskel chuckles.
“I like this, too.” He whispers as he bends his head to capture Jaskier’s lips in a kiss.
Jaskier shifts against him and moans into the kiss. Then he pulls back and looks at Eskel.
“I want to suck your cock.” He declares unceremoniously despite ceremony being one of his favourite parts of his profession.
“No ruining your voice before your performance tomorrow.” Eskel tells him sternly.
“I did not ask to swallow it whole.” Jaskier protest indignantly. “I don’t think I could.”
“Oh alright.” Eskel says, sounding exasperated, but looking amused. “But only if I can reciprocate.”
“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” Jaskier tries to sound put up on, but does not manage it.
He laughs and beams at Eskel, before he shimmies down under the covers to get a taste of Eskel’s magnificent cock.

Somehow all of them make it down to breakfast on time and Eskel and Jaskier even have a quick dip in the hot springs first. Aubry grunts at them in approval.
Gweld plops down between Geralt and Eskel, so that he sits across from the little princess, who sits between Jaskier and Junod.
“Good morning.” He says cheerfully.
“Good morning.” The witchers around Gweld answer.
“Good morning.” chirps Ciri. “Who are you?”
“I’m Gweld. This is Eskel and that’s Jaskier.” The cheerful witcher replies helpfully.
“I already know Jaskier.” Ciri scoffs.
“Oh?” Gweld inquires “When did you meet?”
“Yesterday.” Ciri says in a way that makes it obvious to everyone she really wants to tag on ‘dummy’.
Gweld laughs delightedly.
“Yes.” Jaskier plays along. “We are practically best friends, since we are such old acquaintances, are we not?”
Ciri giggles.
“Yes.” She agrees. “Best friends.”
“And how are you this fine morning, oh bestest of friends?” Jaskier asks her to make her giggle again.
“Very fine indeed.” Geralt mumbles to himself, looking at Junod from under his lashes, which looks absolutely ridiculous on such a board witcher. Eskel barely manages to suppress a laugh.
Jaskier manages to tear his eyes away from his lover to strike up a conversation with the young princess.
“I heard you fought a silver basilisk in summer?” Eskel asks Gweld to let Geralt, who has evidently concluded that the bear to his cub should be his bear as well, try to flirt in peace.
Because Eskel is a good brother.
Junod grins at Geralt fluttering his eyelashes.
“Hmm? Anything particular you think fine this morning?” He indulges the wolf.
“The view.” Geralt admits unashamedly. “How is your breakfast?”
“Delicious.” Junod replies amused.
“Oh?” Geralt inquires impishly. “Anything in particular you find delicious about your breakfast?”
“The view.” Junod says predictably and leers.
Jaskier has to laugh, but manages to pass it off as part of his conversation with Ciri.
Geralt beams.
“And how do you feel?” He asks.
Junod cocks his head. He cannot see an obvious answer to that. Little does he know Geralt planed to run a foot up his leg, but failed to get out of a boot fast enough.
“Still a bit tired, honestly.” Junod offers shrugging.
“Oh right, bears hibernate, do they not?” Geralt teases.
“Bear witchers do not hibernate. I am still tired from climbing your sorry excuse of a trail in a snowstorm.” Junod replies dryly. “But if you are asking, if you can wrap me up and keep me in bed all winter ...”
Geralt’s ears turn pink.
“Now there's a thought.” He mumbles.
“But I guess wolves have to hunt even in winter.” Junod sighs dramatically.
“Wolf witchers know how to stock up for winter, but we still hunt - for pleasure.” Geralt drawls.
Gweld, Eskel and Jaskier cannot help to stop pretending they are not listening and fall silent at once, staring at Geralt in disbelief.
“What do you hunt simply for pleasure?” Ciri asks into the silence.
“Maybe a bear.” Geralt answers, not taking his eyes of Junod.
“You eat bears?” Ciri asks horrified.
“Well...” Geralt purrs, but Gweld slaps a hand over his mouth, before his brother suggest eating out his bear in front of the cub.
Junod’s mouth twitches in suppressed laughter as Geralt visibly startles and then catches himself.
“Why are you holding his mouth shut? Is it a secret that wolf witchers eat bears?” The cub turns on Gweld.
“We do not eat bears. Geralt just has a very weird humour and was about to swear, nothing for the ears of little cubs.” Gweld manages to answer truthfully, yet misleading.
Jaskier looks impressed.
“Oh?” Ciri sounds excited. “I want to learn how to swear like a witcher.”
“No, absolutely not.” Junod says sternly and thankfully loud enough to drown out Jaskier’s: “So, go ask Lambert.”
Eskel looks at his lover appalled. Jaskier blushes and ducks his head. Ciri pouts. Gweld carefully releases Geralt, eyeing him suspiciously. Banter derailed, Junod and Geralt actually eat some of the deliciously fine breakfast foods.
“What chores do we have today?” Jaskier asks Eskel.
“I will tend to the animals with Gardis and Adrian. You can go to the library for research. I think Lambert is getting impatient for some ideas in the lab.” The big witcher lays out.
“Animal tending is my job.” Jaskier objects more confused than irritated.
“Yes, but until we have bundled you up enough for you to be warm in this kind of weather, the others would be half done with animal tending. Not to mention you would hardly be able to move.” Eskel reasons.
Jaskier snorts at the mental image.
“But I promised ...” he starts.
“Scorpion will get his apple.” Eskel interrupts, sounding amused.
So Jaskier nods his assent.
“Off to the library.” He proclaims and stands up, leaning over the table to kiss Eskel goodbye.
“You want some company?” Geralt asks Jaskier.
“Sure.” Jaskier says.
So Jaskier, Geralt, Junod and Ciri go up to the library together.
Junod settles in one of the armchairs with Ciri in his lap and reads her a story from a book that Geralt fetches for them from a bookcase in the far end of the library.
Geralt then settles next to Jaskier and they go through Aubry’s scrolls together.
“Do you think this could substitute the hellebore petals?” Jaskier asks pointing to one of the ingredients described in the scrolls.
“Why would you want to substitute them?” Geralt asks in return.
“Because they are further down the alkaline spectrum and I worry they might soften up the spikes.” Jaskier explains.
“Oh. Hmmm … maybe. Let me see.” Geralt contemplates and pulls the section, Jaskier was pointing at, closer to read it again.
“I think it would make a good substitute, yes. But run it by Lambert first.” Geralt advises after a while.
Jaskier shoots him a look, that says “obviously” so clearly, he does not need to voice it.
“Alright, alright.” Geralt concedes chuckling. “You mean to run all your ideas by Lambert anyway.”
Jaskier nod solemnly and then can’t help but grin.
He begins to take notes and finds a few other possible ingredient variations in the scrolls.
Geralt points some out as well. Jaskier draws up diagrams, which show how the mixtures should react and Geralt adds measurements and instructions.
Lambert comes by an hour later as if summoned to look over the diagrams Jaskier has drawn up and talk explosives. And in no time Jaskier and the dark haired witcher are deep in discussion.
Geralt looks over to Junod and Ciri. The girl has taken over the reading and Junod looks up and meets Geralt’s eyes. He tilts his head, beckoning Geralt. Geralt crosses the room and sits in the armchair next to them. Ciri grins up at him.
“What are we going to do after lunch?” She inquires.
“Maybe we will start an early puppy pile.”
“Puppy pile?” Junod asks, sounding amused.
Jaskier perks up.
“Yes, please.” He says before Geralt can elaborate.
Lambert grins.
“Did you miss my tender touch?” He teases the bard. “I know Eskel can be a bit rough.”
“Oh, do you? Do tell. Was he your first? Teenage passion perhaps?” Jaskier asks curiously.
Junod puts his hands over Ciri’s ears preemptively.
“What the monsterfucking fuck, bard?” Lambert questions, eyes wide with confusion.
“What? He is almost a century old. Obviously he had plenty of lovers. I had plenty of lovers and I am less then half his age. And you were boys together, were you not? You would have looked beautiful together.” By the end Jaskier sound almost wistful.
Ciri is pulling at Junod’s hands. Geralt tilts his head in a let's go motion, Junod nods and the three of them leave the library – fast.
“What was that about?” Ciri wants to know.
“Swearing.” Geralt says curtly. “Follow me. The hot springs should be fairly empty right now.”
“Are you not jealous?” Lambert asks.
“Why would I be? I did not know him then. I was probably not even born. And he is all mine now.” Jaskier explains matter of factly.
Lambert burst out in an incredulous laugh.
“So, when Geralt said you were confident, he really meant really confident." He says.
Jaskier smirks.
“What else did he say?” he asks.
“Yeah, no, not inflating your ego further.” Lambert denies.
“So, all good things?” Jaskier inquires, now grinning outright.
Lambert just shakes his head.
“Alright, tell me about Eskel fucking you then.” Jaskier switches tactics.
Lambert coughs.
“We didn't.”
“Now that does not make a very good story. How am supposed to make a song out of that?" Jaskier sounds genuinely disappointed.
“You want to make a song of my sexual prowess?" Lambert asks dubiously.
“Together with singing about you making explosive stuff in the lab, it would make a great bawdy songs – so many analogies.” Jaskier explains and manages to sound indignant about having to explain it in the first place and kind of dreamy about the concept anyway.
Lambert laughs.
“I suppose I could tell you about that one time I met a cat witcher. Cats are real flexible you know?” He concedes still laughing.
Jaskiers eyes gleam.
Gweld materializes behind Lambert somehow without a sound. He lays a finger on his lips and winks at Jaskier, who keeps a straight face by sheer force of will.
Then Gweld pounces and Lambert squawks:
“What are you doing?”
“The bard always makes me want to pounce on him, being so colourful. But I am not allowed, because he is human. And I figured you were used to being pounced on, with your preference for cats and all.” Gweld replies cheerfully, clinging to Lambert’s back.
Jaskier burst out laughing as Lambert throws Gweld off and pounces on him in turn, swearing enthusiastically. It turns into a wrestling match instantly.
Gweld manages to pin Lambert after a few minutes.
“Lunch.” He gasps out. “I came to fetch you for lunch.”
“Is it not a bit early for that?” The other witcher asks.
“I wanted help, setting the tables.” Gweld admits.
“Sure.” Jaskier agrees, before Lambert can say anything, let alone protest. “Do you want to join us for cuddles afterwards?”
“Oh, do I.” Gweld enthuses.
Lambert chuckles and follows his friends down to the kitchens.
Meanwhile Geralt and Junod watch Ciri happily splashing about in one of the human safe hot springs.
Junod is leant back on the ledge and utterly relaxed.
Geralt has settled in way to close. Their thighs are touching and one of Geralt’s hands has ended up in his hair and is playing with his hair.
Most of the wolf’s attention is on the cub, making sure she does not drown, but apparently that does not mean he can’t also flirt with the bear.
When Junod’s hand brushes over Geralt’s thigh again, because the wolf did not leave any space between them, he glances over and Geralt tilts his head back, practically baring his throat.
Junod growls lowly. He wishes it was later in the day so they could put their cub to bed and be alone already. - Wait. Their cub? - Oh by the mighty mountains, he is in to deep already – after ONE day. He hopes this does not blow up in his face.
Geralt tugs at his hair lightly and the bear has to bite back a groan. They are in the baths for fuck’s sake, with the little princess.
He grasps Geralt’s thigh intending to shove him away, but Geralt stays put and licks his lips, when he looks at him, the ridiculous creature. So freezing in place (or laying back as it was) did not work and fighting the closeness (half heartedly) did not work either, that leaves flight.
“Ciri!” Junod calls out. “Are you cleaned up and ready for lunch?”
“Yes.” Ciri cheers. “I am so hungry, I could eat a whole deer.”
Geralt pouts, but lets Junod go to get dry and dress.
“The animal with the long ears is called rabbit.” The bear corrects Ciri playfully, while hastily vacating the pool, before Geralt does any thing else wildly inappropriate like pin him to the edge of the pool and – no – not thinking about it.
“No-oh.” Ciri chides him laughing. “I meant a real deer.”
“I really don’t think you do. A deer is bigger than you are. Unless it is a very small deer, a dwarf-deer maybe?” Junod contemplates.
Ciri sticks her tongue out in his direction.
It makes Geralt chuckle and stop pouting. Thank the gods.

Lunch is a loud, quick and tasty affair and after lunch, there actually is a puppy pile. The bard starts it by practically dragging Gweld and Lambert with him, so he can lie on top of Gweld with his upper half and tangle his legs with Lambert’s.
Eskel lies down on his side next to Lambert and beds his head on the younger witcher’s chest and reaches a long arm across him to bury it in his bard’s hair.
“What’s this?” he asks, while he smiles at his lover.
“Gweld remembered I’m human, needs to be rewarded and Lambert is a good friend and I think he misses his cat.” Jaskier replies.
“Jaskier.” Lambert growls. “He is not my cat. It was a one time thing. Do not romanticise it.”
“Sorry.” Jaskier says and lazily winks at Eskel as soon as Lambert looks away.
Adrian joins the pile and Geralt takes Ciri’s hand to lead her over, who immediately graby onto Junod’s hand and pulls him along.
A few of the trainees, who seem to have a break after lunch, start a second pile a little ways away.
Ciri snuggles in between Eskel and Geralt, which leaves Junod to settle behind Geralt.
As soon as Ciri closes her eyes, Geralt bares his neck again. Junod wants to bite, but he settles for hooking his chin over the wolf’s shoulder and rubbing his beard against the side of Geralt’s neck.
Geralt hums contentedly. Junod watches Ciri doze and the feeling of being a little hot under the collar morphs to one of warmth around his heart.
These puppy piles are a pack thing, a family thing he realizes. That why the bard is as comfortable cuddled up to his friends as he would be cuddled up to his lover. It is about the warmth of body and heart. Damn, is bardism catching?
After about an hour Ciri wants to watch the trainees practice.
And since the younger ones actually practice running small obstacle courses inside, there is indeed something to watch.
“I want to do that.” She whispers in awe.
“Not today.” Geralt says. “But maybe we can teach you some stuff over the winter.”
He looks at Junod questioningly and Junod nods.

After dinner Jaskier performs his song.
With Ciri sitting between Gweld and Lambert front and centre for the performance, Geralt has even more opportunity to tease Junod than in the hot springs. They settle in the back, where the volume is not quite so overwhelming and if Geralt sat any nearer he would be in Junod’s lap.
He runs the fingers of his left hand along the inseam of Junod’s breeches. Junod’s right arm is around Geralt’s shoulders. He really did not have another choice but put it there or hold it in a very awkward angle with Geralt sitting so close. And it is not as if he is opposed to holding Geralt.
The wolf has his left foot hooked around Junod’s right ankle. And as he is listening to the bard singing about the siren-kelpie-beauty, he tilts his head to the right. Which bares his neck to Junod again.
It drives the other witcher mad and the fingers incrementally moving up his thigh toward his crotch are not helping his self control or his instincts.
He never thought much about his witcher instincts regarding choosing a bedmate, even though he heard more than one of his brothers say that they always go with there nose over the years.
Now he thinks the idea might have merit.
Geralt smells amazing, like leather and hearth fire and fir needles and Junod wants to lick him.

Vesemir looks at his pup and the bear from across the hall in thought.
“What do you think?” Gardis asks him.
“I think that bear might actually be able to handle my white pup.” Vesemir answers slowly and quietly.
“Your white pup? Am I your golden pup then?” Gardis questions, deeply amused by the endearment.
“Of course.” Vesmir replies easily and turns to ruffle Gardis’s blond hair with a grin.
Gardis lets him.
“You looked more like you were considering to acquire a bear of your own, you know, one who knows how to handle you.” Gardis teases the older wolf.
Vesemir cocks his head.
“Now there's a thought.” He says, in a tone Gardis's would have called dreamy on anyone else.

The laughter during Jaskier’s performance is uproarious and the applause afterward is thunderous and Eskel could not have been any prouder. His bard revels in the approval and praise. Even Geralt nods a tiny appreciative nod from the far end of the hall.
Ciri is in giggles and Junod is thankful that they managed to distract the cub for the entire day. Grieving the loss of her family, friends and home is going to take a lot out of her in the next months, letting her know that she has Junod, Geralt and the entire group of the witcher’s friends as support can only benefit her.
When the applause dies down, Junod untangles himself from Geralt and stands up.
“Bedtime for bear cubs.” He announces.
Then he walks over to collect Ciri, who immediately claims that she is not tired at all, which she promptly follows with a jaw cracking yawn. Gweld laughs so hard, he falls off the bench.
Junod snags Ciri around the waist, throws her over his shoulder and carries her to their rooms.
When he leaves the room half an hour later Ciri is fast asleep.
Geralt is leaning against the wall next to the door just outside the rooms.
Junod closes the door quietly and turns to Geralt, who is smirking at him.
“The cub is sleeping and I am done being teased.” Junod growls and pushes Geralt into the wall.
He bends down to take the other man’s lips in an urgent kiss and presses one thigh between Geralt’s legs. Geralt feels Junod’s hard length press against his hip and moans into their kiss.
When Junod pulls back from the kiss, Geralt looks up at him in astonishment.
“You poked the bear. What did you think would happen?” The taller witcher grumbles.
“Not that he would pokes me back.” Geralt says grabbing and squeezing Junod’s dick through his breeches to emphasise the meaning of his bad pun.
Junod smirks.
“I am going to eat you alive.” he promises.
Geralt’s pupils blow wide. He pushes Junod back, grabs his hand and drags him to his rooms. He lets go of the hand to close his door behind them, turns to Junod, backs him across the room and pushes him onto the bed forcefully. Junod makes a surprised noise and tilts his head in confusion.
“Twice grassed.” Is all of Geralt's explanation.
Junod hums and then proceeds to undress the White Wolf, who is now straddling his lap.
Geralt winds out of his own chemise and then pushes Junod’s up under his arms and licks over one nipple. The bear shudders and moans, so Geralt sucks at it. Junod grabs the wolf’s hips and bucks up, pressing their dicks together. Geralt swirls his tongue and ruts against Junod.
Before he moves to the other nipple, he encourages the bear to sit up a bit, so he can divest him of his chemise entirely. While he licks and sucks at the other nipple, he moves his hands down Junod’s sides. When they land on the others hips, he pushes himself back up and lets his hands roam over the heavily muscled and haired stomach and chest, humming in appreciation.
Junod hands squeeze the wolf’s arse and then moves around to the front to undo the bindings of his breeches. Once undone, Geralt remembers about their boots. So he gets up off the bed in one graceful twisting motion to undo his boots and pull them off together with his stockings, so he can pull down and step out of his leg wear and small clothes. Junod watches him intently. He has unbound his own breeches, pulled out his cock and is stroking it slowly. Geralt licks his lips. He goes to the bottom of the bed to take off Junod’s boots.
"Lift up." The wolf instructs, then bends over the bear to pull down the rest of his clothes. He crawls up the bed over Junod and kisses him once they are face to face. Junod sucks the others bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles on it.
"Hm, I want to suck your cock." He whispers into Geralt’s ear before biting his earlobe and then his neck. Geralt pushes himself up and grins down at the bear.
"Dito." He says. Junod laughs, grabs Geralt hips, lifts him up and turns him around.
Geralt joins the laughter, settles his knees on both sides of the bears head and one hand next to his hips. With the other hand he takes a hold of Junod’s cock and licks over its head. The bear hums, pulls Geralt’s dick back with one finger and swallows it.
Geralt jerks his hips in surprise and moans, before he returns the favour. Junod’s moan around his dick feels amazing.
Geralt loves sucking cock and so does Junod apparently. It takes but a few minutes for them to come down each others throats.
Geralt almost expects Junod to leave afterwards. He is wrong. The bear cuddles up to him from behind, nuzzles his neck, hums and declares: “Going to keep you. We can raise our cub together.”
Geralt melts into the embrace. Honestly that sounds about perfect.

Chapter Text

Geralt wakes up to someone blowing air in his ear, which feels like minutes after he drifted off.
“Hm?” He makes, while pulling up one shoulder to protect his ear and opening one eye to a slit.
Junod is smiling at him. Geralt must have turned around in his sleep as he is lying half on top of Junod, who is lying on his back. He can hear the bear’s slow heartbeat steady as a drum directly under his right ear. It sounds as if his lover is barely more awake than he is.
“I do not want our cub to wake up alone.” Junod whispers.
Geralt tightens his grip on Junod.
Junod chuckles quietly.
“If you do not want to let me go, you can come with.” He offers.
“Naked?” Geralt croaks confused.
“I intended to get dressed before changing rooms.” Junod says.
“So you need me to let you go.” Geralt concludes, sounding accusing.
“Only briefly.” Junod concedes.
Geralt glares up at Junod. In answer the bear leans down to capture Geralt’s lips in a kiss.
The wolf melts into it.
“Mhm.” He sighs contentedly, when Junod pulls back.
“Please, my wolf?” Junod asks softly and that is all it takes for Geralt to roll out of bed and start dressing and after a moment so does the bear.
They leave Geralt’s rooms hand in hand.
Thankfully Ciri is still sleeping deeply, when the two witchers return.
Junod settles on the furs in front of the fire and opens his arms. Geralt crawls into his arms and nuzzles into the crook of his neck.
When Ciri does wake up hours later from a thankfully nightmare free sleep that is how she finds her guardians – all tangled up together and fast asleep.
She gets up quietly and tiptoes to them to join them by wriggling in between her wolf and her bear.
Junod and Geralt wake up and look at her with identical bleary expressions, before making room for her and promptly falling back asleep.

Jaskier is humming to himself. The tune for Eskel’s song is not cooperating. Something is off. Maybe if he switches the key to E major. Oh, that works.
Eskel grumbles and pokes Jaskier, who interrupts his humming to make an inquisitive noise.
“Love? It’s too early for composing.” The witcher mumbles into his pillow.
“Yes, dear.” the bard answers absent mindedly and begins humming anew.
Eskel blinks his eyes open to confirm his sense of time is not deceiving him. It is indeed still hours before dawn. Getting up is not an option. So getting the bard to settle down it is.
He rolls on top of Jaskier and kisses him silent, which seems to work as intended, until Jaskier bucks his hips and moans into his mouth. Eskel pulls back to bury his face in Jaskier’s neck and chuckle ruefully.
“Why are you awake?” The witcher wants to know.
“I had an idea for your song.” The brunet replies.
“In the middle of the night?” Eskel asks exasperated.
“It happens.” Jaskier shrugs.
“I was hoping to catch a few more hours of sleep.” Eskel says.
“So tire me out.” Jaskier suggests, grinning.
He bucks his hips to rub his semi against his lover’s erection and adds: “Since you are up anyway.”
Eskel groans half in despair, half in lust and bites at Jaskier’s neck.
Jaskier scratches his nails down Eskel’s bare back.
“Fuck me, my wolf.” He rasps into his witcher’s ear.
“Yes, dear.” Eskel replies, slightly mocking. Jaskier laughs and spreads his legs.
“You want me like this?” Eskel drawls, grinding down.
“Yes.” The bard hisses, wrapping his legs around Eskel’s waist.
Eskel reaches to dip his fingers into the jar of oil on the bedside table.
Then he pushes himself slightly off the bed taking with the bard clinging to him. So his hand has a bit of room to move under Jaskier. He pushes his index finger into his lover easily.
“Oh Melitele, Eskel.” Jaskier moans. “Yes, like that.”
The witcher moves his finger slowly and adds his middle finger only a few strokes later.
“Mhm, still fucked open from earlier tonight.” He growls softly.
“Yes, oh Eskel, want you so bad.” Jaskier proclaims, throwing his head back.
Eskel licks and sucks at the bared throat and moves his fingers deeper and apart, stretching his lover thoroughly, even if he is still loose from his earlier attentions.
“Another?” The witcher whispers.
“An-other.” The bard breathes.
So Eskel adds his ring finger to stretching and fucking his lover.
He has barely moved the three fingers back and forth four times, when Jaskier moans: “I’m ready. Take me, my wolf.”
Eskel growls, pulls his fingers out, grabs his cock and guides it into Jaskier’s hole.
Only then he lowers Jaskier back down to the bed. Jaskier’s legs keep clinging to him. Eskel moves in short thrusts.
“You just want to keep my entire length in you, hm? You don’t want to give up even an inch, isn’t that right? You are a greedy little thing.” Eskel pants into his lovers ear.
Jaskier mewls in pleasure.
“Come on, give me some leverage, some room to work. Let me fuck you properly.” Eskel coaxes.
But Jaskier does not relent his grip, not that Eskel could not break that easily, but that is not how this game works. Eskel moves to get his knees under him and Jaskier’s hips, sits up, so that he’s kneeling on the bed and spans the brunet’s waist with his big hands to pull him further on his cock, so he is as deep as he will go and then he holds Jaskier there.
Jaskier moans. His eyes flutter open to look at Eskel. His pupils are blown wide with lust. He brings both hands to his mouth to lick the pads of thump and index finger first of his right and then of his left hand. He brings both hands back down to his chest to pinch both of his own nipples simultaneously, making himself moan, arch his back and clench down on Eskel’s big dick.
Eskel moans, but stays still.
“I bet,” Jaskier purrs “I can bring you off like this.”
And he keeps clenching the muscles of his beautiful arse again and again. Also he keeps pinching his nipples, which would be an arousing sight even if Eskel was not buried hilt deep inside him.
And then Jaskier moves his hands downward. He lets his left trail to just below his navel and presses it flat against his stomach to feel the head of his lover’s cock. Eskel shudders. Jaskier’s right hand trails further down to grip his own dick and start stroking himself.
“Oh, oh, mountains have mercy.” Eskel moans.
Jaskier is clenching around Eskel’s cock in time with the strokes on his own and he is rubbing the head of Eskel’s dick through the wall of his stomach. The witcher meant to tease the bard by not moving. He did not think he would not need to move, but his orgasm somehow sneaks up on him and is suddenly there and he is coming in long spurts, filling Jaskier with his seed.
Feeling Eskel twitch and spurt from the outside with his hand on his stomach and from the inside is glorious. Jaskier tugs his own dick two more times and comes as well.
After a few moments of basking Eskel carefully pulls out. He pads over to the wash basin standing on top of the chest of drawers, heats the water with a small igni and dips a fresh cloth in it. He wipes himself down, cleans the cloth in the basin, wrings it slightly and then tosses it to his lover.
Jaskier’s nimble fingers catch it out of the air. He wipes his stomach clean of his own spend and cleans away Eskel’s spend from where it is trickling out between his legs.
He tosses the cloth onto the pile of Eskel’s clothes beside the bed, when Eskel snuggles up behind him. The witcher pulls the quilt to cover both of them , kisses Jaskier’s cheek and murmurs:
“Sleep now, little incubus.”
The bard giggles quietly at the endearment and drifts off to sleep and after a while so does Eskel.

At breakfast Geralt plops down next to Eskel.
“Storm has died down.” He remarks in a way of greeting.
“Are we on duty clearing the training yard?” Eskel asks.
Vesemir passes behind them to find his own seat and answers in Geralt’s stead:
“And the court yard.”
Eskel chuckles.
“What would you do without us?” He teases Vesemir.
“Lambert would come up with something.” Vesemir states grinning smugly.
“Hear, hear.” Lambert crows.
Geralt shakes his head.
“You might want to run up to the weather safe balcony after breakfast.” Geralt addresses Jaskier.
“You will want a good vantage point to observe your sweetheart demonstrate why he is called the dragon of Kaer Morhen.”
Jaskier sits down gingerly across from him.
“He demonstrated just fine last night, repeatedly.” The bard replies leering.
Lambert snorts into his cup.
“Can I see?” Ciri asks excitedly from Junod’s lap.
Jaskier chokes on his porridge and Geralt laughs at him quietly.
“Sure, you two should join Jaskier on the balcony.” Geralt tells the cub.
Junod raises an eyebrow in question.
“We are going to clear the training yard of snow, so we can go back to training tomorrow morning.” Eskel answers.
“And the court yard.” Vesemir adds from his end of the table.
“And the court yard.” Eskel and Geralt chorus back dutifully.
Lambert laughs at them.
“Do you want to help?” Geralt asks and it sounds like a threat.
Lambert’s eyes widen.
“Fuck no.” he exclaims.
“Fuck.” Ciri echoes delightedly.
“Lambert.” Geralt growls.
Lambert grabs his plate staked high with bread, eggs and bacon and flees to one of the other tables.
“Please do not repeat any of the words you learn from Lambert.” Geralt says to Ciri.
“What about alembic?” She asks cheekily.
“When did he even have time talk about alchemy with you?” Geralt asks baffled.
“Yesterday before Jaskier sang.” She replies cheerfully.
“Please do not repeat any bad words you learn from Lambert.” Geralt amends.
“Oh, alright.” Ciri huffs, put up on.
It is a good thing she has her back to Junod, as he does not manage to hide that he is quietly laughing at Geralt.
They finish their breakfast. Afterwards Junod and Ciri follow Jaskier to the balcony.
When they get there half a dozen young trainees are already leaning over the balustrade.
“What ever they are about to do, must be spectacular.” Junod remarks.
Jaskier nods and leans on the balustrade beside the baby witchers. Junod stands behind him, picks Ciri up and puts her on his shoulders.
“Yes.” The little princess enthuses.
That is when below them the doors to the training yard open and Eskel and Geralt step out into the snow. Eskel looks up at Jaskier and winks. Geralt clears the steps to the yard with a powerful aard and then Eskel forms an igni, which melts the snow off a fifth of the enormous yard in an instant, while Geralt throws up a quen to shield the two off them from the immense heat.
A second smaller blast of fire from Eskel’s hand vaporizes the melting water before it can turn to ice, before he summons up his dragon’s breath again for the next portion of the snow.
Jaskier is so turned on right now.
“If you could refrain from falling over the balustrade in a swoon, I would be much obliged.” Junod tells the bard dryly, though he can not deny that he is impressed aswell.
“I want to do that.” Ciri whispers in awe.
“Me too.” the six other children agree at once.
“We are in so much trouble.” Junod sighs, picturing the cub learning fire spells that powerful.

Meanwhile Eskel pauses before turning to the middle of the training yard.
“What is on your mind?” He asks quietly and then blasts out another igni to give Geralt time to sort through his thoughts. Geralt appreciates the gesture even if it is unnecessary. He knows what he wants to ask.
“How did it feel, when you fell for the crane?” He questions, dropping the quen and watching Eskel vaporize the melt water and throwing up the shield again.
“Inadvisable. I mean really exciting, but inadvisable.” Eskel replies slowly, remembering. “He had his own ship. Did I ever tell you that?”
Geralt shakes his head. Eskel turns further to the right and concentrates on the next part of the yard, where the obstacle courses are placed. They free those of snow with a bunch of aards, piling up hills of snow away from the wooden beams and straw stuffed training dummies. They melt the hills individually with smaller bursts of fire.
“He meant to stay a mere week in Novigrad. It turned into a month. We wiped out every last monster in the sewers, the port and the surroundings, partly together, partly separately.” Eskel goes on before he does away with the water and turns to the last part of the snow.
“I could tell he was becoming restless after two weeks and I knew I was not going to board his ship to sail for the eastern shores.” He says and then summons his fire to melt the rest of the snow and vaporize the melt water in one go. He startles a bit at the cheering from the balcony. He had all but forgotten about their audience. He grins up at Jaskier brightly. His bard looks about ready to devour him. Oops.
He turns back to Geralt.
“Let’s do the court yard and then I want a bath.” He says and Geralt nods.
While they cross the keep the big witcher continues: “We were living on borrowed time, I think I knew that, even if I pushed it away. We talked about meeting up again in a few month, but not about wintering together. Neither of us wanted to be on the other side of the continent from his school. Your bear is wintering here already and you have been to Cintra. If you are thinking about sharing the path, I say try it. I don’t know about raising a cub on the path, but he brought her here all the way form Cintra. Talk to him, maybe he has ideas. And I am staying here this year. Worst comes to worst I will train her and care for her until you are back. It has only been days, but I think, you would be good together and you have the whole winter to find out, if the other has any habits that rub you the wrong way.”
They step outside the great hall. On this side of the keep they have to be careful of the stables as they neither want to set them on fire nor blast the roof of. Geralt melts a path to the stables and climbs onto the roof to blow the snow down with several weak burst of aard without damaging anything.
When he hops back down he says: “Jaskier is a travelling bard.”
“You don’t think he will stay with me through next year?” Eskel asks.
“I think he might want to get moving again next spring.” Geralt answers carefully.
“What did he say, why he travels with you?” Eskel questions.
“He is my friend and he needs accurate descriptions of my hunts and does not trust me to provide those … oh. Oh, you devil! You plan to sic him on Vesemir!” Geralt looks at Eskel in astonishment.
Eskel smirks.
“Vesemir gets to tell his stories, Jaskier gets song ideas and I don’t have to listen to the old tales any more!” Eskel agrees with Geralt as if he is revealing a grand plan.
Geralt laughs and claps his brother on the back.
Maybe this will actually work long term. Eskel and Jaskier – who would have thought.
And if his bard stays, maybe the bear will want to share his path instead?
Eskel is right, he has all winter to figure this out. Geralt grins to himself.

When the wolves are done clearing the court yard, Jaskier bundles up in his winter coat and quickly delivers the promised daily apple to Scorpion. Then he joins Geralt and Eskel in the hot springs. Junod and Ciri join as well. So does almost every other inhabitant of the keep.
Jaskier sighs. Sure the hot springs are wondrous, but he wished to be here with only Eskel. That casual show of power needs to be properly appreciated, preferably by kneeling at the witcher’s feet and … not in front of an audience.
Geralt pokes him in the side.
“You will have him to yourself soon enough.” He murmurs encouragingly.
“I want him to myself in the hot springs.” Jaskier grumbles.
“I do not think that will be possible.” Geralt admits, torn between amusement and pity.
Jaskier resolves to try again soon.

It takes weeks – long weeks (two to be exact)– until Jaskier manages to get Eskel alone in the hot springs, which does not mean that Jaskier did not get to devour Eskel that night – but that was in a bed… not that he does not love sex in bed or sex in an armchair or sex on a table, but try as he might Jaskier could not shake the idea of fucking in the hot springs and today they are going to. Jaskier is sitting straddling his gorgeous lover’s lap. He is kissing him deeply and Eskel has a hand gripping Jaskier’s nape, which Jaskier loves. The brunet feels the witcher’s hard length rubbing along his cleft. Jaskier is stretched, oiled, riled up and ready, sooo ready. He lifts up to position himself to sink down on this marvellous cock, when Gweld pokes his head in to remark:
“Huh, I did not think a mere human could take that thing.”
Jaskier squeaks and Eskel groans in frustration. Of all the times for Gweld to remember Jaskier is human … and of course he could not help but say something.
“What are you doing here, Gweld?” Eskel mutters. He can’t believe he did not hear the other witcher coming in. His bard is way too distracting.
“Oh, I forgot my socks down here earlier.” Gweld explains cheerfully.
Jaskier let’s out a frustrated cry against Eskel’s shoulder.
Then he leaves the spring, wraps himself in a towel and leaves, glaring at Gweld the entire time.
Eskel follows.
“What did I do?” Gweld squawks, when Eskel hip checks him into one of the pools on his way out.
“Ruin the mood.” Jaskier screams from halfway up the stairs.
He is furious and freezing. Leaving in just a towel was not one of his better ideas.
When he arrives at their rooms, he runs in, throws the towel on the floor, sits in the middle of the bed and pouts. Eskel follows him in, closes the door and looses his own towel. The fire is still burning from earlier and the room is warm. He looks at his lover and has an idea how to cheer him up.
"You saw, that I have the most powerful signs of all the wolves. But did you know, that I also have the most precise?" Eskel asks, stalking closer to the bed.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Jaskier snaps, still irritated, at being interrupted.
Eskel signs a small aard and before Jaskier can wonder what he is up to, he feels it hit him in the chest. It is not strong enough to hurt, but it makes him fall back onto the covers. He jerks his hands up above his head in some strange reflex, only to see Eskel sign a tiny yrden and feels his wrists being immobilized.
A flash of arousal courses through his entire body and he lets out a loud moan. Eskel smirks at him.
"Mood restored?" He checks.
"Yes. I ... Eskel ..." The bard moans, looking up at his lover wide eyed, at a loss for words.
Eskel crawls over Jaskier and gives him a through kiss.
"I thought you might like this." He purrs into Jaskier’s ear, when he pulls back.
He positions himself over his beautiful human and slides home in one smooth thrust.
Jaskier cries out.
“We will get an opportunity in spring, when most of the others leave.” Eskel whispers in Jaskier’s ear “And until then you will have to content yourself with me pinning you on various surfaces to have my way with you.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Jaskier chants, foul mood forgotten.
He is ruined for normal men, for women, for anybody but Eskel really.
“I love your cock.” He chokes out, through the waves of pleasure, caused by Eskel’s vigorous thrusting.
Eskel chuckles and Jaskier is in ecstasy.
“Just my cock?” Eskel purrs, not pausing his rhythm for a moment.
“Ever – ah – everything. Oh yes. Everything about you. I love everything. Oh gods. I love you so much. ESKEL!” Jaskier pants, moans and screams.
Eskel shudders and bites Jaskier’s earlobe.
“I love you, too, little bard. Oh, oh yes. You take me so well. You are made to take my dick, made for me.” The witcher rasps.
Jaskier struggles against Eskel’s yrden.
“Let me touch you. I need to.” Jaskier pleads.
“No. I will let you touch me, after you came on my cock.” Eskel moans and then tries something he has not dared before. He increases the pace of his thrusts to witcher speed.
Jaskier’s eyes, which had been closed, fly open, his mouth forms a perfect “O” in silent astonishment and he comes and comes and comes. Seeing the amount of spent covering Jaskier’s chest, tips Eskel over the edge. He fills his bard and his cry is anything but silent.
When they have come down from their high, are cleaned up and snuggled together.
Jaskier breaks the quiet almost hesitantly:
„Eskel,” He begins and then pauses. “I would still like to travel at Geralt‘s side.” Another pause. “He is my best friend. But a month at a time maybe. The rest of the time I would be very happy indeed to share your path.” The last part pours out of him in a rush, making Eskel’s heart freeze and then thaw.
He pulls Jaskier closer.
“And this year? When I am to instruct the little ones?” The big witcher asks carefully.
“I thought maybe the little ones would like to learn to sing?” Jaskier asks in turn, also carefully.
He tilts his head up to look at Eskel hopefully. Eskel meets his eyes. He is surprised. Slowly a smile spreads on his face.
“I think they would.” He says before he pulls Jaskier closer still and kisses him.
He is still going to sic his bard on Vesemir, but he is glad to know Jaskier thought to carve his own place here, at home.

Geralt is in the middle of a cuddle pile, when Junod searches for him one evening in the middle of winter. Ciri is in the library with Jaskier, who is amusing her with songs of adventures and promised to put her to bed at the appropriate time. And in case he forgets, Eskel is sure to remind him, when he inevitably finds the bard composing and humming to himself with the cub asleep at his feet.
Junod pokes Eskel, currently dozing at the bottom of the pile. The big wolf blinks up at him.
“Hm?” he asks sleepy and content.
“Give him to me?” Junod asks in turn.
Eskel looks down at Geralt lying across his chest. He grins, puts one hand on his brother’s hip and one on his shoulder and presses him up.
Geralt yelps. Junod takes him around the middle, hoists him up and throws him over his shoulder to carry him off with a smug smirk on his lips.
Gweld and Eskel dissolve into gales of laughter.
Geralt could get used to this, being carried of for nefarious purposes now and again.
When Junod throws him down onto his – thankfully – sturdy bed, he finally dares to ask:
“Share my path come spring?”
“Wolf, I would, but the cub ...” Junod sighs.
“If we stick to Kaedwen, we could go in loops to see how her training with Eskel is going every few weeks...” Geralt suggests.
Junod kisses him.
“She agrees with this plan?” He asks, when he pulls back.
Geralt nods. “Jaskier suggested it to her a week ago. Getting to learn from “the dragon of Kaer Morhen” apparently trumps travelling with her Dads.” He admits dryly.
“Her words?” Junod asks.
“Her words.” Geralt affirms.
They share a fond smile.