Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jaskier isn’t here when he finally reaches Ban Ard, knowing to be late, ㅡhaving drunk himself into a deep slumber with his brothers the night before riding out, he hurries to the Inn, only to find all rooms empty of music. Somehow, the silence hurts.

Jaskier still isn’t here when Geralt, after a night and a day of inner turmoil, thinks he must have misremembered the village they meet every year, and reaches Ard Carraigh in a record time.

Jaskier doesn’t come to Ard Carraigh in the following day, and he still isn’t in Ban Ard when he makes the trip back there. No one here has seen the bard, no one in Ard Carraigh and it’s surrounding either, when he travels a little on it’s outsides to find his friend.

It hurts still.

Geralt continues his search for a few other days and nights, until he reaches Olviny, where he pays a sorceress to send a letter to Oxenfurt. He stays there two days before he gets a disappointing answer. Jaskier left months ago.

It’s when he pays the sorceress again, to call his brothers and meet them in Uria Aalge, a little further south. Luckily, they haven’t gone so far yet, Lambert is in Ellander and Eskel in Kotar, they both seem to have lingered somewhere for some reason.

A few days later again, the three of them meet.

“You have to learn new words pretty boy, really. ‘Need help Uria Aalge'?” Lambert mockingly quotes with his fingers, bumping into Geralt and stepping back.

“So, you got a problem?” Eskel asks, after an embrace.

Geralt nods, and turns to Roach for support. “It's Jaskier.”

“The fuck, Geralt?” Lambert deadpans after a long, irritated pause. “Thought it’d be a tough hunt, I made loads of damn potions-!”

“What’s wrong with your bard?” Eskel asks, and Geralt’s shoulders slump hearing the slight worry in his words.

“He disappeared.” He states, trying to mask his discomfort. His brothers never met him, not yet. But they’ll help him.

Lambert groans, throwing his head towards the sky, praying to Gods he doesn’t trust. “Ugh give me patience-" He glares at the snorts it gains him, and snapes. “If they give me strength I’ll fucking kill you.”

Eskel chuckles warmly, ㅡmaking Lambert bristle one last time, before setting his eyes on Geralt again. “So, what were you doing when he disappeared?”

“He-.” He stops short, and clears his throat. “He hasn’t shown up yet.”

Lambert stops in his laments to state at him blankly, and Eskel blinks twice before pushing. “You mean, he was supposed to come back from somewhere?”

Geralt feels himself tense again, and growls. “I mean he wasn’t here when I climbed down.”

“Oh for f- I'm out.” Lambert is about to turn but stills dangerously at Geralt’s scoff, just when they both are about to open their mouths, Eskel throws is bags down, and hushers Scorpion to Roach.

“Sit down.” It’s a clear order that manages to sound kind and harsh at the same time, it always had power over Lambert when he was younger, and still now sometimes, as the prickly prick sits and shuts the fuck up besides some grumbles. “Geralt.” Eskel points to the ground, and Geralt sits too, Roach’s head coming down with him for him to continue to pet her.

He didn’t even realize he was petting her. Lambert in front of him huffs, and when he looks up he sees his gaze to Roach’s nose. “Okay, okay.” He says, frowning to Roach and Geralt before deliberately avoiding Eskel’s raised eyebrows.

Eskel calmly sits himself between them and takes a deep breath. “So, your haven’t seen him yet this year.” He waits for Geralt to nod. “We’re not even a month in, Geralt.”

“Yeah maybe he got tired of you-"

“Lambert.”

“What? It’s a joke it’s not like-" He turns to Geralt, and looks betrayed at what he sees, almost concerned but quickly covered by an unimpressed glare. “Since when do you trust what I say, you asshole!”

“He’s never been late!” Geralt tries, ignoring the youngest. “He’s always been there.” He says. “Always.” And again.

Lambert narrows his eyes, but wisely lets Eskel do all work.

“Do you know where he spends the winter?”

“He was supposed to teach at Oxenfurt.” Geralt fidgets, uneasy again.

“Supposed?” Eskel presses.

“You’re a witcher, Geralt, fucking details.” Lambert pushes too.

Geralt glowers. “I had a sorceress send a letter to the Dean, and he left just after the solstice for unspecified reasons.”

“Do you have any ideas of where he could have gone?”

“…No.” He grits out, fidgeting turned to petting his mare again, who gladly accepts it.

They silently think, or at least Geralt thinks his brothers are thinking, because for as much as he tries, he can’t get his mind in line. Roach helps him calm down, and he ignores the rest of his distress, in favor of glancing to the other witchers.

“Does he have a home somewhere?” Lambert asks at last, and rolls his eyes. “Humans have families you dumbasses.”

“He… He doesn’t really talk about it. He doesn’t have a good relationship with his father.” He senses more than he sees the tension stiffening Lambert’s limbs. “He is a noble.” That much he knows. “From a house he left and never went back to.”

“Maybe he did now.” Eskel reasons.

“It’s either that or he's dead.”

“Lambert.” Eskel sighs.

Geralt turns his hands to Roach again. “Or maybe… Maybe he just left.”

“No.” Both his brothers answer, and relief hits stronger than any punch could.

They leave for Oxenfurt right away, and his brothers keep on bullying him to talk about his bard, and lay down and sleep as soon as they finish eating.

They travel so much and fast, that they barely take any contracts at all. They don’t have much coin, or so they thought, until Eskel opens his pouch. The bastard already started his year, probably the very same day he set foot down the moutain.

That only means they can be quicker, and Geralt is grateful.

Oxenfurt leads them to Jaskier’s workplace, to the Dean’s office. And they learn something, after very little prodding.

Julian Alfred Pankratz.

His Jaskier, His Bard.

Rushed to the family estate.

Distressed, Unhappy.

Sad frown, worried blue eyes.

Left in the hour after receiving a mail.

Lettenhove.

‘I left and I don’t want to go back ever again.’ He had say, trusting Geralt not to push.

The last word out of the old man’s mouth, his feet are already jumping out of the city. He called his brothers to find his wits back, and have help finding his bard. Now they know, and they stay.

It's fast, they go from a forest to another, avoiding most villages on their way, and the time seem to pass like the blink of an eye, Geralt distracted by Roach’s nudges ㅡshe always does know when he needs her most. Eskel’s conversationalist self helps too, and even Lambert’s complaints, even if he would never say it.

Next thing he knows, they enter Lettenhove. Off their horses' backs, they try to find a way to the estate.

It’s pretty. Or, it has potential. The houses are plenty, but the people housed seem to lack support. It says something again about Jaskier’s father that Geralt doesn’t like, and that starts to light a fire to the blaze already fiercely burning inside Lambert.

Some of the children are curious, and for all Geralt is pressed and tensed, he heaves a sigh when he hears mutters about Jaskier’s name for him.

“They know you.” Eskel whispers.

“Of course they fucking do.” Lambert snarls.

Geralt sighs in annoyance, and huffs when he hears a clap sound and Lambert grumbling some more.

“Excuse me, little one? Do you know how we can reach the Pankratz’s house?” Eskel asks when one of the children, a girl looking to be about ten years old, is brave enough to come closer.

She looks at them warily and curiously, glancing back to an adult woman who watches the interaction, and who nods. “Are you Jaskier’s witcher?”

“I am.” Geralt answers in place of his brother, and the little girl’s eyes widen when she sees his hair.

“Master Witchers.” The woman comes behind the girl. “You are here for our Lord’s son?”

“Of course he is mama, witchers save poor souls, damsels in distress and children all around the continent!” She sing-songs happily, moving from one feet to the other and Geralt revels on Lambert’s constipated expression.

“You listen to what he says a little too much Agata.” But she’s smiling, and her smile doesn’t dim when she looks back at them. “But are you?”

It brings dread to Geralt’s mind, and he asks. “Is he alright?”

She looks surprised. “You don’t know?”

“What?” Lambert snaps. “He dead?”

“Lambert.” Eskel says, and probably frowns, Geralt’s concentrated on the woman in front of him.

“Very alive.” She soothes, a mothering voice that makes the witchers speechless for a moment. “However he could use some support. The path to the Pankratz Home is the only one clean enough for a carriage, you won’t miss it.” One other nod and she returns to her garden, giving one last stern look to her child.

Agata stays still, and grimaces, before following, halting just enough to throw some air punches to them and runs away. From her mother.

Geralt looks to where she just shot off, in time to see Lambert’s pleased smirk.

Eskel eyebrows are high when he takes in the sight of the angry mother and he ushers them away. “Alright let’s go.”

Geralt does take the time to put Roach, and Scorpion, in the stables before continuing their route. Sooner than later, finally, they reach the doors. One of the few that still separate him from his bard. The guards don’t do much, surprisingly, when three witchers, two angry looking, knock harshly on the doorsㅡbecause the third one convinced them not to bust them open.

They open a very long minute later, to a tall and lean older man who readjusts small glasses on his nose when he takes in the scene, he straightens professionally, hands clasped in front of him and nods agreeably.

“You may state your business-"

“Where is Jaskier?” Geralt asks first thing first, ignoring Eskel’s long sigh.

“Master witchers.” The man nods, entirely unbothered, or even surprised. “I am Jan. White Wolf, allow me to guide you to him.”

“Here too.” Lambert grunts. “Asshole.” And mutters for good measure. It doesn’t have the usual effect, as Jan merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow before letting them in, deliberately hesitating to let the door open when it’s Lambert’s turn, much to the latter’s disbelief.

“If you would follow me.” Jan takes them to a corridor, and Geralt follows the voices rather than him, leaving the three behind him, he opens the door silently he finds himself in front of, and finds Jaskier and a man in the middle of a conversation.

“-I take that as a compliment." The man says, smiling a big, full of himself kind of grin. A few grey hairs, a handsome face, unkind blue eyes that have nothing on Jaskier’s, and a horrible attire that he knows his bard must abhor.

Geralt doesn’t like him.

A slight twitch of his bard’s eye almost gives his frustration away, but he keeps the façade. "...I must have said it wrong, then.” And smiles a smile even bigger, that here only Geralt knows to be really fake.

“Come now, Julian, this is no way to treat your promised-.”

-Geralt hates him.

He tastes bitterness, and every of his senses seem to have taken a blow. There is a loud, constant noise in his ears, he doesn’t hear Jaskier’s answer, and doesn’t see so well for a second, next his knows he is inside the room, gripping at his bard’s arm.

It hurts.

"Geralt!" He looks stunned, Geralt probably does too.

“A witcher!” The man hiccups, strangling himself with his breath, sadly not until he passes out. “I’ll, I’ll call for you father!” And leaves, trotting to the other door.

“Oh thank all the Gods you are here dear heart!” Jaskier shouts, and looks behind him, finding Lambert and Eskel. “Is one of you a Cat or a Viper? I could do with one.”

Lambert snorts after having suspiciously perked up, and Eskel shakes his head. “Wolves here.”

“Geralt’s brothers!” He greets, before frowning. “Is something the matter? What are you doing here? Is Kaer Morhen well? And your mentor?”

Geralt groans when Lambert steps up with one of these shit-eating grins that screams danger. “Pretty boy got so worked up-"

“Lambert!” He growls, trying to cup Jaskier’s ears with his hand.

“A few weeks and he called us-"

His hands are batted away. “Shut up!”

“Pretty much begged-"

“Eskel?!” Geralt turns to his still silent brother, who smiles unapologetically. “Say something!”

“Why?”

“He listens to you!”

Lambert sputters. “I do not!”

Eskel sighs and grounds. “Lambert.”

The youngest bristles. “Shut up!”

Eskel arches a brow, and nods once. Lambert jerks a nod, and stays relatively silent, mimicking Eskel's face.

“I heard it all, by the way.” Jaskier pipes in, and Geralt’s groan is almost drowned by Eskel’s laughter and Lambert’s sniker.

Jaskier smiles, a real one, and walks to the side. “I'm sorry Geralt, I should have left a letter in Oxenfurt to let you know.”

The lightness Geralt felt heaves away, the bitter taste in his mouth back. “To let me know about your promised?”

Jaskier stares at him, for a long time, or a time he feels as long, his expression unreadable, the one he has either when Geralt is being an idiot, or when he tries to understand something.

“It’s my sister.” He answers. “She sent me a letter.” And explains, taking Geralt’s wrist. “Father wants one of his children married, and he has two. I couldn’t let her marry a forty year old man.” He turns to grip his hand, and looks over at the two other witchers. “She’s thirteen.”

Geralt had started to feel better, until the last part.

“Where is she now?” Eskel asks seriously, while Lambert starts posturing.

Jaskier huffs, back in his dramatics. “I sent her to Oxenfurt with trusted friends for a scholar strip as soon as I arrived.”

“Priscilla, Essi?” Geralt asks, remembering their names.

Jaskier nods, and grimaces. “Even Valdo and his troupe.”

“He helped?” Geralt’s eyebrows shot up.

His bard rolls his eyes and shrugs. “He is the kind of guy to steal and lie. Not the kind of man to see a child hurt. I'll give him that. In the secrecy of this private conversation, of course.”

Someone clearing their throat makes Jaskier jump, the three witcher already having turned to Jan, who waits patiently for Jaskier to compose himself. “Lord Pankratz has requested your presence, and the Witchers'.”

“Oh shit.”

“Indeed, sire.”

“What does that fucker want?” Lambert snarls and Jaskier looks at Geralt, surprised, but Geralt shakes his head.

“I believe, avoid any possibilities for his children to have a life if it doesn’t benefit his, Sir Witcher.” Jan answers with a neutral tone, almost comical.

“That’s sounds like treason Jan.” Jaskier chuckles, not at all seeing the bewilderment on the witchers' faces.

“It would if he was a King.” And answers, pointing gracefully towards the door and starting to lead.

They follow, Geralt on Jaskier’s left, and Lambert coming to his bard’s right with his usual angry expression. But this one he understands. Eskel stays behind them, covering their backs, and is alert when the doors close behind them when they arrive to some kind of big hall, where Pankratz is sited in the middle, the man from earlier standing next to him.

He has Jaskier’s nose and his hair. He must have his mother’s eyes and mouth. He must have his mother’s spirit, because his kindness definitly doesn’t come from this man.

“Witchers.” He nods with his eyes, looking down and up quickly, before turning them to Jaskier. His jaw tightens, Geralt mirrors it defensively. “Julian.” He stands and strides to his son, Geralt is almost ready to jump, Lambert doesn’t wait.

“The fuck d'you think you’re doing.” He growls. Much to their disappointment, Pankratz doesn’t tremble in fear, he stops though, and even takes a hurried step back.

“Oh, ah.” Jaskier exhales, patting Lambert’s arm who snarls like usually does when he doesn’t get his way. His bard isn’t deterred. “Thank you darling, could you just, stay beside me?”

His youngest brother grunts and comes back to stand tall beside Jaskier.

“My Lord if I may.” Jan starts. “We have guests, to take care of the contract in town.”

“There isn’t any contract-"

“Oh, but there is, sire.”

Pankratz huffs. “I am not awar-"

“There is a contract in town, Lord Pankratz I assure you.” Jan continues, starting to make big disbelieving eyes.

“Fine" Pankratz bites and swirls around. “Make so the witchers don’t disturbed my meetings. Szymon will keep Julian company.” He leaves in a angry pace, leaving the witchers, Jaskier, Jan and the man -Szymon.

Jan, apparently, ever the professional, leads them again, this time to sit around a small table and asks a passing servant for tea before leaving somewhere. The man is sited alone on the stuffed chair, facing Jaskier and the witchers on the couch.

“So, when the witchers leave, Julian, we could retire somewhere.” Szymon drawls, sniffing at the tea a servant brings to himself, while the others nod their thanks. “I still haven’t seen your roo-"

Geralt starts to growl, and Eskel cuts in. “I can take care of it alone, my brothers will stay with our friend.” And Jaskier preens. Geralt wonders about why Eskel would leave Lambert here, but is distracted by the look on his bard’s face.

Szymon looks annoyed, and it pleases Geralt so much a smile tugs at his lips. However, this smile turns into a scowl when the man opens his mouth again, sneering at Jan, who just came back. “And you, don’t you have-, I don’t know, things to dust?”

Jan smiles pleasantly, presenting a few sugary treats to the witchers, and beats Lambert’s growing snarky remark. “How about the left side of your bed, my lord?”

Jaskier snorts and Geralt’s brothers outright laugh.

“Jaskier’s left side is full.” Eskel says calmly afterwards a d Szymon arched an eyebrow, automatically watching Jaskier’s left.

And Geralt stills.

“Yes. It is.” Jaskier says.

Geralt’s brain blanks out for a few seconds, when he regains his capabilities the man is up on his feet with somewhat of a scared expression.

"I am leaving. I doubt we'll meet again." Szymon straightens, an unattractive sniffle punctuating his sentence.

Jaskier sighs, and his body relaxes in relief, and Geralt’s would have followed if he wasn’t posturing. "Do you promise?”

“I can make him.” Lambert proposes with a dangerous smile.

Szymon speaks. “Won’t be necessary.” And he does leave.

“If I’d known it would only take that.” Jaskier sighs happily, bumping into Geralt and staying pressed to him. Geralt feels like he’s exploding.

“I think I'll call Triss to talk about appropriate marital rules to your Lord, Jan. A sorceress. She’ll probably come with a friend of hers, you know, Yennefer of Vengerberg.” Eskel speaks in between sips, he does enjoy tea.

Lambert harrumph. “I can do that talk just fine.”

“No.”

“I will inform him of approaching arrival.” Jan nods, and turns to Jaskier. “Are you leaving?”

Jaskier’s body slumps a little more into Geralt. “I believe I can now.”

Jan smiles, the professional set of his shoulders forgotten, and ruffles Jaskier’s hair. “Safe travels.” He looks around, taking the tray he used to bring the sweets.

“I could have at least punched him.” Lambert’s voice says, adamant, and audibly going away. Eskel’s steps follows. “The fuck are you following me for?” Silence answers, probably filled by one of the Eskel Looks. “Oh shut up.”

Geralt clears his throat, not entirely sure as to what to do. “So, he’s gone.”

“Yes.” Jaskier murmurs. “Thank you.”

Geralt grunts, starting to move away.

Jaskier continues. “For keeping my left side full.”

Geralt stops short again, eyes seeing white and breath coming just a bit faster. “Jaskier.”

“You are afraid.” Jaskier states, but there isn't the urgency Geralt is feeling.

“No.”

"You are afraid Geralt, and you hurt yourself."

"I am not afraid of love." Geralt snaps, but it's quiet.

"No, you aren't." Jaskier agrees easily, moving forward. "You are afraid of a broken heart."

His bard takes his hands, and smiles when the witcher keeps his eyes on his. "You have felt broken before, and you are scared of it. And I am sorry, Geralt, but love is raw, and it heightens your emotions so much so, they hurt sometimes."

"When you feel unworthy, when you feel left alone." His hands cup Geralt's face. "When I feel worried, when I feel lonely."

"You mean..."

"I mean that love is downfall and salvation, in this world. The most powerful thing, and the truest. I mean that love is what I feel. I mean that my heart loves yours. I mean that I feel for you."

"My heart loves yours too." Geralt whispers against his bard's lips, a moment before they touch his.

"Well, they took their sweet time."

"Lambert."

"Oh, come on-"

"How about you open that mouth again when you present your Cat to us?"

"... Shut up."

"You might want to do just that as well, Sir Witcher."

"What the- Fucking fuck off!"