Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been a year since Geralt’s injury from Vilgefortz. A year of changes that was difficult for someone so independent. A long year that just seemed to get in his way, and was absolutely not something he wanted to deal with journeying through the Blue Mountains on the way to Kaer Morhen.

The actual injury itself was horrible - but something he could deal with. Jaskier had spent endless nights helping him get back to health. He couldn't have done it without him, his soft singing, gentle touches, the closeness.

It was the added strains that came with it that he was unprepared for as a man who rarely got sick. When his knee got sore, his body tried its hardest to heal. Everything was working towards getting that knee better, inflammation would stress his body, taking up vital resources that would defend against regular things. Things like the cold.

“FUCK OFF”
Geralt yelled, giving roach a bigger fright than the initial sneeze that he was replying to. A quick axii calmed her down, something that the Witcher was jealous of.

Once Roach was in the stables, Geralt made his way into the keep. He dropped his bags at the door before making his way to the nearest chair and dropping down into it.

“It gets easier you know. Once you’re a big boy like the rest of the Witcher's you’ll be able to ride your horse.”
Lambert grinned, patting Geralt on the shoulder. It was probably gentle, but it shot right through his body as a dull ache. Geralt grumbled back, not bothering to open his eyes.

The last thing he wanted was to be sick at Kaer Morhen. While he was happy that he had time to rest, he felt embarrassed at showing weakness in front of the other witchers. Especially Lambert.

“Not biting today, huh? That bad? Come on… I’ve waited all year for this, pretty boy. Give me something to work with here.” Lambert sat on a chair opposite, bouncing his legs like a schoolboy waiting for a row.

Every single thud of Lambert’s heel on the ground sounded like thunder, Geralt already felt overwhelmed with noise and scents, but this was unbearable. What was worse, his blocked nose was making everything smell just a little bit different. Lambert was annoying, but he smelled like home. Today he didn’t. That wasn’t his fault, but Geralt couldn’t show him that.

“Stop that.” “What?”
Geralt glared at him. The scent in the air changed from Lambert’s mood, and Geralt felt it would be best to keep quiet and close his eyes again. It wasn’t his fault, he repeated in his head, cursing his body for being different, for changing with the injury. Geralt’s body was stuck in fight or flight while also being absolutely drained of energy. What he really wanted was a cuddle, but he wasn’t going to ask.

When Eskel walked into the room, he greeted the witchers, looked to Geralt, then to Lambert and mouthed what’s wrong? Lambert only shrugged back. Eskel walked over to the sick witcher and put his finger under Geralt’s chin, tilting his head to make room to scent him. The feeling made Geralt shiver, and even that hurt.

“You get hurt on the path, wolf?”
Geralt grumbled and opened his eyes one at a time. “I’ve got a cold.” He felt pathetic. He wanted a cuddle.

Lambert proceeded to laugh, sitting forward in his chair.
“No you don’t. You’re so dramatic. If you don’t want to do chores this week just admit it.”
Geralt interrupted Lambert’s moaning with a sneeze.

“Ow.”

Pathetic , he thought loudly to himself again, sniffing.

“I’ll get your things into your room and make sure the bed’s made up for you. Just sit tight.”
Eskel held Geralt’s cheek for a moment, letting him lean into it. For such a large man, Eskel was probably the softest of them all.

“You need anything before I go, pet?”
A cuddle.
“No thanks.”

“I can do it.”
Lambert stood up, trying to get out of the room and avoid any meaningful conversation. Jokes he could do, reassurance was difficult. Eskel only laughed at the idea of Lambert being able to make a bed and left the room without even a cursory glance in the witcher’s direction.

They sat in silence for a while, a peaceful silence to Geralt, an awkward silence to Lambert, one that he wanted to fill.

“So, a cold huh? What, you finally caught something off your bard. Can’t you just drink Swallow?”
Lambert lazily paced the room, scuffing each step on the cold floor.

“I didn’t catch it from Jaskier. The weather turned, then my knee hurt, then I got sick. I don’t know, Jaskier explains it better. I’m just sick . I’m always sick. Swallow doesn’t do anything. It did… now it doesn’t. Not for this.”
Geralt closed his eyes again, sniffing between each sentence and grimacing with each gulp. The younger witcher wandered over to stand closer to Geralt, still not ready to bring any warmth into his voice. Geralt understood though. It took both of them much longer than Eskel to let their defences down again.

“How’d you get sick from a sore knee, Pretty Boy?”
“I just told you, I DON’T KNOW.”
Geralt’s temper was shorter than usual, but shouting didn’t make his throat feel any better. He opened his jaw to try and relieve the pain of his swollen lymph nodes and felt it click.

“Come here.”
He gestured to Lambert, then took his hand. He guided it under his chin to feel the swollen bumps.

“What’s that?”
His tone softened, for all of Lambert's bravado he usually knew when to reel it in.

“It’s a sign you’re sick, if you’re human. When I hurt my knee, it did something to my body. It didn’t fully heal. When I get sore, I get sick. Just happens that way. Swallow doesn’t work, because my body is already doing everything it can to help my knee, I think. Jaskier did all of the reading about it.”

Lambert gently rubbed the underside of Geralt’s cheek and drew in a breath.

“Fuck, sorry for laughing, Wolf. I didn’t mean-” “-I know.”
Geralt let himself pout, feeling absolutely lousy. He leaned into the touch, hoping that a few days rest would help shift it. 

“What’s it feel like? A cold.”
Lambert moved behind the chair and rubbed Geralt’s shoulders. He moved his hands across the larger man's chest, over his shoulders then back to his neck.

“I can’t breathe right. My head hurts and my body aches. Like when you drink too much I guess. Everything’s unstable. It’s almost sorer than the knee. I could put up with the knee, it’s the rest that pisses me off. Also it hurts to swallow. Also I’m shivery… Also I’m in a bad mood.” 

“But you’re being very brave about it, aren’t you?”
Lambert joked, getting a snort from Geralt. The first laugh he’d had for a few weeks.

“I’m glad you’ve got your little bird, Geralt. It sounds like things have been pretty hard for you.” He leaned down and planted a small kiss on the wolf’s head, squeezed his shoulders, then went to leave the room. “Is that a blush, Pretty boy? Huh, I’m learning new things about witchers every day.”

“Shut up….”

Eskel came into the room as Lambert left. He reached his hands out to help Geralt up, then walked him to his room. 

“Easy pet, there’s no rush.”
The low rumble of his voice felt nice in Geralt's bones.

The bed had a stack of blankets, some that belonged to Geralt, some that belonged to Eskel, enough to keep him comfy. Geralt stripped down to his smalls, then Eskel helped him get into the bed, getting in beside him. Geralt was easily pulled into the larger man’s chest. Being surrounded by him was something that felt absolutely necessary. A cuddle. Finally . 

“It’s a long walk up here, Wolf. You did good. How are you feeling?”
Geralt nuzzled his face into Eskel’s chest. It was hard to breathe, but he did his best to take in the scent of him. Even if it was a little different.

“Hurts. Really hurts.” Was all Geralt could muster, getting a stronger cuddle from Eskel.

The door swung open, and Lambert kicked it back closed with his foot, taking no notice of the noise he was making.

“I got somethin for you, Pretty Boy.”
He walked over to the bed and lifted the blankets. 

“Careful.” “I know, I know.”
Eskel warned Lambert, unsure of what he was doing.

He searched for Geralt’s leg, then gently lifted it a little. Geralt lifted himself up onto his hands and elbows, watching as Lambert surrounded his knee with a little bag made of cheesecloth with something warm inside.

“I warmed some dry grains, if it’s too hot tell me, I can wait til it’s cooler. But I thought, if I could make your knee feel a bit better, without magic, it might help. I don’t know anything about it though, just tell me if I’m being stupid-” “ No ,” Geralt started, looking up at the younger man, “it feels really nice. Thank you.” 

Lambert smiled, then tied the cheesecloth round the back of Geralt’s knee. He folded a blanket and placed it under his leg, then covered him back up again, not before scooting the two other witcher’s over to join them.

“Be gentle.” Eskel poked at Lambert’s shoulder, then they both surrounded Geralt from both sides. Nothing helped after the accident. He’d tried every potion available until his veins ached from the toxicity, nothing. But being surrounded by Lambert and Eskel, being cuddled? I was such a soft word, one that Geralt felt embarrassed about using. Like he didn’t deserve to use it, being a witcher. Geralt put his head on Eskel’s chest, and Lambert pressed his nose into his neck. 

Lambert hummed in approval. 

“Just tell me if you need anything, Geralt. I’m here.”