Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jaskier was eighteen when he met his muse. And it was in a dirty tavern in Posada. And the muse was a witcher. And the witcher was known as The Butcher of Blaviken. And all of those things made everything more interesting, and inspiring.

His professors and friends back in Oxenfurt would have had a heart attack, for sure. Perhaps not Priscilla. But it just seemed like the perfect idea.

The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, had such an aura of heroism, destiny, death and glory around him, it was almost overwhelming.

He was an ass as well. But, and he learnt afterwards, a witcher is merely a deeply scarred man. And Jackier isn’t much better.

He learned too that witchers, like other species on this continent, have their own ways, customs and codes. The thing is that, Geralt never actually talked about it.

It shows to small things, such as the way to eat and cook food. And witcher polite isn’t the same as bard polite. His coded ways with his weapons and his mare…

Many, many small unsettling things at first, for them both. Because he found again, that Geralt knew as much about humans that Jaskier knew about witchers.

And while Jaskier didn’t mind, it was clear that Geralt struggled with some of the bard’s behaviors.

They made it work, eventually. And it worked quite well. To accept the other’s oddities isn’t so hard as it is believed to be. They both accepted the differences their cultures have, without any of them actually explaining anything, but still, it worked.

Jaskier is almost twenty one when his Witcher officially befriends him without Jaskier’s knowledge who, as a human, already saw Geralt as a friend.

In the three years they’ve known each other, Jaskier doesn’t remember ever seeing Geralt fidget.

Not once.

Until now.

It’s an odd sight.

And a recurrence, now that he does that everytime he comes close to his own bags. Weirdly enough. It’s cute, dare he say. Until it’s just weird.

Geralt has been more open with these small smiles of his, but as rigid as stone ever since they started to travel this year. Really, he could sleep standing up, or just stop moving and nothing would be able to drag him or cut through him.

Only, Jaskier is a bit concerned, as it’s only spring and they just reunited, the last two winters he came back on the road, no, the path, as he says, he was always more relaxed and even fattened, so he wonders what changed this winter.

He cannot possibly have annoyed the witcher this much already.

"Everything went well at home?" He finally asks when they sit down for the night.

"Why do you ask?" Geralt frowns.

"Well, you seem a bit tense…" Now, that’s an understatement, but he won’t go vexing him right away.

Geralt blinks. Once, twice. And Jaskier blinks back.

Alright.

 "Geralt?" The witcher grimaces, and Jaskier knows his voice lost all kind of teasing. "If you don’t want me to talk seriously don’t worry me."

"Worry..?"

"Yes, worry, you idiot."

Geralt now blinks at the fire, his hand aiming for one of his bag before retreating. Here, Jaskier observes, the fidgeting again.

"We’ve known each other for almost four years, of course I worry when you act strangely."

He doesn’t get an answer, and doesn’t think that Geralt’s sudden glaring at the fire with a thoughtful expression is one. He watches as the witcher taps his fingertips on his knee and how this knee jolts from time to time.

"Are you okay?" He presses, coming closer.

Geralt takes a deep breath and lifts one of his hands to stop Jaskier where he is. He nods, visibly to himself, slowly, and turns to his bag. Jaskier now waits, silent, more like speechless, because he would definitely be talking if he wasn’t this perturbed.

After some time, Geralt turns back to him and clears his throat. "It’s for you. If you would accept it." And shoves a brown leather case into his hands, with a face one could mistake as a baby’s who ate a lemon for the first time.

"Oh!" Jaskier exclaims, a little uncertain, and opens it. "By the Gods…"

In the case he discovers a weapon. A dagger. Made with what looks like what is in Geralt’s own silver sword, and decorated with strings and blue gems. "She’s gorgeous." Simply stunning. He emphasizes in his mind.

"I had the silver and leather from Kaer Morhen and the gems from the best jeweler of Toussaint. The strings come from the place you like in Oxenfurt-"

"-Wait, Geralt, you made this?" Jaskier now stares, amazed right at Geralt who huffs as if offended. "Of course."

"You made this for me." Now that’s the kind of things a bard cries about.

Geralt looks only mildly panicked when he start sniffling loudly.

"Does that," He brushes a finger on Jaskier’s cheek to clumsily wipe a tear. "mean you accept?"

"Accept?"

"The gift."

"Of course I accept the gift! Oh Geralt it’s so well done and- You know it’s the first gift that I receive?" Aside from obligatory meaningless presents his parents used to throw him at his birthdays.

Geralt frowns and squints. "How is that possible?"

Jaskier quickly waves Geralt’s question away. "Never you mind, my friend." And he giggles, tucking his dagger back in it’s case and petting the soft leather.

He misses only by a few seconds the soft smile on Geralt’s face, and when he does look up, after depositing his gift by his side, it’s to attack the witcher with a hug.

Geralt doesn’t even move at the impact, only his hands find their way on Jaskier’s back. Jaskier makes an unhappy sound. "You’re supposed to fall on your back." That’s the way it is, in all books and ballads, and so in a bard’s life.

"Mh."

"Humor me."

Geralt sighs, but lets himself fall on his back, his chuckle soon joining Jaskier’s laughter. "Why did I make friend with a bard?" He falsely laments.

And Jaskier decides, it’s by far the best day of his life.

What Jaskier didn’t know, it’s that it won’t be his last gift, nor from witchers… Nor from Geralt himself.

Chapter Text

Jaskier doesn’t meet his second witcher before he reaches twenty five years old. Four years after he and Geralt officially agreed on traveling all year long, besides for some bardic appointments.

Four years of…

"Why?"

"Don’t try to find witchers, you never know who you’ll find."

"Some witchers aren’t safe, Jaskier."

"My brothers don’t need to meet you."

"Why?"

"I won’t tell you."

"Don’t."

"You don’t need to know how they look."

"Why?"

"There is no reason for you to meet another witcher… It’s not safe."

"Jaskier."

"Leave my brothers alone. They don’t even know the color of your eyes. What- of course I know!"

"Path? Yes, we all have a path-… I won’t tell you my brothers'."

"...No."

Four entire years of this. Geralt actively making all of Jaskier’s attempts to meet another witcher ultimately fail. All of them. All of them. Each time Jaskier asked, he had to deal with a moody witcher afterwards.

The only times they were apart was for Jaskier’s bardic events, or festivals Geralt always avoids. The thing is that all witchers apparently avoid these things.

Until one day.

He was blessed with the presence of another witcher.

At a Toussaint Bardic Festival in the summer.

He thought he imagined it.

But he didn’t!

So he rushed after his performance to the witcher, suddenly unsure if it isn’t Geralt hiding from the light, but excited nonetheless.

He spotted him right away in the crowd, used to his white wolf’s hiding spots, in a dark corner of wherever they are.

"Hello master witcher!" He greets, reaching the mysterious form behind a wall, only two glowing eyes showing.

The eyes blink, and the man slowly goes out. "Hello."

"Finally!" He can’t help but exclaim. "You are one of Geralt’s brothers!" He points at the snarling wolf medallion. "I am Jaskier the Bard, very nice to meet you."

Jaskier forces himself to wait for an answer, but when it doesn’t come, he fills the silence. "I was never able to find any of you, may I know why you are here?"

The witcher huffs a laugh. "Finally able to find you. Geralt wouldn’t say anything."

"He told me to stop looking for witchers."

"He told us you were trouble."

"I am not trouble. I find myself acquainted with troublesome people, is all." He sets his lute correctly on his back. "May I know your name?"

"Oh. Eskel of the Wolves." His fist goes to lay on his stomach and he bows his head slightly.

"Eskel, shall we retire elsewhere? And you may tell me why you were looking for me. Then, some stories I can write about. And some things I can make fun of Geralt about."

Eskel accepts fairly quickly, and they both walk to the tavern nearby to take a sit and a few drink on this lovely summer evening.

Jaskier immediately realizes that his first question has been avoided, but doesn’t press, and appreciates greatly the company of a man of good conversation.

Here he learns the name of Geralt’s mentor, Vesemir. Their other and younger brother who he already knew about, Lambert and a Griffin, Coën, who spends his winters with them. The not so secret secret boyfriend of Lambert, Aiden.

Some more solemn talk about and their other witcher friends who visit from time to time, and fallen brothers. 

Jaskier feels like talking to a tea lady who knows everything going on in her neighborhood.

Jaskier doesn’t understand why Geralt wouldn’t let him meet Eskel, and it hurts him a bit when he thinks about some possible reasons. Does he not trust me?

They’ve known and called each other friends for years now. And… Geralt… He trusts Geralt, and likes him, deeply. And he knows it’s requited, at some point. He is at a loss, to be honest.

"Jaskier?"

"Mh? Oh, sorry. You were saying?"

At that point they had retired to Jaskier’s special guest room given to the bards for the event, continuing their discussion and drinking in privacy.

Eskel swallows, and straightens. "You asked why I looked for you. I wanted to thank you and, to know you."

"Thank me?" 

"Geralt, he… After Blaviken, he became… Somber. The winter he met you, he came home with a smile, and anecdotes to share for the first time in sixteen years. Ever since, he is doing better. Thanks to you, I believe. So I thank you, Jaskier the Bard, for helping Geralt." He says, solemn, and holds a hand when Jaskier makes to speak. "I want to be sure of something first. Did Geralt give you a gift yet?"

Jaskier frowns, confused. He looks automatically at the leather case placed on the bed and nods.

"Then… Jaskier the Bard. I would give you a gift myself, if you would accept it." He deposits a wooden box on the table, and waits expectantly for Jaskier to speak.

Jaskier’s eyes narrow for half a second, suspicious and feeling as if something is missing, but he shrugs it away and smiles, taking the box carefully.

He opens it and shamelessly coos when he takes a little carved lute out of it. He looks back at his actual lute. "It’s a mini you."

"I made it last year, the wood comes from Brokilon."

You made it. He almost says, but it reminds him too much of a conversation he already had. "It is so pretty and precise the details are spectacular, Eskel." And he isn’t lying, it’s as if the strings were- wait-

"Those are real tiny strings!" He pulls gently on one, and the sound it makes is almost swallowed by Jaskier’s cry of hapiness.

"You like it?" Jaskier snaps his head to the witcher, and smiles, taking in the pink on his cheeks and the teeth pinching his lower lip.

He again remembers Geralt’s way of gift giving, and tags it in his mind as a witcher thing. "I accept your gift."

Eskel turns his head to the side, smiling. They spend the night talking and drinking, eventually falling asleep on the ground.

Jaskier wakes on the bed, and mourns over the fact that they already have to part ways, his bardic mission finished, and Eskel being in search of a contract.

"Jaskier." He calls when the bard turns to leave. "I’m not the only one searching for you this year." He announces then, and Jaskier grins at the prospect. "We’ll have much to tell Geralt this winter." Jaskier and Eskel share one last mischievous look and hug goodbye one last time.

When he sees Geralt waiting for him, he is as pleased as confused to see the witcher’s initial smile turn into a scowl when he sniffs the air around them.

"Eskel." He states in an obviously unhappy growl.

Jaskier frowns and huffs. "Yes. I was finally able to meet one of your brothers. Why couldn’t I? You knew we’d be fast friends!"

Geralt crosses his arms and mutters. "Yes I knew."

"Why then? Am I not..? Am I a secret to be hidden? Or a potential danger to be kept away?" The hurt must show on his features, because Geralt’s face falls. "Why don’t you trust me?"

"It’s not… It’s not. I just don’t like it."

It doesn’t make any sense, but the earnest look lightning Geralt’s eyes relaxes him. He walks beside Geralt to join Roach in the stables.

Geralt stands next to her and strokes her mane slowly. "Did he… Give you a gift?"

"Mh? Oh, yes. A little wooden lute, very well made!"

Geralt suddenly turns to him and looks him up and down, then straightens with a confusingly smug smile. "Only our dagger shows on you."

Jaskier blinks. "… And why is it..? "

Geralt merely shrugs. "Nothing."

"Geralt."

He takes the lead to the forest. "Mh?"

"Geralt."

"Mh."

"Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde!" Jaskier’s smile is wide and playful, and widens when Geralt’s eyes pop out, and his lips part.

Yes. Yes, Eskel told him about that.

"I’ll kill him." He grumbles, and yes, it is a light blush tickling his cheeks.

Chapter Text

They’re making their way up north again, the end of the year coming to slap Jaskier right in the face.

They’ll be parting sooner than later to spend the winter in their homes. Geralt at Kaer Morhen with his family, and Jaskier as a professor at Oxenfurt.

Seeing his friends, students and colleagues is always something he looks forward to... But as the time passes, he finds that even the promise of a warm home to return to isn't enough for him to part without leaving a bit of himself with his muse.

It could be fine, but when the bit is a part of his heart it poses a problem.

They’ve been doing it for years, but he can’t seem to get used to it. The dark thoughts are a bit early though, they’re not even halfway to their parting destination.

He shakes himself when Geralt pats the back of his neck, ready to go save the continent from a ferocious Griffin. Royal Griffin. Whatever. Supposedly more dangerous griffins than usual griffins.

Roach safe in the stables, Jaskier staying in town, he leaves alone in the forest with his swords, his potion bag and his silver hair floating in the wind.

When he turns his back Jaskier absentmindedly caresses the skin where the feeling of Geralt’s hand still lingers. He sights and walks back to the inn, without any scent of worn leather and horse following him.

He commands a bath to be drawn in their room and sits at the tavern, opening his mouth to ask for a drink-

"Finally, he’s gone!" A merry voice all but shouts from behind him.

Jaskier's heart nearly stops beating, and he turns around, his eyes probably comically big. "And who might you be?"

"Aiden, of the Cats." He bows, his head tilting down and to the side in a swift, careless movement.

Jaskier smirks and huffs, he relaxes his posture and wriggles his eyebrows.

"And why would you want me without my witcher around, oh secret lover of Lambert."

Aiden blinks and stills, only for a few seconds before laughing out loud, not caring one bit for the weary people around them, and falling on the chair next to him. "I heard about you by my oh so secret boyfriend. Heard that Geralt is a bit possessive as well. But you’re friendly. So let’s be friends!"

He hands over a finely crafted bag, with browns, yellows and blues. "Oh- If you would accept it!" He adds in a rush.

Jaskier huffs an incredulous laugh at the extravagant cat, but takes the bag anyway.

"I made a secret pocket in the inside, so you can hide whatever a bard hides in a secret pocket." He states proudly, and Jaskier can clearly imagine cat ears flicking on his head with excitement, just like he imagines wolf fangs peering out when Geralt grumbles.

Or a tail moving shyly at Eskel's back when he doesn't know how to take a compliment.

"It is a smart gift, Aiden, my friend." He nods while watching Aiden show him how to close the hidden part of his new bag.

The cat all but beams at him, starting a whole conversation and Jaskier thinks with delight that he found worse than him, a good person to talk to about anything, nothings and everythings.

They don’t have much time together, only an hour before Aiden jumps on his feet. "He’s coming back. See you around. Lambert will seek you out when he’ll stop freaking out." He winks at him, and proceeds to swiftly make his way and disappear from view.

Jaskier jumps on his feet as well to ask for food to be taken up to their room later and joins said room to put the diluted lavender and chamomile oil in the bath.

He just put his things down when Geralt enters, a bit sweaty but no blood apparent. Or, none that appears to be his.

A scowl forming on his face when he approaches

Not again. Jaskier rolls his eyes, his hands settling on his hips. "Your bath is all ready dear." He starts taking parts of Geralt’s armor off before he even has the chance to talk.

He ushers him in the water after Geralt did his witchery thing with his witchery hand to witcherily heat it, not hiding a smile as Geralt grunts, a sulky glare is all the protesting he does all the while Jaskier takes care of his hair and clothes.

The bard’s casual babbling is the only thing filling the room along with water sounds and Geralt’s occasional humming, up until the witcher is clothed, just putting his bags away after rearranging it.

"You smell funny…" He lets the sentence trail, looking at the ground.

Jaskier suppresses a sigh. "Yes, made a friend when you were out working."

"Who?"

"You know, only your brother’s cat."

Geralt blinks, and his mouth make an unhappy frown. "How did he know where you were?"

"Oh, he’s been following my name, then us to get me alone because you want to keep my lovely company for yourself." He points an accusing finger at him.

He expects denial, but he doesn't know what to do with what he actually gets.

Geralt’s breath audibly catches, and he looks to the side as if questioning his entire life. "… Can you change your name-?"

"Geralt!" He can’t help the chuckle nervously coming out of him. Gods help him. He lets out a very long sigh and shakes his head.

Geralt only looks at him seriously, if a bit offended.

"It wouldn’t change anything anyway. It’s only the beginning, now they know my name and my face." Geralt blanches, and takes a dramatic step back, as if striked by the information.

Jaskier doesn’t let the space widen. "Don’t be like that. I want to know the other important people of your life, Geralt."

The witcher swallows, Jaskier from where he is can hear it. Geralt smiles, although it is strained, and drapes his hands around the bard’s. "Will you come to my home with me next winter?"

Jaskier opens his mouth but is cut off. "I planned on doing it for, two years now. But I can’t wait anymore."

Wait for what, Jaskier doesn’t know, but it is everything he hoped and longed for those past winters, and he’ll follow his witcher anywhere he could want to go.

The urgent, almost pleading tone of his last words makes his heart clench, it hurts as much as it feels good. Jaskier's mind doesn't even have time for being confused, the warmth spreading in his body coming from his chest erases all thoughts.

The answer, the same he was about to say just seconds ago, comes quickly. "Of course i’ll come."

Chapter Text

The next time he meets a witcher, and is afforded a gift, it’s quick, and formal.

Geralt and Jaskier just departed this morning from the inn for the witcher to make his way up the mountain before the path to the keep closes.

He didn't feel the cold of the winter arrive up until Geralt disappeared from his vision for, he knows, months. Doesn't help that Geralt hugged him for two good minutes, making sure he had warmth to lose, and touch to mourn.

He sighs, looking in front of him but not seeing anything as he comes back into the village. He thinks of his rooms and students, his friends and months of warm rest he gets in the winter at Oxenfurt.

All of it only to realise he'd be better of sleeping outside with or without a coat as long as there's his witcher's heat to make it better.

Gods, he's already excited and impatient about next year's winter, how is he to wait? This is going to be a torture, and he is going to be unbearable, he just knows.

He sighs again, pressing his hands together and shakes himself of those thoughts. And he stills. Struck by the vison in front of him.

It is a surprise to see an unknown witcher, right when he looks up from the ground, standing there, next to his horse, just at the edge of the town.

His eyes widening when he takes in Jaskier, just like Jaskier's widen in turn.

Jaskier, mood still dampened by his wolf's departure, still manages a genuine smile at the hopeful look on this, let's be honest, handsome witcher. A quick look at the Medallion already hints his identity to him.

A Griffin at the bottom of the Wolves' Keep near winter. Jaskier dips his head to invite the other man to say whatever he obviously is wanting to say, if he can go by the expectant look on his face and the slight tiptoeing.

"Well met Jaskier the Bard." He bows his head, showing a tattoo on the side of his bald head. "Coën of the Griffins." And tucks his fist on his chest in a way that makes Jaskier straighten, with a sharp smile.

"Nice to meet you." He clumsily tries to copy whatever just happened, and is relieved to see a pleased smile on Coën's lips.

"Geralt already left for the keep." He points out then, very unhelpfully.

"I know. I heard you were in town with him." He lets go of his horse and fumbles his bags animatedly,  barely breathing while still talking.

"I meant to wait until you come to Kaer Morhen, but I cannot talk myself into being patient anymore, I hope you’ll excuse me." He didn't really looked apologetic, his body emanate restlessness with calm, in an odd but sort of endearing way.

"Oh, but you’re already excused." Jaskier grins at the polite witcher. Sounds like a knight. The Griffin Knight. He already has the inspiration for a song, and the image of the heart attack it would cause to Geralt.

The White Wolf, The Red Dragon, The Black Cat and The Griffin Knight, it sounds about right.

The witcher steps towards him and exhales deeply, his mouth now a thin line and eyes set with determination. "I made it all, from the paper to the leather holding it, the carving and the decorations it harbors." He finishes, the words singing in the bard's head.

Jaskier barely suppresses a squeak at the formality and the way Coën speaks. He doesn't even think he ever met someone looking, feeling and speaking polite as this man does.

He guesses that this must be the exact proper way of this witcher giving gift tradition, or, whatever it is called.

Now, he maybe thought to early. If no gifts are involved he'll feel embarrassed and even more embarrassed when the witcher will witcherily smell his embarrassment on him.

Thankfully, Coën holds out a smaller bag, one made for gifts, for it is held by a ribbon, with a open and sincere expression. "Jaskier the Bard, I’d gift you my friendship, if you would accept it, and return the sentiment for it to be shared." His sincerity wavering to unsure glances.

Jaskier blinks at the words, blinks again at the neutral tone used, and the traditional feeling of it all. Then a serious expression sets on his face as he smiles, taking the bag and opening it.

He keeps his reaction to himself, it involving a lot of excitement and swearing that feels highly inappropriate at the moment.

He takes the notebook in his hand, and holds it carefully. Flowers and music notes are painted on the brown leather, and a small elvish poem is carved cautiously at the back of it.

"I love this poem." He whispers, remembering how many times he read the book of this impossible love story between an elf and a human.

I met a sensible witcher, I could take him to Oxenfurt's library so we cry together over stories of heartbreak and loss.

He opens it, the pages clean and thick enough, some leaves on the corners with daisies.

And play ballads during rainy days.

He closes it then, and tries to think fast about what is to be said. "Your gift has been well thought and will be well used and cherished as I accept it and share your friendship, my friend."

And it’s done.

He only stays a few more minutes, discussing about Jaskier’s latest song, Jaskier talking about his plan for their friendship and Coën accepting with a small amused but eager smile.

Before making his way right where Geralt just left.

So he’s gone.

The winter proves to be long, dreadfully so. Even more than all the ones he’s ever had before. His classes the only times he isn't either bored out of his mind or stressed out of his wits.

And the meetings with his boss the only moments he doesn't think about Geralt, the old lady's speeches sucking his brain out of his skull on a good day.

Thankfully, spring and summer afterwards are quicker, if still too slow, even in the company of his dearest friend, and the meetings of two new friends.

Gods help him.

He’s in, deep.

Chapter Text

As fall sets, Geralt becomes agitated. And does things that are unlike him. Like staring into space, and while he does it sometimes, it usually doesn’t get him to hit his head on a tree. Or leading Roach in the bushes.

He’s been leaving a few times always for a few days. Leaving Jaskier waiting for him somewhere. Jaskier’s curiosity hasn’t been humored, Geralt mute as ever about whatever goes on in his mind.

They started to make their way north to reach the keep early, and the witcher’s behavior is still really odd. If not worse.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier asks after his friend stopped Roach to stare into space yet again.

"I’m thinking." He frowns.

"Gods save us all…" Jaskier mutters and hides a smirk at the sharp glare his witcher gives him.

"I have to go somewhere." Geralt grumbles.

"Again?" Geralt’s secret missions are really starting to frustrate him. "What is it for again?" And he does whine.

Geralt gives him a look, exasperated but kind, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Jaskier fights down his own smile that automatically tried to force it’s way on his face.

"Why don’t you tell me?" He frowns, unhappy.

"Jask…"

"You never left so much in all these years than in those past few weeks." He opens his arms dramatically. Months, even.

But that’s true! Jaskier is always the one leaving for a bardic event, never has Geralt done it before! Aside for the winter, of course. He tilts his head to the side, momentarily content with the fact that they’ll spend this winter together for the first time, but recollects himself quickly.

"Jaskier…"

"Why can’t I come with you?" He steps petulantly in front of him, pointedly ignoring the way Geralt is rolling his eyes.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt."

Geralt huffs a laugh and puts both hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. "I’ll be back in three or four days." He assures then, gold boring into blue.

And Jaskier can’t stop his frown from disappearing when fingers come and play with the hair at the back of his neck. That’s unfair. Really, what can he do but nod?

Nod and try to look away from those damn eyes- Not to the lips! Melitele help me.

For good measure, he spends his first day writing in his inn room and all evening at the tavern. He pretty much does the same the next day, and his second evening alone comes to an end.

He feels something missing, and the missing piece is suspiciously Geralt shaped.

Three words or less? He asks himself, sighing as he sits in the tavern after his last performance. He just got his drink and food when the door opens, and people gasp.

That automatically gets Jaskier’s attention, and he turns around in a noisy and ungracious movement that has some of the people around him glare at him.

"A Witcher!" He exclaims happily. "Come here, come here!" He waves at not-Geralt. The third he meets this year!

The witcher's steps echo loudly in the silent room and he stops right in front of Jaskier with a scowl. Looks even angrier than Geralt. The bard thinks, an amused smirk playing on his lips. That’s just amazing, exactly what he needed.

"I’m afraid you arrive too late to see me perform, but sit, let’s have you an ale! Have you eaten yet?" He doesn’t wait for an answer, calling for the barmaid, and gasps when he finally recognizes him from the descriptions he has of him. "You’re Lambert!"

"How the fuck do you know that?" The witcher growls his right hand twitching to one of his daggers. Geralt did say he is more likely to stab rather than talk first.

Jaskier laughs and claps his hands merrily. "Geralt said you were a rude prick, Aiden was very precise when he described your flawless figure." He wriggles his eyebrows and smiles at the light color taking on Lambert’s cheeks.

And Aiden did mention his wolf is all bark. He finally is meeting Geralt's last brother.

"You’re the bard."

"Jaskier the Bard, at your service." He bows with a wide grin.

Lambert huffs, and smirks, sitting in front of Jaskier in an eager way that makes the bard smile more gently. "I was searching for you, met Geralt on the way here but he wouldn’t say anything, the bastard."

"It seems he tries to avoid me meeting other witchers, for some reason." He shakes his head. "But, pray tell, why were you looking for me, my dear witcher?"

Lambert opens his mouth, but frowns at the barmaid putting his drink and food in front of him.

And his question is forgotten when Jaskier, being himself, bombards him with questions.

The witcher answers him with energy and Jaskier learns a few things then. Lambert is susceptible. And bitchy. And Blunt. But his eyes are kind when he doesn’t care to hide it behind anger or a crude joke.

Just like the little brother he heard about from Geralt’s endless complaining each spring, before he remenbers he doesn't want Jaskier to know that much.

Just like the stubborn lover Aiden proudly talks his ears off about when they meet. Aiden did say that it would take Lambert some time before coming up to see him.

Not that Geralt was of any help, of course.

When he says so to Lambert, he grumbles. "Geralt's a dumbass." And he lifts an eyebrow when Jaskier makes to protest.

They spend the evening and most of the next day together, Lambert disappearing by the end of the day and Jaskier ending up sited on the chair of his inn room and writing the prickly witcher’s first song.

He almost knocks all his ink on the ground when someone hits his door, hard. He turns his head just in time to see Lambert entering and closing the door behind him.

Jaskier laughs a little. “What can I do for you, Lambert?”

Lambert, for the first time Jaskier’s known him-okay, he maybe is a bit dramatic for thinking that, they’ve known each other for like a day, but he already knew of him years ago-, goes oddly silent.

Lambert is one of the few witchers he knows, and the one who always have something to say and joke or snarl about.

Jaskier has never seen or heard about Lambert looking discomforted before. Even in moments where he should have been. The bard frowns and stands up as he starts to worry.

“I know it’s not right” Lambert starts, right before the silence becomes uncomfortable. “I know it’s not the right way. But I thought to give you a gift anyway, Jaskier the Bard, if you would accept it.” He politely recites then, swiftly handing what looks like a cloak to Jaskier. Beautiful bicolor cloak.

Now, Jaskier isn't completely dull. He understood since Aiden that this is the way for witchers to make friends. He hesitates only because of what Lambert just said, and regrets it when Lambert retreats, looking down.

"Wait, Lambert-"

"No, I understand. It’s not right." Lambert says, his voice forcefully calm, and that’s probably the worst coming from him.

"No, no, Lambert, really-"

"I’ll just leave."

"For fuck's- Lambert! Stay put and listen to me!" Jaskier cries, and sighs in relief when the witcher stills and looks at him with big, surprised, innocent eyes. Witchers, really.

"I just- Why wouldn’t it be right? It’s perfectly lovely." Jaskier finally is able to say, a bit defensively.

Lambert’s face looks like it can’t decide whether to be dejected or happy. "It’s…" He takes a deep breath and grimaces. "It’s not handmade."

But before Jaskier can manage to say anything, Lambert starts to babble his stress away, averting his eyes. "I can’t create things. But potions. But you have no need of potions. And potions are not gifts anyway. My gifts aren’t usually accepted. I understand. I do."

Jaskier ponders on his words. He sits back on his chair and plays with his new notebook, watching the witcher I’m front of him, his closed eyes and fists. He tries to find the right way to talk to Lambert. To this side of him.

"Why did you choose that cloak?" He asks carefully after some time.

Lambert looks down where he hurriedly put the cloak back in it’s bag. "It’s almost winter, and last year Geralt said you’ll be at the keep. And, he said your favorite color is blue. It,… It has something to attach a lute…" He gestures at the bag weakly, and his voice follows.

Jaskier doesn’t hide his smile now. The witcher just bought him a personalized cloak for him and his lute. What can a bard do?

He stands again, and walks slowly to him. "So, you say that you brought me a warm cloak, with highlights of my favorite color and specifically asked for it to be able to carry a lute safely?"

Lambert nods, and quietly takes the cloak for Jaskier to see. He frowns when Jaskier takes it himself but stays silent when the bard inspects it thoroughly.

"It is a thoughtful, generous and beautiful gift Lambert. It’d be my pleasure to accept it." Jaskier smiles earnestly, and bites back a chuckle at the way Lambert exhales.

Jaskier wisely doesn’t fill the silence that follows with words, and merely puts on his new cloak, shaking his shoulders to take in it’s weight. "It’s even light." He muses, satisfied.

Lambert chokes out a laugh. “You're something, you.” He says finally. He stares at the cloak wrapped around Jaskier’s shoulders. “You like it?” he asks, so shy that he reminds Jaskier of Eskel. “For true?”

"Of course I do. And I’m a Bard. I don’t lie, and I take my appearance seriously. It is a cloak worthy of me." He nods along his words.

Lambert snorts and straightens. Here he is. Jaskier thinks, right when Lambert claps him on the back with his usual mischievous smirk.

"I leave in the morning, bardling."

"I’ll be here to see you off, my friend."

The morning after, Lambert leaves.

And the morning after this one, Jaskier’s space is full of a brooding white haired witcher when the latter enters his room with the bag he isn’t allowed to even touch or look at.

Jaskier rolls his eyes at the glare his new item receives. "I have a new cloak."

"Mh." Geralt crosses his arms. "He went here."

"Yes, he came here to give me his gift."

Geralt looks like he wants to complain, but his eyes linger on the cloak, and then on Jaskier, and he smiles.

"A lovely gift." Jaskier states, recognizing the look on Geralt’s face.

Geralt’s eyes find his, and he nods.

For all Geralt complains, Lambert is still his little brother.

Chapter Text

They arrive at the keep earlier than anyone else, as Geralt had wanted to make sure the trail was at it’s best for Jaskier’s poor human body.

Jaskier didn’t feel really nervous, honestly. He met all the keep’s inhabitants already, besides Vesemir, and if the man could hold those boys' temperaments, he could definitely deal with his.

He surely isn't so bad, as he puts up with their nonsense. He expects protectiveness, of course. He's a father after all. An old one at that.

With many stories. That suffice for him to disregard his other worries.

Geralt, however, hoovers awkwardly around him since they saw the old castle in the distance. He thinks it’s even worse when they step inside the gates.

Jaskier merely smiles at his antics, opening his mouth to tease when Geralt jumps at the sound of the gates closing but whatever he wanted to say gets cut off by the doors opening from the inside.

"Right. Vesemir." Geralt breathes, as if he had been holding it.

"Geralt." He approaches and takes him quickly in his arms. "Jaskier." He bows his head and places his fist on his stomach in the way Eskel did when they first met.

A Witcher Wolf thing, then.

"Vesemir, nice to meet you." He smiles, locking his eyes with the older witcher’s, not finding any other words faced with the strange fatherly expression Vesemir shows.

That face he wasn't expecting.

Vesemir frowns, something Jaskier almost misses, and arches an eyebrow to Geralt. "You ready?"

Geralt’s eyes widen and he visibly panicks, shaking his head and eyes flicking between his mentor and his bard. Vesemir sighs, Jaskier thinks he might forcefully hold himself from rolling his eyes.

The bard blinks, uncomprehending, but again, someone beats him when he makes to ask what he is missing.

"Enter before the bard freezes on our doorstep."

Geralt starts to usher Jaskier in, but the latter gasps in surprise, did he just forget about- "Roach!?"

Geralt freezes, looking back guiltily at his mare who was waiting patiently in front of the stables, and here Jaskier decides, something is definitely wrong with his witcher.

"I’ll get your friend inside, go stable your horse." He shakes his head in an unhappy way, and presses a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder blade. "Let’s get you something hot to eat."

Jaskier could act offended at being treated like a child. But he finds he doesn’t mind, especially when Vesemir’s cooking is that good.

Geralt comes back from outside a few minutes later, Jaskier barely registers his presence by his side in front of the fire as his eyes get heavier.

He wakes in a bed, to the crackling of a fire and to a weight on his middle. He blinks awake and turns to face Geralt’s big eyes, Geralt who jerks his hand away but smiles gently the moment after.

"We can have a room ready for you, but, it’s cold in the winter and the keep doesn’t have another good bed-." He speaks, fast, Jaskier’s sleepy mind almost missed all the words. But he did hear them and smirks.

"Are you asking me to stay in your room?" He asks teasingly, only regretting it afterwards, anxious he would back down on his proposal he would very much like to agree to.

Geralt frowns and gets up on his elbows, he is still frowning and staring at him when after a few seconds, he answers. "…Yes."

"Of course, I like my personal witcher heater better than any empty rooms on the continent." Jaskier turns around swiftly and stands to avoid Geralt’s possible answer over his stupid sentence.

He puts on the rest of his clothes and stands beside the door, waiting for Geralt to join, which he does. "Now, can I have a tour dear witcher mine?" He can say just about anything with an extravagant tone, and if he uses that too much, it’s no ones business but his own.

The days passe, quiet and fast, Vesemir prepares the others’ rooms, and spies openly at Jaskier, which, ah, fair enough.

He took him in the first day and thanked him for making his pups' paths easier with his songs, and for tagging along his most lonely son, but he probably waits for something worth his trust.

He wouldn't have known about Vesemir's constant presence if Geralt didn't hisse or scowl at some corners of rooms or walls, just as constantly.

Probably hearing every of each other's moves with their witchery ears. Then Vesemir would come out and scowl back. A war of eye rolls and shaking heads from them both.

It’s almost two weeks in when Vesemir stops his obvious spying…

But starts something scarier.

Way scarier.

Maybe he doesn’t hide himself as he did before. Maybe he doesn’t control himself as much as he thought he did. He wouldn’t have question it if he hadn’t caught Vesemir’s terrifying knowing frightening gaze on him when he drinks Geralt’s words or when his touches linger a bit too much.

Or, apparently, everytime he looks at him.

Not all witchers are oblivious. Maybe it's just his.

But, weirdly enough, it seems that it’s that that warms the old witcher to him. He continuously smiles at them and arches his brow to Geralt impatiently.

Geralt seems to be more and more agitated, and even looks a little defeated when Vesemir tells them Lambert, Eskel and Coën will arrive during the next day’s afternoon.

Until Vesemir slaps the back of his head, there he just scowls. Probably a father and som thing, now that he thinks about it.

Dinner is a silent affair this evening, Geralt sulking, Vesemir looking at him with a fatherly disappointed expression, and Jaskier witnessing it all and evidently being the only one here who doesn’t understand.

He pats his witcher’s leg and looks at him, questioning. Geralt’s body relaxes almost instantly, and the scowl eases. He doesn’t say anything but at least he’s eating now.

Vesemir clears his throat, getting the two younger ones' attentions. He stands to stop next to a frozen Jaskier. "Jaskier the Bard. I give you a scarf I made for you this winter, if you would accept it." He takes out the said scarf and Jaskier takes it immediately, making Vesemir huff, amused.

It doesn’t feel like an offer of friendship. It feels like…

Acceptance.

And Jaskier really can’t deal with this gracefully.

He sniffles loudly, and jumps on his feet to hug the old witcher who pats him on the back, chuckling. "Now, now, do finish your plate pup."

Jaskier sniffles once again, but nods animatedly, sitting down and smiling up to Geralt, who looks at them both in wonder.

It is going to be the best winter he ever had.

Chapter Text

True to Vesemir’s words, they arrive the next day. All of them at once. Lambert tackles him to the ground, Eskel lifts him up and tackles Lambert to the ground and Coën hugs him.

All of this happening before the eyes of a suddenly brooding Geralt and a tired Vesemir. Jaskier doesn't think about it too much at the moment, Geralt did often brood, and Vesemir did often look like he'd rather be sleepong than deal with whatever is happening.

The days after, he mostly stays with Eskel in the library, with Lambert in the courtyard or with Coën in the garden.

It didn't bother him. He likes them. But... The longer it continues, the clearer it appears. He doesn't give his time to them. His time is given to them unbeknownst to him.

Geralt during the day is nowhere to be found, and when he asks Vesemir about it, he waves it away with a huff, talking about patience and unbardic nonsense like that.

He still sees him in their room, of course, and sticks to him all night, trying to get him to stay the morning with him too. Doesn’t work. Because he has important things to do. That doesn’t involve him.

After a week of this, he can’t help but feel sad about it.

Nothing. No Geralt, no explanation. It's as if he's the only one who sees it, and the only one it bothers.

"What’s up Buttercup?" Lambert asks, having finished boasting about Aiden’s skills with throwing knives. Again.

"Do you know where Geralt is?"

"…You’re spending the winter at the same place."

"But it doesn’t feel like it." Jaskier mutters, punching the tiny snowman he just made and feeling bad about it. Ugh.

Lambert doesn’t say anything, and after a while, Jaskier looks up to see him staring into space with big lost and panicked eyes. Jaskier snorts, knowing the witcher is having a battle inside his mind because this is not the kind of talk he is comfortable with.

He arches an eyebrow, a fond look growing on his face. His smile diminishes though, and he stands up. "Never mind."

"Wait, no, fuck." He stands too. "Wanna grab a drink?"

And that’s how he finds himself with Vesemir’s good wine, Lambert, Eskel and Coën in front of the fire in the keep's hall. Of course Lambert would bring reinforcements for emotional talk.

"I like you all very much. You’re my friends but…" He lets the sentence trail. There isn't much he can say without declaring his anything that would be embarrassing.

"We’re not Geralt." Eskel finishes.

"He is my dearest friend." My dearest. He hesitates.

"You miss him." Coën helps.

Lambert puts his drink down. "He’s here though." And gets a slap from Eskel. "What!"

Jaskier huffs tiredly at his antics, then goes back to watching the res liquid moving in his cup. He sighs mournfully, and mutters, mostly to himself. "He’s barely talking to me."

The room is silent for a while, none of them even drinking, when Jaskier’s thoughts venture to disagreeable possibilities.

"Do you think he regrets bringing me here?" He whispers in dismay, the words coming out as a terrible realization, and jolts upright at the roars it creates from his witcher friends.

"No!" Lambert barks, a fist falling on the table soundly.

Coën frowns. "Don’t think that!"

"It’s really not it." Eskel shakes his head and smiles reassuringly.

He puts he cup down loudly. "Then what is it?"

"Something to be patient about." Vesemir’s gruff voice comes in, scaring the shit out of Jaskier, and even the three other witchers who apparently put all their senses into work in this conversation.

"I’ve been patient, Vesemir. I just want to spend time with him. It’s been days." Jaskier exclaims, he really had been patient. I just want him for Melitele's sake!

Vesemir’s eyes softens, and he crosses his arms for the effect. "Only a little more."

Jaskier sits back and sulks on his chair. Vesemir pats his head as he walks out with his now half emptied wine bottle. Lambert and Coën sits at each of his sides and Eskel quietly sits in front of him.

He is still sulking the next day, especially because this morning he woke up to an empty bed for the first and the last time this winter.

Lambert drags him to training to show him the tricks Aiden teached him, Eskel picks him up from the snowy ground to plop him down in the library.

When Eskel leaves, Coën asks him to teach him about his lute, and of course Jaskier accepts. After a little while, Vesemir calls him to the hall and when he makes to ignore it, as he usually does, unless it’s sounds urgent, which it never does, Coën pushes him off his sit.

So they join Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert in the hall, Jaskier now sulking and grumbling.

Then, Geralt arrives, all dressed up, crossing the room to Jaskier. "Jaskier! Can you, will you come to our room with me?"

Jaskier nods, shaking himself out of his surprise and answering Geralt’s formal proposition. Behind them Lambert starts laughing and he thinks he hears Vesemir and Eskel scolding him.

Jaskier smiles, midway to their room. "Not busy today?"

Geralt lets out a shaky laugh, and Jaskier doesn’t really know if he is supposed to be nervous as his friend is right now. "I finished working."

Geralt closes the door behind them, and ushers Jaskier to sit at the edge of the bed, before sitting next to him. He takes a little box out of his pocket, and presents it to him, blinking wildly. "It is a gift."

Oh, so he was making something for me? He thinks, a smile taking over his face. But then…

"You… You already gave me a friendship gift." Jaskier’s smile diminishes. "Didn’t you..?" He connected the dots, gifts means friendship, didn't it? That's, like literally what Coën said?

"Y-Yes I did."

Jaskier’s breath of relief is cut down by the witcher hastily adding. "This is not a friends' gift."

"What-" Jaskier blinks just as fast as his heart beats. "Geralt. Words, I need words right now." If he says something too fast and ruins the precious friendship they have he’d never forgive himself.

Geralt straightens, his mouth a thin, stressed line. "I collected the materials over the year, and made it all myself in the forges of my home with you in my mind, from the design, the carving, the melting, the modeling."

He clears his throat, his eyes flickering to Jaskier’s and his hands clenching. "It is a courtship's gift."

Courtship.

By the Gods.

Wait, did he get proposed before and didn't realize? No- Nevermind- Geralt. Geralt is proposing to him!

The world seems suddenly brighter, so much it blinds him for a second, or maybe it's his heart, pulsing so strongly it-

"Geralt-" He starts, but apparently he took too long to answer.

"-You can keep it, whatever your answer might be, marking you as, at the very least, family of the wolves." He deposits the little box on the bed, his shoulders slumping.

"Geralt." Oh no, no no.

Geralt averts his eyes completely. "Vesemir told me to explain it to you. As my family has befriended you, whatever your answer is, no consequences-"

This- "Geralt!" Loveable idiot.

"Mh." Geralt stops talking and moving altogether. He jumps when Jaskier’s hands settle on his forearms, and that’s how Jaskier definitely understands how stressed his witcher is.

“I accept your gift.” He says, breathlessly, feeling just a bit like he might pass out. “And your courtship. Whatever it is I’m meant to say, yes, yes.”

"… Really?" Jaskier gives him a pointed look. "Right, th-then." He takes the box again, a horrified look passing on his face when he almost drops it in his haste. He opens it to show Jaskier what is inside.

Geralt clears his throat and fails to fight down a dreamy smile, just like Jaskier fails not to mirror it. "Accept this Medallion as my claim over you and my giving of myself to you, if you would accept me."

A Medallion it is. The metal seems to have been melted with blue gems and gold. The wolf isn't snarling, he's howling, he's eyes are blue, sapphires carved in it.

He tries to remember the places Geralt stopped to, and it makes sense. To pick the metal, the gems, the gold, the leather and the resistant silk in which it is wrapped and held.

And probably other things he has no idea are supposed to be used to forge something. Something so beautiful. So delicate and yet robust.

The silver surrounding the wolf, and with which he wrote both their names. Gold and Blue making their course on both sides and joining at the top. Touching, mixing. It's fancy in a quiet way that matches both he and Geralt, as one.

Jaskier holds himself still, barely keeping a scream in his throat at how romantic it all is. Who could have known witcher's culture to be like that? They're a bunch of cute, romantic fools, aren't they? And one is his.

He dips his head to accept the gift, courtship gift, and smiles tearfully at Geralt.

"Is it against the rules to kiss you?" He asks impatiently.

Geralt chuckles, but blessedly shakes his head, and the bard doesn’t wait the next eclipse to kiss the love of his life.

Who he loves.

Who loves him back.

And who he will marry.

Gods damn it.

He just put his hand on his lover's waist when the door opens in a loud thunk and loud people come in. When he turns his head, he realizes the thunk was the door falling on the ground.

Lambert is the first to enter, and probably the one who broke the door. "Finally!"

"Congratulations." Eskel enters, arching a brow to the sheepish looking Lambert before giving all his attention to the new couple.

Vesemir nods when he comes too, and glares at Lambert who innocently kicks the ground. It doesn't have the desired effect, especially when his foot hits the wood of the poor door that cracks at the impact.

Coën is at the back, clapping his hands with a sweet smile.

Jaskier preens and holds Geralt tightly, when something comes to his mind.

"Only one thing."

"Anything." Geralt answers immediately, and Jaskier knows he’ll regret it.

"I want Aiden to our wedding, Letho and-"

"Aiden!" Lambert screams in delight, but then frowns at the end of the bard’s sentence. "Uh?"

"Letho?!" All the others exclaim in disbelief, while Vesemir only grunts, and Lambert stares.

"Why, I met this Viper and a Bear this year. Beran misses you, Eskel dear." He winks and all eyes turn to Eskel’s red face and wide eyes. "You invite him yourself."

"No Letho." Geralt growls.

"Letho."

"No." He pleads, hands grabbing and pulling Jaskier on his lap.

Jaskier turns to him, unimpressed. "Letho." He's perfectly fine after all, he had a good time with him when they met, the viper is a very smart person.

"Alright." He grumbles, but ultimately smiles when Jaskier does, and nuzzles at his neck, huffing at Jaskier's giggles.

"Who is Beran?" Vesemir asks Eskel in the background and Jaskier doesn’t feel guilty about it.

Because he hopes and expects that next winter, there will be three couples at the keep. It's about time the Cat is allowed, and Beran is introduced.

It was about time, he thinks again, claiming his witcher's lips, who answers hungrily. About damn time.

Now, Witchers are surprising, and ultimately so very full of humanity.

Chapter Text

He meets another witcher this winter, two weeks after the beginning of the new year. Or, the witcher meets him.

He is sitting outside of the university, huddled with three blankets and two pairs of gloves, writing a prose in the silence of the early Sunday morning, these mornings being the only ones silent as most of the student are either hungover or sleeping in.

He enjoys the sunlight even in the bitter cold, and works better in the outdoors. He can only go out like this when Geralt isn’t around to fuss, so he makes the best of it. He frowns and sniffs in confusion when he can’t see his paper clearly, his head bopping up to grumble at the offensive clouds hiding the sun when-

"Oh." A witcher!

He blinks up at him, and the witcher blinks down. Jaskier smiles, and sniffles a few times in the silent staring.

"You’re Aiden’s bard friend." The witcher states.

Jaskier nods enthusiastically. "Are you a friend of Aiden's?"

"No."

Jaskier blinks, bemused, but intrigued. He sits straighter to take in the mountain of a man in front of him, and a oh slips from his mouth again when he notices the medallion, adorned with some kind of snake, a viper, as he remembers Geralt calling one of the witcher schools.

"Well, are you a friend of a friend of Aiden's?" He asks, depositing what he had in hands in front of him.

The witcher grunts, affirmatively, or at least somewhat so Jaskier knows he was close enough. That makes him wonder if Geralt’s incessant grunting isn’t some sort of witcher grunting lesson, but can’t dwell much on it as the viper cuts through with his raspy voice.

"Here." He sniffs, and gruffly, yet precisely, throws what looks like a ring right onto the Notebook Coën gave him before the winter.

Jaskier doesn’t hold back his smile at the way the witcher tenses when he examines the, ring, yes it is.

It’s not small, it’s not big either. Delicate and fierce at the same time, with what looks to be the same snake graved into it. His smile, still on his face, gets bigger when it fits perfectly on him.

The witcher clears his throat, getting Jaskier’s attention. "The end of the viper’s tail, at the back of the ring."

The bard makes a questioning noise and touches the area. "Oh, oh Gods!" Jaskier exclaims, almost squeals, after a tiny blade pops up from the front of the equally tiny locket where the snake's tongue had been. "This is so cool!"

The witcher, big, really large and bald witcher grunts, his chest somehow bigger as he takes pride in Jaskier’s reaction. "A fine weapon in disguise, I gather a bard can’t always have a sword on him, this still can take a jugular, or an eye." He nods seriously.

"You are quite right, dear witcher friend."

"Letho."

"Oh." He says again. Because Letho is a name he knows of. "You tried to kill my wolf once."

"He tried to kill me too." Letho protests, looking far too petulant for a man of his stature.

Jaskier sighs, theatrics on point despite the cold. "Witchers." And stands in a jump with all of his belongings in his arms. "Were you just passing by? There’s been a drowner problem here."

"I was going to the sewers." Letho nods, blinking down, but not backing away from the hand patting his arm.

"Great! I'm coming with you! » He gestures to Tomaz, the guard, and let his blankets fall, putting his notebook in one of the secret pockets of his bag, next to where Eskel’s gift is, Geralt's dagger fastened on his belt.

"You want to dirty yourself, little man?" The witcher teases, with an odd quirk of his brow.

Jaskier huffs, thinking back to all to the times he fell right into a puddle of monster guts or had to take Geralt and his swords out of the mud. "Where do you think I get my hands when I travel with Geralt?"

It's the silence and the slow mischievous smirk taking over Letho’s face, that brings heat to Jaskier’s cheeks, and makes him mutter without a hint of bravado. "… Don’t answer that." The viper merely chuckles, raspy and low.

"You have a new ring." Geralt finally realizes a month after they met each other in spring.

He can’t believe his witcher sometimes.

Jaskier crosses his arms unhappily. How much longer will it take him to see his new damn haircut?

Chapter Text

Geralt is off again, for an unspecified errand that wasn’t dangerous but somehow Jaskier wasn’t invited. He left him for one day only at least, in a bigger city, and Jaskier almost went and spied on him.

However, it’s at this moment that a witcher decides to appear. A big, tanned, wide shouldered witcher with a black, brown and blue armor strides right to him with steps just as big and heavy as he appears to be, if silent.

It's almost scary.

Jaskier jumps from his seat outside the inn, blinking and straightening himself when the witcher stops, two steps from him. “Hello, dear witcher! Quite-"

“Are you Jaskier?”

“Rude.” Jaskier blurts out, with a huff, but shrugs good naturedly. “I am, Jaskier the Bard, at your humble service!”

The witcher, bear, as it appears on his medallion, fitting for his form, Jaskier thinks, and how good he looks he’d be at cuddling, not that you should cuddle an actual bear, inclines his head down to the side. “Apologies.”

He then stands tall, his right arm coming to cross over his chest and nods as he presents himself. “Beran of Maribor, School of the Bear.” His voice might be the lowest he’s ever heard yet, and a kind one to hear.

Witchers, apparently, are a handsome bunch, and have unfair genetics when it comes to hair. A bun of black thick loose curls sit on this witcher's head, and just now Jaskier realizes he might be taking to long, but the amber-brown that looks at him seem patient enough.

So, when Jaskier finally gazes up to Beran’s expectant face, he reads into the polite and firm tilt of his head towards the seat next to Jaskier’s and nods hurriedly, his knees starting to act up as soon as he himself is seated.

Beran doesn’t hurry to join him, but quickly takes something out of his pack when he is settled. “I crafted it with fabrics I was told bards usually wear. If you would accept it, alongside my friendship.” He hands a bag, closed with a brown ribbon. “If you don’t, please take the gift anyway, Eskel worries for your health.”

“Eskel?” Jaskier echoes with interest.

The bear nods firmly, one swift movement. “He met with you at the beginning of summer, and has been mumbling about a bard, the sun and weak human constitution.” He frowns deeply, the amber of his eyes darkening. “He cares a lot.”

Amber eyes shot up to his blues, his mouth thin. “Don’t make him worry.” His low voice could come as threatening, as his face, but his eyes are showing worry too. Well, there possibly still is a threat somewhere.

Jaskier’s knees take up a faster pace. “Are you his lover?”

When his question isn’t answered, he continues. “He talked about a friend the last time we met, one he was to spend the summer with.” He narrows his eyes. “Why aren’t you with him, friend of Eskel?”

It gets to the bear's pride apparently, he straightens defensively “I left him near Toussaint with Lil’ Bleater and Scorpion, and will meet him there in a day’s time.” He speaks, and after a few seconds, “He worries.” He says again.

Jaskier smiles, big and as brightly as he feels happy. The ribbon gone, he opens the bag to see, and giggles. “So you made me a hat and left him to find me to make him stop worrying." A pretty hat, seems strong and yet smooth and as light colored as his clothes. Practical but bard-friendly. Jaskier giggles again. A tiny wolf and a buttercup, are sewn on one edge. He giggles yet again.

Beran grunts.

“That’s adorable.” Jaskier says, humorous finality in his tone.

The bear’s features barely twitch.

The bard clutches the hat delicately in his hands and speaks, more fond than teasing. “Eskel is adorable.”

The bear’s mouth lifts in a small smile.

Jaskier coos, and before Beran does so much as frown, he puts on the hat. “Always a pleasure to acquire a new friend, Beran of the Bears, friend of Eskel.” He teases once more, but Beran infuriatingly does not take the bait.

“A pleasure to meet one of the people who cares for Eskel.” He answers genuinely, and ridiculously solemnly.

Jaskier might have found a twin in theatrics in Aiden, but this one might beat him in dramatics.

“Well, I care for you too, now.” Jaskier smiles, adjusting the pretty hat over his head and tucking his hair behind his ears.

Geralt didn’t notice his hair, and now it’s grown back to it’s past length. Thinking of him. “Have you seen my wolf?”

“I have not stopped walking since I came throught the forest.” Beran answers sounding distantly apologetic. “I must be on my way.” He stands, looking neutrally to the forest behind the houses where he came from. Longingly, because Jaskier is not fooled.

Jaskier stands with him, wondering suddenly how old Beran is, and smiles at another throught he has. He already is coming back to his love. They’re together. Definitly, absolutly, together together. Instead of saying it out loud, he asks. “Does Geralt know?”

Beran turns to him, a hidden glint in his eyes, he slowly shakes his head. “Eskel tells me he is dense.”

“You don’t say.” Jaskier replies dryly, irritated by his latest example of it, and still having a bad taste in his mouth for being left alone so early after being left alone already.

“Why did you never wear it before?” Geralt asks after an hour back on the path, both on land, Miss Roach resting her back.

Jaskier protectively pushes the hat further onto his head and opens his mouth but- No, I'm still mad.

“Jask.” Geralt asks after him.

Jaskier huffs.

“Jaskier.” Geralt tries again, huffing too when Jaskier petulantly turns his head away.

“Mh-Mh.”

“Want honey?” That’s fighting dirty. He looks up to honey and honey eyes, big and sweet and fond. He’s the worse.

The worse and sweetest idiot in the whole wide world.

Chapter Text

“Geralt, I told you, you told me, I know it’s not the same, I chose this knowingly. We’re already here anyway, and the invitations were sent and answered. Here I thought I would be the one freaking out.” Jaskier breathes out, amused and empathetic. 

“Still… I thought you would like human or even elf traditions better. It’s a really small thing, for witchers, Jask.”

“Geralt.” He calls him to an halt, in front of Kaer Morhen's doors. “Anything that comes from you will always be more than enough. You and your witchery self, are both things that I accept and that I love.”

When Geralt relaxes, he adds. “You know what, there might be a thing.” He tenses again. “There isn’t any vows to write, so I won’t be able to talk anyone’s ears off about you for a whole candle mark.” His witcher huffs, relaxing again, and leaning into Jaskier’s hands which come up to his cheeks. “This is going to be perfect.”

“Finally, pups.” Vesemir greets them, when they close the doors behind them. The old wolf smiles and hugs them both before taking a paper out of his pocket. “So I brought enough food for, ten people. Right?”

“Yes, that would be it.” Jaskier nods vehemently.

“Ten?” Geralt asks.

“Oh, well. There’s us, Vesemir, Your brothers. Lambert’s Cat, Coën and Letho that you know of. I know that sadly your friend Regis couldn’t come, but he’s agreed to meet at the beginning of summer. Then we’ll have to join Priscilla and Essi at Toussaint by the end of it.” Jaskier starts, and ends there.

Before his dense lover or the clever old wolf starts questioning him about two missing names, even if Vesemir already knows one of them, he picks up his bags and makes for the stairs.

His blood is moving so fast into his body it’s like he’ll combust. Gods help him, he’s getting tied up with the love of his life in a few weeks.

“Coën is out hunting!” Vesemir calls.

“Coën is already here?” Geralt calls back, surprise making him pause in the middle of the stairs.

“Hunting?” He thought he just said they have enough food.

“He’s helping me organize everything.” Vesemir walks down them, suddenly narrowing his eyes. “I don’t want any of you two near my kitchen, or near my papers.”

Geralt huffs a smile, glancing up at Jaskier who’s a little higher. “Alright Ves. Alright.”

“Don’t think you can skip training, Wolf.” Vesemir pushes, and Jaskier smiles at the back, before remembering why he feels nervous.

“I know.”

“What do you mean, hunting?” Jaskier asks again, starting to actually panick. Here he thought his wolf was the one freaking out.

“He is hunting for decorations, Jask. I told you about this.” Geralt arches an amused brow, and yes, the tables have turned.

“You told me they would pick things up in the forest, Geralt.”

“Exactly.”  Witchers, really.

Vesemir grunts. “Get settled, pups. Only a few days of calm before they start to arrive.”

“You really need to fill me in with what’s going to happen.” Jaskier presses, sitting on the bed as Geralt puts their bags down.

“I really don’t.”

“Geralt!”

His witcher sighs, a find kind of ridiculous smile making his eyes beautifully glow. “You won’t be able to sleep at night, Jask.” He then meets him, standing in front of him and caressing his cheeks, tugging on them not to let his bard’s mouth pout.

“But what if-"

“All is done by them.” He leans, a kiss to Jaskier’s mouth. “It is our winter, Jask. We can be without a worry.” Another, more tender one, before he lays them both and wraps him in his arms.

Jaskier hums contentedly, burrowing in the warmth of his lover.

“Okay.” He guesses he'll watch as his friends make their winter the best of their lives, well taken care of in their hands and hearts.

He can hardly think of any other people he'd trust more with such an important event.

“Love you.” He whispers, feeling his body become heavier.

The arms around him tighten, and he doesn’t hear the words whispered back to him but he is sure, they were 'I love you too'.

ㅡ~~~~~ㅡ~~~~~ㅡ

The firsts to arrive, are Eskel and Beran.

Jaskier is waiting for Geralt in the hall when he sees Vesemir coming and standing besides the doors, as if waiting for a runaway to come home, tail between his legs.

Vesemir wasn't quite happy, to be outplayed by one of his boys, to be honest. More mad about the fact that this is the only thing he didn't see coming. Good Eskel being in a secret relationship with a witcher from a school that's supposed to be extinct? And no talking to him about it? Gods forbid.

"Eskel." Vesemir greets, thumping his back in a sideway embrace.

Beran waits, and when Eskel steps away, he presents himself much like he did for Jaskier. "Beran of Maribor, School of the Bear."

"Aren't you a little too old?" From where he is, he can see Vesemir's nose crunching when he questions.

Eskel exclaims in confusion. "I'm eighty one!"

"He is a hundred and twelve." How he knows that though, Jaskier isn’t sure. Surely, Old Witchers don’t do tea gossip together when the young ones brave the world. Surely.

"Vesemir." Eskel hisses.

"I'm twenty seven." Jaskier blandly states. Geralt is eighty one too.

"Jaskier!" Eskel greets with a friendly smile, leaving the two other witchers to hug him.

"I saw-" Geralt arrives at the same moment. "Who's that?"

The open smugness on Eskel's face is rare enough to be immediately noticed. "Beran of Maribor. My own." He presents his own beloved.

“You-" Geralt’s eyes bulge when he turns to Vesemir. “You didn’t tell me!”

“I didn’t know before last winter.” The old wolf grits behind his teeth.

“Ber, come, let’s get settled. I’ll show you to the Springs later.” Eskel takes the opportunity to escape, and it mostly works. Beran of course follows Eskel, after polite nods sent each of their ways.

“No sex in the Springs!” Vesemir calls back to them, and he smirks, so Jaskier thinks Eskel might have groaned.

“You knew.” Geralt states with a small frown of his mouth, coming to encircle Jaskier’s waist with his arms.

“Yes.” And he thinks of something. “He’s the one who made me the hat.”

His wolf pauses. “You mean, last summer?”

“Yes, darling wolf. I did say his name quite few times since.”

“I was busy.”

“With what?” Jaskier asks, amused.

“Looking at your lips.” Geralt answers, looking down at Jaskier’s face.

Vesemir audibly sighs. “No sex in communal spaces.”

Jaskier giggles. Perhaps, once a certain guest arrives, he’ll think back on it.

“Who,” Coën starts, running from the stairs. “Is the man who just entered Eskel’s room?”

“His lover.” Vesemir mumbles into his moustache, still unhappy of being unaware.

“His name is Beran. A Bear Witcher. Very calm, kind and solemn, quite sweet when Eskel is mentioned, you’ll like him.” Completely smitten. Jaskier nods, and Coën gasps.

“A Bear.” He chuckles. “Only a Wolf, really. A Bard, A Bear, A Cat.” Cats, Jaskier thinks, and shakes his head with a smile.

“You think you’re better, with that sorceress of yours?” Geralt asks playfully, and Coën politely tells him off.

“I have never seen you smile so much, Geralt. Married life is going to look good on you.” Coën thumps Geralt’s back. “Love changes a man. You all seem to be doing much better. I am glad for it, my friend.”

His wolf looks down, smiling and reaching for Jaskier’s hand with his own.

The two others to arrive, come in three days later.

The only thing that had time to happen are mysterious conversations between Beran and Vesemir, and a good amount of history books resurfacing, while Coën lurks in a corner. Now that Jaskier thinks of it, Vesemir, Eskel, Beran and Coën are quite scholarly inclined.

Oh, and Eskel once going out to Scorpion, armor on, grumbling about the stubbornness of bears, and Beran coming right up after him, armored as well, something about not going hunting alone, as the witchers heard a monster a little too close to be left.

Lambert and Aiden, those he hears coming, as loud as they can be, Aiden's laughter and Lambert's snark resonate throught the courtyard. Jaskier goes down to meet them, and quickens his pace when he hears Lambert exclaim a very clear "Who the fuck!"

"Lambert!" He calls. "Aiden!" And calls again.

“Oh that fucking goat!” He hears a bleat.

“Lil' Bleater.” A chastisement, from a very deep voice. Oh, right, they met Beran!

Jaskier so wants to see it, he runs faster than he’s done before.

“You!” Lambert exclaims, in outright shock, and the bard arrives just in time to see his outraged expression. “This bitch!”

Behind him, Aiden slowly dies of laughter into the snow, and in front of them, Beran frowns defensively, sitting and petting Lil' Bleater like she’s a house cat.

“She bites my ass all the fucking time this, this fiend!” He starts but then comes short. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Lambert, by nice!” Eskel calls from a window upstairs, and then proceeds to- jump.

“Eskel!” Jaskier exclaims.

But Eskel lands perfectly on his two feet, the only damage made is on Beran, who sighs deeply with a hand over his heart, clutching their little goat with one arm. “Don't be a prick, Lamb.”

“Show off.” Lambert huffs. “Who's that?” He asks again.

Beran stands up, a hand coming right between Eskel’s shoulder blades and loosely checking him over. Lambert blinks a few time, disbelieving. That’s fun. Oh that’s fun.

“Beran of the Bears.” He presents himself, in the same fashion he’s seen him do before.

Lambert’s mouth opens and closes, while Aiden seems interested by the turn of event.

"Damn, Eskel." Lambert makes a lewd gesture once he recovers. “That a big one.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Did he tell you about the succu-"

“Oh Gods, Lambert.” Eskel groans.

“Succubus?” Aiden enquires. “You told me that one.”

“Lambert!” Eskel shouts.

Lambert smirks, and then Jaskier has to search the reason why it’s suddenly off his face, but then he’s flying a few yards across the courtyard. What’s that one called already? He saw Geralt use that sign a few times before. Where is his wolf by the way?

“Fucking show off!” Lambert yells from wherever he ended up.

“I know that succubus story.” Jaskier says when the prickly wolf paddles over to them, and said wolf stops short at Eskel’s glare. “I didn’t tell hi-!" He tries but it’s of little use as he once again is thrown away.

“You’re the one who told me.” Jaskier states to Eskel, amused, and even more amused at the glint in the Good Wolf's eyes. 

“And here he told me you were the good son.” Aiden jokes.

Eskel snort, then looks the newcomer over for a hot minute. “Finally meeting you, cat. He thought he was subtle.”

The Cat clears his throat, and looks somewhat uncomfortable with the attention. “I'm not the bad kind.”

“I know. If you were, he never would have been able to find you after that first year. ” He smiles, before continuing. “I was able to retrace your first meeting at an ogre contract at the time.”

“Oh.”

“Eskel, by the Gods.” Jaskier chukles, morphing into a smile at the admiring look Beran appraises his lover with.

“You fucker.” A grumble comes, from a red faced Lambert, who avoids his brother’s eyes. “Get in that damn ruin, or whatever.” He grabs a smiling Aiden by the wrist and makes to the door that Jaskier forgot to close.

“We don’t light a fire for the bugs, bard, close the doors.” Vesemirs reminds him right as he thinks it.

“Oh, so that’s the Cat.” Geralt snorts at Lambert’s embarrassed glare. “Little Lamb, you can't hide a thing to save your life.”

“Don't call me that!”

“Am I to believe, that you actually brought your lover this time?” Coën smiles, pleased. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Coën, of the Griffins.”

Aiden blinks and straightens. Yes, Coën has that effect, Jaskier remembers. “Aiden of the Cats. Pleasure. To meet you, as well.”

“Close the damn doors.” Vesemir orders, looking pointedly at the two blocking the way, and the bard who stopped by to listen in.

“Getting sensitive in your old age?” Lambert grins.

“We have a human in the keep.” Vesemir reprimands, and with a huff he adds. “Cats have different mutagens. Do you want him to freeze?”

Lambert’s grin doesn’t falter, and next to him, Aiden groans. “He’d just have to stay close.” The red wolf drawls.

Vesemir looks very unimpressed. “I say it again, no sex in communal spaces.”

The old wolf spares a glance at Aiden, nods once and turns away. “Now that you all, mostly, are here, we can distribute the tasks.” Vesemir points to the table. “Beran, Aiden, I heard about your skills. We need a tablecloth.” He looks at Eskel and Coën. “Coën's already done the hunting, you know what to do.” He glances at Lambert. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He allows. “I am done with my own task, so will be able to supervise training in the mornings.”

“It's a wedding winter!” Lambert complains, and Eskel shrugs.

“Even when you wedd, you train. So you both know for future references.”

Lambert growls out a strained sound as Aiden’s eyes pop out of his skull, and Beran watches with a smile his own wolf’s cheeks redden.

“Don’t we have anything to do?” Jaskier asks. Well, Geralt didn’t say anything about doing something but he didn’t say anything about not doing something either.

“No.” Lambert snaps.

Vesemir turns to him. “Of course not.”

“It’s your winter.” Eskel smiles at them, lingering on his brother’s face. “It’s all yours.”

“Yeah.” Geralt whispers, a smile on his face as well.

After that day, they all seem to work hard on each of their tasks, Jaskier seeing them train in the morning, spending the rest of his days with his, oh Gods, soon to be husband, and enjoying everyone’s company at dinner in the evenings.

It seems his friends all appreciate each other, in their own ways. Lambert took Beran fishing once, for dinner, and probably won’t again when the bear fishes him out of the river and into the keep after he jumped into the frozen water, right into the cat’s grumbling arms. Aiden found that this bear makes a very cool, unbothered tree, to liberally climb on and hide behind when he and Lambert bicker.

Aiden found, as well, mutual interests with Eskel, in their love of farming, of all things. Eskel loves goats, and Aiden really likes chickens. Enter Geralt, in some of their conversations, he’d place Roach wherever he can, and any horses in this wide world, really. It’s so adorable, Jaskier could listen to him talking about horses all day long.

As Jaskier predicted, Beran and Coën have a good understanding of one another, and it’s books, and history, that’s slowly tying them to friendship. Coën is a little reserved still, with Aiden’s very outgoing personality. Geralt is still on the protective side of his relationship with Eskel, when it comes to Beran. He’ll come around.

And Vesemir just does the same as Jaskier does. He watches, and listens. Only Jaskier jumps into conversations when it interests him, Vesemir keeps to himself.

The next to arrive, late, as was predicted, is Letho of Gulet. Almost three weeks after Lambert and Aiden.

Now, Jaskier understood pretty early that Geralt and him have this kind of love-hate frenemy relationship going on, and seeing the man, it's understandable.

But Jaskier truly loves Letho's calm sassyness.

When the Viper arrives, it's two mere days before the day, and out of everyone, it's the only witcher that's bigger than him who greets him at the door.

Of course, Beran was searching for Eskel, and now Jaskier runs in the Bear glaring at Letho for being an hindrance, and the whole Kaer Morhen turning right up like old ladies in need of gossip. The bear today really do look like one, with his long black locks wilding with the wind. And good Gods, if looks could kill. 

"Really?" Lambert complains.

"Ber?" Eskel asks, and Beran walks to him, his attention diverted.

"I found Lil' Bleater's collar." He informs and his shoulders seem to melt at Eskel's grateful smile. Oh yes, the little goat lost it after wandering in the forest the day before.

"Viper, Kaer Morhen, Letho, door, knock-knock, back to the subject." Lambert deadpans.

"Letho. I thought you'd be with Gaetan." Aiden looks surprised, and Lambert grumbles. Jaskier knows Aiden and Letho are acquaintances through one of Aiden’s brothers.

"The alley cat wants to stay in the alley, so he's not coming." Letho sighs, a gruff sigh of exasperation.

"Letho." Geralt greets.

"We'll have an eye on you." Vesemir warns at the same time.

"I'll behave I promise." Letho says with a smirk, that behind his other friends' backs, he mirrors.

"Letho!" He comes up to him.

“Little man.” He roughly ruffles his hair.

Jaskier very gracefully do not stumble. “You’re late.” He teases.

Letho snorts, walking through the doors. “That damn alley cat has strong claws.”

The bard laughs, showing the viper to the room he’ll be staying in. “Don’t worry, Next to you is Coën, his lover isn’t with him.”

Letho pauses, and glances at him dryly. “How thoughtful of you.”

“That’s all me, my friend.” He leaves to another sharp snort.

The day that follows, Lambert and Letho snark so much it’s like they actually want to dare the other to come at him. However, Geralt shrugs it off, and pretty much everyone else in the keep so they probably wouldn’t.

Probably.

The Day comes, finally. Feels to Jaskier like he waited a lifetime and only a day at the same time. His eyes open in the early morning, or maybe very late night, and are dry like he never slept at all. The first thing Geralt does is chuckling at his heart rabbiting probably really loudly, and his feet moving impatiently under the covers.

“Patience, Bard. We have the morning to ourselves yet.” His witcher’s voice rumbles through the slightly cold air as his arms trap Jaskier within his warmth.

The calm morning spent in bed, only interrupted by a cheerful Coën bringing them their breakfast, does a lot to relaxe Jaskier’s tension. What helps too is his lack of witcher hearing capabilities, while Geralt tilts his head every now and then, Jaskier basks in a very rare appreciated silence.

The day pass and it is of the same fashion. The whole day is meant to be for them to have full peace and rest, something very rare for them, so it made it into their wedding traditions. They can do whatever they want in their room as the hall is prepared, and everything is taken care of for them.

Jaskier feels his mind wrecking, just a little bit, when The Hour arrives. It is to be quick, for a tradition, and the rest of the night is meant to be celebrating. It’s two steps, and Jaskier’s brain still try and find dozens of ways it could go wrong, even showing him images on Lambert choking on his food which, isn’t even out of the ordinary.

He and Geralt dress, and Jaskier has to breath deeply when Geralt takes out his best clothes, and helps Jaskier into his, arranging many times their medallions, as if they'll somehow vanish.

Then, his witcher takes his hand, and someone knocks on the door. They check each other, their breathing deep and quick at the same time, before opening.

Vesemir releases a long sigh, his eyes sparkling as he looks them over. He doesn’t say anything, just leads them through hallways and stairs.

The first thing he notices of course, is their friends, all in their finest pieces of clothing.

The other, is the light.

The hall is lighted with multiple fires. And in all places stands, small to big figurines made of what Jaskier recognizes as different kinds of woods, and perhaps bones. Dried flowers and bushes. Jaskier’s mouth opens and wobbles very unattractively. Coën and Eskel do have a great hand, in carvings and decorations.

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier moans in despair, and almost sniffs when his witcher only answers with a quick, wet little laugh.

“Hey!” Aiden calls their attention. “See, see.” He gestures proudly to the table, placed in the very center of the room, grabbing at Beran’s shirt. The table is covered by a blue and white table cloth, with the emblem of all their schools and buttercups embroidered into it. 

“Thank you.” Geralt rasps, next to him, and tightens the grip he has on Jaskier’s hand.

“Oh, pup.” Vesemir shakes his head, a warm smile on his face as he approaches, shoulders setting, in a kind and formal way. “Here they are.” He whispers, handing Geralt two pouches.

His witcher laughs again, blinking fast and turns to Jaskier.

“Oh, fuck it’s now-" Lambert trips to make it to the others who have stopped near them, with Vesemir.

“Lambert-" Aiden hisses.

Eskel frowns at them both. “Hush.”

Geralt chuckles and Jaskier redirects his gaze in time to see him open one of those sturdy pouches to two round objects. The bard’s breath catches. It’s happening, it’s happening.

“Vesemir made those with steal, to attach at the back of our medallions. Mine has your name written on it. Any witcher who find it will know, and any witcher who follows our traditions, will return it.” Geralt explains, as he takes one of them into his hands, and carress the name on the inside. He clears his throat, and looks up to Jaskier’s eyes. “May I complete your medallion?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath and holds back a sniffle. “You may.” He whispers shallowly. His heart must be heard by all witchers in the room, especially when he hears the sound of that last piece of his medallion being clipped. “May I yours?”.

“Of course.” Geralt blurts that sentence before Jaskier even has the time to fully asks, and the bard returns the act with trembling hands. When finished, Geralt take his fingers and kisses his knuckles, with a smiles and eyes bright like Jaskier have never seen before.

“Welcome, Jaskier the Bard.” Vesemir quietly says, and Jaskier just has the time to see his watery eyes before the old wolf turns back to the kitchen, Eskel in tow.

“Food!” Lambert exclaims, his voice coming as an odd rasp.

“Congratulation.” Coën talks walking with them to the table.

“I wish you the best.” Beran completes.

“You look so good together.” Aiden runs his reddish eyes, and sits beside his wolf.

“Never thought you’d complete your medallion first.” Letho pinches his lips together, and smirks when Geralt rolls his eyes.

When Vesemir and Eskel come back with the food everyone goes back to merry banter. Vesemir outdid himself, and Eskel reveals to be a good cook as well.  Letho and Lambert and Aiden destroy the bread.

“What kind of beast are you?” Lambert’s tone his bland, and his word barely comprehensible with his mouth full, when Letho puts the last two buns of bread in his mouth.

“Puppy, you do the same when I buy you peanuts.”

“Want another serving, Ber?” Eskel asks a little farther. “I'm going to get one for myself-"

Beran stands up with both his and Eskel’s plate, coming back with them filled, pausing only to press his forehead to his lover's and silently goes back to eating.

“I have never been well versed, in terms of cooking. Triss never allows me to even boil potatoes.” Coën admits to Vesemir.

“I could teach you a thing or two.” He proposes.

“It’d come as a good surprise for her.” Coën seems pleased.

Jaskier takes a bite of his own food, squeezing Geralt's hand below the table. Geralt squeezes back. For a few moments, the agitation at the table seems to blurr in Jaskier’s mind, as his and Geralt’s eyes lock together, and they smile. The bard chuckles as he accepts the piece of potato his witcher feeds him, and sighs constantly when Geralt accepts his.

He leans into his witcher’s warmth and they both finish their plates, concentrated on themselves only for the time being, their friends, family, occupied with each other. The noises return fully to Jaskier’s ears when Vesemir, Eskel and Beran stand to clean the empty plates.

Geralt’s hand still in his, he brings it to his cheek, still feeling like floating, his wolf’s heavy and slow breathing accompanying him.

“Hey! Hurry up old men, I didn’t just sit my ass down this past week!” Lambert chooses this moment, on purpose, Jaskier assumes, and laughs.

“I helped.” Letho raises a hand.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lambert waves him off, starting to trot to the doors, Aiden too. “Come on, big guy and bigger guy.” He turns to Letho, and then to Beran. “You’re the ones throwing them.”

Geralt looks at Vesemir with narrowed eyes but the old wolf nods. So his wolf pulls gently on his hand and they join the others outside. He let’s Geralt lead him in the darkness of a winter’s night, and it’s cold, but he's never felt so warm before.

“Careful, boys.” Vesemir warns, staying alone in one side.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lambert dismisses again while lighting something. “Now!” Beran and Letho jump up, and throw round, lighted things high in the sky and-

It explodes. “Geralt, look!” Jaskier shakes his arm. Colors. Light everywhere. “It’s beautiful. Geralt.” Others are thrown, in seemingly calculated intervals of time, and the bard gasps, leaning into the arms encircling him. He hears Lambert’s delighted laughter in between the explosion noises and can’t help but join.

When it’s dark again, Vesemir lights the fireplace of the courtyard. Jaskier smiles brightly at Beran coming back to Eskel, and Aiden waiting for his wolf with fond eyes. Coën claps his hands with a wistful look, and Letho laughs, roughly shaking dirt off his hands, talking about an alley cat who wouldn’t have liked it.

He looks around the distracted witchers, and praises himself for what he sees, before them all.

"My last guest is a little late." Jaskier almost complains, but this guest did warn him he would be.

"Don't be too hard on my old bones, bard." A new voice says just at this moment and Jaskier takes the time to bask in the absolute perfect timing of his arrival.

Most of his friends don't have any visible reactions, or rather the apparent lack of is a reaction in itself. Geralt hums in understanding, beside him, squeezing him, and arching a brow that asks for the story behind it when Jaskier lifts his head to watch him.

His gaze passes all of them.

But it's Vesemir, he's wanting to see.

The old wolf steps forward, his eyes slightly bigger. "Guxart." He whispers, and the old cat steps towards him, with a smile that makes him want to write a lovely ballad of love and time.

"Vesemir." He greets. "Your new pup brought me back, I'm afraid."

Vesemir clears his throat. "There is venison, and vegetables. They ate all the bread."

"You know what they say." Guxart says, not trying to be quiet, only Jaskier here wouldn't be able to hear if he tried anyway. "Don't feed a Cat, it will come back." He jokes, but his eyes are searching.

Something in the atmosphere shifts, between the younger wolves glances are exchanged. It's a them thing, is what Jaskier understands. A sentence they heard more than once, he guesses. He so wants to cry right now.

"Come to the table, Guxart." Vesemir says at last, settling a leading hand on Guxart's arm.

Guxart follows.

“Jask, don’t cry.” Geralt lifts his hand to Jaskier’s cheek, turning him around.

“It’s the best day of my life, love. I love you so much.” Jaskier sobs with a chuckle. “I love you all so much.” And sniffles into his husband’s clothes, as he hugs him as tightly as he can.

“I love you too Jask.” A kiss to the top of his head. “We all do.”