Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Later, Jaskier would curse how lenient he had grown in the months since he had initially run away. He truly hadn't thought it would be an issue if he wandered into a town just a hair too close to his father's lands. There had been a local fair, and he’d wanted to seize the opportunity to earn some extra coin – maybe learn some new songs, find a pretty woman or handsome man’s bed to share for the night.

He only recognized his folly when he awoke rather abruptly from a sound sleep to find the woman he’d bedded gone and a contingent of de Lettenhove guards in her place. Naturally he fought, but he was no match for several men in armor with weapons. In due time, Jaskier was literally being dragged into his hated household home and dropped before his parents.

"As you wished, my Lord," one of the men said. Jaskier didn't recognize him, not that it would have mattered if he did. These men were in his father’s employ, and didn’t really care about anything else.

"Leave us," Earl de Lettenhove said coldly. He stared down at his son with a blank expression which was almost more frightening than rage. Not for the first time, Jaskier found himself pulling uselessly at his bonds. But he couldn't get free. His arms and hands were tied too tightly. He tried to speak, but the gag that had been shoved into his mouth was too large and too solid. He couldn't do anything but grunt weakly.

The guards left, taking the air in the room with them. Jaskier's throat felt dry. He had never wanted this moment to happen. And now that it was, he didn't know what to think or say. He had not seriously thought about his parents in weeks. Time had not changed his father. Earl de Lettenhove looked no kinder nor more understanding than he had the night that Jaskier had finally had enough and fled.

"Are we ready then? Time is short." Near the fireplace, Countess de Lettenhove finally stood. Her gown rustled around her as she moved. She looked across the room at her husband, eyes skating over her captive son like he wasn't there.

"Yes. Bring in Gael," Earl de Lettenhove said.

Gael? Jaskier's mind raced, trying to place the name, but it meant nothing. He could think of no one in his parent’s employ by that name. But Countess de Lettenhove seemed to know exactly who the earl was referrign to; she walked across the room, stepping around her son's body, and left.

Earl de Lettenhove knelt, gripping Jaskier's chin and forcing his head up at a painful angle so their eyes met. "We've finally found a use for you, boy," he said softly. His fingers dug into Jaskier's flesh, no doubt leaving behind bruises.

All Jaskier could do was grunt angrily in response even as he thought a myriad of unkind things that would have surely had him whipped or worse f his father possessed the ability to read minds. He wished he could speak, or spit, or lash out, or do anything other than lay here helplessly. His arms burned when he jerked against his bounds, ropes rubbing his skin raw.

Countess de Lettenhove returned, bearing with her a man in heavy robes that shielded his face. Jaskier couldn't help a muffled, startled exclamation when the man - Gael, presumably - waved a hand in his direction. Jaskier's body rose with the motion of that hand, rising effortlessly into the air. Gael twitched two fingers and Jaskier's body flew over to the floor before the fireplace. He grunted in pain as his body was dropped from about two feet of height, hitting the floor hard enough to take his breath away.

Gael approached.

Jaskier badly wanted to run, but he couldn't. Even if he’d somehow managed to get his bounds untied, his body suddenly felt heavy - impossibly heavy. As though someone had weighted him down with stones. He couldn’t even muster the strength to sit up.

"He'll do nicely. His body is unmarked by magic," Gael said. His voice was rough, deep, and full of anticipation. A chill ran down Jaskier's spine and, though he couldn't have said why, he looked to his parents.

Earl de Lettenhove was smiling with the same anticipation.

As for Countess de Lettenhove... Her eyes, the same eyes that Jaskier saw every time he looked into water, were cold. Her mouth was set into a thin line. She watched as dispassionately as though she was watching a butcher handle a dead fowl.

Jaskier had already known that his parents wouldn’t help him, but somehow it still hurt.

Gael waved his hand again and suddenly, Jaskier's clothes were gone. He was naked as the day he was born. When he looked up again, he saw that Gael held a knife.

Where had the knife come from?

Jaskier didn't know. But that was all his panicked thoughts could focus on as the knife bit deeply into his flesh.

He screamed. He screamed a lot, until his throat wouldn't allow him to scream anymore, and still the knife continued. Gael was slow and methodical. Every slash of the knife was followed by a potion that glowed an eerie blue in the firelight. The potion was poured into every cut, and each time it burned like someone had dropped a coal on him instead.

For a moment Gael stopped, and Jaskier dared to hope it was over – but then his body was flipped over. He drooled and wept into the rug as the same process was repeated across his back. No place was spare. His shoulders, neck, arms, all up and down his back, his buttocks, thighs, legs, and feet. For every cut that had been made on the front, another was made on his back followed by that damnable potion.

By the time it was over, hundreds of small cuts had been made all over Jaskier's body and he wanted to die. But he did not die, not even when Gael flipped him back over. Gael knelt over his face, made one last knife cut across his forehead, and then poured the remainder of the potion all over Jaskier's face.

It burned.

Jaskier’s voice had given out, but his mouth opened anyway in a soundless scream. Some of the potion crept in around the rags and went down his throat.

His body went limp.

"It is done," Gael announced.

Something changed. It took Jaskier a long time to realize that it was the ropes binding his arms and legs: they had somehow vanished. He tried to lunge upwards, to run, but his body refused to obey his orders.

"Sit up," Earl de Lettenhove commanded.

Jaskier's body obediently sat up.

"Stand," Earl de Lettenhove said, sounding delighted, and Jaskier's body stood.

Inside his mind, voiceless, Jaskier yelled as loud and as hard as he could. A flurry of curses towards both his parents, damning the both of them in every creative way that he could think of. But not a sound escaped his body's lips, and this time it had nothing to do with his throat.

The de Lettenhoves smiled.

Three days later, the Earl and Countess de Lettenhove, their four children, and several other guards and household members made the journey to the King’s castle. Jaskier's body sat in stony silence, not reacting to anything, while the remainder of his family laughed and spoke with each other as though nothing was wrong.

Trapped inside his mind, Jaskier was also reduced to silence. He had screamed, he'd cried, he'd raged, and nothing had made a difference. Gael's hold on his body was far too strong. There was nothing he could do but watch and wait to see what their plan was. It was absolutely infuriating, and he wanted nothing more than to retaliate, but he was literally a prisoner inside his own body. He watched dully as his body left the carriage, formally greeted the king, went to their rooms, dressed for dinner, attended the dinner, and retired for the night.

He watched as they all rose the next morning.

He watched as they attended court for the day.

He watched as that night, his body got up, retrieved a knife, and crept out the door.

He was going to die.

The thought settled over him with a kind of heavy calm as his body walked through the castle. He did not know where his body was going, or even what he was supposed to be doing, until his body reached a door. The door swung open as though by magic - well, who was Jaskier kidding? It was absolutely magic. Gael had to be somewhere nearby, though Jaskier couldn't even control his head enough to turn to see if that was true.

Inside the room was a bed, and inside that bed was a man.

Jaskier's body stepped towards the bed, knife held aloft.

No.

Jaskier slammed up against the boundaries, trying as hard as he could to just move his fingers. To open his fingers and let the knife fall to the floor. But his hand would not respond to his commands, and his feet kept moving. His body crept closer to the bed.

Who was in that bed?

He didn't know.

It didn't matter.

No matter who it, he didn't want to kill someone.

He didn't want to be a murderer.

With everything that he had left, Jaskier screamed.

"Stop."

The voice came from behind him; there was a sudden, great force and then Jaskier's body was sent flying across the room. He hit the wall and then fell to the floor. Caught off guard by the pain, Jaskier fell quiet and stunned. His body lay on the ground without moving. Through his body's half-open eyes, Jaskier saw a woman. She was tall and hauntingly beautiful, with long, dark hair, and she looked furious.

From the bed came a tall, big man with hair as pale as the moonlight flowing in through the window. His expression was blank, but there was a familiar glitter of anger in his eyes too. Both the man and the woman moved towards his body.

So this was how he would die.

"I have to admit, I expected a better attempt than this," said the woman, standing over Jaskier's body.

The man behind her grunted.

The woman seemed to take this as acknowledgment of her statement because she smiled. Jaskier felt ill when he saw the way her hands glittered with violet magic. Inside his mind, he began to cry for the unfairness of it all. The woman began to kneel down towards him, then paused.

"What is it?" the man said. His voice was deep.

For a few seconds the woman remained silent. Her eyes were locked onto Jaskier's body. Then she reached down suddenly and pulled his sleeve up. She hissed under her breath when she saw the state of his arms: the numerous cuts, all of which still glowed faintly with the effect of the blue portion.

"This is not what I thought at all," she said, and then she reached for Jaskier's head. The moment her hand touched his forehead, Jaskier knew no more.

Chapter Text

Jaskier woke - and could move.

He lurched upright with a gasp, then flinched as pain radiated out across his body from seemingly every inch of him. In particular, rising above the dull hum of all the other pain, his throat burned with a fierceness that left him breathless. He grasped at his neck with a trembling hand.

"Ah, don't try to speak. You did a lot of damage to your throat, and that was without the effect that magic had on you. If you press yourself too hard, you'll do permanent damage." A woman with dark skin and a kind smile appeared beside the bed, laying a gently restraining hand on his arm. "Here, sip this. Carefully now. Too much and you'll choke."

She brought a cup to his lips. Even though it was painful to swallow, Jaskier drank automatically. He tasted water flavored with some kind of herbs, and it was only once he had swallowed the first few mouthfuls that he realized that the offering could've been poisoned. By then it was too late, and, before he knew it, he had finished the entire cup. It was the best thing that he had ever tasted, if not just because he could actually control his body enough to consume it.

"There now. That's better," the woman said comfortingly. She was not the woman from before, the one who had stopped Jaskier's body from killing someone. Jaskier wanted so badly to ask her questions - where was he? why was he here? how was he not dead? - but the mere act of drinking had taken all of his energy.

Either that, or the drink really had been poisoned.

He found himself sinking back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut. He slept.

---

Jaskier woke - and there was a young girl beside him.

She looked at him with a child's unafraid, curious gaze and said, "Hello. You've been sleeping for a long time."

Jaskier breathed, uncertain and so, so confused. The pain seemed to have intensified while he slept, not just in his throat but all over. He wanted to sit up, but he didn’t think that he could – or that he should even if he could, given how much more pain moving would bring.

"My name is Ciri," she said. "What's yours?"

His throat burned just like before when he parted his lips, but he still managed to rasp: "Jaskier."

"Jaskier?" Ciri repeated with a thoughtful expression, and Jaskier nodded.

Never again would he go by the name of Julian de Lettenhove. Not after what his parents had done. Julian was dead, and Jaskier had nearly died because of it, but for as long as he was alive he would be Jaskier. Not Julian.

He glanced briefly around the room while Ciri pondered this. It was a big room, a nice room, if somewhat sparsely decorated. The bed he was laying in was piled high with furs for warmth, and there was a roaring fire in the grate on the far side of the room. There was a window on the third wall, showing a darkened sky. Where on earth was he?

"I like it," Ciri proclaimed at last. "My father will like it too. He's wondered what your name was."

Her father? Jaskier looked back at her, wishing that he could give voice to the questions swirling around in his mind. Ciri smiled cheerfully.

"You may have heard of him," she said. "He's known as the White Wolf."

The White Wolf.

And just like that, the realization of what must have happened crystallized perfectly into Jaskier's mind.

He'd heard a lot about the White Wolf during his travels. How the monstrous witchers had slowly been capturing lands. How the White Wolf’s domain had been slowly expanding. It was something that Jaskier hadn’t paid too much attention to. He was of noble birth, but there had never been any illusions in his mind that that would ever mean anything. He had never expected to be important enough to be noticed by anyone, but especially the White Wolf.

But… hadn't there been a rumor that the White Wolf himself was coming to meet with the king for diplomatic purposes? Jaskier’s hand trembled as he touched his throat, remembering the rumors he’d overheard in the darkened pub. Yes, that was right. The White Wolf was coming, and everyone knew that the king was not happy about it.

That was why, he realized in a sudden flash of clarity mingled with horror. That was why his parents had had Jaskier captured and brought back home for magic to be wrought on him – because they wanted to use Jaskier to curry favor with their king. If their son assassinated the White Wolf, and the king was happy about it, his parents would’ve been rewarded beyond their wildest dreams.

And if Jaskier failed, and was killed in the attempt, what did it matter? He was the useless son who had run away, who had been deemed crazy and disowned, who had never done what anyone told him to do anyway… his parents would’ve been able to wash their hands of the matter. Their reputations would suffer slightly but would recover quickly enough.

Either way, they would walk away from the situation free. And Jaskier…

Jaskier's body - no, Jaskier had tried to kill a man with white hair.

No, he had tried to kill the White Wolf.

His breathing started to come quicker. Before he knew it, he was shaking uncontrollably from head to toe. Ciri gave an alarmed cry, and moments later there were other people in the room. Jaskier didn't know who they were or why they were here. His body was trembling so hard his teeth rattled. It was extraordinarily painful, and he must've made some sound, must've cried out, because then the woman from the last time he had woken was there, along with a man he had never seen before. The man held Jaskier's head in his strong hands and the woman forced a potion down his throat.

Slowly, the uncontrollable shaking slowed. Jaskier fell limp. His whole body throbbed unbearably.

"Ciri, what happened?" someone said.

"Nothing! I asked him his name and told mine," Ciri said. It sounded like she was crying.

"It's alright. It was a minor seizure. It happens sometimes when strong magic is forced upon an unwilling vessel, especially one as weakened as his. It just means he's more delicate than we thought, and his recuperation will take longer than I had hoped."

"Jaskier," Ciri said, hiccupping. "His name is Jaskier."

The sound of his name spoken in her teary, childish voice followed Jaskier down into darkness.

--

Jaskier woke – and the woman was there again.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she murmured, setting aside whatever she had been working on – a letter from the look of it, which means she knew how to write. A noble?

Jaskier looked up at her, dazed and exhausted and in pain. Questions were roiling around in his head like the beginnings of a storm, but he lacked the ability to voice any of them. He couldn’t even sit up, even though he very much wanted to. Just tensing his muscles to try left him in so much pain that he wanted to cry.

“Here now, it’s alright. I’ll help you.” She put one knee on the bed and leaned over him to fetch a pillow. Jaskier flinched, his breath catching. It was too much like when Gael had leaned over him.

She backed off immediately, her expression settling into concern, but she said nothing. She picked up another pillow instead and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling his upper body forward slightly so that she could pile two more pillows behind him. It hurt more than Jaskier could have imagined, but he had to admit that he felt a lot better once he was sitting up more.

Being on his back meant being vulnerable, and he never wanted to feel that way again.

“There. Now you can drink this. It’s for pain. It will help you feel better.” She produced a glass beaker from somewhere that was filled with an iridescent green liquid. It smelled faintly of apples. Jaskier drank it willingly and was relieved when the intensity of the pain faded somewhat. It still hurt, but he no longer felt like he was going to go out of his mind with it.

But he still couldn’t speak. He looked up at her imploringly, and she smiled sympathetically.

“It’s okay. First things first. My name is Triss. Triss Merigold. And you’re Jaskier?”

He nodded, pathetically grateful to have her name. Triss. It was a nice name.

“Okay then. Jaskier. It’s important that you don’t try to speak for a little while longer. There was a lot of damage done to your throat. While we’ve healed what we could, you could still cause permanent damage if you try to talk too much too soon,” she explained.

She had told him that before, he remembered. Of course, then he’d gone and told Ciri what his name was. He hoped that one word hadn’t caused more damage. The thought of never being able to speak again, of never being able to sing again, was terrifying.

He suddenly looked down at his body, wondering about other damage – wondering about all those cuts that Gael had made all over his body, on his hands and his face. Would he ever be able to play the lute again?

Triss seemed to understand what his frantic glance meant, because she reached out and gently took Jaskier’s hand. She held it up in front of his face, showing him that the skin of his hand was smooth and unblemished, lacking even the callouses that had taken him so long to build up on his fingers during his travels. He stared at his hand in wonder and confusion before looking back at Triss.

“Magic,” Triss said with a small smile. “We were able to heal your external wounds. For the most part, they were minor. The damage down to you on the inside, on the other hand…” Her smile faded.

Jaskier felt a chill that ran through him from head to toe. Because of course there was more. The lack of wounds on the outside of his body couldn’t account for the extreme pain that he was in. It hurt a lot, but he managed to make his fingers tighten against Triss’s hand just a fraction. Triss met his gaze, startled.

Tell me, Jaskier pleaded mentally. Just tell me.

Triss sighed. “Honestly, that should have killed you,” she said bluntly. “I have no explanation as to why it didn’t kill you. By all rights, you should be dead right now. Somehow, you’re not. But your recuperation is going to be very, very slow. And I can’t tell you how far it will go. You’ll likely never be back to the way you were.”

He heard the words, but it took his brain longer to process them than he would have liked to have admitted. He desperately wanted to know what Triss meant by that, but he could tell that was an answer she couldn’t give him because she didn’t know. He was supposed to be dead right now. The fact that he wasn’t… who knew why? But it meant that this was unprecedented territory, at least to Triss.

“We’re going to do the best we can for you,” Triss went on. “If you take things slowly, and do as we say, then there’s a good chance you might be alright.”

We? Jaskier seized on that word, pushing away all thoughts about what kind of life he might be left living from here on out. That wasn’t the first time Triss had said ‘we’. He wanted to somehow ask her who she meant by that, but Triss kept talking.

“Right now you’re in Kaer Morhen. Do you know where that is?”

A little dumbstruck, Jaskier shook his head. Kaer Morhen was the White Wolf’s stronghold. The place where the White Wolf, the Witchers, and apparently the White Wolf’s daughter lived. No one seemed to know exactly where it was, and for good reason – no one could attack a castle if they didn’t know where said castle was.

Why would they have brought a would-be assassin right into the middle of their stronghold?

Triss smiled faintly. “Good. You don’t really need to know. The point is you should know you’re safe here. Nothing will happen at least until you’re in a position to speak to us. For now, you just need to concentrate on getting better.” She squeezed his hand and then, very gently, set his hand down on the blanket.

For now, she’d said.

For now.

What did that mean?

Chapter Text

Jaskier slept and woke and slept again. Each time he opened his eyes, Triss was there to force more potions down his throat. Some of them tasted vile; he had vague memories of throwing up a couple of them before passing out again. Yet every time when he woke, both the bed and his body would be (magically?) clean and Triss would be right there with more potions.

She was not the only person he saw. Once or twice, when Jaskier woke, the man who had held his head in place during the seizure was in the room too. But when the man saw that Jaskier was awake, he never lingered. He would leave the room immediately and Triss would come over to tend to Jaskier.

He had no idea how long the cycle went on for, but finally one morning – or at least he thought it was morning, based off of the weak rays of sunlight sliding across the floor – he opened his eyes and didn’t immediately feel the need to fall back asleep. Naturally, he was still in the same bed, propped up on the same cushions, with the same blanket drawn across his lap and up his chest.

This time, Triss was sitting in front of the fireplace, stirring something in a large pot. Since she didn’t seem to have noticed that he was awake, Jaskier took the opportunity to examine her. She was very lovely in appearance. Exactly the sort of woman that Jaskier might have tried to talk into bed if they were meeting under any other circumstances – like say, in a bar with some drinks that weren’t potions.

As it was now, Jaskier never wanted anything else to do with magic if he didn’t have to. It hurt too much. He couldn’t even take a deep breath without feeling like his chest was on fire. He couldn’t even lift his hands. He was a shell of the man he used to be…

Triss finally glanced up. Her expression brightened when she saw that he was awake, and she immediately stood to bring him more of that apple-scented potion that dulled his pain. She touched the glass to his lips and Jaskier drank readily, letting out a soft sigh of relief once the liquid had settled into his system. Everything still hurt, but not nearly as much as it had before.

“I have some good news for you, Jaskier. I think your throat has healed enough to the point where you could try to speak a bit,” Triss said, smiling. She was always smiling, Jaskier had noticed. It was such a stark difference from most of the people that he had known.

He looked at her intently, trying to convey his surprise through his expression alone. It must have worked because Triss patted his hand.

“We were always confident that you’d regain the use of your voice. It did take a bit longer than we’d hoped…” Her eyebrows drew together briefly in consternation before, noticing that Jaskier was watching her closely, she smiled again and continued. “But you’ve been sleeping a lot too, so of course we have to factor that into it as well.”

There was that ‘we’ again. Triss occasionally made mention of a second mystery person who she seemed to speak to frequently about Jaskier’s convalescence, but she never referred to this person by name. Now that he was a little more awake, Jaskier wondered if it was the man who had come into the room and held Jaskier’s head firm the second time he’d woken up.

“The only way we’ll know is if you try to say something. Short, mind you,” she said, holding up a cautionary finger. “You’ll need to start with very short, soft-spoken sentences. Absolutely no yelling or raising your voice. And if you start to feel any pain worse than that of a sore throat, you need to stop immediately.”

Right. Jaskier nodded in understanding, trying to think of what he wanted to say the most. So many questions had tumbled into his mind, and more seemed to spring up every time he opened his eyes again. It had gotten to the point where he had so many questions that he had begun to think there was no way all of them could ever be answered!

But then, looking at Triss’s kind face as she waited for him to speak, one thing above all surfaced like a flower shooting up from the dirt.

Jaskier parted his lips and whispered, “Thank you.”

It was unpleasant to speak in a way that it had never been before; his throat scratched unpleasantly with just those two syllables, leaving his voice sounding jagged and hoarse. He could tell that it would be a while before he’d be able to talk as freely as he liked. But even just saying those two words felt so immeasurably good that he had to blink back tears.

When he was lying in front of that fireplace, with Gael leaning over him and his parents – no, with the de Lettenhoves watching nearby, a part of Jaskier had genuinely thought he would never speak again.

Triss looked a bit teary-eyed herself, gently patting his again. “Oh, dear, you don’t need to thank me. I wanted to help you.”

Jaskier shook his head at that. He had no idea how long he’d been here for, but he knew that Triss had sacrificed a lot of time and effort to keep him alive. He didn’t know why she had done that, and perhaps he never would, but she deserved at least a little gratitude.

“I’m only glad that you’ve made it this far. You’re a fighter, Jaskier. You should be very proud of yourself,” Triss went on.

A fighter? Jaskier wanted to scoff at the idea. What kind of fighter would have quietly lain in front of the fireplace and allowed Gael to do whatever he liked? No, Jaskier was not a fighter. He was a pawn and nothing more. Were it not for the fact that the White Wolf had seemed to be anticipating an attack of some kind, Jaskier would be a very dead pawn on top of it all. He was no fighter, no matter what Triss kindly said.

But there was no point in trying to explain that to her now. That would require more words than Jaskier could give voice to at the moment. So instead he spent a moment thinking about what he wanted to say next. He knew that from now on would have to choose his words very carefully, which was so different from what he was used to. Words had always come freely to him. Many, many people in his life had told him that he talked too much. So to have to be so selective in what he said was more difficult than he’d anticipated.

Finally, he whispered, “Ciri?”

Triss’s expression changed, a sudden tension chasing away her perpetual smile. “Ciri? What about her?” She looked so guarded that Jaskier almost regretted bringing the topic of Ciri up again, but he had to know.

“Okay?” he whispered, hoping that Triss would understand what he meant. His last memory of Ciri was of her sobbing after his seizure. What she’d witnessed could be potentially traumatizing for someone so young. Jaskier hadn’t been able to help the reaction of his body, but he would still feel immensely guilty if he found out that he’d ended up causing Ciri any kind of anguish.

“Oh.” The tension in Triss melted away, and she smiled again. “Ciri’s fine, Jaskier. You don’t need to worry about her. In fact, she was very worried about you and whether you’d be okay. She was really happy to hear that you pulled through, and she’ll be even happier to hear that you’re able to talk a little now.”

Ciri was okay. Jaskier relaxed a bit, more relieved by that than he wanted to admit. He thought about what he wanted to ask next. He was starting to get tired again, and the pain in his throat was intensifying with each word that he spoke. So whatever he said was going to have to be good. He sucked in a deep breath and spoke as loudly and clearly as he could.

“Sorry,” he said, looking Triss right in the eye. “The White Wolf… I’m sorry.”

The effort of speaking so many words at once made him wince and start to shake a little bit from the effort. Triss’s eyes widened. She jumped up and hurried away, then returned quickly with something in a cup – water, Jaskier was quick to discover when he sipped, which was a shame because he’d been hoping for more of the pain potion. The act of swallowing the water made him feel like his throat was being scraped by knives, and he couldn’t help flinching.

“You talked too much,” Triss said, tsking and shaking her head. She sat down again, setting the cup of water on the table beside Jaskier’s bed.

Jaskier didn’t care. It was worth the pain to have been able to express even a tiny fraction of what was going through his head right now. But he still hadn’t gotten his full message across. So he continued to look intently at Triss, waiting until she was looking straight back at him. He didn’t think he could speak anymore, but he was able to mouth words at her.

Tell him.

He had to mouth the words several times before Triss understood.

“Tell him,” she repeated. “The White Wolf… you want me to tell him that you’re sorry?”

Jaskier nodded, relieved that she finally got it. He didn’t know why he was here; he didn’t know why he wasn’t dead right now after trying to assassinate the White Wolf himself. It seemed strange to think that they would kill him now after they’d devoted so much of Triss’s time to keeping him alive, but Jaskier would never pretend to understand how politics, sorceresses, or witchers worked. He could be killed at any moment.

And a meager apology might very well be too little too late, but it was all that Jaskier had to give right now. As far as he was concerned, the White Wolf deserved it. Regardless of what else the Witcher might have done, and who he might have done those things to, he had never tried to directly harm Jaskier. Yet he had almost died by Jaskier’s hand - the White Wolf’s daughter had almost been left fatherless by Jaskier’s hand.

An apology was the least that Jaskier could do.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Triss said gently.

Jaskier looked at her blankly, wondering how she could possibly say that. Triss saw his confusion and pressed her mouth into a thin line, looking like she was torn between saying something and remaining quiet. Her internal battle lasted for several seconds until at last she sighed, inclining her head.

“I will pass it along if that’s what you really want,” she said.

He nodded.

“Very well. I’ll tell him the next time I see him,” Triss told him.

Thank you. Jaskier mouthed the words at her again, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly fatigued. His head sank back against the pillows and he closed his eyes, but somehow he managed not to fall asleep right away. He listened to the sound of Triss getting up and moving back across the room. She stirred whatever she was concocting in the pot on the fireplace.

They were comforting sounds. Familiar sounds, even though he had not been here long.

Now that he was slowly starting to heal, how much longer would he have the chance to hear them?

Chapter Text

“Here, Jaskier.” Triss approached the bed and shoved a cup beneath his nose. The familiar apple scent made Jaskier open his eyes and look up at her with a curious expression.

Now that he was able to stay awake for a longer periods of time, he’d realized that Triss usually gave him the pain potion six times a day – three during the day itself and three at night. He had dozed off for a little while after receiving his first dose, but he didn’t think it was time for his second dose yet. She didn’t usually give it to him until the sunlight reached the candle on the wall, and today the sunlight still fell short.

Triss sat on the edge of the bed. “I know it’s a bit early. But… the White Wolf wishes to speak with you.”

Jaskier couldn’t help the alarmed squeak that escaped him, even though the high-pitched sound made his throat ache. They hadn’t spoken about the White Wolf since the first day that Jaskier had been able to speak. He hadn’t dared to ask any questions, fearful of whatever answers might be coming his way. He had known that this moment was coming, but it was still terrifying to hear that this moment was now.

“It’s okay,” Triss said calmingly, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “He just wants to find out what you know. That’s all.”

That’s all?! Jaskier would have laughed had he not known that it would’ve hurt too much to do so. He wanted to explain to Triss in great detail why that was not ‘okay’, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. This was the White Wolf’s fortress. If he wanted to talk to Jaskier, then there was no way Jaskier was going to get any say in the matter. It was frankly shocking that the White Wolf had waited this long.

He allowed Triss to help him drink the pain potion, since it sounded like this conversation – or perhaps interrogation was a more apt word – was going to happen either way. As the familiar soothing feeling swept through his body, the door to the room opened. A cold chill flashed through Jaskier, making him feel like he had just stepped into a huge vat of cold water.

A huge man – no, not a man. A Witcher stepped into the room, staring at Jaskier. He had long white hair. That hair stirred a memory in Jaskier, and he suddenly remembered seeing this very same Witcher rise from the bed that night. At the time, Jaskier had not registered the piercing gold eyes of the Witcher. But now he was aware of those eyes, and how they seemed to stare right through him.

Behind the Witcher came someone else that Jaskier vaguely remembered: the woman with the long, dark hair who had effortlessly thrown him against the wall with just a wave of her hand. She was a sorceress, he belatedly realized, and he wondered if this was the other person that Triss had sometimes vaguely mentioned.

“Jaskier, this is Yennefer of Vengerberg,” said Triss, gesturing to the woman. “And this is Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf.”

Geralt.

Yennefer.

Jaskier had no idea if he would live long enough to care about their names. Either one of them could easily kill him before he so much as blinked. He wouldn’t even know what had happened. And they would have every right to kill him too, given that he had tried to assassinate one of them and that he was on the White Wolf’s territory right now.

“Jaskier, is it? Not Julian?” said Yennefer, moving a few steps closer to the bed. She had a predator’s walk, Jaskier noticed immediately, graceful but intent. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of purple. An unusual color. Had they met in an inn, Jaskier would’ve happily composed a ballad about the color of those eyes.

He numbly shook his head in response, clenching his fists around the bedsheets. He never wanted to be called by the name ‘Julian’ again for as long as he lived.

“Very well. Jaskier. Did you know that your parents and their king were plotting to kill the White Wolf?” She stared him down, her face set like stone as she waited for an answer. Without being told, Jaskier understood that shaking his head would not be deemed an appropriate answer this time around.

“No,” he whispered, wishing that he was well enough to speak the word firmly. “I didn’t, they –” His throat croaked, suddenly dry, and he coughed painfully.

“Here.” Triss was at his side in a flash, pressing a cup of warm water into his hands. Jaskier sipped at the water, grateful that Triss had remained in the room. There was no doubt in his mind that she wasn’t truly on his side, if there were even sides here, but she was the one kind face in the room right now. Both Yennefer and Geralt watched him with expressions that were blank, impossible to read.

“Thank you,” Jaskier rasped, lowering the cup. He lifted his head slowly, speaking to Yennefer. “I left the estate when I was young. Didn’t want to be a part of the court. I haven’t spoken to my parents in years. I got cocky. Got too close. I was in the town. Guards grabbed me.” He sipped at the water again, grimacing.

“So you didn’t return home voluntarily,” said Yennefer.

“No. Guards,” Jaskier repeated. “Dragged me back. There was a sorcerer –” He broke off for a moment, and this time it had nothing to do with his throat and everything to do with the horrible memories that flooded through him. A shiver ran through him as he remembered being forced into that room, thrown down before the fireplace, disrobed like a doll.

It had hurt. It had hurt so much. More than Jaskier had ever thought that someone could live through. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could still feel every slice of the blade through his flesh.

He could still feel the horrific burn of that blue potion being rubbed into every wound.

He could still see the look of concentration on Gael’s face, mixed with total disinterest for Jaskier’s agony.

He could still see the de Lettenhove’s smiling.

He could still see and feel it and it was just, it was too much -

“Jaskier.”

The sound of his name, spoken by an unfamiliar but commanding male voice, snapped Jaskier out of it. With a gasp, he realized that he wasn’t in his parent’s house at all. He was in the White Wolf’s castle, in a bed, with the White Wolf and two sorceresses in the room with him. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw hands reaching for him, and he couldn’t help flinching away out of sheer panic.

“Jaskier.” It was Yennefer who said his name this time, and Jaskier looked up at her. She met his gaze, calm and unflinching, and said, “You are out of their reach. The sorcerer who did this to you can’t touch you here.”

Jaskier stared at her for a long moment, breathing hard as though he’d been running. Then he looked at Geralt. It had to have been Geralt who had said his name, but the Witcher said nothing now. He wanted so badly to believe the both of them, but he didn’t know if he could. Or if he should.

“The sorcerer,” said Yennefer, pulling Jaskier’s attention back to her. “Had you seen him before?”

Jaskier shook his head, grateful that this question didn’t require speech. He’d dropped his water in his panic, and the hands he’d seen reaching for him had been Triss picking up the fallen cup. He stared down at the now wet blankets, embarrassed over his reaction to some simple questioning. It was a wonder that Yennefer and Geralt hadn’t lost their tempers with him already.

“And the king. Have you any loyalty to him?” Yennefer asked, still watching him closely. “Out loud, please.”

“No,” Jaskier said, the loudest he’d spoken yet. “I just –”

He’d wanted to be a bard. He’d wanted to be free. He’d wanted to travel. He’d wanted to know what there was to life outside of being an Earl’s son. He’d wanted to take women and men to bed. He’d wanted to try new food. He’d wanted to sleep beneath the stars. He’d wanted to spread music and learn new songs and create new songs. He’d wanted to live by his own merit.

And now…

Jaskier dropped his gaze again to the wet blankets, swallowing down the bitter laughter that wanted to come out. Now all of that seemed like a pipe dream that he would never have again based on what Triss had told him. Even if his recuperation went well, he would never be strong enough to travel. He would always be weakened by what had happened, and he would never be back to how he’d been before.

“I just wanted to know more,” Jaskier said, quieter now. “I didn’t want any part of that. I guess that’s why my parents decided that I was expendable.” He might not have laughed – his throat hurt too badly for that even if he had wanted to – but he was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Yennefer was quiet for a moment before she said, “Did they tell you any details? Do you know about any other plans they might have had? Think hard. Anything you can tell us could be of vital importance, no matter how small the details may seem to be.”

Jaskier took a few seconds to search his memory, straining to remember anything that anyone might have said within his hearing, but he honestly couldn’t think of anything. For the three days before the de Lettenhoves had arrived at the castle, his family had treated him like he wasn’t even there. He had been shut up in a room alone, left to stare blankly at a wall, until it was time to depart.

And then during the ride to the castle, no one had acknowledged him. He might as well have been just another piece of luggage. Their conversation during the ride had been light-hearted. He didn’t think that telling the White Wolf who was having an affair within the court was going to be very helpful.

But there was one thing he could offer, and he looked up at Yennefer again. “The sorcerer,” he rasped, unable to conceal another shudder. “They called him Gael.”

Yennefer’s eyes widened slightly, but that was the only reaction that the name garnered. Neither Geralt nor Triss reacted in any way. So either the two of them were excellent actors, or the name meant nothing to either of them. Jaskier honestly couldn’t tell which it was.

He broke into another series of dry, painful coughs. Triss reapproached him with another cup of water, and this time she helped him to take a drink. It was embarrassing to need help with something so simple, but Jaskier suddenly found himself exhausted. His head was swimming and each swallow of water felt more like he was swallowing razor-sharp knives.

“This Gael, what did he look like?” Yennefer said, but Geralt spoke up.

“Yennefer. No more.”

His voice was deep, deeper than Jaskier would have expected, and he was definitely the one who’d said Jaskier’s name to snap him out of his earlier panic. Yennefer puffed her cheeks out, looking like she wanted to protest, but she remained quiet. Or at least, she did until the two of them were out of the room.

“Geralt, Gael is –”

The door swung shut behind them, cutting off her sentence. Jaskier frowned, resisting the urge to sigh in frustration. He wanted to know who Gael was. He wanted to know more about the sorcerer that had done this to him. But he supposed that neither Yennefer nor Geralt had any reason to share information with him right now. As far as they were concerned, he was the enemy.

But Jaskier wasn’t – or at least, he didn’t think that he was. He was just a bard who couldn’t even make music anymore. He was worse than an enemy. He was worthless. How long would they be willing to keep around someone who was worthless? Probably not long.

So therein lay the problem… but also the solution.

Somehow, Jaskier had to become useful to the White Wolf.

Chapter Text

Jaskier slept again after his conversation with Yennefer and Geralt, and when he woke again there was early morning sunlight pooling on the floor. Triss was already in the room, fussing over a pot hanging over the fire. He watched her for a long moment, taking in the adept way with which she approached everything in her path. Whenever Triss did something, it was with purpose.

He envied her for that. How many times over the years had people told him to pay attention and take care with whatever he was doing? Too often. His wandering mind had been the downfall of numerous tutors over the years. He had improved a little as he grew older, but even to this day Jaskier grew restless if he sat still for too long with nothing to do.

For that reason, and with the thought in mind about becoming useful, Jaskier spoke with a rasp. “What are you doing?”

Triss turned to look at him, already smiling. “I’m making a burn salve,” she said.

Jaskier turned that over in his head for a moment, growing increasingly puzzled. It looked like Triss was making a huge amount of burn salve and he didn’t understand why. Kaer Morhen was a stronghold for Witchers, and everyone knew how much it took to hurt a Witcher. He couldn’t see why they would need so much burn salve… unless maybe they sold it?

He supposed that would make sense if they did. Kaer Morhen would need a steady supply of money coming in. While Witchers continued to roam the countryside dispelling monsters in exchange for coin, that was much more difficult to do during the winter. And unless Jaskier’s sense of time had gotten seriously skewed, winter was about four months away. The residents of Kaer Morhen were probably well on their way to storing food and other necessities.

And they probably weren’t happy about having another mouth to have to feed. Jaskier gritted his teeth, trying to push himself upwards. It was immensely frustrating to feel the weakness in his body. Just trying to sit up felt more like climbing three sets of stairs. He immediately broke into a sweat. Triss had to abandon her pot and come over to prop some pillows up behind him, as he couldn’t support his own weight.

Once he was settled, Jaskier spoke again. “Can I help?”

Triss seemed surprised by the question. She returned to her pot and gave it a stir, looking at Jaskier instead of the contents. “You should be resting, Jaskier.”

“I’m bored,” Jaskier said honestly, because it wasn’t a complete lie. He was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep anymore. Not without having done something first.

“I suppose. Hmm…” Triss looked around, then set her ladle down and walked over to pick up a large glass jar. She brought it over to the bed and set it down. There, Jaskier could see that the jar was crammed full of what appeared to be different kinds of seeds – at least a dozen different kinds.

Next she brought him a tray. It fit easily across Jaskier’s lap, and the legs on either side were able to be extended enough to raise the tray up so that it didn’t put undue pressure on his thighs. Then Triss brought him thirteen smaller glass jars and set each one on the tray in front of him. Jaskier looked from the smaller jars to the huge jar, realizing what his task was even before Triss spoke.

“Aiden and Lambert collected these for me. Unfortunately, neither one of them thought to separate out the seeds.” Triss sighed and smiled faintly. “Their hearts were in the right place, so I can’t complain. However, it will take a while to separate them all out. If you’re sure you feel up to doing something, that would be very helpful.”

She had just said the golden word, even though if she didn’t know it. Jaskier nodded happily. Even though the task would be repetitive and was somewhat daunting given the size of the jar, he wanted to do whatever he could to prove that he could be useful. And if he had to start off earning her trust by doing something like this, then he was more than willing to do it.

“If you get tired, make sure you take a rest,” Triss added, picking up the big jar. She poured some of the seeds out onto the tray before setting the jar back down.

“I will,” Jaskier promised, already focusing on his task. The seeds were easy to tell apart, at least, even if he didn’t immediately recognize them all. He noted sunflower, pumpkin, flax, basil, pomegranate, and sesame, but the others were a mystery.

Triss returned to her pot again, but she looked in Jaskier’s direction for a long while. Watching him. Jaskier pretended not to notice. It took a lot more of his focus than it should have to slowly pick up each seed and move it to the correct jar. His fingers trembled at times, making it difficult to pick up the smaller seeds, and that was frustrating.

It made him wonder whether he’d ever be well enough to pay the lute again.

After a while, Triss moved her pot off of the fire and set it aside. The salve inside must have needed to cool for a while, because she left the room. Jaskier watched her go out of the corner of his eye before sighing and slumping back against the pillows. Ruefully, he looked at the tiny quantity of seeds that he had managed to separate out so far. Being helpful was going to be harder than he’d expected.

But this was what Triss had asked him to do, so he bent his head again and kept going. He had only sorted through another few seeds before he started to get the feeling that he was being watched. When he looked up at the door, there was no one there. Jaskier narrowed his eyes slightly and tipped his chin down as though to work but kept looking up through his lashes.

Sure enough, a head poked around the corner seconds later. A head that Jaskier only somewhat recognized, given that he’d been nearly dead the last time he saw her, but there was really no one else it could be. He cleared his throat. It didn’t hurt too badly, so he decided to try speaking again.

“You can come in if you want,” he rasped.

There was a considering pause before Ciri finally stepped around the corner. She looked at him with the same sort of look she had given him the first time they’d met, sort of unassuming but also deeply curious. Jaskier looked back at her blankly, wondering what she was doing here. From the way that Triss had acted the one-way Jaskier had brought Ciri up, he had not anticipated ever seeing the White Wolf’s child again.

“Hello,” Ciri said after a moment, squaring her shoulders.

Jaskier inclined his head rather than speak again. Ciri relaxed a bit at that, a tentative smile crossing her face as she took a step into the room.

“I hope you don’t mind. I only wanted to see for myself that you were okay,” she said hesitantly, and Jaskier nodded and even smiled back at her. He assumed that she would leave, now that she knew he was alive, but Ciri seemed to take that as an invitation and came further into the room.

Now that he was fully conscious, Jaskier was able to get a good look at her for the first time. She had pale hair to her waist, not unlike her father, but, as she grew closer, he saw that her eyes were green. Completely unlike Geralt’s golden eyes. Though, Jaskier mused, Geralt’s eyes wouldn’t have always been gold. Before he was a Witcher, perhaps Geralt had had green eyes too.

Ciri reached the stool set beside the bed and, after primly rearranging her tunic, perched on it. She saw Jaskier looking and grinned. “Normally I don’t care if my clothing wrinkles, but I’ve got to meet with my tutor after this and she always scolds me when I don’t look right.”

“Your tutor?” Jaskier said hoarsely, uncertain as to why he was surprised. Ciri couldn’t have more than eleven or twelve years old, but she was more than old enough to be engaged in learning. He just hadn’t thought that Witchers would be concerned about things like that…

But then that was stupid, wasn’t it? The White Wolf wasn’t just a Witcher. He was technically a king in his own right, though no one referred to him as such. That meant Ciri was a princess, and of course she would just be as educated as any other royal child would be. Maybe even more so, given that the White Wolf had no partner. Jaskier assumed Ciri was an only child. She’d be reared with the understanding that one day she’d take over her father’s domain.

“Yes, my tutor,” Ciri said, making a face. “I don’t like her that much. She’s supposed to be smart, but she spends more time fussing at me than she does teaching me things. She’s always on about how I sit and the way I walk, as though those things matter!” She huffed. “It’s horribly boring.”

Jaskier smiled despite himself. Ciri’s complaints sounded so familiar. He was pretty sure he’d said something very similar when he was younger. But he didn’t think Ciri was going to be able to walk away from her position the way that Jaskier had walked away from his. There was a lot more responsibility waiting for a princess than there ever had been for a young lord.

“I much prefer spending my time learning interesting things, like how to fight,” Ciri went on. “Or Aunt Yen is teaching me some magic too. I like magic!” Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she spoke.

Learning didn’t have to be boring, Jaskier wanted to tell her. He longed to pick up a lute and sing her a wild historic tale that would surely have her on the edge of her stool the whole time. Or to tell her about court and why she needed to know how to sit or how to walk, and what could happen when you didn’t know those things. Or even just to tell her about the places he’d been and the things he’d seen, and how very lucky she was to be learning these things at all.

But he couldn’t do any of that, so he sat there in silence and listened as Ciri prattled on about how proficient she was when it came to daggers. She wasn’t yet strong enough to wield a proper sword, so right now she was learning how to become better at using a staff. Jaskier had to smile again as she described using her slighter weight and height against her teacher.

“You’ll need to come watch me someday,” Ciri said suddenly, and Jaskier nearly knocked over one of the smaller jars.

Watch Ciri?

Jaskier couldn’t help staring at her.

An uncertain look crossed Ciri’s face. “You don’t want to watch me?” she said, not quite pouting but close, and it belatedly occurred to Jaskier that perhaps Ciri was lonely.

He wondered what it would be like to grow up amongst Witchers and sorceresses. Ciri clearly had some kind of magical power if Yennefer was teaching her, yet she was also just a child amongst adults. In all of her tales about learning to fight and use weapons, she hadn’t once mentioned another child. That made Jaskier think that perhaps she was the only child at Kaer Morhen, and that had to be lonely. He could appreciate what that was like.

He cleared his throat, grimacing, and managed to whisper, “Can’t leave the bed.”

“Oh, of course.” A smile chased away Ciri’s frown immediately. “That’s why I said someday.”

Jaskier nodded like that made perfect sense, like of course someday he would be able to walk through Kaer Morhen as he wanted and watch Ciri at the training grounds. And maybe becoming friends with Ciri would bring him one step closer to being able to do just that. Because surely, the White Wolf would be a little bit kinder towards anyone who was in his daughter’s good graces?

“And in the meantime, I’ll tell you all about it,” Ciri said decisively, and Jaskier could do nothing but smile and nod again. Good graces or not, Ciri was sweet and it was nice to have someone who wasn’t Triss to listen to. He resumed separating out seeds while Ciri began to chat again.

Chapter Text

“You seem bored,” Ciri said one day, apropos of nothing, and Jaskier blinked at her.

It had taken the better part of a fortnight, but Jaskier’s days had finally settled into something of a rhythm. In the mornings, he woke and had a small breakfast with Triss. His appetite was still next to non-existent, and often food turned his stomach, but Jaskier always tried to eat a little bit even if it was just to make the worried look on Triss’s face ease somewhat.

After breakfast, he would usually nap for a while. Then he would sort seeds for a little while. Then nap. Then came lunch time. Ciri always arrived after lunch, flush and vibrating with details of her morning, and she would perch on her stool and spill her stories into Jaskier’s ears while they worked together on the seeds. She seemed to like the fact that Jaskier just sat and listened to her.

Later in the afternoon, though, Ciri would depart for more lessons, and Jaskier would nap until dinner. He’d eat a small dinner – usually by himself – and then be asleep for the night by the time Triss returned from wherever she ate. It was a very simple existence, but not one that Jaskier had thought to protest about. Especially not now that Triss had given him the task of sorting the seeds.

It wasn’t the most stimulating task, true, but it was work that needed to be done and so Jaskier would do it without complaint. But he wasn’t sure how to convey that to Ciri. Even if he had the words for it, he wasn’t sure that Ciri would understand. She was a child who had grown up around Witchers and sorceresses. He didn’t think she would understand what it was like to be on such uneven footing.

Ciri straightened up, throwing her shoulders back and looking down her nose at Jaskier. “Being cooped up in Triss’s workroom isn’t a good thing for anyone,” she informed Jaskier. “I overheard Papa and Aunt Yen talking about it. They put you here because they didn’t know where else to put you.”

Jaskier couldn’t help making a face at that, though he supposed it made sense given where he was. Kaer Morhen was, after all, the Witcher’s stronghold. What use would they have for a doctor or even a healer? Witchers didn’t get sick or even injured like humans did. And Ciri was still young enough that she probably rarely got sick or hurt enough to warrant something like that.

“Triss is the best at healing magic between her and Aunt Yen,” Ciri went on. “Plus… don’t tell her I told you this, but Aunt Yen really doesn’t have much of a bedside manner.” Ciri grinned mischievously, her eyes twinkling.

Despite himself, Jaskier smiled too. He could see that. Triss was one of the most kind-hearted people he’d ever met, always with a gentle smile on her face. By contrast, Yennefer was easily one of the scariest people Jaskier had ever met. He tried to imagine waking up to Yennefer instead of Triss. He was pretty sure he would’ve expired out of sheer terror on the spot.

“But this place is kind of boring. There’s not much to look at. And if I’m tired of sorting seeds, you must be tired of it too,” Ciri concluded, dusting her hands off. “So I think we should go on a tour.”

A tour?

Jaskier mouthed the word to himself, stunned.

“There’s so much more to Kaer Morhen than this tiny room. If you’re going to be staying here, then you should at least see some of it,” Ciri added.

“I can’t,” Jaskier rasped finally, shaking his head. Even if he wanted to, and he wasn’t sure that he did, he knew there was no way his legs would support him. He couldn’t even stand right now without his knees immediately folding beneath his weight. A tour was completely out of the question.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ciri said triumphantly, and hopped off of her stool. She strode over to the door and opened it while Jaskier watched her with bemusement.

A man that Jaskier didn’t remember seeing before stepped inside. He was tall, easily as tall as Geralt had been, but his hair was dark where Geralt’s had been white. He had dark eyes too, but his most notable feature was the scar carved deeply into his face. It ran the length of his cheek from eye to chin, cutting through his lips. He stared at Jaskier with a blank but somehow stern expression.

“Eskel, this is Jaskier. Jaskier, Eskel. He’s one of my teachers in fighting,” said Ciri, looping her arm through Eskel’s. Eskel’s gaze dropped to her and his face immediately softened.

“I teach you far more than fighting,” he said. His voice was deeper than Jaskier would’ve expected, but not unkind.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ciri said with a wave of her hand. “Jaskier, Eskel agreed to help me take you for a tour.”

Take him for a tour? Jaskier really wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what that meant. He fingered the blanket over his knees apprehensively, wondering how he could tell Ciri no without upsetting her too much. Not only was she the White Wolf’s daughter, meaning that Jaskier very much wanted to remain in her good graces, but she was also a very sweet little girl. He didn’t want to upset her, but –

Eskel turned away from Ciri and towards the door. He reached out and pulled something into the room – a chair, Jaskier realized with some surprise, which had wheels soldered to the legs. Eskel wheeled the chair closer to the bed, allowing Jaskier to see it better. The chair had a wide best and rests for the arms, but otherwise it just looked like a normal chair if one ignored the wheels.

“Grandfather made it for me!” Ciri chirped, clapping her hands together excitedly. “When I told him that I wanted to take for a tour, but that Triss said it would be a really long time before you could walk. I asked him to think of a solution and he came up with this. You can sit in the chair and Eskel will push you!”

“…” Jaskier looked at the chair in silence, speechless. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Eskel smile ever so slightly. But when he looked right at the Witcher, Eskel’s expression had smoothed out.

“Well? Do you want to give it a try?” Ciri looked at Jaskier with all the expectance of someone who very rarely heard the word ‘no’.

“Is it… alright?” Jaskier whispered, looking to Eskel uncertainly. It wouldn’t have surprised him at all to hear that he was confined to Triss’s workroom, after all.

“I’ve cleared it with Geralt,” said Eskel simply, and seemed to consider that answer enough.

“Well?” Ciri demanded again, bouncing on her heels. “Come on, Jaskier! Do say yes! There’s so much more to see than just this room!” She flung her arms wide dramatically, and Jaskier realized he could not say no. So he nodded instead, and Ciri’s face split into a beautiful smile.

“Stay still,” Eskel said then. “Ciri, hold the chair still.” He moved Jaskier’s tray aside, taking care not to jostle the seeds strewn atop it.

Jaskier couldn’t help tensing when Eskel reached for him, which of course made his whole body ache with pain. He half-expected it to hurt even more when Eskel slid an arm beneath his knees and the other arm around his lower back, but Eskel was very gentle as he lifted Jaskier off the bed. And it was then, as Jaskier was carefully set in the chair, that Jaskier realized he had seen Eskel before.

That day, the day he’d first met Ciri, when he’d had – what had Triss called it? A seizure? There had been a man who’d held Jaskier’s head steady so that Triss could give Jaskier a potion to make it stop. That man had been Eskel. Jaskier could remember looking up past Triss and the glass to see dark eyes and a scarred face looking down at him, and strong hands holding him in place.

Eskel stepped back as Jaskier slumped against the back of the chair, looking Jaskier over critically. Then he turned back to the bed and picked up two of the blankets that were Jaskier’s constant companions. One of those blankets went over Jaskier’s lap, and the other was draped around his shoulders. Jaskier allowed this to happen, not that he could really stop it, bemused at the level of care.

“Kaer Morhen is cold for humans,” Eskel said, answering the unspoken question. “Triss says you are still very weak, and very susceptible to the chill. She says one good cold would finish you off.” His mouth quirked faintly, as though that were somehow amusing – perhaps for a Witcher, who did not get sick, it was.

“Thank you,” Jaskier rasped faintly, feeling more comfortable with the blankets covering him. He did not know what had happened to the clothing he’d been wearing when he was brought to Kaer Morhen, but he had woken up wearing a pair of thin cotton pajamas. That was all he’d worn since waking up. He didn’t even know if there were other clothes for him.

Eskel inclined his head in acknowledgement of the gratitude and moved behind the chair. Jaskier swallowed hard as the chair moved, first with a lurch and then with a smoother glide. Ciri beamed as she rushed over to the door and held it open wide, allowing Jaskier and Eskel to make their way through. And it was then that Jaskier got his first good look at another part of Kaer Morhen.

The corridors were wide and open, with high windows that let in plenty of light. Tapestries hung on the walls, giving a sensation of warmth. The floors were stone, which meant that the chair rolled over them smoothly. Ciri started walking, with Jaskier and Eskel bringing up the rear. Jaskier rested his hands on the arms of the chair and just kept looking.

“My room is in the western wing with Papa’s and Aunt Yen’s, but Triss always said she needed the light of the sunrise for many of her spells to work with the most power,” Ciri said as they went. “So that’s why she’s here. Personally I think it’s just because a lot of Witchers snore and she wanted a good night’s sleep.” She smirked a bit.

“I have it on good authority that you snore too,” Eskel said dryly, to which Ciri mock gasped in affront.

“I do not! I never snore!” she exclaimed. “Well… maybe that one time I stole some of Papa’s wine… but not usually.”

“Uh huh,” Eskel said, and Jaskier smiled a little as he remembered that Witchers had incredibly good hearing. If Ciri did snore, it was likely that any of the Witchers around her could regularly hear it.

Ciri just huffed and turned to Jaskier. “I thought we could see the dining hall, and then maybe I’d show you the courtyard, and then the library, and –”

“Ciri, one place at a time,” Eskel interrupted her. “You know that Triss said that we can’t keep Jaskier out of bed for long, or it could set back his recuperation.”

“Right.” Ciri frowned, seemingly thinking hard, before giving a decisive nod. “The dining hall first. Then the library. Grandfather wanted to meet him.”

That was the second time Ciri had mentioned her grandfather, and Jaskier felt a foreboding chill. He had never heard of the White Wolf’s father, but then again he’d never heard of the White Wolf’s daughter either. It seemed that Kaer Morhen held even more secrets than those outside of its walls could imagine.

Chapter Text

Jaskier had expected that the dining hall would be large. He knew, after all, that Kaer Morhen housed numerous Witchers. But as he surveyed the frankly enormous space, taking in the several long tables that ran lengthwise along the room, he started to realize that the reality of Kaer Morhen far exceeded his expectations. This was the biggest room that he’d ever seen.

Ciri giggled when she saw the look on Jaskier’s face and spun around, her hands held wide. “It’s great, isn’t it? This room can hold all of us at one time! That means when the winter comes, we can all eat together.”

As she ran further into the room, Eskel bent to murmur into Jaskier’s ear. “That doesn’t happen often. All of us under one roof at a time, I mean. All of the Witchers try their best to make it back here before winter comes, but that’s not always feasible. Sometimes Yennefer and Triss will use portals to bring them here, but there are still a few solitary Witchers who don’t enjoy being cooped up here all winter.”

Jaskier nodded in acknowledgement of the explanation. Looking around the gigantic room, he could understand why some people would balk at staying here for the winter. Kaer Morhen was hidden away in the mountains, so that meant anyone who came to winter here was stuck here until the spring – unless, he supposed, they left by way of sorceress portal.

“This is my seat, Jaskier!” Ciri called out, and he looked up to see that she was standing at the head of the room. There was another long table there, but it ran horizontally along the top of the room as opposed to vertically down the room. Ciri was pointing to a seat right beside the center of the table.

None of the chairs looked ornate in any way, but Jaskier’s eyes were still drawn to that center chair. There was no doubt in his mind that that had to be where Geralt sat for his meals. With Ciri to his left, and most likely Yennefer or possibly Eskel to his right.

“That’s the head table. Geralt sits there along with myself, Ciri, Yennefer, Triss, Ciri’s grandfather, and a few other Witchers you haven’t met yet. And of course, any visiting dignitaries would sit there too. Not that we have many of those.” Eskel spoke the words into Jaskier’s ear again. He sounded amused at that last part, and Jaskier felt a small smile coming to his face too.

If only people knew what the Witchers were really like, he thought. The head table wasn’t even up on a stage or a dais to draw attention. There was literally nothing special about it other than its positioning. Jaskier had never seen another ruler possess such a sense of modesty. He couldn’t help thinking that said a lot about Geralt and what kind of person he must be. Most kings were desperate to display their power in whatever way they could.

But then again, most kings weren’t the White Wolf.

Eskel began to push Jaskier’s chair up towards Ciri, giving Jaskier the chance to get a better look at the room. Warm sunlight pooled in through high-up windows, though there were of course lanterns on the walls for light at night. More tapestries decorated the walls, many of them in shades of reds and golds. Behind the head table was a huge fireplace, which would add more light and warmth to the room. It was cozy, Jaskier realized, despite the enormous size, and would no doubt be a wonderful place to wait out a storm.

“Sometimes we push aside the main tables to dance!” Ciri said as they came closer, gesturing at the four tables in the middle.

“Is there a bard here?” Jaskier whispered in surprise. On the one hand, most kings kept bards around more as displays of their power than because they truly enjoyed music. And Geralt clearly was not that kind of person. But on the other hand, there may very well have been a lot of hot tempers running high with so many Witchers closed up in one place. Music was known to soothe even the most savage of beasts…

But Ciri was shaking her head, looking unhappy. “No. We have had a couple visit before, but they never stay long. Aunt Yen says that bards love to travel too much to stay in one place. But Aiden and Cedric can sing, and Triss can play the flute, and sometimes I can talk Grandfather into singing too, and…” She shrugged. “We make do.”

“Do you sing?” Jaskier rasped, and Ciri pouted.

“I’m afraid that singing is not one of Ciri’s many talents,” said Eskel when Ciri didn’t answer. “But she’s very good at dancing.”

Ciri perked up at that. “Perhaps someday you can dance with me, Jaskier. All of the witches are so tall and broad. You’re short like me, so we’d dance well together.”

Jaskier sputtered, and Eskel laughed out loud.

Oblivious to the insult she’d just delivered, Ciri went on: “Their height makes it so hard to dance with them. I usually end up standing on their feet while they swing me around. But I know that’s not how it’s done, and I would like to learn how to do it the normal way sometime.”

“I am not short,” Jaskier hissed under his breath, and Eskel snorted.

“I’m sure Jaskier would be delighted to dance with you someday,” Eskel said wickedly, and Jaskier dared to shoot a glare over his shoulder. Eskel just grinned.

“I hope you get well enough to do so, then!” Ciri said, beaming, and Jaskier smiled back briefly before his smile faltered as her words sunk in.

At this point, he didn’t know if he’d ever be well enough to dance with Ciri. He didn’t even know if he’d ever really be able to walk again. Triss had been evasive thus far, merely saying that Jaskier’s progress had been more promising than she’d expected. But she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell him if he’d ever be able to do anything that he used to do. That was possibly the hardest part about all of this.

“Let’s move on to the library before Jaskier gets too tired,” Eskel suggested, neatly turning Jaskier’s chair around. Ciri nodded and skipped up the room ahead of them, holding the door open so that Jaskier and Eskel could pass. Once in the hallway, they took several turns that left Jaskier hopelessly lost before they paused before another set of doors.

Ciri thrust them open unceremoniously, calling out, “Grandfather! Are you here?”

“I am always here,” came a response.

Jaskier unconsciously tensed as he tracked the place where the voice came from. A tall, broad-shouldered man – were all Witchers so big? – emerged from between two shelves. The Witcher looked at the three of them with a raised eyebrow. A raised, silver eyebrow. Jaskier looked at him in surprise, having never heard of a Witcher who had lived long enough to have gray hair and even a graying beard.

“Grandfather!” Ciri skipped over to the Witcher and tackled him in a hug, or tried to anyway. The Witcher scooped her up for a boisterous hug that had her feet leaving the ground.

“Vesemir,” Eskel breathed into Jaskier’s ear.

Vesemir. Jaskier’s lips soundlessly formed the name even as his eyes quickly flicked around the library, taking the room in while Vesemir and Ciri were otherwise occupied. If possible, the library was even larger than the dining hall. Endless shelves of books stretched as far as Jaskier’s human eye could see, ending in a darkened shadow that the lamps on the walls didn’t illuminate.

He wondered if the surrounding kingdoms knew how much knowledge was enclosed here. Probably not. Even just a quick glance at the nearest shelf revealed books written in languages that Jaskier didn’t know, and he knew a fair few after his travels. Some of those languages, he realized, might not even be spoken anymore. Could Vesemir read them all?

“You must be Jaskier,” said Vesemir, quickly drawing Jaskier’s attention back. “Ciri says you like to listen to her talk.”

Jaskier nodded, wishing that he could say how much he enjoyed Ciri’s visits. Without her, he’d still be sitting in a bed in silence. But his throat was throbbing now in a tell-tale way that suggested he’d be sorry if he tried to speak anything more. Actually, his whole body was aching. It was a slow sort of ache that had unexpectedly crept up on him, but which now felt impossible to ignore.

Vesemir looked at him for a long, hard moment, then said, “Can you read? Write?”

Again, Jaskier nodded, though a bit more baffled this time. Despite the eternal frustrations of his tutors, Jaskier had actually taken to reading and writing quite quickly once he discovered that meant he could write down the tunes that always danced through his head. And books could be fascinating if they weren’t the dry lists of numbers and ledgers his tutors had pushed on him.

“Good,” Vesemir said shortly. “Ciri, I have to go. I have a meeting with your father. And I believe you have a session with Yennefer you need to get to.” He looked pointedly at Ciri, who sighed and pouted a bit.

“But I was giving Jaskier a tour,” she said.

“You can continue the tour another day. Eskel needs to be at this meeting too,” Vesemir said. “Now come on. Don’t leave Yennefer waiting. You know how she gets.”

Ciri sighed. “Yeah, okay. Jaskier, tomorrow I promise to show you the training grounds, okay?” She dashed out of the library without waiting for Jaskier’s response.

Which meant that Jaskier was alone with two Witchers.

He gulped, trying not to let on that he was as nervous as he was. At the very least, he consoled himself, they weren’t likely to kill him after Ciri had gotten attached to him. But he was also aware that there was a lot of damage that could be done without killing someone…

“Is this meeting about Cintra?” Eskel asked Vesemir.

“No, Yennefer has that under control. It’s about Clovis,” said Vesemir.

The name meant nothing to Jaskier, but Eskel nodded somberly as though it meant something to him. He pushed Jaskier’s chair out of the library and Vesemir followed them. Jaskier remained silent as they walked, though for once he wouldn’t have spoken even if he could’ve. The two Witchers also remained quiet, which was much more unnerving.

It was a relief when they got back to Triss’s workshop. She was just coming out, a puzzled look on her face, and her hands flew to her hips when she saw them coming.

“I told you that you could take him for a short ride! Short!” she said furiously, glaring at Eskel.

“Ciri wanted to go to the library too,” Eskel said with a sheepish smile.

“Of course she did, but you’re the adult! You should’ve stopped her,” Triss scolded. “And Vesemir, you’re no better.”

“I intervened as soon as I saw them,” Vesemir objected, holding his hands up. “I sent Ciri off to her lesson and returned your ill human. Unharmed, I’d say.”

Triss took one look at Jaskier and scoffed. “Unharmed? You call trembling from pain and exhaustion unharmed? You Witchers, honestly. Eskel, return Jaskier to his bed this instant.”

Seemingly cowed by Triss’s wrath, Eskel merely nodded and wheeled Jaskier into the room. His arms were strong but gentle as he picked Jaskier up and transferred him back into the bed – a fact which Jaskier appreciated both because his whole body was throbbing, but also because he didn’t think he could’ve helped Eskel if his life depended on it.

Triss bustled in and sent Eskel off with another glare. In moments, she was helping Jaskier sip more of the apple-scented pain potion. Jaskier drank gratefully, sinking back against the pillows with a relieved sigh. The last thing he was aware of before he passed out was Triss grumbling to herself about idiotic Witchers as she pulled the blankets up over Jaskier’s lower half.

Chapter Text

Despite Ciri’s promise, they did not go to the training grounds the next day. Jaskier spent the day mostly sleeping because it hurt too much to be awake. Every time he woke up to take another dose of the pain potion, Triss was muttering under her breath about Witchers who had no appreciation for human limitations as she gently helped him to drink.

It was another long two days before Triss pronounced Jaskier well enough to be out of bed again. Ciri showed up promptly just after the meal hour, a guilty smile on her face. Eskel was just behind her, holding the chair. Triss put her hands on her hips and stared the both of them down, until both Ciri and Eskel looked down at the floor with identical looks of shame.

Jaskier briefly contemplated speaking up, but decided against it. The last thing he wanted was for Triss to look at him with that expression. He bit his lip but remained quiet, and at last Triss spoke.

“There will be no over-doing it today, do you both understand?” she said sternly. “I know this is a hard concept for you to grasp, but Jaskier is very fragile right now. He isn’t even close to having fully recovered. Too much and you might set his recovery back permanently, which is the very opposite of what we’re all trying to achieve. Got it?”

Fragile. Jaskier was beginning to loathe that word. Yet he also knew that Triss was right, and that he’d over-done it during the first trip. He really didn’t want to go through another few days of being in agonizing pain every time he so much twitched. He was already dreaming of the day he’d be able to walk again under his own control, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that.

“Yes,” Ciri said, clasping her hands together and looking the very picture of a meek angel.

“Eskel?” Triss said, eyeing the Witcher.

“Yes,” Eskel echoed, nodding and avoiding Triss’s eye. He looked every bit as contrite as Ciri did, and Jaskier was reminded again of the fact that Triss was a powerful sorceress. There weren’t many people capable of making a Witcher cower like that.

“Good.” Triss finally smiled, crossing her arms over her chest. The mood in the room lightened considerably as she asked, “Where are you going today?”

“The training grounds!” Ciri said, her posture changing in the blink of an eye. She beamed and bounced excitedly on her heels. “I want Jaskier to see me training.”

“Hmm.” Triss pursed her lips. “It’s so cold out. Jaskier, you’ll need to be bundled up. Eskel, you may move him now.”

Eskel stepped past Triss and approached the bed. He slid his arms under Jaskier and gently lifted him. Jaskier tried to remain relaxed this time, remembering how much worse it had been when he tensed up last time. But even with that, it still hurt a lot to be moved. He was grateful when he was sitting in the chair and didn’t have to worry about anyone touching him again.

Triss carefully draped a thicker blanket over his lap this time, making sure that it was tucked in around his legs. Then she slid a heavy fur shawl around Jaskier’s shoulders, followed by another blanket that was wrapped around his whole upper body. Lastly, she put a hat on his head. Jaskier would have objected, but then he realized that even Eskel was wearing a jacket. If even the Witcher of their small group was wearing a jacket…

“Are we good now? I can’t be late,” Ciri said. She was also wearing a thick coat, Jaskier noticed when he looked at her again. Her hair was tightly braided today and shoved beneath a thick cap that was not unlike the one Triss had just put on Jaskier’s head. She was also wearing heavy boots.

“Yes. Have fun,” Triss said, a smile softening her stern expression. She cupped Ciri’s cheek for a moment, then let go and stepped back.

Eskel took his position at Jaskier’s back and then, with a little jolt, they were moving. Ciri led the way out into the hallway. As Eskel pushed the chair through, Ciri reached past them and swung the door of the workshop closed. She let out a loud sigh of relief as soon as the door was shut.

“Wow! I thought we’d never get out of there,” Ciri said.

“Shh. She can still hear you,” Eskel hissed at her, and Ciri winced.

“Right. Jaskier, please make sure you tell us if you’re feeling too unwell to continue. I won’t be mad,” Ciri said, looking at Jaskier worriedly.

Jaskier smiled at her. In lieu of an answer, he shakily reached out and patted Ciri’s hand. That was enough to make a large smile cross Ciri’s face too.

“Good! Now, I think you’ll really like the training grounds. They’re fascinating to look at. Maybe you can even meet my horse afterwards,” Ciri said excitedly, clapping her hands together. “But first! We really are going to be late if we don’t hurry up. I don’t want to get another scolding, so let’s go.”

She hurried up the corridor and Eskel pushed the chair after her. Jaskier was content to sit back and just observe. This time they went in a different direction from the last time, and it didn’t take him long to realize that they were gradually heading down. He was wondering just where the training grounds were when they rounded a corner and he was hit with a blast of frigid air.

“Oh brr!” Ciri said, shivering.

“Lambert must’ve left the door open again,” Eskel said. “Ciri, make sure you close it behind us. We don’t want the cold air getting inside.”

He kept pushing Jaskier forward as he spoke, and Jaskier glimpsed a big, heavy door that clearly led outdoors. Eskel walked right up to it and pushed Jaskier’s chair through. Even beneath the blankets and fur shawl, Jaskier shivered as they moved outside. Despite that, he couldn’t help looking around with fascination – this was the first glimpse he’d gotten of Kaer Morhen outside.

The hold rose up behind them as they moved across a small yard. Jaskier was surprised to see a light dusting of snow on the ground already. It had been warm when he’d been summoned home to his parents – warm days with cooler nights, but nothing close to the temperature needed for snow. Either he’d been laid up far longer than he’d thought, or Kaer Morhen was much further north than anyone had assumed.

“I’ll go ahead!” Ciri called out, running ahead of them. Jaskier watched her head for a building in the distance, maybe a two minute walk from the hold, and made a wordless questioning sound.

“That’s one of the buildings we use for training, specifically outdoor training,” Eskel said, correctly guessing what Jaskier was curious about. “In the wintertime, we move some of the training indoors. Especially for Ciri. Don’t tell her I told you this, but she’s much too short to fight in snow.” He was grinning when Jaskier glanced up at him, a twinkle in his eyes, and that made Jaskier smile too.

He could just imagine how outraged Ciri would be if she heard that. For sure, she would be out here trying to train in snow that went up to her waist.

It seemed to grow colder the further they got from the hold, and Jaskier burrowed deeper into the blanket that Triss had draped around him. When he looked past the training building, all he could see was trees for as far as the human eye could see. That reaffirmed his thought that Kaer Morhen was much further north, probably hidden in a forest where no one ever ventured. It was an excellent first line of defence, especially in winter.

As they grew closer, Jaskier realized that it wasn’t actually a traditional building at all – more of a series of walls that were all open to the elements, with no roof, surrounding a large area that had been cleared of snow. Several polished weapons were hanging from the walls, and there was a startling amount of Witchers standing near the weapons talking. Ciri was with them.

Jaskier couldn’t help shrinking back a little when he saw all of the Witchers. He’d known that most of them lived in Kaer Morhen, but up until now he’d only interacted with a few of them. It was something completely different to see so many clustered together. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he had tried to assassinate their king, and that he was now alive because of said king’s generosity.

“It’s alright,” Eskel said quietly from behind him, seemingly sensing Jaskier’s uncertainty. “Steady, Jaskier.” His hand came down on Jaskier’s shoulder and squeezed once, comforting. “You’re under Geralt’s protection. No one would touch you.”

Even if Jaskier could have spoken, he wouldn’t have – mostly because he had no idea what to say to that.

“Jaskier!” Ciri called out, waving. “Watch me!” She was holding a knife in either hand as she walked out into the middle of the grounds. A Witcher, tall and husky with dark hair, joined her.

What happened next left Jaskier stunned. He watched in awe as Ciri and the Witcher sparred. It was obvious that the Witcher was holding back somewhat, but Ciri was amazing. She moved with a grace that seemed inhuman, dancing around the Witcher and sneaking in to slash lightly at him before shifting out of the way. The cleverness with which she used her shorter stature was beyond her years.

They practiced that way for several minutes before the Witcher called a halt to the proceedings. He then stepped up beside Ciri and showed her what she’d done incorrectly. He had Ciri go over her mistakes. Then they did the whole thing a second time, and then a third. Jaskier fully expected Ciri to tire, but she seemed to have an endless depth of stamina.

After a fourth round, another Witcher came out to join them carrying a bow and some arrows. The bow looked almost taller than Ciri, but she handled it with ease. First she started with targets in the distance that didn’t move, and then a couple of Witchers started moving the targets around as she tried to hit them. The accuracy with which she hit most of the targets was incredible.

Finally, there seemed to be a lull in activity and Ciri jogged over to them. She was breathing hair, beads of sweat rolling down her face, but there was a big smile on her face.

“What did you think?” she asked breathlessly. “I know I need to work on my aim a lot more. It’s hard when they move the targets too much.”

“You were amazing,” Jaskier said hoarsely, meaning every word. He thought about the children of the King where he’d come from. They were all polished and subdued, meant to look good more than be good. He was honestly shocked by the amount of effort that was being put into Ciri’s education, both physically and mentally. She was so well-rounded.

Ciri beamed. “Thank you! I mean, I don’t think so, but it’s lovely to hear you say so. It’s a lot harder on snow too. I’m better on dry surfaces, but then Grandfather always teases me and tells me that the chances of me ever being in a battle in perfect conditions is not going to happen…” She rolled her eyes.

Jaskier smiled. “He’s got a point,” he said quietly, wondering if the Witchers ever expected Ciri to see battle, or if they were teaching her how to protect herself just in case. He hoped it was the latter, but even if it was, that idea was a troubling one.

The thought of anything happening to Ciri hurt a lot, he realized suddenly.

When had that happened?

Chapter Text

It was quiet in the room, Triss having excused herself, when there was a knock on the open door. Jaskier looked up in surprise. Ciri, he had discovered quickly, rarely knocked when the door was open, preferring instead to fling herself inside the room like someone was chasing her. And so far as Jaskier could tell, she was usually the only visitor aside from Eskel, who only ever came with Ciri.

So to say that he was shocked when he saw the White Wolf standing there was… an understatement.

“Good morning,” Geralt said. His white hair was tied back today, but a few strands had escaped to frame his face. He was wearing a dark shirt and pants today, which just drew more attention to his unusual coloring and made him look even more striking as a result.

In all the stories Jaskier had heard of the White Wolf, not a single one had mentioned how handsome the Witcher was. That was a massive oversight, Jaskier decided. He would’ve appreciated a warning. If he were ever able to sing and play his lute again, he was going to compose a ballad about the White Wolf. He was positive it would be well-received.

He ducked his head in response, horribly conscious of the fact that the last time Geralt had seen him, Jaskier had spilled water all over himself in the midst of a panic attack just because of a simple conversation. And on top of that, he hadn’t even been able to give them any useful information. It was embarrassing to know how pathetic he must seem in the eyes of someone like the White Wolf.

“Hi,” Jaskier voiced softly, looking shamefully down at the covers that were pulled across his legs. He wondered why Geralt was here. To see Triss, maybe?

The hair rose on the back of his neck when Geralt took a step into the room. It seemed like the room shrunk, and Jaskier swallowed hard. He’d realized Geralt was tall and imposing, of course, but he hadn’t realized just how much until now, when they were alone in the room. If the White Wolf had come for justice, there would be very little that Jaskier could do about it.

But he could, at least, do one thing. No matter that he had already asked Triss to pass along his apology, it was time that Jaskier did it in person.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier told the covers, lacking the courage to look up and meet Geralt’s eye. That was even more shameful, and he called himself a coward for it. The least a man could do was face the man he had tried to kill. But Jaskier just couldn’t.

For a moment, there was quiet. Then the surprisingly light sound of Geralt’s feet moving closer to the bed. Jaskier couldn’t help tensing up, even though that caused pain to radiate through every inch of his body. He tried to breathe through the pain, unable to relax when Geralt was so close and could lash out at any moment. Ready, waiting, for the moment when a blow would strike.

“Sorry for what?” Geralt said, making Jaskier jump a little, and Jaskier blinked.

“For – for trying to kill you,” Jaskier said, looking up without thinking. He flinched a bit when he realized that Geralt was right beside the bed, closer even than Jasier had anticipated. It seemed impossible for someone so big to move that quietly.

Geralt raised his eyebrows. It was a remarkably human move on an inhumanly beautiful face, and went a long way towards making him look a lot more like a man and a lot less like an untouchable Witcher. Jaskier felt like he should do the proper thing and look away, but now that he had started looking at Geralt’s face, he found that he did not want to stop.

Those golden eyes were…

“Did you want to kill me?” Geralt asked simply.

“Wh-what?” Jaskier stammered, shocked. “N-no!”

“Then I don’t see why you’re apologizing,” Geralt said.

Jaskier stared at him for a moment, utterly confused, before he said, “Because – because it was me. My hands. I had the knife. I was going to –” He couldn’t go on. It was taking him right back to that awful night when he’d been a prisoner inside of his own mind, watching as his hand lifted the knife and feeling his feet take steps he couldn’t stop.

But before the memories could overwhelm him completely, Geralt spoke again.

“Someone else was using your body as a weapon. That does not put you at fault,” said Geralt. He reached out and picked up a knife that Triss had left on her worktable.

Jaskier’s heart stopped.

Their eyes connected for a long moment.

Then, calmly, Geralt said, “If someone stabbed me with a knife, it would be useless for me to blame the knife. The knife was the tool used to commit the act, not the one who was actually trying to commit an act against me. You are no different. I no more blame you than the knife you held that night.” He set the knife back down on the worktable with a sort of finality.

The White Wolf had a nice voice, Jaskier thought somewhat dazedly. It was a deep, rough, commanding voice, yet somehow capable of more gentleness than most people could dream of, and that was the voice Geralt was using right then. It was more than enough to keep him grounded in the moment, and Jaskier needed that desperately during a time when he felt like he could fall apart.

He knew he should respond to what Geralt had just said, but all the emotions swirling through him seemed to tangle up in his throat and leave him speechless. He could only stare.

“You are not in danger here, Jaskier. You will not be killed nor harmed unless you attempt to harm someone. And I mean unless you, under the control of your own mind and body, actively decide that you want to harm someone else under my roof,” Geralt said clearly. “You do not need to fear the other Witchers. They will not hurt you.”

Jaskier immediately realized why Geralt was here. Eskel must have mentioned his reaction to seeing the other Witchers a few days ago. He felt his face warm at the realization that Geralt had taken time out of busy day just to come assuage Jaskier’s fears. It seemed like he was forever destined to keep embarrassing himself in front of the White Wolf.

“And I will not hurt you either. There will be no punishment for what happened,” Geralt added. “You have my word. You are safe here.”

“I – thank you,” Jaskier managed to whisper, his eyes growing hot. This had been hanging over him since he’d woken up to find himself in the White Wolf’s domain. Knowing that he didn’t need to worry about punishment was more of a relief than he could accurately put into words. He dropped his gaze again, blinking rapidly, hoping that Geralt did not know how close to tears he was.

It had been a long time since Jaskier had felt safe.

Even when he’d been travelling around as a bard, he’d always known that he wasn’t safe. Even when he had tried to stay out of his parent’s reach, he’d always been conscious of the fact that they could easily find him. He’d always known that his time to be free was limited, and that at some point he was going to be dragged back – although he’d never in his wildest dreams thought it would happen the way that it had.

Here, behind the doors of Kaer Morhen, his parents could not touch him. Their king had no control here, and his parents would never be able to find a way in. Even if they tried to hire someone to come assassinate Jaskier, it was very unlikely that person would ever be able to make it past the numerous Witchers that lived here. And frankly, they probably thought he was already dead. If it weren’t for Triss, he would be.

“Ciri tells me that she has been showing you around,” Geralt said, and Jaskier took a deep breath. He swallowed hard, wincing slightly, and nodded.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He wondered now if Ciri had been showing him around because she wanted to, or because she’d somehow realized that Jaskier felt like he was a prisoner here. Or maybe it had been a mixture of both. He’d noticed that Ciri could be amazingly perceptive despite her youth.

“She showed you the library,” Geralt added. “You know how to read?”

“My parents had me taught when I was a child,” Jaskier whispered.

“Good. I’ll ask Eskel to take you back. Vesemir wants to see you, and you are free to read any of the books you like,” Geralt said. His eyes flicked briefly over the table beside Jaskier’s bed, taking in the sorting process that Jaskier was still working through.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said again. He didn’t know that his hands would be capable of holding a book just now, but the thought of visiting the library sounded nice. He’d never liked the kind of boring reading his tutors tried to force on him, but Jaskier had always been a fan of poetry and certain novels.

Geralt nodded. “And in time, once you are up to it, you will take your meals in the hall with all of us.”

That surprised Jaskier again, although he did his best to conceal it. For some reason, he hadn’t expected that. He tried to imagine eating in the hall, which had seemed so big. He thought it would be absolutely overwhelming if it was filled to the brim with Witchers, but a part of him thought that it might be nice at the same time. Even with Eskel and Ciri and Triss, Jaskier sometimes got lonely in this room by himself.

“Lastly, if you need anything, you need only ask Eskel. He can get it for you.” Geralt turned to head back to the door, clearly considering the conversation concluded, but there was one more thing…

“Um,” Jaskier said.

Geralt paused, looking back at him expectantly. “Yes?”

“The man – the sorcerer who did this to me,” Jaskier whispered. “Have you found him?” His hands trembled a little, and he hid them beneath the blanket.

He didn’t know what he would do if he ever saw Gael again. He liked to think that he would enact some sort of revenge for himself, but it was just as likely that he would cry or pass out from sheer trauma. Especially if he ever ended up alone with the sorcerer. The mere thought of it was enough to make Jaskier break out into a fine sweat.

“No,” Geralt said quietly. “Yennefer is still trying to find him. She’s reached out to all of her contacts, but it’s taking time for some of them to get back to her. However, I am confident that she will, but it may take time. Sorcerers are good at hiding.”

“Right,” Jaskier murmured, swallowing. It would have been comforting if Geralt had confirmed that Gael had been found and killed, but he supposed that was asking too much.

Geralt tipped his chin and left this time, leaving Jaskier alone again. Jaskier breathed out slowly, feeling lighter than he had since waking up in Kaer Morhen. Knowing that the White Wolf had no plans to kill him was comforting indeed, and so was knowing that he wouldn’t be the target of anyone else here. It made him realize that he no longer needed to worry about being useful to the White Wolf so that they wouldn’t kill him.

But it also made him realize that he still wanted to be useful. Even more so now, if that was possible. It just didn’t feel right to stay here if he couldn’t be useful. He would figure out a way to do so, Jaskier vowed silently. He would not let Geralt regret his decision to let Jaskier stay.

Chapter Text

It was three days later that Eskel showed up to take Jaskier back to the library. Jaskier was extremely nervous as his chair was pushed down the corridor, but he tried his best to control it. All of the Witchers he’d met so far had been intimidating, but somehow Vesemir was on another level altogether. As Ciri’s grandfather (and possibly Geralt’s father? How did that work?), Vesemir clearly had a lot of authority.

“I have an appointment to get to,” Eskel said as they came upon the library. “So I’ll leave you here. But I’m under strict orders from Triss not to let you out of bed for more than a couple of hours, so I’ll be back for you before it’s time for dinner. If you need anything in the meantime, just let Vesemir know. You’ll be fine.” He set Jaskier’s chair beside a tall shelf of books, then patted Jaskier’s shoulder in what was clearly an attempt at comfort.

Somehow, that only made Jaskier more apprehensive. It was daunting to watch Eskel leave, and Jaskier almost wished that he could ask the other Witcher to stay. But since he couldn’t, he tried to settle his nerves by taking a better look at the library itself. It looked no different than it had the first time he’d been here, but now he was able to see some of the titles more clearly.

So many books. So many titles. Some in languages Jaskier didn’t understand, but several that he did. More than one book made his eyebrows shoot up: some were so old that he’d thought them lost to the ages. He saw at least a dozen books that Oxenfurt Academy would’ve given all their money for. Just one would’ve been costly enough to support a family for life. He started to reach out for one.

“Here you are,” said a voice behind him, and Jaskier startled badly. His heartrate sky-rocketed and he flinched instinctively, remembering the moment when his father had come up behind him.

When nothing happened except for an increasingly heavy silence that dragged on, Jaskier slowly lifted his head. He realized that his hands were shaking and he was breathing quickly. It took him a couple of minutes to be able to take some deep breaths and slowly get himself under control again. In that time, he realized that Vesemir was the one who had so quietly approached.

Vesemir looked at him with eyes so dark that they were almost black, a unique contrast to his gray hair. Somehow, he was even more imposing than the White Wolf was. Yet he had smiled, Jaskier reminded himself, and hugged Ciri gently when she ran to him, so surely Vesemir couldn’t be too bad. So far, every person that Ciri loved had turned out to be at least decent.

“My apologies,” Vesemir said after a moment, startling Jaskier again. “Eskel should have told me that you had arrived. He was probably afraid I’d give him another task to do.” He shook his head in amusement.

“It’s – it’s fine,” Jaskier whispered. He wondered if he would always be like this from now on. He’d never been like this before; he’d always been perfectly comfortable in crowds – had relished crowds, especially when he was singing – and he had never feared someone coming up behind him. He missed the days when he could react like a normal person, instead of… instead of like this.

Vesemir inclined his head slightly. “I asked you here because you said you know how to read?”

“Yes,” Jaskier whispered when it became clear Vesemir was waiting for a response. “I had a tutor when I was a child who taught me how.”

“And you know how to write?” Vesemir asked.

“I – I used to be able to, but – ” Jaskier looked with regret at his hands, which were still trembling. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to hold a pen again. Even with the pain potion that Triss regularly gave him, his hands still ached horribly whenever he tried to do something. And he lacked a lot of finer motor control too. He wasn’t sure any handwriting he managed to do would be legible.

“Right,” Vesemir said, accepting that answer with an easy nod. “Well, in this case your eyes will be more helpful anyway. May I?”

It took Jaskier a few seconds to realize what Vesemir was asking, and then he gave his approval with a wordless nod. The skin on the back of his neck prickled as Vesemir stepped behind him and began to push his chair. They moved deeper into the library, out of sight of the door, and eventually emerged into a space that was a little more open. There was a desk lit by several lamps, with windows above to let in sunlight.

“This is where I work,” said Vesemir, indicating the space with a wave of his hand. “I like it here because no one really bothers me. I have an office outside of the library, but everyone knows where it is and they all come calling whenever they want. At least here, people hate to visit because I usually won’t let them leave without a book or two in their hands.” He was smirking faintly.

“It’s nice,” Jaskier whispered, taking in the small space with new appreciation. It looked cozy. And with the desk positioned the way it was, Vesemir’s back would be to the wall, which meant that no one would be able to sneak up on him. He had a perfect view down all the shelves. He was sure that was deliberate.

“Thank you. I do, of course, keep the most confidential files in my office. But there’s always these…” Vesemir walked over to the desk and motioned to three tall stacks of paper. He picked up a handful and returned to Jaskier.

They were letters, Jaskier realized after a moment. Each one seemed to be written by a different person. Some were barely legible while others were written in a crisp penmanship. Likewise, some were only a sentence or two while others covered the whole page. He glanced back at the desk, at the tall stacks of paper, and realized that it must take a very long time to read through them all.

“These are from the villages surrounding Kaer Morhen. They’re under Geralt’s protection,” Vesemir explained. “He – we – are responsible for them. We established a system early on where people could write to us instead of making the trek to Kaer Morhen to present their issues in person. It’s just not feasible for Yennefer to create portals every day or every second day just for that. This way, she can create a portal every second week and we send someone through to collect these.”

Jaskier nodded. That made sense to him. He remembered going outside with Ciri and Eskel and seeing nothing but trees in every direction. Depending on how isolated Kaer Morhen was, it might take villagers the better part of a week or two just to get here. That was a journey that few people would be able to afford.

Vesemir went on, “We employ someone in each village to write out these for us. But of course, people are always permitted to write their own as well. So some of them are a lot easier to read than others. I’m sure you can imagine that means it can take a while to read all of them.”

Again, Jaskier nodded. He understood now why some of the letters were so long and why others were so short, as well as why some were barely legible. He also had the feeling he knew where this was going, and he couldn’t decide how to feel about it.

“And that’s where you’ll come in,” Vesemir said finally. “I’d like you to do a preliminary reading of all these letters, then sort them into piles based on what the issues are. We’ll have one pile for food shortages, one pile for money, one pile for illnesses, one pile for fights… everything that makes sense to you. Then I’ll take the piles, read through them myself if necessary, and forward them to the people who can deal with them.”

“Aren’t they… private?” Jaskier asked hesitantly. He was honestly split on this. Part of him was happy to hear that he would be doing something useful; despite Geralt’s visit, and reassurance that no one blamed him or would try to hurt him for what had happened, Jaskier still felt like he needed to do something to be useful. It wasn’t right or fair for him to sit around doing nothing in return for their hospitality.

But another part of him was very apprehensive about crossing some line in the future and being punished for that instead. He had the feeling that the White Wolf did not run Kaer Morhen like a traditional court, which meant that all of the manners and traditions that Jaskier had learned growing up would be useless. What if he saw something he was not supposed to see?

“They shouldn’t be. I trust that if you started to read something that was not meant for your eyes, you would set it aside,” Vesemir said, looking at Jaskier with a hard glint in his eyes.

“Of course,” Jaskier whispered, this time nodding so hard it felt like his head might fall off.

“You can start here or I can call someone to take you back to your bed and you can work from there. Which would you prefer?” Vesemir asked, and Jaskier realized that he wasn’t really being asked to do this. Vesemir was telling him that he was going to do this.

Which was fine. It still made him feel a bit wary, but overall Jaskier found himself excited to have something to do that wasn’t just organizing seeds and nuts for Triss. Plus, he thought that reading these letters would be useful in helping him to learn what the local villages were like. That information would be vital when he was healthy enough to depart Kaer Morhen.

“I’ll start here. I like being out of bed,” Jaskier whispered, looking at the desk longingly. Though he couldn’t deny that he truly wasn’t well enough to be out of bed for long periods of time, he relished the idea of sitting at a desk even if it was just for a few minutes. Anything to make him feel a little more normal.

And how laughable was that? There had been a time not so long ago when Jaskier would’ve done literally anything to avoid being stuck at a desk all day. It was one of the reasons why he’d left his parents, and the biggest reason why he hadn’t remained at the university. Being shackled to a desk all day, every day, had always felt like his worst nightmare. Now it seemed his younger self just hadn’t known what a real nightmare was like…

He startled slightly at the chair suddenly moving, belatedly realizing that Vesemir had moved behind him and was now effortlessly pushing the chair over to the desk. Shortly, Jaskier was comfortably seated at the desk, which was wide enough to accommodate his chair. But as he looked around, Jaskier suddenly realized he had effectively taken over Vesemir’s workspace.

“Um… I can go back to my room if you…” He looked up at Vesemir uncertainly.

“No, it’s fine. Sometimes I work better when I move,” Vesemir said. “I’ll be in the stacks. If you have need of me, call out.” He studied Jaskier for a moment, frowning. “Or if you can’t, make a loud noise. Push something off the desk. I’ll hear it.”

He was gone before Jaskier could respond, disappearing into the stacks of books in the blink of an eye. It was like magic, Jaskier thought to himself, that someone so big and who had silver hair could blend into the shadows so well. He had the feeling that he wouldn’t have even known if Vesemir was standing a few feet away just watching him. He tried not to think about that as he turned his attention to his task.

There really were a lot of letters. Jaskier picked up the first one with trembling hands and started to read.

Chapter Text

For the most part, the letters were more interesting to read than Jaskier expected them to be. As Vesemir had predicted, they crossed a wide variety of topics. The very first one Jaskier read was from a farmer whose cattle had all come down with a mysterious fever, which the writer seemed to think was actually a curse caused by a fellow farmer. He was requesting the White Wolf’s investigation.

How would Geralt handle that? Jaskier pondered the question to himself for a moment. Witchers had huge appetites, everyone knew that. So of course it would be a problem if the farmers who supplied Kaer Morhen stopped being able to do so. Perhaps Yennefer or Triss would be sent to investigate? Or maybe there were other sorcerers in the castle who would go.

For some reason, he strongly felt as though Geralt would not just ignore the letter the way some nobles would have. Some nobles only cared about what immediately impacted them, and would have thought nothing of a starving peasant family. But Geralt didn’t seem to be that way. He had been so kind when speaking with Jaskier. Surely he would do something.

Gently, Jaskier set the letter on the desk and moved on to the next one. This one was about a young woman who was asking for the White Wolf to arrange a marriage on her behalf, as she had no father and her mother was too ill to do so for her. Jaskier started another pile with that one, and then amused himself for a few moments by picturing one of the gruff Witchers talking through intricate marriage negotiations.

“Something tells me that’s unlikely,” Jaskier murmured to himself, picking up a third letter. This one was a plea for money, short and to the point, from the head of what seemed to be a small nearby village. That letter began a third pile, a pile which swiftly began to grow.

By the time that the candles on the desk had burned down halfway, Jaskier had gone through a large chunk of the letters and was feeling tired. The pile asking for money was by far the largest of them all, but there were also a considerable amount of letters with food or lodging issues. He sat back in his chair, looking at the stacks, wondering who Vesemir would give them to.

A shuffle to his right made him tense, his mind immediately flashing back to the last time someone had caught him totally unawares, but it was only Eskel; he was picking his way through the stacks. The Witcher stopped short at the sight of Jaskier and laughed.

“I don’t have to ask if Vesemir put you to work. I can barely see you behind all that paper!” Eskel joked.

Jaskier looked at the piles, realizing that Eskel was right. A couple of them were high enough that when Jaskier was bent forward to read, they hid him from sight. And yet somehow it seemed like he had barely put a dent in the pile that he was pulling the letters from. No wonder Vesemir had requested help with such an onerous task. It was a lot for just one person.

“Anything noteworthy?” Eskel asked, walking over. “Or just the usual?”

“I’m not sure what would be noteworthy,” Jaskier whispered, which for some reason made Eskel smile.

“Oh believe me, you’d know if you’d come across it,” he said. “Ready to go back to your room? Triss will have my hide if you’re up for too long.”

Jaskier nodded, suddenly realizing that he was tired. Though he hadn’t been doing anything but sitting there and reading, it was more taxing than he’d anticipated. His eyes ached from looking at the writing, which was often difficult to read especially when he was largely relying on candlelight. And his back was sore from leaning over the desk to get closer to the candles.

“Good. I’ll take you back, then,” Eskel said, moving behind Jaskier’s chair. As he did so, Vesemir emerged from the shadows on the far side of the shelves.

“Interested in coming back tomorrow?” Vesemir asked, looking right at Jaskier. “There’s still lots more. This is only a small portion of them all. I’m behind on them, actually. Other things keep taking up my attention.

“Sure,” Jaskier whispered. If this was a way that he could be useful, he was more than happy to take it. Plus, reading the letters was way more interesting than sorting seeds and nuts. Maybe someday, if he did everything right, he’d be able to do something about some of the letters rather than just setting them aside for others to deal with.

“Good.” Vesemir smiled then. “Eskel will bring you along after lunch. Feel free to take a book with you on the way out, if you’d like something to read tonight.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered, surprised but pleased by the offer. Turning the pages of a book wouldn’t be easy, but he was certain that he’d be able to manage it if he was cautious and took his time.

Vesemir nodded at them and walked over to the desk to look at some of the letters. Eskel grasped Jaskier’s chair and pulled it away from the desk and back through the shelving, towards the doorway. Jaskier watched the shelves until he found the one he’d been looking at before Vesemir had approached him. He pointed to the shelf and Eskel obligingly stopped.

It took a few moments, but eventually Jaskier picked out a book of poetry that he had heard of but never had the chance to read. Back when he was a bard – back when he could actually play his lute and sing – he had often taken inspiration from poetry when he was struggling with a particular song. He wouldn’t be able to sing or write any songs now, but he could at least still read poetry.

“You must have done well,” Eskel said as they left the library, the book safely tucked into Jaskier’s lap.

Jaskier made a questioning sound, uncertain as to what that was supposed to mean, and Eskel chuckled.

“You must have impressed Vesemir, I mean. I know people who have lived here for like ten years who aren’t allowed to borrow books from the library. Vesemir doesn’t trust them not to be careful. So you must have done well if he’s willing to allow you to take one.”

“I didn’t do much,” Jaskier whispered, a bit confused by that. All he’d done was what Vesemir had asked him to do. It hadn’t been difficult.

Eskel chuckled again. “That’s what you think. Well, it seems you now have a job. You are okay with it, right? Vesemir can be intimidating even if he doesn’t mean to be. You don’t have to go back if you’d rather not.”

“I want to,” Jaskier whispered immediately.

“Okay. That’s fine. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel pressured about it,” Eskel said. “Ah, here we are.” He brought the chair to a stop just in front of Triss’s room, and a moment later the door opened and Triss herself poked her head out.

“I thought it might be you,” she said. “Eskel, Geralt is looking for you.” She stepped aside to let them enter.

“Already? I just left him like five minutes ago.” Eskel heaved a dramatic sigh and shook his head. “Alright, let’s get you back in bed before Geralt comes back. Here we go.” Gently, Eskel lifted Jaskier from the chair and back into the bed. He set the chair aside and then left quickly, no doubt to look for Geralt.

“How are you feeling?” Triss asked, moving into the room.

Jaskier waved his hand from side to side to indicate that he felt okay. He was tired, but being back in bed was helping. And he found himself reluctant to sleep, since it probably wouldn’t be too long before Ciri dropped by to visit. If he was asleep when she came, she might just leave without waking him – and he enjoyed Ciri’s visits too much for that.

“Do you think you’d feel up to answering some questions?” Triss asked. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

A little curious as to what she would ask, Jaskier nodded at her. Triss smiled.

“Great. Here, you’re due for a dose anyway.” She fetched a cup of the pain potion and moved closer to the bed, helping Jaskier to drink it down. Then, after disposing of that, she brought them both a cup of water before she took a seat in the chair that Ciri usually sat in. She arranged her skirts a few times, looking pensive.

Watching her, Jaskier felt a little chill run down his spine. It was unlike Triss to be this serious, and he couldn’t shake the notion that something, somewhere, had gone wrong. He anxiously pressed his fingers to the sheets on the bed, wishing that he had his lute. It had always comforted him to be able to pluck at the strings when he was feeling uncomfortable or nervous.

Of course, his lute probably didn’t even exist anymore. Earl de Lettenhove had always hated Jaskier’s passion for music. There was zero doubt in Jaskier’s mind that his precious lute had been burned to ashes, probably long before Jaskier even woke up on the floor.

“What do you know about your family?” Triss asked suddenly, drawing Jaskier’s attention away from those very depressing thoughts.

Jaskier blinked at her for a moment, surprised by the question. Immediately, he began to wonder if Triss or maybe even Geralt were hoping that Jaskier might have political connections. They were going to be disappointed if that was the case. Jaskier’s family wasn’t nearly as high up as his parents desperately wanted to be, which was why they had cooked up this whole scheme to help assassinate the White Wolf to begin with.

And Jaskier’s name was mud with them even if they were high up. None of them would be doing him any favors anytime soon – not that he’d want anything from them anyway after what they’d done. He’d rather starve to death on the side of the road than accept a morsel of food from any of them…

“What do you mean?” Jaskier whispered at last, deciding that this was the safest answer.

“Were they human?” Triss asked bluntly.

“I – what?” Jaskier stared at her. Okay, it didn’t seem like Triss was interested in political connections after all. But he had no idea what would have prompted Triss to ask a question like that, and she seemed to realize that, because she started talking.

“It’s just that – oh Jaskier, I hate to be the one to tell you this if you didn’t know, but there is no way you are fully human. You barely survived what was done to you. If you were a human, even with all of my efforts, you wouldn’t have made it through that night. There is absolutely no way that a human would’ve survived. Just… no way.” Triss shook her head for emphasis.

Jaskier opened his mouth to respond to that, but no words came out. Not because his throat hurt too much, but because he genuinely did not know what to say.

“I know that you look human, but that doesn’t always mean anything,” Triss went on. “Especially if it happened further back in your lineage. A great-great-grandfather, perhaps. Or maybe even further back…” She looked at him expectantly.

“I… they’re human as far as I know,” Jaskier whispered. His family was like most people; they didn’t have much use for creatures or magical folk. The thought that maybe Jaskier, and by his extension the rest of his family, wasn’t fully human was making his head spin.

Triss pursed her lips, then sighed. “I wondered if that might be the case. Often these sorts of things are covered up. The reason why I’m asking is because depending on what you are, certain potions won’t do as much for you. That might be why you haven’t progressed as far as I’d like. So I’d like Yennefer to perform a test to try to determine your lineage if you’d be alright with that. What do you think?”

Chapter Text

Jaskier took a moment to ponder Triss’s question. He thought back over his family. Like all of his siblings, he had been required to learn about his lineage from a young age. So he knew the names and titles of his ancestors going back by several generations. He mentally flipped through all of them, trying to figure out who possibly could have been something other than human.

Nothing came to mind. Most of Jaskier’s family was incredibly straightlaced. Those that weren’t had the tendency to quietly leave the family and never return. There had been one or two explosive departures, but none of those people had had a hand in continuing the family line so far as Jaskier knew. Much like if he himself had children, they would not be considered a part of the family since Jaskier had been disowned.

But then again, he also recognized that what he had learned had been told to him by those who stayed behind, and those accounts were obviously biased as hell. He could just imagine what his nieces and nephews would be told about his departure from the family. What his parents and the sorcerer had done to Jaskier, and what they had tried to do to Geralt, would surely not be a part of the story.

He supposed that in the end, it didn’t really matter who had introduced inhuman blood to the line. What mattered was that someone had, and their doing so had apparently saved Jaskier’s life possibly decades after the fact. He would be dead otherwise…

He looked back at Triss, who was waiting patiently, and whispered, “But… I don’t understand. Why haven’t I seen any signs of this before? I can’t do anything special.”

Triss smiled slightly. “I think that would depend on who you’re asking,” she said. “But it’s entirely possible that it didn’t activate until you almost died.”

That just made Jaskier frown. “Other people in my family have died,” he pointed out. “Nothing saved them.”

“That’s true, but how many people in your family have died from magical means?”

Jaskier started to respond and then paused, realizing that Triss had a point. There had been many deaths from things like childbirth, heart failure, old age, all the usual culprits. Even some accident, such as his great-uncle who had fallen into a pond and couldn’t swim. But magic? He couldn’t remember a single one. His family didn’t do magic.

“That’s what I thought,” Triss said with a nod. “I believe the magic you encountered activated those dormant abilities, saving your life.”

“This is… huh.” Jaskier shook his head, overwhelmed. “What does the test entail? Will it hurt?” He felt foolish for asking the question, but he was so tired of pain. He didn’t want to be hurt anymore. And he couldn’t help thinking back to the last ritual he’d been forced to undergo, and how horrible it had been laying there helpless while Gael cut him all over…

Her smile softened, and Triss leaned forward to put a hand over his. “No, Jaskier. It won’t hurt. We would never do anything to hurt you, I promise. You’ll have to drink another potion, and then bathe in magically prepared waters. Then Yennefer will cast her spell and scry over you. If it’s as we suspect, and you do have inhuman blood in you, that should enable her to find at least some answers.”

That didn’t sound too bad. The potion was almost sure to taste disgusting, but Jaskier could deal with that. He had expected something much more intensive than a drink and a bath.

“And frankly, not that I want to sway you one way or the other, but I think you should agree. It may be that these abilities only activated to save your life, and will now be dormant. But there may be more to it than that. You might be able to do more now, depending on what kind of lineage we’re dealing with. Yennefer’s test will tell us if there’s any surprises to be uncovered before we find out in a more unpleasant way,” Triss explains.

Jaskier looked at her sharply, somewhat alarmed by that, and whispered, “I’m not going to start throwing fireballs out of my hands or… or start wanting to eat people, am I?” He had a somewhat horrifying vision of himself turning into a werewolf and trying to eat Ciri. That would definitely be enough to decimate Geralt’s good nature.

Triss laughed. “Anything like that would’ve manifested a long time ago. If you didn’t want to eat people when you first woke up, you won’t want to suddenly start.” She patted his hand comfortingly. “And I’ve yet to see so much as a spark come from you.”

Her amusement was comforting, strange as that might sound. If Triss found the idea that ridiculous, Jaskier knew that meant it really wouldn’t happen and that he didn’t need to spend too much time worrying about it. He did wonder then what she meant about being able to do ‘more’, but decided that probing for details right now was probably pointless. They would all find out more after Yennefer did her test anyway.

“Okay then,” he whispered. “I’ll do it. When?”

“Excellent!” Triss said, clapping her hands happily. “I’ve already begun brewing the potion. It takes three days to complete. Five days from now is the full moon. That will lend extra power to Yennefer’s spell. It’s why I approached you about this now. You’ll need to bathe on the morning of the full moon, and spend most of the day in the waters, so that we can do the spell that night.”

“That’s… so soon.” Jaskier was startled.

Triss nodded, getting up. “I know, but it was either that or we wait until the next full moon. Yen and I thought that it probably wasn’t a good idea to wait. There’s no reason for you to be in pain longer than you need to be if there’s something I can do to help.” She looked resolute, as though the fact that she couldn’t help Jaskier was a personal slight against her pride.

“Right,” Jaskier whispered. He shrugged and then winced as, despite the potion Triss had just given him, pain surged through his body; he wasn’t used to spending hours bent over a desk anymore, and it showed.

“And maybe we can do something about that.” Triss sighed and moved away from the bed, over to a pot hanging over the fire. Jaskier had noticed her tending to it earlier, but hadn’t paid much attention to it – it seemed like Triss was always making some potion or another, usually more than one at a time.

He watched Triss fuss over the potion until he fell asleep, but he didn’t sleep well. His dreams were filled with shadowy figures that came at him with knives. Jaskier jerked awake for the last time shortly before the sun rose, and stayed awake for the rest of the morning. He spent the time staring at the ceiling and telling himself over and over again that Triss had promised there would be no pain.

On the morning of the full moon, Jaskier had been awake for hours by the time that Triss came into the room. She, on the other hand, looked bright-eyed and excited as she strode over to the pot. She gave the contents one last stir, sending the scent of lavender into the air, before she turned to Jaskier.

“It’s best if you haven’t eaten. The potion could upset your stomach otherwise. Is that okay?” she asked him.

“Fine,” Jaskier whispered, forcing a small smile. He wouldn’t have felt much like eating even if he’d been able to. But he didn’t want to tell Triss that. She would be upset if she knew how anxious Jaskier was over this.

“You’ll have the potion three times. Once now, once at mid-day, and once right before Yennefer is ready.” She took a cup and ladled some of the potion into it. Then she brought the cup to Jaskier and let him see the contents. The potion was a pale blue color and smelled even more strongly of lavender.

His heart thudded as Jaskier brought the cup to his lips, aided by Triss. His first impression of the potion was that it had an overly floral taste. Not unappealing, but not something he’d be willing to drink just because. But the more he drank, the stronger the floral taste became, until at last he pulled back and made a face. Now he felt like was drinking his mother’s expensive soap.

“Just a bit more. Drink the rest,” Triss coaxed, gently swiping the hair off of his forehead. “One last mouthful, okay?”

Jaskier nodded, grimacing as he swallowed the last of it. He didn’t relish the thought of having to do that two more times, and he hoped that whatever Yennefer learned through her spell would be worth it.

“Eskel, you can come in now,” Triss called out.

Eskel poked his head around the door a moment later. “You summoned?”

“Take Jaskier down to the baths, please. It’s important that he get down there as quickly as possible,” said Triss.

“Got it.” Eskel entered the room and approached Jaskier. He was always gentle when he lifted Jaskier to and from the chair, but Jaskier thought that this time Eskel was even more careful than usual. In due time, he was settled inside the chair and Eskel was pushing it from the room.

“The baths?” Jaskier whispered before they’d gone far, having noticed the ‘s’ that Triss had added to that word.

“You’ll see,” Eskel said with a smile. “Ciri will be furious, you know. She really wanted to show you this part of Kaer Morhen herself.”

“Where is she?” Jaskier asked. He hadn’t seen Ciri for the past day or two, which was unusual now that he stopped to think about it, and he suddenly felt bad for having not noticed her absence earlier.

“Camping for a couple of nights. She was pestering Vesemir about it, and he assigned a couple of Witchers to take her out,” Eskel replied.

They were going in a direction that they had never gone before, Jaskier realized, and let the conversation drop in favor of paying more attention to where they were heading. It didn’t take him long to realize that they were gradually going down. They didn’t take any stairs because of the chair, but the hallways were sloping accordingly. Before long, the air became damper.

But it still didn’t occur to Jaskier where they were heading until they rounded a corner and he glimpsed rock. They were beneath Kaer Morhen, he belatedly realized. Carved rock mingled with Witcher construction, until finally they emerged into an open area and Jaskier saw exactly what Eskel had meant by ‘baths’.

“Hot springs?” he whispered, shocked.

“Yep. Kaer Morhen’s finest treasure, depending on who you ask. This is where everyone in the castle bathes. We have pools ranging from lukewarm to so hot that a human can’t withstand them. I know this for a fact, because Ciri has tried repeatedly,” Eskel said dryly. “When you’re better, this is where you’ll come too.”

He pushed the chair forward, carefully navigating the steaming pools of water. Some were occupied, and Jaskier politely looked away from the naked bodies – both men and women, some bathing in the same pools. It was while he was looking away that it crossed his mind that Geralt probably came down here too to bathe, and that thought made his face go hot.

“Triss has prepared a private bath for you. Some of the stuff inside it wouldn’t react well with anyone who hasn’t drunk your potion. So here, can I help you take your clothes off?” Eskel stopped the chair as he asked, right beside a spring that seemed to be naturally closed off from the remainder of the room by a thick chunk of rock.

“Sure,” Jaskier whispered, feeling a renewed flutter of nerves in his stomach. Eskel was fit by anyone’s standards, and Jaskier… was not. After spending so much time in bed, he was skinny and pale. Plus there were scars all over his body now.

But Eskel didn’t seem to mind. His expression never changed as he helped Jaskier disrobe, and he showed no discomfort over picking Jaskier up and gently lowering him into the vanilla-scented waters. He helped Jaskier to sit comfortably, propped up against the side of the spring. Jaskier leaned back and inhaled deeply, scenting lavender and something he couldn’t identify under the vanilla.

His mind calmed, and he never even noticed Eskel quietly slipping away – he was drifting, half-awake and half-asleep, in warm comfort.

Chapter Text

Jaskier had no idea how long he’d been in the pool of water before someone, he wasn’t even sure who, approached to give him another dose of the potion. A gentle hand touched his shoulder and then the flask was brought to his lips. He drank the potion willingly, letting the liquid roll down his throat, and then was left alone for another long period of time.

Then, again, there was another touch to his shoulder and someone gave him more of the potion. Jaskier swallowed it all. When he was done, whoever it was moved away.

But he wasn’t left to drift for long this time before the sound of someone softly calling his name registered. The voice seemed to be coming from a long way away, yet something in Jaskier felt compelled to respond to it. He slowly opened his eyes, which was more than a struggle than it should have been, to see what was happening.

Geralt was standing in front of him. Yennefer was at his side. Geralt was wearing trousers and nothing else, leaving his upper body bare to the steamy air. Yennefer was wearing a dress that at first glance seemed to be made of black cloth, but showed hints of purple when she moved. She was also wearing a lot of ornate jewelry with purple crystals that sparkled and caught the eye.

Yennefer took a step closer, the toe of her shoe not quite brushing the water, and peered at Jaskier more intently. Finally, she said, “I believe that he’s ready. Geralt, would you take him out? He shouldn’t be in contact with the water for this next part.”

Silently, Geralt moved to do as Yennefer had asked. He moved behind Jaskier and reached down slowly, hands sliding under Jaskier’s arms. He lifted Jaskier up just as effortlessly as Eskel did, gently pulling him out of the still-steaming waters. Somewhere, Jaskier felt a flash of panic at the thought that Geralt was seeing him naked when he looked so unappealing, but it was so distant that he couldn’t be bothered to react.

“Right here,” Yennefer said, pointing to a seat that had been carved into the thick chunk of rock. “He probably won’t be able to sit up by himself. You’ll need to help.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at her and carried Jaskier to the chunk of rock. He sat, and then set Jaskier beside him, wrapping an arm around Jaskier’s waist supportively. Jaskier ended up leaning heavily against Geralt, because it turned out that Yennefer was right and he really couldn’t sit up straight by himself. Every muscle in his body just felt way too relaxed for that.

“Good. Just stay there.” Yennefer stepped away and retrieved more of the purple crystals that she was wearing, but these ones she set on the floor in front of Jaskier. She even took one of the crystals and slipped it into his hand. The crystal felt warm to the touch.

Then Yennefer set out some candles, both black and white, and lit them. Watching the flames dance made Jaskier feel sleepy. You would think that a muscled Witcher would be uncomfortable to lean against, but Geralt was soft and warm in all the right places. It was just too bad that he felt so out-of-touch, as this was probably his only opportunity to ever touch Geralt’s bare chest and he couldn’t even properly appreciate it.

“Alright, I’m ready to start. The flames will go out when I have my answer. Nobody move until then,” Yennefer commanded, her sharp purple gaze pinning them both in place. “It might take a few minutes or it could take hours, but moving will ruin it all.”

“Just start, Yen,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes at her again, and Yennefer made a face at him.

“The thanks I get,” she muttered to herself, kneeling on the ground. She had some kind of black dust in her hands, and she threw it out over the candles before she started to murmur. She was gazing into the candle flames, Jaskier noticed, and the reflection of the flames in her purple eyes seemed to make them glow.

He didn’t know how much time passed.

Geralt was a steady presence at Jaskier’s side, chest rhythmically rising and falling. Jaskier tried to match the pace of his breathing to Geralt’s. His eyes drifted shut.

So it was that only Geralt’s soft, shocked inhalation told Jaskier that something pivotal had happened. He opened his eyes and saw that all of the flames had gone out. Yennefer was sitting back on her heels, rolling a purple crystal between her fingers. There was a thoughtful look on her face, but she didn’t seem to be alarmed. After a long moment, she looked up at Geralt and Jaskier.

“I think I have the only answer we’re going to get. It’s more than I thought we’d get at any rate,” she said. “I can confirm that Jaskier is not dangerous to us.”

“As expected,” Geralt said, and this time Yennefer was the one who rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes, we all know you think he’s an angel delivered straight from heaven,” Yennefer said. She got to her feet.

“That is not what I said,” Geralt said, sounding irritated, and Yennefer smirked at him.

“No, but it’s what you meant,” she said. “It will take a while for the effects to wear off Jaskier. He should be taken to another pool to bathe. That will help to remove the effects of this bath.” She nodded to the pool of water behind her. “And then he should eat, and sleep. Once he wakes up, he should be back to normal.”

“I’ll call Eskel,” Geralt said.

“Eskel’s busy. Guess you’ll have to look after Jaskier yourself,” Yennefer countered. “I’ll have fresh clothing sent down for both of you. Good luck!”

“Yennefer!” Geralt hissed, but Yennefer pretended not to hear and swept out of the area. Geralt sighed and shook his head.

It sounded like Geralt didn’t want to help. Jaskier couldn’t blame him for that. He decided that he would take care of himself; if he could get to the bathing pool, he could at least sit in the water of his own accord. But when he tried to push himself upright, none of his muscles responded. It still felt like everything was too relaxed, so that nothing was working the way it should.

“Sorry,” he managed to mumble, though it felt like he was speaking with a mouthful of thick oatmeal.

“No,” Geralt said immediately, looking at him. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” He sounded somewhat awkward, but also sincere – and it wasn’t like Jaskier had much choice either way.

Very slowly, Geralt got to his feet and pulled Jaskier up with him. He lifted Jaskier with an arm around Jaskier’s back and the other arm under Jaskier’s knees. Part of Jaskier cringed inwardly at being seen like this by others, but when Geralt emerged from their small area, he realized that the rest of the bathing pools were completely empty. They were alone, with lots of privacy.

Geralt carried him past a few of the pools until they came to another smaller one. Rather than just lower Jaskier in, Geralt climbed in himself and then lowered Jaskier into the water, carefully leaning Jaskier back against a little nook in the wall. The water in this pool wasn’t as hot, instead closer to lukewarm. The change of temperature felt refreshing.

“Do you mind if I wash you off?” Geralt asked. “It’s okay if you don’t. We can just sit here in the water. It will take longer, but it’s whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Jaskier found it hard to believe that Geralt wanted to sit here with him. Being washed sounded absolutely mortifying, but he knew it would be faster. So he nodded slightly. His pride had already suffered this much, so what was one more thing?

“Alright. If you change your mind, just say anything or make a movement,” Geralt said. Jaskier hadn’t noticed before, but there were some clothes on the side of the pool and a few containers. Geralt picked up one and opened it. He poured some of the contents onto a cloth, wet it, and then gently touched it to Jaskier’s chest.

If anyone had asked him before he came to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier would’ve said that witchers were incapable of being gentle. But here was Geralt, proving him wrong. Geralt was incredibly gentle as he moved the cloth across Jaskier’s chest, clearly concerned about hurting him. Jaskier appreciated the tender care more than he could’ve said, because parts of his body were still very tender to the touch.

He grew embarrassed as Geralt moved to his lower half, but Geralt’s expression never changed. His composure allowed Jaskier to get through it with a modicum of dignity; he was grateful that his body was too relaxed to allow for certain biological functions. Otherwise, he knew that his body would’ve been reacting in a very inappropriate way that he was sure Geralt would not appreciate.

“Okay, there you are,” Geralt said at last, setting the cloth aside. “Unless…” His eyes flicked to Jaskier’s head. “Would you like me to wash your hair?”

This time, Jaskier did not hesitate to nod, and he found it a bit easier to do so this time, which was a relief. It had been a while since his hair had been washed. Triss had run a cloth over his body several times, but she hadn’t done anything with his hair.

“Okay. Just stay there. I’ll wet your hair first.” Geralt reached for one of the containers on the side of the pool, which proved to be empty. He filled it with water and then carefully wet Jaskier’s hair, taking care that water didn’t get into his face. Then he took some of the soap and started to massage it into Jaskier’s hair.

It felt heavenly. Jaskier hadn’t even known that he had a low-grade headache until the steady pressure of Geralt’s fingers chased it away. He closed his eyes and relaxed, this time consciously. If this was the only intimate moment he ever got to have with Geralt, then he wanted to remember every second of it.

“You’re… good,” Jaskier managed to say.

Geralt’s fingers paused briefly before continuing. “I used to wash Ciri’s hair when she was little.”

Of course. Jaskier didn’t know why he hadn’t put two and two together. Geralt did not seem like the sort of man who would abandon his child to the care of nurses. A picture formed in his mind of large, hulking Geralt trying to gently care for a small squalling babe, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. That would have been absolutely adorable.

For the first time, he wondered how Geralt had come to have Ciri. Jaskier had heard that witchers were sterile, but he knew that didn’t mean a lot: there had already been so many things he’d heard about witchers that had turned out to be bullshit. That could be just one more thing. And if witchers were sterile, well… perhaps that didn’t preclude them from adopting orphaned children.

Or perhaps Yennefer had had a hand in it. Remembering the magical aura that she seemed to exude just by breathing, he didn’t doubt her capability.

“I’m going to tip you backwards so I can rinse your hair,” Geralt announced finally. His hands left Jaskier’s head and landed on Jaskier’s shoulders, carefully pulling him upright and then bending him backwards.

The position left their faces uncomfortably close. His heart skipped several beats at Geralt’s sudden proximity. He stared into Geralt’s golden eyes for only a few seconds before he closed his own, overwhelmed.

“There you go.” Geralt pulled him upright, and then out of the pool entirely. Jaskier’s eyes flew open just in time to see Geralt grabbing a towel and wrapping it around Jaskier’s body. Jaskier shivered in response, suddenly aware of the change in temperature between the pool and the cooler air.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly, clumsily.

Geralt looked at him. This time, Jaskier didn’t close his eyes even though he wanted to. That scrutiny was as alluring as it was terrifying.

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said finally. “We’ll dress, and then have a small meal. Then you can sleep.”

Jaskier nodded, too breathless to speak. His heart was no longer skipping beats; now it was racing as a speed that made him feel lightheaded. He stayed quiet as Geralt picked him up and carried him out of the room. It wasn’t often that Jaskier been left speechless in his life, but Geralt seemed to be able to make it happen effortlessly… and he wasn’t sure what to do about that.

Chapter Text

Jaskier ate and then slept, and when he woke up, his head did feel surprisingly clear. Even though he was pretty sure that he’d fallen asleep down by the pools, he was back in his bed in Triss’s workshop. He rubbed clumsily at his eyes and looked around, a little surprised to see what the sunlight pooling on the floor meant that it was morning. He must have slept all afternoon and all night.

“You’re awake!” Triss said, sweeping into the room. Jaskier jumped and then winced as his whole body firmly protested the tensing of his muscles. Triss’s face softened with worry and she immediately went to fetch one of the pain potions. Jaskier sipped it gratefully, sighing as some of the pain eased.

He looked up at Triss curiously as he finished the potion, wondering if Yennefer had told her the results of the test while Jaskier was sleeping. He vaguely remembered Yennefer confirming that Jaskier was not dangerous, but she had no said anything more. It was a relief to know he wasn’t dangerous, but at the same time, there were still many inhuman things out there that weren’t dangerous. The desire to know buzzed in his heart.

Triss correctly interpreted the look on his face and laughed. “Yen will be here soon to tell you all you want to know. I just have to let her know that you’re awake.”

Jaskier pouted a bit as Triss delivered the message, but he knew Triss well enough by now to know that she was too stubborn to break. If she said Jaskier had to wait for Yennefer, then Jaskier would have to wait for Yennefer no matter how long it took.

Luckily, Triss was correct when she said that Yennefer would be by soon. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before the door to Triss’s workroom opened and Yennefer entered, Geralt and Eskel and Vesemir on her heels. Jaskier could feel himself starting to blush the instant he saw Geralt. The memory of what Geralt looked like when he was washing Jaskier’s body flashed through his mind, and he blushed harder.

“Alright, so I have the results,” Yennefer announced, hopefully before anyone noticed Jaskier’s red face.

“Well, what is it, then?” Eskel said, somewhat impatiently.

Yennefer smiled, clearly relishing their attention, and said, “Jaskier is part fey.”

“Fey?” Jaskier repeated in a raspy whisper, eyes widening. He noticed that Geralt, Eskel and Triss all looked surprised by this, but Vesemir nodded as though he had been expecting it.

“Correct. Judging by the results, I would say that one of your great-grandmothers or great-grandfathers were fey,” Yennefer said. “Does that make sense to you?”

Jaskier was quiet for a moment, thinking. He’d never met either set of his great-grandparents. All four had died before he was born. None of them had left their families or anything like that. His paternal great-grandparents had died in a forest fire that had spread to the family home; his maternal great-grandmother had passed away after a brief illness, while his paternal great-grandfather had been thrown from a horse and struck his head and died.

None of them sounded like candidates for being fey. He frowned up at Yennefer.

“It may not be immediately obvious,” Yennefer told him. “You may never know which of them that it was. But you’re lucky that they were. You would have assuredly died otherwise.”

Jaskier frowned deeper. “But… others have died…” he whispered, thinking of his mother’s older sister. She had died when Jaskier was only six. He clearly remember how devastated his mother had been. And there were other members of his family that had died too. Why had Jaskier survived where they hadn’t?

Yennefer understood what he was asking, and explained, “The fey blood in you would have been dormant unless something woke it up. In this case, the magic that was used on you was enough to do that. You most likely never would have known had it not been for this.”

That sounded crazy to Jaskier. He couldn’t imagine going his whole life without knowing something like this. Yet at the same time, he felt that Yennefer was probably right if only because Jaskier had never felt different or special in any way before this. He, and the rest of his family, had always been perfectly normal if not as respectable as his parents would have liked.

And he supposed too that it made sense that it was the magic that had done this to him: no one else in his family would have come across magic at any point, especially right before they died.

“What does this mean?” Eskel asked. He eyed Jaskier somewhat warily, and Jaskier felt his heart sink. But Yennefer cut any concerns off at the pass.

“Jaskier is not dangerous to us. He’s only 1/8th fey,” Yennefer said calmly. “And he has grown up as a human, not as one of them. It’s possible that this magic has awakened certain latent abilities. For example, he may have a longer than usual lifespan now.” She turned a critical eye on Jaskier. “Had it not been for what happened, I would say you might see increased strength or stamina. But given your current state, that seems unlikely.”

“What about magic?” Triss asked.

“That also seems unlikely, but it could happen once Jaskier is further along in the healing process. The good news,” she added to Jaskier, “is now Triss and I can account for your fey blood when it comes to your potions.”

Triss clapped her hands. “Oh, of course!” she exclaimed. “I understand now where we were going wrong. There are so many ingredients that the fey don’t react well to. Nothing that would’ve hurt you, Jaskier, but nothing that would’ve helped you along, either.”

“Exactly,” Yennefer said, her purple eyes glittering with satisfaction. She was clearly pleased to have found an explanation for a problem that had been plaguing them for some time.

Neither Vesemir nor Geralt had said a word thus far. Jaskier found himself watching them, wondering what they were thinking. They were eerily similar when it came to blank expressions that showed nothing of their inner thoughts. He thought back to the tender Geralt who had cared for him so gently and wished that Geralt would make a reappearance now; he could’ve used some comfort in the wake of this revelation.

“How long will it take you to brew a potion to help?” Vesemir said at last.

“We’ll need to do some research first,” Yennefer replied. “It could be anywhere from a week to a month, depending on the phases of the moon.”

A month. That was such a long time! Yet Jaskier did his best to mask his disappointment, recognizing what a huge step forward this was. He could have been trapped in his current state forever.

“And do you believe that you’ll find something to help?” Vesemir asked. There was a peculiar look in his eye now that Jaskier did not know how to parse, but it made him feel uncomfortable. He suddenly wondered if Vesemir was trying to figure out how soon it would be before Jaskier was healthy enough to leave Kaer Morhen. The thought formed into a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.

Maybe that was what it was. After all, Jaskier was just laying here uselessly taking up space. He wasn’t doing anything to earn his keep. Not even going through the incoming mail was that helpful; he was well aware that they had only given him that task because they felt sorry for him, and knew that he was bored. It was work that anyone could do.

“I’m confident that we will. The most difficult part will be fully researching each ingredient for its effect on the fey. There’s not as much information on them as there could be, but I think we’ll manage.” Yennefer was saying. “The only thing is… Jaskier…”

Wrenching himself out of his increasingly gloomy thoughts, Jaskier looked up at her inquiringly. As he did, he hoped that nothing of what he had been thinking was visible to anyone else in the room. That was something he’d need to think about a lot more, but not with an audience.

Yennefer was looking at him with a very serious expression. “I want you to have realistic expectations about this. You will never be back to the way you were before this happened. I believe that magic can heal you more and give you back some quality of life. But magic is not perfect, and it cannot perform miracles.”

Her grim tone, coupled with what she was saying, made Jaskier feel a little sick. That was not what he wanted to hear. That probably meant that any vague plans he might’ve had about leaving Kaer Morhen and returning to his work as a bard were shot.

“What do you mean by more?” Eskel asked her.

“I can’t say. We won’t know until it happens. Everyone reacts differently to magic,” Triss spoke up. “But at the very least, you won’t be any worse off.” She turned a comforting smile on Jaskier, because of course she had picked up on the fact that Jaskier was disappointed to hear that.

“Then you’d best get to it,” Vesemir said. “I’ll expect you in the library tomorrow for work.” He directed that last part at Jaskier as he left. Geralt, never having said a word during the whole conversation, followed.

Eskel lingered. “Will you need new ingredients?” he asked the witches. “I don’t mind going to collect them if you do.”

“Thank you, Eskel. We’ll let you know,” Triss said, smiling at him. Eskel nodded and departed.

“Will it be another ceremony?” Jaskier whispered when the three of them were alone.

Yennefer contemplated this before nodding too. “Most likely. It won’t be as simple as a potion that you drink. In fact, it may not just be a one-time thing either. Depending on what we find, you might have to take a potion for the rest of your life to keep your strength up.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

The rest of his life?! Jaskier wanted to bang his head against the wall. That sounded costly even if he could go back to being a bard.

“Let’s start working on it,” Triss suggested, getting up. “The sooner we begin, the sooner we’ll find exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Yes, let’s,” Yennefer said. “I thought we could start by looking at –”

The rest of their conversation was lost as the two of them stepped out into the hallway. Left alone, Jaskier stared down at his useless hands and felt more worthless than he’d ever felt in his whole life. He’d thought that he would feel better after finding out what he was, but now it was just the opposite.

He might get better, but he might not.

He might have to leave Kaer Morhen, but he might not even be able to.

He might have to take a potion for the rest of his life, but he might not even be able to afford it.

He might be able to support himself, but…

But.

There was always a “but”. All of the uncertainties piled up on his shoulders until Jaskier felt like he wanted to cry. He blinked rapidly to forestall the tears, grimacing as a sharp pain lanced through his head. He leaned back against the pillows, resting his aching head against them.

If he could have, he would’ve jumped up and fled Kaer Morhen that very moment. Suddenly the thought of getting better and having them kick him out was horrifying. He would not let that happen, he decided. If he could, he would leave as soon as he could. And somehow, some day, he would find a way to repay Geralt, Triss, Eskel, Yennefer, and everyone else at Kaer Morhen for their kindness.

Chapter Text

It came from above as a total and unexpected surprise. One moment Jaskier was curled on his side, having finally found a position that did not cause him too much pain. He had his eyes shut and was half-asleep, dozing after his latest round of pain potion, when suddenly something heavy was dropped onto the bed and a voice started yelling right in his ear.

“Jaskier! I’m home! How have you been? What have you been doing? The camping trip was amazing! It was so cold out that I ended up sleeping right next to the fire and we hunted food that I cooked in the fire and Sven told me I was the best cook he’d ever seen!”

Ciri’s shrill excitement was a little like daggers to the brain, but Jaskier found that he couldn’t be mad when her enthusiasm was so genuine – so much so that it seemed like she was barely taking a breath in between explosions of words. He managed to pull the covers down enough to be able to see her face. Her cheeks were still flushed from the cold, but her eyes were sparkling.

She must have come straight here after returning, Jaskier realized, and the thought warmed his heart. Though it was better that Ciri had not been around while the ritual was being performed, especially since no one had known how it would turn out, Jaskier had missed her. She was such a happy child, always brightening his day, and he was glad to see her now.

“ – and then the rabbit almost got away, but Sven snagged it at the last minute!” Ciri said, giggling, and Jaskier smiled too even though he had missed most of the story.

“Tell me more,” he whispered. “But come under the covers first, you look cold.”

“Oh, I am. I thought about going to the baths, but I wanted to see you first.” Ciri kicked her shoes off, grabbed the corner of the covers, and wiggled around until she was able to slide underneath them. Jaskier winced, sucking in a breath, as her very cold toes made impact with his shin. Her skin felt more like ice than anything else.

He tried hard not to shiver too much, not wanting Ciri to think she was unwelcome, and gradually the combination of the covers and Jaskier’s body heat began to warm Ciri up too. She snuggled closer to Jaskier then, giving him what seemed to be a minute-by-minute rendition of her camping trip from the moment they had Kaer Morhen to the moment that they returned.

“So why did you come back?” Jaskier whispered, curious. He’d thought that the camping trip was going to last longer, which was why her return was so surprising.

“Storm’s coming,” Ciri replied, resting her head on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Aunt Yennefer used a portal to tell us about it. Grandfather always knows. I wanted to say during it so that I could see what it was like and learn how to weather it, but they said no. Daddy said it was too dangerous for me and that I had to come home.” She pouted a bit.

Daddy. It was the first time that Jaskier had heard Ciri call Geralt by that name, and it honestly melted his heart a little bit. After growing up in a household where his parents were never referred to as anything but the much more formal “Mother” and “Father”, it was refreshingly sweet to hear. And he thought it said a lot about what kind of father Geralt really was.

“They were probably right,” Jaskier whispered finally, realizing that Ciri was looking at him expectantly. Her face fell a bit, and he knew she’d been hoping he would agree with her.

“But how am I going to learn how to handle a storm if they won’t let me stay out in one?” Ciri argued reasonably.

Jaskier smiled. “There’s lots of time for that, I’m sure,” he whispered to her.

Ciri sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. They still insist on treating me like I’m a child. It’s very frustrating.”

Jaskier said nothing, only gently running his fingers through Ciri’s hair. Truthfully, he could see both sides of the argument. Ciri was still young, but she also wasn’t a child anymore. She was a young woman, and that meant she was beginning to want more freedom than she’d ever received before. There was a fire in her that felt suspiciously familiar to Jaskier.

He tried not to dwell too much on his previous family, but right now he could not help remembering his younger sister. Jaskier had three siblings: an older brother, then an older sister, then his younger sister. His older sister had been the picture of a demure young lady, but the youngest… oh, she was wild and had caused his parents almost as many headaches as Jaskier had. He could see the same spirit in Ciri now.

Geralt would need to be careful, Jaskier thought to himself with some amusement. He could see Ciri taking all of Kaer Morhen by surprise as she continued to grow up. There was only so long that she would chafe against safety precautions before she would explode. Jaskier’s sister had never got to that point, but Jaskier also could not see Geralt employing those same cruel measures against Ciri either.

“Maybe next time,” he whispered finally, hoping to pacify her somewhat. “When you can prepare for the storm in advance. I used to travel. Storms were difficult.” He coughed harshly, grimacing as the prolonged words irritated his throat.

“Yeah, maybe,” Ciri said, though she seemed somewhat less upset now. “I wish you could tell me about your time on the road, Jaskier. I don’t get to leave Kaer Morhen very often. And even when I do go, we never travel. Aunt Yennefer just opens up a portal that takes us right to the town. So I’ve always wondered what it would be like to really travel.”

“Someday, if I can, I will,” Jaskier whispered raggedly, wincing again. He definitely needed a break from speaking, but he yearned to tell Ciri was a life as a bard was really like. He would happily give her the kind of honesty that she needed, and tell her about both the good parts and the bad.

“Someday…” Ciri repeated, and sighed, nuzzling closer to him. She closed her eyes. Jaskier kept stroking her hair and felt her gradually relaxing into sleep.

He had no intention of falling asleep too, but their little space beneath the covers was so warm and cozy. Ciri was a comfortable weight against his side, and Jaskier had forgotten how nice it felt to share a bed with someone. Not sexually, of course, but just the simple pleasure and warmth of having another human body sleeping so close. He found his own eyes slipping shut.

“ – finally found her. Should we wake them?”

The softly spoken words woke Jaskier from his slumber, and for a moment he was baffled as to what was happening.

“Let them sleep. She’s fine.” That was Geralt. Jaskier would know the sound of his voice anywhere. He slowly realized that the first person’s voice was Eskel.

Geralt and Eskel. They were here, in Triss’s workroom. And so was Ciri, who had somehow squirmed close enough in her sleep that she was now half-draped across his chest. It hadn’t been so bad while Jaskier was asleep, but now that he was awake, he could feel his chest aching with each breath that he took from the weight of her. Ciri was not light.

“Help,” he rasped, the word barely audible, but luckily he was dealing with Witchers and their superior hearing.

The blankets were immediately pulled off of Jaskier’s head, letting in a gush of cooler air that made him shiver hard. Eskel looked down at them and assessed the situation in an instant. Carefully, he reached down and plucked Ciri out of the bed. She mumbled a protest but must have been used to being carried, because she cuddled into Eskel without ever waking up.

It was easy to see why they still thought of Ciri as a child in moments like these, Jaskier thought as he took a slightly deeper breath. She looked like a child right now, her head on Eskel’s shoulder and her arms draped around his neck. He would’ve enjoyed the adorable scene a lot more if it weren’t for the fact that his chest was really beginning to throb now that Ciri was gone.

"Take her to bed,” Geralt said to Eskel.

“Will do,” Eskel said lightly, turning on his heels and carrying Ciri out.

Jaskier expected Geralt to follow, but instead Geralt walked over to where Triss kept her potions and ingredients. He examined the stores for a long moment before finally picking up a bottle. He uncorked the bottle and poured some of the contents into a cup; as he did so, the familiar scent of green apples wafted in Jaskier’s direction, and he realized that Geralt was getting him a dose of pain potion.

Geralt walked over to him and awkwardly sat on the side of the bed, holding the cup. Jaskier tried to push himself up but couldn’t; it hurt too much. Geralt seemed to realize that and set the cup down, leaning forward to slide an arm around Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier froze, his heart suddenly pounding, as Geralt effortlessly lifted his upper body into a seated position.

“Drink,” Geralt rumbled, reaching for the cup and bringing it to Jaskier’s lips.

There was nothing to do but obey, was there? Jaskier opened his mouth and Geralt carefully tipped the cup, allowing a little of the liquid to flow into Jaskier’s mouth. He’d had practice at it, Jaskier realized, because Geralt seemed to know exactly how much liquid Jaskier could swallow at a time. A sudden image of Geralt sitting by an ill Ciri’s beside, helping her drink exactly like this, flashed into his head. It was a cute thought, and made him smile.

Geralt seemed to take the smile for a different reason, and said, “Better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Jaskier whispered, feeling a lot of relief as the effects of the pain potion rolled through his body. It was like stepping out of a cold room and into warm sunshine.

“Ciri clings when she sleeps,” Geralt muttered, easing Jaskier back down onto a couple of pillows. Without warning, he pulled up Jaskier’s shirt.

“Hey!” Jaskier squeaked, tensing, then wincing and relaxing again. Geralt ignored him and lightly set his hand on Jaskier’s chest was the greatest discomfort had been. Jaskier followed his gaze and looked at his chest, noticing that there was actually a bruise on him where Ciri had been laying.

That was… somewhat discomfiting. Jaskier had never been the sort of person who bruised easily. He could only surmise that it was a side effect of what he’d gone through, but that made it no less annoying. He hoped against hope that this might be something else that could be fixed, but knew it might be yet another side effect that he would have to live with forever.

“It’s fine,” Jaskier whispered finally, looking up at Geralt. “Ciri didn’t know. We were sleeping.”

Geralt sighed and said nothing, just pulled Jaskier’s shirt back down. “Ciri is young,” he said at last. “And she likes you.”

“I like her too,” Jaskier whispered.

He didn’t know why, but Geralt looked at him like he’d said something surprising. Jaskier stared back, trying to figure out why Geralt was still here. Why he treated Jaskier so kindly. It was one thing to allow Jaskier to stay here at Kaer Morhen even after their unfortunate initial meeting, but Geralt had gone several steps past that numerous times now. Was there something more to it?

If there was, Geralt did not seem inclined to share just then. He stood up and returned the cup to where Triss kept the things that needed to be washed. Then he walked over to the door, clearly intending to leave.

“Wait,” Jaskier whispered, and Geralt froze.

After a moment, Geralt turned to look at Jaskier again. Their eyes met, and Jaskier’s heart started doing that stupid, excited pounding again.

“Good night,” Jaskier whispered finally.

Geralt bowed his head slightly. “Good night, Jaskier.”

Chapter Text

“Jaskier, may I have some of your blood?”

The unusual question had Jaskeir lifting his head and directing a puzzled look towards the doorway. He had not even heard Yennefer’s approach. His attention had been fully preoccupied by slowly reading through one of the pages of the poetry book that he had borrowed from the library. The writing was mercifully legible, and the poetry beautiful enough to enthrall him.

“Your blood,” Yennefer repeated with a trace of impatience when Jaskier blinked at her. “I’d like to see how it reacts to this.” She brandished a glass vial in his direction. It was three-quarters filled of a clear liquid that looked like plain water.

“Um… okay?” Jaskier whispered, baffled but willing.

Yennefer smiled, clearly pleased by the response, and stepped into the room. Jaskier closed his poetry book and set it aside, not wanting to think about how angry Vesemir would be if the book got stained – he enjoyed reading far too much to risk losing his privilege to borrow books. Yennefer approached the bed in a few long strides, and when he looked up at her…

She was holding a knife.

Immediately, Jaskier’s mind was back in his parent’s home. He was lying naked and helpless on the floor before the fireplace, a prisoner trapped in his own body. His parents stood callously nearby, watching as Gael knelt over him brandishing a knife. That knife felt like the only thing in Jaskier’s whole world in that moment, blade sharp and gleaming cruel silver, ready to hurt.

Someone was screaming. It was loud and scared. Beyond that, there was shouting.

“Jaskier. It’s alright, you’re alright.” Geralt was there suddenly, crowding onto the bed, gathering Jaskier into his arms.

Jaskier only realized he was the one who had been screaming when Geralt pressed Jaskier’s face to his broad shoulder, and the screams were muffled by the deep green tunic Geralt was wearing. Suddenly Jaskier’s vision was filled with green tunic, and he could smell Geralt’s sweat. He hung tense in Geralt’s grip for a few seconds before collapsing against Geralt with a sob.

“You’re alright. You’re safe,” Geralt murmured, rocking Jaskier back and forth the way that someone might rock a frightened child.

“I didn’t mean to!” Yennefer was saying defensively.

“What did you expect, approaching him with a knife?” That was Eskel, sounding both cross and incredulous, and Yennefer gave a dissatisfied huff.

“I just needed a sample of his blood,” she snapped.

“Yen,” Geralt said, quiet but firm.

Yennefer sighed. “I just – I forgot myself. I wasn’t thinking.”

Jaskier heard all of this, but it was a struggle for his muddled brain to put two and two together. He lay within the warm, safe circle of Geralt’s arms and slowly realized that he was inside Kaer Morhen, not in his father’s study – never his father’s study, not ever again. Geralt was there, and Yennefer, and Eskel. None of them had ever hurt him, and truly he was beginning to believe none of them ever would.

A cold wave of shame swept over him, sweeping away the remains of – whatever that had been. He suddenly felt very embarrassed. He’d screamed and brought Geralt and Eskel running, not to mention who knew how many other people had heard him having a fit. Now he was laying here trembling from head to toe while Geralt comforted him, all because Yennefer had brought out a knife. How childish. He could feel his face growing hot.

“Sorry,” he rasped, and grimaced as his voice broke mid-word. His throat really hurt now, even more than it usually did.

“Hey. Don’t apologize, Jaskier. It’s not your fault. It happens sometimes when someone goes through something traumatic,” Eskel said.

Jaskier very much doubted that this would ever happen to Geralt, Eskel, or Yennefer. They were too strong for that. He tried and failed to push himself up from Geralt’s shoulder; his arms felt like limp grass after who knew how long of being so tense. Geralt had to help him, carefully easing Jaskier’s upper body back against the pillows. He kept his arm around Jaskier’s shoulders then, much to Jaskier’s surprise.

“I apologize, Jaskier,” Yennefer said softly. “As I said, I forgot myself. I was excited that I thought Triss and I had found a potential solution. I should have warned you that I was going to bring a knife out.”

“It’s fine,” Jaskier mouthed at her, guilt and shame churning in his stomach. Of course she had taken a knife out. How else was she going to get his blood?

Yennefer didn’t look like she thought it was fine. She exchanged a glance with Geralt over Jaskier’s head, but Jaskier couldn’t tell what the glance meant. That should have been frustrating, but he was honestly exhausted by what had just happened. He wished that Yennefer had never come to the room, and that he could have spent the afternoon quietly reading his poetry book until he fell asleep as planned.

“I still need your blood,” Yennefer said after a moment. “Would you feel more comfortable if Geralt did it?”

Embarrassed, glad that he couldn’t see Geralt’s face, Jaskier gave a slight nod.

Geralt shifted beside him and gently slipped his arm out from behind Jaskier’s shoulders. There was no judgement in his expression as he lightly took Jaskier’s hand in his. A tiny rush of adrenaline surged through Jaskier again as Yennefer produced the knife a second time, but at least he was prepared for it this time. He was able to remain quiet but tense as Geralt took the knife and carefully pricked the edge of Jaskier’s index finger.

“Three drops,” Yennefer murmured, passing over the glass vial. Eskel stepped closer, hovering over her shoulder, watching with just as much curiosity as Jaskier as Geralt tipped the vial to capture Jaskier’s blood.

The three drops of blood rolled slowly down the side of the vial to land on top of the liquid. For a long moment, nothing happened: blood and liquid remained completely separate. Yennefer’s face fell. She glared at the vial as though it had personally offended her. But then, before she could say anything, the blood abruptly sank into the liquid and the entire contents of the vile turned a purple as bright as Yennefer’s eyes.

“Whoa,” Eskel said in surprise. “Is it supposed to do that?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I wanted!” Yennefer said with satisfaction, snatching the vial away from Geralt. She brought it closer to her face to examine it, smiling.

“What does it mean?” Geralt was the one who asked the obvious question, a fact that Jaskier appreciated given that he couldn’t exactly ask it himself.

Yennefer smiled. “It means that Triss and I know how to help you.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Really?” he whispered, or tried to whisper – his voice was definitely gone now, and came out as nothing more than a croak.

But Yennefer seemed to understand regardless, because she nodded. “It wasn’t as difficult to research as I thought that it might be. Triss was able to reach out to some old contacts of hers who gave her some good suggestions. We still need to pull the ritual together, though.”

“Pull the ritual together?” Eskel echoed, raising his eyebrows.

“This isn’t exactly precedented,” Yennefer replied. “Jaskier is not a full Fey, so rituals once used for Fey will not work for him. But nor is he completely human. We need to take both sides into account and design one explicitly for him and him alone.”

They all looked at Jaskier, who squirmed at the scrutiny.

Yennefer continued, “As I suspected, there will be more than one component to this. Jaskier, the ritual should help you, although I still can’t tell you how much. But it’s likely you will need to continue taking potions for the rest of your life. I just can’t tell for sure which ones until we see how you are after the ritual.”

It wasn’t unexpected given that Yennefer had warned him before that might end up being the case, but it was still disappointing. Jaskier thought of his aunt, who had to take a medicinal tincture every morning and every night for her bad heart. He had never guessed that he would end up being just like her. He wondered what the potion would be like. If he left Kaer Morhen, how would he get it?

“How long do you think it will take you to design the ritual?” Eskel asked, drawing Jaskier’s attention back to the conversation.

“Not long. Fey respond best to the new moon, and that’s only three days away,” Yennefer said.

Three days? Jaskier’s eyes widened. That was much sooner than he had expected.

“Three days? Is that really enough time?” Geralt said. It sounded like a challenge, and Jaskier half-expected Yennefer to take it that way, but she just rolled her eyes at Geralt.

“Relax, we won’t do anything to harm your precious Jaskier,” she said. “The alternative is waiting until the new moon after that, and I don’t really think it’s fair to make Jaskier be in pain for longer than he needs to be. I’m sure he’s anxious to get back some independence, right, Jaskier?”

Reluctantly, Jaskier nodded. More than anything, he wanted to be able to climb out of the bed on his own and go for a walk through Kaer Morhen. He wanted to be able to replace his beloved lute somehow. He wanted to be able to sing again. He wanted to be able to read without becoming fatigued or getting a headache. He wanted to be able to talk to Ciri and tell her what other places are like. He wanted to be able to talk to Geralt.

The corners of Yennefer’s smile softened. “I promise you that we’ll be careful. We wouldn’t perform a ritual unless we were completely sure about it.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier mouthed at her, deciding to trust her. Yennefer had scared the shit out of him in the beginning – and in all fairness, in many ways she still did. But at the same time, he was now realizing that she had a kinder heart than anyone could have guessed.

“Will you need help gathering ingredients? I can make the time to go,” Eskel said.

Yennefer turned towards him, nodding. “Yes, as it happens, we will need some things we don’t have here. Triss is putting together a list.”

“Just pass it over when it’s ready and I’ll go right away,” Eskel said. “What’s on it so far?”

They walked out discussing ingredients that Jaskier had never heard of, leaving Jaskier alone with Geralt, wondering what the cost of all those ingredients would be. It seemed like the toll for his stay at Kaer Morhen was soaring to new heights every time Jaskier blinked. He had no idea how he would ever be able to pay them back even a fraction of what it had cost.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and Jaskier looked at him. Geralt was still sitting on the side of Jaskier’s bed. There was a look on his face that Jaskier wasn’t sure how to take – not quite pity, but close.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier mouthed. He made the mistake of swallowing hard and then winced, putting a hand to his throat.

“You’re not fine,” Geralt said, very quietly.

Jaskier said nothing. What could he say, even if he could have spoken?

Geralt looked at him for a moment more before sighing. He got up and smoothed out the blanket where he’d sat, then went to the cupboards where Triss kept her potions. He fetched Jaskier some of the pain potion in a glass and helped Jaskier to drink it, then departed without saying anything else. Jaskier watched him go, idly rubbing at his throat.

He was fine. He had to be.

Chapter Text

The three days before the ritual seemed to pass far too quickly for Jaskier’s tastes. His nerves grew as the appointed day neared, and on the morning of the new moon he woke feeling as though he had not slept at all. His heart started to race as the door opened and Triss poked her head in. She smiled, but it was a smile tinged with sympathy, as though she knew exactly how rough his night had been.

“Good morning, Jaskier,” she said quietly. “I’m afraid that this ritual will require you to not have anything in your body. That means you can’t have breakfast, and I also can’t give you any of the pain potion. Some of the ingredients will react poorly to what you’ll be taking later.”

Jaskier grimaced at that news. It wasn’t surprising, but it was disheartening. He nodded at Triss to show that he understood.

“Eskel will be by to get you in a little while, okay? Do you need anything in the meantime?”

Silently, Jaskier shook his head. If he couldn’t have any of the pain potion, then he wanted to minimize how much talking he did today. The pain was always worse when he had to talk a lot. Triss nodded and departed, no doubt to finish the preparations. Jaskier was left by himself. Attempts at reading his poetry book were useless; he was too wound up to be able to focus.

It was almost a relief when the door opened again and Eskel looked in. “Are you ready?” he asked Jaskier.

No. But that wasn’t really an option, was it?

Eskel seemed to take his silence as agreement, and stepped inside. He was carrying a bundle of cloth beneath his arm, which he showed to Jaskier as he said, “Triss gave this to me. It’s undyed, freshly spun cloth. Can I help you change into it before we go?”

Assuming this was a part of the ritual, Jaskier nodded. Honestly, the ‘changing’ part turned out to be entirely within Eskel’s hands. Jaskier was completely focused on not crying out in pain. He had forgotten how much it hurt when he couldn’t take the pain potion. Each movement sent sharp tingles of pain racing through his body. He was deeply relieved when it was over, and he was sitting in his chair. Relieved, and exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Eskel asked worriedly.

Jaskier gave a weak nod, even though it wasn’t as true as he would have liked it to be. Eskel stepped behind him and pushed the chair out of the room. They went left, walking down first one corridor and then the next. Gradually the corridor sloped, and Jaskier realized they were moving upwards even as they went deeper into the stronghold. It was certainly the furthest he had been into Kaer Morhen.

At last Eskel stopped, turning the chair gently into a room where Triss and Yennefer were waiting. There was a raised stone dais right in the middle of the room. Eskel must have been told what to do beforehand, because he carefully picked Jaskier up and set him down on the dais. Jaskier grimaced, his body protesting the cold stone beneath him as Eskel moved away. It was uncomfortable, but he did not complain.

“Alright, Jaskier. We’re ready to begin,” Yennefer said. “First we’re going to put you into a light trance. It will make the process easier for you. Look here, see this?” She held up a chunk of crystal. At first Jaskier thought it was clear, but then as he watched the crystal, colorful lights began to bloom inside.

Yennefer’s whispers slowly died away. He watched the colors, mesmerized, and saw nothing else.

***

“It’s begun,” Eskel said softly. He was standing in the doorway with Geralt. Jaskier had not noticed either of them, Geralt knew. Even after Yennefer took the crystal away, Jaskier continued to stare at the place where the crystal had been. He was completely unaware of what was happening around him, and would remain that way until his active participation in the ritual was required.

It made sense… but Geralt did not like it. Jaskier was too still. The only sign he was still alive was the subtle movement of his chest rising and falling beneath the thin gown he was wearing. It reminded Geralt of how it had been when Jaskier first came to Kaer Morhen, and how he had nearly died.

In fact, that night when Jaskier had tried to attack him, Geralt remembered thinking for a moment that Jaskier was dead at first. Yennefer had not been kind when she had thrown Jaskier across the room, after all. She hadn’t known that Jaskier was being mind-controlled, nor had she known that Jaskier’s body was in such a delicate condition. She had been acting to save Geralt’s life, after all, and both of them had expected the intruder to jump up and try attacking again.

They knew now the only reason Jaskier had survived was because of his heritage. Jaskier’s heritage had saved him once back then. Geralt hoped that it would be able to do so again. This life of being confined to beds and chairs, of always being in pain, was not a life for someone like Jaskier. You only needed to look at him to see the yearning in his eyes. He wanted so badly to be free. And yet, Geralt also knew that the ritual could only do so much.

Jaskier would never be how he was before, and that was a true shame. Geralt would have very much liked to have seen Jaskier in his prime...

“Hey.” Eskel gripped Geralt’s shoulder to get his attention. “It will be fine. The ritual can only improve Jaskier’s current state. Absolute worst case scenario, he comes out of it in the same condition. If that happens, and I really doubt that it will, we’ll figure it out.”

Geralt managed a small smile to show his appreciation for Eskel’s efforts. “I know. He just – he deserves better.” It was the best yet simplest way he could put it.

Eskel sighed and nodded. “Yeah, he does. Are you going to stay here for a bit?”

“I think so.”

“Alright. Don’t forget your meetings later.” Eskel patted his shoulder and then left. Geralt turned back to the scene happening within the room. Yennefer was heavily into the ritual now, her eyes glowing lightly as she prayed over Jaskier’s body.

“I can’t tell you what will happen,” she had told Geralt yesterday. “I wish I could, but I can’t. Magic comes with a price. You know that. Jaskier’s parents and the king sought an assassination order on you, and Jaskier will always pay the price for that. No matter how many rituals we do, nothing can erase that.”

Geralt had nodded, feeling a little sick at the reminder. It wasn’t fair, but then again magic never was. He’d said, “But you think there’s a good chance Jaskier will come out the better for it?”

“I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. I don’t like wasting my time, you know that,” Yennefer had said. “This ritual will seek to earn back some of the price that Jaskier paid by reflecting it back onto those who benefitted… or rather, onto those who would have benefitted had we not deflected the attack.”

“You mean the mage?” Geralt had said, and Yennefer had smiled in that particularly bloodthirsty way that had always made Geralt fall in love with her a little.

“If we’re lucky,” she’d said, and then she’d refused to say anything more. She was maddening like that, but then again Geralt couldn’t exactly blame her. He understood that Yennefer didn’t want to make any promises that she wouldn’t be able to follow through on. Magic was just too unpredictable. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating in the meantime.

“Geralt, I’m sorry, but I have to close this door.”

Geralt startled a bit, realizing that Triss had moved across the room while he’d been lost in thought. He frowned at her. “Why?”

Triss smiled patiently. “I could give you the explanation that you won’t understand and waste precious time, or you could just let me close it and trust that Yennefer and I are going to do everything we can,” she said.

“… Fine,” Geralt muttered. “But –”

“I will come find you the moment we’re through,” Triss promised. She gently but firmly pushed the door shut, forcing Geralt out of the room entirely. His last glimpse was of Yennefer and Jaskier, both of them unchanged from how they’d been five minutes ago. Then the door closed, and Geralt was left staring at plain wood. He glowered at the door, but of course it did not help.

This feeling of restlessness was not one that he enjoyed. Geralt was used to being able to do something. He had always believed in the power of action, not words. When they’d found Ciri as a squalling babe, only two weeks old, abandoned, and starving, Geralt had stepped up. When it became clear that the Witchers no longer had the luxury of being solitary nomads, Geralt had stepped up. And then, when they needed a leader of their stronghold, Geralt had stepped up.

But now… he couldn’t do anything but wait. He clenched his hands in frustration and forced himself to leave the door. It would be too pathetic to sit there for however long it took, and he did have things that needed to be done in the meantime. Being a “King” meant that there was always work to be done. Though he delegated to those he trusted as much as he could, some things could only be done by Geralt himself.

Jaskier remained a thought in the back of his mind as Geralt went through his duties that day, but he managed not to be too obvious about it. No one mentioned Jaskier to him either until dinner, where he found a very anxious Ciri waiting for him. No sooner had Geralt reached the head table than Ciri was up and clutching at his tunic, her eyes wide with worry.

“Daddy, how is Jaskier? Is he okay? Did the ritual work? When can I see him? How is Aunt Yen? Is she okay?” The questions came shrill and fast, so fast that Geralt wouldn’t have even heard them all had he been human. He gently took Ciri’s hands in his.

“I don’t know how he is now, but he was okay when I last saw him. The ritual is still on-going. It could take a while. I assume Yennefer is fine. Triss is with her, and she’ll let us know if Yennefer or Jaskier need anything,” he told her, trying to portray a sense of calm that he didn’t really feel.

Ciri exhaled slowly, chewing her lower lip. She was vibrating with anxiety, and Geralt gave her a hug. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how young Ciri really was. She acted much older than her true age most of the time. But in moments like this, it was so easy to see her as a little girl. And it was yet another reminder that Geralt could not shield her from the world the way he wanted to.

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Ciri asked in a tiny voice, hugging him back as tightly as she could.

“Yes, I do,” Geralt answered honestly. “Yennefer assured me that this ritual can’t make things worse.” Though he did wonder how Yennefer could know that for sure, given how unpredictable magic was. He assumed, as always, that there were things Yennefer was not sharing.

“Good,” Ciri said. She seemed somewhat comforted. “I hope that Jaskier can talk easier when it’s done. I just know he has so many stories to tell me.”

Geralt smiled, because Ciri was probably right about that. “Triss said she’ll let us know as soon as it’s done. We just have to be patient.”

“Patient. Ugh, I hate that,” Ciri said with a dramatic sigh, letting go. “Everything in this world should just happen immediately, with no effort or work or waiting involved.”

If only, Geralt thought, helping her into her seat and then sitting down himself. If only.

Chapter Text

The ritual lasted for three full days. The tension in the castle thickened with every passing day as everyone waited to find out how it had gone. Jaskier would not have guessed that, Geralt was sure, given that he had only interacted with a very small percentage of the people who lived there. That had been Triss’s recommendation, since she thought Jaskier might get easily overwhelmed if he met too many people at once.

But everyone in Kaer Morhen knew who he was, even if they had not yet met him. Ciri had regaled everyone with updates and information on Jaskier right from day one, prompting a lot of curiosity. Geralt had shooed more than one Witcher away from Triss’s workshop in the past few months, all of them desiring a glimpse or even a few words with Kaer Morhen’s newest member.

Maybe, Geralt thought hopefully, after the ritual was done, Jaskier would be able to meet more people. He might be able to take his meals with everyone else and help Vesemir out in the library more regularly. There might even be other jobs he could be assigned. It would go a long way towards helping Jaskier to feel more like a part of the community instead of like an intruder. And maybe –

“Geralt. Geralt. Geralt!”

Eskel’s increasingly annoyed voice and, at last, a hard jab to Geralt’s shoulder finally caught Geralt’s attention. Geralt blinked in surprise, realizing that the room had emptied while he’d been lost in thought. He and Eskel were the only ones who remained. Eskel was staring at him in annoyance, fist still raised to provide another punch if Geralt didn’t snap out of it.

“Are you with me now?” Eskel said, raising a judgmental eyebrow. “I know that you’re concerned about Jaskier, but this is important. It concerns the man who put Jaskier in this position to begin with.”

“You mean his father?” Geralt asked, unable to keep a low growl out of his voice. If he ever met the Earl de Lettenhove in person, Geralt was going to kill the man. He had decided that long ago, and he knew he would not feel an ounce of guilt in the process. The man would deserve every moment of agony Geralt could cause for what he had done to Jaskier.

“No. I meant the sorcerer Gael,” Eskel said. “He’s been spotted.”

“Where?” Geralt demanded, and Eskel named a town not far away from Kaer Morhen, maybe a day’s walk for the average human, less for a Witcher. He pulled out the handwritten report that described it, letting Geralt read through it. Sadly the report was lacking in details, and was already over a week old, but the sorcerer they were searching for was mentioned by name.

“I’ve already sent someone to try and find out more details,” Eskel said, tapping the table lightly with his fingers. “It concerns me that he was spotted so close.”

Geralt felt a chill. “You don’t think he’s coming after Jaskier, do you?”

“The thought did cross my mind. Triss told me once that some sorcerers see those impacted by their magic as property. If he’s found out that Jaskier didn’t die after all…” Eskel raised his eyes to meet Geralt’s. He too, was deeply disturbed by the idea that Gael could be seeking out Jaskier.

“Jaskier is mine,” Geralt hissed, icy anger blooming deep within his chest.

Eskel raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I know, Geralt, I know. We’re not going to let this sorcerer get anywhere near Jaskier.”

“No, we’re not. Increase the patrols both inside and outside,” Geralt instructed. “And from now on, we’ll double up. No one goes anywhere alone. I’ll talk to Yen about erecting some stronger boundaries in the short-term. And no more camping trips for Ciri in the near future.”

“Of course,” Eskel said, making a note of everything. “You should let Ciri know not to go off on her own, too. She’s stuck close right now because we’re waiting for news about Jaskier, but…”

Geralt nodded in agreement. He knew just as well as everyone else just how prone Ciri was to wandering; his daughter was always on the move, always poking her nose into things, always curious about whatever might be happening when she turned her back. Because she had grown up at Kaer Morhen, and because Geralt had tried to shield her as much as possible, she sometimes overestimated just how safe the castle and its grounds were. No one within Kaer Morhen would ever wish her harm, but it was easier for those who would to get closer than Geralt wanted to admit.

“I’ll speak with her and let her know that she’s not to go outdoors unless escorted for the foreseeable future,” Geralt said. He was about to continue, but a knock on the door made him pause.

It was Triss. She looked exhausted, but she was smiling. She leaned against the doorframe and said, “The ritual has completed. Jaskier is asking for you.”

Geralt jumped up, all thoughts of the sorcerer immediately diminished, and said, “Is he okay?”

“How did it go?” Eskel asked at almost the same moment, standing up too.

“Come see for yourselves,” Triss invited with a wink, beckoning to them with her hand. Geralt needed no further urging to take her up on the offer, following at her heels. Eskel was right behind him. Despite her tiredness, Triss moved quickly and they were back at the room where the ritual had taken place in only a few minutes.

His heart beating fast, Geralt peered into the room. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but it wasn’t Jaskier sitting up on the stone dais. Yennefer was standing beside him, looking even more exhausted than Triss had. She was saying something to Jaskier, who was looking up at her, but Yennefer cut herself off and both of them turned to look when Geralt appeared.

***

“Jaskier. Jaskier.”

The enchanting swirls of colors had eventually given away to comforting darkness; Jaskier had not fallen asleep though, but rather felt as though he was floating in a warm, dark sea. The gentle, distant sound of Yennefer’s voice was the first thing to permeate the darkness for a long time. A thin crackle of purple ran overhead, breaking through the darkness, broadening as Yennefer called to him again.

“Jaskier, it’s over. It’s time for you to come back to us.”

Yet still, Jaskier felt so tired and so comfortable where he was. The thought of waking up was a task that seemed enormous and so far beyond him. He wanted to stay here, where there was no pain or turmoil, where he didn’t have to worry about his parents or not being able to sing or being a burden on those around him. He didn’t want to; he wanted to stay…

“Jaskier, Geralt and Ciri are waiting for you. Come on now. Come back.”

Geralt. Ciri. Their images appeared before Jaskier’s closed eyes. Geralt’s pale hair and brightly burning eyes, piercing Jaskier through. Ciri’s cute smile and endless energy. Both of them had settled deep into his heart in ways that Jaskier had not expected, and the thought of never seeing either of them again was more painful than he was ready to admit.

“Jaskier…”

The purple light reached down to him, and Jaskier forced himself to reach up to it. There was a confusing, dizzying swarm of sensation. Then, the next thing Jaskier knew, he was looking up at Yennefer herself. She had her hand out in invitation, and Jaskier had somehow lifted his hand to take it. Yennefer smiled gently and laced their fingers together, squeezing his hand tightly.

“You came back,” she noted with evident relief. “For a moment there, I thought that maybe you had slipped beyond where I could reach.”

“I think I almost did,” Jaskier murmured, then blinked in surprise when his throat didn’t hurt. He looked up at Yennefer in wonder, and she smiled.

"It was a success," she said, swaying lightly. She braced herself against the dais. “Or as much of a success as it could be.”

“I can talk,” Jaskier said, stunned.

Yennefer nodded. “You can talk,” she confirmed. “It went better than I had hoped… but you’re still not back to how you were. You never will be.”

“What does that mean?” Jaskier said, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. It was too hard to tell if there was anything in his body that actively hurt at the moment. He felt disconnected from the rest of his body, as though his brain had not yet reconciled that he had a body again.

“You can speak without pain, as you’ve noticed, but you’ll irritate your throat if you do so for too long. That may improve with time, but it may not,” Yennefer told him. “Your hands are better. Steadier.” She squeezed his hand again and smiled with satisfaction. “Those were the two areas I focused the ritual on the most. You’ll sing, and you’ll play your lute again, Bard.”

“Yennefer…” Jaskier honestly did not know what to say. He wanted to cry. He had no idea that Yennefer had been capable of directing the ritual into one area of his body. And he also had no idea that she would do so, and that she’d already known exactly what areas were the most important to him. It was overwhelming.

“I couldn’t do much for your legs,” Yennefer said, her smile fading. “Your legs will always be weak. Walking for long periods of time will be out of the question, and it’s going to take a long time. You’ll have to build yourself up. In general, your whole body will always be weak, I’m afraid. You’re always going to tire very easily.”

Some of Jaskier’s joy dwindled at that news. There went any hope he might’ve still possessed about someday being able to travel again. If he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t travel, and if he couldn’t travel, he wasn’t much of a Bard. The best he could hope for was being able to find somewhere he could set up house permanently where people would want to see him perform regularly. That would not be easy to find.

Yennefer smothered a yawn with her free hand, adding, “As you tire, your hands may shake again. Rest should help, though. Your eyesight isn’t what it was before, either. I couldn’t do much there. And I’m afraid you’ll always be susceptible to illness now, much more so than the average person. You’ll need to take care.”

“So…” Jaskier was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. It sounded like his voice and his hands were the most improved. Everything else had improved somewhat, but not as much as he might have hoped. Perhaps he wouldn’t be rid of that wheeled chair right away after all.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” Yennefer said, sighing. “I know this isn’t what you hoped for.”

“No,” Jaskier said, gripping her hand. “It’s more than I – thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Yennefer murmured, finally releasing his hand. “Lastly, so far as I can tell, you’ll still be in pain. There was too much damage done to your nerves in different places… so many places where the knife cut too deep.” She shook her head slightly. “Some days will be worse than others… but some days will be better, I hope.”

Jaskier swallowed, marvelling that he could do so without wanting to cry now, and nodded slightly. He pushed his hands flat against the dais. Yennefer moved to help him sit up. Moving hurt, but maybe not as much as it would have before. Sitting upright made Jaskier aware of how incredibly weak he felt, though. He was tired and his stomach felt dizzyingly empty.

“And what –” He licked dry lips. “What of the cost?”

Yennefer smirked, her purple eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry about the cost. It’s not one that we had to pay. I was able to reflect it back where it belonged.”

Jaskier was about to ask her what that meant, but a sound at the door drew his attention. He immediately forgot about his question when he saw Geralt looking back at him.

Chapter Text

There was a long silence during which Jaskier did not know what to say. He couldn’t stop looking at Geralt. Some part of him very much wanted to just jump up and slide into Geralt’s arms for a hug. Because he hadn’t known it until just this moment, but a hug was exactly what he wanted right now. However, Jaskier was aware enough to know that if he stood up, he was going to fall over. That would just be embarrassing. So he sat where he was, tense and wanting.

“It was a success,” Yennefer said, answering the unasked question. “I just got done telling Jaskier about it. But I didn’t get to tell you that there are some potions you’ll need to take on a regular basis,” she added, turning back to Jaskier. “They should help to strengthen you more. And Triss can brew a new potion for the days when you’re in pain. It’ll be more effective than the last one.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said, nodding. That turned out to be a poor idea, because the room danced dizzyingly around him afterwards. He swayed and might have fallen over anyway had Yennefer not grasped his shoulder.

“For goodness’ sake, Geralt. Get over here and tend to your bard,” she scolded. “He needs rest and then food, in that order. And then maybe a bath when he wakes up. You’re going to be tender for a while, Jaskier. Don’t push it, or you might set yourself back and undo all my hard work.” She was smiling as she spoke, but there was a warning look in her eyes that wasn’t to be ignored.

Geralt huffed and rolled his eyes, moving into the room. “You say that as you don’t need food and rest yourself,” he remarked, eyeing Yennefer like he was well aware that she was bracing herself against Jaskier’s shoulder now.

Yennefer stuck her tongue out. “I’m perfectly fine,” she lied. “Although if you could avoid going to war in the next day or two, that would be appreciated.” She released Jaskier’s shoulder and took a somewhat wobbly step away; Eskel appeared at her side as though by magic, sticking out an arm for Yennefer to balance herself on. She leaned against Eskel heavily as he escorted her out of the room.

Geralt paid them no attention as he gazed down at Jaskier. His golden eyes were bright with unidentifiable emotion. Jaskier didn’t know what to say or what to do. He was beginning to feel lightheaded again, to say nothing of how overwhelmed he was. He didn’t even realize that he was still swaying until Geralt reached out and put his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. And maybe Jaskier could be forgiven for what he did next, for weakly wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and pressing his face against Geralt’s stomach.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said softly. It wasn’t a question, not quite, which was probably a good thing because Jaskier didn’t know if he would be capable of answering anything right now.

One of Geralt’s hands moved to his head, gently running through the strands of his hair. Jaskier closed his eyes, struggling to get his breathing under control. He suddenly wanted to cry. Tears were rushing to his eyes for reasons that he didn’t really understand. He tried to hold them back, but a few broke free and rolled down his cheeks. His breath hitched despite his best efforts.

“Ah,” Geralt murmured, and then, “It’s alright. It’s over now.” He wrapped his free arm around Jaskier’s shoulders and stood there for a long time, just stroking Jaskier’s hair with a care that so many people would’ve believed a Witcher incapable of, until Jaskier was able to stop himself from crying. Not because there wasn’t lots to cry about, but because he was so exhausted he didn’t have the strength to keep going without passing out.

And in fact, maybe he did pass out there for a little while. There was a vaguely defined moment where Geralt eventually pulled away, and then the world kind of shifted a bit, and then Jaskier was being held comfortably cradled against a Witcher’s chest. Regrettably, he was too far gone to actually enjoy it. Everything went dark after that, and then the next thing he knew he was being tucked into an impossibly soft bed.

“Rest, Jaskier,” Geralt whispered to him, his voice sounding as though it was coming from a long ways away. Though it was in his nature to be contrary, Jaskier could not help obeying.

He slept long and deep and hard, and felt disoriented when he woke. The room around him was not Triss’s workshop, as he had come to expect. He rubbed his eyes and looked around curiously. It was a slightly smaller room than the workshop, but it felt bigger because it wasn’t as cluttered. Triss had made use of every available inch of her workshop, with something useful squeezed into every corner, but that meant her space felt tiny.

This room held only a desk, a bed, a nightstand on either side of the bed, and a wardrobe. There were two windows, one on the wall to the right and one on the wall in front of the bed. The windows must have been charmed not to allow the cold air or elements in, because the room remained both dry and a comfortable temperature even though Jaskier could see that it was raining.

He sat up slowly, using his arms to push himself up, and then was shocked that he’d even been able to do that. His muscles trembled and he ended up falling back against the pillows, but elation spread through him. He reclined against the pillows and held up his hands. There was still a fine tremor running through them, but he remembered what Yennefer had said about his hands still shaking when he was tired – and Jaskier was definitely still exhausted. Despite that, the difference in how much they shook was noticeable.

He clenched his hands slowly, flexing his fingers. Feeling how easily his hands responded to the movements that he wanted them to make. He had to close his eyes against the sting of tears. But it didn’t help. The tears welled up and spilled over again, rolling slowly down his face. Jaskier covered his face with his hands and sobbed softly. This was so much more than he had dared to hope for.

Yes, it truly sucked that he would never again be able to roam freely as a bard. He mourned that. But at the same time, he was so relieved that he would be able to sing and play the lute again. Even if he could only do so for short periods of time, that was still incredible after months of being unable to do so – after months of thinking he would never be able to do so. He yearned to touch a lute again, to pluck the strings and make beautiful visit and sing and just enjoy the one thing that had always made life worth living for.

Maybe Geralt would be able to get him a lute. Jaskier lifted his head, wiping at his cheeks, at the thought of Geralt. Where was Geralt? Where was everyone else? And for that matter, where was Jaskier? How long had he been here? Why wasn’t be in Triss’s workshop like usual? How was Yennefer? She had been so tired following the ritual. Was she okay? Had she rested?

The questions swamping his mind made a wave of overpowering fatigue roll through him. Jaskier closed his eyes for what was only supposed to be a moment, but he ended up falling asleep. He knew that because when he opened his eyes again, the view outside of the window was dark. He stared up at the window for a long moment, wondering how long he had been asleep this time.

“Jaskier?”

That was Triss’s voice. When Jaskier turned his head, he saw that Triss was sitting beside his bed. There was an array of potions on the nightstand beside her, and Jaskier couldn’t help scrunching his nose instinctively. Triss laughed lightly, looking relieved.

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re all there,” she said. “Yennefer said you were alright, but I have to admit that there was a little part of me that had to see it for myself.”

Touched by her concern, Jaskier smiled at her. “There might be people who’d argue with you about whether or not I’m all there,” he said. His throat was dry, but the words come out more smoothly and cleanly than anything else Jaskier had said since coming to Kaer Morhen. Triss looked positively delighted.

“You sound lovely!” she cried, clasping her hands together. “Oh Jaskier, I’m so glad for you. Here, I brought you some water.” She picked up a cup and leaned forward to help him drink. Though Jaskier thought he might be able to do it himself now, he gladly sipped from the cup as she held it. The water tasted better than anything else he’d ever consumed in his whole life.

“Thanks,” he said, and it didn’t sound quite so rough now. “Where am I?”

“Oh.” Triss smiled, setting the now empty cup back on the nightstand. “This is your new room. While you’re always welcome to visit my workshop, you don’t need constant monitoring anymore. And I have to admit, it’s nice to have my workshop back to myself.” She laughed to take any potential sting out of her words, regarding him fondly. “What do you think?”

“It’s nice,” Jaskier said, glancing around the room again. It didn’t surprise him to hear that Triss was glad to have her workshop back to normal, and he took no offence by that. It would be nice, he realized, to have some privacy again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a room that was actually ‘his’. It had probably been before he left home, and even then nothing under the roof of the Earl de Lettenhove belonged to anyone but the Earl. He didn’t think Geralt was like that, so this was something of a new experience.

“You’ll be able to give it more personality over time,” Triss said kindly, glancing around too. “Vesemir might allow you to take some books from the library to keep here. There’s always more than the shelves can hold. And Ciri will probably draw you lots of artwork for your walls too. And you could put some fresh flowers on the desk.”

Jaskier smiled. “All of that sounds nice,” he admitted. Frankly, it didn’t matter if he never decorated the room. Just having it was more than enough – was more than he’d ever expected to receive.

Because if they’d prepared a room for him, then didn’t that mean they had expected him to stay? Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with that revelation. It didn’t fit into his prior thinking at all. And it made him wonder if maybe Geralt had suspected that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to leave and be a wandering bard again. The only real question was whether this room was provided out of sheer pity, or because Geralt actually wanted him to stay.

“Well, in the meantime, I brought you some potions to have. There will be a lot to start with, but Yennefer expects you’ll be able to taper off some of them given enough time... although you should know that there are a few you’ll have to take on a permanent basis,” Triss explained.

Jaskier nodded and pushed himself upwards. Triss beamed seeing him doing that with such ease, and Jaskier couldn’t help smiling at her again. He thought that Triss was almost as happy for him as Jaskier was for himself, and that warmed his heart in ways he couldn’t express without a lute. She rearranged the pillows behind him so that he could sit upright, and then started handing him one potion at a time. Jaskier dutifully drank them all, even if most of them tasted terrible.

“Last one,” Triss said, handing over a blue potion. “For now, anyway. Are you hungry?”

He considered the question before shaking his head. He’d been a little hungry when he first woke up, but he wasn’t anymore. Truth be told, after drinking all of the potions, he felt more nauseous than anything. He wasn’t sure that anything he ate would stay down. Triss nodded like she was expecting that answer.

“Rest for a while. The potions will be in your system by then, and you’ll feel more like eating,” she said, arranging the empty bottles on a tray.

“Thanks,” Jaskier said, and she turned a soft smile on him.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” she said kindly. “Just rest. I’ll see you later.” She stood up, taking the tray with her, and left. Jaskier was asleep before she even made it out the door.

Chapter Text

Jaskier was laying in bed staring out the window when he heard a light tapping on the door. It was so quiet that it took him a few seconds to realize that it was actually someone knocking. Possibly someone who wasn’t sure if he was awake, which was fair. He was only awake because his growling stomach prevented him from being able to sleep anymore without eating.

“Come in,” Jaskier said, marvelling all over that it didn’t hurt to speak. His voice still sounded rough to his ears, no longer the smooth, polished clip of an earl’s son, but that was alright. He could get used to that, and he didn’t think it would impact his singing too much.

The door opened a little, and Ciri poked her head inside. “Jaskier?” she whispered, looking at him with big eyes, and Jaskier grinned at her and opened his arms.

That seemed to be all the permission that Ciri needed. She pushed the door open fully and hurtled into the room like the hallway was on fire. She launched herself up onto the bed and literally threw herself at him. Jaskier gasped in surprise as she made impact and drove all the air from his lungs with the force of her hug. Her arms felt like tiny steel grips as she clutched at his ribs.

“You’re okay! Daddy said you were, and I know he wouldn’t lie to me, but I still wasn’t sure,” Ciri fretted, hugging him even tighter if possible. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

Jaskier laughed breathlessly, bringing his own arms up around her. He gently patted her hair and Ciri melted against him with a little sob, burying her face in his chest. He sucked in a breath as her grip finally loosened and continued to stroke her hair, looking out the window again. It seemed to be a sunny day today judging from the amount of sunlight spilling across his floor, and he was suddenly deeply relieved that he was here to experience it.

“Sorry,” Ciri sniffled finally, pushing herself up right. She looked a little embarrassed as she wiped at her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her dress.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier said, touched by her concern, and her eyes widened.

“You can talk!” she exclaimed. “I mean, you can talk and you sound... normal.”

Jaskier grinned. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

“You can tell me stories now! And sing to me!” Ciri said, and Jaskier’s grin softened.

“I would love to,” he said sincerely. He remembered wanting to tell Ciri stories about his travels and being unable to, and how hard that had been. The stories had welled up in his chest until he felt like he would burst without a way to let them free. Now he might only be able to tell a story or two, or sing a song or two, at a time, but at least it was something.

“How are you feeling?” Ciri asked, kneeling on the side of the bed. “Oh! You’re probably hungry. Grandfather gave me food to bring to you. Just a second.” She nimbly jumped off the bed and scampered out into the hallway, returning shortly with a tray. Jaskier’s stomach grumbled as he eyed the hearty bowl of soup, thick slab of bread, and steaming cup of tea on the tray.

Ciri returned to the bed and set the tray on his lap, then took a much more careful seat beside him so that nothing would spill. Jaskier picked up the spoon and carefully dipped it into the soup. He would have struggled to describe how joyous it felt to lift the spoon to his lips all by himself. That was something he would’ve taken for granted once upon a time, but no longer. Being able to feed himself was amazing.

“So how are you feeling?” Ciri asked again once the first few spoonful’s were gone.

“Pretty good, but honestly I haven’t been awake much,” Jaskier admitted. “I’ve been tired.”

Ciri nodded sagely with a wisdom beyond her years and said, “Once, when I was younger, I fell from a tree when I was learning to climb. I ended up breaking my ankle in three places. Aunt Yen performed a ritual to heal it for me. It made me really tired too. I slept for ages afterwards. I bet you will too.”

“I hope not. I’m getting tired of sleeping,” Jaskier said. “I think I’ve slept more than in the past few months than I have my whole life!”

She giggled. “I felt that way too. But it was worth it, and I was okay after about a week or so. Aunt Yen said I might not have been able to walk properly otherwise. But now my legs are fine.” She stuck her legs out as though to prove it. And when Jaskier looked at her legs, he realized that both of them looked completely fine. There was no way to tell that one had been broken.

“What about the price?” he asked, remembering what Yennefer had said about magic. She’d said something about reflecting the cost of his ritual back onto those who deserved it. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Had she found a way to target his parents? Or the sorcerer who had done this to him? Or all of them? He almost hoped it was the latter. They all deserved it if that was possible.

“Daddy paid it,” Ciri said, her smile fading. “He lost the use of his right arm for a little while. But where he’s a Witcher, he said it was easier for him to heal than it was for me. I didn’t want him to, but he insisted.”

“I see,” Jaskier murmured. That did sound like something that Geralt would say. He had zero trouble believing that Geralt would’ve made such a sacrifice for his daughter.

“When you’re better, I’ll take outside to see the tree I fell from. I can climb it now with no problem at all,” Ciri added, folding her legs under her again. “It’s really nice to see in the summer. The whole tree flowers.”

“It sounds lovely,” Jaskier said. He ate a couple more spoonful’s of soup, only to realize that Ciri was watching him with an anxious expression. Jaskier looked at her for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows. She was chewing her lower lip, not quite meeting his eye. There was clearly something that she wanted to say. He took another spoonful of soup and could practically see the moment when she cracked.

“You will be here, right?” she blurted out.

Jaskier blinked for a moment. “I’m sorry?”

Ciri clasped her hands in her lap, looking at him worriedly. “I... I know it’s not really my place, but... You do plan to stay with us, right? Now that you’re better?” She shifted uneasily. “Are you going to leave? Because I don’t want you to leave. I like having you here, Jaskier. I want you to stay. But I know it’s not up to me...” She looked as though she might cry by the end of it.

“Ciri...” Jaskier snapped himself out of his shock when she let out a soft sob. “I’m not going anywhere. To be honest... I have no where to go.”

“What do you mean?” Ciri sniffed, rubbing her sleeve across her eyes again.

“I can’t roam as a bard the way that I used to. I’m... better, but not that much better,” Jaskier said carefully. “And I don’t have a family anymore. That was the whole reason I was a traveling bard in the first place, so that I didn’t have to be around them. I was at the university for a while, but...” Jaskier shook his head. He didn’t think he could justify his presence at the university now. He wasn’t capable of teaching right now, and it would take him a while to get back into writing songs.

Ciri stared at him for a moment, her mouth twisting into a frown, before she said, “But... you could join the court of a king and be their professional bard...”

Jaskier tried not to grimace too obviously; his heartrate quickened dramatically at the thought of returning to any court, not just the one where Gael was, and he didn’t want Ciri to know about the icy panic rolling through his chest. He’d always disliked court: that was one of the reasons he had left his parent’s home to begin with. But now? Now the thought of returning even in the capacity of court bard after what had happened the last time made him want to vomit.

“That wouldn’t be for me,” Jaskier managed to say, forcing a smile and reaching for the tea. A gulp of too-hot tea helped to center him back in the room.

“I don’t like court either. It’s so stuffy,” Ciri said, and Jaskier assumed that meant she didn’t know the finer details of what had happened between him and Geralt. That was just fine with him. He hoped that Ciri never found out he had tried to kill her father.

“Yes, exactly,” Jaskier agreed, happy to let her think that was the sole reason.

“Well then... maybe you could find a big city and be a bard there. I bet people would travel from all over to hear you,” Ciri suggested.

Jaskier took another sip of tea, trying to think past the lingering panic to figure out where Ciri was going with this. She’d started out by saying that she didn’t want him to leave, but now she was suggesting other things he could do rather than stay at Kaer Morhen? He didn’t understand. He stared at her for a long moment, wondering if maybe Ciri didn’t want him to stay after all.

“I wouldn’t have the money for that,” he said finally. He didn’t have any money at all actually, now that he stopped to think about it. The Earl de Lettenhove’s guards had stripped him of all his possessions before they dragged him in to see his father. All of those possessions had most likely been burned, and what little money he’d had at the time had no doubt been pilfered by either his parents or his siblings.

Ciri’s frown deepened. “Daddy could lend you the money if you wanted.”

“Ciri... I don’t understand,” Jaskier said. If the tray hadn’t been in his lap, he would’ve thrown his arms up in exasperation. “You just said that you want me to stay, but now you’re offering up ideas about what I could do if I left. It’s – it’s okay if you don’t want me here, you know. You can say that.” That thought stung more than he wanted to let on, but he knew that Ciri was well within her rights to feel that way.

“No!” Ciri cried. “I want you to stay. I really do. It’s just – ” She hesitated, her eyes darting around the room like she was searching for the right words.

“Just what?” Jaskier prompted at last, feeling completely confused.

“I want you to want to stay,” Ciri said finally, her eyes lowered shyly. “I don’t want you to be trapped here, Jaskier.”

Oh. That was so... unexpected, but also incredibly sweet. Jaskier had to blink hard to keep the tears from his eyes; he was overly emotional right now, likely as a result from the ritual and everything that he had been through over the past few months. But he didn’t think it would help Ciri if he started crying right now, especially when Ciri looked close to tears herself. He thought for a moment before responding.

“Ciri, listen to me,” he said softly. “It’s true that I had considered leaving if the ritual went well. Mostly because I wasn’t sure that I was wanted here...”

“Of course you are!” Ciri exclaimed, her head snapping up, and Jaskier smiled. It was so easy for a child to say something like that, he thought fondly.

“It’s a little different now that I’m better,” he told her. “Your father has been very kind to me. Much kinder than I deserve, honestly. But... I do like it here. Kaer Morhen is a wonderful place, with a lot of wonderful people.” He tried not to flush, thinking of Geralt. “I don’t know that I belong, but I don’t mind being here at all. I’m not going to stay here constantly plotting a way to leave, if that’s what you’re imagining.”

“Kaer Morhen is your home,” Ciri said, her eyes searching Jaskier’s. “If you don’t know that yet, then I’ll make sure that Daddy tells you.”

“What? Ciri? What?! No!” Jaskier yelped, making a grab for her. But Ciri was nimble, and she was off the bed and out the door in a flash. Jaskier stared after her, his heart sinking.

This wasn’t going to end well.

Chapter Text

Geralt was in the hot springs, having a nice long soak to himself. It was Eskel’s suggestion, or rather a byproduct of Eskel exaggeratedly sniffing Geralt after their meeting and then making a pointed comment about how long it had been since Geralt went to bathe. After punching Eskel in the shoulder, Geralt had stalked out of the room and immediately made his way down here for a soak.

He wouldn’t admit it to Eskel, but this was exactly what Geralt had needed. He could practically feel the layers of tension melting away from him alongside of the dirt. He sighed to himself, leaning his head against the back of the hot spring. At least down here, Geralt could find some measure of peace. It wasn’t very often that he got a moment to himself.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

“Ciri?” Geralt was moving before he’d fully processed Ciri’s upset voice, launching himself out of the hot spring and rushing to the entrance. Ciri was barreling towards him. Geralt scanned her quickly, checking to be sure that she had all of her limbs and wasn’t bleeding, but outwardly, at least, everything seemed to be fine.

“Daddy!” she cried again, rushing right up to him.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt said, kneeling down to look her in the eyes.

“It’s Jaskier!” Ciri said, and Geralt’s heart stopped. For an eternally long moment, the image of Jaskier’s dead body flashed in front of his eyes and stayed there. All he could think about was that something had gone wrong with the ritual after all, but that it had taken a while to show.

“Jaskier? What happened?” Geralt whispered, grabbing Ciri’s shoulders. “Ciri, tell me!”

“He’s going to leave Kaer Morhen,” Ciri said, and then, “Daddy, you’re hurting me.”

“What – oh, I’m so sorry,” Geralt said, quickly releasing his grip. He stood up and reached for a towel, belatedly wrapping it around his lower half as his mind processed Ciri’s words. He frowned to himself, because what she’d said made no sense, before looking quizzically at his daughter.

“I was talking to Jaskier and he said that he doesn’t see Kaer Morhen as his home,” Ciri explained. “He said that if the ritual had gone well, he would have left. He said that he can’t leave, so he’s okay with staying here, but that he doesn’t belong here and he’s not sure he’s wanted here.” Her eyes welled up with fresh tears that spilled over quickly, running down her cheeks.

Geralt was saddened to hear this, but also not surprised in a way. It was easy to see how isolated Jaskier had felt when he was really too sick to go very far. They’d tried to make him a part of the castle by giving him the job of helping Vesemir, which was actually a much more important job than Jaskier probably realized. Vesemir did not suffer fools lightly, and the job itself involved access to potentially delicate information. But he doubted that Jaskier saw it that way.

“Ciri...” Geralt sighed and knelt in front of her, reaching out to carefully brush the tears from her face. He ran his thumb under her eye, smearing the wetness away, and realized that somewhere along the way, Ciri had lost much of her baby fat. Her face looked more angular now, sharper, in a way that made his heart ache. She was growing up so fast.

“I want him to be happy here, Daddy. I don’t want Jaskier to be sad,” Ciri said, lifting her hand to cover Geralt’s.

“I want that too,” Geralt said, but he knew it wasn’t that easy. Could Jaskier ever be really happy at Kaer Morhen? It was a question Geralt had pondered often over the past months.

Jaskier had not come to Kaer Morhen willingly, as everyone else had. He’d been forced to come because he would have died otherwise. If Geralt and Yennefer had left him behind that night, then he would’ve either died a slow, painful death from the effects of the potion or he would’ve been executed. Whether the execution happened publicly or privately fully depended on the king, it was probably a 50/50 either way.

Then he had been forced to stay here for months because there was no where else for him to go, and because he could not leave. And now that he could potentially leave, Geralt knew that Jaskier had no way to support himself. A travelling bard couldn’t travel in Jaskier’s state. Even if his health continued to improve, he would never be well enough for that lifestyle.

And frankly, if Jaskier did decide to leave the safety of Kaer Morhen, Geralt couldn’t be sure that his parents wouldn’t go after him again. He didn’t know if Jaskier had registered that possibility or not, but it was definitely there. Jaskier was a liability now. People like the Earl de Lettenhove did not make it as far as they did in life without eliminating any potential liabilities.

Jaskier was safest here... but that didn’t necessarily mean he could be happiest here.

“Then you have to tell him,” Ciri said. “You have to tell him that you want him here, that we all want him here. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t believe me.” Her cheeks puffed out briefly with irritation before she sighed. “But he’ll believe it if you say it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Geralt said. “It’s not that simple, Ciri. We can all want Jaskier to stay here and be happy, but Jaskier didn’t have a choice in coming here.” Jaskier was like a caged bird now, a bird whose wings had been permanently clipped. Could such a bird ever be happy?

“But you won’t know that if you didn’t ask,” Ciri said reasonably, and she sounded so much like Eskel that Geralt had to shake his head. Someday, he thought, Ciri was going to be the ruler of Kaer Morhen with an iron fist. He almost pitied any kings that had to deal with her.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said reluctantly. The thought of talking to Jaskier wasn’t an appealing one. Under normal circumstances Geralt would not have called himself a coward, yet this was one instance where that title certainly applied. He would have to approach this conversation with great care to avoid admitting certain things that he didn’t feel ready to admit. That he might never be ready to admit, if he was being honest with himself. Because who knew how Jaskier really felt?

There was also another problem which Ciri probably didn’t recognize, but which Geralt felt keenly. He didn’t want Jaskier to feel obligated to anyone at Kaer Morhen in any way. And especially not to Geralt himself. Jaskier had been an innocent pawn unfairly caught up in a cruel game as far Geralt was concerned, but he knew that Jaskier didn’t see it that way.

“So you’ll ask?” Ciri said, her eyes lighting up. “You’ll tell him how much we all want him here?”

Geralt felt trapped. There was nothing for him to do but nod. Ciri let out a happy squeal and lunged forward, throwing her arms around him.

“Thank you, Daddy!” Ciri cried.

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said, sighing.

Ciri pulled back a little, staring him straight in the eye, and said, “And you’ll tell him you love him too, right?”

Geralt choked. “Wh-what?”

Now she pouted and rolled her eyes. “Come on. It’s so obvious. You never talk about anyone like you talk about Jaskier, and I’ve seen the way you look at him when Jaskier isn’t watching. Besides, I talked to Aunt Yennefer about it and she totally agrees. So does Uncle Eskel.”

“So does – you talked to –” Geralt took a moment to facepalm and shake his head. There was a headache beginning to pound around his temples. So much for his nice peaceful soak in the hot springs. All of the tension that had melted away had now come flooding back at the thought that the whole stronghold was discussing his love life – or lack thereof – behind his back.

“I’m just saying. Jaskier should know. That would make him happy,” Ciri said, and Geralt groaned before letting his hand drop to his side.

“I have to get dressed,” he informed Ciri. He would deny it until the day he died, but he was definitely running away from Ciri when he stepped back around a chunk of rock.

There, he buried his face in his hands fully and groaned a second time. He wasn’t the best at keeping secrets, but he’d genuinely thought that he was hiding what he felt towards Jaskier better than this. It was embarrassing to know that he hadn’t been. He ruefully thought back on all the times he’d almost spoke to Eskel or Vesemir about it before deciding not to because he wasn’t sure he wanted them to know. Apparently he should’ve just gone right ahead and talked to them anyway!

“Daddy! Hurry up!” Ciri called impatiently.

“I’m hurrying,” Geralt snapped back, grabbing the towel around his waist. He dried himself off quickly before pulling on the change of clothing he had brought down to the hot springs with him. He rubbed at his hair as he stepped back around the rock.

“Jaskier is waiting,” Ciri said, her hands on her hips.

“Ciri, he just woke up after going through that ritual. I’m not sure that talking about how I feel towards him would be appropriate right now,” Geralt told her. “I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“But he needs to know. He needs all the details,” Ciri said stubbornly.

Geralt stared at her for a very long moment. The mulish pout on her face was so much like Yennefer that it made Geralt want to scream. He knew in that moment that Ciri was not going to let this go until Jaskier knew everything. She would hound Geralt day and night from now on until Geralt broke: that was how she’d gotten to go on her first ever camping trip.

“Fine. I will talk to him, but if I feel like he’s not ready for it, I’m not saying anything and I want your word that you won’t either. This is a private matter between me and Jaskier whether you like it or not,” Geralt said, injecting a stern note into his voice that he didn’t usually use with her.

Ciri frowned for several seconds before reluctantly nodding. “Fine, but you have to promise that you’ll make sure Jaskier knows that he’s wanted here.”

“Agreed.” Geralt held a hand out to her, and Ciri took it. They shook.

Then Geralt used his grip on her hand to reel her in, and he tickled her stomach. She shrieked with laughter and began to try and squirm away. But as always, she quickly realized that there was no way to escape. So she started trying to tickle him back. Geralt let her win after a couple of minutes, moaning theatrically as he sank to the ground like it was all too much to keep standing. Then he let out an ‘oof’ of shock as Ciri jumped on top of him, still giggling. They play wrestled for a few more minutes until Ciri grew tired and climbed off.

“Do you think Jaskier would like to go camping with us someday?” she asked, sitting on the floor beside him. She stretched her feet out in front of her.

Geralt propped himself up on his arm. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t. Jaskier used to be a traveling bard. That would surely involve some amount of camping outside. He’s never made mention of having a horse, and a human traveling between towns would be slow. He’d never make it between most of them in one day.”

Ciri nodded slowly. “Maybe I’ll ask him later,” she said. “We could all go. Maybe even Aunt Yen would come.”

“I think you have a much better chance of getting Jaskier there than Yennefer,” Geralt said, amused. Yennefer did not like the mud or dirt. Her version of camping would be more like using a portal to go somewhere to have a picnic, and then using another portal to come back and sleep in your own bed.

“But she’ll have to come,” Ciri said.

Geralt frowned in confusion. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t let me have a tent to myself,” Ciri replied as though it should be obvious. Geralt frowned deeper as he tried to work this out, sitting up.

“Well no, I wouldn’t. But why - ?”

“Because you’ll be sharing a tent with Jaskier of course,” Ciri said confidently, and grinned triumphantly as her father dissolved into yet another choking fit.

Chapter Text

“Your legs will always be weak,” Yennefer had said. “You’ll have to build yourself up,” she’d said.

Jaskier discovered quickly that Yennefer had not been joking.

It was, in retrospect, probably a stupid move on his part. Yennefer probably hadn’t intended for him to try walking for the first time when he was alone; she’d probably intended for him to wait for Triss or maybe Eskel. But after Ciri rushed out of the room, he’d been frustrated by the fact that he could not stop her. And that was when Jaskier decided that there was zero reason for him to not at least try.

He set aside the rest of his meal and pushed the covers aside, looking down at his legs. It hurt, seeing them. Because at one point, Jaskier’s legs had been tanned and strong from walking miles every day. Being on his feet singing for hours on end had never bothered him. But now his legs were thin and pale from lack of use. HE almost didn’t want to look at them at all.

“Alright. First things first,” he muttered, forcibly turning his gaze away. He very slowly shifted first one leg and then the other off the bed, until he was perched on the side. Even just being able to do that much was an incredible rush. After months of laying in bed, he was sitting up under his own power. It was intoxicating. He took a few seconds to bask in the sheer pleasure of having put his own feet on the ground.

Then, carefully, he tried to stand up. His legs wobbled precariously under him, and he fell back onto the bed before he could fully stand. Jaskier frowned with impatience and eyed the chair beside his bed that Triss had been sitting in. He leaned forward and grabbed it, pulling it closer. The feet of the chair scaped loudly against the floor as he moved it, and he winced at seeing the scratch marks left behind. Oops.

“I’ll pay to have that fixed... somehow,” Jaskier told the floor. He turned the chair so that the back was facing him, and leaned heavily on it as he slowly forced himself to his feet.

And then – he was standing.

He was actually standing all by himself.

A flood of pride and relief surged through him, taking his breath away. He was standing -

And then his legs gave out, and he was falling.

Jaskier yelped painfully as he hit the ground. His tight grip on the back of the chair meant that the chair overbalanced and came with him; the top of the back cracked his cheek as they both landed. The impact of the fall knocked the breath out of him, and he spent several seconds gasping for air. When at last he sucked in a deep breath, he ended up wincing.

Okay, maybe that hadn’t been his smartest plan. In his euphoria over being able to stand on his own without help, he’d overlooked the weakness in his increasingly shaky legs until it was too late. Now he and the chair were both on the floor, and their combined fall had made a terrifically loud noise. He grimaced, hoping that no one had been close enough to hear it. This was just too embarrassing.

“Brilliant work, Jaskier,” he mumbled to himself, looking up at the bed. It seemed to be much higher now than it had ever been before.

He tried to get up on his hands and knees, but his legs just wouldn’t cooperate. Jaskier slumped back against the floor and groaned in despair. He could try righting the chair, and then getting up onto the chair, and then from the chair to the bed. But he just wasn’t sure he had enough energy for that. Just standing for a few seconds had left him tired and his muscles weak.

“Maybe I’ll just live on the floor from now on,” he said under his breath, then groaned again when there was a knock on his door. He briefly contemplated not answering.

“Jaskier?”

Oh lord. It was Geralt, of all people. Jaskier closed his eyes for a few seconds, hating himself. This was just beyond embarrassing. He wrestled with himself for a moment before sighing. If he didn’t answer, he knew, Geralt wouldn’t hesitate to break the door down. Doing so would likely attract even more attention, which was the exact opposite of what Jaskier wanted right now.

“Yes?” he said reluctantly.

“Can I come in? I’d like to speak with you.”

Damn Ciri and her desire to be helpful. Damn Geralt and his desire to do the right thing. Damn Jaskier himself and his inability to wait for help!

“Sure,” Jaskier said, resigned to the inevitable. He could have sent Geralt away, maybe even asked Geralt to fetch Triss or Eskel instead, but that would have only prolonged Geralt finding out. He was going to know about this sooner or later, might as well get it over with.

Geralt opened the door and startled when he saw Jaskier on the floor. “Jaskier! What - ?!”

“I’m fine, really,” Jaskier said, sighing. “It’s okay. I just tried to stand up and got a bit too ambitious.”

“You tried to –” Geralt visibly stopped himself, a slight frown settling over his face as he fully took in the scene. His golden eyes went from the bed to the chair to Jaskier, and Jaskier braced himself for whatever amount of scolding that was about to come.

But to Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt said nothing as he closed the door behind him. He approached Jaskier and knelt down, glancing at Jaskier with his eyebrows raised in wordless query. Jaskier nodded, because there was literally no moment during which he would ever forbid Geralt to touch him. Geralt leaned in, gently sliding an arm under Jaskier’s front, and first helped Jaskier to roll over onto his back. Then he slipped his other arm under Jaskier’s knees and lifted him.

It was so easy for Witchers, Jaskier reflected as Geralt set him back on the bed. But he knew that was a cruel thought. The process for a human to become a Witcher was nearly unbearable. Perhaps back then there had also been days where Geralt couldn’t get out of bed, though Jaskier found that difficult to imagine. Still, maybe that was why there was no judgement or chastisement in Geralt’s expression as he righted the chair.

“You were able to stand?” Geralt asked once he had sat down in the chair. “That’s wonderful.”

“It would’ve been more wonderful if I could’ve stayed standing,” Jaskier said ruefully, glad that he was back in bed. His shoulder hurt from hitting the floor, and his cheek ached from the impact with the chair. Truly, that had not been one of his best moments.

“It’s more than you’ve been able to do for a while now. That’s progress,” Geralt said, not unkindly. He leaned forward suddenly, catching Jaskier’s chin in his hand. Jaskier obediently allowed his head to be turned so that Geralt could see the side of his face. No doubt those Witcher eyes could easily make out the bruise that was surely beginning to develop.

“It’s fine. My own fault,” Jaskier said after a moment, lifting his hand and putting it over Geralt’s. He turned his head back, meeting Geralt’s eyes. “And you’re right. It is progress. I was really happy. Well, happy until I fell.”

The corners of Geralt’s lips quirked up. “Perhaps from now on, you should wait to stand until someone else is with you.” He made it sound like a suggestion, but Jaskier knew that it was really an order. His hand slipped from beneath Jaskier’s, much to Jaskier’s disappointment.

“Yeah, I guess I should.” Jaskier sighed and looked at his legs again. He wished there was another magical ritual that could be done to make walking easier for him, but he knew he had been very lucky to get as much as he had. At least he could talk again, and move without being in agonizing pain, and he’d stood. Just for a few seconds, but still. That was more than he’d ever thought he’d get. There was no space for greediness in magic.

“You’ll get there eventually,” Geralt said softly.

“Will I, though? Yennefer said I’ll always be weak. I’ll tire easily and won’t be able to walk for long,” Jaskier said, growing more despondent with each word. “I just wish – I wish this had never happened. You don’t happen to have a djinn handy, do you?”

“Regrettably, no. Our last encounter with a djinn didn’t go very well. As a general rule, we try not to associate with them any more than necessary,” Geralt replied. “Besides – ”

“I know, I know. All magic comes at a price, even wishes,” Jaskier said. “I – I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I really am. You could have thrown me out at any point, or even left me there. You certainly didn’t have to research the ritual, or allow Yennefer to perform it. I’m deeply grateful for everything you’ve done.” He lowered his gaze, unable to look at Geralt.

There was quiet for a long moment, during which Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to look up to see Geralt’s face. So he was startled when Geralt reached out and put his hand over Jaskier’s this time. He couldn’t stop himself from looking up at that point. Geralt was unapologetically staring right at him. It was hard to tell what was going through his head. His golden eyes were beautiful, but hard to define.

“Jaskier, do you remember the day I came to talk to you and told you that you didn’t need to apologize?” he asked suddenly.

Jaskier blinked. “Yes... of course I do.” That was the day he’d stopped worrying that Geralt might want some kind of revenge for what Jaskier had done. It was the first time Jaskier had ever considered that staying at Kaer Morhen wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“I didn’t apologize to you that day, but I should have,” Geralt said. “You were pulled into this, used as a pawn against me, and that is my fault.”

“What – no! You didn’t ask to have an assassination attempt made on your life,” Jaskier said, shocked.

But Geralt merely shook his head. “You don’t owe me, or any of us, anything. What we did for you is less than what you deserved, but unfortunately it was the best we could do.” He frowned for a moment before sighing. “You don’t need to be grateful.”

“I disagree,” Jaskier said. His heart was beating fast. “I think I have every reason to be grateful. Ciri talked to you, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, clearly not seeing any reason to hide it.

“I don’t want you to think I want to leave,” Jaskier said. Perhaps Geralt would better understand. “And I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful. I can’t even say that I definitely would have left if the ritual had been able to make me normal again.” It would have been hard to leave Geralt and Ciri and Triss and Yennefer and Eskel and the library and the hot springs and all the other wonderful things at Kaer Morhen, after all. “But despite all that, there’s a part of me that – that – ”

“The choice was taken from you,” Geralt said quietly.

Jaskier nodded. “Exactly. And so was your choice. I’m sure you feel as though you have to let me stay. That bothers me. Ciri said she wanted me to want to be here, but...” He lifted his free hand and ran a hand through his hair, only now noticing how long it had grown. He realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a haircut. It had probably been well over a year.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t feel as though I have to let you stay,” Geralt replied. “You’re not an invalid, not anymore. You could make do if you had to.” He eyed Jaskier’s body critically. “It would be hard, but you could do it. So I could throw you out today if I wanted to. Have Yennefer open up a portal to the nearest village and put you there with a small sum of money and some clothes.”

Had his heart been beating fast before? Now it was racing. Jaskier licked suddenly dry lips. “But... you wouldn’t,” he whispered.

Geralt met his gaze, golden eyes full of emotion, and said, “No, I wouldn’t. Not because I can’t, or because I think of you as a burden that I must uphold, or because I think you couldn’t fend for yourself, or even because I feel sorry for you. I wouldn’t because Jaskier, I want you to stay here with us.”

Chapter Text

Oh. Jaskier stared at Geralt for a long, stunned moment. He didn’t know where he had expected their conversation to go, but it wasn’t here. He studied Geralt’s face, trying to find any sign that Geralt was just saying that to be kind. But he knew better than that. Jaskier had been here long enough, had gotten to know Geralt well enough, to know that Geralt did not do things like this just because. He wouldn’t be here asking this just because Ciri had asked him to do so.

He was a kind man, a fair man, more so than anyone outside of Kaer Morhen would have you believe, but he was not a man who would say “I want you to stay” if that was not how he felt. So that meant Geralt did truly want Jaskier to stay, and for whatever reason that was throwing Jaskier into a complete whirlwind. His felt his face grow hot and his breath grow short as he looked away.

But he couldn’t look away for long. His eyes were irresistibly drawn back to Geralt’s face again. It probably shouldn’t have, but knowing that Geralt genuinely wanted him here did make a big difference. It made Jaskier feel a little less like he was imposing, because Geralt was right: they could kick Jaskier out right here and now if they didn’t want him. They didn’t have to keep him. Jaskier hadn’t quite thought about it that way before.

“I think I want to stay too,” Jaskier whispered finally, feeling a bit awed as he watched relief sweep across Geralt’s face. He was very lucky, he realized. Lucky that he had ended up with people who wanted him. Jaskier had never been wanted before.

Even as a child, his family had never really wanted him. That had been obvious long before all of this happened. Jaskier was the proverbial black sheep who didn’t fit in and was therefore an embarrassment. That was part of the reason why he’d left in the first place. A little part of him had always been hoping he would find that magical place where he belonged. He just hadn’t expected to find it the way that he had.

“Are you sure?” Geralt asked, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t have to stay, Jaskier. Ciri will be upset, but she’ll understand. We all would. If you want to go – if you want to see if you can find somewhere else – ”

Jaskier shook his head, a strange calm settling over him. It washed away the uncertainty he’d felt during his earlier conversation with Ciri. He knew that he would always be a little bitter that his life as a free bard had been stolen away. And it might always be a little frustrating that his decision to stay at Kaer Morhen was partially because it was the easiest thing to do, given his current state of health. And he would probably always wish that he could have met Geralt and everyone else under different, happier circumstances.

But when he really sat back and looked at it, Jaskier did not know if he would ever find somewhere that he could fit better than he seemed to fit here. At least here, they were willing to make room for him. That was more than he’d ever had before. Maybe he’d try it and find that he didn’t fit at Kaer Morhen either, but he was realizing that it was at least worth a try.

“I’m sure. I think I was just – overwhelmed by everything that’s happened,” Jaskier said. “And then Ciri started asking me questions, and I just – it was a lot – ”

“It’s alright. I understand. Ciri herself can be a lot sometimes,” Geralt said dryly.

“There’s just... I don’t have any money or anything like that. I hope you’ll allow me to work to earn my way,” Jaskier said, dropping his gaze in embarrassment. He knew that Geralt would already know this, but admitting it out loud felt somehow shameful just the same.

“You already work,” Geralt said, sounding confused.

Jaskier paused for a second, frowning, before he understood and scoffed lightly. “You mean the letters? I know that was just to make me feel better. Like sorting the seeds that Triss gave me. I can do more now.” He looked up again, unable to keep the impatience out of his tone. It would drive him crazy to sit at a desk all day long, but he would do it if it was the difference between earning his keep or not. There must be something he could do here that would be helpful.

Geralt frowned at him. “Jaskier, what are you talking about? That wasn’t just to make you feel better. The correspondence that comes into and out of Kaer Morhen is very private, and only a few people are permitted to read through it. I wouldn’t allow just anyone to do that kind of work. I chose you because I trust you.”

Jaskier swallowed, his heart skipping a beat at the intensity of that golden stare. “O-oh,” he stammered. “I – I didn’t know.” They’d told him that, way back then, but he’d thought that maybe Vesemir was just saying that to make Jaskier feel better.

“Obviously,” Geralt said, but there was humor in his expression now. “I’m sure there’s something else we can find. We can always use people who can read and write and know their sums. But please don’t mistake that work that you’re doing for Vesemir as unimportant. He’s very pleased with your progress and he’s remarked before about how much time you’re saving him.”

“That’s – that’s good,” Jaskier murmured, feeling a little better. But he still hoped that there was more he could do. There was a lot of correspondence coming into Kaer Morhen, but not enough to keep him occupied during all hours of the day. He flexed his hands against the blankets.

“I’ll speak to Vesemir about it. In the meantime, is there anything that you need? I have someone looking into clothing for you. You’ll need a wider selection now that you won’t be confined to a bed all the time. A coat too, and good boots,” Geralt added. “And you of course have full access to the library, but...?” He let the question dangle there in the air expectantly.

Jaskier wrestled with himself for several seconds. It felt wrong to ask for anything more after everything that Geralt and the rest of Kaer Morhen had already done for him. And yet at the same time, he truly believed he might go crazy if he didn’t gain access to a lute sometime soon. The desire to make music, to hear music, had been a burning itch inside of him all those months when he was too weak to do anything about it. But with his bodily restrictions at the time, it was an itch he’d been able to mostly ignore.

Now, though... he could play again. Maybe. If he was lucky. He needed to know if he could, even if he would be horribly rusty after all this time. He would definitely need to practice and build his hands back up. But even if he couldn’t play for some reason, just holding a lute in his arms and running a thumb across the strings would be more than enough right now.

“Jaskier?” Geralt prompted, but gently. He seemed to know that Jaskier was wrestling with himself. “Whatever you want, you can ask for it. No one will be angry. Unless you’re planning to ask to take over my throne.”

“What? No!” Jaskier exclaimed, before he realized that Geralt was smirking at him. He frowned in return.

“Then what is it?” Geralt asked, tilting his head. His golden eyes were full of curiosity now, and it reminded Jaskier fiercely of Ciri when she wanted to know something. She always tilted her head in the same way with the exact same expression. How could he say no to that?

“A lute,” Jaskier whispered. “I – the Earl’s guards took mine from me when they captured me. I’m sure it’s been either burned or sold by now.” Probably the former, and didn’t that make him ache when he dwelled upon it for too long? That lute had been one of the very first things that had ever truly been Jaskier’s, and Jaskier’s alone. One of the first things he had bought for himself, with his own money, not his parent’s. He would always miss it like a little part of him.

“Of course.” Geralt smiled, his expression warming. “I should have guessed. We might even have one here. But if not, we’ll have one found immediately.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said softly.

“Is there anything else?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier thought for a moment.

“A notebook to write in, and something to write with. I used to think up songs. I want to write down what I can remember,” Jaskier said. He’d had a book once, something he valued almost as much as his lute, and he knew that would have bene burned too. It stung to think of all those carefully written words succumbing to the fire, flames eating up the creamy parchment and ink.

“It’s yours. Anything you think of, you need only ask,” Geralt said.

“I’ll let you know. In the meantime, what I’d really like to have is a bath,” Jaskier admitted. He felt kind of grimy after going through the ritual.

Geralt fairly leapt to his feet. “Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll make it happen,” he said. He was out the door before Jaskier could respond, and Jaskier blinked at the door for a moment before shaking his head with a fond smile. Geralt really was too much like Ciri sometimes. It was adorable.

He looked around the room again while Geralt was gone. Maybe he could decorate the room in some way. Vesemir had told him he could take books from the library, and it would be nice to have a shelf to safely store them on. A painting or two on the walls would be really nice too. And another blanket on the bed as they crept closer to winter wouldn’t be amiss either.

“I could be happy here,” Jaskier murmured to himself thoughtfully. The simple truth was that he could sit here and dwell on everything, or he could figure out a way to move former. The former felt like allowing his parents to win, and that was the absolute last thing he wanted to have happen.

The door opened and Geralt entered, pushing the rolling chair that Jaskier had sat in before. Jaskier eyed it with distaste but knew that there was no getting around it. He could sit in the chair or Geralt could carry him, but there was no way he was going to make it down to the baths without help. And at least sitting in the chair was a little better than being carried, even if the thought of being so close to a Geralt made his heart skip beats.

Geralt proved that all over again when he came over to the bed and gently lifted Jaskier up, pivoting towards the chair. He smelled of soap and wine, and Jaskier tried not to be too obvious about inhaling. It was over in an instant, as Geralt set him in the chair and then straightened up. He reached over and picked up a bag, which he set down in Jaskier’s lap.

“Clothing and boots,” he said in response to Jaskier’s look. “I know you have shoes, but these are better.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Jaskier said, draping his arms across the bag. Geralt moved behind him and began carefully pushing the chair out the door and back into the hallway.

Jaskier frowned slightly, realizing that he didn’t recognize where they were. The hallway was short, with a few closed doors, which was unlike any other area of Kaer Morhen that he had been in. Geralt pushed the chair up the corridor to the door at the end, which opened into a sitting room of sorts .They went through the sitting room to another door, and then when that one opened Jaskier recognized the usual hallways.

“Where were we?” he asked, somewhat confused.

“Oh, these are my rooms,” Geralt said casually, and Jaskier almost choked.

They’d given him a bedroom in Geralt’s suite of rooms?!

Chapter Text

Jaskier was in the library, trying to get through some of the correspondence that had built up while he was going through the ritual, when he heard the ruckus. He lifted his head in confusion, looking at the front of the library. Vesemir had stepped out for a meeting with Geralt, leaving Jaskier alone. But apparently not for long, because before Jaskier could react, Ciri darted through the open doors and threw herself behind a shelf.

“Ciri? Ciri, where are you?” an older woman marched into the library a moment later, looking around. Her brown eyes narrowed when she spotted Jaskier, who blinked at her in confusion.

“Can I help you?” Jaskier asked after a few seconds, uncertain as to whether or not he should be alarmed. He didn’t recognize this woman, though that wasn’t saying much when he didn’t recognize most of the people who lived here. And he wasn’t really sure why she was chasing after Ciri. But at the same time, it was hard to imagine that anyone who wasn’t supposed to be in Kaer Morhen could somehow get in here...

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m Amaryllis, Ciri’s tutor. We are supposed to be working together today. I could’ve sworn that I saw her come in here.” Her eyes continued to sweep across the room. “Have you seen her?”

“Umm...” Jaskier subtly glanced over at where Ciri was hiding.

Ciri met his gaze and shook her head quickly, her eyes pleading.

“No,” Jaskier said slowly, looking back at Amaryllis before she noticed where he was looking. “I haven’t seen Ciri in a day or two. But if she does come in, I’ll let her know that you’re looking for her.”

Amaryllis frowned and lingered for an extra few seconds, still looking around the room, before she finally sighed and whirled on her heel. Her long grey braid flew out behind her as she stalked out of the library. Jaskier flinched a little as she loudly banged the library doors shut behind her. He waited an extra moment to make sure she was gone before he looked over at Ciri again.

“Is she gone?” Ciri whispered.

“I think so. What are you doing? Why are you running away from your tutor?” Jaskier asked, though he thought he knew the answer already.

After all, how much time had he spent running away from his tutors when he was younger? Jaskier had lost count of all the ways he had devised to escape his lessons. Some of his tutors had been better than others at keeping up with him. But in the end, he had outsmarted nearly all of them, much to his father’s fury. His smile faded as he watched Ciri slip out from her hiding space.

Surely Geralt wouldn’t be too mad, right?

“I don’t like her,” Ciri said flatly. “She’s loud and bossy and I don’t like the way she explains things. She never tells me why I have to know things. She doesn’t tell me how things link together either; she just expects me to be able to make the jump myself. Then she gets mad when I don’t. She makes me feel stupid and I hate her.” Her eyes were too bright.

“Oh, Ciri. Come here.” Jaskier pushed his chair away from the desk. The wheels glided backwards easily, leaving more than enough space for Ciri to fit. Jaskier held his arms to her, and she ran around the desk and jumped into his lap for a hug.

“I don’t understand why they can’t leave me alone. I don’t want to learn stupid, boring stuff!” Ciri said, laying her head on Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier hugged her tightly.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he said, resting his chin on her head and thinking ruefully about how once he’d made a similarly passionate speech to his mother. Unfortunately, the Countess de Lettenhove had not been amenable to her son’s complaints. Jaskier had been whipped as a punishment and his time with his tutors had grown even longer as a result. He didn’t think that Geralt would react that way. Or at least, he hoped not.

“Can’t you talk to Daddy for me? Tell him I don’t need to learn this stuff?” Ciri said plaintively.

“I’m afraid not. Your education is important and I doubt your father would agree to letting you not learn,” Jaskier said as gently as he could. “But... if you don’t like your tutor, maybe someone else could be found. I’m sure your dad would understand that if you said it to him.”

“I’ve had a bunch of different tutors,” Ciri admitted after a few seconds. “I just didn’t like any of them.”

“Why not?”

“I just didn’t.” Ciri huffed and sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want a tutor.” She pouted, thrusting her lower lip out dramatically, and Jaskier had to hide a smile.

“I don’t think having a tutor is optional, I’m afraid. You need to train your mind just like you train your body,” Jaskier told her, and she frowned.

“You think I’m stupid too,” she said unhappily, and Jaskier immediately shook his head. He knew from experience that Ciri was anything but stupid. In fact, she was too smart for her own good sometimes.

“Not at all. Everyone has things they need to learn, Ciri. I had lots of tutors when I was a kid too. I was tutored on mathematics and history and reading and writing and geography – gosh, all sorts of things.” Jaskier shook his head slightly. “I even had court tutors. I had to memorize all the manners and know who was who and how I had to respond to them.”

“I have to do that too!” Ciri exclaimed. “It sucks. Daddy never even holds court, and I’ve never been allowed to visit any other courts, so what’s the point?”

“I’m guessing you will someday,” Jaskier said hesitantly. If Geralt was king, then technically that meant that Ciri was a princess. Someday, she would most likely be queen of Kaer Morhen and its lands. And if that was the case, Ciri probably would be interacting with other kings, queens, and their courts. So he could understand why she was having to learn the etiquette now. But he could also understand why she hated it, because he’d hated it too.

“I doubt it,” Ciri said flatly.

Jaskier studied her for a moment, feeling bad for her. He suspected that most, if not all, of Ciri’s tutors had been the traditional sort who tended to make learning a very dry and boring experience. It was no wonder that Ciri was fed up with it all. It was too bad that Geralt couldn’t find a more engaging tutor for her. But then again, Jaskier supposed that enigmatic and interesting tutors were probably not turning up at Kaer Morhen’s gates every day. Such tutors were usually in short supply to begin with.

“Will you get in trouble for running away from your tutor?” he asked finally.

Ciri sighed. “Yeah. Grandfather especially hates it when I do that. He says it’s rude to the people who are trying to teach me. I’ll apologize to Amaryllis later.”

“Later? Just how long are you expecting to hide in here?” Jaskier said, more amused than he wanted to let on. He knew that he should feel bad about helping Ciri to hide from her tutor. And he knew that he should be sending Ciri off to find Amaryllis immediately, especially since Amaryllis was still looking for her. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let Ciri stay in the library for another few minutes.

“I dunno. Long enough that Amaryllis might forget what we were working on,” Ciri said, flashing a mischievous smile.

“What were you working on today?” Jaskier asked, wondering how bad it had to have been for Ciri to run away. “Wait, how did you get away to begin with?”

“I waited until she turned away to pick up my workbook, and then I just slipped out. I’m getting pretty good at moving quietly,” Ciri said, not without a hint of smugness. “And she was telling me about Temeria’s geography and the courts.” She made a face.

“Oh, Temeria. I’ve been there,” Jaskier said, a little surprised. “I traveled there as a bard.”

“You did?” Ciri seemed surprised by that, but also intrigued, and Jaskier nodded.

“I traveled quite far as a bard,” he said, not without pride. “I used to spend the worst of winter at Oxenfurt Academy. But in the spring, summer, and fall, I traveled everywhere and anywhere. I was always looking for new sources of inspiration for music. And of course, always looking for ears that hadn’t heard my music before.”

“That’s so cool!” Ciri breathed, her eyes shining. She climbed off of Jaskier’s lap and stood in front of him. “Will you tell me about it?”

“I thought you found it boring,” Jaskier said, a little amused at her enthusiasm.

“It’s boring when someone is droning on and on about a place they’ve never even visited,” Ciri corrected him. “But you’ve been there, so you actually know what it’s like. Is it true that Temeria’s ore shines like the sun? And is it true that the King and Queen regularly throw such enormous parties that some courtesans just spend all year at the castle?”

Jaskier laughed a little. “Sort of. The Queen is the one who really enjoys entertaining if I remember correctly. But the King is very much in love with her, so he allows it. And yes, their ore really does shine like the sun once it’s been cleaned up a little bit.”

“So what were the parties like then?” Ciri asked.

“Pull up a chair and I’ll tell you,” Jaskier said, pointing to the chair that usually sat at the desk. It had been pushed off into a corner, since Jaskier used his wheeled chair. Ciri was quick to grab the chair and pull it over. She sat down beside Jaskier as he began to tell her everything she wanted to know.

“What’s this?” Vesemir’s voice broke their concentration sometime later. Jaskier looked up with a guilty wince, suddenly realizing that he and Ciri had been sitting there for hours. Ciri had even fetched a map of Temeria at one point so that they could look at it together, and so that Jaskier could trace out the path he’d taken as best that he could remember. Said map was currently spread open on the piles of correspondence that Jaskier was supposed to have been working on. Vesemir stared at it with a pointed look.

“Umm...” Ciri said, shooting a guilty look at Jaskier.

“We just... finishing up,” Jaskier said, quickly folding the map up again.

“Good, because I believe Amaryllis has been looking for you, Ciri,” Vesemir said. Jaskier winced again, realizing that he probably should have let Amaryllis know that Ciri had been found a long time ago. They had completely lost track of time. He hoped that she hadn’t sounded any alarms about Ciri’s absence.

“Oops. Sorry, Grandfather. Bye Jaskier. I’ll see you later.” Ciri jumped up, skirted Vesemir, and raced out the door before anything else could be said.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said, lowering his gaze to the piles of correspondence. He was supposed to be using this time to catch up, but he was even further behind now. He braced himself for Vesemir’s anger, knowing that he would deserve it.

Vesemir was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, “I was standing there listening to you and Ciri for a few minutes. You’re pretty well traveled for a bard.”

“Uh – yeah,” Jaskier said slowly, looking up in confusion. “You don’t make a lot of money unless you travel to where people haven’t heard you before. And traveling is also the best way to add songs to your repertoire... or come up with new ones.”

“Have you taught before?” Vesemir asked.

“Yes. For a couple of years at Oxenfurt Academy,” Jaskier said. “Why?”

Vesemir rubbed his chin before meeting Jaskier’s gaze. “How would you like to become Ciri’s tutor?”

Chapter Text

“I – what?” Jaskier was genuinely surprised by the query, and it showed. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, though no further sound came out. If he was being honest, that was genuinely the last thing he had expected Vesemir to suggest.

“You have a good rapport with Ciri,” Vesemir said, moving closer to the desk. He leaned against it casually. “Which is more than be said from about 80% of the tutors she’s had in the past. And even those who do manage to build a good rapport with her still struggle to get on her level. Ciri’s a complicated child, as I’m sure you’ve recognized. She’s very stubborn. She’s not easy to teach.”

“Well,” Jaskier murmured, not really sure how to say that he agreed. Ciri really was very stubborn. Once she got an idea in her head, nothing and no one was going to be able to persuade her otherwise. It wasn’t hard to see why she would be difficult to teach.

Vesemir nodded. “On top of that, she’s incredibly smart. In some areas, she’s very advanced for her age. But in others, she’s either at a normal range or even behind. But it’s hard for her tutors to not be condescending when they deal with the latter. Then Ciri gets mad, and it all blows up.”

“Is that what happened with Amaryllis?” Jaskier asked, thinking that some of these tutors must not be very good at their jobs if they failed to be anything but condescending. But again, he supposed that part of the blame for that laid in the fact that there probably weren’t many tutors willing to be employed by Witchers, or willing to stay at the isolated Kaer Morhen. All of the good or even great tutors out there were probably already employed by nobles.

“No. I’m not completely sure what happened there. Amaryllis was never condescending or patronizing from what I can tell,” Vesemir said.

Jaskier thought about telling him what Ciri had said about Amaryllis being loud and bossy, but decided against it. Ciri had told him those things in confidence. He didn’t think she would be okay with him repeating all that to Vesemir. The last thing he wanted to do was risk breaching Ciri’s confidence. She would never talk to him again if she thought Jaskier couldn’t be trusted.

So instead, he said, “It kind of sounds like Ciri might do better with a Witcher tutor. Human tutors can’t really understand or appreciate the world she grew up in.”

“That would be ideal, but many Witchers lack the kind of education that Ciri needs. Even myself. I’ve never been a part of human courts. I can teach her stuff about them, but I lack the necessary context behind it,” Vesemir replied. “Which is why someone like you would be perfect, Jaskier.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jaskier said, shaking his head. “I know I said I taught at Oxenfurt before, but that was just poetry and songs. I’ve never taught figures or sums or geography... and I’ve definitely never taught anyone how to behave at court.” His mother probably would have laughed herself sick at the thought.

“You taught Ciri today,” Vesemir pointed out.

“That wasn’t really teaching. I was just talking to her about Temeria.”

“And yet I guarantee Ciri walked out of here having learned more today in a couple hours with you than she has in whole days with other tutors,” Vesemir said.

Jaskier opened his mouth to refute that, then closed it after he realized that he couldn’t. He had no idea what Ciri did or didn’t learn with her other tutors, but she’d soaked up his experience today like a sponge. She’d been so fascinated by his stories about the parties that Temeria threw that she either hadn’t realized Jaskier was also telling her about court manners, or she hadn’t cared.

Vesemir gave him a knowing look. “If you like, we can try it on a trial basis. You’d have to begin by meeting with Ciri’s tutor, Amaryllis, to find out where they were on everything.”

“Amaryllis! What about her? You can’t just fire her,” Jaskier said. If he became Ciri’s tutor, he would feel way too guilty about leaving Amaryllis without a job. He, probably better than anyone who lived at Kaer Morhen, understood how difficult how difficult it was to provide for yourself.

“Oh, we’re not firing her. She’s leaving,” Vesemir said. “Ciri doesn’t know yet.”

Jaskier thought about Amaryllis’s visible frustration earlier and nodded slowly. “So Ciri won’t have a tutor at all once she’s gone.”

“Well... no. We, by which I mean me, are trying to find someone else, but that’s easier said than done. So you would really be helping Geralt out if you agreed to at least give it a try.” There was a knowing glint in Vesemir’s eye that made Jaskier somewhat flustered.

“I – I guess I could think about it,” he muttered. Despite what Vesemir said, he wasn’t convinced this was the ideal solution. He’d want to talk to Ciri and Geralt and Amaryllis first before anything official was decided, especially since Jaskier wasn’t up to actively tutoring every day yet.

“Good.” Vesemir gave a satisfied nod. “You look tired. You should go back to your room and rest.”

“Oh, but I didn’t get through everything I wanted to,” Jaskier said, looking at the desk. He couldn’t help feeling a little guilty when he took in the piles of correspondence he hadn’t gotten to.

“It will still be there tomorrow, but Geralt and Yennefer will kill me if you overwork yourself,” Vesemir said. He took in Jaskier’s frown and added, “When you’re just starting out, whether it’s because you’re recuperating or new to something, it’s always best to apply moderation. If you do too much and burn yourself out, you’ll end up confined to your bed. I hardly think you want that to happen.”

“No, I definitely do not.” Jaskier cringed at the thought. He’d spent months laying in bed. He never wanted to spend another day trapped in bed again if he could help it!

“Then I’ll have Eskel come for you. Besides, you should rest anyway. I understand Geralt wants you to join us for dinner in the hall tonight,” Vesemir said, turning towards the door. “That can be pretty chaotic.”

He was gone before Jaskier could say anything else, which was probably just as well because Jaskier was overcome with a flutter of nerves. Geralt had referenced Jaskier eating with the rest of Kaer Morhen several times now, but it seemed that it was finally going to happen. He didn’t know what to think about that. What would it be like to see so many Witchers assembled in one place?

He was still dwelling on it when Vesemir shortly returned with Eskel. The two of them held a brief but quiet conversation as Jaskier hurriedly tidied up the desk. He got all of the correspondence into some semblance of order and put rubber bands around each stack to keep them from falling over. Then Eskel came over and stepped behind the chair, pushing Jaskier out of the room.

“Sorry to pull you away from your duties just for this,” Jaskier said awkwardly.

Eskel snorted. “Are you kidding me? You rescued me from a boring discussion about crops. I should be thanking you. Believe me, I am more than willing to act as your personal pusher anytime you need me to. In fact, if you could need me again tomorrow at about 2pm, that would be great.”

Jaskier smiled a little. “I’m fairly certain that I shouldn’t be helping you ignore your duties.”

“Wrong. That’s exactly what you should be doing,” Eskel said. “Where are we heading? Back to your room? I hear you’re having dinner with us tonight.”

“Who told you that? Was this just decided without my input?” Jaskier sighed, though he wasn’t nearly as annoyed as he wanted to be.

“Yup,” Eskel said, and when Jaskier turned to glance up at him, he saw that Eskel was grinning.

“Fine. Back to my room, I guess. Vesemir suggested I rest for a while before dinner and it’s not a bad idea,” Jaskier said.

“Sounds good.” Eskel turned right at the next fork. Slowly but surely, now that he was getting out of his room more, Jaskier was starting to learn his way around Kaer Morhen. He was pretty sure that he would now be able to make it from his room in Geralt’s hall to the library or from his room to the hot springs, at least.

Eskel helped him to get arranged in bed before leaving, telling Jaskier that he would return just before dinner to get Jaskier to the dining hall. Then he left, closing the door behind him. Jaskier reclined back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment. After the conversation with Vesemir, his mind was spinning and he was grateful to have a few minutes to himself.

Deciding that he’d read for a little while, Jaskier turned towards the stand beside his bed. He paused when he noticed that there was a box there that had not been there when he’d left to go to the library. He stared at it for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, before slowly reaching out to pick it up. It was heavier than he’d expected, and his weak arms ended up dropping the box. Luckily, it landed on the blankets.

“Good job, Jaskier,” Jaskier muttered, shaking his head at himself. It would be just his luck if there was something fragile inside, and the short fall had broken it.

He nudged the box lightly, half-expecting to hear broken glass, but there was nothing. Curious, wondering who could have left this and why they would’ve left it, he clumsily pulled at the string until it came untied. The flaps of the box popped up immediately, as though barely able to contain what was inside. Jaskier grabbed one of the flaps and pulled it back all the way, looking inside.

A quiet gasp escaped him, and for a long moment he couldn’t move.

It was a lute. And a very nice lute at that.

Slowly, with shaking hands, Jaskier reached out and picked it up. He laid the lute gently in his lap, running his fingers across the rib wood. If he guessed correctly, it was a dark cherry wood based off the reddish tint. Nice and solid, with a smooth grain beneath his fingertips. The neck of the lute was a paler mahogany if he had to guess, which went very nicely with the cherry wood of the body. Whoever had built this lute had clearly done so with an eye for flare, which Jaskier appreciated.

“You’re a beauty,” he murmured, moving his fingers to the engravings. Someone, he didn’t know who, had engraved a beautiful design into the wood below the strings. A series of concentric rings spiralled into a design that the eye couldn’t follow, but which looked lovely.

It looked a lot like the lute he had lost. Not an exact match, obviously, but close. He had to swallow against a sudden bout of tears.

Carefully, he strummed a finger across one of the strings.

A tear spilled over as the clear A note hung in the air.

Gods, he had missed this. Even more than he realized. Having a lute again was like having a hole inside of him be filled when he hadn’t even known that it was there. More tears ran freely down his cheeks as he lightly plucked each string, listening to the sweet sound that each one made. The lute would need to be tuned, of course, and it would need some polishing, but...

It was a lute.

His lute.

For the first time in months, Jaskier felt like a bard again.

It was an amazing feeling.

Chapter Text

Eskel came for Jaskier a few hours later, though admittedly Jaskier had not done much resting. He’d spent the whole time reclining against the pillows on his bed, lightly running his fingers across the lute and remembering his travels as a bard. He startled when there was a knock on the door, and looked instinctively up at the window. Realizing how much time had passed, he sighed.

“Come in,” he called out, and the door opened.

“Are you ready?” Eskel asked. And then, “Oh hey, that’s a nice lute!”

“Thanks,” Jaskier said, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face. “Would you mind setting it on the stand for me? It’s heavy.”

“Sure.” Eskel came in and approached the bed. Jaskier hated to pass the lute over – his old lute had been his most prized possession, and he’d never let anyone else touch it if he could avoid it – but he was pleased to see that Eskel was very careful as he took the lute and gently placed it down on the stand. Then he carefully moved Jaskier to the wheeled chair.

“Wait,” Jaskier said suddenly, grasping Eskel’s arm. “What’s the dress code? Am I –?” He looked down at himself anxiously. The clothing he was wearing was pretty simple, not at all designed for a fancy dinner. But he didn’t even know if he had anything fancier to wear.

“You’re good. We don’t typically dress up for meals here,” Eskel said calmly, patting Jaskier’s hand. “I’m not wearing anything fancy, right?”

Jaskier looked him up and down, realizing that Eskel was right. Though Eskel was of course tidily dressed, he wasn’t wearing anything special. Still, that didn’t lessen Jaskier’s worry. This was the first time he was going to be seeing most of those who lived at Kaer Morhen. He would’ve preferred being able to look a little nicer. But there wasn’t much that he could do about it, so he dropped his hand from Eskel’s arm and nodded reluctantly.

Eskel smiled kindly. “It’s alright, Jaskier. You don’t need to worry. It’ll be fine.” He stepped behind the chair and began to push it, leaving Jaskier free to make a face without being seen.

It was fine for Eskel to say that. He was a Witcher. He had lived at and contributed to Kaer Morhen for literally years now. But Jaskier was the charity case. The one who had been leeching off all of them. Who would continue to leech off of them, because there was no where else for him to go. It would be understandable if there were people here who disagreed with that.

As they reached the dining hall, Jaskier heard the sound of voices and grew even more nervous. He was tense as Eskel pushed him inside the dining hall, heart racing as he looked around the room. It was only about 1/3 full, and he realized that Eskel had come for him early. That meant he’d already be seated when most people arrived. He made a mental note to thank Eskel later for that.

Geralt and Ciri were already there, sitting at the head table. Ciri grinned and waved excitedly, and Jaskier couldn’t help smiling a little in return. Geralt, of course, was indeed sitting in that center chair that Jaskier had noticed before, with Ciri to his left. Jaskier barely had enough time to wonder where he would be sitting before Eskel moved, pushing the chair along the tables towards the head table.

“Eskel, what are you doing?!” Jaskier hissed. Surely they wouldn’t expect him to sit there as well!

But that seemed to be exactly what Eskel expected; without saying a word, he pushed Jaskier right up to the table. Jaskier hadn’t noticed before, but the head table was raised slightly to give those sitting there a better view of the room. Eskel had to lift the chair up onto the platform. Then he pushed Jaskier into place – right beside Geralt. Jaskier almost had a heart attack.

“Hi Jaskier!” Ciri chirped happily before Jaskier could protest again. “How are you feeling? I’m glad you felt well enough to join us for supper! I hope that Grandfather didn’t give you too hard of a time earlier. Did you see Amaryllis again? I did. But it was too late for her to teach me anything else.” She smiled triumphantly, and Geralt faked a cough to hide his laugh.

Jaskier couldn’t even respond to Ciri’s overwhelming slew of questions. He was too stunned by the fact that Eskel had seemingly lost his mind. And Eskel was stepping backwards and moving to take the seat beside the one next to Jaskier, leaving the one immediately next to Jaskier empty, as though this was all normal. But Geralt stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“Yennefer and Triss aren’t joining us tonight. Yennefer said something about scrying tonight, and Triss wanted to help her,” Geralt said.

“Ah, alright.” Eskel moved back to the seat right next to Jaskier and sat down.

“I – wait, what? What am I doing here?” Jaskier asked, caught between confused and overwhelmed.

“Don’t you feel well enough for supper?” Ciri asked, her smile fading slightly.

“I think Jaskier is confused that he’s sitting with us,” Geralt explained, an amused glint in his eyes. “Though I can’t imagine where else he would’ve thought he would sit.”

“I – down there!” Jaskier said, waving vaguely at the other tables. Although truth be told, as he gazed out over those very tables, he was suddenly realizing that sitting there would’ve been very awkward. Everyone he knew at Kaer Morhen sat at the head table, after all.

Ciri waved a scornful hand. “Nah. Of course you’re up here with us,” she said dismissively. “It’s where you belong. Oh! There’s Grandfather!” She took to waving excitedly again as Vesemir entered the room with several other Witchers. Vesemir spoke to them for a moment and then came towards the head table, smiling gently at Ciri’s enthusiasm.

“Sometimes I think you’re deliberately screwing with me,” Jaskier muttered to Geralt. Eskel snorted into the goblet of wine he had just picked up, which confirmed Jaskier’s theory.

“I would never,” Geralt said, the very picture of innocence as he picked up his own goblet of wine.

“Yes, he would,” Eskel mumbled.

“Yes, you would,” Jaskier said at almost exactly the same moment.

Geralt ignored both of them and turned to engage Vesemir in conversation, with Ciri’s head swivelling back and forth between them as she listened. Jaskier stared out over the room as more and more people entered. He was surprised to note that there was a healthy mix of both humans and Witchers sitting at the tables by the time all was said and done. There were more humans at Kaer Morhen than he would’ve expected.

Many of them were darting curious glances Jaskier’s way, which made him slightly uncomfortable. He was used to people staring at him when he played music; he enjoyed the attention then, lapping it up with as much enthusiasm as a thirsty dog does water. But right then, he was keenly aware that the stares were both curious and judgemental. People wondering who he was, or wondering why he was sitting where he was sitting, or both. And frankly, Jaskier couldn’t blame them!

A couple of other Witchers joined them at the head table, people that Jaskier didn’t recognize; one sat beside Eskel and the other sat on the opposite side of the table by Vesemir. That left one empty chair, presumably for Yennefer or Triss. The Witcher beside Eskel leaned forward, peering over at Jaskier curiously.

“Hello. I’ve been waiting for my chance to meet you. I’m Aiden,” he said, causally sticking his hand over Eskel’s plate and goblet in greeting. Given by how Eskel rolled his eyes, this was not uncommon.

“Jaskier,” Jaskier said, grasping Aiden’s hand. He stared at Aiden for a few seconds as they shook, caught off guard by the way that the light caught Aiden’s eyes. He’d never seen that happen before, not even to Geralt or Eskel, and it reminded him of –

Aiden smiled. “I’m a Cat Witcher,” he said, perhaps aware of the incoming query. “The only one allowed at Kaer Morhen, no less.”

“Only because Lambert pleaded your case,” Eskel said, though there was a quirk to his lips that suggested he was joking. “Otherwise, you’d be out in the cold with the rest.”

“You’d miss me and you know it,” Aiden said smugly, retracting his hand from Jaskier’s.

“A Cat?” Jaskier asked, confused, and Aiden smiled at him again.

“That means I trained at the Cat School. They have a rather different way of doing things,” he said delicately, and Jaskier sensed there was far more to the story than Aiden was letting on.

“They kill people. They’re assassins,” Eskel offered.

Jaskier choked a bit. “A-assassins?”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t killed anyone in a long time. And when I do have to kill, it’s at Geralt’s request and it’s only the people who deserve it,” Aiden said.

Eskel tilted his head in agreement. “I’ll give you that one.”

“So you’re not going to try to kill me?” Jaskier asked warily, and Aiden laughed outright.

“No, I can promise you that. I rather like Kaer Morhen. I’d hate to be thrown out, and that would be the best case scenario if I killed you,” he said dryly. “I genuinely just wanted to meet you, Jaskier. I can’t help it; I’m a Cat, and I’ve been very curious, you see.”

“Oh. Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Jaskier said politely. He was familiar enough with Eskel to know that Eskel was completely at ease. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Geralt had not reacted in any way to Aiden sitting down either. So Jaskier knew that probably meant Aiden was telling the truth, and that he didn’t need to worry about mysteriously ending up dead.

“Where is Lambert?” Eskel asked suddenly, sweeping his gaze across the room. “Normally you two are attached at the hip.”

“He joined the hunting party. Being caged up was driving him crazy,” Aiden replied. “He was literally pacing around the room. It was starting to drive me crazy. So I told him to go. They’re supposed to be gone for at least a week. I’ll miss him, but it was better than tying him to a chair just so he’d stop pacing.”

Jaskier hid a smile behind his own goblet of wine. Aiden sounded just like numerous housewives he’d met whose husbands drove them insane during the winter season, but he didn’t think that Aiden would enjoy that comparison. He eyed the Cat Witcher curiously as he and Eskel joked around about Lambert. Aiden looked different from the other Witchers Jaskier had met too.

Whereas Geralt, Eskel, and Vesemir were all very tall and broad across the shoulders, Aiden was very tall but surprisingly slender. That said, he was clearly still quite strong. Jaskier had felt the power in his grip, though Aiden had been gentle when they shook. He supposed it made sense for an assassin to be slender, because that meant Aiden would be able to get into smaller places that a bigger Witcher like Geralt wouldn’t fit.

“Ah, food!” Aiden exclaimed, and Jaskier looked up in time to see discreet doors on either side of the hall opening. Servants entered carrying a literal feast. The amount of food coming in seemed to be endless, until all of the tables were literally groaning with it. Jaskier looked around at all the options, fascinated.

“Do you like roasted boar?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier startled slightly. He hadn’t realized Geralt was watching him.

“Um – yes?” Jaskier said. Geralt nodded and reached out to the massive pile of meat. He forked a few slices onto Ciri’s plate, then a few more onto Jaskier’s plate, before filling his own.

“And potatoes?” Geralt asked, hand now hovering over some vegetables, and Jaskier flushed.

“You don’t have to –” he began awkwardly, even though he knew he’d struggle putting food on his plate.

Geralt calmly brushed that off, saying, “If I don’t put food on Ciri’s plate, she doesn’t eat. She gets too distracted by talking and watching. I suspect you’re the same. Indulge me.”

“I am not,” Jaskier lied, but nodded at him. Geralt did the same as before, putting food on all three plates, before moving on to the next items. By the end of it, Jaskier had a healthy amount of food on his plate that he knew he’d never be able to finish.

But he was going to give it his hardest try!

Chapter Text

“This will be our last meal together, Jaskier.”

The by now familiar voice whispering in his ear made Jaskier startle. He turned his head to look into Aiden’s golden, cat-like eyes. Aiden was grinning, a mischievous look in his eyes, and Jaskier felt himself relaxing before he even realized he’d gone tense. It had only taken him a day or two to figure out that Aiden thoroughly enjoyed teasing people, and he was clearly doing so now.

“Why? Are you leaving?” Jaskier asked with honest concern. The weather had turned fierce over the past week. The winds howled so fiercely that sometimes it was hard to sleep through the noise, and the snow had been falling thick and fast. He knew that Witchers were much stronger and more capable than the average human, but surely that sort of weather would be unpleasant for anyone to deal with.

Aiden’s expression softened, and he let out a sigh. “I can’t tease you when you’re being so earnest,” he complained, dropping down into Eskel’s empty chair. Eskel and Geralt seemed to be running late for dinner tonight.

“I’d apologize, but I’m not really sorry about that,” Jaskier said dryly. “Are you going to look for the hunting party?” He knew from speaking to Vesemir that the hunting party had been delayed. Vesemir hadn’t expressed any concern, instead pointing to the weather as the clear culprit. But he knew that Lambert was out there, and so it didn’t take a genius to figure out how concerned Aiden must be.

So he was surprised when Aiden shook his head and said, “No, I have something else that I need to do. Top secret mission and all that.” He grinned as he spoke, so it was hard to know whether to take him seriously.

“But how will you get out past the blizzard?” Jaskier asked, concern deepening, and Aiden sighed again.

“Stop being such a soft, worried human,” he whined, lightly poking Jaskier in the cheek with a claw. Jaskier swatted his hand away.

“Then stop being such a mysterious, weird Witcher,” he retorted, and Aiden chuckled.

“Yennefer’s agreed to make a portal for me to travel. She can drop me beyond the bounds of the storm,” he said finally. “I’ll be able to do what I have to do without going through the snow. And when I return, I’ll come back on foot if I can. If I can’t, I’ll get a message through, and Yennefer can create another portal to bring me back.” He gave Jaskier a small, fond smile. “We have things prearranged, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Oh, alright then,” Jaskier said, nodding. “But wait, why can’t she create a portal for the hunting party?”

“Because we don’t know exactly where they are,” Eskel said as he walked up to them. He shot Aiden a dirty look for being in his seat, which Aiden pretended not to notice, but he couldn’t miss the way Eskel started poking him in the shoulder. Aiden grabbed his hand, and a short scuffle ensued between the two of them, which Jaskier ignored in favor of turning to greet Geralt.

“Hi,” he said with a smile as Geralt sat down. “Your meeting is all done?”

Geralt smiled back. “Yes, finally, we’ve come to an agreement. And Eskel is correct. We know vaguely where the hunting party was supposed to be, but they had no defined path. They were going to go where the hunting was good. So even if Yennefer created a portal, we’d just be guessing at their exact location, and sending out a search party would be useless until the snow dies down.”

“I suppose, we don’t want to have even more people missing,” Jaskier murmured. He understood that logically, the Witchers who were missing were more than likely fine. Yet that didn’t stop him from being concerned. This sort of weather was brutal, especially when it stretched on for days at a time like it currently was.

“They’re fine, Jaskier,” Geralt said gently, setting a comforting hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “They are all seasoned hunters who are more than capable of handling this weather. I would imagine that they’ve found a cave or dug a hole to ride out the weather.”

“A hole?” Jaskier couldn’t help wrinkling his nose, and Eskel laughed from his other side.

“Does a hole in the ground offend your sensibilities, little bard?” he teased.

“I am not little,” Jaskier said, offended. “I can’t help it if all of you are unnaturally tall.” He looked around to see that Eskel had successfully ousted Aiden out of the seat, but Aiden hadn’t sat down on Eskel’s other side. Instead he was standing behind Jaskier, smirking at Eskel’s comment.

“Nah, you’re just little,” Aiden said, very seriously. “And on that note, I’m heading out.”

“You’re going already?” Jaskier asked, startled. He didn’t know why, but he’d at least expected Aiden to stay for dinner. Yet now as he looked up at Aiden, he realized that Aiden was wearing a heavy coat and boots already. His long hair was tied back securely, and he had a bag hooked over his shoulder.

“Yennefer is waiting. And believe me, she is not a woman that you want to keep waiting,” Aiden replied.

Eskel nodded. “Oh yeah, you got that right.”

“I have to agree,” Geralt said, and all three Witchers shared a look that suggested at one time or another, they had kept Yennefer waiting, and it had not gone well.

“Then I guess you need to go. Whatever you’re doing, be careful,” Jaskier said. He hadn’t known Aiden for long, but he realized he would miss Aiden’s sassy attitude if Aiden didn’t come back. It was fun to watch the way Aiden needled at Eskel, and he had been looking forward to meeting Lambert after hearing how well Aiden spoke of him.

Aiden inclined his head with a small smile. “I’ll be back soon, little bard,” he said.

“Oh great, I’m so glad that’s catching on,” Jaskier muttered, and Aiden threw his head back with a flat out evil cackle as he strode away.

“Now you know why Geralt only lets one Cat witcher to stay here. They’re a crazy lot,” Eskel informed him.

“He’s crazy? You’re the one who started that!” Jaskier cried, and both Geralt and Eskel burst out laughing. Jaskier sulked to himself, crossing his arms over his chest, though he wasn’t as mad as he was pretending to be. It was nice to see Geralt and Eskel looking more cheerful, at least. The two of them had seemed very somber lately.

“Hey Jaskier,” Ciri said, peeping around her father. “Will you play your lute for me tonight?”

“Oh, uh – ” Jaskier suddenly remembered how Ciri had told him once that sometimes the tables in the hall were pushed aside for merriment during the winter. Somehow, the thought of trying to play a lute in front of all these people was quite intimidating. He was confident of his ability to play it, because there were some things you just never forgot; he was less confident in the ability of his hands to do what he wanted them to do.

“Not here. I meant in Daddy’s rooms,” Ciri said. “Just for us. Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaase?” She clasped her hands to her chest and looked at him with big eyes that he found it hard to say no to. Jaskier looked to Geralt for help, but Geralt just smirked at him in a way that suggested Jaskier was on his own.

“Okay. I’ll try,” Jaskier said finally, and the huge smile spread across Ciri’s face that was so infectious that Jaskier couldn’t help smiling too.

“I look forward to it,” Geralt murmured, looking at him meaningfully now, and Jaskier swallowed hard as his heart fluttered.

He worried over the performance for the rest of dinner. His hands were still so clumsy. He’d knocked over a goblet of wine just yesterday while trying to pick it up. Though a polite servant had hurried over to hastily clean the mess, Jaskier had still been deeply embarrassed about the incident. Sitting at the head table, he was surrounded by Witchers who oozed grace with every movement. Even Ciri was poised despite her youth; clearly, some of the tutoring she was so resistant to had sunk in.

When the meal was finished, Geralt pushed back his chair and stood. Most of the people in the room looked up at him. Geralt swept his eyes across the room, meeting everyone’s eyes, before giving a slow nod. Only then did he grasp the back of Jaskier’s chair and push it away from the table. Ciri jumped up to join them, though Jaskier noted that Eskel remained behind, moving to sit in Ciri’s chair to talk to Vesemir.

“You don’t have to perform if you don’t want to,” Geralt whispered in Jaskier’s ear as they headed to the door. “Vesemir pointed out that Ciri put you on the spot, and that you might not be comfortable with that.”

“He did?” Jaskier said with some surprise.

“Vesemir is very good at saying a lot with just a look,” Geralt said dryly.

“No... it’s fine. I want to try. That’s why I have the lute, right?” Jaskier said. Despite that, his heart pounded as Ciri fell into step beside them and started chattering about the snow.

“I’ll get your lute, Jaskier!” she chirped as they entered Geralt’s rooms, and dashed away before Jaskier could respond. Geralt shook his head as he pushed Jaskier’s chair into a large room that Jaskier hadn’t been in before. He immediately recognized it as Geralt’s study.

He looked around slowly, taking in the details of the room. It was furnished in dark wood. There was a large desk in front of a window to his right, and a frankly enormous fireplace to his left that brought a lot of warmth to the room. Right in front of the fireplace were several chairs and a sofa, all of them covered with pillows – he guessed that was probably Ciri’s doing. Bookshelves lined the half the walls, whereas the other half was covered in detailed maps of the surrounding kingdoms.

“Do you want to sit in your chair, or...?” Geralt asked.

“I’ll try your sofa,” Jaskier said. He tried not to breathe as Geralt reached out and gently gripped his arms, pulling him out of the chair. His legs felt weak underneath him, but the strength in Geralt’s grip could not be denied. He knew that Geralt would not let him fall, and that did things to his heart that he hoped Geralt could not hear.

“Got it!” Ciri said, running back into the room just as Geralt eased Jaskier down onto the sofa. Ciri jumped up on the sofa beside him, and Jaskier laughed a little.

“Thank you, Ciri,” he said, setting the lute in his lap. He had spent some time tuning the lute earlier in the week, so although it still needed to be polished, each note would now ring bright and true.

Geralt took a seat across from them in a chair, his golden eyes locked onto Jaskier with an intensity that suggested he wouldn’t look away for anything. Jaskier tried not to notice, gently running his fingers across the strings to test them. Though he had performed for literally thousands of people over the years, this performance felt strangely intimate. He was very aware that it was just the three of them.

He cleared his throat and strummed his thumb over the strings, thinking about a song that wouldn’t be inappropriate for Ciri to hear, and then sang softly, “The fairer sex, they often call it... But her love's as unfair as a crook...”

He made it all the way through two songs before his hands cramped up, and his throat grew too raspy to sing. But it was worth it. Jaskier felt better during those two songs than he had in months; it was the first time in a long time that he felt like himself again. And it felt good. Really good. He wanted to keep going forever, but the limitations of his body were too obvious.

“That was beautiful,” Ciri whispered as Jaskier’s voice trailed off. She looked up at him with a content gaze. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“You’re welcome, my dear.” Jaskier wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. She snuggled into him.

“I agree,” Geralt said. “Beautiful.”

Jaskier looked over at him and immediately blushed.

Somehow, he had the feeling Geralt wasn’t just talking about his performance.

Chapter Text

The day the hunting party finally returned was the day that Amaryllis departed from Kaer Morhen. The storm had finally broken the night before, and that morning dawned clear and cold. Jaskier couldn’t help burrowing further into the furs draped around him as he watched Amaryllis collect the remainder of her things. Eskel had brought him here at her request, but he was beginning to regret agreeing to come.

At first their conversation had been lively, with Amaryllis telling him exactly where Ciri was in each of her studies. Jaskier had tried to memorize as much as he could, knowing that he’d be expected to jump right into things with Ciri. But when Amaryllis was done updating him, things had fallen into an awkward silence. He struggled to think of something to say.

“Thank you for filling me in on Ciri’s progress,” he said finally.

Amaryllis flashed him a small, tired smile as she closed one of her bags “You’re welcome. Truly, I wish you luck with Ciri. She’s very headstrong, but also very smart. Do you have much experience in tutoring?”

“Not a lot,” Jaskier admitted. “But I’m sure we’ll get there.” He didn’t like the way Amaryllis’s smile turned pitying, as though she thought he was getting in over his head. Truthfully, maybe she had a point. But he would be damned before he would admit it.

He could kind of see what Ciri had meant now. Amaryllis was very polite and kind, but she was also stern, didn’t like to be interrupted or questioned, and clearly thought she knew what was what. It wasn’t hard to see how that would clash with Ciri. And it did make him a little nervous about officially tutoring Ciri, because Amaryllis was a professional and Jaskier wasn’t.

But at the same time, he was positive he couldn’t do any worse than Amaryllis. She was desperate to get out of Kaer Morhen, to the point that she hadn’t even bothered to come to breakfast this morning. Jaskier had been surprised to hear that she was requesting his presence; his initial thought had been that she was angry about him taking her job, and that she wanted to yell at him for being a thief before she left. Instead, it was just the opposite and she’d actually been very helpful.

“I’m sure,” Amaryllis agreed. “Well, this room is all yours now.” She placed a book into her second bag and then closed it, latching the top.

“Thanks,” Jaskier said, glancing around. The small room, set on the edges of Geralt’s rooms, was set up to look like the schoolrooms of Jaskier’s youth. There was a desk in the middle of the room for Ciri to sit at and a board that could be written upon with chalk. There was a tiny fireplace beside the board, though it didn’t even look big enough to properly warm the room. There were a couple of bookshelves that were lined with schoolbooks, and maps pinned up on the walls. But that was it. There were no windows and absolutely nothing fun to look at or do.

The room was stifling. It made Jaskier want to get up and run away. The moment Eskel had rolled him inside, he’d been instantly transported back to all those times he’d been dodging tutors of his own. He had hated rooms like this with a burning passion. He thought back to how much fun that Ciri had been having in the library. She’d enjoyed herself, even though she was learning.

The teaching rooms at Oxenfurt University hadn’t been like this. They’d been warm, inviting, wide open spaces, with comfortable places to sit, bright windows, big fireplaces, and plenty of books that could be enjoyed leisurely. Jaskier had never minded being inside those rooms. In fact, he used to linger after classes were done and join impromptu study groups that sprang up.

He wondered if Yennefer or maybe Triss might be able to magically transform the room somehow. Make it into a place that Ciri could enjoy. Or, even better, maybe they should just change rooms entirely. Give Ciri a completely new start somewhere else. He was certain that there must a room in Geralt’s suite that was better suited to learning than this one. Maybe Ciri would do better in a room she didn’t have negative associations with.

“Ready?”

Jaskier started, glancing up to see that Eskel had returned while he was lost in thought. Amaryllis nodded and picked up both of her bags, slinging one of her shoulder and holding the other in her hand. She seemed eager to go; Jaskier was almost positive that she hadn’t bothered to say goodbye to Ciri, although maybe that was for the best. Ciri probably didn’t have much interest in saying goodbye.

Eskel stepped aside to let Amaryllis go, then turned to Jaskier and said, “The hunting party has finally been located. Yennefer is creating a portal for their return right now. I thought you might like to be there since you were worried about them.”

Jaskier brightened at the news. “Sure! Where were they? Are they okay?”

“It was as we thought, they bunkered down to wait out the storm. As far as we know, everyone is fine.” Eskel stepped behind the chair and began to push it. Jaskier was grateful to leave the stuffy little room behind.

Jaskier was slowly getting used to the main parts of Kaer Morhen, but Eskel didn’t go any of the usual ways. Instead, the floor began to slope as they went. In a few minutes, they emerged out onto a crowded upper floor balcony of sorts. Eskel pushed the chair up to the railing, and Jaskier looked down to see an enormous room one floor below. Only Geralt and Yennefer were standing in the room. Everyone else was up on the upper balcony, which ringed the entire room below.

“It’s not safe for everyone to be down there. Aunt Yen is always worried someone might get unintentionally caught in the portal,” Ciri whispered into Jaskier’s ear. She looked very small standing there amongst the crowd, and Jaskier opened his arms to her. She gladly climbed into his lap.

“Has that ever happened before?” Jaskier whispered back.

Ciri nodded. “Just once. Some people were sent to a kingdom they weren’t supposed to be in. It was a little messy,” she said, and Jaskier could just imagine.

Below them, there was a flash of bright purple light that forced Jaskier to close his eyes. When he looked again, there was a big purple circle hanging in the air and people were trooping out of it. There was about a dozen of them if he was counting correctly, but they brought back so much game with them that it was almost unbelievable. Plenty of deer, rabbits, even some bears. It was more than enough to feed all of Kaer Morhen for a while.

“That’s Lambert,” Eskel said, leaning over Jaskier’s shoulder to point. Jaskier followed his gaze. Lambert was a big, tall man with short hair and a beard. The way Lambert was looking up, eyes sweeping the balconies, suggested that he was searching for Aiden, but of course Aiden wasn’t there.

“I hope Aiden comes back soon,” Jaskier said.

Eskel hummed in consideration, then said, “His mission shouldn’t take him too long. I would expect him back within a day or two.”

“What exactly was he doing, anyway?” Jaskier asked curiously. He had asked before, but neither Eskel nor Geralt would give him a straight answer. And he wasn’t brave enough to ask Vesemir, even though he was pretty sure that Vesemir also knew. Ciri definitely didn’t know, as he was positive that she would have told him – secrets weren’t exactly Ciri’s strong point.

“You’ll see,” Eskel said with a grin, which was exactly what he had said last time. Jaskier made a face at him and he laughed.

As the portal faded away, servants began to enter the room and carry away the game. The hunting party itself was whisked away as well, most likely to bathe and eat and rest – but especially the former, as Jaskier could smell them all the way up where they were sitting. Within an hour, the floor below was empty again except for Yennefer, and the crowds had mostly dispersed.

“There’s Amaryllis,” Ciri said suddenly, and Jaskier saw that she was right. Amaryllis was now in the hall, still holding her bags. She said something to Yennefer, who shook her head and said something back; Amaryllis frowned at whatever Yennefer said, but finally nodded. Jaskier wondered if maybe Amaryllis wasn’t getting a portal to where she really wanted to go, but instead a portal to what was closest and more convenient.

He was ready for the bright light when the portal formed this time, and looked away before it happened. When he looked back, a much smaller portal was hovering in the air. Geralt appeared and spoke briefly to Amaryllis, offering her a handshake. But Amaryllis declined with a shake of her head, picked up her bags, and marched toward the portal. She passed through, disappearing into the purple light.

“Rude,” Ciri said under her breath, and Jaskier had to agree. Maybe there was another reason Amaryllis was leaving that had nothing to do with Ciri. Maybe Amaryllis had never really been comfortable being here at Kaer Morhen, living amongst Witchers. Some humans wouldn’t be no matter how well they were treated.

“I don’t think anyone is sorry to see her go,” Jaskier said, wrapping an arm around Ciri’s waist as the purple portal faded away. Yennefer looked exhausted now, though she waved Geralt off when he offered her an arm.

“I’m definitely not!” Ciri said. “No more tutors, yes!”

Jaskier chuckled. “I’m your tutor now, remember?”

She scrunched up her nose and rolled her eyes at him. “Jaskier, you’re not a tutor. You’re a teacher. You’re not stuffy and boring.”

“Thanks, I think,” Jaskier said, trying to hide his amusement. “I was thinking, do you like your schoolroom?”

“No. I hate it,” Ciri said, which was exactly what Jaskier had expected her to say.

“Maybe we change it. Do you know what kind of rooms are available in your dad’s space?” he asked.

Ciri thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. “Nope, but I have nothing else to do today. We should go explore!”

Jaskier shrugged. “Sure, if you can push my chair.”

“I can.” Ciri hopped off of his lap and moved around behind him. She was a little clumsy as she got the chair turned around, accidentally banging Jaskier’s feet into the wall in the process, but eventually he was facing the way they had come. Ciri pushed the chair through the door.

“Do you know where Aiden went?” Jaskier asked casually as they went. Despite being positive that she didn’t know, he supposed it didn’t hurt to ask.

“No,” Ciri said with a little huff. “I asked Daddy, and he said it was none of my business. Then I asked Grandfather, and he said it wasn’t my concern. Then I asked Aunt Yen, and she laughed at my and told me to stop trying to get her in trouble with Daddy.”

Jaskier couldn’t help a little laugh too. “Well, at least you tried. I don’t know either.”

“Yeah, it sucks when they have secrets,” Ciri said. “But Daddy did tell me that Aiden shouldn’t be gone very long. He said that either Aiden would be able to complete the mission, or he wouldn’t. And that’s a good thing, cause Lambert is way nicer to be around when Aiden is here.”

“Well, then perhaps he’ll be home tomorrow,” Jaskier murmured, his curiosity deepening. He supposed in the end it didn’t matter. Aiden could have been doing anything. He only hoped that Aiden didn’t run into the same delay that the hunting party had.

“Maybe. They come and go all the time, all of them,” Ciri told him. “Even in the winter. It’s uncommon for everyone to be home at one time. There are always monsters attacking cities and stuff like that. I think Aiden probably went to go deal with something like that. Every once in a while there’s a monster that’s easier for a Cat Witcher to deal with, and Aiden goes.”

“That makes sense,” Jaskier admitted as they rolled up to the door that led to Geralt’s rooms. He shortly forgot all about Aiden, as exploring Geralt’s rooms with Ciri was a lot more fun. They ended up finding the perfect room too: it was big and open, with a large fireplace and plenty of windows, and it was also closer to their bedrooms. He couldn’t wait to get everything moved so that he and Ciri could get started.

Chapter Text

“ – and that’s why when you’re traveling, you should always – ” Jaskier cut himself off as the door opened and Geralt stuck his head inside.

“Daddy!” Ciri cried, jumping up. She had been sitting on the floor, but now she ran over to Geralt and threw her arms around his neck. Geralt lifted her with an ease that Jaskier envied, balancing Ciri’s weight on his hip as he gave her a big hug.

“I just thought I would check in and see how things were going,” Geralt said. His eyes wandered around the room. Jaskier followed his gaze, trying to see the room through Geralt’s eyes. He could admit that the room they had chosen as Ciri’s new schoolroom was embarrassingly bare. Jaskier couldn’t exactly move things around by himself, and Ciri was much too small to be of any help, though she would have vehemently protested that had Jaskier admitted it out loud.

“It’s going pretty well. We were just talking about how to keep yourself safe when travelling,” Jaskier said. He coughed a bit, realizing that his throat felt very dry.

“Yeah, someday when I go travelling all by myself, I’ll be all set,” Ciri said with a familiar gleam in her eyes, and Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Sure, someday,” he said, setting Ciri back down on the floor. “But before that happens, I should tell you that Triss is waiting for you.”

Ciri’s smile vanished. “Oh no! I totally forgot we had a lesson today!” she cried. “Bye Jaskier, see you later!” She bolted out of the room before Jaskier even had the chance to blink.

“Ciri learns about magic from Triss and Yen,” Geralt said, correctly interpreting Jaskier’s somewhat confused look. “It’s separate from her regular work with her tutors.”

Right. Jaskier had known that. He’d just forgotten. He said, “Is Ciri magical, then?”

“Not that Yen can find. But it’s important for her to know about magic regardless. She needs to know how to identify it, how to deal with it, and how to defend herself against it as best that she can,” Geralt explained. “Not to mention there are plenty of magical artefacts and creatures that can be used by even regular humans. You never know when someone might try to wield magic against you.”

Jaskier sobered, nodding slowly. He was a perfect case study for that, wasn’t he? Magic had been used against Jaskier before he even knew what was happening. Perhaps if he’d known the signs of magic, he would’ve been able to realize that his father had a sorcerer working for him. He had no idea how long his father and Gael had been working together, after all, but it had likely been years.

“She studies with both of them,” Geralt went on. “Both Yen and Triss have different aspects of magic that they excel at, so that means Ciri gets a better education.”

“That’s very smart,” Jaskier said softly, giving Geralt a genuine smile. He found it touching how hard Geralt was working to prepare Ciri for the future. It seemed like he was researching every possible avenue that he could, even thinking of things that Jaskier would never have thought about. He was such an amazing father. Jaskier loved that about him.

Geralt smiled back. “Ciri tells me you want to use this room instead? I came to offer my services in moving stuff around.” He looked around the room again. “I can put a couple of people to work moving the books later today, but I can at least get the board and desk in here.”

“Sure,” Jaskier said, surprised but pleased by the offer. “I was also wondering – I mean, I don’t want to ask for too much, and I don’t know about finances or anything – ”

Geralt’s smile softened. “I told you once that you can ask for what you need, Jaskier. I meant it then, and I mean it now. Kaer Morhen does very well as a community. I want you have whatever you need, both personally and as Ciri’s tutor.”

Jaskier flushed a bit, nodding. “Okay. Well, I think that making Ciri sit at a desk all the time doesn’t really work for her. I’d like to get some large pillows for us to sit on in front of the fire.” Or for Ciri to sit on, anyway. Maybe someday Jaskier would be able to sit beside her without help, but that wouldn’t come anytime soon.

“Whatever you need,” Geralt repeated. “Maybe you can write down whatever comes to mind, and I’ll have Eskel look into it.”

“Sure,” Jaskier said, though he suspected Geralt might come to regret that. He didn’t love the thought of asking for too many things for himself, but it somehow felt different when he was asking on Ciri’s behalf. After her unfortunate experience with many of her previous tutors, he wanted to make this the best experience possible for her moving forward. And if that came with a hefty price tag attached, well. Geralt had made the offer, so Jaskier was going to take him up on it!

“Think about where you want stuff. I’ll be right back,” Geralt said, rolling up his sleeves. He left the room, leaving Jaskier to look around speculatively.

He finally decided that the board should be on the far side of the room, where the light coming in through the windows wouldn’t be in either his face or Ciri’s. The maps could go up on the same wall. Ciri’s desk went closer to the board, so she wouldn’t have to strain to see. The pillows could go in front of the windows, where they’d enjoy the sunlight. He decided they’d get extra pillows to put in front of the fireplace for days when it was cold and they wanted to bask in the heat of the fireplace.

The bookshelves, he thought, could go on either side of the fireplace. There was ample space. And maybe he would talk to Vesemir about rotating the collection of books too. He knew Ciri didn’t spend much time in the library; she probably didn’t even know how interesting some of the books could be. But if they were right here in her schoolroom, she might be more interested. And Vesemir would probably be glad to get back some of the books that had been in the schoolroom for a while.

He heard Geralt returned before he saw him; Geralt’s footsteps were noticeably slower and heavier. Geralt came into a view a moment later, carrying the board. Though it must have weighed quite a lot, Geralt carried it to Jaskier’s chosen spot without complaint. Once the board was in place, he went back for Ciri’s desk and chair. The room actually looked a little more like a schoolroom by the time that was done.

“I’d like to look at the books before they’re moved. I might send some of them back to the library and take out new ones that might interest Ciri more,” Jaskier said as Geralt set Ciri’s chair down. “I have the feeling it’s been a while since any of them were swapped out.”

“You would be correct. I think you might be the first tutor who is trusted with the library,” Geralt said with a faint smirk. “Vesemir doesn’t trust lightly.”

“Oh yes, I know,” Jaskier said, privately thinking that there was a good chance Vesemir had just intimidated the shit out of Ciri’s former tutors. Vesemir was a genuinely nice person, but Jaskier could also remember just how nerve-wracking it had been to meet him the first time. And he’d only met Vesemir after being at Kaer Morhen for months. He couldn’t imagine how intimidating Vesemir would seem if they’d met after only a day or two!

“Do you want to look at the books now?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier looked up at him. “Are you sure you have time for this? I know how busy you are.” He felt a little bad taking Geralt’s time away from things that were surely more important than moving furniture around or looking at books. Surely there was other stuff Geralt needed to be attending to?

Geralt’s expression did something complicated before he smiled. “I always have time for you.”

“I – I – oh,” Jaskier squeaked, his face flushing. How was he supposed to take that?! Did Geralt know how that sounded?! He hoped that Geralt couldn’t hear the way that Jaskier’s heart had just started racing.

He tried to stay calm as Geralt moved around behind him and began to push Jaskier’s chair out of the room. By the time they reached the other room, Jaskier had successfully convinced himself that Geralt couldn’t have meant that the way it sounded. Geralt must have been talking in the context of Jaskier being Ciri’s tutor now, he decided. And of course Geralt would always have time to speak with his daughter’s tutor. Ciri’s education was clearly very important to him.

“You can make two stacks,” Geralt said, steering Jaskier’s chair to a stop. “One to keep, and one for what you want returned. I’ll have someone take back what you don’t want, and then the next time you’re in the library, you can pick out new books and I’ll have them brought here.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier said. “Maybe I’ll take Ciri with me when I pick out the new stuff. I’d be interested to see what catches her interest.”

“Not much,” Geralt said dryly. “Although I will admit that she’s more interested in reading now than she ever used to be, her greatest interest will always be in hitting people with swords.”

Jaskier grinned. “I would expect no less.”

But maybe, he mused as he started looking at the books, he could try to spark Ciri’s interest in poetry or something like that. There was a beauty to poetry that wasn’t always obvious at first glance, especially if you’d been dealing with less than satisfactory tutors. Remembering Ciri’s fascination with his lute, he thought that she might like making song lyrics from poetry. Maybe at some point, they could even get her a lute of her very own...

They worked in steady silence for a little while. Jaskier was surprised but pleased at how involved Geralt was with the task; Geralt ended up setting aside more books to be returned than Jaskier did. And it helped that they were in mutual agreement with many of the books they put aside. Many of them were either very dry, or were overly flowery, both of which were things that Ciri wouldn’t like.

“I feel I should thank you,” Geralt said after they had been working in silence for a long time.

“Thank me?” Jaskier said, confused. He paused in the middle of leafing through a very large, very heavy book. “For what? I haven’t done anything.”

“I disagree. You helped expose a conspiracy to kill me,” Geralt said. “You helped Vesemir out when he needed it, and you gave Eskel a reason to surface from all of the tasks that he takes on. He works too much, but helping you was a reminder that life goes on that he needed... that we all needed.” He looked over at Jaskier. “You understand Ciri; sometimes to the point where I think you understand her better than anyone else does. You’ve even agreed to be her tutor.”

“That’s – I didn’t do any of that deliberately. It just happened,” Jaskier said, a little embarrassed at the praise.

“But you still did,” Geralt said. “And –”

“And?” Jaskier dared to whisper. His heart was beating very again. Geralt’s eyes were so intent and so close. The distance between them had diminished, until Jaskier’s whole world had narrowed down to the Witcher kneeling in front of him. Which really, just made perfect sense. Because Geralt had been his whole world from the moment that they met.

“You gave me another reason to want my life to be saved,” Geralt said, very softly. “And a reason that is purely selfish at that, which I must confess isn’t something that I get to have very often. I was losing myself, Jaskier, in running Kaer Morhen, until you came. Then I remembered why we’re all here, why I agreed to rule Kaer Morhen to begin with. I owe you a gratitude, but I wonder if you’d indulge me once more.”

“Yes,” Jaskier whispered, hoping this was going where he wanted it to, and was rewarded when Geralt leaned in and kissed him ever so carefully.

And Jaskier had been kissed so many times before, but it was never like this.

Geralt drew back slightly and asked, “Was that alright?”

“Oh yes,” Jaskier murmured. He set his shaking fingers to Geralt’s cheek. “You don’t owe me anything, but indulge again, if you please.”

As it turned out, Geralt very much pleased.

Chapter Text

As it happened, they were all at dinner when Aiden finally returned a handful of days later. Jaskier was chewing on a mouthful of the tenderest venison he had ever tasted, listening to Ciri tell Geralt and Vesemir about the tutoring she and Jaskier had done that day, and wondering to himself if he could meet the chef who had cooked their meal, when the doors of the dining hall flew open.

“I’ve returned! You may all cease crying and give thanks to our gods,” Aiden cried, dramatically sweeping into the room. Eskel snorted into his wine so hard that several little droplets went flying and then promptly launched into a coughing fit.

“Oh, look at that, Aiden returned. How could anyone have guessed?” Geralt said dryly, setting his fork and knife down on his plate.

“Are all Cat witchers like this?” Jaskier wondered, more to himself than to anyone else, and was startled when Eskel actually gave him an answer.

“No. Most Cat witchers are the quiet sort. They blend into the background and you don’t even know they’re there until it’s too late,” Eskel said between coughs. He finally drew in a deep breath, took a smaller sip from his goblet, and added, “Aiden is just – a special sort. It’s not a Cat witcher thing; it’s an Aiden thing.”

“Ah,” Jaskier said, and quickly decided that was probably a good thing. He wasn’t sure that the world could handle more than one person like Aiden.

Aiden walked up the space between the tables until he reached the head table. He nodded at Geralt, his expression momentarily turning serious from his usual smug smile. Geralt nodded back, and then he and Vesemir both pushed their chairs back and stood. After another quick sip from his goblet, Eskel did the same. Aiden paused just long enough to give Lambert a quick kiss on the mouth before all four men left the hall together. As soon as the doors closed behind them, a wave of curious murmuring rang out.

“Man, I hate it when they leave me out of things,” Ciri said with an adorable little pout. She pushed Geralt’s plate aside and moved her own plate over, then got out of her seat and into Geralt’s, putting her closer to Jaskier.

“They left me out too, if that’s any consolation,” Jaskier said. He was pretty sure that Yennefer and maybe even Triss, both of whom were absent from dinner again, would be joining them, though. Maybe someday Ciri would too, but for now he understood why she didn’t. She was still so young in many ways.

Ciri considered this for a moment, then made a face. “I would rather they included us both,” she informed Jaskier. “And since they didn’t, I think we should both have double helpings of dessert.”

Jaskier laughed, startled. Trust Ciri to see a positive side of this! He thought about limiting her to one dessert, but decided that two helpings just once couldn’t hurt. So when the food was cleared away and dishes of pudding and cake were coming out, he didn’t stop her from grabbing both a piece of cake and a dish of pudding. The man serving them looked at Jaskier, who shrugged and nodded. The man shrugged too and walked away.

“You didn’t get any dessert?” Ciri said, looking over at Jaskier.

“I’m not in the mood for it right now,” Jaskier said lightly. His dinner weighed heavily on his stomach as he wondered just what Aiden had been up to. Would Geralt tell him? Did he have the right to ask?

They had kissed several times now, but they hadn’t really talked about anything. Jaskier was unsure how to bring the topic up. He couldn’t tell if Geralt was serious about him, or if Geralt was just looking for something short-term. Both would be fine, but the latter would definitely be more painful to Jaskier’s heart. So the potential answer made him understandably nervous, which was the other reason he hadn’t asked Geralt about it yet.

The last thing Jaskier wanted to do was overstep; it felt like his position at Kaer Morhen was finally stabilizing after months of uncertainty and unrest, and he was getting comfortable in his position as Vesemir’s aid and Ciri’s tutor. He was contributing in ways that were important, and it made him feel good. He didn’t want to undo any of that progress by being nosy about things that didn’t concern him.

“I can’t imagine not being in the mood for dessert,” Ciri said, pulling Jaskier’s attention back to her, and he chuckled. She had a streak of frosting on her cheek. He reached out and wiped it away with a napkin.

“Perhaps later,” he said. “When you’re done, could you take me back to our rooms?”

“Sure,” Ciri said. She shoved the last chunk of cake into her mouth, so much so that her cheeks bulged out like a chipmunks, and jumped up. Jaskier started to say something and then stopped, settling for shaking his head slightly instead. He’d learned that with Ciri, you had to pick your battles.

Ciri pushed his chair back to his room and then departed with the information that she was going to be given a lesson in studying the winter stars. Left to his own devices, Jaskier did what he always did when his emotions were all over the place: he pulled out his beloved lute and gently strummed his fingers over the wires. The lute gave voice to how he was feeling where words failed.

A knock on the door startled him, and he glanced up to find Geralt standing there. Geralt looked unusually serious, his eyes dark and his mouth pressed into a thin line. Jaskier’s heart started to race. Way back when he had first come to Kaer Morhen, that was usually how Geralt had looked whenever Jaskier saw him. It made him realize how much Geralt smiled now, and how bright his eyes usually were.

“Jaskier, can we talk?” Geralt requested softly, and Jaskier had the sudden suspicion that this wasn’t really an ask. Geralt had something important to say.

“Of course,” Jaskier said, trying to keep his nerves down.

Geralt closed the door and moved closer. Jaskier was grateful that he hadn’t gotten back into bed when Geralt pulled a chair over and sat down. Both of them being in chairs made him feel like they were a little more on equal footing. He didn’t yet know why, but somehow that felt important. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at Geralt, wondering what was to come.

“You know that Aiden left on a mission,” Geralt said.

“I don’t know how I could’ve missed both him leaving and returning,” Jaskier said, aiming for levity. Geralt’s lips twitched as though he might smile, but it didn’t last. His expression remained flat, and Jaskier felt even more anxious than before.

“He left to carry out an assassination,” Geralt said slowly.

“An – ” Jaskier’s throat locked up around the word. Assassination. It was such a long, chilling word with terrible connotations. He thought back to everything Eskel had told him about Cat witchers, and how they were so quiet and so stealthy that no one would ever see them coming. He swallowed roughly.

He also remembered Aiden saying that it had been a long time since he killed anyone, and that it was now only at Geralt’s request. That meant that this mission was one that Geralt had personally assigned to Aiden. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Of course he understood that assassinations weren’t uncommon for nobles – hell, that was how Jaskier had ended up here to begin with. But it felt a little different knowing Geralt had asked for someone to be killed, and Aiden had carried it out.

He looked up at Geralt. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I thought you should know, and I thought it should come from me,” Geralt said. “Aiden had two targets. One was Gael.”

Jaskier sat back, shocked. “Gael is... dead?” he whispered, hardly daring to believe it.

Geralt nodded. “Yennefer directed the backlash from the ritual in Gael’s direction. Aiden says that Gael was sufficiently crippled by it so as not to put up much of a fight. He was dispensed with fairly quickly. And it’s my understanding that Aiden made sure he was really dead.”

“That’s – wow. Huh.” Jaskier sat there for a moment, absorbing that, and realized that the news was a relief. Though it felt odd to be relieved someone was dead, he was deeply glad to know that he never needed to worry about Gael coming after him again. He hadn’t realized until now that that had been a worry in the back of his head all this time, that somehow Gael might get into Kaer Morhen and come for him.

“The other target –” Geralt hesitated, which was uncustomary for him, and finally admitted, “It was your father.”

“My - ? But why?” Jaskier was more confused than anything by that statement.

“Because he orchestrated a plot to kill me, almost killed you in the process, and I needed to be sure he wouldn’t do it again.” There was a hard glint in Geralt’s eyes that Jaskier had never seen before.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaskier asked.

“I wasn’t sure how you would react, and it needed to be done. We have to take care of those who actively try to harm us. Last time it was me, but next time it could be you or Yennefer or Eskel or – or Ciri.” Geralt’s voice stuttered momentarily on Ciri’s name, and Jaskier felt chills running down his spine.

It had never once occurred to him that the Earl de Lettenhove might try again, much less that he might choose a new target. Taking down anyone from Geralt’s court would have been enough to earn the Earl de Lettenhove favor with his king, so of course that was something that Geralt had to prepare for. Jaskier had no idea why that possibility had never crossed his mind. He tried to imagine the Earl de Lettenhove sending someone after Ciri, the way he’d sent Jaskier after Geralt, and wanted to throw up.

“However... it’s still your father, so –” Geralt lifted his palms slightly, as though to say he’d been caught between a rock and a hard place.

Strangely, and perhaps this was a sign of how much he had changed since coming to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier understood exactly where Geralt was coming from. If he had known and pleaded with Geralt to spare his father, not that he was even sure that he would have, Geralt would’ve been left with a difficult decision to make. Ciri had told him once that sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than ask for permission, and it seemed that father and daughter thought similarly.

He was quiet for a moment, waiting for the grief to hit. Or the anger. But all he felt was indifference. Months ago, he had thought to him that he was no longer a de Lettenhove. His family was dead to him. So did it really matter if his father was actually dead? After everything his father had done, all the selfish, cruel, short-sighted shit he had put Jaskier through over the years, it was difficult to find any regret or sympathy. The Earl de Lettenhove had ultimately brought his death on himself by challenging the Witcher King.

And now Jaskier was free of him too. He never had to worry about his father’s guards coming after him. That was a weight off his shoulders too, he realized. He thought about asking what had happened to the Countess de Lettenhove, but decided against it. Frankly, he did not care. He only needed to think about how she had dispassionately watched Gael maim Jaskier to know that.

“I understand,” Jaskier said at last. “Thank you for telling me.” His voice came out a bit shaky, and he belatedly realized his eyes had filled with tears.

Geralt looked very alarmed. “Jaskier, I – ”

“No. It’s not – I’m not crying for them, I’m – I’m relieved,” Jaskier choked out. “They can’t hurt me anymore – or you – or Ciri – or anyone, I – ” His words stuttered to a stop as he began crying in earnest.

Silently, Geralt rose from his chair and moved over to kneel before Jaskier. He pulled Jaskier into a comforting hug, gently stroking Jaskier’s hair as Jaskier wept.

Chapter Text

There was a gentle knock on the door, and Jaskier looked up with some surprise. He had opted to skip breakfast this morning, and a kindly servant had brought him some toast and tea in his room instead. He didn’t have any lessons with Ciri today, so he was spending the day coming to terms with what he’d been told last night. Right now, he was sitting in his chair with his lute on his lap.

He wasn’t exactly dressed for company, but he assumed that the visitor was probably Geralt or Ciri coming to check on him. There was also a smaller possibility that it was Yennefer or Eskel, or perhaps even Triss. All of those people had seen him in way worse states than the slightly wrinkled clothing he was now wearing, so Jaskier shrugged to himself.

“Come in,” he called out.

The door opened slightly and the last person that Jaskier had expected to see stuck his head in. Aiden offered him an uncomfortable smile. He looked like standing in Jaskier’s doorway was the very last place that that he wanted to be. Yet here he was. Jaskier couldn’t help wondering what he was doing here. He had expected Aiden to be very busy reuniting with Lambert today.

“Hi,” Aiden said awkwardly. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Jaskier said, lightly drawing his thumb across the lute’s strings. “Come in.”

Aiden slipped into the room, soundlessly closing the door behind him. His eyes scanned the room quickly, taking it all in in the span of a few breaths. That was something that all of the Witchers did, Jaskier had noticed, Geralt included. It was like they needed to be aware of where everything was in the room, including all of the exits, at all times. He supposed it was something that came from fighting monsters.

“Geralt told me that he told you about my mission,” Aiden said hesitantly, and suddenly Jaskier realized that he knew what this was about.

Aiden was here because he thought Jaskier might be angry about what he’d done.

“Yes, he told me all about it. And I’m not upset with you,” Jaskier said, deciding that he might as well put Aiden out of his misery. It was funny to see how shocked Aiden looked by that, though. His eyes widened a bit and he looked at Jaskier like Jaskier had suddenly turned purple.

“Wait, really?” Aiden said. “I thought you’d be furious. I murdered your father.”

Jaskier sighed and beckoned for Aiden to sit down in the chair across from him. As he did, he said, “My father is the whole reason that I ended up at Kaer Morhen. He tried to use me to kill Geralt. Thanks to Yennefer, that didn’t work. I almost died because of him. And even though Yennefer did that ritual, I’ll never be back to how I used to be.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Aiden’s eyes grew even wider. “Wow. Geralt didn’t tell me any of that. Well, I knew that the sorcerer and earl had been involved in an assassination plot, but – would you tell me the whole story?”

Jaskier nodded, a little surprised. For some reason, he had always assumed that the story of why and how he’d come to Kaer Morhen had been told to everyone who lived there. He realized now that he was wrong, and that Geralt, Eskel, Vesemir, Triss, and Yennefer had all done a much better job of keeping the dirty details under wraps than he would have expected. Just one more kindness from them that Jaskier wasn’t sure he deserved.

He strummed his lute as he said, “I left home when I was young. I didn’t want any part of being a noble. It was stuffy and boring, and all I’ve ever wanted was to be a traveling bard who made my own way. And I did that for a few years, but I made a mistake when I travelled back towards my family’s lands. When I got too close, my father’s guards grabbed me and took me back.”

Aiden scowled. “Somehow, I feel as though this story is going to end with me wishing I had made your father’s death a lot more painful,” he murmured, and Jaskier smiled despite himself.

“They had a sorcerer there, the sorcerer Gael,” he continued. “They did a ritual on me. He cut me all over...” He looked down at his hands and arms. In some places, where Gael had cut the deepest, he could still see scars. The ritual had faded some of them, but not all of them. He would always carry the evidence on his body.

“I’ve heard of rituals like that,” Aiden said quietly. “For total control?”

Jaskier nodded. “They basically turned me into a puppet and then took me with them to court. It turned out that my father had hatched a plan to assassinate Geralt in an effort to win favor with the king. But what they didn’t anticipate was Yennefer being there.”

Aiden smiled faintly. “I’m guessing that Yennefer immediately realized you were being controlled? She’s very sensitive to magic.”

“Pretty much. I’m not sure what happened immediately after that. I passed out. Then they brought me here.” Jaskier quickly described waking up at Kaer Morhen. He tried not to talk in detail about how much pain he’d been in, but he thought that Aiden could probably guess.

“And you were that way for months,” Aiden said, shaking his hand. “Your father was a cruel man.”

“Yes, he was,” Jaskier agreed. “Though I suppose they didn’t think I would survive. I’m sure their plan was for me and Geralt to kill each other.” A chill ran down his spine just saying that, and he strummed his lute again. “Failing that, if I survived and Geralt didn’t, I expect they planned to kill me themselves.”

Well, not themselves. Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time that his father had gotten his hands dirty. He wasn’t sure it had ever happened. The Earl de Lettenhove had been all about using other people to do his dirty work for him. So that meant that either the sorcerer Gael would have killed Jaskier, or he would have hired (or forced) someone else to do it.

“I should have taken my time killing them,” Aiden muttered under his breath.

“Aiden...” Jaskier said, torn between amusement and shock.

“No one deserves to be used that way,” Aiden said firmly. “I always believe that Geralt has a good reason when he needs my skills, but it seems like that’s an understatement in this case. They all deserved to die.”

Jaskier couldn’t argue with that, but he said, “You’re sure, then? That – that they’re dead?” Geralt had reassured him that they were, but he found that he needed to hear it from Aiden himself.

Aiden’s expression softened. “Yes, very sure. The sorcerer was three-quarters of the way there already, actually. Whatever Yennefer did during that ritual, it had quite an impact. I actually consider it a mercy killing; he would have died eventually anyway. But I slit his throat and then burned his remains. Then I collected ashes and released them slowly on my way back.”

“Good,” Jaskier said, relieved. He didn’t know what sorcerers were capable of, but it sounded like Aiden had been very thorough. With the body burned and the ashes spread wide, that meant no one would be able to bring Gael back easily either.

“As for your father...” Aiden hesitated briefly, watching Jaskier for a moment, before saying, “I watched them for a day or two to learn their daily routine. Then, at night, I snuck into the home where he was. He was in bed with a woman – the Countess, I believe. She woke when I killed your father, and so I had to kill her too.”

So his mother was dead. Jaskier waited to feel grief for her and realized that he didn’t. She had stood there and watched dispassionately as Gael mutilated him. The sight of her son being hurt had not phased her in the slightest. Jaskier couldn’t even claim that maybe she had been ordered to go along with it by his father; had that been the case, Jaskier knew his mother well enough to know that the Countess de Lettenhove could have excused herself from the room. She didn’t have to stand there and watch.

“That seems sloppy for a professional assassin,” Jaskier said finally, and Aiden smirked.

“Well... Geralt had not designated her as a target, but he made it very clear that it would be okay if she became collateral damage,” he admitted. “I interpreted that to mean that she was a danger to us as well. Also, the Earl was better guarded than I anticipated. Did he always have guards with him at every waking moment?”

“Yes. He wasn’t well-liked,” Jaskier said. He could remember many instances of angry people trying unsuccessfully to attack his father. The Earl de Lettenhove had always prioritized money and favor above all else, and had never cared for who he had to step on in the process.

“After observing them for a while, I could see why,” Aiden said dryly. “Jaskier... I can’t say I’m sorry for killing your parents, especially after hearing what they did to you. But I am sorry it had to end up this way.”

“Don’t be. They were terrible people and terrible parents,” Jaskier said. He wondered what had happened when everyone woke up and found the Earl and Countess dead. He supposed that his older brother would take control of everything now. His brother had been groomed from birth to do just that, so it should be a relatively smooth process for those left behind.

Hopefully his brother would take the assassinations as the warning that they were, and not repeat the same mistakes that the Earl de Lettenhove had. Because if his brother instead decided to go down the same path as the Earl, then it wouldn’t be long before Aiden was making a ‘visit’ to him too. There was no doubt in Jaskier’s mind that Geralt and Aiden would do away with the whole family if need be to protect Kaer Morhen and especially Ciri.

Perhaps that should bother him, but it didn’t. The only person he felt a minor pang of loss over was his younger sister. She was a lot like Jaskier, chafing under the constraints of the life of a noble. He felt certain that she had not known what their parents were doing to him, but he couldn’t be so sure about his older brother or older sister. It was entirely possible that those two had been complicit in their parent’s plans to assassinate Geralt. Neither of them had questioned Jaskier’s odd behavior on the way to the castle, after all.

“So... you’re okay?” Aiden asked doubtfully. “I have to admit, I thought you’d be furious. Although that was before I knew exactly what they did to you. But still. I know that the heart isn’t always logical when it comes to matters of family.”

Jaskier took a few seconds to think about the question seriously before nodding slowly. “My parents were never good to me, but trying to kill me took it to a whole new level. I stopped thinking of them as my parents, and started thinking of them as just people who birthed me. I can’t even say they raised me; the servants in the household did that. They’re not my family, not really.”

“I understand,” Aiden said, and Jaskier thought that he really did. Geralt had explained that most Witchers were made from abandoned or orphaned children. Looking at Aiden now, he thought that Aiden might be the former.

“Thank you,” Jaskier added. “Knowing that Gael and the Earl are gone – it’s a load off my mind. There was always a little part of me that worried they would come after me again. Now I know they can’t.”

“We would have protected you if they had,” Aiden said gently. “You know that, right?”

Jaskier thought about that for a moment. He thought of Geralt, and how tenderly Geralt had always treated him, and the gentleness of Geralt’s kisses during stolen moments. He thought of Eskel, always ready to help Jaskier when necessary, always ready with a smile and a cheeky comment. He thought about Vesemir, and his gruff kindness and the approval Jaskier had somehow gained. He thought of Triss, who had sacrificed her workroom to Jaskier for months and who had cared for him as though he was her child. He thought of Yennefer, and the countless hours of research she’d done, and the dangerous ritual she’d performed just to give Jaskier a little quality of life back.

And then he looked at Aiden, and he smiled, and he said, “I know.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t,” Jaskier said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Geralt looked at him calmly, and said, “Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I – ” Jaskier shook his head in faint exasperation, realizing that he was having the kind of argument with Geralt that he might have had with one of his siblings. He frowned up at Geralt.

It was a cold, but sunny, morning, and Jaskier had been contemplating taking one of the books he had borrowed from the library and reading in front of the fire for a while when Geralt knocked on his door. His pleasure at having Geralt visit had been somewhat spoiled when he realized what Geralt was there for, which was exactly what had led to their little back and forth moment.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s expression softened and he sat down in the chair across from Jaskier, which left them more on the same level. He said, “I’m not asking you to be mean, or because I think you can’t do it.”

“But I can’t do it,” Jaskier said. “The last time I tried to walk, I fell over.” He blushed at the memory, remembering how much it had hurt to fall. And remembering how foolish and stupid he’d felt stuck on the floor. Unable to lift himself up. Unable to get himself back into the chair or onto his bed. Unable to do anything but lay there. Who knew how long he would’ve laid there for had Geralt not come along at just the right moment? He had no desire to fall again anytime soon.

Geralt nodded. “I know. I talked to Triss about this at length, though. She says that you need to get up out of bed and start trying to walk every day. She says that’s the only way you’re ever going to be able to do it.”

Jaskier sighed in frustration. “Isn’t there some kind of magic ritual or spell they can do to help?” he whined. And he knew he was whining, and he knew how silly that was, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of trying to walk again, and falling again, was frightening.

What if he tried to walk and couldn’t?

He didn’t mind the rolling chair. He was used to it now, and so was everyone at Kaer Morhen. No one gave the chair a second look now; it was normal for Jaskier to use it. But it was different knowing that the rolling chair was temporary and that he was choosing to use it finding out that he would have it for the rest of his life. He would almost rather just choose to use the rolling chair forever than find out that he had to use it.

A small smile crossed Geralt’s face even as he shook his head. “You know that there isn’t... and even if there was, the price wouldn’t be one that you would want to pay. Yennefer says after what you’ve been through, your body may be resistant to magic.” He reached out and lightly smoothed a hand over the blanket atop Jaskier’s leg. “That means the price for any ritual might be doubled or even tripled.”

“... Hmm.” Jaskier wanted to say he would be willing to pay that price, but he wasn’t sure that he was if he was being honest. Aiden had described the state that Gael had been in following the ritual Yennefer had done. Close to death was an understatement. Jaskier could actually end up worse than when he began.

“There’s nothing wrong with your legs, Jaskier,” Geralt said gently. “Neither Triss nor Yennefer could give a reason as to why you can’t eventually walk.”

“Yennefer said my legs would always be weak,” Jaskier pointed out. That was one of many reasons why he’d decided that staying at Kaer Morhen was the best option. He couldn’t exactly cover miles a day between towns if he could barely walk, or couldn’t walk at all.

Geralt nodded again, very patiently this time. “Yes, she did say that. But that’s why trying is so important. You might be able to build up your stamina so that someday you can walk even a short distance... or maybe more.” He rubbed Jaskier’s lightly. “We can get you things to help you walk. Something sturdy to lean against at first, and then later crutches or even a cane.”

“A cane, huh,” Jaskier muttered. He’d never pictured himself with a cane before. He couldn’t decide if he liked the idea of that or not. It might be nice having something to swat at Aiden and Eskel when the two of them made their little teasing remarks.

“I’m sure Eskel would hand carve you one,” Geralt said, and damn him, because he knew that would pique Jaskier’s curiosity. Jaskier sat on that for a few seconds, wrestling with himself, before he finally gave in.

“Eskel hand carves wood?” he asked.

“He does. He’s actually quite talented at it. If you asked him, I’m sure he’d show you his collection someday.” Geralt stood up and moved his chair back so that there was space.

Jaskier’s heart started to race. The first time he’d tried standing, he’d been excited. He remembered how good it felt for that brief second he was on his feet. But then he’d fallen, and it was as though falling had sucked the joy out of it. Laying there trapped on the floor and then having Geralt discover him had been mortifying. He really didn’t want Geralt to see him fall this time.

But he could also tell from the stubborn look on Geralt’s face that Geralt wasn’t going to let this go. So maybe it was better just to try, and fail, so that Geralt would give it up. Jaskier sighed, bowing to what was clearly inevitable, and placed the palms of his hands against the armrests of the chair. He started to push himself up, arm muscles trembling with the strain.

“Careful,” Geralt said, moving to stand right in front of Jaskier. He reached out and set his big hands on either side of Jaskier’s chest, steadying Jaskier’s progress.

“I’m going to hold any bruises I get when I fall against you,” Jaskier said, trying to force levity into the scene. Trying to hide how scared he was.

He should’ve known better. Geralt looked at him like he knew exactly what Jaskier was really thinking, and he probably did given that he was a Witcher and they had a bunch of ways of cheating. Wordlessly, Geralt tightened his grip and helped Jaskier to straighten the last few inches. Jaskier tensed, bracing himself for the moment when Geralt would let go and he would fall.

But Geralt didn’t let go.

“You’re – ” Jaskier didn’t know what to say.

“I won’t let you fall,” Geralt murmured. “I’ll be here until you can walk on your own, okay?” And he sounded so sincere, so earnest, like he really believed that moment would come.

Embarrassingly enough, tears filled Jaskier’s eyes. He blinked them away impatiently, taking a deep, somewhat quivery breath. He looked down between them at his legs. It felt weird to be standing, to see himself standing, after all this time. His legs felt weak beneath him, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to stand by himself, but Geralt’s grip was firm and reassuring.

“I feel like a little kid learning to walk,” Jaskier admitted.

Geralt smiled. “I held Ciri like this when she was learning to walk. She was so small, but so determined. And then, the first time she walked on her own, she went straight to a staircase while Eskel’s back was turned. Eskel almost had a heart attack.”

Jaskier smiled too, imagining this. “Why the staircase?”

“Yennefer was at the bottom talking to someone. I imagine she wanted to get to her Aunt Yen,” Geralt said. “Luckily, Yennefer spotted her and cast a barrier between Ciri and the stairs. Eskel caught up to her, but she was not happy about it. We started teaching her how to safely climb up and down stairs not too long after.”

“And once she knew how, she never stopped running, is that right?” Jaskier asked. His younger sister had been like that. She was on the go constantly, which drove her nanny crazy. Jaskier could easily picture a little Ciri racing around the castle with Geralt or Eskel running behind her.

“She still hasn’t stopped, so... yes,” Geralt said. He looked into Jaskier’s eyes. “You’re not a child learning to walk, Jaskier. No one thinks of you that way. Your body already knows how to do this; your muscles are just weak from laying in bed for so long. You have to train them again and build up your stamina.”

Jaskier gave a wordless nod. He was still unsure about his ability to walk on his own someday. But he didn’t share that with Geralt, as he had the feeling that Geralt wouldn’t take kindly to it. He would see how it went. Maybe Geralt was right. Maybe all Jaskier needed to do was re-train his muscles. Even if he couldn’t walk far, just being able to get out of bed and into his chair by himself would be a step in the right direction.

“Okay, fine, you convinced me,” Jaskier said. Geralt talked a lot about how stubborn and determined Ciri was, but she came by those traits honestly. Her father was every bit as stubborn and determined as she was!

“Good,” Geralt said with satisfaction. “We’ll take it slowly. I’m going to walk backwards. Try to move your legs at the same time. And don’t worry, I won’t let go.”

He took a step backwards as he spoke. Jaskier focused on muscles that he hadn’t used in ages and, after a slightly awkward pause, moved his foot forward. The muscles felt weak and rubbery, but responded easily enough. Geralt took another step back, and again Jaskier followed. He knew that his legs wouldn’t support him, but Geralt’s grip never faltered.

“You’re doing so good, Jaskier,” Geralt whispered as they reached the other side of the room. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Jaskier admitted reluctantly. It was surprising to him, how exhausting this simple exercise was. He felt more like he’d walked the distance between two towns than just across the room. If the Jaskier from two years ago could have seen him now...

“Triss said that’s normal,” Geralt said reassuringly. “She said to start slow for that reason. So we’ll just walk back to the bed. You’re not in pain, are you?”

“A little,” Jaskier said after a moment of thinking about it. His muscles were complaining about the exercise. He could feel a bit of a cramp in the back of his right calf. But it was nothing compared to the pain he’d been in before the ritual, so it barely registered on his scale as something to be concerned about.

“If it gets to be too much, just tell me and we’ll stop,” Geralt said. He carefully turned them around, so that his back was to the bed and Jaskier was facing it.

Then they did the same thing all over again, taking small, slow steps towards the bed. About three-quarters of the way, Jaskier’s legs started shaking. He tried to stop it, but realized that he couldn’t. He probably should have told Geralt that this was enough, but he didn’t. He kept quiet, determinedly putting one foot in front of the other, until they reached the bed and his chair.

“Thanks,” he said breathlessly as Geralt lowered him into his chair. Sweat had broken out across his forehead at some point. His legs were still trembling. He was exhausted. Yet he was also proud of himself. Even if he’d needed Geralt’s help, he’d actually walked across his room and then back again. That felt huge.

“I asked the servants to bring up some food and drink,” Geralt said. “Do you feel like having some?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Jaskier said. “As long as I don’t have to stand up and walk to it.”

Geralt grinned and moved to push the back of his chair. “Maybe someday, but this time, I promise to hand you whatever you want.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Jaskier, I have a question,” Ciri said.

Jaskier paused for a moment, slowly lifting his gaze from the book in his lap to eye her warily. Ciri was supposed to be working on a series of mathematical sums. He’d just gotten done explaining the theory to her. He should’ve known that it was too easy! Because instead of dutifully doing her sums, she was laying on her stomach, one foot slowly moving back and forth, watching Jaskier instead.

“And what might that be?” Jaskier said. He knew better than to think Ciri’s questions were always harmless.

“Now that Aiden is back, there’s going to be a performance tomorrow night,” Ciri told him, looking very pleased indeed by this announcement.

“Performance?” Jaskier blinked for a few seconds.

“Yeah! Remember, I told you how sometimes during the winter, we push aside the tables in the dining hall to make room to dance?” Ciri said, pushing herself up. “Aiden is a really good singer, and so is Cedric. And Aunt Triss can play the flute. And I’ve even talked Grandfather into singing since it’s been so long!”

Now that she said that, Jaskier did remember Ciri talking about that the first time she and Eskel had shown him around Kaer Morhen. He thought about that for a few seconds before smiling. Truth be told, things had settled down a lot since Aiden’s return ten days ago. There was a restlessness within the fortress that Jaskier had picked up on, but which he didn’t fully understand. Geralt had told him that people were bored with being so confined over the dark winter months. Witchers were used to a lot of activity.

So a performance sounded like a good idea... in theory. Some wine and merriment would surely go a long way towards alleviating some of the boredom and tension that had sprung up since the hunting party returned. But Jaskier was suspicious of where Ciri was going with this. Actually, he could guess perfectly where she was going with this. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“What about you?” he asked her, hoping to divert her attention somewhat. “Don’t you perform?”

“I can’t sing,” Ciri said frankly. “And I don’t really play any instruments either. But I dance. I’m always the first one to dance, actually.” She sounded a little proud about that, and Jaskier smiled.

“I’m sure you’re a wonderful dancer,” he said, and he meant it. He’d seen Ciri during physical practices before. She was both graceful and light on her feet, both likely a consequence of growing up with Witchers for companions.

“Thanks,” Ciri said, and then narrowed her eyes. “Will you perform too?”

There it was. Jaskier tried not to groan out loud. He had hoped against hope that maybe this wasn’t Ciri’s plan after all, but of course that had just been too much to hope for. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but Ciri kept watching him with an expectant look. It was obvious she wasn’t going to let the matter go without some kind of answer. So finally, Jaskier gave the only one that he could.

“I don’t know, Ciri. I’m still really out of practice.”

“But you’re so good when you play for Daddy and me!” Ciri said.

Jaskier sighed. “That’s different.”

“Different how?” Ciri scrunched her face up in confusion.

“It just is,” Jaskier said. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he’d been unbelievably nervous before performing for her and Geralt. And even now that it was a more regular experience, it was still a little embarrassing. He could only do two to three songs before he needed a long break, which was ridiculous when he remembered the hours he used to spend performing.

Besides that, he knew Ciri and Geralt were more accepting and forgiving of mistakes that he made. Sometimes his fingers hit the wrong note, or his voice would give out during a pivotal moment. He tried to imagine making a mistake like that in front of a huge crowd, and had to fight not to cringe. If only he could perform the way he used to! That would be no problem at all.

“Oh please, Jaskier! I just know that everyone would love hearing you,” Ciri begged. “You’re so good with your lute. You make the music come alive!”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Jaskier told her, though he couldn’t help smiling a bit.

Sensing weakness, Ciri pressed on. “But it’s true. You would sound amazing with Triss’s flute. And if you can’t sing for long, that’s okay. Aiden and Cedric and Grandfather can.”

Jaskier sighed again, studying her hopeful face. He supposed he should have seen this coming. Finally, he said, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Ciri said, frowning slightly. “But you don’t have too long to think. It’s tomorrow night.”

“I’ll decide tonight,” Jaskier said. He was pretty sure his answer would be no, but at least this way he could put off disappointing Ciri until tomorrow.

Ciri studied him for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

“Now, back to work. Those sums won’t do themselves,” Jaskier said, motioning to her work, and she sighed dramatically before bending over them again. To give her credit, she was very well behaved during the rest of their session. Maybe she realized Jaskier’s thoughts were a mile away now.

He thought that Ciri might bring up the performance again, but she didn’t. At the end of their lesson, she kissed his cheek and then happily skipped out of the room. Jaskier cleaned up slowly, putting away the books they’d used and clearing Ciri’s slate of chalk. His mind was spinning so fast that he didn’t even notice Geralt standing in the doorway until Geralt spoke.

“I think that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen Ciri leaving a tutoring session.”

Jaskier startled, nearly dropping a book. “What?”

“Ciri. She used to leave tutoring sessions in a bad mood. And that was if she got through them at all,” Geralt said. He was watching Jaskier with a soft smile. “You’ve wonders wonder for her.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier murmured, flushing. No matter how many times Geralt praised his work with Ciri, it never failed to make Jaskier feel a little flustered. He genuinely didn’t think that he was going anything particularly special with her, but he did have to admit that Ciri had been pretty responsive to his method’s.

“She asked you about performing, didn’t she?” Geralt asked, clearly already aware of the answer. Nevertheless, Jaskier nodded.

“Yes, she did.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I didn’t know, and that I’d think about it.” Jaskier put the last book on the bookshelf, sighing.

“You don’t want to?” Geralt asked. When Jaskier glanced at him, there was no judgement in those golden eyes. Only genuine curiosity.

“Part of me wants to and part of me doesn’t,” Jaskier said honestly. “I’m – embarrassed.”

“Why? You’re a wonderful singer, and you play your lute so beautifully,” Geralt said.

Jaskier sighed. “Because – because I’m no where near where I used to be,” he admitted. “None of you ever saw me, but Geralt – I used to walk from city to city with no problems at all. I performed in a different place at least twice a week. I could play my lute for hours in front of crowds. Singing twenty to thirty songs was normal for me. And now I’m lucky if I get through two or three. I feel like I can’t even really call myself a bard anymore...”

Geralt sighed too, and walked over to him. “Jaskier, you know that’s not true. You are a bard, and you always will be, even if you couldn’t play your lute or sing.”

“Maybe,” Jaskier said tiredly. He knew that Geralt was just trying to help, but he couldn’t find it in himself to agree. When he thought back to what he used to be compared to what he was now... it was just pathetic.

“You don’t have to perform if you don’t want to,” Geralt said finally, laying a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier leaned into the touch automatically, resting his head against Geralt’s arm.

“I don’t know what I want. That’s the problem,” Jaskier said with a short, bitter laugh.

A young woman that he had bedded a few times had once told him that he seemed ‘born’ to be a performer. She said she’d never seen anyone who was so comfortable with it. Jaskier had taken her words to heart, because she was right. Some of his fellow bards dealt with nerves and anxiety prior to performing. Back then, that was never a problem for him. The only problem for Jaskier was that he couldn’t perform all the time, that he had to eat and sleep and rest.

He missed that, missed performing, more than he could put into words. He missed the excitement and the energy of the crowd. He missed the feeling of coins bouncing off his feet as people threw tips to him. He missed seeing pretty girls smile and young children grow wide-eyed with wonder at the tales he was spinning. He missed taking people away from the boring drudgery of their lives with a few songs. He even missed the way his fingers would ache after strumming the lute a little too long, and the way his voice would grow hoarse after one too many songs.

But even if he chose to perform, he wouldn’t be able to have that. Not with just a song or two. It took time to get the crowd fired up. Jaskier would be exhausted long before that happened. Plus, his voice and his playing weren’t nearly as good as they used to be. What if he got up in front of everyone at Kaer Morhen and proved to be nothing more than a huge disappointment?

On the other hand, was he truly never going to perform again for anyone outside of Geralt and Ciri? That didn’t seem like the best answer either. And while he could say that he just needed a little more time, or that maybe he would in a few months, the truth was that Jaskier was as ready as was ever going to be. If he didn’t do it now, he didn’t know if he ever would.

Geralt studied him for a moment, then said, “It’s truly your choice. Please don’t worry about disappointing Ciri, if that’s factored into your calculations. She’ll survive.”

“I know,” Jaskier said with a small smile. He did hate the thought of disappointing her, though. Geralt too. He wanted to make them both proud, and this felt like one of the few ways that he could potentially do so.

“Do you want to go back to our rooms now?” Geralt asked.

“Actually, I’m heading to the library. I have some work to do,” Jaskier said.

“You’re busy now,” Geralt commented fondly, moving behind the chair.

“Never too busy for you,” Jaskier said, glancing up, and saw Geralt’s upside down smile widening.

The thought of the performance stayed on his mind all night and into the next day. By lunchtime, he had made a decision. He spent the afternoon carefully polishing his lute, and making sure each string was perfectly tuned. He brought the lute with him when Eskel showed up to escort him to dinner. Ciri let out an excited squeal when Jaskier and Eskel got to the head table, and she saw the lute.

“You’re singing!” she exclaimed, and Jaskier laughed.

“Yes, I am,” he said, hoping that he wasn’t making a mistake. His heart fluttered when Geralt shot him a warm, proud smile.

After dinner was over, the tables were moved aside to make ample room in the middle. Jaskier’s heart thudded as all eyes turned to him, including those of Ciri and Geralt and Eskel and Aiden and Vesemir and Triss and Yennefer, but the nerves faded surprisingly quickly. He wanted to perform again; he couldn’t imagine going the rest of his life and not performing again to a crowd. Even if it was just three songs – hell, even if it was just one song – he needed to do this.

He took a deep breath and strummed his fingers over the lute and started to sing.

Chapter Text

Jaskier had no regrets.

That was the only thought running through his head as he leaned back in his chair with his lute in his lap. He had managed to perform three songs before his voice started to give out, and each song had been marvellously received. Seeing the crowd roaring and singing along with him made him feel like he was flying. He’d forgotten how good it felt to perform.

Of course, it probably helped that Ciri had jumped up and started dancing during the first song that he sang; she was a very clever little dancer, and Jaskier was of the opinion that music was always aided by dancing. The crowd he certainly liked her. Their clapping had grown even more enthusiastic, and by the end of the third song a handful of other people were dancing too.

Now he sat off to the side while Aiden and Cedric sang, accompanied by Triss on her flute and someone Jaskier didn’t know on a small set of drums. Vesemir joined them for a song once in a while, but not too often. Usually only when Ciri ran to Vesemir, pasted on a cute set of puppy eyes, and then grabbed his hand to physically pull him to the stage. Not even Vesemir could say no to that.

A whole group of people were now dancing in the middle of the room. The energy in the room was upbeat and full of good humor. Jaskier couldn’t have stopped smiling for anything. He had never seen Kaer Morhen like this, and he was just now realizing how much he would have missed out on by refusing to perform. Scary as it was, he was grateful he had taken the risk.

As the next song came to an end, he noticed Triss making her way towards him. He glanced up at her curiously as she crouched down beside him. She was flushed, a little breathless, and sweating from exertion, but her warm brown eyes were sparkling with joy and her smile stretched from ear-to-ear. Jaskier couldn’t help smiling back at her; her good humor was infectious.

“Oh Jaskier, you don’t know how happy it makes me to see you perform like that,” she said in his ear. “You’re like a bird that was set free from a cage. When you first came here, I didn’t even know if you’d make it out of my workshop alive. And now look at you!”

Jaskier blushed slightly, but his smile widened. “Thank you,” he said, his voice still hoarse. But he needed to say this: “And thank you for taking care of me and for never giving up on me, Triss. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“Oh, that’s not true. You’re a fighter. You got yourself here,” Triss said, waving her hand and looking a bit embarrassed by the praise.

Jaskier shook his head. “That’s not true at all,” he said, and meant it.

When he’d first woken up in that bed, Jaskier genuinely hadn’t known if there was anything even worth fighting for. He remembered how scared he’d been when he realized he was in Kaer Morhen, and how threatening all of the Witchers, especially Geralt, had seemed to be. Not to mention how much pain he’d been in. It would’ve been so easy to give up and just fade away.

To this day, he still didn’t know why Triss had spent so much time taking care of him. She had gone out of her way to give Jaskier the best care that she could, even helping Yennefer research and do the ritual. It was way beyond what most people would have done for family, never mind an incapacitated stranger who had nothing to give in return. He would be forever grateful for her kindness.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself,” Triss told him. “What you went through would have killed most people, but you rose above it. And you’re continuing to do that every day. I’m so proud of you, Jaskier.”

His heart twisted, and had they not been right in the middle of the hall, Jaskier might have cried. As it was, he had to blink away tears. Triss, he realized now, was like a gentle but stern older sister who refused to let you fail. She was more of a sibling to him than any of his actual siblings. He rested his lute in his lap and reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze to convey what he didn’t know how to say.

Triss seemed to understand judging by her sweet smile. “You really don’t need to thank me. It’s just – it’s nice to see someone who overcame the odds for once, if that makes sense,” she said, squeezing his hand back. “You reminded me of why we can never give up, and I needed that.”

“Hey!” Aiden said, jumping in front of them so suddenly that Jaskier startled. “While you two are over here in the corner gossiping, we don’t have any instruments accompanying my amazing voice.”

Jaskier glanced around and noticed that the person he didn’t know had abandoned the drums to dance with an exceedingly pretty lady. Not that Jaskier could blame him. It seemed as though everyone was taking a quick break now that the music and singing had stopped. He could see people greedily gulping down mead and water.

Triss pinned Aiden with a perfectly dry look and said, “If your voice is so amazing, then surely you don’t need instruments accompanying it, right?”

“Your instruments highlight my perfection,” Aiden said with a straight face, which was somewhat ruined when Cedric came up behind him and elbowed Aiden in the ribs.

“Stop bragging and start singing,” Cedric said, rolling his eyes. “Or I’ll sing by myself, and then everyone will realize how much better I am than you.” He grinned.

Aiden dramatically rubbed his rubs. “With this kind of abuse, I don’t know if I can go on.”

“Oh for the love of –”

Triss giggled. “How about a compromise? Jaskier and I will both play for you for a little while,” she said. “Is that okay, Jaskier?”

Jaskier nodded. He didn’t think he could sing anymore, but his hands felt alright. He thought he could get at least a few more songs out of his fingers. And if at any point he stopped being able to play, Triss would still be there with her flute, so that was alright.

The four of them conferred for a few minutes, figuring out what songs they all knew. It turned out that Jaskier had a considerably wider repertoire than anyone else at Kaer Morhen, and he knew there would be a lot of musical teaching in his near future. Triss was beside herself when she heard him list a few of the songs she knew, and looked very much like she wanted Jaskier to start teaching her right then and there.

Aiden put a quick stop to that, naturally. They settled on a list of five songs that all four of them knew. Then Jaskier put his right hand to his lute and gently strummed his thumb over the strings. Triss breathed in deeply and set her flute to her lips, letting out a bright, ringing note that made Jaskier shiver. He matched her key, and the two of them launched into the music of a haunting song about a lady who wanders the moors in searching of her husband.

He played for the five songs before bowing out, realizing that he had well and truly exhausted himself. His hands ached and shook faintly by the time he strummed the last note. Triss glanced over at him and raised her eyebrows, clearly recognizing that Jaskier had pushed himself enough for the night. She gave a subtle signal to Eskel, who quickly came over to move Jaskier’s chair back to their table.

“You were amazing, Jaskier!” he exclaimed over the music as they went.

“Thanks,” Jaskier rasped, pleased. He definitely knew now that he hadn’t lost his touch. So long as he kept up with daily practice, he knew he’d be a capable bard once again. He looked forward to the day when he could play his lute and sing for as long as he liked.

“Jaskier, if more bards were like you, I would have paid a lot more attention to them over the years,” Yennefer said as they reached the head table.

Jaskier smiled. Coming from Yennefer, that was high praise indeed. “Thanks,” he said again. “Most bards haven’t traveled as extensively as I have. I used to –” He paused, cleared his throat, and coughed dryly.

“Here.” Geralt picked up a goblet and passed it over to him. Jaskier drank, tasting water pleasantly flavored with herbs and spices. It soothed his throat.

“I used to make it a point to travel far,” he was able to conclude. “I always wanted to find music that I had never heard before.”

“And did you?” Eskel asked, sitting down.

“Oh yes. Every culture has their own music, and it can be vastly different from what we’re used to.” Jaskier felt a little dreamy talking about it. He’d never had the money to ask for formal training in any of the places he’d gone, but sometimes he could pick up some things just by sitting and watching other bards play for a while.

“You’re truly unique,” Yennefer observed with a funny little smile.

Jaskier chose to take that as a compliment, and said, “Traveling was lovely. I’m disappointed I won’t be able to do it again.” He regretted saying that as soon as it was out, but it was too late.

Geralt turned away from where he’d been watching Ciri dance. “What do you mean, disappointed?”

“Well – Yennefer made it sound like I wouldn’t be strong enough,” Jaskier said, glancing at Yennefer. “She said my legs would always be weak and that I wouldn’t be able to walk for a long time.”

“That’s true, I did say that,” Yennefer admitted. “But I think you forget that there are other ways to travel.”

“You mean by horseback?” Jaskier said uncertainly. He hadn’t ridden a horse since he was young. Horses were costly, and sometimes he’d barely been able to feed himself. Besides, if his legs were too weak to walk for long, he wasn’t sure he’d be capable of sitting on a horse for long periods of time either.

“There is that, but Triss and I can also create portals. They’re not just for hunting packs. Geralt and Ciri, for example, traveled that way for Ciri’s last birthday,” Yennefer said.

“Oh...” Jaskier was very intrigued by that notion. There had been many places that had been too far away for him to travel to by foot. The thought of being able to get to them now was very tempting. He opened his mouth to list a few of them, curious to know just how far Yennefer’s portals could reach, but Ciri cut him off.

“Daddy! Come dance with me!” she yelled, running towards the head table.

Geralt looked alarmed, and shook his head. “No, I –”

“Oh, do go on, Geralt,” Yennefer said with a wicked smile. Her smile only widened when Geralt shot her a poisonous look.

“Yeah Geralt, go dance with your daughter,” Eskel added, smirking. Geralt glared at him too.

“Yes, Daddy, please come!” Ciri reached them and grabbed for Geralt’s arm tugging on it.

“Ciri, I don’t think – ” Geralt tried to say.

“Pleaaaaaaaaase,” Ciri begged, making her eyes all big and pleading.

“I’d like to see you dance,” Jaskier said, and Geralt didn’t glare at him, but it was a very near thing. The betrayed look that Geralt sent him as almost as amusing.

“See? Even Jaskier wants you to!” Ciri said. She pulled harder and Geralt sighed, reluctantly rising to his feet. He allowed Ciri to pull him around the table and down onto the floor.

“Oh my god, there’s another person Geralt can’t say no to. I am going to enjoy this so much,” Yennefer said, looking absolutely delighted.

Eskel snickered, reaching over to clap Jaskier on the shoulder. “Thank you, Jaskier!”

Jaskier grinned, watching as Ciri successfully pulled Geralt to the middle of the floor. It was very obvious that Geralt felt incredibly awkward. He was just standing there, kind of shuffling his feet a bit while letting Ciri move his arms around. He didn’t seem to know how to dance, Jaskier realized. Someday, he decided, when his legs were stronger, he would show Geralt how to listen to the music and really dance.

But in the meantime, this was pretty good too.

Chapter Text

“But I don’t want to go to bed. I’m not tired,” Ciri objected, pouting cutely up at her father. “Can’t I stay up for a little longer, Daddy? Please?”

“Ciri, it’s after midnight,” Geralt said patiently. Truth be told, Jaskier thought that Geralt was the one who looked the most tired between them.

The party had broken up about half an hour ago, after Triss yawned so widely that she couldn’t keep playing the flute. Everyone had trickled slowly out of the hall, with many people coming up to Jaskier to pay their compliments in regards to both his singing and playing. Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time he’d received so much praise! It had been a little embarrassing, but also really nice, and so he was in an excellent mood.

“I’ll tell you a little story if you get ready for bed,” he spoke up. “Would that be okay?”

Ciri hesitated before slowly nodding. “Yeah, alright,” she said.

“Fine with me,” Geralt said, mouthing a ‘thank you’ in Jaskier’s direction over Ciri’s head. Jaskier smiled in response. It had been such a good night that he didn’t want to see it spoiled because Ciri was a little overtired and wasn’t ready to let the fun stop yet.

“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” he told Ciri, patting the couch beside him. “So go ahead.”

“I’m going!” Ciri jumped up and raced out of the room. Geralt sighed and sat down in a chair.

“Thank you,” he said again. “I swear, she has more energy than five Witchers put together.”

“If you could bottle that energy, you’d have even more of a fortune than you already do,” Jaskier quipped, which earned him a tired snort from Geralt.

“I don’t think I could handle more people with Ciri’s level of energy,” he said, which was fair.

Jaskier looked over at him with a smart remark on the tip of his tongue, but never voiced it. The room was dark aside from the fire. The combination of shadows and firelight made Geralt look mysterious, exotic, and sexy. His golden eyes were glowing, and his silvery hair was in a slight disarray from dancing. He was easily the most attractive person Jaskier had ever seen, which was very unfair.

And somehow, what ended up coming out was, “Do you ever worry about it, Geralt?”

“About what? Ciri’s energy?” Geralt’s eyebrows drew together.

“No, sorry. I meant – do you ever worry about someone else trying to kill you?” Jaskier asked the question very softly. It made his stomach turn into knots when he thought about someone else trying to assassinate Geralt. Yet he thought the likelihood of it happening had to be very high. Surely the Earl de Lettenhove wasn’t the first, and it seemed very unlikely that he would be the last.

Geralt looked startled by the question, but he recovered quickly. “Not particularly, though I’m sure it will happen again at some point. It’s just something that comes with the territory. As long as I’m in a position of political power, there will be people who want to take it away from through less than legal means.”

Jaskier frowned, not liking that answer. “What if – what if someone succeeds?” he whispered.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Jaskier,” Geralt said gently. “I rarely leave Kaer Morhen, and nothing could happen here.” He moved to sit down beside Jaskier on the couch. “We’re very isolated for one thing, so not many people make it here. Those that do are thoroughly vetted.”

“I wasn’t,” Jaskier said, frowning faintly, and Geralt smiled and patted his knee.

“You just don’t remember, but yes, you were. Yennefer vetted you quite thoroughly, and Vesemir did some research into your background. That, plus the fact that you had to be mind controlled in order to attack me, made us realize fairly quickly that you weren’t a threat,” he explained.

Jaskier mulled that over. “I could have still been a threat,” he said after a moment, pouting a bit. He remembered how worried and scared he’d been when he first woke up. He’d been terrified that Geralt blamed him the assassination attempt. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that they wouldn’t have left him stay here if they thought he was a threat? His brain must have been even more muddled from the pain and mind controlling than he’d realized.

Geralt looked amused. “You could have been, but you weren’t. And frankly, even if you were, you were incredibly weak at first. We would’ve had ample time to figure out your true motives and put a stop to whatever plan you had if it had come to that.”

“I suppose,” Jaskier said. “But... you do leave Kaer Morhen once in a while. That’s how I almost – ” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. Even now, talking about how close he’d come to actually attacking Geralt was hard. Sometimes he had nightmares where Yennefer hadn’t been there to stop him.

Had Yennefer and Geralt not stopped him, and Jaskier had succeeded, Geralt would be dead. Jaskier would probably be dead too for that matter. He was certain that his father would have had Jaskier killed to cover up the Earl’s part in the assassination. And if by some miracle Jaskier had lived, he probably would have died anyway due to the aftereffects of the mind control spell.

“It’s true, I do leave on occasion, but I am always well guarded when I do. Yennefer was with me last time for example, and Eskel usually travels with me too. Besides, even if someone could get through those two, we Witchers are very difficult to kill,” Geralt said. He squeezed Jaskier’s knee. “Truly, I hope you haven’t been dwelling on this.”

“I do sometimes. But not very often,” Jaskier said. He felt slightly more comforted knowing that the risk of being assassinated was something that Geralt took into consideration, but the worry would always be there. How could it not be? The only good thing now was that Jaskier was here too. He might not be able to do much physically yet, but he could at least be another set of eyes on Geralt.

“Well, you shouldn’t. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I don’t think there’s anyone else who could put up with being the head of Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said dryly, and Jaskier smiled despite himself.

“Yeah, I’m not sure there’s anyone else who could break up fights between Witchers,” he said.

“Probably not,” Geralt said. “Though I do have to give credit where it’s due. Eskel does try. And when tempers are really heated, Vesemir is pretty good at cutting through all of it.”

That was all true, but Jaskier privately thought that Geralt was underestimating himself. No one else had Geralt’s quiet sense of leadership. No one else had Geralt’s ability to truly listen and understand. No one else had the respect that Geralt had clearly earned. The Witchers and humans who lived at Kaer Morhen did so willingly, because they respected Geralt enough to live under his rule. That wasn’t something that just anyone would be able to do. Geralt was truly one in a million.

“Okay, I’m ready for my story!” Ciri raced back into the room, now wearing her nightclothes. She threw herself at the couch, and Geralt laughed as he caught her and pulled her into a position between him and Jaskier.

“Alright,” Jaskier said, smiling. He thought for a few seconds, then started telling them both a story from his travelling bard days. It was a rather wild tale, he had to admit, that began with Jaskier finding a rival bard in town, and ended with him both him and the rival bard being chased out of town. Both Ciri and Geralt were laughing by the end of it.

“So what I’m understanding is, there are some towns where you wouldn’t be welcome,” Geralt said once he’d caught his breath.

Jaskier smiled sheepishly. “Well... maybe a couple,” he said. It was actually more than a couple. More like a lot. There had been a time when Jaskier relished his ability to take any willing to bed that he liked, rather than having to be a good little noble. Unfortunately, sometimes he’d taken the wrong woman to bed with him. He didn’t want to say that where Ciri could hear, though.

“I’ll have to make travel plans carefully then,” Geralt said, clearly amused.

Ciri’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes! All three of us could travel together!” she gushed. “Jaskier, you’ll love it. Getting out of this stuffy place is the best!”

“I can’t really travel,” Jaskier said awkwardly.

“Of course you can!” Ciri said. “Through a portal, right Daddy?”

Geralt nodded. “Traveling by portal would be fine for you, Jaskier,” he murmured, and Jaskier felt a bit stupid for forgetting about the conversation they’d had earlier. Of course, at the same time, he hadn’t really expected to be included in any travel plans by way of portal either. He’d thought that honor would be reserved for people like Ciri and Geralt, but maybe not?

“I would like that. I do miss traveling,” he admitted. His chair wouldn’t do very well in smaller towns or villages, but bigger places with better roads and paths would be alright. Plus, maybe if he focused very hard, he’d be able to get some strength back in his legs before spring. It would be a delightful feeling to walk through a portal on his own merit someday.

“There are so many places we could go.” Ciri’s eyes were gleaming, and Jaskier suspected that their next few lessons would probably revolve around geography and planning a trip. Not that he minded, of course, even if a trip would probably have to wait until spring.

“On that note, you can dream about all the places you like, but you’ll do it in bed,” Geralt declared, standing up.

Ciri heaved a big sigh. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Goodnight, Jaskier.” She twisted around and threw her arms around Jaskier’s neck, hugging him tightly. Jaskier hugged her back, throat suddenly tight. Ciri was a wild child, no doubt, but she was also genuinely sweet, and he loved her more than he could say.

“Goodnight,” Jaskier said, letting go of her. Ciri hopped off his lap and took Geralt’s outstretched hand, and father and daughter disappeared down the hallway.

Jaskier leaned back against the sofa, suddenly wearied after all the excitement of the day. He looked at the fire and found himself wondering what spring at Kaer Morhen would look like. Right now, the world outside was covered in several feet of snow. If you looked out the window, all you could see was snow for miles. And it was cold. Very cold. It didn’t seem to bother the Witchers, but it was far colder than Jaskier was used to.

Spring would be wonderful then, he decided. Jaskier was used to traveling south for the winter now, so it had been a while since he’d experienced a true spring. All the snow would melt, leaving behind lush green grass, budding trees, and growing flowers. Kaer Morhen would probably look a lot more inviting in the spring too, and everything would be warmer with the sunshine. He couldn’t wait to just outside and lay in the sun...

“Jaskier. Jaskier, wake up.” There was a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder shaking him gently.

“Hmm – wha?” Jaskier mumbled, opening his eyes. He didn’t remember closing them, nor did he remember falling asleep. The fire had burned low, leaving the room dimly lit. Geralt was crouching beside the couch, golden eyes glowing in the semi-darkness.

“You fell asleep,” Geralt said softly. “Sorry it took so long. Ciri was pretty wound up. She wanted two more stories and a drink of water.” He rolled his eyes, but his fond smile said it all.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to.” Jaskier tried to muffle a yawn without success. “I was dreaming about spring.”

“Spring?” Geralt repeated, his smile softening. “That’s at least six weeks away. Spring comes late here.” He stood up and moved to throw another log on the fire. Then he crouched down and began stoking the fire with the fire poker, helping the flames to grow.

“Don’t tell me that. Let me dream,” Jaskier said, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes.

Geralt chuckled. “You can definitely dream about it, but that’s about all you’ll be able to do, I’m afraid.” He set the fire poker aside and moved to sit next to Jaskier on the couch.

In a sudden fit of daring, Jaskier leaned against him and rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt didn’t hesitate, lifting his arm to wrap it around Jaskier’s shoulder so that Jaskier could fully snuggle against him. They sat for a couple minutes in silence, just watching the fire and enjoying each other’s company. Jaskier didn’t even know he was going to say it until the words slipped out.

“I love you, Geralt.”

There was a moment of startled silence, but Jaskier just breathed through it, because what he’d said was completely true. Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen head over heels in love with this strange, magical, unfathomable Witcher. He regretted the circumstances that had brought him to Kaer Morhen, but he couldn’t say that he regretted being here right now. He was, he decided, glad that he was here, glad that he had stayed, and finally okay that the decision had been taken out of his hands. Because he was where he wanted to be.

Finally, Geralt sighed and murmured, “I love you too, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s heart leapt, and he couldn’t help pulling back a bit so he could look up into Geralt’s eyes. The sincerity in Geralt’s face made him want to cry, but all he could was smile as Geralt leaned down and brought their lips together. They kissed softly, slowly, in that darkened room, lit only by the flickering firelight, and Jaskier knew with complete certainty that he had found the place where he was meant to be.