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Summary
Kaer Morhen had not been what Jaskier had expected.
From what words he could pull from the Witcher’s lips, he’d expected cold stone, high walls, scattered straw, and terse company. Not...a well kept keep, warm from large fires, with abundant good food and rich wines.
There had been a strange tension, an undercurrent between all of them when Jaskier had trailed in behind Geralt. Geralt’s shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and he met every molten gaze with his head high. He looked ready for a fight at any moment.
Which was strange, because Geralt’s fellow Witchers were…
Well, welcoming wasn’t the right word, exactly.
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