Chapter Text
It all starts with a bleat. A tiny sound, warbling and high but loud enough to draw Eskel’s attention away from the celandine bush he’d been squatting in front of. Craning his neck, peering over the thick green, he saw the tiniest bit of a horn. The minute a second, more panicked, bleat erupted from behind the forestry, Eskel dropped his half-full basket where he stood--harvesting could wait.
He spared a second glance back towards Geralt, his brother in arms not as far into the forest as he was and still hyper-focused on nipping and collecting ingredients. It served enough of a reminder to make Eskel hesitate. They’d been sent out by instructor Osbert to refill their stocks--a punishment for a (frankly hilarious, if you asked him) prank they’d pulled on another one of the boys. Teetering on the edge of decision, Eskel suppressed a groan as he spun on his heel and pushed on deeper past the thicket of vines towards the continuing sounds of distress.
It took a few angry swipes of his harvesting dagger, but after cutting through a particularly sturdy vine, the claustrophobic green gave way to a small clearing.
A clearing in which a very pregnant goat laid.
She was small, for the most part, belly swollen and light grey fur patchy with dirt and grime. Her mewling cries nearly broke his heart in two.
Eskel took a hesitant step forward, careful not to startle the poor thing and worry her more. It was clear what all the bleating was about, and even if Eskel didn't still have vague, murky memories of Home before Kaer Morhen--goats and chickens and horses whom he called friends--the pooling of fluid under the goat would have been a dead give-away.
Deciding that helping her was worth the lashings he's sure Vesemir would give him, if not Osbert himself, for abandoning a task, Eskel squared his shoulders and dove in.
“Hush, now. I got you,” he creeped forward, slow enough that although her eyes never left him, she stayed perfectly still. Maybe she knew Eskel seemed to be the only one that could help her. He hoped she’d let him, anyway.
Once Eskel got close enough, he laid a large, scarred hand on her flank, feeling the muscles tense and jump before slowly relaxing under his palm. “That a girl,” he murmured quietly, beginning to stroke her in short, sure passes along her side.
He leant closer to see what he was working with, but the proximity had the nanny belting a bray of warning. He winced, settling his palm against her again in hopes of letting it relax her more.
“Let me take a look at you, honey. Looks like you’ve been here a while.” The puddle under her was a worrying colour, something deep in his chest tightening at the slow rhythm of her heart echoing in his ears. Much too slow for what it should be.
Leaving one last gentle pat on her rump, Eskel sat back on his heels and ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt, using the rag to help clean her up. A worried rumble worked its way from his chest when he saw she was torn, and badly.
At this point, it was a matter of whether he could save her along with her kid. He couldn’t do this alone--there was too high a risk that he’d lose her. Lose both of them, possibly.
Lifting his face up to the early morning sky, Eskel let rip a string of short, high whistles. To most others, they’d sound like the black Jacobins that littered the forest, but he’d know.
Surely enough it took only one more series of chirps for Geralt to stumble through the vines and bushes, swearing and hair a fair bit more tangled than when Eskel had last seen it.
If he wasn’t so worried for the nanny he’d even giggle.
“What the fuck are you doing back here, Eskel. Osbert will have both our--,” he stopped short once he lifted his eyes to where Eskel sat, the rag he’d been holding to the nanny’s bottom soaked through by now and fairly useless, “--arses…”
His nostrils flared at the nauseating scent cocktail of fear, worry, and blood coming from the, admittedly, grotesque scene in front of him. His eyes flickered to Eskel’s, an unspoken question in his gaze. What is this? How did you find this? What's happening?
How can I help?
“Come settle by her head, she’s too tense. I need her to calm down some before we can work on getting this kid out safe and healthy.” All business--tone serious as it was when they trained in front of the instructors.
Geralt gave a sharp, determined nod and shuffled up toward the nanny’s head. He had no fucking clue what goats thought was calming but settled on brushing a thumb carefully against the divot between her eyes. Roach seemed to like it well enough, and if the goat’s quieter, calmer bleating was anything to go by, she did, too.
Eskel hummed a pleased sound, ripping a fresh piece of cloth to replace the other. “Nice, yes, just like that. Looks like he… uh, yeah, he--wants to say hello now.”
Geralt kept his focus on rumbling awkward, reassuring pleasantries to the goat as Eskel worked. He resolutely did not look, catching himself everytime a hum from Eskel had him nearly glancing up out of habit to seek him out.
He instead, busied himself with keeping the mother’s distressed bleats to a minimum.
After what felt like an eternity, Eskel busted forth a shout of victory at the same time that an even higher pitched bleating filled their little clearing. “Ger. Geralt. Grab him, I need to tend to Mama.”
This time, Geralt did look up, nearly failing to suppress a wince at the bloodied mess the kid was. Thankfully, though, Eskel had taken his shirt off completely to wrap him in it, leaving him in the tighter, cropped cloth across his chest, saving Geralt from having an armful of slick-soaked baby goat.
Cradling the little thing against his chest, Geralt couldn’t help but worry for the mother now; and by default, Eskel too. The kid seemed fine to him, fur short and damp; wide, slitted eyes peering up at him from where his head rested lightly on Geralt’s shoulder.
The birth seemed to have exhausted him, too.
By the time the nanny’s whimpering bleats settled into soft whispering snores and Eskel fell back on his arse with a relieved huff, Lil Bleater, as Geralt had temporarily named him in his head, had taken to attempting small laps around Geralt. Never too far but growing bolder with each steadily improving step.
It was quiet for a moment, the tension Geralt hadn’t even noticed existed slowly melting away. The air still smelt acridly of iron, but at least the fear and worry had shifted to something akin to the warmth of freshly baked bread. Eskel’s contentedness, then.
Geralt let the calm settle across his skin for a moment, basking in it like a cat in the sun, before breaking the peaceful silence. “She okay, then?” He was careful, still, despite the knowledge that Eskel wouldn’t have that soft curl to the edge of his lips if she wasn’t.
“Yeah. Yeah, she’ll be fine. Bit of rest and she’ll be good as new.” He bit his lip thoughtfully, “Thank you, Geralt. I’m not sure I would’ve... That she would- Thanks.”
Geralt barked out a laugh, reaching forward to clap a hand over Eskel’s shoulder, gripping and shaking him lightly. “Happy to help. Though you ought to know I’m leaving you in the dust to deal with whatever latrines Vesemir has us clean for deserting Instructor Osbert’s task.”
Eskel scowled, and gave forth an angry growl, but he wasn't angry, not really. His eyes gave him away, still shining with mirth over Geralt’s teasing. Lil Bleater, well, bleated, behind him in agreeance, and Geralt’s faux discontentment fell apart at the seams with a hardly concealed grin.
“See? He’s with me,” Geralt turned, eyeing the now happily prancing kid as he pounced around the clearing on semi-steady legs.
Eskel rolled his eyes and let the silence settle once more, only Lil Bleater’s soft snuffles and the sounds of the forest around them filled the clearing. A quiet, closed off area that almost seemed untouched by the outside world. For now, at least, the world only consisted of Geralt, Eskel, mama goat and Lil Bleater.
“Where do you think she came from?” Eskel asked softly, head nodding toward the sleeping nanny still snoring away without a care in the world now that her kid was safely delivered and being watched over by the two of them.
Geralt shrugged, tilting his head in consideration but giving nothing more than a noncommittal, “Dunno.”
Then he sniffed, shifting to sit up and wincing at the pins and needles working up from the soles of his feet to his legs, “We need to get back, Eskel. Sun’s almost at high rise.”
Eskel tipped his head back, glaring at the sky as if he could scare the sun into hiding behind the mountains again. “Will they be okay? Should we, I dunno, leave something for them?”
Geralt hummed, picking and plucking at the grass by his thigh, letting the blades flutter down into his lap.
“I’ve got a blanket in my pack, I think. And some dried meat I was going to split with you after we brought the celandine back.” He didn’t even need to look up to know Eskel’s eyes would be wide and pleading, lip pushed just that much out that distracted Geralt more than he’d like to admit. To himself or otherwise.
“I’ll leave the blanket and food for them, quit it.” He growled out, not blushing.
Before he could even dip to the side to avoid the attack, Eskel’s thick arms were wrapping around his waist, crushing him and toppling them both over as he flung himself on top of Geralt. “Fuck, Esk.” he chuckled out, squirming under Eskel’s heavy weight and the feeling of so much of his skin .
Eyes bright and shining, Eskel lifted himself off of Geralt a bit, palms on either side of his head and looking down on him. He felt like prey, stuck in a trap stronger than yrden, but there was no golden glow around him, no hum of the sign’s magic. Only the soft amber of Eskel’s eyes so close to his own that Geralt could see the lighter flecks of yellow in them.
Geralt couldn’t keep the soppy smile off of his face if he tried.
“Get offa me, you oaf,” his tone was teasing, and betrayed the grin he desperately tried but failed to keep out of his voice. “Hand me my pack so I can settle them in and we can head back.”
He ignored the soft whine Eskel made at that before standing and retrieving his bag for him and unceremoniously dumping it in his lap with a heavy thunk.
The kid seemed to have made enough rounds that the curiosity of exploration no longer won out over laying with his mother. He happily wobbled over to Mama and plopped down, leaning into her side in a way that was not unlike the endearing way Geralt often bumped against Eskel.
After settling the now tired Lil Bleater with his mother, blanket and food neatly placed in a pile for them, Geralt stood and shrugged out of his own shirt, tossing it at Eskel’s head before he was ready to catch it.
It smacked him in the face with a satisfying thwack.
Eskel’s own shirt was ruined, the stain and smell sure to stick to the fabric no matter what oils or soaps were used to cleanse it. It was Geralt’s turn to be left in his cropped pressure cloth, although he knew he was much more comfortable walking around with it than his friend. Geralt had been at the keep since he was barely more than a newborn pup, and everyone--witcher, trainee, or otherwise--has seen him in his underclothes at one point or another.
Eskel was only comfortable enough with Geralt to let himself be seen that way, relaxed and unguarded when dressing or in the baths. Between them, Eskel’s silent acceptance of the garment was more than enough thanks needed.
That and the shy smile Eskel shot at him that set his heartbeat quickening in his chest.
They’d left the clearing in a rush, Geralt glancing behind him to subtly check on Eskel. He’s always been a softer soul. He kept in time with Geralt’s pace but his face was pensive, carefully blank save for the plump bottom lip he worried in between his teeth.
Geralt wanted to smooth his thumb over it to keep him from nipping at it too hard, a habit of his that usually ended with the light, lingering smell of iron on his breath.
They’d both managed to grab their baskets, neither of them more than half full of celandine. Much, much less than there ought to be for nearly three hours of “harvesting”.
Geralt and Eskel had already accepted that they’d get a firm cuff to the behind over it, anyway.
And so they set off toward the castle--both of their thoughts unwavering from the secluded clearing and the little black goat resting with his mama.