Work Text:
Eskel wiped his hands on the soft knees of his pants as he turned away from the cutting board. It was littered with various vegetables that had been peeled and quartered in preparation for supper. He turned and walked up to the window, peering out at the snow falling lazily to the ground. Eskel could feel the chill atop his forearms and the heat blossoming from the fireplace at his back.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, reveling in the peace that hung in the air. The sun hung high in the sky and glinted off the icicles dripping from the ledge and Eskel could hear the gentle crackling of fresh snow freezing and sticking on the ground. He thought that he may be content to stay in this moment forever, and it was blissfully quiet.
Well, maybe too quiet.
As if summoned by the mere thought of shenanigans, a deafening *boom* shook the old stones of the castle and Eskel merely sighed and turned back to his vegetables. This was not a new concept for Eskel, having grown long used to his peace being disturbed time and time again by the same old culprit.
“ Shit, kid,” he heard Lambert growl and scurry to his feet a floor up and a bit over to his right, precisely where the alchemy lab is situated.
“No, no,” Eskel hung his head when he heard Ciri whisper back, fully recognizing them both for the agents of chaos that they were. “This is great! The dimeritium dust worked perfectly, so now we just have to stabilize the mixtu-”
Eskel’s heart skipped a beat when he heard familiar footsteps heading in his direction and he grinned to himself right before the door swung open. Eskel always appreciated how Geralt looked, but his ‘start of Winter’ look just may have been his favorite. Tight black trousers and a dense tunic, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and contrasting drastically with his pale skin. Silver hair spilling onto his shoulders and just the hint of stubble coming in, topped off with a pair of thick woolen socks and not a boot in sight.
Geralt padded into the kitchen and slid up next to Eskel, bumping his shoulder and staying close at his side. Eskel tried not to breathe in too deeply or else he would get caught up in the heady musk that surrounded Geralt. He snatched up a carrot and gave Eskel a shit-eating grin and Eskel just couldn’t find it in himself to care. Geralt could wreck his entire garden and give him that stupid smile and Eskel wouldn’t be able to be mad at him if he tried.
Geralt leaned back against the wall as Eskel turned back to the table of vegetables. He let his gaze wander up the strong forearms exposed by the rolled-up sleeves, lingering on the sheer breadth of his shoulders that flex with every chop he makes.
“Anything I can help you with, Wolf?” Eskel asked, not even looking up. If he had, though, he would have caught the blush creeping up Geralt’s neck at being caught.
“Ah-well, I was uh…” Geralt floundered, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard footsteps running towards the kitchen. “Incoming.”
Two young women burst into the kitchen in a flurry of laughter, bright silver hair and dark waves catching in the light. “Ladies,” Eskel greeted, still keeping his eyes trained on the chopping in front of him.
“Master Eskel,” the dark-haired one replied. Geralt snorted as Eskel turned round to her, blowing with his lower lip in an effort to tame the hair drooping into his eyes. It never worked.
“Sala, I’ve told you. Eskel is fine.”
Sala flushed and reached out for Ciri’s hand, which was easily given with a soft gleam of the eyes. “Sorry, Eskel.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Eskel reassured her, returning to his task. “Just want you to be comfortable here. I know Ciri does too, and it took her forever to not call me anything other than Sir Eskel. And I never have been, nor will I ever be, a knight.”
“But you’re just so noble and good,” Ciri argued, leaning against Eskel’s shoulder. “Why would I use anything other than a fitting title?”
Geralt hummed in agreement, pulling Eskel away from the vegetables once more. He met Geralt’s eyes across the kitchen and raised an eyebrow. Geralt shrugged in response, glancing over to Ciri and jutting his chin in response. Gods, they’ve known each other for too long.
By the time the two of them had finished their silent conversation, Sala had left, and Ciri walked over next to Geralt. “Would you work with me on sword training this afternoon?”
“Won’t Sala be bored?”
“No, silly,” Ciri giggled, “She’ll be joining us.”
Geralt sighed and nodded, pushing himself away from the wall and turning to walk out of the kitchen. “Care to join us, Eskel?”
“No, need to finish this.” Eskel groaned inwardly, for he longed for nothing more than to see Geralt all sweaty and strong under the winter sun.
“Could I borrow you in the library after supper?” Ciri asked after Geralt left the room.
Eskel looked up at her, noting the way her hands wrung themselves and hearing her heartbeat flutter in the air between them. “Of course. Always, Swallow.”
Ciri nodded and spun on her heel, striding out of the door with a well-practiced confidence that ran down to the bone. Eskel smiled before chucking the vegetables into the pot over the fire.
Lambert was getting old. Eskel watched as he settled into a chair by the fire in the main chamber of the keep, grunting under his breath as he got comfortable. And then, by the Gods, he was snoring and drooling not more than half a minute later. Vesemir was puttering around in the lower portion of the castle, in the damp greenhouse situated next to the hot springs where they all bathed. Geralt was probably out in the stables, and Sala had excused herself to take a warm bath in peace. Which meant that Ciri was probably already waiting for him in the library, glass of wine in hand.
Once he shouldered the heavy oak door to the library open Eskel toed off his boots, leaving the thick socks on as he crossed over to where Ciri was sitting cross-legged by the fire. While she did already have a glass in her hand, it wasn’t filled with wine. It was a heady, spiced apple cider that Geralt loves more than almost anything.
As Eskel kneeled down beside her she held out another glass filled with cider, which Eskel gratefully accepted. He grinned into the cup before taking a long drink, feeling warmth pool in his gut that had nothing to do with the alcohol. It felt like one of Geralt’s low laughs, or the bolts of lightning that explode across his skin when they bump into each other.
Eskel sighed as he peered into the fire, and Ciri reached out to place a hand on his knee. “You alright, Uncle Eskel?”
Eskel smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah, Swallow. I’m fine. Now, what did you want to talk about?”
Now it was Ciri’s turn to sigh and turn away, and Eskel watched as the light from the fire danced over her silver hair. “I-well. How do you know if someone loves you in return?”
Eskel tilted his head, letting his mind find those fuzzy edges where his love lay. He thought back to how he watched Ciri and Sala together, how it was blindingly obvious for anyone on the outside to see their love. But it’s always harder to see from inside.
“When she’s hurting, whether it’s physically or mentally, who does she seek out first?”
Ciri thought for a moment, “Me. Bu-”
“And when you’re happy, what does she do?”
“She-she’s happy too. Esk-”
Eskel shook his head. “Wait, Ciri. Let me finish. What about when you’re apart. I know you write each other. Does she miss you?”
“Well, of course, but I wasn-”
“And does she seek you out when you return?”
“Yes, sometimes she finds me first, Eskel can I ju-”
“And doe-”
“ Eskel. Stop.”
And he did. He blinked and snapped his mouth shut, looking over at Ciri with bewilderment in his eyes. She was gripping the cup in her hands with enough force to turn her knuckles white. “Ciri?”
She drained the last of her cider and stood, nodding to herself as she strode to the door. “Thank you, Uncle Eskel.”
Eskel stayed seated on the floor, trying desperately to wrap his mind around the change in direction. “Ciri, I-I wouldn’t worry. Sala came up here with you. Of course she loves you.”
Ciri smiled, almost a little bit sadly. “I wasn’t talking about me and Sala. Maybe you should talk to Geralt.”
And with that, she was gone. Whisked away by a stray breeze, leaving Eskel gobsmacked on the rug before the fire. He took inventory of his surroundings before leaning back against the chair behind him, sipping his cider as his brain played catch-up.
‘When he’s hurting, who does he seek out?’ Eskel remembered all of the times he had patched Geralt up, whether it had been as young boys before the Trials or as seventy-year-old men after getting his ass handed to him by his adopted daughter. He remembered holding Geralt in the dark as he shook with sensory overload after a second batch of mutagens, and cupping the back of his neck and pressing their foreheads together after the nightmare of Blaviken.
‘When I’m happy, what does he do?’ Geralt smiled the brightest when he saw Eskel with Lil’ Bleater snuggled in his jerkin, or whenever he reached a new level of control over his signs. He never looked that happy when it was his own successes, but looking back, Eskel wants to reach out and keep that smile tucked away next to his heart.
‘Does he miss me?’ Fuck. Well, of course, Geralt missed him, Eskel assumed. He could always note the turn of Geralt’s scent from something mellow and just fine to abruptly happy and content when they found each other again. Every. Single. Time.
‘Does he seek me out?’ More times than Eskel can count, especially in recent years, Geralt had found him on The Path. Sure, Eskel had done it before too, heard rumors about another Witcher running about not too far away. And when he would head that way and he picked up Geralt’s scent, he chased him further until finding him nudged up against a tree looking all the world like he had just dropped there from some other plane. But now it felt like Eskel was the one being stumbled upon more often than not, and suddenly it all clicked into place.
Fuck. When did that kid get so smart?