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Jaskier stared open mouthed at the great witcher keep of Kaer Morhen.
He’d been lucky enough to meet Geralt when he was just eighteen. His very first real witcher. Monsters were scarce these days thanks to the efforts of the witchers and most of the monster hunters had branched out, specialising in other trades to support themselves. Jaskier had even had a teacher at Oxenfurt from the School of Cat that had become a travelling bard several years before Jaskier had even been born. Aiden had served as great inspiration for Jaskier’s own chosen career path. Many of his professors had tried to get him to teach or at the very least find a cosy court to make his home. He was talented enough for either, but it hadn’t been enough for Jaskier. No. He wanted to travel the world just like Aiden had. He wanted to see what was left of the remaining monsters and immortalise them in song. He wanted to watch the monster hunters fight before their job became defunct.
Geralt had been that chance, the White Wolf, formerly the Butcher of Blaviken. Jaskier had clung to him like a leach and never let go, and after all these years his devotion had finally paid off? He was going to see the elusive witcher’s keep in the Blue Mountains. They’d met a few other wolf witchers along the way, most of their kind still returned home for winter, a tradition that had never been broken.
“It’s beautiful,” he breathed in awe. The keep was magnificent. Snow coated the turrets of the tallest towers, and icicles hung down over the doors but more than anything… it was alive.
It was bristling with an energy that Jaskier had come to associate with Oxenfurt. Torches were lit all around the keep, some witchers were leading horses to the stables, others were sparring in the courtyard. There was a witcher sharpening a sword against a grinding stone in front of a huge blacksmith’s forge and he waved when he saw Geralt and Jaskier arrived.
“Geralt of Rivia!” The blacksmith set his sword aside and strode across the courtyard.
Jaskier’s eyes widened. The man had a vicious looking scar on one side of his face, twisting the broad smile in one corner, but aside from that and Geralt’s snowy white hair…. they looked almost identical. The same sharp jawline that Jaskier had felt under his fingertips, the same crooked nose that he frequently lavished with kisses, the same golden eyes that shone brighter than the sun, slitted like a cat and so unbearable radiant in beauty.
“Eskel,” Geralt greeted warmly and pulled the man, Eskel into a hug.
Jaskier watched the two men fondly, as Geralt pressed his nose until Eskel’s neck, scenting the other witcher. It had been strange the first time Jaskier had seen Geralt greet a fellow wolf witcher, but after almost a decade of travelling together he was more than used to it. Geralt explained that the different mutagens of different schools affected each witcher differently. For the wolves it had created a high familial instinct, which was a big part of why most of them still returned to Kaer Morhen for winter. It was a time to be with their pack once more.
“Oi! Geralt!” another witcher called, bundling over. He had long dark brown hair, tied up similarly to Geralt’s. Unlike Geralt and Eskel’s pale skin, he had tanned skin and his face was covered in freckles. He had the same golden eyes, and now that he came to think of it, all the wolf school witchers had warm yellow cat eyes.
Aiden’s eyes had been a sharp emerald green in contrast, and one of the witchers he’d seen at court had had startling blue eyes not dissimilar to his own, but with slitted pupils just like Geralt’s.
“Markus!” Geralt called and waved the brunet over. Like Geralt, he had two swords strapped to his back; another monster slayer. Markus and Geralt scented each other’s necks just like Geralt had done with Eskel, and their arrival was now drawing the attention of the others.
Jaskier chewed his lip as he waited. It was a strange feeling, not being the centre of attention. Normally it was Geralt that slunk into the background whilst Jaskier commanded the room, but it was different here. Jaskier was the outsider in Geralt’s home. His heart fluttered fast in his chest and he tried to quell the rising anxiety but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head that he didn’t belong.
He shouldn’t have come here.
He was intruding.
An outsider.
Witchers were everywhere and he was the only human. Gods, why had Geralt invited him? He should be at Oxenfurt teaching, adored by his students, but he hadn’t been able to resist the idea of wintering with his lover, and it would have been rude to refuse after so many years of dropping hints and quietly pestering Geralt about spending the winter together.
Geralt’s laugh rumbled next to him. and familiar calloused fingers laced with his own. He started and looked at his witcher. Geralt wasn’t looking at him but had reached for his hand. Jaskier’s heartbeat must have given away his anxiety… a heartbeat that dozens of witchers could hear.
Oh fuck.
Would they even be allowed to have sex? Unless the walls were enchanted then Jaskier couldn’t imagine there were many secrets in Kaer Morhen. Geralt was a naturally private person, would he want to have sex when there were so many witchers able to listen in?
“And this is Jaskier,” Geralt introduced him, squeezing his hand tightly.
Jaskier blinked, the mention of his name pulling him from his thoughts. He plastered a wide smile on his face and extended his hand to the nearest witcher, Markus. “Hello, I’m Jaskier, Geralt’s boyfriend.”
“Markus,” came the gruff reply. “I cover Kaedwen with Lambert and Jonas.”
Jaskier nodded. “Right, yes, yes. I think Geralt’s mentioned that. We cross into Wolf territories all the time?” he glanced over to Geralt who gave a small nod.
“I roam between the Wolf territories, sometimes I’ll get a call from the bears if they need a hand,” Geralt reminded him.
Jaskier wrinkled his nose as he tried to remember the etiquettes of the witchers. It wasn’t as political as the Royalty and Nobles of humanity but he’d grown up learning about them so that was easy. He could name all the nobility and Royal families at the drop of a hat. Witchers laws were still a work in progress. Witcher territories were there to ensure that the monster slayers all had enough work to do and there would always be a witcher nearby to help the humans should a monster problem occur. It was deemed offensive to hunt in another school’s territory without permission, a slight on that school, but nothing that would end in bloodshed.
The only exception being the cat witchers.
They were quick to anger and fiercely protective of what was theirs. Jaskier had seen that one first hand. It had been a messy affair. He’d never thought of his fun and flirty professor in the same way ever again.
If Jaskier wanted to travel outside of the Wolf School’s land for bardic competitions then Geralt had to leave his swords and armour behind. It was almost like a holiday! Not Geralt was ever very happy about it. It made him angsty to travel without his swords, especially when bandits and monsters still roamed the forests.
“You have a beautiful home,” Jaskier sang sweetly, winking at Markus and giving the witcher a cheeky smile. “Much nicer than the bedrolls we’re used to, isn’t that right Geralt?”
“Hmm… save the charm for Vesemir, bard.”
Jaskier licked his lips. “Ah, right, well… doesn’t hurt to try?”
Geralt chuckled and pulled him closer, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s temple. “We don’t want to be late for dinner on our first night, let’s go bathe.”
“Oh if you insist,” Jaskier purred, running his fingers down Geralt’s chest.
“Actually bathe, Jask.”
“Pity.”
The other witchers roared with laughter. “You really weren’t kidding about this one, Geralt.” Eskel said in his deep bass tone that made Jaskier a little weak at the knees. Damn witchers were all so stunning. What was a bard to do?
“He’s a flirt, and he’s mine,” Geralt grumbled.
Jaskier did the only thing he could think of… he jumped at Geralt so that the witcher had to catch him in his arms. Geralt grunted under his sudden weight but caught him easily. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, placing a sloppy kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “Yours, my love.”
Geralt hummed, a happy purr rumbling in his chest. “As I am yours.”
Jaskier’s heart fluttered, a giddy warmth spreading throughout his body despite the winter chill. “Mine,” he agreed and pulled his witcher into a kiss. Geralt softly lowered him back to the floor. As his feet hit the ground his hand cupped the back of Geralt’s neck, gripping the nape tight between his fingers. Geralt purred loudly and melted against him. Jaskier giggled against Geralt’s lips and wrapped an arm around Geralt’s waist to support him before he slid to the floor.
Neither of them paid any attention to the protests of the surrounding witchers. It had been a difficult journey up the mountain and Jaskier was happy to be home. Not at Kaer Morhen, but with Geralt, his home.