Chapter Text
The first time Eskel invited you to Kaer Morhen, you were greatly honored, and yet you declined very politely. Winter, you had always believed, was an ideal time to complete a bulk of the studies that you had ignored throughout the year. The days were short, the nights were long, and the idea of reading and taking notes by the candlelight inside your warm bedroom was appealing in a way the other seasons of the year would never quite match up to.
There was also the small, tiny little fact that Kaer Morhen, unlike the university you spent so much of your time with, would be filled with Witchers. Perhaps more terrifying than the idea of them being famed, skilled monster hunters, which you assumed was why most people wouldn’t want to end up at Kaer Morhen, the Witchers were Eskel’s family, and that was intimidating in a way that staying at school simply wasn’t. You loved Eskel, and Eskel loved you, and everything about it was very joyous, but that didn’t stop the worst-case scenario situations you would dream up about going to Kaer Morhen during those long nights from flooding your brain.
When he invited you the second time, you took a very deep breath, stood up very straight, and affirmed that you would, in fact, be honored to visit this place that was so important to him, that he had spent so much time at, that you knew was his home. Plus, the idea of another cold winter without your very warm Witcher to warm you up was somehow more unappealing than making a fool of yourself in front of his family. So, you dumped a handful of papers and scrolls into a knapsack, carefully folded up your warmest clothes, and prepared to walk the Witcher’s Trail with your beloved by your side. It was something you could’ve never expected to do, but then again, you never expected to meet Eskel either. Fate’s funny like that.
Any nerves that you might’ve had dissipated when the keep came into view. The keep itself was intimidating, towering, everything you could’ve imagined and so much more. The old, craggy architecture did little to stop the nervous thoughts you had been having, but the small smile that came onto Eskel’s face put the butterflies at ease. He had let you into a private ritual when he had invited you to walk the trail with him. That much was clear as you watched him take a deep breath of fresh, pine-and-snow scented air and stretch back, letting the sun shine on his face. It was an honor and a privilege to share that moment with him, and it had rendered you utterly speechless, unable to do much but look at him with wonder and love. He broke through your awed stupor by grabbing your hand, rubbing his calloused thumb over your knuckles, and beckoning you forward.
After that moment of quiet, your arrival proved to be a bit of a whirlwind. There was the greeting with Vesemir, which you handled with surprising grace given the perceived severity of the situation (he was his father figure! You had to impress him!). Next, you set your bags down on the bed you would be inhabiting over the next few months, and then it was off to tour the keep. It struck you just how many similarities there were between keep and the academy you studied in. There were certainly more monster trophies lying around, and a few extra dozen weapons, but the feeling of being so overwhelmed by all the rooms, the nooks and crannies, the shortcuts and hidden features reminded you of the first time you had walked into the academy. You were just happy to have such a diligent tour guide.
Even still, if Eskel had led you off the cliffs at the edge of Kaer Morhen, you probably would’ve followed him. You were so enraptured with his excited spiel, his introduction to this massive part of his life, that it was all you could do to keep up with him and everything he was telling you.
“I think,” he started, stopping in front of a set of wooden double doors, “this might just be your favorite part.”
“I don’t know how you can choose a favorite when there’s so much to see,” you laughed breathlessly, still trying to process everything you had already seen.
Wordlessly, he turned you around away from the door, motioning for you to stay looking that direction. You nodded, folding your hands in front of your body and trying very hard not to glimpse a peek as the doors creaked open behind you. You felt him creep up against your back, placing his hands over your eyes, then gently, he began to turn you around.
“This way it can be a grand reveal,” he whispered in your ear, sending goosebumps across your neck. You nodded against his hands, wringing your own in excitement.
A few steps forward, and then his hands dropped to your hips. You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the light, unsure just what you were supposed to be looking at.
First, the windows. Three arches on the far wall, with cold winter light streaming through. In front of the windows sat a variety of objects you recognized as being astronomical in nature. Eskel gently nudged you, encouraging you to turn to the left, and with that came the reaction that you figured he was expecting. Behind individual sets of grated metal sat bookshelves, stretching far above your eyesight. The shelves were sturdy, unassuming, significantly less gilded than anything you might have found in the Oxenfurt academy, but they were filled with books, and that was enough to intrigue you. Almost despite yourself, you stepped away from Eskel’s grasp, eyes alight with the titles that sat in front of you. There were bestiaries abound, beyond anything you had ever seen. It wasn’t surprising, you supposed, that the Witchers had the best of the best when it came to knowledge regarding all the monsters that they fought, but you were still surprised by the sheer amount of literature in front of you. You moved from one alcove to another, drinking in all the books that you knew you were going to spend time engrossing yourself in. There were monster books, yes, but also books of a historical nature and narratives of all levels.
Maybe you were missing out by spending winters at the academies after all.
Your hand reached out, brushing across their humbly bound spines, before pulling one out.
“The Little Peasant Who Confounded His Lord,” you smirked, turning the familiar children’s tale over in your hands. “An interesting choice of a study aid.”
You waited a beat, expecting Eskel to respond with the laugh you so loved and a quip of his own. When nothing came, you swiveled on your heel, still clutching the book to your chest. What you saw on his face was something you wish you could capture in a painting; after being in an adoring awe of your own for so long, it was refreshing to see that Eskel was looking at you with the same expression he wore when Kaer Morhen came into view earlier in the day.
The expression you have when looking at home, you thought despite yourself. A light blush dusted over your cheeks, and you both stood, two fools miserably in love with each other and realizing you would never again be able to stand a winter apart from each other. Shyly, you lifted the book you were holding towards him, meeting his eyes straight on.
“Read to me?”
This shook him out of his own thoughts, and he chuckled softly.
“Sure,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. “I can do that.”
Quickly, he walked behind the shelves, pulling out a stack of blankets and pillows that had been hidden in one of the missing rocks in the wall.
“None of us were big readers,” he explained, “the book part of Vesemir’s lessons added up quickly and it was a lot to slog through. Geralt and I used to try to make it more fun, but it was still a lot of time spent in this room.”
A soft smile broke out on your face at the image of the two young boys trying to focus on texts about dragons and strigas.
“That’s sweet.”
The two of you wordlessly set up a nest of blankets, propping pillows against the cold stone of the walls and placing enough blankets for the hard floor to feel a little bit softer. Then, it was candlesticks carried over (though safely placed far enough away from the books so as to not accidentally ruin all the old parchment), and finally, Eskel sat down first, with you close behind him.
It was an easy routine to fall into, reminiscent of the times you had joined him on contracts and moments spent together at the academy. He kept his arms open, giving you space to lay your head against his shoulder, and then he closed them around you, holding the book on your lap. He kissed the top of your head, you sighed contentedly, and then it was time for the story.
The Little Peasant Who Confound His Lord wasn’t particularly highbrow literature, and certainly nothing that you hadn’t read before, but Eskel reading to you was never particularly about the contents of the story anyways. You had spent enough time with a book open in front of you, pouring over writing styles, literary conventions, anything that could further your scholarly pursuits. You felt fairly certain that Eskel could read you the racing results and betting tabulations from the Vandenberg Estate and you would be satisfied, as long as he was talking in the soft voice he only used when telling you stories.
“Winter was on its way,” he began, “and the lord once again started to think about what to do to oppress his people even more.”
The familiar beats of the story went on, and your gaze followed lazily along as his fingers flipped through the pages (old, bookmarked, stained with food that had probably been snuck from the kitchen). Between the vibrations of his chest against your back, the warmth he was exuding, and the lull that his voice was making (better than any lullaby, you would swear by it), it didn’t take long to fall asleep.
It proved to be one of the most restful sleeps you had in months, and it was for that reason that you couldn’t feel it when Eskel (delicately, slowly, using every ounce of restraint and stealth he had learned in his years as a Witcher) set the book aside, when he kissed the top of your head again, and when he fell asleep himself, face nestled in the top of your hair. It was there that you remained undisturbed until the next morning, when the door creaked open.
Through bleary eyes, you watched Vesemir step into the room, glance around, and look at you and Eskel, wrapped up in a tangle of blankets and pillows. You didn’t know the man well enough to be able to read his expression, but you were able to recognize a smile when you saw one. He stepped out quickly, likely to let you both rest or to offer some privacy in this otherwise public room, closing the heavy door behind him.
Eskel stirred behind you, and you moved to greet him with two gentle kisses: one to his cheek, one to his lips.
“Good morning,” he yawned, “These floors are just as uncomfortable as I remembered.”
“Even still,” you replied, “I think you were right. This is my favorite room.”