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Most years, Eskel was the first to reach Kaer Morhen, in late autumn when the air was crips, but no snow had fallen yet, bone tired and exhausted, pushing himself hard up the Killer, eager to return home.
Vesemir, who always saw him stalk up the mountain, Scorpion in tow, had already prepared his room for him, freshly washed sheets and warm furs on his bed, a warm fire blazing in the chimney and a steaming stew on his nightstand.
He preferred to be alone that first night, to let the comfort of home truly sink in before greeting Vesemir the next day and he was grateful hat the eldest Witcher easily respected his wishes.
It was almost ritualistic, the way he stored his thing away, the same way every year and quickly washed off with a wet cloth before putting on warm night clothes and sat down on the thick fur in front of the fire, legs stretched out, the bowl of stew on his lap and relaxed.
He knew he had a few days before Geralt would arrive, hopefully with his cheerful bard in tow, Jaskier always brightened up the atmosphere in the keep and made even Geralt smile. Lambert would probably cut it close again, always reluctant to get back to the place that was simultaneously his home and the seat of his nightmares.
But even he could not resist the way the bard made them all feel when he danced and sung every night, making them forget the horrors they had experienced and just breathed. The remaining survivors of the Wolf Pack had always been close, seeking comfort and sexual release from each other during the harsh winter months but something had shifted two years back when Geralt had first brought his half Elf Companion with him.
No that wasn’t actually accurate, at least not for Eskel, he had always been in love with Geralt and Lambert but Jaskiers presence, his warmth and undying devotion to them had made him finally be honest with himself and allowed him to face his feelings head on.
Not that he had done anything about said feelings, Witchers were slow in such regards, and he had let the emotions stew inside of him for the last years, unsure how or even if he should voice them in any way.
Loving Jaskier was easier, it was new, and the bard was so open with his affections that Eskel had no restraints to give as good as he got, showering the bard in compliments and affirmations, and letting the other press kisses all over his scars, almost believing him when he called him beautiful.
It was easier, because there not almost 70 years of yearning and pining between them, no hurt feelings, no risk of losing a part of himself if his feelings weren’t returned. Yet, he could not wait for the others to arrive, for all four of them to hurdle up in his bed, it was the largest, and even though he also missed the sex, what he was mostly looking forward to was just the warm pile of comfort during sleeping.
He yearned to see Geralts gruff exterior melt away, stretched out and relaxed, his usually gruffy huffs getting softer. He wanted to hear Jaskier laughter, even missed the bards’ cold feet pressing against his calves, seeking his warmth. But most of all he missed Lambert stopping being, well Lambert for a while. Forgetting the horrors, he had experienced and the abuse and just let himself be. It always took the youngest wolf a few weeks before he could truly relax with them, before he let his asshole façade slip away and became soft.
He knew he had already made his decision, not wanting to waste anymore time. Deep in his heart he was sure his fellow Witchers shared his feelings, he could maybe not hear it but they showed it to him with their actions every winter.
It was in the way Lambert would sit with him in the library, for hours, at his feet, head resting against his legs and purring when his hand found his short mop of hair, slowly petting while he quietly read out loud. The way he would make sure he got the last piece of pie when he baked. It was in the soft smile he sometimes gifted him, late at night when their eyes met over Geralt and Jaskier between them. He could feel it in the way he would bring back books from the path, that he thought Eskel would appreciate, something new each year and in the way he let Eskel read them to him, curled up in the main hall in front of the fire, while Geralt and Jaskier were away.
With Geralt, it was different, but Eskel was sure he could see the White Wolfs love too. Whenever Geralt would take care of Roach he made sure to give Scorpion the same treatment. He snuck treats to Lil´ Bleater when he was sure no one else could see him. When Eskel worked in the smithy he would always hand him the tools he needed, often brought back trinkets that could be melted and repurposed or smithing journals from all over the Continent.
Most importantly though, he let Eskel wash and braid his hair, let him rub soft creams over his aching body and smiled openly, not hiding behind his usually broodiness.
Eskel knew that he owed all the chances to Jaskier, who had entered their life like the whirlwind he was, storming, thundering loud and brazen and so full of love it has swapped over his heart and into the Witchers. Jaskier made sure to not only show his adoration but to tell them, as much as he could without them hiding and running and over the last two years it had gotten easier to accept the words for truth.
He had given up to ever feel like this again, to have a deep happiness rooted in his bones, the warmth of love spreading trough him whenever he thought of the others. He wanted to tell them, he needed to tell them how much he loved them as soon as everyone was at Kaer Morhen and had let their guard down. Maybe when they were all cuddling up together after exhausting themselves in bed.
Spooning more of the delicious stew into his mouth, Eskel hummed. He set the empty bowl aside and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling, not with absent of sleep but with a deep satisfaction, knowing that his future was bright and full of love and laughter.