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Jaskier found Kaer Morhen to have a certain sense of nostalgia and small-town charm in it. He liked that it was quaint but at the same time he was always getting lost in the maze of the halls. He adored the idea of a sacred home for witchers as well, yet they also invited a few select outsiders. Jaskier thought they deserved something to be treasured. Some of them didn’t think so, but Jaskier would get it through their brains one day that they did.
Jaskier traveled around the keep in his spare time. He knew that witchers were sensitive, so he didn’t play his lute that much. He didn’t want to be driven out that fast. Triss was still around too, so he was sure that they’d both be kicked out in no time. More specifically, Jaskier would piss off one of them. He only met them briefly, so they didn’t know how crazy he could be.
Jaskier also found himself in the stables when he got tired of looking at the landscape or uncovering the stone wall’s mysteries. More often than not, Eskel would be there too. Jaskier couldn’t help but grin when Lil Bleater was introduced. His grin got wider when Eskel muttered about wanting to bring up another goat so Lil Bleater didn’t get lonely.
However, Jaskier was there to take care of Cherry and not just awe at other animals. The chestnut horse was amazing, even if she was going to drag him to a torture lair just a few days ago. He made sure to sing Cherries and Chestnuts to her every time they met. He couldn’t help but get attached. He only hoped that Ciri wouldn’t take one look at Cherry and claim her.
On the fifth night Jaskier was in Kaer Morhen, a knock resounded through the keep. Jaskier, who was only awake for a late-night snack and already dressed in nightwear aside from his boots, was surprised to hear someone entering at such a late time. He stood in a slightly anxious wait but was also hoping it would be who he thought it was.
Geralt was not as casual as Coën was. Coën didn’t run, for one, he just upped his walking pace. Geralt, on the other hand, caught one whiff of Jaskier’s familiar scent and happiness, then he was off. His steps resounded in the halls as Lambert was left behind to close the door all alone with Roach standing still next to him.
Geralt looked incredibly shocked, more so than any other being Jaskier had ever seen. Vesemir, who was nursing a cup of spirit, simply shook his head as the rest of the witchers gave one another looks. Eskel whispered about “More? How?” as Triss seemed to bask in the drama.
Geralt still had snow on his shoulders that were defrosting steadily in the newly warmed keep. He didn’t seem to care about that as he crushed Jaskier into a hug. Jaskier was slightly shocked to actually see Geralt, especially since Jaskier remembered saying goodbye to the witcher until spring just a few days ago. Jaskier sunk his hands into Geralt’s gruff shoulders as Geralt breathed in Jaskier’s scent.
They parted and Geralt looked at Jaskier in confusion, but his happiness shone through the surprise radiated off of him. “Jaskier,” he greeted in a gruff, burly voice.
“Geralt,” mimicked Jaskier. “You took your fair time.”
Geralt huffed as he led Jaskier to sit down. Vesemir quickly passed him a bottle of spirit, to which Geralt accepted and gulped down. Jaskier supposed that was a normal reaction for Geralt, as none of his fellow witchers questioned or awed at Geralt’s drinking skills. Instead, Coën tossed Geralt another bottle.
Triss said, “Nice to see you without an injury.” Geralt set the half-empty bottle down and shot her a look. Triss merely smiled as she poured herself a drink out of a wine bottle.
Lambert entered as he muttered about the cold. He sat down in between Coën and Eskel before he grabbed for a spirit jug. Jaskier couldn’t believe he almost fell asleep. He would have missed out on his first chance at seeing witchers drunks. In particular, seeing Geralt drunk for the first time. No matter how much ale Jaskier would order for the White Wolf, the man would barely even seem tipsy.
Lambert decided to ask, “Bard, how do you know all of us?” He then pointed at Geralt. “He’s a fucking loner. What did you do, save him from certain death?” Eskel and Coën chose that moment to look down to their drinks.
Jaskier bristled, ready to launch into the story about their meeting in Posada, when Geralt simply went, “Hmm.” Jaskier looked at him with a wide grin. No one at the table found it odd. That meant Geralt always hmmed– that it wasn’t a Jaskier thing.
Vesemir chose to speak up and say, “They met on a devil’s quest, did they not?”
“Devils don’t exist,” scoffed Lambert.
Eskel paused. A look of realization crossed his face. “You’re the bard.” Lambert shot him a look. “You’re the bard,” he repeated. Eskel looked like something terribly frightening occurred in front of him. Lambert still had no idea what was going on.
Triss hummed. She asked nonchalantly, “Did you really write a song about Queen Calanthe murdering joy? Yennefer really liked that one. Said it was a good piece standing up for elves.”
Jaskier beamed at Triss for knowing his work while Vesemir sputtered into a laugh. The younger witchers didn’t seem to know what to do about the eldest laughing. Jaskier did, however.
Jaskier pointed his finger at Vesemir. “You don’t get to laugh at me, prick.” Geralt froze for a moment in the still silence, afraid he’d have to defend Jaskier from his father figure, but relaxed when he saw that Vesemir didn’t seem angry at all. “Hey!” Jaskier seemed to pick up on Vesemir’s happiness too.
“You really need to tone it down, Jaskier,” said Vesemir, his tone light and fluffy. “Your mother wouldn’t be happy to hear those songs.”
Jaskier puffed out his chest. “She already knows, I’ve sung them for her. She even smiled a bit.” That caused Vesemir’s lips to twitch. “Ha! You think it too, don’t you. You know how the Queen sucks the joy out of life.”
“I haven’t met with Calanthe for two decades. She may have changed.”
Jaskier instantly remarked, “She didn’t.”
Triss murmured, “You have a thing against the Queen of Cintra? Really?” She thought humans adored Cintra for its hate against everything non-human. Though, she supposed that Jaskier was friends with witchers.
Geralt chose that moment to comment, “You’ve always hated Cintra.” Eskel nodded his head at that. He remembered when the bard wouldn’t cross the border when they first met.
“You're as petty as ever, I see,” commented Vesemir.
Jaskier stole a wine bottle from the table. He twisted the cork off and glugged some of it back before starting his rebuttal. “You do not get to stay that to me, Vesemir, oh mighty witcher of the keep. You are a horrible– horribly mean man.”
Geralt didn’t have time to process that Jaskier was insulting his mentor, as the said mentor told Jaskier, “I was doing a job, kid. Your mother was paying a high price.”
“You kidnapped me!” accused Jaskier, his voice high and ranting. Geralt chose to gulp down more spirit. He knew that tone.
“Kidnap?” murmured Eskel.
Vesemir rolled his shoulders. “I did not kidnap you, Jaskier,” he said. “You ran away from home at 10-fucking-years-old. Your parents thought you were going to get yourself killed.”
“I was a smart, cunning child,” argued Jaskier.
Vesemir paused. He gave a bow of his head. “I’ll give you that. You made it all the way to Sodden before I found you.” He seemed to praise Jaskier. “You would have been alright if you weren’t so naive.”
“I was not naive–”
“You didn’t even know what mages were– what magic was.”
“I… alright. I can see why that could be troubling.”
Vesemir shook his head at Jaskier’s antics.
Lambert finally chose to speak out and say, “So you two also know one another. Am I the only one who hasn’t met the fucking bard?” Triss raised her hand. “Not you, Merigold.”
Coën offered up, “If it’s any consolation to you, I was unconscious at the time– near death. The bard patched me up.” Eskel and Coën exchanged a look of comradery between themselves.
Geralt grunted. Jaskier tilted his head towards his traveling companion. It seemed the witcher easily accepted that Jaskier knew a whole bunch of people. Geralt said, “You’re always finding trouble.”
“I am not!” Jaskier received a doubtful look. “Trouble finds me. I don’t seek it out.”
“You start fights all of the time, Jask.”
“Yeah, well, people are assholes.”
Geralt huffed. He could tell Jaskier was getting drunker with every passing minute. He didn’t want to deal with a drunk, stumbling, and appreciative bard on his first night in from the cold trek up the mountain that would compliment every little thing. Jaskier had already slackened his grip on the wine bottle and started to get that glint in his eye– the one that got them kicked out of taverns.
Geralt murmured, “I’ll get him to bed.” He started to rise but was stopped by Vesemir.
“I can do it,” said the elder. “Enjoy a night with your brethren. I should be turning in for the night as well.” He stood up and tapped on Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier groaned about whoresons before Vesemir took him by the ear.
As they arrived to Jaskier’s room, Vesemir rang in with, “Are you staying here for the winter?” He plopped the bard onto the bed, who simply let out a whine.
Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the eldest in the keep from his bed as if he was threatened. He demanded in a tipsy slur, "What?"
"Winter plans," repeated Vesemir
Jaskier deflated vibrantly. “No, I can’t stay. I really, really want to, but I already sent word to Oxenfurt that I’d teach for the winter. I can’t go back on my word. My reputation is your representation.” He tried again, “Repetition…. something. It’ll look bad, you know? I don’t want to make my friends look bad.”
“You could get a letter there tomorrow – or tonight – if you want to stay. I don’t think they’ll fight about you sticking around. You grow on people easily, boy, when you’re given the chance.”
Jaskier mumbled about his good looks and radiant charm as he nuzzled into the fur skin on the bed. Vesemir took one last look at the human bard before leaving. He passed by the hall to hear a horrible, mocking rendition of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher sung by drunk witchers. He also heard Triss’s hearty laugh. Vesemir turned in for the night but kept his ears listening.
Vesemir was greeted in the morning to find Triss sending a kestrel out in the snow. The kestrel moved swiftly through the air and disappeared from sight. The snow didn’t seem to deter it at all.
“A letter?” asked Vesemir, though he already knew.
Triss replied softly, “It seems Oxenfurt will be down one very valued and adored professor for the winter term.”
Vesemir smiled and listened. He heard Jaskier singing a song to Roach and Cherry about their majesticness. In the training yard, Geralt, Coën, Lambert, and Eskel were sparring. He wondered how long the peace would last in the keep.
He then heard Jaskier say to Roach, “Why does Geralt have to look so damn handsome?”
Vesemir supposed peace was never meant to last for long.
—
Kaer Morhen was insanely cold, Jaskier learned, if there wasn’t a fire going. The hot springs almost made up for the fact that every other room in the keep was freezing. The human put on his cloak in hopes of staying warm. His thick, wool socks almost needed accompaniment of his boots, but Jaskier vowed not to wear them. He saw the looks Vesemir gave him. The old man was just waiting to give Jaskier a reason to go spar with the witchers.
Most days, Jaskier found himself hanging around Triss. The mage was a lot kinder than Yennefer, though that was probably why he didn’t know how to act around her. Jaskier could respond to insults and jibes, but he had trouble understanding pleasant people that did things just because they could. Geralt had a heart of gold, but Jaskier understood the man to his core. Triss, however, was a mystery other than she was kind.
If he wasn’t with Triss, he was in the library. Jaskier loved the idea of reading information that not even shit-old professors had never come across at Oxenfurt. Jaskier didn’t like the library due to Vesemir always being there. The eldest witcher seemed to know that, though, and would make sure to leave the library empty after lunch so Jaskier could read to his heart’s content.
Today, both Triss and Jaskier were exploring the keep. Triss knew her way around better, but she admitted that many of the storage areas she never had the time to explore. She planned to stick around for the winter, happy with the chance to get away from the Brotherhood. That’s how they ended up in a dusty, smelly storage room.
Jaskier opened up a wooden crate to reveal a cloud of dust. He spat out whatever had entered his mouth and tried to air it away from him by waving his hand, which only made it worse. Triss looked on with amusement. It boggled her how young people got through the day without dying.
Then, Jaskier made a happy noise. Out of the crate, he pulled out a handheld mirror. It appeared to be made out of iron. He gripped it gently as he cleared off the mirror’s surface, which had a thick layer of dust on it. Once the grime was brushed off, Jaskier grinned at his reflection. He turned it to Triss, who shook her head before turning back to a stack of small, worn-out boots.
Jaskier set the mirror on top of a drawer to keep it safe, then continued on through the crate. He pulled out an old glass perfume bottle, a set of gloves that once looked nice but were no longer suitable for use, and a large book that appeared to not be worn out. He shut the crate so he had a make-shift desk to use as he opened it.
Sitting on the floor, Jaskier read the cover of it aloud, “Bestiary of the Forgotten.” He opened it to reveal the drawing of a man holding two swords, the glint of a wolf medallion around his neck. Jaskier let out a small, pained sound. It seemed that in the book, witchers were considered animals.
He opened it to the table of contents. The list was long, the handwritten text changing as the list got longer. Jaskier suspected it was a passed down book that categorized when witchers succeeded the trials or died later on the Path. He flipped through the pages carefully, using the gloves from the crate in hopes of not damaging the paper, though none of them meant anything to him.
Then, he was near the end. Lambert popped up, a simplistic drawing of him followed by his name, listing the reason of how he became a witcher(Law of Surprise), two checkmarks that were labeled as “mutagens” and “trials,” and a blank line. Jaskier flipped the page back. The blank line, he learned, was where a person would fill out if the witcher was dead.
Jaskier carefully found his way back. He eventually uncovered a page listed as Eskel, though the drawing was without a scar, then he found Geralt. The drawing revealed a boy with dark hair, which didn’t make much sense to Jaskier. Upon inspection of the page, he noticed that Geralt had 3 checkmarks. One for passing the trials, one for taking to the mutagens, and another right next to the mutagens. He padded through the other witcher biographies, finding nothing of it happening again.
Jaskier carefully tucked the book away. He knew that Vesemir must have been updating it in secret. A person next to Eskel and Geralt’s profile was marked as deceased. The bard pushed the crate back into its spot and turned to the rest of the room. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.
Triss, from the corner, awed at something in her hand. Jaskier turned to see a bottle containing a ruby red substance. Triss corked it open, breathing it in happily. She explained, “Grapefruit oil. It was my favorite back in the day.” She tucked it back into the box. “It’s not safe to use anymore, but the smell– it’s divine.”
Eventually, Jaskier found himself in his room. He couldn’t get the Bestiary of the Forgotten out of his head. Surely they didn’t think of themselves as animals anymore. He rolled onto his stomach, letting his face breathe in the bear fur skin he laid on. He then rolled to his side. He stared at the stone wall.
Geralt knew something was up, Jaskier could tell. So, the bard put on a great performance. He made sure to look chipper and be as charming as possible at dinner. Jaskier knew they could smell his emotions, but he was trying for domesticity. He didn’t want to pry into their lives even if he wanted answers. He was in Kaer Morhen on the off chance that Eskel came across him. He couldn’t be rude or non-respectable.
Then, Vesemir had to try to be the hero. The old witcher was getting on Jaskier’s nerves. Jaskier liked the man– he cared for Geralt in ways the human would never understand. Jaskier treasured that Geralt felt safe in Kaer Morhen thanks to Vesemir’s work. However, Vesemir could be irritating with his wiseness and ability to problem solve.
So, on a day after lunch in the library, he sauntered in the way only people with true power could. Vesemir didn’t even pretend to be inside the room for a different reason. He sat down directly in front of Jaskier and gave him a stern expression.
“What’s eating at you?” asked the witcher.
Jaskier paused, momentarily wondering if this is the hill he died on. He decided to act as the idiot, “Whatever do you mean, Vesemir?”
He snapped, “Why are you radiating waves of concern?”
“I am not– okay, so I am. But!” Jaskier pointed his finger up. “That’s very rude to ask so bluntly, dear. I demand a nicer greeting. How are you, Vesemir? ‘I’m fine. You?’ Oh, I’m just fine too, thanks.”
Vesemir stared. Jaskier stared back.
The witcher grounded out, “You’re making everyone nervous– even the sorceress. She can tell the boys are feeling antsy. Tell me what’s bothering you so I can fix it.”
Jaskier bit his lip. Would it be that easy? He truly didn’t want to pry into things he didn’t deserve to know. One day, the witchers would reveal the information maybe, but not yet. So, Jaskier lied.
“I just… I guess it’s weird being in one place.” It wasn’t even that much of a lie. Jaskier just wasn’t telling Vesemir what had made him so odd as of late. “I also haven’t been around so many strong, beautiful beings, if you must know. I had run into Yennefer and the other witchers before, but having so many specimen in my view all at once–”
“That’s not it,” said Vesemir. Jaskier noted that the man looked incredibly broody. “You’re extremely worried about something– it’s as if you’ve done something wrong.”
Jaskier couldn’t take it anymore. He gasped out, “I found the Bestiary of the Forgotten.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So, uhm, I just…”
“Yeah.” Vesemir looked like he needed a drink. He settled for leaning back in his chair. “I can see why that’s distressing. It records things about the trials that no human should know–”
“Why is there an extra checkmark on Geralt’s profile?” he blurted.
Vesemir froze. It was the first time Jaskier had ever seen the man looking worried. Eventually, the old wolf said, “You already know, if you’re asking.”
And Jaskier did. It was an obvious conclusion once you remember how people loved their experiments back in the day. Another round of mutagens wasn’t anything to laugh at, but it wasn’t out of the box. The bard sucked in a thin breath as he deflated. He looked down at the old, creaky table his stack of books of recorded journals of monsters witchers encountered were stacked on.
All he could ask was, “Why?”
Vesemir flickered his golden eyes around. He gave Jaskier a good, long stare before he answered, “Why not? They had nothing to lose. Boys were already expected to die. One more wasn’t going to stop them.”
“When do witchers get put into the book?”
“After their successful round of mutagens.”
Jaskier frowned. “So Geralt didn’t start off with white hair.” Vesemir’s silence was the answer. Jaskier found himself running his fingers through his hair. “Is he okay?” he managed to ask. “Like, are his senses even more sensitive than I thought? Should I stop playing and singing around him? Are my oils too strong–”
“If Geralt hasn’t complained or done something about it, you’re fine.”
“How would you know–”
“Jaskier,” barked Vesemir, “he would let you know if you were a true annoyance. He wouldn’t let you follow him around for 7 years.”
Jaskier couldn’t argue that. He turned down to the book on the table. The journal entry spoke of coming across a siren. He couldn’t focus on the words, though, as they swirled. He turned back to Vesemir.
Jaskier asked, “Does Geralt think I’m mad at him?”
Vesemir would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t dignified. He responded, “The pup’s just worried about you. He thinks you’re homesick– tired of the keep and all. He knows you like adventure. Hell, you’ve seen all of them running around and sparring. They get antsy too, but they’ve never had a human in here like you.”
“I guess I am homesick,” admitted Jaskier. “I also do feel a bit stuck here. But I also want to… experience this with Geralt. Kaer Morhen means a lot to him. I can’t just leave because I feel a bit lost.”
Vesemir sighed. “Alright. If you do want to leave, Triss can portal you. Don’t worry about appearances. Geralt wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.” The old witcher then left Jaskier alone in the library.
The bard stewed over the said words. Vesemir implied that Geralt cared about him, and Jaskier knew that, but it was said in a way… He had to cut himself off. He couldn’t screw up his friendship.
A few days later, Geralt had noticed that Jaskier’s happy-smelling scent returned. It felt like a pressure was lifted from his chest. Geralt knew the other witchers also noticed the change in the bard, and it seemed with Jaskier back to normal, everything became less tense.
And then Geralt saw Jaskier on the top of Kaer Morhen. The witcher rushed up the steps in order to get the human back into the warm keep. Geralt felt panicked as he reached the top to see the bard humming as he overlooked the scenery.
“Jaskier,” he rasped.
The bard turned to him, a surprised yet happy expression crossed his face. “Geralt! It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Jaskier looked up to the sky. It was a twilight-purple. Geralt hummed in confirmation. The bard continued as he took Geralt’s arm into his, “I wish I could save it in order to look at it forever.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier grinned, glancing back at the witcher. “What are you doing up here, Geralt? I thought you were sparring with the others.”
“I saw you were here–”
“A-ha! You wanted to keep me company. Well, my dear Witcher, I am always looking for your company if you’ll let me.” Jaskier turned them both to the snow-covered trees. “This really is the best spot to look out at the world.”
Geralt hummed again. He was used to how it looked. Instead of the sky or the mountains, he found his gaze swooped in on Jaskier. The human had his cloak tucked in securely, his boots thick with wool socks, and a hat on that Eskel knitted when it turned out too big for Lil Bleater. The bard looked absolutely ridiculous, yet Geralt couldn’t help but feel content.
“It’s almost spring,” reminded Geralt.
Jaskier bobbed his head. “It’s almost time to hit the road again. I think we should meet up with Yennefer. She wrote to me about an odd town that’s frozen in time. The reward for getting them out of the time loop-thing is very large. I’m sure if we team up we’ll solve it in no time.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier tilted his head to look at Geralt. “Are you alright, darling? You’re being a bit quiet. Is it because I mentioned Yennefer? I promise she’s not looking to keep any Djinns powers anymore–”
Geralt leaned down. Jaskier had to tell himself he wasn’t dreaming. They were kissing, he knew, but it felt unreal. Geralt’s lips were soft and not chapped like Jaskier had previously thought.
Geralt broke away, a small smug look on his face. Jaskier just stood in silence.
“Cat got your tongue?” teased the witcher.
“You!” Jaskier exclaimed. “You! You cannot– it was supposed to be romantic, you bastard. We’re supposed to pine for another 10 years and maybe nothing would pan out and I’d write a rock ballad about how awful you were–”
Geralt smiled, pure and wide. Jaskier froze. He had never seen the White Wolf smile like that before. Jaskier had a thousand questions at the tip of his tongue, but for once the poet was silent. Maybe he didn’t need to talk and maybe they weren’t just friends. All thoughts left his mind as Geralt leaned in once more.