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Jaskier was, once again, messing with things he shouldn’t have. He was bored, okay? Kaer Morhen was a great, snug, lovely place but it was also incredibly boring. He could only visit the stables and watch the witchers spar for so long. There was a reason why he liked when Triss stayed at the keep the first year he was there. Triss offered him company as he investigated things in old, forgotten storage places and cupboards. Aside from the random prank or song lesson, there wasn’t much for the bard to do.
So, like any sensible, logic-thinking person, Jaskier decided to mess in the laboratory. Look, okay, so it wasn’t his wisest decision but he was trying to be helpful. He had all of the ingredients sorted out along with the recipes for some of the potions that the witchers always carried with them.
Jaskier nodded as he read through a passage, his finger tracing and check-marking that he had everything right before continuing. He learned from Triss before she left for a job, that some potions don’t require magic. Jaskier obviously hopped onto the train. He was yearning to do something, and if that meant making the weird-ass looking potions that shimmered, sparkled, and smelt like death, then he was going to at least try.
Some may say that he, bard extraordinaire, had no experience with making things such as potions, and they’d be right. However, Jaskier was very adept at following books and words. Spoken instructions, such as Geralt telling him to follow the witcher onto a hunt, were ignored and simply a waste of breath. Written instructions and scripts were easy for Jaskier, though there had been times where he flat-out ignored or pretended to not understand a sentence or two before.
He breathed in his try at a Swallow potion. The color looked good, so he was going to step two: smell. His nose crunched up immediately at being in near contact with it, so he counted it as good. His nostrils burned, so it must be toxic enough.
Next, he did a taste test. He shook the potion up then took the cork off. From the cork, he licked it. It was just a drop, but the Geralt in Jaskier’s head was telling him to not taste it, but the bard never listened to any version of Geralt. The potion was perfect– it tasted like rotted meat and moldy bread.
Happy, Jaskier finished pouring the Swallow potions into the bottles. He had a whole array of the speckled sky potions. They were quite magnificent-looking. They shimmered in the candlelight.
He hummed to himself as he prepared the next batch, then the next and the next. He had quite a nice afternoon of messing in the laboratory. The counter was filled with full bottles of all colors and gradients. He was quite proud of his feat, but knew that he could have messed up so he made sure that any ingredient he used had leftovers.
Jaskier noticed that the sun was still out, so dinner wouldn’t be ready. He grinned to himself and turned to a different book in the laboratory. Oils weren’t used often by witchers, but they helped defeat monsters quicker and faster than if they used their silver sword against it. Jaskier knew that Geralt didn’t carry much of the oils around, simply because he rather have Swallow, Kiss, and Cat in order to fight and recover easier.
Jaskier learned that the oils were fairly simple compared to the potions. Oils were a mixture of slapping a few things together, bringing them to a boil, and waiting until a weird-colored smoke erupted. Then, the bard would bottle the oil and call it a day.
Specter Oil and Vampire Oil were the most common that Jaskier had seen Geralt use, though Necrophage Oil was always on him. The White Wolf didn’t tend to use Necrophage Oil, though, for a silver sword did the job without the need of using it.
By the time Jaskier looked out to see the sun had set, he was frankly exhausted. He didn’t realize how focused a person had to be on potions and oils. He wiped his forehead before putting the leftover ingredients away. He then put the books back onto their small shelf. He grinned at the table of his hard work. He fucking rocked it today, he congratulated himself for the work he did.
Vesemir chose that moment to walk inside. The old witcher’s eyes widened at the slew of bottles filled with varying colors.
“Vesemir!” greeted Jaskier, showing off a grin. “How are you? Is the stew ready?”
Vesemir didn’t look at the bard. He stared at the table that was cleared off to fit all of the potions and oils. “Jaskier,” he said, deep yet soft.
“Yes?”
“What did you do?”
Jaskier squinted his eyes as he leaned against one of the laboratory tables. “I made the potions. You witchers are training harder, so you obviously think spring is just around the corner.”
“You…” Vesemir picked up one of the Swallow potions. “Did you make these all today?”
“Uh… yes.”
Vesemir took the cork off. He hesitantly put the bottle to his nose. He backed it away with an amused smile plastered on his face. He put the cork back on, then swirled the potions around up to a flame of a candle. He gave a happy, pleasant hum which made Jaskier’s heart soar.
“You did good,” said Vesemir, his tone covered in surprise. “Did Triss tell you how to make them? I suppose one of my boys could have walked her though it before.”
“Oh, uh, actually, uhm, the books. They were detailed enough that I could follow them.”
Vesemir inspected the bottles. Jaskier awkwardly doodled some notes on a few loose pages. Vesemir did his work quietly with efficiency. Jaskier tried to not stare at the witcher too much. He was on good terms with everyone so far, so he couldn’t mess that up.
Jaskier was mid-doodle of a chicken-snake creature that he remembered Geralt talking about once upon a time, when Vesemir startled him by laughing.
“... Why are you laughing?” Jaskier whispered, sincerely concerned about the whole affair.
Vesemir wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Boy, you surprise me every day, it feels like it.” He looked so incredibly happy and proud. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with that kind of gaze directed on him. “You did good, kid. As far as I can tell, everything checks out.”
Jaskier felt himself preen at the praise. “So it’s okay that I made them…?”
“This time, yes.”
Vesemir simply patted the bard on the back and led him out of the laboratory. He said, “Dinner is ready, though the pups probably started without us. They had a long day of training, as you said. Spring is just around the corner, meaning they’re about to leave for the Path.”
Jaskier bobbed his head as they went through the halls and down the stairs. “Is there anything else I can do to help prepare for spring? I’m bored out of my mind, if you couldn’t tell. You’re all busy getting training in while I try to keep myself busy.”
“I can’t think of anything, but I’ll keep my mind open.” Vesemir hummed as they passed by the library. “The library’s always open if you’re that lost for something to do.”
“The rest of what I haven’t read of the library is hate-filled journals about witchers. I’m not going to read the bullshit.”
Vesemir gave an understanding nod. “I believe that some words and scripts are a need to read. I had all my boys read those books so they would understand what was out there waiting for them.”
“One day there won’t be that hate around,” swore Jaskier.
Too focused on the words in his head to notice that he had reached a bump in the stairs that he almost always tripped on. Jaskier slid down the rest of the stairs at a heart-thumping pace of anxiety as he tried to catch himself. He could hear Vesemir chuckling as he caught his breath from his near-death experience.
“You suck!” announced the bard as he gripped the stone like a vice.
Vesemir passed him with a beat in his step. “You should be more aware of your surroundings, boy.”
They reached the Great Hall soon after. Jaskier quickly joined the table, excited to see his witchers but also to get away from the oldest one. Vesemir sat down a little slower, clearly amused. They got their bowls of stew and began to talk with the group like everything was just fine, and well, that was because it was just fine. Nothing had gone wrong today like Jaskier thought it might have.