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Chapter Text

Geralt swears he only looked away from Jaskier for a moment, but somehow he’s already lost his bard; and they’ve been in the town marketplace for less than 10 minutes. This is why, he always tells Jaskier, he prefers to do the shopping alone. “Jask, if you get us into any trouble…” he grumbles under his breath. He can’t even catch a single whiff of Jaskier’s incredibly unique perfume (he has it crafted specifically for himself; some Bogus about his body’s natural chemical reactions. It is supposed to smell better on him than it will on anyone else… Geralt doesn’t Necessarily disagree. Much.) Huffing in exasperation, Geralt turns back to his shopping list, and skims it for the next-nearest stall. And yes, the list is Important (how else is he going to keep Jaskier from sneaking purchases they don’t need; if it’s Not on The List they don’t need it).

As he scans the surrounding hubbub for his wayward bard, he makes momentary eye-contact with a little tot. She can’t be more than a summer or two old, still young enough to be riding on her mother’s back in a sling. The second she realizes Geralt has noticed her, she grins and waves at him, dropping her soft rag doll to the ground as she does. Instantly her face transforms, making the same watery-eyed-wobbly-lipped face Jaskier makes before he tosses a fit. Eager to keep her from wailing, and to protect his poor ears from the onslaught, Geralt swoops in to retrieve the dolly. The babe accepts her toy with a gummy grin, and promptly drops it once more. Again, Geralt scoops the toy up and moves to hand it back to her. This time, her mother moves on before he can reach them. So, naturally, he follows after them.

Delighted, the tot tosses her toy away from herself, secure in the knowledge that her newest friend will bring it back for her. Which he does. Over and over and over again. Silently, he follows them around the marketplace retrieving her dolly each time she throws it down.

This is the Greatest Game! Such Fun she is having! A new Friend to Play with her!

The next time the babe drops her doll, Geralt retrieves it, then rumbles and sneezes playfully at her when he hands it back; the same way he does when he and Jaskier play-wrestle for the last bite of food or the right to be Big Spoon when sharing a bed (or bed roll, on those cooler nights). She takes the doll with a bright giggle and another grin, squirming happily. This squirm-about is what eventually draws her mother’s attention.

She whirls around to face the Witcher with wide (nearly frightened) eyes. Geralt sheepishly ducks his head, glancing up at her, waiting to be reprimanded. Her eyesight flicks momentarily over his shoulder, then she meets his eyes again. He watches, almost fascinated, as she forces herself to relax. Then, she smiles at him, a tad awkwardly. “Hello, Sir Witcher. My name is Corinne. And this little lady is Karína.”

“Hello. Geralt.” He manages to say in reply. Social interaction has never been his strong suit. The next smile Corinne gifts him is much kinder, and more sincere.

“Thank you, Geralt, for keeping Karína occupied while I shop.” A light pink flush steals across her cheeks when Geralt allows himself a smile back at her. Not a moment later, Jaskier is crashing into his side with an exuberant greeting.

“Why hello, there!” The bard sweeps into a playful bow. “Geralt, who is your new friend?”

“This is Corinne. And Karína… and her dolly.” He can see Jaskier’s proud grin from the corner of his eye, and nearly glares at him. The only thing stopping him is his fear of scaring the baby, still staring closely at him. The second his eyes are back on Karína, she shrieks excitedly and throws her dolly to the ground, trying to start her new favorite game all over again. Geralt stoops down and retrieves the soft rag doll one last time, handing it over with another playful rumble. Karína gifts him with yet another bright laugh and a gummy, toothless grin. Geralt can’t fight down his smile in return, a small ball of golden warmth curling around his heart.

Fearlessly, Karína reaches out and pats his sun-roughed face. “Good Puppy,” she tells him, very seriously. Corinne nearly stuffs her fist in her mouth, trying to disguise her laughter. Jaskier makes no polite moves to hide his delight.

“No.” Geralt growls at the bard. He Knows what Jaksier wants. He can tell, just in the way he’s practically vibrating in excitement. “Jaskier. No.”

Unfortunately, the bard is already dancing and ducking away from his reach, humming melodies and mumbling lyrics. Geralt is left with nothing to do but chase his bard along, making (purposely missed) lunges for him as they go. After all, it’s no fun if he catches his friend too soon.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jaskier has lost his Witcher. Again. He is only Three More Incidents away from buying a Lead to tie to the back of his armor. Oh sure, Geralt will claim it’s his fault, as always, but Jaskier knows The Truth. And the Truth of the matter is this; his Witcher has probably gone off to hide in some quiet, shadowy corner. So now, Jaskier has to track down the poor oaf, And finish the shopping while he’s at it. And no, he doesn’t need Geralt’s Stupid List to do it. He shops with his Heart, his Heart will know what they need.

Purely by chance, Jaskier spies a shock of White hair atop a well-muscled figure, and grins to himself. Time to play his All Time Favorite Game; How Close Can He Get Before Geralt Notices. As he sneaks his way over, he freezes as Geralt, usually Incredibly Antisocial, picks up a little doll and hands it back to the girl that dropped it. Quickly, he dashes behind the nearest stall before his subsonic squeak of unadulterated joy can catch the Witcher’s attention. Incandescent with excitement, he follows from a safe distance, watching as Geralt plays Fetch with this darling little baby.

He nearly flinches when the mother spins around to catch Geralt in the act of returning the doll. Acting on instinct he frantically waves to get her attention. If she has a bad reaction, this could set back Geralt’s slow foray into social interaction by months if not Years. He flashes her his Absolute Best Pleading Face, and sighs, nearly sagging in relief when she Smiles at the giant man instead.

He hurries over to join the conversation, arriving just in time to watch the newly introduced Karína pat Geralt’s face. Jaksier can physically feel his heart melting at the scene.

This Has to be his next work of art! It simply Must be shared with the whole Continent!

Moving on instinct he ducks around Geralt’s reaching arms to scamper back to their room. He needs his Notebook! And ink! So many Ideas!

He is not unaware of Geralt following behind him. He is also well aware of the fact that if Geralt Really Wanted to catch him, he’d already be caught. No matter, that’s what makes it Fun.

Chapter Text

Over the years, it has become tradition for Geralt and Jaskier to meet up with one of Geralt’s brothers on their way to Kaer Mohren. Sometimes both of them at once, but most often it was Lambert and his companion Aiden. Today is one such meet up, and Jaskier is loving it. His newest ballad is doing extremely well, and it’s given him some more new ideas. If Geralt’s Game (also called Pup’s Game, if he’s performing in Geralt’s company) is making people see the oft-ignored softer side of his Dearest friend, what Else can he turn into a song benefiting Witchers?

Glancing across the table he witnesses Lambert blinking slowly at Aiden. Aiden blinks slowly back and both Witchers grin. He tips his head to the side curiously (a habit he’s picked up from the Wolves of Kaer Mohren) but says nothing. Yet. Geralt is also watching his brother closely, and tosses a glance of his own to Jaskier. “Okay, why do you keep doing That?” He finally bursts out.

Lambert hums, even as he slowly blinks once more, at Jaskier this time. “That! The Slow-blinks thing!” The bard points, nearly leaping across the table. Now, Aiden is looking amused as well as Lambert’s ears flush dark pink and his eyes dart about for any excuse.

“That’s a Cat Witcher thing. We slow blink to show deep trust and affection.” Aiden explains, playfully smirking. “He’s saying he trusts you, or anyone else he blinks at like that.” Jaskier very nearly coos. That is so Sweet!

“Aw, Lamby!!!” He reaches across the table to catch Lambert’s wrist before he can escape. “I’m Honored to have your trust. Truthfully, I really am.” He states seriously. “It means So Much to me, to know it.” Then, making sure Lambert is still making eye contact, he Slow Blinks for the surly redhead. Then the Bard repeats the process for Aiden, and again for Geralt (Geralt Also gets a Flirty Wink, but that is neither here nor there). He’s utterly delighted to get slow blinks in return. “Oohhhh, this is giving me a New Idea!” He scrambles for his journal and quill.

“New Idea?” Aiden questions, watching him closely now.

“Oh yes, Dear Heart.” He hardly looks up, already scribbling along. “An absolutely Gorgeous Love Ballad is in the works!!” Then he pauses and looks up at the Cat Witcher. “As long as you don’t mind, that is.” Aiden seems to consider the possibility very carefully, but he nods in acquiescence. “Splendid!” He returns to his scrawling.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Months later, the following Summer, Aiden has mostly forgotten about the Bard’s promise. He has just completed a contract and received his payment (and he Wasn’t shorted any pay this time) and now he’s poking through the shopping stands along the town market, searching for some new, stronger threads to repair his leather armor.

He feels a pair of eyes following him, which isn’t unusual, but when he looks up it appears to be only a young girl; which Is unusual. She only looks to be 10 seasons at the oldest, and once he looks up to catch her gaze she freezes. Then, she slowly blinks at him.

Aiden’s heart lurches in his chest. Does she Know what that means? But, even as he watches, she does it again, a little more exaggerated this time. Cautiously, but so painfully Hopeful, he slow blinks back to her. And her face Lights up in a shy little gap-toothed grin, before she scampers right up to him. “Hello!”

“…Hello?” Moving slowly he crouched down before her, trying to make himself less intimidating. “My name is Aiden.”

“I’m Liana! Did you REALLY beat a Whole nest of DROWNERS?” She quizzes him excitedly. He nods, almost expecting her to look scared then. But she just bounces in place, grinning. “I Knew you did it all alone! I even told Marron, but he didn’t believe me!”

“LIANA!” an older teen rushes over, grabbing her arm. “I told you not to run off, or Pa would get worried.” He turns to face Aiden, then, and his glance drops down to the Cat Medallion. Shockingly, his face also lights up. “You’re one of them Cat Witchers?”

“Uh, yes?” Aiden glances back and forth between the two of them, just as a tall burly man appears from the crowd. He sighs in relief, his shoulders relaxing from the tense line they’d been in.

“Liana, Marron. What did I say about running off. Sorry ’bout them.” He apologizes earnestly. “I’m sure they’re being a right bother. I’m their Pa, Anders.”

“No bother at all, really.” Aiden assures the family. He watches as Marron tugs on his father’s arm excitedly, pointing to Aiden’s Medallion.

“He’s a Cat Witcher, Pa!”

“Ask him, Ask him!!” Liana cheers. Anders rolls his eyes, but turns to face Aiden, who is more and more confused by the minute.

“Is it true that a Slow Blink means deep trust, affection and such?” Aiden nods, slowly, still caught off guard. Anders’ face splits into a wide grin, and tears bite at his eyes. “My youngest, she don’t speak none, and for the longest time, she would get frustrated when she couldn’t say I Love You, the same way the rest of us could. Now we all Slow Blink, and she’s happier than ever. We’re teaching all the young'uns Sign Talk now, but they still prefer using Slow Blinks for `I Love You’.”

Aiden could feel the little ball of warmth in his chest glow even brighter. “Well, I’m glad she found her way to communicate.” Anders nods at him, and leads his two children away, both of them waving goodbye over their shoulder. Heart full, threads bought, and a Bard to track down, Aiden goes on his way; he has a Bard to hug in thanks, if that Goofy song he wrote over winter (and probably debuted first thing once he and Geralt got back to civilization) was the thing making Cat Witchers, specifically, seem more approachable.

Chapter Text

Being Geralt’s most beloved Traveling companion means he sometimes gets… Protective. And that usually means he has Multiple “backup” Witchers to travel with Jaskier when he can’t do so himself. So, for the next week-and-a-half Jaskier finds himself traveling with Coën, a Witcher from the School of Griffin. It’s different to traveling with Geralt. For one thing, Coën happily shares his stories from The Path, and doesn’t seem to mind when Jaskier… exaggerates them a little bit. As they ride along, Jaskier yelps when Coën nearly Vaults off his horse to scoop something out of the road. He quickly tucks it away in a hip pouch before Jaskier can really get a good look at it, but Jaskier is already Intrigued.

“Coën~,” the Bard coos, shuffling off the large mare they rode on. Brunhilde snorts, meandering off some ways to graze. Jaskier pokes at the Witcher’s hip pouch, trying to find where it opens. “What did you find?”

“Nothing important,” Coën replies, twisting away from Jaskier’s searching hands.

“Important enough that you almost broke Both of our necks to retrieve it.” Huffing, Jaskier follows after Coën, making another swipe for the pouch. Surprisingly, Coën is off-balanced and trips backwards, giving Jaskier all the chance he needs. Coën groans and drops his head back to the ground as Jaskier pulls the pouch away and dances out of reach. “Pyrite?” He twists the glittering geode in the light, and glances at the Griffin. “Not exactly a high resale price,” he points out.

“No. It’s because it Sparkles.” Coën admits bashfully. “Surely you’ve noticed the shiny things on display all around Kaer Mohren? They were all collected by Griffin Witchers. We have a touch of Magpie-Kleptomania.”

“That’s adorable!” Jaskier swoons, gently replacing the Pyrite and handing Coën his pouch back. “There’s nothing wrong with being drawn to sparkly and shiny things. Goddess knows I lose track of my thoughts when I spot a sparkly ring.” As he says this, Jaskier twists one of his slightly-too-large rings off the middle finger of his left hand. It had been a gift from a paramour, trying to entice him to stay. Geralt had maybe-sorta kicked up a fuss about Jaskier keeping it; but it was just So Sparkly!

With great decorum, Jaskier gifts the sparkly ring to Coën, who accepts it with wide eyes and a deep rumble, but not quite a Purr. “In honor of our friendship!” He declares playfully.

“I’ll treasure it For Always,” Coën assures the Bard. He catches the way Jaskier vibrates in excitement and snorts. “And, yes, you have my permission to use this in a Song.” Jaskier squeaks and bounces in place with a clap. “You are an Odd Man,” Coën laughs.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Coën pants and sways in place as the Arch Gryphon finally falls dead. He drops his shattered sword as he wavers to his feet. He’s bleeding sluggishly from various wounds, but he Is standing on his own. With a weary sigh, he kneels next to the great beast to cut off the wing, also removing some of the larger flight feathers from the opposite wing as well. Those he can sell to an apothecary for a small sum, every little coin helps. He drags himself to his feet, stumbling back to his horse and riding for town.

He finds the Alderman rather quickly, and receives full payment (surprisingly), then he immediately sets out for the blacksmith to replace his shattered blade. He’s not paying much attention letting Brunhilde lead the way, leaning heavily on her side. He can feel the first of his shallower cuts healing up, though, and is able to stand steady once more. Walking into the smithery, he breathes in the smell of smelting metals and steam. It’s a homey smell, one that all Witchers are familiar with.

“Ah, Sir Witcher! How may I help you today?” The smith calls over, rather friendly.

“I need a sword, Steel, to replace the one I shattered.” Coën replies, stepping forward with his coin purse. “The longest and heaviest you can manage, if you please.” He adds politely.

“Yes, of course. I have one I just completed this morning, if you’d like to test it.” The smith hands him a beautifully crafted sword. “Ah, you’re a Griffin Witcher.” He says with a smile, spotting Coën‘s medallion. “I have something else for you as well!” He tosses a small jangling sack at the Witcher, who snatches it from the air.

Coën peers inside to find small polished discs of metal. They shine prettily, and have little holes punched through their centers. “What are they?” He asks, pulling one little disc out. It’s hardly bigger than a fingernail, and most of them are of a similar size.

“Just scrap pieces!” The smith explains jovially. “Can’t use ‘em for anything, but we had a Bard come through here not long ago, singing ‘bout the Bird Witchers and their Shiny Collections. Figured giving them to you is better than just tossing ’em out.”

“Thank you kindly,” Coën hums, dropping the disc back into the sackcloth. “This bard, did he have colorful clothes and big Blue eyes?” When the Smithy nods, Coën snorts in amusement. Looks like Jaskier’s song has debuted already.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Igor is an old Witcher, not that he looks like it. His hair is as dark as it was before the trials, a deep brown. He keeps it long, and well maintained, despite the teasing it gets him from his brethren. It’s a matter of pride. And, he figures, if he looks less monstrous he’ll be treated a tad more respectfully.

He’s passing through a little village, not much more than a few houses and a very small Inn. He stops there to see if they’re willing to put him up for the night. It’s no big worry, traveling through the night, but a bed and roof over his head is always appreciated. He startles when he hears the excited shout from a young boy, just on the verge of becoming a man. “You’re a Griffin Witcher!” He cries, scampering over.

Igor nods, kneeling to the boy's level. He’s surprised when the kid thrusts something at him, a nicely sized raven’s feather with a pretty colored glass bead threaded onto the quill. The feather is also braided onto a length of leather cord. It would make for a nice hair ornament. “It’s very creative.” Igor says awkwardly.

“My name’s Lief! I made this, and I want you to have it!” The boy says, brown eyes bright and earnest. “Griffins like shiny things, right?” When Igor nods, Lief grins and gently closes Igor’s hands around the feather-ornament. “It’s for you, then.”

Igor grandly accepts it, with all the pomp and circumstance of a gallant knight, tying it into his hair. His hair only falls to his shoulders, and the feather hangs just past that, but it stands out rather nicely, the bead catching the light and sending rainbow fractals glittering all around. “Thank you, Young Lief. I’ll treasure it always.” He already knows he’s going to spend the whole winter bragging about his new accessory. Coën will be So jealous. A personalized hair ornament far outweighs a bag of Scraps. Which means Igor is Winning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Coën and Igor sit at the table, debating which of them wins the Best Shiny competition. Ever since the Wolves have opened Kaer Mohren to All Witchers, it has become the gathering place for those few remaining from all the schools now. Their numbers dwindle, only 4-5 to a school by now. But Vesemir refuses to let them perform any more trials until they can guarantee it won’t be a death sentence. They’re almost done with pre-trial testing though. Within a decade, they might be able to add to their numbers.

The other schools watch in amusement as they argue. These types of debates can get heated quickly. Right as Igor nearly makes his winning claim, the main doors are flung open and the third and final Griffin waltzes in with a proud grin. “I win this year!” Val decrees, joining them at the table. He gently places a glittery pebble in the center of the table. It’s nearly perfectly round, a light pink-red color, and no bigger than a child’s fist.

“Yeah, right! It’s a rock!” Igor argues. “This was created by a young boy, and willingly gifted to me.” He points to his feather-ornament.

“And it’s very Lovely.” Val agrees. “But this was given to me by a little girl, just learning to walk. Took her first steps to give it to me, in fact.” He boasts, puffing up happily.

“Shut up, there is No Way that happened!” Lambert gasps, shoving his way over to the table. The others all rush over to join them as well, eager to hear the story.

“So it starts like this, I’m just sitting on this fountain, minding my own business…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Valravn is so focused on mending his armor, he doesn’t notice the father-daughter pair until the little girl’s shriek catches his attention. She doesn’t sound in pain or frightened, so he ignores her, at first. He can hear a bit of hushed encouragement, and looks up to see a young father trying to coax his baby to walk, enticing her with a glittering pebble held just out of her reach.

She makes a few swipes for the little stone, and wobbles dangerously, one tiny hand having a death grip on the lip of the fountain, but refuses to move forward. She gives another disappointed shriek when her father keeps the pebble out of reach, and Val smirks fondly. He’s always had a bit of a soft spot for tiny kids. They’re always so resilient. He watches from the corner of his eye when her father sighs and hands over the sparkly prize, giving up the battle trying to out-stubborn his daughter. She coos, and waves it about delightedly, before laying eyes on the Witcher sat a few paces away.

With a determined grunt, she picks her tiny foot up and sets it down a step away. Her father sits up in sudden interest , but she pays him no attention. She is entirely focused on the large man, now watching her with wide purple-red eyes. She lets go of the lip of the fountain to take another unsteady step in his direction, a death grip on her sparkly pebble. Slow wobbly step, after slow wobbly step she makes her way over to the mountain of a man. She trips over her last step, but catches herself against his knee, and gives a delighted shriek of a giggle.

She did it!

Val is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing, staring down at this little tyke clinging to his leg. She stares back at him, with big hazel eyes and a wide gummy grin, the very beginnings of a tooth peaking out of her lower gum. She sets her glittering rock in his lap and tugs at his pants, whining.

“She wants you to pick her up.” The father says softly. Valravn’s head snaps up in his direction, staring at him. “Go ahead,” he nods kindly. With his heart in his throat, Val scoops the little girl up and settles her in his lap. With a happy coo, she leans against his chest and begins to play with his medallion.

“Bird.” She says, pointing to the Griffin, and looking up for confirmation.

“That’s right, Little Lady, a bird.” Val agrees with a playfully exaggerated nod.

“Pretty Bird.” She reaches up to pat his face. The little babe presses her pebble against his heart until he accepts it. Val’s heart stumbles in his chest, and he swallows thickly.

“Thank you,” he whispers, clinging to the pebble. By now, her father has moved to sit next to the Witcher, smiling softly.

“Those were her first unassisted steps, you know? Thank you, for letting her come to you.”

“I haven’t been approached by a kid in a long time. It was my pleasure. Usually parents are rushing to hurry their babies off in the opposite direction, so Thank You, for the experience.” He hums. “My name is Valravn.” He nearly jumps when the father bursts into laughter.

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just…” he catches his breath before explaining, “her name is Valerie.” They both laugh this time, exchanging looks of mirth. “And my name is Eoin. It’s nice to meet you, Valravn.” They shake hands, before looking down at little Valerie, who’s head bobbles as she tries so hard to stay awake. “I should get her home, before she gets grumpy from staying awake too long.” He says, scooping his daughter up. “If you ever happen to pass through this way, you are always welcome to visit. I’m sure Valerie would love to see you again.”

Valravn also stands, unsurprised to find he stands a whole head taller than the younger man. Eoin looks up at him, wide eyed, and flushes a little. Val tips his head to the side with a smirk. “Just Valerie, hm?” Eoin flushed darker, and clears his throat loudly, then scurries off, throwing a few glances over his shoulder as he goes. Val looks down at his little pebble, gently rolling it around his palm. Yeah, he’s Definitely winning Best Shiny this year.

Chapter Text

Geralt has been acting strange lately. Well, stranger than lately. He’s been clingy and openly affectionate, he won’t let Jaskier out of his sight, and he always looks so Heartbroken whenever he thinks Jaskier isn’t looking. But Jaskier is Always watching. Geralt is his very best friend and recently-declared Love of his Life, how can he not be constantly watching? However, he can’t seem to corner Geralt for a talk. The dear Witcher can probably smell it coming, or something. But Jaskier has a plan, and he’s asked Eskel and Lambert to help him. Mostly by distracting Geralt until he has no escape.

It takes nearly three days, but Jaskier manages to catch Geralt alone in the room they share. He looks terrified, but also resigned, as he sits slowly on their bed. “Jaskier,” he greets softly.

“Hello, Darling Wolf,” the bard responds. “What’s been going on these past few weeks, hm?” He sits next to his beloved Witcher and rests his head on Geralt’s shoulder. “You’ve been acting all out of sorts. Is everything okay?” Geralt drags Jaskier into a tight embrace, hiding his face against Jaskier’s neck. Whatever he mumbles is muffled and inaudible, but clearly devastating to him. “Could you repeat that, Love?”

“You’re getting Older.” Geralt states seriously. “And we’ve been traveling together for multiple decades. And I’ve recently learned humans are lucky if they live to be 100,” he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and his voice cracks. “I can’t lose you, Jaskier. I won’t survive such a loss.”

“Oh, Darling, you’ll not be losing me to old age, nor any other Mortal Malady.” He soothes his lover. “I had assumed you already knew, but I suppose this misunderstanding explains things.” Jaskier strokes Geralt’s hair back, bestowing a kiss to his temple. “I’m Three-Quarters Elf, my Dearest Wolf. I’ll not be leaving you behind ever, if I have any say in the matter.”

Geralt Keens in relief, a most heartbroken sound. Jaskier lets him work all his hidden worry and overwhelming relief out, pressing kisses into his silver-white hair. “You d-“ the Witcher coughs and clears his throat. “You don’t smell like an Elf. And your ears are rounded.”

“A Genetic Anomaly, as far as we can tell. Useful for a traveling Bard, however. Much easier without dealing with horrid human prejudices.” Geralt snuffles into his neck, curling as close as he can to his bard, nearly pulling Jaskier into his lap. “Oh, Dearheart, why did you not simply Talk to me? This whole nightmare could have easily been circumvented if you had.”

“S’Hard, finding words. Mutations added Extra Filters I have to work through. Not used to conversation.” He explains carefully. “My brothers can smell my emotions, and read my faces. Didn’t need words, till you.”

“Hm,” Jaksier hums thoughtfully. “That’s something we can practice together then, Darling. After all, we have plenty of time.” Geralt hums back at him, pulling the brunet with him as he lays back. “Oh, nap time is it?” Jaskier asks, already yawning. This is probably his Favorite part of spending winters in Kaer Mohren, dozing a few hours in the late afternoon. Geralt’s brothers (and other various Witchers) may tease them both, calling them Cuddle Dates, but no one disturbs them, leaving them to their intimacy.

Chapter Text

Jaskier picks up a new Travel Buddy on his way to meet up with Geralt. He had a Bardic Competition to play, and Geralt was meant to watch but heard of a small town being aggrieved by a nesting triad of Wyverns. At the time he was closest, so he accepted the job. So, now Jaskier is traveling with a Viper, named Verity. She’s one of two Vipers on the Path left, and one of the youngest Witchers to boot. Thankfully, she’s just as talkative as Jaskier himself, so they never run dry of conversation. Currently, they’ve been following the shoreline along Kerack, heading towards Cidaris, which is where Geralt will meet up with them.

As they walk, Jaskier gestures broadly and he’s almost swept off his feet when Verity grasps his arm. “Careful!” She warns, before kneeling down. She plunges her hand into a squiggly bit of the sand and comes up holding a pale golden sand viper. “Oh, you’re a Beaut, aren’t you?” She coos, gently booping his snout. He flicks his tongue at her, but seems content to dangle in her hands.

“How did you even See that!?” Jaskier demands, hand held over his racing heart.

“Mm, always on the lookout for a sand viper. Burrowing into the sand like that is how they hunt and sleep in the daytime. We’re just lucky he hadn’t covered himself all the way, or he’d be harder to spot. Clever little Noodle, yes you are~” She sing-songs.

“…Noodle?” Jaskier asks slowly. Verity squeaks, turning a bright pink. “You call a dangerous predator a NOODLE?”

“Well, the mean ones, the few that there are, we call Nope Ropes.”

“Ohmygoddess, that’s so freaking Adorable.” Jaskier breathes, cautiously creeping closer to see the sand viper better. “Oh, he does have a rather cute face, doesn’t he?” However, as soon as Jaskier moves the viper flicks his fangs down, rasping warningly.

“Oh, easy, we’ll leave you to rest.” Verity huffs, setting the snake back on the sand. She guides Jaskier around the viper as he begins to shuffle back into the sand. “Snakes get a bad rap, but they’re just animals like any other.” Verity sighs, toeing at the sand. “Vipers get a bad rap too.” She adds, glaring into middle-space.

“Is that sand-burrowing a hunting technique you Witchers also employ?” Jaskier teases gently, hoping to distract her from her melancholy. Verity snorts, shoving at his shoulder with an eye roll. “It’s a Genuine Question!” Jaskier laughs, now skipping ahead. “Inquiring Minds want to know!” Jaskier grins triumphantly when his comment gets Verity to laugh.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ellys groans in relief as he stumbles back to his steed, waiting patiently for him in the shade of a nearby tree. Witcher horses are a wonder, they don’t spook easily, and they’re loyal to a fault. “Good boy, Aspen,” he sighs, climbing up into the saddle. He’s a little sore, but nothing that won’t be fixed with a good meal, hot bath, and a bed to rest in. If he can convince the town to let him stay overnight, that is. Vipers have always been taught to wear their medallions under their armor, keeping them out of sight. Makes for better treatment. He’s glad he got into town early enough that morning that no one had really been awake. Maybe if he’s lucky he can slip over to the Alderman’s house with his Proof of Contracted Kill and strait to the inn before anyone else notices his presence. Sneaking around sucks, but it’s better than getting jeered at and stoned, or screamed out of town.

As Aspen enters town, Ellys is sure to keep his head low and eyes averted. There’s nothing he can do about the Kikimore head swinging from the saddlebags, but maybe they’ll just ignore him, rather than actively hating him. He flinches at the first gasp, ducking his head lower, and praying the screaming won’t start. He nearly falls off his horse when a man cries out; “It’s a Witcher! And he’s killed the beast!” There’s a raucous applause, and Ellys jerks his head up to stare in shock. They’re… not screaming? And nobody’s thrown a stone? All the way through town to the Alderman’s house, Ellys is followed by cheers. When he gets there, the Alderman himself is standing out front, watching his approach. Standing next to him is a young woman, black hair braided back and dark eyes glittering curiously.

“Ah, Sir Witcher. I am Alderman Hoss! Thank you, for handling that so swiftly. Please, wait here a moment while I retrieve your dues. This is my daughter Kay.”

“I’m no Knight.” Ellys scoffs, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. As he does, his medallion slips loose, hanging over his armor. He scrambles to tuck it back, but Kay steps forward, catching his arm.

“A snake?” She tips her head to the side.

“School of the Viper.” He huffs nervously, waiting for the accusations and screams. Instead, Kay beams, and reaches up to gently bounce her finger off the tip of his nose.

“A Clever Noodle, then. Just like the Song.” She decides. Ellys very nearly collapses in shock. Kay snickers, mischievous, as she throws a glance over her shoulder. “Don’t tell Papa, but I’ve always found snakes… Fascinating.”

Ellys watches her, waiting for the penny to drop, but she just keeps smiling at him. And slowly, he finds himself smiling back. “Snakes are incredible.” He agrees.

“Can you see heat, the way they can??” She asks eagerly, leaning in, as though sharing a secret.

“No. Wish I could though, that’d be Super useful.”

Kay laughs, bouncing excitedly in place. “I’m learning to be a Snake Charmer,” she confesses quietly. “Mama wants me to be a good little Homemaker, like her, but that’s never been what I wanted.” She turns her gaze to the open road just beyond the fence at the edge of her family’s property. “I want Adventure. I want to Explore the world, and see what’s out there.”

“You will.” Ellys promises. “I can see it, you’ve got an Adventurous Spirit.” As he says this, Alderman Hoss returns with his pay. “Thank you.” He accepts the pouch. Oddly, it’s heavier than expected, but when he tries to point it out, the Alderman just winks kindly at him. “Nice meeting you, Miss Kay.” Ellys says with a playful bow, before turning and making his way to the Inn. To himself, Ellys vows to keep an eye out for any future Snake Charmers with familiar names. He has a good feeling about her chances.

Chapter Text

Isaac keeps his face calm and neutral as he strides into town. He knows his seven-foot-tall stature makes others nervous, and his black eyes don’t help at all (though sometimes they can be passed off as a very dark shade of brown.) He’s the last of the Bear Witchers, on top of being The tallest Witcher. He can already hear the hushed whispers as he makes his way to the tavern. Even with public opinion of Witchers changing for the better, Isaac knows better than to hold out hope; even without the Mutations he’s an intimidating figure.

He slips in through the doorway, and all the conversation falls quiet. Ignoring the stares and whispers, and sits at a table partially hidden away in a little alcove. Even after he’s sat down, it still takes a minute or two for the general hubbub to start back up again. He can smell the nerves on the barmaid sent over to take his order, but she remains calm and genuine, which he appreciates. As she scurries back to the bar, the door is dramatically flung open, and in walks a brightly dressed man. One that Isaac recognizes.

Jaskier spots him and lights up in a playful grin. “Brother Bear!” He greets, sauntering over and sitting down across from him.

“Brother Bard,” Isaac responds. Jaskier giggles, delighted at their little inside joke, one that had started not long after the minstrel’s first visit to Kaer Mohren. “Is Geralt not with you?” He questions.

“Hm, no. There was a rumor about a triad of nesting Wyverns a few towns further South. He wasn’t sure if they had been taken care of yet, so he dropped me off here and continued on. He’ll be back this way after and we’ll go on our way.” Jaskier explains, leaning forward. “Now, tell me, how are you with children? Do you Like them?”

“Yes…? Why do you ask?” Isaac asks in suspicion. He stares at the bard, who smiles back innocently, though he still manages to have an air of mischief about him.

“Oh, my dear Brother Bear, I have a song for you that I would like to perform, but I wanted your permission first, as it does involve interactive play.” Jaskier bats his eyes pleadingly. Isaac sighs, rubbing his face, but he nods. “Oh, you won’t be disappointed!” He leaps up excitedly. “You don’t need to do much more than sit here quietly and I’ll handle the rest.” Jaskier assures him, already swinging his lute around. Isaac watches him scamper over to the bar and speak softly with the tavern owner, before practically Skipping up to the little raised stage.

“My good people!” He calls out gaily. “I am Jaskier the Bard, and I have a treat for you today; a New Song!” He grins at the raucous applause as he hypes up the tavern patrons further. “However, this is a Very Special Song, and as such I need some Very Special Helpers! Would all the little younglings like to join me up front here?” He requests, playing a jaunty little tune. A collection of variously aged children scramble up to the front, clambering to be chosen. “Wonderful! And not to worry, you All get to be my helpers!” The kids titter and buzz eagerly as Jaskier hops off the stage and crouches down to be on their level.

“Now then, little darlings, this is going to be a call-and-response song, or Repeat After Me. We’re also going to play Follow the Leader at the same time. So, if I March with my knees way up high, like so,” he demonstrates, lifting his knees up to his hips dramatically, “you all match me, and March the same way.” Six little faces stare back at him, watching closely. “Alright, can you all line up, one after the other? Littlest to biggest, please?” The kids scramble into order, chattering among themselves as they decide who goes where. Jaskier beams when they turn back to him, paying very close attention. “Very good! Now remember, This is a Repeat After Me song. Ready?” They all bobble their heads in agreement, and Jaskier begins to play his cheerful little jaunt.

“We’re going on a Bear Hunt~” he sings as he marches around the stage. The kids echo him, giggling as they follow in his footsteps. “I’m not Scared~” he shakes his head, exaggerating the motion and all the kids mimic him perfectly. “Maybe we’ll find one~” he leads them away from the stage, skipping as he marches along. “With soft Fur~”

He leads them through the tables, before stopping with a gasp “Uh-Oh!” He hears a ripple of echoes down the line and has to bite the smile of his face, even as the little kids shriek and laugh. “It’s a Prickle Patch!” Again, the menagerie of kids echo his dramatics. “Can’t go Over It?” He ponders. “Can’t go Through It?” With a grin, he drops to the floor, and all the kids Shriek in excitement. “Have to crawl Under It!” He cheers. He crawls under the table, grunting dramatically, and the kids scramble to follow him. He hops up on the other side, leading them around the room while singing the chorus again.

Once more, he leads them to an imaginary obstacle, gasping Dramatically. “Uh-Oh!”
“It’s a Big River~”
“Can’t go Under It?”
“Can’t go Around It?”
“Have to swim Through It!” He “swims” through the air, making soft swishing noises as he goes. The kids giggle hysterically, having the time of their lives. After a few seconds longer of swimming he pretends to climb out of the river and starts the chorus for the third time. Now, he leads them back to the stage, and stops with yet another gasp.

“Uh-oh!”
“It’s a Hot Desert!~”
“Can’t go Through It?”
“Can’t go Over It?”
“Have to Walk Around It!” He leads them around the raised stage, dragging his feet, and panting for breath. Once or twice he stops to mop imaginary sweat from his brow, sighing in exhaustion. The kids continue to mimic him perfectly, giggling and hushing each other.

Then, after one more repetition of the main chorus he leads them closer to the corner Isaac sits in. “Oh!” He exclaims softly. “It’s a Dark Cave~” he tiptoes closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Hello~”
“Is there a Bear?”
“I hear a Growl!” Then he ’spots’ Isaac and jumps. With a smirk he points at the Witcher “Get Him!” He quickly steps aside as the children rush past him, tagging the Witcher, and giggling with glee. A few of the parents shift nervously, but when Isaac does nothing to harm the kids they begin to relax. Isaac lets the kids climb all over him, sitting patiently, before he lets out a deep, rumbling growl. Jaskier grins. “Run away!” He cheers, leading the kids on a pell-Mell run backwards through the course he originally led them on.

Isaac chases them, very slowly, with great lumbering steps. But none of the children smell the littlest bit frightened. In fact, the smallest of the bunch even races back multiple times to tag him again, before running, shrieking madly with glee, back to the “Hunting Party.” Once they reach the Stage, he paces around it, pretending to scent the air, and huffing. Then, he returns to his seat.

Still grinning, Jaskier lets the children return to their parents, and easily transitions into a new song. As he sits and listens, Isaac catches many of the parents sending him curious looks even as the kids all wave happily at him. It’s a novel feeling, to be treated as such, and Isaac finds himself grateful to Jaskier, for allowing them to see a softer side he doesn’t often get to reveal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Not everyone is pleased with the new discovery, however, as Isaac discovers when he tries to rent a room from the Inn. The innkeeper, a portly man with dark salt-and-pepper hair, scowls and chases him off, telling him “I don’t want Your Kind here!”

Shrugging off the rude treatment, Isaac heads to the other end of the town. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it probably won’t be the last either. He decides it’ll be faster to make camp for the night, and leave early the next morning. So, far enough away from town that his presence won’t be noted, Isaac sets up his minimal camping gear. Then, he finds a nearby stream to fill up his waterskins. He settles in for the night, reminding himself that not everyone is going to take kindly to Witchers, no matter how well-behaved he acts.

When he wakes up the next morning, there is a slight weight on his chest and the murmur of young voices. He holds himself perfectly still, listening to the chatter.

“Marietta! Get off him, he’s sleeping,” one voice hisses. There’s a childish giggle, and a soft tugging, as whoever is sat upon his chest is pulled away. He shifts slowly, opening his eyes, and someone gasps in surprise.

“He’s waking up!” There’s a general scramble-about as he sits up, and finds himself being stared at by the same six kids from the tavern the other day. The smallest one, a tiny redhead with big green eyes, grins and climbs back onto his lap. Some of the older ones yelp, trying to tug her back again, but she smacks the reaching hands away.

“Hullo!” She shouts, sitting on his knee. “I’m Marietta, I’m Four!”

“Hello, Little Cub, my name is Isaac.” He says, with a kind smile. “What are you little ones doing out this way?” He asks, looking at the older ones of the group.

“We followed Marietta, to make sure she didn’t get lost.” The oldest boy says, slightly defensive. “I’m Bjorn, and I’m already in my Thirteenth year, so I can take care of the babies.”

“Not a baby!” Marietta huffs, wrinkling her nose. The other youngest in the group, a little boy, has been steadily creeping closer, and he uses that distraction to scramble up onto the other side of Isaac’s lap.

“I’m Oskar, and I’m Six! How Strong are you?” He asks curiously. “Can you pick me up? Have you ever fought a bear? How Old are you?” He barely takes a second to breathe between his questions, eager to get them all out.

“I’m very strong, strong enough to fight a bear and win. And I am much Much older than you or even your parents.” Isaac laughs. “In fact, my cloak there is made from the biggest bear I’ve ever fought. He lived in the mountains not far from my School, and he would often attack us. It took all of my strength to win the battle, but his fur keeps me warm in the coldest months.” He explains. The kids are enraptured, until one of the middle kids speaks up.

“I wanna be a Witcher! I wanna be strong too,” he begs.

“Being a Witcher is no easy feat, young one.” Isaac warns him. “You must train your body to withstand Many types of danger.”

“I can do it!” He boasts, puffing his chest up.

“Well, then, I must ask the name of my newest brother.” Isaac rumbles.

“Tymor! I’m Ten!” He shouts gleefully.

“I am honored to meet you, Brother Tymor.” Isaac offers a massive paw to the boy to shake. Tymor giggles shyly, tucking his chin against his chest. Shuffling anxiously, Bjorn glances at the sky to check the passing time. Isaac notices, and gently encourages the young children to return home, promising to pass by that way later, on his return trip.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Isaac sighs in relief as the village named Burke comes into view. He had promised to pass back through months ago, but he’d been too gravely injured to travel. Bear Witchers were lucky, they could recover from almost anything other than a beheading or ruptured heart; they called it Hibernation. It involved finding a relatively safe spot to hide away, then drink Every Single Potion they had on them which would cause their bodies to pass out and heal as they slept. It could take an incredibly long time and Isaac was grateful he’s only spent a few months asleep.

He knows he’ll need to sleep outside of town again, the Innkeeper won’t be anymore accepting this time around, but it will be nice to see the little cubs again. Hefting his travel pack higher against his shoulder he ambles into the village calmly. Isaac has barely set foot past the first buildings when he hears the excitable shriek. He kneels down just in time to catch the tiny red blur that barrels into his chest. “Well, hello, Little Cub!” He laughs, tossing Marietta gently into the sky. He hears a loud gasp and winces, ready to be berated, but instead another little body clings to his legs.

“Throw me next!” Oskar pleads, staring up with big brown eyes. Isaac obligingly scoops up the boy and tosses him high. He screams with laughter, and before he knows it Isaac is surrounded by his little cubs demanding they get thrown high as well. Isaac throws each of them a few times, before begging off so that he can eat. Even as he walks away, he has children hanging off his arms and riding on his feet. It has been a Very long time since he’s heard such joyous children’s laughter.

Once he reaches the tavern the menagerie of youngsters disperse back to their parents’ watchful eyes. Isaac is surprised to receive thankful nods for playing so willingly with the kids.

The Bear Witcher takes his preferred seat in the alcove-corner, and waits patiently. This time, however, the barmaid is at his side much quicker. She even smells calmer as well. And, as quick as she arrived, she vanishes to fulfill his order of an ale and a simple beef stew. His reception to the village this time seems to be much kinder, and Isaac hopes against all hope that the pattern holds.

Then, Isaac catches the sound of a faint scuffle followed by a quickly muffled scream. Without hesitation he bolts back out the door, before his meal has even been prepared. The tavern patrons jump as he moves so suddenly, and a few of the men follow him out. Isaac tracks the terrified muffled screams to the other end of the village’s Main Street, where the Innkeeper is trying to drag away one of the young girls Isaac had played with only minutes before.

Isaac doesn’t bother hiding his growl, nor the vicious gleam of his black eyes. How Dare this miscreant try to steal one of His Cubs? For they are His Cubs, now. With his longer stride it is no difficult task to catch up to the man and his struggling victim. Isaac unsheathes his steel blade, leveling it at the man threateningly, and rumbles deep in the back of his throat.

“Let. Her. Go.”

“Borris!” One of the women screams, horrified. “Why are you doing this?” She’s clearly the girl’s mother, with her matching pale blonde hair and ice blue eyes. She’s being held back by a man, brunet and green eyed, probably the girl’s father, if Isaac had to guess. Borris sneers, jerking the girl back further against his chest, which lets everyone see the thin dagger he holds under her throat. “Eira!” The terrified mother sobs, fighting against her husband’s arms.

“Because!” Borris shouts, continuing to drag Eira backwards. “When I lost my Moriah to that little bitch of a Whelp, I thought I would never love another. But your daughter is quite the pretty little thing, and she’s close to getting her First Bloods, ain’t she?” Eira squirms desperately, trying to bite the man’s hand clamped over her mouth. He jerks his hand away, and Isaac takes his chance to act.

In one smooth stroke he cleaves the horrid man’s hand clean off, and Eira scrambles out of his hold. Borris falls back, wailing in agony and scrabbling at the stump of his wrist. Eira dry heaves from the fear and stumbles to Isaac and ducks under his heavy fur cloak, clinging to the back of his tunic. He can feel how her small body is wracked with sobs and smell the salt of her tears. Enraged, Isaac drives his sword through the would-be-rapist’s testicle, pinning him to the ground. Borris weeps with fear and agony, staring up at the Witcher standing over him. He doesn’t bother to beg for his life, and Isaac wouldn’t have let him. He rips the sword back out of the man’s nethers and lets out a subsonic growl that makes the air vibrate. “Leave. Now.”

Trembling, Borris shoves himself to his feet and runs for the edge of town. The villagers watch dispassionately, knowing he’ll never make it to the next town with a healer in time, if the wild animals of the woods don’t get to him first.

Isaac gently turns around, coaxing Eira out from under his cloak. “You’re safe now, and he will Never hurt you again.” He promises, kneeling before her. With a loud sob, she tosses her arms around his neck and clings to him, tightly. Hardly a second has passed before two more notably larger bodies are crushing them both in a desperate hug.

“Thank you- Th-hank you,” sobs the mother, stroking Eira’s hair. “Are you alright, baby?” She asks the twelve year old. Eira nods, still sniffling, and burrows her face against her father’s chest.

“We owe you Everything.” He says solemnly, clasping Isaac’s shoulder.

“You owe me nothing,” the Bear Witcher argues, helping the family back to their feet. “The children are as dear to me as my own cubs, I would protect them regardless of any pay. Any Witcher would, for all children are precious.” Isaac explains softly. He gently brushes Eira’s tears away, smiling kindly. “You were Very brave, Little Cub.” Eira smiles shakily as her mother leads her back to their home, and her father turns back to Isaac.

“I tell the Truth, Sir Witcher, we will never be able to repay the debt, but I must ask that you let us try. We will house and feed you tonight, and you are always welcome in our home.” He says, gravely. “My name is Tanner, and my wife is Astra.” He adds.

“Then you must call me Isaac, I insist. What is to happen to the man’s daughter? If that is what he meant by ‘little bitch whelp?’”

“His daughter, Marietta, is still young, but we will take care of her. She’ll receive no ill treatment for the sins of her father.” Tanner sighs, glancing over his shoulder, where little Marietta waits with her head hidden against Oskar’s shoulder. She’s trembling a little, and Isaac can hear her sobs as well.

“Little Cub,” he calls, kneeling once more with arms open wide. She whips her head up, and rushes into his embrace, hiccuping. Isaac stands back up, and nods to Tanner to lead the way. Slowly, the villagers return to their homes and businesses, now that the horrifying ordeal is dealt with. This occurrence has left a scar on their collective memory, but in time it will heal. Isaac will make sure of that. This is His village now, and all who reside there are his to protect.

Chapter Text

Junod grunts and snarls as he claws his way out from under the overhang of an underground cave’s entrance. The roots have grown down over what used to be open space. Such are the hazards of Hibernating in a cave with an entrance at ground-level under a hill. Finally, with one last heave and a weary groan, Junod is able to clamber to his feet. The last thing he remembers is taking a contract for a pair of Wyverns, which actually ended up being Three Pairs of Wyverns settling into a known nesting ground. But, the Lord had wanted to expand his lands, so he lied, and expected a Witcher to clear the land for him. Junod had, of course, but when he went to receive his pay and demanded to be compensated for the Two extra sets of Wyverns the lord had commanded his guardsmen to cave the Witcher’s head in.

Thankfully, that’s not enough to kill a Bear. Unfortunately, it seems they’ve stolen his armor, swords, and travel pack. He knows they must have left his potions, since he’s alive, and he can feel his Medallion, still hidden under his shirt. Assholes. He doesn’t remember waking up and swallowing each of his potions, so he must have been in a fugue state by then. Stretching for the first time, in who knows how long, Junod tips his head back and drags in a deep breath.

Surprisingly, he can smell a fellow Bear Witcher’s scent trail not too far away. It’s not one he recognizes, so it may be one of their newer recruits. Their smell is heavy enough for him to follow, however, so he sets to tracking them. Whoever it is, they pass this way often, for the trail to be so easy to follow. As he thinks this, Junod can hear the distant sound of a good-sized town somewhere. He crests the hill he’s climbing and looks down on the town, filled with the hustle and bustle of people going about their day.

He knows his best bet of learning the date will be to enter that town, but he Also knows Witchers have never had fond receptions in towns of any size. But, approaching the town, the scent of the unknown Bear Witcher only gets stronger. Junod pauses just outside the town’s limit when he notices a sign staked off to the side of the path.

BURKE
HOME OF THE BEAR

It seems to be fairly old, and weathered, written in a child’s scratch-script. He brushes it off as no more than an odd happenstance, except when he enters the town proper the first thing he sees is a little girl clinging to the leg of an incredibly tall Witcher, both of them laughing.

The Bear Witcher notices him first, naturally, and spins to face him. His jaw drops and he sets the little girl down on the ground. “Why don’t you go find Nana, keep her company for a little while.” The little girl happily skips off and the Bears stare at each other, cautiously. “…Junod?” He asks, so softly. “Do you remember me? Isaac… I was very very young when you vanished, and we thought you had died…” he trails off, uncertainly.

“How long has it been?” Junod demands gruffly.

“Two Hundred and Fifty years.” Isaac answers. “They showed us your bloody armor, and your swords.” He adds quietly. “I thought I was the last of us.”

“Our Brothers?” Junod pleads.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac shakes his head. “They’ve all died on hunts, or were killed in the Sackings.” Junod staggers back a step, his heart breaking. “But we’re to have a new brother soon,”

“You would put another child through the Trial of the Grasses?” Junod demands with a sharp scowl.

“Now that The Trials have been improved, they are no longer a death sentence!” Isaac tells him, eager, “We will never fear losing new brothers to the Grasses again. Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss, and Tissaia have been studying the original trials, and they’ve discovered how to inoculate against the harshest reactions. No more deaths to the Grasses.”

“And the children are not ripped from their homes?” Junod asks, a slow hope burning in his chest.

“Never. Come, there’s much to show you!” As the pair walk along, Isaac waves to every person in town, knowing them by name.

“Do you frequently pass through here?”

“Burke is home.” Isaac explains. “When I am not on The Path, I return here.” Seeing Junod’s odd look, Isaac laughs. “Things have changed a lot since you vanished. Ah, Petra!” He calls out to a young woman, “have you seen Tymor?” The woman points them in the proper direction, and both bow their heads in thanks. “Tymor is to be our newest recruit. He’s already been inoculated, and takes the Trials this summer, after which he’ll begin training.”

Then, Isaac is tackled from behind, and Junod is prepared to defend his brother until he realizes Isaac is laughing. “Ah, it seems he’s found us instead.” The blur turns to face Junod to reveal a young man, 30 years of age. The young man grins, holding out his hand. “Junod, this is Tymor. Tymor, this is our Brother, Junod.” They shake hands, then the young man turns to Isaac with a happy laugh.

“I’ve been sent by Eira to fetch you.” Tymor tugs him along. “The baby is here!” That’s all Isaac needs to hear, before he’s off running. With nothing left to do, Junod follows close behind. Isaac seems to know exactly where to go, leading the way to a small house. Waiting right outside is a woman with pale blonde hair and ice blue eyes that light up when she sees Isaac.

“Isa! There you are! She’s been asking for you, head right on in.” The woman greets them. “Hello, I’m Eira.” She also introduces herself to Junod. He nods, giving his name and school in reply, as they are all taught to do. Junod is shocked when he’s allowed to enter the home as well.

Sitting on a bed, with a little bundle resting on her chest, is a young woman with vibrant red hair. She looks up as they walk in and breaks into a tired grin. “Isa, it’s a boy.”

“Hello, Little Cub,” Isaac greets her, drawing close to the bed. “Did the birth go well?”

“It was a rough start,” the redhead admits softly. “He was turned around in my womb, if he had entered the birthing canal that way, he could have suffocated. But Eira knew how to turn him around.” She beckons the taller Witcher over, offering the tiny bundle. “Would you like to hold him?” Isaac kneels by the side of her bed, accepting the babe. “His name is Isak,”

Isaac’s head snaps up, as does Junod’s from his place at the door. “You named him after me?” Isaac asks, eyes going soft.

“How could I not? You are the best big brother and Protector this town could ask for.” She says, eyes just as soft. Isaac gazes down at the baby, tracing his face with a trembling finger.

“Hello, Baby Bear,” he coos. They all glance over to the door when it opens again, this time a young man walks in. He has darker skin and hair, and his eyes are dark brown. “Hello, Oskar,” Isaac greets him. Junod assumes this is the babes father when he crosses the room to press a kiss to the redhead’s hair.

“You are a Wonder, Marietta,” he breathes, staring down at their son. Isaac returns Little Isak to his mother and slowly backs out of the house, and Junod follows him silently. Outside, Tymor is still waiting, and he walks with them for a while, trading jokes with Isaac. He breaks away when another man calls him over, an older man standing outside a smithery.

They make their way to the tavern, and once again, Isaac greets everyone they pass by name. The tavern, which is a multi-storied building, Junod assumes that means it Also houses the Inn, is a well-maintained building with many windows along the front wall. Isaac cheerfully throws the doors open and calls out, “Astra, I’m home!”

There’s a loud shout from the back room (a storage room, perhaps?) and an older woman with silvering-blonde hair rushes over. “Oh, my boy, welcome back!” She grasps his face to pull him down for a kiss on the forehead. “And who is your friend?” She asks, facing Junod.

“This is Junod. He’s a Bear Witcher that’s been in Hibernation for the last Two Hundred and Fifty years.” Isaac says, lightly. “He’ll be needing a good hearty meal, and a room for the night.”

“Oh, come with me, dear, and we’ll get you all fed up and settled down.” Astra coos, leading him over to the bar top. “And, Isa-Dear, Tanner is round the back with that Beastie of his. It’s nearly bath time if you’d like to lend him a hand.” Isaac cackles as he vanishes out the back door. Junod can hear him crowing something about an Old Man. Astra rolls her eyes at the antics before turning her attention to Junod. “Now then, you’ve been asleep for a very long time. Things are mighty different than you remember. The first of which being that Witchers are treated much better nowadays, and you’d be hard pressed to find a town or city that would allow a bad word said about you and your Brothers.”

“But how can that be?”

“Master Jaskier, and his Cute Witchers song cycle. He’s been adding to it for years, there’s songs for every school.” Astra answers. “And most towns have a Witcher or School they sponsor. Started that trend ourselves, with our very own Isaac. We keep him fed, housed, and armed, and he comes home for the winter and helps around the village. Stops by between Hunts, when he’s able. Works better this way, having Witchers live among the common folk. They aren’t so Othered when you know them personally.” She explains. “And don’t you worry a moment about finding a town to Sponsor you, as you’ll be staying here.” She tells him sternly.

Junod startles when a little voice at his side pipes up. “Nana, who is this?” When Junod glances down, the same little girl he’d seen playing with Isaac earlier scrambles up onto the stool next to him. She stares him down with pretty light hazel eyes, her brown hair in a riot of curls. “A Witcher!” She cries excitedly, seeing the Bear Medallion. “My name’s Addalynne! I’m Three-and-Three-Quarters,” she says, very serious.

Junod stills, holding his arms out and away, when she scrambles into his lap. “Hello, Addalynne.” He sighs, after a moment. She settles, leaning back against his chest. “My name is Junod.” When he looks back up, Astra is smiling fondly at the pair of them. “You would really Sponsor me, knowing nothing about me?” He asks the barkeep.

“Sure would. The last time a man passed through town and looked at a child like that he saved our daughter’s life. Any brother of Isaac is always welcome here.”

“Juni of Burke!” Addalynne cheers. Astra chuckles and raps her knuckles on the bar.

“Sounds like you’ve been officially adopted.”

Junod looks back down at the child, who tips her head back to grin up at him. He has to bite back the tears at the absolute trust in her eyes. “Juni of Burke sounds like a fine title to live up to.” He agrees. Astra slides a full mug of sweet-smelling golden mead across the table with a motherly smile.

“Welcome Home.”