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Eskel knew the moment Geralt walked through the front gate. The entire courtyard went silent, turning to watch as he led his mare into the stable. His shoulders were up around his ears, gaze fixed resolutely down, tensed to run as if he was unsure of his welcome.
So, either the rumors had reached Geralt, or they were true.
The whispers started as soon as the horse’s tail was through the door. Eskel felt his lip curl into a snarl; he couldn’t make the words out, but they all knew Geralt’s sensitive ears would. Gweld turned into the keep – doubtless to inform Vesemir of the Wolf’s arrival, as if he wouldn’t already know – and Lambert ambled aimlessly over, cutting Eskel off from his path to the stable.
“You think– “
“Don’t start,” Eskel snarled, ducking around him.
Geralt was hiding with his current Roach in the farthest stall, grooming her with single-minded precision, one steady stroke at a time. Eskel let himself in, then sat in the pile of hay she was working through.
He gave Geralt his silence for a few moments, hoping that Vesemir and the rest would have enough sense to leave them be, at least for now. Geralt didn’t look at him, didn’t say a word, but Eskel could hear his heartrate pick up. He gave him one more minute to start the conversation on his own terms (but this was Geralt, who was he kidding).
“Wasn’t sure you’d make it up this season. Snows will be here any day now.”
Geralt froze, Roach twitching irritably at where the brush was now held still. He took a deep, shaking breath.
“Almost didn’t come back at all.”
Eskel’s heart breaks, a little. “I’m glad you did.”
He was utterly silent, utterly still, so Eskel peered around Roach’s head and oh.
Geralt was crying.
Geralt, who had taken his additional Grasses and training and everything the Wolves had thrown at him with his quiet stoicism, was standing there with tears streaming down both sides of his face.
Eskel’s heart broke in two.
He opened his arms. “C’mere, brother.”
Geralt didn’t hesitate, and within a moment Eskel had a lap full of sobbing, shaking Witcher. He shifted them both into a more comfortable position and held Geralt tightly, tucking his face close to his own neck, hoping the scent of home might bring some comfort. Eskel pressed kisses into his hair, murmuring, “It’s gonna be alright, Wolf. Everything’s gonna be alright.”
Geralt shook his head, pressing closer. “You’ve heard?” He gasped. “What happened?”
“I’ve heard rumors, but unlike the rest of the people out there, I know you, Geralt.” Eskel stroked his hair, gently dragging his fingers across his scalp. “And my brother wouldn’t wander into a market and start swinging his sword.”
“I did kill people.”
“Were they trying to kill you?”
“…yes.”
Eskel hummed, letting that and his fingers draw Geralt back from the edge. He didn’t calm so much as he exhausted himself, but Geralt eventually collapsed against Eskel’s chest.
“They’re calling me the Butcher of Blaviken,” Geralt whispered.
“I know,” Eskel said, sadly. “People are cruel, especially when they’re afraid. And I’m sure none of them cared for the truth, either.”
“I didn’t want to kill them.” His voice was so, so small.
“I know,” Eskel sighed. “I know.”
Haltingly, never once pulling his face from Eskel’s neck, Geralt told him a tale of a reprehensible mage, an ill-destined princess, and a gang of mercenaries. Eskel felt more tears fall when Geralt described Renfri.
“Oh, brother,” Eskel said gently, “you were just a pawn in their fight. They put you in a no-win situation and you did the best you could.” Geralt made to speak and Eskel shushed him. “No, none of that. Listen to me. If you’d killed Stregobor you would have pulled the Brotherhood’s rage down onto us. If you’d brought him the princess he’d have killed her, probably a lot more painfully. You could’ve walked away, sure, but then it sounds like the townsfolk would have paid the price. There was no good choice,” Eskel shook him gently, “and still you tried. You can’t beat yourself up over this, Geralt.”
“They stoned me out of their village,” he said, quietly. “And then word spread, and they stoned me out of four more. I can’t get work in half the places I stop; when I do they pay half, and ask me if I’m going to kill them when I ask for the rest. I can hardly buy food, let alone get a room. What am I going to do, Eskel?”
“Humans are terrible,” Eskel snarled, before finally forcing Geralt to meet his eyes. “Tell me that you know you don’t deserve that treatment.” When Geralt looked away, Eskel shook him. “Tell me.”
“Don’t I?” Geralt whisper, and just like that Eskel deflated.
“No, Geralt. You don’t.”
Eskel could feel the eyes on them as he and Geralt walked out of the stables. Geralt kept his head down, hair loose enough to hide behind. Eskel hefted his bag, and thanked all the gods that no one tried to talk to them as he herded Geralt into his room. His brother balked at the door, but Eskel pushed him through.
“You’re staying with me until I can trust you to take care of yourself.”
Geralt flashed a fang (which Eskel ignored, but welcomed as a shift from the sad apathy). “I can take care of myself.”
“Bullshit.” Eskel snapped. “You look like a solid breeze could blow you over, and I’m pretty sure that’s blood in your hair. I went through the same lessons as you – I know you can live off the land better than that. You’re punishing yourself and I won’t let it continue.”
They stopped in Geralt’s room long enough to grab some clean clothes and a comb, and then Eskel bullied him down to the hot springs. Someone, he suspected Vesemir, was running interference. They ran into no one, and the springs were empty.
Geralt stripped down and slipped into the hottest pool, sighing. Eskel threw a bar of soap at him and then sat cross-legged at the edge. “Clean yourself up, and then we’ll see what I can do about your hair.”
Geralt doesn’t fight, and Eskel spends long enough combing tangles and who-knows-what else out that Geralt is pruned by the time he climbs out. He dries off and slips into clean clothes, and, looking slightly more like himself, they walk together back to Eskel’s room.
They both caught the scent of food and the slow heartbeats at the same time that Eskel pushed the door open, revealing Vesemir and Barmin sitting at his table.
Geralt froze in the doorway, every bit of ease he had gained in the bath gone in an instant. They both knew this was coming, but Eskel wished that they could have waited even just a few hours. Though, maybe it was better to get it over with; rip off the bandage so to say.
“Eskel.” Barmin nodded a greeting. “Geralt.”
“I’ve been home a week,” Eskel griped, trying to clear the stifling air.
“Still, it never hurts to be polite.” Barmin looked past him. “Come sit, Geralt.”
Geralt didn’t move. Eskel could feel him shaking.
“Sit, Geralt.” Vesemir growled. Eskel tried to follow, but their Headmaster caught his eye. “Aubry is in the kitchen putting the cold stores away. You’ve a better head for organization – go help him.”
“I’ll not be kicked out of my own rooms,” he said, even as Geralt pressed minutely closer.
“Eskel,” Vesemir said (in a tone that would have sent him scrambling as a pup).
“What is this, an interrogation? I’m staying.” Eskel sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Geralt down next to him. “Go on, say what you’ll say, and then you can send me off to run the walls or what have you.”
Barmin chuckled lowly. “Oh, let him stay, Ves. And Geralt, breathe.”
Geralt did not breathe.
“Oh for gods’ sake, pup,” Vesemir said. “Relax. We’re not throwing you out. Just tell us what happened so we can make plans for next season.”
Geralt glanced at Eskel, then, starting at his hands, told his story for the second time.
Afterwards, Vesemir sighed. “I’ve half a mind to keep you here for a few seasons, give the humans a chance to forget about you.”
“You run the risk of the stories growing then,” Barmin said. “Better to go back out there and show you’re not a threat. Hiding him away will just look suspicious.” He turned to Geralt. “It won’t be easy, but then when is a Witcher’s life ever?”
Vesemir stood, and rested a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, pup, I didn’t believe the stories that made their way up, and neither do your brothers.”
Barmin chuckled. “The memory of you crying over your first deer is too fresh, I think. Chin up Geralt, humans have short memories. This will be a naught but a tale to frighten children in five years.”
With that, they left the room. Geralt leaned heavier into Eskel, who curled an arm around his shoulders.
“I was hoping they’d keep me here…what am I going to do, Eskel?”
“The only thing you can do, brother.” Eskel said softly. “Walk your Path with pride.”