Chapter Text
“Do you understand, Julian?”
The fact that Jaskier does not roll his eyes after his father has asked him the same question over and over again the past weeks is rather commendable of him. He merely gives another tired smile as he feels the skin around his eyes tighten. Them riding in the same carriage during their travel, being together in such enclosed space, does not help.
“Yes, father,” he replies like the dutiful son he is.
“Good.”
Jaskier watches the man before him straighten his already rigid posture as he takes a deep breath before slowly releasing it, eyes closed in a poor semblance of peace. He takes note of the dark circles underneath his father’s eyes, the paleness of his skin, and his dull hair—the very same thick and glossy hair that Jaskier has inherited, but with how neglected it was, it would look like he got it from his mother. Jozef looks like he has aged in mere weeks. He feels something tug painfully at his heart and tries to pull more patience and understanding from within.
He rests a hand over his father’s and hazel eyes blink open to meet him when he gives a gentle squeeze.
“It’s alright. You know that I’ve long accepted that something like this will happen,” he says in a calm tone and lightens his scent, the way his mother would soothe him when he was a child.
A line forms between his father’s brows.
“Yes, but it’s something that I wish would never occur,” Jozef retorts, then his frown smoothens into something more sad. “Your mother would never allow it.”
“And you have done everything you can to honor her wish, but with the current delicate situation we are in, we can do nothing but follow. I’m sure mother would have understood.”
His father lets out a snort. “Such a shame she left us when you were young. If you had her growing up, only then would you know how your mother can be so stubborn,” he says as he waves a hand, as if physically dismissing the thought away. “Gods help those who stand in her way.”
Jaskier feels a more genuine smile pull at the corner of his lips. He has always enjoyed moments like this, tidbits of information about his mother that is generously shared throughout his life.
“If I could, we would head back straight to Lettenhove and forget about this… but it has to be you. Do you understand, Julian?”
And there goes their sweet moment.
This time, Jaskier rolls his eyes and groans out loud.
“Yes, father, I fully understand. I understand that I am the only viable omega right now to be married off to this warlord’s heir because Nilfgaard is oh so not dodgy at all and we’re just simply playing it safe , because if not, then we may as well be sitting ducks!” he exclaims, so fed up with everything.
Why, it seems like his own father is the one who’s taking this worse than the man himself who is engaged to a literal stranger!
“Now, do you understand, father?”
Jozef blinks.
Jaskier rubs a hand over his face when he feels a headache forming. He slumps a little after his outburst.
“Look, it’s not even that bad. We still have time. I still have time. King Foltest has been gracious enough to allow us to bond rather than to have this done already,” Jaskier says, more gentle and with a touch of resignation this time. “Father, please believe me when I say that it’s alright, that even if this wasn’t an ideal circumstance, I have no bitter or grudging feelings towards anyone. Not even you.”
Jozef softens, his eyes glow with pride and what seems to be like tears, though Jaskier is kind enough to not point that out—yet.
“You have always been too kind for your own good, Julek.”
“Just like my mother?”
“Exactly like your mother.”
***
It takes them another three days to reach Hertch after traveling as quickly as they could from Lettenhove. Jaskier couldn’t even enjoy the Kaedwen scenery during their journey since his father just constantly fretted about anything. He stretches after he steps out from the carriage and takes a deep breath of fresh air. King Foltest arranged some men to escort him to Kaer Morhen as he will be left there for the summer, then they will again escort him back to Lettenhove after.
An omega delivered right to the warlord’s doorstep. A whole summer of him in a keep filled with strangers. Fun.
Ten men are waiting for them at the base of the mountain. A large man with an even larger build steps forward to greet Jozef. Witchers, they are called. Fierce warriors that undergo grueling and almost torturous training. Though with differing shades, Jaskier immediately notices the cat-like eyes they share. To have ten pair of inhuman eyes to scrutinize you is… unnerving, to say the least. Their dark and almost black outfit also does not make them welcoming, especially if these Witchers were adorned with battle-won scars and twin swords at their back.
Huh, guess it’s true that they do slay monsters. Steel for men and silver for beasts.
“Welcome, my lord. Though I know that the journey has not been kind, we must ask you to make haste for the final stretch to Kaer Morhen,” the broad-shouldered Witcher says. “My name is Letho and, along with my men, we will ensure that you and your son will arrive safely.”
When the man, Letho, mentions him, Jaskier startles. While their intimidating look and large stature can scare anyone away, Jaskier is mostly thrown off with how… scentless they are. No matter what your second gender is, it is natural that you would have your own scent. Although alphas and omegas are those with the strongest sense of smell and give off the most alluring scent, betas are still able to produce their own faint scent.
Scent is what helps people identify each other, whether it is your second gender, your emotions, or your health. To exist yet with no traces of scent to leave behind is unorthodox, Jaskier thinks. Then again, killing monsters through brute strength and alchemy rather than relying on sorcery is also unorthodox.
Jaskier unconsciously scratches his nose.
“Thank you,” his father replies as they briefly shook hands
Letho quirks a corner of his mouth, his own version of a smile.
“I’m afraid your men can only reach this point. From here on out, the path to Kaer Morhen will be tricky and dangerous if traveled even with a guide,” Letho says as he waves a hand to the herd of horses peacefully grazing. “Our steeds are bred and trained for Witchers, and we can only produce so much for guests. They will be your ride, my lord, and your son’s as well if he is amenable to ride alone. If not, he is welcome to ride with me.”
Jaskier feels his eye twitch. He does not know what he finds more grating: Letho speaking as if he is not there or the fact that he has not glanced at him since they arrived.
“He is perfectly able to ride alone, sir,” he says pointedly with a sniff.
Letho glances at him and blinks, as if realizing that Jozef did bring his son with him.
“Of course, my lord.”
His father gives him a look when Letho leaves to speak with his men and prepare for their journey.
“What, he did ask,” Jaskiers defends.
His father only narrows his eyes in a non-believing manner. Typical.
When Letho returns to them, it is with their horses. For a moment, Jaskier’s breath is taken away. While he is no expert when it comes to horses, he knows how to recognize an impressive one. Seeing them tied from afar and having one so near him is a different kind of experience. He carefully pets the large horse with a touch of reverence. It is a black horse with a glossy coat, save for the white snip that blends to its white mane.
“How beautiful,” Jaskier says as he pets it. The horse gently nudges its head against his hand. “Does it have a name?”
“Not yet, my lord. It’s supposedly a surprise, but this stallion is a small gift from us to you. Though I hope you would act unaware once we reach the keep,” he says with a small wink.
He feels his cheek warm a little. “Really? For me?”
“It’s only right for our heir’s betrothed to have a trusted steed to travel to Kaer Morhen, my lord.”
Jaskier hums, pleasantly surprised.
“Pegasus, then. A beautiful name fitting for a beautiful horse.”
Letho smiles. “Shall I assist you in mounting Pegasus?”
“Please.”
He feels Letho hold his left leg up as Jaskier bounces with his right and lifts him smoothly to mount Pegasus, who remains calm and unmoving.
“Thank you,” Jaskier says.
Letho merely nods and leaves to mount his own horse.
Alright, maybe he was too snippy at first, but who could blame him? It is more common than not to have other people speak over and for him ever since he presented as omega.
When he sees his father raise a knowing brow atop his own impressive steed, Jaskier merely sniffs pointedly. Letho flanks his right and another Witcher at his left. His father is also flanked by two Witchers on both sides; four at the front to guide them and two behind for added protection.
“To Kaer Morhen then, my lords.”
***
If someone were to ask Jaskier, back then, why it would be difficult to sack a secluded keep with a small army—when compared to other neighboring kingdoms—he would have said that to attack men that is in possession of mysterious and borderline inhuman strength and speed—coupled with alchemy!—is simply a suicide mission. Now, after riding up the mountain to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier can confidently say that to even travel the path is a death wish already. Armies would drop like flies before they even reached halfway.
Letho says it is called The Witcher’s Trail and Jaskier thinks that Witchers are quite frank. He then says that it is also called The Killer due to, for quite obvious reasons, its excellent capabilities of ensuring travelers die. Jaskier now thinks that perhaps Witchers simply lack creativity.
Traveling non-stop for days to reach Kaedwen has been a true test of his determination. Riding to Kaer Morhen for the past six hours is damn near killing him. Of course The Killer would live to its name , Jaskier thinks glumly. He can already see the sun setting down.
Perhaps his tiredness and the stirrings of irritability is showing, either through his scent or expression, since Letho tells him that they will be reaching the keep in just a little bit more time. Jaskier tries to give the Witcher a thankful smile, but he feels the fatigue weighing his shoulders. Though he and his father are dressed appropriately, bestowed with reliable steeds, and guided and guarded by even more reliable men, The Killer is a path Jaskier would never walk through if given the choice. Jaskier could probably ask for a sorcerer to conjure a portal for him. A thought for him to visit later.
Jaskier has been focusing too much on Pegasus’ mane in an attempt to stay awake and not simply drop from his horse that he startles when he hears a sharp whistle from afar. He gasps when he looks up.
Though there is little information available about Kaer Morhen and its Witchers, many of them are sure of one thing: the keep is formidable and are resided by warriors that are more than a man but lesser than a beast. The omega is reminded of this when they can finally see the intimidating fortress. He spots two Witchers in a gate tower who signals for the others to let them in. Jaskier shudders as the portcullis is raised, feeling the echoes of its chains in his bones. He watches as the Witchers greet them with a simple nod and sharp eyes. Jaskier could not help but look away.
It is not that Jaskier fears them. Quite frankly, Warlord Vesemir has mostly kept to his own territories and tended to those who are under him, only fighting back when provoked but never pushing for more. He knows better than to believe exaggerated rumors spread about Witchers—how they are savages and cruel—but their lack of scent, no matter what second gender they have, is what unsettles him. To be easily perceived but to be not able to reciprocate, in a keep of men capable to see right through him… It is said that Witchers know when someone lies.
Their horses come to a stop in front of the keep’s main entrance. A Witcher stands out amongst the small congregation. Tall with sharp features, his face lined either with age or hardships in battle. The man’s glaring white hair is not what drew Jaskier to him, but with how he stands and carries himself. The authority his mere presence demands and how the others submit to him.
The Merciful Warlord, Kaer Morhen’s finest, Vesemir.
Alpha , his brain automatically supplies, but no. He has no scent. None of them does. Jaskier wonders, with him being the only omega and his father as a beta, if his scent is not as discreet as he thought it was. If he has been openly showing his emotions the whole time. Jaskier swallows the mortification that threatens to come out. Jaskier is notoriously known to wear his heart on his sleeve. Maybe he should have brought a stronger scent neutralizer.
The Witchers simultaneously dismount, not intentionally, but as if it is a practice they have been doing for so long that they naturally sync with each other. Jaskier hopes he can at least have a glimpse of their training. He blinks when he realizes that a Witcher has come to help him down. Instead of offering support, this Witcher simply picks him up by his waist and gently puts him down, as if it was nothing out of ordinary. Jaskier squeaks.
If all Witchers are like this—quiet and frank and brooding, the lot of them—the omega wonders what his fiancé would be like. Even with a touch of nervousness and dread, Jaskier can not rein the curiosity and excitement in him.
“Vesemir,” Letho says with a small bow, the others following suit.
The warlord acknowledges them with a hum before dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
“Lord Pankratz, welcome to Kaer Morhen. I’ll skip the pleasantries by asking if the journey has been kind for we already know how untrue that is,” the warlord says dryly, a leather-gloved hand outstretched for a handshake.
Jaskier could not help but smile at the flat delivery.
“No, the travel has been demanding but made easier thanks to your men. Thank you for the escorts and allowing us to stay, my lord,” Jozef answers with a smile.
Well, as much as a smile his father could muster after the rough travel. It ends up being a grimace.
“Please, let’s do away with the ‘lord’ and simply call me Vesemir as everyone does.”
“Then call me Jozef, as well. Allow me to introduce my son,” his father says and Jaskier takes this as his cue to step forward and bows as gracefully as he can. “This is Julian Alfred Pankratz, third of my children.”
“I prefer going as Jaskier, my pseudonym in Oxenfurt. It’s an honor to meet you, my lord,” Jaskier says softly, his gaze remaining downcast for a moment like how omegas are taught to do. When he sees the quirked brow of the old Witcher, Jaskier corrects himself with a smile, “It’s an honor to meet you, Vesemir.”
“I’ve read some of your poems and find them… curious,” the warlord comments.
Jaskier could not help but beam. “I rather prefer the word ‘spell-bounding’, sir,” he says.
“Julian,” his father stresses.
Jaskier concedes with a small nod but does not try to hide his smile.
“Hmm,” Vesemir grunts. The men behind him moves to guide the horses away. “Come. Let me show your rooms during your stay.”
Jaskier could have collapsed there and then when they entered the keep; the bone-deep desire to simply rest and settle down is too strong. His footsteps are slightly faltering but he tries to keep up with the older men.
“I am told that Jaskier will be staying this summer, and you are to leave for Lettenhove once he’s settled, yes?”
“Yes, I have men waiting for me at the foot of the mountain. Even if I would prefer to stay longer, an estate would not run itself, I’m afraid.”
“Is it right of me to assume you would both rather sleep off the remaining evening? I’m sure that the betrotheds can wait for another day. The night is still young, yes, but climbing up The Killer is not an easy feat for humans.”
“Are Witchers not humans?” Jaskier could not help but pipe in.
Vesemir flashes a sharp grin as he looks back at him over his shoulder. “What do you think, child?” he asks.
Mildly irked by being called a child—he is eighteen !—Jaskier quotes, “ More than a man, lesser than a beast .”
The old Witcher laughs, low but genuine.
“We are Witchers , Jaskier, best remember that if you’re marrying into the family.”
“How is that possible? To be more and less,” he asks.
“Why does chaos exist and how come mages able to control it? Where do monsters come from? What does the fae want with this realm that they even meddle with us? How are the elves different from other non-humans? Many exists just because they are . Witchers are Witchers and that is it.”
Jaskier mulls over the man’s words. “Just like how we have evolved into presenting second genders, there just is when there were never was before,” he mumbles. Then carefully, as if afraid to be corrected, “I noticed that none of you had scents… No second genders, then?”
“Exactly. Witchers are different from humans, Jaskier.”
“But can Witchers, uh,” Jaskier falters, “you know.”
“Yes. We can tell exactly what you feel and think with your scent, perhaps even more.”
The omega feels his cheek warming and nearly topples over when they suddenly stop in front of a door.
“Most of your belongings are in this room, Jozef, and my men will deliver what’s left. We’ll have both your suppers delivered to your rooms so that you will be undisturbed,” Vesemir says with a gesture to a slightly open door.
Jaskier can smell the scent of an unused but clean room. He hopes he can make a small nest in his.
“Jaskier’s room is just down the hall, a bit more secluded.”
Jozef sighs. “As much as I find your exchange with Julian interesting, I must admit that I would rather settle down,” he says.
“Goodnight, father,” Jaskier bids him after pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Yes, yes. Goodnight to you as well. It has been wonderful meeting you, Vesemir, and I hope you will find me as a better companion after a night’s rest.”
“Of course. Allow me to walk Jaskier down the hall.”
The Witcher leads him and he hears his father’s door click shut. After a beat, he nervously says, “I hope you didn’t find me too forward or rude, sir.” Jaskier glances at him through his lashes.
Vesemir smiles, small but warm.
“No, not at all. I find inquisitive children remarkable.”
“I am eighteen, sir.”
“And I’m a hundred and twenty.”
Jaskier’s jaw drops.
“Non-human, remember.”
Jaskier nods, blinking a bit too fast. Whether he was trying to recover from the surprise or stay awake for a few more steps before his room, he doesn’t know. “Right. Yes. Of course. My betrothed may as well be immortal,” he mumbles.
“Not immortal,” Vesemir says. When they reach Jaskier’s room, the Witcher pushes the door open and motions to Jaskier to enter. “A servant will come to deliver your supper and inquire if you’ll need anything.”
He feels Vesemir’s eyes watch him as he takes in the interior of his room. “I’m glad that it’s you, Jaskier,” Vesemir says and Jaskier could not help but turn around in surprise with how sincere the man sounded. “I think you’ll fit just fine. Goodnight.”
Before Jaskier could even respond, the Witcher has already closed the door.
Maybe being engaged is not so bad, after all.