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Dandelion was the one to broach the subject before Geralt, which was unusual for the two.
“So, when will you be leaving for Kaer Morhen?” Dandelion had not failed to notice the frost beginning to stick to the ground, and the days growing shorter, nights long. And Geralt hadn’t failed to notice Dandelion’s mood shifting as he prepared for the day Geralt sent him on his way for the winter, apparently having grown impatient for it to happen already. Only…
“Geralt?”
“Will you come?”
They spoke at almost the same time, and Geralt, who normally didn’t pay much heed to it, could hear Dandelion’s heartbeat pick up, it accelerated so fast. It was a wonder he didn’t pass out from the sudden blood rush.
“What?”
Geralt cleared his throat and looked back at where he had been brushing Płotka. “I asked if you’d want to come to Kaer Morhen for the winter.”
Dandelion jolted up from where he was lounging across his bedroll, and replied so quickly he stumbled over his own words. “Of course- I mean, what about the other- I’d love to- Why d’you- I mean, what- Yes, yes I will!”
Geralt felt… Relieved. Of course, he had been fairly certain he would say yes, but having it confirmed and settled was better than hoping. He gave Dandelion a smile. “Alright then.”
And so instead of parting ways as Geralt began to head further north, Geralt stopped at one of the last towns on the way and bought Dandelion a proper heavy winter fur cloak, a light brown colour that Geralt thought Dandelion might approve of, and thick fur-lined boots with a trim that Geralt found too ornate but Dandelion would think muted. Geralt wouldn’t need money for lodging since he was going home, so he rationalised that spending the extra coin on items that Dandelion might like instead of the cheapest options was acceptable.
And when Geralt gave the coat and boots to Dandelion the last night they’d stay at an inn, he was very obviously shocked.
“You bought these for me?” He questioned, taking the coat into his hands and looking it over, the buttons and hemming, before grabbing one of the boots and eyeing the stitching.
“You’ll need these if you want to keep all your appendages during the rest of the journey.”
Dandelion beamed. “This is fantastic, Geralt!” He flung the cloak about his shoulders and gave a turnabout. “Truly, I’m touched! I’ll have to repay you come spring.”
“Get yourself some gloves, your old ones are too thin,” Geralt brushed off the adulations.
“Of course, I should find some red ones, so they’ll match the trim on these lovely boots, hm?” Dandelion suggested, and just as he wanted, he found red gloves with a tan fur lining that almost perfectly matched his cloak as well.
As they set off, Geralt tried to put Dandelion’s cloak away alongside his own on Płotka, but Dandelion refused to allow it off his shoulders, saying he needed to ‘break it in.’ Geralt knew for a fact Dandelion was too warm in it, but let it be as he watched Dandelion use the heavy fabric as though it were an extension of his arms, fanning it out or twisting it about as he spoke with his hands.
And when they climbed higher up the mountain, and the season’s change became more dramatic, and the flurries turned to proper snow, Dandelion seemed enthralled by the white expanse.
“I’ve seen snow before, mind you,” Dandelion explained one day. “But it’s been forever. A couple winters ago we got a thin bit, not even enough to clear the streets of, as it melted by midday, but some of the children in town still tried to have their snowball fight. Never anything like this, though. How deep can the snow get here?”
“Depends on if it’s damp or dry.” Dandelion looked at him in a ‘go on’ sort of way, and Geralt went on. “If it’s wet, the snow hardens, and you don’t sink into it. It turns icy and you slip, so you have to be careful. When it’s dry, like it is now, it can build until the-” Geralt cut off as a snow ball hit him square in the back of the head. He turned to see Dandelion laughing behind him, another snowball already in his gloved hand. Geralt glanced above Dandelion, and reached up and pulled on a low branch.
Dandelion shouted when a large amount of snow came crashing down on him, coating his hair and cloak and yelping as it slid down the back of his neck. Geralt laughed as Dandelion cursed at him, flinging the bits of snow from himself at Geralt’s face as he dusted himself off dramatically.
“Rude,” Dandelion pouted. Płotka tossed her head with a huff, stamping her feet impatiently for them to continue on. She was right, of course, they needed to hurry up and get to Kaer Morhen before the weather turned for the worse, so the two obliged her and got a move on.
The temperature dropped lower as they went higher, and though Dandelion’s furs kept his fingers and toes warm, his nose and cheeks turned pink against the cold. Each breath he took was a puff of visible vapour. Although he didn’t complain, he wasn’t as chatty as he had been previously, excitement dampening as he grew tired and bone-chilled.
“Up,” Geralt told him, gesturing to Płotka. “We don’t have time to stop today, we have to get to the lookout before nightfall.”
Dandelion did as he was told, Geralt helping him mount, and didn’t hesitate to lean down on the saddle to bury his face in his gloved hands at Płotka’s mane. Geralt knew that Dandelion wouldn’t be able to ride her all the way up, but at least he could for now, Geralt guiding them along the right way.
When they arrived at the lookout Geralt had previously spoken of, there was a little cabin with tiny, high set windows, a door large enough to fit through a horse, and thick hearty stone walls. There was a faint glow coming from inside. Geralt helped Dandelion down from Płotka and the three went in, shuffling about loudly and slamming the door from the wind.
“Louder than a fucking traveling circus, you are!” A voice came and complained, head popping up from the tattered little couch pulled close to the blazing fireplace. Dandelion looked to Geralt, but he seemed entirely unbothered by the man's presence. “And here I thought I’d have some peace for the night.” And then, as if only at that moment registering that he didn’t recognize one of them, asked, “Geralt, who the fuck is that?” Ah, one of his brothers, then?
“You haven’t told them I was coming?” Dandelion questioned at the same moment that Geralt said “You know who it is, scoot over.”
“No, I got here first,” he flopped back down. “Move faster next time.”
“Not for me,” Geralt tugged Dandelion along closer to fire, and lifted the man’s legs from the couch, throwing them to the floor. “Sit here,” he directed Dandelion.
He did as he was instructed, only slightly anxious over the annoyed look held directly at him. “My name’s Dandelion, pleasure to make your acquaintance. And what might your name be?”
“No shit you’re Dandelion, only person dumb enough to trail behind this bastard all across the continent.” Geralt batted the back of his head from where he stood tending to Płotka, and the man grumbled, swatting blindly back.
“He’s Lambert,” Geralt replied on his behalf.
“Ah, of course. Geralt said you were the asshole of the bunch,” Dandelion nodded sagely. It made Geralt laugh and Lambert jump to properly batter Geralt, who shoved him back without any bother to the fireplace they both almost stepped in. Dandelion, for his part, shouted for them to take it outside, or at the very least to the kitchen, not for their safety but for his unimpeded access to the warmth of the fireplace. Płotka flicked her ears, unimpressed, and meandered away, Dandelion finding a horse in the house quite the setup for a joke, if only he could think of a punchline.
Geralt and Lambert settled, Lambert now letting Geralt take the space on the couch in trade for the plush armchair with stuffing coming out the back, complaining that he didn’t want to have to share with Dandelion. Geralt in turn threw his food bag at Lambert, stating that he looked skinny and questioning if he was able to take care of himself. Lambert grumbled, yet wasted no time digging through the bag to find something to eat.
Tired, warm, and happy to see Geralt happy, Dandelion fell into a deep sleep easily, head falling from Geralt’s shoulder to his lap. He didn’t wake when Geralt shuffled him about so Geralt could lay down as well, Dandelion more or less wrapped about him like a body pillow, and didn’t wake when Lambert teased Geralt and Geralt threw his bedroll at him, partly for the teasing, but partly so he could stack it with his own for extra warmth.
Morning came far, far too soon for Dandelion’s tastes, and judging by Lambert’s expression upon waking, it came too soon for him as well. Geralt, meanwhile, was already bustling about, preparing to head out as soon as possible. They ate, reapplied their layers of clothing, and headed out, three men and two horses plodding through the snow. More had fallen overnight, and it now rose up over the tops of Dandelion’s boots. Geralt encouraged him to ride Płotka while he could, as soon the trek would become steep and harrowing enough that riding her wouldn’t be an option, so Dandelion did so.
As they continued up the mountain, Dandelion chatted away at Lambert, revitalised after a good night’s sleep and from the excitement of meeting a new witcher. Lambert, for his part, was willing enough to entertain the myriad of interrogations, as long as he was able to embellish and snark to his heart’s desire. When Dandelion eventually ran out of questions, he instead began to complain that his gloves prevented him from playing his lute, and he couldn’t remove his gloves without risking his fingers’ well being. But neither witcher seemed particularly moved by his plight, so it was a short lived line of complaint. He tried to sing a bit to pass the time, but found the cold air painful to pull deeply into his lungs. Whistling wasn’t much better, but humming seemed to be allowed by the climate, and so he stuck to that for the time being.
They stopped at two more little shelters, not running into anyone else, and each time Lambert seemed to get more antsy, eyes wandering across the white landscape and pushing Geralt and Dandelion to hurry up.
“He’s human,” Geralt said in a warning tone when Lambert made a particularly annoyed comment on their speed. “And I’m not interested in passing on sleeping through the night either. Go on, no one is making you stay with us.” Dandelion also offered an apology that Geralt promptly shut down, and after that Lambert kept his restlessness to himself.
Later, Geralt and Dandelion discovered why Lambert had been so impatient when he yelled a name Dandelion didn’t recognise and darted forward, off beyond Dandelion’s limited vision in the downpour of snow. Geralt took hold of Lambert’s horse’s reins, guiding her alongside Płotka until they came upon where Lambert was practically buried in the snow alongside another man. Even right beside them, Dandelion wasn’t sure if they were fighting or embracing, but they were certainly arguing.
“I told you to wait at the last cabin-”
“Yeah but what if you were ahead-”
“I told you I would wait at the last cabin if-”
“But clearly you didn’t-”
“Because I knew you had been there, you dickhead! You left a fucking mess.”
“I’m soo sorry for not wanting to rot away alone in a cabin with low rations-”
“I hate you and am going to strangle you to death.”
“With what strength? You look like a starved ra-”
“If you two are done,” Geralt interrupted, “we’re almost there. We can arrive by nightfall if you get up.”
The other man, Aiden, Lambert had called him, popped his head up from where it was obscured by the snow. “Hey Geralt!” He said in a chirper tone. “Brought the bard this year?” He asked, not sounding the least bit surprised. Lambert un-pinned him, and they both stood, dusting themselves off.
Lambert took back his mare’s reins and turned his nose up in a display of annoyance. “Now who’s rushing?” He sassed, and the party continued on their way.
Dandelion introduced himself to Aiden, and the moment he discovered that Aiden was from another witchering school, cat as opposed to wolf, Dandelion found himself full of questions again, new ones that Lambert hadn’t been presented with previously.
When they arrived at the tall iron gates, and opened them with a terrible deafening squeak, Dandelion looked upon the keep in awe. Perhaps just because he knew it to be Geralt’s home in a way, and had heard a small bit of the history of the place, but he felt humbled looking upon it, even if it looked old and worn.
They put away their horses in the stable and were greeted at the door by two more men, one elderly with a moustache and a beer belly and the other tall and poised, dark hair in a neat bun, and a woman with long reddish brown curls and an easy smile.
“Dandelion,” the older man greeted him, clasping his hand into a firm handshake after his gloves had been removed. “I am Vesemir. Geralt has told me about you.”
“And I, you. Wonderful to make your acquaintance, good sir!”
“Coën,” the other man followed suit, and Dandelion didn’t miss the medallion displayed against his chest, some sort of large bird. He barely bit his tongue on his questions as he instead turned to the women. He could ask in the future, he had all winter, after all.
“I’m Triss,” the woman said brightly. “Do you know if Eskel was far behind you?” She tacked on, more towards the other witchers than him.
“No, we were ahead of him,” Geralt replied. “Did you come with Yennefer?” Ah, another name Dandelion recognised. His ears perked up, and he looked expectantly at Triss for the answer the same as Geralt.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “She and Letho are in the study, I believe.” She cocked her head to the side. “Or did they move to the potions room?” She shrugged. “Either way, they’re both about somewhere.”
“Has anyone started dinner yet?” Lambert asked.
“We were, but we wanted to come greet you,” Coën said. “You can come along and help if you like.”
“Of course he’d like to,” Aiden prodded Lambert’s side. “Let’s go put our things away first, hm?”
“You too,” Geralt said to Dandelion. “I’ll show you around after.”
The group that had formed in the foyer disbanded, divvying up as they all went about their tasks. Geralt stopped at his own door, and dithered about before asking in a choppy way if Dandelion would like to share, or take the empty room across the hall. Of course, Dandelion accepted the offer to share, and made himself right at home in Geralt’s room. Yennefer knocked, greeted them both with a kiss on the cheek, and joined them as Geralt showed Dandelion around. The library, the study, the sitting room, Yennefer barred them from the potions room with a saccharine smile, saying that Letho was busy and couldn’t be disturbed. Geralt raised a brow, but they carried on to the kitchen, where Coën, Lambert, and Aiden were at work, and then the dining hall.
The keep was made to house many more bodies than the dozen or so that came and went, and it made it feel almost melancholy, if not for the upbeat chatter and life the witchers and witches there brought, the way they all sat together at one end of the large dining hall table and passed bowls and plates back and forth between one another as they traded stories from the year since reconvening, or scattered across the sitting room, fire roaring and strong drinks being passed about as they all rested their weary joints. When Dandelion was introduced to the hot springs, he swore he’d never leave the steaming water, and Aiden agreed to the sentiment easily.
Eskel arrived two days later, and Triss tackled him into a hug, Geralt and Vesemir not far behind. Dandelion didn’t expect the same sort of treatment, as they had only met once before, but Eskel swept him up just as he had the others. Even with one arm in a sling, his tall, broad, full frame had the makings of a perfectly snug embrace.
“Glad to see Geralt brought you along this year,” he grinned, mussing up Dandelion’s hair as they separated with a wink.
“Glad to see you made it before the paths became impassable,” Geralt retorted, tone indicating it to be something of a jab.
Eskel looked from Geralt to his sling and back again, using his good hand to gesture towards it pointedly. “No, Geralt, I am injured, you can’t possibly-”
“Atch atch!” Aiden chided. “Rules are rules! Last one to the keep has to clean the bathrooms!”
Eskel looked around for an out. “Is Letho coming this year?”
“He was the first one here,” Geralt confirmed. “Coën is here, too.” He leaned in, examining Eskel’s arm in the sling. “What’d you do, dislocate something?”
“No, I fractured my forearm,” he pouted. “Killing a spider crab.”
“Well, next time maybe you won’t fracture your arm if you learn your lesson cleaning out toilets,” Vesemir chided.
“Oh, you lot are being cruel,” Dandelion intervened, patting Eskel’s good arm dotingly. “Poor dear hasn’t even had the chance to set his things down and warm up properly.” Just as Eskel started to grow smug, having him come to his defence, Dandelion tacked on, “He can scrub the bathrooms down after he has a minute to sit, relax, and tell me all about the battle he lost with a spider crab.”
“I didn’t lose!” Eskel cried in utter horror over the sounds of Aiden and Lambert’s crows and guffaws.