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1.
The first stone missed Eskel entirely, but the second one tore his face up, drawing blood. He told himself he didn’t care, and he kept walking. His face was ruined anyway, and he healed quickly so what did another scar matter?
The crowd was growing larger by the minute, forming a half-circle around him, not daring to get in his way, but following his every step, right behind and beside him. Their murmurs turned into shouting, calling Eskel obscene names and cursing him. Nothing he hadn’t heard before. Nothing he wouldn’t hear in the future, that’s for sure. The stones kept flying towards him, most missing their target, but some hit him. He was glad he left Scorpion in the forest, this way at least his horse wouldn’t get hurt.
Then suddenly the tone of the crowd’s shouting changed. It didn’t quite down, but it wasn’t just directed towards Eskel anymore, and surprise colored the voices instead of pure anger. He knew he shouldn’t have turned around, that he should have used the opportunity and the lack of stones to hurry up and disappear from that dammed village, but his curiosity won. He turned his head, to get a peek at what was happening behind his back. There was a man on a horse, forcing his way across the crowd. He was wearing ridiculously colorful clothing which made him stand out of the crowd even more.
“What’s happening here, good people?” He shouted over the noise, drawing everyone’s attention to himself.
“The witcher! He let the little girl die!”
“Monster!”
“He didn’t keep his word!”
“Murderer!”
The villagers' voices turned into an unintelligible cacophony once again, and Eskel turned his head back, continuing his walk. They were right, anyway. He let that little girl die. She was abducted by harpies when she was playing in the field with her friends, but they didn’t immediately kill her. Sometimes harpies would take their victims alive to their chick, to teach them how to hunt. Eskel was supposed to save her. But he was too late, tracking his way to the nest, too late, taking his time to slaughter the parent harpies. The girl was dead by the time he got to the nest, the chicks still pecking her lifeless body. She probably died just a few minutes earlier. He did what he could, killed all the chicks, and carried her small body back to the village to be buried, but that wasn’t enough. She was dead because he couldn’t do his job properly, that’s what the villagers said and maybe that was the truth. So for now he had to endure their anger, for he deserved it. So he just walked, slowly, step by step. But then something unexpected happened.
The strange man trotted to Eskel’s side and held his arm down to him.
“Wanna get out of here, my friend?”
Eskel was too dumbstruck to react at first but then a stone hitting him on the back of his head jolted him back to his senses and he accepted the man’s arm, who helped Eskel up onto the horse, right behind him. Then his savior urged his horse to go faster, and they galloped away from the angry villagers.
They only stopped after they were far away from the village, deep in the forest. There the man dismounted and Eskel quickly did the same. Now that he was standing face-to-face with the man, he noticed how handsome he was, with wavy brown hair and stunning grey eyes. He was smiling at Eskel, which made him even stranger, since no one ever smiled at him, except for his brothers and the whores he paid to do so.
“Thank you.” Eskel finally spoke up “You saved me.”
“It wasn’t any trouble my friend. Those villagers were really out of line, attacking you after you just saved them from some monster! I ought to write a song about them, so no self-respecting merchant or witcher ever sets foot in their shit-stained village!”
“They were right. I couldn’t save the girl.”
The man’s angry face softened.
“That wasn’t your fault. I’m sure you would have if it was possible.”
“I…yes.”
“And what’s your name, oh mighty witcher?”
“Eskel.” He said, still in awe over how the man was behaving “And what about yours?”
The man bowed in an exaggerated manner and said:
“I’m Dandelion the bard, but you may call me Jaskier.”
2.
Eskel, for once in his life, was very lucky. He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, or for how long it would last, but he was determined to enjoy it.
After heroically rescuing him, Jaskier, for whatever reason, decided to continue traveling with Eskel, accompanying him on the road. Of course, after his introduction, the witcher immediately recognized the bard’s name. He had heard it many times before, from his brother, usually in the context of complaints over how annoying and irresponsible the human was. So he couldn’t help himself but blurt out:
“You’re Geralt’s bard!”
That had an immediate effect on the man. His cheerful face turned sour, his eyes darkened, and his whole posture changed.
“No. I’m not Geralt’s anything, not anymore. Maybe I never even was.”
There was so much anger and hurt in his voice, and Eskel hated himself for ruining the bard’s mood.
“Forgive me,” He stammered “I shouldn’t have assumed…I never meant to…”
He forced himself to shut up before he said something even more hurtful. But the bard seemed to understand what he meant.
“It’s alright. It’s just that Geralt and I parted our ways in a rather…hurtful way, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention him anymore.”
And even after this initial screwup, Jaskier decided to stay with Eskel. The witcher had no idea why. It was surprising in itself for a human to try to befriend a witcher, but with Geralt, he could understand it. His brother had been always the best one of them, the golden buy. Heroic to a fault, with a soft heart, and a face that was considered handsome even despite the golden eyes. He could see the appeal in him, why a young bard would follow him around and sing his praises.
But him? Eskel wasn’t anything interesting. He stayed out of the business of kings and queens and avoided the nobles and mages to the best of his abilities. He never cared for politics or fame. He just wanted to do his job and get enough coin for it to live a comfortable life. He mostly took jobs in villages and smaller towns, clearing the rivers from drowners or defending crops or livestock from various monsters. He didn’t go against dragons or strigas, nothing that would be worthy of a song. And as for his appearance… He used to be handsome. Some people even thought that Geralt and him were related, they looked so alike, before the trials. And in his first few decades as a witcher, he still had his pretty face. People hated him nevertheless for being different, for being a witcher, but they trusted him a bit more easily. And the girls would smile at him and the prostitutes would welcome him in their arms without any complaints. But after his child of surprise, Deidre left with him with scars on his face that never went away, things changed. People viewed him as someone even more dangerous than a regular witcher. They saw him as violent, repulsive, threatening, an embodiment of everything they rumored witchers to be.
He got used to it, he had to. That’s how he stayed sane and was able to do his job. It didn’t matter what humans thought or said of him. It didn’t matter that children ran to their mother crying at the sight of him or that whores would refuse to bed him, even if he offered to pay double. None of that mattered to him, it couldn’t matter to him. But Jaskier redefined everything he used to think about himself or his life. The bard showered him with his attention, his songs, his laughter, not giving a damn about how unworthy Eskel was of his attention.
And however selfish that was, Eskel decided to do everything in his power to keep things that way. He immensely enjoyed the bard’s company, as he finally had someone to talk to about something else besides monsters and contracts. He usually only had this luxury once a year at Kaer Morhen, but never in the Path. And Jaskier was a good listener and an even better talker. They would chat about anything and everything, about Eskel’s different contracts, about Jaskier’s ill-fated affairs with married women, the beauty of the wood they were traveling through, or the history of a specific town. Every time Eskel opened his mouth Jaskier would listen to him like he was the most interesting person on the Continent. And on top of that Eskel could witness the birth of Jaskier’s songs, the way how from a simple accord or a rhyme a whole ballad could be born. He admired the ease with which the bard composed his songs, twisting the words to his liking, and creating melodies that had never existed before.
So all in all, Eskel immensely enjoyed Jaskier’s company and he wished to keep the man by his side for as long as possible. That’s why he got worried a week after their meeting. He had left Lil’ Bleater at a farmer's care some time ago, and now it was time for him to reclaim his goat, but he had no idea how Jaskier would react to the matter. Witchers weren’t supposed to be soft. Witchers shouldn’t get attached, especially not to pets. But when he found Lil’ Bleater a few years ago, the only survivor of a wyvern attack on a little farm, he had to take her in. He had hand-fed the baby goat, taking care of her every need, and probably spoiled her too, and she traveled by his side ever since. His brothers had teased him constantly about his pet ever since he had bought her to Kaer Morhen, but he never cared about it. But now he was truly worried that this would change Jaskier’s opinion of him.
Nevertheless, he stopped Scorpion once they reached the farm he had left Lil’ Bleater at. Jaskier looked at him a bit confused.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“I had left something with the farmer for safekeeping a while ago, it’s time that I reclaimed it. Just wait here.”
Lil’ Bleater was happy to see him, as always, immediately running up to him, demanding scratches and snacks. Eskel paid the farmer for his services, and then he lifted the goat in his arms and carried her back to the horses. Jaskier stared at them with wide eyes, and Eskel tried to ignore him as he placed Lil’ Bleater in the pouch hanging from his saddle, designed to carry the goat. After a few minutes, Jaskier seemed to recover from his surprise.
“Well, who is this handsome fellow and how come you’ve never mentioned him?”
Eskel would’ve blushed if he was able to.
“She’s actually a lady. I call her Lil’ Bleater. Found her a few years ago, and she kind of stuck with me.”
He carefully probed the bard’s face as he said that, but he couldn’t see anything else besides genuine surprise and adoration.
“I beg your pardon, your ladyship, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Lil’ Bleater bleated in response, but Jaskier took that as a valid answer, continuing his conversation with the goat. Eskel felt so relieved, so happy, that Jaskier didn’t judge him for being too soft.
They struck camp at a field that evening, and while Eskel was busy collecting firewood and laying their bedrolls down, Jaskier and Lil’ Bleater were having fun. The bard followed the grazing goat around, picking flowers as they walked, and weaving them into wreaths. He placed one on Lil’ Bleater’s head and made one for himself, and to Eskel’s surprise, he also received a flower crown, made out of bright yellow flowers.
“Buttercups,” Jaskier had explained “My namesakes.”
Of course, as soon as Eskel sat down, Lil’ Bleater attacked his flower crown, devouring most of it, but he couldn’t find himself caring too much about it, as it made Jaskier laugh. He had managed to save a few flowers, pressing and preserving them in his journal, so he would remember the bard who weaved him a flower crown long after he was gone.
3.
Eskel wasn’t used to nice things, especially not nice things that came without any strings attached. When he was on the Path, coin was usually too little to spend on delicacies, fine clothes, or unnecessary objects. And even if, by some miracle, he had spare coin, there was always something in need of repairing, or potion ingredients that had to be bought. He very rarely allowed himself to buy a book or a trinket, and when he did, he usually felt bad about spending money on such luxuries.
Gifts were also not something witchers usually received. Only his brothers or Vesemir gave him things freely, during the winter, usually things that could come in handy on the road, like new weapons or books about monsters.
With Jaskier it was different. The bard didn’t need a logical reason to buy something, it was enough that he found it beautiful, interesting or he just had a sudden desire for it. He wore colorful clothes, with rich embroidery, made out of expensive fabric. He loved to indulge in good food, comfortable beds, and warm baths.
At first, this was just one more of the bard’s interesting quirks, until Eskel realized it also extended to him. For the first few weeks they only passed through small villages, but once they arrived in a town, Jaskier went on a shopping spree and returned with several items that he claimed were absolutely necessary to have a half-decent journey on the road. Eskel was amused but didn’t say anything, assuming everything was just for the bard. But he was proven wrong soon enough.
The next night they spent in the woods, Jaskier was busy preparing their bedrolls while Eskel skinned the rabbits he hunted for dinner. But before he could put the skewers over the fire, the other man snatched it from his hand.
“Oh, no, no, no. We’re not eating bland meat again, not if I can help it. You witchers should learn that food isn’t just about nutrition, it’s for pleasure too.”
He took out a small pouch and rubbed a mixture of spices onto the meat. Once he was done, he handed the skewers back to Eskel.
“There! It’ll be much better now.”
And indeed, it tasted far better than what the witcher would usually make. The next time Jaskier started preparing their dinner Eskel made a comment.
“No need to put the spices on mine. It’s good enough for me the way it is, no need to waste those spices on me. They must have been costly.”
“Did you not like your food better with the spices?”
Eskel shrugged.
“I did, but I’m fine without them.”
Jaskier shook his head disapprovingly and sprinkled some spice on Eskel’s portion too.
“Well, I’m more than happy to share it with you, and there is no good reason anyone should suffer through eating bland food, especially not you, my friend.”
So Eskel gratefully, if with a little confusion, accepted that his meals became tastier.
But the mission to introduce him to the word of flavors and aromas didn’t stop with Jaskier buying spices. When they happened to be at a town on market day, Jaskier dragged Eskel from booth to booth, chattering about the quality of Temerian silk or the superiority of wine from Brugge compared to wine made near Vizima. The bard let out a joyous gasp when he spotted a booth filled with sweets, and hurried over there, with Eskel in his trail.
“Are those honeycakes I see there? How much for one, my friend?”
Eskel listened to Jaskier haggling with amusement, as his friend bought several different sweets. Once he was done, Jaskier ushered him out of the market’s crowd. They sat down further away, and Jaskier carefully put out his purchases on a cloth. He looked at them with delight, then lifted a honey cake and broke it into two offering half of it to Eskel. He was surprised by the gesture, since he saw how pricey the sweets were, and knew about the bard’s sweet tooth.
“No, thank you, you bought them, you should eat them.”
“What do you have against sweets? Answer carefully, for our friendship depends on it!” Jaskier gasped dramatically.
“Nothing against them, bardling,” Eskel chuckled “But these are yours, I don’t want to take them away from you.”
“I’m offering them, so you wouldn’t be taking it away.”
The witcher still didn’t accept the offered cake. Jaskier sighed.
“And I couldn’t possibly eat all of these, or my fabulous figure would be ruined. So help me out, and let’s decide together which one of these is the best dessert in town.”
Hesitantly, Eskel took a bite of the honey cake. It was the best thing he had ever tasted, without any exaggeration. He told exactly that to Jaskier, who smiled fondly at him and gestured at the other sweets.
“Wait until you try all of these before making such a statement.”
And although the witcher ended up tasting all those sweets, honey cake remained his favorite. Jaskier took notice of that, and from time to time Eskel would find said dessert on his bedroll, in his bag, or on his pillow. And whenever he tried to say anything about him having no need for such treats, Jaskier would just wave his hand and declare that everyone needed sweets now and then.
But Jaskier apparently wasn’t satisfied with just feeding him better food, as Eskel soon discovered.
He was coming back from an exhausting hunt, that lasted for hours. He had a few injuries, nothing too serious, but enough to bother him for the next week or so, and he smelled dreadful, his armor covered in blood and guts. So much for getting a room at the inn, he thought bitterly. There was no chance they would let him in such a state, so at best he could stay in a barn, although his aching bones begged for a good night’s rest in a bed. After he had delivered the monster heads to the burgomaster, as proof, and got the agreed-upon payment after some back and forth, Eskel headed to the inn where he left Jaskier and his belongings. He only went there to get some of his potions, not because he had any hope that the innkeeper would actually let him stay there. Jaskier rushed out of the building as soon as he saw Eskel. He seemed quite worried.
“Are you alright? Did you get injured? Can I help?”
“It’s okay, songbird. Nothing serious. I’m just here to get some Swallow then I’ll lie down in the barn and sleep it out.”
“Like hell you will! You need a bath, some stitching, and a proper bed!”
“I don’t think that’s…”
Jaskier didn’t let him finish the sentence as he draped one of Eskel’s arms over his shoulder, not afraid to get his fancy doublet dirty, as he helped him inside the inn. The innkeeper immediately started shouting at them, and Jaskier got into a heated argument with him, but Eskel was too tired to pay attention. In the end, it seemed like the bard had won, since he gently led him upstairs, and made him sit down, while he helped him get rid of the armor. Soon a hot bath was brought up and Jaskier nudged him towards it.
“Let’s get you clean before I stitch your wounds. I don’t want you to have a nasty infection.”
Eskel hesitated before getting rid of his clothes, although his body ached for the embrace of the warm water, but Jaskier was quick to reassure him.
“Oh, don’t be a blushing maid now, dear heart. I have bathed Geralt far more times than I can count.”
So Eskel undressed and quickly got into the bathtub. Jaskier fumbled with his bag for a while, giving time for Eskel to get rid of the worst mess, but then the bard returned with a vial and poured a few drops into the water.
“Chamomile oil” He explained when Eskel looked at him questioningly “It helps you to relax and is good for wounds.”
Jaskier took a rug and started scrubbing Eskel down, getting rid of the blood, mud, and other unpleasant substances. Then he poured some oil on his hair and started massaging it in, which made Eskel unintentionally moan. The gentle touch was just too much for someone who only got kind touches if he paid for it. Thankfully, Jaskier didn’t comment on the moan, instead, he poured some water over Eskel’s head and continued washing his hair. By the time he was done, the water was already cooling down. Eskel quickly got dressed in his underclothes, then he let Jaskier fuss over his injuries. The bard insisted on stitching them and rubbing healing salve onto them, although Eskel reassured him multiple times that they would heal just fine on their own. Once he was done, Jaskier told the witcher to lie down and get some rest. Eskel only noticed then that there was only one bed, so he offered to sleep on the floor, but Jaskier immediately dismissed the idea.
“The bed is big enough for both of us, dear heart. Don’t worry, I won’t steal your virtue,” He winked at Eskel, as he climbed under the covers next to him.
As it turned out, Jaskier liked to cuddle in his sleep, and Eskel would’ve never admitted out loud how much he enjoyed having strong arms hugging him close.
The next morning he pretended as if nothing happened, but from then on they would share a bed occasionally, to save coin, and only for that reason, or that’s what Eskel kept telling himself.
Then he got his first real gift from Jaskier. He should have suspected it was coming since the bard had brought the topic up weeks before it happened.
“It’ll be Summer Solstice soon,” Jaskier said offhandedly as they were sitting by the campfire.
Eskel just nodded, not knowing what to add to the statement. He knew how important the holiday was for humans. They held festivals all over the Continent, and they built huge bonfires to dance around, and they drank and sang and gave gifts to each other. Eskel was only ever an outside observer of these festivities, and he didn’t expect this year to be any different. He should’ve known better.
Jaskier insisted on travelling faster than usual, to reach the next city, where he wanted to take part in a bardic competition. The people there were already preparing for the solstice, decorating the houses with flower garlands and lanterns, the vendors setting up their stalls, while others were building the bonfires, and the children shined around. Excitement and joy were vibrating in the warm summer air, and it made Eskel smile. Jaskier must have felt the same way, because he started playing some of his happiest, if a bit inappropriate, songs. They decided to stay in an inn, where, miraculously, the innkeeper didn’t object to Eskel’s presence.
The festivities began the next day, and Jaskier insisted on visiting the market with Eskel, but he soon wandered off from the witcher's side, leaving him alone. Eskel went from stall to stall aimlessly, until something caught his eyes. Or more precisely, his ears. Birdsong – not a real bird’s, he could tell the difference – but something very similar. He looked around to find the source of the sound and he soon spotted a stall, which had a big group of children gathered around it. The vendor was standing on top of a stool, playing a bird-shaped clay whistle. Eskel slowly inched closer, so he wouldn’t scar the children away. It was such a simple tool, yet it imitated birdsong so closely. It reminded him of Jaskier, who could evoke so many feelings with only his voice and lute. Eskel sometimes teasingly called him little lark, since the bard reminded him so much of the small bird with a big voice.
Suddenly a thought ran through his mind: Jaskier would love to have that whistle. He tried to argue against it, after all, it was clearly intended for children, but the bard never cared much for what things were intended for or what others thought of him. And it was tradition to give gifts during Summer Solstice, Eskel reasoned with himself. So after the vendor finished his performance and the children scattered, he approached the man. The merchant looked surprised when he looked up and saw Eskel in front of him, surprised but not afraid.
“How can I help you, Master Witcher?”
“How much for this?” Eskel asked, pointing at one of the birds, that was painted yellow like a dandelion.
“Fifty coppers.”
Eskel didn’t even try to haggle, too keen on getting away from the awkward situation. He had no idea what the vendor must have thought about a scarred witcher buying a children’s toy. He wrapped it in a cloth and carefully put it away, so he could later give it to Jaskier. Soon the bard literally bumped into him.
“Eskel! I thought I lost you. Isn’t this place amazing? Look at this vest! It was horrendously overpriced, and I had to convince the tailor to lower the price, but this embroidery was worth every crown. Of course, don’t tell that to the tailor, he might just demand more coin. Did you get anything?”
Eskel shook his head and repressed the urge to smile.
“What a pity. I would show you some of the best products, but we must hurry, the competition will soon start and I still have to warm up my vocal cords.”
Eskel stood at the back of the crowd, not wanting to draw attention to himself or scare anyone away. He debated staying at the inn, but Jaskier would have been hurt if he hadn’t come to see his performance, and truthfully Eskel wanted to be there. The performances varied from painful to his ears to actually very talented, but none of them could measure up to Jaskier. The moment he stepped on the stage and started singing he charmed the whole crowd. By the end of his performance, they were singing with him. Even Eskel found himself quietly mouthing the words to the songs he knew by heart by now. The judges must have seen Jaskier’s talent too, since he was crowned the best bard of the competition. Everyone cheered, and Eskel allowed himself to clap and smile.
Jaskier found him once the crowd started spreading. He was wearing the flower crown, the sign of his victor, and he was practically leaping.
“Did you see me Eskel? Oh, such a wonderful crowd!”
“I sure did. You were amazing.”
Suddenly Jaskier crushed Eskel in a hug. It was so unexpected, the witcher didn’t know what to do at first. IT had been so long since anyone hugged him. But slowly he wrapped his arms around his friend, and just let himself enjoy the warmth of another body for a moment.
“You were amazing,” He repeated “The best bard I’ve ever heard.”
Finally, Jaskier pulled away, blushing and the flowers a bit disheveled in his crown.
“Why, thank you, dear heart. Oh, I just remembered, I have something for you. It’s Summer Solstice after all, and everyone deserves a present.”
He reached into his pocket and pressed something into Eskel’s hand. The witcher stared at the tiny brooch in his palm, delicately crafted in the shape of a tree, the leaves made out of ambers.
“Reminded me of your eyes. Do you like it?” Jaskier sounded uncertain.
“I…Of course. It’s just…I’ve never…Thank you.”
Eskel had never gotten a gift that wasn’t useful, never got anything just because. He pinned the brosch on his vest, then he remembered the whistle. He hesitated for a moment, debating if he should give it to Jaskier. After all the cheap trinket was nothing compared to his friend’s gift. But he gave it to him anyway.
“I know it isn’t anything big, I just thought you might like it.”
“I do! Thank you, Eskel. I shall treasure it.”
They stood there for a while in comfortable silence, before Jaskier hooked on to Eskel and pointed at the folks dancing around the bonfire.
“Dance with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Nonsense, everyone can dance. Here, I’ll show you.”
So the witcher and the bard danced hand in hand, celebrating the Summer Solstice, and maybe something more.
4.
Eskel loved Jaskier’s songs long before he had met the bard. He had always loved music – not something he would ever admit to his brothers - he liked to sneak into different festivities, just to listen to the bards, or he would hide in the corners of inns to hear their songs.
He was in an inn, somewhere in Temeria, when he first heard Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. The bard singing it wasn’t the best at his craft, his voice wavering on the higher notes, but Eskel was too stunned to care about that. This was a song about witchers. Specifically, about Geralt. No one wrote songs about witchers, especially not ones that made them look like heroes. Witchers were a lot of things to humans: monsters, baby-stealers, a necessary evil, abominations, but never heroes. Yet this song painted them as exactly that. And the crowd seemed to like it.
As he continued his journey on the Path, he kept hearing that song, in inns, castles, maids humming it or drunken men singing it. And along came new songs, all about Geralt and witchers. Most of them were ridiculously inaccurate and exaggerated, while others were a bit more accurate but they all had one thing in common: they made witchers into heroes. And things started to slowly change over the years. He wasn’t turned down in inns as often as he used to be, village elders and innkeepers were a bit more polite. Sometimes people would even offer to buy him a drink or approach him to ask about the monsters in the songs. He never would have thought that songs could have such an effect.
Now that he was traveling with Jaskier he was lucky enough to get to witness the birth of his songs. From the first reluctantly strummed chords to the frantic scribbling of lyrics – he found the whole process fascinating. At first, Jaskier was a bit reluctant to sing or play around him. He would stop strumming or singing whenever Eskel arrived, or he would apologize for humming as if it had been bothering Eskel. But after he made it clear that he not only wasn’t annoyed by the bard’s music but was also happy to hear it, Jaskier started freely composing in his presence, to Eskel’s joy.
But his new songs weren’t about witchers, and especially not about Geralt, and Eskel could understand that. He didn’t prod about what exactly went down between his brother and the bard, but it must have been bad. Nevertheless, he continued to enjoy the songs, despite the topic change, so he was surprised when one day, after returning from a hunt, he heard Jaskier singing about monsters and fights and witchers.
“Kill them all, said the lord,
So the witcher drew his sword“
Jaskier stopped to correct something in his notes, and his head snapped up when he heard Eskel approach.
“Oh, you’re back already! Did everything go well? Are you injured?”
“Yes and no. I’m just filthy, I’ll go take a bath in the river.”
As he bathed he listened, hoping to catch more of the new song’s lyrics, but Jaskier just played his lute without singing. Eskel didn’t ask him about what he overheard, too afraid that it would be a sensitive topic, so instead, he just began telling his friend about his latest hunt.
After that night he started noticing that Jaskier was being secretive. He would hear him sing when the bard thought he was away, hunting or collecting firewood, but as soon as Jaskier noticed that Eskel was back he stopped singing or switched to one of his other songs, not the new one. Because there was a new song being born, Eskel was sure of it, and not just some ditty. This was serious work, he could see it from the way Jaskier wrinkled his forehead as he leaned over his notebook, or the way he tried out hundreds of variations for a melody, but still shook his head in disappointment in the end. Eskel only brought the topic up once, after another night of unsuccessful composing, when Jaskier was visibly upset after putting his lute away.
“What got you so bothered, little lark? No song is worth being this angry about it.”
“You’re very wrong my friend. The best songs came from suffering and hard work. Expect this one wasn’t supposed to. But I want it to be perfect, and I just can’t get the right tune, the right words for it to be the astonishing song it deserves to be!”
“It’s got you all worked up, that’s for sure. What is it about?”
Jaskier’s expression changed.
“Nothing important,” He lied “I’m just experimenting with a new topic, that’s all. I can stop when you’re around if it bothers you.”
“You know it never does. I like hearing your voice and your lute, even if you deem those poor melodies unworthy. But you should give it a rest for tonight. Get some sleep, maybe tomorrow you’ll get it right.”
“You’re probably right, but I know I can’t fall asleep now, not while I’m this worked up about the song.”
“How can I help, lark?”
Jaskier pulled his bedroll next to Eskel’s and as he laid down his body was almost pressed up against the witcher’s.
“Just talk to me. About anything. That would help me take my mind off things.”
So Eskel talked to Jaskier. Not about monsters and battles, but about simple things. The few childhood memories he had, growing up in the mountains, how his mother used to sing to him, the smell of smoke within their little hut. Growing up in Kaer Morhen, except he didn’t mention anything painful or Geralt. He talked about the few joyful moments on the Path, like when a little girl hugged him after he saved her from a vampire, or how he found Lil’ Bleater. He talked and talked until Jaskier’s breathing evened out and the bard finally fell asleep.
Eskel laid next to the sleeping bard for a long while, unable to fall asleep. It kept bothering him that his friend was so secretive about this new song. He was usually happy to share everything about his work, but not this time. He figured out that the song would be about witchers, a topic Jaskier hadn’t sung about for a long time. Probably another piece dedicated to Geralt. That stung for some reason, and he felt guilty that it did. He knew how much Geralt used to mean to Jaskier, how much he still meant to him. They had traveled together for more than a decade, the bard considered him a close friend, and, if Eskel’s suspicions were right, Jaskier might have felt more than friendship towards Geralt at one point. And here he was again, writing about the White Wolf. Some part of Eskel desperately wished that he could be enough to replace Geralt in Jaskier’s heart, to make the bard’s pain disappear, but he knew that he wasn’t good enough for that. Geralt was the best of them, and that would probably never change.
A week later Jaskier announced that he had finally found the right tune for his new song, and although he still didn’t say anything about its topic, he revealed that he would debut it in the city of Creyden, their next stop.
They got a place for the night in one of the more prestigious inns. Eskel suspected that Jaskier probably bribed the innkeeper with the promise of a free show so he would let a witcher stay in his institution. He wasn’t sure if Jaskier wanted him to be there for the performance since his appearance could have scarred some of the audience away, but Jaskier looked offended when he offered to stay in their room.
“No, no, dear heart, you must come! This will be the first time that I sing my new song for an audience and I want you there!”
So Eskel sat down at one of the tables, nursing some ale and pretending not to notice the strange looks people gave him, as he waited for Jaskier. The bard soon appeared, dressed in ridiculously colorful clothing, with his lute in hand.
“Good evening fair ladies and brave gentlemen, I’m the famous bard Dandelion, and my sole purpose for tonight is to entertain you!”
He started with a few of his most popular songs, quickly getting the audience’s attention and adoration. Then, halfway through his performance, he made another announcement.
“And now, darling people of Creyden, I will sing my newest masterpiece, only for your ears. I dedicate this song to my traveling companion. Here we go.”
The melody that he started playing was familiar, as he practiced it over and over during the last week, but when he opened his mouth and started singing, Eskel was in for a surprise.
“Eskel the Gentle, protector of goats,
Slayer of monsters and guard of the roads.
Eyes bright as starts and sword swift like thunder,
Beasts killing children are soon turn asunder,”
Eskel was too shocked to comprehend the rest of the song. This song was about him. Jaskier wrote a song about him. Not Geralt, not some lovely maiden, but him, the scarred witcher. The rest of the show was a blur too.
He only came to his senses once Jaskier was standing in front of him, sweaty and tired after the long performance, but still smiling widely at him.
“Well, did you like my song?”
“I….” Eskel suddenly found it very hard to speak clearly “You…wrote about me. A song. About me.”
Jaskier’s smile widened.
“Yes, I did. I hope you aren’t angry I kept it a secret but I wanted to surprise you.”
Eskel threw his arms around the bard, hugging him close. He was sure that if witchers were capable of crying he would be in tears now.
“Thank you, little lark. This is the nicest thing anyone ever did for me.”
Jaskier hugged him back, and he whispered:
“You deserve far more, my dear heart.”
5.
Fuck.
He could almost hear Vesemir’s warning voice in the back of his head as pain exploded all over his face.
“Never let a mrokarz close to your face. Always attack it from the side, and shield your eyes if it turns your way.”
Well, too late now. The mrokarz’s spit burnt like acid, and the world went completely black. His other senses were still extremely heightened thanks to his potions, but without his sight that wasn’t doing him any favors. He stood in a defensive position, his sword raised as he waited for the monster to attack, but nothing happened. Instead he could hear the monster leave, breaking and crushing everything in its path. It probably decided against continuing the fight because of its severe injuries and fled instead. Eskel could only hope that it would soon bleed out, or the injured beast could wreak havoc on the nearby villages. He couldn’t chase him in his current condition, so he just listened until he could no longer hear the Mrokarz. Only then did he allow himself to collapse on the ground.
He was bleeding from several injuries, as the beast managed to slash him with its claws on multiple occasions. Nothing too deep, but it was hard to assess his injuries without being able to see them. And it was getting harder and harder to think, too. Everything was too loud, the smells too strong. Without his sight, it all got mixed into a chaotic cacophony. Animals, running across the forest, branches breaking under their hooves. Birds singing. The wind was rustling the leaves, and he could hear every falling branch, every falling leaf. His own heartbeat was drumming in his ears, a constant, loud sound.
Tam-tam. Tam-tam.
The smells were even worse. Rotting leaves, the smell of his own blood mixed with the beast’s. The grass, under him. Somewhere a deer’s corpse was rotting. Lavender.
Tam-tam- Tam-tam.
Wait, that didn’t fit it. Lavender. That should have reminded him of something. There was a new sound, too. Footsteps. Eskel struggled to pull himself up. Whoever was coming, they couldn’t find him lying here, defenseless.
“Eskel?”
The voice was too loud compared to the wood’s sounds, it almost hurt his ears. But it jogged his memory.
“Jaskier?”
The footsteps became faster, and the lavender scent intensified, until the bard was right next to him, helping him up.
“Eskel your eyes! What happened? I know they are supposed to be black but it looks like they were burned all around them. Is this how the potions supposed to make them?”
“No. Mrokarz spit. Blindness.”
He found it so hard to talk.
“Shitfuck. Okay, don’t panic, we’ll figure something out. I brought your potions, which ones do you need?”
Eskel leaned against Jaskier, burying his nose in the lavender scent. It dampened all the other scents.
“Eskel, darling, I need you to answer me. Which potions do you need?”
“Swallow,” he murmured “and White Honey.”
He could hear bottles clinking against each other, and then something was pressed against his lips. He drank without questions. Then the bard offered him another one, and he drank that too.
“Will this fix your eyes, Eskel?”
He shook his head. Even that small movement felt too much.
“But you’re aren’t going to stay blind, right? Right, Eskel?”
The bard was panicking.
“No. It’s temporary. Lasts a couple of hours. We should wash it out.”
“Oh, thank Melitele. I don’t have any water here. Or gaze. We have to get back to the camp. Can you do that, dear heart? It’s not too far.”
Eskel forced his body to move, to get up. He hated how vulnerable he felt without his eyes, but he trusted Jaskier to guide him. The bard hooked his arms into Eskel's and kept talking, gently guiding him back to the camp. Finally, they stopped and Jaskier urged him to sit down. The moment he let go of his friend his body screamed for the bard's comforting touch. Everything was too much again, too loud, too many smells, too many feelings. But soon he heard Jaskier returning, and then there was cool water pouring over his eyes, soothing the burning feeling a bit.
"There you go, dear heart. I know it hurts, but let me wash it a bit more than you can lay down."
"Lark. It's too much," he groaned.
"How can I help Eskel?"
The witcher tried to grasp for Jaskier's hand, for his touch, to find something in this chaos that would anchor him down. The bard seemed to understand what he needed without words, as he took Eskel's hand in his and sat down next to him, leaning against Eskel, almost cradling him in his lap.
"Shh, it's okay, it will pass."
Eskel grabbed onto him, so hard it must have hurt, yet he was unable to loosen his grip.
"Jaskier, I need more, I need you, please. Everything's so loud."
Suddenly there were chapped lips against his, a tongue pressing against his own, and the world quieted down, his focus on the sweet taste of Jaskier's lips.
"I love you Eskel," Jaskier gasped when they finally broke apart, "I love you, don't ever do this again, you scared me so badly. I can't lose you."
+1
Witchers were quiet. Easily annoyed. They grunted and cursed instead of actually talking and tried their best to hide their emotions. They never asked for help and even if they did receive it, they never said thank you for it. They left you behind if you became an inconvenience. Witchers ripped your heart out and broke it into millions of pieces without a care.
That’s what Jaskier learned about Witchers during the twenty years he spent traveling by Geralt’s side. Then Eskel came along and changed everything he thought to be true about Witchers.
When he first saw him, being chased out of a village by an angry mob, he couldn’t just stand by and let it happen. So he helped him. Didn’t expect anything in return, but to his surprise he got an actual honest thank you, something Geralt would never ever say out loud. And even though his heart and brain were screaming at him in chorus to just leave after he was sure Eskel would be alright, for some reason he stayed. He stayed, and he fell for Eskel so fast that it was almost ridiculous.
Eskel was different from Geralt. Sure, they shared the same golden eyes, scars littered both of their bodies and they wore very similar outfits, supplemented by two scary swords, but that’s where the similarities ended. Eskel was gentle and kind, and after he learned that Jaskier wasn’t judging him for these qualities, he wasn’t afraid to show it. He spent hours playing with Lil’ Bleater, and he always made sure that Scorpion and the little goat were full and taken care of before he even sat down. He took jobs for pitiful amounts of coin when he saw that the villagers were desperate, and even if afterward they turned out to be total assholes he never quipped back at them. He loved music, flowers, and sweets. He encouraged Jaskier to sing and play his lute whenever he had the opportunity. And he made it obvious that he cared for Jaskier, too. If he saw that he was tired he insisted that he sat on Scorpion’s back, or he would walk beside him. When he got even a tiny bit injured he fussed over it, like it was something life-threatening. And he asked questions from Jaskier about everything, his life, his music, what he dreamed about and he listened, he truly listened to the bard. And when he found out about Jaskier’s feelings towards him Eskel made sure that he knew Eskel felt the same way.
Despite this, Jaskier wasn’t able to fully give his heart to the witcher. His poor, shattered heart that he had to piece together piece by piece after it was destroyed on top of the mountain wasn’t quite healed yet, and he was afraid of getting it broken again. Once bitten, twice shy, the saying went, and it couldn’t be more true. So he remained cautious, always staying one step away from fully giving away his heart.
He could feel the warning signs of the illness, but he tried so hard not to pay attention to them that he almost succeeded. But it was there, the shortness of breath, the coughing, the way he got tired so easily. Yet he pretended that everything was fine and dandy since these were the last few days he got to spend with Eskel before they separated for the winter and damn him if some stupid illness would be able to rob him of these last days. So he kept telling himself that everything was just fine until it really wasn’t.
One morning he woke up feeling like shit. He was aching all over, he felt like he was freezing to death, and he couldn’t stop the shivers running down his body. Thankfully, Eskel already left the small room they were renting, probably to tend to Scorpion and to get some breakfast. Jaskier had to get himself together before he came back. He tried his best to stand up but only managed to do so for a few seconds before the dizziness took over and he had to lay back down. Fuck. This was bad. Why couldn't this wait just a few days more? Then Eskel would be on his way to Kaer Morhen, unaware that anything was wrong. But no, now Eskel would see how much of a burden Jaskier was, and he would probably make up some excuse and head up the mountain sooner than planned. Tears rolled down Jaskier's face, and he felt as miserable in his soul as in his body. Eskel found him like this.
"Jaskier, why are you still in bed? You're shivering, are you alright? Why are you crying?" his voice was filled with worry and it made Jaskier want to cry even more.
"It's nothing, dear heart. Just a little illness. I suppose we'll have to part ways sooner than we anticipated."
"You're ill? Why didn't you say something? I'll get a healer."
Great, now he made Eskel think it was a bigger deal than it actually was. Damn.
"No need for a healer, it's just a little cold, it'll get better on its own. I just need some time to rest."
"It doesn't look like just a little cold."
"Oh, darling please don't insult my appearance, I feel bad enough already."
"You know that's not what I meant."
Eskel grabbed another blanket from a chair and draped it over Jaskier's body. It was still so cold. His lover pressed his hand against Jaskier's forehead.
"You're burning up, lark. Wait here, I'll be right back."
Jaskier wanted to call out to Eskel, to stop him from leaving, but it would have been selfish. Eskel had a job to do, gear to buy for the winter, preparations to make. Jaskier couldn't keep him all to himself. To his surprise, true to his word, Eskel soon returned, with an elderly woman in tow.
"Jaskier, this is Kata, she'll help you."
The woman went immediately to his side, touching his forehead and asking questions about where it hurt, and how long had he been feeling this way. Jaskier tried to answer honestly, too tired to make up lies, but he could see the hurt in Eskel's eyes when admitted that he had been unwell the past week. The woman hummed and nodded, then she turned to Eskel.
"A nasty cold, with a fever. You should keep an eye on him so it doesn't turn more serious. Keep him warm, and in bed, make sure he eats and drinks even if he doesn't feel like it, at least a little. I'll go back to my house and bring some herbs that'll help."
"Thank you."
Eskel sat down on the bed, petting Jaskier's damp hair.
"Why didn't you tell me you were feeling sick?"
"Didn't want you to leave," Jaskier grunted.
Eskel's face turned sad.
"I'm not leaving," he said, but that couldn't be true.
So Jaskier closed his eyes, too tired to try to make sense of Eskel's words. He heard the bed creek and tears welled up in his eyes. His lover was already leaving. A few minutes passed, and then suddenly a wet cloth touched his burning forehead. Jaskier moaned in pain.
"Shhh, it's okay. This should bring your fever down. And drink some water."
Jaskier obeyed, gulping the cool water, then he fell into a restless sleep.
Some time later Eskel woke him up and made him drink some sort of herbal brew that tasted awful, but he did start feeling a bit better soon. He could even eat a few bites.
"You're a darling Eskel, but I can take care of myself."
"I like taking care of you."
But I don't want to get used to it, Jaskier wanted to say, not when you're leaving in two days. Yet, he was too selfish to say it, enjoying the attention from the witcher.
Two days passed, and Jaskier's illness only worsened. Eskel was right by his side, changing the cold cloth on his forehead and helping him bathe and eat. The healer came once again, shaking her head and bringing even more disgusting potions. The knowledge that he had to part from Eskel soon didn't help his suffering either. Once the old woman left, Eskel sat down on the bed.
"Do you want anything, lark? Some water or maybe soup?"
Jaskier shook his head.
"You should start packing," he said instead. "The path to Kaer Morhen will be soon snowed in, you should go tomorrow."
"I'm not leaving you like this."
"It's really nothing, dear heart, I have had worse. And Kata promised to help me. I'll be fine."
"Don't you want me here? I don't understand why you want me to leave, Jas."
"Of course I want you here! But I know you can't stay and you're just making saying goodbye harder!"
Eskel took his hand in his, looking into Jaskier's eyes with seriousness.
"Jaskier, I'm not going anywhere until you're feeling better. If that means that I can't winter at Kaer Morhen this winter, then so be it. I'll send a letter to the others that I couldn't make it. I'll go with you to Oxenfurt for the winter, or if you don't want that I'll find another place."
"What? Of course I would love it if you came to Oxenfurt! But you would miss Kaer Morhen and your brothers!"
"I will miss them, but I would also miss you if I went. Please, Jaskier let me stay with you."
"Well, if you really want to..."
"I do."
Eskel leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against his lips, and Jaskier sighed with contentment.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you," Eskel echoed, and suddenly Jaskier's chest felt a lot less heavy.