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Chapter Text

Jaskier knew he was being petty in avoiding Geralt, but what he’d said on the mountain hurt. He knew Geralt had been angry and had taken it out on Jaskier, but it was the fact that it always happened. Geralt would be mad at life or have a stick up his ass and he’d yell at Jaskier, in turn Jaskier would sing songs about witchers with small cocks, and eventually they’d meet back up and never mention it again

Jaskier was tired of it though, he was tired of Geralt using him as a verbal punching bag, and he was tired of letting himself be treated like that. Geralt only did it because Jaskier had always forgiven him. Jaskier knew if he’d put his foot down the first time, and told Geralt he wouldn’t be treated like that, then they’d never have gotten to where they were now. 

But Jaskier had been barely passed eighteen the first time, and had feared that Geralt had truly been fed up with him. The joy he’d felt when they’d fallen back into step with each other two towns later was a fragile, and he worried sticking up for himself would cause the witcher to leave. 

Now, two decades later, Jaskier had no trouble telling the witcher what he thought of his bad manners, but they were stuck in the routine of it now. Admittedly the mountain was the worst by far, and Jaskier had decided it was a good time to start anew. Make Geralt sweat a bit, worry that Jaskier was gone for good.

Instead of a song about the Scared Witcher or the Witcher With The Small Sword, Jaskier penned Burn Butcher Burn, emptying all his rage and heartache into it, hoping that it would purge all the emotions from him. 

It helped somewhat with the rage, though he knew no matter what he’d always love Geralt, and the heartache that those feelings would never be returned was something that wouldn’t leave him, no matter how many sad songs he wrote about it.

So he was being petty and avoiding Geralt for as long as he could. They’d passed the normal few months that went between when they argued and when they met back up, but Jaskier wasn’t ready to cave yet. Instead he followed rumours of other witchers, knowing that Geralt wouldn’t go near other witchers, as all the jobs would be done in that area. 

It was working quite well, though Jaskier could tell they were travelling North in parallel. He fell into a routine of singing and sleeping around, drinking more than he should, and then moving on. It was fine until he ran into another Witcher. He knew he’d been dogging the footsteps of one, due to the grumbling of townsfolk and lack of monsters, but he hadn’t figured he’d catch up with the man.

Jaskier had been looking for a place to camp when he realised the spot he would have chosen had already been claimed. He crept up to the camp quietly, before realising that the spot had been claimed by a witcher and there was no use creeping because he’d likely given away his position several hundred feet ago.

“Here to try and kill me?” The witcher asked without even opening his eyes. His swords were a way from his meditating form but Jaskier was under no illusion that would hinder the man. “Go home and tell your shithead friends you couldn’t find me. Otherwise they’ll be looking for your body in the morning.”

The witcher had a Wolf medallion and that was almost enough to make Jaskier turn tail and flee anyway, but curiosity stopped him. Geralt had never spoken in detail about his brothers, only brief comments, Eskel and his bloody goat, or Lambert and his bloody bombs. Jaskier wondered which this was, or another wolf witcher, one he hadn’t even heard of. 

The witcher had a fine mane of red hair and a beard. He was dashing in a roguish way, and still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“I’m not here to kill you. I was going to camp but you stole my spot.”

“Find somewhere else.”

The more Jaskier looked, the more he noticed the signs of wear on the witcher. His armour, which he was still wearing while meditating, was patched up in a lot of places and severely thin in others. It didn’t fit him very well, suggesting he’d lost weight recently. His swords looked weathered and in need of replacing. He also had a dirty old shirt wrapped around his right calf that was getting slowly soaked in blood.

“You’re injured.”

“Dealing with your town’s monster. Now piss off.”

“Not my town, not my monster.” Jaskier said, making his way over to the other side of the fire and sitting down. The witcher opened his eyes then.

“Piss off and find your own camp. Preferably off the next cliff.”

Jaskier glared at him, “I’ll do you a trade. I sleep here tonight, and you can have this pie I got in the last town and some clean strips of cloth for the wound. I’d offer to sew it for you but I doubt you’d let me.”

He unwrapped the cold pie he’d picked up and placed it on top of his bag along with the clean cloth so the witcher would know he was as good as his word.

“Why the fuck would you want to sleep here?”

“Because it’s late and I don’t fancy tromping through the woods looking for another spot at this hour. Also I’m far safer here with you if some wolfy comes looking for a late night snack.”

The witcher grumbled, “I’m more likely to kill you than some wild animal.”

Jaskier huffed, “No wonder people are still wary of witchers despite all my hard work, if you go around telling people things like that!”

“Your hard work?” The witcher asked, his eyes glancing between Jaskier’s face and his lute, “You’re never Geralt’s bard.”

“I’m not Geralt’s anything.” Jaskier huffed, crossing his arms and pouting, “Though I am the bard who penned Toss A Coin To Your Witcher.”

“And that bloody Burn Butcher song. For fucks sake, what did he do? Piss in your ale?”

Conversely the witcher looked even less inclined to accept Jaskier’s help than before when he thought Jaskier was sent by the village to kill him. Rude.

“I may be slightly cross with Geralt at the minute, however-”

“Then use his bloody name in the song. I’ve been getting nothing but shit for the last month because ‘a witcher broke that poor bard’s heart’, ‘Witchers are such bastards’, ‘what heartless monsters’”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped slightly at the venom in the witcher’s voice.

“Typical of a human. Made everyone forget he was called Butcher, made him a hero, and then as soon as you’re bored, you snatch it all away again, worse still you’re calling him Butcher again. Piss off bard before I actually kill you.”

Jaskier puffed up his chest, never one for survival instincts, “Excuse me! I followed that man across the whole bloody continent for twenty years! And apparently the only thing he’s ever wanted was to be shot of me. Life’s blessing! Well I’m no djinn but I’m giving him his wish. A life without me! No one giving him a good reputation, no one willing to put up with his foul moods and still sew up his wounds and wash his hair and-”

Jaskier realised he was tearing up, and stopped talking before his voice cracked.

“Wait, he left you?” The incredulity in the witcher’s voice was soothing to Jaskier’s hurt pride. 

He nodded, and the witcher starting mumbling about his idiot brother.

“Geralt’s a moron. If you’ve got a good thing you hold on to that shit.” The witcher broke the cold pie in two and handed half to Jaskier, then he poured him a mug of hot tea. 

It took Jaskier a minute to realise the mug he was holding wasn’t the witcher’s. The witcher had his own mug he was drinking from, so either he carried a spare around for visitors which seemed so unlikely it was almost laughable, or his mutterings about not wasting good companionship came from a much closer place.

Jaskier wondered who the witcher had been travelling with, whose mug he was hanging on to, and what fate they met.

‘The life of a witcher is short, bloody, and cruel. We live on the Path and we die on it.’ Geralt had once told him.

Jaskier wanted to give the poor man a hug, but he figured it wouldn’t go down well. 

“So what’s the next part of your plan?” The witcher asked, “In your djinn wish, you take back the reputation you gave Geralt, and then what?”

“Fake my death.”

The witcher paused, his drink halfway to his mouth, “What the fuck?”

Jaskier shrugged, “It was about time anyway.”

“Is this just something bards do? Is it to make your songs more popular?”

“Fuck you, my songs are plenty popular. And no, it’s- I’m 38.” Jaskier said, waiting for him to understand.

“So?”

“I look like I’m still eighteen.”

The witcher shrugged, “Okay.”

“Honestly, Melitele preserve me from oblivious immortal Witchers. I don’t age normally, and I was going to given it another decade before faking my death and starting over, but given the circumstances, and the fact that Nilfgard are looking for the White Wolf and his bard, it’s probably better to do it now.” 

Jaskier had heard about the fall of Cintra, and could only pray that Ciri had gotten out. He suspected that Geralt had gone south for her before his northward assent now. He hoped Geralt had. Jaskier knew that the man could only defy destiny for so long. He’d refused to step into Cintra and now it had fallen. Destiny would ensure Ciri and Geralt met. Jaskier had just always assumed he’d be there as well. It was why he’d made sure to make regular stops in Cintra, so Ciri would have a familiar face. 

“Don’t think it’s wise to be telling Witchers that you’re not human.”

Jaskier shrugged, “I don’t even know what I am. Sluttiness is a family trait, all my siblings are actually half siblings, and it turns out my mother has a penchant for non humans. After reaching adulthood without any pointy ears or gills appearing I thought I must actually be the Count’s son, I figured mother probably had to sleep with her husband at some point. But then Maya pointed out that I hadn’t aged since the last time I visited Lettenhove and so ta da.” 

“So Geralt gets someone who loves him and will follow him despite his personality, who also happens to be long enough living to stick around, and he manages to fuck it up?”

“Her name is Yennefer.” Jaskier said bitterly, ignoring the irony, “I’m more like a cockroach that just won’t die.” 

The witcher looked at him for a long time before unwrapping the make shift dirty bandage on his leg, and tentatively taking the ones Jaskier offered. He went to wrap them on before Jaskier started protesting.

“You’ve got to clean the wound first! Otherwise you’re just picking dirt into the wound. Honestly, witchers,”

Jaskier drenched a different bit of cloth with water from his water skin and sat down next to the witcher, smacking his hands away from the wound. He started gently cleaning around the wound, and even daringly fetched some salve from his bag to dab around the cut, before bandaging it up in the clean cloth. 

“You’re mad.” The witcher declared.

Jaskier laughed, “Just used to grumpy witchers with injuries they pretend they don’t have. It won’t need stitches and it’ll be mostly healed by morning.”

The witcher hummed and waited for Jaskier to head back to the other side of the campfire, before nodding his head to the lute.

“You know The Fishmonger’s Daughter?” 

Jaskier grinned, “I wrote it, of course I know it.”

The witcher grinned wickedly, “Why’d you lead with Toss A Coin when you’re sat on that song? Go on,”

Jaskier blinked in surprise, before regaining his wits and running through The Fishmonger’s Daughter, and then Three Cocks and An Ass, the dirty version of Maid Marian and the popular brothel song The Matron and her Working Girls. By the end the witcher was grinning broadly and clapping along. 

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” the witcher said.

Jaskier was hesitant to travel with another witcher, especially so close to winter. He’d be heading up the mountain before long.

“Travel with me and pretend to be a witcher.”

“Wait what?” 

“I don’t need a bard singing my praises, especially if you’re about to fake your death, but I do need someone to negotiate pay and shit. Apparently I’m foul mouthed and rude.”

“So I pretend to be you?”

“Yeah, go into town, get a contract, I’ll do the hunting, and then you go to collect the pay.”

The surprise of it stopped Jaskier’s automatic refusal that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue. 

“You must be able to tell what contract is actually a monster and what’s a waste of time by now,”

“Of course but- surely they’ll know I’m not a witcher?”

“You wear witcher armour into town and no one will know.” 

“And my eyes?” 

“Not all witchers have yellow eyes.” He said but didn’t elaborate. 

Jaskier sized the witcher up, he was slightly shorter than Jaskier but not by much, and as much as Jaskier tried to hide it, life on the Path had given him a burliness that was a blessing and a curse. He would probably fit the armour better than the underfed Witcher at this point. 

“You can still fake your death, maybe grow a beard so you don’t look quite so fresh faced, and travel with me as a witcher.” 

Jaskier thought it over. 

“We’ll see how it goes. A trial run, until winter. And then if it’s acceptable, we’ll meet back up again in spring.” 

The witcher looked like he was about to argue something before a glint came into his eye, “Sure.”

Jaskier clapped his hands together, “Wonderful. One last thing?”

The witcher raised an eyebrow in question.

“What’s your name?”

The witcher frowned, clearly going back over their conversation and realising Jaskier had agreed to identify theft without knowing whose identity it was he was stealing.

“Lambert.”

Chapter Text

Lambert had a second set of armour that clearly belonged to whoever it was he used to travel with. Jaskier had been hesitant to wear it at first but Lambert insisted ‘the bastard never used to wear it in the first place, said it restricted him when we were just travelling’. 

Jaskier figured something must have gotten the drop on them, as there were no marks on the armour to suggest it had been worn when the worst happened. 

He wasn’t allowed to wear the medallion though, a gleaming cat head. Lambert said Jaskier could borrow his medallion when they got to the town, but if anyone passed them on the road the armour would be enough to convince people Jaskier was just another witcher. 

The first task the two of them faced was faking Jaskier’s death. They needed word to spread about the bard’s demise but didn’t want Nilfgaard to be alerted to their location and come to fact check. 

So they shipped Jaskier’s outfits and lute to his friend Shani in Oxenfurt with a note from ‘Geralt’, informing her that Jaskier had died and that his belongings should be returned. 

News quickly spread of the famous Jaskier’s death, originating in Oxenfurt, far away from where they were.

Jaskier mourned his lute but he knew he needed to get rid of it for the lie to be believed. He then grew his facial hair out as suggested, and traded his fancy doublets for leather armour.

It was a sacrifice, but Nilfgaard was getting to be a greater threat, and the further North they marched the more Jaskier wondered where he would winter when the snow came. 

It was a problem for a couple of months time though, and he was enjoying pretending to be a witcher for a short while. 

Each town they arrived in Jaskier would head in, with Lambert’s medallion around his neck, and be suave and charming and negotiate a good deal on a monster. He’d travelled with Geralt for long enough to know what the going rate was for each monster. Then Lambert would go and kill the beastie, and Jaskier would head back into the town to collect the pay. 

If there was anyone to save and bring back, Jaskier would make sure to collect them while Lambert was fighting the beast, pretending he’d already killed it, or in one case he was forced to admit he had another witcher helping him who was ‘being bait’. 

However, most of the time it went far more smoothly, and six weeks had passed before he knew it. Lambert looked healthier, and had managed to get some new armour that wasn’t about to fall apart. He’d put on a bit of weight. They weren’t making as much as Geralt and Jaskier had as they didn’t have Jaskier’s singing to fall back on, but Jaskier also made some extra money doing manual labour jobs for some towns when there wasn’t a monster to hunt. 

Jaskier and Lambert got on most of the time. They sang bawdy songs, and told filthy jokes. Sometimes they got on each others nerves, as any travel companions did. But Lambert just went off into the woods to kill something when he was annoyed, and Jaskier found without his lute, he enjoyed hurling knives into trees to work out his aggression. 

It was all going fine until Geralt turned up.

*

It was a tiny, no name town near Daevon. Jaskier had made several comments about needing to find lodgings for winter but Lambert just kept insisting he had a friend who could help.

“Besides,” Lambert had insisted, “There’s a rumour about a wyvern in the town, and we can’t leave it until after winter.”

Jaskier had sighed but taken the Wolf medallion all the same and headed to see the alderman of the town, he was directed through by a relieved young girl, saying the alderman would see him at once, and thank Melitele he’d arrived when he had. 

He strode into the alderman’s office, making sure to keep his face solemn but not fierce. He’d found people did not appreciate joviality in their witchers, but rather a calm, confident air. 

“I hear you’re in need of a witcher.” He said.

The man who must have been the alderman jumped delightedly to his feet, “Oh Master Witcher, it’s a good job you came when you did. There’s two wyverns, we think they have a nest. I told the White Wolf here it would be too much for just one witcher.”

Jaskier followed where the man was gesturing to a looming figure at the back of the room. 

Yellow eyes caught his. 

“Jaskier?”

His shock gave way to annoyance. Jaskier was dead, he was Dandelion now. Lambert had laughed for a solid minute and told him no one would hire a witcher called Dandelion. 

“I think you have me confused. My name is Dandelion.”  Jaskier smiled, enjoying it just a bit. 

Geralt looked dumbfounded, his eyes kept roaming over Jaskier’s outfit. The dark leather and two swords strapped to his back. Jaskier couldn’t imagine he looked much like himself. 

He ignored Geralt, though it pained him, and turned his attention to the alderman. He made sure to check the amount Geralt had been offered - too low for such a dangerous task, especially now it had to be split between two witchers. Jaskier started by sounding apologetic, as it would be their last payment before winter set in, they were in desperate need for coin to cover food and supplies over winter. The alderman seemed to understand the unspoken words in Jaskier’s story. No witchers would be coming through this way until spring. If they wanted to get rid of their wyvern problem, it would be wise to pay them appropriately. 

The alderman seemed to have offered a lowball price as a business savvy man, not expecting Geralt to have taken him up on his opening bid, and wasn’t opposed to upping the amount. 

Jaskier was glad, a few towns they had passed through, he’d unfortunately had to gather some blackmail to encourage the town leaders to pay even the bare minimum. Lambert had been impressed by his covert spy work, and in turn Jaskier had confessed about his work as the Sandpiper. 

It was odd, being asked follow up questions about himself. Whenever he’d snuck off previously Geralt had always assumed he’d been sleeping around, and sometimes he had, but it stung all the same that Geralt had never been interested enough to pry. 

Once Jaskier had succeeded in agreeing on an amount, he told the alderman he would need to prep his equipment but that he would head off that night. He then turned and headed out without looking at Geralt. 

He started heading back towards the woods to apprise Lambert on what he knew. Two juvenile, potentially adult, wyverns judging by the alderman’s estimate on size, one witness had claimed they had been carrying back food to their den which indicated there were young wyverns. A nest. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt hissed as he jogged to keep up with Jaskier’s pace, “What are you playing at? You’ll get yourself killed. Let me deal with the wyverns.” 

Jaskier whirled on his heel and pointed at Geralt’s chest. 

He focused on calming himself, keeping his heartbeat steady and cooling his head. It was easy enough to lie to a witcher when you knew what tells they looked for.

“My. Name. Is. Dandelion. Your bard is dead. Goodbye.”

He stormed off and left Geralt in the town. A part of him broke that Geralt didn’t follow him.

Jaskier moped all the way back to where Lambert was waiting for him in the woods.

“What’s wrong? Shit pay?” Lambert asked when he saw Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier explained the situation with the wyverns, and then explained that Geralt was there and had seen him. 

“Did he blow your cover?” 

“Hopefully not, the alderman didn’t look like he recognised the name Jaskier, I suppose I’ve never been this far North before. I’ll keep an ear to the ground just to make sure.” 

“So Geralt is expecting you to go and fight a wyvern?” 

“Knowing him he’ll try and get there early and do it himself.” Jaskier scoffed, and then looked at Lambert in alarm. He seemed to mirror Jaskier’s horrified realisation.

Jaskier quickly passed over Lambert’s swords, and started grabbing his potions and the ornithosaur oil from Lambert’s packs. 

“Come on, I’ll sort it as we go.” Jaskier hurried Lambert along. 

The two of them made a hasty ascent up the side of the mountain. It was possibly an overstatement to call it a mountain when compared to the imposing height of the Blue Mountains in the distance, but it still took the best part of an hour to get within sight of the wyvern nest, by which time Jaskier had doused Lambert’s sword in the oil, and passed him over Golden Oriole and several bombs that he had prepped at all times. 

Lambert started jogging ahead as he could see a figure in the distance approaching the nest. Jaskier started scrambling to keep up but eventually fell behind as he was slower and also carrying Lambert’s empty bags. 

He heard one of the wyverns scream from inside the cave, and he knew Geralt was trying to damage its wing and then lure it out, so he’d only have to fight one at a time. 

Idiot man. 

The injured one crawled its way out but was shoved to the side by the female who instantly took to the sky. 

Lambert managed to hurl a bomb and take out a chunk of its wing on his approach, successfully drawing its attention away from Geralt. 

Jaskier snuck closer, making sure he was on hand with another vial of Golden Oriole in case it was needed. He was also excited as the last two times Geralt had been called on to fight wyverns, Jaskier had been left behind due to ‘safety concerns’ Geralt had. Now he got to see the fight in action. 

Geralt had the upper hand on his but it was a bit of a grudge match as the male wyvern was hardy and despite the multiple large gashes over his body was still biting back, swinging it’s tail wildly in panic. 

The female wyvern that Lambert was fighting was vicious and despite now fully missing a wing that Lambert had blown off with several bombs, was determined to go down fighting. 

It relieved Jaskier to know that the two had their respective fights well in hand. He’d almost fully skirted round the fight to the cave opening. Lambert had mentioned needing to throw a bomb in the cave to ensure any babies didn’t survive, which was sad but Jaskier understood why they needed to. These wyverns were far closer to civilisation than normal, and it wouldn’t be long before they picked up a few villagers when they’d run out of cows.  

Jaskier realised he had nothing to light the bomb as Lambert just used Igni, and was patting down his pockets to see if he had a match he could hopefully strike against a rock when he realised there were two eyes staring at him.

He looked at what was meant to be a baby wyvern, and it probably was, but Jaskier had been expecting it to be the size of a hunting dog, maybe an overly large house cat, which was probably naive of him. Its head was at eye level with Jaskier, and its wingspan was easily double Jaskier’s height. 

It looked to its parents, and seeing they were busy, decided it was time to prepare its own meals.

“Nice wyvern, baby wyvern.”

The creature lunged and Jaskier’s adrenaline shot through the roof. The creature was still young and clumsy so Jaskier had enough speed to dodge out of the way. He fumbled with the dagger on his belt and stabbed down into the wyvern’s wing. He knew enough about them to know you had to ground them if you wanted a fighting chance. 

The baby screeched in his face, and Jaskier hastily backed away. It was pinned to the ground by the dagger for a moment. But in it’s panic to get away it was quickly dislodging it. 

Jaskier could see the parents had taken note of their child’s distress and Geralt and Lambert were now trying to keep their respective wyvern’s attention on them, rather than on Jaskier. 

He grabbed the bomb and rifled in his pockets for a match. He dug one out, he was too far from a rock to strike it on them, and the ground beneath him was too wet. He started trying to strike the match with his thumb nail, raking it over the head of the match. He’d seen a bartender do it one and had always wanted to try it, albeit he’d imagined under less trying circumstances. 

The match lit after a few attempts and he ignited the bomb. He knew it had to wait until it was almost down to the quick, thankfully Lambert was impatient and made bombs with very short fuses.

 

The baby wyvern opened its mouth to screech at just the wrong time and Jaskier panicked and threw the bomb down its throat. 

It hacked and coughed, trying to dislodge it, but before it could the bomb went off. 

Jaskier threw an arm over his face, but could still feel the heat licking up his armour from being too close to the blast. When the heat receded he moved his arm and coughed the dirt out of his mouth. 

Afterwards Jaskier realised how risky that had been, if he’d thrown the bomb a split second earlier, the saliva might have put the flame out. He was also thankful the alderman hadn’t asked for proof of the kill as there wasn’t much left of the upper half of the baby now.

The two parents having just watched their child be murdered became enraged and erratic. It made it easy work for Geralt and Lambert to finish them off. 

Once he knew it was safe, Jaskier lay down on his back to catch his breath and let his heart rate calm down. He felt in desperate need of a nap, and the thought of trekking back down to camp was enough to exhaust him if he weren’t already tired.

“What were you thinking?” Geralt demanded, and Jaskier was too tired to be yelled at by Geralt on top of another mountain. 

Lambert responded and Jaskier realised it hadn’t been him that Geralt was yelling at.

“You’re the fucking idiot who came up here alone. I was trying to make sure you didn’t die, you ungrateful fuck!”

“Why are you letting Jaskier play at being a witcher? It’s going to get him killed!”

Jaskier peeked out of one eye to see Lambert holding his hand out to help Jaskier up. He took it and let himself be hauled to his feet. 

Lambert grinned wickedly, “What do you mean? He is a witcher. You saw him use Igni.”

Geralt’s mouth opened and closed in shock, and he looked at Jaskier as if he’d never seen him before. Jaskier realised that as he’d been holding the match in the palm of his hand, from afar it would have looked like he’d made the fire from nothing.

“Nice work Dandy,” Lambert clapped him on the back, which nearly sent Jaskier tumbling back down to the ground. Lambert had taken to calling him Dandy after Jaskier said his new name would be Dandelion. Admittedly it was also because Jaskier had started calling him Lamby. 

Geralt was glaring at the two of them, as if he wasn’t sure who to tell off first. Then his eyes caught Jaskier’s and softened. 

“In Oxenfurt, they said you’d died.” 

Jaskier nodded, “Yeah well, with so many people looking for the White Wolf and his bard, I figured it was best for Jaskier to die- wait, what were you doing in Oxenfurt?”

“Looking for you. It’s not safe. We need to go to Kaer Morhen.”

“Ooho no, no thank you. I’m not getting trapped all winter where I’m not wanted. Besides, Lambert has a friend I can stay with. Right, Lamb?”

Lambert looked shifty.

“Lambert, tell me you didn’t mean Geralt when you said you had a friend I could stay with?”

Lambert shook his head, “I was talking about Eskel.”

Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I need a drink.” He started making his way back down to their camp, it was going to take another hour to get back down and it was already dark.

He heard Lambert telling Geralt to strip what he wanted from the wyverns, and then Lambert’s footfalls grew louder as he caught up with Jaskier.

“Figured I’d make sure you didn’t trip down the mountain and break all your fragile human bones.” 

“Lambert, I can’t spend winter at Kaer Morhen. Do you not remember Geralt telling me to fuck off, the whole plan about me giving him his life’s blessing? I can’t remove myself from his life if we’re trapped in the keep together all winter.”

“Okay but you know as well as I do, Dandy, that Geralt didn’t mean a fucking word of that.”

Jaskier huffed, “He should learn not to take me for granted then.”

“And he will this winter. Besides, now he thinks you’re a witcher, which is too fucking funny. Wanna bet how long it takes him to realise? My bet is five years.”

“I’ve known him for twenty years and he hasn’t figured out I’m not human yet. Ten years.”

Chapter Text

It turned out that Lambert was right about Geralt thinking he was actually a witcher. 

Lambert and Jaskier had been back at their camp for less than an hour when Geralt and Roach came and found them, though Jaskier was more preoccupied by the small figure on Roach’s back. 

“Jaskier!”

“Ciri!”

She hoped off the horse with more grace already than Jaskier could ever manage, and hurried over to him to fling her arms around him.

“They said you’d died!” Ciri was making short gasping noises that sounded like she was trying very hard not to cry.

“Much safer for everyone to think that at the minute, though I’m sorry if the news upset you. I’m going by the name Dandelion now.”

Ciri grinned, “I’m Fiona.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” He bowed and she curtsied with a smile. 

Geralt coughed awkwardly, “Ciri told me you used to go to Cintra. Thank you.” 

“I didn’t do it for you.” Jaskier muttered, and hurried Ciri over to the fire. It was a complete lie, pretty much everything he did was for Geralt, and getting to know his Child Surprise and secretly feeding her stories of the great White Wolf were part of that. However, Jaskier wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, nor did he want Ciri to think that he was using her as a means to an end. She was delightful and wickedly smart, and he’d greatly enjoyed spending time with her. 

The four of them sat by the fire, Jaskier and Ciri talking about court gossip and studiously ignoring the topic of the fall of Cintra, and Lambert and Geralt were discussing paths up to Kaer Morhen. 

Lambert had insisted Jaskier had kept his Wolf medallion around his neck, in the rush to chase after Geralt and the wyverns he’d not taken it off since meeting with the alderman. Lambert had put the Cat medallion around his own neck.

Jaskier wasn’t sure what it would achieve, even if Geralt thought he was a witcher, he wasn’t going to believe that Jaskier was a Wolf witcher. He’d be better off with the Cat medallion, but Jaskier wasn’t going to say anything because it was clear Lambert didn’t want anyone else wearing that one. 

He did notice Geralt’s eyes flitting between Lambert and Jaskier’s medallions, and he was getting more and more stoic as the evening went on. Conversely Lambert was getting more and more animated. 

He requested Jaskier sing for them, and Lambert slapped his thigh to provide a beat. Jaskier delighted in singing (less bawdy songs than usual as Ciri was present) and she and Lambert even joined in with the singing. 

For some reason it made Geralt look sad. 

When the four of them bedded down for the night, Lambert slid his bedroll up against Jaskier’s, which wasn’t unusual. Lambert was more tactile than Geralt had ever been, though never with strangers. It seemed once he’d been deemed a friend by Lambert it was a free pass to invade his personal space, not that Jaskier minded. As the weather had been getting nippier they’d been sleeping closer and closer together anyway. 

This night was the first time Lambert actually wrapped his arms around Jaskier though. Jaskier figured this was part of Lambert’s plan to prove Geralt would apologise to the bard. Jaskier didn’t think it would work, but he wasn’t going to turn down free body heat this close to winter, especially sleeping outside. 

It didn’t take long for Lambert and Ciri to fall asleep, leaving Geralt meditating and Jaskier pretending to be sleeping.

He clearly wasn’t doing a good job because an hour later Geralt said in a low voice, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a witcher?” 

Jaskier huffed, he didn’t want to lie to Geralt, but Lambert was right that it was funny that Geralt hadn’t worked it out. It was obvious. Geralt had known Jaskier for twenty years, of course he wasn’t a witcher. Jaskier figured that’s why it hurt so much, that Geralt knew so little about him after two decades that Jaskier could have been a witcher the whole time and he might not have known.

“Geralt, do you know what my real name is?” 

“Jaskier.”

“Not my stage name.”

“Dandelion?”

“Not my new name.”

There was a silence. 

“Geralt. How old am I?”

There was another silence, “I’m not good with ages. You said you were eighteen when we met.”

“How long did we travelled together?”

“A while?”

Jaskier tried very hard not to cry. The whole of his adult life following this man. He knew Geralt didn’t hate him, he wouldn’t have let Jaskier travel with him at all if that was the case, but did their time together mean so little to him? Jaskier supposed to a witcher twenty years was nothing, a footnote. 

He turned over and pressed his face into Lambert’s chest, hoping the tears wouldn’t fall and Geralt would never know how much that hurt. 

“Looks like there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He whispered. 

He waited for Geralt to say something else, maybe protest that he did know Jaskier, run off a list of things he knew about Jaskier’s likes and dislikes. He said nothing. 

*

The trek to Kaer Morhen was a trial in patience. Geralt was sullen and quiet except with Ciri. Lambert was telling Jaskier about what Kaer Morhen was like, the training, the hot springs, hunting food, the library. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel sad that he’d always imagined this journey with just him and Geralt. That one winter he would have earned Geralt’s trust enough to be invited, and here Lambert was taking him there after knowing him a few months. 

He supposed Lambert knew that Jaskier had travelled with Geralt for twenty years and there was some security in that. 

So he focused on staying upbeat and singing travelling songs for Lambert, and telling Ciri stories about dragons and princesses until she complained that she wasn’t seven anymore, and he asked her if she’d heard the story about the princess who was a dragon, and she listened as he recounted the ‘age old tale’ he’d completely made up on the spot, ensuring it had enough sword fights and monsters to keep her interested. 

“You a writer now Dandy?” Lambert teased.

“I’ve penned a few poems but not much else.”

“You’ve never written a poem about me!” He complained until Jaskier started composing.

“Let me see, what rhymes with twat?”

Lambert smacked his shoulder.

“Fine, fine. 
The witcher called Lambert was fair, 
with a mane of beautiful hair, 
not the hair on his head, 
but rather more southward instead, 
and he let it blow free in the air.” 

Lambert belly laughed, and Ciri snorted. Jaskier was quite pleased with it but the dark look on Geralt’s face silenced him.

“I wish they’d done my lessons in rhyme, it might have made it easier to remember,” Ciri said, and she repeated the limerick with delight, having memorised it after hearing it just the once.

“I’m sure I could manage to put some witchering lessons into verse.”

“The great wyvern swooped down!” Lambert started.

“On a miserable town!” Ciri added.

“The alderman said, eat the townsfolk instead.” Jaskier continued.

Lambert and Ciri looked at each other, waiting for the other to speak. 

“Wait this is hard,” Lambert said. 

Jaskier grinned, “And thanked Melitele his trousers were brown.” 

Lambert laughed, “D’ya know I went to a town and the alderman actually did shit his pants?” 

The three of them spent the rest of the day creating limericks about different monsters and then undoubtedly Lambert would launch into a story that was only tangentially related and definitely exaggerated. 

Throughout the day Jaskier could see Geralt’s grip on Roach’s reins getting tighter and tighter. Normally Jaskier would rope Geralt in to the conversation, or throw in a story on his behalf to make him feel included. Though he wondered if he’d just been giving Geralt an excuse not to say anything. 

Near the end of the day, as they were looking for somewhere to camp, a quiet “The drowner was covered in muck,” came from Geralt.

Lambert whooped in delight, “And the ugliest fuck!”

Jaskier grinned, Geralt had no doubt been setting Lambert up to be able to swear, “A selfish lover, who stole the cover!” 

“But a kiss from him was good luck!” Ciri finished, looking pleased she’d come up with an end. The last line was always the hardest. 

“Great work everyone,” Lambert went round shaking everyone’s hands, “We’ll have a witcher poetry book out before we reach the keep.” 

Jaskier beamed at Geralt without thinking and then remembered he was supposed to be mad and busied himself with setting up camp. 

*

They continued their days making up song, stories, and poems, and then Jaskier would curl up next to Lambert at night and leech all his heat, while Ciri did the same with Geralt. Their progress slowed as they started climbing the Killer. Jaskier and Ciri tiring more easily than the witchers. 

How that hadn’t given away the fact he wasn’t a witcher to Geralt, Jaskier didn’t know. Perhaps he thought Lambert was letting him ride his horse for fun.

 

Lambert refused to name his horses, so Jaskier had simply taken to calling her Lady, and spoiling her rotten. Then Roach had kicked up a fuss, so Jaskier had to bribe her with apples as well. Apparently Roach did not like sharing her treats. 

It took three days to reach the Keep, by which time Jaskier had threatened to make Lambert a eunuch if these hot springs didn’t live up to expectations. 

“Oh Dandy, we’ll be in there for hours the first day.” 

Lambert’s favourite part of winter was the hot springs. He’d told Jaskier one night that it was the only place he could truly relax and enjoy a bath. Lambert apparently spent even less time in towns than Geralt and never trusted townsfolk enough to strip off his armour, let alone get fully naked into a tub. So he made do with streams throughout the year. 

For some reason, Geralt started developing an eye twitch any time Lambert mentioned the hot springs, and Jaskier couldn’t work out why. He thought Geralt would love having a hot bath whenever he wanted. 

“And I have the softest furs on my bed Dandy. I hunted them myself. Vesemir’ll meet us at the door but then we’ll dump our things in my room and head straight to the springs,” 

Jaskier had the sneaking suspicion that Lambert was trying to provoke Geralt for some reason. Though he doubted bragging about the furs on his bed was going to get Geralt to either apologise for his previous rude behaviour, or get him to think Jaskier was a witcher for another five years. 

Ciri looked between Geralt, Jaskier, and Lambert in surprise. 

“You’re sharing with Lambert?” She asked Jaskier.

Jaskier shrugged, Lambert seemed to have decided that for himself, whether due to a lack of spare rooms or because it was cold in the mountain and Jaskier was a mere human. 

Ciri looked troubled at that, “I see.” She gave a little 'hmm' in thought, and it reminded him so much of Geralt it almost made him laugh. 

“Lambert and I have been sharing while we’ve been travelling with you two,” Jaskier said softly, wondering why this was bothering Ciri so much. 

“Well yes, but it’s been cold, and I’ve slept against Geralt because it’s been cold, so I thought- but now that we’re at Kaer Morhen-” she looked from Jaskier to Geralt hopefully.

“Hate to tell you this, little lion, but it’ll be cold in Kaer Morhen too.” 

“Cold as balls.” Lambert said cheerfully, hurrying them to the door.

As Lambert had predicted, Vesemir met them at the door. If he was surprised to see two extra people he didn’t show it.

“Lambert, and friend?” Vesemir’s eyes noted that Jaskier was wearing Lambert’s Wolf medallion and Lambert was wearing a Cat medallion, “The Cat. I’ve heard about you from Guxart.” 

Lambert made an odd noise next to Jaskier. It sounded like he’d choked on his own gasp. 

“Geralt and child?” Vesemir’s eyes turned to the others. 

“This is Ciri, my Child Surprise.” 

Jaskier thought that Vesemir was taking in all this information with incredible aplomb, he would put nobles to shame with his unshakeable countenance. 

“Welcome all. I’ll get a room set up for Ciri, presumably near yours?” He asked Geralt, who nodded.

“And Jaskier should have his own room as well, just in case.” Ciri said quickly. 

That brought Vesemir up short, and for the first time he looked surprised, “Jaskier? The bard?” His eyes flickered between his and Lambert’s medallions and then over to Geralt, who was avoiding his gaze. 

His face turned serious, “Rules for winter remain the same. Winter is for rest and respite. Whatever grievances happen on the Path, can be picked up after winter. Understood?”

They all nodded.

Lambert was eyeing Ciri suspiciously, who in turn looked like she was a second away from sticking her tongue out at Lambert. Geralt was avoiding everyone’s gaze, and Vesemir was looking at Jaskier like it was all his fault. 

He knew wintering here was a bad idea. 

Chapter Text

It had been a week of weirdness. 

Jaskier had been given his own room next to Lambert, but Lambert had insisted they both sleep in his room in case Jaskier got cold. He would have questioned it if he weren’t so grateful not to have to sort out his own fire. He’d always been shit at starting a camp fire and it was much easier to leave it to Lambert.

It was also incredibly cold in the keep, the kind of cold that kept his fingers numb throughout the day, and made him want to curl up and hibernate until spring. 

He also trained with Lambert, being shown how to use his daggers, though Lambert insisted they do it in one of the indoor training rooms, ostensibly because Jaskier got cold easier, but mostly because it would definitely tip Geralt off to the fact he wasn’t a witcher. Even claiming he was twenty years out of practice wouldn’t explain his inability to fight. 

Then in the evenings they would soak in the hot springs for as long as Jaskier could stand before he went pruny, and then have dinner. Afterwards Jaskier would normally sing some songs depending on the mood; upbeat and lively for a night of drinking and Gwent, or soft lullabies for more contemplative nights. 

Geralt avoided him the whole week, giving him large sad eyes whenever they had to be in the same room. Jaskier was getting more and more infuriated with it, Geralt was the one who told him to piss off, and then came looking for him to bring to Kaer Morhen with Ciri. If he’d decided he didn’t want Jaskier here all of a sudden there wasn’t anything Jaskier could do about it at this point.

 

Lambert and Ciri seemed to be in some sort of stand off, where Lambert would try and monopolise Jaskier’s time, often loudly proclaiming to the room that they would lounge in bed or in the springs after training. While Ciri would try and doe eyes her way into getting Jaskier to spend time with her, which he wouldn’t mind but she always wanted to spend time with Geralt as well. 

Vesemir just watched it all with bated breath. He seemed to be waiting for the breaking point as much as Jaskier was. 

He did insist Jaskier sat next to him one dinner time and asked him some cryptic questions.

“Your real name isn’t Jaskier or Dandelion though?”

Jaskier had been confused but answered honestly, “No, Jaskier is a stage name, and Dandelion was to try and throw Nilfgaard off our scent.”

He’d hummed, “That explains that. And how long have you travelled with Lambert?”

Jaskier tried not to give away his nerves, he didn’t want to confess it had only been a few months, so he just shrugged and said, “A while.”

Geralt made a soft noise, and Jaskier realised that’s what Geralt had answered when he’d asked how long they’d travelled together. If Geralt’s idea of ‘a while’ covered twenty years, is that how long he thought Jaskier had been travelling with Lambert for? 

Did the idiot man think the times they’d parted on the road, Jaskier had just swanned off to go witchering with Lambert? How easy did he think it was to find a singular witcher on this bloody Continent? The only reason he hadn’t travelled with Geralt more is sometimes it took months to track him back down again after they’d gone separate ways. 

Vesemir’s face had gone positively stony at his reply and Geralt’s reaction, “I see.” Was all he said but Jaskier could tell he was furious. 

By the end of the week, Jaskier was more confused than ever and more tired than he’d ever been after a week of ‘rest’. 

Then Eskel arrived. 

At this point Jaskier half expected Eskel to take one look at him and decide he hated him on the spot, which wasn’t far off. 

He seemed delighted when Jaskier had introduced himself and said he’d wondered when the bard would be wintering with them. He looked even more delighted at the Wolf medallion around his neck, which Lambert kept insisting he leave on. 

However, as soon as Geralt came into the room and Eskel saw the man still had his medallion he looked confused, he gestured at Jaskier’s and said, “Then whose-"

“Lambert.” Geralt said shortly, he gave Eskel a brief hug, whispered something too low for Jaskier to hear and then grabbed Eskel’s horse and took him out to the stables. 

“Oh,” Eskel looked back at Jaskier, he looked more grim now, “Congratulations.” 

“I - thanks?” Jaskier needed to ask Lambert what the deal was with these medallions. He clearly wasn’t supposed to be wearing it, even if Geralt thought he was a witcher now. It was making all the other witchers upset. 

“I’m going to-” he headed off, presumably in search of Vesemir who had been training Ciri on Eskel’s approach. Jaskier had hoped to make a good first impression without the other witchers influencing Eskel’s opinion. 

So much for that plan.

Every time he tried to ask Lambert what the medallions meant he was distracted by Lambert offering to show him a book of weird monsters, or the old secret tunnels that wound throughout the building. 

Jaskier tried to stay on task, but one of the entrances was hidden behind a tapestry! It was like something straight out of a novel, and before he knew it several hours had passed and Lambert still hadn’t explained the medallions. 

Another week passed and the snow officially trapped them all in together. There would be no leaving until spring now. 

Eskel cornered him in the hot springs one afternoon. Geralt and Lambert had stayed longer training, to Jaskier it just looked like they were taking a load of aggression out on each other. Vesemir and Ciri were holed up in the library. So Jaskier had snuck off to the springs, assuming Eskel was looking after his goat. 

Apparently not. 

“What are your intentions with my brothers?” 

Jaskier had nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice. The fact that Eskel had managed to completely strip and get into the water next to him without him knowing didn’t say much for Jaskier’s survival skills.

“And why are you pretending to be a witcher?” He added, looking pointedly at the disturbed water around them from Jaskier’s surprise.

He placed a hand on his chest as if that would calm his frantic heart. 

“Melitele.” Jaskier puffed out his cheeks as he thought about where to start, “I’m not sure what intentions you’re alluding to, but I’m trying to give Geralt the blessing he bloody asked for while trapped in a keep with him, and Lambert, I was helping him to get better pay when he tricked me into wintering here.”

Eskel raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “Let’s start with why you and Lambert got married.”

Jaskier spluttered, “I’m sorry what?”

“The medallions, you swapped. Or you would have if that was your medallion. You’re not Aiden, so why are you pretending to be. More to the point, why is Lambert?” 

“Is that what it means?” Jaskier was going to have some strong words with Lambert when he saw him next. He explained to Eskel about his con with Lambert and how Geralt had found them and Lambert insisted he keep the medallion on because he wanted to see how long Geralt thought Jaskier was a witcher for.

“And Aiden? The one who owns the cat medallion Lambert is wearing?”

Jaskier pursed his lips, “I don’t know for sure but, I think he died. I suppose Lambert has been using the excuse to wear the medallion.”

Jaskier was starting to suspect there had been a romantic relationship between the two, and not just that they’d been close friends who walked the Path like him and Geralt. 

“Because of course he wouldn’t just admit he wanted to wear it himself.” Eskel finished. He scrubbed a large hand over his face, “And what’s this blessing Geralt asked for?” 

Jaskier winced, and explained what happened on the mountain in the briefest of terms, “I know he was just taking his anger out on me, but I thought I’d teach him it wasn’t so easy to just pretend it never happened like normal, this time I wanted an apology. That’s why Lambert brought me this winter, though who knows why he thought pretending we were married of all things would prompt an apology from Geralt.” 

Eskel nodded, “You’re all idiots, including Vesemir. And myself. And I apologise that I treated you the way I did. You have to understand from mine and Vesemir’s point of view it looked like you’d been stringing them both along for years, and now you and Lambert were rubbing your relationship in Geralt’s face.”

Jaskier snorted, “Lambert and I are just friends, and we only met after the mountain. I don’t know what Lambert is trying to do but I don’t think it’ll work. And I have never strung Geralt along, if I thought he was interested I’d have handed myself over with a bloody bow on my head.”

Eskel grinned, “That’s interesting information. Don’t worry, I’ll help sort all of this out.” 

Jaskier grinned and placed his hands on Eskel’s shoulders, “You are a god among witchers.” 

Eskel chuckled at Jaskier’s dramatics but hugged back when Jaskier threw his arms around him. Jaskier felt lighter than he had since the mountain, perhaps the rest of winter wouldn’t be so bad. He landed a noisy kiss on Eskel’s cheek, just to make the witcher laugh again.

A short gasp echoed throughout the cavernous space, and the two of them pulled away from their brief hug to see Geralt stood there looking awkward.

“Geralt-”

Geralt turned on his heel and stalked out as silently as he’d come in.

“Do you know,” Eskel said, rubbing his brow, “I’m starting to see how this all spiralled.”

*

Jaskier cornered Lambert before dinner and dragged him to the room they were sharing, determined to have it out. 

“Lambert, you didn’t tell me you were in love with Aiden, or that apparently switching medallion is the witcher equivalent of getting married.” 

Lambert looked like he was considering jumping out the window to avoid the conversation. 

“Talk to me?” Jaskier pleaded.

Lambert sighed, “He- I wasn’t trying to use you to replace him, it’s just- travelling with you and fucking with Geralt, I- it hurt less than travelling alone, I didn’t have to think about-”

Jaskier nodded in understanding. He was trying to distract himself from the massive hole in his life. 

“Witchers aren’t meant to carry more than we need, it slows us down. But you could wear his armour and use his mug-”

“And you wouldn’t have to get rid of it.”

“I should have sent his medallion back to the Cat School, but I couldn’t- I tried but-”

“And then when I wore yours for contracts, it gave you the excuse you needed to wear his.”

Lambert sat down on the bed heavily, “It’s so fucking hard without him. And when Vesemir knew who he was, to find out that I could have been bringing him back to winter here instead of pretending he didn’t exist. Fuck, Dandy, it hurt.”

Jaskier threw his arms around Lambert and ignored the fact his shirt was getting damp with Lambert’s tears. He was going to find whoever had told these men they weren’t meant to feel or love or grieve and he was going to- well, he was sure all those witchers were already dead, but he was tempted to find their medallions on the tree and give them a stern word.

They sat there for a long while before they had to make themselves presentable for dinner. They were the last to arrive and it only seemed to go downhill from there. 

Ciri and Vesemir were sat at the end of the table, the former alternating her glares between Lambert and Eskel, and the latter glaring at Jaskier. 

Jaskier had taken the medallion off now that he knew what it meant, but had insisted that Lambert leave on Aiden’s. If anything this seemed to have made Vesemir even angrier. 

As soon as Jaskier and Lambert sat down, Eskel cleared his throat, “I think there have been several misunderstandings, that should be resolved as soon as possible.” 

Ciri mulishly stabbed her food with more force than necessary, “So Jaskier can move into your room?” Her words were quiet but biting.

Eskel looked shocked, “Why would you think-”

“Jaskier kissed you! And now he’s broken up with Lambert!” She gestured to where Lambert was sat, his eyes still slightly puffy from crying earlier and the fact that Jaskier wasn’t wearing the medallion anymore.

“Geralt will you stop confiding in your teenage daughter and siccing her on us!” Lambert complained.

Geralt “I- I didn’t-”

“He confesses to Roach when he brushes her. The best way to find out what’s on his mind is to listen when he talks to her.” Ciri said proudly. 

“Right.” Eskel clapped his hands together, “No more misunderstandings. Jaskier is not a witcher, and definitely not Aiden,” he directed at Vesemir, “Not married to Lambert or even in a romantic relationship with him, and not in a romantic relationship with me. Geralt sent Jaskier away on the mountain.”

Jaskier glared at Eskel for that last bit, was it really necessary?

“Why would you send Jaskier away?” Ciri asked Geralt, “After you found me, we looked for Jaskier in every town. You cried when they said he’d died!”

A light flush dusted Geralt’s face, “I was angry. I didn’t- Jaskier, I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry. Then when they said you were dead in Oxenfurt I thought I’d never get a chance to tell you.”

Jaskier softened, “Thank you darling. All I wanted was an apology, and I did want to make you work for it but it sort of spiralled,” he gestured to the room at large. 

“And Aiden?” Vesemir asked Lambert, who just shook his head sadly and ran a thumb over the medallion. Vesemir nodded in understanding, “I’m sorry pup. And sorry we never got to meet him.”

“I didn’t realise he’d be welcome.” Lambert said softly.

“I let Jaskier in, even when I thought he was sleeping his way through the Wolf school.”

Jaskier flushed, “I wasn’t- Lambert and I were sleeping together in the least euphemistic way possible. It’s cold here and I’m human! Well, mostly.”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow. 

“I thought you were a witcher?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier sighed, and dived into the explanation of his and Lambert’s side hustle, and then about his mysterious not-aging and his mother’s predilection for non humans.

Eskel had whispered to Jaskier, “So you got that from her then?” Jaskier kicked him under the table. 

By the time they’d finished clearing the air of all misunderstandings the food was mostly cold. However, he wasn’t getting glares and sad eyes from either end of the table, so it was more than worth it.

That evening as Jaskier was about to head to sleep, Geralt gently caught his sleeve, “You could stay with me, if you’re cold?” 

Jaskier grinned, “That sounds nice,”

As they turned to leave the room Eskel gave him a thumbs up behind Geralt’s back, and Lambert made a lewd gesture with his hands. 

Ciri and Vesemir had already gone to bed, so the corridors were quiet as they made their way to Geralt’s room.

“I truly am sorry about all the confusion.” Jaskier said, “But Lambert was right, it was sort of funny that you thought I could have been a witcher,”

“You should give yourself more credit. You’re strong, and I’ve seen you scale out of many windows. Cat witchers do a lot of agile shit like that.” 

“I’d have told you, if only to finally win the argument about witchers being allowed to have feelings,” he joked.

Geralt still looked serious, “I didn’t know that you’re not human.”

Jaskier waved him off, “I didn’t know until a few years ago, and I’m not even sure what I am. Just that I haven’t aged in a long time. And here I thought my seven step skincare routine was working,” 

“Jaskier. I promise I do know things about you.”

“I know darling,”

Jaskier did know. He knew it when Geralt had ordered his favourite wine at taverns without him asking, or bought him a sweet bun and pretended he’d been given it for free, whenever Geralt just happened to have spare lute oil in his bag that he insisted Jaskier must have left there when Jaskier knew he hadn’t. It was too easy to love Geralt, and in these quiet moments where Geralt was curling around him to keep him warm at night it was so easy to pretend it was exactly what he wanted. It was almost enough for his selfish heart.

Geralt easily lit the fire with Igni from the bed.

“Now that would be worth being a witcher for,” Jaskier joked.

A warm hand petted down his side, “I’d never want you to go through the Trials.”

“Well,” Jaskier said, not expecting the gravity with which Geralt spoke, “Suppose I’ll have to just keep you around then, so you can light the fires for me.”

Geralt hummed, and his arms briefly tightened around Jaskier’s waist, “I thought I’d missed my chance before, and I don’t want to just go back to how it was before without knowing-”

“Knowing what?”

“Lambert was taunting me, while we were sparring. He said I could have had you, in the way I thought you two were, but I’d left it to late, was that true, or was he just fucking with me?”

It was somehow easier to confess in the low light of the room, with his back pressed into Geralt’s chest.

“I’ve always been yours Geralt. In whatever way you want me.”

There was a tentative kiss to the back of his neck, “Even this?”

“Oh very much so, my love,” He rolled over to face Geralt and show him exactly how okay he was with it.

*

Geralt, Lambert, Jaskier, and Ciri descended the mountain in spring. Yennefer would be portalling Ciri away for magic training to some secluded mansion somewhere as soon as they hit the base of the mountain. Ciri had been endlessly smug about what she deemed to be her matchmaking efforts. Jaskier wasn't going to contradict her, despite his doubts. 

None of them had said anything about travel arrangements, but Jaskier knew it was an unspoken assumption that he would go back to travelling with Geralt. Jaskier had written some songs about Lambert ‘the Red Wolf’, but without a lute, and while trying to keep a low profile he wouldn’t be able to circulate them himself, so he had sent them anonymously to some bard friends under the guise of ‘songs Jaskier had written before he died’, and hoped it would be enough without him working as Lambert’s charismatic frontman.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. As soon as the three of them, sans Ciri, had arrived in the tavern of the first town a dagger was hurled at Lambert, nicking his ear and embedding in the wall behind him with a thud.

A gorgeous dark haired man strode forward and shoved Lambert into the wall.

“I’m dead for six months and you shack up with another Cat.”

“Aiden?” Lambert said softly, as if he couldn’t believe who was in front of him, "How?"

“A long story, there was a sorceress and a resurrection, more importantly-  Vesemir told Guxart who told me that you brought some Cat back to Kaer Morhen. Who is it then?”

Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him into his side, as if he was worried Aiden would attack on sight.

Jaskier snorted, and said, “No Cat, but he’s been wearing your medallion all winter. You two crazy kids have fun. Come on Geralt, we might want to get a room in a different tavern.”

He dragged Geralt out before Lambert and Aiden got them all kicked out for public indecency.

He figured Lambert would be fine without him.