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Geralt wakes up very warm. He has his nose tucked against Eskel's shoulder, so that every breath is full of the scent of his dearer-than-brother, and he recognizes the mattress beneath him and the thick furs atop him as being those of their bedroom in Kaer Morhen.
And there's someone pressed against his back, arm wrapped around his waist and breath gusting gently against his shoulder, which is not a usual part of mornings in Kaer Morhen.
Also when he went to sleep he was definitely not in Kaer Morhen.
Hm.
Either he has managed to somehow forget…quite a lot of things, or this is some mage's dream-framework; neither option makes much sense, but if Eskel wakes up and starts asking him questions about the few remaining Wolf School secrets, well, that's a good sign someone is messing with his head.
Why they'd add a second person to his bed, now, that's an interesting question. Maybe the spell latched onto his distant memories of Gweld, though they stopped sharing a bed once they were all medallioned. But it doesn't smell like Gweld. The person tucked up against his back smells…mostly human. Not like a mage, with the unmistakable tang of Chaos, but there's something faint behind the scents of sweat and sated lust and general human odor which Geralt can't quite recognize but knows isn't a usual component of a human's scent. Maybe the mage creating this illusion made some interesting assumptions.
On the other hand, if he's forgotten things somehow, maybe he brought a mostly-human lover to Kaer Morhen for…some reason. He can't quite imagine why. He's never met a human who he would want in the winter sanctuary of the Wolves. But if that is what he did, then clearly Eskel is fine with it. Or, more likely, Eskel found a lover and brought them back, which means Eskel will be able to explain what's going on - or will prove to not be Eskel and then Geralt will know this is a trap.
"'Skel," he murmurs, and Eskel makes a grumbling noise deep in his chest and yawns magnificently as he rouses.
"'S too early, Wolf," he mutters. Well, that's a tick in the real column; Eskel hates waking up on winter mornings. If he could hibernate like a bear, he would. Though if this is being drawn from Geralt's memories, a fake Eskel would know that, too.
"'Skel," Geralt repeats softly. "Who the fuck is in our bed?"
There's a brief pause, and then Eskel rolls over to squint at Geralt in the dimness of the tightly drawn curtains.
His face bears a terrible branching scar. Geralt stares in shock and horror. He's never seen that scar before - but it is clearly old, decades old - no mage would have added such a detail to a false Eskel, so this must be the real one, which means that Geralt has lost years somehow. "'Skel," he whispers, voice shaking, and raises a hand to touch his fingers to the scar.
"Wolf?" Eskel asks, frowning. "Are you well?"
"I'm pretty sure I've been cursed somehow," Geralt says, "because I do not remember this. Or who the other person in our bed is."
Eskel's eyes go very wide. "Well shit," he says faintly.
"How many years have I lost?" Geralt asks, dreading the answer.
Eskel licks his lips. "At least fifty."
"Fuck."
"What's the last thing you do remember, Wolf?"
Geralt frowns. "I was…on my way to Blaviken, to take a contract there."
"Oh fuck," Eskel whispers.
The arm of the unknown person behind Geralt tightens slightly around his waist, and a pleasantly musical male voice says, "I think this might be my fault."
Eskel props himself up on an elbow to look over Geralt. "What did you do, songbird?"
The arm around Geralt's waist loosens again, and he rolls over onto his back to see that their companion is a young-looking man with messy brown hair and brilliant blue eyes, quite handsome and looking distinctly worried. There's an impressive love-bite low on his throat that matches Eskel's teeth, and he smells of both of them, very strongly.
He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, and gives Geralt a hangdog look. "I - there was - we were a bit drunk, yesterday evening, and you got to musing on being a monster again, the way you do sometimes when you're in your cups, and I - I was wishing, when we fell asleep, that you didn't hate yourself so much."
"Alright," Geralt says dubiously. He doesn't think he does hate himself, really. He's not human anymore, certainly, but he has a hard and dangerous vocation which protects people, and he is good at it, and he values being that protector, knowing that he stands between those who cannot defend themselves and the monsters which would gladly devour them. He doesn't much enjoy the thrown rocks and refuse, nor the foul words, nor the automatic distrust of nearly everyone he meets, but he doesn't usually assume they're right about his monstrous nature.
After all, if he is a monster for being a witcher, so is Eskel, and Eskel is the finest person in the world, so obviously becoming a witcher does not actually bestow monstrosity.
So something must have happened in the last fifty years - a terrifying span to have mislaid, actually - to make Geralt's mostly-human lover think Geralt hates himself, and Eskel hum in agreement and stroke a hand down his side comfortingly.
"I'm not entirely human," the strange man says hesitantly.
"Yes, I can smell that," Geralt says.
"Oh right! Well. Sometimes when I wish very hard for something it…happens, but usually sort of sideways. So I was wishing you didn't hate yourself…"
"And now I can't remember why I do," Geralt finishes for him. "Which apparently required forgetting fifty years of my life."
The man winces. "I swear on my lute, I didn't mean to do that."
"Huh," Geralt says. The man certainly looks sincere, and Geralt can't imagine Eskel would be so calm about having someone in their bed if that person hadn't earned their trust and genuine affection. "Can you undo it?"
"I'm genuinely not sure, and I'm a little worried that trying might fuck you up worse," the man says, with another wince. "But - uh - among the many things you have forgotten, I assume, is the existence of your daughter?"
"My what?" Geralt blurts. Eskel snorts.
"Your Child Surprise," he says. "Ciri. She's a princess twice over and absolutely determined to become a witcher by hook or by crook. Also she's got Chaos, but not the normal kind. You brought her home about a year ago. She's been a proper cat among the pigeons; we're all flailing to keep up with her. Fierce little lion cub." His voice is warm with affection.
"Oh," Geralt whispers, marveling. A daughter. He's never imagined having a daughter. "You think she can fix this?"
"Not precisely?" the strange man says. "Like Eskel said, she's got Chaos, so she's got a teacher for that, a sorceress. Yennefer of Vengerberg. She can probably fix this." He grimaces. "She's fixed worse things for us before."
Geralt frowns. He doesn't like the idea of going to a sorceress and asking her to muck about in his head; it makes him wonder if this is some sort of extremely elaborate effort to pry the Wolf School's few remaining secrets out of him.
"And you've got no reason to trust her, or me," the man says softly.
"I assume he's wondering if this is a mage's trap," Eskel says. "What a mess. You're sure you can't just wish you hadn't done this, songbird?"
The strange man's name can't actually be Songbird. Though Geralt has met people with odder names, he supposes. So maybe it is.
"I am already wishing I hadn't done this," Songbird says ruefully. "If for no other reason than that I have gotten used to our Wolf looking at me with a great deal more affection than currently. But truly, I would never desire to take someone's memories. That is a cruelty far beyond any I might ever willingly commit."
Eskel reaches over Geralt to pat Songbird gently. "I know that, at least, though our Wolf doesn't. I tell you what; you go and talk to the witch, see if she thinks she can guide you through undoing this, and I'll catch Geralt up on the last fifty years."
"Extremely sensible! You are, as always, a bastion of sanity and good sense in trying moments," Songbird says, and sits up, the blankets falling back to reveal a remarkably furry chest, leans over Geralt to kiss Eskel soundly, clearly almost kisses Geralt before thinking better of it, and slides out of bed, tugging the curtains closed again behind him. Geralt hears a quick patter of footsteps, and then the door opens and closes.
"I really hope he remembered a dressing gown," Eskel says, sounding fondly amused.
"How did you find him?" Geralt asks. "And how did you convince him to put up with me?"
Eskel snorts. "I didn't find him, he found you, and decided to follow you about and sing your praises. Literally. He's a bard."
"Oh. That explains the name." Though it explains little else. Why would a bard want to follow a witcher around?
"Oh - no. His name's Jaskier." Eskel chuckles. "He's smarter than he acts, genuinely a very talented bard, a completely shameless flirt, and randy enough for three incubi. Also he adores you wholeheartedly, and I flatter myself to think he's rather fond of me."
"If he doesn't love you entirely he's a damned fool," Geralt says gruffly.
"Wolf," Eskel murmurs, and leans down to kiss him. The notch in his lip is a little odd at first, but it's still Eskel, Eskel who has been Geralt's bedrock since the day they met, and Geralt kisses back gratefully. It's the first thing that has made sense on this whole bewildering morning.
"So what did happen?" he asks once the kiss has ended and Eskel has settled down comfortably beside him with a heavy arm slung over Geralt's chest. "To me and to you."
Eskel sighs. "It isn't pretty," he says.
Geralt braces himself. "Tell me."
Eskel does.
It's…
Geralt is weeping well before Eskel finishes, for Eskel and for Renfri and for Deidre and for himself, for all the damned stupid mistakes they've all made and the harm they've caused, on purpose or otherwise, for fifty fucking years of misery and pain and hatred earned and unearned. Eskel holds him close and his tears mingle with Geralt's, his voice hoarse but sure as he lays out the whole terrible saga.
"What a fucking mess," Geralt rasps when Eskel finally falls silent.
"Yeah," Eskel sighs.
"And then I got a bard, and a daughter?"
"Pretty much. And the witch, who's sort of bound to you - there was a djinn, it was a mess but nobody died."
Geralt snorts. "Well, that's better than most messes I get into, apparently."
"And believe me, we all gave you so much shit for it when you got back that winter," Eskel chuckles. "Let's see. Lambert and your bard like to have flyting contests, your daughter is learning to teleport past the pendulums, and if Vesemir's hair wasn't grey already it'd have gone whiter than yours by now."
"Oh fuck," Geralt says, torn between laughter and horror.
"Pretty much." Eskel sighs. "They've been good for us, I think. They bring…they bring joy into these cold old halls. Even with all the interesting baggage that accompanies them." He kisses Geralt softly. "You've laughed more, these last two winters, than I think you have in decades. Really laughed, not just giving Lambert's terrible jokes more acknowledgement than they deserve."
"Huh," Geralt says, considering that. "But I still hated myself enough to make Songbird - Jaskier - wish I didn't."
Eskel grimaces. "I haven't been able to convince you that you shouldn't even with trying for almost fifty years."
"Huh," Geralt says. "I - don't currently. Even with what you've told me. It sounds like I made some really awful mistakes and the consequences were godsawful, but…"
"Oh thank fuck," Eskel breathes, and kisses him hard. "I - that - fuck, I don't want you to be missing fifty years of memories but hearing you say you don't blame yourself is - I'm gonna kiss our songbird senseless when he gets back."
Geralt rubs his hands over Eskel's back as soothingly as he knows how, absently noting scars he doesn't recognize. Eskel shifts over to lie completely atop him, heavy and warm and comfortingly familiar.
They lie there for a while, breathing in each other's scents, and despite the upheaval of the morning, Geralt is as contented as he has ever been.
And then there is a strange twinge somewhere deep in his head, like the plucking of a taut string, and a sudden wave of dizziness that vanishes just as abruptly. And fifty years of memories unfold in his mind like a flower with petals made of razor-blades.
Geralt blinks twice, three times, swallows hard, and says, "Fuck, I'm a bit of a miserable bastard, aren't I?"
"Wolf," Eskel says roughly, and kisses him again; they're still kissing when the door opens and Jaskier comes pattering hastily to the side of the bed and pulls the curtain aside.
"Did it work?" he blurts.
Geralt reaches out blindly to snag his bard by the dressing gown he did, in fact, remember to put on, and hauls Jaskier into the bed. "It worked," he says, as he and Eskel between them strip the dressing gown off and bundle Jaskier back under the covers. Jaskier cooperates clumsily, then makes a bewildered sound when Geralt kisses him.
"You're not mad?"
"You didn't do it on purpose," Eskel points out.
"You wanted me to be happy," Geralt says. "Not your fault I'm a stubborn old ass."
Jaskier sniffles hard and wraps his arms around Geralt, clinging hard; Eskel hugs both of them tightly. "I did - I do! - want you to be happy, but I'd rather you be you," Jaskier says rather wetly. "I mean, you were still you, I just want you to be you and happy, but - you know what I mean."
"Eloquent, bard," Geralt teases. Jaskier huffs. Eskel chuckles.
"I will be eloquent on a morning I haven't accidentally caused one of my beloveds to forget the last fifty years of his life and then had to beg a far too amused witch to help me fix it," Jaskier says haughtily.
"You know, that's fair," Eskel says. "Can't say I'd be terribly eloquent in those circumstances either."
"Hm," Geralt says, and then, affecting the snootiest tone he can, "I, of course, am always eloquent."
Jaskier dissolves in giggles, which is what Geralt wanted. Eskel snorts and kisses the back of Geralt's neck.
"Glad to have you back, Wolf," he murmurs.
Geralt sighs agreement. "Mm. I'll. Think about…other perspectives. Later."
"Thank you," Jaskier says. Eskel hums approval.
Geralt tucks his face into the crook of Jaskier's neck and takes a moment to just…appreciate what he has.
Later, he'll think about the fact that when he couldn't remember Blaviken - and everything afterwards - and all he knew was Eskel's recounting, he pitied his future self but didn't hate him. Later, he'll think about the fact that Jaskier's tiny drop of fae blood decided Geralt not hating himself was important enough to cause mischief about. But for right now, he'll hold his lovers and just…be, safe in Kaer Morhen with the people he loves.