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It’s warm. Jaskier doesn’t know how long he has been walking. He feels like he might melt… It’s so terribly hot. His brown hair is stuck to his forehead in a dirty matted cap. His outfit is wet with sweat. Every inch of him is filthy. It is all quite disgusting. But his blue eyes have hardened with his resolve to go to the top of the Blue Mountain and to the stupid witchers’ fortress, to Kaer Morhen.
But the time feels like an eternity and he doesn't see an end to this stupid climb.
“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands”
Well, I won’t, Jaskier thinks angrily.
That damn witcher will hear him! Jaskier needs to scream at him to feel better. He wrote Burn Witcher Burn and people still think that they are friends. So now that Jaskier escaped Rience, he wants to stay safe and he doesn't have a lot of solutions to be so he will make Geralt grovel, make him take responsibility for his own mess and protect him since he will be his Court Bard. Jaskier is still mad, hurt too but mostly angry.
Anyway, the weather is nice, the sun is up and shining, and birds are singing, the forest is flush and the road ahead seems good. But, dear Gods, it is difficult! What the fucking hell is that hill… Jaskier knows that going to the secret witchers’ Keep wasn’t going to be easy, but that’s something he didn’t prepare for… He is already sweating and nearly half tired and he is used to traveling on foot… He will never make it before nightfall… He already camp twice up this fucking moutain and if that doesn’t suck! Abandoned on top of one by that emotionally constipated asshole and now he has to climb another one before Yennefer asks very convincingly for him to help her with Ciri because poor child if she is only raised by witchers. No! Jaskier won’t allow Ciri, a five year old little girl, to be raised by those ruffians. They will make her a rude little hellion, and she can be all she wants after she knows how to be polite.
He makes one last turn, and finally, the imposing fortress stands before him in all its glory. It’s made of dark stones and the gates and outerwall is tall and the doors are not very welcoming. Everything is made to dissuade people from coming. Witchers… Jaskier thinks in fond exasperation. It’s not as much a ruin as Geralt describes from the few words Jaskier managed to pull from his witcher. Because Jaskier might not be Geralt’s bard, but fuck all if Geralt is not his witcher! He dubbed him White Wolf and now it is the title used for greeting him as the Warlord of the North! No! That title belongs to Jaskier so Geralt needs to beg for his forgiveness and do it well so Jaskier can move on from the Dragon's hunt and claim being Court Bard and continue to sing about Geralt and witchers. Jaskier will be the most famous bard on the Continent for decades to come. He will be so good, the best that no one will either take this title from him. He will write songs never written before, the first to do so and he will blow every record made!
So he endures that trip, for himself, for Yenna who asks, and for Ciri who needs a proper education. And Jaskier is a master of the Seven Liberal Arts, a viscount, he knows what Ciri’s need to be the best future Empress, Queen, Warlady - what will her title be? - that she will become. Words are as much weapons as swords, even if Geralt never believed that… But the rumors being whispered are not good for the witchers. There is no way, Jaskier is letting Geralt do shit about his life work. So climbing this stupid Blue Mountain is a hassle but it’s needed.
And thank every deity in this world that Jaskier manages the climb to the gates before the sun set. But now, he is hungry too…
“Who’s there?”
“I am Jaskier, the most renowned bard on the Continent, and I request an audience with your lord,” Jaskier says, voice confident.
He has never been scared of witchers, not since Geralt proved that they were good men and even if he explained the different school, Jaskier would never be truly scared of witchers. And he was asked by Yennefer to come, so he is confident that nothing bad will happen. It’s not like Yennefer couldn’t kill him herself or that she would enact such a scheme when she could have simply let him die in Oxenfurt. So, he waits, tall and proud by the gates. They open, and a witcher comes out and looks at him, up and down. Witchers are not an engaging lot…
“An audience, you said, boy?”
“Yes, my dear witcher! Every court needs a bard, and well, here I am.” Jaskier explains with a flourish, smiling, ignoring the boy part because boy. Really?
“Huh?”
“I would very much like to get that audience with the Warlord .”
Seriously Geralt… Warlord… What the fuck happened to “witchers don’t get involved in politics.” What a hypocrite. He will tell him as soon as he can enter the Keep.
The witchers on guard duty are kind of astonished. This pretty young man is here to become their Court Bard, he doesn’t even have an instrument but he is telling the truth and not smelling scared at all. It doesn’t make any sense but well… They can't refuse the boy, they have opened the gates to strangers when they came either for revenge, for help or whatever. Only these stupids groups sending tributes are not allowed in. But that's because they are reeking and lying.
“Well… follow me.” the witcher says at last.
“May I have your name?” Jaskier asks.
“Clovis.”
“Pleasure, Clovis of the Wolf.” Jaskier smiles.
Clovis blinks at him, puzzled but the smell of this human. He smells good and his demenour is relax. Even the humans who came for help didn’t smell good, but this one smells like flowers and sweat (because he was insane enough to climb alone?) and whatever the fragrance is, lavender perhaps. Anyway, that boy is weird. Is he daft, to not be scared? Seriously, sometimes on guard duty, the weirdest thing happens.
They cross the courtyard and Jaskier is asked to wait a moment. Clovis enters the Keep and closes the door before, barely a minute later, he opens it again and beckons Jaskier inside.
And there are a lot of witchers. Like a lot. A lot more than what Jaskier expected from the rumors and what Geralt told him over the years. They don’t look extinct. There are even seven big tables full of food and Jaskier's stomach grumbles. Some witchers tilt their heads in wonder and they inhale more or less audibly to check him. Jaskier knows that witchers are heightened senses and that they like to catalog scents to assess a situation. Most of them have facial scars and look, well, like witchers of course with their slitted-eyes but they are relaxed. They paint a good picture. Jaskier likes that.
Standing on the back of the room is clearly what is the high table. On the middle, there is Geralt. He is the same as always, white hair loose and his assessing golden cat-slitted eyes. Regal and proud. Near him, he can see Yennefer sitting but there is definitely a missing person between them. Ciri has been asked to hide? Wise. On Geralt’s right, there is a witcher with dark hair, scars on his face’s side which could have made him ugly but didn’t. They look awful, there is no way they wouldn’t but the man is built and still very handsome. Sitting next, is a red-haired man with a sneer and close to an old man. Hm. All from the Wolf School. Probably Geralt’s family, Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir. The tables seem to belong to each school. Interesting setting.
“The fuck?”
“You must be Lambert,” Jaskier answers with a grin to rival the sun.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Jaskier.”
“And that helps me how?”
“Oh! You are such a little shit, the description I got didn’t do you any justice, which means you must be Eskel?” Jaskier asks, turning his eyes on Eskel. “Hm. Yours was truly a shame too… I will hit him for that.”
“Will you now?” Geralt asks in both a teasing and unsure voice.
Jaskier is here, in Kaer Morhen. After nearly three years of regret, his friend is here. Geralt was so scared he was dead. There have been no words about Jaskier's whereabouts. It was as if he disappeared and Geralt truly thought those words were going to be the last one he told Jaskier. The only person who chose him when he could have chosen anyone. The one who stayed without Fate involved and what did Geralt do. Send him away with the most awful last words… what kind of friend he is…
“I should gut you." Jaskier starts and his arms are gesturing wildly. "But well, that would be counterproductive to my application to become your Court Bard, because you truly are shit at publicity! And what the fuck happened to witchers don’t get involved in politics? And now, the whole continent is terrified to be conquered by your lot. And fear is bad, people do mad things when they are scared and we don’t want that. So yes, I will be your Court Bard, as soon as you grovel so I can forgive you.” Jaskier demands, hands on his hips and glaring at Geralt, not an ounce of fear in his scent.
“What the fuck?” Lambert whispers and he is not the only one. Vesemir is watching with a blank face but inside he is wondering what the fuck is happening and Eskel tilts his head in curiosity.
The witchers are truly baffled by that scolding. That little thing is pretty much snarling at Geralt and Geralt’s only reaction is to take it in silence, smelling of sadness, guilt but fondness. And he looks truly gutted by the words.
“Jaskier…” Geralt says, pained.
“That’s my name, witcher .”
Geralt closes his eyes at that because Jaskier has always managed to say it like a good thing, like a compliment, like an accomplishment and not an insult. But fuck, Jaskier has a way with tones… Geralt takes a deep breath of Jaskier’s scent, he smells sad as well, pained, but still his scent is utterly him and Geralt wants to sniff it at its source. He wants to make the pain disappear so there is only happiness. He vaults the table to reach his friend faster and is in front of Jaskier in no time.
“If you think you can glower me into submission, you are dead wrong!” Jaskier growls out, bracing for whatever will come. He is fairly sure Geralt wouldn't hurt him, but with what happened last time, he is mostly convincing himself. He doesn’t want to fear Geralt. But he still freezes and breathes through it. He is a bard, he has good control and he doesn't want Geralt to think he is scared when he has never been. Even when they didn't know each other. He is wary right now, not scared.
But Geralt just hugs him.
Geralt hugs him. Period. He is being hugged by Geralt. Very tightly. Jaskier is flushed against him, chest to chest and faces on each other's shoulders. Jaskier doesn't know how to react. The number of times they have hugged is, well, none. They have never hugged each other just because they wanted it. It was for warmth or to help the other move because one was injured. Always for necessity and never for comfort or a desire for proximity.
“I’m sorry, I missed you. I’m glad you’re here.” Geralt whispers very softly. The air is trapped between them with how close they are.
“People do stupid things when they think they're trapped in a corner. And they say stupid things. That's what friends do. They come back. And I missed you too.” Jaskier says and his hands are fisting Geralt’s clothes on his back, and Geralt nearly sags onto him when he admits to missing him as well. Like it was not a given. Stupid oblivious witcher.
“What will make you forgive me?” Geralt asks, both in a low growl and a desperate whisper as he nuzzles Jaskier’s neck and shoulder, smearing his own scent on him. Jaskier doesn't smell like him anymore and he doesn't like that. Jaskier used to always carry his scent even a little, even when they parted for winter, in spring there was a faint trace of him that lingered. They traveled together so much that their scent mingled and it was them, even apart. Geralt missed that too.
“Hm… You won’t grovel if I tell you that you’re already forgiven? But it has hurt me, still hurts what you said.” Jaskier answers truthfully and Geralt answers by tightening his arms even more and a small whine escapes him.
“How the fuck should I grovel?” he asks or demands more like because Geralt will do whatever it takes for Jaskier to forgive him properly so they can move on and build something more. His brethren are whispering, in witchers’ low range about them, about this youngling and about his reaction.
Good Gods, Jaskier cannot hear and he cannot blush because it’s embarrassing but Jaskier is here. He is alive, well and safe now.
Damn. Jaskier is such a good friend, he came. Whereas, Geralt is such an asshole, he should have come looking for him earlier. But this Warlord thing got away so fast and he hasn’t had the time. And he doesn't have an excuse. If he is being honest, at least in his own mind, he was scared that Jaskier didn't care anymore and just crossed their friendship with how they parted, with how Geralt made him leave.
After what is not an appropriate time anymore for friendship, Geralt releases Jaskier and they look at each other, to assess the other’s state, eyes roaming on their form and they both relax when they notice no injuries. They used to do that when they met again after winter, or any time apart for a too dangerous contract or a bardic competition.
“You look good.” Jaskier says first. “Hm…” he hums and twirls Geralt’s medallion in his hand and caresses the scratch on it.
“It’s me.” Geralt says, as he has always done since they encounter that stupid doppler.
“I know, that’s your medallion.” Jaskier says just as softly. “Sorry for checking.” He says, forcing a grin, like he does when he needs to check.
“Hm.”
“I will be your Court Bard and you will buy me a new lute, I’m also teaching Ciri because there is no way you, witchers, will be able to provide the proper education outside of fighting to the princess and then we'll talk, and you won’t answer in monosyllabic because if you do, I’m finding Vesemir, who I think is there,” Jaskier says, pointing and nodding to said witcher. “Or anyone. And I will tell them everything you never want any of your brethren to know.”
“Alright.” Geralt agrees and chuckles, fond and amused by his bard. He misses this and inhales his bard's scent again. Hm. He nuzzles him good earlier but its not enough. Their scents have barely mixed…
“Good.” Jaskier nods. “Yenna, my darling, my beautiful sorceress, how are you?”
“I’m good, little flower, you look better too.” she smiles.m, genuinely happy.
“Oh, Of course I do! And you do too! What a bath can do about smells.” Jaskier grins and Yennefer chortles inelegantly.
“How dare you! What kind of husband are you to say I smell!” she teases.
“You crawled from a sewer and you hugged me!” Jaskier sputters.
“At least I had an excuse to reek.”
They both laugh.
“Husband?” Geralt growls. He doesn’t like that one at all. An unpleasant shiver travels his body and he tenses because he truly doesn't want that between them. Jaskier has always been his and he can't give that up now that he has him back. Jaskier is his bard, his friend, his most trusted companion, and has been for more than twenty years. Jaskier is his life blessing. He wants him to stay his. Now and forever.
“Oh! Don’t worry about that…” Jaskier says, dismissively, with a wave of his hand.
“I didn’t have my chaos after Sodden, had to find a way to save Jaskier from the Firefucker.” Yennefer says bluntly which explains nothing about the husband thing but Geralt understands that it is more of a nickname than anything and good. They can tease each other, be friends but he isn't used to sharing Jaskier so it took him by surprise. Now he will need to get used to it. But more pressing matter is the Firefucker? Fuck no!
“You encounter that asshole!” Geralt growls and takes Jaskier by his shoulders and sniffs again, not trying to hide doing it anymore, for any remaining smell of injuries and looks again to assess lingering pains.
“Yeah…” Jaskier whispers. “I’m good. Geralt. I promise. I’m better now.”
“What did he do?”
“Not much.” Jaskier lies as Yennefer says: “He burnt his finger for your location.”
“He what?” He shouts and takes Jaskier's hands in his to check them.
He burnt Jaskier. Jaskier’s fingers. His precious hands. What makes Jaskier perform. His tools for music… Geralt wants to buddle Jaskier in warm fur and hides him away in his room so that nothing can hurt him ever again. And Jaskier and his room, covered in fur, is a bad idea to think about now. He is not getting hard right now. Not with the Firefucker subject out and with his brethren here and watching, staring at them.
“It was just before this Warlord thing and when you took, I mean, rescued Ciri from Cintra. Nobody knew where you were, nor where Kaer Morhen was, so…”
“I will kill him.” Geralt swears, anger and protectiveness audible in his voice. The witchers in the hall growl in answer. Geralt rarely smells so angry and his demeanor is all dark protectiveness at the edge of feral.
“That’s not needed.” Jaskier placates, half a truth and cups Geralt's face. "Geralt. It's ok." He would sleep better knowing that utter asshole is dead but he would never ask Geralt for that.
“I know you wouldn’t ask me to ever do that, so I just will.” Geralt whispers and Jaskier is overwhelmed by that behavior. Geralt has seldomly be so upfront with his care about him.
“Stupid witcher.” He mumbles with tears in his eyes and so fondly that Geralt cannot help to hug him again. “You're safe now, Bard.”
“Court Bard.”
“Court Bard.” Geralt amends. “Kaer Morhen’s. Mine.”
“Of course, I’m yours, I named you White Wolf! There is no way anyone is ever going to write songs about you but me!”
“You’re impossible.” Geralt says, and now he looks besotted. Oh, the witchers think. It makes so much sense. They are in love!
His hands cup Jaskier's neck and he brings their forehead together and inhales Jaskier’s scent again, closing his eyes a second and draws back. Jaskier blinks.
“You and your weird witcher’s greeting.”
“It ain’t a witchers’ greeting.” Lambert says suddenly and those two are reminded that they have a huge audience.
“It’s not?”
“Only done with family or very special friends.” Lambert says, giving Jaskier a leering look.
“So, we have a Court Bard, now?” Clovis asks, trying to make sense of that show.
"Jaskier?" A voice suddenly says. "The Toss A Coin's Jaskier? Always wanted to thank you for making the Path easier for witchers!" The male with a Cat's medallion continues. "I'm Aiden. Pleasure."
"Pleasure is mine dear Cat." Jaskier smiles at the friendly greeting. "And of course! I'm happy my songs have helped."
"How fucking old are you?" Clovis asks.
"What kind of question is that? You, witchers, are so rude, ruffians!" Jaskier answers like he is offended.
"That song is at least twenty years old and I highly doubt that you weren't an adult when you met so… more than forty." Vesemir drowles.
"Hm." Eskel hums in such a Geralt's fashion that Jaskier blinks.
"You're not fully human." Geralt states and truly looks at his friend and he hasn't aged at all since Posada.
"Geralt, you know that." Jaskier whispers. "Or not… Are you going to kill me?" He stutters, looking at his friend but not moving. His scent didn't even shift.
"No. Never." Geralt snarls, hurt and offended that Jaskier would ask that and he grabs him by his shoulder. "I would never."
"Oh." Jaskier breathes, surprised by Geralt’s vehemence at not hurting him.
It’s a very pleasant thought. Geralt truly cares. And he is showing it right now, not being shy about it and ignoring him.
"You do care." Jaskier teases, wanting to change the subject.
"Of course, I do. And you’re always changing the subject…" Geralt growls. "That talent of yours drives me mad… If you think I forgot about the Firefucker."
"My dear witcher, I told you I'm ok now."
"Doesn't matter… I should have been here. I fucked up."
"You did. But we are good right? I mean…"
"Jaskier, my bard, my lark, friend, my most trusted companion after Roach." Geralt teases.
"That horse and you." He giggles. "How is my fair lady? I hope you continue to feed her apples and sugars.
"Hm…"
"What? Are you saying that you didn't make as much gold without me?"
"Jaskier…" Geralt says in fond exasperation.
"Oh! Of course you didn't. What would you do without me? Like all the time I had to drag your sorry ass after a contract because you decided to get injured and fainted."
"Jaskier!" Geralt growls deep and low, looming over him. It’s as ineffective as usual.
"And then I have to spend all my coins on your sorry ass." Jaskier finishes, proud of himself.
"We share a purse…" Geralt drowles.
"Are they always like that? Lambert asks. He has never seen his taciturn brother indulge someone like that. Ciri nearly manages it but she is a child and she is his Child Surprise. She has an unfair advantage but this man doesn't and they are bickering like an old married couple.
"They are. For as long as I knew them and they must have been like that from the start." Yennefer answers amused.
“So Court Bard and Consort ?” Eskel asks, with a raised eyebrow at his brother, teasing and inquiring. Hm. Witchers Catmint would be more accurate, he thinks.
“Consort?” Jaskier squeaks and stops short. “Oh, Eskel, you have a sense of humor! How delightful! Geralt, your descriptions are shit!”
“How so?” someone, Jaskier doesn't know who, asks.
“He describes his hunts as, got a contract, killed it, and got paid. And he refused when I asked to come to some so I could write a proper song.” Jaskier whines, theatrics out now.
“It’s too dangerous.”
“Sure, that’s why, even when I stay safe, I get hurt or are we not talking about the doppler, the bruxa, the werewolves or the…”
“Ok, stop.” Geralt shouts and his hand comes on Jaskier’s mouth to stop him physically.
“Oh, Jaskier, you will tell us everything.” Lambert requests with a chuckle. "You and I are going to be such good friends!"
Jaskier nods as best as he can while being manhandled by Geralt who is glaring and glowering like all hell and Jaskier giggles.
“Consort is good.” Yennefer says. “A marvelous idea, Eskel.”
“What, no!” Jaskier cries. “Geralt! Say something!”
“Hm…”
“What? Seriously?”
“Hm.”
“Oh!” Jaskier breaths, surprise and hope coloring his scent. Is he dead? Dreaming? Is it truly happening?
Geralt nods and a delicious shiver travels Jaskier’s body. He is wanted. Geralt cares. It’s so good to know.
“You dumb oaf of a witcher.” Jaskier whispers very softly and cups Geralt’s face with both hands and kisses him, just a sweet press of his lips on his and withdraws. “Really, I’m the whole brain of this relationship.”
“Nobody would believe that.” Geralt teases while he wants to chase his lips and kisses him breathless and he wants. Geralt wants everything Jaskier is willing to give. Better not to think about ravaging Jaskier and smearing his scent all over him right now. As soon as Jaskier is happy with his groveling, Geralt will make him his more physically. Soon, he hopes. His patience is not infinite. A lute, he can provide, songs material will be easily done, perhaps a few more gifts like the silver dagger he once offered him… Hm… A cloak perhaps, Jaskier likes pretty things and to stay warm. That’s a good idea. Geralt can make it as a courting gift for his Consort. Hm… He likes that. Consort means Jaskier is his for the whole Continent to now. Perfect.
“Careful, dear heart, I could tell people so many truths about you and have the whole world sing about it.” Jaskier whispers daringly.
“Hm. My lark.”
“My Wolf.”