Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jaskier had kept his heritage hidden for as long as he could remember. It was probably decades, although he got time muddled when he had started lying about his actual age. It came as easy as breathing as this point, keeping things quiet, keeping his impulses under control. 

Nobody would look twice at a mouthy bard that worked for coin and then immediately spent it. Or a bard who travelled, unable to hoard anything other than possibly a few sets of clothes, and those could be explained away with a hand wave and a huff about how extravagant and unnecessary bard’s tended to act. He walked from place to place, leaving footprints and music in his wake and if they stopped at nightfall with no explanation and he turned up elsewhere. Nobody would question enough to suspect a thing.

Nobody would suspect that he was actually a dragon.

And the people who could tell, well. He either got out of that particular place in a hurry. Or, more recently, he found that they didn’t care.

He knew that Geralt knew. With that witcher sense of his, he had to. But he hadn’t ever brought it up. And he had had plenty of chances to in the decade that Jaskier had stayed by his side, but he hadn’t. So Jaskier hadn’t mentioned it either.

Yennefer had simply looked at him up and down and smiled, feral and gleeful. But she had never said a word, never in one of their sniping moments back and forth. She had kept quiet. Because of course him being a dragon meant nothing to her. He was not a threat. Especially not since she had left Geralt's side. Their relationship had been something Jaskier had watched in silence and pain. But he had kept quiet, and not interfered, so he hadn’t been a threat and it wasn’t remarked upon.

Ciri knew something was off. Her magic just enough to be able to detect Jaskier’s own inherent magic. And as a child does, she had asked question upon question over the two years that Jaskier and Geralt had been raising her. After her nightmares, when he would never refuse to answer. Or at odd points, when he was so off guard answers would slip out without meaning too. So she probably had an inkling, especially with her educated background. But he hoped there’d be another few years before she properly knew. She didn’t seem to care yet though.

And while it was nice that none of them cared and Jaskier was so grateful his heart hurt with it sometimes, ultimately it was a problem. Because he hadn’t bonded with anybody since his family. And they had left him so long ago he had sworn never to do that again. So whenever he had any impulses to bond, to get close, he had had to leave.

It was easy with Geralt, letting him and the witcher swan in and out of eachothers lives as often as destiny would allow. And despite his feelings for the witcher, he always made himself leave when he thought he was getting too close.

But now he was helping raise Ciri. And he couldn’t just leave.

His feelings for the witcher he could hide. Love was something he felt often and freely enough that his actions weren’t out of the ordinary around Geralt. His affection was expected at this point and tolerated with a begrudging smile most of the time. It had been long enough that his pining was so ingrained in their behaviour it wasn’t seen as something unusual. So he let himself pine in the quiet, and had left when he needed somewhere to patch back up his cracked heart.

Unrequited love had been good for business.

He can’t leave now though, and when he has to for work it’s never for too long. Because Ciri needed him. Even more so because Geralt needed him. And he could never say no to Geralt.

It was the dragon in him. The possessive nature. Geralt was his witcher. His witcher to protect and care for. And that meant coming to his aid whenever he needed it. And looking after Ciri, he needed it.

It had barely been two weeks with the child when the protective and possessive nature had started to include Ciri. And Jaskier refused to deny himself something that would mean keeping the child safe.

That had been about two years ago. And they had only continued since.

Now, as the colder months drew close they had based themselves in a smaller town up north until they couldn’t find work and would have to move on again. But that didn’t seem soon as the town was surrounded by woods, full of creatures that needed slaying, and the colder months meant people wanted entertainment during the cold nights, huddled around the large fire at the tavern.

They had managed to find a two roomed cottage to rent during their stay, the home itself barely bigger than two inn rooms put together. But it was clean, and empty, and the smaller room held a rather large bath. Ciri had gotten the bed, and Geralt slept in that when Ciri wasn’t occupying it. Jaskier himself had given in to his impulses and created a blanket nest in the empty corner at the end of the bed. Complete with extra pillows and blankets that Geralt had somehow acquired for him. Jaskier hadn’t asked, just beamed at Geralt who had only grunted. But Jaskier had seen the small smile on his face before he turned away.

-

It was dark out now. And Jaskier had let the fire in the hearth reduce itself to a smoulder as he curls up by the warmth, waiting for Geralt to come back from a hunt. The steady breathing of Ciri in the bed keeps him calm as he sits, notebook out as he writes another heartfelt ballad. The notebook was his secret one, the one full of songs he could never play in front of Geralt lest he catch on. Most were obvious, almost close to revealing who the ‘you’ in each song was. So he kept the songs to himself unless Geralt and Ciri were out of earshot.

He’s just closed the notebook to rub at his eyes tiredly when Geralt bursts in. Frantic, his eyes scan the room, and although when he looks at Ciri his eyes only soften slightly, it’s when they fall on Jaskier that they soften completely. Quickly he turns and locks the door, quietly putting his swords by the side table before quickly walking over the fire to kneel at Jaskiers feet.

Frowning again, his eyes dart across the room, and when he speaks it’s a low growl. “We have to go. Early morning. You’re not safe here.”

Whatever Jaskier was expecting, it was not that. Instantly, his heart is in his throat, breath ragged. And if Geralt didn’t look so worried his heart would be pounding from the sight of him on his knees before him rather than worry himself.

“What? Geralt-”

“They’re hunting dragons. The newest post on the board, it’s about a dragon. We need to leave tomorrow. Not arouse suspicion. Say I found work. But we need to go.”

This is one of the few times Jaskier has even seen Geralt look scared, and his breath catches as he automatically reaches a hand out to smooth over Geralt’s hair.

“I-” He can’t say anything. Because this is a few of his worst fears combined.

Geralt finally brought the fact up, the fact that he knew. And he was in danger because of it. He jumps when Geralt rests his hands on his knees. All Geralt does is scowl further, but at least Jaskier knows it’s from worry and not at him.

“I- okay. How did you. No don’t answer that, I know you- Fuck”

“Fuck.”

Jaskier lets himself breathe. In and out. Count to ten.

“I would wake Ciri up now and go but I don’t want to arouse suspicion and have them then follow us.’

“That- that’s smart.”

“I’de fight them. Of course i'd fight anyone off if they tried to hurt you. But this is easier.”

“No, we need to keep Ciri safe first I-.”

This whole interaction is too intense for him to even begin to comprehend. Fear grips him from all angles, practically strangling him as he just tries to breathe. And then of course there's Geralt being so soft with him, something he only did in small moments. It hurts seeing Geralt so scared for him.

“Geralt-”

“It’s okay. We’ll get you out of here. I won’t let them hurt you, I promise.”

With that, Jaskier breaks. He starts sobbing, silent and wrecked before he understands what’s happening.

“You knew, you knew and you-” He can’t get it out. His gratitude, his fear, anything.

“I. Jask i’m sorry.” Geralt hasn’t moved from his kneeling position on the floor and he looks at a loss for what to do.

“No it’s okay.” They’re whispering, they have to not to wake Ciri. “I knew, that you knew. That, that isn’t the problem here.”

“You knew?”

Jaskier is still crying, but the confused and surprised look on Geralt's face is enough to startle a laugh out of him.

“Well with your witcher-y.” He makes a wiggly hand gesture. “Stuff. I just assumed you would be able to tell.”

“Well you smell like one. But you never said anything.” He shrugs and Jaskier laughs again.

Running a hand over his wet face he tries to wipe away the last of his tears. ”No, so of course you wouldn’t bring it up.”

“Well, you have said that i’m? What was it? Emotionally constipated?” They both laugh then.

“Finally, you admit the truth. Maybe I should get into serious trouble more often.”

Immediately the laughter from Geralt stops and he growls. “No.”

“No?”

“If you never get into trouble this serious again it’ll be too soon.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s heart stops, but this time it’s his feelings causing the stutter rather than his fear. “You haven’t been this nice to me since you apologised.” 

It’s a joke now, because Geralt had been a lot better since he found Jaskier and had properly apologised. And normally he would laugh at Jaskier bringing it up, or roll his eyes. But now he just looks sad.

“Oh Geralt. Come on now.” He reaches out again, patting Geralt’s cheek lightly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” He sighs. “I’m just tense. When we’re safe-” 

Jaskier doesn’t want him to finish that sentence. “When we’re safe, I guess we should talk. I know that that’s your least favourite thing. But if you know, then both you and Ciri deserve to hear my tragic backstory.”

“I’m sure it would create a good ballad.” It’s a very weak offering from Geralt but it gets Jaskier lighting up all the same.

“And that would be one you would be forced to listen to.”

“Oh I always am. Now come on, do you think you can sleep?”

“No.” He sighs. “But I could lie down. I’m assuming you wont sleep?”

“No. But I could lie down too.”

Jaskier stands on shaky feet, but manages to make it to his nest before he collapses. He would be safe for the next few hours at least. Especially if neither he nor Geralt were sleeping. 

Once he’s settled though, he’s surprised to find Geralt lying down in front of him, practically pressing him against the back wall with his back as he faced outward.

They weren’t strangers to sharing a bedroll, and in the cold wilds they would normally have Ciri in between them to keep her warm. But if Geralt were to protect anyone, it would be the child. Which is why he’s confused as to why Geralt is in his nest rather than by the bed next to Ciri.

“Geralt?” He tries, whisper barely leaving his lips, and Geralt shrugs.

“Try and get some sleep. I know dragons need more than witchers.”

Jaskier gasps, a smile shocked out of him. “Talking, we are definitely talking once we’re safe.” He doesn’t mean it. Because talking about this would hurt. But it’s a nice empty promise all the same.

“The day you stop talking is the day the world has come to its end.”

“Guess I better keep talking then.”

“Yeah. You better.”

Apparently, terror made Geralt softer and more open. And Jaskier hated that he enjoyed it.

Sleep doesn’t find either of them, but Jaskier lets himself fall into a trance watching the rise and fall of Geralt’s breathing. He focuses on the joint slow breaths of Ciri and Geralt, trying to copy it and focus instead of letting his mind wander.

-

It works too, until Ciri starts to wake just before dawn and the noise of her movement causes him to jump out of his skin. It has Geralt rolling over immediately, eyes scanning Jaskier frantically before reaching a hand out to cup Jaskier’s shoulder.

“It’s just Ciri. It’s okay. Come on.” His golden eyes flicker for just a second with something Jaskier can’t place before he’s rolling away and then up onto his feet. “Ciri, up. We’re leaving today.”

All Geralt gets is a groan in reply as Ciri pulls the covers over her head. Ever the teenager now. “Gimme a minute.”

“Nope. There’s danger. Up. Let’s go.”

The mention of danger has Ciri getting up, although she’s not on guard anymore than usual thanks to Geralt’s calmer tone.

“What’s happening?” Jaskier gets up himself, starting to pack up their basics in their respective bags before trying to find a way to pack up their new blankets. Jaskier was not one to let any small comforts go to waste. Especially ones Geralt had found just for him. They were part of his little hoard of treasures now.

“Jaskier’s in trouble. And not the usual kind. We’re leaving as quietly and as we can not to arouse suspicion.”

Jaskier looks over to Ciri. “It’s not even my fault this time.”

She snorts. “I doubt that. But okay.” With a small smile she goes about packing her own things up, and after Jaskier finds a way to turn the blankets into a bundle of sorts that he thinks he can tie onto his own horse Buttercup, he goes over to ruffle her hair before following Geralt out into the dawn to saddle the horses.

It’s quick work, because they’re used to one another by now. And they move quietly as they saddle the horses and attach everything while the horses finish up their breakfast. Geralt was preparing for a long ride then if the fortified oats were anything to go by.

“Who you riding with Ciri?” He calls into the house, ducking under Geralt’s arm in a practised motion as Geralt lifts one of the bags to put onto Buttercup.

“Me.” Geralt grunts, nodding to Ciri as she comes out, bag over her shoulder.

“Oh?” Jaskier asks. Normally they gave her the choice, and she picked depending on her mood. 

Quietly, Geralt leans in, facing the other way as Ciri gets onto Roach. “If I tell you to go, you go. Me and Ciri can hold them off, they’re not after us.” And suddenly Jaskier understands. One person on a horse would ride quicker than two.

“Geralt-”

“Promise me.” 

Jaskier nods, resting his head quickly against Geralt’s shoulder. His need for affections was something Geralt had gotten used to over the years so he doesn’t stop himself from leaning there for a few seconds. He’s shocked though when a hand comes to rest against the back of his head, just for a moment, and Jaskier’s heart skips again.

The fear he feels overrides anything else, but he knows that once they’re safe he’ll overthink that moment. Right now though, they had bigger things to worry about.

They ride through the town, Jaskier just ahead of the other three. He waves to the innkeeper, shouting a meaningless excuse that he can’t make sense of himself as they ride along. But most don’t seem to notice as they wave them off, some shouting thanks or goodbyes while others just watch.

Some have raised eyebrows and crossed arms, other suspicious questioning looks. And Jaskier feels eyes on their backs until they turn a corner. As soon as they’re out of sight Geralt breaks Roach into a gallop that Buttercup copies, and they don’t stop for a while.

-

Buttercup is the one to make them stop. It had been about three hours of solid riding, and upon hearing a stream the mare had simply stopped in her tracks, and then veered off into the woods that lined the path they were taking.

Jaskier doesn’t bother to admonish her, and with a quick glance back to make sure the other three were following, he lets her lead them to the stream.

“We can have an hour, then we need to travel again.” Geralt calls as Jaskier dismounts, letting Buttercup drink as Roach does the same once Geralt and Ciri get down from her. They leave them to drink and Ciri busies herself with refilling their waterskins while Geralt and Jaskier get food out and clear a space for them to sit.

“So.” Jaskier starts, making sure Ciri and Geralt have food before portioning some for himself. “Shall I tell you both now or later?”

“Later.” Geralt grunts. “Don’t know if they followed us.”

“I want to know though. We’ve never left somewhere that quickly before unless they wanted either of your heads on a platter.” Ciri says this without flinching, taking a bite of her bread and cheese simultaneously.

They’re sitting close together in a trio, and Jaskier shuffles a little closer, eyes going to look behind himself.

“I’ll tell you when we’re properly bedded down for the night. But this isn’t my usual bullshit, I promise.”

She hums and rolls her eyes. “You’re not capable of any other bullshit.” She’s smiling a little though as she talks, and Jaskier takes the teasing in his stride.

“I could talk about your flirting with the stableboy, if you want to keep sassing me.”

“You were flirting with the stableboy?” Geralt whips his head to look at Ciri, frowning.

Ciri glares, hitting him sharply on the arm. “Jaskier!”

“You were! I was very proud, you had him under your thumb.” He does not mention that he was holding a dagger the entire time ready to strike if the boy had even made a move to touch her in a way she didn’t want, but she didn’t need to know that. He knew she could take care of herself, especially with Geralt training her and Yennefer too when she visited. But again, his protective nature wouldn’t just let him stand idly by.

“Did you get anything from him?” He asks, and winks at Geralt when he turns his frown to him.

Ciri just sighs, but then rummages in her pocket and holds out a piece of paper and a small cake. The paper, from what Jaskier can make out, has an address on it.

“Ciri-” Geralt starts and she huffs again.

“I’m not going to write to him. Or anything. Jaskier stop trying to distract us!”

The change of conversation is one that Geralt ignores. “Ciri don’t eat that, you don’t know what’s in it. He could be trying to poison you.”

“He didn’t know who I was.”

“No, but men are awful.” Jaskier butts in, hand going out to wave at Geralt to shush him. “He could be trying to drug you. And while you’re safe with us, it’s best you not, you know, have drugs in your system.”

He wasn’t like Geralt in that he could smell things intensely. He hadn’t shifted in so long that his heightened sense had dulled to a level that humans would have. But he barely trusted anyone nowadays. And men almost always had ulterior motives. Especially when it came to women. And Ciri was growing up to be a fine young lady.

She looks at the cake briefly, then back at the pair of them and shrugs, tossing the cake to the side. “Fine. But I would like to pass a bakery when we get to the next town.” 

“Done.” Jaskier nods, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Now we shall eat and then be off.”

With her preoccupied, he looks at Geralt who nods, mouthing a silent “thank you” across the small space. All he does is grin back.

-

They’re back on the road in less than the hour Geralt had given them. And they’re back to riding as fast as they can, not stopping this time until dusk. They’re nowhere near a town, so they bed for the night at the edge of the woods. 

Once a fire is warming and they’re all tucked up in their bedrolls, sitting up and warming their hands against the flames, Jaskier starts to talk.

“So, where to begin?” He moves his hands from the warmth to ring them, anxiety coursing through his veins. Now they were out of the immediate danger, his fear had subsided. But he had never told anyone anything like this before. He doesn’t dare to look at either of his companions, instead focusing on the licking flames in front of him.

“The beginning is always helpful.” The low drawl from Geralt actually makes him stutter on a laugh.

“Yes well, yes. That’s true.”

“Jaskier, what’s actually going on?” He glances to Ciri who's watching him earnestly, and then he looks to Geralt who just nods, slowly with reassurance.

“I.” He takes a deep breath. “Am one of the only few red dragons left.”

Neither Geralt or Ciri make a sound, and he finds he can’t move his gaze from where it’s fallen back onto the fire. “Maybe last, depending on if my family have survived. But they kicked me out years ago, or more so I left. So I lost the right to know.”

“You left?” It’s Geralt who asks, and Jaskier just nods.

“Hmm. I didn’t agree with their practises. They were too eager to give in to the draconic impulses they had. We have.” He shakes his head a little at his own correction. “Most are harmless, but I draw at the line at killing people just to add something else to your hoard.”

“So you left, and then what?” Ciri’s voice is nothing above a whisper.

“I traveled, spent a few decades just, wandering. Maybe more, I stopped knowing how long had passed when I began lying about my age.” He laughs then bitterly, and hears a soft sound come from Geralt. “Then I met Geralt. And traveled with him for a decade on and off. And then of course he claimed you, and that has been my life ever since.”

“Your family haven’t tried to contact you?” It’s Ciri who questions, because of course.

“Never. They were glad to see me leave I think. I never fully did adhere to their ways. Even when they sent me off to boarding school. I never acted how I should. Not in their eyes or even the school’s eyes.”

Ciri makes a small pained noise but changes the subject. “You said you didn’t give into your impulses like they did? What impulses?”

“The main one is being protective of your family or people you care about. That one I tend not to control. However the possessiveness that comes with that I try and ignore. Nobody should feel ownership of anyone, or things.” He shivers as he remembers the feeling of his mother’s talons under his chin, commanding that he stay somewhere. Because he belonged to her, he was her property as her son. He tries to shake it off.

“Which then leads to hoarding. Most of it is treasure, shinies, things of worth. I make sure I travel enough so that I have a reason to not keep hold of things.”

Geralt snorts then, and Jaskier looks up in question. “Not blankets though.” Geralt just raises an eyebrow as he speaks and Jaskier can feel himself blush.

“No, blankets and the like I let myself keep. They’re good for nesting, which is something I let myself do when we’re somewhere for more than a few days. It’s safe and comforting, and it harms no-one so I let myself.”

“What else?” He’s surprised that Ciri doesn’t sound scared, although travelling and being bonded by destiny to a witcher probably had that effect.

“A desire to bond. I broke my last bond upon leaving my family. And have tried to stop myself. It’s.” He hesitates. “Something so intense that humans don’t understand it. So I make sure I don’t subject anyone to that nonsense.”

He chuckles again despite himself, and moves forward quickly. “The need to shift is something I suppress too. There’s no sense to it, it only leads to visibility and danger. That and my ability to breathe fire even if i’m not shifted.”

“Wait, you could do that all this time?” Ciri sounds gleeful, and he looks over at her to frown.

“It’s dangerous. Somebody finding out could get me and anybody i’m with killed. So I don’t.”

“Doesn’t not shifting hurt?” Geralt catches on and Jaskier winces.

“It does. But it is something i’m used to now.” He doesn’t describe the pain. The longer he hadn’t shifted, the worse the stabbing pain in the back of his mind became. But he could bear with it if it meant keeping them safe. No matter how much it made him want to howl and thrash sometimes, he would live with it.

“Can you not shift now? There’s nobody around and-”

Sometimes he could forget how much glee a child could hold. “Not now Ciri. Not ever, probably. You never know if people could be watching. And I will be damned if I get you hurt.”

“Jaskier-”

“Ciri. It’s best for you both if I don’t change, if I don’t.” He waves a frustrated hand around. “Be a dragon. I’m trying not to be.” 

“But you’re hurting.” 

“I will be in agony forever if it means that the pair of you are safe.” He smiles then as he means what he says, darting a look at the pair. “Now let’s eat and sleep. I assume we have more travel ahead of us.”

He reaches for his lute and grabs a hold of it like a lifeline, the one thing he took care of, let himself hoard. Something just for him. Starting to play, the music and words he sings make the ones in Ciri’s throat die, and he ignores the pained looks both give him.

They were safe. And he would make sure he could keep them both as safe as he could.

-

Later, when they’re wrapped in their beds and Ciri is asleep, Geralt shuffles over. 

“You could bond with us.” He’s awkward sounding, but they had been friends for a long time now, so saying it probably comes a little easier for him. Jaskier still winces though nonetheless.

“Geralt, I am not in the business of getting my heart broken anymore. Once Ciri grows and you have no use of me anymore you’ll both be on your way, leaving me somewhere. And I won’t hold that against you ofcourse, either of you. But that sort of bond means life with me trailing behind you and I know you don’t want that.”

Jaskier watches as Geralt gets up then with a huff, coming over to Jaskiers bedroll. He puts it down in between the forest line and Jaskier, forcing him to turn over.

“We won’t leave you.”

“You say that now. Look. It’s probable that you both will have to. Ciri for her destined duties and you for your witcher ones. I am not here to hold either of you back.” His heart aches as he says it. But if he was being truthful tonight, then he may as well just carry on.

“And has that ever stopped you before?”

“Well no.” He looks over Geralt as he settles, gaze not leaving Jaskier even as he gets comfortable. “But it’s different. Now that you know. Knowing I can help, but not doing it.”

“You do help. And you don’t do the obvious because you’re keeping us safe in a different way.” He’s agitated, and Jaskier watches as he scowls. “I wouldn’t let them hurt you even if anyone else did find out.”

“Well. i’de give myself up before that happened. I hate it, that i’ve grown protective over the pair of you. I promise i’m trying not to be possessive. You are both your own people, neither of you belong to anyone.”

Geralt just smiles then, small and a little sad. “Possessiveness takes different forms, not all of it has to be bad.”

“You have not seen somebody who ruled with it.” He shudders then, and lets himself shake for a moment, eyes closing tightly. “Sleep, Geralt. We need to be up in the morning.”

As he rolls back over, he could swear he hears Geralt mutter a quiet “you can be possessive over us, over me.” But there’s silence from there. And he ignores it as his mind playing tricks, making him hear things he wants to hear.

-

The town they find is as small as the last, but there are no notices or whispers about killing dragons, so they stay for the evening.

At some point during the afternoon Geralt had disappeared on a mission, leaving Ciri with Jaskier at the tavern, watching and clapping along as he held court, gaining some coin and providing laughter and cheer. He was still wary, the talks from the evening before fresh in his mind.

But Ciri was treating him the same, joking with him and teasing at any chance she got. Eyes still shining and happy. So at least that wasn’t a worry. Geralt though had been acting strange. Or well, stranger than usual. He had been looking at Jaskier strangely, almost like he was trying to work something out whenever he looked at the bard, and Jaskier didn’t care for the confusion it gave him. Saying something would probably get him nowhere though. So he had left it.

As he’s nearing his last few songs of the night, Geralt returns not even looking that worse for wear. Giving Jaskier and Ciri a nod before settling himself in a corner with an ale. Ever watching. Jaskier doesn’t halt, doesn’t even pause as he continues the song. Although now he’s a little louder, even more performative. Because when Geralt was around, well. He wanted to perform. Put on an ever better show. Practically preen under Geralt’s gaze. The proud impulse from his heritage bleeding through.

He’s stopped though after that song by a young man, one carrying a lute of his own with eager eyes and a pleading smile. The son of the tavern owner whose eyes dart to Geralt every very now and then, practically begging for a chance to perform, get some critique. And who would Jaskier be to deny a young bard that.

So when he begins to play, one of Jaskier’s own songs, he realises and grins to himself, he listens. The boy’s not half bad, and it’s one of the faster paced ones. So Jaskier takes the opportunity to turn to Ciri, extending an exaggerated hand and bowing.

“May I have this dance?”

“Why of course!” And then tables are being pushed aside as they dance, nothing proper or fancy, just a jig and mostly swinging one another around until more people join in, those who aren’t dancing clapping along to the beat or pounding on the table. People are laughing, shouting joyously as the dancing continues, and Jaskier whisks Ciri around, laughing himself.

The present danger had passed. The people he loved didn’t care that he was a dragon. Those were all reasons to celebrate.

He’s surprised when Geralt joins the three, arm going around Ciri’s waist as he locks arms with Jaskier, all three spinning, then unlinking and spinning again. He’s smiling, soft and exasperated as he joins, and Jaskier is too dumbstruck to do anything but continue the motions.

Ciri dances away, arms linking with one of the younger female patrons, both giggling as Geralt continues to link with Jaskier, coming closer, using the chance to say lowly. “You perform this better.” Before pulling away, although they stay linked, twirling around again.

“I never thought i’de see you dance.” He almost shouts as they unlink, circling around one another before linking again.

“And I never thought you’d ever admit the truth. But i’ll say this, you can’t dance as well as you perform.”

“Geralt you beast!” Jaskier gasps, hitting out with his free hand to slap at Geralt’s shoulder, and the song winds down. He goes to say something, anything. But the boy comes up to them, eyes bright and asking.

“So, was that any good?” They unlink as the young bard steps up, and Geralt leaves the group of now panting dancers to go back to his spot to get his things, grabbing Ciri on the way and Jaskier watches as they head upstairs.

“Brilliant. You’ll make a great bard yet.”

“Thank you!” He pats the boy absentmindedly on the shoulder.

“Keep playing, you’ll do great. Go on a few adventures, create your own songs. You’ll go far.”

“I will!”

“And have your mother send up some hot water? If you please.”

The boy snorts, but he’s still smiling. “I can do that too. Thank you Jaskier.”

“Any time, kid.”

He heads upstairs then to the one room he knows they have, and goes in. The candles are flickering, and the tub in the corner of the room looks really inviting even without water in it.

“I’ve asked for water to be brought up.” The door closes behind him with a quiet click and Ciri beams at him from her bed by the window. There was only one other bed, but from what he remembered it had been in the corner, and now it was over by the wall. When he looks over to the corner he can’t help but choke on a gasp. 

They had piled all of their blankets and pillows there, the one from the bed by the wall too. It’s soft and inviting, a proper nest, and he turns to Geralt who was currently busying himself by the empty bed.

“You both spoil me.”

“Anything for our bard.” Geralt murmurs, and Ciri nods eagerly.

Jaskier feels those words more than hears them and tries not to choke again. Ours, theirs. He was theirs. But Geralt could never mean it in the way he wanted. No matter how much he had softened towards Jaskier over the years, how often smiles and teasing words had been sent his way.

Geralt still complained. Still huffed and rolled his eyes. And anyway. Nobody could love a dragon. Nobody could love him.

“Geralt bought the extra bedding up! So it should be extra cozy! Although I grabbed one of the blankets, it’s cold as fuck in here.” He shifts his focus to Ciri who’s babbling a little. Although his ears prick at the stronger curse word, and he goes to say something but Geralt beats him to it.

“Ciri.” Geralt rolls his eyes at the strong curse and she rolls her eyes back, but doesn’t say it again.

“Did you both enjoy the dance?” At a loss of what to say, or even what to think, thoughts rapidly spinning around his head, he goes to drop down into his nest. There are a few pillows he needs to rearrange, but he does that as subtly as he can.

“I did! We should do that more often, find someone else performing so you can dance too Jaskier!”

“I’de like that. How about you Geralt? Will you dance some more with us?”

“We’ll see.” He doesnt turn around from where Jaskier assumes he’s unpacking his bag.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Ciri, you heard a yes didn’t you?”

“Oh absolutely.”

“We’re heading to Kaer Morhen, if you can get anybody dancing there then I will have definitely seen everything.” Geralt says it into the room, and Jaskier can practically hear his smirk. 

“I didn’t think you wanted to go this year.” 

He hadn’t. They had been once, when they had just gotten Ciri. But Jaskier had had to work that season, frequenting a few towns to earn money for when they returned. He had only left them knowing they were safe there.

“It’s too cold everywhere. And Ciri could always use more training.”

“How long then until we get there?” Ciri asks, unphased. She was always willing to receive training. Plus, it was the closest place both Ciri and Geralt had to a steady home now.

“About two weeks. We should get there just before the first snowfall if we’re lucky.”

“I’ve never been. Am I having to work this time?” He tilts his head, as Geralt shakes his head.

“No. You’re coming with us.” A warmth spreads through him and he beams at Geralt’s sure tone.

“Oh okay. I’m expecting a full tour from the pair of you when we get there.”

“It’ll be so fun! Everyone there is really nice! You can train with us!” Ciri pipes up.

“Oh, you can train. I can cheer you on.”

Geralt goes to say something but there’s a knock at the door that he goes to answer instead. 

“Oh, yes the water thank you.”

It takes a few trips to fill the bath up properly, and Jaskier watches with a beam as Geralt makes sure to tip the woman on her way out before he makes a point of locking the door.

“Who's the cleanest?” He asks the pair, because it would always be one of them. Geralt was always the messiest. Jaskier just glances over to Ciri who shrugs and gestures to him.

“Me, probably.”

“Then hurry up. I put the towels on the side.”

Getting up and out of his nest is hard, because it really was very comfortable. But he manages, and makes quick work of stripping and getting into the bath. Having to share a bath between three for however long meant everything he does now is quick with practised ease, not lounging like he would usually given a bath to himself. Even washing his hair is quick, doing enough to get rid of the grease and grime and run soap through it but not much else.

When he resurfaces from where he had ducked underwater for a last rinse, a towel is being held out and he takes it, running it quickly over his hair before getting it up and wrapping it around himself.

“Ciri. In you go.” Jaskier moves out of the way, turning towards the bed by the wall alongside Geralt. Both giving Ciri as much privacy as they could in the shared room. Jaskier dries as quickly as he can, rooting through his pack for his set of bed clothes. Although he only puts the pants on for now.

Geralt doesn’t move from his side, instead he gets his own bed clothes out. Or more, just sleep pants. Given that he still had a proclivity for sleeping shirtless when they had a roof over their heads.

“If you want.” Geralt’s voice is low. “You can shift while we’re at Kaer Morhen. Nobody there will harm you.”

“Ah yes, your witcher training.” He thinks back to the dragon ‘hunt’. “Are all witchers trained that way?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t want to bring up that trip, because oh how terrible a trip it had been. And he couldn’t stand the questions that may come with it.

“I’ll see. Thank you. For taking me.”

“Anywhere to keep you safe. Both of you. Anything to relieve your pain.”

Jaskier huffs out a laugh, was Geralt hearing himself? “Maybe I should reveal dark secrets more often. You’ve never been this open.”

Geralt only grunts at that then, and Jaskier laughs out loud, gently hitting his shoulder.

“Brute.”

Ciri finishes quickly too, and they keep her privacy while she changes at her own bed before it’s Geralt’s turn to strip and bathe.

He takes longer than the other two combined, given the blood that was dried beneath his armour. Apparently his hunts hadn’t gone as well as he had told the tavern owner and he had hidden it from the pair of them well. It all seems superficial though, which is a blessing. It’s routine that when he finishes up, Jaskier goes to his back to kneel by the bath and wash his hair.

Geralt could never get the blood out properly, and after the first few times Jaskier had watched in disgust at him just leaving it there all those years ago, he had made Geralt let him help.

And that’s what he does now, running his fingers through the strands, scratching at Geralt’s scalp to get all the blood and guts out that had dried there, sticky and gross. Jaskier doesn’t miss how Geralt leans into it, head tilting back as his eyes close. He looks over to Ciri who doesn’t pay them any mind, so used to this by now. All she’s doing is pulling out one of the books she had bought herself, cracking it open to read before bed.

“You need to start tying your hair up during battles Geralt.” He murmurs quietly. “If to stop the knots over anything else.”

“Ah yes, because I have time to do that."

“I mean you could do it before you even leave the campsite, or the inn.”

“And let somebody see that? No.”

“As if you’ve ever cared before Geralt.” Jaskier snorts. He resists the urge to place a kiss on Geralt’s crown as he finishes up rinsing the last of the soap out, standing. “Now come on. You want us to be up early tomorrow.”

He goes and dries his chest and arms before putting his sleep shirt on, heading to his nest. Nests made him feel safer, and he finds himself sighing with relief when he collapses onto the pile of blankets, letting himself curl up and then stretch, practically purring as he preens into the warmth.

“Are you sure you’re not actually a cat?” Ciri calls, sounding distracted, and Jaskier laughs, loud and surprised.

“Hmm. Maybe.” 

Sitting up, he watches as Geralt walks over, now dressed. And Jaskier assumes he wants some of the blankets back given his bed was bare. So he’s surprised when Geralt sits heavily next to him. 

“Geralt?”

“Hmm.” 

“You have a bed you know.”

“But that would mean taking blankets off you. Now move over.”

Jaskier does without comment, although it’s more out of speechlessness than anything else. This was the third day in a row Geralt had bedded down with him. And once again, Geralt puts himself between Jaskier and the door. Ah, Jaskier makes the connection. He must still be afraid people were after them.

With that realisation, all Jaskier does it wiggle out one of the blankets to throw over Geralt, grabbing one for himself before settling down, back to the wall, eyes not leaving Geralt’s shoulders until he falls asleep.

-

The odd behaviour from Geralt continues as they travel for those two weeks to Kaer Morhen. And they only stop a few times in inns so Geralt can take jobs in the towns they stay at for the night. Every night at any of the inns, a nest had been made for him by an increasingly proud Ciri and an as usual silent Geralt. And when he went to bed down every night even on the road, Geralt would be there, sleeping alongside him. Neither would mention that in the mornings they would wake up in one another’s arms unless Ciri was between them which she had been the last week as it had gotten colder. There had also been the softer looks Geralt had been throwing his way whenever he thought the bard wasn’t looking, the looks Jaskier couldn’t make out and desperately wanted to. He didn’t think he’d ever know though.

Then there had been the touches that had been growing in frequency. A casual hand on his back while Geralt was guiding them through a forest, or a quick run of fingers through his hair when it got in his eyes and he was too tired to push it back himself. A hand on his arm to stop him from stumbling, a constant warmth by his side. He didn’t know how to take it.

They’re in the hills somewhere, Jaskier had long since lost track of where they were. Slowly making their way through the cold. He’s lounging back on Buttercup, their slow pace enough that he trusts her to follow Roach, and has his lute out. Strumming a few chords as the high sun filtered through the trees above them.

“Oh the drowners were unaware,
too caught up in that black stare,
that their days were just then numbered,
and that number, oh was one.

For the White Wolf had them caught,
pain on them he wrought,
vicious in his victory
he returned home, the battle won.”

Ciri claps from in front of him on the back of Roach giggling.

“You finished it!”

“That verse at least.” Absently he strums a few more chords, words spinning around his head before a cough from Geralt stops him and he sits upright, hands going to Buttercups reigns.

“We’re almost there.” His voice is gruff, but Jaskier can hear the smile in it and grins to himself. One handed, he manages to put the lute away and string it back onto his back in a practised and easy move before nudging Buttercup into a canter after Geralt does the same to Roach.

Kaer Morhen practically sneaks up on him, large and grey and foreboding. Although when he looks to Geralt he sees the tension somewhat bleed from his shoulders, and automatically feels a little safer.

“I thought you said the road to Kaer Morhen was dangerous?”

“Not with a witcher to lead you. Just a few more minutes then we’ll be there.”

“If you say so.” Jaskier calls back, eyes not leaving the fort. Because that’s really the only thing he could describe it as. It’s dark and looming, even in the light of day. And if it wasn’t a place that Geralt called home Jaskier wouldn’t step foot near it.

But he carries on riding, and soon enough like Geralt had said, they’re nearing large wooden double doors that swing open as they approach.

An elderly man steps forward through the opening, still broad and strong but older, greying in his beard. And he opens his arms in welcome with a small smile on his face.

It must be a witcher thing, the small smiles. Jaskier decides as he follows suit from Geralt and Ciri and dismounts, keeping his grasp on Buttercups reigns tight.

“Welcome! We didn’t expect you this year Geralt, and Ciri! Welcome back child.”

“Vesemir!” Ciri grins, going up only to bow dramatically which the older man replicates.

“And you must be the bard Jakier, the one slowly turning the tides in our favour. Welcome.”

Jaskier watches as the man sizes him up, his sniffing obvious given how used to Geralt Jaskier was. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second when he realises that Jaskier has caught him, but all he does is turn around and walk into the keep, letting them follow.

He was the one who had taught Geralt, from what little information Geralt and Ciri had provided, so Jaskier relaxes in the fact that he was safe with him.

“Eskel and Lambert have returned this year. But we’re not expecting anyone else.” Vesemir calls as they enter the large courtyard. Once the doors close behind them, an instant air of safety seems to blanket the space, and with the way Geralt stretches and seems to relax fully, it wasn’t just Jaskier that felt it.

In front of them was the main building, but off to the side were stables that Jaskier leads Buttercup to, Roach and Geralt following.

“Ciri, come with me and pick your rooms.” Is all Vesemir says, leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone as Ciri follows eagerly behind him.

“Do you think Buttercup will be alright with the other witcher horses? Not that Roach isn’t delightful, but Buttercup is delicate and-”

“Jaskier.” They go to stables beside one another, both making quick work of unpacking and unsaddling the horses. Jaskier looks over the small fence separating the two stalls, finding Geralt watching him.

“Yes?”

“I promise you’re safe here.”

“Well Vesemir already knows and he didn’t say anything so.” Jaskier trails off, unsure of what to say. This automatic acceptance and apparent safety were completely new, and possibly even unwelcome. He didn’t know how to behave in the face of any of this.

“Nobody would. And you don’t have to shift. But if you want to, here is the place to do it.”

“I’ll.” He hesitates. “I’ll think about it. We’re here for a while, right?”

“Hm.”

“Then I’ll think about it. Maybe see how I feel once we meet everyone else.”

“Oh they’re bastards.” Geralt snorts, gathering the things from the packs before heading out. Jaskier follows, hands full of more things. “But I trust them with my life.”

“Are you just describing yourself? Because really Geralt there is no need for the self-deprecation-”

He’s stopped at the stable doors by Geralt practically tackling him, hand in his hair ruffling it as their things drop to the ground. It’s roughhousing in a way that Jaskier hasn’t had in years, and having Geralt’s hands on him causes his face to flush, although he hopes Geralt assumes it’s because he’s laughing so hard.

“You bastard! Get off of me!” 

Geralt does, and he’s laughing. It’s a wonderful sound.

“You’re so open here.” Jaskier says it before he means to, and all Geralt does is shrug.

“We’re safe here. Now c’mon. I bet they’re waiting for us.”

They are, because as soon as they enter the building Geralt is tackled by two men of similar size to him, all shouting and laughing as they end up wrestling on the floor.

Jaskier just watches before sighing, picking up the rest of the bags that Geralt had dropped in preparation of essentially getting jumped as he looks towards Vesemir who's watching everything unfold by the roaring fire that takes up the center back wall of the room.

“You mentioned something about rooms?”

“I did indeed. Let’s leave them to it.”

Jaskier shoulders the bags as best he can and follows Vesemir. “I hope i’m not intruding.”

They go down a few hallways, all grand and lined with carpets and tapestries. Something that Jaskier hadn’t expected.

“Any friend of Geralt is welcome here. Especially given that you won’t cause trouble.”

“And how do you know I wont?” He asks before he can stop himself and he freezes, heart immediately in his throat. Veseemir could kill him in seconds, even without his swords, so he breathes a heavy sigh of relief when all the man does is laugh.

“We would have heard about your nature by now. And Geralt and Ciri spoke so highly of you last time they were here.”

The comment warms his heart, and the warmth and comfort of that spreads to his bones, his blood. He was their bard.

“Well i’m glad. Not everyone would.”

“Not everyone would follow around a witcher so willingly.”

“That’s very true, I guess the only trouble I could bring would align with the trouble Geralt would bring.”

“And that is trouble we can easily take care of. Here are your rooms. Ciri’s is the one on the end, although she said not to bother her until dinner.”

He huffs then, rolling his eyes fondly. “Teenagers.”

Vesemir just smiles again. “Teenagers indeed.”

“I know i’ll say this again and again, but truly thank you. For your hospitality and your graciousness.”

“You’re welcome. Dinner’s in a few hours, but there will be drinks until then if you’re not resting.”

“I’ll unpack and then join you all, I think. Unless you all want to catch up.”

“We’ll get more of a story out of you than we would Geralt, we’d be glad to drink with you.”

“Alright.” With a nod Vesemir is gone, and Jaskier is left to unpack.

He leaves the middle room for Geralt knowing he’ll want to be close to Ciri, dumping his stuff on the bed by the window before going to his own room.

He barely has anything to unpack, so he spends most of his time dragging the mattress from the bed to shove into the corner, piling the blankets from there onto it along with the ones from the cottage. It’s a mess of blankets and pillows once he’s finished and he beams at the sight. A nest, one with a comfortable double mattress. One he could spend a few months in and make perfect. He almost drops straight into it, but remembers what he had said and makes his way back downstairs, following the sound of laughter and chatter.

Geralt is the first to turn to him as he enters the room, small smile on his face and Jaskier nods to him, going over to sit on the chair next to him, watching out of the corner of his eye as the two strangers at the other side of the large table size him up.

“Jaskier, this is Eskel and Lambert. Bastards. The pair of ‘em.”

Jaskier looks over to find them staring and he smiles, trying his best not to fidget under their joint stare. “Good to meet you both.”

The one with scars down his face is the first to speak up, and he holds a hand out that Jaskier takes. “Eskel. Heard a lot about you. Think you can write some ballads about me?” He’s smiling, something shifting to be more comfortable in the air and Jaskier beams.

“Ah a man who appreciates my talent, you could stand to listen Geralt. Honestly.” They shake, and Jaskier holds his hand out to Lambert who shakes too. Although he doesn’t say anything, he just continues to stare.

And oh, maybe Jaskier wasn’t as safe as Geralt had thought.

“Whatever.” Geralt snorts. “Anyway, Lambert was telling us about the Cockatrice hoard.”

“Wait they hunt in packs?” Jaskier turns to Lambert from where his gaze had drifted back to Geralt. And all Lambert does is nod, although he’s started to smile a little.

“Apparently.”

And he almost launches back into the story before Eskel shouts “bullshit!” and they’re back to friendly arguing again. He falls into the usual rhythm of listening, laughing when it’s called for. But he can’t get the silence and stare from Lambert out of his head.

It must be hours of keeping the charade up when Ciri comes down yawning, dressed in bed clothes and cozy looking.

“Hey there sweet pea.” He’s first to address her, and he opens his arms enough that once she reaches the table she takes the offer and climbs into his lap. Maybe some would say she was too old for this, but she smelled of nervous sweat even to his nose and that spoke of nightmares. And he wasn’t going to deny her or anybody else comfort after a nightmare.

Geralt reaches out to run his fingers over her forehead and through her hair, subtly checking her temperature in case the panic turned into an attack but when he pulls his hand away he looks settled.

Settling in, he wraps his arms as tightly as he can around her without hurting her, resting his chin on the top of her head as her breathing evens out. Maybe they could have a little nap here before the food was brought out.

That thought is stopped in its tracks though when Vesemir returns, holding a large covered bowl that he sets heavily onto the table. “We’ve got a cooking rota. It’s Lambert’s turn next week. But then it’s yours Geralt and you’re after that Jaskier.” He calls that over his shoulder as he goes back into the kitchen to get more things and Jaskier hums his agreement as Geralt nods his.

“C’mon sweet pea up. You’ve always had the best timing. And don’t think you’re not cooking, you’re going to be helping Geralt. He needs it.”

That has all of them laughing then, and he accepts the cuff around the ear from Geralt.

The stew Vesemir had prepared tastes amazing, and Vesemir makes enough that he can have seconds, while the other witchers have thirds, and even fourths in Lambert’s case.

“Okay. I’ve got to ask.” Once he’s finishing his last bowl, Lambert turns to Geralt and Jaskier and Jaskier feels his blood run cold from the tone. Because here it was. The accusations, because nobody scowled like Lambert was currently doing without being angry. Without a fight breaking out, something happening.

“How did you end up travelling with a dragon? Seriously, you’re the most miserable of us all and you end up with one of the rarest creatures at your side?”

That was not what Jaskier had expected. And in his surprise he laughs, loud and shocked, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“I thought you were going to kill me or something fucking hell.” He sprawls across the table, hands going to rest on folded arms as he giggles, practically manic until the panic settles fully into relief. “I really thought I was gone, fuck.”

There’s sputtering then from everyone, although Jaskier knows that the spluttering from Ciri is because of the curse words. She thought it was unfair they could say them and not her. The rest he isn’t sure about though, and when he looks up he just finds baffled confusion crossing everybody else's faces.

“We would never hurt you.” Lambert stutters. “You’re a dragon.”

“You were glaring at me like i’de slept with your mother!” He just about stops himself from pointing an accusing finger at the witcher and Eskel laughs. “And being a dragon has not stopped other people from trying. In fact, that’s mostly. Well not mostly. Sometimes, it is sometimes the reason people try and kill me.”

Eskel leans forward. “What’s the normal reason?”

Geralt scoffs then. “He just told you, sleeping with people's mothers.” And then the table is roaring, even Ciri giggling along.

“Okay I don’t do that anymore. And recently, very recently, the reason we are here in fact, is the dragon thing. So forgive me for seeing your angry scary witcher glare and thinking that it was something serious and not just, sibling rivalry?”

“You aren’t scared of Geralt’s glaring.” Ciri chimes in, and he turns to glare at her as she breaks into giggles again.

“If Geralt really wanted to kill me he would have done it on the day we met, there had been plenty of opportunities. Also, he is a massive softie who hides behind grunts and angry eyebrows. You however, Mister Lambert, I don’t know at all. So forgive my assumptions.”

There’s laughter again and Geralt groans, head going to rest in his hands as the other witchers cackle.

“Oh it was a brilliant idea to bring you here.” Lambert grins. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You’re probably safer here than anywhere else.”

“That’s what Geralt said. Although he also said he’d keep Jaskier safe wherever we were!” Ciri pipes up and Geralt turns, glaring at the both of them.

“Ciri.” He hisses. “Not you too.”

She just smiles sweetly and that gets Jaskier laughing, sighing with relief.

“Thank you. All of you. However, I must have you all know that I am a bard first and dragon second. So I may not be able to answer all, if any, of your questions.” Phrasing it lightly seems like the way to go, and he’s glad to see the other witchers back off with nods of agreement.

“Of course.” Vesemir nods. And the others seem to back off at his word, all except Ciri.

“We can watch when you shift though right, I bet you’re beautiful.”

“Ciri! I never said I was going to.” The idea of him shifting startles him, he had put off thinking about it since they had had the initial conversation and he hadn’t thought anybody would bring it up. Not until now apparently. What with Geralt mentioning it earlier too.

“But you said it’s been years-” He panics at her insistence.

“Ciri.” He hates snapping at her, and he doesn’t mean to. But this wasn’t the time or the place, and his nerves were already fraying at the edges. “Sorry just, that’s a conversation for later yeah?”

She huffs and crosses her arms but nods. Blowing her fringe from her face.

It’s shame that fuels him to stand. “Right, i’ll leave you all to it. I’m sure you have catching up to do without an outsider listening. Before I go do you need help with cleaning up?”

Vesemir waves him off. “Go, sleep. I’m sure you’re tired after the journey.”

“I will take my leave then. See you all in the morning.” He nods to the room at large before spinning on his heel, trying to get to his room as quickly as possible.

Despite his relief, erratic emotions were still coursing through his veins. An odd mixture of latent panic and newly found relief as well as confusion and age old fear. Making quick work of changing, he grouses to himself until he falls into his nest, mind racing mile a minute.

Because even though they said he was safe, and even though Geralt acted as if they were all safe. Was he really? He trusted Geralt with his life, but he didn’t know the other witchers. And they knew. They were upfront about it, wanting to talk about it. He didn’t like it. Hated it. This was too new, too open. Too much. Everywhere he went where people knew he was met with hostility and hunting and fighting and death. Trying to wrap his mind around this new acceptance sent him spinning.

Unable to shake the anxiety he staggers up, going over to the small wash basin on the dresser to the side side and promptly vomits, hands clutching the sides of the bowl. His throat burns and his lungs feel as though they’re collapsing. So there he stays, hunched over the metal, holding so tightly that he doesn’t fall over. Squeezing his eyes closed, he tries to keep his breathing under control, tears spilling out and down his face.

Fuck.

Vomiting again his legs almost give out and he gasps, trying to catch his breath through the sobbing and bile.

Desperately he hopes that they can’t hear or smell him downstairs. Because on top of everything else he thinks the shame might kill him.

Unfortunately, because destiny must hate him, there’s a knock at his door and he turns his head to watch as Geralt slips into the room, frown growing deeper and deeper on his face as he spots Jaskier still hunched over the bowl.

“Jask-”

“M’fine-” He mutters, but then is promptly sick again and he chokes. Coughing and spluttering before he feels Geralt at his side, large hand going to rub circles on Jaskier’s back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You done?” Jaskier takes a second to think about it, registers the anxiety still lingering in his chest, the mix of emotions that he hates and bile rises again.

“Nope.”

They stay like that until Jaskier has fully emptied his stomach. Nothing but strings of bile left.

“I’m going to get you some water to drink and wash in, stay here.” His voice is low, like how it is when he’s talking Ciri down from a nightmare, so Jaskier stays stood, legs wobbling and head aching.

It’s not long until Geralt returns though, and Jaskier lets himself be led back to the nest.

“Sorry.” He mutters again once he’s sat, eyes closing and head lolling back as Geralt sits opposite, hands going to the bowl of warm water. Jaskier lets himself be fretted over, leaning into the touch as Geralt slowly wipes over his face with the washcloth he had also brought in. 

“Looking after Ciri has made you gentle Geralt.” He hums, leaning forward as Geralt wipes gently over his face, his eyes, his jawline. Getting rid of any lingering tears of traces of sickness.

“Hm.” He keeps his eye closed at the hum, grabbing blindly when a cool glass is pressed into his hands and he drinks greedily from it, ridding the sour taste from his mouth and throat.

“Thank you.” He passes the glass back, slowly opening his eyes to find golden ones watching him intently, roaming over his face before catching his gaze and staying there.

“What was that about?” Geralt is still talking softly, but he was still one to get straight to the point.

“I haven’t told anyone about my heritage ever. And then suddenly five people openly know and ask me about it.” He shrugs, unable to do much else. “While i’m relieved, it’s still all a bit much.”

“Sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” Startled Jaskier laughs. “You’ve been the quietest about this, bar Vesemir. And i’m expecting questions from him too.”

“I mean with Ciri. She shouldn’t have asked that. And for not telling them to not mention it. Any of them.”

“Ciri’s still a child.” He blows out a breath. “I’m not going to fault her for asking questions. I’m gonna apologise for snapping at her, it’s not her fault she still sees this as something good.”

“Jaskier-” He still hasn’t let his gaze drop from Geralt’s. And he winces when Geralt’s eyes soften, voice sounding pained.

“No, it’s not good. It’s a curse Geralt. We all know that.”

“I don’t think you can be a part of our group and not be.” He smiles, sad and acknowledging, and Jaskier can’t help but mimic the gesture.

“I guess it’s good that I found you then.”

They share another smile. Although this one is happier.

“Sleep. Tomorrow we have to be up to watch Ciri train. She wants ballads composed.”

“Oh does she?” He breaks the eye contact then, the slow heat that had been growing behind his navel almost too much. Having Geralt’s undivided, soft attention like that was something he didn’t know how he could bear if it continued.

“She does.”

“Then I guess we better rest. Thank you, for helping me Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“This is normally where you say you’re welcome, any time.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier watches the tiny twitches at the corners of Geralt’s mouth and laughs to himself.

“Go, sleep. I’ll clean everything up in the morning.”

It’s hard watching Geralt go, especially as he ignores Jaskier and takes the sullied water and wash basins out with him, leaving Jaskier with nothing to clean. The warmth he feels from Geralt’s attention still lingers though, as it was a feeling that he feels is ingrained into his bones at this point. And he clings to that as he makes himself comfortable and eventually falls asleep.

-

Waking up warm and cozy feels amazing after time camping in the forests, and he stretches his legs out before he burrows deeper under his covers. Or he tries to, because there’s a solid weight at his back holding the blankets captive and he rolls over away from the wall, sleepy brain not catching up with itself quick enough to be scared. 

“Geralt?” The other man’s sleeping face greets him, and Jaskier watches as his eyes slowly open, golden iris’ being revealed in what he can only assume is firelight given that the room is dark otherwise.“Hm?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate this, I am always willing to share a bed. But do you not have your own room?”

Geralt looks around for a second, eyes blurry and confused. “Oh. Must have come back ‘n here. Sorry. Habit.”

“What? To cuddle or protect me?”

“Course.” That’s not really an answer, but Geralt had never really been good at those so Jaskier takes what he can get. Especially given the comments' implications into Geralt’s habits. If he regarded them cuddling as one, Jaskier wasn’t going to complain.

Geralt closes his eyes again, snuggling down under a cover Jaskier hasn’t seen before and Jaskier lets himself bask in the domesticity and calm of the moment. Moments like this were hard to come by. And whenever they had happened lately, they had been tainted by some other disaster. So he lets himself bask, and tries as hard as he can to calm his quickly beating heart. Because how could Geralt do something like this and not expect Jaskier to fall deeper in love with him.

“You could at least give me the blanket back.”

“No.”

“No?”

Instead of answering further, Geralt just opens his arm, large blanket thrown back in invitation, and what can Jaskier do except roll into the embrace? Once he’s settled, back firmly against Geralt’s chest Geralt resetles his blanket, and Jaskier just pushes further back, wiggling until eventually Geralt puts an arm around his waist, holding him still.

“We’ve got a few more hours before they come to get us. Rest.”

Jaskier does.

-

He wakes again to Ciri climbing over him, wiggling her way in between him and Geralt, and all he does is shuffle back to make room for her.

“Mornin’.” He yawns into her face and she grimaces, but snuggles down anyway.

“This is very cozy.” She yawns back, head going to his chest as Geralt moves back in, arm going to cover them both as his hands rests on the small of Jaskier’s back. The move is practised after doing it for so long, Ciri needing the warmth or security after a nightmare or battle. And yet every time Jaskier’s heart still sped up a little.

“It is.” He mumbles. 

“Maybe we should all build nests instead of having beds.” She muses, the most awake of the three despite her closed eyes.

“The world would be a softer place.” None of them are speaking above a whisper, and Jaskier yawns again. “Do you think they’d let me sleep in ‘till lunch?”

“Not a chance.” Geralt grumbles again before he rolls away, taking the blanket with him.

Both Jaskier and Ciri yelp at that. “Geralt!” Ciri scowls, but she rolls over too.

“Come on Jask. Up.” It’s the nickname that gets Jaskier to open his eyes and sit up, because that was something Geralt had only ever called him when he was either in danger, or Geralt thought he couldn’t hear him. So saying it outloud while Jaskier was awake was completely new.

“Uh, yeah okay. Okay.” He doesn’t bother dressing, just shoves his feet in his boots as he follows them up and downstairs, sleep still gripping his bones.

The other three witchers are already up and eating, although they’re all still dressed in sleep clothes like Jaskier which makes him feel a little better as he slumps into one of the chairs, grabbing two of the plates stacked by the bread before putting a few slices on both plates, loading them both with jam before sliding one to Ciri who had sat next to him, leaning heavily against him with her eyes closed.

“Come on. If I have to be awake, so do you.”

He looks up to find Eskel watching them with a small smile on his face. Jaskier raises a questioning eyebrow and Eskel shrugs.

“It’s nice to see them both happier.”

“Oh?” Neither had really told him about their last winter at Kaer Morhen other than some basics about training. Maybe there had been a reason.

“Yeah. Both were pretty unsettled.”

“Stop talking as if we’re not here.” Geralt grouses, sitting next to Lambert. 

“Well then join the conversation.” Eskel rolls his eyes. “You were both pretty sad last time you were here. All history aside of course.”

It had been Ciri’s first winter away from her old life. Jaskier remembers. Which would explain Ciri’s moods. And he and Geralt had barely made up that year too. He was staying with them for Ciri’s sake and there had been tension there. Plus, Geralt was adjusting to living with a child and facing his destiny properly. Neither would be in high spirits.

“It’s ‘cause now we have Jaskier!” Ciri sounds happy despite her eyes still being firmly closed, head resting on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“And also because you’re both a lot safer and have more to train with now that your skills are more refined. Also I had to work so we had coin for when you two met up with me again.”

“We’re glad you’re here now.” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier watches as he promptly almost shoves half a loaf of bread into his mouth. And his heart would almost flip at the words if the imagery wasn’t so stupid.

“You’re an idiot.” Is all he says and Lambert snorts.

“Oh I say it with complete affection.” He waves off, starting on his own breakfast, nudging Ciri to actually sit up and eat. “But out of all of us, he’s the biggest idiot here. We can all admit to that.”

“You’re a fucking dick bard.” Geralt says with a mouthful already reaching out for a bowl of porridge. And Jaskier delights in the fact that Geralt doesn’t even try and hide his fond tone.

“Ohhhh you got titled.” Ciri sniggers, sitting up properly to start on her breakfast.

“It’s only because he doesn’t know my full name. Even though i’m pretty sure i’ve told you both a million times.”

“That’s true.” Ciri chirps. “You like to say it when you’re drunk to prove that you’re not drunk and it never works, although you say it perfectly.”

“Hmm. Years of training on that front my dear.” He ignores the delighted laugh Esekl lets out.

“Anyway. Training. You’re training today.”

“Yeah! Lambert’s gonna teach me how to use a crossbow!” She sounds far more delighted than she should be. “And Vesemir found some books that i’m gonna read while we stay here to learn more about both my magic and some history I think.”

“Some aren’t training.” He’s sitting at the head of the table and Jaskier notes that he looks as tired as they feel. “I just thought you’d like them.”

“Thank you Vesemir.” She smiles, sleepily and slow but genuine. One that both Vesemir and Lambert return. Of course she had them all wrapped around her little finger.

“I thought we could spar Geralt.” Eskel offers. “See if you’re still in shape.”

“You’re on.” Geralt is quick to agree. “Gotta watch Ciri first though.”

“Obviously.”

“I assume i’m to compose while you’re training?” He looks down to Ciri who nods.

“You need to get started on them now so you have new material for when we travel again.” She’s deadly serious, hints of the princess she had been brought up to be shining though and he bites his lip to stop from laughing.

“If you say so.”

-

He manages to help clean up this time after breakfast, marvelling at how large the kitchen is as he washes the plates for Lambert to dry. It was far too big a building for just the six of them. But then, it probably hadn’t been big enough when it was housing all of the witchers. 

Quietly, he wonders how it must feel to be so empty and makes a note to jot the idea down when he gets back upstairs.

Once finished, Lambert disappears somewhere and Jaskier goes to get changed and jot down his thoughts in his secondary secret notebook. All before grabbing his lute and heading back down the large staircase. Again, he follows the loud conversation he can hear until he finds everyone back outside in the courtyard. Lambert was by an open door off to the side with Ciri, that with a quick glance reveals itself to be some sort of weapons shed.

Geralt and Eskel were by the main doors, both leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, deep enough in conversation that they don’t pay any mind to him as Jaskier slips past them. It’s warm thanks to a roaring fire pit in the center of the courtyard, so he doesn’t shiver as he plonks himself down on a haybale by the door of the stables, well away from where he can see the targets.

Not that it does him any good, as not ten minutes into the training, Ciri turns around too rapidly, crossbow held outward and shoots him squarely in the thigh.

“FUCK!” He’d been shot before, because sometimes locals still got angry at Geralt’s mere presence and would run them out of town. And he’d been in a few brushes with the monsters Geralt fought at this point. Plus, any pain felt like nothing compared to what the djinn had inflicted upon him. So it’s more surprise than anything else that gets him shouting as he feels the bolt pierce his leg. The sharp sting and then deeper pain continues as he instinctively reaches for it, and then promptly yanks it out. Why the fuck they had started with actual bolts and not wooden ones he doesn’t know, but he yells again when he pulls it, hand immediately going to press aginst the wound to stop the blood flow.

“JASKIER!” Ciri is running over then, crossbow clattering loudly to the floor as Geralt follows.

“S’fine!” He calls, although the strain makes him grunt and clutch at his leg tighter. “Had worse.”

They reach him at the same time and Geralt crouches down immediately, gentle hands going to bat Jaskier’s away as Ciri hovered behind him. “Jaskier i’m so so sorry-”

“It’s fine Ciri. Ow okay, fuck Geralt ow.” Removing his hands made the pain worse, and Geralt poking at it as he rolled Jaskier’s pant leg up to inspect it wasn’t helping either.

“You’ll need stitches, but it’s not too deep.” He sounded relieved more than anything, which makes Jaskier relax too despite the pain.

“Fuck again, really.” He’s trying to be lighthearted for Ciri’s sake given that she was still hovering and biting at her nails. He really hated getting stitches though.

“Really. It’s too deep not to have them.”

“You said it wasn’t deep.”

“It’s not deep enough for danger. But deep enough for stitches. Right. Ciri, you stay here and continue to train. Jaskier’s fine.”

“See Ciri. Fine.” He reaches a hand out before realising that it’s covered in blood, which brings his attention back to the sharp throbbing pain in his leg. Fuck.

“No, i’m coming in-”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Geralt stands, gently shooing her away to make room for Jaskier to stand, arm going around Jaskier’s shoulder to help him limp back into the building.

“Lambert! Keep her training!” Jaskier calls over his shoulder, although the movement of doing so makes him groan. But obviously he’s not listened to as they all follow them back into the main lounge area. 

Gingerly he’s set onto one of the chairs by the table and Geralt leaves, presumably to go and get the sewing kit they kept for occasions like this. Lambert takes his place though.

“You’ll be fine.” He grunts, kneeling down to inspect the wound.

“Tell that to the stab wound in my leg.” He’s trying to joke, because he can see how worried Ciri looks when he glances at her. And he was an entertainer, he could smile and laugh through his pain if it meant relieving her of her misplaced guilt

“I am. We don’t have anything here for you.”

“Then it’s a good thing I heal a little quicker. Give me a few days and it’ll be fine. Less than that even.”

“Move Lambert.” Lambert shifts out of the way when Geralt commands, and Jaskier looks up and away to avoid watching what Geralt would do next. For as soft as Geralt had been with him lately, they both knew how much he hated this, the pain and pull on his skin, the itch and the look of them. So he’s quick and almost brutal as he stitches Jaskier up. Jaskier to his own credit, doesn’t make a sound as this is happening. Instead he just tilts his head back, bottom lip firmly between his teeth as he focuses on the high vaulted ceilings and not the pain in his leg.

“Surely.” He gasps when Geralt gives him a quick pat to the side of his leg to signal that he was done with the stitching and then bandaging. “The wound wasn’t that bad to have that done.”

“No. It was very shallow. We just like to torture you.” Geralt rolls his eyes then as he stands.

“Ciri, you go with Eskel and Lambert to keep training. Remember, you wanted to do this until lunch.”

“But-” Jaskier looks over as Ciri gestures to him and he grins before standing. It hurts like hell, especially when he puts weight onto it. But he grits his teeth and walks a few steps.

“Look, all fine. Now go on.” He continues to grit his teeth as she gives him one last unimpressed and worried look before turning and going outside to where Eskel and Lambert had already left to. 

It’s only once she’s outside and the doors have closed that Jaskier collapses back into the chair with a high gasp.

“Fuck, fuck that hurt fuck.”

“Idiot.” Geralt grunts, but then he runs a quick hand through Jaskiers hair. “Wait here, i’ll go and get you some more pants.”

“Patch these ones up while you’re at it?” Jaskier tries again to joke, but Geralt can see through him and just levels him with a flat look before disappearing up the stairs.

“Bastard!” Jaskier calls after him, not meaning it one bit. Distracting himself is hard while he waits, so it’s a good thing Geralt doesn’t keep him waiting long.

It’s a little embarrassing, having Geralt help him dress in the new pants. But only because of how hard he was trying to calm his heart. He’s so focused on that that he doesn’t register Gerlt starting to sew up his pants when he sits down heavily next to him, and when he notices Jaskier gasps in mock shock.

“Oh Geralt, you do care.”

“Shut up. You get one day of this before you go back to doing everything yourself.”

“Hmm if you say so.” Jaskier shifts so he can look at Geralt properly, leaning his arm against the top of the chair back to rest his chin in his hand. “Do you think Ciri will be okay?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s killed things before.” And she had, Geralt had taught her to hunt as soon as he could, and she had helped with one or two smaller monsters.

“But never experienced friendly fire I guess.” Jaskier hums to himself. “She’ll be fine.”

Geralt just grunts in affirmation.

“Thank you, for helping me.”

“Every time you thank me and every time I tell you you don’t need to.” Geralt doesn’t look up from the sewing.

“Just because some of us have manners Geralt.” Jaskier sniffs, joking once again. He grins when it gets Geralt to smile. “But really, how deep was it?”

Geralt hesitates. “If you had been human, you would have been in danger.”

“Ah.”

He gets a small hum in response. 

“See any of my bones?”

“No. Some muscle though.”

“So you admit i’ve got muscled thighs. Thank you for noticing. All that walking you make me do really has toned them up don’t you think?”

“Okay i’m finished.” Jaskier can see him trying not to laugh, although the rolled eyes and annoyed huff are far more obvious. And Jaskier is so caught up in that that he barely manages to catch the pants thrown in his face.

“Geralt!”

“Come on back outside, or are you scared now?”

“Oh fuck you, help me out.”

Geralt does, surprisingly without complaining, and once they’re outside again he sits with Jaskier with their backs against the stables. Jaskier’s lute is right where he left it, or abandoned it, he liked to think he just left it, so he grabs it and starts playing.

It takes a few tries to get right, and he’s not happy with the melody. But it was a joke at most, so he couldn’t care about it too much. Once he’s sure that the crossbows are mostly away or aimed at the floor at least, he lets his voice ring out across the courtyard.

“Oh Lion cub of Cintra,
Whose praise and glory be.
Not one for a knack with crossbows,
Just ask the arrow in my knee.”

“YOU BRUTE!” 

Ciri practically flies over then, and Geralt catches her just before she pounces on him, probably forgetting about his leg in her amused fury.

“You wanted songs! So this is the first!” Jaskier just leans back, arms protectively going around his lute. He’s laughing too though, hearing it echo around the courtyard.

“You’re a scoundrel! You truly are!”

“And that is what makes a good bard my dearest cub. Now go on, Lambert is waiting. I will continue composing.” She shrieks again, but it’s to hide her unwelcome laughter he knows and she wiggles out of Geralt’s grasp to stomp back to Lambert, picking up the crossbow again.

“Now she won’t feel guilty.” He says under his breath to Geralt as he sits down again. He doesn’t leave any space between them, shoulder going to rest against Jaskier’s own as he presses their thighs together. Although that part is gentle given he’s on the side Jaskier was shot.

Geralt just hums, a low sound deep in his throat and Jaskier doesn’t respond. He just starts playing again, something softer and more serious.

He would be writing ballads for Ciri for the rest of his days, detailing her triumphs and adventures. But for now, he thinks what she needs is a lullabye. Something quiet for the cold, something to keep her young for as long as possible. He’d written her plenty of lullabyes already, getting her to sleep sometimes required lullabies after a bad night. But they were never truly about her.

This one would be. 

Or that’s what he sets out to do. But somehow it turns into the song he had started writing on the night Geralt had found out about the dragon hunters, and he barely stops himself from muttering the lyrics as the chords start to shape themselves.

Once he realises he stops, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts and tries again. This happens a few times, and eventually he stops with a frown. Putting the lute down he sighs.

“I think maybe I need a rest, or something. This isn’t working.” His frustration eclipses any feelings he has about the way Geralt hasn’t left his side. “For fuck sake.”

“We’re getting lunch soon. Maybe that will help?” Eskel wanders over, leaning next to them as he crosses his arms. “Lacking a muse bard?”

“Hmm.” It was quite the opposite. But Jaskier wasn’t about to spill his secrets in front of his muse. Especially when said muse had no idea he was a muse past the obvious.

“If you’re looking for a muse you’ve got plenty of options.” He smirks, and Jaskier manages a weak smile back.

He goes to hum again, but Geralt growls before he can. “Fuck off Eskel.”

This just gets the other to laugh. And Jaskier hears the teasing in his tone. Something he had heard from bands of siblings he had played for in towns, none of them barely old enough to have snuck out. Although he’d never heard anything like the sort from his own siblings. Too proud to even associate with him.

That thought makes him stop again and sigh as he gets lost in his own thoughts, although he tunes back into the conversation when Geralt hauls him up.

“C’mon. Vesemir should be almost done with lunch.” He practically drags him back into the warmth of the main room, and thankfully Eskel manages to grab his lute at Jaskier’s indignant squawk. He grabs for it even as he’s being placed down and Eskel just laughs as he hands it over, sitting opposite the pair.

Eskel goes to say something, but there’s a shriek from outside and a whined “Geralt!” that cuts the conversation off in its tracks, and both Eskel and Jaskier watch as Geralt rolls his eyes but gets up, heading back outside, closing one of the doors behind him.

“Grouchy bastard.” Eskel laughs. “A good man though. No matter how much he frowns.”

“You’re right there.” Jaskier stretches his hurt leg out and winces, watching Eskel as he eyed him.

“He’s your muse isn’t he. The one you didn’t want to admit to.”

“Am I that obvious?” His chest twists at being caught out, but he didn’t have it in him to deny it.

“Not to him.” Eskel shrugs, leaning back to stretch himself. “But he’s as dumb as a box of rocks when it comes to things like feelings so you have to spell it out for him.”

“But you caught on.”

“Only because he’s like my brother and you look for any opportunity to piss off your siblings.” He grins then, all teeth and wickedness and Jaskier chuckles. He wished he had that.

“I’ll take your word for it. And as long as you don’t reveal my feelings of course.”

“No. That’s something you’ve got to do yourself.”

“Urg, that’s so much effort though.” He leans back, lute now in hand again as he aimlessly strums.

“Good things always are bard. I should know, being a witcher and all.”

“Is this your way of trying to get a ballad about you? Because I can make one that’s not sad despite my lamenting earlier. So you don’t have to be telling me your sob story.” 

“But what if it’s the greatest tragedy you’ve ever heard?” Eskel leans forward then, chin in his hand in a way that reeks of being a younger sibling trying to get something from a parent. Or in this case, a brother's best friend.

It’s adorable in a ‘your younger sibling is bothering me way’, and Jaskier laughs at the imagery.

“I hear a lot about tragedy.”

“So what’s one more story to add to your repertoire?”

Jaskier sighs, acting put upon. As if he wasn’t already going to use his time at Kaer Morhen to write about the small group of witchers. He was one to take inspiration anywhere he could get, and if he could improve their reputation while he was doing it then all the better.

“You’ve twisted my arm you bastard. So, where do we begin?”

His story doesn’t end until halfway through lunch. Although it’s not helped when Lambert and Geralt come back, adding in details and calling Eskel out on some of his bullshit. Ciri and Vesmir just listen to the entire thing wearing eerily matching smiles. It would be cute if they weren’t sitting next to one another, heads turning practically in sync to follow the conversations across the table.

Once he’s finished Jaskier nods. “I’ll get back to you about it. Might question you later.”

“I’ll be waiting for it.” 

If Jaskier wasn’t sitting right next to him, he’d probably miss the way Geralt growls, deep and near silent in his chest, at Eskel’s comment. And he looks between the pair quizzically, watching as Eskel’s face practically lights up at the noise before his features turn into a smirk.

Lambert, catching this, smacks at him. But then he smirks at Jaskier and all Jaskier can do is sit in the quiet and be confused.

So, he sat and let them talk around him. His wound wasn’t bad, not now that it was stitched and it had settled, but he could use it as an excuse if anyone asked why he wasn’t joining the conversation.

Of course though, Geralt catches on. And when Jaskier begs off to his room for the rest of the afternoon after lunch he’s unsurprised when Geralt follows him.

“More of last night?” He asks, when they get to Jaskier’s room and close the door. And Jaskier nods.

“I’m not used to any of this.” It’s not much of an explanation, not really. But Geralt hums as if he understands.

Yanking his boots off while he stands is painful but he does it, and he throws them back onto the floor unceremoniously, along with his jacket. It was fur lined, since he had had to be out in the cold, but he wouldn’t need it under his mountain of blankets.

“I just. Seeing you all interact. I guess it brought back memories.” He practically collapses into his nest, although he doesn’t lie down. Instead he sits and waits until Geralt sits next to him, and Jaskier grabs a blanket to pull over the pair of their laps.

“Memories?”

“More, memories I don’t have. You all act like begrudging siblings. I guess seeing you all together brought back memories of my own family and how we were never.” He waves a hand. “Like that.”

He sighs once again, going to rub at his temples. “Really. I don’t think about these things for decades and suddenly it all comes flooding back.”

“Probably because you know we all know.”

“Hmm.” What can he say? They both know Geralt is right.

“Really, I must have rubbed off on you if all you’re doing is humming.” Jaskier looks over, rolling his neck a little to see Geralt grinning at him.

“Guess you have. Sorry. We’ve only been here a day and i’m already kicking up a fuss.”

“You’re not.” Geralt’s voice is deep and quiet, and Jaskier can’t help but lean into the reassurance which translates to him leaning heavily against Geralt’s side.

“Well I feel like I am. And I know i’m dramatic but even i’m getting too much for myself.”

“You can’t help what’s happening to you.” Geralt is a solid steady presence, as always.

“I could do a better job at pretending like I was fine with it though. I’m an actor, i’m supposed to be good at this.” He snorts to himself sadly, shaking his head.

“Hmm. You can’t act in front of witchers. You couldn’t act in front of me.”

“Why, because of your smelling stuff?”

It’s Geralt’s turn to snort then. “Partly. But also because I know you. We’ve traveled together for too long.”

“Hmm. You asked me to return, you can’t get rid of me now.”

“You say that as if we’d want to.” He pauses for a second and Jaskier feels his breath hitch as if he’s going to say something else, but he stays quiet.

Because it’s just them there, Jaskier prods. Literally. “Go on, finish your thought.” He pokes gently at Geralt’s side and Geralt huffs.

“As if i'd want to.” His eyes are trained on the ceiling. “You’re our bard.”

“Well.” Jaskier reaches up to tap Geralt’s cheek. “It’s a good thing you’re my witcher then as well isn’t it?” Geralt smiles then, beams even. And Jaskier grins right back.

He leans his head against Geralt’s shoulder. Something they were both used to. The casual affection ingrained within their dynamic now. He wants to say something further, something about family. But now wasn’t the time. 

“Are you staying here while I sleep? Or going downstairs?”

“I think I should go and make sure Ciri isn’t forcing Lambert to do her bidding.”

They both chuckle then, because Ciri definitely had everyone wrapped around her little finger. 

“Go. Don’t wake me? I think whatever this is I need to sleep it off.”

“Okay.” Geralt gets up and Jaskier lets himself slump down, head thumping heavily onto the pillows as he arranges himself, grinning up at Geralt when he throws a wayward blanket over him.

“Night.” He mutters, getting as cozy as he can and he hears Geralt grunt in response before leaving. Door a heavy click behind him.

It’s hard to get to sleep without Geralt there. But he manages it.

-

He wakes up to complete darkness, and he stumbles around in a panic before he can light a candle. Taking a second, he listens to the silence of the place. Everyone must be asleep. Taking that into account, he dresses into sleep clothes, feet going back into his boots as he wraps one of the warmer blankets around his shoulders before he grabs his lute, both of his notebooks, and quietly hobbles downstairs.

The remnants of the fire are still smouldering so he puts his things down on one of the comfortable chairs near it and takes a few minutes to stoke it back into something that could keep him warm. Then, taking orders from his stomach, he goes into the kitchens to look for something to eat.

Expecting just some bread in the cupboard, he’s surprised to find a large covered bowl on the side with a note on it that just reads ‘Jask’. 

“Oh.” He gasps to himself quietly, heart warmed thoroughly given that he’d know Geralt’s scratchy handwriting anywhere. A quick look underneath the cover reveals it to be more stew so he does a quick hunt for a few slices of bread and some cutlery before going back to the fire once he’s found both.

Dragging the chair closer, he lays his lute gently on the carpet before re-wrapping himself in the large blanket. Once he’s sat and comfortable, he tucks into the food which is even good cold. And after making a meal of it, suitably full and content, he takes out both of his notebooks.

The sad refrain from the previous morning still lingers in the back of his mind, and now he’s alone he’s able to pick his lute back up and play properly, albeit quietly. Putting words to chords about being comfortable but sad in his unrequited state. It’s short, for one his own songs, but it feels right when he writes it all down. And once it’s exactly to his liking, he moves on.

His private songs were ones he didn’t dwell on. And there were only a few he dared to play to an audience, and only then if they weren’t receptive of his more jaunty ones. Sometimes people just wanted heartbreak, but he had a good few about that that already worked and didn’t hurt too badly to play anymore. So he wasn’t in the market to add any more to that particular catalogue.

“Oh to be yours, to be yours.” He mutters, something early on from the secret notebook that he was able to play in public. Because the night was dark and his thoughts were heavy, he lets himself fall into the melancholy. Hands finding familiar chords and strings as he sings. Song after song after song.

“I’m weak my love, and I am wanting
If this is the path I must trudge
I welcome my sentence
Give to you my penance
Garrotter, jury and judge.” 

Her Sweet Kiss was one of his more popular ones, and he’d played it so many times it makes sense that that’s the one he defaults to playing. He would try writing more, but his brain was too clouded, even writing wouldn’t help.

“I’ve never heard you sing that one before.” He jumps out of his skin as he whirls around, peering over the back of the chair only to find Ciri standing at the bottom of the stairs, her own blanket around herself.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, I wake up all the time. Do you mind company?”

“Never if it’s you.” She smiles then, coming over to drag her own chair next to the fire. She crosses her legs, curling up properly and Jaskier starts playing again.

“I wrote that after Geralt and I fought.” He offers up and she nods, leaning forward.

“That was why you and Geralt were arguing when you first got me wasn’t it?”

“It was indeed. Did we ever tell you what it was about?”

“No.”

“Well. We were hunting dragons.” She gasps then, and he nods. “We were hired to protect them from the ones who would be hunting them. Although we were all in the same party. Very confusing now that I think about it. And afterwards, after the battle and the dragons were safe, all without consulting me by the way, he and Yennefer argued, and then he blamed me for it. Said some very unkind things. And I left.”

“Did you love him then?”

“Oh i’ve loved him since the day he defended me to those elves. Hey!” Her question and his answer only register after he’s told her and he flushes, to her giggling amusement.

“Oh come on. You’re both so obvious. You act like my grandparents. It’s sweet."

“I don’t think it’s mutual sweet pea. But i’m okay with that. I’ve spent so much of my life yearning, i’m not entirely sure what i'd do now if anything changed.”

“Well, maybe they should, given how both in love you are.” It was sweet, her giving him the go-ahead. As if he would ever do anything. Her knowing doesn’t really come as a surprise either, he was an obvious love-struck idiot. It seemed that everybody could see it except Geralt. And he’s not sure if he’s thankful for that or not.

“You’ll be the first to know if they do.”

“Oh I probably will be given that i’m the one travelling with you.” She grins then cheekily and waggles her eyebrows and he swats at her

“Where in the world did you pick up such vulgar things child!” 

“You, when you’re drunk. And you hear an awful lot of things in taverns.”

“We’re never going into a tavern ever again then, and i’m never getting drunk again. Ever.”

She just giggles. “You say that now.”

“I’de promise if I didn’t know i’de break it.”

They pause then, just basking in the quiet of the quiet strum of Jaskier’s lute and the cracks of the fire.

“Are you feeling better, after your rest?” Eventually Ciri speaks up, although she sounds drowsier now than she had been.

“A little.” It’s not a lie. “I think i’m just overwhelmed. I’ll go back to normal soon I promise.”

“Geralt was worried.”

“Geralt always worries.”

“He was pacing. And growling. But, more than usual.” She frowns then, something concerned and Jaskier stops playing to reach a hand out and run it gently over the crown of her head.

“I’ll tell him to stop worrying in the morning. Neither of you need to, i’ll be fine.”

“But you were sick and then I shot you and then you had to sleep and-” Her voice wavers.

“Oh darling shush.” He’s up and kneeling before her chair in an instant, lute forgotten although carefully placed to the side as he wraps her in his arms and the second blanket. The pain in his thigh is forgotten too. He was a dragon, he could deal with it if it meant making sure that Ciri was okay. She was strong, of course she was. But he always forgot that sometimes things got too much for her. She was still a child. A child that had seen so much heartbreak and fear.

The wave of protection that sweeps over him has nothing to do with him being a dragon this time. He loved Ciri as if she were his own, and seeing her so torn up over something so unimportant to do with him made him feel sick. She deserved all the happiness in the world, to feel safe. Not deal with his bullshit.

“We’re both fine I promise. You’re fine. We’re safe here. I’m okay. It’s all just nerves and newness.”

“You don’t have to be nervous with us.” She’s not crying, but she’s shaking a little. 

“Never with you and Geralt. Never I promise. I’m just not used to people knowing who I am and not hurting me for it.” He leans back, holding her by her shoulders.

“Maybe that’s why you and Geralt get on so well.”

He hums, and the sound brings a smile to her face. “Maybe it is sweet pea.”

“Can you sing the one I hadn’t heard again?”

“As many times as you want my dear.”

So he plays until she’s asleep, rotating through the slower and quieter songs until she’s snuffling into a sleep that he knows is deep.

Picking her up is easy even with his hurt leg, she was still small for her age, and he carefully makes his way back up the stairs and gently deposits her in her room. He doesn’t look around, her things were her things and her privacy was her privacy. But he makes sure to properly tuck her in before leaving, planting a kiss to her forehead before he goes downstairs to get his things and bank the last remnants of the fire.

Once he’s back in his own room, he settles down again and finds that sleep finds him easy this time.

-

He wakes to Geralt’s voice, low and warm in the room, and he rolls towards it, reaches for it with grabby hands which gets a high giggle from someone else.

“See, he’s fine Ciri.”

“Wha?” Sitting up, he rubs at his eyes to find the room bathed in warm firelight again, and a quick glance towards the window shows that it’s dark outside. 

“You slept the whole day.” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier focuses his eyes properly to see both him and Ciri sitting in front of the fire.

“And the pair of you just let me? Honestly, people are going to be spreading rumours about the lazy bard and-” He babbles like he would if his heart wasn’t aching. And it gets Ciri to light up, so it works.

“See, he’s fine.” Geralt rolls his eyes, although when Ciri gets up and turns around his features turn into a frown.

“Oh, go off and train. Give me a few more hours then i’ll be awake.” He still hasn’t gotten up.

“Lazy!” She tuts, even as she’s walking over to hug him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes.” It’s easy, for a lie. “Now, leave me for a few more hours to laze. I haven’t had a chance to do that recently.”

“Fine.” she huffs but smiles obviously taking him at his word, hugging him tightly before flouncing out of the room.

“So how are you really doing?” Geralt asks as soon as the door is closed and Jaskier lets himself flop back.

“How do you think?”

“Dick.” Geralt mutters, coming over to sit heavily within the nest. 

Jaskier doesn’t protest, just rolls over enough for Geralt to get the picture and lie down too. “I feel like shit.” He offers, and Geralt nods.

“More of the same?” He asks, and Jaskier settles, just managing to stop himself from resting his hands against Geralt’s chest.

“Yeah. And my leg aches.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Only if you can make my awful fucking pining stop.” He mutters. Because in his dreams he had seen his family, relived the moments his parents had turned their back on him. The rest of his family. His bonded.

“Hmm?” Geralt would be tilting his head if he could and Jaskier groans.

“Urg. Just.” He sighs again. “Seeing you all interact, just reminds me i’m not bonded. It’s stupid really. Really fucking stupid.”

“Jask. It’s not stupid.” Again with the nickname. It only makes everything hurt more.

“It is! Because they left me! So how the fuck could anyone else want to bond with me if my family don’t even want to? It’s stupid to even let myself think about the possibility!”

Geralt stops him from turning over with a hand on his arm, hands warm.

“What’s brought this on? You’ve seen people close before.” Geralt’s trying, Jaskier can see it. Expression confused as he looks over Jaskiers face.

“It’s because for the first time. People know. And don’t seem to feel anything about it. I’m so used to being hunted for it, or not wanted because of it. My brain, I think it just jumped to conclusions and then got disappointed.” 

“What conclusions?”

“I think. And please don’t hate me.” He laughs then, harsh and anxious. “I think my brain just, somewhere along the line, saw it as an opportunity to bond. But that’s never going to be an option with me being. Well me. So I shut it down. And now I know i’m in a place where I don’t have to hide myself. My dragon instincts, they’re rearing their ugly fucking head and i’m tired of battling it all. I think.”

It’s a revelation in itself. All of it. “Fuck Geralt, i’m here for less than a week and I already fuck up. That must be a record.”

The hug is not surprising but not wholly expected either, and he buries his face into Geralt’s chest as he starts to sob again.

He hated being a dragon. He hated the rush of overwhelming feelings that constantly plagued him. He hated being in a place that didn’t care, they let him let his guard down. Because that wouldn’t be forever. The winter would end and they would move on, and he would go back to being hunted. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking he was safe, get too comfortable. Because one day, neither Geralt nor Ciri would need him and off they’d go. He couldn’t allow himself the hope that they’d let him stay around forever. Let him bond.

A few months of being close in the cold couldn’t mean anything. Especially not to Geralt. It couldn’t. Not with Jaskier being what he was. How he was.

“Shh, shh now. I’ve got you.” Geralt is holding him tight, one hand soothing over Jaskier’s hair which just makes him sob harder. 

“Shh Jask. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The quiet assurances continue until Jaskier stops crying, and when he does Geralt pulls back to wipe at his face.

“What’s stopping you from bonding with us? You love Ciri more than anything on this earth-”

“Because one day neither of you will want me and move on. I can’t have a repeat of my family leaving me I can’t. Shit.” He turns away, going to lie on his back. “I’ve repressed this shit for decades and suddenly it hits me all once.”

“We’d never leave you. Jaskier i’de never-”

“You did before! And look, i’ve accepted your apology and moved on you know I have. But everyone gets sick of me. I’m too much. Always. My dragon instincts get the better of me all the time and people hate it. I hate it.”

“They keep you safe. Keep us safe. You feeling, it’s not a bad thing.” He takes a deep breath in. “And I’de never leave you again Jaskier. You must know that I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.”

“You can’t say things you don’t mean Geralt, please-”

Geralt shuts him up with a kiss. 

Jaskier’s brain empties, all thoughts leaving to focus on the feeling of Geralt’s chapped lips on his own. 

“Geralt?” It’s Geralt that breaks away first, pupils blown. And he goes to move but Jaskier rolls back over onto his side, hand going to Geralt’s arm to keep him in place.

“I heard you last night. With Ciri. Talking. And she’s right. I love you. My heart broke, hearing some of the songs you sang. I couldn’t bear you going through that any longer.”

It’s the first time Jaskier had ever heard Geralt ramble, and all he can do is listen in a haze.

“I love you too.” Is what he can manage back, barely. Because how long had he been waiting for this? Willing it to happen, yet thinking it never would.

“Oh, oh good.” Geralt stops his rambling, and then they’re both awkward and silent. Just looking at one another.

“This, bonding. Kissing me. It means forever Geralt. With me. You can’t just be doing this out of pity-”

Geralt kisses him again, fierce instead of hesitant this time. All tongue and teeth, hands going to cup Jaskier’s face to keep him still.

“If you think i’ve ever pitied you then you’re gravely mistaken.” He kisses him again, and Jaskier leans into it again, chasing Geralt’s lips when he breaks away. “I’ve loved you for years. Half a decade maybe? A decade? I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” This makes Jaskier draw back a little, although not out of Geralt’s reach as he raises an eyebrow.

“I know i’ve felt like this for a while.” He huffs. “But it wasn’t until I saw those signs hunting for you that I realised what they were.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blinks. “Of course it takes me being in proper danger for you to realise your feelings.” Jaskier can’t help but laugh. “Only you would figure out your feelings that way.”

“You’re the one who always calls me emotionally stunted.” Geralt huffs, and Jaskier can’t help but lean in to kiss the small frown from his lips.

“I’m honestly surprised you confessed first.” He admits. “I thought i'd be the first to break. Or well, the only one to break.”

“Why would you be the only one to break?”

“Because I never thought you could like me, never mind love me.” He waves a hand, before worming them under Geralt’s arms from where they were still around Jaskier to hold his face, resting them on Geralt’s chest.

“Jaskier-”

“You never showed any interest. Or well, none that I could pick up. Apparently according to both Ciri and Eskel i’m not subtle. But apparently neither are you.”

“I’ve never known subtly.”

“I guess I just refused to see what was in front of me then.” He reaches up to brush his fingers against Geralt’s cheekbone, the slope of his nose, the delicate skin under his eyes and smiles as Geralt leans into it.

The instincts him him in a rush, or maybe they had done when they had first kissed. And he can’t help but anchor his free hand onto Geralt’s hip. Holding him there to keep him close, make him Jaskier’s. If only for the moment.

“Hm. Lambert spoke to me a few times too. Said I should hurry up otherwise somebody else would get you.”

“As if my heart could ever belong to another.” Jaskier scoffs. “Wait, do you think they’ve all been planning this? They move and plan very quickly.”

“Probably.” Geralt’s eyes are soft and warm, his hands going to cradle Jaskier’s face impossibly softer. “My heart, it couldn’t belong to another either. Not now.”

“You say that now.” It slips out, he was so used to people giving him all this bullshit then leaving. “Sorry, sorry.” Because what was he saying? He had Geralt in his arms, even if it was only for a short time. Or, a short time in comparison to their long lives. A few years maybe at best, he would take what he could get.

There was no denying he wanted this, and no matter what it would all end in heartbreak. So why not have Geralt in his arms until it did? The rational part of his brain, the one screaming at him to break them apart and refuse, was quietened by the dragon instincts. The ones that had reared their head. Making him want to bond, and claim, and stay. To add Geralt to his tiny little hoard and never let him leave. To keep him. And his kiss addled senses, drunk on the sweet words of the witcher, were letting the instincts take over.

“I’ll prove I mean it. I promise you.”

“You promised to keep me safe and you’ve done just that.” Jaskier whispers, leaning in to nuzzle at Geralt’s jawline. “I’m gonna let myself believe you. Because I don’t think I could take it otherwise.”

He shuffles backwards then, out of Geralt’s grasp which Geralt grunts at, only to gently smack at him while grabbing another blanket to wrap around Geralt properly.

“You’re lucky I like you. Otherwise i'd get very territorial over these blankets right now.”

“That’s another of your instincts?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier hums in agreement.

“It’s one that’s normally easy to ignore. Or well, easier by comparison. But feelings like this, I wouldn’t let anybody in the room normally. Never mind my nest.”

“So me and Ciri are exceptions to that then?” He’s smiling, slow and happy as his eyes close and Jaskier could look at that expression forever.

“You always have been. The pair of you.”

“It sounds.” Geralt raises a hand again to run through Jaskier’s hair and keep it there, hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Like you’ve already bonded with us.”

“I’ve spent years trying not to.” He admits. Not that it would take much for Geralt to figure out on his own.

“Then stop trying not to, and do it.” For all the sweetness, there’s a daring tone to Geralt’s voice. And it’s punctuated by a gentle nip to his jaw that has Jaskier’s eyes rolling into the back of his head.

So for the first time in however long, he gives in.

It’s not something huge, or dramatic. In fact, it’s pretty anticlimactic. It’s a kiss to Geralt’s jaw in return and a warmth, spreading through his veins. It’s like being tipsy, but having clarity still. Like a night of good food and drink, full of stories while you’re curled up around a fire. Like feeling someone’s arms around you for the first time in a while.

It feels like coming home.

The anxiety he feels eases, turning into something smaller in his chest. And his heartbeat slows to something normal. Although that changes when he surges to kiss Geralt again and again, laughing in between breaths. Unable to do anything else.

“I love you. My dearest darling witcher. Mine. Yours. My own. My love.”

“Love you too.” Geralt just laughs back. “My bard. Mine. Yours, always.”

Jaskier would hate how he was talking if it wasn’t reciprocated. Wasn’t said back every time he mutters it into Geralt’s skin. How Geralt seemed to laugh, not at his stupid muttering, but with him. At how odd and surprising this whole situation was. Because this was the most unexpected thing to happen, out of things to possibly happen. Yesterday Jaskier would have laughed in the face of anybody who suggested it.

And yet here they were.