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bardcore-jaskier · 2 years ago

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♡ My thoughts on Veskier + headcanons ♡

- One of the rarest rare pairs in the Witcher fandom for sure! And guess what? I LOVE IT!!!

- They chose the perfect actor to play Vesemir in season 2! Kim Bodnia is a charismatic Danish actor with a charming accent, his performance was AMAZING!

- As of season 2, I personally am a bit cross with most characters in the series for the way they treated Jaskier. Geralt used Jaskier for his loyalty and his apology was shit, so Geraskier prompts/ideas don't come to me as quickly as they used to.

- Lauren went and killed off Eskel, so to cook up some Jaskel content it would have to be an AU where he doesn't die and would require a LOT of creativity not only to make it possible for him to be alive, but also mix and match his personality from video clips of his game counterpart on YouTube, since Eskel didn't get enough screen time on Netflix to show the entirety of his character.

- Lambert was an absolute dick to Jaskier, so Lambskier is rocky too, Lambskier's only saving grace is that Lambert and Jaskier didn't have a lot of scenes together, leaving a lot of room for thinking up ways in which those two could bond.

- WHICH BRINGS ME TO MY CURRENT FAVORITE JASKIER SHIPS: Yennskier (I already made a post about) and of course Veskier!

- Veskier, being a ship of a younger pretty man and an older witcher warrior, has mostly gotten attention from the extremely kinky side of the fandom. Daddy kink, BDSM, dom/sub, breeding kink and other kinks galore. Even more often, this ship is mixed with others in a M/M/M/M/M setting, you know, I know you know, we all have seen the witchersexual!Jaskier tag on AO3. And while I do enjoy a little well written smut from time to time, most of the Veskier fanfics out there do not quite suit my taste.

- Vesemir and our beloved, adorable, brilliant walking sunshine trouble maker of a bard, did not interact in season 2 at all, I doubt that they will ever, with both being side characters. HOWEVER, that makes this pairing FREE REAL ESTATE! Who is to say what is likely and what is not? Who is to say they won't work? Who is to say that they couldn't have gotten together at some point off screen?

- It makes me a little sad that people don't realize just how much potential there is with Veskier! Much like Yennskier, the theoretical romantic relationship between these two, at least going off of Netflix canon alone, would be surprisingly healthy and wholesome.

- Every time I imagine them together, I headcanon Jaskier as not entirely human. Either part-fae or of elder blood.

- Veskier is a perfect ship for emotional healing, for fluff, for the kinky side, for the crack, for happiness!

- FLUFF × CRACK × SMUT × HURT/COMFORT

Let me set the scene

- After Voleth Mier, Jaskier realizes that he somehow ended up in a situation where he lost his precious lute, became a wanted man in Oxenfurt (a city he considered his home), got tortured for information about his ex-bff, then said ex-bff came to bail him out of jail because he needed him, not for the sake of making amends, essentially using Jaskier to find Yennefer and then sending him off with Ciri as a glorified nanny. And here he is, at the top of another mountain, in Kaer Morhen, where Geralt is too busy with Ciri to talk while the other witchers are rude to him. He is penniless, injured, has nothing but the bloodied clothes on his back and is suffering from nightmares about Rience.

- Vesemir is a tired old man who has witnessed too much bloodshed in his lifetime. His body may be enhanced and therefore he doesn't feel the physical effects of aging (if at all) as much as he does the mental. All witchers were human at some point, he can actually feel the psychological toll of living much longer than humans are designed to. Still, he has to be strong as the master of the keep, to set an example and to be a dependable source of wisdom and guidance for his pups. He will never admit it out loud, but the things he has to deal with after Voleth Mier overwhelm him. There's Geralt's whole elder blood child surprise thing, constant repairs of a crumbling fortress, honoring and mourning the fallen witchers, processing the fact that new mutated mosters are appearing and they don't have the mutagens to create more of their kind to protect the continent and survive. There is nothing he can do about it except deal with the anxiety of knowing these stone cold facts.

- In this whole mess, two broken souls might just be what the other needs. Where Vesemir could do with a break, with a little joy, Jaskier is more than enough to help with that. And where Jaskier could do with being taken care of after everything he's been through, after everything he lost, Vesemir is a perfect candidate for that job. Their relationship would be yin and yang, balance and harmony personified.

- Honestly, please tell me that you see it too! They have a lot in common, Jaskier is a professor, mastered the seven liberal arts, grammar, logic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy and according to canon, he passed every exam with flying colors!

- Vesemir is wise, he has lived for centuries, he has witnessed history, he was trained as an alchemist, has extensive knowledge about many things. He is a bottomless pit of knowledge.

- They could talk for hours together and never run out of topics to discuss.

- And the sex? OH BROTHER! Jaskier fucked his way across the continent countless times, while Vesemir is so ancient there is no way that he hadn't bedded a considerable amount of people. Yeah, the sex would be mind blowing I should think.

- Jaskier is a hopeless romantic and Vesemir is a traditional gentleman (when he is wooing the damsels, according to game!canon Lambert.) They would probably be very fluffy and affectionate with eachother. Verbose compliments, music, cuddling, kissing.

- LMAO, imagine everyone else's reaction!!!

- Geralt would be mortified seeing his friend making out with his father figure on the kitchen table 🤣🤣🤣

- The other witchers would probably feel uneasy, shocked at first too, until they get used to it. HAHA ONCE THEY DO LAMBERT IS GONNA FUCKING MILK IT

"Morning papa Vesemir, papa Jaskier"

- KAER MORONS!!!

- Also, the theoretical adventures a witty traveling part fae bard and a silverfox witcher could have, make me beyond giddy!

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avatarskywalker78 · 1 year ago

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💋

💋do you have any guilty pleasure ships that you really want to write for but are scared to?

Not really? I mean, I'm not sure that I really have any guilty pleasure ships per se. I do have some ships I'm scared to write for - mainly Geraskier and Jaskel - but that's more to do with the fact that I've read so many excellent ones on AO3 and I'm not sure if I could measure up.

(Once upon a time I thought about Lawrusso, but I've come to the conclusion that that is one of those ships I'd rather read about than write about, if that makes any sense.)

Fanfic ask game

#Answering my asks #Thanks for asking!#Fanfic ask game

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dreamingwitcher · 1 year ago

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Hey witcher fans! I finally broke my writer's block and made some major updates on my fanfic. It's got vikings (sorta) and Fae Jaskier and enemies to lovers and eventual Jaskel. And angst. So much angst.

This story is called Black Sails by sheegothbait (nothing to do with the pirate show of the same name.)

if this sounds good to you please go check it out. it would mean the world to me. A heart or a reblog would also be really nice too.

Edit: OH! uh I forgot the tags. Please mind them. This story is rated M for mature audiences.

Warlord Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Part-Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Jötnar | Jotuns | Frost Giants (Norse Religion & Lore), Nidhogg - Freeform, Child Death, Viking Burial, monster hunting, Mistaken Identity, Enemies to Lovers, Kidnapping, All the Witcher schools are one in this fic, jaskel, Nonbinary Character, Non-Consensual Drug Use

#the witcher #jaskier #eskel #fanfic #vikings

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julek · 3 years ago

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some soft, pining jaskel, because i love them. 2K, T, light angst with a happy ending. read on ao3!

Jaskier watches the drizzle fall down on the small town from his perch on the windowsill.

There’s a small square, broken cobblestones and a worn flag pole, no flag to wave proudly in the wind. In the late hours of the evening, no children are playing in it, making up castles and pirate ships out of juniper branches and long scraps of cloth they’ve undoubtedly swiped from a seamstress’ shop. A few couples are walking under the rain, hand in hand, trying to get to the inn as soon as possible, the promise of fire and food lingering in the air.

As if conjured by divine intervention, the door creaks open, and in walks Eskel, armored-up and, apart from slightly muddy, looking very intact, holding two plates of still-steaming stew in his hands.

“Still up?”

Jaskier’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight.

“I am,” he replies, moving away from the windowsill and sitting down on the bed. “Wanted to wait for you.”

There were drowners in a nearby pond, and Eskel had been contracted to kill them. It’s almost an innocuous task, Jaskier knows, but he can’t help the knot in his stomach each time he pats Scorpion’s neck and bids the Witcher farewell, not knowing whether he’ll witness his return.

(Either because he’s been killed, or because he’s left Jaskier behind).

(Neither option is particularly thrilling).

But here Eskel stands, a lopsided smile on his face as he hands Jaskier his meal — because he knows Jaskier hasn’t eaten, because they eat together, because Eskel makes sure to come back for it — and sits down on the floor to enjoy his own.

“How did it go?” Jaskier says softly in between bites. “Any wayward bastard try to get a chunk out of you?”

Eskel shakes his head, chuckling lowly. “All vital organs in place. It was a small nest.”

Jaskier hums thoughtfully.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Eskel notices, because of course he does. “Did anything happen while I was away?”

“Not at all,” Jaskier says truthfully. “It’s just my poet’s heart, dear. There’s nothing like a rainy night for melancholy to strike.” He aims for a smile. “It’ll pass.”

“Okay,” Eskel replies.

They eat the rest of their meal in comfortable silence, and Jaskier offers to take their bowls down to the barkeep. When he comes back, Eskel’s armor is neatly piled onto a chair and he’s standing in the room shirtless, looking at himself in the small mirror by the table.

“What is it?” Jaskier asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Eskel shakes his head, turning his torso slightly to the side. “It’s nothing, little bird. Just checking on the scarring of the ghoul wound from the other day.”

Ah, yes — the one Jaskier had sewn back together. He moves closer to check for himself, and, sure enough, the edges of the scar are bright pink and healing, the knotted skin raised slightly.

He almost brings his hand up to touch it, but takes it back at the last second.

There’s something between them. Something soft and tentative, something he dares not name. It’s been brewing for a while, now — probably since the day they met, when Jaskier’s eyes were full of sorrow and Eskel’s side was bleeding, and their gazes had met with a gentle familiarity that did not belong to strangers, that did not belong to them. It’s probably been there forever, the warmth of those golden eyes that seeps into Jaskier’s skin on the best of days, that mellows his nerves on the worst ones. The sweetness of a smile, the comfort of their hands brushing over a lazily-built fire.

But he can’t name it, can’t give into it. Can’t risk it by leaping too far, by jumping in head-first and breaking his skull on cobblestones — because Eskel is gentle and he is kind, kind enough to softly extricate himself from the all-consuming hurricane of Jaskier’s heart before it all becomes too much; because he would never hurt Jaskier, and that, above all, is what hurts him the most.

So he lowers his hand, and Eskel pulls his shirt back on, and he finds himself saying, “I’m going to bed.”

Eskel nods at him. “I’ll be a minute.”

And that’s when Jaskier remembers that they’re currently in a small inn in the town of Asscrack of Nowhere, which means they’re sharing a bed, because it’s either that or one of them spending the night with Scorpion.

And they’re friends, and they’ve shared before, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

Except Jaskier was right, and his soft plum of a heart cannot ignore a rainy day and pass up on the opportunity to let itself be consumed by the familiar dull ache of heartbreak, and he’s scared the melancholy will leak out of himself and soak the pillows and the bedsheets, and maybe even seep into Eskel’s skin, and he could never forgive himself for making him blue — which is what hurts him the most.

But he doesn’t have time to change his mind, because Eskel is taking off his boots and preparing himself for bed, and Jaskier really doesn’t want to sleep in the stables, so he steels himself for a sleepless night and morose pining.

He lays back on his side of the bed (though it’s so tiny, it practically has but one side) and closes his eyes, feigning tiredness from the day. He feels the dip on the mattress as Eskel lays down as well, but doesn’t feel surrounded by darkness as he should.

He opens his eyes, and Eskel is looking at him.

“What?” He asks, his voice raspy, softer than he intended.

Eskel lays down on his side, really looking at him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs. “Please.”

His skin is golden brown in the candlelight, his eyes full of genuine concern, and Jaskier loves him so much it hurts to breathe. Their legs are touching, Eskel’s forearm grazing Jaskier’s hand.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

“Nothing is wrong,” he lies, because he has to, because he wants to keep this a little longer. Because it’ll be inevitably taken away, sooner or later, and he wants to revel in it a little longer. “I’m fine.”

Eskel, because he knows him, doesn’t buy into his brittle smile. He brings his hand up to Jaskier’s jaw.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he whispers, his voice low as his thumb brushes against Jaskier’s cheekbone. “Like the light has been pulled out of you. You haven’t been singing.”

He hasn’t — he’s been too worried he’ll spill his heart on a tavern floor in between silly ditties. He couldn’t risk it.

“Listen,” Eskel says, pulling his hand back. Jaskier misses its warmth immediately. “We can head to a bigger city, tomorrow. I could drop you off in Oxenfurt, if—”

“Drop me off?” Jaskier’s heart skips a beat. He’d thought— he’d thought he’d have more time. “Why?”

There’s a complicated look on Eskel’s face. Pleading, almost. “Jask, it’s obvious you haven’t been feeling yourself lately, and you won’t talk to me about it— I can tell when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Jaskier sits up on the bed. “Overstayed your welcome? What are you talking about?”

Eskel mirrors him. “You don’t want to travel with me anymore, and it’s fine, Jask— I can’t say I blame you. This is hardly the glamorous life you’re aiming for.”

Jaskier does not understand. “I’m— you— where did you get that idea?”

Eskel looks uncomfortable. He scratches at his scar. “We… You don’t seem like yourself. You don’t sing around me anymore, and you snap your songbook shut every time I enter the room, and you put as much distance between us as you can. Jask, I— I won’t hold you here against your wishes. You can leave.”

“But I don’t want to leave!” Jaskier says, aware that he sounds a little bit unhinged. “I want to stay with you!”

A frown knits Eskel’s brow, his voice a hushed murmur. “But you won’t let me near.”

“Well, that’s because— because—” He can’t say it, he can’t, but Eskel looks hurt, and he can’t keep hurting him, he won’t— “I want you near.”

“Well, you have a weird way of showing it,” Eskel replies, growing more confused by the minute.

“I want you near,” Jaskier repeats, and takes one of Eskel’s hands in his. Holds it like it’s the last time, because maybe it will be. “Because I— I have feelings for you.”

Golden eyes widen.

“Oh.”

“I needed to be distant with you, because— well, you know me. Always wearing my heart on my sleeve,” Jaskier admits, aware that he sounds pleading now too, stumbling to explain himself. “And if I got too close, you’d notice. You’d see— And I didn’t want you to send me away.”

“Why would I send you away?”

“Well— because,” Jaskier says lamely. “Because I’m annoying and a liability and I’m always causing you trouble and you were probably planning on leaving me in the next town anyway?”

Eskel looks at him.

He still hasn’t dropped his hand.

“Jask,” he says softly, and they’re close, so close Jaskier can feel his breath on his cheek, “do you know how to check for Dopplers?”

Jaskier frowns, confused by the non-sequitur. “Silver to their skin.”

“If I ever,” Eskel murmurs, pressing their foreheads together, “ever, leave you, run your dagger through my neck.”

And then his words melt into a kiss.

It’s a soft thing, delicate and passionate and so warm, like a sugarcube melting between their lips, and Jaskier feels lightheaded from it all. He kisses him back, deep and sure, and Eskel’s hands have wandered to his waist, rubbing against the bare skin, and Jaskier’s fingers are tangled in his Witcher’s hair, and they have all the time in the world, Jaskier knows, but he doesn’t want to stop.

He has to, though.

“Eskel,” he says against his lips.

“Mmm,” Eskel says, kissing him again.

“Eskel.”

“Mmmm.”

Jaskier pulls back, holding Eskel’s jaw in his hands. The bastard’s grinning.

“Eskel,” he says, one final time.

“Mm,” Eskel says back, looking extremely pleased with himself. His thumb is still rubbing at Jaskier’s waist, and it’s extremely distracting.

“I love you,” Jaskier says.

It’s been on the tip of his tongue for so long, it feels like breathing out after taking a long dive, watching the words float up in the air between their mouths.

Eskel smiles, and it pulls at his scar.

Jaskier kisses it.

They kiss until they can’t think of doing anything else, until the world has gone blank and there’s nothing in it but them, laying down on a tiny inn bed in the middle of nowhere, trading slow kisses like they’re afraid they’ll fade with time, the candle burning all the way down.

In the darkness, Eskel’s mouth finds Jaskier’s skin with ease. His cheek, his nose, his forehead, the tender underside of his jaw. The crook of his elbow, the hollow of his throat. All of it, he kisses, leaving behind a trail of love-warmed skin.

Jaskier does the same with him. His lips follow the pattern of Eskel’s scars, leaving tender kisses along their lines, finally able to worship the spots he’d ached to touch — his collarbone, the column of his neck, his broken knuckles.

They stop eventually, because Jaskier starts yawning and Eskel laughs at him and pulls him up into a final kiss before wrapping his arms around him, and Jaskier feels the warmth enter his bones and, for the first time, is sure it will never leave.

“I’m yours, you know,” Eskel whispers into his hair. “You claimed me the day we met.”

“How so?” Jaskier says around a yawn.

Eskel nuzzles into his neck. “You saw me bleeding and didn’t hesitate for a moment,” he murmurs. “Just grabbed my pack and demanded I give you needle and thread.”

Jaskier hums. “I can be very demanding when I need to be.”

“I know,” Eskel says, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s palm.

“If you’re mine,” Jaskier whispers, eyes closed, “then you must know, I’m yours too.”

“I would like that.”

“Good,” Jaskier says, cuddling closer to him. “Now that we’ve said it all, and I’ve ensured you can’t leave…”

Eskel frowns. “What…?”

Jaskier presses his cold feet to Eskel’s calves.

“You bastard—”

#mywriting #jaskier x eskel #jaskel #jaskel fanfic #i have NOT checked this for mistakes and will be doing so tomorrow #i hope u all like it! i'm v soft for them they deserve only good things

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knifewieldingenby · 4 years ago

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You shine, a Jaskel fic

This prompt comes from the lovely @kueble who always helps me when I’m dealing with writers block, thank you dear friend.

Summary: Jaskier keeps giving Eskel jewelry and he can’t fathom who someone like Jaskier would be courting him.

Content: Jaskel, courting jewelry, insecure Eskel, very mild mentions of sex (but nothing explicit), T

*written and pasted from my phone, I apologize if the format ends up being weird*

———

“What a performance!” Jaskier flopped down on his bed and sighed deeply. Eskel sat across from him on his own bed and smiled.

“You certainly had them eating out of your hands,” he said as he worked his armor off piece by piece. Normally he’d go up to the room first and take it off, but he wanted to see Jaskier perform tonight. The bard had been bursting with energy all day and Eskel knew it was going to be a good one. Besides, he could never resist the beauty that was Jaskier performing for a crowd. His face lit up, fire in his eyes, and every so often he threw a smile Eskel’s way that somehow felt different than the smile he reserved for his audience. It felt personal. Eskel wasn’t stupid enough to think it meant anything, but he was allowed to dream, even if it never came true.

“Easy crowd to please, I suppose.”

“Since when are you modest?”

Jaskier laughed and pushed himself up on his elbows. “You’re right, it was all me.”

Eskel rolled his eyes fondly. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Jaskier got up and crossed the room, fiddled with his pack a bit before coming to sit next to him.

“I got you a gift.”

Eskel cocked an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“Mm-hmm.” He opened his palm and Eskel’s eyes widened. It was a ring, a simple gold band that glistened in the dim candle-lit room. He was too shocked to respond. A gift was one thing, but this...jewelry was different. Maybe in another life it would mean something different, but in this lifetime no one gave jewelry unless they were courting someone, and that just couldn’t be right.

“You’re giving me a ring?”

“Yup!” He smiled brightly. Eskel didn’t know what to say. Surely Jaskier couldn’t mean...he couldn’t want Eskel. But it would be rude to turn it down and Eskel didn’t want to be that person. He mumbled out a thank you and hastily shoved the ring in his pocket. He caught a glimpse of something shift in Jaskier’s face.

“You don’t want it,” Jaskier said.

“What? No, of course I - I just thought-“

“Give it to me.”

Eskel cringed. This was the moment he’d feared, the moment Jaskier realized that he didn’t actually want to court Eskel. He pulled the ring back out and dropped it in Jaskier’s outstretched hand. To his surprise, Jaskier took his hand in his own. He carefully slid the ring on Eskel’s index finger and then squeezed his hand gently.

“I want you to have it,” Jaskier said softly, their eyes meeting, and Eskel couldn’t look away from that intense gaze. He swallowed through his tight throat and nodded.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Unless of course, you really don’t want it.”

“I want it,” Eskel said far too quickly, and he tried to ignore the way his cheeks burned from the admission. Jaskier smiled and squeezed his hand again.

They retired to their beds not long afterward, and Jaskier, as always, fell asleep quickly. Eskel on the other hand tossed and turned restlessly. He twisted the ring over and over, tracing the gold band with his finger, and wondered how Jaskier knew it would fit. It was true that he would occasionally take Eskel’s hand when they were settled at camp, play with his fingers lightly, but that was...just Jaskier. It was how he was with everyone he was close to.

...Right?

Eskel closed his eyes and attempted to quiet his mind. This was a one off thing, he was sure. Jaskier would quickly realize that Eskel was not the kind of man he wanted to be with, not safe enough, not handsome enough, and move on. Once the novelty of courting a Witcher wore off he would be off courting beautiful maidens and attractive blacksmiths like he did before Eskel showed up. That thought hurt more than he cared to admit to himself, but it was the truth.

With that in mind he settled and fell into a fitful slumber.

Two weeks went by and Jaskier didn’t say anything about the ring, though Eskel never took it off. He was waiting for the day when Jaskier asked him to take it off. The bard’s behavior hadn’t changed much. Sure, maybe it was true that he winked and threw smiles at Eskel more often during his performances than he had before, and maybe he’d bought Eskel sweet treats from the market without prompting, and maybe he’d played his favorite song just for him, and maybe…

He still didn’t say anything about the jewelry and Eskel wasn’t going to bring it up, for fear of reminding Jaskier what he’d done and making him regret it.

On a cool early Autumn evening they were sitting around camp after dinner, Jaskier strumming his lute idly while Eskel organized his potions, when Jaskier suddenly jumped up and rushed to his pack. He came back with something in his hands and knelt next to Eskel.

“Got you something,” he said. Eskel’s eyebrows raised as Jaskier opened his hands and revealed a long gold chain with a buttercup pendant. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, I know it’s a little more delicate than Witchers typically prefer, but-“

“I’ll wear it.” Eskel pulled what little hair he had along his neck away and dipped his head slightly. He hoped Jaskier would get the message.

He heard a soft chuckle and moments later felt the warmth of Jaskier’s hands ghosting his neck as the bard fastened the chain around him. He raised his head but his eyes were on the chain. The gold brought out warm tones in his skin.

“I- thank you.”

“Thank you for wearing it. If you decide you don’t want...this, you can take it off. I won’t- I’ll understand.”

“What is this exactly?” Eskel asked before his brain could stop him.

“What do you want it to be?”

And there was that intense look in Jaskier’s eyes again, a look that warmed Eskel just as much as it confused him. He knew what it meant when other people gave each other jewelry out of the blue but this was different. Nobody in their right mind courted a Witcher. Well, apart from other Witchers. He thought briefly of Lambert, who had been courted by a Cat, pretending he hated it but getting defensive if anyone so much as suggested he take the jewelry off. They all knew he secretly loved it.

“I want what I can’t have.” Perhaps that was a bit too honest, too vulnerable, but he didn’t care. Jaskier was so close. With their faces mere inches apart at this point he could feel the pull to lean forward, press their lips together, get lost in the softness that was the bard.

Jaskier’s eyes flicked to his lips and back as if he was thinking the same thing. “If you want me, dear, I’m yours.”

“But-“

“No buts. I’m yours.”

“Can I…” His eyes traveled to the bard’s lips again, and his heart softened at the gentle smile he received in response.

“Yes.”

He slowly reached up and took Jaskier’s face between his hands, hesitating as if giving him a chance to change his mind. But Jaskier didn’t; he made the first move, leaning forward and capturing Eskel’s lips in the softest of kisses. It didn’t last long but when they parted Eskel felt light-headed and Jaskier was smiling dreamily at him.

“Um…” Eskel shifted awkwardly and pointed to their bedrolls. “We should…”

“Do that again?” Jaskier said hopefully. His eyes were hungry and Eskel wanted to drown in them, memorize that look forever. This time he moved, and when they kissed again it wasn’t soft - it was fierce and consuming, and definitely something Eskel could get used to.

A week later they lay in bed, sheets tangled around their sweaty bodies, limbs intertwined. Jaskier was on his back and Eskel was draped half over him, head leaning on his shoulder. He traced Jaskier’s stomach with his fingers and noted how pretty the gold from his rings looked against Jaskier’s skin. Rings, plural, because Jaskier had given him another one earlier that night. It had an inscription in Elder that meant beloved, and Eskel had to bite back uncharacteristic tears when he first saw it.

“Why gold?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier’s voice was soft and still somewhat dazed from their love making.

“You always get me gold jewelry. Why is that?”

A silence stretched out between them. Jaskier reached down and intertwined their fingers. “Because silver is for monsters, right?”

Eskel startled at that, his throat constricting, and he buried his face in Jaskier’s neck so that the man couldn’t see the way his eyes watered. He’d always thought of himself as a monster, much as he wouldn’t admit it to the other Witchers. He thought himself monstrous in a way he would never see his brothers. But here was Jaskier, saying the exact opposite. It felt so wrong and so right at the same time.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled into Jaskier’s neck.

“I know. But I wanted to.” He placed a kiss on Eskel’s forehead.

Eskel never thought he’d get this, never thought he deserved it. But maybe, just maybe, he did

——————

This is my first time writing Jaskel so please let me know how I did! Thank you for reading! :D

#Jaskel #Jaskier #Eskel #Jaskier x Eskel #Jaskel fanfic #my writing

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all-hail-the-witcher · 4 years ago

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rest well my songbird

its @softdarlingjaskier‘s birthday!!! and i have some soft eskier for him!!! a little birdie kings of the bog told me that you like jaskier getting his hands massaged so...without further ado...

ship: eskier :) (eskel x jaskier)

warnings: jaskier overworks his hands and eskel takes care of them. lamberts an ass for 1 second in true lambert fashion

words: 1.6k

editing: ye

genre: somfte

Jaskier flexed his hands and winced as he put down his lute. Winters offered him more down time than on the road, so he could spend the winter months composing to his heart's content, working on the longer ballads that he often neglected while tagging along on the Path.

The only problem with composing and songwriting non stop was that it made his hands ache terribly.

Between plucking at his lute and gripping his quill, his hands would usually start to protest a month or so into winter. But, as all good songwriters did, he pushed through the pain, willing to continue composing no matter what. He had a reputation to uphold and Witchers to help, after all. He couldn't afford to slack off.

Eskel did not share his views.

Well, neither did Vesemir, Geralt, Lambert and Aiden, but Eskel was the most vocal about it, often plucking the quill or lute from his hands after so many hours and demanding that he rest. Right when he was in the middle of a good line too! Jaskier had lost so many good ideas to Eskel’s forced breaks.

This was the first time though that he had chosen to take a break on his own that winter, and Eskel was on him in a second.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern flowing off of him in waves as he approached Jaskier, who had been sitting the farthest away from the fire. It wasn’t his fault that the fire would dry out his lute!

“Fine,” Jaskier muttered as he struggled to close his bottle of ink. He didn't want Eskel to worry, but he realized perhaps a second too late that Eskel could probably smell the pain coming off of him.

“That’s not true,” Eskel said, seeing through the lie immediately. “Usually I have to force you to take a break.”

He didn't say anything else and Jaskier sighed. Eskel was waiting for him to admit that he was in pain, despite the fact that he already knew.

“My hands,” he whispered, forgetting that he was in a room full of Witchers with enhanced hearing. “They’re stiff, and sore, and cramped. More than usual.” He looked up at a blurry Eskel and it took him a moment to realize that he had been almost crying.

“Yeah no shit they hurt!” Lambert shouted from the couch. “If you keep fucking playing with that damn lute of yours theyre gonna fuckin fall off!”

“Lambert,” Aiden said sternly. “Shut up.”

Jaskier laughed and tried to wipe away his tears with his hands, but winced when his fingers cramped up.

Eskel brushed his hands away and gently wiped away Jaskier’s tears with his thumbs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You need to not push yourself so hard, Jaskier,” he whispered, pulling Jaskier’s face against his chest. “You don’t need to spend every single waking second of the winter composing. Winters are supposed to be for relaxing, and you haven't been doing much of that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier muttered into Eskel’s shirt. He longed to bring his hands up to hug Eskel and reassure him that this was fine, it just happened every so often, but his hands hurt too much. He didn't want them to cramp so hard that they ended up stuck in one position. That was never pleasant.

“No,” Eskel said firmly. “Don’t apologize.”

He tugged Jaskier closer to him, resting his chin on top of his head so that Jaskier was engulfed in the arms of his Witcher. Jaskier inhaled Eskel’s scent deeply. He smelled like he always did in the winters: of wood and musk, chamomile and fresh bread. It was Jaskier’s favorite smell in the world. It meant that his love was well rested and taken care of, healthy for once after a long year on the Path.

Eskel pulled away after a moment and tugged at Jaskier’s upper arm, encouraging him to stand.

“Come here,” he said, his eyes bright with what could only be an idea. And who was Jaskier to say no to him?

He followed Eskel over to the nest of furs that they kept in front of the fire, for puppy piles usually. Eskel directed him to sit down in the nest and then with a stern look not to move, he darted out of the room.

“What the hell is that sneaky fucker- mmph” Lambert’s insult was cut off by Aiden kissing him on the mouth, likely to get him to shut up.

Geralt sighed and turned a page in his book, but Vesemir, who was sitting on the other side of the fire knitting, regarded them with a fond look before turning to Jaskier.

“I have a salve that you could put on your hands, it’ll help with the cramping,” he said.

“Oh! That’s very kind but-”

Jaskier was cut off by Eskel running back into the room.

“I already got it, Vesemir,” Eskel said, walking back to the nest.

Vesemir smiled knowingly and went back to his knitting.

“C’mere Jaskier,” Eskel said, sitting behind him and tugging one of the furs across Jaskier’s lap. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of Jaskier’s chemise before opening the little tub of salve. “Lean back, relax, you don't have to do any more composing today, or tomorrow, or this whole week. I’m going to take care of you.”

Jaskier was glad that his back was to Eskel because he could feel his cheeks flushing.

Eskel picked up Jaskier’s right hand delicately in his much larger, sword calloused ones. “Let me know if I’m hurting you at any point, okay?”

Jaskier nodded and watched, mesmerized, as Eskel began to rub out the cramps in his hand. He started with his fingers, beginning with his pinky finger, and rubbing out the tensions in each of the joints. It was almost painful at first, but Jaskier soon adjusted to it and found himself craving more.

Once Eskel had worked his way slowly through Jaskier’s fingers, he moved to his palm, taking it in both of his hands and massaging it slowly in small, but firm circles. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh of pleasure that escaped his lips.

“Yes, that’s it,” Eskel murmured. “Just relax, I’ve got you.”

Jaskier let his head drop back against Eskel’s shoulder as he looked out at the room. Lambert and Aiden were bickering over a game of Gwent, passing a bottle of White Gul back and forth between them. Geralt was pretending to read, but every so often his eyes would flick up to the game and he’d mutter sometimes useful hints to Lambert and Aiden.

Jaskier watched them fondly as Eskel moved to his wrist, giving the tendons there extra attention. From there he moved up Jaskier’s forearm to his elbow, massaging his skin carefully.

Jaskier flexed his hand experimentally and was surprised when he discovered that he had definitely more movement than before. But Eskel covered his hand scoldingly.

“No,” he said. “Don't go undoing all of my hard work.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier murmured. “It just felt so nice and-”

“I’m not done yet,” Eskel said, cutting Jaskier off as he dipped his fingers into the salve.

Eskel warmed the salve first in his hands before rubbing it against Jaskier’s skin. And Meliele’s sweet tits, if the massage had been heavenly, this was absolutely divine. Vesemir had been right, the salve was positively wonderful, seemingly wonderful, drawing out the pain from his hands almost instantly. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips.

Eskel laughed lightly, rubbing the salve all over Jaskier’s hands and wrists, even going up his arm a little, before reaching for a few small straight planks of wood and a roll of bandages that he must have grabbed while he was getting the salve.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jaskier protested. “Just what are you doing with that?”

“You don't want the salve getting everywhere,” Eskel explained. “So it’s best to put the bandage on until it soaks into your skin. And the splint will help keep your hands from cramping and getting stuck in an uncomfortable position while they’re bandaged.”

“But what is a musician without his hands!”

“A resting, healing one,” Eskel said, pressing a light kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “I’ll help you with everything, my songbird. I’m here to take care of you.”

Jaskier pouted but held his hand out to Eskel to bandage. “You better mean that.”

“Of course I do,” Eskel said, wrapping Jaskier’s hand and wrist in bandages first before placing the wood underneath it and arranging his fingers over it before wrapping it in even more bandages. The end result was a bit clunky looking and Jaskier wasn’t crazy about the fact that he wasn't going to be able to use his hands at all, but Eskel had promised that he would take care of him and Jaksier knew that he would deliver.

“See?” Eskel said, placing a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s bandaged hand. “All better.”

Jaskier smiled at his lover's efforts before leaning back against Eskel’s soft chest as he got started on his other hand. He watched his careful ministrations through half lidded eyes before the heat from the fire and the warmth from the furs lulled him into a half asleep state. The only thing keeping him awake was Eskel’s gentle massaging of his hand.

But eventually, Eskel finished, tying off the bandage with another kiss before wrapping his arms around Jaskier.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Jaskier muttered truthfully. He was tired, but at least his hands didn't ache so fiercely anymore.

Eskel pressed another kiss to his hair and laid back, tugging Jaskier until he was resting his head on his chest, and wrapped a fur around the two of them.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours to take the bandages off,” Eskel murmured into his ear. “But until then, rest well my songbird.”

And Jaskier did. He fell asleep to the gentle roar of the crackling fire, to Lambert and Aiden’s drunken bickering, and to Eskel’s steady heartbeat under his ear.

happyyyestttt of birthdayssss to peterrrrrr

tag list: hmu if you want on or off

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#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #jaskel #jaskel fic #jaskel fanfic #eskel #jaskier #eskel x jaskier #theyre SOMFT #saph scribbles

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flowercrown-bard · 2 years ago

Text

Final chapter (probably) of the Jaskel fic I stopped writing a year ago is finally up

#jaskel #jaskier #eskel #fic #fanfic #witcher #my writing #jaskierxeskel

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wordsablaze · 4 years ago

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16~ i’ll be here like you were

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: it seems june is way too warm for angst so we get even more softness instead...

previous chapter

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @havenoffandoms @lasaga666 @mayastormborn @alllthequeenshorses @little-piece-of-tamlin @selectivegeekwithstandards

It’s not that Eskel had been struggling to maintain their seated positions or anything, it’s just that after Jaskier’s head had fallen into his lap for the second time, he’d decided that moving to the bed was a better idea.

And he’s right, because Jaskier wakes up with a yawn and a very confused noise, followed immediately by a quiet but hopeful, “Why isn’t my neck all stiff?”

“That would be because I moved you,” Eskel replies softly, but not softly enough to avoid Jaskier’s breath hitching as he realises his pillow is in fact a witcher.

Eskel expects the hitch in his breathing to be followed by him springing to his feet or something but Jaskier only yawns again and lets his head flop back down even as he stretches his limbs a little. “How very considerate of you, darling, thank you.”

There is a very very small part of Eskel’s mind that wonders why Jaskier hadn’t called him his darling as opposed to just generally a darling, but that small part is quickly squashed down by the rest of his intelligence reminding him that he really ought not to base his standing with the bard on something as trivial as groggy mumbling.

“Wait, why are you still in bed?” Jaskier asks after a moment.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Eskel replies honestly.

“But you’re a witcher…”

When Jaskier says nothing more on the matter, Eskel frowns. He runs a hand through Jaskier’s hair - only to push it out of his eyes, of course - before nodding as best as he can whilst lying down. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you even if I were a goat,” he says.

Jaskier snorts, then pulls himself right and tilts his head to the right. “A goat? I can’t say I have much experience with goats but aren’t they more of a violent species?”

“And witchers aren’t?” Eskel asks, raising an eyebrow as he too sits up.

Waving a hand dismissively, Jaskier shrugs. “No more than necessary, of course. It wouldn’t do for a witcher to be incapable of violence, after all, whatever would I sing about in taverns then?”

Eskel hums in agreement but he’s pretty sure Jaskier could sing about something as mundane as apples and still captivate an audience. Speaking of, Jaskier seems to actually realise he’s awake as soon as he mentions singing and is on his feet before Eskel can decide whether or not to voice his thoughts. Ah well, maybe next time.

Turns out watching Jaskier stumble around and assemble himself is just as amusing every time he does it. It’s honestly also a little impressive how quickly he can go from sleepy and only vaguely coherent to more or less professional and composed.

“Well, are you coming?” Jaskier asks once he’s ready and dressed.

Eskel blinks. “Where?”

Jaskier smirks and opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again. He clears his throat as he gestures towards somewhere through the window. “To the tavern?”

He shakes his head. “I should go check on Scorpion, maybe next time.”

“Of course! Scorpion, right, of course, your noble steed. I’ll just, uh- I mean, alright,” Jaskier replies, waving a goodbye before leaving with his lute in hand.

Eskel only briefly dwells on the feeling that he’s done something wrong before also getting ready, finding himself in the stables and being headbutted by Scorpion before he knows it. He looks around to make sure he’s alone before saying anything just to avoid the air being filled with ash and disappointment again. “Hey, girl. You’ve probably been worried, right? Well, it turns out the bard is more skilled than I’d assumed. But you probably knew that since you both got me back together, huh?”

He narrowly avoids having his foot stepped on.

“What was that for?” he asks incredulously. Scorpion just huffs at him. Then bites at his pockets, which is odd because he didn't actually remember to put any- oh.

“I guess you really won him over,” Eskel says as he offers her the sugarcubes, but now he’s torn between making sure she doesn’t bite his fingers and wondering how Jaskier knew to put treats in his pocket, not to mention how he did so without him noticing.

It’s not difficult to assume that’s a habit creeping in from all the time he’s spent with Geralt; Roach is one of if not the most spoiled horse on the continent. But it is difficult to decide whether he should ask Jaskier about it, whether it would be accepted gratitude or just another painful reminder. In the end, Scorpion finishes her snack before he’s decided, which is a little annoying because he’s usually not so indecisive about anything. Well, Jaskier is hardly just anything so that almost makes sense, but still.

“That’s my epic tale, our champion prevailed. Defeated the villain, now pour him some ale...”

Eskel frowns as he walks into the tavern, immediately looking for Jaskier to see if he’s alright. And surprisingly, he is. Not that Eskel would rather he wasn’t - and in fact he’s very relieved that singing about Posada isn’t causing any problems - but he has no idea how Jaskier suddenly seems more willing to accept that request. Gods, bards are confusing.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, oh valley of plenty!”

And someone does.

Eskel blinks at the little hand dropping a coin onto the table, the little hand that’s attached to a young girl who’s beaming up at him as if he’s saved her entire family or something. “You’re not my witcher but I wanted to give you a coin anyway,” she says loudly.

“Uh, thank you,” Eskel mutters, careful to keep his face angled just enough that he doesn’t scare her away and ruin her smile.

Not that he should have worried, because she very casually frowns at him, picks the coin back up, and pokes his leg. “Do you not like coins?”

He shrugs but politely holds his hand out, letting her firmly place the coin into it and offering her the best smile he can manage because he doesn’t really know why she hasn’t run off to her parents yet. “I do, it’s lovely. Thank you again.”

“Was the monster really scary?” she whisper-asks as she leans forward, her eyes wide and curious.

Eskel knows the women on the table behind him are listening in, he can smell that they’re suspicious of him, but they make no move to interfere so he just shrugs and leans forward too. “It was mostly just ugly,” he whispers.

The girl giggles and rocks back on her heels, shaking her head at him. “Like Uncle Luka?”

“Probably not, unless your Uncle Luka has green skin.”

The girl’s eyes widen again. She pauses as if she genuinely thinks her uncle might have green skin and then shakes her head. “No, he’s just the normal ugly. What kind of green was the monster’s skin?”

He genuinely has no idea how to answer that in a way she’ll easily understand. And thankfully, he doesn’t have to. “The kind of green you see after it’s been raining a lot and all the grass has been squashed into the bottom of a really big puddle,” Jaskier says, kneeling in front of the girl with a soft smile.

“Eww!” she laughs, turning her attention away from Eskel and towards Jaskier, who spares a moment to smile at him before producing a flower from nowhere and holding it up in front of the girl’s nose so she has to go cross-eyed to look at it, laughing harder as she does.

“A daisy for Daisy,” Jaskier whispers, winking at her.

The girl - called Daisy, apparently - all but snatches the flower, then turns on her heel and waves at him. “You can give the coin to your bard if you don’t like it, by the way. Mama says you should give things you don’t like to people who do like them so everyone’s happy.”

Jaskier snorts as she finally leaves and jumps up into someone’s lap a few tables away, but there’s a redness blooming across his cheeks as he slides onto the seat opposite Eskel. And Eskel’s not sure about his own face but he’s pretty sure he looks just as startled because he genuinely had not considered that being called Jaskier’s witcher would lead to Jaskier being called his bard.

“You don’t have to be,” Eskel blurts.

Jasker raises an eyebrow at him. “Be what, darling?”

“My bard.”

Apparently, the sour scent of worry and doubt never gets any easier to deal with. Eskel’s already lost any appetite he may have had by the time Jaskier remembers how to breathe and some of the sourness fizzles away from the air between them, just enough so that it’s not quite overwhelming.

“You don’t like that?” Jaskier asks slowly.

“No, I-” Eskel pauses, confused. “I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

Jaskier blinks at him. Twice. Then he sighs and lets go of his lute, placing it down beside him. “Don’t go anywhere, I need a drink before we have this conversation.”

Well, that sounds terrifying.

His only comfort while he waits for Jaskier to return is that he smells softer and warmer again, which can only mean they’re about to have a useful conversation instead of some kind of argument. Still, his muscles don’t relax until Jaskier places a drink in front of him and smiles, not quite sadly but not exactly happily either - it’s confusing but it’s a nice smile nonetheless.

“I believe you’re under the mistaken assumption that being my witcher is an unrequited belonging?” Jaskier asks eventually, leaning an elbow on the table and resting his chin on his palm.

Eskel shrugs. “Like I said, you’re free to leave whenever you wish.”

Jaskier laughs quietly, his head tilting a little to the right. “And what makes you think there’s anywhere else I’d rather be than by your very handsome side?”

“I just don’t want- I mean, I would hate to quell the adventures you seek,” Eskel admits.

There’s a moment of silence before Jaskier reaches across the table and curls his fingers in a grabbing motion until Eskel frowns and offers him his hand, which he immediately takes and gently squeezes. “Eskel, my darling, you are walking along a very dangerous path somewhere between painfully considerate and painfully foolish. And I should know, for I’ve been told I’m an expert at the latter.”

Eskel laughs before he can think about it and judging by the look in Jaskier’s eyes, that was probably his intention. “You’re not doing too bad right now,” he replies.

Jaskier shrugs. “I might not have lived as long as you but even I’ve been around long enough to learn when I’m overstaying my welcome.” Before Eskel can ask anything about that, Jaskier clears his throat and continues, “Let me explain this another way: name a tale of mine that you particularly enjoy?”

A little blindsided by the question, it takes Eskel a moment to think of what to say. But it’s not a difficult choice; there’s one ballad about a warrior who’d been entrapped by a wraith for days until his beloved had arrived to remind him what he’d miss out on if he succumbed to someone else’s misery that had been stuck in his head for almost an entire year. “The knight in the tower,” he answers.

“Interesting choice,” Jaskier tells him in a way that implies he’s made the right choice, then leans even closer, lowering his voice. “I’m going to let you in on a very small and privileged secret now: I based that entire story on Geralt accidentally locking himself in the wrong stable overnight one time.”

Eskel blinks. Then bursts out laughing. He bites down his amusement as quickly as possible but not before he sets Jaskier off, and it takes several minutes for the bard to stop laughing. Once he has, he grins widely, squeezing Eskel’s hand again. “Do you understand me now? I’m not in desperate need of the adventures you imagine me to be, I only require the slightest of inspiration and I can assure you that your company is more than enough.”

He thinks he does understand, but he also has another pressing concern: “So the knight’s beloved was actually…?”

Jaskier smirks and nods. “Roach.”

Melitele help him, he’s unfamiliar with this pleasant ache of amusement and he’s not sure how he’s lived without it for so long. As soon as they’ve both recovered from laughing, he squeezes Jaskier’s hand back. “I would be honoured if you were to… if you were to be my bard.”

“Luckily for you, then, everyone here already seems to believe I am. And I have no interest in disagreeing with them,” Jaskier says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And everywhere else?” Eskel asks, just wanting, needing to check he’s understanding this right and not just wishfully extrapolating.

Jaskier shrugs. “I’m a bard , Eskel. I can guarantee you my songs will travel faster than we can and our reputation will precede us wherever we go.”

Eskel chuckles. “You’re placing a lot of faith in your songs, bardling.”

“Wouldn’t you, if you were me?” Jaskier asks, raising his eyebrows, and when he considers the dramatic tale of the wraith that had apparently been built upon nothing but an embarrassing story, Eskel decides he has no reason to argue. Besides, confidence is a good look on practically anyone and Jaskier is no exception so it'd just be rude of him to ruin that for the sake of it.

“Perhaps,” Eskel finally replies with a shrug, but he’s certain the smile that won’t leave his face gives him away. Not that he minds, if he’s honest, because it’s only logical for his bard to be the one who reads between his lines. And oh, what a scarily beautiful notion that is.

yes i used a random child to prompt character development, cliché is my middle name ;)

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

#jaskel #jaskel fanfic #jaskier #eskel #jaskier x eskel #the witcher #fanfiction #slow burn #idiots in love #soft eskel #soft jaskier #they are slowly but surely getting there #we've reached 40k and they're only just getting somewhere #this would be a very slow paced novel oops #good thing it's a fanfic and i make the rules ;)#fluff #my writing #tmypicta

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fireandpowder · 4 years ago

Photo

love is heavy and light by violaceum_vitellina_viridis

Chapters: 24/24, 84,291 words

Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher), Coën (The Witcher), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Minor Original Characters - Character, Minor Characters

Additional Tags: Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Five Stages of Grief, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Episode Related, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Episode Fix-it, Whump, Ruthlessly Cherry-Picked Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Piercings, POV Changes, Crying, Worry, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing a Bed, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Song: Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (The Witcher), Threesome, Anal Sex Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Swordfighting, Minor Violence, Minor Injuries, The Inherent Tragedy of Witchers, Deidre Ademeyn (The Witcher), Vesemir Is the Best Papa, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Plot Relevant Genital Piercings, Body Piercing, Light Dom/sub, Group Sex, Family Bonding, Feral Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Cult of Kate

Series: Part 17 of fire and powder

Summary:

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Jaskier doesn’t remember getting off the mountain.

The dragon hunt happens, and everyone has to cope with the fall out of that.

(See first author's note for important things about the rating and tags!)

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nitrogen-and-crisis · 1 year ago

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Finally working on my requests.

…slowly

They’ll be done. One day. Maybe after midterms.

#ao3 fanfic #ao3 #witcher fanfiction #writing #jaskier x eskel #eskel #jaskier #jaskel #midterms #the eternal suffering of having no time to write #did we really need to write two essays for one English midterm

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smolalienbee · 3 years ago

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This Must Be The Place

game!Eskel/Netflix!Jaskier // set in netflix!verse, canon divergent post the mountain hunt where Jaskier and Geralt never meet again // 5.6k words // gift fic for @sevdrag! happy birthday!

Jaskier, it seems, has a penchant for running into witchers. Decades after the unfortunate dragon hunt, decades since he’s last seen Geralt, he meets another man with a wolf medallion and two swords. He knows, instantly, that he’s in over his head.

(In which Jaskier has a home away from everything and Eskel takes a much needed week long vacation.)

read on AO3 here!

When he sees him, Jaskier’s first instinct is to bolt.

Silver and steel, two swords on the back of a broad-shouldered man walking down the street — Jaskier freezes as soon as his eyes land on him and he presses his basket of fresh fruit closer to his chest lest he drops it in shock.

It’s been decades since he’s last seen Geralt. Years since he’s last seen any witcher, although he’s run into a few of them even after he and Geralt went their separate ways as a result of what had happened on that blasted mountainside. Here, though, he’s not prepared for it. It’s a quiet town, forgotten by monsters and witchers alike — as though the coastline nearing it is the very edge of the world that few outsiders dare to approach.

To Jaskier’s relief, it’s immediately obvious the witcher in front of him isn’t Geralt. Apparently, though, that knowledge alone is not enough to stop the memories from flooding back in, to the point that Jaskier doesn’t even realize that minutes pass as he stands there, frozen in the middle of the way. Frozen for long enough that the witcher has the time to turn and notice him staring.

There’s a nasty scar running through the right half of his face, but that’s not what brings Jaskier out of his stupor. It’s the hurt that briefly flashes across the witcher’s face, the way he tilts his head the other way. Jaskier knows that look well — the look of someone exhausted of being feared and despised wherever he goes. It breaks Jaskier’s heart to see it.

(It breaks his heart even more to know that this time he’s the cause of it.)

Of course, the witcher is quick to school his expression into something more neutral and then he turns, about to walk away as if nothing had happened. It’s in that split second that Jaskier makes a decision — even though he’s fairly certain this isn’t something he should be doing, if the way his heart stutters is anything to go by.

“Wait —” he calls out and rushes forward.

The market isn’t crowded (it never is, the town is hardly big enough for it to be), but there’s still enough people around that Jaskier has to push past them to catch up to him. He keeps a hold on the basket with one arm, while with his other one, he reaches out towards the witcher and grasps his elbow once he’s close enough to do so. Jaskier’s touch immediately gets him to stop and when he turns his head towards him, it all clicks.

Now, up close, Jaskier takes proper stock of him — there’s the scar, yes, but there’s another thing that Jaskier takes note of. The wolf medallion.

“Eskel,” Jaskier gasps, recognition for a man he’s never met briefly flashing in his eyes. “You’re Eskel, right?”

He’s heard the tales. A witcher with a scar so hideous that people have likened him to a monster — excessive, that, Jaskier thinks to himself now that he gets to see him closely. The scar, startling as it might be, is hardly horrifying.

(He’s also heard about him from Geralt. Not much, of course, but enough to know how very close Eskel and Geralt always were.)

“How would you know?” the witcher — Eskel — asks and he seems equally surprised and intrigued. Jaskier grins at him, preening under the attention on an instinct before he realizes what he’s being asked and what he needs to say. His smile falters.

Letting out a steadying breath, he pulls his arm back and instead reaches up to fix his hair. In his rush to reach Eskel, some of the strands have fallen out of the loose bun at the back of his head and he pushes them out of his face, using it as an excuse to stall his response just a little bit.

(His hair is long, these days, and greying. The irony of wearing it similarly to how Geralt did is not lost on him.)

“Ah,” he lets out a soft noise, shuffles around until the basket he’s carrying is under his left arm and his right hand is free to be offered for a handshake. “I’m Jaskier.” There’s a glint of recognition there, but to Jaskier’s surprise, Eskel doesn’t interrupt him. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, retired bard, a man of many names and I… I used to travel with Geralt. Geralt of Rivia. I’ve heard about you from him.”

(He doesn’t think it wise to mention the other people he’s heard from about Eskel. After all, Geralt is the only one who’s only ever had good things to say about him.)

Eskel relaxes at his response. He hums and takes Jaskier’s hand, squeezing it tightly as he speaks. “So you’re the bard, then. Geralt’s told me about you, too.”

“Has he? Nothing particularly flattering, I’d imagine.” It’s a joke, it’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out flat and Eskel seems to notice as much, too.

“No, the opposite,” he says. A small pause before he continues, “Did you really think he would talk badly about you?”

Jaskier hasn’t been expecting that sort of question. He opens and closes his mouth, gaze drifting away from Eskel. He’s really not making a good first impression, is he? Insulting Geralt right to his brother’s face the first time they meet.

“No. No, I — of course not,” he murmurs. It’s true — he’s had time to get over his bitterness and hurt, but there’s something about meeting Eskel that’s making him relive some of those long forgotten emotions. He doesn’t quite know how to handle it. He shakes his head — best to change the topic. “Not many witchers wander all the way out here,” he says. “Are you in a rush? Dealing with a contract?”

“Not in a rush. Just passing by.”

“I live nearby. I have wine, I can treat you to a glass. Or two.”

Eskel tilts his head as he considers it for a moment. “Wouldn’t be right to refuse local hospitality,” he says with a nod and a small smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier throws a wide grin his way, feeling lighter than he’s had in ages. “Now that’s the spirit. Let’s go, then, witcher dear.”

In the end, there’s three of them that walk to Jaskier’s house — not just Jaskier and Eskel, but also Scorpion, Eskel’s horse. The witcher had meant to leave him in a stable in town, but it didn’t take much convincing before he changed his mind.

(“You might as well take him along,” Jaskier had said. “I have a small stable. There’s plenty of space, a bed — if you need somewhere to stay… folks around here don’t scare easily, they won’t mind a witcher, but you’ll save coin this way.” And so Eskel agreed.)

Along the way, Eskel tells him how he had gotten the horse — apparently through invoking the law of surprise. It’s when Jaskier promptly refers to it as a Horse Surprise that he learns the sound of Eskel's laughter, deep, just as his voice is, and with a pleasant ring to it that he doesn’t think he could ever grow tired of.

The entire time Jaskier tries to avoid thinking about why he’s decided to invite Eskel to his home. It’s just that he knows how unkind the world can be to witchers, he tells himself, and that he wants to make it a little easier for the ones he comes across. It’s not at all that he misses the company. It’s not that, even now, decades later, he still feels most at ease around someone who reminds him so much of Geralt.

(It’s not fair to Eskel, he knows. But he can’t help it, the way his mind naturally latches onto the similarities.)

At this point in their journey, Jaskier’s property comes into view — a picturesque wooden cottage with its surrounding land. There’s a garden, filled with vegetables and flowers and herbs; a stable with just enough room for three horses at most, a chicken coop — all things that Jaskier tends to mostly on his own.

(A home that decades ago he never would’ve thought he would want.)

“You have a… farm. I thought you were just a bard,” Eskel comments as they approach, tilting his head to look around.

“Retired bard, thank you very much. Some of us do grow old, you know. Unlike your lot.”

Eskel huffs a laugh. “The grey hair suits you,” he hums.

“Easy for you to say,” Jaskier mumbles. “You’ve never seen me before and I highly doubt Geralt’s descriptions were particularly… evocative. I used to be a dashing young man, I’ll have you know.”

“You’d be right, Geralt isn’t as good with words as I’m sure you are,” Eskel agrees with an amused smile. “But even then, I don’t think I’m wrong to say that you look lovely.”

Oh, but this is just rude. Jaskier feels his cheeks heat up at the compliment and he shakes his head, deciding to brush it off before he gets himself even more flustered.

(Because surely Eskel is not flirting with him. Why would he?)

“Well, you’re definitely far more smooth than Geralt, I’ll give you that.”

“Not trying to be,” Eskel mutters, glancing away. He raises the hand that isn’t holding Scorpion’s lead and idly rubs at the scarred side of his face. “Just calling things as they are.”

Jaskier doesn’t know Eskell well enough (doesn’t know him at all, truly) to be able to say for certain what it is that’s going through his mind. Regardless, though, he’s skilled enough in reading even complete strangers that he can tell when someone is uncomfortable, as seems to be the case with this witcher.

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmurs, accepting the compliment for what it is. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he then adds, winking at Eskel in an attempt to get him to lighten up.

And while his words do manage to get Eskel to huff a chuckle, he also rubs harder at his jaw, tilting his head as though instinctively trying to hide the scar.

(Jaskier’s fingers suddenly itch with a desire to touch it, to tilt Eskel’s head towards him and show him that he has nothing to be ashamed of. He does none of that.)

“There’s no need for the flattery,” Eskel mutters.

Jaskier smiles, echoing Eskel’s own words back at him. “Just calling things as they are.” He shrugs. “I happen to find scars rather charming, dear. Signs of a life well lived.”

Eskel laughs, properly this time, and Jaskier’s relieved to hear the sound of it again, having hoped he’d be able to ease some of the witcher’s discomfort.

“That’s one way to put it. Hard to forget you’re a poet when you say things like that.”

“Quite. If there’s one thing old age has not dulled, it’s my wit.”

By now, they have reached the stable and Jaskier gestures towards one of the empty stalls next to his own horse. “Scorpion, meet Pegasus, Pegasus, this is Scorpion.” He steps closer and gently pats the side of his stallion’s muzzle. “Behave, you old bastard,” he hums, voice dripping with affection. “I’m sure you two will be best friends in no time.”

Eskel snorts softly at his words but says nothing as he busies himself with leading Scorpion into the stall. Once the horse is settled, Jaskier is the first one to saunter outside. He spreads his arms out wide, doesn’t bother to check if Eskel is following as he continues towards the house.

“Here we are, then. My little… haven on this Continent. Garden’s over there, there’s chickens — introductions later, though, haven’t come up with this week’s names yet — then there’s…” he trails off as he hears a crunch of gravel behind him and bleating. Coming to a stop, he glances over his shoulder towards the source of the noise and sees Eskel being lovingly assaulted by his two goats. “...the goats, yes,” he finishes with a delighted note to his voice.

While the goats, curious as ever, circle around the visitor, Eskel carefully lowers himself to a crouch. Immediately, the smaller one, with a beige-white fur coat, pounces, her front hoofs landing directly on the side of Eskel’s back. Jaskier watches the whole scene, the soft smile on his face matching Eskel’s own as the witcher gently nudges the goat off and tries to keep it from bumping too much into the dulled spikes on the shoulder of his armor.

“The overly excitable one is Pippin,” Jaskier tells him, nodding towards the goat as it now tries to nibble on Eskel’s hair. “The other one,” He points out the second goat, this one with a black-white fur coat and considerably calmer disposition. “That’s Gertrude.”

“I had a goat once,” Eskel muses. Well, that’d certainly explain why he instantly seemed so comfortable with them.

“Geralt never mentioned pets.”

“Because we don’t usually have them. Too dangerous, for one, and it’s not like any of us have much time for it. I can’t even imagine some of us caring for one.”

“Apparently you did, though,” Jaskier points out, stepping away so that he can lean against the side of the house while he continues to watch Eskel. “Have a pet, I mean.”

“Yeah — well, Lil’ Bleater was just monster bait, at first. She survived, though, and kept following me around. So I —” He shrugs as he runs his fingers over Pippin’s back. “— brought her up to the mountains with me.”

Jaskier has always been aware that there’s a lot he doesn't know about the life at Kaer Morhen, about all the remaining witchers. There’s been stories, of course, ones that Geralt had told him during late nights around a campfire. But there’s always been details that were missing, things that perhaps Geralt hadn’t even thought to be noteworthy. Meeting Eskel is further proof of that and Jaskier isn’t sure whether to be happy that he gets to hear more or bitter that Geralt had always been so stingy with the details.

(Now, though, is hardly the time to try and figure out that whirlwind of emotion.)

“Lil’ Bleater?” he repeats, with a gentle grin that Eskel gets to see as he nudges the goats and stands up. “That was her name?”

“Yeah,” Eskel confirms. “She died some years ago. Old age, so nothing gruesome.”

“The only thing that will get us all,” Jaskier laughs, pushing himself off the wall. “Well, some of us. Not a bad way to go, though. Come on, let me show you the inside.”

Eskel, as it quickly turns out, fits perfectly into the calm landscape of Jaskier’s life.

The first day, he spent poking around the cottage, still a bit awkwardly out of place. With an amused fondness, Jaskier recalls that day and how the witcher had first discovered a miniature model of the cottage, situated on a shelf in Jaskier’s sitting room.

“Is that… a tiny stable?” Eskel had asked, a hand hovering in front of it, but never quite touching as though afraid to break it.

“Yes!” Jaskier had confirmed. “And there’s tiny horses inside. You know, as opposed to… horse-sized horses.”

Eskel had laughed loudly at that and the memory of it still warms Jaskier from inside.

It doesn’t take much longer after that for Eskel to find his own footing and rhythm in Jaskier’s space, amongst Jaskier’s daily habits. He likes to make himself useful, Jaskier notices, and quietly enjoys even the mundane and repetitive tasks. And so Jaskier goes through it all — shows him when and how to feed the chickens, teaches him how to care for the garden and, of course, the goats need no explanation.

(Eskel never says that he misses Lil’ Bleater, but Jaskier thinks that he must, if how much time he spends with Pippin and Gertrude is anything to go by.)

Despite being just a guest, Eskel never protests being asked to do these things. In fact, he appears to be revelling in the simplicity of it and in his usefulness that for once doesn’t hinge on killing monsters and protecting people.

It’s afternoon, when Jaskier returns from a short supply run to a nearby town. He had brought Pegasus with him as the weather has been all over the place lately — summer storms coming and going as they please and so his joints have been complaining, more than usual and enough so that he didn’t dare try to walk the distance.

The scent of fresh bread is wafting out from inside the house and Jaskier follows it directly to the kitchen. There he finds Eskel, apparently having just finished baking as there’s bread still cooling on the table. Jaskier smiles, unceremoniously dropping a linen bag onto a nearby counter before handing Eskel one of the apples he had bought while out.

“For your efforts, my homebody witcher,” he teases. Eskel rolls his eyes at him, briefly rubs at his jaw with one hand, but then takes the offered fruit.

“I don’t think there’s a single person on the entire Continent that would ever guess you’d be calling me your witcher,” he rumbles as he twists the apple between his fingers.

“Ah, yes, well,” Jaskier murmurs, going about unpacking his bags as though the implication of what Eskel had said is lost on him. Of course, it’s not, not at all. “Geralt had never truly been mine, had he?”

When he lifts his gaze from the bag, he sees that Eskel has frozen on the spot and is now looking at him with concern painting his features. Jaskier sighs.

“I — fuck, Jaskier, I’m sorry, I don’t know why—”

“No, Eskel, it’s alright,” he reassures him quickly. He abandons his groceries for the moment, instead turning fully towards Eskel before taking a step towards him. “It’s been a long, long time. It’s alright, I promise.” Eskel softens, but there’s still a crease of worry between his eyes and so Jaskier reaches out to gently smooth it out with his thumb. “Did he ever tell you I asked him to come to the coast with me?” he asks in a whisper, pulling his hand back.

“No,” Eskel shakes his head, eyes trailing after Jaskier’s hand. “I… never really figured it out, what happened between the two of you. He used to talk about you whenever we reunited for the winter, but then at some point he just stopped. I asked, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. He would tense up, storm out, whenever someone brought up you or your songs.”

Stepping away, Jaskier hums. “It wasn’t long after I asked that we parted ways,” he explains. Needing something to do with his hands, he turns away from Eskel and rummages around until he comes up with a knife and then makes his way over to where the freshly baked bread is. “He… he said some things to me. Bloody awful things. I’ve forgiven him, since, but I never thought it wise to seek him out and we just…” he trails off, frowning as he digs the knife into the bread.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Jaskier focuses on the motion of cutting the bread into thick slices, listening to the rhythmic noise of the knife as it thuds against the cutting board below.

“I’d like to think moving here was some way of reclaiming what happened,” he continues eventually. “What with how close the coast is, but… it would just be another flowery lie, fitting material for a song, maybe.” He laughs softly. “I never really thought about it that much, about making a home here. It’s just peaceful. Nice for retirement. Few know I’m out here and really, I’m more of a Julian than a Jaskier to the people around here.”

Eskel’s eyes have never left him and he knows as much even without glancing at the witcher. He exhales, pausing the movements of his arm. It’s been so long since he’s last talked with anyone about what happened with Geralt… no, actually, he’s not sure if he’s ever told anyone the truth of what happened, save for a few curt words of explanation or metaphors shoved into lyrics he wrote while his heart was still freshly broken and aching. It’s a far duller feeling, now, and he suspects the only reason it’s still there at all is because of how much of his life he had really spent around Geralt.

(It hits him, sometimes, how he had grown up with Geralt at his side. It’s a strange realization to have, even at his age.)

“You know, he…” Eskel speaks slowly. “Each winter, when he talked about you, it got fonder and fonder. At first you were just — the bard. Then, Jaskier. Then… his friend.”

Jaskier doesn’t even realize when his grip on the knife slips. The clatter of it hitting the table startles him as much as it does Eskel and he stares at the witcher with wide eyes.

(It doesn’t startle him as much as Eskel’s words have, though.)

“Jaskier? Jaskier, what’s wrong?”

Eskel, confused and concerned, is at his side in an instant. Jaskier doesn’t dare move.

“He… he said I was his friend?”

“What? Yes, you —”

“He never told me.”

Eskel immediately closes his mouth at his words and meanwhile, Jaskier tries to blink away the sudden tears that threaten to spill. Why this is affecting him so much, he’s not sure. Perhaps it just so happens that Eskel’s peaceful presence and the specific words that he said are enough to dig up wounds that Jaskier hadn’t even realized aren’t fully healed.

“Jaskier…” the witcher murmurs. He steps closer and Jaskier looks over at him, one hand moving up to wipe the wetness off his own cheek.

“I should’ve looked for him,” Jaskier chokes out. He doesn’t resist when Eskel pulls him into a hug. “After the — I should’ve at least… tried.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jaskier wants to believe him. He presses his face into the crook of Eskel’s neck and his fingers curl around the fabric on the back of his shirt.

“I know. I know, but I could have… he was hurting, Eskel.”

“You were, too.”

“I didn’t know,” Jaskier whimpers and Eskel holds him even closer.

A week into Eskel’s stay the weather finally clears properly and the nights get warm enough that the two of them can spend a late evening drinking on the back porch. When Jaskier steps out the door, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, he finds Eskel already seated on the wooden bench near the backdoor. Pippin sits by his feet and it makes for a charming picture, this intimidating witcher so relaxed and with a cute animal at his side.

Jaskier smiles to himself and comes closer, handing one of the glasses to Eskel before he takes a seat next to him. They’re both silent as he pours the wine and even as they sip slowly. Jaskier tilts his head back, taking in the night sky and the crisp summer air. There’s something comforting about the shared silence and so he doesn’t feel as though he needs to fill it in any way.

(Maybe it’s due to his age. Or maybe it’s that Eskel is particularly good at making silence feel natural.)

“Jaskier?” Eskel waits until a soft hum of acknowledgement answers him and only then does he continue. “Can I ask something of you?”

Jaskier glances over at him and nods. “Sure. What is it?”

“Could you —” Eskel hesitates. He scratches at his scar and by now Jaskier knows that it’s a nervous habit. The sight of it has him sitting up straight. “Could you sing me a song?”

Oh. Certainly not the kind of request he expected. “What?” he mutters, dumb-founded and still in the middle of processing the question.

Eskel rubs at his jaw a little more insistently, glances at Jaskier for a brief moment before taking a long sip of the wine. Jaskier waits because it’s all he can do and he knows Eskel is not ignoring him.

“I’ve heard so much about you, but I’ve never heard you sing,” he explains eventually.

“It’s — well, my voice isn’t exactly like what it used to be…”

“Can’t be worse than me on a good day,” Eskel says lightly. He doesn’t give Jaskier a chance to respond before he’s clearing his throat and breaking into a song. “De ole hen she cackled, she cackled on the fence.” It’s clear he’s not trained, his tone too flat for a song and off-key, but Jaskier finds that he doesn’t mind. It’s rather charming, how Eskel’s voice rumbles to a tune Jaskier is not entirely familiar with.

(And really, the reason why he’s doing it is even more charming.)

“Don’t really know any other songs by heart,” Eskel admits sheepishly once he lets the song die off on his tongue. “This one, my mom sang to me when I was young. The only thing I remember of her.”

Jaskier isn’t quite sure how to respond. He nods in understanding as his eyes meet Eskel’s. He already knows he won’t be able to deny him this.

“I’ll go get my lute,” he murmurs, handing his glass to Eskel as he stands up.

It’s not long before he finds it, tucked away in his bedroom. He doesn’t play often, these days, certainly not in front of an audience, despite the profound love he has for music, the love he’s always had and which is the basis for everything that he is. Last time he played, he remembers, it was when he couldn’t sleep at night. He had wandered out of his bed, down the hall, and then brought the instrument into his bedroom where he sat cross-legged and strummed, old and new melodies alike.

He inhales deeply as he picks it up, looking it over for a moment and checking the strings before he wanders back out and yet again joins Eskel on the porch outside.

“So what would you like to hear, hm?” he asks, glancing over at Eskel before he drops his gaze to the instrument as he double checks it’s in tune. “One of my old hits? Toss A Coin?”

“...maybe something that’s not about Geralt?” Eskel suggests gently, an amused lilt to his voice.

Jaskier laughs at how pointed the request is. “Tough ask, that,” he hums. “Not that I haven’t had the time to write about matters other than him, but, well… to this day, some of my best work remains that of him.” His muse, he had said once. He hasn’t found a better one since.

With a deep inhale, he straightens his back and plucks away at the strings. An improvised melody at first while he tries to figure out what to play. Eventually, the tune drifts off into a song proper, one of travels, of finding peace in solitude, morning dew and sunshine. His voice is rough at the edges and he’s well aware he doesn’t sing perfectly in tune, but he’s not singing for the coin right now nor for the sake of someone else’s good name. This time, it’s purely for himself and for Eskel, for this moment that they get to share in the tranquillity of the night.

Eventually, the song fades off into silence and Jaskier exhales softly as he catches his breath. His tongue swipes over his parched lips and as he looks up, his eyes immediately meet Eskel’s.

The witcher keeps silent even when there’s no melody filling the air between them. With no word said, he reaches a hand out and it’s only when his thumb brushes delicately under Jaskier’s eyes that he realizes that they have watered at some point during his little performance. He breathes out a chuckle, presses his lute a little closer to himself only so that he can reach out as well. He doesn’t touch at first, though, a hand hovering near Eskel’s left cheek, right above the scarred skin.

“May I?” he whispers.

Eskel nods and Jaskier smiles fondly, corners of his eyes crinkling with it. Gingerly, he trails a finger over the length of the scars, exploring them like they’re a river carved permanently into Eskel’s skin. At no point does Eskel shy away from the touch, allowing Jaskier to take in not just the look, but also the texture of it, all with a gentle sort of reverence. After a moment, Jaskier moves his hand further until he’s cupping Eskel’s cheek in the palm of his hand, tips of his fingers now brushing the strong lines of his jaw.

When he leans in, his movements are careful and he makes a point to meet Eskel’s eye, to give him enough time to pull away if he so chooses. He doesn’t, though, in fact Jaskier can feel him gravitating closer and so he doesn’t stall it any longer. His lips meet the witcher’s and he hums as he feels cracked skin against his.

The kiss is a chaste thing, though they both linger there for a while, breathing in each other’s air as their lips move lazily. Jaskier doesn’t think either of them minds how gentle and unhurried it is. He knows, in his heart of hearts, that they might not get a chance to be this close ever again. As kind as Eskel has been to him, deep down Jaskier knows that witchers don’t stay.

This time, though, he finds that he’s prepared for it. Rather than despair, he smiles into the kiss.

“So I suppose it’s about time we part ways,” Jaskier calls out as he steps out the back door.

It’s early morning and Eskel stands near the stable door as he attaches his bags to Scorpion’s side. While it’s not a surprise to see him getting ready to head out, Jaskier still feels a gentle pang in his chest at the sight — curse his overly loving heart and his penchant for falling for people who can never stay.

At the sound of Jaskier’s voice, Eskel raises his head and nods, though he waits until the bard is closer before he speaks. “I can’t stay off the Path for too long.” He sounds so apologetic about it that Jaskier can’t help, but smile, despite the painful feeling in his heart.

“I know,” he assures gently. “I know you, witchers. Won’t rest as long as there’s monsters in the world, noble heroes that you are.”

Eskel scoffs and shakes his head, looking away as he focuses on making sure the bags are properly attached. As though he doesn’t want to accept the compliment behind Jaskier’s gentle teasing.

“I’d say spending over a week at the coast, in the middle of summer, has been plenty of rest,” he murmurs, casting a quick glance towards Jaskier.

Jaskier hums softly. He doesn’t feel like arguing with Eskel over it — try as he might to point out how settled Eskel has been at his cottage, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop him from heading back out. Jaskier doesn’t want to be what holds him back.

“If you ever… change your mind,” he says slowly, leaning his side against one of the stable walls. “If you want to get away from it all. Or if you decide to retire, before you slow and get yourself killed… my doors are open for you.” Realizing how gravely serious he sounds, he continues on before Eskel can react. “Just keep in mind I’m not getting any younger. The longer you put it off, the more wrinkles I’m gonna get.”

“They’re charming. The crow’s feet.”

Jaskier laughs heartily at that. He pushes himself away from the wall and saunters over to Eskel, reaches out so that he can place a hand on the small of his back.

“You should go already, darling,” he hums. “The longer you keep saying these things, the more you’re gonna break my heart once you’re gone. And at this age, I’m not sure I could survive it.”

When Eskel turns to him, there’s a gentle frown adorning his forehead. Jaskier just smiles at him and rubs his hand over his back in quiet reassurance. He doesn’t need Eskel feeling bad for leaving. Eskel says nothing and simply leans in closer, presses a small kiss to Jaskier’s forehead which leaves the bard smiling even wider than before.

They allow themselves a minute or two of this closeness before they finally pull away from each other. Eskel climbs onto Scorpion, though he doesn’t ride away immediately. Instead, he looks over at where Jaskier stands.

“When I get back to Kaer Morhen… do you want me to… should I…”

“Tell Geralt I said hi,” Jaskier cuts him off. He’s not sure if that’s really what Eskel was getting at, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. “Tell him… tell him that he’s welcome here, too.”

“I will.”

“Thank you, Eskel. Stay safe.”

“You, too, songbird.”

Jaskier chuckles at the pet name. He runs a hand over Scorpion’s fur, then steps back to let Eskel ride away. As he does, Jaskier’s eyes trail after him for as long as he can see him and when the sound of the horse hooves is no more, he closes his eyes.

He closes his eyes, smiles towards the sun and he feels as though some weight has been taken off his chest. And as he carries on through the rest of the summer, he often thinks of Eskel, of Geralt and of the past and for once, those thoughts aren’t tainted by pain.

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