#tldr: the witchers don't want a winter without jaskier coming home

[jaskiersvalley]

Firstly, @wizard-dragontamer​ you need a nap! That is utterly cruel. And yet...

A continuation of this.

The year Geralt turned up without Jaskier, there was a sombre mood that settled over Kaer Morhen. It had become expected that Jaskier would winter with the wolves, they’d even started bringing him gifts too, to make up for missing his birthday. Though they did try to cross paths with Jaskier near his birthday but it didn’t always happen. So when Geralt returned looking stormy and without his bard by his side, disappointment was going to be the flavour of the winter it seemed.

As the days got shorter, so did their tempers. Nobody wanted to admit it, but they liked Jaskier there, not just because he made them feel like they were worth something but because he had become their friend. One morning, Lambert didn’t go down for breakfast. He wasn’t there for training. When Eskel was sent to get him, his room was empty. There were tracks in the snow of someone leaving Kaer Morhen, even though the path was a treacherous one.

There were three witchers at the old keep. Eskel didn’t speak much to Geralt, blaming him not just for Jaskier’s absence but also for Lambert leaving. Despite this, he still went down into the kitchen two weeks later and tried his best to make cakes. The first batch were charred black on the outside and still gooey on the inside. He learned that igni was not useful when it came to baking. Once the second batch were out, looking a little lumpy and sunken in, Eskel rummaged through the cupboards to try and decorate them. They looked less than perfect, wobbly and obviously done by someone who had no idea how to bake and decorate cakes. But it was the best they would have that year.

Come evening, he had three sorry looking lumps of baked travesties set out for after dinner. It was a silent affair, the three witchers ate without saying anything and, when they were all done, they eyed up their cakes.

“Thank you for this,” Vesemir said as he regarded his cake like it would explode any moment. A grunt was all Geralt could get out, not wanting to accept any part in this and yet being unable to run away. Hesitantly, they all tried their cakes. There were forced smiles but Eskel knew despite the encouragement. His cakes were disgusting and inedible, he almost gagged on his first taste.

A clang of the front doors had them all on high alert, reaching for knives for protection.

“We’re home!” Lambert yelled and there was the sound of someone muttering from beside him. A very familiar somoene.

“Jaskier!” Eskel brightened up and charged through to hug the bard.

“Oh thank fuck,” Vesemir muttered as he spat out a mouthful of cake. “I thought I was going to have to eat more of this.”

There was a lot of fussing over both Lambert and Jaskier. Vesemir cuffed Lambert on the back of the head, chastising him for leaving Kaer Morhen when the pass was the most dangerous. And for bringing a human back along the path. However, despite his words, he hugged Jaskier warmly and welcomed him home.

Jaskier was led through to the dining hall and a space cleared for him and Lambert to eat. But he spied the sad looking cakes and his face fell.

“Oh my poor darlings,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, I have failed you.”

Geralt was nowhere to be seen.

The next morning, Jaskier made breakfast, made sure his wolves were well fed before chasing them out with the promise of a proper feast in the evening. By the time dinner rolled round, the table was set. Four modest piles of gifts, the customary banner, the card and the hand made party hats were all in place and ready, along with a wonderful meal.

When Jaskier called for his wolves, three of them came running, eager in a way that was more befitting children than men over 100. It made Jaskier smile indulgently. However, he had one wayward wolf to track down.

Despite the call, Geralt was still holed up in his room and Eskel was sent to retrieve him. Sullenly, he stomped down like a sulking child. Only, he froze in the doorway of the dining hall, eyes fixed on his usual spot. Rather than the empty, unwelcoming space he’d expected, there were some carefully wrapped gifts just like everyone else had. Geralt almost turned on his heels and marched out.

“Sit! Sit! Sit!” Jaskier urged him and, slowly, like a man to his slaughter, Geralt settled. “Happy birthday, my dearest wolves!”

Eager hands flew to the cards except for Lambert who made sure to perch his hat on head first. Reading his card, Geralt’s face was blank. With careful, measured moves, he put the card back in the envelope, pushed away from his seat and walked up to Jaskier who twisted in his seat to watch. Suddenly, he had a witcher draped over his back, face buried in the crook of his neck.

“I’m so sorry.” Geralt’s words were soft, hoarse and wobbly.

Jaskier’s hands reached up to stroke through white hair and over the arms looped around his chest. Turning a little more, he pushed to stand and embraced Geralt, letting him sag into his body.

“Just because you’re an idiot doesn’t mean I love you any less,” he murmured.

When Geralt finally straightened up, his eyes looked a little watery and his hair was messed from being stroked at an awkward angle. It didn’t stop Jaskier smiling at him softly.

“That’s better. Go open your birthday presents. We can talk more this evening.”

The evening found them all on furs in front of the fireplace, curled into a pile of relaxed limbs while Jaskier hummed. Uncharaceristically, it was Geralt who fell asleep first, much to the delight of the other witchers. Lambert looked especially gleeful by the turn of events.

“Not tonight,” Jaskier held up a hand to stop him when he reached for the pot of ink that was for writing lyrics and music. “You can draw on him at any point from tomorrow onward. But tonight is the first night truce.”

“Don’t you want to talk to him?” Eskel asked from his comfortable sprawl.

“And I will.” Jaskier looked down at Geralt’s sleeping form and stroked gently over his cheek. “But we have the rest of winter for that. It’s not like he can run this time.”

Not that Geralt wanted to run anymore. He knew he was going to have to apologise and make amends but Jaskier was right, they had the rest of winter for that.