#we've reached 40k and they're only just getting somewhere

[wordsablaze]

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...

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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.

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

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