Chapter Text
The wind was biting as Jaskier reached a hand out to steady Geralt on the back of Roach, glad to see the Keep that Geralt had mentioned before he passed out. He hadn’t planned on coming up here, he knew Kaer Morhen was practically sacred to Witchers, but he didn’t really have an option when Geralt got stung by hell knows what right before they were supposed to part ways, having stayed together a bit longer than usual since Geralt had gotten a job closer to home before the winter for once. Getting up the mountain on his own with the other passed out had been incredibly difficult, but he’d made it.
He just hoped they wouldn’t kill him now.
“Hello?” he called loudly, pausing outside the gated. “I know one of you has to be here by now! Geralt needs help, and I’m not exactly suited to handle this one!” He just had to hope they wouldn’t blame him...
The door creaked open, someone the same height as Geralt appearing in the doorway on the other side. His features were hard to make out with the light behind him though outside of dark hair and broad shoulders. Were all Witchers so big? Was that something to do with the mutations?
“Who the fuck are yo-“ the words halted as the other seemed to take in the limp form on Roach.
“Geralt.”
The word came out sounding like someone had hit the Witcher, breathless. Potentially speechless. Probably smelling the blood that Jaskier had spent the last several days trying to clean up while also ensuring the wound didn’t get infected.
“He was hurt in our last stop before we parted ways. And I don’t know enough to fix him up from this,” Jaskier said quickly, eyes wide as he kept one hand on Roach. “I did my best, of course, but there’s some sort of poison- I don’t know poisons. Not well enough for this. Not without someone to walk me through all of it. I didn’t know where else to go.”
The words tumbled out of him without hesitation. Between the panic about Geralt and the concern about how he was going to be received, it was hard to fathom that this was going to go well. But he had to get his Witcher taken care of.
Even if his Witcher didn’t know he was his.
The Witcher hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. “Grab the door. I’ll call for one of the others to take Roach,” the man said, not giving Jaskier a second to process as he stepped around the bard to carefully pick up Geralt. Not a small feat, even Geralt’s weakened state. Likely smaller than usual since Jaskier hadn’t been able to feed him properly for the last several days, on top of being poisoned by something.
“Lambert!” The voice rang out through the old Keep as Jaskier managed to snag the door before it slammed shut. It was pure luck he’d already had his lute in his free hand, not wanting to leave it outside in the bitter cold.
He would have, of course, if it meant getting Geralt to safety, but that was one less thing to worry about later. Repairing an instrument up here would probably be hell given that the bard would have to do it himself… It was unlikely there was a Witcher that knew how to care for an instrument properly, and that would make for a miserable winter for everyone when Geralt was better.
A red head appeared within seconds. Lambert, Jaskier assumed. “What the hell happened?” he ground out, taking in Geralt in the first Witcher’s arms before noticing Jaskier holding the door open.
“And who the fuck is that?”
“Late. Find Ves. We’ll be in the upstairs lab. Then take care of Roach,” the Witcher holding Geralt shot back, earning raised brows of annoyance before Lambert darted off. Jaskier let the door behind him close. “And you’ll grab the doors for me. But don’t touch anything. Start running me through what happened.”
Talking was easy. So were easy. Both things Jaskier was certain he could do, falling in step easily with the other Witcher. The still nameless one. Any other time, he would have been demanding to know his name and who he was and how long he’d known Geralt… All things that would have to wait until later when he wasn’t worried about his best friend.
So Jaskier took a deep breath and starting talking. “We stayed together a little later this year. I said I would stick around until he was back from his most recent contract. He doesn’t usually take them this late, you know? Ready to get home and all of that. I wanted to make sure he got back in one piece and-“
“I would appreciate if you got to the point about what happened,” the Witcher interrupted as he paused in front of a door and nodding for Jaskier to open it.
“Right. Sorry,” he mumbled, grabbing the door and stepping back to let them both in. Babbling was a bad habit when he was nervous… Which now was not the time for. Forcing himself to take a breath, he continued. “He didn’t come back on time. Like I said. So I went searching. I found him on the edge of town in pretty bad shape, and all black eyed from those potions of yours.”
The potions that kept them alive, and Geralt had never bothered to fucking explain them to him.
“He had a really bad stab wound in his side. Not the kind made by a blade. Stinger, maybe? I’ve seen smaller wounds like that. From scorpions,” Jaskier explained quickly, setting his lute case down and out of the way when the Witcher made it inside. “There’s a couple of claw marks too. They were a bit deep, but they wouldn’t have been an issue if he wasn’t poisoned by whatever the hell it was. He was only shakily coherent by that point which, when you’re as talkative as Geralt is on a good day, means that I knew fuck all.”
He was following the Witcher towards the table that the big man swiped clean without hesitation. Not one of the ones covered in breakable bottles, thankfully, just papers that he clearly wasn’t worried about. “So I did my best to understand, and he mentioned getting stung. I patched him up best I could. He was out like a light before I was done.”
“The fever started to develop after that. Which was when I knew we were in deep shit because he couldn’t wake up to tell me anything about how to treat it. Not in any way that made sense,” Jaskier grumbled. “Which was when I decided we needed to head up this way. Quicker and more likely to find you than a random sorceress that would actually be willing to help for what coin we have on us. So I got him up on Roach and we started making our way up the mountain. She lead most of the way, thank Melitele.”
The Witcher looked at him in surprise, revealing some nasty scars down one side of his face that seemed to keep that side from making any major expressions, though the other side had one eyebrow raised and those same golden eyes he was so used to seeing. “You got Geralt on Roach? By yourself?” he asked.
Jaskier blinked at him in return, not expecting him to be hung up on that part. “Yes? A few times. I had to get him down when we would stop for the night to try to clean the wound,” he explained.
The Witcher huffed at him. “Must be stronger than you look,” he commented after a moment before shaking his head and turning back towards Geralt. “Get these bandages off him. I’m going to look for potions. When Vesemir arrives, he’ll take over. Understand?”
It seemed like the other was waiting for him to nod, so he did, grateful that the focus for now was on Geralt. On healing Geralt. What was really all he could ask. He could figure the rest out later. Instead, Jaskier was left to undo the work that had help Geralt together this long. But he was safe now, and with people that could actually help him. That was what mattered.
Still, the idea of being in relative safety didn’t stop Jaskier from undoing the bindings on the cuts first. The less he had to deal with the largest wound being open to the air, the less likely he was to get worst before anyone could get him properly on the path to healing.
“Do you want me to clean them up a bit? Kinda hard for him to avoid leaking when he was on Roach’s back,” Jaskier offered before the door swung open again.
The fourth Witcher was definitely older than the others. His hair had gray in it in a way that was starkly contrasted to Geralt’s pure white. This one was from age, much like humans. This was the Vesemir that was mentioned earlier. Ves for short, from the sounds of it. And that gaze pinned him from setting aside the dirty bandages as he was examined by the other.
How old did a Witcher have to get to have hair that was graying?
How old was Geralt that his was all white?
“That’s a conversation for later,” Vessmir finally muttered, almost as if to himself, before nodding. “Get him cleaned up. Eskel can explain what he’s seen and then we’ll get him patched up.”
Turning away to the other Witcher, Jaskier could hear them talking to each other as he managed to find a clean cloth and some water to work on cleaning Geralt up. Getting the blood that had oozed out during the trip washed away and the like… Trying not to focus too hard on how it was his best friend he was cleaning up. His muse.
It wasn’t long before the two Witchers appeared at the side of the table, a number of potions in their hands. “Going to need you to back up. He could lash out,” Vesemir commented shortly, waving him off.
A gesture that certainly didn’t have Jaskier leaving the room, hovering nearby as the two Witchers lowered their voices again. Talking about how to handle this, probably. The bard couldn’t say he was surprised, of course. Not with how private Geralt had been when they first met.
He watched Eskel’s hands rest on Geralt’s shoulders, holding him first as Lambert appeared in the doorway. “Where do you want me?” the redhead rumbled, directed to hold onto Geralt’s wrists. If he was bound to lash out like Vesemir thought, he couldn’t say he was too surprised. Then no one would get hurt, hopefully.
Jaskier barely caught Vesemir uncorking something before he was pouring it into the wound, wincing as it bubbled up and Geralt jerked.
A groan torn from his friend’s lips.
The liquid was still bubbling, and Geralt was writhing in the other two’s grasps even as Vesemir continued his work over him before he was finally able to bandage the other up cleanly. Neater than Jaskier had managed it on the road, certainly, though that was less surprising.
“Everyone out. He’s settled, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Vesemir growled finally as he stepped back, reaching for a towel to wipe his hands off. “Eskel, you’re in charge of our… visitor until I have a moment.”
Not their guest.
Shit.
The red head grumbled under his breath, not loud enough for Jaskier to hear, but the eldest Witcher glared at Lambert until he turned and stalked out of the room.
Eskel, on the other hand, waited for Jaskier as he looked between the quartet of Witchers, eyes lingering on Geralt for a moment. At least he had a name now for the one that he’d been talking to this whole. “Right. Of course. Thank you,” he offered what he hoped was a bright smile to Vesemir before grabbing his lute case quickly and following Lambert out of the room.
The door had barely shut behind them before Lambert was turning on him.
“Now. Who the fuck are you?”