Chapter Text
It took weeks for Jaskier to feel up to joining them on the training field, despite Triss clearing him within a few days.
When he did, he felt the eyes of all Witchers turn to him.
He was still leaning on his cane, even as he slowly made his way towards Geralt and Eskel, who had been sparring with each other when he walked out.
It was fine.
He was used to being the center of attention.
“Oh, come on,” someone called, and Jaskier turned to see Remus rolling his eyes. “Are we really supposed to start teaching this human how to defend himself? What, that worried someone’ll try to kidnap him again?”
Jaskier blinked at him, turning his gaze over to Eskel and Geralt, who at this point had stopped their own sparring and were making their way over.
“It’s not like I’m asking you to teach me,” Jaskier pointed out. “Not that there’d be much for me to learn from you.”
Remus scoffed. “What, you think you could take me on? Any time, anywhere, bard. I could beat you with my f*cking hands tied behind my back.”
“Any time?” Jaskier clarified, a wicked idea sparking in his head.
If Gweld were here, Jaskier was sure he’d be cackling.
“That’s what I f*cking said. What, are your ears clogged-“ he stopped talking, as Jaskier’s blade appeared at his throat, Jaskier balancing on his uninjured leg.
“Anytime,” he pointed out, and Remus swallowed, his throat brushing Jaskier’s blade.
“How?” he asked, and Jaskier stepped back, returning his weapon to his cane even as Geralt knelt over he was laughing so hard.
“I’m sorry, did I not tell you I’m the one that killed Emhyr, Vizimir, and Vilgefortz?” He flashed a cheeky grin. “Don’t underestimate me,” he sang, and then Eskel was there, offering his arm for Jaskier to hold on to.
“Word of that is going to spread,” Eskel warned, even as Jaskier saw him fighting back a grin.
“Good. Maybe then they’ll stop treating me like an invalid.”
“Let’s see if we can get you to the point where you can hold your own in a prolonged fight, shall we?”
They made it to a small area away from the others, where Geralt was already waiting. “Right. You don’t have much in the way of mobility, not with that leg, but let’s work on learning to predict when someone’s going to be targeting it, and how to block.”
“Jaskier,” someone called, and Jaskier opened his eyes to see golden eyes staring down at him.
“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, relaxing.
“You’re alright. It was just a nightmare.”
Jaskier sighed, tugging at Geralt till he wrapped his arms around Jaskier, hugging him tight. “…I just… I keep having nightmares about what would have happened if Dijkstra had gotten ahold of my family. Of my sister.”
Geralt shook his head. “That wouldn’t have happened.”
“It might have.”
“Did I-“ Geralt cut off, and Jaskier pulled back, staring up at him.
“Did you what?” Geralt looked rather guilty, and Jaskier sat up. “Geralt?”
“I forgot to tell you…After Redania's invasion, I invited your family to Kaedwen to make sure they were safe from the traitor, whoever they ended up being. They’ve been staying at Ban Ard. Your sister’s under my protection.”
Jaskier stared at him, floored. “…You didn’t think to mention this sooner?!”
“Forgive me, I had forgotten. The baron seems quite taken with-“
“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupted. “My family. Is less than a week’s ride from here. Are- do you-“ he stopped, sorting through his words. “…are they going to come here?”
“Do you want them to? Now that the danger has passed, they could return to their homes if you’d prefer. They don’t know you’re here, and that doesn’t need to change.”
Jaskier thought about it. “…I… can… can we go there instead? I… I don’t want them here. I don’t want them to see Kaer Morhen, not yet. But…”
“Of course,” Geralt promised. “I’m sure your sister would be delighted to see you again.”
Jaskier sighed. “…next month? There’s a festival we could head down for, I don’t think they’ll want to be traveling before then.”
Geralt nodded, kissing Jaskier on the head. “Next month then. I’ll start making plans.”
Jaskier lay back down again, the weariness of having woken in the middle of the night overcoming him. “…thank you, for keeping them safe,” he whispered.
“I always will,” Geralt promised. “Now go back to sleep.”
Two months after Jaskier killed Vilgefortz, an envoy from Nilfgaard arrived at Kaer Morhen, carrying tribute.
“We’ve come to pay our respects to the White Wolf,” the ambassador declared as he stood in Kaer Morhen.
Geralt, Eskel and Jaskier all exchanged confused glances.
Finally, Geralt spoke up. “Tribute for what, exactly?” he asked.
The ambassador blinked, startled. “For… for slaying the usurper? And conquering Nilfgaard?”
Eskel took over, as it was clear Geralt wasn’t going to be saying anything any time soon. “Forgive us, for this is… surprising. What usurper?”
The ambassador hemmed and hawed, before finally spitting out: “Our… late emperor. Was killed. A mage covered it up, and… ah… quite regrettably, took over. His spell was broken at the same time you invaded Nilfgaard earlier this year, so, we… ah… assumed? That it was you?”
Oh. f*ck.
Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to keep from laughing.
Geralt cast a helpless look Jaskier’s way.
What the f*ck do I do?
Jaskier shrugged, and nodded.
You can tell them the truth, I don’t mind.
Geralt sighed, and stood, causing the ambassador to start shaking. “I cannot accept this tribute, for it was my lover, Jaskier of Kaer Morhen, not I who slayed the mage.”
Geralt you bastard, Jaskier thought as hard as he could, glaring at Geralt.
“Ah- Jaskier, then- but he is of your house, do your lands not reflect each other’s?” the ambassador asked, to which Geralt had no answer.
Eskel rolled his eyes and stood. “Tribute has been recognized and received by the wolflands,” he declared, “we shall send an envoy to Nilfgaard shortly to begin negotiations of wolf law.”
The ambassador bowed deeply, and when he’d finally left, it was Yennefer who began laughing first.
“Congratulations buttercup!” she cackled. “The perfect match for the Warlord of the North: The Warlord of the South!”
Jaskier groaned, placing his head on his hands. “We’re just lucky they don’t know I’m the one that killed their last emperor.”
“From prisoner of war to Warlord. Quite the achievement,” Eskel remarked.
Jaskier reached out and snagged Eskel’s hand, pulling him closer. “As long as I don’t have to go back, I don’t care.”
“Hmm,” Geralt remarked, and Jaskier glanced over at him.
“What?”
“It just struck me… you’ve only killed four men, right?”
Jaskier nodded. “Right… Emhyr, Cahir, Vizimir, Vilgefortz.”
“Not only have you killed more kings than me, you’ve also killed fewer people than me.”
Jaskier cracked a grin. “I’m better at your job than you are.”
Geralt shrugged. “Do you want the job?”
Jaskier blanched, and then they all started laughing.
One year after Jaskier first arrived in Kaer Morhen found them celebrating the winter solstice together.
Dragonfly and Priscilla were visiting again, after working on shifting the sandpiper network to being spies for Kaer Morhen.
Aiden and Lambert were concocting an explosive surprise for that evening.
Ciri had progressed far enough in her magic lessons to grow flowers, and was now braiding as many into Jaskier’s hair as he would let her.
Jaskier looked around at his family, relaxing into Geralt and Eskel’s arms as festivities carried on around them.
It hardly felt real, knowing that not even a year ago he'd been dragged through the main doors, requesting asylum, with no expectation of surviving the next week, let alone year.
How far he'd come.
Finally, Ciri was done braiding, and she gently picked up Jaskier’s lute, handing it to him. “Will you play something for us?” she asked, and Jaskier accepted the lute, smiling.
“For you? Any time.”
He slung the lute over his shoulders, letting the familiar weight settle him as he strummed his lute, and began to sing.
