Chapter Text
Frost on the ground was usually the signal for them to part for the year, Geralt to the infamous Witcher’s keep of the north, and Jaskier to whichever bolt hole he managed to seduce his way into for the winter. This year, the frost had come early, but snow had yet to make an appearance, but it would be any day now.
“Plans?” Geralt asked, looking over Jaskier’s shoulder to look at the crudely sketched out map in the back of the bard’s notebook. Little X’s were scattered around, as well as whole countries scribbled out in a bout of frustration.
“Not so much, no.” Jaskier mused, eating an apple slice and pointing to random spots with the knife he had used to carve it. “I know you’re about to go to your ever-so-mysterious hold for the winter, so I won’t keep you from leaving. It looks like tavern-hopping for me though. Requests for my dulcet tones have been rather dry lately, but have no fear, I have no doubt that someone will hear of my plight eventually. Where should we meet up come spring? Posada, for old time’s sake?” He cast a wry grin over his shoulder. Even after so many years, they had yet to go back, so it had become somewhat of a joke between them.
“Or you could come with me?” A black gloved finger traced an invisible path between the ink triangles that indicated the blue mountains. “It’ll be cold, but the food and company are always good.”
“I’m sure it will be, with you there.” Jaskier purred, knowing that his flirting would get him nowhere with his oldest friend. “What happened to ‘Witchers only,’ if I may ask?”
Giving Jaskier a long look, Geralt eventually shrugged. “Vesemir won't complain if we bring company for the season, as long as they’re trustworthy. You’ve just had plans, before.”
“O-oh, I see.” Jaskier was startled. Thinking about it, he always had made a Big Thing about having plans for the winter and leaving first, leaving Geralt to head north by himself each fall. It had been out of self-preservation more than anything else, in the past. If he left first, Geralt wouldn’t have to chase him away before heading home to his brothers and father for the winter. He didn’t talk about them much, but when he did, it was with an exasperated fondness of close family bonds. Geralt had few enough things that made him happy, he didn't want to get in the way of one of them.
But on the other hand, he did want to see that happiness first-hand. “Yes, thank you. I think I’ll come with you.” Grunting in agreement, Geralt moved off to secure their bags for the day.
The trek was hard, just as Geralt warned, especially with Roach hauling a small cart up the overgrown path, filled with supplies for the larder, but they eventually made it. The closer to the keep they got, he started pointing out various landmarks- such as two boulders they had to walk between that formed a trust leap on a training trail Geralt fondly referred to as ‘The Killer.’ “Lovely name, that.”
“But accurate.” Geralt mused, watching Jaskier’s face as they turned a blind corner in the path, knowing it held the first- and, in his opinion, best- view of the Keep. He knew the moment the bard had caught sight of the old castle with the way his eyes widened and his little murmured ‘oh’. “Welcome, to Kaer Morhen.”
“It’s beautiful.” Snows had fallen the previous night, leaving everything with a pristine dusting of powder that would have melted if not for the slightly too cool weather.
Geralt grunted in agreement, giving Roach’s reins a tug. “only a few more hours to go.”
“Oh, good! Any longer, and I dare say my bullocks would have retreated to their little cave for the winter!” Humming in amusement, Geralt gave Jaskier a side-eye. He could have commented on the cloak the bard was wearing- more fashion than function, as per usual- but decided on the higher road.
“A tragedy, that. What would the women say, you, castrated by a bit of cold weather.”
“Exactly! I have been told by many a woman -and man- that my crown jewels are worth their weight in gold!”
“Cheap date then, bard?”
“Geralt!” Jaskier screeched, smacking the witcher’s arm to cover his laughter. “and that’s why I can’t take you anywhere! How rude!”
“My apologies, oh connoisseur of women and men of all ilks.”
“There, that’s better.” Jaskier purred, ignoring Geralt’s blatant sarcasm. “You could apologise more often, it suits you.”
Snorting, Geralt trudged on. They both knew that was a blatant lie. Finally reaching the main gate, Geralt directed them to a smaller one off to the side, barely wide enough for Roach and her cart to pass. Finding the gate shut, Geralt flicked his hand toward his ear in warning before letting out a long piercing whistle and waiting.
And waiting.
Sighing, Geralt gave Jaskier warning again and whistled, this time with a bellow to quickly follow. “I know you’re there Lambert! I can smell your cat piss scent from here!”
“And with that, I’m not going to let you in! Asshole!”
“I have a human with me. What would Vesemir say if you let a human freeze to death at the gate?” Silence.
Geralt raised his hand to form Aard with a growl, but before he could follow through, the door made an unholy racket, between the thumps of locks being disengaged and the creak of heavy hinges in desperate need of oiling. “Ass. Hole.” The door cracked open just enough for a man with slicked back hair and a severe widow’s peak to pop his head out and glare at Geralt before his eyes slid to Jaskier and froze.
“...Aiden.”
“Who?” Jaskier blinked and tilted his head curiously before shaking out of a sudden brain-fog and giving a courtly bow. “I do believe you’re mistaken, dear witcher. Jaskier the bard at your service.”
“It can’t be.” Lambert, normally the most tan out of the brothers, went as pale as Geralt. “They told me you died. I saw the fire they burned your body in. I have your medallion.”
“Flattering as this all is,” Jaskier swore that he had never seen this witcher before in his life, but his heart swooped like it did reuniting with Geralt in the spring. “I do believe you have me mistaken for someone else. As much as I admire Witchers and their difficult profession, I am, in fact, a bard.”
Taking a staggered step forward, Lambert raised a hand, just barely not touching the bard’s cheek and gave a watery smile. “Melitele, you even sound the same.”
Jaskier’s brows furrowed. “I-” Lambert pressed his bare hand to Jaskier’s cheek. Instinctively, he pressed back, his eyes fluttering. Then squeezing shut with a grunt, a shudder, then a full-body twitch before his body seized and fell to the dirt.
“Jaskier!” Geralt shouted, crouching over the bard’s shaking body, not daring to touch while his body lost control. “What did you do?” he growled, baring his teeth at Lambert.
“I- didn’t do anything!” Lambert was frozen, eyes wide in horror and pale like he was toxic. “I… I- Vesemir!” he gasped like a dying prayer. Watching Jaskier continue to shake, Lambert turned and bolted back into the keep. “Vesemir!” the scream of a terrified teenager- not a full-grown adult witcher- bounced off the keep’s walls.
“Just hold on Jask, Lambert’s gone to get help.” Geralt gently pet his hair, trying to keep Jaskier’s head steady and away from sharp stones on the path. “Can you breathe for me? Follow my breathing.” Geralt gently grasped one hand and pressed it to his heart. Jaskier’s eyes were open, but glazed.
“Ki-Kitten…?” Was the last thing he whispered before his eyes slid shut and his body went limp.