Chapter Text
“So.” Lambert set down the sweet spiced milk in front of Jaskier and sat across from him. “Talk.” Taking the drink, Jaskier cupped his hands around it and brought the tankard closer, using it to warm his hands. “Or, you know what, this involves Geralt. I’ll be right back.” Not a minute later, Lambert returned with an earthenware jug and broke the wax sealed cork off before pouring a generous dollop in both their cups without a by-your-leave. Jaskier’s eyes watered with just the waft of whatever was in the jug. The wolf left the jug within both their easy reach. “So. Tell me what happened.”
“Where do you want me to start?” Jaskier asked, taking a tentative sip of the brew. It was a familiar heat, with an added warmth that came from the home brew.
“The beginning’s usually a good place.” Lambert shrugged. “How about that last year I saw you?”
“Yeah, ok. That was…” Jaskier tapped out a rhythm on the table in thought. “Ok. So that fall, instead of sending me back to temple school, Alfred sent me to Oxenfurt, since ‘my father was obviously not coming back for me, so I might as well make myself useful.’”
“Lovely man.” Lambert muttered, remembering his brief interactions. Duke Alfred Pankratz was an older man that took a young wife, ‘liberating’ her from the shame of having ‘a bastard child out of wedlock’ as those that didn’t know the truth about Julian assumed. That Alfred was Diane’s second husband was conveniently forgotten by most, since he had been killed in the same attack that took her firstborn. Soon after their wedding, Alfred had sent young Julian to the furthest temple school he could get away with, without crossing into another country. Each summer, Julian was summoned home and, after the first year, they usually hired a Witcher to escort the child home. That Witcher, through luck or destiny, had nearly always been Lambert. It was an odd contract for a Witcher to take, true, but he never complained about the easy pay when he was fresh on the path and still a teenager himself.
Though, thinking back on it, he was highly suspicious that Alfred had hoped that the Witcher hired would just take off with the child mid-contract, relieving himself of the responsibility and giving the Witcher child back to whence he belonged. That, and the monastery could never hold Julian in her bosom for long. After the servant sent to retrieve him (and not even a high-ranking one at that) failed to find him, they set a contract to find him in the forests behind the cloister. It took a while, but Lambert eventually discovered the child’s tracks, where it led him to a slit-eyed half-feral thing in a sackcloth (Burlap) shirt and little else.
It took a month to get him back home, and in that time, Lambert grew fond of the feral brat. More than once, over the years, he contemplated taking the kid away from his obviously unappreciative father, but the kid loved his mother, and his mother him.
“Yeah. I think he hoped I would have just settled down with the clergy, but celibacy is just not in the cards for me!” They both laughed at that, saluting each other with tankards. “So, I think he hoped I would make something of myself as a scribe or accountant, or other such dull thing where I would be locked away for all but a few to see me.”
“Well, that obviously backfired.”
“ Spectacularly.” Jaskier purred. “Instead, I fell head over heels with the arts in all her forms.” At that, Lambert made an obscene gesture, making Jaskier laugh. “I did say, all her forms, didn’t I?” Taking a sip, Jaskier forced himself back on track. “So that fall, Alfred set out another contract. He must have worded this one differently, or you were out of the area, but Letho was the one to show up instead. I think that Alfred thought that Letho would ‘take care of me’ better than you apparently didn’t.”
Lambert froze at that. He hadn’t met the Viper himself, but he hadn’t gotten the moniker of ‘Kingslayer’ for a minor misunderstanding. But still, there were lines that no Witcher would cross, no matter the pay, and child killing was one of them. Instead, they would be obligated to take the child, if not to the Witcher’s school, then another safe location to finish growing up. And yet, he didn’t see a Viper medallion around this bard’s neck.
“...What did he do?” Lambert asked breathlessly, eyes scanning all over Jaskier’s face like his skin would tell any tales of wrongdoing.
Jaskier, in response, shrugged. “He took care of me. He took me to Oxenfurt and made sure I got in. Turns out Alfred banked a little more on me not making it there and hadn’t actually signed me up for classes. Then he got me my glamor and made sure I had a way to contact him in case things went completely south.”
“Ah! That’s what it is!” Lambert pointed at his face and Jaskier went a bit cross-eyed, staring at the fingertip. “I knew something wasn’t quite right!”
Jaskier blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, gave a half-chuckle and slumped until his head touched the table. Holding up his hand, he turned it so that Lambert could see the signet ring on his thumb. It was the Viper medallion in miniature, now that he paid attention to it. “Melitele’s Wondrous Tits, is that what was distracting you?”
“Yes. You look way too fucking human.”
“...Usually, that’s not a bad thing.”
“You smell completely human.”
“Oh.” Jaskier blinked. “I… huh. Didn’t know that.” That actually explained some things. Or, at least, he liked to think it did. If it didn’t, well, his opinion of Geralt’s actions in the past really couldn’t get much lower.
“Yeah, well, it’s weird, is what it is. And I miss those adorable little baby fangs.” Lambert grinned, pointing at his arm where one of his smallest scars sat: a bite mark, barely the length of this smallest finger, darkened with a bit of ash so that it wouldn’t fade completely over time.
“I can always bite you again, if you want.” Jaskier grinned, showing off his completely human teeth before licking his teeth self consciously and looking away. “Letho got the glamor mostly for my eyes. They started to change more obviously that summer.”
“Probably for the best then. Can’t have an untrained baby Witcher running around and getting killed.” Jaskier stayed silent, tilting his head slightly side to side in thought.
“Letho didn’t take me home that summer. Or any summer after that. Hell, I didn’t go home until Prissy showed up in my lecture hall one winter.”
“Then how the fuck did you end up following Geralt around like a lost pup?” They both blinked at that before Lambert snorted. Jaskier shrugged, lifting his mug up and blinking down at the dregs of his drink. He swore it was still half-full, last he checked. Lambert saw that and gestured for him to finish his drink before grabbing the mug and rinsing it out. Then he half-filled it with water before topping it off with more of the strong drink from the jug. “Doubt you’d be able to handle Gull at full strength if you haven’t had it before. And knowing those two overprotective assholes, you haven’t.” Lambert explained as he set the mug back down in front of Jaskier.
Jaskier nodded his thanks, wrapping his hands around the mug for something to do. “I graduated.” He shrugged. “Letho was there to see me earn my Summa Cum Laude tassels for my degree in all seven arts. He gave me this ring and my first lute and told me to take a year to think about what I wanted to do and find out the kind of person I wanted to be. A few months later, I met Geralt. Got Punched. Kidnapped. Letho’s lute broken…”
“...And then Geralt defended me from the elves and negotiated with Filavandrel for a new lute, since they had broken mine without provocation. It’s still my favorite instrument.” Jaskier grinned, though it was tinged with melancholy as he swirled the diluted White Gull potion base and took a drink.
Then immediately regretted it, coughing and sputtering while Lambert casually covered his own drink with a palm. “Strong, huh?”
“ Bastard.”
“I did warn you.” Lambert sing-songed, taking a full gulp of his own undiluted drink. “And you’re not the first one to call me that. Unlike you, my parents were very unhappily married.”
Jaskier made a face at that. As much as he could accept that Eskel was his father and Geralt his mother… he really didn’t want to think about it.
“Are you done talking to Lambert yet Jaskier?” Ciri asked with a pout from the doorway, Vesemir pushing her forward gently so that he could get into the kitchen himself to check on dinner. Passing by, he patted Jaskier on the head in the same absent greeting he would give any of his pups.
“Ah, I’m so sorry Princess, I got a bit caught up.” Jaskier stood and bowed in apology. “Lambert and I go back quite a while and we haven’t seen each other in nearly as long, so we had quite a bit to talk about.”
Her arms crossed, Ciri affected a pout and pretended to think about it before holding out her hand, palm down. “I guess I’ll forgive the slight this time, dear Bard.”
“How benevolent, dearest highness.” Jaskier bowed over her hand and bussed her practice-roughed knuckles before standing up. “Do I still get a hug?”
Ciri sighed dramatically, but a grin cracked through her acting. “I guess.” Taking her up on her offer, Jaskier scooped her up and swung her around, making her squeal and laugh before hanging her arms off his neck in a return hug.
“You didn’t come home last winter.” Ciri pouted, not noticing Jaskier freeze up at the word ‘home’ passing her lips.
“No. My most sincere apologies. I was caught up and couldn’t get back to Oxenfurt until after midwinter, let alone back across the continent and up here to the keep.”
“Did you win?”
“That’s not…” Jaskier blinked, not quite sure how to word it. “I made it out alive and I like to think that I made a difference with the information I gathered, if you would count that as a win. So, yes, I guess I did.”
“Good.” Ciri nodded, going to pull out plates for dinner as Vesemir called her away to help.
“I take it that she wasn’t talking about any bardic competitions.” Lambert narrowed his eyes as he sipped from his mug.
“Not this time, no. I occasionally work for Redania’s Secret Service under Dijkstra, and last year I was sent down to Nilfgaard to infiltrate Emrys’ court and to bring back what information I could.” Lowering his voice and covering it with his own mug, he watched Ciri set the table to make sure she couldn’t hear. “And I found out things that at least Geralt should probably know.”
Vesemir nodded, not turning away from his stew as he spoke just as low. “Is it time sensitive?”
“At this point, no, not really.”
Vesemir grunted, speaking loud enough to get Ciri’s attention. “When you’re done with that, you can show Jaskier to his room so that he can freshen up for dinner.”
“Okay!”
“You are staying for the winter this time, correct? The passes will close soon.” The question wasn’t so much a question, but a statement meant to be obeyed.
“Winter session started nearly a month ago, and it would take me another to reach the school. Oxenfurt already knows that I won’t be teaching this year.” Jaskier confirmed. Of which, the eldest Witcher took that meaning Djikstra had no need for the boy for the foreseeable future.
Vesemir nodded. “Good.” and sampled the broth before tossing a handful of the more delicate fresh herbs in. They likely would be the last of the season, unless Vesemir had a hothouse hidden away somewhere in the keep.
Setting down the last of the silverware, Ciri came over and dragged Jaskier up, wrapping her arms around his, chattering along the entire trek up. “We moved your room.” She explained when Jaskier went to make the turn down the hall his room was in last time. “Geralt let me help clean out the one next to mine and help decorate it too! His and Eskel’s room is right there, just in case I have a nightmare… I have a lot of them.” She looked down, stopping in front of a door before giving Jaskier a smile. “But not as many as I used to.”
“That’s good.” Jaskier returned her smile. “You can always come to me too, princess, if for some reason you can’t go to Geralt.”
“Thank you.” Her words were sincere, but both of them knew the likelihood of it happening was slim. “This one is yours.” Stepping aside, she let Jaskier open the door himself. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a tapestry of a griffin being ridden by what he could rightly assume was a Witcher. “I helped pick which tapestries to hang up. Vesemir said that they all came from the creche, whatever that is.”
“The nursery.” Jaskier answered absently, studying each tapestry as he moved further into the room. “Where the children stayed before they were old enough to start training.” There was also a tapestry that showed the four colors of 'true' dragons. And there, by the fireplace, was a pair of narrower tapestries that showed a pair of howling wolves as they framed the fireplace. He could see where there were repairs to the cloth, where the color of the thread didn’t quite match the surrounding stitches, but wouldn’t have noticed without knowing what to look for first. “The room is lovely, thank you, Princess Cirilla.” He smiled, spotting his baggage already in the room.
“It’s Ciri.” She pouted, crossing her arms. “I’m not a princess anymore.”
“Nonsense.” Jaskier knelt, pulling out a winter weight tunic that Eskel had bought for him at the last town they passed through, and laid it on the arm of the chair to warm by the fire. “You’ll always be a princess to me, even outside of Cintra’s walls. But,” He found the wash stand’s pitcher already full of water, so he heated it a bit with a careful Igni before looking over his shoulder at the girl, “If you truly don’t want me to call you anything except for Ciri, I suppose it's about time that I obey your whims.”
“Good.” Seeing Jaskier’s reluctance to change in front of her, she took her cue to turn to leave. “Dinner will be soon. Don’t be late, or Vesemir will make you run the killer.”
Biting off his immediate response of ‘yes, princess’, Jaskier nodded and started working on the laces tying his chemise closed at the neck. “I won’t be long then.” With a long stare, Ciri nodded to herself and left, her chore done.
Taking a moment to himself, Jaskier sighed when he heard the door shut behind him, scrubbing his face with dry hands before taking another look around the room. It was indeed nice. Much more than he was expecting, to be honest. Especially compared to the room he had been in the last time he had come up. Everywhere, he could see touches of decisions Geralt had made for his comfort. The desk alone was stocked nearly as well as his university desk tended to be, complete with a beautifully wrought candlestick, already topped with a fresh candle, ready for that inevitable late-night spark of inspiration that often gripped him during the long winter nights.
Lifting the angled lid of the desk, he found a stack of parchments, as well as a fistful of high quality quills that looked like they had come from a griffin. What got him, though, was an envelope full of spare lute strings, with doubles of the ones he tended to snap the most. As well as his preferred lute conditioner in a good sized tin. Closing the desk carefully, Jaskier let himself fall into the chair like his strings were cut, staring off into the middle distance. Those things, while necessary for his trade, weren’t cheap, and harder to come by the further they were from any major city. It meant that someone, likely Geralt, had gone out of their way to procure them. All in the hope that he would come back.
To borrow Geralt’s favorite catch-all, “Fuck.” Giving himself a few more moments to wallow, Jaskier hurried through his ablutions, scrubbing as much road dirt as he could using the wash stand before wrapping himself up in the warmed royal blue tunic. He would have time for a proper bath after dinner, if he could get one of the others to show him where it was.
Making his way downstairs to the kitchens, he found that he was the last to arrive, if only just barely. Eskel was just situating himself next to Geralt as he came in, leaving the last empty chair between Lambert and Ciri. His mug from earlier had found its way to his seat, filled with water to cut the White Gull down to hopefully a more tolerant level. But if his nose hairs had any indication of it, his was the only one. Ciri, though, had only plain water.
Halfway through the meal, Jaskier caught Geralt’s eye. “Thank you.”