Prompt 1 - calloused hands in soft hands
Jaskier teaching Ciri how to care for her hands so she develops callouses but still has smooth hands
Yes, of course my dear!! Please enjoy some somft kaer morhen family time! <3
Warnings: Uh... usage of a swear without understanding it? Some witcher training ouchies? Otherwise it's just background geraskier and lambden, lambert being his usual ass self, and immortal jaskier right. You know, the usual... Enjoy! <3
On Ao3 here Hand holding collection
Winter holds the promise of so many things. Snow covering the mountains, beautiful and treacherous.
Ice freezing the lake beneath the keep, the cold creating icicles of droplets hanging from rooftops and trees.
Ciri can feel her cheeks prickle with it, the sting of the harsh winds catching her hair and her clothes. She grips her wooden practice sword tighter, glaring at the stuffed straw figure in front of her.
She has been at it all day, cool sweat clinging to her back as she again launches at the wooden offender. She hits it with a loud thwack and she can feel the impact up through her arm.
"Better," Lambert tells her, as she jumps back and side-steps, ducking an imaginary blow.
However, winter prepared a trap for her, and she slips on a hidden patch of ice. She lands on her elbow and hisses in pain.
"What was that?" Lambert taunts as she hisses in pain.
Her leather arm protection takes most of the impact, but it still hurts.
"Did the dummy kick your feet from under you?"
Ciri glares, and then she makes some quick moves, sweeping her legs in a wide, controlled arc aimed at Lambert's feet.
Revenge.
It doesn't do much more than make him grunt in minor pain but she counts it as a victory.
It would take much more than that to tip his heavy ass over, and she says as much before she scurries away to safety.
Winter brings many things, including a few more creative swears to her repertoire, and she locks the door behind her to keep Lambert from tossing her from the wall into one of the big snow piles below.
Her hands ache when she comes into the warmth of the main hall, her ears and cheeks and chin soon aching as well. She makes a face and stomps her feet to get rid of the snow. They hurt too.
Throwing her soaked gloves to the side and shedding her scarf and cloak, she makes her way over to the fire. Vesemir will tell her off for littering later, but meh. She's cold and she's mad.
It takes her a moment to notice, but Jaskier is sitting off to the side, watching her over the edge of his book with an amused smirk.
"Lambert giving you a hard time?"
"He is the biggest fucking wanker on the entire fucking continent," she says darkly, and Jaskier lifts his eyebrows in delighted surprise.
"Where did you learn a word like that?" he asks, mock outraged.
"I heard Aiden and Eskel in the hot springs. I don't know what it means," she admits, and Jaskier looks like someone gave him the best gift.
"If you want a proper revenge, ask Lambert to explain it. I'm sure he'd be happy to." He smirks, closing the book around his finger as he looks around for a bookmark.
Ciri smiles and looks back at the flames. She opens and closes her fingers, trying to regain some feeling in them.
It stings as they slowly warm up, and she hisses when she notices a small wound on her dry knuckles.
Frowning, she looks down at it, touching the split skin carefully.
"Are you hurt?" Jaskier asks, picking up one of the unused knives on the table and putting it between the pages of his book. It's as good a bookmark as any.
"I'm fine," she mutters, licking her thumb and dabbing at her knuckle. It stings too, but her knuckle looks less dry at least.
"Let me see," he says, reaching for her hand, and she lets him. "Oh my dear girl, this looks painful indeed!" he says as he holds her hand and gently strokes the back. His hands are warm, soft and smooth, and Ciri has no idea how he does it.
"It's fine. I'm fine," she mutters again, because she is. It just stings a little.
"I don't doubt that you are. But at this rate, you are going to have worse hands than Geralt- no, don't give me that look. Really, Ciri, witchers know many things, but you mustn't learn stupidity from them. Come along."
Jaskier stands up and pulls Ciri up with him, still holding her hand. She doesn't fight him, just lets herself be led to his chambers and placed inside the door. The chair is cluttered, she notices, with a stack of clothes, blankets, a notebook, three socks, what seems to be a knitting needle, and a shoe.
Only then does he let go of her to rummage around in the drawers next to the bed.
"No, not that one, absolutely not. Nope. No. AHA! Here we are!" Jaskier says, standing up triumphantly to show off his find.
It is a small jar, filled with some sort of white paste, and he uncorks it as he brings it up to her nose so that she can sniff it.
It has the gentle smell of spring blossoms, reminding her of Jaskier's hands in her hair as he braids it back from her face.
She tilts her head in question and Jaskier gives her an amused smile.
"Ah. Maybe young princesses from warm climates don't have much use for these kinds of things. This, my sweet summer child, is something I have been trying to convince Geralt to try for years. More stubborn than a mule, that one, even when he only stands to gain from it."
"Is this how your hands are so soft?" she asks, and Jaskier possibly melts where he stands. It looks a little funny.
"Yes, sweetling, thank you for noticing. My hands aren't made for this cold, it makes them dry and rough. I don't mind that much, but if they get too dry, the skin can crack, and it hurts something awful," he explains, and she nods her understanding.
"Like mine."
"Yes. Want to try some? It will sting now, but it will feel much better tomorrow, I promise."
Ciri nods, a memory from long, long ago in the back of her mind, unearthing itself from where it has long been buried. Her mother, her hands always soft and gentle, always smelling of roses.
Jaskier gives her a gentle smile, crouching down and placing the little jar on his knee. It looks like it is about to tip over, but he catches it and dips his finger in it.
Then he grabs her right hand and gently massages the ointment into her hand. He was right, it stings when it coats her knuckles, but it is a good sting.
His thumbs make gentle circles, causing warmth to rush through her and soothing her.
Then he turns her hand over, taking another dollop of ointment and rubs it over her slowly forming calluses.
"I know Lambert might say this will weaken the calluses, but you shouldn't listen to him. I have used this for at least thirty years, and my calluses remain perfectly in place."
"Why would a poet need calluses?" Ciri asks when Jaskier grabs her other hand and starts on that one.
"Oh summer child, not all battles are won with steel or silver. Some are better fought with words, music, and long nights on a stage. For those fights, my calluses serve me well," he says gently, opening his hand for her to inspect.
He does indeed have the marks of his battles on his hands. His fingertips are rough, and he has bumps on his fingers that she has only ever seen the court scribe have.
But his skin is soft, smooth, unbroken.
When Jaskier deems her inspection finished, he continues working on her hand. Her left hand is not as bad off, but it stings all the same when the cool ointment is spread over her knuckles.
"There. All done!" Jaskier says cheerfully, rubbing what is left into his own hands. Then he puts on the lid and tucks it into her pocket with a wink.
"This will be our secret weapon against grumpy witchers, eh?" he says, booping her nose, and turns to grab his lutecase by the bed.
"But it's yours," she protests weakly and digs out the little jar.
"Hm? Oh, nonsense. I have more. Geralt is such a softie, did you know? He stocked up on hand ointment last time I mentioned I ran out. Can you keep a secret? I think he likes my hands," Jaskier says with a secret smile, opening the door to let them out again.
Ciri agrees. She has noticed Geralt liking Jaskier's hands too.
"Come on. We need to find Lambert and have him explain some very interesting words to you," Jaskier says gleefully.
So Ciri pockets the little jar again, following Jaskier back down the stairs. As she walks, she rubs her hands together, enjoying how soft and warm they feel now.
It does feel better, but a little slippery, so she decides to use it only when she is done for the day.
Winter holds the promise of so many things. New vocabulary, soft hands smelling of spring blossoms, and just how amusing it is to find new words to beg her uncles to explain to her.
Winter is fun indeed.
