#gerskel

[gilsart]

Had this one in the drafts for a while. Young Geralt and Eskel :3

[rrrrraatt]

having geralt x eskel thoughts these days

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Have you read Must Brave the Thorns (The Witcher/Original Work)?

Yes, I am/was in the fandom

Yes, but I’m not in the fandom

No, but I’m in the fandom

No, I’m not in the fandom

Voting ended onFeb 4, 2025

Summary: Twenty years ago, the Warlord of the North came down out of the mountains and slew the king of Kaedwen, taking crown and kingdom for his own. Everyone expected him to be overthrown almost immediately, but he has only grown ever more secure in his position. Finally, the other countries around Kaedwen have begun to negotiate with him as they would any other king. To seal the new treaty between Redania and the Warlord, Lady Milena de Roggeven, third daughter of the Duke of Roggeven, has been sent to marry whichever of the Warlord’s men he chooses. Milena is starkly terrified of everything about her new husband; every rumor she has ever heard about the barbarians of the north seems worse than the last, and Lambert clearly despises the very thought of marriage. Lambert of the Wolves is still grieving his lost lover, dead more than three years now. The last thing he wants is to be married off to a terrified stranger, and he can’t imagine why Geralt and Eskel think he of all people is suited to a diplomatic marriage. And neither of them suspects the treachery that lies behind the treaty which binds them together.

Author: @inexplicifics

Submitter: @wren-of-the-woods

[midzilla]

a moment of care, afterwards

a request from @lookoutrogue

Alternate (cause my brain needed it):

[handholdinglion]

okay witcher thoughts

I’m watching this program abt rewilding the Lake District and there’s a sheep farmer who is against it as it destroys his livelihood & the farming communities way of life + it’s future !

so what I’m saying is…

- sheep farmer / wild horse caretaker eskel who’s family have farmed on the fells for generations. it’s not an easy life and it doesn’t really make any profit, but it makes him happy. Waking up each morning to check on the sheep (they roam pretty freely but he still likes to make sure nothing has happened over night), to feed the few chickens and hens and to groom any foals he’s currently raising

- baker / brewer lambert who continues in his foster families foot steps of producing the best bread + baked goods in the whole of the lakes (well that’s what the locals say) and has started his own brewery on the side (as it’s just the same as baking just with greater rewards)

- conservationist/ environmentalist geralt who was brought up in an old industrial town and found freedom from his mums family in a hidden patch of greenery amongst derelict red-bricked buildings. After passing his apprenticeship and spending years advocating for more green / wildlife spaces in towns and cities, he’s looking forward to an ‘easy project’. Cause how hard will it be to convince farmers about the benefits of nature

- journalist / blogger jaskier who’s hoping this placement year project writing and documenting for the National Trust will finally show his family why doing a joint honours in journalism was a good thing and far more important than (idk law ? politics ? business management ?)

they’re literally in my head 24/7 I’m sorry, everything comes back to them especially nature tv shows (or anything based in the north of the UK)

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Gerskel and Lambden fixations rise...

[churchofpossum]

“And your finger brushes mine…” And the second postcard design, Geralt and Eskel wintering in Kaer Morhen.

[julek]

Julek, hi! #59 on the kissing prompts for Gerskel, if it takes your fancy.

#59. kissing your lover's wounds after having bandaged them up read on ao3

The sun is dipping low, melting into the hills that shimmer gold against the pale pink sky. The vineyard stretches across the fields like a soft blanket, embroidered in dark greens and rich browns, covering the earth with ease. A gentle breeze rolls in, a sign of the impending autumn days that will follow, ruffling the old willow and its leaves, fighting to hold on a little longer. 

Geralt watches it all from his chair on the porch, much like he does every afternoon. 

There's something about life in the countryside that makes him feel grounded; waking up with the sun every day and going on about his routine feels different than it did when he walked the Path, somehow. There's no sense of extreme urgency, no feeling of dread as he reaches the larger cities, not a shadow of doubt or question as to whether he'll find refuge before winter swallows the roads, winding and tiresome as they grow. None of that, no — here he feels safe, knowing there'll be food on his table every morning and a warm bed every evening, there to greet him, to feed him, to shelter him. He feels connected, both to the earth and to himself, his own life, his own body. His very soul, if Dandelion was right about any of that. 

He wonders if it's what he was supposed to feel like, all those years; if, by chance, retirement meant reaching what his mentors had taught him would only ever be found in the throes of duty. 

The irony of it makes him smile. 

"Deep in thought, Wolf?" 

Geralt turns, even though he heard him coming from a mile away. Eskel stands at his side with a small smile, all broad lines and soft features, and Geralt allows himself to take him in for a little while.

Eskel makes him feel grounded, too. Standing there in his work clothes (so different from his armor, which he hung up some time ago, and only comes out every few months), worn and well-loved, his brow shining with sweat. His hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at Geralt, because he'll never let go of his juvenile hairstyle, no matter how much Geralt teases him for it. His skin glowing golden brown in the dying sunlight, tanned from weeks of working the fields, sunrise to sundown. His scars, glowing light pink like ridges drawn on the land right after the harvest, healed and forgiven.

"I am," Geralt replies, leaning down to grab the small wooden box where they keep their healing supplies. "Come here and show me your arm." 

Eskel clicks his tongue in protest but goes anyway, pulling a chair next to him. He injured himself working on the fields a day before, a too-sharp sickle and a thoughtless movement resulting in a big gash on his forearm, which Geralt lovingly and long-sufferingly stitched up and bandaged, after, of course, lecturing his lover on his carelessness. 

“It’s fine,” he says, even as he extends his arm so Geralt can unwrap the bandage, dirty and damp with sweat. “It’s healing normal.”

“Hmm.”

The wound is, as Eskel put it, healing correctly. After all, Geralt would be embarrassed to call his needlework sloppy, and Eskel, being the Witcher that he is, withstood the stitching with calm and grace. There’s a little blood dotting the cut, and Geralt dabs it away gently with a cloth, cleaning the wound thoroughly. 

Part of him knows he’s, perhaps, overreacting. It is a small wound, after all, clean-cut and simple, and Eskel could care for it on his own. But there’s no need for it, now, he thinks as he dips the cloth in antiseptic. He can be gentle, can wash away the pain with his hands now, can bring relief and comfort to the one he loves. 

Even if there are no more gaping wounds from a kikimora, no more deep gashes from a griffin’s talons, no more arachas bites to be endured. 

Even if it is just a scratch to the skin, he wants to tend to it. 

He can take his time.

Eskel is quiet beside him as he works. He must know, indulging Geralt like this. Perhaps he has the same thoughts, every once in a while. Perhaps he, too, thinks life is precious every time he holds it in his hands. 

Geralt lets the injured arm rest on his lap for a moment, reaching down to grab some spare bandages and a small pair of scissors. Slowly, he starts wrapping Eskel’s forearm with the clean linen, making sure it’s not too tight nor too loose, covering the wound until no red skin can peek out and risk an infection. 

He looks up at Eskel when he’s done, and without a word, brings his hand to his lips, pressing a small kiss into his skin. 

“All done,” he murmurs, Eskel’s eyes warm like honey on his. “You may return to your tomfoolery now, old man.”

“Thank you kindly.” A grin, toothy and wide. “However could I repay you?”

The sun is almost gone all the way now, the last of sunlight flickering through the trees. 

Geralt looks at their joined hands, and squeezes. 

“Sit with me a while.”

And it’s easy, like nothing’s ever been. Like he believed nothing should ever be. 

“That,” Eskel says, moving his chair a little closer with an old-man groan Geralt will tease him about later, “I can do.”

It's easy.