I came across a quote on tiktok of all places, but I cant get the idea of Jaskier saying it to any of the witchers out of me head, and I'm really hoping you'd be up to taking a crack at it. If not that's fine, I'll be happy just pass in the thoughtful feels it provokes. "And if I asked you to name all the things that you loved, how long would take for you to name yourself?"
Jaskier worked out pretty quickly that the Witchers love their friends and family fiercely. But how can he show them the beauty within?
Lambert said he ‘fucking loved’ many things. He fucking loved Geralt and Eskel. Hugged them openly when he was drunk while calling them blowhards and oafs, rubbing his knuckles into their head and putting huge, wet kisses on their cheeks. He fucking loved beer, and a new sword, and comfortable boots, and a warm fire, and Jaskier’s saucy poetry, and Aiden, and a successful hunt, and Ban Ard, and the south—because it was warm—and so many other things.
And he meant it. Lambert was an emotional man. Not a criticism. He wore everything on his sleeve. An open book. You knew exactly where you stood with Lambert in the very first instant he met you. Many didn’t like that. They were used to dealing with others like themselves; their emotions, their opinions, hidden behind a veneer of polite banality. Not Lambert, though. He felt unabashedly, and showed it, including his contempt, his anger, and his self-hatred. Because if there was one thing Lambert didn’t ‘fucking love’. It was himself.
Jaskier noticed how he avoided looking in mirrors, was probably a little rough when seeing to his injuries—needles jabbed, bandages lashed tightly, deep gashes scrubbed violently—used the same soap he used for his laundry on his hair, face and skin. He didn’t allow himself even small luxuries; he slept in the wilderness even when he had enough coin for a room, good food and a bath.
As the years went by, Jaskier grew close to Lambert. He found in him a kindred spirit. Someone who he could sit next to and raise eyebrows at the other two, drink with until they could barely walk, and scream bawdy Skelligen ballads on the top of a mountain until they were both hoarse. And if they fell into bed with each other sometimes for a really good, feral, passionate tryst? Then Jaskier wasn’t going to complain about that either. Yet, he just couldn’t shake the concern. If Lambert couldn’t love himself, could he really ever accept love from others? He was so besotted with Aiden—pined, yearned, fawned over—but when Aiden returned those affections he always looked a little nonplussed. As if he wanted to ask, are you sure?
So, one spring, when Jaskier found himself travelling at Lambert’s side for a few weeks, they sat around the campfire. Lambert had purchased a new whittling knife, and he was carving himself a new chess piece for the collection he was building at Kaer Morhen. This one was a Rook. “Hmm, I love a good knife. Look at that cut,” he showed Jaskier briefly, “fucking perfect.”
Jaskier smiled, thumb running down the top two strings of his lute. “You know, you should make a list.”
“Eh?” Lambert glanced up as a curl of pruned wood fell to the floor at his feet.
“Of all the things you love. We could use a scale from ‘fucking love’ to ‘like mostly’. It’d wrap around this tree here about a hundred times, I bet,” Jaskier tapped the big old oak they’d settled beneath.
“Ha, yeah, then we can do a second of all the things that piss me off and it’ll be four times as long,” Lambert chuckled, leaned to the side to grab the bottle of dwarven ale he was steadily working his way through.
“Hmm,” Jaskier smiled up at the glittering stars, and then tilted his head towards his Witcher companion. “I wonder, how many reams of paper—how many pots of ink—would it take before you wrote your own name on that first list?”
The whittling stopped. The incessant ‘shtk, shtk’ of metal on wood faded into silence. Lambert stared at the slowly forming game piece in his hand. For a while, Jaskier didn’t think he would answer. He’d pretend he hadn’t heard despite the absurdity of such a lie. “I love all the things I do ‘cause I have a choice in it.”
Jaskier didn’t say anything, he sat up to indicate he was listening, and Lambert sighed heavily through this nose.
“I can choose to—,” he ground his teeth. “I can choose to love beer, and chess,” the new playing piece waved in front of his face, “but I never got a choice in me. Who I am, what… I became. When I look in the mirror, all I see is this fucking…” He didn’t have the words, so trailed off. “Truth is, bard, I wouldn’t be on the first list. I’d be on the second. First thing. In bold. Underlined. There isn’t anythin’ here to be loved.”
The whittling continued. More furious, focused, and Jaskier watched Lambert’s face while he carefully constructed what he wanted to say next. “Then you must think us all fools,” he said finally. “All of us who love you.”
Lambert swallowed, but he didn’t look up.
“One day, my dearest wolf,” Jaskier kicked his long legs out across the bedroll beneath him. “One day you will look in that mirror and see the man we do. The one that deserves all the love our hearts have to give. And you know what will happen? That first list? Of all the things you love? It’ll get longer, and longer, while the second will crumble into disuse.”
Lambert grunted and focused on his task. It would take more than a single conversation to change Lambert’s perspective on himself, but that was the point of loyal family and friends, wasn’t it? They’d keep repeating the same fucking mantra until they were blue in the face and beyond. And one day—one glorious day—you might even begin to believe them.
It’s set in the same verse as A Million Pieces (tumblr) and chronologically after A Million Pieces (ao3)
2.0k of Modern Trisskel (gardener and baker)
with the supporting role of Geralt,, Jaskier, Lambert, Aiden, Yennefer, Tissaia, and a lil cameo of my oc college bois Keilan Shelanmere, Anton Rambova, and Harvey Emerson.
💚
Triss smiled up to Heiðrún’s sunlight-bathed front, opened the door with a small jingle that never got old, and walked through with Geralt behind her, a confident stride carrying her through the length of the small shop with grace.
Geralt’s face was set in a smirk, having been a part of the plan that Triss, Yennefer, and Jaskier had enthusiastically planned a few days before. He was glad he already had his plans, even if he would be preoccupied for a couple hours. All of them, and he means all of their mash of friends and significant others, had agreed that Eskel deserved to be treated nicely (and maybe he might get the hint on today of all days).
Triss’ face was set with a wide smile, her eyes alight and determined. She was dressed the slightest bit down, soft brown cargo pants cinched at the waist and ankles, a slight gold chain hanging on one side by the insistence of Yennefer, and a deep wine-colored button up tucked into it, her curly hair loose around her shoulders, and her grandmother’s gold leaf-shaped pendant hanging delicately around her neck.
There was no line to the counter, and Eskel was in the back, with Keilan managing the cash register with their after-lunch rush out the door a couple hours ago. Keilan got what was happening right away, so they smirked, giving them both a warm greeting and needlessly waving them through the swinging doors, where they could see the broad man leaning over what smelled like orange scones (Jaskier’s favorite), some strawberry-rhubarb galettes, and the jalapeno-and-tomato pizza that Triss loved in small quantities. The tomato sauce most often came from Eskel’s now thriving tomato plant, Reese. Reese had been transplanted to the roof after it took over his apartment kitchen a couple years back.
Keilan pulled out their phone and dialed, a soft smile forming on their face.
Geralt knew the scones were, in fact, for Jaskier- Geralt had asked for Eskel to make them in exchange for watching the shop while he ran the galettes over to the Exley’s, who were in the next town over but had called in early enough for Eskel to bend to the extra catering request. They were frequent customers anyway, and Eskel had the deserts in the oven after the orange scones within the hour.
The pizza was for Triss; she had asked a few days ago as their plan was forming. She, unbeknownst to Eskel, had made a walnut-and-feta orzo salad to accompany it, and Tissaia had given them fancy wine from her fucking wine cellar, the rich bitch she was. Not that Triss would ever say or think that in her or Yen’s vicinity; those two were terrifying apart, but together they could make you feel like your bloodline was cursed if they wanted to.
And Triss liked having an uncursed bloodline and Yennefer as a friend. So Triss was grateful and accepted like she had a choice.
Said expensive and aged wine was in her car, in a hand-woven basket from her neighbor, Matt, nestled in with the salad, a few pears, a new red hydro flask, and a thick blanket. She smiled as Keilan started teasing through the phone, their face lighting up and getting lost in the conversation before she got to the counter.
Geralt went through the swinging door, making Eskel look up, but Triss stopped at Keilan, who had winked in affirmation before setting their phone down and striking up an idle conversation about school, their other jobs, and their prospective boyfriends. They may have blushed at the last topic, but to the untrained eye, you couldn’t see it on their skin tone. Triss had definitely seen it.
Eskel, still in his kitchen, had steadily and immediately reminded Geralt to wash his hands before finishing up the packaging for Geralt’s scones and the galettes. Even if he was going to be in and out, the kitchen’s newest addition obediently made his way over to the sink out of habit- he had seen what happened when Lambert had tried to stay longer than a minute without washing his hands, and he didn’t want to live it himself. Geralt had grown up with a healthy dose of fear for Eskel’s glare, and was barely able to stand still in the face of it, let alone that. Geralt shivered at the memory.
When the younger was done, Eskel handed his brother the two packages, one clearly wrapped for a customer, and the other more toned down, but not any less neat and perfect. For family.
Geralt thanked Eskel, before telling him he had a guest at the counter, making the elder man scrunch his eyebrows at his brother’s back before Triss’ head popped up in the view of the door’s window. Her easy smile immediately brightened, a strong hand coming up to wave at him, her gaze lingering as he stared back and mechanically waved. Why was she-?
Geralt popped his head back in, disrupting his deepening thoughts and the creep of his brows. “You’re going to want to dust off the flour and bring the pizza,” he said, an impish smirk that damn near perfectly mirrored one of Jaskier’s on his face.
So Eskel looked down, where only the slightest bit of flour was resting on his apron where he had leaned over the table before clearing it off after stretching the pizza dough. He had been in a kitchen for a long time; flour didn’t much get on him unless he was refilling the ingredient tubs, trying something new, or teaching someone. Eskel rolled his eyes, taking off his apron and gloves, dropping the thin plastic into the bin, and hanging the apron before washing his hands and making a sharp assessing sweep over the state of his mostly open-spaced kitchen.
All the metal counters, sans maybe the one he was just at, had been wiped twice-over with the sani-bucket solution, and the ingredients were stored for the evening - they didn’t get many people on a Tuesday, and even less so on Valentine’s Day evening, so the stock they had should be enough. The shelves needed to be wiped down and the floor swept and the pea-traps cleaned, so Keilan would have to do that while he ran out, Geralt watching the front; food should be good, and so should the drinks if Geralt didn’t drink it. Check, check, and check.
He sighed, the lunch rush leaving his lungs in a puff of air as he went lax for a few moments, redoing his ponytail out of habit more than necessity. Eskel took these moments of quiet and simple peace with open arms and closed eyes. The hum from the walk-in was a heavy thrum sitting in the back of his mind, and the soft murmur from his customers and- guest.
Eskel straightened, his mind snapping between chef and what Lambert called “civilian”. He walked to the employee room, changing his clogs for worn boots and shucking off his double-breasted coat before gathering his things for the day. The Exley’s were his last stop before a hot bath in his apartment and a small dinner with Lambert and Aiden, who he didn’t expect to stay long at all. Eskel was going to make sure they didn’t get undressed past their jackets anywhere in his apartment - Yennefer and Tissaia had, once, and he almost rammed his head into a wall or screamed into Alex, the particularly large cactus on a windowsill. He wondered what Triss was doing today and why she was at his shop. Not that he was complaining, at all, but there was an inherent confusion (and flutter of giddiness).
He stepped out of the kitchen, to find Anton giving Keilan a mindless kiss on the forehead across the counter, before jingling a few keys on a lanyard Eskel now (unfortunately, in his eyes) knew depicted a character named Miku (or something) and heading out the door with the decorative box in a sturdy hand.
Eskel knew Anton, knew he worked in hospitality if he wasn’t hopping around every restaurant in the county, and that he was actually well off in any kitchen because of it, despite his deceivingly wry form. He might even say he trusted him to deliver the box to a valued customer, but it also seemed it was out of his hands entirely, which was cause for confusion.
He set down the pizza’s container, turning to Geralt, who was already sipping from a washed-out red mug with a completely at ease expression despite knowingly drinking what Eskel would sell to paying people. Eskel leveled him with a withering glare, question forgotten, causing Geralt to slowly lower his cup, actively trying to avoid violence when he had someone waiting for him in a couple hours, and Keilan and Triss to hide their laughs. A few of the regular students were trying not to snigger too loudly, and others were fawning over the way the lowering afternoon sun was bathing both broad men very clearly. Triss would have been a part of the latter group if she weren’t so close and staring into Eskel’s molten amber eyes instead.
Geralt put his hands up defensively before pointing an arm at Triss, who was leaning a bit too far for casualty, her mouth slightly agape before Eskel turned to her, his glare slipping into a warm smile. Geralt let loose a soundless sigh, and Keilan excused themselves to the back, waving to the trio and only getting a response from Geralt. Triss didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did Eskel, the two of them gazing at each other. The cartoon hearts were almost visible.
Someone from the corner coughed suddenly, the noise making the two of them to snap out of their daze. Triss spoke first, a chipper tone coloring her voice, “Do you have a Valentine?”
Eskel spluttered, a large hand moving to a bracelet on his wrist to twiddle with the wooden beads before he looked down and up at her a few times, his thoughts halting through a response. “Uhm. uh. No, not-,” he swallowed, “no, not yet?” His eyes latch onto the smile she gives him and he breathes a little easier, his fingers slowing its fidgeting.
“Great! You can be mine, then, yeah?”
“Wait- what-” is all Eskel can stammer out before she’s around the counter, her smile wider than ever. He finds himself reciprocating through his confusion.
Triss was safe. Triss he trusted and would walk to the ends of the earth for, even if he didn’t say it. (He didn’t have to)
She looks down for a second, slipping her hand into his bracelet hand, his other fingers slowly slipping off to grab the food container again. Once Triss looked up, her calloused fingers firmly entwined with his, she smiled the same blinding smile before scrunching her nose a bit and winking.
Eskel almost keeled over from her adorable scrunched face and subsequent wink; she was grounding him with her touch and yet seeming to want to make his head spin. She turned to Geralt, giving him a glare that was almost up to par with the one Eskel had given him.
“Make sure Keilan and Anton walk out of here together and before 7, okay, Geralt? Maybe even with that redhead, Harvey, if you can convince Keilan to face-call him. They all deserve a first date too.” Geralt nodded, his hands pointedly away from the cup he had been glared out of drinking from.
“Wonderful,” she turned behind her, shouting, ”Bye Keilan! Have fun on your date!” When she heard a heavy sigh from them she smiled, checking her watch.
“Let’s go, Eskel, we should get going before it gets dark. Dinner at Yennefer’s is at 8, so that should give us a couple hours to walk around the park and eat the pizza you made, right?” She was gently leading him towards the door, oblivious to the sighs and longing looks a few of the more relaxed customers were giving them as she led him out, a soft jingle floating through the air as the door closed.
Eskel looked toward Triss, his mind catching up with the “They deserve a first date too.” His cheeks might have colored, but it could have been the orange-yellow light bathing the low-rise buildings .
He gripped her hand a little tighter, causing her to look back at him with a head tilt, her hair backdropped by the setting sun. She squeezed back, grabbing the pizza container before letting go slowly to get into the driver’s seat.
Eskel sighed, the rest of the day’s tension already starting to slip through his fingers, and he closed his eyes on the way to the park, his eyelids fluttering open once in a while to smile dopily at Triss.
Well- okay. This is nice.
~
Pau
thank you for reading!! leave a comment, like, or reblog! 💚💚
I just read your kear morhen fic with jask and kitty aiden and wolfy witchers. And OMFG! I wish I could just give you a trillion likes and reach through the phone screen and give you a big hug!!!! It was amazing!!! But now, I'm wondering.. jask has seen it but how will ciri react??? I think she would totally join in. She's still at an impressionable age and could totally pick up a few behaviors... Or act like a lion cub.... and will try and sneak attack the others like a real lion cub does!
Sssshhh. We’re huntin’ bardses...
It was a beautiful, crisp day at Kaer Morhen. Jaskier sat on the railings of the main stairs leading up into the entrance hall and plucked aimlessly at the strings of his lute. Oh, how he missed the summer, but there was something truly majestic about the ancient, Aen Sidhe Keep framed in an endless blanket of white snow and coniferous trees. She was like an old, stately lady reclining in a throne of stone. Glorious. Hmm, throne, stone, snow… bow…
Little did Jaskier know; he was currently under extreme scrutiny. His very life hung in the balance.
“Keep low,” Aiden breathed. Only tiny slivers of luminescent green escaped the consuming black holes of his pupils. His hand rested in the middle of Ciri’s back, urging her lower to the floor. They were currently obscured by a stack of crates; Ciri would have to navigate uneven terrain to reach her target. But who better to give the Lion Cub of Cintra a pouncing lesson, than the King of the Pride, right? “You need to pay attention to the wind direction, the ambient noises, the—.”
“What’re you up to, losers?” Lambert stomped up behind them; Aiden immediately lunged to snag his wrist and drag him down to their level. The target looked up, glanced behind him, and then shrugged with a shallow frown. The wind did carry voices, after all.
“We’re hunting bards,” Aiden hissed, and Ciri grinned up at the both of them, her tongue sticking through the gaps in her teeth where a few had fallen out in the last few days. Not knocked out, you understand. Fallen. She was still but a cub, and she was growing in her Big Lioness teeth. “So shut your trap.”
“Oh, f—,” Lambert started, clamped his mouth shut, and then hunkered down with them. “Have you told her about the wind direction rule?”
“Yeah,” Aiden murmured. “Not as important though. Bards can’t smell for sh—sugar.”
“If this is training, then she needs to know the fu—fudgin’ wind direction rule,” Lambert grumbled.
“Oi, can we focus here?” Ciri cut in, and then flicked her head towards their chirping target. “I know the words ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ too, so cut that out.”
“Not from us though, right?” Aiden murmured, and Lambert smirked. “Okay,” Aiden looked back, his pupils blew big again and he shimmied his shoulders. “Move quickly, don’t lift your feet too far off the ground.”
“You need wide, sweeping steps,” Lambert cut in. “Keep your breathing slow. No panting.”
“Now, if we wait until he starts singing—,” Aiden held his breath.
Jaskier struck a chord, took a deep breath, and began his serenade. “To adore you is all my life, fair Ettariel, let me keep, then, the treaure of memories. And the magical flower; a pledge and sign of your love. Silvered by drops of dew as if by tears...”
“Go, now, go, go!” Aiden urged Ciri into action and she flew forward. Her speed, for such a young age, was impressive, and the soft leather of her boots made no sound as she covered the uneven flagstones of the courtyard with grace and poise. The bard didn’t stand a chance.
“Ack!” Jaskier cawed as he was taken out with a low shoulder tackle. “Your majesty, Ciri—by Melitele’s ti—ahh, bloody hell! What in—?” They fumbled around in the snow, Jaskier’s lute about a meter away, until Ciri was sitting on his chest in triumph. She looked across to her two uncles with a broad grin, and then looked thoroughly disgruntled when she saw them rolling around with laughter.
Jaskier tilted his head and glared at them. “I should’ve known this was you two, mark my words, you rapscallions. My revenge shall be swift and petty! Do you hear me? Swift. And petty.”
“Whatever, bard,” Aiden smirked, chest still wheezing and breathless. “Hey, Ciri. Fancy some tougher game? Heard Eskel’s weaving some baskets in one of the workrooms.”
“Eskel,” she left her prey in the snow and tapped her chin. “Yeah, go on then. Laters, Jaskier.”
With a broad grin, she trotted after Aiden. Jaskier stumbled to Lambert’s side, brushing off his doublet with quiet grumbles. “You need to watch that, you know, that young, they imitate everything. She could become a mirror image. Not so much the Lion Cub of Cintra as the Mangy Kitten of Novigrad.”
Lambert huffed. “If she becomes half the person Aiden is then she ain’t doing too badly,” he reached up and knocked Jaskier’s newly restored feathered cap from his head, and then departed towards the stables.
Hat retrieved from the snow for a second time in as many minutes, Jaskier watched after Lambert’s retreating back with a soft, knowing smirk.
