ooo what about geraskier with geralt just going completely cock/cum dumb (possibly in KM where they truly are safe or jask's private suite/home in oxenfurt) and jaskier reveling in geralt feeling safe and blissed out, crooning all sorts of praise and making sure geralt is able to stay on that nice feeling
Hi! I wrote something without really talking about the setting at all, so you can imagine this is wherever!
It's explicit from the start so alllll under the cut.
Tags/content warnings: dom Jaskier, sub Geralt, no honorifics but Geralt gets called toy and pet, cum swallowing, cock warming, eye contact.
Id say roughly 200 words
"That's it, love. Swallow it all, good pet."
Jaskier tried to keep his voice strong to get through to Geralt's blissed out brain. It wasn't working though, his voice almost cracked as he steadied himself with his hands on Geralt's shoulders, the head of his cock being squeezed by the witcher swallowing his cum.
Jaskier took his fingers and wiped Geralt's chin, using the last of his energy to press them into his mouth so that he wouldn't miss a drop.
Geralt whimpered, licking and sucking as much as he could, like he needed it.
"So eager. This is how I like you, sweetheart."
Jaskier slid his hips back before Geralt looked up with a panicked expression.
"What is it, love? Hmm. I'm still here. I was just moving to get us into a more comfortable position."
Geralt brought his hands up, clutching onto Jaskier's hips, his eyes pleading. Jaskier immediately began to run his fingers through the witchers hair, calming him back down, hushing him.
"Ahhh, I see. Okay let me sit down then, my legs can't hold me any longer. You did such a good job didn't you?"
Geralt could barely reply, Jaskier simply replaced his cock with his fingers to let Geralt stay in whatever place he'd gone to, then moved over to the couch.
"That's it, darling. Lets put a pillow down here for your knees. I don't want my little toy getting sore now."
Jaskier placed a pillow onto the floor before guiding Geralt onto it between his legs.
"Now, look at me."
He helped him by placing his thumb under his chin, tilting his head up. His two fingers still in his mouth.
"Be gentle, okay?"
Geralt lightly nodded before opening his mouth without being asked. Jaskier removed his fingers before guiding his head down to his softening cock. Geralt took it into his mouth immediately, then closed his eyes, happy that he could feel it soften in his mouth.
Y E S to big burley dom looking guys being actual puppies to their much less physically intimidating partners. Give me a guy that looks like he is the dommest dom in the world (*cough*Geralt of Rivia*cough*) but everything I enter the room his sub switch flicks on.
Seriously, there is nothing sexier to me than someone who could crush me into a cube looking at me like they’d do anything I ask for the briefest crumb of affection. Geralt is 100% in this camp - he’s sexy, he’s HUGE, thicc, burly
And weirdly tender in ways I can’t quite quantify. Hence why he goes after women like Yen and Triss - they’re absolutely iconic Doms who put him through the wheelhouse
Jaskier sighed and looked up at his lover, hand still outstretched from where he pushed Jaskier’s empty tankard off the table. He had the smallest smile on his face, knowing that he’d bothered him. “Why did you do that?” Jaskier asked, closing his book.
“Hm,” Geralt replied, pulling his hand back to himself. Jaskier didn’t like the way he was eyeballing his empty plate.
“If you’re bored, go meditate. I’m trying to read.” He held up his book for added effect.
“Can’t,” Geralt replied, running a hand over the back of his neck before sticking it out. “Can’t concentrate.” He tapped idly on the edge of the table. Jaskier glared at him a little, until he eventually bent down and picked up the tankard.
“Well what do you usually do to focus again?” Jaskier asked. Geralt looked off to the side and then at Jaskier, his eyebrows lifted slightly. “Oh,” he breathed at the silent answer. Even without the vocal response for confirmation, he could understand what Geralt meant. “Well,” he sighed. “I suppose I could be distracted from reading long enough to—“ he didn’t finish what he was saying, Geralt already standing and walking towards their room. Jaskier looked down at the table— he’d left money behind for their meal and drinks— then back over at Geralt, who was subtly swinging his hips with each step, flashing a look over his shoulder at Jaskier before sliding into their room. Jaskier stood and walked after him, ignoring the looks from other people when they saw a human pursuing a Witcher.
If only they knew.
Read the rest on AO3!
I wasn’t going to post this, it was going to sit as a draft in Google docs for the rest of my life, but @hailhailsatan wrote a fic that inspired me to finish it, and so here it is! It’s 2.6k so I didn’t feel like posting the whole thing here, but please give it a read!!
Okay so like this is really weird of me... But imagine an AU with Geralt where he let's you peg him. (Ok its crazy cuz like they didn't have that in that time frame and he's a total dom but I thought of it) oops?
Yes Dom Queen!!! Fantasize away, that’s what the internet and creativity are for. I think I’m going to do this like a head cannon for you. Geralt would either need to trust the hell out of you for this vulnerability or be dominated by a practical stranger.
*I also want to add, that in reality anal should be practiced with lots of training and preparation (plugs etc, please ask if you have questions) but y’all I don’t even see an AU Geralt getting some butt plugs and exploring on his own 😂
You were an experienced whore. You knew how to make the most money at what you did. You knew how to please men, and you had many tricks.
You knew that often the largest, strongest and most powerful men wanted that agency taken away in bed and you loved being the one to do it.
You knew that while some men were squeamish about their rears, they always came quicker with a finger or a toy up there. They fucking loved it.
If they allowed it.
Geralt of Rivia, a broad shouldered, burly Witcher entered your room and set down his swords. He towered over you. You were sure most of his days in bed were spent plowing, pinning, driving, choking, absolutely demolishing the pussys of inevitably smaller women that melted to puddles at his giant hands.
Not today.
You started as usual, taking his giant cock in your mouth as he stood. He groaned and threw his head back. You reached for his balls that were heavy- It’s been a while.
You massaged them lighly, bobbing up and down on his cock.
“You seem exhausted, Witcher. Why don’t you lay on the bed and I’ll continue.” Establishing your rightful place over him.
Geralt laid back and you returned to his cock. You paused briefly to suck on your middle finger and trace it down his inner thigh and under his balls.
Geralt moaned and gripped the sheets.
You continued bobbing on his cock and tentatively rubbed the opening of his rear.
He relaxed his jaw and his mouth fell open. He sighed as he melted beneath your touch.
You took this as an invitation. You pushed yourself all the way down on his cock, taking him deep in your throat while at the same time plunging your slicked finger deep inside him.
“Fuck....fuck” he uttered. His cock grew rock hard in your throat and he began panting above you. “You don’t have to-“
But you were already moving your finger in and out and he was interrupted by his own moans. You went back to bobbing on his cock, slurping and gargling on the thick girth while working your finger in and out of him.
You felt him getting close and could hear him grunting and swearing between breathy moans. You stopped on his cock but left your finger working in him.
He looked up at you, clearly feeling a little ashamed at how much pleasure he was getting from your finger alone.
You sat up and spit right on his asshole. A power move for sure.
You then added another finger, which you started pumping into him fiercely, your fist colliding with his ass cheeks. You smirked down at him, pleased to see his eager response.
His back arched and his fists balled up, overwhelmed with pleasure.
“You seem like a man that can handle a lot of adventure, Witcher. Want to try something new?”
He bit his lip pleadingly and nodded his head at a loss for words. The mighty Witcher was no match for your talents. You could bring any man to his pathetic knees for you.
You removed yourself from the bed quickly, leaving Geralt to feel vulnerable and empty without you while you retrieved a special device. Most men were too embarrassed or ashamed to allow it, but those that would went wild for it.
You produced a harness with a big dildo attached to it from a nearby drawer and held it up to him for permission to continue. He nodded, shrinking into the bed with submission.
You slid the harness up your naked legs and the dildo stuck out proudly. Your tits wiggled with the protrusion as you walked back over to the bed. You watched Geralt’s cock twitch as he watched you.
“Do you want me to fuck you then, Witcher?”
“Hmmm. Mhm” he responded meek and moaning, allowing himself to slip further into the submission that felt so good.
“Spread your legs then, slut.”
Without hesitation, Geralt lifted his huge legs into the air and grabbed the underside of his knees. His entire ass was spread for you and his cock throbbed.
“Beg for it”
“Please, fuck me” he whispered.
“I can’t hear you” you chided.
“Please, fuck me!” he pleaded.
You bent forward and spit on his asshole again before you lined the dildo up with his slicked opening. You leaned forward on one hand and guided the dildo into Geralt’s ass with the other.
He closed his eyes tight and winced and cursed. His cock throbbed and he started moaning and whimpering like a bitch under you as you sheathed the dildo inside him.
“Feel good to have me fill your tight ass, big man?” you teased but all he could manage was labored breathy moans in response.
You brought your hand to his cock now and started pumping it lightly as you rolled your hips back and fourth slowly.
After establishing a rhythm, you sat back up and drove yourself into Geralt’s ass. Your sweet supple skin was slamming into his hairy thighs and echoing through the room.
Through clenched teeth Geralt moaned and whimpered for you.
“Please, please”
“Please what, big man? You wanna cum for me?”
“Fuck. Yes” he managed, tightening the hold on his legs and bringing them in closer to his chest, surrendering his ass up even more to you.
You spit on his impressive cock and worked it with both of your hands while you drove your hips into him. You felt his cock throbbing and filling with cum- you knew he was close.
“Cum for me, slut. Let me see it”
Geralt moaned and whimpered, writhing underneath you as you pumped the cum from his cock and finally slowed your thrusts.
His cum erupted over your hands and dripped down to his exposed ass, covering himself.
Then you did some aftercare and rubbed his shoulders or something because that was a big experience for him.
You knew you could dominate even a Witcher, twice your size because you’re a badass dominant bitch.
That was fun! I have never written Geralt as a pathetic little sub before. What fun! Thanks for the challenge bb! I hope it scratched your itch for pegging Geralt ❤️
I don’t even know who to tag in this because everything I write is sub reader but who knows! Share it around and we’ll see who has a secret kink for pegging giant men.
CW: Mentions of the past death of a child; mentions of the sacking of Kaer Morhen
ON AO3 HERE; approximately 11,500 words under the cut.
As winter deepened its hold the keep, the pace of work within it slowed. With the major structural repairs and food preservation tasks completed, the witchers focused on the smaller tasks that would prepare them for the season to come. As blizzards whipped snow into high drifts and ice coated the windows, Kaer Morhen’s inhabitants tucked in by the fire, assembling bombs, grinding potion ingredients, repairing armor, and carefully weaving together thick, sturdy fabric to sew replacement tunics and trousers. There was also always laundry and cleaning to be done, tasks divided between the younger witchers and Jaskier, but Vesemir kept strict control over the cooking, allowing assistance only on occasion and never from Lambert.
As the longest nights passed by and the days started to lengthen again, Vesemir and Geralt resumed their usual tasks together in the library, inspecting the ancient tomes for mold and booklice, rebinding crumbling spines, and updating bestiaries with that season’s new knowledge. They worked in silence together in the quiet library, sitting beneath the window at opposite sides of the heavy worktable. Each day brought a greater sense of normalcy and Geralt started to truly believe the progress he had made with Vesemir would stick.
Over the past weeks, Geralt had noticed how closely Vesemir observed them when he knelt for one of his brothers or for Jaskier, how he never moved to participate but also how he never objected either. He wanted to have that with Vesemir as well, the simple comfort of being wholly himself in front of his family. He had a feeling Vesemir needed it too. He had an even stronger feeling that Vesemir would never ask for it.
One day in the library, Geralt resolved to make the first move.
Slowly, quietly, Geralt rose from his seat and closed the bestiary he’d been updating, tucking it under his arm, his quill and inkpot held carefully in his other hand. Vesemir looked up at him questioningly, it was far too early for them to break for the day, and he almost lost his resolve and returned to his seat. But he steeled himself and stepped to Vesemir’s side, sinking down to his knees on the threadbare rug and leaning against the arm of Vesemir’s wooden chair.
Vesemir froze.
Geralt forced himself to project an air of nonchalance, strictly controlling his breathing and heartrate. He wouldn’t give Vesemir any reason to think he was afraid. And, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t. He was afraid of Vesemir’s rejection, not of Vesemir himself. Even the many times he had been strapped to the wooden cross, the cat-o-nine-tails singing in Vesemir’s hand, he’d been afraid of the whip, of the agony to come, but never of Vesemir. Even through the fog of pain and forced drop, he could tell Vesemir got no enjoyment out of it -- he had smelled far more of resigned despair than of bloodlust.
Drawing in a fortifying breath, Geralt reached out and dragged his chair over, wooden legs scraping on the stone, then lay the bestiary and inkwell on it, and took back up his quill to return to his task. For a long moment, the only sound in the library was the scratch of Geralt’s quill on ancient vellum. Geralt couldn’t even hear Vesemir breathe, but he did hear his heart pounding in his chest, far faster than a witcher’s normal sedate pace.
Geralt kept working as if nothing had changed and Vesemir gradually, tentatively, reanimated, his breath starting again with a quiet gasp and his fingers trembling as they turned the pages of the quarto before him, inspecting each page for damage.
They stayed that way until the shadows stretched across the room and the stone walls glowed red from the sunset.
“Time for me to start making dinner.” Vesemir said, breaking the silence for the first time. “Finish checking the quarto and then join me.”
“Yes, Vesemir.” Geralt said, rising and placing his book and inkwell back on the table. He had made good progress with his updates and would likely finish tomorrow.
Vesemir stood and headed out of the room, pausing as he reached the door, his hand on the pull. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. This time, it was Geralt whose breath froze in his chest.
Vesemir cleared his throat and spoke to the door. “Tomorrow, bring a cushion.”
Geralt’s breath unlocked and a smile spread across his face as he watched Vesemir leave. He stood there for a moment, letting the relief wash over him, before shaking himself and taking Vesemir’s seat to inspect the rest of the quarto.
-------------------------------
On a rare, warm day, a preview of the spring to come after the last, dragging weeks of winter finally passed, Vesemir roused his wolves to spar, instructing them to clear the courtyard and prepare to practice their skills. While they ran through their footwork and sword patterns indoors throughout the winter, in a spot in the main hall set aside solely for that purpose, true sparring could only happen outdoors. They were not about to waste the opportunity.
Eager to stretch their legs and burn off energy, the three young witchers jumped to the task, burning away the snow and ice with controlled blasts of Aard and Igni, sweeping away the resulting water before it could freeze again. Vesemir and Jaskier observed from a distance, cradling mugs of warm ale.
When the inner courtyard was clear, the three men stripped off their tunics, leaving them bare to the waist, vibrant sleeve tattoos on full display. Unlike Geralt, whose arm was fully covered in intricate runic tattoos and marred by burn scars, his submissive’s cuff rendered completely invisible, the Dominant stripes on his brothers’ arms were given pride of place at the center of their tattoos, the complex runic weaving surrounding them serving to highlight rather than to hide.
As he studied them, Jaskier was suddenly struck by the physical differences between Geralt and his Dominant brothers, made only more obvious without the padding of winter tunics. Together like this, no one could mistake Geralt for anything but a submissive. While he was massive compared to the average man, especially in terms of his musculature, he was markedly leaner and lither than his brothers, both the shortest of the three, though not by much, and decidedly the least broad. Eskel was built like a bear, thick, heavy muscles bulking out his colossal frame and Lambert, though more compact than Eskel, also cut an impressively large figure. If Geralt stood behind either one, he would be completely hidden from sight.
Jaskier’s realization must have shown on his face because Vesemir commented on his train of thought.
“We suspected he was a submissive before he ever presented.” Vesemir said quietly, watching the three as they stretched and warmed up, Geralt first braiding back his long, white hair. “He always was smaller and lighter than the rest of them.”
“Did you train him any differently because of that?” Jaskier asked, careful to phrase the question delicately. The chance to observe Vesemir all winter, especially the way he cared for his wolves, had cooled Jaskier’s ire and he wanted to give Vesemir a fair chance to show his true character.
Vesemir hummed, considering the question. Geralt had clearly picked up that habit from him. “Yes and no.” He said finally. “The basic training for all witcher trainees was the same. We never bothered to train to each boy’s particular strengths and weaknesses until after they completed the first Trial.”
Jaskier drew in a sharp breath but Vesemir pressed on. It was common knowledge that most boys died in the Trial of the Grasses, and that even more fell in the two subsequent Trials over the following years.
“But once a young witcher reached the more advanced stages of training, we tailored each boy’s program to capitalize on their strengths and shore up their weaknesses.” Vesemir explained. “Eskel is strong magically, so we had a mage tutor him to maximize his potential power, but he struggled with ranged weapons and needed extra training with our archery instructor. By contrast, Lambert excels with ranged weapons, so we taught him how to create an advantage in battle by striking first from a distance, but he needed extra work controlling his temper in hand-to-hand combat.”
“And Geralt?”
“Geralt is our best swordsman by far. Because he’s smaller and lighter, he’s more flexible and able to execute moves in a smaller space than the others. Makes him quick as anything.” Vesemir said. “And after he went through the additional round of experimental Trials, his weaknesses disappeared. As to his fighting ability at least. He was still vulnerable to a Dominant’s Voice, so I worked with him to learn to resist it.”
“Why you, specifically?” Jaskier asked.
“Because I was the only one who truly wanted him to survive on the Path.” Vesemir said bluntly.
Jaskier blanched, turning fully to face Vesemir. He moved to question Vesemir, but Vesemir spoke before he could.
“There had never before been a submissive witcher. We trained every boy who came to the keep, and some were submissives, but no submissive had ever before survived the Trial of the Grasses. The other trainers thought the effort put into him was wasted, that he would fall to any Dominant he encountered.” Vesemir said, face pinched at the memory. “But that boy wouldn’t give in, he just kept excelling. But even after he survived the experimental Trials, the other trainers didn’t believe he would survive the Path. Figured he was a proof of concept, a way to show the experimental Trials could be added successfully to the program, but that was it. Didn’t think he was worth the effort of any specialized training.”
“But if you put in all that extra effort to train him to resist a Dominant’s Voice, why were you so afraid he would still fall under a Dominant’s thrall?” Jaskier asked pointedly, raising a question he’d long carried and knew Geralt couldn’t answer.
“Because we could never field test it. In the end, he was able to resist all the Dominants in the keep, at least under testing conditions, but I knew there were stronger, more malicious Dominants out there, ones who would truly wish him harm. The other trainers were indifferent to his fate, but they didn’t actively seek to kill him. A Dominant monster, or a human seeking to conquer a witcher, would have such an intent. That gives power to a Dominant’s Voice in a way we couldn’t replicate.” Vesemir said, heavy with regret.
“So, you couldn’t be sure it would work outside these walls. That’s why you warned him to keep his designation a secret. It was to protect him.” Jaskier said, completing the thought.
Vesemir nodded. “The secrecy was my idea. Although we encouraged our Dominant witchers to fulfill their needs in brothels, going so far as to provide training in how to engage safely with a fragile, human submissive, I thought it was better to take care of Geralt in-house, where it was safe for him to drop, rather than to risk him getting killed -- or worse, compelled to act as a weapon -- by some unscrupulous Dominant on the outside.”
“But why prevent Eskel and Lambert from helping him? Didn’t they used to guide him down when they were children together?” Jaskier asked, voicing the question that Geralt would never dare ask for fear of sowing discord between Vesemir and his brothers.
Vesemir sighed, suddenly seeming old in a way he never had before, despite his over four centuries of life, his gaze resting heavily on Geralt’s back where the thick scars were on full display as he stretched.
“When I learned to guide a submissive down, the only known ways to do it were to fuck them or to beat them, having the submissive count the strikes to induce the drop. That’s what we taught our trainees, though we instructed them to only use the sexual method and only in brothels or with truly willing partners. We would, on occasion, seek guidance from the Madame in the brothel in the village below the keep, but each time our understanding was confirmed – the sexual method was the only way for a witcher to drop one of their submissives.” Vesemir said, staring off into the middle distance, lost in the memories. “I saw what Eskel and Lambert did with Geralt, but it was the actions of children, insufficient to drop him fully and far from enough to fulfill his biological needs once he matured. And so, once they were older, I stopped it. Their brotherly bond was strong, and I didn’t want it damaged, not when I thought I could take care of Geralt’s needs myself.”
Jaskier frowned, considering Vesemir’s words. It painted a tragic picture of fear, sacrifice, and hurt, drawn out over decades. Vesemir had been convinced there was no gentle, familial way to drop a submissive and, not wanting to risk Geralt falling to harm out on the Path, had insisted he only drop in the safety of Kaer Morhen. Because of the brutality of the act, Vesemir had taken it upon himself, unwilling to share the burden with Geralt’s brothers.
It was as misguided as it was well-intentioned. It didn’t erase the damage done to Geralt, nothing could, but Jaskier felt most of his anger fade away, replaced by a reluctant confidence that Vesemir would never revert to his old patterns of behavior. That Geralt’s choice to reconcile with Vesemir would not cause him further harm now that they had both seen the damage caused by the system in which they were each raised.
Vesemir must have seen the understanding on his face because he turned away, expression tight, and fixed his attention on the training.
“Boys! Specialized exercises first, then we’ll spar.” Vesemir called out. Three heads snapped up, jarred out of their eavesdropping on Jaskier and Vesemir’s conversation, and they each nodded, turning to attend to their tasks. Lambert jogged over to the targets and collected a cross bow. Eskel moved into a wide-open space and started to practice his signs, showing off his exquisite control as he used Igni to form intricate patterns of fire in the air.
Geralt hopped up on the pendulum, taking a practice sword in hand and tying a cloth around his eyes before starting the mechanism, sending the three pendulums swinging over the pillars below. With a deep breath, Geralt leapt past the first pendulum, twisting in the air to deliver a blow to the strike pad before landing neatly on one foot on the pillar beyond, then dropping flat to avoid a strike from the second pendulum. His heart pounded in his chest as his blood lit, the familiar exercise lifting his spirits and loosening his muscles, tightened after the long weeks spent locked indoors. He could feel Jaskier’s gaze on him and threw in some extra fancy footwork, reveling in each gasp of awe he drew out.
After hearing Vesemir’s explanation, prompted by Jaskier, he felt light in a way he never had before, as if slotting in those missing pieces allowed him to finally, truly accept that that part of his life was over. That a new, better pattern, one in which they were able to fulfill each other’s needs safely and gently, was truly possible.
Geralt could hear Jaskier and Vesemir’s conversation continue as he ran through his exercises, but he let the words flow through his mind unheard, focusing instead on the elation of his physical prowess, letting his body drive all thought from his mind. He’d already heard what he needed to hear.
“I see what you mean.” Jaskier said to Vesemir, amazement in his voice. “I knew he was a skilled swordsman, but I’ve never seen him move like this. Usually, I’m either too far from the fight to see it any detail or I’m more concerned with his potential imminent death than his footwork.”
Vesemir huffed. From another man, it might have been a laugh. “He’s showing off. Flashy and acrobatic, but not much good in a real fight. As a youngster, I had to work with him to focus his strength in his blows, rather than just flitting about.”
They watched Geralt spar with the pendulums for a long moment, each lost in thought.
“I’m starting to understand why Geralt insisted on reconciling with you, despite the harm you caused him.” Jaskier said, breaking the silence.
“I don’t deserve his forgiveness. My ignorance was no excuse for my actions.” Vesemir said flatly, turning away.
Jaskier was struck then by how similar Vesemir and Geralt truly were. They each lived driven by the need to care for others and didn’t believe their errors in judgment, whether inconsequential or profoundly damaging, could ever deserve to be forgiven. He knew the guilt for his actions would never leave Vesemir, and Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to believe it should, but he knew that guilt didn’t have to define their future relationship if Vesemir repented and changed his ways. If he directed the love and protectiveness that had driven him to act as he did into more positive and constructive means.
“I understand why you handled Geralt’s needs as you did.” Jaskier said. “You were trying to protect him in the best way you knew.”
“That doesn’t absolve me.” Vesemir said firmly, jaw clenching.
“No, it doesn’t.” Jaskier said, firmly but not unkindly. “But it means you can change. He has centuries of life left and I will only be around for part of that.” Jaskier turned and forced Vesemir to meet his gaze. “And I am trusting you, and his brothers, to care for him when I am gone.”
Vesemir nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. He considered him for a long moment before his posture eased, some of the long-held tension slipping away. “We will.” Vesemir said finally. “We have learned much from you this winter.”
“I trust you won’t forget it.” Jaskier said, eyes hard.
“He will never find pain at my hands again.” Vesemir vowed. “I do not yet know what else I can offer him, but that, at least, I am certain of.”
Jaskier found nothing but truth and repentance in Vesemir’s expression. He smiled and stepped back, breaking the moment. The air between them cleared and lightened.
Vesemir gave a sharp nod and strode forward, giving a sharp whistle to draw the other three witchers’ attention back to him.
“Form up!” He called out. Eskel and Lambert jogged over and Geralt executed one last twisting flip off the pendulum and onto the ground, tucking the blindfold back in his pocket and returning the wooden sword to its hook before shutting off the pendulum’s mechanism and coming over to join his brothers.
“We’ll start with one-on-one matches. I expect to see clean hits and good footwork. Signs are allowed but the matches will be bare-handed. Eskel and Geralt will fight first, then Lambert will face the winner. Matches are to the yield.” Vesemir instructed.
Geralt and Eskel stepped forward, facing each other. Lambert stepped back beside Jaskier.
“This will be a show. Geralt boings about and Eskel barely moves, the lug.” Lambert said under his breath to Jaskier.
Vesemir reached around Jaskier to cuff Lambert gently on the back of the head. “Watch and learn, boy. Your footwork could benefit from Geralt’s tutelage.”
Lambert scoffed but subsided, watching the match with an intent that belied his relaxed posture.
With a nod from Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel leapt toward each other, Geralt pirouetting around Eskel’s Aard blast and using his centrifugal force to aim a high kick at Eskel’s back. Eskel dropped into a crouch, avoiding the blow and raising a Quen shield. Geralt let his leg complete the kick, blending the force of the miss into a one-handed front flip, landing and rolling away from the exploding force of Eskel’s shield. Eskel rushed him, casting a quick Axii to disorient Geralt and landing an open-handed blow to the side of his head, stunning him and sending him careening off to the left in an uncontrolled tumble.
Geralt’s back smacked into the outer wall and knocked him out of his daze. With a firm shake of his head, he sprang to his feet, scowling at Eskel.
“That hurt, asshole!” Geralt growled at him, rubbing the side of his head.
Eskel grinned, crooking one finger at Geralt in challenge.
“Don’t get distracted by his Signs, Geralt!” Vesemir instructed. “He’s been dropping you with that move since you were children!”
Geralt’s scowl deepened and he charged forward at Eskel, dropping into a rolling dodge just as he got within range, springing up off his hands and twisting to land right behind Eskel, striking out to kick his legs out from under him. Eskel turned away from Geralt’s hit, deflecting some of the force. He stumbled, but kept his feet, pressing a Yrden trap into the ground to slow Geralt’s quick movements. Eskel knew he couldn’t match Geralt’s speed, and in a Sign-free fight, he would always lose, but he was a strategist and a powerful mage in his own right and used that to his advantage.
Geralt grit his teeth, roaring out a noise of pure frustration as he fought Yrden’s hold. Eskel went for another open-handed hit and this time Geralt dodged, dropping flat to his belly and log rolling out of the range of Yrden’s trap, casting a powerful blast of Igni before he regained his feet. With his own movements slowed by the trap he stood within, Eskel couldn’t raise a shield in time and barely managed to raise his arms to protect his face from the flames. As this was a spar, the blast was quick and weak, designed to strike but not to injure.
Lambert tossed a bucket of ice-cold water on Eskel nonetheless. Eskel stood there, smoking and soaked, staring at Geralt with a furious expression. Geralt was utterly unrepentant, high on his successful hit. They were tied now, one good hit each.
Geralt gave Eskel a mocking bow, then took his ready position, crooking one finger at Eskel in a return challenge.
Eskel shook his head sharply to clear the water and strode forward slowly, arms raised in defense. Ice cracked along the courtyard walls and they sprung at each other, clashing in the middle, Geralt’s striking blow against Eskel’s block. Eskel was stronger and forced Geralt back, following with a kick that Geralt ducked under, snaking under Eskel’s defense to land a hard upper-cut blow to his chin. Eskel staggered back but recovered quickly, sinking into a solid stance and blasting Geralt with a short-range Aard. The blast threw Geralt back and he barely managed to twist in the air before he hit the wall again, this time feet first, and pushed off it land just outside Eskel’s strike zone.
Geralt stepped in quickly, feinting with a right hook before turning the dodged blow into a hard, spinning kick. Eskel blocked it with Quen and Geralt pirouetted out of range of shield’s exploding blast, casting an Aard blast of his own up into Eskel’s chest, lunging forward when he staggered and stopping short with the blade of his hand pressed into Eskel’s throat. If he’d followed through, the blow would have crushed Eskel’s windpipe.
Eskel huffed but dropped his guard. “I yield.”
Geralt grinned, thrilled with his victory. Battles against Eskel were hard-fought and he won and lost in equal measure. They knew each other well and, as a battle pair, were unstoppable.
Eskel reached out to draw Geralt into a one-armed embrace, ruffling his hair and laughing when Geralt flailed in protest. “Your victory this time, little brother.”
“You’re getting slow, old man.” Geralt teased, dodging out of the way of a cuff with a laugh.
Geralt strode up to face Lambert, bowing in a mockery of a duelist’s bow. “Are you ready for our promised bout?” Geralt asked, reminding Lambert of their promise in Vizima.
“About fucking time.” Lambert said, brushing past Geralt with a hard knock to his shoulder. He took Eskel’s old spot and stood ready to face Geralt.
Geralt rolled his eyes but followed, taking his position opposite Lambert. They both looked to Vesemir for the signal.
“No Signs for this match.” Vesemir instructed. “Lambert, focus on your footwork. And mind your temper!”
“I’m not a child anymore, Vesemir!” Lambert protested. “You don’t need to tell me what to do!”
“I’ll stop telling you when the lesson starts sticking.” Vesemir said, arching a stern eyebrow.
Lambert scowled, turning back to Geralt with a huff. “Don’t you start!” He said sharply when Geralt fought to keep a straight face.
“Do your best, Lambert! It’s your epic battle ‘on the fields of your youth’!” Jaskier called out, teasing Lambert for the overly flowery language he’d used to challenge Geralt back in Vizima.
Lambert tossed him an obscene gesture and took up his stance. He had yet to win a bout against Geralt hand-to-hand, but he got better every year and Geralt needed to focus. He assumed his own stance, mirroring Lambert’s pose, and took a deep breath, narrowing his focus to the task at hand.
At Vesemir’s nod, Lambert surged forward, dropping low and striking high and hard, forcing Geralt to twist out of the way. Like Eskel, Lambert had the advantage of size and strength, though the margin was smaller with him, and Geralt couldn’t afford to take a strong blow head-on. The trick with Lambert was to get his temper up. When he was angry, he was careless, and that's why he’d yet to win against Geralt.
Before Lambert could recover from the miss, Geralt spun behind him, poking his shoulder as he went by. Lambert twisted toward him with a snarl and Geralt dodged back out of the way, deflecting Lambert’s roundhouse kick and using the momentum to bring them close together. Geralt blocked a close hit from Lambert’s free arm and leaned in to plant a wet lick on the tip of Lambert’s nose before dropping down and rolling out of the way, taking a glancing blow to the ribs for his cheek.
Lambert’s face twisted in disgust and he rubbed his nose on his bare forearm.
“Mind your temper now, Lambert.” Geralt said, taking on the tone of an especially condescending instructor.
“Oh, I’m going to fucking get you for that!” Lambert shouted, charging forward at Geralt. Geralt wasn’t ready, too focused on teasing Lambert, and barely managed to dodge the first strike, dropping down under the punch and then springing up inside Lambert’s guard, headbutting him in the chest.
Lambert coughed, the wind knocked out of him, and Geralt tweaked his ear before dodging back out of range.
“You are such a little shit.” Lambert gasped, his temper fraying.
“And you’re predictable. Easy to distract and easy to anger.” Geralt said with a grin. “That’s why you can’t beat me!”
Lambert blanched and then his eyes darkened, rage twisting his expression. Geralt’s brows furrowed, suddenly concerned he’d pushed too far. Lambert had always gotten angry, it was basically his default state of being, but Geralt had never seen actual rage on his face during one of their bouts, much less that brief flash of shocked hurt. He couldn’t help but feel he’d unintentionally poked at a sore spot, causing far more harm than he’d intended.
He saw Vesemir tense out of the corner of his eye and Eskel stepped forward as if to come between them. They’d both seen the shift in Lambert’s mood.
“Lambert, forgive me, I didn’t mean -” Geralt started, dropping his stance and raising his hands. He knew something was wrong, something must have happened after they saw Lambert in the fall, something that hurt him badly and he’d just unintentionally pressed salt into that unknown wound. He wanted to make it right.
Lambert charged, striking out hard toward Geralt’s chest. Geralt twisted around the blow, retreating with his hands raised. Lambert followed, striking out hard with two quick punches. Geralt ducked under one and deflected the next, using the force to roll away from Lambert.
“Stop running away!” Lambert roared, rushing Geralt with his fist raised. Geralt sprang backwards, dodging the wide blow.
“Lambert, it’s enough!” Geralt said, raising his hands.
“No, it’s not enough! It won’t be enough until I beat you!” Lambert yelled back, feinting another straight punch and following it with a twisting kick. Geralt caught Lambert’s leg, using the momentum to spin Lambert around and away. Lambert’s blows were getting stronger and increasingly uncoordinated. There was a fragility in his expression that belied his anger. Like when he was hurt as a child and acted out rather than show he’d been wounded.
Lambert spun back to face Geralt, sinking into his stance. “Fight me!” He shouted, stepping forward and shoving Geralt back when he wouldn’t raise his own stance. He followed with a left hook and Geralt dodged again, spinning back out of the way.
Eskel intervened, putting a hand on Lambert’s shoulder that was quickly shrugged off. “Fucking FIGHT ME!” Lambert roared, expression twisted with rage and hurt, Dominant’s Voice lending commanding weight to his words.
Lambert’s Voice struck Geralt like a blow. He’d never heard it directed at him in anger and it scraped against his senses. It hurt, knowing Lambert would use that against him, but, like with the werewolf in Daevon, he felt no compulsion to obey.
Geralt dropped his hands, coming to a neutral stance. His brow furrowed and a cold weight settled in his chest. It felt as if time had stopped moving.
“No, Lambert.” Geralt said quietly. “I won’t fight you, not like this.”
Lambert dropped his hands and fell to his knees. “Fuck, Geralt, I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.” He said, voice wrecked.
Geralt caught Eskel’s eye over Lambert’s shoulder and motioned him back with a quick tilt of his chin. Eskel hesitated, but complied when he saw Geralt’s clear, calm expression. Jaskier stepped forward and drew Eskel back, knowing Geralt could handle this. Geralt cast him a grateful smile before turning his attention to Lambert.
He crouched in front of Lambert and drew him close, letting Lambert bury his face in the crook of Geralt’s shoulder, as he had when he was a child. Geralt was suddenly reminded of the nights he’d spent holding Lambert together after he’d been through the Trial of the Grasses, soothing his fears and trying to ease the aches of the mutations as he rode out the changes. Lambert had been so small then, so young, able to fit easily in Geralt’s lap. The years since had changed that, Lambert easily outmatching Geralt in size when he finally reached his own maturity. But he would always be Geralt’s little brother.
“I didn’t mean to use my Voice on you, Geralt, I swear it.” He said, voice thick and tight, breath hot against Geralt’s neck.
“I know, it’s all right.” Geralt said, rubbing one hand soothingly up and down Lambert’s bare back.
“It’s not.” Lambert said, arms tightening around Geralt’s back.
“No, not really, but I forgive you for it.” Geralt said gently. He’d told Lambert about the werewolf in Daevon, about how he’d been unaffected by its Dominant Voice. But that didn’t make it right for Lambert to employ his Voice against him and they both knew it. It was a betrayal of the trust Geralt placed in Lambert, but Geralt believed Lambert when he said it was unintentional, especially given the overwrought hurt Geralt had caused him with his thoughtless words. His brother was many things, impulsive, tempestuous, even insensitive at times, but he was never cruel or domineering, especially not to his family.
“You shouldn’t.” Lambert said, moving as if to draw away.
Geralt tightened his hold and Lambert subsided, relaxing into Geralt again. “But I do, and it’s my choice.” He was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu from his conversation with Vesemir. Geralt felt a sudden wave of gratitude for Jaskier teaching him how to communicate openly with his family – an incident like this could have broken his relationship with Lambert otherwise.
“What happened?” Geralt asked gently. “It’s not like you to lose control like that. You get angry, sure, but this was different.”
Lambert tensed but Geralt simply waited, continuing to stroke his back. Eventually, Lambert let his breath out in a huff, tension easing. He sat back and tugged Geralt out of his crouch, pulling him so close that Geralt had no choice but to sit on Lambert’s thighs, held against his chest. Geralt allowed it, letting Lambert take whatever comfort he needed.
“It was shortly after I left you in Vizima. I got a hunt for a katakan outside some nameless blip of a village. They'd woken the thing up trying to mine some godsdamned cave and the fucker started nabbing children from the village to break its fast.”
Lambert sighed and Geralt feared he knew what was coming. “I tracked it down, fought it, and the thing was faster even than you, flitting about and getting me with those fucking sharp claws. And the fucker kept regenerating health faster than I could drain it. I got frustrated. Got careless. I charged at it and it threw me back into the wall. Stunned me good. While I was struggling to get up again, instead of taking me out, the fucking thing took one of the kids out of the cage it kept them in and --”
Lambert broke off, burying his face in Geralt’s hair. “Fucker split the kid in half, used his blood to boost its regeneration powers. Then came at me again. I don’t really remember much after that, but I killed it. Brought the rest of the kids home. Burned the dead kid to keep the necrophages away. Knew his parents would be killed by something in those woods if they tried to go all the way out there to bury him.”
Geralt just held his brother tighter. There was nothing to say that would make it better.
“You saved all those other kids.” Geralt said finally. “They would have died without you. And more kids after that, then probably the whole village.”
“That one kid should have lived too.” Lambert said, his voice hollow.
“All of the katakan’s victims should have lived, but their deaths weren’t your fault. You saved as many as you could.” Lambert went to protest and Geralt spoke over him. “Katakans are tough hunts, there’s no way to know if it landed that blow because you lost your temper or whether it would have happened anyway. The best thing you can do to repent for that one boy’s death is to keep going. Save more people.”
Geralt drew back and caught Lambert’s gaze, forcing him to hold it. “That’s what I did after Blaviken. What I continue to do each time I fail to save someone.”
Lambert considered that for a long moment. Geralt knew it wouldn’t erase the pain he felt, but he could at least redirect it.
Lambert’s eyes lightened and he quirked a grin. “How’d you get so fucking wise?”
“It’s the power of communication.” Geralt said archly, returning Lambert’s grin.
“It’s the power of Jaskier, you mean.” Lambert leered, making an obscene gesture.
Geralt smacked him and got up, reaching a hand down. Lambert took it and stood, wrapping an arm around Geralt’s shoulders as they rejoined the others. Jaskier gave Geralt a soft, proud smile, drawing him into a tight embrace, and Geralt felt warmed through. Eskel ruffled Lambert’s hair before dragging him over to a snowbank and shoving him into it. Lambert sprang back up with a squawk, taking off after Eskel with messy handful of snow, promising cold retribution.
Geralt shook his head at the antics but sobered at Vesemir’s troubled expression.
“How can you forgive him so easily? He should not lose control like that, much less over his Voice.” Vesemir asked, brow furrowed in a frown.
“He shouldn’t, but I’m glad this came out now, at home, rather than out on his Path. And I forgave him because I can, because I knew he truly meant me no real harm.” Geralt said, tone making it clear that they were talking about more than just Lambert. “And because I forgave him, we were able to talk about it and move past it. I know he’ll be more careful in the future.”
Vesemir hummed, considering Geralt’s words. Geralt didn’t press for a response. With a nod of acknowledgment, Vesemir turned away, calling the other two back.
“If have the time to roughhouse, go chop more firewood. The kitchen hearth needs more in its reserve.” Vesemir directed.
“My hearth does too.” Geralt said, canting his head with a smile.
“All the way up that fucking tower?” Lambert protested. Eskel smacked his shoulder. Geralt just raised an expectant eyebrow.
“Fine, just this once.” Lambert conceded.
Geralt’s smile widened and Lambert waved him off with a huff, heading toward the wood pile.
“Hot spring?” Geralt asked Jaskier.
“Definitely. I can barely feel my face anymore.” Jaskier said, pulling his cloak tighter.
“Then go. I will start dinner.” Vesemir said.
Geralt pulled his tunic back on and wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him close to share body heat as they traipsed back up into the keep, heading for the soothing warmth of the hot springs below.
----------------------
Geralt sat in front of Jaskier in the hot spring, head tilted back and eyes closed as Jaskier worked soap into his long, white hair, gently working out the tangles caused by his exertions. It had been several months since they last stopped at a barber and his hair now reached the middle of his back. Without his armor and with his hair long, Geralt looked as close to a typical male submissive as he ever would. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not because he was ashamed anymore, but because he wasn’t a typical male submissive. He was something quite different and, for once, Geralt was entirely comfortable with that.
“Your hair has gotten long.” Jaskier commented, making sure to keep his voice neutral. Geralt appreciated the consideration, the way Jaskier made sure to never express a firm opinion on how Geralt should look, prioritizing Geralt’s comfort above all else.
“Hmm, it has. I think it’s time for a cut.” Geralt said, words slightly slurring together. A hot bath after a hard workout, especially if Jaskier washed his hair, always nearly put him to sleep.
“Well, you’ll need to wait until we get to a barber then. We learned the last time that my tonsorial skills leave much to be desired.” Jaskier said, a hint of amused self-deprecation in his tone.
Geralt huffed a laugh. The one time Jaskier had tried to cut his hair, he’d failed to make it even so many times that Geralt’s hair had ended up at his chin before Jaskier finally admitted defeat. The barber they’d subsequently gone to see had simply sighed, shaken his head, and cut Geralt’s hair short. It had taken over a year for it to grow back out to his preferred length. After that, they had both agreed a repeat attempt was not in the cards.
“I’ll ask Vesemir to do it. He used to cut my hair when I was in training. All of ours, actually. He was the only trainer who could do it without shearing us like sheep.” Geralt said, smiling faintly at the memory.
“Vesemir truly is a man of many skills.” Jaskier said slowly. He paused and took a long breath before continuing. “It has been difficult for me to forgive him as you have.” Jaskier said finally, haltingly, as if expecting Geralt to condemn him.
Geralt twisted around and rested his chin on Jaskier’s thigh, looking up at him. “I know, and I am grateful for your forbearance.” Geralt looked away, unsure if he should share his remaining thoughts.
“I heard you, that night in the kitchen, and today, outside.” Geralt said, deciding he should be open with Jaskier in this as with all things.
“Ah,” Jaskier said, mouth tightening. “I hadn’t intended that for your ears. I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings on the matter when you already had so much to deal with.”
Geralt shook his head and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s knee. “I already knew, I could smell your anger.”
Jaskier huffed. “You and that wolfish nose of yours,” he said, flushing with embarrassment.
Geralt twitched his nose at him and Jaskier laughed, his expression easing.
“You seem content with him now, though? Now that you’ve heard his side?” Geralt asked, head tilting slightly as he considered Jaskier.
Jaskier’s mouth thinned but then relaxed, his shoulders dropping. “Aye, I can see now why you would forgive him. He truly cares for you, loves you as a father loves a son. I understand he did what he did because he felt he had no choice if he wanted to preserve your life and keep you safe.”
Jaskier reached out and traced the thick, roping scars covering Geralt’s back. “But you will carry the mark of his errors your whole life. Your forgiveness does not erase the damage done.”
“Vesemir suffers too. I’ve never seen him so uncertain, as if he questions every decision he makes, every word he plans to speak.” Geralt said, voicing the concern he’d held close to his chest, watching how Vesemir had changed after learning the truth.
“Good.” Jaskier said vehemently. “He hurt you because he failed to question whether there was another option. His methods were already archaic by the time you were born, and he would have known that had he stopped to question his decision more thoroughly before implementing it. If he’d sought counsel from someone other than another witcher or the local village’s madame. I’m sure Nenneke would have been willing to consult with him had he but asked.”
Geralt instinctively moved to protest, to defend Vesemir, but subsided. When he forced himself to think about it, Jaskier was right. Even though he understood Vesemir’s reasons, especially after eavesdropping on his conversation earlier with Jaskier, that didn’t mean Vesemir had been in the right. Or that his good intentions excused the damage he’d wrought. Although Geralt had decided to forgive Vesemir, he realized he shouldn’t forget how they’d ended up in such a toxic loop -- it was the only way to prevent a similar occurrence in the future. He could forgive, but he must never forget.
Jaskier took a deep slow breath and his anger eased, seeing the play of expressions on Geralt’s face as he came to that realization. “That hesitation he’s displaying now is precisely why I believe I can trust him with you going forward. I’ve studied him over these past weeks. He is fundamentally a good man, very much like you. I don’t believe he will repeat his error.” Jaskier said. “And I believe you understand your own worth well enough now that you would not accept it if he sought to hurt you again. Nor would Lambert and Eskel.”
Geralt huffed. “They certainly would not,” he said with a soft smile. “I’ve grown closer to them as well this winter. I have you to thank for that.”
Jaskier tilted his head questioningly. “How so?”
“You taught me to be open, both with myself and with others.” Geralt said. “It’s the opposite of what we were taught. We were always fond of each other, always close, but there was a tension there. We held ourselves back. But this year, I was able to be fully open with them and they responded in kind.”
Jaskier gave him a warm, proud smile. “I’ve been so glad to see how close you three have become. It’s good for all of you. I can’t say I know Lambert and Eskel as well as you do, but they seem happier and more relaxed than they were at the start of winter.”
Geralt hummed and twisted back around, leaning back against the wall between Jaskier’s legs. “They are. It also helps that they aren’t going a couple months without guiding a submissive down. They would get pretty tetchy by the end of the season in past years and they’d practically race down to the brothel in the village as soon as the mountain pass cleared.”
“Do they only ever engage with working submissives?” Jaskier asked.
Geralt nodded. “Or the rare submissive willing to do it without coin. They’ve both had a few regular flings over the years, submissives willing to drop for them more than once, but it’s hard to keep that up walking the Path.” Geralt tilted his head back, looking at Jaskier upside down. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have a partner willing to walk the Path with them.”
Jaskier leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a smile.
Jaskier gently guided Geralt’s head back into position and picked up a wash basin, carefully pouring water over Geralt’s hair to wash out the suds, repeating the process until the water ran clear. As he reached for the bottle of hair oil, Eskel and Lambert clattered into the chamber, dropping their boots by the door and stripping off their wet clothes before jumping into the warm water with audible sighs of relief.
“Well, would you look at this pampered pup?” Lambert drawled to Eskel.
“Sure looks comfortable,” Eskel said with a grin. “Soft, even.”
Geralt flipped them an obscene gesture, humming with contentment as Jaskier worked the oil through his hair.
“Don’t worry, Lambert, you’re next.” Jaskier said cheekily, beckoning him over.
Lambert blinking, mouth gaping open. “I am not!”
“I won’t force you, of course,” Jaskier said, “but you comment on this every time we’re down here together, so I can’t help but think you’re feeling left out.”
Lambert spluttered, flush rising in his cheeks.
Geralt rolled his eyes, twisting around and up to press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before moving out of the way. “Just do it,” he said. “I’m going to wash Eskel’s hair.”
“You are?” Eskel asked, eyebrow raised.
“Aye, no arguments. Just sit down and shut up.” Geralt said imperiously, moving to sit behind Eskel.
Eskel raised his hands in surrender and ducked his head under the water, wetting it thoroughly before sitting back, leaning against the edge of the pool between Geralt’s knees.
Jaskier raised an eyebrow at Lambert who finally conceded.
“Fine!” He said, throwing his hands up and sitting in front of Jaskier with a huff. “Let’s see what’s so special about this.”
Jaskier chuckled but didn’t comment, knowing Lambert would run away from too much teasing, especially after his earlier breakdown. He needed affectionate touch as much as the rest of them, but it was hard for him to accept it. He was more at ease with Geralt than he had been at the start of the season but accepting the same from Jaskier was still a trial. But Geralt was confident Jaskier’s easy nature would bring Lambert around eventually.
Geralt finished with the soap and tossed it to Jaskier. The chamber was silent but for the soft sounds of scrubbing and the content hums from Eskel and Lambert. Eskel melted immediately into Geralt’s touch, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation. Lambert stayed tense at first, flinching minutely when Jaskier scrubbed a new area, but his tension eased as Jaskier worked, and he was leaning back between Jaskier’s knees, eyes closed, by the time Jaskier finished.
Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye and they smiled softly at each other, enjoying the calm, familial atmosphere.
“Basin or dunk?” Geralt asked Eskel, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Eskel took in a long breath, stretching as he opened his eyes. Rather than responding, he simply ducked forward, submerging himself and ruffling his hair underwater to rinse out the suds.
Eskel resurfaced and sat back against the wall, motioning for Geralt to sit beside him. When Geralt arranged himself back in the pool, Eskel put an arm around his shoulders and drew him close to his side, giving him a brief squeeze to express his gratitude. Geralt smiled up at him and then settled into the hold, leaning his head on Eskel’s chest and closing his eyes, breathing in the steam and letting the warm water relax his muscles.
When Jaskier lifted his hands away, washing complete, Lambert ducked forward and rinsed his own hair, tossing Jaskier a gruff “thanks” over his shoulder before tucking in at Geralt’s other side, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. Jaskier shook his head fondly and settled back into the pool next to Lambert, his own hair already washed clean.
The four sat in silence together, soaking in the warmth of the water and the easy companionship of family.
------------------------------------
After dinner, once everyone was settled into their quiet diversions for the evening, Geralt sought out Vesemir. He found him sitting in the front tower, on the balcony of an abandoned room that had once belonged to the keep’s master healer, nursing a tankard of strong mead as he watched the stars.
Geralt was struck by the memory of sitting out on one of the nearby mountain peaks as a small child, filled with the elation of a successful climb, listening as Vesemir taught their small training group how to navigate by the stars. Back then, he had been the fencing master for those boys who survived the Trial of the Grasses, but he’d always volunteered to lead the smallest boys up into the mountains to share his love of the stars. Not that he ever phrased it that way, but Geralt remembered how unusually open his expression had been as he shared his passion.
“I remember when you taught us how the stars could guide us home,” Geralt said quietly, approaching the balcony and taking a seat next to Vesemir on the old stone bench.
“That was another lifetime,” Vesemir said, equally quietly. Geralt knew he was thinking about the pogroms, of all the witchers and trainees lost when the keep was sacked. Before that, the keep had never been silent, never crumbled. For all the terrors that went on within the walls, all the children lost to the Trials, it was home for those who survived. Those who never should have died here, slaughtered in their home, all for the crime of seeking to protect the world from monsters. Their spirits lingered over the keep, their bones buried in the moat as a memorial. And as a warning.
“It’s still home,” Geralt said, staring up at the stars. “We cannot change what’s come before, the pain that echoes in these walls, but we can rebuild. Maybe not the School, its time is over, but our time – mine, yours, Eskel’s, Lambert’s – that’s not over.”
“But is it worth keeping?” Vesemir asked, voice tight.
Geralt looked over at him, waiting until Vesemir met his gaze. He let everything he was feeling show on his face. “Family always is.” He said simply.
Vesemir closed his eyes as if Geralt’s words pained him. Geralt waited, keeping his posture soft and open. Eventually, Vesemir took in a long, slow breath and reached out, placing a hand tentatively on Geralt’s where it rested on the bench. Geralt flipped his hand over and squeezed gently, accepting the hold.
No words were needed.
They sat in silence and stared up at the stars that had never failed to guide them home.
“You must have come up here for a reason.” Vesemir said, forcing his voice to be light and casual. “Can’t just have been to reminisce about the stars.”
Geralt shook his head, a faint smile on his face. Neither he nor Vesemir was one to linger over heavy discussions. They’d each said their piece, it was time to move on.
“Aye, I was hoping you’d cut my hair for me.” Geralt said, tugging on the ends of his long hair. “It’s gotten too long.”
Vesemir nodded, his expression easing. “Of course. Now?”
Geralt handed him the shears he’d brought in lieu of answer and stood, leaving his back to Vesemir.
“How short?” Vesemir asked, standing to join Geralt.
“My usual length.” Geralt responded, holding himself still.
Vesemir nodded. He tucked the shears into his belt and carefully finger combed Geralt’s hair, smoothing it out until it was perfectly even, leaving the front pieces out of the way. With sure hands, he cut neatly across the hair, cutting it back until it fell just past Geralt’s shoulders. With the back done, he pulled the front pieces out to the side, cutting them back in line with the rest. When the trim was complete, Vesemir stood in front of Geralt and checked the two front pieces against each other, making sure one side was not shorter than the other. They were perfectly even, as always.
Vesemir placed his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and Geralt relaxed into the pressure, dropping his head forward and letting it rest on Vesemir’s chest. It was the most normal interaction they’d had all season. It released some of the remaining tension in Geralt’s chest, giving him the courage to ask for what he wanted.
“Will you guide me down?” Geralt asked softly, pulling back to look into Vesemir’s eyes.
Vesemir tensed and dropped his hands from Geralt’s shoulders, his jaw clenching.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Vesemir said, looking away.
“Then don’t.” Geralt said.
“It’s not so simple.” Vesemir said, shoulders thrumming with tension.
“It is.” Geralt said. “You’ve seen Lambert and Eskel do it all season. It need not be anything more than that.”
Vesemir still wouldn’t meet his eyes. But he hadn’t left. And he hadn’t refused.
“I won’t insist,” Geralt said, “but I’m ready to try when you are. Just because we got it wrong before doesn’t mean we can’t correct our course.”
Vesemir’s lips pressed into a thin line but he met Geralt’s gaze. Geralt could see the conflict, the hesitation, and he decided to leave it for the day. He’d had a lot longer to come to terms with his feelings about Vesemir and their history – not to mention Jaskier’s invaluable help. It wouldn’t be fair to push Vesemir for a response without extending him that same courtesy of time to process his feelings.
Geralt reached out and placed a brief hand on Vesemir’s shoulder before turning away and heading back into the keep, leaving Vesemir to his thoughts.
---------------------------
The next fortnight passed quietly, the days lengthening as spring rapidly approached. As the snow started to melt, the streams and rivers cracked open, the thick ice covering them breaking away and rushing downstream to feed the fields and valleys below.
When the first snowbells poked their delicate heads out from under the ice, signaling winter was finally releasing its grip on the land, Kaer Morhen’s residents started to prepare to head out onto the Path again. The horses were brought in from their winter pastures and put back into work more strenuous work, slowly rebuilding muscles lost over the long, dark season. Potions were decanted into travel bottles and packed carefully into saddlebags along with bags of dried, crushed supplies. As Geralt appropriated everyone’s swords and daggers, sharpening and honing them to a fine edge, Eskel oiled the armor, ensuring no weak patches or loose stiches remained, and Lambert did the same with all the tack, replacing buckles and conditioning the leather against the spring rains to come. Jaskier worked with Vesemir to plan the spring’s harvest, sharing his knowledge of new developments in agriculture from his brother in Lettenhove to help Vesemir increase yield.
The night before they planned to set off, the men shared a hearty feast, bolstering themselves against the lean months ahead and enjoying this last chance to truly eat their fill. Though each would depart with full saddlebags, provisions usually ran low before the hunting was good, either monster or game, and they all knew lean times were likely over the next weeks.
As they lingered over generous slices of spiced honey cake, a special treat Vesemir prepared only once at the end of each winter, they began to discuss plans for the season ahead. As usual, each would keep to their assigned regions, with Geralt patrolling the west, Lambert the east, and Eskel the south. Vesemir would stay behind to supervise the spring planting before setting off to assist, as needed, with more dangerous hunts or urgent matters the witcher in control of a region could not reach in time. Vesemir had agreements with the major settlements throughout the Continent, allowing their corvids to find him wherever he roamed beyond Kaer Morhen’s walls. If he was in residence, any missives were delivered to the mage in the village below, who had a special charm allowing her corvid to pass through Kaer Morhen’s stringent wards. She would also provide a portal for Vesemir in an emergency.
The three witchers debated their routes, planning their season’s Paths to ensure that they spread out as much as possible, so as to increase the range in which their assistance could be provided.
As their discussions were winding down, Jaskier spoke. “Why don’t the two of you join us in Lettenhove for a while before setting off? That will get you through the leanest part of the season and I would like to introduce you to my family.”
“Why?” Lambert asked, eyebrow raised.
“Because you’re my family now too. You’ll always have a safe haven in Lettenhove, a place to rest and recuperate as needed, and I want to be sure you know it.” Jaskier said.
“What, you want us to just show up at your family home and ask for a room?” Lambert pressed, incredulous.
“Yes. Anytime you wish. I will set aside rooms for you all when Geralt and I visit after leaving here, and the staff will treat you as members of the family. My home is yours to use at your leisure.” Jaskier said firmly. Geralt pressed a hand to his thigh under the table, squeezing lightly to express his gratitude. He’d known Jaskier planned to make this offer, but he was still touched by the consideration.
“Won’t that upset your family?” Eskel asked gently.
“Of course not. They understand that Geralt is my submissive and that his family is now part of ours. They would prefer to be introduced first, of course, but they will welcome you regardless. You too, Vesemir, though I understand you cannot travel with us now given the planting. They know to recognize you by your medallion.” Jaskier explained.
“What the hell, let’s go.” Lambert said, leaning back and projecting an ease he almost certainly did not feel. “I could do with a little pampering in a noble house.”
Eskel smacked him. “What he means to say is that we’ll accept your offer, with gratitude.”
Jaskier waved him off with a smile. “No thanks are needed among family,” he said. “My quarters at Oxenfurt University are equally open to you, though I understand travelling that far west puts you both far out of range to begin your season.”
“That is generous of you, Jaskier.” Vesemir said, inclining his head slightly.
“It is my pleasure. And you are just as much family as Lambert and Eskel now, your thanks are equally unnecessary.” Jaskier said, inclining his head in return.
Vesemir gave a deeper nod, casting Jaskier a considering look. Jaskier held his gaze, waiting until Vesemir was ready to speak. The others sat quietly, as if waiting with bated breath.
“I have not said it in so many words, but I am glad you have taken Geralt as your submissive and I accept you into this family as his Dominant. May he bring peace and honor to your house.” Vesemir said, speaking the traditional blessing given to the Dominant of one’s submissive child.
“May I be as good for him as he is for me.” Jaskier responded, completing the set phrase and accepting Vesemir’s blessing.
Geralt felt a broad smile spread across his face, his chest light and warm. He cast a grateful glance at Vesemir and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek.
Vesemir returned Geralt’s smile with a small one of his own, nodding in approval before turning his attention back to Jaskier. “As Geralt’s Dominant, you will carry the protection of our School throughout your life, as will your family. If you have need for us, call and we will answer. If anyone profanes your home or harms your blood, we will seek vengeance on your behalf. Should you need it, Kaer Morhen is forever open to you and yours.”
Vesemir reached into the pouch at his belt and pulled out a small ring holding two identical pendants. He handed it to Jaskier and Geralt took in a sharp breath when he saw what it was. “Place this on the leg of any corvid and it will pass through our wards, bringing word to me immediately. If I am outside the wards, the corvid will travel to the nearest wolf, allowing him to offer aid. Leave one with your family and carry one with you always.”
Jaskier closed his hand over the pendants, eyes shining. “Thank you,” he said, voice full, a soft smile on his face. He understood the gravity of the offering, and the trust it implied.
Vesemir huffed a laugh. “Gratitude is not needed among family, boy.” He said, his tone relaxed, speaking to Jaskier as if speaking to one of his wolves. It was a small gesture, but Geralt knew how big a concession it was, how clearly that informality demonstrated Vesemir’s acceptance of Jaskier into their family. From Jaskier’s expression, he knew it too.
Geralt glanced over at his brothers and saw only open acceptance on their faces.
Eskel stood, stretching his arms high. “Now that we’re all family, can I request a private performance from our famous brother?” He asked Jaskier with a smile.
“With pleasure,” Jaskier said. “Shall we retire to the sitting area by the hearth?”
Vesemir nodded and stood, heading out into the main hall with Eskel and Lambert close behind. While Jaskier retrieved his lute, Geralt gathered the dishes, putting them to soak in the wash basin. Just as he finished, Jaskier came back down from the tower above the kitchen, lute in hand. Geralt reached out and Jaskier came to him, easily yielding when Geralt pulled him into a tight embrace. Geralt breathed deeply, Jaskier’s familiar rosin and honey mixing with the scents of Kaer Morhen, mingling together into one scent that meant home.
“I love you,” Geralt breathed into Jaskier’s neck, pressing his eyes closed. They burned, as if tears wanted to fall, overwhelmed by the gratitude and love he felt for the man in his arms as he finally put to words that most cherished of feelings.
Jaskier choked on a gasp and Geralt pulled back, seeing tears sparkling at the corners of Jaskier’s eyes even as his face softened into a loving smile. “And I, you. With all that I am and all that I have, until the end of my days and beyond.”
Geralt leaned in, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s and letting their breaths synchronize. Jaskier was a part of him, a part of all of them now. Though Geralt would live for centuries after Jaskier’s time, Jaskier would live on in him, in the bonds he’d helped Geralt forge with his family, in the way he’d learned to accept himself as he was, until Geralt breathed his last. So, too, would the wolves of Kaer Morhen walk in lockstep with Jaskier’s family, protecting them and keeping Jaskier’s memory alive until the world outgrew its need for witchers. And then, if the gods allowed, Geralt and Jaskier would meet again.
But now was not the time for such musings, not now when Jaskier still bloomed with youth and his family awaited in the hall, eager to enjoy one last night all together in their home before setting out on the Path. Geralt pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Jaskier’s lips before leading Jaskier out into the hall to rejoin their family.
He stopped short when the seating area came into view.
At Vesemir’s feet was the cushion he’d been kneeling on in the library.
Geralt felt his chest fill with warmth and he made no effort to restrain the smile he felt spreading across his face. With a quick glance at Jaskier, who looked as affected as Geralt did, he stepped forward. And then, as he had done with Eskel, Lambert, and Jaskier all winter, Geralt sank to his knees beside Vesemir and leaned into his legs, putting himself in Vesemir’s care.
As Vesemir’s hand slowly, tentatively started to stroke through his hair, Jaskier strummed his lute, commanding the attention of the room. Geralt felt Vesemir relax, the playful mood and Jaskier’s performance providing cover, allowing them to settle into their new dynamic.
As Jaskier strummed increasingly bawdy tunes and Lambert and Eskel’s singing devolved into shouting, shoving each other as they each tried to one-up the lascivious tales from the songs, Vesemir continued to stroke Geralt’s hair, smoothing it back and letting his strong, calloused fingers massage into Geralt’s skull, chasing away tension.
Surrounded by his family, Geralt let himself drop, surrendering to Vesemir’s guidance, confident that, this time, it would not hurt.
Geralt drifted, feeling as if he were cocooned in Vesemir’s arms, safe from the world. Unlike the sharp edges he’d experienced before, now Vesemir’s Dominance felt like liniment on sore muscles, like hot cake fresh from the oven, like a long bath after a hunt. Like making the last turn on the road home, seeing the torches lit and the gate raised, the smell of fresh-baked bread in the air.
Time lost all meaning.
Geralt came out of subspace, briefly, as Vesemir tucked him into bed next to Jaskier, easing off his boots and smoothing his hair back from his face. As Vesemir’s touch disappeared, fading as his footsteps echoed down the stairs, Geralt curled into Jaskier’s embrace and let the world fall away.
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The next morning, as the sun rose high above the mountain peaks and bird song rang through the valley, Geralt faced Vesemir at the gate, Jaskier at his side and his brothers behind them, the horses tacked and loaded for the season ahead.
Vesemir reached out and clasped Jaskier’s forearm, giving him a small, warm smile. “Take care of him,” he said.
“I will. With everything I have.” Jaskier said, nodding respectfully to Vesemir.
Vesemir returned the nod and turned to Geralt, opening his arms. Geralt stepped forward immediately, nudging his head up under Vesemir’s chin. Vesemir embraced him tightly before stepping back with a brisk nod, his expression fond, his hands on Geralt’s shoulders.
“Walk your Path with honor.” Vesemir said.
“May your Path be smooth and may your sword strike true.” Geralt replied, completing the traditional leave-taking exchange.
“And make sure those two don’t embarrass our School in front of Jaskier’s family.” Vesemir said with a grin, pretending to whisper to Geralt.
Lambert tossed them both an obscene gesture and Eskel just rolled his eyes.
“We know how to behave in polite company.” Eskel said.
“Well, maybe you do.” Geralt said, motioning with his eyes to make it clear Lambert’s ability to behave was profoundly in question.
“Honestly? Fuck you.” Lambert said, his light expression belying his words.
“They survived Geralt, the two of you will do just fine.” Jaskier teased.
Geralt gasped in mock outrage.
“Very true, it can only improve from there.” Vesemir said with a sage nod, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’m trusting you to keep these three in line.”
“A task I most whole-heartedly accept.” Jaskier said, flourishing a courtly bow.
Vesemir’s teasing expression eased into something more serious. “Take care of each other out there. And come home safely.” Vesemir said, looking at each man in turn, only moving to the next when his words were accepted with a firm nod.
“Get going then, you’ll want to make it to the village by nightfall.” Vesemir said. Lambert and Eskel were already mounted and Jaskier swung up onto Potato’s back at Vesemir’s words, following the other two out the main gate.
“Until next winter.” Geralt said, turning one last time to look at Vesemir before mounting Roach to join the others.
“Until then.” Vesemir said warmly.
With a final nod, Geralt mounted Roach and directed her out onto the path. He felt Vesemir’s gaze on his back until we went around the bend and he smiled, feeling Vesemir’s support.
Geralt urged Roach into a trot, catching up to the others and playfully knocking his stirrups against Lambert’s as he pressed by on the narrow trail, pulling even with Jaskier to lead the way down into the valley.
With Jaskier at his side and his brothers at his back, Geralt knew he had nothing to fear.
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Thank you to everyone who's read and commented on this, you've made writing this story a real pleasure!
I'm not foreclosing the possibility of additional stories in this 'verse, exploring either future events or another perspective on something that happened here in Geralt's limited POV, but, for now at least, this story is at an end.
As a note, I know this delved into difficult territory, especially this last section dealing with reconciliation after past abuse. I did my best to do justice to all sides involved, keeping at the forefront Geralt's agency -- that it was his choice to forgive Vesemir, even though his forgiveness did not erase the damage that had come before. I know there's no right answer in such situations, but if this is something you're struggling with, or you want to discuss any of the choices made herein further, I'm here for you.
Also, I have a lot of stories in my WIP folder, so hit the subscribe button on my AO3 profile if you want to get those updates.
I totally agree with you: there's so much potential for sub!Geralt. Like... a leash and collar. The kneeling. Jaskier 'training' him. Massive praise kink. loving it when Jaskier pets his hair.
ALL THE HAIR PETTING. Geralt learning to trust smo so completely for the first time would be 10/10 the most beautiful thing,,, he’d kneel and bare his thoat to Jas and I would ascend.
And damn yeah, give that man some heartfelt compliments! Tell him he’s not a monster! That he does not deserve to be treated the way he is! I can totally go for Geralt at first being massively annoyed at Jaskiers waxing poetic about him (as we see in the series), but after a time, as he learns that Jas isn’t just ~saying these things~ because they make for good prose, Geralt can’t help but seek out the unfamiliar, vaguely warm and fuzzy feelings the words leave him with. ;;
May I propose the following for the dom!jask/sub!geralt verse? Geralt sitting in jaskier's lap, completely naked, hiding his face in jaskier's neck, possibly sat upon jaskier's cock, just warming it. Quiet except a small purr or nibble as jaskier occasionally runs his fingers through geralt's hair, the other being used to read or write. Geralt just getting to feel small and warm and safe with his dom as they both relax
This killed me for like idk how long nonny this is the most perfect ask how dare. HAHA <3
CW: Sub Geralt x Dom Jaskier, cockwarming, Sir x good boy/kitten, little bit of teasing, comfort comfort comfort.
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“Oh I’m sorry, Darling, I didn’t mean to tease.”
Jaskier calmed Geralt’s whimpers down after he’d accidentally moved a bit too much changing his position, reminding the witcher of how full he was.
“You’re okay, I’m not going anywhere. Just moving my legs.”
Geralt didn’t respond. He just nuzzled back into Jaskier’s neck, focusing on licking over the little teeth lines and red marks that he’d left from earlier. Nothing in his head. Just full and happy.
“Are you looking after me, kitten?”
Jaskier giggled, getting more skilled at turning his pages while holding the book in one hand. His other hand securely holding Geralt in place. Geralt just responded with more licks, his low purrs vibrating through them both. He was tired, and the more tired he got, the slower the little licks got. Jaskier closed his book when he felt Geralt’s breath on his neck, knowing his sub was falling asleep. He ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair, detangling it as gently as possible while also massaging his scalp every time he brought his hand back up.
“I think it’s time for bed, love. You’re tired out aren’t you from being so well behaved. Hmm? It’s hard work being as pretty as you, isn’t it sweetheart?”
He heard a bashful laugh in his ear before arms wrapped round his neck.
“Just a bit longer, Sir. Please?”
Geralt pushed himself down, tightening his legs, this time making Jaskier moan at the feeling. He could feel Geralt smirk at the reaction he got.
“You better not be trying to tease me, Geralt. You’ve been very well behaved today and that doesn’t seem like behaviour I expect from well behaved kittens.”
Geralt stilled, cuddling in further if it was even possible. Jaskier could hear a little bit of panic in his voice.
“Mm-mm, no Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
Jaskier kissed his head, and cuddled him back.
“Good boy. You think you can stay awake for one more chapter?”
Geralt excitedly nodded into Jaskier’s neck, happy again that he could spend more time being doted on.
“Okay, sit nice, darling.”
Jaskier picked up his book, then settled in, and those little contented licks were back.
