read on AO3 | @bamf-jaskier’s Witchertober, Prompt 2 - Oxenfurt
There are entirely too many Witchers in Oxenfurt, Geralt thinks numbly as he watches three witchers approach the bar. Geralt is safely ensconced in a dark corner of the tavern, nursing his second - maybe third? - ale, tense, anticipating the locals taking issue with witchers ‘taking over’ their tavern. Instead, the bartender greats the newcomers warmly, and for a split second, Geralt thinks he was mistaken. That is, until the taller individuals drop their hoods; he’d recognize Ashwood and Aiden anywhere at this point. (Lambert all but insisted they be treated as pack mates, not that Geralt and Eskel had argued.)
Ashwood makes eye contact with Geralt and grins - just like that, his quiet evening of drinking is over.
“Geralt,” Ashwood says brightly, placing two full pitchers of wine on the table with four mugs. “How good to see you.”
“Ashwood,” Geralt grunts. “What’re you doing here? I thought you and Aiden were in Stygga?”
“Oh, we were,” Aiden says, sliding into the seat across from Geralt. “But we got a message from Jaskier - said he was in a bardic competition and we figured, hell, may as well come up and see him perform.” A smaller, third person sits next to Aiden and pours themselves some wine. Geralt raised an eyebrow and shoulders Ashwood when he sits down.
“You pick up another stray?”
“Excuse you, I’m not a stray, I am Mieczyk,“ the smaller witcher, this Mieczyk, hisses. "If anything, I picked up these two idiots - Ashwood this wine is awful how dare you waste our money on it?”
Ashwood shrugs. “My money, my wine,” he says, and he snatches Mieczyk’s mug away from him. The small man gapes at Ashwood, who downs the mug in a single gulp. Aiden throws his head back in laughter; Mieczyk punches him in the arm.
“That makes two flowers, then,” Geralt says, cracking the slightest smile.
“What? I’m not a flower,” Mieczyk frowns.
“He means your name, Miecz,” Ashwood says, kicking Mieczyk under the table. “Viper in the flowers, hey? You’re a Viper, we found you in a field of wildflowers - Destiny.” Ashwood gestures widely with his mug; Geralt caught his arm before he smacked him in the face.
“You’re telling me I’m going to have to explain bringing a Viper to Kaer Morhen?” Geralt quietly grumbles - with the din of the tavern crowd increasing around them, only Ashwood hears his complaint.
“Relax, he’s fine,” Ashwood murmurs back. “Has Jaskier performed yet?” He asks, loud enough to pull Aiden and Mieczyk’s attention away from their own glasses.
“Yes about two hours ago,” Geralt says. He pours some wine into his empty mug and winces at the acrid mix of wine and hops. “Judges take ages to deliberate so Jaskier said he’d - he’d meet me here when he’s heard the results.”
“Shit, that’s another one we’ve missed,” Ashwood frowns and downs the rest of his wine. Aiden follows suit.
“Jask’s gonna ream us,” Aiden says scrubbing his hands over his face. The table goes dour for a moment - Aiden and Ashwood mean a lot to Jaskier, and Geralt noticed a drop in his mood when he saw the extra reserved seats were empty.
Mieczyk slams his hands on the table. “No use in pouting about it,” he says, snatching one of the pitchers. “We drink until your brother gets here, yes?” The Viper pours more wine and fixes Geralt with a glare, as if their timing or mood were his fault. But Geralt is warm with ale, and all of his Cats are in the same town, so he takes his mug and takes a long pull of wine.
“Couldn’t be much longer, anyway,” Geralt says. “You both owe me a story - how’d you get saddled with a Viper, anyway?”
—
A lesser man would be jealous, Jaskier thinks as he mounts the stairs. The air is thick with the scent of drunk witcher, the familiar tones of dust and dirt, sage, lavender, silver and blood. Aiden and Ashwood. Geralt. But there’s also oiled leather, vodka and bergamot that he doesn’t recognize. A lesser man might feel replaced - Jaskier might have flashes of insecurity, but his brothers have always had a knack for picking up strays. Perhaps another young, injured Cat?
He’ll have to ask in the morning, it seems - when he opens to the door to their room he finds Geralt curled haphazardly around Ashwood and a smaller witcher, who’s done his best to bury himself under the pair. Aiden is sprawled at the food of the bed, covered in a thin sheet and gripping a pillow against his chest. The sight makes Jaskier’s chest go tight in the same way it does when Geralt compliments his music, or haphazardly flirts with him. (Or, when Lambert went on tears during the winter, and held him until he relaxed and they fell asleep in a tangle of limbs.)
His colony had grown, was now a Pack if the Wolves had anything to say about it and his brothers had made it to Oxenfurt. Missed the performance but they were here and so was Geralt and someone new but they’d drank together and were all fast asleep and Jaskier felt light despite his full heart.
Carefully, Jaskier undresses down to his fine chemise and his smalls. The chemise can’t be worn for competition again, that would be gouche, so it’s a fine sleep shirt for the time being. After splashing some water on his face to remove the khol liner around his eyes, Jaskier carefully climbs into bed and wraps himself around Geralt.
“Mmf?” Geralt mumbles, turning his head and clunking against Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier winces but keeps his voice down.
“Just me, darling,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”
“How’s the competition?” Geralt asks blinking drunken sleep from his eyes.
“It was excellent, dear, but it is late. I’ll tell you of my victory in the morning, hey?” Geralt huffs and adjusts to pull Jaskier closer to him.
“Love you.” He hums sleepily into Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier grins into Geralt’s shoulder.
