Training was fun for the first time in years. Cahir didn’t have to keep up appearances, didn’t have to be perfect. If he was tired, sloppy, lost a bout, it simply didn’t matter. Truth be told, he lost more bouts than won by a long stretch but that was to be expected when going against a witcher. But he was learning again, allowed to make mistakes, permitted to be a fallible human without consequences. Nobody challenged his authority, rode the momentary gloating fame of beating the White Flame’s chosen one.
In fact, after all that had happened, it was during training that Cahir had laughed for the first time in too long. He loved the secluded freedom Kaer Morhen offered, along with the friendships that were motivated purely on the desire of his company rather than the favours and social standing he could offer.
That wasn’t to say life was a smooth ride. Cahir couldn’t bring himself to go into the armoury or the pantry, the rooms too small and the doors had a knack for slamming shut. The one time Lambert had tried to playfully ruffle his hair, Cahir forgot how to breathe, the phantom echoes of fingers pressing against his scalp and tearing through his mind wrenched to the forefront of his thoughts. That evening Lambert had gifted him a hat, saying it would give a bit more protection because he’d managed to weave dimeritium laced thread through it.
Apart from such small hiccoughs, things were fine. Cahir happily clashed blades with Eskel, the familiarity of the weight in his palm, the ringing of steel against steel, it was all a way to relax. When his body was tired his mind didn’t have as much time to dwell on the past. It worked out just fine really.
So caught up in such thoughts, Cahir missed a parry and the world went spinning. There was a tight weight on his wrist as his sword went flying and he was forced to his knees, defenceless and restrained. Breath coming shallow, Cahir couldn’t remember where he was or why. All he could think about was how his wrist ached behind his back, how he was helpless to do anything as he was knelt in front of an audience. Even if it was a different group, Vesemir, Lambert, Geralt were all watching and Eskel was behind him with a sword. The why of it all eluded Cahir but Eskel was a good man. And if he agreed that Cahir needed to be beheaded then it had to be a damn good reason. It wasn’t as if anyone could call Cahir a good guy by any stretch of the imagination. No, he probably deserved it. All Cahir could think of was that at least it was Eskel. He was strong, had a sharp blade and was fair. At least he wouldn’t make Cahir suffer by needing to take several swings to carry out the punishment. The last thing Cahir wanted to was to make it more difficult for Eskel. Not like there was much he could do but he tried. Bending his head, he gave Eskel a clear view of his neck and held his breath. He wasn’t going to cry. That wouldn’t be fair on poor Eskel.
For some reason, the blow never came.
The reason was pretty obvious as far as Eskel was concerned. They’d been fighting, he saw an opportunity and took it like so many bouts begore. But never before had Cahir crashed to his knees like that, rigid yet pliant in the worst of ways. The sudden drop in Cahir’s heartrate was as terrifying as he shallow breaths and the haunted, distant gaze before Cahir’s eyes scrunched shut. Somehow that wasn’t even the worst of it. The sword fell from Eskel’s hand as he saw Cahir bend his head, revealing the vulnerable part of his neck in a blatant invitation.
“Cahir?” Eskel’s voice didn’t shake as he slowly walked round to face Cahir. Kneeling down, there was no reaction to his presence except a fine tremor that ran through Cahir. The sour stench of terror permeated the air and Eskel’s face fell. He didn’t expect to be shouldered out of the way by Lambert who plopped down in front of Cahir without explanation.
“Okay, Cahir, buddy,” he said as if it was an everyday conversation they were having, “I don’t need you to talk yet but nod if you can hear me.”
After a moment of tense silence there was a minute nod and Eskel tried not to think how that showed a bit more of Cahir’s neck.
“Good. Again, just nod or shake your head. Do you know where you are?”
A hesitant nod followed by a shake of head. Cahir knew who he was with but not where and why. It was all a bit of a blurry haze.
“That’s okay. You’re in Kaer Morhen. Came here about two moons ago. Do you know who I am?”
“Lambert.” Cahir’s voice was a soft whisper, barely more than a breathless exhale.
“Good. I am indeed the asshole Lambert. Next to me is-”
“Eskel,” Cahir cut in.
“Excellent.” Slowly Lambert extended a hand along the ground until he was certain Cahir would be able to see it. “Can you tell me what’s in front of you?”
There was a frown on Cahir’s face as he squinted at the ground in front of him, arms still behind his back, head bent. “A hand?”
“That’s it! Now, think you can follow it?” Slowly Lambert began to pull his hand back towards himself as Cahir tracked it first with his eyes then had to move his head. It was almost painfully slow, especially as Lambert began to raise his hand until it was next to his own head. But he smiled softly at Cahir who blinked at him in confusion. “There you are.”
“What?” Cahir’s arms fell limply to his side and he swayed, colour rapidly draining from an already pale face.
“You’re okay,” Lambert replied softer than the others had ever heard him before. “Just got a bit confused for a moment, lost in time. But you’re here in Kaer Morhen, you’re safe. What we’ll do is take you to the kitchen, okay? Eskel will carry you. And we’ll have a nice warm drink, maybe a small snack too. Okay?”
Still obviously confused, Cahir gave an obedient little “okay” which was all Eskel needed before scooping him up and holding him close to his chest. Murmurs of “you scared me” and “I’d never hurt you” were easy enough to hear. Lambert followed behind them and gave Vesemir a wry grin when their mentor fell in line with him.
“You were curiously well-versed.”
Lambert shrugged. “Got a friend. He gets like that sometimes.”
An eyebrow was cocked at Lambert as Vesemir read between the lines.
“Maybe you should bring him along next year. If he’s such a good friend.”
The grin on Lambert’s lips turned into something truly happy and excited. “Maybe I will. It’s been a while since Kaer Morhen had some pussy.”
The smack to the back of his head was worth it though and Lambert laughed as Vesemir shook his own in mock disappointment. “Just bring your damn Cat.”
Obligatory “there was only one bathtub” fic inspired by @ohnomybreadsticks.
CW: Past suicide attempts, references to torture and the visible aftermath.
They smelt bad, that was an unfortunate side effect of being on the run and traversing through the sewer system. Cahir had the additional grime of imprisonment while Yennefer bore the evidence of an overly friendly sewer dweller pulling her under for a less than friendly dinner - wherein she was the one on the menu. Thankfully Jaskier was a generous host and he shelled out on a bath.
“I asked for the best they could do,” he had declared, leading them to the washroom. Indeed, the inn had done its best, a large tub filled with steaming water. But it was still only one tub and there were three of them.
Modesty and shyness wasn’t something in Jaskier’s vocabulary, nor Yennefer’s. It wasn’t like Jaskier hadn’t seen her in the nude before and she had grabbed him by the dick before so they both set about stripping. Only Cahir stayed at the edge of the room, cloak clutched tightly around himself.
“Come on, soldier,” Jaskier said, letting his chemise drop onto a chair. “Hop to it.”
Cahir shook his head softly.
“Ladies first, followed by nobility. I’ll take a turn when you’re both done.”
“Then you outrank this little tart,” Yennefer chipped in with a grin, standing by the tub. “He’s only a Viscount to your Count.”
That had Jaskier looking over Cahir again, stalking up to him with mischief in his eyes.
“Played yourself there, hm? Didn’t think Yennefer would know?”
Cahir had the good grace to look away, cheeks dusted pink under his beard and the grime of the last who knew how long. When Jaskier reached and tugged at his cloak though, he let out a small, wounded growl and stepped away.
“Don’t tell me you’re shy!” Despite his words, Jaskier didn’t push the matter but Yennefer approached with curiosity too. “Don’t tell me Nilfgaard had private baths for its soldiers!”
“They didn’t.” Cahir didn’t look too comfortable. “But we were all soldiers, so nobody looked twice.” As the silence stretched he shifted around uncomfortably. When Yennefer raised a questioning eyebrow, Cahir broke. “It’s difficult not to feel inferior when faced with a sorceress remade to perfection and a viscount bard without a blemish.” His eyes pointedly travelled over Jaskier’s skin.
A soft snort erupted from Jaskier. He gave Cahir an inscrutable look before shaking his head in disbellief.
“We’ve both bedded a witcher. If you’re worried about a few scars then you must think very little of us.”
A small encouraging nod from Yennefer had Cahir releasing a heavy breath. But he didn’t fight it when she reached for his cloaked and pulled it away. The clothes he wore were not much more than rags and between Jaskier and Yennefer they were slowly pulled off. With each piece something new was revealed. On Cahir’s left flank was a ragged slice and Jaskier traced it curiously.
“Doppler. Took my form,” Cahir grumbled, eyes on the floor.
As Jaskier helped lift the thin shirt over Cahir’s head, they ended up turned so his back was to Yennefer who let out a hiss through her teeth. Bare from the waist up, Cahir looked over his shoulder at her.
“Failing has a high price at Nilfgaard.” His back was a criss-crossed mesh of whip marks while just under his collarbone Jaskier ran a thumb over a burn. “Field medicine is sometimes just running a sword through the fire and cauterising in the hopes you’ll last long enough to get to a healing tent.”
His legs weren’t much better, scars of all manner were interspersed with bruises. The shape of the shackles was all too easy to make out on his skin. It was Yennefer’s sharp inhale that brought them to a stop. She took his wrists, turned them up in her hands and looked at the barely healed lines.
“Aretuza wouldn’t let me die on my terms,” Cahir murmured. They were stood so close, there was no missing Yennefer’s lips wobbling before she tamped down on her emotions. Letting Cahir go, she raised her own wrists to show matching scars.
“Me neither.”
The moment was broken by Jaskier clapping and nodding to the bath.
“This is all very heartfelt and beautiful but could we carry on in the tub? We have no witcher to warm it up for us when it gets cold and I would quite like to enjoy the luxury I paid for.”
It was a bit of a tight squeeze in the tub but they managed. Jaskier had no problems with getting comfortable, humming and whistling as he set to work on cleaning himself. Only a little slower, Yennefer was much more sedate and methodical. It left Cahir who was frozen for a moment, luxuriating in the warm water before pushing himself to start getting clean.
After the third time he apologised for knocking elbows with someone, he decided it was best to just sit while the others finished. Sure enough, they were done in good time, but rather than get out, they turned to Cahir.
“We don’t we help you out?” Jaskier asked.
Too tired to refuse, Cahir shrugged. They had seen all of him now, if they wanted to touch that was their problem. Still, the moment Jaskier hopped out of the tub a walked behind him, Cahir tensed. Too many people had been behind him of late with ill intentions. When Jaskier’s fingers touched his hair, Cahir couldn’t help but jerk away, memories of his treatment at Aretuza making him breath heavy.
“It’s okay,” Yennefer murmured softly. “Let me get this scraggly mess on your face tamed. You want it all off?”
Silently, Cahir nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to not betray his fear. As if the other two didn’t already know. They seemed to take him at face value though, Jaskier backed off while Yennefer walked across the room to get a shaving set ready.
Applying the watery foam wasn’t too bad but the moment the razorblade lifted Cahir was tense all over again.
“Trust me,” Yennefer whispered. “It’s much smaller and easier to wield than an axe.”
“Aretuza showed me how a small, blunt knife can be worse than a large, sharp axe. Tissaia was a last ditch attempt. Others before her were…more physical in their persuasion.”
The hands were back in Cahir’s hair again and he watched the blade wide eyed. A gentle tug encouraged him and he gave in at long last. Slowly his head tipped backwards and fingers danced across his forehead, temples and ears. It would have been nice if only for the fact that the cold bite of the razor was scraping over his throat, which bobbed with a heavy swallow.
“That’s in,” Jaskier murmured in his ear. “You’re being very good for us, aren’t you?”
A soft litany of praise was kept up as Yennefer steadily worked. When she at long last set the blade to the side, her fingers traced along Cahir’s smooth jaw. Even better, Jaskier leaned down from above him and Cahir surged up to kiss him, uncertain how else to show his gratitude. Once Jaskier released him, Cahir looked at Yennefer who grinned and tugged him in for a kiss of her own.
Though they knew that this was nothing more than an emotionally charged one-off, that didn’t stop them for seeking the reassurance and comfort of another warm body or two to get lost in for a few stolen moments of pleasure and relief. It was everything they needed, a break from life on the run, the horrors of what they’d lived through. A couple of kindred spirits, newfound allies and maybe future friends.
A belated birthday gift for the ever lovely @jaskiersvalley, a watercolor Cahir. Thank you so much for your support and kindness and for being such an amazing person! I struggled with his face bcs he is so hard to capture but it’s not impossible to make out who he is XD
Deep breath. *SCREAM* This is so incredible. I’ve got him in pride of place on my desk and can’t decide which bit is my favourite. Whether it’s the golden detail of his armour or his cheekbones or his eyes (how you make them look so alive is magic I swear). You captured his likeness perfectly. Something I so deeply appreciate about your art is that I can tell who you’re drawing very easily. As faceblindness is strong with me, I often need a bit of guidance as to who is in a picture. But that has pretty much never happened with your art.
It all started with something as simple as Lambert and Aiden meeting in a club. The music was blaring, thumping out a beat and Aiden was living his best life. It got even better when he spotted an absolute hunk of a man dancing truly awfully but seemingly not caring. Of course Aiden had to approach, was delighted that the man was willing to dance with him. And, somehow, Aiden had never had a better time than when saying ‘fuck it’ to the social rules of the club and dancing like he’d always wanted to. It was thirsty work.
“Drink?” He yelled over the beat and mimicked the motion for clarity. They made their way to the bar and Aiden grinned. “My treat. I’m Aiden.”
“Lambert!”
Well, Lambert was just the thing Aiden had always dreamed of with full lips, a resting bitchface and a lack of care about appearances if his dancing was anything to go by. All in all, it was perfect. Initiating conversation was a bit difficult but Aiden wanted to try.
“I’m a fitness trainer. What do you do?”
“What?”
Pointing at his chest, Aiden yelled, “trainer” before pointing at Lambert.
The confusion morphed into understanding. For a moment Lambert pursed his lips before shrugging and yelling back “lobster”.
Now Aiden knew they were in a noisy setting and his audio processing was a bit funky on a good day. Still, he could have sworn Lambert had said he was a lobster. To be sure he yelled back “lobster?” and made the claw motion with his hands. Lambert nodded. Fine. A bit weird but maybe Lambert was a mascot? Or a non-furry furry. Either way, Aiden could live with that. He took Lambert home that night and had the best sex of his life.
Wanting to show some support to his maybe boyfriend, Aiden suggested a date somewhere he thought Lambert would appreciate. The aquarium. Before he even mentioned it to Lambert, Aiden had called up the place and made sure there were indeed lobsters there. He could be supportive, even if he didn’t understand.
The date was a resounding success if measured by sexual gratification. Sure, they almost got kicked out of the aquarium because Lambert decided to try and blow Aiden in the corner of the eel section. It didn’t happen for two reasons. Firstly, before Lambert even got further than dropping to his knees, more people came by. Secondly, eels were creepy as fuck and Aiden didn’t think he could get off with those creatures staring at him. So caught up in these issues, Aiden didn’t even question how Lambert had a knack for avoiding cameras and figuring out their blind spots. It certainly was a skill he exhibited over and over again.
One thing that did strike Aiden as odd was the time Lambert ordered lobster at the restaurant. To him it would have felt like cannibalism. Because at this point Aiden was certain that Lambert wasn’t a lobster mascot for work. In fact, other than calling himself a lobster, Aiden had no clue what his boyfriend actually did. Delving into the depths of the internet for answers didn’t help either. So Lambert was possibly an unemployed non-furry furry lobster enthusiast. Though he always insisted on paying, especially if it was his suggestion. Sometimes he picked rundown, out of the way drinking holes. Other times Aiden was treated to the finest dining experiences he could have ever imagined.
“So-” Lambert was bouncing on his toes, hands jammed into his pocket as he stood outside Aiden’s door, “-we’ve been seeing each other for six months. My family’s nagging me about meeting you.”
A grin was forming on Aiden’s lips. “Are you asking me to meet your family?”
“Technically they’re the ones asking. I’m just the reluctant messenger. I’m quite happy with you being just mine.”
Meeting the family was quite the experience. Aiden had never felt smaller than when he met Eskel, Geralt and Vesemir. Yennefer had an aura about her that made him feel tiny while Jaskier’s personality was so big he eclipsed everyone. Then there were others, Ciri, Letho, Guxart, Gaetan, Fringilla to name a few. The most normal of the lot seemed to be Cahir who looked about as excited to be there as a fly in a freshly cleaned bathroom. Occasionally he muttered something to Eskel about being owed when he is proven right. Pay rises and holidays and better gear. Whatever that meant.
Aiden’s world exploded. Literally. There was smoke, shouts and what sounded suspiciously like gunfire. It was all so disorienting, especially when the bulk of Letho swept Aiden up and deposited him behind an upturned table, nodding to Cahir who was bodily protecting Ciri. And had a gun in his hand. Aiden blinked. He must have had too much to drink. His ears were ringing. He was seeing things. Maybe he fell and hit his head because he wasn’t seeing the family he just met in a full-blown gunfight with intruders who blew a hole in the side of the mansion they were meeting in. Letting out a hysterical little giggle, Aiden tried to wrap his head around the fact they were in a mansion, that Lambert’s family was rich enough for such a thing.
“Don’t worry, you’ll live,” Letho rumbled as if Aiden was some scared kitten. He wasn’t. He was just losing his marbles.
As suddenly as everything went tits up, silence reigned just as quickly. Someone coughed in the smoke and Aiden craned his neck. The crunch of broken glass was accompanied by footsteps approaching their table.
“You okay?”
It was Lambert peering over the table, looking dishevelled, a cut on his forehead bleeding and skin grimy from the smoke. In the background Eskel seemed to be organising everyone, checking over injuries while Fringilla was on the phone and demanding clean-up. As soon as Geralt was over, Ciri was launching herself at him and Cahir stood from his crouch with a furious scowl.
“I fucking told you,” he growled at Vesemir who stared flatly at him. Before anything more could transpire, Eskel snagged Cahir by the wrist and hauled him to kiss him into silence.
Nobody looked worried about the fact that some unnamed group just blew a hole in the wall and tried to…what…kill them all? Standing, Aiden saw bodies and blood strewn around the floor and he let out a strained giggle.
“I’m better than those guys.” For some reason Lambert looked so proud as he laughed. But Aiden wasn’t done just yet. “So what the fuck just happened?”
Once again Eskel shoved his tongue down Cahir’s throat before the man could spew whatever he looked desperate to spout. It left Lambert to shrug.
“Just the usual. You know.”
“No?”
“Babe,” Lambert stepped closer and cupped Aiden’s cheek with a bloodied hand, “this is my life, I told you. This is part and parcel of my job.”
No he didn’t. Lambert was a lobster. No matter what that meant, he’d said so himself. Lobster.
“No you didn’t? How is this part of being a lobster?”
They stared at each other, Lambert’s mouth moving silently before finally finding his voice. “M. As in mobster.”
In the background there was a growl of “if you open your mouth I am shoving my cock in there to keep you quiet, you know I don’t care about an audience” from Eskel but Aiden ignored it as his world started to spin. Mobster. As in gun toting, law breaking, dangerous mobster. A high pitched laugh escaped him.
“I thought you took it a little too well,” Lambert sighed, hand falling away and taking a step back.
Fear made Aiden’s stomach tighten. He knew Lambert’s identity, his family’s identities. That was a liability and mobster families didn’t take kindly to those. Not to mention that Lambert was still Lambert. Just not a lobster.
“It’s a bit of a shock to the system,” Aiden hurried to say, trying to step over the table and stumbling a little. A strong hand gripped him and he nodded his thanks to Letho before staggering after Lambert. “But that’s just how life goes. At least you’re not a lobster, right?”
There was a small grin on Lambert’s lips and he let Aiden take his hand, linking their fingers. Teasing, he asked, “So what exactly is a lobster?”
“I have no clue.” A laugh was bubbling up in Aiden’s throat. “I figured you were a fur free furry or something.”
A laugh went up at that and Aiden ducked his head, a little flustered. Another set of feet approached them and he stared at the blood (and possibly more but he didn’t want to think about that too much) splattered shoes. The hand squeezing his shoulder had him looking up at Vesemir who had a small smile of his own hiding under his moustache.
For all that Geralt called his guests friends, it was difficult to believe. Sure, Jaskier was everybody’s friend but Cahir was a whole different matter. He carried himself with the confidence of someone in charge but also avoided all unnecessary contact like a season outsider of most groups. Eskel couldn’t help but be fascinated, humans so rarely avoided witchers without negative emotions attached. Yet there Cahir was, slipping out of rooms, keeping contact to the bare minimum that was deemed polite. Which was still more than most people gave witchers.
Training time was interesting. Cahir joined them, held his own rather well even if the witchers had to work hard at limiting themselves; no signs, no exploiting old injuries (because Cahir definitely had a weak grip in his right hand and when the cold was biting his hip also seemed to give him trouble). Eskel tried not to be as obvious as Lambert about using fights against Cahir as target practice, only allowing himself to target certain body parts.
“Fight me like an equal,” Cahir snarled after a particularly strained bout where Eskel only aimed for his chest. “I’m not some weakling.”
Two seconds later Cahir was flat on his back, breath driven out of his lungs as Eskel floored him. The last thing anyone expected was for him to grin and give a small, pained laugh.
“That’s more like it.”
Oddly, it seemed to ease something in Cahir. He was treated like an equal in the training area and he stopped avoiding the others quite so extensively. Much like his absence had been quiet, so was his presence. But there was a warmth his company. Slowly he opened up and Eskel could see what Geralt had spied. A personality under the rigid harshness cultivated by years in the army. Even better, a boyish softness. Outside of the army there was a charming naivety to him, delighted by the simplest things. Like warm cocoa being brought to him without prompting when everyone else was having one. Or a blanket draped over his shoulders if he looked cold, no matter how close to the fire he sat.
Stories hesitantly tripped from Cahir’s lips. He spoke about the army, the things he saw. Not once did he mention anyone he was close to. If Eskel listened to the words unsaid, to the silences, he could conclude that Cahir was aloof, leadership isolating him from the shenanigans most soldiers indulged in. It was something he could almost relate to. The stations they held in life didn’t afford them the same social freedoms as, say, Jaskier.
Smiles came after that. More and more freely. Eskel found himself craving that crinkle of eyes and tiniest quirk of lips. Especially when they were directed at him more than all the others combined. It was like a glacier thawing out to reveal a core of frozen blossoms that were slowly unfurling into renewed life. Maybe Eskel had been spending too much time with Jaskier because that was not the kind of thoughts he ever harboured before. It couldn’t mean that maybe Eskel’s own frigid, shrivelled little heart was starting to beat for someone. And it definitely didn’t mean that he was trying to find time alone with Cahir, using any excuse under the sun. Nor that his eyes lingered on thin, pale lips, wondering whether he’d get a chance to feel them under his own. Given how Cahir seemed to happily accept the more and more transparent excuses to be alone with him, Eskel quietly had high hopes.
More training. Eskel faced off against Cahir with a grin. Rules no longer applied and they had a knack for discarding swords in favour of grappling much to Vesemir’s despair. And Lambert’s delight. But for now they had swords in hand, circling each other. Cahir charged. He went wide and, without even thinking, Eskel dipped his sword. It caught on the bracer but, rather than deflect his blade, it guided the tip under it slipping deeper as Cahir’s momentum carried him forwards. There was a beat where they were frozen, Cahir’s breath caught in his throat and Eskel instinctively pulled back, yanking his sword out.
The walls that had come down were visibly being built up in front of Eskel. Stiffness seeped back into Cahir’s stance, his jaw set tighter and expression as blank as it had been when he arrived.
“You okay?” Because Eskel couldn’t help but ask.
“Fine.” Just like at the beginning of winter, Cahir spat the word in a sharp, harsh bark. “Again.”
He raised his arm and Cahir didn’t point out how it was shaking ever so finely. Nor was he surprised when Cahir suddenly swapped which hand he held his sword in with an empty laugh as if it was a great trick. After he ended up with his sword clattering to the ground and Eskel’s blade’s tip under his chin, Cahir nodded.
“Good fights.”
Just like that he stalked back into the keep. Nobody saw him for the rest of the day. Come evening Cahir marched through the hall where they were all gathering, filled a plate with a modest amount of food and retreated without a word. Eskel watched him with a twinge of guilt. It was only as he was tidying up after training that he spotted the blood on his blade. But Cahir hadn’t said anything, hadn’t given any indication that he’d been hurt.
Being a Southerner meant Cahir felt the cold more. So he was bundled up in several layers most of the time. Except for baths. He had no hesitancy in using the communal baths. Until now.
Eskel wasn’t pining. He absolutely wasn’t. Simply he was missing the company of a friend. Not at all feeling like he’d fucked up without even intending to. Worse, the way Cahir withdrew from not just him but everyone else. He was further down the table, seemingly content in his solitude. The one time Lambert tried to jeer and pull him into the conversation Cahir had stared blankly at him before standing up, taking his half finished plate and leaving the room.
Two days. That was how much longer Eskel lasted before he found himself ambling towards Cahir’s room. He’d been in there a few times, always by invitation but this was the first time he approached without permission. Knocking softly on the door brought no response even though Eskel could hear the steady thrum of a heartbeat. Ever so slowly he pushed the door open. The fire was burning high and Cahir had pulled his mattress closer to it, had piled blankets on it and was burrowed in. Asleep, he looked young but no less relaxed. If anything, Cahir actually looked in pain. Which was the moment Eskel spotted the bandage scruffily wrapped around Cahir’s arm. The one that had the sword slide under the bracer. Fuck. Before he could think better of it, Eskel walked closer and Cahir ’s eyes snapped open. Even by human standards his scramble out of bed was less than graceful. Despite being sleep rumpled, he still tried to look poised and distant.
“Can I help you?”
“You’re hurt.” Eskel nodded to the bandaged arm. The gauze was a little loose, slipping towards his wrist.
“It’s inconsequential.”
The bandage was gruffly tugged up and Eskel winced at the rough treatment. It had to hurt. He gave a small frown and sighed. “Can I help?”
Cahir took a step back as Eskel reach out. And wasn’t that just heart breaking? Trying again, Eskel didn’t move this time. “It’s okay to be hurt.” That didn’t make much of a difference except for Cahir to press his lips into a thin line. “I’m doing it because I care.”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Except it was because the bandage slipped again, revealing stitches made by a crude hand. One that probably struggled to grip the needle because of some previous injury that made holding things difficult.
“I thought I kind of made it obvious I’d like to worry about you.”
“Why?!” The outburst from Cahir was full of rage but Eskel stood and weathered it. “Am I some pet project? The fragile human who needs pampering? I’m not lesser than you. I don’t need to be mollycoddled.”
There is was. Eskel shook his head and gestured to the scars on his face. “You think when I got these, I holed up and fended for myself? No. I let my family help. Not just patch me up but pull me through the awful mess my mind was in afterwards too.”
“That’s different.” Vulnerability coloured Cahir’s words. “They’re your family.”
Finally, it looked safe to try approaching Cahir. Slowly, Eskel reached for him, pulling the injured arm and cradling it in both hands. Unwinding the bandage gave them both something to look at.
“You’re living here for the winter at least. This is your home too. And, given how much we all like you, I’d say this is your family too now. If you’d like, that is.”
At least the bandages fell away and Eskel winced. The cut was surprisingly deep. Probably wrecked the inside of the bracer too. It was red, puckered and no doubt tender to touch. There wasn’t even a poultice to draw the pain out.
“I’m sorry,” Eskel murmured and raised the arm to kiss Cahir’s knuckles. “I never want to hurt you.”
No reply was forthcoming and Eskel peered up, head dipped to look from under a few strands of hair. Opposite him Cahir looked dazed, lips parted in shock.
“Tell me if I overstep.” The words were a mere whisper as Eskel leaned closer.
“You’re fine.” It was the last thing Eskel heard before he and Cahir were kissing. Slow, soft and tender. Very much an exploration, familiarising themselves with new sensations. Eskel shifted and felt Cahir wince as his arm probably twinged.
Pulling back, he smiled. “Let me get you down to the infirmary.”
That evening Eskel and Cahir appeared in the hall together, shoulder to shoulder. Cahir’s arm was properly bandaged and he looked almost timid to be seen so vulnerable. However, Lambert simply shuffled up on the bench to make room for the two of them while Geralt carried on his story about the wargs pack he’d found. Silently Eskel and Cahir took their places. Without even looking, Lambert passed them plates and a blanket for Cahir in case he got cold. Until they got a human in their midst there hadn’t been a blanket at the table. Now, it was a permanent fixture. Much like Eskel hoped Cahir would become such too.
@thepassifloradiscord is holding a drabble event. Rather than spam followers with ten 100 word posts, I’ve popped them all into one big post. Tags/etc at the top of each drabble.
Vesemir, Eskel, Geralt, Lambert, Aiden There was a fairytale Vesemir had once read, something about four animal musicians who scared off some enemy by standing on each other’s backs. He had no idea why it resonated with him so much but it did. Over the years he watched his three pups grow up and he could almost see the tower they could form. Eskel at the bottom, the solid base, the one everyone relied on. Then Geralt, strong, stable but under too much pressure he’d crack. Followed by Lambert, the firecracker. Only, they were missing a fourth. When Aiden turned up, Vesemir’s hopes were complete.
Pre-Eskel/Cahir Eskel was fascinated by Cahir’s sword. It was unlike the ones witchers used. So he took to watching him train, admiring the way he moved through forms and drills. In a way, it was mesmerising.
“I really like how you handle your sword,” he said to Cahir as he emerged loose-limbed from the baths. The words were met with a blush which was rather cute. “I like watching you wield it.” That didn’t seem to make things better and Cahir spluttered, blush spreading down his neck and across his wet chest. Eyes widening, Eskel stammered, “I meant your metal sword!”
Pre-Lambert/Eskel Lambert had rules for seduction. First, he had to find his target. The security guard looked pretty good. Secondly, he needed to assess his resources - he was at the supermarket, he was going to have to get creative. Thirdly, not only did he have to make first impressions memorable but also full of promise. He sauntered up to the guard whose name badge read Eskel.
“Ever seen someone steal a cucumber before?” The question was accompanied by him twirling one. Eskel shook his head, Lambert smirked. “Now you will.” With that, he deepthroated the cucumber and locked eyes with Eskel.
Pre-Eist/Calanthe This was the big night. Eist had grand plans, he was going to impress Calanthe and make her fall wildly in love with him. Everything was coming together; fancy outfit, a few quips and compliments to drizzle into conversation, he had even had one of the servers putting his love notes onto the plates Calanthe was served. In short, he wasn’t going to fail at wooing his queen. Confident, he strode into the banquet hall, only to trip on his cape and end up flat on his face. “Looks like I fell for you.”
She laughed, the evening was salvaged.
Geralt/Jaskier “And who is that?” Geralt asked.
Next to him, Jaskier drew a deep breath. “The ball sack sweat that festers in your smalls after a performance gone wrong. Never before have I been so insulted to be in the same room with a rancid flake of toe cheese. Now I shall have to boil my eyes, gargle with a whole lemon’s juice and scrub myself raw with a sea urchin. No amount of wine is enough to purge the knowledge that I’ve had to share a stage with a mouldy wet mop.”
“Ah,” Geralt nodded. “So that is Valdo Marx.”
Eskel/Lambert/Aiden/Cahir, Geralt/Jaskier It was all very well that Eskel, Lambert, Aiden and Cahir had found happiness together. But when their night-time activities woke Ciri, that was just infuriating. The first night it happened, Geralt put it down as a mishap. Second night was rude. The third night that Ciri ended up wedged between him and Jaskier, he stomped towards the offending room. It didn’t sound like noises of passion. Grunts, giggles and the odd “stop resting on me, lift your arse.” Pushing the door open, Geralt stared at the game of naked twister in progress before silently backing out of the room.
Lambert/Aiden As a nurse at the emergency room, Eskel had thought he’d seen everything. But there were giggles about the couple in Bay 8 and went to investigate. Somehow he shouldn’t have been surprised it was Lambert and Aiden. At least this time it wasn’t Lambert on the bed but his boyfriend, who was holding a bowl under his chin to catch the copious amount of bloody saliva dribbling from his mouth.
“Do I want to know?”
Pouting, Lambert looked to Aiden who nodded. “We didn’t realise candy canes could be sucked so sharp. He’s got a new tongue piercing now.”
Letho&Ciri The great thing about being so large was that people rarely started fights with Letho. That didn’t mean it never happened but usually it was other witchers, which was why he tended to avoid them. Alas, needs must and he ended up wintering in Kaer Morhen. Surprisingly, the wolves and their guests were polite, accepting and actually good hosts. Until one resident yelled and charged at his legs. Hefting Ciri up was no hardship, she was small, young and not too wriggly. But the wooden sword still thunked against his bald head. Letho smiled, he liked Ciri’s courage and confidence.
Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel, Aiden, Lambert, Cahir, Vesemir, Ciri It’s a simple game, they sit in a circle and name the person whose turn it was next. Eskel starts.
“Dick. Lambert.” “Penis. Take it away, Aiden.”
“Schlong and over to you, Geralt.”
“Cock. Lambert again.”
“Trouser snake. Cahir!”
“Meat wand. Uh…Jaskier?”
“Nilfgaardian brain! Eskel!”
“Custard launcher. Vesemir, join us.”
“Why should I talk about fucksticks, hm, Aiden?”
“Because mine’s a third leg, isn’t it, Cahir?”
The door opens to reveal Ciri.
“What’re you playing?” Faux innocence fills her voice.
Stammering, Cahir’s unable to lie. “Synonyms for the word willy.”
“Oh!” Ciri looked delighted. “Have you had princess tamer yet?”
Eskel/Cahir Groaning, Eskel took in the damage around the room. The headboard was cracked, the door looked like it had been slammed hard enough to pull it off its hinge, all his trinkets had been swept off the chest of drawers. His body ached, muscles he didn’t even know he had were protesting at each motion. Not to mention that he could taste blood on his lips, tongue licking over the scab that had formed. However, Eskel couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but contentment as Cahir cuddled up against him, body covered in hickeys. It was a damn good night.
Look away if you only watch the Neflix show. Spoiler ahead from the books!
(I don’t know how to do read more on mobile, I’m so sorry!)
There’s the whole bit with Tissaia saying she’ll interrogate Cahir. And there’s some objection but Vilgefortz is all “she wasn’t asking for permission”, right?
Then Tissaia discovers there’s some kind of magical shield protecting Cahir’s mind.
Surely she would recognise Fringilla’s handiwork. After all, Tissaia did teach her. What if it wasn’t Fringilla’s shield? She was far away and busy getting with Francesca, holding up a shield at such distance and when injured is not likely.
What if it was Vilgefortz? He doesn’t know how much Cahir knows. All Vilgefortz knows is that Cahir answers only to the White Flame. So…to protect himself and his schemes, he is the one who keeps Cahir’s mind safe from Tissaia’s torture.
this is also callout post for myself: I started calling both of these characters by their full names as a joke because I like to affectionately make fun of characters I love, but now I cant stop and it takes a full 5 minutes longer to explain the plot of witcher to my sister
