Geralt stomps into Kaer Morhen, setting off a tired and irritated Lambert. Eskel comes to visit him shortly after. Can he convince Geralt to accept the affection and comfort on offer in his and Dandelion’s room?
Geralt barely registered Lambert as a blur as he stomped past him. His head ached. The bones in the moat gleamed in his mind’s eye. Dandelion’s earnest face, welling with concern, bored into his godsdamn soul. It was like his skin was peeling back from an infected wound. His chest was tight and the urge to scream was building in him.
“Oh,thank youLambert.Thank you for waiting up for me and opening the gates, Lambert,” the younger witcher called sarcastically after him. “Thank you for leaving food and water out for my horse and keeping the torches lit, Lambert.”
Geralt made the effort to grunt, but he kept going at his same pace. He heard footsteps catching up to him.
“What crawled up your ass and died?” said Lambert, hurrying to keep pace.
“Nothing,” barked Geralt. “Leave it. None of your business.”
Geralt walked through the last bit of open space before the castle, eyes trained on the door handle ahead. Lambert hustled in front of him and blocked the door. Geralt finally looked at him. Lambert’s hair was ruffled and there was a red imprint of something on his cheek. It looked like he’d fallen asleep on the table. He was in a soft tunic and breeches for sleeping.
“Get the fuck out of the way Lambert, quit playing, I’m tired.”
“The hell I will,” he said. “I stay up to be the welcome party, and you just stomp past me like I don’t exist? Fuck you. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” said Geralt. “And don’t act like Vesemir didn’t make you do it. Isn’t like you volunteered.”
He grasped Lambert’s shoulder and shoved him out of the way. Lambert teetered on one leg, then righted himself. Geralt pulled open the door and passed through to the cavernous entryway.
Lambert was behind him again, crowding him.
“Is he here? Did he actually come? Dandelion?”
“Yeah,” said Geralt. “He’s here, you were wrong.” All he could think about was his bed. His muscles ached from the ride. He was even more exhausted by the irritating emotions that had ambushed him on the drawbridge. Ramming them back took energy.
Lambert scoffed and slapped Geralt on the arm. “I was wrong? I was wrong? How about WE were wrong. You didn’t think he’d come either.”
“Well he’s here,” said Geralt. He took a sharp right down a hall. Every step took him closer to his room and away from Lambert’s jabbering.
“That why you’re so bitchy?” needled Lambert. “Jealous, are you then? Eskel has his Dandelion here? He’s not mooning over you anymore, that it?”
“That’s not it,” growled Geralt. Eskel didn’t moon over him.
Their shuffling, stomping footsteps echoed down the hall.
“Well I blame this on you anyway.”
“Blame what on me?”
“Our little visitor. If you hadn’t have dumped Eskel–”
Geralt stopped on a dime. He whirled on Lambert. He stopped so fast that Lambert hurdled several paces ahead. He turned to face Geralt with hands on hips.
“Dumped him??” demanded Geralt. “What do you mean, dumped him? Like we were…no we weren’t. How do you–” he realized he was stammering and shut his mouth with a click. He drew his lips tight.
Lambert cackled. Geralt wanted to punch him. It wasn’t worth it.
“Oh, right,” said Lambert. “Like there are any secrets in this crumbling drafty fuckin place. You think I never scented? Or heard? You think I don’t know when I’m a third wheel?”
Geralt’s jaw fell open. He probably looked like an especially incompetent fish. Lambert took the opportunity to pounce yet again.
“The way I see it, if you didn’t break the big idiot’s heart back then, we wouldn’t be here today. HE wouldn’t be here.”
“I didn’t break anything,” hissed Geralt. His voice was undeniably defensive. That was never a good sign. Sometimes Geralt didn’t know what he felt, until he said it out loud. Then, he judged the truth of it by how it sounded. If it sounded true, it was probably how he felt. But this sounded like a lie, even to his own ears. But he had committed to this line of argument so he persisted. “We were just–””
“Just fucking?” Snorted Lambert. “Yeah, alright then. Sure. Just fucking. That’s why you look at each other like puppies. Looked, I guess. Because that’s not coming back. Now that his little flower is here-”
Geralt felt something else join the mass of already frustrating emotions in his chest. It was a flash of new anger. On Dandelion’s behalf. That was. Odd.
“Leave him alone,” said Geralt.
“You don’t need to lecture me,” said Lambert, jabbing his thumb in his own chest. “I’m not the one that left him alone out there. How many people you think were lined up to take your place now that he has all those scars?”
“Shut the fuck up,” said Geralt. He instinctively moved towards Lambert.
Lambert didn’t twitch. His chin lifted just a hair. Geralt sighed. This was moronic. Letting Lambert provoke him. They were both tired.
“Nothing. I didn’t even mean him.” Geralt turned and continued towards his room and the peace and quiet he craved.
“Oooooo,” laughed Lambert. “Do you mean the flower?”
Geralt didn’t say anything. He just thumped up the stairs, his bag hitting his thighs and his swords clanking. Lambert kept time behind him while he chuckled.
“A couple days with him, and you’re his protection squad too?”
Geralt rumbled an irritated groan. “Just don’t be a dick to him,” said Geralt. “Think you can handle that?”
“Please, Geralt. Please don’t tell me you’re sprung on him too. Already.”
Geralt wasn’t looking at Lambert as they trudged along, but he could feel the incredulous smile spreading out on Lambert’s face the longer he remained silent.
“You are! Fuck me, you are. So you dump Eskel, now you want to steal his flower too??”
Geralt growled this time. “Shut up. That’s not what I want.”
He didn’t know what to say and his chest was pulling even tighter. His skin felt like a drum. He had never been more relieved to reach the door of his room. He opened it, ducked in, and slammed it shut.
He heard Lambert’s fed up voice on the other side.
“Sprung on him already. How many days did you spend with him? Three? The fuck. Does his cock taste of roast pork? Does he cum gravy?”
Geralt yanked the door open again.
“I don’t…know..what his cock tastes like. And gravy? You’re disgusting.”
Lambert cackled. “But you want to.”
Geralt slammed the door again.
He heard Lambert mutter one last riposte.
“What, do you want them both?” He giggled, then lobbed one last shout at the door. “You’re welcome again!”
And finally, thanks be to the merciful gods, he was gone.
——-
Geralt moved around the room, putting his things away. He had unloaded most of his clothes into the wastebasket before he realized what he was doing.
He cursed under his breath and fished them out. There was a soft knock at the door. He’d been so deep in his own head that hadn’t heard anyone approach.
He opened the door and heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief when he saw Eskel filling the doorway with his broad shoulders.
“Thank fuck,” he said.
“Lambert being less than charming?” asked Eskel.
Geralt shrugged. “The usual.”
“Yeah, we passed him in the hall. He wouldn’t say hi to Dandy. Said he was too tired. But he did give him finger guns and a ‘good luck with all that’. Whatever that meant.”
“He’s a moron,” said Geralt. Though he knew that wasn’t true. Lambert seemed to know his feelings better than he did. Which perhaps was a lower bar than one might think. But still.
He continued roaming around the room putting his things away. Eskel hovered at the foot of his bed. Geralt saw out of the corner of an eye that he was fidgeting.
“What?” said Geralt. “What’s up?” He tucked his trousers in a drawer and slid his boots under the bed.
“Geralt, what’s wrong?” Eskel said.
Geralt sighed. “Just tired.” He didn’t meet Eskel’s eyes.
“Geralt.”
He sounded pained that time, and when Eskel sounded in pain, alarm bells went off in Geralt’s mind. Geralt stopped what he was doing. He turned and looked.
“Yes?”
“Please. Sit. Can we talk?” Eskel’s shoulders looked bunched up and his hands were jammed in his pockets.
Geralt got rid of the clothes in his hands. The rest of the things in his bags belonged to Dandelion. He dropped onto the bed and rubbed his face. Eskel stood in front of him, brow knit with worry.
Geralt patted the bed next to him.
Eskel sat. Their legs were close enough so their knees touched. Geralt leaned forward and propped himself up with his elbow on his knees. His hair fell down in curtains on either side of his face.
He felt Eskel’s fingers slide his hair behind his ear. It prickled softly at his skin. His eyes fluttered closed. He absently inhaled Eskel’s leather and pine scent.
“Can you tell me what’s bothering you?” Eskel repeated. “Please?” His voice was saturated with concern, and Geralt couldn’t understand how anyone was ever frightened by that voice. It had the opposite effect on Geralt. It soothed his frayed nerves.
Geralt shook his head. “It’s nothing. I don’t know what my problem is.”
Eskel waited patiently.
Lambert was right. Eskel was so good to him. And what he gave back was woefully, sadly inadequate sometimes. So he took a breath and dug deeper.
“I’ve walked by those bones a thousand times. I forgot they were there.”
Eskel’s hands were folded in his lap again. Geralt found himself staring at them. Remembering when Eskel’s fingers threaded through his, in secret. He supposed that it wasn’t such a secret after all.
Turns out that just because you don’t talk about a thing doesn’t make it a secret. It doesn’t make it disappear, either.
“You get used to it,” said Eskel.
“Yeah,” said Geralt.
They sat silent for a moment. The silence was comfortable. It was always comfortable with Eskel.
“Then someone looks at you like they feel bad for you. And then you remember,” Eskel murmured. He looked tentatively at Geralt. They had never spoken of this and it felt like a tender spot.
Geralt nodded. “You remember it’s fucked up. You remember you lost almost everyone you ever cared about.”
Grief welled up in him like a tide. That’s what had been bursting out of his chest. Grief. Something in Dandelion had reached into him and given his grief permission to show itself.
“And we never really grieved did we? We never really—” His throat closed.
Eskel scooted up against him and drew him into his strong arms.
And a sob tore from his throat. A rebellious, mutinous sob. Then another.
Eskel squeezed him tighter, like he was catching him as he fell. It made more tears chase the ones already sliding down his face.
“This is…so…stupid,” he gasped. Eskel kissed his head and said,
“No. No it isn’t.” He said it with such calm conviction, such quiet ferocity, that it caught Geralt off guard.
Snot started down his upper lip and he drew his sleeve across it.
Eskel got up and the bed sprung back up next to him. While Eskel rooted around for a handkerchief, Geralt remained sitting in the bed, silent tears rolling down his face. He felt…not embarrassed, necessarily. Eskel could make him feel normal in almost any circumstance. But he felt raw. Self conscious.
Eskel knelt in front of him with a handkerchief. He took it and blew.
“It happened so long ago,” Geralt said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Eskel said. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I’m fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick. Out on the drawbridge.” He hiccuped.
“You weren’t,” said Eskel. He put his hands on Geralt’s knees and looked up at him gently. “You were just fine.”
“He just looked so…I don’t know. Like he felt sad. For me. For us.”
“It is sad. What happened.”
“I know.” Geralt wiped one eye then the other with a sleeve. “I know.”
“He cares,” said Eskel.
“I know.”
Geralt breathed in and out slowly while Eskel patted his knees and watched him with soft eyes.
“You’re so good with him,” Geralt said. The words came out in a whisper. He pulled in a ragged breath. “It’s nice. How do you do it?”
“It all comes so naturally to him,” said Eskel. “To love, and be loved. Affection. Words. It’s so easy for him that, that I…” Eskel scratched his head, “…just come out and say things I struggle with most other times. Things I’d usually keep inside.”
“He’s easy to love,” said Geralt quietly. He didn’t say the rest. Unlike me. The tragic, closed off witcher who pushed you away.
But Eskel read it on his face. He squeezed his knees and Geralt looked back into the depths of love and amber eyes.
“You are too.” Said Eskel. “You are too. I would’ve-“ He stopped and looked at the floor for a moment. “I would’ve given you the same if you would’ve let me.” He looked up. “I would’ve. You always acted like I was doin you a favor but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t like that. I just. I was afraid to tell you. You’re so beautiful. You could have anyone. And you’d found somebody else.”
Eskel’s voice broke off. Geralt reached out and slid his hand down Eskel’s face, cupping his cheek. He looked into Eskel’s eyes and there was nothing and no one else he could remember wanting more.
“I was an idiot,” Geralt said.
“It’s not too late,” said Eskel.
Geralt huffed a chuckle. “Three’s a crowd, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Eskel. “It’s just right. I care about you Geralt. And Dandy, he cares about you already too. I don’t know how to explain it. But he does. It’s like he loved me already. I just had to find him. And it’ll be the same with you. Besides.” Eskel caught his breath. “He said that you’re part of me. And he doesn’t think that love should cut off a part of me that I need.”
“Fuck,” said Geralt. “He’s something else.”
“Yeah,” said Eskel. “He is. You should come to our room tonight. Please. Come sleep with us. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“I’m fine,” said Geralt. “I don’t need—“
“Don’t you fuckin dare say pity,” said Eskel. “Don’t you dare.”
Geralt ran his hands up and down his own thighs. He wanted to say yes. But fuck. He was still wrestling with some tangle of feelings that he was beginning to recognize as fear. Also, what if they laid in bed and Dandelion or Eskel wanted sex? The thought would normally be thrilling. But he felt drained and raw.
“Thanks. I’m gonna stay in here though. I’m not feeling…sociable.”
“Geralt,” said Eskel. “You don’t have to be sociable. You don’t have to be anything. You can just be.”
Geralt shook his head. “Thanks. Really. But I’m good I’m here.”
Eskel
Eskel closed the door behind him.
“How is he?” Asked Dandelion. He sat cross legged on the bed in one on Eskel’s tunics. His lovely blue eyes were drawn with exhaustion. He massaged his bare thighs with his thumbs in circles. He was pressing hard and cringing as he did.
Seeing Dandelion, in Kaer Morhen, in his room was like the completion of a circle. Eskel hadn’t fully grasped the joy that would bring him.
“He’s mostly better now,” said Eskel. “What’s going on? You alright?” The loose garment Dandelion wore was soft and rumbled and it made Eskel yearn to draw him in his arms.
“My thighs, my ass, are killing me. I didn’t realize until I sat down.”
Eskel walked over to the side table. “Ah, yeah Angel. You aren’t used to riding at all. Much less for days. Let me get some balm or you’re not gonna be able to stand in the morning.”
He rummaged through a drawer.
“He didn’t want to come join us?” Asked Dandelion the whites of his knuckles kneading into his thighs.
“No.” Eskel shook his head. He climbed onto the bed with a gray tin of balm in his hand. “Here, sit against the bed board.”
Dandelion obeyed. Eskel sat beside him, facing him. He drew one of Dandelion’s legs into his lap and opened the jar. Dandelion sneezed.
Eskel chuckled. “It’s a little strong but it works.” He slathered some on both hands and then laid both hands on Dandelion’s thigh. It felt so smooth and warm on his palms.
“This’ll tingle a little.” He slid his hands in a circle and Dandelion blew out a breath.
“You ok?”
Dandelion nodded.
“I have to press a little hard. You ready?”
Dandelion nodded. Eskel pressed a little harder with both hands, watching the flesh ripple in his fingers.
Dandelion hissed.
“This alright?”
Dandelion nodded again. “Don’t stop.”
“I invited him,” Eskel said. “I tried.”
“He knows he’s welcome, right?” asked Dandelion. “That I want him here too?” Eskel smiled to himself. Dandelion fussing over Geralt felt like reinforcements. His love cared about what he cared about. He’d never even known to dream of a partnership like that.
“He does, love.” He moved his hands higher on Dandelion’s thigh, closer to his groin. He spread the balm thoroughly over every bit of skin, making it shiny in the flickering torchlight.
“And did I offend him? Outside?”
“No, not at all. He just wants space right now.”
“I understand.” Said Dandelion.
“Give me the other one.”
Dandelion flipped one leg over Eskel, and positioned the other in his lap. Eskel spread more balm on his hands and started rubbing again.
“You know,” said Dandelion. “Geralt said something to me in the shop. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” asked Eskel.
“He said something about your scars.”
“What’s that love?” he slid a hand up each side of Dandelion’s upper leg, watching the dark hair slide under his fingers.
“It wasn’t what he said, exactly,” said Dandelion. “It just made me think. I made a big fuss about you changing our face.”
“You did.”
“And I was so upset at the time, I don’t know how eloquent I was.”
“You got your point across.” Eskel worked and twisted his hands, feeling Dandelion’s muscle ease and loosen.
“I was only upset because you thought you needed to do it to make my life easier. And I would burn down this world before I let anyone make you feel you need to change for my benefit. Because I love you just the way you are. You got that right?”
Eskel grinned. “Yeah. I got that.”
“Because what you do with your face or your body for any other reason is entirely up to you. Your body belongs to you.”
“I understood that.”
“Good. Then you understand that I would love you no matter what your outside looked like. I love you for your beautiful spirit.”
“I do.”
Dandelion caught his wrists, and Eskel’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His balm slicked palms hovered over Dandelion’s leg. Blue eyes regarded him emphatically.
“If you changed yourself to a merman, I would follow you into the ocean.“
Eskel couldn’t help the involuntary grin that sprung to his face. He pictured himself as a mighty merman with a ferocious tail and Dandelion wading out into the water to greet him.
“I’d die as I lived. Pining for Eskel of Kaer Morhen.”
Eskel laid his hands on Dandelion’s hips and leaned in. He kissed him slow and sweet, the smells of balm, Kaer Morhen, and honeysuckle wine and the soft lips of his love pressed against him.
“Jester,” he said.
“It’s true though. And if you changed yourself to a dragon I’d learn to fly.”
Now Eskel pictured himself as a dragon. He would make a ridiculous looking dragon. But he’d be fine with Dandelion perched atop him.
“You don’t have to fly,” said Eskel. “You could ride me.”
“I could.” Dandelion wiggles his eyebrows. “I could ride you as a witcher, too.”
“I trundled right into that one didn’t I?” laughed Eskel.
“You did. Though I’m likely exaggerating. I couldn’t ride anything in my current condition.”
“Ok, lay down. I need to get this on your ass too,” said Eskel.
Dandelion made a face. “Please do, it’s excruciating, I’ll admit.” He settled himself flat on his stomach, and Eskel straddled his legs. He pulled down his underclothes.
“Darling, don’t be offended if I don’t get hard. I’m in extreme pain.”
“I never would,” said Eskel. He rubbed the balm on Dandelion’s ass and he admired the perfect round cheeks on his love as he did. Then he massaged into his flesh, as Dandelion made little groans that were a cross between relief and pain.
“You alright?”
“Yes, it hurts but I need it. Keep going.”
After thoroughly coating every sore part of Dandelion with the balm, Eskel washed up and extinguished the lanterns. He crawled under the covers with Dandelion and drew him into his arms.
“Thank you for coming home with me,” whispered Eskel.
Before Dandelion could answer there was a knock at the door. It was so soft, that had either of them had been speaking, they might have missed it entirely.
Eskel knew a knock that soft couldn’t be Lambert. Hope bloomed in his chest as he carefully pulled his arms from beneath Dandelion’s neck.
“Think he changed his mind?” whispered Dandelion.
Eskel quickly padded over to the door.
The door opened and Geralt stood in the doorway looking uncertain. Most all of the lanterns were extinguished for the night, so he stood in the dark. His golden eyes caught the little bit of light that remained.
“Heard you had room for one more,” said Geralt.
Eskel took him by the hand and squeezed.
“We do.”
“Bring him here,” said Dandelion happily, from the bed. He was rubbing his eyes. He’d taken off the tunic and his fair skin set off the lush thick hair in his chest.
Eskel led him to the bedside. He thumbed the bottom hem of Geralt’s shirt. Geralt nodded and lifted his arms.
Eskel pulled Geralt’s shirt off then took his face in his hands.
“We’re glad you came.”
Then he slid his arms around Geralt’s warm bare skin and squeezed him tight. Geralt lay his head down on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around Eskel’s waist.
Eskel’s hands remembered this, as they slid down Geralt’s back, greeting the familiar scars.
“Come on,” he said.
Eske climbed into bed, into the warm spot heated by Dandelion’s body. Dandelion quickly snuggled up to his left side, molding himself around his body.
Eskel held out his right arm towards Geralt.
“Sure you want a tragic, morose witcher in your love nest?” asked Geralt as he climbed in next to Eskel, pulling the covers over the three of them.
He settled his head into the crook of Eskel’s arm, and found Dandelion closeby, cuddled up on Eskel’s other shoulder. He gazed at Geralt in the dimness, sleepy hooded eyes casting shadows with thick lashes.
“You aren’t tragic,” said Dandelion. He ghosted his hand on Geralt’s cheek. When Geralt leaned forward, he allowed his hand to settle there. “What happened was evil. And tragic. But you? You’re a survivor. A miracle.”
Eskel could feel Geralt melting into the affection. Seeing Dandelion show Geralt love was like receiving it himself. He craned down and felt Geralt lean forward, lips seeking his out. So Eskel kissed Geralt. It had been years. But it was as though no time had passed at all. Because it felt exactly as it should.
Geralt’s lips were like coming home.
Geralt leaned and pressed into him, breathing slower with each passing moment.
Then Eskel turned his head and he was kissing Dandelion. His lush lipped, eager, Angel. It was an unfathomable luxury, Geralt tucked against one shoulder and Dandelion against the other.
And then they were gazing at each other, Geralt and Dandelion.
Dandelion found Geralt’s hand and clasped it. Eskel’s heart warmed to see Geralt squeeze back.
“Go ahead,” said Eskel, bemusement obvious in his voice.
So Geralt and Dandelion, faces leaning against the other expanse of Eskel’s chest, kissed.
Eskel closed his eyes and listened to them sigh against one another’s lips.
They fell asleep like that, legs tangled together, hearts beating together, and if it was a dream, Eskel never wanted to wake.
—–
In this fic, Jaskier is a sex worker who goes by the name Dandelion. Lambert will also be getting in on the love, he’s just a tougher nut to crack, so it’ll take a little more effort. However, it is effort that Jaskier is fully prepared to put in.
More sketches of things I find funny from the books. After reading in the previous one how rude and detached the other wolves are…. You know it was them. You also know Witcher Eyes Do The Cat Thing and there’s a reason Geralt only barely protests Dandelion following him into certain death. Styled Dandelion like a 17th century dandy, don’t mind me.
“my favourite character only acts like an asshole because he’s deflecting/covering up his insecurities ” you are so boring. he acts like that because he sucks. worst motherfucker on earth (affectionate). stop making excuses for him
Summary: In the Modern Continent, the witcher brothers have had their hands full keeping mostly-retired Vesemir from becoming radicalized by unreliable news media. Geralt and Eskel have found ways to draw their boundaries, but Lambert has taken it upon himself to debunk the untruths his old man comes across while providing him with more reliable sources of news.
Aiden, Lambert’s human partner, struggles to find a way to help Lambert handle the incendiary phone conversations between himself and Vesemir.
Lambert sighed—well, more like growled under his breath—next to Aiden on the couch and slammed down his phone.
They’d paused Netflix before it auto-played the next episode so they could take a bathroom break and grab dessert, but now it seemed things might stay paused for a while.
“Everything okay?” Aiden asked, taking a furtive glance at an incoming text notification on Lambert’s screen. Not enough information to go on, but he could take a guess. Family Stuff .
Lambert irritably jiggled his foot on the edge of the coffee table, and Aiden could practically see the thunderclouds gathering over his head. “I’m gonna have to call Vesemir.”
Things had been relatively quiet since they’d moved into the new place: a little unpacking here, some fresh paint there, new appliances to get used to—Lambert had gone on a deep dive of YouTube videos learning all the ins and outs of their dishwasher, finding out all the little tricks to make it run the most efficiently.
More than anything it was theirspace, a chance to grow together into something more solid than Lambert’s crumbling room at Kaer Morhen. Don’t get him wrong, it was a gorgeous old building, full of old world charm and a melancholy grandeur that Aiden admired and appreciated… but lumpy pillows, moth-eaten curtains, barely enough natural light, and having to light a fire every morning just to bear getting out of bed grew old after the first five winters (after the first two, really, but Aiden knew how much the Keep meant to Lambert, so he’d taken some time before suggesting the move. It was all that Lambert had ever known—well, all he’d ever really been able to call home.It had seemed selfish to pull him away from it for the sake of larger, better-insulated windows and electric baseboard heating.
That was until Aiden came to understand Lambert’s relationship with his father figure, Vesemir. It wasn’t bad, Aiden wouldn’t even go so far as to say it was frictious most of the time. Vesemir was old (fuck knows howold), he put a lot of emphasis on familial responsibility and togetherness, and though the Continent was far more accepting of nonhumans than it was back in his day, it by no means meant that the hatred wasn’t still lurking—forced into the shadows by peacekeepers and equality legislation that prevented institutions like the Eternal Fire and their followers from holding public demonstrations. They were no longer permitted to go door-to-door or proselytize in the town square… but that didn’t mean that the loyalists just disappeared when the laws were passed. And it didn’t mean that those groups that fought againstthem didn’t have their own polarizing rhetoric that, in Lambert’s opinion, made them no better than the Eternal Fire.
Fighting a leshy was never easy, Eskel generally hated doing so. But, as a witcher, he had no real choice in some fights. Especially not when it wasn’t even a contract but just shitty luck that had him stumbling across a leshy on the way up to Kaer Morhen. After a spectacularly bad year it was the last thing he’d needed. As desperately as he’d wished he could just run away, he knew it wasn’t fair on the others, nor was it right. So he fought, he got injured as he killed the leshy and, to top it all off, the leshy cursed him. Not verbally, not even visibly, but Eskel somehow felt the curse, knew the consequences. It still wasn’t enough to change his mind though, Eskel was determined to suffer the consequences of his actions on his own terms.
To begin with, his injuries were easy enough to hide. Eskel wrapped his own wounds like he would on the Path, he avoided the baths when others were there, focused his training more on the academic side than the physical. For the first week it was easy enough, claiming to be tired from his year. Each and every turn he avoided Lambert. The curse whispered in his mind, his shoulder ached and Eskel was too much of a coward to look at it, even when he could feel that it wasn’t healing right. It didn’t matter though, Eskel knew his fate. A witcher wasn’t made to love or be loved, he was just an abomination who thought he could.
There was no avoiding the issue forever. Especially as the wound festered, the skin around it went from inflamed to hard and…Eskel wanted to call it crusty and not believe it was bark. Only, it wasn’t just a superficial wound. The leshy had pierced deep. Or rather, the wound had spread deeper with time. He could feel it with each move, breathing more laboured as though something was squeezing his lung, burrowing into him without pause. The coughing came shortly after. Small at first and Eskel felt truly rancid, the weird phlegm he brought up seemed like it had sand mixed in it. As inconspicuously as he could, he began to carry around a handkerchief or two which he could cough into. Only, the others began to notice his coughing and attempts at subtlety so questions started being asked. The only thing Eskel could do was hide away. He snarled at anyone who dared approach his room, told Geralt to “fuck off” none too kindly. When Lambert sauntered to his room, Eskel couldn’t bring himself to send him away. Instead, he stayed silent, ignored Lambert’s teasing which turned into frustrated grumblings. Though it was obvious that Lambert was angling for a fight, Eskel couldn’t give it to him. He listened to Lambert grumbled about how Eskel was a coward, a pushover, a cheat at gwent, a lousy sparring partner. In his head, Eskel had to agree with those statements, especially that he was a coward. But he would rather die without Lambert’s pity or disdain at his truth. If Eskel never got rejected then a small part of him would still die with hope in his heart.
Confined to his room, Eskel quickly ran out of things to do. He’d read his books, rearranged his trinkets, even dusted the high corners of the ceiling. There was one thing he could do, which he had been putting off. Especially as it was starting to be difficult to move his arm where the leshy had struck. Sat with his back to his mirror clouded with age, Eskel twisted and slowly peeled off the bandage. It caught on rougher patches but didn’t hurt. Despite knowing what was coming, Eskel still cringed at the sight of green bark covering his back and shoulder. Wincing, he coughed. And coughed. And coughed. It seemed never ending. Hunched over his shaving bowl, Eskel spat out a bright yellow dollop of what could only be pollen caught in mucus. That wasn’t all though, he could feel something in the back of his throat, enough to make him feel like gagging. Clearing his throat, Eskel managed to bring it up enough that he could pull it out with his fingers. A rather crushed and sorry looking flower, shiny with spit was in his hand.
Three days, that was how long it took Eskel to cough up enough flowers to figure it out. They were all light pink or white, some of them had a few minor speckles. Whether those were blood or the colours of the petals was sometimes hard to determine. But, after looking at them wilting and floating off on the wind from his window, Eskel knew what they were. Plum. Lambert’s favourite fruit because of the sweetness, the colour and, though he’d never admit it to anyone, the blossoms. There was an irony to Eskel coughing up the flowers of a plum tree when the one he loved held them dear to his heart. It was akin to having Jaskier coughing up wolf’s bane or Geralt with dandelions and buttercups.
A witcher could go a considerable time without food. Eskel figured the curse would take him before starvation. There was absolutely no way he could leave his room now. His back was all bark, sprouting branches which liked to wiggle around like the appendages of a leshy. More importantly, Eskel’s eyes had changed. Though he used to hate the yellow hue, he now missed it. The mirror was covered up because Eskel couldn’t stand the stranger with green eyes staring back at him from it. The coughing got worse, his breathing a wheeze as roots made their home throughout his body. One morning he woke to a tentacle moving under his skin in his arm. Such a sight had him retching and Eskel could have made a whole bouquet from all the blossoms he brought up.
Shirts stopped fitting him very quickly. Maybe five days into his enforced isolation, Eskel was probably about half tree, half man. In a bitter moment he wondered whether he should have become a pine tree for all the pining he’d done for Lambert. Then again, a plum tree was much more apt. The branches on his back had blossomed and rapidly began to produce fruit. After a brief debate of whether eating his own fruits was considered weird, Eskel decided that the whole situation was beyond the realms of even a witcher’s normal and he bit into the fruit. Lambert would love it. So, with quiet dedication, Eskel harvested his fruits and put them in a bowl. They were going to make a fantastic jam. Shame Eskel wasn’t going to be there to watch Lambert enjoy it.
Deep down, Eskel knew that he didn’t have long left. Not at the rate the curse was taking over his whole body. No longer was he coughing up flowers but the stones of plums. Those hurt, Eskel coughed them up while hunched over, the bark on his back splitting and cracking. The stones had sharp ends which scraped his throat raw. At first he’d thought it was blood that coated the tips but, on closer inspection, it wasn’t red. But it was viscous, so green it was almost black. Eskel punched his mirror in frustration and watched as the dark goop dripped from his split knuckles too. It was blood. But it was no longer his.
Time lost all meaning to Eskel. He’d been in his room, had laid down on his bed and made peace with his fate. There was a lovely bowl full of just ripe plums for the others to find. If they ever came for him. For a while now nobody had even passed his room door, let alone asked him if he was okay. But that was okay, easier for the others for sure. There weren’t many of them left, so they’d miss him because their numbers dwindled, not because they missed Eskel himself. Such thoughts clouded his mind and Eskel could barely twist to cough and spit a plum stone on the ground. It felt like his back was putting down roots into the bed, dragging him back down against his meagre will.
The door burst open. Too drained to move, Eskel would only watch as Lambert stood in the doorway, face scrunched up with rage. That fell away as soon as he saw what Eskel had become. Doing his best to smile, Eskel managed to rasp, “it’s okay” and his tipped his head back, eyes closed. Lambert wasn’t a coward, he’d do what Eskel couldn’t, despite sitting by his fire, poker in the flames for nights on end. The bed dipped and Eskel found himself staring up at Lambert’s frowning face. Licking his dry, bark-like lips, Eskel tried to apologise, tried to make things better. Words got caught in his throat as another stone made a bid for freedom. Warm, strong hands helped him twist and a goo covered plum stone clattered wetly on the ground.
“Who?” Lambert demanded, eyes tight with barely held back agony. “I’ll gut them.”
Squinting up at Lambert, Eskel was stunned to see bloody lips tremble as Lambert broke into a hacking cough. A single purple crocus fell into his palm - Eskel’s favourite. It would have been beautiful if only it hadn’t meant that Lambert loved someone. Eskel felt a spasm go through his body as the leshy’s curse ate away at the last remaining parts of his humanity.
“Go. Be better than me. Be brave,” he managed to gasp.
Face scrunched up in anger, Lambert threw his hands out wide. “I am!” He poked Eskel in the chest and winced at the bark he found. “I realised I didn’t want to die! So I came to tell you, you idiot, that I love you!”
No great gust of wind came, no sudden transformation, no lights. Neither did they float and spin together. Maybe because Eskel hadn’t said anything other than gawp at Lambert.
“I love you too.”
Still nothing. Well, not nothing. Lambert threw himself down onto the bed to hug Eskel. Grumbling, he pulled his face back, a graze along his cheek.
“We need to do something about your skin. It’s crusty with layers of dirt.”
“It’s bark.”
“Same difference.” Lambert gave Eskel’s ungiving chest a poke. “I want your old chest back. It looked like the world’s most divine pillow. I’d break my teeth if I bit this now.” To prove his point, Lambert jabbed the bark again.
Eskel snorted. “I’m sorry. I’ll think really hard and transform into a velvety geranium for you.”
“Or you could just be yourself.” The words were much quieter than Lambert had probably meant. And much more vulnerably earnest. “I kind of fell in love with you, not a tree.”
His eyes strayed to the bowl on the table and frowned. Picking up a plum, he sniffed it and eyed Eskel suspiciously.
“I grew them especially for you,” Eskel replied.”
Snorting, Lambert put it back with a shake of his head. “I’d rather taste something else of yours.”
It was surprisingly difficult to waggle eyebrows when turned into a plum tree leshy of some kind but Eskel still tried. At least it got a laugh from Lambert.
Turning back into a human was a process that took a couple more days. At least they had plums to gain out of the delay. And, come spring, Lambert gleefully presented Vesemir with a large bag of stones from all the plums. Hopefully, in a couple of years, Kaer Morhen would have plum trees to harvest and Lambert could tease Eskel about his plant children.
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.”
