Chapter Text
With Vilgefortz being the driving force behind the whole manhunt for Witchers, it’s likely that come the next year, the path will be back to its regular dangers without them having to look out for bounties.
There’s still a bit of talk about Emhier, who funded the whole organisation and Ciri’s fate, but for now, they’re all safe and sound in Kaer Morhen.
Yennefer has sequestered herself in the tower alongside Triss and with the Cat and Wolf Witchers inhabiting the castle, Jaskier imagines it must seem like a strange reflection of old times.
Going by Guxart’s and Vesemir's reminiscing on dark winter nights in front of the fire and other men tossing in their two coppers, it does not seem too far off.
It should be strange, Jaskier thinks, especially tossing his circumstances into the mix but it is not.
Time goes by, days turning into weeks in their odd routine and before they know it, it’s beginning to thaw. Nothing much shows it yet but the swelling of the rivers, the avalanches and the lack of snowstorms. Jaskier also can feel the drowsiness of winter leaving his bones.
Instead of fixing up saddles and mending clothes, the Witchers are now being put to work outside to fix up the dilapidated parts of the castle under Vesmir’s stern glare.
And it’s a good thing too. Because while the Cats and Wolves have somehow managed to get along without too many threats of murder, the continued proximity seems to grate on everybody’s nerves, regardless of regular sparring sessions.
It’s not uncommon these days to find the men going over their gear or sharpening their swords.
They’re all restless and the tensions run higher than they have been in months.
Jaskier it seems, isn’t the only one to pick up on it, because one early morning, Lambert storms into the kitchen, slamming his hand down the table and barking, “Up. You’re with me.” He points at Jaskier, Aiden already looming behind him, with an easy grin on his face. “Leave Geralt to his stupid shit or whatever he’s doing right now. “I’ve already told Eskel.” He turns toward Gaetan who’s in his usual corner, curiously following the exchange. “You can fuck right off,” he tells him and that’s that.
In the end, Geralt is not left to his horses, but instead, they’re all gathered and cloaked in the forecourt at an ungodly hour in the morning, with the sun barely having climbed over the horizon, a golden sheen dipping the tips of the mountains in light.
There’s Coën, already smoking again, Geralt and Eskel, and Aiden carving some kind of vulgar joke into the walls with a knife.
“So,” Lambert claps his hands. “Finally ready?” He actually seems excited, which only rouses Jaskier’s suspicion.
“And where are you dragging us off to this morn?” Coën asks.
“At this ungodly hour too,” Jaskier bites out, shivering.
Lambert just grins.
“He wouldn’t tell,” Aiden adds, sidling up to Jaskier. “And believe me. I can be very convincing.” There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes as he sizes Lambert up.
Jaskier snorts. He catches Geralt’s gaze and- “You know, don’t you?”
“I have an idea,” Geralt says, lips quirking.
“Oh piss off with that expression,” Jaskier voices, disgruntled. He’s ready to climb back into bed.
But it’s been a while since they’ve gathered in this constellation, just them, before the other Cat Witchers and sorceresses found their way into the castle, and Jaskier is curious.
Thus he follows along, mostly silent, as Lambert leads them out of the fortress, through a gap in the wall that has yet to be fixed and uphill, into the forest.
There are footprints in the snow, about a day old, leading up a steep rocky trail that winds around the trees and into the surrounding hills.
“You checked on them yesterday?” Eskel asks Lambert, the mystery only growing.
“You’d know if you weren’t blind,” Lambert retorts, “but yeah. Perfect time for it. The thaw last week must’ve got them going.”
“If you woke me up because you wanted to take me hiking, I will murder you in your sleep and paint a pretty picture with your entrails,” Aiden bites out at Lambert, as they climb up a particularly slippery slope.
Since Jaskier’s the only one who cannot rely on a witcher’s stamina and it’s been a while since he subjected himself to this kind of exercise, he’s right there with the man.
“I try to do something nice once and that’s the thanks I get,” the copper-haired Witcher replies, without even bothering to answer the question.
As an hour goes by, Aiden’s muttered threats turn more and more creative, interspersed by Jaskier’s complaints.
“If you’d just tell me where we’re going, I’ll fly and meet you there,” Jaskier voices seriously, in between heavy panting, his breath fogging up the air.
“I thought I’d bring you two before the rest of those motherfucking cats catch onto us, but if you whinge the whole way, you can turn around. I don’t give a damn,” Lambert says, the last sentence likely a blatant lie since he went through the whole effort of gathering them in the first place.
They don’t turn around, but Jaskier revives his old limerick about Lambert and Aiden launches into a creative retelling of him enjoying the attentions of two half-elven whores up in Novigrad, one of which apparently was a male with a tongue rivalling that of a bruxa.
Geralt catches Jaskier’s arm when he stumbles, amidst a bout of said whining, rocks tumbling down, cushioned by the wet snow.
“You’ll like it,” the Witcher says, warm breath brushing against Jaskier’s ear, “Besides, it’s not too far anymore.”
Not too far turns out to be another hour and a half and Jaskier is ready to join Aiden in his endeavour to string Lambert up by his neck and Geralt while he’s at it.
Though the latter, in his defence, has done an admirable job of distracting Jaskier, by pointing out various outcrops, relaying the stories of how once a pair of gryphons nested there, and how in his youth they made a game out of naming the mountains in increasingly ridiculous ways and inventing stories about how they came to be called that way.
Eskel joins in and in the end, the time passes quicker than expected.
“We’re almost there,” Lambert says, a new bounce in his step as he points out a rock formation. “It’s right around that bend.”
They have to shuffle along a narrow path, an overhang protecting it from snow.
Jaskier smells them before he sees them.
A sulfuric scent that contrasts oddly with the snow and pine forest they’ve been surrounded by for the last few hours.
“What-” he starts, turning around to find Geralt’s gaze but the Witcher stymies his question.
“You’ll see,” he says with a smile crinkling his eyes.
They turn a last corner, the steep walls giving way to a plateau and Jaskier halts in his step. “Oh,” he says.
Because there, amidst a collection of tall trees and rock crevices, sheltered by the wind lies a hot spring. Steam is curling up in the air, misting over the water. Here and there are the signs of someone having worked the stone and placed rocks to alter the water flow, turning a stream into a collection of pools.
“Kaer Morhen’s best-kept secret,” Eskel announces, his grin crinkling his scars.
“Well, not quite,” Lambert amends, “But I don’t want you spreading shit about it to the other fuckers in the fortress as soon as we’re back. I had to clear out all the shit in there yesterday and I aim to enjoy it without a Cat prattling into my ear.”
“Oi!” Aiden exclaims, but he seems rather mellowed now compared to his earlier mood.
“You don’t count,” Lambert says, which for him is probably as close to sappy romantic as he can get.
Geralt nudges Jaskier to move and when he steps onto the plateau the Witcher pauses next to him. “When it begins to thaw, the water floods underground and mixes with the hot underwater water,” Geralt explains. “It swells till they form these hot springs. They are more warm than hot and the smell takes a bit to get used to, but they’re said to have healing properties.”
“Vesemir swears by them,” Eskel adds. “The view helps too.”
“That’s really something you’ve got there,” Coën adds, suitably impressed.
And it really is. Before long, they’re all lounging in the water, fires built on the shore for later, the occasional heap of snow still around them and Jaskier blissfully floats in one of the bigger pools, paddling his feet idly.
It’s peaceful up here and he smiles quietly to himself when he overhears Aiden and Lambert arguing and the splashing of water and subsequent make-up session.
There’s Coën and Eskel discussing some technical aspects of the spring and he finds that in the end, for all the pleasures of life, this is where he is the most content.
A small stirring of the water alerts him of somebody approaching and he blinks his eyes open to find Geralt looking down at him, white hair glinting in the winter sun and a crooked smile on his lips.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Oh yes, my dear Witcher. I am indeed.”
“That’s good to hear.” Geralt grins.
Jaskier stands up, water sloshing when he gets his feet under him and impulsively rises to meet him in a kiss.
The cold breeze on his wet skin has goosebumps erupting on his torso, but for the moment, he loses himself in the feeling of their embrace.
“Shit,” he says eventually, pulling back with chattering teeth.
Geralt chuckles. “Come on,” he says. “It’s too fucking cold to stay outside the water.” He pulls him along and under curses and laughter, they hop over one of the piled-up walls of rocks into a smaller pool to join the others.
Come spring, the cats will head out and try to reclaim Stygga, but they’ve forged bonds and made friends. Jaskier wouldn’t be surprised if Kaer Morhen would remain more lively even after this year.
If Yennefer goes through with her plans to take on Ciri’s education alongside Triss, Geralt will be out on the road before long as well. Jaskier has seen him sharpening his swords and tidying up Roach’s tack.
Even Jaskier can feel the itch to get on moving, now that winter is coming to a close.
After all, there are songs to be sung and courts to be entertained.
But for now, he knows where he’ll be.
Surrounded by his Witchers, he finds that life is good, after all.