having geralt x eskel thoughts these days
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having geralt x eskel thoughts these days

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made for my fic: Hand-to-hand techniques
Bard Sandwich
It had been a few winters since he had managed to make it home to kaer morhen. Rumors flooded the continent of the mage Vilgefortz killing the white wolf- A warning to the entire continent. Of course, they weren't true; witchers could heal from severe injuries, and it wasn't the first account of a near death experience. The stryga, the ghouls- Now a mage. Like he'll he was going to let his death be by the hand of one of them.
Between being on the run with Ciri and Yennefer, nearly dying at the hands of the mage and hunting down ciri, the war waging on.. It had been a tough few winters. As they treaded their way to Kaer Morhen once more, he only hoped he'd see the faces of Vesemir and his two brothers again- He didn't know if he could take another loss. As the doors of Kaer Morhen dramatically burst open, the four of them walked in, Geralt tugging his hood off; he smelled undeniably of pain and exhaustion. Suddenly, the entire keep grew dead silent.

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You complete us
Ship: Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel
Rating: T
Wordcount: 2.2k
Tags: Fluff, Polyamory, Getting Together, Established Relationship, Cuddling, Misunderstandings, Idiots in love
Read on AO3
It had happened often, when they still had been children, scared of the new place and many strangers around them. Back when they had just been taken from their parents and brought to Kaer Morhen. Mostly at night Eskel had stumbled over to Geraltâs bed or the other way around and they had curled up around each other, given each other some much needed safety and human contact between the hard training and the harsh voices.
It had occurred less and less the older they grew but never really stopped. So, Geralt had not been surprised, when Eskel had stumbled into his room and just slotted down on his bed without a word. He was probably having a bad day and didnât want to sleep alone. Geralt who had been sitting on the bed, reading, grabbed him and pulled his head into his lap, so he could stroke his hair.
Geralt was sharing the room with Jaskier, of course, they had shared beds even before they had been together. But right now Jaskier was still running around the keep, doing who knew what with all that energy a human shouldnât have while Geralt had decided he wanted to get to his room early and relax a little.
But of course, if Eskel needed his friend, he would be there for him like he always had been in the last 90 years and how Eskel had been there for Geralt.
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I return briefly with a small dedication to @journeythroughunknownlands for their beautiful Gerskel bathing art. Warnings: Dom/sub undertones; mentions of sex.
Eskel returns every winter tightly wound, his thoughts all tangled up like old tack dumped on the stable floor. He hides it pretty well, or at least he thinks he does, applying his focus and remaining strength to the long list of chores that Vesemir hasn't managed to get to that year.
It isn't that Eskel is self-sabotaging. He just struggles to let go of the mish-mash of coping strategies that keep him safe on the Path, physically and mentally. On the surface, he's his usual jovial self, laughing and joking with Lambert. One afternoon, he shoves said young wolf into a snow drift after a particularly brutal insult about Eskel's face being scary enough to spook all the wyvern away early. Eskel laughs raucously through the resulting brawl and they drink themselves into a stupor that evening.
But Vesemir can see it. And Geralt can too. That shivering tension beneath Eskel's skin, the skittish way he turns at any loud sound, reaching hand closing on air above his shoulder; the fastidious organisation of his belongings and his militant application to warming up in the courtyard. Eskel doesn't feel safe. He needs reminding that there's nothing up here anymore. Nothing worth the time of the zealots and thugs that levelled his home. There is no burden for him to shoulder. He doesn't need to. No more than any of them.
There's no point pushing it in the first few weeks. Eskel will clam up and shrug it off. That big, booming laugh as he jokes his way out with a dry riposte shattering any hope of progress. Geralt bides his time. The comfortable bed and lack of action to keep Eskel occupied will wear him down enough to start faltering, to start dabbing at his scars, looking lost. A crack in the hardened armour. And only then does Geralt elbow him in the armoury one morning, "Bath tonight?"