#game!eskel

“Sweetheart, eat,” you ordered softly, glancing at Eskel out of the corner of your eye. He was just staring down at his bowl of stew, spoon untouched, while you organized jars containing the medicine for his wounds.

He was almost completely healed, his face marred with deep, angry red scars but the fear of infection gone now. After four months, you’d gotten close to the witcher, quickly falling for him. But you knew he was just here until his injuries were healed, before he could go back on the Path. As much as it pained you to let him go, you expected it would have to end at some point.

Eskel blinked, eyes focusing back in on you as he watched you work. It was hard to eat when he felt so sick to his stomach at the idea of you kicking him out soon.

He knew it was coming. His face was healing, and he couldn’t stay here forever. Why you kept him around as long as you did, he wasn’t sure. But seeing you prepare the salve for his scars, packaged up for him to take when he left, felt like a sharp pain in his chest every time he thought about you kicking him out.

He was used to being taken care of, now. Eating meals together, often curling up beside each other in front of the fire at night, you calling him ‘sweetheart’ and ‘baby’, tenderly soothing his scars with your salves like they weren’t something to be afraid of—

How was he going to live without this?

“Eskel?” you brought him out of his thoughts again, a look of concern on your face.

He forced a smile on his face, ignoring the way it pulled at his lip in a way he knew made it look like a grimace. An ugly, horrifying monster, that’s what he was now. “Sorry, not very hungry.”

You sighed, abandoning your work and taking a seat beside him. You placed a hand on his forehead, sliding your palm down to cut the left side of his face as you observed him carefully. “You feel a bit warm… are you sure you’re ready to leave tomorrow?”

He nodded, the last thing he wanted to do. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay… maybe you should go rest, love.” You wished you could protest, insist that he stay, but— he wanted to leave. You couldn’t make him stay.

“Yeah,” Eskel agreed, ignoring the way his heart fluttered at the endearment. He rested his hand on top of yours, pulling it off his face and squeezing it gently before he stood.

You swallowed at you watched him head towards the bedroom, wishing you just had the courage to tell him how you felt.

Meanwhile, Eskel laid in your bed and wrapped himself in your blanket, breathing in your scent deeply and willing back the ache in his chest. Who would want him looking like this? He knew the chances of someone like you loving someone like him would be slim beforehand, but now— you deserved better.

After an hour or so, you finished packing up a bag for him to take in the morning. You wished you could go with him, watch out for him while he was on the Path. A witcher could use a mage, but he didn’t ask you to go with him.

You put a few more logs in the fire, gathering up an extra blanket to take to Eskel before you would go to sleep. But upon walking into the spare room, where Eskel slept since you brought him in, you were surprised to find it empty. You immediately panicked, thinking he might have left early. Wouldn’t he at least say goodbye?

A low snore caught your attention, the noise coming from your own bedroom. You quietly opened the door, letting out a relieved chuckle at the image of Eskel buried under your blankets in your bed, hair mussed as he slept soundly. You knelt down, brushing an errand strand of hair away from his face, memorizing every detail as this would be the last time you had the chance.

He was beautiful. You didn’t think too much about what he must have looked like before the attack— it didn’t matter to you. The face he had now was the one you felt most familiar with, the one that already felt like home. You wouldn’t change a single thing. But more than that; he was gentle, and kind, and as much as you wish you could have saved him from the pain, you are thankful to that striga for bringing you to him. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eskel’s eyes fluttered open, and he sucked in a breath at the sight of your face so close to his. Your eyes widened, an apology on your lips before he smiled, that warm crooked grin you were so in love with.

“Hi,” he whispered, something in the way you were looking at him making his heart beat faster. Like you didn’t see a monster, like you were looking at someone you… loved.

You smiled back, deciding then and there you weren’t ready for him to leave. And if he left, you would go with him. “Hi. Eskel, could I… would you want me to join you on the Path?”

The grin slowly left his face, Eskel swallowing audibly. “I would love that.”

“Yeah?” You felt a spark of courage, licking your lips before you continued, “Because I… really care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you again. I-I love you.”

You held your breath, waiting for his reaction. Eskel just stared for a few moments, not sure what he just heard. The scars on his face burned, reminding him of all the reasons someone like you would never want him, yet— here you were. Offering to be with him, take care of him.

Then he saw your face fall, a wash of sadness and rejection evident. He quickly reached out and grabbed your hand, not about to miss his chance.

“Yes! Yes, please. I want you to be with me. I-I want… to be with you. I love you, too.”

It had felt like eons since Eskel had spoken, and the bitter silence was nearly driving you out of your mind with madness. Every so often he would grunt hoarsely, reaching down to focus instead on tying yet another loop of bandage around your abdomen. The scowl on his face told you he was upset - but you knew it wasn’t with you. No, you knew your Witcher too well to miss the sorrow that dipped the corners of his eyes as he wiped the last splashes of Wyvern blood away from your throat. How gentle his strokes were despite the action, how tender his fingers were against your pulse as he tipped you back to look at him.

‘Eskel-’

‘I’m not angry.’ He frowned, quickly and unsightly, but not with malice. More to let you know that he was ashamed of himself for giving away his feelings so easily. For making certain now, that you would worry over him when it was you all the realm’s focus should be on. 

You raise an eyebrow, trying to raise a grin through the pain. Once he finishes wiping away the last drops and drops the rag back down onto his satchel, you sigh in relief at the feeling of Eskel’s warm, broad palm just holding your chin within their safe grasp. Despite the strength of his fingers splayed against the bottom of your jaw, he knows that you’ve noticed how much they’re shaking.

‘I know you too well to know that you’re angry’, you begin to drawl, reaching out with your unbruised hand to brush the back of your fingers against the twisted knot lying on his lip. ‘I also know, that you’re blaming yourself for this. Which is complete poppycock, Eskel.’ He flinches at your touch, still so vulnerable. His golden eyes gaze steadily into your own, though, even through the tears that begin to muddy their sombrely scrunched depths. ‘And I won’t stand for it.’

‘But it was my fault. Y/n.’ He grabs your hand, drawing it away from where it was tenderly and familiarly beginning to trace down the outline of his scar. He instead raises it to his lips, kissing the back and curling it within his own. He rests it against his cheek as he opens up his other arm, offering himself up to you.

You gladly accept, scooting down from your perch and instead resting clumsily on his lap, settling against his racing heartbeat. His hands tighten around your waist, dropping your still intertwined hand onto your thigh. He’s so gentle, so careful not to move you to much as he positions himself back against the tree trunk so you’re resting properly upright. So delicate, as he shifts you against his leather trousers, that it nearly breaks your heart. ‘It was my fault that you were here. I knew I should have left you safe within the inn, instead of allowing you to follow me into the wilds. I was - I was careless.’

You can feel his chin shake against the top of your head as he continues. ‘I....’ he swallows thickly, before taking in a drawn out breath. ‘I could have lost you. And then I would have lost all the best parts of myself. Not even a Witcher can survive when they’re left with just a husk, Y/n. And I was stupid enough to think I was smart enough - I was skilled enough to never let it happen. How foolish I am, and I... I’m so sorry.’

‘Eskel, if I hear you apologise one more time I swear I’m going to Lil’ Bleater loose on you once we get back to Kaer Morhen.’ He laughed at that, hands wringing tighter around your midriff. But he still laughed, and the sound was the most divine noise the path could have ever brought you. 

‘You know, I’m more afraid of Lambert’s reaction if he finds that little devil loose in his room again than I am of the two of you put together.’

‘I don’t doubt it. His swearing rant was enough even to make Vesemir run out of the keep’, you giggle, simultaneously lighting your heart in relief at the soothing tone the grumble of his voice has taken once again. For a moment he’s silent, until you realise the pressure you feel against your back is no longer solely the feel of his armour’s spikes, but the press of his large ear against the dip of your spine. 

He’s listening to your heartbeat, breath evening out in time in a way that makes you believe he’s trying to match his own to yours. He does this often, although he’s too embarrassed to admit it. He likes to slow his rate, mixing the sound with your own until it feels as though one march. One joined parade of lovers, one sole beat, one indication that he could ever live the life of a normal man. Eventually, he will straighten himself back up. He’ll press a kiss against the back of your neck, a lingering one full of compassion and hope and diligence, before resting his forehead back against your hair.

He’ll say his usual musings when he becomes lost. ‘Perhaps’, he’ll whisper into the swift jasmine mist of the night, ‘I will keep you here forever. We can live among the sunflower stalks, and make pomegranate wine and look up at the stars.’

‘And be happy forever?’, you’ll finish, biting your bottom lip. 

‘Hmm’, he’ll reply, sounding far too much like Geralt to make you believe this dream could ever come true. That he could ever escape his fate, and that you wouldn’t become entangled within its clutches. ‘Yes, happy and in love forever, my sweet dove.’ 

His nose will brush against your pulse point as you lean back to kiss him. ‘Sounds like a fortunate life to me, my dear Witcher.’ There will be no more tears today - no heartache, no loss, no foraging for coin and shelter and kindness, no hiding. Just pure adoration, rolling out like basking sunlight from the radiant Witcher wrapped around your back, grasping onto you as if terrified that life will suddenly tear you away.

*

‘I will be heading to bed,’ says Eskel, getting up from the table.

‘Already?’ Lambert takes another sip of “the Gauntlet” – equal parts spirit and White Gull. You are pretty sure he’s pretending not to be bothered by that murderous drink, just to seem tougher.

‘It’s been a long day and I’m tired.’ Eskel runs his fingers through his hair and you can see on his face that he’s a little bit drunk. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ you and Lambert reply in unison, and Eskel leaves, closing the kitchen door behind him. You wanna follow him, but you know it’s not a good idea. It’s the third winter you spend in Kaer Morhen. Every attempt you made at getting closer to Eskel ended with him acting like he doesn’t even notice how infatuated with him you are. At this point it couldn’t have been his obliviousness, it must be just a lack of interest on his part and you just need to accept that.

‘So, another drink?’ Lambert asks, already pouring you a cup.

You realize it’s the first time you are really alone with Lambert. He seemed to have a problem with you since he met you. As the time passed, you realized it's not really personal, he's just not a people person. His rudeness and mean jokes, in the long run, were just annoying and tiring, so you never really made an effort to spend time with him. Maybe it’s the alcohol in your veins, maybe just bitterness, but you don’t really wanna leave this time.

The witcher puts the cup in front of you a little bit aggressively. ‘So, are you planning on talking to him?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Are you planning on talking to Eskel?’ Lambert seems impatient, he taps his fingers on the table. ‘He might be oblivious, but I am not.’

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes to mind. You raise your cup to hide your face and make the silence a little bit less awkward.

‘Because I can tell you right now,’ Lambert continues, ‘he will not get a hint.’

‘Maybe,’ you start slowly and your mouth suddenly goes very dry, ‘he just doesn’t like me.’

‘Oh he likes you,’ the wither’s face looks rudely disgusted by this idea of Eskel having a positive attitude towards you. ‘If he didn’t, he would make sure to avoid you and all your little accidental touches and definitely not purposefully untied shirts,’ he points vaguely in the direction of your chest, ‘wouldn’t even have a chance of happening.’

You blush, grabbing your shirt to cover your cleavage more, because you have been, in fact, leaving it more open when Eskel was around even though it was very cold in Kaer Morhen.

‘You really think I should just tell him I’m… interested?’ you ask, avoiding looking at Lambert.

‘Yes, please!’ Lambert groans, irritated. ‘Because, to be honest, this starts to look a little pathetic.’

Embarrassment gets replaced by anger. You finish your drink in one gulp and get up.

‘Goodnight, Lambert’ you hiss, gritting your teeth.

‘Goodnight, darling!’ Witcher raises a toast, a content smile on his face. You leave, slamming the door behind you.

You walk through the halls, shaking, mad, and humiliated. You knew you were getting very obvious with your attempts to attract Eskel’s attention, but hearing Lambert being so cruel about it broke you a little.

Even though it was Vesemir who invited you to stay for the winter, it was Eskel who made you feel you are not a burden, that you are really wanted here. He was kind and patient and gentle. When he realized you hate being cold at night, he started coming to your room in the afternoon, to set up the fire, so it gets warmer by the time you go to sleep. If you overslept, he made sure to keep Lambert from eating your portion of the food. And yet you couldn't shake off the feeling he was just being nice, because he never did anything beyond kindness, anything that would suggest he might feel about you how you felt about him.

You’re getting closer to the door to Eskel’s room, which you need to pass to get to yours. You stop for a moment.

Maybe you really should talk to him. Tell him how you can’t focus on anything when he's next to you. How you impatiently wait for winter to come to see him. How every time you have a positive experience, you can’t wait to tell him about it, and when some misfortune happens, you think of him to feel better and safer.

There is a certain softness about him that is hard to believe in. He's supposed to be a monster-killing mutant, without emotions, and yet he's the kindest soul you have ever met.

Suddenly the door to his room opens. You bounce a little, surprised, cause you didn’t hear any movement.

‘Are you alright?’ Eskel asks, rubbing his scar nervously. ‘I heard you and thought that maybe something happened.’ He seems embarrassed as if you caught him doing something inappropriate.

‘Yes, I was…’ you start, feeling your pulse quickening even more. ‘I just… Actually, I came to see you,’ you hear the words escaping your mouth but are not sure you were the one who said them.

‘Oh?’

Now it’s too late to back out of it. His cat-like eyes pierce you, emanating warm curiosity. Your mouth is completely dry and your brain seems empty.

Suddenly, you feel an urge to act. You close the distance between the two of you, placing your hands on his shoulders. You pause for a second to see his reaction, but not one of his muscles move. It’s now or never, you think and rise to the balls of your feet leaving a soft kiss on his cheek, the one with the scar, right at the corner of his mouth, delicate vibrations crossing your face. Then you pull away and immediately look down, scared to look at him, scared of what you might see on his face.

After a moment that felt like a century, a big hand gently grabs your chin and guides you to look up. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn Eskel was blushing, but it must be an orange light of torches on the walls. He leans closer to you but still leaves a distance between your faces and gently, like he was afraid to startle you, places his other hand on your waist.

His face seems emotionless, but after knowing him this long, you notice the small things. Mouth slightly open, like he wanted to say something but was scared. Eyes shifting their focus between your eyes and your lips. You lean closer, he does the same. The last few inches between you feel like an impenetrable wall for a second but then both of you just pull the other closer, shattering this invisible barrier.

His lips are warm and a bit chapped. The scar pulling his upper lip feels so different against your mouth. At first, you're both careful, gentle. His hands start slowly traveling on your back to deepen the embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck. Every point of contact tingles lightly, the witcher's touch sending vibrations across your body. Then he opens his mouth a little wider, you dare to tease his lips with your tongue, dragging it over that scar that has been driving you crazy. You break away for a moment to catch your breath.

‘Do you want to come in?’ Eskel points at his bedroom door with a head nod. His mouth is slightly open, his breath heavy.

You smile and feel the red coloring your face. ‘Yes,’ you whisper, not trusting your voice to speak up.

Eskel loosens the embrace, to gently grab your hands and back up into the room pulling you with him. He must notice you squinting your eyes to see better in darkness and missing the doorknob as you close the door, because he quickly throws a few logs into the fireplace, lighting it with igni. Your heart misses a beat when you look at his tall dark silhouette, cut out in the bright glare of fire. You sit on his bed, not being able to take your eyes off of his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

‘You're so handsome,’ you blurt out before your brain manages to stop your mouth. Eskel seems to politely pretend he didn't hear that, probably because he doesn't know how to react.

He sits next to you. Only the right side of his head is lit. Most people are terrified of that, of his massacred, scarred face. He must remember that as well, because he rubs the scar nervously and turns his head slightly the other way, so you can look at the other side of him. The human side.

You place your hand on his cheek, pulling him closer. You want to tell him you really don't mind the scars, but don't know how. You can't find the right words.

‘Can I kiss you again?’ he asks, his eyes piercing you, pupils so wide you can barely see the irises.

‘Yes, please’ you whisper, putting your hand on his thigh and leaning closer. He closes the distance between you, his lips hungry, greedy on yours. His muscles tense up under your fingers. He reluctantly lets you go, still gently holding your hand, as you get up, to sit astride on his lap. His lips find yours again, he wraps his arms around your back, fingers digging into your skin. You feel his erection growing in his pants, pressing against your pussy.

You touch his face, lightly, stroking his scars. One night, when you were both very drunk, he told you how he got them. Maybe that was the reason he was afraid of being vulnerable with you, because of what happened with Deidre? Slowly you move your hands down, feeling the muscles move under your touch. You push the fabric of his shirt away to run your fingers through the coarse hair on his chest. Slowly, as if he was giving you time to react, he pulls your shirt from where it was tucked into your pants. You break away for a second to toss it over your head and throw it behind you. He gently caresses your breasts, not able to take his eyes off the skin he helped you bare.

‘You're gorgeous’ he whispers, grabbing your ass and pulling you up a little, so your chest is on the same level as his face. He places open-mouthed kisses on your breasts teasing your nipples with his tongue. You whimper softly and claw at his shirt, pulling it up. Eskel lets you pull it all the way over his head and let it join yours on the floor.

It's the first time you see most of the scars on his body this close up. And still, you can barely see them in the rather dim light from the fireplace. But you can feel them under your fingertips. Most of them are more irregular than you thought, edges more jagged. Some of them are going all the way across his chest, distorting the shape of the muscles underneath.

Eskel starts pushing away the fabric of your skirt, trying to get to your thighs and what's between them. You get up and he joins you, both of you hurriedly trying to get naked, tangling into the fabric, struggling to do it quickly. When both of you finally manage to get rid of your clothing, you gently push Eskel to sit back on the bed, he leans back on his elbows and you kneel before him.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks, as you gently stroke his thighs with your fingertips. You reach his cock that's leaning on his stomach. You position it upright with one hand and touch the tip lightly with the other, smearing the precum. Eskel's breath is ragged, his muscles are tensing up.

‘I want you,’ you whisper, placing gentle kisses along the prominent vine on the shaft of his dick. ‘I want to feel you hitting the back of my throat.’ He throbs in your hand.

You look at him through your eyelashes while you're putting the tip of his cock in your mouth.

‘Fuck,’ he groans, as you give it a suck. You play with his tip a bit, twirling your tongue around it. Then you sink your mouth down, fitting almost his full length. You gag a little, your eyes water, but you cannot resist doing it one more time. You feel a push in your throat, gag again. Eskel seems to have a hard time holding back when you're sucking his cock but he sees you struggling to take him whole. He bends over and grabs your face gently, pulling you up. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, wiping a tear running down your cheek with his thumb.

‘Never been better’ you smile, giving him a firm jerk with your hand. You suck on the tip again. Eskel groans. He urges you to get up and join him on the bed. He gently presses you down on your back.

‘Now it's your turn’ he mumbles, leaning over you, leaving hot kisses on your neck and chest, heading down towards your abdomen. He wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he dives down, aligning his mouth at your pussy and thrusting his firm tongue inside you. You moan tangling your fingers into his hair.

His hand joins his mouth at your cunt and he continues to penetrate you with his fingers. He suctions his lips around your clit. You arch your back, throwing your head back, pleasure being overwhelming. Eskel switches between sucking your clit, and twirling his tongue around it, still pumping with his fingers.

‘Fuck, I’m so close,’ you whisper but before the last sound leaves your mouth, the orgasm already embraces you, pulling you into a warm feeling of release. Eskel stops only after you nudge his face away. You pull him closer to taste yourself on his tongue. He smiles into that kiss, positioning himself over you. ‘You need to give me a moment now,’ you say, breathless, feeling the tip of Eskel’s cock dragging against your wet folds.

‘Of course.’ His mouth drops down on your neck, marking your skin, his hands knead your breasts. You stroke his arm, enjoying the feeling of his hard muscles moving swiftly under your fingers. Your cunt starts to long for him again. You rock your pelvis, rubbing against his dick, forcing a heavy breath out of his lungs. ‘You seem ready. And quite eager.’ You can feel him smile against your skin. He moves his hand to align himself and then pushes deep inside you in one forward motion. You whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck, as he is leaning over you. He waits a moment for you to adjust to his size and when he feels your muscles relax, he slowly starts moving in you. He finds the perfect pace. Still fucking you, he grabs your thighs and pulls you up pressing your legs to his chest. This change in position and therefore the angle helps him aim his thrusts better. You cry out in utter pleasure, feeling another orgasm building up.

Eskel bites his lip and his movement’s rhythm trembles a little. He wraps one arm around your legs, pressing them to his chest and shoulder, the other hand strokes your clit lightly. Just a few gentle strokes are enough to send you over the edge. You moan loudly, clawing at the sheets. Your muscles clenching on Eskel’s dick pull him right with you. You feel his release inside you, the soft pulsating of his cock.

‘Fuck,’ you whisper, breathing heavily. Eskel retreats from you slowly, gently stroking your legs as he puts them back down. He gets up and hurriedly brings you a towel so you can clean yourself up.

‘Thank you.’ His caringness makes you blush more than anything the two of you just did. He also brings you your shirt, noticing that now as the adrenaline starts to run off, you are starting to tremble from the cold. He then gets back to bed, covering both of you with a blanket and pulling you close to him.

‘Goodnight,’ he whispers, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

‘Goodnight,’ you reply, already drifting off.

You let out a heavy breath. Your shoulders slumped with the weight you carried in your chest. 

How was it that just a couple hours ago things were perfect? That your stomach didn’t twist up from the idea of even looking at Eskel? 

It wasn’t looking at him that made your stomach form knots, but it was the idea of confrontation that made you sick. You were never one for confrontation of any kind, but especially when you had nowhere to go should the confrontation turn sour. 

You brought your hand up to wipe your face, though all that did was wipe the water droplets downward. 

By now, your hair and clothes were dampened by the steady drops of rain. 

“Y/N, we have somewhere we need to be.”

“I know.” You spoke quietly. 

“Please come back to the horse. We don’t want to be stuck out here after dark.”

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering around the edge of the forest on the other side of the road. 

Maybe you did want to be out here when it was dark. Maybe the darkness was better than confronting an upset Eskel. 

Bright yellow flowers resting at the edge of the woods caught your attention. As you took a few steps closer to the flowers, you realized they were Black-eyed Susans. You knelt down close to the flowers and picked one. A little smile came to your lips. 

As you stood up, you turned towards him and finally met his gaze. Eskel still stood by Scorpion, holding his reins and waiting as patiently as he could for you to return to him. 

“Reminds me of your eyes.” You commented quietly, holding up the flower so he could see. 

Eskel nodded softly, feeling what little irritation he had begin to fade away. 

It was hard for the witcher to be angry or even frustrated with you, but after you started a fight with nearly an entire tavern in a village that the both of you had planned on staying in for the evening, Eskel couldn’t help but feel irritated after a long day of traveling. He just wanted to rest, but now you both had to go to the next village to seek shelter. 

Had you not been with him, he would’ve just set up camp along the road for the night. However, he didn’t like to make you sleep in such conditions if he had any other options. 

You let out an audible sigh, your thumb brushing along the stem of the flower as you trudged towards Scorpion and Eskel. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked you.

“You usually take flowers that I pick for you.” You muttered, feeling a bit stupid now that you had said it out loud. 

“I…. I’m just tired, doll.” He reached out to place his hand on your arm, but you moved too quickly for him. 

You tucked the flower into Scorpion’s mane momentarily so that you could climb up onto the saddle. Once you were comfortable, you picked the flower from Scorpion’s mane so you could hold it between your thumb and index and middle fingers. 

Eskel pressed his lips together in a line, looking down the road in the direction you had traveled from. 

“We could be in bed by now, you know.” He commented as he settled onto Scorpion just behind you. His arms carefully slipped around you so that he could control the reins. “If you hadn’t started that fight.”

“Eskel, don’t start.” You shook your head gently. 

The witcher gave Scorpion a gentle nudge, urging the horse to move. 

“I didn’t go in there wanting to start a fight.”

“Well, you did, doll. And now, we have to travel for another three and a half hours to the next village in this weather.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek.” The pad of your thumb brushed over one of the flower petals. 

“I’m sorry that we can’t rest yet, Eskel, but I’m not sorry for what I did. It wasn’t safe for us there.”

He was silent. 

Without meaning to, you plucked the petal from the rest of the flower, your nerves having got the best of you. You stared at the separated petal for a few moments before throwing it down. 

Eskel could hear your heart start to race. He wanted to ask what was on your mind, what could have made your heartbeat spike so suddenly, but he decided against asking. 

He could hear you grinding your teeth together as you locked your jaw. 

“Being angry about the situation won’t help anyone.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You’re grinding your teeth. I can hear it.”

“Just thinking.” You muttered. 

“About what?”

You shook your head, turning your attention to the path ahead. You twisted the stem of the flower between your fingers. 

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. 

A sudden clap of thunder made you jump. Scorpion whinnied in discontent.

“It’s alright, boy.” Eskel signed axii to calm the horse. “We’ll find shelter soon.”

You knew he wasn’t trying to make you feel any worse about the predicament you had put not just yourself and Eskel but also Scorpion into, but you couldn’t help feel an enormous amount of guilt clawing at your stomach. 

“We get it, Eskel! It’s my fault! Just cool it already, please!”

“I wasn’t….” He trailed off, stopping himself from continuing. 

He took in a breath and held it for a few moments before exhaling, subsequently blowing against your hair. 

“How much longer until we get to the next village?” You asked quietly.

“Roughly two hours.”

***

By the time you reached the next village, you both were soaked to the bone. 

After making sure Scorpion was as dry as could be in a stable for the rest of the night, you and Eskel were left to walk to an inn, praying they had a room. 

For once the entire day, luck was on your side. There was one room left and you were able to claim it for a small price. You were sure the innkeep pitied how miserable you both looked. 

It was well past midnight when you trudged into the room. Eskel closed the door behind himself and made sure to lock it. 

As he began to peel off every article of sopping wet clothing he wore, you found yourself standing at the end of the bed staring at the Black-eyed Susan in your palm. It wasn’t as bright as it had been earlier. It was beginning to wilt and looked rather sad in your hand. 

“You should change out of your clothes, doll.” Eskel commented. “You could get sick if you stay in them too long.”

You heard him but you didn’t have the strength to answer him. The weight in your chest was so heavy that you couldn’t bring yourself to move your arms or your legs. All you could do was stand there. 

He hadn’t spoken to you for nearly five hours with the tone you loved, with the one you were so used to. He always sounded so happy and delighted to speak to you. But it felt like for so long, he was upset, he was trying to hide his frustration and his anger. 

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the Black-eyed Susan became blurry and you blinked, causing the tear to fall from your eye and land on your hand. 

Eskel could smell the tears in the air, the way the salt lingered and made his insides twist up into horrific knots. You were crying. Why were you crying? What made you cry? 

Just in his trousers that hung low on his hips thanks to how heavy they were due to being waterlogged, he moved towards you. 

“Doll? Is something wrong?”

You brought your hand up to your face, rubbing your eyes and then the rest of your face. 

“I-I heard them, Eskel. They were going– The men at the tavern….” You lifted your head to meet his gaze. Unintentionally, your grip on the flower tightened. “They were going to kill you, Eskel. A public– A public execution.”

Eskel’s shoulders fell as he listened to your words. 

You shook your head, brushing pieces of hair back that clung to your damp face. 

“I couldn’t let them– I wouldn’t let them do that! You know that, Eskel!”

“So you started a fight with the entire tavern while I wasn’t there?” He asked softly, tilting his head to the side. Now that he was finally face to face with you, he could see the cut on your cheek. Around the cut, your skin was beginning to bruise. “You could’ve been hurt.”

“I-I was stopping them. And I did.” You hiccuped. “But now you’re mad– You won’t even talk to me. And-And I have this stupid flower and it’s all ugly and it’s– It’s dying, Eskel.”

Golden eyes fell to the flower in your palm. The stem was crumbled from where you had squished it just moments ago, and the petals were wilting. 

“I’m not mad, my love.” Eskel spoke gently. He placed his hand on your arm then let his touch slide down to your hand that didn’t hold the flower. “I’m just…. I’m just upset. I’m tired and it’s been a very, very long day. And when I walked into the tavern earlier and saw you in the midst of fighting not even one or two men, but nearly a dozen…. A hundred different thoughts went through my head, and none of them were good. And I just…. I guess I  haven’t been able to shake those thoughts since then.”

You nodded understandingly. 

“And as for the flower, it’s okay.” Eskel took your hand and gently took the flower from you. “It is still a beautiful flower.”

“I accidentally pulled one of the petals off earlier.” You muttered.

“I know. You fidget when you think.” He smiled a little. He leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Let’s get you out of these clothes and get to bed. We both could use some rest. Tomorrow doesn’t need to be like today.”

You agreed, watching him as he put the flower aside so he could help you out of your soaked clothes. 

“No matter how angry I might seem or how grumpy I may be, I will always love you.” Eskel whispered, his warm honey eyes locking with yours. “You know that, right?”

“I do.” You nodded, smiling. “And same for me to you. No matter what, I love you.”

He’s heard the tales. A witcher with a scar so hideous that people have likened him to a monster — excessive, that, Jaskier thinks to himself now that he gets to see him closely. The scar, startling as it might be, is hardly horrifying.

(He’s also heard about him from Geralt. Not much, of course, but enough to know how very close Eskel and Geralt always were.)

“How would you know?” the witcher — Eskel — asks and he seems equally surprised and intrigued. Jaskier grins at him, preening under the attention on an instinct before he realizes what he’s being asked and what he needs to say. His smile falters.

Letting out a steadying breath, he pulls his arm back and instead reaches up to fix his hair. In his rush to reach Eskel, some of the strands have fallen out of the loose bun at the back of his head and he pushes them out of his face, using it as an excuse to stall his response just a little bit.

(His hair is long, these days, and greying. The irony of wearing it similarly to how Geralt did is not lost on him.)

“Ah,” he lets out a soft noise, shuffles around until the basket he’s carrying is under his left arm and his right hand is free to be offered for a handshake. “I’m Jaskier.” There’s a glint of recognition there, but to Jaskier’s surprise, Eskel doesn’t interrupt him. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, retired bard, a man of many names and I… I used to travel with Geralt. Geralt of Rivia. I’ve heard about you from him.”

(He doesn’t think it wise to mention the other people he’s heard from about Eskel. After all, Geralt is the only one who’s only ever had good things to say about him.)

Eskel relaxes at his response. He hums and takes Jaskier’s hand, squeezing it tightly as he speaks. “So you’re the bard, then. Geralt’s told me about you, too.”

“Has he? Nothing particularly flattering, I’d imagine.” It’s a joke, it’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out flat and Eskel seems to notice as much, too.

“No, the opposite,” he says. A small pause before he continues, “Did you really think he would talk badly about you?”

Jaskier hasn’t been expecting that sort of question. He opens and closes his mouth, gaze drifting away from Eskel. He’s really not making a good first impression, is he? Insulting Geralt right to his brother’s face the first time they meet.

“No. No, I — of course not,” he murmurs. It’s true — he’s had time to get over his bitterness and hurt, but there’s something about meeting Eskel that’s making him relive some of those long forgotten emotions. He doesn’t quite know how to handle it. He shakes his head — best to change the topic. “Not many witchers wander all the way out here,” he says. “Are you in a rush? Dealing with a contract?”

“Not in a rush. Just passing by.”

“I live nearby. I have wine, I can treat you to a glass. Or two.”

Eskel tilts his head as he considers it for a moment. “Wouldn’t be right to refuse local hospitality,” he says with a nod and a small smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier throws a wide grin his way, feeling lighter than he’s had in ages. “Now that’s the spirit. Let’s go, then, witcher dear.”

In the end, there’s three of them that walk to Jaskier’s house — not just Jaskier and Eskel, but also Scorpion, Eskel’s horse. The witcher had meant to leave him in a stable in town, but it didn’t take much convincing before he changed his mind.

(“You might as well take him along,” Jaskier had said. “I have a small stable. There’s plenty of space, a bed — if you need somewhere to stay… folks around here don’t scare easily, they won’t mind a witcher, but you’ll save coin this way.” And so Eskel agreed.)

Along the way, Eskel tells him how he had gotten the horse — apparently through invoking the law of surprise. It’s when Jaskier promptly refers to it as a Horse Surprise that he learns the sound of Eskel's laughter, deep, just as his voice is, and with a pleasant ring to it that he doesn’t think he could ever grow tired of.

The entire time Jaskier tries to avoid thinking about why he’s decided to invite Eskel to his home. It’s just that he knows how unkind the world can be to witchers, he tells himself, and that he wants to make it a little easier for the ones he comes across. It’s not at all that he misses the company. It’s not that, even now, decades later, he still feels most at ease around someone who reminds him so much of Geralt.

(It’s not fair to Eskel, he knows. But he can’t help it, the way his mind naturally latches onto the similarities.)

At this point in their journey, Jaskier’s property comes into view — a picturesque wooden cottage with its surrounding land. There’s a garden, filled with vegetables and flowers and herbs; a stable with just enough room for three horses at most, a chicken coop — all things that Jaskier tends to mostly on his own.

(A home that decades ago he never would’ve thought he would want.)

“You have a… farm. I thought you were just a bard,” Eskel comments as they approach, tilting his head to look around.

“Retired bard, thank you very much. Some of us do grow old, you know. Unlike your lot.”

Eskel huffs a laugh. “The grey hair suits you,” he hums.

“Easy for you to say,” Jaskier mumbles. “You’ve never seen me before and I highly doubt Geralt’s descriptions were particularly… evocative. I used to be a dashing young man, I’ll have you know.”

“You’d be right, Geralt isn’t as good with words as I’m sure you are,” Eskel agrees with an amused smile. “But even then, I don’t think I’m wrong to say that you look lovely.”

Oh, but this is just rude. Jaskier feels his cheeks heat up at the compliment and he shakes his head, deciding to brush it off before he gets himself even more flustered.

(Because surely Eskel is not flirting with him. Why would he?)

“Well, you’re definitely far more smooth than Geralt, I’ll give you that.”

“Not trying to be,” Eskel mutters, glancing away. He raises the hand that isn’t holding Scorpion’s lead and idly rubs at the scarred side of his face. “Just calling things as they are.”

Jaskier doesn’t know Eskell well enough (doesn’t know him at all, truly) to be able to say for certain what it is that’s going through his mind. Regardless, though, he’s skilled enough in reading even complete strangers that he can tell when someone is uncomfortable, as seems to be the case with this witcher.

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmurs, accepting the compliment for what it is. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he then adds, winking at Eskel in an attempt to get him to lighten up.

And while his words do manage to get Eskel to huff a chuckle, he also rubs harder at his jaw, tilting his head as though instinctively trying to hide the scar.

(Jaskier’s fingers suddenly itch with a desire to touch it, to tilt Eskel’s head towards him and show him that he has nothing to be ashamed of. He does none of that.)

“There’s no need for the flattery,” Eskel mutters.

Jaskier smiles, echoing Eskel’s own words back at him. “Just calling things as they are.” He shrugs. “I happen to find scars rather charming, dear. Signs of a life well lived.”

Eskel laughs, properly this time, and Jaskier’s relieved to hear the sound of it again, having hoped he’d be able to ease some of the witcher’s discomfort.

“That’s one way to put it. Hard to forget you’re a poet when you say things like that.”

“Quite. If there’s one thing old age has not dulled, it’s my wit.”

By now, they have reached the stable and Jaskier gestures towards one of the empty stalls next to his own horse. “Scorpion, meet Pegasus, Pegasus, this is Scorpion.” He steps closer and gently pats the side of his stallion’s muzzle. “Behave, you old bastard,” he hums, voice dripping with affection. “I’m sure you two will be best friends in no time.”

Eskel snorts softly at his words but says nothing as he busies himself with leading Scorpion into the stall. Once the horse is settled, Jaskier is the first one to saunter outside. He spreads his arms out wide, doesn’t bother to check if Eskel is following as he continues towards the house.

“Here we are, then. My little… haven on this Continent. Garden’s over there, there’s chickens — introductions later, though, haven’t come up with this week’s names yet — then there’s…” he trails off as he hears a crunch of gravel behind him and bleating. Coming to a stop, he glances over his shoulder towards the source of the noise and sees Eskel being lovingly assaulted by his two goats. “...the goats, yes,” he finishes with a delighted note to his voice.

While the goats, curious as ever, circle around the visitor, Eskel carefully lowers himself to a crouch. Immediately, the smaller one, with a beige-white fur coat, pounces, her front hoofs landing directly on the side of Eskel’s back. Jaskier watches the whole scene, the soft smile on his face matching Eskel’s own as the witcher gently nudges the goat off and tries to keep it from bumping too much into the dulled spikes on the shoulder of his armor.

“The overly excitable one is Pippin,” Jaskier tells him, nodding towards the goat as it now tries to nibble on Eskel’s hair. “The other one,” He points out the second goat, this one with a black-white fur coat and considerably calmer disposition. “That’s Gertrude.”

“I had a goat once,” Eskel muses. Well, that’d certainly explain why he instantly seemed so comfortable with them.

“Geralt never mentioned pets.”

“Because we don’t usually have them. Too dangerous, for one, and it’s not like any of us have much time for it. I can’t even imagine some of us caring for one.”

“Apparently you did, though,” Jaskier points out, stepping away so that he can lean against the side of the house while he continues to watch Eskel. “Have a pet, I mean.”

“Yeah — well, Lil’ Bleater was just monster bait, at first. She survived, though, and kept following me around. So I —” He shrugs as he runs his fingers over Pippin’s back. “— brought her up to the mountains with me.”

Jaskier has always been aware that there’s a lot he doesn't know about the life at Kaer Morhen, about all the remaining witchers. There’s been stories, of course, ones that Geralt had told him during late nights around a campfire. But there’s always been details that were missing, things that perhaps Geralt hadn’t even thought to be noteworthy. Meeting Eskel is further proof of that and Jaskier isn’t sure whether to be happy that he gets to hear more or bitter that Geralt had always been so stingy with the details.

(Now, though, is hardly the time to try and figure out that whirlwind of emotion.)

“Lil’ Bleater?” he repeats, with a gentle grin that Eskel gets to see as he nudges the goats and stands up. “That was her name?”

“Yeah,” Eskel confirms. “She died some years ago. Old age, so nothing gruesome.”

“The only thing that will get us all,” Jaskier laughs, pushing himself off the wall. “Well, some of us. Not a bad way to go, though. Come on, let me show you the inside.”

Eskel, as it quickly turns out, fits perfectly into the calm landscape of Jaskier’s life.

The first day, he spent poking around the cottage, still a bit awkwardly out of place. With an amused fondness, Jaskier recalls that day and how the witcher had first discovered a miniature model of the cottage, situated on a shelf in Jaskier’s sitting room.

“Is that… a tiny stable?” Eskel had asked, a hand hovering in front of it, but never quite touching as though afraid to break it.

“Yes!” Jaskier had confirmed. “And there’s tiny horses inside. You know, as opposed to… horse-sized horses.”

Eskel had laughed loudly at that and the memory of it still warms Jaskier from inside.

It doesn’t take much longer after that for Eskel to find his own footing and rhythm in Jaskier’s space, amongst Jaskier’s daily habits. He likes to make himself useful, Jaskier notices, and quietly enjoys even the mundane and repetitive tasks. And so Jaskier goes through it all — shows him when and how to feed the chickens, teaches him how to care for the garden and, of course, the goats need no explanation.

(Eskel never says that he misses Lil’ Bleater, but Jaskier thinks that he must, if how much time he spends with Pippin and Gertrude is anything to go by.)

Despite being just a guest, Eskel never protests being asked to do these things. In fact, he appears to be revelling in the simplicity of it and in his usefulness that for once doesn’t hinge on killing monsters and protecting people.

It’s afternoon, when Jaskier returns from a short supply run to a nearby town. He had brought Pegasus with him as the weather has been all over the place lately — summer storms coming and going as they please and so his joints have been complaining, more than usual and enough so that he didn’t dare try to walk the distance.

The scent of fresh bread is wafting out from inside the house and Jaskier follows it directly to the kitchen. There he finds Eskel, apparently having just finished baking as there’s bread still cooling on the table. Jaskier smiles, unceremoniously dropping a linen bag onto a nearby counter before handing Eskel one of the apples he had bought while out.

“For your efforts, my homebody witcher,” he teases. Eskel rolls his eyes at him, briefly rubs at his jaw with one hand, but then takes the offered fruit.

“I don’t think there’s a single person on the entire Continent that would ever guess you’d be calling me your witcher,” he rumbles as he twists the apple between his fingers.

“Ah, yes, well,” Jaskier murmurs, going about unpacking his bags as though the implication of what Eskel had said is lost on him. Of course, it’s not, not at all. “Geralt had never truly been mine, had he?”

When he lifts his gaze from the bag, he sees that Eskel has frozen on the spot and is now looking at him with concern painting his features. Jaskier sighs.

“I — fuck, Jaskier, I’m sorry, I don’t know why—”

“No, Eskel, it’s alright,” he reassures him quickly. He abandons his groceries for the moment, instead turning fully towards Eskel before taking a step towards him. “It’s been a long, long time. It’s alright, I promise.” Eskel softens, but there’s still a crease of worry between his eyes and so Jaskier reaches out to gently smooth it out with his thumb. “Did he ever tell you I asked him to come to the coast with me?” he asks in a whisper, pulling his hand back.

“No,” Eskel shakes his head, eyes trailing after Jaskier’s hand. “I… never really figured it out, what happened between the two of you. He used to talk about you whenever we reunited for the winter, but then at some point he just stopped. I asked, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. He would tense up, storm out, whenever someone brought up you or your songs.”

Stepping away, Jaskier hums. “It wasn’t long after I asked that we parted ways,” he explains. Needing something to do with his hands, he turns away from Eskel and rummages around until he comes up with a knife and then makes his way over to where the freshly baked bread is. “He… he said some things to me. Bloody awful things. I’ve forgiven him, since, but I never thought it wise to seek him out and we just…” he trails off, frowning as he digs the knife into the bread.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Jaskier focuses on the motion of cutting the bread into thick slices, listening to the rhythmic noise of the knife as it thuds against the cutting board below.

“I’d like to think moving here was some way of reclaiming what happened,” he continues eventually. “What with how close the coast is, but… it would just be another flowery lie, fitting material for a song, maybe.” He laughs softly. “I never really thought about it that much, about making a home here. It’s just peaceful. Nice for retirement. Few know I’m out here and really, I’m more of a Julian than a Jaskier to the people around here.”

Eskel’s eyes have never left him and he knows as much even without glancing at the witcher. He exhales, pausing the movements of his arm. It’s been so long since he’s last talked with anyone about what happened with Geralt… no, actually, he’s not sure if he’s ever told anyone the truth of what happened, save for a few curt words of explanation or metaphors shoved into lyrics he wrote while his heart was still freshly broken and aching. It’s a far duller feeling, now, and he suspects the only reason it’s still there at all is because of how much of his life he had really spent around Geralt.

(It hits him, sometimes, how he had grown up with Geralt at his side. It’s a strange realization to have, even at his age.)

“You know, he…” Eskel speaks slowly. “Each winter, when he talked about you, it got fonder and fonder. At first you were just — the bard. Then, Jaskier. Then… his friend.”

Jaskier doesn’t even realize when his grip on the knife slips. The clatter of it hitting the table startles him as much as it does Eskel and he stares at the witcher with wide eyes.

(It doesn’t startle him as much as Eskel’s words have, though.)

“Jaskier? Jaskier, what’s wrong?”

Eskel, confused and concerned, is at his side in an instant. Jaskier doesn’t dare move.

“He… he said I was his friend?”

“What? Yes, you —”

“He never told me.”

Eskel immediately closes his mouth at his words and meanwhile, Jaskier tries to blink away the sudden tears that threaten to spill. Why this is affecting him so much, he’s not sure. Perhaps it just so happens that Eskel’s peaceful presence and the specific words that he said are enough to dig up wounds that Jaskier hadn’t even realized aren’t fully healed.

“Jaskier…” the witcher murmurs. He steps closer and Jaskier looks over at him, one hand moving up to wipe the wetness off his own cheek.

“I should’ve looked for him,” Jaskier chokes out. He doesn’t resist when Eskel pulls him into a hug. “After the — I should’ve at least… tried.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jaskier wants to believe him. He presses his face into the crook of Eskel’s neck and his fingers curl around the fabric on the back of his shirt.

“I know. I know, but I could have… he was hurting, Eskel.”

“You were, too.”

“I didn’t know,” Jaskier whimpers and Eskel holds him even closer.

A week into Eskel’s stay the weather finally clears properly and the nights get warm enough that the two of them can spend a late evening drinking on the back porch. When Jaskier steps out the door, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, he finds Eskel already seated on the wooden bench near the backdoor. Pippin sits by his feet and it makes for a charming picture, this intimidating witcher so relaxed and with a cute animal at his side.

Jaskier smiles to himself and comes closer, handing one of the glasses to Eskel before he takes a seat next to him. They’re both silent as he pours the wine and even as they sip slowly. Jaskier tilts his head back, taking in the night sky and the crisp summer air. There’s something comforting about the shared silence and so he doesn’t feel as though he needs to fill it in any way.

(Maybe it’s due to his age. Or maybe it’s that Eskel is particularly good at making silence feel natural.)

“Jaskier?” Eskel waits until a soft hum of acknowledgement answers him and only then does he continue. “Can I ask something of you?”

Jaskier glances over at him and nods. “Sure. What is it?”

“Could you —” Eskel hesitates. He scratches at his scar and by now Jaskier knows that it’s a nervous habit. The sight of it has him sitting up straight. “Could you sing me a song?”

Oh. Certainly not the kind of request he expected. “What?” he mutters, dumb-founded and still in the middle of processing the question.

Eskel rubs at his jaw a little more insistently, glances at Jaskier for a brief moment before taking a long sip of the wine. Jaskier waits because it’s all he can do and he knows Eskel is not ignoring him.

“I’ve heard so much about you, but I’ve never heard you sing,” he explains eventually.

“It’s — well, my voice isn’t exactly like what it used to be…”

“Can’t be worse than me on a good day,” Eskel says lightly. He doesn’t give Jaskier a chance to respond before he’s clearing his throat and breaking into a song. “De ole hen she cackled, she cackled on the fence.” It’s clear he’s not trained, his tone too flat for a song and off-key, but Jaskier finds that he doesn’t mind. It’s rather charming, how Eskel’s voice rumbles to a tune Jaskier is not entirely familiar with.

(And really, the reason why he’s doing it is even more charming.)

“Don’t really know any other songs by heart,” Eskel admits sheepishly once he lets the song die off on his tongue. “This one, my mom sang to me when I was young. The only thing I remember of her.”

Jaskier isn’t quite sure how to respond. He nods in understanding as his eyes meet Eskel’s. He already knows he won’t be able to deny him this.

“I’ll go get my lute,” he murmurs, handing his glass to Eskel as he stands up.

It’s not long before he finds it, tucked away in his bedroom. He doesn’t play often, these days, certainly not in front of an audience, despite the profound love he has for music, the love he’s always had and which is the basis for everything that he is. Last time he played, he remembers, it was when he couldn’t sleep at night. He had wandered out of his bed, down the hall, and then brought the instrument into his bedroom where he sat cross-legged and strummed, old and new melodies alike.

He inhales deeply as he picks it up, looking it over for a moment and checking the strings before he wanders back out and yet again joins Eskel on the porch outside.

“So what would you like to hear, hm?” he asks, glancing over at Eskel before he drops his gaze to the instrument as he double checks it’s in tune. “One of my old hits? Toss A Coin?”

“...maybe something that’s not about Geralt?” Eskel suggests gently, an amused lilt to his voice.

Jaskier laughs at how pointed the request is. “Tough ask, that,” he hums. “Not that I haven’t had the time to write about matters other than him, but, well… to this day, some of my best work remains that of him.” His muse, he had said once. He hasn’t found a better one since.

With a deep inhale, he straightens his back and plucks away at the strings. An improvised melody at first while he tries to figure out what to play. Eventually, the tune drifts off into a song proper, one of travels, of finding peace in solitude, morning dew and sunshine. His voice is rough at the edges and he’s well aware he doesn’t sing perfectly in tune, but he’s not singing for the coin right now nor for the sake of someone else’s good name. This time, it’s purely for himself and for Eskel, for this moment that they get to share in the tranquillity of the night.

Eventually, the song fades off into silence and Jaskier exhales softly as he catches his breath. His tongue swipes over his parched lips and as he looks up, his eyes immediately meet Eskel’s.

The witcher keeps silent even when there’s no melody filling the air between them. With no word said, he reaches a hand out and it’s only when his thumb brushes delicately under Jaskier’s eyes that he realizes that they have watered at some point during his little performance. He breathes out a chuckle, presses his lute a little closer to himself only so that he can reach out as well. He doesn’t touch at first, though, a hand hovering near Eskel’s left cheek, right above the scarred skin.

“May I?” he whispers.

Eskel nods and Jaskier smiles fondly, corners of his eyes crinkling with it. Gingerly, he trails a finger over the length of the scars, exploring them like they’re a river carved permanently into Eskel’s skin. At no point does Eskel shy away from the touch, allowing Jaskier to take in not just the look, but also the texture of it, all with a gentle sort of reverence. After a moment, Jaskier moves his hand further until he’s cupping Eskel’s cheek in the palm of his hand, tips of his fingers now brushing the strong lines of his jaw.

When he leans in, his movements are careful and he makes a point to meet Eskel’s eye, to give him enough time to pull away if he so chooses. He doesn’t, though, in fact Jaskier can feel him gravitating closer and so he doesn’t stall it any longer. His lips meet the witcher’s and he hums as he feels cracked skin against his.

The kiss is a chaste thing, though they both linger there for a while, breathing in each other’s air as their lips move lazily. Jaskier doesn’t think either of them minds how gentle and unhurried it is. He knows, in his heart of hearts, that they might not get a chance to be this close ever again. As kind as Eskel has been to him, deep down Jaskier knows that witchers don’t stay.

This time, though, he finds that he’s prepared for it. Rather than despair, he smiles into the kiss.

“So I suppose it’s about time we part ways,” Jaskier calls out as he steps out the back door.

It’s early morning and Eskel stands near the stable door as he attaches his bags to Scorpion’s side. While it’s not a surprise to see him getting ready to head out, Jaskier still feels a gentle pang in his chest at the sight — curse his overly loving heart and his penchant for falling for people who can never stay.

At the sound of Jaskier’s voice, Eskel raises his head and nods, though he waits until the bard is closer before he speaks. “I can’t stay off the Path for too long.” He sounds so apologetic about it that Jaskier can’t help, but smile, despite the painful feeling in his heart.

“I know,” he assures gently. “I know you, witchers. Won’t rest as long as there’s monsters in the world, noble heroes that you are.”

Eskel scoffs and shakes his head, looking away as he focuses on making sure the bags are properly attached. As though he doesn’t want to accept the compliment behind Jaskier’s gentle teasing.

“I’d say spending over a week at the coast, in the middle of summer, has been plenty of rest,” he murmurs, casting a quick glance towards Jaskier.

Jaskier hums softly. He doesn’t feel like arguing with Eskel over it — try as he might to point out how settled Eskel has been at his cottage, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop him from heading back out. Jaskier doesn’t want to be what holds him back.

“If you ever… change your mind,” he says slowly, leaning his side against one of the stable walls. “If you want to get away from it all. Or if you decide to retire, before you slow and get yourself killed… my doors are open for you.” Realizing how gravely serious he sounds, he continues on before Eskel can react. “Just keep in mind I’m not getting any younger. The longer you put it off, the more wrinkles I’m gonna get.”

“They’re charming. The crow’s feet.”

Jaskier laughs heartily at that. He pushes himself away from the wall and saunters over to Eskel, reaches out so that he can place a hand on the small of his back.

“You should go already, darling,” he hums. “The longer you keep saying these things, the more you’re gonna break my heart once you’re gone. And at this age, I’m not sure I could survive it.”

When Eskel turns to him, there’s a gentle frown adorning his forehead. Jaskier just smiles at him and rubs his hand over his back in quiet reassurance. He doesn’t need Eskel feeling bad for leaving. Eskel says nothing and simply leans in closer, presses a small kiss to Jaskier’s forehead which leaves the bard smiling even wider than before.

They allow themselves a minute or two of this closeness before they finally pull away from each other. Eskel climbs onto Scorpion, though he doesn’t ride away immediately. Instead, he looks over at where Jaskier stands.

“When I get back to Kaer Morhen… do you want me to… should I…”

“Tell Geralt I said hi,” Jaskier cuts him off. He’s not sure if that’s really what Eskel was getting at, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. “Tell him… tell him that he’s welcome here, too.”

“I will.”

“Thank you, Eskel. Stay safe.”

“You, too, songbird.”

Jaskier chuckles at the pet name. He runs a hand over Scorpion’s fur, then steps back to let Eskel ride away. As he does, Jaskier’s eyes trail after him for as long as he can see him and when the sound of the horse hooves is no more, he closes his eyes.