Vesemir is so happy to have a new and more effective way of managing Geralt’s general Geraltness that he decides to see if it works with the other boys! He starts simply shoving the little human toward his other pups whenever they’re being stupid.
Jaskier certainly doesn’t mind being deposited next to Eskel when Eskel has been sitting alone too long in the library, looking at his scarred reflection in the rainy windows. Eskel doesn’t seem to mind having someone sit next to him and look at his reflection and whisper how pretty it is.
Jaskier doesn’t object to being physically scooped up and dumped into Lambert’s arms when he’s growling and flailing around in a temper about how cold the keep is in winter. Lambert can’t break anything when he’s forced to hold the warm little human in his arms.
Jaskier was, however, really quite stunned one gloomy day when a stormy, irritable Vesemir stole him out from in front of the fire in the Great Hall, actually flung Jaskier over his shoulder, and strode out of the room. Jaskier assumed he was being toted off to be dropped on Geralt’s lap or into Eskel’s arms, but Vesemir headed down an unfamiliar hallway. Jaskier craned his neck, trying to see where they were going from over Vesemir’s shoulder. He couldn’t see much, but he could hear Vesemir muttering to himself.
“Stupid dead yeast, stupid oven. Made that bread a million times and still managed to ruin it. Pups like warm bread for dinner, and now there isn’t any because you’re a stupid idiot.”
Just as Jaskier was wondering which Witcher was supposed to make the bread for dinner and apparently screwed up, Vesemir stopped short, kicked open a door, and strode into a warm bedroom.
He set Jaskier back on his feet, and Jaskier looked up to see who was in trouble. But the room was empty. It’s clearly a bedroom, soft bed piled with blankets, swords hung over the fire, and a soft, old armchair in front of the fireplace.
Jaskier turned to Vesemir, about to ask what’s going on, but stopped short. Vesemir still looked frustrated and upset, but also uncertain.
“Vesemir?” Jaskier said quietly.
“Would you…” Vesemir stopped himself. He glared at Jaskier. Then his eyes darted to the armchair and back to Jaskier. “I need…” He stopped again, looking furious at himself. Oh.
Jaskier stepped toward the chair. He smiled gently. “It’s nice in here. Warm. That chair looks very comfortable.” He reached for Vesemir, offering a hand. “Could we…sit?”
Vesemir’s face cleared, relief visible, and he grabbed Jaskier’s hand. He dropped into the chair heavily, and pulled Jaskier toward him.
Jaskier fit in his lap perfectly. He turned sideways, hanging his legs over the arm of the chair, and wound his arms around Vesemir’s neck. As he pulled Vesemir’s head to his chest, Vesemir sighed a long, heavy sigh.
“I’ve got you,” Jaskier whispered as the old Witcher clung to him like a child clutching a doll. “We can make the bread together later.”
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