Aiden

The tavern was alive with cheers, laughter and music. A bard played heartily on the small make-shift stage and gathered quite a crowd, though not as big as what Jaskier expected. He hummed as he held up his hand for the barkeep to bring him another ale. Fuck, he was well and truly on his way to becoming drunk.

He was in a sour mood, has been since he was chased out of court by Valdo fucking Marx. That fucker. He still had two months till he met up with Geralt again and that meant he had to figure out how he was going to last this last bit of Winter till then.

The bard was good though, pleasant enough even though he was incredibly off-key. It was always amusing to see others play his songs and hear their take on them. Though he was petty enough to snort and point out the inaccuracies of pitch and prose. Could even be downright cruel to those who even dare to claim his work as their own. That won’t happen again.

Oddly enough, this specific bard refused to even play his songs even if begged by the patrons. Sorry no, I would not do Master Jaskier’s work justice and that would be a travesty…

“Uncle.” The address startled him out of his thoughts and he turned his eyes to the sudden appearance of the boy before him.

“Jonatan?” He asked confused, his eyes sweeping the crowd for the boys’ father only frowning deeper as he couldn’t see him. “What are you doing here? Where is Ferrant?”

“He sent me to find you Uncle, it’s important you come with me back to Lettenhove,” Jonatan explained urgently, his eyes flickering around the tavern with a wince, shying away from the rowdy crowd.

A deep sigh of annoyance escaped him as he stood, gesturing for his nephew to follow him up the stairs and into his room that he had acquired two days ago. So much for drinking himself to slumber. Jaskier began to pack right away and urged his nephew to get on with it, sighing when he didn’t explain further.

“I dislike being summoned back there and your father knows it, tell me why Jonatan.” He asked as he clipped his lute back into its resting place on his back.

Jonatan eyed the room with revulsion that seemed to spark a bitter amusement within Jaskier. Ah yes, noble born.

“Father returned back urgently three days ago after making his way to a celebration of sorts, he did not tell me what but when he came back sooner than expected… he found someone, and he told me to ride hard to find you… the lord that father visited… there was a Witcher and he was hurt badly. He had your mark.” Jonatan explained and swallowed harshly as he watched the wry amusement twist into a fury on his Uncles face.

Had his mark… “What did this Witcher look like? Tall, dark hair and scars on his face or big and angry with red hair?”

“I didn’t get a good look, I’m sorry uncle please,” Jonatan explained as he rushed after his uncle who had raced down the stairs and out into the night towards the barn.

It didn’t take him long to saddle Pegasus, offering him apologies for the harsh treatment that was about to bestow on him… but a Witcher…either Eskel or Lambert was hurt and fuck it was Winter. How was Geralt taking the absence of one of his brothers?

He told both to think of him while holding the small Lark pendant if they were ever in need of his aid again, even if it was help with little things like needing to talk after being chased from a town again or big things like they needed aid after a hunt and can’t move. Every time his hand went to the pendant to reach out, something stopped him still.

It took a lot of talking for him to even get Lambert to even accept the small pendant and even more to get Eskel to not tell Geralt. How odd was it that he got the pendant for Geralt to begin with in a fit of fancy in hopes that it would show the Witcher how much Jaskier cared for him and yet it went to Eskel first and the replacement that went to Lambert.

The third still rested carefully in a small hidden part of his lute case.

But one of his Witchers was hurt and they didn’t call for him. That made him worry, it took a lot to incapacitate a Witcher.

It took two days to reach Lettenhove and in that time Jaskier has managed to make himself sick with worry. His mind spiralled on the what if’s and the explanations he would have to give to Geralt if something serious was to happen with one of his brothers.

“Julien.” Ferrant greets relieved as they come to a stop near the barns. “Thank Melitele that Jon found you.”

“Tell me everything, now.” He demanded, stalking past his Fer and towards the towering mansion.

“He’s not there, he’s in your cabin,” Ferrant explained with a wince as he watched Julien’s entire frame stiffen. “Only I and Agata have entered it as per your instructions last we saw of you, we thought that being a Witcher you would rather him there.”

Jaskier sighed harshly and pivoted on his foot, making a beeline to the cabin he hadn’t seen or stepped foot in for nearly 15 years. He took note of the changes, the vineyard and the small orchid as he moved to the small dense patch of trees near the river.

“I went to Brugge to celebrate Lord Alem’s success in finally gaining an heir, a thing I loathed to do as the man is a snake but you of all people know that appearances matter. By the end of the night, he was deep in his cups and was bragging that he had a new pet to throw at his ‘knights’ for training. A Witcher.” Ferrant stated with disgust clear on his face. “I inquired as if interested and the man brought him forth in chains and nothing but tatters, apparently, he was sold to him… I saw your pendant, the Lark I knew you had made for your Witcher and well… I offered that wastrel 2000 coins for him.”

The longer Ferrant spoke the more enraged Jaskier became, and the door slammed open with a loud bang in his haste to get inside, his eyes swept over every wall of the small sitting room to see what was tampered only to see Agata startle in fright by the fire and the Witcher on a pallet in front of it.

“Es…” Jaskier’s words died in his throat as he took a step forward and paused. The man on the pallet was indeed a Witcher, but not one he knew. He was slender than Eskel, but his hair was the same colouring and his scars nearly matched except they ran through the witcher’s eye. No, this man was not one he knew but he did indeed have a small Lark pendant and nothing else… “Where is his Medallion?”

“There was none, apparently he came as is to Lord Alem, in chains and tatters,” Ferrant replied with disgust, he may be noble, he may be an asshole from time to time, but he was never cruel. He abhorred Slavery and he grew up being told that Witchers were there to help humanity.

Agata shot her husband a look as she watched Julien’s face morph to a blank slate, a sure indicator that he was beyond rage and calculating. “He’s had a fever since the night we took him, his injuries are numerous and it seems he’s been tortured for months, I’ve tried everything I know but I know you can do better… we will leave you be Julien; I’ll bring some food for you later.”

“Thank you, Agata,” Jaskier replied slowly as he catalogued the mass number of injuries on the Witcher before him. Beatings, whippings, sword wounds and fuck even several bite marks from dogs. They were scabbed over and not healed and that worried Jaskier beyond words.

He waited till the door was closed before he moved towards the bed and pried back a lid, blue slitted eyes ringed with gold shone back. No black for toxicity so that means that the Witcher has either been spelled or just so much in pain that his body shut down. Humming he dropped his saddlebag by his side and dug out the only potion of White Raffard he had, Swallow wouldn’t be enough for this amount of damage.

With a steady breath, he gently pried open the Witcher’s mouth and tipped the potion in slowly, rubbing his throat to make sure that his body swallowed it and did not suffocate. It should work fast in practise but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure what school this Witcher was from and what effects it would have.

Once the entire potion was gone Jaskier took the time to clean up, removing his travel-worn clothes for something cleaner and more practical. He no longer smelt like road and horse, but his usual honey and chamomile. Once clean he set out to wipe the Witcher down and hoped he woke up soon, he was sick of referring to him as a Witcher and wanted to know where exactly he got the Lark Pendant.

Though the man wasn’t Eskel or Lambert it still worried him, he was sold into slavery and had his token… was one of them with him for a time? Are they safe or… again with the what ifs and maybes. Now wasn’t the time to worry, no he will get his answer in a month but it wouldn’t help to send out letters to some friends he had in the Courts.

The night wore on and Jaskier began to finally feel exhausted, the fire was roaring and coating him in warmth, aiding sleep to take hold. His eyes grew heavy and within one blink and the next he had a dagger at his throat and the narrowed mismatched eyes of a Witcher glaring at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man snapped with a rasp, showing Jaskier that he was either thirsty, unused to speaking, hurt or all three.

“Jaskier.” He replied calmly, not moving an inch. “You?”

“None of you…” The snarl was cut off by a pained whine as he fell back against the pallet, his pallor grey and hand moving painfully to his side.

“Look, my nephew found you and brought you here…” Jaskier started before trailing off as he took in the blade that the Witcher had and then to the wall where he had taken it from. Of all the things he took, he had a choice of the Fangs, a broken harpoon, and the metal claws… realization flooded him as he took in the way the Witcher held the dagger… “You’re Aiden, Lambert’s Aiden. Fuck.”

Something within Aiden settled as Jaskier uttered Lambert’s name and the blade that was once held tightly in his grip fell to the floor with a clatter. It was a small sign of trust and Jaskier was curious to know what he did himself to deserve that… perhaps Lambert said he could be trusted but he still wanted to know.

“Easy, it’s okay, here.” Jaskier soothed as he helped Aiden lay back down, passing a bottle of swallow. It would be the only other potion allowed for today as White Raffards was toxic enough. When that was done, he picked up the Fang and placed it back on the mantle with its twin, his fingers brushing over it carefully.

“I didn’t think it would work.” Aiden rasped as he watched the display with guarded eyes. “Lambert passed me the token before he left for Kaer Morhen as he knew I was on contract, said if I needed aid to speak a name and help would come.”

Jaskier turned and waited as Aiden winced through the pain. “I said the name but… it didn’t work.”

“You needed to hold it while doing so, though… in the end, it worked in a way.” He explained. “My cousin saved you because of it.”

A hum escaped Aiden’s lips as his eyes began to droop once more. “I was sold out by another Cat, beat me down and sold me to a lord in the south. That was nearly two months ago, I thought for sure I was going to die… that Lambert would find my bloody camp with broken Fangs and medallion.”

There was something deep in meaning in that one little sentence that made Jaskier’s heartache. It was the same inflection that Lambert used when speaking of Aiden that night by the fire, affection, and sentiment that they thought they didn’t deserve. Witchers, I swear…

“I will make sure that doesn’t happen.” He promised as he stood, checking the bandages of Agata’s work. “You need to rest; your wounds were severe and even with Swallow and White Raffards it will take another few days to heal.”

Aiden watched the man with a critical eye, he wasn’t safe and yet he was. There were Witcher weapons on the wall, a medallion sitting under the base of each of three sets, a Cat, a Crane and a Bear. The man was an enigma, walking with a surety that he had only seen on a select few but something… something just didn’t sit right. Yet, he placed his trust in Lambert and Lambert obviously trusted this man. He was also the first human that didn’t stink of fear at the sight of him.

“Look, take this. I won’t need it over winter, but you might.” Lambert stated with averted eyes, holding out the small bird pendant with nervous energy. “A frie… someone I trust gave this to me in case I need help and he won’t turn you away if you need it over Winter.”

Aiden took the bird pendant with liberal amounts of teasing, but he felt warm at the fact Lambert wanted to keep him safe. “What do I do with it?”

Gold eyes met one golden blue. “Call for Julien with the pendant, he’ll come if needed or send help if he cant.”

“Alright.” He hummed, watching as the tenseness drained completely from Lambert’s shoulders and earning a soft rare smile in return.

“Lamber told me to call for Julien.” He stated after a moment.

Jaskier hummed as he began to gather ingredients to make broth. “Yes, he knows me as Julien because of circumstances, I prefer to be called Jaskier.”

A frown pulled at Aiden’s brows at the tone, the inflection in the man’s voice that was familiar but could not be placed. The name though finally struck him, jolting him with surprise and a small huff of disbelieved laughter escaped his lips. “You’re the bard that sings of the White Wolf.”

“Indeed I am,” Jaskier replied with a giant smile. “I also travel with Geralt for the most part, to ease your curiosity. Eskel and Lambert were taken off guard by the fact that I wasn’t afraid of them, and you have the same confused look.”

It was eerie how the human could read him but if he did indeed travel with Geralt, the stoic one, according to Lambert then that really shouldn’t surprise Aiden. He hummed in reply and let the exhaustion pull him under, oddly enough he felt safe, even if the human had Witcher weapons and medallions hung on the wall.

X

It took nearly a week for Aiden to heal fully and in that time he and Jaskier had become fast friends. Even if he was still suspicious, they learnt what could be asked about each other and what topics were a sore spot… but it was nice, nice to have a friend.

Winter was thawing and Aiden needed to make his way to the meeting spot that he and Lambert agreed on before they parted ways before he found the mess and assume Aiden was dead. Yet something held him at bay, he didn’t know if it was because he would be going into the wilds with no weapons or armour or if he was unsure of leaving Jaskier.

“You need to leave Aiden; you’ve been tarrying for the last two days,” Jaskier stated as he stepped into the room, his fingers strumming idly on the lute. “Now don’t look like that, you are always welcome here if I’m here or not. I’ve let Fern and Agata know.”

“I know.” He drawled out and stood, the bard was right he did need to leave but as his eye caught the weapons on the wall once more he sighed. “I need to know.”

Jaskier sighed and placed the lute down, he crossed the room and stood next to Aiden with a heavy silence. “My father was a bastard, true and utterly. He offered the law of surprise to a Witcher to save coin and it was my brother who was the payment. Tomaz was given to the Crane School at the age of six. Tomaz died before the school vanished, this was his harpoon.”

Rage was laced in the words enough that even Aiden felt it lash at him. He knew this story, it was the same as most Witchers, sold as payment or claimed by Law. But now the weapons made sense, they were not placed and mounted like trophies they were memorials.

“And the Fangs?” He asked after a moment. They were old but kept sharp as if they had just been placed there. He fingered the medallion reverently trying to think of who it belonged to but there were no distinguishing marks of battle he could see.

“My sister, twin really. Father gave her to your school in form of payment as she was a girl and he had me as an heir. Sold her as a plaything.” Jaskier spat and was pleased as he heard the snarl rip from Aiden’s throat.

“My school didn’t… we were the only ones who changed Girls.” Aiden spat in furious disgust. Now that he knew these belonged to a girl it narrowed it down to a few. “What was her name?”

“Violet, she lasted five years on the Path before Madness took her,” Jaskier replied evenly, his heart lurching as he remembered that night.

Aiden snapped his head around to stare at the bard, he knew Violet… “She was in the class before me, we were friends. I knew she died but I was told it was another Witcher who did it.”

“You were friends with my sister?” Jaskier asked softly, something in his chest easing as Aiden nodded.

Both sat in silence for a moment, Jaskier with his eyes closed and reeking of sadness while Aiden tried to calculate the time. When you’re long-lived years passed differently but Violet died many seasons ago and Jaskier looked to be too young to be the same age as he.

“What?” Aiden asked startled as Jaskier dropped the Cat Medallion around his neck. “No, I cannot…”

“My sister is only remembered by us, it would please me greatly that her medallion rests with a friend who knew her and her Fangs in use. She enjoyed being a Witcher, even if she got scorned, please.” Jaskier begged and Aiden couldn’t deny this request.

He was honoured. It had been a very long time since he had been shown such kindness and trust.

“Thank you Jaskier, this, this means a lot.” He choked out through the lump in his throat. Something settled within him, he wasn’t sure what but he felt the madness that his school was known for quietening in the back of his mind. “I’m ready to leave I think.”

A small honest smile pulled at Jaskier’s lips as he moved towards, the chaise and pull out a bag. “Good, I packed this morning for you. Be safe on the Path my friend.”

“And you on your journey brother,” Aiden replied as he pulled the stunned man into a hug. It was brief and right, his words ringing true and as Aiden paused in the doorway of the cabin he paused, a small frown on his face as he looked at the last set of weapons on the wall. “And the Claws?”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the bard’s lips as he pushed the Cat Witcher out the door. “next time. Don’t make destiny do all the work for you… brother… if you are near where I am come say hello… also here, give this to Lambert.”

A flash of silver flickered in the air and thanks to Aiden’s fast reflexes he caught what it was in his hand, his eyes widening as a small Lark pendant rest there. Blue eyes twinkled as the meaning of what Jaskier had just given him struck once more. The Medallion was different this little Lark pendant was a claim of such, a promise. Aiden was now cared for.

“Tell Lambert I say hello.” Jaskier chuckled waving the Witcher off with a laugh, though his smile dropped the moment he knew Aiden would be out of sight and hearing. He closed the door with a sigh and turned towards the mantle once more, his eyes glossing over the bare spot his sisters’ weapons and medallion rest to the last of the three.

With a hesitant step, he lifted the Bear medallion off the hook and pulled it over his own head, watching as the glamour melted away and revealing all the scars from the years on the Path and the beatings he took from the Elders at Haern Caduch. But it was the scar that cut across his throat and face from that night his sister… Bile churned in his stomach as he ripped the medallion off and let the glamour slip into place.

Fuck… fuck.

Author note: Okay so… I am a sucker for Witcher!Jaskier. Who saw this coming? hahaha. Also this is the first chapter I wrote for this story XD I always intended it to be the third Ch after Eskel and Lambert, had to go back and do some slight edits after writing the other two. Still enjoying it?