Chapter Text
Jaskier is happy. It’s possibly the happiest he’s ever been, free of his secrets and surrounded by family. It’s a perfectly uncomplicated happy.
Geralt loves him and kisses him good morning and good night. Geralt lets Jaskier and Ciri braid flowers into his hair, and doesn’t complain (much) about Jaskier’s singing, and even laughs with Yen. Ciri asks Jaskier for lullabies and lets him brush away her tears after nightmares.
And Yen. Yen stays.
After that first night, Jaskier half expected to wake up on his bedroll outside, the past day a pleasant fantasy. Instead, he woke in a bed, Geralt a warm heat under his cheek. There were fingers stroking softly down his back, and when Jaskier propped his chin on his Witcher’s chest, he even got a good morning kiss.
Come breakfast, Yen announced her intention to travel with them awhile. Jaskier was ecstatic, Ciri clapped, and Geralt… well, he made a neutral grunt so that was practically excitement!
So Yen stays, for a week, then for two weeks, and then for a month. And Jaskier is happy.
Except.
Well, it’s such a little thing really. Stupid to let it bother him. But… there’s something off. Yen teases him and insults him the same amount that she had before, that’s not the issue. The problem is, that’s all she does now.
Don’t get Jaskier wrong, he doesn’t exactly miss having his voice stolen. As time had gone on, however, Yen had mostly moved away from her meanest pranks. Before Jaskier confessed, they were down to inconvenient tripping and silly appearance modifications and fun, harmless little tiffs. Now Yen won’t even hug him too hard. It’s almost like Geralt, right after he’d apologized.
Jaskier doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he misses being pranked. So he goes to the only possible source of advice. He waits for a market day and rehearses his words.
Ciri laughs in his face.
“Jaskier, let me get this straight. You miss Yennefer humiliating you?” She’s grinning and Jaskier tries to hide his flush.
“That’s not-”
“I mean,” Ciri talks over him. “Of course, I’ve missed you being humiliated, but I would’ve thought you enjoyed going through fewer doublets.”
Jaskier groans and thumps his head down onto the table. They’re waiting for Yen and Geralt before lunch, but he’s betting they’ll be another hour, at least. “It’s not about the pranks themselves, per se. It’s more that I worry she’s mad at me, or still convinced that I’m mad at her.”
Ciri pats the back of his head. “She’s definitely not mad at you. She’s probably still feeling too guilty.”
Jaskier sits up and makes a complicated gesture. “That’s worse! I don’t want her to feel guilty, I just want her to be happy.”
“Well…” Ciri cuts herself off. Her eyes are twinkling far too much for Jaskier’s sanity. “I bet I know how we could fix it. If you wanted.”
Despite the encroaching sense of doom, Jaskier nods. “Tell me everything.”
~
It’s a beautiful summer day, when Jaskier puts his head on the chopping block.
He kisses Geralt good morning and winks at Ciri across the fire. She giggles.
Geralt cuffs him on the back of the head. It’s quite gentle, all told, but he wouldn’t be Jaskier if he doesn’t dramatically yelp and scramble to hide behind Ciri.
“You brute!” He cries out, and Geralt fixes him with such a look.
“You two are up to something,” he says.
Yen chooses that moment to join them at the fire. Ciri pinches him as covertly as possible and Jaskier clears his throat.
“Good morning, sister mine.”
Yen smiles, half-awake. She opens her mouth:
“Good morning, sweet brother dear,
It gives me joy to see you here.
I missed you so long,
Your smiles, your song,
I could hug you for up to a year.”
Ciri cackles. Even Geralt’s lips are twitching. Yen doesn’t look precisely amused, but she’s not quite irritated yet. She rolls her eyes. Jaskier gives her a day.
~
By the time they make camp for the night, Yen looks remarkably more frazzled and Ciri is perpetually red from laughing. Jaskier doesn’t know why she looks so angry! Her rhymes are actually quite good!
“Jaskier, you little fucking brat,
You’re creative, I’ll give you that.
If this isn’t done,
By the morning sun,
I am going to beat you flat.”
Jaskier falls asleep with a smile on his face. Yes, things are working perfectly. There’s no way Yen will let him away unscathed.
~
Two days later, after they make camp and even Ciri has gotten a little tired of the rhyming, Yen strings him up from a tree by his ankles.
Ouch. Head rush. “Help! Sibling abuse!” Jaskier swings slowly in a circle until he catches sight of Geralt. The Witcher is still strangely handsome upside down. “Geralt! Help out your lover. I demand to be rescued by my knight in dingy armor from the evil sorceress.”
Geralt snorts. “You deserve this one.”
“Unbelievable! Ciri, sweet lion cub? Help out your poor little Dandelion?”
Ciri walks over and pats him on the chest. “No, I’m enjoying this. Isn’t this what you were aiming for?”
Yen makes an inarticulate sound of rage, but keeps her lips shut. Honestly, all the grunting she’s been doing to avoid rhyming is turning her into such a Geralt.
~
The next morning, Yen stalks out of the tent and grabs Jaskier by the ear.
“Brat.” She drags him off into the trees, away from all who would save him.
“Ow! Rude! So the rhyming is done then?”
She twists his ear a little. “Shut up before I murder you.”
Jaskier smiles. It is, perhaps, a little concerning that he missed her threats of bodily harm. But truly, theirs is a complicated, wonderful relationship.
After what feels like an arbitrary amount of stumbling to Jaskier, Yen lets go of his ear and points him at a rock. “Sit.”
“Woof,” Jaskier says. At her glare, he gulps. And sits.
“Now, please, enlighten me. Why exactly were you trying to irritate me into killing you?” Yen crosses her arms. Oh no, that’s a big sister pose if he’s ever saw one.
“I wasn’t quite hoping for murder, just a bit of light maiming at worst.”
“Jaskier, I swear to fucking-”
“Okay!” Jaskier waves a hand. “In all honesty, Yen, it was starting to feel unsporting of me to tease you. Whenever I changed your hair or laced your soup you just… smiled. You never got back at me! At first I thought you were planning for some big revenge, but it never came, and I thought… maybe you were upset at me for lying to you.”
He chances a glance at her face, and her eyes soften. “Jaskier-”
“But then I asked Ciri, and she said you weren’t mad at me. She said you probably still felt guilty and that was so much worse! I don’t want you to spend time around me out of some misplaced guilt, Yen, or start treating me like I’m fragile. I just want my sister.” Jaskier can feel his shoulders curling in, but he doesn’t let them.
“Shit,” Yen says, and sits down next to him on the rock. Jaskier leans into her warmth, tentative, and she drops her head against his. “Of course I want to spend time with you, Jaskier. That certainly isn’t about guilt. I even promise to start torturing you again, if it really matters to you. But.”
“But.” Jaskier echoes. He nods. “You hate living on the road like this, I can tell. I love having you around but I don’t want you to make yourself miserable for me.”
“You don’t make me miserable, little dandelion. You and Ciri and even that grouchy lump of a Witcher make me happy.” Yen’s voice is raw. Jaskier reaches out to twine their fingers together and she lets him.
“The road makes you miserable though, doesn’t it? Please don’t lie to me, Yen.”
After a moment of grudging silence, Jaskier finally feels her sigh. “Yes.” He squeezes her hand and she squeezes back.
“You’re allowed to leave, you know,” Jaskier says. “We have all the time in the world, and I know you’ll never leave me behind again.”
“I’ll think about it.”
~
Yen does leave, sometimes, but she always comes back
~
“Jaskier, little brother. I need a favor.”
Jaskier spins in Geralt’s lap, even as Ciri shouts “Yennefer!” and grabs his sister in a hug. As always, Yen hugs her back.
“Whatever you need,” Jaskier says, grinning. Geralt nuzzles the side of his neck, presses in with just a hint of teeth.
“Dangerous, lark.”
Yen rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, Witcher, I plan on returning my brother in one piece.”
“Oh fun,” Jaskier says, and reluctantly slides out of Geralt’s lap. “Where are we going?”
Yen smiles, and there’s an edge of danger there that Jaskier both loves and fears. “Aretuza.”
~
Tissaia de Vries looks utterly perplexed to find herself faced with a bard, in an outrageously garish silk ensemble, dangling off of Yen’s arm.
At least, that’s how Jaskier decides to interpret the slightly too-long stare.
“Yennefer,” she says, one eyebrow arched in disdain. “Who is this? Outsiders are not meant to walk these halls.”
“Tissaia,” Yen smiles with too many teeth. Jaskier doesn’t quite know how to puzzle out her tone. There’s something angry there, and something hurt, but also something strangely reverent. Interesting. “I brought him along for introductions.”
That’s his cue. Jaskier drops into an overly ostentatious bow, pressing a light kiss on Tissaia de Vries’s hand. “It’s the profoundest of pleasures to be making your acquaintance, Rectoress. I am Jaskier the Bard. Perhaps some of my songs have reached even these high walls?”
Tissaia stares for a moment. She blinks. “Jaskier… you are the Witcher’s bard, are you not? I’ve heard of you. You’re… younger than I expected.”
He smiles with too many teeth. “Quite the opposite actually. I suppose Yennefer and I simply have good genes.”
He feels his sister come up behind him and curl an arm around his shoulders. “Tissaia, I would like you to meet my brother, Julian. He was quite young when you… invited me to Aretuza, but he assured me that he had never forgotten you even after all this time.”
Tissaia coughs, and Jaskier catches the slight widening of her eyes with glee. He feels a little flare of magic from her direction.
“You are also quite strongly linked to Chaos. You trained at Ban Ard, I presume?”
Jaskier laughs. “No, no formal schooling for me I’m afraid. I did spend a few decades at Oxenfurt but that was for their liberal arts education rather than anything more arcane. I am, unfortunately, all self-taught.”
The Rectoress of Aretuza looks almost as if she has bit into an orange and found it a lemon. Oh yes, Yennefer said a favor for her, but she truly meant a gift for him.
Quite conveniently, there appears to be a council in session. Tissaia was on her way there, when Jaskier and Yennefer waylaid her, and the Rectoress is curious enough about Jaskier’s magic to endure their presence. Jaskier has a sneaking suspicion that this was Yen’s intention all along, judging by the calculation on her face as they enter the chamber.
Yen takes hold of his arm, and tugs him toward the back. They are not quite hidden, as there are few enough people in the room, but Jaskier manages to hold his tongue. He really thought there would be more of them. Is this what’s left after Sodden?
He knows Yen decimated a large portion of Nilfgaard’s forces, but they’re still a problem. And they’re still looking for Ciri. As they creep closer to winter, Geralt has directed them North, towards the Blue Mountains. He hasn’t said anything, precisely, but Jaskier is betting that his goal is Kaer Morhen. He would be lying if he said he isn’t a bit excited to get to see the Witchers’ sanctuary.
But this, mages arguing over battlefronts and delays and geography with a live map—Jaskier isn’t much of a spy, but even he knows they’ve stumbled into an information treasure trove. If only he understood why they were arguing so fiercely about halting troop progression.
He listens awhile longer, waiting for someone else to speak up and point out the obvious. No one does. When he chances a glance toward Yen, he can see her brow furrowed, but no apparent insight. Damn. Does he really have to do all the work around here?
Jaskier clears his throat and steps toward the table. “Pardon me, I truly don’t mean to intrude but it seems to me that you’re all overlooking the simplest solution here.”
“Jaskier!” Yen hisses, but he waves an absentminded hand in her direction. Everyone except Tissaia looks irritated by the interruption, particularly one gray haired sorcerer who Jaskier pegs as the leader of the Brotherhood. Stregobor isn’t it?
“And what would you have us do, bard?” Tissaia asks him.
A chorus of whispers starts around the table. Jaskier bears their suspicion with a smile. “Well, I’m no master tactician, but from these models you have them funneled into a choke point, correct? Cliff face on both sides and uninhabited? And your aim is to delay, not stop entirely?”
Stregobor sneers. “Who-”
“Be quiet,” Tissaia snaps. “Yes. What would you have us do, then?”
Jaskier shrugs. “Simply open a crack in the earth, long enough that they cannot go around, wide enough that they cannot cross it, and deep enough that they cannot reach the bottom and climb out the other side.”
Silence. Complete and utter silence.
“That’s not possible,” Tissaia says. She looks almost disappointed.
Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I swear, formal schooling beats the imagination out of all you magic users. Watch,” he pulls his lute case off his shoulder, and plucks a quick tune to loosen his fingers.
Jaskier isn’t stupid. He knows that he described a relatively big working, but he also knows that he has a wealth of power that scares him. He breathes, and breathes, and breathes, until the magic is heavy in his lungs. He traces a point on the map with his finger, in front of the Nilfgaardian forces on the only route they can travel. “Yen, dear, would you mind lending me some energy?”
His sister sighs audibly but rests a hand on his shoulder anyway. He pulls on her magic, lightly, until he can feel the power in his very toes.
Jaskier strums a chord on his lute and thinks of the words he needs, thinks of his intent.
Oh, to stop an army dark and grim,
Oh, to stop an army in its tracks,
To split the earth from brim to brim,
To make impass’ble all the cracks.
A gap so wide no bridge can cross.
A pit so deep no rope can reach.
To walk around is to be lost,
No man nor mage can close the breach.
Oh, to stop an army dark and grim,
Oh, to stop an army in its tracks,
Of Nilfgaard’s force it means to slim,
Both knight and mage lost to the crack.
As the last note fades, so does the overwhelming crush of his magic. It takes a great deal of power, but nothing extraordinary, not when he had enough time to think of words. Fine detail like this is his speciality.
On the table in front of him, a crevasse opens where he had traced his finger. He trusts it to be an accurate representation of reality. His magic, after all, has not returned to him useless.
Stregobor the Pompous is staring in disbelief. Tissaia looks a mix of disgruntled and stunned.
Yen laughs. “Oh, brother mine, I do think you’ve broken them all.”
As Jaskier slings an arm around his sister, Stregobor, in a completely unattractive move, chokes.
~
“You know,” Yen says, over dinner that night in the tavern. “What you did today is considered impossible.”
Jaskier waves a hand. Though he didn’t pass out, he is absolutely starved. Geralt heaves a sigh, and slides over the remains of his own meal. “I’m telling you, Yen, trained magic users have no imagination.” Jaskier leans over to tweak Ciri’s nose. “And don’t think you’ll be getting away with the same mistake, cub. My sister might be training you in the practicalities, but I intend to ensure you’re creative.”
Ciri laughs. Her future enemies are screwed, if Jaskier says so himself.
~
They were always going to end up here. Warming chilled limbs by the fire, Ciri asleep on a pile of furs in the corner, and Jaskier tucked up under Geralt’s arm as he catches up with his brothers. Kaer Morhen is forbidding and cold, but he can tell it's Geralt’s home. That’s enough. Geralt is enough.
Lambert and Vesemir seem unsure what to do with a bard and teenage girl in their midst but Eskel is pleased to have them there by all accounts. He clapped Jaskier on the shoulder in greeting hard enough to make him stumble.
“About time the Wolf brings you home, bard,” the scarred man said with a grin. “Gotten tired of hearing Geralt moon about you all winter long.”
“My Geralt? Mooning?” Jaskier gasped, nudging said man in the ribs. “I knew you were a romantic deep down.”
“Hm.” Geralt rolled his eyes, but Jaskier knew him well enough to catch the smile just barely curving his lips.
Now, after a filling dinner and a few pints of ale, Jaskier gets to witness four Witchers slowly unwind. He’s almost loathe to break the moment, but, well, he did promise his sister. When he makes to sit up, Geralt rumbles and tightens his arm.
Jaskier presses a kiss to his cheek. “Down boy. We told Yen we’d call her when we got here safe so she could meet everyone.”
Lambert narrows his eyes. “‘Yen,’ isn’t that the sorceress that Geralt fucked? Didn’t think you were the sharing kind, bard.”
Sitting up fully, Jaskier glares. “Watch your mouth, that’s my sister.”
Eskel chokes. “Sister?”
Ignoring the chorus of voices talking over one another, Jaskier pulls out the small stone Yen gifted him on their first parting. He focuses his magic on the stone and his sister’s location, that he can always feel somewhere in the back of his mind. “Yen, we’re here.”
Not even five minutes later, a portal opens above the fire and his sister steps through in all her glory. Vesemir and Lambert are on their feet, blades in hand, but Eskel at least keeps his seat. Jaskier can see that his hand still isn’t far from a knife.
Geralt rolls his eyes, and pulls Jaskier back down into his lap even as he reaches out for his sister. “Yennefer! Light of my life! Other half to my soul! Sister of my dreams!”
“Jaskier,” she greets, with a wry smile. She kisses his forehead, before curtseying to the other Witchers. “I am Yennefer of Vengerburg. I see you’ve met my younger brother. I apologize in advance for the inevitable trouble he’ll cause.”
Geralt chuckles, even as Jaskier squawks.
After a long moment, Vesemir nods and sheaths his blade. Lambert follows suit, however reluctantly. “Greetings, witch.”
Eskel laughs, hand over his mouth. “Oh, Geralt, I am truly looking forward to hearing this tale.”
Geralt grumbles, but Jaskier bolts upright. How had he forgotten! He scrambles for his lute case.
“Don’t worry, brave Witchers. I won’t make you suffer Geralt’s uninspired storytelling.” Jaskier spins on his heel with a showman’s grin, lute in hand. “In fact, I have a song for precisely this occasion, if you all would allow me to perform for you?”
Geralt, quite rightly, looks horrified. Everyone else looks delighted. Vesemir nods decisively. “Please, bard.”
Jaskier clears his throat and glances over to make sure Ciri is still asleep. If she’s woken up, she’s doing a stellar job of pretending otherwise and probably deserves her prize anyway.
“Right then,” Jaskier hums. “I call this one ‘Geralt of Rivia and the Siblings That Fucked Him.’ Bit of a riff on a familiar melody, but I think you’ll enjoy the twist.” Yen laughs, loud and long, even as Geralt closes his eyes in a wince.
“When a humble bard,
Graced a ride upon,
Geralt of Rivia’s,
Mighty-”
“Jaskier!”