The first thing Jaskier was aware of was how comfortable he was, how soft the bed was, and the furs he was wrapped in, so much better than any of the inns he and Geralt usually stayed in. It made him want to snuggle deeper into the delightfully warm bedding and drift off back into sleep, but when he tried to move his body ached and his memories began to filter back…the trek to Kaer Morhen, the Wyvern, Ciri escaping on Roach, Geralt dangling off the mountainside and Jaskier leaping forward, picking up Geralt's dropped sword and swinging it as hard as he could into the creature's side.

The world erupting in pain…

Geralt's face leaning over him, whispered words…quiet pleading…darkness.

"Jaskier, are you awake?"

"Hmmmm," Jaskier tried to speak, but his tongue wasn't working properly, feeling too dry to articulate words. The sound that came out of his mouth sounded more like Geralt than Jaskier had ever managed to when he'd tried to imitate Geralt over the years.

More memories began to return…of Geralt's hand holding onto his, of Geralt thanking him for saving his life, of Geralt revealing how close Jaskier had truly come to dying…how they suspected Jaskier wasn't human. Jaskier flinched as he remembered Geralt's shock at Jaskier's assumption that Geralt would kill him if Jaskier was proven to be non-human. Jaskier knew that Geralt had spared non humans before when it was apparent that they'd done nothing wrong, or were not dangerous, but Jaskier's mind had still been muddled by pain, and Jaskier, not knowing what the hell he was if he wasn't human, had been consumed by his doubts.

Doubts that, if Jaskier was being brutally honest with himself, were still very much there.

Jaskier forced his eyes to open, his eyelids heavy as he dragged himself to wakefulness. He remembered the room from the first time he'd woken, obviously still within the safety of the fortress of the Wolf School.

Geralt was in the same position he had been in last time, sitting on the edge of the bed holding Jaskier's hand in his own. Jaskier flexed his fingers against Geralt's, relief flooding him as his fingers moved exactly how they should've. If he'd damaged his hand it would mean his career as a bard was over, and he wouldn't be able to follow Geralt around the Continent, sharing songs of the Witchers with the public and slowly changing the perspectives of the people until the saw what Jaskier saw when he looked at Geralt, and the other Witchers too.

Heroes.

Geralt wasn't alone, however. Jaskier bit back a groan when he saw Yennefer, but he remembered how Geralt had told him that the witch had helped save Jaskier's life (once again), so he held his tongue. Also in the room was a stranger, his face badly scarred. He wore a wolf school pendant around his neck, identical to Geralt's, and he wore a red tunic. This, Jaskier would bet, was one of Geralt's brothers.

"Here," Geralt offered Jaskier a cup and Jaskier began to drink, his arms too heavy to even attempt to grasp the drinking vessel himself.

The water was cool and refreshing as it trickled down his parched throat, and Jaskier realised how thirsty he was. Geralt, however, didn't let him drink the whole cup, pulling it away once Jaskier had had a couple of good mouthfuls.

"Easy, you don't want to overdo it. I can't imagine throwing up would be very pleasant for you right now. You've been in and out of consciousness for four days now."

Jaskier cringed as he shifted on the bed and experienced stabbing pain throughout his torso and abdomen. Throwing up would be very unpleasant.

"Four days?" Jaskier croaked out, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He cringed, and Geralt let him have a few more sips of water before pulling the cup away again.

"Yes, you've needed it, trust me," replied Yennefer, "that Wyvern did considerable damage."

"I hear that I have you to thank for my life…again, Yennefer"

Yennefer shrugged, but didn't seem inclined to comment, which Jaskier found strange, although he wasn't going to dwell on it.

"Jaskier, this is Eskel," Geralt introduced the stranger, who stepped forward and inclined his head. Jaskier did the same, as well as he could while lying in bed anyway.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet Geralt's bard. We've been hearing about you for years and if it wasn't for the fame of your songs, we were beginning to think you were a figment of his imagination."

Geralt glared at his brother, but Jaskier couldn't help but smile at Eskel's teasing, "and what do you think of my songs, Eskel? Did you find them…what was it Geralt? That it was like ordering a pie and finding it had no filling?"

Geralt flinched, "in my defence I was significantly sleep deprived that day."

"Doesn't stop you from being an ass for saying it," Eskel quickly replied, smirking at Geralt, before he turned his attention to Jaskier.

"I admit that I am no great judge of music, but I quite like some of your songs…Toss a coin has helped me through a couple of patches when I was a little short of coin, so for that alone I am grateful. As for anything that helps increase the public's opinion of us…well, having coins thrown at you hurts much less than pitchforks and torches."

"Jaskier," Yennefer broke her silence, "there is something that we need to talk to you about, now that you are more recovered."

Jaskier frowned, "is this about you thinking that I'm not…human?"

Yennefer nodded, taking Jaskier's free hand in her own. Jaskier would have pulled away, had he the strength, but as it was he stayed still, and was surprised that Yennefer's touch was so gentle.

"What am I then?"

"I…we have a theory," Yennefer admitted, "but it seems…impossible, or highly unlikely. I need to ask you some questions. You might not be able to answer all of them, and…and I won't push if you don't want to or can't answer," Yennefer shot a piercing sideways look at Geralt, and Jaskier had a feeling that she'd only added that clause because Geralt had forced her too.

"We can stop too, if it gets too much," Geralt added, "You're still recovering, there's no big hurry."

Jaskier considered saying no and letting himself go back to sleep, but there was a part of him that wanted to know, and he knew that delaying it would only make his own anxiety about what he was even worse.

"Go ahead,"

Yennefer cleared her throat, and Jaskier tensed, fearful that she was about to put some form of spell on him. Geralt tightened his grip on Jaskier's hand minutely though, a reassuring gesture that Jaskier returned thankfully.

"Jaskier…when was the last time you saw your parents?"

In his mind Jaskier was immediately taken back to that fateful day, the excitement he'd felt, but the fear as well. He remembered standing in the courtyard as his parents stood before him, towering over him, threatening him with what they would do to him if he embarrassed the family name. He'd felt so small as they dismissed him and he was shoved into the carriage that would take him away from Lettenhove, never to return.

"I was nine," Jaskier replied, avoiding the gazes of Geralt, Yennefer and Eskel, instead fixing on the wolf pelt that was draped over his blankets. Even without looking he could feel the way Geralt tensed beside him.

"I was sent to a temple school to finish my studies," Jaskier continued slowly, "I thought I would be allowed to return home, if I worked hard and did as I was asked, but a few months after I arrived there was a letter sent to the headmaster, and he took me aside and told me that I was no longer permitted to return home at the end of the academic year. My parents continued to pay for my schooling until I was fourteen, when I graduated from the temple school. I know that my father died when I was at the temple school, although I was never actually told by anyone connected to my family, I overheard some people in the marketplace gossiping about it."

"What about your mother, is she still alive?"

Jaskier shrugged, "as far as I know, although these days it's been harder to listen to gossip, and we've been a long way from Lettenhove. She might have died, and I just haven't found out yet. She would be getting on if she was alive, she would be…" Jaskier thought about it, running the numbers through his head, "well into her seventies by now, nearing 80."

"Who is the head of the family, with your father gone?"

"My brother, Bazyli, rules Lettenhove, with the assistance of our brothers Dominik and Henryk, assuming none of them have died. Bazyli would be over fifty by now."

"You never mentioned that you had brothers," Geralt sounded obviously surprised, although Jaskier knew that Geralt must have noticed how Jaskier, while normally very talkative, never mentioned his childhood or family.

He nodded, "There were five of us, I was the youngest. I…I never got on well with my brothers."

"Why?"

Jaskier licked his lips nervously, memories washing over him, vivid pictures of himself, small and frightened, as he tried to run away from his older brothers, all of them carrying horse whips and determined to flog him, his brothers laughing as Jaskier failed again and again to disarm their sword master with a wooden training sword, the day that his eldest brother Jedrek pushed him down the well in the middle of winter and Jaskier was trapped there all night until he was discovered nearly frozen by a maid as she went about her early morning chores.

More memories came back, countless beatings Jaskier experienced in the training yard at the hands of his brothers, the beatings continuing long after Jaskier had yielded and let go of his training weapon. He remembered his brothers stealing Jaskier's things…his first lute, a gift from his governess when he was six, destroyed by Jedrek, Dominik and Henryk while Jaskier had been pinned to the ground by Bazyli and made to watch, Jaskier's tears turning the ground beneath his face to mud as he begged them not to do it.

What had hurt the worst, however, was not the actions of his brothers, but the indifference of his parents. He'd been the one blamed when his lute had been destroyed, he'd been the one whipped when he'd been fished out of the well, he'd been the one castigated when he'd been continuously beaten by his brothers during their shared combat lessons. If any of his brothers had done anything to any of the other, older brothers, and it was known to happen, Jedrek had been cruel to anything that had a pulse, they would be told off, but not young Jaskier.

He'd been easy prey, in his own home.

He remembered his father looking down at him in the great hall, Jaskier's brothers standing beside him, as his father ranted at length about Jaskier's many faults and failings, his bookishness, his shortcomings in the training yard chief among them.

"There were certain…expectations of me that I could never…meet," Jaskier offered finally, "my parents were not fond of me because I failed those…expectations, and my brothers, well…there were no consequences for their actions towards me, and they were all known for being cruel to others."

"What expectations?" Geralt's voice was more growl than words. A quick glance confirmed that the Witcher was looking particularly murderous. Jaskier frowned, thinking about what he had said…his eyes widening as he realised how his words could have been misinterpreted.

"I was supposed to be a great deal better in the training yard with a weapon in hand than I actually was," Jaskier told them, "It wasn't anything…untoward. All five of us were trained, and I wasn't completely hopeless, but my parents expected me to be better. They had this plan that I was going to serve my brothers as some sort of protector role, guard my parent's legacy, probably leading what little army we had in some attempt to expand our lands or something?" Jaskier shrugged, "they didn't go into detail about what exactly they imagined for my future, just that they used to say that I was made to serve the Pankratz family. My being a bard definitely didn't come into their plans. I was told that my place was to serve and protect my brothers, not prance around inns like an idiot. Music was not something either of my parents appreciated, they thought that I should spend my time in the training yard working on my weapons skills, not reading poetry and learning chords."

"If they had so many plans for you, why did they send you away?"

"By the time I was nine it seemed…apparent…that I would never be the great, powerful, strong warrior I was supposed to be," Jaskier sighed, "and then…there was an incident."

"What happened?" Yennefer pushed.

Jaskier sighed, "Jedrek, my eldest brother, was trying to do some training with me in the training yard. The others were there too. It was going about as well as any of my training sessions were going," Jaskier offered, "which was badly. Jedrek was…in a worse mood than normal. I…I don't remember much of what happened, I was unconscious for most of it. Once Jedrek had knocked me down and I was unconscious, he ordered for his horse to be brought to him. Jedrek's horse…it had been mistreated for so long by him that it was terrified of everyone. I woke up just as Jedrek was riding towards me, I guess he was going to get his horse to trample me with it's hooves. I rolled under the hay cart at the last minute and Jedrek got off to drag me back out by the ankle. He was screaming about how he was going to kill me. I grabbed onto the axle of the cart so he couldn't pull me out, so he grabbed a pitchfork off the cart and stabbed me though the leg with it. It hurt…I remember screaming and letting go of the axle. Jedrek had beaten his horse with a pitchfork before, and I don't know if it was the sight of the pitchfork that set it off, or Jedrek screaming, or me screaming, or the scent of my blood, but…Jedrek's horse went wild. Jedrek…was focused on me and didn't see his horse rearing up behind him. He got kicked in the back of the head. It killed him instantly."

Geralt felt like he was going to be sick, and around the bed Yennefer looked similarly ill.

"What happened after that?"

"I was bed bound for weeks after that, and I limped for months after that. According to the healer I was lucky Jedrek missed the bone otherwise I might have lost my leg. I was forbidden from leaving the house until I wasn't limping anymore, my parents didn't want anyone to suspect that I was a cripple, because Pankratzs' don't have crippled children. It was bad enough that their heir was dead. My father slaughtered Jedrek's horse the day after the accident himself, the rest of the family had roasted horse meat for days afterwards as some sort of sick…revenge against the poor thing."

"Not you?"

"No," admitted Jaskier, "I was, well, pitchforks aren't the most sanitary of things, I had a nasty infection and was unconscious or delirious with fever for most of the first few weeks afterwards. By the time I recovered the horse meat was gone. Once the limp went away it was back to training with the swords master and my three remaining brothers, but by the end of that summer they gave up on me and sent me off to temple school so that, to quote my father, I wouldn't get another of my brothers killed by my incompetence."

"They blamed you…but it wasn't your fault."

Jaskier shrugged, wincing as the movement tugged at his injuries, "didn't stop them, and I haven't gone back to see if they've changed their minds about it. I don't want to go back, either. I would be very happy to go through the rest of my life without laying eye on my mother, or any of my brothers, ever again."

"I can't blame you for that," Yennefer nodded gently, "I…I understand, Jaskier, I really do."

"I wondered," Jaskier replied, "You…you can tell, if you know what to look for. If you've lived through it, you can tell who had the really shitty childhoods."

"Yes, you can," agreed Yennefer, "although what you've told me…it's been helpful."

Jaskier frowned in confusion, thinking about everything he'd said, he didn't think he'd said anything helpful to determine what exactly he was.

"How?"

"You said how your parents always had these great expectations of you being a great warrior, a protector of your brothers…defender of your parent's legacy. That you were made for that purpose."

"Yes, I did say that. I'm not some sort of monster, am I?"

"No…I think you are the son of a Witcher, that they wanted their own Witcher to serve the family and protect their lands.

"But it doesn't work like that, we're made, not born." Eskel broke his silence, and Jaskier startled, having forgotten the other Witcher was even in the room. He hissed as his entire body vehemently protested the movement. Geralt rubbed his shoulder gently in sympathy

Yennefer shrugged, "I don't think a couple of nobles from the Coast are really going to know the ins and outs of Witcher creation. They probably thought that your mutations could be genetic."

"I thought Witchers were sterile?" Jaskier queried curiously.

"It's possible that some mage or something was able to work around that," admitted Yennefer with a shrug, "I've read up on the subject for…awhile now. It's…entirely possible that someone could figure out how to undo a Witcher's sterility, especially if it was only a temporary thing."

"Wouldn't one of us know if some mage hit them with a spell."

"It could have been a potion, perhaps mixed with something else that would impair your senses," Yennefer shrugged, "there are lots of ways around spelling someone, trust me."

Jaskier opened his mouth to make a smart comment, but instead he let out a yawn, his eyes feeling heavy once again.

"You need to rest, we've been talking for a while, and you're still recovering," Geralt frowned, tucking the blankets and warm pelts more securely around Jaskier, before running his fingers through Jaskier's hair.

"I suppose he wasn't around at the time to tell us anything more," Eskel nodded. Geralt sent a penetrating look at Yennefer…a look that seemed to dare her to try and prevent Jaskier from getting his much-needed rest. Jaskier couldn't help but smile at Geralt's protectiveness.

"Eskel is right," Yennefer agreed, "I don't have any more questions for Jaskier, you've been very helpful, bard."

"Glad to be of assistance, witch," Jaskier replied without missing a beat. Eskel and Yennefer both left the room, leaving Jaskier alone with Geralt. Geralt resumed fussing with the blankets.

"Are you seriously tucking me in, Geralt?" Jaskier asked teasingly, although he fought the urge to yawn again at the end of the sentence. Geralt glared at him.

"I know it gets cold in the keep in winter, especially for humans. There's a snow storm approaching, I don't want you to get sick while you're still injured."

Jaskier looked up at Geralt with narrowed eyes, "when was the last time you slept?"

"I've…napped, off and on," Geralt shrugged, "I haven't wanted to leave you, not when you didn't know Vesemir of Eskel, and I know you and Yennefer don't get on well. I didn't want you to wake up and for me to not be there. I couldn't put the responsibility of looking after you on Ciri, especially when we weren't sure if you were going to make it or not."

Jaskier nodded, understanding Geralt's difficult position, "I understand. You're a good man, Geralt."

Geralt didn't reply, instead he briefly turned away, but Jaskier still spotted the pink tinge to Geralts cheeks.

"Geralt, catch up on some sleep, I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine," Geralt grumbled. Jaskier half expected Geralt to get up and leave the room, but instead when Geralt rose to his feet he went and tended to the fire, before returning to Jaskier's bedside, sitting in the chair he had been occupying and removing his boots and outer clothing. Jaskier felt his own cheeks warm up as Geralt slid under the blankets and furs beside him.

"This wasn't what I was thinking of you know," he told Geralt, shifting as close as he could to Geralt and relishing in the warmth of the Witcher's body.

"Hmm, are you complaining?"

"No," Jaskier replied quickly, "I just thought that you would go and sleep in your own bed…or is this your bed and I stole it, in which case, my apologies."

Geralt let out a huff of amusement and resumed running his fingers through Jaskier's hair.

"Jaskier,"

"hmmm?"

"Shut up and go to sleep,"

Jaskier tucked his head against Geralt's chest and let his eyes slip closed, sleep coming quickly thanks to the combined warmth of Geralt's body, the feeling of Geralt's fingers in his hair, and his body's own fatigue.

He missed the gentle smile on Geralt's face as the Witcher watched him fall asleep, nor was he aware of the kiss that Geralt pressed to the top of Jaskier's head, nor the way that Geralt draped a protective arm over Jaskier before the White wolf too joined Jaskier in sleep.