Geralt wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He'd never flown economy before and he had absolutely no intention of ever doing so again. He was a tall bloke and even though Jaskier assured him that he had upgraded them to the seating with extra legroom, his knees pressed uncomfortably against the backrest of the passenger in front of him. The food was inedible (Geralt didn't know what the hell it was supposed to be, but he wasn't going to risk his life by finding out), and he suspected that his scotch—served in a plastic cup, of all things—had been watered down as well. Gods, even the windows seemed smaller back here. They hadn't even landed in Oxenfurt yet and Geralt was ready to call it quits and just head home to Rivia.
Pull yourself together. You've been through much worse than this, he told himself. He thought of everything that he had worked for and sacrificed over the years. Wasn't that worth fighting for? Surely he could handle two weeks of abject misery in the company of Jaskier and his parents in the arse end of nowhere.
Since there was so little room between their seats, Jaskier couldn't help but elbow Geralt every time he moved. Their elbows bumped together several times as Jaskier retrieved folders, a notepad and a large bundle of papers from his satchel.
"Okay, so these are the questions that the immigration and naturalisation services are going to ask us," said Jaskier, dumping the thick bundle of papers on the small plastic dinner tray in front of Geralt, almost knocking over his scotch in the process. "The good news is that I already know everything about you. The bad news is that you only have a few days to learn everything about me. So, you know...you should probably get studying."
Geralt grunted and began to read the first page of the extensive list of questions. His frown deepened as he scanned the list. "You know all the answers to these questions about me?"
"Yup. Scary, isn't it?" said Jaskier lightly, scribbling in one of his notebooks.
"It is a little unsettling," Geralt admitted. Maybe a little flattering, as well, although he kept that thought to himself. "Okay, let's see just how well you know me. What am I allergic to?"
"Grass pollen," Jaskier replied immediately before muttering under his breath, "And the full spectrum of human emotion."
"Hilarious," Geralt sneered. "Although, I wouldn't give up your day job, if I were you."
"Well, hopefully by the end of this, I'll either have my own office away from you or I'll be in jail. Both of which are more appealing than continuing to work as your assistant," Jaskier shot back.
Geralt rolled his eyes and looked at the list of questions again, picking one at random. "Here's an interesting one: do you have any scars?"
"I'm pretty sure you've got a tattoo," said Jaskier thoughtfully.
Geralt cocked an eyebrow at him. "Pretty sure?"
"I'm sure I'm sure," Jaskier insisted. "I just haven't had a proper look at it."
"And when would you have had the opportunity to see this tattoo that I may or may not have?"
Jaskier's ears turned pink. "Well, you don't take off your shirt very often—obviously, since it's not a particularly professional thing to do in the workplace—but there was that one time when Troydon spilled coffee on your shirt and you had to change into a fresh one before a big meeting with a prospective client. You were in a hurry and took your shirt off while I was in the office and…" Jaskier cleared his throat. "Well, I'm a gentleman and turned away, so I didn't get a proper look at it."
Geralt felt something akin to fondness blossom in the centre of his chest then. He gave Jaskier a small smile and mused, "I never took you for the bashful type."
Jaskier snorted. "I'm really not. Most of the time, anyway. Which is something else you're going to have to learn over the coming days. And while we're on the subject of your tattoo, you're going to have to tell me what it is."
"Moving on," Geralt grumbled, turning back to the questions.
"They're going to ask me about it."
"Next question," Geralt continued, ignoring Jaskier's query. "Whose place do we stay at, yours or mine? Well, that one's easy. Mine."
"And why would we stay at yours and not mine?" Jaskier challenged.
"Because I live in the Southern Gate district and you probably live in a squat near the city docks."
"I'll have you know that my shoebox flat is quite charming!" Jaskier insisted.
Geralt let out a derisive laugh. "I seriously doubt that."
He closed the papers and took a large gulp of his cheap scotch. That was enough probing for one day, thanks very much. Geralt's day continued to improve when he reached the luggage collection only to discover that his suitcase was missing.
"It can't have just walked itself off of the aeroplane and disappeared, could it?" he raged. The bored-looking woman at the Royal Griffin Airways help desk wasn't ruffled by his outburst; no doubt she heard much the same complaints a hundred times a day. She sighed and typed on her computer for a few moments while Geralt stood with his arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently waiting for an explanation.
"Looks like your luggage is in Oreton, sir," she replied lazily.
"Oreton?" Geralt repeated angrily. "How the hell did my luggage end up on the opposite side of the continent?"
"Administrative error," she shrugged.
"And what am I supposed to do without any clothes?"
The woman (Carol, according to her name tag) sighed heavily as though he were the one inconveniencing her and he felt another surge of anger flare up inside of him. Carol scribbled a phone number onto a scrap of paper and slid it across the desk to him. "It'll take a few days to get your luggage flown back here, we'll give you a call when it arrives. Here's the number to file a formal complaint. Enjoy your trip to Oxenfurt."
Geralt snarled and crushed the scrap of paper in his fist before turning on his heel and marching over to Jaskier, who stood waiting for him with his suitcase by his side and two paper cups in hand.
"Hot chocolate?" he offered brightly.
Geralt pursed his lips but gratefully took the cup of hot chocolate from Jaskier's outstretched hand. He took a sip from it and frowned. "What's in this?"
"Salted caramel."
"Why don't you just buy a coffee like a normal person?" he grumbled before taking another sip. Jaskier rolled his eyes at him and tugged his wheeled suitcase towards the exit.
"Because I enjoy it, and I think you do too, even if you won't admit it." Jaskier took a swig from his cup then asked, "What's the story with your luggage? By the bemused expression on your face, I'm going to assume that it's not good."
"There was a mix-up with my luggage and it was sent to Oreton by mistake." Jaskier snorted and Geralt glared at him. "It's not funny!"
"It's not the end of the world, we can get you more clothes," Jaskier assured him before giving him a sideways glance. "Which is probably a good thing. I'm assuming the only thing that you had packed was half a dozen identical suits."
"What's wrong with my clothes?" asked Geralt defensively.
"Your clothes are fine—if you're going to the office," said Jaskier. "You're supposed to be on holiday and you're dressed as though you're headed to a job interview. If we're going to have any hope of convincing my parents that we are a legit couple, you're going to have to learn to relax a little."
"It's difficult to relax when we've got Dijkstra on our arse threatening jail time and deportation," he muttered.
"Fair point," Jaskier relented. "Okay, can you at least pretend to be relaxed when you're in my parents' company? You can be your usual little ray of sunshine with me when we're on our own."
"I'll try," Geralt promised. "Only if you pretend to be less annoying."
"Rude," Jaskier huffed.
Jaskier tossed his empty cup into the nearest bin as they approached the arrivals lounge and made to grab Geralt's hand, who immediately pulled his own away in surprise.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
Jaskier drew him a withering look. "We're supposed to be loved-up boyfriends. Lovey-dovey couples hold hands."
Geralt looked at Jaskier's outstretched hand as though it might bite him before he let out a resigned sigh and took it into his own. He couldn't recall the last time he had held anyone's hand—probably when he was a young boy, maybe his mother's before she left. Geralt quickly pushed any thoughts of his mother aside and concentrated on how Jaskier's hand felt warm and fit quite snugly in his own, Jaskier's calloused, smooth fingertips pressed firmly against his skin.
"There they are," said Jaskier, his voice thick with tension. "Oh, no…"
"What is it now?"
"Looks like the whole family are here to greet us."
Geralt unconsciously gripped tighter onto Jaskier's hand. "I thought that it was just going to be your parents."
"So did I!" Jaskier cried. "Oh gods, what are they doing?"
Geralt followed Jaskier's line of sight and saw a large group of brunettes waving furiously in their direction, several of them holding homemade signs above their heads. A tall, slender woman with long brown hair who could only be Jaskier's mother had tears streaming down her cheeks as she held a large sign over her head that read, Welcome home, Julian!
Geralt frowned in confusion. "Julian?"
Jaskier made a disapproving sound when Geralt said the name. "Only my mother calls me Julian."
"Hold up. I've been calling you Jaskier for years and it isn't even your name?"
"It is!" Jaskier insisted. "Look, we'll talk about it later. It's time to put your game face on. Hiiiii mum!"
Jaskier dropped Geralt's hand and hurried forward to greet his mother, who threw her arms around him and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Suddenly, Jaskier was swarmed with family members all desperate to hug him and kiss him. Geralt stood awkwardly off to the side on his own, watching on as Jaskier got swept up in the moment of the tearful reunion.
"Where's dad?" asked Jaskier.
"Oh, you know your father, he's always working," laughed his mother, waving her hand dismissively.
"Never mind about him!" cried a small woman with curly grey hair. "Where's your boy?"
"Hmm? Oh! Yes, of course. Geralt! Come meet my mother and grandmother."
Geralt stepped forward with his hand out and a nervous smile on his face. When Jaskier's grandmother caught sight of him, her eyes widened and she muttered, "Boy nothing. Jay, you could climb him like a tree!"
Jaskier ignored his grandmother's shrewd observation. "Geralt, this is my mother, Marigold."
"Marigold? Gods, you make me sound like an old woman," his mother exclaimed. She took Geralt's hand and smiled warmly at him. "Please, call me Mary."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Geralt.
He tensed when Mary pulled him into a tight hug and it took him a moment before he relaxed again and tentatively returned the hug, patting her lightly on the shoulder. When Mary released him, Jaskier's grandmother grabbed his hand and gave it a firm shake.
"And this is my grandmother, Violet," said Jaskier fondly. "We all call her Grammy."
"Jaskier has said a lot about you," said Geralt.
"Likewise," she said with a sweetness that didn't meet her icy blue eyes. "And what do you prefer to be called: Geralt, or The Butcher? Because we've heard it both ways. Actually, we've heard it lots of ways…"
"Grammy…" Mary warned.
"Oh, he knows that I'm only kidding!" she chuckled, patting Geralt gingerly on the forearm.
"Of course she is," Geralt murmured. Evidently, Jaskier's grandmother was still a bit miffed that her grandson almost missed her birthday party. "Thank you for allowing me to be a part of the upcoming celebrations."
"You're welcome," said Grammy. "We're thrilled to have you! Come on, let's get you two back to the fort."
Grammy hooked hers and Jaskier's arms together and marched on ahead, chatting animatedly with him as Geralt was left to follow them and the rest of the Pankratz clan, dragging along (to his annoyance) Jaskier's abandoned suitcase. As they exited the airport, Geralt and Jaskier wished goodbye to the extended family before being ushered to Mary's car, with the 'happy couple' sitting in the back while Grammy rode shotgun. As they drove through the picturesque town of Oxenfurt, Geralt couldn't help but notice a familiar name appearing up and down the local high street: beside Pankratz Photography was Pankratz Parcel & Post, which was directly across the road from another shop that bore the sign Oxenfurt Souvenirs—The Pankratz Collection.
Geralt nudged Jaskier and hissed, "You didn't tell me about all of the family businesses...dear."
"He's probably just being modest!" said Grammy cheerfully.
Jaskier looked embarrassed, shrugged and mouthed 'we'll talk about it later' before turning away to look out of his window again. The rest of the journey passed in silence but it wasn't long before they approached the hotel overlooking the harbour that Geralt had booked to stay in for the fortnight.
Thank the gods, he thought. He couldn't wait to get into his room, draw the curtains and pretend that he was anywhere else but here. But rather than stop, Mary drove straight past the hotel without slowing down.
"Sorry, that's our hotel right there," Geralt pointed out but Mary just laughed.
"Oh, you boys aren't staying at a hotel! We cancelled your reservation. Family doesn't stay at hotels. You're going to stay at our home."
"Great," Geralt replied through gritted teeth. "Just great."
Jaskier looked as thrilled as Geralt felt at the prospect of bringing him to his family home. When Mary parked the car at the harbour, Jaskier slammed the door shut as he exited it and gave his suitcase a kick in frustration before dragging it towards the waterfront. Geralt looked around the deserted harbour with confusion.
"Where's your parents' house?" he asked.
"Over there," said Jaskier, pointing across the water to a tree-covered island in the distance. Geralt stopped dead in his tracks and watched as Jaskier, Grammy and Mary boarded a small boat with the name Rosemary and Thyme painted in gold letters on the hull. As Jaskier began to untie the rope tethering the boat to the harbour, he frowned when he noticed Geralt still standing on the pier. "Aren't you coming aboard?"
Geralt didn't move. He couldn't. His legs seemed to be fused to the wooden planks beneath his feet. Thankfully, Mary and Grammy were too busy chatting to one another to notice that Geralt hadn't yet boarded the vessel. Geralt looked around the harbour, feeling hopeless.
"Can't I just drive and meet you there?"
"It's an island," Jaskier replied flatly. When Geralt remained rooted to the spot, Jaskier's expression softened and he clambered back onto the harbour. "Unless you have an amphibious vehicle, I'm afraid that the only way you're getting there is on this boat."
"You know that I can't swim," Geralt whispered.
"Hence, the boat," Jaskier smiled. He slipped his hand into Geralt's and gave it a slight squeeze. "I swear on my Grammy's life that you'll be fine. Come on, we'll get you a life jacket."
Reluctantly, Geralt followed. His hands were shaking so badly that Jaskier took pity on him and helped him put his life jacket on, much to the amusement of Mary and Grammy, who watched them keenly. The journey by boat didn't take long but it was the longest fifteen minutes of Geralt's life. Although the boat cut through the calm sea water like a knife through butter, he clung to the side railing for dear life. When the boat dipped suddenly, splashing water all over them, Mary and Grammy whooped and laughed while Geralt tried his best not to scream. Jaskier gave him a reassuring pat on the knee and told him that he was doing great. Although it was a barefaced lie, Geralt still appreciated him saying it. He started to relax when the boat began to slow down and Grammy told them that they were almost home. As they sailed past a thicket of trees and rounded a corner, a beautiful limestone estate house came into view.
"Home sweet home!" cried Grammy.
Geralt looked sharply at Jaskier. "You live here?"
Jaskier shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose so."
As they disembarked, Grammy and Mary walked ahead while Jaskier and Geralt took their time following them along the pier and up the steep hill towards the grand manor. Geralt took in his new and luxurious surroundings: as they entered the gardens, they passed an ancient, gnarled oak tree which had evidence of a large treehouse poking out of its leafy branches. He also noticed stables in the distance, and two horses trotting across an expansive paddock.
"Why did you tell me that you were poor?" asked Geralt with an accusatory tone.
"I didn't tell you that I was poor," Jaskier argued.
"Then why didn't you tell me that you were rich?"
"I'm not. My parents are rich," said Jaskier. "There's a difference."
Geralt grunted. "That's something only rich people say."
"Jaskier!"
Geralt and Jaskier looked up towards the manor and saw a pretty girl with chestnut brown hair waving at them from one of the balconies. Jaskier grimaced but he waved back, "Hi, Anna!"
"Who's that?" asked Geralt.
"One of the neighbours," he said darkly. "Mum! Why is Anna up at the house?"
"Oh, we just thought we'd have a little welcome home party for you!" she called over her shoulder.
"How little?" asked Jaskier nervously.
"Just fifty of our closest friends and neighbours," answered Grammy. "They're all very excited to meet you, Geralt!"
Geralt and Jaskier shared a worried look.
"It's okay, we're going to get through this," said Jaskier. Geralt, however, wasn't convinced by Jaskier's assurances.
"Are you saying that for my benefit or yours?"
"Both," he admitted.
The moment they entered the front door, they were swarmed with wellwishers, people hugging Jaskier and strangers greeting Geralt with warm handshakes. He rarely walked into any room to such a warm reception, and it was a little unsettling. The interior of the house was as Geralt expected: grandeur from head to toe with expensive silk furnishings and wooden panellings on the walls adorned with portraits of Pankratz ancestors. When he and Jaskier finally had a moment to themselves, Geralt pulled him to a quiet corner to talk.
"Why didn't you tell me that your family are some sort of Redanian aristocracy?" he hissed.
"How could I? We were in the middle of talking about you for the last three years," Jaskier retorted.
Geralt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought we were supposed to be pretending to be a happy couple? We're not doing a great job if we're caught arguing all of the time."
"Oh, I can pretend to be the doting boyfriend, no problem!" Jaskier exclaimed. "But that would require you to stop staring daggers at me at every opportunity!"
"Well, maybe if you didn't act like such an insufferable idiot all of the time…"
Jaskier scoffed. "Speak for yourself."
Geralt threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "That's it!" You're fired."
"What? You can't do that!" Jaskier protested.
"I just did," Geralt snarled. Jaskier's eyes narrowed and he jabbed Geralt in the chest with his index finger.
"Fine! Go back to Rivia and let me get on with the rest of my life in peace! This plan was never going to work anyway."
"There's the happy couple!" cried Mary, approaching the bickering pair with two champagne flutes. "What are you two doing hidden in a dark corner? Everyone's waiting for you!" Her smile faltered when she saw their angry expressions. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine," Jaskier assured her, taking the proffered glasses from his mother's hands and passing one to Geralt. "We're just tired from the flight."
Geralt still felt anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface of his skin, threatening to boil over, but he cleared his throat and nodded in agreement. "Yes, it's been a long day."
Mary bit her lip. "Oh, I never even considered that! Maybe organising this party wasn't such a good idea after all."
"It's fine, Mum." Jaskier rubbed Mary's forearm and smiled at her. "Honestly, we really appreciate all of the effort you've put into organising this."
Geralt and Jaskier promised to continue their argument later. In the meantime, they put on their best fake smiles and schmoozed with all of the guests, often having to think on their feet when questions about their relationship came up.
"So who asked who out first?" asked one guest.
"I did," Jaskier and Geralt answered in unison, sparking laughter from those listening in.
"Where did you go on your first date?" queried another.
"I took him to dinner at The Black Lily," Geralt answered immediately. "The service there is excellent. I highly recommend it if you ever visit Tretogor."
"And then I took him to the Orchestra in Coppertown," Jaskier chipped in. "Geralt loves the theatre, don't you, love?"
"Yes...buttercup." Geralt smirked at Jaskier's shocked expression when he called him the embarrassing pet name. If he had to put up with Jaskier calling him 'love' and 'dear' at every given opportunity, Geralt could have his fun too and come up with some fun pet names of his own. A playful smile crept across Jaskier's face then as though to say 'game on', and throughout the evening, they called each other all manner of creative and cringeworthy names.
After calling each other honey, baby, little lark and my beloved (Geralt couldn't help but choke on his drink with laughter when Jaskier called him that), he was introduced to an elderly but predictably wealthy-looking couple called the Bumblers. The husband, Edmund, was quizzing Jaskier about working in Tretogor while Geralt watched silently, sipping his drink. Edmund and his wife, Edwina, looked impressed with what Jaskier had to say.
"Working in publishing sounds fascinating!" said Edmund interestedly. "Your parents must be so proud of you."
"Yeah, sure they are," Jaskier laughed nervously. Suddenly, a large hand clapped Jaskier's shoulder and his body tensed.
"Why don't you tell us exactly what a book editor does besides taking writers out to lunch and getting them hammered?" sneered the tall man with brown and grey streaked hair.
"Oh, that sounds like fun!" Edwina giggled. "No wonder you like being an editor."
"Oh, Jaskier isn't an editor, he's an editor's assistant," the man replied before nodding to Geralt. "Gerald here is the editor."
"Geralt," he corrected him before holding out his hand. "And you are..?"
Jaskier sighed. "Geralt, this is my father, Albert."
"My friends call me Al," he said, taking Geralt's hand and giving it a firm shake.
"Pleasure to meet you, Albert."
A smirk flitted across Albert's face and he dropped Geralt's hand. Edwina frowned in confusion and pointed at Geralt, "So, you're actually…"
"Jaskier's boss," Albert chipped in. "Yes, he is."
"Huh. How about that."
An awkward silence followed as father and son glared at each other. The Bumblers, sensing that it was time for them to exit this conversation, quickly excused themselves and scurried towards the buffet at the opposite end of the room. Geralt, however, remained by Jaskier's side.
"Was that really necessary?" Jaskier kept his voice low but he couldn't disguise the anger in his voice. Albert gave a careless shrug.
"What?" he replied innocently. "I'm only telling them the truth, aren't I?"
He raised his empty whisky glass and said that he needed a refill before sauntering away from the bemused pair.
"Charming," Geralt grunted.
"Yeah, he's always like that," Jaskier muttered. "Sorry about that."
"You didn't do anything wrong, so you've nothing to apologise for," Geralt assured him. "Although, I think it's pretty obvious that you take after your mother more in the personality department."
Jaskier gave him a weak smile, "I think that's the first time you've ever genuinely complimented me on anything."
"Yeah? Well, don't get used to it," Geralt joked. "Come on, let's get another drink. I think we've earned it."
The rest of the evening passed without incident and thankfully, they didn't cross paths with Jaskier's father again. When the party started to wind down, Jaskier and Geralt excused themselves for the evening and Mary showed them to their bedroom.
"We're sharing a room?" asked Geralt uncertainly.
Mary gave a chuckle. "Oh, my dear. We aren't under any illusions that you and Jaskier don't sleep in the same bed. He'll sleep in here with you."
Geralt cast a wary eye at the king-sized bed that he and his assistant were expected to share. "Brilliant."
"It can get a bit chilly in here at night," said Grammy, entering the room with a large patchwork quilt in her arms. "So if you need it, use this." She thrust it into Geralt's hands and gave him a licentious wink. "It's got special powers."
"Dare I ask?" said Geralt cautiously.
"We call it 'the babymaker'," Grammy beamed.
"Okay! We'll be extra careful with that," said Jaskier hurriedly, snatching the quilt from Geralt and ushering his mother and grandmother out of the room. "Well, we best turn in for the night. It's been quite the evening, hasn't it? Goodnight!"
"Goodnight, boys!" Mary called out as Jaskier slammed the door in her face.
He sighed and bumped his forehead against the door. "One day down, thirteen more to go. Easy-peasy."
"So...I take that you haven't been home very often," Geralt ventured as he began to strip out of his clothes. Jaskier turned around and glared at him.
"Well, I haven't had a lot of holiday time in the last three years," he complained, tossing the 'babymaker' quilt into the far corner of the room.
"Stop your whining. You're here now, aren't you?" Geralt chastised, peeling off his shirt and tossing it onto the floor. Jaskier's eyes lingered on his bare chest for a long moment before he busied himself with unpacking his suitcase.
"Yes, I suppose you're right." Jaskier pulled his toothbrush out of his travel bag and paused. "What you said earlier, about firing me…"
"I was just angry," said Geralt quickly. "I didn't mean it."
Geralt noticed that Jaskier worried his lip the same way that his mother did. "So, you still want to go through with this?"
"I'm game if you are."
Jaskier thought in silent contemplation for a moment before nodding in agreement. As Jaskier disappeared into the bathroom, he called smugly over his shoulder, "I knew that you had a tattoo" before closing the door behind him. Geralt unconsciously rubbed the tattoo of the white wolf branded across his heart before letting out a long sigh of relief. As stressful as this day had been, he was still glad that Jaskier was on board with the plan. When Jaskier re-entered the room in an old t-shirt and boxers, he glanced between Geralt and the bed.
"Right, what are the sleeping arrangements?" he asked.
"Well, I expect that you'll take the couch," said Geralt.
"And why would I take the couch?" Jaskier huffed. "This is my bedroom!"
"I'm a guest!" Geralt argued, already pulling back the covers and climbing into the bed. "Besides, it's not like I could fit on that couch. I'm too big. There should be plenty of room for you, though."
"Oh, no you don't!" Jaskier marched over to the other side of the bed and slipped under the covers beside Geralt, who drew him an incredulous look.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" Jaskier replied, fluffing his pillows before flopping down onto the mattress, wriggling like a worm to make himself more comfortable.
"Get out of the bed," Geralt demanded.
"No." Jaskier switched off the lamp on his side of the bed and settled in for the night.
"Jaskier…" he warned.
"Geralt…" Jaskier teased.
Geralt shook his head and crossed his arms. "I'm not moving."
"Fine. Neither am I."
"Fine."
"FINE."
A long silence followed but neither man would relent. Finally, Geralt sighed and turned his back on Jaskier, switched off the lamp at his side of the bed and plunged the room into welcome darkness.
"Goodnight," he mumbled.
After a long pause, Jaskier replied quietly, "Goodnight...dear."
Geralt huffed out a small laugh and closed his eyes. Today had been one of the longest days of his life, and he had thirteen more of them to look forward to. It was a strange position to be in because it was simultaneously annoying and reassuring to have Jaskier by his side through it all. It surprised him how welcoming Jaskier's family had been, too: his mother had literally welcomed him into the family with open arms, and Grammy—who had been cool with him on initially meeting Geralt—had warmed to him as the day had worn on. Gods, she had even gifted them her special 'babymaker' blanket. Jaskier's father, on the hand...well, there was obviously more to that story, but as Geralt listened to Jaskier's soft snores, he figured that now wasn't the best time to query him on it. There was always tomorrow.
