Post-ep to "Family" (2.08)
Jaskier: "Look at us. Just one big happy family, eh?" Lambert: "No."
(2.08 "Family")
A/N: So, there's not nearly enough appreciation for Jaskier's person and his general awesomeness for my taste!
(overall, but particularly in that episode) – So, I fixed it. :) Also, I'm still processing the whole mountain debacle, obviously.
So, this is very much self-indulgent, but I still hope some of you enjoy it as well! :)
"Have you suddenly decided to just stop eating?" Those were maybe the first words any of the witchers had directly and without prompt spoken to the bard since his arrival in Kaer Morhen days ago, but – from across the table – Vesemir was looking directly at him now, there was no mistaking the situation.
Jaskier threw the witcher a curious gaze. "Whatever makes you say that?" Moving his left hand a little bit, he indicated the piece of bread he was holding even now.
"Have seen you do nothing but nibble on some bread the last couple of days." Then, without waiting for a reply: "You know that there's plenty of food, right?"
"Maybe not courtly enough for 'im!" Lambert gave Jaskier a friendly shove that very nearly dislodged him from the bench they were both currently sitting on.
Vesemir completely ignored his antics, gaze still laser-focused on the human.
"Are you feeling sick, son? You haven't been injured during the fight, have you."
For some reason – and to his own horror – the gentle words (Son? Where was this suddenly coming from…) brought something unacceptably close to tears to Jaskier's eyes. He quickly blinked them away. Before he could even reply anything, Lambert snorted out what sounded like a reflexive laugh.
"When? You mean while he was cowering under the table…?!"
Geralt threw his brother an angry glance at that, but didn't say anything.
Vesemir's calm gaze was still resting on the bard.
"Your hand is injured though, isn't it." He nodded towards the bandaged limb.
"Was already wearing that when he arrived here, so t's not from the fight," Coën supplied helpfully.
Jaskier saw Geralt's golden eyes go first to his left, then his right hand, seemingly noticing the improvised dressing for the first time. The bard quickly averted his gaze.
"So what…" Lambert commented now, clearly still amused. "You play that lyre of yours too hard?!"
"Lute."
Geralt's quiet interjection made Lambert frown slightly.
"Huh?"
"He plays the lute, not the lyre…" Then, apparently growing impatient with the conversation: "What happened, Jaskier?"
"Uh…" Uncharacteristic hesitation. "To my hand or my lute?"
Lambert rolled his eyes at that, immediately hollering loudly again: "The hand, bard! Absolutely nobody here cares about your fuckin' lute."
Jaskier forced a smile, but he radiated unhappiness and Geralt would have liked to strangle his brother right there and then.
The bard briefly looked at him, before his eyes found Vesemir again.
"Just some older burns; t's nothing to worry about…"
The older witcher immediately frowned at that. "Burns are no joke, kid. Have you been taking care of them?"
No response.
The whole table suddenly fell silent, sensing somehow that something about this was sensitive territory.
Vesemir's voice softened some more. "Would you like some help with them now…?"
A small shrug.
"I mean… I don't think there is much to do at this point? But I am grateful for your… concern. And your kindness, Master Witcher."
Gerald rolled his eyes at the formality, before focusing on the bard again. "Jaskier." He waited for the human to reluctantly return his gaze. "Show us the burns."
Quickly looking around – and Geralt had no idea what he was even looking for – Jaskier hesitantly unwound the improvised dressing with what seemed like slightly shaky hands.
"Fuck!" Geralt immediately exclaimed as soon as the ugly wounds were revealed. "Why the fuck didn't you say anything?!"
"'s right…" Lambert immediately agreed, eyeing the injury incredulously. "You don't seem to be needin' that hand, do ya?"
"Enough!" Vesemir was already investigating one of the shelves lining the walls of the hall and came back with a half-full bottle containing some ominously dark fluid. "Both of you; just… Leave him be now."
Critically regarding the hand in the light from different angles, he finally uncorked the vial and moved Jaskier's hand over a small bowl.
"This is gonna sting."
Without waiting for a reply, he started to pour the malodorous liquid directly over the burns.
Jaskier inhaled sharply at that, but made no further sound.
"Breathe, boy… It's alright to show pain."
A slow exhale and Jaskier's eyes started to water, but he didn't say anything.
Vesemir turned the hand slightly and inspected the wounds again, then caught the human's slightly nervous gaze. "Some of these blisters should be opened. Do you trust me to do that?"
An immediate nod. "Of course. Thank you…"
Vesemir threw Geralt a brief look.
"Hold the arm. But carefully…"
Without comment, Geralt's larger hands gently encircled the bard's wrist, holding the arm firmly but with minimal pressure wherever he came close to the hand.
Jaskier flinched almost violently when the blade actually hit his inflamed skin, but Geralt kept a firm grip on the arm and he didn't make a sound. With the second cut, he finally couldn't hold back a half-swallowed groan.
"You're okay…" Geralt's sonorous voice.
Coën and Lambert exchanged a surprised glance at that.
Once the infected fluids had drained from the injury, Vesemir started to gently clean it before applying a thick healing salve to the broken skin. Redressing the hand with a clean bandage, he finally made eye-contact with his 'patient' again.
"All done, son. You feelin' alright…?"
Jaskier quickly nodded his head. "Yes. Feels… much better already. Thank you again; for your help, my Lord."
This time, it was Vesemir who rolled his eyes. "Just Vesemir, or witcher, is fine."
He started packing everything up again.
"Would have been nice to know about these wounds when I assigned you to kitchen duty for three straight days."
It was Coën who once again observed calmly: "Not as if he was hidin' that bandage…"
That earned him an angry glance from their mentor.
"Thought the hand was sprained or something like that, not that it was openly weepin' fluids!"
"It's not a problem, my L… Vesemir," Jaskier quickly corrected himself. "This is nothing compared
to–" An almost violent blush. "And anyway. I'm always happy to help; wherever you think I might be needed or at least somewhat useful. I know that I don't–"
"Julian!"
Jaskier immediately stopped his nervous rambling at the unexpected sound of his childhood name. Vesemir gave a brief nod when he saw that he had the bard's full attention now.
"You've been Geralt's companion for over two decades. You are currently a guest in our home. – There is nothing for you to prove to us or to do to demonstrate your worth."
Jaskier swallowed hard, but managed a minute nod.
"Julian…?" he finally breathed, surprise still coloring his tone.
"That is your name, is it not?" The older witcher looked at him inquisitively.
"It is one of my names, yes. I am just surprised you know of it."
A very small smile. "As I said: You've been my son's companion for many years now…"
Jaskier responded with a nervous little laugh, no longer able to hold the witcher's right now almost painfully kind gaze.
"Not sure Geralt would put it like that, but anyway…" He forced his eyes up again. "Thank you again for your help."
When he had almost reached the door, Vesemir called out to him again.
"Do you prefer 'Jaskier'?"
The bard half-turned to face him once more.
"Whatever you prefer is fine."
"Jaskier is a stage name, isn't it." Not really a question. "This is not a stage."
Jaskier smiled slightly at that.
"Then I guess Julian it is!"
Vesemir looked at him for another long moment, but didn't reply anything. – Then, quietly: "Get some rest, boy. And tomorrow, I want to see you eat some more again…"
A short nod and a timid half-smile into the round. "Good night."
The door fell closed behind him.
"Wolf," Vesemir waited for Geralt to somewhat reluctantly meet his earnest gaze. "Go and take care of your bard. – He chose the coldest of all our rooms, in the corner farthest from everybody else. Find out why. Igni some heat into that damn hole… or better yet: get him to move."
"I'm sure he's–"
"He's not fine, Geralt! And you're not fool enough to actually think he is… You messed up with him." A stern glance. "Fix it."
tbc... Let me know what you think! :)