#tldr: witchers get a retirement island

[jaskiersvalley]

Hi. I'm sorry to bother you. Can I request some domestic witchersexual Jaskier?? I just had to put my 6 year old doberman down because she had an autoimmune disease and wasn't getting better and I'm really sad and I have read most of the new fics on tumblr and AO3 but alot of it is whump or Angst and I can't deal with that right now.

I am so sorry to hear about your doberman! It’s never easy to lose a beloved pet. If there is anything beyond writing something to take your mind off things that I can do, please do drop me a line either via ask or DMs. This story turned a little less domestic with not all focus on Jaskier but...hopefully it still gives you the comfort you crave.

Rumours were rife. Witchers, already a dying breed, were disappearing without a trace. No body to recover, no contract to follow the trail of. One minute a witcher was travelling in his usual stomping grounds, the next, he was never seen again. It had Vesemir fretting. Just because he was responsible for Kaer Morhen didn’t mean he was blind and deaf to the stories that were rife. Strangely, despite the witchers disappearing, there wasn’t an abundance of creatures running rampant.

Of course Vesemir worried for his pups. He worried for all witchers but his own boys were special to him. When winter came and Lambert turned up, followed not long after by Eskel, Vesemir could almost relax. A crow from Geralt reassured him that his wolves were all okay and whatever was snatching witchers hadn’t been able to get to them. It didn’t take much to gently extract a promise of regular communication with them throughout the following year. Messages were regularly sent back, letting Vesemir know that the unseen enemy hadn’t snatched them. Yet.

Despite their best efforts, Eskel stopped writing. Even when Lambert and Geralt rushed to where he was last seen, there was no trace of him, nothing. That winter, Eskel didn’t return home and they mourned him.

If only Eskel had been enough for the monster that seemed to hunt witchers exclusively. However, Lambert made it down from Kaer Morhen in the spring and was never seen again. Vesemir tried to remind himself that this was a witcher’s life. Solitary, filled with loss, grief and there was no hope of a happy ending. At least he still had Geralt, the shining star of the Wolf School. Deep down, Vesemir found it fitting that Geralt would be the last one standing of his pups, even if Eskel had been his equal in all but fame.

Witchers didn’t travel together, there wasn’t enough work in any area to support one, let alone two witchers. But Vesemir didn’t want to be the last Wolf in existence and he didn’t want to lose Geralt. Not when they had both lost so much already. Kaer Morhen could lock its doors for one last time. It was already crumbling and Vesemir didn’t think he would be returning, not if he went out on the path, shadowing Geralt in a parallel path, occasionally meeting up.

If anything, contracts were more scarce than ever before despite there being fewer witchers. It made no sense and Vesemir couldn’t understand. There was no explanation for it but he trudged on, determined to do what he had been created for. If there were fewer witchers in the world, he would pick up the slack.

Camping was harsh, sleeping on the ground made Vesemir’s bones ache. It was a witcher’s lot in life to weather the discomforts, even in old age. In the morning, Vesemir packed up camp and trudged out onto the road. He and Geralt were heading towards Nilfgaard, an army always left necrophages in its wake so it was a guaranteed income. Somewhere in the distance, there was singing and the soft strum of lute drifting through the air. A fellow traveller, a happy one at that. Unintentionally, Vesemir slowed his steps and let the singer slowly catch up.

“Fine day,” the brightly coloured man called, bouncing along as he played. He definitely kept strange company, an elf who smiled indulgently.

“Made all the brighter by your cheer.” Even if Vesemir wasn’t a fan of the style of music, he could still be polite and appreciate the attitude if not the noise.

“Thank you, kind sir.” The bard took a bow. “I’m Jaskier, this is my friend Chireadan. Mind if we accompany you along this path for a while?”

A bit of company was always welcome, even if Vesemir used it to gather information rather than make friends. The two made for curious travellers, seemingly defenceless, not a sword or dagger between them. It had Vesemir wondering just how they had survived for so long.

Chatter turned from pleasant chitchat to current events to probing questions. It was such a subtle shift, Vesemir didn’t notice until he was being asked quite pointed questions about being a witcher.

“So in all your 300 and something years, you’d never been able to rest?”

Vesemir blinked. “Well, maintaining Kaer Morhen was as much of a break as any witcher could have.”

It only drew a hum from Jaskier. “So single-handedly being responsible for a large keep, repairing it, ensuring crops grow around it to keep four, five, maybe even six witcher bellied full over winter, thinning out the forktails so when your pups and stragglers return home they won’t have to fight as hard, that counts as a break, yes?”

When put like that...Vesemir shrugged it off He did what the world demanded of him, no more, no less. It didn’t seem to deter Jaskier.

“What about a true rest? If I could offer you something, would you take it?”

“No.” Because Vesemir couldn’t abandon Geralt. Not when it was just Geralt left. Even if the others had still been around, Vesemir couldn’t in good conscience leave them behind to live a harsh life with nobody to greet them home each year.

“If it’s Geralt you’re worried about, I promise it’s okay. He’ll be there too.”

Perhaps Vesemir should have been more alert and distrusting. An elf and a bard, unarmed and yet seemingly so at ease in the world. There had to be something more to them. But his medallion didn’t sing, didn’t hum, there wasn’t even the slightest bit of vibration to it. Human and elf. Nothing more. And yet.

“You’ve served your time. You can relax now,” Jaskier murmured softly, swaying closer and putting a hand on Vesemir’s back to guide him.

“Are you Death?”

The sharp, bright laugh suggested that Vesemir was wrong.

“If he is Death, what does that make me? I’m a healer by trade,” Chireadan chipped in. He had been quiet for most of their shared journey, smiling fondly and staring off into the distance, aloof like most elves. “Let us show you what we offer.”

They stopped in the middle of the dusty road with nobody around for miles. Jaskier fished something out of his pocket and, with a lot of fidgeting and even more cursing, a portal suddenly opened up. It was portable, contained chaos and Vesemir took a step back.

“It’s okay.” That was Geralt’s voice and he stepped out of a portal from behind Vesemir. “I fucking hate portals but you can trust that one.”

Whatever trickery this was, Vesemir didn’t trust it one bit. However, Geralt urged Roach through before turning to him with a lopsided smile. “Come home.”

With that, Geralt stepped into the portal and Vesemir reached for him, wanting to pull him back.

“What’s it going to be, my Lone Wolf?” Jaskier asked. Chireadan had stepped through the portal too, waving with a quiet “see you in a minute” which was just a little presumptuous.

Steeling himself, Vesemir gave in. He’d had enough, all the fighting, the loss, the grief, it was enough. Even if this was a trick, he realised there was no point in resisting. His pups were gone, Kaer Morhen wasn’t a place to live alone, contracts were more and more scarce. It was time to put down his swords and accept whatever was on the other side of the portal. Vesemir didn’t look back as he stepped through, feeling the world lurch around him.

The other side was bright, breezy and noisy. Water lapped at the shores of a beach and there was life bustling around him, laughter and...people shouting his name. Geralt stepped closer first and squeezed his shoulder.

“Welcome to The Island.”

Behind Vesemir, Jaskier had stepped through and the portal closed. More people were approaching. Ciri was running towards him like she was still a child. Behind her was- Vesemir’s breath hitched. There was Eskel and Lambert on either side of Jaskier. And Coen. And Aiden. Letho. Wolf, Cat, Griffin, Viper, Bear, all the schools’ surviving witchers, smiling, laughing and happy. It was beyond anything Vesemir had ever seen or even dared hope for.

“What?” He choked out.

“The world didn’t need us any more. And we didn’t need them,” Geralt explained. It wasn’t all witchers, there were a couple of sorceresses, elves and humans too. They all looked comfortable and happy.

“It all started with Eskel,” Jaskier said, an arm around the witcher in question’s waist. “An enchanted bear trap caught him out.” It explained why he limped probably. “It was just me at the time and the idea of a retirement retreat was barely a babe in my mind. But Triss helped heal him and I started travelling with Chireadan. Needed to make sure I could get every hurting witcher home.”

“Actually, Jaskier wanted a sex island,” Lambert butted in. Vesemir noted that he looked at peace, smiling without any of the bitterness he’d been weighed down by over the years. “Eskel couldn’t run. I didn’t want to run. Eventually Geralt let himself get caught. Like a stray cat Aiden turned up. Then Ciri dragged her friends with her. A Jaskier’s got a lot of love to give if they want it.”

Geralt smiled at the stunned look on Vesemir’s face. He clapped him on the shoulder.

“I said welcome to The Island earlier but what I actually meant was welcome home.”

#geraskier #witchersexual jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #vesemir #eskel #lambert #chireadan #tldr: witchers get a retirement island