Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You're here for a healer, aren't you? Or are you trying to wait for death to occur?” The woman with brown wavy hair spoke in a very soft and warm voice, not something he'd hear on most days. “Well? Have you decided yet?”

“I'm looking for the——”

“I know who you're looking for, but she hasn't been here since a tenday ago. Now, could you drop him and let me have a look?” She seems to be getting a little impatient. 

“Gurr-tt.” Geralt thought to return on road but the stuffed, in pain sound, of the human between his arms made him furrow his brows. “Can you cure him?” Not a question, more of a threat.

“If you're threatening me, then no. If you're asking me,” she paused, “You might want to say ‘please’.”

“Ha…hggg…ugghh…” A puddle of blood smeared Geralt's chest. “Don…mmughh…Huuhh…”

“Shut up, Jaskier, then you won't,” Geralt growled at the bard between his arms. He then growled at the woman standing in front of him, jaw tightened, nostril flared, as if he's about to attack, but then he huffed out the words: “Help him,” he ground the rest of the word through his teeth, “Plea-se.”

“Wasn't so hard was it?” She turned to her heels, “Follow me. Or go ahead and set him down in the second room on the right, up the stairs, if you're in a hurry.” 

And Geralt went. Just moments later the woman came in, with nothing but a box and a few scrolls in her hand. He doesn't question, but the frown on his face says everything he needs to say, though it doesn't seem to bother her. 

“What did this to him?”

“Djinn.”

“…A Djinn?” She seems to be confused but doesn't ask more. Geralt watches her every movement, up until she decides to reach for Jaskier's very swollen throat. “Trust me, if I wanted him dead he'd already be dust by now. Plus, I'm interested in you, Witcher. I've been here for months, heard tons of stories about you lot, but never got the chance to see one for myself. Well, until now that is.” She doesn't move her hand on Jaskier anymore, instead, she grabs out a scroll, which seems to have powerful magic in it and tears it apart, suddenly the whole room bursts into a light blue shade of colour, “This will cost you, Witcher. And that Djinn, I assume the wishes aren't done. I cannot hold it long, you better think of your wishes, and be precise of it.”

“Hguhh…Uhghh…” Jaskier is getting less air within moments, he needs to act and think fast.

“Now!” The woman yells. At the same time, a wind starts to swirl in the room, while Jaskier's throat seems to flatten, a see-through magic-made hand grasped on something transparent, and it doesn't seem the hand's going to hold long. “Think! And wish for it!”

Geralt thought and thought and finally, something occurred.

But just as he was about to give in the second wish, the Djinn broke free, the magic hand evaporated in thin air and the woman got backlashed by the huge swirl of wind and magic, out of instinct, Geralt went for the woman instead of his wish. And then the Djinn disappeared. The swirl of wind died down, the nature-scented room calmed down and the woman climbed back to her feet, looking somewhat exhausted and surprised. 

“This world is just as scary as mine.” The mumble doesn't escape Geralt's ear. But he decides to check on Jaskier before interrogating this more than just odd woman. 

“He'll be fine. But he needs to rest for now. At least for the night.” She withdraws her arm away from Geralt. “The name's Echo, of Waterdeep. I'm a…was a bard, nowadays I'm just a sorcerer. Now, if I may ask, who did I just help?”

“Waterdeep?”

“Let's just say I'm not from this realm. I fell through a portal and now I'm stuck here for god knows how long, but I do like it here, it's nicer than where I was. The lady of this tower healed me from my wounds and kept me safe, until things caught up and she had to leave. As I said before, a tenday ago. Now name, please.”

“What are you?” He feels magic still lingering around her and something else, something more strange, more powerful but also weak at the same time. How could it be powerful and weak?

“I'm an elf. One of the nicer ones.”

Echo waited for a moment and then rolled her eyes, “I'm not getting a name out of you, am I? I don't mind casting a spell to read your mind, but I don't think——”

“Geralt.”

“Ok then, just Geralt. And him? Who's he to you? You were very worried.”

“Jaskier the Bard. He's,” Geralt gave the sleeping bard a look, then turned his eyes back at Echo, “a friend.”

“A bard now? Huh, I have plenty of questions when he wakes up.”

Geralt now wishes Jaskier would never wake up. Or maybe he should just take him and leave. 

“Give this to him. It's a potion of healing and strength restoration. He needs it.” Echo takes out a red glass bottle and sets it down on the table, “He was heavily wounded and was on the edge of death. You're welcome to stay however long you two want, but don't try to leave with a still-healing patient, he won't make it. Not a threat, just a fact. He needs rest and so do you. You do realise you smell like years-old sewer, right? Room opposite of this, big bath with everything you'll need either than your clothes.” 

Geralt debated with himself for a while. He doesn't trust her, especially not understanding what the more-to-her part meant. She says she isn't from this realm, and he does (somehow) believe that, especially when her magic is different from all he's seen, and he's seen many, but nothing like this. Nothing about her is familiar to anything he knows. Maybe the bard part, she is just as talkative as Jaskier during his normal days. He sometimes even talks in his sleep - which annoys Geralt to the hells and back. 

“Mr Witcher, I have no ill intent, you can leave him with me.”

She is telling the truth. She's been telling the truth from the start, Geralt knows that, which is the reason that he's so agitated. Since when does anyone, other than the noisy bard, be so truthful to him? There has to be a catch. There has to be. Even the bard wants something from him, from here and then. What could she want? “You said a price. What is it?”

“We'll talk about price after you're washed. I won't add more to it than I had already planned.”

Another irritating truth to it. 

Geralt grumbles. 

*

Half a day passes, and Geralt finally gets up from Jaskier's side, knowing he now is fully resting with no pain (though he will not willingly admit that bottle of whatever it may be might have helped too), decides to leave for the bathroom the sorceress had promised him. He took one last check on Jaskier, seeing his chest rise and fall with ease, his was swollen throat now all back to normal with but just a small red mark that looked like a hickey, Geralt's shoulder softened with ease. But then tensed again when he remembered his last thought before the Djinn vanished from the room. He's not sure if the Djinn had caught up with his thought then or not, he's not even sure if he accidentally also used up the third wish or not. Hopefully, he didn't. Hopefully, he didn't wish for anything that he shouldn't. Hopefully, the Djinn decided to become deaf at that moment. Hopefully. 

Geralt grunts himself to the room across this one, and his senses suddenly heightened. True this is a room made just for a huge bath, he can even see the warm air swinging above the water, and the lightly scented - even for his nose - oils and salts, but that's not what he's picking up. His growing senses are picking up something else entirely, something pure of magic. His medallion is vibrating crazily as if it might shatter the next moment. 

Just how he wished he had taken his swords with him into the room. The biggest mistake he's made so far. 

Walking cautiously, he pushed away the light silky curtain dangling from the ceiling, eyes roaming everywhere. As he steps by the edge of the huge floor carved-in bath, his eyes land on the source - the mysterious woman who claimed to be a sorceress from another plane. 

She's sitting by the shallow waters, and around her is some sort of magical view she had casted, like mist, but more colourful. An illusion of sorts, Geralt thinks. 

“Oh,” Echo gasped at Geralt's appearance. Her focus faded from the illusion, the colourful mist disappeared within one breath. “I had thought you'd, well, guess you had to make sure your friend is indeed fine. Umm, I'll leave you to it then.”

“What are you? You reek of strange magic and power. Nothing of which this world offers.”

“I did say I do not belong to this plane, world, realm, whichever you'd call it.” She pulls a thick gown over her damped clothes, covering everything beneath it. “My magic runs through what we call The Weave, where you people call it Chaos. But unlike your sorcerers who need to learn and study it, I was born into magic with no need to learn or study, but practice, making it more stable and more powerful…Why am I telling you this? We just met.”

Silence coated the room. 

“...What did you wish for?” She asks slowly, words coming out from her mouth one by one. 

Geralt can't be annoyed more at himself. Maybe also at Jaskier. First the Child of Surprise, then he can't sleep, and then goes the missing Djinn, now this , whatever this is. 

“What did you do, Witcher!?” She came and stood in front of him, blue eyes full of fury and fire. Once again, Geralt felt his medallion humming and vibrating at the same time. 

The nagging feeling deep down still picking at him, telling him something's not right. There's more than meets the eye. 

“I saved your life.”

“By bounding me to you?”

“You think I wanted so?”

“I told you to think precise! Great, just great! The last thing I need in my life is more complications. What the hells am I supposed to tell Yen? She'll be furious…And I don't even know what wish you had made.” She glares at Geralt, “Do you know? About your untold wish?”

Silence. 

“Oh of course! Why do I even bother to ask!” 

Just as things started to heat up, a cry for help came through the doors and then bathroom door came bursting open. 

The sleeping bard now being captured by an unknown man, still very hazed by the effect of the previous potion that was given to him, but he seems more conscious now, as he knows to call out to the only person he knows in this room: “Geralt. Help. I didn't do anything.”

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt, I——”

“Shut it.” The man shoves the dagger more towards Jaskier's neck, scraping open a small wound, making the very mortal bard bleed. “Where is that witch? Where's the one with black hair, black dress, smells of lilac and gooseberry? Where is she!?”

Geralt dares not move, his eyes focused on the dagger and the light wound as it very slowly drawing out blood. He darts his eyes to meet Jaskier's, finding those bright blue eyes with horror and plea, a small growl slips past his lips. 

“Mister, she's not here anymore, she left. The tower now belongs to me.” Echo points a finger to Jaskier, “That there is a patient of mine, he and the handsome gentleman came to me for help, they got nothing to do with whatever you're seeking for.”

The bold, puff-eyed, with an ugly scar guy, spits on the floor with disgust. “My eyes might be swollen, but even then I know that's a Witcher. They're no human, and never gentlemen . Mutants, are what they are. Freaks.”

“You take that——aaahh.”Jaskier wanted to speak back, but the dagger had gotten more flesh. “Geralt.”

Everything is going all the wrong way. Geralt's grunt becomes a low angered groan as if someone disturbed a sleeping lion. Well, in this case, a wolf. First the Child, then loss of sleep, then the Djinn, then this witch, and then back to Jaskier getting hurt, Geralt again thinks Destiny is fucking with him. Just how many things can happen within the span of just a few years? His eyes fixed on the dagger, hands itching to cast a sign, head thumping with built-up anger from everything that's been going on. Oh, just how much he wants to throw this human out of the window. But he shalln't, he cannot, he won't allow himself to do that. No matter how much he feels like it. 

“What do you want?” He grunts out through his teeth, sneering even.

“I want that witch dead! She promised me a cure! Not a disease!” The man yelled next to Jaskier's ear. “She was supposed to clear my mom away from people, but instead I got a coin-digger, sick, diseased mother in my hands!”

“Liar.” Geralt turns his head towards his left. This strange witch, or sorceress as she herself claims to be, even though those two in his head are exactly the same. She has this feral look on her and she smells of disgust, towards that man. “You asked for your mother's death, Yen agreed to take your mother off your hands, however, never in between had she claimed to kill your mother off, all she did was give your mother a potion to haze her memory and let her forget who you are. That was near three months ago. The disease,” Geralt watches how her facial expression turns into a very contemptuous smirk, “that was, is, because of your own doing. Perhaps you forgot you work with shit, to be specific, pig shit. Swine disease is something to be known, just so you know. And no, I will not cure you. Just like you will let go of my patient.”

Just as her last word dropped, a wave of magic grew around them, with a red flash it hit the man on his head and he froze, stood there unable to move or even blink, or to talk, all he could do was stare at her with his swollen yet wide eyes. There's something Geralt finds hilarious about the sight. 

Geralt walks towards Jaskier and frees him from the dagger. He plucks the dagger away from the man's hand like taking his trophy from his kills, with ease and no worries, which is weird and he hates the gut feeling of trusting the sorceress due to the unknown bound by the Djinn, but for now, he'll allow it since Jaskier needs to be safe. 

“There, there.” He pats the poor bard's shoulder, uncomfortably comforting him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighs with safety, holding onto Geralt's arm with his dear life, “For the sake of your dear friend's life, please don't piss off this witch.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, gods. Geralt, what did you do?” Jaskier squeaked, eyes wide, those cornflower blue eyes full of plea. “Already?”

“You know I can hear you, right? I'm right here, dear patient of mine.”

Jaskier froze on the spot, his eyes met Geralt's, yelling for help.

Geralt huffs out a full mouth of air, heavily wishing that he and Jaskier could leave this very moment. But…the damned Djinn, his damned wished, fucking Destiny, nothing ever can be so plain and simple, not when it involves Magic and the Unknown . Oh, and he still has yet a damned price to pay. Fuck. 

“Name your price, sorceress.”

“First of all, a thank you would be lovely. And It’s a very pleasure , Geralt of Rivia, to save your friend.”

“He called me a friend? ”

“Oh, you don't remember?” Echo says in a dramatic surprise. “That is a pity. You should've seen yourself, bardling, all bloody and clinging to his arm for dear life. Hmm, it must've been a very nice sensation though.” She eyes Geralt's arm and then smiles at Jaskier in a knowing smile, making him duck behind Geralt's back. 

Geralt grunts, getting irritated. One Jaskier is enough in his life. “Your price, witch.”

Echo tsks softly. “Can't I have at least some fun in my time?”

Jaskier shakes his head behind Geralt.

“Ugh, fine. But you asked for it.” Yen is going to scold her in the future for this. But here isn't safe anymore, the magic is fading from the runes Yen had carved out last month, people are starting to come and go whenever they want. “I need a safe place. A safer place than here. And you and him,” she points to Jaskier too, “will help me to find one, within four-five months. Before that, I shall be an extra company to you both, on the road to wherever, and you won't be able to lose me because of that stupid wish you had wished for. ”

*

And so here they are, middle of Melitele knows where, somewhere in between a thick forest behind and a small stream just a few feet away. Jaskier sat by the fire near Geralt, who's cooking some sort of stew that smelled absolutely amazing to his nose, and watched Echo with a dumbfounded face. “You do realise Roach is head over heels for her, right? She's even letting her scrub her nose and wash her in the nearby river. I mean, of course, the dearest girl deserves to be treated with the best things life could offer, but it took me years to even gain her trust, with the help of sugar cubes and apples as bribe! And she just…she just owns it like what? On the first day of meeting? Geralt, there's something going on here!”

“She talks to her.”

“What?” Jaskier confuses himself. “You do too. And if not more.” He doesn't take his eyes off Echo and Roach. 

“As in she can hear Roach's thoughts.” Geralt grunts, sitting on the log and staring at the bot's boiling stew. Slagging his shoulders, seems somewhat defeated. “She says Roach's been complaining about how I feed her too much sugar cubes in the past month.”

Jaskier finally takes his eyes away from the two ladies and turns them towards his dear friend. “And you believe her?”

“Hm.” He first grunts then says: “Roach seemed happy when she fed her a carrot, and today another.”

“You know, Geralt, for the past four days, you've spoken more words than you'd've spoken within months. Is't because how Roach adores her or because of her? What was't that you wished for that made you being so soft, maybe I should find a Djinn and wish it for myself to you.”

Geralt grunts at Jaskiers words. “Thanks for reminding me, bard.” Damn Djinn. 

Jaskier shrugs and starts strumming on his lute. “If nobody's going to acknowledge it, then I will. It's been four days since she joined and look at yourself, already going mushy and dearing over her. Whatever you wished for, darling, something is definitely not right. Since when are witches nice? They're rather stone-hearted bitches or some ruthless, crazy woman. If you get lucky, maybe just maybe they'll leave you alone, and that's after she gets what she wants. But never someone like her. Never. Ever. So this is either your wish doing strange things and when she realises we both would die in the most gruesome way one can ever endure, and I mean more than how you kill your monsters. Or, which is highly unlikely,” Jaskier looks up towards where Echo is brushing Roach's hair, “this is how she is.”

“She says she's not from the continent.”

“Yes, you said before. And you believe her. Which is even more terrifying, you know.” Jaskier pouts down at his lute, mumbles, “It took me forever to gain your trust and a Djinn comes around, suddenly you're so trusty, with open arms. Maybe I really should get a Djinn myself.”

“Jaskier.”

“And I mean it! We've- I've been dear to you ever since Posada, and sometimes you still push me away when you need help! You talk to Roach more than you to me and you told me my singing is a fillingless pie! I'm the one who stitched you up many times, and I washed your bottom with chamomile, Geralt! I made beautiful songs that get spread throughout the continent because you deserve to be treated nicely, because you're not a monster, you're the best thing that can happen to anyone, anyone , and I ran into you! You're not just my muse, Geralt, you're also my friend and——”

“Stop.” Geralt sighs.

Jaskier gasps. “I'm talking and I'm not to be ordered to stop! You listen to me, Witcher, I——”

“Not you, bard. Her. She's using magic on you.”

“Wha-” Jaskier blinks and something within fades, suddenly realising what he was about to say before Geralt cuts him off. His eyes widened, looking somewhat terrified and confused. “Don't do that to me! I will not be manipulated into anything!”

Echo walks back towards the two, smirking. “I didn't manipulate you to do anything, everything is already there deep within, I just made you spill your heart out - truthfully.”

Jaskier shuts his mouth and gives Echo an angry look, but mostly like a kicked puppy, wide eyes and looking innocent, which made Echo's smirk wider than before. He unconsciously scooches towards Geralt for safety, sitting shoulder to shoulder, if Jaskier moves more he might as well sit on Geralt's lap. 

Echo: “You're adorable, lark. And I have to add, your singing is definitely not fillingless. It reminds me of…never mind.” She smiles and ends the topic. “Is the stew ready yet? It smells wonderful. Do you have any spices?”

“It's in the stew,” Geralt states. 

“No, I mean chillies.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No.”

“Pity. Some chilli would be so fine in the stew. But anyway, doesn't matter. You eat what you can get. Even if you need to eat sausage and bread for a month. Ugh, I'll never look at them the same way.”

Jaskier couldn't help his curiosity climbing in his throat. He held back as long as he could, but, “Why did you do that? It sounds horrible,” he choked out. 

“Well, not for a month, I was only exaggerating.” Echo smiles cheekily and watches Geralt spoon out the beautiful-smelling stew. “Food was scarce at that time and my little group of freaks didn't have that much money, so we ate whatever we could find, which was mostly different kinds of sausages and bread. You'd have an idea of how it felt when finally you get a nice meal after days of eating the same thing over and over. And with a bottle of fine wine or even a cup of nice brewed tea, anything that's actually heaven-like in your mouth.”

“Thanks,” she says to Geralt as he hands her the bowl of rabbit stew. “I was like you in my little freak group, all chatty and optimistic and a lot of singing, they hated it in the beginning. But they loved it too. I know they did. I might've even gotten one of them stuck with the chorus part.”

Jaskier nipped on his lip and gave her hands a look, and it was there, the leftover of playing a lute for years and years, the proof of a musician, an artist. She does have the voice too. “What happened? You said did . Aren't you anymore? Playing.” He has to ask. He couldn't not ask. 

“Life. Plus I fell in love. Well, was in love, we broke up and things happened and here I am eating rabbit stew with a Witcher - which, by the way, we don't have - and his bard.” 

She shrugs it off like nothing, but Geralt smells the pungent scent coming off of her for a moment, and it doesn't smell nice. The emotions were so strong that they kind of gagged him at the moment, but was also quick to disappear. He's never smelled anything so strong before, not even when monsters or men try to kill him. Not even when The Lioness of Cintra wanted to kill him for getting her granddaughter as the Child of Surprise. There's more to the story than she's letting out. Much more. 

“Life,” Jaskier mumbles and shoves himself a mouthful of stew, “that makes sense. Don't think either three of us don't know what that means. A hunter”, he points to Geralt. “A witch,” points at Echo. “A bard,” he points to himself. “Walks into a bar. Wonder how that'll go.”

It goes all too damn well. Too well to Geralt's liking

Chapter Text

The tavern is very busy at this time of the day, which to say, is when the sun starts to set, all loud and noisy and full of people and then the tavern door swings open, and a few farmer folks swing their heads around and stop whatever they are doing and stare. The farmer's actions caught others and soon the whole tavern freezes. 

“Geralt, you're stealing my show.” The bard on stage pouted out loud at the blood-soaked man standing by the tavern door. “Now get away. I want my audience back to me. Shoo. She's up the stairs too. And you better get yourself cleaned before you set foot back here! Oh, and kind Lady of Ingrid Tavern, please do give my dear witcher his gold,” he winks towards the owner who's currently waitering by the bar area. 

“Mr Witcher, of course, your coins, as promised,” Ingrid is all too happy to pay Geralt what he's owed. “Thank you. For the drowners and whatever the other one could be. You have no idea the horror they're causing to this little village, we are all very thankful. And your wife, she's the sweetest thing I've——”

Geralt's hand froze on the coin purse. “My… wife ?” What on all God's name did Jaskier say to this human while he was away?

“I never thought Witchers were able to keep even company but look at Master Bard Jaskier and the lovely lady, who, by the way, cure m’boys years leaping leg with just a touch, not even asking for coin but instead asked me for a free bath and supper for you. If that isn't love, then what else? She's lovely, do treat her well, sir.”

Geralt feels numb and defeated by whatever in the name of everything is going on between Jaskier and that woman. Just a few days ago Jaskier was telling him to stay away from the witch , but somewhere in between here and there, the two seemed to get closer than he had anticipated and thought. Jaskier has been grounding himself around her, flying around her like a bee to a flower, or perhaps a puppy to its owner is more like it. They still throw insults at each other, which is common between the two, but sitting against each other and talking about the tales of stars and romantic stories and giggling while looking at him - the latter makes his skin crawl with tension. They definitely are up to something, especially with Jaskier involved, the bard is a magnet for trouble and now joint elbow-to-elbow with a powerful (yes, he does think her as powerful) sorceress, he might as well piss off the whole continent. 

Just as he reached the door the owner had told him, Geralt's eyes narrowed and reached for his sword. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, he had felt it before when he was in that tower back near half a month ago, but this time the magic was heavy in the air and thick and strong, there's also something different, something soft, it felt soothing and careful like it's trying not to hurt. And this is what Geralt is tensed about. This . What magic can this be, rather than for luring prey?

He lunges into the room and stands there with a blank face as he sees Echo sitting on the bed with what seems like a larger stomach of hers. A larger stomach… And something like scales on the right side of her cheek, shining a reddish colour under the candlelight. 

His first reaction was to close the door.

…fucking closing the door.

“Well, this is awkward.” Echo's head is still lowered, her hand on her swollen stomach. “I can never hear or feel your approach, which is something rather annoying to me. It's already hard to hide under your advanced senses, how was I supposed to keep another heartbeat away from your ears and my true magic within me? It’s tougher than one thinks. Though your bard is much more observant than you, he came to me a few nights ago asking me about my, in his words, very difficult appetite . The one which I can't hide.”

The room gets very quiet after Echo stops talking. 

“Would you say something at least, witcher?” She exasperated. 

“You…have scales.”

She huffs out a sigh and shakes her head, “Jaskier knows you too well. I'll give that to him. You are really dense. Not stupid, no, you are actually very clever, more so than what anyone thinks of you. You're just…well, thick. In all kinds of ways, I need to add.”

“You're——”

“Pregnant? Unfortunately, yes, I am.”

“You have——”

“Scales, not news to me. My dad fucked a dragonborn - a descendant of a true dragon, think of it that way. Mother got pregnant, threw me to dad just as I turned one, bless the old man and his godsdamned responsibility, took me without a word, raised me until I turned fifty, which in elven age we actually are still very young, we don't even get properly named until one hundred.”

“So you're——?”

Echo pouted at the question. “Yes.” And then she felt his eyes on her. “Oh, fuck you! Fine, no, I'm not! Happy? I still have a few more years…Alright! More than a few! Satisfied?”

Geralt sets his swords down by the end of the bed pulls a chair from the small table not far off, and sits down. He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. He's fuck tired, got some mud stuck in his armour and maybe even between his buttcheeks, a few open wounds, more bruises than not, his hair filled with clotted drowner's blood and kikimore's, and now this. This truly is the longest day. 

“ This is the reason why you want a safe place.” He finally put the idea together. “When?”

“I guess there's still, um, six or seven months to go? I might not be able to move much when it gets bigger, hence why I said within four or five months.”

And here they are, dilly-dallying away near half a month of time.

Geralt watches her hands rubbing softly at her bulged abdomen, the soft magic again fills the air and then suddenly the surrounding starts to change. It shifted to a nighttime forest with a beautiful night sky, with an aura much like the one he saw back in the towers’ bathroom, but much more brighter and colourful. He doesn't like this unknownness, everything feels so strange and unfamiliar, nothing about this is within his territory of knowledge. But then the damn bond from the Djinn, from himself , made him to trust her with her doings. What's even more frustrating is that she doesn't even ask for much! All she does is hang around and act like the female version of Jaskier and it's annoying but somewhat familiar because he can deal with Jaskier. However, two Jaskiers giggling his ears off, discussing romantic literature, and having less time to actually talk to the real Jaskier, he'd rather kill off a dozen of Wyverns thanks.

“I used to know someone who had white hair, personal problems, a bad memory of life and living. But unlike you, he hides everything behind a cheeky smile and pretends everything is fine. He's very chaotic and dramatic. He was the one who named the little group of ours ‘Group of Freaks.’ Astarion is his name and he's a vampire, now the leader of thousands. He's changed a lot.” Echo raised her hand up towards the sky and waved it around, an expression of nostalgia sitting on her face and the slight adornment of a smile curling on her lips. 

“A…vampire did this?” Geralt is a little concerned now. 

“No. No.” Echo laughs and shakes her head. “I mean he wouldn't mind, he'd love to. He actually tried to seduce me once before and then after everything ended when the group disbanded - after I left heartbroken, he actually tried to mend it. So he tried a few times more. But…no.” She sighs. “It was someone else, someone now who had claimed godhood. He was once the lover of a goddess, the talented wizard of Waterdeep, a human with ambition. A lover of mine too. Until he decided to become ambition itself.”

“A God of Ambition?”

“I don't know him,” Echo quickly stated. “I only know Gale Dekarios, a wizard from Waterdeep. A man with poor jokes and an apparent talentful tongue.”

Geralt chokes on his own spit. 

Echo laughs as he tries to clear his throat. “As I said, poor jokes. But enough about me, you and Jaskier, how did you two end up together?”

“We're not together ,” Geralt grumbles. 

“Of course, not.”

“We are not——”

The footsteps cut off Geralt's words and then came the knocking. “Master Witcher, Missus, the bath water is ready.” 

The illusion of the beautiful night forest faded. He has to admit, to himself that is, he actually had forgotten for a moment they were in a tavern. 

He stares down at Echo, who now covers herself up with his extra cloak. The bulge gone, but the scales on her face are still there. He stared at her for a while and then went for the door. 

People came in and out, no one cared to look at him or be curious why Echo was wearing a cloak and hood under a roof, perhaps the owner lady already gave them a heads up, or this is Jaskier and hers doing. 

“All set up, Master Witcher and Missus. You can call us when you're done,” the young girl says and leaves the room to themselves. 

Geralt takes a look at the tube that's been set up and then back at Echo, who took off the cloak the moment the people left. He couldn't control his eyes, but this was more interesting than killing drowners or kikimores or even Jaskier singing that irritating coin song, again, downstairs - an elf mixed with dragon blood. Maybe not a true dragon, but still. How fascinating. 

“…Geralt, can you stop staring at me like some monster for gold.”

“Hm. You can bathe first.”

Geralt sits on the chair, brooding. Technically sulking, if Jaskier is here next to him, he definitely would correct the misuse of words. 

Geralt sits there, brows furrowed, breathing a little heavy but shallow, and making a weird noise that Jaskier calls it: “Have you heard yourself growl, Geralt? Nonono, not your hmms and hmphs as grunts, literally growling, like a cat being irritated from sleep or a wolf growling at someone who had stepped into their territory.” And no, Geralt does not realise them, at least not until Jaskier mentions it to him or gives him this all-too-knowing look from the opposite side of where they're sitting. But Jaskier isn't here, so Geralt doesn't acknowledge his own doing. 

This irritates him. This strange trust that always gets him when he looks directly at the witch's eyes. Those ethereal blue eyes, they are so similar in colour to Jaskier's, and sometimes he finds some sort of shine or glow within them that makes them look like…he can't put it into words, but they just look otherworldly.

There's still more to her than what she says. Geralt doesn't like not knowing, but his mind is nagging him to trust her. 

“If you want to sit there and brood, be my guest, but you'd be more useful if you give me a helping hand to lend me your cloak from before. I don't think I want to go downstairs and scare a whole lot of humans.” Echo puts out a hand over the room divider and waves it around. 

And Geralt obeys it. “Shit,” he grunts as he gives the cloak to her over the divider. 

“I'm starting to like this whatever bond of ours now.” Without even looking he knows she's smirking. “Don't get used to it, Geralt, you might start to get attached. Jaskier would get jealous.”

What does this have to do with Jaskier now? Geralt frowns at Echo as she comes around the divider, all clean and smells like some kind of flower? Plant? It smells very soft and light, even lighter than the oils Jaskier uses, a very friendly feeling to his senses. 

“I'll send Jaskier up to wash your lovely bottom.” 

What?

“I'm sure the both of you will enjoy it.”

Huh? 

Geralt stands there dumbly and watches her leave the room, dressed in something new, something he hadn't seen in the past half a month, with his cloak covering most of her. 

He stood there for a while and finally started to move, and that is also when the familiar footsteps started their way up the stairs and then by the door, then…

“Geralt, my dear witcher, the scary witch said you needed me to rub your lovely bottom with your favourite chamomile oil. ”

He should've just left Jaskier for death. Or left him with her in the tower.

“I don't.”

“Ah, so you do love chamomile.”

The room door properly closed, Geralt already in the water, Jaskier walks behind Geralt and pokes him on those beautiful, strong, muscular shoulders. “A lot of half-healed bruises, Geralt. How are the wounds doing? Any of them need stitching? Should I call her up to heal you? She's a very good healer, you know.”

“Hmmm.”

“Fine, I won't call her and let her see your lovely bottom. But do you need stitches? And don't hmm me. Your hmms and hms and hmmms might sound real nice to my ears, but you've had enough grunting for the day, don't make me make you use words, Geralt.” Jaskier's hands are now in Geralt's hair, trying to sort out the witcher's beautiful hair that's got all kinds of gore stuck in it. 

Geralt softens his shoulders, relaxing into Jaskier's hands, something he does not do often but always do when he's near the bard. It's a nice feeling, a welcomed one. The last relaxing bath he had was back during winter back at the keep, which was months upon months ago. The last bath though, if river diving is to be known as bathing, then perhaps just a few days ago, before Echo decided to give Roach a small bath during a warm afternoon. 

“So what did she do to you? Or did you finally wish upon a Djinn?”

“Well, firstly, she still is a terrifying witch. Beautiful, yes. But scary too. She threatened to put a silence spell on me if I told you she was pregnant. A silence spell, Geralt! I'm a bard, my job is to make nois- songs! Music! Art! How could she!” Jaskier exclaimed his dissatisfaction with being threatened and threatened to be silenced - right under his witcher's nose and said witcher knows nothing about this threatening. 

Geralt hummed. “I should learn that spell.” 

Jaskier gives Geralt's hair a small pull, granting himself some compensation when he hears the witcher grunt in irritation. “Geralt, if I hear you tell me my songs are a fillingless pie or my voice, ever again, the next thing you hear in my song, oh-ho-hoo, you're going to regret all the rude, offensive, blunt, cheeky, insulting things you've said to me since the start!” He flicks some water into Geralt's face, making Geralt grimace. “I do intend to hold grudges, so be careful. I am the Master of Seven Liberal Arts. And I happen to have the witch by my side.”

Geralt rolls his eyes under his eyelids at the last sentence. “So this is why you suddenly grew an extra pair of balls, bard.”

“I don't need an extra pair .” Jaskier starts to wash out the foam from the silvery-white hair. “I just thought I'd never need them because I'll always have you to save me. But then the Djinn happened and her, and I realised that someday I might not be that lucky, maybe one day you're just not around and——”

“I won't let that happen, Jask.”

“But you won't always be around. We do go our separate ways. When was the last time we saw each other before me running into you by the little river where you were fishing for a bottled-up Djinn? It was near a year, Geralt. Specifically eight months and fourteen days...I actually missed you shoving me around during the time apart…Shit, I think I might've got a problem.” Jaskier sighs heavily and gives up. He leans against the tub with his arms resting on the thin wooden edge. 

Geralt moves in the water, giving himself some space to turn a bit to see what's going on with the bard. “Jaskier?”

“I think I have a huge problem,” Jaskier mumbles as he pouts and sighs. “A decade. Ten-ish years and it has to be now. Shit.”

“Jaskier!”

“I'm right here, stop yelling into my ear, Geralt!”

“What is it?”

Jaskier catches Geralt's golden eyes, for a moment he doesn't say anything and it somewhat makes Geralt's skin crawl with discomfort. The air's suddenly too thick to breathe, smells of bittersweet and Jaskier is being too quiet. And Jaskier's heartbeat, racing inside his ribcage. 

“Jaskier, did you hurt yourself?”

And that question made Jaskier break the silence. “Oh, you silly Witcher!” He laughs and shakes his head with amusement. “Nope, it seems that moment of worrying is now gone. Come on, Geralt, get yourself dried up, we need to get back down before your witch does something crazy or maybe break my lute on someone's head.”

“Your lute? And she's not mine. It's just the damn Djinn.”

“Downstairs needs an entertainer. She wanted me up because you needed a clean bottom and hair, so she took the job as a performer for the moment. Can you hear anything downstairs?”

Geralt listens but doesn't find her voice, just a whole lot of stomping and music. He shakes his head. “Only music, no voice.”

Jaskier gives Geralt a piercing look. “Oohh, music now, huh? You see, this is what I've been talking about! Seriously, Geralt, she has you wrapped around her finger like a kitten still needing its mother, like you and your sword and Roach. We've known each other since forever , never once you said the word ‘music’ to me when I played! What you always said was ‘loud noises’, ‘like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling’. Oh, no. Don't you dare tell me to shush it! I am talking, Geralt of Rivia!”

Geralt sighs as he throws one of his clean clothes back on, wordlessly he turns and faces Jaskier, waiting for him to carry on. 

“I've been on The Path, with you, long enough to know that my songs, especially the ones personally about you, are my best creations, and the Continent do agree with me. I know what sells, when it sells and how it sells. I've been doing this even before I——”

A sudden loud crash interrupted Jaskier's speech. Geralt turns his head, brows furrowed with confusion and then something sparked in those golden eyes of his. “Shit.” He grabs his swords and heads for the door. But not before he says: “I was sleep deprived, Jaskier. Some of them weren't…they are nice.” And then ran out, leaving Jaskier in bewildered awe.

“Fuck. Why does everything have to happen in one day?” Jaskier rubs his eyes with his palm and follows Geralt out of the room within moments.

“Melitele! What the hell happened?” Jaskier gasped dramatically at the mess downstairs. Half of the stools were thrown over, a few tables seemed to be pushed away from their original place, broken cups on the floor, and a few broken plates, basically it looked as if there was a bar fight that happened down here. 

“Master Witcher!” The owner lady called from behind the bar with a plate full of broken wooden cups. “Your wife, she went outside to fight a guy, a very rude guy I have to add. And Sir Jaskier, she left your lute with me. She said something about putting magic on it to enhance its, uh, endurance? Something between the lines. I can't remem——”her sentences were cut short as Geralt walked away and out from the front door. 

Jaskier looks down at his lute, his beautiful elven-made lute, and then smiles at Ingrid and quickly follows behind Geralt. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier grabs Geralt by his arm and worry written all over his face. “Not that I'm worried, about her, but,” he looks down at the floor, “there's blood.”

“Not hers.”

“Oh, good. I mean, not good, but——”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” He releases his hold and follows Geralt, just a few steps behind him, holding onto his lute for dear life. 

“What are you!?”

“The monster that's going to pull out your teeth kind!”

“So you truly aren't human.” A near-bald brunette has his silver sword in front of him, defending him from another set of beautiful and glowing daggers. “Where's your magic, witch , dried out?”

“I don't need to waste magic on a piece of shit like you.”

Echo pulls away one dagger and swiftly swings it up, trying to aim for the brunette's neck. 

Clank. 

“I thought I smelled you, wolf.” The brunette smirked. “Now, let's——The shit are you doing?!” He exclaimed as the extra sword smacked him away from the woman. 

“Lambert, she's not a monster.”

“His wife!” Jaskier came beside Echo and exclaimed. “She's pregnant.”

Silence. 

Lambert: “What. The. Fuck? Excuse me while I dig my ears out and clean them. What now?” He points his sword to Echo, “Your wife? Pregnant? I think I'm going to kill both of you.” He sets into the posture of using witcher signs and his sword.

Geralt sighs. “Jaskier, would you shut up? Stop going around and telling everyone that she's my…wife. She's not. She's just——”

“Geralt made a wish upon a Djinn. It bounded them two. Somehow.” Jaskier cut in and spilled everything that's important. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt growled at Jaskier. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Well, were you ever going to finish talking to your brother, which by the way, I've never met, yet. Were you planning to let me meet them someday? Never mind that. Anyways. I've heard many, many stories about the secret keep. I always wondered, is there a hot spring at the keep? You know with most, or some, mountains up high enough, they tend to have natural hot springs. They might have weird smells of sulphur but they are warm and beautiful. I've had a luxurious time once with a natural hot spring years ago and let me tell you how——”

Geralt grunts, “Jaskier.”

“Your bard talks too much. Does he ever shut it?”

“He's not my bard.”

“Yeah, sure. He writes songs about you, follows you around, and coo's you so much that you won't shut it during winter. Yeah, sure he's not your bard.” Lambert eyes Echo who's now dagger-free. “So, Geralt's - ugh, whatever you are to him.”

Echo: “I'm only looking for safety. And apparently nowhere's safe enough on this land.”

Jaskier holds onto Echo's arm, “How about let's get back inside, hmm? Winter is drawing near, the wind is doing things to my cheeks and my clothing is definitely not doing what it should. Plus, my scary witch, you are also pregnant, so why don't we get you comfortable and warm?” He gives a look to Geralt and eyes him to talk the other one to sheath the sword. 

“Lambert, sword, away.”

“Ugh. If you die, I'm going to leave you here for her to necromance you into her meat-puppet.” Lambert sheathed his sword and pushed Geralt out of his way while saying: “Fill me in with ale, won't you?”

The four of them walk back to the tavern, with Jaskier and Echo walking in the front. The moment Echo walks back in, the first thing she does is dig in her belt pouch and then walk towards Ingrid. “I'm sorry about the broken things.” She lays a pack of gold coins on the bar. “I'm not sure if gold coins are——”

Ingrid quickly shakes her head, “This is too much, missus.”

“Too much?” Echo looks at all the broken things. “But there's so many things broken. I can't not do anything.”

Behind, Geralt shoves Lambert forward. “I will not pay for you. Clean it up. I know you started it.”

Lambert gave Geralt a nasty glare, grunting, he threw a small bag onto the bar counter. “My payment. For the night too.”

Ingrid took the bag with no complaint, but she's still not accepting Echo's money. 

“How about this,” Jaskier halves the coins, “Half as payment and the other half for tomorrow morning's meal? A very nice meal for her, me and Geralt.”

Ingrid finally takes the coins but not before third-ing it down. She takes two-thirds of what's given and hands the rest back. “You're too honest, missus. You have a good heart, but not everyone will appreciate that in these lands. Why don't you sit down with Sir Jaskier? I'll bring supper down for you.”

“So she calls her missus .” Lambert jabs Geralt by his waist, which in return, he gets shoved by the ribcage and starts choking on air. Coughing, Lambert throws a dirty finger at Geralt. “Just because, ough , you suck at not playing the hero, doesn't, ough , mean you get to complain and throw a tantrum like a child. Ou-gh-gh! ” He soothes his throat and tries to stop the cough, the cough stops after a while. “So you tried kicking your lost puppy for years, now you add a witch into your little human baggage. What's next? Oh, I know, a child. And apparently already is on its merry way.”

Geralt grunts heavily at Lambert's words. Melitele knows there already is a child, all the way in Cintra. He's been running ever since. Well, fuck Destiny and Fate. Up their arses. Shove it right up. But even so, the thing(s) the Djinn did and whatever his mind had landed on, the bond made between him and Echo, maybe even to the unborn child - who knows - is something he truly can't shake off. The last time he felt something familiar was when Jaskier, the idiot of a bard, nearly died because his curiosity got the better of him by following then freezing in the midway of a hunt for a Basilisk. The fear of thinking Jaskier might die, the strangeness of thinking the road will be himself, again, it made him realise that he doesn't want him away anymore. With all these years shoving Jaskier around, maybe even using the bard as bait once or twice in the beginning, in the end, he'll have to admit that Jaskier is a friend and he doesn't want him dead or hurt. He knows the bard is human, but he'd rather see him gone from a long, happy, aged life, rather than a short and agonising and alone death. The Djinn gave him something within his feelings, wanting near the same thing for Echo just like he does for Jaskier: To know they're safe when he's not around. To know they're protected. To know that he can protect them from any kind of harm. To know that they'll live a long and happy life, even if he dies midway. 

His eyes turn to Jaskier, who now sits by the small stage again, with Echo at the front seat, cheering and bobbing her head with the tunes and words made by Jaskier. They seem happy. He still doesn't understand what happened between the two, the sudden friendship that was made right under his nose. Perhaps it was between one of his side hunts from just a few days ago? From the pack of wolves that kept waking him up during the night. The wolves stayed far, but not far enough for his hearings and it gets very annoying when he tries to sleep. So he woke the other two up and then went to kill the wolves, also skinned them down and took everything that could be used off of their corpses. Jaskier was very annoyed at him for waking him up from a long day, Echo just stared at him when he said his reason and rolled her eyes. And when he got back, blood-soaked, Jaskier was leaning his head against her shoulder, while her head leaned on top of his. Jaskier asleep, she was staring out into the darkness with the surrounding tasting of sweet bitterness, her mind to be somewhere else. 

“You know, Geralt, you could take her up there. ” Geralt grunts at Lambert for even suggesting such thing. Lambert gave a small twitch to his cut lip, which pulled a muscle from his swollen cheek. “Fuck. You sure she's a sorceress?”

“A bard, too. So she says.”

“A- you're fucking with me.”

“No.”

“So what? You're a bard hoarder now? Is that it? No wonder why when I said her lute sucks she got all pissy.” 

“…That's Jaskier's lute.”

“Oh. Ooh . Oooh.” Lambert gulps half a tank of ale and makes a disgusted face. “This taste…yuck. Can't wait for winter to come. So your wife and your bard, that's a thing now. Well, shame on you. After all these years of talking about your bard, I thought you've done shit. But instead, you've done shit . No wonder those two stick together. Because you're a shit husband and friend.”

“Like you have any of the two.” Geralt removes his eyes away from the two, again, giggling ones and drowns himself in ale. Lambert is right, it does taste like piss. Why didn't it taste like this before? 

Lambert snorts at Geralt's frown on his face. “You'd be surprised. I'm actually on my way to meet one. Friend, friend that is.” Lambert gives the two giggling ones a look and then pats Geralt on his back before getting up to end the day. “Shame on you, Geralt of Rivia. Do you need to share a bed? Well, get one for yourself then, wolf. I'll be leaving early in the morning, tell the witch to go to hell for me won't you?”

Just as Lambert starts to climb the stairs, he trips and falls face-flat on the stairs. Owning himself more scars and wounds for the night. “Fucking shit piece of the witch!”

Geralt turns his eyes towards the smirking witch. Ethereal blue eyes sparking with mischief and a glint of purple for it is the colour of her magic - so he had learned. He sighs and shakes his head, but does nothing about the situation. He will admit that it is indeed fun to watch Lambert hitting a tough rock once in a while.

Chapter Text

Middle of the night, Echo wakes up from something howling outside, somewhere not so far from the tavern, sounds quite close and then she hears footsteps and two voices speaking to someone from downstairs in a very hushed voice. 

“...wolves?”

“…they sound too high pitched for…wraiths…or it could be…”

It's Geralt and Lambert, not exactly a surprise. 

She looks at Jaskier who's sleeping soundly next to her, hugging the extra piece of pillow like he clings to his lute. It reminds her of the days back in Faerun, when the team was still together, working as one, aiming for the same thing: To destroy the Elder Brain and to be tadpole-free. But the ending was never what she had wanted or wished for. Out of everyone, the only person who got the best ending was Shadowheart, united with her parents, starting a small farm just outside Baldur's Gate, making a new life and friend, the best out of everyone, including hers. 

“ Somno, ” Echo whispers to Jaskier, seeing the bard getting even more relaxed than before, she knows the sleeping spell worked. She throws on something warm, grabs the dark red cloak and steps outside the room, closing the door lightly, trying not to wake up more people. 

“Missus,” Ingrid the tavern owner is also up, not a surprise either. 

“Which way did they go?”

“Missus, I'd rather not——”

“Which way?.”

Ingrid knows she cannot persuade her. “They went separate ways. Your husband went by the lakes, the rude one went to investigate the nearby forest.”

The moment Echo stepped outside was the moment she realised how heavy the wind was getting. Gotta give it to Ingrid, her tavern really does keep the noise from outside down, but something still gets in. Which is weird, but she herself is sensitive to weirdness and magic and everything that's not normal . 

Echo holds out her hand and a ball of bright light covers around it, turning her hand into a magical light source, and giving her more access to her surroundings, even though her elf and dragon blood already do their jobs, but more is always better. The further she walks the darker it gets, she isn't even sure if this is the way to the river, as she remembered when coming into the area, she did spot the river further to the left of the village, which meant she should be going right when leaving and she is, but the wind is rough and there's dust and leaves and it's making a poor sight to see, no matter the distance of view. And it's quiet, too quiet. Either than the wind howling, there's nothing. 

And then suddenly-

Lambert's sword met with Echo's dagger with a loud clunk and pushed them both a few feet backwards. “Fucking witch.”

“I thought you witchers have mutated senses, didn't hear me coming around? Or do you want to kill me?” Echo doesn't lay her dagger down. 

Lambert exasperates. “My senses right now are blown open because I fucking ran into a fucking Bruxa who kept hiding in the dark! And then this mist. Now shut it, you're hurting my ears. Where's pretty boy?”

And Echo knows he doesn't mean Jaskier. “Haven't seen Geralt. The tavern owner said he left for the river banks. Can you feel which way is the river?”

“Don't die. I don't need a feral bard singing about me killing his friend.”

Echo follows Lambert, while being cautious of the surroundings, also keeping an eye out on Lambert, who's having these black veiny eyes and keeps swearing underneath his voice. It's some sort of potion, she can smell it and it's very strong and definitely not made for anything other than Witchers.  It's an interesting knowledge to keep within and remember, she doesn't know how long she'll be able to stay in this place, hopefully forever, because she doesn't want to go back. She misses Faerun, misses her friends, but it isn't a place for her anymore, it doesn't feel safe for her anymore, not when——

Grrr. The growl came from Lambert. “Keep your head to yourself. You stink from emotions. Distracting.”

“Righ——Geralt.” Just as she replies to Lambert, she spots the outline of Geralt's white hair. He seems to be knocked out cold and there are - whatever those monsters are, some kind of wet, decaying and dripping with water corpses - trying to surround him. There are so many of them. 

Without even discussing or acknowledging what to do, Lambert goes for the drowners while Echo goes for Geralt. 

“Hey, Geralt?” Echo pats his cheeks to test for consciousness. Nothing. She sighs and reaches to touch Geralt's forehead. 

A flash of light turquoise, Geralt's eyes opened and gasping for air. 

“Welcome back, big guy.” She smiles at him. “You owe me a new cloak and a pair of nice boots. And I think the owner of the tavern is very suspicious, by the way. Probably a hag. Or maybe just another psycho witch. Or both.”

“Jaskier.”

“No worries. Unless they're as powerful as Yen, they won't be able to break through the spell, which is not a lot of people. Come on, get up, your brother's going to need help.”

“No, I don't,” Lambert yells from somewhere. “Fuck. Fuck my fucking ears.”

Echo: “He drank something. It makes his eyes black and he says his senses are sensitive.”

“Hmm. The Cat potion and——” Geralt's words got interrupted by a drowner screeching behind him and Echo. “Is your dagger sil——” Just as he turned and was willing to cut off the drowner's head, a red magical missile flew past him and went right through the drowner's head, the head exploded in half, same happened to another three drowners. 

Echo grinned at him proudly. “Magic. Much quicker.”

“Would you two stop flirting and fucking kill them?” Lambert kicks Geralt on his boot and takes another swing at a drowner nearby, the slim from his sword got swang onto Echo's cloak and it stank to the hells, making her gag for the first time ever since her pregnancy started. 

“Ugh. This payback or something?” Echo leans against one of the trees, she waves to Geralt and says: “Go do your thing, I'll be fine. Yell if you need help. Your brother's better off without his ears.”

She watches the two witchers work in synch, something familiar to her, it reminds her of the days fighting side by side with the little group of hers, it reminded her of…Gods. This just won't stop, would it? All those memories, none of which don't include him. The best or the worst. “Gods damn you,” she mumbles as she lifts her head up towards the dark sky. “God damn you.” 

“You said something about the tavern owner?” Lambert and Geralt walk towards Echo, both covered in goo and blood, smelling of years-old sewage. “I didn't detect anything. Wolf?” The black veins start to fade from Lambert's eyes. 

Geralt shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Not everything needs to be magic. No illusion is the illusion. Sometimes hiding in plain sight is much easier for most.” Echo pinches her nose and swings a cleaning spell and a healing spell at the two witchers. “Much better.”

Lambert: “So you're a healer?”

“No. I just…learned from the best. The best of the best.” Echo sighed the words out. “Let's head back. She owes us an explanation. And then you two can decide to kill or not.”

“Where the shit did you find this witch?” Lambert asks Geralt.

“In a tower.”

“What now?”

Geralt doesn't reply. He makes his way towards the tavern which somehow had been fogged in by the sudden appearance of the weird coloured smoke. It's not the usual grey colour, instead, it takes the colour of a greenish tint with a mixture of dirty blue, it reminds Geralt of Jaskier's ugly painting he did when he was drunk. 

“Geralt! My beautifully-strong witcher!” Jaskier pulled him into their room in a tavern and shoved him before an aisle. He points at the terrible painting and smiles, “Look at my majestic painting of the Northern coast. The beautiful ocean with a glimpse of mountain peaks and the forest just a few feet away. How beautiful.”

Geralt blinks and says nothing about the painting or of how drunk Jaskier is. The painting, if you could call it that, is nothing but splashes of paint over splashes of colour, it looks as if Jaskier decided to throw colour around just to irritate Geralt's eyes - which he most always does when he wears the colourful doublets of his. Geralt pats Jaskier on his shoulder and moves away from him and the ugly thing that he calls beautiful , the last thing he needs is a drunken bard throwing a tantrum like a prat and then yelling at him the next day for not stepping in to stop himself being the fool and clown. 

The next day when Jaskier sees what he did with what little paint he had, he sobbed and pointed his finger at Geralt (obviously), for not letting him go to the hunt. 

“If I had been with you, I would've never used all my paint and never gotten drunk. You owe me paint, Geralt.”

Fucking bard and his fucking audacity to always blame him.  

“So, where to next?” Echo asks the two witchers behind her. 

“You can't blow it away, witch?” Lambert snorts. 

“Too thick. Won't do any good. And hell knows what will happen if I cast magic within the fog.” 

Echo doesn't want to take the chance. This world's magic isn't too different from Faerun's, but the way of magic is different. There is no weave to grab magic from, it seems, to Echo, the magic here is physically learned and taught, harnessed, but these people still need to have The Spark in them to actually control what is learned over the years. And since most mages cannot produce children of their own, you cannot be born into it - unless maybe druids or other things that hold magic already in their nature. Or like Witchers, due to mutation, they can touch into Chaos but just enough for what is needed. But her's, Echo's magic is born into her blood and bone. The pure elven magic gives her the ability to see in the dark, light steps when walking, enough dexterity that with practice she can be the deadliest being in the shadows. And then the dragon blood that burns in her veins, literally, her blood is hot to most people's touch and apparently can even be enhanced into a bomb (never do that again. Note to self) . Red Draconic ancestry, enhanced in fire magic - which, apparently, is dangerous magic in this place. According to Yennefer, fire magic is magic people try to avoid because it is too unpredictable and no one has ever been able to control it. 

“Echo, don't use your magic, at the very least avoid fire magic. You don't belong here, your magic is unique and only to you and the unborn child. We need to draw magic into us, some even need to draw energy from nature. But you, you are magic, it flows within you, it reproduces and there isn't an end. The only time your magic ends is because a mortal body can only handle so much focus and usage, not because your magic is drained.” Yennefer sighs at Echo and then gives her a warm smile, something she's not known for. “My intention might be your child in the beginning, but you gave me something else to study on, and gave me a very educational insight to a lot of things. You're a fighter, a warrior, I know I cannot keep you here long, but let me know if you're deciding to leave. Take whatever you need. Though I know you're not short on gold. Tell me, what else have you stored away in that magical chest of yours?”

Maybe she should be glad that not so long ago, she had the chance to touch the Weave and somehow absorb a very, very small amount into her body when she opened up the portal to another world - to here. Something changed that moment, for better or worse she can't tell. It's just a feeling, a nudge in her, it's just knowing . She knows it's the Weave because she knows the feeling of it, all thanks to Gale showing off in those days.

“When I said to leave on your liking, I didn't mean for you to hang around Witchers and put yourself in danger.” The stern and familiar voice made Echo's face lit up. 

“Yenna!”

“ Yenna yourself.”

The fog diluted and then disappeared. They were not far from the tavern, just a few feet away. In front of the tavern stood a woman dressed in black, eyes of lilac, hair black as raven. She's beautiful, very beautiful. 

“From everyone and everything, you had to choose Geralt of Rivia.” Yennefer disagrees with Echo's choice of company. “And with that bard in your room. Echo, you're pregnant and that is a bard.”

“But I was also a bard.”

“Was. Not anymore. Right now you're a walking-talking lady in need of safety to wait for the little one to come. Where do you think you're going to go with Witchers and a bard that slept half of the Continent.”

“Actually, I'm quite picky with whom I bed with,” Jaskier whispers from the gap of the tavern door behind Yennefer.

“Bard, shut it, before I transform you into a toad.”

“Yes, apologies, my lady.” Jaskier makes a funny face to Echo and then dashes out and hides behind Geralt. “Geralt, this one's even more scarier.”

Chapter Text

Ingrid sat behind the bar and sheepishly smiled at Echo and the rest of the group. “I only wanted m'boy to heal, to get better. Months ago a mage gave me the ritual, saying it can cure Kal from himself, saying he's trapped inside his mind. He's twenty now, but still can't do nothing without tumbling or breaking something. Missus might've fixed his leg, but he'll just break another maybe a few days later.”

“It is not a curse. And he is not trapped. That mage lied.” Yennefer says coldly. “This ritual is nothing but a trap for energy, all energy, for that mage to use. Give me the scroll, I'll deal with that mage later. That magic is nothing but a problem. It sends out an energy that calls out to the living and dead, anything that has energy will be attracted to its source. Monsters, wolves, cattles, ghosts, even humans.”

“But it'll cure Kal, won't it?”

“It will. If you mean dead. Then yes. He'll be cured of everything.”

“D-dead? No, that's not- No!” Ingrid pushes away the lit crystal and sobs. 

Yennefer takes the glowing red crystal and smashes it onto the ground. A piercing screech follows as it shatters into pieces and a voice that sounds very pissed, yelling through the crystal, but not for long. The shattered pieces’ glow soon fades away and all that's left is a useless stone. 

Yennefer takes one last look at the rock and frowns in disappointment. “Not even a real crystal. Miser.” She then looks at Ingrid. “Now, the scroll.”

Without another complaint, Ingrid pulls the scroll out from one of the empty barrels behind the counter and hands it to Yennefer. Her brown eyes filled with tears, watching as her hope to cure her son turned into another pitiful wish that would never come true. 

Before she could ask or say anything, Yennefer spoke again in her cold and distant voice: “There is no cure for him. I don't have any and nor does she. A broken limb, an open wound, a missing eye, those can be fixed or to a certain extent, but a brain that was born like so? No. There is no such treatment or magic, only illusion and hope that maybe one day when you wake up everything will be normal.”

Echo watches Ingrid leave the room weeping her eyes out, the sudden oldness on her face makes Echo empathetic. “Yen, you could've been a little bit more soft on her.”

“She needed the truth, being soft is nothing but giving her cruel hope that's actually hopeless.”

“But some people need hope to survive. Freeing hope could be a life-saving choice.” Echo says quietly as she sighs at the end of her sentence. “It might not be the hope one hoped for, but it is hope. And——”

“Echo.”

Echo blinks and comes back to the real world. She rubs her face with her palm, “Right. A new beginning and blah-blah.”

Lambert eyes Geralt and twitches his brows. What the fuck was that about? 

Geralt ignores him. 

Lambert rolls his eyes. 

“So I can leave you——” Geralt was just about to be relieved from having an extra bard in his life, but the other sorceress made short on his words. 

“I do not like your choice of companion,” Yennefer doesn't like this one bit, “but I know I cannot change your mind. If this is truly what you want, then promise me that you'll never use what was promised to me. And take very good care of the little one. And you will notify me when it's near time. We do not know what will happen, especially after knowing what your child's father has become.”

“Oh, so not Geralt's child then.” Lambert snickers. “Geralt, you big-hearted wolf, taking in cubs that's not even yours.”

“Hey, would you shut it!” Jaskier pushes Lambert and even kicks him on his leg, which, surprised by everyone, actually makes Lambert groan in pain. 

Lambert hugs his leg and rubs it as he sits down by a stool, and stares at Jaskier with his death glare. “Fucking bards.”

“Lambert,” Geralt sighs at the younger witcher and shakes his head. “Just keep silent. For now.” Before he gets into Jaskier's hair and makes the bard go feral, or does something and pisses off the powerful sorceress dressed in black. 

“Ugh.” Lambert, for once, actually does what is told. Rubbing his leg and keeping quiet, just mumbling words that others, except for Geralt, can't hear. 

Echo hugs Yennefer's arm and introduces her: “This is Yennefer of Vengerberg, the owner of the tower that you two burst through. Who, too, was controlling the mayor of the town at said time.” She then whispers softly and cheekily, “The spell didn't last enough time for me to find safety, but then you two came and I had an idea. The plan is working great so far.”

Jaskier, ignoring Geralt's grunts of disapproval from being used, comes forward and questions with a soft look on him, hoping what he hears isn't what he's thinking. Out of the time spent with her, knowing what she had been through (or so she had said, who knows if that's the truth anymore), he has grown to like the witch. She's so different to all the ladies he had ever met, and he'd met a lot. “The stories you told me, your pregnancy, the other place, they're all real, right?”

Echo sighs, knowing what Jaskier truly is asking for. She smiles at Jaskier and then meets Geralt's golden ores, “The only thing I did was use magic to lure a passing human into the tower and then mind-control him to say a few things. And I apologise that I hurt your neck, Jaskier. The rest were nothing but honest truths. About me, about where I'm from, about what I went through or about my pregnancy.”

Jaskier hums and then nods his head, “I believe you. Geralt?”

Geralt doesn't answer Jaskier, he keeps his eyes on Echo, with question and doubt. She can't blame him, for all he feels for her might be the Djinn's bond on them. Just like how she feels towards him. It's strange, a very strange feeling towards the golden eye witcher. They've only met for less than a month, yet she knows she can trust him with her life. The last time she felt like this was near eight months ago when she escaped the nautiloid, found the rest of the escapees and made a small group with one mission in mind: To get rid of the parasite in their minds. But then they had a common goal to work towards, right now they don't, and yet there's trust. Is it the Djinn or just her believing her guts? 

Echo shades her illusion down, the small bulge on her stomach sitting behind her unbelted dress, and on her face, the red scales glinting under the light every time she moves. 

“What in the actual fuck are you?” Lambert gasped. 

“May I?” Echo holds out a hand to Geralt, offering him to touch her little bulge. “You can feel magic, you can then sense the little one in here.”

Geralt doesn't take her offer, instead, he just keeps quiet and focuses on one sound, one small, tiny, very very light sound. And there it is. Thankfully the room is already very quiet, all he needs to do is focus, but the sound is still very light though also pounds very quickly. One small thought, one small sound from elsewhere can easily interrupt him and lose focus. “It's there. Growing. The heartbeat is very small.”

Yennefer frowns and gets hold of Echo's wrist, “You soon won't be able to do too much walking. I'll give you less than three months, you'll realise you cannot keep up at the usual pace you were used to.” She turns to Geralt and Jaskier, not caring about the other witcher in the room. “You two got any plans of where you're going to fulfil your agreement?”

Jaskier opens his mouth wanting to say something but decides to close his mouth before he pisses off anyone that might kill him, he is only human after all. Between two witchers, one scary sorceress and another magical elf sorceress, he feels a little out of place. He looks at Yennefer, the truly beautiful sorceress, especially when compared to Echo who was more on the cuter side of looks, not that she's not beautiful, hells, she could be one of the prettiest Jaskier seen in his time on the road, but Yennefer is just more…well, mature. Echo did say that in elf nature she is still very young. How the fuck is eighty or ninety young? The shit? How long do elves from her place live? He should ask her that someday. 

Wait. Is she older than Geralt then?

Jaskier gasped at the thought and nearly stumbled over as he sat down on the nearest stool. 

Geralt turned his head, “Jaskier?” His eyes roam, looking for any injuries on the bard. 

“No, I'm fine. Well, partially fine. But I'm okay. Not hurt.” Maybe his brain hurts, but that's not news, his brain hurts every day with Geralt, it has become something natural to him. 

“Bring her up to the mountain,” Lambert suddenly said. “I don't like the idea of having her there, but,” he glances at Geralt, “he seems to not be able to get away from her. There's something here and I'm sure of it. Geralt doesn't fall for mortals, except for his bard, who he's been with for a very long time, yet still does nothing. So in comparison, she, definitely is something. ”

Jaskier: “Huh?” His eyes wander to Geralt, who is looking down on his hands, avoiding Jaskier. “Geralt? What is he——”

“The safest place,” Lambert cut in, “But it depends on pretty boy here. I'm leaving the moment the sun rises, so don't count me in this little group. See you at the Keep, wolf.” He ups and leaves the group, walking back upstairs for the small sleep he'll be getting. 

“What's this keep?” This is the second time Echo heard the name.

Geralt: “Witchers’ Keep. Was a school, now mostly used for witchers to gather at a safe place for winter.”

“Witchers have school?” Echo wowed by the thought and knowledge. Though she senses there's more to that. 

In the short days being on the road, she realised that not everyone welcomes Geralt, for what he is, a Witcher. People called him names, called him a mutant, a disease and sometimes even tried to keep the money he was promised. She never asked about it, knew it was something that he didn't want to mention, also there's the trust issue, she won't blame him for that. It took her near a month to actually get more truth out of her little group back then. 

Those few times when people started to point fingers and spat at Geralt's shoes, Jaskier actually went feral, even wrote a few songs threatening the tavern owner and other few humans, which, somehow, actually works most of the time. 

“Master of Seven Liberal Arts, dear.” Jaskier brags and puffs out his chest in pride. “And I'm the well-known bard in the whole continent. When I sing, people listen, how do you think Geralt has survived to this day without being harpooned to death?”

“By running faster than you.” Echo joked. And it owned a small chuckle out of Geralt but offended Jaskier. 

“Rude. The both of you.”

“If she's going there,” Yennefer holds out a dark-coloured crystal to Geralt, “When time comes, you will call me. A Keep full of Witchers, just because she chose this, doesn't mean I like it. If she's not, leave the stone with her. Don't you dare try to keep it. And you, bard,” she glares at Jaskier, “Keep your pants away from her.”

“ Yenna. ” Echo sighs. 

“No,” Yennefer replies coldly. 

“But——”

“No.”

“Like if you'll be able to know.”

“Because you're not over him. That I know.”

To that, Echo bites down on her lip and turns away from Yennefer. But soon turns around and says: “Just because I still love him doesn't mean I can't love someone else! If I hadn't chosen to leave Faerun, I might've fallen for someone else anyway.”

Yennefer smirked at the childish display from Echo. “You won't because everything there reminded you of him. You said it yourself. I don't care who you fall in bed with, but for the sake of your child, don't. You are pregnant.”

Jaskier and Geralt sit there awkwardly, gazing at the two sorceresses bickering. It's fun, in a way. Not every day you get to see two magical, beautiful, personals bicker without magic involved. Jaskier would say harmless, but knowing Echo and how she handles her magic-coated daggers, maybe less than harmless but not that dangerous. At least not deadly. Yet. But what interests Jaskier is the person Echo is in love with, or was, or is but she's trying to forget. Yennefer seems to know the full story and Geralt isn't as surprised, which: “Dear witcher of mine, do you know of whom the bastard is, the one who broke our witch's heart? Because it looks as if you know.”

Geralt shifts in his seat and nods. “She didn't say much, but, uh, according to what she said, she…um…” Was he supposed to say a person or a god? 

“I was in love with a human, who had his head up his ass, thinking that taking up on godhood would make everything better.” Echo filled in the important information. “He was the cleverest and most intelligent man I've known, but he also had an ass of self-esteem, grown too into his ambition and hoping to get revenge on his ex, who is the goddess of magic. And me, caught in between the bickering, thinking he loved me more than the power he had literally consumed. Fucking promised me to leave the power, but no, he changed his mind when he saw the very chance to gain the power all to himself. And he did, he became a god, of ambition.” She grinded her teeth, with hate and sorrow. “He left me by the dockside, left me when I was just about to tell him that I'm pregnant! And guess what, just before I found a way to leave Faerun, he decided to pick me as his Chosen!”

“Chosen?” Jaskier asks dumbly. 

“Like a professor choosing his favourite student to stand for him on his days away on campus, taking care of things when he's not in or too busy with something else. Plus giving said student great power and doing his bidding in his place.”

“So you're,” Jaskier searches for words, “a half-god or something?”

“No. I turned him down by throwing a fist in his face. And kicked him out of what was his wizard tower. Then I came here.”

“Hold on. You smacked a god?” Jaskier, astonished, laughed. “I'm going to make a good song out of that. Can I? Make a song from your story?”

Echo nods. “Why not? Make sure to put in he got his balls kicked too.”

Yennefer pinches between her eyes, sighing at Echo with frustration and helplessness. “Echo of Waterdeep, get yourself together and stop acting like a child. The man isn't worth all your emotions. No matter him being a god or a bastard. Grow up for your child, child. ”

“I'm not a child! I might as well be the same age as you, or even older!”

“Then stop acting like a child.” Yennefer folds her arms, looking at Echo firmly as if a mother scolding her child for disobeying her rules from meeting the farmer-boy across the field. “Has none of your wars and battles taught you anything useful? Just because you left, doesn't mean you're in a place full of rainbows and sweets. Monsters loom at every corner, humans loathe magic as they loathe their own kind and yet they need it, mages have war within their circle, and you above all mentioned, are to be kept most secretly because you're not from here. So, grow up. Take on responsibility like how you took on the weight of your world, stop trying to be something you're not. Stop covering your wounds, stop faking your smiles, stop thinking that you're unfit to be a mother.”

The last few words punched something within Echo, she bit down on her lip and then turned away on her hills. 

Yennefer sighs at the view of Echo leaving the room. “Kids these days.” And then leaves to follow Echo into her room, leaving Jaskier and Geralt dumbfounded. 

The two sat there in silence and then Jaskier suddenly gave out a gasp. “Where am I supposed to sleep now? Geralt, do you think you and your brother are willing to share your room for an extra?”

It took Geralt a while to answer. “He snores. I got my own room later the day.”

“Oh, good.” Jaskier sighs, relieved. 

“I have a question, Geralt.” Later when Jaskier is lying in the same bed, with Geralt half an arm's length next to him, he silently asks. 

“Hmm.” Geralt grunts half asleep.

“What was it that Lambert was talking about earlier on? Did you tell your family about me over winter?”

“You're loud enough for the whole continent to hear. No need for me to tell when the fucking Toss Your Coin song is everywhere. Now sleep.” Geralt turns to his side, facing away from Jaskier. 

“Rude,” Jaskier poked his finger onto Geralt's shoulder, which got smacked away from the witcher, irritatingly, like shooing away a fly. “I made you famous on that song, even gave your reputation a cleanse, and I made a name and fortune. I, Jaskier the Bard, the saviour of the White Wolf, the——”

“The nuisance trying his luck from not being choked to death on my bare hands. Shut up, Jaskier, before I throw you out.”

Jaskier pouts and makes an annoying sound that sounds like a child moaning for attention. But then he stills. “Fine. I'll go ask your brother in the morning.”

Geralt doesn't reply. He knows Jaskier too well to know that he isn't a morning person, every time waking him up is like dragging Lambert away from ale and white gull during the coldest days in winter, there were days that Geralt had to pull Jaskier away from bed and shove a cold cloth in his face to wake him up. Plus, Lambert won't stick around long, especially when he has someone else to meet, which is interesting. 

He wasn't wrong about Lambert not sticking around long, but he didn't expect to see him still here when the next day came and he and Jaskier made their way down for breakfast.

Lambert sat in front of Echo, who seemed a little less energetic than last night. The two were talking something about dragons and ghosts and something else. 

“…so silver for anything that's not human?…will magic missiles work on ghosts?...oh, the ones I used last night…”

“…what do you mean you rode a fucking dragon?...you’re shitting me, a brain?...if it works, it works…where in the hells did Geralt even dig you out from?...hold up, what the actual fuck do you mean been there? ...”

“Oh, morning, wolf. Good, you're awake. The fucking witch made me babysit your wife before she left through a portal. Finally, I can leave.” Lambert stood up, picked up his bag next to his feet, strapped his sword across his back and then pats Geralt on his shoulder. “I'd suggest you bring her. There's something else about her, not just magic. Something strange,” he says in a quiet voice only for them two to hear. “Plus she's whatever, however, bound to you through a djinn. And she's not human. What the fuck is she?”

“She's an elf sorceress.”

“With scales? Geralt, I wasn't hallucinating last night, I know what I saw on her face. Golden-red scales.” Lambert eyes Echo, who is now currently chatting with Jaskier, four seats away from where he and Geralt stood. “Did some elf decide to fuck a dragon then? Or the other way around.”

“She says her father was an elf bard.”

“You really do attract weird things in your life. First, the chatty bard who praises everything you do in songs follows you around wherever you go. Then you get a what? An elf-dragon? Dracon-elf? wife who is pregnant with a child. Seriously, Geralt, are you a magnet for monsters and shit? I thought Eskel is more of the monster type.”

Lambert doesn't wait for Geralt's reply, he gives his shoulder a punch and then says: “Time to leave now. I'll see you soon in the Keep, wolf.”

“One moment, sheep . Got something for you here, a token of…well, a meeting gift. Here.” Echo stops Lambert midway from the tavern door and hands him a scroll of a standard healing spell. “It's a healing spell. Can mend things from a shallow wound to a broken bone. It can mend some deeper wounds, but it cannot fully heal them.”

“And you're not a healer.” Lambert doesn't turn down the gift. “Well then, if you ever do turn up in the mountains, I'll make sure you sleep in Geralt's room.”

Geralt grunts with disapproval and smacks the back of the younger witcher's head.

“The manual of how to use is all written on the scroll. Safe trip.”

Lambert waves at the rest of the three people and leaves the tavern without another word. 

Echo watches how Geralt's facial expression turns from soft, to stern, and then to a sight of worry. She doesn't know much about this world still, so many unknowns and dangers, she would love to explore and walk this excitingly dangerous path, but just like Yennefer had stated to her last night, it isn't just her anymore. Her priority had changed the moment she had decided to keep the little one within, the tiny babe inside is what she needs to take care of. Let everything else be damned. 

“He'll be fine, Geralt. If he's anything you said he is, he'll survive even longer than you,” Jaskier says as he rubs his eyes sleepily, half leaning onto Geralt's shoulder, still waking up from the warm bed he was just in. It's a wonder that he didn't drown in his porridge or choke to death. “At least now I know not all witchers are as constipated as you are. They talk , my dear, you grunt and growl on most days, better days you'd groan and mumble out four or five full sentences at most. Between your hm and hmm and hmmm s, I have to fill in the blank spaces for you. That is until you went and bound yourself to the pregnant witch here. Never had I known you could talk so much in a day, it's as if— Witcher, I'm not finished complaining, you listen to me you white-headed brooding brute of a man…”

It's an adorable sight for Echo. Decade old friends bickering. She could've had that if she hadn't decided to leave Faerun behind. She can picture herself sitting under the moonlight, by a campfire, bickering and teasing with Shadowheart and Astarion, while Lae'zel sits nearby with Karlach and Wyll going for a drinking contest, and then there's Jaheira and Halsin telling smaller kids about their adventures. She can even picture Minsc and Boo chit-chatting with the grown owlbear cub and Scratch. 

Maybe, if he hadn't chosen that path, he would be there too. Still the best cook in camp, but this time he can bring all the sauces he wishes and cook whatever he has in mind. 

It's the perfect picture, with everyone alive and well. But no, that will never happen. He left for his ambition, Lae'zel is in another realm fighting another war, Karlach and Wyll are in Avernus and cannot leave, Astarion is too busy to keep seven thousand spawns in line in the Underdark, Jaheira and Minsc are still guarding Baldur's Gate from whatever evil there is in the world, Halsin has gone back to Moonrise to become something he has newly found within, Shadowheart still living through pain but reunited with her family. And then there's herself, who left Faerun and her own family behind, just to run away like a coward. 

She sighs heavily on her choice. It is her choice and she needs to face the consequences. At least the people she met weren't horrible. 

“Where to next, gentlemen?”

“We'll follow along the river. If we're quick enough, we'll be at Oxenfurt within less than a month. We'll need to restock there and then at the foot of the mountain. Winter is drawing near each day.” Geralt answers Echo's question as he tries to push the clingy bard away from his arm. “Jaskier, enough. I'll leave you in here if I have to.”

“Like you won't leave me behind anyway!” Jaskier spat. “Yes, leave the bard behind, what good will he do on the road? No, Jaskier. Stop, Jaskier. Shut it, bard. I'll feed you to the drowners. Oh, the poor bard, what will he do next? I know, stay in Oxenfurt and teach the winter away and then find out from someone else that the White Wolf has appeared five towns away, late into the spring season. I had to always chase after you! Three years in a row, Geralt, you left me in Oxenfurt! We haven't seen each other for near a whole year, the first thing I get from you is a fucking djinn and a curse that nearly killed me.”

People have started to show up in the tavern, the early sun has fully risen and most families have started their farming work or taking their breakfast. As humans being humans, eavesdropping is what they love to do. 

Geralt frowns at Jaskier's fit, trying his best not to scold the bard in front of humans. “Jaskier, what did you eat?” But Jaskier ignored Geralt's question, he turned away and walked out of the tavern. 

“Damn it, Jaskier.” Geralt exasperates. “Pack, we're leaving.”

“Got everything already.” Echo had guessed that he'd leave soon. On the road, she realised that he doesn't stay in one place longer than he needs to. So she made sure her things were always bundled together when travelling, making it easier for her to pack. 

The moment they stepped outside, Jaskier quickly came before Geralt, face all twisted and mangled into something of regret and sorrow. Blue eyes shining from pain and hurt. His lips pursed into a thin line, hand reaching out to Geralt, but then suddenly halts mid-air. 

“Oh, gods. Oh Gods. I am so sorry, Geralt. I don't know what became of me. Those words were not for you.” Jaskier rubs his eyes and whimpers softly. “I am so terribly sorry, Geralt. I don't know what happened. Things just got so suffocating at a moment and then I got so pissed off, like Valdo Marx pissed off type, and you know how much I hate that rat bastard, and I threw my words at you. And, yes, we haven't seen each other for so long and you're going to leave so soon and I have to wait for you again in Oxenfurt which is not that far from Kaedwen and I try my best not to worry if you'll come and get me or I'll have to learn from someone else that you started your path and…I'm just…I didn't…I worry. I think. But I truly didn't wish to throw a fit when you're all nothing but golden-hearted and——”

“Jask,” Geralt cuts the bard from mumbling and sobbing. 

“You never call me that. Oh, gods, what have I done?” Jaskier's sobbing becomes something of Geralt's regret. For a moment he doesn't do anything but stand there and stare at the sobbing his eyes out bard, then suddenly he grabs him by the wrist and sighs, “Julian, stop it. What did you eat for breakfast?”

“Oh Melitele, you're calling my actual name. Geralt, don't leave me in the wilderness! Don't send me away!”

“For fuck sake, Jaskier! What the shit did you eat!?”

“I could magic him to calm down,” Echo suggested softly. Then adds: “Two bowls of porridge with honey, that's what he had moments ago. I'm not sure if he drank anything though.”

“No magic, not on him.” Geralt holds Jaskier's wrist in his hand. He won't allow himself to use magic to manipulate Jaskier's feelings, even if it's just to calm him down. Never in the long years had he even thought to use Axii on him, no matter how irritated he got. Dump him in some roadside tavern, sure. But never used magic on him. Never. 

Geralt takes a deep breath and tries his best to put on a soft voice. “Jaskier, I'm not leaving you behind, I just want to know what you ate in the tavern, you're not yourself, not fully. I'm not leaving, neither are you.”

“You're not?” Jaskier sniffs and wipes his nose with his sleeve and soon regrets it. 

Geralt sighs and hands him a handkerchief, Echo twitches her brows with surprise, who would've thought that Geralt would have such a delicate thing on him. 

Jaskier wipes his nose, eyes and face, and then frowns down at the dark-coloured square material, “Geralt, is this the one you wipe gore off yourself after hunting?”

Geralt: “……hm.”

“You- Metitele! Ugh!” Jaskier shoves the handkerchief back into Geralt's chest armour. “Are you trying to disgust me or something?”

“So you're fine.”

“I am fine . As always. But,” Jaskier gives out a small shallow sigh, “no, something's not fine. I felt weird after drinking that herbal tea, but then again, it is tavern herbal tea, they're always weird.”

Echo stares and then quickly jumps between Jaskier and Geralt. “Did the tea taste like weird citrus tea, but with a strong medicine aftertaste?”

“Well, yes.”

“What did you do, witch?”

“Firstly, I'm a sorceress,” Echo points a finger at Geralt. “Secondly, your bard seriously needs to stop drinking things that are just standing there without an owner! Is he that thirsty or is he cursed to touch everything that comes into his way?”

Geralt pulls Jaskier closer and gives him a careful look, up and down, and around. “I can't smell anything on him other than his pungent oils.”

“Pungent?! Do you know how hard it is to use oils around you when you have those enhanced senses? This is the most softest oil I know of, you delicate man!”

“It's not supposed to, Yen made it long ago, an excellent upgrade from what it was. I complained about the smell and she made it go away. The only way to smell it is to taste it. That tea is to control, or rather say obtain, my magic. Subtract what it was to something softer, less lethal. And it helps with the little one's growth. I have no idea of the effect on humans.” Echo says and digs through her hip pouch, a familiar red glass bottle comes into Geralt's view. “A stronger healing potion can heal most of the basic poisons. I'm not sure if you could call him poisoned, but…Here, your nose is better than mine,” she gives the healing potion to Geralt and a small tea bag, “This is the leftover crumbs of the tea bag. I usually keep them after usage, since they do smell heavenly after using them in boiling water.”

Chapter Text

“Why men throw their lives away attacking an armed Witcher…I'll never understand. Is it something about his face?” Echo sat next to Jaskier, commenting on the dead bodies that Geralt's burning by the lakeside, which was killed by Geralt not long ago. “Or perhaps just for his boots? Swords? Oh, maybe to steal Lady Roach?”

Roach neighs not far from where she's munching on a small bush of green leaves. 

Jaskier rolls his eyes at her, still panting a little from before. From the shouting, the running and trying not to get killed by the madmen that were pissed off by their dearest witch. 

“They'd be alive if you didn't try to tell them that their sister is dead because of the wraith I killed last night,” Geralt grunts through his teeth at Echo. 

The golden-bronze-haired witch shrugs her shoulders, “They'll know soon or later. Plus, she was the one who was stupid enough to think she herself could take on a wraith. It's already stupid enough of her to think it's heroes that's needed and not a professional Witcher for the job.”

Two days ago the three of them arrived at this village not far from Oxenfurt. “Another four or five days, we'll be on the outskirts of Oxenfurt,” Geralt had said. They didn't have to stop, but Jaskier was complaining about the ache in his body and the need to sing, plus Geralt had overheard a group of people talking about howling in the night and a few people going missing. Unfortunately, there wasn't a noticeboard for him to pick the job, so they went to the tavern. It wasn't a surprise that Geralt wasn't very welcomed, but they do need the monster gone. Again, Jaskier got mad with these people treating Geralt like shit, which made him produce a song and a half, singing about how dull and shitheaded a tavern owner is while cheating on his wife - with another man, who is his best friend's father-in-law. “Oh, the scandal. Who cares if it's real! If it's real enough for my audience, real it is,” Jaskier had stated last night in the tent Echo had whisked out from her hip pouch, built near an abandoned barn house. She didn't like the smell of drunks, Jaskier pissed off the owner after the song, while Geralt just didn't care one bit 

It's been near three weeks on the road to Oxenfurt, monster has become something of an amusement in Echo's daily life, especially when Geralt doesn't allow her to join the hunt with him, but he also can't keep her away, just like he can't keep Jaskier away from trouble and other shenanigans he throws. Echo doesn't try to convince Geralt otherwise, she knows it's his job and that not interrupting him is much more important to Geralt than trying to help him. Though Jaskier never really understood the meaning of safety - no surprise there. There were a few times Echo had to actually freeze him onto the log so he wouldn't follow Geralt into the dark. He pouts, he yells, he complains and whines, but it's better those than getting a physically wounded bard while also doing all of the above. 

She now has been with the two friends on the path for a while, going into two months if she counted right, and just how much they made her remember the old-days journey back in Faerun, it feels as if nostalgia has given her a critical hit in her head. All those memories spent together, nights sitting by the campfire, singing and some dancing on good days, shouting and screaming or even trying to kill each other on bad days. Bickering after a battle, about who and who stood too close, or who or who couldn't reach where and where and then just laughing at each other at how dirty they are, soon after getting into a fight about who is doing laundry later that day. Lae'zel and Karlach are always off the chore, lucky them, because one just never (even in the later stages of their adventure) could learn what fragile and brittle meant in wears, Astarion knows how many clothes he had to fix after she got herself in doing laundry. As for the latter, bathhouse water would even boil in her touch, even after her situation stabilised, they still thought better of it. Though Karlach did love to hug everyone every morning and night, Astarion secretly loved it but he'll never admit it, not even to his death (he is dead anyway). 

“Why try to save whoresons when you could just leave them to die? And not even by your hands,” Echo asks when night hits. The bodies outside are still simmering, the crackling of woods can still be heard by camp, which is the abandoned barn near the river. Jaskier is cleaning his lute and Geralt is again in charge of supper: vegetable soup and bread this time. 

“Oh, I know the answer to that!” Jaskier exclaims. “I've asked before. Many times have I tried to persuade him to leave them as snacks for the monsters. But,” Jaskier puffs up his chest, sits upright, holding his lute as a sword, then mimicking Geralt's voice tone: “I can, but I won't. They wanted cruelty, I'll give them cruelty - being saved by a Witcher.” He then sighs softly, eyes roaming towards his dear friend who had just rolled his eyes. A small smile appears on Jaskier’s lips, with a gentle voice he speaks: “He always had the golden heart in him.”

“And you have a heart of a harlot,” Geralt retorted. 

“I am a man of romance and love, how could I not when…” he stutters, “when I walk next to a much more handsome man for decades!” He ignores the eyebrow twitch Echo gives him, trying his best to calm his heartbeat. 

“You're a bard, bard. ”

“You're just racist now, Geralt!” Jaskier points his finger at Geralt. “She's also a bard, don't you forget that.”

“She's a sorceress.”

“ And a bard.” Jaskier puffs out his chest, “She is a bard and always will be. Music is immortal, it'll never get taken away just because one decides to put down a music instrument and pick up a sword or a dagger. It's there, whether or not you notice it. It's nature; it's the trees hustling in the wind, it's the river rumbling down the mountainside. It's population; the crowded market with people haggling, the noise of a noisy crying baby. It's everything. And it's everywhere. If I can make the most well-known songs from you, then anything is possible.” 

Echo: “Even to get you pregnant?”

“That is po- woman, are you listening to your own words?” Jaskier makes a flat face and rolls his eyes at Geralt's amused grunt. “That is absolutely against nature's ways.”

“So are monsters. Possibly humans too.” Echo shrugs and starts to rub her ankle. Yennefer was right, the weight of her stomach is dragging her feet, slowing her down. The glamour spell on her stomach can only do so much, lessening the weight isn't one of them. 

Jaskier sees Echo's discomfort, he first eyes Geralt, and when he gets nothing from him he clears his throat. “Geralt, how far exactly are we from the next footrest village?”

“Half a day's worth of walking. You'd know, bard, you're always around the area during winter.” Geralt glances at Echo, who stripped away the glamour, rubbing her now quite visible stomach. “It's not a long walk.”

“Good, I do want a warmer shower and less sleeping in hay. Our dear Roach might love it, but my doublet can only endure so much.” Jaskier looks down at his purple doublet, pouting at the scratches and the broken buttons, “This is expensive, Geralt. And you seriously need to…”

“Magic is…my life. I've been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it. It's like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses…” Gale smiles upon Echo, the twinkle of magic still glimmering on his fingertips. “As you said Music has been your life, magic can too, it is in you, I knew it the moment you pulled me out from the stone, I knew it the moment you conjured the Weave to your side. You described the moment as it was like music, flowing inside you. Let me teach you, Echo. Let me show you the grandness of what you can do. Music combined with magic.”

The day Gale had brought up the topic of wanting to teach Echo how to use magic came flashing into her memory. Echo sighs at the softest memory, this was before them two started a relationship, before they went to the Moonrise Tower. Before she fell truly in love with him. 

She might have run away from Faerun, might have run away from his sight, but she knows she will never be able to run away from him . What she knows, what she has been through, her memories, her knowledge, it all has him in them. There is the one thing she can never run away from: Herself. 

“Jaskier is right,” Echo suddenly spoke, distracting Jaskier's mumbling and Geralt's irritated grunt because of Jaskier, “So is Geralt. I'm a sorcerer, but I also am a bard. I was born with music in my life, but so was magic, they both are what defines me.”

Jaskier blinks. “Uhhh. O-okay. So what's this suddenly found self?”

“I didn't want to bring it up before, Yen warned me about how others, maybe everyone, might see me as something dangerous and might want to study me,” she shifts uncomfortably on the stack of old haystacks. “The reason why I kept drinking my tea every month.”

Geralt: “You said it controls your magic.”

“Well, I kind of lied on that part.” Echo rubs her nose awkwardly. “But it does do that too, but not as much as what it actually does.”

“What?” Geralt asks in a gruff voice, with a tinge of irritation. 

“Okay, truthfully this time, the last lie I told is this and then no more lies. I swear on my life,” Echo quickly states. “It suppresses my magic, lowering its volume. With the potion, I won't be able to do what I could do.”

Jaskier leaned in a little, very curiously he asked: “So what can you do?”

“You should ask her what she can't do,” Geralt remarked. “Yennefer kept on ordering her to not use her powers. Even her finds what she could do to be intimidating. So what can you not do?”

“Eavesdropping is rude, mister,” Echo said.

Geralt: “You two weren't exactly keeping it low.”

“Ugh. Super Hearings and shit,” she exhales a full lung of air and then takes a deep breath. “Alright then, ummm, I actually have no idea what I can't do. Well, first let me make clear of the one thing, I happen to know how to control fire. Like really control it. Well, I can't exactly do it now because of the potion. But still, I can light up a candle and stuff, just no fireballs or walls or throw fire around… so, yah.”

The silence lingered for a while. Geralt looks as if he swallowed shit, while Jaskier just stares at Echo with his blue eyes, amazed and all. 

Echo gave Jaskier an awkward twitch around her lip, trying her best to smile. It doesn't help. 

“So you're a…Fire Mage?” Surprise, it's Geralt who broke the silence. 

“I don't think so. Fire is the first thing I learned, I guess that's because of my red dragon blood from my mother, but I can also conjure water, ice, wind and a lot of other things. I had a great teacher way back then, who then decided ‘Gods can go and fuck themselves, I'm going to become a God too’ .” Echo shrugs half-heartedly. “He was, is , the best teacher I'd hoped for. Just within less than a month, I became something that could fight without breaking a sweat using magic. Though I did always tend to stick with daggers and knives more.”

“You're complicated,” Geralt decides to end the topic in that sentence. “Will he come for you? Can he portal himself here?” He spoons a bowl of soup and hands it to Echo with a piece of bread. 

Echo takes them, breaks the bread in half and dips it into the soup. “Hope not and maybe? I mean I'm here so I guess, yes?”

“If he decides to conquer or——”

“No,” Echo quickly exclaimed. “He might be the God of Ambition, but what he wants is, or does, is nothing but fulfil other people's desires on ambition . He fulfils ambition. Am I making any sense?”

Jaskier nods and then shakes his head. “Yeah. No. But I understand. Basically, he's a dick.”

“Well…” Echo sighs, “He wasn't before. I guess all Gods are just all jerks, part of their God-nality.”

“So can a Witcher.” Jaskier pouts at Geralt and pokes him on his back. 

“Jaskier, if you don't want food, then keep talking,” he grunts. 

“See what I mean? Meanies they are,” Jaskier retorts as he reaches out his hand for his bowl of soup but then gets slapped away by Geralt. 

Geralt: “Pour your own, bard.”

The three of them ate in silence. The simmering sound of the fire outside by now had vanished, and the sun, too, disappeared on the horizon. The only light that's coming through the abandoned barn is the glow from the moon and stars, dimly lighting up the broken barn through the broken windows and cracked wall. It smelled like wet wood and smoke, an average night smell for the three of them, none complained about it today because Echo finally decided she'd had enough of sleeping on the ground, and conjured out a huge magical tent, with room space enough for all three of them and more. 

“You're humming.” Jaskier suddenly calls out to Echo, who's staring at the mage hand she conjured to clean dishes while Geralt patrols the areas around the barn to make sure everything is still safe to sleep the night in.

Echo blinks, not realising that the lyrics had formed into a rhythm of its own. “I was? It was a song that I was working on before…a lot of things. I thought maybe when everything ends, I'll sing it in a tavern, for him, for everyone to hear. I have…I had so many songs and poems and lyrics written down. I burned almost all of them and threw some into the ocean.”

Jaskier moved closer to where Echo sat, ink and paper ready, smiling brightly at her, eyes twinkling with inspiration. “You don't have to always keep it in, you know. No one here knows you, knows them, knows who you're talking about. And tragedy always gets gold. Also, Geralt does. But you see, dear Echo, keeping emotion boiling isn't a way to deal with it, everyone has a breaking point and no one knows what will become of oneself when you find it. Just look at Geralt, even he has a way to deal with all the built-up emotions.”

“You mean yelling at you?”

“Now now, this is not the time to be cheeky, child.”

“You're the youngest, bard. ”

“Geralt is definitely a bad influence on you.”

Just on cue, Geralt walks back into the tent. “I heard that, bard.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and throws the bottle of unopened ink at Geralt, which gets caught easily. “I terribly forgot that she has a unique link to you. You two both are bullies!”

Geralt doesn't say anything but just smirks as he places the bottle of ink back next to Jaskier's lute, and then walks towards his bedroll that's placed at the edge of the entrance. 

Echo chuckles a little at Jaskier, who currently is puffing up his cheeks as he watches the witcher settling down and whetting his swords. 

“Jaskier,” Echo calls him softly. 

“That's my name,” Jaskier replies cheerily, but eyes are still on Geralt. 

“Thank you,” Echo's voice appeared within Jaskier's head and then a soft kiss landed on his cheek. 

Geralt's whetting stopped, his eyes fixed on Jaskier, who turned a little red on the ear. He's starting to stare, but at Echo. 

However, Echo is just smiling devilishly at Geralt, as if won some kind of contest between the two. She raised a brow at Geralt. “How does it feel, oh scary witcher who feels nothing? Liar, that is what I see.”

Chapter Text

“Three crowns!? Are you trying to steal from me!?”

“Kallen, shut it! This is my friendly discount already! Take it or leave it!”

“Oh? Friendly discount hey? Well, friendly this you arsehole!” The blonde punched the owner of the fruit trader.

“Oi! Cut it off you two!” Two soldiers came and broke the two from each other.

Kallen: “You fucking stay away from my sister! I see you around her again, I will knife off your dick and feed it to the pig!”

“Hey! That's my wooden sword! Give it back!” A child, chasing another group of kids, yelling and throwing stones. 

“Oh, poor starling is going to go back and cry to mommy? Oops, forgot, you have no momm- Ouch!” The older kid tripped over and fell on his face, the wooden sword slid across the road but got stopped by a pair of leathered travelling boots before they went any further. 

“Tingles!” The kid forgets about the bully and runs toward her wooden sword. “Ma'am, can I have my sword back? Please?” When she looked up towards the face who helped to stop her sword, Starling gasped. “You're pretty.” It's been so long since she's seen such a pretty woman in the city, and so clean. “Are you a princess? Or a Lady?”

The pretty woman with blue eyes smiles at her but shakes her head, “I'm only a traveller. Here, your sword. Tingles, the name, right? It's pretty.”

“My mom made it! She's a fighter! She saved pa and I from a huge monster!” Starling gives a wide smile as she gets back her wooden sword. 

“You seem to have it in you too, a fighter.”

“I do?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Echo?”

Starling's eyes shift from the pretty woman to the voice behind her, and her eyes go even wider. “A Witcher! You travel with a Witcher. Mom always told stories about them protecting humans! Protecting us! I…thank you, Mister Witcher! Oh, pa's going to be so jealous that I met one! I'm going to tell pa! PA, I SAW A WITCHER!” She runs off with her sword all cheery and happy, leaving Geralt in confusion and Echo laughing. 

Echo looks around at the edge of this busy market. “So this is Oxenfurt then.”

“Hmm.”

“C'mon, it isn't that bad, is it? Just because Jaskier decides to stay two days longer and play in a show?”

“It's never just a few days.” The frown never left his eyebrows the moment Jaskier heard about the Bardic Competition, and decided to persuade Geralt to stay an extra two days, to which Geralt had argued and growled, but in the end, he finally let Jaskier do what he wanted for once…maybe twice… maybe thrice …or more times than he himself can count.

“So your bardling is in the academic building,” Echo looks towards the way Jaskier had left earlier this morning. Geralt, who picks up what she is trying to do, slowly walks back a few steps, “No.”

“Oh, come on, Geralt. Aren't you curious about how he teaches his students? And what if Valdo Marx, Jaskier's arch-enemy decides to poison him again, hmm?” Echo reaches out to grab Geralt's wrist, “If you don't go, I'll find a tavern myself and sing about a white-haired witcher abandoning his child and wife and bard.”

“Grrhhh.” Geralt grunts and growls. “Stay away from that idiot bard.”

“And make your life less miserable? I think not.” She pulls him by the wrist, “Well, which way, handsome?”

Geralt's frown deepens ever so slightly the more they walk towards the inner part of Oxenfurt, people have started to stare, started to chatter, and started say mumbled insults that don't hide away from Geralt's ears. The heavy pungent smell of all the negative emotions isn't making anything better either. But in between all the horribly sulphuric, sour, heated and metallic smell, there lies something very soft and floral, it's the smell of calmness and happiness. It is Echo. The very soft floral smell of Jasmine combined with Moringa, a floral-woody scent with a small hint of sweetness. She smells good. It's even softer than the chamomile oil Jaskier often uses. He’s looked for so many ways to avoid Geralt being overwhelmed by all the fragrances and noise, especially after all the Witcher Potions, when he's calming down and letting the potions run through their course. Jaskier always does his best and the best for Geralt. However, he's never been this calmed by a scent. Perhaps it's the djinn , Geralt thinks as he's being dragged by the second bard in his life. 

“…left…straight…next turn right…no, not this right, the next one…hmmm…” Geralt points out the way lazily as Echo tries to look for the university on the busy streets of Oxenfurt. “You could just ask.”

“Who? You?” Echo glazes behind her at Geralt, rolls her eyes and points out, “I'd ask you, but no, you're just as stubborn as Jaskier, mister. Whenever you don't want to do something, there's never a reason just a ‘no’, however, when there's something you like, millions of reasons arise. By the way, are honeybread really that nice that you'd stay just because Jaskier promised you a dozen of them? Or is it because…y'know, that reason instead.”

“ No. ”

“Fine.” Echo pouts. “ Witchers have no emotions . Whoever made that up, fuck them. Die twice, morons.” She mumbles as she drags Geralt behind her again. “If you're where I'm from, you'd realise you're very normal. Seriously, I myself am already quite freaky in this land, an elf who has dragon blood…no one would've guessed. No one is that brave or stupid to introduce themself to a dragon and then seduce said dragon, not even Jaskier is that reckless. Just because you're a mutated human , that doesn't make you a freak. Fuck on all the people who think you or any other witchers are different. Most of the time humans are the monsters. The monsters they're afraid of are only because they have no strength to kill them. Mortals are always scared by the stronger ones, especially by the ones they don't understand.”

Echo walks around a corner and hears a sharp yelp. She frowns at the two men freaking out from the view of Geralt. “Oh, piss off, mortals.” She waves her hand towards the two men and they suddenly become very hazed, as if drunk. “Yell ‘Jaskier the Bard in town, he applied for the Bard Tournament’ when you get to the most crowded street.”

The two men walk away with light steps, looking almost too drunk for how early the day is. 

Geralt: “We don't hex humans.”

“You don't, I do. But fine, since I am travelling with you and is bound by some sort of magic, I will only hex mortals when you're not around.”

“Hmmm.”

“I'm not your darling Jaskier the Bard, mister. You need to talk if you want to get something across, in words, thank you very much.”

“You're worse than him.”

“I get you talking, I'd say that's a compli——”

“——and you're walking in circles.”

Echo turns around and stares at the smirking Witcher. For a moment she'd really felt like hexing him or throwing a dagger into his face. “Fuck you, Geralt of Rivia!”

*

“For Metitele's sake, where have you two been!? You've missed five shows already! I thought you two were going to miss dinner too!” Jaskier had his hands on his hip when Echo and Geralt finally appeared at the outer crowd of the tournament area, looking very unpleased at the two latecomers. 

Echo pushes Geralt through the gate, also unpleased. “Your witcher is a brat.”

“ Your witch has no sense of direction.”

“If you'd open your royal mouth, we'd be here aeons ago!”

“It's the biggest building, hard to miss.”

“Alright, kids, both of you shut it,” Jaskier stepped into the squabble of the two. “I'm not letting you, or you, ” he squinted his eyes at Geralt, “ruin my night! Now, where was I? Oh, yes, dinner. The academy funded the tournament this year, so dinner tonight is in the inner grounds of Oxenfurt Academy, which means- Geralt of Rivia, don't you even think about leaving! I have my eyes on you this time, don't you dare or I will hunt you down!” 

The bard's getting a little feral and Geralt sighs. “Hm.”

“Good, you better stay.”

The afternoon slowly turned into night, the lanterns around the huge garden, where the tournament was held, got lit up and more and more people started to show up. Free dinner, ale and music, who wouldn't come? Colourful banners flutter underneath the moonlit sky and the lit lanterns, there are small stalls on the outer ring of the garden just in case someone wants extra snacks. The smell of ale, roasted meat, spiced warm tea and a whole bunch of other things filled the air, it's quite the view and smell. In the centre of the garden, a wooden framed and a little too fancy stage with a tapestry full of heroic drawings, mythical monsters as background, a fitting backdrop for the topic of the tournament - the reason why Jaskier was so desperate to sing and show off on this specific bardic tournament. How can he not? With monsters, stories and heroes involved, this is literally made for him. 

This is a stage made just for him, or perhaps the other way around. Jaskier is made for the stage.

His face lit up with a grin that could most likely charm the Netherbrain itself, already absorbing and basking in the adoration and cheer from the crowd beneath his feet. He's thriving up on stage and underneath the starry night sky. The songs he's singing are unfamiliar ones, new pieces that were written but never sung before. It's a risk, singing brand-new songs in a competition, but Jaskier loves taking risks, plus he knows too well what sells and what not, he'd stated so before and he wasn't wrong. 

In the less lit corner of the garden, not far away from the stage, Geralt watched the songs play out, his usual frown in between his eyes softened into something closer to bemusement. But no matter the circumstance, he's still on alert with his surroundings. He'd had one too many occasions where Jaskier had turned the most harmless day into another life-threatening escapade. 

Next to Geralt, on the bench, sat Echo, leaning casually against the backrest with a cup of warm tea (not the magic one she takes) in her hand, taking small sips now and then, grinning at how Jaskier is bouncing up and down and enjoying his moment on stage. She wouldn't even be surprised if he wins this competition, it is indeed made for him. It felt different, looking at him from the audience seat. She'd seen him in taverns, by the barn fire, but on the stage…if she hadn't known better, she'd think he became magical . “Have you ever wondered,” she spoke softly to Geralt, keeping it to the two of them, “what if Jaskier had magic? Back where I'm from, bards are…well, magical. A mockery from a bard can even do damage.”

Geralt's lip twitched. “Jaskier with magic? He'd bring the Continent to death. End all livings he could.”

On the stage, Jaskier changed the tune on his lute; a more smooth and light tune was played. 

The tune made Echo stop all her thoughts. It's a tune that she'd been humming for a while now, ever since she decided to let go of the past. Jaskier had asked if he could carry on from the short tune she had been humming, but she'd never thought he had finished and performed it. It's a beautiful piece of work he had done and everything she had been thinking of. 

Echo's mind wanders away, affected by the music, to the far past memory of Faerun, to the late djinn-bound relationship, to the month travelling in the strange world of witchers, monsters and men. Most importantly, her unborn child and his or her future in this land. So many things had happened ever since she'd met Geralt and saved Jaskier that she hadn't even had time to think about the future. 

Geralt doesn't say anything about the bond or of its consequences, at least not ever since meeting Yennefer at that tavern, but Echo could sense the unsaid awkwardness and the unseen weight he's carrying. He didn't want this , nor did he wish for this. Whatever he had wished for, it has them connected in some way. There were times when the three split up in small towns to do things, Jaskier always off to taverns because Geralt doesn't trust him with grocery shopping, Echo had taken on the part to buy things and she loves to haggle down the price, while Geralt is usually off hunting. But for reasons unknown, the two of them will always find each other later in the day. Sometimes Echo would bump into Geralt coming back from a hunt all bloody, she would heal him or magically clean the gore on his armour. Or Geralt would find Echo on the outskirts of town talking to an animal or doing something else. There were times when Jaskier and Echo got worried and went out to find Geralt, and it was always Echo who could find him first, without using magic. 

“Something wrong?” Geralt's low voice broke her growing thoughts.

“Just wondering.”

“Hmm.”

“What if Yen was there that day and I wasn't?”

“She wasn't.”

“Yeah, you're right, she wasn't.” Echo had begun understanding Geralt's short words, just like how Jaskier had understood each grunt coming from the witcher - she's yet to be proficient in the latter. The grunts are the more difficult ones because they truly do sound the same. 

At some point in the last song Jaskier was playing, Echo had dozed off. Unlike many other elves in Faerun, who tend to use meditation as rest, Echo actually does sleep and dream. Before and after pregnancy. 

Geralt looks down at her, watching how even in sleep she has her hand around her stomach, protecting it. The disguise spell had worn off due to concentration broken, the small bump had grown into something very noticeable. He'd never been the curious one, perhaps on monsters, but Jaskier is always the sniffer who goes and pokes around and asks questions. However, things are different when it comes to Echo. She comes from a land beyond his knowledge and understanding, the powers she carries, the past that she ran away from but never forgotten - he often finds himself listening to the stories she is telling Jaskier throughout their travels on the road. They don't talk to each other much, and when it does happen, it mostly is never about each other, but something else instead. And yet he's drawn to her. 

A past lover of a God. A city's hero. A royal friend and leader of many. A Sword Bard. A Draconic Sorceress. A soon-to-be mother. A powerful woman who is bound to him by a djinn because he had wished her life to be connected to his - if he hadn't, she would've been killed by the djinn. The djinn cannot harm its master and Geralt had fished the djinn out from the river, so by bounding her to him, her life is saved. 

It's the djinn. Geralt sits down next to Echo. It has to be. He softly moves her head onto his shoulder, making her as comfortable as he can with what he has. 

“Hm. Jaskier is going to write a song about this and he won't shut up, you know.”

Geralt stiffens. 

“Relax, let me doze for a bit. The little one won't stop.”

“ Stop ?”

Echo hums. “It's been doing small movements for this whole day. My back aches.”

“ Movements ?”

Echo sighs with her eyes closed, still leaning onto Geralt's shoulder. “I am pregnant. There is a kid growing inside me, Geralt.”

“You never mentioned it…she, him, has been moving…”

“It's been a while. Just today's more noticeable. Try it.”

Before Geralt could ask ‘what’, his hand had gotten put onto a slightly warmer area and then something lightly caressed his palm. In a quick moment, he hears another heartbeat, faster than most. He draws his hand away, dumbly looking at his palm. 

“Yen said before that the little one by now can hear very clearly, so you better talk more,” Echo snuggled closer towards Geralt and then went back to dozing, leaving Geralt with a dumbfounded expression while Jaskier (still on stage) tried to suppress the urge of bursting into a rage of laughter from his best friends facial expression. 

Why must he talk more? Geralt doesn't understand what she's trying to get at.

Geralt is unsure of how much time has passed, he knows the competition is coming to an end and that Jaskier is somewhere mingling with his students or stealing some time with another person, he doesn't like the knowledge of not knowing his exact location, but he knows he's here amongst the people. That is until he couldn't focus on the bard's heartbeat or hear his voice. He focuses more, in case he had only just missed it or Jaskier is just one foot too far for his enhanced senses. But still, nothing. And then a slightly metallic smell flew past his nose, blood. 

“Echo, wake up.” He holds Echo's shoulders in a soft grip, unsure of how fragile she is - she isn't, he knows, but he doesn't want to hurt her, even if accidentally. 

“Mhm? Did Jaskier win?” Echo sleepily mumbles, eyes still closed. 

“He isn't here.”

“Huh?” Echo finally opens her eyes. “You sure he didn't just wander off drunk?”

“I smell blood. Faint, but it's there.”

The words made Echo wide awake. She stands up with Geralt next to her. “Which way? Actually, hold on a moment.” Her eyes darted around the garden and finally set on a brown dog that was trying to play cute for food. She cast a spell of talking to animals to herself. Geralt follows, knowing full well what she's doing. The spell had become something that he was very familiar with, Roach had taken a friendship with Echo, daily they talked to one another - Echo spoils Roach with all kinds of fresh fruits. 

“Dear sir, I'd need your talent for a moment. You help me, I'll give you this plate of food,” Echo interrupts the brown dog moaning and begging for food. She tilted the plate in her hand, and there laid four pieces of roast meat, three chicken legs, a few slices of ham and even some small boiled potatoes. 

“Oh, my ladyship, what can I do for you!” The male dog's tail wagged so fast that half of his body was shaking with excitement. 

Echo takes hold of the chamomile oil and sets it in front of the dog's nose. “I need your help to find the owner of this smell.”

“I know this.” The dog's tail slowed a bit, “It's the professor. He always gave me food during winter. Us strays love being with him, he's so gentle. Is he in trouble?”

“He's my dear friend and he seems to be missing.”

The brown dog snarls and then barks. “ Woof! No one can hurt the professor! Follow me, I'll lead you to the stray group. They'll have more information than I. I'm getting old, there's only so much an old dog can do.”

Echo follows the dog with a small trot. The growing baby is getting heavier each day, and running is going to soon become something she can't afford to do in the future. 

Geralt, for the first time, actually notices more things than Jaskier always accuses him of, so he follows behind Echo, carefully examining their surroundings and also paying attention to her, who's definitely not supposed to be running around like this. 

“Bernard! Professor- Woof! Who are they?” A grey-coloured dog with an ear missing stepped back and set into self-defence. 

“Stand back, Grey, professor is their friend.”

“Friend?” The dog named Grey sniffs the two of them, his brown eyes land on Geralt and his tail starts to wag, “Professor has his scent, he was being dragged, Bernard! Red and Hope followed them to a barn outside town! You have to hurry! He was scared! We couldn't do anything!”

Bernard snarled.

Geralt doesn't know what they're talking about, but he can sense the tension, however, his concentration is also focused on Echo, who's panting one too much. 

“Are you…”

“I don't think I can run anymore.” Echo sighs, there's no need to hide the information from Geralt, she'd still need to travel with him to safety, sooner or later he will realise anyway, rather sooner than later. “Bernard will lead you to Jaskier, someone drugged him away, could be physically dragging or poisoning him. He's outside town, in a barn.” Echo scratches Bernard's ear, “Can you lead him there? I'm not in the physical shape to run around. I'll catch on.”

Geralt nods and takes his cloak off and gives it to Echo, who blinks and smiles. “If only you'd do the same thing to him. He'll die there and there if he could.”

“…Hm.”

“Don't kill anyone, Geralt. At least not when I'm not there.”

“Hmmm.”

Echo sighs and shakes her head as Geralt follows Bernard out of the town. 

“Would you lead me to where Professor Pankratz is?” She asks Grey. 

“Of course, I would! He needs all the help he can get! Valdo Marx might be a good party-singing bard, but he never was a good lover.”

Echo stops her walk. “ Lover ?”

“Bernard was still a pup when they were together, Professor Pankratz was not even a professor then. According to Bernard, it was a very short-lived relationship…”

Grey and Echo walk slowly towards the outer ring of the city side. Grey filled in all the gossip Bernard had shared throughout the year, with extra information on how Jaskier (Professor Pankratz) does during winter here teaching and complaining about his white-haired friend. And tries his best to punch Valdo Marx in the face whenever he sees him.

“…and then professor kicked him in his leg. He fell off the stairs and——” Grey's words got cut off by the view of Geralt throwing a man out of his way. “——broke his lute.”

“Geralt?” Echo quickly rushes towards Geralt. 

“He poisoned him.”

“It's just an aphrodisiac, not poison,” The man grunts from where he lies. “And who are you?” He asks Echo. 

“Aphro- You should've thrown him further away,” Echo says to Geralt as she hears what he did, “Maybe towards a tree or perhaps a wall.”

Valdo Marx stood up, holding onto what may be a broken arm, grunted through his teeth and said: “Witcher. White-haired Witcher . Nice to put a face to the name I've been listening to for as long as I can remember. I'm going away to calm down , he says. A year later- actually, no, not even a year, he comes back to the academy and tells me I've moved on , he said. You, if it wasn't for——”

“If he was happy, he'd never have left. You know what you did that wronged him, mortal. Do I need to point it out for you?” Echo interrupted him with the gossip information she had heard from Grey, who heard it from Bernard, who witnessed everything when he was only a young pup. 

That got Valdo Marx. He stood there in silence and then yelped as a gashing wound appeared on his face. “What sorcery is this!?”

“Pain, that's what. Remember that the next time you come closer to him,” Echo turns away and looks at Geralt, “You could help him if it's what I think it is, he won't say no, unless you don't mean it afterwards. Or I can cure him. Your choice.”

Geralt shakes his head. “I won't. Not like this.” He grunts as he realises what he has said and meant. Ignoring Echo's smirk he says: “Cure him. Leave him to Jaskier's decision.”

“Of course,” she replies and throws a spell onto Valdo Marx. In an instant, he falls into a deep slumber. 

Chapter Text

“I always loved the way you sit in the corner and brood.”

“Jask.” Geralt was fiddling with the firewood when he heard a small whisper from behind him. He quickly turned around and moved towards the bed that held Jaskier and Echo, who currently is sleeping soundly next to Jaskier. 

“I really should find a djinn and this time I truly should- wait.” Jaskier finally realised there was someone next to him. He blinks, eyes widened with horror. “Geralt, I didn't…did I? With her, ” he asks in the tiniest voice.

Geralt gives out a small smile, “No. You'd wish so.”

“Geralt, she is pregnant.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Huh? What's that supposed to mean? Oh, wait, where the shit is Valdo Marx? That motherfucking shithead!” 

Echo stirred next to him, Jaskier quickly shushes down and gazes out of the corner of his eyes. The silence lasted for a while, he puffed out a full lung of air. When he speaks again, it's as soft as Geralt's newly washed hair. “Where is he? I'm going to murder him. He poisoned me, Geralt!”

“She threw him out to be fed to the mosquitoes. Two dogs and a cat are watching over him just outside. He's still unconscious, might as well wait for the morning.” Geralt pours a cup of water and then walks towards Jaskier. “Sit up, you'll need it.”

“Now that you mention it,” Jaskier carefully sits up and carefully moves away from the bed. “Didn't realise I was this thirsty.”

“You've been out for a while. It's near sunrise.” Geralt pours another cup of water for Jaskier. 

“Sunrise?”

“Near the whole night.”

“And you've been just sitting there and brood?” Jaskier, again, finishes the whole cup in one go. “Did you get any sleep, Geralt?”

“I'll be——”

“I'm sure the two dogs and a cat can do a very good job at watching over the shithead.” Jaskier points to the bed, “Bed, Witcher.”

“Jaskier, I drank a concentration potion, I can't sleep.”

Jaskier: “Oh.”

“Hm.”

The silence lingers for a long while, until the fire starts to set and Geralt has to move away from Jaskier to maintain the warmth. Winter is drawing nearer every day, leaves are falling, and so is the warmth from the sun. Days are starting late, night is becoming longer, giving them less time on foot. 

Geralt thinks about all the roads to Kaedewen and also plans out how the roads on the mountain might look. He doesn't just have a pregnant witch that needs to look after, but also Jaskier, the most mortal person in the group. Echo might be pregnant, but that doesn't make her less lethal, instead, it is what makes her even more dangerous. He'd witnessed firsthand what a mother would do to protect her young ones. Sure there are plenty other ones, but he knows Echo would do anything and everything to protect the unborn child. Between Jaskier and Echo, the former needs his attention more - as always, he'll give in as easily as Jaskier gets into trouble. 

Jaskier had moved away from the bed, he sat not far from where Geralt is, back leaning against a post, his arm resting on his knee. His gaze drifted from the sizzling fire to Geralt, who had stopped adding extra wood, just crouching down, stirring the embers with a stick. He knows that frown, it's Geralt thinking and being conflicted. 

“Strange, isn't it?” Jaskier says lightly, keeping his tone lower than usual. “The three of us. Travelling, so far.”

Geralt didn't look up, still poking about in the embers. “Stranger things have happened before.”

“Well, yes,” remembering some of the even weirder things, Jaskier chuckles. “But I mean…She's nothing like anything here. Coming from a whole nother world and all.” His eyes never left Geralt, trying to get a reaction or some sort, but the witcher's expression remains as it always has been: distant. 

“She's… just different,”  it took a while for a response, but he admitted in his usual low voice. But there's something else, something in his voice that Jaskier couldn't ignore. He knows the witcher is drawn to Echo and it isn't just because of the djinn. How can one not be drawn to her? She has an aura about her, powerful yet calm and charismatic. His feelings towards Echo are less conflicted than the one Geralt has stalled away, the weight of it had been on his shoulders for a while now, and Jaskier couldn't ignore it more than he wanted to. 

“I've been thinking, of the future. More about what happens after…well, when her child is born. Do you think she'll stay? Here, in the Continent, that is.”

Geralt's jaw tightens for a moment, golden eyes flicking over towards where Echo lies, sleeping soundly and peacefully. It's a quick gentle gaze, almost too gentle for Jaskier's heart to bear and eyes to see. “I don't know. We'll figure it out,” he replies to Jaskier. 

“I suppose we will. But it's different now, is it not?” It's been so long since it's just the two of them walking the path. So many things happened, so many changes made and so many feelings added. “ It isn't just the djinn anymore, is it?” It hurts to admit, but it also hurts to see how careful and tender Geralt is around her. Jaskier wishes to have Geralt happy and he does enjoy her company and her banters too. “It's not just the djinn anymore, Geralt. You're drawn to her. I can see it.”

Geralt's hand stilled from poking the flickering embers, his mind going blank for a moment, body stiffened as if a sheep being frightened, going rigid to hope that the hunter would walk away from eating a dead corpse. He stayed for a second like that before resuming back to what he was doing. “It's only the bond,” he says, “Nothing more.”

Jaskier shook his head, leaning a bit more towards Geralt. “I've known you long enough to know that this isn't something magic can do to you. You don't give a fuck about Destiny or Fate, neither to say on something, someone , that got bounded to you only by magic.”

Geralt doesn't respond right away, the frown in between his eyes growing ever wider as moments pass. The silence weighs heavier with every breath. Finally, he throws the stick into the fire and leans away from the warmth, but his eyes are still fixed on the bright embers that ate the wooden stick within moments. “She's in enough problems,” he says after a very long pause. “She doesn't need more and neither do we.”

Jaskier's heart ached at that, though all for the wrong reasons. It's been so long, longer than he can put words to, of the love he holds for his dearest friend. “You think keeping your distance or not talking about it would make it easier?” It absolutely does fucking not - he would know . Gentle as Jaskier's voice was, there is an edge to it, the hurt and pain of his own heart and the frustration of seeing Geralt's happiness so close, but the stupid oaf just won't allow himself to be happy. 

Echo's arrival brought a shift into their dynamic - him and Geralt's. Back before they would banter, throw teases, maybe even yell at each other (Geralt usually just grunt fuck off , while Jaskier would fiddle with his lute strings just to irritate the witcher's ear), but a heart-to-heart was something he could never get out from him. Especially trying his best to let Geralt admit that he is his friend and not just a tag-along. 

Her presence had made Geralt soft, a little less…well, constipated. Even though she did nothing but be here and exist. She and Geralt don't share much talking, but whenever she speaks to him, Jaskier couldn't help but notice how soft she is towards him, and vice versa. He's unsure what Echo's decision is, but he can say with absolute surety that there is something in her mind, the same that's in Geralt.  

She hadn't changed Geralt, though - no one could but himself. And that is what makes Jaskier feel so complicated because it is Geralt who decides to finally let his guard down. 

So no, keeping your distance does nothing but make everything even more complicated. 

“She deserves better,” Jaskier suddenly hears Geralt say, almost a whisper. “Better than me.”

Hearing these words makes Jaskier furious, no matter from other people or from the witcher himself - the latter especially. He understands where this is coming from, but it doesn't mean he needs to like it.

“And what about you? Don't you deserve better than all the things you carry alone?”

Geralt's golden eyes flicker something unreadable. “It's safer that way.”

Jaskier sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, preventing himself from physically knocking some senses into Geralt. “Safer, perhaps. But not easier. Not for her. Not for you.” Definitely not for me too, you handsome, golden-hearted bastard. 

For another long while Geralt was silent. He's never been this boiled with emotions before. She's right, to whoever said Witchers feel no emotions. Fuck them. It hurts so much and he doesn't know what to do about them. 

He knew, sooner or later Jaskier would bring this up. Jaskier isn't blind, nor was he someone to let something like this go unsaid - Geralt gives little credit to Jaskier's sharp instinct on emotions, but he acknowledges how Jaskier can be very intelligent when he wants to be. Which is something he loves about Jaskier. Love …Geralt admits to himself, complicated as ever . Even more so now when Echo comes into the picture. 

It is safer. It needs to be. Plus …“She's better with you,” Geralt muttered. He's got eyes too, he sees how she smiles around Jaskier, how they banter, both quick-witted and sharp-tongued and full of chaos and just can't stay away from danger. It's hard not to see how easy-going she is around Jaskier. It's obvious, isn't it? 

Jaskier raises a brow, utterly confused. “ Better with me? What's that supposed to- are you…Seriously, Geralt? Have you seen how cheeky she is around you? What are eyes for when you ignore everything ?” Now Jaskier is just exhausted from Geralt being stupid. “You seriously need to get your eyes checked, my friend. She practically was showing off how close she could be with you last night when you sat next to her. You even offered her a shoulder, Geralt. A shoulder! And she leaned in!”

“She's still in love.”

“She's in mourning, Geralt.”

“She's with child.”

“That doesn't make her unavailable.”

They sat in silence, staring at each other and then a small smile climbed to both of their lips. 

“Idiots, aren't we?” Jaskier sighs, half to himself. 

The realisation hits him just as it hits Geralt, that they're both drawn to her in some way as the other. 

“Maybe.” A rare sight for Jaskier, seeing Geralt smiling and he decided he would keep that carefree smile on that face as long as he lived. 

“You need to stop brooding, no matter how much I love that view, and pay attention more instead.” Jaskier lets out an exasperated sigh, turning more towards Geralt's side. “It's not magic. Magic might have bonded you two, but it was her choice to follow, to stay, with us. She had the chance to leave with Yennefer, but she stayed, Geralt. She stayed. You think of yourself as dangerous and all, but look at her, she feels safe around you, and that's why she stayed.”

“You also stayed.” Before Geralt could think through what he was saying, the words came out without a pause. 

This time the silence hit hard. 

“I…” Jaskier lost his voice at Geralt's words. What could he possibly say? “Yes, I stayed.” In a mere whisper, he said. His heart racing in his chest, he doesn't even want to think about how Geralt would hear it, or how he would react to whatever he's saying. How was he possibly going to bite this back, when she's lying right behind them? He can't fool himself, he can't fool Echo, the only person he could fool was Geralt, and now not even him.

And then a realisation hit him. 

“You thought I would leave.”

“Everyone leaves.”

Jaskier's breath got caught in his throat, chest aching with pain and compassion. It always hurts and it always will, to know that Geralt thinks he will leave, even after all those songs he had made - about him and for   him. The world hasn't been kind to Geralt, no one knows that better than he - the travelling bard of The White Wolf, who has been to the end of the Continent and back, by his side. 

“You're the biggest idiot,” Jaskier states as a fact. 

Admitting he stayed, admitting a part of his decades-old feelings had lifted a part of the weight off his chest. It's a weird sensation, to feel light again, after such a long time. There's no going back now, he might as well just add more to it. Whatever Geralt does with the information, that's his choice. 

“Geralt Rodger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde.”

“ Bard ,” Geralt grunted in warning, a hint of embarrassment behind the warning.

Jaskier will never get tired of how embarrassed Geralt gets when he brings this memory up. “It's not every day you get to see a drunk, possibly high, witcher. You should get drunk more often on your potions.”

“We agreed to never talk about it.”

“We agreed to not talk about it ,” Jaskier smirks cheekily at Geralt. “No one said anything about not bringing it up in the future.”

“ Jaskier .”

“As I was saying,” Jaskier ignored Geralt's grunts and groans. “You are an idiot for thinking that I will leave. Sure I have, but I'm never gone, Geralt, not truly. I always come back. To you. I'm not a fool,” to which Geralt snorts and he gets smacked on the shoulder by the fool . “I'm having a moment here, you piece of hunk!” Jaskier steadies his voice and glares at Geralt with warning, then carries on. “I know the risks. I've always known. But I chose to stay, and I will keep doing so. Even if you keep on pushing me away. Oh, yes, I know , Geralt. As I said, I'm not a fool. I know what you've been trying to do. And I will tell you again, and again, that you deserve all the best things in life, that includes happiness, which is right there ,” he points to where Echo lay. 

The night began to fade and the first light of dawn crept through the cracks of the barn, and the stream of light landed on Jaskier. It has always been a sight for Geralt, seeing Jaskier bathing under the sun, he always looked surreal for him at these moments. The way the light casts just enough light on him, making him glow with a halo-like outline, making him appear impossibly bright and warm. He has been avoiding this light for so long but he has also been chasing after it. Whenever it comes within a hand's reach, Geralt always backs away, going back into the shadows - it's where he had belonged. Is it not? But then…but then Echo came, with the same light and warmth, just as bright as Jaskier. Where was he supposed to hide when everything and everywhere was brightened up? Wherever he went he could see the bright-blue eyes staring right back at him. He couldn't leave Jaskier then, how could he now when…when…

“You…kept on staying. Through blood and gore and pain. Haven't you thought about what if one day I'll just...” Geralt muttered，“...be gone?”

“I'd be lying if I didn't. More like every hunt. But,” Jaskier smiles softly at Geralt, blue eyes gleaming with warmness, “you also kept coming back. I'll stitch you up again and again if I must. And now we even have an excellent healer of our own, you'll never die. Perhaps the only way for you to die is just to be suffocated by me during sleep, or someday you decide to piss off our dear witch.”

“It's not just her.” A whisper that Jaskier had nearly missed because his heart was beating so fast that it echoed in his ear. 

Jaskier: “W-what?” He doesn't want to guess what Geralt's intention is behind those words.

“Jaskier, I——” Geralt started, but then stopped. His lips twitched, trying to get something out, trying his best to push all the things that were hanging in his mind into words. It has always been hard, he knows it. But he owes this much to Jaskier, after all, he had pushed him away more than trying to let him in. He clenches his fist, trying again. “Jaskier, I want to say that——” That you've been here fixing up everything, and I didn't mean all the words I threw at you and that…that you're just as important, if not more than I can say. 

But no, the words again died on the tip of his tongue. 

He feels frustrated. He feels useless. Most of all, he admires how Jaskier does this with so much ease. 

Jaskier watches first with confusion, then into amusement, and now just a very subtle soft smile hanging on the corner. He moves even closer to Geralt, slowly putting his hand on his arm. 

“I'm not good at this ,” Geralt muttered, filled with frustration. 

“No, you're not.” Geralt grunts. Jaskier shakes his head and chuckles. “But you're trying, and that's more than enough. I remember trying to read books to you just because you were in frustration, trying to ease you out. That was even harder.”

“You were reading smut. Aloud. On an open road.”

“Well, I got you talking, didn't I?” Jaskier winks at Geralt. 

“Geralt, I don't need you to admit anything.”

“I owe it to you.”

“You owe me shit. The only thing - things - you owe me is a nice pair of boots, a lovely doublet and perhaps a loving ‘sorry’ from all the times you tried to avoid me after winter.”

Before Geralt could add more or add another awkward syllable, a sneeze broke whatever there was in the air. 

“It wasn't me,” Jaskier states quickly as he sees the questioning frown on Geralt. 

Geralt, for once, doesn't want to look anywhere else other than turn into a mouse and claw into a hole. There are only three people in the barn, if it wasn't Jaskier then…

The startled two men watch how each other doesn't want to face the woman in their lives, at least not in this moment. 

Geralt, you better talk. 

It's your witch, bard. 

She's bound to you, witcher. 

Echo, who's been awake for a while now, mumbled something under her breath, most likely a curse at her own hair because it's what made her sneeze and interrupt the two lovesick idiots. 

“Oh, don't mind me. Keep on talking. I love the way you two danced around each other.” Echo turns her head toward the two and meets with Geralt's golden eyes. Her smile didn't falter, if anything it grew warmer and softer. Having fun, aren't we? 

“ Get out of my head. ”

“Oh, do we use words now?” She teased out aloud. “Ah, all the things love does to you.”

But before any of the two men could say something, a sudden yell came through the door. 

And that made Jaskier remember just why they were here and not in a tavern with a soft bed and a warm breakfast. 

“The fucking shithead!” Jaskier scolds and makes his way out of the barn. 

Echo gets off from the bed made from stacks of hay, she frowns at how her back aches and how sore her neck feels. But before she could complain, Geralt had come to her side. 

“Should have made you go back to the tavern,” he says with a huge frown sitting in between his brows. 

“And miss this lovely chat you and Jaskier finally shared? Not for the world.” Echo leans in towards Geralt, wanting some comfort from sleeping on haystacks. “Next time you sleep on hay and I talk with Jaskier.”

“I'll- No. No next time.” Geralt holds Echo's waist, so softly that she doesn't realise until he changes her position so he can avoid her stomach being pressed against him. 

Echo sighs. Breaths in all the scents coming from Geralt, which mostly are just earthy with a little bit of smoke, due to him sitting in front of a fire for most of the night. “We'll talk. Later. Maybe when we get to Kaer Morhen? When we're safe. And well rested. I like this, but I do have my own problems that I still need to go through. I…When he ascended, he practically is dead to me, so I just- Give me some time? I'm not saying no, I just…I——”

“All the time you need.” So Jaskier is correct, she is in mourning. In mourning and heartbreak. 

“You piece of utter filth!” Jaskier's voice came through the barn door, breaking the intimacy between Echo and Geralt. “You poisoned me!”

“It was only an aphrodisiac! Ow!” Seems Jaskier might have punched or kicked him. 

“You made my wife sleep on haystacks! She's pregnant, you shithead!”

“Your what now? Ow! Ooowww!”

Geralt grunts at Jaskier's use of words. He had let go of Echo just as Jaskier decided to yell. 

“So…who's wife am I?” Echo asks cheekily. 

M- “Hm.” Geralt had shut his mouth for the moment. 

“ Hm ?” Echo responds. 

Geralt decidedly avoids her eyes and looks elsewhere. 

“Well, at least someone's happy,” Echo says softly, trying not to smirk at Geralt and just enjoying the outside yelling and punches and scolding as background noise while she winks at Geralt every time he meets her eyes, making the witcher go blank every single time.

Chapter Text

A few days later, they had prepared to leave Oxenfurt, but not before Jaskier could get away from his students from the academy - he had decided to say some goodbyes and leave the kids with some creative work for next winter, where he would be teaching back in the academy. He is actually very excited and maybe a little nervous about going to the secret keep for Witchers. Kaer Morhen, the place Geralt had said many wonderful things about, a place where Jaskier had grown fond of with just words. He had also taken Echo with him into the academy while he said his goodbyes, he wanted her to see the place where the future bards or poets or artists studied, where he had studied to become what he is today. Echo, being a bard too, shared her joys and warmth with the students and was quickly welcomed by the all-too-welcoming kids. 

Meanwhile, Geralt was nowhere to be near the academy. He had muttered about forgetting to buy something before and gone off further into the city, a bit far off from the academy. And now he is standing in front of a place where no one would've guessed he would be - a tailor shop. No, he is not here for essentials or adding extra patching materials, he is here for a much personal matter. 

It wasn't often that something in the storefront caught his eyes, that's usually Jaskier's doing, but the first day when they had come to Oxenfurt and went past this particular tailor shop, his eyes had automatically landed on the simple yet embroidered with intricate patterns piece of clothing, and the first thing he thought of was how it suited Echo. In the next few days, he found himself going past this very shop many times and each time he thought of just going in and buying the piece of clothing, but then he also remembered how Echo didn't need it. He'd seen many of her clothes she pulled out from that magical pouch of hers - an almost infinite black hole full of items. But this cloak is just too stubborn to be forgotten. 

So here he is. In front of this shop all over again. 

She doesn't need it, Geralt. Just walk away. He kept reminding himself. He'd seen the fewer cloaks she had worn, plain and simple, yet all embroidered with magic - ones that could deflect any magic coming towards her, ones that could even make her invisible…

Moments later, Geralt walks out of the store with a small package. Great. Just great, Geralt. Now what? 

“Now what, Roach?” Geralt puts the package into the saddle bag with delicacy, asking Roach for a reply. When he only gets a glare, he sighs and mounts on her back, head swinging with questions and doubt. 

How was he supposed to give her this? What was he going to say? Should he give it to her out of the blue? Use some random reason? - no Jaskier would definitely pick that up. Oh, and Jaskier the Problem. Jaskier is definitely not going to let this go. He might hear it even until his death. 

The saddlebag had never weighed this heavy before. 

It's only a cloak, as ordinary as Jaskier's doublet. Geralt tries to convince himself as he slowly makes his way back to the academy. But a little more expensive . 

Damn it. 

If he gives the cloak to her, Jaskier would know, and he won't have a piece of silence. If he doesn't give the cloak, Jaskier will still find out since he's a big sniffer for anything that's not Geralt's, then he will never hear the end of it.  

The fucking bard. 

Geralt sighs heavily as he leans against the academy wall, one hand on Roach's mane, slowly caressing it. “I don't know Roach…She doesn't need a cloak. A gift…Was I supposed to just give it to her? Or maybe I should just return it…”

And that was when Jaskier came around the corner, standing a bit away from Geralt, who, for once, is so jammed up with emotions that he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings. And Jaskier had just heard enough to know that his witcher was being completely, utterly, enchanted by their witch, that he would go out as far as getting a gift. A gift. Geralt of Rivia, the big bad Witcher went to get a gift. Jaskier snickered soundlessly. 

“Talking to Roach again, are we, Geralt?” Jaskier teasingly, made his presence known, all smug and all-knowing. “Or perhaps I should go back in and chat a bit more? Until you finally settle on an answer, that is.”

Geralt stiffened. “Shut up, Jaskier.”

“Oh, no no no. Please do carry on. I was just having a lovely moment picturing you buying a gift. A cloak? How very thoughtful of you.”

Geralt grunted, discomfort forming in his body language. “It's not what you think.”

“It's not? Buying a gift, for a lady, and not just any lady, but our dearest wife . Oh, admit it, you have fallen bad.”

Before Geralt could say anything else, Echo had appeared from the academy gate, smiling warm and soft, one hand with a food basket and the other with a book, while on her head sat a colourful floral crown. She's gleaming with happiness. 

Geralt felt a nudge on his side, turning his head, he saw Jaskier giving him a grin full of knowing and courage. He glares at him but says nothing. 

“You got what you needed, Geralt?” Echo had asked, while handing Roach a very crunchy and juicy apple, with eyes still on him. 

Geralt does his best not to look at the left side of the saddle. He nods to Echo, as a response to her question. And then suddenly he remembered that Echo knows a spell that can let her talk to animals. 

Shit. His eyes roam towards Roach's, she blinks and nudges at Echo's shoulder, making Geralt freeze up and his mind go blank. Roach. He warned the dearest girl. Don't you dare. 

The fucking teasing, annoying bard is already on him, and now his horse too. 

He's feeling like a fool. Stupid, idiotic fool. Buying a gift, that most likely said gift isn't needed. Then fumbling about how to give said gift out. He should have just not gotten it or perhaps returned it. Sure the shopkeeper would glare at him and go on and on about doing no refunds and he would have to talk and stuff, but It'll be much easier than this at least. 

Well, there is no going back now. Right now they are half a day away from Oxenfurt and the damn cloak is still sitting in the right-hand side saddlebag, which is the side Echo is walking. Fuck. 

“So, dear Echo, tell me, what was the fashion like back in Faerun? I'd guess it's quite different than here.” On the other side of Echo, after strumming a few songs and after bantering about a few other things Geralt didn't- couldn't, pay attention to, changed into a subject that Geralt had been avoiding and fumbling in.

“Well, yes. Depending on the region, but I'd say most of it is quite elaborate, especially in big areas like Baldur's Gate and Waterdeep. I remember the very first piece of clothing I bought after a long trip to Baldur's Gate. I think I might've spent over five hundred or more gold on that thing I've only worn twice.” Remembering the dumb, dangerous but yet fun days, Echo smiles. “It wasn't even armoury or anything.”

“Oh. It wasn't ?” Jaskier quipped. 

Without even looking Geralt already knows how Jaskier's smile looks. All mischievous and full of tease. He just hopes the bard doesn't say anything, or that Echo would not catch up to what Jaskier is trying to get at. 

“Now, if I may ask. What's your interest in clothing? Not armoury, that is. But also do spill your likings in those too.”

Damn bard. Geralt hides his grunt behind his scowl. He can't see what Echo's reaction is, he doesn't dare to look down at her, afraid that he'll look at his saddlebag instead and just…well, make a fool out of himself - even more than he already is. 

Echo, ever the darling to answering all questions that Jaskier swings at her, replies: “For simple and casual wear, anything that's easy to move around, and, of course, it depends on the situations too, you know. Light wearing for travels, heavy magic embroideries for battle - though I did prefer elven silks more, no matter casual or battle, they're always very light.”

Geralt swallows on that. How does the cloak suit Jaskier? He thought about it and nearly died on that thought. No. 

“Though, of course, that was then,” Echo added. Geralt can hear the cheekiness in her tone. Of course, she knew she wouldn't be able to get those here. “I have enough battle clothing to drown in anyways, so I'm fine. Why ask? You deciding to get me a gift?”

“Maybe. Who knows.” Jaskier replies cheerily. “But I was curious. Was a sudden thought too.”

“If you're so interested,” her voice light and warm, “No matter colour or material, light is my peripheral. And of course, I'll never turn down pretty things. Perhaps I'll let you have a peek inside my pouch when we rest, for you to get an idea?”

“Oh, yes, I'd love to! Geralt should join, he might learn a thing or two about fashion and cloaks , and colour . All he has are dark, darker, darkest in his backpack . What do you say, Geralt?”

Geralt grunts in response, eyes staring ahead of the road, hand clutching down tightly on Roach's reins. It's days like these he wonders why he has feelings for the bard, and not just go full-on murder on him. He should ask Echo about that silence spell someday. 

As per usual, his responses are always ignored by the bard. 

“Since we are talking about fashion, and Geralt, don't you think he needs more colour? Perhaps a full wardrobe refreshment! Always so dull, always brooding. Maybe a nice deep blue? Or, gods forbid, with more patterns!” Jaskier threw his hands up and exasperated, seeming to finally find someone he could moan to about Geralt's dull taste in clothing. 

“Now that you mention it,” Echo's voice paused for a while. “I might have a few pieces that he might find useful. Though I'd think he prefers swords more. I've got a box of swords in there, somewhere - all magic embroidered. It's been a while since I sorted the bag out, I'm not even sure what's in there anymore. ”

“Magical armoury? Magical swords?” Jaskier has never been this hyped to dig in someone's belongings. “Geralt, with some effort, you might even look like a knight in shining armour, literally!”

Geralt watches the stones on the road, passing each by each, thinking that maybe he could just crack the bard's head with one of them. With that thought lingering, another thought - more like feelings - crawled into his mind, the words said by Echo, how she had thought he would love the sword box more than the armour pieces. She's not wrong, and that's the problem. 

The faint flush creeping to Geralt's ear made him feel very exposed, even though his hair could cover most of it. But no doubt Jaskier sees it. Fucking bard sees everything for some damn reason. 

As Jaskier continued teasing Geralt in different colours and secretly always reminding him about a certain cloak , suddenly he fell over, tripping on his own boot, which had come loose. “Oh for…always at the best moments. You two go ahead, I'm going to scream at my boot for a moment,” he says, waving his hand to gesture to Geralt and Echo to move on, while crouching down and fixing his bootstraps - cursing. 

Geralt muttered something, grunted some sounds as a reply and led Roach forward. Echo chuckled softly at the dramatic Jaskier and then followed on soon after. The two of them went in silence and Geralt, for a few moments, got very edgy about the silence. It made his stomach do weird things and… Oh, the fucking saddlebag!  

“Echo, there's something I——” Geralt's voice dropped, he frowned and twisted Roach's rein to turn her around, staring furiously at the further side where Jaskier was. 

“Something wrong?” The distance is just one little too far for Echo to make out what is wrong, but by focusing, she can see there are figures hovering around, waving what looks like the shape of Jaskier's lute. “Geralt!” She realises Jaskier could be in trouble. 

Geralt nods and holds his hand out at Echo, but she shakes her head, a little smirk appears and she waves her hand with a spell. “Magic, dear.”

He sighs and shakes his head. Knowing she can deal with many things, he decides to let this go and makes Roach run towards Jaskier.

“Oh, pity bard without his lute,” the scar-faced man breathed his alcohol breath at Jaskier, right in his face. “Wha'cha gonna do ‘bou it, hm?”

Jaskier was just about to stand up when another bandit member kicked him on his leg, making him fall onto his knee, with a loud thud and a painful grunt coming from Jaskier's mouth. 

“Didn't say you can——” the bandit with thin eyes suddenly flew across the field, landed on a rock and never got up again. 

Jaskier moaned out a laugh. “You're all so fucked. Meet my wife, you morons.” He has given up trying to stand, just sat there with his still loose boot and smiles through the pain coming from his knee. 

Echo, teleported herself here by magic, stood her ground with a stern face that reminded Jaskier of a pissed-off Geralt, the annoyed type of anger. 

Wonder how she looks when really pissed off. Jaskier wondered as another guy went flying, the one who took his lute. He cradled his lute and cleaned it with his sleeve, then muttered some apologies. 

Geralt, who arrived with Roach, was going to step in but found he was actually not needed, at all. A weird thought to him. Even weirder when he finds himself sitting with Jaskier, just watching Echo doing all the heavy lifting. 

“You're useless now, Geralt.” Even in pain, Jaskier doesn't know how to shut up.

Geralt gave a slap on the bard's knee and Jaskier went whaling, cursing Geralt using all the words he knew. “...you absolute——I'm wounded! WOUNDED! How could you treat your bard, YOUR BARD , like this! You miserable brute! You hulking piece of a witcher!” Jaskier howls and moans and throws even more curses at Geralt. “I hope your sword rusts, you heartless dumpty-dumb! I'll write song- songs about you mistreating your bard! The taverns will weep! The Continent will weep!”

Yes, the pain makes him even more unbearable. 

Geralt thinks he just made a mistake. 

“It's just a scratch, Jaskier.”

“ Just a scratch!? Do you know how open wounds hurt on a mortal body? I hurt, you- you know what, I don't need you. I want my wife !” Jaskier pouts down at his hurt knee and the scratched open material of his pants. “Great, I need a new set of pants. Geralt, I need new pants.”

“You can do without them.”

“Can do…” Jaskier scoffs and hits Geralt on his arm with his poetry notebook from his bag. “You. Are. A. Very. Bad. Witcher! Walk without pants?! I don't mind showing them off, I do have a lovely bottom, but seriously, you moron, you think I'd do that when I already have Echo and y- What?! Yes, you !” Jaskier looks down at his knee, sighs and pouts. “Give a man some pants, Geralt.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier's dramatic scene. Though his eyes were never taken off Echo, who now is walking back towards them, without a single blood drop on her. Actually…He stands up meets with her halfway, and wipes off the small smudge of blood on her cheek. 

Echo blinks and then smiles softly. “Thanks.”

“Hm.” Geralt felt a strange tingle on his finger as he touched the soft flesh of hers, warm and flushed. He cleared his throat as he pulled his hand away, back to his side. “Jaskier needs new pants. He could just walk bare.”

“I heard that!” Jaskier yells. 

Echo chuckled at these two and shook her head. “It would be a view. Though, leave a little dignity for your bard, Geralt.”

“I am a view,” Jaskier snorted at Geralt's face as they walked towards him. “Now, pants. And do heal me first, please, dearest. It does hurt.”

Echo's smile widens and doesn't say more as she heals Jaskier's knee in an instant. The moment Jaskier doesn't feel a single touch of pain, he throws a dirty finger at Geralt, “You terrible useless witcher.”

Geralt grunts in annoyance. “I should just throw him as bait the next time we go on a hunt.”

“You——”

“Alright, boys,” Echo waves her hand between them.“Now, Jask, where are your extra clothing?”

Without hesitation, Jaskier replies: “The right saddlebag.”

Geralt turns his head towards Jaskier so fast that he might spin it off from his head, but Echo isn't here witnessing this. She was already walking towards Roach. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt grunts through his teeth. 

“ Geralt ,” Jaskier smirked. “You did this. Hitting me on my wound? I got that cloak, held in the palm of my hand .”

“Geralt?” Echo called.

Fucking bard! 

“Is this…for me?” The light-coloured bag had an opening to it, which might've been scratched open when he was getting down from Roach, a light light shade of purple peeked through the brown package. Jaskier doesn't like cloaks, he says they ruin his pretty outfit, so Echo took the guess that it's for her.

Geralt, definitely not prepared for something like this to happen, went rigid and blank for a moment and then nodded at her question. His eyes met with hers briefly and were quickly avoided, unable to look at those warm eyes for too long. He felt somewhat vulnerable under her eyes like he was an open book to her. 

“Thank you, Geralt. Would you help me put it on?” Echo offered and Geralt went even more blank. 

Oh, how the sight makes Jaskier giggle. He stood his ground, watching the always fearful witcher fumble with the clipping of the cloak, how every breath from Echo seemed to set something to spark within Geralt. Maybe too many sparks, because the witcher seems to be breaking more than usual. 

“Well, how do I look?” She gave the material on the shoulders a small tug, then turned towards Geralt and asked.

Geralt, still trying to render and register what had happened, gapped like a fish out of water. His mind was blown wide open by the warm body heat and the light floral scent from moments ago when he was trying to clip the cloak around her. 

“Oh, darling,” Jaskier stepped in and exclaimed. “You are absolutely stunning! It suits you better than anyone would admit.” His grin is all cheeky and playful. “I mean just look at our witcher, all dumbfounded and out of words. He's having even fewer words than usual. Ah, I never knew that Geralt actually does have some sense of fashion. Perhaps we could use that pouch of yours even more now.”

Geralt, as per usual, grunts at Jaskier and shoots him a death glare. 

“You look…nice.” Geralt bubbles out the fewer words. “You could wear it to a funeral and you'll still look nice.”

Jaskier stares at Geralt, mouth agape. While Echo just laughed at the words, warmly and found it funny. And Geralt kicked himself in the head for saying such a thing. 

Geralt, you idiot.

Chapter Text

Their paths carried on, sometimes they would camp where Geralt had thought it would be safe, and sometimes they would stay in a tavern where people would mumble and whisper about the three of them travelling together, especially when Echo is standing very close to Geralt. She never really cared, but it does get into Geralt's mind from time to time and Jaskier doesn't really know how to comfort him, the only things he can do is reassure again and again it is Echo's choice to follow and she won't go anywhere anymore - since she had made it clear one day when Geralt was getting his head in his arse, again. 

Echo, bless her heart, being the dearest human (elf) that Jaskier has ever known and seen. She treats Geralt so tenderly and with so much respect and personal space, warmth and smiles, it makes Jaskier's heart melt every time she looks at Geralt. And Geralt, bless his…well, heart? sword? Still acts like a teenager around her. Fumbling around like the fool he most probably is. He might be built all strong and tough and… Oh, those big wide shoulders . Jaskier sighs at the sight in front of him: Geralt bathing.

“Jaskier,” Geralt muttered. “Calm yourself down. You…stink.”

“How could I not?” Jaskier loosens Geralt's hair down and pours water on the dirty strands. “Have you met yourself? Brooding witcher, always dripping with danger. Very irresistible, really. But never mind, don't answer that. Apparently, you haven't.” This is new to Jaskier, speaking aloud and Geralt acknowledging the truth behind his words, not just snorting or grunting, thinking it's he's a bard, it's what he does - flirting with everything that moves. 

Since they're all safe for the moment and Geralt is all calm and relaxed, Jaskier couldn't help but just tease him. Teasing Geralt these days has been the top list of things to do daily, in his schedule. “Though, have you met my wife ? The beautiful sorceress with blue eyes - very similar to mine.”

The muscle under Jaskier's fingertips tensed. And Jaskier grinned. “She's breathtaking, isn't she?” He continued, mischief hanging at every inch of his body. “Speaking of my wife . Have you noticed the curves of her body? How she moves in battle, how elegant and graceful-deadly she is. It's just intoxicating, isn't it?” 

Jaskier got a grunt from Geralt. But he wasn't done. Not yet. 

“And her hands, witcher, those hands!” Jaskier sighed dreamily, recalling the feeling of times when Echo had healed him, hugged him, or just comforted him when he got grossed out by Geralt during a hunt. “Have you felt them? I mean, I know you've been patched up and healed by her a couple of times. She's got the softest touch, especially when she's not using magic. She can heal everything if she wants to.”

Geralt shifts uncomfortably in the bathtub. Jaskier could tell it's getting to him. 

“And her hair,” Jaskier continued, his tone playful but with more appreciation. “They're like silk. Imagine running your hands through those curls, Geralt. I mean, I have,” he adds with a cheeky tone. “But I bet you'd enjoy it even more.”

Geralt shifts again. 

This time Jaskier's grin turned into something else, a little evil but still a flirt. “Admit it, Geralt. You've thought about it. How she feels, how she sounds, how much you want her. There's no shame in it. Just don't be a fool and let her slip.” He paused, lowering his head, leaning closer and murmured: “Because someone else might not be so slow to act.” He then rinses off the foam from Geralt's hair. “Now, do you want me to scrub your back or have I done enough distractions that you might need some alone time ?”

Jaskier half expected a gruff retort, mayhaps a punch on his gut, but instead, he got himself splashed a face-full of soap water. 

“Really, Geralt?” He spats out a mouth of water, then wipes his face with his palm. He wasn't angry, quite the opposite - grinning ever wider, like a fool. 

“You're a child,” Geralt grumbles, sinking deeper into the tub. 

“Oh, come on. You'll thank me later.”

Downstairs, just as Echo was about to bring their dinner up, Jaskier had appeared next to her, his tunic still dripping with water. 

“Something happened?” She asks. 

Jaskier wiped the last drop of soap water from his face, still grinning idiotically. “Oh no, nothing. Well, Geralt happened.”

“Huh?”

“He’s just enjoying himself upstairs. No worries.”

It took a while but Echo soon realised what Jaskier had meant. As her cheeks turn a soft shade of red, Jaskier winks at her all knowingly.

“You're impossible,” she muttered, turning away to hide the light blush. “Geralt should've drowned you in the bathtub when he had the chance”.

“While he's still in the tub? You're spoiling me, wife ,” he teased, enjoying this view of Echo being so flustered 

Echo rolled her eyes at Jaskier, but couldn't help the smile appearing at the corner of her lips. It was always fun to watch Geralt acting like a fish out of water, she has to admit. She pushes Jaskier's plate of food towards him, so they can give Geralt more space and time to find himself back. They sat in a corner, eating their food, both grinning with chaos.

It was an easy meal: stew and roasted vegetables with mashed potatoes. Echo's appetite has never been big, but she loves to munch on snacks or whatever she has in her snack pouch. Jaskier was already hungry when Geralt came back from the hunt - if he had starved any longer, he might just eat Geralt. 

They finished their food and headed upstairs with a plate full, for Geralt. Echo must've worked quite the heaven-magic to get a plate this full of food , Jaskier had thought.

When they entered their room - yes, the room they shared, for now. Echo had been getting her own room throughout the path, but earlier this morning her stomach ached out of the blue. Jaskier had nearly fainted with how scared he was and how pale Echo had gone that moment, and Geralt…he panicked - in his own way. So as protective as the two men can get, they decided to share the room from now on, until they reach Kaer Morhen. It isn't that far out, at least Kaedwen is just within six or seven days of reach, then they'll be at the outskirts. 

As Echo and Jaskier make their way in, they see Geralt, sitting on the edge of the bed, all dry and fully clothed, but avoiding eye contact at all costs. And he's fidgeting, with the bedding material under his hands. He seemed…embarrassed, if one would ask Jaskier.

Echo cleared her throat, breaking the weird atmosphere lingering between Geralt and her. “Here,” she said softly, offering the plate of food 

As Geralt took it, his fingers brushed against hers and he killed Jaskier again in his mind. “Thank you,” he muttered without making eye contact, voice unusually low. And Echo's blush came crawling back. Unsure of what to say she stayed quiet and sat on the chair nearby, also fidgeting like Geralt was. 

Meanwhile, the troublemaker who had started all of this, stood against the wall of the room, smirking at his own doing. He definitely won this round.

*

A soft moan broke through the quiet night, and Geralt's instinct hit in, he opened his eyes, still not yet fully awake, but enough to realise there weren't any threats around. Just as he began to drift back into sleep, he heard another soft moan, coming from Echo, who slept in between him and Jaskier - all thanks to her enlarging the bed and cleaning it inside out with magic. The bed even had her scent after… Geralt, stop. Now is not the time.

Echo shifts again next to him, restless and unsettled in her sleep. He wondered if she was having nightmares when he remembered she was pregnant. It was the little one, tossing and turning. He'd found her awake during some nights in their journey after leaving Oxenfurt, in the middle of the night, she half-awake, murmuring soft mumbles, trying to calm down the little one.

Geralt, still not fully awake, leaned closer. “Shh…settle down,” he mumbled, trying to mimic what Echo had done before, but it wasn't working. Her brows still furrowed, her body still shifting as the baby stirred inside her.

Without thinking, Geralt reached out and placed his hand on her stomach, giving small gentle rubs. The sensation was strange, even after knowing what it felt like. The small kicks, the fluttering movements under his palm and under her skin. Her skin… Damn it, Jaskier.

“Stop,” he whispered, his voice soft. “Your mother needs her rest.” It sounds as if he's pleading with it. That's if someone hears him.

How does she even get enough sleep with this one being so active, he knows not. He just hopes the little one can hear him and know of Echo's need to rest. Which is hardly as the small one's kicks are still there. But just as Geralt began to sigh, the movement quietened down, until finally, the frown on Echo's brow disappeared. Her body relaxed against him, and her breathing steadied.

Geralt exhaled with relief, his hand still on her stomach, drawing light circles with his thumb as comfort. But before he could move his hand away, she shifted again. This time she had moved to lean against him, her head touching his shoulder, her body seeking more warmth as she nestled closer to him.

He froze, unsure of what to do next. Why was she leaning against him? Why was she even on his side of the humongous bed, when the last time he checked, Jaskier had been cuddling her. He was the one that's better at these sorts of things - warmth, reassurance, gentle cares and…being human.

Geralt glanced at the sleeping beauty next to him, watching her as she seemed to relax even more, resting against him. He had always thought Jaskier could offer her more, why would she find him as comfort and…safety? She feels safe around you. Jaskier's voice echoed within him.

And yet here she was, leaning against him, sleeping soundly. For a man who is made for battling monsters, Geralt finds these moments much harder to battle with. Soft, warm, peaceful, intimate - he'll never get used to them.

He sighs softly as he realises he won't be able to fall back asleep.

Or so he had thought.

Until he heard Jaskier's small mutter of something along the lines of being cold and stealing his heat away.

“Stealing all the heat, like some sort of…heat thief,” he heard Jaskier mumble, more clearly this time.

“Jaskier, shush,” Geralt grumbles softly. He had actually fallen asleep without even realising it - deep, seamless sleep.

Finally, Geralt opened up his eyes, and the first thing - person - he saw was Echo's face. The soft, delicate features are even more noticeable when she's asleep. While Jaskier, sitting up and pouting at Geralt, clearly missing the heat he'd had before.

He rolls his eyes at his bard and then glances past him towards the window. Outside was still dark - the sun had yet to rise - but there was a noticeable chill in the air that hadn't been there the previous night. Jaskier wasn't being dramatic, the cold had settled overnight 

The weather was changing much faster than Geralt had expected.

Geralt's mind starts to calculate. If winter was drawing this near, much faster than he had anticipated, then it meant they were running out of time. They need to get to Kaedwen soon, not just to get warmer clothes, but also to climb through the mountain pass before the first snowstorm hits. Once snow starts to fall, it would be difficult to climb for him and could reach impossible for Jaskier. Plus Echo being pregnant…he doesn't want to take any chances, risking their lives.

“We need to get back on the road,” Geralt muttered to himself, but he didn't get up or wake Echo from sleep.

“Yes,” Jaskier sighs as he lies back down, much closer to Echo. “But before we move along, can we make sure your bard doesn't turn into a bard-sicle first?”

“Fine,” Geralt half whispered, feeling Echo stirring gently next to him. “But we're leaving as soon as breakfast starts.”

“Hm. She's so warm. How's she still needing you?” Jaskier's voice fades, backing into slumber as Echo's warmth radiates to him.

Good question, bard.

Geralt hummed, wondering too.

He sighs.

They have to move quickly, faster than what he had initially planned. Winter is coming, fast, and they still have a long way to go.

Chapter Text

The biting cold wind in Kaedwen isn't making anything better. Not to mention the small patch of snow that's already forming on the road. It has been snowing for the past two days. Anyone with a head should know to stay indoors as the temperature drops more and more, day by day.

But Lambert isn't in any mood to stay in a tavern, he needs a healer, badly, not for him, but for the bleeding-out witcher that he's been dragging along for nearly a whole day.

“Come on, Aiden,” Lambert urges his friend to stay awake while helping him to shuffle forward. The wind and cold are doing nothing to help. 

Aiden, his companion, his friend, lay slumped against him, blood still dripping from the half-healed wound. Lambert can feel his friend's body warmth slipping, from the loss of blood, and from the cold. 

“Stay awake. You can't let this be your end, not when you owe me a fucking death-saving healing spell, a new dagger and three rounds of ale. Stay with me, you Kitty Cat !” That got a response from the half-awake witcher. Aiden muttered something very softly. “Yes, if you close your eyes, I'll yell at you and call you a Kitten !” Lambert forced himself to be as hopeful as he could. He is, ever since he ran into the bleeding-out Aiden earlier this morning at the other side of the hill, he thinks of himself as lucky. What if he didn't decide to use the other side of the road, and instead went straight into Kaedwen? He would've never heard from Aiden again. Might not have even known he died. 

With each step, Lambert watches out for his surroundings, in case of danger and is desperate for the sign of the mage's hut - a human had told him half a day ago. As he walked further on, Lambert realised they were now by the outskirts of Kaedwen. It might've been a year but nothing much had changed, and then he saw the hut.

“Hey, you stay with me. We're nearly there,” Lambert muttered and hefted Aiden on his back. With his friend on his back, only half conscious and him also holding onto his swords, Lambert walked as fast as he possibly could. He could feel it much clearer now, how short Aiden's breathing had become and the ever-slower heartbeat of his. It makes Lambert's stomach twist in ways he never thought could.

“Remember the time when we got so drunk on home-brewed ale, and stole the village elder's horse? He was so pissed, we were nearly hanged.” But this time Aiden barely stirred, his head limping on Lambert's shoulder.

Finally, the healer's hut came into view, and Lambert felt a tinge of relief. He used his feet as hands, kicking on the door, not caring if he was going to break it down. When the door creaked open, he blinked. Staring back at him was the familiar face he'd seen some months ago - Echo, the witch Geralt had bound himself to.

For a moment, Lambert just stared, processing. He was told, by the same human that had told him about the hut, the mage that lived here was a cranky old man with a grey goatee and had no liking for witchers. This… this is the exact opposite of what he was expecting. But Lambert couldn't be more glad. If it wasn't for the healing scroll she had given to him as a parting gift, Aiden would have…

“Fuck, you have no idea how great it is to see your face, witch,” Lambert sighs in relief. “Need your magic. Heal him.” He gave Aiden a small bump using his head.

Echo doesn't ask a single question but opens the door wide, a soft smile on her face as she lets him inside. The warmth of the hut hit Lambert instantly, the very opposite of the outside world. It smelled like every other mage's hut, with herbs and medicine, but also a tinge of blood in the warm air. And then another scent came to him as he walked past her, the unmistakable scent of Geralt of Rivia.

But Lambert couldn't care less, not now, not when Aiden's unconscious and on the verge of death. He lowers him onto the bed, which seems to haven't been slept on or used for some time.

Echo finally spoke as she sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands glowing with magic. “What happened?”

“I found him bleeding, already wounded,” said Lambert, voice lined with anxious. “The wounds look nothing like what I know of, and he won’t tell me a damn thing.” His words were quick and sharp, lined with a tone of frustration.

Echo doesn’t press for more information as she begins to work her magic. As she tended to the wounds, she caught the glint of a different amulet hanging around this wounded witcher’s neck. Curiosity took place in her mind but she didn’t ask. Geralt had mentioned once - briefly - that there were different schools of Witchers throughout the Continent, but never said more than that. Besides, she could see the subtle panic in Lambert’s eyes that he probably didn’t even realise. Knowing how pricky he is, Echo decides she can wait.

Aiden’s wound began to heal in front of his eyes, the flesh knitting together, perhaps not even leave a scar behind. It was a remarkable sight, even to Lambert's eyes, recovering so fast and so complete. He felt the tension leave his shoulders, and he nearly threw his arms around Echo out of impulse, but before he could, the hut door swung open with a bang.

Geralt walked in, his usual unreadable expression, while behind him, Jaskier peeked his head out with wide eyes and a warm smile, and curiosity written all over his face.

Just as Jaskier opened his mouth, wanting to greet and ask who's the wounded one, Geralt's eyes immediately landed on the distinct amulet hanging from Aiden's neck. A deep scowl formed on his face.

“A Cat?” He snapped at Lambert. “You're travelling with a Cat!” Geralt's voice is sharp, more accusation than question. 

Lambert's jaw tightened. “Yeah. And?”

“ And? You should know better than hanging around these killers-for-hire.”

“He's not like the others!” Lambert stood in front of Aiden's bed as Echo's still healing him. “He doesn't do the same shite they do. He's different.”

“Different how?” Distrust is heavy in Geralt's tone. “Because from where I'm standing, he's wearing the same damn medallion.”

“Because I trust him. Because he saved my arse more times than I can count. Because he is my damn friend that I dragged for nearly a whole day, to find a healer!” Lambert growled low in his throat.

The two Witchers stood there, just inches apart, tension flaming between them like oil poured into fire. Geralt's distrust ran deep, not just because he was a survivor, but also throughout the years on the path seeing what these Cats can and would do just for coin. Cats can even be worse than the monsters he hunts, he knows. And yet here is Lambert with a fucking Cat.

Just as Geralt was about to retort, Echo lifted her head up and glanced at Geralt. For a moment, he went quiet. But then he reopened his mouth to speak.

Echo, without even an incantation, she flicked her hand at Geralt and froze him in the spot.

“Echo?” He questioned.

Another spell hit him.

Geralt's lips parted, wanting to say something but no sound came out. He was held to his spot and silenced by Echo.

Lambert, clearly enjoying the sight, smirked. “Well, that's one way to shut him up.”

However, he does realise the subtle tension lingering between Geralt and his witch. Obviously, asking Geralt is never the correct way, and his witch also doesn't seem as talkative, so he turns to Geralt's bard.

Jaskier, still behind Geralt, shook his head slightly and looked at Echo, who's back to tending to Aiden.

Lambert hummed, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Lover's quarrel. Geralt's lover's quarrel. Dra-ma! He's loving it.

*

“He'll wake up soon. Let the potion take its course, it won't take long,” Echo assured Lambert, her voice soft and warm. Something Lambert isn't used to. He still doesn't understand her, it's like they - Witchers - don't faze her, when the whole world tends to see them as monsters and mutants. Even he himself.

Lambert nods to her and then watches her walk away, leaving Geralt muted and frozen in place.

As she moved deeper into the room, knowing she wouldn't be able to hear much, Lambert turned his attention to Jaskier, who had started to braid Geralt's hair with a mischievous grin.

“So, what happened to these two?”

Jaskier chuckled while throwing a yellow flower into Geralt's braid. “Oh, it all went shite when Echo wanted to build a snowman.”

“You mean Geralt himself isn't enough of a snowman himself?” Lambert smirked and reached out to poke Geralt's cheek just to irritate the frozen witcher more. Geralt's eyes flared, but all he could do was fume in silence.

Jaskier's chuckle turned into a wide grin, then let out a very dramatic sigh. “Well, our dear White Wolf here's been a bit…overprotective, to say the least. Echo, the sweetheart, understands, of course, but seriously, when someone keeps going on and on with ‘be careful’ this, ‘no, don't do that’ every time…even the sweetest has her limit. But no, Geralt just doesn't stop,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes. “And so when she wanted to have some fun, in the snow…Well, let's just say that was the last straw. Plus the pregnancy is hitting in.”

“I mean, if she didn't have such good control, she'd be burning down the whole of Kaedwen when Geralt got too much,” Jaskier adds as he braids another strand of Geralt's hair. 

Lambert's heard of women being even more tricky to deal with when pregnant. “So it's true then: pregnant women and their hormones. All the yadidas. Picked that up on the Path, thought it was useless.” Lambert jabs a finger at Geralt, grinning ever wider. “And I thought you'd know better. But, with everything that's happened…getting muted and frozen, that's likely the witch being nice.” He then turns back to Jaskier. “So what now? The magical bond between the two of them.” But he also gazed at Geralt, as if asking another unspoken question. Geralt, however, just looks away.

Jaskier shrugs, trying to keep this topic light - knowing Geralt, he tends to make things even more complicated. And with the talk they had in Oxenfurt hanging above their heads…“He gets all fluttered just looking at her. It's adorable, actually.”

Lambert's eyes go back to Geralt, and with a sharp glint in his eyes, he leans closer. “Is that the bond's doing or…real feelings ?”

The question hit like a cold breeze. Jaskier had never thought about that, hadn't even considered the possibility that the happiness and the smiles were nothing but magic-manipulated emotions. For once, Jaskier doesn't have any words to respond. 

“The bond…” Echo walked back into the room, her glamour shaded away, leaving her looking more pregnant than Lambert remembers. Her eyes drifted to Geralt, and softly she began to talk, “on my side, it's a constant pull, towards him. Wherever I am, no matter how far I can be, I can always feel it - pulling me towards his direction. It's subtle, almost ignorable, but it's there.” She walks towards Geralt, whose hair had been half-braided by Jaskier. She smiles upon the view, conjures out a floral crown made from bluebells, and puts it on his head, grinning happily.

Geralt, still muted and frozen, meets her eyes. Swirls of emotions running their courses, but none showed. He watches her with a careful gaze, almost pleading - hoping.

“It can't manipulate me.” Her soft gaze falls away from Geralt, down to his hands. “When I travelled through the portal to here, a part of The Weave - something beyond this world and something I still don't fully understand - touched me and came with me. I don't know why or how, but it gave me extra protection and instinct from all other magics. The reason behind why I spotted the bond so quickly. It's like a shield, guarding me from unwelcome magic or spells. I've been testing its limit and from what I know and feel, it protects me from emotional manipulation while also boosting up my own magic in ways I have yet to test.”

Lambert sat down by Aiden's bed processing her words. He wasn't the type to deal with all this emotional, magical crap, but there is one thing he will hate to see - no matter how much he teases Geralt about: To see Geralt tangled in something he can't punch or kill for his way out.

Magic had always been a tricky and cautious subject, and he always hated how it could play with people's heads. He's witnessed what magic or Fate and Destiny can do to a Witcher. Eskel - bless his soft heart.

Before Lambert could make more comments on Geralt's behalf, Echo flicked her wrist, freeing him from being muted and frozen in his place.

The first thing Geralt did was scowl at Lambert. “Fuck you, Lambert. And that Cat of yours.”

“Hey, leave Aiden out of this .”

Then Geralt's eyes fell upon Echo, the way she's looking at him almost made his heart pound like a normal human being. The memories of her flew into his head: her laughter, her warmth. The way she fought because Jaskier was hurt. The way she had felt in between his arms during the short-lived hug they had shared. The way she had nestled against him that night. The way his heart had pounded in his chest like never before. 

Geralt's jaws clenched as she stood there, just within a reach he could grab her hand and place it in his. Jaskier wasn't wrong, it isn't just emotions anymore; it is something deeper, more primal. He wants her close - closer. Wants her gaze only on him. But now…now the doubt was creeping in. What if…what if these are all just magic projectiles from the bond and nothing more? What if he had never felt anything for her? What if she's nothing like what he feels for Jaskier? What if Jaskier is the only one who held feelings for her?

He wanted to say something, anything to reassure her - reassure himself - but the question Lambert had asked lingered in his mind, like an anchor pulling him down.

“What if,” he raised all the courage he had and reached out, taking her hand in his, “all of this is just magic? That none of it is real?” He says in merely a whisper.

Echo, being the most patient person anyone here has met, gives a light squeeze to Geralt's hand and pauses for a while to let the feeling sink into him. She could see the storm raging behind his eyes, she'd seen similar things before, on someone else - the turmoil.

Without hesitation, she stepped forward, her movements carefully and gently. She reached out with one hand slowly, her fingers touched Geralt's cheek and then gave a small brush against it. “Geralt,” she whispered, “this is real. What I feel, for you - the liking I've taken to you, is real.” Her eyes, the soft, deep blue - just as of Jaskier's, but even more softer - search for Geralt's attention, to make sure he's listening. “Jaskier was right with one thing: being here is nothing but my own very choice - no magic, but me.” She sighs. “I…I can't tell you. As everyone knows, magic is…complicated and it…I…If time is what you need, Geralt, I can wait. I can't tell you——”

She was sending something during the last part of their conversation, but her full focus was on Geralt, so when a sharp pain ached in her stomach, it took her by surprise. She gasped softly, her hands dropping from Geralt to her belly. The magic that she had been using to protect the child flickered and faltered, unstable in the stress. And the child - as if sensing or reacting to the stress or the flickering of the protection - starts to protest within her.

It hurts so much. A name got mumbled out of her mouth. Was it Gale or Geralt, she knows not - the sound was lost in between her trying to keep steady of the pain and the strain of holding her magic from bursting out of control.

Geralt's heart nearly stopped beating at seeing her like this. He wanted to reach out as he had just not long ago when he held her to steady her footing due to sleeping on haystack, and the night when she had stirred towards him…but he hesitated for just a moment.

Then that moment was gone.

Jaskier had caught her.

“That's it. From the both of you!” Jaskier wrapped his arm around her protectively. He looks directly at Lambert. “You started this. If you're so worried about Geralt's emotions, then maybe you shouldn't have suggested bringing her to Kaer Morhen in the beginning.” Then he turns to Geralt, ignoring Lambert, who is trying to protest on his own behalf. “And you!” His eyes blazed with more than just pissed off. “Yeah, the Djinn bond is shit, but would you stop blaming everything on the fucking Djinn! If you truly didn't care or didn't care enough, you could've just left her in the tavern with Yennefer. That, was your own damn choice. Fuck the Djinn.” Jaskier's hand tops Echo's on her belly, for comfort and support. He sighs. “And I- I should've just minded my own damn feelings than trying to make someone happy - for once in their life.”

“Come on,” he muttered softly, taking Echo away from the suffocation room full of tension. “Let's get the small one comfortable.” With that, he leads her away from the room, his concern for her and the health of the little one outweighing everything else in this room.

As she leaves the room with Jaskier, she looks behind her at Geralt - whose eyes haven't left her this whole time. Their eyes meet and finally, he decides to take some action, he gives her a small nod. Then she disappeared with Jaskier to one of the rooms further in the hut.

The silence lingered on, until it reached its peak and Lambert grunted. He sighs heavily, frustrated with this tense yet weird atmosphere.

“Look,” Lambert began to say, “I didn't mean - not on purpose - to make this shit even more complicated.” He kicks the loose floorboard near Aiden's bed, feeling awkward and annoyed. “I don't think the witch is bad or anything. Hell, she saved Aiden without even asking a question. You know why? Because she trusts you, so in turn, she trusts me. A little blind to think that whoever you trust, she can too - if you ask me.”

“She's not stupid,” Geralt mumbles. A habit of being protective - defending her.

“And that's exactly my point,” Lambert went on. “She's not stupid, and she trusts you - a Witcher.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Who in their right mind - other than your bard - would trust a Witcher? Trust you ?”

Geralt's eyes turn towards Lambert, a flicker of something Lambert isn't used to, flashing across those golden eyes of his. Lambert runs the back of his neck with his hand. “Ugh. Fine. I'll say it aloud for you then: she’s alright. Alright? Better than that, most probably.” He grumbles the words out, as if speaking any louder would hurt him physically. “And…she can kick ass - yours, preferably.” He hesitates for a second before continuing. “Fuck. She's even more likeable than that precious bard of yours. Happy?”

Lambert watches Geralt for a moment, but before he can carry on - unbelievable - a soft groan interrupts his and Geralt's chat.

“...you're liking someone? That's bad .” The soft whimper came behind Lambert.

“Oh, look who's awake.” Lambert relaxes and could kiss Aiden for breaking this weird talk between him and Geralt. He'd rather leave talking to Eskel and Vesemir. “First rule for you, Kitty Cat, heal.”

Aiden glares at Lambert. “Fuck. You.” Then he grunts for being so groggy and his limbs feel so…wobbly. “What. Happened? I…was I not…”

“Dead? Nearly.” Lambert wants to talk to Aiden, but then there's a huge thing sulking and brooding in the room.

He stands up and shoves Geralt towards where Echo and Jaskier had left. “Go sulk and brood someone else, White Wolf. Shoo. Piss off already. Stop moping in my face when you could be in the other room trying to figure out whatever that's not my problem.” 

Not giving Geralt a chance to even open his mouth, Lambert kicks him straight out of the room and shuts the door behind him. Quiet at last.

“You said she's alright. That's not alright, you know that, right?” Aiden, too tired, but he feels he's been sleeping for ages, tries to just pass time and get some answers. 

“Oh, for fuck sake, Aiden, no!” He shot a glare at his friend. “This is his, the famous White Wolf's- whatever they are. Look, she healed you without even asking for more than what happened - which, by the way, I still need to get an answer from you. I didn't have an answer, but she still decided to heal you anyway. Plus, the scroll she gave me. That shit is seriously life-saving, I'm telling you. Oh, and she's pregnant. Geralt's child.”

“Excuse me? What now!?” Aiden nearly sat up from his bed because of shock.

Lambert grins and pats on Aiden's shoulder. “Rule number two, don't piss off the witch. Which follows with rule number three, stay away from said witch.”

“Who is she?”

“Other than Geralt's complicated relationship partner?” Lambert pulls a chair towards Aiden's bed, sits down and shrugs. “Maybe his bard's wife? Who the fuck knows. Not my problem. Now, you. What the shit happened to you?”

Chapter Text

Gerald stood in front of the door, his hand frozen inches away from the handle. His mind is a mess, tangled with too many things at once. Lambert might have shoved him here, Echo and Jaskier just a door away, but as he stood here, every doubt and question came crashing down on him again.

He hated the uncertainty - unable to understand thoroughly. Were his feelings his own? Was whatever he feels for Echo just magic manipulation? And then there's also Jaskier, with the easy charm and affection that he lives with, something Geralt would never be able to match even if he tried. Wouldn't she be better with Jaskier other than him? 

He was a Witcher, made to slaughter monsters, hunt and kill - and here he is, standing here like a fool in front of a door doubting everything he knew .

He stares at the wooden door as if he could get an answer from it - a plain simple answer of what the fuck he should do. Then his thoughts took a turn and twists, remembering the Cat Lambert is hanging around with. What the actual fuck ? He's had his fair share of them during his Path over the years. They were known for ruthlessness, and their ability to take on contracts when others won't. Some would even take contracts to kill their own school, or even other schools of Witchers - humans even. And Lambert's friend …maybe. But he doesn't want to take chances. Chances …Fuck.

Everything is spinning out of control. And he is smacking in the middle of it.

Perhaps he should just walk away, and let Jaskier handle this, he could do this better than him. Food, room, information on a hunt - talk . And there's also the unborn child. What the shit was he supposed to do when he or she comes to this world? This is no world for a newborn child, nor to say his world is even worse. Monsters, blood, death, maybe one day his own death. Would he be able to live with the thought that it was him that got Echo's child killed? 

Fuck. He'll kill himself if that happens.

He should just leave her to Jaskier. The better decision, isn't it?

Then, as if the world decided he doesn't have enough shit to deal with, he heard something. His sharp Witcher hearing picked up Echo's voice through the door.

“Bigger doesn't mean better, bard,” she said, her voice tired but still with the playful tone he had remembered when she would bicker with Jaskier playfully. 

Geralt's heart couldn't sink more than this. Thinking and knowing are quite a different thing to go through. What the actual fuck…?

Jaskier's voice followed, light and teasing. “We all know that's not true, darling.”

For a second, Geralt froze, his mind going blank. And then all the self-control he thought he had melted away, exploded into a mixture of anger and jealousy like knife twisting in his body. He clenched his fist, knuckles cracking sound loud in the silence. How could they…

He grunted like an animal, his mind slipping, and without thinking he kicked the door open, breaking the lock and splintering the wooden door.

But the scene was nothing like what he had played in his mind.

Jaskier was sitting a few feet away from Echo's bed, holding a book, looking startled but not at all guilty, the playful smile was frozen on his face due to Geralt barging in. Echo was propped up with stacks of pillows, eyes closed, both hands on her belly, both glowing faintly with magic, still trying to comfort the little one down. There was nothing that even remotely suggested intimacy, nothing but what Geralt's jealous mind had made up for him.

Echo opened her eyes, blinking with confusion as the door slammed against the wall. “Geralt? Something happened?”

Jaskier stared at him, the playful smile faltered. “By the gods, Geralt, what on Melitele's wrong with you?” he exclaimed while holding the book in front of him as if it could protect him from the Witcher's sudden outburst.

Geralt stood there, frozen in his place. The jealousy still burned within him, but was now mixed with a deep, uncomfortable shame and idiocy. He felt he could just die already. No, worse - let the floor beneath his feet swallow him, right now. He had let his insecurities get the better of him - not that he'll admit them to anyone - and now he stands here like a clown. 

“Geralt?” Echo's voice was still full of concern and it made Geralt even more ashamed of himself.

Geralt's gaze flicked to Jaskier, who raised his hands up in mock surrender, and Geralt just wanted to run away. He opened his mouth to make up an excuse for making a complete idiot out of himself, but nothing came out. As usual, he has no idea what to say. Was he supposed to explain what he had thought…?

“Everything's fine,” Jaskier interrupted, waving his book in his hand. “Just a little…misunderstanding.” He then gave Geralt a pointed look from the corner of his eyes, one that speaks of unimpressed and disappointment in his doing.

Echo doesn't seem convinced, but she doesn't press the issue. She goes back comforting the small one with her magic, while also saying in a mere whisper: “Geralt, if time is what you need. If you need more time to…it's okay.” 

Geralt's breath hitched, the guilt swallowing him whole. For him acting up previously, for not trusting her, for not trusting Jaskier. His mind begins to howl again, a storm begins and he truly thinks he doesn't deserve either of their trust right now. 

He doesn't say a word but just stands there, his eyes on Echo, trying to figure out what the hell he should be doing now.

“I need a rest,” Jaskier suddenly declared, breaking the weird silence, standing up and stretching with an exaggerated yawn. “For my throat and my stomach.”

“Your throat?” Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“A man's gotta eat, Witcher,” Jaskier shot back, smirking as he threw the book he was reading into Geralt's hands. “Why don't you read to her when I take my break?” Jaskier picks up the bluebell floral crown from Geralt's head and puts it on his own.

Geralt looks down at the book in his hand, not understanding why Jaskier is giving him this task, but before he could even process what Jaskier was asking of him, the bard had walked past him towards the door Geralt had broken just moments ago. Before Jaskier left the room, he mumbled something knowing Geralt could hear him with his Witcher hearing. “Stop blaming the djinn and do something. Don't always let me make the decision for you. Dumb idiot.”

With that, Jaskier left him with Echo and the book resting in his hands. For a moment all Geralt could do was stare down at the purple-coloured book and feel a set of strange emotions roaming inside him. He turns the book in his hand, unsure of what to do with it.

His gaze then drifts to Echo, still propped on the bed with pillows, but her eyes are now on him and those deep blue suddenly made everything else disappear. For once in his life, everything was just quiet. No brooding, no magic, no jealousy, no doubts lingering in his brain. Then the smile, the one that always seemed as if she knew something no one else did, and then he remembered the task Jaskier had shoved into his hands. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the book and opened it to a random page.

His eyes scanned the words, and within seconds, he froze.

Smut. Pure, full-blown, explicit smut.

Jaskier was reading this to her? His mind went blank and turned another few pages, to see if he had misread.

Nope. All just smut. A book just full of pure smut scenes? Where the hell did Jaskier get this? Geralt felt like throwing the bard off the cliff. And he was reading this also to the unborn child? Fucking hell, Jaskier.

“Would you read it? Jaskier was reading chapter five, just started actually,” she asked, her voice soft but teasing. 

He stared at her, then glanced down at the book, then back at her, then back to the book, unable to meet her eyes again. The smutty scene on the page stared back at him, mocking him, daring him to read it aloud.

He sighed internally. He is even more fucked than before.

Geralt moves to where Jaskier was sitting before. Sits down. After grunting some inaudible words, he started reading what Echo had wished for: Chapter Five. His voice was low, quiet, and too serious for the material in front of him. He cursed Jaskier for putting him in this situation.

Echo watched him with an amused smile tugging on the corner of her lips. She leaned her head back, giving a bit more room for her belly and laid more back against the pillows. She's now half lying down while listening to Geralt reading smut aloud like it was some sort of ancient scroll of forbidden knowledge.

Listening to Geralt reading smut wasn't exactly on Echo's to-do list in life, but here she was. There was something soothing in Geralt's voice, even if it was reading about the heat of two fictional lovers. She'd always wondered, even when she'd just met him, why mortals are so scared of Witchers. Yennefer described them as something wicked, inhuman things that have no feelings. But that is nothing like the man that she had spent nearly four months on the road with, the same man in front of her who is reading smut. Sure he speaks less than a mute half the time, grunts and groans on most days, and insults Jaskier daily as if he lives for that. But also like Jaskier says, “ I always knew you had a golden heart ”. And Geralt does. He just hates showing anything other than what mortals want to see: cold, distant, dangerous. A mutant that's only needed for killing monsters and nothing more.

Being bad is always easier than being good. People don't expect much when you're dangerous. And she truly does understand. She knows how easy it is just to kill your way out of anything, talking from her own experience. But Geralt isn't like that. He isn't. 

The little one kicks her hand, making her frown from the slight pain she feels. You also agree, don't you? She pats her belly softly. 

“Maybe…in the future, could you read more? I- the little one seems to like it,” Echo asks softly, hoping she can get something out of him other than silence and having a task to do. She doesn't want to be only a task, she knows that. It might only be just a few months since the downfall of the Netherbrain - perhaps half a year? She's lost count of the days. But she knows there is something she feels for Geralt, not love - not yet - but more than just wanting him there . She wants him to be here . He and Jaskier. If only Astarion would see her right…

“The heat between them was unbearable, her hand gripping the sheet as his lips traced every inch of her skin, a moan escaping her lips as——” Geralt reads on, each word felt even more alien than the next. He still can't believe how far he has fallen. A Witcher, reading smut, to a pregnant woman. A pregnant woman! Two pages of smut and he feels like strangling Jaskier even more.

And that was when he heard the small, soft mutter from Echo.

She wants to listen to more smut? From him? Geralt was about to question her health for a moment when he realised the wording and the wrong tone of her voice. His throat felt dry, his breath hitched, heart sank. Did his earlier doubt do more damage than he had thought? She's never been this careful around him. It's as if she doesn't know if her words would set him off or not. It's as if she's walking on eggshells. 

He hates this knowledge - this thought - that he had pushed her back so far that she was scared to ask him for things. And yet, even now, he still can't shake the gnawing thought - what if this is even the djinn?

Fuck. Why can't things go back like they were? Back to being simple, without all the doubt and questioning. 

While Geralt is reading smut and debating with himself, multitasking two things he would never do in his life.

Echo has been watching him carefully. And then she saw the frustration and anger in his eyes. He didn't answer her request, didn't even look at her. It's just silence in the room, other than the words he's reading. She closes her eyes, a tiny part of herself telling her to just let go, for the better. She knows what she feels isn't magic, isn't the bond. But…she doesn't want to think more. She just wishes that he would talk . But then he is the most untalkative person she's ever met.

Everything was just so much easier when she was fighting that damn brain. She had thought. 

Geralt was about to turn the page when a wave of bitterness crashed into him with the force of a blow. His head flew up immediately towards Echo. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep. 

He'd realised that his silence had broken something again, shattered things he had meant to mend.

Geralt reading came to a halt.

He had come here to try to fix things, to mend the cracks he's done between him and Echo, but he made it worse. Just like he had with Jaskier, for years. All the harsh words, the ways he kept pushing him away, thinking it was for the best, that it would protect him. But all it did was hurt the both of them. However, Jaskier is stubborn and it has been more than a decade between the two. This… this is new, and the heat from it all burns like hell. And the ache.

What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to fix this? Should he keep reading smut? Or should he do something? 

He glances down at the book, eyes landing on the next sentence:

“Their lips met softly, a tentative brush, but soon the kiss deepened, a slow burn that melted into something more, something desperate, as if they couldn't get enough of each other.”

He froze, reading the paragraph over and over. Kiss? Could he…? Should he? They weren't that intimate - hell, they hadn't even shared more than a few close moments. And then it had hit - all those times, it was him reaching out to touch her. It had always been him. She was just within arms reach, and he reached . He reached for her. All she did was make him feel right, feel safe enough to react and accept.

Geralt sets the book down. Quietly, he slid closer to Echo. Sitting by the edge of the bed, his fingers brushed against her wrist in a hesitant, tender gesture. “Echo?” He calls out to her softly. And her eyes fluttered open with just him calling her name. For a moment, he had just stared into the deep blues of hers. He saw the weariness, the quiet hurt and pain, and it twisted things within him. And that snapped even more things.

Without another thought, another hesitation, Geralt cupped her face with his hands, his rough fingers gentle as they slid into her hair. And he kissed her.

She feels so soft. Her face so small in his hands. Her lips so warm. And her scent…

He kept reminding himself to be soft, to be gentle, but the moment her lips moved against his made everything he'd been holding back to surge and break. The kiss deepened, her breath mingled with his, and then he heard something shatter: his restraints. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her into his lap. The moment he felt her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair and Geralt lost himself in the sensation of her.

His lips trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as his hands roamed over her body, tugging at the fabric of her shirt. He was no longer reminding himself she was pregnant, the doubts, the djinn, or that they were in a mage's hut in Kaedwen. All that mattered was her - her warmth, her scent, the way it felt beneath his fingers.

The heat of the moment mimicked the very smut he had been reading moments ago.

It was at that precise moment - just as a soft moan escaped Echo's lips - the broken door creaked open and Jaskier stood there with two plates full of food, while also munching on a toast. He froze by the doorway, eyes wide in disbelief at the view in front of him - Geralt and Echo, tangled together on the bed, kissing passionately. 

The bread slipped from his mouth, while a small piece went down the wrong way as he inhaled a gulp of air out of surprise, and he doubled over, hacking loudly.

A surge of panic boiled within Geralt as he realised what he'd been doing, where his hands were. Geralt withdrew his hands from Echo's skin - already missing the sensation - he quickly moved his hands to button her shirt back, his breath hitched as he spotted the red marks he had left on her lower neck. He couldn't look at her, too ashamed of what he had done and of losing control - something he should be an expert on. Geralt mutters a quick, incoherent apology, feeling the frustration and embarrassment burning even more as he stands away from Echo. 

“What the——”

Geralt didn't let Jaskier finish his sentence. He bolted out of the room the moment his head was clear enough to process just how out of control he was right now.

*

Lambert and Aiden were seated by a small table near the fireplace, the warmth slowly bringing Aiden back to the world of the living - clearing his foggy brain. They had been chatting, at a slow pace, mostly Lambert babbling about the few months they were apart, and with Lambert updating him with a few pieces of information: Like about Geralt, Geralt's bard and the witch. Just as Lambert started to tell Aiden about Echo and her strange magic, even stranger magical scrolls, a rush of shadows shot past them and then the sound of the front door flying open and slamming shut, with the cold wind slipping in.

“What…in the hells?” Aiden muttered, his brain still processing everything that had happened. He glances at Lambert, who snorted in response.

“Nothing to worry about,” he replied, leaning back on his chair with a grin. “That's just the White Wolf losing his shit over things, again. We'd be seeing a lot of that in the future.”

Aiden, with his still hazy brain, remembered just earlier that Lambert had mentioned something about Geralt's complicated relationship partner. But before he could even ask about them, Echo walked into the room, her hand on her large belly. Aiden's eyes widened, trying to process even more things that just seemed too much for his brain at this point.

“You heal faster than I anticipated,” Echo smiled at Aiden, her usual warmth vibrating through the air, but Lambert picked up something else: The unmistakable scent of Geralt was much stronger than before.

Lambert: “Good to see things sorted.”

“No thanks to you,” Echo retorted, but with a playful tone. “You're going have to convince him, you know. I don't know what's going on, but…whatever it is, it doesn't look nice.”

Lambert knows what she's talking about. He frowns and his gaze lands on Aiden. “How is his healing?”

Aiden: “I'm right here, you know? You can ask me.”

“You can't even walk from the bed to here without tumbling down,” Lambert rolls his eyes.

Echo's smile became warmer as she gave her belly a small rub. “Give him tonight to catch up. You'll have a brand new friend by tomorrow morning,” she reassures Lambert.

Chapter Text

“Have you told him?” 

Geralt was looking at a pair of warmer boots for climbing when the woman standing next to him, covered in a light-coloured cloak, asked this question out of the blue.

“What?”

“About you do share the same feelings for him.” Echo doesn't lift up her head, she's currently trying out some nice gloves. They were a light shade of brown, a very earthy colour, with some sort of animal fur around the wrist area, it looked very fashionable and warm too.

Earlier this morning, when Echo had just had her breakfast, Geralt came around and asked her if she was willing to go with him to town, to get more warmer supplies for the road ahead - into the icy mountains. 

Of course, she wouldn't turn it down, not since the last few days Geralt had been overly protective, and now he suddenly invites her after acknowledging their shared attraction. There is no way she will turn it down. Plus she'd never really done shopping with another guy - romantically interested person. 

Back in Faerun the closest thing that happened was having a group of escapees hanging around her while she and whoever bickered about what to buy for armour. Before that - before being the hero - her life was actually very simple and mundane. She was raised by a bard father, taverns were her usual areas to be at during her younger age. When age came, she stayed in the dorms that the school had provided. After school, she was a librarian most of the time, until her father gave her a magical lute that has a hidden compartment with a scroll of an invitation to Blackstaff Academy - though it wasn't until decades later (during those decades she would sing in taverns and such) had she seen the invitation. She was defending herself one night from drunkards, the lute broke in half and the piece of scroll came out, and of course, the drunkards had paid for what they did to her first lute - the only reminder of her father. Bless the old man's heart, wherever he may be now.

But as luck for her always goes downhill, four years later in Waterdeep, studying in the academy, she gets kidnapped by a ship of tentacles. And then everything else just went to shits. Though she had always wondered why she had never seen Gale in Waterdeep or in Blackstaff Academy. She's heard the name, the clever wizard who studied at a young age. But still…curious.

“You should say something. He might be happy for you, about us, but he loves you more than anyone and everyone. Yesterday's encounter wasn't exactly…” Echo shrugs her shoulders, “The best thing for his heart, you know.”

“It's…not that simple. To talk. To him.” Geralt mumbles and puts down the boots. His eyes were now locked on a pair of doublets. Pretty as they are, they do nothing against the cold. His eyes roamed towards the inside of the stall, looking for something for the upcoming climb to Kaer Morhen. 

“Of course, it's not. But Jaskier loves you. He adores you. He's walked next to you for decades. He was here before anything, before I entered the picture and I- I feel not just awful when you decide to show your affection to me first, instead of Jaskier. He deserves to know you love him. Deserves to know, in words, Geralt.” Last night, when everything had calmed down when Jaskier went back to the seat to read poems to her, she heard the tinge of sadness and bitterness in his words as he read a romantic poem aloud. She'd always known Jaskier wished Geralt would talk to him, but it just never really happened. The closest he got was the night in the barn - yet the talk was about her and not about them. 

Echo watches the expression on Geralt change from one to the next, she knows he is letting everything sink in, trying to process all the strange emotions that he has been hiding away for a long time. It's going to take a while for them to sink in, but she does want to push him just a little.

Gerald barely had time to react before Echo had put down the gloves she was looking at, grabbed his hand and dragged him towards a darker corner of the streets, away from the early morning crowd.

She shoved him against a wall and her lips met his.

Geralt's eyes widened with surprise, his hand instinctively wanting to push her away, but her grip was firm around his hands and he did not want to push her away - neither to say he did like the sensation. Confusing, yes. But it feels nice. 

“If you can't talk, then this is all Jaskier needs,” Echo says against his lips.

“Echo——” Geralt tried to protest, but his words got eaten away with another kiss, fuller, harsher, with more force than needed. He felt her teeth grazing on his lips, sending him into a darker place as she bit down on them. And he feels he's losing himself. Again.

Geralt growled in the back of his throat, trying again to get free, but Echo wouldn't allow him. She pressed herself against him, overwhelming him with her scent and warmth, her lips still against his. 

Finally, Geralt pulled himself back from the darker corners of his mind. The intense kiss was broken too, Echo was now breathing heavily and leaning against his shoulder while having that familiar grin on her face. He'd imagined her kiss to be warmer, softer, even if she was only making a point: he could kiss Jaskier and let that be the beginning of a long-overdue confession. 

It's wild, truly, to think that she'd know Jaskier would like his wild, primal side. It's even more wild that he likes this side of hers, it is intoxicating, to even think how wild she could be if she wasn't pregnant. What she could do. What they could do. However, she is pregnant right now and she can't always just expect him to fall back every time something like this happens.

Geralt got hold of her hand and wrist, reversing their position, pinning her against the wall. This time, he led the kiss, claiming her lips with control. He felt her shiver when his lips reached her ear, grazing and nipping on it, feeling and hearing her heartbeat quickening. It earned a much noticeable shiver from her and a soft, pleading moan. 

“Geralt…”

He let the tension build, letting her breath brush against his cheek before he finally pulled back. “Lesson learnt?” Geralt lets go of one of her hands, he brings up his hand and brushes her rosened cheek. “You're pregnant, Echo,” he sighs.

Geralt slides one hand down to her stomach. With the glamour still working its magic, it looks flat as if she's not going through motherhood at all, but against his touch, he can feel the round swell. Beneath his hand, the child shifts slightly, as if acknowledging Geralt's existence. A soft emotion stirred inside Geralt. 

“Have you thought about what happens after the child comes?” Geralt asks as he retreats his hand and releases Echo from his grip.

“I won't leave, if that's what you're asking.” Echo grabs Geralt's hand, smiling at him, her expression soft and warm. “I don't want to leave. I like it here, by you, with Jaskier. Your life isn't terrible, Geralt. You should've seen what I went through within four months. But that's a story for another time.” She reaches up and cups his face in her hand, “I like you. I like Jaskier. I don't want to leave.”

Geralt closes his eyes and sighs as he leans into her hand. “You and Jaskier are going to be the death of me.”

“No. We want to be the people you wish to live. Plus,” Echo grins, “do you truly think Jaskier is just a famous bard?”

“What?”

“He's not sick, nothing's wrong with him. Relax, White Wolf,” Echo gives him a small pat on Geralt's chest. “I don't even think he knows. Breath. Breath, Geralt. He's just a little different than a normal human, that's all.”

“He is human. He's been human for years.”

“Well…” Echo makes a face and shrugs. “I could be wrong but…It's not that big of a problem anyway. What haven't you seen? Look at me, an elf mixed with dragon-descendant blood, the weirdest thing you've seen by now- hey! Don't shake your head at me!” Echo slaps Geralt on his arm. “Stop smiling. There's nothing funny.”

Geralt's smile doesn't fade as he catches her hand in his. “I don't care what Jaskier is, or what you are. Jaskier can be a fucking Cat Witcher and I won't care.”

“Lambert might kill you if he hears this.”

“That Cat I don't trust.”

“Oh? So you're playing favouritism now? So which of Jaskier's songs do you like? I saw you nodding to his music once.”

To that, Geralt turns and walks away, her hand still in his.

“Come on, love, don't shy away!”

Bards. Geralt grunts.

As they began to walk back into the crowded market, Geralt held Echo's hand in his, his mind strumming through everything that he remembered with Jaskier next to him in the past decades, trying to see if anything stood out. But nothing. If being loud and dressing bright as the sun doesn't stand more out, then truly, there's nothing else other than the great voice he has - not that he'd admit to Jaskier. 

The market had grown with more people and more stalls since they shared their little intimate time in the darker corners of the streets. The air had also begun to smell like freshly baked bread and warm spiced cider.  It smelled wonderful and Echo had to buy a small loaf just for her taste buds, it's even still warm.

Geralt chuckled as he saw how eager she was to eat it. She might be an elf, with an age of seventy or eighty - as she said before - but everything about her reminds him of a child. The curiosity, the fearlessness, the eagerness of wanting to see the world - it's like meeting the nineteen-year-old Jaskier all over again. But then again, she is still a child in elf age, so she says. One hundred years old to become an adult…

Did he kiss a kid? Fuck.

Geralt realises as he picks up a coat that's warm enough to let a certain bard stop complaining about the cold, and also pretty enough to shut him up from saying anything about fashion. 

“For Jask?” He heard Echo ask him.

“It'll keep the freezing his arse off complaint to a minimum.” 

He'll have to ask about this age thing again sometime. Though she is pregnant… Oh, fuck. Does that mean…

“Echo?”

“Geralt?” She grins behind the loaf of warm bread. Her golden-brown hair shone underneath the sunlight, eyes bright as the ocean with glimmers in them.

“How old do…do your race… mature at?” He feels weird thinking about it. Even weirder to ask. 

Echo first blinks and then smiles at him as bright as the sun. “Oh, we're on these questions now! Well, then, let me ask you a question first.” Echo walks closer to Geralt, her voice low for only the two of them could hear. “Is it true Witchers are…unable to have children? Yen told me this when she scolded me for wanting to keep you and Jaskier around.”

“Yes. It is.”

Echo pouts. “That's a shame. Not that pregnancy is fun but…hmm.”

Geralt blinks, momentarily stunned to his place while Echo pays for the coat he was looking at for Jaskier. Her words echoed in his brain, the meaning behind them sinking deeper than he had allowed anything to. A child - his child. He'd never once thought about it. Never once. Not even when he wasn't a Witcher. He was human once, but even then…

This is not life for a child, he knew that already even when he was only a child. And when he became a Witcher, no one sane or insane enough would think a thing like him would- could be a father. But then Echo is pregnant. 

Does that make him…? No. The child's father is a God, in another world.

“It's not something I…thought anyone would…consider,” Geralt murmured.

And Echo heard it. She didn't just hear it, she even replied with words that sent Geralt spiralling down the rabbit hole. To an unknown place where one would call fatherhood.

“I'm considering. So consider. As for this one is only months away.” She then rubbed his jawline underneath the hood that's hiding his face. “And the answer to your question. It's twenty-five, or twenty-something that we elves mature. So don't worry about age, I could even be older than you, you know?” Echo playfully pinches Geralt's cheek and turns away on her hills, carrying on walking around the stalls with her half-eaten loaf of bread. 

Definitely not older than him. Geralt decides as he takes the cloak from the merchant's hands and follows up to Echo. 

Momentarily, Geralt decides to forget about all the crazy stuff going on around him. Echo telling him he'll be the father of her child, his love towards Jaskier, Lambert and the Cat Witcher, something's wrong with Jaskier…He pays more attention to the road ahead of them, of the supplies he needs and the small list Lambert had shoved into his hand before he had left this morning. He'll let his mind roam sometime else, when they're safe and warm.

So Geralt moves with Echo in the crowds, buying necessities and some extra food for the road, with a new notebook Echo had gotten for Jaskier. 

They didn't linger in the market, both of them knew they were going against time and weather. Geralt did ask if there was anything that caught Echo's eyes, but she shook her head and said: “Perhaps another time.” Which had encouraged Geralt for a future where they could just walk around somewhere with no purpose, maybe even with Jaskier in the picture and Geralt liked that thought.

The walk back to the hut was much more comfortable since Geralt and Echo had talked out what is- are happening between them, and also about Jaskier. Though Geralt isn't exactly fond of the knowledge of trying to talk to Jaskier about…well, feelings.

As they neared the hut, Echo conjured up a spectral, translucent hand that could hold more than half of what they had bought in the market. Geralt watched Echo with a small grin, marvelling at the efficiency of having a sorceress around him. Though, from time to time, it does make him feel useless - not that he'd ever admit it.

Echo went through the hut's front door with most of the supplies, while Geralt led Roach into the stables where two new horses appeared. It's evident enough that these are meant for Lambert and that Cat of his. If Lambert can deal with lectures and disapproval from Vesemir, with side glances and from Eskel, then so be it. Not like he'd ever stopped Lambert from doing anything stupid before.

While Geralt cares for Roach with treats and brushes, also checks in the other two horses - a mare and a stallion. Ugh. Geralt snorts but still being very careful on the two horses, they definitely deserve better.

“I feel restless!” Jaskier came into the stable, exclaiming. “Make me do something, Geralt!” He declared, flapping his hands dramatically. Jaskier walks around Roach and stands near Geralt, eyes with plea and determination. “If I don't find something to do, I swear I'll irritate you forever!”

“You already are.” Geralt rolls his eyes. But he does hand something to Jaskier, a brush.

Jaskier stares down at the brush.

“Brush Roach then,” Geralt says, unable to keep the smirk of knowing how the bard would act. He's never let Jaskier brush Roach, not once. Jaskier might have braided her hair a few times, but…the braid never lasted because Jaskier would always brush it out whenever he came back from a hunt or something. It was the fewer times when Jaskier was so focused on talking to Roach and braiding her hair, had Geralt known what else the bard would do when he is away - either than pissing off husbands and brothers and families alike.

Jaskier froze with the brush in his hand. Eyes wide with shock. “ Brush Roach? ” he stammered. “You don't even like me braiding her hair! Brushing Roach …” He stares down at the brush as if it were a deadly weapon. As if Geralt had ordered him to polish a dragon's scale. “Geralt, you realise you're asking me to brush Roach, right?” His voice hitched, brows burrowing with concern. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head on the way back from the market? Did you and Echo fight again? You're not sick, are you? Do Witchers even get sick? I don't think I've ever seen you get sick before, on potions perhaps…more like drunk on potions actually…”

Geralt grunts, trying to tamp down the amusement from bubbling out. But Jaskier is still babbling in concern.

“...the last time you saw me playing with Roach's hair, you said I would mess up her manes with knots, and that was what? Last year Autumn? Summer?” Jaskier shook his head, clutching onto the brush as if Geralt would take it back. “This is unexpected. New. Perhaps even unsettling. If I'm being honest.” He lifts up his head to look at Geralt, worry written all over his face. “Are you sure you're not sick? Maybe hexed? Should I call Echo? I should call her. You're acting weir——”

Geralt heaved a sigh, cutting in Jaskier's sentence with him taking the brush away from his hands, and tossing it aside. Before Jaskier could even pout, Geralt cupped Jaskier's face, “Shut up, bard,” and kissed him. It was short and soft, a moment of quiet to stop the bard from babbling. 

Jaskier blinks and takes a step back with wide eyes. He touches his lips and quickly withdraws his hand, as if being burnt. “I- you…It has to be a hex. You- this doesn't happen. I mean, you kissed me.” A mixture of disbelief and concern floats within him. “I should- no. I need to call Echo. She knows what to do. She'll——”

Geralt sighs again, heavier, deeper. Half with frustration, half with amusement. “Jaskier.” He pulls Jaskier back before the bard can even turn and walks for the hut's door. Without another word, Geralt leans in and kisses Jaskier again. This time he didn't hold back. 

The kiss was deeper, all-consuming, with Geralt parting Jaskier's lips, and his tongue tracing slow movements that sent shivers down Jaskier's spine. 

Every emotion, every hidden desire, all the suppressed feelings Geralt had locked away - all of it - he had poured into this kiss shared with Jaskier.

It was not a heat-of-the-moment kiss, it's a deliberate, heated claim. It's meant to leave no room for doubt in Jaskier. It's what Echo had suggested. He didn't wish for this to happen before talking to Jaskier, but it seems to be the most straightforward action for Jaskier to understand thoroughly, instead of thinking something is wrong.

Slowly, Jaskier's hands moved up, tangling into Geralt's hair as he returned the kiss with every pent-up yearning he'd harboured for his White Wolf. Jaskier let himself melt against Geralt, tilting his head, following wherever Geralt led him with the kiss. 

Finally, Geralt broke the kiss. A soft chuckle escaped as he saw Jaskier still followed him, wishing for more. 

He leans his forehead on Jaskier's, looking into those lustful, fully blown-out blue eyes of his. “Still want to call her?” he murmured.

Jaskier cleared his throat, trying his best to calm the frantic beating heart of his in his chest. “Maybe...since she should know about…well, this - Us.” He gives Geralt's chest a pat, cheeks still tinged with a shade of red. “Unless…umm, she already said things? Me and her did…talk, you know. When you were not around.” The reddish colour on Jaskier's cheeks darkened. “We agreed, no matter who you choose - whether me, her, or none - we'd still stay connected.”

As if scared of something, Jaskier quickly adds to his sentences. Voice soft and gentle, “I love you, Geralt, but I do also love her too. It's…it is a screwed-up thing, I know. But I can't- couldn't wait for you forever, hoping that someday you might…I don't know, finally find a reason to push me away?”

“Jaskier…”

“I know,” Jaskier whispered, “I know you won't. At least I hope you won't anymore. But before this …I…and then Echo came. She's pretty, charismatic, she knows how music flows and understands the beauty of art. She understood me in ways that still scare me sometimes. So how could I not fall for her? But then- there's so many buts,” Jaskier chuckles, “then she began to show interest in you. And she realised it. She's very straightforward, you know. She's not someone to shy away from talking about what she wants. So we talked and so decisions were made and…well, here we are.” He chuckles again, now with more amusement than anything. “You should be glad you're a needy Witcher. Or you might've broken one heart, maybe both.”

Geralt stayed still for the whole time, sinking in everything Jaskier had told him. It's a lot. However…“I won't leave, Jaskier,” he promises as he pulls Jaskier into his arms, wrapping him up tightly, as though he could somehow hug all the hurt he's ever done before away. “I promise. I…” Geralt inhales a full lung of air and decides perhaps now is the right time. “I…” This is hard to say. “Jaskier, I…” he sighs, “This is so fucking hard.”

Jaskier chuckles as he buries his head against Geralt's shoulder. Waiting. 

“I've been loving you for a long time, Jaskier.” Finally.

Jaskier shivered, his head still buried on Geralt's shoulder. “Fuck,” he choked with a small sob. “Fuck. This better not be some illusion or whatever the shit-magic it could be.”

“We could call Echo, if you want to.”

“Maybe later. I'd give her a kiss later.” Jaskier leans away from Geralt's shoulder, blue eyes twinkling, looking back at Geralt. A small smile appears on his lips. “Can I kiss you again? Or maybe you could——”

Geralt doesn't let Jaskier finish his sentence, his lips capturing Jaskier's, taking full advantage of the opened lips he met with. And Jaskier, again, melted into the embrace.

Chapter Text

The journey to the first safe stop, or safe house - as Jaskier calls it - is as uneventful as everyone expected. Minus the part where Jaskier complained about the heavy coat Geralt had bought him. Either than that, all they did was walk and walk and more walking. 

They had left the mage's hut during midday when soft snowflakes had begun to fall. It was late timing, but they couldn't stay much longer. The weather is shifting quickly, all three Witchers can feel it.

“I'd never understand how you Witchers feel when the weather changes. Can you taste it or something?” Jaskier had asked when they were packing. “I get it about ‘I know tomorrow will be sunny or blahs’ type, but like knowing it will snow, a storm will hit,  and winter is closer than it used to be. Just how?”

“Decades of practice,” Geralt replied.

“I've been with you long enough to understand the difference between your grunts and groans, how is it that I still can't read the damn weather?”

“Hm. Maybe you're still a child.”

“I'm thirty! - give or take a few years.”

“Child .”

Jaskier grabbed a handful of snow and threw it on Geralt's back. To which Geralt doesn't even bother to shake off. He smirked and added another, “Child,” and walked on while Jaskier spat and complained and threw a tantrum as he followed on, just a few steps behind his witcher.

Another few steps behind, Echo had been admiring the vastness of snow-covered mountains ever since they ventured away from the thick forest. She'd never seen something like this. Sure there are plenty of winters she had been through in Faerun, but never once was she climbing mountains or venturing deep during winter. Her life was much easier and calmer than most people's, that is until the nautiloid happened. And things from there on just went wild. If someone had told her just a decade ago that she'll be pregnant, venturing into snow, walking next to four handsome men in another world, she'd be laughing her arse off. 

*

“How you holding up?” Geralt brought a plate of food to Echo, sitting near the window, watching the outside with soft snowflakes falling down. He puts the plate down on the small table in front of her.

“It's really pretty,” she commented on the view outside and thanked him for bringing her supper. “I've never thought of myself as spoiled, not even during being kidnapped and getting thrown into battles every other day after being the escapee. They named me as Hero of Baldur's Gate, when none of it would've happened if it wasn't for all my friends that I met along the way. I was never the leader of the group of escapees, there was no leader, just a bunch of weirdos who had no idea what to do with their lives. My life before all of this?” She sighs, “I kind of just realised how spoiled of a life I was in.” Echo paused for a moment and chuckled to herself. “I think pregnancy is getting to me. I think I'm getting soft. Never had these kinds of thoughts running before.”

Geralt doesn't say anything. He stood there silently and just listened to her talking. She doesn't need comfort, he knows that, perhaps not even reassuring, as for she doesn't smell sad or doubt, the only thing she smelled like was…her. 

“Geralt?” She calls him softly. 

“Hm?”

“What should I name the child?”

The question took Geralt by surprise, he blinked and was momentarily blank for a while. “Why would you ask me?”

Echo points down at her stomach and then back at Geralt. “Because I am not planning on raising the child alone, White Wolf. If you're planning to walk away from this, let me just tell you that I will kidnap Jaskier. We both know how important he is to you, don't we?” She softly threatens him with a harmless smile.

“He- I…” Geralt frowns and shakes his head. “My life isn't fit for a child. It isn't even good for Jaskier.”

“And yet you allowed him in.”

“He shoved his way in.”

“Geralt.”

“He could do better than I. He's…human.”

Echo chuckles at that, nearly choked on the potatoes. She clears her throat and sighs at the was-golden but now much darker eyes that've been avoiding her gaze. She shakes away her full glamour, beneath the human features were golden-red scales running down from her right cheek to her neck, and something else was mixed into her, something that she hadn't shown even when her glamour was down - the slightly pointy ears that peeked out from her hair.

“What does that make me then, Geralt? How many times must I remind you that I'm not a human either? In this place, I am the monster that they fear.”

She stood up, stepped closer and gently took Geralt's hand in hers. “I'll show you.” Without another word, she led him outside, into the twilight, the snow was still softly falling but Geralt realised how the snowflakes weren't landing on her anymore, instead, they melted away just before touching her.

Behind them, Jaskier had stepped out of the safe house, having listened to the conversation silently - he wasn't worried or anything, but rather curious. Lambert and Aiden followed behind, one expression more shocked than the other. Lambert knew she had scales, but he didn't remember so many scales on her, neither to say the pointy ears. And Aiden…he is just pure speechless. He's never seen anything like this and this is said from a Witcher.

Echo let go of Geralt's hand and took another few steps away from him. She closes her eyes and sighs as if preparing herself for something. Geralt frowned, his instincts nagging at him for a danger that was coming, but before he could get closure, his medallion started to vibrate wildly against his chest, buzzing in a way that he had never felt before. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Lambert and that Cat was clutching onto their medallions. Jaskier doesn't move from his spot, but he has that look that tells Geralt that something is not right.

Echo's eyes fluttered open, and a flicker of colours shined passed those blue eyes. She can feel it- no, she felt it. The potion's effect - the one Yen had made for her, crumbled under her powers. She had deliberately stopped drinking the potion for nearly a month now, there were still leftover effects, but now it had all disappeared. She can feel the raw and welcoming magic inside, she can even feel the Weave that had landed into touching more into her magic, making it even more raw and wild.

Purple, blue, and green hues floated around her, flowing like auroras in the twilight. The familiar colour and view struck a soft memory of hers: It reminded her of the night sky Gale had cast for her, and the beautiful Outer Planes he had taken her to. But amongst the soft colours another colour appeared, a bright red flared itself into Echo's view - the legacy of the draconic ancestry. She reaches out and pulls on the power. The heat coursed through her veins, awakening the sleeping dragon that's been tucked away, its nostrils now flared, ready to be set into flames.

Under the stars, with four pairs of eyes watching Echo, the air above her twisted and cracked. A ball of fire conjured from thin air materialised, and slammed down into the mountain cliff behind her, melting the snow-covered ground and the ground trembled. Before anyone could react towards the ball of fire, Echo cast another spell, a wall of fire erupted between her and Geralt, flames roaring to life and clearing all snow in its way. 

Geralt shielded his face from the sudden blaze, his heart pounding just a bit faster than a Witcher should be able to. He takes a few steps away from the fire and looks through the flaming curtains, he sees Echo standing there, beautiful as ever with those scales gleaming as if reflecting the dancing flames.

“Who's the scary one now?” She asks and steps out through the fire and walks towards Geralt. “Don't treat me like a human, Geralt. I'm not one of them. Here, I am the thing. Where I'm from, you're the normal one.”

Her words cut deeper than all the scars Geralt carries. He knows she's trying to make a point, but… Damn it.

The tension on Geralt's shoulder fades, he sighs and reaches out to her. “You're fucking worse than Jaskier.” He holds her hand in his.

“Because I could possibly be older than you.”

Geralt snorts and shakes his head. “Not even possible.”

“Ugh. I'm going to puke,” Lambert comments by the door. He gags and rolls his eyes. “This is worse than the lovey-dovey songs sung in taverns. Yuck. Fuck, I want to gouge my eyes out. Come on, Aiden, leave this heated area.” Lambert grabs Aiden by the shoulder and drags the curious Cat away. “Curiosity kills the cat, Kitten. Let's go.”

“Fucking stop calling me kitten. I swear I will…” Aiden's voice gets muffled with Lambert's hand covering his mouth.

Lambert: “What's that? I can call you Kitten officially? Oh, wow, incredible!”

Lambert and Aiden made their way back into the house, while Jaskier stood by and just stared at the witch and witcher, in awe. Though he is less scared than being in wonder of the magic Echo truly could do.

“Jaskier?” He hears Echo calling for him.

Jaskier tugged his head more into the cloak's hood, trying to avoid the biting cold from touching his neck, he quickly made his way towards Echo and Geralt and stayed close. Two natural heaters for his mortal body, the best thing to be around in this type of weather.

“You know, after all this,” Jaskier points to his own face while looking back at Echo and her strange features. “Being an Elf is not even that unexpected. And you're a nice elf. The nice part is more unexpected than you being an elf. And,” Jaskier sighs heavily, “would you two stop the I'm more of a monster than you shit-talking thing? Monsters are monsters, humans are humans, elves are elves, and Witchers are Witchers. There, happy? Seriously, who cares which one of you is scary, at least I don't. Scary is nice, especially when I can get out of trouble easily - not that I have been in trouble lately. The drunkards don't count, I didn't do anything then.” 

Just as Geralt's lips twitch, Jaskier shushes him. “No, Valdo Marx had it coming. The rat bastard. Geralt, don't you dare. I'll throw you down the cliff if you try to blame me.”

Geralt: “I'd like to see you try, bard.”

Jaskier squints his eyes and walks away from Geralt's side. He stands next to Echo, carefully swings his arms around her body and takes her hand away from Geralt's. As Jaskier holds onto Echo's warm hands, he sticks his tongue out towards Geralt. “She's mine now. See you ever, White Wolf.” And he quickly moves Echo back into the safe house, while mumbling: “Geralt is being a bad witcher. A more terrible muse…He just sat there and watched you doing the heavy lifting…”

Geralt rolls his eyes as he follows along.

It's not like he didn't want to help. No. It's he wasn't needed then. 

Geralt closed the front door and suddenly realised something. 

Is this what the rest of his life is going to be like? Just pure, unfiltered, chaotic drama? 

“Damn bards.”

Chapter Text

Three days into the climb to Kaer Morhen, the snow had begun to fall heavier, the chilly wind had started its course to grow colder every moment passing, and the day had shortened down to where Geralt and Lambert had to wake everyone up earlier so that they could make it to the next safe zone. Jaskier's complaints have settled into something of a habit, and it's getting on Lambert's nerves. It has been an uneventful climb, and Geralt is very relieved so far, he knows too well what dangers could be lurking on the way to Kaer Morhen - Lambert's boredom be damned.

But, what Geralt had forgotten is that there now are two bards in the group. Both chaotic and a menace on their own. So when they finally reached the next safety point, Echo pushed Lambert away from Geralt's side and declared that she wanted to go out with Geralt to hunt. 

After debating for what felt like an eternity, it was Lambert who lost it first. Shouting at the top of his lungs and shoved Geralt out of the small cabin while Echo followed with a satisfying grin.

“ And you say you're not a child,” Geralt picks up his swords from the snow that Lambert had thrown out and grunts at her.

And just moments later, Geralt spots a pack of wolves that are preying on a small group of deer. The wolves are far enough away to be no immediate threat, but maybe just a few feet closer they would be stepping into wolf territory. Sure they can kill them, but it is unnecessary. 

So here they are, in a small cave, sitting as they wait for the wolves to run after their prey

“Tell me Geralt, what was the most hilarious mission you had to do on your Path?” Echo leans her chin on her hand, looking at Geralt curiously. “And don't tell me there isn't one. With decades of memories, you must have something.”

Geralt turns his head away from the cave entrance, glances at Echo and then back at the entrance. “Everything after meeting Jaskier is hilarious.”

“Oow. Jaskier would melt if he heard this,” Echo chuckles. “Come on, Geralt, I'm trying to know more. I'll let you ask me questions too. I know there are tons of questions you want to ask, but you're too shy.”

Geralt grunts and mumbles something under his breath, unable to be heard by Echo. “I had to chase a goat named Princess for a healer, and that goat kept running into bears and wolves and wouldn't listen to me to run away, instead, it kept freezing on the spot.”

Echo: “......?”

“You're staring.”

“Call me surprised.” It took a moment for her to find words. “Wow. That must be one very important goat then.”

“...not really.”

“Then it must be a good day for you then.”

“...not exactly.”

“Well, from what I know, you're either too tired to give a shit, or you were bored to hell. Was that healer that important?”

Geralt thinks back to the quest and then nods. “He knew things others don't. You?”

Echo thinks back to her adventures. “Most of my adventures only started after being kidnapped. Nothing much hilarious, but there was a lot of sneaking around and playing dirty. I had a…well, worm stuffed into my brain, that could be noticed by others who had the same worm, and then I could use the worm for power later into the adventure.” Seeing the frown in between Geralt's eyes, Echo smiled and said: “That thing is long gone by now. I- My little group of escapees killed the thing that made the worm, so cause and effect, the worm is gone and I'm free. So when I said I know what manipulative magic feels like, trust me, I know.” She reaches out to Geralt and puts her hand on top of his.

Geralt looks down at where her hand meets his, he doesn't move, for a moment everything goes silent and all he can hear is her heartbeat and feels how calm she is towards him. The howls of the wolf pack far away from his mind, the echoes of the wind blowing around the rocks have calmed down - the world seemed to stop. That is until he blinks and everything comes back. Like being pulled out from a lucid dream, his breath heaves for a few breaths then turns his palm up and holds her hand in his. 

“I don't know where this'll lead,” Geralt admits.

“We can decide what to do about that once we settle down with your family,” Echo nudges Geralt's fingers that are covered underneath his gloves.

Geralt: “You sure you don't want to wear gloves?”

“You seriously want to talk about wearing gloves right now?”

The wolves howl again, this time they're far away from where they were before. Geralt huffs. “Let's leave before Lambert decides to start cannibalism on Jaskier.”

The evening sun had started to dip behind mountain peaks, darkness had made its way out. Silence fell throughout the mountains, small birds chirping, no sounds from the packs of wolves any more, except for the sound of Echo crunching through the snow. She is trying to match Geralt's quiet and quick pace, but for all the dexterity she'd learned, nothing seems to help her walk in the snow. The more she tried to tread lightly, the louder the crunch became beneath her boots. 

“By far the hardest thing I've ever done,” she mutters under her breath. “Maybe I should just——”

Geralt's disapproval frown had silenced her. “Not leaving you here. Just step where I step.”

She is in unfamiliar territory, after all, and Geralt knows the area better than anyone, so she follows him, step by step. Adjusting her footing, doing her best to tread only in his footsteps. Which is harder than she had thought. He is tall, so his steps in between are wider than hers, which means she has to spread to actually get her footing right into his. At least it doesn't last too long before Geralt spots a deer. Carefully he reaches for his crossbow. Just as he prepares to align the shot, an arrow whistles past him, lodging itself straight into the deer's heart with perfect precision. The deer fell down and twitched a few times before going still, an effortless kill. 

Geralt turned to see Echo standing there, a smug smile drawn on her lips as she lowered her bow. “You'd really thought I’d do nothing?”

Geralt raised a brow, impressed. “So, you’re good with bows and arrows. Daggers, too. And magic,” he listed as he approached the fallen deer, amused, “What else?”

“Well, they don't help me to learn how to walk in snow.”

“Hm. I can teach you that.”

“Oh, how nice of you, professor. ”

“Stop being cheeky.”

“You like it,” Echo brushes off the snow on her cloak. “Admit it. You love it being on Jaskier.”

As Geralt bent down to inspect the deer, he couldn't stop the thoughts coming to his head - the easy nature that forms around her. He'd had his fair share of knowledge of knowing beautiful women are mostly always the dangerous ones, as captivating as they are, most are driven with ambition to darker motives and are, too, manipulative. But Echo? She sure is something different. Too different. Sure she is dangerous and deadly, but nothing about her yells ambition and the need for power - perhaps because her ex is the God of Ambition? Anyway… she isn't manipulative and doesn't crave power, all she seems to want is to settle down and just enjoy life and everything that it gives. And that's what captivates him. The groundness, the serenity, the calmness she gives without knowing. It is something Geralt doesn't get much from nearly every being in the Continent.

Geralt slung the dead deer over his shoulder, he casts another glance at Echo, noting how the dusk light dances in her eyes. Those blue eyes shone ever brighter.

“Let's get back before Lambert truly decides on cannibalism,” Geralt mutters and turns on his heels.

Echo chuckles. “Lead the way, professor .”

*

The safe house groaned faintly as the heavy wind howled outside, tree branches hitting against the hut walls while heavy snow buried the outside world in white. Inside, the fire crackled softly.

Geralt stirred, feeling the gentle weight of someone against him. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light, and turned his head to see Echo nestled against his shoulder, just like days ago in that tavern when the three of them had shared one bed. Her face was peaceful but her lips moving, he'd thought she was speaking, but they weren't words, just soft sighs and faint mumbles.

Geralt's brow furrowed, confused at first but then he noticed the faint and faster heartbeat underneath all the other ones. It took him a moment to piece it together, but realisation soon dawned.

It's the little one.

“You again,” Geralt sighed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Shifting carefully so he doesn't wake Echo up, he reaches a hand to her abdomen, his palm pressing lightly against the curve. And there it was - a gentle nudge. Then another, and another. Tiny kicks, soft but determined, meeting Geralt's hand like a greeting. He let out a low, amused huff through his nose. “You have a lot of energy.” And always in the middle of the night.

Without much thought, Geralt's hand moved gently, patting Echo's stomach in a steady rhythm. Gods knows why it had worked, but it did - just like last time. The kicks began to subside, the faint tension in Echo's body easing as she sank further into sleep, her breathing evened out.

But Geralt wasn't going to fade back into sleep anytime soon.

He sits up, carefully putting his cloak on Echo as a secondary warning blanket, doing his best not to wake her. He leans against the hut wall and watches her, his thoughts turning in circles. He has been avoiding thinking too far, too much, to unnecessary things and actions. But the child seems to always remind him what life he might be living in the future. To which the bond also flies itself back into his thoughts. Geralt thought he had made peace with what he had done, but the mere thought of his feelings for Echo being nothing but magical projectiles already made his guts turn. Does he love her? Is it the bond speaking or himself making the choice? And what of the child? If one isn't enough, life tricks him and gives him another, one which he couldn't possibly avoid this time - Echo's child.

But does he regret making the wish to save Echo from the Djinn's wrath? No.

Would he do it again? Yes.

Consequences be damned. Maybe she might've not needed his help, but he wouldn't allow himself to take chances when then he never knew who or what she was. To him then, she will die from the djinn. If she did, afterwards he finds out she was pregnant, he'll never forgive himself for it. 

The question of real or projectiles will always hang in his mind. But it was his choice.

Geralt sighs and closes his eyes, trying to find some quietness for his mind in meditation. After all, this is no time, nor the place, to sulk and brood.

*

The morning was still dark, with only the faintest hint of light creeping over the horizon, but the safe house was already awake and busy with preparation for the climb. The three Witchers are already packing, moving with efficiency and decades-old knowledge about what to pack where, or what may be emergency needs at moments in the snow. Aiden isn't as clear as the other two Witchers, who have been doing this climb for their whole life, but with the help from Lambert and the small lectures he's gotten from him, Aiden is slowly getting the hang of it. 

Geralt moved carefully around the room, stepping over Echo and Jaskier, who were still sleeping cosily underneath layers of blankets. He crouched over their things, packing them away with care.

The snow had stopped when Geralt stopped his meditation not long ago, he woke up Lambert first and discussed over a few sentences, which was then they decided to move early, making as much ground as possible before the snow and wind hit again. 

It is not ideal for Echo, he knows, nor for Jaskier to not get enough sleep. But getting enough ground covered means they can get to the Keep sooner, warmth and safety are the most important part.

Geralt glances at Echo, who slept much heavier than before, and he knows of the reason - last night the small one had been restless. Echo hadn't woken up, but sure her rest wasn't as comfortable as the usual days.

Jaskier on the other hand, the usual heavy sleeper became lighter on the road to Kaer Morhen, he stirred with a groggy mumble, his brown hair sticking out in every direction like a pigeon nest. He blinks at Geralt and pouts. 

“This early?” Jaskier mumbles, voice heavy with sleep.

“The snow and wind stopped. Better to get some ground before it starts again.”

Jaskier hummed understandingly, but also glanced at Echo, who was still sleeping, covered by her own blanket and Geralt's cloak - which wasn't there when they went to sleep. Echo's fingers clutched onto the piece of clothing, half of her face covered underneath it. Jaskier's gaze shifts back to Geralt, a smirk tugging at his lips. But before he could say anything, Geralt had narrowed his eyes and softly nudged him with his foot.

“Get dressed, Jask,” Geralt grumbles.

The bard sighs dramatically but obeys, pulling on his heavy clothing while still mumbling silently about having so many buttons and how tight the collar is. As Jaskier does all the above, he also points towards Echo, gesturing as if to say: Well? Aren't you going to wake her too?  

Just then Lambert appeared, shoved Geralt on his shoulder. “She needs to wake,” he states, voice low and gruff, but not unkind. Then walks away from the three of them, back to helping Aiden with their bags and making a quick breakfast.

Geralt crouches by Echo, he reaches out and gives her a small nudge, as gentle as the early winter's snowfall. And of course, it does nothing. Jaskier, standing nearby, rolled his eyes dramatically at Geralt's doing.

With an exasperated sigh, Geralt leans closer and nudges Echo again, this time with a bit more force. Finally, she stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

“Echo,” Geralt calls softly. 

She blinks up at him, her brain still foggy from sleep, but her eyes are focused on Geralt and a lazy smile appears on her lips. “You're pretty,” she slurs, full of drowsy sincerity. “And handsome.”

Lambert snorted across the room, Aiden tried to hide his amusement by looking down and fiddling with a waterskin. While Jaskier covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulder shaking barely contained the laughter from bubbling out. And Geralt found himself thrown off by the complimentary, feeling some warmness climbing its way up, he cleared his throat to shake the feeling away.

“Echo, we need to leave soon,” Geralt says while also carefully sliding an arm beneath her back to help her up. But the warmth of her body hadn't been expected - through just one single layer of material. This was much different than the small touches given to her stomach, or even the kisses that were shared. It reminded him of the night that he had nearly lost control. It reminded him of the soft skin his lips touched, the soft gasps of moans escaping her warm lips. It…isn't helping.

As soon as she stood up, Geralt quickly released her as if she had burned him. 

“What's the rush, darling wolf?” Echo rubbed her eyes and asked softly. 

The little intimate name-calling made Lambert snicker. “Oh my darling wolf, hast thou come to my aid?” he teased Geralt, smirking as he adjusted the leather strap of his sword. 

“Thee hast to beest mine own shine- no, dark knight in armour,” Jaskier, now fully dressed, added. “Oh! Sir Dark Knight and the Dragon Princess. That is definitely something. Now where's my ink and notebook…” Jaskier digs through his bag to look for his notebook to write down the sudden inspiration.

Geralt glares at the two with withering looks. “The snow stopped. Best to make some ground,” he answers Echo's question. Then quickly also added lightly, “Can I have my cloak back?”

Echo blinked and looked down at the piece of material she was clutching onto. The thick, black, heavy material had not been the blanket she was using. However, instead of being embarrassed, she smiles softly at Geralt and hands him his cloak. “It's really warm,” she murmurs, voice still tinged with sleep. “Thanks.” She knows he must have given it to her during the night. Though better not ask, since he seemed awkward about it. And also there are two teases in the room.

Geralt nodded at Echo in thanks. It's a weird relationship they share. One moment they were kissing in an alleyway, next they were acting like kids fumbling about love for the first time. Geralt sighs silently and swings the cloak around his shoulders. The moment he adjusted the clip, he froze. Her scent - jasmine and moringa, soft but striking - was everywhere, lingering on the fabric. It doesn't even smell like his own clothes anymore. He shifted uncomfortably underneath the cloak, trying to tug away the feeling and shake off the soft smell.

“Everything alright, Geralt?” Ever the perspective of Geralt, Jaskier asks as he looks up from his notebook and spots the weird face Geralt has on him.

“Bet it's something he's not used to smelling: clean clothes,” Lambert snorted, passing by with his bags over his shoulder.

Geralt, again, shot the two with a glare which doesn't do much. They silenced, but their faces talked even louder than before. He questions whether or not throwing them off the cliff will do much good.

Chapter Text

The day’s journey had been mercifully mild, with no signs of the harsh snowstorm the Witchers had anticipated. The sky remained a crisp blue, the air carried only a light breeze, and the path ahead was free of new drifts or obstructions. It was an unusual blessing in this part of the mountains during this time of year, and one both Geralt and Lambert were silently thankful for.

“This road is usually the worst,” Lambert muttered as they trudged along the path, kicking away a few stones. “Remember that storm three years back? We were stuck in that damned hut for five days with nothing but stale bread and whatever nonsense Eskel packed.”

Geralt grunted in agreement. “And the roof leaked.”

“Right onto my bedroll,” Lambert grumbled. “Never letting Eskel pack rations again either.”

“Rations?” Jaskier piped up, his voice bright as always. “You two sound like war veterans reminiscing about dried biscuits. Speaking of which, wouldn’t it be lovely if we had biscuits right now? Or, you know, some mulled wine and cheese—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted. “We’re stopping soon.”

That was enough to produce a dramatic sigh of relief from the bard. Behind him, Echo chuckled softly, adjusting the scarf around her neck as her pace remained steady beside Jaskier. The two had been chatting for most of the journey, their voices low but lively. Geralt could hear every word, though most of it was nonsense - jokes, stories, and idle speculation about the snow and the path ahead.

Finally, a small clearing opened up along the trail, offering a bit of space to rest. The Witchers took stock of the area, Lambert giving a nod of approval. “Looks clear. We’ll take a break here.”

Jaskier plopped onto a fallen log with a groan of exaggerated exhaustion. “Oh, thank the gods. My legs were starting to feel like pudding.”

“You’re soft,” Lambert retorted as he unslung his pack and pulled out a bundle of food. Geralt joined him, sorting through the provisions and tossing a few pieces of dried meat and fruit onto a shared cloth spread over a rock.

As they ate, Geralt’s ears picked up a familiar shift in sound. Echo and Jaskier, who had been whispering back and forth just moments before, had gone suddenly quiet. It was the kind of quiet that came with plotting, and Geralt knew better than to ignore it.

So when a ball of snow hit his back, he didn’t even flinch.

Lambert snorted in surprise, his eyes darting to Geralt. “The hell was that?”

Geralt stood slowly, brushing the snow off his cloak, and turned. Just as he expected, two guilty faces stared back at him.

Echo froze mid-snowball formation, her hands dusted with white, while Jaskier, still holding a perfectly round snowball, gawked like a child caught stealing sweets.

“It was her!” Jaskier blurted, pointing at Echo.

“He started it!” Echo countered, dropping her unfinished snowball and pointing at Jaskier. “I was just following his lead!”

Golden eyes flicked between the two of them, Geralt’s expression unreadable. Slowly, he began moving toward Echo.

Her blue eyes widened, and she put on her best innocent face, complete with wide, blinking eyes and a pout. “Geralt,” she said sweetly, her voice dripping with mock contrition, “it really wasn’t me. I’m completely blameless in this.”

Geralt sighed, long and slow, and stopped just in front of her. Then, without a word, he pivoted sharply and swept a leg out behind him.

Jaskier yelped as he tumbled backwards into a pile of snow, the pristine white fluff swallowing him whole.

“You treacherous Witcher!” Jaskier sputtered, flailing to free himself from the drift. “I’ve been betrayed!”

Echo burst into laughter, clutching her sides as she watched Jaskier struggle. Even Lambert joined in, his deep chuckle echoing in the crisp air.

“Serves you right,” Lambert said, tossing a piece of dried fruit into his mouth.

Geralt turned back to the food, his lips twitching ever so slightly as if suppressing a smile. Behind him, Jaskier continued his theatrics, loudly decrying the injustice of it all while Echo offered half-hearted assistance, still laughing.

*

By late afternoon, they arrived at the next hut, a sturdy wooden structure nestled near the edge of the trail. It was the second-to-last safe house before they entered Kaer Morhen’s mountain range, and the group settled in quickly. Geralt busied himself with the fire, while Jaskier unpacked his lute and began tuning it. Lambert seemed to linger near Aiden, but before he could claim the seat beside him, Echo slid in.

Lambert’s eyes narrowed his near-glare meeting Echo’s calm, knowing gaze. For a moment, it looked as though he might say something, but then he averted his eyes, busying himself with his gear instead.

That’s what I thought, Echo mused, satisfied, as she turned to Aiden. “So, tell me about Cat Witchers. Geralt’s told me a little, but none of it was flattering.”

Aiden chuckled dryly, his golden eyes flicking toward Geralt briefly. “No surprise there. Cats… we’re not exactly the pride of Witcher schools. The mutations are different - our emotional regulation gets shot to hell. Makes us impulsive, unpredictable.” He shrugged. “Most of it comes down to how we’re trained. Cats prioritize adaptability. Survival by any means. That doesn’t leave much room for morality.”

“Not like the Wolves, then?” Echo asked, sipping the warm tea Jaskier had brewed earlier.

“Wolves are disciplined,” Aiden replied, nodding toward Geralt and Lambert. “Structured. You follow the code, you stay in line. With Cats, it’s more... sink or swim. You learn to fend for yourself fast, or you don’t make it.”

Echo nodded thoughtfully, taking in his words. “It’s interesting. Back where I’m from, magic users - like wizards or witches - are similarly split by how they learn. Wizards study magic meticulously, training for years to control their power. It’s a skill they cultivate. Sorcerers like me, on the other hand, are born with magic. It’s instinctive, part of who we are. I don’t need to learn it the same way - it’s as natural as breathing.”

Aiden leaned back, intrigued. “So you’re like a Cat in that sense. No rules, just raw ability.”

“Something like that,” Echo agreed with a smile. “But it’s not all instinct. Magic needs practice to grow, to stabilise. I imagine it’s similar to your training.”

“Somewhat,” Aiden admitted. “But Witchers don’t exist in your world?”

“No,” Echo said, shaking her head. “Your kind would be... normal there. People are used to fighting monsters themselves or hiring mercenaries and adventurers. You might even be seen as a bit boring.” She smirked, taking another sip of tea.

Aiden laughed at that, the sound rich and genuine. “Boring? I’ll take it. Better than being chased out of towns for existing.”

Echo’s smile softened. “If you ever find yourselves in Faerun, you might actually like it. The magic’s different there, but people like you… you’d fit right in.”

Lambert, sitting across the room and quietly sharpening his sword, kept his eyes down but listened intently. Though he said nothing, Echo caught the brief glance he sent Aiden’s way - a look that held something unspoken.

One step at a time, Echo thought, settling back into her seat. For now, she was content to let the conversation flow and the bonds deepen, even if someone needed a little extra help along the way.

*

The fire crackled softly as night enveloped the hut, a cocoon of warmth against the frost gathering outside. Lambert and Aiden sat near the front of the room, away from the others, sharing a quiet space that was rare for them. Closer to the fire, Jaskier tinkered with his lute, half-heartedly plucking a melody as Geralt leaned back in his seat, sharpening his silver sword. Echo, meanwhile, was digging through her magical pouch - a seemingly endless void of oddities and wonders that Geralt and Jaskier still hadn’t had a chance to look into.

After some effort, she pulled out two glowing bottles, the glass swirling with a reddish-orange liquid that looked like molten lava. The faint warmth they gave off radiated like a small hearth in her hands. She rose and crossed the room, handing one bottle to Lambert and the other to Aiden.

“Here,” she said briskly, her tone practical but laced with care. “For everyone's sake, don't drop these. They won’t set the place on fire, but the liquid will burn through your skin like hell.”

Her gaze lingered on Lambert as she delivered the warning, making it clear who she trusted least to handle the dangerous contents.

Lambert snorted. “Didn’t think to take these out earlier? Like when we were freezing outside?”

Echo’s lips twitched in amusement. “The fire pit was near you two before tonight.”

Aiden held his bottle up, examining it with curiosity. The light played across his sharp features, and the faint warmth spread through his hands. It wasn’t hot to the touch, just pleasantly warm - enough to ward off the worst of the chill. “Thanks,” he said softly, a rare, genuine smile curving his lips.

“All the pleasures,” Echo replied with a small nod before turning away and returning to the fire.

As she moved out of earshot, Lambert watched Aiden, his brow furrowing as he caught the Cat Witcher’s lingering gaze on her.

“That’s Geralt’s problem, Aiden,” Lambert muttered bitterly, his voice low but sharp. “Look away before pretty boy stabs you in the night.”

Aiden chuckled, his expression unbothered. “She’s just…interesting. I’ve never seen anything, or anyone, like her.”

Lambert’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the bottle. “Yeah, well, one reason pretty boy over there is all over her.”

Aiden’s smirk didn’t fade, but he didn’t comment further, his attention drifting back to the swirling liquid in the glass.

In the back of the hut, Echo set her pouch aside and settled onto a bench near the fire. She barely had time to relax before a shadow fell over her. Turning her head, she found herself face-to-face with Geralt, his golden eyes intense and unreadable. Before she could speak, he moved swiftly, pinning her against the wall behind her.

His hands caught hers, pressing them firmly against the wooden wall as he towered over her. His presence was overwhelming, a heady mix of heat and power that made her heart race.

“Jaskier could walk in any moment, you know,” Echo said lightly, though her voice carried a subtle breathlessness. She tilted her head slightly, meeting his piercing gaze without flinching.

Geralt leaned in, his nose touching the curve of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Echo’s breath hitched as Geralt’s teeth grazed her skin, a teasing pressure that made her pulse quicken. “Thought you’d like it,” he continued, his tone darker now. “Just because I don’t do anything doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I just…” He paused, his voice softening, a rare crack in his control. “I do not want to lose control.”

Echo’s hands moved slightly beneath his grip, her body pressed firmly against his. She felt the weight of his words, the tension in him - a tightly coiled thread threatening to snap. The intensity of his restraint was almost as intoxicating as his presence.

“And what if I want you to?” she whispered, her voice barely audible but enough to send a ripple through the moment.

Geralt froze, his teeth still grazing her neck. Slowly, he pulled back, his golden eyes locking with her bright blue ones. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, the firelight casting flickering shadows across their faces.

“Don’t push me,” Geralt warned, his voice raw.

Echo’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, but she said nothing, allowing the silence to speak for itself.

The fire crackled softly in the stillness of the night, its light dancing on the rough wooden walls of the hut. Lambert’s soft snores echoed from the front room, an almost rhythmic backdrop to the otherwise quiet surroundings. In the smaller back room, behind a slightly ajar door, Echo lay on her side, awake.

She’d woken a short while ago, roused not just by the tiny but persistent kicks and twists of the child within her, but also by something else - an itch under her skin she couldn’t quite ignore. Ever since discovering the effect she had on Geralt - and even Jaskier - there had been a growing sense of awareness in her.

It was the way Jaskier leaned in close, his shoulder brushing hers, how his hands lingered just a moment too long when he held hers for warmth, playfully tracing her fingers and murmuring about how beautiful they were. Then there was Geralt: his golden eyes filled with both protectiveness and something deeper, something hidden. Fewer times, that fondness surfaced, but when it did—when he pinned her to a wall or leaned too close with a low growl of warning—it sent shivers through her.

Her pregnancy hadn’t helped, either. The child’s presence seemed to have heightened her senses and desires, fueling dreams that were vivid, intimate, and difficult to forget come morning.

Echo sighed softly, raising a hand and summoning a small flicker of magic in her palm then tuning the magical light towards the protection shield around the child. The energy shimmered and danced, casting faint shadows as she moved it in playful patterns across her stomach. The child seemed to react, shifting as though intrigued, and Echo smiled.

“Can’t sleep?”

The deep voice startled her, and the magic fizzled out in an instant. Echo jerked slightly, her head snapping up to find Geralt standing in the doorway.

“Geralt, don’t scare me like that!” she hissed, her voice soft.

The Witcher stepped inside, the faint chill of the outdoors still clinging to him. “Didn’t mean to,” he said with a small shrug. He tossed a few sticks into the fire, the flames crackling louder as they eagerly consumed the new fuel. Turning back to her, his golden eyes glinted in the dim light. “Why are you still up?”

Echo sighed, her hand returning to her stomach as she sat up slowly. “The little one was restless again,” she admitted. “And, well...other things.”

Geralt tilted his head slightly but didn’t press her. He moved to sit on the wooden bench near the fire, glancing at her as she rose and joined him. She eased onto the bench beside him, her hand still absently resting on her stomach.

“Is it kicking again?” Geralt asked, his gaze flicking down to where her fingers rested.

“Huh? Oh...” Echo blinked, realising what he meant. “Well, yes. How did you-” She stopped, realisation dawning. There must have been nights when her restlessness had woken him. She exhaled, a touch of guilt colouring her tone. “Sorry. Waking you up and all that. The child is always so active at night.”

Geralt leaned back slightly, his expression softening. “That it is,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. He thought back to the faint kicks he’d felt during those nights, the way the movements seemed small yet determined, much like Echo herself.

“Have you ever been around children?” Echo asked after a moment, her tone curious.

Geralt shook his head. “Not like this,” he admitted. “Most Witchers don’t get this... close. It’s different.”

Echo tilted her head, studying him. “Do you mind it? Being part of all this, I mean.”

Geralt’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then he said simply, “No. I don’t mind.”

The honesty in his voice made Echo smile, a small, warm thing that softened her features. She shifted slightly, leaning against the backrest of the bench. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I think the child likes you. It always seems calmer when you’re around.”

Geralt let out a low chuckle. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm.” Echo’s eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. “Might be your voice. Or your brooding and sulking. Very soothing.”

Geralt snorted softly, shaking his head. “If you say so.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. Echo shifted slightly, moving closer to Geralt. Her shoulder brushed his, and the warmth of his presence seeped into her. The air between them felt heavier now, charged with something unsaid.

Geralt’s gaze drifted down to her, his golden eyes lingering as though waiting. Echo swallowed, her heart beating faster.

“There is... something else,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmmm.” Geralt’s deep hum was noncommittal, but his attention sharpened.

Echo hesitated, then glanced toward Jaskier, who was sprawled out nearby, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. With a soft incantation, she cast a deeper sleep spell over him, ensuring he wouldn’t wake. When she turned back to Geralt, one of his brows was raised, curiosity evident on his face.

“As I said before,” Echo began, her voice soft as she leaned closer. Her chin rested lightly on his shoulder, her breath brushing against his cheek and ear. She felt the faint tension in his body, the way his muscles stiffened under her closeness, but he didn’t pull away.

“I want to,” she whispered, her words almost lost in the crackling of the fire.

Geralt’s breathing slowed, and his golden eyes darkened as they locked onto hers. The silence stretched between them, the weight of her confession hanging in the air. His hand twitched slightly as if fighting the urge to reach for her, but he stayed perfectly still.

“Echo,” he said finally, warning her with only her name.

Echo’s lips curved into a faint smile, her gaze unwavering.

Geralt pulled a few inches away from Echo, his golden eyes flickering between her and the fire as if searching for resolve. His muscles were tense, every part of him screaming to maintain control, to keep her at a distance. But then Echo pouted, the expression childlike and utterly unamused, and shuffled closer to him.

Geralt shifted again, retreating another few inches, his back stiff. Echo followed him.

The two continued this silent, ridiculous dance until Geralt found himself at the very edge of the bench. Just as he was about to stand and make an escape, Echo’s hand grabbed his, halting him.

Her touch was gentle but firm, and when he looked down at her, her expression stopped him cold. She didn’t say anything - she didn’t have to. The look in her eyes was clear: she needed him.

The realisation hit Geralt harder than any blow he’d taken in battle. Being needed, truly needed, was foreign to him. He was a Witcher, a hunter made to kill monsters, not someone to be relied upon beyond the coin exchanged at the end of a contract. Jaskier had filled a rare, peculiar role in his life, but even that bond wasn’t quite the same. Echo’s need was different, deeper, and far more dangerous.

He sighed heavily, his resolve wavering. “Echo, don’t. You can’t—”

His words were cut short as Echo climbed onto his lap, sitting sideways. Geralt’s hand shot out instinctively, his arm wrapping around her waist to steady her. His heart skipped at the closeness, at the unexpected softness of her body against his.

Echo’s smile turned smug, her arms sliding around his neck and pulling herself even closer. Geralt stiffened, every breath filled with the light, intoxicating scent of her - jasmine and moringa. It was everywhere, wrapping around him like a spell, clouding his thoughts and making his body betray him in ways he couldn’t control.

She didn’t say a word, but her actions spoke volumes. One hand lifted to his hair, her fingers combing through the white strands in slow, soft motions. Then her touch moved to his cheek, her palm soft against his rough skin, before trailing down to his chin. Her thumb brushed over his lips, lingering for a heartbeat, before sliding to his throat. Her touch on the bump of his Adam’s apple made Geralt swallow hard, his jaw tightening. Echo smiled at the reaction, pressing the pad of her thumb against it lightly. 

And that was it - the final straw.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and Geralt leaned in, his golden eyes dark with intent as he moved to capture her lips. But just as his mouth reached hers, her palm flattened against his lips, stopping him in his tracks.

Geralt froze, his narrowed eyes locking with hers, the expression one of pure, unyielding challenge. It was the look of a hunter sizing up prey, and yet she didn’t flinch. Instead, she chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as it danced in his ears.

Then she leaned in, not for a kiss but toward his ear.

Geralt stilled completely, his muscles tense as her breath brushed his skin. The next sensation sent a shudder through him - a soft bite followed by the warm, teasing lick of her tongue against his earlobe. His hold on her waist tightened, his restraint fracturing under her actions. Heat coursed through him, a fire that had nothing to do with the crackling hearth nearby. This winter night had grown far too warm for his liking, but he wasn’t about to let it end here. Not before he evened the score.

Without a word, Geralt opened his mouth slightly, just enough to trap Echo’s wandering finger as it brushed his lips. He bit down lightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make her gasp softly. Her breath hitched, and he felt her pulse quicken beneath his hand as she froze in surprise.

A hum of amusement escaped him as he held her gaze, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He let his tongue brush over the pad of her finger, his lips closing around it as he toyed with her.

Echo’s reaction was immediate and impossible to hide. Her ears reddened, the flush spreading rapidly as her breathing became unsteady. Geralt noted every detail, every tremble and shift, savouring how her confidence faltered in the face of his teasing.

She was the one who had pushed, and now she was the one unravelling.

Echo’s heart pounded against him, and Geralt could feel the heat radiating from her skin. He pulled back slightly, releasing her finger, but the smug curve of his lips remained.

“You like playing with fire, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Echo didn’t respond immediately, her breaths coming quicker as she stared at him, wide-eyed and flushed. But she wasn’t about to back down, not entirely. Her lips curved into a small, daring smile, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“And you like the burn,” she whispered.

Echo shifted her head back slightly, her bright blue eyes locking onto Geralt’s heated gaze. The firelight flickered in his golden irises, but it wasn’t just warmth she saw - it was something deeper, raw and unrestrained. Desire, tempered by his fierce restraint, but steadily breaking.

Geralt released her finger from his lips, but Echo didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, her thumb moved deliberately, brushing over his bottom lip with soft, teasing caresses. Her other hand slid to the back of his neck, her fingers trailing lightly over his skin.

There was no mistaking her intent now - she was seducing him, plain and simple. The subtlety was gone, replaced by a boldness that mirrored her words earlier that night. Geralt’s gaze darkened further, his control visibly slipping as her thumb continued its torturous strokes along his lip.

Echo leaned in, her lips hovering just an inch from his. She paused, letting her breath ghost against him, before speaking in a soft, deliberate tone. “One thing you were wrong about.”

Geralt hummed, his voice low and questioning.

“I am the fire,” she murmured, closing the agonisingly small gap between them.

Her lips met his in a kiss that shattered any restraint left between them. Geralt’s reaction was instant - he pulled her closer, as close as physically possible, with one arm wrapped securely around her waist and the other hand gripping her leg firmly. The kiss was nothing like the rough passion they’d shared in the alleyway; this was slower, softer, yet somehow more consuming. It teased and lingered, each movement of their lips deliberate and filled with unspoken need.

Echo’s hands moved, her fingers tugging at the strings and buttons of Geralt’s armour. She’d paid careful attention to how he fastened and unfastened it, filing away every detail for a moment like this. Her touch was swift but unhurried, her focus split between the intricacies of the armour and the intoxicating kiss they shared.

Geralt’s hand tightened on her leg, his fingers digging into her thigh as her hands worked with practised precision. He didn’t stop her. In fact, he didn’t seem to mind at all. His only reaction was a deep hum against her lips, his grip on her growing firmer as the kiss deepened.

Bit by bit, Echo’s efforts paid off. The last buckle gave way, and Geralt let out a low groan as he broke their kiss just long enough to shrug off the heavy armour.

“This isn’t the place,” Geralt murmured against her neck, his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. His words were a warning, but the kisses he began trailing along her neck contradicted them entirely.

“I’m not asking for a full round,” Echo said, her voice breathy as she tilted her head to give him better access. Her fingers tangled in his hair briefly before sliding down to his waist, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Just need a taste. I’ve been starving , just so you know.”

Geralt let out a low chuckle, his lips curving against her skin. “I thought I had an elf on my hands, not a succubus.”

His kisses grew more insistent, his lips tracing a path down her neck, alternating between soft licks and playful bites. Echo’s breathing hitched as his hand moved along her thigh, his fingers teasing her in ways that left her trembling.

Her hand moved gently under Geralt’s shirt, her fingers tracing the uneven terrain of his scars. She had seen many before - on his arms, his lower back, and his abdomen - but touching them like this felt different. It was as though she was learning him in a way that went beyond sight or words.

Their kiss had slowed but not stopped entirely. Geralt’s lips continued to trail along her neck and shoulder, his movements unhurried and deliberate, as if savouring every second. His own hand had slipped under her shirt, his calloused fingers brushing against the warm, soft skin of her waist. Despite the temptation clawing at him, his touch remained restrained, careful not to venture too far.

Echo hummed softly, her breaths uneven as she leaned into his touch. “Be glad my shirt has buttons on the shoulders, or I might’ve stripped down to my smalls by now,” she whispered teasingly.

“You’re not making things better,” Geralt groaned, his voice thick with desire.

Echo chuckled against his ear. “You Witchers and your supernatural hearings and sights and shits,” she murmured, feigning annoyance. “All I want to do is eat , and yet I have to wait agonisingly for another few days or longer.”

She shifted slightly, pressing herself closer against him. Her lips brushed his neck, and before he could respond, she bit down lightly, sucking at his skin until a faint red mark appeared.

Geralt didn’t move, only chuckling as she worked. “Marking me now?” he asked, the amusement in his voice clear.

“Of course,” Echo replied smugly, leaning back to admire her handiwork. “It's a shame you heal too quickly. It's a good thing - super healings and things, just not being able to...you know.”

Geralt smirked and returned the favour, nudging her gently before pressing his lips to the sensitive skin just below her jaw. His own mark was deliberate, placed where no collar or cloak could hide it.

Echo sighed softly at the sensation, her voice barely above a whisper. “All yours, Geralt.”

Her words struck something deep within him, sparking a fire that threatened to consume the control he fought so hard to maintain. He exhaled heavily, his hand tightening slightly on her waist before forcing himself to stop.

“We need to rest, Echo,” Geralt said softly, his tone both firm and reluctant.

“I know,” she replied, though she made no move to let go of him.

He sighed again, his resolve softening. “I’ll sleep next to you. Better?”

Her smile widened, lighting up her face. “Much better.”

*

The hut was alive with the sounds of movement as the group packed their belongings and prepared for the day’s journey. Breakfast had been quick and quiet, everyone eager to get back on the road.

Geralt stood by the fire, adjusting the straps of his pack when Lambert approached him. The younger Witcher didn’t say anything at first, his sharp eyes flicking between Geralt and Echo, who was chatting animatedly with Jaskier and Aiden near the doorway.

Lambert’s glare turned and he finally grunted through gritted teeth, “Next time, close the fucking door.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, his expression calm but questioning.

“I could smell you two from miles away,” Lambert growled under his breath. His tone was filled with both irritation and begrudging amusement. “Seriously, do us all a favour.”

Geralt’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk as he adjusted the sword slung over his shoulder. “Maybe you should invest in weaker senses, Lambert.”

“Maybe you should invest in some self-control,” Lambert shot back, though his scowl lightened into something closer to a smirk as he walked away.

Across the room, Echo caught Geralt’s gaze and flashed him a small, knowing smile. Geralt shook his head slightly, exhaling through his nose as he turned to grab the last of his gear.

And the day had only just begun.

Chapter Text

The group had been blessed with favourable weather for two days straight, a rare gift in the harsh wilderness leading to Kaer Morhen. The snow fell lightly during the day, the soft flakes almost peaceful against the biting cold. The nights brought heavier winds and a significant drop in temperature, but the lack of relentless snow made the journey far less exhausting than expected.

During the evenings, Echo had abandoned any pretence of subtlety. Since her seductive encounter with Geralt, she clung to him at every opportunity, her hands constantly finding reasons to rest on his arm, his shoulder, or his chest. It was not lost on the others, least of all Jaskier.

But it wasn’t until the third night that Jaskier finally voiced his suspicions.

They were gathered around a modest fire, eating in relative silence when Jaskier froze, his gaze locking on the faint red mark peeking out from Echo’s long hair. His eyes widened as if he had discovered the scandal of the century.

“How dare you!” Jaskier gasped, pointing an accusing finger at Geralt. His blue eyes were wide with betrayal, darting between the Witcher and Echo.

Geralt glanced up, startled, and immediately rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“What?” Echo asked, arching a brow in curiosity.

“How dare you ! We thought we had a deal !” Jaskier cried, looking utterly appalled.

Echo tilted her head. “A deal?”

Geralt cleared his throat, his cheeks faintly reddened, but he avoided looking at either of them.

“She’s pregnant , Geralt! You utter brute!” Jaskier accused, throwing his arms into the air.

“We didn’t do anything, Jask,” Echo interjected, placing a calming hand on the bard’s shoulder. “It was just… kissing.” She neglected to elaborate on just how much kissing had happened.

Jaskier turned his disapproving glare on Echo, but her explanation seemed to calm him slightly. Still, his annoyance simmered. Knowing full well he couldn’t stop whatever was happening between the two of them, he resorted to theatrics, kicking Geralt’s shin lightly before storming off to get some warm tea from the fireplace Lambert and Aiden were settled by.

The kick, of course, didn’t hurt Geralt in the slightest, but the awkwardness of the situation lingered. He sighed heavily, casting a sidelong glance at Echo. “This is your fault, menace,” he said dryly.

Echo pouted and pointed to her neck, where the red mark was now fading into a subtle pinkish colour. “As if you didn’t enjoy it,” she countered, her tone teasing. “Takes one to know one.”

*

The morning before they entered the passage leading to Kaer Morhen’s mountain grounds, the group moved cautiously. The air was sharp and quiet, the kind of quiet that set the Witchers on edge.

Lambert turned to Aiden as they neared a narrow stretch of the trail, his tone serious. “Keep close. Wyverns like to circle this area, even in winter. Damn things don’t seem to notice the cold.”

Geralt glanced back toward Echo and Jaskier. “Same for you two. Stay close to the trees or shrubs if we run into trouble.”

Jaskier nodded, immediately falling in step behind Geralt. Echo, however, chose to walk next to him, keeping within arm’s reach. Her presence was steady, almost grounding, though Geralt’s eyes flicked toward her often, his expression protective.

Lambert and Aiden trailed at the rear, sharp eyes scanning the cliffs and skies above.

The trail was almost too quiet, the kind of calm that never lasted long in dangerous terrain.

Then it came - a piercing screech echoed across the mountain range, familiar and unmistakable to the Witchers.

Geralt’s hand flew to his silver sword, unsheathing it in one fluid motion. The others followed suit, the metallic ring of blades cutting through the cold air.

“Wyvern,” Geralt muttered, his tone grim but focused.

The screech grew louder as the creature’s silhouette appeared against the pale sky, its wings beating powerfully as it circled high above the group.

“Get to cover!” Geralt barked, motioning toward Echo and Jaskier. He pointed toward a cluster of trees and shrubs just off the path.

Jaskier grabbed Echo’s arm, his face pale but determined as he tugged her toward the foliage. Echo glanced back at Geralt, her worry evident, but he waved her onward.

“Go!” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Once the two were safely concealed, Geralt turned his attention back to the wyvern. The creature was descending fast, its talons extended and its screech splitting the air.

Lambert stepped forward, his blade raised. “Looks like Mother Nature decided we were having it too easy,” he muttered.

“Wouldn’t want us to get too bored,” Aiden quipped, his tone dry as he shifted into a ready stance.

The wyvern swooped lower, its eyes gleaming with predatory intent. Geralt gripped his sword tightly, his golden eyes narrowing.

“Let’s make this quick,” he growled, stepping forward to meet the beast head-on.

The wyvern was larger than most, its wingspan vast enough to shadow the entire group as it swooped low. Its claws scraped against the rocky terrain, leaving deep gouges in the ground. But it wasn’t the size that caught the Witchers’ attention - it was the wounds. Its leg bore a gash, fresh and precise, while its tail was severed halfway through. The three Witchers exchanged a glance, each of them recognizing the distinct mark of Witcher blades.

“Someone’s been here,” Lambert muttered, sidestepping the creature’s snapping jaws.

“And they left the job half-done,” Aiden added, circling around to its flank, his blades gleaming in the pale light.

Geralt didn’t respond, his focus honed on the wyvern as it lunged toward him. He dodged, countered with a swipe of his sword, and drove the beast back. Lambert darted in from the side, delivering a deep slash to its injured leg, while Aiden seized the opportunity to leap forward, slicing clean through the remainder of its tail.

The wyvern let out a piercing screech, its massive wings beating furiously as it recoiled in pain. The Witchers prepared for the final blow, each moving in sync to finish the creature off. But then the wyvern turned, its attention snapping toward the trees where Echo and Jaskier were hiding.

Geralt’s heart dropped as he realized its intent. It was too far for them to intercept, the wyvern’s massive form already hurtling toward their companions. He growled, his legs moving before his mind could catch up, panic surging through his veins.

In the trees, Echo saw the wyvern bearing down on them. She shoved Jaskier deeper into the foliage, her breathing steady but her heart racing.

She raised her hands, her magic responding instantly as she focused on the wyvern. Her fingers twitched, and then—

The wyvern was flung backwards, its body crashing into the rocky cliffside with a force that sent debris raining down. Geralt’s run came to a halt, his instincts kicking in as he prepared to cast a Quen sign to shield himself from the falling rocks. But before he could and before the rocks even came falling, a vine shot out of nowhere, wrapping around his waist and yanking him clear of the danger zone.

Lambert and Aiden sprinted toward him, their swords drawn. Jaskier crawled out from the bushes, scrambling toward Echo with a mix of relief and exasperation. “That was reckless!” Jaskier exclaimed, his voice wavering. “I know you’re powerful and all, but throwing around magic like that…What if it didn’t work?!”

Echo exhaled deeply, her hands still trembling slightly from the spell. “It worked,” she said simply, brushing dust from her cloak.

Lambert’s gaze moved to the pile of fallen rocks that had crushed the wyvern. “What was that?” he asked, his tone equal parts impressed and wary.

Aiden squinted at the remnants of the blast, then back at Echo. “It’s Aard, isn’t it? Just... very amped up,” he guessed.

The vines around Geralt dissipated into the air as Echo nodded. “I only know the hand sign,” she admitted. “Wasn’t exactly sure how it would work with my magic, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

As they spoke, the pile of rocks shifted. A guttural growl rumbled through the air as the wyvern’s massive form began to stir, its resilience keeping it alive despite the crushing blow.

The Witchers immediately raised their swords, their movements sharp and synchronized as they prepared for another attack.

But before they could act, a shadow moved faster than their blades.

In an instant, Echo was atop the wyvern’s head, her form appearing out of thin air as if she’d stepped through the mist itself. Her elven dagger gleaming as she raised it high, her cloak billowing in the icy wind.

With one swift motion, she drove the blade down into the wyvern’s scalp, sinking it deep and ending the creature with precision. The beast let out a final, shuddering cry before going still beneath her.

Lambert let out a low whistle. “Aiden, remind me to never piss the elf off.”

Aiden grinned, not missing a beat. “Don’t piss her off, Lambs.”

As the dust settled, Geralt’s eyes remained fixed on Echo. She stood atop the wyvern like a goddess of war, her hair catching the light of the soft sun filtering through the trees. For a moment, the world seemed to still as he took in the sight of her - formidable, graceful, and utterly commanding and dangerous. No one would ever think someone who moves as swiftly as her would be pregnant.

He sheathed his sword and approached the wyvern, extending a hand to her. “Come down,” he said softly, his voice steady but laced with something deeper.

Echo turned, meeting his gaze, and accepted his hand. She descended from the beast, her movements fluid, and Geralt steadied her as her boots hit the snow.

The sound of hooves broke the moment, drawing their attention. A rider approached, the clatter of hooves echoing through the narrow pass. As the figure drew closer, the two Wolf Witchers recognised the figure.

His rugged face bore the familiar lines of experience, a deep scar running across his cheek and down his jawline. His dark hair was tied back, and his warm brown eyes scanned the group with quiet curiosity. The wolf medallion at his neck swayed slightly as his horse came to a halt.

“Well,” Eskel said, his voice calm and even. “Looks like I missed the fun.”

His rugged features softened into a rare smile as he embraced Geralt in a brief but firm hug, the kind of greeting reserved for someone who’d shared countless trials and tribulations.

“Geralt,” Eskel said warmly before stepping back.

He turned to Lambert, placing both hands on the younger Witcher’s shoulders. His brow furrowed slightly, a mix of fondness and exasperation crossing his scarred face. “So you did bring your friend after all,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of a sigh.

Lambert rolled his eyes but said nothing, his scowl betraying the fact that he knew Eskel would bring it up as soon as they met. Eskel, ever tactful, didn’t linger on the topic, clearly saving the full conversation for the Keep. Instead, he turned back to Geralt, his gaze falling on the smaller figure beside him.

“So, you must be the one the rumours call the White Wolf’s Wife ,” Eskel said with a wry smile, inclining his head slightly. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

Echo blinked, caught off guard by the title, but she managed a soft smile and a polite nod.

Eskel’s focus shifted back to Geralt, his expression growing more complicated as he studied his old friend. “You and your weird, chaotic adventures,” he muttered, shaking his head. “So, the bard isn’t enough to date you anymore or something?”

From behind the group, Jaskier’s indignant voice rang out. “I am right here!” He stood holding the reins of the three horses, his blue eyes wide with mock offence.

Eskel chuckled deeply, the sound warm and genuine. “One hell of a winter this year,” he remarked, clearly entertained.

As the group mounted their horses for the final stretch to Kaer Morhen, the arrangements changed. Lambert, grumbling loudly, ended up sharing a horse with Aiden, who didn’t bother hiding his smug grin. Jaskier happily claimed the softer mare Aiden had been riding, practically humming with satisfaction at his newfound comfort. Geralt, meanwhile, rode with Echo, keeping her securely in front of him as he held the reins.

The ride was brisk, the icy wind biting against their faces, but Eskel filled the silence with the story of the wyvern.

“I’ve been tracking that thing for nearly half a month,” he began, his voice carrying easily over the wind. “Came across its trail in late autumn, near Kaedwen. It kept shifting its nesting areas, making it damn near impossible to corner. Finally got a chance a few days ago as I stayed in the Keep early. Managed to wound it pretty badly, but then it started thrashing and caused a small avalanche. Had to dodge out of the way, and by the time the snow settled, it was gone.” Eskel glanced at the group. “Was tracking it again when I heard that loud thud. Figured someone got to it before I could.”

“That’d be Geralt’s wife ,” Lambert chimed in, smirking. “Finished it off herself. Even threw in a very amped-up Aard.”

Eskel chuckled warmly. “I saw the kill and heard the commotion. Impressive work.” He turned his attention to Geralt. “Though I didn’t catch a name. You mind, Geralt?”

Geralt sighed heavily, his breath visible in the cold air. He could feel the questions brewing, the inevitable barrage of curiosity that would follow once they reached the Keep. Between Echo and Jaskier, he knew this winter was going to test his patience in ways it never had before.

“Echo, this is Eskel,” Geralt said, his tone resigned but not unkind. “Eskel, this is Echo.”

Eskel smiled warmly at her, his eyes kind despite the scars on his face. “Good to meet you, Echo.”

“Someone’s moody,” Eskel added, throwing Geralt a teasing look.

“Oh, he’s been like that ever since,” Lambert called from behind them, his voice full of mock exasperation. “And it’ll only get worse.”

As the group fell into a steady rhythm, Echo found herself studying Eskel with quiet curiosity. He was different from Geralt, even different from Lambert or Aiden. Geralt had described Eskel as the warmest and softest of the group, and she could see why. His presence was steady, his demeanour almost fatherly compared to Lambert’s brashness or Aiden’s sharp wit.

Yet it wasn’t Eskel who occupied her thoughts as much as the differences she noticed between Geralt and the other Witchers. There was something about him - something restrained. Geralt felt distant in ways Lambert and Aiden didn’t. Even Lambert, with his prickly nature, displayed his emotions openly: irritation, humour, even rare moments of tenderness. Aiden had a sardonic edge but let his feelings shine through when it mattered. Eskel, too, carried a warmth that was apparent in his every word and gesture.

But Geralt…his emotions seemed buried beneath layers of control, like an iron door that had to be forced open. The rare moments when he did show something - like his protective instincts for her or his frustration and love towards Jaskier - it felt like a dam breaking, a flood of emotion spilling out all at once.

It hadn’t always been this way though. Over the past few days, since he’d allowed himself to admit his feelings, there had been a subtle shift. He let her closer, bit by bit. But the weight of whatever he held back still lingered, and Echo couldn’t ignore it.

She glanced back at him, her thoughts swirling. Why? she wondered. What makes him so different?

Geralt, ever perceptive, noticed her gaze. His golden eyes flicked down to meet hers, a silent question in his expression.

Echo tilted her head back slightly, offering Geralt a soft, comforting smile before leaning up to press a light kiss on his chin. The small gesture seemed to catch him off guard, and she could feel his body stiffen momentarily. Her hand then gestured silently, first to her glamoured abdomen and then toward Eskel’s back ahead of them, her questioning gaze asking if Eskel knew about the child.

Geralt blinked at her, his golden eyes flickering with a mix of surprise and tension. He shook his head slightly, a subtle answer that said enough.

The realisation left Echo smiling faintly in amusement. Of course, Eskel didn’t know. That revelation - and the many explanations to follow - would no doubt make for one hell of a conversation for later today. Geralt’s situation was already complex, and now he’d need to explain not only about Echo but also about the child. It would likely make Lambert’s fight to justify bringing Aiden to winter at the Keep seem like child’s play in comparison.

As if sensing the tension building in Geralt, Echo reached out and rested her hand atop his where it held the reins. Her touch was gentle but grounding, and after a moment, Geralt’s fingers shifted to entwine with hers. Without breaking his focus on the trail ahead, he let her guide the reins while his other hand moved, palm settling protectively over her abdomen.

The warmth of her skin radiated through the glamoured abdomen, and as his hand rested there, he felt a small kick against his palm. Then silence.

The faintest curl appeared on Geralt’s lips, a rare smile that came and went like a fleeting shadow.

From behind them, Jaskier watched the pair sharing Roach, his expression conflicted. A pang of envy bubbled up inside him, souring his usually buoyant mood. He wasn’t quite sure who he envied more - Geralt, for having Echo so close, or Echo, for being the one to bring such softness to the Witcher’s usually impenetrable walls.

Echo caught Jaskier’s stare, her sharp eyes twinkling mischievously. She gave him a cheeky smile and blew him a kiss, her playful intent as clear as day.

Jaskier scoffed dramatically, turning his head away with an exaggerated huff.

Geralt saw the entire exchange, and his shoulders shook with a soft laugh.

Behind them, Lambert caught the moment and made a gagging motion, rolling his eyes as if physically rejecting the display. “Gods, you people are insufferable,” he grumbled, though his tone lacked any real venom.

But not everyone shared Lambert’s exasperation. From the corner of his eye, Aiden’s gaze lowered to the pair of hands holding the reins in front of him. His sharp eyes lingered on the way Geralt’s hand curled protectively over Echo’s, their movements synchronized as they guided Roach along the trail.

*

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, its pale light illuminating the sprawling, ancient structure ahead. Kaer Morhen loomed above them, its weathered walls etched with centuries of history. Snow blanketed the castle-like keep, softening its jagged edges and filling the cracks in its ageing stone. The towers stood defiantly against the winter sky, though some had crumbled over time, their ruins a stark reminder of the fortress’s storied past.

The keep’s grand, arched entrance bore scars of long-forgotten battles, and faint trails of smoke rose from its chimneys, a sign of life stirring within. Despite its age and weathered state, the sight of Kaer Morhen was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Echo’s breath caught as she took it all in, her wide eyes reflecting the magnificence of the stronghold. “You know,” she said softly, her voice tinged with wonder, “maybe Jaskier’s Dark Knight in Armor wasn’t exaggerating at all.” She turned her gaze to Geralt. “You live in a castle, Geralt.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, clearly uneasy with the praise. “It’s not exactly a castle,” he muttered. “It’s just...huge.”

Lambert, riding and sitting behind Aiden on the horse, snorted. “It’s half-broken, half-rusted, and half-abandoned is what it is. Every year we patch it up, and every year it’s just as shit.” He gestured vaguely toward the structure. “One winter, I woke up feeling like a gods-damned icicle because there was a rock missing from my wall. Had to stuff it with a cloak. And Eskel? He had to fix his roof in the middle of the night once. Nearly froze his ass off.”

Eskel chuckled, nodding. “True. And the wind was so bad, it took me two hours just to nail the damn tiles back in place.”

Lambert’s eyes narrowed on Geralt. “And this prick? Oh no, he’s never had these problems. We all agreed it’s probably his fault the rest of us do. His room? Warmest in the keep, tightest walls, too. I tried to break off one of his stones once, and it didn’t even chip.”

Eskel grinned at the memory. “It’s true. I even tried plucking a roof tile off once. Turned out the ones over his room had heavy rocks and cement underneath. It’s like the keep itself favours him.”

Echo couldn’t help but laugh, her breath clouding in the cold air. “So,” she asked, looking at Geralt, “where are Jaskier and I going to stay? Are there extra rooms?”

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a knowing glance, the kind of grin that promised mischief. He cleared his throat before Geralt could speak. “Well,” he began, feigning thoughtfulness, “there are a few rooms. They’ll need some cleaning, though. Might have to share Geralt’s for tonight.”

Geralt opened his mouth to protest, but Lambert cut him off with a grin. “Or,” he said, “there’s that room with the best balcony. Full view of the mountains and the keep grounds. Nice and close to the library, too.”

Jaskier’s ears perked up immediately. “Library?” he repeated, his excitement unmistakable. He turned to Echo with a determined look. “If you’re staying there, I’m living with you!”

Eskel and Lambert barely suppressed their laughter, their grins widening as Jaskier’s declaration cemented their little plot.

Geralt ground his teeth softly, his jaw tightening as he glared at the two. He could see through their game as clear as the mountain air. This was all their doing. Two conniving bastards at their best.

Echo, meanwhile, raised an amused brow at the Witchers’ antics. She had no doubt Lambert and Eskel had something up their sleeves, but for now, she simply smiled, letting the moment play out. After all, she had no objections to a warm room with a view - and perhaps even a library.

*

The group pulled into the courtyard of Kaer Morhen, their footsteps crunching against the thick layer of snow. The space was vast but desolate, its emptiness filled stories of a past. Straw mannequins dotted the area, their forms battered and frayed from years of training sessions. Iron hammers and tools lay scattered about, some half-buried in snow, forgotten or left for another day’s work. On one side, a massive obstacle course stretched between two walls, its wooden beams and swinging platforms groaning softly in the cold wind.

Echo’s eyes roamed the area with curiosity, taking in every detail. Though it was empty and weatherworn, she could imagine what it must have been like in its prime. The keep’s age was evident in the cracks of the stone walls and the rusted edges of the tools, but it still held an undeniable glory - though knowing being a Witcher isn’t exactly a glory…Her eyes set back to Geralt. He had never spoken much about this place, and she’d never pressed him. It was clear it held a complicated place in his heart - neither home nor prison, but something in between. She’d thought about asking Jaskier before, but deep down, she knew this wasn’t Jaskier’s story to tell. It was Geralt’s. 

Beside her, Jaskier stared wide-eyed at the courtyard. “What is that ?” he asked, pointing to the massive obstacle course.

“A Witcher training rig,” Lambert replied gruffly as he led the way toward the keep’s entrance. “It’s a miracle it hasn’t fallen apart yet. Like most things here.”

Eskel, meanwhile, took the horses toward the stables.

The group carried various bags and equipment unloaded from the horses, though Echo stood empty-handed, her conjured mage hand hovered beside her, holding her share of the load. Her focus, however, was on her surroundings, soaking in the history embedded in the snow-covered stones.

When they reached the heavy wooden doors of the keep, Lambert was the first to arrive. He shifted the load in his arms, freeing one hand to shove the door open with a groan of effort. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” he announced with mock grandeur. “Frozen, broken, rusty - but still standing.”

Inside, the keep was a mix of chaos and comfort. The entrance opened into a wide passage that led to the main hall, where scattered swords, metal pieces, and half-built contraptions were strewn about. Long tables lined the room, their surfaces cluttered with books, candles, and bits of parchment. At the far end, a massive fireplace roared with warmth, flanked by mismatched chairs and shelves. Beyond the hearth, another room seemed to beckon with the promise of more space.

But it wasn’t the state of the keep that caught their attention. Standing at the far end of the passage, waiting for them, was an older man.

His features were sharp and weathered, his white beard neatly trimmed but showing his years. His hair, though sparse, was combed back, and his piercing eyes seemed to see through everyone in the room. He stood tall despite his age, his presence commanding respect without demanding it.

Lambert muttered under his breath, “The old man’s always so dramatic.”

Geralt, a few steps behind Lambert and Aiden, gestured toward Vesemir as he spoke to Echo. “That’s Vesemir,” he said quietly. “Our old fencing instructor. More than that, really. He raised most of us. Taught us everything we know.”

Echo and Jaskier exchanged a glance, intrigued. But any further explanation was drowned out by the sound of raised voices.

“…so he can bring his lovers and an unborn child, but I can’t bring the person who’s saved my life more times than I can count?!” Lambert’s voice rang through the hall, laced with frustration.

The older Witcher’s voice replied, low and firm. “This isn’t about playing favourites, Lambert.”

At the doorway, Eskel returned from the stables just in time to catch the tail end of Lambert’s outburst. His brow furrowed as he echoed, “Unborn child?”

All movement in the room stopped.

Echo felt the weight of every gaze turn to her. Her chest tightened, and she instinctively clutched Geralt’s arm. The quiet stretched, tense and expectant, until she finally looked up at Geralt. His eyes met hers, calm but firm, and he gave her a small nod.

Taking a steadying breath, Echo murmured a soft incantation and let the glamour fall away.

Her abdomen, previously concealed by illusion, was now unmistakably rounded with the child she carried. The room went utterly silent, save for the crackle of the fire.

“Geralt,” Vesemir’s voice broke the quiet, stern and measured.

Echo braced herself, feeling the tension radiating off Geralt as well. This was a conversation that had been coming, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Geralt stepped forward slightly, shielding Echo with his presence as he prepared to face Vesemir’s inevitable barrage of questions. But behind the older Witcher’s stern expression, there was something else - a flicker of emotion.

“Geralt, a word,” Vesemir called, his tone calm but with an edge of authority that left little room for argument. The older Witcher didn’t let his eyes linger on Echo for too long. Instead of calling both of them over, his focus remained solely on Geralt. After a moment, he added, “Eskel, you too. Geralt, an explanation.”

Eskel’s eyes darted between Echo’s rounded bump and Geralt’s impassive face. Then, after another glance at Echo, he exhaled quietly and moved toward Vesemir. Whatever he had expected from this winter, this wasn’t it. Lambert bringing the Cat along suddenly seemed like the least interesting development of the year.

Geralt turned back to Echo, his expression softening as his golden eyes met hers. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Don’t worry,” he said gently. “Jaskier, would you keep her company? There should be something warm in the kitchen. Just head straight, past the fireplace.”

Jaskier didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped forward and took Echo’s hand in his, his usual enthusiasm tinged with understanding. “Come on,” he said with a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll let them do their brooding Witcher talk while we find the real treasures of this keep - food and warmth.”

Geralt gave Echo a soft nudge toward Jaskier, his hand lingering briefly before he stepped back. His gaze stayed on her as she followed Jaskier toward the hall, his protective instincts warring with his knowledge that this conversation with Vesemir couldn’t wait.

As Echo walked, her curiosity drew her eyes back toward Vesemir. For a fleeting moment, their gazes met, and she saw something unexpected in the older Witcher’s expression - a hint of something soft, though layered with complexity. Then Vesemir gave her a slight nod, a gesture that felt almost like a greeting or an acknowledgement. It gave her a small measure of comfort, and she pursed her lips thoughtfully before looking away, focusing on the path ahead.

Jaskier led her through the hall, pushing open a heavy wooden door at the end. The scent of ale and cooked food hit them immediately, warm and inviting. The kitchen was modest but cosy, lit by a large fireplace at the far end. A bubbling pot sat on a stone hearth, the aroma of its contents filling the room with mouthwatering flavour. He ushered Echo toward one of the chairs at the long wooden table. “Sit, sit,” he insisted, practically bouncing on his feet as he began searching for bowls and spoons. “It smells heavenly. And as much as I love Geralt’s rabbit stew, I think I’ll be staying away from his cooking for a while. I need new things in my life,” he added dramatically, finally locating a soup spoon.

He ladled a generous portion of the steaming soup into a bowl and set it in front of Echo with a flourish. “Here you are, my lady,” he said, slipping into his usual theatrical charm.

Echo chuckled softly, the warmth of the room and Jaskier’s antics easing the tension that had settled in her chest from moments ago. She picked up the spoon and took a small sip, savouring the rich flavours.

Jaskier plopped down next to her with his own bowl, his eyes gleaming as he took a taste. “Mmm, I might never leave this room,” he declared, making Echo laugh lightly.

Chapter Text

Jaskier sat next to Echo, setting his bowl of soup on the table. As they ate, his gaze kept drifting to her, lingering longer than he intended. His mind replayed the sight of the red mark under her collar, now long faded but etched into his memory. It wasn’t just the mark itself - it was what it represented. Geralt, someone Jaskier had always been drawn to, had grown closer to Echo in a way Jaskier hadn’t yet achieved.

He tried not to dwell on it, but the memory of the feverish kiss he’d once shared with Geralt and the fleeting pecks on the cheek he’d received from Echo lingered. He loved them both and had even spoken to Echo about the idea of sharing long before Geralt admitted his own feelings. But now he couldn’t help but wonder - had he done something wrong? Was that why he felt like the one left behind?

“Jask,” Echo’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Jaskier swallowed his spoonful of soup quickly, straightening in his seat. “Yes? At your service.”

Echo turned to him, her expression warm but knowing. “You’re special to him.”

Jaskier blinked, confused. “Huh? What?”

“To Geralt,” she clarified, her tone soft but certain. “I know he wants more with you, but you know how he is - ever the overthinking type.” Her lips curled into a playful smile. “And I do too. But one at a time. I don’t think I can survive with both of you at once. For now.”

Jaskier froze for a moment, the meaning of her words sinking in. The idea of a future that included all three of them - something he’d only dreamed of, and for a few times - suddenly felt possible. The realisation made him shift in his seat, heart racing.

“I think I know why Geralt keeps losing control over you now,” Jaskier muttered, his voice tinged with amusement. “The images you set into his mind - Melitele! - the poor man must have had one hell of a time.”

Echo’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Not yet,” she said, her voice teasing as she winked at him. Her fingers brushed against the inside of his wrist, tracing soft circles on his skin. “Plus, I’m the hungry one.”

Her tone was soft, laced with a hint of seduction that sent Jaskier’s thoughts spiralling. He suddenly didn’t envy Geralt at all. He pitied him. If Geralt had to endure this kind of temptation every night without being able to act on it… painful didn’t even begin to describe it.

Though…

“Are you sure it’s safe to…” Jaskier trailed off, his voice quieter now as he glanced at her rounded abdomen. “You’re, uh, pregnant. Just so you remember.”

Echo’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m well aware, bard,” she said, her tone laced with fond amusement. She leans toward Jaskier, her lips curling into a sly smile as she meets his wide, bright-blue eyes. “I’d say worry about yourself for now,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement. “I don’t think any of them are going to come in here soon.”

Her words carried a hint of threat, but the soft touch of her fingers against his wrist told a different story. Jaskier swallowed hard, suddenly regretting every teasing word he had said to her. Watching someone else burn with desire was one thing, but when the fire turned to him?

“Echo…” he started, his voice shaky as he tried to redirect the moment, desperate for something, anything, to take her mind off toying with him.

But before he could string together a coherent thought, her lips met his.

Soft. So very soft.

The thought raced through Jaskier’s mind, overtaking everything else. Her lips were warm and gentle, and the contact sent a shiver down his spine. He’d kissed many people in his time, he considered himself something of an expert in the art, but this was different.

Jaskier wasn’t one to shy away from nice things, and this was no exception. His hands moved instinctively, one settling lightly on her shoulder, the other brushing against her cheek as he deepened the kiss. His lips worked with practised finesse, circling hers slowly, coaxing her to part them. When she did, he took his time, savouring the taste of her, letting his warmth envelop her entirely.

The kiss was kind, soft, and exquisitely tender. There was no rush, no urgency—only the deliberate, languid movements that left Echo’s head spinning. Jaskier’s lips were nothing if not skilful, and gods, he knew it. Even as the kiss ended, he punctuated it with a small peck at the corner of her mouth, a playful touch that sent her reeling.

When he finally pulled back, Echo pouted, her lips still tingling. “I’m the tease? The name should go to you,” she accused, her voice breathy but tinged with amusement.

Jaskier grinned, his signature charm practically radiating from him. “Always leave them wanting more, darling,” he said with a wink, his tone equal parts smug and affectionate.

For a brief moment, the kitchen was quiet, the only sound coming from the crackling fire and the soft breaths Echo and Jaskier exchanged as they settled after their earlier kiss. But the way Jaskier had ended things, just as her tongue had brushed against his, was maddening. It left her restless, her heart racing and her mind spinning. She stared at him, irritation bubbling under her skin.

No wonder Geralt doesn’t try for Jaskier, she thought wryly. He probably knows the fire burns hotter with him. And once it starts, it won’t be easy to calm down, if it can be calmed at all.

Jaskier, oblivious to her thoughts, stood up and grabbed their empty bowls, tossing them into the sink with a clatter. He glanced around for water to rinse them but found none, so he settled on rummaging through the pantry instead. After a moment, he emerged with a handful of grapes and two apples.

“Looks like these are washed already,” he said casually, biting into a grape as he wandered back toward the table.

A mischievous idea sparked in Echo’s mind.

Before Jaskier could sit down, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward. Her movement was quick and forceful, their lips colliding as she pushed his mouth open and took the half-bitten grape from him with her own lips. The kiss was brief but demanding, and when she finally let him go, Jaskier stumbled back slightly, his expression one of pure shock.

He blinked at her for a moment, then sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “You know,” he said with mock exasperation, “you could’ve just asked. It’s not like I’d say no to you.”

Echo swallowed the grape with a smirk, her eyes glittering as Jaskier sat back down beside her. “Kiss me?” she asked, her tone soft but teasing.

Jaskier chuckled, shaking his head. But he didn’t move.

Echo sighed dramatically, leaning closer to him. “Please, buttercup?” she pleaded, her voice dripping with playful sweetness.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Buttercup?” he muttered, though his lips twitched into a grin. He knew it was a pretty yellow flower, and it was pretty enough for her to call him.

Shrugging off his hesitation, Jaskier leaned in, their lips meeting once more. This time, there was no preamble. He skipped the slow introduction entirely, diving straight into the deep, passionate kisses he’d left her wanting before.

Jaskier’s kisses were intoxicating, ever the romantic and always striving to make his partner melt. It wasn’t just his lips, it was the way his hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing softly against her skin. His other hand moved to her lower back, stroking rhythmically, sending waves of warmth through her.

Echo’s thoughts blurred, and teasing Jaskier suddenly felt like a lesson she’d never learn to stop.

Her hands slid from his chest to circle around his neck, pulling him closer as a soft moan escaped her lips. The sound hung in the air, intimate and vulnerable.

Then the kitchen door creaked open.

Jaskier stiffened, breaking the kiss. His sharp ears recognised the familiar cadence of the footsteps, and as he pulled back, his eyes locked on the doorway.

There stood Geralt, his expression unreadable, though the golden intensity in his eyes spoke volumes.

Echo leaned in instinctively, her lips seeking more of Jaskier’s warmth, but he held her back with a soft kiss planted at the corner of her mouth. His gaze remained fixed on Geralt, but he didn’t pull away completely.

The air grew heavy, tension sparking between the three of them like static electricity.

Jaskier knew this was going to backfire spectacularly, but at this moment, he didn’t care. He wasn’t worried about himself. His focus lingered on Echo, knowing Geralt’s attention, and reaction would be hers to deal with now. 

Echo, who was completely lost in the moment, tugged insistently at Jaskier’s collar, her lips parted in a pout. She wanted more, needed more of the kisses that had just left her utterly breathless. If Geralt was the wild, untamed fire she’d always been drawn to, then Jaskier was the cosy, warm hut on a winter’s night - safe, inviting, and impossible to leave.

Jaskier glanced up, his eyes catching Geralt’s standing figure far behind. The Witcher had stopped mid-step, his golden eyes narrowing, his mouth set in a deep frown. His expression was sour enough to curdle milk, and yet, for all that it radiated, Jaskier couldn’t quite tell if it was anger, frustration, or something else entirely.

A nervous hum escaped the bard’s throat as he weighed his options. In all his life, he’d never been particularly wise, but he’d always been brave—or foolish, depending on who you asked. And right now, bravery (or foolishness) spurred him forward.

Without missing a beat, Jaskier lowered his head again toward Echo, his lips brushing hers once more. This time, though, the kiss was different. It was deliberate, theatrical, and most of all, a show for Geralt.

His mouth worked against hers, deep and fierce, drawing from every ounce of his experience to wring sounds from her - soft hums, needy groans, even the occasional sharp intake of breath. It was a performance, but gods, it felt so real.

Echo melted under the intensity of the kiss, her fingers curling tighter into Jaskier’s shirt. Her body responded instinctively to the closeness, the depth, and the sheer passion he poured into every movement. Her lips were pliant under his, her head spinning, her breath hitching. Soft moans escaped her without permission, and had she not been sitting, her legs might have buckled from the sheer force of the moment.

Jaskier’s hands weren’t idle either. One cradled her cheek tenderly, thumb brushing her skin, while the other pressed gently but securely against her lower back, keeping her steady. His touch, combined with the kiss, was overwhelming - leaving Echo utterly addicted.

When he finally pulled back, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling as she swallowed down the frustrated whine threatening to escape. She wanted more, needed more.

“You know he’s been watching,” Jaskier whispered, his voice low and teasing as he brushed a thumb along the corner of her lips, clearing away a trace of wetness.

Echo’s eyes widened at his words, the haze lifting just enough for her to register what he meant.

She twisted her head sharply, her gaze following Jaskier’s to where Geralt stood. He was still in the same spot, his face blank save for the faintest flicker of something in his eyes - something dark, restrained, and unreadable.

She turned back to Jaskier immediately, her cheeks flushing. “You truly didn’t know, did you?” Jaskier teased, his grin equal parts smug and affectionate.

Echo shook her head quickly, her teeth catching on her lower lip. This…this was definitely not part of the plan. Sure, their relationship was quite open towards each other, but they hadn’t exactly talked about the future dynamics of the three of them. And now, here she was, caught by Geralt, kissing Jaskier with her head spinning.

Her thoughts scrambled as the weight of the moment settled over her. Just days ago, she’d promised Geralt something more, something deeper. Now? This wasn’t how she’d wanted him to find out.

“Geralt…” she called, still unable to turn back toward him. Her voice came out soft, almost hesitant. 

Geralt’s boots thudded softly against the stone floor as he walked toward Echo and Jaskier, his expression carefully guarded. Jaskier tilted his head slightly, studying the Witcher. Geralt’s face might have been unreadable, but his golden eyes betrayed something - a spark, though whether it was anger, jealousy, or something else entirely, Jaskier couldn’t be sure.

Without a word, Geralt reached down, grabbing hold of Echo’s wrist and gently pulling her to her feet. Echo rose reluctantly, her head still lowered, her cheeks flushed with a mix of guilt and the rush of adrenaline. She felt like a child caught doing something wrong, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

Geralt stared down at her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her before shifting to Jaskier. The bard was still seated, his usual grin softening into something more genuine as he met Geralt’s eyes. Jaskier tilted his head, making a silent gesture and questioning what exactly the Witcher was planning.

What Jaskier hadn’t planned for, out of all possible outcomes, was for Geralt to close the distance and kiss him.

The kiss wasn’t tender or slow; it was forceful and raw, enough to make Jaskier gasp against Geralt’s lips. The Witcher’s teeth grazed him, biting down just hard enough to draw a faint metallic taste of blood. Jaskier’s hands instinctively gripped the edge of the table, his mind reeling.

He had expected a frown, perhaps a sharp comment, but this? Was it jealousy driving him? Possession? Or was it something deeper, something even Geralt didn’t know how to express?

But Jaskier didn’t complain. He returned the kiss without hesitation, matching Geralt’s lips.

When Geralt finally broke the kiss, his voice was low and commanding. “Jaskier is resting in my room today,” he said simply.

“What?” Jaskier blurted out, his lips still tingling from the kiss.

Echo’s head snapped up, her blue eyes wide with surprise and worry as they darted between the two men. She felt a pang of concern, wondering if this meant she’d done something that crossed the unsaid, invisible, line.

Geralt turned to her briefly, his tone softening. “Vesemir ordered Lambert and his Cat to clean out the tower room before sleeping. Eskel is helping too.” He shifted his focus back to Jaskier. “Your room—”

Jaskier interrupted quickly, his hands rising defensively. “I want to share rooms with Echo.”

Geralt’s eyes darkened slightly, the intensity in them sparking again, but Jaskier raised a finger, rushing to finish.

“And you,” he added hastily. “I’ll jump around daily. I don’t think either of us would leave her to herself now, do we?”

Echo blinked, her lips parting in surprise. Jaskier’s words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in a proposal. She saw Geralt’s jaw tighten for a moment, his golden eyes flicking between her and the bard.

Finally, Geralt exhaled heavily, his hand still resting lightly on Echo’s wrist. “No,” he admitted gruffly. “We wouldn’t.”

Echo’s lips curled into a small, relieved smile. She reached out and placed her hand over Geralt’s, squeezing gently. “Then it’s settled,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of finality.

Jaskier, emboldened by the outcome, leaned back in his chair with a triumphant grin. “Good. Because honestly, I’m not about to give up on either of you.” He glanced at Echo, then back to Geralt, adding with a wink, “And I’m sure we can make this arrangement very... cosy.”

Geralt huffed, shaking his head as a rare smirk ghosted across his lips. “Trouble,” he muttered.

“Always,” Jaskier replied cheerfully.

The trio lingered in the kitchen longer than expected, the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the food lulling them into an unhurried rhythm. Geralt, ever practical, used a quick burst of Igni to warm the cooled-down soup, its steam rising as he stirred it. He gestured toward a small cabinet and explained where extra clean water was usually kept, as well as utensils, bowls, and any leftovers—though with the way the Witchers ate during winter, those were rare.

“Breakfast is usually cooked by whoever wakes up first,” Geralt said, his tone even as he continued his impromptu lesson for Jaskier and Echo. “Lunch falls on whoever has the most free time, and supper rotates daily. If Eskel cooks today, tomorrow it could be me, Lambert, or Vesemir.”

Echo nodded, listening attentively while nibbling on a grape. Jaskier, leaning on his elbow, seemed less focused on the logistics and more on the theatricality of the idea.

“And Vesemir,” Geralt added, “always has chores lined up for us. Repairs, cleaning, hunting supplies when needed—until the weather gets worse and we’re stuck inside for good. If you want to stay useful, Jaskier, take library duty when he mentions chores tomorrow.”

The bard perked up slightly at the mention of the library. “Library duty doesn’t sound so bad. What’s involved?”

“Dusting. Organizing,” Geralt replied flatly. “Maybe fixing a shelf or two.”

“Sounds perfect,” Jaskier declared with mock enthusiasm. He was quick to pick up on the subtext: Stay away from cooking duties.

Geralt had made the mistake of trusting Jaskier to handle a meal once before. The result—a disaster of over-seasoned stew and inedible, ingredient-overloaded side dishes—had been enough to ensure that wouldn’t happen again. Geralt wasn’t about to risk the Keep’s food supplies on Jaskier’s overactive creativity.

Jaskier, sensing Geralt’s unspoken judgment, shrugged. “I’ll happily leave the cooking to you, then. Just don’t expect me to chop wood or hammer anything.”

Geralt didn’t respond, focusing instead on his soup and a chunk of bread. Echo, seated next to him, was quietly working her way through the grapes Jaskier had found earlier. She avoided the bard’s playful gaze at all costs, her hand holding tightly onto Geralt’s beneath the table.

For a while, the three sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of their eating and the crackling fire filling the air.

It was Jaskier who disrupted the peace, nudging his foot against Geralt’s leg under the table.

Geralt looked up, his brows furrowing in exasperation. “Jask, not now,” he said, his voice laced with irritation. He shifted his leg to kick Jaskier’s foot away, fixing him with a pointed glare.

Jaskier feigned innocence, though a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Not like you weren’t enjoying it,” he quipped, leaning back with a mock pout.

“Sit still for once in your life,” Geralt muttered, his voice low as he resumed eating.

Jaskier made a face but relented, for now. His momentary stillness didn’t last long, however, as he reached over to pluck a piece of bread from Geralt’s plate.

Geralt scowled, jerking his hand away too late. “Get your own, bard.”

“Sharing is caring, Geralt,” Jaskier replied smugly, popping the piece into his mouth.

Echo suppressed a laugh, her fingers tightening slightly around Geralt’s under the table. Though she remained quiet, her gaze flicked between them with a faint, contented smile on her lips.

Chapter Text

Geralt finished his meal, having polished off three bowls of soup and two bite-sized loaves of bread. Rising from the table, he collected his dishes and brought them to the sink, washing them quickly and efficiently before drying his hands on a cloth. He gestured for Echo and Jaskier to follow him.

“This way,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the cosy silence of the kitchen.

They followed him to the far end of the kitchen, where he pushed open a door that revealed a spiralling staircase. The stone steps wound upward into darkness and descended below, disappearing into the depths of the keep.

“The stairs going down lead to the baths and hot springs,” Geralt explained, his tone casual.

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Hot springs?” he repeated, excitement bubbling in his voice. “Geralt, why didn’t you start with that? If I weren’t about to collapse from today’s hike, I’d already be halfway down.”

Geralt ignored Jaskier’s dramatics and pointed to a second door in the room. “That door leads back to the main hall.”

He then began ascending the spiral staircase, the wooden soles of his boots making soft thuds against the stone. Echo and Jaskier followed, with Jaskier letting out the occasional groan at the steep climb.

They stopped at the first door, which Geralt opened briefly to show a dimly lit corridor filled with scattered, dusty odds and ends. “This hallway isn’t used anymore. It’s full of clutter, so don’t bother.” At the second door further up, Geralt paused. “This leads to another passage. My room is here, and the extra room Jaskier didn’t want is next to it.”

They climbed higher, eventually reaching an empty open space with only a few dusty shelves against the walls. Geralt gestured to a wooden door across the room.

“That leads to the library, which is in the other tower,” he explained. “Lambert and Eskel’s rooms are on the way there. But they use this side more often because it’s closer to the kitchen.”

Geralt pointed further up the staircase. “Echo, your room is up there.”

Echo looked down at the dizzying spiral of steps they had climbed and then back up at the next stretch of stairs. She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her rounded stomach as she bit her lip.

“Geralt,” she said sheepishly, “do you think… um, Vesemir would let me draw a portal down? I don’t think I’ll be able to handle all these stairs later in my months.”

Geralt chuckled softly. “Vesemir already brought it up. He said you’re welcome to transform the stairs into a slide if you want. He even suggested making it invisible so Lambert and Eskel don’t get lazy using this side to go down just because it’s closer to the kitchen - when they should be using their own side.”

Echo’s face lit up in relief. “So… he’s okay with me being here?”

Geralt leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “Eskel was telling him about how you killed the wyvern when I joined the conversation. Vesemir might seem strict, but he’s lived long enough to know who truly needs help and who deserves protection.” He paused, his golden eyes meeting hers. “Besides, I brought you and Jaskier here. He’d be more worried about me breaking one of your hearts than thinking of letting you two leave.”

Echo’s cheeks warmed at the sentiment, and Geralt reached out, his hand brushing through her hair. It was a rare, tender gesture, one that made her heart flutter.

Her hair was soft, silky to the touch, and Geralt found himself marvelling at its texture. It reminded him of the finest fabrics Jaskier was so fond of, the kind that nobles paid absurd coin to own.

Jaskier, watching from a step below, noted the tenderness in Geralt’s actions. A smile tugged at his lips, but he said nothing

After what felt like an eternity of climbing - and enduring Jaskier’s endless groans and complaints about the stairs - they finally arrived at a warmly lit room. 

The walls, though stone, carried a sense of warmth thanks to the crackling fireplace and the soft golden glow of candles scattered around the room. The bed sat on one side, a sturdy but simple piece adorned with a thick blanket and neatly arranged pillows. Near the fireplace, a small table and a pair of wooden chairs sat waiting, the faint scent of cedar lingering in the air. On one side, a light wooden three-panelled room partition enclosed a bathtub, adding a touch of privacy. The floor was adorned with a faded but colourful rug, and shelves lined one wall, partially filled with books, trinkets, and other things. But most of the shelves were empty and waiting for Echo to fill the spaces.

Inside, Eskel was pushing a shelf against the wall, while Lambert and Aiden were busy dragging the table closer to the fireplace, their combined efforts punctuated by the occasional grunt.

The room, though still a bit empty, already felt like a safe haven. It had everything necessary and carried the charm of practical Witcher handiwork.

Lambert was the first to notice the group entering. He straightened up and waved casually. “Stole a few blankets from Geralt’s room on the way up,” he said with a smirk, “and pillows, too.”

Eskel finished setting the shelf and dusted off his hands. He glanced around the room, noting a few untouched spots near the bed and some scuff marks on the walls. “There are still a few things that need a deep clean,” he said, turning toward Echo. “Might not be able to—”

He stopped mid-sentence as Echo raised her hand, a small smile tugging at her lips. She whispered a soft incantation, her fingers glowing faintly as a cleaning spell swept through the room.

A soft golden light washed over the furniture, walls, and floors, making them gleam momentarily before settling into a pristine state. The scuff marks vanished, the wood polished itself, and even the faint cracks in the walls mended themselves. The room looked as though it had been freshly built, clean and sturdy.

Lambert looked around, visibly impressed despite himself. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think a princess lives here. Castle, tower, pretty things, with a lover and a fucking knight,” he said, his smirk widening as his gaze shifted between Geralt and Jaskier.

Jaskier grinned, always ready for a good quip. “If I’m the lover in this scenario, then Geralt must be the third wheel. Oh, how you’ve fallen, dear Dark Knight,” he teased, nudging Geralt in the side with his elbow.

Geralt grunted, his hand swatting Jaskier’s elbow away. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered under his breath, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Lambert made a gagging motion, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, time to get moving. Princess here needs her men to warm her bed.” He snickered as he grabbed Aiden by the arm and started dragging him toward the door.

“Come on, Lambs,” Aiden protested half-heartedly, but he allowed himself to be pulled along, throwing a wave over his shoulder as they left.

Eskel stayed behind a moment longer, fighting back a chuckle as he watched Geralt’s glare follow Lambert out the door. He cleared his throat, his tone polite but amused as he bid them goodnight. “Sweet resting,” he said with a wry smile, descending the stairs.

As he disappeared, the faint sound of his short laughter echoed back up the stairwell.

Geralt turned toward the now-empty room, running a hand down his face as he let out a long, exasperated sigh. “This winter’s going to kill me,” he muttered to no one in particular.

“Kill you?” Echo echoed with a teasing smile, her voice laced with mischief. “Not before Jaskier and I have had our fun with you. But we’ll let you rest … for now.”

She reached up and rubbed her thumb gently across Geralt’s chin, her touch light but deliberate. As she leaned closer, her fingers briefly caressed his neck, sending a visible shiver through the usually stoic Witcher.

All of this happened with Jaskier watching, and oh, how he relished the sight. Seeing Geralt - a man of iron will and unyielding strength - reduced to a vulnerable mess under Echo’s hands was beyond imagination. Jaskier had never imagined the White Wolf could look so much like a lovesick puppy, and he found it endlessly entertaining.

A grin spread across Jaskier’s face as he leaned casually against the nearby table, observing the interaction like a spectator at a theatre. What a strange little circle they had, he realized. Geralt had this inexplicable hold on him, while he seemed to affect Echo in the same way, and Echo? She had Geralt completely at her mercy. It was an odd, interconnected web, but it worked for them.

Jaskier’s gaze flicked to Echo’s stomach briefly, and he smirked. And when the little one arrives? Oh, he could already picture it - three adults completely enamoured with one tiny being. He couldn’t wait to see how it all unfolded.

Echo noticed the two men lingering and her grin widened. Shrugging off her cloak, she let it slide down her shoulders ever so slowly. “You’re welcome to stay if you want a good scene,” she said, her voice honeyed and inviting.

Jaskier opened his mouth: “I think I’ll—Geralt!”

Before he could finish, Geralt moved with lightning speed, grabbing Jaskier by the collar and dragging him toward the door.

“We’re leaving,” Geralt muttered, his tone gruff and clipped.

Jaskier stumbled along, throwing a dramatic tantrum as Geralt hauled him out of the room. “But I didn’t even get to say goodbye properly! Geralt, you’re no fun—”

Their bickering faded as the footsteps echoed down the spiral staircase.

Echo chuckled softly to herself. The teasing had been worth it, if only to see Geralt flustered and Jaskier thoroughly entertained.

With the room now silent, she wandered toward the balcony door, her fingers brushing against the latch as she opened it. The cool night air greeted her, crisp and refreshing after the warmth of the room.

The sky was a canvas of stars, the moon casting a silver glow over the mountain range and the keep’s snowy grounds. Thanks to her darkvision, Echo could see the details of the landscape more clearly than most. Even at night, the view was breathtaking - a rugged, untamed beauty that seemed almost magical under the starlight.

She stepped onto the balcony, taking a deep breath of the cold, clean air. In the quiet stillness, she imagined how this view would look in the sunlight - bathed in gold and full of life. For now, though, the serene moonlit scene was enough. It was a new home, strange and full of challenges, but as she stood there, Echo felt a sense of peace.

*

The keep was silent, wrapped in the stillness of the night, save for the faint crackling of embers in distant fireplaces. A shadow moved carefully up the spiral staircase, each step deliberate and light, the faint creaks masked by the deep quiet. Reaching the door to the tower room, the figure paused. The door creaked open slowly, then closed with a soft click.

Geralt, his shoulders broad in the dim moonlight, made his way toward the bed. Echo lay soundly asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, her breathing steady. The sight made him hesitate, but only briefly. He reached out, his roughened hand brushing gently across her face.

“Mmm,” Echo stirred, her voice thick with sleep. “Geralt… why are you awake?” she asked, her eyes still closed as she nestled deeper into the warmth.

Geralt sighed, his weight sinking onto the edge of the bed. “Jaskier’s snoring is worse than Lambert’s,” he muttered, pulling off his boots.

Echo hummed, shifting closer to him instinctively despite the coolness of his touch. “You’re cold,” she mumbled in complaint but still snuggled against him. Her fingers brushed over his abdomen absentmindedly. “Did you take it too harsh on him?”

He poked her forehead lightly, a soft reprimand for her teasing. “Nothing happened. Everyone’s too tired.”

Even half-asleep, Echo couldn’t resist a dig. Her hand lingered on him, caressing in small circles. “You don’t seem like it,” she murmured, her voice laced with playful accusation.

“Echo, sleep,” Geralt ordered firmly, though his tone lacked true authority.

Finally, she opened her eyes, meeting his golden gaze with her own mischievous one. “You’re going to have to make me, dear Dark Knight in not-so-shining armour.” Her voice was a soft purr as she reached for the wolf medallion hanging from his neck, tugging it lightly, drawing him closer. “Do you even realise,” she continued, her voice a teasing lilt, “that you’re a walking, talking, very handsome aphrodisiac to me?” She pulled gently on the medallion again, each tug bringing his face closer to hers.

Geralt’s lips parted to respond, but she silenced him by leaning in and biting his lip, playful yet possessive. Her teeth left a tingling sensation, and her voice, as she pulled back, was lower now, full of intent. “Just because you want to be warm and soft doesn’t mean I do. Jaskier is plenty for that. You, I love rough and boiling.”

The fireplace flared suddenly as Geralt flicked his fingers, casting Igni to bring more warmth to the room. He didn’t respond with words, instead, he pulled Echo onto his lap, letting her sit sideways. Their lips met eagerly, the kiss deep and demanding, all pretences of restraint forgotten.

His hands roamed over her, tracing the curve of her body through her sleepwear. The fabric, warmed by her skin, burned against his palms, yet it only drove him closer. Echo’s touch was no less intoxicating, her fingers slipping under his shirt to caress the muscles of his back. Her fingertips traced the lines of his scars, each gentle movement grounding him and setting him aflame at the same time.

Geralt tried to shift her into a comfortable position, mindful of her stomach. After a few attempts, he leaned her back against the bed, slipping a pillow beneath her waist to ease the pressure.

“So thoughtful,” Echo murmured, her arm looping around his neck as she pulled him down for another searing kiss.

Her legs tangled with his, drawing him closer as their bodies pressed together. Geralt growled low in his throat, his hand sliding down her side to grip her thigh, his movements reverent yet possessive.

Echo’s laugh was breathless, her voice teasing even as her fingers tangled in his hair. “What happened to sleep, hmm?”

Geralt didn’t answer, his lips finding her neck as his resolve crumbled completely.

He pulled back from Echo’s neck, his golden eyes taking in the sight of her beneath him. Her cheeks were flushed, a soft pink spreading to her collarbone. Her blue eyes shimmered with a mixture of lust and affection, her golden-brown hair scattered in a mess across the pillows. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths, her shirt half-lifted, revealing the curve of her abdomen.

The sight of her - so vulnerable, so full of life - stirred something deeper in him. His gaze lingered on her stomach, the curve more pronounced than he had anticipated. A soft look crossed his face as he leaned down and pressed his lips gently against the bump, letting the kiss linger.

Echo’s breath caught at his action, her chest tightening with emotion. The tenderness of it, the sheer delicacy in his touch, melted away so much of the pain she had carried. The memories of hurt, betrayal, and hatred - toward the man who had wronged her, the god who had abandoned her - all seemed to dissolve in that moment.

Her heart swelled with love and adoration for the man above her. Geralt, this quiet, steady soul whom the world had cast aside. A man treated less than a human, seen only as a weapon or a monster, yet capable of this depth of care and gentleness.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Echo sighed, her voice needy and filled with longing. Her hands moved instinctively, grasping at the hem of his shirt. “I want to touch you. I want your hands and lips on me.”

“Bossy,” Geralt muttered, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. He kissed her abdomen again before lifting his head, golden eyes meeting hers with a flicker of amusement.

Without another word, he tugged his white shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor, not caring where it landed or whether it got dirty.

The firelight danced across his bare torso, illuminating the countless scars crisscrossing his skin. Each mark told a story - of battles fought and dangers survived. To Echo, the sight of him under the warm glow was mesmerizing, almost otherworldly.

Her hands moved instinctively, fingers tracing the scars one by one. Her touch was featherlight as if trying to soothe the ghosts of the pain that had created them. Each line she followed felt like a silent acknowledgement of the man he had been and the trials he had endured.

Unbeknownst to her, her careful, loving caresses were having a profound effect on Geralt. He held himself together as long as he could, his breathing steady but shallow as her touch ignited something deep inside him.

When her hand finally came to rest on his chest, Geralt moved. He caught her hand in his larger one, pulling it to his lips. His head dipped, and he kissed her palm softly, his lips lingering there as his golden eyes locked onto hers.

The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. His hand closed around hers, warm and firm, grounding her as he pressed more kisses along her fingers, his touch filled with both hunger and tenderness.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Geralt murmured against her skin, his voice low and gravelly, each word resonating with unspoken emotion.

Geralt released Echo’s hand, his golden eyes gleaming with a darker intensity as he shifted his focus. Without removing a single piece of her clothing, he began exploring her body with deliberate care. His hands caressed her waist, the roughened pads of his fingers tracing the gentle curves under her shirt. Each touch sent a shiver through her, her breath hitching as he nudged and palmed his way upward.

Echo’s soft sighs quickly turned to moans and pleas, her body arching instinctively under his touch. Her reactions - so honest, so raw - made his lips twitch into a rare smile.

“You’re beautiful,” Geralt murmured, his voice husky.

His hands continued their exploration, his movements slow and purposeful. He traced patterns over her warm skin, eliciting gasps and trembles with every graze of his fingers. As he manipulated her body, he whispered softly, his voice a velvet rasp against the heated air.

“So soft,” he said, his words almost reverent. “Your body reacts to every touch. Every move.”

Echo felt her mind spinning. It was torture - sweet, unbearable torture. Her skin felt alight with sensation, and her chest rose and fell heavily as she fought to keep her composure.

“Geralt of Rivia,” she gasped, her voice breaking slightly. “I swear to…whoever’s name, get over here at once!”

Her hands reached for his medallion, the familiar wolf carving glinting in the firelight, her fingers curling around it to tug him closer. But before she could pull him down, his reflexes kicked in.

Geralt caught her wrist effortlessly, pinning it above her head in one swift motion.

“Geralt,” Echo said, her voice dipping into a whimper. She knew she was under his control now. Knew when she was losing a fight. But she wasn’t one to give up so easily.

Her foot nudged his shin softly, a plea disguised as a touch, her tone shifting into a gentler, almost submissive pitch.

Geralt chuckled low, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Know when you’re beaten,” he said, his tone laced with amusement and a trace of admiration. “Show them your soft side, then try to change the tide. Nice strategy.”

His free hand continued its journey under her shirt, his fingertips grazing her skin with maddening precision. He pressed a little harder, his palm brushing over the sensitive curve of her chest.

“But know this, Echo,” he continued, his voice dropping low.

His hand shifted, and with a firm, deliberate nudge, his fingers found the sensitive peak beneath the thin fabric. The sharp pressure sent a jolt through her body, and a needy, unrestrained mewl escaped her lips.

“That only makes things worse right now.”

Echo shivered under him, her breathless moans were the only response she could muster as her body betrayed her to his touch.

The room was filled with the soft symphony of Echo’s whispers, her pleas growing more desperate as Geralt’s hands roamed her body with a torturous precision. Her moans, needy and raw, spilt into the quiet, each sound pushing Geralt further into his primal satisfaction. He relished the sight of her beneath him, flushed and trembling, utterly at his mercy.

Keeping her wrist pinned above her head, Geralt leaned down, his golden eyes locking onto hers. Just as their lips were about to meet, he dodged her, shifting at the last second to press a kiss to her cheek instead. He lingered there, trailing kisses to her ear and then down the curve of her neck.

“Geralt,” Echo whimpered, her voice breaking between a sob and a plea. “Geralt. Love.”

Her scent filled the air, sweet and intoxicating, the unmistakable aroma of lust radiating from her. Geralt’s control wavered. This wasn’t the plan - he’d come here seeking some peace from Jaskier’s snoring, hoping to find some silence and sleep. But the sight of her, her scent, her warmth - all of it unravelled him.

He’d been worried about taking things further, concerned about her condition and the child she carried. He’d never done this before, nor heard of others navigating such intimacy with a pregnant partner. His mind raced, balancing desire with uncertainty.

“Echo,” he murmured against her neck, his lips grazing her skin. “How do you want this? I’ve never done this with a pregnant woman. I need words from you.”

Echo’s lashes fluttered as she tried to form a coherent thought, but her mind was clouded, thick with desire. She blinked up at him, her lips parting in a soft pout. “You’ll have to figure it out,” she replied, her voice breathy and unfiltered. “My mind is too deep into lust right now.”

Geralt chuckled softly at her bluntness. At least he knew she trusted him enough to take the lead - and if he got it wrong, she’d have no problem kicking him off her bed. With a gentle peck to her lips, he released her hands, his touch moving to help her out of her shirt.

As the fabric slipped away, revealing her bare form beneath, Geralt’s eyes roamed over her with unabashed hunger. She was radiant in the firelight, the curve of her stomach only enhancing her beauty.

“All of this hidden under thick layers,” Geralt murmured, his hand trailing down her side, sending shivers through her.

Echo hummed at his touch, her voice playful despite her breathless state. “You should see me in a corset and a dress.”

The thought stirred something in Geralt. His lips curled into a small, predatory smile. “A dress,” he mused. “So I can bend you over whenever I want?”

His hand slipped lower, brushing against the waistband of her sleeping pants, teasing but not yet venturing further.

“Hm, that’s no way to speak to your princess—ah! Sir Knight, ” Echo gasped, her breath hitching as his hand dipped lower.

“Needy and sensitive,” Geralt purred, his voice a deep rumble that sent vibrations through her skin. His hand continued to explore her, drawing soft, stuttering moans from her lips. “So, what should I do with you, your highness? Breed you? Or make love to you?”

Echo shifted against his hand, her movements instinctive, desperate. Her reply came in fragments, her voice trembling with need. “Whichever… just… any…Geralt, please.”

Leaning down, Geralt pressed his lips to her ear, his voice a low, commanding growl. “Then I’ll have it my way.”

Geralt’s lips claimed Echo’s once more, this time with an intensity that left her breathless. The kiss was powerful, consuming - teeth and tongue colliding as if he were devouring her, taking every ounce of air and leaving nothing behind. Yet Echo didn’t flinch, nor did she shy away. Her hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer, her fingers tangling in the silvery strands as she welcomed everything he gave her.

While their lips remained locked, Geralt’s free hand resumed its journey. It lingered just below the waistband of her sleeping pants, his fingertips tracing slow, deliberate circles. Each touch was soft at first, teasing, as if he were memorising every inch of her. Then, with a calculated shift, his hand moved lower.

The moment he reached her, Echo gasped against his lips, her body arching instinctively. A heavy moan escaped her, the sound raw and needy, and it sent a shiver through Geralt. The sweet, intoxicating aroma of her arousal filled his senses, a heady mix that only drove him further into his primal instincts. He broke the kiss just enough to whisper against her lips, his voice low and husky.

“Want to take these off?” he asked, his hand retreating momentarily to gesture at her sleepwear.

Echo nodded quickly, lifting her hips in silent permission, her cheeks flushed as her eyes locked onto his. Geralt didn’t hesitate. His hands slid to her waist, gripping her firmly yet gently as he peeled the fabric away, dragging her pants and undergarments down in one smooth motion.

When he leaned back, what he saw before him made his breath catch.

The firelight bathed Echo in a golden glow, highlighting every curve of her body. Her rounded stomach, the elegant line of her hips, her legs - all of it was nothing short of divine to him. She was a vision of raw, natural beauty, and the sight of her like this, so open and trusting, stirred something deep within him.

But before he could act further, a foot pressed firmly against the front of his crouch.

“Off, mister,” Echo ordered, her tone teasing. She gave a slightly heavier push, bringing out a deep growl from Geralt that reverberated in his chest.

Her playful command didn’t go unheeded. With a smirk tugging at his lips, Geralt obeyed. He undid the strings of his pants and pushed them off, discarding them to the floor.

Now bare, he turned his full attention back to Echo, whose eyes flicked downward instinctively before meeting his gaze again. Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink as she took him in, her lips parting in a mixture of awe and nervousness.

“Geralt, I have never…That…that…” she stammered, struggling to find the words. Finally, she blurted out, “ Huge. ”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched into a smirk, his golden eyes dark and possessive. “Well,” he rumbled, his hands sliding to her thighs and pulling her closer, “you’re not backing out now.”

Echo didn’t resist, though her body shifted on the pillow beneath her as she sought a more comfortable position. “No, I’m not,” she muttered, her voice softer now. “Just…don’t be mean to me, okay? And, um…oil?”

Geralt arched an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the side table next to the bed. Knowing his brothers, there was a good chance…

He leaned over her, his bare chest brushing against her skin as he reached for the drawer. Opening it, he wasn’t surprised to find a small vial of scented oil inside. A faint fruit aroma wafted up as he uncorked it, and he huffed softly.

“Damn bastards,” he muttered under his breath, earning a soft laugh from Echo.

Sitting back, Geralt warmed the oil in his hands before returning his focus to her. His touch was tender but confident, his hands gliding over her skin with reverence. He looked into her eyes, his golden gaze steady and reassuring.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his voice deep and grounding as his hands continued their careful exploration.

“I will,” Echo whispered back, her voice full of trust and affection.

Geralt’s experience with intimacy was limited, most of his encounters had been with prostitutes, fleeting moments shared in the dim light of an inn’s upper room or in their rooms - though those weren’t as frequent as one might assume. His life as a Witcher meant most taverns were reluctant to serve him, let alone offer the warmth of company. The few moments that stood apart - Renfri, for instance - were far different from what was unfolding now. As mentioned, intimacy is different from most of the things he'd been through. But with Echo? This was something else entirely.

Leaning down, Geralt pressed his lips to Echo’s abdomen, his movements slow and careful. He kissed the curve of her stomach, trailing upward along the line of her waist. Each press of his lips was a quiet act of devotion, a promise in touch. He lingered for a moment over the soft rosebud of her chest, drawing a quiet gasp from her, before continuing his path to her shoulder and then to her neck.

Echo sighed under him, her breath catching with every new sensation. Her soft mewls and whispered pleas sent heat spiralling through Geralt’s body, a soundscape of need that curled his lips into a faint, wicked smirk.

He let his fingers move with precision, the oil warming against her skin as he worked her open. His touch was slow but insistent, his movements calculated to draw out those beautiful sounds. One finger, then two - he felt her body adjust to him, the warmth of her drawing him in as his hand moved with practised care.

“Geralt,” she murmured, her voice rising with each deliberate motion.

Her pleas only pushed him further. The sound of her voice - breathy, light, and trembling - put him on edge in a way nothing else ever had. He added a third finger, then a fourth, watching her reactions with rapt attention.

The sudden hitch in her breath told him he’d found it.

Echo’s voice faltered, her pleas turning into startled silence as her body tensed beneath him. Geralt knew immediately what he’d touched. He smirked, his fingers moving again with purpose, pressing against that hidden spot inside her that made her want to jolt and kick.

But he held her down, his other hand pressing gently on her hip to keep her still.

“Geralt,” Echo pleaded, her voice breaking on the sound of his name. Behind the word was a moan, aching and drawn from deep within her. “Geralt, please. You agreed to be gentle.”

Her hands clutched the sheets and pillows tightly, her body writhing under his control. The tension in her voice, the desperation in her words, only fueled his need. But even as he tested her limits, he was mindful. He shifted slightly, leaning over her and brushing a kiss against her lips - a brief, tender moment of reassurance amidst the fire.

“I am being gentle,” he whispered against her mouth, his voice deep and steady. “You can take it, Echo. I know you can.”

His words, calm and commanding, carried an undeniable weight, grounding her even as he continued to work her body with expert precision.

Echo bit down hard on her lip as the last wall of resistance crumbled, her body giving in completely to the sensations that Geralt’s touch had drawn from her. She melted into the mattress, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her silent yell of release faded into a half-hearted glare directed at the Witcher towering over her, though her body betrayed her, her hips still moving in lazy circles against his hand as she came down from the high.

“You,” she panted, her voice breathy, “are one very bad witcher, Witcher. And I—oh, fuck. Geralt! ”

Her words were cut short as his fingers retreated, replaced by something much larger, much more imposing. Echo froze, her mind flashing back to the intimidating sight of him just moments ago. Whatever thought she’d entertained of playfully kicking him off the bed dissolved completely.

It was slow at first, deliberate, as Geralt pressed forward, his size filling her in a way that stole her breath. The sensation was overwhelming but not unbearable, her body adjusting to him inch by inch.

“Oh…thank shits,” Echo moaned, her voice trembling as Geralt settled inside her. She lay still, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared at the ceiling. Questions flickered through her mind - about her own taste in this witcher and how she should have known this was part of the package. His mutations enhanced everything else, why wouldn’t this be just as…grand?

She couldn’t help but let out a quiet, incredulous laugh, though her body was still reeling from the fullness of him. This thing would have Jaskier drooling, she thought with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Taking a few shallow breaths, she tilted her head back down to meet Geralt’s gaze. His eyes burned into hers, molten gold reflecting the firelight. There was an intensity there, a silent question as he waited for her permission.

Echo’s lips curled into a small, daring smile. Without breaking eye contact, she shifted her legs wider, opening herself to him completely. Her gaze darkened with intent as she mouthed the words: Fuck me.

Geralt’s chest heaved with a deep sigh, and his hands moved to her hips, gripping her with a careful but steady hold. His movements were measured, his strength restrained as he positioned her, ensuring the pillow under her waist stayed in place and that he avoided putting any pressure on her abdomen. His touch was controlled, deliberate, and full of care.

When he was sure she was comfortable, he began to move.

The first thrust was slow, testing, but even that drew a gasp from Echo. Her body responded instantly, tightening around him, her nails digging into his arms. Geralt groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through both of them.

Each movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through them, a rhythm building between them that was as natural as it was intoxicating. Geralt’s control wavered as he felt her body welcoming him, pulling him deeper. His breaths grew heavier, his focus split between the primal need driving him and the careful attention he paid to her reactions.

Echo’s moans were unabashed, her hands roaming his arms as she held onto him, her body meeting his thrusts with matching intensity. The firelight cast dancing shadows over them, their bodies moving as one in the golden glow.

“Geralt,” she gasped, her voice filled with need and affection, the sound of her saying his name sending a shiver down his spine.

He leaned down, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss as his hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer, deeper. The pleasure was overwhelming, a balance of raw desire and tenderness, a moment that neither of them wanted to end.

Chapter Text

Jaskier woke to an empty bed, his hair a tousled mess that vaguely resembled a pigeon’s nest. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he yawned and stretched, groaning as he sat up. His gaze landed on the small bowl of fresh water resting on a nearby shelf - something that certainly hadn’t been there the night before. He chuckled softly at Geralt’s thoughtfulness, shaking his head as he reached for it.

After washing his face and combing his hair into something more respectable, Jaskier dressed himself in warm yet stylish clothes, opting for brighter tones - far from the dreary dark and single-volume colours of Geralt’s wardrobe. Satisfied with his appearance, he left the room, humming softly as he made his way down the spiral staircase.

His thoughts wandered as he descended, rehearsing how to greet Vesemir properly. The older Witcher’s stern demeanour loomed large in Jaskier’s mind, and he wanted to make a good impression. After all, the man was practically a father to Geralt, and it wouldn’t do to make a fool of himself.

Too absorbed in his musings, Jaskier nearly missed a step, catching himself with a startled yelp. Muttering under his breath about the treacherous nature of stairs, he pressed on until he reached the bottom.

Just as he was about to push open the kitchen door, he paused.

A sound - soft, almost musical - caught his attention. He strained to listen and heard it again: a giggle.

It startled him at first, but he quickly dismissed the notion of anything sinister. This was Kaer Morhen, after all - a keep full of Witchers. Monsters wouldn’t dare.

“…stop…Hey, you started it…”

Jaskier froze as the voice became clearer, unmistakably Echo’s. A second voice, lower and unmistakably Geralt’s, murmured something he couldn’t make out.

Of course. Of course, Echo got to enjoy the hot springs before him.

“The double-standard bastard,” Jaskier muttered, rolling his eyes.

For a moment, he debated. Breakfast or confrontation? It wasn’t much of a choice. His stomach could wait - his pride couldn’t. With a decisive huff, he turned and descended another flight of stairs, the air growing warmer as he went.

The further he walked, the more his curiosity grew. Passing a row of empty bathtubs, likely used by the other Witchers, he followed the sound of voices.

“…Geralt, you need to stop apologizing. I wasn’t hurt. I’m fine.”

Jaskier paused, raising a brow in curiosity.

Then came Geralt’s voice, softer than Jaskier had ever heard it. “You’re bruised. I should have stopped.”

Echo replied, her tone lighthearted. “If you had, I would’ve kicked you off the balcony.”

Balcony? Jaskier’s brain raced, putting the pieces together. His eyes widened as realisation struck. Either Geralt had gone to Echo in the middle of the night, or he had done so at first light. The brute.

Determined, Jaskier stomped toward the voices, his frustration rising with each step. When he finally entered the small cave-like hot spring area, the sight that greeted him made him stop dead in his tracks.

There they were.

Echo, perched on Geralt’s lap, completely naked. Her body was marked with unmistakable love bites and faint bruises, the kind that spoke of passion rather than harm. Her hair clung damply to her shoulders, and her flushed skin gleamed from the warm water.

And Geralt - equally naked - was reclined against the rock edge of the spring, his arms wrapped protectively around Echo’s waist. Faint marks adorned his neck and shoulders, faded but still visible. His golden eyes glinted in the dim light as they flicked up to meet Jaskier’s.

Jaskier’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his brain struggling to process the scene before him. Finally, he blurted out: “Geralt of Rivia, we just finished climbing a mountain for fuck’s sake! You couldn’t wait for one night?!”

Echo stifled a laugh, biting her lip as she buried her face against Geralt’s chest. The Witcher, however, remained composed, though his lips twitched.

“Morning to you too, Jaskier,” Geralt drawled, his voice infuriatingly calm.

Jaskier threw his hands up. “Don’t morning me! This—this is betrayal! You didn’t wake me for the hot springs and you’ve clearly been… busy .”

He stood at the edge of the pool, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he glared down at the two in the water. His blue eyes narrowed on Geralt with unrestrained disappointment before shifting to Echo, who was looking back at him with a mischievous, unapologetic smile.

“Don’t you smile at me, young lady,” he snapped, completely forgetting that Echo was older than him - decades older, thanks to her elven heritage. He squinted accusingly. “You’re his accomplice, I know it. If you had said no, even once, Geralt wouldn’t have dared. But no, you encouraged him! Just one night - one night to relax your muscles!”

Echo glanced up at Geralt, who avoided her gaze, clearly wrestling with regret. Not for being with her, not for spending the night tangled in each other, but for acting so soon after the journey. His guilt had grown worse this morning when he’d spotted the faint bruise on her waist and the marks on her neck, evidence of where his passion had been too rough.

“Jask,” Echo started, her tone calm as she attempted to rise from Geralt’s lap.

But Jaskier, ever the dramatist, held up a hand and pointed sharply at her. “No. You sit down. You need rest. Rest, not… this. ” He gestured toward her and then waved dramatically at Geralt. “And definitely not what happened last night . She needed to relax - for her sake and for the child’s! ” His eyes softened slightly as he turned back to Echo. “How are you? Did it get hurt? How is the little one doing?”

Echo gave Geralt’s hand a squeeze beneath the water, a silent gesture of comfort that she hoped would ease some of his guilt. She turned to Jaskier with a small, reassuring smile.

“No one got hurt,” she said softly. “And I’m fine - more than fine, actually. It was… comforting.” She hesitated, glancing at Geralt before continuing. “I didn’t know where everything was going to go, but last night, was a good decision I made. And other decisions too.”

Both Geralt and Jaskier perked up, their curiosity piqued.

“I,” Echo said firmly, her voice steady and full of conviction, “want to stay. And nothing will make me leave either of you two.”

Jaskier blinked, his sharp edges softening at her declaration. Though his disapproval of Geralt’s timing remained, his heart melted a little at her words. With a huff and a shake of his head, he finally stepped back from the edge.

“Well,” he muttered, “you still need actual rest. And I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely, “But don’t think I’ve forgiven you, Geralt. Skipping a night next to me for this?” He sighed dramatically. “I’m going to stuff myself with breakfast instead of stewing in my disappointment.”

Jaskier stomped off, muttering something about Geralt being a "brutish heathen" under his breath as he left.

Echo chuckled softly as she watched Jaskier’s exaggerated exit. Nudging closer to Geralt, she leaned against his chest. “Jaskier isn’t going to pay you any attention today, you know that, right?”

Geralt hummed in acknowledgement. “I know. But he’s not wrong,” he admitted, his voice low and thoughtful. “I should’ve let you rest and settle in.”

Echo rubbed her thumb along Geralt’s chin, tilting his face down toward hers. “I seduced you, remember?” she said with a playful smirk. “You even called me a succubus.”

She lifted his chin further with her index finger, her teasing growing softer as she asked, “So, how did it feel? Afterwards, I mean.”

Geralt sighed heavily, surrendering as he caught her hand and brought it around his neck. His voice was a low rumble as he grumbled, “What is it with you always trying to pull the worst out of me?”

When Echo’s amused smile didn’t falter, he continued, his golden eyes softening. “It was… more than great. Better than I thought it could ever feel. You felt perfect. You are perfect.” His voice dipped, a hint of warmth curling at the edges. “I do want to see you in a dress and corset one day. You’d look...incredible.”

“Oh?” Echo grinned, arching a brow. “Already planning ahead? Well, the dress isn’t hard, I have plenty. But a corset? You’ll have to wait until our child comes.”

Geralt blinked, startled. “O-our child?”

Echo’s expression softened, her smile warmer now. She nodded. “It recognises you and Jaskier. It reacts to your voices, your calls. I don’t care about the biological father, Geralt. What matters is who will be with this child, give him or her care, and be in the bad or good memories. Who'll be there for her or him no matter what. And that’s you. I know it’s you.”

“Echo…” Geralt’s voice faltered, his usual stoicism cracking under the weight of her words.

She cups his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently over his cheeks. “I know you can do this, Geralt. I know we can.”

For a moment, Geralt simply gazed into her blue eyes, the weight of her conviction and trust settling deep into his chest. Whatever doubts or protests had been forming in his mind dissolved.

He leaned in and kissed her, warm and steady, pouring every unspoken emotion into the act. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer until the heat of their embrace rivalled the warmth of the springs.

*

Jaskier stormed into the kitchen, his mood as dark as the mountain night they’d just survived. His hair stuck out awkwardly, damp from the hot springs and faintly smelling of sulfur. He looked like a stormcloud ready to pour as he dropped himself into a chair.

Eskel, the only one in the kitchen, looked up from the dishes he was cleaning, smirking at the sight. “Ah, so you’ve caught on. And good morning,” he said cheerily, his deep voice tinged with amusement. “The leftovers are on the table. Geralt and Echo made sure to save some for you. Surprised you’re up this early, honestly.”

Jaskier slouched forward, muttering as he grabbed a bowl of porridge. “Old habits die hard. I think my body is still set to adventuring times. Plus, during this time of year, I’d usually be in Oxenfurt, teaching. Have to wake up early for that too.” He scooped a spoonful of porridge into his mouth before immediately pouring a generous amount of honey into the bowl.

Eskel chuckled as he warmed a cup of tea on the stove. Setting it down in front of Jaskier, he leaned against the counter. “Geralt mentioned you were a teacher. Gotta say, teaching’s not for everyone. Just luck Vesemir didn’t throw us out when he had the chance.” Eskel laughed at the memory. “It was chaos back then. Especially Geralt and Lambert. Young and cocky as hell, thought the world belonged to them. It wasn’t until Geralt went onto the Path alone that he understood the cruelty of it all. Lambert, though…” Eskel shook his head with a grin. “Lambert just made everyone miserable when he wasn’t happy.”

Jaskier chuckled, though his mood stayed clouded. They chatted briefly until Eskel heard footsteps in the hall. Straightening, Eskel dried his hands and nodded toward Jaskier. “Geralt says you might like to go through the library. It’s more sorting than cleaning, but it’s quiet up there. Head up whenever you’re ready. See you at lunch.”

Jaskier waved him off with a grunt, finishing the last of his porridge before moving on to an apple and the mix of seeds left next to his bowl. He sat there for a while, nibbling like a squirrel and stewing over his irritation with Geralt.

When the door opened, and the familiar voices of Geralt and Echo filled the kitchen, Jaskier immediately turned his focus to the apple in his hand, resolutely ignoring them.

Echo, noticing Jaskier’s sour expression, nudged Geralt sharply in the ribs and whispered, “Your turn.” Grabbing a box of cookies off the counter, she winked and slipped out of the room, leaving Geralt standing there awkwardly.

The silence stretched between them until Jaskier finally looked up, his irritation spilling over. “Don’t you have something to do? Go brood somewhere else,” he snapped, standing to take his bowl and cup to the washing basin.

“Jaskier—”

“Don’t you Jaskier me, mister!” he interrupted, slamming the wooden cup into the basin, sending water splashing onto his sleeves. “I know Echo makes you all mushy and incapable of proper judgment, but for fuck’s sake, remember she’s pregnant. And we just climbed a deadly mountain! ” His voice echoed sharply off the kitchen walls, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, rubbing his temples. “Pregnancy isn’t easy, Geralt. Just because she’s not puking her guts out or swinging between moods like a pendulum doesn’t mean she’s fine. She’s carrying a child - your child now - and she needs to be cared for. Maybe she needed the closeness, but it doesn’t mean you should say yes every time she asks!”

Finishing his tirade, Jaskier set the cleaned dishes aside with a heavy sigh. He rubbed his face, mumbling under his breath. “Not that I’d have been any better, especially after she kissed me like that.”

Geralt’s lips twitched, but he remained silent, clearly trying to choose his words carefully.

“Tell me she didn’t climb over you,” Jaskier said, pointing a warning finger at Geralt. “Or bend.”

“She tried,” Geralt admitted quietly. “But no.”

Jaskier groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How do you even have sex with a pregnant woman? Actually, don’t answer that.” He shook his head, muttering curses to himself as he grabbed his coat.

“I’m heading to the library. Call me for lunch,” he said, brushing past Geralt. Just before he left, he paused, meeting the Witcher’s golden gaze with a pointed look. “I’m still pissed at you.”

But there was a soft smirk on his face as he disappeared down the hall.

Geralt exhaled deeply, leaning against the counter for a moment before pushing off. He knew Jaskier would forgive him soon enough, but it didn’t make the bard’s words any less true. With a sigh, he headed to the storage room to unpack their gear, leaving Jaskier to his self-appointed library duty.

*

The library was silent, save for the faint creak of wood as the wind whispered through unseen cracks. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, their spines in varying states of wear. Some areas bore the signs of care, with books neatly organized and dusted, while others were left to time - shelves broken, dust settled thick, and a few books scattered haphazardly on the floor.

Echo stood in the middle of it all, assessing the work ahead. She conjured her mage hand with a flick of her fingers, watching the spectral form delicately pluck books from the floor and place them on the nearest shelf. Bending down these days was hardly an option, and though she could try, she’d rather not risk getting stuck halfway.

As the mage hand diligently worked, Echo wandered toward the balcony door at the far end of the library. With a small push, it creaked open, allowing the crisp mountain air to sweep inside. She stepped closer, the breeze brushing against her face and carrying the scent of snow and pine. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, letting the clean, natural air fill her lungs. The gentle wind played with her loose, wavy curls, lifting them as if in a dance.

It was a calming moment, one that made her feel connected to the vast stillness of the mountains.

From the staircase behind her, Jaskier reached the top step, slightly out of breath from the climb. His eyes landed on Echo, her back to him, framed by the soft glow of the snowy landscape beyond the balcony. The wind tugged at her hair, making it ripple like a banner. For a moment, Jaskier simply watched her, thinking how, from behind, she didn’t even look pregnant. She looked ethereal, standing there surrounded by books and snow, her mage hand floating nearby like a devoted assistant.

Unable to resist, he made his way over to her. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“You smell like Geralt,” he said with a pout.

Echo chuckled softly, leaning into his embrace. “Not a good thing?”

Jaskier huffed dramatically, his lips pushing into an even bigger pout. “Absolutely not.” But he made no move to let go.

The smile on Echo’s lips widened as she reached up to gently pat his cheek. “Made him more miserable than he already is?”

“Why would I not?” Jaskier shot back, his voice dripping with mock indignation. “The brute. Have you seen yourself?”

Echo turned her head slightly, her grin playful. “That was the first thing I did this morning. Standing naked in front of the mirror while Geralt sulked and brooded on the bed.”

Jaskier groaned, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “Of course you did. Meanwhile, I climbed a mountain, argued with Geralt, and now I’m here cleaning up after him. My life, Echo. My life! ”

She laughed, the sound warm and bright, as her mage hand continued sorting books behind them. “Don’t act like you don’t adore him,” she teased.

He lifted his head, his expression softening as he looked at her profile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re ridiculous,” Echo quipped, giving him a small nudge with her shoulder.

The library was a haven of quiet, broken only by the soft rustle of pages, the creak of old wooden shelves, and the occasional murmur of Jaskier or Echo commenting on a book they’d come across. The two worked in sync, a surprising rhythm forming between them as they sorted the collection. Books were categorized by author, content, and age, though Jaskier couldn’t help but cast judgmental glances at the state of some of them.

“Honestly,” Jaskier muttered as he flipped through a leather-bound volume with frayed edges, “these Witchers can handle monsters but can’t bother to care for their literature ? Heathens.”

Echo chuckled from where she stood near the balcony, enjoying the brisk breeze. She directed her mage hand to float another stack of books toward Jaskier, who sat by a desk, muttering to himself as he sorted them.

Still, even Jaskier had to admit that a few of the books were beautifully preserved, and neatly arranged with care. It gave him pause, though he couldn’t decide if it was Vesemir’s doing or one of the other Witchers. Either way, it redeemed them - slightly.

Echo, munching on the seeds and nuts Jaskier had stolen from the kitchen when he stomped off, turned her head at a sudden clink. A tiny rock had landed on the balcony, bouncing harmlessly across the stone.

Jaskier yelped, nearly upsetting the pile of books on his desk. “What in the—!”

Echo leaned over the railing, her sharp eyes scanning the Keep’s open grounds. There stood Lambert, looking up at her with a smirk. His hand made an exaggerated pointing gesture toward the Keep’s gates before he started flapping his arms like a deranged bird.

Rolling her eyes, Echo sighed. “Lambert. I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, brushing her hands free of crumbs.

Jaskier, still glaring daggers toward the balcony, waved her off with a dismissive hand. “Go on. Deal with the idiot. And tell him he owes me for nearly giving me a heart attack!” He punctuated his words by flipping a rude gesture in Lambert’s direction.

To Jaskier, Lambert was little more than a dark figure against the bright snowy grounds, but Echo’s sharper vision caught the Witcher’s amused grin as he shrugged off Jaskier’s insult.

Echo debated her options for a moment. Jumping down using feather fall would save time, but it might give someone - namely Jaskier - a second heart attack. Instead, she chose a more subtle approach.

With a quick muttered incantation, Echo disappeared in a wisp of silver mist. She reappeared at the bottom of the Keep, stepping onto the snow-dusted ground as easily as if she’d taken the stairs. It was the same spell she’d used to deliver the final blow to the wyvern, and it left her feeling light and refreshed.

Lambert raised an eyebrow as she materialized in front of him. “Showoff,” he said with a smirk.

Echo crossed her arms and tilted her head. “What’s with the rock? If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just shouted.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lambert replied, jerking his thumb toward the gates.  “Aiden heard something outside the Keep, and we’re thinking of checking it out. But first…” He hesitated, his smirk deepening. “We were hoping you could, uh… keep Vesemir busy.”

Echo arched a brow, folding her arms across her chest. “You want me to lie for you?”

“Yeah,” Lambert admitted without a shred of shame.

Echo’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement as she considered him. “And what do I get in return for helping you ditch your chores?”

Lambert paused, his face scrunching as he thought. Offering up Geralt wasn’t an option this time, and he doubted Echo cared much about anything in his possession. But then, a sly grin stretched across his lips as an idea struck him.

“Ever wonder how Geralt looks when he’s drunk?”

That caught Echo’s attention. Her brow twitched, and she tilted her head slightly. “Drunk? Not poisoned by potions?”

“Drunk on actual alcohol,” Lambert clarified, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Trust me, it’s worth it. The Great White Wolf singing off-key and slurring his words? You don’t want to miss that.”

Echo weighed her options. Jaskier had mentioned Geralt’s reaction to potion overdoses before - a dangerous mix of lethargy and growls - but drunk? That was a different story entirely.

“What duty are you ditching?” she asked, scepticism lacing her voice.

Lambert pointed to a spot not far away where two shovels leaned against the wall, half-buried in the snow. “Shoveling snow.”

Echo let out a laugh, shaking her head at the simplicity of it. Of course, Lambert would want to avoid such a mundane task. “Poor you,” she said with a grin. “Fine. Shoo, before I change my mind.”

“Ha! Aiden!” Lambert called, breaking into a jog toward the gate where the Cat Witcher stood. “Aiden, let’s go!” He grabbed Aiden’s arm before the other Witcher could protest, dragging him along.

“Wait, what if—?” Aiden started, but Lambert cut him off with an enthusiastic, “No time for questions!”

Echo stood there watching Lambert’s retreat, shaking her head. “Poor Vesemir,” she muttered, already thinking about how to handle the snow-covered grounds. One mage hand wouldn’t suffice, and using fire to melt the snow wasn’t an option unless she wanted the water to freeze into a hazardous sheet of ice.

Her thoughts briefly wandered to necromancy, considering the efficiency of skeletons to handle the task, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Summoning undead was a good way to send Geralt and Vesemir into a hunting frenzy - and she didn’t want to explain that.

Maybe something more natural? Wind, perhaps? That could work…

Her lips curved into a small smile as a memory flickered in her mind. Back in Faerun, she’d read through some of Gale’s books in his tower during the passing time to learn how to conjure a portal, where she’d seen an intriguing spell that could do the trick. It wasn’t something she’d tried yet but now seemed like a good time to experiment.

“Well,” Echo said aloud, stepping toward the open grounds with a flick of her fingers, “let’s see what this magic can do.”

*

Geralt had just finished organising the backpacks in the storage room when the sound of something heavy dragging across the ground reached his ears. He paused, listening as the noise was joined by rhythmic thumping - like something bouncing up and down.

Frowning, he stepped into the hallway and spotted Eskel and Vesemir standing by the Keep’s front door, chatting and occasionally glancing outside. Whatever they were observing seemed to amuse them, as both had faint smirks on their faces.

“What’s Lambert up to now?” Geralt mumbled as he approached the two older Witchers.

Eskel turned to him, his grin widening. “Not Lambert. He ditched his duty. Ran off chasing whatever nonsense he’s got in mind this winter, took the Cat too.”

Vesemir clapped Geralt on the shoulder, shaking his head in bemusement. “You’ve got yourself one very imaginative… friend, Geralt.”

Geralt’s frown deepened. He stepped around them, pushing open the heavy wooden door, and froze mid-step.

In the open grounds of the Keep, five snowmen were shuffling about, sticks for arms and pebbles for eyes. They were busily clearing snow, dragging it into neat piles as they hopped up and down in a bizarre display of animated teamwork.

For a long moment, Geralt just stared, unsure if he was hallucinating. He rubbed his face with his hand and looked again. Nope, still there. The snowmen continued their diligent work, the thumping and dragging noises now making sense.

“This has to be a hallucination,” Geralt muttered.

Eskel leaned against the doorframe, laughing softly. “Nope. That’s all your wife’s doing, Geralt.” He pointed toward the shadowed corner of the grounds, where Echo sat on a makeshift throne of snow and eating the leftover seeds and nuts. “Thought you said she was a fire mage. Didn’t mention she was this… ice-cold .”

Vesemir chuckled, though his eyes remained thoughtful. “I didn’t expect this. But she’s creative, I’ll give her that. Maybe one day we’ll test her magic properly - if she agrees.”

Geralt didn’t reply immediately. His golden eyes stayed fixed on Echo, curiosity and bewilderment swirling together. He had known she was capable of a wide range of spells - fireballs, healing, daggers, and even a massive Aard-like blast - but this was something else entirely.

With a sigh, he walked across the snowy grounds toward Echo, shaking his head.

“Geralt!” Echo greeted him cheerfully, waving her hand as her snow throne sparkled in the faint sunlight. “Look what I did! I finally tried that spell I read about. It’s amazing! I made one snowman and cast a duplication spell, and now there are five. They’re doing all the work for me!” She beamed, clearly proud of herself, before continuing, her words spilling out in a rush. “I was thinking about conjuring skeletons or ghouls instead, but—”

Geralt placed a hand over her mouth, effectively cutting her off. “Slowly,” he said with a soft laugh. “From the beginning. Also, where’s Lambert? And his Cat?”

Echo shrugged, her grin turning sly. “No idea. Lambert asked me to keep Vesemir busy so he could ditch his chore.”

“And you’re doing his chore for him?” Geralt asked, glancing at the snowmen.

Echo’s grin widened mischievously. “Not exactly. I just said, Shoo. Before I change my mind. Never agreed to lie to Vesemir.”

Geralt exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to get Lambert killed one day,” he muttered, reaching out to flick her forehead gently. “Menace.”

Echo swatted his hand away with a laugh.

“Now,” Geralt said, his tone turning more serious, “what was that about skeletons and ghouls?”

Echo hesitated, her smile faltering slightly as she kicked at the snow. “Well… Yen said necromancy is a sort of forbidden magic - kind of like fire magic, but worse. So she says. She didn’t explain much beyond that. But, uh, yes, I know a bit of necromancy. I can summon skeletons, ghouls and raise the dead to fight for me…even speak to the dead. Though that last one has rules - only five questions per session.”

Geralt stared at her, his expression unreadable. He glanced around at the snowmen, still busily piling snow, then back at Echo. The weight of her words sank in slowly. He wasn’t surprised she had more talents than she’d let on - her magic always seemed versatile - but this? Necromancy? It was far beyond what he had expected.

“I…” He paused, struggling to find the right response. “Just…manipulate Lambert into doing his own chores next time.”

Echo burst into laughter, the sound ringing through the frosty air as she relaxed back into her throne.

Geralt shook his head, muttering something about chaos before moving to inspect one of the snowmen up close. This winter was already proving to be more unpredictable than he’d thought.

Chapter Text

As the snow fell lightly over the Keep, Lambert and Aiden returned through the gates, Lambert leading his horse, which bore two still-alive rabbits tied at its side and a freshly killed deer strapped to its back. Lambert glanced around the open grounds, his brows knitting in confusion.

“I left all the snow scattered, right?” Lambert asked Aiden. His eyes then fixed on a lone snowman standing in the middle of the road, its pebble eyes gazing eerily ahead. “And I definitely don’t remember a snowman standing there.”

Aiden shrugged, his usual deadpan expression betrayed by mild amusement. “Maybe Geralt got bored?”

Lambert rolled his eyes and approached the snowman, muttering to himself. But as he neared, the snowman suddenly moved. Its stick arm shot out, grazing Lambert’s cheek with a ghostly precision before glowing faintly and collapsing back into a pile of snow.

“What the actual fuck?!” Lambert yelped, his hands reflexively letting go of the rabbits. He instinctively reached for his blades, only to remember they were still on the horse.

“Lambert.”

Vesemir's familiar voice made him turn his head. Standing atop the small flight of stairs leading to the Keep, Vesemir stood tall, arms crossed. Next to him was Echo, her grin wide and undeniably mischievous.

“You,” Lambert growled, pointing an accusatory finger. “You evil witch! ”

Echo’s grin only widened as she descended the stairs, an air of triumph in her step. “I never said I’d help you, did I?” she teased, then brushed past him to crouch beside the snow pile. “It’s alright,” she said softly, addressing the snow pile as if it were alive. “He’s just a dick. You can stay in the warm stables; no one’s going to eat you. Promise.”

Lambert turned to glare at her. “What the hell are you talking to?”

Echo waved him off, ignoring his irritation. 

Lambert stared at her, mouth agape. Before he could retort, two grey shadows bolted out of the snow pile - rabbits, shaking and wide-eyed.

Aiden blinked, his hand halfway to drawing his own blade. “What…?”

Echo turned to him, smiling sweetly. “Could you pick them up for me? Just don’t grab them by the ears, please.”

Still baffled, Aiden bent down and carefully scooped up the rabbits, cradling them as if they might bolt at any second. “Uh…sure?”

As he handed them to Echo, she cradled the rabbits tenderly, her voice soft as if speaking to a child. “No, no. Oh, thank you. Yes, I can do that. After the snow, perhaps? A snowstorm? You’re sure?”

Her words weren’t directed at anyone in particular - or so it seemed - until she turned her head toward Vesemir. “Apparently, there’s a high chance of a snowstorm tonight?”

Vesemir looked skyward, scanning the distant peaks with a practised eye. After a moment, he nodded. “Highly likely. Winds are picking up, and the snow’s been falling steadily. Mountain weather’s unpredictable, but I’d bet on it.”

Echo nodded in understanding and then turned to Aiden. “Would you help me settle these two in the stables?”

Aiden glanced at the rabbits in her arms, then at her. “You…talk to them?”

“It’s only magic,” Echo said with a shrug.

Lambert groaned dramatically. “No shit.”

“Lambert,” Vesemir chided, his voice a warning.

“Ugh. Damn the old man.” Lambert glared at Echo as he stomped toward his horse, yanking his swords off its back. “And you, evil witch!”

Echo ignored him, joining Aiden as they walked toward the stables with the rabbits in her arms. Behind her, Vesemir’s stern voice began its inevitable scolding, and Lambert let out a long-suffering groan.

“Have fun, Lambert,” Echo called over her shoulder, her voice sing-song as she disappeared with Aiden into the stables.

*

“Don't touch that,” a feather-light graze smacked Geralt's hand away from the bindings of a delicate book.

Jaskier, perched at a worktable with a few battered tomes, had been carefully fixing loosened bindings. The familiar transparent mage hand floated beside him, tapping a steady rhythm on his shoulder as if keeping him on task.

Geralt had stepped into the library moments earlier, surveying the changed landscape. Shelves had been rearranged, more books were out in the open, and the dust that once coated everything was notably absent. Though curious, Geralt didn’t ask, trusting Jaskier’s keen sense of organization. From the looks of it, Jaskier was sorting books by content first, then by year and author - a meticulous process that reminded Geralt of how the bard sorted his wardrobe back in the day: by style, colour, and wear.

The magical hand ceased its tapping as Geralt approached, nudging Jaskier's cheek as if to alert him.

“I know he's here,” Jaskier said without looking up, his focus still on the book in his hands. “Geralt, is it lunch already?”

Geralt had barely leaned forward to examine the book, and that was when the bard smacked his hand away again.

"Careful," Jaskier warned, “this one’s barely holding together.”

Geralt withdrew his hand, chuckling softly. “Nearly time for lunch. How’s it going in here?”

Jaskier sighed dramatically, gesturing at the disarray still evident in the room. “I’d thought you people would take better care of your books,” he said, waving a hand toward the unorganized and dusty piles still littering the floor. “Though I do see some semblance of order.”

“Vesemir,” Geralt said simply, leaning casually against a nearby shelf.

“Ah, I thought so,” Jaskier replied, nodding knowingly. He had suspected the older Witcher was behind the modest attempts at preservation.

The mage hand nudged Jaskier’s shoulder again before returning to its task of moving books to the appropriate piles.

“So,” Jaskier began, his tone shifting to something lighter, “did you enjoy Echo’s little snowmen parade?”

Geralt raised a brow. “You saw that?”

“Of course I did,” Jaskier said with a grin, setting the repaired book aside and grabbing another. “Heard weird thumping noises and went to investigate. Looked out just in time to see her perched on a throne made of snow, looking very much like a goddess of chaos. I was just about to run down to see it for myself when you appeared.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “They looked adorable.”

“Adorable?” Geralt repeated, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “One of them scratched Lambert’s cheek.”

Jaskier snorted, amused. “Ah, yes. Very adorable indeed.”

Geralt crossed his arms, watching as Jaskier skillfully glued a loose binding back into place. “I’ll give her credit. She’s creative. Even Vesemir was impressed, though he’ll never admit it out loud.”

“Impressive is an understatement,” Jaskier said. “She’s a force of nature, Geralt. A fiery, snowy, chaotic force of nature.”

The Witcher couldn’t argue with that. Echo’s ability to turn even the most mundane tasks into something extraordinary was part of her charm - and a source of endless headaches.

“Let’s hope her force doesn’t start conjuring skeletons next,” Geralt muttered, mostly to himself.

Jaskier froze mid-motion, looking up with wide eyes. “She can do that ?”

“Apparently,” Geralt grunted, his smirk fading into something more resigned.

Jaskier blinked, then shook his head with a sigh. “I take back what I said. You’re doomed, my friend.”

Geralt let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I know.”

*

Lunch was a cosy affair in the main hall of Kaer Morhen. The hearty meal of meat pie with hot vegetables and warm tea brought a rare sense of contentment to the Keep. The tea, an unusual addition, had come from Echo’s own supply - leaves she claimed were from her homeland, Faerun.

The reactions were varied. Lambert wrinkled his nose at the buttery taste, muttering something about it being “too bitter.” Eskel gave it a fair try but ultimately passed, opting for water instead. Vesemir, however, enjoyed it immensely. His usually stoic face softened, and he took an extra long sip before turning to Echo.

“Do you have more of this?” he asked, his tone as close to eager as it ever got.

Echo, smiling, pulled out the small tin of tea leaves and handed it to the older Witcher. “Take the whole thing, Vesemir. Consider it a gift.”

Lambert gawked at the sight of Vesemir smiling - smiling! - as he accepted the tin with almost reverent care. “Oh, yeah,” Lambert snorted. “The old man has a new favourite. Geralt, you’ve been replaced.”

Geralt grunted in response, though there was a faint smirk on his lips as he watched Vesemir clutch the tin like it was a treasure.

After the meal, the group dispersed for their respective tasks. Vesemir headed to the armoury to work on repairing old armour and binding leather grips to sword handles. Lambert was reluctantly assigned dish duty with Aiden, who smirked at his misfortune. Eskel was tasked with reinforcing the walls inside the Keep, grumbling about the cold stones. Geralt prepared to chop wood for supper.

Jaskier, ever the reluctant chore-doer, returned to the library for book organization duty.

Echo remained in the hall, watching as the others filtered out. Geralt was the last to leave, and as he passed her, she tugged lightly on his sleeve.

“What about me?” she asked, looking up at him expectantly. “What can I do?”

Geralt paused, thoughtful. He could see she was eager to contribute, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her, especially not in her condition.

“I’ll be sorting through herbs later,” he said finally. “You can help with that. For now, finish your tea.”

“You better come find me when you do,” she teased with a soft smile.

Geralt chuckled, brushing his knuckles gently against her cheek. “I will.”

With that, he left for the courtyard, leaving Echo alone by the fire.

Echo settled into a rocking chair near the fireplace, savouring the warmth of the flames and the quiet that followed lunch. The cosy atmosphere soon lulled her into sleep, and her mind drifted into a dream.

Her dream took her to a place both familiar and foreign - the domain of the Weave. The air shimmered with unearthly hues: vibrant blues, shifting golds, and silver strands that danced like starlight. The ground beneath her was endless and reflective, mirroring the infinite expanse of constellations above. Magic pulsed everywhere, a rhythm that felt alive, surrounding her with warmth and a strange sense of safety.

Then, a familiar figure emerged. Broad shoulders framed by a flowing purple mage’s robe, strands of brown hair streaked with silver, and an aura of quiet power. He stood with his back to her, his hands delicately weaving strands of magic, drawing stars into constellations, filing away fragments of light as though tending a great, cosmic library.

“Gale…” Echo whispered, her voice a fragile breath of recognition.

The man didn’t turn but stilled at her voice. His hands rested mid-weave, and his voice, when it came, was soft and measured - the familiar cadence of the wizard she had once loved. “I had always wanted to apologize,” he began, warm as she had remembered it to be. “But you shut me out.” He resumed his work, tracing constellations and threads of magic, though his movements were slower, more deliberate. “It’s great to see you doing so well, even if it is a land beyond my domain.”

His hands finally stilled. “Let me give you my protection, Echo,” he said, his voice almost pleading, though it retained its dignity. “She needs all the magic you can give. Her birth won’t be an easy one. I promise you, on my godhood, all I want is for you to be safe.”

“She?” Echo asked, her voice breaking the heavy silence that followed.

“Yes,” Gale said simply, his voice steady as he nodded.

“What are you?” she asked after a long pause, her hand brushing over her stomach protectively.

Gale let out a small chuckle, the sound soft and bittersweet. “I’m nothing but a projection of the Netherese magic - the one I gave to you before you stepped through the portal.” He paused, his tone shifting to one of quiet admiration. “You’ve known for a while, haven’t you? Always clever, always observant. You pushed me away the moment you felt my presence. But you need me, Echo. Bit by bit, I’ve come through the cracks.”

Echo didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on him as she took a cautious step back.

“Please, Echo,” Gale said, his voice breaking slightly. “I just want to protect you and the child. Let me.” He sighed, as though the weight of centuries rested on his shoulders. “You’ll need The Weave to bring her into this world. She shares a portion of my power - she’s a child of a god, Echo. You can’t deny this. She’s special. Let me help you.”

Her hand fell instinctively to her stomach. The child stirred a small and comforting touch that seemed to respond to her inner turmoil. Echo felt a pang of emotion, a weight of responsibility she had always suspected but never wanted to face.

“What do you want?” she asked finally, her voice trembling.

“Just a yes,” Gale said, still not turning around. “And I will bother you no more. It is what I was placed here for - to protect you.”

At last, he turned to face her. His warm brown eyes met hers, filled with both love and sorrow. His features were familiar, every detail seared into her memory: the sharp cheekbones, the slightly tired gaze of a man who had carried the weight of magic’s burden for too long, and the faint shadow of a smile that never quite reached his lips. He stepped toward her with the same care and delicacy he had always shown her.

Echo stared into his eyes, her own filling with tears. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. She struggled, her emotions tangled between love, grief, and acceptance. Finally, in a voice no louder than a whisper, she said, “Yes.”

The domain began to quake, the vibrant colours of The Weave collapsing into a swirl of light that wrapped around her, pulling her back into the waking world.

“Keep safe,” Gale’s voice echoed one last time, tinged with sorrow and finality. “And I’m sorry, my love.”

Echo woke with a start, her body tense and her mind still half-lost in the fading remnants of her dream. The warm light of the fireplace greeted her, along with the soft, familiar sound of Geralt calling her name.

“Echo?” His voice was gentle, and she felt a warm hand nudge her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his worried golden gaze.

Without a word, she opened her arms toward him, a silent request for the comfort she so desperately needed. Geralt hesitated for only a moment before leaning down, wrapping her in a firm but tender embrace. Echo buried her face in his shoulder, holding onto him tightly as she tried to ground herself.

He didn’t ask questions, only held her, his hand brushing over her hair as he whispered, “I’m here.”

Geralt held Echo in his arms for a while, shifting slightly as she lifted her head and buried it into his shoulder. He could sense the weight on her, her mixed emotions swirling together - bittersweet and heavy, full of depth. The scent of it tickled his Witcher-enhanced senses, but he refrained from asking questions. He knew she would speak when she was ready.

“I saw him. One last time. The magic that was protecting me - it was his doing. His magic,” Echo whispered, her voice laced with a sadness that felt undeniable and raw. “I tried to block it out, but whenever I use my magic, it seeps through. Inch by inch, bit by bit.” Her grip on Geralt’s collar tightened as her hands trembled slightly. “He told me…the child I carry has a portion of his powers, that I’ll need the magic.” She shook his collar with a small burst of frustration. “I said yes. And now he’s gone. Geralt…I’m supposed to hate him. But why?” Her voice cracked, hollow and broken. “Why do I only feel sad? The last bit of his humanity…and he chose to throw it away into me.”

Her words hung in the air like a lament, heavy and unresolved. There were no tears, only an aching void. Geralt didn’t know what he could say to ease this delicate moment. Instead, he held her tighter, mindful of her stomach, letting his body warmth envelop her. Slowly, he leaned down to place a tender kiss on her head.

“...And I just had sex with you last night,” Echo muttered, her voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. But it was loud enough for Geralt to catch the words.

He let out a soft hum, the corner of his lips quirking upwards. “At least you enjoyed it,” he remarked dryly.

“Enjoyed it?” Echo shot back, lifting her head just enough to glare at him. “I would’ve gone for seconds if it weren’t for you pulling out and using my thighs.” Her fingers found their way into his hair, giving it a teasing tug. “Which, by the way, was far less comfortable than just staying in me,” she accused. “Next time, leave it in till the end.”

Geralt chuckled, a rare sound, and he simply shook his head at her boldness. They stayed like that for a little while longer - Geralt hugging her close, and Echo resting her head against his shoulder, letting herself relax both physically and emotionally. But after a time, the position became slightly awkward.

“Mind taking me to the herbs?” Echo asked softly, leaning back to look at him.

Seeing the turmoil in her emotions fading to a more subtle complexity, Geralt nodded and took her hand. He led her to a section of the hall where shelves and boxes were neatly arranged with pouches, glass jars, and containers filled with the remains of collected herbs and potion ingredients.

“These are all the leftovers of herbs and potions taken from everyone,” Geralt began, his tone practical as he pointed out the various items. “I’ll handle the potions since you’re not yet familiar with them. Herbs will be easier for you, but you need to be careful. Some are poisonous.”

He took the time to explain what she needed to do - how to sort the herbs, how to identify them, and where to store them properly. As he spoke, he pulled over a cushioned chair and gestured for her to sit, ensuring she would be comfortable.

Echo settled into the chair and began working, sorting through the herbs carefully and silently. She started with the ones she recognized - those she had learned about during her travels with Geralt and a handful of lessons from Yennefer. As she worked through the pile, her hands slowed when she reached the unfamiliar ones. Her eyes wandered to Geralt.

He was deeply focused on his own task, pouring and mixing potions with precision and care. There was something inherently captivating about the sight - how utterly concentrated he was, his brow slightly furrowed, his hands steady and confident. It only heightened the allure he already possessed, though he would always dismiss himself as monstrous.

Echo’s gaze lingered, unbidden. Geralt, unaware at first, continued his work until a familiar scent hit his nose - something distinct and unmistakable. Lust. He froze, the vial in his hand suspended mid-air, and exhaled through his nose in exasperation. “Echo, now is not the time,” he said, his voice tinged with a tired kind of patience. “Keep it together.”

“I can’t help it,” she murmured, her eyes flicking to his hands again. “It’s already hard enough not to grab you. Can’t I just…look?”

Geralt sighed, his amber eyes flicking to hers with a dry expression. “Your looking is as if you’re trying to strip me clean. It’s the same look Jaskier gives me whenever I come back from a hunt.”

Echo smirked at the comparison, but her gaze didn’t waver. Geralt muttered something under his breath and turned back to his work, his lips curling despite himself.

Geralt refused to let himself so much as glance at Echo, not wanting to encourage her in any way. He focused his mind and hands on his task, sorting and mixing through the various potions that had been brought together. It wasn’t as difficult as he anticipated; Echo hadn’t tried to distract him. If she had wanted to, he was certain it would have been far too easy for her.

By the time Geralt was about a third of the way through, curiosity overcame him. Lifting his head, he turned toward Echo. His gaze lingered - not because of her focus, though it was striking - but because of how shockingly efficient she was. The herb collection wasn’t small; Lambert, with his endless complaints, would have taken half a day and at least a dozen breaks to get through even part of it. But Echo had already sorted through half, even managing to correctly isolate the poisonous herbs. Geralt frowned slightly, double-checking her work just to be sure. Yet nothing was misplaced.

Sensing his eyes on her, Echo looked up and grinned widely, her smile radiating pride. “Back during my escapee adventures, I was the one who carried the herbs and potions,” she explained, her tone teasing. “Some of these are unfamiliar, but once I remember what they are, it’s not that hard.” She reached for another bundle, working through it with practised ease.

Just as her hand hovered near the pile of poisonous herbs, Geralt’s larger hand stopped her, firm but careful. “Leave something for Lambert to do,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He abandoned his own task and gently moved her hands away from the herbs. “He hates sorting about as much as he hates shovelling snow. So let him cure his own boredom when the deep winter days come.”

Echo gave the scattered herbs and potion ingredients an exaggerated glance, pursing her lips as if debating whether she should really listen. “Fine,” she relented with a sigh. “Then what else is there to do?” But the words barely left her lips before a small yawn escaped, interrupting her sentence. She rubbed at her eyes and yawned again, her exhaustion apparent. “I think the magic is working its way…I feel…sleepy,” she murmured softly, leaning closer to Geralt.

Before she could say another word, her body slackened as she fell into a deep slumber. Geralt caught her effortlessly, holding her securely as she drifted away. For a brief moment, worry flickered across his face, but he pushed it aside, choosing to trust both her and the magic her ex-boyfriend had spoken of. Without hesitation, he swept her into his arms, cradling her as he made his way toward his room.

Geralt’s room was simple but functional, with small touches of comfort scattered throughout. A modest but sturdy bed occupied one side of the space, slightly elevated off the floor. Though it wasn’t as soft or luxurious as the bed Echo had been using, it was the second-best bed in Kaer Morhen, an honour reserved for Geralt as one of the more frequent residents. Across the room, a small fireplace sat nestled in the corner, currently cold and dark. A rough-hewn wooden table was cluttered with a few books - mostly worn from age and use - and Jaskier’s lute rested precariously on top of them, a testament to the bard’s lack of tidiness. Several other items belonging to Jaskier, from a pair of boots to a scattering of parchment filled with half-finished lyrics, gave the room a chaotic but lived-in feel. The contrast between Geralt’s practicality and Jaskier’s flamboyant tendencies was impossible to ignore.

Carrying Echo with careful ease, Geralt approached the bed. He laid her down gently, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face with an almost tender touch. The faint flicker of worry lingered in his golden eyes, but he pushed it aside, pulling a blanket over her to ensure she stayed warm. Turning toward the fireplace, he cast a quick sign of Igni, igniting a small but steady flame to keep the chill at bay.

“Rest well,” he said softly, his deep voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, he lingered by her side, his eyes tracing the peaceful lines of her face. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned away, allowing her the space she needed to recover.

*

“How is she?” Jaskier asked, his voice echoing softly against the stone walls of the hot spring chamber.

“Still sleeping through,” Geralt replied, stepping into the steaming water. The warmth enveloped him instantly, washing away the lingering tension that had coiled itself around his muscles throughout the day.

The night had long since fallen, and after supper, everyone had retreated to their respective corners of Kaer Morhen. The others - Vesemir, Lambert, and Eskel - had all bathed earlier in the evening, leaving Geralt and Jaskier behind to clean up the kitchen. True to form, Jaskier had insisted they head straight for the hot springs once the dishes were done. He'd been giddy at the thought of having the springs to themselves, especially knowing the others only really used it during the harshest depths of winter when the cold winds made bathing anywhere else unbearable.

Geralt had checked on Echo twice - once before supper and once after. She remained undisturbed, her breathing soft and steady, wrapped in a deep, peaceful sleep. With her safe and resting, Geralt had felt it was fine to leave her for a short while. Now, here he was, lowering himself into the welcoming water. He leaned back against the smooth stone edge, allowing the heat to seep into his body. Eyes closed, he let himself listen to the soft splashes Jaskier made as he wet his hair, the bard’s quiet hums turning into half-formed melodies.

In that rare moment of calm, Geralt’s thoughts began to wander. Never in his life had he imagined himself in this kind of situation. A confessed love for Jaskier - a bond that surprised them both in its honesty and depth. And then there was Echo, fierce and dangerous, yet someone who had irrevocably tethered herself to him. She loved him, trusted him, and now she was making him a father. A father.

Oh, right. The child.

“Echo says the child is a girl,” Geralt blurted out, the words spilling forth before he’d even fully thought them through.

The gentle splashing stopped. “A girl?” Jaskier repeated, his voice alight with curiosity. “You’re having a daughter?” His face lit up as the words sank in, a brilliant smile spreading across his features. It was the kind of joy only Jaskier could radiate - pure, genuine, and infectious. “Geralt! Congratulations! A girl! Oh, gods, have you thought of a name yet?”

Geralt blinked, his usual stoic expression faltering under Jaskier’s enthusiasm. “Why would I—”

Jaskier didn’t even let him finish. “Oh, don’t why would I me,” he scoffed, sliding closer through the water to fix Geralt with an exasperated look. “It’s your daughter too. Echo made that very clear, didn’t she?”

Geralt grunted, unsure of how to respond. He hadn’t even allowed himself to dwell on the idea of names or even the baby’s gender. Other concerns consumed his thoughts: the perils that would come with raising a child on the Path, the dangers that shadowed every corner of their lives. And yet, here was Jaskier, brimming with excitement, already dreaming of a name for the unborn child.

“Have you asked Echo if she has a name in mind?” Jaskier pressed, his tone gentle but insistent.

Geralt shook his head. “No,” he admitted quietly. The truth was, he hadn’t thought to ask. It wasn’t that he didn’t care - it was just…everything felt too uncertain, too precarious. His mind remained fixed on the threats they would inevitably face and how he would protect Echo and their child. Names seemed like a distant, almost frivolous concern by comparison.

Jaskier tilted his head, studying Geralt carefully. “You know,” he said softly, his voice carrying none of his usual teasing, “thinking about her name doesn’t mean you care any less about protecting her. It’s not a distraction, Geralt. It’s a promise. A reminder that she’s real, that she’s worth fighting for.”

Geralt didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let Jaskier’s words settle over him, weighing them carefully. His hand idly traced ripples through the water as his thoughts shifted, unbidden, to the tiny life growing within Echo. A daughter. His daughter. It still felt strange to think of himself as a father. But even so, there was a quiet warmth in the thought, one he couldn’t entirely ignore.

“I’ll ask Echo,” Geralt finally said, his voice low but resolute.

Jaskier beamed, clearly satisfied. “Good. But just in case she’s undecided, I’ll start brainstorming some ideas.” He winked, already delighting in the prospect.

Geralt sighed, leaning his head back against the stone. “Let’s just get through the winter first.”

“Fine, fine,” Jaskier said with a mock pout, but his grin lingered. For once, Geralt allowed himself to relax, letting the warmth of the spring and Jaskier’s unrelenting optimism chip away at his guarded edges.

Jaskier dipped his head into the steaming water of the hot spring, letting it soak for a moment before lifting his head again, his wet curls clinging to his face. He closed his eyes as if savouring the warmth, only to quickly shoot up with a gasp. “That is...too warm for my face,” he exclaimed, scrubbing at his cheeks as if that could somehow cool him down. Still muttering to himself about the excessive heat, Jaskier turned his gaze toward Geralt.

The Witcher was leaning lazily against the smooth curve of a rock, his eyes closed, his head tilted back slightly. His chest rose and fell with deep, unhurried breaths, and for once, there was no tension in his powerful frame. Geralt’s lean muscles, usually taut and ready for battle, now appeared completely at ease, and even his face had softened into an expression of rare serenity.

It was a sight Jaskier didn’t often get to see - a relaxed Geralt of Rivia. Even when the Witcher bathed, there was typically an air of vigilance about him, as though he were still expecting to face some lurking danger. But here and now, Geralt looked entirely at peace, and Jaskier couldn’t help but marvel at the transformation.

“The things a warm hot spring can do to you,” Jaskier mumbled to himself, his voice low and almost reverent.

Geralt hummed in reply but didn’t bother opening his eyes or saying more.

Jaskier took a moment longer to appreciate the sight. But, true to his nature, his thoughts began to race ahead of him, and before he knew it, he was sliding closer to Geralt, breaking the silence.

“So, how was Echo? Spent a lovely night?”

Geralt grunted, a low sound of acknowledgement that carried a faint edge of annoyance. Without opening his eyes, he muttered, “Thought you were angry about being too early.”

Jaskier scoffed, his expression turning theatrical. “Well, how could I not be? Firstly, she’s very pregnant. Secondly, we just climbed that godforsaken path all the way up. I expected us to rest - not for you to get laid. Or, in your case, to be laid.”

At that, Geralt rolled his eyes under his lids as he closed them again, choosing to ignore the bard's antics. But Jaskier was nothing if not persistent, especially when it came to poking at Geralt’s feelings.

“Oh, you loved it, didn’t you?” Jaskier grinned, his cheeks tinged pink as if the thought alone was enough to embarrass him on Geralt’s behalf. He nudged Geralt playfully on the arm. “You’re definitely falling hard. Very hard, I’d say.” His voice took on a suggestive lilt that made Geralt grit his teeth.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled in warning, the sound low and rumbling. “You’re worse than she is.”

Jaskier’s grin widened, unbothered by the Witcher’s tone. “That is definitely a compliment, and I’ll take it,” he declared triumphantly.

Emboldened, Jaskier let his fingers trail over Geralt’s shoulder, tracing soft patterns against the Witcher’s skin. His touch was light, almost teasing, but there was no mistaking the admiration in his gaze as he let his fingertips linger over Geralt’s well-defined muscles.

“Careful, bard,” Geralt warned softly, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly undertone.

But Jaskier wasn’t dissuaded. “You loved it, didn’t you?” he teased, his voice dipping into that familiar sing-song lilt. “You’re falling for her. Hard. I can see it in the way your face shifts whenever you so much as think of her.”

Geralt’s eyes opened this time, both of them, narrowed slightly in a look that spoke volumes without words.

Jaskier’s grin faltered for a moment, his boldness giving way to something quieter. He leaned back slightly, his hand falling from Geralt’s shoulder. His lips pressed into a soft smile, one tinged with something bittersweet. “Sometimes,” he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “ever since she came into our lives, I envy her.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening.

“She doesn’t even have to try,” Jaskier continued, his blue eyes meeting Geralt’s golden ones. “She just sits there, smiles, and you melt. She’s done in weeks what I’ve been trying to do for years.” The bard chuckled, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. “The closest I ever got to your softer side was that time you saved my throat from killing me, and that was after you compared my singing to a fillingless pie.”

Geralt’s chest tightened. There was something about the vulnerability in Jaskier’s voice, in the way his usual bravado had slipped, that struck him deeply.

“I love her,” Jaskier admitted, the words spilling out like a confession. “Truly, I do. But I love you, too. And when you kissed me, when you told me you had feelings for me, it was like the world stopped. Like I’d finally gotten the one thing I’d always wanted. It felt almost too good to be true.”

“Jask...” Geralt began, his voice rough.

But Jaskier shook his head, silencing him. “No. Don’t apologize. I don’t need you to explain or feel sorry for anything. All I want—” he paused, then corrected himself, “—all I need, is you.”

Jaskier shifted, his hand sliding under the water to rest on Geralt’s thigh. His movements were deliberate, each one drawing them closer. He straightened, letting the water drip from his bare torso, his soft muscles shifting as he moved and straddled Geralt’s lap. His hands came to rest on Geralt’s shoulders, his lips hovering just out of reach. Slowly, he shifted his hips, pressing himself more firmly against the Witcher.

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, his voice a low growl.

The bard smiled, his confidence returning in full force. “Should I make myself clearer, then?” he teased.

Before Geralt could respond, Jaskier took his hand in his own, lifting it to his lips. Slowly, deliberately, he parted his mouth and drew two of Geralt’s fingers inside. His tongue flicked against them, soft and teasing, before he began to suck gently, his gaze locked on Geralt’s.

The quiet sounds he made were maddening, and calculated, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Geralt’s grip on Jaskier’s waist tightened beneath the water, his control slipping as the heat between them flared to life. “Jaskier,” he growled again, his voice rough, hovering on the edge between restraint and surrender.

Jaskier pulled Geralt’s fingers free from his lips with a soft, wet sound, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yes, Geralt?” he murmured, his voice low and inviting.

Geralt gripped Jaskier's neck, it was firm but far from rough, his thumb brushing against the bard's skin in a way that sent a shiver down Jaskier's spine. Despite the illusion of dominance, it was clear that Jaskier leaned into the touch, willingly surrendering himself to the witcher’s control.

Jaskier’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, a mix of excitement and anticipation swirling within him. His voice came out light, teasing. “If this is what I get from pushing you, I’ll do it every day.”

Geralt’s golden eyes narrowed, his lips twitching into the faintest shadow of a smile. “You won’t last if you do this daily,” he rumbled. “It’s not healthy.” His tone carried his usual bluntness, but there was a glint of amusement hidden within it.

Jaskier blinked at the comment, then burst into laughter, his chuckles filling the steamy air around them. “Oh, Geralt. Sweet, sweet witcher of mine. Trust me, I’ve done seven nights straight before. Though,” he added with a mischievous grin, “it was with women. I’m not sure I could handle seven with you, dear Witcher. Three days, tops. Any longer and I might not be able to walk. My legs and - well, other parts - would give out completely.” His hand slipped behind Geralt’s ear, his fingers playing with the damp strands of silver hair. Jaskier leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “By the way, quick question. That buddy of yours...” He shifted his hips slightly, just enough to make his meaning abundantly clear. “Was it part of the mutation, or are you just naturally this grand?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled softly, his hand tightening ever so slightly on the bard’s throat as his other hand gripped Jaskier’s waist. “Stay still.”

But in their current position, staying still was easier said than done. The movement of Jaskier’s hips against Geralt’s lap sent a bolt of heat through the witcher, pulling a deep groan from his chest. The sound was raw and primal, an involuntary reaction to the bard’s proximity and the way their bodies aligned.

Jaskier gasped softly in response, his teasing demeanour faltering for a moment as his breath hitched. His blue eyes widened slightly before narrowing into a sly gaze, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Geralt, my love,” he murmured, his tone a perfect balance of playfulness and seduction. “If this is the effect I have on you, I might just make it to four days.”

Geralt’s jaw tightened, his patience hanging by a thread as his self-control wavered under Jaskier’s relentless teasing. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, his voice thick and hoarse.

“And I adore you,” Jaskier shot back, his grin impossibly wide as he kissed Geralt's chin, leaving playful nips in his wake. “Admit it - you love me teasing you.”

Geralt’s golden eyes bore into Jaskier’s mischievous blue ones. “No, I feel like killing you,“ he said, his tone dry but his grip on Jaskier's waist betraying the tension beneath his words.

Jaskier inched closer, his breath brushing against Geralt’s lips. “Oh, and I do too.” Before Jaskier could add another taunt, Geralt claimed his mouth in a rough, demanding kiss. His teeth grazed and bit at Jaskier's bottom lip, tugging before releasing it to trail down to his neck, leaving a fiery path of kisses and nips.

“Oh...Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sighed as he melted into the witcher’s ministrations. The contrast between Geralt’s rough kisses and the delicate pressure of his hands exploring his body sent shivers down the bard’s spine. His heart pounded in his chest, so loud he was sure Geralt could hear it. As Geralt’s hand travelled lower, teasing and deliberate, Jaskier let out a small, needy hum.

“Geralt - warm liquid,” Jaskier quipped, his voice hitching as the heat of the spring enveloped him through Geralt's fingers.

“You’ll survive,” Geralt murmured, his tone tinged with amusement. “I thought you liked to try new things.”

“I assure you, if it was Echo—oh,” Jaskier’s quip dissolved into a gasp as Geralt’s fingers found their mark. His breath hitched as Geralt worked his way in, teasing and stretching, drawing little jolts and sighs from the bard. “If this were her, you’d be giving her the stars for a bed just to make her comforta—Shit, Geralt! Warn a man before you add another!”

Despite his protests, Jaskier’s hips began to move of their own accord, chasing the sensation Geralt’s hands offered. The water splashed around them as Jaskier surrendered, his breaths turning to soft whimpers with each calculated movement of Geralt’s fingers.

“Oh, there’s so much water,” Jaskier mumbled breathlessly, the plea evident in his voice.

Geralt's lips curled faintly, but he didn’t relent, working until the bard's protests became soft cries of pleasure. By the time he finally pushed Jaskier over the edge, the bard was a trembling mess, leaning heavily against Geralt’s chest. Both of his hands scrambled for purchase on Geralt’s back as his entire body quivered, struggling to recover from the intensity.

Jaskier was no longer straddling Geralt but kneeling over him, spent and shaking as the aftershocks rolled through him. His breaths were shallow, his head resting against Geralt’s shoulder.

“I take it back,” Jaskier finally managed, his voice foggy and weak. “I won’t last two days with you in bed.” He let out a dazed, hazy sigh, his lips brushing against Geralt’s collarbone. “Metitele, why didn’t I try to seduce you on the first day in Posada? Such opportunity lost…”

Geralt chuckled softly at Jaskier's words, his fingers leaving the bard only to hold him close, grounding him as he came down from his intoxicating high. Jaskier trembled at the small, comforting touches, the adrenaline still humming in his veins from what had just transpired.

“Next time you scold me for having sneaky fingers,” Jaskier murmured, leaning wholeheartedly against Geralt, "I’m going to keep reminding you of this day." His voice was a mixture of satisfaction and teasing, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “By gods, we could’ve done this ten years ago. Thank Echo for letting me get this.”

Geralt’s lips curled into a faint smile, the deep rumble of his agreement vibrating through his chest. “Can’t seem to thank her enough,” he said, his voice low and reflective.

Jaskier chuckled, tilting his head to rest against Geralt’s shoulder. “Oh, I’ll thank her for my whole life. Now,” he continued, his tone shifting back to playful and suggestive, "can we get along with the business? Or do I need to clean up after you?" His brows waggled as his hands crept lower, teasingly brushing against Geralt’s abdomen.

Geralt’s golden eyes narrowed at the bard, debating whether to indulge him here or hold back for another time. He’d preferred something more comfortable for Jaskier- a bed, candles, a proper space where his bard could relax entirely. Yet the eagerness in Jaskier’s touch was difficult to resist, and Geralt felt his own restraint slipping.

“Jaskier,” he grunted, his tone sharp but not unkind, “hands off.” He caught Jaskier’s wandering hands and pushed them gently away.

The bard pouted but obeyed, mumbling under his breath, “Bossy.”

The single word sparked a flicker of memory in Geralt’s mind - the night before, he had used that same word towards Echo. His lips twitched at the recollection, but he said nothing, unwilling to give Jaskier more ammunition for his endless teasing.

“You’d better not complain about water getting into places it shouldn’t later,” Geralt warned as he lifted Jaskier an inch off his lap, his fingers returning to their task. He worked methodically, and carefully, ensuring the bard was ready.

Jaskier, however, was anything but composed. He groaned softly, clutching at Geralt’s shoulders as the witcher’s touch sent jolts of pleasure through him. “Oh, dear Witcher,” he panted, his breath hitching, “I’d only complain about not getting enough. I promise you that.”

Leaning down, Jaskier captured Geralt’s mouth in a feverish kiss, his lips moving with a hunger that matched his words. Geralt met him with equal fervour, his hands firm but never harsh, holding Jaskier steady as the heat between them built anew. The water around them rippled softly, bearing witness to their shared passion as they gave in to one another.

*

The night was still, the moon hanging high in its peak position, casting a faint silver glow across the world. Echo’s eyes snapped open as if waking from a deep plunge underwater. She gasped for air, her chest rising sharply, and exhaled slowly, her breath steady. Her mind felt weightless - clearer than it had ever been. A serene calm spread through her, and her magic pulsed silently within her veins, like a gentle stream washing away the remnants of discomfort. The connection with her child - her little girl - flared gently, an intimate reminder of the life she carried. Gale’s words echoed faintly in her memory, a tether to the revelation that brought her here.

She stretched her arms wide, her body feeling rejuvenated, almost new. The sensation was surreal, almost like being born anew, sharper and more in tune with herself and the world around her. As her gaze darted around the room, she realized she was back in her tower chamber. Jaskier lay next to her, sprawled out and breathing deeply in the heavy sleep of someone thoroughly spent.

A small chuckle escaped her lips when she noticed the faint red marks scattered along his neck. Something else caught her attention too - a familiar, distinct scent. It had belonged to Geralt, even the chamomile oil lingered faintly on Jaskier’s skin and couldn’t cover, a telling trace of the evening’s exploits.

Her chuckle turned into a quiet laugh as she slid out of bed, her steps soft. Approaching the window, she leaned against the sill, gazing at the break in the dense clouds. Stars peeked through, dotting the midnight blue sky like fragments of the Weave itself. She exhaled softly at the memory of the place she despised and yet couldn’t deny it.

She rested her hand on her bulge, her touch instinctively protective. “Quiet tonight, are we?” she murmured, her voice gentle and fond. “Did you see him too?” The quiet was comforting as if the child had understood her thoughts. She rubbed slow circles on her stomach, her gaze trailing back to the stars. “Do you recognize him? I hope you’ll never meet him again. We have all we need, right here, in front of us.”

Her tone softened further as her eyes shifted toward Jaskier’s sleeping form before drifting to the door. Her heart warmed at the thought of them both. As if summoned, the door creaked open, and Geralt stood there, framed by the faint firelight of the hall. His expression was uncharacteristically wide-eyed, concern etched into his features.

“Hey, you,” Echo greeted him warmly, her smile a beacon of reassurance. She stepped forward, but Geralt closed the distance first, wrapping her in a firm embrace.

“You’ve been asleep for a whole day,” he murmured against her hair, relief threading through his voice. “It’s the next night now.” He held her close, his arms a fortress around her, his medallion vibrating faintly before settling as his own tension eased. His golden eyes searched hers, scanning her intently. “Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

Echo smiled softly, her hand reaching up to cup his face, her thumb brushing tenderly along his jawline. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually,” she assured him, her voice laced with quiet strength. “I’ve never told you how happy I am to meet you and Jaskier, have I?”

Her gaze held his, the truth in her words wrapping around him like a protective charm. For once, Geralt couldn’t find the words to reply, so he simply held her tighter, letting her words settle into the quiet between them.

*

Jaskier woke with a groan, his back and legs aching slightly from the past two nights. He couldn’t help the small grin tugging at his lips - he wouldn’t trade those aches for anything. However, the warmth of the bed felt off. Empty. He blinked and turned his head to the side, only to see Echo gone. His eyes widened in alarm before quickly filling with joy. She was up. Without a second thought, he scrambled for his clothes, pulling them on haphazardly and fumbling with his boots.

As he bolted out of the room and onto the stairs, his excitement nearly sent him sprawling. He barely avoided tripping as he dashed to Geralt's room. Pushing the door open, he came to an abrupt stop, exhaling in relief at the sight before him.

Echo was perched on Geralt’s bed, smiling warmly at the witcher as he finished strapping on his boots.

“What in Melitele’s tits is wrong with you two!?” Jaskier exclaimed dramatically, pointing a finger at each of them in turn. “First, he leaves me to go find you,” he wagged his finger at Echo, “and then you leave me to go find him! Am I not deserving of first-hand news at this point?” He stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him for added effect.

Echo, unbothered by the bard’s theatrics, patted the empty space beside her in invitation. “Come here,” she said with a soft laugh. Jaskier obliged, sitting down next to her and immediately taking her hand in his.

“I thought you could use the extra sleep,” Echo teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Since Geralt had his fun for two nights straight. Just tell me you didn’t use my bed without asking first,” she added, tilting her head toward Jaskier.

Jaskier scoffed dramatically, his gaze flicking briefly to Geralt, who was now fastening his belt, then back to Echo. “Oh, he had his fun,” Jaskier sighed. “And next time, we will do it in your bed,” he quipped, squeezing her hand lightly.

His features softened, and he brushed his fingers over hers with a tenderness that mirrored his worry. “You scared us, you know. Even Lambert was worried. Geralt told us it was just strange magic working its way through you, but...I’m a worrier. I worry. Don’t do that to me, Echo. I could get a heart attack, and I doubt even Geralt’s potions could fix that.”

Jaskier lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to her fingers, but not without adding a playful nip to one of them. His eyes met hers as they both broke into grins, their shared amusement cutting through the lingering tension.

Geralt shifted uncomfortably where he stood by the closet, the tight space of the room amplifying his usual restlessness. He kept his back to them, feigning focus on his armour hanging inside, but his ears were tuned to their every word.

“So,” Jaskier asked, breaking the quiet, “what’s the story with this newfound magic in you? Anything exciting?”

Echo shrugged lightly. “Not really sure,” she admitted. “It still protects my psyche, amplifying my magic a bit. I haven’t noticed any new spells yet. Maybe in the future, we can test it out.”

Though she didn’t look in his direction, Geralt could tell her words were aimed at him. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, catching her gaze for a moment before nodding. The thought of testing her abilities intrigued him, but he also felt an odd sense of protectiveness surge at the idea of anything pushing her too hard.

Jaskier, always the opportunist, leaned closer to Echo. “Oh, do let me watch when you do. I’m sure it’ll be nothing short of spectacular.” His grin turned sly. “And maybe you can teach me a thing or two - something flashy to wow an audience.”

Echo laughed softly, her voice filling the room with warmth. “We’ll see, bard. We’ll see.”

Chapter Text

The days at Kaer Morhen had been a strange, unexpected kind of bliss for Echo, the kind she hadn’t realized she craved. After years of survival and fleeting companionship in Faerun, she'd believed the witchers in the keep would treat her with suspicion or outright hostility. Instead, she was met with quiet acceptance. Polite smiles, occasional nods, and a respect that came from more than just her connection to Geralt. Echo attributed their welcome, at least in part, to her mixed blood - elf and dragon - a rarity even in this peculiar world. Perhaps they sensed her oddness, something unlike their own mutated uniqueness.

As winter deepened and the winds turned harsh, the warmth of Kaer Morhen took on a more literal meaning. Fires blazed brighter and more often. Blankets became essential layers, though Jaskier often complained that both Echo and Geralt radiated enough heat to replace the hearth. It had become a routine: Jaskier would wake in the night to kick away the excess covers, grumbling as he adjusted to the shared warmth, only to find himself pulling them back up hours later when the chill seeped in.

By midwinter, the snowstorms had grown fiercer, the winds howling through the keep like restless ghosts. On one of these nights, as the snow piled higher and the temperatures dropped further, Geralt quietly slipped into Echo’s tower room. It was a frequent occurrence now, his late-night visits to check on her. Tonight, though, something about the storm outside compelled him to linger.

He moved carefully into the room, his heavy boots muffled against the stone floor. Sliding into the bed behind her sleeping form, he wrapped an arm gently around her, letting the soothing rhythm of her breath ease his own. She stirred at the touch, humming in half-sleep.

“Hmmm. You really need to stop jumping into my bed chamber in the middle of the night, love,” she mumbled, her voice soft and teasing.

“The snow’s howling outside,” Geralt murmured in return, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Came to check if your room is fine. Eskel’s roof needed patching again, and Vesemir took the room next to mine after finding a leak. Wanted to make sure you’re warm enough.” His hand rested lightly on her growing belly, the curve now unmistakable beneath her sleeping gown.

Echo hummed in acknowledgement, her eyes fluttering briefly before closing again. “Go check, then,” she said softly, nestling deeper into the covers.

Geralt chuckled under his breath and kissed the spot just below her ear before rising. He stirred the fire to a brighter flame, the light flickering across the room as he made his way to inspect the windows and doors. The wind outside roared like a restless beast, rattling the shutters, but they held firm.

As Geralt moved methodically around the room, Echo drifted in and out of a light slumber. Her mind wandered to memories of their first nights at the keep - how Geralt and Jaskier both tread so carefully around her. They treated her with reverence, yet she found herself longing for a different kind of closeness. Pregnancy had only heightened her awareness of her body’s needs, sharpening the edges of her desires. She had tried to sate them on her own, but it was never enough. There were places her hands couldn’t reach, and sensations they couldn’t replicate.

As Geralt neared the final window, his keen senses caught it - a familiar scent, rich and unmistakable. Sweet, needy, and entirely hers. He froze, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. His medallion vibrated faintly before settling. He turned slowly, his gaze falling on Echo, who lay still beneath the blankets, though the thick covers had slipped down to her waist, baring her shoulders.

“Geralt, please,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the wind. Though her back was to him, the tension in her posture told him everything he needed to know.

He sighed, his resolve already crumbling. Quietly, he approached the bed and sat on the edge. "Echo," he began, his tone steady but edged with restraint. "You're pregnant. And I won’t put you on your back again. You’ve been complaining about backaches for days."

He reached to pull her blanket back over her shoulders, but she caught his hand, her grip firm despite its delicacy. “Don’t make me seduce you, Geralt of Rivia,” she whispered, her words carrying a playful yet unmistakable warning. “I’m in a dress right now. Don’t make me.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, his exasperation mixing with a thread of amusement. “Echo, listen to me,” he began, but she was already sitting up, her movements deliberate.

Echo’s blue eyes gleamed with a spark of mischief and unrestrained need as she leaned closer to Geralt, her lips aiming for his, only for him to turn his head away at the last moment. The movement was deliberate, his restraint as strong as steel despite the heat radiating between them.

“Jaskier keeps lecturing me about being careful with you while you’re pregnant,” Geralt said, his voice gruff but steady. “Honestly, it’s you who needs the lecturing.”

Echo pouted at his evasion, her lips forming a soft curve of protest. “Geralt,” she murmured, her voice dipped in honey, “I can be good. I can be very good for you.” Her tone was saccharine yet seductive, her need woven into every syllable. “We don’t have to put pressure on my back. I can be on my elbows and knees,” she added, her words dripping with promise as her fingers lightly tugged at his shirt, drawing him closer.

She tilted her head, her lips grazing his chin in featherlight touches, trailing down his neck with a tenderness that belied her growing hunger. “Geralt,” she whispered against his skin, her breath warm and enticing, “I can be so sweet for you. Anything. For you, love.” Her words weren’t merely promises but vows she intended to keep, each one accompanied by the soft caress of her lips against his skin.

The room around them dimmed as the fire in the hearth began to fade, the crackling of the wood softening into a low hum. Shadows stretched across the stone walls of the tower, the warmth of the fire now replaced by the heat between them. Outside, the wind howled like a restless beast, battering against the keep’s walls, but neither Geralt nor Echo paid it any heed. They were far too caught in the charged intimacy of the moment.

Geralt remained unmoving, his face a mask of stoicism as Echo continued to place gentle, teasing kisses along his neck and jaw. But his hands betrayed him, one steadying her waist with firm care, ensuring she remained balanced, while the other slowly slid down to her thigh. His rough, calloused fingers brushed against her skin, slipping beneath the hem of her gown, his touch tracing slow, deliberate circles against the warmth of her leg.

He exhaled a deep, heavy sigh, his resolve bending under the weight of her relentless seduction. “Jaskier accuses me of saying yes to you too often,” he muttered, his voice a mixture of a groan and a hum, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above her knee.

Echo let out a soft moan of appreciation, her body arching subtly into his touch. “That’s because,” she purred against his lips, her voice sultry and full of triumph, “he hasn’t been with me yet.” Her eyes glimmered with daring as she added, “And you, my love, you already know exactly how I taste.”

Her lips hovered over his, her breath mingling with his, daring him to close the distance. Geralt groaned low in his throat, his restraint fraying, his hand slipping higher along her thigh.

Geralt’s hand continued to inch the hem of Echo’s nightdress upward, the soft fabric sliding over her skin with every movement. The loose fit of the gown left little resistance, and as the hem climbed higher, the neckline dipped lower. The delicate material slipped off one shoulder, baring the soft curve of her chest to him.

He paused, taking in the sight before him. A vision from a promise fulfilled - You should see me in a dress, she had teased him during their first night together. And here she was now, draped in a loose, flowing gown, the very embodiment of seduction, half-kneeling on the bed, her hands clutching at him with a desperate plea in her voice.

Geralt dipped his head down, his lips brushing against the exposed skin of her neckline. He moved slowly, trailing his kisses across her collarbone and along her shoulder, savouring the warmth of her skin and the faint scent that was distinctly hers. He lingered where her heartbeat pulsed, then went lower and pressed his lips against the sensitive bud before biting down gently, drawing a gasp from her.

Echo arched into him, her fingers tangling in his white hair. Her breaths came quicker, and the sound of his name escaped her lips in a soft, needy moan. “Geralt,” she whispered, her voice trembling with want.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his golden eyes glinting with something dark and possessive. Without a word, he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, his movements deliberate. When Echo reached to undress her gown, his hand caught hers, stopping her.

“Keep the nightdress on,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

Echo blinked at the unexpected request, her lips curling into a grin as she caught the glimmer of mischief in his tone. “Look at you,” she teased, her grin widening. “Getting all kinky with me in a dress.”

He didn’t reply, just gave her a look that sent a shiver through her. She obeyed, settling herself more comfortably on the bed while her eyes stayed fixed on him, drinking in every movement as he stripped off the rest of his clothing. His muscular frame gleamed in the dim light of the room, every scar a story she knew or longed to hear.

The faint glow of the dying fire left the room steeped in shadow, the once-warm glow now reduced to soft embers. The chill creeping into the air went unnoticed by them both. Geralt’s enhanced senses allowed him to navigate the darkness with ease, while Echo’s natural dark vision gave her a perfect view of every deliberate motion he made.

He opened the drawer of the bedside table and retrieved a small vial of oil, his gaze flickering back to her as he climbed onto the bed. Her dress, loose and inviting, hung off her body in a way that accentuated everything he craved about her. 

Geralt’s golden eyes lingered on the vial in his hand before flicking back to Echo, kneeling before him in the soft glow of the room, her eagerness almost palpable. She was unlike anything he’d ever encountered - a woman nearing her final months of pregnancy yet filled with an insatiable desire that left him questioning everything he thought he knew. She radiated warmth, a softness that had only grown with time, her body fuller and glowing with a quiet beauty even Lambert had begrudgingly acknowledged once, calling her: future mama to be.

Dropping one knee onto the bed, Geralt leaned in closer. His voice was soft yet carried an unmistakable edge of authority. “Turn around. Hold onto the headboard if you need to.”

Echo’s breath hitched at the tone. She obeyed, her movements deliberate as she shifted onto her knees and crawled toward the headboard. Her hands wrapped around the wooden frame as she positioned herself, listening intently to the subtle rustle of Geralt moving closer behind her.

This wasn’t a position she was accustomed to. With all the nights she ever spent with men, she’s never felt fully trustworthy enough to leave them with her back. She had trusted Gale, but the time spent with him was too little to have new experiences in bed. However, trusting Geralt felt natural, as effortless as breathing. The thought comforted her even as a shiver of impatience rippled through her - he was taking too long, caressing her thighs and teasing her instead of giving her what she so desperately needed.

“Beg,” Geralt commanded, his low growl sending a spark of electricity straight through her.

Echo’s grip on the headboard tightened, her knuckles whitening as her entire body reacted to the intensity of his voice. Her lips parted, a soft, trembling breath escaping before she finally spoke. “G-Geralt…please. I need you so much.”

Her obedience was rewarded. The hem of her dress was pulled up, gathered around her waist, exposing her entirely to him. The delicate fabric of her undergarments was eased down, and the cool sensation of floral-scented oil against her skin made her gasp. She felt his fingers, firm and practised, spreading the oil before pressing into her with an unrelenting precision that had her gasping into the still air of the room.

She moaned softly, her body arching against his touch, her grip on the wooden frame trembling as her need grew stronger with every calculated movement of his hand. He was hitting every spot with devastating accuracy, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. She wanted more, needed more, but his firm control kept her on the edge.

“More,” Geralt ordered, punctuating the command with a light pat on her exposed skin.

The unexpected soft smack sent a small, breathless gasp tumbling from her lips. Her head dipped forward, her blue eyes wide with shock and amusement. “I…I need you so much, White Wolf. My love,” she whispered, her voice laden with need and vulnerability.

Geralt grunted in approval, the sound deep and guttural as he continued, his pace unhurried yet thoroughly consuming. From behind her, he had the perfect view - her trembling form, the way her body bent to his will, the soft, desperate noises escaping her lips. It was a sight he didn’t want to end.

Echo gripped the headboard tighter as her body trembled under Geralt’s deliberate control. She hadn’t expected this—this part of herself that responded so strongly to his voice, the authority in it, the way it commanded her without question. His gravelly tone, so distinct and soothing in its normalcy, became something entirely different here. It carried weight, sending shivers down her spine and igniting her with a fire she hadn’t known she possessed.

Geralt’s fingers moved with an unhurried rhythm, expertly teasing her, and drawing her closer to the edge. Her breaths came faster, hitching with every stroke as her body tightened in anticipation. "Shit. Geralt, I—" she started, her voice trembling on the verge of release, but suddenly his fingers stopped.

She gasped in frustration, her eyes fluttering open as she instinctively began to turn her head, only to be met with his stern command.

“Stay,” Geralt growled, his voice low and resonant. “Don’t turn your head. Keep it there.”

Her lips parted, a soft whimper escaping as she struggled to follow his order. “But… Geralt ,” she protested, her voice dripping with need.

Her complaints faltered, cut short by the unmistakable sensation of something new - something larger - pressing against her thigh. Her breath hitched, and her mind was flooded with the memory of just how grand Geralt truly was. The thought alone was enough to make her body tense in anticipation.

Geralt shifted behind her, tugging the hem of her nightdress higher until it was bunched around her waist. At the same time, he pulled the fabric covering her chest down further, leaving her entirely exposed. The room’s slight chill brushed against her skin, eliciting a shiver, though it wasn’t from cold. Every nerve in her body was alive, her blood boiling with desire. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing entirely on the sensations, on the way his hands claimed her.

His grip on her hip was firm, grounding her, while his other hand traced languid circles across her chest, his touch both soothing and maddening. Her breath hitched as she felt him press forward, his size filling her slowly. Unlike the first time, he didn’t pause, didn’t wait for her to adjust or give instructions. She didn’t need to. There was no pain, only a delicious stretch that left her moaning his name.

“Geralt,” she gasped, her voice breaking with need. “I need…faster, please.”

Geralt chuckled softly, the sound sending another ripple of heat through her. “Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, his voice full of restrained power.

He began to move, his pace steady but unrelenting, each thrust purposeful and deep. Echo’s grip on the headboard tightened as waves of pleasure washed over her, her body meeting his rhythm with growing desperation. Every sound that escaped her lips only seemed to spur him on, his hands guiding and grounding her even as his actions drove her wild.

The room was heavy with the scent of them, the warmth from the rekindled fireplace mingling with the lingering heat of their passion. Echo reclined against Geralt’s chest, her body utterly spent but glowing with satisfaction. His arms enveloped her, steady and comforting, as if shielding her from the chill outside.

This night had brought out a side of Geralt she hadn't seen before - a feral, untamed energy that lived up to his moniker as the White Wolf. The way he’d held her, the growl in his voice as he commanded her body, the primal intensity in every movement - it had left her trembling in the best ways possible. The back of her neck bore the marks of his possessiveness, faint bites and kisses.

Geralt had kept her steady, one hand gripping her hip as the other pinned her hand on the wooden frame when her strength faltered. He’d driven deeper than she thought possible, earning sweeter, louder moans from her lips that only fueled his fervor. His chuckles, low and amused, had wrapped around her as tightly as his embrace, adding to the heady, intoxicating atmosphere. She’d never felt so thoroughly claimed, so completely undone.

Now, as she sat nestled in his lap, still connected in every way, Echo let herself lean into the tenderness that followed. She’d begged him to stay within her, and he had kept that promise. 

Geralt turned her face toward him, his golden eyes softened with affection as he finally pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was everything she’d longed for during their fervent moments - a balm to the storm they had created. It was sweet, a promise of solace and care that balanced the wildness of his earlier touches.

“Was I too rough?” he murmured against her shoulder, his lips brushing her skin with gentle reverence. He followed the question with soft kisses, each one soothing, almost apologetic.

Echo managed a hoarse chuckle, her voice a little raw from her earlier cries. “You’re the true tease in bed, Geralt of Rivia,” she retorted with a smirk. Then, her expression shifted to one of mild complaint. “I need water. My throat feels dry.”

He let out a deep, quiet laugh, the sound rumbling against her back. “Demanding as always,” he teased, but there was no malice in his tone - only warmth. Carefully, he lifted her off his lap, drawing a soft moan from her as they separated.

He chuckled again and pressed a lingering kiss to her hairline before crossing the room. The faint glow from the dying embers cast his silhouette across the walls as he poured water into a cup from the waterskin and set about reigniting the fire.

Echo reached for the cup the moment he returned, chugging the cool liquid in one go. The refreshing sensation was a welcome reprieve, but the pull of sleep was stronger than she’d anticipated. Sliding onto her side, she barely managed to reach out a hand before sleep began to claim her. “Geralt,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m here,” he replied softly, immediately returning to her side. He slipped beneath the covers and pressed tender kisses to her shoulder, his hands drawing soothing patterns on her back. “Sleep. We’ll clean up in the morning.”

The storm continued to howl outside, but inside the tower room, there was nothing but warmth and peace. Echo drifted into a deep, restful slumber, her body and heart entirely sated. Beside her, Geralt allowed himself to relax, his golden eyes closing as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

The next morning brought no reprieve from the storm outside. The wind howled and whipped against the thick stone walls of Kaer Morhen, snow piling high against the windowsills. Inside the tower room, the air was warm and still, insulated from the chaos beyond. Echo stirred, her body still humming with the satisfaction of the night before. She blinked slowly, registering the soft folds of her nightdress gathered around her hips and the cool, bare sensation against her chest where the fabric had slipped down during the night.

It was the heat beside her that drew her attention next. She turned her head and found herself gazing at Geralt, still deep in sleep. The sight was a rare and cherished one. The usual furrow of concentration or worry between his brows had smoothed out, leaving his features peaceful, almost soft. His silver hair was scattered across the pillow, untamed and wild, promising to be a mess when he woke. A faint bristle lined his chin and jawline, evidence of his neglect of a razor for a few days.

Echo couldn’t help but chuckle softly, imagining how Geralt would look with a full beard. The thought amused her, and she briefly wondered if she’d ever get the chance to see it. The sound of her laughter was light and warm, a private joy shared only with the quiet morning.

“You’re awake early,” Geralt mumbled, his deep voice breaking through her thoughts. His golden eyes remained closed, his tone thick with sleep. He shifted slightly, one hand reaching out as if to draw her closer. His aim, however, was slightly off, and his palm came to rest on her abdomen instead.

The warmth of his touch was quickly followed by a soft kick beneath his hand. Geralt stilled for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Did she wake you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“No,” Echo replied, her chuckle returning. “I think I woke her.” She rested her own hand over his, marvelling at the quiet bond forming between the three of them. “You look warm and comfortable,” she added, her voice soft with affection.

“I am warm. And comfortable,” Geralt murmured, a rare, sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “You sleep quiet, no tossing and turning like the bard. He really needs to be tied down at some point.”

Echo’s laughter bubbled up again, and she shook her head in amusement. “Then you’d be giving the bard what he wants most.”

Geralt’s lips twitched into something close to a smirk, his eyes still closed as he hummed in agreement.

The thought of Jaskier’s endless commentary was enough to make Echo grin as she leaned closer to Geralt, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She rested her forehead against his for a moment, savouring the warmth they shared and the peace of the morning. Outside, the storm continued its relentless battering, but within these walls, all was calm.

*

The waking for Geralt was slow and unhurried, a rare luxury he hadn’t allowed himself in years. It wasn’t often that he slept so soundly — deep, dreamless, and without the usual vigilance that kept him half-aware of his surroundings. Even when he shared a bed with Jaskier, there was always an underlying awareness of the bard’s restlessness, the way he tossed and turned as though even in sleep he was composing songs or chasing adventures. But when Echo was around, it was different. Somehow, Jaskier seemed to instinctively still himself, respecting the pregnant woman’s presence even in his sleep.

Now, Geralt found himself seated in the warm bath in Echo’s tower room. The water shimmered faintly, its conjured origins imbued with Echo’s magic, and Geralt had used a quick burst of Igni to heat it to a soothing temperature. The tub was just large enough for the two of them, fitting as snugly as the space in the Keep allowed. Across from him, Echo lounged lazily, her arms resting along the tub’s rim, her feet stretched out over his lap.

“Damn Eskel and Lambert,” Geralt muttered, the grumble punctuating the tranquil atmosphere. “This is the biggest tub in the Keep, if I remember correctly. The same goes for the bed.” His amber eyes flicked to the messy sheets visible from where he sat, the remnants of last night’s indulgence still evident. He shook his head, adding, “They like you.”

Echo leaned back further, her legs shifting slightly as she nudged his waist with her toes, a teasing glint in her gaze. “Hmm. You don’t like them liking me?” she asked, her tone playful.

Geralt caught her foot before it could nudge him again, his large hand resting firmly but gently on her leg. “No,” he replied, his thumb pressing into the arch of her foot absentmindedly. “It’s just… interesting how easily they’ve accepted you. Trust doesn’t come naturally to us. We’re Witchers, Echo. People give us coins to kill monsters, and that’s the extent of the trust we’re afforded — just enough for a transaction. That’s it.”

“It tickles,” Echo murmured with a soft laugh as his fingers kneaded into her leg, but she made no effort to pull away. Instead, she gazed at him thoughtfully, her smile lingering. After a moment, she raised a hand to her neck, and the glamour concealing her true self faded. The golden-red scales gleamed faintly in the dim light, running down the side of her cheek and neck. Her ears lengthened to a slight point, and her eyes, though still the familiar bright blue, shimmered with a faint purple hue, an otherworldly glow beneath the surface.

“I might look human,” she said, her voice gentle but steady. “But don’t forget — I’m also this. Neither elf nor dragon. Something in between.”

Geralt studied her for a long moment, taking in the full sight of her unveiled form. Without the glamour, she was striking in a way that seemed entirely otherworldly. Ethereal, even. Like something out of an ancient tale. “Next time, leave the glamour away,” he said finally, his voice low.

Echo tilted her head, her expression soft with unspoken curiosity. “Why?” she asked.

“You know what I mean,” Geralt replied, rolling his eyes lightly at her.

Her grin widened, the teasing glint in her gaze returning. “So it’s true, then?” she asked.

“What’s true?” Geralt asked warily, narrowing his eyes at her.

“That Witchers have a kink for fucking monsters,” she quipped, her grin turning mischievous.

“Fucking Lambert,” Geralt growled, shaking his head as if to strangle his absent brother with his bare hands. “That’s Eskel’s taste. And you’re not a monster.”

Echo’s grin softened into a genuine smile. “Why, thank you,” she said warmly. “And neither are you. Compared to the things I’ve seen in my decades of life, you’re as normal as a hunter tracking game for food.”

The simplicity of her words struck a chord deep within Geralt, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax further, his hands stilling on her legs. In her presence, normal didn’t seem so far-fetched.