Chapter Text
"A familiar face," a familiar voice said, and Jaskier looked up from his ale.
"Vesemir!" It was a struggle to smile, but he was genuinely pleased to see the old witcher. "Do you have time to sit and have a drink with me?"
"I do," the witcher said. He circled the table and sat on the opposite bench. "Just spending some time off of the mountain. It does me good to circulate among people, and I will often pick up an easy contract or two just to keep my skills sharp."
"From what I hear, you can still outmatch all three of your former pupils," Jaskier said.
"There's a difference to fighting one's allies as opposed to beasts or enemies," Vesemir said.
"Just as full of wisdom as ever," Jaskier said, taking a drink.
Vesemir nodded. "But it seems that you are empty of your usual cheer and music. What has happened?"
"A lot. A couple years ago your white wolf finally chased me off." He waved away Vesemir's concern as he saw the man's forehead begin to wrinkle. "I knew it was going to happen eventually, but he certainly was in a bad mood when he did it. So, yeah, almost twenty years of friendship blown away in a moment of Geralt's foul wind. Went back to Oxenfurt for awhile. You notice my voice is different? Had to stop singing because vocal cord paralysis. Seems I have a wasting disease, something to do with increasing nerve damage. I'm on my way to Ban Ard, to see if the mages there might have any thoughts on preventing more damage.
"But you, old wolf-- still look the same! I'm pleased to see you're still kicking around. What have you been doing to keep yourself busy lately up alone in the castle?"
Vesemir was saddened to see how mortality was wearing down the formerly irrepressible bard, but wasn't going to linger on the topic when Jaskier was trying to brush past it. "Trying to find a way to stop the inevitable passage of time. I've been a bit obsessed with the changes our world is going through."
"What changes in particular?" Jaskier asked, truly interested.
"New monsters. More monsters. Monsters we had thought to be extinct returning."
"How can you change that?"
"Don't think I can. Set my mind on a different problem: witchers. Since all the pogroms that attacked the various schools, the Cats are the only ones making new witchers-- and their success varies wildly. Not to mention their students' ethics. I managed to find all the instructions needed to recreate the mutations process." Vesemir noticed that Jaskier looked upset at that statement. The human didn't quash his reaction.
"You can't be thinking of gathering up boys and doing the old Trials again?! I would like to believe that this is a more enlightened time, and we have moved past sacrificing children for the slim odds of success at creating witchers!" The man didn't apologize or soften the blow of his harsh opinion. He had always let Vesemir know that he found the selection process for witchers distasteful.
Vesemir made a calming gesture. "Don't have any plans to do anything. Just got me to thinking: what if we could find a way to introduce the mutagens to young men? People old enough to choose our way of life while knowing the risks? I'm not sure many would volunteer if it was possible, but if someone could adapt the process and it worked on just a handful of individuals, we'd all have a better chance of holding back or even preventing a tide of monsters from destroying our societies."
Jaskier had lost his outrage, and was more thoughtful. "A good solution. But how possible is it?"
"I've consulted with Yennefer and Triss, and Geralt did some digging on some old research by an alchemist from down south. We all think there's a small chance of success."
"So you just need a volunteer. If I were in better health I would offer."
Vesemir was surprised. "Why would you be so willing? You have read the accounts of the horror of the Trials."
Jaskier shrugged. "I'm getting old. I've lost the ability to physically do my chosen profession. The doctors and mages have all determined that my death will be upon me within a few years and no known magic can prevent it. I've just been meandering slowly east to Ban Ard because I wanted to relive my memories of my youth. Those mages there won't be able to fix anything; it's just an excuse so I have a destination."
Vesemir leaned back and crossed his arms. "Has life chewed you up so bad in a decade, boy? Last time we saw each other you were still prancing about in motley and singing about nonsense."
Jaskier laughed with only a tinge of bitterness. "A decade is a long time if you're not a witcher or a mage or an elf. Life's not only chewed me up, but it's shat me out as a broken and lonely man."
Vesemir finally let some of his sympathy show in his face. "You should come up to Kaer Morhen, son. Die in a place you were once able to call home."
Jaskier wiped away tears at the old man's kindness. "My end is not going to be quick. I wouldn't dream of leaving you in a position to feed me and keep me clean when I'm stuck in a bed drooling."
The witcher put one of his callused hands over Jaskier's. "I've done those duties for hundreds of boys who died before they could live. It would be an honor to be able to do them once for a friend who is leaving behind a legacy of changing the world for the better in his own way."
Vesemir had expected Jaskier to have more difficulty making it to Kaer Morhen than he did. "Seem strong as ever to me, son. Why can't you be a bard? Only thing I see that's different is your voice."
Jaskier didn't look at him when he answered, "The disease starts with the small muscles. I'm still able to walk but I can't control my fingers enough to play an instrument. It's impossible for me to write on bad days."
"Well, don't expect that excuse to get you out doing work. If you still have a strong back and two legs there's plenty that I would appreciate your help with."
Jaskier was actually comforted by the promise to be worked to his physical limits. There had been winters when he wished that he could hide from the old man's insistence that he "pull his weight." He supposed that he had just felt useless for so long. His mood was light enough that he could even joke. "Fate is getting her revenge: I have to give up a cushy life as a bard for retirement as a plowhorse."
Vesemir did work him hard over the next handful of months. When the cold weather began to set in, Jaskier was unable to spend as much time outside. The witcher had a strong belief that physical activity would delay Jaskier's decline, so the former bard was surprised when the man demanded that Jaskier learn how to use a sword. He was even more surprised when the experienced instructor declared him as naturally gifted.
Triss portalled in to check on Vesemir and was pleased to see Jaskier. The three of them tackled the ideas Vesemir had noted down regarding the mutation Trials process (Jaskier was of little to no help), and Triss said she would contact Yennefer about it.
Yennefer herself came not long after, and she and Vesemir holed up in an ancient laboratory for several days. When they finally emerged they seemed invigorated. When Jaskier asked how their work was going he expected the "it's only theoretical, just a thought experiment" argument from Vesemir, but Yennefer said "I would be willing to start a human trial right now."
"You are being hasty," Vesemir disagreed.
"Fine. I would be willing to do a human trial on a prisoner otherwise sentenced to execution," Yennerfer amended, and the three of them were world-weary enough to all find that funny.
As his hands began to be less and less trustworthy, Jaskier got the feeling that the old witcher was trying to hurry his research along. He felt warmth for the man, and wished that what Vesemir was hoping to achieve was an actual antidote for Jaskier's mortality. The former bard didn't expect any miracles, and was trying to be content with having company and assistance and a safe place to stay. He was virtually penniless, so he had resigned himself to getting kicked out of a boarding house one day and left to die freezing in a gutter. Ending his days at Kaer Morhen was more than he had expected, though he did wish it wasn't so lonely. It was just a pity that the higher number of monsters and contracts was keeping the other wolves away from home.
Yennefer was the one who came and offered him the chance to try the adapted Trial of the Grasses decoction.
"Don't think this is some soft-hearted attempt to rescue you, bard. You're just here, lying about useless, and if you don't agree now you'll soon be too weak to attempt it."
Jaskier laughed. "You're still a cold bitch. What would be in it for me, besides excruciating pain and death?"
"The chance to help us perfect a formula that might make this crazy idea work," she said.
He made a face. "I've always been a man of art, not science."
"A quicker death than what you're facing now," she said. "Possibly with a similar level of pain, just a shorter time to endure it."
He looked at Triss. If she was there, they must have some hope for success. "It will not be pleasant," she said, "But I believe you have a pretty good shot at pulling through. If it works you'll be a witcher: mutations, but no fatal illness."
Jaskier bit his lip. "If I do it, promise me someone will hold my hand the entire time."
Yennefer rolled her eyes. "I suppose I can volunteer."
Jaskier was surprised to find himself alive once the agony ended. "Do I have the eyes?" Was the first question he managed to croak from his dry mouth.
Lovely, wonderful Triss brought him both a mirror and a glass of water. "They are greener than I expected," she said.
Lambert arrived when Vesemir was trying to perfect the newly-made witcher's combat skills. He literally dropped his jaw when the former bard turned around and he saw his face and changed eyes.
"What the fuck? Jaskier??"
"I prefer to be called Julian now."
With Lambert there to help with his training with swords and signs, Julian was given the rating of "passable" by Vesemir after three more months of intensive work. Lambert kept complaining that winter was supposed to be a vacation, and Julian found immense glee in being able to pick the witcher up and throw him into snow drifts.
He was finding a lot of benefits to being a mutated former-human.
Jaskier went out on the Path for the first time with Lambert. Lambert was inconsistent with his gripes; he would complain one day that Julian was likely to get them both killed, and then bellyache the next day at being "saddled with a baby witcher" when no one had ever mentored Lambert in his first years.
Julian learned the deep hurt of being ostracized upon first glance, and traveling with Geralt for so long hadn't been able to prepare him for the self-loathing that hung over his head despite his otherwise stable self-esteem. It was hard to cling to the belief that you were still a person when half of the people you encountered seemed intent on proving the opposite.
"It's still so much better than it used to be, before you came along and helped our reputation," Lambert said.
Julian had wondered if he would be able to cry after the Trial. He was.
Lambert seemed leery of that fact. "How can you be a witcher and be just as much of a emotional mess? I guess you were right all along about our messed-up childhoods fucking us up and not the mutagens."
His body became less of a miracle as he lived in it. Julian had been in awe of his strength and speed and stamina, but he now knew the downsides: the side effects of the potions, how meditation was never a replacement for sleep during days of insomnia, the way humans seemed to wallow in their own stench. His nerves were often strained as his senses were frequently overstimulated. Lambert's reaction to the unrelenting assault of sounds and smells was to be an asshole, but Julian tended to hide away in a quiet spot, cover his eyes, and focus on his breathing.
The day came when Lambert decided he was good enough to be on his own. "Keep yourself alive for two months then get your ass back to the mountains. You could have done that as a bard."
Julian didn't feel ready, but Lambert and Vesemir had assured him that he had a leg up on the usual newly-minted witchers with almost two decades of experience with Geralt dealing with contracts and learning about different monsters.
He earned his first true witcher scar fighting a fiend. It was only a graze across his ribs, but he was too proud of that milestone to suture it so it would heal smoother.
Julian kept his hair cropped close to his head. He was too finicky about his personal hygiene to want to collect entrails in his hair like some other witchers he had known. He kept himself looking as nice as he could, and made an effort to be polite and kind when he was among people. He was pretty sure his warm and gregarious personality was luring more people into the pro-witcher camp.
He purchased a sturdy gambeson made of blue wool. (The color no longer matched his eyes, but he wasn't going to stick with black like 3 of the 4 other wolves.) He bought some thick white thread and planned to do his best to embroider some simple flowers as a decorative trim if Vesemir gave him enough free time in the winter.
He had been using a silver sword from Kaer Morhen's armory, but he found a lovely two-handed sword in Rinde which named Cierń as a nostalgic reference to the first thorn in his side he had picked up in the city. He liked to think his new weapon was even sharper than Yennefer's tongue.
Julian had armored plate to strap over his gambeson when he expected a fight. He also had a short black cape with a hood that he wore under the dark iron plate, and a cloth he dampened with scented oil and tied over the lower half of his face when he went after a monster in its lair. It may have been a vain thing to do in comparison to Geralt and Lambert who seemed to revel in being splashed with foul fluids and viscera, but Julian wanted to protect his clothing and skin. He also thought he looked rather mysterious as a dark-hooded warrior with only his eyes exposed.
This is the figure Geralt met.
After four winters away Geralt was finally making the sojourn to Kaer Morhen. He wasn't expecting a pleasant reunion; Yennefer had told him that she and Vesemir had managed to make a new witcher. He was full of mixed feelings: anger at them for inflicting the torture of the Trials on someone, relief that if more witchers were made he could get a break, curiosity as to who this new brother would be.
Yennefer had said that they found a volunteer, a man with an incurable illness who was rude and narcissistic and who craved fame.
"Sounds like a horrible choice," Geralt had told her. "If this is the type of volunteer witcher we are going to get, we will soon be just as notorious as the Cat School!"
She just smirked at his ire and said that despite these traits the new recruit was brave and would be loyal and loved Vesemir like a father. "I'm sure you both will get along," she predicted. "It will be a rough introduction, but I know you two will have a lot in common as well as a wealth of shared experiences."
Geralt heard rumors that the new Wolf Witcher was close by when he reached southern Kaedwen. He tracked the man down to the cave where he had been contracted to deal with a troll, and waited outside. He could hear the man's husky voice engaging the troll in a conversation, and was pleasantly surprised that the witcher was trying to convince the monster to leave the area. Then there was the sound of a boulder shattering and a gruff "Bad move," by the former human, then the clash of sword against rock. Geralt settled down to meditate because he figured the duel would last a while, but the new witcher emerged much sooner than he expected.
For the fame-hungry man that Yennefer had told Geralt about, the witcher was so covered up as to be anonymous except for his exposed yellow-green eyes. He wore plain plate over plain padded trousers and jacket, with a hood and scarf obscuring most of his features. Geralt was pleased to see the man startle as he left the cave and saw Geralt waiting.
"The White Wolf," the witcher said in a cheerful rasp. "Come to meet your newest brother?" He pulled down his hood to reveal his short brown hair but didn't remove the cloth over his nose and mouth and dropped to sit on a rock and tend to his silver blade. "She's not going to last long whacking against elementals," he said mournfully. "I'm not too good with my signs, yet. Axii came naturally, but my others are pretty weak. Hopefully I can get some tips from you or Eskel."
Hearing Eskel's name dropped so casually from this interloping stranger made Geralt mad. "Who the hell are you?"
The witcher's eyes widened. He used a gloved hand to pull out his wolf medallion. "Julian. Baby witcher," he added with crinkles of self-deprecating humor around his eyes. "That's what Lambert calls me, anyway. 43 years old by human reckoning, but just over one as a witcher. It was a long recovery before I could start the physical training. I'm lucky Vesemir thought I was good with a sword before the mutations."
Geralt didn't like how talkative the stranger was. He had divulged his weaknesses in his first conversation with another, vastly more experienced witcher. "Yennefer told me all about you," he said. "I'll be surprised if you made it through next season."
Instead of insulted, Julian looked amused. "I doubt that the sorceress told you all about me," he said archly, which made Geralt furious at the implication. The man only chuckled and added, "No need to be jealous; we only held hands. And I couldn't enjoy it because that was only when they did their experimental Trial of the Grasses."
Geralt was satisfied to see the levity leave what he could see of the man's expression at that reminder. He didn't often enjoy seeing others' pain, but he was relieved that the man's transition wasn't easy nor pleasant: the last thing that the witchers guild needed was an influx of humans who didn't take their trade's onus of responsibility seriously.
He was ready to leave. He got to his feet and turned to walk back to where Roach was waiting.
"You don't want to travel together?" The new witcher called out. The unexpected humor in his voice grew to a fit of laughter. "That man will never change," Geralt heard, and he frowned and shrugged the comment off. Everyone had some opinion of the White Wolf since Jaskier's campaign for his reputation years ago. If he had ever met the man, he didn't remember the distinctive raspy voice.
Geralt figured any mysteries would be unravelled during the winter in a couple of weeks.
Vesemir had expected Geralt to be furious, but did not expect his rant to focus on the danger of letting random asshole humans join their ranks.
"I thought you said you two met," he asked suspiciously, with his arms crossed as he patiently waited for his student to calm down.
"We did. Yennefer had told me about him, and meeting him didn't improve my opinion at all."
"Oh, Yennefer," Vesemir said, only infuriating Geralt more with how that put a tiny smirk on the aged witcher's face. "Well, I guess we should expect her to be here soon to watch the fireworks."
Geralt didn't know what that meant, but Yennefer did arrive the next day, walking into the great hall while Geralt, Lambert, and Vesemir were eating supper. "Good evening, gentlemen."
Two of the men just grunted, but Geralt greeted her with "Yen," then followed it up with, "What are you doing here?"
"Just here for my surprise. You almost ruined it, you know," she said chidingly to Geralt.
By their sniggers, the two other witchers knew what she was talking about. Geralt hated that he was apparently a source of amusement for them. "What they hell is this about? You expecting me to kill him or something?"
"Or something. Considering your shared history," the sorceress said.
"I met him. Didn't recognize him."
"He covered his face, right?" Lambert guessed. "The bastard is so dainty that he likes to tie a perfumed handkerchief to try to avoid the bad smells."
"Dainty?" Vesemir snorted. "He took pride in loudly emitting the foulest odors and blaming them on my cooking. Little shit," he added fondly. "But I suppose he did have a hard time adjusting to his enhanced senses. How'd he hold up with that on the Path, Lambert?"
Lambert grimaced sympathetically, which was unexpected by everyone. "Needed time in the quiet with his eyes closed. Sometimes for hours. That was what I was most worried about when I had to leave him alone."
Geralt had missed a lot. They had obviously changed everything about training a witcher now that it happened to be a sole adult who had gone through the Trials.
"I can make a potion to dull the senses, if you think it would help," Yen offered, looking at Vesemir.
Vesemir shook his head. "I'm not sure that would help him in the long run. It is something he should learn to handle as quickly as he can. It's a weakness."
Geralt wanted to be able to contribute to the discussion. "Not his only weakness. He talks too much. Told me his signs are weak. Less than two minutes of knowing me, and he blurted that out."
"Yup, he didn't change a whole lot, did he? Babbles like a brook, and still fucking cries at a sad song," Lambert said. "Speaking of, I got something I wanna give him on Welcoming Day."
Geralt was shocked when Vesemir nodded. "You're going to give him a gift on Welcoming Day?" Geralt said. "We are still going to do Welcoming Day?"
"It's a tradition," Vesemir said. "He's coming home after his first season on the Path, even though it was short and he spent more than half of it with Lambert."
Lambert, also, got confrontational. "We can change the way we do things. Have a Welcoming Day with all of us and give him a gift. He's family. Oh," he added suddenly, "You don't-- you don't really know him," Lambert finished, though Geralt knew that wasn't how he had intended to end that statement.
"Eskel should be here tomorrow, and Julian the day after," Yennefer said. "So if you need to prepare for your ritual you should have time."
There were six of them waiting at the gate for Julian's Welcoming Day, as Eskel and Triss had both arrived. Geralt was bemused by how eager they were to see the new witcher arrive home, but supposed that Vesemir, the sorceresses, and Lambert had had time to get attached. They all seemed fond of Julian, though Geralt had not been able to sense why they would when he had met him.
Lambert spotted him first and yelled at everyone to convene. He had a leather sack with his gift in it, but was uncharacteristically nervous about whether Julian would take it well. Geralt couldn't hear their whole conversation, but Vesemir appeared to be reassuring Lambert that it was a good idea.
Welcoming Day was simple: New witchers returned from their first season on the Path on a specific day, and all of Kaer Morhen welcomed them home. It tended to be emotional, because the few that managed to return tended to be ravaged by the alienation and hardships witchers encountered in the outside world. It was more than just congratulations and welcome; it used to be a huge knot of brothers reassuring each other of their connection and individual importance through touch. Kind touch was something that was rarely experienced outside of Kaer Morhen.
Geralt was conflicted by how Yen and Triss seemed to be allowed to be a part of the tradition. They didn't have the understanding that the witchers did of its meaning. He was also upset by the lack of the large number of witchers that the last Welcoming Day had. Their last one had been before Kaer Morhen had been attacked and the trainees slaughtered, and this was a harrowing reminder of how their School had suffered.
So it was a bittersweet moment to stand at the gate, one of only six people, and see the sight of a new witcher coming home for the first time.
Lambert rushed ahead and pulled out his gift from the bag. A lute? Julian took it with a reverent hesitation that Geralt could see even at this distance. He wiped his face and the gesture was familiar. Recognition made hope and fear run through his body like ice water.
"Is that...?"
"Yes," Yennefer said, smugly.
"You thought I would work my ass off to do a dangerous new procedure on a stranger? I rushed through what I had thought would be another twenty years of research," Vesemir said. "The kid is family, and he was close to dying."
Geralt was stunned, and his eyes strained to pick out familiar features as Julian-- Jaskier-- approached with Lambert's arm over his shoulders and he turned the lute over in his hands.
"...like a part of me died when I couldn't play anymore." Julian was saying as he came into witcher earshot. "My voice was gone and then the rest of the music. It was still in my head but I knew I would never be able to let it out. I couldn't use the name Jaskier anymore."
"Well, you still can't be a full-time bard," Lambert admonished. "But I suppose if you want to be the world's first witcher bard you can. Still have to kill monsters, though. That's why I helped you. I deserve a vacation."
Julian handed the instrument carefully to Lambert so he could run and embrace Vesemir. "I killed nekkers, and drowners, and a fiend, and had to kill a troll because the idiot refused to move--"
"Good job. Welcome home," the old man said.
"Eskel," Julian said when he finally pulled away from Vesemir and reached for him next. "Is it a surprise?"
"Lambert told me," Eskel ruffled Julian's hair like he habitually had, but it was too short to get messy and make the brunette frown and try to fix it like Jaskier used to. "I'm very grateful you're with us."
Julian was crying, unashamed. "It was all horrible! I was so alone, and everything's different," he snuffled into Eskel's shoulder. He finally pulled away and wiped his face. "I mean, still better than being dead, but it's gonna take a lot of time to get used to all of this."
Triss took him in her arms next. "I haven't gotten used to how big you are," she said.
"I'm still taller than you," Yennefer said, taking her turn.
"That only 'coz of your shoes," Julian teased. "You bitch," he said, pulling away and poking her sternum above her breasts. "You didn't tell him anything!" The flick of his eyes to Geralt indicated who he meant.
"I wanted to watch the drama unfold. Geralt nearly ruined it by finding you early." She shoved Julian away fondly, but he hardly budged with his new muscles.
Despite the yellow eyes, the broader body, the shorter hair and the changed voice, Geralt could recognize his old friend easily. He was older, and lines of pain had etched themselves into his face, and Geralt had a sense of guilt for being a part of that.
Julian stood more than a pace away, which hurt Geralt after his enthusiasm to embrace all the others.
"I owe you an apology. I was harsh and unfair to you on that mountain, and you didn't deserve a word of it. I regretted it once I calmed down, and always hoped that you returned to a life that made you happy. I'm sorry things turned out so badly for you."
Julian ran his hand over his head in an ingrained gesture of discomfort that Geralt recognized. "I'm thinking things didn't turn out so bad for me after all," he said, with a small gesture that indicated their gathering. "Are you welcoming your newest brother?"
Geralt opened his arms and stepped up to embrace Julian. "Yes. Welcome home."