Chapter Text
Someone was knocking on the front gate.
Vesemir stood slowly, remembering that day almost a hundred years ago where he’d lost everything. But the mob that ransacked Kaer Morhen hadn’t bothered to knock.
But his Witchers were all here. Every one of them had made it up the mountain already, and none of them had mentioned expecting guests. The only guest was the cat Witcher Lambert had brought along, and while Vesemir was nervous about him still, he trusted that no one would fake putting up with Lambert just to betray them. Eskel, maybe, but not Lambert.
Everyone had stopped at the sound, and when Vesemir slowly nodded, picking up his sword in case he needed it, he had four Witchers at his back ready to fight for him if need be.
Geralt, Eskel, Coen, and Aubrey.
He couldn’t hear the sound of more than one heartbeat beyond the gate, so he didn’t think the others would be needed, but it was better safe than sorry in these times.
He opened the gate to find a single young man standing there.
At least he was wearing clothing dressed for the weather, but his face was still red from far too long climbing up the killer. With no horse in sight, and armor that had seen better days, he painted a sorry picture.
“Hello,” the man said, trying to smile though it was clear the cold was not being nice to him from the pained grimace he gave instead. “Would this happen to be the Witcher keep?”
Vesemir nodded slowly. “This is Kaer Morhen, yes.”
“Oh good. Ah. My name’s Jaskier. I… it’s a long story. Might I come in to tell it?”
Vesemir glanced back at the others, who all shrugged.
They didn’t know anything about him, but he was one man, and it would likely be easier to get him to slip up in any lies if he was inside, as opposed to freezing his fingers off outdoors.
Vesemir nodded, stepping aside.
The man nodded respectfully in passing, then again to each of the Witchers.
Jaskier followed Eskel into the main hall, relaxing at the warmth, but there was still an edge to him. He was on guard.
Vesemir thought he might have figured out a piece of the puzzle, but still too much was unclear.
Jaskier bowed respectfully to the other Witchers inside, then smiled. “Hello. Ah… wow, there’s so few of you left… fuck, I’m sorry, that was rude of me- allow me to start over.” Jaskier cleared his throat, and looked around quickly, deciding that Vesemir was who he should focus on. “My name is Jaskier, and I’ve noticed a bit of a problem I think I might be able to help with.” When no one said anything, he continued. “There are, in my estimations, less than 50 Witchers left alive on the continent. And a lot more monsters than that. Something happened, didn’t it? To stop the creation of more Witchers? I have a solution.”
Not what Vesemir had been expecting. “Most of the time when knights come up to Kaer Morhen, it’s either to try to kill us, or to ask us for help,” Vesemir pointed out, and Jaskier gasped. “Yes. I know you’re a knight. There’s very little you could keep from us, so I don’t suggest you try. Explain your solution.”
Jaskier grinned. “Right. So, you all fuck. Prostitutes, specifically. Have any of you noticed that the prostitutes you go to are still around several years past when they should be?”
…What?
Glancing around the room, he saw that no one else had any idea about this either.
“It took me a little while to figure out the pattern. But talking to the right people, asking the right question, it all revealed something fascinating. The prostitutes that regularly took on Witchers as clients were living significantly longer than anyone else. No elven heritage, no magic potions, just you.” He grinned. “I think you’re somehow able to pass along what makes you Witchers to the people you fuck.”
Vesemir stared at him. “…That’s… assuming that’s correct, there’s a lot more that goes into being a Witcher than just age. ”
“No they’re stronger too,” Jaskier assured him. “And they heal faster. I spent a very enjoyable evening… er… letting one of the ladies show me. Increased strength is definitely one of the benefits, and all marks of any form on her were gone by morning. It’s apparently made her very desirable at the house, since usually whores won’t let anyone leave marks.”
Vesemir stared at him, trying to process this all.
Eskel, thankfully, took over. “So, what, you’re trying to say we could fuck more Witchers into existence?”
“Isn’t that how most beings procreate?” Jaskier asked cheekily.
“Why are you telling us this?” Vesemir asked, trying to stamp down on the emotions he should no longer feel.
The loudest of which was hope.
Followed quickly by disbelief, and distrust.
Jaskier tilted his head, chuckling nervously. “Oh, had I not made that clear? I’m volunteering.”
…What.
“You want us to fuck you?” Geralt asked.
Jaskier shrugged. “If you don’t object. Really, this is the sort of thing that aught to be done through volunteer- if you’re amenable to it, of course. If you aren’t, then I… well, I may have to wait for this weather to clear up, but I’ll be out of your hair as soon as it’s safe for me to do so.”
“How long would it take to determine if this is possible?” Eskel asked Vesemir quietly, and Vesemir shrugged.
“He wouldn’t be a full Witcher. Not without procedures that I can’t replicate. But… he could get close. The mutagen was the main piece we’ve been missing… and… Triss and Yennefer are clever. They may have potions that could substitute what some of our procedures could do. If it is… maybe three years, to be sure? We don’t-“ he frowned, glancing around at the rest of the keep’s inhabitants. “…We don’t know exactly how long the prostitutes were fucked for. Or by how many Witchers. This would be an experiment.”
“An experiment I’m fine being the subject of,” Jaskier added, even though neither of them had been talking directly to him.
Vesemir turned back to their guest. “…It’s a risk. We have no idea what this could do to you, and the effects would more than likely be permanent. You’re really sure you want to do that to yourself? To turn into a Witcher? Or at the very least something like it?”
Jaskier nodded without hesitation. “Of course!” He read the disbelief around the room, and cleared his throat. “Alright, think about it this way. Either you get your mutagen back and can make more Witchers- without having to use children, mind- or you get a willing sex slave for the 3 years it’ll take to find out if I’m right.”
“You would not be a sex slave,” Vesemir insisted.
Jaskier shrugged. “Alright, call me a personal slut if that sounds better. Point being, I’m here and I’m willing to take whatever you have to offer. Unless, that is, none of you are interested…?”
“There’s interest,” Aiden commented, and there were faint noises of agreement from the others.
“Why the fuck do you want to be a Witcher? ” Lambert asked, and Vesemir was relieved that the others were stepping in where he was struggling.
The possibility was too tempting, and he was desperately clinging to his reason as he wanted to reach for the opportunity with both hands.
But he needed to know everything he could, about this chance, and the man who brought it to them, and he was glad the others were stepping up where he couldn’t.
The man cleared his throat, and for the first time, looked properly nervous.
Interesting.
“…I was a knight. Of the very small kingdom of Lettenhove. We’d maintained our independence from Redania for several years, but… there were only four of us knights left. Only a few thousand people… but we were a good kingdom… But. A bruxa nest moved in near the start of the year. One of the knights led an expedition to kill it…”
Vesemir winced. A single bruxa could wipe out an entire village. A nest?
Jaskier cleared his throat, continuing. “…The nest killed every last soldier in the expedition. All the knight had done was pissed it off, really. We wrote for a Witcher to come and help, but…” he grimaced. “…Before anyone could make it, they’d already come for the royal family. I worked with the other knights to try and slay the creatures, but…” He shook his head, taking a long breath and letting it out. “…I was injured in the battle, but I managed to kill the bruxa that had been attacking me. The others weren’t so lucky. By the time we’d fought off the nest, the royal family was dead, along with half the city. The throne went to a distant cousin who’d been away for the ordeal, and he decided it was better that the people survive, than the kingdom. He signed a treaty wherein we sacrificed our independence from Redania, in exchange for protection for our people. But…”
“Redania wouldn’t allow a knight of Lettenhove to serve as a knight in Redania?” Eskel guessed, and Jaskier nodded.
“I think they would have been slightly more willing to consider it had it not been for the injury. I wasn’t expected to recover as well as I did. So, I was released from my service, and have spent the last few months trying to travel the continent, and learn what I could about Witchers. To… figure out…”
“Why we didn’t come,” Geralt filled in. “It’s hard to catch a Witcher’s attention on the path. With so few of us… I’m sorry we weren’t able to get there in time.”
“Oh! No, no that’s not- I’m not blaming you- I just- I thought-“
“That the problem was how few Witchers are left,” Eskel interrupted, “and so you looked for a solution. Most people would just get angry that there weren’t many left, and live with the anger.”
Jaskier shook his head. “Anger… it’s an uncomfortable emotion. I prefer finding something to do with my emotions than just letting them sit.”
“Sounds more like a bard than a knight,” Remus commented from the back.
“…Give us a moment to confer?” Vesemir asked, and Jaskier nodded hastily.
“Of course!”
“Go ahead and take a seat while you wait. Aubrey- ah.”
Aubrey had already grabbed a bowl of stew, handing it to Jaskier before joining the rest of them further away from the knight, where he wouldn’t be able to overhear them.
“He didn’t lie once,” Vesemir sighed. “…I want to hear your thoughts on this. We need to all be in agreement on this.”
“If it is true,” Coen began, “he would be an ideal candidate. A knight has training with swords already, so it wouldn’t take much to teach him how to fight monsters- he's already killed a bruxa. And with a previous injury, we’ll know just how effective the mutagen would be healing old scars.”
“If it even works,” Lambert pointed out. “Just cause a few whores some extra years, he thinks the mutagen can be brought back?”
Eskel shifted uncomfortably. “Actually… I hadn’t wanted to say anything, but there are very few women who would accept me, and that's made it rather noticeable when they tend to live longer. I thought maybe there was some elven heritage, but… maybe Jaskier has a point.”
“I’m willing to try,” Aiden said, shrugging. “He’s right. If he is wrong, then we get to fuck someone who doesn’t want payment for it. That alone is reason enough to try it.”
“It would be hard for him to do anything to hurt one of us,” Aubrey pointed out. “If he’s managed to lie, and he somehow means us harm… he wouldn’t exactly get far.”
No one else said anything for several moments, and after enough time had passed Vesemir nodded. “All those against?”
No one spoke.
“All those in favor?”
Not everyone spoke, but there were a series of ‘aye’s from around the table.
More than half.
Vesemir nodded, and stood, turning back to the knight who was doing his best to not look like he was trying to listen in. “Alright. Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier. Finish eating, and I’ll show you to your room. Take the day to get settled, then tomorrow we’ll discuss where to go from here.”
Jaskier beamed. “I look forward to getting to know all of you.”
They’d better not regret this.