Chapter Text
„Fuck you and your mother!“ he screamed into the moon, fists clenched by his sides, his shoulders trembling as his body tensed with adrenaline. The lute was safely resting at the roots of an old tree together with his pack, the forest silent around the small clearing he settled in. It took him nearly a week to climb down from the cursed mountain, buy rations in the village and walk what he guessed would be a safe distance to scream his lungs out.
“Fuck your fucking white hair and your fucking mountain! Fuck your fucking temper and fuck your fucking distant nature! Fuck your fucking hypocrisy and fuck your fucking pride!” he screamed, enjoying the way the forest trembled at his rage, the way small animals burrowed deeper into their holes, birds made themselves smaller in their nests and deer stopped to listen, before rushing off into the deeper and more distant parts of the woods. He was dangerous and they knew it. He was ancient.
“Shame on you! Shame on your honour! Shame on your school! Shame on your horse! Shame on your lying ass! Shame on you for your blindness! Shame on you for your words!” he added, picking up a rock from the ground and throwing it as far as he could. Getting the anger out somehow, or he would explode.
“I would curse you and all those you hold dear if I were just a bit more cruel!” he shouted, before he stopped, breathing wild, small clouds of mist rising from his mouth. There was a tension at his fingertips, what felt like wires of heat flowing through his frame, making his bones crack and skin flutter. His blood was boiling. He didn’t let it consume him completely, but he did kick off his boots and socks, letting his feet bury themselves into the ground, roots digging themselves deep, grounding him.
A pair of antlerlike branches crawled its way through his curls up towards the sky, relishing in the moonlight, while his body strengthened, finally a vessel able to hold him together, firm enough so his feelings didn’t feel like they were going to burst out of his frail human chest.
It has been a long time, since he longed to become one with the forest like this. Usually he would go years and years without feeling the need to connect to the trees and growth, to feel the presence of the animals so near to him. Still vary, never completely settled in his presence, but there was a murder of crows nearby, that he summoned with a gentle shake of his head. The feathery weight in his branches felts soothing.
He lifted his hand, fingers long, clawed, and one of the birds jumped down to settle over his rings. He petted its head, smart beady eyes watching him in return, before he breathed out, long and deep, until there was no air anymore. He didn’t need it.
…
The Ancient was prowling its woods again, moving between the trees almost soundlessly, as it approached the stream. It had just eaten a boar, it and its wolf pack having a successful hunt, like it ought to, and was on its way to the nice mossy boulder. It had chased its crows away for the moment, as their presence would scare the little ones.
The Ancient finally walked to its favorite spot and let the roots take hold. They grew deep in a flash, letting the water refresh them. There was a bit of lichen hanging from its antlers, but it let it grow, the light green decoration quite harmless in its opinion.
Finally, the little ones appeared. Hesitant at first but coming closer when the Ancient reached out a hand full of berries. They fluttered and hopped, until they settled against its claws, pecking and chirping. The Ancient sighed, pleased, when they finished their meal and with a little bit more hopping and fluttering found their way into its massive pair of antlers, where their chirping grew into a cheerful song.
Then, another presence appeared. The Ancient knew that the being had been watching it on and off for a few months already, always appearing and disappearing swiftly, but there was no hostility coming from it and the woods welcomed the stranger with open arms. This time it came closer than ever before though.
There was a rustle of leaves, and a slender figure stepped out into the sunlight. They had long ears, soft skin, and bright eyes. The little ones startled and silenced.
“I greet you, forest ruler,” the being spoke. Its voice was so melodious, like nothing the Ancient had ever heard before. A stream bubbling, tree leaves rustling, the little ones chirping and a bit of sunshine mixed in.
WHAT NEED YOU WITH ME the Ancient spoke, and the wind rose. The little ones startled, fluttering away.
“I have been watching you, as I am sure you know. You seem to enjoy listening to the birds singing,” the being smiled.
THEY STARTLE EASILY, THE LITTLE ONES YOU ALSO LOOK LIKE YOU COULD GET STARTED EASILY, WITH HOW BRIGHTLY YOU CHIRP
The being chuckled. “I have my own means,” the being grinned sharply. A ring of white flowers sprang to life next to its feet. Ah, it was one of the spring ones. The Ancient had never seen them, but their circles did appear in the forest occasionally, always smelling of magic and life.
“I have been wondering, if you ever felt like trying something different, then guarding your kingdom. I have seen a few leshys in my life, and yet never met one so fascinated by sound. I could hear you, whistling on the grass blades, chasing wind though hollow trees, you know?”
HMMMM YOUR WORDS SPEAK OF SOMETHING DIFFERENT MY WOODS HAVE EVERYTHING I NEED WHY WOULD I CHANGE
“Because you’re curious, aren’t you?” the being spoke, its smile mischievous as it made a strange shape with its mouth and to the Ancient’s surprise, chirped just like the little ones did. The being stretched its pale, lightly spotted arm, and the little ones curiously fluttered close.
…
Jaskier opened his eyes again only after a long time. There was snow in his antler branches now, and his wolves brought a deer to his feet. The crows were eagerly jumping around, waiting for their turn, as Jaskier slowly stepped out of his roots, retracted most of his branches, making the crows caw and fly around all disgruntled.
He shook off the stiffness from his limbs and stretched his back, before he looked at himself to assess the damage to his attire. Sure enough, it was all bleached from the sun and rain, and now frozen solid as well, with a few torn pieces here and there. After he managed to find his boots under the snow, he sighed, not putting them on yet, when they were so stiff, and walked to the tree he left his stuff at.
Sure enough, his pack was left whole, but he doubted that most of the stuff would be of any use to him now. Who knows how many months he stood here. It could even have been years. His time perception always grew a little bit blurry, when he joined the woods. He pried open the freezing lute case and rejoiced, that the spells he had put on it protected the elven lute well enough.
After that his wolves brought him enough firewood to roast the offering, and he and his crows sated their hunger. He wondered what to do now. Clearly the winter court held reign over the land now, and he couldn’t just appear at a village in this state. He didn’t feel like spending much more time in the woods either. The way he was now, the rustle of leaves in the wind and listening to birdsong weren’t enough to sate his need for company.
When he ate, he thus collected his things, reached out with his senses, and followed the vague feeling of fae magic.
WE WILL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN FLOWER ONE
…
THIS IS STRANGE said the Ancient one, twisting his thin human arms, their skin pale and soft. The spring one giggled.
“You will need to learn to use your mouth voice,” they said, as they walked around the Ancient one. “That’s how you can sing,” they lectured, looking over the new form of the forest ruler. The crows in the branches above tilted their heads in confusion.
LET US TAKE THIS STEP BY STEP WE ARE SO SMALL AND SOFT NOW the Ancient said, it’s voice the same monotone horror, yet the spring one knew it was full of awe. He could see it on the human face in front of himself.
“You can try walking, you know. You were bipedal even before,” the fae chuckled and watched the leshy take a few hesitant steps, quickly gaining in confidence and striding across the meadow. They bent down, almost falling, unused to not having their antlers, picking up a small yellow flower.
“A buttercup. Or Jaskier, whichever you like more,” the spring one said, making a few more grow around them.
LOOKING AT THEM MAKES MY CHEST FEEL STRANGELY FULL the Ancient said, it’s blue eyes wide.
“I think that might be happiness, my friend.”
…
“You know, I never expected to get so attached to such a silly and stubborn creature,” Jaskier muttered for what must have been about the hundredth time, swirling the berry wine in his glass, while he watched Aeley braid flowers into his partner’s gorgeous long dark hair.
“And yet, here you are, oh Ancient one,” the spring fae chuckled, before caressing his lover’s face from above. The winter fae was sleeping.
YOU JOKE BUT MY FEELINGS WERE HURT I DIDN’T HAVE FEELINGS BEFORE he let his soul rumble out loud. It was a bit silly in retrospect. If someone told him a few hundred years ago that he would feel so hurt about a betrayal from a mortal, he would have killed the offender on the spot, or at least chased them out of his forest, maybe making them get lost for a few days on the way. He sighed.
“It will pass. I have a new theme for my music thanks to it. But I would like to not see a hide nor sword of a witcher for at least a few decades. Unless I could tear one apart,” he grinned darkly.
“You never know what will the fate blow your way!” Aeley sang cheerily, putting yet another buttercup into the braid in his lap.
“You know, being just a leshy was so much simpler. Sometimes I think that it would have been better if you never approached me,” Jaskier said darkly. Even after years of living like this it was sometimes extremely difficult to make sense of the daily stirrings in his chest. He was too old, too well grown to twist in new ways like this. When an emotion took hold in his chest, it tended to grow strong and old just like he was.
“If I never approached you, you would have never learned the lute or attended Oxenfurt. I have seen you grow into the bard that you are now, just as I saw you be a skald a few decades back, and a nymph friend before that.” The fae’s words were light even though they carried immense weight.
“I hate it when you are right,” Jaskier sighed, shaking his head. His antlers were almost gone now.
“Getting woody again always messes with my head. Forgive me, my friend,” he said, pressing smooth hands to his forehead.
“There is nothing to forgive,” the fae smiled and lifted yet another flower. Their lover was sleeping peacefully a soft smile on their lips. They would need to open a ring soon.
…
It was hard to believe that the humans didn’t notice. The nymphs did, immediately. But whether he went to Skellige, Zerikannia, or Oxenfurt, the humans seemed to be blind to the monster walking amongst them.
He learned to be like them. Speak their languages, play their instruments. He was always eager and curious about the unexplored and unknown.
It was the same curiosity that made him listen to the spring fae that first led him to follow the taciturn witcher around. He had great fun of it, pretending to be a human bard so close to a monster hunter. The elves didn’t notice, only their king recognizing something ancient inside of him and gifting him his lute in an apology. The monster hunter didn’t notice, even after twenty years of friendship.
He didn’t ask, and the leshy felt no need to reveal itself, revelling in his role as a squishy human maybe too much sometimes. So much, it made the witcher believe, that it would be wise to yell at the Ancient and blame it for his mistakes.
The Ancient, not wanting to put a bloody dot behind their friendship, left. It’s blood was boiling, rage simmering under the surface.
…
“Thank you, my friends,” he bowed to the circle of snowdrops before he straightened up again, stretched his back, enjoying the satisfying pop somewhere between his shoulder blades, and went to walk away from it. They helped him get down south, near Maribor and more than far enough from Kaedwen and the damned secret wolf keep.
He was, of course, deposited rather deep in the woods, but two days later just as the sun began setting, he finally entered the city, seeking the nearest tavern to get food and work both. He didn’t have much money on himself, as the mountain climb didn’t have many opportunities to make it.
There was a strange feeling to walking on cobbled streets again. Somehow that was the part of being somewhat human that always made him aware of his otherness, not having where to put his roots if he so wanted. But oh, did he enjoy it. It made that feral, wild part inside of him settle a bit more, a bit deeper into the slumber it spent its days in when he usually travelled amongst mortals.
He walked, winking at the occasional curious observer, until he stood in front of the tavern and walked inside. Only to stop in his steps, his eyes furrowed and focused on the figure in the corner of the establishment. He felt rage simmer under his skin again, but reigned it in. Those were for sure witcher swords, or he was blind.
“Oh, master bard! Come inside, please. We haven’t had an out of the city musician by yet this spring,” the barmaid cheerfully called, so instead of turning and dragging his feet back outside, he put a smile upon his face and walked up to the bar, ordering dinner, room, and setting the terms for his performance. He then found a table to sit at and ate, eyeing the cloaked figure.
The witcher had his cape drawn on, so most of his face was hidden by the shadows, but when Jaskier sharpened his eyesight just a bit, he could see the damned wolf head on his medallion. Cursed world. As if he didn’t choose this location precisely because it was impossible to travel here from Kaedwen this early in the spring. The wolf must have wintered elsewhere then.
All too soon his plate was empty, ale drained, and he went to carry his things into the room, returning again with just his lute, performer’s smile on his face.
He strummed the strings a few times, before getting into his usual routine, starting the night with something familiar, and then moving onto the crowd’s choices. The witcher annoyingly still sat in the corner, two yellow eyes glinting his way every once in a while.
The crowd cheered, in a good mood, and Jaskier, feeling much more vicious, than was usual for him, turned to them with a smile on his face.
“My dear friends! This evening truly has made my blood itself sing with your cheers. So, I was thinking about singing you this new piece that I heard a few towns back. It’s a new song by the bard Jaskier, author of the Fishmonger’s Daugter that you all liked so well!” he announced to a sound of more cheering.
“But forgive me, for not all songs by this master are full of joy. This one, I am afraid, is a song of betrayal and pain, true in all its parts though. He told me the story himself and oh, I was livid…” he drawled, smirking, when the crowd called at him to play. They were ready. So, he did, throwing one more look at the witcher in the corner. Let him hear what his brother did.
“I hear you’re alive, how disappointing
I’ve also survived, no thanks to you
Did I not bring you some glee
Mister, oh, look at me
Now I’ll burn all the memories of you,” he let the note hang, voice vicious, cutting. The people loved it.
“All those lonely miles that you ride
Now you’ll walk with no one by your side
Did you ever even care
With your swords and your stupid hair?
Now watch me laugh as I burn all the memories of you,” the witcher blinked and shuffled in his seat. Oh yeah, you are hearing right, mister.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you are right, the bard is his barker no more!” he added, making whispers and shouts rise.
“What for do you yearn?
It’s the point of no return
After everything we did, we saw
You turned your back on me
What for do you yearn?
Watch that fucker burn!” He did briefly consider singing butcher or witcher, but that would be openly dissing his own words. He wouldn’t let this song get out of hand too much.
“At the end of my days when I’m through
No word that I’ve written will ring quite as true as burn!
Burn, fucker, burn
Burn, fucker, burn
Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn
Watch me burn all the memories of you…” he breathed out, strumming out the last few notes, as the audience rose in cheers.
…
“You lied. The bard my brother knows wouldn’t write such a song,” sneered the witcher leaning on the door of his room, when he finally retired upstairs, still alight from the performance. His hood was finally down revealing slicked back hair, scars, and a mean face. He looked strangely slappable.
“Oh, I very much didn’t. You can trust that every single word was heartfelt,” he snapped. His whole self was getting ready for confrontation. His blood burned when his eyes saw the wolf medallion.
“One would think he fucked you over as well,” the witcher smirked snidely, arms crossed over his chest.
“Oh, he very much did. Let me introduce myself, you fucking doggy. My name is Jaskier, yes, like the flower, and I’ve had enough of wolf witchers for a few fucking decades. So, unless you want me to fucking gut you right here, get lost,” he snarled, face coming close to the witchers, as he slammed his hand on the door next to his head. He could see him hold his breath, his eyes widening.
“Lambert,” the wolf breathed out. “Geralt didn’t mention that you were this hot. What if I didn’t want to get lost?” the witcher asked, his voice a little cracked, and Jaskier’s eyes sharpened. There was a short second during which he considered how bad of an idea this was, but then he checked his still burning blood, the rage mixing with performance high, and groaned in frustration before fisting the wolf’s coat and smashing their mouths together.
Lambert groaned, opening his mouth and letting the bard inside, tongues leading a battle for dominance that the monster hunter to his own surprise swiftly lost, surrendering to the bard’s heat. Jaskier pushed his knee in between the witcher’s legs, making the man groan and thrust up against the pressure. He broke off the kiss, pulled the key to his room from his pocket and pushed the wolf to the side to let them both into the room.
“Fuck,” muttered the wolf, when Jaskier slammed the door closed behind them and pushed the witcher into the wall with another kiss, while his hands blindly searched for clasps and ties and buttons, getting rid of the witcher’s cloak and armor with practiced ease. Not that he ever slept with Geralt, not interested in the man like that. Jaskier wasn’t interested in people in the classic sense, but he did find himself aroused by certain things when in human body and quickly learned to explore this new part of humanity. He found himself quite skilled at playing them, just like he did with any instrument.
He bit into the witcher’s lip and chuckled darkly at the ensuing groan, as the man bucked his hips up to get some friction.
“Let us undress, puppy,” he parted their lips and stepped away, watching as the witcher took off his shirt and untied his trousers, getting rid of his daggers and boots on the way, until he stepped out of the pile completely naked. There were goosebumps on his pale scarred skin, dark hair standing up on his arms, legs, chest, and then down the happy trail led to where stood something else, already hard and begging for attention.
“How are we going to do this?” asked the witcher, licking his lips, and Jaskier smirked, as he reached up to slowly untie his own clothing. He took off the doublet, but kept the shirt, only rising the sleeves. He could see the man watch the revealed skin with hungry eyes.
“I think that you do not have much of a right to decide that, after how rudely you have interrupted me today, doubting the truth of my words,” he drawled, watching how the man’s pupils dilated more. Checking for reactions like the predator he was. “I think that you might even deserve some punishment for your actions,” he said, and watched the witcher shudder as he nodded. Hmm. Hot.
“Hands on the wall, above your head. Press them to the wall all the way from your wrists to your elbows. Yes, like that. Now move your legs back. More. Just like that. Now spread them to the width of your shoulders. Yes,” he talked the witcher through the position as he walked around him, fingers brushing once across his ribs, then across his thigh. He gave his ass one trial slap, pleased at the sharply indrawn breath.
“How many times do you think you deserve it, for being so rude to me, little doggy,” he drawled, fingers now brushing over the man’s spine. He stood stock still, only his breathing and flushed dick betraying his excitement.
“Fifteen, bard,” the man said breathlessly, clearly hunting for more, the brat, so Jaskier slapped him strongly, delighted at the gasping moan that elicited.
“It will be thirty, just for that. And call me master, puppy. Are we clear?” he wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, holding firm, as one would a naughty animal.
“Yes, master,” the wolf breathed out and Jaskier felt his own dick stir at the view of the strong back and thighs spread out in front of him.
“You will be counting out loud for me, puppy,” he ordered, sliding his hand from the neck down along the man’s spine to the tailbone, where he lifted it, watching the muscled tense in anticipation. There were scars on the backside he was about to hit. Scars no doubt made by monsters the man fought against and killed. He could use some force here.
The air parted and the sound of his palm hitting flesh cut through the room. The following ‘one’ was moaned out in surprise, the witcher’s back shivering slightly as his dick twitched at the unexpected force. Jaskier lightly caressed his lower back, softly whispering: “Just twenty-nine more, dear puppy.” His eyes were dark now, dick hard, and his palm was itching for more.
And so they continued. Every time his hand hit the firm backside, the witcher gasped out his count. Jaskier saw his fists clenching above his head and smirked. There was the slightest tremble in the man’s back, and his body stiffened in expectation every time his hand lifted itself from the reddened skin. The wolf’s dick was red, precum pearling at the tip, when they reached twenty, but Jaskier’s hand didn’t lift this time. Instead, he slid it lower, in between the man’s legs, teasing at the soft skin of his inner thighs.
“A little further apart, puppy. I think I would like to give you the last ten somewhere else,” he said, massaging the skin gently, as he watched the witcher unsteadily widen his stance enough.
“That’s enough. Now continue counting, where we left off,” he pressed a single kiss to the man’s red backside, rejoicing in the gentle shudder that gifted him, before he lifted his hand from the skin.
“Twenty-one,” the man groaned out, his head falling forward, pushing its crown into the wall.
“Twenty-two,” was gasped again, the man breathing raggedly now. Jaskier palmed at his cock through his trousers with his free hand, before raising his hand again.
“Twenty-three,” was a strangled moan. The skin there got red much, much quicker than on the ass. There weren’t almost any scars as well.
“Twenty-four,” came and left the wolf breathless, the hand rubbing a little circle into the stinging flesh.
“Twenty-five,” had the man’s cock dripping precum to the ground as he moaned out the count, his shoulders shivering the slightest bit.
“Only five to go, puppy. You can do it for me, right? You can take your punishment,” Jaskier whispered and the witcher nodded furiously.
“I want to hear you.”
“Yes. Yes, I can take it. I deserve it, master,” the man said, and Jaskier smiled widely, his blood singing now.
“Great. Here I go then,” he raised his hand again.
“Twenty-six!” the man gasped out roughly, unprepared for even more force to be used, his heartbeat quickening in his chest. The medallion on his chest hummed in response, the weakest tremble. Of course, his bastard brother’s bard wasn’t human. Who gave a fuck at this point though.
“Twenty-seven,” he groaned, his eyes scrunched, completely focused on holding the position, on not reaching his hand down between his legs to relieve his aching cock, as gentle fingers caressed his flexing back and the burning palm rose once more.
“Twenty-eight,” the witcher’s back curved, until Jaskier’s hand stilled it with its firm hold. There was only two to go. The puppy was doing so good so far, he was sure that he would hold out for the reward. There was now a small pool of precum on the floor under he witcher.
“Twenty-nine,” the witcher was clenching his teeth, clenching his eyelids together, clenching his fists. Even the fingers of his feet were digging into the floor. Jaskier raised his hand one last time. He was fixated on the witcher, on his every shiver, every breath.
“Thirty!” the man shouted finally, throwing his head back, when Jaskier’s hand fell to his flesh one last time. They stood there, breathing heavily, both almost uncomfortably aroused, and Jaskier felt so alive.
He moved his hands over the trembling man’s body freely now, firmly grasping at the reddened flesh of his thighs, then squeezing his butt cheeks, pulling them apart for a moment, only to let them go and move up the witcher’s now sweaty back.
“You did amazingly, puppy,” he said, his own voice much rougher than usual. He felt his desire grow even stronger at how well his puppy held the position even now.
“Puppy, since you did so well, I might as well reward you a little bit. Would you like that?” he asked, grabbing Lambert’s dick in his hand and squeezing, holding still, as the witcher tried to buck into it. The witcher had no chance in the leshy’s grasp.
“Yes, master. Master, please let me come,” the witcher moaned and Jaskier didn’t wait anymore, pumping the man’s cock fast and rough, his grasp firm, while his second hand untied his own trousers and pulled out his own cock, just as hard. He stepped closer to the witcher, letting his cock smear precum over the witcher’s ass crack. It was a pity he didn’t have oil on hand, but this would have to do.
The witcher held still through it all, muscled back flexing under Jaskier, as the bard’s hand and nimble fingers swiftly worked him to his climax in the same rhythm he was working himself. There were tiny moans and groans almost hesitantly leaving his mouth at every breath, music to the bard’s ears. It reminded him of the little ones and their chirping a little bit. Only now he wasn’t just a witness, these sounds were made by him and for him and brought him a whole different kind of enjoyment.
He sped up the pace, his wrist twisting, as he felt the puppy’s restlessness grow.
“Come for me, little doggy,” he commanded and the witcher whimpered, his dick twitching, coming into the bard’s hand. Jaskier felt the twitch under his fingers, heard the whimper, and soon he himself came all over the witcher’s back, smearing the pearly white cum into the scarred skin and flexing muscles with his fingers.
He could see the moment the witcher’s legs were about to give out, and caught him, half carrying, half walking him to the bed. He laid him on his belly, before he took the washing rag, cleaning his hands and the puppy’s skin. Then he took off his clothes, pulling on the sleepwear from his pack, as he climbed into the bed after the witcher, kissing his rapidly healing ass cheeks, before moving up his body to his neck and shoulders.
“You did great for me, puppy,” he whispered, when he got to the man’s ears, pleased at the little shudder in response. The witcher’s eyes were quickly closing, so Jaskier laid next to him, and dragged the blanket over them. He watched as the man fell asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully, no meditation, full on sleep, and he felt weirdly pleased.
Gone was the rage he felt earlier. This wolf was quite different from his brother. Brash, bratty, but so readily pliant and obedient, if you used the right tone. Jaskier wondered, how he would act outside of bed. He closed his eyes as well. There was enough time to think about such things in the morning, when his rage at Geralt’s words would most likely resurface, and they weren’t both too pleasantly relaxed to argue.
…
When Jaskier woke up in the morning, the witcher was gone. The bard wasn’t surprised, but he did feel a bit irritated, when he didn’t find the man in the tavern down below, and the barmaid told him, that the witcher left at dawn. He ate breakfast with rage slowly simmering under the surface and then went his way again. He could just travel to Oxenfurt. That city always had something for him to get lost in.
Just as he left the town and encountered the first few trees, he stopped in his tracks. There was a horse loosely bound to a tree branch. Under the tree, a witcher with dark slicked back hair was sitting, playing with a sharp dagger.
“I wondered when you would show up,” he smirked and stood up. His eyes were sharp, a bit more yellow than Geralt’s, their colour resembling dandelions.
“What do you want?” Jaskier asked coldly.
“I have been wondering, if per chance, you aren’t interested in a travelling companion. I heard the last witcher supposedly fucked up badly and I’d like to improve the reputation,” the man grinned and he had no right to look so roguishly attractive. Jaskier sighed, rubbing his forehead. He felt his rage slowly calm down, almost dissipate, to leave space for the never-ending curiosity, that has been his foundation ever since he first walked through his forest.
“I am on my way to Oxenfurt. I can’t stop you from walking the same roads,” he said in the end. It looked, like his decades of no witchers have successfully shrunk into one measly winter. He waited for the witcher to untie his horse, before they both started walking. There was silence between them for the whole of ten seconds, before the witcher spoke.
“Did Geralt never notice that you weren’t human?” he asked, eyes carefully on the road ahead.
“No. I am afraid for all his improved senses and reflexes, he often has problems seeing the most obvious,” Jaskier frowned.
“What are you?” the witcher asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, puppy. Is it enough to say, that you with all your potions and silver wouldn’t be able to kill me? I could tear you in half if I so wanted,” the bard said, chuckling at the strangled whimper that gave him.
“I don’t recall him describing you like this,” said the witcher after a while and Jaskier shook his head.
“He wouldn’t. He knew me in much better moor in the first place. I am an ancient being, once rage gets hold of me, it is much harder to get control back. This emotion calls me back to my roots, it is closer to the wild,” he said, truthfully. It made him colder, older, meaner. But still, he could treasure the small pleasures and admire birds singing.
“I think I like the wild,” the witcher muttered, and the bard grinned ferally. It truly has been a while since both his natures came together like this.
Maybe it would not be so bad to travel with a wolf again. Maybe it would not be so bad to feel. Aeley will be so smug the next time they talk.