And Howl Your Pain unto the Moon

Part 2 - Lambert

Lambert trudged through the snow up the mountain unhappily. There was no doubt he was gonna be the last one this year, as he lost Horse three weeks ago to a damn chort. Just when he was getting used to it too. He couldn't help but think of the warm fire, the smell of Vesemir's venison stew wafting from the kitchen, the warmth of the hot spring seeping into his bones, and maybe even the gentle strumming of Jaskier's lute if the bard decided to come this year.

He would never admit it out loud, but last winter, when the bard didn't come, teaching the winter semester at the university instead, was a bit too silent for him after getting a taste of the lively, boisterous atmosphere the man brought with himself. When evening came closer, he lit a small fire behind one of the snowdrifts, ate the last bit of jerky from his pack, and pulled out his bedroll, when a tiny noise made him stop, freezing in the middle of the motion.

Paws hitting the snow as a heavy body moved, huffs of breath loud as the animal panted from the steep incline. What the fuck? He stood up, hand reaching for the closest dagger as his medallion hummed in warning, but then the giant beast jumped over the drift, paws hitting his shoulders, and he fell to the ground. His life flashed before his eyes as the giant maw with wickedly sharp teeth breathed right into his face, and he lifted his hands to push it away, when the beast whimpered miserably, ears plastered to its head and slobbered all over his face with its giant tongue, muzzle sniffing and pushing itself to his throat. With a startle, Lambert realized, that the beast's tail was wagging, and that's the moment when the werewolf's scent finally hit his nostrils.

Lavender, citrus, and cornflower hiding under the smell of mud, blood, and animal musk. The witcher's eyes widened almost comically as he pushed the wolf's mouth a bit further away from his face, gagging at the slobber all over himself.

"How the fuck did you manage this, bard?"

...

Later that night, when the bard-wolf finally calmed and sat down, watching Lambert with red, glowing eyes, the witcher looked over the dirty fur and frowned at the bit of broken arrow pointing up from his back.

"Damn, Buttercup, it seems you've had a fucking hard few weeks," he murmured, as he kneeled next to the wolf, reaching for the wooden shaft, when its big bulk suddenly froze, red eyes sharp on the reaching hand, fur standing, and a warning rumble shaking its chest.

"Oh fuck, shh, I'm just trying to help here, Buttercup," the witcher lifted his hands back up, and the rumble died away. Lambert felt his heart hammer away in his chest. Why the fuck did it have to be him running into the wolfbard? Where the fuck was Geralt? Damn, but the arrow needed out. He took a deep breath, looking at the wolf, slowly putting his hands into the heavy fur and petting it.

"Hey, Buttercup. I know it probably hurts like shit, but that fucking arrow needs out. So, bear with me, okay? I just need to get it out..." he continued mumbling random shit like he usually would, and as usual, the bard listened avidly. Only this time, he continued petting him with one hand, while the red eyes watched the second hand slowly coming closer to the arrow until he grasped the shaft firmly bracing the petting hand in the coat next to it and looking at the wolf.

"Sorry, Buttercup. This is gonna hurt," he said, animal eyes not really showing much understanding, and pulled the arrow out with one swift tug.

The night's calm was cut through with a horrible whimpering howl as the wolf's eyes clouded over with pain and giant jaws shot Lambert's way. He only barely managed to avoid them with a string of curses, before crouching on the other side of the fire from the growling beast, and slowly shuffling the bloody arrow over to the wolf. Jaskier sniffed at it apprehensively, still looking at the witcher, before he slowly stopped growling and sat down again.