And Howl Your Pain unto the Moon

Part 15 - A Present

After leaving Murivel, they decided to travel together for a bit longer, especially when Jaskier pled with his blue eyes wide, and snuggled in between them in their provisory bedroll den. It was nice to give in to the more animalistic part of each of them, to seek the warmth of pack and feel safe during the night.

They finally parted about two weeks later, as Jaskier and Geralt began slowly heading south for the summer festival at Oxenfurt, and Eskel returned to his regular hunting grounds further north. They would miss him, but Jaskier was excited to see his bardic friends, and they all knew they'd see each other again that winter unless something went horrifically wrong.

Their travels took them much further down the map of Temeria, following contract after contract, as increasingly warm months passed by, and soon, the time came to circle back north for Oxenfurt. After the revelation earlier that spring about why Geralt didn't do well in the crowds, and making sure the next full moon was far away enough, they parted ways a bit before the city, with Geralt promising to come for the last day of the festivities to celebrate with Jaskier a bit and pick him up.

Jaskier was so, so elated to be back in the city, he managed to go the first half of the week without missing Geralt at all. He visited familiar places, met friends, entered the competition with a new composition entirely uninspired by his strange wintertime, drank, celebrated, and even let himself be dragged into doing a guest-lecture for the university.

It was the second half of the week when he started missing the witcher. He guessed Geralt was right about how hard it is to go without their now mutually shared affection once you get used to it. He still loved his time in the town. He found that once he got used to the amount of input his senses now made him experience, he could filter most of it out and enjoy life just like before. But there were moments, especially in the early morning when one round of celebrating ended and the other was about to start when he looked up at the sky and wondered if Geralt missed him like this too.

And Valdo Marx. Jaskier didn't know if he wanted to meet the asshole to flaunt his not-that-much-cursed-anymore self in front of him, or if he just wanted to punch him in the face, but the man didn't show up at all. But he did, in fact, find out that the man had been there earlier that year, boasting about how the bard Jaskier was gone, finally making way for his 'superior talents to shine'. Bullshit. After a bit too much babbling about the man to concerned Priscilla, who still had no idea of what had happened and so accused Jaskier of having a crush on the asshole for talking about him this much, he just decided to forget about him and enjoy himself.

It was a great time. He won second place in the competition, and he knew it was fair because after all, he didn't truly have enough time to make a complete masterpiece of a song, and Pris made half the audience cry with her performance. After that, they went drinking, and as they walked out of one tavern to walk into another, there was a huge familiar bulk with its two swords waiting for him outside and he ran straight at the witcher, hugging him, and laughing, and happy.

Geralt joined them for the rest of the celebration, drinking mostly in silence, but with a small smile on his mouth any time their eyes met. There was heat in the looks they shared and after a sufficient amount of alcohol had been consumed, they said their goodbyes and stumbled out of the tavern right into the closest dark corner and kissed, and kissed, and kissed, deep and hungry, like they would die without each other, and when they finally fell asleep that night back in Jaskier's small Oxenfurt apartment, they were tangled together and so, so happy they could die with it.

...

That may be one of the reasons why they were so surprised the next morning, when there was a harsh knock at the door, waking them up from the land of dreams to a familiar smell wafting from under the door.

"Hey, bard, pretty boy, I know you're there! Open up, because we've got a fucking present," a singsongy voice called, and Jaskier groaned as he got up from the bed and quickly put on his trousers, meanwhile Geralt just stared at the door like he'd like to kill it rather violently before also getting up.

"Lambert, what the hell are you doing here-" Jaskier had a whole rant about showing up unannounced and waking people up who didn't want to leave the land of dreams yet ready, but then he shut up when he opened the door and saw the man the youngest of the wolf witchers was holding up for inspection.

"I told ya we've got a fucking present," the witcher grinned crookedly, shoving the terror-stinking pile of bound bard-shit through the door. Both Geralt and Jaskier swiftly dodged it, so the man crumpled down to the floor in the middle of the room.

"Aww, Lamb. Don't you know it's rude to bring trash to someone's home? I'll have to clean that up," Jaskier drawled, ignoring how his blood boiled just looking at the man, how his heart thumped loudly in his chest and his mind flashed with the image of the damn coward tasting the pain he deserved. He managed to chase the thought away as Geralt walked past him right to the door, sniffing the air, eyebrows set into that semipermanent frown once again.

"Who is 'we', Lambert?" the witcher asked, and suddenly the younger brother seemed a bit more uneasy, rubbing his head and stretching the other hand behind him to push yet another witcher forward from where he not quite hid in the shadows. He was much leaner than the wolves Jaskier knew, even leaner than Coen of the Griffins. His armor was light, all leather, his hair was long and brown, and his eyes shimmered with a wild, vibrant green. There was a medallion with a big snarling cat hanging around his neck and Geralt growled as soon as he saw it, suddenly positioning himself in between Jaskier and the stranger.

"A fucking cat, Lambert?! What does that mean?" he downright snarled, which made Jaskier lift his eyebrows, because as bad as Geralt was with the social niceties, he usually didn't use this tone unless something was very wrong.

The younger wolf seemed to hesitate for a moment, but even with Geralt shielding him, Jaskier noticed the gentle gesture of the 'cat' squeezing his hand. Then the witcher squared his shoulders and looked straight into the White Wolf's eyes.

"It's not just 'a cat', Geralt. It's my boyfriend, and his name is Aiden," Lambert said and Jaskier's heart melted.

"Oh my god, let me past you, you damn hulk of a man," the bard muttered and pushed his way by a seemingly frozen-in-place Geralt.

"Hello, Aiden, the wolf's cat! My name is Jaskier the Bard, now officially the witchers' werewolf, and I'm pleased to meet you!" he offered his hand for shaking together with a blinding smile.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Master Jaskier," the man gave the blindingly beautiful smile right back and shook the offered hand.

"Awww, he's a gentleman, Geralt! Where the hell did Lambert meet someone like you?" the bard invited the man right into his home, pushing past Geralt, stepping over the silently sobbing trashbag, and when he sat him down, he turned to the two witchers still standing outside.

"Go talk it out. And I mean talk. If I see one bruise or smell blood on any of you, you're sleeping outside. Thank you for the present, Lambert," he looked at them before shutting the door right in their faces. He refused to get his day spoiled by some weird cat/wolf feud he never even heard about. And anyway, Lambert would never bring anyone that would hurt the pack to Jaskier's home.