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Jaskier can hear the screams, smell and taste the spilt blood in the air. His heart hammers in his ears, the sour tang of his anxiety and fear hanging in the air around him. The wolf hasn't noticed him yet and he supposes he should be grateful for that because he still has no idea what to do.
He wishes he knew how long the white furred wolf has been like this, but Jaskier thinks he knows. It was three months ago that Geralt was cursed, yelled for Jaskier to grab all their stuff and run, ride Roach to get as much distance as he can. Jaskier would normally enjoy riding Roach on his own as it was few and far between, but this was different, there was fear in Geralt's golden cat eyes. As he ran through the forest, he could hear Geralt screaming in pain, almost making him turn around, but not wanting to risk it.
And now, three months later, Jaskier is here to help, but doesn't know how. A man tries to pull him inside a building to try and keep the bard safe, but Jaskier just shakes him off, watching the poor White Wolf. He seems so confused, angry, a wounded animal.
What would calm him? Geralt never liked his singing, as he thinks it is "like ordering a piece, and finding it has no filling." But Jaskier couldn't get close enough to pet his head without getting his arm ripped off, Geralt always liked that when he was having trouble falling to sleep.
Jaskier takes a breath and sets his lute on the ground, hiding it from people so that while he was trying to help, no one would steal it. Unless he died. Then, well… let them find it. But he doesn't think that will happen. Geralt wouldn't hurt him, at least he hopes that.
He starts to slowly walk to the wolf, pushing down his fear.
"I have crossed the horizon to find you." Jaskier's voice, as powerful as ever, carries through the town square. The wolf's ear twitches and it looks at him.
"I know your name…" The wolf turns and growls, fur bristling, puffed up. Those familiar golden eyes staring at Jaskier.
"They have stolen the heart from inside you… but this does not define you." Jaskier can hear the villagers whispering to each other, wondering why he is risking his life for this wolf. The massive white wolf, which could decapitate him with a single swipe of his paw (trust him, he saw it happen), is cowering against a cart, ears flat against his head.
"This is not who you are. " Jaskier kneels in front of the wolf, eyes calm, a hand held out for him to sniff. The wolf huffs and then sniffs the offered hand, starting to nuzzle it. Jaskier smiles softly and holds the wolf's head with both hands gently, touching noses with the wolf, no, with Geralt, looking into his eyes.
"You know… who you are." Geralt relaxes and lays down, head in Jaskier's lap. Geralt lets out a long, loud whining sound, and Jaskier starts to pet his surprisingly soft fur. The bard leans down and touches Geralt's forehead with his own.
In a soft whisper, Jaskier, smiling, says what Geralt needs to know. "Who you truly are…"
Jaskier kisses Geralt's forehead and sits up, petting Geralt, looking at the wolf fondly. Geralt sighs and closes his eyes, fully trusting Jaskier.
No one expected the next minute would have the brightest, blinding light anyone has ever seen enveloping Geralt, reversing the curse.
Jaskier blinks a bit after the light is gone, an afterimage of the light burned into his eyes and he certainly isn't expecting to be held tightly by the White Wolf, face buried in his shoulder.
In a gruff, low voice which is a little raspy from disuse, Geralt pulls Jaskier into his lap, mainly to hide the fact that he's naked from all the villagers. "Thank you Jaskier."
Jaskier smiles fondly and hugs back. "You're welcome dear heart."