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Bartek thought- well, he thought that everyone felt the same to some capacity. That his brothers shared the same vague discomfort, the same half-formed inkling that being born as a woman would’ve been… better, in a way. More comfortable.
(It wouldn’t be easier , he’s not daft, he knows that whatever he’s seen women put through while out on the path probably isn’t even half of it, that there must be myriads of tiny things adding up to a big dreadful whole, but he still can't shake the feeling that it’d be better somehow.)
Gathering under the White Wolf doesn’t change much. He knows there are Lady witchers, and has even run into Dragonfly once before on a brief, but very memorable, occasion. She and her sisters are very much like any other warrior in the keep; brusque, efficient, and absolutely lethal. It takes Bartek and the quickest of his brothers two months to realise that the most chivalrous thing they can do for these particular women is to give as bad as they get while sparring. The older Griffins can tut and give him disapproving looks all they want - Vesper, Rache, and Dragonfly have all threatened to stab him properly if he ever starts holding back during their sparring matches again, and he knows whose opinion matters most in this case.
The years go by. They’re joined first by servants, then sorceresses, and then the cub, and then a bard, and through it all Bartek resolutely doesn’t think about that vague unease that never quite goes away.
The cavalcade of consort hopefuls arrive, and he still doesn’t think about it.
Then one of them stays.
He goes out on patrol with Bern, Crane, and Kostya a week after Jaskier was stabbed and the Wolf put the fear of witchers into the Temerian court, and so doesn’t notice much more than that she seems sweet, and that Lambert seems to be attempting to court her despite having no fucking idea how nobles go about that.
Returning some three months later, not much has changed. The bard is now also consort, the Cranes have made yet another disastrous attempt at their flying contraption, and Lucan apparently managed to get himself stuck and then un stuck during the big chimney cleaning. And now that she’s settled in, Bartek can pay proper attention to Lambert’s lady.
Almost immediately, he wishes he hadn’t.
Her name is Lady Milena de Roggeven. She is sweet, and noble, and dainty, and wears pretty dresses and jewelry. She can sew and embroider, paint and sing, she has courtly manners, does up her hair in intricate braids, and dances beautifully.
And Lambert is teaching her how to fight. He sees it quite by accident while passing by the training salle one afternoon, and for some reason he doesn’t dare to name the sight makes something in his chest curl up and scream. He leaves quickly, completely abandoning whatever he’d planned to do, and decides to do his best to avoid her whenever possible. If he’s lucky noone will pay attention to it.
When Bern confronts him in his room a week later - asking what the fuck is going on with him, he’d thought Bartek would be happy about having a noble lady to be all chivalrous to - he’s not exactly surprised. Of their small group of friends, he’s the one Bartek is closest to.
He tells Bern that he doesn’t know, that she’s a lovely person but he just feels miserable when he’s near her. When Bern wonders if he’s attracted to her and jealous of her relationship with Lambert, he laughs almost hysterically. When has he ever shown any attraction towards women?
But he can admit to his friend that he’s jealous. Not of Lambert, no. Of her.
Of lady Milena, with her kind smile and gentle voice, with skirts swirling around her during dancing and sparring, with dainty hands calloused by daggers and decorated with silver.
He wants that. Wants it so much it hurts , and now that he’s started thinking about it, started seeing this ache, this yearning, for what it is, he can’t stop . Can’t stop wishing that he could do that, that he could be that, be beautiful and graceful and courted like a lady and still him , still a Griffin and a witcher and a knight.
And as Bern hugs him close he sobs in his best friend’s arms and lets himself wish, desperately wish, that he could be her.