Chapter Text
“I wish you would let me give you a flower crown, my dear. The colors would stand out so beautifully against your fur.”
The only response is a heavy rumble of breath, not quite a growl but almost.
“Maybe some celandine, or lavender. Oh, or lilac!”
Another growl, heavier this time.
“Yes, maybe not lilac. Perhaps buttercups-” Jaskier is stopped in his tracks by a mass of great white beast in his path. He reminds himself to keep his head from the clouds while traversing, as it proves to make it difficult to pay attention to his surroundings as well.
Geralt, ever the stony monolith, is unbothered by the bard bumping into him. He sits down and just looks at Jaskier.
The bard looks behind him, sees nothing, and looks back to Geralt. When he still gives no indication, Jaskier brings a hand to his mouth, wiping gently. “Do I have something on my face, why are you staring at me like that?”
The wolf shakes his head, and gestures with his tail. It looks quite comical, and Jaskier smiles until he sees what is being brought to his attention.
A road sign. Wooden, worn, hardly legible. Staked in a fork in the road.
Kaedwen.
Jaskier hadn’t even noticed that Geralt was leading them this way. He’s been happy to travel through the northern realms, singing his songs and composing new ones of the sights they encountered.
A sharp gust of wind reminds him that winter will be closing in soon.
“You planned all this,” He realizes aloud.
Geralt bows his head.
“You wish to return to Kaer Morhen.” Jaskier ponders a few things, recalling all that he can about what he’s been told of the journey to the Keep of the Wolves. “I’ll need to make preparations,” He starts, making a list with his fingers. “Warmer clothing, dry rations-”
He’s met with a snort on the last item.
“Geralt, as much as I appreciate you hunting for us, I will not survive solely on venison or rabbits or whatever other poor creatures you manage to ambush.”
Another huff, a tilt of his wolfish head. A question, something along the lines of are you willing to do it?
Jaskier doesn’t take long to decide. “Yes, we can winter at Kaer Morhen. Assuming your fellow witchers allow me.” Now, that , he hasn’t considered. He has no reason to believe they would let him stay, much less believe that the massive, lumbering wolf is their supposedly-fallen Geralt of Rivia.
That should prove to be an interesting conversation, to say the least.