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What was a bard without a voice?
Miserable.
Jaskier was absolutely miserable. It had been three days and he was still stuck in this gods awful form. Okay, maybe not entirely awful. He was rather cute, and he was relishing in all the attention he was getting from the staff at Oxenfurt. Who knew that being scratched behind the ears was so delightfully satisfying? Not to mention the soft soothing timbre of his own purrs, oh and the food. He hadn’t had to pay or play for food in days, not that it was his usual style of food but it was something and it was free.
But he was still miserable. He missed singing, and dearest Melitele he missed his lute. It sat in the corner of his room, abandoned, neglected, alone, and Jaskier could do nought except stare at it forlornly. So despite all the perks of lounging around Oxenfurt as the new faculty kitten, he wasn’t a fan. Especially now that the snow had started to thaw and Geralt was due to meet him here any day now.
Fuck.
Jaskier meowed pathetically as he dug his claws into Valdo’s silk trousers, shaking off the troubadour’s hands and landing elegantly on the floor. His tail flicked out behind him as he nudged open the door with his paw and pattered back to his room.
Stupid, fucking mages and their stupid, fucking curses. If he missed out on a whole year of adventures because Geralt didn’t recognise him, then he would be absolutely livid. He would shred that damn mage with his newly sharp claws if he had to. It was the first year that Geralt had actually explicitly agreed to Jaskier’s plans in spring, and he had been looking forward to it all winter.
His door was open by the time he made his way through the corridors… which was not how he’d left it. For necessity he’d been leaving the door ajar, but not wide open. It made his hackles rise and his tail flicked out behind him…
Wait.
Onions.
Geralt.
Jaskier mewled loudly and sprang into the room, clambering up Geralt’s armour in seconds and rubbing his head under Geralt’s chin with a soft purr. The witcher froze, one hand supporting Jaskier’s tiny form, and the other wrapped around his medallion.
“Jaskier?”
He nodded, settling against Geralt’s chest as he continued to purr. Gods, he hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed his best friend, or just how miserable he’d truly been without him, but in Geralt’s arms… the curse didn’t seem quite so dire after all.