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The wind through the trees was restless and wild, an unrelenting voice in the warm summer night.
“How are you sleeping?” Jaskier asked the darkness. “The wind has been listing its complaints for hours, and I’m quite certain every tree in the forest is ready to drop on top of our unsuspecting heads.”
“I’m not,” the darkness, also known as Geralt of Rivia, answered. “I just thought if I was quiet long enough, you might be too. Also, if you’re certain about the trees falling, your head is hardly unsuspecting.”
Jaskier pouted. “Very amusing, Geralt. On both counts. Perhaps you should try your hand at poetry next, now that you’ve mastered humour.”
“Hmm.”
“Well said, Geralt. Do favor us with another.”
“Go to sleep, Jaskier.” Geralt didn’t sound irritated, just tired.
This was too much for Jaskier. “I’d love to!” he practically shouted. “Could you first convince the wind to return to its bed so we can have peace in ours? If not, then let me go on with my chatting so I can at least drown out a few moments of this curséd moaning!”
After a beat of non-silence, thanks to the wind, Geralt said, “Lambert tried to do that once.”
It took Jaskier a moment to remember exactly what he’d said. When he did, he gaped into the dark night. “Lambert tried to quiet the wind?”
“It didn’t work.”
Jaskier groaned. “Geralt, you really need to work on your storytelling skills. Maybe set the stage a little, tell your audience why Lambert was trying to quiet the wind, explain what he did, and then drop the ‘it didn’t work’ bit.”
He could practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes.
Geralt sighed dramatically. “Fine,” he said. “Settle in lad, and I’ll tell you a tale,” he said drily.
Jaskier giggled. He couldn’t help it.
“Lambert was still very young, just a pup. He was coming along in his training, but he still had a long way to go.”
“One particularly cold winter day a bitter wind rose. The Kaer Morhen is old, ancient, and the walls are full of holes, and the wind knows these holes and finds every one, and this wind had all of us either snapping at each other or doing anything possible to stay warm.”
“Including each other?” Jaskier snickered.
Geralt ignored him. “Lambert was, I think, born with a knack for finding trouble. That combined with his not giving a fuck what anyone thought of him… Well. Interesting things happened around Lambert. That particular day he stomped around growling at anyone who got close, muttering under his breath about ‘that fucking wind.’ And then he just went still. It was like someone whispered a secret inside his head. I was there when it happened. It was spooky, I’d rarely seen Lambert without a scowl on his face, but he was almost smiling. Then he turned and practically ran out of the room.”
Jaskier was fully engaged in the story now. “What did he do? Did anyone get hurt?”
After a soft chuckle, Geralt went on. “No, no one got hurt. He blew up one of the many guest rooms, however. I’m not sure that wall was ever repaired, there might still be a great hole in the side of the keep. Apparently old magic is finicky about having proper amounts of herbs, not to mention correct pronunciation. It was the last time Lambert tried to do any kind of casting without the training, as far as I know. I think he may have burned off some of his hair, and I know he lost an eyebrow. That, I’m quite sure, was punishment enough in Lambert’s mind.”
Jaskier’s laugh nearly chased the wind away. “Poor Lambert. I shouldn’t laugh, I know how boys can be. But picturing him with only one eyebrow, always looking skeptical…I can’t help it!”
The wind kept them company for a few minutes, telling its tale of woe. Finally Jaskier said, “Tell us another, then.”
“Hmm?”
Jaskier huffed. “Another story! You must have hundreds. Thousands! All the escapades you Witchers get up to. I hear about the daring deeds, tell me more about the silly moments! The times something unexpected happened, maybe the times one of you fell flat even with all that Witcher training.”
Geralt didn’t answer.
“This isn’t Jaskier the bard asking. I’m not composing a ballad about the misadventures of you and your brothers, Geralt. This is Jaskier the sleepless asking to get to know you and your family a little better.” It was too dark to see–at least for ordinary human eyes–so he hoped there was enough sincerity in his voice to convince Geralt.
There was a long pause, and then Geralt said, “Did I ever tell you about the time Aiden was turned into a cat?”
“Wait, the Cat Witcher was turned into an actual cat? Oh, I’ll bet he was adorable! Did Lambert rub his tummy and scratch him behind his ea– you know, I’m fairly certain that isn’t the point of the story. I think I’ll just let you tell it.”
“Thanks so much,” Geralt said. There was just the hint of a smile in his voice.
“Aiden and Lambert were on a hunt together; there was a pack of werewolves pestering a small village, and it was a job easier done with two than one. They were doing some reconnaissance outside the village when Aiden found something that caught his attention: at the base of a tree, mostly hidden among some weeds and wildflowers, were some small wooden tiles with letters painted on them. C A T …so naturally Aiden thought they were meant for him. ‘Look at this,’ he called to Lambert. Lambert looked over, saw Aiden reaching down, and yelled, ‘Nooooo!’ …but of course it was already too late. Aiden had touched one of the tiles, and as soon as he did, he was transformed into a cat.”
“Did Lambert scoop him up and yell at him?” Jaskier asked.
Geralt snorted. “I wasn’t there, but I’d imagine there was much swearing involved.”
Jaskier laughed.
“It didn’t take Lambert long to find the culprits. There was a clan of pixies living nearby, and they just love to play tricks on whoever comes along. Lambert paid them whatever price they demanded for reversing the ‘trick’ and everything was back to normal.”
“Do you know what the price was?” Jaskier’s interest was piqued. He’d heard of things like this before, but only vague reports, never any details.
“Two bouquets of wildflowers. Pixies are easily satisfied.”
Jaskier was delighted. “And Aiden was fine? No ill effects?”
“Apparently he began licking Lambert’s cheek affectionately whenever he was close enough, but nothing worse than that. He already has quite a few cat-like characteristics, having four legs and a tail wasn’t all that difficult for him.”
Jaskier hid his grin behind his hand before he remembered it was dark and Geralt couldn’t see him. “I still say Aiden must have made a cute cat. I’ll bet he purred a lot.”
“Hmm.”
More howling from the wind, more silence from the Witcher. Jaskier hesitated, then asked, “Are there any stories about…you?”
“Me?” Geralt asked. He sounded genuinely surprised. “You walk the Path with me every day. You live the stories, Jaskier. You’re the one who was tied up with me when we were hunting the supposed devil. You’re the one who dressed me in ridiculous clothes to take me to Queen Calanthe’s court. You’ve seen me covered in mud and slime and the guts of every creature imaginable. You’ve washed my hair, you’ve stitched my wounds. Is there anything I could tell you to help you know me better?”
A small “Oh!” escaped Jaskier’s lips before he could stop it. But after that he was unable to speak. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he could taste words forming on his tongue, but they wouldn’t burst forth into the world.
Finally it was Geralt who broke the silence.
“Jaskier.”
Finding his voice, Jaskier answered, “Yes?”
There was a sigh from Geralt, but it wasn’t angry or annoyed. It was soft and fond, and it made Jaskier smile in spite of the prowling wind.
“Please come here so I can get some sleep.”
So Jaskier scrambled from his bedroll to wriggle into Geralt’s, something that had been happening more and more frequently as of late. They didn’t talk about it, but they’d danced all around it, and Jaskier knew they’d have to face up to it soon. But Geralt was like a skittish colt, and Jaskier was wise enough to come at him slowly.
It would be worth the wait, Jaskier knew.
Geralt pulled Jaskier against him, tucking him under his chin. “Better?” Geralt asked.
“Better,” Jaskier whispered.
And it was true. In their little cocoon of warmth and…dare he even think it?...love, Jaskier could barely even hear the wind.